#reluctant Whumper

[3-2-whump]

Khaled’s Backstory, Part 3: Betrayal

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Thanks again @whumped-by-glitter and @generic-whumperz for beta reading the third and final part of Khaled's backstory. This particular incident takes place a handful of months before the beginning of the Eternal Story

Breaking out the fun tags again!

TW/CW: kidnapping, noncon drugging (injection), forced to hurt another, reluctant whumper, minor whump, multiple whumpees, slave whump, captivity whump

His mother raised one skeptical eyebrow as she watched her eldest son burst out of the bedroom, rush into the bathroom, and emerge into the kitchen with high spirits. “Good morning, Khaled,” she greeted, tone laced with suspicion.

“Good morning, Ammi,” Khaled yawned back.

She passed him a plate of reheated khagina with roti and a glass of milk. “Early start today?” she asked. It was unusual for her eldest to rise any time before 11:00, and here he was, practically vibrating with energy at 10:00.

Khaled nodded as he stuffed his face full of food. What had once been a one-time favor was now the third photoshoot he���d be doing. Turns out, Shazia’s agent and photographer asked him to come back for another photoshoot after the first time. The photographer said he ‘liked the kid’s energy,’ and Shazia’s agent said ‘he has a face that could sell’ (whatever that meant). All he knew is that he got to wear new clothes and shoes and pose with a football in the middle of a grassy pitch while some middle-aged guy with a camera snapped pictures. So, he came back for another, and planned to go back for another this morning.

He caught the judgmental look in his mother’s eyes. “Ammi, it’s fine,” he reassured her through a mouthful of food. “Look at the pay, huh? I make in one morning what I make after a week of work!”

“The money’s not important, you know I don’t like it!” Ammi emphasized. Khaled ignored her as he threw back the glass of milk all in one gulp. “You know this is how children like you go missing!” she warned him.

“Yet I’m still here,” Khaled shrugged, setting down his plate and glass before going to the entrance to retrieve his key and his shoes. He turned back to say his goodbyes before he left. “See you tonight!”

“Be careful, beta!” She called out as he ran out the door.

-

Something was different today. No, not different, something was wrong. Shazia met him at the football pitch in the park all by herself, with swollen red eyes and a runny nose as if she’d been crying. She cast him a wobbly smile and waved to him as he approached. “Khaled!”

He ran closer to her to bridge the distance between them sooner. “Shazia, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” He looked around, noticing that she was on her own, then back at her. “Where is your agent?”

“He’ll be here soon, it’s just-” she hiccupped on a suppressed sob. Khaled didn’t wait for permission as he gathered her in his arms and hugged her. He rubbed her back as she cried, whispering small reassurances like he would when he calmed his little sisters down from nightmares. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something behind her ear. It was a tattoo, kind of like a barcode.

A sharp, pricking pain jabbed him in the side of his neck, making him jolt in his friend’s arms. He lightly struggled, trying to pull away from her as she hugged him closer, whispering an “I’m sorry” into his ear. His confused thoughts started to muddle, then they cleared until there was nothing much in his head at all besides sensations. His limbs suddenly felt heavier. His struggles lessened and slowed down to a few involuntary twitches. His tongue felt thick and uncooperative within his mouth as he tried to ask what she had done to him and all that came out were a few stuttered noises. Everything was so heavy as he leaned into her with his whole weight. He felt tired, so tired, why was he so tired? It sounded like someone was yelling, but distantly and unintelligibly, as if he were under water. As Shazia brought a hand up to his head to encourage Khaled to lean onto her shoulder, her dupatta slipped, revealing two faint, prong-like scars on the side of her neck. Those strange scars were the last thing he saw before his eyelids shuttered closed. Tried as he might to stay awake for whatever came next, Khaled couldn’t help but give in to the blissful unconsciousness tugging him into the void.

-

He reawaked what seemed like hours later, though it was hard to tell in the dimly lit … Where am I?  Khaled thought, coming back into his body. He was laying on his side on a stiff cot. He blinked his eyes to adjust them to the darkness of the tiny unfamiliar room. There were bars where a door should’ve been, and four more kids dispersed throughout the small cell-like room. Panic surged within him, but the heaviness of slumber and whatever he’d been injected with weighed him down onto the cot. The realization that he could hardly move made his heart race even more, as he never felt so vulnerable before in his life. Distantly, he could hear whispers and crying all around him, though he could not pinpoint where it was coming from. The sounds only added to his panic. His head throbbed, and it felt as if the room was swaying. Why can’t I move? Where am I? What’s going on? Is Shazia okay? He squeezed his eyes shut and grimaced. Even thinking hurt too much. So, with nothing else to do, he opened his eyes again and observed his cellmates.

A girl sat slumped against the wall next to Khaled’s cot, curled over with her head between her knees, and a boy around his little brother’s age sat next to the bars of the cell door, listlessly staring out of it. Another boy and girl were huddled in the far corner of the cell, the girl crying softly into the boy’s shoulder and the boy trying not to cry for her sake. They were about the same age as Ayesha and Yusuf. “What’s going to happen to us?” she sobbed. The idea of his younger siblings ending up in a place like this made him feel sick. “Will our family ever know?” He willed himself to sit up on the makeshift bed, with nothing on his mind but to comfort these kids that reminded him of his siblings. “Will they ever find us?”

Khaled swayed off the bed and staggered toward them. His head swam with the aftereffects of the sedative. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, placing a gentle hand on both of their shoulders. The girl sniffled as she tried to regain composure.

The boy answered for her. “She got you too, didn’t she?” he asked bitterly.

Khaled furrowed his brows. “Who?”

“Girl with the blue eyes? Great hair?” he clarified.

A magenta pink kurta flashed in Khaled’s mind. “Shazia?”

The girl next to him perked up at her name. “She told me her name was Layla.”

The other girl slumped against the wall looked up from her lap. “That’s what she told me, too.”

The other boy at the cell bars turned around to face them. “It doesn’t matter what false name she assumed! The point is, that girl tricked us!” he spat.

Khaled shook his head, despite the throbbing sensations that wracked in his skull from doing so. “What? No, that can’t be,” he denied. The dreary setting that he now found himself in contradicted him. “She’s a nice girl, this must be a mistake!” he defended, despite the fuzzy memories of her sticking him with something sharp.

A clanging noise sounded from somewhere to their right, followed a creaking sound of metal on metal. A sharp beam of light preceded a shadow stepping into their prison, revealing more prison-cell arrangements across from them within the strange room they inhabited. The light was extinguished once more as the metal door clanged shut. Stopping in front of their cell door was a familiar girl in pink, holding a lantern, looking grimly at her victims. Her dupatta was gone, revealing a series of disfiguring, prong-like scars around the circumference of her neck.

The other four cellmates merely glared at her. The boy who was sitting by the door quickly backed away. Khaled however abandoned any sense of pride he had to throw himself at the bars of the cell door. “Shazia! There you are, you’re safe!” he cried with relief. “Please, tell them it’s not true, tell them that it’s a mistake, that you’re not the reason we’re trapped down here!”

She lowered her blue eyes in guilt, her silence answering for her. In the faint glow of the lantern, her pink kurta appeared blood red.

Something in Khaled’s chest panged, as if he could feel his heart break in real time. “Shazia?” he whispered.

“I’m sorry.” Her sad blue eyes glanced at all of them, then went back to Khaled. “I had no choice.” Khaled’s eyes flitted to her scars. “I never would’ve deceived you all if I could’ve avoided it.”

The girl who had curled up in the corner now stood up and raised her hand accusatorily. “Well, an apology isn’t going to free us, is it, bitch?!”

“Hey! None of that!” Khaled snapped.

Shazia visibly flinched at the words, but she held her ground. “I’m not even supposed to be here, but I came to apologize, and to warn you. You five, as well as the groups we picked up in Mumbai and Bangkok, are going to be sold. I don’t know where, I don’t know when. My masters don’t tell me these things. Just, when they come for you, do what you’re told and it’ll hurt less” she advised.

A series of questions erupted over the five captives, each question overlapping over the other.

“What do you mean ‘they’? Who are ‘they’?”

“Why did you trick us?”

“Are you coming back?”

“Why us? What’s so special about us?”

“What did they do to you?” Khaled asked.

Shazia did not respond. She turned her back on them and retreated towards the exit, taking the glowing lantern with her. The intense ray of light that came when she opened the door to leave was the last shred of light the captives would see for a long while as they were left in the darkness with their unanswered questions.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz

@bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@defire @phoenixpromptsandstuff @scumashling

[whump-mania]

More Whumper Lines

In honor of my first Whumper lines post getting over 1,000 notes, here’s some more! And in some fun categories!

Tag me if you end up using any!

~

Playful/Cheery/Lighthearted

1. “Aw, that was cute. I almost felt that excuse for a punch. Why don’t you try again?”

2. “My favorite part is right before you lose consciousness.”

3. “Caretaker, you know how to do stitches, right? No? Oh well.”

4. “Hm. Your blood’s darker than the last one’s was.”

5. “Sounds like Whumpee’s having fun in there…would you like to go join them?”

Dark/Violent/Rough

1. “Get the fuck over here or I’m dragging you.”

2. “Look at me. Look at me while I hurt you.”

3. “Nothing you say is going to stop me. I have a job to do, and I don’t give a shit how it happens.”

4. “Don’t you get it? I’m not being careful. I want this to hurt you.”

5. “Stay still, you motherf—Stay STILL!”

Creepy/Intimate

1. “Come on, scream like you mean it…there we go. Much better.”

2. “It’s so cute when you fumble with your keys everyday when you come home.”

3. “Your pretty little screams are only for me to hear, understand?”

4. “It’s a shock to me that you’ve never considered modeling. I mean…red just looks so good on you.”

5. “Ah, you remember this scar, don’t you? The day we met…god, what I’d give to break you like that again.”

Reluctant/Hesitant

1. “Look, I’m—I’m sorry, I just need to get this over-with. Bite on this.”

2. “They’ll check for bruises. I have to.”

3. “I’m sorry, boss, I’ve…I’ve never done this before. I-I’m trying.”

4. “Don’t look at me like that when the others are here. Please. They’ll know I’m faking it.”

5. “I’m sorry, I had to say it—you know that’s not how I actually think of you, right?”

[another-whump-sideblog]

Unwilling/reluctant whumper needing to step away from a torture session to scream into a pillow or vomit, and then coming back and continuing as if nothing had happened

[chaotic-orphan]

Whumptober No.2

Trust issues

Amusement Park | Role Reversal | “You got away with the crime while the knife's in my back.” (Charlotte Sands, Rollercoaster)

Oof this one was hard and I DID WRITE IT YESTERDAY but I fell asleep before publishing like a dumbass ahahahahahahah anyways!!!! NOBODY SAW SHIT

*~*~*~*~*

Hero gasped, a hollow, choking sound that was more like a person drowning coming up for air, the breath stolen from their lungs as they fell to their knees. White hot pain blinding them, gasping that wretched sound.

They could feel their body heal around the blade, feel their skin latch onto the metal and try to mould it back together, heal Hero with the blade inside. Blood pooled in Hero’s throat and bubbled out of their lips, coughing as they reached behind for the blade.

A hand slid into theirs, interlocking their fingers with a lover’s touch and Hero froze. “Oh sweetheart, don’t worry. I’m doing this for you.”

Hero’s body trembled as they reached their other hand over their shoulder going for the blade. “Ah, ah, ah,” Villain cooed behind them, hand on the blade adding a little pressure. “I wouldn’t dear, the dagger’s serrated with gnarly dips in the design. If you pull it out, it will rip.”

“V— V— Vil, why?”

They felt Villain’s presence leave their back, but knew Villain was close, still holding Hero’s hand, bringing it in front of them where Villain kneeled, pressing a kiss to the back of Hero’s knuckles.

“Because… you are too foolhardy, Darling. It will get you killed one day.”

“Su… super—”

“Superhero?” Villain prompted, their hand going to Hero’s chin and tilting their head up to look them in the eyes. “I know. They’re heading for a trap, but don’t worry. I told Supervillain I would handle you.”

“You… y-y-” Hero tried but they couldn’t find the words. Villain didn’t seem to care. They leaned forwards and captured Hero’s lips in a kiss. When Hero jerked back the blade scraped bone and Hero gasped lurching forwards again into Villain’s arms. “Wo- won’t forgive you.”

Villain held Hero like a child in their arms. “I know. But you will, one day. I can’t use any drugs on you because your body is a machine and would just expel them from your system,” they said fondly, pushing Hero’s sweaty hair from their forehead. “I did consider slicing your Achilles but I heard that’s painful. I just wanted to incapacitate you with the least amount of pain.”

“This hurts,” Hero cried. “This hurts, please.”

Villain smiled fondly at Hero, brushing their thumb over Hero’s blood dried lips, the red stain coming off like chipping paint. “I said least amount of pain, dear. Not zero. If I asked you to stay we both know you wouldn’t and it’s okay. It’s what I love about you, so I made the decision. I’ll be your bad guy. You can hate me if you want, but at least you’ll be alive. At least your conscience can rest easy hmm?”

“Villain… please,” Hero whispered, tears streaming down their cheeks. “Let me go.”

“No, Hero, I love you too much. I will never, never let you go.”

Villain held Hero quietly until their sobs died down, head resting on Hero’s that was curled into their chest staring blankly at the wall ahead.

[the-three-whumpeteers]

There were no search parties, no worried people looking for the whumpee- and the whumper didn’t know what to think about it all. The whumper had been hesitant to hurt the whumpee in the first place- it was their job, but it wasn’t a job they enjoyed. Slowly but surely, the whumper began to care for the whumpee, giving them more food, giving them warm blankets- they didn’t want to hurt someone that had been so hurt already.

[whumblr]

Old teammates!

Whumpers who may have betrayed their old team, who gladly hinder them, fight them, even rough them up a bit, but who clearly have issues with the way their new boss, the bigger badder Whumper, handles things now.

- It starts innocent enough. Their old team held at gunpoint, sneering remarks. "I could never have got this far if I sticked with you guys."

- But things soon start to escalate, leaving Whumper to doubt where they even stand.

- Leading to the beautiful: "Don't tell me you are still sentimental about your old team? Prove your loyalty to me."

- The Whumper who visibly flinches and hesitates when they get the order to kill / hurt their old team members.

- They pull Whumpee up by the front of their shirt, fist pulled back but they're wildly hesitant.

- Whumpee either whispers something to help them, "It's okay, do it." Or they snarl in anger, "Go on then, you coward! You always wanted to!"

- Of course everything takes too long or the Whumpee(s) do not take him seriously and so Bigger Badder Whumper has to step in to get answers.

- The Whumper who winces when badder Whumper doesn't hold back in the slightest. When Whumpee cries out in genuine anguish and badder Whumper has no inclination to stop at all until he gets what he wants.

- Bonus if it's the youngest or smallest member of the team, who Whumper never even had beef with.

- They whisper to Whumpee, their former leader, to please just tell him what he wants to know!

- With Whumpee baring bloodied teeth, snarling out a "Fuck you" for all to hear.

- Worse, Whumper leaves the room. Because "I can't watch this!" And Whumpee's only hope leaves them alone with the worst person in the room.

[holidayinhell]

CWs: vampire whumper, human whumpee, blood, dubcon smut, noncon

It was dark when Whumper slipped into Whumpee’s room. Even the light of the moon was absent that night.

Shadows danced across the walls, but Whumper’s eyes pierced through the darkness, his footsteps inaudible as he crossed the threshold, making his way towards the resting figure laying in bed, lost in sleep. 

He couldn’t resist drinking in every detail of the man’s slumbering face: the gentle curve of his soft, slightly parted lips, the dark lashes fanned delicately against his cheeks. Whumper liked him best like this—sprawled helplessly across the sheets, stripped of that usual, insufferable bravado.

Whumper’s eyes flickered. A shiver of desire crept in, sparked by the sight of Whumpee’s utter defenselessness. He wanted to take him then and there.

So much had changed since they’d last seen each other...

At least this was a familiar urge.

Whumper crawled on top of the sleeping man, the mattress sinking under him as he settled his weight over Whumpee’s slender hips.

He shouldn’t have come here. He shouldn’t be doing this. He should have stayed the fuck away. 

But it was getting increasingly harder to fight the bloodlust.

Whumpee shot awake with a terrified jolt.

“Hey. Easy there.”

“WHO THE FUCK?!” Whumpee’s heart pounded as he scrambled to make sense of the shadow looming over him.

“It’s me. Sorry to scare you.”

“Whumper? Jesus fuck!” Whumpee yelled, breathless as he gave Whumper a shaky shove to the chest. “Goddamn it. What the hell are you doing?!”

“Quiet,” Whumper murmured as he pressed a finger to Whumpee’s lips. “Shhhhh.”

Whumpee instinctively took a bite at the finger resting on his mouth.

“Hey.” Whumper snapped.

“Hey yourself, fucko! What did I tell you?!” Whumpee clutched his racing heart, terror still coursing through him. “You’re gonna fucking kill me some day. You’ve gotta stop doing this shit!”

"Sorry. Yeah. I know. But please, calm down," Whumper whispered softly. He gently caught Whumpee's wrists, pressing them back against the pillow. "Easy. Relax."

Whumpee let out a long, exhausted sigh as his frantic heartbeat settled. “Gah. I really thought you were some kind of fucking rapist burglar or something. You scared the shit of me.”

“I know. Sorry.”

There was a long pause as the two sat in the silence of their unspoken thoughts. 

Whumpee stared into the black of the room, his eyes straining to make out anything through the edgeless darkness. On top of him, Whumper watched the other quietly, taking in the lingering fear coursing through Whumpee’s veins, drinking in the thrill of his quickened heartbeat.

Impatient as ever, Whumpee broke the silence first. “Where have you even been?” He piped up.

Whumper couldn’t answer that truthfully. “Why? Did you miss me, Whumpee?”

“No. I didn’t,” Whumpee spat. “But thanks for popping by and scaring the shit out of me anyways.”

Whumpee quickly turned over to reach for the bedside lamp. But just as his fingers grazed the switch, he was interrupted by Whumper’s mouth locking to his lips.

Whumpee jerked away from the sudden, uninvited kiss.

“Fuck you.”

Whumper chuckled. “We can, if you want.”

Whumpee gritted his teeth, trying to squirm free. Whumper hadn’t bothered to call in weeks, and now he showed up in the middle of the night, literally breaking into his house, sneaking into his bedroom, and he what, expected to bone?

“I don’t think so. Get off of me.”

“Don’t be like that.” Whumper chuckled, his hands tracing Whumpee’s collarbone, traversing his touch to the man’s shoulders. His grip slowly tightened around the bony knobs. “I wanted to see you. Sorry I scared you.”

“Dude.” Whumpee tried to shimmy out of his grasp, thrashing to free himself from under Whumper’s weight. “Stop pissing me off.”

“Stop being so fucking dramatic.”

“Then stop scaring the shit out of me at 3 am! Get off!!”

Whumper didn’t move. Instead, he pressed his mouth against Whumpee’s neck, diving into the exposed, soft skin. He planted delicate kisses along the exquisite curve of the other’s throat, each glide of his tongue igniting a trail of goosebumps that danced across Whumpee’s flesh.

“Don’t be such a baby.” Whumper hummed in a low, sultry voice. “I just wanna make you feel good.”

The heat of his breath sent immediate shivers down Whumpee’s spine. Fuck, it felt good—too good. But fuck him, too.

The strong man continued to suckle at the tender area, the warmth of his lips coaxing a soft sigh from the defenseless plaything pinned beneath him. 

Enthralled by the mounting pleasure, Whumpee let his head roll back deeper into the downy pillow, instinctively granting Whumper better access to his neck. Whumpee was a mess of feelings, torn between frustration and the undeniable tightening in his boxers.

“I—nnf. I fucking hate you,” he managed to rasp.

“That’s fine,” Whumper replied with a teasing lilt. "Hate me if you want.”

Whumper’s tongue swirled around Whumpee’s earlobe. Hot, heavy breaths pervaded his senses.

“I know you like this.”

Yes. He loved it.

And he fucking missed it. 

Whumpee’s breath stuttered. Whumper seemed different somehow. Quiet. Intense. Feral. 

There was electricity in the air, a curious energy drew him into the man. As intoxicating as it was, it filled Whumpee with apprehension. As much as he craved the exhilarating pull of Whumper’s touch, a gnawing feeling in his head warned him to keep his distance.

He tried to put an end to it. “It’s nice, but. No. Not tonight.” 

“Shh…” Whumper’s hand dove into the elastic of Whumpee’s waistband. He’d forgotten how persistent Whumper could be.

“I don’t think I can—ah,” The strong hand in his underwear grasped his member, pumping him until his eyes rolled back. God damn it felt good. “Ah—I’ve got stuff to do, ah-!”

“Fuck you smell good.”

Whumpee quivered under the heavy shadow, fists clenching. “Whumper. No. I’ve got stuff to do. In the. In the morning.” 

“Just a little longer,” Whumper hummed. “Come on. It’s been a while…”

Whumpee wanted to hate it—he wanted to lash out, cuss at him, and kick Whumper’s ass right out the door. But fuck, he needed this. Touch-starved from more than a month of no contact, Whumpee yearned for him; he ached to surrender to Whumper, to be held down and pounded into the ground.

Whumper didn’t deserve this from him, though. He knew he shouldn’t give in. He needed to set better boundaries. And yet, he could feel his resolve crumble with every passing second.

Whumpee’s hips buckled as Whumper’s hand continued stroking his cock. He’d chew Whumper out about this later, he decided, drinking in the weight of the muscular thighs pressing him into the mattress. For now he’d enjoy this.

“You smell so good...” Whumper leaned in, planting a firm kiss on Whumpee’s lips as he pulled the slender man’s body off the bed and into his arms, rocking his hips against the other as he gathered him close.

“Mmm. Thanks. You smell…” Whumpee murmured, his voice low and playful as he caught a whiff of Whumper’s scent. “Uh. Kinda like dirt.”

He hadn’t noticed initially, but the smell of rain clung to Whumper’s shirt, filling Whumpee’s nose with its damp, earthen aroma. It smelled especially sharp, mineral-rich, like a mixture of wet soil and stone.

“Wait. Are you muddy? Your shirt is wet. And like, dripping all over m--,” 

Whumper silenced him with another kiss, his hands sliding Whumpee’s underwear down his thighs. Now that he was naked he was more keenly aware of Whumper’s almost… stickiness?

“Seriously, if you got mud in my bed, I swear…” Whumpee muttered. 

“Okay. Stop talking now.”

Whumper roughly pushed Whumpee backwards onto his pillow. He clutched his sharp hips, flipping the man over onto his belly.

“Woah woah woah. Wait!”

“Don’t worry.”

“Wait!” Whumpee repeated, scrambling to lift his chest away from the bed. “I don’t think--”

“Stop moving.”

“Wait. No really, Whumper. I don’t think we should. It’s late.”

“It’s alright.” Whumper purred, tracing a line down Whumpee’s spine with his index finger, delivering a crisp smack to Whumpee’s ass. “I’ll be fast.”

“Dude.” Whumpee shook his head with a weary sigh. “I’m not your personal fuck toy, you know.”

“Sure you are.”

Whumper grabbed the back of Whumpee’s head, shoving his face into the plush pillow and holding it there.

Whumpee’s chest tightened as he tried to catch a breath through the fabric. He thrashed beneath the man pinning him to the bed, refusing to give Whumper the satisfaction of giving in.

“Mmph! MMF MFF!”

“Lay still,” Whumper murmured, ignoring the muffled protests beneath him. “It’ll all be over soon.”

Whumpee twisted his head back once more, only to have it slammed back into the pillow again.

“Don’t look at me.” Whumper commanded, his tone edging on desperation. “Sorry. Please just.”

A hot, wet finger entered Whumpee, and then another. Globs of saliva fell onto his rim, and busy fingers immediately kneaded the moisture inside him. Whumpee kicked his legs out in protest. 

Owwwww. Whumpee moaned into the pillow. It hurt. It fucking burned in his ass, boiled in his stomach. It was all happening entirely too fast.

“Sorry-- for a second. Don’t move.”

Then, without warning, Whumper pressed his enormous cock against Whumpee’s hole. He rammed it against the entrance, eagerly cramming his way inside.

Whumpee lifted his head, letting out a blood-curdling scream.

A strong hand cupped his mouth, silencing his wails. Whumper’s full weight bore down on him as he mercilessly pounded his cock into Whumpee, hand covering his mouth and nose.

The pain was excruciating, devoid of anything remotely close to pleasure.

Next to that, Whumpee could barely breathe.

Whumpee’s tongue jabbed at the palm keeping his mouth closed, wiggling it between Whumper’s fingers.

Holy shit. Holy shit. His ass was on fire and he could barely breathe. 

Scrambling for oxygen, he dug his fingernails into Whumper’s arms, clawing at the flesh with all the strength he could muster. The man on top of him paid no mind. He continued plowing Whumpee into the sheets, merciless and unyielding, refusing to remove his suffocating hand until the man’s thrashing faded into weak, sporadic kicks. 

When Whumpee finally went limp, the hand released its grip. Whumpee gasped for air, taking a deep, ragged breath, and then he screamed. 

“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!”

Fueled by adrenaline, he twisted his body and lunged toward the lamp on his bedside table.

When the light flicked on, it revealed a horrifying scene. 

All he saw was red.

Red staining his sheets, seeping through the fabric like thick, viscous ink. Red handprints were stamped onto his white pillowcase, smears of red streaked across the white walls and carpet. Whumpee glanced down, and his breath caught; his naked body was coated in it too, like a sticky second skin.

It wasn’t mud that he’d smelled on Whumper.

Frozen in place, Whumpee stared blankly at the man sitting on his bed. 

He must’ve been drenched in gallons of blood. The thick, sticky red stained Whumper’s hands, dripped from his chin, and splattered across his face. The sight was torn straight from a nightmare.

Whumper shook his head slowly, an unsettling calmness in his demeanor.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

His gaze locked on Whumpee, intense and unblinking. A feral, predatory glint in his eye gave a promise of what was to come next.

“Wha-wh-what is…” Whumpee stammered. His pulse hammered in his ears and drowned out all rational thought. His mind screamed at him to run, but his body refused to obey. “Why are you-- i-is that--?!”

“I need more, Whumpee,” the blood-soaked monster pleaded, desperation ringing his voice. “Just a taste.”

“Why are you…?.” Panic kicked into overdrive and Whumpee smacked the man away.

“Just give it to me” Whumpee went in for another hit, but Whumper caught his wrist mid-air, pulling the other into him.

“Please. I don’t want to have to make you.” The hunger pressed against the edges of Whumper’s mind. One quick taste was worth any price.

“FUCK OFF!” Whumpee yelled. “HELP! Somebody, hel--!”

He kicked at Whumper, flailing until his body was thrown from the bed. He could do this. He could make it out of here. He scrambled across the floor, desperately crawling to the doorknob, eager arm outstretched.

Just as Whumpee reached the exit, a brutal grip seized his wrist, wrenching his arm behind his back, sending his cheek crashing into the hardwood floor. 

Whumper climbed on top of Whumpee for the final time. 

“H-help me. Oh my god, oh fucking god…”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

The world around him blurred and spun around Whumpee, every sound distant as pain pulsed from his head and radiated through his body.

“Whumper—W-Whumper please—!”

“I tried.”

“Whumper!” he shrieked. “Don’t!”

“I’m sorry, Whumpee.”

“I-I don’t know what you did.” Whumpee cried. “I won’t tell anyone. I won’t. Don’t...!”

“Doesn’t matter…” he leaned in closer, his breath warm and heavy against Whumpee’s skin. “Sorry. I can’t control it anymore.”

“Don’t d-do this!” 

Whumper pressed his fangs against the soft curve of Whumpee’s neck. 

“Sorry, Whumpee,” he whispered. “I’m just so fucking hungry.”

((more Whump oneshots))

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Big Brave Man

Bleeding in Moonlight: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven |

CW: Creepy whumper, reluctant whumper, dehumanization, werewolf whump, hunting runaway whumpee

-

The last half-mile of the hike back home was always the worst part. The woods were at their thickest, which helped to hide the scattered buildings hidden down a dirt road from prying eyes, but it also meant it would be so easy to get lost, drift off the hidden path, and simply never be seen again. 

Austin had been taught the signs to watch for since he first learned how to walk, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a little worried every single time that he’d miss just enough of them to end up miles off course. He’d been taught to hold on to that worry, that it was people who were cautious who made it home.

Still, he was so damn tired now.

His legs were shaking from exertion, from the miles and miles he’d spent the day walking, clambering, and climbing. Exhaustion had his eyelids feeling heavier with every blink, but Austin knew better than to think he could head off to his own small room to sleep off the last twenty four straight hours of trying to find that little shitstain Rusty. 

He wasn’t even grown - how had a juvenile been able to get away so fast? The blood trail had made it clear that he’d been hit by one of the silver bullets… how had he managed to keep running? 

He was going to be in such deep shit with Bill about this.

Distracted, Austin tripped over a tree root and swore when he nearly dropped his rifle, scrambling not to let it touch the ground. His father would have something to say about that, too. You never put down your gun, he knew that rule better than any other. 

Especially not on a full moon, when werewolves wouldn't hesitate. When they would bite and tear and claw and shred in mindless violence until their sadistic desires were satisfied. Werewolves were at their worst during the full moon.

It was the first thing Austin had learned in homeschooling, how to recognize werewolves even in human form, what to watch for, and when they were most dangerous.

Reading, writing, math, history... the rest all came once Austin knew what to be afraid of. And how to do the wolves harm before they could harm him.

Even if those warnings didn't really match the captive pack that Bill kept for his search for a cure. Even if the wolves in the kennels had never acted the way he'd been taught they should.

Bill had always claimed it was because captivity made them safer to be around, made their viciousness weaker. But... sometimes Austin wondered.

Last night had been a full moon, and Rusty had run through a camp and then found his way to a car with campers and Austin had found an empty parking spot marked with only Rusty's blood. No bodies. No bones. No vicious monster growling and snarling with red-tinged foam around his fangs.

The moon was supposed to turn them into killers.

So why hadn't Rusty killed the campers?

He was too tired to think about this.

Once he finally eased out of the woods into the first of the compound’s small cleared spaces, what hit hardest was the silence.

The moon had begun to rise, and normally the wolves would have been restless in their kennels, human and canine forms shifting back and forth in sickening ways, desperate to run out the energy that coiled through their wiry wasted muscles. He’d have heard the scraping of accidental brushes against the silver-lined fencing, the little whimpers from the younger ones, the older shushing them. He’d have heard the whispers as he walked past, the growls, the whining pleas to be allowed to hunt.

They want to hunt you, Bill had always told him. You're the prey. They play at sounding weak and scared, but they'd rip your throat out if we let them.

Still. He'd always searched for that mindless rage in their eyes, and Austin had never seen it.

Now there was nothing to see at all.

The kennels were emptied out and silent. Nothing moved in the shadows. There was no soft pattering of paws in the dirt, no yellowed eyes gleaming in the dark. 

Austin turned away before he could acknowledge the guilt that still tugged at him, a sickening pull at his insides. 

The kennels were silent, because all of the wolves were now on the other side of the barn, far enough away where hopefully the smell wouldn’t be too overpowering. The wolves were all in the pit they’d spent days digging, just to shoot the creatures they’d kept as long as Austin had been alive or longer.

That’s where the last of the gleaming yellow eyes had gone.

He wondered if any of their eyes were still open, under the dirt they'd piled on top of the bodies, and shivered. 

All his father’s hard work had faltered. There was only so much to learn, and every attempt at a cure had been fruitless. But at least, Austin thought, there wouldn’t be any more mournful howls in the darkness when they took the puppies from their mothers. At least he wouldn’t have to watch his father’s tests any longer, holding the creatures down in human or wolf form so blood could be drawn or bits cut off for Bill’s experiments. He wouldn't have to hear their screams of pain.

At least there was that.

Really, what they had done was a mercy, right? The werewolves had been miserable, and frightened, and now they were neither. It had been a mercy to give them death.

Keep telling yourself that, Austin. Whatever keeps the look on Rusty’s stupid wolf face when he dug out of the pit out of your mind, right?

Whatever helps you sleep at night.

Coward.

Not that he'd be sleeping any time soon, considering he still had to give his debrief to Bill, and he was starving hungry, too. Needed a shower. Needed to work out the nervous, jittery energy that still coiled underneath the fatigue that made each step drag a little more with every foot of distance he covered. 

Austin’s feet were barely moving by the time he made it to the house, fingers fumbling at the handle to the screen door, his boots scraping along the concrete steps. “Mom?” He called, voice heavy and husky. The moon hung full above him, and it felt absurdly like it was watching him - just one big white eyeball in the sky, all pissed off.

He cut off a half-hysterical giggle that threatened to erupt, like a volcano. God, he was so tired. He needed sleep so badly.

Wherever Rusty was, he was probably enjoying the moonlight. Gone rabid and torn out the campers' throats and rolled in their blood. Then again, maybe he’d bled out and died somewhere after he’d found those damn campers to treat him like a shelter dog.

That would make things easier, if they could just find the body.

But first they had to find the people he’d caught a ride with.

“Austin!” His mother appeared, looking as tired as he did, her hair a frizzy mess still drying from her nightly shower, already wearing her quilted flower-print robe over her nightdress. She moved to him, then wrinkled her nose and stopped, still a good couple feet away. “Oh, honey. You are absolutely filthy.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” Running on pure muscle memory, he unloaded the rest of the silver bullets from the rifle, then set it into the empty spot on the racks mounted along the wall just inside the door. Next step was putting the bullets back in the special wooden box full of them, listening to the click as each one dropped back in. Minus the one he'd lodged, he thought, pretty deep in Rusty's leg.

Only then could he lean over to untie the laces to his boots. A new wave of exhaustion hit like a wall of bricks and he found himself listing to one side, knocking a shoulder into the wall. “Shit.”

“Language,” Sandra scolded automatically, without much feeling. Austin had hit adulthood years ago, and by now it was mostly just an instinct because of the younger kids. Not that any of them were still awake, not this late. “Did you find Rusty?”

Austin exhaled. 

Sandra read the answer in his face, and she sighed. “Oh, honey. Your father’s not going to like that.”

“Yeah, Mom, I know. Bill hates everything I do, though, so it shouldn’t be too different from any other day for me.” The first pulses of a headache threatened, his growing fatigue was rapidly becoming a heavy weight alongside the beat of his heart. He left his muddy boots on the mat and made his way to the fridge. He’d downed half the beer before he even thought to take a breath, rubbing a hand over the shadow of stubble that had already started to grow. “To answer your question, though… I actually did find him. Sort of.”

“Sort of?” Her eyebrows furrowed in concern and more than a little disapproval. “What does that mean, ‘sort of’? Don’t tell me you let Rusty go.”

“I’m not stupid, Mom.” Austin let his forehead drop against the cool stainless steel of the fridge, closing his eyes. If he could just sleep, this would go so much better. If he had time to plan what he would say, to think it through. “I didn’t let him go.”

“Then-”

His father’s voice came booming from another room. “Sandra? Is that Austin come back?”

“Yes!” Austin’s mother took in a breath, and gave Austin a slight smile. “Just a minute and he’ll be right in there.” She patted Austin on the arm and walked past him, heading for Bill’s office. Austin followed, a little helplessly, the pit of dread in his stomach growing step by step.

He should’ve been moved out and married by now. Why was he still here, following his father’s orders? Why did he still get worried when his dad was disappointed in him? Why had he let his father tell him none of the girls from their meetups had been right for him?

Why hadn't he just gotten into a car and driven until he ran out of gas years ago, set up a new life wherever he found himself? He used to dream about it. Join a construction crew or something, where they could pay him under the table. Get an apartment with some roommates and learn how to take care of himself.

He used to dream about it.

Now, he thought, he'd just dream about dead wolves in the dark.

He took the beer with him, and he ignored Bill’s disapproving stare when he stepped into the doorway. It was his own beer, and just because his father had stopped drinking a few years ago thanks to some revelation about God’s will or other, didn’t mean that Austin thought the same way. 

So brave, a mocking inner voice whispered. Such a big brave man, defying your father about beer while killing a dozen werewolves on his orders.

Bill’s office was all wood paneling and dim lamps, giving it the feeling of some barely-explored cave covered in piles of paper - including seemingly every receipt for every purchase he'd ever made. Alongside the boxes of paper were old leatherbound books and the mounted heads of elk, deer, regular wolves, and more lining the walls. 

Bill sat in an overstuffed leather easy chair he kept in here - Austin was pretty sure half his time spent ‘working’ in his office was actually spent napping in that damn chair. The older man’s hair and beard had long since gone mostly gray, and unlike Sandra, he wasn’t ready for bed, not yet. He was still wearing his flannel and jeans. His right hand rested on the head of the placid, pathetic creature that sat obediently next to him. Koko, a half-grown wolf with mostly gray fur tinged at the edges with the same rust-red that made up most of Rusty’s coat, was always like that - drugged to complacency, his blue human's eyes dull and barely aware of anything around him. 

He'd come from the same litter of pups as Rusty had, Austin thought. Same mother. It was hard to remember who'd been born when, it was just the wolves, after all.

Vicious fuckers. 

Are they, Austin? Or are you the monster hiding under their bed?

In this moment, it was Bill's stare that seemed far more likely to be followed up by violence.

Bill’s expression shifted into a deep frown. “I can tell just looking at you that you didn’t take care of Rusty.”

The disappointment burned - it always did - but Austin shoved it to the side. He wasn’t a little kid any longer, and he was too damn old to still feel like a boy chided for not doing the dishes after dinner. “I followed him as long as I could,” He said, keeping his voice low. He leaned against the doorway, refusing to come any closer than that, taking another drink of beer. He watched his father’s narrow eyes follow the movement of the bottle. “But then he left.”

"He what." His father's voice dropped to a depth Austin had only rarely heard before. 

Austin's fingertips burned cold, suddenly, as if he'd plunged his hand into a bucket of ice and held it until frostbite took hold. An answering chill took up heavy space in his ribs, just behind his heart. 

This is the strong brave man your father built, that inner voice mocked again. You’re as tame as Koko, just how he wants it. Even his own kids are just kept in a different kind of kennel.

"He-" Austin's voice broke, and he stopped, clearing his throat as best he could. He tried to tell himself strength impressed his father far more than kissing ass ever had. “He left with some campers. He got in a car with them. I lost the trail."

"Some campers," Bill repeated, voice flat now, stuck just one step above a growl. "You couldn’t get a shot in? What was all that training for, then? Are you so useless you can't hit the broad side of a-"

"I did!" Austin met his father’s eyes - and saw how Bill sat up a little. Austin rarely refused to lower his gaze. He almost never argued back. Hell, now that he thought about it, this might be the first time. 

But he couldn’t get the memory of the whining, howling, crying wolves out of his mind. The way they sounded, the way they moved, writhing as they died, trying to clamber over or hide under the dead bodies of the others. 

Rusty’s eyes had been ringed all in white before he’d taken off into the woods. Mad with terror, wearing blood from his pack, fleeing into the wood with the evil hunter on his heels.

That’s you, Austin. You’re the bad guy in the fairy tale. You're the monster. Big brave man chasing a frightened teenager through the woods. They make true crime shows about bastards like you.

Austin cleared his throat. Rusty wasn't human, he told himself. It wasn't the same.

It was.

It wasn't.

It was-

"I definitely shot him, Dad. Silver bullet, blood everywhere. But they bundled him into their car before I could track him all the way and the trail ended at the parking lot."

"Goddamn typical," Bill muttered. As if Austin failing was exactly what he had expected. As if he never did anything else.

“Language,” Sandra chided automatically.

Austin flushed dark with shame and a guilty anger of his own. “Dad-”

"No, Austin.” Bill sighed. His hand began to move, petting absently over Koko’s head. The wolf didn’t seem to even notice. Those clouded blue eyes weren’t seeing anything but whatever was inside Koko’s empty little head. “Don’t bother. This really is absolutely typical. I should've sent your mother, you were always a poor shadow of her skills."

"Bill, be nice," Sandra cut in, nervous herself, but Austin felt warmth at the sight of her squaring up her rounded shoulders on his behalf. "Austin’s just tired. Considering everything he'd had to do before he had to take off after Rusty-"

"Woman-" Bill tensed, as if ready to push himself out of his recliner.

When Sandra turned on him, though, he fell back, looking up at her, vaguely startled. "Oh, don't you dare 'woman' at me, or my cast iron and I will have something to say," Sandra snapped back. She stood like she was made of iron, too, arms crossed in front of her. "When have I ever let you call me 'woman', Bill, huh?"

Bill was silent for a long moment before looking uncomfortably away from her. "Never."

"Damn straight."

“Language,” Austin teased, and was rewarded with his mother’s tired smile and his father’s irritated scowl. 

“Fine. Austin... worked hard last night.” It sounded like he was confessing to a sin, just admitting his oldest son had done anything right. Austin tried to take the compliment for what it was, but still resentment festered. He was the oldest of the twelve children, and he’d spent his whole life working to help his father build the compound into what it had become. 

And yet he was always the one who fell short of his father’s expectations - not because they were too high, but because of something inside of Austin his father had simply never liked. 

Maybe he's just mad that you're only a killer against your will.

“Still,” Bill continued, voice heavy. “Still, we lost one of our wolves.”

“But only one,” Austin countered. “The rest of them are handled, Dad. We made sure. Rusty was the only survivor. Well, except for Koko.”

Koko's ear twitched, once, and those hazy blue eyes focused briefly on Austin. Austin had a thought - just the slightest impression - that there was a fathomless loathing for him in those human eyes trapped inside a canine face. A hatred that ran so deep Austin couldn't see into its depths, could never begin to understand it.

Then Koko laid heavily down on the floor, resting his chin on his paws, looking like he'd drift off at any moment. The bulky prong-collar he wore clearly pinched a little, as he winced and shifted. The hate faded into cloudy nothing again.

Bill glanced down, the first time he'd looked at the young wolf so far. "Koko barely counts. He’s a good boy.”

Where Bill couldn’t quite see, Koko’s lip lifted on one side, briefly showing fang, before his eyes drifted shut. 

Austin opened his mouth to mention to Bill that Koko maybe wasn’t quite as docile as he seemed, but Bill spoke before he could. “And we can't start fresh if one of them's out there hurting people because of you.”

“Start fresh?” The cold dread returned, but for a totally different reason now. The kennels full of crying puppies taken from their mothers, the wolves pacing and shifting and howling and whining... He couldn't do that again. Not when the silence already weighed heavier than lead. “Dad… you said this was it, that we were done.”

“Yeah, with this group. But they aren’t the only monsters out there. And we’ll figure out how to cure them eventually. I’m going to take in a new pack and start in on some new ideas I’ve had about silver particles in blood transfusions-”

“... Dad.. No.” Austin thought about having to fire on the wolves, one by one. Watching the light leave their eyes, watching their frantic fight to live. The years of his life he'd spent holding them down while his mother or father tested things on them, feeling their chests rise and fall in frantic terror while they were restrained into stillness. His stomach flipped. He had to fight bile that threatened to rise in his throat, tensing all his aching muscles to try and distract himself with the pain. “Dad, you can’t. I… I can’t do all that shit again.”

“Austin, language-”

“No, Mom! I-I’m done. I’m so… I’m so done. I can’t do this any longer.”

Bill sighed, shaking his head. But he didn’t burst out in rage, like Austin expected. It was so much worse - he just looked profoundly, deeply, painfully disappointed. “You let them get too close to you. Started seeing them as people and not what they are. I should’ve expected it. Your little brother can take over your duties, but not until we bring Rusty home or get rid of the threat.”

Austin closed his eyes. One last thing, and then he could stop having to be a part of this? That… sounded like his father throwing him a lifeline.

Big brave man doing what Daddy says because then he'll let you quit.

If he lets you quit.

He grabbed onto it with white knuckles and took a deep breath. “Fine. Okay. So, we got off track. I... I told you I tracked him to the parking lot by the trails.”

“Right.” Bill nodded, thoughtfully. “But you lost him after that."

“He clearly got into a car with some campers, probably the ones whose camp he ran through. In any case, I, uh, I called the park ranger, said we'd had some poachers on our land." Austin's voice was a little breathier than he meant it to be. 

Bill's eyebrows raised, and he gestured with one hand for Austin to keep talking. 

"He wouldn't show me the security camera, some kind of regulation, but… but he said he got a record of the license plate.”

“He gave that to you?”

“After I gave him a hundred dollars, he did. I wrote it down, so... so we can do something with that, right?"

"Did he tell you what state it was from?"

"He did. Iowa."

Bill's expression finally cracked into a rare smile. Even Sandra relaxed, and Austin felt his own aching muscles soothing, too. "Well. That we can work with. We’ll finish things with Rusty and call that your resignation from the family business. I'll give you some cash to get you started, after that. And you'll promise to call your mother once a week."

"Once a week at least," Sandra added. "I'd like a few times a week, really. Oh, and maybe you'll meet a nice girl-"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Sandra," Bill said, but he'd softened, and Austin felt hope for the first time. He tried not to acknowledge it, afraid Bill would see the way his expression changed and feel the need to smash him back down again.

He cleared his throat. "I want to go live in a city somewhere.”

“Your mother and I fled that life for a reason, but I suppose every generation has to learn about the evils of cities all on their own.” Bill sighed, shaking his head. But Austin could tell this meeting was finally about to end. His bed waited, and Austin knew he'd barely make it upstairs to collapse into it.

Bill hummed. “Have a good night’s sleep, get yourself rested, and when you wake up you should pack your things for a trip. You and me are going to go track Rusty down before anyone else gets hurt."

Austin didn’t point out that the only ones who’d gotten hurt in this were the wolves. “Fine. Just the two of us?”

“You, me… and Koko.”

Koko's eyes opened again. They rested on Austin, briefly focused with an intensity that Austin had never seen in the young wolf's face before.

It occurred to Austin that maybe Rusty wasn't the wolf who wanted to rip his throat out the most.

-

@finder-of-rings  @burtlederp @deluxewhump @scoundrelwithboba @shrimpwritings 

@yassifiedinformation @wildfaewhump @whatwhump @honeycollectswhump @tundra-tiger

@dont-look-me-in-the-eye @there-will-always-be-blood @fangedcinnamonroll @pigeonwhumps @yassifiedinformation

[whump-and-other-misfortunes]

Whumpuary 2024 Day 6

6. (Jan 11-12) Exhaustion / Blindfolded / Old Injuries  

cw reluctant whumper, exhaustion, blood loss, vampire whumper, human whumpee, scars, intimate whumper 

Whumpee stood in front of the mirror, head tilted to the side as their fingers traced the bite marks going down their neck. They were in various stages of healing—some had faded to white scars, others were bruised and scabbing, and the most recent one was still an aggravated red. If Whumpee scratched at it, it would start bleeding again easily. 

“You okay?” 

They glanced up quickly. “I didn’t hear you come in.” 

Whumper shrugged, eyes locking with theirs in the mirror. “Perks of being a creature of the night, I suppose. Very sneaky.” 

“Right,” Whumpee said with a chuckle. 

A moment of silence passed, with both of their gazes drifting to Whumpee’s neck. Most of the marks were concentrated there, but others were hidden by Whumpee’s clothes. Their wrists, the inside of their elbow, their thighs. 

“You look tired,” Whumper pointed out. 

“I’m fine.” The constant blood loss left them exhausted and perpetually dizzy, but it really was fine. Whumper worried too much. 

They frowned, closing the distance between them and Whumpee. Whumper kissed their neck gently, lips fitting over one of the older bites. “I wish they didn’t scar so much.” 

“I don’t mind,” Whumpee muttered. “I like the reminders of you. Knowing that I can give you what you need, instead of letting you worry about where your next meal is coming from. Or hurting someone who doesn’t want this.” 

Whumper nodded slightly, eyes meeting theirs in the mirror. “We can’t keep doing this forever, though. Someday I'm gonna take too much, and then I don’t know what I'd do with myself.” 

Whumpee took in their own reflection—the pallid skin, distant eyes and dark circles, thin frame—and wondered if that day was very far in the future.  

[whumpingandsmilinglikeanidiot]

Helpless caretakers are on my mind today

A helpless caretaker who knows so well what kind of hell Whumpee is going through right now, and can't ever seem to fall asleep.

A helpless caretaker who can reach Whumpee whenever they want to, can hold them and comfort them and say sorry all they want, but know that even trying to actually pull Whumpee out of the torture would result worse off for the both of them.

A helpless caretaker who can't let Whumpee know that they're on their side.

A helpless caretaker who doesn't know what's the right thing to do.

A helpless caretaker who's on the brink of becoming the reluctant whumper.

A helpless caretaker who has to run off mid-sentence and cry in a bathroom stall.

[losthavenmine]

Whumptober 2023 Day 30 || Reluctant Whumper

The Quick and the Dead (1995)

[waywardwhump]

Whumper has to be cruel because the system is cruel. They're high ranking, and are expected to rule with an iron fist. If they fail to do this, worse things will happen. They'll lose their position and won't be in a place try and control the damage anymore.

Whumpee is lower in the hierarchy. They work hard, keep their head down. The worst they've delt with is harsh words.

Behind closed doors? They are friends. The whumper is quite fond of them, and the whumpee returns that fondness.

But they aren't always behind closed doors.

One of whumpee's other friends makes a mistake. It happens fast, it happens public, and the only thing they can think to do is take the fall for it.

They claim responsibility and Beg to be punished instead.

The whumper does as requested, because it is the whumpee asking.

Punishment in public. They make an example out of the whumpee, because that is what is expected of them. To show the 'mercy' of letting them take their friend's punishment, the price is that the punishment itself has to be worse.

The wordless glance, the moment of resignation in them both. The whumper doesn't want this either. They're both trapped in this awful process that they can't escape from. Everyone is watching. This has to happen.

The whumper can't be anything less than a monster.

[whomeidontknowthem]

I have a fun whumpy short story idea 👀

Living weapon, infamous for killing and torturing at the empress' order with no hesitation, made to torture the grown up survivor of the first (and worst) massacre the living weapon did. (Which happened because they were captured and tortured and wanted to escape -- but this part of the context is not known by anyone, of course, the common conclusion is that they're a bloodthirsty monster simply because they are)

They're a reluctant whumper to whumpee (the survivor), faced with the atrocities they'd committed and the pain they'd caused, forced to torture the survivor for information about the rebellion they're part on, their superior monitoring their actions and punishing them for any possible transgression.

Perhaps they get redemption? Perhaps they help the survivor escape? Maybe the survivor learns the truth of the events and sees the living weapon as a human being instead of a monster?

Stick around to find out! (If you wanna be tagged, let me know)

I wonder if I should do it as only one bigger story, or a few smaller parts 🤔 Eh I'm gonna outsource the decision

[echoingalaxies]

Whump drabbles, 18/100: remorse.

“You’re not a bad person.”

Whumper stared at his hands – the hands that had held many weapons, hurt many innocent. “Have you forgotten everything I’ve done?”

“No. And I never will.” Whumpee’s voice was understanding. “But you didn’t have a choice.”

“I did.” Whumper closed his eyes. “I was just too afraid – too selfish.”

“Well, you’re… making up for it now...” Whumpee’s voice faltered, unsure about the truthfulness of their own words.

It was too much. Whumper wept, covering his face in his hands, the hands he hated, the hands of a man beyond redemption.

He was a bad person.

[short-form-whump]

The Whumper looks ahead with eyes that are lost but not wandering, their gaze fixed as they stand disheveled and tired. Their words can’t seem to come as their mouth parts slightly, but no breath comes either. It’s then that their master slaps them across the face, then grabs them by the chin to pull them back upright to face them. “You cut that shit out,” their master says before pushing the Whumper’s back into the wall behind them. The air is forced from them and they nod as they quietly wheeze in air. “Yes, sir.” The master looks them up and down, assessing the dried blood on the Whumper’s clothes and skin. “Any of this yours?” The Whumper shakes their head in an active battle to remain present and aware. “No, sir,” they say without feeling. The master looks tempted to hit them again, but refrains for the moment. “Remind me. Are you the kind of housecat that brings home its trophy kill, or are you the kind that takes it home to play with?” At first the Whumper doesn’t answer, a hesitation which is met immediately by the master’s hand grabbing the front of their shirt and pushing them back again harshly against the concrete wall. Before they receive another hit, the Whumper meets the eyeline of their master to show them their presence and grit. “I’m the kind that wants their kill to know they’re a trophy,” the Whumper says in a low voice. The master loosens their grip and lets go of the Whumper, showing something other than disdain for them for the first time in a long time. “Alright, kitty cat. Show me what you did.”

[the-three-whumpeteers]

The whumpee had been cruel towards the whumper countless times, hurting them without a second thought. The whumper just wanted to retaliate, they wanted to do anything to finally make the whumpee regret hurting them- but they went too far. The whumper had been clouded by anger during torture, and they panic once they realize what they’ve done.