#servant whumpee

[whump-queen]

Silver

tags: forced intox, manhandling, "servant" whump but lets be honest he's basically a pet

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Seven could smell the sharp sting of tequilia on Wes’ breath before he even saw the bottle.  

“Open up, servant.” Wes smiled and leaned in, forcing the stench further into Seven’s face, making him nearly gag at what he knew was coming. God he could already taste it. 

Seven tried to pull away, but a heavy hand found the back of his neck and harshly gripped his hair, holding him fast while the other hand messily shoved the bottle of silver upward and forced it past Seven’s lips. 

Seven knew not to struggle. He how to close his nose without plugging it by now. He’d hold his breath. He’d hold his—fuck. It burned in his empty stomach instantly. 

Considering all the occasions Wes had forced his servant to drink, Seven should’ve been an expert at this. But experience didn’t mean his nights went without mishap, and just because he knew how to drink it down for a few sips, it didn’t mean Wes would let up this time, forcing him to take gulp after excruciating fiery gulp until his mind was screaming for oxygen and for the poison to stop. Just stop. 

He could feel hot tears running down his face. He needed to breathe. It took everything in him to swallow and not fucking wretch as soon as Wes yanked the bottle away. Oxygen hit his lungs and he gasped for breath until he felt lightheaded.

“Can’t waste it all on a fucking servant,” Wes sneered, releasing his fingers from Seven’s hair, roughly tousling it instead. The force of his hand made the room spin and Seven could already feel it hitting him. Burning away deep his stomach and making his face feel hot and tingly. 

Wes turned away and Seven instantly grasped the wall, taking a few agonizing deep breaths, just trying so hard not to throw up. 

He’d done that before. On a night much like this one, and Wes had made him clean it all up while still nearly blacked out, promising that the next time, he’d clean it with his tongue. 

So Seven braced himself against the wall and tried to focus on his breath. He inhaled. God fuck. He exhaled. Fuck. He was going to gag.

Water.

He needed water.

This was going to be a long night. 

.

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series masterlist

[abhainnwhump]

So we all know the "Whumpee thinks Caretaker is their new master" trope, right? (my favorite version of this is when Caretaker is incredibly insecure and socially awkward and is just like "guys help") Anyways, instead of Caretaker coaxing these behaviors out of Whumpee, they take advantage of it. Caretaker never liked Whumpee before their kidnapping. Too loud, too annoying, too . . . everything. So once they get them back and they've been conditioned to be a perfect silent servant, they thought 'Well, it wouldn't hurt if I gave in for a while'.

Caretaker turned Whumpee into their personal servant and prevents them from healing. They have them do all the house chores, cooking, and cleaning. In exchange, they tell Whumpee 'good job', but most of the time they ignore them. That doesn't matter to Whumpee, it's more kindness then what Whumper gave them.

Whumpee is so used to be treated like a slave they don't question it. It isn't until Caretaker 2 or Whumper comes in does Whumpee realize something is off.

Bonus points if Caretaker was an abusive partner or friend before the whumpening.

[cepheusart]

[ID: Four maid dresses drawn over simple bodies. The first one is very simple and all-black, with a retangular white apron over the long skirt and and a big white collar. The second has a long turtleneck with buttons on the shirt, fancier sleeves and and a frill on the hem of the skirt, and an apron with fancy and frilled suspenders. The third one has delicate white sleeves under a black shirt. The apron covers all of the black skirt underneath and connects to the front by a few buttons. The fourth is a fancy white dress with a shorter skirt, a black apron and intricate sleeves. They are numbered from one to four, each with a few notes. 1: Basic and practic (purely for dressing something) 2: A bit more of pizzaz (to keep up appearences of fanciness) 3: A more traditional one (gives composed and respectable vibes) 4: Just go crazy (show-off for peculiar owners) /end ID.]

Basic and pratic: Purely for the purpose of wearing something.

A bit more of pizzaz: To keep up appearences and general fanciness

A more traditional one: Gives composed and respectable vibes

Just go crazy: Show-off (for peculiar owners)

[whumpwordsoftheday]

“If you break my leg, I won’t be able to do any more work.”

“Sweetie, you won’t need to do any work. I’ll do it. You can just sit tight and let me take care of you”

[whumpsoda]

AWWWHTHE TWO WHUMPEES ARE SO CUTE

I raise to the anon that raised to the other anon to potentially make the more aware whumpee be threatened by their whumper to be turned into the more thralled whumpee cause they’re easier to deal with. or maybe they have a trigger word that causes them to melt into that state? then the next play date it’s even cuter cause they’re both barely functioning

plus the vampires notice that a, whumpee’s get into way less trouble after a play date and they seem calmer and less lonely. b, the whumper’s are getting closer as a result of the play dates.

WOHEO Masterlist

This sort of fits with what you said but also this is kind of just what your ask inspired :D

But I’m gonna admit I really like this piece (it’s so late who knows how I’ll feel abt it in the morning) and I’m so happy to write Nevan again :3

Taglist- @softvampirewhump

cw- vampire whumper, human whumpee, hypnosis/brainwashing, humiliation, pet whump, servant whumpee multiple whumpers??

———————————————————————

Nevan stood, posture rigid and trained, just as his master liked it. He kept still and unmoving, the only exception remaining being the subtle rise and fall of his chest, but even that was predominantly covered by his newest, delicately cream colored dress. His hands stayed locked upon his abdomen, fingers neatly intertwined, and his expression remained relaxed and blank.

He didn’t know how long he’d been there. He didn’t need to think about it. He didn’t need to think. Master would call for him when he was needed. 

He waited and waited. He didn’t mind. If he had no use, Nevan stood still and pretty like Master wanted.

His eyelids soon fluttered open, triggered by his master’s ringing bell that instantly worked to pull him from a deep and submersive trance. His vision settled, shifting out of a muddled blur, so he could quickly gloss over the dimly lit kitchen. 

The ring of the bell, no matter how faint and far away, to Nevan was almost as loud as an airhorn beside his ear. It took easy hold of his cobweb filled, mushy brain.

Each step to follow the beautiful noise was planned and graceful, like a perfectly programmed robot. Various voices full of joy and laughter graced his ears as Nevan neared, still drowned out by the captivating bell. For a smidge of a second his glossy eyes took in the group of joyous vampires, before turning to Darius.

Nevan stopped by the vampire’s side dutifully, positioned perfectly. “You called for me, sir?” He questioned, head tipped as his glassy eyes stuck to the floor. 

Darius grinned pridefully to his friends, raising his glass to the thrall. “Refills for everyone, pet!” He demanded, slurring just a smidge at the end, and a few of the guests cheered in delight. Nevan shivered with glee from the mere sound of his master’s alluring voice.

“Of course, master.” Nevan swiftly stepped to the glistening silver platter that sat amidst the group, elegantly lifting a glimmering bottle of precious champagne. 

Conversation continued to whirl around him as Nevan made his way to each seat, filtering through one ear and out the other. Only a couple of them poked or prodded at Nevan, either inspecting him or jokingly attempting to break his intense focus. 

Liquid streamed from the opening of the bottle as he tilted it, the beverage bubbling and droplets splashing to the sides of each cup. 

The vampires easily ignored him, but a good boy like Nevan didn’t mind. He was but a servant, fulfilling his duty to ensure Master and his friends fully enjoyed themselves.

The last of the refills was Adrastus, and Nevan’s heart pulsed with excitement all on its own as he neared them. Just their presence was enough to cloud his mind in a sip of extra pleasure, considering how powerful they were. 

Nevan set the bottle of alcohol back to the platter with a tap, before sliding his hands to the ceramic teapot next to it. He tenderly gripped it, turning to the vampire, who greeted him with a heart melting smile.

“Hello, dear.” They held out their cup to him, their voice sending a chill of bliss trailing down his spine. 

Nevan could feel their eyes on him as he watchfully poured their fill, fighting back the urge to allow his drooping eyes to fall to a close. “Thank you, sweet.” 

“My, my pleasure…sir.” Nevan replied, subconsciously leaning toward their enticing aura. Adrastus continued grinning, leaning intently toward the thrall as well. 

“So polite.” They stroked an icy hand affectionately down his face, then clutched his chin, effectively pursing his lips and tugging him closer. His breath hitched as Adrastus looked him over, shifting his head slightly each way to get a good look. They grinned wide with satisfaction, their pale cheeks pillowing and squinting their mesmerizing eyes.

Looping a finger through the tight cream collar strapped around his neck, they yanked him further, Adrastus’ face level with Nevan’s neck. He whimpered involuntarily, head swimming as their breath gently warmed his exposed chest. Nevan drowsily inched his head to the side, happy to expose more skin. 

Please, please, please!

Adrastus slipped their finger out with a sharp laugh, causing Nevan to hazily flinch back. “How eager you are!” All eyes turned to them, and a flicker of dazed embarrassment tainted Nevan’s cheeks as the vampire chuckled. “Unfortunately I’m not your master, darling. Return to him and maybe he’ll be kind enough to fulfill that wish!” They giddily shooed him off.

His head began to clear just a bit as he stepped back, their spell loosening and his original orders resurfacing. Nevan set the pot back to its respective spot, and realizing he’d completed his master’s orders he strode to make a soft exit and return to his station.

The gazes of several vampires followed as he went to make his exit. He nearly passed right by  Darius, before a forceful hand gripped right above his elbow. Any movement quickly ceased, halting him to a stop, and Nevan’s glossy stare never wavered as his master spoke.

“Seems you’ve taken a liking to Nevan.” Darius sneered, but at Adrastus. “I can see why, though. I think I’ve finally perfected him.”

“Well of course I have, Darius. You’ve seemed to have molded him exceptionally well, even better than the last I saw you two!” They exclaimed, before reaching down to the floor by their side. “But of course there’s no contest between him and my precious little puppy.” Adrastus cooed, shuffling their own thrall’s shaggy curls.

Malak purred, leaning into the touch of his loving master, all the while practically hidden away in a swaddle of plush blankets. 

“Well you are a conditioning professional, aren’t you?” Darius joked. 

Unmoving and ready, Nevan wondered when his master would supply him his next order. 

Adrastus chuckled, giving Malak one more itch to the scalp. “Exactly! But, really, I’m certainly glad you’ve brought him to your liking. You always have been so particular with your thralls.” 

Darius sighed, leaning back in his seat. “I know, I know, I can’t seem to help it. I really did want to allow him to retain more of his lucidity and intelligence, but he just wasn’t good enough.” 

Nevan’s face fell with shame. He’d been bad. Even if now he couldn’t remember it, he’d disappointed his master, and for that he could never be forgiven.

“With a couple more conditioning sessions, he turned out perfectly, though.” Darius boasted, smugly. 

The vampire tugged lightly on his thrall’s arm, prompting Nevan to turn and face him. “Perfectly obedient, perfectly thoughtless. A bit of a husk, if you will.” Darius bragged, meeting his thrall’s gaze with his own enchanting, magnetizing, beautiful eyes.

“A pretty thing, too!” One of the unfamiliar guests chimed in, to Darius’ delight. Even with a devoid expression, Nevan was silently beaming at the compliment.

Adrastus huffed a chuckle. “You always have liked them pretty, haven’t you?”

“Well what’s the point in getting an ugly servant? They’d ruin the look of the whole house!” Darius declared, taking a brisk swig of his drink. “One of his jobs is practically just looking nice. Like a little statue when I don’t need him.”

The other vampires nodded in acceptance. “Nevan has many jobs, though.” Darius wickedly grinned, turning to his thrall. He looked to Nevan, waiting enthusiastically for the thrall to fulfill his unfortunately not verbalized wishes.

Buffering for a moment, the human made no moves, until he noticed his master lick his glittering fangs. Nevan trembled with mind melting pleasure, his upper body obediently dropping toward his master. Head cotton filled and buzzing, he craned his neck as far as he could manage, sticking his flesh eagerly in his master’s face. 

Master had already fed from him that night! He only took extra when Nevan was extraordinarily good! He beamed heavenly with a dreamy eyed smile.

Darius boisterously laughed, spittle flying from his open mouth, cutting right through Nevan’s bewitched spell. Other vampires giggled as well, and in a daze Nevan’s face twisted with a hint of confusion. 

“Like you said Adrastus, eager. He’s often a bit of an idiot, though.” Darius snickered, smiling to his guests. “Down, Nevan.”

The thrall dropped instantly to the hardwood flooring, knees bumping with a stinging thud. Darius looked down to him expectantly, and Nevan stared back with puzzlement until he noticed the vampire’s legs. Darius wiggled his limbs, lifting them above the floor and resting them in the air.

Nevan slowly came to realize his mistake, thankful his master wasn’t more brutal with his insults as he usually was. He eagerly crawled toward the front of his master’s chair, stationing himself under Darius’ stretched legs.

Darius plopped them to his arched back, ankles rolling across his spine. The vampire’s pants tickled Nevan’s skin, goosebumps raising in delighted hordes. 

Vampire laughs and claps enveloped the room, and Nevan could sense Darius relishing in the attention. “You did not! You really use him as a foot rest?” Adrastus exclaimed, poorly hiding their enjoyment of the scene. 

Darius answered smugly. “Don’t be so dramatic! He likes it, don’t you, bud?” He folded over, reaching down to stroke Nevan’s silky locks. 

Nevan mindlessly leaned into the gentle touch, savoring the gift of contact Darius so rarely gifted him.

“Good boy.” Darius praised, resting back comfortably in his seat, his hand slipping away. 

Another vampire quickly jumped in, grabbing the full attention of the group, leaving Nevan to devotedly hold his form.

He didn’t know how long he was there. Palms and knee caps burrowing into the hard floor, straining his joints and muscles. Fuzzed sound dancing around his ears, not quite making their way into his clogged mind. But it was okay.

Master would call him when he was needed.

[parasiticstars]

Information Desk

An in-universe archive of essays for my BBU world-building. Made mostly for my own pleasure.

CW: casual dehumanization; mentions of abuse

Types of Pets:

╰┈➤File Retrieved: Lapdogs.pdf ╰┈➤File Retrieved: Servant_Pets.pdf ╰┈➤File Retrieved: Labor_Pets.pdf ╰┈➤File Retrieved: Bedwarming_Pets.pdf ╰┈➤File Retrieved: Nurse_Pets.pdf ╰┈➤File Retrieved: Guard_Dogs.pdf ╰┈➤File Retrieved: Illegal_Pet_Types.pdf

Products:

Misc.: The rest of my writing

[painonthebrain]

Meet Rowan!!

[sillygoose1777]

Chapter 1: Disobedience sparks pity

word count: 4114

Tags: Servant whumpee, caretaker, humiliation whump, royal whump, royal caretaker, whump, tw whipping, tw slavery, whipped whumpee, non con stripping, whumpee taken in by royalty, crossdressing whumpee, og ocs, og world, og story, whumpee, whumper, noble whumper, whumpee perceived as female, possessive whumper, mentions of past trauma, mentions of past torture, tw stoning, past injuries mentioned, non con nudity, stern caretaker, multple care takers, multiple whumpers, forceful caretaking, fear of eye contact, defiant whumpee, whumpee that doesn’t talk a lot, curious caretaker, stranger whumpee and caretaker, mentions of non con activity, mentions of forced non con, manhandling, healing arc

Sonnet flinched as his master’s whip flew past his head, barely missing his ear. The next time his master didn’t miss, connecting with his shoulder and splitting his skin open. He cried out, having already lost count at what number lashing that was. Two more followed after before his master finally started wrapping the whip around his arm. 

Sweat dripped into Sonnets eyes despite the wind being cool this morning. The sun had only begun to rise a couple of minutes ago, shining light onto the small crowd that had gathered. Humiliation burned in Sonnet’s cheeks, and he leaned against the wooden pole he was tied too. He was sitting on his knees with his wrists tied behind him, making his shoulders strain. His torn up servant dress was in taters before him, though his skirt safely covered everything below the waist. Despite everything, he somehow had enough dignity, or stupidity depending on who you asked, to glare at his master. Mr.Winslow caught his eye and fumed. He advanced on Sonnet, grabbing his jaw and forcing him upwards. His shoulders screamed, if not for his voice. 

“You stupid boy, show some shame for your crime!” His master screamed in his face.

“Make me,” Sonnet spat.

That comment made Mr.Winslow livid, and he kicked Sonnet in the ribs. Sonnet struggled to heave in a breath through the pressure in his chest, and he leaned forward like a wilted flower. Clearly not done with his anger, Mr.Winslow took a swing at Sonnet. His fist connected with Sonnet’s cheekbone, cutting skin open. Sonnet saw stars as an insistent ringing began in his ears. He could hear Mr.Winslow speaking but couldn’t make sense of it. 

Once Sonnet was able to blink away the stars, he saw that his master was speaking to the slightly larger crowd. Sonnet could just make out Mr Winslow barking out an order for ‘no one to touch his stupid slave’. Then Mr.Winslow walked away to drag his pitiful wife home. Mrs.Winslow looked over her shoulder at Sonnet and mouthed ‘I’m sorry’. She had always liked Sonnet, and was usually very kind to him. But no matter how much she tried, she could never get Sonnet out of Mr.Winslow’s punishments. 

The ringing in his ears slowly dimmed to nothing but the voices of the crowd. Some were still watching, others had grown bored and walked away. Sonnet avoided eye contact with all of them. The last thing he needed was to realize just how much he had humiliated himself. He was likely going to sit there till sunset where Mr.Winslow would hand him right over to a merchant to resell him. 

Sonnect closed his eyes and started collecting his thoughts. If Mr.Winslow really was going to sell him, there was no way he would be seeing any of his stuff again. Even if they did let him keep his stuff, it would likely be taken from him by the next family he was bought by. And on the off chance Mrs.Winslow could convince her husband not to get rid of him, he would be dumped in the furnace room to work till exhaustion. He didn’t know which one he wanted less. 

…

Sonnet looked up at the sky and deduced it was a little past noon. The sun burned into his skin, making it turn bright red and soaked with sweat. He was still shirtless from this morning's whipping, and would likely be for a while unless a townsperson decided to cover him with something. That's how it worked in the kingdom of Montrose. If servants were disobedient to their masters, their master had the choice of how they would like to deal with it. Public humiliation was a popular pick, beating lessons into most servants the first time. If the public felt bad enough, they could give the punished water and feed them, could even give them clothes in Sonnet’s case. But most would not, either convinced the victim deserved it or too scared of the public eye would shame them for helping the weak. 

So Sonnet let the sun roast his skin and parch his tongue. The blood that once poured from his wounds dried on his skin. The market had long been set up and became a bustling place for passersbys. Everyone would give him a wide berth, not daring to get their polished shoes near what they considered filth. Sonnet liked it that way, it meant no one would further harm him. 

That was until a group of boys started making a beeline for him. Sonnet noticed the stones in their hands and felt a sense of dread. Before they had even made it within the circle everyone else avoided, they were throwing the stones and shouting obscenities at him. Bruises would definitely bloom later, joining the list of injuries Sonnet would have to tend to. In the distance, Sonnet thought he could hear a trumpet being played over the boys shouting. 

Sonnet continued to shrink away from the boys until he heard the sound of horse hooves clattering on the sidewalk. The king was back from his trip from a nearby country, and he was coming down this very street. The boys who were once throwing stones realized this as well and froze. The horses were thundering down the street fast with the crowd already parted away. One of the boys tried to dart away, either from fear of being caught or the fear of being trampled. It clearly couldn't be the second as the boy ran straight in front of the horse's path. 

Everyone including Sonnet gasped in horror as the knights reared the horses, towering over the boy. A few members of the crowd screamed as the horses came down, knocking the boy to the ground. As soon as the hooves touched the ground, the knights were climbing off their horses and dragging the boy up. Yelling and threatening him, the crowd divided into chaos. In the corner of his eye, Sonnet saw the door of the carriage fling open. He held his breath as he watched the king himself leave the safety of the carriage. 

“SILENCE!” The king's voice boomed over the crowd. 

Sonnet watched in awe as everyone within the next few miles stilled. The king glared around, clearly already in an awful mood only to be dealing with unruly people. The king walked over to the boy, his friends having abandoned him. One of the knights neared the king with hesitancy. 

“Your highness, it's not safe out here–” The king raised his hand to silence the knight. 

“What happened here?” he asked calmly. 

“I-I didn’t hear the trumpets and tried getting out of the way,” the boy said, cowering under the gaze of the king. The king huffed, then noticed something. 

“What are you holding?”

The knight holding the boy let go assuming the king was talking to him. The boy also raised his hands for the king to see. There were two small stones in his hands, waiting to be thrown at Sonnet. 

“Why do you have stones?”

“I uh um, I like collecting s-stones?” The kid stammered. The king eyed him as the boy's friends sniggered in the crowd. 

Feeling someone staring at him, the king turned around. Sonnet immediately averted his gaze and looked at the king's shoes. He instantly became aware of his shame and his cheeks started to go red like his sunburns. He looked down at his bloodied, sun burned, and sweat stained skin and wished he could have been swallowed up by the earth at that moment. Having been deep in his thoughts of humiliation, Sonnet hadn’t noticed that the king was standing in front of him. Sonnet looked up at the king before realizing his mistake and averting his gaze again. 

The king took in the sight before him. A bloodied and beaten servant was stripped nearly bare and tied down on display. He noticed the rocks surrounding the servant and connected the dots together. The king turned to his knights to address them. 

“Bring me some water for this servant to drink. And arrest that boy for stoning a citizen of Montrose.” 

Two knights grabbed the boy and dragged him off in anger as his friends watched in shock. A third knight presented a water bottle to the king which he took. The king then knelt down and cupped Sonnet’s cheek.

“Untie him,” the king ordered his knight. He then turned to Sonnet and began helping him drink water. The cold water rushed down his parched throat, cooling his flaming insides. The king paused the water stream when Sonnet sagged forward once he was released from the ropes tying him down. The king offered the water bottle to Sonnet and he took it, finishing it in a few messy gulps. He wiped away the few drops that escaped his mouth and flinched when the king draped him in something. He realized it was the king's cloak and he stared in astonishment. 

The king was too busy speaking to his knights. Sonnet closed the king's cloak further in to cover up as much of his bloodied chest as possible. In the next moment, arms pulled him up from his armpits and he yelped. He held the skirts at his waist, making sure they wouldn’t fall down as he wobbled on unsteady legs. He was dragged by the knight up and into the king's carriage, before being sat across from the king. The door shut behind the knight, leaving only the king and Sonnet staring at each other. 

He avoided making eye contact with the king, it was what he was taught since he was a kid. They sat in awkward silence as the carriage lurched forward and began to move. Sonnet grabbed onto the railing, startled by the movement. The king chuckled quietly and Sonnet blushed. This was getting increasingly uncomfortable for him, and he almost wished he was left at the whipping post. 

“Why were you tied there?” the king asked. Sonnet pulled the cloak further in on himself to hide the marks. Sonnet tried formulating the words, to try and sum up all the variables that played into today’s punishment. 

“Because I wasn’t a woman,” Sonnet finally said. He could tell that the king was confused but didn’t know if continuing to explain would be over stepping. So he stayed silent, like he always did. 

In actuality it was more than him not being a woman. Mr.Winslow always resented Sonnet, and often looked for any reason to punish him. But it came to a head this morning when Sonnet wore his servants dress like he always did. He helped Mrs. Winslow with her morning bath like he always did. Mrs. Winslow and a few other staff were the only ones who knew Sonnet was really a man. Though they didn’t seem to mind, if anything they seemed to find it attractive which only increased Sonnet’s discomfort as their servant. Apparently, Mr.Winslow was never informed of Sonnet’s identity and had always assumed that Sonnet was a woman. He was also known for having romantic flings with women other than his wife. So when Mr.Winslow made his advancement and Sonnet turned him down, he tried to force himself onto Sonnet, thus learning that he was in fact not a woman. He never actually told the king that, because he never asked. But it was sad for him to think about. 

The king never filled that silence. He stared at Sonnet for the majority of the ride to the castle, no longer amused whenever Sonnet would startle from a bump in the road. Sonnet gripped the railing of the carriage tight, to stop him from falling onto the king's feet. There was no need to further prove his humiliation. 

Sonnet could tell when they had reached the castle gates when the carriage became enveloped in voices. Soon they were rolling through the gates and stopped before one of the side entries into the castle. The doors of the carriage opened and the knight waiting there helped the king down. Sonnet hesitated and before he could make the decision to leave or stay, the same knight that helped the king before now yanked him out of the carriage. He stumbled and was barely able to catch his balance before he hit the floor. An iron glove gripped Sonnet’s arm and held him close, making sure he wouldn’t escape. The king was too busy talking to some of his royal staff to notice the mistreatment of his new possession. But the man who was currently talking to the king did. 

“--I'm sorry to hear about the failed- who is that?” the man across from the king asked. The king turned around and seemed to remember that Sonnet existed. 

“Oh, him.” The king snapped and a servant scurried over. “Go tell Sister Florence to run a bath for this servant. I want him properly dressed and seen by a physician afterwards.” As the servant walked away, the king motioned to the knight holding Sonnet to follow. 

The grip on Sonnet’s arm tightened where he swore it would leave bruises, and he was dragged off into the castle. The servant they were following split off in a different direction than the knight was taking him, presumably to grab whoever Sister Florence was. There were several times where Sonnet nearly fell from the pace at which they were walking. And everytime the guard would scoff and yank him onward. By the time they had reached a spacious and lavishly designed bathroom, the knight was more than happy to let go of them. 

Sonnet stood alone in the entrance of the bathroom, too scared to step further in or to leave. So instead he looked upwards as he pulled the cloak closer together. There was an intricate chandelier above him, twinkling glass charms dangling from lit candles. It was a luxury Sonnet never personally experienced, never allowed to be in fancy bathrooms unless he was with Mrs Winslow. 

There was a knock on the door and Sonnet startled. He stared as a woman dressed in all black entered, followed by a handmaiden. The woman in black gave him a sweet smile and extended her hand to him. 

“My name’s Sister Florence, I was sent to make sure you were properly taken care of.” 

Sonnet neither spoke nor took her hand to shake it, leaving the room to rest in awkward silence. Sister Florence let her hand fall to her side after a few moments of no movement. 

“Well, I’ll go draw that bath for you,” she said, walking past Sonnet and further into the bathroom. The handmaiden scurried after her, barely giving him a second glance. He started to wonder if it was too late to leave now. 

Sonnet could hear water running from where he was left standing. In a few minutes he watched the mirrors in the distance start to fog up from steam. The air became filled with scented oils, rich with lavender and lemongrass. Scents he only knew the names of because of the amount of times he had run them for Ms. Winslow. 

“Come on dear,” Sister Florence called. 

Reluctantly, Sonnet stepped further into the bathroom. Sister Florence had her hand in the water to test the temperature while the handmaiden was bringing soap bottles to the edge of the bathtub. Noticing him, Sister Florence flicked the water droplets from her hand and came closer. 

“Put your hands on my shoulder.”

Sonnet didn’t listen and watched as she knelt onto the floor. She pulled his foot out from under him and he stumbled, inevitably grabbing her shoulders. She carefully took off his shoes and chucked them to the side. Sonnet took his hands off of her as she stood up. She grabbed the cloak and pulled it off of him. The handmaiden behind him gasped and covered her mouth. Sonnet flushed, feeling exposed, both literally and metaphorically. 

“Ameila! Watch yourself,” Sister Florence scolded.

“Sorry sister,” Amelia replied. 

Sister Florence turned back to Sonnet and took his hand in hers. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, my dear. Now, let's get the rest of these clothes off of you.” 

He was thankful when Sister Florence let go of his hand. He was not so thankful when they began to take off the rest of his clothes till he had nothing left to wear. All of his clothes were tossed haphazardly onto a pile. Sonnet unclipped his dagger sheath he had attached to his thigh for Sister Florence and handed it to him carefully. She took it and looked at it curiously before setting it carefully on the bathroom counter. He was then guided into the bath, more or less against his will. Despite his reluctance, the water was quite warm and soothing. The soapy water stung against his open wounds, making them alight with fire. 

He audibly winced when Sister Florence dumped water over his back. She and the handmaiden Ameila took great care in washing him. He hated the hands that were on him, invading his skin. They lathered soap into his skin then rinsed it off before repeating it over again. By the fourth time he was rinsed, his skin felt as if it was rubbed raw. 

Sister Florence then had Sonnet sit as close to the edge of the tub as possible and tilted his head back. As he looked up at the ceiling she scrubbed shampoo into his hair. He almost relaxed into her touch, the feeling somewhat soothing. She titled his head up again and blocked his eyes while dumping water over his head. She repeated this process again before doing it one more time with conditioner. With his head thoroughly washed and the bath water having turned murky gray, they finally let him out of the bath. 

He was wrapped in one of the softest bath towels he’d ever known. Sister Florence sent the handmaiden Amila to grab his clothes while she gently rubbed him dry. Amila came back with clothes in hand. Sister Florence went to take off his towel when he stepped back.

“I can dress myself,” the first words he said to her. Sister Florence seems surprised that he spoke but respected his wish. She and the handmaiden Amila turned around while he carefully dressed. Sonnet quietly grabbed his dagger off the counter and strapped it back to his thigh. He adorned undergarments, a silk button up shirt, and wide length shorts. He was slightly disappointed he wasn’t allowed to wear a dress, but he made no fuss about it. Sister Florence and Amila turned around while he was pulling up the socks they had given him. Sister Florence had him sit down while she began to work on his hair and Amila helped him put on shoes. 

After about twenty minutes, his hair was brushed out and trimmed slightly to shoulder length. Sonnet protested against any length shorter than that. Sister Florence helped Sonnet stand up and they led him out of the bathroom. Stepping into fresh air that wasn’t filled with scented oils felt intoxicating. He followed quietly as they brought him to a bedroom. It looked like a noble’s personal suite, much too big for a servant to stay. 

“A physician will be with you shortly,” Sister Florence told him before leaving him alone in the room. 

Sonnet didn’t know what to do with his new found aloneness. He looked around the room without moving, letting himself admire the room. He could tell this was a guest bedroom with how unlived in it looked. He wondered when the last time someone had touched this room besides servants cleaning it. Would he be the first to grace this room with a living breath? A very exhausted, yet living breath. 

The door opened and Sonnet snapped his head to look at the person who entered. It was a man in a doctor's coat, holding a briefcase in one hand and the doors handle in the other. He smiled at Sonnet and stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. 

“I’m Dr. Clarke, and you are?” the physician asked. 

“Sonnet.” 

“That’s a lovely name.” Sonnet didn’t respond. “If I could have you sit on the bed, we can get started,” Dr. Clarke said as he gestured to the bed. 

Sonnet followed his gaze and sat on the very edge of the bed. Dr. Clarke followed, setting his briefcase near Sonnet. He opened it up and pulled out a few tools. He started by checking Sonnets eyes, ears, and mouth. Once the normal routines were done, Dr. Clarke put away his tools and put on a set of gloves. 

“If I could have you take off your shirt for me.”

Sonnet did as he was told, and held the folded shirt in his lap. Dr. Clarke began his work with each wound. Pouring antiseptics into the open ones, burning out any possible infection. Gently covering them in ointment before wrapping them in cloth. He would gently press against any bruises Sonnet had to test whether they needed attention or not. He had Sonnet turn around so that he could do the same thing over again for all the wounds on his back. Those ones hurt the most and Sonnet had to bite his tongue multiple times to stop himself from crying. Sonnet was allowed to turn back around when the physician was done. He buttoned his shirt back up while Dr. Clarke changed his gloves.

“Now I’ll have you take off your pants,” Dr. Clarke stated. 

Sonnet hesitated under the physician's gaze, but eventually took them off. There were fewer wounds for Dr. Clarke to focus his attention on, making it a lot quicker then when he worked on his torso. As soon as Dr. Clarke was done, Sonnet pulled his shorts back on, wanting to be left alone. Dr. Clarke packed up his briefcase, then handed a bottle to Sonnet. 

“Drink a cap-full of this tonic with every meal till your bruises are gone.” 

Sonnet held the bottle in his hands as the physician left. He leaned against the bed and exhaustion finally settled onto his shoulders. He looked out the window of the guest room and saw that the sun had well past setting. Stars were already creeping up the skyline. Just when Sonnet thought he had actually been left alone for the night, there was a knock on his door. A servant walked in with a tray of food. They set it down on a side table next to some bookshelves before addressing Sonnet. 

“I was told to inform you that you will be spending the night here. Silas will be coming to get you in the morning for your audience with the king.” 

They then gave a small head bow before leaving the room. Sonnet looked at the bottle in his hand before sighing and walking over to the tray of food. A small voice in his head warned him of the food being poisoned, but at this point he really didn’t care. So what if the king had him treated this nicely just to poison him in the end, it was better than the Winslows ever had. Sonnet sat at the small table and ate slowly, watching the castle's life dwindle by the night. By the end of the meal, he felt even more exhausted and in pain. He poured out a cap-full of the tonic before shooting it like whiskey. 

It tasted bitter in his mouth and he washed it down with a glass of water. With a full stomach and a tired mind, Sonnet blew out the candles in the room and crawled into bed. The mattress was softer than any cot he had been allowed to sleep on. Despite his history with insomnia, the soft blankets and the comfort of safety in sitting in his stomach lulled him down enough to actually fall into soundless sleep. 

[rainbowsandwhumperflies]

The Winged Servant - 12

content warnings: discussions surrounding medically induced amnesia, royal/servant whump, angel whumpee, discussions surrounding corporal punishment (torturing onyx lol), let me know if I missed anything!

prev chapter | masterlist

The guard took me down three staircases and through too many hallways to remember before opening a metal door. “They’ll be waiting for you right in here. There aren’t guards in there, but those two are plenty capable and I will be waiting out here regardless, so no funny business.” I didn’t miss the click of the lock sliding into place as the door closed.

There was a table in the middle of the room. It had a white tablecloth on it, but it looked like it was metal and sterile under that.

Kieran was waiting at the table. Kieran and… someone else. The someone else would clearly rather I didn’t know. They were wearing a mask, blue and gray and big enough to cover every inch of their face. They had loose enough clothes to hide the curves of their body and their hair was pulled back into a bun that hid the texture and length of it—even the color outside of how dark it was.

“Hi, Onyx,” Kieran said softly. “How’s your arm?”

“Good, sir,” I whispered, bowing my head slightly. “Thank you for the concern. And, um, the medical help.”

“Of course. How about you come sit down, yeah? My friend here is going to stay anonymous, but you can call them Blue. We just wanted to ask you a few questions, if that’s okay?”

He was speaking so gently. As if I wouldn’t understand him if he was blunt with me. I wondered if I should tell him that I knew how to be a good servant, or if that was too irrelevant to the conversation. “Of course, sir.”

“What’s your full name?” Blue asked. They did not sound upset with me, but it was a far cry from Kieran’s soft tone.

“Onyx, Mx.”

“And… your last name?”

I glanced away, focusing my eyes on the tablecloth, tracing the gold embroidery with my eyes. “My apologies, Mx, but you would have to ask the royal family for that kind of information. I don’t know it anymore.”

“No? Why not?”

“I gave it to them, Mx, when I was seventeen. I don’t remember anything from before being a servant. It’s better this way. I'm more productive.”

Kieran and Blue stared at each other for a long moment before looking back at me. “They erased your memory?” Kieran asked slowly.

“Yes, but- but I agreed, sir. I offered to let them do it, because I wanted to become the best servant I could.”

“Okay, but your offer was before they actually did the procedure, right? So the only reason you know that you offered is because they told you.”

“Yes, sir,” I agreed. “I’m very grateful to them for telling me, since they don't usually tell me about before. As is their right, of course.”

“Jesus Christ,” Kieran whispered. “You’ve been with them this whole time, haven’t you? What did you do when they were overthrown?”

“... What?”

“When they were overthrown. Since they’re no longer royal. Did they just take you with them when they left the castle?”

This was similar to what Dr. Charlotte had said—she hasn’t ruled a country for the better part of the last decade—but it couldn’t be true. “The Rao family has ruled Sathenn for sixteen generations, sir. And I don’t- I don’t think I’d ever seen the castle before last night.”

“So you didn't work for them as an employee, or at least not after the memory thing.” Blue tilted their head. “How do you know that the Raos didn’t just grab you off the street and wipe your memory?”

I frowned. “His Highness Prince Ryan told me that I volunteered.”

“And you took his word for it. Right.” They wrote something down on their clipboard. “Did you try to leave?”

“Of course not, not on purpose,” I breathed, staring at them in shock. “I’m- I know how to be a good servant, I can be, I swear.”

“And you didn’t ever want to, or you were just too scared to? Do you understand the difference in the question I am asking?”

“I don’t… think I understand, Mx. I don’t leave because that’s what’s required of me as a servant, and I can be a good servant. It’s not about what I want or how scared I am, I just don't leave.”

“... Right.” I could not see their expression, but I didn’t think they looked convinced. “And what would happen if you did try to leave? Would you… get in trouble in some way?”

“Of course, Mx. But I know my place, I swear I do, I wouldn’t run.”

“Okay. But if you did.”

“I wouldn’t, Mx,” I insisted. “I swear. I can be good, I wouldn’t run.”

They paused for a moment, but nodded eventually. “Okay. Sure. You wouldn’t run. But do you get in trouble for other things, then? Other, smaller mistakes, maybe? Can you describe… I don’t know. Can you describe the most recent incident?”

The most recent one was… last night, despite the fact that last night felt much further away than it was. “Each morning, I bring breakfast to Her Majesty,” I explained. “Yesterday, I was late, Mx. I was punished for that.”

“What kind of punishment?”

“I usually wear a shock collar, Mx, and His Highness Prince Ryan shocked me three times. One for each minute I was late. A fair punishment.”

Blue had been scribbling on their paper, but froze as I spoke. “So you- when you say punishment, you mean corporal punishment.”

“Of course, Mx. Punishment is required for me to become the best servant I can be. How else am I supposed to learn to be better? I make much fewer mistakes than when I was new.”

Kieran was frowning at the wall, and I flinched when he turned his gaze toward me. “Tell Blue what you told me about your wing.”

“My wing wasn’t broken as a punishment, sir,” I explained again, not understanding the relevance. I hadn’t understood the relevance of any of these questions, but it didn’t matter, because the prince had said to do what I was told. “It was only to keep me from flying. But it’s- it’s okay, now, it barely hurts, it’s been years. His Highness Prince Cardan broke it before I gave the royal family my memories, so I don’t remember it happening.”

“That’s convenient,” Blue muttered. “Fine. Okay. Last couple questions, because I can’t stomach this for much longer. What do you know about what you were doing in the castle last night?”

I hesitated. “One of the guards said that we were breaking in.”

“Mhm. Were you aware of that before you came here?”

“... The royal family can’t break in anywhere, Mx. They’re entitled to any building they like.”

“Allow me to rephrase, Onyx. Were you or were you not aware, last night, that you came here as part of a group on a mission to kill people?”

“That’s not-” I hesitated. “They weren’t here for that. They were here for… for Kieran, they said. Anyone that they hurt was someone in the way of their rule—it’s not that they wanted to hurt people.”

“Didn’t they? I’ve seen the camera footage. You were an accessory to murder before you even got into the door. That didn’t make you hesitate at all? It didn’t surprise you enough to ask any of the Raos what you were doing here?”

Right. The guard with the purple hair. Outside, guarding the castle. Guarding Kieran. Dead, after someone had killed her, someone that had arrived in a car with me.

“No, Mx,” I said. “I didn’t- I didn’t ask. I’m not supposed to ask questions. It would be a waste of time. I’m just supposed to do what I’m told.”

Blue took a slow, measured breath. “Okay. I have good news and bad news for you, Onyx. The good news is that I think putting you on trial wouldn’t get us very far because you somehow managed not to realize that the Raos were killing people. Even after watching them kill people. The bad news is that you are ridiculously loyal to people that have been lying to you for longer than you remember existing. These people are dangerous to everything this country stands for. That makes you dangerous by proxy, regardless of your intentions or information, and we can’t exactly let you free either.”

You are ridiculously loyal to people that have been lying to you.

These people are dangerous.

“That doesn’t- it doesn’t matter if they lie,” I managed. “It doesn’t matter if they’re dangerous. It’s not the same for them, Mx. They tell me what they want me to know so that I can be the best servant possible. Sometimes that doesn’t include the full picture.”

“Why do you need to be such a good servant?” Blue asked. “Why does their comfort matter so much more than yours? They might have the best servant in the world, Onyx, but what is the point of serving them so much if they give you nothing in return?”

This was something I had asked too, once. It was years ago, when I was new and I had phrased it differently, but I remembered it. Why is my happiness less important than yours, Your Highness?

Prince Cardan had laughed and asked me how happy I thought he was. And he’d said that happiness- “Happiness serves no purpose, Mx. It doesn’t protect me or keep me safe or provide me with food. The royal family does that for me, if I do my best to be a good servant.”

“They’re not going to be the royal family ever again, you know. They’re-”

“When was the last time you ate something, Onyx?” Kieran interrupted.

Blue glared at him.

“... Last night, sir,” I answered quietly. “At dinner.”

“I think that the conversation Blue is trying to have with you would be better managed over a meal. How about we get you some breakfast?”

Blue was still glaring, and Kieran didn’t look happy. …But someone had asked me a question, and I was supposed to answer it. “Yes. sir.”

“Okay. Blue—paperwork. Try to start questioning Lucia if you have any extra time. Onyx—how do you feel about crepes?”

~

taglist (btw i appreciate you so so much): @kaleidoscope-of-thoughts @toyybox @rainydaywhump @risk606

[whumpingandsmilinglikeanidiot]

Words cannot describe how much Whumpee hated that place. Yet they were again dragged here, and the first few days of opening their eyes to that familiar view made them mutter over and over again, this is just a nightmare.

But the days after that, whumpee could feel their heart crawl inwards as the hardwired rules, the accustomed words, the trained behavior

jumped right back and fit them neatly.

It was almost as if this was how everything was meant to be.

[the-baby-storyteller]

Cw: minor whumpee, mentioned abuse, fear, slave whump

Whumpee was used to being sold, but it didn’t make the process any easier.

They kept their head down in the back of the car, their wild heartbeat contrasting the tight way they held themself. They thought about who their next owner would be. They wondered if they might be...kind. A wishful thought, they knew. They weren't foolish, they knew they would take anything; they didn’t have a choice. They just hoped….

They just hoped they wouldn’t be as bad as their last owner.

A shudder ran through them. Whumpee didn't...they didn't know if they could deal with someone like that again. If they did they might...might...-

Stop that, they thought with a frown, mentally slapping themself.

They didn’t have the luxury of dwelling on the past. They had to focus on the now, focus all their attentions on making sure their new owner was satisfied with them. That meant looking appealing, pleasant, and not wholly petrified from the scars of their last owner.

So many scars.

They sighed and fought to quell their quivering. They just- they couldn't. They couldn't deal with another-

And then the car jerked to a stop.

Their heart jerked to a stop as well.

Get a hold of yourself, they seethed internally. They couldn't be trembling and whimpering over memories.

Even if those memories could become their reality again.

They plastered a smile on as the seller pulled them out of the car, roughly enough to be domineering but not enough to harm the merchandise. Not before the real buyers could anyway. It doesn't matter, they thought to themself.

This is who they were, this was their life, they thought as they walked to the door of the house. They were an object, an amenity. A thing to be sold and used as others pleased. They didn't get to decide what happened to them, and if someone wanted to hurt them and use them and shatter them until them-

Whumpee choked.

Until they were so terrified they cowered and begged and cried and they still would never stop?

They would take it. It was not their choice to make.

They realized their smile had dropped. They took a deep breath. They smiled. It was shakier then last time. It was best they were going to get.

They opened the door.

-

Inside was nice. It was a regular looking house. They never got any information about who they were going to beforehand, (obviously not, who would tell a thing like them anything of importance, they only deserved taunts and threats), so they had no idea what to expect. They didn't know how many people they would be serving, if it would be one person, a whole family.

Whumpee didn't need to know or be told. They would adapt to them or be made to adapt.

The only thing they knew was that they needed to keep smiling and looking pleasing, and that's what they did. They weren't new at this.

A man walked over to them. He didn't look especially high-class; he held himself loosely and his clothes looked vaguely old. His face seemed to be stuck in a permanent tired-bored look. He also didn't look especially interested in Whumpee.

That was very okay with them.

They knew never to get their hopes up, though. They dropped their head. No speaking unless spoken to.

"I expect," they heard his strangely laid-back voice from above them, "you to not ask questions and just do as you are told. Understand?"

"Y-Yes, Master," they answered.

"Good. I'm sure you have experience in this anyway. Now follow me."

"Yes, Master." They said briskly, immediately rising and hurrying to catch up with him as he started walking further into the house.

He showed them around the house, the rooms, the closets, all the places they would need to be for their chores. He got a little close sometimes and they cringed from fear of being hit, but it didn't seem like he noticed as he just continued on with the pseudo-tour.

He took them to the dining room where they saw a man (man? He kind of looked more like a boy) sitting at the table, distracted on his phone. He looked up when they arrived. It didn't matter his age, Whumpee thought, Another Master. they instinctively looked down.

"This is my younger cousin." Master said, "He's staying here for a week."

They tried for a smile, albeit a weak one, and bowed. "H-Hello, Master," They ground out.

The man boy master looked at them a little inquisitively, and they froze, frightened, but he just went back to his phone without saying a thing.

They held back a sigh as they moved on. That would not be welcome in front of their new Master.

Master took them to the back of the house and then down a few steps towards a door. He opened it and suddenly a gush a cold air rushed out.

"This is the basement." He said, walking in as Whumpee physically resisted shivering.

"It's where you will be staying." He pointed idly to a bell that seemed to connect outside the room. "Stay here unless we call for you with this bell or if it's time for you to clean or cook something." He looked them up and down, then left the room

"Y-Yes, Master." They rasped, quickly bowing. They stayed in that position, not looking up, until the door closed, and then sighed and sagged down to the floor.

Everything threatened to come out, then. Tears pricked their eyes and they began to tremble as they couldn't hold anything in anymore Memories of writhing on the floor in pain, starved and beaten, came to mind and they paled. They were just so, so scared. They couldn't stop thinking about pain and their past master and what would be done to them and what if they were just like him-

Whumpee grasped their arms, digging their fingernails into them until they were on the brink of bleeding. They took a deep breath. They were fine. It was fine. It was good to be scared. Slaves like them were meant to be scared, they were meant to live in fear. They should be afraid of their masters, of what they could do. It should make them that much more set on serving their masters and doing what they said. What they could not do was let it affect their work.

They were fine. And yet, they trembled.

They steeled themself, stood up, and started to muse as they walked, exploring the small room of the basement. There was no bed or blankets, so Whumpee chose a small corner of the room to be their sleeping area. One lamp barely illuminated the whole room. Despite the cold, hard floors with no rug, the forbidding metal walls that trapped in the cold and didn't allow for any warmth, and the constant sound of wind blowing, they weren't upset. They never expected good conditions, and honestly the place had been pretty good so far. They were surprised none of the masters had done anything to them yet. They'd only ever been with one other person like that before, and even he got violent when drinking.

B-But what if they don't actually want to hurt me and just need me to work?

They shook their head violently, trying to expel the thoughts from it. That's ridiculous, stop dreaming. Just act as you normally do and hope they aren't anything l-like t-the last g-guy.. They grimaced painfully, looking away.

They came to a small clothing closet and pulled on a outfit suitable for cleaning. Their legs were mostly barren, offering them no protection in the frigid room, and they shivered. They had just finished fixing themselves up when the bell rang. They jumped, startled, then composed themself and entered into their servant mode, blank-faced and controlled. They quickly exited the freezing basement and climbed up the steps, trying to simultaneously hurry to get their orders, yet not look rushed or frantic like a novice slave.

They'd done this before.

They could do this.

[inkwell-and-dagger]

do you have a whumpee who needs to feel the christmas spirit, ready for another year that's passed since their misery began? not a problem!

feed your whumpee a couple discarded leftovers if they deserve it, or force them to eat it on / from the floor! if you have a servant whumpee, make them meticulously prepare any christmasey meals you may desire so you may sit back and relax.

give your whumpees gifts you can use on them for torture later on in the day! they better be grateful :)

hang your whumpees up! hang them up on your tree, one with the festive decor, or bind them outside where they can view the beautiful wintry weather!

treat your whumpees this christmas! if you want to.

[roblingoblin285]

Day 116: "You're making a mess" (Out of Their Element)

kitty burger, i know you're reading. just know you are the only reason i managed to finish this piece. (no, i did not proofread it, good luck)

“Rob? You look freezing, kiddo. What happened?”

“I hope you fucking freeze out there. Jesus, if I’d known how much trouble you’d be I would’ve left you out there in the first place.”

“Come inside, okay? You’re making a mess of your clothes with all that mud.”

“You’re making a fucking mess. Look at this floor, does this look clean to you? Does it?”

“Is that blood? Please look at me, Rob. Where are you hurt?”

“There’s blood all over the place. Hey, look at me, brat-”

Rob gasped, stumbling backward and tripping over the edge of the carpet. He went down hard and couldn’t help but cry out as the fall tore at his already-aggravated wounds, eyes watering. He could just make out Sage standing in front of him and talking, face full of concern, but he couldn’t hear the words over the sound of blood roaring in his ears.

A gentle hand landed on his shoulder and he flinched violently, banging his head on the wall behind him. Pain rippled through the back of his skull and he whined, falling back to the floor in a heap.

“It’s alright! I’m sorry, kid, I really am. It’s just me.”

Rob blinked the tears from his eyes, realizing the hand was Sage’s. They were kneeling in front of him now, arms outstretched in a show of peace.

“Everything’s okay, sunshine,” they said quietly, “Just-”

Sage was nearly knocked into the opposite wall as Rob launched himself at them, curling his hands into their robe and sobbing into their chest. Sage recovered themselves quickly, wrapping their arms around the boy.

“There you go, kiddo. Easy now.” Sage scratched the nape of Rob’s neck, twirling his curly hair around their fingers soothingly. “Breathe for me, okay? Just one deep breath.”

Rob’s chest stuttered as he fought to obey, barely managing it before dissolving into tears once more. “I-I’m sorry,” he cried out, unsure what he was even apologizing for. “Please, s-sir-”

“None of that,” Sage said quickly, running their nails across his scalp. “Nothing to apologize for, sunshine. Just take it easy.”

Thank you for reading! Asks are always welcome about anything, and I appreciate your support! If you’d like to be added or removed from the taglist, please submit an ask or leave a reply. 365 writing challenge taglist: @stabby-nunchucks @whumpdreamz Fall From Grace + adjacent taglist: @thekittyburger

[cepheusart]

[ID: A lineup of the same character, a girl with light skin and brown hair, at different stages, each one with a caption. The first one, "Before", shows her with a casual outfit. The second one, "Trainee", shows her slightly bowing down, with a white tshirt with a W logo and black shorts. The third one, "Shipping", shows her with black underwear, showing the same logo. The last one, "Owned", shows her in a mais outfit. She wears collars in the last three images. /end ID.]

The life of a boxie

Art taglist: @for-the-love-of-angst

Alt version under the cut

[ID: The same image as before, but now each version of the girl is a single different color, varying in darkness. "Before" is painted orange, "trainee" is painted yellow, "shipping" is painted green and "owned" is painted blue. /end ID.]

[weirdstrangeandawful]

TW: conditioned whumpee, master/servant dynamic

I don’t know how widespread the “teachers shouldn’t grade in red pen because it makes students feel bad” mentality is but, along with many other slightly-fucked-up-in-hindsight stuff, it was a huge thing where I grew up. So I’m thinking of Whumper indicating to Whumpee what sort of mood they’re in (i.e., how careful Whumpee should be today) with pen colours.

Something like:

Blue: Easygoing, maybe normal, day

Black: Serious. Maybe someone’s coming over or they really need to focus on something important.

Green: They’re in a particularly good mood. Sort of playful. Not much can go wrong.

Purple: Feeling over the top. Whumper’s deserving of a treat.

Red: Absolutely nothing will be right today.

[whumpsoda]

are you up for a continuation

https://www.tumblr.com/whumpsoda/734400660214366208/i-raise-that-anon-who-raised-you-vampire-keeps?source=share

WOHEO Masterlist

This ask wasn’t super specific, so I kinda just went with whatever idea I had, which was just a sort of normal?? Day for these two. I also named them, whumpee 2 is now Nevan, and whumper 2 is Darius!! So thanks to the anon who gave me those names! :D

Taglist- @softvampirewhump

cw: hints of past abuse, vampire whumper, human whumpee, pet whump, brainwashing, servant whump,

———————————————————————

Nevan adjusted the platter by only a smidge, studying the set up with watchful eyes. An expensive bottle of wine sat atop, along with a pristine glass of which he had poured the delectable liquid into. With just a finger, he pushed it a sliver to the other side.

It had to be perfect.

Once as satisfied as he would get, he stood back to his feet and surveyed the whole room. Several plush blankets were draped over the couch in the chance they got cold, Darius’ foot rest was just where he liked it, and his beverage was just in arms reach. Nevan had even grabbed a handful of DVD’s from his master’s small collection, displaying them in a dainty fashion on the table, just so Darius could choose what they watched.

It had to be perfect.

His nerves rattling him, Nevan swiftly made a beeline for the nearest mirror- really the only one in the home- that was hidden in one of the storage rooms. 

Every room he passed he was tempted to check through just one last time, having to remind himself that he’d already done a total sweep of the house probably nine times. Not a speck of grime remained in the abode, but he had to be sure of it.

As he reached the oversized storage closet, Nevan stood at attention before the tall mirror rested on a pile of junk. He intently dissected his appearance in the reflection, picking apart every possible imperfection. Smoothing stray hairs, shifting his dainty collar, and practicing his eager smile, Nevan tried to maintain deep breaths. 

Master was hard to please. Almost irritatingly so. 

Almost.

Any slight flaw could infect his gorgeous face with disappointment, and bring bitterness to his soothing voice. Nevan just couldn’t take it! Tonight was so important, he couldn’t risk any idiotic mistake ruining it for them. He valued Darius’ happiness over all else, and he couldn’t help but wish to see the vampire enjoy himself.

Maybe tonight, if all went along with his meticulously crafted plan, Darius would even smile. Even just a little grin, and Nevan would melt on the spot. 

And maybe, just maybe, the two of them would have such a wonderful time, his master would even grant him an extra feeding!

But he couldn’t get his hopes up. Darius agreed to have a movie night with his thrall, probably a once in a lifetime chance, and it would be a wonderful gift as long as Nevan didn’t stupidly ruin it.

Then he heard it. The sing-song ringing, even while distant filled his ears and consumed his brain. His worries instantly washed away with the reverberation of Master, Master, Master! Nevan’s entire body calmed against his will, and robotically his hands folded neatly in front of his chest.

He quickly strode to the sound, getting louder and more pleasing as he neared. The thrall was led back to the living room, where his Master had already made himself comfortable on the couch. Nevan stood before him, immaculately posed and made up, as Darius eyed him for just a moment.

“Are we doing this, or what?” He questioned, Nevan’s heart fluttering merely at the sound of his voice. Suprisingly, Darius’ words held no bitterness. Just calm.

“Yes! Y-yes, please. Master.” Nevan stumbled over his words for a moment, wincing at the sound. But Darius didn’t so much as scowl. 

His face remained the same. Neutral. “Sit then.” Darius was already studying the selection of movies, not granting his thrall a moment to digest his lack of irritation. 

Master must’ve had a good day.

A good day!

There was no other conclusion. Why else would he want to spend quality time with Nevan? His little blood bag? Good days for Darius happened so little Nevan could barely remember the last time he’d seen the vampire not on edge.

Lately though, there was just the slightest change. Nevan could only blame the slight lift of his master’s spirits on the more frequent company of another vampire, one he knew his master was exceedingly fond of. Nevan hoped they would see each other more often if it made his master even that much happier.

The vampire continued searching through the DVD’s, picking them up and putting them down, before holding one up for his thrall to read. “This one?” He questioned. The cover displayed some generic romance, and if Nevan had ever seen it in the time before he was a thrall, he surely didn’t remember.

Nevan stared back, wide eyed with no response. Was Master asking him? He had never done that before. He’d always said it himself that opinions weren’t in a thrall’s jurisdiction.

“Um,” Nevan swallowed thick saliva. “Whatever pleases you, Master.” That was an acceptable answer. It had to be. 

“Good.” Darius stated, to Nevan’s relief. He pushed the object to his thrall. “Set it up.” Eagerly, Nevan did exactly as commanded, while his master sipped on his drink and watched.

Once finished, Nevan carefully made his way back to the couch. Darius was lenient in that regard, most of the time allowing his thrall on the furniture. If he was ever in a mood where that behavior was unacceptable, Nevan would know. 

The thrall made a point to sit a comfortable deal away from the other man, as to not come off too presumptuous. He sat rigidly, making sure his form would be to Darius’ usual liking.

The movie droned on, filling the awkward silence, but Nevan could barely pay attention. He couldn’t stop himself from constantly glancing over at Darius, checking his expression for the slightest implication of annoyance.

The vampire kept his gaze glued to the screen, leaning back into the cushion behind him and taking a sip of his beverage every so often.

He looked simply magical.

“Wine.” Darius commanded, prompting Nevan to instantly rush to pour him more of the rich red. The vampire barely paid his pet any mind as the drink filled the glass between his fingers, splashing against the sides of the cup.

Once finished, he simply shooed Nevan back to his seat to resume his anxiousness.

Nevan needed to clean. Cleaning made him feel grounded and wanted, and cleaning made Master happy, so he needed to do it. He needed to clean, he needed to clean, he needed to clean, but he didn't want to. He wanted to watch the movie, he wanted to spend time with Master, but he couldn't help his endless fretting every passing second.

Nevan picked aggressively at the skin around his nails, an anxious habit his master hadn’t yet succeeded in breaking.

Darius must’ve noticed, as just a moment later his supple, icy hand begun stroking up and down his thrall’s agitated arm, shocking Nevan into stopping.

“You’ll ruin your nails.” He muttered passively, not even turning his gaze from the television.

Master was touching him. Not viciously or violently, like when Nevan needed to be punished, but soothingly. Even if the purpose of the contact was to keep his silly thrall from damaging his body, Master was practically petting him. 

The motion was repetitive and sweet, casting a wash of  contentment through him. Nevan could sense his breaths evening, and his posture softening. 

Master was so kind.

Any form of worry or discomfort was swept from his mind, leaving only the entrancement of the television’s glow. The noise of conversing actors and actresses were like a muffled buzz that desensitized him to the world around. 

After sitting in mindless contentment for however long, Darius began to slide a blanket from its folded spot on the couch’s back. Nevan almost offered to get it for him, before realizing the vampire would have most likely accused him of thinking he needed a feeble thrall to do everything for him. 

Darius unfolded it elegantly, before draping it across his slender legs. Nevan could simply see how fluffy and comfortable it was, and just a hint of jealousy sparked. 

“Come here.” The vampire’s words were sharp and powerful, cutting through Nevan’s haziness like a knife. The thrall stood instantly, making his way swiftly to his master’s side. “Down.”

Nevan dropped to his knees, gazing upward with puppy dog eyes. Darius didn’t even look back at him. Instead, his large hand sat at the back of Nevan’s head, brushing against his chilled neck. The pressure was firm yet gentle, and guided Nevan’s head into his leg.

Nevan’s breath hitched with each new touch to his flesh, particularly the feeling of plush skin on skin. The sensation was still so unfamiliar, but so nice he had no want to pull away. His cheek pressed up on Darius’ cotton pant leg, and he eagerly nuzzled into it like a kitten. 

Warmth built in his chest, drowning his mind in a pool of liquid pleasure as Darius lazily stroked his hair and scratched at his scalp. A hazy, purring mewl escaped his lips.

Nevan wrapped his toned arms around his owner’s leg, effectively hugging it in a tight embrace. He could practically feel the drumming of his heart, and each beat acted almost like a pulse of pleasure that ran through him.

Everything was so good, better than any time he could ever remember.

“I, um, I,” He stammered, tripping over the delight overtaking him and the fear of speaking. “I, I love you Master. I love you.” 

Fearfully, Nevan lifted his head to meet Darius piercing eyes. Thankfully, there was no evident anger in his expression. 

Just a smile.

Nevan could’ve vomited from excitement.

“As you should,” the vampire said. Master’s satisfaction alone could make his thrall’s entire week, but what he continued with could’ve destroyed Nevan then and there.

“Good boy.”

Darius barely ever praised him. He really didn’t need to, Nevan’s purpose was obedience, but his heart couldn’t help but soar when his master did.

A wide, dull eyed smile beamed across his face, and he cuddled even closer to Darius’ leg. “I love you. I love you Master, I love you, I love you.” The affection spilled from his mouth, an overwhelming need to express his adoration. 

Normally, Darius would’ve ignored him. Maybe called him an idiot. This time, he continued to just smile down at his human, tenderly petting his freshly washed hair.

Nevan couldn’t think of any other words to explain the overwhelming endearment he had for his master, most cognitive abilities seeped dry by Darius’ current touch, but the vampire didn’t seem to mind. “I love, love, love, you. I love you, I love you.” Nevan repeated, until the words jumbled together and became incoherent.

“Perfect.”

Even if tomorrow Darius would go right back to punishing him for the slightest of mistake without batting an eye, which he probably would, Nevan couldn’t help but bask greedily in the warmth of the moment.