#whump prompt ask game

[jamietarttsnorthernattitude]

ooooh if you’re still taking those prompt drabble requests, i would absolutely ADORE to see you tackle “they can’t hurt you any more” 🩷

(drabble, uh, not so much) from this prompt game.

Almost a year of early morning training had conditioned Roy that when his phone vibrated at 4 am, it was likely his alarm. But this morning, it wasn’t his alarm, no, someone was calling him. Dread filled his stomach. There was no good reason for anyone to call him this early. His brief hope that that was some terrible accident and Ruth was being called to work was when he saw the name on the caller ID. 

Jamie Tartt.

“Jamie?” Roy answered on the third try, his fingers missing the little green button the first two tries. 

There was no answer on the other line. Dread crawled up Roy’s spine when he heard rustling, then finally, Jamie’s voice reached his ears, distant and muffled. 

“Get the fuck out!”

Roy wasted no time pulling on trousers, and his boots, and the phone was on speaker phone in case there was more to hear. 

Roy wished there wasn’t more to hear or Jamie come on the line.

The unmistakable sounds of a fight reached through the phone louder than a siren. 

Fists connected with flesh. 

Pained grunts filled the speaker. 

Furniture splintered and broke. 

All the while, Roy prayed to hear Jamie’s voice again.

The phone connected with the Mercedes Bluetooth as Roy threw the car into drive, thankful for the empty streets as he sped through West London towards Jamie’s house.

“Jamie? Please, Jamie, say something,” Roy begged. 

Instead, Roy heard laughing, but it wasn’t Jamie’s laugh. It wasn’t the laugh that Roy’s had come to recognise in a group of rowdy footballers, the laugh that relaxed him when he’s worried, the laugh that made him smile even when he was in a shit mood. No, it was a laugh that sent shivers down Roy’s spine. A laugh that Roy wondered how many times meant danger for Jamie. 

Roy hung up and called 999 and prayed he wouldn’t be too late.

-

The first thing Roy heard when he entered Jamie’s house was deadly silence.

Roy expected screaming. He expected more sounds of a fight. He expected chaos. But what met him was an alarming quiet.

“Jamie?” he yelled, his voice cutting through the air like a knife. “Jamie?”

The first thing Roy saw when he entered Jamie’s living area was destruction.

Roy expected chairs overturned. He expected broken tables. He expected chaos. But what met him was even worse than that.

“Jamie?” he yelled, again, frantically scanning the destroyed room. “Jamie?”

The first person Roy saw when he finally laid eyes on someone was James Tartt.

Roy expected Jamie to be waiting for him. He expected the men to still be fighting. He expected Jamie would need his help. But what met him was a seemingly unconscious James Tartt and a missing Jamie.

“Jamie?” he yelled again, stepping over debris to move throughout the room. “Jamie?”

“Roy?”

The voice was little more than a croak but at that moment Roy couldn’t think of a better sound. Roy skidded to his knees in front of Jamie, who was on his hands and knees on the other side of the couch. Roy guided him to sit with his back against the glass walls that led to the garden, knowing Jamie would feel safer if he could see the room, see everyone who came in, see his father still unconscious by the kitchen table. 

“It's okay, Jamie. He can't hurt you.”

“I didn’t, I didn't, I didn’t mean to,” Jamie stuttered as he shook his head back and forth, not making eye contact with Roy, only staring at his father’s body. 

“Hey. I know, it’s okay,” Roy said, moving his body in between Jamie’s eyesight and James. 

Roy’s eyes ran over Jamie’s body, looking for wounds or injuries. The footballer was curled into himself, seemingly smaller than his frame. There was swelling and redness that Roy knew would bloom into bruises and cuts bright red against too-pale skin. Roy wondered at the damage hidden beneath Jamie’s clothes and feared the emotional damage hidden beneath the pliant personality. 

“Hello? Did someone call 999?” came a shout from the entryway. 

Roy had left the front door open, hoping help would arrive soon after he did. 

“Back here,” Roy stood and yelled. 

A man and a woman came into the room then, each carrying a large bag. They eyed Roy and Jamie but stopped at the unconscious man first. The male paramedic said something into his radio but Roy couldn't catch it. Roy held his breath as they knelt next to a prone James Tartt and checked for a pulse. Maybe Roy should have done that, but hadn’t been able to muster a care at the time when Jamie was potentially injured. Still, Roy exhaled with relief when they found one. James Tartt might not deserve to live in this world, but Roy didn’t want Jamie to have to deal with the pain of being the one to remove him from it. 

“Roy, Roy,” Jamie said quietly, hands desperately grabbing at Roy until he bent down and held Jamie’s hands in his own. 

“He can’t hurt you anymore. It’s okay, just close your eyes. I’m right here, I’m not leaving you.”

Jamie did as he was told, but Roy doubted he could do more than follow Roy’s orders right now. Still, Roy moved his body to block the view of the paramedics. 

“It's okay, you’re okay, it's gonna be okay,” Roy repeated, rubbing a thumb across Jamie’s fingers, careful of the raw and bleeding knuckles. 

“I didn’t, I didn't mean to,” Jamie 

A noise behind Roy startled him, as the paramedics moved the loaded gurney from the sitting room towards the door, towards the awaiting ambulance, towards a hospital.

“Fuck off,” James said behind him.

Jamie’s body trembled under Roy’s hands at his father’s voice. 

“This ain’t over, Jamie. Don’t forget where you fucking came from, don’t you fucking forget–”

“Get him the fuck out of here,” Roy turned and stood faster than he thought his knee could move him, almost knocking a chair over as he rose, not that it would have mattered in the mess. 

Roy didn’t turn back around until he watched the gurney roll through Jamie’s front door into the cold morning, James yelling the entire time. Before Roy can turn back to Jamie, the female paramedic stands in front of him.

“We should take a look at him,” she nods at Jamie. 

Roy turned to examine Jamie again himself. The cuts looked superficial, but Roy worried Jamie wasn’t simply in shock but had suffered a concussion. The erratic breathing could be from nerves, or it could be due to broken ribs. Could Jamie stand? Could he walk? All questions Roy needed answered before he would begin to think about Jamie being physically okay. 

“They’re just going to check you out, Jamie, make sure you don’t need to go to hospital.”

“No, no, hospital,” Jamie said, eyes wide and scared. He stood quickly and Roy thrust an arm to steady him. “I’m fine, I’m fine.”

“Mr. Tartt, we should really make sure you’re alright.”

“Roy,” Jamie pleaded, his fingers digging into Roy’s arm. 

“The police will want to speak with him when we’re done,” the paramedic warned.

She heard the threats from Jamie’s father, smelled the alcohol on his breath, cleaned the matching gashes on his bloody knuckles. 

“Thanks,” Roy said, wishing he could imbue just how much he meant it. “I’ll make sure he’s checked out.”

Whether by Ruth or someone at Richmond, Roy planned to make sure Jamie was checked out head to toe. The woman took one last look at Jamie before she pulled a couple ice packs and some butterfly bandages from her kit, leaving them on the table with a thanks from a grateful Roy. Roy guided Jamie to sit at one of the chairs at the kitchen table, grateful he wasn’t limping but nervous as to how unsteady he was on his feet. 

The antiseptic smell the woman left behind still lingered in the air when a police officer appeared in front of Roy.

“We just have a few questions for Mr. Tartt.”

“Is he under arrest?”

“No, we just need to ask him a few questions.”

“I don’t think he’s in the proper head space right now to answer any fucking questions. You heard his father, Jamie was just defending himself.”

“Maybe. But we just need–”

“The only need I give a shit about right now is what Jamie needs, and that’s not to talk to you. If you have any questions, you can contact Richmond’s legal counsel, Dana Heinen, if you need her number, fucking Google it. Now get the fuck out.”

Roy followed the reluctantly leaving officer to the front door, looking back at Jamie as he did. He needn’t worry about Jamie going anywhere. Roy was unsure the younger man even breathed the short time he was gone. 

“They’re gone,” Roy told Jamie, pulling his phone from his pocket to call Ruth. “It’s just us.”

“I’m sorry,” Jamie said, the dam finally broke open as tears fell freely from Jamie’s red rimmed eyes.

Roy quickly canceled the call, pulling another chair as close to Jamie as possible and placed his hands on Jamie’s knees. “Jamie you have nothing to be sorry for.” 

“I let him in, I, I forgave him. For what? I’m so fucking stupid, Roy, why the fuck would I ever think he could change?”

Roy pulled Jamie into a hug, careful of any injuries hidden by the naked eye and rubbed his back as he whispered to him, “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

Jamie latched onto him like a life raft as he sobbed on Roy’s shoulder. 

“It’s okay, he can’t hurt you anymore.”

[cityandking]

oc asks: not-so-nice edition

alone: How does your OC deal with loneliness? Have they ever been completely alone before? How do they act when there's no one around to see them?

betrayal: Has your OC ever been betrayed by someone they thought they could trust? Has your OC ever betrayed someone who trusted them?

bound: Has your OC ever been imprisoned or captured? What happened? How did they get out? Did the experience leave any scars?

break: What would cause your OC to break down completely? What do they look like when that happens? Has anyone ever seen them at their lowest?

desire: What's one thing your OC wants more than anything in the world? Are they open with that desire? Why or why not? What would they do to fulfill it?

failure: What's your OC's greatest failure? Have they been able to move past it? Does anyone else know about it?

fear: What is your OC's greatest fear? What do they do when confronted with it? Are they open with their fear, or do they hide it away?

future: What's the worst possible future for your OC? Are they taking steps to avoid that outcome? Are they even aware it's a possibility?

ghost: Who or what haunts your OC? What happened? How do they live with their ghosts?

guilt: What is your OC guilty about? How do they handle their guilt? Do they try to avoid guilt, or do they accept it?

hate: What does your OC hate? Why? How do they act towards the object of their hatred?

heartbreak: Have they ever had a relationship that ended badly? Experienced some other kind of heartbreak? What happened?

hide: What does your OC hide? Why do they hide it?

hunt: Who or what is your OC hunted by? A person, a feeling, a past mistake? Is your OC able to let their guard down, or are they constantly alert?

mask: Does your OC wear a mask, literally or figuratively? What goes on beneath it? Is there anyone in their life who gets to see who they are under the mask?

midnight: What keeps your OC up at night? Do they have nightmares? Fears? Anxieties? What do they do in the small hours of the morning when they should be sleeping?

mistake: What's the worst mistake your OC ever made? What led to them making it? Have they been able to fix it? How have they moved on?

monster: Is your OC monstrous in any way? Is there something that makes them monstrous? Are they aware of their own monstrosity? Do they accept it or reject it?

nightmare: What does your OC have nightmares about? How do they deal with their nightmares? Do they tell people, or keep it to themself?

pain: What's the worst pain your OC has ever felt? Do they have a high pain tolerance?

secret: What's one secret your OC never wants anyone to know about them?

skin: How comfortable is your OC in their skin? Do they grapple with anything that lives inside them—a beast, a curse, a failure, a monster? How do they face the smallest, weakest, most horrible version of themself? Are they able to acknowledge it at all?

torture: Has your OC ever been tortured? Would your OC ever torture someone else?

wound: How does your OC handle being wounded? Are their wounds mostly physical? Mental? Emotional? What's the worst wound your OC has ever experienced?

[seasaltandcopper]

Humiliation Prompts

These are all presented as sfw by default (but can be interpreted otherwise if that’s your preference)

Humiliate them by:

♠ Making them beg

♠ Forcing them to strip

♠ Spitting in their mouth

♠ Making them kneel

♠ Dressing them in a degrading outfit

♠ Mocking them for involuntary reactions

♠ Forcing them to lick something off the floor

♠ Hurting them in front of a mirror so they’re forced to watch

♠ Keeping their hands bound to make basic tasks difficult or impossible. Bonus: punish them for failing or making a mess

♠ Feeding them spoiled or disgusting food

♠ Hosing them down with cold water

♠ Calling them a mocking nickname or title

♠ Forcing them to crawl on their hands and knees

♠ Leaving them with obvious, hard to hide scars

♠ Branding them as a sign of ownership

♠ Forcing them to divulge past traumas or secrets

♠ Altering or ruining a part of their appearance they take pride in

♠ Rendering them mute or forbidding them to speak

♠ Making them lick clean someone’s boots/shoes

♠ Assigning them menial labor/chores

♠ Showing them off as a trophy at a party. Bonus: the party is for their enemies OR former allies/coworkers

♠ Offering them up as the entertainment to party guests to do with as they please

♠ Making derogatory comments about them to others (with them in the room/in earshot) Bonus: force them to agree with these assessments

♠ Gifting them as a slave/servant to someone they formerly outranked

♠ Leaving them at the mercy of strangers in a public display (stocks, pillory, cage, chained to something, etc)

♠ Grinding their face into the ground/mud/a mess they made. Bonus: With a foot on the back of their neck or side of their head

♠ Recording them being punished/tortured/etc. Bonus: send these to friends and family OR release them publicly online

♠ Fitting them with a collar

♠ Muzzling them

♠ Making them perform tricks or skills on command

[askgametime]

50 VAGUE ANGSTY + HURT/COMFORT DIALOGUE PROMPTS

send in a number and fandom/character/dynamic for a short ficlet! writers, feel free to tweak the dialogue/pronouns/punctuation/etc a little to fit better

"You... you really mean it, don't you?"

"Say it again. Please. Say it again."

"When's the last time you slept?"

"Stay. Please stay."

"I don't know if I can forgive."

"How could you?"

"I'm here. I've got you. You're safe now."

"Leave. Now. Just leave!"

"I'm trusting you. Please don't make me regret it."

"Please... what am I doing wrong?" "What aren't you doing wrong?!"

"They shouldn't treat you like that."

"Help me."

"You deserve better than me."

"What's wrong?"

"I can't. I just can't."

"You were calling out, in your sleep. You said my name."

"You don't have to be alone anymore."

"I'm sorry. I don't remember."

"What can I do to be enough for you?"

"Please. For me." "...okay. For you."

"Oh, love. What have you done to yourself?"

"...you knew?"

"Did they hurt you?"

"Unless you ask me not to in the next five seconds, I'm going to hug you."

"I know you have no reason to trust me. But please... I'm asking you to anyway."

"You're allowed to need help."

"Forgive me, my love."

"...I don't hate you." "...you don't?" (Bonus: "No. Not yet.")

"Tell me the truth."

"You're okay. You've got to be okay. You've got to be. You're okay. Please. Please be okay."

"You came back for me. You actually came back for me."

"I already knew I wasn't good enough."

"You don't get it, do you?"

"Are you going to kill me?"

"You deserve better than this. You deserve better."

"I'll do anything. Anything at all. Just let my friend go."

"Why? Why are you helping me?"

"Please stop hurting me. Please. Please stop."

"You have nothing to apologize for."

"I deserve it."

"I'm sorry, that was... embarrassing."

"Tell me what I did wrong! What's wrong with me?!"

"Why haven't you been eating?"

"I... I think I need a hug."

"Oh, love..."

"This is all my fault."

"I love you. I'm sorry."

"Don't touch me!"

"You hurt me. I didn't think..."

"Goodbye."

[whump-a-la-mode]

You’ve Heard of Scientist Whumpers, Now Get Ready for Scientist Whumpees!

Whumpee chained to their lab desk, working as the chain clinks with their movements

Whumpee being forced to keep up with ridiculous schedules, Whumper demanding impossible results in impossibly little time

Whumpee being monitored and abused by the guards in their own lab

Whumpee being forced to experiment on their friends

Whumpee sitting alone at night, after they’ve been locked in their cell, stitching up their own wounds

Whumpee working themself to exhaustion until they collapse in their lab, on their feet

Whumpee being held captive in their own lab, now taken over by Whumper

Whumpee being forced to go to conferences, pretending everything is okay, with Whumper by their side the whole time

Maybe Whumpee was once a mad scientist, a danger. Now, they’ve been captured, and the heroes intend on making them work. But, what if the heroes aren’t so nice after all?

Whumpee being beaten and reminded what a monster they are, and that this is the only way they can ever be worth anything to the world

Whumpee being forced to watch as their work is destroyed and they have to start over

Whumpee being too traumatized to ever return to their profession, trembling at the very sight of a beaker

[wayrad]

20 plsssss

of course, anon! i turned this prompt into a #the wrath of the lamb what-if. enjoy!!

for prompt 20: “get away! you’re hurting him!”

Gale’s mouth fills with spit. They’re holding him down, two German officers on both limbs, their fingernails pressing crescent moons into his flesh. He’s gagged with the collar they usually keep around his neck. Salty leather bites into his tongue, saliva-slick. His yells are choked back into his throat.

Haussmann nods his head. His specs fall down the bridge of his nose.

A Luftwaffe grunt pulls the metal rod out of the fire. It’s black burnt, edged red with fire, a heat Gale knows all too well. Reminds him of before, of cigarettes snuffed against his forearm, the fire of whiskey down his throat. The sweltering air during his heats in the omegahouse, before.

The grunt edges closer.

“Don’t,” John yells, muscles shaking where he’s strapped to his chair. The smoke of his scent fills the room entirely. “I’ll fucking kill you, I swear to God, all of you—”

“Do we need to muzzle you too, Major Egan?” Haussmann asks, smiling. Gale pulls his arms again; more of an automatic movement at this point. “Because that can be arranged.”

John hacks against the concrete floor. “Fuck you.”

The grunt is standing in front of Gale now. He looks to Haussmann for something. A message, a word, the snap of his fingers.

Gale’s eyes slam shut. Maybe he can think himself somewhere else. Somewhere nice. If he’d let himself go to London with John, to some hotel, with some king sized bed. Somewhere far from here. If he can think it, he can almost believe it.

Haussmann pulls his shirt higher. Exposes the vulnerable flesh over his spine, the very top where his vertebrae protrude from his skin. “Now you’ll really belong the Reich, hm, Major?”

Gale can feel a tear burn its path down his cheek. His legs kick pathetically. “Stop,” he gasps, muffled, incoherent. He wants to plead with them, but knows pleading’s never gotten him anywhere.

Haussmann cups his chin. His hands are warm and tender, his smile saccharine. And then he looks to his subordinate. “Do it.”

Gale feels the cry rip from his chest before ever hearing it. Smells it, his skin, blistering beneath the hot iron. Nothings ever smelt this bad in his life.

“Get away!” John screams, chair legs thumping against the floor. He’s going to break out of it. Gale needs- needs him to break out of it. “You’re hurting him!”

Haussmann laughs, because that’s the point, laughs because he’s got all the power and he’s swelling with it. Having John’s omega, Harding’s property, here, wearing his mark. Fucking alpha head games; anything to get his knot up.

Haussmann doesn’t move his fingers from Gale’s chin. He spreads the drool around with the pad of his thumb, tracking his mess everywhere. “How do you still smell so sweet?” he asks,

John’s hands are fisted against the chair’s arms. His biceps pull the uniform jacket taut, the binding rope across his chest and legs thick and unbreakable. He’s stinking up the place, maybe even worse than Gale is.

“I’ll kill you for this,” John says, his lip curled in a snarl.

The grunt pulls the branding iron from Gale’s skin. For a sick moment it sticks; pulls, then releases. Gale mewls beneath the gag.

Haussmann smooths a hand over his hair, gold streaked with grime and worse. “I bet,” he says.

[watermelons-whump-game]

The Challenge

I've enjoyed whump for as long as I can remember, when I was a kid I rewatched my favourite scenes in movies and reread the whumpiest parts of books I liked, later on I discovered listening to music and watching music videos and such to scratch that itch in my brain. I've been collecting whumpy songs (lyrics, lines and videos) since 2020, and the list just keeps growing, and now that I finally organised it, I thought I'd share it in the most fun format I could think of; the challenge was born, in a format that suits my personal quirks the best, which I hope you'll find to be easy to work with.

The format

You can join the challenge in two ways:

Prompt List

Get What You Get

Prompt list: 13 songs, each assigned 1 to 3 tropes, the format resembles a bingo

Get what you get: 1 song with it's assigned trope(s)

How to participate

Send a PM/ask

Choose if you want a list or a song

I'll send you the prompts ;)

Post your work

I'll reblog it here

I'm open for requests as well, for that send me a number between 1-100 and I'll write something for the song with that number on my list.

Rules

Have fun with writing!

Use the title of the song as the title

There is no minimum word count or a time restriction

Tag this account in your work @watermelons-whump-game

Use the tags #MusicWhumpGame and #MusicWhumpList or #MusicWhumpGWYG

Important Info

Using any of the tropes is optional, up to you if you use all, some, one or none/song (im saying this for like heavier tropes specifically or personal squicks, otherwise the challange is in using them all ;))

There are explicit/suggestive songs and tropes on the list, writing NSFW/noncon scenes is allowed, but it needs to be tagged appropriately as such!

Songs with gory/NSFW lyrics will be indicated by being written in red, if you want to avoid these on your list lmk

The List will look like this:

Songs and artists can be found in the image description!

The GWYG looks like this:

Tagging those, who said they were interested:

@mousepaw @written-by-jayy

[theminecraftbee]

hermit horror week day 1: season 8 or game mechanics

His teeth still taste like blood.

He's locked inside the belly of the Octagon. He doesn't know when he got there, but whoever wrestled him into it was smarter than Ren. They realized the full moon's light didn't reach the wiring. They realized it would give him time to down wolfsbane and silver nitrate. It also gave him time to throw it all up in the corner. If Doc were here, he'd be scolding Ren on the fact that silver nitrate is still a toxin and a disinfectant, and he should still be taking it in small doses, no matter how badly he wants to poison the wolf.

He curls up, shuddering, against the wires and pipes that power the shop. He feels thin and gaunt. He hopes he has not had much to eat. He doesn't have a phone or communicator on him. He doesn't know the day. It doesn't matter what the day is. The moon's visible during the daytime, too. It may have only been a night. It may have been weeks. It's probably at least been days.

He throws up again, because wolfsbane is poisonous too.

Most things that can keep a wolf down are poisonous. Ren doesn't have to take them often. He's normally... controlled. A tamed wolf on the full moon. He has a pack to run with. He doesn't need to poison himself to keep the wolf at bay. He doesn't need to take silver nitrate like it's a medicine and not a reagent.

But none of this is making his teeth stop tasting like blood. His shirt is covered in it, too. His legs. His face, he thinks--he can't see his reflection in here. He wouldn't know. But it would have to be. There's so much blood on him.

He doesn't have a scratch on him.

The only thing that stops him, then, from taking more silver nitrate is that if he respawns from the poison damage, he'll respawn out under the moon. He'll respawn back out there. And then--

He shudders. He folds himself into a tighter ball against the belly of the Octagon. In a shaking voice, he cries out for Doc again. Doc has to be nearby. Doc has to be nearby. Because if he isn't--

No one answers. Ren doesn't know who locked him in here. He wonders if it was a struggle.

He's covered in blood.

It smells horribly good. Ren feels dizzy. He's gaunt. He's so hungry. He'll hold that to his chest. He's hungry and sick, not simply sick. If he weren't hungry--if he weren't hungry--

But he's not as hungry as he should be, if it's been days, and he's covered in blood, and he resists the urge to howl, a long, mournful thing. He doesn't want to howl, or bark, or anything else right now.

Instead he cries, a human thing, and holds onto it tightly while he waits for the pain in his stomach and the shudders over his skin and the grey stains where he'd grabbed the bottle and the vomiting to end, so he can take another dose, and force the wolf further down. Down enough to be safe.

Down enough that he didn't maul his friends to death.

Down enough that he can know if he did.

Down enough that he won't try to leave again, as he knows he will, as the moon shines outside, and as soon as someone tries to open the door to rescue him, letting that light back in.

[sinelanguage]

32. bodyswap

The Grand Line is a mysterious place; Usopp really shouldn’t be surprised when he wakes up feeling out of sorts. He’s woken up in weirder ways than having an empty, ravenous appetite; this is nothing. He must’ve eaten something weird the night before, leaving his stomach an empty, bottomless pit. Perfectly fine.

Usopp tries to pick himself up out of his hammock, and his foot doesn’t hit the ground. That’s weird; his hammock is closest to the ground. He stretches a bit more, then a bit more, and still, nothing. 

Then, Usopp stretches out way too far, way farther than should be physically possible, until his foot hits the floor. His leg feels like absolute jello. His heart rackets in his chest. 

That’s not fine. 

His chin warbling, he looks over the edge of his hammock until he sees one long leg stretching all the way from the top bunk down to the floor. 

“Luffy,” he says. Luffy’s voice comes out of his mouth. Oh, no. “Luffy, what did you do?!”

“Eh, what do you mean, what did I do?” That’s not Luffy’s voice; that’s not even his own voice. “I’m– wait, woah! Why am I so tiny?! Why do I sound so weird?!”

“Hey, Chopper, quit freaking out,” comes Usopp’s own voice. “Wait– what? Why do I sound like Usopp?”

There’s a loud thunk; Usopp watches in horror as his own body hits the floor. Usopp’s body picks himself up off the ground, shoves his hands in his pockets, and peers around the room with a critical derision that looks alien on his face. 

“What the hell?” he asks. “Usopp, you shithead, what did you do?!”

“I didn’t do anything!” Usopp yells, his voice still sounding like Luffy. “Who are you?! Is that you, Sanji?!”

“How curious. The Grand Line is a mysterious place, isn’t it?” says Zoro, sounding way too damn calm for Zoro. Who the hell is he swapped with? “It seems like we’ve all swapped bodies.”

The noise the crew makes is as loud as it is confusing. 

By the time they all get out of bed and onto the deck, Zoro– well, Robin, who swapped with Zoro– explains that they must’ve passed by some mysterious mist that swapped them all around, just like an old story she read. She assured them that they would all be fine, they just needed to wait it out until the effect faded. 

If only it were that simple. 

Instead, the entire crew is caught in the mess of being swapped with each other. Chopper-as-Sanji tries to chase down and lecture Sanji-as-Usopp down for his clear and obvious nicotine withdrawal symptoms, Nami-as-Robin sprouts way too many limbs all at once and almost turns the Merry over, and Luffy-as-Chopper tries to steal Chopper’s rumble balls while he’s otherwise occupied. 

Usopp tries, he really tries to grab Luffy before he grabs the rumble balls, but his arms refuse to listen. They stretch out like limp snakes, his fingers wiggling on the deck helplessly. 

“This is the worst,” Usopp complains. He tries to bring Luffy’s arm back to him but he manages to get it stuck, looped around the mast. “How long did Robin say this would last?!”

“I don’t know what you’re all complaining about, this is great!” Robin– well, Nami– says. She’s using several of Robin’s arms to unfurl the sails and steer the ship, gleeful as she sits perched on the top deck. “I don’t need any of you to steer the ship now!”

“Oh great, then you can just boss Robin around instead of us next time,” says Zoro-as-Nami. 

“What, so you can just laze around all day?! Oh, right, that's what you already do!” Nami-as-Robin counters, trying to hit Zoro in the face. She miscalculates, uses the wrong arm, and hits herself in the back of her head. “Ow ow ow! Oh, this is all your fault, Zoro! I can’t believe you’re stuck in my body!”

“Hey! I don’t like it any more than you do!”

There's a low whine on deck, like the sound of a tea kettle.

“Shut up! You should be glad you swapped with Nami-san, you– you shitty- you-” Zoro-as-Nami turns to face Sanji-as-Usopp, and Sanji's face contorts through a series of rapid emotions before settling on abject horror. “I can’t even yell at you like this!”

“This is a disaster,” Usopp mutters, watching Sanji’s ongoing breakdown. “At least everything is somewhat under control now.”

Robin-as-Zoro is the only sane one, Usopp decides. Everyone else is a weck.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. If we run into any trouble, none of us will be able to fight, will we?” says Zoro– no, says Robin. She smiles, and it looks absolutely horrifying on Zoro’s face. “What an interesting way to go.”

Usopp turns to face her. Robin-as-Zoro smiles at him sweetly again, as sweet as a deadly poison.

No, he’s changed his mind. This is a disaster for absolutely everyone involved; they’re going to be lucky to make it the next hour, much less the next day. They’re all going to die. 

[fern-writes-whump]

Favorite trope? Trauma reveal

Hi ✨️

Look I'm a sucker for this happening on accident, better writers than me can make the characters have a good talk, but not in this house!

Whumpee gets drunk and ends up having a breakdown in front of caretaker! Extra points if they're not in the condition to actually explain what is happening. Caretaker might try and get them to bed at that point but going to bed means fast-forwarding to tomorrow and tomorrow means talking so No Thank You!

Whumpee who's having a flashback over something seemingly mundane and now has to either find an improbable excuse for what's happening or come clean about their past.

They meet whumper out and about in the street! Caretaker has no idea why whumpee seems so terrified of this random stranger, they look so nice!

Nightmares! I'm always a big fan of nightmares :D

Caretaker tries to surprise whumpee but ends up instead startling them and Oh No! Now they have to explain how they know martial arts?? what is going on??

Caretaker is helping them clean and finds old photos of them <3

So yes, trauma reveal, good stuff :] Thank you for the ask!!

[feverdreamsanddelusions]

prompt ask game — bad caretaker

[tw bad caretaker, victim blaming, manipulation, conditioning, conditioned whumpee, abandonment, emotional whump, psychological whump]

25 scenarios and 25 dialogue prompts :)

scenarios

caretaker accidentally injures whumpee

caretaker accidentally triggers whumpee

caretaker loses their patience and snaps

caretaker forgets about whumpee

caretaker forgets about an important event/date

caretaker is overworked and whumpee is the last thing they want to be thinking about

caretaker purposely abandons whumpee because they're fed up

caretaker lashes out and ends up saying something very hurtful

caretaker purposely uses whumpee's conditioning against them

caretaker purposely triggers whumpee for whatever reason

caretaker is too rough when handling whumpee

caretaker has no idea how to communicate properly, they're so gruff and blunt to the point of rudeness

caretaker is friends with whumper and ends up believing whumper over whumpee

caretaker is victim blaming

caretaker is reluctant and constantly whining

caretaker perceives whumpee as a huge burden

caretaker feels like their life ended when they got tasked with caring for whumpee

caretaker gets too possessive/controlling over their charge

caretaker can't keep it consistent with the house rules

caretaker has their own issues so whumpee's sometimes get swept under the rug

caretaker x whumpee romance (gone wrong) (it's weird and toxic and dubcon-y)

caretaker can't cook and it ends up causing serious issues

caretaker has no idea how to take care of a sick person and makes it all worse

caretaker is too squeamish to take care of whumpee but they're the only one around

caretaker is trying to solve a medical issue with zero experince (stitches, splints etc.)

dialogue

"how can you be so ungrateful?"

"how do you think i feel?"

"i can't believe you can't even do that."

"look, i'm sorry, it's just... a lot."

"oh, here we go again."

"so now i'm the bad guy."

"i can't keep doing this anymore."

"you can't keep doing this anymore."

"you're being so difficult."

"can't you just give me a break for two seconds?"

"oh, fuck. you look like shit."

"if i have to hold you down, i will, and no amount of tears will convince me not to."

"stop crying already, fuck."

"i told you not to do that."

"one more sound and i swear i'll bring you back to whumper."

"you have to get over it at some point."

"yeah, yeah, i know, trauma this, trauma that..."

"you're such a victim."

"have you ever thought that maybe... it was kinda your fault?"

"do not go outside without me."

"what the fuck is wrong with you?"

"oh, you're really messed up/broken."

"i really can't do anything anymore, can i? it's all about you, you, you."

"it's just a fucking [object of phobia/irrational fear], stop being so childish."

"you know what? maybe you deserved it."

[silvercap]

24. Bedridden or 66. Bedside Manner, with comfort/caretaking from the team? Leon's gonna need it... (can be a continuation of something else, or a standalone, up to you)

He definitely does 😭 (For this prompt list)

Bedridden/Bedside Manner

"Fuck," Leon hisses weakly, arching backwards into Piers' arms as Jill tears yet another of the barbed spikes free of his thigh, the sound coming out closer to a sob. His breaths come harsh in his chest, one hand squeezing Chris's meaty palm in a death grip where he's decided to lean into Leon's space from the edge of the dusty bed, the other clawing into Piers' arm where it's been wrapped securely over Leon's chest. He shudders, sweat dripping down a temple.

"One more," Jill says grimly, to which Piers subtly tightens his hold. She doesn't give Leon a chance to prepare himself, cutting deep into his leg and yanking the final spike out in a gout of fresh blood. Leon can only gasp, spasming.

"Got--got anything for the poison, yet?" he slurs, feeling the burn of it through his veins now that the overwhelming source of pain has dulled. He thinks someone responds, but then Jill clamps down hard on his leg to provide pressure and Leon can't stop himself from passing out entirely.

He comes to with a cough, blinking blearily at the sensation of a cool cloth against his forehead, a callused thumb so large it can only belong to Chris sliding gently beneath his eye to collect the tears that have fallen there. He's still slumped against Piers' solid body, shivering weakly despite the warmth his fiancé provides. Leon moans.

"Shh," Chris soothes from Leon's left, Piers' hand smoothing over his hair as he shudders involuntarily. "We've got you."

Another, smaller hand is propped under his knee to hold it up, white gauze and bloodstained bandages visible in his blurry vision when he glances down. He winces as Jill pulls the top layer tight, bare thigh pale where it sticks out from beneath the thin blanket thrown haphazardly over his legs. He's still wearing his jacket, the distant growl of BOWs audible outside of the shack they've crawled into for shelter.

"Piers," Leon croaks as Jill finishes what she'd been doing and gently tucks his injured leg under the blanket, pulling it up until the top edge is aligned with the neckline of his t-shirt. "P-Piers--"

"It's okay. I'm here," Piers murmurs in a low voice, holding Leon tightly when his body spasms for what feels like the hundredth time.

"Piers..."

He can't remember what he'd been about to say. Chris's hand slides back into his, squeezing as Leon's eyelids flutter. He stays like that for a moment, trembling--until Piers is helping him slightly more upright, the metal edge of a canteen meeting his lips. The water is cool and soothing enough that Leon can reopen his eyes, Jill's solemn face meeting his where she holds the canteen on its side. Chris is beside her, looking worried, but Leon doesn't have the strength to comfort either of them. He's starting to feel a little sick, if he's honest, the full weight of whatever had been in those spikes wreaking havoc on his system.

"Thanks, nurse Valentine," he rasps when Jill pulls away, mainly in an attempt to lighten the mood. If anything, it makes the lines on Chris's forehead even more pronounced, voice lacking in enough conviction to play off his condition. He sighs. "We should--keep moving."

"Absolutely not." Piers is firm, then softens. "There's no way you can stand without help, and we have no idea what the toxin might do to you. Just rest."

"He's right," Chris says softly, voice too gentle. His brown eyes are wide and watery when Leon manages to look, a forced smile on his face like he's trying to convince himself that it's real. Jill pats Leon's uninjured shin.

"Sleep it off, Kennedy," she says roughly but not unkindly as she sits down in a chair near his feet, in typical Jill fashion. As if following the order, Leon's muscles suddenly relax, the cottony haze in his mind becoming more pronounced as he sags into Piers' arms. He whimpers. Spasms.

"It's okay," Piers whispers, voice cracking. Leon doesn't have the energy to ask why. He reaches up blindly, hand getting caught in the blanket until he can free it to brush his fingers against Piers' jaw.

Unconsciousness takes him.

[whumperofworlds]

Whump Prompts: Video Game edition!

Send in a name of these game franchises and my OC(s)/character(s), and I'll write something based on the prompt!

Sonic the Hedgehog: Chased

Mario: Kidnapping

Pokemon: Captivity

Fire Emblem: Rescue

Final Fantasy: Fantasy whump

Klonoa: Nightmares

Sims: Sick whump

Super Smash Bros: Forced to fight

Star Fox: Nonhuman whumpee

Legend of Zelda: Injury whump

Minecraft: Environmental whump

Dragon Quest: Magic whump

Call of Duty: Held at sword/gunpoint

Kirby: Possession/brainwashed

Red Dead Redemption: Bound and/or gagged

Street Fighter: Beaten up

[askgametime]

30 Whump Prompts

reblog for followers to send a number and a character; or just use as a prompt list, do what ya like

Whipped

Buried Alive/Oubliette

Fever/Delirium

Starving/Hunger

Sick/Ache

Collapse/Dizzy

Nightmares/Fear

Isolation/Solitary Confinement

Waterboarding/Drowning

Strangling/Bruised Throat

Humiliation/Display

Scars/Lasting Damage

Tears/Sobbing

Gagged/Silenced

Can't Walk/Hobbled

Hunt/Chase

Forced/Unwilling

Lies/False Hope

Manhandling/Unwelcome Touch

Shivering/Freezing

Bound/Cuffed/Tied Up

Witness/Forced to Watch/Overheard

Torture/Interrogation

Bloodied/Bruised

Hiding/Terrified/Small

Truth Serum/Forced Honesty

Needy/Clingy/Tears/Humiliation

Stripped/Bare/Naked

Giving Up/Loss of Hope

Transformed/Dehumanization/Unrecognized

[necrotic-nephilim]

For the new ask game

"If I have to force you I will"

Brudick

send a ship and a quote and i'll write a a short fic!

this is so inspired, anon. here's 2.7k of BruDick whump. warning for non-con somnophilia, but it's very brief. the whole fic is very non-con/dead dove in nature tho. this takes place during Jason's Robin era. enjoy <3

Dick could feel Bruce’s eyes on him from across the room, even without looking. He made a point not to look. Instead, Dick focused on helping Jason set his dislocated shoulder.

“How does that feel?” Dick asked. He pressed his fingers against the bone, just to double check for any breaks.

“I’m fine,” Jason insisted. He hopped off the medical gurney and pulled away from Dick’s touch. An immediate wince came out of Jason when his feet hit the ground. His ankle was at best, swollen. At worst, sprained.

With how hard Killer Croc threw Jason into that brick wall, he was lucky to walk away with a dislocated shoulder and sprained ankle. Dick still couldn’t get the noise of Jason’s small body slamming against the hard brick and the noise he’d made when he fell to the ground.

“You should take a couple weeks off patrol at least,” Dick said, putting away the leftover bandages. “To let it heal.”

Jason made a face at Dick, his mouth screwing up like he’d eaten something sour. “I said I was fine!” He didn't look fine. He was pale and a little sweaty from the pain. “Right, B?” Going right above Dick's head, Jason turned to Bruce with an expectant look.

Dick finally let himself look at Bruce. He levelled Bruce with a deadly glare. Now though, Bruce was the one avoiding his gaze.

“We’ll talk about it later, chum.” Bruce walked over to them and ruffled Jason’s head with disgusting affection that made Dick’s lip curl.

He had nothing against Jason. But he damn well knew Bruce was doing it to get a rise out of Dick. The worst part, it was working remarkably well.

“Get to bed now,” Bruce said, patting Jason’s good shoulder.

Jason gave a nod that was a little too serious, like he was facing a war general giving an order. Given who he was talking to, Dick supposed it wasn't far off. Jason ran off to the stairs, almost managing to hide his limp. Dick watched him disappear up the steps.

He was a good kid.

Too good for this life.

“That could've gotten him killed.” Dick didn't look in Bruce’s direction, but there was no one else in the cave he could've been talking to. No one else on the planet Dick would speak to with such an icy tone.

“You would've stuck that landing at his age,” Bruce said coolly, pointedly avoiding the hostility bleeding from Dick.

Dick whipped his head around. “I had more training at his age.” So many insults sat on Dick’s tongue. He managed to swallow all of them without choking. “Take better care of Jason.” With that, Dick turned on his heel and walked toward where his motorcycle was parked in the bay of the cave.

“Where are you going?” Bruce asked. Like he had any right to know.

“Home,” Dick snapped. He wanted his bed and shitty take out from the only place in Bludhaven open this late.

“This is your home.”

Dick’s hand curled into a fist, itching to hit Bruce. He wouldn't stoop that low. “Not since you kicked me out, it isn't.”

“You still have a place here.” Bruce’s voice was as even and emotionless as it always was. He could've been talking about the weather.

Emotions were weakness to Bruce. And there was a time Dick naively believed Bruce trusted him enough to share that weakness with Dick.

What a joke that was.

“No, I don't,” Dick spoke through grit teeth. He just needed to keep walking to his bike and leave Bruce and his rotting city behind.

“Then why are you even here?”

Dick spun around fast enough to make his hair fall over his face. He really should cut it, but he liked the length. Bruce had always made him keep it short. For practicality. Now, letting it grow just past his shoulders, Dick’s hair was one of the few pieces of self expression he had.

“Because I made a promise to Jason,” Dick’s words dripped with all the anger he could muster, looking into Bruce’s cold blue eyes. “I would be there if he called. Unlike you, I keep promises.” It was a cold insult that hit below the belt.

“You think I couldn't have handled Croc?” Bruce arched an eyebrow. He was trying to back Dick into a corner and Dick knew it. Drag some kind of confession out of Dick that he'd come to see Bruce for some hopeless romantic reason.

Bruce could keep hoping. Dick was there for Jason and nothing more.

“Clearly you couldn't,” Dick pointed out. “Jason got hurt.”

For the briefest second, real emotion flashed across Bruce's eyes. It was something, at least. A small proof he really did care about Jason.

“He just wanted to see you.” Bruce regained his composure. “He looks up to you. He's been talking about training with you.”

Dick shook his head with a cold laugh. “I’m not falling for that. If he wants to train, he can come to me. Don't use him to get to me.” He gave Bruce a final warning look before turning back around.

“Stay.”

“No.” Dick didn't look back. His bike was within arm’s reach when a hand grabbed his arm.

“Dick,” Bruce was trying to sound soft. The command in his voice ruined the illusion of kindness.

“Don’t.” No matter how much Dick knew Bruce’s kindness was a ruse, he couldn't stop himself from mirroring it. The anger left his tone and was replaced by something softer. “It’s late and I have a shift tomorrow.”

“Call in,” Bruce said. Easy for him to say with his billionaire pockets.

Dick shook his head. He tried to pull his arm free. “This isn't happening again. It's especially not happening now.” Jason’s face flashed across Dick’s mind. In Dick’s Robin suit.

That betrayal was still a raw wound.

“Dick, I…” Bruce trailed off. “I'm sorry for how I- for how things happened.” Just as he almost took accountability, he skirted past it. A vague, half-assed apology that wasn't going to fix anything now.

“You should've said that and a hell of a lot more over a year ago,” Dick just shook his head. He tugged his arm harder. Bruce’s grip was a vice.

“Please stay.” Despite the words, it sounded like an order, not a request. Bruce’s brow hardened.

“Bruce,” Dick said, setting his jaw. “Let go.”

Bruce raised a hand and for a second, Dick almost flinched, expecting to be hit. Instead, Bruce's fingers hovered in the air before cupping Dick’s face. He was still wearing his suit, but Dick could feel the gentle body heat through the glove. He gasped.

A thumb stroked Dick’s cheek. And for a part of him, it was hard not to give in to. There was comfort in the familiarity. How easily Bruce slotted back into a role he used to perfectly fill in Dick’s life.

Dick didn't need Bruce in that role, though. And he definitely didn't want him there.

“Just the night,” Bruce offered, still stroking with his thumb. “I’ll order from the Chinese place you like.”

“I said no.” Dick took a half a step back.

The gentle, loving hand holding Dick’s face shifted to a brutally possessive grip without warning. Bruce held Dick by his jaw, fingers digging in enough to make Dick hiss.

“If I have to force, you I will.” It was dangerous, how matter-of-factly Bruce said it. No violence or threatening nature to the statement. Just a plain coldness.

Dick flinched. His full body recoiled.

“Are you out of your mind?” Dick hissed.

Bruce has been rough with Dick, before. But only when Dick asked for it.

Never like this.

The only thing Bruce had ever forced Dick to do was leave. At the time, it had been the worst thing Bruce ever did to Dick.

This was worse, now.

“You can't force me to do anything,” Dick said when Bruce didn't answer. He just started at Dick with those empty eyes. “I’m not under your thumb anymore.”

“I want to know you're safe,” Bruce spoke so calmly, like he wasn't trying to force Dick to stay against his will. Like he was practically doing Dick a favor. “Someone needs to look out for you and make sure you're taking care of yourself.”

“I have people,” Dick said, and it wasn't a lie. He had the Titans, his friends and coworkers in Bludhaven. “I don't need you. I never did, Bruce. You never understood that.” Dick’s heart was beating too fast in his chest. Bruce had to be bluffing. Trying to fake Dick out or something.

The grip on his jaw was going to bruise if Bruce kept it up.

“I need you, though,” Bruce’s voice was low and quiet. “That's what I was wrong about when I kicked you out. I thought…” he didn't finish the sentence. He just shook his head once. “I didn't know how much I needed you. And I need you now, Dick.”

Dick leaned in close to Bruce’s face. “I don't care what you need.” He pulled back and twisted his head away to wrench it from Bruce’s grip. A single well aimed strike to Bruce’s inner wrist forced his hand to open, letting go of Dick’s arm.

For a second, Dick was free.

It was a short second.

Dick didn't have time to step back. He didn't have time to think before Bruce lunged.

It was a brutal and effective pin. One that Dick had always struggled to get out of during training. Bruce grabbed Dick’s wrist and twisted him around, forcing him to his knees. Bruce’s own knee pinned Dick down, pressed between his shoulder blades while Dick’s arm was held at a painful angle.

He had one arm free. But it was difficult to grab Bruce from where he was standing. The shock of being pinned in the first place slowed his reaction.

“What the hell has gotten into you?” Dick gasped. He reached back to grab an escrima stick. If Bruce wanted a fight, Dick would give him one.

His hand was stopped before he could reach the weapon. Bruce just grabbed that wrist too and hauled Dick back up to his feet like he weighed nothing. He pinned Dick against his own body, Dick’s arm painfully trapped between the two of them.

“I’m giving you one last chance,” Bruce said into Dick’s ear. His breath was warm on Dick’s skin in a sickly way. “Stay with me for the night.”

Instead of answering with words, Dick lifted his foot and kicked Bruce as hard as he could in the shin. Bruce stumbled and Dick dropped into a crouch, ready to flip Bruce off of him.

Before he could, something sharp pinched against his neck and Dick gasped.

The psychotic bastard.

His body slumped, weightless in Bruce’s arms that shifted to cradle Dick. Gently, like a lover.

Then, Dick slipped away.

Once he was drugged, it was easy to pull compliance out of Dick.

Bruce just had to carry him up the stairs and into Bruce’s bedroom. He carefully stripped both of their suits, laying them out for Alfred to wash in the morning.

Dick wasn't quite unconscious.

But he was groaning and sluggish, unable to hold his eyes open or form real words. When Bruce touched him, his body yielded and gave in so sweetly.

The way he was supposed to give in to Bruce.

Dick wouldn't remember any of it when it woke up. But his body would.

His body, warm and beautiful under Bruce’s hands. There were new scars Bruce didn't know about. He made sure to show attention to every one with gentle kisses and colorful hickeys.

But he felt the same when Bruce was buried inside of his right warmth.

Even in a drugged state, Dick reacted beautifully. Soft moans and twitches as Bruce fucked him. Slow and gentle. It was so easy to manipulate Dick’s body into the right positions. He was just as flexible as he’d always been.

Bruce liked the long hair, he decided, when he buried his fingers into it to pull Dick into an embrace while Dick whimpered.

Beautiful. Perfect.

With a hand curled around Dick’s cock, they both came as Bruce groaned Dick’s name into his sweet skin.

Bruce licked Dick’s cum off his sweaty skin. Glassy eyes watched him, struggling to say something. It almost sounded like Bruce’s name.

After finishing, Bruce cleaned both of them up and climbed into bed, arranging Dick in his arms the way they used to cuddle in bed. He closed his eyes.

Dick was home now. Where he belonged. Bruce was stupid for ever sending him away. But he was home. That was what mattered.

They would figure out the rest later.

Dick came back to awareness in a warm bed with a sore body. The sheets and pillows were familiar. They smelled familiar. His body ached in familiar places too.

Before Dick even opened his eyes, he knew where he was.

He sat up. His body was still slow and stiff. Whatever Bruce had drugged him with was a hell of a thing.

Bruce drugged him. And fucked him.

Too many feelings flickered through Dick at once for him to parse out. Anger. Confusion. Shock.

Betrayal.

Dick tuned them out. He needed to take stock. Stay focused. At least until he was out of Bruce’s home.

The sunlight filtering through the windows marked the time as late morning. Bruce’s side of the bed was empty, but Dick could hear the shower running from the ensuite bathroom.

His suit was nowhere to be found. Which left Dick stuck in Bruce’s bed, naked and vulnerable.

He tried to keep his heartrate steady. The sheets got bunched up in Dick’s first.

The moment Bruce came out of the shower Dick was going to break his goddamn-

“Bruce!” The bedroom door flew open and Jason skidded into the room. “Bruce, Alfred wants to know where he should put-” Jason froze like a deer in headlights when he saw Dick. For a moment he just stared, wide eyed and open mouthed.

Dick look down at himself and swore. He snatched the blanket that was pooled around his waist, pulling it up tight to his chest. It was too late. They both knew Jason had already seen all the bite marks scattered across Dick’s skin.

“I-” Jason stumbled over his words. “I’m sorry, I didn't know-”

Like some kind of divine timing, the bathroom door opened. Bruce stepped out in nothing but loose boxers, drying his hair. He saw Dick, then Jason. His expression changed for both of them, settling on a coy smile.

“We’ve talked about knocking, Jason,” Bruce said calmly.

Jason’s face was so red it looked like it was about to catch on fire. “Sorry.”

“Head down to the kitchen for breakfast,” Bruce just gave him a fond look. “Dick and I will join you in a few minutes.”

“You’re staying for breakfast?” Jason’s eyes lit up looking at Dick.

Dick couldn't openly scowl at Bruce with Jason’s eyes on him. But he knew what Bruce was doing. And he had no choice, backed into a corner like this.

“Yeah.” Dick forced a smile. “Just for a little while.”

Jason whooped with excitement and ran out of the room as quickly as he’d came into it.

Dick whipped his head around and leveled Bruce with a deadly look.

“After breakfast,” Bruce said, before Dick can speak. “We’ll discuss this then.”

“You had no goddamn right-”

Bruce cut him off with a chaste kiss. Dick choked against Bruce’s mouth. All of his protests forced away. Dick’s heart was pounding. Too many emotions at once.

He swallowed his pride and kissed Bruce back.

[weirdstrangeandawful]

Build a prompt ask game!

Pick one from each category and I'll build you a prompt!

Pick a setting:

🛏️Bed

🔧Labour or service job

🚆Train travel

💥War zone

⚖️Courtroom

Pick a relationship:

💛Friends

🌹Partners/lovers

💼Acquaintances

🚒Rescuer + victim

⚔️Rivals

The relationship is...

🫂Safe/healthy

⚠️Unsafe/unhealthy

Pick a ✨Situation✨

☣️Viral illness

🩹Physical injury

💭Trauma

💔Abuse

💉Drugged

There are 250 options here, don't be shy! (Feel free to send repeats though)