#whumpee facing whumper

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

whump fic where whumpee is being held captive by whumper and continually tries to escape to find where caretaker is being held so they can get out of here together, but as the story progresses it becomes more clear that whumpee is a victim of stockholm syndrome/brainwashing by "caretaker" and is actually being rehabilitated by "whumper" after being rescued, not kidnapped

[letitbehurt]

Whumper forces Whumpee to punish themself when they break a rule; kneeling on rice or glass, maintaining a stress position, even using whatever object happens to be within reach to inflict pain. Eventually, Whumper doesn’t have to tell them to do it. It becomes a programmed response to Whumper’s disapproval—the slightest frown, a pinched brow, a warning tilt of the head.

When Whumpee is rescued, Caretaker has to learn this the hard way.

[loonybun]

doll whump but the whumper is an OOAK customizer and the whumpee can feel everything that’s happening as they’re transformed into something completely new 💖

[3-2-whump]

(Re)Living a Nightmare, part 2

<prev next>

You're still here? Okay, it's not gonna get any better for our poor boy. Do read and heed the tags/CW.

Basic Summary if You Decide to Skip

Also please skim this chapter and this chapter if you haven't already, because they will be referenced heavily in the story coming up

TW/CW: rape/noncon, bound and gagged and blindfolded whumpee, creepy/intimate whumper, knife play, neither safe nor sane nor consensual, blood (lots of blood), victim blaming, internalized victim blaming, whumpee and whumper unknowingly triggering each other, blunt force trauma to the head (face), panic

NOTE: The inner thoughts and opinions expressed within do not align with those of the author, who themself has never and would never condone such thoughts and opinions in real life. Reader Discretion is advised.

All Thomas asked of him was to change into clothes he wouldn’t mind replacing, which usually meant that whatever Khaled wore would be torn/burned/ stained so irreparably that it’d just be thrown away after. Already based on that request, Khaled could guess he was in for a rough night. He had no idea how much worse it could get until he was blindfolded, bound, gagged, and carried out the apartment and down to the cold garage, where the hard foot-well of the back seat waited for him. The car revved to life, and his restrained body lurched forward as Thomas pulled out of the garage and drove them to fuck knows where.

Eventually they came to a stop, Thomas exchanged some words with the night-shift guard at the old house, and then they kept going until they parked. Khaled slowly started to put the pieces together. They were back at the old house, which probably meant Thomas wanted to take him downstairs, which meant whatever he wanted to do to him would be too messy or too specialized to do back at the apartment. What is he planning? Khaled wondered. He’s asked me to wear my most expendable clothes, he’s tied me up like I used to be when I was recaptured, he’s thrown me into the back like when I was recaptured-

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the car door opening. He blindly tilted his head toward the chill of the night and the distant sound of frogs singing. A pair of calloused hands hauled him up from the foot-well of the back seat and slung him over a broad shoulder. “Thought you could escape me this time, did you?” his master’s voice purred in his ear.

A pit of dread competed with the chill of the early spring night in his bones as Khaled realized what all this preparation had meant. Master wants to roleplay my escape attempts. He began shivering, though not just because of the cold. A warm hand rested on his buttocks to steady him as he felt himself being carried inside, through the hallway, and to the front of a very familiar door. Reliving his failed escape attempts but with an added sexual element was one of Khaled’s recurring nightmares. What cruel irony was this, that he had begged so enthusiastically no more than half an hour ago for this man to make his nightmare come true?

The familiar creak of a door opening preceded the dusty, dried-blood smell coming from the stairs leading down into the cellar. Khaled pleaded through the rag stuffed in his mouth and the tape sealed over his lips as they descended the stairs step by concrete step. He tugged at the zip ties binding his wrists and ankles, but all that did was dig the hard plastic further into his flesh.

The cellar in the basement was the only room in Luciano Antonio Costa’s old house that didn’t get renovated when they converted the rest of it into an office space. Mainly because its purpose as a room for torture and interrogation never went obsolete. Khaled didn’t have to see it; he’d been down in the T&I cellar enough times to have the layout committed to memory. Dusty, red bricked walls arched into a curved ceiling where two overhead lamps hung by thick chains, illuminating the large expanse below. A fireplace and all its accompanying iron tools sat to the left, and a rack lined with various instruments of torture was positioned to the right. In the middle was one large table with scratch marks furrowed into its edges, and many other types of equipment were either shoved in a corner or hanging from the ceiling, suspended by heavy chains and hooks like morbid chandeliers. Partitioning a back portion of the room was a large iron gate leading to a small offshoot of the basement, much like a door to a prison cell. Not much lay beyond the iron gate besides a hard-worn bench and several opaque plastic storage tubs full of mysterious items.

Khaled squirmed as he was lowered onto his stomach on top of the familiar table. “What were you thinking,” scolded the nightmare looming above him. A faint swish of a pocket knife and cold steel next to his skin made Khaled pause his struggles as his master cut away the zip ties. “Escaping in this cold weather without so much as a scrap of clothing on you –did you even have a plan?” he taunted. “I don’t know what your plan was, or even if you had a plan, but was it really worth freezing yourself to death?”

Khaled enjoyed the freedom of his unbound limbs for only a moment until his wrists were snatched into a tight grip and gathered in front of him. A coarse and scratchy material –rope, most likely –began entangling around and in between his wrists as his master continued talking. “We have a tracking chip installed inside of you, remember? You can never escape me; I will always find you.” With a forceful tug, Khaled’s hands were pulled in front of him, then he couldn’t move his hands at all. The other end of the rope must have been tied off to the ring attachment at the edge of the table.

His ankles remained free, if only to make it easier to take his pants off.

There were some light shuffling noises before the wooden table groaned under a newfound weight. Khaled felt the body heat of another person leaning over him. The cologne Thomas wore quickly overpowered his senses as the man hovered close. Khaled could feel his master’s breath on his ear and something hard and stiff against his backside. “The last time you tried to run away, a friend of mine advised me to cut your tendons,” Thomas sultrily whispered.

Oh god no. By now, Khaled knew which escape attempt they were reenacting, and, coincidentally, it was the one he had nightmares about the most.

“I don’t want to permanently cripple you though,” Thomas sighed, “mostly because it would be even more of a hassle to care for you, but I will cripple you temporarily, at the very least...”

He could already hear the hiss of the iron.

His panicked cries took on a new pitch of desperation. Without warning, his master’s fingers pinched at the edge of the duct tape on Khaled’s mouth and pulled, making him scream in pain. The rag was quickly removed, only for his tormentor to shove his index and middle fingers past the boy’s teeth to depress his tongue. “Suck,” he growled, “because this is the only lube you’re going to get.”

“Please, no, not this one, please, please no, not this, not this,” Khaled begged around the fingers in his mouth.

The fingers quickly withdrew before Khaled’s head was yanked back by the hair and then smashed onto the table. Stars danced across his blindfold, and a faint trickle of something warm and wet escaped from his nose.

“Let’s try this again.” Thomas shoved his fingers back into the boy’s mouth, burying them to the knuckle and making the boy gag. “Suck.”

Khaled shakily worked his head up and down the length of the fingers as his tongue lapped at each digit. He started to cry. As soon as the fingers withdrew, his pleas picked up again in earnest. “Please don’t burn me, please don’t burn me, please don’t burn me, please don’t burn me-”

“Would you relax?! I’m not going to burn you!” Thomas shouted above him. “What about any of this looks like I’m gonna burn you?!” Khaled heard a frustrated huff above him as his master yanked down his pants and underwear, exposing his bare ass and legs to the cold. The shed clothing was discarded, landing with a soft whump somewhere behind them. The two digits that were in his mouth forcefully entered him below, all pretense of play forgotten as they began roughly working him open. “Besides which, weren’t you the one who wanted to do this? You asked for this, you wanted this! You said you would be good for me!”

And he was right, he did say he wanted this. He asked for this to happen. So, with a defeated sniffle, Khaled went quiet and limp.

“So, are you going to be good for me now?”

Khaled’s bruised forehead scraped against the table as he nodded.

“Thank fuck,” Thomas grumbled.

I asked for this, Khaled told himself. The darkness around his eyes became damp as the blindfold caught his tears. I asked for this, I wanted this. He repeated it like a mantra as the man on top of him replaced his fingers with his cock and steadily screwed him against the table. I asked for this, I wanted this. Something tore down there as an unmistakable thin, warm, and sticky fluid trickled past the cock pummeling his hole. I wanted this. I wanted this…

I didn’t want this.

I never wanted this. Any of this.

I don’t want this. Slowly, the new mantra gained strength, and he let the words slip between his lips with every shuddering breath. “I don’t want this, I don’t want this, I don’t want this, I don’t want this-”

“Tough shit,” his master grunted.

Khaled pulled against the rope restraining his hands as he struggled against the body pressing into his. “I don’t want this! I don’t want this! I don’t want this! I-” Again, Khaled’s face was smashed against the table. He heard a faint crunch as a new river of blood flowed out of his nose.

“You can scream all you want, nobody’s going to hear you,” Thomas growled, “but for fucks sakes, can you please scream something less annoying?!”

Khaled kept repeating it between every sniffle, like a sad broken record. “I don’t want this,” he sobbed. “I don’t want this… I don’t want this…”

His begging finally outwore Thomas’ need to finish. “Fuck,” his master huffed, unsticking his sweaty torso from Khaled’s clothed back as he pulled out of him. Khaled collected his heaving breaths. It would be too naïve of him to believe his bitchy whining finally got through, but he would appreciate this moment while he could.

He suppressed his sobs and tilted his head to follow the footsteps and shuffling sounds Thomas was making as he tried to guess what would happen to him next. Khaled heard the faint schwing of a different knife being unsheathed. It cut through the flimsy fabric of his t-shirt as his master finally completely undressed him, tearing away the scraps of cotton the knife didn’t excise from his body. “You said you would be good for me, but you have been anything but!” A twisted strip of cloth was wedged between his teeth and hastily tied off at the back of his head. His master’s hand pinned him down by the back of the neck, crushing him against the table with the weight behind it. “You said you missed me, but you’ve only fought against me this whole time!” Khaled screamed into the gag as the tip of the knife sank in between his shoulder blades. Its blade dragged tortuously and deliberately through his skin as his tormentor continued griping above him. “You’re a fucking liar, you know that?” The knife mercifully lifted from the trough it had carved, only to be plunged into a new area of Khaled’s back. “Do you know what I do to liars, boy? I make them pay!” The raw wounds on his back wept with blood as the knife kept slicing, spilling over his sides and pooling underneath his stomach and the table below. It was hard to cry with a gag in his mouth and a broken nose full of blood. He gasped for breaths between sobs, never quite getting a satisfying breath before the pain of the knife would make him scream again. His tears slipped past the saturated blindfold and tracked down his cheeks to join the pinkish smear of saliva, snot, and blood he could feel covering the lower half of his face. “This is for Callahan!” The knife drove down and sliced another line through his skin for each name the monster dropped. “This is for Trémeaux! And Robinson, and Martinez, and Kruger, and Kościelsky, and this-” The knife dug deeper this time. Khaled bit into the gag as his nerves screamed in agony, the steel scraping something hard as it dragged against his back. “-this is for my brother; he is never coming back! Tony is never coming back, and it’s all because of you!” the monster above him roared.

It was in that moment, between the terror and the pain, that Khaled realized with a fascinated horror that his master was reliving a nightmare, too. I need to snap him out of it if I’m getting out of this cellar alive, he realized. So, he set his own trauma and pain aside and began doing what got him into this mess in the first place. The twisted cloth had loosened just enough. He pushed it out of his mouth with his tongue and started begging as if his life depended on it, because this time, it really did.

“I didn’t kill him!” he cried.  “I didn’t kill him! I didn’t kill him! I didn’t kill him!” Khaled screamed well past the point his throat hurt. “Master, please, I didn’t kill him, I didn’t kill any of them! I didn’t kill him, I didn’t kill him, Master, I didn’t kill him…” If the knife had stopped cutting into him and the rope around his wrists had been untied, Khaled was too far gone in his panic induced catatonia to notice. “I didn’t kill him… I didn’t kill him…” he rasped through a throat torn raw from screaming.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood

[oddsconvert]

🎨 art by the amazing and incredibly talented @sorrowful-hyacinth !

---

From my Play Pretend Halloween drabble! My Joshy in his playboy bunny costume (and damn - I can appreciate what Felix sees.... 🙈) and Felix drooling all over him 😌 I am so utterly feral for this art, it can't be healthy for me! 😍 SO DAMN GOOD 🔥 thank you a billion times, thank you! 😭🙏

[iwritewhump]

"I never want to see your face here again" + torn mask + reluctant villain + hero's headquarters

day six of whumptember

1502 words

warnings: none that i can think of

~~

Living Weapon looks at itself in the mirror. It exhales heavily and twists, lifting its shirt. 

“Ah,” Handler says, popping in the room. “You’ve healed nicely. It’s about time to get back out onto the field!” 

Living Weapon drops its shirt and hangs its head. “Seems like it.” 

Handler sighs and walks up to it, wraps an arm around its waist and pulls it close. “I thought you were bored of laying around.” 

Living Weapon tenses and pulls away from her. It pulls a hoodie over its shirt and shrugs. Handler cups its chin and lifts its face up to look at her. “You know you have to get back out there.” 

It looks up at her and nods, “I know.” 

She combs hair out of its eyes, “And you know I don’t take any joy in sending you out there to get hurt?” 

And it almost believes her. “I know.” 

“So why don’t you want to?” she asks, pushing its face back. “Do you not believe in our cause?” 

Not even a little bit. “I just got better, it’s a little scary.” 

She scoffs, “Scary?!” 

She circles around it, hands behind her back. “You’re not allowed to feel scared anymore. Not after everything we’ve done.”

“Everything I’ve done,” It corrects, whispering. 

Handler stops and stares at it. She raises her eyebrows, daring it to say more. 

Living Weapon looks at the ground and shakes its head, “I’m sorry.” 

“No, no.” Handler says, “Let’s chat about it. Everything you’ve done.” 

It shakes its head. 

She hits the side of its head and grabs a fistful of hair. “Living Weapon, I said we’re going to talk about it.” 

It winces as she tugs on its hair and exhales shakily. It keeps its mouth closed, knowing Handler’s trying to rile it up. She puts her face right next to its and spits on its cheek. 

“You are only alive because I let you be,” She snarls, releasing the hair from her hand. She pushes it against the wall and rolls her eyes. “Clean your face and get ready to go. Hero won’t stay in one spot for long.” 

Living Weapon wipes its cheek and secures its mask on its face. It stares at itself in the mirror and takes a shaky breath. Quietly, it whispers, “You’re not who she makes you be. You’re better…you’re good.” 

Living Weapon takes one last deep breath and walks out of the room. Handler looks up, walks to the door and twists the handle, “Are you ready to go?” 

It stands behind her and follows her out the door, head hanging. Handler opens the van door for Living Weapon and it climbs in. Handler slams the door and goes around to the driver’s door. She starts the car and drives off, sending Living Weapon sliding to the back of the van. It winces and sits against the back of the van, knees pulled to its chest. 

After a few minutes of reckless driving, Handler slams on the brake (Living Weapon’s convinced she does it just to jostle it) and pulls the key out of the ignition. She slides open the van door, “Get out!” she barks. “We don’t have long before Hero notices the van.” 

The pair stalks up to the window at the back of Hero’s base and Living Weapon peeks inside. After getting a good enough look, it jumps down from the ledge and stands next to Handler. 

“It looks like he’s alone, I didn’t see Sidekick, Superhero, or Medic. What do you want me to do?” 

Handler looks down at him and frowns, “The plan is the same as always.” 

Its heart sinks just a little. “Right. I was just checking.” 

She rolls her eyes and pushes it forward before disappearing behind a tall dumpster. Living Weapon casts one more glance back and takes a deep breath. It stalks around the building and finds a cracked window on the first floor. It climbs in and finds itself in a bathroom. Using a hairbrush to prop the window open, Living Weapon walks to the door and hides behind it. 

Peeking through the crack between the door and the wall, Living Weapon finds a path to Hero through the kitchen. It prowls out of the bathroom and into the kitchen. 

It pauses, staring at a small pan of brownies. And just for a moment, Living Weapon considers disobeying Handler. It considers cutting itself a piece of the brownie and letting itself get caught by Hero. And it would let Hero win their fight, he would keep it safe from Handler. 

“Want a piece?” Hero asks, suddenly appearing in the kitchen. He turns the light on with a smile. “I’ve been waiting for you.” 

Living Weapon jumps and looks out of the window. It shakes its head, “Turn the light off!” 

Hero tilts his head, but flips the switch off. He tiptoes over to the window and looks out of it, “What are you scared of?” 

Living Weapon scoffs, “You think I’m scared? After everything I’ve done?” it glances out of the window again, “Move away from the window.” 

Hero listens and walks back to where he was at first. His hand hovers above the light switch, “I think you’re terrified.” 

Living Weapon throws itself across the room and shoves Hero away from the lightswitch. It lays on top of him, pinning his arms at his sides with its knees. Its hands wrap around his neck on instinct. “Keep the lights off!” 

Hero coughs and tries to push Living Weapon off, but all he succeeds in doing is tiring himself out. 

Living Weapon loosens its grip around Hero’s throat when his body relaxes under it. “Stay awake.” It spits. 

Hero blinks his eyes back open and he looks around wildly. “Can you get off of me?” 

Living Weapon looks back out the window and Hero uses the momentary distraction to free a hand from under Living Weapon’s knee. He swipes at its face and tears the mask off. It rolls off of Hero and covers its face with its arms. 

Hero jumps to his feet with the mask bunched in his hands. He looks at the crumpled fabric and then at the cowering figure in his kitchen. 

He holds the mask out to Living Weapon and looks over his shoulder, “I won’t look. Promise” 

The mask disappears from his hand and he waits a few more seconds before turning back to Living Weapon. 

It holds the mask in its hands with tears shining in its eyes, “You ripped it.” 

They both jump to attention when footsteps sound from down the hallway. Living Weapon puts its mask on and runs over behind Hero. “You beat me,” It whispers, putting his hand on its shoulder as it kneels. “Please.” 

Hero looks down at him and nods. He flips the light on and tightens his grip on Living Weapon’s shoulder. 

“Come on out, Handler.” he demands. 

She steps out of the shadows and claps, “I never could hide from you.” 

He smirks and takes a small step in front of Living Weapon, shielding it from her. “And I’ve got your pet now. I’d run if I were you, who knows what I’ll make it do.” 

She rolls her eyes and steps up to him, her chin almost poking him in the eye. “You didn’t beat it, it let you win.” She looks at Living Weapon and her face hardens. “Because it’s a coward who can’t do what needs to be done.” 

Hero puts his free hand on her shoulder and pushes her back, “I think you should leave. One wrong move and I’ll kill it.” 

Living Weapon looks up at him and closes its eyes. There’s always the hope that Hero got with the program very quickly, but there’s also the more likely reality that he’s finally in control of it and can quite literally crush it under his hand. 

Handler looks at it and shrugs, “Do what you have to, I’ll be back with someone stronger.” 

Hero pushes Living Weapon to the ground and it stays down, watching as he pushes Handler out of the kitchen and back down the hallway. 

“You’re going to leave now,” he says, voice dripping with venom. “And I never want to see your face here again. If I do…well, I bet you can use your imagination. Remember what Living Weapon did to Sidekick?” 

Living Weapon’s stomach turns and it waits for Hero to walk back into the kitchen. It counts his footsteps and kneels in front of Hero when stands in front of it. 

“Please forgive me for Sidekick…I had no choice. Handler…she-” 

Hero cuts it off and squats in front of it, “I know all about Handler, I know you’re not responsible for what you’ve done.” 

And with that statement, Living Weapon feels like everything’s going to work out, like everyone would forgive it for what it had done just as easily as Hero had. For one spectacular moment, Living Weapon let itself relax. 

~

part two

[shywhumpauthor]

Go punch your whumpees in the jaw. Knock ‘em back and give them a nice big bruise. Go on, do it.

[whumpingandsmilinglikeanidiot]

Whumpee with asthma and Whumper who is a smoker.

[letitbehurt]

Intimate Whumpers who discover Whumpee’s deepest fear and dig their fingers into the wound.

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

June of Doom day 25

“don’t move” (natural disaster, drowning, stranded)

Content warning: gun violence

“I’ve got you! I’ve got you, okay?! Just–hold on!” Caretaker gasped, muscles straining. They held desperately to Whumpee’s hand, their shaky grip the only thing stopping Whumpee from plummeting off the cliffside. Every inch of their body ached as they struggled to pull Whumpee’s weight up.

“You can’t,” Whumpee’s voice came out with a harsh exhale. “You can’t pull me up, and if Whumper finds you–” They cut themselves off, choking on the words. They looked up at Caretaker with determined, tear filled eyes. “You have to let me go!”

“No! I can’t let you die, not after we just got you back!” Caretaker continued to pull as they spoke, but all their effort only created an equilibrium; they weren’t pulling Whumpee up, just stopping them from falling. They wouldn’t stop trying. “I can’t lose you again! I can’t, I can’t–”

Caretaker felt something cold push into the base of their neck. They recognized it as the barrel of a gun instantly. They recognized the voice that spoke as well. “Don’t move,” Whumper ordered from behind Caretaker. 

Caretaker felt Whumpee begin to shake. Caretaker tightened their grip. They wouldn’t turn to face Whumper, even if every nerve of their body begged them to. They wouldn’t let Whumpee fall.

"You know, I'm not even upset. I'm impressed, really! Nobody's ever done so well against me," Whumper chuckled, but the pressure on Caretaker’s neck never waivered. "I respect people who can impress me, so I want to give you a gift. You let Whumpee go, and I’ll let you go."

“Caretaker, please…” Whumpee whispered. 

“You can go to hell,” Caretaker growled through clenched teeth. 

Whumper sighed theatrically. "Are you sure? I don’t make offers like this often you know. And besides, it doesn’t look like you’ll be able to lift Whumpee on your own. Why not cut your losses?"

Caretaker didn't respond. They felt Whumpee grip tighten, a silent plea.

After a long moment, Whumper spoke. "Fine, suit yourself."

A shot rang out, echoing through the cliffside and through Caretaker. In an instant, Caretaker was consumed with white agony, rendering all other sensation mute. Caretaker heard someone scream as a bullet buried itself into their right shoulder. 

They felt the moment the strength left their arm. Their grip grew slack and Whumpee fell. 

“No!” Caretaker tried to reach for them, would've jumped in after them if they could, but a hand on their shoulder pulled them from the edge, sending them sprawling on their back.

Caretaker screamed, tears spilling, as a foot pressed hard into their shoulder. Above them, Whumper grinned. "You really should’ve taken my offer.”

[clickerflight]

Fleeting: Part 5 - Phantom Pains

Authors Notes: HECC YEAH MORE OF THIS! Feel like it's been ages since I posted the last part of this. Then again, life's been crazy. Took me a hot minute to remember everything I had going on here. Good thing I keep some semblance of notes.

Masterlist - Part 4

Content: Vampire whumpee, human whumper, hostage, ransom, shared pain, knee pain, face and neck burns, trafficking

............................................

Muir’s face hurt. It stung and burned a little and Muir winced, taking a moment to send a message to Joseph to ask him if he walked into a silver sign or something. He really couldn’t think of what else could be making his face hurt so bad through their link. Though it could just be that Joseph accidentally maced himself with pepper juice. Muir was still unfamiliar with how strongly sensations came across their bond now that he was a vampire. 

Muir took a moment to filter out the feeling so he could get on with his work. He had been trying to crack down on Vampire ash operations, talking with rehab centers so when they did have rescues there would be places for those vampires to go, and figure out where the vampires were mostly being trafficked from. It was all so obnoxious. The black market for vampires in general hadn’t been that active just five years ago, but now, it was thriving. It was everywhere Muir poked his nose into. 

And he couldn’t hardly get his work actually done because everywhere he looked there was another corrupt cop or detective or whatever standing there. He’d been working hard to kick them out and get the hiring process changed so that at least his sector would have people who were actually invested in helping the community and not just looking for a power trip. 

Muir leaned back in his seat, running a hand over his still stinging face, trying to wish it all away. He liked his job and he wouldn’t be leaving it any time soon, but he sometimes felt like he was trapped within walls of unfair rules and regulations, fighting to move them enough to do some actual good so he would get to work that needed to be done. Thankfully, his voice held a lot of sway in the city since he’s made so much progress when it came to the vampire ash problem. Small victories.

He leaned forward again, typing away at his computer, scrawling through the sites where vampires were quite often traded. They weren’t explicitly marketed as vampires of course. They were marketed as ‘collectable floppy disks.’ Muir sometimes wondered if there were any real collectors of rare floppy disks that suddenly found themselves at the center of a vampire market.

He smiled a little at the thought, commenting on a ‘floppy disk’ marketed as having ‘research involving the Incan civilization.’

Info: What era of the incan civilization?

He stared at the page for a while. Was the vampire in question found in some Incan ruins then? Or had they been living since then and been kidnapped off the streets after someone found out how ancient they were? He added onto his question: And was it just dug up, or has it been in circulation a while?

Satisfied, he kept scrolling, commenting and adding helpful information here and there, keeping up the facade that he was just a regular here. This persona had bought a couple of vampires who he’d passed off to rehab centers, just to keep up his appearance in the servers. He was looking for a bigger score. Someone buying lots of vampires for a lot more than personal use.

 One of the government agencies had bought the site from what he’d been told confidentially when he was brought onto this side of the project, and once they decided to bust everything, they would try and go through everything and save everyone they could. 

It wouldn’t be everyone, but it would have to be enough. 

Muir got up, needing a refill for his water bottle. He stood at the watercooler, filling it up and watching people drift in and out of the office. He should take his break soon. He’d been at work since 2:00 AM and now that it was about 8:00 AM and he still hadn’t had his break, he thought he probably should. Maybe take a walk over to a cafe nearby. Stand in the sun for a bit to get used to the itching it still caused him. Speaking of which, his neck burned now too. He pulled out his phone to check if Joseph had answered, growing more concerned. Maybe he’d go to Joseph’s workplace and check on him during his break.

Just as he started to walk back to his desk, a splitting pain shot through both of his knees. 

He screamed, falling to the floor and people were on him in an instant. 

“What happened!?”

“What’s going on!?”

“Muir, talk to me buddy!”

“Joseph!” Muir gasped, pushing himself up and shoving the sensation away, now certain that something was wrong. “Joseph! Crap, that felt like he got shot!”

“Joseph?” Blaire asked, helping Muir up. “What’s going on? Do you know where he is?”

“He’s supposed to be at work, but-” Muir cut himself off, concentrating, pulling at the bond and trying to see, but he was still so new to this, he couldn’t get anything besides pain and fear. 

Thankfully, Granger took over the situation. Granger and Muir were not technically partners anymore, but they still worked close to each other in the office since Muir decided to work from here rather than the other facility mainly for detectives on the Vampire Ash cases. 

“Officer Blaire, call Dalton Rehab to make sure Joseph clocked in.”

“Yes, Ma’am!” Blaire said, getting up and rushing to his desk to look up the number. 

Muir felt his phone buzz and pulled it out desperately. An image sent from Joseph. 

He opened it to see….

His bond mate was laid on a floor, blood staining his jeans around his knees, burns on his face and neck as he looked up at someone, terrified. His hands were bound behind his back, leaving his stomach so open and vulnerable and…. 

Muir felt sick as a text popped up next. 

We will contact you soon, Officer Muir. He is alive, but he won’t be for long if you get too involved. 

Muir pressed Joseph’s name without hesitation, calling whoever had Joseph’s phone to beg for some answers, but they ignored him, sending him to voicemail as the others clamored around him. 

“What is it?” Granger asked, and Muir passed her his phone to let her see, closing his eyes to reach into the bond. 

Granger snarled. “As if we’d let them get away with that. Muir, I’m taking this case. You know the rules.”

Muir’s stomach sank as he realized what she meant. He wouldn’t be allowed to help. He would be treated as a family member, unable to get involved themselves since he might do something irrational to get Joseph back. Still, he nodded, focused on the bond, sending comfort to Joseph that he hoped would be received. 

“Muir. What do you see?” Granger asked, noticing his effort. 

“I can’t…. I can’t see anything. I mean, I get the sense of concrete maybe? And- AUGH!”

Muir had been fully immersed in the bond when Joseph got hurt next. It felt like claws tearing into his skin, but the pain didn’t continue so Joseph wasn’t getting actively mauled. 

“What was that, a bear?!” Muir gasped, clutching at his arm as sweat trickled down his back. 

Officer Blaire was back. “He didn’t clock in at all today. They were getting ready to call you, Muir.”

“Joseph’s been kidnapped,” Granger said gruffly to Blaire, who’s jaw fell open. “Someone get the Chief! We need to get a team sorted out for this now!”

Someone took Muir’s arm as he pushed back into the bond, desperately trying to reach Joseph, but he got the sense that his bondmate was in too much shock to really hear him. 

Chief Staton was soon out of her office and Granger had some officers set up in the conference room, quickly explaining the situation to the Chief. Muir didn’t see his phone, but he assumed it had been passed to someone to triangulate Joseph’s position. 

He tried to relax. This would be sorted out soon. 

That was until someone rushed in and he heard the words ‘Keaton Gang.’

The Keaton Gang was called that because they were the biggest gang in the City of Keaton. At least three fourths of the corrupt cops Muir had busted had been in their pockets and he had been doggedly tailing them recently, getting the sense that they were behind some of the distribution of vampire ash in the city. 

This was personal. 

“Looks like they haven’t made demands,” the Chief said thoughtfully. “But I think we can expect what some of those demands are going to look like. We have a couple of scouts in the gang and we’ll see what we can do to get Mr. Blackham out of there, Detective Muir, but we need to be patient and you cannot go after him yourself, do you understand?”

“I understand,” Muir breathed, getting his phone back. 

“Good. You will have a partner with you at all times and you are to scry through your bond as often as you are able to get us information. We’ll get him back.”

Muir nodded. This was serious. There had been one case before of something bad happening to another officer’s loved one, and it hadn’t felt as serious as this. He could feel it from everyone around him that they knew exactly what there was to lose if they didn’t succeed. If Joseph was killed Muir would be out of commision for….

Muir didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to remember all of the times he caught Joseph crying at night, or just staring into space like he was listening to something far away. Someone far away. Even after they bonded and things got better, Muir could feel the space, sometimes. The hole he didn’t quite fill where someone else had been violently torn out. 

But Muir had so much responsibility they couldn’t afford his mourning period. He was becoming the face of the removal of vampire ash in the city and breaking up the trafficking going on. Everyone in the room knew it. 

“Make it quick,” he finally rasped, gripping his phone so tightly it left a bruise that faded just as quickly as it had been caused.

Part 6

From Dust to Ashes Taglist: @whumpsday @honeycollectswhump @writereleaserepeat @tragedyinblue @hyrules-sleepiest-knight 

@why-not-ask-me-a-better-question @thecyrulik @gt-daboss @currentlyinthespiral @pigeonwhumps @not-a-space-alien

[justsomewhumpee]

"Y-you're a monster!" whumpee spat at their captor, the blood streaming from their nose into their mouth creating a sickly red mist as they spoke.

Whumper stopped as they were walking away, turning to look back at the battered form on the floor behind them.

"A... Monster?" Whumper turned around fully, beginning to stride back towards them. "Is that truly what you think of me?" Whumper kneeled down to be eye-level with whumpee, who stared hatefully up at them through the one eye that wasn't swollen shut.

"I hate you, and I meant it. You really are a monster." Whumpee hissed in a low voice, gaze unwavering even as they trembled.

Whumper began to laugh raucously, causing whumpee to flinch at the sudden sound.

"Oh, my darling..." They cooed with false sympathy before roughly reaching forward and viciously grabbing a fistful of their matted hair.

Whumper leaned in closer, nose-to-nose with their hostage.

"I haven't even shown you how much of a monster I can be yet." They growled before taking a moment to relish in the terror in whumpee's eyes.

Abruptly, they slammed their head into the concrete floor in front of them- causing whumpee's world to go dark.

[charcoalsketches]

A scene from my Whumpuary Series found here

Cw: guns

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

The best thing about having a mask kink is that I don't have to draw faces (:

[letitbehurt]

Whumper stepping lightly on Whumpee’s hand, adding weight when Whumpee fails to give them the answer they’re looking for.

[defire]

Living weapon PTSD

Content: punishment aftermath, scars

(stoic whumpee vibes)

Sees someone pick up a long thin object, immediately winces and takes a rigid, chin-up posture like a soldier in line

Or (if severely triggered) yanks off their shirt in one fluid motion, turns and faces the wall, bracing their hands against it for support

If they see a weapon they watch it, and whoever has it, like a hawk

Trying to figure out who's in charge no matter what situation they're in. Using a formal tone with them even if they're TRYING to just be normal

Tensing up around people that act/speak like whumper. They don't want to embarrass themselves by flinching every five seconds so they're just going to flex every muscle until they are gone.

Self aware of their stiff posture. Sitting down and forcing themselves to relax into a couch and put on a fake smile

Caretaker seeing their scars and covering their mouth.

In that event, whumpee flushing and covering them because they're still ashamed of "earning" the punishments that left those marks

Or if they're from combat, smiling and telling the story proudly because they made their owner proud that day and they weren't punished

Trying to explain what happened and then suddenly going quiet

Answering questions like they're being interrogated by a superior

Refusing to speak because they're flashing back to a time they were interrogated in an enemy compound