#whumptoberday12

[whumpinggrounds]

Want You to Want Me

i have been STRUGGLING to write for @whumptober2021 but here is my attempt at the hunger + begging prompts, feat liam and delilah because they’re just so much fun :)

tagging @hearse-song, @brutal-nemesis and @whumpy-writings - please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

CW: big whumpee, tiny whumper, female whumper, noncon touch (nonsexual but pushing it), noncon drugging, starvation, dehydration, cuts and blood, begging, control issues

She’s sitting next to him again, running her fingers over his torso. In the chill air of the cabin, her fingertips represent five spots of fleeting warmth, dragging over Liam’s skin. He still hates it. She’s running her hand up and down his chest, from his throat to his navel, casually, almost carelessly, like she’s petting him.

Liam may not have any power here, but he can at least pretend he has dignity. Groaning, he lifts his head to peek and sees her warm smile as she gazes down at his chest, not seeming to care whether he’s awake or not. Glaring at the ceiling, Liam lets his head drop back down, hitting the ground too hard. Damn. That was a mistake. Now his head throbs even harder, thrumming with pain like his skin is stretched too tight over his skull. It’s felt that way for…for a long time now. Sometimes Liam thinks it’s the drugs she’s still putting in his water. Sometimes, he thinks it’s because he can’t remember the last time he had enough to eat.

With an effort that seems herculean, Liam tries to roll over, away from her, but his muscles ache at the request and respond far too slowly. When they finally do, and he flips over on his stomach, Delilah just scoots closer, closer. Now her hands, both of them, are roaming over Liam’s broad back.

“Stop it,” he whispers into the floor, hating that he’s too much of a coward to make her hear it. “Stop touching me.”

“What’s that?” Delilah’s voice comes a little quicker today, a little more aware. She’s not having one of her dreamy episodes, where she calls him by the wrong name and giggles through his torture. Liam doesn’t know if that’s less or more dangerous.

“Nothing.” His voice is heavy, still a whisper. Clearing his throat, wincing at the way it aches, he tries again. “Nothing.”

When she speaks, Delilah’s voice is light, but now instead of fingertips, her nails drag lightly along the skin of Liam’s back. “You sure about that?”

The scrape of nails doesn’t much hurt, but the greater threat there makes Liam swallow. “I…I just…what’re you doing?”

His voice comes out whispery, but she’s leaned in close to hear. A lock of long brown hair slips out from behind her ear and splays across his back. It itches. Liam is maddeningly aware of it, just a single piece of hair tickling over his shoulder. When Delilah leans back and laughs, Liam is so relieved he sighs into the floorboards, forgetting to stifle the sound.

Luckily, Delilah isn’t listening. She’s back to waking her fingers over Liam’s shoulders and down his spine. “You’re so…muscle-y.” She sighs it, then giggles a little. “That’s not a word, is it?”

Uncomfortable, Liam shrugs, feeling the way her fingers ride the movement of his skin. His mouth is drying out, the way it always does when Delilah pays too much attention to his body. He’s glad that he’s facedown, that she can’t trail her fingers along his waistline, the way she likes to do.

“I don’t like the word ripped,” Delilah confides, and now it’s just her pointer finger, scratching along his skin in a way that might be oddly pleasant, if it didn’t make his skin crawl. “You’re just…strong. You’re built like a real man, you know that?”

Face contorting with his discomfort, Liam squeezes his eyes shut and keeps his forehead on the floor. When he doesn’t respond, Delilah brings her finger to a halt over his shoulder blade, where muscle forms a thin layer between scapula and skin. She taps the pad of her finger there, like she’s searching for some structural weakness.

Then she digs her pointed fingertip in.

“Ah!” Liam gasps, grunts through his teeth, startled by the sudden, sharp starburst of pain. It’s specific and piercing, pitiful compared to some of what he’s felt here, but still a sensation his body longs to escape. His muscles tense, spasm, contort – but he doesn’t move much, just squirms against the floor, panting. For one thing, the manacle around his ankle is already stretched to its limit. For another thing, Liam can’t remember the last time he was this sore, this weak, this tired.

“What do you think of that? How strong you are?” Delilah’s voice is light, wheedling. Hazily, Liam tries to pick through the words, the intended meaning, desperate to know what she wants him to say.

“I…I don’t know.”

With a huff, Delilah drags her sharp little fingernail down Liam’s back. He can feel the skin part for her, the way blood wells up and runs in thin lines down his back. It’s little pain. Tiny pain. The starvation is worse, the gnawing need in his stomach. The choking was worse. This was nothing, this tearing pain. Better to take it than to invite something worse.

He wonders why, if the pain is so little, so light, why he’s still trembling against the slick wood floor.

Beside him, Delilah continues unaware. From what he can tell, she’s painting patterns on his back using the blood on her fingertip. “Didn’t you work for this body?”

Against the floorboards, Liam’s face flames. This body.

“Where’d all these big muscles come from, hmm?”

Liam clears his throat. “I…I, um…sports?”

The word hangs in the air like a joke. Liam’s cheeks are bright red, hot where they press against the grain of the wood floor. The work of his life, the thing that had brought him the most satisfaction, and a good deal of the happiness he’d felt so far – in the silent, chill air of this cabin, it sounded like…nothing. It was nothing.

“Sports?” Delilah repeats, her voice doubtful. “Really, now?”

Liam’s eyes fall shut. No, he wants to tell her, it’s not fucking sports. It’s not eating and not drinking and it’s you, you sick twisted fucking bitch.

“I…” Liam’s voice fades like the wind. “I don’t know.”

A snort from Delilah. “You don’t know, do you?” She tips her head. “You don’t know anything.”

“N-no.” He rests his cheeks against the floor and prays that she’ll drop it, she’ll leave him alone, she’ll let him fade into easy semiconsciousness for a few hours.

No such luck. She runs her nail over the furrow in his skin that she’s already made, and he draws in a shaky, startled breath.

“You’re a big strong man. You’re telling me you don’t have a brain to go with that?”

Swallowing, Liam shakes his head, nose brushing the floor. “I, um, I guess…not?”

She smacks him in the back of the head and Liam’s nose hits the floor hard. His hand comes up to clasp over the bridge of it, guarding his face a little too late. “You guess not? Come on, now. Do better.”

“What do you want me to do?” Liam’s frustration comes out finally in a hissed, desperate whisper. “What do you want? Jesus Christ, why am I even here?”

There’s a vicious satisfaction in Delilah’s voice as she answers. “Because I wanted you. Because I deserve a prince.”

“I’m – I’m not that.” Liam’s voice is panicky, rushed. Reaching across his back, Delilah grasps his shoulder, digging each nail in and holding onto him hard. “I’m not – you don’t want – I don’t know you-”

“You do, though.” Delilah fairly sings it out. “We went to school together.”

“I don’t – I don’t remember that, I’m sorry, please-”

Another cuff to the back of his head. “Don’t beg. It makes you sound weak.”

Liam’s head races. Does he want to sound weak? Does he want to sound pathetic? Will it make her leave him along, or will it make her hurt him more? Before he can decide, before he can move, before he can open his mouth, Delilah’s hand is in his hair, hauling his head back so hard he thinks something in his neck is going to snap.

“The only thing you should be begging for is me,” she intones, her voice gone hard and silvery. “Don’t you want me? Don’t you love me?”

“N-no-”

Delilah’s hand twists in his hair, and Liam whines. “You want me. You love me.”

“No!”

Growling, Delilah shifts closer, and lays her free hand on Liam’s throat. He goes still, though her cold, delicate fingers are hardly a real threat. The fear is the threat, fear that makes him go cold and shivery and weak.

When it comes down to it, it doesn’t matter how many muscles Liam has. He’s weak.

“You want me,” she says softly, as if reminding him. “You love me.”

“Yes.” Liam’s voice comes out strange, hoarse, unfamiliar. “I love you. I want you. Please. Please, I, I want you, I love you, you’re my, um, I’m y-yours, I’m your, um, your prince, I…”

The words dry up as quickly as they came, a flash flood with no real force behind it. Head still hauled back by her fingers in his hair, he stares at the wooden wall in front of him with no real hope. “I want you,” he repeats hollowly.

“Good.” She lets his head drop, and Liam slowly returns his forehead to the floor, trying hard to breathe evenly. “Good. Now we’ll have to see if you deserve me.”

[a-muzzled-hound]

“What could go wrong?”

DAY 12 - WHUMPTOBER

Rusty nails, mayday may day! Cave in 

CONTENT!/TRIGGER WARNING!: Continued story from day 11, rusty nails, punishment, rope/tough rope, burning nails/burning metal, no comfort, rope restraints

Ashtyn would already be sat on one of the metal foldable chairs they would keep in the corner of the shed, his arms restrained strictly with rope on the arm sides, his ankles, quads, his torso would be tied up as well to the chair that'd sit in the middle of the shed, right in front of the counters

It'd take him a minute to wake up, and by then, everything was set up on the counter right behind him, 10 rusty nails, a pliers, and a singular lighter, and of course that's all they needed for what they planned on doing. 

His eyes would roll up feeling stinging pain in his knee, that’d still be wrapped up rather poorly in rags, as he’d realize rather quickly that he was tied up- and quite securely to the chair, limiting pretty much every movement he made, getting out of the daze of sweet unconsciousness, as he’d look up at, fixing his gaze to his surroundings, with his insides falling apart when he realized what was happening. 

“You’re finally awake, it took you long enough, but we did have plenty of time at least to get everything ready for sweet little, you.” Alyx would speak up amongst the other men, standing right infront of ashtyn,  take a long good, gander down at ashtyn. His words expressed sarcasm to the boy in his statements.  

Ashtyn would speak up shakily “It- hurted- I’m fucking sorry! I wa-was.. Going to return!” it just felt as if an noose was getting tied to his neck, and proceeded to get choked by the noose, with his voice squeaking abit, in an act to hold back any tears

“That is such utter bullshit.” Alyx spoke up with a darting glare, following that statement up “You know damn well, once your knee was feeling a-okay, you’d run to the gates and attempt your escape. PATHETIC!” 

Ashtyn would shake his head with a rather resilient look on his face, it truly was something to be entertained by. But- on ashtyns end, there wasn’t anything to say anymore. Alyx was right- He was going to attempt an escape once his knee felt somewhat better.

“That’s exactly what I thought.” Was uttered as the lighter and pliers were picked up by alyx, with him holding the pliers ends up to the flame of the lighter, flaming it up, so when it touched any bare skin or anything really- it’d burn right through. He’d just bow his head down in shame, balling up his fists tightly knowing this whole procedure all too well. 

—-

After a solid minute of ashtyn, bowing his head in shame with his fists twitching in fear, just doing his best to distract himself from what’s going on, what surrounds him, who’s around him. The pilers would finally be hot enough, with the jaws of the pliers having some steam coming off of them just from how hot the metal had gotten. 

“C’mon, open your palm.” Vincent spoke up, peering down at ashtyn next to alyx.

Ashtyn would hesitate abit with his fist just shaking more, til his hand would slowly squeeze itself open, still refusing to look his head looking to the side, with his eyes squinted shut, his hands shaking just wouldn't stop despite being open, with it flinching a few times. 

Til suddenly the burning hot jaws of the pliers would be twisted onto ashtyns ring finger, as tears flushed out of ashtyns eyes, erupting an blood curdling scream with all of the fight getting crashed into ashtyn all at once, the struggle started all over again 

“FUCK, FUCK!!- FA-FWUC!!! AGH!!!” Screaming continued blocking out any words he was trying to get out for this period of time, only making out blabberings, which soon turned into blabberes out please as his finger would get twisted by the burning hot jaws of the pliers, getting twisted quite slowly, til it took a whole other direction, getting QUICKLY twisted

CRRRKKKK—... 

SNAP! 

The bone in his ring finger was completely bent, with ashtyns releasing an pretty uncontrolled scream, jerking around quite a bit in the ropes, just trying again and again to pull his knees up, and his arms side ways, but, that didn't last for long, did it? 

Alyx would slam his own hand on top of ashtyns palm, removing the pliers from his ring finger as he does it, sending ashtyn into a flight response as his head shot back and looked at alyx then his palm through tears that would be racing out of his eyes at a rapid rate, shaking his head no

Alyx would just take a gander at ashtyn "No?" 

Ashtyn of course immediately nodded, again and again, nods, with his crying showing no sign of a pause, despite him sucking in some of the tears, for them to flush out moments later with his breaths. 

"Right, we'll move on then, twisting fingers never really were my favorite thing to do."

—

Ashtyn would chuckle lightly, releasing more sobs as his head fell down shortly after, his back hitching around, a bit, his hand going limp as alyx would go ahead and grabbed half of the rusty nails on the counter behind ashtyn, with Vincent grabbing the other half. 

Ashtyn's laughter would be hitched in between his crystal, as he'd look at the rusty nails with some old blood stained on them still, as he stared, his crying worsened. There was really no stopping Ashtyn's cries, other than.. More pain! 

Alyx would take his hand, spreading his palm out on the chairs arm rest, laying the nails out aside, taking one of the five he had. And propping it right on ashtyn's pinky fingers, knuckle. With ashtyn's hand making slight twitches in utter horror. Alyx picks up a perfectly sized hammer for bashing the nail right in his knuckles. 

And within a few seconds of anticipating for the big bang, it happened, the nail was BASHED, down by the hammer alyx wielded, with the nail going right through the knuckles bone marrow, striking his knuckles nerve, and to add insult to injury, the hammers face striked the knuckle right after the bashing

   The crying was endless on ashtyns ends, with his crys cracking infrequently, his throat feeling weak, it wouldn’t take long for Vincent would follow the same path with alyx lending him the hammer, violently bashing the nail down with the hammer's face, over and over again. 

Ashtyn's struggle didn't stop, it worsened, with his tugs against the rope becoming violent with every tug, worsening the blisters he gained from how tough the material the rope is, he'd keep on turning in the chair, looking honestly a bit wheezy from just looking at the graphic display that were his hands. 

Soon enough, the two men had already went through with every knuckle went through, and without realizing, ashtyn had collapsed to unconsciousness in the chair, with his salty tears drying on his face, same with the heavy snot that had came from his nose, through all of those hysterical sobs. 

But, There's always time for a good beating.