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watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees · 1 day ago

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Beg

Three loud bangs on Whumper’s door pulled him from his work in the kitchen. Well, work was a generous word for it. He was scrolling through the Guardian after a long day with two fingers of rye in his hand. He turned his head, eyes narrowed at the intruder, hoping whoever it was would get the hint and leave.

“I know you’re in there you bastard!” Whumper smiled at the familiar voice, surprised. Things rarely surprised him. “Open the fucking door.”

Whumper would know that belligerent voice anywhere. He crossed the hall to his front door, unlocking it and beaming a smile at Whumpee.

“Well, well, well, what are you doing here, darling?”

Whumpee looked like a storm. His hair was sticking up all over his head, the way it did when Whumper put him a stress position for too long or threatened to use the whip or the cane on him again.

Whumpee didn’t answer. Instead he pushed his way passed Whumper into Whumper’s home and stormed through the hall to the basement door. Whumper closed the door and locked it, grinning at the blessing of his evening.

Whumper followed Whumpee down into the basement and leaned by the door, folding his arms across his chest. “What're you doing here, Whumpee?”

Whumpee tore his jacket from his body and went to throw it in the corner but caught it at the last second, hesitating, and then walked calmly over to the coat rack and hung it up before he turned to Whumper.

“I want you—” Whumpee began but swallowed and looked away. He cursed and turned and ran a hand through his hair and cursed again. “Fuck… fuck! Fucking— fuck! God! Christ!”

Whumper’s eyebrow arched as he straightened, intrigued by his former Whumpee’s frustration. His dress shoes clacked against the cement of the basement and echoed back. Whumpee glanced over his shoulder at Whumper and shook his head, his hand ran down his face.

“Fuck, what are you doing, Whumpee?” Whumpee asked himself quietly. His whisper troubled and haunting, disbelief colouring his voice as it found Whumper’s ears.

Whumper narrowed his eyes. “Oh…” he said, realisation dawned on him as sudden and as cruel as his smirk that graced his lips. “Oh… you want me to hurt you, don’t you?”

Whumpee stiffened. Whumper’s smirk widened. “Oh that’s it, isn’t it, darling?”

Whumpee turned, eyes ablaze with a glare that only confirmed his guilty admission, that yes… that was exactly what he wanted. That was the reason he was here, but he didn’t want to beg. He didn’t want to ask. Whumper grinned.

“Don’t call me that,” Whumpee snapped. Whumper stepped closer and put his hand on Whumpee’s cheek, relishing as Whumpee flinched under his touch. Oh this was like the best Christmas gift he never asked for.

“But it is what you want, isn’t it?” Whumper pressed. Whumpee didn’t answer, but his eyes turned pleading. Whumper drank in his expression, abuzz with the notion of what Whumpee was doing here. A sick kind of satisfaction passed across Whumper’s features.

Whumpee hesitated as his eyes searched Whumper’s face. He reached a hand up and batted Whumper’s away from his face with a scoff. “Forget it,” he muttered and went to step past Whumper. “This was a mistake.”

Whumper allowed Whumpee to walk to the door. He turned in place, his eyes followed Whumpee’s conflicted back as he got to the door of freedom. Whumper didn’t stop him, but it seemed like that’s exactly what Whumpee wanted him to do. He didn’t even try to go for his jacket.

Whumper’s amusement grew. He undid the button on one of his shirt cuffs and slowly, methodically started rolling it up his forearm as Whumpee pressed his forehead against the door, no doubt having another conflict of delicious emotions.

“I’ll oblige you, of course, darling,” Whumper told Whumpee, unable to keep his smile from his face. Whumpee stiffened at the door, his palms flat on the door.

A shaky breath echoed through the basement.

Whumper started on his second cuff.

“You will?” Whumpee asked. His voice oh too quiet. Oh so vulnerable. It sent a shiver down Whumper’s spine.

“Of course.”

Whumpee turned to face Whumper, his expression suspicious but his eyes held that little glimmer of light, of hope that it would be that easy. Had Whumper taught him nothing, the poor dear.

“You just need to ask.”

Whumpee’s brows drew up, pained, his mouth flattened into a thin line. His fists opened and closed at his sides, drawing Whumper’s gaze. He trailed his eyes up Whumpee’s arm to his chest that rose and fell too quickly before going back to his conflicted face. Whumpee tried to keep his bluster up, but they both knew he would submit, it was only a matter of when.

“You’re a piece of shit.”

“I have been told that.”

“And I hate you.”

Whumper shrugged. “Well I didn’t force you to come to my house, Whumps.”

Whumpee’s eyes blazed. “Don’t call me that!”

Whumper dipped his chin. Whumpee’s face fell as Whumper started slowly towards him. Whumper tsked lightly, shaking his head.

“You’ve been too long without my guidance, Whumpee,” Whumper said. Whumpee opened his mouth, but no words came out and he shut it quickly when Whumper cocked a brow at him. “Good boy. Perhaps you remember some things I taught you.”

“I— I don’t- I don’t want to be yours, I just… I need—”

Whumpee stopped a foot in front of Whumpee. He slid his hands into his trouser pockets. “Yes Whumpee?”

Whumpee stifled a would be whine in his throat, his anger bubbling to the surface again.

“We both know what I want!” He snapped, throwing his hands wide, before he loosed a harsh breath and his hands ran through his hair. “I need you to… to…” he squeezed his eyes shut and yanked at the strands of hair between his fingers and turned away. “FUCK!”

“You need me to fuck?”

“Shut up!” Whumpee snapped, whirling on his heels. He gasped at how close Whumper was to him. He didn’t hear him move, but now there was barely any distance between them. A hand went to his throat and Whumpee froze in place.

His fingers still wound in his hair, elbows stretched out to the side of his head. The only thing that moved was his eyes which widened, revealing more of the whites of them to Whumper whose face was devoid of any emotion as Whumpee looked slightly down at him.

Whumper hummed, fingers tightening. Testing, teasing, remembering and Whumpee stood frozen. He urged his limbs to move but they refused. He couldn’t do anything at Whumper’s touch.

Whumper’s eyes went to Whumpee’s hoodie. He stepped back and moved his hands to the zip. The sound echoed in Whumpee’s head, deafening, his breath locked in his chest as Whumper pulled the jumper from his limbs.

The cold basement air kissed his bare arms and left traces of goosebumps in their wake. Whumper’s hand returned to Whumpee’s throat, a thumb on Whumpee’s pulse. He smiled.

“On your knees darling.”

Whumpee barely registered the order before his knees hit the concrete. He blinked, dazed and shivered as Whumper purred, “very good.”

Whumper’s hand went to Whumpee’s hair, his fingers lacing through the strands. He delighted in Whumpee’s flinches, his barely contained trembles. Maybe his Whumpee hadn’t forgotten everything. He tightened his fingers and yanked Whumpee’s head back so he could see those beautiful, pained pale eyes stare up at him. Pleading.

“Now, ask me what you want me to do to you.”

Whumpee couldn’t contain the whine in his throat this time. “Please, please. Don’t make—”

A slap echoed off the walls. Sharp. Crisp. Warm as heat spread across Whumpee’s cheek. Whumper wrenched Whumpee’s head back further. “I think you forget who gives who orders here, Whumpee.”

Whumpee tried, he really tried to force his legs to stand, to push Whumper away from him, to leave and never look back but he couldn’t. He needed this. He needed it or he was going to go insane and do something more stupid than return to the man who tortured him, hoping to be hurt again.

“I need you to hurt me,” Whumpee whispered. His voice barely audible to his own ears, but there. He said it. He did it.

The fingers in his hair tightened. “What was that darling?”

Whumpee huffed a breath through his nose and repeated, a little louder, “I need you to hurt me.”

“Louder, darling.”

Whumpee’s cheeks burned with shame as his eyes narrowed into slits, he curled his lips back over his teeth and snapped: “I need you to hurt me!”

His chest rose and fell as anger and shame curled around each other in his blood, heating him as he glared at the man who once terrified him so completely that he would never dream of disobeying him, or shouting at him, or cursing in his presence. But things were different now. Whumpee was different now.

He was himself again, not Whumper’s toy to break and beat and bleed until he was satisfied.

Whumper’s lips spread into a cruel grin across his face, his eyes bright with sadistic glee. “Ask me nicely,” he admonished with his stupid superior tone and Whumpee scoffed.

This time, Whumpee grabbed Whumper’s wrist and pulled at it, trying to dislodge it from his hair. “No,” Whumpee spat. “Just— Just— we both know what I want!”

“And you know how to get it,” Whumper told him, pulling Whumpee’s head back until his throat was exposed to the ceiling. Whumper traced Whumpee’s adam’s apple with his finger. “I remember how sweetly you used to beg for me to stop, Whumpee. And now here you are, about to beg me to hurt you.”

“I won’t beg,” Whumpee hissed, yanking at Whumper’s hand and gasping when Whumper pulled harder at the strands of Whumpee’s hair.

“Yes you will.”

“No,” Whumpee protested, gripping Whumper’s wrist with two hands and trying to pry his fingers from his hair. “Fuck you! Get off me! I won’t beg you to hurt—”

A foot slammed into Whumpee’s chest, cutting him off mid sentence. He lost his grip as he curled in on Whumper’s knee and wheezed. Whumper released Whumpee’s hair and kicked him in the chest, sending him to his back on the concrete as Whumpee gasped. Whumper stared down dispassionately before he sent another kick to Whumpee’s jaw, hard enough that Whumpee rolled onto his side from the force of it. Whumper stepped over Whumpee’s body and grabbed the lock before sliding the deadbolt across the door and clicking the lock shut.

He turned back to Whumpee who stared up at him with those beautiful pale eyes, regret shining through them as the weight of what Whumpee asked for finally dawned on him. Whumpee was Whumper’s favourite toy, never able to hide an emotion on his face.

“I missed your begging,” Whumper told Whumpee with a nostalgic sigh. “And whether you’re going to beg me to hurt you, or beg me to stop, Whumpee, at the end of the night, I’ll have you begging either way.”

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watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees · 1 day ago

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decided to give an oc a kink just because

#i call that developing a character

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watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees · 2 days ago

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This was going to be longer but then it would be too long so I decided to cut it off where I did

Follow up to This

CW: Kidnapping, bound and gagged, non sexual (partial?) nudity

***

He shifted uncomfortably in his restraints, weakly trying to get free. His body still felt tired and sluggish, even with the panic he felt, he was nowhere near strong enough to escape this. He didn’t even know what he would do if he could get free, these people were here now and they didn’t exactly seem inclined to rescue him.

“He just came in last night, what do you think?” His blood ran cold as he realized it was the same woman who had checked him in the night before.

“I don’t know, he’s not exactly what I’ve been looking for. You sure I can’t just buy Leah off you?” A man said.

“If I gave you Leah she’d be dead within the week, I’m not losing her when she was just starting to get useful. Either you take this one home or you get rid of him, I don’t really care, I just want him out of here.” She said bluntly. The man sighed and Nate whimpered when a hand tangled in his hair, jerking him up into a half upright position, only held up by the man’s grip on his hair.

“I guess he can work for the time being, doubt he’s going to last very long.” He said, and Nate swore he could feel his eyes looking him over. His face went red when he realized he was still wearing what he’d slept in that night, which was only his boxers. He internally swore at himself for not wearing more clothes to bed, as if he should’ve expected something like this to happen.

“I’ll get his stuff into the car for you, go ahead and bring him out when you’re ready.” She said, and he heard movement as she left, apparently taking his bag with her. The man let go of his hair, letting him drop back onto the bed.

“I’m going to untie your ankles, and you’re going to be a good boy and let me walk you out of here without any trouble, understand?” He said, and Nate’s blatant refusal was suppressed by the gag. The zip ties binding his ankles were cut and he was grabbed by the upper arm and dragged off the bed, though he nearly collapsed right away, feeling weak and dizzy, even more disoriented since he couldn’t see anything. He tried to jerk away anyway, but the man just laughed, easily leading him from the room.

His heart pounded in his chest, he uselessly tried to cry for help, he was sure at least somebody would have to see this happening, would have to help him, but he apparently wasn’t so lucky as he found himself outside, bare feet against slick asphalt. He was shoved into the backseat of a car, the door slamming and locking right away. He could hear the man and woman talking outside the car, though they kept the conversation short, only minutes later the man got into the car and started it up. As they pulled out of the motel parking lot, Nate realized he likely wouldn’t be escaping anytime soon, and he had to fight to suppress the terror he felt.

***

Cyrus glanced at the rearview mirror, reaching up to adjust it and get a better look at his newest purchase. Frankly, he thought he paid too much for the skinny, scared mess in his backseat, but he figured he could get some use out of him for the next few weeks or so. He was quiet at least, only the occasional whimper or whine, which was a welcome change from the typical screaming captive.

“You comfortable back there, sweetheart?” He asked, and the man made a noise of irritation, finally adjusting himself to sit up, though that didn’t really help his situation. Cyrus turned his attention back to the road while the man rather stupidly tried to find a way to get his blindfold off. It wasn’t much of a concern to him whether he succeeded or not so he let him think he could do it. It wasn’t a long drive up to his house, but then again nothing was a long drive in Glaswick, soon enough they’d made it up the hill his old house sat upon, he parked the car and got out, ready to introduce the man to his new home.

He got him out of the back of the car, he was visibly shaking which Cyrus found a little funny, he hadn’t even hurt him yet. Instead of bringing him into the house he led him around to the side of it, still holding his arm with a vice grip while he used his free hand to get the cellar doors open. There was only a few steps leading down into the darkness, which to him was more than safe enough to suddenly shove the man down them, he heard him hit the cement floor hard and cry out in pain, a good sign that he was still conscious. Sometimes the fall knocked them out immediately if they hit their head wrong, and he simply didn’t have the patience for that right now.

“Just stay right where you are now, I’d hate to have to break an ankle on day one.” He said as he came down the stairs, stepping over his body to grab a coil of rope. He grabbed him by the hair and pulled him over to one of the wooden posts, kneeling down and using his pocket knife to cut the zip ties around his wrists. Almost immediately the man tried to reach for the blindfold at the same time he tried to scramble away, but Cyrus was quick to yank him back by the hair, quickly securing him in place with a length of rope looped around his neck, forcing him to sit still to avoid being strangled by it. He only tied a simple knot, it was more temporary than anything, what was important was grabbing ahold of his wrists, holding them with a tight, bruising grip.

“Don’t fight me on this and I’ll remove the blindfold, okay? You struggle even a little bit and who knows when I’ll let you see the light of day again.” He threatened, and the man went still. Cyrus positioned his wrists over his head, using the rope to tightly bind them to the post. He made sure these knots were more secure, less likely he could slip out of them. He hadn’t had a problem with them yet so he was confident it would be enough, especially if the man was this easy to threaten into compliance. Once he was done he followed through on what he said, removing the blindfold and watching as the man flinched and blinked repeatedly as he adjusted to the dim lighting, amused at the confused look on his face. Finally his pale blue eyes met Cyrus’ and he jerked back, as if just realizing the danger he was in.

Now that he had a better look at his face, Cyrus thought he might be able to make this one last a little bit longer.

***

Nate stared at the man, his eyes wide with fear, finally getting a good look at him. He was older than him, bright blue eyes and fluffy dark hair, there was nothing off about his appearance and yet Nate still felt like he could see something in his eyes, something wrong. He seemed calm, despite his previous threats he was now just… watching him, looking him over it seemed. After a few moments, he spoke.

“You’re confused, aren’t you?” He asked, and Nate nodded quickly. “Of course you are. That’s too bad, but don’t worry too much about that- about anything before. You’re here now, as unfortunate as that is for you, it would do you well to focus on now rather than before.” He got to his feet, now he could see just how tall the man was, further intimidating him as he stood over him, giving him a cruel smile, as though he were a vicious animal staring down his prey. “And starting now- you’re goin’ to learn exactly what’s expected of you.”

***

Tag List: @whump-me-all-night-long @its-mysweetlittlesecret-blog @thelazywitchphotographer

Let me know if you’d like to be added/removed!

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watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees · 2 days ago

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they just created a new type of enjoyment called "friends' ocs." it kind of rocks and everyone should enjoy it

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watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees · 2 days ago

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watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees · 2 days ago

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@augustofwhump Day 9 - Gutting

contents: heavy gore, emeto, male whumpee with female whumper, intimate whumper, implied death (this might be one of the worst things ive written. dead dove do not eat lmao)

She held the knife against his stomach, grazing the strands of hair trailing below his belly button. She pushed slightly, the skin just about breaking under the tension. He was still, as still as possible, hanging from the ceiling, his weight pulling down on the rope tied around his wrists. Almost intimately, supporting his lower back with her other hand, she reveled in the anticipation, savouring each moment.

"Look at me." she whispered.

He felt the blade enter in a swift motion, dragging through his body, tearing it's way straight up his midline. He gasped, his mouth left ajar, panicked almost-breaths grating down his throat. Still, he obeyed. He looked into the woman's eyes, her gaze alternating between his stomach and his face as she worked on him.

She did not stop cutting, sliding the blade all the way up to his chest. Forcing it against his sternum, the blade's path came to a halt the moment it hit the bone. A scream tore through him, writhing from the sickening sensation.

She pulled the knife out, the sudden movement sending his body swinging. He couldn't do anything but watch in horror as his stomach split open, his insides slowly spilling with each agonising second. His breaths wavered, sobbing, blubbering untintelligible pleas. He tried freeing his hands, sucking his stomach in, as if somehow that could help – hopeless survival reflexes. He threw his head back as far as his arms would allow, desperately flexing all his muscles to try and stop the uncontrollable sway of his suspended body.

Bile rose up his throat, hearing the drops of blood hit the floor. As he heaved, the woman's cold hands laid firmly on his back. Somewhere, he was thankful for this support against gravity and momentum, to have something to brace against. He kept gagging, each movement opening him further, his intestines hanging over his thighs now, feeling the warm slick of blood against his skin.

She stepped aside before his mouth fell open to throw up. He retched violently, the contents of his stomach falling on the ground below him. The room spun. He closed his eyes shut, only able to think how deeply wrong this all was, struggling against the waves of nausea.

Then a sudden pull followed by the slosh of his entrails hitting the cold tile floor.

Gasping for air, the overwhelming agony hit him. He felt the strain on his wrists ease as his body became noticably lighter. He stared down in horror and disbelief - in the pool of blood under him laid his own intestines and God knows what else, barely connected to whatever left of him was hanging from the ceiling. He tried his best to rationalise the view. Shaking from this horrid mix or pain and fear, he cried out in utter helplessness.

She stepped in front of him once again, kicking aside the mess of spilled guts on the floor.

"Are you ready?" she asked, not waiting for an answer.

Her hand reached in the open wound, her nails clawing against his insides, ripping through muscle and fat, feeling under his ribs. He cried out, letting out agonised groans with each exhale, the thud of his heart growing louder in his throat. He felt her fingers tighten against the beating mass of muscle in his chest, a horrible sinking feeling layered behind the pain flooding his system. He struggled to breathe, black spots appearing in his vision, a scream stuck in his throat, his thoughts racing, his mind lit up in fear. He gasped, his view fading before going blank and hearing one final crush.

#OH LORD THIS IS BEAUTIFUL #I LOVE IT #major character death <<<<333e3

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watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees · 2 days ago

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Whumper held a cupcake in front of Whumpee, a single candle flickering atop it. It was perversely cheerful, a splash of color and whimsy amidst the darkness.

“Make a wish,” Whumper grinned.

Whumpee’s throat tightened. They didn’t move.

Whumper leaned closer. “C’mon. Wish for freedom. Wish I was dead. Make it good.”

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watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees · 3 days ago

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I made this post about the contrasts between trauma and recovery but I also love the contrasts between a whumper and whumpee

in the immediate aftermath, whumpee crying and shaking while whumper is calm, almost serene

whumper laughing as whumpee breaks down in tears

whumper completely indifferent while a whumpee rages and attempts to lunge at them for hurting their friend

whumper working with a huge smile on their face as whumpee screams

whumpee and whumper sitting/lying close. Whumpee is petrified and stiff as a board while whumper lounges out, completely relaxed

whumpee writhing in pain while a thrill of delight travels up whumper’s spine

whumper sighing in contentment while whumpee shudders

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watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees · 3 days ago

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The moment when whumpee realizes that the eventuality of a future is no longer a given…

Because this may be it. This may be all there will be.

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watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees · 3 days ago

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The Cycle series | Sticking Point (pt.51)

It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

Major lies flat on his back, stuck to the floor with sweat, shivering so hard that biting into his lip has it splitting open.

He wants to heal it. But that would make this convenient for Simon, wouldn’t it? Make it chill, that he did this. Like Major will just heal himself and run out like a scared dog.

Nah. He won’t. Hissing out sharp breaths and dragging himself up onto his elbows, Major slowly, slowly makes his way out into the hallway. It’s quiet. Simon’s probably in his room crying or some shit.

The carpet scrapes his skin and makes it itchy. Major tears at the fibers impatiently every time the agony gets bad enough that he has to take a break. Flop down on his back and breathe hard.

He makes it all the way to the couch. Almost stays sitting on the floor and just leaning up against it, but… Simon deserves some shock, so he digs his elbows into the cushions, plants his knees, and without letting his burn touch the edge, hauls himself up. It takes a tactical roll onto his side, and then gasping like a fish on land for a while, before he can sit up. But goddamnit he pulls it off.

Snatches up the remote. Flicks the TV on.

It’s broken, but it still makes noise. Spurts some light out at the shattered corners. Major slumps back, propping his legs up, and with a triumphant sneer, he turns the volume up to 100.

Here comes Simon. Major’s grin turns tense but he holds it. Gotta stick the landing.

“What are you doing?” Demands Simon, standing in front of the ruined television. Major obnoxiously leans to the side as if still trying to see the screen.

The healer shrugs. “What I always do. How ‘bout you?”

“I told you to… you haven’t healed?”

Major yawns, ending the stretch with a bored hum. “Nah.”

“I – you – heal it.”

It amuses him to see that Simon’s hair is falling out of its bun. He wasn’t expecting someone to still be in his house. He looks frazzled.

“Mmh. I’m good. Grab me a beer?”

Simon steps closer. Major’s eyelids flutter in a muted flinch before he goes back to looking nonchalant.

“That doesn’t hurt?” His hand is on the burn before he can stop it. He wouldn’t have stopped it, Major likes to think, as his stomach flips and a chill races across his skin. Infuriatingly, a dizzy moan escapes him.

“Nnh… nah. F-f-feels… like nothin’.”

A sour look comes over that tattooed face. “There’s something wrong with you.”

Arms braced across the back of the couch, panting and grunting in agony, Major beams. “Ah. Ha. You, you’re one to talk. Fhhh, fuck…”

With a grimace Simon pulls his hand back, peeling some blood and pus with it. The healer shudders violently and his eyes roll back to squeeze shut, short sharp breaths huffing from behind gritted teeth.

“Why did you call for me?”

The question gets Major lifting his head from where it had fallen back, squinting at the man standing before him. “Huh?”

The mess of his hand gets wiped off on his pants, and Simon stares intently at him. “Why did you say my name. When he had you on the floor. I saw the video.”

Any smug mirth, any masochistic dark amusement in Major’s face melts away. His expression hardens into a glare. “What.”

He crouches down condescendingly, one hand on his captive’s knee. “You were trying to crawl away. Crying. He grabbed your ankle, pulled you back.”

Major’s breathing hard from his nose and gripping onto the couch tight enough to nearly rip it.

“Got back on top of you. And you cried for me. Why?”

Nostrils flaring, the healer’s lip twitches into a sneer. “Careful,” Is all he says, low and gravelly.

Simon squeezes his knee. “I’m not the one who needs to be careful. Tell me what you were thinking.”

More slow, tense breaths. “Get your hand,” Major mutters, “...off of me.”

It’s easy. Routine by now. Major hasn’t listened so now comes the punishment, the consequences to help him listen. Simon balls his hand into a fist and climbs onto Major’s lap fluidly, using the leverage of his knee planted on the couch to drive his fist into that chest.

As the blow lands at the center of his burn, Major chokes on a scream, gagging on the cry and then drawing in a desperate breath.

“Why did you beg for me?”

His fist reels back again. Major whimpers when it peels from the burn, and flinches from the coming punch. “I don’t know!” He all but shouts, voice cracking open in desperation. His arms are raised in defense now. “F-fuck – don’ even remember.” He whines against his will, panicked, when his jaw is grabbed and eye contact forced.

“I think you do remember. It might be fuzzy, but you do. Why’d you call for me?”

“‘Cause… ‘cause…” His breaths are dangerously shuddery. Simon wonders if that’s just from the pain. “Ghh… ‘cause you’re all I got.”

taglist: @morning-star-whump , @lthrboy , @apokolyps , @paperprinxe , @vampiresprite ,

@wollemi-whump , @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees , @whumps-and-bumps , @defire , @notactuallyluska

@neverthelass , @whumpr, @hellodecisionparalysis, @sir-fenris

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watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees · 3 days ago

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Lamb To The Slaughter

A dabble that I have been working on recently

A whump story about a cruel elven master with his new little pet, a mutt.

CW: Assume The Worst

Part 1 - Mutt

“That is not a Faun.”

Truth be told, Valerius wasn’t quite sure what he was looking at.

The elf lord stood over the creature, eyes narrowed in an analytical coldness. Indeed, it was not a Faun. It- or rather she did not possess the curved legs of a Faun, nor did she have the signature brown coloring or the animalistic nose.

This counterfeit being was slouched back into the corner of her little cage. She possessed some features that made Valerius question the precise nature of her species. Those giant doe eyes, the ears that sat pinned back, floppy and furry like those of a lamb. The hair that was thick as wool yet shone sleek like silk. The tiniest pair of horns that sprouted up from the top of her head. The fur on her legs started at the center of her foot and moved upwards in tight curls until it tapered off as it reached her thighs.

In contrast, she looked nothing like the Faun or Satyrs he had encountered in all his years. To start, her fur and hair were blonde like the underside of a deer’s belly, her horns much too small, her face far too human.

Though she possessed the short stature, contrast with a severe lack of digitigrade legs or cloven hooves.

Valerius’s lips pulled into a tight line as his eyes flickered towards the shopkeeper. “What is she?”

The faux Faun, Alyse, was wondering nearly the exact same thing. The elf before her was tall, imposing, and by all means powerful. He reeked of it, in fact, a sickly sweet scent that almost candied her nose hairs. Though she also felt the unease that swayed around him, his near-hypnotic coldness.

He was dressed as nobility, though Alyse had seen few nobles in her day. Smooth black clothing, every thread meticulously stitched together, ornate embroidered accents that stripped his collar and wrists. A darling pair of bronze-tipped earrings that swished as he turned his head. Silver grew from the crown of his head, layering down over his shoulders much like satin.

Nobility did not often stop into the desolate mutt shop.

“Lambkin.” The shopkeeper with ears bigger than those of any elf, orc, or otherwise rumbled his way over. “Faun and human, I believe.”

“You believe?”

The shopkeeper nodded, bulging out the thick rings of fat that coated beneath his chin.

“So a mutt then? Not a Faun? As she is marked as?”

The shopkeeper’s light dulled at the sound of his Lord’s displeasure. “She is well-tempered. I can assure you of that. Docile as well.”

Valerius did not speak.

“Untouched. Never used for anything but a few chores.”

Ah, to sweeten the deal.

Again, the noble did not give such a blatant scalper any means of acknowledgement. Though neither the lamb nor the rotten owner knew that there was no need to sweeten the deal. Valerius had already decided that he desired this trembling little docile creature.

He had had no plan, truly, when entering the run-down cob web cobweb-infested shop. Valerius had learned to often be disappointed with such peasant adjacent things; occasionally, rarely, there would be a diamond in the rough.

A finger curled, demanding, nails long and painted white. Alyse stepped forward, once, then twice, already crossing the entire distance of her cage. The man intrigued her, cold and distant, but his eyes wandered over her face as if he were trying to memorize it. Her delicate hand fit through the cage, revealing the dirt seated deep beneath her nails.

“Hello, sir.”

The tiniest, meekest little whisper from the tiniest meekest little thing.

“Open this.” The shopkeeper fumbled over himself worse than a whipped slave to obey. “Step out into the light so I can see you.”

Alyse obeyed, as she so often did. The light of the shop shone down orange, illuminating the only thing that Valerius disliked about her: the way her bones pressed up against her flesh as if at any second they’d break through. Although a cruel man, he was never one for starving his property.

“I will take her.” Alyse’s ears lifted slightly, perking. “Consider my payment to be my generosity that I am providing you a moons notice to fix the conditions of this establishment. They are–” Valerius flicked a spider off of his own shoulder. “Abhorrent.”

The shopkeeper’s round, sweat-beaded face turned ashen, his mouth sputtering in an attempt to form a defense, but no words came. He had seen many wealthy patrons walk through his doors, but none with the biting aurora of a lord like Valerius. The man’s eyes were cold, piercing, like twin arrows aimed straight into the soul. It was clear that even if this shopkeeper had years left in him, none would be spent without at least a few whispered prayers of mercy.

There was little talk following the ordeal; papers detailing more about the little lamb were passed into her new master’s hands. Then Alyse found herself in the back of a carriage, her new lord and master at her side, eyes wandering over the paper.

“A habit of running?” His tone was dull, almost disinterested until they wandered farther down. “Ah. And biting, is that right?”

Alyse peeked, having to lift a little off the seat to see the details of her own person. Indeed, there it was. The historical accounts of every time she had run. In her defense, this was not a disobedient action but rather one of a prey animal. How was she to stand in the face of a wolf and not bolt? Not hide? She was just a lamb after all. She never did go far, only enough to slip into a dark corner to wait away the threat.

Though unlike prey, the records also showed the few, albeit significant times that she had bitten the shop owner.

Valerius’ lips twitched at each reported incident, his amber eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he scanned the details. His expression remained unreadable, but there was something calculating in the way he held the paper, as if trying to piece together a puzzle.

Those same sharp orbs lifted up from the trivial facts on the paper to fix onto Alyse. “I know you have a tongue. Use it.”

For what? To speak her defense? A pet did not have a reason to bite their owner. She knew that well, but the shopkeeper had never really been her owner, had he?

“He started it.” The quiet rumble of the carriage pulling forward nearly overshadowed her brave attempt to force some level of voice from her lips. “The- the biting. He started it.”

The lord’s eyebrow arched ever so slightly, a minute shift in his otherwise impassive expression. When he had spoken of her tongue, he had been half convinced she’d swallowed it, so this was a pleasant surprise.

“Go on.”

There was no excuse, no reason. She had been ill-tempered in those moments, rotten, disobedient, bad. A pet should never fight back or bite or scratch or any of the sort.

And yet-

“He was cruel.” Her gaze fixed to the ground as her grubby hands began to fiddle with the edge of the rags that were somehow mistaken for clothing. “He deserved to be bit.”

A nearly imperceptible smirk managed to find its way to his lips as he leaned back into the plush upholstery. “Perhaps he did, little lamb. But you do not bite anymore, am I correct?”

“He said next time I bite, he’d rip all my teeth out.” Not quite an answer to his question, but enough to satisfy him.

Her defiance had its limits, it seemed.

“I see.” He rumbled, the word a soft, almost contemplative sound in the confines of the carriage. He let the silence stretch for a moment, allowing the implication of the shopowner’s cruelty to settle, lest he think about it too much and decide that a moon was too much time. “Do you believe I would not make such a threat?”

“I suppose I don’t know you well, sir.” A smile perked across her lips even as they trembled. A thought ran through her head, a small little head. Thoughts ran through rambit like feral dogs, and most of the time, the wildest always managed to find their way out of her mouth. “You don’t seem like the shopkeeper. You are not… big and ugly like he was.”

Valerius’ eyes flickered for a moment, sharp and dangerous, before a low, humorless chuckle escaped his lips. His gaze turned towards her, still cold as ever but hiding the faintest amusement. “Is that your assessment of your new master? I am not big and ugly?”

Alyse, startled by her reaction, bit her lip, unsure if she had overstepped already in her short time in his presence. She hadn’t meant it as an insult– she almost never did. But the perception of words avoided her like oil to water. No one had ever claimed she was intelligent. Though observant had been a word that was tossed around.

How else was she to describe the shopkeeper? He had been… she had no better word for it than “ugly,” even though it was harsh. But the truth often stung.

Seeing the way her eyes widened and those silly ears flopped down in panic, Valerius found himself nearly smiling. “I will take it as a compliment, my pet. Do not worry.”

Brave was also a word that had been tossed around, in the same sentence as foolish.

“When do I get to ask you questions?”

Was it a sin to be curious?

Valeris observed her. Was that just a dash of interest that appeared in his stone expression? Audacious, for a lamb.

“You may ask questions. But whether I answer them… that remains to be seen.”

To be clear, it was not that Alyse was stupid. She was observant and picked up on physical tasks well. It was more the mental aspect that she struggled with. There was simply not enough room for everything. She did not know when to shut up, when to keep questions to herself, when to let opinions slip back down her throat.

Valerius could tell this in the short time and dared to find it just as equally amusing as the idea of a lamb biting.

Questions bubbled up in her head, filling the space, quickly boiling over and spilling from her mouth. “Are you mean? Or cruel? What’s your name? Can I call you by your name? Are you rich? I’ve never met a lord before. I think you have to be rich to have your own carriage, right?”

Ah, yes, amusing indeed, such rapid-fire questions.

And boldness he had not expected from a creature that seemed so meek at first glance.

“My name is Valerius.” He allowed the name to settle between them. “You may call me master.” As for other questions, you will learn in time, little lamb. For now, know that I provide. And I expect obedience.”

Alyse noticed his gaze lower down to her hands, still worrying with the ragged fabric, then back to her wide eyes. The implication was clear: her comfort and safety were now entirely dependent on him. That was known to her before his eyes had ever landed on her fur in the first place.

“Valerius.” She rolled the name around in her mouth, tasting brash. “A pretty name, master.”

A flicker of something unreadable crossed the lord’s face at her deliberate use of his name, followed by the immediate, almost saccharine correction. Perhaps she hadn’t noticed herself, but Valerius took note of a smile that teased her lips.

“Careful, now.” The warning was low, smooth, a steady, dangerous current.

That tongue that he had worried was missing was now oh so sweet as it formed words in her pretty little mouth, simultaneously attempting to suppress the smile that continued to prod at her. “Yes, master.”

At once, Alyse met his sharp gaze, expecting it to slice straight through her giddy nature that she wanted so desperately to keep locked in the closet for just a little longer. It was hard, though, happiness found her, and she took it like it was a reward straight from the heavens. “I’m not bad, you know. Even if he told you so.”

“It is of little consequence what others say about my belongings-”

The carriage slowed, the sound of the wheels quieting until it nearly became completely silent. Before Valerius had time to react, a small warm weight launched across his lap with complete and entire disregard for his presence. Her small hands braced against the edge of the carriage window, eager to see where they had stopped.

“You are rich!” She bubbled, not recognizing the evasiveness of her actions. The behavior was not of malice, though that of a creature that was untrained, much like a dog that jumped up on its own in excitement.

Her finger pointed out towards the manor that spread out across the horizon. It was tall, dark, and most importantly, huge.

She was small and light, but somehow her presence still managed to fill the space entirely.

“Do I get my own room? Or my own clothes? Or my own bathroom? I’ve always wanted my own bathroom.”

Valerius's hand came to rest against her lower back, though she didn’t notice the steel behind his touch.

“You will have a room and clothes.” His fingers tightened subtly on her back, a reminder of his own presence. He felt the soft curve of her spine, the warmth that radiated from her body. It was almost enough to make him forget of her sudden evasion. Almost. “And most importantly, you will learn to ask permission before you assume liberties with your master’s person.”

The hand, despite being gentle, made her muscles freeze up. She stilled, almost inhumanly so. “I’m sorry… I was just excited.”

“I do not believe excitement is an excuse for disrespect, do you?”

“No, sir.”

“I did not think so.”

The carriage came to a complete stop. Alyse’s downghast shame was raised back up. The manor before her was magnificent, towering over her like something out of a storybook– an imposing fortress of stone and glass. It felt… foreign in every sense of the word. She had perhaps seen wealthy people before, but never something like this. The grandeur of the place took her breath away.

Her meekness was short-lived, instantly hidden back below the surface as the carriage door clicked open. Alyse sprang out, her heart going a million miles a minute as her bare feet moved to make a dash for the grand staircase before her.

Though she did not make it far before an iron grasp, firm but not painful, forced her to halt.

She was so eager to explore. Though she would not do so without her master.

Valerius’ eyes narrowed to menacing slits. Her speed had caught him off guard for the briefest of seconds. His reflexes, though, had kicked in, honed by years of combat and control.

“Did I give you permission to run?” His voice was cold, a dangerous purr. He yanked her back towards him, her small body colliding with his imposing chest. His other hand came up to grasp her chin, tilting her head back so she had no choice but to meet his piercing gaze. “Or perhaps you’ve already forgotten the talk we had mere seconds ago?”

“I’m sorry.” Her ears pinned back against her head. “I just got excited again…”

The grip on her chin tightened fractionally. The sadness in her drooping ears and soft apology were noticed, yet did not sway him. “That excitement is going to get you into trouble, little one.”

He released her chin, but his hold on her wrist did not falter. With a subtle tug, he began to ascend the stairs at his own pace. Alyse, though a bit disheartened, still took in the beauty of everything laid out before her.

This was a lord’s home.

Her lord’s home.

Her home.

Do you believe I would not make such a threat?

She had given the only correct answer, as far as Valerius was concerned. That she did not know. That she did not make assumptions. Who was she to state what she thought would or would not drop from his honeyed lips?

Valerius, though, would not make such a threat, for he was not a man of many words. To bite the hand that feeds one is to openly accept such consequences, whether that be the cold metal pliers on each one of her little teeth or something more creative. Valerius did not sugarcoat things, so he would not pretend to accept that threat as anything besides a man’s last-ditch effort to show dominance over a little lamb.

It was a mistake that he had seen many do. To think that one would have to threaten, to bribe. No, there was a natural order of things, and one should expect consequences when slipping out of that order. If his annoyance had been pitched a hint higher than he could bear, he would not threaten or warn. He would simply act. A threat was a mercy, a chance to correct behavior before things escalated, and often, he did not believe others warranted such benevolence.

That was to say that Valerius wasn’t unkind; at least he did not see himself as such. Especially not with the little creature that curled up close to him, her hair damp from a much-needed shower, her body exhausted from all that ‘excitement’ he built up.

To no fault of her own, Alyse was untrained, uncollared. Valerius had never met a mutt like her, discarded to spend the rest of her days eaten by cobwebs in a broken-down pet shop.

Oh, she interested him. Such a pitiful mistake that had been. A cruel, wretched oversight that she could not have possibly seen. A mutt, a lamb, defenseless and naive. How could anyone resist something so supple? Something so incredibly sweet? Something that would whimper and beg with such beautiful symphonies?

Valerius knew himself as a man of much restraint, but this small darling seemed to kilter him off balance.

The lord found his hand twisting through her thick strands, unveiling her peaceful expression. He was delicate, so as not to nip her sensitive skin with his nails. He was not a wasteful man, after all. There need not be tears shed that did not drip onto his awaiting tongue.

“Little lamb.” Every sound that came forth from his throat was measured in every sense of the word.

Alyse stirred, long lashes fluttering open, pale and just as silver as the rest of her.

Soft sleepy eyes met his, still figged by the weight of rest and warmth. She blinked, slowly, confusion settling in her gaze before recognition caught up with her. The faintest smile tugged at her lips, certainly not one that had been coaxed out but one that seemed genuine. Valerius was unused to such things.

“Sir,” She murmured, her voice a bare breath against the hush of the chamber. She had not yet learned how to speak in those moments, when silence was heavier than stone and words too fragile to be washed away. “You didn’t leave.”

“I rarely do.” Valerius sat beside her, not lounging, not with his feet up, not at ease but upright and still– like a statue made from pure silver and discipline. The warmth that had been soothing her crept out of the room with its tail between its legs. “You wake slowly.”

Alyse rubbed her eyes like a child, then quickly thought better of it. She sat up, straightening her spine. “I’m sorry…”

“You apologize too often,” he replied coolly, sliding one dagger-sharp nail down the side of her face, careful again not to waste a drop of a sacrificial lamb. “Is that what the shopkeeper taught you? To beg forgiveness before you even know what you’ve done?”

The faun found herself with anxiety coating her throat in thick globs, such that did not budge even as she attempted to swallow. “I didn’t mean–”

“I didn’t ask if you meant it.” His voice sliced through her attempt with all the mercy of a blade.

There she was again, saying things before she was meant to, spilling words that she did not truly grasp the depth of. Apologies without reason chipped away at something Valerius held dear: sincerity.

Alyse, of course, the poor simple thing, knew nothing of that.

She was wise enough, however, to clamp her teeth together, the only way she knew to stop foolish words from rushing out.

Valerius inched forward, fingers wrapped around her jaw– not to hurt, but to hold. Possessively. Her soft skin flushed beneath the coldness.

“You are not in a cage now, Alyse.” Velvet over steel, the first time she had heard her name come from his lips. “But if you need one to learn the difference between obedience and panic, I will see it arranged.”

Those fluffy lamb ears flattened against her head, her shoulders curling inward despite herself. She had not tried to be bad; she rarely did. Yet often found herself at the unfortunate end of a conversation she would rather not have.

“Are you afraid, sweet thing?”

She met his eyes– trembling, but upright. “Should I be?”

Valerius’s eyes darkened– not with anger but with a glint of something colder. Something deeper. Amusement, perhaps? Approval? It was always so hard to tell with him.

“Bold.” He muttered, his thumb tracing beneath her bottom lip. “But stupid.”

Alyse flinched, just slightly. Not the normal visceral recoil that her body begged her for. No, she was stupid, but not that stupid. His touch was light, almost reverent, but there was no tenderness in it.

She was made for this, or so she’d been taught. She was made to be a pet. Something that provided comfort, intimacy, amusement. There was a reason she hadn’t been sold, though, wasn’t there?

“I didn’t mean–”

“No, you did not.” How could a single man make the room feel so bitterly cold? Make it so that the lamb wanted nothing more than two unique things: to curl up against him, to regain that warmth that had been lost, and to run until there was no breath left in her. “That is the problem, isn’t it? Things escape your beautiful lips before they’re meant to. Your survival instinct–” His hand slipped beneath her chin, lifting her face up to meet his gaze fully. “ –is stunted like a pup without its mother.”

“I’m not trying to be difficult…”

“No,” he said, “you are simply built that way. It is not your fault.”

Alyse hooked onto those last few words, grasping them like the last piece of driftwood that kept her afloat from drowning. “It’s not my fault.”

Despite her desperate desire for it, her lord's expression did not soften. “You’ve been given no structure. No training. No boundaries. You were left to rot in filth like a mutt, fed scraps, and expected to beg prettily for it. But don’t worry, darling, I will fix you.”

The tip of his thumb pressed more firmly against her lips, not enough to bruise but enough to hold her completely still. Her body ached to tremble, but his strength willed against it. And what Valerius willed, he often received.

“Make no mistake.” He continued on, almost thoughtful in his low hum. “It is a responsibility to undo what had been done to you. But it is not a kindness I am offering. I am simply reshaping property that should never have been mishandled in the first place.”

Alyse’s breath caught something in her chest, unsure if it wanted to escape as a sob or a sigh.

“You will be obedient.” His hand dropped away, somehow leaving her more cold than when it found her. “You will be soft. You will learn when to speak and when to be silent. You will not apologize unless I instruct so. Do you understand?”

The lamb nodded, her voice trembling as it broke free. “Yes, master.”

“Good.” The word was clipped. Sharp. Unholy. “That is the first thing you’ve said tonight that didn’t disgust me.”

The blow was not physical, but it landed all the same.

Alyse’s shoulders curled inward, her fingers tightening around the hem of her borrowed clothing. She didn’t cry. She had cried too many times in that cage, and learned long ago that tears were like coins– spent too freely, and they became worthless.

Valerius stood, a shadow looming over her.

“You want to be good, don’t you?”

She nodded again, quickly. Desperately.

A foolish lamb she was, yet not stupid enough to prod the belly of the beast.

His hand reached out again– not cruelly but without invitation. He took hold of her arm and pulled her up from the couch that the duo had rested on. It was not painful, but Alyse would not have described it as gentle either.

He turned her towards the mirror.

“Look.”

She obeyed, though everything in her body screamed not to. It had been long since she looked in a mirror, and she was just as pitiful as last time. Hair still damp, curling like sheep’s wool framing her face. A bruise on her shoulder from the cage. Dirt beneath her nails, she hadn’t managed to scrape out yet. Eyes too wide. Horrified. Bright. To be bright was to be seen, the last thing a meal ever wanted.

“I see potential.” His hands clamped down on her shoulders, her heart lurching with fear and yet, similarly, a foolish tug of hope.

The lord leaned in close, lips at her ear. “But I also see every imperfection, and I hate when my things aren’t perfect. I’ll have to fix that, won’t I?”

A silence followed that urged her voice forward. “Y-yes.”

“Say it.”

The back of her throat was so horribly dry. “You’ll fix me.”

His nails curled in, a prickle of pain sent her blood hammering into her ears. “Louder.”

“You’ll fix me, master.”

Quick as a snake, a hand curled around the base of her throat– not tight, not enough to choke, but enough to command every beat of her frantic heart.

“Yes, little lamb.” His tone softened, finding satisfaction in her racing pulse. “I will.”

And god help her, she almost thanked him.

#DUDE HOLY SHIT #How was she to stand in the face of a wolf and not bolt?#BEAUTIFUL #Do you believe I would not make such a threat?#HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH #“ Velvet over steel ” THAT DESCRIPTION OMFG #i love #others' writing

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watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees · 3 days ago

Text

Lamb To The Slaughter

Alyse (little lamb whumpee) doesn't know how to wait, or how to dress herself. So Valerius (big scary elf whumper) helps her out. (How kind of him)

CW: Non-sexual nudity. Assume The Worst

Part 2 - Silk Nightgown

The next morning came without ceremony.

Alyse wondered if she’d be woken in the morning, called upon by a ringing bell, like she had always imagined. She thought she’d jump out of bed, dress herself in modest garb, and hurry down the hallway like a good little servant.

Although when she woke, it was to the sliver of sunlight that crept down from the floor up along her bed and then shone into her eyes. Frost stubbornly coated the window’s edge. There were no bells, no bows, and no whistles.

The room – her room – was much too big for such a small creature.

Be grateful, be humble, be thankful.

Oh, but it was so hard to be when it was all far too much.

Alyse had grown up as long as she could remember, surrounded by four solid walls of steel, kept locked in the back corners of a cage. It hadn’t been beautiful, it hadn’t had any luxury, but it was all that she knew. And to be in such an unfamiliar place was like a fawn venturing out into the wide open field as the sun peaked during hunting season.

The bed itself was so intimidating that it had taken her multiple minutes to gather the courage to even crawl onto the mammoth. It could have held at least four of her easily, which was so different than the tiny wool cot she had slept on before.

Silk linen covered the bed, matched with the deep midnight blue sheer overhang. To Alyse, it reminded her of a lake, blue cascading down and around the frame, shimmering to the floor, layers upon layers.

There was also a hearth, cold and untouched. A dresser, taller than Alyse and wider as well. A window, in fact, two that held little benches beneath them, decorated with finely stitched pillows. A bookshelf, even though Alyse herself couldn’t read. A rug that was made from the softest fur that Alyse had ever dared press her feet against. She was almost worried she’d ruin it just by settling her soles into the plushness.

Luxuries. So many luxuries that she could have never imagined. Not for a slave. Not for a pet. Not for a lamb. Was she not to be curled up on a cushion next to a fireplace like a dog? Was she not to sleep on a tiny bed tucked away in a forgotten corner? Or at the very least at the feet of her master?

It was hard for Alyse to dwell on such uncertainties when her toes explored the carpet and whisked away her worries. If she’d thought for a second longer, she’d realize she was staring down at the very thing that had made her undesirable. Human where lamb should be. Fur that started at the center of her feet and grew in curly bursts all the way up to her thigh. Lamb where human should be.

Seconds turned into minutes, which persisted on. She didn’t know if she was supposed to leave or stay, wait or find. Valerius hadn’t given her instructions. She’d simply been led to her room and left to rest.

Oh, couldn’t he understand how much comfort it would have brought her to have orders? Instructions? What was she to do now? Guess? Guessing wasn’t exactly what a pet should be doing. A pet should know. Should she know? Was that it? Was this a test?

The questions bubbled up in her little head like boiling milk, popping and spilling over the edge, burning anything it touched.

Finally, after much deliberation, she decided to step out of the room, a lacy nightgown hanging midthigh, her hair uncombed and spun like untamed wool. What a sight she must have been, though Alyse didn’t particularly concern herself with such things.

“Little lamb.” The hair on the back of her neck sprang up as she had managed to make it to the end of the hallway.

Candles flickered on, one by one, illuminating a path towards Valerius. The air was thick and heavy with power as his presence swelled and took up nearly every single inch of space. Alyse had felt it when she woke, that creeping fullness in the air, but hadn’t realized that it was her master who caused it.

“You are–” Valerius’s amber eyes swept down and then back up the length of the creature. “ –indecent.”

The stone beneath her feet suddenly felt icy, the air still holding so much weight yet felt so crisp, like the edges of the air were freezing before it hit her tongue. “I didn’t– I didn’t know–”

“That much is clear.”

Alyse’s feet froze mid-step, the plush rug beneath her toes suddenly feeling more like ice.

Her hands instinctively clasped the hem of her nightgown, as if she could will the gauzy fabric to lengthen.

His tone wasn’t raised, but the weight in it pressed against her chest. He strode forward, the slow, deliberate rhythm of his steps echoing down the hall. Each flicker of the candles caught the sharp lines of his face, and for a moment, Alyse felt as if the air itself bowed out of his way.

By the time he reached her, she had already tucked her chin and lowered her ears, a meek attempt at making herself smaller.

“I did not give you leave to wander,” he said, stopping close enough that his shadow fell over her entirely. “And I certainly did not give you leave to parade yourself like this.” His hand came up—not to strike, but to curl one long finger beneath her chin, lifting her face until those wide, mousy eyes met his.

Her breath trembled. “I just… didn’t know if I was supposed to stay in the room or…”

“You were supposed to wait.” His thumb grazed the corner of her mouth, not tenderly, but in that assessing way of his, as though he were determining what needed mending. “Patience is a skill you clearly lack. That, too, will be corrected.”

She nodded, the movement small but quick, the way a deer twitches when it hears a branch snap in the forest.

“I would so love to see you walk around in this all day long, my pet,” Valerius continued, his eyes dipping down over her collarbone, further and further, studying every inch of her, memorizing it in a way he’d memorize a piece of particularly beautiful artwork. “But alas, there are so many wolves around that would love to devour a little lamb like you.”

The lord slipped his hand down, along the curve of her shoulder, and came to rest on the space between her sharp shoulder blades. She tried not to flinch, not to run. She wished– no, she prayed that her instincts wouldn’t take over someday and cause her to flee with her nonexistent tail between her legs.

Her ears remained tucked as the duo began to walk back towards her room. Her teeth drew down hard onto her lower lip as they approached, the candles flickering. She let a tiny little puff of air leave her lips. “Master?”

“Yes?” He did not halt his steady, practiced steps, making sure she kept close and up to speed.

“Are you…” Hesitation was forced upon her as her tongue suddenly felt dry, like the ice in the air had frozen every ounce of moisture and then broken it apart to stone. “Are you mad at me…?”

What a delicious question, so sweet from her little lips. Mad? It almost made Valerius chuckle at the idea. This is what his pet thought his anger looked like? A slight tweak? A hint of criticism? Oh, pray the poor darling never truly finds out what forms his anger truly takes.

But at the same time, it was so innocent, so meek. She was afraid; he could smell it on her, a beautiful scent. So very scared, so very small, so very eager to please, yet simultaneously not knowing how. Was there anything more perfect in this world? A pet that desired praise as much as Alyse did, yet stumbled her way farther and farther away from that line.

“No, I’m not mad.” Foolish to even have to say such a thing when he hadn’t so much laid a hand upon her. Though he couldn’t help but reassure her as she trembled. “Did the shopkeeper get mad about such small inconveniences?”

Alyse inched herself closer, leaning against his touch, though she probably wasn’t aware of this action. The tiny sentence had been enough to quell most of the storm raging between her ears. The side of her body brushed against his, her bare arm making contact with his perfectly ironed vest. “Sometimes.”

“What a fool.”

Her eyes widened, thick eyelashes nearly grazing her upper lid. Then, despite herself, she laughed. It wasn’t a shrill laugh, not one that came from a full set of lungs, but a tiny giggle that bubbled out.

Valerius’s eyebrows perked. “Was that funny, little lamb?”

Laughter hadn’t been heard in these halls in generations, and yet it sounded as though it belonged.

Brash. Audacious. Stupid.

Innocent.

The honey pools of her irises latched onto his as she fully swung against him, tangling her fingers in the fabric at his side, pulling it from its precisely tucked position in his trousers. Giddiness filled her, quick to vanquish any fear or uncertainty. It was funny, wasn’t it? How could it have not been funny? Such a direct insult to the man who had controlled her life for years. Something that she had thought, but never dared to say.

Valerius halted his steps, watching with a dull expression as his new pet struggled to compose herself. Never in his life had a creature taken such liberties as to fall against him, grab his clothing, or even so much as breathe a hair out of place.

Alyse slunk into his side, nodding her head as her giggles died down and slid back her throat. She wasn’t aware of the danger she faced. She didn’t know that her laugh was a mating call for the most dangerous of creatures.

“You are bold, my dear.” Valerius drew his mouth into a firm line.

“Well, I just- I didn’t–” Alyse’s smile faded, but she didn’t draw back, keeping her hands clung against his clothing. “ –I thought it was funny… He was, wasn’t he?”

“Was what?”

Her lips pinched shut. Last time she’d said a single word that could have even been considered an insult towards the shopkeeper, he’d threatened to sew her treacherous mouth shut. “Sorry…”

Valerius glanced towards one of the doors lining the hallway, hers. They had been so close and yet now stuck, glued in place. “For what?”

“For laughing, sir.”

“And why would you have to apologize for that?”

Alyse blinked, once, then twice. “I… I dunno…”

She hadn’t been taught it was a crime to laugh. Her happiness was not a punishable offense, was it? She hadn’t known. How was she supposed to know? He hadn’t told her– not a word. If she had known she wasn’t supposed to laugh, then not even God could draw that sound from her lips, but– but– he hadn’t told her. That wasn’t fair.

“Alyse.” Her pupils contracted, her hold suddenly not out of joy but out of fear, frozen, clenched, desperately wanting his next words to be soft. “Darling, focus. What have I said about apologizing? This was not even a day ago. I’ll be rather displeased if you don’t remember.”

She was nothing but a lamb, staring into the barrel of a gun, not knowing the dangers that awaited. Did she think his patience was infinite?

“You said uhm…” Alyse’s ears flopped back once again, lying against her mane of hair. What was it? Her head was so full and yet so small. How could she remember– Oh! Just like that, her entire body perked up as the memory came forward. “You said not to apologize unless you told me to, master.”

She expected praise or perhaps even a softening of his gaze. She had done the right thing, hadn’t she? She remembered so her lord did not have to be displeased with her. It was simple logic.

Valerius clicked his tongue. “Do not look so proud of yourself. You believe you are warranted praise, little one? After already being defiant? After forgetting the words your master said not even a day ago? Do the things I say mean that little to you?”

“No!” Her fingers curled, harder, desperate, pulling out his undershirt fully as her knees began to tremble. “No, master. No, sir. I listened– I remembered. I didn’t mean to forget– I won’t again. I promise I won’t forget. Don’t be mad– please don’t be mad.”

“This–” Valerius pressed a single digit below her shaking chin, forcing her head up as she tried to smother her sorrow against his side. ‘ –is not what anger looks like. But perhaps you’ll see if you do not start listening.”

It looked like anger to Alyse. But even a sharpened leaf looked like a knife to her.

“I’m listening, I’m listening.”

“Yes, you are.” The elf lord took her hands in his, slowly prying each one of her tiny fingers off his clothing. She didn’t fight back, but also did not go slack as he had expected. Instead, she stayed perfectly still as if her bones had turned to iron. Perhaps she could only concentrate on one thing at a time. “Go into your room and take off your nightgown. Wait for me as you should have in the beginning.”

Alyse stood frozen, her breath hitching at the command. The words hung in the air like a thick fog, wrapping around her limbs, making it difficult to move—yet somehow, she found her feet shuffling toward the door, heart thudding in her chest. Each step felt heavy, as if the weight of Valerius’s gaze clung to her like a damp cloak.

Inside her room, the silence was deafening. The once comforting space now felt overwhelming, the walls closing in with shadows that danced in the corners, reminding her of the cage she had known. She glanced back, half-expecting Valerius to follow, to loom over her even here. But he stayed outside, and for a fleeting moment, she was alone.

Fingers trembling, she turned her attention to the nightgown, its fabric soft but foreign against her skin. It slid off easily, pooling at her feet, a silken shadow on the plush rug.

Others had seen Alyse naked before, of course. Slaves had no right to privacy. If someone had come into the pet store and asked to see Alyse stripped nude, then she was expected to do so without hesitation.

And yet— her face was flushed a dangerous cherry red. Her hands cupped over her breasts, or what the shopkeeper had described as ‘lack of’.

Fear covered her like a shawl, thick and heavy, pressing down her shoulders. She wished it were visible, wished for a giant woven shawl to press her down into the ground so she wouldn’t have to stand in anticipation with her bare skin open to the cool air.

The latch of her door clicked, rippling goosebumps up her skin. Alyse turned, tucking her legs together, embarrassed by her figure. Too human. Too Faun. Not enough. Never enough.

“I think I prefer you like this.” Alyse's head dipped down as Valerius entered, closing the door behind him, keeping the lustful eyes away. “I suppose it doesn’t matter to you either way, does it? You were perfectly willing to parade yourself around in nothing but a thin nightgown of silk.”

Run. Run.

Her instincts screamed it: run and hide and don’t make a single sound. Hope he doesn’t find you. Hope he forgets about your miserable existence. Pray he grows bored and doesn’t devour you whole.

“And what if I were to take you out like this?” His boots stamped down the fur rug, smashing it flat. “Let every animal out there have a bite of you. What would you think of that?”

Alyse’s heart raced as Valerius stepped closer, his presence swallowing her whole. The looming walls of the room seemed to shift, closing in, and she felt as if she could barely breathe. Each thud of her heart echoed in her ears, a frantic rhythm that drowned out her thoughts. She wanted to shrink away, to disappear into the shadows cast by those sharp angles of his frame, yet her legs refused to move.

He stood there, imposing, surveying her with that inscrutable gaze that felt like ice and fire all at once. “You have a terrible habit of hesitating when I ask questions. Dare I have to teach you how unfortunate it would be to not have a tongue?”

That loosened the wedge of anxiety pressed between her jaw. “No, master. I-I don’t have any thoughts on-on if you wanted me to walk nude.”

Slaves don’t have thoughts. Pets even less so.

Valerius was a man who loved to toy with his food before eating it. And this lamb’s blood was pumping so fast he could hear the pleasant hum in the air.

“What a beautiful sight you’d be.” A finger, armed with razor-sharp nails, drew down the side of her jaw, along her throat, her shoulder, pausing just above her breasts. “It’s too bad for you. I hate sharing.”

Alyse closed her eyes, pathetic tears threatening to leak out.

“Perfect. Keep your pretty little eyes closed for me, okay?”

A nod was the only response she gave, even though she desperately wanted to crumble to the ground and spout apologies. She had been given just one rule so far, and that was to not apologize unless instructed. Just one simple rule. And even that she couldn’t seem to follow.

Valerius stalked around her, the click of his boots muffled by the carpet. Her pale skin nearly shimmered against the sunlight, her silver hair all the same. Her bones peeked out through every inch of her small stature, her collar bones, her shoulder blades, her ribs.

He’d fix that in due time, of course.

Faun was usually covered in freckles, but not this one. There was not a speck of imperfection on her, not a mole, a spot, or a scar. She was far too afraid for a being that hadn’t been struck hard enough to form a scar.

It was good that Valerius had already eaten breakfast, or he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop himself from devouring the poor thing whole.

After all, her fear was intoxicating. Her eyes crinkled shut, tense, her shoulders shaking, her knees clacking together like hollow wind chimes. She tried too hard to stay still, but her body betrayed her. He even noticed the lower line of her eyelashes dampening with each passing second.

He wanted her desperately. He wanted to run his nails along her untouched skin, hear her tiny little whimper, feel the horror as her body thrashed against his. He’d drink her pain like a wine aged wine.

But not yet.

Control was something the elf lord prided himself on, and he was not about to lose it on a stray he’d dragged in merely hours ago.

Valerius ran his fingers over the many silks and laces that decorated Alyse’s wardrobe. A dark crimson dress was one he hesitated to pass by. His tongue ran against his teeth as he pictured her drenched in red, trembling, begging at his feet.

Not yet.

“Take a step forward.” Alyse shakily obeyed, stepping into the dainty pearl pink dress he’d picked out. It was enough to not make her look drowned out without being overly flashy. His finger tips teased the edge of her bare skin as he pulled it up over her frame, and severe lack of curves.

One arm at a time, then he began to lace the ribbon corset in the back. His movements were precise, practiced, like he had done this a million times before. Once she was dressed, he stepped to her front.

“Do you feel better now?”

Alyse didn’t answer. “Can I open my eyes?”

“I suppose you may.”

Alyse obeyed, glancing up at her master, then down at her dress. Her face flushed, the skirt going down to her knees, laced with elegant designs, sinched around the waist, something more beautiful than she deserved. “Thank you, sir.”

The lord didn’t acknowledge her gratitude; instead continued to nibble on the thin threads of her composure. “And now what am I to do with you, hmm? A pet that has been so disobedient in the short time I’ve had her. I can’t let that go unpunished, can I?”

He wasn’t looking for an answer, but Alyse gave one anyway. “No, master.”

“Oh, but the dress has covered so many places that I could have used.” A shiver, colder than ice, ran down Alyse’s back. His eyes were undressing her, begging the question of why he had even bothered to begin with. “All I can see now is your legs, hands, and face. I wouldn’t want to bruise your pretty face, though, would I?”

Again, she answered, a knee-jerk reaction. “No, master.”

“So maybe your hands then. That would work well, wouldn’t it? Next time you think to disobey, you’ll feel the pain in these little fingers and think better of it.” His hand enveloped hers, each digit trembling, pale, and so thin as he examined them. One wrong move and he could have every single one broken. “What do you think?”

Think? She didn’t think. That’s what got her into trouble to begin with.

“Y-yes, master.”

A scripted answer that had been shoved down her throat for years. Valerius’s lips quirked to the side almost imperceptibly so. That’s not the answer he wanted. He did not want some regurgitated remains. He wanted her, all of her, raw and fresh.

She was such a delicate being, though, he had to be careful. He didn’t want to break her. What was the point of broken things anyway? Valerius never understood that concept. Break something into nothing, and then what? What entertainment did that provide? He hated fake tears, fake whimpers. What was the point if it was all forged?

“Well, if you had any disagreements, I would have listened, but since you’re so eager.” Valerius gave her a delicate yet firm shove towards a walnut desk perched in the corner, surrounded by the bookshelves she had been admiring earlier. “Put your pretty little hands on the table for me.”

Fear finally engulfed her entirely. “Master– please-”

Valerius cocked his head to the side, a brow perched, yet not a word leaving his lips. And that was enough to frighten the lamb back into her skin as she frantically obeyed, planting her quivering hands against the table, fingers splayed, untouched, unharmed, no mark of the life she had lived.

“It’s a shame to have to do this on your second day, but lambs aren’t the fastest learners.” Alyse flinched, nearly jumping a foot off the floor when a loud, sharp thudding sound echoed through the room. The perpetrator was a thin, flexible piece of hickory stick, waiting in the elf’s hands. “Stay still for me, darling. We have a lesson we need to learn, don’t we?”

#OH DAMN I'M OBSESSED #please tag me if you write more!!!#others' writing

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