doorlampwrites
Bits and Pieces
Doorlamp | Whump and villain writing | Early 20s | he/they | Queer | Disabled | 18+ sideblog is doorlampnsfw
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helloo i love your writing!!🥺 i have a request: can we please have another nsfw snippet of an extremely scary antagonist with protag? kind of like the majesty and angel one (or even just a part 2 of that👀)?
Okay - take 2! Let's see if I manage some actual nsfw content this time. (Spoilers…I didn’t. But it’s nearer to the mark?)
"Mirror mirror on the wall, show me the most monstrous one of all.” The antagonist’s voice was barely above a murmur, a hum; all the promise of sweet honey and wicked stings. Their teeth grazed along the protagonist’s throat in the reflection of the glass. “Are you scared?”
The protagonist shivered, even as they jutted their chin up at the image before them. "Of you?" They rolled their eyes. "Please." Of course they were. They were terrified.
But not, perhaps, of this.
"I could hurt you,” said the antagonist.
"Promises promises,” replied the protagonist, only a little raspy.
The antagonist laughed, and caught the protagonist's wide-eyed gaze. They pressed a featherlight kiss to the protagonist's neck, above the desperate thrum of their pulse. The hand not curled around the protagonist's waist, pinning them against the protagonist’s body, stroked down the line of the protagonist's tipped neck, just tracing the jugular, and then down further to their bare chest. Slowly. Oh, so, slowly.
The protagonist's knees threatened to buckle, and wasn't that just absurd?
If they turned, they knew the antagonist would look normal. Well, beautiful. But normal. Human. The glass allowed for no such pretences; it revealed the truth of all things.
"Such a pretty little thing.” The antagonist stared back at them, eyes dark. “Am I what you expected?”
"No.”
The antagonist’s fingers moved in almost idle circles, teasing, testing reactions. Learning how to pluck the nerve endings gifted to them like an instrument. “No?” They sounded amused.
The protagonist squeezed their eyes shut.
The antagonist’s nails dug in and the protagonist stuttered on a hitched breath, looking once more.
“One expects the devil to have horns. Or at least to do the courtesy of appealing to the cliché of tall, dark and handsome.”
“The devil?” The antagonist kissed their throat once more, with lips with that shouldn’t have felt so soft when the protagonist could see the teeth. “Is that what they’re calling me now?”
“They don’t call you anything. That might invoke you. Summon you.”
The antagonist’s hand moved on from the protagonist’s hip, certain of the protagonist’s stillness, dipping instead between the protagonist’s legs.
The protagonist bit down hard on their lip. Heat rushed through them. They didn’t dare try and close their eyes again, but they gave the antagonist more of their weight. More of everything.
“Kind devil, sweet devil, my devil…” the antagonist mocked, breathless, “give me every wicked thing my heart desires.”
“I didn’t say that.” The protagonist’s cheeks burned, even as their hips canted forward.
“Oh, darling.” The antagonist’s voice was purr, “every inch of you is saying it right now.” In one swift move, with impossible strength, they’d spun the protagonist and pressed them against the glass. It was icy cold against their back.
They were facing each other now.
“But don’t worry.” The antagonist fell to their knees, looking up, and such a position should have appeared vulnerable. It didn’t. It only made it seem like such things didn’t matter. The antagonist pressed their next kiss to the protagonist’s hip, and smiled, that smile that was of honey and stings too. “I’ll have you screaming it by the end of the night.”
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Half Sick of Shadows
For the kind people who asked :)
23:58
She hurtled through the trees, twigs and undergrowth crashing beneath her bare feet. Branches and bushes whipped cruelly at her arms, her legs, her cheek. She had a moment to be concerned that he would smell the coppery scent of her blood on the air. She had a larger moment to sincerely wish she’d thought to negotiate for a decent pair of running shoes – she’d just said running shoes, like an idiot, and he’d given her a smile and trainers that were four sizes too small.
Mostly, she did not have a moment at all. She needed as much of a head start as she could get.
She pushed her muscles to run faster still, burning through her adrenaline. Her heart slammed hard enough that she felt dizzy. Her breath came in quick, loud, ragged gasps.
The woods grew tall and thick and twisted in every direction around her; its canopy of leaves an impenetrable shield against the moonlight she had seen earlier. The darkness would have been absolute if not for the twinkling drops of silvery lights looped above her on black ropes, like someone had plucked all of the stars down for decoration.
At least she’d remembered to ask for lights. Good lights. She’d heard a story about a boy who forgot to ask for lights. He didn’t last even five minutes after midnight.
It was not, in the modern age, considered proper for fae to hunt unwilling mortals for sport. There were diplomatic relations to consider. The game, the challenge, which had been devised in response was a deceptively simple one.
Mortals could choose to enter themselves for the hunt. If considered, they would then be whisked to the fairy kingdom on the night of the full moon, and given the opportunity to negotiate their terms with any fae willing to strike the bargain with them. If none were, no harm, no foul. But if they were…at 23:30, the human would be released on the edge of the forest which made up the border between their two realms. They would run.
If the human managed to cross over to the mortal world by dawn they would be free to leave the immortal kingdom. They would return to life, to sanity, with all of the bounties they had come looking for in the first place. Some entered themselves into the hunt for a blessing, for enchanted wares, for a spell that might fix all their woes. Others still entered for power, for a precious herb that might save a loved one from great sickness, or great riches.
But, if they were caught…
Her mind flashed to the wicked-lovely eyes of her hunter, bright and hungry, and her stomach flipped.
The great clock struck twelve. The hunt began.
Well, if she was caught…to the victor, the spoils.
They were coming.
***
19:32
“I’ll take the deal,” the fae said. “I’ll take you.”
The laughter in the room cut silent, and she exhaled a shaky breath between her teeth. She steeled herself and turned to face the creature.
The room was filled with all different kinds of fairy; seelie and unseelie, summer court and winter; the monstrous and the beautiful, all wanting different things. He was beautiful. He was terrible. He was something sublime in the oldest sense of the word.
She swallowed hard, her mouth going a little dry. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.
The fae looked her up and down, assessing, like he was figuring out exactly what he wanted. He seemed like he was taking her apart into a million different pieces in his brain and putting her back together all over again in the precise shape that he envisioned.
“Come, human” he said. His voice was velvet, singsong and amused. He flashed her a sharp, playful grin and beckoned her with a crook of his finger. “Tell me everything your heart desires.”
She’d never told anyone that before.
***
12:01
The woods had turned against her. If the branches had been in the way before, now they actively moved to stop her progress. They stretched to create barricades, cage walls, blocking her way and forcing her to stumble back.
Her eyes widened. She felt, abruptly and distinctly, herded. She swore under her breath, considering her options. Maybe she should stand still out of stubborn spite? At least deny him the chase? No. She couldn’t afford to wait. Every minute brought her closer to dawn, and further away from the possibility of winning her wish.
“Shit.” She dragged a hand through her dark hair and tried to think.
She’d agreed that it was only fair for him to be allowed use of his own abilities, providing that he didn’t come after her on horse-back. She couldn’t outrun a horse. She’d thought she’d be perfectly capable of outrunning a tree, given that they generally didn’t move anywhere near as easily as horses.
Making it five minutes past midnight seemed a far more impressive feat than she’d allowed for. She couldn’t even accuse him of cheating.
She drew a knife, ready to slash her way through if she had to. She squared her shoulders, set her jaw and went down with an undignified yelp as a tree root ensnared her by the ankle and yanked.
***
12:13
The fae sauntered towards her with a really quite unfair, leisurely, grace. His footsteps were light, barely making a sound as he moved through the trees.
He stopped in front of her, looking her up and down, as if he had all of the time in the world.
“Comfortable?” the fae asked.
She glared back him, suspended vertically in mid-air between two trees in a harness comprised of the lights that she had, personally, insisted on. They wound tight around her wrists, pinning her arms and legs behind her back. She gave another tug at her restraints and, much like the last few times she had tried that, it did nothing. She was, well and truly, stuck.
“You think this is funny, don’t you?” she growled. “Did you enchant them before you even set them out?”
He hummed. His eyes, when they met hers, were intent. Dark. Predatory.
The growl died out in her throat.
“I considered letting you run until you exhausted yourself,” he murmured. He reached out a hand, examining his trap. “Catching you when your knees finally buckled. Or, perhaps, letting you get close enough to the border to see it before I grabbed you.” His fingers moved off the rope, trailing up her chest and grazing along her throat. He left behind a blaze of heat everywhere he touched. “But after our talk earlier I knew it had to be this.”
Her face flushed – with mortification, with want, with far too many things,
“You’re a bastard.”
“And you, like most mortals, are a liar.” He reached up with his other hand, and something snapped out of her line of vision. He brandished a stick from the trees in front of her, making her watch as it transformed into a leather crop before her eyes. She didn’t know if it was real or only an illusion. “Fae cannot lie,” he said, “so you can imagine we have grown rather accustomed to telling when somebody else is.”
She wrenched her gaze back up to his face. Her heart was pounding, far more now, than it had been at any point during her desperate bid for escape. Anticipation, dread, need, all shivered through her.
“I haven’t lied about anything,” she protested, a little hoarsely.
He brought the crop down hard on her right thigh in response.
Her brain went blank. She couldn’t have said if she made a sound. She couldn’t have said what the look on her face was, but he brought the crop up and caressed the edge along the curve of her cheek. She resisted the urge to squeeze her eyes shut.
He leaned into her ear, like he was sharing a secret. Her breath caught.
“I detest liars,” he said. “Maybe I should have you gagged.”
“But I didn’t—”
The crop smacked down again, impossibly fast, stinging and bright in the exact same spot as before. She couldn’t keep from crying out.
“Do you remember what you asked me for?” The fae’s head tilted, almost curiously. “What you wanted so badly that you would risk one of my brethren literally eating your heart out to get it?”
Of course she remembered.
“Tell me again,” he said. His voice was soft and unmistakeably commanding, impossible to deny. It shot through her veins like electricity.
“I said,” she whispered, “that I wanted to be normal.”
***
19:40
“I don’t know.” She stared at her knees, trying to put it to words. “What is it that normal people fantasize about? I know it’s not—” she bit down hard on her lip.
The fae stared at her in silence. Waiting.
They sat some distance away from the main hall, where that year’s hunt was being fine-tuned. This was a quieter space, with a lush carpet of moss and wildflowers blooming every colour.
She steeled herself; she hadn’t come all this way to fall at the first hurdle, and he could hardly magic up a fix for her if she couldn’t tell him the problem.
“Normal people,” she said, “don’t go around thinking about how much they need someone to tie them up. To tell them what to do. Or make them do what they want. There’s enough chance of actually getting beat up and hurt that you don’t sit around thinking, hey, you know what I really want? Someone to take advantage of me.”
“…you are not the only mortal to ever be interested in that,” the fae said. He’d gone statuesque, unreadable, focused. There was no trace of a playful smile on his lips anymore.
The air around them was heady with some intoxicating scent, jasmine, or something else. Something not found in the mortal world. She couldn’t pin it down.
“I know, but…” She dug her nails into her palms. “What I am…it’s…always halfway between things. It’s never enough one way or the other. Just—” She closed her eyes. Her throat locked tight. “Just take it away. Take it all way. Please. Let me dream about, like, I don’t know. Something smaller. Something that I can actually have.”
Wanting, in the grand scheme of things, hurt too badly and in all the wrong ways. It would be easier not to. At least then she wouldn’t be stuck with the awful longing of it all.
“Something that you can actually have,” the fae echoed. “That is quite a blank check for someone who has been so careful with their words before. Something you can actually have may be death, or disease, or everything that you do not actually want.”
“A nice house,” she snapped. “A decent career. Something nice and comfortable. What do people normally ask you for? Whatever it is, that. I want to want that. I want to dream about something that people actually understand.”
“We’ll need to work out the finer details,” the fae said, after a long silence. “Are you prepared to pay the price, if you lose?”
She swallowed.
“Anything.”
***
12:14
“So,” the fae said. “What you want…is this. Or some version of it that actually feels like it belongs to you. Are you going to tell me that I’m wrong?”
She wanted to point out that this was, actually, the exact opposite of what she’d asked for thank you very much. This was handing over matchsticks and gasoline instead of water. He was very, very wrong.
He brought the crop down a third time, this time on her left thigh – measuring her reaction coolly as she jolted. She couldn’t find enough air. It betrayed the lie.
“Do not – mock me.”
“I’m not mocking you. You should know, human.” He looked at her with those wicked-lovely eyes and seemed to see straight through everything that she was and ever would be. “Normal is overrated. It won’t make you feel whole.”
She stared at him.
The fae snapped his fingers, and all of the twinkling lights went slack.
She flailed and fell, landing in a graceless heap in his waiting arms. His grip tightened. His lips were inches from hers. She froze.
“Once a fae knows a mortal’s name,” the fae murmured. “Their real name, they have absolute power over them. You know that, don’t you? You knew that when you promised to give me yours.”
“Only if I lost. It’s not dawn yet! You haven’t won yet.”
He set her down on her battered feet. She blinked up at him and swayed, uncertain.
“So run, human.” He made a show of stepping back, raising his hands in surrender, fingers waggling in the air. “Run back to what is ordinary. Or…” his hands dropped. “Stop lying, get on your knees, and give me your name right now.”
She spluttered. She scowled. She opened her mouth on three different occasions to tell him to fuck right off and said none of them. He didn’t say anything, he only looked at her, waited like he’d done when they first met.
She fell to her knees, in the tangled pool of light. They didn’t move now. Nothing in the entire forest seemed to move, nor make a sound, except her blood rushing in her ears.
She looked up at him and he took a step closer, so she looked up more.
“Kella,” she whispered. “My name is Kella Devereux.”
“Kella.” He purred her name, and it was as if she was hearing it for the first time, like someone was actually talking to her for the first time. It went all the way to her bones. The magic crackled in the air around them like a summer storm, full of promise and danger and release all at the same time. “Welcome to your new life, Kella Devereux. Don’t ever presume to lie to me again.”
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Love your writing! Can I request a hero that likes being controlled by the villain because they get relief from their anxiety/stressful life but they are denying it because they don’t want to admit to being overwhelmed?
"Oh god, you're back."
The villain smirked at that particular greeting and inclined their head in acknowledgement. "Long time no see, hero mine."
Anticipation had the hero's heart drumming double time. They shifted their weight, hold tightening on the battered strap of their rucksack. The street was empty, all curtains conspicuously drawn, but there was nothing actually blocking any exits. They could run. They weren't far from home. They might even make it.
"It's okay," the villain said, tucking their hands into their pockets. "You can try, I won't be offended. I know you prefer pretending that you don't like this. That you don't crave this."
"I don't."
"No?" The villain's tone was soft, but their eyes gleamed in the glow of the lampposts. Their gaze was somewhere between gently mocking and not so gently fond. "You're lucky you lie so pretty. It means I'll let you off with a warning. Just the one, because I've heard you've had a rough week."
The hero swallowed.
The week had been exhausting. Atlas would have buckled beneath the weight of the last week too. Anyone would. Wouldn't they? Maybe that was why, beneath the panic of seeing the villain again, there was a much more terrifying chasm of relief. Dizzy, desperate relief. The kind of longing that left a person brained by it. Dumb.
"You heard about that?" the hero asked, in a small voice, even if it was entirely not the point.
"I'm here, aren't I?"
The hero shuddered, to hear the villain say it so bluntly. Maybe if they hadn't, the hero could pretend - what? That somewhere along the way monstrosity and miracle had blurred together like wet watercolours?
"You could walk away," the hero said.
"I could," the villain agreed, placidly. They didn't move though.
"Would you if I asked you to?"
The villain's head tilted, considering the hero at that.
"Mm, I don't think so," they decided eventually. "Then you'd feel like you had to ask. It goes better when you don't have any choice in this matter, doesn't it?"
"You can't just - you can't say that."
"No?" the villain's lip curled up again. They closed the gap between them, casually confident. "You asked."
"Well, yes - but." The hero didn't have a good way to finish the sentence. Mainly because they should have been horrified. They were horrified! It was only..."You're not supposed to say it." The crack in their voice felt far too much like confession. "It's not right."
"Yeah. I'd say you should stop feeling so guilty about liking it so much, but honestly it's entirely too delicious watching you squirm."
The hero made a choked, incoherent sound in their throat. They took a step back, not remotely surprised when the villain's hand snaked eel-fast around their back.
"Ah, ah," the villain said. "You already had your chance to run. Go easy."
The hero felt the very moment that something switched in the villain's voice, their powers humming a siren song in the hero's bones. They felt their body turn to putty as they blinked at the villain, wide-eyed. Their hands settled comfortably on the villain's chest, not pushing back.
It wasn't...it wasn't exactly that their brain switched off, only that everything in them suddenly refused to fully recognise the danger. And there was danger, they knew that, but...
But for the first time since they'd last seen the villain, the knot in their chest loosened. They didn't feel one small straw or loud noise or well-meaning question away from bursting pitifully into tears.
"Good," the villain murmured. "Just like that. There you are. Deep breaths."
Up close, the villain took a moment to study them properly. The hero let them look. Minutes ago, they might have tried to hide, ashamed by the blatant dark circles under their eyes, by everything that the villain would see, but in that second...
The villain's lips thinned a fraction. "I've been away on business for too long, haven't I? Sorry about that."
"How was business?"
The villain didn't bother answering that question, more concerned with grazing their thumb along the swell of the hero's lip where they'd bitten it raw. Their eyes darkened further.
"You look annoyed," the hero said.
"You could have called me, you know."
"Why would I do that?"
"Why would you-" For a second, it seemed like the villain might say something. Then, they simply sighed, and shook their head, muttering something under their breath. They pivoted, so they were at the hero's side instead, snagging the hero's heavy bag onto their own shoulders.
"Walk." The command hummed through the villain's voice again. "I think we've both had enough of your idiot brain for today. You're done for the week."
Every time the villain let them go, it was harder to force themselves to leave.
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More Whumper Lines
In honor of my first Whumper lines post getting over 1,000 notes, here’s some more! And in some fun categories!
Tag me if you end up using any!
~
Playful/Cheery/Lighthearted
1. “Aw, that was cute. I almost felt that excuse for a punch. Why don’t you try again?”
2. “My favorite part is right before you lose consciousness.”
3. “Caretaker, you know how to do stitches, right? No? Oh well.”
4. “Hm. Your blood’s darker than the last one’s was.”
5. “Sounds like Whumpee’s having fun in there…would you like to go join them?”
Dark/Violent/Rough
1. “Get the fuck over here or I’m dragging you.”
2. “Look at me. Look at me while I hurt you.”
3. “Nothing you say is going to stop me. I have a job to do, and I don’t give a shit how it happens.”
4. “Don’t you get it? I’m not being careful. I want this to hurt you.”
5. “Stay still, you motherf—Stay STILL!”
Creepy/Intimate
1. “Come on, scream like you mean it…there we go. Much better.”
2. “It’s so cute when you fumble with your keys everyday when you come home.”
3. “Your pretty little screams are only for me to hear, understand?”
4. “It’s a shock to me that you’ve never considered modeling. I mean…red just looks so good on you.”
5. “Ah, you remember this scar, don’t you? The day we met…god, what I’d give to break you like that again.”
Reluctant/Hesitant
1. “Look, I’m—I’m sorry, I just need to get this over-with. Bite on this.”
2. “They’ll check for bruises. I have to.”
3. “I’m sorry, boss, I’ve…I’ve never done this before. I-I’m trying.”
4. “Don’t look at me like that when the others are here. Please. They’ll know I’m faking it.”
5. “I’m sorry, I had to say it—you know that’s not how I actually think of you, right?”
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Whump when it's subtle and all about the small things
Whumpee has been with Whumper for so long, keeping them company it's almost become casual. They sit and watch TV together, talk about their day. But the dynamic is not lost, maybe to an unaware onlooker it is, but the small things are there. Whumpee sitting on the floor instead of the couch. Moving in sync with Whumper, anticipating their needs, they don't even have to command Whumpee to do things for them. Subtle reinforcements worked into casual conversation, Whumper saying no to Whumpee, and they accept it without a question. Whumpee wearing a necklace with a small locket in it, it's almost fashionable. Whumpee making dinner for one with a horribly grumbling stomach. Whumper nonchalantly giving Whumpee permission to do something essential for their wellbeing.
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Head pets for Whumpee. For Caretaker to comfort them, for Whumper to infantilize/dehumanize/lure them into a false sense of security, just -- yeah. Head pats for Whumpee
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The scene of Whumpee sleeping is one of my favorites.
Maybe Whumpee is in a quiet room with dim lighting to recover. Sleep without moving. Maybe because of fatigue or because of the influence of medication.
Outside the room, the Team Leader, other members, and Caretaker are busy discussing Whumper and the plan they will carry out. Even though they try to be calm, there are still arguments or commotion.
Whumpee who is in the room may wake up occasionally because of the sound, but immediately go back to sleep because he is too weak and tired to move.
It could be that Whumpee won't wake up at all, won't notice Caretaker coming into the room and changing the compress on his forehead or simply putting a warm water bottle on the nightstand, or just sitting and waiting for Whumpee.
(Anything you want to add?)
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Hands in Whump
-Running a gentle hand through Whumpee's hair, whispering reassurances into their ear.
-Grabbing Whumpee's arm to stop them from escaping, digging their nails into the flesh.
-A red, stinging handprint left on the side of Whumpee's face after a slap.
-Caretaker using their thumb to wipe tears off of Whumpee's face.
-Fingers intertwined, comforting pressure on the hand.
-Placing the back of the hand on Whumpee's forehead to check their fever.
-A hand broken after being stomped on by Whumper, Whumpee trying to get their fingers to move.
-Palms and fingers burned on a hot pan or stove.
-Fingernails being broken or ripped out.
-Cupping Whumpee's face.
-A hand clasped over the mouth to keep Whumpee from screaming
-Gentle hands applying bandages to aching wounds.
-An outstretched hand, offering aid and protection.
-Hands in the air to signal surrender.
-Whumpee covering their face with their hands so nobody can see them cry.
-Hands clasped over the back of Whumpee's neck as protection from an imminent beating.
And so, so much more!
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the audible damage to a whumpee's voice from the harm that's come to them... hoarse and quiet from being choked, or from screaming until their voice gives out, or from crying so hard for such a long time. the raspy way everything is forced out, the way their voice cracks and squeaks, the way they wince and cringe and swallow hard before trying again. it hurts to listen to them.
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i think one of the reasons i get mildly annoyed about worldbuilding threads that are 200 tweets of why you should care about where blue dye comes from in your world before saying someone is wearing blue is that so few of them go up to the second level of "and that should impact your characters somehow" - i don't care that blue dye comes from pressing berries that only grow in one kingdom a thousand miles away if people are casually wearing blue
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listen. i am absolutely obsessed with possessive whumpers that just take what and who they want. cocky whumpers who always get their way and know it. whumpers with all the money in the world, with all the connections and resources and fame -- and whumpee of their choice. their choice.
whumpee has no choice in the matter, but maybe whumper will let them think that they do for a bit. maybe they won't. maybe they'll let whumpee know right off the bat how powerful they are or maybe they'll let whumpee (and/or caretaker) underestimate them until the very. last. fatal. mistake.
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In the AO3 Demographics Survey 2024 - an unofficial demographics survey of 16,131 AO3 users - 81% of respondents identified as LGBTQ+, and 25% identified as transgender.
To see more analysis, including comparisons to general population trends, please view the full results on AO3.
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Whumper comprehends the qualities of every sharp object in their home because they press them against their various body parts whenever they handle them.
They know how much pressure at a particular angle may cut your skin, so they can scare the shit out of the whumpee without actually hurting them.
#psychological and emotion torture > physical torture#imo at least everyone can have their own thing#I need whumpee to be terrified out of their mind but also I have such a weak stomach lmao
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An injured/exhausted/weakened/semiconscious, for whatever reason unable to offer physical cooperation, character being gently manhandled into an upright position by a companion who cradles their head and shoulders pressed to the companion's chest and spreads a hand over the back of their head, fingers tangled through their hair and arm curling protectively 'round. The character being held, already largely limp, leans even more heavily into the warm fabric of their companion's shirt, the familar scent, the rumble of their voice, and the small comfort of the hand in their hair.
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Better than a whumpee injected with a truth serum, is a whumper who can detect lies, me thinks
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