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#almost whump
writers-block-dead · 2 years
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Hero x Villain
Villain circles the Hero who is tied up to a post, eyeing them carefully but with an obvious air of confidence aimed to scare the hero. “You told them exactly where to find me-”
“That’s not true!” The Hero desperately cries to the Villain, holding in sobs of fear and regret.
“They circled me, destroyed my home,” The Villain is seething at this point. They stopped circling the Hero and instead, stands in front of them, eyes level with each other. A look of pure hatred sends the Hero into a spiral within their own mind. “You made me think you cared about me!” “I do! I do!” The Hero cries. “I love you,” it comes out as a broken murmur. In an instant, the Villain looms closer in front of the hero’s face. Close enough that the Hero can smell the ashes of the Villain’s home. Close enough that if the Hero were not tied up, one simple lean forward and they could kiss those lips they used to call home. But instead of moving any closer to their lips, the Villain’s mouth sit’s dangerously close to the Hero’s ear and in a soothing but malicious voice, the Villain whispers,
“I don’t believe you.”
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letitbehurt · 2 months
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I’m not usually a fan of sick Whump, but when Whumpee is running such a high fever that they’re shaking, taking uneven, shallow breaths, their skin chafing and burning against their clothes.
The moment Caretaker lays a palm on their forehead to check their fever and Whumpee sighs with relief because it’s so blessedly cold.
The moment Whumper cups Whumpee’s cheek with one hand and turns their head slightly, and Whumpee hates themself for leaning into it, but they just want the burning to stop.
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Imagine a spoiled royal, heir to the throne, part of a powerful bloodline that gives them "divine right to rule". They're raised to be cruel, and told their heritage puts them above everyone else.
And then one day, it's revealed before the entire court that it's all a lie. The royal was switched at birth with the child of a servant. The real heir has been serving in the palace all this time, unaware of their birthright. Maybe they're even someone the faux-royal had been particularly cruel to all their lives.
The ruling family is quick to push out the false heir---blood is more important to them than any illusion of family---and welcome the servant with open arms.
Maybe the false heir is banished from the kingdom they were raised to rule. Maybe they're imprisoned so the truth can never come out. Maybe they're made a servant, now at the beck and call of someone they'd thought beneath them.
Does the true heir take pity on them, or do they seek vengeance from years of abuse? Does the royal family have any regrets, or have they always been cold, only concerned with holding power? What do the servants and commoners do, now that the arrogant "heir" has lost all power and protection?
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rescued whumpees are good but they're even better when they're fucking feral.
kicking, hollering, biting, scratching anyone who even tries to come near them, let alone touch them in any capacity.
huddling themself up in a corner or under furniture as some sort of escape.
literally growling/hissing, glaring at everyone with shifty and untrusting eyes, ready to pounce the moment they see a chance at escape.
not believing the hand reaching to bandage their wound won't make them hurt even worse afterwards.
gaining and losing trust with a caretaker in half a second when they move too fast or try to touch something that hurts.
having to be worked with for days, weeks, months just to get them to settle down when another person occupies the same space as them.
only bonding with other whumpees who were only just recently rescued as well, immediately sensing a similar distress and trying to comfort them
becoming twice as feral when it comes to 'protecting' said whumpee friend from all these people that just want to help
making so much progress in learning how to be comfortable with someone, only to have it undone by an innocent mistake that triggers their past abuse
latching on to one specific caretaker only and being a hellion with anyone else because they're just not the same
causing such a ruckus for so long that it's unnaturally eerie to see them quiet and submissive when a certain face appears to offer their assistance in taming them...
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biblicalbi · 9 months
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Imagine a world where Obi-Wan survives episode IV and has to deal with another generation of disaster romances with the Skywalker family.
Leia: *falls head over heels with a dashingly handsome and very mouthy rogue who has more red flags than green*
Obi-Wan: “Oh no.”
Luke: *flirts with a stubborn yet extremely caring world leader despite the Jedi’s no-attachment rule*
Obi-Wan: “Not again.”
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The inherent homoeroticism of 70s cop shows
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whumpanini · 10 months
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Okay so picture this... a line up of heroes, all bound and forced to their knees in front of whumper.
Whumper paces in front of them calmly. They have their hands clasped behind their back as they begin to threaten or make demands of Leader. Then they slowly stop in front of our whumpee. Maybe they look the youngest, most inexperienced, or the most scared but something about them catches whumper's eye.
Leader's eyes go wide as they try to redirect whumper's attention back to them, but it's too late. Whumper places a hand under Youngest's jaw and lifts their gaze to force eye contact. They see the barely hidden fear behind a shaky mask of indifference and they *smile.*
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sowhumpful · 7 months
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whumpslut · 2 months
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coughing
coughing so much and for so long that their entire body hurts, coughing so hard that they can feel their ribs creak in their chest (does the bone crack? does it bruise?)
do they choke themselves coughing, coughing out out out- with no break in the convulsions ripping through their diaphragm to draw in a breath? does the fit pass on its own, or do they need help? do they end up losing their battle with consciousness, their brain asphyxiated for air?
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kabie-whump · 7 days
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When Whumper gives Whumpee a strict rule, then puts them in a position where they have no choice but to break that rule, then punishes them for it anyways 🩷🩷🩷
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whumpzone · 6 months
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Linden & Colton - 29
(masterlist)
CW: pet whump, dehumanisation, vague allusions to past noncon, self hatred
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Colton woke. His palm was sweaty and hot. A headache was slowly draining from his skull. There was no morning light, and no… bedroom. Instead, there was the dark living room. He felt as if he had slept for years. 
Shifting slightly, he realised two things: he was sweaty all over, his palm particularly so because his Master was holding it loosely. 
Col’s eyes followed Master’s arm up from his hand, and he saw that he was unmoving, breathing evenly with his eyes closed. 
Safe for now, he lay back down. He was absolutely exhausted, although he had no right to be. All he’d done was cry and slept- slept- on the furniture. 
He gasped, then pressed the knuckles of his free hand to his mouth to shut himself up. He felt so dizzy and disoriented. What time was it? Why was it dark? What on earth had he been thinking, getting up on Master’s sofa like some stray?
He suddenly realised he was squeezing Master’s hand, and Master, in his dream-state, was squeezing back. It shouldn’t have, but it made Col calm down. 
He had made an absolute spectacle of himself. Crying, howling, begging Master not to leave him. 
And Master had kept his promise. He was still here. Col felt a surge of gratitude, different to how it usually felt. The familiar gratitude that ran through him when he was allowed food, or sleep, was utterly eclipsed by this. Master had no need to stay. Col knew that his old Master would have kicked him in the stomach until he shut up, or just gagged him and locked the basement door.
Here, Col had been held, comforted, and now Master was still with him, like he was protecting him from something. 
His old Master’s friends. He winced as he remembered exactly what had set him off in the first place. No, no. I don’t want to remember. 
It was just what bad dogs got, but Master had seemed so genuinely disgusted- with Col? Disgusted that his pet was even more used up than he’d thought?
His mind whirred until he felt his brain would overheat. Master was horrified about what happened, part of him said, the part that was softer and further away, that was so naive it made Col cringe. He pictured himself - his most pure, real self, his sanity - curled up in his mind, shielding his face with his arms, his legs pulled up to protect his stomach. Things didn’t hurt as badly as they could when he was like that. If he started to believe all of the kind words that Master said, and the thoughts he sometimes had in his weaker moments, it would be like letting his inner self relax, just a bit. Taking away some of the tension in his legs, maybe even lowering his arms to look out at the world. Once he did that, it would hurt so much more the next time. Col wouldn’t let that happen. 
He frowned deeply and tried to regain some composure. Master had fallen asleep out of tiredness, not because he had granted Col’s plea to not be left. It was Col who had engineered this, who’d taken advantage of his Master’s kindness and spent the entire night curled up beside him, holding his hand like a loved one when he was, in fact, nothing. Master would wake and be so sickened that he would finally kick Col out. 
And Col was weak. He was cowardly and scared. He just couldn’t handle it, not yet. Not yet, he repeated. Soon he’d come up with a plan. He’d figure out what his next steps would be once Master made him leave. 
He once again became aware of the feeling of his hand in his owner’s. Master’s grip was light with sleep, purposeful enough to be holding him, but not pressing into his injuries or pulling or hurting. That could, would, change when Master woke up. How could he ever think he was safe? How deluded and complacent had he become? 
You’re not a lap dog, he reminded himself, although it was his old owner’s voice he heard. You’ll never be one. You’ll never be loved, or treasured. Do you understand that, Pet?
Yes, Master, Col had replied when he was first told this. The words hadn’t stung. It was important that he knew. 
Good boy. You know your place. 
His training was starting to stumble, now that he was in Master’s house. He so wanted to believe all of Master’s kind words, to slip into them like a quilt and bury himself in their warm folds, sinking deeper, deeper, believing that he hadn’t deserved what happened at those parties. 
You hadn’t, the other voice said again, and Col screwed his eyes up, because it hurt to have to fight it off. But what choice did he have? 
Slowly, hardly daring to breathe, Col slid his hand free of his Master’s. The only sound was his own heart, pounding at the sudden tension. How could he have woken up and ever felt calm about this? Why had he lay there, thinking, deciding what to do next as if he ever had a choice? His own hatred for himself was growing in density. He hated the darkness, and the silence. He had endured enough of both to last him forever. Things were so much more simple when it was daytime, when the sunlight spread over the house like a balm, and his Master was happy and calm and talking to him.
God, but it was night and he was alone in the truest sense of the word, and he just couldn’t stop fucking thinking.
He unfolded his stiff legs (they used to always be stiff, from kneeling or being bound for hours on end, but now Master let him walk and stretch them, and he was taking that for granted too) and carefully lowered his hands and knees to the floor, praying that nothing would creak. Nothing did. He tried to breathe at a normal pace again. 
His eyes had adjusted to the pitch blackness by now. There was a dip in the sofa where Col had been lying, but there was nothing he could do about that. Besides, he wasn’t trying to conceal what he’d done. He was just trying to mitigate it, because he was a good boy. 
A dog, he corrected himself. A slave. God, why did you do that? You know how ugly you are when you cry. You’ve seen yourself in the mirror, it’s horrifying, it’s like a monster. You looked like that for a good half an hour last night, and Master saw, he saw everything and he’ll never forget. 
And your body looks so bad. He’ll have looked away from your face and seen your body instead. Oh my god, why would you put him through that? 
You swore you’d keep it together in this new house, you’d be good and make it work, but you fuck everything up. Everything you touch gets ruined sooner or later. How can you even go upstairs to the room he lets you stay in? 
Col stared at the floor. If Master had a basement, he’d go there. But then again, if Master had a basement he would never have needed to give up his spare room. Col could prove that he shouldn’t have gone to the trouble. 
There was a neat little space in the corner of the living room, between the wooden TV stand and the wall, where Col would fit nicely. He crawled over and nudged himself into place. There he knelt, watching as Master slept. He would probably be angry that he’d spent all night on the sofa, but Col didn’t dare wake him up. 
He hoped he looked like a good slave, on his knees and ready to serve. It must have been the dead of night, because he didn’t make it to morning. He fell into sleep with his head resting against the wall, and although kneeling was second nature, it wasn’t the position he would have chosen if he had let himself have that freedom. He would have chosen to curl up on the floor, with his legs to his chest, and his arms around his face.
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taglist part 1:
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skyward-floored · 2 months
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Alright, everyone who wanted a continuation for the three sentence fics for pinned and searching, here you go! I made this longer then it needed to be but that’s ok it was fun *looks guiltily at other things I’m supposed to be writing* ...heh.
Warning for some blood, injury, and uhhh being stuck under a collapsed cave.
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Warriors shut his eyes a moment, trying to focus despite the pain in his middle and the small space he was trapped in that felt like it was closing in around him. He needed to get himself and Wild out of here in one piece, but he had no clue how on earth he was going to do that.
Warriors breathed out, and felt around the hand he’d found, trying to brush the debris off of it. He couldn’t reach any further then a little past the wrist though, and he couldn’t tell how buried Wild was.
He needed to get himself out first, it seemed.
Warriors swallowed and momentarily let go of Wild’s hand, feeling around the large thing he himself was trapped under. It felt heavy, but Warriors tried to shift it anyway, gasping as pure agony burned up his side at the movement.
He fell still again and panted as he waited for the pain to go down, coughing out some of the dust coating his lungs. Even once the worst of it faded, there was still a sharp pulse of pain that remained in his middle, somewhere near his ribs or lungs. Warriors didn’t know for sure, but either way it hurt, and that along with the fact that he was half buried, he knew he wouldn’t be able to free himself or Wild.
It looked like they’d just have to wait for rescue.
Warriors felt out Wild’s hand again, wishing he could move the fabric away from his wrist and check his pulse. It was too thick for him to feel anything, but the angle was wrong for him to pull it off. All he could do was hope Wild was still breathing, that the rest of him was okay.
I don’t even know if his head is uncovered, he thought suddenly, panic stealing his breath . He might be too buried to breathe, I don’t even know if his head is okay, who’s to say it wasn’t bashed in by a rock and I’m holding the hand of a—
A weak cough interrupted his spiraling panic, and Warriors froze, his heart thudding in his ears. Another followed it, faint and rasping, and the fingers in Warriors’ grip twitched just a little.
“Champion?” he asked, barely daring to breathe.
The coughing faded, followed by a wavering inhale, and Warriors held tighter to the hand in his.
“Wild?” he asked again, trying desperately to see though the darkness. He couldn’t make out a thing, but he was certain he hadn’t imagined the noises. Unless of course, he was starting to run out of air and was hallucinating things. Which was always a possibility.
“...W-Wars..?” a voice finally croaked, and Warriors breathed out a sigh of relief, ignoring the ache that shot up his middle due to it. Looks like we still have some air yet.
“Yeah. Yeah, ‘s me,” Warriors whispered back, giving the hand in his a squeeze.
“Wh-what...” Wild stammered, his voice weak and crackling, “wh... where..?”
“Wild, are you hurt?” Warriors asked, and it was quiet for a second.
“...Dunno. Th-think... ‘m arm h’rts...”
Something faintly rumbled in the distance, and Warriors held his breath as a few stray pebbles fell on his face. It faded again moments later, but he thought the pressure on his middle had slightly increased with the noise.
Wild’s breath suddenly hitched. “W’re... buried.”
Warriors breathed out. “Yeah.”
Wild’s breath hitched again, and the hand in Warriors’ began to shake, fingers fumbling as they tried to clutch at Warriors’.
“Wild, hey, easy,” Warriors breathed, holding more tightly to his hand, but he could hear Wild’s breathing speed up.
“No... n-no I can’t—”
“Wild, calm down,” Warriors said in as clear of a voice as he could, then coughed, the pain in his middle feeling worse. That’s starting to hurt an awful lot. “The... the others ‘ll come.”
“W’re buried,” Wild gasped, panic making him cough, and Warriors heard rubble shift, like Wild was trying to move. “W-Wars I can’t—”
“Wild. Listen,” Warriors said in a commanding voice, ignoring the urge to cough again. “You need to stay calm. I don’t kn-know how much air w-we have, we need to stay... calm.”
He grabbed firmly at Wild’s hand, and Wild clutched back at it, his breath still rasping loudly in the enclosed space.
“‘S too small,” Wild whispered, fingers shaking as he clung to Warriors’ hand. “Too... tight, ‘s like the... too small.”
Wild’s voice was small and scared, lacking the usual bright and teasing quality it almost always held. Warriors squeezed his eyes shut as he ran his fingers over Wild’s, then reopened them, trying to think past the fog trying to overtake his senses. Something was trying to break through it, an idea of sorts that they could use to get out, but it hadn’t succeeded yet.
“‘M not a fan of smaller spaces either,” Warriors admitted in a soft rasp. “Not fun. Gimme... ‘n open field any day.”
“Don’ sound so w-worried yr’self,” Wild muttered shakily, and Warriors coughed out a laugh.
“Perfected th-the art of faking it, bud.”
Wild let out a small, hysterical croak, a distant mirror of a laugh, but his frantic gasps had begun to ease. His breath still rasped more then it should, but Warriors was relieved at even the slight improvement.
Things fell silent between them for a moment, and Warriors took a minute to breathe, an action that was getting harder and harder to do successfully. The hot, painful feeling in his middle was starting to grow to an agonizing degree, and the fog was growing thicker around his senses. But the idea that had been forming in his head finally broke through, and Warriors shifted his head towards where Wild was.
“Wild,” he said, unable to keep his voice from hitching with pain. “C-can you reach your... slate?”
The fingers in Warriors’ twitched, then slowly withdrew, the quiet sound of rocks and pebbles being shifted reaching him. For a moment it was all Warriors could hear, that and an occasional shaky inhale like Wild was stopping himself from letting out a more pained noise, but then he heard a small hum.
“I... I c’n touch it,” Wild said, voice more shaky then it had been before. “Don’ think I can... pull it, but... m-might be able to get... Wind.”
“Okay,” Warriors breathed, squeezing his eyes shut and reopening them. “See if... you c-can—”
A cough spilled from his lips, and Warriors was unable to stop the fit he suddenly broke into, coughs that were thick and painful, bringing tears to his eyes with how they made his chest burn.
He wasn’t able to stop for several long moments, and his head spun dizzyingly as he caught his breath, middle full of a liquid fire so intense he could barely breathe.
“Wars?” Wild asked in a sharp, terrified voice, and Warriors coughed again, something warm dripping down his lip.
“‘M fi...” he rasped, dragging in another breath. “Fine, ‘m fine Wild. Call... Wind.”
Wild didn’t reply, but Warriors could feel the disbelief radiating from him as the quiet sounds of him shuffling in the debris sounded out again. The only other noise was Warriors’ wheezing breaths, and it was a few moments before Warriors heard a soft click.
The faintest bit of blue shone through the rocks nearby, not enough to see by, but enough that Warriors knew Wild had succeeded in turning on his slate.
“Sailor,” Wild rasped, trying to make his voice louder, and then coughing due to the effort. “S-Sailor... y’there..?”
He fell silent, and both of them strained their ears, even though Warriors was having an extremely hard time focusing. It felt like a Goron had sat on his chest, and was occasionally stomping around on his ribs, painful and heavy on his bones. But he couldn’t free himself, so it was just something he’d have to deal with.
Warriors shivered, and tried not to wheeze as his middle ached at the movement.
The sooner the both of them got out, the better.
“...hea...know I...see if...”
Warriors and Wild both stilled at the faint words, and listened in silence, Warriors’ heart beating loudly in his ears.
“—ampion! Is that you?!”
Wild let out a slightly hysterical laugh, and Warriors smiled, even though he knew Wild couldn’t see it.
“‘S me, m-me and Wars,” Wild said, relief thick in his voice. The connection that had come through was weak and staticky, and Warriors couldn’t entirely tell who had spoken, but they’d made contact at least.
“Are you two—kay?” the voice continued on, and Warriors thought it might’ve been Twilight’s. “We’re working on digging you—might be a bit.”
“Wars isn’t... he’s pretty b-bad,” Wild replied, and when Warriors opened his mouth to protest that Wild was equally bad-off if not worse, all that came out was another string of thick coughs.
He missed whatever was said next, a swirl of pain and fog clouding his senses, more warmth dripping down his chin. When he finally checked back in, Wild’s hand had grabbed at his again, and Warriors dragged in a rasping breath, the faint light from Wild’s slate growing blurry.
“—old on a bit longer, we’re going as fast as we can,” the voice came through again, more frantic then before. “Just hold on you two, we’re coming, I promise.”
“Y’ hear that W-Wars?” Wild croaked, holding his hand with a shaky grip. “Jus’... hold on.”
“Only ‘f you... do too,” Warriors rasped, and Wild hummed softly in reply, the sound thin with pain.
The voice from the slate said something again, but Warriors didn’t catch it, and he didn’t think Wild did either, based on how the voice seemed to grow frantic again, and louder. He couldn’t make out any of the words, and Warriors began to sink into the fog of pain his mind was fighting so hard to resist.
He thought he might have heard the rumbling sound in the distance again, like the rocks trapping them were being shifted, but he wasn’t sure. Dust fell on his head, but Warriors merely closed his eyes against it, too numb to even be scared any more. If he was going to be crushed, so be it. He only wished he’d gotten the chance to speak with his friends in his own time once more.
The fog had fully enveloped him now. The only thing that was clear was Wild’s hand pressed against his, fingers trembling, coated in dust and dirt and something sticky.
Warriors drifted along like that for what felt like forever, clinging to what few sensations he had left, Wild’s hand the only thing keeping him from fully falling away.
“—found them!”
And then there was light, so bright that Warriors had to close his eyes against it, and couldn’t help the whimper he let out. The voice was louder then ever, like Wild’s slate was right against his ear, and Warriors wished he could cover his ears.
“—get the rocks off, this thing is huge, he must be—”
“—lot of blood, that’s too much—”
“—lia I don’t know how either of them didn’t just—”
“—easy Link, easy, we’re getting you out, hold on.”
Something touched his face, and Warriors flinched, sounds and light and the endless pain in his middle too overwhelming for him to focus on anything. The voices kept floating around and over him, but Warriors could only catch bits of what was spoken.
Was Wild’s slate glitching?
The thing touched his face again, gentle and soft as it carefully turned his head to the side, and when fingers brushed his forehead, Warriors’ scrambled senses finally put together the fact that this must mean they’d finally been rescued.
He wheezed out a soft gasp of relief, and did his best to squeeze Wild’s hand, their fingers still connected. Wild faintly twitched back, and Warriors exhaled, relief swamping over him.
He didn’t remember any of the rest of their rescue, his senses fading out as the others pulled them from the rubble of the cave. Any travel or bandaging was lost to him, and he had no clue how long it had been when he flickered back awake.
The first thing he noticed was that he was on a soft bed, and that there was sunshine and a fresh breeze spilling in through the curtains. Time and Twilight were asleep on chairs by the bed, Wind flopped on their laps, Twilight’s head resting on Time’s shoulder. They all looked exhausted, and Warriors listened to Twilight snore for a minute, then looked down at himself.
His injuries were bandaged, blood and dirt cleaned from his clothes. His scarf had been cleaned as well, the blue bright and soft, and when Warriors looked beside him and saw Wild in a similar state to himself, the relief hit him again, even more intensely.
They’d made it.
They were out, and they were both alive.
Warriors exhaled, closing his eyes again. His head hurt and he was sore what felt like everywhere, not to mention his breathing still held an odd rasp, but he and Wild were okay.
They’d made it.
He felt out Wild’s hand again, and gave it a soft squeeze, relieved when Wild softly squeezed it back. The champion nestled up a bit closer to his side, and Warriors let himself drift off again, feeling perfectly content.
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letitbehurt · 3 months
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Whumpees nursing a bleeding wound. A hand clutching their side to stanch the blood, groaning in pain as they lean against a wall and sink awkwardly to the floor. Tilting their head back and trying to breathe, their eyes screwed shut in pain. The looming inevitability of passing out, but the absolute refusal to do so until they’ve stopped the bleeding. They just need to catch their breath, to rest, just for a moment…
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whumpasaurus101 · 5 months
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Look at me posting this on the deadline LMFAO BUT ITS NOT LATE SO LOOK AT ME GO WOOOOO. This is for @epiclamer's and @save-the-villainous-cat's super cute ask game which was GENIUS!!! This was so so much fun thank you!!! @hufflepuffwritingstuff22 had an ask in their inbox: “Hero being brainwashed and forced to fight their friends.”
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"Please, Hero!" Sidekick's desperate voice sounded through the room. "I know this isn't you. Think of who I am! C'mon, Hero, please!!!"
Tears streamed down their face as they desperately kicked away fro the 'stranger' before them. That wasn't Hero/ Surely Hero wouldn't do this!
They whimpered as their back hit the wall, gulping hard as they watched Hero continue to stride towards them, switchblade twirling in hand.
"Oh, but Sidekick, don't you understand? This is me. All this time I have been trying to hide it,but now, bow it's too late. You've gone too far. You're a disappointment to not only me, but yourself."
Sidekick gulped as the words carved antagonizingly slow into their heart, their chest growing tight as they tried to keep their breathing level. Their eyes flickered up to Hero's, tears threatening to fall. Their voice came out as a weak rasp, "This is-isn't you..."
They had given up hope at this point, how were they supposed to get through to Hero???
A fist tightened in Sidekick's shirt and hauled them to their feet before they were suddenly slammed against the wall. Sidekick wheezed as they felt all the air leave their body, their eyes blowing wide.
They flinched hard as Hero raised their fist, squeezing their eyes shut as a whimper ripped from their throat but Hero's fist quickly collided with their cheek.
Blood splatted against the ground as they coughed, "He-h'ro... 'm.. pl'se..." Blood ran down from their mouth, their vision spotting. Punch after punch was delivered until Sidekick screamed, breaking into sobs as their body shook with each cry.
As Villain entered the door, Hero instantly dropped Sidekick to the floor. "Hero, to me."
Sidekick watched in horror, wheezing on the floor as Hero quickly made their way over to Villain before dropping to their knees.
Sidekick tried to swallow back bile as they slowly sat up, "Wha-what did you do?"
Villain chuckled softly, a cool smirk painting along their face as they looked at Sidekick, "Oh, this? Oh honey, what I did to Hero is exactly what I am going to do to you. Now Sidekick," They clicked their finger, "I need you to focus on my voice and my voice only."
Sidekick flinched back as Villain's hand rested against their head, a sudden presence filling their head as they lost full control. And suddenly it kicked in. Their thoughts weren't theirs. And as they approached Hero, a clenched fist either side, they had to watch as someone forced them to fight their mentor. Fight the last person who had fate in them. How would Hero ever forgive them?
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5ummit · 3 months
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My Trash Exchange giftee @gunshou requested "twisted ultra-possessive fucked up codependent Hydra!Steve/Bucky" (which happens to be one of my favorite stucky dynamics) with a dash of body horror. Hopefully I delivered.
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rainydaywhump · 1 month
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