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avvail-whumps · 9 months

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‘guns for hire’ — hell house #20

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content warnings: multiple whumpers, sadistic whumpers, nailed to the ground, blood loss, gunshot wounds, beating, knife wounds, whumper sort of caretaking, mentioned (and almost) non-con (nothing explicit), non-con touching (not sexual), waterboarding, cigerette burn, mention of attempted suicide

Leo was confident he was going to die when he was left on the ground.

Time wasn’t distinct, and nor was it manageable, losing it just as easily the moment his weary eyes even found the energy to pry themselves open. Being awake was just as unbearable as the inevitable reality that his legs had been shot, and his hands had been nailed against the ground.

An unbearable wave of dizziness smacked into him anytime he tried to lift his head, stuffed with cotton. His breathing was nothing but short spurts, unable to conjure the energy to do anything else.

Sometimes, when Bran wandered into the kitchen for a beer, he’d make a clear point of crushing the bullet wound on his leg for good measure, and Leo’s vision would spark white in agony.

It was only when the neutral face of Beer came into his view that Leo’s clammy, uncoloured face was able to find the energy to move. He’d come with a hammer in his hand, and Leo’s palms immediately flared from the memory.

His face wrinkled as a quiet whimper escaped, and his head tilted away from the man. He didn’t think he’d be able to take any more nails in his body, or pain in general. He wouldn’t be able to stomach it, unless they wanted his aching, empty belly to spill it’s contents on the floor.

Beer raised a brow, his eyes flickering to the hammer, and then the nails. He kneeled down beside him, seemingly unbothered he was stepping in slippery blood. From the kitchen door, sipping a beer, Bran sneered at him.

“You ain’t no fun.”

Using the forked end of the hammer, Beer hooked it between the nail, and began to pry it out with a firm jerk. Leo’s lips quivered open with a pained whine, eyes watering.

“Do you want him to die?” Beer countered sternly, and there was even a hint of annoyance in his eyes as he glanced up at Bran. “Roy won’t hesitate to kill you if you’re responsible, you know. We all know that. I wouldn’t test his patience.”

Bran took a long sip of his beer, and with a sickening squish, the nail tore from his hand. His arm lay there limply, a strangled cry choking in his throat. He feebly tried to move away from Beer’s grip, but the other had no problem preparing to dig out the second nail.

“Like I said before,” he sneered. “Roy ain’t here, Joey.”

“And when he is?” The man countered. Leo could barely register their conversation, his vision blurring through layers of static as the nail wedged uncomfortably out of his hand. An exhausted sob escaped his lips. Bran’s eyes narrowed.

“I can do whatever the fuck I want with him,” the man sneered. “He’ll live. Roy doesn’t need to get his balls in a twist, and neither do you. He told us not to kill him, and does he look dead to you?”

Joey didn’t respond. He simply grabbed Leo’e arm, and hurled him up off the ground. The pain in his legs surged like fire from the sudden movement, but he couldn’t even cling onto anything with the numb throbbing in his hands. Fresh blood was streaming down arms, accompanied by tears tracking down his face and running through the dried blood.

“He will be if you keep this up,” he mumbled. “When Roy comes back and he finds it doesn’t sit right with him that other people are messing with his things, you know you’ll be the first.”

Bran scoffed. “Go on. Keep suckin’ up to the maniac. He ain’t care as long as his little pet is alive.”

Joey slowly made his way up the stairs. “I don’t think so.”

He took a wild guess as to where Leo’s room was. He felt his back hitting the bedsheets, sucking in a sharp hiss through his teeth as the pain sparked to life again. He was sure he lost time between the finger light touches on his body, because the next time he woke up, the dizziness had somewhat subsided and his breathing had returned back to normal.

His legs and hands had been bandaged up, and he was even able to flex his tingling fingers. He was alone in his room, and he was sure he was stocked on a lot of painkillers, because he couldn’t help but let out a soft, breathless chuckle.

Night came and went, and Leo slept through most of the day. In the afternoon when he’d shakily taken more painkillers, he realised that he was ultimately failing to complete the rule that Roy had implemented. He hadn’t cooked at all for them — he could hardly even hold a cup with the state of his hands, let alone stand around on his legs over a hot stove. Using crutches was impossible.

The secretary didn’t get much peace for a while.

Mercenary after mercenary would come into his room, and Leo often found himself meeting their fists or their ruthless beatings. Bran liked doing that the most, making it hurt enough but avoiding his wounds to keep him conscious for long enough. Finger often liked to use little knives or daggers and glide them along his skin to watch him squirm. He’d one time been abruptly ripped from unconsciousness and found the fingerless man in the midst of unbuttoning his pants. He was almost relieved and utterly sickened when he’d stopped to complain he would have preferred if he’d stayed asleep.

Beard wasn’t so much interested, though Leo had been dragged out of his room multiple times by him and abruptly thrown into whatever room the others were in. Although Bran was huge and meaty, his hits like being pummeled with a brick wall, there was something horrific about Beard’s methods. He usually had an audience, and Leo was forced to listen to the humiliating jeers of the other men in the background.

Often his time felt like torture.

Secured tightly to a chair, his bruises and cuts that had been left to bloom on his skin irritatied by the raw bite of the ropes. A rag over his face, and the rush of cold water that made it impossible to breathe. The suffocation that had made his mind short circuit and his lungs burn like fire. No matter how much he’d writhe and thrash, he could never breathe through the water soaked cloth over his face.

Leo just wanted to go home. The echoes of the men’s degrading words and heckles kept him awake when he needed sleep the most. The only rest he got was when the passed out from the pain or the exhaustion.

Joey didn’t bother him like the others, but he often joined in sometimes on their jeers and would be more than happy to watch when Beard wanted to put on a show. He had put out a cigerette on his shoulder one time, the hot ash searing through his skin, but other than that, the mercenary would sometimes patch up his wounds and feed him a little something when he was on the brink of collapse, ensuring he stayed alive just enough for their torure to continue.

In his state, Leo couldn’t even walk by himself.

It was pathetic. It made him feel horrible, and weak.

He barely ever made it to the bedroom; he would usually be left wheezing in whichever room he was dragged into, not even able to muster the strength to get to his feet. He wasn’t sure how long it had been since Roy had left. Maybe weeks. Maybe a month. He just knew he couldn’t take much more.

One time, Leo made it into the kitchen. The tiles were cold under his battered limbs, but he’d shakily tugged open the drawer and pulled out a big knife. It clattered loudly to the ground, his hands too weak to barely even grasp onto it. When he did, the door creaked open.

It was Joey. He was looking at him with a cold glint in his eyes.

“You won’t be able to do any damage to all four of us in that state,” he murmurs dryly, and Leo just barely squints through the spots on his vision. Even though he’s leaning on the counter, he hasn’t stood on his feet this long.

“You’re always saying that Roy said I can’t die,” he wheezes. The knife trembled in his hands, eyes burning with tears. “So I’ll kill myself.”

Joey doesn’t react to the words. Leo can feel himself shaking, tears leaking down his cheeks. Maybe he won’t ever see his father again, but at least he’ll be free from this hellhole. Maybe Roy will kill them for breaking his rules. The very idea makes his heart squeeze painfully. He keeps the knife pointed at Joey anyway, trying to fight the crippling fear in his stomach.

“Do you think you can do that?”

No, Leo thinks to himself, stuttering on a sob. The thought of plunging that knife into his body makes his cells scream in terror. He’s a coward.

“I just want to go home,” he sobs, chest stuttering. He’s so exhausted. “I just want this to end.”

Joey doesn’t say anything. He strolls up to him and takes the knife from his weak fingers, putting it back in the drawer. If Roy was here, he would probably be sinking into the soothing whisper of his voice, or melting at his warm embrace. Maybe running his hands through his hair, or gently stroking away his tears. Leo needed something. He needed anything to keep him going.

“I won’t tell the others about this,” Joey says, his voice as emotionless as ever. “Don’t pull this stunt if you won’t go through with it. You’ll get yourself into more trouble.”

Leo aches for anything. Anything at all.

tag list – @unorganisedalienrubbish @d-cs @rabidrabidme @sordayciega @burningkittypoet @whumpawink @mannerofwhump @suspicious-whumping-egg @welcome-to-the-whumpfest @whatwasmyprevioususername @crilex29 @firefly017 @dutifullykrispyland @wibbly-wobbly-whump @there-will-always-be-blood @anonintrovert @justawhumpjunkie @whumptastic-world @ha-ha-one @whatwhumpcomments @whumpterful-beeeeee @anonymous1235 @sonder35 @unforgiven235

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oddsconvert · 4 months

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Compromising positions?! 👀🤨 Felix is a nasty man

Truly, a sick and nasty man - I loathe him (I created him 🤪😫). Josh in his most vulnerable and terrifying moments, and Felix snapping photos so he can remember how 'breathtaking' he looked 🤢 My poor boy would have no idea the pictures even existed. He'd find pictures of before he was taken too, him showering in his apartment. Out walking his dog. So damn violating.

#Nasty bastard man felix #play pretend #Felix conner oc #josh barlowe oc #reference to noncon #whump #whump writing #answered asks #whump community #whumpblr #whump blog #whumpee #whumper #captivity

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silversanimewhump · 1 year

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Akashic Records of Bastard Magic Instructor

Episode 8

More like this

#I have not been posting much because #Genshin ate me #My love for Alhaitham cannot be stopped #Also Asian dramas are giving me the perfect Whumpees #Harder to find my preferred Whumpee in anime these days…#Anyway #akashic records of bastard magic instructor #glenn radars #glenn radars Whump #whump #anime whump #anime #gif #whump gif #anime gif #anime whump gif

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0meatloaf0 · 6 months

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You hate me so much, don't you? Why don't you just shoot me, then?

Remy (c) bittersweet-fl0wer Chromos (c) me: c'mon, love. make this easy for the both of us and tell me you hate me

#meaty art #meaty OCs #meaty market #whump #whump art #whump oc #injury #blood #angst #suicide #suicidal whumpee #masochist whumpee #insufferable bastards #remy #chromos #C&C AU #i should really finish this sketch someday because it actually has so much potential

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whumpasaurus101 · 1 year

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Like Father, Like Son

THIS ONE IS A BIT LONGER THAN THE OTHERS CAUSE I GOT A BIT CARRIED AWAY-

SORRY IF THERES ERRORS I THINK I FIXED MOST OF THEM THOUGH-

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From the minute Asher woke up, he knew he was quite frankly, fucked. Rodger was in one of his shitty moods, having a hissy fit over god knows what.

He didn’t even bother knocking on the door, “Get up, we have guests.”

“You know, normal people knock.”

Rodger stormed over to the bed, striking Asher hard across the face before grabbing him by a fistful of the hair, “I don’t have the time, nor patience for any of your talking back today, do you hear me?!?” He snarled against Asher’s ear.

Asher was barely fazed as he blinked up at the man, “I mean… you never really do-“ That’s when Rodger lost it. He flung Asher to the ground in a haste, “Let me make myself very clear,” Rodger growled, stepping forward and grabbing the front of Asher’s shirt. He hauled him up until Asher was back standing and quickly slammed him against the wall, leaning in close, “I will not hear any talking back from you. If I do, I swear to you, Asher, I will make you scream until your vocal chords are no more, am I understood?”

Asher wheezed out a breath. Normally Rodger would be too dumb to even come up with a threat, but looking into Rodger’s eyes -which he’d rather not do- Asher could tell Rodger was serious. All he managed was a slight nod but Rodger’s grip against him didn’t allow him to nod much.

Rodger held his gaze before dropping him to the ground, “Get changed, I left clothes in your bathroom. Be ready in ten and make sure you look perfect.” He left before Asher could even fit in a snarky comment. Asher gave himself a moment, resting his head against the wall as he let out a shaky sigh, waiting for the world to stop spinning. Once he managed to get to his feet, he took the quickest shower he could and slipped into his usual outfit for when guests came over. Black trousers, a belt, and a white button-up shirt.

He looked in the mirror, straightening out his shirt before ruffling his damp hair. He noted how long it was getting, but that's the thing, Rodger liked it to be long enough to grab so he could just fling Asher around the place. Just as he started to brush his teeth, Rodger burst through, “Come on, they’ll be here any time now!!!”

Asher simply rolled his eyes, spitting into the sink before continuing to brush his teeth, ignoring Rodger who simply frowned and fixed Asher’s hair to his liking. Asher clung tightly to his toothbrush as he resisted the urge to shove Rodger away. Then Rodger tsked, reaching his arms around Asher and unbuttoned the first two buttons of Asher’s shirt. That made Asher spit out his toothpaste before shoving Rodger away, “Fuck off, I can look after myself.”

Rodger raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, “Watch it.” Was all he growled before walking out, “Get downstairs, I made breakfast.”

Asher’s stomach growled at the mention of food. He finished brushing his teeth before pacing to the kitchen, eyes falling to the two plates on the table. “Take a seat.”

It had been a while since Rodger and Asher sat at a table together for breakfast. He normally would be forced to kneel beside Roder, forced to eat out of Rodger’s palm. And if he didn't? Then he got nothing. So Asher was slightly hesitant sitting down.

“Pancake?” Asher asked, looking from his plate to Rodger, remembering all his chats with Jack about pancakes. Rodger nodded, ruffling Asher’s hair, “Look at you learning things!” For the first time in a while, Asher didn’t want to bite Rodger’s hand off, but he gave a quiet growl in warning.

“Don't get any butter on your shirt or I swear to god-” “I knowww, I knowww,” Asher groaned, “I swear you can’t go five minutes without using some random threat in your sentence” Just before Asher could take another bite from his pancake, Rodger smacked upside Asher’s head.

“Hurry up and eat.”

Asher just rolled his eyes, finishing off his breakfast. It was a few minutes later until he dared to ask Rodger a question, “Who’s coming over?”

Rodger sat down, sipping from his glass of orange juice- the ice cubes clinking against each other, “None of you business.” Asher scoffed, “Well, from how you're acting, you’d think your father was coming ove-”

Asher was soon cut off as he was backhanded across the face.

“Ah,” Asher sighed, “I now know who’s coming over. Man, I mean, it explains why you’ve been such a di-” Asher quickly stopped himself from talking, flinching as Rodger pulled back his hand, stopping just before he slapped him.

Rodger’s eyes slightly widened as he heard the doorbell ringing and Asher chuckled quietly, “I bet you can't wait for him to meet me.” Rodger stood up straight, completely ignoring him as he walked to the front door. Asher thought he could be decent enough so he put both of their plates into the dishwasher before standing at the doorway, nervously cracking his knuckles as he waited.

The man was a stout man, glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose and short pepper and salt coloured hair. He was just under Asher’s height but Asher could tell this man thought he had everybody and everyone under him.

Behind him, followed a blonde haired lady. Walking in heels that were way too tall for her to walk in as she shimmied in. Her nails were long but unlike Alicia, they were bright pink. She smiled brightly, kissing Rodger on the cheek. As the three grew closer, Asher was able to catch a bit more as to what they were saying, but not much.

“Dad, Kimberly, this is Asher, he’s still in training right now-” lie “but he seems to be improving!” Lie. “Asher, this is my dad, Nikos, but you will refer him to sir, alright?”

The man held out his hand, Asher just blankly stared at it, looking to Rodger with furrowed eyebrows. Rodger rolled his eyes with a growl, his face blushing slightly in embarrassment, “Shake his hand, mutt-” He quickly looked up to his father apologetically, “He doesn't really have much…common sense…”

The man gave Rodger a disapproving look before it moved to Asher. Although Asher’s father looked quite similar to Rodger, Asher felt slightly intimidated by the man. He forced himself not to take a stepback as he took in a shaky breath, steadying himself.

“What’s he good for?” The man asked, eyes not leaving Asher’s as he spoke to Rodger. Asher went to speak but Rodger subtly jabbed him in the side, flashing him a glare in warning.

“Uhm… well he competes in fights in our local gym which Antonio runs.”

Asher felt the man’s eyes look him up and down once as he spoke, “Is he any good?”

“Yeah! He’s won about ninety percent of his matches.” Lie.

“Well then, I’ll have to come watch one of them!!!”

Rodger jabbed at Asher’s side once more as Asher snorted a laugh, “Will you excuse us a moment?” Rodger didn't wait for a response before grabbing Asher by the arm and dragging him out to the hall. Asher was smirking, holding in a laugh as he watched the vein on Rodger’s forehead fully popped out.

He was soon snapped back to reality though when Rodger slapped him hard across the face, “Asher, I swear to fucking god, if you don't watch your fucking mouth, you and I are going to have a problem. I am asking you to behave just for while my father’s here…I am asking for this one thing!!! I never a-”

“Oh please!” Asher scoffed, “How many fucking times do I have to tell you this, I’m not your fucking ‘pet’-,” He spat, taking a step towards Rodger and shoving him back as he jabbed a finger against Rodger’s chest, “-Nor will I ever be your pet. So fuck right off an-”

“Is there a problem?”

Asher froze for a moment, his back seizing up as he clenched his jaw. He noticed how Rodger also tensed. “N-no, father, I-”

“Don’t lie to me, Rodger.”

“I- Y-you…I-” Rodger sighed, clicking his tongue as he clenched and unclenched his fists. He let out a final sigh of frustration before speaking, “Asher…has some… behavior issues. He..doesn’t exactly… know his place.”

“Is that true?” Nikos asked. Asher’s back was still facing him, Asher rolled his eyes with a scoff, “Listen, man, I don't have a ‘place’, your son is fucked up- which, let's be honest, is most likely your fault,” Asher turned around to face Nikos, smile painting his lips as he dared to take a step closer, “You’re all the same. Rich, stuck up people who are so far up their asses that they forget how to act like a decent human fucking be-”

“-Aiden Williams.”

Asher froze, feeling his stomach flip as the colour drained from his face, “Wh-what..?”

“Ah,” Nikos smiled, “So you are familiar with the name.”

“What’s it to you?” Asher growled, eyes hardening.

This time it was Nikos’ turn to take a step forward, smirking when Asher couldn't help but step backwards with a gulp. “Easy, pup,” Niko smirked, “Aiden Williams,” He hummed. Asher growled, grabbing two fistfulls of Niko’s waistcoat, “Stop fucking saying his name,” Asher roared, only to be thrown a left hook which sent him flying, sprawled onto the floor with a loud thud.

“I would watch your mouth, if I were you,” Niko hummed, advancing towards the boy with long strides. Asher groaned, curling in on himself, “G-good thing you're not me then..” A hand roughly carded through his curls, quickly tightening into a fist as his head was yanked up. A cry escaped Asher, his eyes unwillingly meeting Niko’s cold gaze.

“‘M g-gonna get sss-sick-” Asher whimpered.

Rodger watched from a distance, still slightly digesting what was happening. He knew he couldn’t interfere or try to stop Nikos. “Father..I-”

“Quiet,” Nikos turned back to Asher, smirking as he watched blood roll down Asher’s chin from his lip, “Aiden was never fond of that busted lip, hm?” Asher reeled, trying to pry Nikos’ hand from his hair, “I’m warning you, shut your fucking mouth,” He growled, only to be slammed face-first into the wall.

Ruining your pretty perfect face…

Watch it, your getting blood on the carpet.

No one will ever love you when you look all roughed up like that, Danny.

Once he was let go, Asher’s glazed-over eyes blinked once, twice, before he let out a groan, “Ffff-fuck….” He rolled onto his back, blinking up at the ceiling, groaning as Niko soon stepped into his view, letting out a sigh of disspointment, “He never quite liked that bad language of yours either…”

Asher could practically feel the glass shards in his mouth…

Hold still, Danny. Don't you prefer this? So much more quiet, so well behaved. No bad evil language, juuuuuust perfect, my dove.

A shudder ran through Ashers spine with a whimper, a tear slowly falling down his cheek as he let out a sob, “Ho-how do you kn-know all this?” Asher rasped, trying to remind himself who he's with. Aiden wasn't here. He was safe.

“There’s a reason I haven't met you sooner, Asher. I like to do my research. When Aiden heard that my son now owned you, he just insisted on a visit.”

Asher’s head snapped to Rodger, desperate for his father to be lying.

“F-father… what did you do..?”

Just then, the doorbell rang. Nikos beamed, “Our guest has arrived.”

Asher was-for the first time in a while- lost for words. Tears streamed down his face. Nononono this can’t be true, this couldn't be happening!!!

Nikos rushed to the door, leaving both Asher and Rodger in shocked silence. The radiators’ humming were the only sound to be hear before a voice that made Asher feel sick to his stomach sounded from the doorway.

“Oh, my dove, how I have missed you!!!”

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Taglist: @likeit-or-whumpit @milk-carton-whump @yesthisiswhump @appy-polly-loggies @happy-whumper @tears-and-lilies @whumpkinpie @shywhumpauthor @thecursedscribbler @whump-queen (LMK IF YOU WANNA BE ADDED OR REMOVED O(∩_∩)O )

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whump-queen · 2 years

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How to get a vampire to stop biting

Seth makes a new friend :)

series masterlist

This is an excerpt from a collab with @whumpsday and @whumpshaped, so characters include Kane (@whumpsday’s OC), Seth & Pumpkin (@whumpshaped’s OCs), and Silas (my OC, wip art here).

(CONTENT WARNING: extreme gore, skinning the face, broken jaw, facial mutilation, ripping skin off, intermittent use of “it” pronouns (derogatory). DEAD DOVE: Do Not Eat - I’m not kidding, this is probably the bloodiest thing I’ve ever posted here)

Kane whines behind the muzzle when he sees Seth grab the silver chain, clasping his hands together and shaking his head desperately. He points to himself and then pointedly at the spot he's sitting, tensing up. Trying to communicate, ‘I'll stay still.’

Seth stops for a moment, looking at Silas. "Well? Should we just trust it? I mean, you've already trusted in once and it got you bitten, so I don't know."

"No way. Chain the damn thing up, will you?"

Seth grins. "Your wish is my command, good sir." He chains Kane up, rougher than necessary. Tighter than necessary.

Kane screams behind the muzzle as the silver chain grills into him, searing his body everywhere it touches. He sobs at the sharp increase in pain. Everything burns.

"Perfect," Silas bends down and unbuckles the silver muzzle, peeling it away from the skin it had fuzed to in the time it had stayed strapped to the vampire's face, burning away, leaving a horrible, bloody mess in its wake.

"Aww," Silas coos at Kane, "Don't you look so pretty for us, leech," aware that Kane still can’t hear anything through those silver nails Silas had hammered into his ears, and still not caring.

Kane cries out again at the agonizing removal of the muzzle, though he's relieved to have it off. "Th-thank you, sir." he whispers to Silas, very tentative about speaking, terrified that he'll put the muzzle back on.

Silas is beyond amused that the vampire would thank him, not knowing what's about to happen.

He bends down and opens the clamp, and fits it in between Kane's blood-soaked teeth. Kane's jaws are forced open as Silas slowly begins to turn the knob on the side of the metal tool, gradually pushing his jaws wider and wider apart, taking his sweet time to let the confusion and anticipation fully soak in.

It’s at this point that Seth pulls out his phone and starts recording. This is new and fun and exciting, he needs to capture it.

Kane quickly realizes what's about to happen to him, his heart races with dread. He sobs around the intrusion in his mouth, looking up at Silas with desperate, pleading eyes as he whimpers.

“Oh, the leech looks so nice when it’s eyes look at me like that, I’d never get tired of this—so terrified, so desperate…” He continues to turn the knob that stretches the clamp wider and wider, until it’s clear he’s hit a limit with the vampire’s jaw, as its eyes snap open wide and it starts making the most beautiful noises. Silas keeps turning until he hears a loud snap followed by a terrible scream.

Kane heaves ragged breaths as he winces from the pain of his broken jaw. It's not as bad as the silver burning into him, but it's still horrible. He's also now back to being unable to speak.

With Kane’s jaw freshly broken, Silas untwists and removes the clamp, and, mesmerized by the way the vampire’s mouth hangs open limply, starts running his fingers along his fangs.

“Aww you wanted to bite me didn’t you, leech?” He grabs ahold of Kane’s lower lip, playing with the way his mouth opens and closes with the smallest nudge, completely slack. “Go ahead and bite me then.”

Silas laughs at the complete lack of muscle control Kane now has over his own mouth, “You know Seth, I’d say it’d be fun to play with its mouth a little more in this state,” he looks right up into the camera of Seth’s phone and smiles,”but I know we’re just getting to the fun part.“

Silas reaches for his belt and pulls out that dreaded serrated knife, which was quickly becoming Silas’ favorite tool of the day’s activities. He holds Kane’s mouth open with one hand and presses the teeth of the blade against the inner corner of Kane’s mouth. Then, ever so slowly, he begins to saw back and forth up through his cheek, savoring every rip of each bit of flesh and the snap of each bit of sinew that caves and tears under the jagged teeth of the knife.

With one side of Kane’s face completely mutilated, he completes the same pattern on the other side, sawing through tissue up until he hits the point where the two sides of Kane’s jaws connect, where his neck and ear meet.

Silas releases a contented hum as he places the blood soaked knife onto Kane’s heaving chest. As if to prove a point, even just to himself, he grips the flaps of now separated skin at the base of either of Kane’s ears and begins to tear the skin and tissue of his lower cheeks downward towards the chin, exposing all of Kane’s lower teeth amid a red layer of muscle and blood vessels.

Kane tries to stay still and good through the horrible event, scream after scream torn from his throat. Everything hurts, from his jaw to his ears to the silver chain still wrapped around his body. But he knows that at least he will heal from this, Pumpkin's fingers won't grow back.

And poor Pumpkin, who knows what's happening, is hellbent on trying to muffle their sounds. They don't dare look. They're terrified that at one point, they'll have to, they'll have to face what those two did to their friend.

The skin of Kane’s face hits a bit of a stopping point as Silas has yet to sever one last line through Kane’s face—but he’d wanted to see how far he could get it to rip first, before using the knife to finish the job.

The tissue is bound more firmly once he reaches the base of the jaw bone, and a few threads and patches of tissue still had yet to be severed. Picking up the knife once more, he carefully carves each part away from the bone, and at last, hands drenched in blood, Silas holds up all of the skin that once lined Kane’s lower face and jaw.

He looks up at where Seth is filming, positively beaming, “and would you look at that, we got it all in one piece.”

Seth can’t stop laughing, in utter disbelief as the show goes on, both at how gross this is and how much Silas is clearly enjoying this. This will make him a pretty penny later.

But there’s still one more step, the bone itself will have to be separated from the rest of the skull. With the skin out of the way and the two joints dislocated, all that remains are a few tendons holding the bone in place.

Silas feels his adrenaline spike to yet a higher pitch, but before he can begin, he realizes he’ll need his hands free. “Hey leech, hold this for me, would you?” And places the skin he’s holding tissue-side down, over Kane’s eyes and nose.

And with that, he’s taken the knife up yet again, sawing through the last few tendons and bits of tissue before gripping Kane’s bottom jaw and teeth with his other hand and ripping the whole thing clean off with a terrible wet snap and yet another splattering of blood.

And Kane is so relieved when Silas finally rips the damn thing off of him. He hangs his head, panting with agony as he continues to burn, body wracked with sobs.

Silas is panting now,—his hands, arms, torso and face covered in Kane’s blood—his chest is heaving, his head positively spinning, feeling practically high as he holds Kane’s severed, skinned jawbone up for Seth’s camera.

“And that’s how you keep vampires from biting,” he says between panted, heavy breaths, and stifled laughter. “I do hope you enjoyed the show,” he says, winking at the camera, knowing that, given his state now, the gesture looks anything but charming.

▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️

(so obviously I’m not a doctor and have no clue how the human jaw works so uhh just suspend disbelief with me ok)

I’m gonna tag you @brutal-nemesis cuz you might appreciate this for its sheer depravity, but lmk if you don’t wanna be tagged :)

More like this

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whumblr · 2 months

Text

Ball and chain

Whumpee meekly walked along, resigned, hands cuffed in front of them, two henchmen clinging to both arms as they were marched into the large room. Like they were both walking them down the aisle.

Except the man who they were tied to was all but bliss. And did not accept any form of seperation.

And he now stood waiting for them in the middle of the room. He turned and his eyes immediately fixed on Whumpee. Myeah... they were in trouble.

The man barely contained himself, his jaw clenched, nostrils flaring, and his rage plain to see in his eyes, swirling about like thunderclouds.

You'd think that, with all the trouble they caused, he would be glad to see the back of them... instead of sending out a search team and dragging them back to their cell.

They stopped right in front of him and Whumpee swore they saw something twitch in his jaw. His eyes bored into theirs, but they didn't look away.

"Leave," Whumper growled.

The two men gladly let go of their arms and turned to leave the room.

Whumpee however followed suit: they spun on their heels and made to follow them out. But before they could even take one step, a hand clamped around their shoulder.

"Not you, you goddamned little gargoyle, what makes you think I was talking to you."

Willfully ignoring the fingers digging into their shoulder, Whumpee simply watched, a little rueful, as the henchmen succesfully made their way out, leaving them alone here. Then they turned around again, shrugging the hand off with the softest huff.

"Well, you were looking at me, so..."

General whump tag: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @whumpifi @auroragehenna

#whump #whump drabble #whump prompt #recapture #malicious compliance whumpee #failed escape #bastard whumpee #defiant whumpee #implied so much trouble #implied beating from hell #shouldve just let them escape man...#my writing #my prompts

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squidkid15 · 7 months

Note

The Mayor as whumper and Macaque as whumpee, you say? 👀

BOY ANON U BETTER BE CAREFUL U DON'T ACTIVATE MY UNSKIPPABLE CUTSCENE

#squid speaks #answers #anonymous #i LOVE whumping mac #so this isn't news #but i do LOVE doing it #he checks all the fun boxes #immortal but not invulnerable #non human #past trauma to exploit #notable features to exploit (ears)#SNARKY bastard #bites back (which gets him hurt more)#like basically just an excellent whumpee #and LBD is an EXCELLENT whumper for like #mental and conidtioning whump #or magical #but for just beating the shit out of him? mayor #mayor is where its AT #cuz hes cold and unfeeling but also efficient and the grin and laugh and voice #and we even see him EASILY overpower mac in shadowplay #so excellent power imbalance where there shouldnt be one #like mac is crazy powerful and yet the mayor has his number #anyways i should have put these tags in the post but oops #i Will ramble more about this if you want i LOVE mac whump and mayor in particular is so good #core mac has a Complicated history with his mayor #its great #lmk core au #yeah ill tag it as that #whump

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wolfeyedwitch · 2 years

Note

🥶⚡️💪- All for Bailey/Poppet!

🥶 Cold

⚡ Scared of thunderstorms

💪🏽 Bridal carry

Pre-canon. Buckle up buttercups, because this is another entry in the column labeled "why Bailey has good reasons to be afraid of the heroes"

Masterlist

---

Bailey's hands were shaking when they managed to comm back to base.

"Poppet?" Slipknot's voice came through. "What's wrong?"

Because it was far too soon for them to be touching base if things were going right.

"C- cold," Bailey gasped out. "Hur- hurts. Need h- help."

"I'm tracking your comm, I'll be there right away. Are you somewhere safe enough to stay there until I can get to you?" their mentor asked.

"I think- I think so?" Bailey managed.

"Then stay put. I'm coming to get you."

The line went dead.

Bailey tried to stay awake in the meantime, they really did. But they were just so cold. They'd found shelter after the fight had gone bad, enough to both keep the rain off them and keep the heroes from finding them, but that didn't change the fact that they were soaked. It felt like they barely blinked, and then Slipknot was there shaking them.

Bailey cried out as the movement made all their wounds sit up and proclaim their existence. Loudly.

"Sorry, little poppet," Slipknot said. "But I need you awake. What happened?"

Bailey groaned through their teeth. "Wasn't just Spark," they said. "Was Tempest, too."

"What? Tempest was here? Why didn't you call for backup?"

"Tried to," Bailey said. "Think Spark had done something, dampened the signals maybe? Comm didn't work until later. I called you first thing."

"Okay," Slipknot said, sounding calmer. "Can you walk?"

Bailey shook their head, biting their lip to stay quiet. "My leg," they said, when they could manage more than inarticulate groans of pain. "Dunno know what's wrong, but she got it with her staff, and it burns."

Slipknot swore quietly. "The two of them. Using lightning against anyone is excessive, I don't care who they are. I'm sorry, Poppet. I thought this was going to be something you could handle. I wouldn't have sent you here if I had known it was going to be this big a job."

They looped one arm under Bailey's knees and the other behind their back. Slowly, gently, they carried Bailey to safety.

---

Notes: it isn't full lightning, but Spark/Iris has some electro-generation ability along with her technopath powers. Combining that with Tempest's wind and weather control, and a metal staff makes for a great conductor to hit your enemies with.

(There are some serious miscommunications going on as to why they think that much force is appropriate.)

(Does Slipknot know that? Are they sincere or not? Let me know what you think.)

Taglist:

@heathenville @nonbinary-disaster @kim-poce @whump-world @dolls-circus @pickleking8 @ghostfacepepper @cupcakes-and-pain @badluck990 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @extemporary-whump @whumpwillow @multiple-characters1-acct @sunflower1000 @fleur-alise @equestrianwritingsstuff, @scp-1296 @livingforthewhump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @suspicious-whumping-egg @kaiwewi @lelly-belly @neuro-whump @newbornwhumperfly @whumpthisway, @whumpcreations, @wicked-whump @heart4brains, @myhusbandsasemni @how-to-be-a-hero @kixngiggles @kurochan @whumpsday @extrabitterbrain @pattonvirglsanders @neverthelass @we-write-as-one @elrysdoesstuff @whumperflies-and-roses @ha-ha-one @whatwhumpcomments @ramadiiiisme @towerlesskey @emmanemanemm @pigeonwhumps

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albino-whumpee · 2 years

Text

Tool

Funny how a simple phrase can make me create.

CW// blood, inhuman whumpee, dubious caretaker, human trafficking...well, they look human, it as a pronoun.

“I´m giving that tool to you, son. You better bring out all of its potential”

Those were the words his father told him as he pushed the tool forward, making it stumble. They didn´t look malnourished or overly mistreated as other tools would. Maybe a bit pale and skinny, but the lifeless eyes were almost a tool´s identifying feature anyways. It wasn´t worth the attention. The tattoes on their wrists in the other hand.

The shackles on the tool´s wrists were a contract. They were incomplete, which meant the contract was waiting for a seal to bind them to its master for life. He frowned at the sight of a broken shackle tattoo right below.

“It already has a master” they remarked bitterly.

“It used to” his father would never give him one of his own tools. Breaking the contract with a tool was a death sentence. Stealing someone else´s was a different story. “Don´t worry, I can assure you they´re sharp enough for you to handle”

There was an obvious mockery on that sentence, but he was used to it. Still, it stung slightly as they looked back at the tool standing in front of him. A second hand like the ones his father trafficked...

He sighed. “Fine. I´ll take it”

A pleased expression surged on his father´s face. The tool took a step forward.

...Funny, the tool didn´t look all that upset about changing masters, it even offered its wrists without being asked.

Naturally, he started the ritual for the contract. Despite his father having a vast network of tools, he had remained without one for the entirety of his life. He was doing fine by himself. But refusing his father yet again was as stupid as breaking a contract with a tool.

“Just a thing” his father went as he watched him cut his wrist and let the blood drip over the tool´s shackle tattoo. By the tool´s expression, it burnt. It was to be expected their sync wouldn´t be good when he hadn´t picked the tool. Still, the sting on his own arm as the tattoo of a key appeared on his wrist was bearable. He could make it work.

“What?” he said letting the tool pull their aching wrists to their chest.

“They killed their previous master, so you better become a proper master if you want to live”

He let out an amused hum as he turned to the tool. The tool recoiled at the extended gaze, a shiver running down its spine when it saw its new master smile at it.

“[Come]” He called for his tool. In a blur of light, its human body dissapeared and shot towards its master´s hand. Sparks burnt in the air as the tool transformed into a fine spear.

Without being told to, he flicked his wrist and the spear transformed into dual blades he caught in the air with his other hand.

One of them was shattered in the middle and the other one barely had any sharpness to it. He hated to admit he had been hopeful for a second.

It was a tool that had just recently discovered they were a versatile tool, huh? One form was elegant and formidable, while the other was broken. It was obvious which was the usual form the tool took under its last master´s care.

He tried flicking his wrist again, testing if it could take another form, but when he only felt a throb on his wrist, he noticed he had been greedy. Two forms were enough. Regardles...Versatile tools like that were rare and powerful, but infinitely more unstable than other tools. Until they got used to the switch, it would strain their body beyond use.

“[Back]” he ordered, letting go of the weapon.The tool went back to its human form and plummeted on the ground gasping for air.

“What do you think?”

“It´s broken” The tool´s head sank in shame.

“Nothing is perfect. Can I trust you can polish it?”

He glared at his father for a moment. Of course, a versatile tool was too good of a gift to be true.

“Do you want me to break the contract once I´m done?”

“You can sell it to me when you´re done. I will pay a good price for it”

“You will find someone to pay a good price for it, you mean” he scuffed. “Why me? You could´ve made the contract with it yourself”

His father put a distasteful expression while looking at the tool. The tool crawled to its new master in a cute attempt to hide from the scrutinizing glare.

“I tried to. Many times. It just kept refusing to have me as its master. It must have still kept some loyalty to its former master...”

The man´s son burst into laughter. Even the tool looked at him with strange eyes.

It couldn´t hide the surprise on its face when he patted its head “You´re a little more clever than I thought” he whispered to it. Then looked up to his father “I don´t think a tool that killed its master would be loyal to anyone. Therefore...”

He grabbed the tool´s arms and pulled it up. His grip was tight and soon the tool whimpered and tried to push his arm away.

“A rebellious tool will sign any contract if it means it can be free by killing all its masters” the tool stopped struggling, its golden eyes shining wildly as its intentions were uncovered. It began to struggle more, but the man was stronger than it and quickly subdued it.

That didn´t stop the tool from struggling underneath. It tried to change its skin for the spear´s blade, but when it hoped skin would tear and bleed, it was shocked to find only the cloth of his gloves teared.

“Too bad” he laughed at it. His prosthetic hand pushed the tool down to its knees and kept it there.

Tool and master locked eyes, then. Nothing but hate in one and pure amusement on the other.

“No worries. I will make it know what a proper master is”

#i can already tell this bastard is a dumbass #anyways there #hope you like it #whump #writing #tw blood #tw human trafficking #but is complicated because its not human at all?#anyways #magic whump #nonhuman whumpee #dubious caretaker #gray caretaker #what was the label for them?#ah fuck it

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quietly-by-myself · 2 years

Text

Three Days - Chapter 13

This is a collab with @darkthingshappen for @the-whumpers-soiree. It features Faolan from my Mercury and Time series (link here) and her original whumper, Finlay Iver.

This story will contain elements of explicit noncon, references to past violent events, including noncon, torture, among other adult/dark themes. Reader discretion is advised. It’s much darker than what I normally post. Minors DNI.

Tags: @oddsconvert, @sparrowsage

CW: waterboarding, creepy/intimate whumper, references to noncon, begging, broken whumpee, self-loathing, beating (of the whumper), blood

---

Swimming was never something Faolan ever had the privilege of enjoying. He’d never felt water moving around his body. He’d never known that free movement of being unrestrained by gravity, almost flying.

Drowning, on the other hand, was visceral. The minute the water hit his face, he couldn’t breathe. He began to kick at the air. He needed to breathe. He needed to breathe.

Faolan couldn’t even open his mouth. Instinct kept it shut. He was holding on to every last breath as he felt his world spinning as though he’d hit his head. Faolan was struggling like he’d never struggled before against the restraints. Very quickly, the restraints had cut into his skin as he clawed against those restraints keeping his fists closed and wrists strapped to the table.

It didn’t take long before his lungs felt like they would collapse. Please, this is awful. Please, save me. I’m going to die. I’m going to die. He’s going to kill me. He wants me dead.

Finlay pulled up on the jug and the water stopped flowing. It was truly beautiful, the sounds Faolan had made, the struggling of his lovely lithe body. The desperate thrashing, the arching of the back. God it was all so gorgeous. Finlay pulled the cloth back off of Faolan’s mouth and nose, leaving it on his forehead. He watched Faolan slump against the table and pant, sucking in deep lungfuls of air. He placed his hand on Faolan’s forehead.

“You did good, little pet. Very good for your first round. You look absolutely lovely. And did I not promise that there would be no marks or scars?”

Faolan soon broke down into panting sobs as he looked at Finlay with a look of almost betrayal in his eyes. He hardly had air in his lungs to cry.

“Please, Master, not again. It makes me feel like I’m dying,” Faolan struggled to get the words out between his windedness and his tears. “I’ll do anything you want, Master. Please not again, Master. Please not again, Master. I-I’ll,” Faolan swallowed and struggled to get the next words out. “I’ll suck you off, right here. Just make it stop, Master, please.”

“I told you, little pet. We’re going to do a few rounds so that the lesson sinks in. Then you can thank me for helping you learn not to say those things. And I’ll absolutely let you suck me off. It’s what your mouth was made for anyway. Now, you need to take a few deep breaths. I don’t want you passing out. I promise you won’t die. I won’t let you. It just feels scary. I swear I will take care of you afterwards. You’ll be okay. Now, deep breaths, my little pet.”

Faolan shook his head. He wouldn’t be okay. He wouldn’t survive. He wouldn’t be taken care of afterwards. His sobs turned frantic as he realized he’d disobeyed Finlay’s order to take deep breaths with his sobbing. He didn’t want to be shocked again. He didn’t want to have the cloth over his face again.

“I’m sorry, Master. I’m sorry, Master.” He repeated it a few more times, forcing himself to take those deep breaths, to comply before Finlay hit the button to activate his shock collar. “Don’t shock me please, Master. I’m trying, Master.”

He tried again, succeeding a bit more at taking those same, deep breaths Finlay had asked him to take so many times.

“There we go. Nice and deep. I know this is hard since it’s new. You’re doing great. Okay.” Finlay flipped the cloth back down over Faolan’s face. He picked up the jug of water again and started pouring. It was such a minor effort. Almost nothing. And yet Faolan writhed and screamed like it was agony. Maybe it was. Finlay had no way of knowing. He just knew that it was an easy punishment. He liked it. And he liked the way Faolan’s body looked as he thrashed against his restraints. He would definitely have to remember this one. And use it again. And again. Well, maybe sparingly, for special offenses. But he would definitely use this again.

Agony came from every bone in his body in spite of the pain medicine as Faolan kept thrashing. He was sure that he’d injured himself as he again felt like his lungs were either going to explode or cave in.

Did Finlay know that Faolan was dying? Did he realize that his lungs were giving out? Would he even stop if he knew? William had no problem with damaging his body and neither did Finlay. Maybe, as long as it wasn’t his ass, it didn’t matter. Maybe damaging his lungs was a way to get him to never run.

Bruises were forming around where Finlay had strapped on any form of tight restraint. No marks. He promised me no marks. Again, that feeling of betrayal bubbled in his dying chest, even though he knew it shouldn’t.

Maybe if I look bad enough, he’ll stop. He doesn’t want to kill me. Maybe he won’t if I offer again while looking bad enough to get him to stop.

Faolan decided on that as a plan, his mind hardly coherent enough to try anything else. It was all instinct, after all. Looking dangerously ill and promising a reward was something he knew well.

Finlay once again tipped the jug up and stopped the water flowing over Faolan’s face. He pulled the cloth up again.

“There we are. It’s okay. We’ll take a little break. Breathe, little Faolan. Breathe.” Finlay leaned on the table and stroked Faolan’s wet hair. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.” He lifted Faolan’s head and cradled it in his arms like he had done when he gave him his pills. “Easy. Easy. It’s okay. You’re not dying. You’re okay. Take some time before the next round. I think we’ll try for a total of five rounds and then be done. You’ve already done two and I’m so proud of you.” He kissed the top of Faolan’s head.

Faolan was sobbing uncontrollably, fighting for air as he cried. He couldn’t take another round. He wouldn’t take three more rounds. He couldn’t. He was already bruised. Would he be bleeding at the end of it all? He wasn’t going to be okay. Finlay was lying.

Another wave of sobbing crashed over him. “P-p-please. I’ll do whatever you want, Master. T-there has to be something else I can do to please y-you that isn’t this. I can’t do this, Master. Please. I’m going to die. My lungs are going to collapse, Master, if I have to do three more rounds.”

“They’re not. It’s an illusion. Your body is literally lying to you, telling you that you’re drowning when you are not. It’s a fear response. Your body is panicking. I promise you are okay. This is a method that has been used for like a thousand years. You’ll be okay. One more minute. Deep breaths.”

Too scared of displeasing Finlay and earning himself another round of the torture, Faolan forced himself to take deep breaths. He needed to please Finlay. He needed to satisfy him before five rounds of the torture.

Would Finlay use it again? Faolan wouldn’t be able to take it if Finlay tried the torture again. As the cloth came into view from where he was, Faolan could only let out a small, “Please, no, Master,” before it covered his face entirely.

Finlay started to pour again. Faolan was doing very well. He’d have to be very tender with his aftercare tonight. Lots of cuddling and paying attention to the fresh bruises that would be on his wrists and ankles and possibly in other places. It was absolutely perfect. The small panicked noises that managed to escape past the water cascading over his face were music to his ears.

Nothing made sense anymore. Faolan was in complete disarray as he thrashed against the restraints.

Suddenly, though, the water stopped. Faolan couldn’t process anything other than the ability to breathe through the dampened cloth on his face again. Tears streamed down his face as he felt every wall he had left crumble under the weight of that wet cloth on his face.

The next moment, he was startled from his crying by a loud bang and yelling. Faolan swore he could’ve recognized the yelling, that commanding, angry voice, but he thought it might’ve been a trick of oxygen deprivation. After all, reality was merely a fabrication that obeyed Finlay’s and William’s wills and nobody else’s.

After he heard loud crashing and more yelling and screaming, the cloth came off his face in one giant slip of relief. Tears, water, and tunnel vision from the lack of oxygen blurred his vision to an impossible degree, but he easily recognized the sight of blood. Faolan froze, afraid of the worst.

At the sound of the loud bang of the torture room door crashing open, Finlay jerked the water jug back. Who in the hell would dare invade his private sanctum while he was working? Playing? They were one and the same right now.

Finally looked up to see several very able bodied men that he did not recognize invading his room and coming straight for him. And there was one he did recognize.

“What? Atticus fucking Dufort! You… you can’t be here. How did you find me? It doesn’t matter, you won’t get him back. Not like before anyway. I’ve already ruined him. Returned him to his perfect training, to the little whore who loves pain and will take it no matter what I do to him and still come when I fuck him, like I’ve done every night I’ve had him. It was easy to break him. He didn’t even resist for a day.” Finlay was reaching for the shock collar remote. He fished it out of his pocket and turned the dial on the side all the way up.

Two men rushed up and ripped the remote out of Finlay’s hands. They quickly wrapped their arms around Finlay’s shoulders and forced him down to the ground.

One of the two, a dark-haired fellow with angry eyes approached Finlay. “Don’t you fucking dare say that about anyone in my fucking family.”

With that, the man threw a sharp punch to Finlay’s face, followed by a swift, well-placed kick to his crotch. The man was a professional and made it clear with the impact of every hit, maximizing every inch of his muscle and body weight with each strike.

Atticus dropped his crutch to the ground as he rushed towards Faolan. There were tears in his eyes as he looked at the panting, bruised-wristed figure of his friend.

He rushed through and ripped every restraint off of Foalan one-by-one like a madman. He couldn’t bear the thought of Faolan being laid on that table for another second.

Faolan let out a small moan as Atticus helped him sit up on the table, soon having to lean against it to shift his weight off of his hip.

“A-Atticus?” Faolan was in total disbelief. New, fresh tears fell down his face as he threw his arms around Atticus, pain be damned.

“You’re okay, Faolan. I’m here now.” Atticus’ voice - that gentle, soft voice that had comforted him through all those awful nights of terrible dreams and flashbacks - was full of tears. “I’m so sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

Faolan’s grip tightened as he heard the apology of Atticus’ lips. He couldn’t stand the sound of it. It was his fault he’d gotten captured. It was his fault he didn’t escape. It was his fault. Everything was his fault. He was lucky to have even been rescued by Atticus.

“Don’t let me go.”

Atticus pulled at the tape on Faolan’s hands, unwinding it so that Faolan could have that security of gripping his shirt. He saw the scratch marks around the collar and could only assume why Finlay had done that to Faolan.

“I won’t, Faolan. Colyn got his brother and our buddies to beat the shit out of him.” Atticus sighed a bit, looking Faolan in the eyes. “We need to get you to the hospital ASAP.”

Faolan felt conflicted at the idea of Finlay being beaten. He didn’t want to say anything, but saw that knowing face that Atticus always made.

Just as suddenly as the cloth had been ripped off his face, a loud bang filled the room. Both Atticus and Faolan froze, immediately drawn by the bombings both had faced. They looked at each other, before Atticus hugged Faolan tighter to his body, bad hip pain be damned.

Finlay squirmed in the impossibly tight grasp of the men who held him. But every movement sent waves of pain flooding through him. He was certain they had cracked a few ribs when they kicked and beat him. His groin throbbed from the kick he’d taken there. As if beating him would change what he’d been able to accomplish with Faolan in just three short days. He would have smiled, but his face hurt from the pummeling he’d taken there as well.

Relief flooded him when there was a loud bang and a bright flash and smoke filled the room. His captors’ hold on him slipped and he yanked his arms free of their grasp. He heard his two goons, Parker and Lucian, come crashing through the torture room door. They swept towards him like the professionals they were. They were able to break through the other men in the chaos that ensued with the smoke. Parker, the quiet one, picked him up and the three of them made for the secret tunnel behind the work hutch in the opposite corner of the room. Before the smoke had cleared, the hutch had slid quietly back into place and latched securely, ensuring their safe exit out of the estate.

Little Faolan would be the one that got away, for now, Finlay thought. Though he knew it would be some time until he would have a new toy. He would though. Eventually. Men like him always had toys to play with.

#three days #faolan dufort #faolan #finlay iver #finlay is a manipulative bastard #kidnapping #captivity #references to noncon #waterboarding #conditioned whumpee #whumping the whumper #whump #whump writing #broken whumpee

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darkthingshappen · 2 years

Text

Three Days, Chapter 12

This is a collab with @quietly-by-myself for @the-whumpers-soiree. It features Faolan from their Mercury and Time series (link here) and my original whumper, Finlay Iver.

This story will contain elements of explicit noncon, references to past violent events, including noncon, torture, among other adult/dark themes. Reader discretion is advised. It's much darker than what I normally post. Minors DNI.

Tags: @oddsconvert; @sparrowsage

CW: aftermath of noncon, PTSD, shock collar mention, manipulation, torture, waterboarding, conditioned whumpee,

Finlay stayed cradling his little pet for a long time while he let the boy cry himself out. He gave him lots of gentle touches and cooed at him soothingly. He followed this up with a warm sponge bath in front of the heater, clean pajamas and then he carried him back to his little cell, where once again, he laid him on the cot.

Finlay fixed the chain around Faolan’s wrist, rubbing gently over his taped up knuckles. “Do you remember what I expect in the morning?” he asked casually as he tucked the blanket up around his chin once again.

Faolan froze up a little as he remembered the incident that morning. “Yes, I do, Master.” His eyes darted away as he tried to piece together the fuzzy memories of that morning. It felt like days ago. “I am to kneel with my hands folded and my head bowed, Master. If I need to relieve myself and would like to do so privately, it must be before you get there, Master.”

“Very good. I knew you were a smart boy.” He stroked Faolan’s cheek with the backs of his fingers. “I really don’t want to hurt you with the electric collar. It would please me very much if you would comply with the morning expectations. I will give you extra time with the lights on tomorrow to get yourself together.”

Faolan bowed his head a little in Finlay’s touch. “Thank you for your mercy, Master.” It was easy to fall back into the pattern he had with William all those years ago. Almost frighteningly so. It was easier, knowing what he could do to avoid beatings. He hated the fact that he had that knowledge in the first place. Had he really become so familiar with sadist types?

Finlay kissed his forehead and stood to bid him goodnight. “I think I’ll leave your hands taped for a little longer. Let’s see how tomorrow goes. If we can get through the day without me having to employ the collar, then the tape might could come off. If I don’t have to use the collar, you don’t have to scratch at your neck. Okay?”

Faolan nodded quietly. “Yes, Master.” The phrase came so naturally. After all, it was like Finlay had said. Faolan was made to be someone’s pet. He wasn’t meant to have a life of his own. Rather, he was to serve another’s life. He was there to entertain another and give them pleasure - nothing more, nothing less.

Clearly though, there was something on his mind. He couldn’t bring himself to ask Finlay out of fear of being seen as demanding or ungrateful, so he stayed quiet.

“I’m not going to find you under the cot again, am I?”

Again, Faolan hesitated. “No, Master. I would never do anything to upset you, Master.” Faolan cringed back a bit, clearly afraid from the electric shocks of that morning.

“I really don’t want to use the collar in the morning. Again, nothing would make me happier than to come in here and find you exactly where I asked you to be. I very much do not want a repeat of this morning. I’m not angry, sweet boy, I’m trying to help you have a good morning.”

Faolan felt caught between a rock and a hard place. He didn’t want to give the honest answer and explain why he hid under the bed nor did he want to face another night in that big, empty room with no way to hide and make his area smaller. It reminded him too much of the big, empty cell from the days when he was a prisoner of war.

“Would- will you be angry if I ask for something, Master?”

Unlike William, Finlay had never outright banned him from asking questions. In fact, Finlay sometimes seemed to encourage them. It made his job a lot easier.

“Not if it will help you comply in the morning.”

“It-it’s very empty in here, Master. I’m not ungrateful for my bed or my blanket. I-I just… the emptiness scares me, Master. I-I was under the cot because it reminds me too much of that cell, Master. If- if I could have something, not now, but maybe later, that could make it feel smaller in here, I would be forever thankful, Master.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Finally smoothed Faolan’s hair one more time. “You’ve had a difficult time in your life, haven’t you, little pet?”

“M-many, Master. Many difficult times, Master. I would say most of my life.” He looked at Finlay with a great deal of thanks in his eyes.

“Don’t worry about all that now. I’ll take care of you.” Finlay patted his cheek and then turned to leave the room.

He closed the door and went in search of something that could ‘help the room feel smaller’. He thought about how Faolan leaned into his touch when it was warm and soft. Hmmm. Something warm and soft. He went and gathered up a couple of extra pillows from the guest rooms and several fluffy blankets. If the kid wanted to nest, he’d let him nest. So long as it was on his terms.

Finlay had closed the door with the lights on. Faolan counted some time and eventually realized that Finlay had left for a rather long time. Had he forgotten to turn off the lights? Or maybe he’d leave the lights on all night as a punishment?

I can’t go more than one night without sleep. Maybe I can survive tonight. Panic fluttered in his chest. He didn’t want to stay up all night with his thoughts. He didn’t want to have to remember and process his feelings.

Within minutes, Faolan was in a cold sweat, afraid of the lights. He wanted them off. He needed them off. And he needed that now. The lights were too bright and glaring. They’d surely keep him up all night.

He hoped and prayed that Finlay would come back, but with each minute that passed by, it felt less and less likely. He’s going to abandon me in the light. He’s going to keep them on all night. I can’t do that.

The door opened suddenly and Finlay came in with an armful of pillows which he dropped in the corner opposite the bucket, which had indeed been cleaned out. He then went out and came back in with several thick fluffy blankets.

“If you need to get under something, these should be sufficient for your comfort. Just be sure you comply in the morning and you can keep it.”

Faolan’s eyes lit up when he saw first Finlay, then the pillows and blankets. More than anything, he was relieved not to have to stay up all night with the lights on. When he realized, though, that Finlay had actually listened and worked to make him more comfortable, Faolan was filled with an emotion he couldn’t quite describe.

“Thank you, Master.” His voice was filled with an air of disbelief. It was true - he could hardly believe that Finlay had listened and considered what he’d said. Was Finlay really that fond of him?

Maybe this will be okay. I can survive this, if he’ll be kind at the end of the day.

Finlay smirked at the expression on Faolan’s face. So long as he found him compliant and kneeling in the morning, ready to be tortured and used, then he could have his pillows and blankets at night. This was proving to be much more fun than he’d expected.

“Good night then, Little Faolan.” Finlay said, holding the door.

“The-the lights, Master.” He blurted his demand before he could even phrase it properly. He was too afraid that Finlay would leave the lights on to think about wording it in a more respectful manner.

“Don’t worry, little pet. I’ll turn them off. Sweet dreams.” And with that Finlay swung the door shut and locked it. Then he switched off the light. He was dumbstruck by having a pet who liked the dark. It was usually something that terrified them. Finlay shook his head. How many times had he heard, ‘No, sir, please don’t leave me in the dark’? And this was one was all, ‘please don’t leave the light on.’ It made Finlay giggle.

Faolan let out a sigh as he bundled himself in the blankets and lined his bed with the pillows, struggling with the tape on his hands. Once he was satisfied, he curled up in his little nest and drifted off to sleep where nothing but nightmares waited to greet him.

The lights flicked on in the middle of one of Faolan’s nightmares. He awoke with a start and had to work quickly to orientate himself in the room. He’d slept like hell. Every movement had jolted him awake. Worst of all, the pain built overnight. It was always that way with wounds - the inflammation made everything worse, especially over the next two days.

Something in Faolan told him to hurry. Finlay would shock him without hesitation if he wasn’t in the correct position. He rushed to relieve himself, then got to the floor in the position that Finlay had taught him. However, he quickly found it to be very painful to keep himself upright with the wound in his side. The whole area was alight with pain and he couldn’t force the muscles to do anything. Leaning on it made it even worse.

Quietly, he placed his hands on the ground to help support himself, keeping his head bowed as he waited for Finlay to enter, hoping that his bowed position would be enough for him.

I don’t want to be shocked again. I can’t be shocked again.

Finally opened the door and was exceptionally pleased. He was on all fours, so not exact, but it was better than hiding under the bed.

“Little Faolan, this is an improvement.” He squatted down in front of Faolan and used one finger to lift his chin. “But why are you on all fours? You just needed to be on your knees.”

Faolan’s eyes filled with fear as he looked at Finlay. “I-I’m sorry, Master. My wounds hurt too much for me to kneel. I-I need the support. I’m in too much pain. I’m sorry, Master.”

He hoped that apologizing would be enough. He was sickened by how easy it was to fall back into those familiar patterns from before Atticus. He hated it. It made him want to crawl out of his skin as he felt Finlay’s eyes burning into his.

“I bet we can come to an arrangement about your pain. Come. Up. Do you require assistance to get to the next room?” Finlay released Faolan’s face and stood up, moving to the door.

“Yes, Master.” Faolan was relieved beyond words to be released from Finlay’s grip. He dreaded having to stand with the pain in his side, but knew, somehow, that Finlay wouldn’t try to make it much, much worse like William had.

Finlay took his arms and helped him to stand. He wrapped his arm around the smaller man and let him lean his weight on him as they walked towards the torture room. “Come on. We need to get you your medicine.”

He guided Faolan not to the chair, but to the metal table. “Lay down on the table without resisting, let me restrain you, and not only will you get your regular meds, but I’ll give you something that will help with the pain from your wounds.”

Faolan froze a bit when he’d seen the chair that he’d been strapped to the two previous days. However, the sight of the table filled him with even more fear. Finlay had seemed almost… caring that morning. It was strange, especially considering the ruthless way he’d shocked him the previous two days.

Maybe he really is growing fond of me. The thought both comforted and terrified Faolan. Men like Finlay got more violent over their possessions as they grew attached. Whether that would be towards him or towards others or both, time would tell. At least it meant he wouldn’t be sold. No, not with Finlay telling him how perfect he was all the time.

“Yes, Master.” Faolan immediately complied, relying on Finlay for help when he needed it.

Finlay helped him get onto the table and lay down on his back. He fastened the cuffs around Faolan’s wrists so that his arms were laying next to his body. Then he secured his ankles. Lastly, he brought straps over Faolan’s thighs and chest. He leaned over and smoothed back Faolan’s hair.

“You did very well, little dove. I’m very proud of you.” He went and got Faolan’s medicine plus the extra pain medicine.

Faolan tried not to let panic take over too much as Finlay reassured him. Something about being given pain medicine didn’t sit right with him.

What would Finlay do that would ensure that pain medicine wouldn’t interfere with his pleasure? Faolan honestly had few ideas. Physical pain was normal. What torture could he endure that didn’t make his skin red? What pain could be inflicted that didn’t make his body scream as something was broken or torn?

Faolan wasn’t sure he wanted to find out. He had that pit in his stomach - that warning cry he knew all too well. Finlay was going to do something new. Somehow, it wasn’t as terrifying as new was with William. Though, saying that was like saying arsenic looked weak in the face of mercury.

Finlay returned with Faolan’s medicine. “Here you go my boy, pills first.” He placed the pills in Faolan’s mouth and then cradled his head in his arms so he could sip on some water. It was one extra pill than Faolan normally took since he included the pain medicine. Lastly he gave him his Zofran so it could dissolve under his tongue. Again, Finlay smoothed down his hair and smiled at him. “You’re being so good for me. Would you like to have your pepcid?”

Relief filled Faolan’s body as Finlay fed him the pain medicine along with his usual morning pills. Though with a bit of guilt, Faolan found himself enjoying the hand carding through his hair while Finlay cradled his head.

“Yes, please, Master.”

This is easier. This is much easier. Faolan hated how easy it was to let himself be taken care of by Finlay. Somehow, he was finding it easier than that civilian life he’d never quite adjusted too. His life had always been a chaotic thing. That normal, quiet life with Atticus and his paints in Maine, in the face of a life of service like with Finlay or William, seemed unnatural.

No, he’d never have a civilian life. It didn’t matter how hard he tried. He would never find his place amongst people who had never even come close to what he’d experienced.

Finlay returned with his pepcid and again held his head while he swallowed it.

“Now, little pet, we have to discuss your outburst from yesterday. I said we would put off the consequences until today.” He paused to make sure that Faolan was paying attention.

His stomach dropped to his feet. Of course there would be consequences. Faolan didn’t know why he thought he’d ever get away with that outburst where he called his master weak. Of all the things to call someone who had that sort of power, weak was one of the worst words to use, even if the feelings were genuine.

“I’m sorry, Master.” He knew those words would never be enough.

“It’s okay, little pet. In fact, I’m going to try something new. Something that I don’t think you’ve experienced before. It won’t require anything on your part and I promise it won’t leave any new marks or scars.”

“Please, Master, have mercy on me. I don’t have the strength to cry or scream today. My abdomen hurts too much, Master.”

“The pain medication will help with that. And, what I plan on doing for your punishment won’t last that long. A few rounds and then we’ll be done for the day. You can rest and then we can enjoy ourselves this evening.” He kissed Faolan’s forehead. “New things can be scary, my boy, but you’re doing so well today.”

Faolan would be good again. He would do well. He wanted to hurry through the tortures and the rape to get through to when he was alone with Finlay and cared for. However, the fear of whatever Finlay was going to do to him, presumably something so awful that it required only a few rounds, overwhelmed Faolan.

He let out a little whimper after Finlay finished his kiss. It was almost a plea for whatever was to happen to end before it began.

Finlay grabbed a cloth off the counter and laid it over Faolan’s face. He tilted the table so that Faolan’s head was slightly lower than his feet. Faolan couldn’t see him grabbing the large jug of water he’d prepared. He’d made sure it was cold, to try and keep Faolan in the present.

“All right darling, deep breath, little dove.” He waited until he saw Faolan’s chest expand and then he started pouring the water.

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