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hurtmyfavsthanks · 2 months

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HI!! okay so with the magical euphoria thingy i screamed into my pillow like twenty million times while reading AUDHSHXH /pOS YOUR WRITING IS AUAHDHAHX!!:?:!;!;:!, ANYWAY.

whumpee uses WAY too much magic in a fight. they’re completely giddy, out of it, and have just horrifically defeated something/someone.

looks around and notices that everyone is silent and terrified of what whumpee is capable of, because holy fuck. they did not need to go that far????

meanwhile whumpee thinks they were doing the right thing and, still incredibly excited from winning, runs over to caretaker!! and doesn’t understand why caretaker flinches away from them!! ^_^

sorry for the heinous grammar its like almost midnight rn :(((

(context)

I’m glad you liked my writing! I’m grinning like a fool rn.

And yes!!! Not every battle ends with Whumpee exhausted and ready to collapse. Sometimes they’re still sparking with energy, too deep into the high to realize they’re acting oddly, but not deep enough to be entirely gone. And honestly? For the people who care about them, for the people who are afraid of them, I think that state would be far, far worse. Awake but not quite aware. Unpredictable.

So like, hear me out.

The squadron is returning back to camp after a long day of missions. Their mage is still with them, in both senses of the word. They’re not fallen into total lunacy yet, still conscious and mobile. Whumpee’s bouncing on their toes, head swiveling on their shoulders like an excited puppy. They’re chatting excitedly, near incomprehensibly, at a soldier that made the mistake of getting too close. The soldier can only nod along to the stream of consciousness leaving Whumpee’s lips.

Caretaker is keeping a hold on Whumpee’s arm, making sure they don’t run off. They know Whumpee will be fine after a night’s rest.

It’s a rare moment of calm. They’re sore and exhausted, but the warm pride of a job well done leaves them feeling satisfied. The atmosphere is light as they trudge through the forest. Peaceful, all things considered.

But then Whumpee freezes, body stiffening all at once as something catches their attention. They turn, eyes focusing on something. A flash of enemy colors flicks in their vision–

Whumpee’s moving before Caretaker can react. Light bursts from their hands, illuminating the dark forest, and the squadron freezes on instinct. Whumpee’s attention, fractured and fleeting moments ago, has sharpened into a deadly edge to focus on a single figure.

Whumpee reaches out a single glowing hand, fingers curling as if grabbing something.

Flanked by two petrified guards, hands shackled behind his back, is a single enemy soldier taken as prisoner. His eyes widen as Whumpee’s attention focuses on him, the man’s bruised and exhausted face contorted in terror. His mouth is open in silent, terrified scream.

Just as Caretaker is reaching out to stop them, Whumpee reaches out with an open hand. Their fingers curl inward as if grabbing something. With a sharp movement their hand is pulled back, fingers clenched shut. The prisoner’s body lurches forward in response.

The crackle of energy cracks through the air, and suddenly something red and dripping and squirming is hovering mere feet from the man. He’s never laid eyes on it before, but the emptiness in his chest tells him exact

The human heart, still beating, falls to the forest floor. Its owner falls a moment later.

Silence follows. Fear and shock runs through the squadron, their minds struggling to comprehend what had just unfolded. Some freeze like a deer in the headlights, terrified that moving will bring Whumpee’s wrath. Others are inching their hands towards their belts, looking for a weapon. Others still are simply trembling from shock, suddenly and violently reminded of the danger in their midsts.

The terror that grips Caretaker is different. They’re afraid for Whumpee. Training kicking into overdrive, Caretaker’s eyes dart over the scene, calculating. Assessing the panic, assessing how long they have until fear turns into action.

They know they have to take control of the situation. Caretaker’s footsteps are firm as they approach Whumpee, exuding confidence they don’t feel, and praying it's enough to keep the situation from escalating.

Caretaker places a hand on Whumpee’s shoulder. Whumpee turns to face them, expression blank

“Whumpee,” Caretaker speaks with trained calmness, voice gentle yet firm. Their smile is a weak, trembling thing, doing little to mask their anxiety. The smile Whumpee gives in return is genuine and bright, oblivious. “We need him alive. We’re taking him in for questioning, remember?”

Whumpee doesn’t respond. Their eyes are more clouded than they were a moment before, their sanity strained even further by that display of power. For a long, breathless moment Whumpee simply stares, a vacant smile plastered over their face.

Caretaker keeps their expression calm, but the tension is suffocating them. All they can hear is the gurgling of a dying man.

And then the moment breaks. Whumpee blinks, and awareness flicks back into their eyes. A tittering giggle creeks out from between their teeth.

“Oh! Right, yes. We need that one alive, don’t we?” Whumpee laughs.

The clearing is still as Whumpee all but skips over to the twitching body. They grab the heart from where it dropped.The muscle is still pulsing weakly, spilling blood over Whumpee’s arms. They don’t seem to notice.

Whumpee calls their magic again, the organ vanishing in a flash. In that same instance, the prisoner’s eyes fly open, bloodless lips widening with a desperate gasp. His next inhale comes out as a sob. He curls inward, limbs close to his chest, as if desperate to keep his heart in its place.

Whumpee doesn’t even give the man a second glance. As their would-be victim sobs, broken and terrified, on the ground, Whumpee happily returns to Caretaker’s side. They reach their hand, now coated a deep red, expectantly towards Caretaker. Caretaker holds Whumpee’s hand with a trained smile, and tries not to flinch at the warm wetness.

Caretaker starts walking, not daring to look back. They know the terrified, hateful, dangerous looks they’ll see if they did.

Whumpee doesn’t notice the way Caretaker's grip tightens, or how they’re maneuvered to walk some distance away from the other soldiers.

The rest of the trip is done in silence.

#okay yeah this does deviate slightly from the ask but #close enough in my defense i got excited and ran a tad wild #Love unaware displays of horrifying power!!#Remeber that the person giggiling drunkenly in your party is more than capible of killing you at any moment <3 #magical whumpee #unaware whumper #whumpee turned whumper #delirious whumpee #out of it whumpee #an ask tag #whump #whumpee #caretaker #whumblr #my stuff

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oohshinywhump · 3 months

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Thinking about a first time Whumper x veteran Whumpee...

When they first meet:

"You don't seem nearly scared enough. This isn't your first time is it?" "You seem weirdly nervous. Is it yours?"

"Ugh! Out of everyone in the city I could kidnap I had to get stuck with someone else's leftovers!"

"You used to belong to so-and-so, didn't you? Ah! They're my idol! Oh! This is exciting. I get to study their masterpiece up close!"

"WHY AREN'T YOU SCARED OF ME?!!!"

"Oh. You've never done this before." "Stop judging me. I have a knife."

"How is it you know exactly what I like?" "You torturers are all the same." "You've done this before??"

"I won't kill you, but I need you to cooperate. I am new to this, just so you know." "Yup. I'm going to die."

"Mmmm, I love how you move when you're in pain." "Thanks! I've been practicing for years."

"Who taught you to scream like this?"

Whumpee helping Whumper figure out the basics:

"Why are you on your knees?" "Oh sorry. Do you not like that? The last guy liked me that way. I just assumed…" "No, no. It's a good idea. Keep doing that. I just… never thought of it."

"So, what are the rules?" "Rules?" "Yeah, dumbass. Your rules for me. Do you want me to call you sir? Master? Or can I keep calling you jackass?"

"Do you want me to put up a fight or should we skip straight to the submissive stage?" "Oh... uhhh... don't fight too much. I don't trust myself not to accidentally kill you." "Oh, yeah. Good point."

"What kind of scream do you like?" "There are kinds of screams?" "Yeah. The last guy liked it when I ugly-cried. But I'm pretty good a bloodcurdling and whimpering like a kicked puppy. I can try to stay quiet but I can't make promises there..." "Hmmm... try all of them. I'll tell you which I like best."

"You cleaned??" "Yeah? Was I not supposed to?" "I didn't know you could make captives do that?!" "For the record, I didn't do it because I'm scared of you - your arm gets tired after giving me like three lashes. I did it because I'm going to be spending a lot of time bleeding on this table and I doubt it occurred to you to disinfect it."

Whumpee teaching Whumper how to whump:

"Show me what they used to do to you."

Whumper studying the scars on Whumpees body to learn the best places to cut/stab.

"Oh no! A knife? How original!" /s

"If you stab me right there you'll kill me. You have to go one inch to the right. Yeah, right there-AHHHHHH! …yup. Right there."

"I'll make you a deal. Let me have a solid eight hours of sleep and I'll show you where to pinch the nerve that will paralyze my left arm."

"You can't leave me tied up like this!" "I can do what I want!" "Yes. Okay. True. But like, you've either got to tie my knees to my chest or let my feet touch the ground. Otherwise I'm going to asphyxiate."

Whumper having an inferiority complex:

"I CAN DO ANYTHING THEY COULD DAMMIT!" (They = Whumpee's former Whumper)

"WHUMPEE! YOU'RE NOT BETTER THAN ME!" *Whumpee trying not to laugh when Whumper fucks up something really basic.*

"You must think I'm so pathetic." "NOo! Of course not! You're doing amazing! Really you are! I'm so fucking scared of you right now. I promise."

"I'll never be as good as the person who hurt you before." "You'll get there! I promise. I was like his fifth victim - I'm your first. Be kind to yourself!"

"How the fuck did your former Whumper do it?" "Yeah... you're not getting that out of me..."

Whumper being paranoid that Whumpee is manipulating them. Even though they hold the power they feel like Whumpee has more control over the situation because they know more.

Also...

Whumpee knowing just how to manage Whumper. They instinctively know when to be a little defiant and when to do exactly as they are told. They know just the right tone of voice to speak in, and just how to move, scream, to keep Whumper as pleased as possible. The sooner Whumper is satisfied the sooner it will stop.

Whumpee pretending it hurts worse than it does, lying about which places/tortures hurt most, acting more sick or tired than they really are to get rest/food, acting more scared than they really are… It's not like Whumper could know better.

#whump #whump prompt #whump prompts #whump ideas #whump scenario #knife mention cw #death mention cw

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whumpthemusical · 7 months

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Whump: The Musical Prompts!!

As stated before, this challenge will run from March 1- March 31, 2024. All fandoms are welcome to participate despite it being prompts based off of musicals. Once again, all types of media are allowed. This challenge has the standard "choose one for the day" style, but feel free to do all three prompts if that's what you want to do!! All types of whump are allowed, but please be respectful to your fellow audience members and properly tag it!! Some of these prompts are sensitive, so make sure you warn your readers correctly! There will be an ao3 collection and an FAQ post coming soon, so if you have any further questions or comments about this challenge, feel free to drop me a line. Happy writing, my beautiful ingénues, and enjoy the show :)))

The prompts will be listed under the cut for those who have difficulty reading fonts!!

Cats- Sabotage • Second Chances • "I Can Dream Of The Old Days."

Wicked- Mob Mentality • Propaganda • "No Good Deed Goes Unpunished."

Jesus Christ Superstar- Whipping • Betrayal • "Then I Was Inspired, Now I'm Sad And Tired."

Les Mis- Survivor's Guilt • Failure • "Drink With Me To Days Gone By."

Heathers- Poison • Reluctant Whumper • "Wanna fight for me?"

Newsies- Chronic Pain • Exploitation • "Let 'Em Laugh In My Face, I Don't Care."

The Last Five Years- Infidelity • Gaslighting • "I Will Not Lose Because You Can't WIn."

Hadestown- Deals • Doomed Narrative • "Doubt Comes In."

Sweeney Todd- False Imprisonment • Razors • "Have You Decided It's Safer In Cages?"

Rent- Substance Abuse • Poverty • "Feels Too Much Damn Like Home."

Bare: A Pop Opera- Outing • Religious Trauma • "Please, See Me."

Waitress- Unplanned Pregnancy • Abuse • "She Is Broken And Won't Ask For Help."

Tick Tick Boom- Atychiphobia • Working To Exhaustion • "Is This Real Life?"

Dear Evan Hansen- Deception • Broken Bone • "Words Fail."

West Side Story- Star-Crossed Lovers • Prejudices • "A Boy Who Kills Cannot Love."

Come From Away- Stranded • Aftermath • "Blankets And Bedding And Maybe Some Food."

Spring Awakening- Withheld Information • Suicide • "I Don't Scream, Though I Know It's Wrong."

Hamilton- Hurricane • Dueling • "I Will Kill Your Friends And Family To Remind You Of My Love."

Falsettos- Sickness • Identity Issues • "Death Is Not A Friend."

Into The Woods- Blame • Lost • "Nothing But A Vast Midnight."

The Great Comet- Abduction • Letters • "Did You Love That Bad Man?"

In The Heights- Grief • Homesickness • "I Know That I'm Letting You Down."

Be More Chill- Mind Manipulation • Panic Attack • "Everything About Me Makes Me Want To Die."

Moulin Rouge- Class Differences • Sex Work • "Come What May."

Chicago- Cold Blood • Trial • "He Had It Coming."

Six- Execution • Trauma Bonding • "Playtime's Over."

Ride The Cyclone- Unexpected Tragedy • Forgotten Whumpee • "I Hear The Anguish Of The Street."

The Rocky Horror Show- Obsession • Wrong Place, Wrong Time • "I've Seen Blue Skies Through The Tears."

Nerdy Prudes Must Die- Bullying • Ritual • "Who Will Pray For You?"

Jekyll And Hyde- Duality • Good Vs Evil • "If I Die, You'll Die."

Phantom Of The Opera- Disfiguration • Shunned • "My Power Over You Grows Stronger Yet."

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whumpninja · 3 months

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*crashing in through the whump community’s skylight*

oh hey, what’s up? I’m Jack, I’ve been lurking in the shadows of the community for way too long and I’m now revealing my presence!

Name: it’s Jack, didn’t you just see it up there? I will also accept Jacques, Jack-Jack, Jackrabbit, Jackalope, Jack Sparrow, Jack Daniels or J-Money

Age: old enough to drink, not old enough to say “back in the good old days…” while I stare wistfully out the window (I could do that, but I’d just be reminiscing about when everyone wore their jeans around their knees)

Pronouns: he/him, they/them, hey/you, call me whatever you want as long as you don’t call me late for- nope, I’m not finishing that joke

About Me: why are you asking? who do you work for? WHO SENT YOU?! Just kidding. Here are some things I like doing- writing, thinking about whump, thinking about writing whump. Here are some things I like doing but am bad at- cooking things, climbing things without falling off of them, running without feeling like I’m going to die. Here are some things I don’t like doing- studying, going to the gym, watching romantic comedies, eating canned vegetables, getting my socks wet.

About Whump: love it. Love, love, love it. Whump is great. I like almost all flavors (but hold the nuts and butts and sexy bits.) My particular favorites- defiant whumpee, whump with magic/fantasy elements in it, whumpers who just suck, uh…whumpees in gladiator fights?? But…cage matches. Not bare-chested men in loincloths stabbing each other.

Here are some blogs about whump I really like: @smellofsnoww @weirdstrangeandawful @whumperofworlds @whumperfultime @redwingedwhump @painsandconfusion @newbornwhumperfly @pigeonwhumps @caspia-writes @spookyboywhump @oddsconvert and literally so many more, I have been lurking here for *a while* also I will probably make a blubbery post about why I like these blogs the next time I have a drink

About WIPs: I have a grand total of one. It currently exists as a complicated red-string-board of a Google Doc with way too many characters and at least three plotlines. It’ll probably still have too many characters and plotlines when I post it. It’s mainly about vampires and humans whumping each other into absolute oblivion, so if that’s your speed, stay tuned, sports fans.

Anyway, it’s me, finally coming out of the shadows to join the whump community in their mission to make fictional characters suffer! I have the power of God and whump on my side- AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH-

MASTERLISTS!

Here’s the masterlist for my vampire whump series The Angel of Death!

Here’s the masterlist for my specialized ask game series Ask Me About…!

#whump blog #whump blog intro #whump community #whumpblr #hello hello!#very excited to be here!#I mean I’ve *been* here #but aside from reblogging some shit here and there I haven’t been participating in the party #I’ve been that guy in the corner watching everyone like he’s choosing who to kill #but now I’m hitting the dance floor #I need to stop typing before this gets weird #weirder

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redd956 · 7 months

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(@urlocalwhumper)

hey dawg thanks for feeding us living weapon whumpee enjoyers

i know that generally the vibe for living weapon whumpees is like the stoic "unfeeling" supersoldier type, but how are we feelin about living weapon whumpees that are like. off the shits feral.

more of an attack dog than a super soldier, weapons of mass destruction built into them cybernetically, because their masters aren't looking for efficiency, they're looking to send a message. for everyone around to know that if you don't bow to their rule, they'll send their monster to destroy you and everything you hold dear.

(and ofc the "monster" themself is kept in a constant state of suffering so they're always agitated and the pain clouds their mind too much to question what they're doing and why)

I love the way you think!

I never really thought of that character trope as a living weapon, but you aren't lying, it would count. (My brother and I's ocs would count then Ig) Also ties into monster whumpees :D

Here's some ideas I bounced off of this

Guard Dog Whumpee

CW: Pet Whump Sorta, Classic, the whump community should bring these up more

Whumper having more than one, forcing them to compete with one another. The most brutal earns their medical treatment.

Dangerous whumpees who have to be muzzled and mitted because whumper doesn't have them under control fully. Gentle carewhumpers being able to coerce whumpee into muzzles.

Non-guard dog whumpees equally trapped under whumper's boot being terrified of the guard dog. Sharing space with one is like sleeping on the shore of alligator infested rivers.

Scarred whumpees with dangerous animalistic features bared, backed into a corner with a tail in between their legs. Caretaker is trying their best to appear nonthreatening.

A guard dog whumpee failing its job. It showed no fear to its enemies, but the same cannot be said as they returned home.

Monster Living Weapon Whumpee

Say that three times fast

While rampaging after whumper's enemies whumpee broke the device keeping them confined to whumper. Quickly a symbol of destruction becomes a confused, hurt, and whimpering creature.

Whumpee always thought they were uniquely a monster. Whumper told them so everyday, rewarding them for their monstrousness, telling them they're alone as a creature of evil. Whumpee always thought this until they met caretaker.

Monster whumpees that despite being living weapons show rage in their failures, and pride in their kills. They don't see that whumper's treatment of them is subpar, because they're "partners in crime" of course. Caretaker would never treat whumpee that way if they were their weapon.

Killing Machine

They know what they're capable of, and they don't want to be that

Maybe they wanna do things their way, maybe they're ashamed of being a killing machine. Whumper could care less.

Killing machine in disguise has been living the everyday life, perhaps even an extravagant one. Whumper found them out, and no one has seen whumpee since, until the destruction started.

Killer Machine Villain -> Supervillain meets Villain with the promise to make them more powerful -> Extra Murderous Killer Machine Villain (Unstable)

Robotic whumpee that is just doing what they're told. Whumper was great, whumper was life. Robotic whumpee who sees whumper returning home with the newest model. Whumper who won't stop boasting about how much more efficient and deadly the new one is.

#whump #whump drabble #living weapon whump #living weapon whumpee #living weapon trope #guard dog whumpee #guard dog whump #villain whumpee #carewhumper #whump prompts #whump ideas #whumper

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whumpshaped · 8 months

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WHUMPEE THINKS CARETAKER IS NEW MASTER

the FEAR

THE MISUNDERSTANDINGS

ESPECIALLY IF CARETAKER IS STRONG OR OTHERWISE POWERFUL?? MMM

ALSO WHEN PAIRED WITH VIOLENT CARETAKER THAT BEATS THE SHIT OUT OF WHUMPER

GOOD SHIT

~🪴~

ah yes. a classic. caretaker being violent and powerful isnt that classic within the trope so naturally im going w that bc i LOVE THAT SHIT

tw murder, captivity, caretaker new master, conditioned whumpee, knives

"What the fuck did you think was gonna happen?" Caretaker tightened their grip on Whumper's neck, threatening to snap it altogether. Whumpee watched from the corner of their cell, absolutely petrified. "Did you think no one would find out? Did you think you'd get away with it?"

"I hoped so," Whumper choked out, which only caused more anger and Caretaker slamming them against the wall a second time.

"Well, you were fucking wrong."

Whumpee was shivering violently from the cold and the fear as they watched Whumper's eyes eventually roll back. They passed out. They might bleed out as well, depending on whether Caretaker would allow them medical attention. God... they were alone with Caretaker now. The only two conscious people in the room.

"P-please don't hurt me," they squeaked. "I'll be good..." When Caretaker turned to look at them, they immediately lifted their hands to shield their face, whimpering. "Please, p-please, I've been trained, I'll do whatever you want–"

"Okay, okay, let's calm down. I'll finish the job here and then we'll talk."

Finish..? Whumpee peeked out from between their fingers and saw Caretaker pull a knife from their belt. Oh dear god. They couldn't even fully comprehend it when they saw the blade be buried deep inside Whumper's throat. They could only stare and cry.

Medical attention... as if.

"I realise how this must look to you," Caretaker said calmly as they wiped the knife off on Whumper's clothes. "I'm sorry you had to see it. But the thing is... Whumper was a vicious fucking murderer, and I'm not in the business of letting those kinda people live." They glanced at Whumpee before taking the keys to the cell from Whumper's pocket. "Are you a vicious murderer?"

"N-no, no, Master." The title came instinctually, and Caretaker didn't bat an eye. It was expected, then. Probably. They wanted to point out the apparent contradiction of being so against murderers while murdering them, but decided against it.

"Then you have absolutely nothing to fear." They unlocked the cell and walked inside, and Whumpee was beginning to realise just how much bigger and stronger Caretaker was. Bigger than them, yes, but also bigger than Whumper. Stronger too, by the looks of that corpse.

Whumpee forced themself to lower their hands and get into a proper kneeling position, no matter how much their body trembled. They had to be good. They had to be perfect. "D-do with me what you will, Ma-Master. But– but please know I'm, I'm very well-trained, I don't need to be hurt to follow orders, I– I know my place, so please–"

"Oh, quit it." The order was gentle and quiet, and Caretaker just scooped Whumpee into their arms afterwards. No questions asked. "You don't need to be 'good' anymore. You're free."

general drabbles taglist: @ashh-ed @whumpsday @whump-queen @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @rosewriteswhump @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @whumpkinpie @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @whump-em @cyborg0109 @morning-star-whump @justanotherlokifan

#asks #plant anon #whumpsday #whump #whump drabble #rescue #murder #captivity #caretaker new master #conditioned whumpee #knives

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chaotic-orphan · 4 months

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Febuwhump: Day Four

“Obedience” — @febuwhump prompt!

If this doesn’t have Ambrose’s name written all over it >:)

Intoxicating Fear — part Xi

Read part one here

Continued from here

TW: forced to obey, mentions of SH, SH implied and referred to, mentions of scars, past Whump implied, past sh implied, past sh inferred, kidnapped Whumpee, captive Whumpee, sadistic whumper,

*~*~*~*~*

Kit walked out of his room a few hours later, looking worse off than before he went in, but Ambrose didn’t question him as he walked over to the kettle and filled it with water. He just sat at the table, watching him as he moved about, doing his best to ignore Ambrose’s stares.

Ambrose had Kit’s phone in between his thumb and index finger, using his fourth finger to twirl it slowly, in a controlled motion over itself and back again.

Kit took a mug out from the cupboard above the counter, spooned three spoons of coffee into a cup clanging the metal spoon into the mug and turning to face Ambrose. He was wedged in the corner, crossing his arms over his chest as he shrugged and asked: “what?”

Ambrose smiled, “what do you mean what?”

“Don’t play coy, Ambrose,” Kit said with a groan, wiping a hand down his face. “It doesn’t suit you. I can hear your cogs turning in your brain.”

Ambrose’s smile turned coy, “isn’t that my power, Mallory?”

Kit scoffed and turned, throwing his hands in the air.

“Whatever,” he mumbled to himself as the kettle boiled, the switch flipping up as the water rumbled soothingly within. “I’ll probably find out soon enough anyway.”

Ambrose’s smile fell when Kit turned his back, his eyebrows drawing together in quiet contemplation, whether to broach the subject or not.

“I’ve been thinking Kit,” Ambrose said after a while.

“Uh-oh,” said Kit, stirring his coffee.

Ambrose smiled, despite himself, at Kit’s inability to shut up sometimes. Kit turned again, steaming hot cup cradled between his palms as he regarded Ambrose with an impassive expression.

“Should I be worried?” Kit asked, taking a tentative sip.

Ambrose let out a soft laugh. “No. It’s actually something that could benefit both of us,” said Ambrose. Kit’s eyebrows shot to the ceiling, then immediately pinched themselves down into a frown, suspicious and on guard immediately.

“I know,” said Ambrose. “You have every right to be skeptical, but I think… after recent events that we should consider a way to do things more effectively.”

Kit’s lips curled back into a snarl, like that of a stray dogs. “You mean you want to be more efficient in how you torture me?!”

“No,” Ambrose said, dark eyes meeting Kit’s light ones, bright with anger. “I think we should be able to have a conversation without getting defensive.”

Kit scoffed, rolling his eyes to the sky. “I wonder, god, gee Ambrose, you’re right. I wonder why the fuck we can’t be civil with each other. It’s a real head scratcher, huh?”

Ambrose’s voice took an edge to it and Kit’s mockery fell vanished in their throat.

“There is no reason we can’t both somehow get along.”

“I don’t know, Rosy,” Kit said, which drew a cutting stare from Ambrose. “Somehow getting along with my torturer is not on my bingo card this year.”

Ambrose laughed. He laughed a moment too long at Kit’s outburst, before he settled his gaze on Kit again and his entire expression went blank like the fucking psychopath he was.

“I could take every single freedom from you, Kit,” said Ambrose, voice full of sadistic promise. Kit swallowed hard, and covered it up with a sip of his coffee. “I could have you on your knees right now begging me to hurt you again—“

“You would just love that wouldn’t you?” Kit snapped. Ambrose inclined his head at Kit, a warning, so Kit shut up.

“The truth of the matter is that I don’t want you to be some drooling, half formed thing,” Ambrose said, leaving the phone on the table and getting to his feet. Kit’s expression faltered for a moment, fear flashing across his features before schooling them neutral again.

Ambrose approached slowly. Kit took an unconscious step back but was quickly reminded that he was standing in the corner of his kitchenette and silently cursed himself for cornering himself.

“I want you to struggle and fight me, otherwise you wouldn’t be as entertaining,” he said getting closer and closer. Kit tightened his grip on the mug to stop his hands from shaking. “I want you to have your free will and be, well, Kit, because you are the most fun I’ve ever had.”

Kit swallowed, wanting to look away but too scared to do it. “Glad to be of service.”

“See?” Ambrose said, eyes bright and voice brighter as he stood in front of Kit, forcing Kit to stare up at him. “You just can’t help yourself.”

Something flittered across Ambrose’s face that Kit couldn’t quite identify. “Your defiance is what makes you so fun, but, it’s tiring subduing you all the time.”

Kit didn’t dare speak, no matter how much he wanted to. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled when Ambrose put his hands on the edge of the counters boxing Kit in more. Ambrose leaned in, teeth bared in a wolfish smile as Kit’s eyes widened and he leaned back awkwardly to try and keep some space between him and his tormentor.

“See? That fear,” Ambrose whispered, as if he was saying a prayer, eyes searching Kit’s face and drinking in every last detail, every minute wince or flinch or hint of discomfort. “You just can’t bury it no matter how hard you try to hide it from me. It’s commendable really, but, this doesn’t have to be just me benefiting from this relationship.”

“Relationship?!” Kit breathed with a scoff, disgust written across his face and lacing every syllable. “I want nothing to do with you!”

“But wouldn’t you enjoy your life a bit more if there were days where I didn’t have to wrestle every piece of your defiance from your body?”

The words left Kit speechless. His chest rising and falling in time with Ambrose’s. The thought of not having to worry about Ambrose’s power invading his mind sounded too good to be true, so foreign. How long had it been since Kit didn’t have to worry about Ambrose torturing him for fun? To worry about what he was going to say in case it flipped a switch in Ambrose’s brain and made him hurt Kit.

Kit was tired. He was exhausted. Life before Ambrose seemed like a dream, not a reality. He missed being ignorant. He missed not having to be terrified every day.

Ambrose got his answer when Kit’s shoulders dropped.

“See? You want it just as much as I do.”

Ambrose leaned back, backing out of Kit’s space and allowing him to stand properly again. Kit’s eyes dropped to the floor as shame flooded his system.

Deferring to a Villain?! Who was he? He was so weak, how could he kid himself into being a Hero when he couldn’t even fight a Villain for himself?!

“What do you suggest?” Kit asked, voice quiet and broken. How could thoughts of freedom take this much life from his body?! The guilt burned red up Kit’s neck, but he couldn’t not concede. He was exhausted. He just wanted a little semblance of normalcy, and if that price was whatever Ambrose named then so be it.

“Your… obedience,” Ambrose said. The words hit Kit in the chest harder than a kick from a horse. His head snapped up, eyes locking onto Ambrose’s in accusation.

“You want my consent to hurt me?!” Kit barked out with a humourless laugh. “No. Absolutely not.”

Ambrose rolled his eyes and folded his arms across his chest. “Would you just hear me out before making a judgement?”

Kit grit his teeth behind closed lips and nodded.

“I was thinking about it all. The amount of power I have to use to subdue you everyday, not letting you use your power, not letting you leave the house. It doesn’t all happen naturally. My power’s working overtime 24/7 with you. It’s getting exhausting.”

Kit’s eyes narrowed but he said nothing. Oh boo-fucking-who, he thought, torturing someone takes effort, poor Ambrose.

“So I came up with a proposition if you dare to consider it. I will leave you alone for most of the week,” he said, and Kit’s heart stuttered to a stop. It must have shown on his face given Ambrose’s smirk. “I will pop in sometimes, only two or three times a week. All I ask if that you obey this little schedule change without fighting me.”

Kit’s words came out breathless, “so you do want me to consent to being tortured,” he said, an unreadable expression screwing his face up tight.

“Think of it more as consent to not being tortured as you are now,” said Ambrose taking a step closer, closing the gap between them again. He placed a hand on Kit’s cheek, thumb hooked under his chin and tilted Kit’s head up. Dark eyes searching Kit’s. “Don’t you want to be free of me, even if just for a little while?”

Kit’s bottom lip trembled. He did, he wanted it more than anything. He wanted to have some kind of normal life even if it meant agreeing to this outrageous condition. He missed his life, he missed Superhero and his job. He missed grocery shopping and late nights with his friends. He missed being able to make decisions for himself.

“What else does obedience entail?” Kit asked, spitting the word obedience as if it was some monstrous creature.

Ambrose’s eyes shined a little at the question. “It means that when I do come and see you, you drop everything. You can still fight me, still defy me, curse me out do whatever you need to — but you simply accept it.”

Kit worried his bottom lip, eyes going faraway as he considered Ambrose’s proposal. Ambrose stepped away again, turning to lean against the opposite counter in the kitchenette. He crossed his arms over his chest again, regarding Kit as he mulled everything over.

“I can see you’re conflicted, Kit, so let me sweeten the deal,” that got Kit’s hesitant eyes back on Ambrose. “If you agree to this, I won’t attack another Hero.”

It seemed as if all air left Kit’s lungs, like an anvil had fallen from the sky and landed on Kit’s shoulders weighing them down suddenly. This was Ambrose’s ultimate cruelty. Appealing to Kit’s heroic nature, forcing him to be a martyr and shoulder the burden of Ambrose’s torment to save other heroes, the people he loves. His friends, hell, at this point his family.

Kit swallowed hard. He didn’t want to be heroic, he didn’t want to shoulder this unfair burden. He didn’t want to protect everyone from this torture, he wanted… he just wanted to be left alone.

If you agree to this, I won’t attack another hero.

Which really was a double edged sword.

If you don’t agree to this, I will attack another hero. Take another Hero hostage, do everything I’ve done to you and more. Break them, and when they break I will let you know that it’s all because you didn’t take my deal. Then Ambrose would probably present the deal to Kit again and Kit would take it, the guilt forcing his hand.

“I can have a normal life?” Kit asked, not meeting Ambrose’s gaze.

“Semi-normal, but I can’t see why not,” Ambrose replied.

“And I’m guessing I can’t tell anyone about our little arrangement?” Kit asked, voice mutinous. Ambrose stepped closer and put a hand on Kit’s shoulder. Kit suppressed a flinch, he hated Ambrose touching him. Kit glared up at Ambrose.

“If you like I can make you forget about it all until you see my face, then you could really live a life.”

“In ignorance,” Kit spat, batting Ambrose’a hand away. “No thanks. I’d rather know what’s coming than be caught unaware again.”

Ambrose smirked. “Fine by me.”

Kit licked his lips, passing his coffee cup into his left hand before extending his right to Ambrose. “Fine then. Deal.”

“Ah,” Ambrose said, holding up a finger, “I think we should try this out before you accept.”

Kit’s eyes narrowed and let out a soft tch of disapproval. He knew Ambrose wasn’t going to make it as easy as he made it out to be.

“You’re already reneging on your deal,” Kit said, looking to the side and taking a long, slow sip of his coffee. Ambrose stepped back again to lean against the opposite counter.

“I’m not, just consider this a test,” said Ambrose thoughtfully, rolling the words around his mouth thoughtfully before speaking. Kit rolled his eyes and set his mug down on the countertop with a dull thud.

He shrugged his shoulders and said: “fine. What do you want me to do?”

Ambrose’s eyes lit up in that eerie way they did when he got an awful idea to further humiliate or caused Kit pain.

“Let’s start with something easy,” said Ambrose simply, slipping his hands into his trouser pockets. “How about… sit?”

Kit scoffed and walked towards the chair beside the table. Ambrose’s voice stopped him again with a soft, “Ah.”

“What?” Kit demanded. “You said sit. I’m going to sit.”

“I didn’t say sit on a chair, Mallory.”

Kit’s eyes burned as well as the tips of his ears, shoulders bunched up. He clenched his fists at his sides and turned to face Ambrose again.

“What? You want me to sit on the ground? Like a dog?”

“Your words,” said Ambrose with an innocent smile. “Not mine.”

Kit grit his teeth, glaring up at Ambrose and keeping eye contact as he bent his knee and dropped to the ground. He planted his butt firmly on the ground and crossed his legs.

“Now,” Kit spat. “Happy?”

“Ecstatic.”

“Good,” said Kit, moving to get to his feet again. Ambrose pressed a boot down on Kit’s ankle to stop him from getting up. Kit clenched his fists tight but settled himself back onto the ground.

“I didn’t say you could get up, Mallory,” Ambrose chides, removing his foot from Kit’s ankle.

Kit crossed his arms across his chest in a huff like a child throwing a tantrum but he didn’t care. He didn’t care what Ambrose thought of him.

“You’re such a dick,” said Kit, grumpy.

“Look at you, you’re adorable. Are you pouting?”

Kit bared his teeth up at Ambrose in reply. “Okay, you can stand up now,” said Ambrose.

Kit scoffed and remained stubbornly on the floor. “Fuck you.”

Ambrose shrugged theatrically. “Fine, I guess I was expecting too much of you when I proposed my deal.”

An obvious ploy for Kit to protest, but still Kit couldn’t do anything but protest. The thought of freedom… it was too enticing to say no to.

“Wait,” Kit grumbled, casting his eyes to the floor as his mind screamed at him for obeying Ambrose at all. Of his own free will!“Just… wait.”

Kit swallowed hard and got to his feet, still not meeting Ambrose’s hungry stare. “Kit,” Ambrose said, but Kit still didn’t look at him.

“Kit, look at me.”

Kit felt his blood flood his cheeks with humiliation as he raised his head to meet Ambrose’s gaze. His hands were shaking, with anger or frustration or shame Kit didn’t know, but he knew they were shaking and that he didn’t want them to.

“Show me your scars,” said Ambrose.

Kit took a step backwards, as if Ambrose had just assaulted him. His lips curled up and he cut his hand through the air as if to say enough.

“No,” Kit said, voice thick. “No.”

Ambrose tilted his head to the side. “Will I have to say everything twice, Mallory?”

“You are fucking loving this aren’t you?” Kit hissed, throwing his hands up in a helpless sort of gesture. “Whether I agree to your deal or not it doesn’t matter because you still get to hurt me like this. You’re fucking sick. You disgust me.”

Ambrose stared at Kit’s emotional outburst like one would judging the weather from their bedroom window in the morning. “Do I have to say it again, or are you flat out refusing?”

“Fine!” Kit snapped, voice higher, almost hysterical. Kit reached up to grab the collar of his shirt and hoisted it over his head to reveal his back, not taking it off all the way. He turned his back to Ambrose and said: “that one on my left shoulder? That’s from a nasty run in with Other Villain when Another Hero called for aid on a mission. I got it from his fucking scythe if you can believe it—”

“That’s not what I meant—”

“Here,” said Kit, turning again and shrugging his shirt back on before lifting the bottom of it to reveal the scar just above his hip. It wasn’t one but three. “Villain’s whip,” Kit told Ambrose. “It stung like a bitch but she only ever caught me once with it.”

Kit flung his shirt down and grinned at Ambrose. “There, Rosy. I showed you my scars. I obeyed your fucking command. Are you happy?”

Ambrose hummed in the back of his throat. “We must be spending too much time together, Mallory. You’re starting to understand the power of words.”

Kit’s eyes narrowed into slits. “You learn to when your freedom is limited by them.”

Ambrose didn’t say anything for a moment. He pursed his lips together, taking his hands from his pockets.

“Perhaps the deal was too premature,” Ambrose said. Kit’s heart skipped a beat in his chest, his throat suddenly dry at the prospect of losing his chance at a semi-normal life again. “I’m sorry Kit,” said Ambrose. He meant it too, because he turned to go but Kit’s hand shot out before he could stop himself and grabbed Ambrose’s arm stopping him from leaving.

“Kit?” Ambrose asked, looking down at the hand on his arm then at Kit’s face which was hidden behind his hair, his head tilted down.

“Okay,” Kit whispered. “I’ll show you… you just… you have to use the right words.”

Ambrose stiffened under Kit. “Which are?”

“You said show me your scars. The scars on my arm? They’re not mine,” Kit continued in that same grave, self-hating voice. He raised his head to meet Ambrose’s black eyes with his own haunted gaze. “They’re yours. I didn’t earn them, they mean nothing to me. My scars are mine, wholly mine. I got them.”

Kit ignored the way his voice cracked and let Ambrose go, rolling up his sleeve. “Not these. I didn’t get these, they were forced on me, much like you are. So there. Have I passed your fucking obedience training, or do you want me to bark?”

Ambrose couldn’t help but be a little impressed at Kit’s speech. He didn’t even look down at Kit’s arms the whole time that Kit spoke. He was too focused on the spark of defiance that defined Kit in his mind. The way it left a strange sort of glow to Kit’s features, made them brighter, more animated and life like. As if fighting back the rage he wanted to scream at Ambrose was going to energise other parts of his body.

He didn’t tremble once. He didn’t shake. Everything he said he was certain of, and he didn’t fear any retribution because of it. Ambrose wanted to see more of it, not less, and he feared if he kept Kit isolated and locked away from life forever that spark would dwindle down into nothing. He could search the entire planet ten times over and never find something like it again.

Ambrose smiled. “No Kit. You proved that you can do what you say.”

Kit’s eyes went to Ambrose’s with that same delicious conviction. Ambrose stuck his hand out and Kit shook it.

“I think we have a deal.”

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

The Orphanage roll call (tag-list, lmk if you wanna be added or removed <3 ): - @nameless-beanie @andithewhumper @annablogsposts @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer @rejectedbytheempty @sleepy-pearl @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @sunshiline-writes @burningkittypoet @honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath @theonewithallthefixations @acer-gaysimpstuff @m3rakii @xxgalgurlxx @princess-bubble-blossom @blood-enthusiast @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @andtheysaidspeaknoww @dutifullykrispyland

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shywhumpauthor · 5 months

Note

I am obsessed with the villain rehab writing and the whumper turned whumpee writing you did! Would you ever write a continuation to either of them?

Haha let’s pretend this wasn’t from February I’m so sorry

I always liked this piece, I never really had any motivation to continue it. I got an ask from an anon earlier this month for a continuation of this but from a different angle. That was my intention when writing this, but it was getting to be too long so the ideas in that ask will be included in the next part

To the anon who sent the ask earlier this month, it’s coming! I pinky promise. I loved the idea so much actually. Hero better hurry up

Villain Rehab Part Two

Continued directly from Part One

Cw: institutionalized abuse/torture, vague medical malpractice, manhandling, restraints, torture disguised as “treatment”, blood, sensory deprivation, starvation, blunt force trauma, implied broken bones, captivity setting, light suffocation/choking, vague themes of abandonment, mentions of accidental self harm/burning (villain has fire powers)

The guards were on them a moment later, barking orders, pushing and shoving them. A cold numbness that budded in their chest was quickly spreading, swallowing the voices and sensations around them. Vaguely, they registered a guard unhook the chain connecting their cuffs to the table, another grabbing them under an arm and hauling them up to stand. Villain’s feet moved along with them, steps hesitant but unresistant as they were led from the room.

The bag of food Hero had brought remained on the table, untouched. The thought of eating left a bitter taste in Villain’s mouth.

When they got to the corridor Villain knew their room resided in, a small spark of relief flickered through the fog that clouded their body. A sudden, intense longing to bury themself under the thin blanket on their bed seized their chest. Instead of pausing by the door, the guards that flanked them continued walking, leaving Villain to look back over their shoulder, faltering slightly. One of the guards’ hands found their hair, twisting their head around to face forwards.

“Don’t resist,” the guard ordered gruffly as Villain stumbled, not giving them a second to center their balance as the pair continued to pull them forwards.

They didn’t move that much further before stopping outside a different door. It looked similar to that of the block Villain was assigned to, but instead of a big “E” painted on it to indicate the hall, the blocky letter “F” glared back at them.

Over the months, they had learned the system, or at least their own interpretation. The “A” block was the most lenient, with the smiling patients and the group activities and the walks through the courtyard. The ones that weren’t a danger, that could be trusted. The “B” block required a bit more supervision, but they were often allowed to interact with the residents of the A block, most of the same privileges as far as Villain was aware. They had never been in either, so they weren’t really sure of the differences, if there were any. The C block was isolated from A and B, contained within their own wing. Villain hadn’t spent any time there either, but they knew that from C and up, the sectors did not interact.

Villain had started in “D”, so they knew a bit more about that. They hadn’t spent long there. Most of the patients were kept separated from each other, each had their own room and such. Villain remembered the beds—actual beds, not cots. They were far from perfect, but looking back they were a luxury. That described every aspect of D, honestly. The food was crap but at least it was food. Chicken, vegetables, rice, standard meals with little flavor or seasoning. It had reminded them of cafeteria food, but in comparison to the tasteless crap they gave in E, it was the most delicious thing they’d ever tasted.

D had had actual staff members, not just guards. Attendants and nurses would deliver their meals, stay and talk to them for a short while if they wanted. Villain had never earned the privilege, but they knew that things like books and puzzles were obtainable in D with “stellar behavior”, as they’d been told.

Restraints in D had been rare and based off true necessity, never left on for long. They remembered the padded leather feeling against their wrists and ankles, the terror that had bubbled in their chest when they were first secured to their bed following an “outburst”. A staff member had checked on them every so often, shadowed by a guard. It couldn’t have been more than six hours before they were released, once they had been determined to be stable and no longer a threat. They couldn’t believe how they had felt the first time, how pathetic it was. How pathetic they had been. They’d long since gotten used to the restrictions of the cuffs.

They couldn’t have spent more than a week in D before they were moved due to what the doctors would refer to as the incident. It had been an accident, they really didn’t mean to. No, if Villain had meant to, things would’ve turned out much worse. They hadn’t even been awake, it was a nightmare. They had jolted awake in a panic to burning blankets, blisters swelling along their palms. They were moved to block E before breakfast.

The difference between D and E was drastic and certainly for the worse. They had spent the rest of their stay in E, until now. The unspoken threat of the next corridor had kept them in line, and though there were small incidents along the way, but nothing big enough to warrant a level change. Those slip ups were dealt with, consequences such as loss of meals or increased therapy sessions following.

They couldn’t think of why they were being moved up. They were far from perfect, but hadn’t it been clear that they were trying? No, obviously not.

You’re not willing to put in the effort, that’s what Hero had said. Villain’s stomach flipped.

There were two scanners on either side of the door. Both of the guards had to scan their keycards and enter a code for it to hiss and slide open. They escorted Villain in, and the door closed behind them.

It was noticeably colder. The compound couldn’t be considered warm, at least not the parts Villain had ever been in, but this was freezing freezing. The hallway was shorter than the others, doors stationed evenly on either side. There were numbers above each door, stretching from 1 to 12. The hall was narrow, so much so that it was tight for the three of them standing shoulder to shoulder, each guard only inches from the wall. It was darker, though the lights seemed brighter. Cold, LED whites that burned Villain’s eyes to look at. At the other end of the hall, there was another door, slightly different from the rest. Instead of a number, above it simply read “Control”. Villain wasn’t sure what that meant, or if they wanted to find out.

The guards pulled them down the hallway, stopping outside of a door with the number 9 above it. There was a bolt lock at the top and the bottom, both already undone. Above the handle, there was another thicker deadbolt lock, and another scanner like the one outside of the hall’s entrance. The guard to their left reached for the identification tag at his chest, pulling it against the retractor to reach the sensor. A quick buzz and a small green flash of light granted him access, and he tugged open the deadbolt above the handle, pulling the door open, sidestepping so it didn’t hit him.

The room was bare and small, a low ceiling that Villain could probably touch if they stood straight and raised their arms. The walls and floor were all made from smooth concrete, as was the ceiling. It was dark, but with the light seeping from the hall they could see the outline of a flat light on the ceiling, and a vent near the light. It was empty, completely empty except for the black eye of a camera above the door, a red light indicating its functioning status, a small circular drain in the center of the floor, and a metal hook built into the wall opposite the door, close to the floor. Connected to that hook was a short chain, couldn’t be more than a three feet long, with a thick metal loop opened at a clasp.

Villain’s stomach dropped as one of the guards pushed them forwards, rough hands on their shoulders shoving them down to the floor. A dull flare of pain jolted up their arms as they caught themself with their forearms, the cuffs around their wrists clinking against the floor.

“Wa- wait,” Villain croaked, their voice scraping against their throat and they tried to twist around, but a boot planted firmly in their back, forcing them down. A strangled grunt escaped their chapped lips as that boot soon turned into a knee, digging into their spine as the guard knelt down. Their chest heaved as they tried to draw in air against the pressure pinning them to the floor, which the guard must have mistaken as an attempt of protest. It didn’t take him a moment to react, a hand twisting in Villain’s hair and quickly slamming their face into the concrete.

“Stop resisting,” the guard growled.

Villain grunted, a flash of light exploding in front of their eyes as their head made hard contact with the ground. They swore they heard a crunch, the taste of iron quickly flooding their mouth and clogging their nostrils. The guard reached forwards, the pressure on Villain’s back increasing as he put more weight against them in order to reach the chain. The metal links scraped against the floor as he pulled the looped end closer, fooling with it for a moment.

Hot tears welled in Villain’s eyes, the initial shock of the impact quickly shrinking to the pain radiating back through their skull. Something seared against their hands, burning but they barely registered it. Something cold pressed against their throat, digging in for a moment before it latched with a click, catching a few strands of their hair in the clasp.

The pressure on their back released and Villain twisted to their side, blood dripping down their throat. They stumbled up, but a pressure around their throat tugged them back down, the links of the chain clinking with their movement. They coughed, spitting blood as their chained hands rose to their face. Their palms were burning, heat twisting down their forearms but that was a pain they were used to. Their lungs were starting to ache, but each attempt to draw in air only brought more blood flooding into their mouth. They looked up, vision blurred with the tears that freely dripped down their cheeks, mingling with the blood on their chin. All they saw was a flash of the two guards, both looking down on them with disgusted expressions before the door shut heavily, and all they heard was the mechanical click of the lock, followed by three heavier thumps of the deadbolts being pushed into place.

The room was dark, completely dark. Not even a sliver of light filtered beneath the door. The only thing they could see was the small bead of dull red light, letting them know that they were being watched. It was silent, not even the hiss of the vents could be heard, only their own heaving breaths and strangled sobs.

#whump #whumpblr #whump community #whump writing #its me coal #coal wrote something #whumpee #whumper #villain whump #villain whumpee #hero x villain #captivity whump #whump drabble #kidnapped whumpee #hero villain whump #medical whump

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whumpalicious08 · 6 months

Text

More Public Humiliation Whump (READ WARNINGS ⚠️)

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Aka my magnum opus, in my humble opinion.

⚠️Cw⚠️ / Smoking, Drinking, Gun violence, graphic gore, minor character death, non consensual touching (over clothes), manipulation/manipulative language, religious (catholic) imagery & references, internalised shame, public humiliation, possessive behaviour

2nd person Whumpee has they/them pronouns. Brief, vague mention of area between legs, no explicit reference to any biological organs.

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Living Weapon Whumpee / Mafia Whumper.

---

You find it difficult to breathe inside the pub. Smoke congeals with the air and stains the insides of your lungs.

The stench of blood is so strong it makes your mouth taste metallic.

Whumper is speaking and everything else feels quiet.

"...Kid comes waltzin' into your house, starts touchin' on your property. Can't hardly blame nobody for gettin' a little unkind."

There's a man on the floor in front of him. He's a couple years younger than you- twenty. He's studying geology, a topic that lit up his eyes endearingly. He's on his gap year.

You'd tried to warn him off you, gentle but insistent. Whumper likes you seen and not heard.

But the charming bastard had leaned in, eyes painfully kind, and he'd told you how pretty he thought your smile was. It'd been so long since anybody'd told you that.

The kid had brushed his knuckles over your wrist, coyly hiding his concern at your reaction. His compassion had distracted you.

You hadn't seen Whumper approach.

He'd dragged the kid away from the bar, away from you, and into a more open area. God, you'd forgotten to even ask his name.

You hadn't seen Whumper approach.

You don't see him now, either. You turn your face away and stare down at your drink. But the tourist's throat keeps flapping wet gurgling noises and you can't turn away your ears.

Another shot cracks through the air. Another terrible banshee cry. You count up from one silently to distract yourself.

It doesn't work, but you pretend that it does, and that's enough sometimes.

It was enough before, when Whumper had jovially condescended to the tourist and amicably levelled his shotgun at his knee.

(You'd missed the money shot. You always strive to when you can, innate coward that you are.)

Whumper loves that gun. He's always telling you that it's;

"a gorgeous weapon second only to one".

He'd won it from the Sheriff, during a poker game he'd hosted last month. The policemen in attendance tonight eye it with just as much desire as they do Whumper; the perfect power fantasy.

"Please."

The kid's warped voice rings too loudly in your head. You falter at 37 and can't start over.

Whumper does something to him that makes him hack up air like a cat, unable to scream any longer.

"Shut up and listen real fuckin' close. Whumpee is mine. Mine to touch, mine to use."

You feel the tips of your ears burn in violent shame. Your teeth feel wobbly with how hard you're clenching them.

Whumper's silent for a beat. You don't need to be facing him to know he's looking at you. "Sometimes, they're so damn good at bein' owned I get to thinkin' they like it." His tone turns jeeringly wistful, and indignation curls your hands into fists.

People's eyes and unspoken words become embedded in your skin like shrapnel. Pieces of you, of them, sting when you think you've found reprieve.

"All I'm doin' to you is some kindly teachin'. Got to set an example, you understand."

"Did- I didn't-"

You think he may be trying to say he didn't know, but it'd be futile anyway. Whumper wants an execution. The tourist begins to catch up and abandons his words for sobs.

Whumper hums in sympathy, the sound vulgar in its sincerity. "Whumpee. C'mere."

There's white hot needle points dancing over your body as you stand. The shrapnel sinks deeper as more attention shifts to you.

You find it harder and harder to avoid looking at Whumper's barbarity. The tourist's humanity entices your own; you grow unable to pretend either don't exist.

You reach Whumper's side and look down.

The bullet had shattered the kid's kneecap fully. There's a gorge where it should be; exposing jelly-like tissue the colour of pus and flesh and viscera. Dark shades of dried blood makes it look like somebody'd rubbed dirt into the gore - you can imagine Whumper doing that, tearing at the edges of the exit wound with gritty black fingernails.

His elbow is gone too, chips of shattered bone and viscous chunks of torn muscle the only remnants of it left.

You notice that the tourist's lips are moving once more, and gratefully take the opportunity to look away from the depravity. You can't hear what he's saying. Just the feverish, incoherent ramblings of a man from whom Death will have to beg for mercy.

Whumper's voice pounds against the inside of your skull like tinnitus, trying desperately to drown out the injustice he's caused.

"Kill him. Bastard's all used up." Whumper's cigarette wobbles as he snaps the order. His perverted sense of mercy makes you squeamish.

You've met people who mark their kills. Some do it to boast. Some do it to self-flagellate.

You've never had to carve anything into your bedpost. Every one of your victims live on, feeding, parasitic within you.

But this ... this boy, convulsing and begging in a pool of his own fluid; his death will be a tumour, destruction for destruction's sake.

You're suddenly not sure that you can handle another ghost.

"No."

Whumper's eyes cut into you. You used to believe he had the Devil in them. Now you don't believe there are any Gods or Demons here at all.

"Say that again?"

He's offering you an out he knows you won't take.

You lower your head, but peer up at him through your lashes, a veiled mockery of the submission he expects. He's pushed you just far enough tonight. The several shots of sickening, unidentifiable liquids coalescing in your stomach makes you too brave.

"No, Sir."

Whumper likes you brave. He'll fill your glass and enjoy the consequences.

His hand closes around your arm, fingernails ripping skin, and he roughly handles you into position. You try to jerk away, but the weight of his shotgun reminds you of his conviction.

The tourist is crying again. You can't remember if he'd ever stopped.

Whumper's chest is firm against your back. His leg parts yours sightly and he angles your body with intent, displaying you to the rest of the pub. He rests the long barrel of his gun on your hip, slowly guiding it lower. "I ain't askin', angel."

The pub's only sparsely populated today, and some people are only watching out the corners of their eyes.

But it may as well be packed to you.

Whumper lingers behind your knee purposefully; making you think he might actually do it, before he moves on again.

You feel your heartbeat everywhere; in your throat, under your fingertips, at your temples.

You feel terror everywhere, too. You think it's circulating the room, a plague of quiet fear. Endemic to the bar and your body.

The gun stops at your inner thigh.

Whumper brushes his lips against your ear. Radiant heat from his cigarette warms your clammy neck. "You'll do as you're fucking told."

He gyrates the barrel ever so slightly, a brutish imitation of a caress. Your breath hitches. I own you.

The muzzle's pointing down, safety on. He doesn't need a lethal weapon to remind you how to behave. I own you.

If you hesitate any further, it's only for a second.

Your defiance is brittle and impulsive. Your deference is always enduring.

The bitter pill Whumper feeds you settles on your tongue and makes you think maybe you do like being owned.

"I'm sorry."

The gun's driven sharply upwards, stabbing too hard even through clothing. Your ignoble cry seems to carry. He holds you in place and it hurts.

"Louder."

"I'm sorry-"

He slips his fingers down your back pocket and pulls out your revolver. He presses it into your hand and steps behind, painful pressure lifting off your back and from between your legs.

"Show me, then."

Eyes are boring into you. Whumper's, the patrons'. You hear somebody sniffling across the pub. You have the feeling there are more.

Under different circumstances you'd sneer at the pity, but the room's just seen Whumper what, assault you? Debauch you?

You're pretty damn pitiable right about now.

The tourist's lips are still fluttering. You lower yourself down on one knee to hear him better.

"...forgive thy... holy father ... mercy on me."

You glance at his neck in case you've missed anything. No cross.

You place your hand over his darting eyes, and your gun over his forehead. His mouth stops moving, and then he does too.

For one bleak moment you hope, much for the tourist's benefit and quite contrarily to your own, that there is a next life. You hope that Whumper will burn in infernal fire; searing with a fury rivalled only by the flames awaiting you.

There's more friction generated by the bullet than you'd like. Smoke from the barrel rises up, up.

Whumper's derisive words feel distant, but his fingertips gently carding through your hair seem to scald. "Wasn't so hard, was it?"

You breathe in and choke.

---

#whump #emotional whump #whump writing #whumpee #pet whump #whump community #whump prompt #whump fic #whump scenario #verbal humiliation #defiant whumpee #whum

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whump-world · 7 months

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would love a male reluctant whumpee being comforted and praised by an affectionate/intimate male whumper

TW: noncon kiss, a bit of mouth whump? but not explicit, muzzles, restrained, starvation, manhandling.

Whumpee talked too much.

Even his friends agreed.

It shouldn't come as a surprise that when he's kidnapped, two days is all it takes before a muzzle is strapped onto him. He can feel it as they turn down the temperature and his teeth chatter. As he is forced to messily lap at the bowl of water. As he sleeps, as he breaths.

There's no mirror. A small mercy.

"Hi, Whumpee. How you doing?"

There's no light, but Whumpee's fire powers extend to thermal imaging, and he tracks Whumper's form come into the cell. This one's unpredictable, but...

Maybe Whumpee's just glad she isn't here.

He blinks lazily at Whumper. If the muzzle wasn't latched onto him, he would be taunting him. Lackey usually gets the best reaction. Whumpee settles for a growl.

"Easy, muchacho," Whumper murmurs.

Whumpee's hands are chained behind him, the manacles tight enough to color his wrists an ugly dark green. He leans back on the wall and keeps his gaze on Whumper.

Whumper crouches within Whumpee's vicinity and reaches out. "Ah, ah, ah," he tuts in disapproval when Whumpee kicks at him. He grabs an ankle and drags him closer, shushing Whumpee's snarls.

"Always a difficult one," Whumper says, scrambling over Whumpee so that he's seated on him and safe from future kicks.

Whumpee's breaths through his nose are loud, his eyes wide and furious. The first time Whumper touched him, he snatched his hand back with a high-pitched scream. "Too tired for the pesky heat trick, aren't you?"

He's right. Going on less than one meal a day, living in an ice-cold cellar, and going through new tortures every day had done a number on him.

"I'm trying to help you. This," he taps the muzzle, "must be uncomfortable. Do you want it off?"

Whumpee narrows his eyes. It must be a trick. He glances at the door, then back at Whumper.

"She doesn't know," Whumper assures him. "I heard you've been wearing it for three days straight. Jesus, look at what it's doing to your pretty face." He traces Whumpee's face, being soft where the leather meets skin.

Whumpee shakes his head to get him off. Whumper catches his jaw so he can't look away. "Last chance. I don't have a lot of time."

Whumpee's heart is in his throat, and with sudden desperation, he nods.

Whumper grins. "I knew you'd come around. A few rules though. No biting. No shouting. It'll only end badly for you, my guy. And no talking." Listing the rules, he slowly unbuckles the straps and loosens the muzzle.

The instant it comes off, Whumper's broad hand is on Whumpee's neck. But he needn't have worried. Tears roll down Whumpee's cheeks as he tries to move his jaw.

Whumpee stares at the ceiling as Whumper begins to massage his jaw. The few glances he snatches at Whumper have him squirming. Then Whumper's hands move to his hair, where the scalp is red from the tension. His whines become insistent and pathetic. The stiffness leaving his nape is heavenly and is over before he can truly savor it.

Whumper takes his hands out of Whumpee's curls. "Open your mouth."

Whumpee's brows crease, suspecting a pill. In his state, he can't bite or spit it out.

"I said open," Whumper says, clawing his lips open and earning a muffled cry. "That was your fault," he whispers, prodding at Whumpee's tongue with his thumb. "I asked nicely."

It hurt. Whumpee writhes under Whumper.

It hurts a hundred times more when Whumper replaces his fingers with his own lips. The kiss is forceful. Whumper's grip on his neck becomes a touch rigid. Taking the weight of the kiss sends white-hot pain through his teeth. The nose smushing against his makes him see stars for a moment.

With one last lick at the blood on Whumpee's tongue, Whumper comes up for air, a satisfied smile on his face. He wipes the stickiness of his mouth. "That wasn't your first, was it?"

Snot and bruises cover his face. Whumpee has to blink back the tears. "Fuck you," he croaks.

Whumper ruffles his hair and props the muzzle back on him. "It's okay, I think it's cute. Your team didn't know what they had."

#whump #whump community #whump blog #whumpblr #whump writing #intimate whumper #whump prompt #comfort #muzzle #male whumpee #poc whumpee #male whumper #whump ask

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serickswrites · 4 months

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Hiiii Sericks! Hope the world has been kind to you!

And AUGH the "Precise" one-shot you wrote is living rent free in my head... really good stuff... ( personally hoping that that whumpee gets rescued soon 🙏🙏)

And if requests are open, here's something I've been thinking - Whumper and caretaker are enemies (something of a big scary villain and a noble hero fighting against them, I think). Whumpee is someone who's been doing some missions with caretaker (but they're more of an adventurer/explorer than a hero), and the two appear to be falling in love.

Soooo whumper kidnaps whumpee (as one does) to use as bait. However, they take an interest to this explorer. They admire whumpee's bravery, even if they're much more calm and timid than caretaker. And find them adorable. So maybe whumper will have a little fun with them until caretaker arrives...

(I'd like if you avoided non-con for this - BUT I'm aaaall for some non-sexual touching and teasing~)

Hope you have a good day/night!

-Blue

Hello, Blue, my friend! I hope the world has been kind to you, my colorful friend. I am so glad you enjoyed Precise! Hopefully that Whumpee gets rescued! I can definitely write the request for you! Please enjoy.

Warnings: captivity, restraints, gag, creepy/intimate whumper

Villain circled the civilian in front of them. They had spent weeks watching Whumpee. Weeks and weeks. And now that they had Whumpee in their clutches, they weren't entirely sure where to begin.

Initially Villain had been watching Whumpee because Hero worked with Whumpee. Because Hero adored Whumpee. Loved Whumpee even. And Villain knew that perhaps that was the best way to lure Hero into a trap.

But as Villain spent weeks watching Whumpee go on adventures, go on weeks of missions with Hero, Villain began to find themself admiring Whumpee. Whumpee was always calm, cool, and collected under pressure. Though they were shy, Villain knew that Whumpee would always speak their mind. Whumpee was far more than bait at this point.

And so Villain struck one evening, grabbing and gagging Whumpee with relative ease. It did help that Whumpee had absolutely no powers whatsoever. It always made life easier when their prey couldn't really fight back.

Villain stared at Whumpee, bound and gagged to a chair in Lair, and smiled. "Don't worry, Whumpee," they cooed as they circled Whumpee, "Hero will be figuring out who has you soon. So very soon. They love you very much. You are so, so lovely after all." Villain leaned down and sniffed along Whumpee's neck, "So very lovely."

Whumpee glared up at Villain. They hadn't tried to break out of their restraints. Hadn't done anything to try to stop Villain, but Villain could see their brilliant mind hard at work.

"You're right, I'm not being a very good host. How about we find a way to keep you entertained until Hero arrives?" Villain carded their fingers through Whumpee's hair. "How does that sound? I'm sure we can think of ways to keep you engaged."

#serickswrites #whump #whumpblr #whump writing #whump community #tw captivity #tw restraints #tw gagging #creepy/intimate whumper #hero #villain #civilian #hero x villain #hero x civilian #villain x civilian #hero x villain community #requests #queue

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ihni · 1 year

Text

Things I love to read in Billy and/or Harringrove fanfiction:

(Inspired by @grey-sides and in the hopes of spreading some love)

Billy and Max overcoming their problems to form a united front and start working together, and become better siblings to each other.

Realizations. The "oh" moments. The "oh shit" moments, the "oh fuck" moments, the "oh no no no..." moments. ALL the realizations! (So, like ... the boys finding out they're into each other, anyone finding out about Billy's home life, Billy finding out about monsters, both of them finally seeing another - more vulnerable - side of each other, etc etc etc)

This whole post

Billy getting to fight monsters too, especially if he can use it as an outlet for all that aggression and be badass and save people's asses and then be all blasé about it like "what? it's not like it's hard" *hair flip* (also Billy and an axe will NEVER be over-played!)

Physical whump (bruises, blood, hiding injuries, fighting, being pushed up against surfaces, threats, hands grabbing faces and throats and hair, being made to kneel, incapacitation, fighting through exhaustion/illness, manhandling, etc etc. I'm a whumper at heart, I want to inject all these things into my veins).

Emotional whump (being left out of things/ostracization, feeling lonely, overhearing something hurtful, keeping a straight face even though you're hurting inside, not expecting someone to come and save you when you're hurt/captive etc etc - ie my bread and butter).

Billy patching himself up (BOTH phisical and emotional whump, so, like a double-whammy!)

Billy in the upside down, as a very capable survivor. Give me Cast Away, only with Billy, and the Upside Down instead of an island ... ALL THE VERSIONS of that. I like my boy capable, and fighting for survival (I'm normal, I swear)

This post

Billy being touch-starved. I eat that up with a SPOON, all versions of it but especially the ones where he gets touch (angsty version; it's not a good kind of touch but he seeks it out anyway, fluffy version; he gets all the pets and hugs!)

The boys coming back from the upside down and having gotten used to being close, so they get anxious when they don't have eyes on each other (yes I've written it. yes I've read it. yes I love it)

Having to share a room/doing a project togehter because their last names both start with H. Like forced proximity, school version. Mmmm, delicious.

When Billy is ridiculously weak for Steve and would do anything for him (especially if Steve has no idea about he power he wields). Basically Steve as the Billy-whisperer.

Billy getting good parents. I don't even care who at this point, I'll read all of them: Joyce, Hopper, Claudia, Mr Clarke (Mr CLARKE <3), Bob, Flo, that grumpy librarian ... Just give him good parental figures (and let him STRUGGLE with accepting that he's finally safe!)

Scars. All the fics about scars. Angsty scars, proud scars, mental scars, scars on the skin, first time someone is allowed to touch someone else's scars. Just, <3

Badass, BADASS moments, by both Billy and Steve. Smashing demodogs to pieces, rescuing themSELVES from bad situations, etc.

Guilt. <3 That usually comes after the realization moments, but mmmmm, a side of guilt to that? Fucking delicious, I will live off that for weeks. Like, having someone realize what Neil is doing and then feeling GUILTY about it (maybe they caused Billy to be hurt, or maybe they made it worse, or maybe a beating could have been avoided if they'd acted differently), that's my JAM.

That moment when Billy/Steve start calling the other by their first name instead of their last name ...

Self-sacrifice (filed under whump, but can be both physical, mental or simply implied). There doesn't even have to be a real threat of getting hurt, the self-sacrificing idiot (I prefer Billy) just have to THINK there is.

Basic needs not being met ... until they are. (So, say ... Billy being hungry, thirsty, tired, thrown out of the house ... and then finally getting to eat, drink, sleep, get inside)

#tropes #harringrove #billy hargrove #fanfiction #things I love in fanfics #ihni loves #this is just a selection btw #I don't have time to add more to it but this is a TINY part of what i love to read

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whumpsoda · 3 months

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CAN ARDY HYPNOTISE & "PUNISH" (LIGHTLY) DARIUS??? LIKE- he doesn't look at the camera and starts getting whiney about it (the flash?) and so ard tells him he's being a bad boy and bribes him to behave with a promise of a treat, but he doesn't get a treat. (punishment)

instead ardy places them "tall up on a shelf" (nightstand) but Darius is like 💫🥲 so he doesn't even think it really isn't that high he just has to get up and reach over.

WOHEO Masterlist Another uncannon moment for you guys!

cw: hypnosis, hypnotized whumpee, pet whump, vampire whumper & whumpee

———————————————————————

He didn’t like it.

He didn’t like it!

The pictures just kept on going, the flash still ringing even in the supposed darkness of Darius’ shut eyelids. His muscles were exhausted and sore from being forced to hold their stupid poses.

“Come on, baby, just another few, alright? I simply can’t let this opportunity go to waste.” He heard Adrastus- no, his master- say, along with another click of their nauseating camera.

Darius whined, a wretched, sour sound raw from his throat, one he didn’t think he had ever made before. Why would an esteemed vampire such as himself ever have whined in such an unfit manner? Like an injured dog?

But-

But he wasn’t-

He was… he was a thrall? Right? He was-

“Hey. Dear.” Darius’ eyes peeked open, and this time there was no dreaded camera stuck in front of him, only his beloved master. “You’re getting all distracted, aren’t you?” They questioned, concerned, stroking with mind numbing hypnotic strength down his cheek.

The distress subsided with their power, still a lingering bitterness in his belly, but for them he gave a faint nod while leaning into their touch.

He didn’t enjoy thinking. He wasn’t a fan of all the stupid thoughts that constantly plagued his small mind, all confusing and painful, but he hated the camera even more.

“You know,” They purred, caressing his face up and down, and up and down, leaving him like mush in their palm, “You wouldn’t have all that terrible ache if you just did what I said and let me take your photo.” Guilt stirred in his tum, contorting with the distress.

He was being disobedient. He was disobedient. He wasn’t supposed to be. Darius shuddered at the thought, whimpering into their fingers.

But… he wasn’t supposed to hurt either. His master was supposed to make him feel good, not bring about a sickly tense in his body. Right?

He shook away from their touch, shutting his eyelids to a harsh close once again, and curling in on himself. Darius flinched as they sighed, disappointed.

“I should’ve expected you’d be so naughty.” What? Why would they ever think he’d be so? He couldn’t have been so terrible ever before… he was a good boy!

“Bad boy.”

Darius let out yet another whine, though this one shrill and coated with sorrow and regret. “‘M-! ‘M sorry, ‘m sorry, ‘m sorry! S… sorry, sorry to Master!” He apologized, nearly lurched over on his knees in a bowing position.

“Good, good. You should be, baby. Bad boys are very sorry.” He was, he was! He was so very, very sorry.

They tipped his face up from his chin, prompting his vision to open gradually once again. This time, something between their nimble fingers caught his full attention. “If you can fix up your act, making sure Master can take as many pictures as they so please, you’ll get a treat.”

His expression lit up with a tinge of excitement. A treat, a treat! He could be good, he could be so good for the wonderfully tasty delicacy that was a treat.

Adrastus grinned, getting back into position and setting their camera up to their eye. Darius fixed his pose as well, resuming the one they had effectively trained him into, preparing for the loathsome flash that had unfortunately almost cost him his master’s love.

Adrastus took the chance to take double the photos they had than before Darius’ small outburst, but he stayed strong. He could be a good boy, just like always and make his master proud.

The brightness of the light of which was emitted each time burned into his skin and sight, sending him dizzy and the room spinning every ten seconds.

But he did it.

They finally lowered their vibrantly pink camera, a sweet smile hidden behind it. His heart fluttered at the sight.

“So.” They started. His excitement again picked up as they stepped to their feet, reaching into their pocket. “Unfortunately, baby, I just don’t think you’re deserving of a treat.”

What?

Their expression was painted with faux sadness, as if they had pity for the new feeling crawling over him. “I know, I know, you must be terribly upset, but don’t you remember?”

He was upset. So upset. Darius’ lip quivered, his brows furrowing with hurt puzzlement. But… he did remember.

“Bad, naughty boys don’t get rewards, do they Darius?”

“Nngh…!” He squealed, face scrunching as he searched for any semblance of them only teasing. He wasn’t lucky enough to find it. “Nn… nooo…”

He followed with a tear pricked gaze as the beloved sweet clutched in their hand was set to the top of the old and peeling nightstand beside them, one just a smidge taller than him when sunk to his knees as he was.

How could they?

How could they taunt them with the promise of a well earned reward, then snatch it away just like that?

To him it had seemed as if they’d placed it up tall on a shelf, all out of reach, when in reality all he had to do was lean over it and he’d have been perfectly happy. Fussing in pathetic protest he tantrumed like a small child, weakly banging on the dresser with heavy fists that did little the damage he wanted to do.

The little whines and squeals that slipped from his mouth strangely flushed his face red with embarrassment until his outburst fizzled out. Instead, opting to lazily crawl to a cramped corner and swaying dizzily with each movement, he stewed in his own emotions with a brutal frown.

“Hey.”

He shifted, turning to his master’s bed, of which they sat atop. They patted the area on the blanket beside them. “Here.”

Carefully, on all fours of course, Darius crept out from his hiding spot, even in anger still desperate for his master. “Up.” They commanded as he reached them, still sniveling back furious tears.

As soon as he made his way up they gently guided his upper half into their lap, head resting on their slender midsection. Their fingers quickly snuck into his hair, sifting through and giving him affectionate behind the ear scritches that hit just the right spot.

“Silly boy. You’re so cute when you’re mad.”

He meant to keep up his mad act, making them regret how they’d treated him. Such a sentence should’ve upset him further. The churn of his guts said so. Though, the pleasant pulse of his bliss filled brain said otherwise. “R… rea, really? This one… is cute?”

They leaned in with a smile, right to his chill ear. He wished they would have bit him. If only he wasn’t already sired. “Of course, love.”

He giggled, any defiance and gross feelings pushed out of his mind in favor for the cotton candy clouds dancing right in as they pet him. Master thought he was cute! What a wonderful way they made him feel.

Their soft, supple hand snuck to his belly, rubbing it and spreading sweet warmth to every crack and crevice of his frame. Darius sighed with delight. It was almost better than the treat.

Oh, how Darius loved his master.

———————————————————————

Taglist- @softvampirewhump @iys-cloud @battyfantasy @xx-adam-xx @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl

If anyone wants to be removed or added to the taglist, please let me know! :)

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ziptiesnfries · 5 months

Text

Persuasion, part 1

(Loosely based off of this post by @whumpshaped)

CWs: mind control, whumper POV, kidnapping, restraints

Everyone loved Gianna Jennings. Her friends said she gave the best hugs. Her fans adored her makeup tutorials, and even her most vocal critics had to agree that she was charming in person. Gianna wasn’t sure how old she was when she first noticed it—really noticed it. All her life, her family had adored her, and even strangers would bend over backwards to please her. She’d always been affectionate, so maybe that was why it took so long to notice: it was her touch. Any skin-to-skin contact made the people around her much more agreeable. The effects only intensified the more she learned to control it.

Of course, she never let it get out of hand. But what was a talent like this for if not to be used? It served her well with getting sponsorships when she launched her career as a beauty guru. Most of her job happened online, but after years of building up her charisma, she knew how to work her audience. She didn’t need touch to draw people in, but when it came to in-person contact, it certainly gave her a boost.

Having the whole world at her fingertips was lovely, but it wasn’t very exciting. She wondered what it would feel like to make someone hate her—really, truly hate her—and what would happen if, then, she used her powers on them. The thought of it was more than a little alluring. It sounded complicated, interesting, real.

She decided to go hunting.

After visiting the same club a few weekends in a row, Gianna had finally found her target. They were smaller than Gianna, and always wore short skirts and tank tops—the kind of outfit that would give her ample opportunity to use her powers. Every weekend, without fail, the target arrived at the club with the same group of friends and spent the entire time sitting in a corner, texting. They seemed utterly disinterested in everything around them, even their friends—although, given the interactions she’d seen, Gianna was hesitant to label them as friends. Others who tried to approach the target had been met with either apathy or outright hostility.

They were perfect.

Gianna had already been at the club for an hour, chatting people up, when her target slouched in behind their usual group of three others. One of them, a tall girl with long brown hair, looked similar enough to be related to the target—a sister, maybe a cousin—and she interacted with them the most. The other two, another girl and a boy, hardly spoke to the target at all.

Gianna watched as the group claimed a table, and the boy went off to the bar. The two girls sat next to each other, chatting and laughing. The target was already slumped down in their chair, eyes glued to their phone, their bleached bangs obscuring half their face. When the boy came back with the drinks, he only brought three, depositing two in front of the girls and one in front of himself. The target didn’t seem to notice or care.

Gianna kept an eye out as she circled the room. The three friends took a while to drain their drinks before they finally headed for the dance floor. The brown haired girl hung back for a moment, tugging at the target’s arm. The target yanked away, and although Gianna couldn’t hear across the club, it looked like they’d snapped at the girl. The girl stormed off, and the target was left alone.

Gianna took her time, idly circling the club before she sidled up to the target’s table. “Well, aren’t you a pretty thing?”

They gave no indication that they’d heard her. The blue glow from their screen reflected in their bored eyes and highlighted glitter on their cheekbones. She could just barely hear their response over the music. “Who said I was trying to be?”

Instinctively, her wrist twitched to touch their shoulder, but she lowered her hand quickly. She was wearing lacy, elbow-length gloves to ensure that there weren’t any slip-ups. She didn’t want to use her powers—not yet, anyway. She laughed. “That’s cute.” She leaned on the table, tilting her head. “What’s your name, gorgeous?”

The target’s eyes flicked up. They scanned her face for a moment before turning back to their phone.

“I’m Gianna.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Really, though, what’s someone as pretty as you doing by yourself?”

Finally, they lowered their phone and gave her an exaggerated eye-roll. “None of your business,” they said, enunciating each word.

It was like talking to a brick wall. Gianna could see why everyone who had spoken to them had given up. Even she was tempted to take off her glove and touch their hand, just to get them to open up a little. But she refrained; the whole point was for them to hate her, and it seemed like that was going well. She pouted. “Oh, come on. You don’t even have a drink. I’ll get you one, okay?”

As she headed for the bar, she thought she heard them mutter, “Don’t come back.” She grinned to herself. She couldn’t have chosen a better target.

When she returned, they hadn’t moved an inch. She slid their glass across the table, and they kept texting. “I don’t drink,” they said.

“It’s seltzer.” It wasn’t, and they’d know right away if they took a sip, but they didn’t even glance at the glass. She stirred her own drink with her finger and wondered how to provoke them. Clearly they weren’t interested in playing her game, and that was what she’d expected, but she needed the tables to turn in her favor a little if she wanted to take them home tonight.

“Don’t care,” they said dismissively. “I don’t take drinks from strangers.”

“That’s smart.” She smiled and rested her chin in her hand as she leaned forward. “But I think you deserve to have some fun. Don’t you?”

They shot her a scathing side-eye. “I’d be having a lot more fun if you weren’t—”

“Oh my god, Shelby!”

Their head jerked up, and Gianna turned to see the brown-haired girl from earlier approaching the table, her two friends in tow. All of them looked tipsy, but the brown-haired girl seemed just a tad more wasted than the others, casually gripping the table for balance. Gianna suppressed a grin as she turned to her target. “Friends of yours?” she asked innocently.

The girl didn’t seem to hear her. “Oh my god, Shelby,” she repeated, turning to the target. “Are you actually talking to someone for once? I never thought you’d—”

“Shut up,” they hissed, lowering their phone into their lap as they glared at the girl. “I’m not—”

“We were just having a little chat,” Gianna interrupted. She extended a hand over the table. “I’m Gianna.”

The girl shook her hand limply. “I’m Taylor.” She was talking too loud, even for the background noise of the club. “And that’s Anna and Tate. And of course you know my baby sibling, Shelby.” She squeezed their shoulder.

Shelby jerked away, their elbow missing their untouched drink by an inch. “Fuck off!”

Taylor pouted at them sarcastically. “Oh, sorry, was I interrupting something?” She shot Gianna a suggestive grin.

“I said, fuck off!” They crossed their arms, their phone clutched tightly in their hand. “Can we just go already?”

Taylor rolled her eyes. “We just got here. Why don’t you go home with someone else for once? Loosen up, have a little fun!”

Shelby’s arms tightened around their chest, and they opened their mouth to protest. “I’d be more than happy to help with that,” Gianna cut in.

Blush rose to Shelby’s face. “Yeah, I’m sure you fucking would.” Their chair nearly toppled as they got to their feet. “Whatever, I’m calling an Uber.”

Taylor rolled her eyes. “You’re such a killjoy.” They didn’t dignify her with a response before storming off across the club.

Taylor didn’t seem keen to go after her, and the other two hung back, exchanging uncomfortable glances. Gianna gave them all a sympathetic smile before she turned to pursue her prey.

She found Shelby near the entrance, tapping furiously at their phone screen. “Hey,” she said, just loud enough to be heard over the noise. They stiffened, but they didn’t turn toward her. “I’m sorry if I was being too forward. Do you need a ride home?”

Their back was still turned, but she heard them snort. “Like that’s not the most forward thing I’ve ever heard. I’ll take an Uber, thanks.”

She approached casually, sliding an arm around their shoulders. They stiffened as she leaned in close and murmured, “Come on, let me drive you home. It’s the least I can do.”

Her lips brushed their ear, and that was all it took. The tension melted out of their shoulders, their phone lowering. They were quiet for a moment before they cleared their throat. “I … guess you could take me halfway there?”

She squeezed their shoulder before letting go. They’d feel the effects of her touch for another few minutes, and she’d sneak in another dose along the way. Of course, she’d prefer not to use it at all, but Shelby was a difficult target. A little persuasion would be necessary. “I’d be glad to,” she murmured.

Gianna took off her gloves to drive. Shelby was quiet in the passenger seat, their face turned out the window, their phone all but forgotten in their lap. “What’s your address?” she asked.

They didn’t turn their head, but their voice still sounded a little distant as they said, “You can drop me off at the corner of Fourth and Fremont. I’ll give you directions.”

“Oh, no worries. I know where that is.” Her house was that way, anyway—just a little farther down. Maybe Shelby actually lived near her; that was an interesting thought. “I really am sorry about earlier, by the way,” she added. “I know I can be a little pushy. And your sister … well, she didn’t seem very nice.”

They blew out a sigh that lifted their bleached bangs, propping their chin in their hand. “Fucking tell me about it. She’s a real asshole sometimes.”

Gianna suppressed a grin. “Oh? What’s she like?”

“She thinks I should worship the ground she walks on just because she’s letting me live with her.” They rolled their eyes. “I’d appreciate the favor more if it didn’t come with so many fucking strings attached.” They cut off abruptly and glanced at Gianna. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to dump all that on you.”

“That’s alright.” The car was rapidly approaching the corner Shelby wanted to be dropped at. Gianna leaned over and laid a hand on Shelby’s shoulder, feeling the warmth of her power flow through her palm. “Are you sure you want to go home, then? Maybe it would be nice to spend a night away from her. She sounds so overbearing.”

When she glanced over, Shelby’s lips were parted, their eyes halfway glazed as they gazed out the windshield. “I, um …” Gianna removed her hand, allowing the poor thing to think a little more easily. They blinked hard a few times. “She is overbearing,” they admitted.

Giddiness rose up in Gianna’s chest, but she couldn’t let it show. She rarely allowed herself to play with people like this, but god, it was fun. “Well,” she said, in her best logical, concerned tone, “take a break from her, then. It’ll be good for you.”

The intersection passed by, and Shelby blinked again as they realized. “Where are you …?”

“You can stay the night in my guest bedroom.” Gianna’s voice was pleasant and soothing, trained to perfection. Her powers may have only worked through touch, but people always responded well to her words, too. “You won’t have to see your sister again tonight.”

“Alright,” Shelby agreed quietly. Their hands rested in their lap, their eyes forward. “Thanks.” Gianna smiled.

It didn’t take much longer to get to Gianna’s house, a quaint two-story home in a quiet neighborhood. It was a bit big for one person, but Gianna had always liked it, and the extra space came in handy for guests. Shelby was quiet and pliant as Gianna led them inside, a gentle hand between their shoulder blades. The lightest touch was enough to keep them relaxed all the way up the stairs and into the guest bedroom.

Once they were in the room, Shelby paused, trying to gather their wits. “Ah … thanks for letting me stay over.”

“Of course.” Gianna smiled, her heart thumping. “Could you come in here with me for a moment?” She nodded toward the guest bathroom, attached at one end of the room.

They looked confused, but with her thumb rubbing circles between their shoulder blades, they followed her into the bathroom. She flicked on the lights and casually grabbed the pair of handcuffs she’d left on the counter earlier. Shelby looked even more confused at the clink of metal, and when they spotted the cuffs, they stiffened.

They made to pull away, but Gianna grabbed their wrist, channeling her power into the touch. Their phone cracked against the floor as they dropped it. “It’s okay,” she murmured, like she was soothing a frightened animal. Her heart pounded. She’d never done this before—never tried to calm someone over anything truly objectionable. She wasn’t even sure whether it would work. Shelby’s wide, fearful eyes flicked from the handcuffs to Gianna’s face, and she smiled at them reassuringly as she gripped their wrist. “It’s alright; you’re okay.”

Their mouth was agape, struggling to protest, but their body was like putty in her hands. One cuff clicked around their wrist, and Gianna gently guided them closer to the towel bar before looping the chain around and securing their other wrist.

“Good.” She removed her hands and stepped back to admire them, feeling giddy that it had actually worked. They twisted their neck after her, their lips still slightly parted, distress in their eyes. She scooped their cracked phone off the ground and smiled reassuringly. “I’ll be back soon, okay?” Their bewildered gaze followed her as she shut them in the bathroom to wait for the effects to wear off.

Read part 2 here

#whump writing #whump #mind control whump #kidnapping whump #whumper pov #restrained #kidnapping tw #oc: gianna jennings #oc: shelby #zipwrites #y'all i'm having SO much fun with this one

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whumpshaped · 8 months

Text

this spiralled out of control i apologise. beck's head will clear in 3, 2, 1-

masterlist

tw vampire whumper, suggestive stuff, mind control, threat of death, threat of murder, lots of threats in general, power dynamics, intimate whumper, murder mention

"Oh, I do love it here." Helle stretched out on the king sized bed while Beck was left to stand in the bedroom door, silently fuming. That was his bed, and his room, and his home. "Thank you for asking."

"I didn't," he said quietly, a show of ridiculous defiance he seldom afforded himself. But his home was being turned into a fucking vampire den! Helle went and looked at his treasured family photos, his decorations, touched all his possessions, all while he could do nothing but sit on the sofa and wait for them to leave.

And then they came back. Again. And again. And again. Because they could, and because this was now their new favourite hangout spot; ever since the fucking date night.

"No, I think you did." They gave him a look, a warning, one that Beck always felt compelled to heed. Not this time. He thought he had enough pent up anger to be a little disobedient, so he steeled his nerves and decided to speak up. Well, about as well as a mouse would've against the neighbourhood cat.

"You– you're being... very unfair," he said slowly, forcing out the words one by one, considering each one before committing to it. That wasn't what he'd wanted to say, of course. But he somehow had to repackage his... more blunt sentiments. "And, and you can do that, you can absolutely be as horrible to me as you want. I can't... I can't do anything about it. But I don't want to play along today."

Helle's expression turned playful, and they rolled over to one side of the bed, petting the other as an invitation. Beck wanted to explode when he saw his own fucking bed being offered back to him at a price — a very steep price at that. He didn't want to be anywhere near the fucking vampire.

"Oh, come on," they insisted when he didn't move. He just shook his head.

"Please, get off my bed. You're– you're in your street clothes, and you're rolling around on my blanket that I use after I've showered and I'm clean–"

"Oh, is that the issue?" they asked with a mischievous smile, glancing down at their clothes. "If it is, we can definitely remedy–"

"It's not! It's– it's one of many issues!" he snapped, his little outburst startling him more than it did Helle. "S-sorry. I– just, please, get off."

"You know, sometimes I like it when you get mad at me. Even beyond just the entertainment factor. Because, you see... you are so bland on the surface, but whenever you get angry, it is almost like... I can tell there is something more there."

Bland? What kind of backhanded compliment was that? Or was it just an insult? Beck was so caught off guard that he couldn't even respond before Helle had already moved on, petting the bed again.

"Now, do get over here before I lose interest and just start snapping some bones for fun."

He swallowed, the memory of Helle holding his wrist in their hand and cheerily explaining how easily they could break it seeping back into the forefront of his mind and making his legs move of their own accord. "I said I was sorry," he tried as he carefully lowered himself onto his bed like it was a minefield.

"Yes, I know. And more often than not, I am also fine playing along. But not today, right? Today we are brave and honest."

He hated the way they said that. He had no idea what stupid game they had in mind that required them both on the same bed, but he was starting to get increasingly nervous about it — while Helle easily propped themself up on their elbow, lying on their side, looking at him excitedly like they were at a sleepover.

"I want you to tell me what you actually think. Of me, of spending the night with a vampire, with the specific vampire who has been so mean to you. I want to hear it."

"Wh- what?"

"It is painfully obvious that you are holding back. An understandable choice. But now I want you to just say it. Tell me something absolutely vile."

"I, I don't... I... no, but this, this is what I mean, this is unfair, how can you even– you, you could hurt me so badly," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Is that an invitation?" They raised their free hand before he could answer, cutting him off. "I know, I know. It is not. Not yet, anyway. But very well, if you will not share of your own volition, you shall share under enthrallment."

Beck sat up immediately, his urge to get away suddenly unbearable. "No! No, you said you wouldn't, you said you wouldn't use it!"

"I will if I have to," they cooed. "Or you can just tell me."

"I... will I be punished for this?" he asked hesitantly.

"Oh, Beck, stop being such a coward for one second. Indulge. I can tell you my most depraved thoughts about you in exchange, if–"

"No. No, I, I don't think I want to hear any of that."

"Well, I might tell you anyway. But for now, let me hear your honest opinion."

He didn't want to be enthralled. Now that he was so focused on it, he could already feel it creeping closer and closer at the edges of his consciousness, poking and prodding and gently pushing him to just do it. He knew it could turn vicious at any moment, seizing the information by violently ripping it from his mind against his will.

"I hate you," he said in a shaky little voice, ruining weeks of fantasies of himself yelling these words at the vampire. "I, I hate everything about you, everything that reminds me of you, I hate feedings, I hate you being here, I hate you touching me and my things and, and bringing who knows what into my house, you're ruining my life, I– I wish–" He cut himself off, and Helle pushed further into his mind, forcing the words out of his mouth without his consent. "I wish you had been buried with a stake in your heart back whenever you died. I wish I was there, seeing it through, I wish I could've done it. Hell, you're the only reason I keep a stake in my home, you're the only vampire I ever imagine killing, but I imagine it often and in great detail. I am thoroughly fucking disgusted by you, and I truly wish you were dead and rotting somewhere."

Their hold on him suddenly disappeared, and he was left with the knowledge of what he'd just told Helle to their face. He couldn't run away. He couldn't defend it. He couldn't explain it away. All he could do was sit there and watch them process all of it, hoping that whatever punishment this warranted, he could negotiate it to be a little lighter.

He had never realised just how terrifying a concept enthrallment was. He had been spoiled before, continually presented with choices he thought were impossible... but no, impossible felt completely different. It was his mind being effortlessly taken over and toyed with, it was being helpless, completely helpless against it.

"Okay," Helle said after a while, plopping down onto their back. "Bring your stake and get it over with."

"What..?"

"If you do not comply with this order, I will find the stake and drive it through your heart."

Beck almost fell off the bed in his haste to grab the stake from the drawer of his nightstand, clutching it in his hands uncertainly as he turned back to see Helle still lying on their back, docile as ever. They didn't make a single move to stop him as he reluctantly inched closer.

"You– you wouldn't actually let me," he stammered, and they shrugged.

"You are not going get a better chance."

Well... that much was true. And yet, all he did was kneel there on the bed with a stake in his hand and stare at the vampire.

"You know, from the amount of family photo albums I have flipped through, I could easily find and recognise your mother. Or your brother, really. I wonder whether they would be any more fun, or this particular brand of blandness runs in your family." They looked up at him with a coy smile. "I might just go find out for myself after I've staked you."

There weren't many things Beck was as fiercely protective of as his family. Rage bubbled up in his chest with every word Helle uttered, and he instantly moved to straddle their waist, raising the stake high above his head. He had a clear shot. Helle wasn't defending themself. They were telling him that only one of them was going to leave this room alive, and that if it was them, they would slaughter the rest of his family.

And yet... now that he was actually here, on top of the vampire who had been tormenting him, the thought of killing them was intimidating. It wasn't even killing, all he was doing was sending them back where they belonged! But... but what vampire would take over their territory? Would those vampires grab him too? Would they immediately enthrall him, pump him full of venom, leave him to die? Did he... did he really hate Helle that much..?

He shook his head a little, trying to get rid of the thoughts. This had to be the lingering effects of the enthrallment he'd read about. He did hate them, he hated them more then anything, he wanted them dead, properly, permanently dead. And yet his body wouldn't comply. He wasn't a murderer. He just... he couldn't...

Beck flinched and almost dropped the stake when Helle suddenly moved, trailing their fingers up his thighs, over his hips and onto his waist. He lowered his hands to push theirs away, but they were faster, grabbing him by the wrists and tugging his hands over to their chest. The point of the stake was now right above their unbeating heart, mere inches away from killing them; and they looked up at him with the same calm as always, almost– fond, or... or...

"You could do it now," they whispered, not letting him pull his hands back even if he wanted to. "All those mean, condescending insults, all that pain from feedings, all the ruined date nights, all that frustration from having to tolerate a leech like me in your home... gone."

"I can't," he whispered back, trying to blink away tears of shame. He just couldn't. His life was on the line. His family's life. And he couldn't.

"Why?"

He shook his head again. Maybe he didn't fully know, maybe he just didn't want to talk about it. Maybe he felt like he could just say no now that he was holding a stake to their heart.

"I thought you hated me."

"I do." His hands were shaking badly, worse by the second as Helle slowly worked his fingers loose from the stake. "But I– I don't know what would happen afterwards. And I don't want to kill anybody–"

"I'm already dead, Beck."

"I know." He let them take the stupid piece of wood, the one he now knew he'd never actually get to use because of his own cowardice. He yelped when Helle suddenly flipped their positions, settling comfortably between his legs and putting the pointed end of the stake against his heart.

"I let you do this because I thought it would be a nice little lesson," they said easily, almost pleasantly, no doubt enjoying the way he trembled under them. "I knew you would not be able to do it. At least I was confident enough. Of course, had you tried, I would have simply stopped you... but you did not even try."

There was no trace of fear in their voice or on their face from having been so close to death, nor was there a single tremor that would've run through their hands as they threatened someone with a very much lethal weapon. This wouldn't have been their first kill; nor their first death, for that matter. Beck stifled a little whimper at the thought.

"Whether you admit it or not, you love to hate me. You love to point to me and say I am the source of your problems, you love to fantasise about my death being the end of your misery, but you know it is not true. You love knowing that you do not have to fear vampires out at night anymore, aside from the one you already know. One that is, quite frankly–"

"Spoiling me," he blurted out, and their smile widened.

"Yes. Spoiling you. No magic. No quick and easy scrambling of your fragile, human mind. You love to think I am strict and cruel, because it makes you feel better about the world. You love to think I am the worst of it. But you know it is not true."

"I do, now." He could hear the blood rushing in his ears as he stared up at the murderous being so close to killing him, and he dared hope they wouldn't. Because he knew them, and they knew him, and he dared hope that in itself was enough to keep him from dying tonight.

"I killed my sire like this." They sounded nostalgic, as though they were recalling their most pleasant memories. "There is something... quite special about staking someone. Forcing a piece of wood between their ribs, piercing their heart... I do love doing it. It is quite... intimate."

Beck felt the point be driven further into his skin, nestling between strands of the fabric in his shirt and drawing blood underneath. Maybe he wouldn't have been able to drive it through someone's chest without any momentum. Helle was definitely more than capable.

He held his breath, waiting for his death as the vampire watched the droplet of blood soak a small circle of red into his pristine shirt. Then they threw the stake aside, grabbing a hold of his wrist instead. "But if I staked you tonight, how would I ever turn you into my adoring little vampire servant? No, I am afraid that will have to wait." They kissed the inside of his wrist, and Beck shivered, bracing himself for the bite that would come as a direct result of his own incompetence. "But I am very pleased that this honesty hour has brought us a bit closer together."

taglist: @whumpsday @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @florissimps @nicolepascaline @oliversrarebooks

#at my beck and call #whump #whump writing #beckett #helle #vampire whumper #suggestive #mind control #threat of death #threat of murder #lots of threats in general #power dynamics #intimate whumper #murder mention

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