#captive whump
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Whumper cracked open the cell as the light revealed their captive on their knees. Their hands were bound behind their back and a chain bolted to the wall wrapped around their arms and chest.
The chain was nearly off, not enough they could get free but enough they clearly struggled for a long time.
"Almost got it off, huh?" Whumper smirked, standing over them as whumpee looked up with an exhausted expression.
"No worries. I'll tighten it for next time..."
#whump#whumpee#whumper#whump prompt#whump scenarios#captive whump#kidnapped whumpee#restrained whump#cruel whumper#failed escape attempt#controlling whumper#whump angst#isolation whump
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How can you dehumanize a whumpee?
THIS IS MY FAVOURITE TROPE!! SEND MORE DEHUMANISATION ASKS PLEASE
use them as an ash tray!
force them to kneel next to you as you work!
shock!!! collars!!!!
carving their owner’s initials into their back!
using them as entertainment at parties!
sharing them with friends!
pulling their hair to meet their owner’s eyes!
assigning them a new name one might call a pet!
draw pretty patterns into their skin!
training them not to be disobedient!
giving them a treat when they’re good!
alter their appearance to your liking!
have them repeat that they were worthless!
don’t let them sit on furniture!
#whump prompts#captive whump#caretaker x whumpee#whumpee spencer reid#creepy whumper#whump trope#dehumanisation tw#sadistic whumper#intimate whumper#conditioned whumpee#emotional whump#whumper#drugged whumpee#whump ideas#whump#defiant whumpee#whumpee x caretaker#whump fic#whumpril2023#whump drabble
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Whumper being ordered by their boss to capture someone and torture them for information. The info could help stop something terrible (i.e. bring down an evil organization), so Whumper reluctantly agrees, considering it a lesser of two evils. They catch Whumpee and torture them brutally for weeks, desperately trying to get them to admit what they wanna know, but Whumpee just plays dumb and won't give them anything. Eventually the boss shows up to check the situation out, frustrated at how long its taking. They flip their shit at Whumper when they arrive, because it turns out Whumper has the wrong person. Cue Whumper realising they did all of those horrible things to an innocent person for literally no reason.
#whump#whumpdumps#whumpblr#whump scenario#whump prompt#captive whump#torture whump#See i like 'an evil for the sake of it' whumper as much as the next guy.. but a whumper who thinks theyre doing good is fun too!!#Like whumper would never do something like this unless they thought it could save many lives and that whumpee was evil or something lil#*lol
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“How can he be so calm!?” they yelled, shaking with barely restrained fury.
“It would- it would make so much more sense if he was angry, or happy, anything while he hurts us. But there’s- there’s nothing!”
They turned to their companion, breathing in tearless, choked sobs. “How could he be so indifferent?”
#dialogue prompt#whump prompt#whump idea#whump inspiration#captive whump#multiple whumpees#scene prompt#story prompt#writing prompt#prompts#It was an idea from a dream with no name
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"Litte [animal]" type pet names for whumpees will always drive me feral, especially if they're prey animals.
"Little mouse."
"Little rabbit."
"Little deer."
"Little bird."
Oh, man, little bird is my favorite, actually. It scratches a very particular itch and has a specific undertone of affection that the others don't. Whumpee is just a little bird in a cage for whumper, something for them to admire and play with until they get bored or whumpee stops singing for them (literally or figuratively!)
Prey animal pet names don't work for every whumper or whumpee, but they are sooooooooooo good when they do. I'd love to see them used more often.
#tell me your favorites!#whump#captive whump#gentle whumper#intimate whumper#captivity#first two tags are just so they appear in the search#if you're looking for more posts like this on my blog please check my tag nav list#pet whumpee#dehumanization
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Consequence of Action Pt.2
Continuation of the first piece from Collins' perspective. It's a mellow reprieve before the next chapter... which will be a rough one so heads up!
TW: Aftermath of noncon, mentions of noncon, captive whumpee, caged whumpee, mentions of war
Prev - Next
Collins took his glasses off and set them down quietly, rubbing his eyes until the world blurred around him. He looked over at the bed and sighed wearily, idly grinding his teeth.
He'd felt Quinn's eyes on him for a lot longer than he himself would have lasted being as exhausted as he was. Eventually though, his breathing became less painfully rapid and had leveled out to a somewhat normal rhythm.
He was asleep.
Mercifully.
Collins pressed a hand against his own chest, frowning at the ache that had settled in ever since he'd said yes to the Captain's offer.
He didn't want anything to do with this mess.
The mutiny was foolish. Well-intentioned, sure, but foolish nonetheless. Collins held no delusions about the nature of the man that led this crew. The Captain was cruel and cunning. He was a man that won wars and the old generals loved him for it. But they hadn't been at war for many years now and that only made men like the Captain even more unpredictable.
Rumor has it, the Captain was given a ship after being quietly asked to leave the service for reasons he could only imagine. He had served with many of the crew already on board when he was looking for a new captain, so he'd signed up without much thought. He swore his loyalty to his captain and the crew and felt like he had a home again. Most of those good people were dead now.
It disturbed him deeply that he must have been considered to be a true follower of the Captain instead of one that stood slightly apart. He'd often wondered what it was about him, why Murphy and the others didn't come to him before they pulled the trigger on this foolishness.
He would have helped.
Well, he would have at least told him that his plan wouldn't succeed. Collins was loyal to a fault. He knew that. Still, this was- he wasn't like that. He took no pleasure in this.
Just the thought alone turned his stomach, seeing Quinn today, like he was...
He huffed out a frustrated breath and stood, pacing in the small space.
He remembered Quinn, from before. The few occasions he'd had to speak with the communications officer were swift and practical. He remembered the man being intelligent and quick to think on his feet. He knew his job and the jobs of his superiors, tailoring his tasks in such a way that made their work easier, more efficient. He was an asset to the crew, until he became a threat.
Collins stopped pacing, looking down at the curled up form beneath the blanket, only a tuft of brown hair peeking out from underneath.
He clenched his hands into fists thinking about what he would see if he pulled that blanket back, the many bruises and abrasions that littered the man's body. He couldn't unsee them. The shape of large hands on his hips and arms, of fingers around his neck, deep abrasions on his wrists and ankles from however the others choose to restrain him while they took their own pleasure. He'd heard the stories.
He couldn't stop this. It wasn't his place.
Collins turned away from him, dragging his fingers up into his hair.
Quinn made his choice. He knew the risks. The consequences.
Well, maybe not this. He probably thought he would be sent out the airlock with the rest of them. This fate was- excessive, to say the least. The Captain had already taken this beyond anything anyone would call justice, and he wasn't done yet, not even close.
He'll break him. The Captain will break Quinn into pliant little pieces. He'll use him until there was nothing left for him to be entertained by. And only then, will Quinn find any peace.
He turned back to the bed, chewing absently on his lip.
Peace.
He could do that. He couldn't save Quinn, but he could give him some measure of peace at least. A warm bed, like tonight. A proper meal and a shower when he could. Clean clothes even.
He turned to root through his small closet. Nothing would fit him, not even close. Quinn was already on the slight side before weeks of meager meals, all lean muscle and just a hint of softness to his middle.
Collins shook his head hard, shaking the thoughts out of his mind.
He refused to allow himself to think of Quinn that way, not anymore. Not now.
He'll admit to seeing him in the workout room a time or two. He was often on the treadmill when Collins arrived and was still running without losing a single step by the time Collins finished his routine. He remembers watching him from the corner of his eye sometimes, with those small earbuds nestled in his ears, listening to music and occasionally mouthing the words. He seemed to genuinely love to run.
That tiny spark flickered in his chest for a quick moment as he looked over at Quinn before he very intentionally smothered it out until it was nothing but dying embers.
His heart broke for what this man had been reduced to.
A slave. Nothing but a toy to be played with and stuffed back into a cage.
Collins drew in a deep breath and pulled out a pair of sweatpants with a draw string. Maybe these would work?
He gently laid them at the foot of the bed, along with a too large t-shirt.
He groaned as he moved to sit on the floor, leaning his back against the bed. He was exhausted after his 12 hours shift, and then all this, but he didn't want Quinn to wake up in the night to find a strange man sleeping in the bed next to him. Collins knew he'd had much worse over the many weeks he'd been held captive by his fellow crew members.
Still.
He didn't want to frighten him.
He leaned his head back against the mattress and closed his eyes, resolving to help Quinn where he was able. It was the very least he could do.
–
He woke with a start, his head coming up off the mattress far too fast and his vision struggled to keep up with the abrupt change. Collins blinked a few times, remembering why he was still propped against the mattress, sitting on the floor.
He glanced up to the bed.
Still there. Obviously.
It looked as if Quinn hadn't moved an inch in the few hours they must have slept.
Still. Something had woken him.
Collins stifled a groan as his knees popped, standing up stiffly.
He stood quietly over the curled up form on the bed, watching Quinn's breathing carefully. In and out. Slow and steady.
His eyebrows drew down, a frown creasing his face.
Collins leaned forward and gently pulled the blanket down, revealing a flash of two wide open eyes before Quinn dropped his gaze. His breathing starting to speed up exponentially now that he knew Collins knew he was awake.
“Morning.”
Collins let the blanket drop back to where it was, covering all of Quinn's face again. He'd allow the man to choose whether or not he wanted to be awake yet.
He went about brewing some coffee on the small counter by the sink, pulling down two mugs. He paused, his hands hovering over the mugs. Sugar? He took his coffee black but maybe Quinn liked sugar in his, or cream.
He didn't have cream.
He turned back to the bed. Three fingers had pulled the blanket down just enough to reveal two tired brown eyes, watching him silently.
“You're fine,” Collins grunted out. Damn it. He tried to soften his tone.
“What I mean to say is there's no rush. My shift isn't for another hour. Um,” why did he feel like he was trying to speak around rocks, “Do you take cream? In your coffee I mean?”
He watched two eyebrows found each other in between his eyes before smoothing out again.
Collins pointed to the clothes on the foot of the bed.
“Feel free to put those on and, yeah, I'll be right back.”
Collins rushed out of the room and closed the door, huffing out a long breath before heading to the mess hall.
–
10 minutes later and Collins had frozen with his fist paused an inch from the door. The door to his own quarters. Should he knock?
He made a sound deep in his throat that sounded like a growl. This was ridiculous.
He knocked lightly but didn't wait for an answer, opening the door and coming inside, his eyes immediately falling on Quinn.
Quinn was sitting back against the headboards with his knees up and his arms curled tight around himself. He was practically swimming the too big clothing but he looked more like himself at least. With the exception of the collar sitting at the base of his throat.
Collins lifted the tray he had in his hands.
“Eat whatever you like,” he placed the tray on the bed within reach and pointed to the coffee maker that was sputtering away, “Cream or sugar in your coffee?”
Quinn blinked silently but then nodded once.
Collins turned to get the coffee and smiled, making a mental note to keep cream in the small refrigerator under the counter, his shoulders starting to relax.
He sat at the table, Quinn still perched on the bed, and watched him take small, careful bites out of a bagel. He had to bury a smile every time Quinn took a sip of coffee, his eyes fluttering closed at the taste.
They sat in somewhat companionable silence. Collins honestly didn't know what to say and Quinn hadn't breathed a word.
He actually startled when suddenly, “Thank you,” Quinn breathed out on a whisper between bites.
Collins tilted his head down in a brief nod, “You're welcome, Quinn.”
Quinn's eyes flicked up sharply, meeting his own, before dropping back down again.
They walked back to below deck together, down the dark hall and through the heavy door. The room was dark save for the low blue light that ran along the floor of every wall on the ship. Collins hadn't been down here since the mutiny. He didn't know what to expect.
Quinn walked straight to the small cage, bolted to the floor in the center of the room. He never looked up or tried to shy away as he removed the shirt, and then the pants to Collins' surprise. He folded them neatly and turned towards Collins who had frozen in place.
“They wont let me keep these,” he said, placing the clothes in his hands, his eyes boldly meeting Collins' now, as if there was a measure of confidence necessary to strip naked in front of a man who, not 8 hours ago, saw him spread wide for all to see, “I don't know why you... just, thank you.”
With that, he turned and crawled gingerly into the cage. Collins clenched his jaw shut tight as he watched Quinn maneuver his body very carefully. He realized that the floor to the cage was made out of the grates they lay over the ramps in the winter. The ones with the teeth that grip the bottoms of your boots to keep you from slipping.
This was a torture in its own right; and explained the marks dug into his hips and shoulders that never seemed to quite fade.
He watched Quinn thread his fingers through the bars and close the door himself.
“You'll have to lock it.”
“Right,” Collins shook himself and knelt down, swallowing back the revulsion that was twisting up his throat as he secured the lock in place.
He stood and turned, walking out the door and immediately regretted not saying more. Not doing more.
He was a coward.
Taglist: @peachy-panic, @ladygwennn
#a little exposition from Collins side of things#whump#captive whump#captivity#reference to noncon#aftermath of noncon#caged whumpee#caged#torture#whumpee and caretaker#mentions of war
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How To Kill An Immortal
Chapter 1 — Taken
Word Count: 3,125
Contains: kidnapping, (potential) knife violence, asphyxiation,
next || masterlist
—> —> —> —> —> —>
Immortals.
Those with the unnatural ability to surpass the regular limits of the human body, able to endure even the most lethal of wounds, able to heal from injuries with an uncanny speed, fall under this title.
But it wasn't as if they were particularly sought after. Unlike other, more mythical beings that plagued the world, they were treated normally. Hell, if one were to pass an Immortal in the street, they'd look like any normal passerby. Just a regular person, unless one would happen to witness their healing process or uncanny ability to walk off lethal injuries themselves.
Not to Foster Canavan, though.
The mere concept of Immortals existing unsettled them in a way. The fact a normal person, anyone, could possess such an ability naturally didn't seem right to them. Just like every other thing that wasn't quite like what they deemed as 'normal' in this world. It wasn't as if they wanted the ability to be Immortal, no, if anything they despised the things. After what one did to their own damned fucking parents, they could hardly stand the thought of being in a room with an Immortal. They weren't human in their eyes, no matter how hard anyone tried to convince them otherwise. And they'll never be human, no matter how human they look or act.
So when they realised an Immortal would be lurking amongst Durham for a while, they were determined to get rid of the vile thing themself.
There was only one problem, however: Foster had no bloody clue where to actually find the Immortal. The only reason they'd even become aware of the thing's existence was after they'd seen him walking down the street. They recognized almost immediately after that it was an Immortal — the vibrant, almost inhuman, green hue of its eyes and the darkened infinity symbol mark on his palms gave it away. They didn't know the Immortal's name, nor where it lived, where it was born, etcetera. And, quite frankly, they didn't give a shit. They just wanted to get the damned thing off the streets.
Prowling up and down the street they'd last seen the creature, Foster hid in the shadows of their hood. Although they weren't hiding from anybody in particular, it was a comfort to know that they wouldn't stand out too much. And despite the fact that they had an inkling of a doubt that the man would show up here again, they couldn't help but try anyway.
Lost in thought, eyes fixed onto the cracks in the pavement, they didn't notice a figure walking by until their shoulders collided. Snapping out of their trance, they looked up to the man they'd bumped into.
“I'm sorry,” Foster started, taking a moment as they mumbled the apology to assess the man's face. The stranger stood at around 5’7, they guessed, with ivory skin, brown hair and… green eyes.
Startlingly green. Almost unnaturally so.
Oh.
Successfully masking their expression of triumph, they kept their face neutral as the Immortal responded. Meanwhile, Foster clutched the small knife in their hoodie pocket even tighter. It may come in good use if he didn't come quietly.
“It’s okay. Wasn't your fault.” With a strong, Northern Irish accent, the damned creature replied casually. Shrugging, it turned to leave, before Foster's scarred hand grabbed a hold of his forearm.
“Aye, I've seen you somewhere. Yesterday.”
The Immortal raised an eyebrow, and Foster cursed themself as his expression turned to one of suspicion. “And what's making you stop me again?”
Crap. Thinking of an explanation, Foster tried to lengthen the time they had, even just by an inch. Then again, they doubted this excuse would be effective. “You.. erm, you look like an interesting guy?”
“Thank you?” The Immortal shuffled on the spot uncomfortably, gently prying its arm out of Foster's grasp. As the thing turned to leave again, much to the dismay of Foster, they realised they just had to get on with it and make their intentions known.
As soon as the tip of a knife, cold and dangerous, touched the back of his neck, the Immortal stopped in his tracks. Foster spoke again, “Listen ‘ere you little shit. You're gonna be coming with me, and you're gonna do everything I say. Otherwise, this—” They accentuated the word by pressing the pocket knife into the Immortal's skin, eliciting a whimper from the creature— “Is gonna end up three inches into your neck.” Foster grinned, though the expression was grim. “But I doubt it'll kill you.”
Foster relished in the fearful gaze meeting their own, the creature’s reaction priceless. “Huh—?”
“Come with me, Immortal.”
The Immortal begrudgingly nodded in response. His reluctance was evident. Foster's grin only widened, turning the Immortal around and beginning to lead him down the street. They shifted the position of the knife to a more subtle place, against the creature's lower back, digging the blade in if the vile thing moved too slowly. “Tell me your name.”
“Fuck you.”
Foster just pursed their lips, grip on the pocketknife tightening with their horribly disguised irritation. That was fine. They'd find out eventually. “How old are you?”
The Immortal hesitated, mumbling his response. His age wouldn't reveal too much, right? “Thirty.”
Foster frowned in suspicion. “You look too young to be thirty.”
A hint of a smirk involuntarily tugged at his lips, despite his situation. “Should I be flattered?”
The smaller mortal scowled. “Just keep fucking walkin’, Immortal.” They emphasised the last word as if it were an insult, pressing the blade of their knife further into Rayan's jacket until he fell silent and continued down the street. The road was quiet as dusk arrived, the only noise being the echo of their footsteps down the road.
The Immortal's fear was palpable, and Foster could practically taste it in the air. An icy, frigid feeling. It gladdened them to know that they were the one instilling this fear into such a ‘powerful’ creature.
With some time, Foster managed to track down where their parked car was, unceremoniously shoving open the car door and pushing the Immortal towards it; a silent command to get inside. They doubted they’d need to tie him up, given how compliant he was already.
But it did seem they overestimated him. Defiantly, he stood up again, standing quite a few inches taller than Foster. It was as if he was mocking them. “Look, I'll give you whatever you want. Money, or whatever,” the Immortal leaned closer, voice quivering, betraying his thin facade. The Immortal was terrified, but stood his ground, “I'm not getting in there.”
“I don't want money. Get in the car.”
“No, not until I—”
“Get in the car.”
“No—” his protest abruptly turned into a strained grunt as Foster's hand wrapped easily around his neck, and the mortal grinned at the quickening pulse under their palm. Lifting his hands to grasp their wrist, attempting to pry his captor’s hand off once realising he couldn't breathe. “Get off of me!” He rasped, sinking his chipped black nails into the flesh of their wrist, earning a pained grunt from the mortal.
The mortal scowled, an expression riddled with disgust, as they slid the knife back into their pocket to hold him down against the car door with their other hand. Squeezing tighter, they watched in sick, grim satisfaction as the creature's pleas turned into gasps and whimpers for air.
The Immortal’s pitiful noises soon subsided after a couple minutes, movements weakening when his consciousness began to slip. Foster watched, hardly fazed by the scene, instead squeezing tighter until, finally, Rayan was unconscious. They placed him down on the backseat, leaning over his unconscious form.
“Thank fuck,” They whispered, quickly checking nobody had watched the ordeal before grabbing the bundle of rope from the passenger seat. Roughly binding the Immortal's wrists and ankles together, they wasted no time in instead shoving him into the boot of the car. Just in case he woke up and decided to cause trouble.
—> —> —>
Foster had been driving for a good fifteen minutes now, lost in the winding roads outside of Durham. Thankfully, if the vile Immortal was even awake now in the first place, the thing in the boot was silent.
They pondered over what they could do now. Chaining the guy up in their basement is really the only option they have; they can't exactly kill him, can they? Foster lived alone, which they were infinitely thankful for, but they had to put into consideration that their neighbours might grow suspicious if they were to hear him. Scaring them into silence will have to suffice if they grow too curious.
With that thought, they pulled into the driveway of their house. It wasn't too much of a noticeable building, quite mundane compared to some of those around them. But they enjoyed the simplicity, the neatness. Boring to some, perfect to them.
Striding out of the car and to the boot, they hesitated. They were conflicted; they didn't want anybody witnessing them dragging a tied up, thirty-year-old man into their house, but then again they didn't want to risk leaving him unattended for too long. Foster didn't trust that the Immortal wouldn't try and escape once left alone.
They checked their phone. It was nearly midnight. They doubted anybody would be awake at the time, so Foster was sure they'd be fine.
Fuck it. What did they have to lose, anyway? Certainly not much. Gloved hand opening the boot of the car, they were amused to see the Immortal, bound and distressed, staring up at them with teary eyes. They almost felt bad for the vermin. Almost.
“Out you go,” Foster grunted, holstering the man up into their arms despite the height difference, slinging him over their shoulder and wasting no time in getting inside. They'd worry about closing the boot in a moment. Until the damned thing stopped squirming in their arms, they weren't going anywhere.
“Let go of me—!”
Foster ignored the pleas from the damned thing, throwing it inside before it could make even more noise and, most likely, alert anyone nearby. They smirked down at the Immortal as he squirmed on the floor of the hallway, attempting to at least stand up. Foster just pushed him back down with the heel of their boot, adding an uncomfortable amount of pressure that stopped his struggling entirely.
“Now,” Foster sighed, in almost a bored tone, “you are gonna stay right here whilst I lock the car. If you do so much as move an inch, I'll remove your ability to move entirely. And I don't mean by restraining you. Understood?”
The man nodded in silence, most likely too frightened to speak. Good.
With a small, amused chuckle at the sight of the Immortal's terror, Foster shut the front door once more. They didn't lock it, knowing that they'd scared the Immortal into compliance for a little while. They hastily locked the car and carried in the spare rope they had, returning to the doorway after a few moments. As expected, the Immortal remained in place.
Finally entering and locking the door, they set the rope aside and grabbed the Immortal by the back of his jacket, dragging him down a nearby staircase to their basement. It was only a place for storage, the only interesting assets being a couple cupboards and boxes of old things they wanted to keep, but it would suffice for now. They ignored the pained grunts and occasional thuds as the Immortal's restrained body was dragged down the staircase.
Swinging open the basement door, a loud creak splitting through the air as it swung on rusted hinges, the Immortal was thrown into the basement. A small grunt of pain followed the thud of his body hitting the frigid ground.
“Welcome home, Immortal.” Foster sneered, slamming the door shut.
—> —> —>
Rayan was freaking out, to be honest.
He had believed — how stupid he was to believe — that taking an evening walk would soothe his mind, at least temporarily. He had believed that the cool, crisp air was all that he needed. Just some time on his own, to ground himself and take in Durham when there wasn't activity buzzing around him. He'd been proved wrong.
And now, here he was: hands tied by uncomfortably tight rope, still fuzzy and disoriented from being choked until he was unconscious, locked in a pitch-black basement. He didn't even know who his captor was — didn't recognize the scarred, grinning face that had watched with glee as he struggled for air, and had happily dragged him down a flight of stairs and locked him in this… place.
He took a moment to attempt to look around, but all he saw was black. Lifting his hands, he hardly saw them in front of him. Great. From what little he'd seen before the door had closed, the room only held a couple boxes and dusty cabinets, none of which would be particularly useful unless one of them held an item which could assist him in escaping. But right now, he just needed to calm the fuck down.
He didn't like the dark. He didn't like not being able to see what's around him, what's behind him, and every little creak of the floorboards above him as his captor moved around upstairs made his skin crawl.
He shuffled back until he hit a wall, the sudden impact making his heart skip a beat. With something to assist him, he lifted himself to his feet. He didn't know why he decided this was a good idea — his ankles were bound together after all — but he did it anyway.
He suddenly stopped, glancing up as he heard footsteps. He had no doubt that his captor was returning, and he could only imagine what for. He sank to the floor again, trying to make it seem he wasn't trying anything, as the door creaked open again and he gazed, terrified, up at the silhouette of his captor.
“I bet you have a lot of questions,” They started as he was about to open his mouth, striding inside and dragging an object with them. A chair.
What would they need a chair for?
“And, to be frank, I'm not giving you any answers,” They placed the chair in the centre of the room, then walked back to the door. Flicking a switch on the wall, a single light bulb lit up the basement in a flickering yellow light. Rayan was, at least, thankful there was a light source in here in the first place.
His captor returned to him, crouching down to be level with him. They grabbed his wrists, tracing a thumb across the infinity symbol across his palm, etched into his flesh. “All you need to know is this: I know what you are, Immortal. And soon, I'm gonna figure out who you are.”
Leaving Rayan to figure out what this could imply, they made another trip back to the door. They turned back as Rayan finally had the courage to speak.
“You're.. not gonna kill me, right?” The question seemed almost childish to Rayan as soon as he uttered it, knowing that the answer was obvious. He couldn't die.
Hopefully.
“You and I both know I’d love to.” And with that, the buzzing light flickering off and plunging the Immortal into darkness, the door slid shut again.
—> —> —>
Rayan Cruz Hyacinth. Or, Cora Cruz Maguire — but that was his deadname, so Foster ignored that. Born in Dublin, Ireland, on the twenty-sixth of October, 1994. He had two siblings — Madison Maguire, around thirty-seven years of age, and Theo Maguire, twenty-five years of age. He had Perfect Immortality, whereas Madison had Imperfect Immortality and Theo was mortal. He was married to a man by the name of Vesker Faithern, and they have a child. Both of his own parents are deceased.
Interesting.
Foster shut down their laptop, letting the soft whirring of the fans inside diminish as they closed the top. They knew this sort of stuff was probably illegal, but technically all of this was. There was no going back now, and it wasn't like they had much to lose anyway if they did get caught.
Standing up out of their seat at the kitchen table, they relished the tranquillity of the silent house around them. It was as if there wasn't a man in the basement in the first place! They were glad that he wasn't making any noise. It would be unfortunate if he was causing trouble; they didn't want to use their bat too early on, after all.
Speaking of, they decided to check up on him before they went to bed. Just to make sure there was no chance he'd escape during the night.
They'd taken off their trainers after they brought the chair to the basement, so their footsteps were much quieter as they descended down the steps that led to the basement. Letting the door creak open, marking their arrival, they clicked the flickering light on again.
Rayan had found refuge in one of the empty corners of the basement, wide eyes red from crying. He looked up, shuddering in fear of the silhouette staring down at him with a cruel, mocking grin. “I see you've made yourself comfortable,” Foster stated, walking casually inside and crouching down to the Immortal man’s height.
Rayan scowled, a pathetic attempt at defiance. “As comfortable as I can get in here. It's cold.”
His captor just pouted sarcastically, grabbing the rope around his wrists and dragging him out of the corner. “Too bad.”
Rayan couldn't help but grunt, scrambling to his feet. He didn't want to be dragged across the dusty floor. Begrudgingly, he followed Foster as they led him to none other than the chair, pushing him down onto the cushioned seat.
“I'll have to remove the cushioning somehow in the future,” Foster mused, much to Rayan's dismay, as they picked up the bundle of rope from the nearby cabinet. “Stay still.”
The process was painful, but more so in the way it was awkward. The rope around his wrists and ankles were uncomfortably tight. It didn't seem to help how his captor was whistling a merry little tune during it, silencing his complaints with a hard glare.
Eventually, strapped to the chair, Foster stepped back to admire their handiwork. It.. wasn't the best, but it was good enough. “I'm sure you'll be comfortable enough. I hope you like the dark.”
“I- I really don't—”
“Too fucking bad.” They said cheerily, though through gritted teeth, as they turned on their heels and walked to the door. Flicking the basement light off, they glanced over their shoulder before they shut and locked the door.
“Sweet dreams, Rayan Hyacinth.”
—> —> —>
CHAPTER ONE OF HTKAI IM SO PROUD OF MYSELF!!!!! this was. actually longer than I expected. uh. anyhow! Vesker and his and Rayan's kid were created by my wonderful mutual @ash-1s-wr1t1ng, and he also originally created Theo!!!!!! I hope you enjoyed :3
How To Kill An Immortal Taglist: @kira-the-whump-enthusiast
#How To Kill An Immortal#rayan hyacinth#foster canavan#vesker faithern#tadhg faithern-hyacinth#madison osoro-maguire#theo maguire#immortal whumpee#whump series#whump writing#whump oc#oc whump#writing#defiant whumpee#whump community#whumpblr#captive whumpee#captivity whump#captive whump#whumpee#whumper#whump
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omg this shattered chapter is gonna be so long..................eep
#okay but I'M TRYING - THE WORDS JUST KEEP WORDING#spent so long trying to get out of a writers block and now my brain is giving me too many words??#boo hiss boo /j#shattered#vampire caretaker#bloodbag whumpee#captive whump#recovery fic
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Eden part six
Masterlist in my pinned
TW: Stockholm Syndrome, referenced drugging, referenced kidnapping, referenced noncon piercings, referenced transphobia, referenced Christianity, conditioned whumpee, creepy/intimate whumper, pet whumpee
Ezra's bedroom door creaked open, letting light in from the hallway. He stayed huddled under his blankets, warm and falsely secure.
It had been hours since he had laid down to rest, and he still didn't feel tired. Too many thoughts bothered him, repeating in circles and running themselves ragged.
"Ezra?" Christopher whispered. "Are you still awake?"
"Yes sir." Ezra didn't move. "What is it?"
"Oh, just a bit of insomnia." Christopher hesitated. "Would you mind keeping me company for a while?"
"Not at all sir." Ezra tossed his blankets off and stood up, giving Christopher his best smile.
He followed Christopher back to his own bedroom, finding it nearly as simple as his own.
A large bed covered in blue blankets sat with its headboard against the far wall, a nightstand on its left. A beechwood wardrobe and reclining chair stood against the right hand wall.
From the walls hung framed photos of people and art of plants. An essential oil dissfuser sat on the nightstand, releasing still more lavender into the air.
"I'll talk with you about whatever you like," Christopher offered, sitting on the edge of his bed.
Ezra sat down next to him. "Will you be angry with me if I'm honest sir?"
"I want you to be honest, but in a respectful manner. I would never be angry with you my darling Ezra."
"I'm homesick sir," Ezra blurted out. "I miss my family. I know I shouldn't, but I can't help it."
"Dear Ezra," Christopher said gently, "you have not spoken to any of your relatives in over two years. Why the sudden change of heart?"
"I just didn't realize what I was missing sir. I'd give anything to see them again."
"Why do you think they still want you?"
"I-" Ezra floundered.
Why would they still want him? Their prodigal son, so uncaring as to abandon them for years.
"And even if they did," Christopher continued gently. "Do you really want to play the good Christian girl, wearing a pretty white dress to Sunday morning services? Or maybe you would like to be a punchline of family members who find attack helicopter jokes funny?"
"No, I-"
"Or," Christopher interupted, "have you forgotten why you found the courage to leave in the first place?"
Ezra burst into tears.
"Oh, I didn't mean to upset you so."
Christopher hugged Ezra, drawing him onto his lap. Ezra buried his face in Christopher's cotton night shirt.
"I love you," Christopher continued. "I just don't want to see you hurt."
"I had forgotten sir." Ezra wiped tears from his eyes. "But there are other things. Other people. I want to go home so badly."
"So you can do what? Work an abusive retail job? Room with people who disrespect your very existence? Watch the twenty four hour news cycle and doomscroll instead of sleeping? Starve yourself just to see if anyone will care, and become all the more depressed when they never do? I can't fathom you missing all of that."
Ezra couldn't help but think that Christopher was right.
His customers screamed at him daily, frequently reducing him to tears which he was the further harassed by management for. But Christopher never raised his voice.
His roommates wouldn't notice him missing until rent was due. Harry was a stoner who stashed his weed in the couch. And Shelly was an idiot who thought herself the nicest person ever born.
Christopher, on the other hand, had done so much to show Ezra his love. He cooked him good food, kept him safe, and reminded him of how loved he finally was, never expected any sort of repayment.
In his regular life people called Ezra a trannie mutt, not viewing him as worthy of respect, or even fully human. Christopher called him dear and darling and favorite.
No one ever touched him. He hadn't been so much as hugged in months, or had it been years? But not with Christopher, who constantly showed Ezra unbridled affection despite his sour attitude.
Other than being drugged and kidnapped, Ezra couldn't find anything wrong with his situation. Even the piercings had been a measured disciplinary reaction, not violent or sadistic.
Why couldn't he just be grateful?
Ezra clung to Christopher, needing his embrace as he needed air. Tears wetted Christopher's night clothes, but he cared not.
"I love you," Ezra sobbed. "More than anything. Please sir, don't leave me."
"And I love you." Christopher ran his fingers through Ezra's curly hair. "I won't ever let you go. You're mine, forever and always."
"Can I sleep with you tonight?" Ezra asked, before regretting his phrasing. "I'm sorry sir, nothing like that. I'm just lonely."
"Of course you may. I would like nothing more."
Christopher gently nudged Ezra off his lap, and pulled back the blankets. Ezra laid facing away from him so they could cuddle nicely.
Christopher covered them both in the warm fuzzy blankets. He wrapped his arms around his pet, pressing their bodies closely together.
A sense of true comfort and safety overcame Ezra. And for the first time since waking up in Christopher's living room, he didn't feel trapped.
Taglist: @devourerofcheesecake @elim-flower @thedarkmongoose @whumpsday @whump-by-robin @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @annablogsposts @whumpshaped @seetheothersideofparadise @knittedeyebrowsandcardigans @whatwasmyprevioususername If you want to be added to or removed from the taglist, tell me ♡♡♡
#Whump#Whumpblr#Writing#Writblr#Eden#Pet whumpee#Creepy/intimate whumper#stockhom syndrome#Stockholm Syndrome whump#Conditioned whumpee#Captive whump
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C&M - Gotcha Day
"I w-want to go hhhome..."
"I know, Danny." Marcus murmured, stroking the other man's overgrown hair as he laid his head in Marcus' lap. Fish sat purring in Danny's arms as he pet her soft fur. A pet petting a pet.
It's been a year. Ciaran hasn't shut up about it, either, happily announcing the days counting down. Marcus was surprised to learn that he'd kept track at all, but Ciaran relished in making Danny pretend to be happy about it. Thankfully, he stepped out for a while and Marcus gave Danny permission to drop the mask.
"I mmiss my mom..."
"I know, Danny."
"C-can I c-all her?" Danny looked up at him with watery eyes. The hand on his head hesitated.
"Not now. Ciaran will be back soon, but we'll have you call her soon."
"Y-yes, Sir..." He sniffed, turning his face away again.
As if on cue, the door swung open. Danny sat up quickly, wiping tears from his eyes.
"Happy 'Gotcha Day,' mouse!" Ciaran exclaimed. "I've got some fun things planned for today, but for now just open this. It's for you~"
He held out a small, wrapped box, eagerly awaiting for Danny to take it. Ciaran's excitement was... uncomfortable. Obviously it was going to be terrible, right?
Danny hesitantly opened the box to find... a picture of the sun? He looked at Ciaran with a perplexed face.
"You get to watch the sunrise!" He cheered. Danny's eyes grew wide at the thought of it. Sun. For the first time in a year, he could see the sun. He'd been begging for just a second outside and neither of the vampires had budged on their 'no's.
"R-really?" He gasped. Ciaran nodded happily. Danny looked over to Marcus to see a slight softness to his usually harsh expression. No tricks. Who cares why Ciaran's so happy, what else he's planning to make the day horrible.
"Thank you, Master!"
Taglist (pls let me know if i missed anyone!) - @whumpsday @pumpkin-spice-whump @ramadiiiisme @octopus-reactivated @wolfeyedwitch @thecyrulik @whumpeedeedoo @morning-star-whump @interdimensional-chaos @annablogsposts @oddsconvert @melancholy-in-the-morning @paranoiaxagent @melennuii @darlingwhump @no-terms-and-conditions-apply @whumpycries @whumpcreations @whumpshaped @astrowhump
#im still on hiatus i think but have this#ciaran will let danny have one(1) nice day#'as if on cue' as if i didnt literally write to happen in that exact moment#whump#whump fic#cat and mouse#fluff#captive#drabble#whump drabble#emotional whump#captive whump#captivity whump#cat and mouse drabble#human whumpee#pet whump#kinda?
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Just remembered snippets of a dream where I was tied up, gagged, and having dirt dumped on my legs as I laid on the ground, watching a dude calmly dig the hole he was about to bury me alive in.
…. Dream me was very cooperative with him after that
#whump dream#whump inspiration#whump idea#captive whump#kidnapping whump#whump#there was uhm. other bits but. that one sticks out
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Can we pretty please get a part 3 to the abandoned whumpee story pleeeeease????
(Only if you want to though!!)
Yes yes you may ^^ Edit: I had no idea how much fun it is letting personalities of a cocky whumper and whumpee clash
[Previous] - [Masterlist] - [Next]
CW: Defiant whumpee, taken captive, whumper having to caretake, abandoned whumpee, manhandled, blood loss
Whumper held both of whumpee's arms trying to wrangle them still. They fought hard as whumper could barely keep them in their arms.
"Let go of me!" Whumpee shouted. Whumper motioned for their team as two grabbed whumpee and pried them apart.
"Be gentle with them; we're keeping this one alive." Whumper huffed, fixing their jacket.
"This is all that's left?" One of the team members asked.
"No, most of them got away. This is what was sacrificed." Whumper cupped whumpee's chin and tilted their head up.
"You're not understanding it was willingly." Whumpee retorted back.
"Willing or no, it looks like your team didn't feel you were worth fighting for." Whumper spoke lightly, thumbing their cheek. Whumpee winced and twisted their face out of whumper's hand. "Regardless, we're taking them back with us." Whumper announced.
The team all groaned in unison.
"Whhhyy, let's just kill them and get it over with! What if they run?" Someone argued.
"Then make sure they don't! Killing them now would be a waste, wouldn't it?" They turned around and gave whumpee a smile.
"How's that going to work for you?" Whumpee spat, squirming in the guards hold.
"You have information; intel I would love to have my hands on." Whumper's eyes trailed down and they noticed blood starting to soak through whumpee's clothing.
"And you think because they, -Oh what was it you said-... Abandoned me, that I would give them up? That I'll roll over and join you?" Whumpee retorted. "That won't happen. It'll never happe-
"Stop. Shh sh sh sh, stop arguing with me, you're making yourself bleed out. Easy now." Whumper folded a cloth and pressed it against the blood as whumpee gasped in shock.
"We've stalled enough. Let's get you home before you bleed to death. And whumpee dear," Whumper tethered the bandage to their side and gripped their shoulder.
"I would never abandon you. Unlike someone we all know..." They fluttered their fingers.
"I'd actually rather you would." Whumpee cocked their head to the side.
"No you rather wouldn't." Whumper's eyes flicked up. "You're stranded far from help, I presume your team -that left you behind- also took the transportation you came in on, so you would wander around until you start suffering from blood loss until you crawled around in vain. Then, you get to be the sacrifice you always wanted to be."
Whumper bent on their knees to whumpee's level with a smug smile waiting for their bite back.
Whumpee's face was blank. They didn't have one.
"Mmm. .... That's what I thought. Now, let's go home, shall we?"
[Previous] - [Masterlist] - [Next]
#I really didn't think I would continue this any further#but#BUT#Their dynamic is so much fun#whump#whumpee#whumper#captive whump#caring whumper#abandoned whumpee#team whump#whumper turned caretaker#blood loss whump#defiant whumpee#soft whumper#controlling whumper#possessive whumper#Whump writing#whump drabble#captive whumpee
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Stubborn/Protective Caretaking Prompts
“Whumpee, where are those scars from?”
“You can take as long as you need, but I’m not leaving. Understand?”
“Leave them alone.”
“Don’t touch them!”
“Do you normally get nightmares like that?”
“I’ve never seen you act like that before…”
“I know how much this hurts, and i need you to understand that it’s okay to be affected by something like this, whumpee.”
“Crying has health benefits, i know, but I hate seeing you like this.”
“There was nothing you could have done to change your situation, don’t you understand that??”
“I don’t recognise you anymore.” “Well neither do i”
“You are never alone as long as I’m with you.”
“This is who i am now!” “Whumpee, it doesn’t have to be…” “but it is anyway!!”
“You can still be a good person whumpee, like you were before.” “I will never be the same person I was before.”
“You know, we used to be inseparable. I miss the way we were.”
#whump prompts#captive whump#caretaker x whumpee#moreid#writing prompt#dialogue prompt#stubborn#protective caretaker#caretaker#whump aftermath#writing prompts#sad writing#angst prompts
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CW: Non-con touch (Nonsexual)
Whumper forces Whumpee to sleep in the same bed as them. Whumpee faces away from Whumper, moving as close to the edge of the bed as they can get, before slowly and tentatively letting themself fall alseep. However, Whumpee was always a cuddler at home, clinging to their partner as they both slept peacefully. So when Whumpee awakes, they startle at finding themself face to face with Whumper, a smug smile on their face. They panic even further when they realise their limbs are wrapped around Whumper, lovingly entwined like they used to be with their partner. They try to quickly pull away, but Whumper just chuckles and holds them close, whispering about how deep down Whumpee's brain knows what they truly want, and that's to be close to Whumper.
#whump#whumpdumps#whumpblr#whump scenario#whump prompt#captive whump#creepy whumper#intimate whumper
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Whumpee held captive in a cell and unconscious from the infected wound on their side. Whumper coming in and apathetically pouring alcohol/antiseptic on it. Whumpee screaming themselves awake, their body writhing from the agonizing pain.
OR
Whumpee slouched against a wall with a hand pressed to their wound, blood seeping through their fingers. Caretaker coming over with a rag, a bottle of antiseptic, and gauze. Apologizing to Whumpee but that it needs to be done. As the wound is disinfected, Whumpee throws their head back against the wall with a hoarse shout, losing consciousness as a single tear falls from beneath their lashes.
#whump#whumpee#whumper#whump scenario#whump scene#whump scenarios#whump prompts#pain#blood#bloodied hand#field medicine#injury treatment#caretaker#unconscious#captive whump#screaming#writhing#infection whump#infected wound#unconscious whumpee#my writing#whump community#I am alive#it’s been a while
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SBAK Drabble: Silence
SBAK Masterlist | Comfortember Masterlist | @comfortember
~ Comfortember | Day 12: Dreams ~
Content: Mentioned false accusations, mentioned murder, grief, begging, death threats, restraints, wounds/injuries, captivity, past loss of a loved one.
-
“Oh, Eli.”
Eli wailed, bruised knees aching as he kneeled in front of his mother. His throat felt constricted and his bottom lip trembled with every attempt he made to decrease the volume and intensity of his sobs. Nothing worked.
“I’ve got you,” she continued to try and soothe him. As he let the side of his face come to rest in her lap, she trailed her fingers through his grimy hair and allowed him to cry into the fabric of her skirt. “I love you so much, my dear.”
“I just want to be with you,” he weeped. “I’m so tired of- of living in a world where everybody thinks I’m the reason you’re gone. I’m trapped in the hands of the person who really did it and nobody fucking cares enough to even come looking!”
He squeezed his eyes shut as she swiped her thumb across the bottoms of his eyes. “I know. It’s not fair, is it?”
“It’s not fair,” he repeated in between hiccups, his way of agreeing without saying the words. “Not fair…”
Desperate to spend as much time with her as possible, Eli clung onto her waist as tightly as he could, sucking in sharp breaths as the throbbing ache caused by the restraints holding his real, sleeping body still made its way up towards his neck. Despite them not being there in his dream, the pain was still present. He never got a break from it, and that was sometimes the worst part about his captivity.
“I miss you so much, Mamma.”
“I’m right here,” she murmured in response. Her touch hadn’t felt this real in a long time, soft fingers gliding back and forth across his cheek as his tears continued. It gave him hope that she really was watching over him, even if he couldn’t always see her.
The boy jolted awake at the sound of a harsh kick to the door of his room. He let out a sharp noise as the movement jostled the barbed wire poking into him, but didn’t say a word in hopes that he’d be left alone.
“Shut the fuck up,” Lucas ordered from the other side. The sound of his voice caused Eli to wince. “If I hear another noise coming from this room, I swear to God I will beat you to death.”
He didn’t mean it. Eli had taken his word for it on occasions, doing things he knew would piss Lucas off enough to do his worst, but it always just resulted in an unnecessary amount of pain for days. Never an escape. Not when his captor knew that’s exactly what he wanted.
As soon as he heard Lucas’ footsteps getting quieter, he allowed himself to silently cry all over again.
Oh, Mamma, please help me. I can’t do this anymore.
Unlike a few minutes before, his silent pleas were met with just that. Silence.
-
SBAK Taglist: @kiss1t0ffm3 @latenightcupsofcoffee @make-it-gay-please @nyooom @pigeonwhumps @pixelated-whump @strawberry-whump @topsheepstudent @whumped4whumplover @whumpsday @whumpshaped
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