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whumpitisthen · 28 days

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I don't know if you take a request!

But, can you write about Whumpee with Stockholm Syndrome who went back to Whumper after finally escaped for a month?

I take requests yes but you must know it takes me four years to come up with a single draft for anything so be prepared to wait an indefinite amount of time!! I tried to keep it short and idk if ive succeeded!! Here you go!!

No Longer a Lie

Their goodbye was the same as a soldier’s going off to war. He may never return, and even if he does, he would return a different man. A sombre, yet loving valediction.

Her smile is watery and proud. The kind, thoughtful, caring old lady that found him that day and took him in believes that he is going home today. He had told her his parents have finally arranged everything ready for him to return. He had explained that they didn't expect him to suddenly show up in their life after so many years again, that they lived abroad and needed time to get his papers in order, that they cannot wait to see him again. She believes he is going to heal and find himself, and be safe under the care of his family.

He was lying. He doesn't have a family. He had lied to this sweet, innocent lady so she would not try to stop him from what he is about to do. She thinks she saved him, and that he is going home. To some extent, that is true.

She packed him a backpack full of snacks, spare clothes, even some money. She bought him new clothes to wear. She walked him to the train station, though her rickety hips barely allowed her to stay standing long enough. She watched him get on the train and waved at him all the way up until they could no longer see each other through the window as the platform grew further and further away.

He only cried once he was sure she could not see.

He retraces every step he took a month prior to this day. He minds the gap, turns every corner. He recognises a flower shop in the suburbs. The large, tilted tree in the park. A large graffiti under the cement bridge is his next sign that he is going the right direction.

Soon, the houses become overwhelmingly familiar. A few more blocks, and he will be there. His legs ache, the new, cheap shoes he got from her rub at his heels with every step, bloodying the rough fabric. He could not stop his journey if he wanted. He feels his very heart dragging him along on a leash, back to where he left a month ago, back to where he escaped.

There it is. A secluded house at the edge of town, fenced off with barbed wire and kept in perfect condition. His soles burn, but his pace only quickens. He knows those chain links. He knows those barred windows. He knows that godforsaken garage door. He is home. He made it.

Oh, she would have never let him go if he told her that he considered this prison his home.

Reaching the outer gate, the intimate feeling of fear choking him arises like an old friend. The last time he saw this place from the outside he only got to for a moment in his haste. A glance over his shoulder in the middle of the night, and then he was gone like a ghost. He wonders what all has changed. He doubts anything has.

He hesitates. They will be angry at him, he's sure. So, so angry. He left without warning, without saying anything. To think he thought he could leave without repercussions instead of owning up to his mistake and suffering the consequences. Now, here he is thirty days later, crawling back on trembling legs, in strange clothing and some fat under his skin to beg for forgiveness. He is the most ungrateful, pathetic creature he can imagine. He's sure he will be told as much once the door opens.

He steels himself and presses the bell. It goes off twice in quick succession thanks to his twitchy fingers. He cannot tell if the overwhelming nerves strangling him are of worry or excitement.

He has been away for too long, trying to function in a place he is no longer meant for. He craves this hell like one would their heaven. He knows it's wrong, he knows he could leave right now and go back to the old lady that took care of him like her own son and he could relearn how to be a person and it would all be okay. He rationalises that it's far too late for that.

The ten seconds that pass in silence after the bell chimes are agony spreading over an eternity. His fingers cramp with how fiercely he fists them to his palm. Eventually, however, the entrance opens, and out steps the devil himself.

He stops on the porch, pausing to make sure his eyes aren't playing tricks on him, but he then quickly crosses the distance between the two of them to jerk the gate open and embrace him before his lost darling could even rant off his apology that he has been writing in his head ever since he first took a step outside of this house.

They stand in silence for a long minute.

This moment feels absolutely perfect. Better than he ever expected it to feel; just the most idyllic scene that goes exactly as he had dreamed it would. The hug feels better than he had imagined, so warm and tight and all-encompassing. His red nose finds its way into the crook of the man's neck, nestling in there. He breathes in deep, taking in the smell of comfort, of the wonderfully known and expected; the familiarity.

“I’ve told you so many times. You do not belong out there anymore.”

In reality, what he had experienced with his freedom was not joy, but layers upon layers of anxiety. Everything was new, everything was unusual, everything was terrifying. What he had grown so used to during his years in this house he threw away in blind greed, wanting more from life than the perfect world his owner had made for him.

At first the freedom was elating. Long forgotten concepts like privacy and control had returned and excited him. But then his new circumstances became tiring. One or two core differences became dozens of alien rules he had to rememorise. Then came shame at experiencing such trouble with something that is meant to be no issue at all for anyone; anyone but him. Normal people don't expect perfect obedience in return for tolerance. Normal people don't have to ask for permission to eat when a plate is put in front of them. Normal people don't have to keep their owners content. Normal people aren't scared of their owners. Normal people don't have owners. These are all things he had to get used to, among the sea of other more obscure examples.

The final straw was his curse of worthlessness. He felt he did not deserve any of this. He ran away. He broke so many rules. He was having awful trouble with his new rules. He was ungrateful. And yet, the old lady only showed kindness and care. No punishments, no threats, not even any mocking or insults. Just relentless, angelic forgiveness. She would not hurt him even when he offered, even when he had asked. He could not handle this; he felt like he was going to go insane with guilt.

His owner had told him this countless times, but only now does he truly understand what he had meant, — the complicated, scary life of a free person just isn't suited for him. Not anymore. He is different. He cannot be left alone for long. He cannot function without clear cut rules, routine or punishments. He doesn't think like everyone else. Above everything, what was killing him every day the most was yearning for his owner. He needs his owner. He cannot be away from him, he depends on him too much. He missed him every day, feeling dumber and dumber each day for being so cowardly.

But now, now he is here again, in his owner's capable hands. Everything will make sense again, all his mistakes will be fixed and he can spend the rest of his life atoning for his naïve stupidity. He will take being locked up in this birdcage for the rest of his life. He will take the sharp, unending burn of punishments each time he slips up. He will take it all without a word if that's what his owner wants. He missed him more than should be possible. He cries. He is so happy.

His relief is crushed as soon as the door locks behind him, and he is once again all alone with the man. His freshly washed hair is grabbed and he is dragged all the way down to the source of all of his nightmares, sent to the floor viciously. His crying turns desperate. He is barely left time to gasp out a plea before he is grabbed again and tied up much too tightly, rope burning over old, thick scarring along his wrists. His cries are muffled with a gag, and his tears are soaked up with a blindfold.

He becomes inconsolable then. He knew this would happen, he knew he would be punished, he knows he deserves it — but this is all too sudden, juxtaposed horribly by the tenderness of that hug that he waited a month for and needed more than he ever realised. Now it's like his owner is a different man, mercilessly restraining him and not saying a word, just like when he is truly furious. He didn't seem angry at all before. His owner seemed as relieved as he did.

He can tell he is dropped off in the middle of the basement by how cold it is and how his skin catches on the drain under him. He is pulled to kneel, and while he tries his best to obey every wordless order, his limbs have become useless jelly, flowing in all the wrong directions.

The punishment is severe. So severe that he is certain he won't survive it. The first to break are his legs. He might not ever be able to walk again, much less run away from consequences. His arms are wrenched behind and up until his shoulders pop, rendering all his limbs useless. They are left there like that, hanging off him like parasites that feed on his agony. He is beaten with something heavy, made of iron. That breaks several more bones, his ribs mostly. His screams start dying down then, not for a lack of trying. The gag muffles every apology he sobs into it, ensuring he will only be able to say sorry once his owner has decided he is truly sorry.

He is reduced to a bag of flesh to be abused. He cannot fight any of it, he cannot see any of it and he cannot stop any of it. He has never felt so much like an object before in his life, not with the old lady, not prior escaping, not prior to being caught. Still, he never even thinks about regretting coming back. He never holds anything against his master, he never holds a grudge or resentment. He deserves this for disobeying him, and his owner deserves his pain as compensation. He deserves this, he deserves this, please, please let him say he deserves all of it and see how he regrets running. He needs to say it, he needs this to end, he wants nothing more than to grovel at the man's feet and sob over and over how worthless he is and how he will never ever try anything like this again.

The only way this can end is if he is forgiven, but he cannot be forgiven until he has apologised.

The blindfold is never removed, not like his bindings and the gag. This distresses him greatly even as he is cuddled in his owner's arms once again, exhausted. The blindfold only ever comes out for the worst of his mistakes. When his master is angry with him. When a simple slap or two or a couple days without food isn't enough. The fact that it is still on even hours after he was finally allowed to beg for forgiveness — he just cannot relax. He supposes that's probably the reason why it's still on. He can’t just forget about what he did so easily with one round of torment. He hopes it will be taken off soon, but at the same time, he has no hope for it coming off in the coming days.

He doesn't even know if he has suffered enough yet. This small thing could very well signal that he will be atoning for this transgression for up to another month; just as long as he had spent away from here. The thought terrifies him enough to sob brokenly into his owner's chest, huddled up against him as he is. He’s rewarded with a light pet. He whispers a thank you.

The man pauses at that, causing his body to tense in preparation of more pain. Wonderfully, however, all that comes is more gentleness, a hand that has hurt him so many times now digging down to the roots of his hair and scratching in a pleasant rhythm. He has never been more thankful. The smallest of kindnesses from his owner are enough for him to forget all about the month of constant mercy from the old lady that took care of him unconditionally. Something must be wrong with him. He doesn't think about that for too long.

“I am so glad you came back,” — his master murmurs.

No one loves him like his master loves him. The old lady… was stupid. She was an idiot. Who would take in a stranger off the street, half-dead, and spoil him like she did? That's moronic. Her kindness — it doesn't matter. Any grain of sweetness from this man means more than a whole year of hers. He loves him. She was just a dumb old lady.

He feels awful for thinking this. His brain is at battle with his heart, trying to convince himself that this is what he is meant to be, that this is right, while feeling a dark emptiness building in his lungs.

Later, once his body is no longer useless and he can do as he is told, he does so. When he is told to clean, he cleans. When he is told to stay still, he stays still. When he is told to hold his breath, he holds his breath. Neither of them mention it. His owner doesn't tease him for falling back into old habits so soon. He doesn't even think to resist or think for himself. This is their norm. Nothing out of the ordinary. How it is supposed to be. Every night, he tells himself he is happy and loved. He feels his owner's arms around him, holding him close, pushing on his dark, painful bruises and he thanks him for allowing him to stay. His master tells him he loves him, and he smiles, saying the same thing.

And he means it.

Masterlist | Ko-fi

Taglist: @morning-star-whump @whumprince

#whump #my writing #asks #anon #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #whump writing #sadistic whumper #fear #stockholm syndrome #failed escape #broken bones #begging #blindfolded #restrained #beating #recapture #captivity whump

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jasmines-library · 6 months

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People are Strange

WHUMPTOBER DAY 25: prompt: “Hunted down/failed escape”

Fandom: The Lost Boys

Summary: Whilst on a hunt for a meal, you come across what appears to be the perfect victims, however things go downhill quickly when you realise that they are hunters and you are their prey. And when you try to run, you realise you have a bigger problem that would leave you trapped in the woods with no where to go: The sun is rising quickly…

Warnings: Failed Escape, torture? (Stakes and Holy water), some weird holy water drip thing?, blood, death.

Word count: 2.7k

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

It was unusually warm in Santa Carla for the time of year, which meant that the boardwalk was heaving. Although the leaves donning their usual golden hues, the chill that was carried through the air was absent. The night was busy and disorientating with swarm of people the bright lights flitting in and out of the shops. All of the extra people created extra noise and with your vampire senses you could smell each and every one of them like someone was playing them through a megaphone. There jangle of change being tossed around in a pocket, the sound of a zip being undone, a chesty cough, a string of laughter in between broken conversations. It was nauseating.

However it was your turn to lure in the night’s feed, so you were left with no choice but to begrudgingly stroll around the centre of activity. Dwayne had offered to give you company but you turned it down, telling him that you wanted to enjoy the scenery. Besides, your story would be more believable if there wasn’t a leather-clad motorcyclist hovering around you. You wandered along the boardwalk, swinging your arms by your sides and keeping your eyes peeled for someone who looked gullible enough to be drawn in. Perhaps an ignorant surf-nazi who only thought with his dick or someone of that sort.

The night was still young by the time you spotted him: tall and tan with a mop of dark, greasy hair, prancing around the boardwalk like he owned the place. He was with another man of a similar age, who donned a similar demeanour. You tailed the pair for a while, creeping around in their shadows as they went about their business. Their behaviour was what you would expect it be: brawny. And childish. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at their ignorance.

Slowly you began to grown impatient as they hung around the boardwalk. The sun would rise soon and if you weren’t home by then…

You shook the thought from your mind. You would be fine, you told yourself. Worst comes to worst you would just have to leave early and snag someone on the way home, but you didn’t like the mess and the fact that it made your hands sticky.

“You okay, Doll?” David asked through your mind link. You could practically picture him in your mind, just from his tone of voice. He would be sat on his wheelchair with a cigarette lit between his fingers. Most likely weed. And his right leg would be crossed over his left as he lounged, pretending that the fact that you weren’t home yet wasn’t nothing him when really it was all he could think about.

“Fine.” You replied. “It’s just taking longer than usual. I’ll be back before sunrise I promise.”

The two boys you had been following were slowly teetering towards the edge of the boardwalk, inching away from the crowds and down the steps to the beach. You swerved through the crowds to trail behind them. When they reached a secluded area under the pier, they stopped and you darted behind one of the pillars.

“We know you’re there, bloodsucker. Are you going to come out or are you just going to stand there and watch?”

Had your heart still been beating, it would have stopped dead in your chest. How long had they known? You stepped out into the light, you face contorted into that vampire look: golden eyes and bared teeth.

The man spat at you. “You think that’s gonna work?”

Someone grabbed you roughly from behind, wrapping an icy claw around your forearm. You let out an animalistic growl, breaking away from his grasp with your vampiric strength. You lunged forwards to try and take one of them down. You had faced worse odds before, but one of them was clutching a vial of holy water which he flicked at you. Your skin sizzled and you howled as it melted your skin.

Snarling, you turned and fled, slipping away from the hunters, but they weren’t far behind. They were smart. You could see the sliver of blue emerging on the skyline as the sun began to rise. The hunters had been stalling to try and trap you under the sunlight. And for a heart wrenching moment, it looked like it was working.

So you ran.

Feet slapping against the ground and scuffing against the protruding roots and the sleeves of your jacket snagged against the trees and thorns, tearing at the hand sewn patches on your jacket. You knew it would bother you later; you had sewn them on with Marko, but right now you didn’t care. They were hot on your heels and you had to get away.

The hunters were gaining on you, trailing behind you as you fled towards the cave, trying to use the woodland as shelter from the rising sun.

You could feel the way that the sun was affecting you. It made your eyes droop and your body feel like it weighed a thousand times more than it should have done as you moved. Perhaps it was the reason that your movements had began to grow sluggish.

“David?” You implored, racing towards safety. You weren’t sure if you were going to get there before the golden flecks of sunlight rose complete above the ocean to cast a soft glow on the shimmering water.

“Doll? Where are you?” It wasn’t David that replied. No, this voice was too openly concerned.

“Hunters.” You panted. “They knew I was following them. I’m on my way but I- they’re going to get me. I’m not going to make it back…”

“What?!” This time it was David. He growled the word through gritted teeth.

“Babe? You need to keep going. Where are you?” Dwayne urged.

“I’m on the bluff…the woods… I can’t go any further…” the sunlight assaulted your eyes as you stumbled to a stop at the edge of the trees, trapped by the light under the shelter of the leaves. You clung to the trunk.

“Come on, baby. You’re so close. You have to keep going.” Paul? You weren’t sure anymore, your head was too foggy and all you could focus on was that big ball of fiery light that shone. It was ironic really. You had forgotten how beautiful it could be in your many years of slinking away from it. But you couldn’t revel in its beauty as you collapsed to your knees, unable to withstand the affects of its spell.

“I can’t…”you muttered. The hunters approached quickly. “It’s already too late…”

There was a choral cry of your name.

“I’m sorry…”

The only thing you could register when you awoke was pain. Raw and fiery as the holy water sizzled on your skin like oil in a pan. You screamed, body bucking against the pain.

“Be quiet.” Someone hissed at you, emptying the rest of their flask on your skin. You muffled a cry by sinking your fangs into your lip, they drew blood.

You weren’t sure where you were. Or what time it was for that matter. You knew from the light that shone through the window that it was still day. You edged away from the light, as far as the beam you were tied to would let you. You knew that as the sun moved, you would eventually be caught in its light.

“What do you want from me?” You wailed.

The man grinned, screwing the cap back onto the empty flask before throwing it over his shoulder. It clattered against the floor. “Don’t worry. We’re not gonna kill you.”

“Yet.” The other interjected. He was leaning up against the wall sharpening a stake.

“You’re just the bait. We’re just gonna make sure to hurt you nice and slow, just until the rest of the bloodsuckers arrive. Then, I’m going to drive that stake right through your heart.”

“You’re a dead man.” You told him.

David and the boys would be on their way soon. You knew it. As soon as the moon replaced the sun they would be on their way. You had tried to reach out to them through the link, but nothing came up but static. They had retreated to the back of the cave to sleep, sheltered from the cruel sun. What you should have been doing, but you just had to make sure you got a good catch, didn’t you?

“We’ll see.” The Hunter tilted his head as he floated towards an old IV stand. He fiddled with the bag filled with clear liquid. It was connected to a thin wire in that led to a small needle. Noticing your curiosity, he flicked the head of the cylinder to remove the bubbles and flicked the switch the start the flow of the liquid before moving toward you. “Holy water.”

You chucked. They were going to try and cure you. “That’s not going to work, dipshit.”

He just shrugged, inserting the needle into the crook of your arm. “Maybe not. But it’ll hurt like a bitch.”

He was right. You held back a scream as the liquid began to trickle into your veins.

“Go fuck yourself.” You gritted out.

“Sit tight, little vampire.”

Dwayne couldn’t sleep. He had tried to, but your words swirled around his brain like a disease.

‘I can’t. It’s too late…I’m sorry’

Then there was that fateful silence that gripped his heart tightly and squeezed, tearing at the strings. His brothers had retreated to the cave, deciding that they needed to gain their strength to leave at sunset. But Dwayne was wide awake. It wasn’t unusual for him to be up at this hour of the day. He often chose to revel in the peace and quiet and curl up with a book, but this time he just sat, bouncing his leg up and down.

Dwayne wasn’t sure what was worse. Not being able to feel you, or only being able to feel your agony. Because that was the decision he was faced with when you woke up. He had tried to reach out to you, and could feel you probing around in the link, but your mind wasn’t focused enough to get anywhere.

“Dwayne? Come on man, you’re stinking the place out. Go back to bed.” Marko peered around the corner bleary eyed from sleep. He had shed his patchwork jacket and was wandering round barefoot. He didn’t like the absence of your bodies in the cave, they left an empty, cold hole, but it was your discomfort that forced him to make the move. He knew that his brother would still be in the same spot he was when they left, wallowing in your pain. He couldn’t bare to leave him like that.

“Sorry.”

“She’ll be okay. She’s tough.”

“It’s just…” Dwayne threw his hands up. “I offered to go with her. I should have insisted…”

“Stop that.” Marko almost snapped. “Come on. You haven’t fed and we’re all going to need out strength. It looks like we’re having Hunter for breakfast.”

~~~

You couldn’t take it anymore. The pain had begun to become unbearable as it seemed to burn you from the inside out. It was an agony you had never felt before. And you had lived a long time. No matter how much you writhed, there was no release from the pain and the needle wouldn’t budge.

The two hunters hadn’t returned, but you could smell them nearby. They reaked of fear. You hadn’t given much thought to how you would die, but you never thought you would go out this way. Left alone to suffer a painful death in an unknown building, surrounded by nothing but your own screams.

Unsure of exactly how much time had passed, as your body began to grow numb and your screams faded to whimpers, you watched as the light coming from the windows shrunk. They would be coming soon. You told yourself. Just a little longer. But you were beginning to lose hope as your body withered away. And then you heard it. A faint tickle in the back of your mind.

“Y/n…”

“Hmm?”

“Stay with us doll, we’re on our way.”

“Can’t...”

David knew that. He could feel your silent cries for help.

“You have to try, Doll.”

“M’kay”

Suddenly, they felt a rise of panic bubble up within you.

“Y/n?”

You heard him and could sense them drawing nearer, but couldn’t compel your body to reply. The hunters had returned again.

One of them raised the stake he had been sharpening. “It’s showtime.”

As the door flew open and two of the blonds emerged with angry eyes and sharp teeth in full display, he raised the stake, hovering it over your heart.

“Ah ah.” He chided. “Not a step closer.”

“Get away from her.” Paul growled, observing your state. Your head hung to the side, permanently contorted into a look of pain. You eyes were squeezed shut and you mouth was agape. He saw the IV buried deep in your arm, following it to the half-empty bag. He took in the way your whole body trembled uncontrollably as you fought to keep yourself awake. You were dying. For the second time.

“I don’t think you’re in the position to be making demands here.” He pressed the stake harder against your skin and the scent of your blood began to fill the air. But it was off. “See, right now we have holy water pumping through her pretty veins, burning her insides out slowly. If you do what we say, then it stops. And we’ll allow her to heal. If you don’t? Then bye bye baby.”

Paul and Marko gave each other an unspoken glance.

Marko gestured to you. “You back away from her first. Until then we’re not doing shit.”

With a brief nod, they backed away, ripping the needle from your arm, but keeping the stake poised.

“Better.”

“Now. Where are the other two?”

“Right fucking behind you, halfwit.” David grabbed the man from behind, tearing a chunk out of his neck before throwing him unceremoniously to the dusty ground. That was when Paul and Marko surged forward, wrapping their hands and tearing away at the others skin mercilessly.

Dwayne was crouching next to you, running his hands over your skin, it was oddly warm, which concerned the vampire and caused him to knit his brows together in concern. You whimpered at the contact.

“Babe?”

You squinted at him, using your energy to try and lift your head. You made out his dark hair.

“Dwayne?” You slurred “ s’you?”

“Yeah. It’s us. We’re here.”

You hummed, but it didn’t really mean anything. Your mind was beginning to lose control over your body- your world was now just a blur of pain as Dwayne disappeared momentarily.

Then the familiar coolness of David’s leather gloves against your chin as he angled it upwards. His lips moved but you didn’t understand what he was saying. And then there was hot, sticky blood trickling from your lips. It gave you strength, but did little to ease the pain.

“Y/n?” David’s voice broke through.

“Hurts.” It was the only thing you knew at that moment. So it was the first word you mustered up.

“I know doll. I know. We’re gonna fix it I promise.”

He turned to his brothers and they all moved into position and soon the pain that circulated your body was replaced by four new ones as each of them sank their fangs into your skin and began to drink. The thought that the holy water in your blood probably hurt them crossed your mind, but they would do anything to save you. When your body began to grow woozy, something warm was forced into your mouth as you were encouraged to drink.

You took slow, but greedy sips as the liquid ran down your raw throat. The four of them watched you anxiously.

“Y/n?”

You pulled away, feeling much stronger than before. Still not 100%, but less like you were on the verge of death.

“I’m okay…”

There was a visible shift as they all relaxed to the ground. And then you were surrounded by four pairs of arms, who refused to let you go. You didn’t mind, choosing to cherish the moment, knowing that you would be around for a long time to come.

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

<- DAY 24 ⛤ DAY 26 ->

Taglist:

@senjoritanana

@deans-spinster-witch

@amaryllis23

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whumpsday · 11 months

Text

Kane & Jim (Anton & Graham) Drabble: Playing With Food

Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist

content: vampire whumper, failed escape attempt

some Anton & Graham shenanigans because i promised @t0rture-me a drabble of them forever ago :)

Chewtoy followed nervously behind Master as he was led outside, beyond the backyard, out to where Master's estate bordered the woods. He tried looking up, but he couldn't see the stars, the sky a dark blur without his long-gone glasses.

It was far from the first time Master took him out. But usually, he'd been taken to something. Some trip lasting more than a night where he'd need to be a portable meal, which wasn't so bad. Or far worse, used as a party trick. But Master was going out the back, and no one else was here. It sent chills down Chewtoy's spine: it was always worse when he didn't know what to expect, even though Master always liked that more.

Master stopped, spinning around with that grin Chewtoy always hated. "Okay, go."

"Go?" Chewtoy asked, wringing his hands together.

Master gestured out into the darkness. "Run. Scurry off. This is your big chance." The mocking smile didn't leave his face.

"And then... I'll be hurt, Master?" Chewtoy guessed, shivering in the just-a-tad-too-cold air.

"Eh, depends how I'm feeling." Master leaned back against the fence. "What, you like being mine so much you won't even try? Guess you're the perfect pick. You were meant for this."

Chewtoy struggled to keep up with what was happening. Master was fond of mind games, but then again... this was a chance. He was outside, being let go.

"I'll give you a fifteen-minute head start," Master enticed. "Go."

Chewtoy bolted.

He'd never been much of an athlete, and he was even less of one now, even his meager walks from his apartment to campus eliminated from his daily routine. It didn't take much medical knowledge for him to guess he was chronically anemic now, on top of that.

Still, he ran, blindly into the darkness. He didn't care what direction he went, toward human territory or not, so long as it was away.

It wasn't long before he tripped, tree roots seemingly coming out of nowhere to take hold of his shoe and send him flying toward the ground. It was a recurring problem, and soon the ruined knees of his pants gave way to skin which gave way to blood. Chewtoy would have worried about infection if he had any reason to care whether he lived or died.

His lungs burned, unused to such physical exertion, the muscles in his legs crying out for relief, but he didn't stop. Who knew if he'd ever get this chance again? With permission, at that?

Just as he took a tumble over another root, an arm wrapped around him mid-fall.

"Gotcha," Master teased.

Chewtoy sagged in his hold, which proved to be a mistake when Master immediately dropped him, falling with a dull thud to the ground. He panted hard, not bothering to get up.

"Okay, thirty-minute head start this time," Master mused. "You need all the help you can get, clearly."

Chewtoy rolled himself over to look up at the vampire who controlled his life. "What?"

Master smirked down at him, amused. "Keep going. Until I get bored. Who knows, maybe you'll really make it this time!"

He was already exhausted. Chewtoy didn't know how much running he had left in him. Any hope of escape had already vanished: he was pretty sure it hadn't even taken a full two minutes since his 'head start' ended for Master to catch him.

Master grabbed him by the shirt collar and hoisted him up. "Run, Chewtoy."

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#kane and jim drabbles #whump #my writing #vampire whumper #failed escape #whump writing

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fulcrumwrites · 4 months

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Trial and Error

Summary: After a failed escape attempt, a patient is punished treated with solitary confinement and a new method.

CW: Asylum/psychiatric hospital, medical malpractice, isolation, sensory deprivation, restraints, blindfold, muzzle, chains, straitjacket, mentioned kidnapping, gaslighting

“You can’t keep me here! Let me go!”

Dragged through the vacant hallways, the young man’s cries bounced off the walls unheeded. The grips on his arms were iron-clad as he struggled every step of the way. Digging his heels proved futile; his paper shoes slipping on the vinyl floor.

“As a matter of fact, we can, Mr. Doe,” Dr. Malcom threw over his shoulder. His professional tone only added to the fire that was Luca’s rage. “Your family admitted you into our care. That makes us responsible for your health and wellbeing, even if you disagree with our methods.”

“My family?” Luca laughed incredulously. “You have no right to bring them into this. You kidnapped me! You stole me away from them to satisfy your… your sick little experiments!” He yanked his right arm in hopes of breaking the large orderly’s hold. The desperate attempt resulted in nothing more than a deeper bruise. “And my name’s not Doe. Not ‘Mr. Doe’ not ‘John Doe’… My name’s Luca. Luca Barone.”

“I see your delusions still have a hold on you, Mr. Doe. We’ll have to adjust your treatment and boost your medication.”

Luca rolled his eyes. “Please. The only delusion here is that I’d believe my name is ‘John Doe’. You could have at least tried to come up with a convincing name.”

He was walking at their pace now, submitting to whatever punishment awaited him. This was not his first attempt escaping Mayfield Psychiatric Institution, and it won’t be the last. He wasn’t even sure where Mayfield was. It could be a fake place. A fake name. A fake asylum. All lies.

Dr. Malcom paused at a familiar door. The man shook his head and looked at Luca with those mournful gray eyes that he wanted to punch since he was first brought to this hell-hole.

“I had high hopes for you, John. You were improving. This escape attempt will only set you back. I’m disappointed.”

Luca barked out a laugh in the doctor’s face. “I couldn’t care less about your approval, old man. Do your worst.”

“And what of your family? They sent you to us to get better. Do you want to disappoint your mother, John? Your sisters? Valentina, Contessa, little Mia–”

The glob of spit splattering on his face cut the doctor off, and that’s all Luca could do as the two orderlies held him back.

“You keep their names out of your mouth!” the boy hissed with venom. “And my name is Luca Barone.”

Dr. Malcom removed his glasses and wiped off the spittle with a cloth. Then he pushed them back onto his nose before dabbing away the spit on his skin. His actions were calm, but Luca could see the flush in his cheeks and how his hands shook in contained anger. What once made him afraid now brought a rush of victory.

He held onto that triumph as the old doctor snatched Luca’s jaw and forced him to look him in the eye.

“I’m your psychiatrist with more years of practice than you’ve been alive, boy,” he seethed. “You will show me some respect.”

Luca grinned around the hand squeezing his face. “Only my mama deserves my respect.”

His jaw was released only for his head to whip to the side, cheek smarting. The boy’s impertinent smile only grew.

Fuming, Dr. Malcom turned to the door and jammed his key in the lock. His movements were clumsy with anger, but after a moment, he unlocked the heavy door and swung it open with a bang.

Luca braced himself for what he knew was next. The orderlies would stop in the doorway and shove him in. He would land on the floor on his hands and knees as the door shut behind him, locking him in the dark and silence. They would leave him there for a few days, maybe a week. Then they would let him out, he would try to escape again, and the cycle continues–if he’s caught.

“No,” Dr. Malcom says suddenly, stopping the hands on his back before the final push. Luca and the orderlies look at him expectantly, curious as to the change in routine. Dr. Malcom nods into the dark room. “I think the patient requires a firmer hand. Use the maximum security protocol, if you please.”

The orderlies’ grips tighten once more as they personally drag him into the room. Forcefully, they turn him around with his back to the wall as Dr. Malcom passes a folded white bundle as if summoned from thin air.

“Are you serious?” Luca groans when it’s unfolded to reveal a straitjacket. “Come on. How can you think I can escape this place? The door doesn’t even have a handle on the inside!”

“Your numerous attempts has made me cautious, Mr. Doe,” Dr Malcom replied dryly. “Additionally, this will be part of the upgrade to your treatment plan as other methods have proved inconclusive.”

Luca scowled but managed to not resist as they wrangled his arms into the stiff sleeves. As each strap was pulled snug and fastened behind his back, he felt smaller and more cramped as if the walls of the cell were closing in on him. Luca focused on his breathing as they finished buckling him in. His arms stretched securely around his torso and the final, uncomfortable strap between his legs prevented pulling the suit over his head to freedom.

“Happy now, Doc?” demanded Luca sarcastically.

“We have one more new method to try, Mr. Doe. It may be uncomfortable, but remember this is all for your benefit.”

“Can’t wait.”

As if on cue, a timid nurse stepped into the cell just long enough to deliver a box into the doctor’s hands. With great care, Dr. Malcom removed the lid and slowly lifted the contents into the air for all to see.

A mass of leather and metal dangled limply in his hand. Luca squinted at it in the dim light.

“What the hell is that?”

“This, Mr. Doe, is a device I had specially ordered for my new therapy. Since you were admitted into my care, I’ve been researching and experimenting new psychiatric treatments for your unique case.”

As he spoke, Dr. Malcom set aside the box to hold the contraption with both hands. He examined it from all angles, his eyes never leaving it as he addressed Luca.

“I had heard of an incarceration method where prisoners are deprived of their senses in a white room. I know that sounds inappropriate for a medical institution, but I wondered of the psychological effects as a temporary treatment. My hopes is that this method will help reset the brain and reduce mental ailments.”

Luca stared at him. “‘Reset the brain’? Do you even hear yourself, Doc?”

Dr. Malcom finally tore his eyes off of his new toy to glare daggers at his patient. “You dare question me, boy? What do you know of medical science?”

“Enough to know you shouldn’t get ideas from actual torture methods. And you all say I’m the sick one. You don’t even know if this will do anything.”

“Trial and error, Mr. Doe,” said Dr. Malcom as he lifted the device to Luca’s face. “Thank you for your involvement in the advancement of science.”

Luca instinctively stepped back and was once again trapped by the silent orderlies. They held him still as the leather straps and metal buckles inched closer.

“Don’t touch me! Get that thing away from me!”

He twisted and pulled against the straitjacket in vain. His hands itched to be free to push the offending device away from him.

“No! Stop, you bastar–”

Rubber was shoved between his teeth and over his tongue, cutting off the insult. Leather encased his face from beneath his chin to over the bridge of his nose.

The doctor breathed a sigh of bliss. “At last. I don’t have to listen to your insolence another moment.”

A strap at the base of his skull was tugged tight and buckled, followed by another above his ears at the middle of his head. The final strip of leather ran from his nose over his dark hair all the way down his cranium.

Once fastened, Luca’s teeth clenched over the bit, unable to open his mouth. Already his teeth and jaw began to ache from the strain. He inhaled sharply through his nose and smelled overpowering new leather.

Gently, Dr. Malcom took his chin in his hand again, tilting his head to admire his contraption.

“Excellent so far.”

Luca swallowed a moan of despair. If he could not speak, he would not give Dr. Malcom the satisfaction of hearing nonverbal sounds from him.

Metal flaps swung over his eyes, perfectly cupped to block out any light. He felt the doctor’s hands securing the blindfold. If he could talk, he would inform the overeager therapist that a blindfold was not necessary in a dark room.

“Perfect,” the old man breathed, sending a shiver down Luca’s spine. “I had this made with you in mind, you know.” The remark was casual as if he expected Luca to be grateful. “Used your measurements to ensure it would fit perfectly.”

He hardly had time to processes that information when his ears picked up the rustle of the doctor’s coat and his footsteps. He circled his patient, no doubt taking mental notes.

“You won’t hear me after the final step, so I’ll tell you now that this cell is to be your permanent residence since the normal rooms can’t hold you.”

Horror plummeted to his stomach. Protests lingered restlessly on his tongue, unable to be freed. Now he couldn’t resist a muffled whine, regretting it too late to take it back.

“Try to remember this experience. I’ll be interviewing you on it after I deem this first session complete.”

Hands groped the sides of his head and buttoned down leather flaps over his ears. Plugs precisely measured fitted into his ears. If the doctor was still speaking, he couldn’t hear him over the silence and the roar of his own blood pumping.

In his dark, silent world, Luca had no idea if he was alone. He stood exactly where the orderlies had placed him for what felt like hours, trembling. When his legs began to ache, he built up the courage to walk around his cell.

He only managed two steps when an unexpected pull at his waist brought him to his knees. Without sight, sound, or his hands, Luca twisted and pulled to deduce what had ensnared him. It was strong and unyielding. Possibly a rope, but more likely a chain. They chained him to the wall like some misbehaving dog. Not only must they deprive him of his senses and lock him away, they couldn’t even let him walk more than two paces in any direction.

A scream of frustration tore at his throat. In a surge of mad desperation, Luca thrashed against the excessive restraints. He flexed his muscles, pulled his arms, strained his jaw, and shook his head like the rabid dog they thought he was. For all his efforts, they many buckles and straps and links refused to budge.

At last, Luca collapsed onto the ground in exhaustion. Sweat beaded his skin as the exertion made him hot in the jacket. He took as deep of breaths as he could through the muzzle.

Hopelessness took hold and all the fight drained out of him. The faces of his mother and sisters flashed in his mind; a memory to treasure rather than a reason to rebel.

So long as Dr. Malcom had control over him, Luca had no hope of seeing them again.

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echoingalaxies · 24 days

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Whump drabbles, 14/100: punishment.

"Regret it yet? That punch you threw, poor effort to escape.

Don’t you cry, it’s your own fault your wrists are bound with tape.

That table there, it’s cold, it’s cleaned, soon you’ll be lying there.

And a pack of brand new tools, you’ll feel them all, I swear.

Look at this, such a shiny blade, would love to cause you pain,

I’ll pierce your skin, I’ll carve your flesh, I’ll slash your little veins.

Don’t worry, love, you’ll make it through, I have no reason to kill.

Wouldn’t want to lose my favorite toy — breathe deep, enjoy; I will."

#100x100 whump drabbles #tried something new this time!#i can only hope this sounds 'flowing' enough because i feel like i might be mispronouncing everything and miscounting syllables lol #whump drabbles #whump drabble #whump poem #creepy whumper #torture whump #knife whump #failed escape #captivity whump #whump ideas #whump tropes #whump scenarios #whump #whumpblr #whumper #whumpee

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rookthorne · 2 years

Text

No Way Out | ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ ʙᴀʀɴᴇꜱ

Pairing; TFAWS!Bucky Barnes x F!Agent!Reader Word Count; 1.1k Warnings; hurt/no comfort, major character death, swearing, petnames A/N; ...I'm sorry. I listened to Last Glimmer while writing this and made it even more angsty than I planned.

WHUMPTOBER MASTERLIST

Fate was cruel. Life, even more so. The pain was excruciating, well past and beyond endurance. It was just a shame there was little comfort you could give from the other side of Death’s veil.

Sam had said that this mission was a simple recon - infiltrate the base, gather all the information you possibly could, and get out.

Foolishly, you believed him, and let your guard down. You were with Bucky, you were safe, nothing could get to you, and nothing would hurt you.

The sound of Bucky punching through locks on doors and cabinets to rifle through the contents within was jarring, but you kept focus. You were rooting through their computer system and making copies of everything when the alarm blared and rattled your bones. The pitch was shrill, and it grated against your eardrums worse than a bag of yowling cats.

“Move!” Bucky ordered and you complied without a second thought. The device with the copies came free from its slot with no resistance, and the two of you tore down the hallway where red lights bounced off the walls and burned against your retinas. There was a suspicious looking mist gathering over the concrete floor in waves, and the sight made your stomach turn. What kind of chemical was laced amongst that smoke?

You could hear Sam yelling over the comms to “fucking move!” when Redwing came into view. “Follow him!” Sam shouted and you grabbed hold of Bucky’s hand - be damned if the two of you became separated in this chaos.

The piercing cry of the alarm didn’t fade as you ran through the mazes of corridors - running from a threat neither of you could see. Terror wove it’s way through every fibre of your body and your heart froze over with ice when a long corridor came into sight.

The exit.

It was right there.

Why was it so easy?

“C’mon!” Bucky shouted and pulled you along, his pace brutal and unforgiving on your quickly tiring muscles. “We’re almost there!”

He didn’t see it in haste to move - the slight gap in the wall that was widening with every stride the two of you took towards the exit. “Bucky! Look out!” You cried, but it was too late.

An earth shattering boom echoed through the walls and you screamed when you stumbled. It was like your body had given up on the idea of escape all together, and it didn’t want to fight.

Bucky’s hand slipped from yours and you looked up, eyes wide with fear only to see where he should have been standing, there was a steel wall. An unbreachable span of metal that separated you from escape and Bucky was on the other side. “NO!”

“I’m alright!” You yelled, suppressing the urge to cough against the tightening in your throat. It was like being choked by an unseen hand.

What the fuck was in that smoke?

The dull pounding of Bucky’s fist against the metal could be heard over the screeching alarm and you got to your feet sluggishly, all fight drained from your body.

“Can you see anything?” Bucky cried, his fist still slamming against the metal in an effort to blow it to hell. “I can’t-” A sudden yell of frustration broke off his rant and you leant unsteadily against the door. “I can’t fucking get through!”

The smoke was rising in a tidal wave the longer that door sealed away the exit and you couldn’t help but let fear win out against your training.

It was sealed tight, and there was no release mechanism this side of the damned door. There was a rising tide of an unknown gas circling your feet and burning your lungs. Going back the way you came was not an option, your body was giving in to whatever the gas was and it felt like a tremendous effort to even remain on your feet.

There was no way out.

Bucky could not save you this time.

This was it.

The realisation turned your whole body to ice. Your heart beat a tattoo against your ribs, fighting valiantly against the restraint of bone.

“Please!” You heard Bucky yell and you slumped, your knees hitting the floor with a dull thud that he no doubt could hear. “Answer me!”

“I’m here, Buck,” your voice sounded nothing like you. It was resigned, weak, defeated. A coughing fit wracked your already seizing lungs.

“What’s happening?” Sam demanded over the comms and Bucky cut in before you could even open your mouth to answer through gasps for air.

“She’s stuck! There’s some sort of gas coming from the door and I can’t get the damn thing open!”

The alarm ceased and all you could hear was Bucky and Sam arguing over the comms and the sound of your shallow breathing. It was cruel, going out this way. Weak and unable to fight back.

A second set of footsteps on the other side of the door told you Sam had arrived, the hum of his wings and whirring of Redwing a comfort to you - Bucky wasn’t alone now.

“Boys,” you tried around another coughing fit and they fell silent. Your lungs were constricting and it was hard to breathe. “Go, before you-”

“Don’t you dare,” Bucky interrupted loudly before you could finish. “Don’t you fucking dare do that.”

“Sam,” you started before another violent cough wracked your lungs. “I need you to take care of him, he needs you.”

A beat of silence followed your request and then Sam spoke. “You got it, sweetheart.”

Bucky screamed with rage and pounded against the door again - you could hear Sam trying to talk to him and pull him back but it was futile. An enraged super soldier was no easy feat to convince.

“No, Sam!” A thud against the door shook your back and you closed your eyes against the sudden onset of sleepiness. “I can’t leave her- no! Get the fuck off me!”

“Bucky, my love,” you managed quietly and it fell silent. The scuff of two pairs of feet still with apprehension. “I need you to go, I need you to be okay.”

The smoke was rising further up the walls and up your slumped figure, time was running out.

“Can you do that for me, Bucky?”

A loud sob echoed through the door and it tore your heart in half.

You didn’t want to leave him.

“I can’t lose you, too, please,” Bucky begged and you allowed a tear to slip past your waterline, the weight of it on your cheek grounding you.

“I love you, Bucky,” you promised, your voice as firm as you could manage against the tide of black in your vision. The beating of your heart had slowed and you felt like you could float. “I always have, and I always will.”

The current of darkness swept you away before you could hear Bucky scream from the pain of losing you.

Graphics & Header made by yours truly.

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#whumptober2022 #no.14 #failed escape #marvel #fic #hurt/no comfort #major character death #swearing #petnames #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #marvel imagine #rookthorne's works #No Way Out

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