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chiharuuu22 · 24 days

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Still wearing pajamas and warmed only by a cardigan, socks, and a blanket around his thighs, Whumpee sat in an armchair on the terrace and was propped up by pillows on either side. Beside him, Caretaker sat with him, accompanying him in a sweater and long skirt. The air still felt cold, even though it was already 9 a.m. Maybe the influence of early autumn.

Besides the two, there was a round table with two bowls of potato soup with thin slices of crispy beef and two glasses of water. Whumpee's favorite soup he started eating today after being able to only eat watery soup for a while.

Whumpee sat facing directly towards the lake, with the forest several tens of meters from the cabin where they were. His gaze was calm and peaceful, as if he no longer had any burdens to carry. Occasionally, Whumpee receives a bite of his soup from Caretaker who patiently helps him eat.

"Want to go there?" Caretaker offered after wiping Whumpee's mouth. "We can go to the lake this afternoon when it's warmer, if you want."

Caretaker returned to feeding Whumpee, saying, "It's not good to stay inside all the time. You need a new atmosphere and a breath of fresh air other than on this terrace."

"I like it in here," Whumpee answered after swallowing his soup. "But I guess it wouldn't be bad to go to the lake there. What's there?"

"Not much, but I thought you'd like it," Caretaker stroked the back of Whumpee's hand. "We can see beautiful views. Now and then, some people come to fish or boat. Freshly caught fish from the lake tastes delicious. There are lots of rabbits there. There are very beautiful flower fields when spring comes. If you're lucky, you can see a deer or a fox peeking shyly from the opposite forest."

"That sounds interesting. I think I'll want to go there later," said Whumpee. "I'm surprised; I never knew you had a cabin here."

"This belonged to my late parents. When I was little, we often came here to vacation and relax from the hustle and bustle of the city," explained Caretaker with a smile, and she returned to feeding soup to Whumpee. "A suitable place for your recovery, right? Quiet, peaceful, comfortable, and you don't have to worry about anything here."

Whumpee smiled and held Caretaker's hand. "Yes, it feels very comfortable. Thank you."

Caretaker smiled and grabbed Whumpee's hand back. "Come on, let's finish your breakfast, take medicine, clean up, then let's get ready to go to the lake!" said Caretaker cheerfully.

"You say that, but you haven't touched your food at all. You just keep feeding me," protested Whumpee. "Your soup is getting cold."

Caretaker laughed, "How about it, huh? I'm full just watching you eat like this."

"What answer is that?" Whumpee protested again but didn't refuse when a spoonful of soup was brought to his mouth. "Eat too, Caretaker."

Caretaker laughed and started feeding herself soup, making Whumpee smile widely. Caretaker feels very grateful for simple moments like this. Seeing Whumpee get healthier and hearing about the good progress of the problems they were having with Whumper. Indeed, it's not every day that they feel calm because now and then the Team Leader or other members come and give them lots of news, or they provide updates on the tasks that the Team Leader has given them. Hey, even though Caretaker and Whumpee are far from the Team, they still carry out their duties well. Except for Whumpee, who still needs a lot of rest.

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chaotic-orphan · 3 months

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Febuwhump: Day Fourteen

Prompt: blood-stained tiles (febuwhump prompts)

TW: blood, bleeding, knife wound, gunshot wound, fingers in gunshot wound, knife mentioned, gun violence,

*~*~*~*~*

Whumper knew there was someone in his house when he reached his street. He frowned, hand going to the gun concealed under his jacket as he walked down the garden path. There were no signs of obvious entry, but Whumper knew. He could feel the slightly laboured breaths from inside. His frown deepened when he realised that he knew who those breaths belonged to. He took his hand off his gun and went for his keys instead.

He unlocked his door and stepped inside, dropping his bag by the door. He continued into the house, leaving the lights off. His intruder knew he was here, knew exactly that Whumper knew they were there. He left the lights off for more of a dramatic effect.

“I would advise against breaking into the house of someone who can detect you from streets away,” he said, turning to the intruder who sat with their back against Whumper’s oven. That wasn’t what drew his attention though. It was the amount of blood that was on his beautifully charcoal tiled floor. Whumper pulled out a chair and sat down at his table, staring at Whumpee.

“Do you know what’s really inefficient about you?” Whumper asked, reclining back against the chair while Whumpee fumbled in their pockets for something. Their hands came out, stained with the dark red blood, stark against Whumpee’s pallid face. Whumper noticed the white knuckled grip tight on a box of Marlboro as Whumpee pulled one out and dangled it loosely between their lips.

Whumpee kept Whumper’s gaze the entire time with their usual stare that was a melting pot of all Whumpee’s emotions; bored, superior, empty. Whumpee grabbed the lighter from the box, a shitty corner shop one with a skull on the side. The flame gave Whumpee’s face a little life, a little colour. It made their face a little more human, made the contours and the shadows darker but highlighted skin pulled over bone and muscle.

Whumpee didn’t reply as they cupped the lighter, more out of habit to shield it than any real threat of it extinguishing. Maybe to shield it from Whumpee’s own cold stare Whumper mused and laughed a little to himself at the thought.

Whumpee dropped the lighter into the box, then dropped the box onto the blood-stained tile they were currently bleeding all over making the charcoal even darker Or, more accurately, was bleeding all over. Whumper suspected their wounds had healed by now.

“Hey. Did you hear my question?”

“Yeah,” Whumpee replied. They let the smoke cloud their gaze and for a brief moment of reprieve Whumper didn’t have to stare into those soulless, dead eyes. “I heard ya.”

“You musing on the answer? Or are you thinking of answering in the next year?”

Whumpee scoffed. “You’re so needy, Whumper.”

“Yes,” Whumper replied deadpan. “I’m the one bleeding all over your beautiful kitchen right now.”

Whumpee didn’t reply. They just lifted their shirt as if only now remembering that they were injured at all. The wound wasn’t completely closed just yet, in fact… it looked as if it was still bleeding, but it would be another couple minute at least until Whumpee would heal. Whumper frowned at it, Whumpee healed fast – something like warning bells sounded in the back of Whumper’s mind but no… there was no way.

“Relax. I’ll be out of your hair in a minute.”

“The smell of your stale cigarette smoke, however, won’t be,” said Whumper with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Whumpee’s left index finger twitched. An emotional outburst on Whumpee’s account.

“I’ll clean up after myself,” said Whumpee, taking a long, slow drag of the cigarette. The house was quiet enough that Whumper could hear the cinders sizzle at the end of the cigarette like a dozen little sighs. An extension of Whumpee’s mood.

“Oh please,” Whumper scoffed, getting up from his chair and stalking over to the light switch and flicking on the light. “You couldn’t clean up after yourself if there was a gun to your leg.”

“Head.”

Whumper blinked. “What?”

Whumpee let smoke out through their nose. “The expression is a gun to your head.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Whumpee. Did I stutter?” Before Whumpee could answer the question, Whumper brandished his gun with a flourish and shot Whumpee through the thigh. Whumpee let out a strangled cry, bending over their leg with a string of curses as Whumper crouched so he was eye level with Whumpee. He placed the muzzle under Whumpee’s chin and tilted their head so he could look into Whumpee’s dead eyes. They glinted like sepulchre in the moonlight, lifeless and temporarily in pain. “To your head, was it?”

“I’m not here to fight.”

“No, you’re just here to bloody my clean floors and irritate me.”

“Whumper, listen—”

Whumper’s hand moved in a flash and a second later a bullet went through Whumpee’s shoulder. Whumpee’s ears rang like a bomb going off and distantly they were aware that they were screaming, their body curling around the gun on reflex. Whumpee’s hand shot up to grab onto Whumper for support. Letting out a long growling groan through gritted teeth, seething as they sucked in a couple of breaths.

For a while they stayed like that, like statues carved out of stone. Whumpee under Whumper, white knuckled grip on his arm, head against his forearm to take deep steadying breaths and breath through the pain.

After a couple minutes the ringing lessened. Whumper ran a hand through Whumpee’s hair and tilted Whumpee’s head back to look Whumper in the eye.

“I’m listening, Whumpee,” Whumper said with a sweet smile. “I’m still waiting for an answer to my original question.”

“How my power’s insufficient?” Whumpee asked, exasperated. Whumper’s hair tightened in their hair in warning. Whumpee searched their mind for some excuse that would satisfy Whumper. “Probably because it’s only healing and not immunity to pain?”

“Ehh,” Whumper said, mimicking the sound of a buzzer being wrong on a game show. “That’s the reason your power is so fun.”

To emphasis his point Whumper pressed the heel of his shoe into Whumpee’s thigh. Whumpee let out a groaning hum, hitting at Whumper weakly.

Whumper let his foot up and smiled sweetly at Whumpee. “No Whumpee, the reason your power is so inefficient is because of the mess you leave. If you could just not bleed everywhere, everything would be perfect, you know that?”

Whumper crouched again and dug a finger into the bullet hole in Whumpee’s shoulder. Whumpee let out a mewling cry of protest, but Whumper just kept hurting them. Whumpee grabbed Whumper’s wrist with both hands and for a moment they stopped Whumper’s painful intrusion.

A moment was all they needed.

“He’s back,” Whumpee said quickly, the words coming out in a pained rush. Whumper stiffened. Whumpee let out a stuttering breath as Whumper retracted his hand only to grip Whumpee’s jaw. Whumper stared into those cold eyes and found fear glistening behind them.

“He’s back,” Whumpee repeated. Whumper’s eyes widened slightly.

“What?!” Whumper demanded, his grip tightening on Whumpee’s jaw. “What do you mean he’s back?”

“I got home and he was just in my apartment,” Whumpee whispered, their voice wobbling.

Whumper let go of Whumpee altogether and stood with a short huff of air. “Why didn’t you just run?”

Whumpee looked up at Whumper. “He was waiting behind my fucking door, Whumper… with that vile flesh ripping dagger he loves so much. It wasn’t like I stopped to have tea and a catch up with him!”

Whumper glanced down at Whumpee again. Then crouched and lifted Whumpee’s shirt. The knife wound was still healing. Whumper remembers that blade taking days for Whumpee to recover from.

“You’re not even lying, are you?” Whumper asked, more to himself than to Whumpee.

“Why would I lie about this?” Whumpee asked, their voice taking on a slightly hysterical undertone.

Whumper’s grip tightened on the gun in his hand. Fingers curling ever so slightly more than he had to as Whumper slid the safety back on and tucked the gun into their shoulder holster. Whumpee didn’t speak anymore because they knew Whumper’s mind was whirling, thoughts forming, making leaps and jumps that Whumpee never could. Analysing every word Whumpee just said to get to the real reason he was back.

“Did he follow you?”

“No,” said Whumpee.

“Are you just saying that, or do you know for definite?”

“I don… I don’t know. Shit. Fuck, Whumper… I’m sorry I— I had to run, and I had to warn you and—”

“It’s okay, Whumpee. I doubt he’ll come. He will have known you ran to tell me after you left so there would be no point.”

“He’s going to do it again,” Whumpee whispered, “isn’t he?”

Whumper pinched his lips together and stood. “Honestly Whumpee? I have no fucking idea…”

“What are we going to do?”

Whumper straightened at the question, his easy confidence falling over his limbs like an entire costume rather than just a mask. His shoulders relaxing and his usual smirk on his face as he glanced back to Whumpee.

“Who’s the needy one now?”

“I’m serious.”

“I know,” Whumper replied. “Well, for now there’s nothing to do. Any bullets left in you?”

“No,” said Whumpee begrudgingly.

Whumper nodded. “Good. Then once they’re healed you can clean my bathroom and have a shower. I’ll wrap the knife wound for you and then we’ll… I don’t know, order a pizza or something.”

“You’re letting me stay?” Whumpee asked, their breath hitching.

“Of course.”

Whumpee’s entire body flooded with relief at Whumper’s matter of fact tone. They opened their mouth to thank, actually, genuinely thank Whumper when he spoke again.

“After all you’re the only one who can get close enough to kill him.”

Whumpee’s smile turned into a scowl as they wrapped an arm around their stomach and another, they hooked over Whumper’s countertop to hoist themself up. “You could have at least pretended that you were worried for my safety.”

“I’m worried about my bloody tiles, Whumpee, and how best to rid myself of two pests that refuse to leave me alone,” said Whumper, running a hand through his hair. He let out a long sigh.

“I knew today was going to be a bad day,” said Whumper. Whumper walked out the door and into the living room. “I’m going for a shower. You know where the mop is, and don’t – I swear for the love of God, Whumpee, if you bleed anywhere near my couch, I will kill you myself. Understood?”

“You’re such a dick.”

“I mean it,” Whumper said, holding a finger in the air in warning as he disappeared down the hall.

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dump-o-whump · 2 years

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Red Market — 1: Pet #27

fun fact!! this situation is my worst fear :) that made this fun to write (/s but it actually was really fun to write djdj)

content: bbu, begging, pet whump, threatened vivisection, stockholm syndrome, immortal/supernaturally healing whumpee

•

Leo was getting a new owner and he didn’t know what to do.

Master had told him the night before. He didn’t want it, though. He didn’t want a new owner with new rules and a new life. All he really wanted was to stay with things as they were with Master. He loved Master, he did, and he didn’t want any other life.

And Master loved him.

Or, at least, he thought Master loved him.

When he first got him, Master was kind. He would stroke his hair and hold his hand and kiss his forehead. He would give him kind, affirming words — “You’re doing so well, pet, I promise” — whenever he had to be punished. He was the best master a pet could ask for. Leo still loved Master so much, he had learnt to from the early days. But now, Master was getting rid of him, and he didn’t know what to do.

Leo heard Master’s footsteps down the hall and immediately perked up, crawling from his ‘sleep corner’ (the name he’d affectionately given to the damp patch of his cell he was forced to sleep in) to the barred doors. “Master!” He called out excitedly. His hands were wrapped around the bars as far as the chains would let him, but he couldn’t fit his head through, so he couldn’t see Master as he walked down.

This was it. He was going to be able to convince Master not to get rid of him. He would tell him how much he loved him, he would beg and plead like a good little pet and Master would cradle his face like he used to and say “It’s alright, love. I won’t take you away.” as he stroked his hair and Leo would finally be happy and Master would finally be happy. And they would all be happy.

He was so relieved he could cry.

“Master! Hello, Master!”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Leo did, slamming his mouth shut immediately and shifting away from the door as Master swung it open. Master was holding a new collar with a tag attached to it. Leo grinned.

“Is that a new collar? For me? Thank you, Master, it means so much! Does this mean—“

“It doesn’t mean I’m not getting rid of you, you fucking vermin. It means your new owner wants you to have a fancy-ass new collar instead of the dirty thing you have now.”

Leo’s hopes were dampened but not destroyed. “I don’t think you should get rid of me,” He said, voice small.

“Too bad I don’t give a shit what you think.” Master said as he approached Leo. He clipped the chain to the new collar before carefully taking off the old one.

Leo stared at it. It was made of tough, black leather with a silver bell. The entire thing was matted with blood and full of cracks. It was disgusting, and Leo was happy to have it off, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

The new collar looked much nicer. It was lined with crushed velvet, with a paper tag that read ‘Pet #27’. Leo lifted his head up as the collar was clipped around his neck, smiling at the absence of the bell’s jingle when he moved.

“Thank you, Master. But… there is something I want to say.”

Master shot him a look of pure, unadulterated hatred, and Leo suddenly felt like something small had died inside of his chest. “And what’s that? Hurry up, I’m busy.”

“I don’t want a new owner. I want to stay here,” He smiled up at his owner hopefully. “With you.”

Master threw his head back and laughed. He leant down, grabbing Leo’s chin roughly, that cruel glint still in his eye. “Listen. You’re a pet — that’s all you are, that’s all you ever will be. You know that.”

Leo nodded enthusiastically.

“Not only that, you’re my pet. You belong to me.”

“Yes, Master.”

“You are my property.”

“Yes, Master.”

“It is my right to do whatever I want to or with you, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Ma—“

“Shut up! Let me finish speaking, for fuck’s sake.”

Leo nodded silently, not daring to speak another word.

“Good. Now, listen to me. Use that thing between your ears for thirty seconds to take in what I’m about to say.”

Leo nodded.

“I hate you. I do, I really do. So… I’m gonna sell you off.” Master’s face softened and it suddenly dawned on Leo that he really meant it.

Every time he’d said it, Leo had ignored it, because it was always screamed in a fit of anger. Master was venting his frustration. But he didn’t mean it. He couldn’t mean it.

Please tell me he couldn’t mean it.

“Now, stop your crying and bitching before I slice you open.” Master pulled a pocket knife from his jacket, leering at Leo with it and earning a shocked squeal. He laughed. “I’m gonna miss that sound.”

He swiftly left the room, slamming the door behind him with a huff of laughter. Leo curled into himself and sobbed.

Leo was getting a new owner and he didn’t know what to do.

•

idk man this is poorly written but i haven’t posted in weeks so shut up

taglist: @whumpsday

#whump #whump blog #whump community #whump writing #whumpblr #red market #red market series #whumpy things #immortal whumpee #healing whumpee #nonhuman whumpee #pet whump #bbu #box boy universe #box boy whump #box boy #stockholm syndrome

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letitbehurt · 27 days

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Cauterizing wounds. A fervent “bite this,” before a bit is shoved between Whumpee’s teeth; shallow breaths and white knuckles; tear tracks and sweat-soaked hair; red-hot metal and burning flesh, Whumpee’s body tensing as they scream.

#I love cauterized wounds #the paradox of causing pain to heal just WORKS #bonus points if it’s field medicine and Whumpee has to be silent #Caretaker shoving a hand over Whumpee’s mouth to muffle their scream #that’s aesthetic right there #whump

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the-broken-pen · 6 months

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The hero was getting blood all over the villains nice jacket.

“I’m sorry about the blood—“ they murmured, and the villain hushed them.

“We’re almost there. Just—just stay still, okay?”

If the hero didn’t know better, they’d say the villain almost sounded afraid.

“It’s okay. M’fine.”

The villain breathed a harsh laugh, cradling the hero to their chest as they walked.

“Yes, you certainly look fine bleeding everywhere.”

There was that tone again. The hero frowned. The villain had never used that tone, especially not with them, and they had no idea what it was—

They barged into the villains apartment, as the hero realized the villain was concerned.

Oh.

The villain set them down on a couch, gently, but the hero still flinched. The villain apologized, soft and gentle, and ran their hand over the wound, assessing the damage.

The villains face went carefully blank.

The hero’s head spun, just a little, and they closed their eyes to fight it off. A moment later, they opened them to find the villain wrapping their side.

Their eyebrows crinkled.

“You—when did you get those?” Their voice cracked.

The villain looked up at them.

“Just a minute ago. You passed out,” they said calmly.

Their fingers continued deftly wrapping the bandage on the hero’s side.

“Wait. Why are you,” the hero grit their teeth as the villain brushed against the wound. “Why are you helping me.”

The villain laughed.

“For someone so observant, you miss a lot of things.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

The villain shook their head.

“I knew you were a bit obtuse, but darling, really. Work with me.”

They tied off the bandages, helping the hero sit up against the arm of the couch. The villain held their gaze, cool and collected and concerned, all at once.

“Your powers stem from emotions, yes?”

The hero nodded, once.

“So positive emotions make you stronger. They can heal you, right?”

The hero had tried to keep that bit of information under wraps. Not only could they heal themselves if they were happy, they could heal anyone. They didn’t want to end up some tool to be used in some military stronghold. Still, they healed civilians when no one was looking.

If they were mad, though? They could destroy anything, tear concrete in half, send metal into dust.

The hero cleared their throat. “Yes. Positive emotions can heal me. Not feeling super happy right now, so I’ll get back to you on that—“

The villain sat back on their heels.

“Do you trust me?”

The hero blinked at them. They were ready to give them some bullshit answer about how they could never trust the villain and never would; but that wasn’t true. The villain had saved them, more times than they could count.

And between the agency and the villain? Well, the hero knew who they would choose.

“Yes,” they said hesitantly, and the villain kissed them.

Warmth flooded them, and they reached for the villain, tugging them closer, and the villain smiled against their mouth.

The wound on their side began to close, and the villain felt it. They smiled, pleased with themself, like a cat.

“I give you positive emotions, huh,” they said, still grinning.

“For someone so observant, you can be so obtuse—“ the villain kissed them, again, to get them to shut up. This time, the hero smiled.

The wound closed further.

“I didn’t know you liked me,” the hero murmured.”

“I tolerate you. I just happen to hate everyone else.”

The hero laughed, side twinging with pain.

The villain checked the half closed wound, then turned back to the hero.

“Kiss it better?”

The villain rolled their eyes.

This time, when the villain kissed them, the hero didn’t let them stop.

#writing #writing community #creative writing #snippet #angst #heroes and villains #fic writing #ficlet #writing prompt #hero whumpee #healer #healing power #kisses #hurt/aftermath #hurt/comfort

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epiclamer · 11 days

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This is the post you all have voted for… (i settled for smutty hurt x comfort since you guys were so close)

@save-the-villainous-cat happy two year anniversary baby <3

It wasn’t the end of the world, Villain had been injured in battle countless times before and it was never a problem. But, god, there was so much blood.

They weren’t a very optimistic person by nature, but things had never looked worse for them than at this precise moment. Stumbling blindly through friendly, neighbourhood complexes and past steadily blurring townhouses. Villain could practically feel their demise impending.

“Hey there, stranger~” The criminal gulped, eyes shooting around like a cornered animal looking for an escape. “You’re in pretty rough shape to be standing on two feet…”

Their eyes locked in on a figure—somewhere at the back of their mind they were flooded with a sensation of ease, though they couldn’t quite pinpoint why. They continued to stumble forwards and practically into the stranger’s arms anyways, for whatever reason it felt right.

“Easy— Easy there, Villain… just relax I’ve got you, I’ll take good care of you, huh?”

Warmth spread through the criminal’s mind at the sound of the other’s voice, then down into their muscles before seeping deep to their bones. They blinked and when they opened their eyes again they were laying in a tub, their feet resting at the tap where hot water poured down and into the bath.

For a moment they panicked, but a hand found its way to their shoulder and grounded them back to the present. They knew that hand, they knew that touch.

Hero.

“I’ve got you, baby~” They teased, grinning from ear to ear as they fiddled with the temperature to the water with their free hand.

It all came rushing back to the villain; the fight they had picked with their superior—on purpose—and whatever hope they had left dragging their feet to the hero’s house in a desperate attempt for attention survival.

Hero’s touch was warm where it laid by their collarbone, heating the skin to a feverish degree as it began stitching the villain back together. See, Hero’s powers only worked through touch (something the villain had learned a very long time ago purely on accident), but as much as their touch held only kindness, it did not extend to their healing abilities.

Because, god, did it ever hurt. Painful in some sick and horribly pleasurable way that Villain couldn’t seem to stop craving.

Their collarbone snapped back into place, the bone mending itself back together and their eyes flew open along with the sob that was wrenched from their throat. They flailed, partially to escape the hero’s torturous touch, partially to fall further into their grasp.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay… deep breaths remember?” The crime-stopper’s hand moved down their chest, giving their upper half the gift of a breath as they pained the rest of them.

The villain’s relief was only present for a fleeting moment, as they felt the hero’s fingertips trace the edges of the gash to their chest. Already the ripped skin pulled taught and their torn muscles seized up, under command of the other’s touch.

Villain knew what was coming.

They squirmed, the bath water submerging their legs in its warm embrace, Hero’s hand teasing at their wound, they couldn’t help but try and pull away. “Please—”

The hero shushed them, bringing their free hand to cup the villain’s chin. “I’ll be quick, I promise.” They pressed their hand flat against the gaping hole that should have been the villain’s abdomen, jolting them.

Villain screamed, it was dry and rugged, they recoiled from their nemesis but the only other thing there to hold them was the bath water. “Please, H-Hero, please—” Three more seconds and the criminal was sure to pass out.

Then it stopped. Before the villain could beg again, before they could lose consciousness, the pain stopped.

Cautiously, the villain’s eyes fluttered open, their enemy smiled sweetly back, fingertips now tracing the completely untouched abdomen of the villain’s. They looked normal, they looked okay, even after everything the hero had managed to restore them to their previous glory.

“You okay, gorgeous?”

Villain’s eyes met the hero’s once more, they were gentle yet somewhat mischievous. They nodded, brain completely fogged, maybe from the pain, most likely from the hero’s distracting gaze.

The area still pulsed with the ghost of a previous slash, but there was nothing, just the heat from the hero’s hands. It left a sweet aftertaste on their exhausted mind.

“Think you can handle another round tonight?” They waggled their eyebrows in emphasis, removing one hand to shut off the water to the bath as it began to cover the villain’s stomach.

Villain glared, but only for a moment, some of their usual snideness returning to their demeanour. “Can y-you be a little nicer?”

Hero hummed, eyes glued to their own hands as they made their way down to the inside of the criminal’s thighs, their hands beginning to resume their previous healing glow even under the water. “Really? I thought you liked it rough?”

The villain’s cheeks turned red, but they didn’t have time to retort before the hero placed their hands back against their skin and shut them up with a moan.

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hufflepuffwritingstuff2 · 8 months

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It's Magic

This snippet is for @creweemmaeec11!

-------

Villain pressed the knife deeper into Hero's side, the blade glowing with harmful magic.

"Pathetic little thing," Villain laughed, yanking the blade out.

Hero gasped, lurching forward. They crashed down in the alleyway.

"Lesser beings like you should learn to stay out of my way," Villain said, "maybe your corpse will serve as an example."

Villain cast a spell, causing little cuts to open all over Hero's body. Hero whimpered in pain. They looked up with blurry vision as Villain strode away. Was this really how it was going to end? Killed by a magic user? Hero didn't have the energy to worry about it; they started to drift off, their head light and their limbs heavy.

----

Hero stirred to the feeling of a gentle rocking sensation.

"Mm..." they mumbled.

"Shhh," a voice soothed.

The rocking sensation stopped suddenly as Hero was laid down on a soft surface. They forced their eyes to open. They tried to sit up, but a hand gently pushed them back down.

"Don't-" the voice said softly, "don't get up. You're hurt."

Hero stared up at their rescuer. Their vision cleared, and their face went pale. Hero scuttled back on the couch.

"S-Supervillain," Hero breathed.

Hero's breaths quickened, coming out in short little gasps. Their heart felt like it was going to beat out of their chest. Supervillain held their hands up in a placating gesture.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," they said, "I promise."

Supervillain took a step closer, and Hero flinched hard, screwing their eyes shut. Instead of a harsh strike or a dark spell, Hero felt the gentle pressure of a hand on their forehead. They cracked an eye open and looked at Supervillain.

"No fever, that's good," Supervillain said.

Soft green light emanated from Supervillain's hands. Hero's breathing became deep of its own accord. Hero blinked in confusion.

"Wh-what are you doing?" Hero asked.

"It's a calming spell," Supervillain explained, "I don't want you to panic."

Supervillain gestured to Hero's shirt.

"May I?" they asked.

Hero felt themselves nodding, a forced calm settling over them. Supervillain thanked them and lifted their shirt.

"It seems to be healing well," Supervillain said, "my magic made short work of your cuts, but this stab wound was pretty bad."

"Magic?"

"Yes, my healing magic. You're lucky to be alive, if I hadn't found you... well, it doesn't matter now."

Normally the mention of magic would have Hero hyperventilating, but the calming spell was weaving its way through their mind and body, keeping them pacified.

"Let me work on your wound some more, you don't deserve a scar."

Magenta light flowed from Supervillain's hands into Hero's healing wound. The area began to feel warm and fuzzy. Hero watched as the wound faded away completely, leaving nothing but smooth, undamaged skin.

"Can I get you anything?" Supervillain asked.

"I, um..."

"How about something to eat and drink?" Supervillain offered.

Hero quickly shook their head. What if they poisoned it? Then again, Supervillain probably wouldn't go through the trouble to save them just to poison them... on the other hand, though, this was Supervillain they were talking about, and-

A floating tray of food interrupted Hero's thoughts. On the tray was a bowl of chili and a cup of water. Supervillain ushered the tray over with a finger. It settled a few inches over Hero.

"It's, uh, it's waiting for you to sit up," Supervillain said.

Hero sat up cautiously. The tray, satisfied, landed gently on Hero's lap. The spoon flew into Hero's hand. Hero yelped in surprise.

"Yes, that particular spoon is rather forward," Supervillain said apologetically, "you'll get used to it."

Hero gulped. What would happen if they didn't eat? Would Supervillain kill them in a harsher way? The spoon, growing impatient, zipped out of Hero's hand, filled itself with a helping of chili, and forced its way into their mouth.

"Mm!"

Flavors danced on Hero's tongue; the chili was absolutely delicious. The spoon left Hero's mouth and grabbed another helping of chili. It waited for Hero to swallow.

"I wouldn't poison you, if that's what you're worried about," Supervillain said, "I went through a bit of trouble to save you."

Hero swallowed hesitantly. The spoon eagerly shoved the next bite of chili into their mouth. Hero grabbed the spoon and started to feed themselves. Supervillain smiled.

"Why... why did you save me?" Hero asked.

Supervillain's smile faltered, replaced with a concerned expression.

"I couldn't just leave you there," Supervillain said.

"Yes you could've! You're Supervillain! You're the most powerful mage in the city, and I'm..."

"Yes?" Supervillain prompted.

"I fight mages! I'm your enemy!" Hero blurted.

Supervillain sighed. They waved a hand and an armchair tottered forward. Supervillain sat down, snapping their fingers. A cup of tea materialized out of thin air. Supervillain took a sip of it, then set it on the saucer, which was still floating nearby.

"Why do you fight mages?" Supervillain asked, as though Hero had come in for a therapy session.

"Because they use magic! And magic is- well, it's evil isn't it?"

"Look around you," Supervillain gestured to the room, "I've been using magic nonstop since I brought you here. Have I been using it for evil?"

Hero didn't respond.

"I've done nothing but heal you and tend to you with my powers," Supervillain continued, "what I want is for magic users and non-magic users to get along and enjoy each other's gifts. Of course, not everyone shares my sentiment, such as the mage who attacked you."

Hero shook their head, trying to rationalize Supervillain's words. Supervillain sighed again and stood. The tray floated away with the empty chili bowl. The spoon followed it back to the kitchen.

"You should get some rest," Supervillain said, summoning a blanket, which draped itself over Hero, "let me know if you need anything."

Supervillain began to leave.

"Wait!" Hero said weakly.

Supervillain turned.

"Yes?"

"Thank you, Supervillain," Hero said quietly.

Supervillain cracked a small smile.

"You're welcome..."

"Hero," Hero said, "my name is Hero."

"You're welcome, Hero."

Supervillain flicked their wrist, and the lights went out. They left the room to let Hero sleep. Hero snuggled under the blanket and closed their eyes. They were still very confused about many things, but maybe magic wasn't as evil as they had thought.

Ko-fi

Tags: @mythixmagic @infinityshadows @fishtale88 @thelazywitchphotographer @the-beasts-have-arrived @princessofonwardsworld @surplus-of-sarcasm

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justbreakonme · 7 months

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I know magical/instant healing can be unsatisfying, but:

-instant healing superhero whumpee forced to constantly reinjure themselves to keep their cover.

-magical whumpee forced to do the same/unable to use magic around others, so even though they know relief is millimeters away, they can’t get it.

-a whumpee who loses their healing powers, facing pain of intensity that they’ve never dealt with before.

-whumpee falling into the wrong hands, being experimented on to see exactly how far their power goes.

-whumpee being picked up by a crime syndicate as a spy, trained to endure torture because, well, they can be.

-the whumpee confesses their power to the wrong person, and suddenly their trapped in a sort of organ farm, harvested for organs that grow back overnight, blood that regenerated in minutes, limbs that will be fully fleshed in a week. The whumper assures them that they’re saving lives, don’t be selfish.

-whumpee with survivors guilt, even though they knew they shouldn’t have survived.

#whump #whumpee #whump prompts #magical healing #healing powers #whump prompt #tw self harm #tw self injury

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whump-side · 6 months

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This is a specific whump trope that has been sitting in my mind and I had to draw it. Hidden injury but not so hidden? Whumpees are on their recovery journey, all is good, all is fine, but the bandages and pain are still here whever they're trying to conceal it or not

#whump #whump art #bandages #injury #whumpee #whump tropes #like they're acting as everything is fine but then you see they're wincing from time to time #or like they do daily activities and oopsie their shirt got untucked and would you look at that : bandages on the abdomen #a little reminder to everyone that Whumpee is not healed yet

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whumpshots · 9 months

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Whump Snippet Saturday #38

Caretaker has been using their powers on everyone, but the battle is still ongoing. They feel exhausted and shaky, but the task at hand is pressing and important. Their friend's lives are in danger, they can't just walk away because they don't feel like continuing.

But with every passing minute they feel more lightheaded. Even healing doesn't work as good as it should anymore, wounds are closed, but they pain stays or the other way around. Caretaker feels the panic rise in their chest.

How are they supposed to win this fight if they can't heal their teammates anymore?

"I'm trying, I'm so sorry," caretaker sobs as they try to heal team leader's wounds, that close themselves ever so slowly. As team leader tries to calm caretaker down, blood runs out of caretaker's nose, dripping down their chin, running into their mouth ...

Caretaker tries to wipe it away, but the flow just won't stop. As they concentrate the last bit of their powers on healing team leader, their body gets weaker and weaker, only for caretaker to collapse. Blood flows into their hair as they fight against unconsciousness.

#whump #whump writing #whump drabble #caretaker #magical healing #magical exhaustion #caretaker turned whumpee #bloody nose #desperate caretaker #whump trope #whump prompt #whump snippet #whump snippet saturday #whumpshots

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whump-about-it · 4 months

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One of my favorite dynamics in whump is Whumpees and Caretakers healing each other .

Like, Caretaker went through hell, and came out the other side. But they still have painful scars and wounds that just won’t close. They break down, and they yell and they scream, and they hate themselves, and don’t really care if they live or die.

But for all the hate they have for themselves, they love Whumpee, and Whumpee needs them alive. Because they’ve already lost too much and Caretaker knows if they loose them too they won’t make it.

So they have to eat three meals a day, and take their medication regularly, and drink more water. They can’t loose their temper, or raise their voice too high, or punch walls. Because it breaks their heart how much it scares Whumpee when that happens, even though Whumpee knows Caretaker would never hurt them. So they have to find healthier outlets, and control their emotions.

And when Whumpee notices it too. How much calmer, and brighter Caretaker seems to have gotten. They sleep more. Eat more. They smile. So Whumpee isn’t as afraid to tell Caretaker about their trauma, or ask them for things. Because they know Caretaker will listen to them; and change.

It’s one thing to be willing to help Whumpee heal, but Caretaker is willing to heal for Whumpee.

#whump #whumblr #whumpee x caretaker #whump trope #whumpee #caretaker #mutual healing #whump fluff

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whumperer-86 · 25 days

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China got me my gift for the first day of EID

Live surgery Room ep12

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pyrepostings · 14 days

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whumpees who feel like they aren't healing fast enough for caretaker's likeing.

The caretaker might let annoyance at whumper slip through and whumpee, who might *know* it's not directed at them still *feels* like it is.

Whumpee who Knows whumper is dead still follows the rules out of fear.

Whumpee who forces themselves to break whumper's rules because caretaker asked if they want to take their meal on the porch one too many times. But whumpee takes it too far and starts spiraling in a different way.

"Caretaker doesn't like that I hole up in my room all day? Fine I'll avoid my room entirely.

Why are they still unhappy to find me in the corner behind the bookshelf wrapped in three separate blankets and having not changed clothes in over a week."

#pyreprompts #whump prompt #whumpee #whump scenario #whump #whump writing #whump prompts #whump ideas #Thinking about forcing yourself out of the comfort zone without going back to the comfort zone to heal from the excursion #Thereby only traumatizing yourself further because you think it's supposed to get the results caretaker wants

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dump-o-whump · 2 years

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Red Market — 3.5: Hanahaki Disease

this is not canon :) (also @augustwritingchallenge)

content: begging, death wish, immortal/healing whumpee, sadistic whumper, no-holds-barred beatdown, punches, interrogation (kinda?), implied stockholm syndrome, hanahaki (obviously /lh), vomit, fever whump, use of ‘owner’ ‘master’ and ‘sir’, bbu, pet whump

•

Leo had been sick all week. He hated it. His new owner did, too — he wouldn’t stop complaining about how he hated giving Leo recovery time. Leo, on the other hand, couldn’t stop thinking about Master. He would have given him recovery time and been happy about it. He would have given him whatever he wanted. God, Leo would kill to be with him again. He missed it more than anything.

Just as he thought this, he felt himself start to throw up, and leant over the rusting bucket his new owner had given him. He shut his eyes and winced.

Tried to think of Master. Not the new one — that would only make it worse — but his old one. The kind one. The one who would stroke his hair after he’d hurt him, hold him close, and love him. Master.

When he was done, he collapsed, limbs weak and shaky. It wasn’t until he strongly smelt flowers that he got up again. To his dismay, he smelt it coming from the bucket. He looked inside hesitantly.

He saw what he smelt. Roses, daffodils, peonies, daisies, foxgloves — flowers. Their petals littered the floor around him and the bucket. He felt a tingle in his throat and coughed up more, holding them with a shaking hand. Tears of fear and denial welled in his eyes.

“S-Sir,” Leo muttered, crawling to the door of his cell, “Something… s-something is wrong.”

His new master immediately appeared, as if he was waiting by the door. He knelt down and stuck a hand through the bars to harshly grab Leo’s face. Leo instinctively jerked away. “Yeah, it is.”

“I know. I-I’m sorry. But… there’s… there’s something wrong. I’ve b-been throwing up flo…” He choked out a sob on the word, “s-something else, Sir.”

“‘Something else’?” His owner looked perplexed. He thought for a second, before saying, “Move.”

It made Leo even more sick to his stomach, but he did as the man asked, shuffling away from the door as he opened it. His master stepped into the room and made a beeline for the bucket.

“This smells like shit. You’re gonna be cleaning this up when you’re done being sick.”

“Yes, Sir.” Leo replied, eyes half-lidded.

There was a silence for a few seconds. A few peaceful, blissful seconds, in which Leo fell asleep sitting up in his exhaustion.

Those few seconds did not last long.

“I cannot believe you.” His new owner hissed, turning to Leo at neck-breaking speed. He strode over to him with a rose in his hand and a glare on his face.

“Yes, S- what?” Leo locked eyes with him hesitantly.

“Who the fuck is this about?” He crushed the rose between his fingers and threw the remainder of it at Leo, who flinched away with a pathetic whimper that he immediately regretted. “Who? Come on, go on, you defiant little shit! Tell me who you’ve got this little crush on! This is why you’re so sick? Fucking hell!”

“N-No, Sir, I’m sorry! I-I’m sorry, I d-didn’t mean to, I didn’t… it’s not my fault!”

“I don’t give a shit who’s fault it is!” He grabbed Leo by the throat and squeezed. Leo struggled desperately as he felt the air drain from his lungs. He clawed desperately at his new master’s hands, wordlessly begging for release. “You think I’ve never seen hanahaki before? You don’t think I know? I know everything about you! You haven’t got a chance.”

Leo hardly knew what Sir was talking about. He could feel his eyes closing, his brain slowly stopping its panic, everything being covered in a dull blanket of calm. Sir’s voice was draining out in the background of his exhaustion.

“Wake the fuck up!”

He suddenly snapped back to life as Sir dropped him to the ground, undoing his grip and leaving him a desperate gasping heap on the cold ground. Everything went black for a second, and it faded back into Sir- his new master hitting him.

He felt like his head was being bashed around his skull. His new master was giving him uppercut after uppercut. Unimaginable pain sparked through his jaw. He bit down on his tongue in his half-consciousness and sent it flying out of his mouth. There was a white-hot shock of pain in his mouth as that happened, sharp as a knife. He managed a sob.

“Are you ready to fucking tell me?”

Yes, Leo wanted to scream, Yes! It’s my old master, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please fucking stop-

But he couldn’t. Sir punched him in the gut and sent him doubling over, spewing flower petals and vomit across the room. It hurt. He let out hoarded and choked sobs with every hit too his chest. He had been winded so much he couldn’t breathe, so he hyperventilated desperately between the broken sobs.

Sir dropped him and started to kick. One foot stomped on his lungs, the other kicked in his head. All Leo could do was pray he would die when Sir was finished. The thought shocked him, but he didn’t care.

Please, kill me. I want to die. I want to fucking die.

Sir finally, finally let up.

Leo couldn’t even think for a few seconds. He panted and cried and shook, entire body convulsing in agony. His body healed supernaturally, sure, but the sun didn’t. It was agony. Everything hurt. He couldn’t do this.

“Who is it?” Sir practically snarled. “Tell me or it’s time for round two.”

“…o-old master,” Leo whispered despite his tongue. “S… stop,” he added, uselessly.

“I knew it.” Sir said. He didn’t sound surprised. He paused for a second to look over Leo with a condescending glare, before turning on his heels and leaving the room. “I’ll fucking kill you.” He promised as he slammed the door.

Please do.

Leo didn’t know what to do with himself. After a pause, he lay down on the scratchy blanket and curled into the foetus position.

And he stayed like that. For seven hours.

He had stopped going to the bucket when he needed to throw up by now. For the first few hours he did, but now he didn’t feel the need. He just retched into his hand and threw the plants over his shoulder.

All he did was sob and shake and beg. He knew Sir wasn’t there and he didn’t care. He begged anyway. Begged for help, begged for death, begged for a way out.

Begged.

•

i kinda love this for some reason even though it was finished at 1:52am on the 12th and it’s almost certainly got some grammar mistakes or something nonsensical in it lmao

taglist: @whumpsday

#red market series #whump #whump blog #whump community #august writing challenge #whump writing #whumpblr #torture #no holds barred #hanahaki #beatings #pet whump #bbu #box boy whump #box boy universe #pet whumpee #healing whumpee #immortal whumpee #sadistic whumper

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letitbehurt · 3 months

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An immortal/self-healing Whumpee with nothing to show for the months of torture they endured.

#caretaker trying to be supportive but finding the scope of their trauma hard to believe without proof #Whumpee becoming desensitized to injury while Caretaker freaks out over the blood #Nightmares about Whumper mutilating them and then waking up unsure of whether it actually happened #self-mutilating to try making their trauma visible #then having a breakdown watching the wounds heal over and over and over and over…#whump

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comfy-whumpee · 7 months

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Lab Rat

Whumptober 7. Lab whump with extra dehumanisation and gore, this time!

There’s a taste in his mouth that he can’t get out.

The first experiment is simple. The muzzle is removed, and the body is fed water for the first time in days. It is helped to drink until it can drink no more, turning its head away from the feeding tube. Then, for the next twenty minutes, some mild acid forces the body to produce saliva, which is collected in test tubes on ice.

The body endures this placidly. It is cooperative with the cotton swabs placed inside its mouth. It holds still with its jaw wide, not needing to be forced. Maybe it is grateful to have been given water. Maybe it hopes, as the doctors do, that saliva will substitute blood in their treatments.

But the testing is done quickly and the results are clear. If there is power in the saliva, it is so diluted as to be useless.

And there’s a taste in his mouth that he can’t get out.

The second experiment is nails and hair. The body is unresponsive when the hair is trimmed. It looks to be sleeping, though nobody is sure whether it truly sleeps like humans do. It wakes up, as best they can tell, with no idea of what was done. But later that day, they trim its nails. The clippings are stored in another sample container and taken away for testing.

This is equally unimpressive. There was already significant doubt that such expendable parts of the body would contain anything of value. But it was proof of the previous experiment. Only things integral would be useful to gather.

And there’s a taste in his mouth that he can’t get out.

By the end of the week, Caroline has allowed another experiment, more invasive now there have been no ill effects from the others. The body still bleeds through the needle in its arm, and nothing else matters. So Caroline authorises a tissue sample.

The first one is small, just a scraping of dead skin from under their trimmed fingernails. The body barely responds to the dull shear on their fingers. The flakes are taken away in a petri dish.

Next is a slice of fresh skin. One hand is taken into a bowl of water to be thoroughly cleaned. This, unlike the rest, gets a response, tears leaking down its cheeks as if touched by the gesture. But it is done by uncaring hands, who only want to make sure the site of their sample is sterile.

Gloved hands press the knuckles flat on a rolling steel side table. Caroline does the incision herself, peeling back mere millimetres of skin with her sharpest scalpel. The blood, which cannot be wasted, is allowed to flow openly until it clots on its own. Caroline takes the sample off herself for immediate testing, while one of the acolyte doctors is responsible for soaking up every drop of blood.

Lachlan doesn’t know if the skin sample works or not. All he knows is that, the very next day, Caroline returns for more. As the body heals, and does not scar, she grows less and less worried that she will do something irreversible.

Kurt used to speak up. He is supposed to, if she risks permanent damage to the body, but he doesn’t say a word. He’s barely present anymore. He’s here because he was told to be here, and outside of working hours, he is gone.

Caroline stays. Caroline sharpens and sterilises her scalpels. She gathers her two favourite students, the brightest and most loyal. They cleanse the site of her next incision. She has chosen the thigh, and they make sure every strand of hair and speck of dirt is gone from the area she designs. No contaminants. Why stop at blood when flesh could yield better results?

The body knows it is coming already. Even as Caroline only prepares, it has clearly worked out the pattern. It keens in pain at the first touch of metal and doesn’t stop when it comes in earnest. She presses the scalpel into flesh, barely needing to push with as sharp as she has the blade. Blood wells up around it, and she cuts with confidence.

The body – Northlight – cries out through the muzzle, legs jerking and arms pulling at the restraints. The pain is audible in their voice. The tears flow from their eyes again, backwards down their face as their head is thrown back. Caroline is immune, extracting the gouged flesh and having it conveyed to be chilled and preserved for testing. One of her students is already stifling the bleeding. The other conveys the sample away.

Lachlan tries not to look at the blob of flesh on the tray, nor at the bleeding hole in Northlight’s leg. He looks at the body’s tormented expression, and tries not to listen to the whimpers low in its throat. It’s a sensible thing to do with the experiments, to build up like this. It makes sense. It’s scientific. The body was always going to respond like this. Simulating feelings. Like how trees bleed sap.

The…

Northlight cries in hopeless pain as the wound is tightly bandaged. Northlight shakes their head in plea when the doctor leaves. Northlight endures without painkillers, without even food. Northlight turns their eyes to him.

There’s a taste in Lachlan’s mouth that he can’t get out. Metallic and sour. He knows it can’t be real, but he can taste it all the same. He drinks it in his dreams and it makes him ache and shiver.

Every morning he goes to wash his face in the laboratory toilets, and he bares his teeth the mirror, to check them for sharper edges.

#whumptober2023 #lab whump #lab whumpee #fantasy whump #magical healing #vampire whump #gouging #my fic #whump #northlight #lachlan #caroline #dehumanisation #rehumanisation?#lab rat #alt.14 #gore

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