#manipulative whumpee
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TW: mild psychological abuse
The only form of caretaker-turned-whumpee + whumpee-turned-whumper I will accept (just my own preference) is when Caretaker gives a figurative inch by nursing Whumpee back to health or giving them a place to recover and Whumpee takes the whole damn mile.
Dealing with a whole thing with my recently-ex queerplatonic partner but it made me think of this:
Caretaker who is an acquaintance of Whumpee so when Whumpee has nowhere to turn Caretaker helps them out. The problems start happening when Whumpee begins to manipulate Caretaker into thinking that because they've seen them at their most vulnerable, of course they must be partners now. If they hadn't wanted this, they ought to have not helped Whumpee out. So of course now Caretaker feels trapped and things just start getting worse. It's worse if Caretaker is aroace or gay/straight in the wrong direction (whoops not at all projecting).
I hope this makes sense. This made a lot of sense in my brain.
#whump#caretaker turned whumpee#whumpee turned whumper#manipulative whumpee#psychological abuse#sorry projecting again
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A trope I absolutely LOVE but don’t see often is manipulative Whumpee; maybe they’re a conditioned Whumpee, who believe Whumper is the only one who cares about them, so they pretend to get better just enough for Caretaker to leave them alone for 5 minutes. After all, that’s all the time in the world for them to escape through the window and start making their way back to Whumper. Or Whumpee-turned-Whumper who went completely insane after their capture, but of course they’ll never let Caretaker know, they’ll just play the part of a scared, lost, little puppy, until Caretaker lets their guard down. That’s when they’ll really strike, after all, they need to take their anger out on someone, just like Whumper always did to them.
#whump#whump things#whump prompt#whump scenario#whumpee#whump blog#whump writing#writing#writing prompt#caretaker#whumper#idk tbh#this is kinda shit sorry#idk lol#manipulative whumpee
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Lenavee and Koutoujian
- @soheavyaburden
Thanks for the ask! And ooh, this could be interesting!
TW: Mention of a strip search
If we’re talking about Lenavee being arrested and interrogated on Ganymede, this is incredibly AU, because Lenavee’s never been there. But there’s really no canonically-consistent way to get them around each other for any length of time, at least in the Kohat continuity.
If she’d ended up detained on Ganymede before the government collapsed, she would be to be very outwardly respectful to prison staff, and put on her ditzy act. She’d pick up pretty quickly on the fact that playing innocent wouldn’t work. Coming off as a clueless follower in a criminal enterprise, though, would be worth a shot. In that case, she’d also be speaking in (already heavily-accented) Sol Standard, and stare blankly at anyone who tried to address her in Ganymedean.
Koutoujian would automatically code as a threat to Lenavee, even if Koutoujian were trying to trick her into thinking otherwise. As a general rule, Lenavee would therefore try to stay as uninteresting as possible to Koutoujian, very respectful and compliant, giving Koutoujian useful information (or information that seems useful) that doesn’t implicate anyone she cared about.
On Koutoujian’s end, she could go either of two ways. There’s a good chance she buys Lenavee’s act, especially if she’s got more appealing targets on her mind, and would therefore contemptuously think of Lenavee as typical xeno gutter trash. She’d be more verbally abusive than physically in that case, except to physically degrade her by slapping and invasive strip-searching.
However, Koutoujian’s not stupid; she’s been interrogating people, including career criminals, for decades upon decades by the time Lenavee would’ve been old enough to end up in front of her. The biggest risks of her realizing Lenavee is trying to pull one over on her is if A) she catches Lenavee following a conversation in Ganymedean, or B) if Lenavee tries to manipulate her into doing something she (Lenavee) wants. It would absolutely enrage Koutoujian to have someone like that trick her, and she’d retaliate with massively disproportionate physical violence. She wouldn’t bother with mind games; she’d just go straight for the all-but-literal kill.
Things change a lot if Lenavee has friends or family in there as well. A signature Koutoujian move is to play people off against each other. Sadistic choices, forced to watch, things like that. Turns out this is pretty much the most effective way to torture Lenavee. Koutoujian would enjoy seeing Lenavee’s meek façade break down into utter panic and despair at someone she cares about either betraying her or coming to harm because of her.
Then again, Lenavee is extremely patient, while Koutoujian would barely remember her. If Koutoujian hurt or manipulated her into betraying one of her loved ones, there’s a good chance that Lenavee destroys Koutoujian’s life without Koutoujian seeing it coming as soon as she has the opportunity.
#asks#Lenavee Yuim#Samantha Koutoujian#kohat verse#sadistic whumper#manipulative whumpee#revenge whump#interrogation whump#tw strip search
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Whumper, ripping off the last page of their calendar and tossing it to Whumpee's feet: That's another year, darling. And not a single person has found you. Give up, because your friends already did.
#happy 2024 everyone#hopefully happy#this has been a wild and quick year#whump#whumpblr#whump writing#whump prompt#whump tropes#creepy whumper#intimate whumper#psychological whump#psychological torture#manipulative whumper#defiant whumpee
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tw past trauma, conditioned whumpee, dehumanisation, de-conditioning (gone wrong?), manipulation
“I… I’m not sure about this. It feels kinda mean.”
“I’m literally asking you to do it,” Whumpee said, rolling their eyes a little. Despite their attempts to seem nonchalant, though, it was very clear that they were nervous about this. “Please. I can’t live my life like– this. If I’m outside while some fucker is training his dog, I– it’s embarrassing. I need to do something about it.”
“And you think re-triggering yourself is… the way to go.”
“It’s exposure therapy. I don’t get why you’re the one being so weird about it. You’re not even the one who’s about to do the heavy lifting.”
Caretaker sighed, still uneasy about the concept. “I just don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I don’t want to be rude, I don’t want to do any of that. I want you to be okay.”
“Well, I need this to be even remotely okay.”
Caretaker bit their lower lip as they thought about it, trying to convince themself this was fine, and they shouldn’t be making a fuss about it. Whumpee was right, they had to get over it at some point. It was just… Caretaker didn’t imagine they would be the one doing any sort of therapy. “Okay,” they said softly. “Um… then, uh, do you wanna start on the floor, or–”
“No. Come on. Tell me to– say the command.”
Fuck, this was so uncomfortable. Caretaker took a deep breath and closed their eyes. “Alright. Kneel.”
The sound of Whumpee’s knees hitting the floor followed just a few moments after. It wasn’t really a conscious reaction, from what Caretaker understood. It was instinctual. Reflex. They opened their eyes to see their friend looking at the carpet, flexing and unflexing their hands that were resting on their thighs.
“Can you get up?” Caretaker asked gently.
“I… Of course…” Whumpee swallowed audibly, and made no move to actually get to their feet. “I just need a moment…”
“This was a bad idea.”
“No! No, I can do this. This is so stupid. I can do this. I need you to repeat the command whenever I start getting up, though. Please.”
“I shouldn’t–”
“Can you just help me for once? Instead of coddling me endlessly? I want my fucking life back!”
Caretaker flinched a little at the yelling. “S-sorry. You’re right. Um… Go ahead, then.”
Whumpee slowly took their hands from their lap and placed them on the floor, then made an attempt at pushing themself to their feet. Caretaker hated to do this. They hated seeing their friend on their knees, they hated ordering them around like an animal. But what else was there to do? Whumpee had asked them for help.
“Kneel,” they repeated quietly. Whumpee’s resolve crumbled immediately, and they sat right back down: back straight, hands in their lap, perfect as ever. They seemed embarrassed by it. “If at any point you’d like to stop–”
“I can do this,” Whumpee insisted. “I can do this. They’re just words. Stupid words.”
They tried to get up again. Caretaker sent them back to the floor with a single word. They tried to get up. Caretaker told them to kneel. It was awful. It was so bad. Whumpee started crying after the fourth time, and Caretaker just couldn’t take it anymore.
“I’m done,” they said, tears in their eyes. “I’m not doing this to you.”
“What the fuck?” Whumpee snapped. “You said you’d help!”
“And I said I didn’t want to hurt you!” they yelled back. “You’re sobbing! I’m not doing this. I want you to get better, and I’ll pay for as many therapy sessions as I can, but I’m not doing this.” They turned around and stormed off, wiping their eyes as they went.
#this was my first cohost request...#enjoy#whump#whump drabble#past trauma#conditioned whumpee#dehumanisation#de-conditioning#manipulation#recovery fic
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Whumpees who give in, inch by inch, because-
it's just a piece of cloth, it doesn't carry any important meaning to it.
it's just some fake words, I'm of the benefit in this deal.
it's just five minutes every day, what harm could it do?
But after all that time, when Caretaker meets them again, they can see that every detail of Whumpee's self had been transformed into something twisted.
#tw manipulation#manipulation#whump#whumpee#whump prompts#whump idea#whumper#whump prompt#whump ideas#caretaker#conditioned whumpee
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Forced body modification in Whump should be more popular, methinks.
Forcing Whumpee to get a tattoo, cutting or burning initials into their skin. Sharpening the canines of an “attack dog” Whumpee to make them look scarier. Giving them piercings they wouldn’t give themselves, or an ID tag to hang from their ear. Changing their hair color. Deciding what they wear, what they eat, how they speak, who they are.
#at what point does Whumpee no longer recognize their own reflection?#at what point do they think their real self is buried beneath a manufactured one?#not being able to present yourself the way you want to just…crushes self-esteem#and that makes Whumpee easier to manipulate#noncon body modification#whump
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There's something about a Whumpee that just gives in. They'll make the concessions, they'll say whatever you want, do whatever you want, anything to just stay alive. And at the end of the day, they have to remind themselves: I'm not bad, I don't deserve this, I don't love them. I don't. I don't...
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Too Much
alt.: How to Break a Defiant Whumpee 101, cws in tags!
When the lock clicks and the door opens once again, the foreboding light cascades down in the form of a person's shadow onto him and he cannot hold in a moan of distress.
He jerks his hands down against the cold floor in helpless, terrified frustration. His blood trickles from under the thick cable wire tying his wrists tightly together, collecting in a puddle with the rest of his spilled life force on the floor. Those cuts barely had time to close over, now torn open again. It cannot have been more than a couple hours since the last visit; what had he done to incur this unbearable punishment today? Who did he piss off this bad?
He listens to the familiar, heavy footsteps nearing him, hoping desperately that they aren't here for him. Unfortunately, those steel-toed boots enter his vision and do not leave, slowing to a stop right in front of his cell, peeking through the bars curiously. He wishes that just once, they would walk right past him; that he would be ignored and left alone. Alas, today has not been the luckiest.
"Oh, just look at you. Always such a sight for sore eyes."
"F-Fuck off."
Leaning up against the cell door, they trail their eyes along every inch of his skin. Of all his captors, this one might just be the worst, if only for their creepy fucking mannerisms. It's hard to forget about those intense, dark eyes and that impossibly smooth, gross voice that makes his skin crawl and keeps him company even in his nightmares. Among all the other things he was hoping for just a moment ago, not having to see them today was quite high up on his list.
They click their tongue. — "You still have your tongue then. Could've fooled me. You look awful."
Their grin made the insult sound more like a twisted compliment. He forces out another weak reply. — "Wow. Thanks."
They pause, tapping their index finger against one metal bar. They are just standing there, staring at him. Their expression is infuriatingly pleasant.
He fucking hates this. Why couldn't they just leave him alone today? Why does he have to be looking up at this terrifying motherfucker from the coldest, most uncomfortable corner of his cell, already exhausted, beaten halfway to death, and be forced to go through yet another round of pain? This just isn't fair.
They take a deep, content sigh, seemingly done with their sightseeing. — "Right."
They back up to stretch, then fit the key into the cell door, promptly sliding inside once it's open. His foreseeable future has swiftly become his near future, and he is anything but ready for it to become his present.
"W-Wait, wait, don't come in, you can't be ser— "
"How could I not when you look so lonely, cuddled up to the wall all by yourself?" — they sing, watching him struggle to push himself further into the corner he was left in by the one before them. From this close, it's even more apparent how rough he had it lately.
If the numerous black-purple pools of blood under his skin weren't enough, the fresh pool by his hand and the splatter of red across the walls would make it more than obvious. Everywhere they look they find another cut, another bruise, another mark and slash and burn. The ever present rings around his wrists are deeper, and now a new one resides around his throat like a collar. His eyes are dark and crimson, looking at them like he might just burst into tears.
He pushes his back into the wall with a cry. A new desperation has morphed his voice into something truly delicious. — "Just, leave, leave me alone!"
They smile innocently. — "Oh, should I? I'll consider it."
"No, stop, please — !" — his throat rasps and breaks his words, but that is nothing new. What is new, however, is the begging. This one has to be forced to beg usually, and now here he is, already close to sobbing for them to just let him be before they could even set a hand on him.
With something between a groan and a whimper, he twists his body to be hidden, curling up to the side and squeezing his eyes shut as he cowers, shaking, shielding his face with bound hands before they could even reach him. He looks utterly pathetic, and that melts their heart — but then they notice something truly surprising, something deviously intriguing.
"Don't tell me... Baby, are you crying? Already?" — They do not even try to hide the grin in their voice as they kneel in front of him. He only curls up tighter, sniffling. — "Now you're starting to worry me. This is very unlike you. I expect insults and swearing, not weeping."
He doesn't respond with anything but a huff of air. They try to peer behind those twitching fingers — a couple of them are definitely broken — but their curiosity isn't sated. The thought of finally having broken him crosses their mind. — "What happened?"
Their question goes unanswered. This guessing game is already starting to irritate them.
They take a light hold of one of those fractured fingers, leering; only a threat for now. — "You know I prefer screams to silence."
"Don't," — he half-wheezes.
"Talk to me then. What's troubling you, sweetheart?" — they cut him off entirely, cooing like they aren't the very reason he's like this.
"I'm... I'm scared."
"I can tell."
"I just — please, I-I just —"
They say nothing. He swallows dryly.
"I just don't want to be hurt again," — he whispers miserably, — "I can't, again, I can't — "
They still don't say anything. They still hold onto that damn finger. He almost wishes they would just get on with the torture instead of whatever this is.
"What, what do you want from me? Just fucking leave! Please!" — he yells, pleads, loses his mind a little more. — "Are you blind? Do you seriously want me to explain to you why I'm, why I'm having a-, a fucking meltdown?"
"I've barely had a, a single minute to myself today where I didn't have to en-entertain any of you pricks, and when I think it's finally over, when, when I get just a second, a m-, a moment to breathe," — he takes a strained couple inhales, almost hyperventilating before harshly gulping down his anxiety again, fighting sobs, — "y-you fucking show up. Like you always do. And, and now I'm here, yet again, left on the floor tired and, and hurt and bleeding — and you're, you're — it always g—, it never gets better. It never f-fffucking stops."
Nothing more is said for a while. They just watch him cry in his little corner coated in fresh blood, breaking apart in front of them. This is an incredible, rare sight. An important moment. They see a precious opportunity and they simply cannot resist seizing it.
They let go of his hand, gently laying their palm on his head instead. The gasp and the flinch are wonderfully unexpected, yet so beautiful to see. — "How many of us came today?" — they inquire softly, almost genuine.
His fragile throat lets out the most raw, wretched sounds they have ever heard him make. — "Y-You were the only one who hasn't. Eh-everyone and their mother came to visit me. I was really fucking hoping you wouldn't."
Ah. The others all took turns today, huh. They did a fine job at whittling him down. They don't even know how all of them managed to get their round in in such a short period of time.
"All five of us?"
"Yeah," — he mumbles. He's furiously wiping at his eyes, starting to lose all hope of getting any rest now that they are this close, and clearly not leaving any time soon. He hoped this embarrassing outbreak would at least deter them somehow, but none of his hopes today came true. They aren't exactly a bleeding heart who would change their mind about torturing him just because he's a little sad. If anything, he thinks, being this pathetic might have just spurred them on. — "But it doesn't, doesn't matter, does it? You sadistic freaks don't care about anything but, but beating the shit out of me any chance you get. I don't know why I thought that you of all people would understand."
This is perfect.
They lean in close. — "Me of all people? What's that supposed to mean? Am I special?"
"Especially annoying." — Now that's more like him. Retorts and insults flying out of his mouth like bullets. They really wish they could have him confess that he finds them the most intimidating out of everyone, that the ‘annoyance’, as he put it, comes from the fact that his backtalk doesn't have any effect on them, and that they know him on a deeper level than any of the others and that scares him more than anything — but they recognise when the moment allows for a play like that. He's already building up his walls again; they can't let this moment slip through their fingers.
"Mmm. Well, I have a proposal for you." — They dig their fingers under his great mess of locks, not unkind. — "Look at me."
"That's not a proposal."
"I'll tell you once you look at me."
"No."
They sink their hand in deeper, twisting into his hair like the claws of a beast. — "Come on. Don't you want to hear it?"
He only lifts his hands higher to hide behind, now muffling his tone. — "I know that, th-that you only want to see me cry."
They smile. — "Yes. And I know you want to avoid more pain."
This thinly veiled threat does two things: it pisses him off, and it brings back that foolish hope that they will take mercy on him if he behaves as they like.
Just one more push. A soft, light order. — "Look at me, baby."
Ordinarily, this would never work. He might even laugh in their face or spit at them for asking, especially so sweetly. This time, however, he is just a lonely, sad little guy in a cell, desperate for sweetness. They wait patiently. He shudders uncomfortably, snivelling.
Silently, with a deadly glare, he finally looks at them.
His eyes are red, puffy, and so, so tired. His lips are bitten bloody, cracked, pouting. The scar over his right cheek has been reopened, enlarged to run down the side of his neck. A gorgeous purple bruise has nestled under his left eye, running like paint in water across his skin. His tears drew clean streaks along his face, sliding down the length of his neck. It's beautiful, mesmerising. They are mesmerised for a little too long, though.
"I hate you so fucking much, you're so gross," — he hisses, done watching their eyes rake over him like an object while having the most adoring, fond smile doing so. It always sends a shiver down his spine when they do this, and having them be so close just makes it even more unbearable. He can clearly see their eyes refocus and return to make eye contact at his remark and it makes him nauseous.
It's fascinating how little bite his voice holds now, with the tears still flowing freely and his throat closed up. So many thoughts of torment run through their mind, images of taking advantage of this weakened state he is in and breaking him until there is nothing left, until he is like this all the time; crying and pitiful and obedient and lovely. None of that makes it to the surface.
"My proposal is this;" — they say instead, — "we could go on with what I had planned for today. This option includes this high voltage shock collar I brought with me."
As they turn to get the collar he assumes they must be bluffing, but horrifyingly enough, they turn back with a thick, black loop of leather with a box attached to it and a remote in their other hand, grinning excitedly. He remains silent in shock.
"Or," — they say after a pause to let him simmer in anticipation, setting their toy to the side, — "we could forget about that for now, and let you rest instead. How does that sound?"
He can barely believe his ears. They actually care? This is a trick, it must be.
"You're lying." — His splotchy face must have betrayed his bewilderment, because they murmur a chuckle before they respond.
"I am not. I can tell you are in a lot of pain."
They take a gamble as they take his head into their hand gingerly, turning him towards them by one shoulder and one cheek carefully, fully expecting him to struggle. There is resistance, as always, but quieter, just a small weight put behind pulling them forward which might as well just be his tired body refusing to cooperate. He says nothing. His lip wobbles. His expression is less cutting than usual, the edge replaced by worn flesh and agony.
They make an effort to remove all malice from their eyes, looking at him with sympathy and love instead. They give him exactly what he has been craving for the weeks he has been trapped here. Someone who can tell him they know he has been trying his best.
They look right into his eyes empathically, and sadly sigh; — "You're just tired, aren't you?"
Those are the magic words to open the gates to his true anguish. Something about this awfully simple, assuring sentence whispered so knowingly — it breaks something in him, and his eyes fill with fresh tears, and he cannot help the sobs bubbling to the surface. Because it is that simple, isn't it? He is so, so damn tired. All he wants is some rest. The assurance that someone sees him struggling, and understands how badly he hurts, and how little he really asks for. Coming from his torturer, it should not feel so liberating. But he is far past rationalism, his want for a single kind gesture has long become a burning need he would do anything for in this moment.
He may regret it later, but for now he leans into their hand as he lets every sob he ever swallowed down free, letting them see how broken he truly is already. From under all that grit and animosity comes pure childlike, innocent suffering, so potent he doesn't know what to do with it besides letting it envelop him. Just the right opportunity and a couple pokes, and he has crumbled under all this weight.
They lead him closer, pulling him out of his defensive position against the wall slowly to embrace him. He is all but powerless to stop his fragile form from moulding under their touch, gasping wretchedly in their arms. He is shivering like a leaf. It's intoxicating.
There they remain until his sobs weaken, and his exhausted body slumps against them like dead weight. Somewhere along the line they had let themself slide down to the ground, inviting him to lie on something soft for the first time in forever, even if it is only their own body. The floor isn't exactly clean — it's quite disgusting in fact — but it is well worth it to have this ball of resentment tamed for even a small bit, even if they have to lie on filth for it. This one instance of kindness will have lasting effects on their relationship and him as a person, even if he doesn't realise it, or even if he does. He will find it hard to look at them the same way, and will find it difficult to keep up his defiance in front of them when he knows they have seen him truly at his wits end.
He may let them touch him more often without a word. He may find it easier to do as they say without fighting. He may grow more attached to them through this, having a closer connection to them than to any of the others. He may even ask them again, once the time comes, to have mercy on him again, and they will give it to him, letting him fall deeper and deeper. He will have to swallow his pride, and he will only swallow it for them. This small moment will be crucial in the future. Maybe they could capitalise just a little more on this by telling the others they can't see him for a day. They will visit him tomorrow and ease his mind again, let him heal, see how he acts after this humiliating exchange.
The unconscious man in their arms will learn to be theirs with time; he has already made so much progress. This one is theirs, just as soon as it becomes too much to bear again.
...
He didn't even yell at them for calling him baby.
~
Taglist: @morning-star-whump
Masterlist | Ko-Fi
#whump#creepy whumper#my writing#whump writing#intimate whumper#fear#sadistic whumper#captivity whump#defiant whumpee#multiple whumpers#referenced torture#manipulation#blood#restrained#crying#this is pretty tame#but very satisfying
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Whump Prompt #1327
Submitted by Anon - thanks!
I’ve been thinking about a whumpee who in the eyes of everyone around them (or even society) is the bad guy. Like, their whumper paints them to be this villian in order to isolate them from society and keep them under their grasp. To add insult to injury, at the beginning the potential caretaker believes all the rumors and whumper’s narrative to the point that they contribute to whumpee’s isolation. They’re just so against whumpee, they’ll disagree with them, overthink whumpee’s intentions, etc. But they’re not that harsh with Whumpee compared to others so in whumpee’s eyes they’re the kindest person to ever exits, that maybe they’re worthy of an ounce of kindness.
And when Caretaker finally finds out the truth (either through them just slowly realizing the true relationship of whumpee and whumper or like an event that triggers whumpee) they have no idea how to care for whumpee knowing that they contributed to whumpee’s suffering and that they barely scratched the surface. So they just try their best instead of resulting to inaction.
But like here’s the catch, so far in whumpee’s eyes caretaker has been the kindest to them, so now whumpee worries about caretaker’s sudden change in actions. (Because they’re not use to comfort)
(Bonus points if their whumper was possesive and often result to physical action and soft words laced with malice. And that’s how caretaker normally comforts people, so they try the same with whumpee only for whumpee to slip into the thinking that they were wrong about caretaker and that they don’t deserve such decency.)
#villain turned whumpee#sort of#long prompt#writing#prompts#angst#whump#ideas#injury#I LOVE THIS ONE ALOT#misunderstandings#manipulation#truth and lies#lies#revelations#revealing the truth#whumper turned caretaker
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whumpee who associates praise with pain. whenever whumper would hurt them, they’d do it with a soft hand in their hair, thumb on their cheek wiping away their tears as they cut into their skin.
“good job, darling. you’re doing so well. just like that, you’re so good.”
caretaker doesn’t know why whumpee always flinches when they praise them. they’re trying to be comforting, but it only makes whumpee pull away more.
#whump#whump writing#whump drabble#whump prompts#traumatized whumpee#recovery whump#caretaker#whumper#manipulation#vince rambles
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The whumpee who cried wolf.
What does it take to convince everyone that it's real this time? Begging? A promise? Collateral? Video evidence? A dramatic injury reveal? Collapsing? Death?
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Whumper who sensory deprives Whumpee all the time - apart from when they’re being tortured. So now Whumpee looks forward to their little torture sessions just so they can feel something, anything.
#whump#whump things#whump blog#writing#whump prompt#whump writing#whump scenario#whumpee#writing prompt#manipulative whumper#Whumper#sensory deprivation
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The whumper was blackmailing the caretaker, promising the whumpee’s safety as long as they did everything the whumper told them to do. Most of the time, it involved retrieving important information, which the caretaker always struggled to comply to, but usually a video of the whumpee being tortured and crying for help pushed them in the right direction. The whumper just enjoyed it. they either physically tortured someone, or psychologically tortured the other- a win win for them.
#whump#whump prompt#whump scenario#whumpee#aramis stabs someone#whump prompts#whumper#manipulation#blackmail#its like…Bluetooth whump#caretaker
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"If you tell me you're sorry, I'll take off the muzzle. Oh don't give me that look, it's your fault this is happening at all. Now apologize."
#whump#whump writing#whump prompt#whump tropes#creepy whumper#pet whump#whumpblr#pet whumpee#creepy/intimate whumper#manipulative whumper#captive whumpee#whump dialogue
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NAH CAUSE YOUR RECENT ‘caretaker becomes whumper’ ask abt the drugs has me inspired
what if a former mind controlled whumpee comes back and “”caretaker”” can’t help themselves. they tell themself that it’s for whumpee’s own good—ordering them to shower or take their medication when they don’t want to. but it so so tempting to see how far they could push it. they begin fantasizing about whumpee being a pet to them and how they had the power to make it happen.
tw bad caretaker, conditioning, conditioned whumpee, manipulation
Anyone would’ve had the same thoughts, right? Ever since Whumpee had come back, ever since Caretaker had realised just how fragile they had become… it was impossible not to think about it.
It’d be so easy to push them. Force them back into old habits.
The temptation was unbearable whenever Whumpee was being difficult. Caretaker couldn’t help it; they used the commanding tone, they used the trigger words, they used all of it. So long as it got the job done, was it really that bad? They’d stop when Whumpee’s injuries were all the way healed, when they needed to focus on the mental part.
Except when the time came, they couldn’t give it up. Whumpee was so sweet when they were docile, following orders like the most perfect dog. ‘Take a shower’, ‘take your meds’, ‘change your clothes’, ‘stay in your room’, ‘hold still’… How much further was ‘get on your knees’?
The thought wouldn’t leave them alone. The occasional moral quandary they’d have about these things had always been almost immediately assuaged by the results of their little experiments, whenever Whumpee gave them that naive, trusting look, those big doe eyes that promised such all-encompassing obedience. They had no doubt it’d be even better if they were on their knees, looking up at them like an adoring pet.
Oh, they wanted it. They wanted what Whumper had had. They understood now, and really, they should’ve been thanking the guy for laying the foundations.
“Hey, Whumpee?” Caretaker called one day, and their delightful little pet immediately dropped whatever they were messing with to turn towards them. “Come here for a second.”
Whumpee walked over, dropping to their knees as soon as Caretaker pointed to the floor. They looked so embarrassed, the poor thing. “Oh, s-sorry, that’s… That’s awkward,” they stammered, face flushed with shame as they tried to push themself to their feet again.
“No, it’s okay. Stay like that.”
Whumpee glanced up at them, and for a moment, Caretaker wondered whether they’d gone too far. But then Whumpee simply settled back down, looking almost relieved that Caretaker didn’t make a big deal out of it.
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