#nonchalant whumper
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Born to Live | Part 1
So it begins!
Don't worry, you haven't missed anything- this is the very first part of a possible series I plan on doing, I just like opening things in the middle of the action for some reason. Some sort of prologue may happen, but nothing is guaranteed haha
(This one ended up kinda long, I hope you all enjoy!)
CW: Beating, shocking, broken bone, hand whump, head trauma, defiant whumpee, nonchalant whumper, reluctant whumper (more like an accomplice tbh)
Let me know if I missed anything!
When he wakes up again, Torin still finds himself tied to the chair.
He can't feel his hands- they had gone numb from when his captor tightened his cuffs after his stunt yesterday.
Torin grinned.
Seeing that ridiculous, furious expression on his captor's face was more than worth it, even if his shoulders burn from where they're pulled behind him and his hands have lost all circulation.
He was so close to getting out. It was right there, the door was right there, but he got tackled before he could have made it. His nose still aches from the right hook he couldn't dodge in time.
He shifts in his seat when he hears footsteps approaching his cell door. He leans back with his head held high. If it weren't for the dried blood around his nose and the tension in his aching shoulders, he might even look relaxed.
The door opens.
Torin meets his captor's eyes, and keeps staring until the guy breaks eye contact.
"Good morning to you too, I guess." Torin mutters under his breath.
There's someone else behind him, someone Torin hasn't seen before.
He's wearing a black mask that covers his mouth and nose. Torin scoffs. At least one of them is competent enough to hide their identity.
The new guy walks around behind him, and Torin twists around to try and keep him in sight. A hand comes to hold onto the backrest of the chair, but nothing else happens.
Torin turns back around to face his captor again.
"Ah, so you do have friends after all," he says and grins when his captor shoots him a glare.
He knows he should probably be at least worried, but taunting the guy was so immensely satisfying when it was so easy to get him riled. He barely has to put any effort into it before the guy resolves to throwing hands.
It was smart of them to bind him. He would have beat the asshole to hell and back by now if they hadn't; His last escape attempt made that painfully clear.
"I'm glad to see I didn't dampen your spirits too badly. At least I won't be the only one having fun today." his captor comment off-handedly.
Torin rolls his eyes.
Another hand joins the first on the back of the chair, moving to hold either sides of the backrest. Torin barely has time to register the movement before a fist connects with his temple, sending his head creening to the side.
The chair rocks with the movement, almost toppling over.
Almost.
Torin coughs, dizzy and disoriented. His vision swims and the taste of copper fills his mouth. He spits blood onto the concrete floor.
A hand grabs him by the hair and pulls him upright again. His shoulders scream at him, and if he didn't know better, he might have thought they got pulled out of their sockets.
The hand lets go of his head with a shove and through his unfocused vision, he sees a figure retreating towards a dark shape near the door.
It's a duffel bag.
Torin's stomach rolls and he grits his teeth to fight back the creeping nausea.
The bastard brought his toys this time.
He finds himself grinning, despite everything. His suspicion that the guy didn't have any powers just got confirmed, and he rasps out a laugh.
This guy really kidnapped him and tied him with power restricters so he could have his own stupid power trip?
Fucking pathetic.
The hand in his hair returns, yanking his head up to face his captor. Torin really needs to find a name for him besides bastard and asshole. It's starting to get very repetitive.
"What's got you chuckling?" he sneers, "You seem to be in an awful good mood."
Torin grins, flashing blood stained teeth.
"I was wondering why you got the special stuff out for me," he says and rattles the power restricting cuffs keeping his hands bound. "I was starting to think I was somehow special. Turns out you just felt inadequate."
The second hit comes just as quick, but at least this time he was expecting it.
His captor shakes his hand with a disgusted scowl.
"Are you still going to talk back, or are you going to learn to keep your fucking mouth shut?"
Torin pulls himself up this time, leaning heavily against the figure behind him. His breathing has become labored, his heartbeat pounds in his ears- it makes it hard to think, to get his words in order, but they come tumbling out regardless.
"Why don't you hit me again and see what happens?"
His captor looks up behind Torin to exchange a look with his accomplice.
Whatever the verdict ends up being Torin is none the wiser, still focused on getting his breathing in check. He watches as the guy walks away, back to the duffel bag- this time, he does take something out, holding it in plain view.
"Do you know what this is?" he asks, hitting the object against his palm a couple times. It looks like a baton, but narrower with two metallic prongs sticking out at the end.
Torin knows exactly what it is.
"The stick you keep shoved up your ass all day?"
The next hit does topple him over with the chair. His head bounces off of the concrete when he lands on his back and something cracks. Dark spots dance in his vision. He struggles to breathe for a few agonizing moments.
The pain in his shoulders flares up again, the hard metal of the chair digging into his arms where they're being crushed beneath him. He sucks in air through his teeth, refusing to make any noise. He won't give that bastard any sort of satisfaction.
He stares up at the ceiling until a figure blocks his vision, leaning over him. His eyes are having a hard time focusing.
It's the guy in the mask.
The two stare at eachother for a few moments, but then the guy straightens up and turns away.
"Still conscious. Probably got a concussion or something. Want me to stand him up?"
Torin closes his eyes. He can feel a headache forming already, radiating from the back of his skull until it feels like his head might split open. He may be bleeding. He has no way to check.
His cheek throbs painfully, and he can feel something warm dripping down his face towards his hairline.
He gasps as his world turns on it's axis, and suddenly he's upright again. He sags forward in the chair trying to catch his breath and fight the vertigo that makes his world spin.
It hurts.
Everything hurts and the pain makes him nauseous and he wants it all to just fucking stop. He wants to go home. He wants to see his sister again.
Something cold pools in the pit of his stomach.
Torin knows that feeling, and the sudden reappearance after days of it's absence catches him off guard, sends shivers down his spine.
This shouldn't be possible- the power restrictors make sure of that, and yet there it is, that electric buzz just under his skin as his power gathers in his core.
He wiggles his hands, and realizes that they're no longer held as tightly as before. The link that held the cuffs together jingles loosely as he moves around.
He blows the hair that's fallen onto his face away, glaring daggers at his captor where he stands.
He glares back. He tests the cattle prod by clicking the button a few times; the prongs light up with blue sparks that crackle loudly. Torin shudders.
"You know, I have to admire your resolve. I expected you to have given up already, but I suppose you're just a sucker for pain."
Torin holds his gaze as he walks forward, refusing to break eye contact. He grits his teeth as the metal prongs press into his ribs, and braces himself for the inevitable shock.
It's worse than he was expecting.
It burns. He throws his head back as a scream rips from him, muscles convulsing from the waves of electricity coursing through his body.
It lasts entirely longer than it should. It squeezes the air from his lungs and by the time it ends, Torin struggles to catch his breath. His entire body tingles with pins and needles. His ears ring.
There's a hand on his face, tapping his cheek roughly to get him to focus. He wants to fucking break it, finger by finger.
"What, one little shock and you're out?" His captor asks, and Torin doesn't need to see his grin to know it's there. He groans and forces himself to lean forward again. His ribs scream at him.
"F.. f-fuck off.." he slurs. He hates that he sounds so weak.
He can feel his hands again, he realizes distantly. The pins and needles have spread there, too, and he can finally move his fingers again. The cuffs are still too tight, but what if...
He's never done this before. He doesn't even know if it'll work, but the buzzing under his skin has only intensified since. If it weren't for the fucking cuffs, he could be out of here already.
His captor is saying something again. Torin tries his best to pay attention.
"I always thought you empowered bastards were tougher, what with all the shit you have to go through to get your powers. I suppose you're just the exception."
"Wh.. what are you.. 'n expert? You're th' one that has to— use tools 'n shit.." he wheezes past the burning in his chest. He shifts in his seat, rolls his shoulders to distract from the movement of his hands-
He takes a deep breath through his nose to steel his nerves. He can't back out now, not when there's a chance for him to fight back. Who knows when he'll get another opportunity like this? He only needs one functioning hand to break in some teeth.
Torin places his thumb on the base joint of the other one. His hands shake, but that's fine. It's his left hand- the non-dominant one.
He only needs one good hand.
Jesus fucking Christ it hurts so bad—
His captor is talking again, but Torin can't hear anything beyond the ringing in his ears. His vision flashes white for a moment as the pain shoots up through his arm, and it burns, it hurts so fucking bad he can barely breathe—
A harsh slap brings him back to his senses.
A hand grabs his jaw and holds it in place as his captor leans in close. Rage burns in his eyes, but Torin can't find it in himself to give a shit.
"Don't fucking ignore me."
"..Wouldn' dream of it.."
He can't back out now, not when he's come this far. It's still a tight squeeze and the pain is nauseating, but the cuff slides past his wrist and off of his hand with enough effort.
Torin doesn't waste a second of his newfound freedom.
He lunges at his captor.
#whump#whump writing#hero whumpee#defiant whumpee#nonchalant whumper#is that a tag?#it is now ig#A Writes#Born to Live
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Whumpee hates spicy food. Even average taco seasoning is too much for them and they need to cool it off quickly. Whumper only feeds them spicy foods, so they either have to suffer through the pain and stomach aches or go hungry. Whumpee can't tell which is more painful.
#imagine a post whump scene where Whumpee and their friends are doing a spicy pepper eating contest and Whumpee eats it like it's nothing#their friends stare blankly like “what the hell” while Whumpee is nonchalant#whump#whump prompt#whump writing#whumpblr#whump tropes#sadistic whumper#starved whumpee#starvation whump#captured whumpee#whump scenario
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"How much do you care for your Whumpee?" Whumper asked Caretaker in a nonchalant tone.
Caretaker glares viciously at him. "They don't mean anything to me." They tell the boldfaced lie with as much confidence as they can muster.
"Is that so?" Whumper asks, amused this time. "So if for example, I had Whumpee bound and gagged in the back of my car, that would mean nothing to you?"
"Nothing at all," Caretaker replies, the lie hurt but they had to protect Whumpee.
Whumper fixed Caretaker with a calculating stare. "Well then, I suppose I won't be needing them anymore." He lifted his phone to his ear. "Hear that Henchman? You can dispose of the brat now."
Ice rushed into Caretaker's lungs. All their bravado slipping away. "No!" They shouted.
"I thought they meant nothing to you?"
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Febuwhump: day twenty-five
Prompt — waterboarding ( @febuwhump prompts)
PLEASE BE WARNED THAT THIS SNIPPET IS VERY GRAPHIC, VERY TRIGGERING FOR CHOKING, SUFFOCATING AND GENERALLY VERY DARK!
TW: waterboarding (VERY DETAILED) interrogation, team Whump, leader whumpee, interrogator Whumper, nonchalant torturer, traumatic event, suffocating, choking, gagging, vomiting, spewing, dissociation
PLEASE AGAIN READ THE TAGS MIND THE WARNINGS
Henchmen led Whumper down into the basement where they held the Hero team. Whumper followed, hands in the pockets of their black combats, eyes skimming the cold stone walls as they waited for Henchmen to open the door.
“Supervillain said they refuse to talk,” said Henchmen to Whumper, looking back over their shoulder at them and frowning. “Said you’re the best interrogator in the city.”
“Yeah?” Whumper asked, tilting their head, tone bored. “High praise from Supervillain.”
“You don’t look like a good interrogator.”
Whumper let out a small hmph of a laugh which Henchmen went pale at. “I— I mean, it’s just— you’re young. You look younger than me.”
“Looks can be deceiving,” said Whumper with a shrug, half lidded eyes on Henchmen and the door. “I get paid hourly, so if you want Supervillain to pay me more, which I would appreciate—”
Henchmen shook their head and turned their attention back to the lock. “Right sorry.”
Whumper leaned their back against the wall and repressed a sigh. They weren’t a very patient person, which probably came with the job description but how many times had they had this same conversation with other employers.
The lock finally clicked and Whumper pushed off the wall, grabbing the door as they passed Henchmen. They met Henchmen’s eyes, looking up at them with the same blank expression they usually wore.
“Listen, henchmen, it gets pretty bleak when I’m interrogating. You sure you can stomach it?”
Henchmen nodded, though their face expressed their hesitance. “Supervillain said I had to accompany you.”
Whumper blinked, then glanced back at the stairs up to Supervillain’s house before sighing.
“Fine. If you want to impress him so damn much.”
Henchmen blushed, flustered. “I— I—”
Whumper was already walking down the stairs to the Hero team, ignored Henchmen’s embarrassment.
“You coming or what, sycophant?”
“Uh, yes!” Henchmen said and closed the door after them.
Whumper stood at the gate of the powered cell, frowning at the Hero team inside. Their eyes passed over each of them, Whumper knew some of them from the news. Especially the tallest one, Leader. One look at them and Whumper knew they wouldn’t talk if Whumper broke every bone in their body. The rest of them… well, Whumper had more faith in their own talents than the other member’s resilience.
Whumper’s eyes landed on a familiar face sitting furthest from the door, their lips twitching as they met Rogue’s eyes from across the room. Henchmen was getting to work opening the gate when Rogue spoke.
“Whumper?” Rogue asked, their voice a mix of confusion and fear. The rattle of chains as Rogue shifted forwards in the dimly lit cell, squinting.
“Hey, Rogue. Funny meeting like this, huh? How have you been?”
“Good,” said Rogue in that same guarded tone.
“Rogue?” Leader asked. “Who is this?”
“An old friend,” said Rogue, swallowing, their eyes going back to Whumper as Henchmen opened the gate and Whumper stepped through. “We grew up in the same neighbourhood.”
“Mmm,” Whumper hummed fondly. “In the Grouts of the city, eh, Rogue? How’s your mum?”
“She’s good.”
Whumper smiled. “Good, good. Tell her I say hi. She’s a lovely woman.”
“I will.”
“Good to see you, I hope you know this is all just business,” Whumper said gesturing to the cell and themselves with their hand.
“You don’t have to hurt us.”
Whumper’s smile melted from their face, eyebrows raising. “Oh? Your team are all loose lips, huh? You’ll just tell me about Superhero and his secret weapon?”
Rogue went quiet, so did the rest of the cell. A humourless smile crept onto Whumper’s face. “Yeah… I didn’t think this job would be that easy.”
“What do you want?” Leader asked. Whumper flicked their gaze to Leader who was on his knees, hands cuffed to a ring in the wall behind him like the rest of the Hero team. Yikes, what kind of sicko was Supervillain to have metal rings embedded in stone? Whumper supposed it didn’t matter.
“I want to get paid,” said Whumper, stretching their arms above their head. “Ugh, then I want to go home and watch TV. That sound good to you, heroes?”
“I think he meant… like what do you want with them,” said Henchmen quietly to Whumper. Whumper frowned and made a verbal “huh!” in exclamation.
“I just told them,” said Whumper. “Supervillain wants information on Superhero’s secret weapon, I’m here to get that information and get paid.”
Leader curled his lip back into a snarl. “Good luck with that.”
Whumper shrugged. “Thank you, Leader. However I am a professional, I don’t need luck. I’m trained to get stoic people chatty.”
“You really think Supervillain hasn’t tried? Torturing us, depriving us of food and water? Leaving us down here to starve and then when that didn’t work going back to torturing us? We’re built to endure,” said Leader with a mirthless smirk. “We don’t break.”
Whumper nodded. “Okay. We can do this the hard way then.”
Whumper turned to henchmen and asked them to grab a cloth and a hose to attach to the tap. “Oh, and a chair, please, henchmen.”
Henchmen left the room, their footsteps ascending was the only sound permeating the cell. Whumper walked over to the girl sitting directly opposite Leader. The only person on the Hero team that Whumper didn’t recognise. Maybe a new recruit? Leader lurched forward, but Whumper just cocked an eyebrow at Leader.
“What’s your name?” Whumper asked her. “This isn’t the interrogation yet, don’t worry. You don’t have to tell me. Just trying to diffuse the tension.”
Whumper looked at Rogue who kept their eyes trained on Whumper. “How long have ye been down here?”
“A while,” Rogue told them with a huff.
Whumper nodded. “Supervillain really starve all of you?”
“Yeah,” said Rogue, a little sheepishly.
“Nothing you’re not used to,” said Whumper with a little laugh. Rogue joined in, although a bit awkwardly. Whumper’s eyes scanned the other people in the room who looked a bit dazed at the flyaway comment. Then they reclined their head against the wall. “Oh. Sorry. You never told them.”
“It’s okay,” said Rogue with a shrug. “They were bound to find out eventually.”
Whumper nodded again. Then let out a sigh. “You don’t want to tell me Superhero’s plan, do you? Save you all some suffering.”
Rogue laughed. “Not a chance.”
“Well, god loves a trier.”
The door to the basement creaked open and Henchmen came down the stairs and left all the things Whumper asked for at the front of the cell, near the gate. “Ah. Wonderful. Thank you henchmen.”
Whumper stood in front of the team of heroes and cleared their throat while Henchmen attached the hose to the leaky tap.
“Okay. For my first trick, I need a volunteer. Leader?” Whumper asked with a smile. Leader scoffed but nodded. “Sure.”
“Excellent.”
Henchmen freed Leader from the wall, the cuffs staying on and led Leader over to chair that Whumper stood at.
“Sit down,” said Whumper. Leader obliged them, and Whumper grabbed Leader’s arms and brought them up over the back of the chair. It was all very gentle, very professional, as if Whumper wasn’t trying to hurt Leader. It sent warning bells off in Leader’s head, but all he could do was follow along with what Whumper was doing.
Henchmen handed Whumper another pair of handcuffs and Whumper thanked them. Whumper attached one of the cuffs to Leader’s cuff chain, and the other to the chair so Leader couldn’t move his hands away.
“Henchmen will you get the legs?”
“Of course.”
Before long Leader’s ankles were cuffed to the chair as well and Leader couldn’t get up from the seat.
“Alright, people. Last chance.”
“Do you worst.”
Whumper smiled. Then they tipped Leader’s chair back. Leader let out a soft oomph as the chair fell back the rest of the way until Leader was facing the ceiling, Whumper and Henchmen standing above him.
The last thing Leader saw was a towel coming down over his head. Leader would be lying if he said he wasn’t scared of what happened next. None of Supervillain’s men had taken his sight, or tied him to a chair just to force him awkwardly onto the ground. The top of his head was the only thing on the ground, that and his arms that were pinned beneath Leader’s weight on the chair, his legs in the air.
Another towel added to the initial one on top of Leader’s head, then another and Leader could feel his heart in his throat when he heard tape being ripped. The towels were wrapped in a single layer of duct tape over Leader’s eyes and another layer below his chin.
Leader swallowed, his hands balling into fists behind him that was already causing pins and needles in his arms.
There was a moment of silence: the atmosphere balanced on a precarious edge of fear and tension. Whumper nodded at henchmen to turn on the tap and picked up the hose.
“Any takers?” Whumper asked again. They weren’t usually this nice to the people they were torturing, but Rogue was an old friend. “No? Okay. Sorry Leader.”
That was all the warning Leader got before he was inhaling water. It was slow, trickling into his nose and Leader realised with a sickening beat that Whumper was water boarding him.
Leader held his breath on instinct, shaking his head, his arms trapped uselessly behind him. His legs were kicking at the cuffs that kept them locked to the chair.
“Leader?!” One of their team asked, voice shrill. Leader couldn’t tell who, and his lungs were aching with how much he was struggling to get the towels off his face, turning away from the hose that was relentless.
“Leader!”
“Wait! Stop! Stop!”
Whumper stared impassively at all the team members, eyes half-lidded, one hand in their pocket as they regarded them all as if they were all just waiting in line for a coffee.
“You can stop this,” said Whumper matter-of-factly.
One of the members beside Rogue spoke up: “Leader wouldn’t want us to.”
Whumper dropped their head, a sardonic expression crossing their features. “Are you serious? Do you really think Leader is thinking about his ideals right now?”
Leader gasped, unable to hold his breath anymore and he started gagging on the air, gurgling water and retching, his body spasming and limbs pulling at the restraints. Whumper didn’t even blink at the change.
“The instinct when being water boarded,” Whumper began, “is to hold your breath. Which Leader here just learned is a bad idea because eventually your lungs want air.”
“Whumper,” Rogue said in warning, yanking at the chains holding them back.
Whumper’s impassive eyes met Rogue’s. “Leader’s body needs air, except he was inhaling water which triggers his gag reflex and is effectively scorching his throat as we speak.”
“Stop it!” One of the members cried. “Stop narrating your torture!”
Whumper shrugged. “Fine. We can sit in silence if you prefer.”
Whumper did just that. They fell silent and so did everyone else. Leader was choking, convulsing, fighting, gasping, all very wetly, the water pooling around Leader’s head as his body tensed. Leader pushed against the chair, his body going stiff as he tried to tilt the chair back up to stop the easy onslaught of pain.
His brain was screaming at him, his body fighting and not understanding that he should stop trying to breathe but his mind wouldn’t let him stop panicking enough to let him hold his breath.
Leader threw his body weight into his legs forward and to his shock the chair went upright. Then Whumper caught the chair and Leader gasped in sweet sweet air, gasping, gasping, not getting enough air and started choking and spluttering on it.
“You had enough Leader?” Whumper asked, their voice matching their face that was a cold, emotionless thing.
Leader was still breathing in air, trying to get his heartbeat under control, drunk on oxygen.
“Leader?” One of the team asked.
“No… don’t—” Leader rasped, then descended into a coughing fit. “Don’t tell them anything.”
“Oh,” said Whumper, letting the chair fall backwards again. “Sounds like you got a bad cough there Leader. You need some water?”
“No! Wait!” Leader protested.
Whumper let the hose fall over Leader’s face again, and Leader held his breath again like an idiot. Whumper stared down at Leader’s chest, wired so tight, trying not to let drowning bother him.
Whumper looked back at the other members of the team. “This is the easiest way to get answers from people, in my professional opinion. Plus it’s not disgusting, no lasting damage on Leader or you guys, except you know, trauma and psychological damage, but you know what I mean.”
Four horrified expressions looked at Whumper. Whumper glanced back to Henchmen who stood at the tap, their jaw tight.
Whumper knew it was a professional, practical reason why they didn’t really react to inflicting pain on people, but at times like this, when even Supervillain’s right hand was uncomfortable with Whumper’s methods… that made them feel inhuman. Wrong.
Whumper’s eyes found Rogue’s that were burning into them from across the cell. Strangely, they were the only eyes that Whumper really cared about. So funny how the past can creep up on you.
Well, a job is a job at the end of the day, Whumper might as well do one that they’re good at. The people in this room were Heroes because it was their talent. Whumper’s talent was pressure point and pain, and knowing just how far to go to get someone to snap.
Leader gasped below Whumper, bringing their attention back to the writhing worm on a hook below them. “Ah. There we go. The inhale. Human anatomy fucks you everytime, huh, Leader?”
“You’re a sadistic bastard!” One of the team members screamed.
Whumper frowned. “I don’t enjoy this. It’s just a job. Same as you Heroes, and your Superhero. Ask yourself this, if Leader was in your position and you were in his, would he protect you or would he protect Superhero?”
“You’re a bastard!”
Leader wheezed, trying to push himself up again, but Whumper had placed a foot on the chair by Leader’s head. “Ah, ah, ah. Leader. You’re not breathing again until someone starts talking.”
Leader convulsed erratically under the water, trying to lift his head up to try and get some air in his lungs. He craned his neck up, but the air attacked his senses and Leader gasped and fell back again. The hose mercilessly flowed over his nose again.
Whumper looked up suddenly. “Hey, do any of you know if Leader has asthma? Cause if so you need to decide faster, this is not a good thing to do to people who are asthmatic.”
“And it’s a good thing for normal people?” One of them asked and Whumper scoffed.
“Semantics,” they said.
“We have to tell them,” said Rogue quietly.
“What?!”
“We can’t Rogue.”
“Listen,” Rogue said, their voice edging on desperate. “I know Whumper, okay?! They’re not going to stop until they get what they want. They can sit here all day and torture Leader and not feel a thing.”
“Rogue’s right,” said Whumper with a sigh. “I get paid by the hour, so really this whole debate back and forth is good for me. Financially I mean. Take your time. Leader, do you mind if they take their time?”
Leader gurgled and choked and spluttered.
Whumper smiled at the team. “See? He’s fine. Take your time.”
“Oh shut up, Whumper,” said the quiet girl. Whumper looked at her, the new one that sat opposite Leader and wouldn’t offer her name. When she looked at Whumper now her eyes burned with a sizzling hatred.
Whumper smiled at her, recognising that level of hatred as their own. Whumper remembers being where she was, powerless to stop bad things from happening to the people they loved.
It felt full circle, that moment, and it ignited something within Whumper that was a little feral, and broken, and wrong. Whumper’s eyes flashed at her, whose glare was unbroken and burning a hole through Whumper’s head, or it would if it could.
Below them, Leader was still spluttering and choking and gagging and wrenching and writhing but Whumper’s attention was fixed on the new girl now.
“Huh. You’re chatty now? Wanna share your name?”
“No,” she said. “I want you to die.”
“Thats a little forward, considering we’ve just met,” said Whumper, glancing at Rogue, whose wide eyes were fixed squarely on the girl. “They always like this, Rogue? Little rude for a Hero.”
“I don’t care,” she said. “I don’t give a fuck what you think of me.”
Whumper hummed to themselves. They moved the hose away from Leader’s head and smiled wanly at the sounds of Leader gasping and coughing on air again.
“Still with us, Leader?” Whumper asked, not taking their eyes off of the angry girl.
“Go… go ffu—urself,” Leader wheezed between laboured breaths.
“Waterboarding is special, huh, Leader? You need breaks in between or it’s not as effective.”
“You—”
Whumper pressed the hose back to Leader and Leader immediately started coughing. Whumper smiled at the girl whose jaw tightened at Whumper’s blasé style of interrogation.
Whumper took the hose off of Leader again, to more coughing and spluttering.
“How’s the cough, Leader?”
“Ff—” Leader didn’t even get a syllable out before Whumper pressed the hose down on his nose again.
“Leader!” One of the other teammates exclaimed, but Whumper had their gaze trained on the girl. Watching her muscles tightening.
Whumper smirked.
Oh they just found the weak link. Maybe they had a special relationship with Leader.
Whumper told Henchmen to turn the tap off and dropped the hose to the floor. Things just got interesting.
“You can put Leader upright,” said Whumper to Henchmen as they walked to the angry girl. Whumper crouched down in front of her. She glared up at Whumper.
“Whumper,” said Rogue in warning. Whumper smiled down at the girl and said: “Rogue, if you try and dissuade me again I will have Henchmen gag you.”
The girl’s eyes flicked briefly to Leader who was pushed to an upright position. Leader spewed some water from his lungs onto the floor in front of him, head lolling forward and groaning.
“What’s your name, little Hero?” Whumper asked.
“Little Hero,” she replied, eyes hard as she stared at Whumper.
Whumper grinned. “Funny.”
Whumper got to their feet and walked over to Leader, purposefully. They ripped the towels from Leader’s head and grabbed one, coiling it meticulously into a shape resembling coiled rope. Then Whumper shoved it between Leader’s teeth, thankful that the towel was long enough to tie it behind Leader’s head and double knot it.
Leader groaned behind the gag.
“Okay,” said Whumper. “Because you all seem like good guys, I’m giving you a bonus last chance to tell me what I want to know before I really traumatise you all.”
Leader wasn’t even really there behind the eyes anymore, just trying to focus on breathing, on surviving. He wasn’t even pulling at the cuffs anymore.
“How can he answer?!” Rogue demanded hotly. “You just gagged Leader!”
Whumper’s smile seemed to suck all the coldness from the room. “I’m not asking him questions, Rogue. I’m asking all of you. Now then. We go again.”
This time, Whumper left the chair upright and just yanked Leader’s head back. Then Whumper grabbed the hose and grinned at everyone.
He stuck it on Leader’s nose. After a few seconds it was as if Leader was being electrocuted, his body convulsing violently against the chair to the cries of his teammates.
“Stop!”
“Stop it!”
“WHUMPER!” Rogue screamed, all of them struggling and pulling on their restraints. Whumper didn’t react. They didn’t even look at any of them.
“Stop please!” One of them cried wetly, oh yeah. Good. Tears meant they were almost there. On the verge of telling Whumper what they wanted to hear.
Leader’s hands and ankles were bleeding from how hard he was pulling and straining at the cuffs. Whumper had to commend the team, they don’t think they could withstand seeing someone they love and trust being tortured like this.
“THE WEAPON IS A PERSON!” Whumper pulled the hose away immediately, head swivelling to the confessor. Whumper grinned when they saw it was the little Hero. Oh, Whumper knew she would snap first.
Whumper smiled sweetly while Leader coughed and vomited water from his lungs pathetically. Whumper pulled the gag from Leader’s mouth and more water pooled out, Leader’s throat expanding and vomiting water onto the ground. Well, Whumper wouldn’t be a good interrogator if they let their leverage die.
“Who?” Whumper asked softly.
The entire team was shivering, chests heaving, emotion running heavy through them, as if they were all getting water boarded. Hero’s wide eyes were on Leader who had appeared to go unconscious. Whumper didn’t care.
“Who?” They asked again, more firm this time.
“Let him go.”
“Tell me who or I’ll slit his throat right now, Hero.”
Hero pursed her lips at Whumper, eyes burning.
“Oh,” Whumper said, glancing between Hero and Leader. “Oh… you’re not in love with him, are you? No. That wasn’t loving forlorn glances that was… that was guilt, wasn’t it?”
“Whumper please—” Rogue begged but Whumper held up a hand that effectively silenced them. Hero sniffed, eyes glued on Leader in the chair.
Whumper smiled. “Oh Supervillain is gonna laugh when he realises he had Superhero’s secret weapon locked in the basement this whole time.”
“Henchmen, will you be a dear and check Leader’s pulse for me?”
There was a few seconds of silence, the team waiting with bated breath that turned into a collective sigh when Henchmen said: “still alive.”
“Wonderful,” said Whumper. “We need to bring him upstairs with us—”
“No!” Hero yelled, struggling against her own restraints. “Leave him alone! It’s me you want, take me,” she pleaded, tears streaming freely down her face.
“To make sure he’s okay,” said Whumper pointedly. “When waterboarding goes wrong sometimes people get hypothermia, so we have to be careful. But don’t worry, Hero. You’re coming too.”
#febuwhump#febuwhump2024#febuwhump25#febuwhump day 25#febuwhump day twenty-five#febuwhump prompts#water boarding#waterboarding#tw waterboarding#cw waterboarding#tw: Waterboarding#Cw: waterboarding#tw choking#choking#suffocation#suffocating#suffering#traumatic event#forced to watch#torture#torture whump#tw torture#tw psychological torture#hero team Whump#team whump#team leader whumpee#team leader whump#dissocation#choking on water#vomiting
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I really like (bear with me now, I don't know what it's called) physical position whump. Like, showing power dynamics through position. Let me explain;
TW : non/con touching in a <borderline?> sexual way
A bloodied, bruised, exhausted Whumpee kneeling in front of their Master/Whumper, legs spread wide and hands pressed to the cold ground in between them. Whumpee's hair falls forward as they lower their head, it frames their battered face. Whumper smiles, proud, and cups Whumpee's dirty cheek, uncharacteristically tender. "Good boy."
Touchy Whumper who pulls Whumpee so that their back is flush with Whumper's front; who pins their wrists behind the small of their back with one hand, while the other covers Whumpee's mouth a little too roughly. Whumper licks at the shell of their ear, and Whumpee's tears wet their fingers.
A Whumpee who's feverish/heavily injured/drugged shaking profusely on all fours in front of Whumper, breathing in shallow, ragged breaths. They lower their head, fight through the humiliation, the bile in their throat. "Please." Whumper's lips twist into a shark-like grin. "But you're so perfect like this."
A personal assassin whumpee is sat in front of the King's throne, back leant against the armrests. He's got one knee up, surveying the people in the throne room with dead eyes and deceptive nonchalance. Above him, the King smirks, fingers playing idly with Whumpee's hair. The members of the court are intimidated by his attack dog.
Also guys I am super open to requests! I'm thinking of writing more, I'm happy to write your request w/ either my original character(s) (I have some with bios) or one/some of your choosing!
#emotional whump#whump#whump fic#whump prompt#whump scenario#whump writing#whumpee#pet whump#kneeling#living weapon#hurt/no comfort
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|| 18+ Interaction Only ||
CONTAINS: creepy/intimate whumpers, noncon touching, threats of noncon, nonchalant talk about trafficking/abuse by whumpers, physical and psychological abuse, poor whumpee being shown up close and personal "how good he has it/how much worse it could be"...Asa is not having a good time.
[12. PART 1]
[previous] [series masterlist/picrews]
Asa doesn't make a sound—tries not to even breathe too loudly—to do his best to ensure Hayes all but forgets he's there as he drives. Maybe stops being so angry...changes his mind, even. But it's hard to keep steady when he knows where Hayes is taking him.
Hayes works somewhere bad. Somewhere they hurt people, and somewhere with more people just like Hayes there to do it. And the longer Hayes doesn't speak, the longer the drive goes on, the more afraid Asa gets of what's to come, what kind of tour that's been promised, and he finds he can't stop trembling, every few breaths hitching in a way he can't control.
The blindfolded had inched up a bit when he fell, and though he can't see much, he can see the carpet beneath him, the sunlight glistening on the fibers, and he wishes...
He wishes he could go outside.
Horribly, shamefully, the wish of wanting to be out of here, to have the freedom to do as he wants again...it doesn't come next. That comes third.
The second thing he wishes is that Hayes would take him outside. That Hayes would treat him like a person instead of some kind of untrained, bad animal.
He's disgusted by it. By himself. But he wonders if he was just good enough...because Hayes had promised that if he just behaved...maybe...
No. No, no, no.
Finally, Hayes makes another turn, and then pulls the car to a stop, wasting no time before he's yanking the back door open, muttering to himself as he drags Asa up by his collar and shoves him forward.
"Walk, bitch."
Asa tries, hissing as sharp gravel bites into his bare feet, as he stumbles forward blindly with his hands out to try and not hit anything, led only by Hayes's hand bunched in the back of the hoodie.
Hayes still slams him face-first into a concrete wall while something electronic beeps off to the side, and then a door unlocks, and Asa is shoved forward into darkness as it closes behind him.
As heavy as the thud it makes is, Asa knows he won't be getting it back open by himself, and he's terrified as he stays there, on his knees, waiting for an order...
That doesn't come.
"...S-Sir?" Asa asks eventually, confused, straightening up a little more. He wipes blood from under his nose, groaning softly, and then finally dares to lift the blindfold only to find himself in such a complete and utter darkness that his heart skips a beat. "Wh—Chris?"
Nothing. Not a reprimand for using his name, not a shove, not a threat for removing the blindfold, not anything. Asa never even heard him walk away. It's like he'd pushed Asa into a fucking void all by himself, and it's goddamn terrifying.
Did he even come in with him...? Or is Asa here completely alone?
And is being away from him a blessing or a curse?
He catches his breath, getting to his feet, slowly, and tries to allow his eyes to adjust. There are a few open doors on either side of him, into rooms somehow darker than this hallway, and he flinches away from them. Maybe Hayes is in one of them, or maybe something worse than him is. He isn't about to find out.
Instead he goes forward, hand out against the wall for guidance as much as support, and then rounds a corner to another hall only a slight bit brighter than the last.
His heartbeat is throbbing in his ears, every sense heightened. What does Hayes want from him? Is he supposed to be doing this? Should he have stayed there and waited? It doesn't fucking matter, he's punished no matter what he does, he always is. But maybe...maybe if he could somehow turn this around on Hayes...find a way out...
There's a noise from somewhere behind him, and he jumps, whirling to face only more darkness. He takes a step back—
And is suddenly grabbed, slammed up against the wall, and held there by his neck.
"Well, lookie here," purrs the stranger, squeezing until Asa chokes, tears welling up in his eyes as he gags for air. "You're even prettier than the picture! All collared, and, fuck..."
He slides his other hand down to run a palm along Asa's belly. "So soft. I knew you would be. The way Hayes talks about you...yeah, I knew you'd be good. Asa, right? Such a pretty name for such a pretty boy..."
"Alec," Asa manages, just barely, and Alec punches Asa so hard in the stomach that Asa would have collapsed if not for the grip round his neck.
"He was right. No respect. But hey...that's why you're here. To be taught some. So let's see if we can't do that, huh? Let's go. Your tour starts now."
Asa can't walk, but Alec drags him along anyways, tossing him into an elevator at the end of the hall. At last Asa manages to take in a full breath, coughing as he pushes himself up to his arms, and then the second the doors close, Alec crouches down, pushes Asa down again, and grabs him hard through his pants.
"No!" Asa shrieks, kicking out, and Alec laughs, batting him away as he struggles like Asa's nothing at all to him. He's bigger than Hayes, stronger, and if even Hayes could defeat him...
It's fucking humiliating. He sobs softly, squeezing his eyes shut as he's forced to lie there and take it.
Maybe it's something he should be used to by now.
"Sorry, baby," Alec says, clearly not sorry in the slightest. "I had to feel that for myself, after all the teasing. I'd love to see it, too, but..."
He tugs at the strings at Asa's waist, which Hayes had knotted so tightly it was like he never planned on taking them off again, and it's the first time Asa's ever felt truly grateful to him.
"He's a little possessive over you, hmm? I would be, too. Goddamn, what a body."
"Stop," Asa says, turning his head as Alec lifts his hoodie up instead, touching over wherever he can. "Ah! Fuck off!"
Alec backhands him, hard enough his nose starts to bleed again, and then shoves his thumb up against Asa's lower lip, rubbing it.
"I'd be very careful about opening that mouth, baby," he says. "That's how you get things shoved in it. I was told not to go too far with you, sure as hell not to fuck you, but..." He gestures up to the ceiling. "There's no cameras in here. And I don't take orders from Hayes. So remember that."
Asa grunts furiously, trying to squirm away, but Alec still holds him there and thoroughly feels over his body until the doors open and he sighs in disappointment, pulling Asa up to his feet and pushing him out.
Asa is shivering violently, hugging himself tightly as he tries to recover, and Alec pats his ass and calls him a fucking prude.
"Sooner you stop flinching around about sex, the sooner things'll get better for you, you know. I mean, fuck, you got the easiest master on the fucking planet! He's heartbroken. Can you imagine how good you'd have it if you got on those knees and opened that pretty mouth for him every time he came home? You'd have him on a fucking leash. That's all he wants. Just a loving little lap dog. It's not much to ask."
Asa growls, lurching away from him. "You're all disgusting—"
"Oh, no. We're not disgusting. I'm not. You want to see disgusting?" Alec grabs a handful of Asa's hair and starts walking him forward, down another hallway that smells horrible.
"Yeah? You like that? Keep it up and this is all you'll be smelling again, stuck down here with all the rest of the animals."
He stops Asa, releases his hair so he can look around, and Asa wishes he hadn't. To his left is a cell—no, the whole hall is nothing but cells, each sealed with metal fencing and a padlock where it attaches to the wall.
Inside this one is a boy not much older than Asa, sitting silent and still in the corner, never once looking up at them, even for a second. There's a bucket in the corner, and a dirty cot in the middle, and nothing else.
"Down here, Asa, is the place you never want to be. Does he look comfy? How about this next one, come on! Don't be shy. Take a real good look at what disgusting really is."
Asa's legs are weak as he slowly goes forward, taking in each and every person stuck behind these cells, feeling sicker every moment.
"These are the whores no masters want anymore. Too old to be sold, but not too old to be fucked. Or to fuck, since that's what some people like. Or maybe too scarred, like that one. Not pretty enough to show off as a real pet, but still a good, useful hole to fuck when you're drunk. That's all any of these are...bitches we rent out for parties, or by request for their favorite regulars."
He laughs, looking Asa over. "You'd get the freaks. I can tell you that much. Face like that? Oh, you'd get the ones into shit that'd ruin you. I'm sure a few of them could tell you which ones they have nightmares about. See, down here, it doesn't matter if anyone scars you up or whatever else they wanna do...they're the only ones that'll ever have you again. And then when you're all used up and done, and no one wants you anymore..."
He cups his hand to the front of Asa's neck, and then drags a finger across it. It makes Asa choke the same as if he'd been strangled again.
"It's a steady income," Alec says with a shrug, like it's not fucking people they're talking about. Asa stays completely still even when Alec starts to move again, staring in at the girl in the cell next to them, and then Alec picks something up off the wall and gives Asa a terrible grin.
"You wanna see what we use to control them?" he asks, and then, without waiting even a moment, shoves the end of a baton into Asa's stomach and clicks a button.
Asa doesn't even register that the scream he hears is coming from him at first as electricity shoots through every nerve, lasting an eternity and only a few seconds all at once. He drops to his knees, bracing his hands on the floor as he gasps and spits, and Alec hums.
"Yeah. The threat is really all they need. Once they feel that, they usually don't want to feel it again. Or...do you? I heard you might like a little pain. Is that true?"
Asa shakes his head, trying not to be sick.
"No? Then get up. Come on. Just a little ways more."
Fueled only by fear of being tased again, Asa manages to struggle up and follow Alec again, slow, until Alec stops him and pushes him up against the fence. Asa hooks his fingers into the holes, relieved for the support, and then squints inside at the boy sitting on the cot inside.
He looks half-dead. Asa can't imagine what he's been through, what any of them have been through, as his blue eyes meet Asa's own.
"This one," Alec says, and then tsks. "This whore knows your master up close and personal, now, doesn't he?"
The boy's breath hitches, and he fully raises his head, his expression confused one moment and terrified the next. "...Chris."
Asa stares at him. "How d—"
Alec slams the baton against the fence, and the boy flinches from the noise, bringing his knees up to his chest.
"Tell the new boy your name, whore."
"Caleb," the boy says, quietly, and Alec sighs, resting his chin down against Asa's head.
"You can't trust a single word this one says, Asa. He's a lying, cheating little slut. The most pathetic one down here. So Hayes can tell you how they know each other. But he can tell you what he did wrong..."
He clicks the button, making the baton buzz again, and Asa flinches just as Caleb does.
"I was..." Caleb starts, looking at Asa, and then down again, "I-I was...ungrateful."
"Fuck," Asa mumbles, without meaning to, because fuck, and Alec hums.
"That's right you were," he tells Caleb, reaching down to palm Asa again, keeping him pinned in place against the fence with his body. "Hayes did everything for you, and you betrayed him. Is it better here, whore? Do you prefer all the ones who fuck you now over one good man?"
Caleb whimpers. "No, sir. No, I—"
"And who's fault is it that you're here?"
Caleb's eyes flash with anger, and fear, and then he mutters, "It's...mine. My fault."
Asa opens his mouth, but Alec covers it before he can say a thing, squeezing his nose shut so he can't make a sound.
"Good boy. Any parting words of wisdom for our new boy here?"
Caleb doesn't look at Asa again. He just stares at his bare feet, wringing his hands in his lap, and says, "I can't, um—just—just—be grateful, he's—he's a g-good man, and uh, I'm—just don't make him mad, and you'll—"
"Oh, Caleb." Alec taps three times on the fence, and Caleb flinches with each one. "Your three o'clock's almost here. Save those tears for him, huh? You know how much he likes them."
Caleb fucking weeps, and Asa squirms out of Alec's grip, taking off down the hall. He doesn't really mean it to escape so much as to get away from the reality that he isn't Hayes's first, and that if he doesn't—
If he doesn't behave with Hayes, then this is exactly where he'll end up, too.
Not home. Not free. Here. His only two options.
"Oh my God," he sobs, starting to fall to his knees again, tears blurring his vision, and then Alec is wrapping an arm around him and lifting him up, tossing him over his shoulder like he weighs nothing at all.
"Poor baby. Was that too much? Are you feeling overwhelmed? Good. But I've still got one more place to show you."
Asa doesn't even struggle. He doesn't have the strength. He doesn't care. He just stays there, completely limp, watching a few more doors and halls go by upside down before Alec unceremoniously dumps him on the tile floor of another room.
And then shuts the door and locks it, slipping the key into his pocket.
Asa doesn't want to move now, either, but he slowly takes a look up—
And very much wishes he hadn't, crying out at the sight of shelves lining the walls, of tools and toys that he highly doubts are for pleasure more than they are torture.
"Yeah, that's about the reaction they all have," Alec says fondly, hands on his hips. "This is my training room, pretty boy. Welcome. Don't you like it?"
He kicks a metal hook on the floor, and gestures to his neck. "First thing I'd do, if you were my newest little project, is I'd collar and chain you to the floor, right here. And then I'd spend my days training your mouth and your hole and your body with everything in here until you were the sweetest, most obedient little angel. Until you knew how to beg, how to pleasure, how to be perfect."
Asa looks around again, taking in each and every horrible thing, and Alec laughs, coming closer. "I fucking love how scared you all get in the beginning. And how ready you are to take anything and everything you're given by the end. Some take a few weeks, some a month or two. But make no mistake, little boy..."
He points the baton at Asa. "There's not a whore I haven't been able to break yet. And there never will be. And it sure as fuck wouldn't be you. Scrawny little thing...that didn't happen in two weeks. You didn't take care of yourself, did you? But Hayes does. I would. Hell, I don't even sleep until my little whores are fucked out! I'm a giving man. And it helps us both dream sweet."
Asa opens his mouth, trying to find the words to express his disgust, his fury at this all, but there's nothing. He lets out a string of curses instead, and Alec laughs, clicking the button and driving the baton's tip against Asa's foot.
"I love how you scream," he says, when Asa can hear again, and then he tases Asa's side, and his stomach, until he's left panting and choking for air and begging for it to stop.
"Please...please..."
"I love that even more." Alec grabs something off the shelf, something Asa doesn't even see before suddenly a hard wooden paddle is slamming against his thigh.
"You're gonna bruise so pretty, baby." Alec hits him again, over his ass, and Asa scrabbles at the floor, trying to get away as if there's anywhere at all to go.
Alec lets him. He lets Asa crawl a few feet, follows him, and strikes him again, repeatedly, until Asa rolls onto his back and furiously grabs out at the paddle when it nearly lands again, yanking on it as hard as he can.
"You fucker! You fucking asshole, you fuckin'—"
Alec lets go of it, suddenly, and it strikes Asa hard up under his jaw, and for a second...everything is dull, quiet, meaningless. He doesn't feel afraid anymore, and the burning, stinging pain all over him is entirely in the background.
He thinks, maybe, if he was to be good...maybe it could be like this more. Maybe he wouldn't have to hurt so fucking bad all the time.
Maybe he doesn't have to end up here.
A sharp slap brings him back to himself, though the pain takes longer, ebbing and throbbing as he winces and cracks open his eyes.
"Did that feel nice? Huh?" Alec cups his chin, rubs his thumb along a terribly sore spot that he's sure is already bruising. "Knocked yourself right the fuck out on my floor. Dumbest thing I've ever seen!"
Asa groans, pulling away, slumping onto his front. He gets one arm up under him, but it won't yet support his weight, and Alec circles him.
"No wonder Hayes is pissed. Look at you. You're not even a fighter, you're just stupid. You couldn't take anyone on if you fucking tried. You just like cursing and spitting like an angry little kitten. That's what it is! Throwing a hissy fit, all for show. And if you stopped being so fucking stupid, he wouldn't have to have me come and scare you!"
"Y' don'...don't..." Asa tries, and Alec kicks him in the stomach, flipping him back over onto his back.
"Bitch, yes I do. And I've barely done a thing to you. But...you're right. It's not enough. Not enough that it's gonna really make an impact."
He shrugs, flipping the paddle in one hand and fingering the baton's button with the other as Asa presses himself against the wall, hand out as if it'll stop anything about to happen.
"But hey. We've got time together, still. And we've got a whole lot of things to try out in here. I'll even let you pick, if you want. Oh, yeah...that face...that's what I want to see. Look, you're already doing better!"
He licks his lips, drinking in the sight of Asa's fear, and smiles.
"Yeah. I sure think it's safe to say that we're gonna make some progress."
taglist for chapters: @oddsconvert @darkthingshappen @leyswhumpdump @littlespacecastle @forthetaintedsorrow-whump @veyroswin @eatyourdamnpears @t0rture-me @darlingwhump @melancholy-in-the-morning @flowersarefreetherapy @ender-whumps @the-infinant-one @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @endless-whump @serickswrites @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @flynnswhumpprompts @whumpcereal @whumpqin @honeybunny-og @whumpyblogthing @whumpzone @catawhumpus @quietlywhump @sparrowsage @the-turnips-last-stand @goesaroundcomesaroundwhat @whumpy-catfish @dont-be-gentle-please @the-bloody-sadist @whumpinggrounds @squishablesunbeam @canislycaon24 @ivoryangel1290 @burningkittypoet @baldngoamc (let me know if you want on or off this list!)
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dragged
@whumpril day 5
hero and villain
248 words
part two here
warnings: (implied) future violence, hero whumper
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Hero towers over Villain, her outline shielding him from the public’s view. She scoffs at his cowering and turns her back to him. She smiles widely and calls out, “Don’t worry everyone, I’ve got this handled. Why don’t you all go back to work and I’ll take care of it from here.”
Cheers erupt around her, children cry out in joy and they take their parent’s hands to be led back to safety. The police leave, sirens blaring and lights flashing, leaving Villain alone with Hero.
She squats down, somehow still towering over him, and smiles, “Now that we’re alone…”
She grabs him by his collar and pulls him to his feet, making him stand on his toes to keep on the ground. He struggles against her, but they both know she’s going to win this battle. She always does.
“I didn’t even do anything this time,” Villain whimpers.
Hero scoffs, “It doesn’t matter.” she drops him and pins him to the ground with her boot, “The public is threatened by you. I promised I’d keep them safe. That’s all I’m doing.”
He struggles underneath her, breath coming out in short bursts, “I haven’t done anything in months. I can only go so long without a trip to the grocery store and you know it.”
“Don’t care.”
She stomps on his chest, leaving him wheezing and grabs his ankle while he struggles to catch his breath.
“Where…where are we going?” he asks, trying to sound nonchalant.
“You’ll see.”
#whumpril#whumpril2023#whumprilday5#dragged#whump#whump fic#whump writing#my writing#hero#hero whumper#villain#villain whumpee#villain whump#em writes#em writes stuff
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Martyr, Chapter 4: Up Close and Personal
Chapter 4 of Martyr, a novel-length sci-fi whump story about a captured Martian rebel with a secret and the renowned interrogator who has waited a decade for the chance to break him. This series is best read in order. Masterpost
Contains: defiant whumpee, cold whumper, restraints, interrogation, threats of torture
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Wraith
Wraith had hated Isadora Pope for years. But until today, he had hated her in a distant way. She had been a faceless enemy, the wicked witch in her underground lair, the hand that had carved its mark on the bodies and souls of too many of his people.
Now he could hate her up close and personal.
And he did. He didn’t need to know her reputation to know what he thought of her. He hated her buttoned-up luxury—her unscarred skin that glowed like a polished stone, her smooth and shiny hair that looked like she had spent an hour straightening every errant curl. Her starched uniform that looked like it had never so much as seen a drop of blood—which, from what he knew of the woman, was an impressive illusion. He hated the way she sat rigidly in her chair, like a statue of some ancient goddess, as if showing the slightest bit of humanity was beneath her.
He wondered what happened if she ever got an itch while she was interrogating a prisoner. Statues didn’t scratch, after all. If he yawned, would she be able to keep her face locked into its carved lines, or would that ancient human reflex over and make her yawn along with him?
He tried to summon a yawn. It wouldn’t come. Hard to yawn with this much adrenaline running through his veins, tightening his muscles against the cuffs until he thought his swollen bruises might burst.
He could act casual for her—and would, for as long as it kept making her mad. He was used to feigning nonchalance in the face of danger. It helped make the new recruits more comfortable. But her reputation inspired more than hate in him. After ten years of fighting, there were few things Wraith feared. Isadora Pope was one of them.
She rose from her chair, her every movement slow and controlled. His eyes were drawn to her against his will, exactly as if an ancient statue in some Earth museum had stood and walked toward him. He tried not to flinch as she rested a hand gently on his left shoulder. Her hand was smaller than he expected, her fingers softer. Her eyes were cold, but her touch radiated warmth along his bruised skin.
Disappointment flared in her eyes. She had probably expected him to jerk away.
She ran her hand slowly down his arm, lingering on the bruises and shallow cuts. Blood came away on her fingers, and she wrinkled her nose in exactly the kind of elegant distaste he would have expected from some stuffy Earth suit who ironed her uniform every day. As if people wearing those same Earth uniforms hadn’t been the ones to make him bleed in the first place.
She took her hand in his. His hand dwarfed hers, but when she tightened her fingers, her grip was iron.
“Some interrogators prefer the element of surprise,” she said. “I don’t. I’d rather tell you exactly what I’m going to do to you from the start.”
She lifted his hand like she was studying it, weighing it to the milligram.
“I’m going to start by breaking the fingers on each hand, one by one. As pain goes, the hands provide maximum effect for minimal effort—fingers are fragile, and important enough that the body tends to complain loudly when they’re damaged. Speaking of that importance, the other advantage to starting with your hands is that it will also serve as an impediment to escape. Not that we plan on letting you out of those cuffs any time soon, but it never hurts to be careful. Especially with a prisoner like you.”
Her fingers brushed along his, one by one, with a feather-light touch. She stroked the roughened skin like she was trying to decide where to start, tasting the shape of each like a connoisseur. Her touch sent prickles all the way up his arm and down his spine.
He forced himself not to jerk away. It wasn’t as if he could go far, not with the cuffs locking his hands into place. “I’m disappointed,” he said. “With that impressive reputation of yours, I expected more than breaking my fingers until I agree to give you that statement you want. Is that really all you’ve got? I’ve faced worse than that from your grunts when they come to clear out a protest.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” said Isadora. “This isn’t about the statement.”
“Then what exactly are you trying to get from me?”
“I already told you.” Her voice was flat. Empty. But it resonated down to his bones, vibrating through him like a force of nature. “This is about showing you the rules of the game. You’re used to being in control. For ten years, you’ve directed this rebellion from a little room somewhere, using your devoted followers as your pawns.”
Wraith’s jaw tightened. He took a long breath and forced himself not to react. She didn’t know what she was talking about. That was a good thing. It would give him an advantage.
“What I want from you,” she continued, with a flash of interest in her eyes that told him she had seen his reaction despite his attempt to suppress it, “is an admission that you are no longer in control.”
“Oh, is that all?” He raised an eyebrow at her and chuckled. “Fine.” He spread his free hand out to her, palm open, in a mocking gesture of surrender. “Here I am, helpless and at your mercy. Are you satisfied?”
She met his words with a thin smile. “Not like that,” she said. “I’m not looking for words. Words are empty things. They’re masks. They say whatever you want them to say. I want you to feel it. I want to know you mean it.”
“I’m sitting here cuffed hand and foot while you paw at me like some kind of mad scientist. You think I don’t know I’m helpless?” He kept his voice light, and flashed her a smile calculated to make her eyes flare with suppressed anger, but the words were more true than he wanted to admit. If he weren’t helpless, he would have snatched his hand out of her grip and punched her square in that unblemished face of hers. He wondered what kind of sound her nose would make as it cracked. And what her smooth skin would look like with her own blood running down her lips.
“Yes, of course,” she said, her voice dismissive, almost bored. But her narrowed eyes followed every tiny twitch of his body, every movement of his face. “And yet, whatever glib words you offer me, I know you intend to sit there stoically as I snap your bones, pretending you feel nothing. You think all you have to do is sit and wait out the pain, like when you send your followers to fight your war for you and tell yourself it hurts you as much as it hurts them.”
“You’ve got it wrong,” Wraith snarled before he could stop himself.
He saw her cataloguing his reaction for later use, and immediately regretted the brief outburst. She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Don’t get me wrong—I want you to do that. I want you to hold on to every scrap of control you can muster. I want you to do it for as long as you can. And then, when you find that you can’t do it anymore…” She traced her thumb down the center of his palm. “I want to hear you scream.”
---
Tagged: @straight-to-the-pain @soheavyaburden @gala1981 @whumpacabra @sacredwrath @suspicious-whumping-egg
#whump#whump writing#whump story#whump novel#sci-fi whump#interrogation whump#my writing#my writing: Martyr
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Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer
Warnings: captivity, torture, restraints, blood, wounds, cruel whumper
"I know what you are," Whumper said as they circled Whumpee.
Whumpee tried to sound nonchalant as they spoke, though their heart pounded in their chest. "And what's that?" The cuffs on their wrists and ankles were padded, but heavy. Nothing restraining them touched their skin, though Whumpee was fairly certain they were silver.
Without a word, Whumper lashed out with a knife, slicing into Whumpee's upper arm. Whumpee hissed with pain as the wound burned and blood seeped from the wound. "What the fuck?" They glared at Whumper.
"Hurts, doesn't it?" Whumper's eyes gleamed twisted joy. "It was hard to get a knife with a high enough concentration of silver in it to hurt you."
Whumpee swallowed. "I don't know what you're talking about. You cut me open. That would hurt anyone."
Whumper smirked. "But you aren't healing. Your kind heal quickly when it isn't silver."
"I don't know--"
"I know you're secret!" Whumper shouted as they lashed out with the knife once more. Whumpee's skin split beneath the blade with ease. "And I am going to make you hurt all the more for it."
#serickswrites#whump#whump writing#whumpblr#whump community#tw captivity#tw torture#tw restraints#tw blood#tw wounds#cruel whumper#winter whumperland#winter whumperland 2023#amow winter whumperland 2023#day 7#prompt: inhuman whumpee#queue
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Chapter 1 - Denial
TW: vampire whumper, vampire hunter whumpee, non consensual blood drinking, mention of past staking, mention of gnarly scars
"You have a lot of nerve showing up here!" She rushed up to the vampire hastily as soon as she recognised it "Destroying my life, my celebration and endangering a whole human family wasn't enough? And apparently we're still in danger! Get out before-" she was cut short by the vampire's soft laughter.
"Before what?" he asked, eyebrows raised, he didn't turn back to look at her, instead he was pretending to browse the menu in front of him. They were standing a few feet away from the crowd waiting to be let in the restaurant. It was a big night for one of her cousins, killing their first vampire, just as she had the year before.
"Before I finish what I, apparently, didn't do properly the first time" If she had spent just a moment thinking about it, she would’ve realised it was an insane thing to do as she touched the small of his back lightly tapping to find the place she hit with the stake. Gently tracing along his spine, her chest felt tight with victory, or perhaps anxiety. In the vampire’s book that was mistake number two after not managing to kill him.
The crowd started moving behind them, most of them had already met and survived attacks from the monstrous creatures, she thought the vampire had no chance if he was discovered among them. She didn't want any disruptions at the gathering though, it wasn’t her moment, so she was willing to keep quiet if he left by himself. She'd never threaten a vampire, she wasn't dumb, but the odds here seemed to work in her favor.
"It was more like here" he reached behind his back guiding her hand lower. She chuckled condescendingly at his nonchalance she mistook for stupid arrogance. His hand stopped at a point just above his waistline.
She winced with surprise as she felt the scar under his shirt. Even through the fabric she felt a bump that one can only truly imagine if they had a terribly healed wound. It must've been a gnarly scar there that her stake left.
Vampire’s shouldn’t have scars. It must have been some sort of sick trick to get her to feel bad for the creature, a manipulation tactic. Still it worked, because her heart sank to the thought of wounding the other creature so badly, so close to its spine, leaving a mark on his perfect immortal skin. Coldness crept up her throat threatening to spill in the form of a cry for help. She tried to yank her hand away from his back but he held it there effortlessly.
"Feel that? There's still a splinter in there from the stake you drove through me. It could paralyze me at any moment, y'know" he finally turned to face her, just in time for them to seamlessly join the queue entering the building. He still didn't let go of her hand, but turned the grip into a significantly more gentle, almost polite hold "Shall we?"
The sinking feeling hit in a newer wave, pressing tears to the brim of her waterline, but she couldn't cry. People did have a chance of being hurt exclusively because of her. She had no doubt he'd kill anyone in his way to get back to her. How long until someone can actually do something against the ambush from inside the crowd?
They got caught up by a group of her second cousins. The younger ones stared at the vampire curiously.
“Who’d you bring with Carter?”
"He's my friend, Julius" The sentence vibrated through her mind before reaching her lips to escape, without any way of stopping it "he's in town for a little while, I thought I'd bring him with" not even the older cousins noticed the twitch of her eye, trying to let them know it wasn't her talking.
"Pleasure" Julius nodded to them with a huge smile plastered on his face.
The two of them sat at the very end of the long table, going unnoticed by nosey aunties and uncles, and far enough from the disruptive children running about.
Some waiters emerged from what room must've been the kitchen and started taking drink orders.
"Black tea, please" he ordered with a smile.
"Just a glass of water" Carter was the last one to order, the waiters disappeared again. If only she could signal to them she's in terrible danger.
"Wise choice, you're going to need that" she swallowed back another wave of tears. He gently caressed her arm raising goosebumps as he ran his fingers gently over and over her delicate skin.
"What do you want from me?" she whispered, locking her eyes on the empty plate in front of her. He leaned in, way too close for comfort, to whisper in her ear.
"I'm taking back everything you took from me, and giving you back exactly what you gave me" Too quiet to raise suspicion, too vague to make sense of to ease her anxiety.
...
Julius lifted the mug to his lips, taking a big sip of the burning hot tea.
"Feed me!" he ordered, as he lowered the mug below the table away from prying eyes, if there were any.
"What?" she snapped her head to the side to look at him. Wide-eyed, but not terrified. Well, not yet anyway. More like confused.
"Give me your hand" he instructed, and somehow she knew not obeying was not an option at that moment. She shakliy reached her hand out for him to grab and press it to the brim of the mug. With the other hand he pulled something from his pocket. He moved so quickly she almost didn't catch the glint of the switchblade sliding dangerously close to her palm over the mug "Keep that smile on your face gorgeous” Carter felt his compulsion take over her face, keeping up the facade.
He pushed the blade down, slicing through skin and muscle, letting fresh blood fill the mug back up to his liking. He wiped her hand down the side of the mug to get any remaining drops of her blood only then did he let go.
The cut healed with magical speed, it barely took a few moments for the evidence of assault to disappear
"H-how did you do that” she wanted to ask looking at her skin perfectly intact.
"This is completely gross, but I licked the side of the mug before I had your hand there. It healed the cut completely, you should thank me, I was very generous with that" her thoughts were racing with each other, escape plans running over feelings of revenge, worry poisoning the mix creating the wildest combinations.
"Thank you" she whispered absentmindedly. Not even the vampire taking a sip from his mug brought her back for a second.
"Was that really so scary?" he laughed still keeping his voice down, he lifted the mug back to his mouth. He didn't just take a sip this time, he gulped down all of the blood.
#whump#vampire whumper#vampire hunter whumpee#oc whump#tw scars#tw knife#non consensual blood drinking#Julius and Carter#elias writes vampires#original story
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a slip of the tongue
content warnings: pet whump, pet whumpee, conditioning, dehumanisation, reference to violence, blood, injury, captivity, non-con touching (not sexual), creepy/intimate whumper
–
The whumper looked so scary like that.
Sat so leisurely in the chair, their elbow propped up on the armrest and their head planted on their hand. The nonchalant expression on their face, with something so cold and sinister dancing in those dark eyes. They seemed all the more imposing when Whumpee was on their knees in front of the chair, in between their legs.
They were shaking from the fear, fingers digging into their thighs, trying to ignore the droplets of blood dripping from their chin and staining their shorts. Pain zapped through their nose, and the whumpee had to suppress a wince, eyes cast to the floor.
They felt like nothing like this. Something so small and infinitesimal, completely worthless, while Whumper represented something akin to a king on his throne.
They felt a finger hook under their chin, tilting their head back. The touch was gentle, but Whumpee flinched regardless, hissing sharply. The movement increased the uncomfortable pressure on the back of their eyes, almost causing them to well up with tears.
“Next time,” Whumper spoke, their voice ridiculously calm. Too calm, after they’d just spoiled Whumpee’s face with their fists. Their bloody knuckles were evidence enough,” don’t speak without permission, alright?”
It was cruel how sweet their voice was. It made Whumpee shudder, their glistening eyes staring at them in fear and confusion. Their bottom lip quivered, going to answer, but then quickly stopping themself. They didn’t want to risk another beating like that. Whumpee could take the kicks and punches to their body, but not their face. It was the most painful, rocking up to their skull and making them think the world was upside down.
They stared up at them through their eyelashes, all the colour washed from their pretty face. Whumper could practically see the thoughts circling around in that head of theirs, and a smile graced their lips, satisfied with their work.
“Go on,” they encouraged firmly. Whumpee didn’t need to think; the words were falling from their lips like honey.
“I-I won’t do it again,” they shakily blurted, gripping their thighs until their nails left crescent shaped dents. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
They wanted to cry, but no tears seemed to fall. They studied the whumper’s expression desperately, trying not to let the panic suffocate them.
They seemed to sigh ever so quietly, leaning forward and resting their arms on their legs. Whumpee resisted the urge to flinch away when their thumb ran along the bottom of their bloodied lip, making the sore flesh flare up in pain.
Their knees were starting to become stiff, and their feet were riddled with pins and needles, but they were too paralysed by Whumper’s touch to move. Their eyes fluttered closed and a quiet whine escaped them when their thumb breached past their lips, into their mouth, rubbing the blood on their tongue. The coppery taste overwhelmed their senses, unable to do nothing but sit there obediently, as Whumper smiled.
“There’s a good pet.”
#whump#whump drabble#whump writing#whump scenario#writing snippet#whump fic#whumpblr#pet whump#pet whumpee#whumpee#whumper#conditioning#writing#my writing#avvail whump#my snippets
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Parts
CW: BBU general warning, references to noncon, caning, beating, threats of nonconsensual body modification, female whumpee, female whumper, pet whump, panic
Ann is lying flat on her face. Modified Position Twenty-One, her brain helpfully supplies. Then she hears Mistress Colette snap the cane against her hand, a familiar, white-hot, cracking sound, and Ann’s helpful brain goes completely and utterly blank.
Behind her, Mistress Colette clears her throat, and Ann imagines her owner’s face pinched into its customary frown, the way the woman’s skinniness serves to underscore her severity and belie her surprising strength. When she speaks, her voice is crisp, clear, every word over-pronounced as if she’s sure that her boxgirl will misunderstand even her simplest sentences. “So. Ann. What side of you does my husband like the best? Front or back?”
Swallowing hard, Ann turns the words over in her head, trying to be quick about it but not knowing what to say. It seems her mistress’s fear has come true, as it often does. Their boxgirl just isn’t very smart. Letting her eyes fall shut, Ann gives voice to her inadequacy. “I’m – I’m sorry, Mistress, I, I’m not sure I understand.”
An exasperated sigh behind her, and Ann feels the sting of the cane against her thigh. The angle is such that the wood only really contacts one of Ann’s legs, but the pain of it is no less significant for only happening on one side. It takes all of Ann’s focus, and much reliance on her training, not to yelp when that bruising impact cracks across her skin. “It’s simple, Ann.” Mistress Colette sounds irritated, and that doesn’t bode well. They’ve just started this inexplicable little exercise, and already Ann is proving insufficient, annoying. Above her, Mistress Colette raises her voice as if volume is the problem. “Does my husband like the front of you, or the back of you?”
“I-I-I…” Another crack, hard enough to bring tears to Ann’s eyes. When her voice comes, it’s a pitiful little squeak that makes Mistress Colette huff aloud. “I don’t know! I don’t know, Mistress. He doesn’t…doesn’t look at me, much.”
There’s a pause. Behind her, above her, Ann can hear level breathing. It’s hard to read emotion from just breathing, but at least it’s even, calm. Maybe that means something. Ann tries to cling to it.
“Hmph. What do you mean? My husband certainly looks at you enough when you’re around the house.”
Mistress Colette’s voice is dry and disinterested, but beneath her nonchalance there’s a dark turbulent current that Ann must be wary of. Swallowing, she tries to organize her thoughts. Ann hates thinking about the dark, oppressive, impossible nights when Master Gordon comes to her room, but her mistress is asking, and so she forces her mind back into that room with her Master looming over her and clears her throat to speak. “He doesn’t look at me, Mistress. It’s dark in the room, and he doesn’t turn the lights on.”
Mistress Colette snorts, a decidedly undignified sound. “My husband just walks in the door and gets on top of you?”
“Yes, Mistress.” Ann keeps her voice clear and neutral, though what she feels is shame, and distantly, disgust.
The tip of the cane traces over the backs of Ann’s legs, and then comes down again, the hardest blow yet, a brutal strike. Ann can’t help a broken teary gasp from escaping between her lips. Mistress Colette snorts at her again, and the way her breathing is audibly shaky now.
“If you had to guess.” Mistress Colette taps the cane against Ann’s thighs, first one, and then the other. “If you had to guess, which part of you do you think he likes best?”
Heat rushing to her face, Ann’s mouth shapes noiseless words into the floor. She doesn’t want to say it. She really doesn’t want to say it – but Mistress Colette is already angry, and Mistress Colette is holding the cane. “I believe that his favorite part would be…”
“Besides what’s between your legs.”
Squeezing her eyes shut, Ann takes a few quick breaths to try to steady herself. “He seems to like my breasts, Mistress.” It’s more than a minor triumph that she keeps her voice clear and calm, though she wants to shrivel up and cry into the floor.
“Good girl.” Mistress Colette taps the cane against her leg again, and Ann lets her eyelids flutter shut in anticipation of pain. None comes, but there’s the sound of high heels pacing a slow circle around Ann’s prone body. “I suppose I should have assumed,” Mistress Colette muses with an airy sigh. “Gordon’s a simple man. Predictable.”
As Mistress Colette walks her circuit around Ann, she traces the cane over her box girl’s still body. Some people call them Box Babes, but that’s not Ann. She’s no one’s babe, no one’s pretty girl, no one’s prized pet. She’s just a maid. Just a house cleaner. As functional and inoffensive as a vacuum cleaner. That’s what Ann longs for. To be as functional and inoffensive as a vacuum cleaner.
The round end of the cane trails up Ann’s leg, over her back, down one arm. When she reaches Ann’s neck, Mistress Colette raps the end of the cane against the back of Ann’s head, knocking her nose into the ground.
“There’s a vet I know that Janice uses.” Mistress Colette seems to be talking to herself. “He does double mastectomies for anyone willing to pay for them.” She pauses in her pacing, pokes Ann in the shoulder, a hard jab. “Do you know what that is, Ann?”
“No, Mistress Colette.”
When Mistress Colette speaks, there’s a certain vicious pleasure in her voice. “That means cutting someone’s breasts off, Ann.”
That’s not a question, so Ann doesn’t have to answer. Good. Good, because Ann has no breath at all in her lungs. Cut…cut her breasts off?
Ann grows dizzy.
Because Mistress Colette is talking about her. All this talk about Master Gordon, and what he does at night, the envy that runs through Mistress Colette’s voice, as though Ann’s position is one to be envied…now this, using the word vet, talking about cutting off someone’s breasts, changing the very outline of their body. It’s not Mistress Colette’s own body she’s talking about, but another body that just as surely belongs to her.
“Of course, if the vet did it, it would have to be preventative. He’d check you out to see if you were at risk for breast cancer, and if he decided that you were…”
The cane runs over Ann’s shirt, her slacks, her skin.
Ann lies flat on her stomach and shuts her eyes and tries to regulate her breathing. You. Mistress Colette said it, flat out said you. She’s thinking about…she’s thinking about cutting Ann’s breasts off.
Ann wonders if she’ll be able to feel it when it happens. She hopes not, and then she wonders if maybe it would be better to be able to remember something like that.
The cane tracing over her skin, over her body, stops at Ann’s right arm, lifts off, and comes down again with bruising force on Ann’s thigh. She hisses through her teeth as it imperfectly snaps across an earlier mark, the old stinging doubled, worsened. “I won’t do it,” Mistress Colette announces, not a moment later, and between the pain and the relief Ann wants to weep. As is, she bites her lip savagely and waits, heart still thumping irregularly in her chest. Salvation seems so close. She’s not going to make a sound and ruin it now.
“I’m not going to cut your breasts off, Ann.” Mistress Colette says it with a sigh, as if the whole thing is too exhausting for her to even think about. “Even if the vet checked you out, even if I had the piece of paper to say it was medically necessary…ugh.” A groan, another hard blow to make Ann yelp. “No one would believe it. No one would believe it.” Another sigh. “Everyone knows that Gordon’s a dog.”
Good. Good. Good. Ann is weak with relief and glad, so very glad, that Gordon is a dog. Her breath is coming in desperate, having gasps.
“But I could.” Still sick to her stomach, still tense all over, Ann goes right back to being afraid, because Mistress Colette’s voice sounds so very self-satisfied. So certain, so casually curious. Ann’s owner is playing with the idea the same way she’s playing with the cane in her hand – rolling it between her palms, holding it up to the light. “I could always change my mind and do it if I wanted, Ann.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Yes.” Mistress Colette seems to be talking to herself now, as if Ann isn’t there, spread out on the floor, utterly at her mercy. “Yes, if I wanted to, I could.”
After that, Mistress Colette releases her. She bids Ann get up off the floor and for god’s sake, stop crying, no one hit her that hard. With a disinterested wave of her hand, Mistress Colette orders her shaky boxgirl to go make herself useful in the kitchen. Ann bobs her head, murmurs her thank you, and goes right away because there’s no reason not to, after all – no blood to clean up, no significant damage at all. There will be welts on her thighs for a few days, a few of them, scattered, and then they will heal and be gone. There will be no evidence that anything happened at all.
Ann’s lucky. She’s really quite lucky.
All evening Ann catches herself wrapping her arms tight as she can around herself. The tears come in fitful bursts, surprising her with their ferocity, like a monsoon in the dry season. Ann holds her own body in her arms and tells herself she’s okay, she’s alive, she’s fine. Here she is, standing shaking in the kitchen. Here she is, fine and whole for now. Here she is, forced to remember, on pain of mutilation, that her body is not her own.
#febuwhump#febuwhumpday8#panic#febuwhump2022#bbu#box babe#box girl#wru#pet whump#whump writing#female whumpee#female whumper#threats#caning#beating#mentions of noncon#threats of noncon body modification#ann alone
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Whumpee told very few people about their ordeal. The two people who knew were Friend and Caretaker. Both seemed to have different reactions. Caretaker was extremely sympathetic, accommodating, and caring, while Friend seemed to brush it off, having the attitude that they would and could just ‘get over it.’
This really came out in how each person approached Whumpee. Caretaker was gentle and slow, always making sure to make their presence known before approaching and asking before touching.
Friend seemed to find joy in sneaking up and grabbing Whumpee just to see them jump and scream out of genuine fear. They would laugh and chide Whumpee, saying they needed to get over it. That it was all in their head and that they could choose to get better if they wanted.
This, of course, made Caretaker angry, but when they asked Whumpee how they’d like to handle it, Whumpee always said that Friend was right and that they should just get over it. Caretaker knew this was said because Whumpee was afraid to stand up for their needs after such an extreme ordeal they’d had and they also didn’t want to offend Friend.
Things came to an impasse when Whumpee was pouring themselves some tea and Friend decided to greet Whumpee, causing Whumpee to pour scalding hot water all over themselves. Whumpee fell to the ground shrieking as Friend looked on in horror. Caretaker came running in, took one look, and knew what had happened.
“Get out.” “But I-“ “I don’t care. Get. Out.”
While Whumpee was recovering in the hospital, Caretaker met Friend for coffee to discuss what had happened. Friend was looking a little too nonchalant for Caretaker’s taste after everything that had occurred and this caused Caretaker to lose their temper.
“What kind of friend are you? Whumpee went through such a terrible trauma and you seem to relish in their fear. What kind of person are you? Because all I see is a second Whumper. If you ever - and I mean ever - scare Whumpee like that again, you will not be welcome at our house. I will not let Whumpee be hurt again like that. Do you understand me?”
Friend took a deep breath and lowered their sunglasses to show red, puffy eyes that were filled with tears. “I do understand. And I understand more than you know. I went through a very similar ordeal as Whumpee but when I got home, I had no one to look out for me. This was before I met Whumpee or you or any of my other friends. My family basically said ‘figure yourself out and leave us out of it.’ I had no one. Honestly I really am trying to help Whumpee, because that’s how I got over my trauma, and I figured that maybe it would help Whumpee too. But I see now that I’m hurting instead of helping. And I’ll leave them alone if that’s what you want.” Tears flowed steadily from both Friend’s and Caretaker’s eyes at this point.
Caretaker took Friend’s hands gently and said “You don’t have to put up this facade of okayness. You can be vulnerable around us. Let us know what we can do to help you, and we will make it happen. Neither of you should have had those experiences and I will make sure you are cared for as well. All you need to do is make your needs known. You need dinner because you can’t be around knives tonight? Done. You need laundry done because you can’t get out of bed? Taken care of. Just give me a house key and I’ll come right over. I don’t just have to be Whumpee’s caretaker. I have room in my heart for more.”
Friend blew their nose and smiled. They said “I see why Whumpee thinks so highly of you.”
“Would you like to come with me and see Whumpee? They might be interested in hearing what you told me, if you’re comfortable with that.”
“I think that would be nice.”
#whumpee#whumpblr#whump blog#whump ideas#feel free to add on#caretaker x whumpee#caretaker#whump#whump tropes#caretaking#whump inspiration#injured whumpee#protective caretaker#stern caretaker
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TWO WHUMPERS?? Oh ho ho, I'm already choosing favorites. I think I like Blake more for now, because unlike someone, he appreciates beautiful blue wings
So, Blake what is a perfect pet for you? How do you imagine life with a pet? Do you believe you will be a responsible owner?
And, if you're still interested in doing cold cold eyes requests, maybe you consider some of these ideas, please?
1 Lawrence and Marshall go somewhere to eat in public and someone who knows Marshall before kidnapping sees them and tries to talk and Marshall knows he needs to act like "everything is fine, he is not kidnapped, please leave before Lawrence will get mad and kill you and punish me god know how". (I wonder if Marshall will succeed and Lawrence will be pleased or fail and Lawrence end up killing the guy and blame it on Marshall, adding more trauma for poor boy) +++++ kudos, if this person mentions some very dangerous themes like Marshall's parents looking for him.
2 Lawrence actually did broke Marshall's fingers as punishment for something really serious, and now he helps his son with basic stuff - feeds him, dresses him, brushes his hair etc. maybe even brushes Marshall's teeth. And Marshall knows what Lawrence is still angry with him and desperately tries to not irritate him more, but it's really hard to be treated like a baby, so how long will he be able to behave?
3 This one for times, then Marshall has stockholm syndrome and Lawrence's friends thinks Marshall is his real son. Maybe some of them start nagging Marshall for being childish and tell him to man up? And Lawrence hears it.
I know it's a lot, feel free to ignore or change these ideas as you like. I enjoy everything you write anyway)
"To your first question, the perfect pet is someone obedient and loyal, without those things, what's even the point of having one? But like us humans, pets can be broken down just like anyone else. If you can't do that, you aren't a good pet owner."
"To your second question... I imagine my life with a pet very simple. I get home from work, they entertain me, and in return they get rewarded. I'm no monster, after all."
"And to your last question... of course I'd be a responsible pet owner. Sure, maybe I haven't done as much research as Liam, but unlike him, I treat my pets with dignity when it's deserved."
...
And yes, please continue to request Cold, Cold Eyes things!! I'll never get tired of them! I plan to post the other two requests soon, since I love all these ideas equally and it was impossible to choose one!
CW: Murder (implied), food, panic attack, crying, parental whumper, manipulation, French people /j
Marshall didn't know what to think when Lawrence mentioned going to a restaurant to eat. He'd been in Lawrence's house for just a little less than half a year now, even if it feels like a lot more
Lawrence notices the younger man's nervous frown. "Is something wrong?"
"Are you sure about me being out in public?" Marshall doesn't know if this is a test or something, but what ever it is, he doesn't like it. What if someone notices him? Surely not, he thinks he looks way different than what he looked like before he was taken, given the childish pastel blue clothes he's wearing.
Lawrence's expression softens, and he reaches out to tuck a few strands of hair behind Marshall's ear. "I'm sure. I can trust you, right, kiddo?"
Marshall nods. "Yeah, but--"
"Then there's nothing to worry about."
"If you're sure..." Marshall is still convinced this is some kind of test. There's no way he can just be this calm and nonchalant about it. He doesn't know if he should be more worried, or less.
Lawrence smiles at him, then turns around and starts walking towards the front door. "Come on, let's go!"
Marshall follows and awkwardly gets in the passenger seat of his car. At least he's not making him sit in the backseat with a booster seat. Now that'd be really humiliating. He doesn't even know where they're going to eat, Lawrence just mentioned a French restaurant. Marshall never cared much for French food, but Lawrence seems pretty hyped for it, so he chooses to not complain.
He doesn't know why he'd feel bad to ruin his kidnapper's happy mood. It used to be out of fear, but it doesn't feel like that anymore. He knows some part of him really doesn't mind some of Lawrence's affections, given his daddy issues, but he'd be pretty messed up in the head to actually love his captor back, right?
They park in a parking lot, and Lawrence takes his keys out of the ignition and then puts on sunglasses. "Now, you remember what we talked about, right?"
"Yeah." How could he forget. He's been thinking about it nonstop.
Lawrence walks around to the other side of the car, and opens the door for Marshall. "Good. Let's go."
Marshall steps out of the car and follows Lawrence into the restaurant. It looks pretty fancy, and he takes note of how the waiters and waitresses all look really professional. He wonders how much this place cost. It's like the French restaurant stereotype.
Most people around them don't look their way, luckily. Marshall wonders why Lawrence has sunglasses on inside, but doesn't say anything. Even if he wanted to, his anxiety would be too much.
The lady at the front desk smiles politely at him. "Bonjour, Lawrence. Comment allez-vous?"
"Plutôt bien! Et toi, comment ça va?"
Marshall stares at him in surprise. They continue to converse back and forth before he leads Marshall to the back of the room, where it's more isolated. There's one person eating alone, but he seems too enthralled with his food to care.
Lawrence points to a table and gestures for Marshall to sit down. He does so, Lawrence sitting across from him.
He picks up his menu and hums. "What are you getting, kiddo?"
"I don't really know most of the stuff on this menu," Marshall replies flatly. He's never been here before, and he doesn't really feel like looking through the whole thing. He just wants to eat so he can go home and go back to bed.
"Oh, that's okay. I'll order for you."
Marshall nods. Even if Lawrence annoys him, he admires he at least knows what food he likes and doesn't, so he trusts him in that regard.
Lawrence soon holds up a hand and tells the waitress that they'll both have croque monsieurs and potatoes au gratin. He understood the 'potatoes' part in his sentence, at least.
As Lawrence talks to Marshall about random stuff that he isn't really paying attention to, he notices the guy from across the room staring at him. They lock eyes briefly, the guy having ginger hair and blue eyes, and is in an expensive-looking suit. He doesn't know why anyone would want to eat alone here, unless maybe the poor guy had been stood up or something.
The stranger breaks the eye-contact first, looking back down at his food. Marshall thinks it's strange, but goes back to pretending to pay attention to Lawrence. Does the guy recognize him? He hopes not, or else a scene will definitely be caused.
A few minutes later, their food comes out. The waitress sets down what look like cheese and ham sandwiches for both of them, and a side of cheesy potatoes that look like they were mushed together. He's glad it looks actually pretty good.
He takes a bite of the sandwich and moans happily. "Mmm, this is delicious!"
"Good, huh?" Lawrence asks, smiling at him.
"Yeah, it's really good! I've never had anything like this before."
Lawrence chuckles. "I'm glad."
Marshall notices the guy staring at him again with his phone out this time, but tries to ignore it when Lawrence picks up his glances towards the stranger. After a while, Lawrence stands up and announces he's going to the restroom. Marshall nods and watches him walk away.
"Hey, kid."
Oh no. Marshall looks at the guy again, who's now staring directly at him. "Uh, y-yeah?"
"You're Marshall Jackson, aren't you?"
"Oh, umm... no. I don't know who that is." He hopes if he plays dumb, the guy will just leave him alone. He's not doing this for Lawrence, he just doesn't want the poor guy to get hurt. That's what he tells himself, anyway.
The guy frowns. "I saw you on TV."
Marshall freezes, unable to think of anything to say. "I really think you have the wrong person, sir."
"Look... I'm gonna call the police, okay? He's not going to hurt you anymore."
Oh fuck. Marshall's heart starts racing. "Please don't. I'm not kidnapped, okay? Please don't call anyone."
"Don't you want to get back to your parents? They're worried sick about you."
No. Marshall doesn't want to think about them. He feels like crying, what turned to be an innocent day out turned awful. He never wants to go outside again. His lip starts quivering as he stares at the man, trying to muster another reply.
When he thinks of his parents, he thinks of not wanting to go back. Tears start to roll down his eyes and he feels on the verge of a panic attack.
"Marshall!" Lawrence bolts over, kneeling down and cupping Marshall's pale cheeks in both his hands. "Hey, what happened? What did he say to you?"
He looks back at the man and grabs the phone out of his hand and throws it to the ground.
"What did you say to him?!" His sunglasses are no longer on his face, and an angry glare is showing in his eyes.
The man swallows thickly but glares back. "I told him I was going to call the cops because you're a kidnapper," he states matter-of-factly. Just as he tries standing, Lawrence clocks him in the face. The man falls to the ground with a grunt.
"Let me tell you something," Lawrence snarls, stomping his foot against his chest to pin him down. "You ever talk to my son like that again, and I'll kill you. Do you understand me?"
"He--" the man chokes on air, "he isn't your son."
Marshall panics more. He sees Lawrence get even more angry, clenching his fists, so he crawls forward to grab onto his pant leg tightly, shaking his head in desperation. "No, please don't-- don't hurt him. Let's just go home. Please."
Lawrence lets out a breath, and then nods. He breaks the man's phone by stomping on that, too. He grabs his sunglasses that fell on the floor, takes a deep breath, and puts them back on.
Marshall yelps when he gets lifted off the ground with surprising ease, and notices the same lady from before is standing at the entrance of the room. She doesn't even look slightly worried or alarmed.
In a monotone voice, Lawrence tells her, "On prend l'entrée arrière." He walks out the door and pauses. "Tuez-le. Je me fiche de savoir comment, mais faites-le."
Marshall wonders what he's saying. On second thought, he doesn't want to know, since she seems to be more than just an employee here. He tries to open his mouth to say something, but Lawrence shushes him and continues walking.
Once they're outside, he opens the back car door and puts Marshall in, getting in afterwards. "Are you okay, baby? Did he hurt you?"
"No, I'm fine," Marshall murmurs. He feels anything but, but he doesn't want Lawrence to go back in there and really kill the guy. He just feels so lucky he ended up not doing it.
If Lawrence ended up killing him, Marshall couldn't live with himself. He'd feel responsible for whatever happened. He knows he wouldn't be able to handle that.
Lawrence sighs. "I'm so sorry about that, Marshie. I really didn't think anyone would recognize you, but you were right. What did he say to you?"
Sniffling, Marshall says, "Nothing."
"Marshall, you can be honest with me."
His voice is so soft and genuine, and Marshall cries harder. "He said my parents were worried about me."
He doesn't know why he's telling Lawrence this, given Lawrence showed nothing but anger every time he brought up his biological, real parents, but with how sweet he's acting right now, it's impossible for him not to cave in.
Lawrence rubs Marshall's back gently. "Oh, bud..." He presses multiple kisses to Marshall's forehead and hair, rocking him back and forth. "Shh... shh, I've got you."
After, and only after Marshall's tears cease, does Lawrence pull away to thumb the last of his tears away. Marshall hates himself for leaning into his touch.
"And you know why that was stupid of him to say, right, sweetie?"
Marshall nods shakily.
He smiles. "Good. They left you. They don't care about you and... I've seen them on TV before. I can tell they're faking their sadness and tears when they talk about you. It's so obvious it hurts. They kicked you out, they couldn't care less what happened to you. I bet they wouldn't even care if you're dead."
Those words make Marshall start to cry again. Lawrence says these words so sweetly still and he hates it. He doesn't even doubt his words, either.
"But I care about you," Lawrence continues, voice more sweet than ever now. "I love you. You're my entire world, and I'm so proud of you for not listening to that... that man. You're my pride and joy. Never forget that."
Again, Marshall can only nod.
Lawrence presses one more kiss to his temple. "Let's go home now. I'll make whatever you want and we can stargaze tonight. Maybe even camp outside. Would you like that, kiddo?"
"Yeah," Marshall whispers, sniffling. "I'd like that."
#parental whumper#lawrence oc#marshall oc#implied murder#tw food#tw panic attack#panic attack#manipulation#my french is god awful i'm sorry if this sucked
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contains: forced isolation/claustrophobia as a means of torture, other torture:), mentions of whipping in 7, Whumper being a creep as per usual, defiant Whumpee, pet whump, nonchalant talk about trafficing/non con by Whumpers
[8. PART 1]
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Asa wakes with a horribly sore neck and agony across his back, and he moans loudly as he tries to stretch out and can't, as he tries to move around at all and can't.
It takes a second, but then...
Right. The whipping. The escape attempt. The closet.
That's where he still is. That's where he's been, all night. Hayes never came back for him. He doesn't know how he ended up falling asleep...he feels like he didn't at all. Now wonder he's in fucking pain.
And it is so damn painful. All of him. Especially, God, especially his back. It's on fire, and every breath he takes, every twitch of his muscles he can't prevent, renews it in full.
But...Hayes didn't touch him last night. No one did. He held himself, as tightly as he could, to try and protect himself from the cold, but Hayes' hands never came anywhere near him. No other part of him did, either.
Maybe it's for the best he just...stays in here, if that's what it takes.
But he's so cold...
Would you rather be cold or beaten? Cold or horribly violated?
He shivers, whimpering softly.
Cold. He'd rather be cold.
Even if it's a chill that's sunk into his bones by now and feels like it won't ever come out, like he'll never be warm again. Even if it must be sometime in the day, now, because as bad as it is, it's still not as terrible as it was last night.
But tonight...
Hayes probably won't leave him alone another night, anyway. And then he'll be thinking how stupid he was to ever spend a moment wanting out, and wish he was back.
He tries rolling onto his stomach, to relieve some of the pain. There's just not enough room, though, and he gasps when instead of it being more comfortable, he's made painfully aware of something else he needs, now.
Great.
He moves his leg, pressing his foot against the door, and then kicks it.
"Hey," he calls, and then scowls and shouts, "Hey!"
He kicks harder when he gets no response. "You fucking asshole! I have to—hey! Let me out!"
Even despite the temperature he's covered in a sheen sweat when he finally stops, panting, sitting up and crawling over to press his cheek to the floor, searching for any sign of life through the crack underneath the door.
Nothing. Not even a shadow. Hayes isn't there, either ignoring him from another room, or...
At work, doing worse things to others like him.
Fuck, and Asa is practically begging him to come back, now. What the hell is he doing? He should be thrilled he's alone. There's no one to stare at him in here. No prying eyes or hands.
It's dark, and cold, and a little terrifying, but it's not as bad as it would be out there with him.
It's quiet, too. So quiet all he can hear is a dull ringing in his ears, sometimes his heartbeat if he notices it.
Not safe, but...as close to safe as he's been since he got here.
He can plan, here. He has to plan, here. There's no other time he can do it. He has to find clothes, and find a way the fuck out of here. Find a way out of here without ending up someone else's...
Thing. Their pet. Property, like he's not even a person. Like here, with this piece of shit bastard.
It's hard, when he doesn't know the layout of the house. When there could be two or even three flights of stairs just a few feet from him, and he just can't know. When he hasn't seen outside in so long, and he doesn't know if there's a fence or anywhere to hide, or if there's people anywhere within miles of them.
What if...
What if they're alone? What if there's no one else? What if he can walk outside and scream for help and no one can hear him?
Or worse, maybe the only people who will are people who want the same things as Hayes.
It's too much. His back hurts too much, right now, for him to think, especially about things getting worse.
He can rest, at least. Regain his strength, as much as he can. Then plan.
So he curls back into himself, wincing at the pain everywhere, and closes his eyes, trying to picture himself some place happy, some place nicer and warmer than this, some place familiar, that he can go home to.
And then he cries, because there's no place in that life he wants to go back to, either.
—x—
It's not a bad day.
It's never really a bad day, if Hayes is honest with himself. There's some satisfaction, like when he's praised for bringing back a particularly good find. He has this job at all because his boss trusts his tastes, and knows he'll pick the best choices with the parameters given.
But he misses Asa. It distracts him. It's annoying, really.
Asa would have gotten him praised, too. God, they all would have adored Asa. He shows a picture—one he'd taken that first night, when Asa was perfect—to anyone who will look, and they're jealous. He knows they are. They tell him how pretty he is, how beautiful, how perfect. And he knows that. He knows Asa is all of those things.
One of the men who train the whores even whistles, coming up behind him as he shows Asa to someone he almost considers a friend, and says, "Damn. That's a good one. You bring him to me if you can't handle him on your own, huh?"
"Mmm," Hayes says, through a feigned smile. He'd kill them all before ever letting them lay a hand on his boy. "Of course, Alec. We all know you're the best."
"Show off," his almost-friend laughs, patting them both on the back as he heads off.
Alec is the best. He's broken whores in just a few days, when some take weeks, when others take months.
But Asa is his. Not to be trained by the hands of anyone else.
"Tell me, though," Hayes goes on. "Can I get there with a whip alone?"
Alec clicks his tongue. "No. Well, with a few. The real weak ones. Some of those don't end up lasting very long, out there. But you said he's a fighter, huh?"
Hayes wiggles his bandaged finger, and Alec nods. "Yeah. Then nah. Those you need to break down bit by bit. One thing, then a different thing, until you find what hurts them the most. And then you keep that as a threat, and that's what gets them to start behaving. When they're more scared of what you're going to do to punish them than whatever gets shoved in their holes. They learn that feels a lot better. Where is he now?"
"A closet."
He'd checked on him, before he left. Cracked the door open and found the boy somehow fast asleep, curled into himself so adorably. Blood underneath him and smeared against the wall, from his back, but long dried. Tear tracks down those pretty cheeks that Hayes had nearly knelt down to kiss away before reminding himself this had to be done, and locking the door again before going on his way.
Still not broken, though. Not begging for forgiveness.
God, he only wants to think of Asa. He doesn't want to be here at all. He wants to spend all his time with Asa.
And if he gets promoted, like his boss had promised to be considering, he will have more time at home, more money too, and then he can be with Asa so much more, and Asa will love him soon, so soon, and he'll let Hayes hold him and pet his hair and suffocate him until they both come and—
He'll love him. He'll love Hayes so soon.
"You look like you feel guilty about it," Alec says, and Hayes rolls his eyes. "You know, I see where you cropped it. Can't even see his—"
"It's mine," Hayes says. "He's mine. All of him. No one gets to see him that way but me."
"Shit. You got it bad for him, don't you?"
Hayes doesn't reply to that. Alec rubs at his chin, and then gestures behind them. "You know...they have the equipment room...could borrow something, if you were feeling...adventurous. Sure as hell got a lot of fun shit here to use to break the stubborn ones down."
Hayes thinks for a moment, and then smiles.
"You're right...care to help me pick out a few options?"
Alec grins, like I thought you'd never ask. "Show me that picture again...I'm sure we can come up with some ideas."
—x—
His boy doesn't respond when Hayes first knocks on the closet door, and Hayes almost panics. He almost opens it up and risks another ambush until he hears a grunt from inside, and he sighs with relief.
"Hi sweetheart," he whispers, sitting down against the wall, nibbling on a sandwich he hadn't gotten to eat on break, because he was, well...busy. "How was your day?"
A deep, heavy sigh, and then: "Go fuck yourself."
"Mine was good, too," Hayes says, nodding. "I really think I'm gonna be getting that promotion, soon. Did I tell you about that?"
"I need to use the bathroom."
"Up to van duty—taking the whores out and keeping an eye on them—instead of just roaming the floors all day or fucking around auctions."
"Did you hear me? I need to piss! Now!"
"It'll be good for me...and I'll be making more. Since I spent most everything I had on you, you know. And it'll be easier. More responsibility, but the whores listen to me pretty well. Most of them..."
"I hope you fucking crash."
"Jesus," Hayes says with a frown. "So fucking moody. The hunger's really gettin' to you, huh?"
"I'm not hungry."
Hayes hums. "But you're uncomfortable. So many things making you uncomfortable, hmm?"
Asa shifts around and then whines. It's so fucking hot that Hayes nearly pulls the door open to—
But he can't. He can't break, or Asa won't.
"I know, love. And it's okay to give in, okay? You have to know that. It's okay to be good. I won't even hold the bite against you, okay? I mean, this can be the punishment for that."
"Drowning me wasn't?"
"You're still just confused. And so fucking dramatic." He finishes his sandwich and then fishes a cigarette out of the box in his pocket, tsking. "I know it's all overwhelming. I'm understanding, if you let me be. So just...come on, baby. Ask me proper. Say please, sir, and I'll do anything you want tonight, Asa, as a reward. I'll take care of your back...I know it must hurt. I'll make you come so good, baby, I promise."
The floor creaks as Asa shifts about, but he doesn't respond.
"My Asa..."
Asa sounds like he snarls. "I'm not. Yours."
Hayes smiles.
A little longer, then.
Another night without him, after a lifetime, for a forever of him being good, is worth it.
"I'll see you in the morning, then, love."
And he picks himself up, and relaxes downstairs with a glass of scotch, listening to Asa's cursing and swearing and increasingly infuriated scratching and pounding on the door until he finally settles down.
Poor thing. He must be freezing. Miserable. Barely sleeping, if at all.
If that's what it takes, then there's nothing Hayes can do.
Well. That, and maybe the things he picked up today.
But this first. Surely by morning, he'll be begging Hayes to let him out.
And he'll be sure to make it all up to him thoroughly, when it's finally over.
It's more torture than anything he could do to Asa to make Hayes sleep in an empty bed again, though, without anyone to hold. And when he wakes up cold and still alone in the middle of the night, he decides exactly how he's going to hurt Asa for it, and he'll deserve it. He'll use what he borrowed, and Asa will deserve it.
He already lost it the other day, though, with the whip. He lies in bed thinking about it, for a while, worried about the scars it might leave on that otherwise perfect back, and then finally drags himself up and into the bathroom to grab something.
"Asa," he calls, sticking the key into the lock and opening the door. "If you try to run past me, I'll push you down the stairs myself this time."
Asa doesn't move at all. He stays perfectly still, curled into himself in the corner, his eyes sliding only half-open as Hayes takes a step inside.
"Oh, baby," Hayes murmurs, crouching down to touch him—and God, his skin is ice—and Asa still flinches and jerks away much as he can, breathing harshly.
Fine. Still not ready, not yet.
"I need to make sure your back doesn't get infected," he says. "Turn it towards me."
Again, Asa refuses to move. He closes his eyes again, clearly exhausted, but even given the simple options to obey and get out of here, he fucking won't.
"Always making things so fucking difficult, huh? That's okay. I'm sure it'll reach."
And then he uncaps the bottle of rubbing alcohol in his hand, and dumps it over Asa's body.
Asa screams, unlike he has before, louder and more agonized that has Hayes grinning as the boy seizes, twisting and turning and shouting as the alcohol runs over the still-open wounds. As soon as he's in a position where Hayes can see the angry red and purple and blue welts, the thin slashes in his skin, he empties the bottle over them.
Asa screams again, but so much weaker. He squirms and writhes a minute more, and then finally goes limp, heaving in air between sobs as his whole body shakes violently.
It's...arousing. Hayes wants to touch him more than anything right now, wants to feel all that movement under him.
"Ready to come out?" Hayes asks, rubbing Asa's shoulder, but he's not even sure the boy hears him, barely conscious and lost to the pain. "Ready, baby?"
He knows it's too soon. He knows. Maybe tonight.
"I'll see you after work, baby, okay?" he says, kissing Asa on the forehead and then locking the door as he exits again.
There's soft sobs coming from inside when he passes to head off to work in the morning, hours later, and it leaves him smiling all day, wondering just how long he's been crying, or if he ever stopped at all.
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Soon, my love. So soon.
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Bloody betrayal
Whumptober masterlist
Day 24: FIGHT, FLIGHT OR FREEZE |blood-covered hands | "I don't want to do this anymore" | catatonic
Alt 12: Carried to safety
+ this prompt by @whump-all-the-way
After Whumpee's betrayed and beaten by their team, Caretaker rescues them.
1.2k words
CWs: past beating, past betrayal, aftermath of a beating, past captivity, past choking, past stabbing, implied torture, emeto
Whumpee crawls out of the sewer and slumps against a shop door, hand pressed to their throbbing ribs, now broken as well as slashed, blinking away pained tears. They'd expected some sort of response to their return – suspicion maybe, they'd understand that, relief or joy even. They'd hoped for treatment for their injuries. They are... were friends, after all. But not... not this.
Not a beating as bad as Whumper often gave them. Not for Leader, who took them under his wing, who they looked up to for years, to punch them as soon as he saw them. Not for Teammate, their so-called 'best friend', to look at them coldly as they lay on the floor and demand to know what they'd betrayed, knuckles bloody.
Whumper called them an animal, a nothing. They didn't realise their team would feel the same way.
They thought Whumper broke them, when he finally conditioned them to stop reacting to hits, to call him Sir and thank him for the pain. But apparently there was a part of them left that still hoped. Hoped for a reunion, friendly voices, to belong again in a place that wasn't a cell.
A part of them left to break.
Not any longer though. That's gone.
Whumpee runs a wet hand down their aching face. Are there– they thought that muzzle scarred. It certainly felt like it dug in enough to.
Did it not? Or did their team just not care?
Whumpee groans and closes their eyes, whole body throbbing. They really took a pounding back there. Oh, their team left them alone, of course, once they were thoroughly beaten down. Left them in a cell, probably to come back to the next day. Without even any restraints.
Whumpee snorts at that, then claps a broken hand to his head. If they'd bothered to care about what happened to him, they'd never have left him unrestrained. They're not as hopeless at escapology as they once were. But they did.
They did, because they didn't care.
Whumpee needs to move soon, before their former team comes out looking for their prisoner. But they really can't summon up the energy to. What do they have left, after all? Where can they go? All they had was the hope of seeing their team again, and that's gone now.
"You realise you're leaving a trail of blood, darlin'? I can follow you all the way to your HQ."
Whumpee looks up to see someone standing on the opposite doorstep, wearing a black trenchcoat and hat, and smoking a cigarette. He pushes himself off the wall and stubs out his cigarette when he sees Whumpee's face.
"What the 'ell 'appened to you?"
Belatedly, Whumpee realises that they didn't bother to wipe their face. Their teammates earlier didn't notice anything was wrong, why the fuck would anyone else?
Apparently, someone else would.
"None of your business. Just fuck off."
The man frowns. "Your voice. You been choked lately?"
Whumpee feels a lump in their throat, and holds still as the man approaches, tracing the air above their sensitive, bruising throat. Their hands twitch to use their powers and hold the man off but they've learned over the past two months what happens if they even appear to be using them. So they just watch, warily, as the man touches their bruises lightly.
It's a kinder touch than they've had in months. This stranger is being kinder than their own team and they don't trust it.
"The fuck are you doing?"
"Making sure you can still breathe right, since you ain't doin' it."
"You can't tell that from... that."
"Sure I can. Dunno why I bothered though, it's clear from the arguing that you can. Didn't you 'ave some sorta power last time we met?"
"We've never met."
The man shrugs with an air of deliberate nonchalance. "If you say so." Whumpee slumps forward, suddenly drained, and the man puts a hand on his chest, holding him upright. "Woah. Easy there darlin'. Want help gettin' back 'ome?"
"'m not– not going back to base. And I'm not helping you either. Just to be clear. I'm done with this fight. I've been on both sides and neither's worth it. So either kill me or leave, I'm no use to you."
"Oh no you don't, darlin'. Well, you don't have to fight, but you'll die if you stay here. And I'm not lettin' you die... Whumpee, isn't it?"
"Maybe. Who are you?"
"Caretaker. Well, that's not my real name o'course, but maybe if you stay long enough you'll find it out. So. You comin'?"
Whumpee pauses, looking the man up and down. He looks... sincere, but not honest, although Whumpee themself isn't always honest either. Technically, he's also their enemy, but they don't really have any allies left.
And he's right. They will die if they stay here, if not now then as soon as their team finds them. Or maybe not as soon as. Maybe the team will beat them up some more first. They nod, regretting it as their head throbs.
"Fine. I'll come."
Caretaker grins. "Excellent. Can you walk?"
"I don't–" Whumpee tries to lever themself up against a wall and falls with a yelp as they try to put weight on their ankle and an agonising pulse runs up their leg. "Maybe not."
"Well, I'm gonna have to carry you then. 'old still." Caretaker hefts Whumpee into his arms, cursing as he stumbles. "You eaten anythin' lately? Cos it sure don't feel like it."
"Not for a while," mumbles Whumpee, clamping their lips shut as their stomach roils and everything hurts from the jolting. "'m gonna be sick."
"Well don't do it on my coat, it's already got your blood on it. Far too much in fact. You been stabbed?"
"Slashed," murmurs Whumpee, before retching. Caretaker tips them sideways so their bile falls onto the pavement, waiting patiently for them to finish.
"You done?"
"F'r now."
"Well, can you hold on until you're not gonna throw up on my favourite coat?"
"Probably?"
"That'll do." And Caretaker takes off walking at a brisk pace. Whumpee slumps against his chest, unable to hold themself up anymore. Even if this man does mean harm, they're in no shape to defend themself. No point bothering to try.
"Dammit darlin'. Hold on just a lil bit longer, come..."
Caretaker's voice fades, along with the rest of the world.
_
Whumpee half-wakes to the sound of voices.
"How are they?"
"They'll live, boss. And their wings should grow back, if the latest research is correct. But it's weird."
"What is?"
"I did an MRI scan to check the state of their brain, because I needed to see what that knock did to it, and it looks like someone's been meddling with it. There's energy traces in there. It's not just a concussion causing problems."
There's a growl. "Someone with powers has been inside their brain?"
"Yes, boss."
""That's... that's why they don't remember me, int it?"
Whumpee groans, wanting to ask what's going on, why Caretaker sounds so unbearably sad, but their mouth won't obey and nor will their eyes and before they can try to move their aching body, the world fades again.
When they wake, they won't remember this conversation at all.
_
Picrews (link) - Whumpee just after being treated, Caretaker, and Medic
#whumptober2022#no.22#blood covered hands#'i dont want to do this anymore'#altprompt 12#carried to safety#oc#fic#altprompt#whump#whump writing#betrayal#beating tw#aftermath of beating#emeto tw#superpowered whumpee#powered whumpee#winged whumpee#ex winged really#caretaker and whumpee#amnesiac whumpee#reunion#technically
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