#obsessive whumper | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ccieatchildren · 10 days

Text

TW: Implied Noncon

Whumpee was awoken by a sharp shift in the bed. Over their captivity, they had become hyper aware of the body sleeping next to them, stirring whenever he tossed and turned under the covers. Steadying their breathing, Whumpee focused on each move and sound he made, trying to determine what he was doing.

The sheets ruffled and then there was no more drastic movement. Air brushed against their back, the spot next to them cold with the open covers. Whumpee covertly looked to their left to see where he had gone, only to be surprised to find him still on the bed.

Whumper sat on the edge of the mattress, breathing heavily. His body shook slightly and his fingers twitched in a rhythmic motion.

One, two, three.

Four, five, six.

Seven, eight, nine.

As if he was counting the seconds.

They continued to analyze his body language, trying to ascertain whether he was a threat in this state. His shoulders were hunched, they could hear him mumble under his breath, and he seemed distracted. All things to be wary of, but no immediate action. They watched until Whumper’s hand stilled.

“I can feel you staring.”

Whumpee quickly turned back around and resumed pretending to be asleep, hoping he would think it was his imagination and not pester them.

However, his tired, gruff voice spoke up once more. “Prašau Whumpee, you have worked in the field; if you can’t tell that someone is watching you, you are dead.” He sighed. “Miegok. Go back to sleep.” Whumper stood up, legs faintly shaking, turning to walk around the bed to the door, “I’m going out,” there was a waver in his voice, “I’ll be back later.”

Whumpee’s mind raced. They could not let him leave. Despite the ease it brought it, Whumpee could not ignore the blood dripping off him. The rips in his clothes and the scratches on his skin. They knew intimately what it was like to be the object of his ire and would not wish it on another soul.

Before they could even process what their brain decided to do, Whumpee lashed out and grabbed his hand.

Whumper startled, ripping his arm out of their grasp, a flash of fear in his eyes, before he managed to smooth it out.

“W-wait!” Instinct tells them to drop it. Let him leave and vent his anger out on someone else. Save themself the trouble and pain. But they do not, a doomed mouse asking the snake for mercy, reaching out again instead.

“Why don’t you… stay here, with m- me, instead?”

A blank stare is all they are met with. He says nothing, searching them for something they don’t know. Whumpee’s lips quiver as they strain to stretch them out into a pleasant smile. They’re not quite sure they make it.

“Are you stupid?”

It is not a response they expected, but it does make them start to regret their decision. Whumpee curls back into themself in response.

Seriously! What was the goal with that? What was I planning to do?

A voice in their head— their survival instinct— berates them for their stupidity. But another speaks over it.

What if he kills someone? I know I can take it. Maybe I could even calm him down peacefully.

‘Calm him down peacefully.’ Like that’s my job?! Let him suffer. Let me get some sleep while I can.

Diverting their gaze, Whumpee listens to their arguments, the angel and devil on their shoulders. One looking out for themself, honestly the smarter option, while the other parroting ingrained selflessness, perhaps the moral option.

They should have let him be. Whumper would do what he wanted no matter their opinion. Why trouble themself with the pain of interference.

But what if he actually listened for once? He had proven time and time again to be weak to them— when it came to other people— why not test the theory again.

The incessant arguing in Whumpee’s head ceases when he talks once more.

“What? Is the hero finally having second thoughts; not able to play the bystander anymore?”

An unbidden memory of looking at absurd trolley problems with Bestie pushes to the forefront of Whumpee’s mind. Choosing ludicrous option after ludicrous option, giggling at the scenarios the poor stick figures found themselves in. If only things could be that simple now.

He grabbed their cheeks, forcing them to face him. “I asked you a question.” Their situation slaps back into focus, and Whumpee stutters to give a response.

His voice seemed more curious and surprised than angry, so Whumpee tried to give him a more natural answer. “… No…” Honesty always went far with him. “I just…” They tentatively place a hand on his face and Whumpee instantly softens. A good sign. “You have me now. You don’t need to leave anymore.”

He doesn’t respond, only nuzzling into their hand further, but they can feel him ponder her words. They needed to fully entice Whumper into staying.

“Lie down with me. Let me make you feel better.” He looks at them confused, but not disinterested. No going back now.

Whumpee coaxes his head into their lap, repressing the urge to tremble at his proximity. He complies, curling into them like a cat. Taking a deep breath, Whumpee lets out their fears and misgivings about the situation before continuing. Their quivering fingers part his hair, threading through the dark locks.

They’ve rarely touched them before, only having yanked the tresses to inflict a margin of the same pain he’s given them, panic driving them on despite any potential consequences. Yet, this stress is different. As they run their hand through the soft strands, resentment starts to build in the place of their anxiety.

The intimacy is a spark to the meager kindling of their frustration.

However, Whumper is content, practically purring at their ministrations. Their actions have had the desired effect, calming the man from whatever torment ailed him.

They remain there, one serene with their touch, the other restless at his affection, for a while, until Whumper hesitantly breaks the tranquility.

“I love you…”

It was one of the few times he said it without any underlying malice or lust, and each time it makes their stomach clench. The emotion, the context, the… everything behind those three little words made them hate him more each time.

They just didn’t want to be here anymore.

“I love you so much.” The words tumble out of him in a rush, like he’s worried that they don’t believe him. “I promise I love you. I’m sorry… for not- I- I can’t- You’re-” he stumbles over his words, a rare look of guilt on his face, “I’m sorry for not letting you go.” Whumpee’s hand stilled.

“But, I- I just can’t. You have to understand. It’s just too late.” Now he feels ashamed? “I should have never kept you for so long, I should have never let you leave the basement, I should have never taken you in the first place.” Now he regrets it? “But now, I’ve condemned us both.” They nearly miss his next sentence.

“You made me think I could make something sweet.”

He quiets down once again, face scrunched in thought, and the time passes like honey dripping between their fingers. The silence stretches for what could have been hours, minutes, or seconds. They resume petting him; the repetitive action agitates them. Finally, his face smooths and he pipes up again.

“But, it’ll be okay. We’ll be a real family… You’ll get used to this… I’ll get used to this.”

It’s quiet once more, and Whumpee refuses to speak or even acknowledge what he has said. Their hand pauses once more in disbelief. Closing their eyes and desperately struggling not to scream, rage burns its way up their throat.

“I hope you can forgive me.”

Forgiveness? How could they even forgive someone like him, after all he’s done to them?

It wasn’t fair. They were supposed to be in their apartment, snuggled up in blankets and watching snow through the window. Or sipping hot cocoa with Bestie as they watched corny romcoms. They were supposed to be refusing Caretaker’s invitation to join them on a too early morning run. And staying way too late on overtime combing through paperwork.

Not this.

Right as their fury was to peak, as their indignation was to boil over, it all abandoned Whumpee in a moment, hand restarting its rhythmic motions in his hair.

They were stuck here now, and there was no changing that.

“Does it even matter if I do?”

Whumper never responded.

#my writing #☡#W #whumblr #whump #whump writing #whumper #whumpee #intimate whumper #defiant whumpee #conditioned whumpee #whumper x whumpee #obsessive whumper #hero #villain #hero x villain #yeah idk what this is #but it spawned from a thought i had too long ago #and now its finally frickin done

75 notes · View notes

ashintheairlikesnow · 1 month

Text

All We Have Is Each Other

CW: Intimate whumper, captivity, defiant whumpee, biting, creepy whumper, obsessive whumper, noncon kiss, vague noncon references, drugging. For @amonthofwhump Tropeathon Day 1: Duel

The Motherfucking Gallaghers Masterlist

Takes place during Jax’s second captivity. As always, Jax is used with oversight and permission from @comfy-whumpee)

Savvie rolls dice every time she uses the mortar and pestle in the kitchen to grind up one of her collections of pills and mix it into Jax’s drink.

She’s always gambling with the drugs. The first part of the game is seeing whether he’ll drink it before he realizes there’s something in it. If she doesn’t mix it well enough, he’ll see the cloudy bits floating around in the glass and look at her with terrible sad eyes. Sometimes she can’t take it. She just takes the drink right back out of his hand and pours it out, makes him a new one.

Other the other hand, sometimes his sad voice and sad eyes piss her off worse than anything else could, and she just tips it up until he chokes and makes him finish it anyway. Or shocks him, pressing the button to the remote and watching his muscles lock up, knowing he’ll look sweeter once he’s fighting the way his muscles jerk afterward, the unconscious twitches he can’t quite get rid of as the aftermath works its way through him.

Sometimes he even looks scared. Those nights are some of her favorites. Savvie never loves Jax as much as she does when he is scared of her.

But... she can’t keep him scared all the time. What kind of marriage would they have if she did that? No, the drinks aren’t to scare him, they’re just to make… to make things easier. And she doesn’t always do it! She doesn’t always drug him, but it’s enough that he never trusts her. She knows that. He doesn’t… trust easily.

That’s okay.

Their relationship got off to a rough start, that’s all, what with Jax starting off as one of the staff, bought and paid for. Plus, Jax’s dad convinced him Savvie was evil, once upon a time when he ran away from her. Taught him to hate her. She had to have her uncle fly all the way to England to bring Jax back, and it’s taking years to undo all the damage that stupid old man did.

That’s okay. He’s getting better, he’s definitely getting better. He is. He has to be getting better.

Still… he’s not an easy man to be married to. Not with having to keep an eye on the remote to his shock collar so he can’t take it off and try to run away again, not with the way he watches her sometimes like he wants to dunk her head into the toilet and hold it there until she drowns. Putting stuff in his drink just lets Savvie be able to relax.

She doesn’t have to worry about what he might do when he’s so high he can’t do much of anything. Besides, it’s only like one out of every ten nights, sometimes twenty, sometimes she even goes for a month or two without doing it.

She really doesn’t even want to. If he would just learn to be happy without it, she wouldn’t have to keep drugging him, would she? If he’d just stop being so difficult about being her husband… but that isn’t fair. He can’t be any better than he is, not really. Jax just… isn’t wired that way.

So she has to help him a little, to make it so he can have nights when he can’t stay mad at her. Or at least nights when his anger isn’t able to simmer in there behind his eyes while he says Yes, Miss Savvie or No, Miss Savvie like there’s a gun to his head.

Still. Trying to give him these evenings where both of them just relax… it’s always a gamble.

Even if he drinks whatever she makes without realizing it’s spiked, he doesn’t always react the same way. If she’s lucky - if her dice rolls well - the drugs make Jax… softer. He’ll lean against her when some of his strength slides away, not seek out touch but loathe it less. Those are the nights she can coax a sound out of him that isn’t clipped or tense. She still thinks about the night she gave him a back rub and he genuinely fell asleep sitting on the floor between her knees, his head drifting until it rested on her leg, the knots of tension slowly loosening beneath her kneading hands until she got distracted by the movie and forgot what she was doing.

Sometimes he smiles, when he’s blurry and unfocused. Smiles, enough to show teeth even… God, sometimes he even laughs at some of Savvie’s jokes. It’s rare, but it happens. She loves those nights the best. Those are the nights that their marriage almost feels normal… if she just ignores the dilated pupils and the way he can’t stand up on his own.

Sometimes he gets so foggy he can’t stop laughing, which is irritating but at least adorable to watch and take videos of to make him look at later on the next day when he sobers up again. Sometimes the side effects make him too scared to smile, his eyes darting nervously everywhere watching the movements of shadows he swears are watching him. She… tries not to give him those pills anymore.

The nights tend to end with her telling him to take off his shirt so she can enjoy the view, or even his pants, too. She usually waits on that, though, because it doesn’t matter how good the drugs are - he always hesitates when it comes to taking off his pants, as soon as his fingers touch the boxers with their oddly rolled waistband.

It reminds him he doesn’t want to be here. Makes his addled mind come back to the collar he wears around his neck, to the reality of the life they’re living, the marriage Savvie has built all by herself whether he wanted to or not.

And he… he didn’t want to.

So normally she waits on the getting naked bit until they’re in the bedroom and what he wants matters so much less that neither of them think about it any longer. The drugs, at least, make it harder for him to slow her down in there.

Savvie tries not to think about that, because she doesn’t remember it that way. She likes the nights best where he doesn’t even try to fight, just lets her pull him upstairs and she gets to bury her hands in his hair and tell him what to do and have him, languid and loose-limbed, follow every command without the tension and misery he usually carries into their bed.

She doesn’t always roll well.

Sometimes, she rolls snake eyes… and she gets this, instead.

“Fuck’s sake,” Jax groans, words slurring around the edges, rubbing a hand over his eyes. He pushes clumsily away from her, nearly falling off the couch before he manages to catch himself. “For… f’r fuck’s sake, Savvie, what the fuck.”

His wedding ring glints, light from the TV bouncing off the deceptively plain platinum band. She’s hit all over again with a wave of love for him, for the life she’s built after he was brought back home to be hers forever, just like he always should have been. She’d been an idiot not to see it, not until he was gone and she spent years in prison dreaming about getting him back.

“Fuck’s sake what?” She asks, voice light, smiling at him and poking him in the shoulder where they sit on the couch.

He doesn’t slap her hand away, but she sees him look at her and… he wants to. His expression is dark. The light is bouncing off his hazel eyes, too, giving them a strange sheen of white that wipes out the color, obscures even his dilated pupils slowly taking over the iris. “What the fuck was it?”

“What was what?”

“What the fuck did you give me?” He goes to push himself to standing only to have his knees buckle beneath him, crashing him to the floor, barely catching himself on his hands. Savvie’s mouth waters, and she swallows, trying to ignore the flutter of fascinated interest in watching his fingernails scrape the rug as he tries to steady himself. “What the fuck is it, Savvie?”

“It doesn’t matter,” She answers, without changing her own tone, leaning forward with her arms resting on her thighs. Her hair falls in heavy waves down her back and over her shoulders. “It’s not anything that could hurt you.”

This time, he doesn't say Miss Savvie or try out the sad eyes. Instead, he looks away. She can nearly hear his teeth grinding. “Yeah, but once I’m all fucked up, you will.”

“Don’t be rude,” Savvie chides him, but she doesn’t move. He looks good, on his hands and knees on the floor. Well, he looks good all the time, really, but he looks even better on his hands and knees. She knows the physique he’s built with the workout routine she makes him do, knows the muscles there hidden beneath the green sweater and jeans he’s wearing. “You’ve been stressed all week. I’m just trying to help-”

“Fucking shit, the hell you are!” He manages to sit back on his knees, then collapses back until his back hits the edge of the couch cushions, upright through sheer force of will and a bit of good luck. His hands lay limp at his sides, now. When he turns to look at her, his eyes don’t focus quite right - but the fury in them is clear.

Well.

Tonight’s not going to be the best night for them, then, she supposes. She feels the edge of a headache starting up, and sighs, looking mournfully at the movie she’d pulled up for them to watch. Another night, then. A night when the gamble pays off and doesn’t backfire. A night when he can’t remember how to be angry at her.

“Fine,” She says, heavily. “I’m not trying to help you. I’m trying to help me.”Her own voice changes - drops almost a full octave from her usual carefully constructed diction and sweetness to something sharper. “I’m making tonight easier on me. Making you less… less-” She can't think of a good way to end the sentence, so she just lets it hang there between them.

Jax snorts, looking away again. His head keeps lolling forward until his chin nearly touches his chest before he jerks it back again. “Yeah, I fucking know,” He manages, but his slurring is getting worse. “Shit f’r brains.”

Savvie sniffs, but the fake tears aren't coming as easily as they usually do. She probably accidentally gave him too much again. It’s just sometimes so hard to remember exactly how much the dose is supposed to be…

“I don’t enjoy you being cruel to me any more than you enjoy it when I do it to you, you know,” She says, suddenly… so tired. She spends so much time and effort creating a marriage herself out of a man her uncle bought for her once and abducted for her the second time, and she’s doing this all on her own - no one helps her, not really. And Jax never gives up.

She’d been sure he’d start to settle in and understand by now, but he just… he just doesn’t. And she’s so tired. Her fingers toy with the little black remote to his shock collar. Maybe she should just… just give up on having a good night and punish him for the cursing until he just bites off his stupid tongue.

No, wait.

She likes what he does with his tongue, when she gives the order. He’s so good with it now. Maybe… maybe just a small shock. Just to remind him he's hers. She takes a deep breath. “Jax… get on your-”

“On m’knees f’r discipline?” He starts laughing before she can finish, cutting her off, letting his head fall totally back against the arm of the couch until he’s staring at the ceiling. He sounds wild, almost like an animal. Her quiet watchful husband is feral, and Savvie resolves never to give him the pill she gave him tonight ever again. “Yeah, fucking… fuckin’ do it. Second I don’t play along, there y’go. Bzzzt.” He cackles, a cracked bark of laughter she’s never heard him make before. “Shut me up so you don’t hear me say it.”

Savvie’s heart twists. “Say what?”

The laughter dies in him as suddenly as it appeared. He turns his head, or tries to - it mostly just falls to one side until he’s looking at her. Their eyes meet, his all black pupil and hers with nearly no pupil at all. “How much I fucking hate your fucking guts.”

“You don’t hate me.” She says it firmly, as if he’s being ridiculous. “Don’t be mean, Jax. You don’t hate me at all.”

She takes a deep breath. Married couples have fights, even ugly ones sometimes, and they work it out-

“Yeah. I… I really do.” Disgusted, that’s the tone in his voice. Disgusted with her. “I do. I hate you.”

“Why do you hate me?”

The look he gives her is such a blatant are you a complete fucking moron that she can hear his voice even though he doesn’t say a word.

“No, hold on.” She waves one hand, dismissing her own question. His eyes briefly follow the movements of her fingers, distracted by whatever the drugs make him see there. Trails of light, maybe. It’s probably beautiful. “Hold on. I know why-”

“Do you?” His question is sharp, snapped, even as his every muscle can barely tense enough to move. “Do you fuckin’ really?”

“Yes. I do.” Savvie’s too tired to talk him in a circle tonight. She’s just… too exhausted by her bad gamble, bringing neither the snuggly Jax or the scared one, but this angry, vengeful animal instead.

Her headache is getting worse.

She grabs her glass of wine off the coffee table and chugs it so fast a little drip escapes the corner of her mouth and runs down her chin. She has to wipe it away, wincing at the… at the idea of how that looks. Her mother would have had a fit about it. If she hadn’t died years ago. “Because I had you kidnapped.”

Jax is silent, for a beat. He squints at her. “Fuck… what’d you say? Might be hearin’ shit.”

She laughs, softly. Not her usual laughter, crafted to fill up a room and put all eyes on her. This laugh is barely there, but far more genuine. “No. You're not hallucinating, that shouldn't happen with what I gave you tonight.”

“Oh, good, not this fucking drugging, then, jussss-” His head falls too far to one side and he forces it back up, groaning. “Jusss… others.”

“Only one of the pills does that. And you were cute when you thought there were monsters in the bathroom.” She gets that flat stare from him again and this time she can't hold eye contact, looking down and away, still fiddling with the remote to his collar. “I just. I do know what I did, Jax.”

“Yeah, I fucking know you know-”

“I had you kidnapped.” She takes a deep breath. It feels oddly good to say, like a scene in a movie confessing to a priest. A foul-mouthed priest she’s been sleeping with for over a year. The thought makes her smile, just a little. “My uncle had people watching you, and when I was ready, he knew where you’d be and he abducted you for me. I know that. I know that you’d run, if you could. I’d take your collar off right now if I thought you’d stay without wearing it.”

Jax is silent for so long she briefly wonders if he's flat out forgotten how to talk. Then he shrugs - or tries to, his arms don't quite follow his commands. “You’d find somethin’ else, some other reason for shit ‘round my neck. You fuckin’ like it.”

For the first time, she doesn't deny it. “I do.” She laughs at the way he looks almost comically surprised, unable to keep his usual closed-off expressions in place with the drug coursing through his veins. “What? Can't a girl have a kink?”

“Sure fuckin’ can, but you… you don' have a kink, you got… goddamn victims.”

“... I… yeah. But it-... that's not my point. It isn't about the collar, Jax. Your wedding ring does it for me, too. I could barely wait to get you home after we signed the marriage certificate.”

The glare is back. His hatred is blistering her skin. She watches him try to stand, making it nearly upright before he falls back down again with a heavy thump.

Her mouth twitches. “You want help, sweetie?”

“Ffffuck you.”

“Well, I mean, if you’re asking so nicely.” She giggles at her own joke.

He mumbles something she can't quite hear, trying to stand one more time but quickly giving up. He makes it onto the couch, at least. Savvie stands, turning to grab his ankles, shifting so he’s lying on his back, head and feet each cushioned by the arms of the comfortable, overstuffed couch. He struggles weakly, and it's hard work, but she gets him where she wants him. She barely breathes, taking in his chest rising and falling under his sweater, how his inhales are coming more sharply.

She can't help herself.

Savvie climbs on top of him, like she’s done a hundred times. She straddles him, sitting on his hips and leaning down to kiss his neck, nosing under his jaw. At first, his head tips back in resignation - but then he curses and pushes at her weakly instead. “Don’t.”

She grabs his wrists and shoves them above his head. He’s so weak, the drugs have taken all that muscle and made them… useless at holding her off. There’s a shiver of excitement down her spine. “Uh-uh, sweetie. You’re the one who said to fuck you, remember?”

She feels a thrill at saying fuck, like she’s still a kid sneaking swears in her room when her parents won’t overhear.

“Don't,” He groans. “Sav-... Savvie, stop. G’t off me. I hate you.”

“I know.” She smiles down at him. His eyes meet hers, tired and bleary. Furious and almost resigned. “I know you hate me, Jax… but I love you.”

She leans down, her hair a waterfall curtain, blocking them both off from the world. She can smell the cologne she buys for him, blended with her own pricey perfume. His wrists jerk against her grip and she digs her nails in until he grunts in pain and the skin gives beneath.

“Savvie,” he whispers.

“Sssshhh.” She lets go with one hand, shifting both his wrists to her other one, and presses a finger against his lips. “I love you so much,” She whispers. “And I don't need you to love me back, sweetie, I don’t. I just need you to lie for me.”

She kisses him, then, pressing her lips firmly to his. For half a second, his mouth is slack and unresisting even as his body shudders with disgust. He’s warm, his skin burning up beneath her. Her mouth moves against his, trying to get him to answer her, to open up.

His lips gently part. For a brief moment, Savvie feels the rush of victory.

Then he bites.

Pain blooms in a sudden flare as his teeth bury themselves into her lower lip and he jerks his head to the side, sensitive skin tearing.

“Shit!” Savvie jerks backwards, staring down at him wide-eyed. She can taste her own blood in her mouth. It’s smeared on his lips and his teeth like badly-done lipstick as he gives her a smile that's really a snarl. “Oh my God, Jax-... how dare you-”

“Fuck you! Don't fucking touch me!” He gets his arms more or less under his own control and shoves her off of him. She crashes into the coffee table, the legs giving out, tumbling her to the floor. Pain spikes hot and demanding along her hip where she hits the hard angle of the corner and she finds herself the one lying on the floor, while Jax slowly sits up, wiping blood off his lips.

Her blood.

Savvie pulls her fingers from her mouth and gasps. There’s a smear of red, bright and vibrant, the unmistakable sense of blood trickling down over her chin. She tongues at the wound, then winces as the pain flares bright, like he’s bitten her all over again. She considers tears - looks at the loathing in his eyes, the absolute rage written in the lines of his face - and then decides they’re wasted on him tonight. Instead, she just shakes her head. “That hurt.”

“Good. Don' like bein’ the one fucking bleeding for once, huh?” His eyes drift closed. He struggles to open them again, to keep his eyes on her. “Shit feelin’, isn't it?”

“God.” She swallows. Blood on her tongue is making her feel nauseous and she gets to her feet carefully. Her mouth and hip throb. She’s going to be so bruised tomorrow, going to ache so much. “You’re awful sometimes, you know that?”

“Yeah.” He grins. He hasn't bothered to try and get the red off his teeth. “I know. So… so fffffuckin’ get rid of me, then.”

Savvie snorts, limping a little as she moves to pick up the spilled wine bottle from the floor. She could shock him now - that’s what she would usually do. Or call Isaac and have him carted off to spend another month locked in the kennels with the dogs. He… probably doesn’t care about that, though. Anything to get away from her. Anything is better than her, to him.

“Get rid of you?” She drinks the last swallow in the bottle, washing blood down her throat with the wine. “Then what, Jax? I should just… live here alone, without you, for the rest of my life?”

“Fucking-... yes, or go fucking die. I don't fucking care.” The flush of hot anger bleeds away, his voice softening a little. “I don't… don' care, Savvie. I don’t care about you.”

“No. You do.” She feels a burst of desperation to make him understand. “You hate me, right? That’s caring about me, still.”

“Savvie-”

“No. I love you. You are mine, and I am keeping you. This is love, Jax. What I feel for you is true love.”

He shakes his head, swaying a little where he sits. He tries to push her away again as she takes him by the arm but his burst of energy seems to have used him up. He lets her, in the end, get him onto his feet. She leads him on his unsteady legs out of the room, and he stumbles along with her.

“S'not love,” He mumbles. She keeps an arm around his waist to help him balance. “Fucking… fuck you. Let me leave, Savvie.”

He doesn't have the strength to push her away, not anymore. He has to use her to stay up as they take the stairs one at a time, although after three or four he jerks away again and uses the railing, leaning heavily against it as he drags himself upwards, inch by inch, step by step.

She lets him pull away, watching his determination to not need her, how badly he doesn’t even want her. There’s a canyon inside of her, something dark and deep that hurts so much worse than her hip or her torn open lower lip, threatening to claw its way out as she watches the man she has forced to play the role of her husband do anything he can to avoid her touch.

Her jaw sets. “It is. It is love, and you know what? It’s all the love you’re going to get. Ever. No one else will ever love you.” Savvie’s voice stays low. “You’re not… you’re not lovable, Jax, but I don’t care, I love you anyway. Nobody else would. No one is ever going to even want to love you but me.”

He slumps. The fight’s all gone out of him, for now. Her gamble failed tonight and Jax is buckling under the weight of what runs through his veins, the heavy expectations in her eyes and her smile and her devotion.

“Fuck,” is all he says, barely a whisper under his breath.

Savvie sighs, touching her fingers to her lip again. The bleeding has slowed but there’s still a spot of red. “Goes both ways, though, I think.”

He doesn't look at her. “What?”

“This… how much you hate me… how I had to kidnap you, and put that thing on your neck to keep you here, how you wish you were anywhere but here with me… you know, I, I get it.”

He has to stop at the landing and lean over, resting his forehead against the wall.

She lays a hand on his back, leaning over to speak right against his ear. “I get that your hate is all the love I’m going to get, too, Jax. Nobody else will ever love me, either.”

Her throat feels tight, and she can’t tell if she really feels the twisting nerves in her stomach, the sense of dread, or if it’s part of her act for Jax. Sometimes even Savvie isn’t sure when she means the things she says. Sometimes, even worse, she really does.

“All we’re ever going to have is each other.”

He doesn’t answer her. But when she takes his arm in her hand, he allows himself to be dragged along towards her bedroom. The fight might be gone, but so is the feeling. There’s nothing in his eyes that shows he even heard her.

That’s okay. She can be honest, in the dark, in the middle of the night, knowing that he’s too drugged to remember anything she said when he wakes up again. She’ll lie to herself again by morning. So will he.

She just needs him to lie.

@whumpyourdamnpears consider this my evil savvie gift to you

78 notes · View notes

suspensefulpen · 4 months

Text

Whumpcember Day 21: Choking

TW: Choking, Bad Caretaker

@whumpcember

Whumpee flinched and whimpered in pain as Caretaker cleaned the fresh open wounds across their body. “Caretaker, I—”

“No. I don’t want to hear it.” She frowned. She wiped the last wound and discarded the cotton ball in the small bin next to her. She grabbed a new cotton ball and put ointment over it as she shook her head. “I’m sick of hearing it.”

“Caretaker, I swear—”

“Just stop it Whumpee. Your lies and excuses aren’t doing anything.” She glared at them and began rubbing the ointment over their wounds. “You’re hurting yourself and you’re trying to say Whumper is hurting you. And I know he’s not. When will you ever stop lying? Whumper would never hurt anyone.”

“But—”

“Enough.” Caretaker stopped applying the ointment and stood from her spot in front of the sofa. Seeing the pure fury in her eyes made Whumpee shrink back into the cushions of the seat. “Enough with the excuses Whumpee. No matter how much you try to twist it and say he’s hurting you, I’m not going to believe you. So stop lying and trying to make me stop being with Whumper because it’s not going to happen.”

Tears filled Whumpee’s eyes as Caretaker picked up all of the medical supplies and the small bin. They watched nervously as she left the room, almost stomping. Caretaker had never been this angry with them before. She didn’t even bother leaving any bandages. What if she eventually kicked them out? Then what? What if they ended up dying at the hands of her beloved Whumper? Would she believe them then? Would she ever believe them? What if she started to hate Whumpee?

“What a shame.”

They raised their gaze and found Whumper leaning against the doorway. He seemed completely relaxed, his hands in his pockets and even a small smile on his face.

“Seven months ago, I thought you and Caretaker were like this.” He crossed his middle finger over his pointer finger. “But now, you’ve completely lost her trust. You’re lying to her, you’re hurting yourself, you’re doing everything you can to get rid of me. And yet, you’re failing miserably.”

“I’m not lying and we both know that.” Whumpee frowned.

“You are lying. You know you are.” Whumper stepped forward. Whumpee began scooting backwards, hoping they’d go through the sofa so they could turn and run away. They quickly realized this wasn’t going to happen when Whumper crouched down in the same spot Caretaker had just been in. He lowered his voice, his eerie smile still present. “You know, Caretaker told me she felt like you didn’t want her to be happy. So you’re doing everything you can to get me out of the picture. And she’s seeing right through it.”

Whumpee’s tears began to flow down their cheeks. Caretaker really felt like that? She felt like Whumpee didn’t want her to be happy? She genuinely believed that? How could Whumpee do such a thing? Wait…but it wasn’t their fault. They aren’t the ones inflicting the wounds onto themself. It was Whumper.

Whumpee frowned in spite of their tears. “You’re lying! She didn’t say that!”

“Am I? Would you like evidence for proof that I’m not?” Whumper reached in his pocket and pulled out his phone. He scrolled through it for a moment before showing Whumpee a video.

Caretaker and Whumper were in the kitchen. Their backs were turned to the camera as they stood at the marble island.

“I just feel like…they don’t want me to be with you. Like they hate you. Or…they just don’t want me to be happy with you.” Caretaker’s voice cracked. “And they know how hard everything has been for me lately… It’s like they want me to revolve everything around them…”

Whumper stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her as she began to sob into his chest. “It’s okay. They’re probably just jealous. But I understand, you feel like it’s hard to get away from the pain and they’re not making it any better. Healing takes a while, and they might not understand that, but I do. I’ll always be here when you need me.”

“Thank you Whumper…” She sniffed.

Whumpee sat frozen as many emotions filled their mind. Shock, guilt, sadness. How could they do such a thing? How could they make Caretaker feel like they didn’t want her to be happy?

“That wasn’t even the full conversation.”

“There’s more?!” Whumpee asked, horrified.

“Of course there’s more. There’s always more.” Whumper smirked. “Not to mention, this was months ago.”

“Months?!”

“Months of you continuously making the one person you had left think you don’t want good things for them. I’ve warned you once Whumpee, don’t let me have to warn you again.” He leaned close to their ear, lowering his voice to a whisper. “You keep this up and I just might have you disappear one day. Even Caretaker won’t bother to look for you. I’ll make sure she’s angry with you so she’ll stop caring and eventually put you out. By that point, she won’t give you a second thought. And Caretaker will be mine and mine only.”

Whumper took Whumpee’s hands and wrapped them around their throat, stopping any oxygen from flowing into their lungs. Whumpee began squirming to remove their hands. But with Whumper holding them down so tightly, they couldn’t move at all. They did everything they could to get even the slightest bit of oxygen but they couldn’t. They were uselessly gasping for air. The more they struggled, the weaker they felt. They began to see black spots at the edges of their vision as Whumper began whispering again.

“Stay the hell out of my way.”

#whumpcember2023 #whumpcember #whump #whump writing #bad caretaker #angst #suspense #creepy whumper #possessive whumper #obsessive whumper #caretaker x whumper #whumper x caretaker #emotional whump #creative writing #writeblr #writer things #writers on tumblr

67 notes · View notes

mentallyill-daydreamer · 9 months

Text

TW: blood, needles, noncon drugging

They had the radio for an hour in the after noon if they were good and took their punishment well enough that morning. The breeze was salty and crisp as the ocean air filtered through the small gap of the window as whumpee drew and sat on their old mattress that stayed on the dirty hard wood floor of their room. Foot steps approached. Whumpee quickly hid away their drawing pad and tucked themselves in pretending to sleep.

The door creeked open a bit and whumpee tried restraining from jumping at the noise and notifying whumper they were awake due to the fact they didn't want to spoil their own plan.

They couldn't spoil their plan.

Whumpee mangled under their skrawny rags trying to find the right sewn in secret pocket they had installed when whumper was away one weekend and whumpee had the time to sneak out of their room and get the supplies to do so. Once they found the right pocket they grasped the syringe tightly. It had been their only chance of escaping since the attack incident. Whumpee couldn't let this plan fail. They couldn't bare another punishment like the last time they had done something so drastic, so risky. When they were being drugged from the last time they had been transported they snatched a vile of sedative and hid it away. Whumpee just hoped it wasn't expired and lost its effect.

Whumper approached the sorry excuse for a bed that whumpee was 'sleeping' on. He crouched down and stroked whumpees pail malnourished sucken in face.

"aww, they couldn't even stay awake for their night time beating. Guess I'll let them off easy toni-"

Whumpee practically jumped on whumper, rapping their legs around his torso holding his head down with the free arm and jabbing the shot into his neck. A moan of pain was released from whumpers mouth as they lay weak on the ground with in seconds.

Whumpee gasped, exasperated at what they had done. They felt a blanket of guilt run over them. They didn't want to feel this way. They didn't know why they felt this way. Did they come to like whumper?!

No. They came to love whumper.

Their only sense of comfort in the last seven months of their lives were with whumper. They were cruel and mad but also soft and warm at other, very rare times.

Whumpee crumbled onto whumpers chest rapping their arms around them sobbing as the realization of what they had just done sunk deeper and deeper into their subconscious.

"... That was a very, very, big mistake you've just made whumpee."

Whumpee tried jerking away almost instantly but we're held back. Whumpers sharp nails dug into whumpees back. Piercing further and further until breaking the skin. Whumpee felt hot streams of blood down their back soaking their clothes.

The sedative, was infact, expired.

#defiant whumpee #intimate whumper #whump community #whump trope #whumpee #whump #whumperflies #obsessive whumper #pet whump #scared whumpee #whumper #noncon drugging #whump prompt #dont mind my grammar. its currently one in the morning and i dont feel like reading through this again. jkhkhjjjhjjhgtfg #stockholm syndrome #stockholm #whumblr #conditioned whumpee

99 notes · View notes

scratchandplaster · 1 year

Text

FEBUWHUMP DAY 1 - Touchstarved

CW: Intimate whumper, beatings, blood, injury, defiant whumpee, death, delusion, captivity, obsessive/yandere whumper

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

"Oh, you think you're clever, huh? Don’t think that I’ll be all mellow now, just because you got roughed up a little."

Whumper’s foot meets their captive’s hip, still unresponsive as they lay on their stomach, just as he left them last evening. Nothing new really, it’s been weeks since they made any meaningful progress. Countless hours of screaming, biting, scratching and whatever else that little shit keeps coming up with to resist settling down.

A sigh echoes through the small basement while Whumper squats down to inspect the person in front of them further. Laying face down and with closed eyes, they are sleeping peacefully for the first time in a while, a fact Whumper doesn’t like to remind himself of. It shouldn’t be like this for both of them, it’s not fair.

"You know what I expect of you, dear. Try to put a little effort into this, and I promise that it will be worth it; just three little words and all of this ends today." Whumpee doesn’t turn to meet their gentle words, they don’t even flex a muscle. Maybe I really overdid it, Whumper ponders as his hand slowly starts to stroke over the greasy strands of hair, clumped together with dried up sweat and dirt.

"Come on, I know it’s hard for you, but I can be reasonable if you let me. The moment we met back in that lousy fucking bar. I knew there was a spark, one you can only find once in a lifetime. We can’t give that up just because of some bickering."

The dim light above starts to buzz, as Whumper settles down to his knees, gaze still fixed onto his little treasure. The first week after he brought them home was the hardest. Whumpee not realizing that he was doing all of this for them, to allow them both to get what everyone deserves: a loving home, a partner who will always care for them, hold them, love them. But it takes two to make a couple, and Whumper’s patience never was unconditional.

"Sorry if I hurt you, honey," he murmurs, still expecting any kind of aversion towards his touches gliding through their hair, down to the small of their neck. "Say the words, so I can patch you right up and forget about all of this. You know I hate eating dinner by myself, so don’t let me go to bed hungry." The corner of his mouth twists into a sad smile, knowing that without yesterday's brutal beating, they would never be this sweet with him.

Not yet, at least.

Typically, they would just twist around in his grasp and try to bite the hand that has nothing but adoration for them. A hand that needs them as much as they need it, yearning for the soft intimacy to fill an otherwise empty house.

As Whumper’s fingers begin to tingle with the electric warmth he oh-so waited for, but only rarely grasps, Whumpee lies still, deaf to everything their keeper could and would offer them.

So dramatic today, Whumper thinks to himself, still expecting the wild passion - the fire - inside his counterpart to ignite any second. They really shouldn’t sleep this long, especially in the cold and damp basement. His anger already replaced with forgiveness, he slides one hand under their torso to turn them around onto their back, giving him the perfect opportunity to kiss them awake slowly.

Whumpee’s face is illuminated in the yellowish hue of the lights above, and any fairytale fantasy gets snuffed out in an instance. They stare, eyes finally sliding open with nothing but a dull reflection, framed by long red streaks of crusted blood, which cause lies just inches above their eyebrow.

It’s not just a split that drags over their forehead in an angry line, it’s a horrible veil for what lies beneath. The upper portion of the skull starts slowly dragging itself backwards, exposing splinters of bone that shift against each other with a harrowing crunch. Looking at the stiff muscles of their face, the etched-in desperation of the final blow he was responsible for, Whumper can do nothing but stare back.

"Dear?" he finally breathes, breaking the overwhelming silence of the room. Nothing.

"Whumpee, come on!" His voice is getting louder, begging for something that he already knows he is too late for.

"WHUMPEE, PLEASE!"

Any other begs drifting through his mind die right in his throat, breaking up into silent sobs to wreck through his chest. Each wave carrying regret and desperation, which only add to the rising pressure in Whumper’s ears. Deafened by the blood coursing through his veins, he brings the ice-cold hands of his love up to cup them around his face, holding them up by the wrists. There is no comfort in it, just cold flesh against hot tears. Any remnants of the touch he so desperately craved following them down Whumpee’s hands, lost like the life they were supposed to have.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," The mantras keep on ringing through the room where Whumper remains, alone again.

"Please, Whumpee, please. Let me make this right." Where he tries to bargain with nothing but a memory of the person he longed to create.

"I love you, I love you, I love you so much..." Endlessly continuing to whisper the words Whumpee refused to utter, even till the end.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Febuwhump 2023 Masterlist]

@febuwhump

167 notes · View notes

rainydaywhump · 2 months

Text

Zombies Are An Afterthought - 13

<- Previous

Taglist: @i-eat-worlds @pigeonwhumps @den-of-whump @generic-whumperz @turn-the-tables-on-them

Premise: Holy shit, this fic isn't resolved after all!

Annette, having been kidnapped and tortured for months on end before being rescued by Kel -- thanks to some pandemic-borne luck -- is now well enough that she is willing to call her friends for the first time. The ensuing conversation brings on a host of emotions.

CWs/themes: female whumpee (whump was in the past), female caretaker; zombie pandemic winding down in the background, no big deal; aftermath of torture/aftermath of trauma; tears; creepy and obsessive whumpers (referenced); the struggle of reintegrating/being social after trauma; feels; bittersweet with a positive ending.

Annette Painter sits in front of the laptop. She stares at her own reflection in the camera.

She tries to see herself from the view of the people she’ll be talking to soon. She’s not sure if she likes it; she doubts they will. They’ll be worried. Her cheeks have filled out and her bruises have faded since Kel rescued her from that hell next door, but she knows that she’ll never go back to normal.

Some scars, both literal and not, are simply too deep.

She had considered using foundation to cover up her face and neck scars before Skyping her friends – her true friends, not ‘friends’ like her kidnappers once had been. She was somewhat surprised to find, when Kel asked who she wanted to contact if she was ever up to it, that she still trusted this group of friends despite Cassie and Kay’s betrayal. But then again, she’d always known that these friends were genuine in their care for her.

She had ignored her gut feeling about the other two, and…

…and it isn’t your fault, Kel’s firm voice repeats in her mind.

Kel…hadn’t judged when Annette had told her that she had no family. She hadn’t seemed surprised. When Annette asked, the other woman had explained that she’d done some digging on Annette’s missing person case, and there were no relatives mentioned in any of the scant news articles on her. Kel’s googling skills (she called it ‘OSINT’ and ‘a few favors’?) were unmatched; she knew quite a bit about Kay, Cassie, and the others, too.

That was another conversation.

Despite her tech savviness, Kel had no makeup to speak of – “That’s more Marie’s forte.” So Annette simply wore a t-shirt with a neckline that didn’t show too many garish signs of the abuse, and she let her hair down to shadow her cheeks. It wasn’t perfect, but she knew her friends weren’t expecting her to be.

Based on their text exchange a half hour earlier, they were just happy that she was alive. They had all been absolutely shocked when she’d texted the group chat (numbers found online by Kel, because Annette didn’t have them memorized). The relief in their written words couldn’t have come through clearer.

And now Annette was about to Skype them, to see their faces for the first time in months, for the first time since she’d been kidnapped.

Her stomach churned.

“Hey, Annie?”

She turns. The nickname, which had been so mocking from her tormenters, makes her smile when Kel says it. The tall, muscular woman is standing in the partition between the living room and the kitchen wearing a black tank top and dull green cargo pants that are entirely at odds with the snow falling gently outside. She’s also holding a ratty old dish rag.

“Doing the dishes,” she says, gesturing with the dish rag in unnecessary explanation. Little flecks of soap fly everywhere. “Shit. Eh, at least it’s soap. Anyway. I’m gonna be in the kitchen, unless you want me somewhere else when you call?”

Annette shakes her head. Suddenly, she finds that she can’t speak.

Kel seems to understand.

She tosses the rag to the sink and comes over to join Annette on the couch, looping an arm around her shoulder. Annette remembers her first waking encounter with the other woman – when Kel had been having a bad memory in a nightmare, and had lashed out with that arm when Annette had startled her awake. Her strength had sent the smaller, younger girl flying. But Annette feels nothing but safe with her now; Kel’s strength has only been used (purposefully) to treat her wounds and carry her to bed when her body fails her, nothing more.

“Hey. You don’t have to do this if you’re not ready,” she murmurs now.

Annette shrugs. I want to. But if I start talking now, I’ll start crying, she scribbles on a notepad for Kel to see. I just need a moment.

Kel taps her lightly on the shoulder and rises.

“Alright. Just let me know if you need me. If you can’t talk, throw something at the wall.”

Her eyes drift toward the section of living room wall that Annette knows contains a pistol, and the girl is reminded, not for the first time, that her rescuer is also a little insane. An occupational hazard from her past, she’s learned.

The familiar absurdity startles a laugh out of her and frees up her vocal cords. “No, I’m not firing blanks to get your attention,” she giggles, punching Kel lightly.

Kel puts her hands up in flabbergasted defense – “Annette Painter! I’m not that crazy, come on!”

“Are you telling me that’s not why you looked over there?” Annette laughs.

“I can neither confirm nor deny that allegation,” Kel says with a perfectly straight face, and Annette, still giggling, waves her off to the kitchen. She can hear her muttering something about gun safety on her way out.

When she turns back to the screen, the camera shows a reflection of her that’s a lot more confident than she’d been feeling a few minutes ago.

Her phone has been blowing up in that span – it’s time. Annette takes a deep breath an exits the camera.

Then she logs onto the call.

Kel’s internet connection, serving roughly 100 people in a ten mile radius (and periodically downed thanks to pandemic traffic), takes a moment to connect her. But once it’s done bitching, the faces of her friends pop up between three frames, and suddenly Annette’s throat is damming up her voice again. The same can be said for her friends, but only for a long, long minute before –

“Annette?!”

“Holy shit, it’s really you!”

“What the fuck happened?!”

“Oh my god, you’re alive!”

There’s Gwen, her short blonde hair pulled back at the bangs, freckles splattered even more haphazardly across her face than Annette remembered. She’s sitting next to Mia and Zeke, all three of them crammed together on what Annette recognizes as the table in an apartment Annette doesn’t. In another frame is a girl half-running, half-walking through the snow in a suburban neighborhood, breath foggy in the cold air and workout clothes a pop of color against the snow…Nikayla, her lazy eye slightly askew and the other staring wide out over the rim of her mask. Evander and Vince are squashed together in the next frame, the former sitting on the edge of a couch and the latter perched on the arm, gangly knees in the camera’s view, leaning in to see.

“Hey,” Annette says, smiling sheepishly.

All six of them talk at once; the mic glitches. When it comes back, thank god, Zeke is the only one speaking.

“Where are you?” He says with an intensity that makes Annette forget her nerves for a moment; she belatedly realizes that he’s asking so he can know where to go if she’s in trouble.

“I’m at…”

Annette hesitates for a split second, because even though Kel has told her the cabin’s address multiple times before, she doesn’t remember in the moment.

“2880 West David Lane, Ionia County,” Kel calls from the kitchen.

“Two eighty – wait, Anne, who the hell is that?” Zeke explodes.

“Is that the kidnapper?!” Gwen gasps.

“Are you in danger?!” Evander exclaims.

“I’ll call the police!” Nikayla and Mia yell at the same time.

“No, no – guys, seriously,” Annette said quickly, silencing the overlap of voices. “That’s Kel. She’s the one who saved me.”

“Saved you…?”

Kel pokes her head in. “Sorry, Annie, I was just cleaning up. Didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

“You’re all good,” Annette says with a smile. She turns back to the camera. “Here, lemme show you.”

She maneuvers the laptop so its camera faces Kel. The taller woman waves to the people behind the screen. There are six of them; three are at a table together, two are crammed inside the frame, and one is half-walking, half-sprinting as she watches.

They’re all young – college-age, like Annette. They’re all in varying orders of emotional magnitude – some are crying silently, others’ faces are gray or flushed with shock. Kel’s heart swells. All these people, and these are just the ones on the video call. Annie’s got some damn good people who care about her.

“Yeah, uh, like she said, I’m Kel.” She’s not used to making introductions. Can’t be that hard, right? I’m the recluse who lives in the woods ‘round here. I found your friend half-dead and carried her back to my cabin because damn it, even in an absurdly early retirement with sketchy origins, I can’t stop trying to be a hero. Hmm. No, that wouldn’t do. “Annie can tell you what happened, but if you’re worried, again, I live at 2880 West David, I’m the only one who lives here, and if you check google maps, you’ll see a big-ass truck in my driveway.

“Annie, you good?” She asks in undertone.

“I’m good,” the girl assures her, and Kel backs off, leaving the dishes for another time and heading to her bedroom to give her more privacy.

She looks back to her friends, truly alone now.

“Hey,” she says again. “I, uh…thanks for all hopping on.”

And thanks for never giving up on me. Thanks for caring. Thanks for weathering a whole pandemic and starting a new year at uni and still never ever giving up on me. She doesn’t know how to say it out loud, but from the tears in her friends’ eyes, it’s clear they hear it anyway.

“Of course,” Gwen says, and those two words hold more weight than anything else.

“I…I’m safe. At least, now I am,” Annette says hesitantly. “Kel rescued me about a month ago. I would’ve let you all know I was okay earlier, but…”

She hesitates.

“You say you were rescued,” says Mia. “I….I take it you were in bad shape, love?”

Annette nods slowly. “Between the blizzard and pandemic measures, Kel couldn’t get me to a hospital. But she didn’t need to. She saved my life.”

“What happened?” Gwen asked quietly.

Here, Annette hesitates.

“Cassie and Kay,” she finally says. “And a few others, but they instigated it.”

The six friends exchange murderous glances.

“We knew it,” Evander says darkly. “We just couldn’t prove it. They – they fucking spoke like they were your best friends. And like you were a lost cause.”

“I always had a bad feeling about them, but I…” Annette looks down. “…I looked up to them, I dunno. I made a huge mistake.” Tears blur her vision.

“Hey, stop that,” Evander says forcefully. “They tricked everyone. They’re manipulators, Anne. You better not be blaming yourself.”

“Damn straight,” Nikayla says.

“Yeah, ‘cause how dare you not expect basic human decency from two random college juniors,” Mia says sarcastically. “They’re the ones who fucked up, you know -- right?”

“And they’ll pay,” Zeke mutters, cracking his knuckles. “Where the hell are they?”

“I don’t know,” Annette says truthfully. “Kel knows, but I asked her not to tell me yet. I just know they’re nowhere near here.”

Nikayla frowns. “Annie…is that a cut on your jaw?”

Oh. Shit. “…yeah. Well, no. It’s a scar. It’s healing.”

The six of them exchange another look through the camera.

“What?” Annette asks, stomach curling in on itself.

“We did some…digging into those two and their circle, after you disappeared,” Gwen said slowly. “And we found…well, you know how I’ve got that one techy friend, Blake, and we…”

“What?”

“We got into their insta accounts and stuff for a bit before they realized someone was snooping. And they had a lot of stuff about you, love,” Mia said, looking down. “Like…they never said they did anything to you, but uh, their old posts had a lot about you. In, uh, a creepy way. We showed it to the police! But then the pandemic hit, and – and they just –”

“They fucking ignored us,” Nikayla growled. “They didn’t care.”

Zeke scoffed, nodding shortly. “We broke into their dorm during the first lockdowns, but we didn’t find anything. Someone reported us and that set us back a whole three days.”

“Jail for B&E,” Evander explained helpfully.

“Holy shit, I’m just glad you’re okay,” Mia whispered, shaking her head. “What the hell did they do to you?”

“Not that you have to talk about that,” Gwen says anxiously, and Annette’s heart twists at the sight of her friend’s familiar nervous habit of twirling her hair. “I mean, unless you want to?”

Five-and-a-half pairs of eyes stare at her from the screen, and Annette is drowning.

“I…”

“Hey, I’m on google maps and I see the truck Kal, I mean, Kel said she had!” Evander, clearly trying to change the subject. “Dang, she’s really out there in the woods. Have you gone hiking?”

“I need to go,” Annette manages, and she shuts the laptop before she lets herself burst into tears.

She’s silent, pressing her hand to her mouth as she grabs Kel’s cell. On the group chat, several of her friends are in the middle of typing. Annette’s fingers fly to beat them.

It’s okay

Sorry

I just got overwhelmed

I’m really happy to see you guys

Talking in general is hard that’s all

Didn’t realize it would be

Are we okay?

She practically throws the phone down on the coffee table and all but runs to her room, not ready to read any replies. She knows that her friends will be nothing but understanding, that they’re flooding the phone with reassurances, that by now they’re all in a call with one another, talking about how best to help. But Annette is terrified of seeing it, terrified of taking such undeserved kindness from them, and, perhaps above all, overwhelmed by talking with so many people at once, especially with people who knew her before the kidnapping.

Kel is leaning against the wall separating their rooms; Annette can’t hear her, but she knows her well enough, and Kel knows her well enough, that there’s no doubt. Kel will be waiting for Annette’s signal for help, and if she doesn’t give one, then Kel will pad into the living room and put the phone and laptop away and make a steaming mug of sweet peppermint tea and knock on Annette’s door and leave it just out of the door’s swing.

“Progress isn’t linear. Progress isn’t linear,” Annette whispers to herself. She burrows under the blankets, but it isn’t enough; she wants the world to be blind to her.

She hasn’t hidden under the bed in a long time, but its small, comforting embrace remembers her all the same.

“Progress isn’t linear,” she repeats. “I’ll be okay.”

She breathes in deeply – holds it – releases slowly through her nose – repeats.

A soft knock, the clink of a mug being set down, and Kel’s purposefully-audible footsteps register, but they don’t startle her. Annette waits for another minute before wiggling out from under the bed.

As peppermint steam warms her face, she gathers up the resolve to step outside.

#whump #whump writing #whumpee #whump rescue #whump recovery #whump oc #female whumpee #female caretaker #whump caretaker #tw torture #cw torture #hurt comfort #zombies are an afterthought #obsessive whumper #creepy whumper #kel oc #annette oc #bittersweet

16 notes · View notes

generic-whumperz · 5 months

Text

Okay guys, in my Tumblr absence I finished a semester of college and read a couple books, this was one of them…

And what the fuck. I’m still thinking about it because there’s so much I don’t understand. If you have read this book, tell me your favorite theory if you have one! I still can't put all the pieces together and figure out if the “Penpal” is supposed to be someone in particular, or just a rando! 🥲

(P.S. I’m still writing, don’t worry, shit has just been crazy, and I haven’t had the brain power or time to dedicate getting in the writing zone. I know it’s been about two months since my last Aid chapter post, but I promise you I have been working a lot behind the scenes and got a fatty chapter to release!)

#penpal #penpal book #horror books #horror novel #stalker #yandere #yandere book #whumpy #whumpy book #creepy ass book #what the fuck is going on #obsessive whumper

19 notes · View notes

jordanstrophe · 1 year

Text

Whumpers in denial over whumpees defiance; or even, their captivity. They're not a 'captive' to them, surely they're just confused. Whumpee’s been crying that they want to go home, but whumper just puts them to bed saying they must be sooo tired; these ridiculous thoughts will go away in the morning~

#flower whumper vibes #whump #whumpee #whumper x whumpee #whump prompts #captivity whump #captivity prompts #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #possessive whumper #defiant whumpee #whump scenario #manipulation whump #controlling whumper #obsessive whumper

240 notes · View notes

hufflepuffwritingstuff2 · 1 month

Text

This or That Gothic Edition Snippet 21- Portrait Gallery

Inspired by my answers for this post by @blackrosesandwhump!

Whumpee followed Whumper through their mansion, taking in the sight with awe.

“Your home is beautiful, Whumper,” Whumpee said.

“Thank you,” Whumper said warmly, “I had been wanting to invite you for some time, but I still had to finish my portrait gallery.”

As Whumper spoke, they opened a pair of ornate doors to a long hallway. On the walls were several paintings, each more detailed than the last. Whumpee’s heart slowly dropped to their stomach when they noticed what they all had in common.

“Whumper…” they started, “why are all these paintings of me?”

Whumper’s hand came to rest on their shoulder.

“Because you are perfect, my little muse,” Whumper purred in their ear, “and now that I have you, my work can only improve.”

Whumpee opened their mouth to argue, but a sharp pinch in their neck turned their would-be sentence into a pained yelp.

“Forgive me, Whumpee,” Whumper said softly, “but I’ve been preparing for this for too long for you to slip out of my grasp now.”

Whumpee’s breathing came in short and fast. They stumbled out of Whumper’s grip and whirled around to face them.

“You’re not…keeping me…here,” Whumpee said with great effort.

Whumpee tried to run back to the doors, but their knees buckled after two steps. Whumper caught them quite easily.

“Shh,” they soothed, “it’s going to be alright. I promise you, you’ll love it here.”

Whumpee couldn’t find the energy to argue, or even struggle. Their eyes fluttered shut and they drifted off just as Whumper began to carry them out of the gallery.

Patreon

Ko-Fi

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

#this or that gothic edition snippets #portrait gallery #artist whumper #yandere whumper #intimate whumper #darling whumpee #whump #drugging #obsession #obsessive whumper #possessive whumper #kidnapping #betrayal #writeblr #writing #creative writing #snippet #sorry it's pretty short guys- I'm trying to get back in the swing of things at least by a little bit #also happy st patrick's day!

66 notes · View notes

ccieatchildren · 10 months

Text

Scars

Shower steam filtered in through the open bathroom door, warming the bedroom and permeating the smell of soap in the air. They had been reapplying ointment, what little he had given them, to their still healing wounds and rebandaging them. Whumpee turned from their spot on the edge of the bed to watch as he walked in. There was a certain swagger to the way he carried himself that they despised. However, while Whumpee hadn’t been here for long, they had already learned not to engage with him if they didn’t have to– it wasn’t worth the risk– so Whumpee just stared.

A towel was slung low around his waist and his hair was still damp, leaving droplets of water in his wake. His half naked body was on full display, and Whumpee couldn’t stop from curiously analyzing each part of him. They typically didn’t get to see much of him due to clothing or dark lighting getting in the way, but now they could see the various scars littering his frame.

There were two slash marks on his lower right abdomen that formed an uneven cross, a line of indented flesh that seemed to encircle his whole left bicep, a bullet wound sat right above on his shoulder, and on his right collarbone were four deep cuts, almost like claw marks. Whumpee hadn’t expected someone like him to have so many cicatrices, he was a simple researcher, and while they did get hurt sometimes, they typically were small cuts from broken glass or chemical burns. They had their own to confirm. Furthermore, normal villains usually had many more lesions and blemishes across their figures from many fights and powers going haywire. Though, he wasn’t like many normal archetypes anyway.

Their train of thought was cut off by a deep chuckle. “Like what you see?”

Whumpee blushed, glaring at him, and turning back to what they were initially doing. He continued to snigger at their embarrassment while they furiously tried to refocus on patching themself up. The thought of the line being cliché and overused made them feel a bit better, and they continued to bash him in their head to calm themself down as they worked.

The rustling of a towel could be heard as he dried off his hair, sounding like a wet dog shaking itself dry. Then, they could hear him shuffling in the background, presumably fetching clothes from the closet. Whumpee tried to keep their gaze solely on what they were doing, but could no longer concentrate on their task. Having been caught staring, and him misinterpreting their attention, irritated them, but now they were even more curious. Forcing themself not to look, only made them want to look more. Whumpee cursed themself for having the self restraint of a five year old…

Slightly pivoting their head to peek at him again as he picked out his attire, they barely managed to stop themself from gasping at the sight. His back was still turned to them, and scrawled there was one of the most unsettling wounds they had ever seen. Along his upper back, spanning from the left shoulder to the right the word “BASTARD” was carved in large letters. The raised skin along his shoulder blades conveyed that the cut had healed long ago, but whoever had done it, made sure to slash deep enough so the mark would stay there forever. They had seen many things, from their own burnt skin melting off, to arms completely torn off, but the deliberately and aggressively engraved swear on his body disturbed them in a way they had never felt before.

Whumpee had never met anyone, villain or otherwise, who intentionally and methodically cut someone in a way that would leave them alive but always wearing a reminder of their experience. Especially in a way that exuded so much wrath and resentment. At least not until Whumper. They looked down at themself and the injuries that adorned their body. Was he using the same techniques on them that someone else had used on him? The thought made them shiver. Vigorously returning to their task, Whumpee swore to themself that they would not allow Whumper to scar them like he had been himself.

— — — — —

“Just ask.”

Whumpee flinched. They had just finished one of their sessions and Whumper decided to patch them up afterwards this time. They would much rather do it themself, as his hands would always roam to places they didn’t need to, but Whumper would use better medicine whenever he played medic, and knew how to bind the wounds tighter than they ever could with their, now constantly, trembling fingers. They also weren’t allowed to say no to him.

“W-What?”

“I can practically hear the questions bouncing around in your head.” He suddenly pulled the bandage harshly, pulling a gasp out from them. “Not to mention the hole you’re burning into my back with your staring.” The hand on their middle considerably tightened, “it’s starting to piss me off, so ask.”

Whumpee contemplated his demand, unsure if he meant it or if it was just another one of his tricks, baiting them to make a mistake just so he could beat them again. But they could feel him getting agitated behind them, therefore they had to say something. However, Whumpee didn’t think asking him what was really on their mind would go over very well. They had to think of something quick, but, unfortunately, when it came to talking they didn’t work very well under pressure. So…

“How do you get your hair so sleek?” Whumpee wanted to smash themself over the head with a glass. This was the best their brain could come up with? Might as well say goodbye to a calm evening.

Whumper was still behind them, and they were already saying their prayers, until he barked out a laugh. “What?” The amusement pervaded his tone. “You have been ruminating for the past three days on how I do my hair?”

“… Yes.”

He continued to cackle behind them as Whumpee quietly panicked, hoping that was enough to quell him.

“Aww, that’s cute, darlin’. Didn’t know you still had the quips in you.” He took a moment to pretend to wipe a tear from his eye. “But I don’t think that’s what you’ve been thinkin’ about.” Arms locked around their waist, pulling them flush against him. A dark voice whispered in their ear, “Now, I’ve indulged your little game,” his arms constricted, pushing into their stomach, agitating their injuries, “letting you figure out the best way to approach this,” Whumpee looked away. “If I’m honest, it was quite nice to see you contemplate whether to ask me or not,” his voice grew smug, “it means you’re learning, becoming more obedient, which will only make things easier for the both of us in the future.” Whumper squeezed even further once again, and they groaned from the pain. “For that, I’m giving you an out. Be good and I’ll reward you. So,” he growled, “ask the damn question.”

Whumpee gulped. “Fine. Ju- Just let go,” they pushed at his arms, “it hurts.”

Whumper clutched them tighter. Whumpee could feel some of their wounds reopen under the pressure. “I’ll let go when you stop wasting my time.”

“Okay, okay,” they wheezed. “I just wanted to know about the large scar on your back,” the ache was getting worse. “The one that says bas–.”

He abruptly let them go, allowing air to filter back into their system and dampening the pain to a dull throb. “I know the one.”

Whumpee froze, trying to suppress their oncoming coughing fit. They didn’t want to set him off when he was obviously very displeased. He curtly got up and headed for the door, leaving them with the final words,

“Do not bring it up again.”

Extra:

Fuck that motherfucking mothafucka.

Whumpee wanted to punch something, they just did what he asked and now he’s mad at them, like it’s their fault.

Fuckin’ hate that fuckin’ kidnappin’ piece of shit. They continued to curse to themself as they finished the job Whumper brusquely left to them. Closing up the now open cuts, applying ointment, and finally bandaging them for the– hopefully– last time that day. Whumpee sighed to themself. Who were they kidding, he would ruin them again at night. But at least they had a new piece of information to exploit.

It may take a while, but they will escape from here and see everyone again.

217 notes · View notes