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dresden-syndrome · 2 months

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Requested by @whumped-by-glitter

Whumping in EESU: Public humiliation

Newly designated pet whumpee being observed by owner and their colleagues, all gathered in a big office room.

Whumper listing their all of whumpee's political crimes, bragging about how dangerous they were and how great it is to have them caught.

State Security/Politburo/Party Committee whumper having a meeting, presenting their tied up and collared pet as an example of a state enemy and giving a passionate speech about ways of getting rid of them.

This goes without saying but whumpee used as a party entertainment - but not before being made to celebrate the achievements of EESU regime and cheer to the destruction of dissident movements. (Bonus point if whumpee was in one of them).

Whumpee with a singing skill forced to sing propaganda songs as their whumper and party guests clap and giggle at their attempts.

Whumpee forced to publicly declare their loyalty - whether stating that in front of their owner's department workers, giving a propaganda speech for the radio or taking part in a TV advert.

Whumpee forced to publicly beg for forgiveness and put on a regret display for their crimes. Especially if they were done deliberately by a spy or dissident whumpee, or whumpee hasn't actually done anything "wrong" at all.

Even after lots of humiliating sessions like that, they're still being treated as an enemy of the regime: poor class 4 whumpee may be secretly hoping to regain some of their rights yet under EESU laws they're still an enemy - forever.

Whumper taking a photo with their pet in a humiliating pose - with the whumpee on their knees or their boot stepping on whumpee's chest or head.

Whumper recording a film video of whumpee being tortured and handing it to State Security for watching how "spies and traitors" must be treated.

Whumper using their whumpee as the source of motivation for the department to fight political dissent and a sign of power they have over it.

An arrested spy being shown all the undisputable evidence of their work. Papers, equipment, ID cards from West countries' intelligence services, things they've used to sneak through the EESU border and mask their intentions - all on the table for the whumpee and detention personnel to see.

Newspapers and magazines announcing whumpee's arrest and declaring them a dangerous political criminal. (Bonus points if they're given to the whumpee to read).

A caught runaway class 2/3 whumpee paraded around their labor camp/commune as an example of what happens if one decides to attempt escape.

Whumpee had escaped from EESU and caught back; now they've been made to tell how horrible life in the West was an how much they regret running away from their dear homeland.

Whumpee being not allowed any privacy, having to undress, shower, sleep and do whatever they're told while always surrounded by the facility personnel. It can happen for different reasons - they're the beloved pet their owner can't leave alone, they're injured, aggressive or a high escape risk and need to be watched for their own good, or they're simply a class 4 subject which shouldn't need "human" things like privacy in general.

Medical checks in detention and the labs. Enough said.

Same goes for class 4 ear tags.

Public trials! of state enemies! forced to confess! all their imaginary crimes! for the audience to see and hear!

"Look at that, Whumpee. All your friends and family are ashamed of you. You were such a good worker, a Party member, you were your factory's pride - and then disappointed everyone you know with trying to destroy the government that gave us all work and bread in the first place! Where's your regret, Whumpee? Do you feel bad about that?"

[Masterpost link]

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whumpshaped · 5 months

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They messed up. Somehow, someway, the guards had noticed them, and now Whumpee was trying to disappear into the crowd and find an exit as soon as possible; without becoming even more suspicious, of course.

They bumped into some lady with an expensive dress, making her spill her cocktail. She immediately started going on about how unforgivable of a sin that was, and Whumpee just couldn’t stick around to try to placate her.

They looked over their shoulder to see the guards catching up and closing in around them, and they were pretty sure this was the end of their mission, the end of the fucking road, when–

“There you are.”

Whumpee stopped in their tracks, head snapping towards the source of the voice. Whumper. The very person they’d been sent here to spy on. Fuck.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” Whumper walked over and snaked an arm around their waist, and from the corner of their eye, Whumpee could see the guards coming to a halt. “Don’t wander off like that.”

“S-sorry,” they stammered, watching in an anxious daze as Whumper fed the guards some bullshit story about their engagement and Whumpee’s fragile nerves before leading them away.

“I’m afraid you owe me now,” Whumper said casually once they were out of earshot. “My darling fiance.”

#whump #whump drabble #spy whump

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mirohtron · 1 year

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inspired by this post by @pain-after-dark hehe

—

the soft crackle of a lamp bulb coming to life lifted the spy up to consciousness. their eyes felt like lead balls, their shirt sticky and wet, the world not quite ready to abandon its murkiness and grow clear. sand was in their mouth and gallons of water filled their head.

"all right, lovely? can you hear me?"

cold fingers gently caught their chin, tipping their head up carefully. the sudden shock of temperature made them more alert. the ache in their body became more apparent. their wrists were sore and the wood of the chair they were tied to dug into their arms. the spy opened their eyes up.

the villain—their target—looked down hungrily at them, eyes raking down every inch of skin and muscle. they tugged the bloody part of their shirt that caught to their body up, and watched it fall back down with a wet sound. their lip curled. "ugh. you're too messy for your own good."

the spy said nothing.

the villain's palm dragged over the curve of their cheek, paying no mind to their bruises and cuts. "but blood looks good on you. it makes you look wild. uncontrollable." they wet their lips. grinned. "insatiable."

"speak for yourself."

the grin widened just a fraction and the villain leaned back. they looked immaculate as ever, pristine. untouchable. their fingers traced the spy's shirt collar. "i saw you, you know," they said. "long, long before you attempted to kill me. don't get me wrong--you're wonderful. i'm just too good."

the spy said nothing. the villain fixed their collar, set it straight, smoothed out the wrinkles. their fingers ghosted downward, over the blood, barely brushing their wounds. the spy clenched their teeth, bracing themselves for pain.

the villain's fingers gently traced the edges of their cuts. the spy breathed carefully through their mouth. "two years ago," the villain said, a little softly, "rome. you were wearing emerald green."

the spy choked.

the villain hushed them quickly, other hand taking their chin, thumb to bottom lip. "it's not your fault," they cooed. "you were a treasure. it would've been inevitable. the way you moved across the room..."

they couldn't help their shivering. the villain liked their pretty things to a sadistic degree—they liked the way they cried. the way they screamed. the way they begged.

delicately, the villain traced the tips of their fingers down to the knot of their tie. "you gorgeous thing," they whispered, awed. "you're amazing. it took me time, you know. to know you were spying. your work is flawless. perfect."

"i'm flattered." it did not come out strong.

their tie came undone in one pull. the spy swallowed down every rancid sensation clawing up their throat down. they needed to live. "wait."

the villain politely paused.

"why torture me? i'm good. i'm great. you said so yourself. you can—you can make me work. for you. it won't be good to render your favourite thing unworkable."

the villain tilted their head to one side, as if they were considering. they twirled the tie around their fingers. "haven't you figured that i thought about that?"

"you'd be an idiot not to consider it."

they laughed. they pursed their lips, humming. "honey, i think the blood loss is getting to you. i don't need your work." they moved to wrap the spy's tie around their mouth. the spy wheezed in a breath.

"there's better ways to do this—"

"hushhh," the villain whispered, dragging out the syllables, dissolving into a soft laugh at the spy's helpless look. "puppy-eyed. i think you might just be my favourite." they secured the gag with deft fingers and sauntered away to take out every little torture device they were going to use on the spy.

the spy pulled on their restraints until their wrists bled. every damn device glinted in the light, shined to perfection.

the villain laughed, taking in their expression with delight. "pretty thing," they said. "you'll look prettier when i'm done with you.

#this is kinda mid sorry #heroes and villains #villains and heroes #villain #villains #writeblr #whump #torture #spy whump #spy #spies #kyles.writing

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echoingalaxies · 2 months

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Whump drabbles, 6/100: spy.

“Wait.” Caretaker squinted, bringing the photograph closer to her face. It was a family portrait, found in Whumper’s old lair. “Is that…”

She turned the photo towards Whumpee, pointing at someone in the middle, right next to the man they knew was…

“Whumper,” Whumpee whispered. “With Teammate.”

Both men’s features were easily recognisable, and seeing them side by side, they did look similar.

Whumpee looked at Caretaker. “What do we do now?”

The picture frame dropped from Caretaker’s hands. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her pistol.

“We chat,” she said. “Our friend’s got some explaining to do.”

#100x100 whump drabbles #whump drabble #whump drabbles #betrayal whump #undercover whump #spy whump #secret revealed #whump tropes #whump prompts #whump scenarios #whump

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iliketowatchmyblobrossuffer · 4 months

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Love it when a character is a spy of some kind in constant communication or regular communication with their Allies but suddenly their found out and they don’t have time to warn them.

So suddenly it’s just unexpected unexplained silence. No communication. No way of knowing What happend. Just. Nothing.

#Hrng #making evil plans #whump #spy Whump #espionage Whump

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i-eat-worlds · 26 days

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Wow Birthday Whump Day 2: Starvation / Thirst / "Please..."

Some miserable Alex with Zorland

Contains: intentional starvation and dehydration, hopelessness, spy whump

It had been two full days since Alex had eaten.

It was Zorland’s punishment for failing a mission. Well, for failing his mission. Everything had gone the way INSUPA had planned it, but that mean’t that things hadn’t worked out in Zorland’s favor. Now she had to bear the punishment.

He called it “endurance training,” but Alex was about ninety percent sure that this wouldn’t have happened if everything had gone his way. Any day now, the burner hidden under her bed would buzz and this would all be over. She just had to wait a little longer.

That knowledge didn’t make the starvation better, though.

Her brain felt slow and foggy, and every movement caused waves of fatigue to pummel her. Fire burned up her esophagus, and her stomach never seemed to stop aching. There was nausea too, which was odd, considering there was nothing for her to throw up. He’d occasionally let her have water, though not enough. Her throat was dry and scratchy and it hurt.

It all hurt.

The obstacle course had been its own hell. The thing was brutal but survivable on a good day, but this was not a good day. The cold mud and frigid water irked her more than normal. Her balance was off because her head always felt like it was spinning. Worst of all, her reaction time had slowed, making ghting with Zorland’s hechman impossibly dicult. Her arms and legs had been peppered with bruises from blows she’d failed to dodge.

As much as she wanted to sleep, her brain wouldn’t let her. The air inside her closet sized room was stuffy and suocating, and the corner of the burner phone was digging uncomfortably into her shoulder.

She could call Tindley and ask for an out. It’d been months of this, of cold water and “tell me how you failed today” and cramped plywood boxes. He had to have enough to go in and get Zorland now.

It was a stupid thought, and she silenced it immediately. She’d known it was going to be tough going in. Tindley had warned her, and she’d gone anyway. This was her fault, and she’d have to get out of it on her own.

It would be any day now, right?

Taglist: @pigeonwhumps @rainydaywhump@painful-pooch@rainbowsandwhumperflies @snaillamp @whumperofworlds

#worlds babbles #whump #wow birthday whump #wow birthday Whump 2 #starvation #thirst #spy whump #heroverse

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shywhumpauthor · 10 months

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In between spy whumpee’s torture, can we get some of their backstory?

I really want Kaden to save them at the end in the canon storyline(only if you’re okay with it ofc)

We’re just going to pretend that this ask isn’t from January-

Kaden saving them? A crossover? Psh

Training With Clay

Surveillance Masterlist

Cw: abuse in the name of “training”, starvation, overworking, over exhaustion, dehydration, normalized abuse, blood, collapsing, preparations for self-sacrifice, accepting death as inevitable (even though it very much is avoidable), normalized no self worth, disregard for the value of life, all that fun stuff. Noah’s spy training was just really fucked up.

Stay still.

Stay silent. Stay still.

Sweat beaded on the back of Noah’s neck, cold and anxious. Saliva pooled beneath his tongue, but he didn’t even dare swallow, knowing what consequences even the slightest movement would bring.

Silent. Noah couldn’t remember the last time he had spoken. More than a few days, he knew, but he didn’t know if it had yet to pass a week point. Or two. In the Chamber, time was a privilege, one that only the higher ranking were permitted to exploit. It could have been months, and he would have been none the wiser.

Days were indistinguishable from the rest, blended together through the broken breaks of sleep and meals. The lights went off and back on. The silence rarely parted. He used to be able to tell the time, to some extent, by the ache in his bones, but that had faded long ago, the exhaustion from each day bleeding into the next with no noticeable improvement from rest.

At least today was an easier day. He had known that when instead of being ripped away from his cot, dragged to the floor by an arm or the back of his shirt, or jolted awake as a pail of ice water was dumped over him, he had woken up to the ear-splitting morning alarm in the training center.

It was Clay’s day, which Noah was beyond grateful for. Clay only worked with the informer recruits for one day a week, though those hours passed much too quickly. Clay wasn’t a saint by any means, sometimes they could be a real dick, but for the most part they were fine. Rude, a bit annoying at points, but they weren’t nearly as mean as some of the other instructors. They worked them to the point of failure, but not past. Encouraged to test their limits, but accepting of the failure. Displeased with it, obviously, but accepting.

With them, it wasn’t physical strain, not in the manner like it was with Aaron. He was the worst, by far. Bitter memories of running, sprinting on a treadmill in line with five others until Noah’s legs gave out, that couldn’t have been more than a week ago. Strength training wasn’t as important for informers as it would be for, say, soldiers, where brute force was a necessity in missions, just another form of practiced endurance. They weren’t really soldiers, none of these operations were connected to the military, but that’s just how they were referred. The job any given recruit in the room wished they had been assigned to rather than this. Noah wished he had been assigned to the technical division. It’s why he had applied for this entirely. He wasn’t amazing with computers, but compared to the other branches of recruits it seemed the most interesting.

Really, he had been most interested by a smaller branch within the tech division. He had wanted to become a coordinator, to put together the very missions he was now stuck preparing for now. Tech, technicalities. He had wanted to work with the logistics of the assignments and approaches, but instead he was the one following those orders. He hadn’t wanted this. He hadn’t wanted to be here. But he wasn’t given much of a choice, so here he was.

Noah’s class, as the supervisors called it, wasn’t that large. Twenty at the beginning of the program, dropped down to eighteen after the first two weeks. Noah wasn’t sure what had happened to them, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. All he knew was that they had failed.

The spies were made to look as inconspicuous as possible. Everyone in the room, there were little distinguishing factors between the recruits. They were all around the same height and the same build, hair cut neatly once but tangled with sweat and knots. Nothing more than average. It had been those features that ended him up in this division. They all wore the same uniform, once folded neatly and pressed shirts and shorts, now wrinkled and dirty. Even with Clay, it had been a long day. And it still wasn’t over.

“You weren’t chosen to fight. You were chosen to endure. Bear it.” Clay spoke, their voice ringing loudly through the empty room, over the shallow, exhausted breaths of the recruits. Bear it.

They weren’t chosen to fight. Or to plan. The only thing they needed to do was listen. Observe. Record, keep their cover. Stay silent upon capture, take the torture until death. Don’t give anything away.

That’s all this training was. Preparations for torture later on, not if but when. When they were sent on their mission. When they were captured. When.

Three months of hell. Three months of abuse of all kinds, preparing them for anything and everything that could happen. Exposing them to the pain they would face, building up their tolerance. After those three months were over, though, things would be better. Hell with a reprieve. After three months, and the Initiation—which anyone had yet to tell the recruits what that really was—they’d all get a break. A long time to rest, recover. To join the rest of the workers in the company, interact with people outside of their class until they were called for their mission.

Noah’s knees hurt. The idea was cruel, and he could only imagine what the bruises would look like the following morning, but it wasn’t half as bad as some of the other exposure. Every bone in his body ached from having to hold the position for hours on end, the grains of uncooked rice embedding deep into his shins. But it would go away, eventually. The bruises and the indents would fade, and there wouldn’t be any evidence of this trial. Of any of them. That was a big part of their tactics. Scars meant suspicion, and suspicion ruined the whole goal of going unnoticed.

Next to him, a recruit let out a trembling groan, their entire body shuddering in the corner of Noah’s vision, but he didn’t dare turn his head to look. Their pain was irrelevant to him. All that mattered was that he focused.

Focused on staying still and silent.

The recruit collapsed, falling forwards to the hard floor.

They were the fourth so far, and from what Noah could tell from around the room, they weren’t going to be the last.

Resourcefulness was another virtue they were taught, the most important as Clay had explained during their very first lesson. Anticipate what will happen. Don’t hope for the best, prepare for the worst. Use everything to your advantage.

That morning, after the recruits had all woken up, Noah had realized what day it was. With Clay, there were two breaks. One after the first exercise, then one at the very end of the day. During the first one, Noah had slipped away to the bathroom, where he had hunched over the sink and drank as much water from the tap as he could without getting sick. Dehydration was probably the worst and the most common factor that meddled with training. Some days they were given free water breaks, whenever they needed they were allowed to step away to get some. Other days they weren’t. He was prepared, unlike some of the others.

His mind was clouded with exhaustion and pain, but he wasn’t going delirious. That was always a good thing. Just focus on the good things. That’s all he could do.

Break them down.

Strip everything away until the canvas was bare.

Build them back up. Piece by piece.

Shatter the glass then melt the fragments back together to form a new pane.

Another recruit gave in, a defeated slump. Noah didn’t even notice. He kept his sight locked on a single grain of rice, fighting the exhaustion that tugged down on his eyelids.

A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead. Noah blinked it out of his eye.

…

“Settle.”

The command came like an answered prayer, a ray of golden sunlight breaking through a swirling mass of dark clouds. It took Noah a moment to process it, and another few to finally move. He had to think about it for a second, the resounding ache in his legs making it clear he wouldn’t be able to stand right away. So instead he shifted to the side, brushing the scattered rice away before lowering himself from his knees to sit. For the first time in hours, he looked across the the training hall.

There were only a handful of recruits still standing. Well, kneeling. Now sitting. The ones who had failed, probably eleven out of the eighteen of them, sat against the wall with their gaze downwards.

Noah grit his teeth, wincing as the weight was finally lifted off his knees. There were grains of rice embedded in his knees, small trickles of blood dripping down the skin from where he had moved too much. He bit down on his lip, gingerly brushing away the grains, having to pick the really deep ones away with his nails. It stung like hell, but it was nothing compared to what he had faced before. His legs screamed in both protest and relief as he stretched them for the first time in hours, cramped muscles twitching as he let himself rest from the rigid posture he held for much too long.

“Alright boys, showers and dinner.” Clay clapped their hands a single time, and the line of recruits against the wall quickly stood and began to shuffle out in a clump. Noah moved to follow them, unable to contain the groan as he attempted to get his legs underneath him, but Clay held out a hand, drawing the attention of those on the floor and shaking their head.

“Rest for another few minutes,” they said, the commanding tone dropping from their voice. Once the others had left, Clay spoke again. “You all did well today. Once the others finish in the bathroom, I’ll turn on the warm water and you can have an extra ten minutes. Sit for now.”

A prick of confusion invaded Noah’s mind, but he wasn’t about to question.

Clay’s cold eyes shifted to him, and Noah couldn’t drop his gaze before they made eye contact. The instructor was walking over to him, not giving Noah time to lapse into a mental panic before they were standing in front of him.

“You did better today, Noah,” They spoke quietly, adjusting their voice so the other recruits wouldn’t overhear as Clay crouched down not too far from him. They crossed their arms, gaze dropping to Noah’s bleeding knees. “Your progress hasn’t gone unnoticed along the supervisors. Come see me after you get cleaned up if you need some bandages or Motrin, alright?”

Clay waited for him to nod, voice lost as he was taken aback. Not just by the direct interaction from an instructor—which was rarely a good thing, but the offer. He didn’t know Clay knew his name even. Here, to instructors, recruits didn’t have names. He was eight, the number of the bunk he was assigned to.

By the time he broke out of the exhaustion laced stupor the interaction had caught him in, Clay had already moved on, walking down to the next recruit and stopping just in front of them. They remained standing.

He could just hear them say, “not bad, fourteen. Watch your breathing, you can let your posture ease more. That should help.”

——————————————————

Tag list: @pickleking8 @blood-enthusiast @t0rture-me @sparrowsage @enigmawritesstuff @whump-me

This was fun to write. I plan to do a lot of Noah in the next couple days so if there’s anything you want to see pleaseeee let me know

Anything at all.

Please.

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rainydaywhump · 2 months

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Reed - Lost Passage

...and by 'lost,' I mean 'I wrote this and lost it somewhere in my files, so I just skipped ahead in the story and left out a ton of whumpy things that I've only just now found again.'

So, yeah. Takes place after this passage. For the TL;DR context, Reed has been rescued by Cervine, but he doesn't quite trust her yet. He tried to turn the knife she gave him on himself, paranoid about being interrogated again, and she tackled/restrained him so that she could re-treat the wounds he reopened in the process. This passage takes place shortly after Reed wakes up, still restrained but thinking a little more clearly.

Enjoy!

Themes and CWs: male whumpee, female caretaker, medieval-ish setting, references to past torture/interrogation, exhausted whumpee, restrained whumpee for their own good at first, both of these badasses need a hug and some goddamn coffee

“Are you in pain? Are you having breathing difficulties? Can you hear me?”

If his chest wasn't tight and his lungs weren't constricted from waking up for a second time in an enclosed space, Cervine's rapid-fire words would've been the thing to wind him. All of the above, Reed thought, but he didn’t have the motivation nor energy to explain himself on each point.

“Closed spaces. C--Cave,” he said tightly. “Can’t – can’t breathe.”

Cervine paused for a moment, and the familiar sensation of shame washed over the injured agent. He didn’t like to let people know that he was claustrophobic, he was a goddamn spy, after all – wasn’t he supposed to be tougher than this? The irony that he questioned himself after surviving two weeks of interrogation was not lost on him.

But instead of ridiculing him, Cervine said, “Okay. I was going to take off those restraints after we had a talk, but –”

Reed’s muscles went stiff.

“Not that kind of talk. I'm not the enemy, remember? Stay with me, Reed, stay with me.”

He blinked, and suddenly her hand was enveloped around his bound one, and she was saying words that he couldn’t understand through the haze that suddenly fogged his senses, but he knew enough not to protest. Reed worked to get all of his frozen muscles under control and made a sound that hopefully sounded like agreement.

“— you understand? I’m going to take your restraints off now, but they’ll go back on if you try to hurt yourself.” The other agent's voice cut back into his hearing.

Cervine waited for him to nod – it was all he could do now; he didn’t feel fully capable of speech now – before she continued, freeing him from the soft cuffs around his ankles first, then from the restraints around his thighs – rope, but cushioned with spare cloth, he realized; finally, she undid his wrist cuffs. She checked each spot thoroughly for signs of blood constriction. Reed stayed silent.

She helped him sit up, methodically and patiently having him acclimate to the elevation before giving him some water and moving on to the next step: standing. Reed’s bruised, scarred legs could barely hold him, but he had to try –

“Easy there."

She had caught him mid-fall, smoothly slipping his arm over her shoulder and supporting half his weight while they shuffled forward, the light from the outside a beacon that Reed doggedly focused on. The exit was sizable; he and Cervine passed through it with little effort. The cave was more like two massive chunks of granite slanted together than an actual water-carved route, he thought distantly. Most of him was still focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

Cervine could have just carried him; it would have been easier for her, he thought. But he liked the feeling of autonomy, as little as it was.

She sat him on the grass and went back in the cave to fetch two blankets – one for him to rest on and the other to cover him – as well as an oilskin bag from her larger pack. For his part, Reed kept himself quiet and docile and malleable.

The fresh air and mostly-open sky calmed his breathing and almost made him feel safe.

He wondered if the other agent would let him see the sky at night, too. He wanted to see the stars again. The last time he’d seen them, he had wondered if they would be one of his last.

Don’t discount that, he told himself. You don’t know if you can trust her, remember?

“I’m sorry I don’t have any clothes for you yet,” Cervine said, breaking him out of his thoughts. While he was consumed by his thoughts, she had taken out several bundles from the bag and was busily arranging them on a bare patch of ground nearby. “I have one extra change of a tunic and trousers, but I had to wash them in the stream yesterday.” A stream, Reed noted distractedly. So that was where she was getting her fresh water from. “They got a little bloody from…ah, never mind. They’re drying now.” She gestured to the side of one of the moss-covered boulders. Reed only saw them after a few moments of searching. They were mottled green, brown, and gray, and they blended in perfectly.

Reed found himself listing to the side. He tried to fight it, but he quickly relented and forced himself to lie down properly so that he wouldn’t just crumple to the ground later.

He was acutely aware of how helpless he really was, yes, but he was fairly used to that at this point. He had to be; it had been a waste of effort to struggle against his captors before, to act as if he really stood a chance. But what bothered him here was just how unclear his new captor’s – rescuer’s? – intentions were. She hadn’t given him any reason to distrust her, really, but Reed, after two weeks of merciless torture and humiliation and manipulation, couldn’t bring himself to trust.

Two objectives. That’s it. Gods, he was exhausted. Warmth from the sun and the blanket permeated his starved and broken body. His eyes closed on their own accord, though he was determined to stay alert.

“Reed, are you awake?” he heard Cervine mutter somewhere far, far away, and so it almost jolted him awake when he felt her hand test the temperature of his forehead. After that it brushed his hair back from his forehead. “This is unprofessional of me,” her voice came, floaty, but her cool hand remained clear and present on his skin for another few seconds before she drew it away. “He’ll be alright. He will.”

Her words sounded nothing like the calm, logical tone they’d held since he had first heard them. She sounded almost desperate, and there was a level of care there that almost convinced Reed that she really just wanted to help him, that she wasn’t just lulling him into a false sense of security for the enemy.

He drifted among hazy nothings for what could have been seconds or an hour; Reed couldn’t tell. As usual, time was lost on him.

And that was when the nightmares started.

...

Taglist: @i-eat-worlds @pigeonwhumps @den-of-whump @generic-whumperz @turn-the-tables-on-them Thanks for reading, everyone!

#whump #whump writing #whumpee #whump rescue #male whumpee #multiple whumpers #whump recovery #exhausted whumpee #spy whump #military whump #medieval whump #hurt comfort

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galaxywhump · 10 months

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random question but do you have any spy whump / royal whumpee recs?

Sadly I haven't been keeping up with the community lately, so I'll let others give you recs! But I can definitely recommend Erebus & Terror by @brutal-nemesis as an example of royal whumpee, and I know @straight-to-the-pain enjoys spy whump!

#whump recs #spy whump #royal whump #i'm the worst possible person to ask for recs but i hope my followers can help you anon!#asks

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painsandconfusion · 1 year

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How about some person (albeit OC, generic, or anyone), being interrogated for being suspected to be a spy? (Whether they are is up to you)

Who Did You Meet?

(tw: dubon touch, dubcon kiss, fingore, hand whump, knife, blood, ruining a perfectly good table, poor knife safety)

“Who did you meet last night?”

Whumpee almost flickered to a stop at the question, but they kept the knife moving smoothly, slicing perfect quarters of tomato. “...who? It was just me - Lance left around closing.”

“No - I mean after that.” Whumper trailed around the island, fingers ghosting across the countertop. “After you left the office.”

The memories flickered unbidden across their mind. Slipping out into the alley. Folder tucked under their blazer. Getting into the dark car.

Chatting.

Updating.

Informing.

Passing off what they’d learned about Whumper’s routines and work as discreetly as possible before they were dropped back off, slipped into their car, and headed back home to their mark.

Whumper couldn’t have seen that - they were at the game…right?

Right. Just teasing.

They like to make Whumpee squirm.

Whumpee sputtered a laugh, swiping the chopped pieces into a bowl and starting on onions. “I met up with you, silly~” they threw Whumper a wink.

This had to be teasing. Just flirting.

They eased a little as Whumper smirked a warm laugh, stepping behind them.

Whumpee leaned into the kiss that Whumper nuzzled against their jaw. They nuzzled back before redirecting their attention to the onion they were chopping, ignoring the all-too-familiar curl of panic in their stomach as Whumper’s all-too-familiar hand slipped up their neck to grip their jaw lightly.

The way they hummed in appreciation, tipping their head back to give more access rather than flinching away was all-too-familiar, too.

The knife burned in their hand. Whumpee could practically feel it searing. Humming. Begging to be used.

They shoved down the instinct.

Whumpee giggled quietly, biting their lip as Whumper’s kiss worked down the side of their neck. “I can’t seeeeee,” they teased.

Whumper just nipped the skin there. “You don’t have to - you’re an expert with a knife, aren’t you?”

Alarm bells that hadn’t yet turned off demanded attention yet again, blaring in the back of their mind. The knife burned. Its weight was off-blanace in their hand. Not a well made piece. Not at all like the ones they’d used in training.

This was just for cooking. That’s what its weight and shape were destined for.

Yet, it begged them for blood.

Whumpee ignored the burn.

They laughed, trying poorly to guide the knife around - using their knuckles as a guide to keep the blade safely away from fingertips.

They sliced down - fairly neatly.

“There- see? Expert.” Whumper’s smile grew against Whumpee’s neck.

There wasn’t any possible way Whumper could know.

This was just a tease. Just a coincidence. Even a test to see if Whumpee would crack if they were a plant. Which they weren’t. That’s the part they were playing. Not a spy. Great part. Very elaborate.

Whumpee tried to turn a kiss to Whumper’s cheek, but the grip on their jaw tightened, keeping them in place.

Whumpee froze as Whumper’s grip on their waist tightened, too.

“..um…Whumper?”

“Hmm?” Breath tickling their ear.

Whumpee’s stomach curled as they stared straight up at the ceiling. Exactly how Whumper put them.

Burning. Burning. Burning.

“..wh..what are you…-”

The blade demanded action. It longed for Whumpee to plunge it into Whumper’s flesh just as strongly as their legs, itched, begging them to run.

“-You didn’t answer my question,” they purred against the shell of Whumpee’s ear, warmth tingling across the skin and shivering down their spine.

“..I…wh-at question..?”

Whumper chuckled softly, nipping the lobe. “Who did you share all those pretty little secrets with last night?”

Fuck.

Caught.

Definitely caught.

Shit.

They couldn’t ignore the burning anymore.

In one smooth motion, Whumpee twisted, knife turning deftly between their fingers and sailing straight for Whumper’s face.

It’s strange how the body moves when afraid. It’s slippery. Jittery. Off balance. Strange how even one minute motion can send you spiraling in the wrong direction - redirected and reframed. The smallest flick of a wrist suddenly had Whumpee spinning wrong.

A hand bruising into their hip had them reeling back.

The rough wood of the table against their back had them bending. Falling.

Staring up at the ceiling.

Staring at Whumper

Eyes wide and frantic as they tried to roll away-

But the knife still burned for blood - and when it met their hand again, the wrong side greeted them.

Wrongness and screeching agonies ripped through their palm, shredding flesh from tendon from bone until the blade was lodged firmly into the table, their blood soaking into the fresh crevice.

Incredulity and distilled horror slotted through Whumpee’s throat, choking them as they stared up at the skewered appendage, mind trying to process the wrongness. The knife burned - burned so badly, twinging whitehot electricity up through their tendones at every twitch and shiver that choked out the sound that begged to scrabble from their throat.

Whumpee barely had a chance to process it before Whumper slammed their other wrist down by it.

“Let’s try this one more time…” Whumper’s free hand gripped Whumpee’s jaw again, bruising deep against the bone as they forced Whumpee’s gaze to them.

“Who did you meet?”

(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @mabledonut @happy-little-sadist @paleassprince @distinctlywhumpthing @wibbly-wobbly-whump @batfacedliar-yetagain @suspicious-whumping-egg @wormwriting @meowsikbox @villainsvictim @throwawaywhumper @wild-selenite-caffine @whumpasaurus101 @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whumpworld @cryptidhongo @rose-pinkie @whumpberry-cookie @rainbows-and-whumperflies @astralrunic @cursedscribbles @shywhumpauthor)

As always, lmk if you want to be added or removed from any tag lists!

#dubon touch #dubcon kiss #fingore #hand whump #knife #blood #ruining a perfectly good table #poor knife safety #whump drabble #sand asks #spy whump

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befuddled-calico-whump · 1 year

Text

Spy/Team Leader whumpee shrinks themselves for a high-stakes intelligence mission, but something goes wrong and they get caught

- Normally they give their enemies a hell of a fight, but now all it takes to restrain them is the weight of a hand, or even a single finger, and it's frustrating

- Whumper has to build a doll-sized interrogation set. While they feel ridiculous, it's worth it to watch their enemy struggle

- Needles instead of knives, a glass of water instead of a tank, a breadboard and a battery instead of expensive electrocution equipment... maybe whumper should invest in a shrink ray

- Not to mention the dramatic difference in size and strength. Where whumpee would normally be full of insults and banter, they seem a little too scared of being crushed to say anything too dramatic

- Whumpee is freed by a stranger, but still unable to get to their normal size until they reach their base. Despite being rescued, they still don't feel safe

#it came to me in a dream #and its a little goofy #but still the concept of being strong enough to fight and then suddenly not even being strong (or big) enough to break free of a string?#yes #whumper just uses the miniature mockup interrogation kit that interrogation equipment conpanies send out as advertisements #'what is this a torture kit for ants' nope its for Tiny Spy #crack whump #sorta #whump prompt #g/t #g/t whump #tiny whump #spy whump

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distinctlywhumpthing · 1 year

Text

In League — Delirium

Masterlist

Summary: (A handful of days after being saved but a fortnight before his escape.) The rest of the Boys have mixed feelings about the wrongly-accused spy's extended stay — to say nothing of their leader's preoccupation with him. Unfortunately, before the matter can be resolved, their "guest" succumbs to a fever... Beta read by @alittlewhump!

CW: Late-19th century, explicit language, fever, sickfic, implied past noncon, vague mention of an infected wound, indentured servitude, skewed power dynamics, carewhumper/sympathetic whumper.

He rapped on the door softly with one knuckle. “Wyatt? Doc’s here.” No response. He wasn’t about to go in uninvited, not now.

Three days ago, Theo had come home to a house divided. He’d been downriver only a few nights, making sure the right men would be on duty whenever their shipments passed through the port, but apparently he’d missed quite a drama. The beggar-revealed-enemy spy hunted, captured, and tortured for his crimes, only to be whisked away by Wyatt who believed his claims of innocence. They’d been holed up in his room ever since, leaving the rest of the house to stew in their wake.

Half thought the boy’s association with Keats was reason enough for punishment, even if they had been mistaken about his exact role. The rest cared more about Wyatt’s total absence, questioning if there was more going on than they fully realised. Of course, no one was taking any action aside from apparently whinging on about it from dusk til dawn.

In some ways, it was amusing to Theo.

They may play as a democracy but they’d all had a hand in dealing Wyatt the trump card. Their reasons were their own but universally, they all preferred Wyatt be the one to ultimately set things right. Whether he was the hero or the villain at the end of the day to achieve it, didn’t matter. The point was, he took care of it and none of them had to.

You have to talk to him, they’d said. From the moment Theo had returned, they’d all been at his heels. Make him see reason. As though Wyatt ever listened to anyone. The truth was the reverse: Theo was the one who listened, between the two of them. But from the outside, all the others saw was a closeness that made them think Theo had Wyatt’s ear.

“In time,” Theo had told them all. In Wyatt’s own time, was what it would really be.

And sure enough, on his second night home, he turned over in the wee hours of the morning to find Wyatt haunting his door.

“Ah, come for confession?” Theo teased, pushing himself up.

Wyatt chuckled, ghosting across the dark room to reappear in the moonlight coming through the window. “You should fuckin' hope not.” He flicked open the latch and leaned out, pulling in a deep breath like he hadn’t been getting enough air. “Grab a jacket,” was all he said before swinging a leg over the sill and disappearing into the night.

Theo needed more than a fucking jacket, seeing as he’d just been sleeping, and seeing as it was bloody freezing outside in the middle of the damn night but eventually he heaved himself out onto the roof to join Wyatt. The slate tiles were cold beneath his hands and slick beneath his feet. In the daylight, they’d have spiderwebbing frost crosshatched over their surface, sparkling in the sun.

“Now that you’ve dragged me out of bed to risk falling to my death…”

Wyatt snorted, producing a second cigarette. He lit it by the end of his and passed it to Theo.

He took a drag. And then a second, watching Wyatt’s profile and waiting for him to break the silence. “Well, it better be for something or I’m going back to bed. I slept fuck all at the port.”

“I know how you hate a moving bed.”

“Exactly, so out with it already. What’s gotten into you? This isn’t how you do things.”

“No. It’s not.” He wasn’t smoking anymore, instead staring at the lit cigarette between his fingers, watching the smoke curl away, the shadowy rooftops beyond. He took another deep breath like something was stopping the air from reaching the bottom of his lungs.

“What is it about this one?”

“I don’t know.”

Theo waited.

Nothing but sullen silence.

So, it was going to be like that. He bumped Wyatt’s shoulder with his. “Piss off, yes you do.”

Wyatt sighed, pressing the heels of his hands to his forehead. “It’s—it’s the way he looks at you. Begging you to be different, to—” He cleared his throat and took another pull from his cigarette.

“Begging you to save him?”

“This is different,” Wyatt said, a little too quickly.

“I don’t see how. One way or another you always play the rescuer.”

“Well, then he’s different.”

“All right. Apparently so.” He’d get nowhere with this, not if Wyatt couldn’t see it for himself. Maybe he was wrong anyway. He took a slow drag, waiting for Wyatt to do the same. “What about the rest of the boys? They’re not happy.”

“I’m working on it.”

“Are you? Alfred says they haven’t seen you since they brought the boy here, thinks you’re holding a grudge.”

“Maybe I am,” he grumbled.

“If you are then you’re being a fool. There’s no need to choose him over the rest. Talk to them, they’ll come round.”

Wyatt said nothing. There was a tension in his shoulders mirroring that in his brow. Unrest in the house always weighed heaviest on him.

“They all deserve to be given the chance.”

Wyatt chuckled at having his own convictions parroted back at him. But he knew Theo believed them just as much as he did. They’d found many of them together, the runaways and cast-offs, thieves and beggars. Each had only needed one chance. “After all, isn’t that what this is about? August’s chance?”

But Wyatt never found the opportunity because just a few hours later, before the sun had finished rising and the frost was still thick from the night, he sent Theo for the doctor.

The very same who now cleared his throat as he stood behind Theo in the hallway, waiting. Theo raised his fist to knock again just as Wyatt pulled open the door. Wyatt raked a hand through his flaxen hair, looking more disheveled than he did after most rows. Theo raised his eyebrows.

Wyatt ushered the doctor in wordlessly, taking a moment to meet Theo’s eyes with a grim expression before he followed. It was about as much a request to stay as he knew Wyatt capable of so he did, leaning against the doorframe to keep out of the way. The doctor sat on the desk chair beside the bed, leaving Wyatt to hover, hands stuffed in his pockets, looking anything but at ease.

His unrest was apparently not unfounded as the doctor wasn’t able to rouse August. Theo hadn’t yet met him properly. It was difficult to regard him as a young man, practically their peer from what Wyatt had said. One wouldn’t guess it by looking at him, especially not today. He was prone on the bed, swallowed by the pillows and bedcovers. His only colour came from the smattering of bruises across his face and the blueish-green of his veins crisscrossing the backs of his hands, which Theo could make out even across the room.

“His fever is quite high,” Doc confirmed. “Any injuries?”

Wyatt grunted in confirmation, sitting down on the bed. August whimpered as Wyatt lifted him to sit upright, though his eyes stayed closed.

“I know it hurts,” he murmured, lips at the other boy’s ear.

August was limp as a rag so Wyatt held him against his chest while the doctor inspected the healing lashes on his back. Wyatt’s thumb stroked the nape of his neck under his damp, tangled hair.

“These look relatively superficial. Anywhere else?” Doc was on payroll exactly because he was all business and no stupid questions.

The boy whined again when he was replaced on the pillow, eyelids fluttering as he tossed his head to the side, chasing the hand that had just left him. Wyatt indulged him, smoothing the backs of his fingers across the boy’s cheek and shushing him until his breath calmed.

He led the doctor through a full inspection, unbuttoning, uncovering, unwinding bandages. There were burns dotting his chest and upper arms, the undersides of his knees, the soles of his feet.

If Theo had been present that night, while this was going on, he wouldn’t have stayed. More likely would have appealed to Wyatt himself to put an end to it sooner. It wasn’t fair to submit someone to punishment just for doing their job. And if he was an indenture, it hadn’t even been his choice to begin with, poor soul.

“No,” the doctor was saying. “Nothing I’ve seen is cause for a fever so high.”

The other boys liked to jest—in truth making light of their own uncertainty—that one couldn’t tell by looking if Wyatt was returning from a funeral or from winning at the track. Theo could admit that their leader played his hand close to his chest but he still had his tells, just like any of them.

And Theo was looking right at it.

Wyatt had no qualms spending double the resources just to eliminate the possibility that there might be an easier or more efficient means to their end. It wasn’t optimism or dumb luck but a thoroughness that meant going about things more thoughtfully, patiently. Sometimes there was an upper-level window always left unlocked that could save the spectacle of barging in the front, it just needed to be found first.

So, Theo wasn’t surprised that Wyatt had saved the worst for last – and apparently it was just that. No sooner had he lifted the hem of his nightshirt than August’s eyes flew open and he kicked away.

Wyatt had to lean away to avoid a heel to his face.

The boy’s eyes were unfocused when he righted himself but he glared in Wyatt’s direction as he tried to catch his breath.

Wyatt held up both hands in surrender. “It’s all right, lad. We’re trying to help. You’re unwell. The doctor is here to make you feel better.”

“No, please,” he begged hoarsely. Speaking sent him into a coughing fit. When it finally stopped, he had to lean into the wall, squeezing his eyes shut like he was fighting off unconsciousness. “Please, no more.”

Theo frowned. Wyatt had failed to mention this particular piece of information though now it was clear that it was central to this puzzle.

“Of course not. You’re safe from that here.” Wyatt reached for him but he recoiled. “Please, August, ‘tis only I.”

August blinked at him looking confused and began shaking his head. “It hurts…”

“I know, lamb.” Theo had only heard such a gentle tone from Wyatt on a handful of occasions. He ought to look away but found he couldn’t. “Let me help you, please.” Wyatt kept his hand outstretched, waiting.

The younger boy reached for him, fingers hesitating just shy of touching his hand. “Sir?”

“Yes,” Wyatt said, as though it were distinguishing enough it could only mean him. “Come here, August. It’s all right.”

They all waited, though August seemed unaware the others were even there. His eyes never left Wyatt’s. He finally gave him his hand and let himself be reeled in, collapsing into Wyatt’s arms with a whimper.

Wyatt hushed him, soothing his whines until the boy went limp in his arms. He waited another moment before slowly lifting the too-big nightshirt that hung off his frame, passing it to Doc to hold out of the way while his fingers found the waistband of his—

August cried out, eyes flying open as he twisted in Wyatt’s arms. “Please, please. Master, I beg of you, no more. I can’t—” He tried to lash out, to get away but this time Wyatt held him fast. He yelped, struggles growing more urgent as he found himself trapped.

Wyatt continued to shush him, expression betraying just how much he hated to use such force. He finally organised the boy in his arms at the right angle to pull away the last layer of fabric, revealing a wound the size of Theo’s whole hand. Just under the crest of his hipbone, so large it barely fit on his skinny side, the skin all around it bright and angry. Theo couldn’t look too closely at the rest, his stomach already starting to turn on him.

“How long has it been like that?”

Wyatt didn’t answer. He was too occupied settling the younger boy now that he was covered again. And perhaps trying to recover what graces he had lost. His voice was too low to hear though his tenderness was plain as he brushed August’s hair from his face and cradled him in his arms.

Theo wanted to reassure him that it was unlikely August would remember many details of this anyway, fevered as he was.

“What can you do for him?” Wyatt finally asked once August had returned to some fevered semblance of rest.

“I’ll need to clean away the infection. We can’t do it here, he needs to remain still. Else, I can administer chloroform.”

“I’ve known people to die from that,” Wyatt snapped. Theo wondered if he was aware that he’d pulled August closer to his chest. “It’s not safe in the best cases, let alone when he can’t follow instruction.”

Theo knew not of whom he spoke but from his tone could tell the matter was closed.

“But I measure the—”

“I’ll not risk it.” Wyatt didn’t even spare him a second glance.

“It won’t be pretty,” Doc warned. “We shall need at least two others to hold him down.”

The muscles in Wyatt’s jaw visibly tightened. He looked down at August, whose cheeks were now flushed after struggling. “But he’ll live?”

Theo could hear the guilt laced through his tone, see the weight of responsibility in the downturn of his expression. But he’d seen worse survived by worse off, and from what he could see, August had plenty going in his favour.

To be continued...

@whumpy-writings , @writer-reader-24 , @deluxewhump , @no-whump-on-main , @maracujatangerine , @painsandconfusion , @wolfeyedwitch , @briars7 , @gala1981 , @redwingedwhump , @whumpflash , @peachy-panic , @hold-him-down , @poeticagony , @annablogsposts , @fleur-alise , @melancholy-in-the-morning , @crystalquartzwhump , @magziemakeswhatever , @neverthelass

#whump writing #whumpblr #sickfic #sick fic #fever whump #fever fic #historical whump #implied past noncon tw #indentured servitude #power dynamics #carewhumper #sympathetic whumper #captivity whump #team whump #spy whump #self-indulgent timeline hopping is the name of this game #don't worry #he will have to be held down #carewhump at its finest

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whumpshaped · 1 year

Text

inspo

tw implied torture, interrogation, restrained, spy whump, knives

"I'm not- I'm not a spy! I don't understand anything that's going on! Please! You have the wrong person, I don't-"

"Silence."

Whumpee cried out in frustration. Tears were streaming down their face, their cheeks were all red, they looked like a mess altogether. They couldn't believe anyone would mistake them for a spy, a professional. They worked as an accountant.

Whumper looked down at them with a strict, emotionless face, determined to make them crack. But they had already cracked. They had cracked the very moment they woke up in the interrogation room, they gave out all that they could, name, address, job- it wasn't enough for them.

"I've heard the cover story, scum. Now tell me the truth: who are you, who do you work for, and what is your purpose here?"

"I'm begging you... I'm not a spy, I'm a fucking idiot, I could never be a spy-"

Whumper slapped them across the face, making them cry harder. They were such a fucking wimp.

From the moment Whumper had laid eyes on Whumpee, they knew they weren't the spy. That notion seemed to be very much supported by the way they woke up tied to that chair, disoriented, confused and terrified.

The questioning had barely been going on for ten minutes, and Whumpee was already a disheveled, pathetic mess. Whumper adored every single whimper that left their mouth, the way they begged, and the sound of that slap echoing off the walls was just delightful.

"I see you're not going to talk that easily." Whumper pulled Whumpee's tie loose and stuffed it into their mouth, gagging them and giving them something to bite down on in one go. "That was expected, of course. But one can hope."

Whumpee's eyes widened impossibly at the sight of the knife, and they began thrashing wildly in their restraints, muffled screams getting stuck behind the makeshift gag. Their desperation was just beautiful.

"Let's get started, then."

@ashh-ed @whumpsday @whump-queen

#whump #spy whump #interrogation #implied torture

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bloodsweatandpotato · 7 months

Text

Day 3

Isolation, sensory deprivation

Fandom: Original work (chocolate bullet holes)

Characters: Whisper (oc), Listener (oc)

Tw: Claustrophobic environment, minor self injurious behavior

Summary: Listener has lost track of the time alone in the closet. Whisper comes to save him.

The closet was dark. Dark and small and oh so very disorienting. The absence of light felt tangible, as if it had not just been blotted out but had been erased entirely, leaving the closet devoid of air as well.

Listener stayed quiet and motionless, eyes open. Or closed. He couldn’t much tell these days.

He had torn his throat raw with screaming what felt like weeks ago (but couldn’t have been more than a day or two).

Time felt strange in the closet.

It didn’t flow right.

Not a river or an ocean, more like the weak stream of a water fountain, curving through the air, stuttering and bubbling, splashing in the metal bowl and swirling down the drain… what had he been thinking about again?

He was so very thirsty.

He could taste blood.

It tasted red. He remembered what red looked like.

Or at least he thought he did. He saw it when he put his palms to his eyes and pressed hard enough for the circles and squares to dance in his vision. He saw it in his dreams, nightmares, Whisper’s head on the floor emptied out like a broken jar.

The door opened.

There was light.

Listener couldn’t see but he didn’t care because it was white and white meant light was so much better than the dark the inky horrible dark that had suffocated him for so long.

He felt hands on his shoulders, his arms, patting him down. They weren’t rough. They were gentle, efficient. He felt the hands squeeze down his wrists and palms and stop at his fingers, gently tracing his bloodied nail beds.

He had scratched at the door deep enough to leave blood on his hands and scratches on the metal.

“Listener…”

That was his name. He blinked, and the white wasn’t as blinding anymore. It burned. It burned as and he didn’t care because it was more than he had felt, had seen, in a long time.

He would stare bloody-eyes into the midday sky, would brand the sun itself onto his skin if it meant he didn’t have to be in the dark again.

“Whisper-“ He sobbed, voice broken, barely audible.

The blurry, beautiful outline that was his friend, that was Whisper, just murmured soothing nothings and pulled him out of the tiny closet.

Listener sobbed again, keening low and agonized.

Fingers brushed through his tangled brown hair. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

Listener felt the cool plastic rim of a water bottle being pressed to his lips. He swallowed, and it tasted blue and white and beautiful.

“Whisper…”

“Shh…”

#whump #whump community #whump writing #whumpblr #ailesswhumptober2023 #ailesswhumptoberday3 #chocolate bullet holes #spy whump #secret agent whump #spy whumpee

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whumble-beeee · 8 months

Text

Whumptember 2023, Day 15

“I thought you were dead”

Faked death | Under the radar | Trail of blood

The Bee’s Whumptember Masterlist

~ 1280 words

CW: blood, choking, knife, stab wound, tied to a chair

(realized how similar this was to Spies Are Forever about halfway through, then just leaned even harder into that lol. enjoy)

the inspiration for the scene/easy listening/musical masterpiece: The Torture Tango from Spies Are Forever

------------

“You’ll never get away with this,” Agent hissed arrogantly as his wrists were bound to the rolly chair behind him. Villain turned and started making her way toward the door, clutching the briefcase she’d snatched from his hands moments ago. “My team will stop you from ending the world. We’ve done it before. We can do it again.”

Villain paused as she reached the door, sighing as if she were genuinely embarrassed by Agent’s shortsightedness. “You really are always two steps behind us, aren’t you?”

The door in front of Villain creaked open, revealing a figure bathed in shadows. “We’re saving the world, Agent.” A high, gruff, and impeccably accented voice came from behind.

“From ever needing people like you again.”

Agent’s breath hitched, and his entire body going taut. The world halted around him. He probably would have collapsed right there if he wasn’t tied to a chair.

It couldn’t be. It couldn’t.

“Spy…”

“Long time, no see, old friend.”

A short, thin man stepped into the light. Unassuming in all the best ways. He was carrying a large bag, leather handles gripped tightly in long, slender fingers, which he placed on the nearby metal table as the rest of the room cleared out. Soon it was just the two of them.

Agent stuttered. “I– I– Spy… I thought you were dead… I saw you die, I was– I was– there… I mourned you!... I couldn’t function–”

“Mm, yes, one would think that when they leave someone for dead, wouldn’t they?” Spy interrupted coldly as he set his tools out on the table, one by one in a neat row. All the blood drained from Agent’s face, a new dread settling in his stomach like a gut punch.

“Fortunately, it takes a bit more than the freezing waters of the Arctic Ocean to kill someone like me.”

The wind howled around them, shivering against the sub-zero temperatures and moist salty air as sea spray crashed up around them. “Come along, Agent.” Spy flirted as Agent slid across the slippery metal grating. “No time to play now, the guard rotation’s about to switch.”

“Oh, calm down ya high-strung Brit. We’ve got what we came for.” Agent teased back, gesturing to what looked like a mini CD clutched in Spy’s hand.

“So– so– so you’re working for the bad guys now?”

Spy held up a pair of pliers to the light, smiling as Agent’s wide eyes tracked them unblinkingly. He set them back down neatly in their row. Right where they belong.

“I am the bad guys now, Agent.” He circled around Agent’s chair. “If that's how you want to put it, at least. If you were on my side of things, you might find it much harder to distinguish between the two.”

“Wait, wait, something’s wrong… Where are the guards?” Spy peaked around the corner tensely.

Realization dawned on Agent, and his eyes went wide. “The silent alarm…” he muttered. Spy whipped around to face his partner head-on. “The what-did-you-say?!”

“Well, I’m not on ‘your side’,” Agent spat, thrashing uselessly against his bonds as Spy grabbed the back of his chair and pushed him slowly closer to the torture table. Tears rimmed his eyes. “Because I’m not a traitor to my country.”

Spy stiffened suddenly. He sucked in a sharp breath. Then let out a very startling laugh.

“Trait– Traitor to my country?” Spy was almost giggling. ‘Traitor to my country’, you say? ‘Traitor to my country’ says the naive little agent who left me to the dogs.”

Spy smacked Agent upside the head, before grasping a fistful of hair hair and pulling Agent painfully face-to-face.

“Says the man who is a traitor to his one and only partner.” Spy hissed. Agent felt his breath hot on his face, his brows furrowed in anger so close that Agent had to cross his eyes to see them.

“I– I–... I may have set off an alarm back there and didn’t want to tell you… on accident.” Agent spat out as fast as possible, clenching his eyes shut. Spy stared at him in disbelief. Boots could be heard thumping on the metal grate behind them.

“Run!” Spy grasped Agent by the shirt and pulled him along toward to rendezvous point as fast as he could. Their shoes squeaked against the slippery metal floor.

Spy tsked. “‘Traitor to my country’... I’m saving my country, Agent. I’m bringing it into the modern world. And I’m doing it without your ‘help’.” He air-quoted with his fingers, narrowing his eyes and grasping his knife as he stared off into the middle distance.

“Well, what about us, then?!” Agent begged. “What we had? What we were? Didn’t that mean anything to you?”

Spy slipped, crashing to the edge of the platform and barely managing to grasp onto the frigid metal bar of the railing as he skidded under it. His body hung hundreds of feet above midnight black subzero waters. The disk came to a stop right beside him, teetering on the edge.

“Agent, HELP!”

Agent stared at his friend, dangling over the abyss, struggling to keep a grip on the freezing, water-slick metal. Then to the disk. His one and only goal. The mission objective.

The stomping behind him grew louder, people shouting out for him to freeze.

Spy. Disk. Spy. Disk. Spy. Disk.

“Agent?... “ Spy squeaked. “Please.”

Spy cried out and pulled back the knife, slamming it all the way to the handle into Agent’s shoulder, burying his grief and anger and lost love in the man who had caused it. The man whom he grieved for.

Agent rasped in pain, a sharp and nearly silent gasp inward as the foreign blade suddenly penetrated his body. His eyes bulged and his breath stuttered as he struggled not to scream, muscles spasming around the metal, clutching at the knots that held him bound to the chair.

“That ‘us’ died when you left me for dead.” Spy hissed into Agent’s ear, holding Agent’s body oh so close to his own.

Agent lunged forward and palmed the disk. He scrambled up. He didn’t look back. He ran.

“WAIT AGENT, WAIT!!”

"I liked you better when you were dead," Agent panted through gritted teeth, tears dripping down into his lap.

Spy twisted the knife in Agent’s shoulder, earning him another gasp that nearly turned into a cry of pain. He straightened up, his face a mask of displeased indifference once more. “It’s all the same, Agent. I’m creating a new world now. A better world.”

He pulled the knife out with one last roll of the wrist, and dark, thick blood started gushing down, down, down, staining Agent’s white shirt, the chair, and the cold concrete floor under him. Agent gritted his teeth and whimpered into his lap, desperately trying to control his erratic breathing as the spy turned back to his deadly spread.

“One where you, and the rest of your little team, are completely obsolete. One that you won’t ever get to experience. Because I’ll rip that chance away from you like you tried to do to me. I'm gonna kill you for what you did to me.”

Spy picked up a short length of rope, running it through his fingers, feeling the fibers scratch against his skin as Agent’s breath hitched behind him, the stench of blood filling his nostrils. How nice it would look around Agent’s neck, slowly choking the life out of his backstabbing lungs. Or maybe Spy could just literally stab him in the back. Or literally rip some things away, so to speak.

So many options. He clutched the rope again. Best to start slow, he wanted to enjoy this.

“But first, Agent,” Spy positioned himself behind his captive, looping the rope around his neck and pulling it tight, cutting off another strangled cry.

"I’m gonna torture the living shite out of you.”

@whumptember

#whumptember2023 #whumptember day 15 #day fifteen: i thought you were dead #day fifteen: under the radar #day fifteen: faked death #whump #whump writing #whumpee #whumper #spy whump #writblr #whump scenario #spies are forever #should I even tag spies are forever?#ehhhhhhhhh whatever #I really like this one tho

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