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chaotic-orphan · 2 months

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Hiiii !!!!

May I please request where you write a story where a villain whumps a hero into loving and obeying them but then it backfires and the hero is a toxic lover and whumps villain outta possessive and obsessiveness ?

Thanks if you do !!! Your writing is literally SOOOO fire girlie 😭🔥🔥🔥🔥 I’ve literallyy been eating up the febuwhump prompts

Twisted Love

TW: lady Whump, lady Whumpee, male Whumper, yandere Whumper, intimate Whumper, creepy Whumper, hero Whumpee, villain Whumper, Whump love, but not consensual at all, kidnapped hero,

Please lmk if I missed any tags! 🙏

@xxgalgurlxx what a fun prompt! Thank you so much! It’s a series, I’m sorry, I can’t fit it all into one snippet!

*~*~*~*~*

Hero had just gotten back to her feet when her eyes trained on Villain raising his arm in front of him, fingers splayed. Hero didn’t have time to react as she was slammed backwards into the brickwork at the end of the alley. She let out an involuntary gasp, her back and ribs aching from the force of the impact.

Her mind was like sludge, moving too slow to react to Villain’s easy onslaught of attack after attack. Not to mention his stupid telekinesis that made everything he did effortless. Every fight easily won.

Villain didn’t even let Hero fall to the ground, instead she was held against the wall, feet dangling a few inches above the ground, arms flailing uselessly to attack Villain’s hold. She might as well have been fighting air, but Villain’s bone crushing grip didn’t feel like air. It felt like Hero was being squashed from every side, like Villain was squeezing a grape between his fingers.

“Give up yet?” Villain asked politely, advancing on Hero after Hero seized struggling, but it was all false. Everything about Villain was false. The politeness was just another layer of smug that Hero hated.

“Yeah, keep talking. You just know you couldn’t win in a real fight.”

The hand holding Hero squeezed tighter until Hero gasped out in pain, curling in on herself.

“I could just watch you all day,” Villain hummed appreciatively. He stopped two feet away from Hero, a passive smile on his face but his eyes… Villain’s eyes looked hungry and full of something that Hero couldn’t quite discern.

Hero threw her arm forward. Glinting metal turned over metal in the moonlight and stopped mid air, just in front of Villain’s cheek.

Villain smiled and tsked, grabbing the knife by the handle and turning it between his fingers with a dramatic sigh.

“That wasn’t very nice Hero,” Villain said, gently scolding her. His smirking eyes dancing with dark promise as be said, “someone should really teach you some manners.”

Another invisible hand grabbed both of Hero’s and pinned them against the wall. Hero jerked forward, trying to free herself but she had no grip on anything! She couldn’t even gain purchase on the ground because her feet were hovering above it.

Hero let out a frustrated groan as she kicked out, trying to dislodge herself in anyway. Villain’s eyes lit up at Hero’s renewed struggles.

“So feisty. So persistent,” Villain whispered. He was standing in front of Hero now and Hero blinked back her surprise, stifling a gasp. When had that happened? Villain grazed the tip of her knife from the center of Hero’s palm up her wrist and arm. Hero’s breath hitched when the cool blade touched her skin. “I bet I could make you grovel.”

That sent a shiver down Hero’s spine that she tried her damnedest to suppress. Wait, Villain was so close. Hero kicked out at Villain, but again, just before her feet made contact something caught Hero round the ankles and yanked them down.

Hero slid down the wall with a surprised yelp, eyes wide as her feet touched the ground and grew stuck there, her entire body immobile against the dusty brickwork behind her. Villain was taller than her, Hero realised as she swallowed, staring at Villain’s chest.

Villain brought Hero’s own knife up her shoulder and then throat, before pressing the flat of the blade up under Hero’s chin. The tip biting into her neck as he tilted Hero’s chin up to stare into Villain’s eyes, which sent a rush of ice through Hero’s veins.

Something primal in the back of her mind told her to run, to flee, to get out of there. That Villain was dangerous and a threat to her continued survival.

“God, look at you,” Villain hummed. With his free hand he reached up to cup Hero’s cheek, thumb stroking over Hero’s cheekbone. Hero did shiver at that, and jerk her arms back trying to escape the unrelenting invisible hold. “You are magnificent. That little spark of defiance in your pretty little eyes, the fear…”

“Get off of me, you creep!” Hero spat, trying to turn her head away from Villain, mostly to just stop looking at that dangerous glint in his smirking eyes. Villain didn’t let her turn an inch. The moment Hero’s head twitched to move, Villain brought the flat of her blade up to Hero’s other cheek, stopping her from moving.

“You know what Hero?” Villain said, leaning his face in close to Hero’s. Hero pressed her head against the wall, trying to get away from him, but Villain kept leaning in nonetheless until his lips were inches from Hero’s. Hero let out a quiet, powerless whine in the back of her throat, her heart thundering against her chest. Villain smiled, bone chilling and cold. “I think I’ll take you home with me.”

Hero’s stomach bottomed out. “No!”

Villain leaned in closer and for a breath-stealing moment, Hero thought Villain was going to kiss her. Instead Villain pressed his lips against Hero’s ear. Delighting in the shiver she couldn’t fight.

“Yes, little Hero. You’ll be my greatest prize. I’ll keep you suspended like this, like a trophy. Maybe in the entrance hall.”

“No,” Hero whispered, trembling against the telekinetic hold. The only thing that stood between Hero and her freedom. She flinched when she felt tears fall onto her cheeks. “Let me go, please,” Hero sniffed.

Villain pulled back, a grin on his face. “Now why would I do that, Hero?”

Villain stepped back, leaving a little distance between them, not as much as Hero would like, but enough. She couldn’t stop shaking, and she hated herself for it. Adrenaline was rushing through her veins like bolts of electricity, trying to feed Hero’s muscles and give her strength to flee, to fight, to escape.

It all just sat useless below the surface.

Villain let Hero’s knife swing down from her cheek and reached his hands forward. Hero slammed her eyes shut and looked away waiting for the blow to come.

Instead, a deep, rumbling chuckle sounded in front of her. Hero risked opening her eyes to see Villain sliding Hero’s knife back into its sheath on her thigh. His fingers lingering on Hero’s thigh. It made bile climb up Hero’s throat.

“Please, don’t touch me,” Hero pleaded, her voice so broken. So light. So terrified. Bargaining with a Villain!

Villain’s fingers drew up to Hero’s waist and lingered there. “Hero. Look at me.”

Hero refused. She kept her gaze stubbornly on the wall of the alley. Until that invisible hand was on her cheek and turning her head, against her will, to face Villain.

She swallowed and mustered up all her hatred into her glare when she met his dark eyes. Villain let out a breath, that same sickening smile on his face.

The snap of her cuffs being unclipped from her belt drew her attention down, but the invisible hand pushed her head back up to look at Villain. She let out a frustrated groan to his laughter.

“Come on, Hero. I can’t have you fighting me on the way home.”

“Go to hell!” Hero spat.

Villain grinned a lazy grin. “Only if you come with me, sweetheart.”

Villain reached his hand up to Hero’s wrist pinned to the wall, taking his sweet time in opening the cuffs. Hero knew what she was going to do before Villain even touched her. The moment he let the hold slip she was going to bolt for it. Slap him, push him, distract him, something. If she could reach her knife—

Villain put a hand on her wrist and she felt the telekinetic hold loosen. She shoved forward with all her strength. Villain’s eyes went wide, gaze cutting into her face but she just needed that moment of surprise. She felt the hold drop completely and she ducked under his arms, grabbing her dagger from it’s sheath and cutting Villain’s knee as she surged forwards.

Villain cried out behind her but Hero didn’t care. She didn’t have time to care. She had to make it to the mouth of the alley before he got his bearings. She felt the adrenaline surge in her calves, her lungs taking in more air, her heart beating more blood.

A hand caught her ankle. Hero was thrown forward by her own momentum, hands out to brace her fall. Her palms grazed against the stone, but she was already twisting her body, turning, expecting Villain to still be at the end of the alley. She could throw her dagger again and catch him.

It all went so well in her head.

She gasped when she saw those brown eyes up close. He was above her, knees on either side of her waist that pinned her beneath his body.

He didn’t look angry, just sickly entertained. He didn’t use his telekinesis. He used his own hands to pin her wrists to the ground above her head. She cried out when he slammed her dagger wielding hand against the pavement, once, twice, three times— again and again until finally she dropped it with a clatter.

“No!” She cried, struggling beneath him but he didn’t take his time this time. He snapped the cuffs open and the weight settled cold against her wrist. She could feel her powers draining, muting under the power dampeners. “No! Get off me! HELP! Somebo—”

Villain clamped his hand over her mouth, leaning his weight down onto it. She cried out, her free hand going to his, trying to dislodge it.

“A hero crying for help?” He asked with a smirk. “How ironic.”

Escape be damned. For one second she wanted to wipe that smugness off his stupid face.

She stopped fumbling with his wrist and instead slammed her hand up, palm first and aimed for his throat, his stupid adam’s apple.

Her hand stopped an inch away. Eyes widening as she watched it tremble. Villain pressed a kiss to her palm, then her wrist while Hero was powerless to push up or pull back. She let out a frustrated moan in the back of her throat as he laced his fingers through hers.

“Oh you are going to be so much fun,” Villain said, his eyes half lidded, smirk still on his face as he gazed down at Hero. “Now, are you going to promise not to scream or are you going to force me to knock you out?”

Hero huffed a breath out through her nose and Villain removed his hand.

“I won’t scream.”

Villain tilted his head. “Now why don’t I trust you?”

“Probably because you’re currently kidnapping me, you bastard!”

“Kidnapping makes it sound so romantic doesn’t it?”

Hero bucked her hips under him, revelling in the slight widening of his eyes at her sudden movement. Hero clicked her fingers and her knife summoned back into her palm. Hero had only a second to enjoy the familiar feeling before Villain was off her and yanked Hero to her feet.

Villain slammed the knife out of her palm, but she didn’t even have time to mourn the loss of it when Villain yanked her back, spinning her so her back was to his front.

Villain grabbed her free hand and wrestled it back into the other cuff, as if she wasn’t struggling at all. The sound of the cuff clicking closed was like the final nail in her coffin.

She froze for a moment, not being able to feel her knives around her. The weight of them on her body was a small mercy. It was such an uncomfortable feeling. As if her arm had just been severed, a limb taken from her.

It took a breath for her to acclimatise. Then she cried out in anger and slammed her head back. It connected with Villain’s chest, not even relishing the surprised breath she stole from his lungs she hook her leg around the back of his and slammed her head back again so they went to the ground. She rolled the minute his back hit the ground and got to her feet with a little difficulty.

She didn’t even have time to think of running before she felt that giant invisible hand grab her and pick her up, leaving her dangling useless in the air.

Villain was on the ground, turned on his side, elbow bent, propping his head up on his palm. That stupid smirk in his stupid eyes.

“Honestly, it would be wise of me to knock you out, but you struggle so beautifully that it would be a crime to not watch you try and stop me on the way home.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Hero promised.

Villain flashed her a grin. “I look forward to it.”

Villain was on his feet in a second, Hero’s knife in one hand. He gestured his hand down and Hero sunk to the ground in front of him.

“Now, open wide.”

Hero frowned at him. Villain grinned and pointed at his cheeks. “Say aah!”

Hero didn’t know what he wanted her to do, but she damn sure wasn’t going to do it if he wanted her to.

He placed his thumb over her lips and pulled down. “Come on now, Hero. Play nice.”

Hero opened her mouth to bite him but instead Villain pushed the hilt of her dagger into her mouth. Before she could spit it out she felt his real hand and his invisible one slam her chin up, forcing her to bite down on the handle.

“Hold that for me, will you?”

“Oohk—” she began but coughed as her tongue got caught around the hilt.

“Oh, be careful, Hero. Wouldn’t want you to choke now, would we?”

Hero wanted to scream, she wanted to fight. She wanted to be able to move her body and open her mouth, but she didn’t get any of that, not with Villain in front of her.

Villain put a hand on her arm, sliding down to rest on her wrist and steered her forward towards the mouth of the alley. “You are going to simply adore the boot of my car.”

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the-three-whumpeteers · 2 months

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The whumpee had grown aggressive, attacking the whumper whenever they came too close and snapping at anything that got too close to them. This meant that during their rescue, their rescuers had to restrain them just to get them to safety- but not before the whumpee injured plenty of people.

#whump #whump prompt #whump scenario #whumpee #aramis stabs someone #whump prompts #whumper #feral whumpee #I just bought this weird ass toy for like 5 dollars and I don’t know what it is #but it walks and makes a funny noise so I love her #this prompt goes out to her

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secretwhumplair · 11 months

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Whump prompt XIX

Two (more or less) friendly rival whumpers who keep stealing whumpee from each other.

For them, it's little more than a game. Do the whumpers compete in who can make whumpee more afraid? Or do they heal whatever injuries the other inflicted before they have their own go? Both?

And for whumpee...

Whumpee stuffed in a tiny, dark wardrobe, box, or other tight space to hide them. Whumpee tied and gagged in the trunk on yet another bumpy car ride. Whumpee desperately wishing for a reprieve from their current whumper but not like this, not them-

Whumpee marked as each whumper's property over and over and over.

#whump #whump prompt #multiple whumpers #crack whump #though I think you *could* play it straight #ok after last week's prompt was a resounding success let's get back to the regular weirdness

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ashintheairlikesnow · 9 months

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The Heretic's Confession, Chapter One

CW: Captivity whump, some... implications... references to branding. This is just me getting a feel for the idea and character, though, really.

The robes he once kept pristine are caked in dried mud around the hem. Grigory frowns as he inspects them, rubbing along the seam. It flakes away, leaving imprints of itself behind.

Maudlin, certainly, but it feels like the stain of their sins painting his soul.

Maybe suffering can give even a man of the Goddess the sentiment of a poet. His lip curls in disgust at the very thought.

Please, please speak to me, Dromada. Tell your priest what he must do to escape this nightmare.

She is, and has always been, silent to his pleas for Her assistance.

The Goddess the people worship may be a paragon of compassion and forgiveness, her sculptures solemn and grave with hands outstretched to embrace even the lowest-born of Her children, but Grigori is beginning to suspect the holy men have got it wrong.

She isn't gracefully wise. She does not reach Her hand out to hold Her children. No, as each day passes without Her so much as whispering a reassurance, he begins to feel She is th goddess of laughter, and he is Her current favorite joke.

A knock at the door to his room - his cell, really, but of course they all like to pride themselves on keeping him in high style in his gilded cage - has him looking up, a little startled. The moon has only made half of its trek across the night sky, through the looping swirls of galaxies far, far beyond the reach of mere mortal men. That milky spin of stars, everyone knows, is where the gods live.

He wonders how many of them are looking down on him, sipping crystalline waters, and mocking his pain.

He would spit on every last temple step, if he could.

If he could just leave the fucking room-

“Brother Grigori,” His guest singsongs, half-dancing into the room. Grigory turns away from him, laying one palm over one of the iron bars that blocks any escape through the window. His fingers close slowly around it.

“What do you want.” His voice is curt, it cuts short and sharp. “Bastard.”

“Oh, see you got my name all wrong again.” The leader of this little gang is tall - too tall - and all knees and legs, lean muscle making him heavier than he looks. Grigori is tall enough for a man, but he seems like he’s half-grown, compared to the bandit. The man’s hair is a shock of white atop his head, shaved on the sides, while Grigori’s curly brown grows to the bottom of his ears, as is prescribed for the priests. He swaths himself in black kohl around his equally dark eyes and shining black leather worn back to brown from age and ill-use at the knees and elbows. Grigori’s hazel and his dirtied robes look like a joke, placed next to the bandit’s appearance. “It’s Bohli, remember? Or that’s what my mother calls me, anyway. Or she would, if she were still alive. She probably uses that when she curses my name from the heavens above, granted. I mean, probably, unless she really is suffering in the Dark After, like she deserves-”

“What do you want, Bohli?” Grigory’s head is already starting to hurt. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Nonsense. You have all the time in the world. You have nothing but time.”

“Not for… you. Please leave.”

“Nope. Not going anywhere. This is my house, remember? I just let you stay here.”

“Let me.” The words are sour in Grigori’s mouth. “Right, of course. Let me. Because I asked to be branded and trapped here in this room-”

“Hush. I take you for walkies every day, little god’s dog.” Bohli winks, and Grigori - who took a vow of pacifism, once - imagines stabbing his own knife through his eyeball until it comes out the other side of his head. “If you don’t want a leash, you just have to prove you won’t run off.”

He would, of course. Run. Outside, the woods stretch far and wide. There’s a path he could take to find a village, to find freedom...

Or… more realistically… to get arrested for being in league with Bohli and his bastards, which he isn’t, but everyone knows the goddess would save Her most faithful, and he’s been here too long. He would be branded a heretic. Everyone knows he’s a heretic. His own fellow priests would turn their backs on him. The people would burn him at the stake, for being defiled, degraded, a paragon of nothing but the filth they have covered him in. Little more than a bandit himself.

Maybe he is one.

Dromada would have saved him if he were truly Hers to save. And instead, here he is, the infamous giver of absolution to the men and women who massacre whole towns in defiance of - in direct insult to - the power and might of His Majesty, the King.

No. he would be burned as an enemy of the King's, and he would have no standing to defend himself. A captive this long isn't a captive at all, in the eyes of the world.

Just a man who no longer wants to be saved.

Tears prick at his eyes, and he struggles not to let Bohli see them and mock him even more. It’s not like he hasn’t already been marked. It was one of the first things they did. Bohli had given the order and watched while they tied him down. Grigori himself had been made to look as they put the iron in the fire, made to watch them heat it to red. Bohli had been whispering in his ear when when they pressed it to his pelvis, and Bohli had cooed over him while he screamed, stroking through his sweaty hair.

“Just leave,” He whispers, the area aching all over again. They branded him over the symbol of Dromada tattooed, a mark of his vow of chastity.

Another one broken.

Maybe that was when She stopped listening.

“Oh, but I can’t, darling Grigori. I’ve come to make a confession.” Bohli laughs, and his laughter could make you bleed even better than his blade. But somehow Grigori can’t seem to die from the loss. “Isn’t that why I keep a priest of Dromada around, anyway? For to save my poor mortal soul?”

Grigori fights the urge to wish aloud someone would poison the asshole’s food. “You would burn if you touched the Hem of her robe.”

“Maybe.” Bohli shrugs, kicking a chair over and dropping down into it, loose-limbed. His eyes spark with delight as he takes in Grigori’s misery. “But you wear Her robes, and yet I never burn when I touch you-”

“Speak your confession,” Grigory snaps, his heart twisting and going briefly silent and still in his chest. He feels blood rush to his face, and Bohli’s peal of bright, brittle laughter tells him the flush isn’t going unnoticed.

“Say it.” Bohli watches him, and it’s like being watched by one of the terrifying big cats that roam the woods just beyond this hideous prison. Unblinking, a predator’s stare. “Say the words, priest.”

Each time he does, they feel more bitter on his tongue.

But still.

Grigori draws the ruins of his robe closer around himself, and sits up straight. He swallows and sets his jaw. “Bohlinde hir Maksma en Ygridsen, the goddess Dromada hears and forgives all from those who love Her. You have only to ask. Speak, child, and be forgiven.”

Bohli licks his lips, leaning forwards. Somehow, Grigori can’t make himself look away. The bandit leader’s teeth are sharp - those canines can rend skin from bone. He’s part-elf, they say, somewhere in his bloodline the half-mindless shrieking hordes of the elven race lurk. You can always tell, so it’s said, from the sharpness of their teeth. From how little they care for the lives of men.

Maybe he’s half-elf.

It would explain why he’s so fucking smug.

“Forgive me, Dromada’s Chosen, for I have sinned against Her,” Bohli says, and he doesn’t even try to feign sincerity. Why he even plays this game, when Dromada isn’t a goddess for the elves of their wretched offspring to begin with, is beyond Grigori’s understanding.

Grigori fights the urge to sigh. He makes Dromada’s Sign, wondering if it even calls to Her any longer. If She even feels the spark of a follower’s call, or if he’s cut off from Her entirely. Who hears him when he prays?

Does anyone?

“How have you sinned against Our Mother, She Who Gave the Waters?”

Bohli licks his lips. His smile is a little too wide, shows too many of those sharp, sharp teeth. He'd be blisteringly handsome, if it weren’t for the sight of fangs where none should be. “I won’t lie, Brother Grigori. I set some stuff on fire yesterday. And I’m going to do it again. Will I be forgiven?”

Grigori imagines the mud climbing higher and higher up his robes, pulling him into the earth, forcing itself down his mouth and pressing over his eyes. He imagines the gods in the sky, looking down from their stars.

The image shatters with the memory of first sitting at the table with the dozen or so of Bohli's favorites, each of them smiling at him, while he sat in his pure white robes and felt himself bared, as if naked, before them.

Until Bohli had given the order for what to do with him.

“Dromada forgives all who seek Her,” Grigori intones, thoughtless. The words memorized before he was even thirteen years old, before he was old enough to take his vows. Before he was taken, and they were all broken, one by one. Bohli loved breaking Grigori's vows. “You have only to ask.”

“Good.” Bohli’s voice drops low. He has to focus to hear it, which is probably the bastard’s entire point. “Because I really, really love asking, and I love the sound of your answers.”

The bandit stands, walking over to him, putting one finger under his chin and forcing Grigori to look up - and up, and up, and up - to see the demon smile.

Grigori is sure, as Bohli watches him with his head tipped to the side and his black eyes as bright as the stars, that he can hear the goddess laughing.

#whump #new whump #the heretic's confession #captivity #captivity whump #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #fantasy whump #some weird fantasy race stuff happening here #just go with it #religious whump #religion whump #fantasy writing #bohli is a bad bad man #grigori is just a tired blorbo

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whumpbees · 9 months

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What do y'all's Whumpers/Whumpees/Caretakers' hands look like?

#whump #honey posts #whump prompt #whumpee #whumper #caretaker #whump community #Encouraged to romantisize!!#Describe their scars! How they got them!#Any birthmarks? Strange little things? Can they do anything weird with their hands?

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whatiswhump · 2 months

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Whumper kidnaps Whumpee, not realizing they were on psychiatric meds, thus inadvertently cutting them off.

They're horrified watching Whumpee go into withdrawals- anger, mood swings, vomiting, unable to sleep, agitation, losing touch with reality rapidly.

Whumper wanted to have some fun... not... this. They’ve barely even touched them yet!

#uh oh theyre off the lithium!!!!!!#or whatever the preferred sanity drug is :)#whumper is FREAKED #they thought this was gonna be a good tiime #not a speedy descent into insanity #do they really have this effect on whumpee? they wonder #they've barely even touched them yet!!!!#psych whump #medication tw #whenever i mix up my cocktail i always feel weird and thats without going off completely i cant even imagine that fresh hell

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generic-whumper · 9 months

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I cannot write a “normal” whump story for the life of me. Every attempt has failed so far. (Yet I can read and enjoy human whump perfectly fine?)

Either my characters (whumpees, whumpers, and caretakers) are aliens/ non-human; or the whumpee is going to be a human with supernatural abilities because super-powered whumpees are apparently my weakness? There’s just something extra spicy about adding some mystical, magical, paranormal, and supernatural elements to a story that really scratches an ever-present itch in my brain.

Bonus points for supernatural elements and powers being allegories or symbols for the human experience, mental illness, or man-made issues like society and culture.

Please share your favorite non-human whump stories, I want to read them all!

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wonderwhump · 4 months

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Ok, I have to admit it. I’m a weird whump nerd, I read and write fanfiction, I enjoy all kinds of whump. Nothing new there. I know you are too 😁😈

Now I’m really sick (doc said most likely influenza, but I haven’t got the bloodwork back yet. He ruled out Covid, pneumonia and bronchitis)

Turns out I‘m even a sucker for my own suffering. Just for science. How does burning up feel? How does a 103,5 fever feel? How does the body go from shivers and chills to sweating my clothes dripping wet when I take a fever reducer? How does it feel to almost vomit from coughing violently? How does it feel to get up too fast and cough too hard so that you black out a second. How do wobbly legs and rapid pulse from high fever feel?

I don’t like being sick. I hate it. Of course! But since I‘m sick anyway, I can explore it, right. For science.

Is that fucked up?! 😂🫣

I‘ll try to sleep now. Cough depressant and Ibuprofen are in my system and I‘m in the sweating absurdly phase, which strangely enough lets me sleep. Depending on blood results they might put me on antibiotics tomorrow.

Have a good one, guys.

Talk to me! 😘

#whump #whump fanfiction #for science #whump nerd #fever #coughing #is this normal #is this weird?#is this normal for whumpers at least?#future sickfics #don’t worry I do whatever the doctor says and am not endangering myself

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whumpy-wyrms · 8 months

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The Last Lab Rat #8: Nightmare

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content: lab whump, captivity, nightmare (italicized), description of death and gore (nobody actually dies), comfort, needles and mind control mention, winged whumpee, test subject whumpee, intimate/creepy scientist carewhumper

short lil chapter before #9, which is 1 of 3 chapters specifically that I've been super super super excited about for over a year now :)

—

Dew was dying.

The scientist had finally done it. He fucked up. His experiment failed, and now his precious test subject was taking his last breaths, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

Visions of giant needles and bright fluorescent lights and white lab coats flooded Dew’s blurry, fading vision. It had just been like any normal day; Anton was conducting another fucked up unethical experiment on his lab rat, when something had gone wrong. Dew didn’t know what it was. Anton didn’t tell him anything besides this being just a fun surprise for him, and he’d find out later.

But Anton made a mistake this time. He made a terrible mistake that cost Dew his life. And now he was fading away and Anton looked worried and angry and scared and confused all at the same time, and Dew was wondering why it reminded him of a scared little kid who had only just learned what death was.

But that wasn’t the end, not yet. Somehow, things shifted and instead of looking panicked and terrified, Anton was standing over Dew with a knife in hand. There were twinkling stars on the ceiling now, that was a nice change. Dew chose to look up there instead of at the scientist who was in the middle of cutting his slowly dying heart out of his body.

And just like that, he was dead.

. . .

Anton was awoken to the motion sensor alarm sounds coming from his surveillance cameras. After his test subject’s second escape attempt a few days before, he turned on the motion sensors at night, in case Dew planned another escape after hours while Anton was sleeping. If there was too much movement, more than normal, then the sensors would go off and sound the alarm, alerting Anton that his test subject was awake and causing ruckus in his room.

And Dew was moving now, he was in bed, thrashing his arms, tossing and turning, but… He wasn’t awake. Oh. Was Anton’s little lab rat having a nightmare?

Dew had lived in Anton’s secret underground laboratory for approximately 55 days now, and this was the first time Anton had seen Dew having a nightmare. And a bad one, to the look of it. Anton guessed it made sense, after everything he put the little guy through, but what was he supposed to do about it?

Anton had never been used to being around… people, in general. He grew up with the scientist who raised him, and had almost no other human contact besides him and the other test subjects being held captive during that time. Pierce taught him all he knew, and none of it was how to comfort somebody. The loneliness that had been consuming Anton all his life— it had never felt like a problem. He didn’t need people. He had science… and animals.

But ever since he found Dew, he was starting to feel a little less lonely. It was nice, talking to someone and having company around that wasn’t an animal, monster, robot or some other experiment.

He hated leaving his test subject all alone, deep underground in his cold, dark lab whenever he was done for the night. While Anton was up here, in his cabin where he could look out the window and see the deer frolicking in the forest and the bright stars above.

And he had to admit, being around Dew was fun. It was fun experimenting on him, testing his limits and making scientific breakthroughs… But it was also fun just being able to talk to another human being about human things. It was fun having someone similar to him that he could relate to and exchange stories. Being with his lab rat was fun, even when he wasn’t experimenting on the poor thing.

And now Dew was having, what seemed to be, a terrible nightmare. And he had absolutely nobody to comfort him during it. Except Anton.

So, at around three in the morning, Anton begrudgingly made the decision to go down to his lab, but not for anything related to science.

Anton paused at the door, hand hovering just over the doorknob.

“Hey, Basil?” He asked, glancing over to his mouse friend’s enclosure. She always comforted Max during their nightmares, so maybe it’d be a good idea to finally introduce them…

“Basil?” Anton asked again. No response. She must be sleeping, so he decided not to wake her up for this. She always got grumpy whenever Anton interrupted her beauty sleep anyway.

Anton opened the door, and began down the long, winding stairs.

. . .

Death was strange to Dew. The last thing he saw was the scientist looming over him, making no attempt to save his life– his sad little pathetic life that had been taken too soon by the man who made the last months a living hell.

Death just felt sad, melancholy, bitter and sweet at the same time. Dew thought to himself, about everything in life he missed out on, and everything he wanted to do before it was taken away from him.

He saw his best friends… Hayden, Layla, and Sawyer… they were there. They were at home, crying and looking for him and he was dead but they didn’t know that, they would never know, because Anton would get rid of his entire existence before anyone even came anywhere close to his lab.

Dew thought about his little crush on his friends, and how he never got to tell them his feelings before he was kidnapped and taken away to the place he would die. His friends would never know how much he loved them. Dew’s entire being was filled with regret and sorrow and anger and sadness as he slowly faded away into nothingness.

Anton had taken everything from him.

“Dewey…” There was that fucking voice. Why was he here again? Dew was supposed to be dead, not him, he’s not supposed to be here too.

“Wake up.” The voice felt oddly far away from him too, miles away in a cloudy abyss. Dew felt underwater, he felt like he was falling, he felt like he was being stabbed by a million terrifying needles all at once. “Wake up,” the voice said again.

No! He was supposed to be dead! He was supposed to be free!

“Dewey? Dew? Wake up. Can you hear me?”

Dew gasped awake at the feeling of someone shaking his shoulders, and sat straight up, clutching his rapidly beating heart through his soft sweater— wait. He was alive. It was all just a bad dream. He was alive.

Dew sighed deeply, trying to calm himself down when he realized he was most definitely not alone.

His eyes snapped open and he stared straight ahead at Anton. It was hard to see, with the room being almost pitch black dark, but Dew knew that shadow standing at the end of his bed all too well by now. His dread from the nightmare came flooding back, and his breathing became rapid again, coming out in short gasps as tears burned in his eyes.

Dew stared up at Anton with wide, scared eyes, his whole body shaking with fear. His hair was a mess, more than usual as it stuck to his face with his stream of tears. His brown eyes were sunken, bags intently visible now that Anton was paying attention. How had he never noticed before? Dew was in pain sometimes, of course, that was sometimes necessary for the experiments. But that was just temporary, physical pain that could easily be healed with the right drugs. But this was different, Dew was scared and sad, and it was Anton’s responsibility to cheer him up.

“Hey,” Anton said softly, trying his hardest to sound comforting.

Dew flinched away hard, wincing as he knocked his head against the wall behind him. His wings curled around his body protectively, and he put his knees to his chest.

“Just breathe, calm down, okay?” Anton said. “It was just a dream. You’re okay now.”

Anton saw the terror deep in Dew’s eyes, a fear that never seemed to leave, but was most intense now. Anton realized the sad fact, his test subject had been dreaming about him.

Dew’s terrible nightmare was about him.

Duh. Fucking obviously, what else would it be about?

“I won’t hurt you, Dew,” Anton said. “Relax.” But Dew still stared at him like a deer caught in headlights, moments from death.

Anton thought for a moment. Maybe it was best to leave Dew alone for a bit then. It wouldn’t be right to stay near him and make him more afraid. He needed his space, and Anton respected that. He slowly turned around to make his way towards the door when he felt a light tug on his shirt.

Oh.

“Do… Do you want me to stay?” Anton asked in disbelief, voice quiet as if not to scare the timid animal away.

Dew looked away, not making eye contact. He knew how scared he looked, how vulnerable and defenseless he was, but… being alone would make it worse. He needed someone here, with him, to comfort him. He hated himself for this. Only a child would want to be comforted after a nightmare… But, he couldn’t help it. He hated feeling so alone all the time. Dew looked back at Anton, and timidly nodded his head.

“...Okay,” Anton said, slowly moving to sit on the edge of the bed. This was weird. He wasn’t used to this, he’d never needed to comfort another human like this since…

That didn’t matter. It’d been five years, Anton was a bit rusty, but he could figure it out.

“Do you want me to stay until you fall back asleep?” Anton asked.

Dew looked embarrassed as he nodded his head, looking to the ground. Okay, Anton thought. That was fine, Anton didn’t need to sleep tonight anyway.

“Alright, I will.” Anton said. “You don’t have to be scared, I won’t hurt you.” Not now anyway, tomorrow’s experiment might be a bit painful, though. He chose not to say that last part out loud.

Dew continued not to say anything as they sat in silence. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine himself somewhere peaceful and safe, just for a few more moments, while he tried to calm down.

Dew flinched when he felt Anton lightly touch his wing. “Sorry,” Anton said, bringing his hand back. He was still extremely fascinated by Dew’s wings, even after a month. But he was trying to be more respectful of Dew’s space.

Dew glared at him, and then quickly stopped himself. No, he couldn’t make Anton upset at him now, not after last time.

As if Anton could sense what Dew was thinking— which was a terrifying but impossible thought in and of itself— Anton sighed and said, “I won’t take control of your mind right now, don't be scared… and uh, you don’t have to talk right now if you don’t want to. It’s okay.”

Dew slowly nodded his head. It was at least a relief to know the scientist wouldn’t force him to talk when he really couldn't sometimes. The thought of finally being understood by someone– even if it was his captor– who was probably similar to Dew in more ways than just being trans, calmed him down a bit more.

I mean, yeah, Dew thought, Anton was probably autistic as well. It was obvious. And… It was a reassuring thought, that despite being kept here against his will, Dew wouldn’t have to worry about not being accommodated. Besides, it was another thing he now knew about Anton that could be useful in the future. Maybe asking him about science would stall future experiments— Dew sure could never stop talking whenever someone asked him about one of his special interests.

Dew decided to lay back down on his side, facing away from Anton, and pretend it was anyone else keeping him company. He was just so tired and at this point, he didn’t care that Anton had started petting his wings again as if he was merely a pet. If the scientist was trying to comfort him, Dew would let him. It was better than being hurt, at least.

Anton tried his best to preen Dew’s wings for him, and Dew sighed deeply, leaning into the nice touch. Any other time he would have recoiled at such contact, but he needed this now, he needed something to ground him back to reality. He needed comfort, even if it was from the person who kidnapped him, who kills him in his nightmares and makes every waking moment a living hell.

Because Anton was all Dew had. He was completely dependent on the man, for both food and water, and comfort. He couldn’t get that anywhere else here, and the thought of never being comforted again made Dew feel sick.

It’s okay, he thought, he’s just doing what he needs to do to survive. By seeking comfort from his fucking captor. Whatever, that was fine. Dew deserved comfort. He’d escape soon. Everything was going to be fine.

Dew just wished he had someone to actually tell him that.

Anton hummed in satisfaction when his test subject slowly started falling back to sleep as he pet his wings. Though, his contentment quickly faded and was replaced with an intense feeling of guilt after being reminded of what had happened a few days prior.

After Dew found out he could be mind-controlled by Anton at any time, he started acting very differently since. Anton noticed right away that his test subject was more afraid of him than he’d ever been, and he couldn’t help but feel terrible about that.

Because, fuck, he was supposed to be making Dew feel comfortable here, right? And now he had just lost every ounce of trust the little guy had in him, all because he wanted to test out a new invention. Sure, mind-control was a huge achievement for Anton, he deserved to be excited about it! …But he went about it the wrong way. He hurt Dew, worse than before.

Because, after that day, Dew was just sad and timid all the time, it was no fun being around him. Instead of the almost playful banter between them that happened during feeding or outside time, Dew was eerily silent and compliant. Because he was scared of losing control of his body again.

Anton, once again, let his love for science blind him into not treating Dew like a person. He had fucked up again, and now Dew would probably never trust him, for good reason.

Anton, of course, didn’t need Dew’s trust, or for him to feel safe and happy. He could give Dew the absolute bare minimum for human survival and he would still serve his purpose as a test subject. But… Anton wasn’t like that. He would never be like that.

It’d just make everything so much easier if Dew was a willing test subject, if they worked together. But now, that’d probably never happen.

Unless…

It’d been long enough. If Dew became friends with Basil, maybe he wouldn’t want to leave… That made sense, right? No, absolutely not, but it was worth a shot. What else could he do?

Tomorrow morning then, Anton decided, he’d introduce Dew to his little mouse friend.

Anton gently set Dew’s wings down and climbed off bed, tucking him under the covers. He left his room, locking it, and headed back upstairs with a smile on his face. A new beginning, a fresh start. He’d make things right. Basil always knew what to do.

—

not sure when the next chapter will be out since it’s a Big one and i need time to get it right, but i'm really really excited about it :D

taglist: @whumpinthepot @shywhumpauthor @whump-me-all-night-long @whump321 @fuckcapitalismasshole @sorry-i-spaced @theelvishcowgirl @catnykit @tettlod @delicateprincepaper @rejectedbytheempty

let me know if you want to be removed or added to the taglist!

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hufflepuffwritingstuff2 · 2 years

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I have a requesttt

How about a vicious villain who captures hero, tortures or restrains them. Hero, tho bloody is hopeful someone of their group will find them, that they'll get rescued, saved. Until one day villain visits their cell and tells them they'll give hero a lobotomy. Hero fights, struggles, desperately begs villain for anything but that. Villain prepares everything, the doctors who'll perform it on them, the tools. Everything ready for the day they'll have hero robbed off their human existence. And just when it's about to happen, when the hero is tied to a hospital bed deep in panic, terrified, villain instead of comforting them to their last sane minutes, they whisper hero everything they have planned to do with their body next. How they'll sell them to other dangerous people as a brainless toy, a living zombie only to get used by others. And if ever their group finds them, even then, they won't be able to tell the deference due to how utterly destroyed in every way they'll be. Hero horrified, screams and begs villain to have mercy on them.

Feel free to add anything if you'd like~

Ooh Anon, that is definitely a very whumpy concept. It’s darker than usual for me but I think I’ll be able to do it. One thing to know about me though is I need my happy ending, so this snippet might take an unexpected turn, I hope that’s okay! Thank you for requesting this, I’ll do my best!

Hero had been here for days. Strapped down in a hospital bed, experimented on and tested, and no opportunities for escape. Hero could only hope that their team would arrive soon to rescue them. Hero flinched when the door to their cell opened and Villain stepped through.

“Good morning, little Hero,” Villain greeted, “are you ready for your next operation?”

“You’ve already taken my appendix, my tonsils, and cut me open to examine my organs,” Hero rattled off dryly, “what more could you possibly want from me?”

“This time I’m in the mood for something different,” Villain said, “something a bit more permanent than our last experiments.”

Villain stepped closer and leaned over until they were inches away from Hero’s face. They tapped Hero’s forehead with a finger.

“I’m going to perform a lobotomy on you, Hero,” Villain said with a wicked grin.

Hero’s eyes widened. They thrashed in their restraints, trying in vain to get free, which only fueled Villain’s amusement,

“No,” Hero begged, “please, not that, anything but that. You can take my kidney, heck, take one of my lungs, but don’t take my brain!”

“Technically, it’s only the frontal lobe,” Villain said, “but my decision has already been made, little Hero. I’ve called in some of my best colleagues to help perform the operation, and they can’t wait to get started on you. Here,” Villain pulled over a tray of tools, “here’s everything I’m going to use on you, isn’t it exciting?”

Villain began to explain in gory detail just how they were going to use each tool on the tray. Hero continued to thrash against the straps holding them down, but it was useless. Hero felt tears prick their eyes, and a lump formed in the back of their throat.

“When,” Hero swallowed, “when are you doing this?”

“Oh, about,” Villain checked their watch, “fifteen minutes, give or take. I wanted time to give you the news myself. Soon you won’t be anything but a husk, Hero. A toy for others’ enjoyment. I might sell you off to Supervillain, or I might just keep you all to myself. Either way, I’m going to enjoy this, watching you go to sleep with that fire in your eyes and then see you wake up without so much as a spark. It’ll be riveting to say the least, don’t you think?”

“Villain, please,” Hero was fully crying now, “I’ll do whatever you want, but don’t do this, please don’t do this,”

“Shhh.” Villain put a finger to Hero’s lips, “I’m doing this, and nothing you say is going to stop me.”

Villain pulled out a syringe and grabbed Hero’s exposed elbow. They plunged the needle into Hero’s skin and pressed down on the depressor, letting the contents flood Hero’s system.

“Villain!” Hero screamed, “please!”

“Just go to sleep,” Villain said, “I want to get started on you right away.”

Hero’s thrashing died down as the drug began to take effect. They fought to keep their eyes open. Between long, heavy blinks, Hero could just make out their cell door opening, with several figures standing in the doorway. Just before Hero went under, they saw a look of panic cross Villain’s face.

…

“Hero.”

Hero stirred but didn’t open their eyes.

“Hero, come on, wake up.”

Hero shook their head and groaned.

“Hero!”

Hero’s eyes fluttered open. They saw the faces of their team towering over them, all with worried expressions. Hero’s brows furrowed in confusion. How did their team get here? The last thing they remembered was Villain telling them about a lobotomy. The lobotomy! Hero bolted upright in bed. Strong arms wrapped around their shoulders to steady them.

“Easy, Hero,” Superhero’s voice echoed, “you’re alright, we’ve got you.”

“Wha-,” Hero started, “what happened?”

“We rescued you,” Other Hero explained, “you were in Villain’s lair for days, it took us a while to find you.”

“It looks like we got there just in the nick of time, too,” Vigilante said, “they had tools out for a lob- for an operation.”

Hero looked around at their team. Tears welled up in their eyes.

“Hero?” Superhero asked.

Hero turned into Superhero’s chest and sobbed. Superhero put their arms around them. Hero cried until there were no tears left to cry.

“They were gonna take my brain, Superhero!” Hero sobbed, “my brain!”

“Shhh,” Superhero soothed, “it’s okay, we caught Villain. They can’t hurt you anymore, you’re safe here.”

“Is this real?” Hero asked tearfully, “they didn’t do the lobotomy?”

Other Hero reached over and grabbed Hero’s hand.

“It’s real, Hero,” Other Hero said, “I promise.”

Hero breathed out a shaky sigh. This was real, they were safe.

…

Vigilante cleaned the blood off of their knife. Meanwhile, Villain bled out in the very cell they had kept Hero in for so long.

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angst-is-love-angst-is-life · 3 months

Text

Gremlin: Every Flash season would've been 80% more enjoyable if Barry just got kidnapped more often

Me:

I. Have. Stuff. To. Do.

Fucking. STOP.

#when I say the show has consumed my soul-- this is what I mean #normally these thoughts can fit in between the important stuff but still #my posts #my brain and I #sigh #being both weird AND a whumper on main #yayy #why am I like this you ask?#if I knew I would tell you

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whump-in-the-closet · 1 year

Text

"Welcome Aboard, Just Let Me Stab You."

Remember that merrywhumpofmay post I wrote with the vampire pirate captain and her newly acquired, very reluctant source of fresh blood? Yeah? Well, here's part two because hah I got hit with an idea.

(continued from here)

cw: manhandling, noncon body modification (giant spiky earring), vampire whumper, human whumpee

***

The vampire brought the human into her cabin. They caught a glimpse of a cluttered desk and knives embedded into the wooden walls.

They immediately looked down again, legs turning to water.

The vampire let go of their shirt collar and moved to her desk, searching for something in the drawers.

A shudder ran down the human’s spine. The vampire’s bite throbbed at their throat as a crimson and bruised reminder of last night.

“What’s your name?”

The human froze, eyes gripping the hardwood floor with a physical intensity.

A drawer slammed shut and they flinched.

“Can you speak, little pest?”

They nodded. Then, “Yes.” Their voice was less a whisper and more a crumpled sound of defeat.

They didn’t see the toothy smile the vampire gave them. They didn’t see the golden spike the vampire pulled out from a small chest. She spun the spike idly, watching it catch in the light.

Her grin faded into one of satisfaction. “Your name.” Not a question.

“...uh, it– it’s Adan.” Again, that choked voice.

“Adan. Come here.”

Adan didn’t move. Eyes on the ground, heart in their throat, terror in every nerve in their body. The ship swayed beneath their feet and brought a fresh roll of nausea with it.

The vampire crossed the distance between them in the blink of an eye. She towered above them, head almost hitting the candle chandelier.

“I have a gift for you.” There was a velvet-lined throat in her every word.

Adan trembled, shrinking back. They didn’t get far. The captain grabbed their jaw, tilting their head to the side.

“Something to make sure you remember you’re my blood source.”

As if the holes at my throat aren’t enough.

“I believe the words you’re looking for are ‘Thank you’.”

Red flashed behind their eyes. They were going to throw up. “Thank you?”

Adan had been expecting the vampire to bite them again. Not to yank at their ear and to stab the golden spike through it.

They screamed.

One blood-stained moment stretched into a heavy aching.

The captain wiped the blood away with her thumb. Crimson-red ran along her hand and with the greatest attention, she licked it off.

Adan gagged. With shaking fingers and blurred vision, they explored the throbbing hole in their ear. Humiliation burned nearly as bright as the pain itself.

The vampire smacked their hand away. “Don’t touch it—Well, I’ll be damned if you aren’t crying. I think the earring looks good, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I–I’m–” their voice cracked. “I’m not crying.”

“Do not address me with such impudence.” The vampire dropped her casual tone, baring her teeth. Then with a smile, she added, “You will call me Captain.”

tagging: @brutal-nemesis

#i didnt edit this. at all.#so if there are typos #or if it flows weird #thats because i didnt edit it #no this scene wasnt inspired by that one time i pierced my own ear #not at all #i should be working on my cyoa #or on merrywhumpofmay #but i procasinate so much that instead of doing either i wrote a wholly different thing #anyway #vampire whumper #human whumpee #vampire pirate whump #oh isnt that a fun tag

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ashintheairlikesnow · 2 months

Text

Is He Safe?

CW: Captivity, creepy whumper. For @amonthofwhump Tropeathon Day 5: Covert Identity. (Jax, as always, used with permission and oversight from @comfy-whumpee)

Takes place during Jax’s first captivity.

The Motherfucking Gallaghers Masterlist

The ocean sounds like it’s breathing, a constant rhythm of water against the shore. Further down the way, groups of people laugh, throw beach balls, or otherwise enjoy the brilliant sunshine and growing warmth of the day.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of one of the Marcoset vacation homes, the beach is perfectly empty. Private, and privately theirs. At a white table in a white kitchen, Savvie sits, one hand laid over his, watching her best friend speak to his father on the phone.

Jax is allowed one phone call per week, with Savvie by his side of course. She’s written out a few ideas for him on what to talk about on a little piece of paper.

If he asks about:

How you are: Great!

Mention foods you have eaten recently that you like

Change the subject

What you’re doing: Hanging out with friends!

You love traveling around with me

We have a goal of seeing all fifty states! You’re really looking forward to seeing Alaska

Where you are: Tell him we’re at the beach in Florida

Seashells

Walking by the ocean

Sunshine

Talk about that concert we went to

Ask him about himself as often as possible

I will end the call if he upsets you

They’re really… optional.

Just guidelines on how to keep the conversation nice and light. He doesn’t have to use them, if he doesn’t want to, although of course he wants to. Easier, that way, it must be so much easier than trying to come up with things to talk about all on his own, right? Besides, she’s been able to keep his collar off all week here, and she’d like to not have to put it back on before they even get back home.

Taking him out to eat and to shops feels like regular, normal life - briefly, Savvie forgets her grief over the loss of her parents, which still sometimes appears in deep waves that knock her over and leave her lying in bed weeping for a day or two on end, Jax cleaning somewhere in the house while Savvie can’t even begin to know how to go check on him or see what he’s up to.

It doesn’t matter. He’ll just be cleaning, anyway. Unless she forgets to let him out of his room, and then he’ll just be sitting on his bed, or staring at nothing.

“We, uh-” Jax clears his throat, and it jerks Savvie out of her reverie. She shoots him an encouraging smile, and he answers it automatically before he looks away from her again, looking out at the sea where it laps against the shore. His arm shifts under her touch, and she watches with fascination as goosebumps rise. She rubs at them, watching with delight as he shivers. His voice trembles, but only a little. His dad probably can’t hear it. “We’re in Fl-Florida, right now. Spent last week at the beach, yeah. Picking-... seashells and shit like that.”

“You picked… seashells?” There’s a note of something Savvie can’t read in Jax’s dad’s voice - he sounds almost doubtful, although it’s honestly true. Not the Florida part, but they did spend the last week at the Marcoset family beachhouse in North Carolina. Close enough. In any case, Jax absolutely spent a couple hours yesterday picking up the seashells Savvie pointed out to him, putting them into a little bag to wash and take back home. She'd even found a little bit of rock washed smooth by saltwater in the shape of a heart.

“Uh, yeah, we-... my-... my friends are into it, I guess,” Jax says, and looks at her again. She nods, and smiles, and gives his hand a little squeeze of approval. He’s doing so well. “Honestly I m-mostly just… hang out.”

“Getting a tan, then, are you?”

“B-bit of one,” Jax responds. He’s pale as a ghost, he hardly ever goes outside. When they lay out on the beach, Savvie makes him wear SPF 100+ sunscreen that lathers on as thick as chalk paste. But… his dad doesn’t need to know that either.

“Well, that’s good, then. But, Jax… these... friends of yours that you're with…”

All the conversations happen on speakerphone, but Savvie stays quiet and neither of them mention to the soft-spoken Brit on the other end that she is there. Jax knows better.

His eyes close, briefly, and then he looks steadfast out at the ocean. “They’re nice, Dad. I t-told you.”

“Right, but-”

“How’s Mam?”

The subject change isn’t done well, but his dad goes with it, answering reluctantly and allowing himself to be led away from questioning Jax’s mysterious friends. The first few times he asked, Savvie reached over and hung up the phone, and then made sure Jax didn't call him for weeks on end.

Now, Jax makes sure the wrong kind of questions stop fast.

She isn’t forcing him to. It's not like they aren’t friends, like they aren’t on a beach trip, like he isn’t having a great time. And he can still call his dad, of course. It’s not like… a threat, or anything. Just that Jax gets so worked up, and it’s better for him to just not talk to his dad at all for a while if it’s going to cause him so much pain and worry.

That doesn’t happen anymore. Jax cuts it off before it can.

Content, Savvie curls her fingers until the tips brush against his palm, and feels his muscles twitch in response. Savvie tells herself he’s squeezing back. They’re friends now. She tells him everything, and he’s such a good listener. They go on weekly coffee dates, just as friends of course, where he sits in the sun by the window, sipping black coffee and watching Savvie as she tells him about… anything. Everything. She’s gone on three dates during this monthlong beach vacay and told him all the dirty details the morning after each one, while they wait for breakfast to be delivered from the bakery down the road.

One man she'd even brought back to the beach house, and Jax had been there, an unobtrusive presence cleaning up after breakfast that her date hadn't even asked about.

All her thoughts and feelings spill out of her with Jax, and it’s amazing. She’d been feeling so alone when her parents died, and Jax has made sure she knows she’s never, ever going to be alone again.

He’s been such a good friend to her. And she’s been such a good friend to him in return, giving him these trips out and days off his work cleaning her house, letting him speak to his dad as long as he doesn’t start telling him lies or anything like that. Letting him come out of the shell the training place had put him into, letting him be sober most of the time instead of drugged like her uncle keeps telling her he should be.

He’s such a good friend.

He’s so good.

They’re going to be best friends for their whole lives.

She gives his hand another little squeeze and smiles. He echoes the expression, a half-second delayed, his attention torn between her and the voice coming through the phone.

“... -coming home any time soon?” His dad asks, a little hesitantly. He’s asked that before, and Savvie’s smile briefly fades away, her brows furrowing in distaste.

He keeps asking.

Jax’s eyes flicker to her, searching her face for what he’s supposed to say - this isn’t written on the paper in front of him. She’d figured the old dolt would stop asking by now. She gives a slight shake of her head.

“N-not soon, Dad, no,” Jax answers, without looking away from Savvie. The sun warms the handsome lines of his face and sets those hazel eyes to sparkling. Honestly, you could get lost in eyes like that. If she ever meets a man she wants to marry, and lets Jax date once she has someone else to spend her time with, some girl is going to fall head over heels for him just because of those pretty eyes.

She ignores a twist of some faint ugly feeling, refusing to see it as jealousy. He and his girlfriend can both work for her, that would be fine. Isaac probably has some staff he could choose from, if he wants a girlfriend or a wife. Or maybe one of the other families would have someone. Savvie would have to approve, of course. He'd have to marry someone Savvie thought was good enough for him.

Maybe she should pick someone out for him, she'd know better than he does what he needs, anyway.

“We’d like to see you,” Alfie offers, voice soft, not judging or angry. “We all miss you. Your mam, too, and your sisters-”

“I-I know, Dad.” Jax swallows. There’s a pain in his face Savvie wants so badly to soothe, to hug right out of him. She squeezes his hand again, harder this time, and he jumps a little, as if shocked back into awareness. “Sorry. You… you know h-how it is in America.”

His dad hums, noncommittal. He probably doesn’t know anything about living here, really, and Savvie can’t blame him - she knows more about Russia than she does England, and one day Jax can go with her to visit Moscow and see the ballet…

The thought makes her smile, wistful and daydreaming already about how Jax will get to see so many new things, living with her. She’ll be as good a friend to him as he’s been to her and show him so, so much…

Jax’s shoulders relax just a little bit when he sees her expression back to pleased. He chances a look back at the phone, but of course there’s nothing there but the call screen, the number, the time ticking away in seconds and minutes until Savvie tells him to say his goodbyes for another week.

“I’ll let you know if I-I can come sometime,” Jax says. His breathing isn’t quite as steady, now. He isn’t looking at her.

She doesn’t like him as much when he isn’t looking at her.

“Jax, are you-... are you safe?” His father’s voice softens even further, hard to hear through the phone. “Is someone keeping you from having your own phone-... I don’t know, just. We miss you. You know if you ever need to talk-”

Savvie’s eyes narrow. She leans over and firmly presses her index finger down on the red button to end the call.

Jax exhales in a rush, looking over at her with wide eyes that look oddly hurt. She pulls the phone back to herself and turns it off in case the stupid old man calls back.

“Don’t look at me like that,” She snaps, her good mood dissipating now, dissolving as she thinks about the question.

Are you safe?

His hands are rough, calloused and with skin that cracks and peels from the harsh chemicals that he cleans her house with. There are circles under his pretty eyes because he doesn’t sleep very well. Savvie isn’t much of a cook and the two of them mostly live on delivery and whatever can be safely popped into an oven and ignored for a while. He has scars around his neck in a little circle, like an odd reddish necklace.

Sometimes she has him sleep in her room and she holds him, feeling the careful rise and fall of his breathing beside her. She has given him new clothes to wear when they go out and takes off his collar so no one will realize that he’s just staff. She lets him call his stupid family when Savvie should be all the family he needs, and his dad has the gall to not even be grateful for it.

Is he safe?

What kind of question is that?

“Miss Savvie-”

“Shut up.” Jax’s mouth snaps shut, and Savvie fights a prickle of guilt, trying to tell herself it isn’t what it seems like from the outside. “Honestly, how dare he? As if I would ever let any harm come to you. How dare he!”

She throws the phone. Jax flinches when it bounces off a wall and hits the ground with a crack, shoulders hunching in an attempt at self protection.

“He, he’s just-... w-worried, Miss Savvie-” Jax is leans away from her when she stands. She ignores it - he’s her friend, he’s not scared of her, he’s just surprised by the phone being thrown, is all. They were nasty to him at that place where he learned how to work, and he just… doesn’t like sudden movements.

That’s all.

He knows Savvie would never really hurt him, if he’s good.

Savvie stalks over to the fallen phone and picks it up, rolling her eyes when she sees the screen is cracked now. “Not again. Ugh, Jax, your dad drives me crazy! Maybe I should take you to see him just so he’ll stop asking all the damn time about it!”

“If-... that’s what y-you want, Miss Savvie,” Jax answers, cautiously. Savvie hates this version of him the most, where he gets quiet and barely speaks. Hates even more that it’s her own anger that made him that way.

No.

It’s his dad asking stupid questions, that’s what did it. Not Savvie’s perfectly logical response to them.

“He… he is just awful, isn’t he?” Savvie says, voice flat and angry, setting her broken phone down on the counter. She’ll have another one delivered today. “I don’t know how you can stand to even talk to him, Jax, he’s so… rude.”

Jax is silent, now.

That rankles even more, that he doesn’t agree with her and he doesn’t argue. He just watches her, and she can feel the weight of his eyes and usually it just means he’s listening to her but right now she’s sure it means he’s judging her.

“Right. Well, he’s clearly stressing you out.” She straightens her shoulders, taking in a deep breath. She makes her voice cheerful and relaxed, hoping her body will follow suit. “So. Here is what we’ll do. Until I think you’re okay to talk to him without getting so worked up, then we’ll take a break from the calls, huh? Doesn’t that sound like a good idea?”

He still doesn’t answer.

His answer is not required.

Honestly, she’d just get angrier if he did answer.

Is he safe. It circles around and around in her mind. She’s the best thing that ever happened to him. She was given a cowed, frightened, silent slave to clean her home and now he’s got his own room, his own things, he’s her very best friend. He goes everywhere she goes. She hardly even lets him out of her sight.

Is he safe?

“Get your swimsuit on,” She says, turning away and pointing towards the stairs to the second floor, watching as he hesitantly gets to his feet, watching her still. “We’re going swimming.”

“M-Miss Savvie-”

“Not one word about it, Jax. You can talk to that nasty creep again when I am damn good and ready.” She finally looks back at him. "You don't belong to him, Jax. You don't owe him anything."

“Yes, Miss Savvie.” Whatever he must see in her eyes keeps him from trying to talk it out any further. Good.

He heads for the stairs, and she falls in just behind, running her fingers over the cracks in her phone screen, her skin catching at the edge of one, just a little.

Is he safe?

He’s the safest he’s ever been.

As long as he doesn't care about anyone else more than he cares about her.

@whumpyourdamnpears @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @arlin-always-writing @wildfaewhump @whump-tr0pes @iaminamoodymoodtoday @orchidscript @sableflynn @pretty-face-breaker @raigash @whumptywhumpdump @boxboysandotherwhump @thefancydoughnut @mylifeisonthebookshelf @whumpinggrounds

#amow tropeathon2024 #day 5:Covert Identity #day 5 #covert identity #captivity #whump #creepy whumper #jax #savvie #the motherfucking gallaghers #captive best friend #they're besties!#really #savvie isn't making it weird at all

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whumpshaped · 1 year

Text

tw period talk, captivity, implied torture

This was ridiculous. This was something so entirely... normal. It was too normal. Logically, Whumpee knew that if this ordeal stretched for longer than three weeks, they'd have to deal with the period cramps in a stupid, dingy basement. But when the waves of nausea actually hit, they felt unprepared.

Whumper didn't give them painkillers, and Whumpee never asked. They told them at least, because they had to, because they had already gotten tired of lying in a pool of their own blood during the past weeks. But they didn't mention the pain, and Whumper didn't assume. Or maybe they didn't care.

The ache spread from their abdomen to their lower back, and no position was good enough to relieve both areas at once. Their head was pounding and the urge to throw up was getting more unbearable by the second. Every wave was worse than the last. They couldn't help gently rocking back and forth on the cold floor in a desperate attempt to ease the agony.

And then Whumper came downstairs, and Whumpee sat up, their whole body screaming at them to lie back down. They bit the inside of their cheek to keep from groaning, and to give themself another kind of pain to focus on. It was ridiculous. It was somehow worse than all the things Whumper had done so far, because this one was too insistent, and it couldn't be stopped by begging.

Still, Whumpee was determined to get through the added torment with grace.

@ashh-ed @whumpsday @whump-queen @dustbunnywhump @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland

#is this a weird thing to write out just bc im suffering #maybe #do i care #no #the more i think abt it #the more whump potential this has #hormones are wack. the pain is unbearable. and some meds sound mighty good #what an absolutely perfect thing for whumper to exploit that literally never gets mentioned #ok ive just never seen it lol #whump #whump drabble #period talk #captivity #implied torture

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whumpitlikeyoumeanit · 7 months

Text

The Need of Malfoy Men to Please Their Fathers Was Not Only Pathological, It Was Magical

((Content warning: Child abuse, mind control / conditioning, chid whumpee, domination ))

((Promptspiration: @week-of-whump 2023: October 13: Child Whump

the idea of this Au backstory is @thebestieyoureinlovewith's (here) With apologies; I think I made the parents a little darker than intended...))

Whumpee: Draco

Whumper: Lucius

Caretaker: --

Whump type: Mental / Domination

Fic type: Weird AU (Malfoy Blood Magic)

((words: ~1000))

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

Narcissa dragged the crying, uncooperative boy into the study by the arm, tugging firmly when he squirmed yet again and redoubled his sobbing, digging in his feet on the carpet.

"Lucius, if you're going to punish him," she gritted out between her teeth, "you deal with it."

Lucius glanced up mildly from his papers. "Just leave him in his room."

"If that worked, I would have done it," she snapped. "It has been three hours. Either let him go or keep him yourself." She pushed Draco up beside the desk. He squirmed in her hands to try to turn away, but she held him firmly.

The look he gave her was indulgent; he didn't think this was necessary, but if she was demanding it... He turned toward the end of the desk and crossed his legs. "Draco."

Draco faced him with his head hanging, refusing to look, clumsy hands clutching and yanking at the front of his shirt, still sobbing. There were no actual tears, of course; he'd been 'crying' so long that he'd used them all up, and left just the emotion and the noise.

"Draco," he repeated severely, and the boy squirmed his face away into his shoulder. "Why are you crying?"

He yanked hard on his clothes. "It hurts!" he yelled.

"No, it doesn't," he corrected patiently. The boy didn't really have the words; he wasn't quite four, so it was reasonable, he supposed. A little disappointing, though. "It feels bad. That isn't pain."

"No! It hurts!"

"Are you talking back to me?"

Draco flinched and sobbed harder.

Lucius tapped his foot lightly. Draco squirmed to resist and when he figured out he couldn't, that his mother was still blocking him from running away, he flung himself down on the floor at his father's feet with a petulant sob.

"Why does it feel bad?"

"Because you're mad at me!" he wailed. Above him, Narcissa pressed her eyes closed and took a deep, sharp breath, rubbing her temple.

"No, I am not," he corrected calmly. "If I were angry with you, it would be pain." Not intentionally, of course; it wasn't as though he would be, say, Crucioing him. But the magic that bound them together responded to emotion. "I am disappointed."

"I'm sorry!"

"Don't beg," he said coolly. "You are a Malfoy." His disapproval naturally heightened the unpleasant feeling playing through Draco's nerves, and the boy shrieked and kicked at the floor.

"Lucius," Narcissa said tightly. "This is unbearable. You should have either activated this curse years ago, or waited until he was old enough to be reasonable."

"It isn't a curse," he said mildly.

"It is a curse to me," she snapped. "This is not 'handling it'."

"You have to be patient. It is a process. Draco." The boy flinched at the sound of his name, and he didn't care for that. "Look at me."

Draco shook his head wildly. Lucius patiently put his foot out to stop the motion of his head, then when he got him still, laid his toe under his chin and turned his face up to make him look. "Good," he said, the mildest of praise. "That feels better, doesn't it?"

"No," he sniffled petulantly.

"Yes, it does," he corrected. He knew it did; Draco was hardly the first Malfoy boy to be bound by this spell. It had existed in their family so long it wasn't even really a spell, per se, but some of that 'old magic' that seemed built into the fabric of the world. He knew exactly how Draco felt. But Draco was such a stubborn and wildly emotional child who seemed to revel in his sulking, he wouldn't even admit to relief. "Do you know why it feels better?"

"No..."

"Because you did as I said. Do you understand?"

Draco sniffled without responding.

"Do something I don't like..." he prompted.

He squirmed and tried to take his head back, but Lucius kept his foot under his jaw so he couldn't. "It feels bad," Draco finally said in a small voice.

"Good. And to feel better..."

"Do as you say..."

"Correct." He took his foot back. "If you ever manage to please me, it will feel good." It wasn't easy to obtain, but the feel of your father's pride was intoxicating. They'd see if Draco ever managed it.

Draco sat down firmly on his butt and sniffled again.

Lucius tapped the floor with his foot again for his attention. "What do I want you to do?"

"I don't know," he sniffled petulantly.

"I told you."

"I don't know!"

Well, he was young. He supposed he couldn't hold too many things in his mind for that long. "I want you to thank me properly."

It was a classic test. Moreover, it was a highly effective trial, for them. Malfoy boys were so proud -- as they should be, of course -- that they had to really commit to do any such thing. It helped them understand their place, and effectively demonstrated the possible rewards for doing what their father wanted instead of what their instincts were telling them.

Draco yanked at his shirt again, looking up at him with big, wet eyes.

"Say 'thank you'."

"Thank you..." Draco echoed.

"'Sir'."

"Sir." He tapped his foot on the carpet, and Draco looked at it, then back up at him. "Thank you, sir?" he repeated tenatively.

He didn't need to smile at that; the way Draco gasped when the unpleasant feeling abruptly transmuted to a good, warming tingle that couldn't properly be described said it all. The sobbing and sniffling stopped as suddenly as if they were an act he forgot he was putting on.

He was actually surprised, himself, at how satisfying it felt to be on the receiving end of that submission. He wondered for the first time if perhaps the ancient magic went both ways.

"Finally," Narcissa sighed. "I am going to have a nap. Don't make him cry again if you can help it."

"I doubt you have to worry." He turned back to his desk, and glanced down at Draco. He was looking up at him now with a sort of wonder. "You can stay," he said magnanimously.

#whump week #child whumpee #draco whumpee #lucius whumper #magical whump #domination whump #conditioning whump #whump writing #weird au #malfoy blood magic au #whump #not a prompt whumpitlikeyoumeanit #whumpitlikeyoumeanit wrote it

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