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whumpitlikeyoumeanit · 7 months

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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))

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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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unforgivenn · 2 months

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"You see, this is what happens when you defy me. When you refuse to obey. You brought this upon yourself." Whumper sneered , prowling around the nearly unconscious whumpee, their gaze fixated on the blood staining the whumpee's face.

The whumper's voice dripped with satisfaction as they looked over the markings they'd left on the whumpee's battered form. Each bruise and cut a testament to their power and control.

"And now you'll learn your lesson, one gasping breath at a time. Remember this feeling, the desperation, the helplessness. It's all because of your own foolishness. You belong to me, every breath you take is mine to control. Don't you dare forget it."

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letthewhumpbegin · 2 months

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Shadowhunters, s2e19

#shadowhunters #jace wayland #dominic sherwood #shadowhunters spoilers #whump #whump gifs #hanged #face grabbing #ltwbshadowhunters

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sun-ni-day · 3 months

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shimmer in diamonds

of his eyes

boy is so beautiful

when he cries

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tildeathiwillwrite · 17 days

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The Lodge

(Trials of the Six, Chapter 1 Scene 1)

WoW Birthday Whump Event Day 14 (2nd Iteration): (Alt) Amnesia, Poison

Whumpril Day 30 ("Out of Time")

WoW Birthday Whump Prompts List

Whumpril Prompts List

TW: unconsciousness, amnesia, fighting, blood, stab wounds, death, cornered, poison, headache, dizziness

So… fun fact: @whumperofworlds and I share a birth month! Hers was on the 11th, and mine is today! So in addition to Day 14’s contribution, here’s a snippet using one of the alt prompts for one of my personal favorite whump tropes: amnesia, with the first character I ever gave it to, Hiel.

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“Get up, kid.” A man’s voice, rough and distant.

“Come on, wake up!” A woman’s voice, soft and frantic.

A hard slap sent sharp pain across his face. His eyes snapped open. He lay on the floor of a wooden lodge, where a roaring hearth lit the scene with warm light. A woman crouched over him, exhaling in relief when his eyes opened.

“By the skies, Hiel! Don’t scare us like that!” She rocked back onto her heels, brushing red-blonde hair away from her face.

Hiel pushed himself into a seated position, dizzy. “What… what happened?” Something large and furry pushed against him, and he turned his head to find a giant cat, as long as he was tall, nudging his arm with her nose. He hesitantly petted the fur behind her head.

“When I get my hands on that woman, she’ll wish she’d never been born!” Hiel flinched at the sharp tone from someone he hadn’t noticed, a man with dark hair and beard who leaned over a table on the opposite end of the one-room lodge, arms folded.

“Korfel,” the woman began, getting to her feet, “Elya is gone. No clue where, but we accomplish nothing dwelling on the past.”

The man’s name was Korfel. Why did Hiel not know that? Why didn’t he know his own name until the woman addressed him as Hiel? “What’s going on?”

The woman turned to him, surprise and confusion in her expression. “What do you mean?”

Hiel rubbed his aching temples. “I… I don’t know anything.”

“You mean you… don’t remember?” She cursed when he nodded hesitantly. “Now I want to murder a healer.”

Korfel scowled. “Just what we need,” he muttered angrily. “Can you still freeze things? Fight?”

“I freeze things?” The space behind Hiel’s eyes started throbbing. He pressed a hand to his eyes in a crude attempt to soothe the aching. “Why does my head hurt so much?”

“Probably a side effect of the "medicine"—" Jarsali traced air quotes around the word— "Elya gave you. You were out for several minutes before we noticed something was wrong.”

Hiel struggled to his feet, leaning heavily on a nearby chair. “Who are you people?” he demanded, panic rising.

The woman shifted away from him slightly, unnerved. “Well, I’m Jarsali. The angry one is Korfel. You’re Hiel, and the giant fanged simoldon is Nial, your pet… cat…thing?”

She was about to say something else before the door burst open. Two people ran inside. A pale man with blue hair was first, heavily favoring his leg. Right behind him was a dark-skinned woman who slammed the door behind her. They both carried packs that seemed to have been filled in a hurry.

Korfel shoved a chair under the knob. “I asked you to get supplies, not have the whole town up in arms!”

The woman held her hands up defensively. “They attacked us first!” She flinched at the look Korfel gave her and the blue-haired man. Muffled shouting came from outside the lodge, and Hiel realized that asking who these new people were right now was not the best move.

The door shook as someone from the other side kicked it. Korfel cursed under his breath and grabbed a curved sword from where it had rested on the table. The new woman tossed her bag on the floor and drew a thin obsidian knife, and Jarsali snatched up a quarterstaff from where it leaned against the wall.

The chair splintered with a crack, and the door flew open, sending it across the room and narrowly missing Hiel. Warriors in leather armor brandishing spears poured inside, engaging the defenders. Korfel charged those in front, knocking spears aside and slashing wildly at their owners.

Jarsali swung her staff at the leg of the closest warrior with such speed Hiel briefly lost track of it. With a sickening snap, the warrior collapsed to the floor, moaning and clutching his broken knee. Nial used his body as a springboard to get to the one behind him, claws out and snarling viciously.

Hiel backed away, feeling incredibly useless. Even if he remembered how to fight, there was no way he’d be able to do any good in this state. He noticed that the blue-haired man hung back as well, though he seemed like he’d be more formidable even with his injured leg.

A warrior somehow got past the combined strength of Jarsali, Korfel, and Nial. He charged straight at Hiel, who stumbled away so the chair he was leaning on was between him and the attacker. The warrior kicked aside the chair with ease and charged.

Before he could get any closer, the woman with the knife darted inside his reach and thrust it into a seam in his armor. He stumbled back, clutching at the wound. The woman was relentless, pressing him back and baiting him. The warrior overextended his spear, and the woman slipped within his reach, driving her knife through his throat. He collapsed, blood bubbling from the fatal wound.

“You’re welcome,” the woman said as she passed him, wiping her knife off with her skirt and dashing towards the wall. She ran her fingers across the wooden panels, searching for something. Hiel picked up a leg from the broken chair and watched her curiously, keeping a wary eye on the battle.

The woman tapped along the seams between panels, eyes narrowed. Another warrior got past the others and ran straight for the woman, whose back was to him. He would have stabbed her through the heart with his spear, but he instead inexplicably flew backward, right into the spear of one of his allies.

Korfel quickly finished them both off with a well-placed slash. “We're out of time, Raiann!” he shouted as he engaged another.

“Almost!” Raiann dug her knife in between two panels and pried one away, revealing sunlight and a snow-covered landscape. A river flowed nearby, with a boat moored to a small dock. The boat’s sail was tied down, it wasn't going anywhere quickly. A cold wind gusted through the opening as Raiann pulled off another board and sheathed her blade. “We’ve got to go!”

The blue-haired man limped past Raiann and stumbled over the threshold of the impromptu back door. She caught his arm and helped him down, taking on some of his weight and half-dragging him towards the boat. Hiel glanced at the warriors trying to force their way to the front, unable to get past Jarsali or Korfel.

“They’re escaping out the back!” One of them shouted, seeing the opening.

Korfel cursed and retreated. The tip of his blade dropped to the ground, and he reached out his hand. The ground below their feet rumbled as his expression calmed, but his eyes burned with anger.

Nial sprang back towards Hiel and stood before him protectively. Hiel hesitated for only a second before staggering towards the opening in the wall. With a light “mrrp?” noise, Nial leaped through onto the snow after him. Hiel shivered, wrapping his arms around himself as the giant cat accompanied his stumbling steps to the boat that bobbed in the river.

He clambered on the boat and leaned heavily on the railing, the dizziness returning in full force. Nial moved to his side and settled down next to him. Jarsali, staff in hand, leaped onto the deck and dropped it with a clatter onto the deck. She shoved a bundle of heavy cloth at Hiel as she faced the stern. “As soon as Korfel gives the signal, be ready to move this rig!”

Hiel unfolded the heavy cloth to find it was a thick coat. He pulled it on gratefully and opened his mouth to thank Jarsali. But before the words could form, the lodge shuddered violently.

The small boat rocked as the water began to swirl around. Hiel flinched and grasped at the side of the boat for dear life as Korfel appeared through the opening, running at a full sprint to the boat.

He threw himself over the railing and shouted something unintelligible as the lodge shook like an earthquake was assaulting it. The sounds of rushing water filled Hiel’s ears, and the boat suddenly accelerated, moving downstream at an impossible speed. The last glimpse Hiel had of the lodge before it was out of sight was the walls collapsing in on itself, warriors fleeing the falling building.

@fourwingedsnake @whumpril @pigeonwhumps

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capturedpain · 2 months

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Shadowhunters 2x03

"Please don't leave me."

#shadowhunters #jace wayland #alec lightwood #comfort #sick #death?#grief #whump #male whump #dominic sherwood #matthew daddario #fever

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staydandy · 8 months

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Prison Break (2005) - Whump List

List by StayDandy Synopsis : Michael Scofield is a desperate man in a desperate situation. His brother, Lincoln Burrows, was convicted of a crime he didn't commit and put on death row. Michael holds up a bank to get himself incarcerated alongside his brother in Fox River State Penitentiary, then sets in motion a series of elaborate plans to break Lincoln out and prove his innocence. Once out of jail, their perils aren't over — the brothers must flee to escape recapture and battle an intricate political conspiracy that endangers everyone's life. (Wiki)

Whumpee : Michael Scofield played by Wentworth Miller (right) • Lincoln 'Linc' Burrows played by Dominic Purcell (left)

Country : 🇺🇸 America Genres : Action, Crime, Thriller

Notes : This is a Partial List - I didn't list every bit of whump, just what caught my attention the most • The show ended with 4 seasons in 2009, but was revived about 8 years later in 2017 for a mini 5th season of 9 episodes. Supposedly a 6th season was also in development, but that never came to fruition. • The episode list is formatted season-episode : 00-00 • TW : Setting is prison, filled with criminals who are convicted of and talk about all kinds of nasty crimes, including child abuse & SA

Episodes on List : 19 Total Episodes : 90 Total Seasons : 5

*Spoilers below*

01-03 : Michael Scofield’s toe is cut off

01-04 : Bangs his own head against steal bars until he's bleeding

01-13 : Lincoln Burrows takes a pill that gives him food poisoning

01-15 : Michael is severely burned, his cellmate has to rip off melted-on clothes

01-17 : Put in solitary ... Punches a brick wall till his hand bleeds ... unresponsive

02-12 : Recalling childhood trauma ... Linc & Michael in a car crash

03-09 : Michael is put in a hot-box (plastic lined box large enough for 1 man, in the middle of a hot courtyard)

04-02 : Starts to suffer migraines & nosebleeds

04-03 : Stuck in a room that is loosing oxygen because of a fire security system ... migraines

04-05 : Nosebleeds

04-09 : Collapses, seizure

04-10 : Collapses, treated at a hospital ... (he's an awful character, but I do like the speech/poem TBag gives @ 22:30)

04-11 : Migraines

04-13 : Collapses

04-14 : Tries to run away, heavy nosebleed, collapses, captured

04-15 : Surgery

05-02 : Burns his head to fake fever, beat up

05-06 : In a fight, stabbed with a knifed dipped in antifreeze, poisoned ... wanders in the desert, sick, unsteady

05-07 : Severely sick

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saffitaffi · 20 days

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I’ll never submit to the likes of you

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whumpitlikeyoumeanit · 7 months

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Teaching Moment

((Content warning: Beating, Control / Forced violence))

((Promptspiration: @week-of-whump 2023: October 11: Reluctant Whumper / "Hit them harder." ))

Whumpee: Draco // Lucius

Whumper: Lucius // Voldemort

Caretaker: --

Whump type: Beating / Domination / Psychological

Fic type: "Prisoners in Malfoy Manor" alternate history

((words: ~1600))

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"It seems the boy doesn't learn. Lucius?"

There was a sensation of laughter around the table of Death Eaters, although nothing quite audible, more of a smirk hanging in the air. Silently, he pushed himself to his feet. He saw Draco clench his jaw, but he didn't try to argue his way out of it. Maybe he actually was learning.

He quietly held out his hand for Narcissa's wand. She was resistant; she didn't want to contribute to Draco's torture. He couldn't blame her, but they both knew he had no choice. If he didn't, someone else would do something much worse. She did finally pull her wand from her sleeve after a delay that, hopefully, the others around the table didn't notice.

Their master interrupted. "That won't be necessary, Lucius."

He stopped with his hand just on her wand and looked up. "My lord...?"

"You won't need that." He tilted his head slightly toward the wand. "Punish him."

Lucius went still. Punish him. He meant 'hit him'.

"You're familiar, aren't you?" His voice was coldly amused. Privately amused; the Dark Lord and Narcissa were the only ones in the room who knew exactly how familiar he was with the concept. "Or do you need a reminder? Mulciber?" He glanced down the table toward their smirking Imperius specialist.

...It would be easier to be Imperiused. He wouldn't have to know what he was doing. Maybe he should let them...

But Mulciber had been a sadist with the Imperius even before he went to Azkaban for fifteen years; his creative tortures were what he was known for during the first war. Now, after giving Dementors fifteen years of his life, he was broken in some way, little more now than a vehicle for sadism. There was no telling what he might make him do if he had him under his control.

"No," he said, and stepped around the table.

Draco was controlling his reactions, but had still developed a little frown between his brows. He was an admittedly-spoiled boy from a good Pureblood family, sheltered and insulated from the dirty realities of a rougher life. He had seen and experienced terrible, bloody, even unforgivable curses... but physical violence? Even when he saw it, it was something that belonged to the Muggles and the brutes, not their kind. It was so far outside his reality he couldn't even comprehend. He didn't even really understand to be afraid.

Lucius wished that didn't have to change.

He stepped in front of Draco. Draco took a subtle breath and lifted his chin, trying to say he was ready. He didn't realise this would be easier for him if he didn't try to be strong.

He backhanded Draco across the face without giving him any more time to prepare.

Draco gasped sharply and held his face, turned away, while the others in the room cheered or jeered. Someone hooted, but Bellatrix called out "Weak!"

In a second, Draco recovered his wits and stood straight again; he sought his eyes again, but this time he seemed uncertain, seeking reassurance he only wished he could provide. There was a smear of blood and an uneven scratch on Draco's cheekbone; it seemed his ring, the same signet ring Draco wore, had caught into his cheek and cut him. It was unintentional, but maybe that blood would satisfy them...

"Well?" The Dark Lord behind him sounded almost bored.

Of course. Because he didn't mean 'hit him'. He meant 'hit him until I tell you to stop'.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, turning his ring around to face his palm in the only act of mercy he could provide.

It had to be real; there were enough of them there that would know if it were not. So he didn't hold back, much, when he punched Draco in the stomach. He caught him by the shoulder when he doubled over, wheezing, forced him back up and held him in place so he could punch him in the face. Now the Death Eaters were entertained.

It wasn't a fair contest. Even if Draco were fighting back -- even if Draco knew how to fight back -- he was smaller, weaker, softer. He might not be a child anymore, but he wasn't a man, either; he was just a boy taking his first exploratory steps into a life of violence he thought he wanted, without a real appreciation of what it meant. Stress had made him sickly, and, if it could be said Azkaban had done the same to his father, well, they hadn't been starting from the same place.

Draco twisted out of his hand, backing away a step, holding his stomach and ducking his head, trying to catch his breath. He kept one arm raised defensively, like he could hide behind it. Apparently they had already found the limit of his resolve.

"I get it," Draco panted. "I won't do it again." Behind them, one of the Lestranges laughed something about his endurance, and Draco flushed, but didn't look.

"What do you think, Lucius?" the Dark Lord asked languidly. "Has he learned his lesson?"

He watched Draco expressionlessly; Draco was looking at him furtively, like he didn't want to be seen watching. "I believe so, my lord," he said evenly.

"Do you?" He knew by the amused tone that that was the wrong answer. "I doubt it."

He didn't have to be directed to carry on. And Draco was smart enough to understand it. He stepped up to grab him, and Draco automatically tried to step back out of his reach, but he wasn't quick enough. He grabbed his arm and yanked him back into his fist. He tried to avoid his face, but when Draco doubled over to protect his ribs he didn't have much choice.

Their audience laughed and cheered. "Maybe the old Lucius is still in there," Rabastan commented. "Underneath all that domestication."

Draco managed to pull away from him, sporting a split lip and a livid red mark over the side of his face that would bruise spectacularly. "Stop!" he snapped, backing away, because his instinct when he couldn't handle something was to try to give orders. That was a bad instinct here.

His walking stick was flicked to him; he caught it by instinct, and then he stared at it in his hand. And so it was -- the transformation was complete. If he followed through with this silent command, the Dark Lord had fully turned him into his father.

Draco shook his head, pulling away. "Don't..." he begged quietly.

He would give anything to have a choice.

There was the slightest tremble in his hand holding the stick, until he willed it away. He had to focus not on that he couldn't be doing this, but that he must.

He brought the cane down across his ribs. Draco didn't have the experience or the instincts to properly protect himself; he kept leaving himself open, exposing vulnerable points that must occasionally be exploited. Finally, Draco fell to his knees and half sprawled on the floor under a final blow that clipped him in the side of the head.

Stay down, he pleaded mentally. Stay down and let this be over.

But he didn't. Draco slowly pushed himself up on his arms, breath shaking and keeping his face down, but still trying. He was too stubborn.

Or too dutiful... He thought that getting up again was what was expected of him. A strangling hand clenched around Lucius' heart.

The only thing he could think to do to keep him down, he stepped firmly on his hand, and at Draco's pained hiss, he brought the stick down across his side and back again. There was a wet crunch he felt more than heard; it had happened too quickly, he didn't know if it was his hand or his arm, but something had broken.

With a cry, Draco bowed tightly over his hand toward the floor, shielding his head, no longer trying.

The stick came down on the exposed back of his neck, for good measure.

"That will do, Lucius," the Dark Lord interrupted, tone light and amused. "We can't have you killing the boy." Bellatrix tittered amongst the other amused reactions; that sound in particular grated.

"As you wish, my lord." His voice sounded empty to his own ears. He stepped back. Draco didn't move. He was huddled on the floor, hiding his head, trying to be a small target -- he was learning after all. A few drops of blood were appearing on the floor in front of him.

There was no consideration of helping him, even to stand. Any hint of kindness toward his son would be weakness for them to exploit. Any, any emotion would give them a way in. He couldn't give them that. He couldn't show anything. All of the hatred, the rage, the dark memories, the disgust and shame and fear and looming despair that turned his blood to ice, he methodically isolated and packed away into a small corner of his mind where even the Dark Lord would have to try to find it, where he could hold it at bay and focus. Where they could not make his hands shake or make him sick or make him hit something far more deserving.

If they could be convinced that he did not care, they would have no reason to do it again.

Calling on thirty years of Occlumency and forty years of self-restraint, he calmly wiped blood from the serpent-handle of the cane and his ring which had worked its way back around at some point, and turned away from Draco.

His hands ached.

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unforgivenn · 2 months

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WORD COUNT :424

CW: Failed escape attempt, pet whump?, beating, captivity, abuse, power dynamics, creepy and intimidating whumper

In the dimly lit basement of an old, dilapidated house, a figure huddled in the corner, trembling with fear. Whumpee trembled. They should've never tried running away. Everything was going so good and they-.. they just had to ruin it.. Please oh god I cant take this.. Whumpee curled up in a ball, their heart pounding with dread, they knew there punishment would be sever.

The sound of footsteps echoed through the basement, signaling Whumper's approach. Whumpee's breath caught in their throat as the door swung open, revealing the towering figure of their tormentor. Whumper's eyes glinted with malice as he advanced towards whumpee, a sadistic smile curling his lips.

"You thought you could escape from me, didn't you, boy?" Whumper's voice was low and menacing, sending shivers down Whumpee's spine.

"I-I'm sorry," Whumpee stammered, their voice barely a whisper. "I didn't mean to disobey you."

"Sorry isn't good enough," Whumper growled, grabbing whumpee by the collar and hauling them to their feet. "You need to learn your place, and I'm going to make sure you never forget it."

Without warning, Whumper lashed out, his fist connecting with Whumpee's jaw with a sickening thud. They cried out in pain, feeling the metallic tang of blood fill their mouth as their head spun from the impact.

Blows rained down upon whumpee, each one more punishing than the last. They cried out in agony, their body convulsing with pain as Whumper's rage consumed them. Bruises bloomed on whumpee's skin like dark flowers, and tears streamed down their face, mingling with the blood that trickled from their wounds.

Again and again, Whumper struck out with brutal precision, each blow landing with the force of a sledgehammer. Whumpee cried out in pain, their body wracked with agony as they tried in vain to shield themselves from the onslaught.

The whumpee's cries of agony echoed off the cold stone walls, each hit leaving behind a searing trail of pain. With each strike, they felt their spirit breaking, the weight of their disobedience bearing down upon them like a crushing weight.

Eventually, the onslaught ceased, and Whumpee was left lying on the cold concrete floor, bruised and bloodied, their breath coming in ragged gasps. Through tear-blurred eyes, they saw Whumper looming over them, a cruel smile playing on his lips.

"Remember this moment, boy," Whumper sneered. "Remember who owns you, and never dare to defy me again."

With that ominous warning, Whumper turned and left Whumpee alone in the darkness, his words ringing in the air like a death knell.