Those Febuwhump posts, part 1.5
aka this goes between day 17 and day 27
Content: stitches, needles, field medicine no painkillers, blood, bondage, very slight reference to non-con, defiant whumpee, idk what kind of whumper this is lmao
~~~
"If this is some kind of trap I really am going to kill you."
Whumper kneels in front of Whumpee, deftly undoing the miles of blood-slick chain that keep them bound to their chair.
"Just do me a favor and keep being completely helpless for a little while, alright?"
Whumpee nods listlessly. The blood loss has really gotten to them. They're pale and trembling and their breathing is shallow and erratic.
Chains fall to the concrete floor with a loud clanging sound, leaving Whumpee unbound and shivering in their underwear.
Then Whumper stands and unbuckles their belt, and Whumpee's eyes go wide with fear. They jerk one leg away as if they're about to bolt, then seem to force themslves to stay put.
"What are you- oh!" Whumper shakes their head with a scoff, realizing what Whumpee must have thought they were going to do. "Don't flatter yourself, kid. I'm not that kind of evil."
They move in close, Whumpee's terrified eyes trained on every movement, and hold the belt up to their lips. "It's for you to bite."
Whumpee keeps staring at them, their mouth firmly shut.
"Unless you want to risk losing your tongue."
"Fine," Whumpee hisses. "But not cause you told me to." They open their mouth, allowing the belt to be placed between their teeth.
Whumper sighs. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."
They find their kit and retrieve the necessary items: antiseptic, gloves, needle, thread. The painkiller bottle is empty. Oh well.
"Alright. Let me see."
Whumper puts on gloves and examines the wound: a gash on Whumpee's side that is definitely bigger and deeper than they'd intended it to be when they made it. Maybe if Whumpee had just held still like they'd been told to...
Whumpee whimpers as Whumper applies the antiseptic, their whole body jerking away from the sting. Whumper bites back a string of frusterated threats. Words aren't going to be enough to keep them still in the face of physical pain.
Then they start with the stitches. The first pull of the thread has Whumpee gasping and writhing in the chair, their hands frantically going to push Whumper away. Whumper just sighs and puts the needle down in favor of crudely tying Whumpee's hands to the armrests of the chair, something they should've done from the start.
Maybe Whumper had noticed how red and raw Whumpee's wrists already looked and had wanted to give them a break. Is there something wrong with that?
The rest of the stitches go much smoother for Whumper without Whumpee trying to intervene. Whumpee clearly hates them though. Their head is tilted back on the backrest of the chair, tears streaming down their temples and helpless muffled whines of "stop stop stop" escaping through the belt.
Whumper ignores them, tying off the stitches with practiced ease. "Done," they say, discarding their bloodied gloves. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"
Whumpee spits out the belt. "Fuck you."
"You pronounced 'thank you' wrong."
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@unicornbeck @the-art-of-trepetnoi @altvaggie @whumped-by-glitter
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