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epiclamer · 16 days

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Hero shot up, the first thing they knew was that they couldn’t breathe, the second was that it was because they were vomiting. Or, at least, their body was trying to.

They keeled over the side of their bed, clutching their spasming abdomen with one hand while the other held desperately onto the mattress. Their blanket swamped their legs, their shirt was glued to their back with sweat, and their hair was plastered to their burning forehead.

Again, they couldn’t breathe, every muscle in their body squeezed relentlessly as it tried to rid itself of the contents of their stomach. They gagged, shook, and breathed, then the cycle repeated itself. Over and over again, Hero hadn’t even realized it, but they were begging.

Please, please, please, please—

Begging someone or something to save them, to stop this. They convulsed again, eyes rolling back, mouth open, but nothing came of it.

Eventually—after another thirty seconds or so—it stopped. Hero wheezed, their whole body was sickly cold and yet somehow also sweaty, their head was reeling and they couldn’t hold themselves up anymore, they just collapsed.

They had expected to hit the ground head first with a thud, their grip on the mattress was loose and they knew what was in store for them, instead, two arms swooped them up before they could collide, pulling them in close to the stranger’s chest. Hero’s first instinct was to pull away, fight, claw themselves out, but then they recognized this feeling, those arms, and that chest.

“Villain?”

The light on their nightstand flicked to life with a dim yellow glow and with a good twist of their neck Hero could see their nemesis as clear as day.

“Hey, Hero.”

Unwillingly, the hero’s body relaxed, practically melting into the criminal’s arms as they were hauled back up to their bed. Once they could see the villain again, Hero noted the sad smile they were sporting. They looked tired, definitely not as tired as the hero did, but there were bags under their eyes nonetheless.

What time was it anyways? Hero turned to check their alarm clock, it was four in the morning. What the hell was Villain doing in their house?

“Do you know what… that was?”

Hero startled out of their thoughts, eyes meeting the villain’s once more. They nodded, slowly but surely and with some weird ever-growing shame gnawing at their gut. “Nightmare.”

The villain let out a small chuckle, “That is what your nightmares look like?” Their expression however was one of fear.

They nodded, their nightmares had just been getting worse and worse lately there was no use trying to hide it. For whatever reason Hero hoped that being honest would get them some comfort from their lifelong enemy.

A silly thought at best and utterly ridiculous at worst.

Villain pulled the blanket up to Hero’s shoulders, tucking them in carefully. “Are they all like that? Or are some just worse than others?”

“It depends, yeah. This one was one of the more… difficult ones.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” It came out faster than the Hero had expected, almost like the villain had been keeping it on the tip of their tongue this whole time.

The villain’s eyes met the hero’s once more, they locked and finally Hero could see that their nemesis was actually worried. Not scared, or sad, or tired, it was worry. Hero had to fight to keep down whatever emotion bubbled up at the thought of someone actually caring enough to worry about them.

“It’s just violence. Senseless killing, or running from being killed, or chasing after someone to kill.” Their cheeks burnt up in shame, they were a hero, they weren’t supposed to have dreams like these.

They must’ve been deranged, it was the only plausible answer. Heroes were peace-keepers, not killers, clearly, their subconscious hadn’t gotten the memo.

“I’m sorry.”

Hero’s thoughts skidded to a halt. What.

“I’m sorry.” The villain repeated, placing both of their hands against the blanket as if they could read the hero’s mind. “That sounds terrible. I-I can’t imagine what it feels like…” They trailed off, somewhat lost in thought.

Hero’s stomach clenched again, this time out of pure nerves. The worst part of this was that the villain seemed so genuine; Hero was smart enough to know they didn’t deserve that.

“You should really be apologizing for breaking into my house—” They chuckled and even though it was a last-ditch attempt to lighten to mood it seemed to have worked.

Villain scrunched their nose in response, shooting a glance over their shoulder at the pile of notes they had been filing through just a moment ago. Suddenly coming back to the current situation and the realization of what they were doing—caressing their nemesis in bed.

They stepped back and Hero shot up, reaching for the villain before they could stop and think. Tears welled up in their eyes, their breath quickened, the horrible thought of being alone again to manage their own dreams struck them like a blow to the head.

“Wait, wait, wait, please— please stay, Villain please don’t leave me—” They were blubbering, they could feel it, but it didn’t matter; they were desperate. “Please, just stay for one night, please…”

Villain only thought about it for a second, they didn’t need any more time to decide to crawl under the duvet.

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untetheredsymphony · 2 months

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okay but when whumpee is self destructive and it gets really bad and caretaker becomes distressed and they panic call for an ambulance 👌👌👌

#comet’s prompts #comet’s tales #tw emotional whump #tw self destruction #tw self destructive behavior #whump trope #whump #whumpblr #whump tropes #whump writing #whump prompt #This is not fun irl but in fiction? On my knees. I wish someone cared for me that much.#whumpee #caretaker #like imagine caretaker’s hyperventilating

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theinsomniacindian · 4 months

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New dynamic idea: Touch-starved living weapon x haphephobic human experiment

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whump-softie · 28 days

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Whumpee that has to take medication.

Whumper forcing the pills down their throat and then closing their mouth and rubbing their jaw to get them to swallow … like you would an animal.

Whumpee doesn’t like how the meds make them feel, but it makes Whumper happy, and that is ultimately the goal.

Do they actually have to take these meds? Or are they just drugs Whumper makes them take to make them sluggish, tired, agreeable?

Whumpee in withdrawals, gagging and sweating, shivering even while burning up. Whumper can either leave them be, they’ll be fine… or they can nurse them back to health…

Whumper is actively allowing Whumpee to hide the pills under their tongue, spitting them out later in secret. Whatever they want to do is fine, but Whumper can’t wait to see the side-affects.

#tw pills #tw gagging #tw addiction #whump #teehee #I myself have trouble swallowing pills and I can only imagine… poor whumpee 😢#whump ideas #whump prompts #whumpee #Whumper

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whumpurr · 6 months

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Whumpee's been trained to keep their environment so, so tidy, for fear of punishment.

Oh how hard it is for them when they get taken in by an incredibly messy whumper.

Even better if whumper hurts whumpee's hands and it's it's extra difficult for them to effectively clean.

#whump #pet whump #whump blog #whumpee #whumpblr #whump community #Whump imagines #Whump prompts #Whump prompt

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echo-goes-mmm · 1 year

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So we all the love the whumpee-thinks-caretaker-is-their-new-master trope but what if it's true

Caretaker who did buy whumpee, and who does wholeheartedly believes and acts like whumpee belongs to them

But damn it they take great care of their possessions. After all, cats and dogs get spoiled with treats and comfy beds and vet visits when they're sick and cuddles and a form of love

Why should a slave be any different? Especially because caretaker bought whumpee for companionship

Plus whumpee can tidy up, cook for themselves, hold a conversation, and even play games like cards or board games, and can go everywhere caretaker can

That's infinitely better than a cat or dog.

It's just such a shame their old owner was so terrible. Whumpee is so timid now, and nearly skin and bone. But that's nothing a good owner can't fix, right? The poor thing needs some proper structure and attention that's all. It's a good thing whumpee is human. It would be a lot harder to rehabilitate a rescue who can't comprehend speech.

And whumpee doesn't want to leave. Fetching files from a desk and playing checkers and occasionally cleaning the kitchen while master chatters about work is far better than being locked in a cold basement and getting beaten every day

Their new master doesn't lay a hand on them, their version of punishment is no music while doing chores, or no dessert

After all, you wouldn't hit your dog. Caretaker's new pet deserves at least that

#carewhumper #i suppose but caretaker isnt super whumpy here #whump #this is super indulgent #pet whump #i guess but not really #slavery whump #yeah that fits better #its the good master trope #yeah yeah we all know slavery is bad #this is fiction get off your high horse #but like wouldn't this be nice for whumpee??#its the benefits of being owned (protection. doesn't have to worry about bills/homelessness. possessiveness as care against other whumpers)#plus being told whats right and wrong you dont have to think much as long as caretaker is Clear #without much of the drawbacks of being a whumpee (torture. starvation. lack of social interaction)#i imagine this world is like your typical fantasy/medieval world #caretaker is probably wealthy or a lord with an estate and servants #caretaker got lonely maybe. wanted someone in their life more personally attached than hired help #like personal assistant meets pet whump meets default friend #i do think whumpee and caretaker would become close friends #Meet caretaker: a minor lord who recently inherited the title!#Meet whumpee: caretaker's new slave whos just happy to be fed and have his own bed #journey with them as they navigate the condescension and annoyances of the royal courts!#caretaker needs a friend they can trust while whumpee discovers that they deserve affectionate actually #hurt/comfort shenanigans ensue #head chef edna just wants everyone fed #whumpee have a cookie challenge #get that whumpee a meal #my writing

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pyrepostings · 2 months

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whumper who is " kinder " to their whumpee than to their equals. Whumper who recognizes that toys need maintenance and pets need enrichment, but the humans require no respite between their duties.

#pyreprompts #whump prompt #whump scenario #whumpee #whump prompts #whumper #whump #whump writing #whump ideas #Imagining this as a merciless boss with high standards who comes home and coos at how cute whumpee is #And asks if they want their favorite food before 'playtime'#Whumper with multiple whumpees basically

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whumppromptoftheday · 2 months

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caretaker complaining about whumpee to a friend and the friend abducts them to "fix" whumpee for caretaker

#whumppromptoftheday #whump #whump prompt #whumpee #whump idea #caretaker #whumper #imagine the guilt after whumper gives them back #ugh. good shit right there

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letitbehurt · 8 months

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Thinking about nicknames or pet names for Whumpee being absolutely ruined by Whumper.

Where Whumpee was once fond of Caretaker using their shortened name, now they can’t stand to hear it. Now they’re afraid of endearing terms like dear, or love, or sweetheart, because it was what Whumper called them.

#and this creates quite the emotional wreck for Caretaker as well #imagine THAT conversation #imagine Caretaker’s grief and anger over something so small being taken away from Whumpee #even when stupid nicknames are low on Whumpee’s list of Whumper’s offenses #whump

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nat-1-whump · 2 months

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We need to give winged whumpees more love. Consider:

As hurt, we've got...

Sick Whumpee struggles to sleep because their wings make lying down tricky. This makes them extra miserable when they're already sick, tired, and desperately need to sleep but just can't get comfortable.

When Whumpee gets badly injured on the field, it takes the whole team to pin them down so they don't thrash around and make it worse while Caretaker tries to treat them. They've got people holding their legs, arms, and wings, and as much as Whumpee screams and writhes in pain, they don't let go. While they try to pull their wing from their teammate's grip, Whumpee accidentally dislocates it.

Whumper restrains Whumpee and rips their feathers out, one by one... Or all at once, if they are so inclined.

Whumpee gets caught in some kind of trap that covers their wings in gunk, effectively pinning them to the ground as they desperately try to escape from Whumper.

Sick with a horrible fever, Whumpee feels freezing cold no matter how much they're actually burning up. They keep trying to wrap their wings around themself for warmth, but Caretaker keeps stopping them by spreads their wings out. Whumpee groans as they try to pull their wings back. Caretaker whispers an apology, but they still can't let Whumpee risk making their fever worse.

Whumpee gets knocked out in midair, plummeting to the ground completely helpless. Or slamming into every tree branch, rooftop, or clothes line on the way down.

And as comfort, there's...

Caretaker gives Whumpee a warm bath and massages the dried blood out of their feathers. By the time they're done, Whumpee is fast asleep.

Caretaker repositions the pillows and blankets on Whumpee's bed into a sort of nest, trying to help Whumpee get as comfortable as they can. Afterwards, they bundle Whumpee in a blanket, wrapping Whumpee in their own wings first to make the blanket fit around them better and provide some extra warmth.

After Whumpee gets badly injured, Caretaker bandages up their wings, trying to soothe them whenever they cry out from the pain. Unable to fly, Whumpee gets increasingly impatient with themself over the following days. Caretaker notices their frustration and gently encourages them to take it easy and let their wings rest.

Whumpee uses their wings as a blanket for both themself and Caretaker as they snuggle together on the couch.

When Whumpee can barely walk due to their injuries, the weight of their wings only adds to the struggle. Though they encourage Whumpee to stay in bed and rest as much as possible, Caretaker is happy to wrap their arm around Whumpee's waist and help them around the house. Whumpee rests a wing on Caretaker's shoulders as they make their way to the kitchen for some warm food.

Caretaker asks Whumpee to hold still so they can draw their wings in their sketchbook. They say it's so Whumpee can see what their wings look like without trying to bend backwards in a mirror, but there's a silent understanding between the two that it's because they're both craving some time together. Whumpee starts to feel stiff from holding their wings out, but they can't help but smile a bit at the way Caretaker leans closer to watch the light move across their feathers. Though Whumpee had never seen their wings as anything particularly beautiful, they set off a sort of sparkle in Caretaker's eyes.

And maybe some wing-related dialogue, such as...

Whumper grinned, picking up a pair of wire cutters. The tool glinted in the flickering torch light. "Well, you've gone and flown a little too close to the sun, didn't you, Whumpee? Not to worry, though. You'll never fly again, when I'm through with you."

"Oh, why won't you sing for me, my beautiful songbird?" Whumper drawled as they ran a finger along Whumpee's throat. Whumpee only glared back. If it weren't for the muzzle, they would have spat on Whumper's shoes. They squirmed in their restraints, leather straps binding their wings close to their back.

"Oh, you poor thing... What happened to your wings? C'mere, let me look at them..." Caretaker pulled Whumpee into an embrace, grabbing their wings with gentle hands. Their breath hitched as they noticed that, under the tattered feathers, Whumpee's injuries were even worse than they thought.

Caretaker slapped sick Whumpee's cheek, trying to wake them up. "Hey, Whumpee, um. Listen, y-you're fever's getting worse and I just need to know... Whatever you are, do you go to a doctor or a vet?" They weren't exactly prepared for this winged stranger to show up on their doorstep half-dead. While they might have normally found their dilemma a bit comedic, right now it was hard to laugh. Whumpee desperately needed medical help, but they had no idea where to take them.

"Ngh-stop! Let go of my wings, or so help me I'll---" Whumpee's protests turned into a scream as Caretaker poured antiseptic onto a cloth and pressed it against their gaping wound. Whumpee passed out from the pain, falling limp with tears still streaming down their face. As their vision faded, they heard Caretaker's whispered apologies.

"Six months for the feathers to grow back?!" Whumpee's lower lip started to quiver. "B-but... I can't fly..." They took a wing in their hands, running their fingers along the bare, bloody skin where their feathers had been ripped out. Caretaker reached out to put a hand on Whumpee's shoulder, but Whumpee flinched back. A tear rolled down their cheek, stinging them as it landed right on an open cut on their wing. "Nonononono, th-there's gotta be something you can do! Anything! Please... I want my feathers back."

Just... Wings. Yeah.

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avvail-whumps · 2 months

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Royal Bought: Sampling #5

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content warnings: vampire whump, defiant whumpee, human auction house, captivity, manhandling, minor blood

The vampire’s grasp was unrelenting, but that was to be expected when Luke had done something as stupid as spit in his face.

He could still taste the sticky glob of blood between his teeth, pooling from his split lip, a numbing, throbbing sensation having replaced the aching pain by now. The tip of his boots clipped against the edge of the stairs as he was unceromiously hoisted up, his eyes watering.

Luke heard the clang of the door being pushed open, revealing a more modern interior as he was led — or better yet, dragged — down the corridor. It was buzzing with workers passing by, mostly vampires, but even then, Luke caught a glimpse of some of the blank faced humans working obediently.

It sent a shiver down his spine.

No one really paid attention to them, all except the occasional glance, no doubt due to Luke’s bloodied face and the way he was being manhandled down the corridor. Was it uncommon for humans to fight back? He didn’t think it was that, so much. They were merely glancing at him as if he was this wild, untamed dog with no manners.

The vampire eventually came to a stop in front of a door, pushing Luke inside the room with a hard shove. He staggered, the grip on his hair having been released, a cry of relief coming from his sore scalp. The door was shut behind him, and even though Luke wanted to wrench his head around and send a deadly glare towards the creature, he was more taken aback by one sat on a comfortable looking couch in front of him.

This vampire looked older, his lips pulled into a calming smile.

The room was strange to Luke. He had grown up in a camp in the middle of the wilderness, making use of anything they could around them to live. There were things in here that he had never seen before - more namely, the light source of the room. There were no windows here, and yet, the place was not shrouded in darkness.

Luke’s eyes wandered around in confusion.

“Welcome,” the older vampire hummed kindly, gesturing to the space in front of him. “Please, take a seat.”

There was a table with rectangular sheets of paper and what seemed to be some sort of small kit of tools. Luke’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, throwing a subtle glance over his shoulder. The previous creature had closed the door behind him, remaining in the room. He was looking at Luke with disdain etched into those hardened features.

“There’s no need to be afraid,” the older vampire lulled, drawing Luke’s attention back to him like a magnet. He swallowed uneasily at the pleasant aura the vampire was exuding. His voice was soothing and calm. Why? Wasn’t he here to be sold off? “I know this all might be a little new and confusing for you. Let me introduce myself: my name is Silvan. And you must be Luke.”

Luke shifted uncomfortably at the knowledge of his name, uttered with such confidence. Silvan must have been quite an old vampire, considering the skin on his pale face was slightly weathered, and there were hundreds of years lingering in his eyes. He was wearing a tailored suit, black on dark raspberry sorbet, contrasted against his greying hair.

Silvan’s eyes were intense, even when Luke wasn’t looking at them, and it was like they were stripping every personal detail from him with ease. His voice was like smooth velvet when he spoke, low, dulcet tones coming from his tongue.

“You lived beyond the Collared Forest, am I correct?”

The first vampire moved silently behind him, as if his feet didn’t even touch the ground. When Luke glanced at him again, he had retreated from the door, boxing him in. Unlike Silvan, this was a clear warning to sit down and do as he was told.

Luke’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, the taste of copper still fresh on his tongue. Against his better judgement, his legs managed to gain some of their strength back, and he begrudgingly circled around the plush couch, sitting opposite the older vampire. The material was incredibly soft, and Luke wondered what it was made from, how it was shaped in such a peculiar way, and if everything here was this comfortable.

“Why do you care?” Luke gritted out, his narrowed eyes watching the older vampire like a hawk as he reached for some soft tissues out of a box, holding them out for him to take. He didn’t.

“Ah, I’ll take that as a yes then, I suppose,” he mused, brow cocked in amusement. His pointed eyes flitted over to the other vampire with a hum. “His blood?”

“He was misbehaving,” he sniffed codly, nose turned up. “He’s ill mannered and has a ridiculous temperment.”

Luke was almost offended. They were talking about him as if he couldn’t hear them.

“The scent will spread fast, Silas,” the older vampire sighed deeply, his head tilted and hands back in his lap. He didn’t look like he was even considering Luke’s blatant rudeness for ignoring the tissues handed to him.

“So do rumours,” Silas spoke smoothly. “It won’t matter in the end.”

Luke’s fingers twisted into his thighs. The older vampire’s gaze had almost softened for a brief moment when his eyes wandered back over to him, as if remembering that Luke was here and they had a job to do. Judging by the kit on the table and the way the other boy had informed him that humans were hoarded off for “sampling”, he figured this was exactly that. A sampling of his blood to determine if he was expensive produce, he didn’t doubt.

“The process can be pleasant if you just behave,” Silvan smiled warmly, speaking to him as though he would be inclined to take him up on that advice. “You’re very important to us. We don’t want to have to hurt you to keep you in line.”

He found that hilarious; vampires weren’t exactly a beacon of truth. The sticky blood on his face and the numbness of his lip was a reminder that they had no issue hurting their livestock if it meant keeping them in line.

“Bullshit,” Luke hissed, his nose wrinkling in disdain. “Important? You’re selling us off like cattle.”

“Cattle?” The older vampire mused. “You’re not cattle. We pride ourselves on taking care of our merchandise. We make sure you’re all healthy, fed well, given the proper care and attention when you need it.”

“You sell us,” Luke breathed, his voice almost breathless from even having to utter such horrifying words.

“What happens when you’re bought has nothing to do with us,” Silvan informed firmly, as if that justified the crowd of humans they had awaiting their horrible fate down below. “But here, Luke, you’re safe. If you don’t behave, then we, unfortuantly, have to take the necessary precautions to keep you in line.”

Luke licked his lip. The flesh flared with a raging intensity for a brief moment, and he could map out the distinct tear. Almost to make a point. Silvan noticed it, but he didn’t comment, head tilted in curiosity.

“Physical violence will, of course, be enforced if you don’t cooperate,” the older vampire hummed. “But as I’m sure you know, we have much better, and much tamer, methods. They can feel good.”

He made sure he wasn’t looking at Silvan’s eyes. He felt himself shivering at the memories of Justinian’s compulsion, not wanting his own bodily autonomy to be stripped away from him like that so easily.

“Feel good?” He echoed bitterly.

“Of course,” Silvan smiled. “Some things can be quite euphoric. Compulsion can relax the mind and the body. Even a feeding, if handled properly, can feel good for you, too.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Many humans quite enjoy it,” the older vampire chuckled softly. “They offer themselves up willingly. That’s the price of cooperation in this place. As a human who grew up beyond the Collared Forest, I don’t expect you to understand fully just yet.”

Luke’s chest bubbled with an irritated scoff. His leg was bouncing anxiously at a continuous pace.

“What does that have to do with anything?” He growled slowly, not missing the way Silvan gestured to Silas for a brief moment, who stepped around the table to collect the tissues the older vampire handed to him. Luke suddenly went tense on the couch when Silas turned to face him again.

“You are somewhat of delicacy,” Silvan hummed, treading carefully as if he was pondering on the words as he said them. “It’s rare for there to be humans who lived so far from our territory here. You’ll cause quite a stir in the markets once word spreads around. Especially if the scent of your blood is anything to go off.”

His fingers twitched, itching to reach for his necklace and squeeze it tight for any sort of stability. His heart began racing even faster than before, throwing him for a loop. His adrenaline surged as Silas stepped closer.

“Am I supposed to appreciate that? That I’m good money for you?” He hissed coldly, leaning away from the vampire as prowled closer. “Stay away from me.”

His demands were ignored.

“You want to sample this blood?” Silas asked, his nose wrinkling in disgust at the sight of Luke’s face. A hand closed around his forearm, yanking him back across the couch with a force that gave his shoulder an ache and his skull a wobble.

“No,” Silvan hummed, rising from the seat himself, and leaning down to collect something sharp from the tool kit in front of him. “I’d like it fresh from the vein. But, please. Wipe his face - and let him struggle.”

Maybe it was a cruel demonstration of how no matter how hard Luke fought against this, there was nothing he could do against them. No matter how many times he thrashed, ignored the throbbing pain from the tight holds, or retaliated with his own kicks and smacks, there was nothing he could do.

Silas had him easily pinned down on his back, one single hand locking his wrists together above his head. The vampire’s knee crushed into his ribs, pressing down uncomfortably onto his lungs, careless of Luke’s comfort as he wiped the blood from his face. Luke’s legs kicked out, breathing heavily between clenched teeth, screaming muffled curses and insults against the hand clamped over his mouth, tissues soaking up any fresh blood from his wound.

Silvan was hovering over him now, and Silas easily wrenched his head to the side, exposing the flesh of his neck. Goosebumps exploded across the expanse of skin, and squeezed his eyes shut tight.

“It’ll sting only for a moment,” Silvan warned him calmly, the feeling of cold hands prodding against his neck making him squeal. He felt a sharp prick, his body seizing against his own will. The older vampire pressed something cold against the area, gave it a couple swipes, and then drew away. Silas’ disgruntled expression darkened for a second, letting Luke stew in the position for a moment, before finally letting go of him.

He slapped a hand to his neck, sitting up so fast he’d almost gone dizzy.

“What did you do?” He snapped, his voice still trembling from the hysterics he’d built himself up to. His heart was pounding hard against his ribs. Silvan pinched the small, blood coated needle with his fingers, opting to ignore Luke for a moment. He swiped the needle swiftly against his tongue, giving himself a moment to taste the blood. Silvan then hummed, folded the needle between a white napkin, and placed it down on the table.

“Interesting,” he merely commented, and Luke awkwardly rubbed the side of his neck. “Though, I am not suprised. It’s guaranteed his blood will attract many well-off vampires.”

Silas dumped the bloody tissues in the bin. He didn’t look pleased by the situation at all, his eyes darkened and his expression grim. He wasn’t fatigued by Luke’s struggle at all, having not even broken a sweat, it seemed, or put in hardly enough effort to even quicken his breathing compared to him, who was still trying to catch his breath.

“He’s rabid,” Silas sneered. “Doesn’t matter how attractive his blood is. No one will take him with such an imputent temperament. None that could match the price, certainly.”

Silvan took a seat once more, throwing one leg over the other languidly as he observed Luke with those gleaming eyes, as if calculating exactly what he had in store for him. He clenched his jaw, trying not to let any slither of fear pass over his face. He didn’t want to give them the satisfaction if his fight caused them this much trouble. Luke wasn’t going to make himself easy to sell.

“We have plenty of time to prepare before the auction,” Silvan informed, though he seemed to be talking to Luke as well. He refused to catch his eye. “We’ll give you an opportunity to settle into your circumstances, Luke. I understand this is difficult for you, but there is no denying the inevitable.”

Bitter resentment, as well as this cold, crackling helplessness cut through him like a knife. His voice had almost lost its strength. “Fuck you…”

Silvan only smiled warmly.

“I’ll be sending you to Ileana, now,” he explained, his hands interlocked on his lap casually. “She will take care of everything from there. She’s be your handler, and believe me, our aim here is to take very good care of you. You’ll be provided quality food, clothes, and a room to stay.”

Luke bristled. “Lucky me, huh?”

Silas’ eyes narrowed an inch. “She will also be teaching you how to best accommodate your master, or mistress. It won’t be good for you to misbehave, Luke. We’re giving you the benefit of the doubt because of your…” He gave him a subtle once over. “...unique upbringing, but push your luck, and we will, unfortunately, have to risk completely stripping your mind.”

He remembered the humans he’d seen down the corridor. Lifeless eyes, blank faces, mindlessly following their orders. An empty shell to be used. A horrible shiver rolled down his spine at the thought, and he was sure Silvan caught on to the way his heartbeat quickened.

“You don’t want that, do you, Luke?”

“I don’t want any of this,” he croaked.

“Well,” Silvan hummed, unsympathetic. “That is something you will have to come to terms with.”

The older vampire suddenly straightened, glancing at a unique looking contraption on his wrist. Luke eyed it wearily.

“We need to press on and sample the rest of the humans,” Silvan smiled, his gaze flickering over to Silas with a beaming smile. “Please take him to Ileana and bring me the next one.”

Luke’s expression soured when Silas grasped his arm tightly, yanking him onto his feet. He gave a firm tug, but he wasn’t going to shake the vampire’s grip from him, not without a miracle. He could feel Silvan watching him go intently, his voice rising when he got to the door.

“Good luck, Luke,” the older vampire grinned, flashing his fangs. His voice went right through him, making his stomach twist. “Have a pleasant stay.”

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epiclamer · 1 month

Text

Part 2

“You’re finally awake~”

Sidekick barely registered the voice over the pounding of their heart in their head. They stretched their neck up to try and see whomever had tied them spread eagle to a bed, but could hardly get a glance from their restrained position.

Footsteps resounded through the room until they stopped somewhere near the foot of the bed. The hero-in-training gulped, they were terrified.

“W-Who are you?”

Their capturer huffed a laugh, stepping over to the side of the bed and into the sidekick’s view. “You’ve yet to meet me, darling. I’m a friend of your friend.”

The sidekick pursed their lips in an awkward frown, masking their unease. “By friend, you mean enemy… right?”

The other, presumably Villain (the sidekick guessed), smirked. “I guess you could say that.”

Hot sweat ran down the sidekick’s back and into the soft sheets below them, for some reason their whole body felt hot. Were they drugged? Truth serum-ed? Maybe even poisoned?

“You might have a concussion, I hit you quite hard over the head.” As if on queue, the sidekick felt a sudden sharp sting at the back of their head and for a sickening moment they realized the sweat coating their hair wasn’t actually sweat at all. “I didn’t think you’d be that easy to take down, if I’m being honest.”

The villain shrugged, somewhat amused as they watched the sidekick’s pale face distort in a mix of unresolved emotions. Eyeing their prisoner up and down from their jail cell of a bed with a look Sidekick had only ever been warned about by Hero before.

Sidekick’s mouth opened and closed, searching for something to say, toying with the idea of talking their way out of a torture session. “Y-You know, Hero is still out there. If you’re looking for them, I-I mean you just missed them—”

“Do they teach you to sell out your superiors immediately in hero school? Or is that just your own last ditch attempt to get away scott-free as a coward?”

Sidekick shut up. Villain had a point, they weren’t exactly painting the best picture for their reputation.

The villain grinned, leaning over the bed and placing a hand against the sidekick’s chest. They let their fingers wander as they spoke, “I will say though, coward or not, you sure are putting this body to waste working for that rat of a hero you call your mentor.”

Their second hand crept up along the sidekick’s torso and the criminal didn’t hesitate to begin slowly unbuttoning their dress shirt. Both of their eyes focused on the bits of skin that were carefully being revealed as they worked the lower buttons apart.

Sidekick’s breath hitched, was Villain seriously hitting on them? What were they doing? What was happening? None of Hero’s master classes could’ve prepared them for this moment.

The further down the villain’s hands went the more the sidekick’s heartbeat picked up. They convinced themselves it was because of the torture that was increasingly impending and not the fact that someone as breathtaking as the villain was, was stripping them down.

They began to struggle, pulling subtly—or so they thought—against their bonds, letting the burn from the rope digging into their skin distract them from the villain’s fingers exploring their body.

Pulling back the fabric of their button-up, Villain revealed the hero-in-training to their hungry eyes. Going straight to teasingly tracing their nails into the sidekick’s skin, relishing in their goosebumps and gasps.

“Sweetheart,” Villain’s eyes flicked to Sidekick’s, digging their nails into their fleshy shoulders hard enough to draw blood. “Don’t pull on the ropes, okay? I guarantee you that my knots are more than strong enough to hold, so be a dear and don’t hurt yourself any more than you already have.”

For some reason, Sidekick stopped, they didn’t fight back harder like they were taught. The villain’s eyes were entrancing and their voice was soft but stern, guiding the sidekick’s actions and thoughts with every word they spoke.

Hero had warned them of that.

Villain smiled, pleased with their captive as they continued their soft tracing of skin. Leaving behind angry, red, crescents on the sidekick’s shoulder in their wake. “Hero spoke of you, but they never mentioned how good you look… What a shame.”

Sidekick’s face burned a beet coloured red. “W-What?”

“Well, I would’ve kidnapped you a lot sooner if I had known~” Villain drawled as if it were obvious and Sidekick cursed their lucky genes.

“But enough chit chat,” the criminal brought their hands back to their sides. “Let’s get back to the real reason you’re here…”

And in a second the sidekick’s heart lurched into their throat at the ‘snap’ of switchblade flipping open.

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