#male whumper

[whump-world]

would love a male reluctant whumpee being comforted and praised by an affectionate/intimate male whumper

TW: noncon kiss, a bit of mouth whump? but not explicit, muzzles, restrained, starvation, manhandling.

Whumpee talked too much.

Even his friends agreed.

It shouldn't come as a surprise that when he's kidnapped, two days is all it takes before a muzzle is strapped onto him. He can feel it as they turn down the temperature and his teeth chatter. As he is forced to messily lap at the bowl of water. As he sleeps, as he breaths.

There's no mirror. A small mercy.

"Hi, Whumpee. How you doing?"

There's no light, but Whumpee's fire powers extend to thermal imaging, and he tracks Whumper's form come into the cell. This one's unpredictable, but...

Maybe Whumpee's just glad she isn't here.

He blinks lazily at Whumper. If the muzzle wasn't latched onto him, he would be taunting him. Lackey usually gets the best reaction. Whumpee settles for a growl.

"Easy, muchacho," Whumper murmurs.

Whumpee's hands are chained behind him, the manacles tight enough to color his wrists an ugly dark green. He leans back on the wall and keeps his gaze on Whumper.

Whumper crouches within Whumpee's vicinity and reaches out. "Ah, ah, ah," he tuts in disapproval when Whumpee kicks at him. He grabs an ankle and drags him closer, shushing Whumpee's snarls.

"Always a difficult one," Whumper says, scrambling over Whumpee so that he's seated on him and safe from future kicks.

Whumpee's breaths through his nose are loud, his eyes wide and furious. The first time Whumper touched him, he snatched his hand back with a high-pitched scream. "Too tired for the pesky heat trick, aren't you?"

He's right. Going on less than one meal a day, living in an ice-cold cellar, and going through new tortures every day had done a number on him.

"I'm trying to help you. This," he taps the muzzle, "must be uncomfortable. Do you want it off?"

Whumpee narrows his eyes. It must be a trick. He glances at the door, then back at Whumper.

"She doesn't know," Whumper assures him. "I heard you've been wearing it for three days straight. Jesus, look at what it's doing to your pretty face." He traces Whumpee's face, being soft where the leather meets skin.

Whumpee shakes his head to get him off. Whumper catches his jaw so he can't look away. "Last chance. I don't have a lot of time."

Whumpee's heart is in his throat, and with sudden desperation, he nods.

Whumper grins. "I knew you'd come around. A few rules though. No biting. No shouting. It'll only end badly for you, my guy. And no talking." Listing the rules, he slowly unbuckles the straps and loosens the muzzle.

The instant it comes off, Whumper's broad hand is on Whumpee's neck. But he needn't have worried. Tears roll down Whumpee's cheeks as he tries to move his jaw.

Whumpee stares at the ceiling as Whumper begins to massage his jaw. The few glances he snatches at Whumper have him squirming. Then Whumper's hands move to his hair, where the scalp is red from the tension. His whines become insistent and pathetic. The stiffness leaving his nape is heavenly and is over before he can truly savor it.

Whumper takes his hands out of Whumpee's curls. "Open your mouth."

Whumpee's brows crease, suspecting a pill. In his state, he can't bite or spit it out.

"I said open," Whumper says, clawing his lips open and earning a muffled cry. "That was your fault," he whispers, prodding at Whumpee's tongue with his thumb. "I asked nicely."

It hurt. Whumpee writhes under Whumper.

It hurts a hundred times more when Whumper replaces his fingers with his own lips. The kiss is forceful. Whumper's grip on his neck becomes a touch rigid. Taking the weight of the kiss sends white-hot pain through his teeth. The nose smushing against his makes him see stars for a moment.

With one last lick at the blood on Whumpee's tongue, Whumper comes up for air, a satisfied smile on his face. He wipes the stickiness of his mouth. "That wasn't your first, was it?"

Snot and bruises cover his face. Whumpee has to blink back the tears. "Fuck you," he croaks.

Whumper ruffles his hair and props the muzzle back on him. "It's okay, I think it's cute. Your team didn't know what they had."

#whump #whump community #whump blog #whumpblr #whump writing #intimate whumper #whump prompt #comfort #muzzle #male whumpee #poc whumpee #male whumper #whump ask

[chaotic-orphan]

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.”

#twisted love #lady whump #lady whumpee #lady Whump writing #tw lady Whump #male Whumper #Whump writing #yandere Whumper #creepy whumper #I actually don’t know if this is yandere #anyways #best be safe #intimate whumper #whumper x whumpee #weird whumper #superpower #twisted #love #telekinesis #telekinetic villain #knife wielding hero #writblr #hero villain writing #hero villain snippet #hero villain story #hero #villain #writing #orphan writing #hero kidnapped

[hurt-and-comfort-me-please]

I'm Curious...

#whumpblr #whump #whump community #whump writing #male whumper #female whumper #nonbinary whumper

[kim-poce]

Magic Crystal

I was talking with @but-what-if-its-whumpy about tiny whumpees and I had to write. It has been a while since I menaged to Write Things so I'm very happy with it!

—=—

CW: tiny whumpee, fantasy whump, male whumpee, male whumper, mermaid whumpee, dehydration.

“This sounds illegal,” Orlan said, with a greedy grin on his face. Eyeing the ‘product’ in front of him. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

The cloaked person smirked like a fairy tales’ villain, the silly thought made Orlan shake his head disappointed in himself. You are a mighty wizard. He reminded himself. The future archmage can’t think of such silly, useless thoughts.

“Of course you haven’t heard of it,” The stranger gestured to the crystal ball, “You are a powerful wizard, with destiny on your side, the magic tower wouldn’t want you to know of this, and this is against no law, they wouldn’t want to talk about such a method in the law books everyone read.” 

Orlan smugged, lifting his nose in pride thinking about the old geezers in that filthy tower. Was the stranger telling the truth? Was his power so great they would try to bring him down? Ha. So they are scared.

The mermaid, a magic creature that not even children believe in, was curled up inside the crystal ball, floating in the middle of the water that filled it. So this is what I need to be accepted. This is the card that I was lacking.  “What do you want?”

“Oh my,” the stranger chuckled, “you are a smart one. So this is how things will go-”

=-=-=

“WHY!” Orlan shouted, broken glass and clashing sounds filled the room. “How dare that low blood bastard defeat me?! He is cheating. He must be.” He walked back and forth, biting his nails. “Does he have a fairy too? Of course, that makes sense. He pretends to be all rightful but he is just a brat.”

Deo shivered inside the crystal, it had been so many months since they had been locked in Orlan’s staff, who was becoming more and more violent with time.

A sudden wave of mana leaving their body made Deo’s migraine worse. They couldn’t think under the pain. Their eyes widened as the water inside the crystal dried out, they hugged themselves. Orlan said a threat or another, the mermaid couldn’t hear it.

The water was almost fully gone, there was just enough for Deo not to die of dehydration for the next half a day.

“-d hear me, pest?” Orlan said. “Maybe after running out of water and mana you’ll learn not to make me lose.”

#tiny whumpee #fantasy whump #mermaid whumpee #nonhuman whumpee #male whumpee #male whumper #dehydration tw #my writing #not a reblog

[em-writes-stuff]

poker

day one of two weeks of whump @promptsforyourwhumpfic

warnings: syringes (not a medical setting), captive whumpee, being stabbed with hot metal

characters: whumpee, whumper

448 words

---

Whumpee cries out as the red-hot tip of the fireplace poker digs against his thigh. Whumper pulls it away and purses his lips, “You’re getting quieter.” 

Whumpee pants, his hand hovering over the slowly trickling wound. “I’m getting tired.” 

“Oh, you’re no fun.” He drops the poker and lets it clatter on the ground before walking out of the room, locking the heavy door behind them. Like Whumpee could get out. Even without the chains weighing him down, he’d barely be able to make it through the door frame before collapsing. 

He curls into himself, arms holding his legs close against his chest as he stares at the door. Whumper shuffles around just outside the door, his heavy boots interrupting the quiet Whumpee’s used to. The fire crackles almost soothingly in the background, embers occasionally flying over the hearth and dying before they hit the ground. 

Outside the door, the shuffling pauses and Whumpee holds his breath, praying that Whumper’s turned in for the night. But he’s never been lucky, has he? The door pushes in and Whumper prances into the room, a syringe in his hand. 

“This,” he almost sings, “Is something a friend recommended to me. She said that it makes even the gentlest touch make your skin feel like it’s on fire. And it’s not cheap, so make some pretty noises for me, alright?” 

He squats in front of Whumpee and lifts up his sleeve. Whumpee shakes his head, barely able to make a sound as he watches the needle sink into his skin and the cloudy liquid slowly disappear into him. 

It floods his system, he can feel it rushing through his veins to his fingertips. He can feel every grain of sand trapped in his tattered clothes. They weren’t this scratchy before, were they? He wants to rip them off, the fabric rubs against him and it makes him want to burn it off of him. 

Whumper pulls the syringe away from Whumpee and watches as he writhes, a small smile on his face. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out another syringe. 

“And this,” he says, taking the cap off and pushing on the plunger until the liquid comes out. He sinks it into Whumpee’s thigh next to the singed skin from the fire poker, “Is adrenaline. So you’ll liven up a bit.” 

Whumpee whimpers as the needle pulls out, a bead of red stained adrenaline coming out with it. Whumpee twists in pain and his heartbeat speeds up so fast and so hard it makes his clothes shake with it. 

“Now,” Whumper says, picking the poker back and holding it over the fireplace, “Let’s get back to it, shall we?” 

#two weeks of whump #twow #whump #whumper #whumpee #whump fic #tw needles #tw syringes #captive whumpee #male whumpee #male whumper #em writes #em writes stuff #my writing

[montammil]

CW: Caretaker-turned-Whumper, Carewhumper basically, Caretaker calls Whumpee little one, inhuman Caretaker, murder (not descriptive but there), just overall violence, briefly mentioned pet whump, male Caretaker

...

Whumpee runs as fast as they can, falling multiple times onto the ground and getting mud all over them, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is getting away from Whumper. They don’t even know where they’re running to, they just hope they get somewhere, anywhere where Whumper can’t find them.

They grow tired and look behind them after what feels like hours of running. There’s no sign of Whumper anywhere, but they don’t let themself grow comfortable yet. They hear what sounds like a waterfall, and stagger towards it, relieved when they find water.

Crouching down, they put their hands into a bowl shape and put it in the running water, sipping from their hands. It feels soothing to their raw throat, aching from breathing so hard. They drink the whole thing, then splash some water on themselves to clean off the dirt and sweat.

Something catches their eye, what looks to be the opening of something underneath the flowing waterfall. They stand and squint, to see it looks almost like an entrance of something, light coming from the opening, reflecting off the water gently.

Curiosity takes hold of them and they make their way under the waterfall’s cave entrance, careful not to slip and trying to avoid getting wet.

Whumpee blinks in surprise when they see it looks actually nice inside, not just like a normal cave. There's definitely someone living here, because there's two torches on each side of the wall, there's a bunch of blankets of what looks like animal furs, and a small collection of shiny crystals and rocks in the left corner of the cave, a boiling large pot next to it. For a cave, it’s shockingly lively.

They want to stay so badly, because they doubt Whumper would find a way in here, but the thought of someone worse living here and not taking so kindly to their intrusion sounds almost just as scary.

As they back up, they bump into someone. Their first thought is of Whumper, so they bolt to the other side of the cave, hiding their face.  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please don't--”

“Why on earth are you sorry, little one?”

Whumpee immediately lifts their head at the smooth voice to see what definitely is not a human. They have black antlers and large black wings to match. Whumpee is sure they bumped their head or something, eyes going wide. 

The person in front of them seems confused as well, tilting their head slightly to one side.

Nervously, Whumpee looks back down. “Uh, sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude, just taking a breather. Bye--”

“Hold on,” the strange being interrupts. “You’re hurt.” He extends his hand out, and Whumpee flinches back until they bump against the wall again. “No need to fear me. I don’t have any ill intention towards you. I just want to help.”

Whumpee once again meets his gaze. He seems genuinely worried, but Whumpee is still more focused on the fact he has wings and antlers, not to mention the strange green aura around him. He also has long black hair, it looks strangely majestic. They let the stranger look over their injuries, watching in awe as he quietly clicks his tongue, shaking his head at each injury across their skin.

“Did someone hurt you?” he asks. His voice sounds somewhat angry.

“I-- I think you already know the answer,” Whumpee responds. 

Nodding, he says to himself quietly, “Well, that won’t do...” He extends a hand, smiling gently. “My name is Caretaker. What’s your name, little one?”

Whumpee feels somewhat comforted by the nickname, Whumper having called them nothing but insults. “Whumpee.” They eye his wings and antlers, but don’t have the courage to ask about it. It’s so strange, this all feels like a fever dream.

Caretaker stands and gathers some herbs from the satchel he has over his shoulder. “I’ll get to work, you just sleep, Whumpee. You look exhausted.”

“But--”

“Hush, now. I won’t let any harm come to you. Just rest, I’ve got you.”

Though Whumpee doesn’t know whether or not to trust him, they decide they have no choice. They don’t want to continue aimlessly wandering around, especially when their body aches as much as it does right now. 

Whumpee takes their chances and decides to trust Caretaker, even if they still have not a single clue what is happening right now.

...

“Good news, you’re healing!” 

The excited voice makes Whumpee jump, still thinking they’re back at Whumper’s. They blink a few times at Caretaker, still in shock to see he’s real. They look down at their wounds to see each cut and even their old scars fading into their natural skin color.

“How?” they mutter disbelievingly.

“It was quite simple, once you’ve been alive as long as me, it gets easy as--”

“No, I mean... just how? How are you real? What are you?”

“Oh.” Caretaker chuckles. “My species doesn’t have a name, we never really came up with one. Humans called us monsters, but I don’t know if I like being called that. I think that’s a better term for awful people, like whoever in their right mind did this to you.”

A shaky sigh comes from Whumpee’s mouth. “So, what are you? Like, immortal?”

Caretaker looks like he’s pondering that. “Well, not immortal. I guess my kind just lives for a long time. I’ll be honest with you, little one, I don’t know much more about my species than you do. The only thing I’m certain of is if I were to show myself to humans, I’d be done for.”

“So why’d you trust me?” Whumpee asks next.

“Trust is a strong word. I just couldn’t ignore you while you’re clearly injured and alone in the woods, looking exhausted and scared. Besides, I get lonely here. I’ve been here for a very long time.”

Though this is all nonsense to Whumpee, they start to come with terms this is real. “Thank you for your kindness. I’m sorry for dragging you into this.”

“You apologize frequently, don’t you? Well, there’s no need. I want to help and take care of you. Whoever did this to you will no longer be a threat. I promise.”

Whumpee relaxes and slumps against the cave wall. They still feel exhausted from running, and soon Caretaker has a wooden bowl of water he likely carved himself, and some fur blankets being draped around them.

“Whumpee! Whumpee, where are you?!”

That voice makes Whumpee jolt. They look at Caretaker, horrified, and that’s all Caretaker needs to know. He doesn’t look scared in the slightest, but rather angry. That’s the first hint of anger Whumpee’s seen on his face ever since they arrived.

“Whumpee, come out! I’ll give you five seconds. You aren’t fooling me.”

A quiet sob cracks from Whumpee’s throat. Do they have a tracker on them, or something? That must be the only reasonable explanation.

“Stay right there. I’ll take care of this.” Caretaker gives them a smile, then exits the cave.

Whumpee doesn’t know what he’s going to do. Scare them? Hurt them? Kill them? They feel bad for not really caring too much, as long as Whumper leaves them alone.

When they hear Whumper scream, they cover their ears and squeeze their eyes shut. They try to block out the screams, but Whumper always had a naturally loud voice. Even with their hands against both ears, it feels like Whumper’s voice is bursting their eardrums.

After about a minute, the screaming abruptly comes to a halt.

“Are you alright, little one?”

Whumpee lifts their gaze like they’ve done so many times before in the past couple of hours, and sees Caretaker covered in blood. They avert their gaze, not wanting to look at it. Part of them feels scared of Caretaker, even if they know by now he wouldn’t hurt them.

“Oh, do humans feel ill at the sight of blood? My apologies. I’ll go wash up.” 

Whumpee doesn’t move an inch and waits for Caretaker to come back. They feel relieved to see Caretaker come back a few minutes later with a new change of clothes, and the old ones probably sitting outside to dry.

Caretaker frowns and kneels down in front of them. “Why are you crying, Whumpee?” His face is pinched with concern.

“I just...” Whumpee cuts themselves off, shaking their head. “It’s nothing.”

“Alright.” Caretaker changes the subject and puts on a smile. “That aside, what would you like to eat? I don’t believe I’m familiar with any human foods, but I can make a shocking amount of things with my limited sources.”

Deciding to drop it as well, Whumpee says, “Whatever you want.”

...

A week passes, and Whumpee’s wounds have healed completely, the cuts and bruises invisible, and their old scars so faded you’d have to squint to even notice them. They’re very grateful to Caretaker, but in the past three days, they’ve noticed there’s something... off about Caretaker.

When they wanted to leave to go get a drink themselves, Caretaker almost got angry and insisted he’d do it for them.

Another time, they mentioned their friends, and Caretaker told them, “But I’m your friend now, aren’t I?” 

Earlier today, they tried standing to which Caretaker panicked and sat them back down, demanding them to stay down, that they’re still too fragile.

Whumpee feels like they’re with Whumper again. Just a strangely more affectionate, gentle Whumper, but still Whumper.

“I think I’m ready to leave,” Whumpee tells Caretaker that night. “All my injuries have practically healed all the way, and since Whumper is gone--”

“Leaving?” Caretaker repeats incredulously. “Little one, must I remind you Whumper isn’t the only threat out there? What if someone else hurts you? Not only that, but you’re still in the middle of the forest. You’re vulnerable, injured or not.”

Even though his words are a direct contrast to Whumper’s, it still feels like them. Whumpee doesn’t like it at all.

“I already made it this far, and I can’t just stay here forever.” They stand and before Caretaker can push them down, they put their hands on his chest, which is almost above their head due to just how tall he is. “I’m fine. I can walk fine, I’m perfectly healed now.”

Caretaker’s eyes become empty. “Thanks to me.”

“Yes, thanks to you. Thank you for healing me, but I’m really fine, so--”

“You owe me.”

Anxiously, Whumpee chuckles. “Uh, what?”

Before they have a chance to react, Caretaker kicks them to the ground. Not only are his legs longer, but he’s stronger than even Whumper. Whumpee cries out in pain and looks up in total horror, unlike the other times they looked up at Caretaker.

Caretaker steps on their chest, not putting his total weight down because that’d kill them with no doubt, but enough to make it a struggle to breathe.

“You aren’t leaving,” Caretaker mumbles. “Say you won’t leave. I took care of you, I nursed you, I healed you. You owe me this. Don’t humans value thankfulness?”

Whumpee claws at Caretaker’s pant leg, wheezing, “I won’t leave, just please-- stop--!”

Seemingly satisfied, Caretaker lifts his boot from their chest and smiles. “Good little one. See? That wasn’t so difficult, was it?” He pets their hair, like he views them... like a pet. Just like Whumper did.

“You’re just as bad as Whumper,” Whumpee cries. They clutch their chest, which hurts from how hard Caretaker was pressing down on them.

Caretaker grows an angry expression. Though they’ve never mentioned Whumper’s name, Caretaker doesn’t need an explanation. “No, I am not. They hurt you. I healed you.”

“Before hurting me!”

“And I’ll heal you again.” Caretaker’s wings spread, bringing Whumpee into a tight embrace, unable to escape. “And I’ll continue if you try to leave me. Humans are weak, I’ve heard. Easily breakable. From the looks of it, you’re more delicate than the average human.”

Though Whumpee wants to curse him out, they still feel too much emotion mixed with pain to do anything more than cry.

“Please don’t cry,” Caretaker coos, wiping their tears with his clawed hand. “I’m not really hurting you if I’m healing you completely afterwards, right? It’s only a temporary pain, only temporary wounds.”

They try to claw away from their embrace, but Caretaker’s arms and wings only tighten around them in response.

“I understand you’re scared, but there’s no need to be. I’ll protect you. I’ll keep you safe. Not a single thing in this world will stop me.”

#whump #nonhuman caretaker #inhuman caretaker #caretaker turned whumper #whumper turned whumpee #kinda #fantasy whump #nonhuman whump #inhuman whump #monster whump #tw gore #gore #tw violence #violence #possessive whumper #male whumper #male caretaker #creepy caretaker #carewhumper

[lights-out-knives-out]

Hi more crack whump ideas

So you know how there are some guys out there that don’t know that girls have periods? Imagine with me here male whumper picks up female whumpee while she’s on her period. And he’s like ‘you’re in pain and bleeding and I didn’t fucking touch you’ and the poor whumper is so confused that he instantly switches into caretaker. I’d think that’d be neat

I need more stupid whumpers

#whump community #stupid whumpers #i want them #crack whump #whump rambles #female whumpee #male whumper #not a pairing I usually go for

[crooked-corvid-whump]

Circus Whump

“Please, Whumper, don’t make me keep doing this. Please...” Their begging fell on deaf ears. Whumper stepped toward them they were caged between him and the tent pole at their back. He towered over them.

Head bent low, he murmured slowly and firmly into their ear, so only they could hear. “Shut. Up. You’re going to go out there tonight, and you’re going to perform your little routine, and you’re going to be the star I’ve made you to be. And then, when it’s over, you’re going to rest, then do it all over again tomorrow.”

His breath was hot against their skin, sending prickling shivers through them.

“Without me, you would still be out on the streets. Without me, you would be nothing. Remember that.” He stepped back and a painfully fake smile plastered itself to his face. “Now, best start getting ready for tonight’s show.”

Whumpee didn’t move until he was out of sight. Only then did they start breathing again. Only then did they start shaking.

*******************************************************************************************

Whumpee held perfectly still as Whumper gripped their chin, leaning in as he smudged the last of the line of glittery powders around their eyes, completing their colorful, shining look. He smiled when he was finished and leaned back to look at them, his star, the crown jewel of his show. From behind the fabric that hung over the entrance to their small dressing space-- a weak pretense of privacy-- drifted the swift, bouncy music that accompanied the fire-eater that was currently riling up the crowd for Whumpee’s performance. 

Whumper leaned closer again, smiling in a way that showed too many teeth. “You’re going to behave for me tonight, aren’t you love?”

They nodded. They had no more escape attempts left in them, not after the last one had landed them in a cage with an iron collar locked around their throat like just another circus animal until Whumper was satisfied that they’d learned their lesson.

“Perfect. You’re going to be wonderful tonight, darling. You always are.” With that, the music outside reached a crescendo, and Whumper pulled away. He winked at them and murmured, “That’s my cue,” slipping out into the ring just as the song came to a close.

Whumpee left their dressing space and made their way to the ladder bolted to the side one of the towering poles, atop which was their platform. They began their ascent, muscle memory leading their hands and feet to the rungs easily despite the darkness. The spotlight was trained on Whumper in the center of the ring, who bowed dramatically to the audience, his bright red coat swishing behind him and his top hat barely avoiding being dragged through the dust as he swept it off with a flourish. After straightening up and replacing the hat atop his head, he began to recite the well-rehearsed introduction he gave at every show before their routine.

“Ladies and gentlemen, young and old, one and all, it has been a marvelous night! Now it hops and skips quickly to its close,” here he hopped from one foot to the other, drawing bursts of laughter from the crowd, “but first, one final act. Turn your eyes now to the star of the night, our aerodynamic acrobat, our tremendous trapeze artist, the soaring, the sailing, the weightless Whumpee!”

The crowd burst in to frenzied applause as a second spotlight flicked on, beaming down upon Whumpee, now stood atop the platform high above. They waved stiffly to the audience, thankful that they were too high for anyone to see their face. Whumper’s spotlight dimmed to nothing until the only light in the entire tent was the one trained on them. They took a breath.

The song started slowly, almost mournful as the low violin notes flowed and Whumpee stepped toward the tightrope. They could do it. They knew they could. They had done this a million times before. But no matter how many times they were forced up to that platform, how many times they were forced to teeter and swing and leap above a rapt audience, nothing could rid them of the paralyzing terror they felt at the sight of the ground far below. They took a step.

Whumpee’s performance was, above all else, a story. A story that took place on a tightrope and between trapeze bars and even in parts on the aerial silks, yes, but a story nonetheless. That was what took their act from impressive to extraordinary. The music swelled and ebbed and rose and fell along with their movements, following them through a wordless journey that the audience could not look away from. Tonight, as every night, they were perfect. They flew through the air in graceful arcs that elicited gasps and bated breath from the crowd and twisted in the silks in smooth, languid motions. It wasn’t until the final leap from the trapeze back onto the platform that they faltered. They let go too late.

They flipped through the air, then their legs flared with pain as they crashed into the hard wood of the platform. It didn’t quite register at first as they were only half present, their mind distant as their body had carried them through the routine, distancing them from the reality of their position high in the air with a long, long way to go should they fall. However, it wasn’t long before the sharp, jarring pain reached them and clouded their mind in an entirely new way. They were only vaguely aware of the cheering and of Whumper’s closing speech far below. They leaned heavily against the pole behind them. Eyes squeezed shut, they focused on regaining the breath that had been knocked out of them as they waited for the pain to fade. They reached down, prodding at their legs where they had collided with the platform. Not broken, they decided, but surely badly bruised by morning. They sighed.

Finally, they gathered the energy to move and peered over the edge, saw the audience filing out of the tent, and their heart sunk. The show was over. Now they were going to have to face Whumper.

The whole way down the tortuously long ladder, their teeth were clenched in pain. Their legs ached, both from their performance and the bruises, and several times they had to stop and lean their forehead against the cool metal rungs and wait for the pain to subside enough to continue.

At last, they made it down. Unsurprisingly, Whumper was waiting for them at the bottom, leaning against a large painted backdrop and eyeing them with a seething anger. When they turned around, Whumper pushed off from where he was propped against the thing, closing the distance between them in a few long strides.

His hand cracked against their cheek before they could react. Tears of pain an surprise sprung to their eyes, but either Whumper didn’t notice or he didn’t care as he sneered at them.

“What the hell was that, Whumpee? That was sloppy. It was careless. I know for a fucking fact that you were trained better than that. I trained you better than that. You know better than to make such clumsy mistakes. So act like it.”

Whumpee opened their mouth to protest, or maybe to apologize, perhaps to stutter some excuse, but Whumper didn’t give them the chance.

“No. Shut up. If you can’t pull your act together and avoid fucking up my show, my masterpiece, if you can’t handle this act, then you can always be part of the freak show.” His voice took on a mocking lilt as he put a hand on their waist, his thumb tracing a raised line just under their ribs. “I’m sure if we laid you bare, all those pretty little scars would give our patrons plenty to ogle at.”

Whumpee nearly overbalanced as their panicked step backward was cut short, Whumper’s hand on their waist tightening and keeping them in place. They were frantic as they found their voice. “No, please, god no, i can’t- i’m not-” Whumper chuckled and put a gentle finger to their lips, cutting off their stream of words.

“No, no, not yet. I wouldn’t want to give up my perfect little star so easily, no matter how pretty their scars. Perhaps you just need a few more to remind you why it’s a very bad idea to disappoint me.” He smiled.

Whumpee didn’t fight it as his hand on their back led them towards his tent. They simply bowed their head in a pathetic attempt to hide the panic in their eyes and the single tear trailing down their cheek.

#whump #whump prompt #whumpee #whumper #hurt no comfort #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #fear of heights #circus whump #compliant whumpee #scared whumpee #collar whump #whumpee x whumper #male whumper #acrobat whumpee #whump drabble #whump snippet #whump story #scar whump #knife whump #(implied)

[whumperofworlds]

To Protect You

A/N: First time doing OC ladies in whumpy situations! I know that it's not everyone's cup of tea, so feel free to skip this story! I wanted to experiment since the only time I did that kind of thing was with Edelgard from Fire Emblem Three Houses. Also, this is my Fierce Forests OCs Hazel and Maple's debut! Anyway, hope you enjoy!

TAGS: @robinbugbanned

TWS: captivity, beaten up, blood, forced to watch, cursing, nonhuman whumpee (Maple is a Magical Elf), Whumpee x Whumpee, female whumpees, male whumpers.

_____

Days. It had been days since Hazel and Maple were taken captive by Brennus. Days of being beaten up and tortured for opposing against the king. Days with very little food and water.

Hazel could only sigh as she curled up into a ball, trying to protect herself from the freezing air in their prison. Anger coursed through her over the sheer helplessness she was feeling for those days. They took all of her weapons, including her signature Bolt Blade, a sword that was infused with Lightning magic passed down by her father. Without her weapons, she was nothing but a helpless woman who was unable to fight back.

She hated it. She hated it so much.

She heard the chattering of teeth, and she turned her head to see her best friend, Maple, also curled up into a ball to protect herself from the cold. However, judging by the chattering teeth, she wasn't able to keep warm.

Hazel crawled up to her, shivering now that she was no longer in a ball. "Hey," she whispered, sitting beside Maple. "You okay?"

Maple turned her head to face Hazel, and Hazel gritted her teeth at the bruises and cuts her best friend had on her face. Those guardsmen had given her quite the beating the past few days, and Hazel's anger grew at the thought of that.

"I..." Maple tried to speak, trailing off for a second to tighten herself into a ball. "I'll be fine, Hazel. Don't worry about me."

"You're cold..." Hazel pointed out, frowning. When Maple gave no response to that, only shivering, Hazel knew what she had to do.

She slipped off her fur coat, feeling the chilling air biting her skin as soon as her coat left her body. She placed it around Maple's shoulders, covering her with it. The coat was filthy due to not being washed for days, but Hazel figured that Maple wouldn't mind.

Maple glanced up at her, eyes wide, but no longer shivering. "Hazel, what--"

"You need it more than me," Hazel said, a small smile on her face.

"But--"

"Don't worry about me. I'll be fine..." She trailed off when she felt the biting cold hitting her skin, leaving goosebumps on her. She shivered, curling up into a ball once more.

Maple frowned. She didn't have to sacrifice her own coat just to keep Maple warm. "Hazel..." Maple whispered, inching closer to her friend. "We can share this, you know? You didn't have to give it up to keep me warm."

"I said I'll be fine, Maple," Hazel insisted, shaking her head. "You don't have to--"

"I don't have to, but I want to." Maple said, before taking the coat and wrapping it around Hazel's body. It didn't leave Maple's body, as it covered both of them partly. It wasn't exactly a blanket, but it would have to do.

Hazel blushed as Maple curled up beside her to share body heat. She didn't admit this to anyone, not even her sister Holly, but... lately, she had been crushing on her best friend. She wasn't sure why she felt that way--they knew each other since they were small children, and it wasn't until recently she began to feel this way.

She shook her head to get rid of those thoughts. Now was not the time for that. She and Maple had to find a way to escape--

The door to their cell opened, and the two women jumped at the sudden sound. At least five guardsmen, all wearing golden armor, entered the cell, their weapons drawn.

Maple curled up tighter against her friend. Hazel, however, glared at their captors.

"What do you want?" Hazel demanded.

"Isn't it obvious?" One of the guardsmen chuckled, approaching the two. His sword glistened in the dark, to which Hazel shuddered. "We're here to get information out of you two ladies. Now, be good little girls..." he held out the sword close to Hazel's face. Hazel tried not to flinch at the sword's tip touching her face. "...And tell us where those damned Fierce Forests are."

"Go to hell," Hazel growled, her glare saturated with hate. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around Maple, holding her close in a protective manner.

The guardsman seemed to have noticed this and smirked. "Ah, protective, aren't we?" He chuckled. He moved the sword away from Hazel, only to point it at Maple. The Magical Elf gasped, curling up against Hazel once more. "Tell us, and we won't hurt your girlfriend here."

"Go. To. Hell." Hazel growled again, her hold on Maple tight.

The guardsman tsked, before he raised his sword. Towards Maple.

Maple yelped in fear, burying her face in Hazel's chest. She shut her eyes tightly, awaiting the inevitable blow.

The sword hit skin, and a feminine cry of pain echoed in the dungeon.

Except... it wasn't her scream.

Maple slowly opened her eyes, and she gasped in shock and horror upon seeing the sight.

Hazel had her pushed against the wall, her back facing the guardsmen. Hazel gritted her teeth in pain as her eyes were squeezed shut, and crimson dripped down from her back. Her eyes widened, and her mouth gaped open at the realization.

Hazel took the attack for Maple.

"Dammit!" The guardsman cried, throwing his sword to the ground in frustration. With a growl, he grabbed Hazel by the scruff of her tunic and tried to pry her off of Maple. However, Hazel held on, her hold tightening around Maple's body, as the Magical Elf tried to hold onto her friend.

"No!" Maple screamed, "Don't hurt her, please!"

"Shut up!" The guardsman grabbing Hazel yelled. "And let go! Or else!"

"Never!" Maple cried, her hold tightening once more. "I'll never let you hurt her!"

"Maple," Hazel whispered. Maple glanced up at her friend, whose eyes were filled with worry. Maple could also see the fear in her eyes, but she could tell that she was trying to hide it from her. Likely to not make Maple worry. "Let go. I'll handle it."

"Hazel, no," Maple gasped. "I can't let them hurt you! Please, I--"

"Maple," Hazel whispered again, this time her tone firm. "Let go. They'll hurt you otherwise. I'm strong, I can deal with it. Please, Maple... before they hurt you."

Maple gulped, tears pooling in her eyes. If she let go of Hazel... what would these guardsmen do to her? What if they ended up killing her? What if--

"Let go now!" The guardsman bellowed.

Without another thought, Maple released Hazel from her hug, and Hazel was pulled away from her. She could have sworn she saw a small, relieved smile on Hazel's face when she was taken away from her.

The guardsman holding Hazel threw her to the cold, stony floor, and Hazel grunted in pain. The cuts and bruises she had endured the past few days burned and ached, as she grunted when a sharp boot met her stomach.

"Dumbass," the guardsman who grabbed her muttered under his breath. "Should have told us where your pals were!"

The other guardsmen surrounded the swordswoman, before a rain of blows attacked Hazel's body. Each kick, punch, and strike hit her body, as she grunted and growled. Tears began to form in her eyes due to the sheer pain, but she held on. She refused to cry in front of these bastards!

Maple could only watch, tears falling down her face. She sniffled, shaking her head, as if doing so would make the guardsmen stop their assault on Hazel. However, she could only watch in horror as they continued to beat Hazel for her crimes.

A sharp boot hit Hazel's lip, splitting it, and that was when she screamed. A single tear rolled down her cheek from the blow, and she couldn't help but blush in embarrassment. Ugh, she hated crying. Even when her father was executed by Brennus, she didn't cry at all--she didn't want Maple or Holly to see her weak.

"Heh, are you gonna cry?" The guardsman taunted with a grin.

"Damn you," Hazel growled.

That rewarded her with another kick to her eye, nearly gouging it due to how sharp the boot was. Thankfully, Hazel shut her eye in time, only leaving her with a black eye. The tears she was holding back from that eye began to fall, to which her captors taunted her over.

"Look at the crybaby crying!"

"Heh, what a wimp!"

Maple couldn't look. She turned her head, tears continuously falling down her face. However, her sharp hearing could still pick up the beating her friend was getting, and she couldn't help but imagine what was happening.

Hazel smiled in relief when she looked behind one guardsman to see that Maple was looking away. Good. I don't want her to see this...

A headache began to form as she was kicked on the head a few times. But she held onto her consciousness as she saw the black spots forming in her eyes. No. She shouldn't pass out now. Not like this.

To her, it felt like hours when she was being beaten. And just like that, it stopped.

She slowly glanced up at her captors, an eyebrow raised. The guardsman who pried her off of Maple scoffed, before throwing two pieces of moldy bread at Hazel and Maple.

"That's what you get for not telling us," the guardsman growled. "We'll be back tomorrow, and if you two still want to be stubborn, we'll beat you again. This time, starting with her." He pointed at the shaking Maple, who continued to cry.

Hazel gritted her teeth, anger flowing inside her. They wouldn't! "Don't you--"

She was met with another boot to the face, this time, hitting her cheek.

"Shut up." The guardsman who struck her growled. And with that, the five guardsmen left the cell, closing and locking it behind them.

Hazel couldn't move. Pain flared up everywhere, as she attempted to get up to no avail. She heard Maple gasp before she was gently lifted to sit. Maple held her best friend close, Hazel's face buried in her shoulder, as Maple ran a hand through her bloodied hair.

"Hazel," Maple whimpered, "I'm sorry. I--"

"This isn't your fault..." Hazel whispered. "Don't blame yourself, Mape... I took the hit to protect you. I'm sorry you had to see that..."

Maple cried into Hazel's arms, and while she didn't notice it, Hazel was, too, as the pain was too much. Both of them could only hope that they would be rescued soon...

#whump #my whump stories #captivity #woman whumpee #male whumper #<<<as suggested will do this for male and female whump as well as trans and nonbinary #beaten up #multiple whumpees #blood #forced to watch #nonhuman whumpee #maple #hazel

[whumpdrivethru]

can I order some delirium? confusion, disorientation... maybe with a side of thinking caretaker is whumper?

thanks! 💖💖💖

Hi dear! So sorry for the wait, the hustle got the best of me… But I’m here to serve now! Enjoy 💖

PS: You didn’t specify if you wanted caramel or chocolate sauce (aka pronouns), so I self-indulged with the sprinkles, I hope that’s alright!

- Max

They stumbled inside Caretaker’s room with their eyes glazed over and their breathing shallow. Their mind was blank, so impossibly blank, and they felt unable to form a coherent sentence. Instead, they just stood there, staring into space. Swimming in darkness.

“Whumpee?” Caretaker called softly, frowning. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He stood up promptly from his bed and walked up to them.

They shook their head several times, lips parted, eyes wide with the pupils dilated like they had been drugged. Their dazed silence was terrifying to Caretaker.

“Is it Whumper?” he asked. “What did he do? Whumpee, talk to me, what did he do?”

Upon another absence of reaction on their part, he guided them to the bed and sat them down. Their head bowed mechanically, and so he crouched in front of them to be at eye level with them. He rubbed their knee hoping it would be of some comfort, feeling his own stomach twist into knots with how powerless he was in helping them. They were an empty shell, like their very soul had been stolen. They didn’t even seem to know where they were.

“What has he done this time? Did he give you something? Did he hurt you?”

Still nothing. He placed a hand on their shoulder to try and get them to at least acknowledge his presence. That was when their voice returned.

“NO!” Their face contorted in terror as they stared at Caretaker. “Don’t touch me! Whumper, please, no!”

His blood ran cold. “Whumpee, Whumpee, it’s me! It’s me, it’s Caretaker!” He cupped their face to get them grounded.

But they looked haunted, and they were still thrashing and sobbing and shouting. “No no NO! I don’t want you in my head, PLEASE!”

They pushed themself up and lunged forward like they wanted to flee, but their knees buckled beneath them, and they tumbled down. They screamed as if their whole body were on fire and then curled up into a ball and rocked back and forth.

Caretaker rushed to their side. He hesitated before touching them but eventually gripped their shoulders and forced them to face him. “Whumpee—”

“No, no, Whumper, PLEASE!”

“HEY! Snap out of it!”

They kept begging and crying. Caretaker was out of ideas. The only thing he could come up with in that moment was slapping them. Hard.

It felt terribly wrong. He watched them freeze, and the apology hung on his tongue. Yet, the guilt subsided the second they gasped for air, as the fog cleared from their vision.

“Caretaker?” They swallowed thickly, glancing around with a disoriented expression. “What—”

He shushed them gently, but worriedly. “It’s alright, it’s just me. You’re safe, okay?” He helped them up and guided them back to the bed. “You’re alright. I’m here. No one will hurt you.”

Whumpee gave a slow nod as they let reality sink back in. Heavy, but relieved silence settled over them and remained for a couple of minutes.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Caretaker risked eventually.

“I…” They chewed on their thumb. “I was just having a drink with Whumper, like we usually do in the evening and then...” Their forehead creased as they tried to remember. “Then I think we had a fight. And he…” Their head throbbed and they fell silent again, wincing in pain.

“Then he, what?” Anger was starting to run like fire through Caretaker’s body. “What did the bastard do?”

They ran a hand through their hair, whispering softly. “I can’t remember.”

“Are you making excuses for him again?” he accused. His jaw set. “I keep telling you he’ll hurt you and you don’t listen. For god’s sake, Whumpee, when are you going to stop pretending that he is your friend? Stop protecting him!”

They gazed up at him with gray eyes filled with hurt. “You’re being unfair.”

“And you’re being stupid!”

They turned away slightly, pausing for a while. “I think he tried to brainwash me.” They held back the ‘again,’ though they both knew. Their tone was low and resigned.

Caretaker instantly felt bad for lashing out. “Gosh…” He sighed deeply and sat down next to them on the bed, rubbing his forehead. “Look… I’m sorry. It’s just… Every time is worse than the last one. I always pick up the pieces, and I’m... I’m worried.”

They stayed quiet for a minute. “I’m sorry, Caretaker.”

He sighed again. “No. Don’t be sorry.” He pulled them in gently, wrapping a protective arm around them and allowing their head to rest on his shoulder. “It’s not your fault.”

Silent tears welled up in their eyes. They let them roll down their cheeks and the crook of their neck as they leaned fully against him.

And Caretaker repeated the words, softly. ‘It’s not your fault.’

You've been served by Max! Leave a tip if you liked the meal :3

#max #whumpdrivethru #tw delirium #tw attempted brainwashing #tw mental breakdown #male whumper #disoriented whumpee #whump aftermath #ask game #answered asks #whump #whump writing #whump community #whumpblr #whump blog

[the-whumpening]

The Caged Tiger | Part 1

Masterpost | Next

CW: captivity, needles, blood, threats of violence and death, restrained, dehumanization

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

The oncoming army fades from Ash’s vision, warbling green magic replacing the bright snow all around him. As if attached to a string, he feels himself being pulled—a harmless tug at first, but quickly yanking him off his feet. Within the green mist, a cacophony of voices clamor: it’s as if he’s in the middle of a tunnel, with his friends calling him on one end and confused strangers on the other. But he realizes, with dread, these voices aren’t unknown to him. As he calls out, stretching through the spiraling path before him, the portal slams shut. He tumbles to a hard stone floor, catching himself on his hands and knees.

“Wow,” one familiar voice muses. “I didn’t know it could do that!”

“Indeed,” the other replies.

A slender hand grasps his hair and lifts his head; icy spears of panic pierce his spine. He may not know exactly where he is, but he does know his captor.

Ozmund smirks coolly, a devious glint in his narrowed eyes. “You look quite different, Ash—I almost didn't recognize you.”

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

A nagging ache radiates throughout Ash’s body. But it isn’t the soreness that wakes him; rather, it’s the sharp, jabbing pain in his arm. He tries to jerk away from the source as he groggily comes back into consciousness, but his arm refuses to move, as if bound in place.

“You should stop your whinging; it’ll only make this worse,” Ozmund calmly chides, drawing up the plunger of his syringe. The chamber floods with blood, and Ash’s stomach churns at the sight. He turns his head, a cold sweat forming on his brow. As he wriggles, the cold metal around his neck presses into his skin; the attached chain clangs against itself.

What–? Is this . . . a collar?

Flashes of memory return through the queasy haze: a fight with Owen, frantic and feral, each exchanging hit after heavy hit; then a puff of sweet-smelling perfume, and the room swirling as he crashed to the floor. In the dreamlike stupor, he could feel his bare back against the stone wall and the stretch of his arms above his head.

Finally fully awake, fear and rage take the place of his confusion. He tries to calm his panic; he’s not sure if Ozmund knows about his new form, but he doubts anything good could come of him finding out. Stay calm, stay alert. He repeats Kane’s words to himself like a mantra. Use your head.

With as little movement as possible, he takes in his surroundings. The room is cold and sterile—nearly every surface is made of stone or metal. Clean, glass-framed cabinets hold an array of tools he can only guess at the purpose of. Aside from his stable-like holding cell, the rest of the space seems to be set up as a laboratory. What exactly does he do here? His muscles shake against his will—both from the fatigue and terror wracking his body as well as his desperate clinging to his human state.

“Oh, please. A beast, afraid of the sight of blood?” Ozmund scoffs. He withdraws the syringe, pressing a cloth against the wound. A shimmer of green passes through Ash’s veins, and the puncture disappears as Ozmund removes the cloth. Did he just . . . heal me?

Ash tries to speak, but terror has gripped his throat in a tight embrace. All that comes out is a strangled whimper.

Ozmund ignores his panicked squeaks. He deposits the contents of the syringe into a vial, then cleans his hands and drops his equipment on a nearby tray, all the while leaving his back turned towards Ash. Taking advantage of the moment out of his line of sight, Ash pulls uselessly against the restraints. They don’t budge; he realizes that not even his legs are entirely free. He wonders if his bindings are reinforced with magic—even his immense strength proves futile against them. Though he tries to subdue his terror, barely-audible keening cries slip out from his quick, panicked breaths.

With an exasperated sigh, Ozmund turns on his heel. He stalks closer to Ash, each sharp tap of his boots against the hard floor echoing in Ash’s ears. His voice low and ominous, he slams a hand on the wall beside Ash’s head and leans in. “You will cease that pathetic mewling.” For a reason Ash can’t begin to fathom, his expression almost . . . softens. “Don’t fret. I have no intention to kill you anytime soon. I want so much more from you than you can give, I assure you.

"After stealing away my apprentice and ruining all my plans, well, the first thing on my mind is—of course—revenge.” A devilish grin creeps across his face, and he drags a long, manicured nail down Ash’s cheek. “But," he continues, "I have something more practical planned. Such a unique specimen like this, delivered so unexpectedly on my doorstep? I'd be a fool to pass up the chance; I've had my eye on studying you for quite some time. It's funny—I've heard you were trying to become a scholar yourself. Is that right? The little kitten playing Wizard with Nekane's washed-up uncle!"

From within his overcoat, Ozmund reveals Ash’s spellbook. "You won't have any need for this now." Emerald flames erupt from his hand and engulf the book; within seconds, all of Ash’s hard work—the undeniable proof of his intelligence—is reduced to a pile of soot on the ground. Ozmund dusts off his hands and lifts Ash’s head up by the chain. "Follow my orders and serve me well, and you might live long enough to see your friends' inevitable rescue mission. Test my patience, however, and I'll send you back to them—Piece. By. Piece."

A shudder ripples up Ash’s spine, and he fights to keep his expression stone still. As much as his feral side wants to fight back—to lash out at Ozmund, rend flesh from bone, and destroy everything in his path to return to his friends—he knows he can't risk it. Ozmund is far more powerful than he can even imagine, and far less predictable. He can’t seem to anticipate any of Ozmund’s actions; every shift in his demeanor is frightening and unexpected. For once, Ash genuinely fears for his life.

"I can't say I'm not a little disappointed," Ozmund says. "Where's your fight, cat?"

Ash remains silent, dropping his gaze to the floor and turning his head away in shame. He wonders the same; he’s never let fear grab him so fiercely before, but now . . . he can’t help but be paralyzed. Since when has practicality and personal safety mattered to him in the face of danger? Why do I feel so helpless?

"Well, no matter."

He tenses, trying not to flinch, as Ozmund snaps his fingers. The shackles around Ash’s limbs fall away, leaving behind sore impressions in his wrists and a weakness in his knees. What kind of trick is this? What's going on?

"We'll coax that rage out of you soon enough." With a tug of the leash-like chain, Ozmund pulls Ash along behind him.

#whump #dnd whump #whump writing #tw blood #tw syringe #mute whumpee #tbf he CAN talk #he's just too terrified #male whumpee #male whumper #magic whump #the caged tiger #whumpblr #rublewriting

[keeper-of-all-the-random-things]

The Chain

Day 11 for @promptsforyourwhumpfic Two Weeks of Whump

CW: lady whump, male whumper, possessive whumper, chains. Please let me know if I missed anything.

#####

She was held by a single chain.  It was silver so thin it looked like a breath could shatter it.  But it sat heavy around her neck, resting against her collarbone.

She should be happy, he said.  She was lucky.  She got to dress up and go out and had the world at her feet … when he was with her.

She should be happy, he said.  There were some, he knew, who kept what was theirs hidden away, chained in the dark, only to emerge at their pleasure.  Wasn’t it kind of him to give her a chain so pretty, a leash so long?

She could pretend to be happy.  In public, when strangers said what a lovely couple they made.  In private, when he told her how well she did that day.

Alone, she cried.

At work, she raged.  He gave her staff (wasn’t that generous?), and she made what she could with this small power.  All the fear she felt, she cast off on her inferiors until one by one, they left.

See, he told her.  She should be happy.  He wanted her when no one else did.

So she pretended to be happy for him.

Alone, she cried.

The silver chain grew heavier.

#TwoWeeksofWhump #TWOW #lady whump #male whumper #posessive whumper #chains

[fl4tlines]

Wallflowers: Part One

「⛧」 OCs: Andrew (belongs to @mirasmirages) ⅋ Kay Edwards

「⛧」 Content: Kidnapping┆Drugging ┆Restraints ┆Human Trafficking┆Pet Whump

⛧ ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿⛧

The delivery driver was careless as he and a partner brought the box to Andrew’s door, took Andrew’s signature and left the box just inside the doorway. They’d taken it as far as they were paid to.

Andrew circled the box a couple of times and kicked it once. A muffled sound from inside as Andrew crossed his arms across his chest and took a moment to appreciate the situation. This – training someone from scratch who into sheer obedience – he had to confess, it was a dream job. And it had come with an advanced paycheque, with more on the way once the job was done.

He finished his coffee before opening the box with a pair of scissors, pulling away at several layers of packing tape and dropping it on the floor. Pulling the lid, he caught the first glimpse of the boy inside.

Dark hair falling in his face – blood smeared over one cheek, wearing dark jeans and a white button up splattered with blood. Duct tape on his wrists, ankles, knees and mouth. Passed out, seeming as though he were just coming around from a sedative.

Kay’s head was pounding – an awful headache. Dizzy. Nauseous. He could hardly make sense of the darkness around him. He tried to move, only to find he couldn't. Knees forced to his chest. Hands pulled together at the wrists. And he couldn't move.

He tried to kick out, twisting awkwardly in a desperate attempt to move. Gasped in a breath, only to realise tape covered his mouth.

When the lid of the box was finally removed, Kay didn't even look up. Not for several moments. Finally, he lifted his head and met the eyes of another man. Briefly in and out of focus.

Andrew met Kay’s wide eyes and smiled. Not a comforting smile. It could even be threatening. Kay didn't know. He jerked backwards, back pressing against the thick cardboard as he twisted his wrists.

“Be quiet.” Andrew looked down at him, taking several moments to take this in. A fresh trainee. This was set to be a month he would enjoy. “If I take off the tape, are you going to stay quiet?”

Even in his bleary, half-awake state, Kay nodded. Quiet. He could be quiet for now. Play along for a while. Just – just long enough to get a handle on the situation.

Andrew leant in, brushing a hand over Kay’s cheek. He patted it gently before he began to peel away the duct tape. Dropped it into Kay’s lap. Pressed a finger to Kay’s lips.

“Quiet,” he reminded Kay, before he straightened up. “How are you feeling?”

How was he feeling? That had to be some kind of joke. How was he even supposed to answer that? Kay didn't know, so he just stared up at Andrew in a stunned silence, only speaking when the man continued to look at him.

“What’s going on?” Kay mumbled, glancing down and looking at his wrists. Bruises already beginning to show. “I – you…?” He jerked himself backwards from the man, gaze flickering over him in sheer panic.

“Don't worry about that,” Andrew smiled down at Kay. Patronising.

“I take it that you don't remember much?” Andrew chuckled.

Kay just shook his head. The last thing he remembered… It was all fuzzy. Dark. Out of sequence.

“A job interview… Some – some bar…” Kay shook his head, swallowing hard and blinking up at Andrew. “What’s going on? I – this is wrong. I – I’m not meant to be here.”

“Looks like you got the job.”

“I got the job? What the hell are you talking about?” Kay fumbled, ever so slightly more alert now. “You – What do you mean? I – what?”

“Quit fumbling,” Andrew snapped. “I'll explain everything if you're patient.”

Kay nodded, blinking back tears, biting his tongue as Andrew just looked at him.

“Just – just can you – undo the tape, please?” Kay asked softly. Shaky voice. “I won't run. I – I won't do anything.”

“You’d like me to untie you? Hm.” Andrew asked, he sounded half-hearted and disinterested at best. Mockery at worst. “When we’re done talking.”

“Okay…” All Kay could do was agree. Exhaling as he suppressed a shiver.

“You want the short version? You were bought by an artist, and he’s employed me to train you,” Andrew explained bluntly. Like ripping off the band aid. “So I'm going to do my job, and have some fun doing it. Any questions?”

Kay gritted his teeth – it sounded like a sick joke. Like an elaborate, nasty, prank.

“Bought?” Kay asked, “What do you mean, bought?”

“Bought. Purchased. Acquired. Take your pick.”

“Why?”

Andrew shrugged off Kay’s question. “I don't know. I suppose he needs something obscure and eccentric to spend his money on. You know? To keep him occupied.”

“I – I didn't sign up for this!” Kay couldn't keep his mouth shut anymore. “I – this – this isn't – I want out! I'm – I'm not doing this! You – you have to believe me – let me go.”

“That isn't something that’s going to happen,” Andrew leant back against the wall and eyed Kay. “You know what will happen, though? We’re going to get to know each other. Spend some real quality time together, let you get used to the idea.”

“Not happening,” Kay snapped, glaring upwards as the weight of the situation dawned on him. “It won't. I – just let me go. Just let me go, and I'm not going to say anything! I – I won't tell anyone.”

Andrew scoffed, raising an eyebrow at Kay’s words.

“You won't say anything? Do you really think that worries me?” Andrew laughed and shook his head at Kay’s assumptions. “Believe me, you are of no concern. You know nothing about me, so what danger do you pose?”

“I – please! Listen – this – this isn't…”

“Quiet. This is non-negotiable. You're staying. And we’ll have some fun together. I've been looking forward to it,” Andrew stepped forward again. “So let’s talk rules.”

“Rules? No – I –”

“Shut your mouth,” Andrew hissed. “This doesn't have to suck, but it will if you push your fucking luck.”

Kay shut up. Wide eyes.

“Rules. You're to answer to the name Jett from now on. Forget everything else,” Andrew turned his back and headed into the kitchen, picking up a sharp knife. “You understand that?”

Silence.

“I take that as a yes,” Andrew returned to Kay and crouched in front of the box. “Secondly, you are not allowed to speak unless spoken to. You do not get requests or questions. Not yet.”

The moment Kay laid eyes on the knife, his blood ran cold and he kept his mouth shut.

“If you are spoken to, you're to be polite. Address me as Sir, and don't forget your manners,” Andrew inspected the knife, seemingly taking great interest in the blade. “Next, you're not to be on the furniture without explicit permission to do so. You stay on the floor.”

“Just spit them out!” Kay snapped, once more tugging at the duct tape around his wrists. “You're not as fucking intriguing as you'd like to think.”

“Fine,” Andrew spat. “You don't touch anything on a table or countertop. You don't open doors or drawers. You come when called. You don't do anything for yourself. You do what you're told.”

“Good luck with that,” Kay scoffed, another shiver running down his spine as he spoke. Cold regret filled his veins before Andrew even responded.

“Oh, good luck? Really?” Andrew raised an eyebrow and flashed the knife at Kay. “Good luck?”

Kay was silent, teeth gritted as he glared up at the man.

“You haven't told me your name.”

“Doesn't matter, Jett. My name is none of your concern. Now, are you going to quit with the mouthing off, or do I really have to gag you?”

“Don't waste your tape,” Kay muttered, “Now fucking undo me! We’ve talked,” a pause, “Please.”

Andrew slipped the knife between the tape at Kay’s knees and ankles, slicing through it and pulling it away.

“The wrists stay,” Andrew snapped, “Now get up and sit on the floor by the couch. We’ve already wasted too much time.”

Kay struggled to his feet, stumbling out of and stepping away from the box – all but collapsing to the floor in front of the couch.

“You have to take it off eventually,” Kay glared across at Andrew as he rested back against the couch. “Just get it over with.”

“You’re already forgetting, you don’t get requests,” Andrew shook his head, seemingly slightly amused by Kay’s attitude. Not that it would last long.

“You don’t have any right to do this,” Kay snapped, although he still sat exactly where Andrew had told him to. “You’re a fucking freak – you don’t get to do this!”

Andrew, who had stood up by now, darted forward, grabbing Kay by the hair and yanking him forward. Throwing him flat to the ground and standing over him.

“I don’t get to do this, do I?” Andrew scoffed at the idea. “Think whatever you want, but this arrogant little front? It won’t last long.”

Kay had no way of protecting himself with his hands taped, hitting the floor hard and gasping in a breath.

“We’ll see how long this lasts,” Andrew had little interest in Kay’s arguments right now. Because, he knew, they wouldn’t last. Never did.

Slowly, and more cautiously, Kay pushed himself to a more upright position. He needed time to assess everything. For now, he just kept a wary gaze on Andrew.

“You –” Kay shut up before he got any further. It would be stupid to keep pushing it. Not in his best interest. He would just… he just had to wait.

“Right. Kitchen through there, bathroom through there, middle door is your room,” Andrew skimmed over the apartment layout. He watched Kay for a moment, until it seemed like he wasn't planning on moving. Fine.

Kay had hardly paid attention to Andrew, tangling with the fact he was supposed to be here long enough to have a room. This wasn't a long-term thing. It couldn't be! It was all just – this wasn't happening. Not to him. He was just getting his damn life back together!

“Please, undo the tape,” Kay finally looked upwards at Andrew. “I won't do anything…”

Andrew tilted his head slightly and looked down at Kay. He sucked in a breath of annoyance before speaking. “What rule are you breaking?” He asked, “Be specific.”

Kay paused. Just stared at Andrew. Which rule? None – not on purpose. In the midst of everything, he couldn't even remember the rules that Andrew had listed off. Carefully, Kay got to his feet – just to be on the same level as Andrew. He didn't answer yet.

“Which. Rule?” Andrew snapped across at Kay. “Speak.”

“Enough of them, hopefully,” the words were out of Kay’s mouth before he dared regret it.

Andrew stormed across the room, grabbing hold of Kay’s jaw. Forcing eye contact.

“Talking. You are not to talk. You do not get requests,” Andrew hissed. “Do you understand?”

When Kay still didn't respond, Andrew released his jaw and slapped him across the cheek. Hard.

Kay stumbled backwards, hardly able to gather his balance again before he spoke.

“Yes! Yes – I understand,” Kay fumbled, “I – I get it!”

“Good,” Andrew looked across at Kay incredulously. “We’ll see if you can keep it up.”

“You don’t have to do this – you don’t. Just – fuck – just don’t.”

#OC: Andrew #OC: Kay Edwards #OC: Jett #OC: Aeon Kaine Edwards #because i don’t know how to tag him #WIP: Wallflowers #whump #whump snippet #whumpblr #whump writing #male whumper #male whumpee #pet whump #mine #kidnapping whump #captivity #hurt/comfort

[snapdragon-whumpz]

Twisted Love Part One - No Escape

cw - trauma, female whumpee

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

Elizabeth flicked the news on, humming along to the familiar jingle as she sat down on the plush sofa. She picked up their mug, bringing it to her mouth when she froze. That voice. She knew that voice. In fact, she couldn’t forget it. 

Liz trembled slightly as she returned the mug safely to the small table beside her. The voice continued, ringing through her very bones. Her heart skipped a beat as she forced herself to look up to see Nick on the news, being interviewed by a young journalist. Elizabeth had tried her very best to avoid any reminder of Nick. But, with the Burr company being so famous it was almost impossible. Though, she hadn’t seen his actual face for months. 

His dark eyes brought back memories Liz had tried her best to bury. Memories of blood and pain. She was back in that room again. She could hear the ghost of screams, watching as the man who had hurt her so much smiled charmingly. The smile that would haunt her for her remaining days. 

He was right - she would never be free. He would always be there in her head. He probably already knew where she lived, where she worked. Liz couldn’t breathe. Some deep instinct urged her to run - but she had nowhere to go. So, she simply watched as the interviewer finished up, making a useless joke that caused Nick to laugh a little. Tears pricked at Elizabeth’s eyes, threatening to fall. She shook her head as she began to sob. Why couldn’t she just be free?

#male whumper #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #whumper #whumplr #whump drabble #whump fic

[whumpinggrounds]

No One To Help You But Yourself

CW: captured, hero whumper, villain whumpee, beating, broken ribs, blood, self done first aid, inaccurate medical treatment (binding said broken ribs)

It’s dark, when the villain comes to, and it smells like earth. It takes time to figure out where they are, and why they’re there, but they have time. They have time to gather themselves, to piece together the broken shards of memory and the ache rooted deep under their scalp.

There was a chase. And then a battle. The villain, low on resources, ran as long as they could, then took a stand.

And, unsurprisingly, they lost.

It had been that big guy, the one built like a brick house. He’d had a slender figure with him, the one that played leader when the two were out together. Together, they’d worked absolutely seamlessly, and even the villain had to admire how perfect they were as a team.

Too bad the big guy was such a colossal asshole.

Well, the villain amends, maybe his friend is an asshole too. After all, they have no memory of who stuck them in this dank basement, head throbbing, whole body composed of aches and bruises. They aren’t bound or gagged, which they suppose is a positive. No one seems to have hurt them while they were unconscious. It’s a privilege that apparently, isn’t always afforded to the kid that was ever-so-recently under their care.

The thought of the kid makes them glower. Suddenly, they’re feeling a lot less amused by the idea that they’ve been captured. Maybe this is a good time for them to seek some information of their own.

As if on cue, there’s a distant banging, growing closer as they listen. The villain remains sprawled on the floor where they must’ve been tossed. They’re not going to waste any energy pretending to be ready to attack or something like that. They’re exhausted and stripped of any usable weapon. They stretch out on the floor and wait for the threat to come to them.

It takes but a moment. Even in the dim, underground half-light, they recognize the gigantic figure of the kid’s mentor. Upon seeing his stony face, the villain finds they can’t resist a stupid joke.

“Oh, finally. Are you here to break me out?”

The hero’s eyes narrow into slits. “Very funny.”

“Mm.” The villain folds their hands behind their head. “You don’t seem amused.”

Their opponent grunts. “Been told I don’t have much of a sense of humor.”

“Well, that’s just too bad. Sense of humor is one of the first things I look for in my companions, personally.”

The big guy scowls. His little half-mask is cute. As if that’s going to keep his identity a secret when he has bright red hair and he’s maybe the tallest man the villain has ever seen. “I’m not your fucking companion.”

“What?” The villain is almost enjoying this now. “What’d you bring me back here for? Now my feelings are hurt.”

Unimpressed, the big guy fixes him with a glare. “You’re here so you can tell me what you did with all that fucking money.” He cracks his knuckles, and each snap echoes like a gunshot. “So, let’s start now.”

“Mm.” The villain nods, thoughtful. “I totally see why you’re interested in the money. I, myself, was pretty interested in the money. It’s why I took it in the first place.”

It’s too bad they’re still wearing their own mask because the hero is missing out on their most winning smile, aimed straight at him. It might do something to improve the absolutely furious expression on his face. Ah, well. They’re opening their mouth to say something else, undeniably clever and charming, but before they can say another word, the hero is cutting them off.

“I don’t want to stand around and listen to you chatter at me. I’m going to start asking questions, and you’re going to answer. Or else.”

The villain considers their options.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have a very direct communication style? I’m really appreciating that about you.”

Pain lights up the villain’s side. It explodes out from their ribs, sending the breath from their lungs in a surprised whoosh. It’s been a long time since they’ve had to deal with this kind of specific, directed pain, and they can tell from the strength of the kick that they’re in for a lot worse.

“Wow.” Their voice comes out raspy, strained, but they’re unable to resist the temptation to make a snarky comment. “Anyone ever told you how strong you are?”

*

By the time the hero leaves, there’s something broken in the villain’s lower ribs. Every breath comes with effort, and a stabbing pain, deep in the lungs. They don’t know if the hero leaves because he’s bored, or he has something else to do, but he promises, in that low, furious voice of his, that he’ll be back.

And when he returns, it will be to show the villain what real pain is.

“Oh?” The words come far more labored. They’re sharper than the jokes the villain began with. “Like the kind you put your sidekick through?”

The hero pauses. One hand is on the doorknob already. He shakes his head. “No wonder you two get along. You’re both bleeding fucking hearts.”

The villain’s breathing is too harsh and hard to let them reply before the hero is gone. Not that they have much to say to that asshole, anyway. Just thinking about the kid makes them growl to themselves where they lie, half-sprawled on the floor.

But no one is going to help the kid if they bleed out in some crappy little basement hidey-hole. With a deep breath that sends a zinging twang through their chest, the villain hauls themselves upright. Stars dance in their vision, and bile rises in their throat, but they’re upright. It’s a start. They wait until they no longer feel like they’re going to vomit. Then, slowly, bruises protesting as they do, they peel off their shirt. Another pause, a necessary rest. Then to tear it into strips.

When their shirt is in ribbons, the villain takes their longest pause of all. Fingers clenching and unclenching against their thighs, they take a few deep breaths and gather their strength for what they’re about to have to do.

With fingers that are trembling just slightly, they wrap the first strip of cloth around their chest, hissing through their teeth as the fabric slides and presses against their broken ribs. When the first binding ribbon is in place, they squeeze their eyes shut, and pull hard.

The pain is blinding, breathtaking. The villain bends in half, sucking in harsh, panting breaths of air, fighting the urge to vomit. Their hands shake, but they don’t lose grip. Before they can lose their nerve, they knot the strip of fabric.

There. One tie, done. Only, what, a dozen more before their ribs are properly bound?

Just the thought of it makes an unwilling whimper leak between the villain’s lips. But it’s not like they have a choice. A hero put them here; there’s certainly no one coming to help them. Somewhere out there, that kid is counting on them, even if he doesn’t know it yet. But before they save anyone else, they’re going to have to save themselves.

Gritting their teeth, the villain picks up the next strip of fabric.

@whatwasmyprevioususername, @snowshower, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @whumpywritings, @princess-poopsicle, @junoswhumpdrawer

@whumptober @whumptober-archive

#whumptober #whumptober2022 #no.11 #no.13 #are you here to break me out #self done first aid #oc #fic #male whumpee #male whumper #hero whumper #villain whumpee #beating #captured #blood #broken ribs #inaccurate medical treatment #august the blur

[syncopein3d]

The Warm One Part 3: Discipline

Part 2

CW/relevant tropes: living weapon, lady whump, magic whump, traumatic restraints, implied past injury, off-screen whumper, off-screen emesis, servant caretaker, other species caretaker (Orc), pedestrian nudity.

There is a lot to do. Aldo has improved relations with the chambermaids somewhat by asking them how to do things, making it clear he isn't just here to lounge around waiting for the Wrath of the King to come back. She is required to go for marches about the grounds that he is sometimes taken on and sometimes not, depending on whether the Master of Sorceries is going.

That isn't all. There are dinners with various officials and meetings with the Council of Sorcerers whose purpose eludes him. Sometimes she is even taken to the great theater to sit in a box and watch people pretend to be other people, he is told. So while she is away, he learns to care for the thin, fancy rugs, to roll them back and mop the frigid marble floor, to make the huge bed with the silk sheets just so. He can clean the garderobe with water from the closet pump. He can change out the fresh flowers on the table outside by the guards, once a few days have passed and everyone is sure he won't run away. He can light candles and lamps and snuff them again.

The endless task of fetching wood belongs to someone else. Mostly there's a young man who does that, a Human in a nicer tunic than any the Orc ever owned before his current position. It's drab next to the embroidered velvet he is expected to wear now. Aldo, when it was his job to carry wood, never brought it further inside than the kitchens. Some of the chambermaids are Gnomes, small folk. He's never seen any of the breeds of Elf or Ifrit except at a distance. They are finer people. Aldo has always understood the place of Orcs in the Kingdom of Man. Where he is now is perplexing, but he is prepared to make the best of it.

On one particular day he is in the inner room, straightening cushions on the window seat for the tenth time, when he hears a knock. The outer door opens. Milady is arguing with someone, which means they are talking and she is just saying "No." It's the Master again. Aldo knows him well now by face and voice.

"Discipline. Blows," the man snaps, and the weapon makes a noise as if she has been struck, hastily muffled. She is more successful in suppressing the others. After a while it changes to "Discipline: Fire." But it's not until "Discipline: Pain" has been going on for about five minutes that at last she hisses, "I yield, I yield!"

"You will dress for the Ceremony."

"Yes!"

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, Master!"

"Cease," he says, and there's a muffled noise of mingled relief and despair. "Come and get her, Orc. They'll need help getting her together." The door is closing behind him as Aldo walks quickly into the front room.

The weapon is on her knees, shaking, red veinous lines running up her arm from the bracer where the plain woolen robe is all the way off one side. A thin line of spittle mingled with blood trails from her cracked lips. Her eyes are not sane. For the first moment she doesn't know him, staring up at him wild eyed. She jerks away as he kneels, and the Orc feels something twist inside him, a sudden sharp pain. It lasts only an instant before she gasps, arms twitching in the bracers. He doesn't react.

Now she looks at him and knows him.

"Aldo. Aldo? Did I hurt you? Are you torn?" She scrambles to grab at his arm, weak, babbling. Her legs can't really hold her.

"No, Milady. It only hurt for a second," he said. "I'm fine." He scoops her up as she slides sideways. Her head plonks into his shoulder, face hidden. He can feel her ragged breathing as he carries her back to the huge closet where the maids are waiting. One already has a cloth to wipe her face even as the others hurry to take the robe away and sponge the sweat from her body. Aldo holds her up with his hands around her waist, looking at the ceiling. He can cover almost her full width with his two hands.

"There's no point in trying to be modest, Mister Aldo," says Ginger, a gnome with pale blonde hair. "We all know what you're here for."

"Do you?" murmurs the weapon, hands resting on Aldo's forearms behind her. They flinch at her voice. The pace accelerates as they prepare the shift and a more elaborate robe than ever, stiff layers of crimson and gray silk embroidered with the symbol of the gods in black. Aldo has seen the crossed sword and sickle many times, but never placed at the front closure and throat, as if they are meant to seal something away. The skirt fits so closely and so straight that the weapon is forced to take tiny steps in her tall-soled silver sandals. This isn't a huge problem. She would definitely lose her balance if she tried to walk fast. She regains some steadiness over the course of the long process of dressing, but she continues to shake. When he has to let go, she holds his forearm with her hand, leaning most of her weight on him. It's not enough to make a difference.

"What is this Ceremony, Milady?" he asks her. The maids don't cringe if she only talks to him. She answers as they're piling her hair up in a bun pierced with many silver sticks. Jet beads dangle from each one.

"The Absolution of the People," she said. "I sit in a cage and the counts of all the districts come with a cup of blood to pour into the basin, representing the sins of their subjects. Then I have to drink it."

The Orc frowns.

"You have to drink blood?"

"It's not very fresh," she says.

"How do you keep it down?" He's never seen her do more than pick at the rich food they bring her. She never drinks wine that isn't diluted with fruit juice, and not much of that.

"I don't," she says. "I have to hold it until I can get behind the curtains. Then there's a bucket."

Aldo is silent for a little while as they paint her mouth black. She can't speak while this is being done. As they're doing the last arranging and brushing down of her robes, her hand still clutching his arm like the last board of a sinking ship, he says,

"I'll be here when you get back."

"You don't have to wait up," she says. "It will be late."

"Yes, Milady. Thank you, Milady." His tone is very deferential. They both know he'll wait up anyway. He can tell by the way she peers up at him sideways.

Part 4

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