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faofinn · 6 months

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No. 20 "People don't change people, time does."

@whumptober-archive

Blanket | Found Family | "You will regret touching them."

Part 1 | Part 2

There was a gunshot or two as Finn made his way to find Jess, but he couldn't find it in himself to care what he'd done. He kicked each door through, sweeping each room and trying to not let his heart fall at each empty room.

Finally, the door he kicked in wasn't to emptiness, but to Jess. He almost forgot to sweep the room, desperate to get to her. She was alone, thankfully, her wrists bound above her head, bloodied and bruised, but alive.

Her lip was split, dried blood still smeared across her face, and bruises already starting to show. She managed a tentative smile, leaning into Finn’s gentle hand against her cheek. He was quick to cut the bindings, wrapping an arm around her to keep her up.

"I'm so sorry, Jess." His voice was soft. "We've got you now, you're safe."

Fao followed Finn as he found his girlfriend, ensuring the room was still clear and nobody was creeping up on them as his brother comforted her. “Come on, Finn. Let’s get her home. Is she injured?”

"I'm fine." She tried to protest but as she made to take a step, her legs gave way.

"Oh, careful." Finn said softly, his arms gentle as he scooped her up. "I've got you."

She thought about protesting again, but thought better of it as she relaxed into Finn. "Thank you."

Fao led the way out, glancing at his brother almost constantly to make sure both him and Jess were alright. When they finally got to the van and Finn could set her down on the bed, Fao was quick to drape a blanket over her shoulders. “Here. You must be frozen.”

Jess couldn't hide the flinch, a sharp, pained gasp that trailed into an awkward laugh. "Sorry, Fao."

“You’re okay. You weren’t expecting me to be so close to you.” He said. “Can I check you over quickly? Make sure you’ve got no injuries hiding?”

Finn was sat behind her, acting as a pillow, and he rubbed her arm. "He'll be quick and I'll go find dad, yeah?"

She shook her head, her hand gripping onto Finn’s. "No, I'm alright. I don't need to waste your time."

“You’re not wasting time. I’m sure you’re fine, but you’re shaken up and I don’t want to miss anything nasty because you can’t feel it right now, yeah?”

"I'm fine."

“Literally two minutes?”

"Not here." She glanced at Finn. "Please?"

Fao sighed. “Alright, when we get home?”

"Finn?"

"You need checking over, Jess. I can't overrule."

“When we’re at home, we can do it quickly and then get you curled up on the sofa with Finn. Do you want some water?”

She shook her head. "No, thanks."

“Alright. Let’s head off then. Finn, are you getting Fred first?”

"Yeah, I won't be long." He pressed a kiss to her hair, adjusting the pillow behind her. "Promise."

“Go on.” Fao said, watching his brother leave before he turned to Jess. “You helped us find you, y’know?”

She wrapped her arms around herself. "I did?"

“Yeah. That little ‘note’ you left us in code.”

She managed a smile. "Oh, you saw it?"

“Yeah, and good job too. It was useful. We’ve got you better trained than Finn.”

"Even Apollo is better trained than Finn."

“Oh, that’s true.”

Jess laughed, though it broke off into a wince. "Better behaved most of the time too."

“Definitely.” Fao said. “Are you warm enough?”

"I'm fine, Fao, really. I'm not you two, I'd say if something was wrong."

“Hey, that was uncalled for.” He shot back, but his words held no heat.

"I'm sorry the truth hurts." She teased.

“Ouch.”

"I'm not wrong."

“I suppose not, but still ouch.”

Once Finn had sorted things with Fred, they headed back to home, though they took a much longer route to avoid being followed. Finn stayed in the back with Jess whilst Fao drove, and it was a relief to get home. Things were as they should be.

They headed inside, Fao right alongside his brother and his girlfriend. “Right. Basement then, make sure you’re okay and we can all head to bed.” Fao murmured, leading them downstairs before Jess could argue.

"Uh, Fao?" Jess spoke up.

“Yeah? What’s wrong?” He asked, frowning as he picked out supplies.

"You're not going to tell anyone?"

“Tell anyone what?” He asked, turning to face her. “If you’re worried about confidentiality then I won’t tell a soul, I swear.”

"Can you leave it off my notes?"

“I can’t promise until I know what it is, but if I can I will.” He moved closer to her. “What’s going on?”

She folded her arms with a huff. "If you don't agree, I'm not gonna let you check me over."

He sighed. “Fine, fine. It won’t go on your notes.”

"You promise?"

“Swear on my life.”

Jess sighed. "Fine."

Fao grabbed a stool, sitting down in front of her. “What’s going on, then?”

"I'm pregnant."

“Sorry, you’re what?”

"We didn't plan on it."

“You’re pregnant? You and Finn?”

"No, me and Harrison. Of course it's Finn's."

“What the fuck?” Fao breathed, and then shook his head. “How many weeks?”

"Eighteen."

That was a long time to have not told anyone. And to think, today she’d crashed her car, been kidnapped, beaten up… Shit. “Okay. Jesus Christ. Have you had scans and stuff?”

"Yeah, given everything that happened as a kid."

He nodded, moving closer. “And how are you feeling now? Any pain?”

She shrugged. "A bit, I'm not gonna lie."

“And that’s new?”

"Since earlier, yeah."

“Noticed anything else?”

"No."

“We’ll make sure everything is the way it should be.” Fao murmured, still reeling from her news. “Uh, anything else? Besides that obviously, any issues? You’ve been through it today.”

"Nothing really. My head hurts, and I generally feel like shit. I just want to go to bed."

“Yeah, alright. Shit day, eh?” He said. “Let’s get you sorted.” He was gentle as he checked her over, always checking in to make sure she was okay as he cleaned up cuts and scrapes. She was lucky to have gotten off lightly, just superficial stuff really.

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bunnyboy-whumpee · 3 months

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Reasons why you should buy a pet of the same breed as Osheen:

They're super cute and obedient, perfect to have at home, they can follow complex instructions and perform all kinds of tasks.

They come in a variety of sizes and colors, you can ask for any specific features and there Will most likely be a pet that fits your preferences.

They are pocket sized! Most of them are 150 to 165 cm tall, unlike most humans, they stop growing pretty early in life.

They have a longer lifespan than the average house pet.

They reproduce really fast and can have litters of Up to 6 pups. They can also be breed with other pets and even with their owners so be careful.

Their youthful appearance and soft manerisms make them perfect to be used as nannies or to entetain guests. They can also be hidden at plain sight, given that they are humans bred only for the purpose of being pets.

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treehuggerthegreat · 27 days

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something i really need to get off my chest even if i just post this privately is That i really dislike ‘caretakers’ in whump writing. or ‘whumper’ i feel like it makes a character (even if they’re just a hypothetical one) feel very 1 dimensional and it makes me so OKAY JUST HEAR ME OUT!!! whumpee i don’t mind much, it makes the prompt or what your talking about a little clearer. But it feels like it’s putting it into a box and making sort of roles which makes it feel less like a prompt and more like we’re in an omega verse fandom and i mean this really lovingly and affectionately and no hate to any of yall. I have a vast amount of characters and i write stories and books and I can say with out a shadow of a doubt, not ONE of them fall under ‘whumper’ or ‘caretaker’ because i develop them as their own individual character. Not even my antagonist are ‘whumpers’

So one of my main antagonists literally burns cigarettes on the MC and abuses the MC. Tries to kill her on her 18th birthday. Shes her mom, and the main character PHYSICALLY cannot leave that situation with out getting the authorities involved until she turns 18. Mom sounds like an ass, she beats ‘whumpee’ up! why would i NEVER call her a whumper? because she’s a whumpee by that logic. Her mom was extremely emotionally abusive, and half the time not fully there. Her shitty ass dad got murdered in front of her when she was just a kid. but Her mom isn’t a whumper either, because she too would be considered a whumpee. She was a world renowned flapper girl, everyone loved her. she LIVED for the fame and her face in newspapers. But behind the scenes she was actively ignoring her distant parents as they continued to try and marry her off. She was then forced into the marriage when she got pregnant with the guy (much so against her will which is why she killed him.) and ever since she’s been delusional and not fully there. It’s generational abuse.

more ramble under the cut + extra clarification on what I’m trying to say

okay but that’s just generational abuse right? There are other whumpers in the real world! Yeah i guess there’s sadists and serial killers, but like, there’s SOOOO much more guys.

I have a mini antagonist, he’s in highschool and he’s meant to be the toxic narcissistic ex of one of my characters. But he’s falling apart trying to get attention, he’s not fully aware of the damage he IS doing. Ass he may be but again behind the scenes he’s constantly fighting with his dad who refuses to do anything around the house and who is also transphobic (she’s bigender but i’ve been using he to make it less confusing right now) and now she has to take care of her little sister and act like a whole ass mom. As a sophomore. In high school. Not only that but her mom died, so she has to struggle with that. She’s just an annoying ass teenager, she doesn’t understand how to treat people or how she’s supposed to be handling what she’s dealing with. But getting attention and being liked at school? now that’s the shit. That’s like drugs for her. But to what lengths does she go to get that extra validation? He uses his boyfriend almost like an accessory. He’s not considerate of his feelings, and most likely doesn’t understand what a relationship is SUPPOSED to be.

Unless you’re making a sociopath character, which i LOVE a good sociopath character, you have to treat them like they also have humanity. Most of the time villains don’t just. Do shit to do it, they have some sort of background that lead up to this!!! And also even then with sociopaths they’re their own individual characters separate from the people they hurt!!! and also NONE of these are end all be alls and all characters must be developed this way!!!!

just my advice and stuff <3 i love all of you out there and i can understand why using certain roles and terms are the go to, and i’m not stopping you!!! i just really wanted to give my two cents so i can possibly help other writers!!!

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 months

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Wonderful

CW: Intimate whump, frank/mocking noncon discussion, captivity, forced relationship (... sort of), threats of violence/death

(As always, Jax is @comfy-whumpee's OC and is used with permission and oversight)

Brayden Marcoset has never hated a single soul as much as he hates his cousin’s stupid fucking English muffin of a man.

Savvie had taken a perfectly good house slave, trained by the best man in the business, and then she somehow ruined him entirely. Placid and obedient had become watchful and cunning. As if she’d turned a fucking housepet into a caged, half-rabid… coyote, or something.

Not that Brayden’s ever seen one other than on television, but… still. Metaphors don’t matter.

She’s given the man delusions of grandeur, pulled him into her bed when he should have spent his nights in the servant quarters or bedded down with the hunting hounds where he belongs.

It’s one thing for a Marcoset man to take a liking to staff - that's just part of life - but none of them ever demanded to marry one. And no Marcoset man ever tried to make any of the resulting little bastards into legitimate Marcoset heirs.

It’s disgusting.

Brayden’s eyelid twitches just looking at him, where he sits on the long end of the sectional like he even deserves to be there. Savvie dresses him in clothes that are worth more than he is, simpers and smiles and kisses him, calls him sweet little nicknames and all but throws herself at him 24 hours a day, seven days a week.

It’s hell, having to play along with her ridiculous little games.

But… here they are, he and the man Savvie insists on calling her husband sitting across from each other like this is normal or fine and not Savvie twisting and bending the rules of reality to her will like she always does.

Jax should be standing unobtrusively in a corner waiting to be given an order. He should be wearing the staff uniform of white shirt, black pants, black collar, and eyes on the ground.

He should be her little secret she brings to her bed and then sends away right after and he should be grateful for being her favorite.

Instead, he’s sitting on the couch as miserable as Brayden is, wearing a pair of tailored jeans and a sweater Brayden owns himself in a different color and now can’t wear ever again, not now that the muffin has worn it.

Not now that he realizes Jax looks better in that style of sweater than he does.

Grudgingly, he admits to himself that Jax looks pretty good in general. Too thin, thanks to Savvie’s iron control over how much he eats and when he gets the chance to eat it, but… good. He’s got that hint of lean muscle you can’t quite hide, and his hair looks good. Maybe he’s got shadows under his eyes, but really… that’s not so bad. He’s handsome enough, even with the shock collar permanently locked around his neck.

Next to him, looking ethereal - she thinks, anyway - in an empire-waist gown with too many layers of faint pastel shades that she believes turn her into some kind of watercolor queen, Savvie has a hand on his knee as she gestures. She pauses, looking between he and Jax, and Brayden feigns a reaction - he has no idea what she just said.

Neither does Jax, he thinks - he’s staring slightly off to one side as Savvie chatters about their most recent ‘babymoon’, a trip down to the beach house to enjoy the waves, work on her next album, and really just focus on being ‘us’ for a while. She’s only twenty-three weeks pregnant and they’ve already gone on two of the damn things, Savvie dragging Jax with her like the idiot little dog on a short leash he might as well be.

How many more can she plan? How many more of these stories is he going to have to pretend he’s listening to?

Brayden watches Jax instead.

His jaw is angled more sharply than it was when he’d first arrived, years ago, as if he’s always biting something back. Brayden had seen him a few times before back then, before he’d gone to the cops and it had nearly cost them all everything… Jax had been blank, then, too, but it had been… different.

Now he isn’t really empty.

Jax's face always looks like a computer with the monitor off but programs still whirring all the same. Whatever there is going on behind his eyes, Brayden can’t see it. And he’s usually pretty good at reading the shit the servants think they’re hiding. Or roughing them up until they tell him anyway.

But with Jax, it’s like looking through completely frosted glass. Shadows, a hint of a color, maybe, but… nothing clear. Never enough to get any understanding. Being trapped in Savvie’s life - in her bed, in her arms - has made Jax into a better liar than he’d been when he first arrived.

That’s not just irritating.

That’s dangerous.

But Savvie doesn’t see it.

Savvie pauses, leans over, whispers into Jax’s ear as she gives his knee a squeeze. Brayden watches a soft smile flicker across his face, gone as fast as it came. He whispers, Yes, Miss Savvie in that hushed voice that makes Brayden’s teeth itch. Savvie pushes herself to her feet. Her stomach isn't really that rounded but she acts like it’s already huge, rubbing her hand over it, up and down. Brayden barely stops himself from rolling his eyes.

He gets the sense Jax feels the same as he does, for once.

“I’ll be right back,” Savvie says brightly. “Keep an eye on him for me, won’t you, Bray? Just… part of the magic, I guess, is having to go to the bathroom every six minutes. I swear…” She’s still talking when she leaves the room. Has she stopped since she got here? He’s pretty sure she hasn’t. She barely even pauses to breathe.

But at least the room gets quiet, now.

He glances over at Jax, who doesn’t look back. But, like a shark scenting blood a mile away, Brayden sees how his scarred hands shift where they rest, falsely relaxed. Brayden watches his ring finger twitch, the simple band Savvie put there glinting dimly in the light.

“How badly do you wish she would just drop dead right now?” He asks, seemingly idly, tipping his cut-crystal glass to watch the whiskey and ice swirl around each other. “More than before she got herself pregnant, or less?”

Jax’s jaw shifts. Those eyes move to his, briefly, all innocent uncertainty. “Don’t know w-what you mean,” He says, voice low.

“Oh, give up the bullshit,” Brayden says, huffing as he takes a drink, leaning over with his elbows on his thighs. He finds a half-smile, but he doesn’t mean it, and he doesn’t try to look like he does. “We all know how you feel. You might as well be honest with me about it. Besides, we’re basically family, now, right? I was at your wedding. I was your best man, your best-... what, d’you call it your best mate in merry old England?”

He laughs at his own mockery of an accent that has only the slightest relation to Jax’s own, taking a drink. This is his fourth whiskey of the evening and the other three went down smooth. The world is getting brighter, with sharper edges - just how he likes it.

At the mention of the wedding - where Jax had gone where he was told, done what he was told to do, said the words Savvie gave him to say, and probably gone back to Savvie’s home that night and whispered sweet nothings like a man with a gun to his head - Jax’s fingers twitch again. They close into loose fists. He doesn’t even bother with a reply, this time.

Just looks away again.

“Hey.” Brayden frowns, snapping his fingers, but Jax doesn’t even flinch. “I’m talking to you.”

More silence.

“Come on. Give me something to work with.” He sits back again, raking a hand back through his hair. “You’re a treat to have around for a visit, aren’t you? So very talkative. Goddamn chatty. Jax, why are you even here, anyway? You don’t have to be.”

That gets him the briefest bit of eye contact, but nothing more. “Miss Savvie was invited for dinner,” He says, voice low and blank and empty. It makes Brayden’s anger rise like a storm surge inside him, battering his resolve.

The rest of the staff… react. They murmur obedience, they smile when he tells them to, they answer every question with yes, Master Brayden or no, Master Brayden, or whatever you want, Master Brayden. But Jax, the worst of them all, has to be treated like he matters just because Savvie thinks his dick hung the moon.

Brayden moves fluidly onto his feet, ignoring the way the world spins a little. Maybe, he thinks, he shouldn’t have another whiskey after he finishes this one. He moves around the coffee table, closing the distance between them. Jax’s fists close tighter and tighter, until his nails must be breaking skin. As Brayden bends and then leans in close, Jax subtly leans away, trying to keep distance between them.

But Brayden isn’t in the mood for distance.

Not tonight.

Instead, he shifts gears, switches over to easygoing, we’re all guys here friendliness. “Seriously, man. We all know she’s batshit, she always was. We all know it. Nobody really thinks this is Romeo and Juliet but her. You know? You should be scrubbing floors right now. Or… I don’t know, maybe you should be somewhere else. Like back home, huh?”

Jax takes in a breath, his eyes determinedly focused on a spot on the wall somewhere over Brayden’s shoulder, but he doesn’t reply. This close, Brayden can smell the cologne Savvie makes him wear.

“It’s okay,” Brayden murmurs, looking towards the door Savvie went through and then back. “It’s just the two of us here. Be honest with me, Mr. Marm-... Marcoset.” He’s slurring a little as the whiskeys catch up to him, but it doesn’t matter. “You spend half the night thinking about putting a pillow over her fucking face, and you know nobody who actually knew her would even blame you, so why not do it? Or… look, it’s just us here and now. Just you and me. Tell me why you don’t just… go, get out of here, get the fuck out of my sight. And don’t say the collar. If you’re here at this house, the shock collar can’t be set to make you stay at her house, so… why not just fucking take off before she can get to the remote? You could make it outside before she even notices. I wouldn’t even say anything, I’d just sit here and wait. I’d even give you a good head start.”

He drops his voice lower, soft and poisonously seductive. The kind of voice he might use on a pretty servant girl, not his cousin’s idiot husband. Just above a whisper. The same way he might have otherwise murmured to one of the staff to be in my room at midnight, to Jax he offers a different kind of poison laced with sugar.

“She left the keys in the car, didn’t she? You know she did. Go on, Jax. I won’t say a damn thing. Just go. Get the fuck out of our lives and be free and then I never have to see your ugly fucking face again.”

He’s nearly breathing whiskey-breath in Jax’s face, and still, the man doesn’t move. Doesn’t even wrinkle his nose.

Brayden chuckles, forcing it, because he’s getting absolutely nothing from the man still seated in perfect still silence on the couch, but he can feel under all that empty space the rising tension. He can tell he’s getting to Jax, at least a little.

He wants to throw him to the floor, kick his ribs until he hears the satisfying snap when one of them breaks, and then keep going. Give Savvie back her man with black eyes and busted-out teeth, a broken jaw. Show him how little he means, no matter what Savvie tells him.

He’s just staff.

He’s just something else the Marcosets own.

He doesn’t deserve their name, and he isn’t even grateful for it.

“Come on,” He murmurs, nearly close enough to touch now. “You know you want to go. You could get out before there’s some little monster screaming for you alongside her all night, some bastard baby you’ll hate as much as you hate her. Throw a punch, I’ll let you hit me even. Make it look like a fight and not like you’re just following my orders, too. Go on. Or… well, wait a second.”

He sits down next to Jax, slinging an arm around his shoulder like they’re the best of friends, leaning in until he’s nearly close enough to kiss.

“Do you... do you not even want to go? Huh? Is the problem that you really want to be here? Got a lil case of the Stockholm Syndrome? That’s not real, you know. They made it up... doesn’t matter. But hey, maybe you have it anyway. Maybe you like fucking her every single night. That’s why you never take the chances, because… because we know there are chances, don’t we, you and I? After you dick her down real good, she falls asleep and you have hours, but no… you stay right there and wait to be told to dick her down again, huh? Because you want to be here." He laughs again, barely making a sound. "You sad little shit, you actually love her and you don’t even know it. Love her so much you’re having a baby together. Some little fucking clone of my cousin, but hey. Maybe the little goblin will have your eyes, huh? You can teach it to say yes, Miss Savvie like a goddamn moron just like you. Gonna be the baby's first words, right?"

There.

Jax’s back and shoulders feel like iron, tense as steel bearing too much weight under the soft cashmere, beneath Brayden’s arm. The way that tension turns to shaking makes him smile. Jax’s knuckles are bleached against the fabric of his jeans, his face paper-white beneath some red that lingers in his cheeks.

It’s a good look on him.

It’d be better if he was bleeding.

Too much whiskey has Brayden’s hand creeping back up, over the back of Jax’s neck to the shock collar’s lock. He knows the combo, the whole family knows the combo they use for the shock collars. “I’ll take it off,” He whispers, “And give you twenty minutes. How far can you get, I wonder? I want to see. Don’t you want to see how far you can get?”

Jax’s eyes, locked as they are on the wall in front of him, flare slightly. Brayden’s close enough to hear his breathing suddenly go shallow, and then catch.

“Come on,” Brayden whispers. “Run, rabbit. Run.”

Brayden’s fingers brush over the lock, the hair that just barely curls over it at the nape of Jax’s neck.

“Don’t,” Jax says, voice tight.

Brayden’s lip curls in disgust. “Why not?”

“Because, Brayden, in this particular moment he is smarter than you are.”

The voice of Brayden’s father booms from the doorway,.

Brayden feels blood somehow both rush to his face and also drain from it at the same moment. Then his vision goes red. Jax had seen Isaac coming, hadn’t he? He'd seen, and he hadn’t said a damn thing.

Brayden gets back to his feet, stumbling forward before straightening his posture. Even in his late thirties, he’s still got a hint of nerves around Isaac. Being too drunk in front of his father feels like a great way to get himself in deep shit all over again.

Isaac Marcoset, always the biggest presence in any room he enters, moves casually as he rolls his sleeves back down. Smears of faint red on his knuckles are the only sign of the work he’s been busy with for the past hour. The head of the Marcoset family is all charm and darkness. He’s sly smiles and handshakes that sometimes go on just a little too long, and he’s also agonizing, lingering death in a back room, with staff removing bodies out the back door.

Brayden takes a breath. He feels the strangely teenage urge to hide his whiskey glass behind his back and fights it. “Hey... Hey, Dad.”

Isaac only raises an eyebrow, pouring himself a drink from the bar cart in the corner. The silence draws out, awkward and heavy.

Brayden clears his throat. “I-I wasn’t really going to take it off, I was… I was just fucking with him, that’s all.”

“I certainly hope you’re not fucking with him, Bray.” Isaac takes a drink, waiting for Brayden to understand his terse joke. No one laughs. “I realize he has some sort of attractive quality to him, although I have no idea what, but still. It’s bad enough that my niece lowers herself to bedding him, surely you can abstain?”

Brayden's face burns so hot he half thinks he'll catch fire. "Dad!"

In the corner of his eyes, Brayden sees the corners of Jax’s smile shift into a shit-eating little smirk.

The little shit. How dare he looks like that, like he's gotten one over on Brayden, and how dare he wear the fucking wedding ring that means Brayden can’t even do anything about it. Not anything permanent enough to count, anyway.

Brayden drops back into his seat, hunching his shoulders and glaring over the edge of his glass. He tells himself if Jax so much as cracks a fucking joke, he’ll break this glass, carve that smirk into the stupid fucker's face, and beg Savvie for forgiveness afterward.

When he looks, though, Jax isn’t even looking at him. Those hazel eyes are locked on Isaac, as if Brayden simply ceases to exist when his father walks in the door. It’s a feeling that’s far too familiar, and it makes Brayden feel… small.

Which pisses him off even more.

And Jax knows it.

“Hello, Uncle Isaac,” Jax says, serene. As if they were all simply discussing the weather. But that shit-eating grin doesn’t leave his face, even if it never makes it to his eyes.

“Hello, miscreant,” Isaac replies, apparently in a good enough mood to humor him. “I have to assume, if I’m forced to endure your presence, that my niece is here as well?”

“She went to th’bathroom,” Brayden mutters, drinking the rest of his whiskey in two gulps, using the burn as a distraction from his embarrassment and fury at even being embarrassed in front of glorified staff, Savvie’s little toy. “Mother said… what, twenty minutes ago? I think? She said supper’s served at seven.”

“Hm. Not much longer, then. Good, I’ve worked up an appetite.” Isaac settles into his favorite armchair in the sitting room, tapping fingertips on the upholstery. “You should learn to control yourself, Bray. My niece’s choice of men may not run to the most handsome or most intelligent-... or men with brains at all, really-... but despite his many faults… well. There isn't anything we can do about those. The miscreant remains whether we like it or not."

“Now you’re just hurting my feelings,” Jax says, with absolutely no emotion whatsoever. “Thought we were family now, Uncle Isaac.”

Brayden glares at him - he’s been silent, but now he talks? Now he has little quips to say, once Brayden looks like a moron in front of his father and Isaac is the one holding fucking court?

Jax’s smile widens ever so slightly as he finally meets Brayden’s eyes. “Didn’t you just say so? You were at the wedding. You were my best mate.”

“I’m going to pull your teeth out with pliers!” Brayden lunges forward with a roar. He winds one arm back and whips his glass right at Jax, whose hands are up fast enough that it just bounces off his forearms, sprays half-melted ice cubes and whiskey-flavored water in Jax’s hair and clothes, and then cracks into pieces on the floor. “You little shit! I’ll pull out each and every fucking fingernail and make you regret-”

“Brayden Marcoset!” Isaac’s voice is louder than the pulse of fury in Brayden’s mind. “Calm yourself!”

For a long, drawn-out moment, he can’t move. All he can think about is choking the life out of Jax until his smirk dies, until his eyes go dim, and then the emptiness isn’t fake anymore, it’s real. And he can see that Jax knows he wants to, knows just how little there is keeping him from turning him into a smear on the floor for the staff to scrub out.

He wouldn’t even be the first.

Then, he takes a breath and sits down.

��Hannah!” He yells over his shoulder. “Come clean this mess up in here!”

She’s always close by. Hannah, one of the aforementioned bastards the Marcosets hold onto for their own purposes, looks entirely too much like Savvie. She, though, wears the white-and-black uniform, her collar snug around her neck, and her hair - that Marcoset hair, wavy and thick - is cut to her chin. She swallows, hard, when she sees them all. “Master-... oh, good evening, Master Isaac,” She says, feigning cheer, but Brayden isn’t in the fucking mood for it. "Master Jax."

"He's nobody's fucking master. Shut the fuck up. Just clean up the fucking mess,” He says, and waves his hand. Hannah takes in the sight of the cracked glass on the floor and droplets of water, Jax sitting there marked with it himself, and then her gaze moves to the fury on Brayden’s face.

She pulls a towel from where it had been tucked over her belt for easy use. Her face is carefully expressionless. “Yes, Master Brayden.”

That’s more like it.

The three of them watch her clean in awkward silence - or Isaac and Brayden do, who the fuck knows what Jax is actually looking at - and then she vanishes as quickly as she came.

Brayden points after her. “That should be you,” He says to Jax, voice flat. “Cleaning up my mess, saying yes sir and no sir, and never giving me any shit. Got it? Savvie’s weird obsession with you is the only thing that keeps me from making sure you work your hands to the bone here on my orders.”

Jax opens his mouth - Brayden’s going to kill him, whatever he says next - but Isaac speaks before he manages to say whatever was on his mind.

“Oh, let it go,” Isaac says, waving a hand. “You’re letting him work you up. When you do this, you teach him that he matters to you.”

“He-”

The door bursts open and all three men tense, then, but it’s only Savvie returning. She’s breathless and flushed and her eyes are shining. She looks like a princess in a fairytale as she rushes forward to grab Jax’s hands in her own and pull him to his feet. “Jax! Honey, come feel!”

She doesn’t even seem to see her cousin or uncle. Only Jax.

Only.

Jax.

Brayden’s teeth grind together watching Jax’s sly cunning disappear, replaced with the play-acting at earnest, if nervous, adoration that Savvie demands from him. Everyone else on earth could disappear and Savvie wouldn’t care, as long as she had her fucking English muffin to cling to.

Nothing fucking matters but him.

“Feel what, Miss Savvie…?” Jax’s confusion, at least, is genuine. His hands hang slightly limp in her grip. She pulls him to her, pressing his palms over her stomach through her dress, biting her lower lip and looking downward.

Brayden groans as he realizes what it is.

Jax glances at him and then back, but it doesn’t seem to have sunk in for him, not just yet. Then he flinches, minutely, eyes widening. He pulls his hands back. “M-Miss Savvie-”

There are bloodstains, small but vibrant, on her dress now, from the wounds he’s made with his own fingernails in the palms of his hands.

Savvie doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care.

She pulls him right back, her hands pressed down a little too hard over his to keep them where she wants them. Hard enough to make him wince. Savvie’s forehead touches his, and she whispers excitedly, “Did you feel her? Did you feel her kicking?”

Jax stares down, then, at their hands, and her rounded stomach. As if he could look right through it and see the growing life inside. “Yeah,” He whispers. He looks like he wants to sink into the floor, like he might be sick. “I-... I feel it, I th-think. That’s-”

“That’s her kicking,” Savvie whispers. “That’s her. Jax, sweetie, that’s…” She sniffs, taking pause for dramatic effect. “That’s our daughter. Our baby.”

“Th-that’s our baby,” Jax repeats. He sounds numb.

“Oh,” Savvie whispers, sounding a little amazed. It’s an oddly genuine sound, dropping the theatrics, the eternal performance. As if this has knocked even Savvie out of her usual song-and-dance. She hesitates, and then shifts Jax’s hands a little. “She’s kicking harder for you, isn’t she? She knows it’s you already.”

“Y-... you think she does?” Jax’s voice nearly matches Savvie’s. The awe in his voice might almost be real. It’s brief, but they almost look and sound like a real couple. Just for a second. Just if you tilt your head, squint, and pretend you don’t see the shock collar locked on his neck and the way she holds his hands too tight.

“Yeah,” Savvie says, and her smile is sweet as she lifts one hand to touch his face. There’s a pause, Jax’s eyes are locked on her stomach, he doesn’t react to her touch at all. Some of the syrupy-soft smile on her face starts to fade. The warmth in her chills. “Jax. She knows you’re her daddy, isn’t that wonderful?”

Half of Brayden is amused that she still has to prod Jax to give his line, to keep up the performance. Half of him is disgusted that Jax goes along with it, tips his head into the palm of her hand and gives her the big doe eyes she loves so much.

“Yes, Miss Savvie,” Jax answers, automatically, meeting her gaze now. He turns his face and it might almost seem like he’s kissing her palm, although even drunk Brayden can see that he isn’t really doing that at all. Savvie, though, sees what she wants to see - she always has. Jax’s fingers twitch where his hands are still laid on her rounded stomach, feeling the shifting movements of the growing child, the fucking anchor Savvie has tied around his neck. He manages something like a slight, faint smile. “It’s w-wonderful.”

It’s fucking depressing, is what it is.

“Fuck,” Brayden mutters, wishing he had another drink.

#the motherfucking gallaghers #jax gallagher #jax #savvie marcoset #sadistic whumper #captivity #whump #multiple whumpers #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #defiant whumpee #it's quiet here but jax absolutely is pissing brayden off #also features: brayden being weirdly homoerotic about jax #you uh #you got something to share with the class there buddy #alcohol use tw #pregnancy tw

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promptsforyourwhumpfic · 8 months

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Whump Prompt #1251

Submitted by Anon - thanks!

TW: infertility | nsfwhump | mentions of noncon

An AFAB whumpee really wants kids and has done for ages. Thus image the trauma when after being recused from their kidnapping, they discover they were made infertile from the torture Whumper inflicted - incidentally their dreams of starting a family are ripped apart from them.

Alternatively: AFAB Whumpee instead discovers they are pregnant post recuse - but to their horror it's Whumpers kid. Now Whumpee has to live with the fact Whumper has such control over Whumpee that they control their deepest desire.

#whump #writing #prompts #ideas #infertility tw #nsfwhump #mentions of noncon #noncon tw #trauma #torture #noncon body modification #rescue

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witchy-shortcake · 2 months

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Hiii! It's finaly time for me to make a propper intro post so, i hope you like It.

You can call me Doe or Chamomile, I'm a lesbian, i use she/her, I'm 15 years old and i like reading, writing, drawing, etc.

I mainly post about whump in this account but i'm also really into SNK, JJK, the gray House and basicaly sad books in general.

My favourite whump tropes are: Creepy/intimate whumper, emeto (not kink), med whump and pregnant whumpee (yes, you heard that right).

I've been here since last year and i really hope you all enjoy my content :)

#whump #whumpee #whump writing #whump prompt #fyp2023 #whump drabble #writing #viralpost #original character #oc #intro post #introductory post #pinned post #pinned intro #introduction post #blog intro

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mj-iza-writer · 7 months

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Caretaker cuddled the little baby onto his chest, they had been a little cranky with him, but was starting to relax enough to fall asleep.

Whumpee stirred from their nap, "do you want me to take them."

"No Whumpee, you need to rest", Caretaker cooed at the baby, "I'm just out of practice, and we are getting used to each other."

Whumpee grinned at Caretaker, "thankyou sir for everything."

"You're welcome sweetie, get some rest", Caretaker patted the newborn's back.

Minutes passed, and both baby and mom were asleep again. Caretaker smiled at the sight. It had been a long while since he had a baby in his care.

He marveled at the small person. " These last few months were a learning experience for sure", Caretaker thought to themself.

Whumper had gotten Whumpee pregnant a few months before the rescue, and Whumpee was seriously lacking in care. Caretaker took on the job happily, but coordinating care for a 3 month pregnant lady was an experience. Thankfully Caretaker had found an obstetrician who was willing to help Whumpee and Caretaker.

Caretaker smiled to themself as they remembered the last few months, "I definitely went overboard in finding resources, but Whumpee and this baby deserved the best of what I could offer them."

Whumpee whimpered a little as they shifted on the couch.

"Poor Whumpee, you went through all of this as gracefully as one can given your circumstances. Growing a human and trying to heal from everything Whumper had done took a lot out of your body", Caretaker frowned.

The baby jolted awake, Caretaker moved to cradle them.

"Shh, let's let mommy rest some more", Caretaker stood and walked them around his house. He stopped at one room that was under construction.

"This will be your room. You and mommy are staying here for a little while, and you deserve a room", Caretaker looked in, "I may have gone a little overboard on buying for you, but I have no idea what babies really need and this all looked beneficial."

Caretaker went across the hall, "this is mommies room, it will be really close", Caretaker walked down the hall, "and if you ever need me I'll be down here, never be afraid to ask me for help."

"Uh Caretaker?", a quiet voice came from behind.

Caretaker turned and smiled, "aww Whumpee, you shouldn't be up walking yet."

"It's time for baby to eat", Whumpee smiled, "what are you up to?"

Caretaker grinned mischievously, and looked down at the baby, "this will be their home for as long as you both need this to be your home, I thought they could use a tour."

"I don't know how I will ever repay you sir, for everything you've done for us, and how wonderful you are with them", Whumpee started to tear up.

"I hope you never feel the need to repay me, I am honored to have been able to take care of you, and I'm serious. Stay here as long as you need", Caretaker walked towards Whumpee, "it's no issue."

Whumpee began to cry, "thankyou."

"You're welcome", Caretaker rubbed Whumpee's shoulder comfortingly, "alright, you need to sit down. This baby is probably ready for some food."

Caretaker left the baby with Whumpee and rounded the corner to his office.

Caretaker sighed, "I am excitedly waiting for the day you realize I am your grandfather", he looked at a picture of Whumpee when they were younger, "I hate to know what Whumper did to you that you were forced to forget that."

#whump community #whump stuff #whump writing #whump ideas #whumpee #whump #whump scenario #whumper #caretaking

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pyrepostings · 8 months

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Talk about your pet whumpee in front of them! (inspired by a conversation about my irl cat)

"Oh, he was never a problem really. He's gone after a few things left around on tables, but I've heard horror stories. There was that one who went after bras on clotheslines, or hundreds of pencils stashed behind the couch, toilet paper ripped to shreds. They said to get a neutered male, and that's what we got."

(meanwhile said cat is just sitting there, glaring, and I'm just imagining a boxie seething to that in their head, "Yeah, because I don't want to get shocked to death" but forced to stay silent while the masters talk.)

(Also I just loved the idea of sterilizing boxies. Can't be having male romantics getting female owners pregnant, can we? It's such a simple procedure, surely they don't even need to be sedated...)

#I was just thinking about the master/pet relationship and how we talk about our irl animals #that would probably translate in really fucked up ways for human pet/contract holders relationships #PyrePrompts #whump ideas #whump #whumper #whumpee #whump scenario #whump prompts #whump prompt #whump writing #whump community #whump tropes #pet whump #box boy universe #box boy whump

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syncopein3d · 1 month

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Broken World

3. I Trust You

Part 1

Part 2

CW: badly injured whumpee, implied past violence, loss of consciousness, bathing, offensive/ignorant cis questions, blood, bruises, broken ribs, difficulty breathing, stranger caretaker, emesis mention.

Robert passed out again while Ripper was hosing him off. It was busy trying to scrub a fat clot off his shoulder, some kind of deep gouge, when it realized he was sliding sideways, mouth slightly open.

“Dammit, Robert!”

It woke him up again by running cold water into his hair. He sputtered, but on the third time he didn’t come up swinging.

“Talk,” Ripper said, pushing him back straighter against the end of the huge tub. “It’ll help you stay conscious.” It groped around with a wet hand and found the water bottle to give him another sip.

“Fuck, that’s good. What you wan’ talk about?” he asked.

Ripper shrugged. This was the longest conversation it had tried to have in years now. “How’d you end up there?”

“They grabbed me from behind a soup kitchen. Big van.” Robert shrugged one shoulder on the side away from the blackened ribcage. “I use’t be strong, but never like that guy.”

“Were you homeless?”

“Yep. Long time now,” he said. Either he’d never cared, or he was too out of it to feel ashamed. “Wan’ guess what jobs there are for slightly strong regen guy?”

“Uh.” Ripper thought about it as they sprayed down Robert’s toes. Clotty black clumps washed away down the drain, revealing the raw nail beds. Robert barely reacted. “Pharma research, C tier meta team, or assassination? Maybe bodyguarding?”

“Grew up in lab,” Robert said. “So I’ve done, huh, three ou’ four of those.”

“You were never an assassin?”

“Never on a meta team,” Robert said.

“So how’d you end up homeless? Killing people pays pretty well if you don’t get caught.”

“Pharma lab found me. Had to lay low,” he said. “Your turn. You a lab rat too, or you a comet kid?”

“My Mom saw the comet while she was pregnant,” Ripper said. “I knew I wasn’t normal, but the world didn’t break until I was about thirteen. The younger kids weren’t like me yet, so I left. Safer for them.”

“Wha’ gonna do with carnite?”

“Sell some. Barter some for services. Barnhardt wants it bad enough they’ll give me anything and not ask questions. If I give you the sprayer, can you do your - ?”

“Yeah. Gimme the soap.”

The Ripper handed over the fancy gel soap (“sandalwood and musk”) and turned far enough away not to look at him directly, but not so far they wouldn’t see sudden movement. They could hear Robert swearing quietly as he worked on washing himself.

“Hit man part din’ bother you,” he said after a second.

“I’ve done things for money I’m not proud of. Now I’m just a thief. Did you kill anyone I’d have heard of?”

“You a cop?” Robert asked, and then laughed until it doubled him over in pain.

“Careful. If you abuse the broken ribs you can get a punctured lung,” Ripper said. “Then I have to dump your ass at Providence Everett.”

“No,” Robert wheezed. “They’ll find me. PharmaCon or 99B, don’ matter. Fucked.” The water ran for a moment, soft and persistent. Eventually he said, “mostly cartel an’ mafia. One billionaire, but he wan’ famous. Edgar Warrington. I’m done.”

“Okay. Probably easier if you let me do the hair.”

“Got any scissors?”

“I’m not a barber. It’ll look bad.”

“Don’ care. Looks bad now.”

“Okay, but you were warned.” The Ripper went to rummage in the sink counter drawers for scissors and haul the trash can back. “Are you gonna freak out if I touch your head?”

“No. I trust you.”

Ripper stared down at him. After a second, Robert opened his eyes again, squinting half-blindly up at them.

“Wha?”

“Nothing. Have another drink. Hold still.” For a while there were only snipping noises. Robert didn’t speak for a couple of minutes, but an occasional noise or movement indicated he was still conscious. Ripper was peripherally aware of his wiry shoulders gradually dropping. Eventually he said, more quietly,

“Wha’ you call yourself? A not man, not woman?”

“Some people say agender, I guess. I don’t really feel non-binary.”

“You got a dick?”

“None of your business.”

“Tha’s not fair. You seen mine.”

The Ripper snorted. “Not because I wanted to.”

Robert laughed, but more carefully. As the Ripper cut away filthy locks, more of a bony jaw emerged. His nose was too swollen and crooked to tell much about, but it might have had a hooked tip.

“How’s it looking?”

“How many times have you been hit in the head? It’s lumpy.”

“Lots, but mostly before the 99B’s. I been shot in the head twice.” He seemed a little clearer. Maybe hydration was helping.

“I don’t think I believe you,” the Ripper said.

“Small cal. I was lucky bo’ times that they dumped me inna trash ‘n not river. Couldn’t ‘member my name for a week once.”

“Uh huh,” the Ripper said.

“Who’d you kill?”

“Are YOU a cop? Don’t laugh again. You’ll hurt yourself.” It tossed the last disgusting hair strand and then the scissors after, reaching for the shampoo. The water was still running, but it was clearer now. It was a weird feeling, washing someone else’s hair. They remembered hair wash day from when they were small. Mom used to give them little scratches, and sometimes they would almost fall asleep, sitting there hypnotized.

“No billionaires,” the Ripper said. “No big names. I got offered Impervious and said no. They sent somebody else, one of the hand-beam types. I think she’s still in jail.”

“I bet,” Robert said. “More water?”

“Here. Did you ever hear of Blackknife?”

“Uh… only visible unner UV lamp?” Robert mumbled. His breathing seemed a little easier. Maybe it was the steam.

“That’s Blacklight, from 25B, the Dark Squad. Blackknife was an enforcer for this crime family in Boston. The McAllisters.”

“Oh, the guy with the spikes,” Robert said “That was news. Big mess.”

“It always is,” the Ripper said. “All right, let’s rinse and then we’ll look at you.”

It was looking at a middle-sized naked man, probably muscular once, now wasted and bony. With his hair newly clean and short and slicked back, his face seemed bigger and the swelling worse, but at least all but the most stubborn and necessary clots were gone. His fingernails were gone, too, something that hadn’t been clear when both his hands were covered in a layered black crust. There wasn’t much of him that wasn’t mottled with layers of old and new bruises. He held his breath when Ripper felt around his sore ribs, but he didn’t fight it.

“One’s broken, definitely. One maybe just cracked.”

“Yeah, I know. It hurt less last time.”

“They just kept working you over when your meta quit?” Ripper asked.

“It just slowed down at first. They hadda keep checking,” Robert said. “See if their – wassus – hydrocarnic sulfate was working.”

“Well, this cut on your face could use stitches, but I don’t know how to do that,” the Ripper said. “Everything else is just time and taking it easy, probably. Unless you’re bleeding internally.”

“I just gotta not die ‘til I can heal, that’s all. Easy.”

“Easy,” Ripper repeated. “Okay. Here, drink the rest while I go find you some pants. If I make cup noodles, can you drink some broth?”

“Yeah.”

They taped gauze over the places that were oozing. Then they helped Robert dry off and get into a pair of their sweats. They half-helped and half-carried him next door to the guest room, where their duffel and water case and box of ramen cups were. This single room was bigger than their mother’s apartment had been, and that was without counting the huge bathroom. The queen-sized bed had a black plush comforter with matching pillow shams. The hardwood floor was covered in blue and black rugs. There was a table and chairs and a matching tv console and dressing set that had probably come from Crate and Barrel. They had that heavy, expensive look.

Ripper piled up pillows behind Robert and pulled the covers up to his chest. Then they went to start the hot water in the fancy copper-colored electric kettle on the console. It had taken the kettle from a tiny upstairs kitchen that was definitely intended for the help.

“Aren’ we leaving DNA around?” Robert asked.

“I’m already going away for life if they catch me. Who cares about breaking and entering? You think you could keep down some acetaminophen?”

“I’m ready to try,” Robert said. He moved uneasily against the pillows. “It usually hurts a lot less than this.”

The Ripper took a couple of the pills itself on the way back and dry-swallowed them out of Robert’s sight. It felt like eating gravel, but they stayed down. They grabbed another two water bottles as they went to check the kettle. There was no bubbling sound yet, so they went to sit on the edge of the bed and feed Robert the four capsules. He cupped their hand with his, but he was too shaky now to try and hold something small. Ripper helped him drink again.

“You’re hot,” they said. “Hold still.” It laid the back of its hand against his forehead.

“Then why’s it so cold?” Robert mumbled.

“You’ve never had a fever?”

“I don’t get sick.” He sounded slightly offended by the idea.

“Well, you’re sick now,” Ripper said, giving him another drink. “Probably pneumonia. You sound like it. How long ago did he break your ribs?”

Robert had to stop and breathe for a second after he had swallowed, wheezing softly, before he could answer. “No clock. No idea. Couple of days?”

“Hm. Well, you’re going to have to stay propped up.” The electric kettle whistled softly. Ripper went to pour the hot water into the ramen cup. It stared at it blankly for a moment after, mind empty, painfully swallowing water. Then they went to get a fork and a mug from the little kitchen. It swirled the noodles around impatiently until they were soft enough to eat and hooked them out with the fork to put in the mug. Sometimes they’d add hot sauce, but that didn’t sound good right now.

“Okay, go real slow with this. I don’t know what your stomach can take, and maybe you’ve never thrown up –“

“No.”

“It makes a mess. And it’ll make you weaker. So do what I tell you.” The Ripper set the mug on the nightstand and helped him get his hands around the styrofoam noodle cup, supporting the bottom until they were sure he wouldn’t drop it.

“I think,” Robert gasped afterward.

“Shut up and breathe, Robert.”

“I think you like telling me what to do.” He ignored the Ripper’s glare from under hood and over mask as he sipped again. “Eat your noodles.”

“I was going to anyway,” it said.

“But now you’re also doin’ what I tell you. Ha.”

Part 4

#@whatwhump #whump #whumpblr #hurt comfort #hurt/comfort #syncopein3d future reference #cometverse #superhero oc #villain caretaker #small time villains #sick whump #loss of consciousness whump

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