#restraints tw

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

Whumpee shaking in their chains, bracing themself as well as they could muster as the whip fell again and again. Their back was in shreds, engulfed in pain that only seemed to grow and grow.

When whumper came to release their chains whumpee sobbed. Finally, finally, it was over.

But it wasn’t.

Whumper wasn’t taking them down, oh no, they hadn’t earned that yet.

No, whumper was simply adjusting them. Turning them. Preparing the skin on their chest and stomach for the last.

And somehow, that made the next strike even worse.

#whump #whump prompt #beating tw #whipping tw #restraints tw #mmmmm need this #oh I should do this to Nik

[thewhumpyprintingpress]

T is for Torture Preview

Our fourth preview is of @whump-side's piece T is for Torture! Look at all that pretty blood! And the way the light sparkles off the shackles is just gorgeous.

If you want to see the full piece, make sure to grab your copy of the ABCs of Whump zine today! And if you want to load up on whumpy books, check out our bundles.

#whump art #whump artist #abcs of whump #abcs preview #whump zine #blood tw #restraints tw

[hurtthemgently]

Okay but whumpees being grabbed.

-They’re running, escape is so close they can taste it, when a hand roughly grasps their wrist and they’re pulled into whumpers arms

-they’re hiding, shaking, hands over their mouth in an attempt to keep quiet. They shuffle away away from the entrance to their hiding place, dreading the possibility of being found. A figure comes into view. They press into the far wall and curl in on themself. When they’re grabbed and dragged out, they’re sobbing

-tiny whumpees engulfed by a hand, strong enough to crush them. They struggle and push, nearly getting out, when the other hand wraps around them, trapping them.

-whumpees too tired to move, being picked up and carried

- a hand pushing whumpees arm down, into a restraint

-whumpee suddenly being grabbed by the throat and pushed against the wall, gasping, surprise and fear plain to see on their face

-whumper grabbing their hair and pulling their head back to hold a weapon to their throat

-whumper taking hold of the chains fastened to their wrists

Whumpee being grabbed is just A++

#manhandling #whump trope #whump tropes #whump prompts #failed escape attempt #non con touching tw #restraints tw #manhandling tw

[anlian-aishang]

[sub!levi x reader, smut, restraints, choking // 700 words]

Levi whines so weakly - it puts his title of humanity's strongest to shame.

Levi moans so miserably - neighbors temporarily mistake which one of you is making all that noise.

Levi curses so consistently - his day-to-day language is a lullaby in contrast.

Levi screams so sharply - you question if this sex is more pain than pleasure.

Even as his spouse of so many years, you were shocked at the sight - the sound - of him tonight. Your heart was overwhelmed by the adrenaline rush of witnessing Levi the way he was now: compassionate concern with his strained outbursts, sadistic annoyance at his bitchy mewls, a surging confidence knowing that your sex could bring him to this end. With each pitch and acceleration in his voice, Levi forced a contradictory cocktail of arousal and aggravation down your throat - culminating in its tightening. An internal struggle between a-are you okay and shut up slut - you know you love it rendered you ultimately speechless, the perfect opposite to him.

"Fuck... F-huh-ck me!!" Slender fingers curled around your satin ropes and threatened to rip your ties, but this was not your first time working with bondage.

It was the first time, though, that you cupped your hand around his throat. Watching the veins rise in his neck, you longed to feel their movements under you. Seeing shadows of his tendons make love with moonlight, you longed to project their scene onto your skin. Adam's apple bobbed, pulse fast against your palm - Levi's life in your hands - there was no greater power trip.

At least, you believed that for a few seconds until his voice rose again, "Oh god, oh shit!" Levi writhed in sweat-soaked sheets. Legs stretched. Muscles flexed. Bruises began to bud where your fingertips pressed, but he did not seem to mind. In fact, given the buck of his hips and curve of his cock, he appeared to ascend in your grasp.

His incoherence played evidence to a sky-high headspace. "C'Cum... want to... I can't...!"

Your brows narrowed in total focus, all senses honed in trying to read him: feeling his heat radiate into you, listening to each of his sighs and syllables, seeing his struggle. Come on. Spit it out, Levi. What do you want, baby?

And despite how noisy he had been all night, it was his eye contact that communicated most in the end. Steel irises endeavored to peek past his eyelids squeezed shut. In them, an ounce of calm in meeting your gaze, glazed over by the climax of pre-orgasmic strife. Trembling lips and vulnerability's look worked together to convey, Please - Please let me cum!

It was admittedly inadvertent then - how your motions quickly morphed into the ones that would get him there. Your generosity - merciful or accidental - beckoned immediate thanks from the man below you. A white-knuckle grip of your curves, crescent fingernails dug into them. As his eyes rolled back, he likewise released his reins: succumbing into pleasure - screaming with the waves of it.

He never did arrive at an adjective, but your ego swelled at the thought: you were beyond words.

"Oh fuck! Shit... Shit!" Levi's hips begin to spasm, nearly throwing you off of him. In that way, the orgasm itself continued to test him, as breaking from your contact was the last thing he wanted. Fists clenched in ironed bedding, leaving sinful folds, as he attempted to subdue his spasms. Teeth grit, swears snuck through, "F'Fuck... Feels so - you feel so - !!"

As his breaths slowed to standard, as his tone came back to earth, and as his skin dimmed from bright red to pink blush to warm white, the Levi Ackerman that everyone knows reinhabited the figure beneath you - so recently fucked out beyond words, now too humiliated for them. Atoning for his shameless other side, he gazed up to you - pleading once again. This time, not for his release, but for your restraint. In response, your reassurance rained down with a silent smile: his secrets were safe with you.

// masterlist //

#levi #levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi x you #levi ackerman x you #smut #headcanon #2023 #anlian writes #my writing #alias's #salt and pepper #choking tw #tw choking #jesus christ anlian take a suppressant #restraints tw #tw restraints

[distinctlywhumpthing]

Unintentional 27

Previous—Masterlist—Next

This one turned into one of those chapters. It sat for months, already beta-read, becoming a point of avoidance and a total bottleneck in my writing flow. It didn't feel good enough/perfect/complete in a way I couldn't put my finger on but my heart wasn't in it for a rewrite. So, finally, I need to just check this box and move on.

CW: BBU-adjacent, institutionalized slavery, dehumanization. Explicit language, victim self-blame, brainwashing, the usual. Raid/recapture, manhandling, beating, restraints, blood mention, implied nudity (nonexplicit). As always, beta-read by @alittlewhump <3

He didn’t fight. 

He couldn’t. Even if his arms weren’t aching from elbow to wrist, they were lead at his sides. His fingers too were immovable under the weight of his failure. If only he could shift them, feel them, curl them into fists to hold onto the fleeting whisper of warm fingers in his but that comfort was no more deserved than it had ever been his to claim. 

The finality of it was equal parts devastation and relief. He wouldn’t get another chance, not after this, but he didn’t want any other life than what he’d had here anyway. He welcomed the end. 

They were probably no rougher than usual but rougher than he remembered—

Training is the only thing you need to remember. You were nothing before it, you are nothing without it. 

Two agents clad in black caught him under the arms, dragged him away and shoved him to his knees unceremoniously. They held him there as a third stepped up, looming above him. 

Just a few feet away another group of agents was—

He turned his eyes toward the sky without registering its shade. 

“Identify yourself.”

The numbers were on the tip of his tongue. 

142836359. 

Always spinning away in the back of his mind somewhere. 

One-four-two-eight-three-six-three-five-nine. Snaking into the forefront of his dreams whenever he slept. From the very beginning, when they’d trained it into him. One hundred forty-two million, eight hundred thirty-six thousand, three hundred fifty-nine. An endless cassette ribbon unspooling, threading itself around each synapsis in his head. Repeating over and over until it was laced throughout. A third strand in every double helix. 

142836359.

“M-my…” He was suddenly reluctant to lose the single thing he’d been given, even though it had never really been his own. Thinking of defying such a direct order was a hurdle in itself but parsing the words to follow through was another thing entirely. “N-n-name…is—”

A baton cracked across the back of his head and he saw stars. The agents at his sides prevented him from following its momentum to the ground. The leader in front grabbed his chin but he barely felt their gloved fingers over the splitting pain in his head. 

“That was a direct order. You will identify yourself.”

He raised his eyes to meet their opaque sunglasses. Defiant. Defective—

Defective companions are immediately returned for evaluation and will be subjected to the most rigorous re-training applicable. 

The agent’s fist connected with his jaw. His upper molars cut into the flesh inside his cheek, blood seeping into his saliva. His skull rang and throbbed from two sides now.

“Identify yourself.”

He ground his teeth together. Brittle and raw like flint and steel, sparking fire through his veins. It felt familiar but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt like this. He raised his chin, the feeling flaring hotter. 

Your only power is submission, your only choice is acceptance. 

“Little fucking shit.” 

He tried not to flinch away from the next blow but the agent to his right held out a hand before it landed. 

“It’s no use. You know how they get after something like this. We have a witness and his wrist is enough anyway. Vocal confirmation is just a formality.” 

The lead agent took off their sunglasses with a slow deliberateness, holding them out and flipping them from front to back, to inspect the lenses. Directly in his line of sight, though the agent’s eyes only scanned the glasses like there was nothing but empty air beyond them. 

Except when the agent reached out to use the fabric of his sweatshirt at his shoulder to wipe away an indiscernible smudge before finally replacing their glasses and breaking the silence. “Did you get a fucking promotion I wasn’t informed about?”

The shielding arm had long fallen. “No, sir.” 

Their weight shifted to the heels of their combat boots as they leaned into their dominance. “So I still call the shots around here?”

“Yes, sir.” Quieter than before—

Actions speak louder than words; show me how sorry you are. 

The leader let the silence stretch again. 

The other group of agents kept their voices low as they dealt with—while they worked. He tried not to look. Better to let his bitter defiance burn through any hope that they’d ever have a last moment shared between them.

“What the fuck are you morons waiting for?” The lead finally barked, making him jump and sending a spike of pain through his aching head. “Restrain him and get him out to the van.” 

“Yes, sir.” The agents at his sides chorused, sprang to action. As good as any pair of trainees. Thankfully, the leader had turned away and missed his smirk. 

They gagged him first. Four gloved hands holding his head still and prying his mouth open to shove a bit between his teeth—

Speech is a privilege and used only to further demonstrate subservience. 

The muzzle covered his whole jaw and nose with mesh that wasn’t quite fabric but wasn’t quite metal. His eyes watered as they tightened the straps over the tender spot on the back of his head, the front digging into his cheeks. Next was a thick shock collar, metal prongs hugging his windpipe and pressing into the back of his neck. More serious than what they used for training. No doubt designed to render the wearer unconscious with a single shock.

The restraints around his wrists were also more severe than anything Archer had ever used in training. Wide and tightened until his pulse beat in his hands and fingers, binding his wrists together behind his back. Similar bands went around each ankle, connected by a short chain that would have restricted his walking to a show shuffle but the agents didn’t give him the chance. They hauled him backwards off his knees and dragged him away. 

Just like that, it was all over. 

He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting but of course WRU wouldn’t waste resources on a single Reclamation. From the looks of it, he was the last stop. The others in the van were anchored down in two orderly rows. Eleven collars secured to the white walls, wrists to the white bench, feet to the white floor. Now an even dozen.

 Just like the facility, everything white and pristine again. All of these bodies reeking of sweat and fear and failure and worse were in need of sanitization. The first in the row wore an evening gown, mascara streaks disappearing behind their muzzle. Two were completely naked. Some were crying. Another was fighting against the restraints like they had any chance at working themselves free before they got shocked for their disobedience. Though from the looks of the angry red welts rising under the restraints, the agents were letting them carry on with their fruitless efforts. A few were limp, split lips and still-bleeding noses indicating they’d needed a little extra help into the van. 

He envied them. 

It was impossible to know what might have led the others here. They all must have known what was coming, tried to avoid it in whatever they may have been doing. Most of them would have agreed with him that death was preferable. 

A Companion across the aisle tried to meet his gaze with pleading eyes but the burn spanning from their hairline to their navel caught his attention first and he couldn’t drag his eyes away. If they were whining in pain, it was lost in the other muffled cries and sounds of struggle— 

Your only power is submission, your only choice is acceptance.

The clip anchoring his wrists to the bench was as thick as his fingers. There was barely enough slack in the anchor at the back of his neck for him to look down to see it fully. None of the locks were of the electronic variety that might release them to the mercy of tumbling in a tangle of immobilized bodies should the van roll. 

How many of them would have their necks broken or simply asphyxiate if there was an accident? Blunt force trauma from being so close to the walls of the van would probably do enough damage to cancel whatever re-training was waiting for them. Or at least for the others.  

Better yet, a clean decapitation. 

A distorted, muffled sound, distinguishable from all the crying, silenced the rest of the van. It took another beat of listening to the hysterical tail end of it, the inhale past saliva collecting at the corners of a bit before it bubbled out again to realize it was laughter. And another beat to realize he was its source.

All the eyes that were open and could manage the angle, turned to watch. Any distraction was welcome when you were facing hell. Had any of the others been in his cohort?  Had he surpassed them in training? 

Look at him now, Archer’s ace in the hole—

That really set him off. 

But he wound up choking on all of the extra spit and spent the next minute thinking he really was going to die in the back of this van just asphyxiating on his own spit before he finally managed to drag in a thin breath amidst all of his coughing. 

The van was still completely silent once he’d recovered his breath. Some gazes had slid away quietly. Others remained, still happy to watch him unravel. 

His cheeks burned under his muzzle but a part of him was sure that none of them could hold a candle to what had led him here. 

Some of them might have simply been displeasing. Appearances could only be changed so much. Their simple minds so very, very far from telepathic. 

Even after the full-refund window, WRU was happy to offer trade-in credit for an exchange. If that wasn’t possible, they would graciously take care of retiring unwanted Companions. It didn’t make any difference if a Companion was bought, leased, or only rented. The Handlers made sure it was always, always, in the back of their minds that no placement was certain—

The only certainty is that you are property now.

The rest would go back to being numbers on the training roster. 

He would be on a different list. 

They were removed from the van for Decontamination one by—

One-four-two-eight-three-six-three-five-nine

— each brought to their own white-tiled room. Wrists hooked above his head, holding him in place over the drain. He wasn’t sure if these were still agents or Handlers now. A different department of Handlers, maybe. They wore white rubber suits like he could be radioactive or carrying a plague, their eyes hidden behind the mirrored glass window of the suit masks. 

The relief of having the muzzle and bit removed distracted him from noticing they were cutting away his clothes. Too late he realized that with them went the last scent of what semblance of a home he’d had, of—

He didn’t have time to swallow the lump in his throat before the spray hit him. Cold and sharp like the water wanted to worm its way under his skin. There wasn’t any slack to get away from it. No way to cross his legs or twist without his shoulders and arms protesting. 

Your only power is submission, your only choice is acceptance.

He yelped when they sprayed it into his ear, gritting his teeth through the other. They pried his mouth open to rinse out his mouth until he was choking. When he was finally released, his spit was pink. 

Next was a powder, antiseptic smell sharp and familiar in his nose, making his stomach turn, misted all over his shivering body—

Your body is an object for service, your mind is a vessel for obedience. 

They scrubbed it in with brushes until the lather was turning pink too. When they brought back the water it was so hot he screamed. And kept screaming as it scalded him like the soap was turning to acid and boiling through his skin. He ran out of air before they were done, gasping in lungfuls of it, the collar tighter and tighter around his neck. His pulse fast against it, beat, beat, beating—  

Beatings break old habits, the collar corrects new—

One-four-two-eight-three-six-three-five-nine.

He was still catching his breath when they held open his jaw to let the water burn through his mouth, his throat, his lungs. 

Black spots dotted his vision. Sunlight through leaves, lying on a blanket under a tree. Right beside her. Mira. It hurt. 

His chest ached, his heart burned. He vomited up all of the water and some blood. The room spun. He sobbed.

The water was off now. 

He was saying it out loud, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” his voice echoing, the only sound in the room. 

He was alone.

Previous—Masterlist—Next

@octopus-reactivated @maracujatangerine @nicolepascaline @mazeish @whumpy-writings @cracked-porcelain-princess @meetmeinhellcroutons @briars7 @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @neuro-whump @painsandconfusion @wolfeyedwitch @skyhawkwolf @haro-whumps @onlybadendings @peachy-panic @fillthedarkvoid @rabass @crystalquartzwhump @dont-touch-my-soup @mylifeisonthebookshelf @hold-him-down @guachipongo @creetchure @leyswhumpdump @aseasonwithclarasblog @catawhumpus @magziemakeswhatever @espresso-depresso-system @pigeonwhumps @batfacedliar-yetagain @whumpinthepot @dustypinetree @whump-in-progress @lavbug

#bbu #bbu adjacent #bbu whump #box boy whump #box boy rescue #institutionalized slavery tw #pet whump #whump #wru #whumpblr #whump writing #recapture #restraints tw

[crowzwhump]

Me: I am a normal person, with normal taste in fictional men. ^‿^

My taste in fictional men:

Sephiroth - Astarion

Fenris - Dante

#I like when they're hurt... and deeply traumatized... and have pretty little eyes... and put in tragic situations... #yeah <3 #blood tw #restraints tw #gag tw #visual whump #image whump #whump image #whump community #whump blog #whump scenario #whump tropes #dante dmc #sephiroth ff7 #astarion bg3 #fenris da2

[whumpinthepot]

@figuwhump 2023 day 26

Art trade with @coyotehusk <3

Rhet and Ryker are in some deep shit…

#figuwhumpday26 #figuwhumpjuly #figuwhump2023 #whump art #breezys art #art for others #breezys post #restraints tw #injuries tw #captured tw

[firapolemos05]

"At eighteen years of age, each new initiate into our Creed receives their sacred vestments, all emblazoned with the Carmine Rose.

The Fallen, whose celestic blood feeds our rituals, whom we have trained to vanquish the Dawn Herald's deceitful servants, has the high honor of having our rose etched directly into his flesh."

Whumptober 2023

No.5

Pinned down

OC: Cassius (he/it)

#whumptober2023 #no.5 #pinned down #art #traditional art #originalcontent #oc #blood tw #cults tw #restraints tw #angel whump #winged whumpee #fallen aasimar #my art #my work #whump art #whumpblr #whump community #whump stuff #Cassius #my ocs #Xitanae tag #original

[whumpy-writings]

The Wagon

Reeve Masterlist // Of Vampires and Men Masterlist

This takes place right after Tribute

CW: Minor whumpee (OC is 16), slavery, vampires, restraints, stress position, implied future noncon

Reeve came to with a headache that pounded like a blacksmith against an anvil. He groaned. Where was he? He felt wooden boards under his cheek, a rumbling motion. . .

All at once it hit him. The wheat, the vampire torturing his father, Reeve trying to protect him. Reeve barely held back the sob that bubbled in his throat. He was in a wagon, being taken as a blood bag. He tried to sit up but immediately collapsed back to the floor. The world spun around him and he groaned.

"Looks like the blood bag is awake," someone called. Reeve's heart skipped a beat. He fought against the shackles tying his hands behind his back until warm blood oozed down his skin, but it was no use.

"Stop that," the sergeant snapped. "You're only hurting yourself." Reeve continued to struggle. The wagon rolled to a stop. The next thing Reeve knew, one of the sergeant's hands was fisted in his shirt, other other pulling his head back so he was forced to look the vampire in the eye.

"I said stop, blood bag. I expect to be obeyed." His face was stony and a spike of terror shot through Reeve. "Defiance won't help you now. The only thing that will help you is me. I know of several. . .establishments looking for humans of your age." He looked Reeve up and down in a way that made his skin crawl. "If you're good, I'll sell you to one of the nicer ones."

Reeve's breath hitched in his throat. He didn't understand what the sergeant was talking about, what those establishments were. But he did know that this man was dangerous and had no qualms about hurting humans.

"So sit there, don't pull at the restraints, and don't make a fuss. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir," Reeve choked out. The sergeant nodded.

"Excellent. We have one more village to stop at, then we'll make camp for the day."

The sergeant dropped Reeve back to the floor. The wagon resumed its journey through the night. Reeve blinked back tears as he stared up at the sky. It was cloudy tonight and so dark he could only make out the shapes of the vampires on horseback around the wagon. The vampires surrounding him. He needed to get out of here. But he didn't know how.

"There it is," a soldier said.

Reeve took a steadying breath before pushing himself to a sitting position. Despite himself, Reeve was curious. He had never been to a village outside of his own.

As the wagon rolled into the square, Reeve felt a pang of homesickness. It all looked so familiar. The houses were low to the ground with thatched roofs, a handful of torches casting a flickering glow on the scene. Just like home.

The sergeant dismounted and walked towards the sacks in the middle of the square. There were a couple dozen humans standing around and Reeve wanted nothing more than to run to them.

"Well, I see that you actually made your quota," the sergeant said. "I'm impressed."

Reeve was suddenly hit by the realization that this was his chance to escape. He wormed his way to the side of the wagon. The vampires were focused on the tribute, nobody was watching him. He couldn't easily climb down over the side with his hands tied behind his back, and he had to stay low so that the soldiers wouldn't see him. Reeve awkwardly swung a leg over the side, still in a crouch.

Well, here it goes. He flung the rest of his body out of the wagon. For just a moment, he hung in the air. Then the ground rushed up towards him and he landed with a thud that knocked the air from his lungs.

"What was that?"

Reeve's heart spiked even as he struggled to get his lungs to inflate. He couldn't run if he couldn't breathe. Painfully, he attempted to squirm his way away from the wagon and into the shadows of the buildings.

"Look what we have here," a voice said. Reeve squirmed faster. "The blood bag's trying to get away."

"Hey, don't stop him. I want to see how far he gets." Reeve threw his head over his shoulder to glare at the vampires who stood right behind him, leaning on their muskets.

"Fuck you," he spat.

The guards' jovial mood vanished.

"We'll have to punish you for that. That's no way to speak to you superiors."

The guard reached him in three steps and Reeve tried to roll out of the way. He was too slow though and the leech's boot stomped down on his back, pinning him in place.

"What should be the punishment? I would muzzle him but we don't have a good metal one with us," the guard whose boot was on Reeve's back said.

"We could tie him to the cart and drag him behind it," the other suggested.

"Tempting."

"But we don't want to risk messing up such a pretty boy when he'll nab a fortune at auction. Lets bind his ankles to his wrists. He won't be trying to escape like that."

Reeve cried as the vampire stretched his arms behind his back and tied them to his ankles. He could hardly move now, and there was no way he could escape. The vampires threw him back in the wagon, along with the tribute from the village. And then the wagon was moving again.

Reeve cried. It was over. He would never be free again.

After a while, the muscles of his back and legs and shoulders began to throb.

"Please sir," Reeve begged, as the wagon rumbled on, each jostle sending a stab of pain through him. "Please, I won't try to run away again. Please just untie me."

The vampires ignored him. Reeve spent the rest of the night in that position. Tears were dried on his cheeks, and he was cold and hungry and scared but the leeches didn't care. Finally, just as dawn was painting the sky a dusty pink, they stopped.

Reeve couldn't see the vampires, but he could hear them bustling around, presumably setting up camp. The wagon rocked as the sergeant got in.

"I heard you tried to escape," he said, crouched in front of Reeve. "A disobedient human needs to be punished."

Reeve whimpered a little at that. His muscles were screaming at him. "Have you learned your lesson?"

"Yes sir," Reeve said. "Yes sir, I'm sorry sir, it won't happen again." He hated giving in to this monster, but he couldn't stand the pain any longer. The sergeant reached out and Reeve flinched, but he only ran his hand through Reeve's hair. It reminded Reeve of the way he pet his dog back home. Bile rose in his throat.

"You're a very pretty boy," he said. "Be obedient and you'll have a good life." Reeve couldn't stop the shiver that ran through him at those words. Whatever the sergeant had planned for him, he was sure it wasn't good. The sergeant stared at him for a moment longer before he finally released Reeve's ankles from his wrists.

Reeve sobbed as blood flowed back into his hands. His arms were still bond behind his back, but the awful, awful tension in the shoulders and back and legs was lessening.

"Thank you sir," Reeve said. The sergeant picked him up and slung him over one shoulder. He propped Reeve up against a tree, and then took a coil of rope and tied him to it. The vampires got into their tents just as the sun peaked over the horizon, leaving Reeve tied up in the chilly morning air. Reeve halfheartedly pulled at the restraints before he fell into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

...

The vampires awoke at dusk. Reeve's neck ached from sleeping tied to the tree. He eyed the vampires as they packed up camp. They were dressed in green uniforms and moved with a precision he had never seen before. Within half an hour, their whole camp was packed up. Two vampires untied Reeve and tossed him into the wagon with the rest of the tribute. They didn't speak to him. Reeve's stomach ached, but he didn't dare ask for food.

"Come on men, it's only a couple hours to the fort," the sergeant said.

Reeve curled up on his side and buried his face against a sack of wheat. The earthy smell gave him a bit of comfort. It smelled like home. Reeve inhaled deeply, tears burning his eyes. He cried silently for what felt like hours.

Reeve didn't move when the cart rolled to a stop at the fort. He was past being angry, past being scared. Now he was just numb, exhaustion in his bones. There was no point in running or fighting. There was no point at all.

Tag list: @thecitythatdoesntsleep @whump-cravings @thecyrulik @neverthelass @michelleswhumpyreblogs @whumpsy-daisy @the-monarch-whumperfly @aswallowimprisoned @secretwhumplair @whumpzone @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @nicolepascaline @susiequaz12 @princessofonwardsworld @itsleighlove @pumpkin-spice-whump @wiwinia @sunflower1000 @whump-blog @blushing-snail @melancholy-in-the-morning @suspicious-whumping-egg @whumpsday @ceph-the-ghost-writer @inkkswhumpandstuff @whumpycries @quietly-by-myself @darlingwhump @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night

#of vampires and men #reeve the human #minor whump tw #restraints tw #implied noncon #stress position #vampires #slavery #vampire whumpers #human whumpee #slavery whump #vampire whump #minor whumpee

[actress4him]

June of Doom 2023

Previous | Next | Masterlist

Taglist: @painful-pooch

Day 9 - “I should have listened to you.” | Sprain | Defiance | Smoke 

Contains: lady whump with male whumper, captivity, restraints, beating, stress position, mild blood, implied starvation, head trauma, hair pulling, death mention, broken ribs, dislocation mention, brief dog and master imagery

.

.

There isn’t much to see in the basement. Lainey inspects every concrete block, every crack in the foundation, every plank on the steps, every lock on the door, and finds absolutely nothing useful. It still feels better than just sitting around, though. Not that she’s blaming Isa for sitting, she can’t even help it with that chain around her neck. That thing makes Lainey want to punch something every time she thinks of it. But she also has a feeling Isa wouldn’t be helping her look even if she could get up and move. 

It doesn’t take long for the man to return. She’s just come back down the stairs from checking out the door when the locks start to slide open, so she spins around and plants her feet, glaring up at their captor, trying to ignore the way her heart is suddenly threatening to break through her ribcage. 

He’s not much to look at, either. Just an unattractive, scraggly bearded man, like someone you might see loitering outside a gas station and walk quickly past on your way inside. For good reason, apparently. 

“Have you come to let me go?” she demands as he starts down the stairs. “To let us both go?”

He scowls back at her. “I see you haven’t yet learned your lesson about keeping your mouth shut.”

“You think I’m going to listen to you? Some low-life who gets his kicks from kidnapping and chaining up young women?” He’s getting closer, and part of her wants to back away, but her pride and anger won’t let her. “I bet you’ve never had a girlfriend before, have you? Probably never had any friends at all. Is this the only way you can get anyone to hang around you? Locking them in your basement?”

She sees the swinging fist coming, but can’t get out of its path. It smashes into her face with a force that sends her over backwards, head cracking against the wall as she hits the ground. Her vision cuts out, then comes back swirling and spinning. There’s something bitter and metallic pouring over her lips. It takes far too long for her to realize that it’s blood. 

As she sits there, stunned and in pain, the man advances. He grabs a fistful of her hair and yanks her up off the floor, dragging her toward the center of the room. Her feet stumble clumsily after him. 

“I told you to shut up. You’ll figure out I mean what I say sooner or later.”

He throws her down, and she just barely keeps her head from smacking concrete again. Her arm isn’t so lucky, unable to move from its restrained position and getting crushed between her body and the floor. 

For an instant, she sees Isa, sitting directly in front of the assault. She has her head turned to the side, staring off at some unknown point, face blank. 

Then a boot is buried in her stomach. Lainey doubles over, coughing and gasping for air that seems to have vanished. The man doesn’t wait for her to catch her breath, though. He keeps kicking, pounding the toe of his boot into her ribs and back and legs over and over and over again. She curls up as best she can, trying instinctively to protect her organs, but all she can do otherwise is lie there and groan and sob.

It seems to last forever. Part of her thinks she actually might die right then and there. But then the kicks stop. He reaches down and grabs her by her bound wrist, pulling her backwards across the floor. She moans again as her shoulders bear the brunt of the pressure and as every sore part of her is jostled. 

He drops her again, and a chain rattles behind her. A moment later her wrists are being pulled upward once more, but this time the chain sounds accompany it, and this time it doesn’t stop. They keep being dragged up toward the ceiling until she’s forced to move, scrambling with leaden limbs to get her feet underneath her and stand. The chain seems to be hooked to the ziptie around her wrists. She can’t straighten her back or lift her head, shoulders wrenched as far backwards as they’ll go and wrists stuck up high. 

And that’s how he leaves her. He doesn’t say another word, just walks off, footsteps echoing through the nearly empty room. She cranes her head to the side to see him pick something up off the stairs before disappearing up them.

She’s never been in this much pain in her life. Before now, the worst pain she could remember was a broken arm from her highschool softball days, but between her throbbing head, her burning shoulders, and the fiery pain that shoots through her ribs every time she breathes, this is way worse. 

“That was my food.”

She tries to look over at Isa but can’t get her head to lift that high. “Wh-...what?”

Isa’s voice grows a little louder, a bit higher pitched. “He was coming down to bring me food and water, and probably unchain me, and you screwed it all up disrespecting him like I warned you not to.”

Lainey scoffs, hardly believing her ears. “Do you…do you realize…you sound like a dog right now? Waiting for your…master to feed and water and unchain you?” She winces at the increased pain in her ribs that talking creates, trying to shift her position. “And…I’m the one who just got…beaten up so…pardon me if I’m not overly concerned about your food.”

“And whose fault is that?” It comes out practically a growl, the most emotion she’s heard out of her so far. “I told you not to make him mad. I told you it would get you hurt. I’ve been here for five years, remember? I’ve tried it all before. I’ve figured out how to survive. But if you don’t want to listen to me, fine. Refuse to save yourself any pain. Learn everything the hard way, like I did. Just…can you at least leave me out of it?” Her voice wavers at the end, going quiet again. “I haven’t eaten in days, because he was gone to get you. And the two bottles of water he left me ran out hours ago.”

Isa sounds like she’s about to cry, and Lainey finds her own throat tightening in sympathy. She hadn’t meant to rob Isa of her first food in days. She wants to help her, not cause her more trouble. But she’s being an idiot, isn’t she? The woman’s right, she’s managed to survive for five years, and it’s stupid for Lainey not to listen to her advice, no matter how much it makes her skin crawl to think of sucking up to that man. 

“I’m sorry.” She tries again to look at her, and manages to catch at least a glimpse of her face. “I should have…I should have listened to you. You’re right, it’s…my own fault that I got hurt. And I didn’t think about…you suffering from it.” She pauses, breathing through the pain and thinking about her response. “I can’t…promise that I’ll do exactly what you want. I’m not good…at holding my tongue. But, uh…I’ll try.”

There’s silence for a long time. It’s a struggle for Lainey not to find some way to fill it, despite her painful position. 

“I don’t want you to have to go through everything I have,” Isa murmurs finally. “And I’m…honestly terrified that you’re gonna make things even worse. Keeping on his good side is so tentative. I just want to keep things as…easy as possible. For both of us.”

“Yeah,” Lainey breathes. “I, um…I get it.” She considers her next words carefully before deciding to take the leap and say them. “Hey, do you…still have the water bottles?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you roll one over to me?”

“They’re empty.”

“I know, just…just do it if you can.” She can hear movement and the slight crackle of thin plastic. A few seconds later an empty bottle rolls to a stop several inches from her foot. “Hey, nice shot. Lemme just…” Very carefully, grimacing with each movement, she steps on the heel of first one sneaker, then the other, removing them and kicking them behind her. Then she strategically uses her toes to pull off one sock, too. Isa mutters warnings about dislocating her shoulders here and there, but Lainey is determined to make this work.

Stretching out the bare foot, she drags the water bottle closer. “It’s still got drops of water left in it, so if I focus, I can…” She lays her foot across the bottle and closes her eyes. This is much easier to do with her hands, but the foot will have to do in a pinch like this. It takes almost a full minute of concentration, but eventually the droplets start to grow, dripping down into the bottle. The process gets faster as it goes, until there’s water swirling all through the bottle, filling it.

“There we go.” Satisfied with her work, Lainey takes careful aim and shoves the bottle back in Isa’s direction. “I can’t make you food, but…I can at least do that.”

“Water magic.” The plastic crinkles in Isa’s hand again.

“Yep. I’m…not very skilled at it, but…expanding water that’s already there…isn’t so hard.”

There’s no answer for a moment, but it sounds like Isa is taking a drink. “Thank you,” she says softly when she’s done.

“Yeah,” Lainey replies, equally as soft. “No problem.”

#juneofdoom #day 9 #lady whump #lady whumpee #captivity whump #restraints tw #beating #stress position #mild blood #starvation #head trauma #hair pulling #death mention #broken ribs #dislocation mention #lainey and isa #two whumpees #urban fantasy #magical whumpee #water magic #whump series #whump event

[mottinthepot18]

Ratty my dear (they/them)

#whump art #kidnapping tw #mouth gag tw #restraints tw #breezys ocs #ratty #rats race #portrait #art

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

Whumpee sitting on Whumpers lap, arms delicately draped around their captors neck.

Face buried in their shirt, hiding from the world around them.

Whumper loves sitting with them like this - at this angle they can’t see Whumpees wrists tied together, can’t see how red and raw the skin is from mindless twisting and struggle. The rope is right behind their own head, keeping them in the center of Whumpee’s bound hands. Center of Whumpee’s world.

They give whumpee a little kiss on the head and ignore the hitched breath. Someday Whumpee will be this affectionate on their own they just know it.

#intimate whumper #restraints tw #goD I wish I could draw this pose #I think about it often

[starlit-hopes-and-dreams]

Chapter 21 ~ Blurry (out of place)

Hidden Depths

Previous ~ Masterlist ~ Next

Also on ao3

Genre: Fantasy whump

CW's: ANGST, omg the angst there’s so much o.o, flashback fun for everyone! 😅, brief nonspecific flashback to csa, panic attack(s), painful wound cleaning, wishing for death, unsure of what is real but not quite unreality so make of it what you will, oh shit-almost forgot: captivity tw, restraints tw :') been awhile since i needed those lol

WC: 4237

Taglist (😱 I remembered this time!): @clairelsonao3, @dont-touch-my-soup, @kixngiggles (i've been having trouble tagging you, but i wanted to put this up here in case you see and were wondering where your tag was)

In which reality is a bit fluid, folks, and no one is happy about it

AN: Including me, I was also unhappy writing this. I need that bunker to protect myself and also to piece my heart back together.

You know that whole bit about how things get worse before they get better? Yeah, that is this :')

Carr

Carr had plenty of time to review her options as she returned to the wreckage of their carriage to search for supplies. 

If she “stumbled” into the camp’s clearing, would the reaction be more favorable if she dressed as a man or a woman? Had it been long enough for the bandits to assume the other people in the carriage had died? Surely they had searched and been curious about the lack of bodies, though. Carr tapped a grimy finger on her lip, barely even seeing the gown she’d found stuck in a bush some ways from the crash site. 

Aside from the cut on her brow, Carr was also fairly sure she didn’t look like a survivor of the kindling strewn across the ravine. Which meant she could pretend to be a runaway, but… from where? Maybe she could get away with not wanting to say. Fuck if she could even remember the places they had visited. 

So. Girl or boy? Child or adult? Found on the outskirts of camp or by the guards on the fringe or just stumbling straight into the camp, bypassing the guards altogether? 

While she could physically pass as a child at first glance, it wasn’t a ruse she could keep up for long, and she needed these people to feel sorry for her and take her in. She wrinkled her nose and smoothed Orla’s dress out on the ground in front of her. It was torn in places, which was fine since Carr wanted it to look like she’d been roughing it for a few days. It would be too short, but not by much, so it might make her look… poorer. The material was still too fucking nice, though. Maybe if she got it dirty enough, no one would notice. 

Carr left the dress behind and returned to the carriage. Or what was left of it. After a bit of digging, she found one of Orla’s headscarves, this one a pale pastel blue. Perfect; the dumb dress was blue, so it would even match. She rolled her eyes at the thought. 

Her hackjob haircut was acceptable for a boy or young man but less so for a woman. She’d never cared about her hair before and wasn’t going to start now, but if she went with the fairer option of subterfuge, she’d need an excuse for that, too. Gods, this sucked. Why did that place have to be filled with what seemed like halfway-decent people instead of a bunch of lowlifes who’d look better with a few more holes in them? 

Which was another question. How many weapons could she get away with carrying? Carr ground her teeth, knowing very well she’d be lucky to justify just one, if it was found. 

Even if she went in posing as a man, she couldn’t carry as many blades as she had on her right now. But she’d all but decided on pretending to be a woman–it seemed more likely she’d just be killed straight off as a man–so one blade it was. She’d hide the others somewhere close to the camp so they’d be nearby if she needed them. 

She tried not to think of the last time she’d donned a dress while she stripped to her underclothes and pulled on Orla’s garments–which were slightly too small in the chest and shoulders as well as too short. 

The clothes she’d discarded served as a wrap for her extra blades; the only one she’d kept was strapped to her thigh beneath her skirts, which ended at mid-calf instead of her ankles. Each breath she took was stifled, and her range of motion was shit. This was starting off just wonderfully. 

It just needed to get her into the camp, she reminded herself. Too small clothes, chopped off hair, small and skinny with a bruised face… someone would take pity on her. They had to. 

Carr hadn’t caught sight of Resh in a day and a half. She’d spent all damned day watching the fucking camp. Now dusk was approaching, and she wasn’t willing to wait another night. She needed in now, and gods help these people if she didn’t like what she found. 

~~~

Resh

Resh’s head hurt–like ice-picks stabbing his eyes, vice-grip around his temples, skull about to crack like an egg hurt. 

The pain about drowned out the red-hot pulsing under his collarbone. The rest of his body didn’t feel all that great either. 

He groaned soundlessly and tried to curl up on his side.

Resistance. He couldn’t move his arms. 

Nothing but darkness greeted him when his eyes snapped open. Which his head appreciated, but his mind not so much. Resh yanked on his arm, but the motion had no effect except to send shards of agony lancing through his chest. Shit, his ribs… gasping shallowly for air, he stilled. 

What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck

The air went nowhere as everything he thought he knew splintered and warped, aided by the throbbing in his head. He was lying on something hard, in the dark, his limbs tied down, pain splintering through every facet of his being. 

It was a dream. It had to be a dream. He squeezed his eyes closed, willing himself to wake up. To not be back there. The last weeks couldn’t have been the dream. They couldn’t have they couldn’t! 

He started struggling again, hoping he would wake up if he hurt himself in real life, but a voice penetrated the weighted silence, its owner sounding as if the person was moving. Straining his ears, Resh paused, listening.  

“Burning pits, Lox, did you see his forehead? He’s a royal mage, we can’t be stealing royal mages!” 

A royal mage? Horror washed through him at the thought. Is that what the prince had done when he’d branded him? Claimed him for the Crown? Fuck; fuck! 

And who was that talking? No one spoke in his dreams but the prince, which meant… 

His stomach twisted. This was real? But then, the prince shouldn’t know about his magic, not unless he’d used it without realizing… He cringed as a vicious throb tried to liquefy his brain. It felt-it felt like a reaction headache–oh gods, what had he done?

“If such a thing even exists, we could surely ransom him. If not, could you imagine how useful a Kinetic would be? I’m not interested in killing people–I don’t want another such occurrence as what just happened. Robbing people is annoying, sure, but killing them will get us hunted down and exterminated.” 

The unknown voices moved on, becoming indistinguishable before fading away completely. The meaning of the words barely penetrated the fog of Resh’s panic, but one thing stood out. 

Ransom? But–he tugged on his wrists, wincing as coarse rope chafed his skin. Everything felt muddled and upside down and wrong and–Carr! Killing people? Carr killed people, but… that’s not what that person had meant, now was it. Resh’s heart was beating so hard he thought it might break through his chest. His eyes couldn’t penetrate the darkness, his thoughts couldn’t…

Flashes of memory, purple light flooding a carriage. He had tried so hard to cushion them with his magic… Lightning speared through his head, obliterating the memory. Resh cried out, nothing emerging but a puff of air. 

Hot tears trickled down his temples, tracking down into his hair as his breathing quickened. He’d failed. If killing people was bad, if they wanted him so it wouldn’t happen again–it meant he’d failed, that Carr and his sister were–were dead. 

He keened silently at the thought until the pain in his chest left him too breathless to continue. His mind twisted again as he lay there, panting through the waves of physical and emotional agony. 

But was that–was that real? The carriage, the crash–had that happened? Or–he pulled on his arms again–was he still in the prince’s torture chamber, awaiting the man’s next godsforsaken sadistic whim? 

Resh shuddered, his heart beating erratically while his skin flushed hot then cold, leaving him clammy and even more uncomfortable. He couldn’t–he couldn’t… His thoughts scattered, his mind shutting down. 

As pain and despair dragged him back under, he couldn’t decide which reality would be worse. 

~~~

Carr 

Branches whipped past Carr as she ran, one etching a line of fire across her cheek when she misjudged the distance in the waning light under the Seleni Wood’s canopy. Shouts echoed behind her, and an arrow whizzed past, barely missing as it embedded into a nearby tree with an ominous thud. 

Fuck fuck fuck. She’d meant to get close enough to the camp to approach one of the women, figuring she’d have better luck appealing to them than just walking into a bandit camp and looking stunned, an easy target for archery practice. 

The perimeter had been guarded more heavily than she’d been able to tell from afar. Now, she was a moving archery target. Less easy, surely, but fuck it all, not ideal. Her heart thrummed quickly enough that the individual beats were indistinguishable as she ducked under a low-hanging branch and swung around a tree, heading deeper into the underbrush. She could get away, probably. But that would defeat the purpose, so she needed to allow herself to be caught. Without getting killed, preferably. 

But the men chasing her would tackle her, take her down. The thought made her skin crawl–would they stop there, buy the not-so-much-an-act she’d put on, or would they prove to be the brand of bandits she’d originally thought they’d be? 

It’s for Resh. She repeated the thought over and over as she “tripped” and curled up on the ground, covering her scarf-wrapped head. Her body quivered for real as she awaited either an arrow to the back or rough hands grabbing her. 

Thankfully–but also not–callused fingers wrapped around her wrists in a bruising grip, forcing her arms to the ground by her head as a large man dressed in patched leathers straddled her body. 

“The fuck,” he said, staring down into what Carr supposed were her saucer-wide eyes. 

Eyes that rapidly filled with tears as she put up a weak struggle against his hold. It took everything she had not to wrap her legs around the man’s waist and flip him off her–would’ve been hard to do in the stupid too-tight dress anyway, and moreover, would’ve been suspicious. But gods. 

“What’ve you got?” another male voice called from somewhere to her left. 

“A fucking woman,” her captor responded, gripping her wrists even harder. He moved, placing one knee between her legs, which effectively pinned them in place within the prison of her skirts. 

Carr went limp, focusing all her energy on convincing her body not to fight and flee. Her heart was beating so hard she was sure the man could hear it. 

“Are there more?” a third voice asked. Crunching followed their question, the person moving with no care through the detritus of the forest. 

The man cocked a dark brow at her. “Well?” 

She shook her head frantically. “N-no. No. Please–” Her voice cracked, and she snapped her mouth closed, swallowing against the tears thickening her throat.  

Rotten breath wafted across her face while a hand swept under her skirt. 

“That’s right, be a good girl now and I’ll be nice to you, I promise.” 

One hand pinned both her wrists now while the other swept over her body, then beneath her skirt, unerringly finding the blade strapped to her thigh. 

She shivered beneath the too-large body, her cheek throbbing where he’d already hit her, her wrists aching beneath his hold. 

Her wrists ached beneath the man’s hold as he held up the dagger and laughed. “Do you even know how to use this?” 

A mixture of rage and shame set her face aflame, and the cut on her cheek throbbed. Her breath caught. 

Dark hair curled around his face, framing amused blue eyes that quickly darkened with concern. “Hey, are you alright?” 

The hand covering her mouth after she’d screamed for help was too big. It covered her nose as well and she couldn’t breathe couldn’t breathe couldn’t 

She couldn’t breathe, the air she sucked in between choked-off sobs going nowhere as she battled her past to stay in the way too similar present. 

“Shit.” The man scrambled off her, calling out to his friends. 

The words he exchanged with them made no sense through the ringing in her ears. Pinpricks of white flashed before her eyes, and aside from tucking her hands beneath her chin, Carr didn’t move–couldn’t move.  

Memory flickered in and out of her mind’s eye–no matter what, it was always this one she was thrown back into. This one that haunted her dreams. This one that paralyzed her, highlighting how fucking helpless she’d been–

Carr pushed up with a wheezing gasp, flinching as hands reached out to help her. She was not helpless; she was just pretending. Pretending pretending pretending

A hand moved over her back, up and down, up and down, and she trembled, desperately trying to keep still and allow this strange man to comfort her. 

“Hey, it’s alright,” he murmured. “I’m sorry about before, we thought… it doesn’t matter what we thought.” Leaning forward, he caught Carr’s eyes. “You with me now?” 

She nodded, averting her gaze so he wouldn’t see how much she wanted to turn and rip his hand off. Her skin prickled. 

“Look like you’ve been through it. You need help?”

Not trusting her voice, she nodded again. 

Someone scoffed. Movement caught in her peripheral vision, and she twisted her head, rearing back. The man’s hand moved, tightening around her shoulder. 

“Just gonna take her at her word? Probably some thief putting on an act.” 

Her captor-turned-protector pulled her back against his chest. She made herself melt into him, pulling up her legs to make herself smaller while the new bandit glared at her suspiciously. 

“You didn’t see her when I had her pinned. No one puts on an act like that.” Her bandit’s voice dripped with derision. 

Carr couldn’t decide if it was directed towards her or the other man. Didn’t matter, long as he decided she was worth helping. Take me back, take me back, take me back, she chanted in her head. Her body shaking like a leaf was entirely unfeigned; the reaction disgusted her, but she didn’t suppress it, letting her fucking weakness serve its purpose.  

“She needs help.”  

“So bring her some supplies and send her on her way. We gotta get back to our post,” the suspicious one said. 

“More help than that!” her bandit responded hotly. 

Carr let a small whimper escape, pressing a hand to her mouth after in a show of embarrassment. Her bandit held her closer, and she closed her eyes, trying to imagine he was Resh so she wouldn’t do something stupid like pull his dagger and slit his throat. She wanted to crawl outta her skin. She couldn’t. Couldn’t couldn’t couldn’t.

“You gonna take responsibility for her?” another voice cut in. There was an extra layer of meaning beneath their tone that Carr didn’t trust in the slightest.

Shit, she’d forgotten about the third bandit. She snapped her head around, watching that one’s approach closely. Tall and slim, with toned muscles evident beneath gear in better condition than the other two, they moved fluidly through the brush towards her. Both her bandit and the suspicious one went still, waiting quietly as they studied Carr. Clearly, that one was the leader and would be the deciding factor on whether she was getting into the camp or not.  

Carr dropped her gaze when they crouched before her, jabbing their bow into the ground to lean upon. Their gaze felt like tiny bugs crawling across her skin, and she shivered. 

After what felt like forever, they finally nodded and stood, strapping their bow over their shoulder. “Fine. Let’s get back. Lox’ll have your hide for this, just so y’know.” 

The suspicious one huffed, sounding dissatisfied.

A thrill went through Carr as her bandit assisted her to her feet, but she kept her eyes wide and expression fearful. 

“C’mon,” he said gently, settling his arm around her shoulder. 

Ugh. But she leaned into him, allowing him to lead her back to the camp. Her eyes snagged on her dagger, shoved without care through the man’s belt, and her fingers twitched, itching to thieve it back. 

Not yet. She had to pretend a bit longer. For Resh. 

~~~

Resh

A cool cloth brushed over the sensitive skin of Resh’s forehead, waking him. 

His head didn’t hurt as badly, but gods, he felt like he was on fire, his flesh burning, set aflame from a single pulsing point on his chest. 

Subtly, he pulled on his arms, only to find they were still restrained. A shiver went through him, and the cloth pulled away abruptly. 

Resh cracked open his eyes to find a stocky figure sitting beside him, the lamplight flickering over their shoulder-length blond hair. He caught a flash of green as they turned their head to the side, and his insides froze over even while the heat scalded his skin. 

“Good, you’re awake,” the figure said, turning back to him holding a wooden cup. “You need to drink.” 

He shook his head, even though his mouth was dry, so so dry. No. No no nonono he wasn’t back with the prince he wasn’t he wasn’t he–

A hand gripped the back of his head, forcing it up as the cup was pressed to his lips. Liquid poured in, and he choked, unready. It kept coming anyway, so he forced himself to drink through the coughing. It was that or drown. 

“Good, that’s good,” the prince said. 

Resh sobbed as he was released, then pressed his lips together to suppress another bubbling cough. He squeezed his eyes closed, unwilling to look at the rest of his surroundings. Unwilling to see white limestone, the final confirmation of his delusions. Real, this felt so real. Too real. 

But so had everything else! Carr, finally, finally talking to him in that meadow. Her small hands removing his gloves, resting against his cheek, soothing him after a nightmare. 

His sister, healthy, her hair growing, her skin losing its pallor. Laughing and joking and enjoying their journey. 

Had it really all been a figment of his imagination? A fever dream? He certainly felt like he had a fever. His heart cracked, the pieces crumbling as he came one step closer to believing the torture chamber was his reality. Maybe he would actually die this time, and it could all just be over. 

“He looks like shit,” a different voice said. Deeper. 

“Yeah, well. You shot him. Don’t know what you expected, really. Don’t think it hit a lung, at least, or surely he’d be dead by now.” 

He wished he was. Gods, how he wished he was.

“I need your help. Need to wash the wound out again, but he always fights, even restrained. Tore the stitches out once already.” 

A sigh, then hands clamping on his shoulders–his bare shoulders–pressing them flat against the hard surface he laid upon. Pain lanced through his chest, and he cried out soundlessly, trying to pull away. Another figure straddled his hips, pinning him down even more. 

“We’re just trying to help you!” one of them shouted at him, but he didn’t, couldn’t trust the words, especially as the liquid poured over his chest. 

He could feel it bubbling in the wound, the fire multiplied by a thousand, burrowing in to burn him alive inside now as well as out. He would’ve screamed, had the prince not ripped even that away from him already. 

“I know it hurts, and I’m sorry, but I have got to clean out the wound.” 

Lies. He wasn’t sorry. Resh shook his head from side to side, straining, desperate to get away from it. Lies lies lies lies

“He hasn’t made a single sound, but he looks like he’s screaming.” 

“Have you seen his chest? This guy has been through some shit. I don’t like doing this, Lox.” 

“It needs to be done, or he’ll die. Do you want that?” 

The words washed over Resh, a haze of agony coating everything. They didn’t make sense. Who the fuck was Lox? But he blinked as the pain died down a little, saw the prince bending over him, and didn’t know anymore. 

What was real? This pain was real–but was it? Sometimes it wasn’t, he remembered, but then more liquid poured and his mind whited out under the blistering pain and his throat strained to make sounds it was no longer capable of producing. 

When he came back around, the shape of familiar words flying off his lips–please, no more, please, no more–someone was gently patting at his chest, saying the last words he expected. 

“I’m sorry, I know it hurts. I’m trying to be as careful as I can. Sorry.” 

Exhausted, Resh laid his head back down. His shoulders were no longer pressed down, and there was no weight across his waist. He opened his eyes but allowed them to skim past that person who was the prince who wasn’t the prince because they kept apologizing every time he flinched. 

A flash of blue caught his attention, just past the large man blocking most of the doorframe across the room. The room with whitewashed wooden walls, not stone. Or was it? Oh gods. He blinked. Hazel eyes peered under the man’s–Lox’s?–arm, there and then gone so quickly Resh wasn’t sure he’d seen correctly. 

But he’d know those eyes anywhere, and his heart leapt. 

It just didn’t make sense. Nothing was making sense. 

The cup was pressed to his mouth again, and Resh swallowed this time instead of choking, grimacing at the sticky sweetness left behind on his tongue. The other man was gone by the time he finished, and so was the person in blue. 

It couldn’t have been Carr, then. 

It couldn’t have been anyway because if this was not the torture chamber, then Carr was dead. Orla was dead. He had as good as killed them, making them travel across the country with him. 

Resh turned his head away from the cup when it was offered again, and this time the prince not prince didn’t push it on him. 

He watched dully as they dimmed the lamp, then left the room, the sound of a lock snicking closed horribly familiar. 

And yet, he didn’t care. 

Worse, he decided as the room began to waver in his vision. As his heart caved in and left what felt like a jagged, fist-sized hole behind. As his chest heaved with the silent sobs he no longer bothered to hold back. This was so much worse. 

His crying sparked lancets of agony radiating across his body from the burning wound under his collarbone. Every stuttering gasp felt like inhaling shards of broken glass. He welcomed the pain. 

But whatever had been in the water fuzzed his mind, and his eyes eventually drifted closed, his breathing leveling off. The tears tracking down his temples followed him into his drugged sleep. 

~~~

Carr

Carr’s bandit marched her straight into the biggest of only three cabins in the bandit’s little valley, past the watchful eyes of probably most of the place’s inhabitants. 

Demex, he’d told her his name was.  

Well, Demex bore up against the scrutiny well, even as Carr cringed away from it. Maybe because she cringed, which he could very well tell with his arm around her shoulder, dragging her body into his side. She permitted it. She had no choice, now did she. 

For Resh. 

Demex bore up less well under Lox’s scrutiny. Carr flattened herself against the wall, ostensibly hiding behind her bandit while he got his ass handed to him, but really the positioning allowed her to see under Lox’s arm into the room he was trying to block with his body. Kind of. 

She caught flashes of someone moving around a bed. What looked like medical supplies on a nearby table, some bloodied bandages. 

And then–a pair of red-rimmed brown eyes. Their gazes met for all of five seconds before the person at his bedside blocked her view, but Carr was certain it was him. 

Her heart sped up, her breaths quickening. So fast! She couldn’t believe she’d found him so quickly. And he was alive. Her knees buckled as relief sluiced through her, and all that saved her from sliding down the wall was Demex’s hand slipping around her waist. 

“Hey there, you alright? Rowan is a little busy right now, but they can check you out in the morning, if that suits?” 

“Alright,” Carr said faintly. She willed strength back into her legs. “Wh-what now?” 

“What now is you get to talk to me,” Lox said, stepping out of the room and closing the door behind him.  

The only thing that stopped her from snatching her dagger back, burying it in this guy’s chest, and bursting into that room to get to Resh was that it appeared as if they were caring for his injuries. 

And the small matter that a move like that would certainly get her killed. But she would’ve done it regardless, if she’d thought it necessary. 

Not yet, she told herself, staring up into the eyes of the man who’d chased their fucking carriage down.

#hidden depths #whump #whump writing #original writing #original characters #fantasy whump #warnings above the cut #captivity tw #restraints tw #flashback tw #panic attack tw #wishing for death #painful wound cleaning

[hurtthemgently]

A defiant whumpee gets drugged. They look at whumper with a hazy anger, too weak to do more than snarl. Whumper easily gets their arms into restraints, while they fight with all the strength of a cooked noodle. They manage a few mumbled insults, before whumper leaves them to sit as the drug wears off

#non con drugging #drug whump #restraints tw #defiant whumpee #whump prompt #whump prompts #whump trope #restraints got autocorrected to restrooms #I briefly thought about leaving it to see what happens

[zoe-and-quinn]

Whumptober Day 9

Polaroid / Mistaken Identity / “You’re a liar.”

TW: Restraints, partial nudity (non-sexual), knife, creepy whumper

The morning had gone by like usual. Alexei had come in to hand out food, water, and meds. Casey took a few minutes to go through Georgia’s paper cup and point out each supplement, antidepressant, and vitaman, to ease her mind. There was only one he didn’t recognise, but she quickly explained that it was her estrogen supplement.

“I don’t know how he knew my brand or dosage, though.”

“He has his ways,” Casey sighed.

Alexei came by to collect dishes, and the three started a game of go fish using Felix’s cards, asking questions with each play to get to know each other. Felix insisted on starting with simple questions, which Casey quickly agreed to. Felix tended to avoid talking about deep subjects, when at all possible. Besides, Casey didn’t know all that much about either Felix and Georgia, and favorite colors and animals seemed like a good place to start.

They only had a few minutes of playing before the door opened and Alexei walked in again. “Come on, Casey, let’s get moving,” he ordered, holding the door open and looking impatient.

Casey’s stomach dropped. “Where are we-”

“You’ve got a client,” Alexei interrupted, annoyed, “and they’ll be here any minute, so let’s move.”

Casey stayed motionless, rooted to the floor as the surprise and terror set in. He had only had a few clients since Alexei deemed him ‘trained’ enough to be on the market. He hadn’t gotten used to the paralyzing, horrible sensation of looming pain, hadn’t figured out how to push back the what-ifs and reluctance.

Alexei rolled his eyes and stepped into the room, grabbing Casey and yanking him up to his feet. He put a firm hand on his shoulder, pulling him out of his room and down the dreaded hallway. He stopped to grab something out of a cupboard, but Casey hardly noticed. He couldn’t stop staring at the steel door.

When Alexei pushed him towards it once more, the panic surged and filled his body. “Sir, don’t make me, please don’t-”

Alexei didn’t stop, sliding the bolt and pulling the door open. Casey was pushed inside. His eyes moved on their own accord, and he could not take responsibility for their sweep over the many weapons on the wall in front of him.

Something hit Casey’s back, and he flinched and turned to see a small heap of clothing on the floor. “Get changed quickly,” Alexei ordered, turning to unwrap a thick rope from an anchor on the wall.

Casey did as he was told, pulling off his old clothes and putting on a fresh white tee and a pair of black athletic shorts. He balled the dirty clothes up and held onto them nervously.

Alexei had untied the rope and added more slack. The rope was threaded through a loop on the ceiling, and the end now hung at about eye level. Tied onto it was a large, metal hook.

Alexei pulled a sturdy pair of handcuffs off a shelf, and Casey realized what was happening.

He backed away a step, shaking his head as tears started to well up in his eyes. This was all too much, he didn’t want this, he couldn’t handle this.

Alexei didn’t care. He grabbed his wrists and forced the handcuffs on, letting the bundle of clothes drop to the floor. He placed them on the hook and pulled the rope, and suddenly Casey was on his toes, hands above his head, caught like a worm on a hook.

“They’ll be here in a minute,” Alexei said, grabbing the dirty clothes and moving towards the door. “On your best behavior, understand?”

Casey said nothing, eyes screwed tightly shut.

“I said, do you understand?” The darkened tone made Casey flinch, and he nodded immediately.

“Yes, sir,” he whispered. Alexei left without another word.

The client opened the door a few minutes later, and before Casey knew it, they were momentarily blinded by the flash of a camera. Once their vision came back, blurry and littered with spots, they got a look at the client.

She looked to be in her mid 30s, with blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. She smiled at Casey, holding the polaroid camera up again. This time, Casey had the foresight to close his eyes before the flash.

“Don’t mind me,” the woman said, bending down and pointing the camera up at him. “I’m just getting some ‘before’ pictures. We can get started in a minute.”

Casey found himself not minding the wait, as she lined up a few more shots. Anything to delay ‘getting started’.

Eventually, she put the camera down on a table, laying the developing photos out in a row. She turned to the wall of weapons and started looking. Casey didn’t know whether he wanted to watch or not, whether he wanted to know what would happen to him in a minute or two. In the end, it didn’t matter. He couldn’t bring himself to look away.

“So many interesting toys to play with,” the woman mused, tapping her chin in indecision. “In the end, though, I think I’ll stick to the classics.”

She pulled a knife off a magnetic strip, a small, curved weapon with a wicked shard point and a much duller blade. Casey couldn’t help the pathetic little whimper that escaped from his lips.

He wasn’t strong like Felix, not yet at least. He didn’t know how to bite back the screams, how to stay witty and brave through the pain.

When that knife bit into his chest as she slit his new clean shirt, when it carved patterns into his skin like he was a block of wood, he wasn’t able to hold back the sobs.

The client stepped back after what felt like hours, circling his shaking form like an artist around a sculpture. She picked up the camera and snapped picture after picture as Casey hung, barely supporting his weight, letting the cuffs rub his wrists raw.

She watched as they developed, smiling at each new addition to the collection of Casey’s pain. At one point, she picked one up and walked over to him.

“Look,” She said, grabbing his chin and forcing him to stare at the polaroid, showing off the blood dripping down his chest. “Don’t you think you look just beautiful like this?”

She was gripping him so hard, and his body hurt so much, and he wanted her to be happy, to leave him alone. “Y-yes,” he muttered, closing his eyes once more.

“Aww, you’re lying, aren’t you.” He felt a jolt of fear at these words. Would she punish him for the lie? Should he have told the truth, that he thought he looked like a cut of meat, barely human and hardly pleasing to the eye?

“No matter,” she continued, and he breathed a sigh of relief. “I can see enough beauty for the both of us.”

#whumptober 2023 #whumptober2023 #no.9 #fic #you're a liar #polaroid #whump #whump writing #whump fic #whumpee #whumptober #writing #knife tw #violence tw #restraints tw #partial nudity tw #creepy whumper #intimate whumper

[distinctlywhumpthing]

In League — A Lucky Blunder

Masterlist

Summary: The boys finally caught their rival gang's spy but something about him has their leader intervening in his punishment. Beta read by @alittlewhump!

CW: Late-19th century, explicit language, kidnapping/abduction, nudity (non-sexual), restraints, bruising from implied beating, whipping, scars, torture/interrogation, taunting of prisoner, multiple whumpers, dubious caretaker.

A high-pitched keening wound its way through the house. 

Wyatt paused, pencil hovering over his place in the row of numbers. It was early evening. Sunlight entered the window at a low angle to cast long shadows through yellow-orange light. The boys would be winding down from the day which meant they were winding up for the night.  

“Tommy?” He called for Frankie’s lad, the portrait of his ruddy-haired father in miniature. A child of about ten years who was always close at hand, ever-keen to make a farthing running errands. Especially if he could smugly tell younger boys later that he wasn’t at liberty to divulge the particulars. As though he was the rare child-confidant of the entire gang. He did have a fair pulse on what was going on, if a little slanted by the perspective of his youth.

Another cry, twisting all the way upstairs, most likely from the cellar two floors down. In the house—their house—not a thing could transpire unnoticed, such was the size and layout. Wyatt liked that. All was within reach and what one could hold in the palm of his hand, one could command. 

Although, his appreciation and pride were diminishing by the second as the cries continued and grew more insistent. He leaned back in his chair with a sigh and almost ran his fingers through his hair before he remembered they were smudged with graphite from doing the books. 

“Tommy!”

Finally, a clatter and then short, snappy strides as the child scrambled across the kitchen and up the stairs. “Yessir?” 

“What is that fucking noise?”

Tommy swallowed, trying to catch his breath. “They found that man. The one ‘tipped off Keats.” 

“Is that so?”

About a month ago, a beggar had shown up on their streets. He’d seen the man in question himself—more of a boy really, no more than twenty—huddled outside the door of the pub and shuffling around the streets covered in a ratty blanket. 

Around the same time, a number of plans had been mislaid. At first, it had seemed only as though they’d mismatched their timing. Until one night, when they’d had a raid planned on a warehouse, expecting just a few guards and found its owner—one of their biggest rivals—Keats, had two dozen waiting instead. 

It had nearly cost two boys their lives and one still had a bullet in his shoulder. They had pulled the usual threads, made sure to reassess the loyalties of certain parties. The beggar, on the other hand, was nowhere to be found. No one thought twice about an urchin disappearing. But then, a handful of days later, Jack’s sister had seen the very same accompanying none other than Keats himself. 

A short ten days later, here he was, apparently paying for his trickery in the cellar, having finally been apprehended. 

No one noticed Wyatt coming down the stairs. All backs were turned, including the one getting belted. Their captive was stark naked and covered in grime with patches of bruises darkening along his ribs. His wrists were tied together and hooked over his head so that he was forced onto the balls of his feet. From the looks of it, he’d managed to bear his due reward silently for a not-insignificant length of time. Raised welts crisscrossed from the back of his neck down to his calves. It was plain by the scars on his back that this was not his first beating. Not much of a distinguishing feature around these parts. 

Alfred was winding up for what would no doubt be the first lash that drew blood. The rest of the group surveyed from a loose half-circle, some sitting on overturned crates and others leaning against the soot-blackened walls. Wyatt hadn’t been down here in ages, couldn’t say what was in half of the cobwebbed crates stacked in the corners. The air in the cramped space was beginning to smell pungent, cigarette smoke clinging to the ceiling in spite of the open street-level windows. 

Wyatt put his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall at the foot of the stairs. He waited until Alfred was about to strike. “What’d you find, lads?” 

At least one of the men jumped, a few others sat up just a fraction straighter. Alfred let the swing fall short. Only the tail end of the belt met its target, who hissed as another welt rose on his pale flesh. 

Wyatt wasn’t the oldest nor was he the longest-standing member. The group operated mostly by consensus but he was indisputably its leader. After all, he had been the one to rescue this house of cards from collapse before they had completely lost control. He’d recast the senior members into roles that didn’t require temperance and recruited younger men to fill the ranks instead. The younger the better, hungry to prove themselves and yet to develop the arrogance and pride that had prevented their predecessors from changing with the times. 

They had swiftly replaced brute force and standoffs in broad daylight in favour of subtler methods, refocusing on activities with higher turnovers that required a fraction of the effort and didn’t put them atop wanted lists. Half the city was still under the impression the gang had in fact collapsed and retreated back to the slums.

Alfred turned, face as red as the skin he’d just been beating raw. Either from the strength he was putting behind his arm or from feeling caught. He wasn’t the type to come up with the first idea himself but was always the first to volunteer to carry another’s. “It’s Keats’ spy.” 

“We finally caught up with him,” someone else chimed in, making a few others chuckle. 

Frankie sauntered over to clap the accused-spy on the shoulder, making him tense. “Just having some fun.” 

That earned a few laughs from the audience and the boy ducked his head as if to hide. 

Wyatt cleared his throat. “Come on, let us have a look.”

As Frankie made the captive turn on his toes, Wyatt was struck by two things. 

The first was the curious wound on the soft side of his hip, looking as though someone had inexplicably carved a piece of meat off him not long ago. 

Secondly, and more notably, Wyatt was struck by the fact that this was altogether a different boy.

Part II

Together/Apart taglist: @painsandconfusion @deluxewhump @no-whump-on-main @whumpy-writings @maracujatangerine @whumptakesthecake @subject-v @susiequaz12 @writer-reader-24 @whumpinthepot @wormwriting

#whump #whumpee #whump writing #multiple whumpers #dubious caretaker #captivity whump #torture whump #interrogation whump #prisoner whump #restraints tw #captivity tw #beating tw #nudity mention tw #burns tw #loss of consciousness tw #kidnapping tw #institutionalized slavery tw #abduction tw #smoking tw