#silent whumpee

[whump-or-whatever]

Grabbing on to someone’s clothes, a prompt list

Whumpee grabs Whumper’s pant leg as they go to leave, and whumper kicks them off with a disgusted look

Whumpee kneeling down in front of whumper, grabbing the front of their shirt and begging

Whumpee grabbing caretaker’s sleeves for support as they sway dangerously

Defiant whumpee or caretaker grabbing whumper by the shirt and slamming them against the wall angrily, whumper just laughing at the show of emotion

Caretaker grabbing whumpee by the sleeves to help them stand up off the floor

Unconscious whumpee being dragged by the shoulders of their shirt

Whumpee fisting their hand in caretaker’s shirt as they lean into their embrace

Intimate whumper yanking whumpee towards them by the shirt or waistband, getting all up in their face

Whumper grabbing the back of whumpee’s shirt and throwing them into a wall

Whumpee weakly grabbing for caretaker’s sleeve before their hand falls limp at their side as they pass out

Whumpee holding on to caretaker’s clothes so they don’t get lost as they escape in the dark

Caretaker scrambling to loosen or rip open the neck of the shirt on a whumpee who’s panicking and clawing at it

Anyone grabbing anyone by the tie, either choking them or using it like a leash

Whumper grabbing whumpee’s shirt and ripping it open to expose their new canvas

Caretaker ripping into whumpee’s clothes to evaluate and treat their injuries

Silent whumpee tugging on caretaker’s sleeve to get their attention

Whumpee desperately grasping at Whumper’s clothes as they fall to the ground

Whumpee grabbing on to Whumper’s clothes to pull themself up off the ground and fight back

Caged whumpee trying to grab people’s pant legs as they walk by, begging to be let out

Whumper grabbing whumpee by the collar and shaking them, only to panic when they get no response

Whumpee grasping at caretaker’s shirt as they are pulled away by whumper

Reluctant whumper jumping when whumpee, who they thought was unconscious, grabs them by the sleeve, staring up at them with pleading eyes

Reluctant caretaker gently but firmly prying whumpee’s hand off their clothes and walking away

Whumpee hugging themself, hands fisted in the shoulders of their shirt

Caretaker and whumpee grabbing the backs of each other’s shirts as they hug after being reunited

Add any others you can think of!

#whump #recovery whump #whump prompt #caretaker #whump tropes #whump scenario #whump idea #whump trope #whump prompt list #whumper #whumpee #silent whumpee #caged whump #caged whumpee #intimate whumper #manhandling whump #manhandling #reluctant whumper #reluctant caretaker #defiant whumpee #whumpblr #whump community

[quietly-by-myself]

Kinda random but how about a painful massage for Sacha?

Thank you so much for the anon!! As you wish...

CW: slavery whump, conditioned whumpee, silent whumpee, bone relocation, creepy/intimate whumper, carewhumping, stress position, dubcon/noncon touching

===

"Come here, Sacha."

Sacha never knew what to expect when Master called him. He knew it would be painful, yes, but the tortures that Master put him through were different and unpredictable.

Like the night before, when Sacha had made a noise and earned himself hours of being hung in a horrible position forward by his neck, with his arms wrenched behind him.

"I took your punishment too far, Sacha. You were just whimpering. I should not have left you for that long. Let me help you."

Master was sitting in his leather chair, a glass of whisky on the table next to him. Sacha was sitting next to him on the floor.

Master motioned for Sacha to come up on the ottoman in front of the leather chair. Sacha hesitated. He was never allowed up on the furniture when Master took him upstairs. Even just allowing him upstairs showed some level of kindness Sacha was not normally afforded. It was a relief to be out of the basement, though he knew that it came with a hefty price tag. One he would have to pay now.

Sacha eventually obeyed. Master immediately put his hands on Sacha, feeling his shoulder. He massaged it surprisingly gently, but the digging caused Sacha pain like no other.

Eventually, Master moved onto his other shoulder, massaging the base of his neck, his shoulder blades, and his upper spine. All of it popped and cracked and stung with a horrible agony.

Sacha wanted to cry out, but whimpering was what had gotten him there in the first place.

"Your shoulders are dislocated. Subluxed. Whatever the word is. They're a bit out of place. I'll relocate them for you. Don't move and don't make a sound."

Sacha stiffened, ready to obey. Master put his hand on Sacha's arm and massaged gently, working the shoulder bone into place. The pressure in his arms gradually faded as Master continued the massage. His arms hurt less and his neck felt like it might've been able to support itself.

Even though every motion Master made into his muscles hurt, Sacha didn't care. He was being touched without Master intentionally causing him pain.

It was a relief he couldn't describe.

It was a mercy he didn't deserve.

===

Tags: @whumpsday, @i-can-even-burn-salad, @pigeonwhumps, @darkthingshappen, @pumpkin-spice-whump, @darlingwhump, @maracujatangerine, @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi, @flowersarefreetherapy, @octopus-reactivated, @quietshae, @whump-blog, @inkkswhumpandstuff, @whumpycries, @whumpkinz

#whump #whump writing #cw are above #whumpblr #conditioned whumpee #slavery whump #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #whump fic #whump community #recovery whump #sacha #shadow by my fireplace #noncon touch #emery #silent whumpee #bone relocation #carewhumper #carewhumping #stress position

[weirdstrangeandawful]

TW: character disappearance

'Is that the last time they were seen?' A asks, peering over their partner's shoulder at the grainy CCTV footage, trying to blink the sleep out of their eyes enough to comprehend the significance. The office is empty, no one else is working this late. A would be at home in bed if B hadn't asked, no begged, for company.

'No, it's the last time someone spoke to them,' B clarifies, wide awake, rewinding the tape to loop over the moment the person C was talking to walks away.

'What's the date of this footage?'

B points speechlessly to the digitally imposed date in the top corner of the frame.

'That's months before they disappeared though isn't it, B? I think you need to get some rest, you're not thinking clearly,' A nags, both exhausted and concerned but already resigning themselves to the cold, half-finished coffee on their desk.

'No, no, I am! That's just it, don't you see? They didn't speak to anyone for months before they vanished. They're caught on CCTV for months after this but no one spoke to them. They were silent, A! Didn't say a word! No small talk, no texting, no phone calls, they didn't even say a word to the cashier at the grocery store.'

#whump #whump prompt #whump thoughts #team whump #disappearance #silent whumpee

[lonely-harts]

“Why don’t you just tell me, eh?” whispered Whumper, squeezing Whumpee’s shoulder and pulling him in close. The chair Whumpee was strapped down on tilted slightly.

The others stood around the pair, arms folded.

Whumpee kept his lips pursed tightly as Whumper shook him slightly, in the way friends do when trying to reassure the other.

“Look Whumper, you’ve been trying for a week now,” said one of the group. “Maybe he really doesn’t know... or maybe your methods are lacking.”

A couple of the others nodded and murmured in agreement. The senior in the group however just raised his eyebrows in question while staring at Whumper.

Whumpee saw a flash of fear in Whumper’s eyes, an emotion that seemed alien to Whumper’s usually hard and controlled face.

“I can do it,” muttered Whumper with a pout.

“Its okay if you need a little help, Whumper,” smiled the leader of the group. “No shame in that, we all do from time to time.”

This man stepped towards Whumper and Whumpee, adjusting his gloves before grabbing Whumpee by the cheeks with one hand. Whumpee tried not to splutter as the man shoved his hand deep into Whumpee’s face and mouth, as deep as one could without cutting him open. Whumpee could taste salt on the leather glove, mixed with something else. The boss twisted Whumpee’s head this way and that while Whumper continued to squeeze Whumpee’s shoulder, tighter and tighter, but somehow more and more comforting. Then, Whumpee felt himself move backwards on the chair a little, but it did not come from himself, instead it was directed by Whumper.

The man raised his head and narrowed his eyes at Whumper. “I’m trying to help, Whumper. Don’t be a child. You can share, share with me and then he’ll share what he knows.”

“I can do it,” Whumper repeated. He stepped between his superior and Whumpee, his hands twitching.

“Really?” His boss adopted a doubtful frown. “If Whumpee hasn’t broken by the end of this week, I’ll give him over to someone else, Whumper, final warning.”

“I’ll do it,” sighed Whumper, relief unmistakable in his voice. “He’s mine.”

@painsandconfusion A little drabble after a break, this scene just went poof in my head and wouldn’t leave me alone. I might do some more with this?

#| the blood | #whump #whump drabble #whumblr #silent whumpee #caring whumper #possessive whumper

[letitbehurt]

Cauterizing wounds. A fervent “bite this,” before a bit is shoved between Whumpee’s teeth; shallow breaths and white knuckles; tear tracks and sweat-soaked hair; red-hot metal and burning flesh, Whumpee’s body tensing as they scream.

#I love cauterized wounds #the paradox of causing pain to heal just WORKS #bonus points if it’s field medicine and Whumpee has to be silent #Caretaker shoving a hand over Whumpee’s mouth to muffle their scream #that’s aesthetic right there #whump

[whumppppp]

Silent scream

#whump prompt #manhwa #webtoon #whump list #whumblr #emotional whump #whump #whump art #whump community #whump stuff #whump ideas #whump tropes #whump scenario #whumpblr #whumpcember2023 #whumpee #labwhump #experimentation whump #webcomic #silent screams

[whumpshaped]

would you ever write a vampire with catholic beliefs? Who is struggling between his beliefs and his reality? 🍬🧠🍬🧠 I forgot my zip mouth emoji...Idk where it is...

so originally i wanted to write about isabella, but well, she's not a he, nor is she catholic (she's lutheran). so have this sad wet cat

tw vampire whumper/whumpee? i'm not sure what this man is- death, murder, religious themes, religious trauma, religious guilt, suicidal ideation, (self-imposed) starvation, self-blame, memory loss, abandonment, lady whumpee, noncon drugging, dehumanisation (of self)

It was cold when he awoke. The winter breeze bit into his twitchy body and made him curl up for a moment, but it paled in comparison to the ruthless hunger gnawing at his stomach.

His eyes snapped open to an unfamiliar scene, but recognising the terrain wasn't necessary for him to follow the scent of blood. It was all he could focus on, torn clothes and the cold long forgotten as he struggled to his feet and began following the trail.

Blood. Blood. Blood.

He wanted it. He needed it. He had to have it, no matter the cost.

He didn't have the presence of mind to stop and wonder about his heart that was no longer beating, nor the speed with which he was pursuing his prey. He didn't think about the fact that he could see all too well despite it being the middle of the night, he didn't even consider that normal people didn't usually hunt. Not in a town. Not like this.

He pounced on the man without hesitation. He pumped the body full of venom so he would be silent, then drank and drank and drank until–

"Holy shit," someone said quietly. Then, louder this time, "Holy shit. Vampire! There's a fucking vampire–"

He bolted before he could've heard the end of it. He didn't think about the man he left behind. He ran back to where he'd woken up, collapsing to the ground as soon as he got there. He felt exhausted, he felt... dead. More alive now that he'd had something to drink, but...

He lifted a hand and pressed it against his chest. Nothing. Of course, this should've been more than expected, having drained that poor man dry–

Oh dear. He'd likely killed someone.

His mind was reeling. He couldn't remember a thing from before waking up, but the past few minutes had already thrown him for a loop on their own. He was dead, a dead man walking, and he'd just killed someone. And another human had even seen him do it!

He tried to take a couple of deep breaths to ground himself, but the taste of blood in his mouth negated any effort he put in. He was a monster. He was a murderer. He was going to be hunted and killed.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

The scent of blood clung to him like a ghost, and he desperately wished for a warm shower to get it off. Alas, he had nothing but the clothes on his back and a discarded coat on the ground. He should at least look through that to see whether he could piece together who he used to be. He didn't even... remember his own name.

And where was his sire? The bloodthirsty monster who turned him into one of them? Had they not even waited for him to wake up? Had they not cared at all about the life they'd ruined?

Touching the coat brought back memories of his last minutes, the way the vampire had slipped it off his shoulders and threw it on the ground. He remembered being dazed and helpless, baring his neck for the demon to feast on. At the time, it seemed like the most important thing in the world, to be able to feed them.

He looked through the pockets and found an ID for Jude Flanagan, born 1998. The picture was... him? He gingerly touched his own face, as though his fingers could ever work as well as a mirror. Was he really the Jude on the card?

He was. His fingers brushed against the cloth of an eye patch, the same one the man on the photo was wearing. More memories flooded his mind: his mother calling him, his father yelling for him from downstairs, the priest scolding him.

Priest?

He found a Bible in the next pocket, a small one. He dropped it out of fear, afraid it would burn his hands like silver, but nothing happened. The book seemed harmless, apart from the implications it brought along.

He used to be a man of God.

"N-no... No, no, no, no. You were supposed to protect me," he choked out, picking up the Bible again. "How could You let this happen? How– how could a vampire– why would You let a vampire..."

No temptation has seized you except what is common to man. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can stand up under it.

"I killed a man!" Jude cried. "First You deny me Heaven, and now– the temptation was all I had! I couldn't control it! I didn't see a way out!"

He curled up with the book in hand, sobbing like he was the one to be pitied. Like he was the victim and not the murderer, like he was deserving of any kind of sympathy.

"I didn't see a way," he repeated brokenly. "I didn't... I don't... I'm sorry, I'm so sorry... Please, forgive me..."

-

Jude never quite managed to get used to the hunger. Nor the isolation.

The abandoned shack he'd found was good for shelter, but it was not a luxury abode, and the little money he managed to scrape together every other evening while disguising himself as a human beggar was not enough for much. The coat had become his most prized possession along with all the treasures it held: the Bible, the rosary, and the wallet with all the documents.

He bought new things, too. Some soap so he could wash himself well enough in the river, some candles to combat the suffocating darkness. Every little thing was precious, bought with the goodwill of humans who didn't care to look too hard at the creature they were giving their change to.

Jude could've charmed them. He could've tricked someone into inviting him inside, and he could've enthralled them to let him stay. He could've lived a more comfortable life, with a soft bed, a clean bathtub, and a belly always full of the warmest blood.

But he didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve to take any of it.

He'd thought about getting a stake and finishing the job his sire had started. He wanted so badly to be put out of his misery, to be greeted with kindness and compassion at the pearly gates before being allowed in — but he didn't deserve that either. His life wasn't his own to take, and nor was his unlife. God would make that decision when He saw fit, and until then, Jude could do nothing but atone.

He took no blood from humans. He lived on the blood of pests and small woodland creatures; roadkill sometimes, when he got lucky. He hated killing anything, but at least it was allowed, or... or he hoped it was.

Rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky and over every living creature that moves on the ground.

God had given the creatures to the humans, not the wretched monsters of the night. He could only hope and pray that his past humanity was something to be taken into consideration.

He was kneeling on the floor with his elbows resting on his borrowed bed, hands clasped together in prayer, when he caught the scent. A human. Was this the night he would finally be purged from the Earth? Or was the human the real owner of his makeshift home?

His stomach rumbled as the scent got stronger and stronger. His mouth was watering despite his best efforts to keep a level head, and he buried his face in the covers, trying to tune it out.

Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial, for when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life, which God has promised to those who love him.

Jude was shaking by the time the human reached the door of his temporary dwelling. He stayed on his knees and listened to the sounds of the lock being picked, preparing himself for the blessing that would be his permanent death.

If only he hadn't been starving. If only the human hadn't smelled so good.

But each person is tempted when he is lured and enticed by his own desire. Then desire when it has conceived gives birth to sin, and sin when it is fully grown brings forth death.

He lunged like a wild animal as soon as the door was pushed open. His fangs sank into the poor woman's neck easily, and she let out a groan as the venom took hold. Blood, so much blood, fresh, delicious, rich, so much better than the squirrels and rats–

Jude pulled back with a start, eyes wide with terror. No, no, no, not again, not again. He wiped his mouth and even his tongue with the back of his hand, trying to get rid of the proof of his sin. The woman was still alive, letting out soft sounds of satisfaction as she lay there.

Her neck was still bleeding. He ought to close the wounds.

Jude licked his lips, then took a step backwards. No, he wouldn't lick her. Hadn't he done enough damage? He could– he could find something to bandage her with–

In truth, he didn't trust himself. There was no telling whether he'd have the self-control to stop for a second time, were he to get that close to her neck again.

"Don't you want a little more?" she asked, pushing herself into a sitting position. "I'm still bleeding so much... You don't want to waste it, do you?"

There was a mask covering the lower half of her face, and judging from that and the all black attire, she must've been a hunter. This woman could've staked him. God had given him an out, and he'd let himself be blinded by his selfish hunger.

"I'm s-sorry," Jude stammered, quickly rummaging through all his belogings to find at least a band-aid. "I'll, I'll help you– I'll patch you up, I just need a moment–"

"Can't you lick the wounds closed?" She got to her feet and ventured further into the cabin, grabbing onto the back of his shirt to steady herself and making him flinch. "There's so much blood... Is the flavour not to your liking?"

Jude spun around, and found himself trapped between the wall and his victim. She pulled her mask down and gave him a smile, eyes sparkling with unabashed want.

"You don't want this," he choked out. The smell was so strong. She was so close. She was offering, if only because of the venom, but she was offering nonetheless.

"Oh, but I do. I want it so badly."

Jude stopped breathing entirely, closing his eyes for a moment to think. "What's your name?"

"Pia Gravenor, Master."

"D-don't call me that, please."

"I can call you whatever you want, sir, if you just spare me one more bite..." Jude's eyes snapped open when she grabbed his hand and guided it to the wound, pressing his fingers against her skin slick with blood. "The bleeding isn't stopping anyway..."

He swallowed hard, and her smile widened. She was so desperate for just a bit more venom. He could give that to her, and close the wound after. He could take just one more sip. Just one more.

He was leaning in before he could fully process that he was doing it, lapping up the spilled blood trickling down her neck. She ran her fingers through his hair and kept him there, murmuring soft reassurances and pleas for him to bite again.

Please, forgive me. I'm so hungry. I've been hungry for so long.

Let me have a full meal, just this once.

~

link

#asks #silent candy anon #whump #whump drabble #vampire whumper #vampire whumpee #death #murder #religious themes #religious trauma #religious guilt #suicidal ideation #starvation #self-blame #memory loss #abandonment #lady whumpee #noncon drugging #dehumanisation #jude

[echo-goes-mmm]

Quiet Backstage (Oneshot)

My Writing Masterpost

Warnings: starvation, non consensual body mod

Vanessa’s keys jingled as she pulled them from her bag. 

She would have thought the interior doors in the old theater wouldn’t need to be unlocked, but the dusty knobs were latched tight.

Vanessa had bought the old abandoned place from the city; to renovate it and reopen as a community theater. She figured she ought to see for herself how bad it was before bringing in the contractors.

She coughed as the door opened, dust settling to the floor.

She wandered backstage. Abandoned clothing racks and cobwebbed mirrors lined the dressing rooms, and the wings had holes in the curtains.

A strangely clean door jumped out at her, and she tried the knob. It was locked.

It looked like this door led under the stage, where stunt actors would “fall” through a trapdoor.

She unlocked it easily, and grabbed her flashlight. Only some of the switches worked in the building, and she wasn’t taking chances.

There was yet another locked door at the end of the stairs, but it didn’t creak like the others when it swung open.

The room had an unpleasant smell to it, and it was warmer than the rest of the building.

Her flashlight swept over the area, and she fumbled the wall for a switch.

A few dull bulbs flickered on, and she had to stifle a gasp.

A young man lay limp in the far corner of the room.

He was lying in a nest of old blankets, in nothing but a pair of boxers. He was thin, his face partially hidden in a crook of an elbow. 

His skin was mottled with bruises. Black, blue, green, yellow, purple. Blood smeared over what she could see of his nose.

And even worse, he was chained to the wall by his ankle, the skin there rubbed raw and crusted with dried blood.

At least he was breathing, seemingly asleep.

She dropped her bag and rummaged for her phone.

No signal.

Vanessa looked up, and the boy’s uncovered eye had opened. It was a cloudy gray, with dark eyebags underneath.

“Hey there… buddy,” she said.

He didn’t say anything, looking at her warily. She bit her lip. He was so thin, she could count every rib.

“Do you want something to eat? I’ve got peanut butter crackers,” she offered, pulling the snack from her bag.

Vanessa stepped forward, and he shrank into a curl. Okay, so no crackers.

She scanned his body. She was sweating down here, and he looked dry as a bone. Probably dehydrated.

She grabbed her bottle. “How about some water?” She shook the bottle, the liquid inside sloshing.

He lifted his head, and he had a black eye on the other side of his face. An older injury, judging by the swelling.

She held out the bottle to him, and he zeroed in on the water.

“It’s okay,” she said, “you can have it.”

He sat up, but still didn’t take it from her, hands flat on the ground and intertwined in the blankets.

Vanessa unscrewed the top of the bottle, and that seemed to be his cue. He tilted his head back, mouth slightly parted. 

She held the bottle to his lips, and he drank and drank. He reminded her of the lambs on her uncle’s farm; bottle fed and helpless.

She pulled away for a minute, and he whimpered.

“I don’t want you to choke,” she explained, and let him drink more after he caught his breath.

After the water was gone, he hung his head, his chest heaving and his eyes closed again.

He was tired, she realized, the effort of merely drinking some water exhausting him.

“Do you want the crackers now?”

His hands clenched and unclenched the blankets, like a kneading cat.

He made a pitiful sound again, and she took that as a yes.

“Here you go.” She unwrapped the plastic and put the crackers in front of him.

He ate slowly, and she scanned the room as he nibbled.

“I don’t suppose you know where the key to your lock is?”

He said nothing; probably too frightened.

“Wait right here,” she told him.

Vanessa called 911 when she got to her car, grabbing her bolt cutters.

“911, what’s your emergency?” buzzed the operator.

“I need the calmest paramedics you have. There’s a young man here who needs help, and he’s scared.”

“What’s your location?”

She told the operator the address, and hung up to wait for the ambulance.

___________________

“Right down here,” she said, leading the EMTs down to the room.

The young man shrank back as they crowded in.

Vanessa snipped the chain short with the bolt cutters, leaving the cuff and a scant few inches of chain still on his leg.

He whimpered as the paramedics gently tugged him out of his nest, but didn’t resist as they maneuvered him around.

“No broken bones,” commented one of them. “Can you hear me, bud?”

The young man nodded. 

“What’s your name?”

The boy opened his mouth but said nothing.

“I haven’t heard him speak,” Vanessa offered.

The paramedic gave her a strange look.

“Right… Well, we’ll need to take him to the hospital. Are you riding with?”

Vanessa made a split decision. “Yes.”

___________________

The hospital was… trying. They had a hard time getting him into a bed. His squirming wasn’t quite non-compliant, and the nurses were sympathetic, but it made it difficult to treat him.

“It’s okay,” she cooed, his wide eyes looking to her. “They’re just trying to help.”

He settled down after that, tears turning the grime on his face tacky.

She wasn’t sure if his limp obedience was from understanding or just a matter of giving up.

The iv they had struggled to insert chugged away, pumping him with fluids and a mild sedative.

The hospital bracelet on his wrist read “John Doe”. 

He didn’t like a John. Maybe a Will. 

The doctor stepped back out into the hall, closing the door behind him and interrupting her thoughts.

“How’s he doing?”

“I can’t release that information to you,” he said, “but better, at least. He’ll live.”

“Right.”

Vanessa glanced through the window into the room. He was looking back at her, eyes still wide and shiny with tears. She could see his adam’s apple bob as he choked back sobs.

The doctor brushed past her to speak with the police about the case.

She went inside the room.

The cuff and chain had been removed, sitting on a nearby table, rusty red from blood.

“Hi,” she said. He stared at her, exhausted.

Vanessa pulled up a chair to the bed. “Are you feeling better?”

He nodded, then shook his head. Yes and No.

“I know it’s pretty scary,” she said. “But I bet your body feels a bit better, right?”

“Mmm,” he hummed. It was the closest thing to a word he had offered so far.

Vanessa sat up straighter. “Can you talk?” she asked, low and quiet. It would be nice if he could tell her his name, even if he refused to tell the doctor.

The young man hesitated. He opened his mouth, as if to show her something, and Vanessa peered inside.

Oh god.

She hadn’t noticed it before, in the dim light of the basement. No wonder he hadn’t said anything.

Someone had cut out his tongue.

taglist: @paintedpigeon1

#silent whumpees my beloved <3 #my writing #whump #captivity whump

[snakebites-and-ink]

Whumpuary #5: Can't move / "Stay. Please" / Kidnapped

CW: None! This one's really mild.

“...And if you need anything else, you know where to find me.” When, as usual, there was no reply, Caretaker added, “I guess I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Caretaker moved to leave, but stopped short as they felt a hand snag their wrist.

“Stay. Please.” The voice was soft, weak and timid, but the words were unmistakable.

Caretaker sucked in a breath as their heart flip-flopped within them. It was the first thing they’d heard Whumpee say since Caretaker took them in about a week and a half ago.

There was no way Caretaker would turn the request down. They sat down next to Whumpee and gently placed a hand over the one on their wrist. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll stay as long as you want.”

As Whumpee leaned into Caretaker’s shoulder beside them, Caretaker saw a small smile pass across their face.

#Switching the days for no.2 and no.5 because I'm combing no. 2 + 6 #This is the shortest Whumpuary piece I've written so far and will probably be the shortest out of all of them #whumpuary2024 #whumpuaryno5 #“Stay. Please” #formerly silent whumpee #original fic #whump #whump writing #my posts #my writing

[justalittletoocorrupted]

Secret Santa prompt!

Merry Christmas you guys!! I know I've been gone a while but I had taken a part in a discord writing secret Santa! My person was @onlywhump so I really hope you enjoy!!

Lots To Do

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The day had started so well… 

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It was a bright day out. The sun was shining, the people in the city were happy… and the hero was on their way to a meeting with their boss, superhero! Well… maybe less of a meeting and more of an evaluation. The week prior the hero had brought to light a gruesome story of a civilian that had been kidnapped by a villain the world had now deemed “the metal welder” for their horrific crime of turning the once loved civilian into a robotic structure that was once remnant of a person. Although the hero was able to save the civilian, they had found that the villain had made a quick escape before they or their team could catch them. Hero had been well thanked for their hard work towards discovering, locating, and saving the victim involved… though they had hoped to have gotten the thanks for catching the villain too. But the most important part was getting the victim! That the hero did leaving them *something* to be proud of.

But.. maybe if they were a little quicker, then they wouldn’t have gotten here….

Everything had gone by so fast. One moment the hero was rummaging through their bag to find their keys to get inside the building, then the next they were on the ground. There were dark stars invading their vision from all over that continued to grow until they could see nothing at all! The worst part was they couldn’t even see who it was that had caused this…

.. . 

    .   …

..    .

  ..    . 

.

     …

.  ..

   .

By the time the poor hero woke up something was different. Very different. However there was little time given to figure out what it was that had changed before a voice from somewhere behind them spoke up. 

“Sleep well?”

Hero sat up quickly, a panic rushing through their mind as they scrambled to find who it was behind them. Strangely enough.. their head was able to turn far enough to meet the eyes of their kidnapper. Could their neck go that far before?

“Ah, I see you’re using your new perks already..” The stranger grinned.

“Perks?? What do y–” Wait.. was that villain??! The hero gasped, “[Villain]! What the fuck did you do?!?” they hissed.

“What did I do..?” Villain tsked, “Oh [Hero]… what did you do? You were the one that took my beloved experiment..” they sighed, “So I had to get a new one..”

A new one? What on earth did the villain mean?? The hero looked down at their legs so they could push themself off the table only for the shine of metal to catch its attention. 

Metal. Oh god, their legs were metal…… And…. If their legs were metal.. Then that means—

Oh god.

The hero looked back up to the villain who had the biggest smile they had ever seen a villain wear.

“Stand.” the villain directed, “Stand, my beautiful creation.” they repeated.

The hero’s gaze drifted to locked on their own legs again. Their chest heaving as they tried to process what it was that was going on, but absent mindedly they found themselves pushing their heavy body off the table to stand. 

“Feel anything?” The villain asked, cocking a brow. What did they mean by "feel anything”?? Of course they didn’t!! They’re a freaking ROBOT! Not even a cyborg, no, because from what the hero could see *nothing* on them was organic! Everything was metal! Cold metal!

The hero didn’t answer, and it seemed that the villain didn’t need one to continue. “I spent hours, maybe even a full day on you, my precious..” they added, taking a few steps closer to the still in shock hero. “You’re my best outcome yet..” 

The best?? Maybe the worst! The hero found themself unable to find the smallest word or sound to express their feeling that wasn’t the newfound urge to cry and fall to their now metal knees. What would superhero think? What would their friends think? Their family? Their coworkers? Would they even recognize them?? Depending on such answers, the hero worried that perhaps it would be time to simply give up. 

“Oh, [Hero]~” The villain's grading voice forced itself into the hero's ears after their spiraling, “You may want to listen before I begin testing..” 

Testing. 

The hero couldn’t process any of the villains words aside from testing. 

And that was the hero’s final straw. 

So with a sudden burst in motion the hero began bolting it to the first door their eyes had landed on. The metal clanks of the hero’s replaced feet could be heard loud and clear, yet the villain didn’t seem worried at all. 

“So be it..” 

Suddenly the hero felt something jam itself into their back. Whatever it was, it pulled the hero back at such a force their back slammed into the wall and left them collapsed on the floor groaning in pain. 

Wait.

Pain??

“Yes!” The villain cheered, “Oh, my darling… you DO feel!” The villain gasped, taking no time as they practically skipped their way over to the crumbled hero. When they knelt down, the villain was gentle to brush the hair, or what replaced the hero’s old organic hair, out of their face. 

On the other hand, the hero found themselves confused and in tears. “Wh– what did you do to me, [Villain]?!?!” they babbled out through what they assumed to be their tears. What part of them was organic? Was this all some illusion? Was the hero even human anymore?

No. 

Clearly not.

“Can’t you see, [Hero]?” the villain asked, “I just fixed you, that’s what! Do you have any idea as to how special you are now? How special you are to me? Why, you’re a miracle!!” they nearly cried, the criminals hands reaching up and cupping the mechs cheeks. 

“We need to do more tests..” they rambled, glancing around them before their eyes landed on what looked to be a glass bottle. The hero cried in reprimand, squirming as their hand grabbed onto the villain's arm and squeezed. They knew it usually wouldn’t do much, but they were hoping desperately that their newfound body would be strong enough to stun the villain. That attempt appeared to be in vain as it didn’t stop the villain from slamming the glass onto the hero’s head. If they could bleed they surely would’ve. The hero screamed in pain, confusion, grief, sadness, just about any overwhelming thought going on in their mind began to bubble up and out of their throat every time a new sting of pain flourished throughout their body. Maybe it was an excuse to express themselves, but perhaps this is too far from being considered an “excuse” when the hero was transformed into something they never once mentioned any possible form of consent to. If anything they expressed nothing but disgust!

The villain on the other hand was laughing. They were fucking laughing. They laughed and smiled and hummed as they battered the robotic hero every which way that wouldn’t compromise themselves. The grin on their face and their reddened cheeks were sickening, and yet the hero did nothing to pry themselves from the others arms. Despite the pain they were subjecting the hero to.. They were the only one offering comfort, too. That was the one thing the hero felt they needed most right now.. 

“Oh, if you weren’t metal I’d be doing much worse..” the villain said with a tone of voice that made the hero want to scream. Their head laying atop the others below them, “Perhaps I give you a minute while I set things up, hm?... We have lots to do, my darling. Lots to do.”

#whump #villains and heroes #heroes and villains #writing #angst #carewhumper #whumpee #whump writing #my writing #does this count as carewhump #I really tried guys LOL #love how i went dead silent for months then BOOM #see guys i might've been a little very busy for a hot minute #no phone for months is crazy #or any electronics #but ive been back and now im just lazy #SORRY LOL #anyways #i hope you guys enjoyed this!

[whump-or-whatever]

The first time caretaker ever hears silent whumpee’s voice is when they start murmuring in their sleep in the throes of a nightmare.

#whump #whumpee #whump idea #whump prompt #whump tropes #whump scenario #whump community #whump prompts #whump stuff #whumpblr #silent whumpee #caretaker #nightmare whump #recovery whump

[quietly-by-myself]

Shadow By My Fireplace - Chapter 21

Masterlist

Thank you to @darkthingshappen for always having enthusiasm and helping me improve my writing.

CW: slavery whump, conditioned whumpee, captivity whump, creepy whumper, dehumanization, deconditioning, auction, references to assault/STIs, presumed dead, sinking ships, relationship discussion (non-romantic), references to past whump, fainting, panic

===

Fear paralyzed every muscle in Sacha’s body as the man behind him pushed him forward. Sacha’s knees were still locked from having been locked in a human-sized cage for days, alone, with only one silent man coming to feed him twice a day. He felt stiff and old as he was pushed somewhere he didn’t know. 

“Move faster! We’re on a time limit here, kid.”

The men rarely spoke to Sacha, in fact. Sometimes, when he spoke to them, they would slap him in the face and tell him that he was just goods to be sold. Sacha didn’t really understand what they meant until he was dragged into the cage he’d somehow learned to call home. The cage had made it all crystal clear. He was property. He was to be sold. He was a slave.

It struck Sacha only as the blinding lights of the shadowed room hit him that today was his auction day.

The grip on his hands that were tied behind him tightened. The crowd was maybe one hundred people, all wearing the most expensive-looking clothes that Sacha had ever seen. Sacha wasn’t from a rich town. Quite the opposite, in fact. Seeing a room full of rich people was jarring.

They all looked so regal, so normal. It was a crowd that Sacha would’ve pictured at an opera, not at an auction of people.

“Here’s our next pick of the night,” the auctioneer announced to the crowd. 

Sacha looked the auctioneer up and down, examining his clothes, his brown hair, his pale skin, all in hopes that he would someday be able to tell a police officer what his auctioneer had looked like.

“He isn’t broken in yet. Despite his size, he’s very strong and still has fight in him. Negative for all STIs and has no health problems to speak of. However, the highlight of it all is that he’s from a small fishing village up North. His boat was wiped out in a storm and he’s been presumed dead. No training to speak of.”

The crowd let out some impressed, polite noises while Sacha froze. As his whole body went rigid, he heard the laugh of the man behind him. 

How could his family think he was dead? Surely that wasn’t true. How did they even know that a storm had wiped out his boat? Had someone else died and they assumed that because he was missing, Sacha was also dead?

Dread filled Sacha’s stomach, making him nauseous. 

If it was true, nobody was looking for him. He was doomed. He’d never be rescued.

“We’ll start the bidding at $250,000.”

Sacha didn’t want to hear the numbers. He tried to shut his brain down to keep it from panicking. He didn’t want to be there. However, that kill switch in his mind was gone. Each number streamed in his ear. Each person that wanted to buy him bidding against each other. 

Sacha felt absolutely sick.

“$750,000!”

“One million!” came a much deeper, more sinister voice that ran chills down Sacha’s spine.

One million dollars. For his life.

Sacha had to fight to stay conscious.

In fact, he found himself fading. The man behind him said something, but Sacha didn’t catch it. Time was speeding up and slowing down.

“Two million!” by that horrible voice was the last thing that Sacha heard before he went tumbling to the ground.

—

Cyril didn’t know how to bring up Sacha’s habit without scaring him off. It made Cyril flinch every time that Sacha called him “master.” He knew that Sacha was probably beaten into calling whoever held the most direct power over his life “master.” After all, it was probably true that Cyril could do whatever he pleased with Sacha and never face the consequences of his actions.

Sacha’s whole situation deeply bothered Cyril, but he knew one thing for certain: their relationship wasn’t a slave-master one. If anything, Cyril considered Sacha a friend or some sort of adopted family member - the little brother he’d always wanted to have.

Cyril knew Sacha didn’t see it that way. However, the longer he chose to ignore the “problem,” the more normal it would be to Sacha. He needed Sacha, for his sake and Sacha’s, to understand that Cyril wasn’t his master. He didn’t need to be afraid of him.

The question was how to say that all without scaring the poor boy off? Sacha would see it as a total rejection in all likelihood. 

It wouldn’t be easy, but it needed to be done.

Cyril waited until one of Sacha’s “good days” to bring it up. Amber was curled up in Sacha’s lap and Sacha was hand-feeding her some leftover fish.

“Sacha, I, um…” Cyril immediately lost his nerve as Sacha looked at him with so much attention, looking so… content.

Cyril took a deep breath. “You don’t have to call me ‘master.’ That-that’s not what we are. That’s not what you are to me.”

Sacha looked at him with utterly heartbreaking confusion.

“What… what do you mean?”

The tears in Sacha’s eyes startled Cyril.

“You aren’t my slave, Sacha. You’re a person. You’re my friend. You aren’t my slave. I don’t own your life.”

“I-I don’t want to be someone else’s slave.”

Cyril froze. “I am not selling you.”

He didn’t expect his voice to come out in a growl that startled Sacha. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I never meant to imply that. I never meant to imply that you weren’t my owner.”

Cyril took a deep breath. The whole situation was unnerving him more than the thoughts of having to have the conservation were.

“Sacha, listen to me.”

Sacha perked up, a soldier coming to attention.

“You’re not a slave. You’re a human being. Human beings are not to be sold. That’s just downright wrong.” Cyril took another deep breath, steeling his nerves. “Just call me Cyril. Don’t call me ‘master.’ I care a lot about you, Sacha. You aren’t going anywhere. And I’m certainly not selling you away, okay? So just, call me Cyril. Not master. Okay?”

He waited for confirmation from Sacha, but found none.

The silence was deafening. Cyril could hear his heartbeat in his ears. He didn’t know whether or not to push Sacha. He didn’t want to scare Sacha more than he already had, but he couldn’t bear the silence any longer.

“You don’t want to be called Master?”

Cyril shook his head, relieved. “No, just Cyril.”

Sacha nodded.

They went silent again.

“He-” Sacha started, but quickly stopped.

Cyril’s heart skipped a beat as he waited for Sacha to start talking again. 

“He told me that if I was going to talk, I might as well be respectful to him.”

“Respect is earned, Sacha. That man did nothing to earn your respect. He was awful to you. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

Sacha hesitated. Cyril could see from the look on his face that the concept was novel to him.

“You don’t have to respect whoever kept you before, Sacha. We don’t have to respect people who hurt us. If ever he hurt you because he felt disrespected, know that he more than earned that disrespect.”

Sacha was quiet for a while. Again, Cyril didn’t push.

Then, Sacha spoke. “He did hurt me. When I wouldn’t call him Master. Then for calling him Master. He liked me quiet.”

Cyril’s heart shattered, but not for the first time. In a solemn, but gentle voice, he tried to repeat what he’d said. 

“That isn’t how people earn respect, Sacha. They earn your respect by doing things so that you trust them. They earn it by being kind. They don’t earn it by beating and assaulting you. That isn’t right. Okay? It’s okay to not respect whoever kept you before. None of that was normal. That isn’t how most people are. Respect is a two-way street and he certainly didn’t show you any.”

Sacha again looked perplexed. “A-are you sure? Not that I’m questioning your wisdom. I’m just- it’ll be- you know, hard.”

Cyril threw his hands up a bit in the air with a little shrug. “Of course it will be.”

“I-I’m sorry! It was stupid of me to ask.” Sacha huttled a bit in that way he always did when he panicked. He was protecting his stomach and face. Cyril wondered how often he’d been hit there.

“I didn’t mean to be condescending, Sacha.” Cyril, admittedly, was getting a little frustrated. However, he put aside his frustration. As he’d said multiple times before, it wasn’t about him, it was about Sacha. “Sacha, it’ll always be difficult. He did a lot of things to you. I’m sure you have a lot of complex emotions about what happened. It’s okay to feel conflicted and unsure. It’ll be hard to undo all that conditioning.” 

Cyril moved closer to Sacha. “Can I hug you?”

Sacha nodded. Cyril pulled him into a tight hug and rocked him a bit, even if Sacha wasn’t crying.

“You’ve worked so hard already. You’ve come so far, Sacha. You talk. You help. You have someone you care about. The way you care for Amber warms my heart every day.” He pulled Sacha a little closer. “Never forget how much progress you’ve made. None of it has been easy, but you’ve survived this far. You can survive and come back better on the other side of all this. I’m sure of it.”

Sacha was quiet for a very, very long time. So long, in fact, that Cyril thought he would go quiet for the rest of the day. Well, perhaps not thought - worried.

However, Sacha defied that thought.

“You- do you really think so?”

“I don’t say things that I don’t believe.”

Sacha let out a heavy breath, like he’d been holding in his breath for years and finally felt he could breathe.

“As long as we’re alive, there’s hope. You’re alive and here with me, Sacha. You’ll be okay.”

Again, the two of them went quiet in their embrace. Amber was standing off to the side by the fireplace.

After a long time of that peaceful silence, Sacha whispered, “Thank you, Cyril.”

Cyril smiled, his heart swelling with pride. “You’re welcome, Sacha.”

===

Tags: @whumpsday, @i-can-even-burn-salad, @pigeonwhumps, @darkthingshappen, @pumpkin-spice-whump, @darlingwhump, @maracujatangerine, @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi, @flowersarefreetherapy, @octopus-reactivated, @quietshae, @whump-blog, @inkkswhumpandstuff, @whumpycries

#shadow by my fireplace #whump #whump writing #cw are above #whumpblr #conditioned whumpee #silent whumpee #slavery whump #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #whump fic #whump community #recovery whump #cyril #sacha #captivity whump #auction whump #presumed dead

[robinrites]

Day Seven: Karma Police

Happy Day Seven of Whumptober y'all :)

TW: Panic attack, fear of being hurt

Part two to Day 2 hope y'all enjoy! Here's some more from our Hero caretaker and Villain whumpee ;)

Hero places Villain in the backseat of his car, buckling him in as gently as he can, before shutting the door. Hero hops in the driver seat, then looks back at Villain who is staring at the seat in front of him blankly. 

“You okay back there Villain?” Hero asks, trying to figure out what Villain is doing. Villain continues to stare blankly, so Hero repeats himself, “Villain?” He reaches out to touch Villain’s shoulder, but Villain flinches away before Hero can even get close. 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Villain ducks his head, “What did you say?” 

“I asked if you were okay.” Hero wants to reach out again, provide some physical connection, but decides against it when he notices how skittish Villain is. 

“Oh.” He weakly responds, “Ye-yes I am okay.” 

Hero isn’t sure what he was expecting, so he instead just turns around and starts the car. As he drives away from the prison, he hears Villain whimper slightly, and a quick glance in the rearview mirror shows that Villain is looking out the window at the prison that is quickly fading into the background. Hero takes in a deep breath, then puts on his persona he usually saves for Damsels in Distress and reporters. 

“You’re safe now.” Villain continues staring, as if he hadn’t even heard Hero speak. Hero decides to leave it for now, not wanting to stress Villain out more by trying to force conversation. Thirty minutes of driving in silence pass before Villain speaks up. 

“Wh-where are you taking me, uh Hero, Sir?” 

“No need to call me Sir, Villain. We’re beyond that, or at least I’d like to think we are.” Hero forces himself to laugh, hoping it’ll lighten the mood. “We’re going back to my place. I don’t have a lot of stuff there to help take care of you, but springing you from the prison was kind of an impulse decision. In case you couldn’t tell.” 

Take care of you. The words echo in Villain’s head as he racks his brain over what they mean. Take care of as in kill? Or torture? Villain looks down at his hands which are covered in various cuts and bruises and are shaking. He couldn’t escape even if he wanted to. A tear falls down his cheek as he balls his hands into shaky fists. He feels his breathing pick up, suddenly the loose seat belt has become tighter, binding him to the seat. Villain wants to cry for help, but air is struggling to make it into his lungs. He feels hands gently touch his arms, which he flinches away from despite wanting to lean into the touch. He finds himself coming back into his body as he notices Hero at his side. When did the car stop? 

“There we go.” Hero whispers as Villain forces his hands to unball. “Now breathe in, and out.” Villain follows Hero’s hands as he gestures for Villain to breathe in and out slowly.

Hero waits until Villain seems to be breathing normally before saying anything. He can’t help but be mad at himself for not immediately checking in with Villain, only stopping when he heard ragged breathing coming from the backseat of his car. “Want to talk about what just happened there?” 

Villain shakes his head, he doesn’t want to share, but his mouth opens anyways. “Y-you said take care of me…and I’m-I’m sorry for assuming otherwise but I thought you were rescuing me.” Villain sobs, tears free falling down his face, “A-are you gonna kill me or lock me up again or-” 

“Woah woah woah Villain!” Hero cuts him off, raising his hands. “I’m not going to hurt you, let’s get that out of the way right now. You are safe with me. No one is ever going to hurt you, understand?” Villain nods while trying his best to stop crying. “I’m sorry for not being clearer, by ‘take care of you’ I mean, well, just that. I’m going to get your injuries looked at by my friend who’s a healer, and then we’re going to get you all healed up, okay? And then from there, we’ll see. But no matter what happens, I swear on my parent’s grave not to harm a hair on your head, or elsewhere. Sound good?” 

Villain solemnly nods, “I-I’m sorry for doubting you Hero.” 

“Tt, don’t say that Villain. I used really bad phrasing, that’s on me okay? Not on you at all. Do you think you’ll be okay if I keep driving?” Villain nods, then forces himself to take a deep breath. Hero rubs Villain’s shoulder briefly before closing the door and heading back around to the driver’s seat. Before driving, an idea flashes in Hero’s mind. “What kind of music do you like Villain?” 

“Me?” Villain nervously laughs, his eyes shooting off to the side. “I like whatever music heroes like…” His head drops, but he does his best to keep focused on his breathing. 

Hero laughs, “That’s a good one, honestly there isn’t a right or wrong answer.” 

“Alternative,” Villain almost whispers, scared to fail the test he thinks Hero is giving. “I like alternative rock music.” 

“Then that’s what we’re gonna listen to!” Hero smiles in the rearview mirror before pulling up a music app on his phone (Sorry Spotify/Apple Music no sponsorship is happening today), “Any band in particular?” 

“I mean you can’t go wrong with Nirvana, or Radiohead.” Villain shakes his head, “But we don’t have to do that.” 

“No, I want to!” Hero quickly types in Radiohead, then shuffles when the artist's profile pops up. 

Slow music begins to play from the speakers as Hero drives off. Not what he would have expected from a genre called alternative rock, but today has been chock-full of surprises so he should’ve known better. He glances down to check the song name and has to hold back a laugh when he sees it’s called “Karma Police”. Irony never sleeps does it? Hero considers skipping the song, worried that Villain might take it as Hero implying he deserved what happened to him. He takes a second to glance back at Villain, only to notice that he is mouthing the words to the song. 

“D’you like this one?” 

Villain blushes slightly, “I do, yeah.” Hero watches Villain mouth the words ‘This is what you get’ over and over with the song, and his heart drops. 

“We don’t have to listen to it if you don’t want to Villain.” Hero reaches for the button, but stops. “You know I didn’t know what they were doing to you there right? If I had known- god I put you in there twice.You didn’t deserve it, okay?” 

“Maybe I did,” Villain shrugs, “I did destroy a lot of stuff and ruin a lot of people’s lives.” By now the song has ended, a new song is playing. Villain turns to stare out the window without continuing, signaling to Hero that he is done talking. 

Five songs later and the car pulls into Hero’s driveway. He stops the car and unbuckles, then turns around to talk to Villain. “Well, in case you couldn’t tell, we’re here.” Hero turns back around then gets out of the car so he can help Villain into his house. 

As Villain sits in the car unmoving he can’t help but look down at his hands which are shaking again. He steals a peek up at the house in front of him and his heart begins to race. As far as Villain can tell, they aren’t near any other houses, which means Hero could do anything and no one would hear him scream. The car door opens, shaking Villain from his thoughts. He accepts Hero’s hand, then shakily leans on him as they walk into the house. No matter what happens, I can survive this. Don’t let them win.

Taglist: (Lmk if you wanna be removed!) @everynameistakencarrots

#villain whump #villain whumpee #hero caretaker #whumptober 2022 #whumptober no 7 #the way you shake and shiver #shakey hands #silent panic attack #whumpblr #whump community

[cepheusgalaxy]

Lmao the whump in this webtoon is CRAZY

#undescribed #silent screams #whump #whump comics #captive whumpee #captivity #multiple whumpees

[letitbehurt]

A Whumpee who’s tied down but relentlessly defiant, so Whumper has to keep finding more ways to restrain them.

When Whumpee kicks, Whumper ties their feet. When Whumpee spits, Whumper gags them. When Whumpee rams their head against Whumper’s face, they secure it to the floor with a short length of rope.

Even as Whumper immobilizes them, Whumpee’s eyes gleam with triumph, because Whumper’s not walking as well as they were before, and blood runs steadily from their freshly crooked nose. Because even tied down, Whumpee caused plenty of damage.

#love a good defiant Whumpee frustrating the hell out of Whumper #silently gloating ‘even like this I can kick your ass’ #and Whumper don’t take too kindly to the insult #whump

[the-whvmp-dvmp]

AMOW Trope-a-thon Day 2

someone is not having a good time. sorry makoa! i quite like this one actually, it was fun X3

Word count: 1560

CW: Pet whump, electrocution, shock collar blood, vomit mentions (no real descriptions), creepy whumper, conditioning, dehumanization, brainwashing, petnames (literally!), big whumpee, big whumper, defiant whumpee

Prompt: Day 2 - Captivity ; Creepy whumper, conditioning, pet whump

Since arriving at the facility, Makoa had punched, kicked, scratched, kicked, and bitten just about every worker that had gone near him. He seethed in his cage, far too small for his large stature. He had no choice but to sit on his knees. The three workers assigned to him stared at him, unsure what to do.

"How are we supposed to train someone that easily beats the crap out of us when we even get too close?" The tallest of them spoke, holding a cup of coffee near his face. "He's not just fighting. He tries to beat us into a pulp everytime."

The smallest of them sighed, rubbing their side softly. "I know, I thought my kidney was gonna burst. At least he'll be a good guard dog."

"I think the challenge is kinda fun," the woman spoke up. The tall man scoffed as he put his cup down.

"Of course you do. You're the one that gets to hold the taser." The woman opened her mouth to retort, but the door swung open and they all straightened. His presence was so intimidating, they could tell who it was without looking.

Jack Huntington, built like a linebacker at 6'3 and 230 pounds. He wore an all black suit, real gold rings on his fingers. Makoa slammed against the cage, glaring at the man. It was not their first meeting.

"Fuck you! Let me out of this fucking cage, you disgusting excuse of !" He rammed against the cage again, targeting the side with the lock.

"Poor puppy. If you want it so badly." He pulled out the keys, bending to unlock Makoa's enclosure. Predictably, the man charged out and lunged at Jack, but the woman worker pressed the taser to his back. He spasmed and fell to the floor, twitching. "You'll learn your lesson. They always do."

Jack kneeled, signalling the small worker over. They complied, grabbing the back of Makoa's head and lifting it up. Makoa groaned against the strain it put in his neck. The boss clipped a collar around his neck, brushing the skin there as he pulled away. "Handsome puppy." Makoa genuinely retched, squirming on the ground. He needed to get the fuck away from this sicko. "This is just a training collar since you can't stop misbehaving. It looks like I'll have to personally oversee your training."

He stood up and the worker hauled Makoa up as well, obviously struggling. Makoa became dead weight in their arms, causing them to stumble and almost fall face first into the floor. Jack clicked his tongue and slipped a simple remote out of his pocket, pressing the single red button.

Makoa's nerves lit up all over as the prongs from the collar electrocuted him. It was worse than the taser. He screamed in torment, withering desperately, limbs flailing uncontrollably. It didn't stop until Jack lifted his thumb off the button and he could faintly hear the laughter coming from the other man through the blooding rushing in his ears. Makoa panted heavily, drool dripping onto the floor beneath him as he struggled to regain control of his limbs.

"Get the message now?" Makoa cleared his throat, gathering saliva in his throat until he spat it out with force at Jack's feet, narrowly avoiding his designer loafers. He watched as said loafer rose until it pressed against his head and shoved him into the tiles. Something in his forehead cracked and he yelped, gritting his teeth against the pain. Still worth it.

Makoa stood next to the scummy man, dwarfing him in comparison. Standing at 6'10, with his stoic face, he was almost as intimidating as the man to his right.

The walk to this room was uneventful, as he decided it'd be better if he didn't act out *too* much. He wondered if these people had any qualms about killing him or the others he knew they kidnapped. Didn't matter what terminology they liked to use, they were kidnapping people.

"Finally, the fun part." Makoa shivered, suddenly feeling chilly. Jack had seemed flippant before, but now he sounded cruel. Like he knew how much this would hurt and he liked it that way.

What could he mean by fun part? He already had been prodded roughly by the workers, spoken down to, beaten, even whipped once. And he'd only been here a few weeks. Makoa knew of the reason he was here, the workers weren't shy in telling him. He thought they liked the look in his eyes when they told him he would be turned into a dog for others to use how they see fit. He didn't understand how that was to be achieved, but this must be it.

"In the chair." The male and female lackeys from before each grabbed one of Makoa's arms, the woman pressing the taser against his back in warning. He followed begrudgingly, sneering at them. If he was shocked one more time, he was sure his heart would stop.

He was restrained against the chair, steel cuffs cold against his skin. Directly in front of him was a TV screen. Were they really going to tape his eyes open and make him watch brainwashing videos?

"Enjoy the show, dog." Makoa thrashed against his restraints at that. Jack chuckled in response, gesturing at the screen. "You'll be watching our training videos. You'll watch them until you give in." Jack pulled up a chair and sat diagonally to the man. He shook the remote in his hand. "If I see your eyes closed, you get punished. If you're good, you'll get a reward at the end." The screen turned on as the boss got settled, smoothing out his blazer.

Dear god, these people were genuinely insane. They actually wanted to turn him into a dog. He looked at the restraints, but there was absolutely no way he was getting out. Maybe the videos would be short.

Soon enough, Makoa concluded he needed to do whatever possible to get the fuck out of this place. It must've been *hours*. He sat in front of the screen and watched the videos over and over again. His throat was dry, his stomach growling. He wanted to cry.

Makoa shook his head back and forth repeatedly, listening to the stupid voice from the TV. How to properly behave as a pet, affirmations like "You live to serve your master", "Always obey", and "You are beneath the humans". Jack grinned and watched him for a bit before speaking up.

"Tapping out, puppy?" He held the remote in his left hand, thumb smoothing over the button. Makoa felt his heart rate pick up significantly. He took a shaky breath, scooting his body around the chair.

"Let me out," he demanded, or rather, tried to. His voice was weak and it cracked on the last word. He needed water.

"What are you?" Jack suddenly asked, keeping his cold, detached eyes on Makoa's.

"A human being with a life and friends, freak. My name is Makoa Iona and I—!"

Agony. The scream tore from his throat, leaving it raw as every muscle in his body tensed so tight he feared they would snap. Or, he *would* fear that if his mind wasn't so preoccupied with the horrible fucking *pain*.

"I said what are you?" Jack stood up as the affirmations replayed in the background.

Makoa spasmed, back arching as much as the restraints allowed. The female worker watched in concern, stepping forward slightly.

"S-sir, you're gonna kill him—"

"Shut up." He let go of the button regardless. He gripped Makoa's chin tightly, shaking his head for him. "Dumb dog. What are you?"

Makoa seethed in silence, glaring at him hard. Jack pulled his hand back before punching the other square in the jaw. Makoa harshly exhaled, mouth twisting in a grimace. He spit onto the ground, a glob of blood landing on the tile. More blood rushed into his mouth, as he realized a tooth had been knocked loose. It was hanging on by a thread.

"It'll only get worse from here. I have so many ideas, pet. You seem so tough to break, but you're just like the others. A few mean words and a couple days of pain, you'll be grovelling at my feet. You fucking mutt."

Makoa breathed heavily, eyes unfocused. Jack reached his hand out and a baton was placed into it. He thrusted it forward into Makoa's stomach, where he knew a huge dark bruise had formed. He folded in on himself and dry heaved, but of course there was no food to come up. His throat burned and the bile rising up wasn't helping.

"Just say it and I'll go easy on you during the training. Be my good dog."

The huge man looked small in the chair, a mixture of drool and blood spilling down his chin and tears collecting in his eyes. A pathetic sob escaped past his lips and he heaved once more, thrashing against the restricting steel once more before his body went limp.

"...I'm a dog. A dumb dog. A... a pet." His upper lip curled, but he said it. He wanted to die.

Jack's mouth unfurled in a horrible, smug smile. He rubbed his thumb across the pet's hair, right behind his ear.

"There we go. You'll be so easy to train."

#amow tropeathon 2023 #captivity #creepy whumper #pet whump #conditioning #electrocution #shock collar #vomit mention #blood warning #brainwashing #dehumanization #this is before makoa turns into a completely silent guard dog that doesn't like to communicate at all #and only listens to his owner #recovery will be a bitch #defiant whumpee