#tw sadistic whumper

[whumpdrivethru]

Hello! Can I get a group of whumpers kidnapping a whumpee to get to Caretaker, who they wanted revenge against? Thanks so much!

-- @whumperofworlds

Heyyyy! Coming right up. Thank you for choosing the whumpdrivethru. Hope you enjoy 💙

Vengeance for Your Woes

TW: Blood, bruises, kidnappingggg, restraints, light torture, drugging, unconsciousness, choking, an instance of dehumanising language, defiant whumpee, male whumpee, sadistic whumper (First Whumper), non-con touch (non-sexual), captivity, bone fractures, violence, smoking and holyyyy crap, this is the longest tw list I've ever written

Words: 1.2 k

"That is it!" First Whumper screamed, slamming their boot into the door, kicking it open.

Second Whumper groaned, massaging their left temple where a migraine was threatening to form in anticipation of one of First Whumper's frankly child-like temper tantrums. And the second the leader learned that Third Whumper hadn't had any luck finding Caretaker, wherever the hell she was, it was just going to get better from here.

"I didn't find the bloody idiot," First Whumper huffed, practically hurling themselves onto an armchair, throwing one leg over the other.

"Ah, I really couldn't tell," Second replied dryly, letting the ghost of a smile grace their lips.

Braver people than Second would have crumbled under First's dark glare, their whole face contorting into the very definition of fury. "This is really not the goddamn time for you to get smart with me, Second." 

Second Whumper merely rolled their eyes as their commander barked at some servant of theirs to fetch them a lighter and their slowly dwindling pack of ridiculously expensive cigarettes.

"Can you not do that in here? My asthma's still acting up," Third remarked timidly, as they wiped at their hair, still somewhat wet from the shower. They were the newest member and a little younger than both their teammates, thus not as numb to First's rage as Second was.

Choosing to disregard their comment, First Whumper turned to them, slowly exhaling as smoke came out of their mouth in phantom shapes. "Got any closer to finding Caretaker?" they asked, voice dangerously calm. 

Third shook their head, refusing to meet First's steely, stormy grey gaze. The latter sharply sucked in a breath, slowly letting it out again. "I'd be pissed at you, but that would be stupid, considering I couldn't find her either," they spat, flicking the ash off their cigarette.

"This is a sign of growth. First realising they can't do something too. Calls for celebration," Second mentally quipped, deciding the best course of action was to keep that to themselves, absolutely revelling in the look of utter shock on Third's face.

The three Whumpers all had a bone to pick with Caretaker, an infuriating bastard who'd crossed them a whole lot more than once. Stealing from them, ruining meticulous plans and even going as far as killing some of their best men, all acts servicing her misguided and highly annoying sense of heroism.

Second's smugness wasn't completely lost on First, probably taking note of their languid gaze, "Well, got anything useful to add, Second? Or are you just going to turn your nose up at us?" Their eyes held a glint of danger as they blew a ringlet in Second's direction.

The person in question merely smirked at them, turning the full weight of their gaze on them. "Actually I do. The reason we've been failing every time is because we've been doing the exact same thing every time. As an insane man does. I say we lure Caretaker over to us," they replied evenly.

Third leaned forward, resting their elbows on the table, eyes sparkling with curiosity while First raised a skeptical brow at them, flicking the ash off of their cigarette. "Well, Caretaker doesn't care about anything in the world, aside from this person called Whumpee. A friend, family member, lover, I'm not sure, but what matters is, Caretaker would do literally anything for Whumpee. I found out about his existence just today. So, if we get him here, maybe rough him up a little, she will come crawling right to us," they finished, the ghost of a smile playing on their lips.

"There's just one thing wrong," Third remarked, raising one eyebrow, "If we can't find Caretaker, how the hell will we find Whumpee?" 

Second's smile sharpened. "We're lucky that he decided to go camping all by his lonesome in the woods, not too far from here."

First nodded in approval, discarding their practically dead cigarette. They were going to show Caretaker just how much it cost to be their enemy.

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

It had been easy, far too easy to sneak up on Whumpee, to stick a chloroform-soaked cloth onto his mouth and nose and watch in delight as his struggles died down and, his pointless screams became muffled as his whole world spun and faded to black. 

He was light and slender, and while he was somewhat fit and muscled, he wasn't a fighter, not as dangerous as either the Whumpers or Caretaker. So breaking him shouldn't have been a problem. The simple concept of the irrational sensation of all-consuming fear that accompanied regaining consciousness in an unknown place should've scared him into submission. 

"Wake up, sunshine. It's playtime," Second taunted, roughly patting his cheek. 

Whumpee's bright blue eyes burst open, and like they expected, he resembled a deer in headlights, frantically looking all around him, as his chest rose and fell rapidly with panic. "Wh-who are you?" he rasped out.

"Friends of Caretaker," Third replied evenly, their jaw clenched and their face stone-hard, surprisingly menacing when they wanted to be.

"Wh-what did you do to her?" Whumpee accused, growing a little bolder.  "I swear if you lay a hand on he-" 

"Aw you poor, little lamb," First cooed, caressing his jaw, their fist tightening on his face when he tried to pull away in disgust, "Caretaker's not here, but we're hoping you'll be our lucky charm and lure her here." 

Whumpee's face contorted into a scowl, while First's lit up with a grin. This was going to be fun. 

They seemed to have gotten a little carried away with 'roughing him up', carving deep, ugly lacerations into Whumpee's skin with a pen knife, also leaving fist shaped bruises in disgusting shades of purple of brown, snapping several of his ribs underneath their boots.

"I think I should throw my punching bag out. You are a whole lot better," First remarked, rolling their shoulders and grinning savagely at him. 

"Screw you," Whumpee spat, only to be rewarded with a knife stuck in his shoulder and an animalistic snarl of pleasure. Even though this was characteristic of almost every one of their hellish torture sessions, First Whumper never got tired or bored, actually claiming to find Whumpee's torment "rejuvenating."

Second and Third may have been almost slightly more merciful than First, using the pain only to get as much information about Caretaker as possible, or actually, Third asked the questions and Second acted out the threats, wrapping their fingers around Whumpee's throat and slowly tightening their grip with every furious "No," that Whumpee barked out until he literally blacked out.

They'd planned to continue this for a week before sending proof of their handiwork to Caretaker, except they hadn't even gotten the chance, their target bursting into Whumpee's makeshift holding cell in the middle of another impromptu torture session, the pained, broken look in the captive's eyes being replaced with another defiant smirk. 

"Hello bastards," Caretaker seethed, letting a savage grin dance across her face as her hand went to the gun in the holster on her hip. "I've put up with so much of your crap, but touching him? I'll make you pray you were never born."

The fury in her eyes could set fire to entire countries, lay waste to cities and rip people apart like ragdolls. She was going to show them hell for even daring to think of harming him, let alone rendering him tied up, bruised and bleeding. 

You have been served by Natalia < 3 < 3

#Natalia #whump #whump community #answered asks #tw violence #tw kidnapping #tw choking #tw blood #tw torture #tw sadistic whumper #tw noncon touch (nsx) #defiant whumpee #tw broken bones #tw bruises #tw drugging #tw restraints #tw smoking #whumpdrivethru #whump writing #male whumpee #fem caretaker #whumpblr #tw unconsciousness #tw captivity

[rosewriteswhump]

Whump Wheel 14

Buried Alive

Cw: lady whump (whumper and whumpee), non-human whumpee, fairy whumpee, buried alive, screaming, begging, immortal whumpee, asphyxiation, sadistic whumper, hurt no comfort, implied gaslighting, friends to enemies, past emotional abuse, captivity, pet-whump

Summary: Marlie snaps and makes a snarky comment early on in her captivity. Alice retaliates with something Marlie would never forget.

It was another day of fighting the restraints whenever she was left alone, trying to apologize for ending the friendship, and resisting the constant insults blaming her for Alice's abuse.

Marlie had been holding in her emotions for a few months now, the bottle ready to burst as Alice refused to take any accountability for her own actions -despite being aware of the cruelty of them- and Marlie lost it after a dig at her sister.

"Wow real creative. Insulting Dawn for being better than you. Never heard that one before." Marlie's voice dripped with biting sarcasm as she rolled her eyes.

Alice went quiet, forcing a strained smiled before turning to leave. "You'll regret that, dear pet." she growled, slamming the door behind her.

The dehumanizing switch came out of nowhere, causing Marlie's anxiety to spike as she was left alone.

----

The fairy was harshly shoved into a ditch, with truck loads of sand on the ledge. Marlie couldn't move, the ropes dug into her wrists, arms, and legs as she tried to undo them. A second later the trucks began to dump their load, rapidly filling the shallow grave with sand. Marlie would live, feel every aching nerve as her body shut down.

Trying to take one last breath was a mistake, as all she got was a mouthful of sand. Panic seized control over her weakened body, her struggles becoming weaker and weaker.

Help me!

Marlie felt her lungs burning as she tried to escape the sand, only able to inhale it as it slowly filled the empty space in her lungs. Everything began to slowly shut down, hour by hour.

Agony tore through her as her brain fought to keep her conscious, unable to properly function without air. Marlie felt her brain stop, allowing a brief period of peace.

---

Alice's heel dug into Marlie's side, drawing blood before kicking her again.

Marlie gasped awake, coughing out sand and blood as she tried to take-in her much needed air. As the last chunk of bloodied sand left her throat, Alice kicked her in the ribs.

---

Taglist: @nullb1rdbones

if you'd like to be added to the tag list or have anything you'd like to as me or my characters inbox is always open and anon is always on

#rose whump #rose writes #marlie briarwing #human whumper #fairy whump #fairy whumpee #fae #whump writing #lady whump #tw buried alive #tw crying #tw begging #tw asphyxiation #tw sadistic whumper

[albino-whumpee]

This is your pass to ramble about kuro

Oh dear, thank you so much.

Kuro is this one character that wasn’t supposed to be more than an old memory of the main character. A good one from a nice past, but suddenly his role began to eat the others. Actually his real name has to do with a god who did that to his own children. It was an omen his father cleverly knew would happen someday.

Kuro can look like the strongest of his kind, not for nothing he’s the leader of a “rebellion” and is called “the Angel of death”, but he used to be very different. He was weak. It was such a disappointment precisely because his father was the leader of a radical group that killed hundreds in a single night, all on his and Kuro’s mother command. Which, let’s say it wasn’t a happy marriage and it was an even more unhappy family. Kuro distinctly remembers being at one of his father’s speeches, barely holding himself together to not bend and cry because the injuries on his back burnt and hurt so much. His father never saw his mother and him as equals, actually, he saw them as possessions. Objects he could toss around until they broke. So he amused himself watching them curl in fear of him.

The scars from that time never healed even when Kuro excels at regeneration and healing. The pain and fear still lingers on his back and he’s so scared to let anyone see it, that he never undresses in front of his trusted team. Never takes his shirt off when he’s with his lovers. Nobody knows he has nothing but a web of scars on his back, wrists and ankles that no matter how many times he tries, they never fade.

Let’s say Kuro knows how to escape all types of restraints, using the most barbaric methods because his father loved to watch him struggle and not amusing him meant death.

Of course, a breaking point came and Kuro failed miserably at his attempt of killing his father. He learns then it was for the purpose of implanting himself in his son’s body, that he was born at all. Kuro was stronger than any of his kind, but at the price of having his father’s mind merged with his. Poisoning every corner of his mind.

He pretty much went insane after that and somehow, because he found family in the darkest place after the darkest of times, he recovered his sanity.

He couldn’t live without his family, so he would do whatever it took to have them back, alive and well. But of course, Kuro’s destiny is to be miserable because he can’t not go to extremes when it comes to a breaking point. He quite literally explodes into a monster, much like his father. Which is something he is repulsed by, but can’t seem to stop. So, when he gets his family back, at such a great price, but they don’t remember him, he can’t go back and undo his mistakes, no matter how much he begs for it.

He learns soon enough he can only slightly bite the leash other’s have put on him before he gets pulled and punished, but punishment and pain never stopped him before and most certainly it won’t do it now that he sees a possibility to end all suffering his kind has bravely endured for a century.

No matter what is the price for peace, he will pay it.

He’s my original tragic character and he was supposed to die in the end, but now? Well, he knows very well dying would be a mercy for him and such considerations have been long denied to him.

#Kuro #my beloved #my oldest son #right after Alec #they’re 8 years old #awww they were already fucked up at that age #tw implied torture #tw murder #tw mental trauma #tw sadistic whumper #whumpee turned whumper #tw whumping of a minor #whump #ask

[whump-mania]

More Whumper Lines

In honor of my first Whumper lines post getting over 1,000 notes, here’s some more! And in some fun categories!

Tag me if you end up using any!

~

Playful/Cheery/Lighthearted

1. “Aw, that was cute. I almost felt that excuse for a punch. Why don’t you try again?”

2. “My favorite part is right before you lose consciousness.”

3. “Caretaker, you know how to do stitches, right? No? Oh well.”

4. “Hm. Your blood’s darker than the last one’s was.”

5. “Sounds like Whumpee’s having fun in there…would you like to go join them?”

Dark/Violent/Rough

1. “Get the fuck over here or I’m dragging you.”

2. “Look at me. Look at me while I hurt you.”

3. “Nothing you say is going to stop me. I have a job to do, and I don’t give a shit how it happens.”

4. “Don’t you get it? I’m not being careful. I want this to hurt you.”

5. “Stay still, you motherf—Stay STILL!”

Creepy/Intimate

1. “Come on, scream like you mean it…there we go. Much better.”

2. “It’s so cute when you fumble with your keys everyday when you come home.”

3. “Your pretty little screams are only for me to hear, understand?”

4. “It’s a shock to me that you’ve never considered modeling. I mean…red just looks so good on you.”

5. “Ah, you remember this scar, don’t you? The day we met…god, what I’d give to break you like that again.”

Reluctant/Hesitant

1. “Look, I’m—I’m sorry, I just need to get this over-with. Bite on this.”

2. “They’ll check for bruises. I have to.”

3. “I’m sorry, boss, I’ve…I’ve never done this before. I-I’m trying.”

4. “Don’t look at me like that when the others are here. Please. They’ll know I’m faking it.”

5. “I’m sorry, I had to say it—you know that’s not how I actually think of you, right?”

#whump #whump blog #whump community #whump writing #whump scenario #Whumper #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #sadistic whumper #reluctant whumper #whump lines #dialogue lines #tw stalking

[whumblr]

Bloody

The first time Whumpee had fainted after watching their own blood seep down their arm, Whumper had watched in silent amusement. Before realising that… well, this could be a bit of a pain.

So the second time he strapped them to a table and walked up with his knife at the ready, he came prepared.

Whumpee glanced at the knife and while their expression tightened, there was a hint of smugness crossing their face. Not much to torture when they’re out cold after just the first cut, Whumper had to admit.

But their face fell when Whumper held up the knife and a piece of black cloth dangled from the tip.

A blindfold.

“Figured we could see to what extent your fear of blood goes,” Whumper said, swinging the cloth back and forth until it slipped from the knife and draped over Whumpee’s collarbones.

“It’s not a fear of blood!” Whumpee bit, pulling at the leather straps binding them. “It just… happens,” they finished, less fierce.

“It happens…” Whumper mused. So this probably wasn’t the first time. “Have you ever tested it? Do you just go whoop when you see your own blood or is the sensation of it pumping out of your veins enough to pass out?”

Whumpee paused, their lips pressed together and their throat bobbed. “I… I don’t know,” they admitted.

“Let’s find out.”

He set the knife down on the table, deliberately placing it just next to Whumpee’s bound hand. If they struggled enough, maybe they could touch it with a pinky finger. Blindfold in hand, he leaned over them, easily slipped it over their head as they shook ‘no’ and they continued to shake their head even when the band fit snugly over their eyes. He shushed them gently, cupping their face with both hands, stopping them from shaking their head.

“Now, then…” His hand curled over the handle of the knife and as he lifted it he let the blade scrape over the surface with a scratchy shing to signal that he was about to start. And to draw a flinch from Whumpee. He grinned; now that they were dependent on their other senses, he wasn’t above helping out with that.

He rested the blade just under their shoulder where their deltoid curved, letting the cold touch seep into their skin before the sharp edge of the blade would follow.

A soft and surprised little yip sounded within their throat when the knife broke skin. Teeth clenched when he slid deeper, their chest heaving to keep their scream contained until he dragged the knife further through muscle and a broken gasp tore free.

Blood gushed along the stripe of the cut, streaming down their shoulder, tickling over skin.

A fist clenched. And Whumpee went white as a sheet.

But they didn’t pass out.

“You look like you already lost a gallon,” Whumper said with a smirk.

“Sh—shut up,” Whumpee shot back, but their voice was weak, high-pitched.

They tensed up when the blade rested against their arm again.

But Whumper merely held the flat of the blade under the cut, not yet breaking skin, and he caught a few thick drops of blood. Then he carefully brought the knife up, hovered it over Whumpee’s face, and watched as the red pooled closer to the tip. A single drop fell right onto their cheek.

And after an initial flinch, Whumpee completely stilled. To the point where Whumper thought that was it for the experiment.

But then a shivering inhale rasped past their lips.

“Don’t do that…” they managed to whisper.

“Don’t do what, dear?” Whumper drawled, smile creeping wider. He tapped a finger to the blade and watched a second drop fall right onto the blindfold. It drew out another twitch. The cloth absorbed the dark stain immediately, while the spatter on their face slowly rolled down their cheek. It sent a shudder through them as it tickled the underside of their ear and disappeared into their hair.

“That… the b—the blood, don’t—”

“It’s just a splash of water, love.”

“It’s not!”

Whumper grinned, fingertips swirling through the puddle of blood forming under their arm. “No,” he murmured in agreement, and he tapped two fingers slick with blood against their cheekbone. “It’s not.”

A strangled sound of anguish sounded in Whumpee’s throat as the two fingers slowly made its way down, leaving two cold stripes of red draped over their face.

Whumper watched them fondly. Amazing how the brain worked. It registered everything, from the warmth gushing out of their cut, to the splash on their face and it drying on their cheek. Yet it didn’t trigger that severe drop in blood pressure to make them check out.

With Whumpee blubbing their mouth like a fish on dry, heaving in shallow breaths yet none coming back out as cries, you’d think their level of emotional distress was at peak. But fight or flight was still overpowering everything. And oh, how they wished to fly; their wrists pulled tight against their bonds, straining as they hoped for the leather to give just a bit so they could slip free. Just a bit more, dear, and you’ll feel the blood bubble up there as well…

“Lost your voice?” Whumper purred.

His hand tightened over the cut and Whumpee screamed. Ah, no, still there. But they immediately fell silent when that same hand gripped their jaw tight. Fingers sleek with blood dug into the side of their jaw, just under their ear.

“That’s right,” Whumper crooned. He let a fresh drop fall onto his thumb and pressed it against their lips. “Just… shush.”

Their lips, slightly parted in despair, immediately pressed tight into a thin stripe. And with a grin, Whumper took advantage. He slowly smeared the drop over both their lips, coating them in red.

“You might wanna lick your lips. Seems a bit dry to me.”

Every little gasp had indeed made their lips uncomfortably dry, blood now seeping into the cracks, immediately drying and making things even worse. As Whumper pulled back, he could see them hesitate, fighting the automatic response of their tongue wanting to offer a bit of relief.

Those beautiful red lips trembled hard, and their chin started to quiver as well.

The underside of the blindfold started getting wet. Tears trickled out from underneath, mixing with the red stripes over their cheeks, breaking them up and a drop pooled on the edge of their jaw, tinted with a hue of red.

“P-p-please…” The word puffed past quivering lips. “Stop. Just… just cut me up like you wanted, but… stop…”

“Ah.” Whumper feigned his surprise, though he didn’t have to hide his grin, growing wolfishly large. “Right. I think we both got a little distracted.”

He scraped the knife over the table again before resting it against their arm, slowly moving up and increasing the pressure. “Let’s tap out some more.”

-

General whump tags: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @whumpifi @auroragehenna @oprhan

#whump #whump drabble #whump writing #strapped to a table #angst #fear of blood #sadistic whumper #knifeplay #bloodplay #tw blood #my writing #whumplr #can't believe I forgot about this drabble it's an outrage

[reid-whump]

How can you dehumanize a whumpee?

THIS IS MY FAVOURITE TROPE!! SEND MORE DEHUMANISATION ASKS PLEASE

use them as an ash tray!

force them to kneel next to you as you work!

shock!!! collars!!!!

carving their owner’s initials into their back!

using them as entertainment at parties!

sharing them with friends!

pulling their hair to meet their owner’s eyes!

assigning them a new name one might call a pet!

draw pretty patterns into their skin!

training them not to be disobedient!

giving them a treat when they’re good!

alter their appearance to your liking!

have them repeat that they were worthless!

don’t let them sit on furniture!

#whump prompts #captive whump #caretaker x whumpee #whumpee spencer reid #creepy whumper #whump trope #dehumanisation tw #sadistic whumper #intimate whumper #conditioned whumpee #emotional whump #whumper #drugged whumpee #whump ideas #whump #defiant whumpee #whumpee x caretaker #whump fic #whumpril2023 #whump drabble

[loonybun]

been sort of obsessed with more like nature based whump including like hunting whump and the idea came to me of a hunter whumper using hunting dogs to track down whumpee. i just really like the imagery. worst of all is that they’d know the woods far better than whumpee ever could.

#whump community #whump #whumpblr #whump writing #whump prompt #hunt whump #nature whump #whump against the elements #sadistic whumper #tw animal attack #idk if there’s a specific tag for this genre of whump but god it’s so yummy to me #brought to you by foxcry by rabbitology 👍

[ashintheairlikesnow]

All We Have Is Each Other

CW: Intimate whumper, captivity, defiant whumpee, biting, creepy whumper, obsessive whumper, noncon kiss, vague noncon references, drugging. For @amonthofwhump Tropeathon Day 1: Duel

The Motherfucking Gallaghers Masterlist

Takes place during Jax’s second captivity. As always, Jax is used with oversight and permission from @comfy-whumpee)

-

Savvie rolls dice every time she uses the mortar and pestle in the kitchen to grind up one of her collections of pills and mix it into Jax’s drink.

She’s always gambling with the drugs. The first part of the game is seeing whether he’ll drink it before he realizes there’s something in it. If she doesn’t mix it well enough, he’ll see the cloudy bits floating around in the glass and look at her with terrible sad eyes. Sometimes she can’t take it. She just takes the drink right back out of his hand and pours it out, makes him a new one. 

Other the other hand, sometimes his sad voice and sad eyes piss her off worse than anything else could, and she just tips it up until he chokes and makes him finish it anyway. Or shocks him, pressing the button to the remote and watching his muscles lock up, knowing he’ll look sweeter once he’s fighting the way his muscles jerk afterward, the unconscious twitches he can’t quite get rid of as the aftermath works its way through him. 

Sometimes he even looks scared. Those nights are some of her favorites. Savvie never loves Jax as much as she does when he is scared of her. 

But... she can’t keep him scared all the time. What kind of marriage would they have if she did that? No, the drinks aren’t to scare him, they’re just to make… to make things easier. And she doesn’t always do it! She doesn’t always drug him, but it’s enough that he never trusts her. She knows that. He doesn’t… trust easily. 

That’s okay. 

Their relationship got off to a rough start, that’s all, what with Jax starting off as one of the staff, bought and paid for. Plus, Jax’s dad convinced him Savvie was evil, once upon a time when he ran away from her. Taught him to hate her. She had to have her uncle fly all the way to England to bring Jax back, and it’s taking years to undo all the damage that stupid old man did. 

That’s okay. He’s getting better, he’s definitely getting better. He is. He has to be getting better. 

Still… he’s not an easy man to be married to. Not with having to keep an eye on the remote to his shock collar so he can’t take it off and try to run away again, not with the way he watches her sometimes like he wants to dunk her head into the toilet and hold it there until she drowns. Putting stuff in his drink just lets Savvie be able to relax. 

She doesn’t have to worry about what he might do when he’s so high he can’t do much of anything. Besides, it’s only like one out of every ten nights, sometimes twenty, sometimes she even goes for a month or two without doing it. 

She really doesn’t even want to. If he would just learn to be happy without it, she wouldn’t have to keep drugging him, would she? If he’d just stop being so difficult about being her husband… but that isn’t fair. He can’t be any better than he is, not really. Jax just… isn’t wired that way.

So she has to help him a little, to make it so he can have nights when he can’t stay mad at her. Or at least nights when his anger isn’t able to simmer in there behind his eyes while he says Yes, Miss Savvie or No, Miss Savvie like there’s a gun to his head. 

Still. Trying to give him these evenings where both of them just relax… it’s always a gamble. 

Even if he drinks whatever she makes without realizing it’s spiked, he doesn’t always react the same way. If she’s lucky - if her dice rolls well - the drugs make Jax… softer. He’ll lean against her when some of his strength slides away, not seek out touch but loathe it less. Those are the nights she can coax a sound out of him that isn’t clipped or tense. She still thinks about the night she gave him a back rub and he genuinely fell asleep sitting on the floor between her knees, his head drifting until it rested on her leg, the knots of tension slowly loosening beneath her kneading hands until she got distracted by the movie and forgot what she was doing. 

Sometimes he smiles, when he’s blurry and unfocused. Smiles, enough to show teeth even… God, sometimes he even laughs at some of Savvie’s jokes. It’s rare, but it happens. She loves those nights the best. Those are the nights that their marriage almost feels normal… if she just ignores the dilated pupils and the way he can’t stand up on his own. 

Sometimes he gets so foggy he can’t stop laughing, which is irritating but at least adorable to watch and take videos of to make him look at later on the next day when he sobers up again. Sometimes the side effects make him too scared to smile, his eyes darting nervously everywhere watching the movements of shadows he swears are watching him. She… tries not to give him those pills anymore.

The nights tend to end with her telling him to take off his shirt so she can enjoy the view, or even his pants, too. She usually waits on that, though, because it doesn’t matter how good the drugs are - he always hesitates when it comes to taking off his pants, as soon as his fingers touch the boxers with their oddly rolled waistband. 

It reminds him he doesn’t want to be here. Makes his addled mind come back to the collar he wears around his neck, to the reality of the life they’re living, the marriage Savvie has built all by herself whether he wanted to or not.

And he… he didn’t want to. 

So normally she waits on the getting naked bit until they’re in the bedroom and what he wants matters so much less that neither of them think about it any longer. The drugs, at least, make it harder for him to slow her down in there. 

Savvie tries not to think about that, because she doesn’t remember it that way. She likes the nights best where he doesn’t even try to fight, just lets her pull him upstairs and she gets to bury her hands in his hair and tell him what to do and have him, languid and loose-limbed, follow every command without the tension and misery he usually carries into their bed. 

She doesn’t always roll well. 

Sometimes, she rolls snake eyes… and she gets this, instead.

“Fuck’s sake,” Jax groans, words slurring around the edges, rubbing a hand over his eyes. He pushes clumsily away from her, nearly falling off the couch before he manages to catch himself. “For… f’r fuck’s sake, Savvie, what the fuck.”

His wedding ring glints, light from the TV bouncing off the deceptively plain platinum band. She’s hit all over again with a wave of love for him, for the life she’s built after he was brought back home to be hers forever, just like he always should have been. She’d been an idiot not to see it, not until he was gone and she spent years in prison dreaming about getting him back. 

“Fuck’s sake what?” She asks, voice light, smiling at him and poking him in the shoulder where they sit on the couch. 

He doesn’t slap her hand away, but she sees him look at her and… he wants to. His expression is dark. The light is bouncing off his hazel eyes, too, giving them a strange sheen of white that wipes out the color, obscures even his dilated pupils slowly taking over the iris. “What the fuck was it?”

“What was what?”

“What the fuck did you give me?” He goes to push himself to standing only to have his knees buckle beneath him, crashing him to the floor, barely catching himself on his hands. Savvie’s mouth waters, and she swallows, trying to ignore the flutter of fascinated interest in watching his fingernails scrape the rug as he tries to steady himself. “What the fuck is it, Savvie?”

“It doesn’t matter,” She answers, without changing her own tone, leaning forward with her arms resting on her thighs. Her hair falls in heavy waves down her back and over her shoulders. “It’s not anything that could hurt you.”

This time, he doesn't say Miss Savvie or try out the sad eyes. Instead, he looks away. She can nearly hear his teeth grinding. “Yeah, but once I’m all fucked up, you will.”

“Don’t be rude,” Savvie chides him, but she doesn’t move. He looks good, on his hands and knees on the floor. Well, he looks good all the time, really, but he looks even better on his hands and knees. She knows the physique he’s built with the workout routine she makes him do, knows the muscles there hidden beneath the green sweater and jeans he’s wearing. “You’ve been stressed all week. I’m just trying to help-”

“Fucking shit, the hell you are!” He manages to sit back on his knees, then collapses back until his back hits the edge of the couch cushions, upright through sheer force of will and a bit of good luck. His hands lay limp at his sides, now. When he turns to look at her, his eyes don’t focus quite right - but the fury in them is clear.

Well.

Tonight’s not going to be the best night for them, then, she supposes. She feels the edge of a headache starting up, and sighs, looking mournfully at the movie she’d pulled up for them to watch. Another night, then. A night when the gamble pays off and doesn’t backfire. A night when he can’t remember how to be angry at her.

“Fine,” She says, heavily. “I’m not trying to help you. I’m trying to help me.”Her own voice changes - drops almost a full octave from her usual carefully constructed diction and sweetness to something sharper. “I’m making tonight easier on me. Making you less… less-” She can't think of a good way to end the sentence, so she just lets it hang there between them. 

Jax snorts, looking away again. His head keeps lolling forward until his chin nearly touches his chest before he jerks it back again. “Yeah, I fucking know,” He manages, but his slurring is getting worse. “Shit f’r brains.”

Savvie sniffs, but the fake tears aren't coming as easily as they usually do. She probably accidentally gave him too much again. It’s just sometimes so hard to remember exactly how much the dose is supposed to be…

“I don’t enjoy you being cruel to me any more than you enjoy it when I do it to you, you know,” She says, suddenly… so tired. She spends so much time and effort creating a marriage herself out of a man her uncle bought for her once and abducted for her the second time, and she’s doing this all on her own - no one helps her, not really. And Jax never gives up.

She’d been sure he’d start to settle in and understand by now, but he just… he just doesn’t. And she’s so tired. Her fingers toy with the little black remote to his shock collar. Maybe she should just… just give up on having a good night and punish him for the cursing until he just bites off his stupid tongue. 

No, wait. 

She likes what he does with his tongue, when she gives the order. He’s so good with it now. Maybe… maybe just a small shock. Just to remind him he's hers. She takes a deep breath. “Jax… get on your-”

“On m’knees f’r discipline?” He starts laughing before she can finish, cutting her off, letting his head fall totally back against the arm of the couch until he’s staring at the ceiling. He sounds wild, almost like an animal. Her quiet watchful husband is feral, and Savvie resolves never to give him the pill she gave him tonight ever again. “Yeah, fucking… fuckin’ do it. Second I don’t play along, there y’go. Bzzzt.” He cackles, a cracked bark of laughter she’s never heard him make before. “Shut me up so you don’t hear me say it.”

Savvie’s heart twists. “Say what?”

The laughter dies in him as suddenly as it appeared. He turns his head, or tries to - it mostly just falls to one side until he’s looking at her. Their eyes meet, his all black pupil and hers with nearly no pupil at all. “How much I fucking hate your fucking guts.”

“You don’t hate me.” She says it firmly, as if he’s being ridiculous. “Don’t be mean, Jax. You don’t hate me at all.”

She takes a deep breath. Married couples have fights, even ugly ones sometimes, and they work it out-

“Yeah. I… I really do.” Disgusted, that’s the tone in his voice. Disgusted with her. “I do. I hate you.”

“Why do you hate me?”

The look he gives her is such a blatant are you a complete fucking moron that she can hear his voice even though he doesn’t say a word. 

“No, hold on.” She waves one hand, dismissing her own question. His eyes briefly follow the movements of her fingers, distracted by whatever the drugs make him see there. Trails of light, maybe. It’s probably beautiful. “Hold on. I know why-”

“Do you?” His question is sharp, snapped, even as his every muscle can barely tense enough to move. “Do you fuckin’ really?”

“Yes. I do.” Savvie’s too tired to talk him in a circle tonight. She’s just… too exhausted by her bad gamble, bringing neither the snuggly Jax or the scared one, but this angry, vengeful animal instead.

Her headache is getting worse. 

She grabs her glass of wine off the coffee table and chugs it so fast a little drip escapes the corner of her mouth and runs down her chin. She has to wipe it away, wincing at the… at the idea of how that looks. Her mother would have had a fit about it. If she hadn’t died years ago. “Because I had you kidnapped.” 

Jax is silent, for a beat. He squints at her. ���Fuck… what’d you say? Might be hearin’ shit.” 

She laughs, softly. Not her usual laughter, crafted to fill up a room and put all eyes on her. This laugh is barely there, but far more genuine. “No. You're not hallucinating, that shouldn't happen with what I gave you tonight.”

“Oh, good, not this fucking drugging, then, jussss-” His head falls too far to one side and he forces it back up, groaning. “Jusss… others.”

“Only one of the pills does that. And you were cute when you thought there were monsters in the bathroom.” She gets that flat stare from him again and this time she can't hold eye contact, looking down and away, still fiddling with the remote to his collar. “I just. I do know what I did, Jax.”

“Yeah, I fucking know you know-”

“I had you kidnapped.” She takes a deep breath. It feels oddly good to say, like a scene in a movie confessing to a priest. A foul-mouthed priest she’s been sleeping with for over a year. The thought makes her smile, just a little. “My uncle had people watching you, and when I was ready, he knew where you’d be and he abducted you for me. I know that. I know that you’d run, if you could. I’d take your collar off right now if I thought you’d stay without wearing it.”

Jax is silent for so long she briefly wonders if he's flat out forgotten how to talk. Then he shrugs - or tries to, his arms don't quite follow his commands. “You’d find somethin’ else, some other reason for shit ‘round my neck. You fuckin’ like it.”

For the first time, she doesn't deny it. “I do.” She laughs at the way he looks almost comically surprised, unable to keep his usual closed-off expressions in place with the drug coursing through his veins. “What? Can't a girl have a kink?”

“Sure fuckin’ can, but you… you don' have a kink, you got… goddamn victims.”

“... I… yeah. But it-... that's not my point. It isn't about the collar, Jax. Your wedding ring does it for me, too. I could barely wait to get you home after we signed the marriage certificate.”

The glare is back. His hatred is blistering her skin. She watches him try to stand, making it nearly upright before he falls back down again with a heavy thump. 

Her mouth twitches. “You want help, sweetie?”

“Ffffuck you.” 

“Well, I mean, if you’re asking so nicely.” She giggles at her own joke. 

He mumbles something she can't quite hear, trying to stand one more time but quickly giving up. He makes it onto the couch, at least. Savvie stands, turning to grab his ankles, shifting so he’s lying on his back, head and feet each cushioned by the arms of the comfortable, overstuffed couch. He struggles weakly, and it's hard work, but she gets him where she wants him. She barely breathes, taking in his chest rising and falling under his sweater, how his inhales are coming more sharply. 

She can't help herself. 

Savvie climbs on top of him, like she’s done a hundred times. She straddles him, sitting on his hips and leaning down to kiss his neck, nosing under his jaw. At first, his head tips back in resignation - but then he curses and pushes at her weakly instead. “Don’t.”

She grabs his wrists and shoves them above his head. He’s so weak, the drugs have taken all that muscle and made them… useless at holding her off. There’s a shiver of excitement down her spine. “Uh-uh, sweetie. You’re the one who said to fuck you, remember?”

She feels a thrill at saying fuck, like she’s still a kid sneaking swears in her room when her parents won’t overhear. 

“Don't,” He groans. “Sav-... Savvie, stop. G’t off me. I hate you.”

“I know.” She smiles down at him. His eyes meet hers, tired and bleary. Furious and almost resigned. “I know you hate me, Jax… but I love you.”

She leans down, her hair a waterfall curtain, blocking them both off from the world. She can smell the cologne she buys for him, blended with her own pricey perfume. His wrists jerk against her grip and she digs her nails in until he grunts in pain and the skin gives beneath. 

“Savvie,” he whispers. 

“Sssshhh.” She lets go with one hand, shifting both his wrists to her other one, and presses a finger against his lips. “I love you so much,” She whispers. “And I don't need you to love me back, sweetie, I don’t. I just need you to lie for me.”

 She kisses him, then, pressing her lips firmly to his. For half a second, his mouth is slack and unresisting even as his body shudders with disgust. He’s warm, his skin burning up beneath her. Her mouth moves against his, trying to get him to answer her, to open up.

His lips gently part. For a brief moment, Savvie feels the rush of victory.

Then he bites.

Pain blooms in a sudden flare as his teeth bury themselves into her lower lip and he jerks his head to the side, sensitive skin tearing.

“Shit!” Savvie jerks backwards, staring down at him wide-eyed. She can taste her own blood in her mouth. It’s smeared on his lips and his teeth like badly-done lipstick as he gives her a smile that's really a snarl. “Oh my God, Jax-... how dare you-”

“Fuck you! Don't fucking touch me!” He gets his arms more or less under his own control and shoves her off of him. She crashes into the coffee table, the legs giving out, tumbling her to the floor. Pain spikes hot and demanding along her hip where she hits the hard angle of the corner and she finds herself the one lying on the floor, while Jax slowly sits up, wiping blood off his lips. 

Her blood. 

Savvie pulls her fingers from her mouth and gasps. There’s a smear of red, bright and vibrant, the unmistakable sense of blood trickling down over her chin. She tongues at the wound, then winces as the pain flares bright, like he’s bitten her all over again. She considers tears - looks at the loathing in his eyes, the absolute rage written in the lines of his face - and then decides they’re wasted on him tonight. Instead, she just shakes her head. “That hurt.”

“Good. Don' like bein’ the one fucking bleeding for once, huh?” His eyes drift closed. He struggles to open them again, to keep his eyes on her. “Shit feelin’, isn't it?” 

“God.” She swallows. Blood on her tongue is making her feel nauseous and she gets to her feet carefully. Her mouth and hip throb. She’s going to be so bruised tomorrow, going to ache so much. “You’re awful sometimes, you know that?”

“Yeah.” He grins. He hasn't bothered to try and get the red off his teeth. “I know. So… so fffffuckin’ get rid of me, then.”

Savvie snorts, limping a little as she moves to pick up the spilled wine bottle from the floor. She could shock him now - that’s what she would usually do. Or call Isaac and have him carted off to spend another month locked in the kennels with the dogs. He… probably doesn’t care about that, though. Anything to get away from her. Anything is better than her, to him.

“Get rid of you?” She drinks the last swallow in the bottle, washing blood down her throat with the wine. “Then what, Jax? I should just… live here alone, without you, for the rest of my life?”

“Fucking-... yes, or go fucking die. I don't fucking care.” The flush of hot anger bleeds away, his voice softening a little. “I don't… don' care, Savvie. I don’t care about you.”

“No. You do.” She feels a burst of desperation to make him understand. “You hate me, right? That’s caring about me, still.”

“Savvie-”

“No. I love you. You are mine, and I am keeping you. This is love, Jax. What I feel for you is true love.” 

He shakes his head, swaying a little where he sits. He tries to push her away again as she takes him by the arm but his burst of energy seems to have used him up. He lets her, in the end, get him onto his feet. She leads him on his unsteady legs out of the room, and he stumbles along with her. 

“S'not love,” He mumbles. She keeps an arm around his waist to help him balance. “Fucking… fuck you. Let me leave, Savvie.”

He doesn't have the strength to push her away, not anymore. He has to use her to stay up as they take the stairs one at a time, although after three or four he jerks away again and uses the railing, leaning heavily against it as he drags himself upwards, inch by inch, step by step. 

She lets him pull away, watching his determination to not need her, how badly he doesn’t even want her. There’s a canyon inside of her, something dark and deep that hurts so much worse than her hip or her torn open lower lip, threatening to claw its way out as she watches the man she has forced to play the role of her husband do anything he can to avoid her touch. 

Her jaw sets. “It is. It is love, and you know what? It’s all the love you’re going to get. Ever. No one else will ever love you.” Savvie’s voice stays low. “You’re not… you’re not lovable, Jax, but I don’t care, I love you anyway. Nobody else would. No one is ever going to even want to love you but me.”

He slumps. The fight’s all gone out of him, for now. Her gamble failed tonight and Jax is buckling under the weight of what runs through his veins, the heavy expectations in her eyes and her smile and her devotion. 

“Fuck,” is all he says, barely a whisper under his breath.

Savvie sighs, touching her fingers to her lip again. The bleeding has slowed but there’s still a spot of red. “Goes both ways, though, I think.”

He doesn't look at her. “What?”

“This… how much you hate me… how I had to kidnap you, and put that thing on your neck to keep you here, how you wish you were anywhere but here with me… you know, I, I get it.”

He has to stop at the landing and lean over, resting his forehead against the wall. 

She lays a hand on his back, leaning over to speak right against his ear. “I get that your hate is all the love I’m going to get, too, Jax. Nobody else will ever love me, either.” 

Her throat feels tight, and she can’t tell if she really feels the twisting nerves in her stomach, the sense of dread, or if it’s part of her act for Jax. Sometimes even Savvie isn’t sure when she means the things she says. Sometimes, even worse, she really does.

“All we’re ever going to have is each other.”

He doesn’t answer her. But when she takes his arm in her hand, he allows himself to be dragged along towards her bedroom. The fight might be gone, but so is the feeling. There’s nothing in his eyes that shows he even heard her.

That’s okay. She can be honest, in the dark, in the middle of the night, knowing that he’s too drugged to remember anything she said when he wakes up again. She’ll lie to herself again by morning. So will he.

She just needs him to lie. 

-

@whumpyourdamnpears consider this my evil savvie gift to you

#whump #amonthofwhump #amow tropeathon day 1 #duel #intimate whumper #obsessive whumper #creepy whumper #noncon touch #noncon kissing #noncon references #sadistic whumper #drugging tw #drugged whumpee #jax #comfy-whumpee #captivity #defiant whumpee #whumpee fights back #amow tropeathon2024 #day1

[whump-queen]

whumper using victim blaming dialogue as a humiliation tactic—

“well I wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t make it so fucking easy.”

“if you weren’t so pretty when you begged and cried.”

“if you didn’t take abuse so well.”

“I just hit you and you whine like that— I mean, what am I supposed to think?”

“you know you deserve this.”

“go on, tell me you deserve it.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

and who knows— eventually, whumpee might start to believe they’re right

.

[shoutout to @unorganisedalienrubbish for coming up with like half of these]

#whumper dialogue #whump dialogue #in which I overuse italics as usual #humiliation whump #psycholgical whump #victim blaming #degradation whump #sadistic whumper #manipulative whumper #tw verbal abuse #whump prompt #tw victim blaming #psychological manipulation #did we get everything? I hope so #akia.txt #my post

[rizzoto-whump]

War criminal Whumper

Taglist: @yoinky-sploinky

#whump #whump prompt #whump art #military whump #whump OC #sadistic whumper #older whumpee #bruises #torture whump #rope burns #crying whumpee #comic whump #blood tw #OC: James #OC: Ronald

[whumpdrivethru]

Hi, can I please order a nightmare/night terror where the whumpee devolves into a panic attack and/or a dissociative episode and the caretaker comforts them?

Thank youuuu 🥰

First of all, I am sooooo incredibly sorry at how late this is, but college has legit been destroying me. i hope you enjoy this meal tho < 3

-Nat

Rough Night

TW: Smoking, knife, asthma, sadistic whumper, creepy whumper, non-con (non-sexual) touch, implied torture, nightmare, dissociation, captivity, blood mention

Everywhere. The pungent, seemingly everlasting scent of tobacco smoke had filled the room, crawling into Whumpee's lungs with a disturbingly familiar and yet irritating burn. Being asthmatic, he was a whole lot more sensitive to it than the average person, and Whumper knew that, and it was all the more reason for him to take pleasure in his old, filthy habit.

Though the smoke wasn't the only reason Whumpee's breathing had constricted. A rough, calloused hand landed on his head, petting his hair in a humiliating display of mock-comfort. A harsh laugh escaped Whumper's lips, revelling in how Whumpee's entire body tensed, his breathing laboured, and his eyes wide and darting everywhere.

The man's grip tightened on his captive's hair, roughly fisting the strands with his fingers. "It's pretty adorable, you know, the fact that you thought you'd get away with this," he crooned in an oily voice that sent shivers up his spine.

Whumper took in another long drag from the cigarette clutched in his left hand, slowly exhaling in Whumpee's direction, making him cough, his eyes watering and nausea settling in a pit in his stomach. Any further and he was going to have an asthma attack, one of Whumper's favourite methods of tormenting him, though it only lasted for a short time until he gave him an inhaler. He couldn't have his favourite toy dying on him, now could he? Besides, it wasn't hard for him to come up with more sick punishments for Whumpee anyway.

He threw his dead cigarette on the ground, stamping on it with his boot. "No matter how amusing I find your optimism, it doesn't override how bloody annoying it is when you do exactly what I explicitly told you not to and make me have to chase you around," he snarled, his hold on Whumpee's locks even crueller now, warranting a soft whine to escape his lips.

"Since following simple rules has proven to be so difficult for you, how about we try a little something to make them stick?" The phrasing of it as a question was mercilessly ironic, as though anything in this was up to Whumpee.

He pulled a glinting switchblade out from his pocket, twirling it around with his fingers, a sadistic half-smirk gracing his lips. 

On instinct, Whumpee tried to pull away, which was quite possibly the most foolish thing anyone could ever think of doing, and still he found himself in the other man's furious death grip, the bitingly ice-cold blade of the knife pressed into the skin of his abdomen underneath the flimsy, shredded shirt making his skin crawl. 

He bit down a scream, one of many to come, but it didn't matter, none of it did because he would scream anyway, loud enough until his throat burned, up until he'd lost enough blood to pass out, but not quite enough to die. 

He wasn't sure which he despised more, his own screaming or Whumper's sick laughter, but the truth was, both of these poisons were being poured into his ears anyway. . .

Cold sweat ran in rivulets down his forehead, shivers racking his entire form as the covers slipped off his shoulders, his mind still racing with all the fear and panic of a wild animal. 

“J-just leave me a-alone, please, please, I won't try to run- to run away again,” he pleaded, voice hoarse and broken. 

He hadn't even registered that he'd woken up, biting down hard on his lips as he tried to quiet himself, practically fighting against the covers that felt like chains biting into his body. Whumper was still there, sneering at him. He was always there, in the dark corners of his mind, his rough, calloused hands wrapped around his neck, fisting through his hair, dealing harrowing punches to his form. 

Stop. Stop. Goddamn it, you bastard, what the hell did I ever do for this, just stop! 

But it didn't stop. Like how Hell never stops burning. 

“Sweetheart?” Caretaker's voice called out, cutting through his toxic chain of thought. 

He turned around abruptly, his eyes boring into hers, a silent cry for help, even though he wasn't sure who he was looking at. 

“Another nightmare?” she questioned again, pulling him closer into her embrace. 

It had taken Whumpee some time to figure out that he was safe, that the embrace was much too delicate to be Whumper trying to stop him from running away, to stop trying to fight and to catch his laboured breath.

“I'm fine,” he answered, much too late, nuzzling into the crook of her neck and smiling softly as though he was just responding normally to a gesture of affection, as though what he'd just seen  and done was another annoying thing he could just brush off. 

It was something he'd trained himself to do. Normally, his dissociations were a private matter, limited to his thoughts, but sometimes, they got terrible. Like right now.

“You were screaming,” she attested, pulling away from him, the look in her eyes turning more stern now. 

He let out a soft curse, a frustrated look that was somewhere between guilt and annoyance colouring his features as his brows furrowed, and the muscles in his shoulders went tense. 

This just had to happen every goddamn time didn't it? Another nightmare where he seemed to lose control he'd spent ages building, all the defiance, the fear, the hot shame burning at the back of his throat like pure acid. 

Whumpee wasn't even sure when the tears started flowing down his face, tasting like salt on his tongue, and it didn't matter that he'd stifled them, or suppressed his shivering, Caretaker noticed anyway.

She always did.

“Hey,” she started gently, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders, “you're alright. Whatever you've taught yourself to hide, you don't have to around me. You shouldn't have to suffer alone,” she added, rubbing circles into his shoulders.

“I just.  . .didn't want you to have to suffer with me,” he explained through a sniffle, his voice half-broken, half-steady.

“Sweetheart. I am in no way better off not knowing about anything that's hurting you. When you tell me, I worry less. Because I still notice even when you try to hide, Whumpee.” 

He nodded in response, his few false starts proving fruitless, trying to steady himself, allowing himself the luxury of letting a stray tear stream down his face every now and then as Caretaker kneaded out the tension in his muscles, her fingers blissfully cool against his shoulder blades.

He'd calmed down a little under the gentle touch, letting out a soft sigh in spite of himself. Maybe it didn't completely erase his pain, but touch was a primitive thing, relaxing his body and letting his mind reflexively follow suit. 

He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but Whumpee found himself pulling Caretaker into his arms; wrapping them gently around her form. “Thank you. For everything, love,” he said softly, kissing her forehead.

“Nothing you need to thank me for, sweetie.”

Maybe a harsh past doesn't truly leave you unscathed, scars marking your form, prone to reopening. But it is fortunate that people and products are not one and the same, and you aren't a broken object in need of fixing and covering up. All it truly takes is someone to make the darker nights just a little less desolate and foreboding. 

You have been served by Natalia 💙

#whumpdrivethru #whump community #whumpblr #answered asks #whump #natalia #tw nightmare #tw sadistic whumper #tw creepy whumper #tw non con touch (non-sexual) #tw smoking #tw dissociation #hurt/comfort #caretaker x whumpee #tw implied torture #tw blood #tw captivity

[cpt-winters]

...more Team Leader snippets, please?

Ask and ye shall receive

Forced to Watch *Team Leader Edition* (Part 2, Part 3)

Leader cracked an eye open at the dull thud of Whumper's boots hitting the stairs. He squirmed to sit upright, propping his back up against the wall. "I'm not going to talk, Whumper," Leader warned as they drew nearer. He winced as he straightened up. "You'll never get those coordinates," he said firmly, not daring to let the pain leak into his voice.

Whumper calmly crouched in front of Leader, a roll of duct tape in hand. "Oh, I don't need you to talk anymore," they said with a tinge of glee that Leader tried to ignore. "We're trying something new today."

"Wh-...mmf." Leader didn't get the first word out before Whumper started taping his mouth closed. With his ankles and wrists already bound, the only protest Leader could offer was a steely glare as Whumper wrapped further unnecessary layers of tape over his mouth and back around his head.

Whumper stood up and stepped back, admiring their handiwork for a second before grabbing the chair tucked away in the corner and dragging it into the centre of the room. Leader cringed as the metal legs scraped against the concrete floor.

"Once provided with sufficient motivation, I'm sure your team will be more than willing to tell me what I want to know." Whumper smiled but gave no further elaboration as a handful of their henchmen poured into the room. One set up a tripod directly opposite the chair, mounting a camera atop it as the others moved towards him. Leader's eyes widened as he realized what Whumper meant by 'sufficient motivation.'

A moment later, the henchmen had him pinned face-down on the floor as they undid his restraints and hauled him over to the chair. Any movement proved almost impossible as their iron grip on Leader's limbs barely faltered, despite his intense struggles. He managed a kick to one of their stomach's before being fully secured to the seat. The victory of the blow was short-lived, only earning him several hard wacks across the face.

Leader let out a muffled groan as warm liquid trickled down from his nose, leaving a crimson trail over the tape covering most of his lower face. His stomach churned as a little red light on the camera steadily blinked as Whumper stepped closer. Leader shirked away, angling his face to the side as it burnt with shame at the thought of his team watching this.

"How long do you think they can watch before they give me what you refuse to, hm?" Whumper brought their knife to the side of Leader's face, gently gliding it down its side, not yet piercing the skin. The touch was ghostly light, a mockery of what was to come. "Will they watch you break, Captain?" Whumper chuckled before their hand roughly seized Leader's jaw, forcing their eyes to meet. "Maybe you can handle that..." Whumper pondered. "But can your team?"

#whump #team leader whump #whump scenario #whump snippet #leader whump #team whump #captivity whump #implied torture #forced to watch #interrogation whump #stoic whumpee #tw knives #Whump Thing I Wrote 6 #sadistic whumper #team dynamics #angst #restraints whump

[generic-whumperz]

When Whumper’s threats aren’t working anymore & Whumpee won’t shut up so Whumper pulls out -

⚡️⚡️ZAAAAPPP⚡️⚡️

#whumpee is gonna learn real quick #whumpblr #whump #whump stuff #just whumpy tings #whump blog #shock collar #electrocution #tw shock collar #tw electrocution #whumpers gonna whump #whumper #creepy whumper #sadistic whumper #taunting whumper #whumper x whumpee #trained whumpee #Whumper tools #tw torture

[serickswrites]

Compass

Warnings: captivity, restraints, torture, hunting, sadistic whumper

Whumpee trembled in the back of the truck. They had tried to slip the cuffs around their wrists for the last half hour as Whumper drove deeper and deeper into the woods, but it had been to no avail. They were stuck going to wherever Whumper wanted them to go, doing whatever Whumper wanted them to do. 

The truck suddenly stopped and Whumpee slammed into the rear window. Whumper chuckled as they climbed out. “Whoops, was a little eager to start our fun early.”

“Please,” Whumpee panted as the world spun around them, “let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I promise. Please,” they begged. 

Whumper grabbed Whumpee by the back of their neck suddenly. Their grip was hard and bruising as they began to fiddle with the cuffs on Whumpee’s wrists. As Whumpee struggled, Whumper squeezed tighter and tighter until Whumpee squealed with pain. 

“Quit it, will you? I’m trying to get these off you!” Whumper growled. 

The cuffs suddenly dropped from Whumpee’s wrists. Whumpee pulled their bruised wrists to their chest, their sudden freedom no longer welcomed. Before Whumpee could say anything, Whumper grabbed Whumpee’s right wrist and pulled. 

“Open your hand,” they ordered. 

Whumpee complied lest Whumper break their wrist. “I don’t understand. I--”

“You’re going to need this,” Whumper cut Whumpee off gruffly as they dropped a small compass in their hand. 

“I don’t understand. Please, let me go.”

Whumper smiled as they stared down at Whumpee. “I am.”

“Thank you, thank you,” the words tumbled from Whumpee’s mouth. They could not believe how lucky they were in this moment. 

“You have an hour, Whumpee. I’m letting you go for an hour before I go after you. You escape in that hour, that’s your freedom.” Whumper smiled pleasantly. “However, if at the end of the hour you’re still here,” Whumper’s eyes grew dark, “then I will find you. And I will hunt you down like the animal you are.”

“Please! I won’t tell anyone, I swear!” Whumpee had no idea where they were. Or even what direction safety was. How were they going to get out of there?

Whumper checked their watch. “You have fifty-eight minutes now. I’d get running if I were you. The closest town is about twenty miles due south. You make it there, you’re safe, Whumpee. Run, run for your life.”

Whumpee scrambled from the truck bed and started running. They had no idea where south was. And they had no idea how long it would take them to go twenty miles. But they had to get out of there. Had to before Whumper hunted them down. 

#serickswrites #whump #whumpblr #whump writing #whump community #tw captivity #tw restraints #tw torture #tw hunting #sadistic whumper #themerrywhumpofmay #merry whump of may 2023 #day 1 #no pain no gain #prompt: compass #queue

[chaotic-orphan]

Intoxicating Fear (Xiii)

Family Time

Continued from // Masterpost

*~*~*~*~*

Kit’s palms were sweating as he walked into the hospital, stopping at the reception desk and smiling at the receptionist, Heather. She smiled with her painted red lips when she saw Kit. It shouldn’t have made him nauseous, Heather always had red lipstick on and it suited her. She was very pretty with her blonde hair and big blue eyes and red lips, but it just reminded him now of Ambrose.

“Hey Kit, you goin’ up to your old man?”

“Yeah, if that’s okay.”

“Of course, doll. Go right ahead.”

Kit thanked her and walked on to the stairs. He needed the stairs to give him the time to gather his thoughts. What was he going to say? How was he going talk to him after knowing exactly what Ambrose was like? When he knew exactly what Omen was capable of… and Kit was getting off light.

His mind was still somewhat in tact. How was he supposed to look at him, the man that took Kit into his house and raised him, and know that he had been spared?

The guilt bloomed like tar in his gut; pitch black, oozing and heavy. Fuck, his hands were shaking. What if his powers flared up when he was in there? He couldn’t control his red lightning that Ambrose kept bringing out in him… and it only happened when he was… well, angry, but —

Fuck.

Kit paused on the final step to Mentor’s floor. How much of himself would he see in Mentor now? How much suffering? Would he recognise the commands that Ambrose plagued his mind with?

It didn’t matter.

That was the thought that forced him up the final step and down the hallway to the psych ward. It didn’t matter what he thought or what he would see or face, because it was Mentor. If the roles were reversed, Kit knows that Mentor would be in here to see him— every single day, not every week.

The power-proofed psych ward was on the basement floor so if patients wanted to jump out of windows they could do it with minimal damage to themselves or others.

Kit hated walking up to the doors and pressing the button to be buzzed in. Hated how he knew that even if somehow Mentor got better miraculously, he wouldn’t be able to get out himself and come home.

Kit hadn’t been to Mentor’s house since the docks either, he should probably pay it a visit, put on the heat. The thoughts of the empty house getting damp and lonely… well, Kit just knew that mentor wouldn’t want that.

The door buzzed and Kit pushed it open. He walked down the hall, took a right at the nurses station and then stopped at the last door on the left. It was opened, so was his window. Mentor sat in his armchair staring at the birds as they sang a happy tune.

Kit paused at the door, just watching Mentor as he hummed softly back to the birds. He looked peaceful, wearing his favourite maroon sweater that Kit had gotten him one Christmas and his blue and red chequered pyjama bottoms.

Kit swallowed and stepped into the room, but where before Mentor would have noticed him lingering in the doorway, he didn’t even turn his head as Kit walked into the room and sat on the edge of his bed.

“Mentor,” said Kit softly. The corner of Mentor’s lips quipped up into a small smile at Kit’s voice, and Kit wanted to cry. He caught him on one of his rare good days. “How are you doing?”

“The birds are singing, Kit,” Mentor replied, his gaze dreamy. “The sun is shining. You’re here. I’m somewhat lucid.”

He turned his head to Kit, his warm blue eyes smiling. “I think I’m doing pretty great.”

Kit couldn’t help himself. It wasn’t a conscious thought, but he had crossed the short distance between the bed and Mentor’s chair to throw his arms around his— his family. He wanted so badly to tell him everything that had happened. Why he hasn’t visited in the last three months. Explain everything, tell him he knew what Mentor was going through because he was going through it too.

He settled for Mentor’s arms wrapping around him in their strong warm embrace, not at all cold like Ambrose.

“Hey kiddo, it’s okay.”

“I just…” the words choked on the way out, so Kit just squeezed Mentor tighter. “I miss you so much.”

“It’s alright. You’re here now, it’s all that matters isn’t it? Right now. We don’t have long before some nurse will give out to me for having visitors eh?” Kit laughed despite himself and pulled away from Mentor, nodding. Mentor didn’t let Kit’s arm go, he gave it a small, reassuring squeeze. “So we need to catch up on everything important, right?”

Kit nodded, his heart overwhelmed with joy. “Yeah.”

“Go on, sit down,” said Mentor, gesturing to the bed and Kit obeyed.

Mentor leaned forward and clasped his hands together, dropping them between his knees and fixing his features into a more sombre expression. Kit had the sudden feeling that Mentor somehow knew about Ambrose and his whole tragic ordeal, but then something glimmered in his eyes — an old familiar mischief that Superhero said Kit inherited from Mentor.

“Who’s top of the premier league? What have I missed? What about the rugby, and your car guys— what’re they called?”

“Formula one?” Kit asked with a startled laugh. He forgot he could be happy, but Kit wasn’t thinking about anything other than how good he felt.

“Yeah! Formula one, Ferrari and all them. I need all the updates because they only have the shit channels in here, and none of them are sports.”

Kit laughed again before he descended into a recap of all the sports developments he could think of recently. Well, almost recently if he discounted the last three month gap in his knowledge.

From sports they went onto movies, from movies they talked about the house and Kit’s apartment and then Mentor asked: “and how about work? Are you still in the Hero business?”

Kit could feel his smile fade at the question. That was the question of the hour was the it? Was he still a Hero? Could he even be considered one anymore?

He ignored the quiet voice in his head that asked: did he even want to be one anymore?

Instead Kit skirted around the issue. He told Mentor that Superhero had taken over as the new Superhero, that Kit worked closely with him. “Oh yeah. I always liked Superhero. He’s a nice guy, good moral compass.”

Kit told him that they were still hunting down Omen and Mentor’s eyes narrowed into points as sharp as daggers. “No.”

Kit blinked. “What?”

“No,” Mentor repeated. He got out of his chair and he walked towards Kit, grabbing both of Kit’s hands and squeezing them before kneeling in front of Kit. Kit stared down, his eyes as wide as saucers. “Kit promise me! Promise me you won’t go near that man.”

“Mento—”

“Kit!” Mentor cut in, his voice urgent, his eyes pleading with all his soul. “Promise me! You’ll stay miles away from him. He is only pain. I spent twenty years in the Hero business and I had never met a monster before him, Kit. You promise me!”

“I—”

“Promise me!”

“I promise,” Kit whispered. He didn’t mean for it to come out so quietly, but the urgency that Mentor was speaking with— Kit couldn’t say no to him. Not when he was like this. Tension released from Mentor’s shoulders as he let out a sigh, squeezing Kit’s hands again before letting them go and getting to his feet.

He put a hand in Kit’s hair and Kit froze, remembering cold fingers yanking his head up — but no! This was Mentor, not Ambrose. Mentor ruffled his hair affectionately in the same way he used to when he first met Kit and then withdrew his hand.

“You’re a good kid, Kit.”

Kit scoffed as he got to his feet. “Kid? Reckon I could still take you old man.”

Mentor’s eyes lit up with that glimmering mischief that Kit missed so much. “Oh yeah? Think you’re a tough guy now?”

“Tough enough to knock you on your arse.”

Mentor hummed like a monk, bringing his hands together in a pray before moving into a kung-fu pose, palm stretched out in front of him raised towards the ceiling. “You have much yet to learn, young Padawan.”

When Mentor flexed his fingers for Kit to give him his best shot, Kit smiled softly and walked towards him, finally wrapping his arms around Mentor instead. Mentor stiffened initially then relaxed and enveloped Kit in his warmth. “Hey Kid. It’s okay.”

It wasn’t fair, none of this was fair. Mentor wasn’t old enough to be retired, he was only… what? Late thirties? Early forties? He shouldn’t be here in this fucking psych ward, he should be at home with Kit. He should still be the number one hero. He should… he should have his own mind back. If it wasn’t for Ambrose, Mentor could still have his life!

“Hey… hey! Hey!” Mentor started shouting and Kit let go of him, stepping away. Mentor’s face contorted into fear and anger and disgust as he backed up to the wall, gasping. “Hey! What?! What did you do to me?”

Kit’s eyebrows knitted down into pained expression. “Mentor I—”

That was all Kit got out before Mentor was on him. Mentor grabbed Kit by his t-shirt and slammed him back against the wall, knocking the air from his lungs with a harsh hiss. “Mentor!”

Mentor’s fists curled in tight to Kit’s shirt, knuckles digging into Kit’s collarbone painfully. “What did you do to me! Huh! Make it stop! Make them stop!”

Mentor yanked Kit forward and shoved him back harder against the wall. Kit stared with wide eyes, frozen in shock. Mentor… he had never seen Mentor this bad before, where he didn’t even recognise him.

The screaming had alerted some nurses that came running into the room, yelling Mentor’s name.

“You ruined me!” Mentor wailed as nurses put their arms on him and tried to get him off Kit. “You ruined me! You destroyed me!”

“I—” Kit began but cut himself off, no words ready to flow from his lips in his defence.

“Mentor we need you to calm down and let go of Kit,” one of the nurses said.

Mentor shook his head, angry tears bubbling up on the side of his eyes. “You have some nerve showing up here, Omen. I would recognise you anywhere.”

“What?” Kit asked, breathless. His voice coming out so broken, choked. The nurses grabbed Mentor’s wrists and pried him off of Kit.

“Kit, you have to go. I’m sorry.”

“I—”

“Kit, I know it’s very distressing but please.”

He didn’t even look for the nurse who asked him to go. He just left in a stupor.

“Monster! Monster! You’re letting him go! I’LL FIND YOU ONE DAY, OMEN!” Mentor screamed, his voice echoing down the hall all the way to Kit’s ears. Kit flinched at the horrid sound of it, too broken and crazed and angry. “MONSTER! MONSTER! YOU’RE LETTING HIM GO!”

Kit flinched as a hand hit his shoulder. “Oh sorry, Kit.”

Kit turned to face a nurse who had a sad, pitying smile on her face. He was a little numb to it, he didn’t even smile back. “I just want to say he does that with us all,” he said kindly. “He calls us all Omen, and I know it must be shocking to hear it.”

Kit cleared the lump in his throat. “How… uh, how is he?”

“His lucid moments are getting longer, stronger, he remembers more.”

“And these moments?”

The pity in the nurse’s eyes said it all. “Longer, stronger, he’s… well, you saw him.”

Kit nodded because he didn’t trust his voice to speak. He gestured to the door, and cleared his throat and the Nurse nodded. “Yeah, I’ll let you go. Just… just don’t ruminate on it, Kit. That’s not him, that’s not the Mentor you know.”

Yeah, Kit thought, and even his thoughts sounded heartbroken to his ears. I know.

That was the real cruelty of what Ambrose did to Mentor. He took away everything that was Mentor, that made him the number one Hero, a father figure, an older brother. Omen sucked all his goodness out and replaced it with his own sick poison to try and diminish Mentor to nothing but a raving lunatic that had to be locked in a psych ward for his own safety.

When he walked out into the fresh air, Kit threw up in the nearest bin because: that could have been him. Ambrose could any day decide that he’s bored of Kit and then melt his mind like he did to Mentor, he could do it with a simple thought. Destroy him…

No, the nurse was right. Mentor isn’t gone. He isn’t destroyed, Ambrose missed that part even though it’s probably what he wanted. The lucid Mentor Kit hugged and laughed with and grew up with, that was Mentor. Ambrose didn’t destroy Mentor, and he wouldn’t destroy Kit either.

Kit ditched the idea of going back to his shitty apartment where Ambrose was no doubt waiting for him, or possibly waiting for him which was worse.

Kit’s mind went back to the rules and he smirked.

You can’t move apartment.

Ambrose never said anything about moving back home. Technically, Kit wasn’t even moving. He had some clothes back home, he could just relax there for a while. Take a load off. He wasn’t moving anywhere.

He stopped into the shop to grab some groceries before taking the metro back to his real home. Kit and Mentor’s home. It was a nice house, not too big or too small.

Kit remembers when he saw it for the first time, he thought it was huge and too much. The lawn was perfectly mowed, Mentor telling Kit that they would need to plant some flowers or something to cheer it up a little. The hedges around the wall surrounding it made it feel so warm and cosy.

Now the grass was overgrown, the flowers dead, the hedges needed a good chop. Kit frowned as he stared at the house, the stone walls with their big windows that they would throw open in the summer. It was so strange that Mentor wasn’t here with him.

If he was he would rock up beside Kit and pat his back, tell him: “it just needs a bit of work and a bit of love.”

With the drab Autumn weather, the house had an eerie glow to it, like it knew Mentor wasn’t coming home too. That suited him fine, maybe Kit and the house could find some comfort in each other.

He opened the heavy wooden door, the sound of the familiar lock clacking open took, what felt like, a tonne weight off of Kit’s shoulders. It smelled the same way it always did, he couldn’t quite put a name to it, but it smelled like home.

The first thing he needed to do was put on the heat cause fuck it was cold in here. He deposited the groceries on the kitchen island and his keys before waking to the utility room and pressing the heat on.

Please have some heat, please have some heat.

With a click and a whirr the heat came on and Kit silently thanked Mentor and his need to over-prepare for everything, because what if it gets cold in summer. LBetter to have it than want it.

Kit put the groceries away, almost robotically. He wasn’t hungry so he didn’t eat. He clicked the kettle on and grabbed his favourite mug, plopping in four teaspoons of coffee. Then switched the kettle off and left his mug on the countertop.

He turned, crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his lower back against the counter, worrying his bottom lip.

He didn’t really want to do anything.

He didn’t remember what it was like to want something.

Well… he did, he just didn’t— he had wanted to not be in pain. He wanted to not be around Ambrose, but after that? He kind of forgot what it was like to have a life of his own. What it was like to live before Ambrose had taken him and tortured him.

He—

He rolled his eyes and let out an audible, frustrated groan. He should go to bed, or, catch up on all the sports he missed. At least then when he saw Mentor again he would be able to tell him about the most recent updates instead of months old information.

Kit walked to the living room and settled down into his favourite seat on the sofa, fighting everything in him not to glance over to Mentor’s empty seat. It’s not like ignoring the seat made him feel any better, he still had that aching, gnawing in his chest that made everything feel a little wrong. A little off.

His phone buzzed in his pocket while he was flipping mindlessly through the sports channels, none of the programs catching his interest or attention at all. Did he really used to watch TV for fun? He could always look up the results or whatever, but it wasn’t really the same. He pulled out his phone, and stared down at the lock screen.

A text from Ambrose lit up the screen. Two simple words, that filled Kit with an unreasonable amount of anger. It hadn’t even been a day yet without the bastard there to torment him. He couldn’t even go a day without gloating.

Ambrose: Miss me yet? :)

Kit turned his phone off. It was dramatic, but it made him feel a little better. As if Kit was the one in control and not the other way around. Kit sighed and threw the phone onto the couch, leaving it there as he turned on off the TV and stood.

Today was just… too much of everything and anything and maybe, just maybe, if he slept tomorrow when he woke up he’d feel a little less like a zombie. A little more human. The idea pushed him towards his bedroom, ascending the stairs with heavy feet.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

Orphanage roll-call (lmk if you wanna be added or removed): @beatenbruisedandbloody @404lunar1216 @whumpyworld @nameless-beanie @andithewhumper r @annablogsposts @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer @rejectedbytheempty @sleepy-pearl @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @sunshiline-writes @burningkittypoet @honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath @theonewithallthefixations @acer-gaysimpstuff @m3rakii @xxgalgurlxx @princess-bubble-blossom @blood-enthusiast t @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @andtheysaidspeaknoww @dutifullykrispyland @mononeigbour

#intoxicating fear #intoxicating #fear #whump series #whump writing #whump story #psych ward #emotional whump #hero villain writing #hero villain snippet #hero villain story #hero #writing #villain #hero whumpee #villain whumper #intelligent villain #sadistic villain #intelligent whumper #cruel whumper #sadistic whumper #traumatised whumpee #mind corruption #mind control #tw psych ward #exhausted hero #tired hero #creative writing #writeblr

[abhainnwhump]

This is a concept I can't get out of my head and I need to write it down so I don't put it in my draft where it wouldn't fit.

(Content warning: Pet whump, dehumanization, noncon body modification, therapy-can't-help-you-at-this-point Whumper)

Whumper wanted to dehumanize Whumpee as much as possible. They already force them to sleep in a dog bed, make them eat and drink from dog bowls, make them perform tricks, maybe even had them surgically altered, but that still isn't enough for this asshole Whumper.

They make them to only speak in barks/meows, whether by surgery, magic, or plain conditioning. The only way they can "talk" is through tones of voice. Whumper coos over how cute they are when they don't use words and bark when they're happy. Whumpee is so worn out that they just don't care, the praise is good.

After rescue, they need to relearn how to talk with words. Or maybe Caretaker finds a way to communicate through handle signals until/if they get to that point.

#pet whump #whump #pet whumpee #noncon surgery #whump tropes #whump writing #conditioned whumpee #conditioning whump #noncon body modification #mute whumpee #sort of #kitten whumpee #dog whumpee #sadistic whumper #fantasy whump #dehumanisation tw