#two whumpees

[reid-whump]

How To Punish Two Whumpees:

(Send asks for more prompts)

Chain the weakest/youngest one to a place just out of the stronger/oldest one’s reach and force them to watch as their partner slowly fades away, only to be revived at the last minute. Imagine them going through all stages of grief in five minutes because of how frail the other whumpee is.

Put them in seperate rooms where they can’t see each other at all, and force them to choose every week who gets which necessities (food, warmth, comfort etc). Bring them back together at the end of the month and see who is worse off.

If you can tell one of them is more protective of the other, punish them by carving the other whumpee’s initials into their skin, in a place where you know the other whumpee will notice it. Watch how they react to seeing their partner/friend’s sadness and knowing they caused it.

Force them to watch the whumpee who did nothing wrong get beaten until on the brink of death, and wait for them to finally offer themselves up because they can’t take it anymore. (Oldie but a goodie)

Give one an ice cold bath, and give one a boiling bath. Experiment by tasing then both and seeing how their reactions differ.

#whump prompts #captive whump #caretaker x whumpee #creepy whumper #whump prompt #defiant whumpee #whump fic #whump trope #whumpril2023 #team whump #conditioned whumpee #multiple whumpees #drugged whumpee #whump scenario #whump #two whumpees

[epiclamer]

Whumpees taking care of each other anyone?

Spiteful

Justice. Something Hero fought to bring to their city streets every day, but couldn’t care to fight to earn it for themselves.

They had been used and abused and worked until their legs gave out. They fought tooth and nail for their pay check twice a month just to receive the measliest dollars the agency had to give. They sat in the shower until the water ran cold, trying to wash the blood from their uniform, unsure of whom it belonged to.

Always giving; people drained them dry. Left for dead in abandoned alleyways or stripped of everything they had for performance reasons. It didn’t matter. They were reduced to a shell of a human being after it all. A shell that worked all day and sat empty all night. Every time they closed their eyes they saw flashes of everything again and again and again.

Reliving everything at night was worse than mulling it over every morning. At least they could tear themselves from the flashbacks if they were awake, nightmares weren’t kind enough to allow one that option.

A knock on the door sounded to their left, it barely registered through the fog that clouded the hero’s mind. They couldn’t bother to get up. It was probably a solicitor. Odd at this hour, but not impossible.

When it sounded again, slightly more urgent, Hero’s numbness was overcome by pure rage. They were angry. They were furious. They couldn’t explain why. But they were.

They shot up from their seat on the couch, storming over to their front door and ripping it open, sending the figure on the other side tumbling back. One millisecond away from shouting in their face when they recognized the terrified face at their feet.

Villain.

Hero didn’t have to think twice before they put their full force into aiming to slam the door on the other. Villains foot catching it with just a sliver of room left as they winced, feeling the wood bash into their ankle. For a moment they looked hopeful, like they had caught the break of a century, but the hero was not so easily deterred, and in their fit they slammed the door over and over and over again until the villain retreated their foot in pain.

Finally, the door clicked into its frame with a bang and Hero slipped the lock shut. Turning their back to their enemy and heading back to their seat on the couch.

Yet their rest didn’t last much longer than a minute. Their dissociative state interrupted by the villain crashing in through the window.

Their first instinct was to kill the villain. However, the moment the thought reached their rational brain they almost threw up.

It was only a confirmation that they were falling apart. That sooner than later they’d lose everything to a plea of insanity and they’d die. The agency couldn’t keep someone as valuable as a hero out on the streets with precious information, they were a loose end.

Heroes weren’t allowed to retire. They bowed their head to a bullet before they ever got the chance to be free.

Maybe that’s what was wrong with them. Maybe Hero was too aware of the agency watching their every move. Keeping track of their vitals, forcing them to take lie detector tests, controlling their income, monitoring their diet. Maybe the stress was killing them from the inside out.

“I didn’t… didn’t know where-else to go—” Villain cutoff with a pained breath. Clutching their stomach with a vice-like grip in one hand and their ankle in the other.

The hero’s demeanour stayed numb, not angry any longer just a husk of their former self once more. Standing to their full height, Hero approached the villain on the floor. Taking note of the blood on their costume and coating their hands, they watched a glimpse of their past cloud their vision and suddenly felt sick.

They didn’t kneel down, they didn’t inspect or rush to care for the villain, they didn’t and they wouldn’t. “The day you betrayed me you gave up all rights to ever being allowed near me again. Let alone in a friendly manner like whatever the fuck you think this is.”

Villain gasped, their pain seeming less and less manageable by the minute. Hero stayed unbothered, not even the tone in their voice strayed an octave. “Y-You shut me out…”

“I shut you out because you broke my trust. Tell me, Villain, why would I ever let you in?”

“I-I don’t need a fucking l-lecture.” The criminal hissed, clenching their jaw to bite their tongue. “I’m a villain, i-it’s what I do.”

Hero’s attention strayed from the conversation, head filing through first-aid reciprocals as they walked casually towards their kitchen. Opening the top right cupboard and pulling out the medical kit before turning back—almost robotically—and dropping it by the villain’s side.

They snatched it up faster than the speed of light, taking their advantage while the hero was friendly enough to offer it. They weren’t going to test their luck at seeing how long until the other would pry it back from their hands, dangling it above their head while they struggled to stay alive. Villain shivered, they wouldn’t push it, they needed the help.

Swallowing the lump in their throat as their shaky hands peeled back the layers of their suit to reach the wound, Villains eyes watched their enemy intently. The way their eyes were blank, their movements heavy and accounted for, head lulled slightly forwards as well as a hunch in their spine as they sat back down on the couch.

“You look l-like shit.”

The crime-stopper didn’t react. Villain wasn’t even sure if they had been heard.

Speeding through the rest of their stitches and patchwork, once Villain was semi-sure they wouldn’t rip and their bandages would hold, they stood up. Making sure to avoid any pressure on their bad ankle as they hobbled to the hero’s kitchen with the open first-aid kit.

They zipped the bag closed after they had shoved everything inside and dumped it under the sink. Hero would find it if they needed it, just might take them a second or two.

It only took a brief once over of the hero’s food supply for the villain to pull out their phone, dialling the nearest take-out place they could find. “I’m ordering pizza.”

“That’s not agency approved for my diet—” Villain was practically relieved at the provoked reaction from their nemesis.

Still alive. Barely.

“I don’t give a fuck. I’m buying pizza and you’re going to eat it.” Stepping over to the couch they placed their phone on the back of it, balancing the screen on the plush pillows. Their—now free—hands made their way to the Hero’s shoulders, gently and carefully kneading at the muscles. “And you’re going to be grateful and pretend to like it no matter what, understood?”

Hero couldn’t repress the way their mouth watered or their stomach grumbled at the thought. “I hate you.”

And the line finally picked up.

#Oooo #hehehee #im dyinggg #hero #villain #hero x villain #villain x hero #heroes #villains #hero and villain #villain and hero #heroes and villains #villains and heroes #heroes x villains #villains x heroes #two caretakers #two whumpees #multiple caretakers #multiple whumpees #whumpee #caretaker #hero whump #villain whump #villain whumpee #hero whumpee #hero caretaker #villain caretaker

[blackrosesandwhump]

March of Pain Day 7: Please

CW: mild lady whump, male whumpee, magic whump

“Please, let him go!” the princess cries, straining desperately at the ropes binding her to the stake.

Held chokingly tight in the enchantress’s grasp, the knight struggles a final time then gives up, his body turning limp. The enchantress's magic blade hovers an inch from his abdomen, ready to impale him through. He can’t fight anymore.

But the princess can.

“Let him go,” she repeats, summoning power from deep inside, power that sends pleasant fire spreading up her arms. The ropes suddenly feel less tight.

“And why would I do that?” the enchantress questions, her voice distorted and inhuman. Her creaturely form, towering and scaly black like a giant serpent’s, looms over the knight and the princess, overshadowing them.

But the princess will not let the shadow overcome her.

She takes a deep breath. The last resort. She might regret what she’s about to do, but she has to save the knight, and all other hope seems lost.

“Because I asked nicely the first time.” She closes her eyes and lets her magic unbind itself inside her.

@marchofpain

#marchofpain2024 #marchofpainday7 #please #alt prompt #whump #female whumpee #male whumpee #two whumpees #magic whump #magic whumper #evil whumper #captivity #restrained #choking #princess #knight #blackroseswrites #fairytale whump #whump writing #whump drabble #whump snippet #ropes #magic powers #begging #pleading

[a-whumped-tea]

{Escape attempt(?) and vague mention of damaging Whumpee's legs}

…Was that Whumpee?

I had to double-take, but that definitely looks like Whumpee from across the street. 

Why are they here? They’re supposed to be at home. 

This isn’t home, this is downtown. 

What the hell?

Did they run?

How did they get out of the house?

Whatever. I’m just going to cross the street, follow them to a more secluded place, and then take them back home.

..They’re walking faster.

They’re glancing back at me and putting their hood up. They know I’ve found them. They’re more stupid than I thought if they think they can lose me like this. 

Whumpee, you idiot. That alley is a dead end, but of course, you’d know that wouldn’t you? Is it the guilt of running or is it the panic of getting caught that is getting you all turned around?

Regardless, I'm here now. They're trapped. I hope they had fun on their little walk because they won't be able to walk for some time after this.

Gotcha by the arm now. Pulling them closer to me and taking off that damn hood so I can- 

…Ah. …This isn’t Whumpee. …The differences are more apparent up close.  

…Sigh. 

Can’t let them go now.

What’s your name, sweetheart? Whumpee Two? It’s pretty. Suits you. 

Let’s go home.

No no, don’t try to scream. That won’t end well for you. 

Just be quiet, empty your pockets, and follow me.

 @painsandconfusion Thank you for the inspiration.

#escape attempt #but not quite #sand #first person #1st person #first person prompt #whump writing #whumpee #whump #whump community #whump prompt #whump scenario #whump ideas #whumper #captivity whump #whump idea #two whumpees #multiple whumpees #a whumped tea #whump tag #drabble #long prompt #whump drabble #I hate tagging

[courtneygacha]

Whump Prompt 3#!

Two Whumpees that care for each other.

It starts when Whumpee A becomes so stressed out about work/school/whatever, that Whumpee B starts having to be their reminder to eat, drink water, sleep, shower. Because if they weren’t there, Whumpee A would be dead in a matter of days with how little they take care of themselves.

However, because Whumpee B is so focused on making sure Whumpee A’s needs are met, they don’t remember to take care of their own, and it’s only until Whumpee B becomes so weak and malnourished and exhausted that they faint in Whumpee A’s arms when they realize “Hm, maybe I need a reminder too.”

The two work together to keep each other from dying. They’re like Tamogotichis!

#whump #whumpblr #whump prompt #two whumpees #whump writing

[actress4him]

June of Doom 2023

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Taglist: @painful-pooch

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

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

.

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That was my food.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

“Can you roll one over to me?”

“They’re empty.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[distinctlywhumpthing]

In League — Another Strike

Masterlist

CW: Late-19th century, explicit language, indentured servitude, starvation/isolation as punishment, beating. Whumper pitting whumpees against each other and being a bully.

August wasn’t very good at waiting out his week-long punishment in the attic. 

By the fourth day, he thought he would go mad from staring at the same walls and eaves. Shivering on the thin mattress, hunger gnawing at his belly and only fistfuls of snow to stave off thirst. Fionn hadn’t so much as glanced at him, let alone spoken to him, since the caning. All his walking-dead-ringer did was sleep. Or at least that’s what he pretended to do while August was awake. 

So, August started pacing. 

The full length of the attic. Making a narrow circle as wide as the steep angle of the roof would allow without having to stoop. Back and forth, back and forth. 

He once saw a lion at the fair down in the village square. The older boys from Elmwood had goaded him to stand nearer and nearer the bars of its cage but the beast had no eyes for him. Focused only on pacing back and forth in its prison where it had already worn a track into the grass, heavy paws treading an endless tight loop. Eventually, he’d wrapped his fingers around the bars to the ill-intentioned approval of his audience but the lion never paused. The rest of the servants peeled off while he lingered, feeling sorry for the poor creature. 

August nearly jumped out of his skin when he turned to find Fionn sitting up, staring at him. 

Colour rose to his cheeks and he felt himself wilt under Fionn’s gaze. “I—I’m sorry,” he said lamely, “‘twasn’t my intention to wake you.” Just another strike to add on top of the previous twenty-four mercilessly beaten into him for August’s mistakes.

Fionn shook his head, eyes already falling. “It’s too late.” His voice was barely a whisper. 

Hopelessness welled up in August’s throat, carrying with it the tide of shame and dejection he’d held at bay until his eyes filmed with tears and there was no way he could open his mouth without crying.  

But Fionn didn’t want his worthless apologies and he hadn’t been speaking of disrupted sleep anyway. Keats burst through the door and within seconds, Fionn was on his knees again and August was gasping for breath because the lackey charged with holding him this time did so with all four thick fingers down the back of his shirt collar. 

As though no time had passed at all. 

Except for some reason, Fionn took off his shoes and stockings this time, and Keats shoved him so he fell onto his hands and stayed there. August’s stomach dropped as Keats pulled off his belt, doubling back the thick leather but when it rained down on Fionn it was not at all where August expected.

Keats drew blood before August could pull himself together to voice any manner of protest, it trickled down Fionn’s bony ankles to disappear into his trousers. Droplets of it sprayed onto the walls and ceiling with each swing of the belt. 

Fionn eventually fell onto his elbows, holding his head. He cried out in time with each lash, sound muffled by his arms, but somehow still managed to keep his feet in the air for Keats to whip. 

Again and again and again. 

August had never even started counting and now he was too afraid to speak. He couldn’t make this worse with more thoughtless, impulsive stupidity. He had already made everything so much worse.  

He flinched when something landed on his cheek and, even though he knew what he’d find when he lifted a hand to his cheek, he was unable to mask his distress when his fingertip came away stained with Fionn’s blood. 

Keats winked. 

Just as quickly as they came, they went. Without a single word.

After a few beats of silence, August made a half-start toward Fionn. If only to fall onto his knees and apologise or help him find a way to lie comfortably. But as if he could sense August’s intentions, Fionn turned to glare up at him, hatred plain as day on his tear-stained face. 

August backed away, biting his lips together and willing himself not to let any of his own undeserved tears fall. He folded himself against the far wall, facing the corner and hugged his knees to his chest. 

Even he could understand what was being left unsaid, by Keats and Fionn alike. 

He was entirely alone here.

@whumpy-writings @writer-reader-24 @deluxewhump @no-whump-on-main @maracujatangerine @painsandconfusion @wolfeyedwitch @briars7 @gala1981 @redwingedwhump @whumpflash @poeticagony @annablogsposts @fleur-alise @magziemakeswhatever @neverthelass

#late-19th century #historical whump #indentured servitude #whump #captivity whump #captive whumpee #two whumpees #starvation tw #blood mention tw #beating #punishment whump #emotional whump #hurt no comfort #August is angsty in any century

[short-form-whump]

It feels as though the world around the Whumpee has slammed on its brakes, giving them tunnel vision as they sit and stare at the scene before them. They feel a tight pressure across their chest as their breath refuses to move either in our out as the sight of what the Whumper has just done to the other Whumpee. Unbound in their chair but no less frozen in place, they stare in abject horror as the Whumper walks away from the other bloodied Whumpee on the ground who had just been sitting beside them just moments ago. The Whumper calmly tucks their shirt back into their pants and examines their knuckles, giving an air of someone who has just helped someone pop their hood on the highway, not someone who very well might have just committed murder. They notice the stricken Whumpee watching them and approaches. Their words sound underwater to the Whumpee at first, only breaching their brain when they come paired with crouching to meet the Whumpee’s eyeline and a hand rested on their shoulder. “You ok?” the Whumper asks again, the words finally hitting the Whumpee’s ears. “Take a breath,” they coach. The Whumpee’s eyes tear away from their peer on the ground to meet the Whumper’s face, and they begin to nod uncontrollably. “I’ll do it,” they suddenly start to say. “I’ll do whatever you want.” The Whumper gives them a squeeze on their shoulder and a comforting couple pats. “I know, kid. It’s alright.”

#whump blog #whump #whump writing #whumpblr #whump scenes #two whumpees #Whumper #beaten #captured #comforting Whumper #shock

[whumpforthesoul]

Whump Prompt #001

Character A was injured.

Yeah. Yeah, that's what Character B had to do.

Had to find the blood.

So simple, right? Where was the blood coming from? B had to find the wound. Or A would be in danger.

So easy.

Well, it would be if B's vision stopped hazing. If he could see just a little better. If his hands could stop shaking. Blood kept dripping into B's eyes, annoying the absolute shit out of him. He had to find the blood right now, or A could get more hurt.

If only B could differentiate his own blood from A's....

#👀👀👀 #yummy yum yum #whump #whump prompt #blood #injuries #character whump #injured whump #two whumpees

[cryptidwritings]

Dark Water

Chapter 45 : Dignity

prev | next | masterlist

cw: derogatory use of the word 'whore', heavily implied noncon, implied past noncon, convinced (not quite forced) to drink.

...

The storm was still alive as Reid dragged Isidro back to the dock. His feet slipped in the mud as the horses brayed behind him; frightened by the most recent crack of thunder.

“Ye couldn’t even answer what ye were!” Reid laughed through the rain, “My brother pegged ye for a whore. Now I know he was right!”

Isidro's bloodied lips curled in a snarl, “Your brother was a fu- gah!”

Before he could finish, Reid had his hair in a fist, pulling his head back with the other around the chain behind his back. The sudden movement made him dizzy, and he fell back into Reid’s chest.

“Best not speak ill of ye future mates, aye? Seein’ as how ye just lost ye only one.”

The pirate slammed Isidro face-first onto the table. His heart drummed against his chest in a panic, catching in his throat as lightning flashed. The rain kept on it’s onslaught, pummeling Isidro down into the table where his body shook from the cold; running down his aching body and to his frozen toes.

Then the rain settled, and Isidro felt a warmth on his back, and the singe of pressure on his hand. He dared to look, realizing with horror that Reid was draped over him—lips pressed to his ear.

“Ye old boss knew what ye were good for.”

His voice had danger dripping from his lips. Isidro stilled, suddenly not cold at all. Instead he was focused on the feeling of Reid’s body on his, and the way his leg had found it’s way between his own, kicking them wide as he pinned him down.

“Maybe I should follow suit. Let any pirate that comes ashore have their way with ye.” Reid’s breath fell on him. “While I take my time with Theodora.”

Isidro trembled. Reid’s hands gently trailed down his scarred back before lingering at his waistline.

“In fact, I think I’ll like the way ye scream just as much as her.”

The threat made him try and wiggle out from underneath, earning the sharpness of Reid’s elbow in the middle of his back.

“No, no,” his low laugh rolled into the Isidro's ear, which carried to his heart that beat against his chest like the fist of a man buried alive.

Suddenly, he was reeling through the past, wondering what he had done to provoke this. The questions, and their possible answers, ensnared him into a suffocated, panicked silence.

He drowned in the ceaseless rain, unable to keep his broken sobs from falling over his swollen tongue which quickly turned into screams of pain mixed with sounds of desperation—a siren of the war within his body.

Isidro grit his teeth and retreated, allowing the pirate’s mocks to fade into the background; instead tuning in to the rain on his skin, and the wind wicking across his bare back that ached from the cold and sent a deep chill down his exhausted spine.

When the pirate tossed his spent body back into the water-logged cell, he curled in on himself, letting the water wash away the lingering burn of Reid’s fingers indented into his skin.

“See ye tomorrow, fish bait.”

Isidro lie in a heap, unable to feel much except for the throbbing of his hand and the burning hollowness at his center. He blinked, and retreated further, breathing out with an exhausted groan as another shiver wracked his wearied muscles.

“Y-yes, sir.”

...

Reid slammed the door and kicked off his muddy boots. Moss hadn’t moved, though now his legs were splayed out in a V, and his back was fully against the bottom of the frame.

The pirate passed by, making it to his bed where he changed out of his sopping clothes; stopping at his shirt. Bright red streaks of blood were in the fibers where he had leaned over the sailor’s severed fingers. He traced his thumb over the stain, then balled up the shirt and tossed it in the back of the fire.

The lad didn’t stir even after his shackle was loosed. Reid left the other side there even though it really didn’t belong on his dead brother’s bed. Maybe it would serve as a neat little reminder. He might’ve promised Moss a semblance of freedom, but he never said it would last.

“Ye still hungry?”

Moss shook his head.

The pirate retreated with a tired sigh and swiped a half-full bottle from the table. He sat down in front of the fire and leaned back, warming his toes as he uncorked it with his teeth. It went down with a splash.

“Full belly, liquor, a roaring fire, and some rain.” He twisted around to peer at Moss from his chair. “Can’t ask for much else, can ye, lad?”

Moss still didn’t look up.

“C’mere. Drink with me.”

“I'm fine, thanks.”

The usual bitter bite in his tone was gone, replaced by the flat response. Reid smirked, then took a small sip, wiping the pleasure off his face along with the small dollop on the back of his hand.

“Sure ye are,” He held the bottle out. “Ye friend lies to ye and ye jus' fine, aye?”

There was a pause, filled by the rain and the crackling fire. Then there came a quiet shuffle, and Moss’ arm appeared, stretching toward the bottle from his hands and knees. Reid pulled it away slightly, looking into Moss’ eyes before flicking out a finger towards the only other chair.

“Take a seat, lad.”

He didn’t argue. No one in their right mind would argue against a chair and a bed, but friendship and all the other sentimental garbage that comes with it clouds even a sane person’s judgement. He’d seen it; experienced it himself. It wasn’t worth the trouble.

Moss crawled, his bad leg trailing behind him awkwardly like an injured dog. He lift himself into the chair, releasing a pained groan as he slowly settled back, then sighed. His body looked tense, with unsure eyes muddied by the orange flame as he massaged the muscles around his wound. Another roll of thunder came and went.

Reid took a swig, then handed it over. Moss grabbed it and put it under his nose; coughing after he took a whiff. Then he drank, coughing again.

“More.”

He shook his head. “I can't.”

“Why not?”

“I don't want to.”

“Ye sure?”

Reid didn’t bother looking at him again, instead focusing on the fire, tossing in the memories of a moment ago as the remnants of his shirt were wicked up by the flames—carried up the chimney in a plume of black smoke.

The lad drank again. Then again.

Before long, Moss’ cheeks were painted with a bit of color stretching across his nose. His eyelids drooped, and his body settled into the chair.

Giving the lad a double dose of the powder was enough to knock him out hard enough to allow Reid to re-dress his wound. It was red and swollen, with swamp algae clinging around and inside it. He flushed it out, and Moss barely responded. If a little powder did that, he couldn’t wait to see what the liquor would do.

“Still not hungry?”

Another shake of the head, and the bottle dropped to the ground.

“Ye feel hurt.” Reid sighed, rocking with a bit of contemplation. “Can’t help that. Everyone has somethin’ to hide. ‘Specially the likes of him.”

Moss grunt. “Tha’s not what bothered me.”

“Oh?”

The lad shook his head. “I’m gonna lie down...” his eye flashed over to Reid, then back to the fire. “If that’s okay.”

Reid smiled. “Aye, lad. Just fine.”

He used the chair to stand, then limped away. His right foot hit the floor with almost his entire weight, making it only a few steps before he resolved to crawl again.

The door shut, and Reid pushed himself out of the chair and towards the small cupboard where another five full bottles were nestled, safe. He opened another and took a drink, letting it fill him out and lift him over to his bed just a few paces away.

The whole ordeal made him almost optimistic. He lie down, setting the bottle on the ground and smirked, not even bothering to lock the door before falling asleep.

...

taglist: @sparrowsage @kixngiggles @honey-is-mesi @annablogsposts @sunshiline-writes

#pirate whump #two whumpees #whump series #captivity whump #tw restraining #manhandling tw #tw implied noncon #drinking tw

[whumper-whimsy]

Implied past kidnapping, death threat, implied murder

"I get to pick..?" First Whumpee looked around at the array of tools and weapons on the wall and table.

"For Second Whumpee," Whumper reiterated. "I know how much you hate them. You may be as harsh as you like. Kill em, for all I care. Anything you pick, I'll use on them."

First Whumpee considered this, approaching the table slowly. They trailed their fingers gently against the stained baseball bat, pulling away. They looked through the knives, the guns, the axes- even a chainsaw hung on the wall.

Second Whumpee, who was bound and gagged in the corner, let out another muffled cry.

First Whumpee had despised Second Whumpee all their life, even before they both had been taken. They were too weak, too sensitive and Whumper didn't even try to hide their preference for them. Honestly, they wouldn't mind if Second Whumpee died. It'd be better than being bound to them with three inches of chains every night.

"Pick wisely, this'll be your only chance," Whumper warned.

"I think," First Whumpee started, speaking slowly, "I don't want them dead right now..."

I don't wanna be forced to clean that mess, they thought.

They grabbed an axe from the wall, testing its weight in their hands. They handed it to Whumper, avoiding eye contact. "Take a limb off, maybe?"

"An axe, huh? Bold." Whumper nodded approvingly, holding it in one hand.

Second Whumpee screeched behind the gag.

First Whumpee ignored them, reaching onto the table to get a pair of pliers. "These, too."

"Alright." Whumper grinned.

•••

Both Whumpees had been brought back to the main basement, and Second Whumpee had been released of their restraints.

"Alrighty." Whumper turned to First Whumpee, and in one swift movement grabbed them by the collar and slammed them to the wall, hooking on the chains.

"What?" First Whumpee protested, pulling against the chains. "What are you doing?"

Whumper ignored them, kneeling down to Second Whumpee. Their hand caressed the other's cheek with care. "You're okay. Here you go."

To first Whumpee's horror, Whumper handed Second Whumpee the axe and pliers.

"Go crazy, darling."

#whump #whump blog #whump community #whump scenario #whump trope #whump tropes #two whumpees

[blackrosesandwhump]

March of Pain Day 25: I'm Sorry

CW: blood, implied death, emotional whump, male/female whumpees

“I’m sorry,” the knight whispers, drawing close to the princess’s bedside. “I failed you.”

The princess’s face is pale, nestled in pillows barely whiter than her skin. With her closed eyes and gently folded hands, he can almost imagine she’s sleeping peacefully. But the vials at her bedside tell a different story. One that, thanks to the knight’s failure to retrieve the water of life, will have only one ending.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, sinking to his knees. Fresh blood blooms through the bandages covering his wounded arm, but he doesn’t notice. It doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing does.

“Pardon me,” comes a voice from behind him. “If I may be of service?”

“Go away. There’s nothing you can do.”

“Nothing?” says the voice. Footsteps cross the floor; the knight glances up. Someone is standing next to him, someone dressed in fabric that ripples like snakeskin. The knight’s gaze travels upward and meets the stranger’s eyes. A chill of fear skitters down his back but quickly turns to a thrill of hope at the man’s next words.

“I can bring her back, make her whole again as she never was before. And I can heal those wounds,” the stranger adds, nodding at the knight’s bandages.

The knight starts to speak, ready to beg for help, but the stranger cuts him off.

“That is, if you make me a deal. Your soul, for the princess’s life.”

@marchofpain

#marchofpain2024 #day 25 #alt prompt #i'm sorry #fairytale whump #implied death #deal with the devil #blood #injured whumpee #two whumpees #knight #princess #emotional whump #failure #guilt #bandages #blackroseswrites #whump snippet #whump drabble #whump challenge #giving up #death tw #royal whump #fantasy whump #female whumpee

[scunneredzombie]

First Pair

Some headcanon snippets of Trick & Dapper’s short time as twins. These versions of Chase and Jameson belong to @beerecordings’s My Brothers Corrupted! I’m super rusty, but these turned out interesting. :)

[cw: collars, amnesia, implied injuries, bruises, suicidal ideation, abuse between brothers, manipulation, distress]

——————————————

When Dapper woke up that morning, there was someone beside him. He didn’t react much, it just meant Anti was done with whatever he’d set off for. “Be good Carve, I have some work to do. You might feel something odd. Don’t worry your pretty head about it, all will be well soon. Very well.” Dapper had been sad to sleep alone, but now, he has Anti. It’s only when he reaches up to rest his hand on his brother’s neck that he realizes something is very wrong.

His hand brushes something… soft. Pressed tight against pale, bruised flesh. Dapper raises his head and finds in bed beside him what was, until very recent, Chase Brody.

Dapper tumbles backward out of bed in confusion, whistling and pounding on the floor to call for Anti and Red. Chase- or whomever he is now, wakes with a startled snort. His fading green hair is already drenched in sweat, but somehow it looks even sweatier once he sees Dapper losing it.

“Wh-what is it?! What happened, bud?” Not-Chase (but fuck, does he sound like him) jumps up and tries to wrap himself around him, but Dapper balks at him and scurries back, wheezing. Not-Chase freezes on the floor and, seemingly hurt by the rejection, curls his legs against his chest instead, staring after him.

Dapper blinks, takes a breath. Not-Chase isn’t acting terrified and saddened by him anymore, so Dapper supposes Anti’s the one who put him here. Unsure, but less so, Dapper scoots back over to him, on his knees across from him. Not-Chase watches him move, seemingly just as unsure, and nods sending him a tense smile. Meeting eyes a shared thought crosses between them - “I know nothing about you, but I love you with everything I am.”

“Do you know why you’re here? Do you remember...” Dapper pauses. “Anything?”

“U-um,” Chase touches his head, distant. Gaping hole where his head should be. “No, man, not much. Anti… Anti. Woke up to him. Gave me th-this.” He gestures to a soft, yellow collar, the softness Dapper had brushed against before. Dapper subtly reels back from him, with a look that makes him burn with shame even though he doesn’t know why. “D-don’t,” is what says, in a soft beg. “Besides, you have one too.”

Dapper’s hands fly to his neck, but rather than the old rope or chain, he now feels the same soft texture. Silk. A silk collar with a thick buckle. Dapper’s hands lower, shaking. “What colour,” he signs dryly, no question on his face.

“Black, it’s cute, kind of. Mine’s yellow, see, like sunlight.”

“I can’t see colour, C-happy.”

“Oh.”

They sit together in silence for a bit, one curled one crisscrossed. And Dapper feels himself shatter, just like the last time he shattered, but only hurting worse each time. Yet somehow, in merciful seconds, he reconstructs and focuses on his brother instead.

“Do you know why Anti put you in my room? Did he say?”

“N-no, he didn’t. Just- I woke up and I barely knew anything except um… Anti and you.”

“Me?” Dapper blinks. Now that he didn’t expect. Why him and not the brother he came here with, or even Red who’d helped break him in? “Just me?”

“Y-yeah just you and Anti. And… someone. Um, far away. Glasses. Broken ones.”

“Did Anti tell you your name?”

“My… name? I don’t… Oh, yeah, he said you know it! Or, wait. No, it’s… Trickshot?” His cadence is more like a question.

“Anti likes to call you that sometimes,” Dapper shrugs. “Makes sense.” Seemingly calmed by Dapper being more knowledgeable, Trickshot begins to toy with Dapper’s cuff links, sighing.

“I don’t really have anything to talk about, but you don’t talk either so we can just be quiet or we can try-“

The two locks on the door click open. Both of them startle, but Trickshot seems hopeful while Dapper is less so.

“There’s my boys,” says Anti, walking in wearing vibrant green hair, blue eyes, and a face that’s near-identical Trick’s, though missing the heavy bandages and bruising. “Done saying hi?” Dapper, unsure, holds out his hand to Anti, who hums and leans down to kiss his palm. Trick looks on, tilting his head to the side.

“Um, hi Anti. Yes, we’re done, if you want us to be.” Trick follows Dapper’s lead and holds out his palm. Anti chuckles, and kisses his as well.

“So sweet on me, Trickshot, not like a few weeks ago huh. You’re my good boy now, right?”

“Yes Anti,” he says, sending a tight-lipped smile. “Can- c-can you- can you explain anything, please, sir? My head hurts a-and I don’t know what’s really going on.”

“You’ll learn soon. Silly Stammer.” The nickname makes Trick’s cheeks flush pink, lowering his head. “Dapper knows all the rules, he’ll teach you how to behave. Until then, I brought you some puppy chow,” Anti smiles, making himself laugh. He hands them each a small can of pre-prepared chicken salad. Hungry – fuck, make that starving – Trickshot takes his can in earnest and peels back the lid, digging in with his bare fingers. Anti smiles and pets his hair as he walks past.

He leans down to Dapper tugging him forward by his collar, whispering. “Help me break him in, got it, pup? You play nice, and I’ll treat you like my sweet baby. You turn him against me, and I’ll gut him in front of you.” Dapper, stays silent, eyes wide. Anti lets go of him and flops down on his king bed. “I’m so fucking tired, the other two are such a fucking headache ugh.”

“Other two?” Trick asks, touching his head, eyes seeming to get foggy.

“Yeah, Trick, your brothers in the other room. You only see them in an emergency.”

“Does one of them have glasses?” Trick blurts.

Anti sits up, and looks at him blankly. “Don’t talk about your other brothers, Trickshot.”

“Okay, Anti.”

Dapper glances between them, head kept low. He scoots over to Trick, and reaches out to eat with him, smiling in the friendliest way he can muster. Trick seems calmed by this, tension falling out of his shoulders. Dapper knows what to do. Dapper knows what seems to make Anti pleased. Follow Dapper and you’ll be good.

—

Thunk, thunk.

“I’m bored Dap, play ball with me!”

Thunk, thunk.

“Dapperrrr,” Trick whines, ball bouncing back to his hand. Dapper sticks his tongue out at him and turns back to his sketchbook. “Fine, Anti? Wanna play?”

“Trick, you’re insufferable. Toss me it!” Anti sticks up his hand, and Trick tosses it to him, laughing. Anti smiles, observing his pets. The twins have matching hair, short shaved on the sides, and long and floppy on top. They wear matching yellow hoodies with suns stitched over the left breast, their collars tucked underneath. Anti tosses back the ball extra hard, but Trick catches it no problem, giggling.

“Nice try, but I’m literally named Trickshot, you’ll never get one past me, Anti!”

Anti fake groans in despair, glitching at the edges, a laugh overlapping in the background. They toss back and forth, Anti throwing at wild angles – yet Trick catches it every time. Anti pauses for a moment, and then throws the ball into Dapper’s back roughly. Dapper nearly jumps a foot in the air and whirls around.

“Trickshot why would you do that!” Anti says scolding.

“W-wait what?”

“Dapper, sick ‘em.”

Dapper grins and gets into a fighter’s bow, tackling Trick backwards. They tussle on the floor laughing and teasing. Anti watches on with brown eyes and downy hair. Such fun to watch pets play. Every joyful moment solidifies Trick is in his control.

—

Dapper lays on the bed numbly, a thick rope around his neck overlapping his collar, a fresh bruise on his cheek. Trick lays white-faced beside him, tears streaking his face.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I tried to stop him, I don’t know why, why did he hit you, I thought he loves us, doesn’t he love us, Dapper, JJ, doesn’t he love us?“ Trick is babbling, clinging to Dapper’s cutesy dog print collared shirt. The small corgis and dachshunds are stained with nose-bled blood. Dapper is too tired, too distant, too numb to comfort his twin. Anti is not happy. Anti is really upset with him. Dapper had tried to refuse to come to bed because he was certain there were spiders on the sheets. Anti had tried dragging him, and when that didn’t work, he’d slammed his face against the floor to knock him down, then tied him in place. Trick screamed and pulled at Anti’s shirt, trying to get them apart, but it was no use as this only made Anti leave in a huff.

Dapper shivers as he feels crawling on his back. Trick is panting through his sobs. Dapper reaches slowly up to touch his twin’s cheek, the only comfort he can handle. Their watery eyes meet, and there is only matching hopelessness to be found.

A while later, Anti returns and shoves himself between them, ignoring their stifled crying. After an hour, once Trick believes Anti to be asleep, he calls out. “Dapper… Dapper I think the only way out of this is to die. Dap, I think the only way out is- to- t-to-“ Trick is cut off by his own stammer and dissolves into more tears. Dapper only hides his gaze from Anti, knowing full and well his older brother is not asleep.

And in a few days, when Dapper wakes, he’ll be alone again. When Dapper wakes it will be to blame and beatings and “it’s all your faults” from Anti. Dapper will sink into hypnotism so deep he cannot think, with glares and hatred from a twin who once loved him. To brothers who don’t know him, and a thick rope tying his heart to that lonely little bedroom with his monster.

#fanfic #jacksepticeye #my brothers corrupted #jacksepticeye egos #jacksepticeye fanfic #jacksepticeye fanfiction #writersofjack #chase brody #jameson jackson #antisepticeye #my stuff #whump #jacksepticeye whump #two whumpees #kidnapping whump

[actress4him]

June of Doom 2023

I have somehow managed to create an entirely new series with entirely new ocs out of thin air just for this event. My plan is to make all these prompts into one continuous story (some of them will be combined, some out of order), so wish me luck and we’ll see how it goes!

Let me know if you want to be tagged in the future pieces of this series!

Day 1 - “You don’t want to do that.” | Collapse | Locked Door | Fear

Day 2 - “Get in.” | Sobbing | Survivor’s Guilt | Salve

Contains: lady whump with male whumper, kidnapping, restraints, blindfold, knife, long-term captivity, fantasy prejudice, death mention

.

.

The first thing Lainey notices when the car trunk opens, letting in the slightest bit of sunlight beneath her blindfold, is that the air smells fresh. There’s no trace of car exhaust or street vendors or anything that she’s used to smelling in the city. It smells like…dirt and leaves. Like the forest when she goes hiking on occasion. And it’s quiet, too, other than a few birds singing. 

If the bumpy roads and route that apparently took them the entire night weren’t enough indication that she’s been taken out into the middle of nowhere, this seals it.

The harsh hands that had first grabbed her by the dumpsters behind her work latch onto her arms again, yanking her up and out of the trunk with frightening strength. She cries out in surprise, struggling to find her footing on cramped legs before he’s prodding her into a walk. The sharp tip of a knife she’d only caught a glimpse of last night pricks at her spine. 

“Look, um…I don’t know what you want from me, but…my family doesn’t have much money or anything. My dad’s in construction and my mom does alterations. And my boyfriend isn’t rich, either, he just works at the coffee shop next door to my store. So if you’re looking for ransom money…”

“Get in there!” His hand slams into her shoulder from behind, and she stumbles forward, toes stubbing against a wooden threshold and nearly sending her sprawling on her face. They’re inside some kind of building now, she can tell even though the rough fabric across her eyes prevents her from seeing anything but darkness. The smell of fresh air fades away, replaced by must and old wood, and the stillness grows to an almost suffocating level. 

“You know, it’s kinda hard to walk through a strange place blindly and with my hands behind my back! If you want this to go more smoothly then maybe you should just take off all this crap and -”

“Shut up, before I add a gag to ‘all that crap’.”

She presses her lips together. Talking too much when she’s anxious has always been a struggle, though this time it’s more like terror than anxiety. Her parents had always warned her about bad guys and talking to strangers and all of that stuff, like all parents do, and that’s extended into her young adulthood as concerns about those prejudiced against magic-users grow. But she never thought she’d get kidnapped. 

“They’re gonna be looking for me, you know,” she blurts, unable to hold it in. The man is steering her with one hand on her shoulder, presumably avoiding furniture and making their way through the building. “My family. They’ll find you. They’ll make you pay for this. The police will find you and throw you in jail for the rest of your li-”

The knife leaves her back only for the hilt to smash into the back of her head. She stumbles again with a gasp, her head spinning and aching. 

“I said to shut up.”

Biting her lip, she does her best to comply. 

They halt their march, and there’s a series of clicking, scraping, and squawking sounds from directly in front of her. Locks, her throbbing head supplies. Quite a few of them. Her heart goes from pounding in her ribs to climbing up her throat. 

“Down the stairs.” 

That’s all the warning she gets before she’s pushed forward again. Her breath catches as her foot is forced to move, feeling tentatively at the darkness in front of her until she finds the first step down. Her second foot joins it, then she feels for the next step.

“You’re too slow.” He grabs onto her arm and begins barreling down the stairs at what seems like a breakneck pace. Her feet somehow mostly keep up even though her brain is screaming about not knowing where the steps are, and anytime she does miss one his hand just yanks her back upright. She’s pretty sure she’ll have a bruise on that arm from how hard he’s holding her. Maybe some on her ankles, too, from banging them around on the steps. 

Her legs are trembling by the time they make it to solid ground again. “Remember,” she huffs, the adrenaline of the trip making her tongue loose again, “that whole thing about it being hard to walk blindfolded?”

To her surprise, he responds by ripping it off her head, tearing out a few strands of hair with it. She winces at the pain and the sudden influx of light, but quickly forces herself to take in her surroundings. 

It’s quite obviously a basement. There are no windows, the only light coming from buzzing fluorescent lights overhead, and the floors and walls are all concrete. One wall is lined with cabinets, the contents of which she’s sure she doesn’t want to know, and the floor is dotted with mysterious stains that she’d also rather remain a mystery.

That’s as far as her observations take her, because it’s at that point that her blue eyes clash with a pair of dark brown and her thoughts screech to a halt. There’s another girl down here. She’s just sitting there, on the floor, curled up against the wall and staring back at her with a blank expression. Her face is streaked with dirt, and there’s blood crusted up in her hairline. Her black hair has been chopped off, short and uneven. She looks small, and frail, and far too thin, and…kind of like she shouldn’t be alive.

Footsteps on the stairs jerk Lainey out of her trance. Spinning away from the woman on the floor, she sees the man - the first good look she’s actually gotten at him, though it’s still just his back - halfway up the staircase. Leaving her down here. Leaving her to turn into a phantom of a person like this other girl. 

“Hey!” She runs after him, awkwardly since her hands are still ziptied behind her back. “You can’t just leave me down here! I’m a human being, okay? I have rights!” She stomps up the stairs, a much easier task now that she can see. “And I told you already, you’re gonna be in so much trouble when the police find you, you’re -” 

He’s walking through the door, about to disappear, and she picks up her pace, heart pounding. “Hey! Stop!” The door slams, the locks all clicking and squeaking back into place. “Get back here! You’re gonna regret taking me, I swear!” She can’t bang on the door with her fists, so she kicks it, instead, slamming the toe of her sneaker into the wood over and over again.

“You don’t want to do that.”

She barely hears the quiet, rasping voice over the ruckus she’s making, but it echoes against the concrete and catches her attention. Pausing her assault on the door, Lainey frowns over her shoulder at the woman down below. “I’m not just gonna sit here and take this! This door isn’t that strong, you know what? I could probably even kick it down if I wanted to…”

“If you keep causing a scene, you’re going to make him mad, and he’ll come back.” The pitch of her voice never changes, and she doesn’t move even her head from her position. 

“Good! If he comes back, that’ll give me a better chance to escape. He didn’t look that big, maybe I could overpower him and get out the door.” Never mind that he’d been strong enough to easily lift her, right now she’s just desperate to get out. Facing the fact that she’s trapped here is too terrifying to even consider.

She can’t stay here. She can’t.

A sliver of emotion finally finds its way into the woman’s next words. “If he comes back, he’ll hurt you. And if he’s mad, it’ll be ten times worse. So if you have any sense, you’ll sit down and shut up and conserve your energy for when he comes back on his own schedule.”

Something about what she says steals any remaining fight from Lainey’s body. She stares at the locked door for a long moment, breaths coming too fast and too shallow. “He’s…he…” She backs down one step, getting the distinct feeling that she doesn’t actually want to be standing here when the door opens. Her gaze is pulled back to the woman on the floor. “What does he…do?” She doesn’t want to know, but she needs to.

“Hurts us.” Her voice has gone back to flat and emotionless. “Well…hurts me. I can only assume that you’ll be the same. Having someone else down here is…new.”

Slowly, she plods back down the stairs, looking over the drab room again until she’s standing directly in front of the other woman. She doesn’t want to sit down. Sitting feels like settling in, and that feels like giving in. 

“Does he…want…?” Her eyes flick up and down the girl’s body almost involuntarily, as if she’ll be able to see the evidence of exactly what’s been done to her. 

Somehow the woman seems to read her mind. “No. Not that. Just anything else he can think of. Should I assume you have magic, too?”

Her stomach flips. She’s not used to being called out like that. “Um…y-yeah?” She said ‘too’, so it’s probably safe.

“Yeah. He’s one of those types. Thinks he’s doing the world a favor by keeping us out of it.”

“Great,” she sighs, shifting back and forth on her feet. A few seconds later, she flops down to the floor. She’s not giving in, she’s just exhausted from not sleeping last night and from all the adrenaline that’s starting to dwindle. 

“How long…have you been here?” Another of those questions she needs to know the answer to but doesn’t want to hear it.

“What year is it?”

“What?” She feels suddenly lightheaded, though her brain is too busy swirling to pinpoint why. “It’s, um…it’s 2023. June first.” Just in case she’d actually meant to ask month or day, instead.

Her previously empty expression shutters, eyes shutting and jaw tightening. It takes a long, anxiety-filled moment for her to respond, and her voice is hoarser than before when she does. “F-...five years. I’ve been here…five years.”

Lainey feels like the floor has dropped out from underneath her. She might say something, she’s not even sure, she’s too busy flailing in midair as she falls, trying to find something solid to stand on. Five years. Five years of being locked in a basement being…tortured. Five years of no one finding her. That’s not going to happen to her, right? It can’t. She has family, she has people who will be looking for her. 

She sucks in a desperate breath. “But…how…? You…didn’t you have…someone to miss you?” She’s heard of the cases where people go missing and are never found, of course. They’re always presumed to be dead, though. Not still surviving in a basement after five years. 

The girl shrugs one shoulder, eyes still shut. “Thought I did. Maybe they tried, and gave up. Maybe they never actually cared to start with.” 

“Maybe they, um…maybe they’re still trying. Me being kidnapped might help give more leads. I mean, my family will definitely be looking for me. My co-workers would have known right away that something happened, I just went out to take the trash and never came back.” She nods firmly. “They’ll find me. Find us. He can’t keep getting away with this for long.”

Opening her eyes slightly, the girl stares at her for a moment before shaking her head and closing them again. 

Lainey isn’t going to let it discourage her, though. She has to keep believing her own words or she’ll spiral. “Hey, what’s your name?”

She swallows. “Isa.” Her eyes open again, though her gaze stays on her knees. “Isabela, technically, but…everyone always called me Isa.”

“Isa,” she repeats, trying to get the Spanish vowels correct. “I’m Lainey. I’d say nice to meet you, but…”

“Yeah.” Isa gives that one-shoulder shrug again. This time, something clinks against the wall behind her, and Lainey becomes suddenly aware that she’s wearing a metal band around her throat.

“Wait, are you…chained to the wall?” She leans forward to see, and Isa flinches before trying to cover the movement by wrapping her arms around her legs. Her arms are dotted with bruises and scars of various kinds that stand out against her brown skin, and her wrists are so small that she’s pretty sure she could wrap her smallest fingers around them. 

“Yeah. He doesn’t do it too often. But he’s been gone for the past…few days, I guess, and he doesn’t like letting me roam while he’s out.”

She says it so matter of factly, like it’s just a part of life that should be expected. “He’s a creep and he can go curl in a hole and die,” Lainey growls, fists clenching behind her back. 

“Sure.” Isa leans her head against the wall. “Just don’t make him mad. He likes to be called ‘sir’, and he doesn’t have a lot of patience for having to repeat himself. We’re both better off if you just do what he says.”

Lainey grits her teeth. “That’s not happening. Look, I know you’ve been here a long time and you’ve had to…do whatever you had to to make it. But there’s two of us now, and only one of him. There’s more of a chance that we can overpower him or outsmart him. We could escape.”

Shaking her head, she stares up at the ceiling. “You shouldn’t get your hopes up like that. It’ll only hurt more when they come crashing down.”

She can’t imagine what Isa has been through. Doesn’t want to think about the fact that she may soon go through some of it, herself. But she can’t understand why she refuses to even consider trying to figure a way out of here, when she now has somebody to help her. 

Unable to sit and do nothing any longer, she levers herself off the floor and begins walking the perimeter of the room, familiarizing herself with every inch of the space. “I’m gonna figure out a way out of here, no matter what you think.”

.

Next | Masterlist

#juneofdoom #day 1 #day 2 #lady whump #lady whumpee #kidnapping #restraints tw #blindfold #knife tw #captivity whump #prejudice tw #death mention #lainey and isa #two whumpees #urban fantasy #defiant whumpee #jaded whumpee #whump series #whump writing #whump event

[whumpofdory]

More Than You Bargained For, Part 2

CW: BBU and everything that comes with it, tics, noncon touch (very brief and non sexual)

They continued kneeling and watched as the man in front of them twitched. Tics, he’d called them. They would remember that, it could be important later. The tics slowed and the man took a deep breath. “Do either of you have names?”

“No Sir. You can choose to call us whatever pleases you best.” The one with dark hair spoke up. His body language suggested to Warren that he’d be the more dominant personality between his newly purchased pets. He sat up straighter, at perfect attention. The one with dirty blond hair nodded his assent. Warren’s head snapped forward and he whistled loudly, making both pets jolt.

“Oh. I see.” They say in awkward silence for a moment, only a whistle and a few clicks of the tongue to break the think quiet. “Can you go get the boxes you came in, please?” Warren inwardly cringed at the words. The boxes you came in. Not even animals were usually shipped that way. What have I gotten myself into? But he needed the help and there were no caretakers in his area for someone with his needs.

They each got up and retrieved their respective boxes, bringing them in to set in front of him; first the dark haired one (Darius, maybe? Dolten? He definitely felt like a D name), then the blond. As the latter set down his box, Warren’s hand snapped forward, his hand latching onto the boy’s wrist. Instantly the pet whimpered and dropped to his knees where he was, too afraid to speak.

What did I do wrong? He had done just as the other pet did, and Master had not seen his actions worthy of punishment. It is not my duty to think. Only to serve my Master. He sat on his knees waiting diligently as the tight grip on his arm released. He winced, waiting for the inevitable slap across his face.

“Sorry, kid.” Master said. “You’re not in trouble. It’s just a tic.” Just a tic? Was he supposed to know already how to distinguish them? Would he be punished for not understanding? Was he already the least favourite pet? He was the defective one, after all. “No worries. You can go sit by your buddy, I just want to look at these papers for a bit.” The boy crawled the few feet to kneel beside the dark haired pet and watched intently as Master began to unpack the rest of the box.

Warren pulled out the booklet first. He’d already read it online, but he skimmed through it anyway. His mind was occupied with other things. He’d really spooked the pet (Paxton? Harley? Hampton?) when he’d grabbed him. He read up on pet ownership on the internet and the biggest thing to it seemed to be punishment, something he never intended to implement. The pets obviously expected it though, and he was definitely worried about some of his more aggressive tics giving them the wrong idea. His head snapped and he hummed as he caught a verbal tic in his mouth. He felt like he owed it to them to try to hold the outbursts in, at least for the first few days.

He leaned forward and found everything he’d been told to expect: vouchers for collars once he picked names, two leashes, and two canes. He found something in the blond one’s box he hadn’t been expecting. It read:

Dear Valued Customer of WRU,

Thank you for your purchase during our BOGO sale. We regret to inform you that this pet is a bonus item because it is slightly defective. Due to a negligent staff member, it developed blemishes during training that could not be removed. The staff member has been removed from our team. Please note there is nothing defective about its behaviour; each pet has gone through rigorous testing to ensure it meets the WRU’s high quality standard. Please enjoy your deal and remember to recommend the WRU to your friends and family.

The generic note was signed by the CEO in the usual printed way corporate messages were always signed. Warren wrinkled his nose at it, which unfortunately became another tic. New one to add to the list. He looked over the paper at the defective pet and then back to the note. Nothing seemed wrong with him so far. And what had someone done to the kid to make him “blemished”?

The defective pet shrunk in on himself under Master’s gaze. He knew what the man was reading, and felt the shame screaming from his cheeks. It wasn’t his fault. He tried to reassure himself. Not that that matters, his mind shot back. These thoughts were interrupted by Master.

“So, let’s get you boys clean. I read that’s important.” Warren looked around for his crutches before realising he’d left them in the kitchen when the delivery had come. “Can you go get the crutches from the kitchen, please?” He looked at the dark haired pet. “They’re leaning up against the table. It’s the doorway right behind me.”

The pet looked from Master to the wide pocket doors behind him. They were slid open and he could see red metal poles with cushioned areas at the top and handles halfway down. He stood as gracefully as he could and quickly brought them to Master.

“Follow me.” Warren said before setting the crutches under his arms and walking toward the stairs.

Taglist: @maracujatangerine @hardleyquinnn

#more than you bargained for #pet whump drabble #pet whump #bbu whump #bbu oc #bbu #bbu adjacent #caretaker #two whumpees