#whumper-turned-whumpee

[inkwell-and-dagger]

have your whumper-turned-whumpees be hurt in such horrible ways!!!!!! humiliate them! use their own methods against them! in fact, make the methods worse! beat them to an inch of their life and have them say word for word that they deserve it!

break them so much they can't even mutter a pathetic attempt of an apology without coughing up blood and / or sobbing! in fact, if they refuse to apologize, take away their speech entirely! they were too loud, anyway.

#whumper-turned-whumpee #whump #whump prompt #whump idea #whump trope #whump scenario

[a-crumb-of-whump]

Content: [Implied] Whumper-turned-whumpee, [mentioned] escape attempt, [implied] multiple whumpers, [implied] reluctant whumper.

"Do you really want to do this?" Whumpee asked quietly one evening. They pulled the blanket they'd been given further over themselves, watching as Whumper stared a little too intensely at the TV. "Outside of... when you're hurting me, you're always so kind. You make me all my favourite meals and take care of my wounds for me. You've never beaten me for fun or taken your anger out on me. Do you even enjoy the times you do hurt me?"

They recieved no response. Whumper looked angry now, but their fists were bunched up inside their hoodie pockets; noticeably shaking despite the fabric hiding them.

With a small tilt of their head, Whumpee shuffled a little closer and tugged at Whumper's arm. "You know... I've crafted my fair share of escape plans. I could get us out of here, and we can go back to our families."

"...I don't have one," Whumper mumbled. "I live with my mentor - the guy that brought you here."

Whumpee's expression fell again. "Oh. So... you've got nowhere to go? Does that mean we can't leave?"

"I don't deserve freedom after the things I've done," Whumper quietly protested. Their fingers bunched up more and they sucked in a sharp, irritable breath. "I'm trying to find a way to get you home safely, Whumpee."

"Whumper, you don't deserve-"

Whumper glared over at them. "No, be quiet. I don't want your sympathy. Just keep your head down until I figure something out, okay? Even if you leave without me knowing, he'll think I had something to do with it, so- so please just have a little more patience. I promise I'm working on something."

Begrudingly, Whumpee hung their head and sat back again. They just wanted to go home, but if Whumper could get them out without them getting blamed for it afterwards, it would be worth it.

Whumper was not a nasty person. They were clearly forced into doing this, and while they found it hard to feel sympathetic towards them, it meant a lot that they were trying to help them escape.

They curled up some more and let out a shaky sigh. "Okay."

#this is very rushed i'm sorry #whump #whump stuff #whump things #whump thoughts #whump prompts #whump tropes #whumpee #whumper #whumper-turned-whumpee #reluctant whumper

[whumpspicelatte]

Nobody Left To Listen Masterlist

An experienced vampire hunter begins to explore the mostly untapped market of domesticating vampires into obedient pets.

Phase 1 - Abelard's Domestication

Abelard Montagnard's unlife thus far has been all but charmed, dripping in both arresting power and bloody decadence, only for him to get shot down by a vampire hunter halfway through his second century of life. (Un)fortunately, the hunter manages to be convinced that his target can be of more use to him alive than dead.

Acquisition (Cole)

Revival (Abelard)

Patience (Cole)

Hunger (Abelard)

Phase 1 Asks

Fear, Skin & Wound - Cole, Daniel, Abelard

Most Unhealthy Relationships & Most Hurt - Cole, Daniel, Abelard

#masterlist #Nobody Left To Listen #NLTL series #whump series #whumpee-turned-whumper #whumper-turned-whumpee #vampire whump #vampire whumpee #pet whump

[scratchandplaster]

What Remains

CW: referenced murder, ghosts, supernatural Whumpee, Whumper-turned-Whumpee

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Whumper lies awake for another night. The cobalt-blue specter at the foot of his bed guards any sleep, a silent whine is their constant escort. Through the moonlight, every lash and stab wound glows visible on their defiled shape: translucent, floating above the carpet floor.

"My body," the living dead whispers with a hollow tone.

When they speak, nothing but these words leave them. For weeks now, even after Whumper thought he got rid of them, the haunting cold they bring with leaves him restless, unable to close his eyes for even a second. As a single tear slips down onto the pillow, the sunken-in stare rests on Whumper's helpless body.

This would be a waking night, like they all had been; it didn't matter in which room or which house he might have tried to flee to, ever since Whumper squeezed the last breath out of the cursed guest, they decided to pay a visit until sunrise.

"My body."

It had been a mistake to take them in, there were plenty of folk that would have made fitting additions to his collection. Unmoving, Whumper prays to a nameless force to end this, to let him rest.

But they can't be reasoned with, their request will never be fulfilled. Even before the first haunting, it had been too late; the object of desire was thrown in the bog, like Whumper did to all of his guests. 

So he just withers away also, alive but fading into nothingness.

"My body!" the phantom howls desperately, as if they can read the thoughts of their torturer like a book.

What else could they be offered? What satiates a trapped soul? Desperation catches on, and Whumper finally joins their hopeless whining.

"I'll do anything," he mutters, still frozen in endless horror, "just let me be. What can I give to you?"

A long silence settles between them but apart from the electric purr around, only a sudden hint breaks it:

"A body."

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Masterpost]

#whump #whumpblr #creative writing #whump community #whump drabble #referenced murder #ghosts #whumper-turned-whumpee #supernatural whumpee #whumpee-turned-whumper #sleep deprivation #gothic whump #dead whumpee #haunting #ghost whumpee #sleep paralysis #paranormal whump #serial killer whumper #body control #possession

[montammil]

CW: Violence, stabbing, Whumpee-turned-Whumper, Whumper-turned-Whumpee, revenge whump

Whumper smiled, twisting the knife into Whumpee’s stomach, proceeding to watch them grovel to the ground. They knelt down, yanking the top of Whumpee’s hair to make them sit upright again, their faces mere inches apart.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Whumpee whimpered a barely audible, “please.”

Whumper brought their face closer, breath ghosting Whumpee’s lips as they replied, “Beg for it, then.”

...

Whumpee delivers a sharp kick to Whumper’s ribs, unable to hold back the laugh when Whumper cries out. They grab the same knife Whumper once used on them from the floor.

“Stop... stop it! You can’t do this!” Whumper yells. Anger and hatred drip into their tone, but most of all, fear.

“Hmm... you want me to stop?” Whumpee grabs them by the hair, holding the knife inches away from their face with their free hand. “Beg for it, then.”

#whump #revenge whump #whump prompt #whump idea #whumper-turned-whumpee #whumpee-turned-whumper #whump scenario #i am a SUCKER for repeated lines like these #and i don't usually even care for revenge whump lol

[cepheusgalaxy]

New Whump Idea

We should use Adele's songs as whump prompts

Like, have you seen???? What she writes??? And sings???

Just imagine, for an example,

"Old friend, why are you so shy?; Ain't like you to hold back; Or hide from the light"

from Someone Like You (by Adele, ofc)

Caretaker after a long period of time finally talking to Whumpee again and not knowing what to do: "Hey, friend... why are you so shy?" *laughs nervously* "Ain't like you to hold back, or 'hide from the light' like that."

Whumper to Whumpee, maybe when they finally start to break a specially defiant Whumpee: "Own, old friend, why are you so shy? Ain't like you to hold back, or hide from the light!"

Bonus points for creepy grins while Whumpee desesperately tries to make themselves as small as possible in a corner of the room

Or maybe, a finally free Whumpee, taking their revenge and hurting Whumper just as they did to them: "Old friend, why are you so shy?" They start, with an obsviously fake friendly voice. "Ain't like you to hold back", they continue, an emotion darkening their eyes and sharpening their voice.

"Oh hide from the light."

#whumpee #caretaker #whumper #whump #whump tag #whump prompt #whump writing #whump scenario #writing prompt #tw torture #mentioned #my whump #whump ideas #defiant whumpee #whumpee-turned-whumper #whumper-turned-whumpee #Adele

[the-scrapegoat]

Something that's been rolling around in my brain I have no idea what to do with

Someone seen as ruthless and needlessly cruel or brutal and in need of being stopped, possibly an imortal?, showing up on their knees before their most mutually hated enemy, entirely alone, on their own. A deep regret and guilt for their actions in their eyes, ready to pay for their crimes willingly without (voluntary) protest.

And pay they do, at first. But long after their debt is payed 3x over, they still don't beg or fear the way their enemy hopes. Only takes it with resignation. Accepts it with all the grace one in their position can. It drives their enemy crazy with rage and they continue to up the intensity, steadily becoming the thing they sought to stop with no satisfaction in the act

Idk. Just a thought

#whump #whumper-turned-whumpee #? #whump prompt #whumper turned whumpee

[octopus-reactivated]

Idea: Whumpee signed up to be WRU trainer/handler, but people higher in hierarchy decided he'll do better as a Pet

#whump #whump prompt #WRU #BBU #whumper-turned-whumpee #whumper turned whumpee

[quietly-by-myself]

An Earthly Cosmological Redshift - Chapter 4 - The Burning of the Stars

Masterlist

Thank you to @darkthingshappen for beta reading this and @whumpsday, @oddsconvert, @darkthingshappen and @sparrowsage for helping me with brainstorming!

CW: mafia whump, vampire whumper, whumper-turned-whumpee (sort of), vampire whumpee, multiple whumpees, sadistic choice, forced to hurt, forced to hurt a loved one, torture, branding, known whumper, intimate whumper, fainting, captivity, disabled whumpee (blind/total loss of vision)

===

La voix du sang est la plus forte. Jules knew it translated roughly into “blood runs thicker than water,” but he preferred the literal translation - the voice of blood is the strongest.

Though Fearon and him weren’t related by blood, the rings they wore on their fourth fingers, on their left hands showed a bond that was perhaps thicker than water and spoke louder than blood. 

Archimedes had peeled him off the floor, clasped him in chains, and dragged him down a hallway, to a room that smelled of tansy. He knew the smell well, though Archimedes also stunk of it. As Archimedes opened the door, Jules was met with the sight of his fiance, laying on the ground, staring blankly.

“Jules?” Fearon’s voice sounded awful and raspy. From the looks of him, Fearon hadn’t had blood in at least a week. 

“Fearon!” 

Jules was weary - every bone in his body ached and standing took just about all his energy. He was pretty sure that Hypatia had sprained his ankle and standing on it was agony. Bruises lined his face and body. He knew that Fearon would be horrified, looking at the mess that Jules had become. 

However, those eyes still stared blankly and his limbs moved ever so slightly, like they were fighting invisible restraints.

A chill shot down Jules’ spine. Something was wrong.

A scoff came from Archimedes, but he didn’t lay a hand on Jules, not the way that Jules had come to expect in his week of torture with the other vampires. 

“You always had a good nose, Fearon, but even this surprises me.”

Jules had half the brain to not say anything, but the words shot out of his mouth before he could think. “What do you mean? He looks horrible! What the hell did you do to him?

“He can’t see you, my dear.” Archimedes stroked the bruises on Jules’ cheek.

“What the fuck do you mean?”

Archimedes grabbed Jules’ face and pressed into the bruises on his jaw. Jules whined under the pressure, the pain bringing tears to his eyes. He hated that he was surprised that Archimedes hadn’t hit him. 

“Now, now. Be quiet or Hypatia will have a word with you.” Archimedes cleared his voice. “We poisoned his eyes with holy silver.”

Holy silver. If the utterance of Hypatia’s name didn’t scare him enough, the idea of holy silver in Fearon’s eyes did. Why would anybody do that? Fearon was going to be blind forever. There wasn’t anything that could heal a vampire who’d been poisoned by holy silver. 

Jules wanted to say something, but he felt sick to his stomach. His heart hurt for Fearon. What were they going to do to them?

Fearon had mentioned the names of Hypatia, Galileo, and Archimedes to him before, but he never really understood it all. Yes, Fearon had been a mafioso. Yes, he’d killed his Boss to escape. But, perhaps naively, Jules never expected them to be like this. Torture for torture’s sake. 

“Now, Fearon.” Archimedes dropped his hold on Jules’ jaw and walked over to where Fearon laid on the floor. “We made a little deal that I would let your fiance go if you gave yourself over to me. Now, I said he wouldn’t be harmed, but I never agreed to not harm you, Fearon.”

Jules stayed still. His hair prickled. He tried to calm his nerves, but found himself unable to rip his eyes away from Archimedes, as he picked Fearon up, dragging him to stand by his hair. The whimper of genuine pain from Fearon - Fearon who never hurt - terrified Jules. 

“I know how this shit works, Archimedes. There’s no need to lecture me.”

Had Fearon really been like Archimedes and Hypatia? Torturing other vampires for the hell of it? The thought unsettled Jules, more than the torture had. The Fearon he knew was kind and gentle. Not brutal and ruthless like Archimedes and Hypatia. How could Fearon have ever been like these vampires?

Archimedes laughed. “Then you know that we like to send people off with a warning.”

Fearon growled a little. 

What does he mean?

“Jules! Pay attention. I have a lesson for you.”

Jules automatically stood at attention, too afraid to do anything else. He didn’t want to be tortured. He didn’t want more pain. He couldn’t keep going like that. Nobody could.

“Now listen carefully, Jules.” Archimedes cleared his voice. “We like to brand our property. Now that Fearon here is the property of the Clan, he needs a brand. You’ll be helping me do the honors.”

“What?” Jules choked. Help hurt his fiance? Help brand him for a bunch of sadists that wanted nothing more than to rip screams from their chests? The thought was unbearable.

“I’ll hurt him worse if you don’t help. It’s your choice, Jules.”

Jules looked at Fearon. Fearon looked blankly in his direction. The sadness in those purple eyes that Jules had learned to love broke his heart. He hadn’t seen that melancholy since the beginning of their relationship.

God, that was more than one hundred years ago now.

It was an impossible choice - be forced to watch Fearon suffer more because of him or help torture him. Jules couldn’t be selfish. He was normally a selfish person - vampire, whatever. For once, he couldn’t be.

“I- I’ll help.”

Archimedes smirked. “Now, you know how we all have abilities, us vampires. I’ll heat the iron branding iron, you’ll brand him. It has silver alloys to ensure that it stays forever.”

Jules swallowed the bile in his throat. “I’ll do it.”

Tears formed in his eyes. Archimedes took the branding iron from a cabinet of tools that lined the farthest most wall of the cell and handed it to Jules.

“Hold it while I heat it.”

Jules looked at Archimedes in confusion. Did he have the power of fire? Surely not. 

Archimedes closed his eyes and held his palm near the branding iron. Soon enough, Jules felt heat radiating off of it. It was hard to hold, even with the rubber handle. 

Eventually, after a minute or two, Archimedes was satisfied. He motioned to where Fearon laid, shirtless. 

“His ribs.”

Jules knew from his experience of getting tattoos as a human that the ribs hurt more than most other body parts. Jules closed his eyes, tears falling from his eyes.

“Come on, Jules. Unless you want to watch your love be tortured.”

Jules shook his head.

He needed to be strong.

He needed to be selfless.

He needed to do this. For Fearon.

The scream that followed him pressing the iron onto Fearon’s skin sounded like it came from a million miles away. The smell of burning flesh filled Jules’ nose.

A glimpse of the mark, something that Jules didn’t recognize, burned onto the skin of the love of his life, was the last thing that Jules remembered before the world turned dark and pain filled his body as he fell to the ground.

===

Tags: @i-can-even-burn-salad, @whumpsday, @pigeonwhumps, @oddsconvert, @sparrowsage, @darkthingshappen

#vampire whumper #whumper-turned-whumpee #vampire whumpee #multiple whumpees #sadistic choice #forced to hurt #forced to hurt a loved one #torture #branding #whump #whump writing #whumpblr #whump fic #whump community #intimate whumper #fainting #captivity #disabled whumpee #mafia whump

[valcaira]

Attention Whump Community!

Clogging disability tags is a massive problem that we need to address. Many tags, especially those surrounding permanent injuries, paralysis, vision loss and certain illnesses have become unusable due to being flooded with unrelated things. Yes, that includes your writing. Those tags are not for you. It's isolating, frustrating and depressing to try finding a community and other people who share your issues but all that comes up is whump, fandom shit, gifs, headcanons, etc.

I'm newly paralyzed. I have looked at many tags surrounding paralysis, trying to find support, a community, anything of people struggling with the same thing. Nothing. There's barely anything for us in the general disabilty tags. I am BEGGING you to understand and recognize how AWFUL it is.

So, I have a proposition. A tag you can and should use exclusively for disability content in whump writing. Not any other tag surrounding disability, lest you'll clog it up.

#disabled whumpee

It's tempting to use more specific tags, I get it. Due to being in the whump community myself I know #medical whump is already a tag. You have those tags. Use them. Don't use the disability tags. Don't clog up the few spaces us disabled people have.

#whump #whump community #whumpblr #whump meta #whumpee #whumper #caretaker #medical whump #disabled whumpee #hurt/comfort #whump writing #whumpee x caretaker #whumpee x whumper #whumpee turned whumper #whumper turned whumpee #caretaker turned whumpee #whumpee turned caretaker #whumper turned caretaker #yes i'm using all the whump tags i can think of for visibility #this is important #whump psa #whump prompt

[whump-bunny]

Whumper overestimates how much torture Whumpee can take. The once-defiant Whumpee is broken and catatonic, not speaking or reacting to anything anymore. And Whumper isn't happy about it. Though they loathe to admit it, they liked Whumpee's defiance. It was entertaining. Whumpee was entertaining. With them not speaking anymore, Whumper realizes that they miss the sound of Whumpee's voice. The snarky little comments, the sarcastic jokes, the curses screamed in rage.

Now Whumper is desperate to get the old Whumpee back. They're being extra "nice," giving Whumpee medical treatment and food, anything to make them go back to how they were before. Anything to fix their favorite toy.

Because like it or not, Whumper doesn't have anyone else.

#whump #writing #whumpee #whumper #carewhumper #whumper turned caretaker #defiant whumpee

[whumped-by-glitter]

Okay, hear me out....

A caretaker with an extremely conditioned whumpee.

Caretaker is forced to "speak their language" to get through to whumpee. Caretaker has to start acting like Whumper to slowly undo the conditioning.

They have to start harsh and strict to slowly teach Whumpee what freedom is, or reintroduce them into their own agency.

Maybe Whumpee was a slave or a pet, and all they know are orders and discipline and reward. Before Caretaker figures this out, Whumpee is listless or catatonic, or maybe self-destructive and reckless. Without order and routine, Whumpee has no idea how to function, their mind is sent into chaos.

Caretaker has no interest in being a master, but to get through the conditioning, to even get them medical help, they are forced to get their hands dirty.... Orders are just necessary- "you're going to the hospital, that's an order" or "I order you to decide on what you want for dinner."

Caretaker never wanted this power and responsibility over another person.

With power, there is also the risk of corruption.

Maybe Caretaker is terrified about walking the fine line between helping their severely damaged and twisted whumpee and becoming the new whumper.

Maybe they get it right, maybe they get it wrong, maybe it's something in between, there's so many directions this could go and all of the threads are so interesting.

#whump prompt #whump scenario #whumpee #whump #whumper #caretaker #caretaker turned whumper #caretaker is a reluctant master

[a-crumb-of-whump]

[Image ID: A red userbox with a photo to the left of someone's neck and chest, with a hand held up. They have blood dripping down their chin and covering their chest and hand. The text to the right reads 'This user loves the whumper-turned-whumpee trope'. End ID]

Click here for a list of all my userboxes

#requested by: anon #whump #whump stuff #whump thoughts #whump things #whump tropes #whumper-turned-whumpee #userbox #userboxes

[whump-in-the-closet]

“I almost didn’t recognize you.”

“The scars are new.”

“Who…who gave them to you?”

“Doesn’t matter. They’re dead.”

#whump #whump prompt #whumpblr #whump community #whump ideas #whump dialogue #whumpee turned whumper #whump writing #whump scenario

[scratchandplaster]

Stack The Deck - PART 14

CW: defiant Whumpee, explicit threats of noncon, referenced dubcon, multiple Whumper, Whumper-turned-Whumpee, non-con touching, withdrawal, mouth whump, intimidation, pet whump, casual racism, ableist language

PART 13 ⇽ [Masterlist] ⇾ PART 15

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Occasionally, Elliot drifted into consciousness only to be pulled back down at every new spike of fear. This endless dance between waking and dreaming continued until the sun had begun to set. Slowly and with great endeavor, he managed to let his heavy eyelids stay open at last and noticed how his left arm was carefully bedded on a cushion.

"You napped the whole day," a whisper next to Elliot's ear made him suck in a startled breath and flinch around.

Now face to face, Morris laid just inches away from him and the bed groaned under their shared weight as Elliot tried to get some space between them, only to be roughly stopped by a force around his other hand: a leather cuff kept him tied to the bedframe. Its chain rattled as he tugged on it.

Come on! Through the newfound scare, he hit Chris with an appalled look.

"Just for now, don't worry!" he explained apologetically, "You will try to run again, and I need my sleep too."

Messed it up again. Great job, you idiot. Elliot was all out of tears for now, he could feel how sore the edges of his eyelids were from the previous hours.

Fear was milked dry too, so a new burn crawled along his spine, one both of them couldn't dare to afford. This time, it was not pain that spurred him on; Elliot was pissed. After nearly a day spent in his own personal hell, he only had new questions and every cheap answer only turned out to be more confusing than handy.

"Why do you act like you care?" Elliot asked, already suspecting the cryptic answer.

Because he missed me. At least this time it was personal enough that he was the reason of this torture, not his ex ghosting her dealer. If Chris really liked their time together, he shouldn't be docile and polite, on the contrary. He needed to make Morris regret ever meeting him in the first place! During the last few months, Elliot seemingly developed a talent to push people away, a skill he needed to work on him now too.

Well then, Elliot ought to make him suffer for a change.

As Morris fished for a plate full of leftover pancakes on the bedside table, he strained to keep his rough voice gentle: "It's not an act, I worry about you." 

An invasive finger tried to caress Elliot's cheekbone.

"Hands off!"

Disappointed, Chris dropped his arms back on the blanket.

"I don't want to scare you. I apologized, I-I thought you were fine, you're fine."

Fine. The word felt like salt in his wounds. Elliot was a wreck of the man he used to be, he couldn't even remember the different phases of his life. By now, there was only before and after Morris.

"So the best way to show your worry was taking me against my will again?"

"I saved you," Chris replied sternly, like he had to convince a jury.

"Saved me. Saved!" Elliot couldn't believe the unending delusions he had to tolerate.

"Yes."

"YOU RUINED MY FUCKING LIFE!"

The shrill cry hammered the undisputed truth in and let them both recoil.

But Elliot didn't even think about stopping, ignoring Morris' desperate attempts to shush him: "I lost my job, my passion, I can't even look my parents in their eyes without imagining what you'd do to them!"

"Nothing!" Chris yelled back and tried to present his outstretched hands as proof, "I don't plan to hurt you or anyone for that matter. I had no idea about the piano thing, I truly didn't know."

"Oh! Oh, you knew where I lived and when to get to me, but the chapter about my job was just too boring to give a single shit about."

"I didn't know, when I did that..." Chris began to trail off, his gaze fixed on the cushioned hand, "I thought you did stock trades, remember? Amber should've-"

"Amber? Yeah, go ahead and blame her, why not! But of all the crap she did to me-"

"To both of us-"

"GOD," Elliot was already kneeling on the bed, successful in ousting his opponent to stand on his own, "at least she didn't turn me into a fucking cripple!"

That bastard was lucky Elliot was chained up now, he never imagined how great it felt to let all bottled-up anger burst through its thickly veiled prison. Morris had to listen and could do nothing but stand around, mortified. Even if he changed his mind any second, beat him to a pulp and threw him into the ocean, it didn't matter: this was worth it!

"I understand why you're mad, but I'm trying to make amends. You forgave me," how Chris' wee fish brain was even able to let him breathe on land was a mystery to Elliot, "but if that's not enough, tell me what is."

"You know a good neurosurgeon?" he scoffed instead.

Morris knew Paula-Marie, the veteran nurse with the face of a bulldog who would stitch him and Dutch's men back together when a tour had become ugly. He doubted this would help.

"Let's start small. Baby steps, okay?" Morris was sure Elliot could still play a bit if he really wanted to, but was just too lethargic to try. Another reason to keep him far away from those pills.

"Sure, I tell you how to get even: you'll take this damn chain off, you're going to open the door and never harass me or my family again," Elliot demanded with absurd nerve, given how obviously inept he was to stop his body from shaking. Not only that, countless goosebumps sprouted on his skin despite the heater running high and the sweat-drenched clothes that stuck to even damper skin. Watery eyes gave a hunch of what was happening and hit Chris with welcomed ease. This fight wasn't his fault after all.

"Oh, I get it now. It has already started, huh? That's why you're lashing out at me."

"What started? Don't sidetrack," Elliot replied, nervous about the sudden lack of defensiveness.

Everything was becoming so clear now. Forgiveness, recompense, the taming of Elliot's prejudice: these were all topics for later, when he could get his feelings straight. It had been more than twelve hours since Chris brought him home, so withdrawal was right on time.

"Are you feeling nauseous too?" Chris' voice became impossible soft, "Does it itch?"

Once again, his hand reached out to dab the beads of sweat from Elliot's forehead. A desperate kick to the stomach was all Morris got rewarded with.

"Never ever touch me again!"

Never was a big word; as for waiting, this Chris could do. But first, he had to be sure he still had a good nose in that regard.

"Do you need your meds?"

Yes, oh sweet Jesus, yes! Elliot was desperate for a chance to numb himself. Even though he had to behave for it, he could play along for a while.

"Please," he whispered, dropping to sit hopeful on the bed's edge.

Yet instead of pellets made from synthetic calm, a disappointed sigh escaped his chaperon: "Wrong answer."

Chris plumped down on the armchair again and tried his best to ignore the tirade of curses and insults spewing from Elliot's fair lips. No matter how hard the next days turned out to be, it didn't matter: this was worth it!

--------

For the whole night, nobody in the apartment slept. Chris tried to get some more breakfast into Elliot, but to little avail, he was turning more and more irritated by the second.

Meanwhile, Morris had found the time and energy to tinker a wrist brace, so Elliot wouldn't hurt himself sleeping. Or during other pastimes Chris hoped to initiate soon. Between cardboard, hot glue and the turned back Elliot gave him whilst sulking in bed, the morning had been blissfully quiet. 

Until there was a rustle at the door. 

First, Chris thought it was his steady-drunk neighbor fiddling with the wrong lock again, but when the first peg clicked dutifully into place, his heart skipped a beat.

Elliot had noticed it too, someone was joining them. Maybe Berry, or whatever his name was, the Montreal angel who could release him into freedom.

Their eyes met.

Before Elliot could even use the fleeting chance to cry out, a handful of fabric was already shoved into his mouth. Shut up, shut up, shut up!

"One noise and your hand will be the last of your worries," Morris hissed in his ear, choosing a tone Elliot definitely recognized.

Nevertheless, he tried to kick the man straddling him off again, but a hard slap to his right cheek whacked his head against the metal frame. Elliot saw stars.

"Sorry," Chris stressed voice whispered and threw a pillow over his face as if to hide the dazed man, "just let me sort this out."

Jumping up again to slam the door between the kitchen and bedroom shut, Morris too suspected who tried this little break-in. Admittedly, yes, he was supposed to be available, but to treat him to a few days of sick-leave surely wouldn't kill Belanger. Adopting a wide stance to welcome the fucker who dared to show up unannounced, Morris was ready. Said man finally opened the door to let Chris' face drain off all color. Oh, no.

"Good morning, Christoph!" The cheerful greeting trickled down his spine like acid.

"Hello, Dutch." 

Head not only hung low in terror, but also to keep the conversation at eye level, Morris went through his options. Lying, at any rate, seemed necessary. The man himself felt free to take the first steps into the kitchen, eyeing it from grout to ceiling as he wiped the condensate from his glasses. His judgement-filled stare came to rest on Morris, who unconsciously picked dead skin from his fingers until they bled before opening his mouth again: "You...uhm, you got a spare one?"

"If I have a key to my own apartment, Christoph? Do you want to ask me that again?"

"No! I-I just didn't expect-"

"I do, as you can see. What I don't have is the nerve to tolerate your biannual hissy fits," he started to berate, the speech placid and in tune with his gestures. "I give you a bed to sleep in, a car to borrow and this what I get back for my aid?"

He didn't look irate, though that was rarely the case. The beast disguised its snarl as a laugh.

"No, of course not! I'm very thankful for-"

"Well, somehow it doesn't feel like it, but even your thankfulness doesn't bring in any money. I should be working too, but instead I'm spending my time here…with you."

This was even worse than the lecture Chris had brought onto himself last winter. His knee stung with every gibe.

"So then you go on and cause poor Belanger to lose it. He's practically seething, as you are aware of. And you also know what happens every time he gets fed up." Chris' fingers twitched imagining what he would do to that snitch, still praying Elliot was stunned enough to hold his tongue. "I won't have to stand him, and I doubt he'd like to take a stroll in this part of town, so you know who has to, don't you?"

"The girls." Chris swallowed hard.

"Of course, his poor girls. Now imagine: the whole day you freeze by the slip road to have some greasy cocks shoved up inside you, just to be appreciated by the receiving end of a fist because a certain someone can't be bothered to pick up a call. It's tragic."

"Sorry." Besides all the bootlicking Chris shuffled in front of the door that he needed to keep closed under all circumstances.

"Well, you're going to be sorry when I make you sell your ass out there. Is there anything I must know about?"

"Personal reasons, I was…distracted."

"See, that is where-"

A muffled scream from next door cut them off. Oh, god.

The thin smile which appeared on Dutch's face couldn't make his mild facade budge: "Is there anything I must know about?"

"'S'all good," Morris lied, but couldn't stop the treacherous shiver running down his neck.

"Christoph, what are we doing here?"

Another, more enraged cry was all information necessary. Dutch simply clicked his tongue.

"I can explain!"

Pushing Morris aside, the door swung open to reveal, well, not exactly what the stranger had suspected.

Elliot, for one, tugging loudly on his cuff and not even dreaming to stop making noise for even a second, could hardly believe his luck. His noble savior just had to get him out of this room and he would never bother them again. Just inches behind him, Chris followed, revealing a face he had never seen him in before: true, genuine fear.

"I'm aware I'm not allowed to bring someone over, but look, this is a-a-an emergency, and I didn't know where else to put him."

The older man's eyes lit up further the closer he came.

"He's usually not a screamer!"

All the hassle about missed shifts was forgotten, Dutch powered through this farce with unhealthy patience: "I'm disappointed, to be honest, we could've made a playdate out of this."

The innuendo caught Morris off guard, though he hadn't repressed his last visit to the office. Stepping over to the bed, Dutch examined the man struggling to sit upright. It was clear he was less than thrilled about his current position.

"¿Eres de por aquí?"

What the-, Elliot thought as his chin was roughly grabbed by a leather-gloved hand and turned to the side. Help me, you asshole!

"Is he, Christoph?"

"Huh?"

"You need to know what they are when you want to sell them." Oh, fuck.

"I don't- that's not what's happening here," he yelped and for the first time, Elliot's muffled protest supported him.

"Is that what the H was for? Can't be, it's been forever," he wondered, "Loans? Not that I'm insinuating you to be in the position to lend in general."

"No." Chris felt like he was going to hyperventilate until the eager look of his boss finally got him where he wanted, suddenly tired of the interrogation Dutch expected nothing but straight answers. A lie, Morris decided. No, even better, a true confession that animated Dutch to respect boundaries.

"He's my boyfriend."

The bedroom went deadly quiet. Face held firmly in position, Elliot didn't even react. No yelling, no crying, but simply looking on in silent disgust as if the word itself made him rot internally.

"And does he know that too?" Dutch cared to learn, whirling back to the man under him, "Did you know that?"

Elliot's mind suddenly decided to bow out.

"That's a no, I'm afraid" the stranger pouted back at his employee and this time the comment stung in hot embarrassment. "Apologies, I didn't intend to ruin the pining, but you have to admit that this is…unexpected. I feel like a principal catching you two petting behind the gym in seventh grade."

This man was not shocked by a tied up hostage, not outraged at imprisonment; at best, he acted mildly irritated. He appeared to be in his fifties, Elliot guessed, his thin wire glasses and soft face marked with laugh lines made him look like your favorite neighbor down the street.

Ultimately, his distasteful cues left a foul aftertaste on Elliot's tongue, but as the man picked the gag out of his mouth and sighed deeply, the world turned a bit more peaceful. Elliot couldn't afford to be picky, if this were the only rescue available he'd gladly take it.

"Please help me, sir," he whispered in the best customer-service-voice he could muster, ignoring all of Morris frantic signs to stay quiet.

"You beg so beautifully, do it again."

The world had gone to the dogs and cursed its children to be devoured by the very same. Nobody here wanted to help, and underneath the tweed coat and corny tie Elliot saw the stranger for what he really was: an apex predator.

Observing an erratic, twitchy Christoph at the far side of the room, who was not coming closer but obviously desperate to get him out of the room, Dutch allowed himself to be the only one enjoying the scenery: "Glad I took the walk, this is lovely! But you are confused, so let me explain: your sweetheart here refuses to do what he's told, and I cannot let that stand, now can I? First he neglects his duties to start a late summer romance and the next thing you know, he'll make a deal with the competition to get me out of Chinatown."

"Dutch, I would never-"

Who the fuck is Dutch? This was all backwards.

"I love when he gets like this, all jittery." Helpless, Elliot's head lolled over to see Chris in all his nervous glory.

There was a gleam in the stranger's face he quickly blinked away. An idea had spouted.

"Should we tease him a bit?"

Elliot didn't want to figure out what that tease would entail. Too late.

"No, no, nononono!"

Without warning, the gloved fingers that only just held his face were shoved inside his mouth. Others pressed into his flesh until he was forced to open even wider as he tried to curl away from the brash intrusion.

STOP! Just why wouldn't they stop touching him?

All the squirming to no achievement only earned him a disapproving hum from the man, who seemed horrifying precise in how to toy with his body.

In and out, the vulgar rhythm of his knuckles let him slide deeper and deeper down Elliot's throat, all under the watch of indifferent eyes. Despite the writhing and mewling and arching away, resistance was futile. Elliot's angry left wrapped around the glove with all his might but got swatted away, so the last chance to free himself was to lock his jaw and-

"If you dare- Hey! If you even think about using your teeth, I will break them out of you one by one."

Every word hit a nerve. Elliot couldn't breathe, couldn't stop retching and gasping around Dutch's fingers until he was used as he pleased.

Frozen in place, Chris leaned on the wall with his mouth pressed into a thin line and his gaze fixed onto the carpet floor. If anyone listened, he prayed for it to stop already. Another sin to amend for stacked up.

"Look at him, Christoph," the man demanded coldly, "not at me, at him." 

Morris eyes darted full of panic between his duties, fists clenched and released with each heartbeat until his head threatened to explode at any second. All those present knew he was unable to do a thing about it.

Fear beats rage any day.

"This is your fault, and the next time I stick something in him will not be as proper."

"Yes, sir," Chris pressed out between clenched teeth.

Not intruding further, just resting inside Elliot, the leather-gloved hand paused as if to think about its next choice. Yet, the lesson already caught on. Without wasting any more effort, Elliot was released. 

Only being held down now, the pressure inside him was slowly vanishing. Despite Elliot retching around the palpable ghosts of the invasion, a gasp of relief came over his spit-smeared lips. Every cough freed him from the dirty taste of leather and fumes. 

"Badly trained as well," the man stroked a thumb over his Adam's apple, "Did he try you out already?"

Try me? Try to kill me?

Morris decided to answer for him instead: "No."

"A true gentleman. But you're missing out, Christoph here can suck you off like a champ."

Unsure of how to take this compliment, but no less flustered, Chris doubted the man in his sheets was enticed by this kind of flirting, judged by his horrified stare. Though Elliot had allowed for similar speculation in the past, he never thought it could lead up to this. His mind was granted a useful answer, just a filthy one it couldn't possibly accept.

Luckily, Dutch's attention was pinned down on Morris again: "Are you expecting someone else to join? East Hasting and Kaslo, don't let him wait."

Without another word, Chris darted through the room to grab the bare essentials, leaving a helpless Elliot panting for air. At last, the stranger had pulled his disgusting hand away and also disappeared from his focus. All the vile flavors of worry and weakness tumbled over each other. 

By the time he came back to the present, Chris was fully dressed and hovering over the bed again. He, too, was speechless, the cursed word hanging over them like a bad omen.

"I'm not your- What the fuck, Morris?" This had to be a bad joke, not the reason he was brought here. A ruse to get that guy off him.

"We'll discuss it later."

"There's nothing to discuss!"

"You're too loud," Chris had to take a deep breath, "Sorry, I know I will regret this."

Trying to muffle a possible desperate scream that Elliot long hadn't in him, Chris pushed the fabric back into his abused mouth. He hated how Elliot wasn't even trying to fight back anymore, Dutch tended to cause this reaction in people.

Gagging him once seemed insufficient; a roll of duct tape circled around the lower portion of Elliot's face, and he did nothing but simply lie there and take it until the ripping of the tape stopped. The restless tears had begun their trek again.

"Shh, don't cry," Morris whispered sweetly and nodded over to the kitchen, "Seriously, he likes that."

A little peck on the tape stayed unnoticed through Elliot's paralysis.

"I'll be home soon."

Though he would not be not alone, no. Rather, Elliot was left with Dutch and the consequences that would entail in his absence. He'd stay if he had the choice.

Before strutting to the apartment door, he met his eternally poised boss between the pantry and dinner table to interrupt his inspection of the thermostat. Chris prayed that his parting words would calm leftover animosities: "I take full responsibility. He's not-"

"You're running late," Dutch stated, his amusement outlasting the last sliver of patience. All had been said.

Leaping down the staircase and praying for safekeeping, Chris ran west into the unknown.

"There he goes," Dutch's whispered. Now, he was free to take his time looking through strange property and pulling open every single drawer he pleased. The one thing he wouldn't complain about was the well-kept state of his home, it was nearly impressive how well organized a man on the run could be. Dutch kept himself busy by browsing through the few books he discovered between old clothes until his interest got caught on Christoph's latest possession. One with a very pretty mouth. The man was assessing…contemplating.

"- try you out already?"

Locking his knees together just earned Elliot a dirty grin.

"If he doesn't perform like usual, I'm going to blame his incompetence on you. Would you like that?"

He quickly shook his head.

"Speak, boy."

"No, sir", Elliot muttered through the restrictive layers between his teeth.

"Good. In that case, keep your legs spread," came the sober response, "I don't intend to waste any more of my time."

The man grabbed the TV remote from the nightstand, turning on some program about endangered birds Elliot couldn't care less about, the volume high enough to suppress any wayward screams for help.

"Will I hear a single noise complaint from my tenants?"

"No, sir." Being stuck in that piercing stare made shakes wreck through Elliot that didn't come from a lack of artificial opioids.

"Entonces sé un buen chico y escucha a tu novio," was the last thing he was told before the stranger turned on the spot and let the door lock into place.

His wish was granted at last, Elliot remained in solitude.

--------

Somewhere near the harbor, a pleasant walk from city parks and small cafés, an office door swung open. Hanging his thick attire on the coat rack, Dutch let unopened letters drop haphazardly onto stacks upon stacks of paperwork.

They had to get the new shipping load to arrive tomorrow, otherwise the supply chain on the main land would be delayed pretty quickly. He ran a stressed hand through his hair and sighed. He truly couldn't afford to waste more time like this, even if a quick indulgence always lightened the mood around the office.

Speaking of which, his personal joy had to have woken up by now. Dutch circled the room to finally catch a glimpse of the scantily clad figure kneeling on the floor, always securely collard to the desk. A single knuckle under the chin was enough to make once bright eyes stare back in apathy. A view to be savored again and again, one that made Dutch's inside stir in wild pleasure.

"You won't believe the day I had."

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Masterlist]

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@febuwhump

#febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday1 #stack the deck #christoph morris oc #elliot ribera oc #whump series #captivity #kidnapping #whump #whumpblr #creative writing #whump community #whump drabble #obsessive whumper #yandere whumper #lima syndrome #disabled whumpee #carewhumper #emotional whump #helpless #PTSD #defiant Whumpee #multiple Whumper #Whumper-turned-Whumpee #non-con touching #withdrawal #mouth whump #intimidation #pet whump

[emptyrubbishbin]

"You'll never hurt anyone again."

Caretaker captures Whumper and conditions them to associate the sight of blood, wounds or sounds indicating any kind of hurt (screaming, yelping, whimpering, begging, etc) with pain. This also means they’re not just scared of hurting others, but they hate looking at their own wounds and avoid making noise when they are hurt because the sounds upset them.

#whump #whumper turned whumpee #whumpblr #whump writing #whump prompt #whump scenario #conditioning #whump community #whump stuff #caretaker turned whumper