100percentWhump

(more below the cut)

CW: Past torture, preparing for torture, blood, injury, conditioning, asking for punishment

This day five years ago, Whumper kidnapped Whumpee off the streets. 

Whumper always called it their deathiversary. The day that they died to the rest of the world. The last day they would ever see their family. The last day they would ever be able to support themselves by working. The last day they were good enough to call human. The day Whumpee’s life ended.

Whumpee spent four deathiversaries with Whumper. To this day Whumper’s words still ring true. They were still dead to the world, hiding from everyone but Caretaker. They haven’t seen their family. They haven’t even told them they’re still alive. On top of it all, they’re still not good enough. 

They didn’t tell Caretaker today was their deathiversary so they could celebrate. 

Any comforts they were given only came when they were tied up. Food, water, all provided. Sometimes their bonds would be manipulative enough that they could manage to feed themself, others not so much but Whumpee had learned to accept that helplessness—Whumper would help. They only ever got to sleep normal if their wrists were tethered in chains, able to close their eyes under the blindfold and just know that they wouldn’t be hurt. Physical comfort, medical attention, all paired with the familiar pressure around their forearms.

To further affirm this, some nights Whumper would leave them untied. The first time it happened, right at the beginning of Whumpee’s captivity, they had thought it was a slip up, an overlook. They had decided to take that freedom as a little treat, by that point aware enough to know that any attempt at escape would only end horribly for them. So they take the leisure to stretch out their stiff muscles and attempt to make themself a bit more comfortable as they fall asleep. Imagine how awful it felt for them to wake up, not half an hour after they fell asleep, to a fist in their hair, dragging them up to a whole new world of pain, worse than anything they felt to that point.

At some point, they learned. Any food that was given to them in the absence of cuffs was undoubtedly poisoned, tainted with drugs that would induce the worst fever dreams or the most uncomfortable pain, whereas the lasting nausea wouldn’t allow them to so much as sip water for days after. They learned that if they fell asleep without that familiar strain on their shoulders, they would be woken minutes later to the stinging lash of a whip or the burning shock of a stun gun or whatever torture Whumper was in the mood for.

Whenever they’re left unrestrained, the anxiety alone, anticipating what would happen, the pain that would follow, was enough to drive them to tears. Before long, whenever Whumper would leave them free in the room, they would return however long later to Whumpee hunched over on their knees, sobbing with their arms behind their back, nails digging into opposite forearms despite the absence of bonds.

Now imagine that Whumpee post-rescue. In the days, weeks following their (unwilling) liberation, as they sit in Caretaker’s home. The indents around their wrists having yet to fade, the deep bruises by now appearing as if they never will. Imagine the constant anxiety they’re faced with. Imagine the panic that weighs like a stone in their stomach every second of the day, building up and worsening as they wait for the inevitable. They know it’s coming. The waiting is driving them mad. Every day, they fear that the moment they let their guard down, the moment they step a toe too far out of line-

But they don’t know caretaker. They have no clue what they would do. And that scares them. It scares them beyond expression.

It’s inevitable, the day when they finally break. They’re sobbing and can barely speak, but still trying to beg caretaker to just do it, just do it already please just hurt me- I can’t stand it, please just do it-

And caretaker has no clue what to do. Do they give in to Whumpee’s pleads for sanctum, and finally, reluctantly bind their wrists, telling themself they are only doing this for Whumpee’s sake, assuring them that at any time Caretaker will remove the restraints, despite how this will only hinder any progress towards recovery? Or do they stand strong, despite how much it pains them to see Whumpee in such emotional anguish, doing the best they can to help them without feeding the habits they had grown to depend on?

tw: magical whump, knife/carving into skin, noncon touching (non sexual), intimate whumper, extreme pain (from the curse), manipulation, control/power imbalance

*alternate prompt

fuck it more neopronouns! :D

It's longer than they're used to. They never let it grow out this much before Whumper captured them. It's unruly, hard to take care of and maintain, and way too much trouble than it's worth. Whumper has expressed their dislike for it several times already, but they haven't made an attempt at cutting it yet. It seems they're allowing at least this small piece of Whumpee to remain untouched.

It's not like Whumpee would even let them cut it. There's not a lot they're willing to fight over anymore, but as ridiculous as it makes them feel, Whumpee knows their hair remains one of those things. The last piece of themself that remains theirs alone.

They busy themself with preparing breakfast- or, rather, dinner. Whumper's nocturnal lifestyle forces Whumpee to stay awake during the night and sleep in the day just as Whumper does, every aspect of their new life catered to their captor. Whumpee can't remember the last time they'd seen the sun, other than those few precious times Whumper let them watch the sunrise before bed- or the sunset, if Whumpee managed to get up early enough.

This is one of those rare occasions. Whumper was still sound asleep when Whumpee left the room, heading straight for the kitchen. Whumper allowed them free reign of their stupid big house, apparently entirely confident that Whumpee couldn't even find their way out, let alone escape.

Making food remains another one of those things Whumpee has yet to lose control over. The thought of Whumper, almighty and powerful, being incapable of making even a grilled cheese sandwich to keep Whumpee alive never ceases to amuse them. It makes him feel a little bit more human, even if Whumpee knows otherwise.

The sunlight that previously illuminated the kitchen grows weaker by the minute. Whumpee shudders when the air grows colder, suddenly regretting not putting on socks before they left the bedroom.

Another shiver runs up their spine at the thought of that wretched room. Bedtime always comes with a sort of silent dread, one that eats Whumpee up from the inside as the days go on. Whumper always draws the blackout curtains before the Sun could even begin to rise, and Whumpee has begun to dread each and every morning. How ironic, to hate the very thing they yearn for.

Their thoughts come to a screeching halt, their hands stilling when they feel a presence behind them. Their breathing stutters for a moment before they force it to go back to normal. They keep their head lowered, allowing the long curtain of hair to shield their face from Whumper's view.

Whumper's cold hand settles on their shoulder, slowly moving up the side of their neck. Their fingers trace over the raised web of scar tissue, pausing to push gently on the twin puncture marks at the very center. Whumpee supresses a wince.

"How many times do I have to tell you," Whumper murmurs, leaning close to Whumpee's ear, "to keep your hair out of my way?"

Whumpee's hands grip the counter's edge, shoulders raising.

"I hate it when you do that."

Whumper chuckles. Their hand moves further up, fingers running through the hair at the nape of Whumpee's neck.

"Do what?"

"Sneak up behind me. You know I hate it."

"And I hate it when you ignore my questions."

They're forced to press their hips into the edge of the counter as Whumper crowds close. Whumpee flinches when a hand appears in the corner of their eye, but then it moves fully into view, and Whumpee sucks in a breath.

Whumper's offer of the hairtie feels entirely too casual. Too innocent.

"Tie it up."

Whumpee hesitates.

"I-I'm.. Whumper, I'm making breakfast. Just give me a minute. I haven't eaten anything today."

Whumper's hand on the back of their neck tightens, and this time, Whumpee can't hold back the wince it elicits.

"Neither have I. Tie it up."

Whumpee dips their head. Their grip on the counter's edge turns white-knuckled.

"Please.." they whisper, half hoping Whumper wouldn't hear. "Just give me a damn minute."

Whumper's breath ghosts against their neck as they laugh.

"My, my. Got up on the wrong side of the bed, did you?"

Whumper's hand buries itself into the hair at the nape of Whumpee's neck, tugging hard to wrench their head back. Whumpee hisses, grabbing around blindly until their hand finds Whumper's wrist. They can see Whumper's grin from the corner of their eye.

"You don't get to make requests, Hunter." Whumper hisses into their ear, "Not anymore. Not when you pointed that gun at me, and especially not now. Seems like you need a reminder of where, exactly, you belong."

Whumpee grits their teeth, squeezing their eyes shut against the tears that threaten to fall. Their scalp feels like it's on fire, every nerve screaming at them to relieve the pressure before Whumper could rip their hair clean out. Their hands scrabble at Whumper's own.

"Fuck! Whumper, don't! Not yet, please not yet, I'm sorry, please just wait- ARGH!"

Sharp teeth slice into Whumpee's neck without warning. Their hands claw at Whumper's desperately, tears sliding down their face as the pain blossoms in their neck into something unbearable. Their breathing grows frantic. Whumper's lips are cold against their skin, and Whumpee tries their best to ignore the sickening feeling of their blood leaving their body.

Whumpee's hands start to tremble. One of them falls down to grip the counter again when a wave of dizziness washes over them. Their voice comes out breathier than they would have liked.

"Whumper, please. Th-that's enough.."

Whumper pulls away for only a moment, murmuring into Whumpee's skin to "Stay quiet" before biting down again, rougher this time. Whumpee strangles a whine in their throat.

They lose track of time after that. They come to when Whumper's teeth suddenly dislodge from their neck, Whumpee nearly falling over when Whumper's grasp on their hair disappears. They raise a shaking hand to their neck to try and stop the bloodflow, fighting the creeping nausea that makes their world spin.

Something small and light lands on the counter next to their hand. Whumpee's eyes drift slowly over to the hairtie, a scowl appearing on their face.

Whumper's hand lands on top of their head, fingers running through the strands. Whumpee shivers at the sensation.

"Pull something like this again and I might just cut it all off for you."

Whumpee shuts their eyes, slumping onto the countertop. They don't fight Whumper's touch as their eyes begin to slip closed.

…

Whumpee has been alone in the house for a few days, and slowly their paranoia has gone down. They always felt nervous being away from Caretaker for too long, but it’s been almost two months since their return, so they understand Caretaker isn’t willing to risk their job and not go on that business trip.

As Whumpee takes another sip of their water, however, they begin to feel dizzy. They feel sick at the familiar feeling, remembering how Whumper used to drug them and they’d… 

…feel exactly like this.

They try to stand and grab their phone on their bed, but only make it two steps before falling to the floor. They open their eyes to see expensive shoes striding their way, they don’t even need to look up to know who it is.

“I’m offended, in all honesty. Did you really think you could get away from me? Did you think I wouldn’t find you?”

“Please, don’t do this,” Whumpee begs. “Please.”

A smirk rises to Whumper’s lips. “Poor thing. You’ve grown so spoiled, you forgot your place. That’s okay, because you know what? I’m here now, and I’m never letting you leave me again.”

Whumpee goes deadweight when their captor picks them up, cradling them like Caretaker would. They cry and try to keep pleading, but each plead comes out as a pained moan.

As Whumper carries them out, they notice a framed picture on the wall. They stare at it, saying amusedly, “You look so happy in this picture, darling.” They snatch the picture and throw it to the ground, crushing it beneath their shoe. “Happiness isn’t a pretty look on you. I think I like these more.” They thumb away their tears.

“Pl– pleas–”

whumper lifting things easily, effortlessly displaying their inhumane physical strength.

caretaker lifting something easily, making whumpee terrified of when that strength will be turned against them. because surely, there's no way someone like that wouldn't want to snap them like a stick.

Whumpee collapsed across the couch: "How do I look?"

Caretaker: "Absolutely awful."

Bonus if it’s a sleep aid of some sort, so Whumpee becomes drowsy from it ofc, which could cause a mental connection to when they were drugged, and spike their anxiety. Caretaker lying with them and promising they’ll still be right here when Whumpee wakes up.

anon, your brain! 😭🥹

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Furniture, clothes and accessories for lapdog whumpees. Human sized dog beds, crates/cages, Pet toys etc.