All texts containing noncon or nsfw will be marked in red. Texts containing suggestive themes will be marked in orange. Please heed warnings and read at your own discretion!

Whump snippets

Outside - Whumpee gets a treat for behaving so well <3

The Patient - Whumper takes care of their victim

Odd - Caretaker notices that Whumpee is acting differently

Fury - Whumpee can’t contain their anger anymore

Forced to Play - Whumpee has a special talent. Whumper wants to exploit it. 

Forced to Watch - Whumper forces Caretaker to make a hard decision in order to save Whumpee's life

Fever - Whumper asks an old 'friend', Caretaker, for a favor: to care after a fever-ridden, fear-stricken Whumpee

Hero x Villain snippets

A Deal is a Deal - Hero and Villain make a deal. What happens when Villain actually sticks to it?

A Deal is a Deal Part II

Drabbles 'n Dialogue

My own Whumpee moment lmao

Not a slay 🙁

Whumpee still has some humor left

Whumper succeeds in breaking Whumpee—and regrets it

Series

Unmasked (Hero x Villain) - When Hero stumbled into the bar, finally content to unleash from their rigorous line of work, they never would have expected it was Villain who would be the one to ask them to a dance. But the feeling was mutual. Villain never expected they would find themselves in Hero’s bedroom, willing Hero to sit still in order to keep them half alive. 

Hey, just wanted to check in and make sure that these were just images you found online and not actually from you to yourself or someone else to you?

Sorry if this is an overreaction on my part - just a bit concerned and wanted to check in to make sure everything is ok.

Hey anon, I appreciate your worry and wanting to check that those pics were not any form of abuse. I can assure you both the photos and marks were not self inflicted and were obtained consensually!

CW: ankle restraint marks and bruising under the cut

Weapons used: spike wheel, riding crop, paddle, teeth, cuffs, rope

Hello anon! Fun fact, you're my first ever ask!! So obviously I just have to honor it. I hope you enjoy <3

I present to you...

A Deal is a Deal Part II

(continued from this snippet here)

CW: forced-feeding, mentions of torture, dubcon kiss, intimate villain, defiant hero, submissive hero

***

“I’ve been waiting so long for this.”

The words chilled Hero to the very bone. They froze, paralyzed in fear. In anticipation. The steam continued to dance off the plates of food in pearly swirls through the silence. Hero’s body stayed still as their gaze darted to the front door of Villain’s apartment. 

“Ah ah ah,” Villain smirked. “You take one step towards that door and I’ll have you licking your own blood off the floor.”

Hero, somehow, managed to let out a shocked chuckle. “Jesus.”

“You know I would,” Villain almost whispered, sitting their chin over latticed fingers. 

“I do.”

Hero looked away because, as loath as they were to admit it, Villain was right. Hero was exhausted and in no state to fight. Not only were they not wearing any armor, but their face was exposed. The contract they signed with the agency forbade them from engaging in any work if their identity wasn’t properly concealed. They could lose…everything. 

And so, biting their cheek in shame, they walked slowly towards the table and sat down. Villain let out a hum of satisfaction, getting up to restrain the Hero. Hero tried not to flinch as Villain took a scarred wrist, examined the broken skin, before pushing it down against the chair’s wooden arm, securing Hero’s wrist in a leather cuff. 

“And where did you get this, sweetheart?” Villain purred as they took their other wrist, turning it under the light so Hero could see the rosy colors of the scar saturate beneath it. 

“Where do you fucking think?” Hero practically spat back, flushing horribly in embarrassment. “Or do you not remember stabbing me with a nail at the warehouse? And I’m not your sweetheart.”

Hero hated Villain. Hero loathed them. They hated the way they spoke so gently, words caressing Hero’s ears as their hands went to their waist, securing the leather strap across their torso. Everything about Villain was like that—soft but firm, a white hot pain disguised behind a gentle touch. 

“I remember feeling you squirm underneath me,” Villain said as they walked back to take a seat, though not before letting their fingers trail underneath Hero’s chin, tipping it up to demand their gaze. 

They sat down. “I remember how good it felt. Feeling your body writhe underneath mine.”

“You’re disgusting,” Hero muttered. 

“And you’re…” Villain said as they reached over, grabbing the neck of a bottle of red wine, “impressively dim. How is it you managed to forget about the fine print of such a deal?” They laughed a little. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that if you play with fire, you get burnt?”

“It—it was late, I wasn’t thinking,” Hero argued as their face began to heat up. “And you—you’re just an asshole!”

Villain faked an offended gasp as they poured the red into their own glass of wine. “Me? How could you say such a thing when I went to such lengths to make you such a delightful meal?”

“Right. Like I trust you enough to let that shit anywhere near my mouth.”

Villain slammed a fist on the table. The sound echoed throughout the apartment, and Hero jumped in their seat, heart rate spiking like a drum against their chest. 

“This is spearhead and carnaroli risotto,” Villain corrected with a warning glance. “And it is anything but drugged. I need you to be awake after the meal. Wine, dear?”

Hero shook their head. “Fuck the meal. If you’re going to torture me, just do it. I’m not fucking talking, anyways.”

“A shame,” Villain said, taking a bite of rice. “I would rather enjoy the meal with you. It’s been ever so long since I’ve been on a date.”

“This is not a date,” Hero said. 

“Hm, I don’t think I quite believe that.” Villain took another forkful of rice with a piece of the fish, and they reached over the table. “Eat, sweetheart.”

“I am not—”

Hero erupted into violent coughs as Villain used their open mouth as an invitation, shoving in their fork. 

“Oh dear,” Villain said, getting up and rushing over to Hero. They grabbed a napkin, dabbing at Hero’s lips as Hero sputtered, coughing out bits of rice. 

“What the hell, Villain!” Hero choked out, shaking their head away from Villain’s napkin. “Get off!”

“I’m afraid if you’re not going to eat willingly, I’ll have to tube-feed you,” Villain said, grabbing a fistful of Hero’s hair, slamming their head back against the seat. “I don’t much like starving my hostages. And if you’re planning on staying long enough to the point I’ll resort to torture because you refuse to give up information, I’d rather know now.”

Hero’s eyes widened. “T-tube feed?”

“It’s that or by hand, I’m afraid,” Villain said. “At least until we can get back to my base. You’ll have a proper cell there. With proper utensils.”

Villain ignored Hero’s shivering form, the fear finally kicking their nervous system into overdrive. They dipped over Hero’s plate, taking another forkful of food, and put it to Hero’s lips. 

“Take a bite. Now.”

Villain let go of Hero’s hair and Hero gulped. Slowly, they leaned forward with an open mouth. Their lips closed around their fork and slid off, taking the food with it. They chewed, wincing when Villain put two fingers to their trachea, but forced a swallow. Maybe it would have tasted good if Hero wasn’t so fucking scared for their life.

“Good boy,” Villain muttered. “Another one, now.”

The moment dragged on forever. Hero forced away tears as they took every single bite that was offered to them, feeling completely infantilized whenever Villain set the fork down to dab at the corners of their mouth with a napkin. They tried to ignore Villain’s croons as their plate began to empty, trying to focus on the future; mentally preparing for whatever horrible pain was awaiting them in Villain’s clutches. But when they emptied their plate, something unexpected happened. 

Villain smiled, pulling Hero’s chair out from underneath the table. They circled Hero, fingers combing through damp locks. 

“What are you doing?” Hero asked, voice broken in fear. 

“Rewarding you,” Villain replied simply, setting a knee between Hero’s legs. 

Hero gasped. “What? Ngh—Mmph!”

“Sh, shhhhh,” Villain shushed them as they pressed their knee harder between Hero’s legs, their other hand jumping to caress Hero’s waist. “Don’t act so surprised. You know what it is I can do.”

“Physical contact can give you access to my memories, I know,” Hero practically cried as their heart lurched, stomach dropping as a spike of pleasure bloomed through their chest. Fuck. “You’ve already seen my memories, there’s nothing you can—!”

“Correct, sweetheart, but you’re missing the most important part,” Villain said. They slowly settled their weight over Hero’s lap, their palm trailing down Hero’s cheek to cup their face. They looked into Hero’s terrified, helpless, desperate eyes, and leaned forward. A husky voice tickled Hero’s ear. “I can also access your feelings.”

Hero gulped. “M-my feelings?”

“Mhm,” Villain crooned, dipping fingers under the hem of Hero’s shirt, trailing over their scarred skin. “I can access your memories and thoughts. Your desires.”

“No—”

“Don’t be ashamed, darling,” Villain whispered. “I assure you, it’s more than mutual.”

In an instant, Villain turned away, grabbing something that must have been sitting on the table. Hero took their chance, trying to buck their hips up to throw Villain off. Of course, it didn’t work. Instead, shock waves pooled in their groin at the pressure and they let out a soft whimper. They turned their head away, closing their eyes as they tried to fight the feeling. 

But Villain was quicker. Soon, they turned back, forcefully turning Hero’s chin back towards them. And then, their lips collided. Hero gasped. 

And then they sunk into Villain’s touch.

They kissed Villain’s lips, exhaling into their mouth before leaning forward with vigor. Villain was quick to respond, slamming Hero’s head against the seatback. They let their tongue slide against Hero’s lower lip, who squirmed beneath them in return. When a thumb found the hinge of Hero’s jaw, Hero didn’t fight. Instead, they obeyed, opening their mouth wider to the taste of…metal?

Villain pushed the cylindrical thing with the back of their tongue, forcing Hero’s head back as it slid into their mouth. Instinctually, Hero bit down to keep from swallowing the thing before sputtering, separating from the kiss with a pop of suctioned lips. 

They caught it just before it slipped from their mouth, catching its ornate tail between their teeth. They looked down. The silver key gleamed with saliva. Hero’s eyes widened before darting towards their wrists. The lock on their leather restraint seemed to glow in its newfound attention. Hero looked up at Villain, who gave a charismatic grin.

CW: noncon

Whumper who misses Whumpee’s fire and defiance, constantly trying to tease it out of them only to be met with sunken, tired eyes. Whumpee doesn’t have the energy to deal with it right now.

Whumper who tries to provoke Whumpee. Attacks their character or their family to set Whumpee off and actually hear Whumpee’s voice. Instead, they’re only met with crying. 

Spoiling Whumpee: getting Whumpee games or puzzles. Something to stimulate their mind so Whumper stops feeling like they’re living with a houseplant.

Whumpee who ignores the gifts. They’re too tired to do anything, anyways.

Whumper inviting Whumpee to sit down at the table for meals. Maybe some healthy, normal-person conversation could help?

Whumpee whose appetite starts to become affected by their depression. They refuse almost every meal, just taking enough bites to satisfy Whumper as Whumper watches Whumpee get skinnier and skinnier.

Punishing Whumpee for “being boring.” Whumpee who closes their eyes and just accepts it. The sooner they pass out, the better.

In contrast, withholding punishment. Being kind and affectionate, trying to draw Whumpee back out of their shell. Too late. Whumpee won’t flinch away from the touch, but they won’t sink into it either. 

Forced drugging. Whumper’s sick and tired of Whumpee’s “bad mood.” They put a little something-something in Whumpee’s water, just looking for a reaction.

Whumper bringing in a ‘doctor’ to evaluate Whumpee because “They’re just not getting better.”

NSFW edition

Prioritizing Whumpee’s pleasure. Making it gentle and affectionate. Keeping them unrestrained to give them just a little bit more control over the situation. Asking "do you like it when I do this? How about this? Does that feel good to you?"

Better yet—Whumper getting even more annoyed when this doesn’t work and tries to stop themselves from forcing Whumpee to come. You can’t force pleasure, can you?

Kisses. Everywhere. Telling Whumpee they’re loved. Trying to draw a reaction. Was that a moan of pleasure or a groan of irritation? 

CW: referenced torture, referenced noncon, noncon stripping, sickness, nudity, forced bathing, vomiting, brief needle, intimate whumper, complicit caretaker

Word count: 3,591

***

“Still?”

“Yes, still,” Whumper seethed over the phone, beyond irritated at Caretaker for having taken the situation so lightly. “His temperature’s the exact fucking same.”

“Did you give him the ibuprofen?” Caretaker asked. 

“Yes I fucking gave him the medicine, or else I wouldn’t be calling your sorry ass,” Whumper hissed. 

He was standing over Whumpee, who was wrapped in layers upon layers of blankets on Whumper’s bed, his face barely peeking out from the top of the thickest comforter. His eyelids were sunken and purplish, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. And he was still shaking. God, why was he still shaking? Whumper clutched harder at the phone, trying to keep his composure. Whumpee couldn’t get any worse. Whumper wouldn’t let it happen. 

“Has he gotten out of bed at all?” Caretaker asked. 

Whumper pursed his lips. “Not since last night.”

“Jeez.” A pause. “Well, there’s still time to bring him up here. Hours are over, but I can close a little later if you’d like—”

“I told you, I’m not bringing him to the clinic,” Whumper said. “Too much of a risk. Whumpee, he—well—you never know with him. He could run.”

Whumper heard Caretaker sigh over the phone. “I’m sorry, you’re afraid your currently incapacitated, feverish hostage is gonna take off on you? After the state you left him in?”

“Not to mention the cameras,” Whumper added. 

“Whumper, I’m risking my entire practice—hell—my entire life by letting you bring Whumpee into the clinic. And I’m honestly not worried anything will happen. Can’t you at least trust that?”

“No,” Whumper stated coldly. “I’m not coming to the clinic. You’re coming here. Bring whatever shit you need, but Whumpee isn’t leaving the fucking house.”

“I—fine,” Caretaker finally relented. “Let me just close up here and I can be at your house in about a half hour.”

It was all Whumper needed to hear. He hung up, set the phone down, and sat at the foot of his bed. His stomach clenched at the sight of Whumpee, who could already be mistaken for a corpse by how shallow his breaths appeared. Fuck. Whumpee better fucking survive this. With how much of a spitfire he could be, Whumper was shocked to see him in this condition. His Whumpee, knocked out by what started out as just the common cold? The boy Whumper spent months trying to tame? Impossible. And yet—

Whumpee moaned as an entire full-body shiver wracked his body. He clenched his teeth, rolled to the side, and let out a croak of a cry. 

“A doctor is coming, sweetheart,” Whumper said, leaning forward to push sticky hair out of Whumpee’s face. “You’ll behave, yes?”

Despite his state, Whumper raised his eyebrows in surprise when Whumpee answered. “N-no…doctor…”

“Yes, a doctor,” Whumper challenged. “It can’t be helped, darling. It’s the fourth day of this. Surely you want to get better?”

He was satisfied when he caught the slightest nod in response. Good. At least he was conscious enough to be somewhat obedient.

—

“Good God, Whumper,” Caretaker said, standing over the bed as he took in Whumpee’s figure. “What the hell did you do to him?”

“I was only correcting his behavior. Besides, it only started out as a cold.”

“Did you—what—drown him?”

Whumper shook his head. “No, I left him in the snow overnight.” He reeled back when he saw Caretaker’s expression. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. It was a few hours. And he was fine when I came to collect him after. He only had a cough.”

“And that was how many days ago?” Caretaker asked, going over to the desk to set out all his supplies. 

“Four.”

Despite his feverish state, constantly swimming between a dark, cold haze and confusing dreams that left him sore and panicked, Whumpee was awake. He could hear Whumper talking to someone—he assumed the doctor he’d been told was coming to see him. The doctor he thought he had only dreamt about. It was strange to care so little about someone else being so close to him in proximity after having only been in Whumper’s presence for months. He knew that a small part of himself—the lucid part that only appeared in spurts throughout the day—was internally screaming, begging for him to cry out for help. After months of endless waiting, just before him was a chance. A real chance to escape. But his body couldn’t care less at the news. He was in so much pain, battling between sticky heat and the most freezing cold, that opening his mouth to even whisper the word ‘help’ seemed a chore too great for him to handle. But the words he heard next immediately roused him. 

“We’ll have to strip him first,” Caretaker explained. “Take off all his layers. They’re only worsening his temperature. Then we’ll run a bath. Lukewarm water. I can set up an IV to deliver fluids. How much has he eaten recently?”

Whumper shook his head once again. “Won’t eat.”

“What has he had to drink?”

“He won’t drink either.”

“Fluids will be acceptable then. But we’ll have to encourage him to take as much as he can orally. Then I’ll run a few tests, see if I can figure out exactly what’s causing the sickness.”

“What sort of tests?” Whumper asked. 

“The standard stuff: a blood test and a urine sample, maybe a simple physical. But getting his temp down is priority. Go ahead and remove the blankets.”

The word echoed in Whumpee’s head, bouncing painfully off the walls of his skull. 

Strip. 

Whumpee didn’t want to strip. Stripping meant pain. Stripping meant an entire map of skin to be cut, to be beaten. Stripping meant baths where he was forced to sit leaned against Whumper’s chest between spread legs. Stripping meant being pushed onto the bed, knees forced apart—

“Nuh…no…!” Whumpee moaned as his blankets were pulled off of his body, taking with them the warmth that kept him barely sane. He looked up only to be greeted with shadows, silhouettes above his head. He felt something cold under his shirt.

“I know, I know,” Whumper said gently, followed by the snips of scissors against fabric. His shirt was being cut off. “You’ll be warm again soon, sweetheart, I promise.”

But Whumpee only cried when hands found the top of his sweatpants and began to pull downwards. He gave a sad attempt at a kick, only to be met with a pitying giggle from Whumper. But the cold seemed to sting him back to life. Before his underwear could be taken, Whumpee pushed himself to sit up, wrapping arms around his knees as he shuffled to the head of the bed. Before him he could see…was that the doctor?

He was about Whumper’s age and blonde. Surprisingly wearing actual scrubs. Was this…a real doctor? Who made house calls? How could Whumper allow such a thing?

“Ah, it seems introductions may be in order after all,” Whumper said with a smile. “Whumpee, this is a dear friend of mine, Caretaker.”

“Acquantaince,” Caretaker clarified. 

Whumper chuckled. “Hm, yes. An acquaintance who, for a time now, has owed me a favor. He has so graciously agreed to come help me take care of you.”

Whumpee glowered as best he could at Caretaker. Of course Whumper would never have called a regular doctor. How could he have been so stupid to believe he had a chance at escape? His fever had fed him many lies throughout the days, but, this one sliced a little too deep. 

“Don’t touch me,” Whumpee murmured, eyeing Caretaker. 

“Darling, don’t be like that,” Whumper said, folding his arms. “Didn’t I tell you to behave?”

But Caretaker interrupted Whumpee’s chastisement. “I’m…just here to help you.”

“I d-don’t want h-help,” Whumpee stuttered through the cold. 

“I’m so sorry about him,” Whumper said. “It seems this sickness has brought out his defiance.”

Caretaker shook his head before turning to Whumpee. “I’m not surprised. Would you be more comfortable if Whumper took your temperature instead of me? You would need to remove your underwear, and lay on your side.”

“...What?” Whumpee asked, heart hammering as his stomach churned. God, was he going to throw up?

“Rectal temperature, love,” Whumper clarified with a quirk at the edge of his lips. “It will help give Caretaker the most accurate reading.”

“No!” Whumpee immediately screamed, as loud as he could make it. “No, I—! We can just do the forehead one, we—that’s what we’ve been using this whole—!”

“I’m afraid this isn’t up for debate,” Whumper said, beginning to stalk forward towards his victim. 

Tears he had long since believed to be beaten away stung Whumpee’s eyes as he forced himself into the corner against the wall. His stomach churned painfully at the thought of being completely naked again. In front of a complete stranger, no less. He put out his palms in defense as he attempted to buy himself time and convince Whumper to let him forego the process. 

“Please, please,” Whumpee urged, “Please, Whumper, I—I don’t w-want this, I’m fine. It’s just a f-fever, it’ll g-go away. I’ll…I’ll eat, I’ll drink something, just….,” his last word was barely a whisper. “Please.”

“You are anything but fine,” Whumper replied firmly while Caretaker scratched the back of his head, obviously uncomfortable to be in such a situation. Whumpee imagined he didn’t have many patients to be unwilling captives. 

“At least let me do it myself,” Whumpee cried. “I’ll g-go into the bathroom, and just—”

“Whumpee,” Whumper said, putting a knee on the bed before him. “If you keep arguing I’m afraid we are just going to have to force you. You don’t want that, do you?”

Whumpee could see how this would play out. He would fight back, of course. Not because he wanted to (although he truly, truly wanted to) but imagining himself in such a compromising position in front of a complete stranger would force him to react despite a fever-bitten body. He would bite, scratch, and kick, whatever he needed to do. But he knew he was weak, and it would only take seconds before he was wrestled out of his underwear and forced onto his stomach. Even if he could escape the room somehow, he wouldn’t be able to run far. It wouldn’t be the first time he was forced over a table or a countertop. And then—Whumpee blanched at the thought. A hand leapt to his mouth to keep from gagging. 

“Whumper, I can tell him how to do it himself if he wants,” Caretaker murmured. 

Whumper seemed to stop at the words before turning to Whumpee. “I assume you’d put up a fight if it were any other way?”

Whumpee, embarrassingly, nodded. “I…I can do it myself.” “Fine,” Whumper nodded. “I trust you’ll do it accurately and follow instructions? I’m afraid a suspicious reading may convince us to…try again.”

There goes the plan of running the thermometer over hot water until it reads a lower grade fever so Caretaker could just leave. Whumpee was beginning to grow furious at him. Whumpee wanted to understand why. How. How could he have met Whumper? How could he be okay with this? Did he realize how much power he held in his hands?

Whumpee nodded. “I’ll do it right.”

Whumpee was instructed to go into the bathroom with the door just slightly open. He listened to Caretaker’s instructions, who was standing outside: two fingers at the top of the thermometer to help insert it about an inch into the rectum, and to hold it there for a minute until he heard three consecutive beeps. Whumpee eyed the vat of aquaphor that Whumper had prepared for him, hating that he had to do this. But, just wanting to get it over with, he lubricated the thermometer and did as instructed. 

When the beeps sounded, he removed it, just happy to have the feeling out of his ass. He supposed that was one good thing about having been sick: Whumper didn’t fuck him. But that was another thing. Whumper refrained from fucking him not because he was afraid of getting sick, but because it was “no fun” when Whumpee wasn’t strong enough to even attempt a fight back. The nausea instantly returned. 

Caretaker’s brows furrowed when Whumpee handed him the thermometer. “Whumper, start the bath.”

“What is it?”

“One-oh-three point six.”

Whumpee shivered when he saw Whumper’s reaction: a stiffening of the shoulders followed by a purse of the lips. “It’s gotten higher.”

The pair turned towards Whumpee. Whumpee shed a tear at what he knew was going to come next. 

He was unceremoniously forced out of his underwear (Whumper made a point to do it right in front of Caretaker when Whumpee initially asked to undress in private). Then he was forced to wait on the toilet, shivering, as the tub filled with tepid water. By the time he was lowered into it, his attempt at his earlier fight caught up with him and he lost all energy. The chills returned with a vengeance at being forced into the water, which felt nothing short of an ice bath. He trembled so much his jaw quivered, his teeth clicking against each other with fervor. His stomach lurched repeatedly, and he found himself helped out of the tub after several minutes when the nausea caught up to him. That’s when he stayed bent over the toilet, shaking and wet, still naked, while Whumper rubbed his shoulders and held his hair back. All the while Caretaker was asking questions as he was becoming more and more dazed. 

How often do the bouts of shivering occur? For how long?

Did he feel any numbness or tingling in his extremities?

How was his appetite? Weak? If so, for how long?

When did he last urinate? Have a bowel movement?

By the final question, Whumpee was laying his head over the toilet lid with a towel wrapped around his shoulders, ready to fall asleep. It was as if he was being forcibly pulled into darkness, and he was willing to accept it. In his last few moments of lucidity, he could feel being carried back into the bed, clean underwear being pulled over his hips, and being propped up on pillows, Whumper taking hold of his jaw to force his head up when it lolled to lay on his shoulder. 

And then he saw it: a needle, being slipped into the crook of his elbow. A tube extending to a pole by the bedside. Something clear inside the connected pouch. The taste of metal in his mouth. He let out a cry. Whumper shushed him softly and planted a kiss on his forehead. 

And then he was gone. 

—

He could hear a faint rustling first. The clink of something made of glass being set down. The turn of a page. That’s when the feeling returned. Soreness in his back, tugging at his abdomen from throwing up. Oh, right. He vomited. And had been given a bath. And had been forced to—

He groaned and opened his eyes. At first it was dark. Had the lights been turned off? But then it came into view, static prickling away to reveal the bedroom he was all too familiar with. And then brown eyes met blue. Caretaker. 

“Hello,” Caretaker said, walking towards Whumpee to place the back of his hand against his forehead before drawing it down to his cheek. “How are you feeling?”

Whumpee coughed. God, his throat was dry. “Unwell.”

Caretaker chuckled at that, a kind, almost amicable smile pulling at his lips. “I’m not surprised. We’ve gotten the fever down by a degree, though.”

“Where’s Whumper?” Whumpee asked, eyes darting around to look for the man. 

“He just stepped out,” Caretaker said. “I sent him on a run to grab some things that might be lighter on your stomach. Now that you’re awake, would you be willing to partake in some simple tests for me?” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “I…assume it will be easier for you without Whumper in the room.”

Whumpee scoffed at that. “Fucking genius over here, folks.”

He was surprised when Caretaker actually laughed at that, covering his mouth as if it was impolite. 

“What do you need?”

“A urine test,” Caretaker said, pulling out an orange cup from behind him. “Simple enough, just—”

“Pee up to the line. Got it,” Whumpee said. 

“Yes,” Caretaker confirmed. “I already took your blood while you were asleep. So one less of a needle.”

Whumpee frowned at that. “How long was I out?”

Caretaker shrugged. “Six, seven hours? I put a sedative in the IV to help you sleep. Among other things to hopefully help the pain.”

Whumpee’s heart picked up at the words. “Did you…I mean, did Whumper—”

“No one touched you,” Caretaker said, already horrifyingly aware of what Whumpee was asking. “All we did was change out the blanket when it got wet. I promise.”

I promise. What a…strange…thing to say. Whumpee would have pegged any friend of Whumper’s to be just another punishment waiting to happen. But Caretaker? God, Whumpee almost felt like he could trust him had he met him anywhere else. It was strange for him to take the cup and be helped out of bed (vertigo hitting heavily as he did so). Caretaker held him gently, only when necessary, helping pull the IV pole along. And for the first time in months, Whumpee locked the bathroom door behind himself while Caretaker stood outside of it. He relished in the firmness of the click. He almost wanted to unlock it just so he could hear it again. 

He did his business, pissing for the first time in a day and a half before giving the cup to Caretaker and being brought back to bed. He was still cold, but whatever Caretaker had put through the IV was working. They chatted for several minutes. About normal things. If you could call the effects of hypothermia normal (which Caretaker suspected was what caused the onset of fever. “Rewarming is a tricky process. Do it wrong and you’re facing a whole different beast”). And when all seemed safe, and Whumper was still gone, Whumpee said his words. 

“You could do it now, you know.”

Caretaker looked up, his smile fading. “Hm?”

Whumpee shrugged. “You know. Call 9-1-1. Save my entire fucking life. Let me see my family again.”

Caretaker seemed to blanch at that, taking in a stark breath before immediately looking away. “I…I can’t do that. I’m sorry.”

“But why?” Whumpee asked, trying to sound normal in the fear that desperation in his voice would cause Caretaker to shut down the conversation. “You—you know what Whumper does to me. What he did to cause all this in the first place. How are you okay with that?”

“I’m not,” Caretaker said abruptly. “I—let me be clear. What Whumper does to you is…disgusting. Abhorrent. But he and I have a very…complicated relationship. He’s guilty of many things, one of them being what he does to you. But I…,” his eyes went glossy. “I’ve done things, too.”

“So, what, you only have interest in saving your own ass?” Whumpee asked, unable to stop the tears from beginning to appear. “There’s no way you could just…just give me the phone for one goddamn minute just so I can…go home again?”

Caretaker took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I truly am.”

Whumpee stared, stunned, tears streaming down his face with ease as he watched Caretaker’s guilty expression force him to turn away. 

“So…that’s it, then? You’re gonna make me better just so Whumper can keep beating the shit out of me?”

Silence. 

“Can you at least…,” Whumpee hiccuped. “Can you at least tell me they haven’t lost hope?”

This caught Caretaker’s attention. The man looked up. “Your mother…she searches for you every day.”

Whumpee collapsed into tears, bent over as his lungs ached for recovery from the horrible croaking erupting from his chest. He hiccuped, wiping away the wetness just for it to be replaced until he was reduced to sobs. Caretaker shuffled forward, putting a hand on Whumpee’s shoulder. But Whumpee shrieked, pushing the hand away before scooting to the other side of the bed, wishing that he was still sedated. And then, a voice caught his attention. 

“How touching.”

Whumper closed the door behind him, tilting his head as eyes darted between Caretaker and Whumpee, who was still experiencing a fit. 

“I’m sorry, Caretaker, but it seems Whumpee needs to be alone for a moment,” Whumper said. “Could you and I have a chat outside?”

Caretaker’s eyes widened, but he jumped away from Whumpee with a hasty nod. 

“Get the fuck out!” Whumpee screamed, aiming his voice at Caretaker. “Get him out!”

Whumper nodded. “Of course, love. I hate to see you so upset.”

And Whumpee was. For the first time, he had never felt more rage in his life, which was saying something. And this time, it wasn’t aimed at Whumper. It was aimed at Caretaker. The one man with the power to save him, the device in his pocket with the three simple numbers that promised Whumpee’s mother a son…gone. Refusing. Whumpee had never felt such a betrayal. 

As the door closed, he screamed, tearing at his IV, ripping the needle out before burying his face into the pillow to cry. He cried for a very long time. 

Once his breath became shallow and his sobs subsided, he felt a hand stroke down his bare, sweaty back. 

CW: explicit noncon, captivity/bondage, vomit, intimate whumper, sadistic whumper, submissive whumpee, exhibitionism

***

“I must say,” Whumper said, striding between his two captives, eyes lingering over his obvious favorite, “I’m a little disappointed you never mentioned me, Whumpee. I’ve had such an impact on your life after all…”

Caretaker pulled against restraints. “What does he mean, Whumpee? What the hell is he talking about?”

Whumpee remained still, eyes facing forward, kneeling. Whumpee hadn’t been restrained. They hadn’t been restrained, and yet, they didn’t need to be. They were paralyzed by fear. Practically conditioned by it, something Whumper had tried for the better part of a year to instill. Even after several months of freedom, it seemed his lesson had still stuck.

Whumper slowly circled Whumpee, a hand grazing the top of their head, earning a wince. Whumper smirked. “Do you want to tell Caretaker? Or shall I?”

“Tell me what?” Caretaker practically screamed, desperate to understand what the fuck was going on. “Whumpee, who is this guy? Whumpee! Come on, you have to—you have to snap out of it! Come on!”

Whumper slowly kneeled, an arm snaking around Whumpee’s neck from behind. In a swift movement, they had pulled Whumpee back, forcing them to sit between his legs. It seemed the confinement finally stirred Whumpee from their paralysis, for Whumpee began to scream, kick, claw…

“There you are,” Whumper smirked, wrapping another arm around Whumpee’s torso to keep them still. “Are you with us, sweetheart? Are you ready to behave? I think someone asked you a question.” He took a fistful of Whumpee’s hair, forcing their head up to look into Caretaker’s eyes. 

“N-no!” Whumpee cried upon seeing Caretaker’s horrified expression. “Please, n-not now. Not in front of h-him.”

“And spare him some free entertainment?” Whumper asked, his voice tickling Whumpee’s ear. “I don’t think so.”

“E-Entertainment?” Caretaker stammered, heartbeat practically drowning out their own words. “Whumpee, I—I don’t understand…”

Whumper tsked. “It seems Whumpee here has lost their voice. No matter. They get like this when they get nervous. It happened a lot last year, didn’t it, Whumpee?” Fingers trailed down Whumpee’s chest to the top of their jeans, forcing out a whimper. “Mm, yes, just like that. Make that sound again.”

Caretaker narrowed their eyes as they followed Whumper’s fingers lower and lower. And then, it clicked. It finally clicked. The way Whumpee immediately froze up, going completely still as two fingers prodded between their legs over the thick fabric of their jeans. The way their eyes went wide before glazing over, the telltale sign they were falling into a daze. They did that sometimes after what Caretaker thought were fluke nightmares. But never like this. And when Whumper finally tilted Whumpee’s head to the side to press a tender kiss under their jaw, everything made sense. 

“You…” Caretaker began, heart dropping to their stomach, falling still as their nightmare became a reality, “...you were raped?”

Whumpee’s breath hitched at the word, forcing them from their daze and back into the hell they had so harshly relied on their mind to escape. They squeezed their eyes shut, their jaw snapping closed with a shake of the head. 

“Took you long enough,” Whumper said, pulling away from Whumpee’s neck, still fondling them. 

Caretaker couldn’t breathe. No—there was no breath to even be had. Suddenly, everything made sense. The nightmares, the locked bedroom door, the constant promising of knocking at the bathroom door before they entered. “No…”

“Yes,” Whumper grinned, their free hand snaking up the front of Whumpee’s shirt. 

Caretaker screamed out. “No! You—you fucking bastard! I’m going to fucking kill you! Get your filthy hands off them you motherfucking—!”

“Ah ah ah,” Whumper warned, pinching a nipple under Whumpee’s shirt, causing his victim to let out a yelp. “I would hold your tongue if I was you, or poor Whumpee here earns the consequences. Isn’t that right, darling?”

He turned back towards Whumpee, this time a tender kiss turning into a blooming hickey. He looked straight into Caretaker’s eyes as he sucked harder and harder, the corners of his mouth lifting as Whumpee struggled, muttering words for mercy that only reached his captor’s ears. 

“Stop,” Caretaker whispered, crimson painting his expression as fury boiled in their veins. “Stop it.”

“Mm, no, I really don’t think I will,” Whumper said, separating from Whumpee with a smack of his lips. “You see, Whumpee and I have been very close. I don’t want to deprive them of the touch you’ve been so obviously withholding from them.”

“Withholding—?” Caretaker practically shouted, hands trembling in their shackles, causing the chains to clank against each other. “They don’t like to be touched. They don’t like to be held! I’m not fucking depriving them of affection, I’m listening to their fucking boundaries!”

Whumpee scoffed. “Boundaries? No. I believe you’re mistaken. There are no boundaries here. Never between Whumpee and I. Isn’t that right, love?”

Whumpee couldn’t respond. Their entire body had been wracked with violent trembles that went in waves, their skin practically jumping off their body with each and every touch Whumper violated them with. The fingers squeezing their nipple were searching for pain, searching to cause hurt, and they couldn’t even think through it all. The only thing that seemed to make it into their head was that it was happening. It was happening again. But this time—it wouldn’t be the intimate scene Whumper liked to stage under the pretense of some sick relationship they shared. It was going to hurt, and they knew that he would make sure of it. This was going to be a punishment. Not only for their escape—but to punish Caretaker as well. For being the one Whumpee had escaped to. They had to scream. They had to shout. They had to do something. 

Speak! a voice in the back of Whumpee’s head cried. Beg! Plead! Don’t let this happen!

“P-please, Whumper,” Whumpee managed to let out without vomiting. “Please don’t. Please. I’m begging you. I’ll do anything. I’ll kiss you. I’ll…I’ll come back. I’ll stay with you. I won’t run away this time, just—” their last words were nothing but a whimper on the verge of a sob, “—please don’t do this.”

Whumpee furrowed his brow despite the broadening grin creeping up on his face. For a moment, he seemed to consider Whumpee’s words, his eyes becoming glossy in thought. But then, he shook his head. 

“Alright then,” he said, pulling his hand out from Whumpee’s shirt. “If you really don’t want to. Consider it a reward for begging for it so kindly.” He looked up at Caretaker. “I suppose you wouldn’t mind taking their place?”

“No!” Whumpee and Caretaker shrieked at the same time. 

Caretaker practically lunged forward, as far as their shackles would let them. “Do whatever the hell you want to me, I don’t care! Just don’t touch them.”

Whumper began to run fingers through Whumpee’s hair, voice turning to a tone of casual conversation. “You would really take their place?”

“No,” Whumpee interrupted before Caretaker could respond. “Whumper, I s-swear to God…”

“Oh?” Whumper asked. “I thought you said you didn’t want it?”

Whumpee let out a broken sob. “I…I don’t want you to touch Caretaker.”

Finally. Exactly what Whumper had been provoking Whumpee to say since the conversation began. 

“Prove it. Say it right,” Whumper ordered, fingers once again trailing down Whumpee’s shirt. “Beg for it like you mean it.”

Whumpee shut their eyes and took a breath. “Please, Whumper. I want it.”

“What do you want, sweetheart?”

“I want you…to fuck me.”

Whumper looked up to see Caretaker, completely frozen in shock. Their face had immediately gone a sickly green, cracked lips visible under the basement light as they swayed on their knees, unable to fathom what they had just heard. 

“Whumpee, no…”

“Shut up,” Whumpee immediately replied. “Just…please, don’t make it harder than it has to be.”

“No!” Caretaker repeated, strength returning to their voice as they locked eyes with Whumper. “Please, let me take their place. I’ll beg for it even. I’ll cry, I’ll—”

“Sorry,” Whumper said with a shrug. “My angel has spoken. Besides, you wouldn’t be a good fuck anyways.” He looked over to Whumpee. “Shall you get into position then, darling?”

“Fuck,” Whumpee cried softly, shaking his head. “Fuck, just…Whumper, can we please not do this here…?”

Whumper shook his head with a pitying pout. “I’m afraid not, sweetheart. Come now. Up on your knees.”

Caretaker began to scream as they watched Whumper let go of Whumpee, only for Whumpee to scramble forward to their knees as the looming figure behind them wrapped his arms around their waist. Tears streamed, blurring Caretaker’s vision as they shrieked incoherently, jumbled words and pleads taking up the last of their vocabulary. 

Whumper approached from behind, running fingers down Whumpee’s waist and chest as Whumpee knelt, eyes fixed to the ground, dripping tears like a leaky faucet. When hands went to unbutton their jeans from behind, their head snapped up. 

“Don’t look,” Whumpee said as they made eye contact with Caretaker. Their zipper came down, exposing the top of black boxers. “I said don’t look!”

But Caretaker was frozen; paralyzed by fear as they watched Whumper push Whumpee down, forcing their victim to their hands and knees, tugging at the waistband of their jeans as it began to slip down bare thighs. 

“Don’t look!” Whumpee shrieked, the fear in their voice being replaced by total, seething rage and humiliation. “Caretaker, turn around! Close your eyes!!” 

“Sh, shhh,” Whumper cooed, manhandling Whumpee to turn towards the side in order to give Caretaker the best view. “None of that, now, little one. Save that voice for me.”

But Whumpee didn’t care. Getting fucked was one thing, sure, they had done it dozens of times with Whumper. But they couldn’t stand the thought of doing it in front of Caretaker, of being nude, of being fully and utterly—

Whumpee shrieked as their boxers slipped off, cool air hitting their backside, exposing the bruises and scars they had never allowed anyone to see. With all of their might, before it really began, they screamed at the top of their lungs, their own noise abusing their ears. 

“Don’t. Fucking. LOOK!”

“No, Caretaker,” Whumper immediately commanded, stealing Caretaker’s gaze as he pushed up to his knees behind Whumpee, one hand grasping the back of their neck, the other running a palm over their ass. “If you don’t watch, I will kill them.”

“No!” Whumpee screamed, turning to Caretaker, eyes completely drowned in tears. “Don’t do it, Caretaker, don’t look! I’m begging you, please!”

Caretaker stared back, horrified, stomach churning with an obvious threat. “B-but…he said he’s gonna kill you…”

“Then let me fucking die!” Whumpee howled. 

“It’s up to you,” Whumper interrupted, sticking fingers in his mouth before plunging them into Whumpee’s ass. Whumpee shrieked in pain at the barely-lubricated intrusion, their mind plunging into the depths of shame as they turned away from Caretaker’s horrified expression. They fell to their elbows, collapsing into throat-ripping sobs as the fingers within them began to pump slowly in and out, punctuated by a blinding pain they thought they had forever escaped. “But look away, and I’ll slit their throat. It’s that easy, really.”

The final words left Caretaker’s mouth with a barely audible rasp. “I’m sorry, I—I can’t watch you die.”

Whumpee bawled. The terrible noise erupted from the pits of their body, filling the basement with the sounds of a gurgling wetness as Whumpee drooled, pleads stifled by the rocking motion they had been forced into rhythm with. They were the cries of a final despair ascending from the body of their victim. Had Caretaker been closing their eyes or looking away, the sounds could have been mistaken for some grotesque, slow murder. But no. They only crescendoed following the sound of Whumper undoing his belt and inserting himself into Whumpee. 

He was rough and careless, looking not for pleasure from himself but from the pain he was causing. He had longed to hear Whumpee’s pretty noises for months, never imagining their moans could sound so beautiful. And when he looked at Caretaker, the satisfaction was unmatched. Caretaker’s face was devoid of color. They were looking—yes—but it seemed they weren’t actually seeing. 

No matter, Whumper thought, pushing his hips harder to force a pained moan. It’s Whumpee that matters. My sweet, perfect, Whumpee. 

In the end, the violation didn’t last long. Just enough for Whumper to finish. In a perfect world he would have forced Whumpee to, but he had given them enough for tonight. He could reward them with some rest. He pulled out roughly, tucking himself back into his pants. Whumpee, who hadn’t expected such a quick release, collapsed to the floor, pants and boxers to their knees, shirt shuffled up their arm pits. They laid in a heap, weakly struggling to find the waistband of their clothing as Whumper turned to Caretaker, who had finally erupted into another bout of cries. 

“Why the tears?” Whumper asked. “You saved Whumpee’s life, after all.”

Caretaker turned, rage replaced by complete and utter helplessness and betrayal. “They’re…they’re bleeding…”

“Nothing they haven’t dealt with before,” Whumper said with a shrug, walking towards the basement door. And with that, he was gone. He was gone, and Whumpee was trembling, lying half naked in the heap they had been left in. 

Caretaker immediately turned, bile forcing its way up. They dipped their head and vomited. The sounds of gags continued for just a minute or two until they finally ceased. Running the back of their palm over their lips, Caretaker shuffled over to Whumpee, heart beating too loudly in their temples to hear their friend’s sobs. 

“Whumpee…”

“Don’t,” Whumpee immediately hissed through clenched teeth, looking up towards Caretaker with a look of pure disdain. 

Whumpee has a special talent he thought Whumper was oblivious to. Until they aren't.

CW: beating, blood, creepy/intimate whumper, suggestive

***

Whumpee screamed in terror as he was forced into some sort of cushioned seat, hitching his shoulders up to his ears in expectation of some sort of slap across the face. He had just been manhandled out of the basement-turned-cell he had been barely surviving in the last couple days, but not before Whumper had wrestled him down to tie a blindfold around his head. The darkness had been horrific, but from the echoing sounds his steps made when he had been forced up the stairs, signaling a grander space, feeling more exposed in an invisible chamber was even more horrific. A firm, calloused hand landed on his shoulder, and Whumpee jumped. 

“What the hell! Don’t touch me!”

“Relax,” Whumper’s voice tickled in his ear, their other hand going to caress Whumpee’s head. “I’m going to take the blindfold off, okay? But you need to stop…shaking…”

Their hands had travelled down to the small of Whumpee’s back as they spoke the final word, causing Whumpee to immediately stiffen, goosebumps prickling over his bare skin. Whumper giggled from behind. “Good. Just like that. Keep that posture.”

Whumpee gave a barely visible, shaky nod. Anticipating the next touch, he didn’t wince when movement towards the back of his head preceded the removal of the blindfold. The cloth was pulled away to reveal…keys?

Whumpee looked before him at the white, pristine ivory keys interrupted by the steeper sharps and flats between them. His gaze moved up to scan over the rest of the grand piano, the shining instrument and its strings stretching far under its raised lid. Beyond that, he could make out the rest of the foyer of the mansion he had been smuggled into just days prior. He knew he was being kept in some sort of large home when he caught glimpses through the struggle during his abduction, but not quite like this. The grand, spiraling staircase before him was lit by the waxing sunlight spilling through arched windows that reached at least two stories. Escaping the awe of the place, he immediately turned towards the double-paneled front door. 

“Ah ah ah,” Whumper warned, grabbing and turning Whumpee’s chin, forcing the terrified man to look them in the eyes. “Don’t even think about running. This property is well over fifty acres. The driveway is longer than you can last on foot after what you’ve been through.” He smiled fondly, a hand coming back to pet Whumpee’s hair. “But I’d be happy to punish you if you tried. It would keep me entertained, all that pretty skin of yours to cut…”

Whumpee pulled away from Whumper’s touch, eyes avidly avoiding the door to instead fall back on the keys of the piano. Finally, he found the courage to speak. 

“What do you want from me?”

“You catch on quickly, smart boy,” Whumper crooned, setting two hands on Whumpee’s bare shoulders. They began to push his thumbs into a knot in his back as they began to speak, Whumpee letting out a whimper beneath them. “You’re going to play something nice for me. So we can stimulate that mind of yours. You must have been bored to pieces cooped up downstairs.”

“Cooped up?” Whumpee asked with a groan against the pain of Whumper’s touch. “Shackled. You mean shackled.”

“Cooped up, shackled, it’s all the same,” Whumper said with a wave of their hand, abandoning their painful idea of a massage. “Lord knows we both need the entertainment tonight. And something tells me we don’t have the same idea of what that might look like…” Their hands returned, this time, sliding down Whumpee’s bare chest. 

“G’off,” Whumpee snapped, pulling away from the touch only to be firmly pulled back against Whumper’s stomach. 

“Relax, sweetheart, I’ve decided on a compromise for now,” Whumper replied. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to play me something. Something nice. And if you do well, then maybe I can consider moving you to one of the bedrooms. The shackles, however, are non-negotiable, I’m afraid.”

Whumpee shivered, a growl just barely teasing the tips of their lips. “That’s…that’s not fair. A house like this and you’re telling me you can’t just lock a door from the outside?”

“Hm, I like it when you find your voice,” Whumper cooed, tracing fingers across Whumpee’s collar bones, pushing into a yellowing bruise they had caused during the initial abduction. “But no, there’s no reason for me to trust you, is there? It would take a lot of rearranging in my schedule to find the time to patch you up if you decide to try your luck out a third-story window.

“Now. Stop trying to pick a fight with me to stall. I’d be glad to find another use for your body if you don’t feel like playing tonight? I’ve just acquired a switch. Or perhaps we can—”

“Stop, just—!” Whumpee shut their eyes tight, their face flushing scarlet as they felt nausea begin to climb its way up their body. “Just stop. Tell me what to fucking do so I can go back to the basement.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Whumper asked. “You’re going to play me a piece on the piano. And it’s a Fazioli so I expect you to treat it with respect.”

“I…don’t know how to play,” Whumpee muttered. 

Whumper tsked with a roll of their eyes, digging into their back pocket to pull out their phone. They tapped a few buttons and quickly turned it around, the screen displaying—

Whumpee’s stomach dropped at the video of himself, adorned in a crisp black suit at the conservatory concert hall, nodding his head in tune with the staccato of the piece emerging from the tips of his fingers at the grand piano. The video had only been seen by three thousand or so viewers, titled only by the date and the piece he was playing. He could remember the exact day it was taken, just months prior at the end-of-year recital for advanced students. 

“Where did you find that?” Whumpee asked, looking over the phone screen to Whumper, voice no longer bearing an argumentative tone. 

Whumper shrugged. “It was the first video of you that popped up when I typed in your name. Your driver’s license has the wrong eye color listed for you, by the way. They’re more hazel than green.” They tucked the phone away in their back pocket, the sound of the piece disappearing as they did so. “But that’s not the point. I don’t appreciate you lying to me, you know. Now…”

They dipped their head low, ensuring that their warm voice could tickle Whumpee’s ear. “Quit fucking around. I avoided breaking your fingers for a fucking reason.”

“Get off!” Whumpee screamed, Whumper’s proximity finally snapping something within him. Within a millisecond, all fear of punishment had escaped his mind as he fell into fight-or-flight, mustering the strength to push Whumper away, actually causing them to stumble back. “I’m not your fucking jester! You can pay for someone to play for you if that’s what you really fucking want, you creepy motherfucking asshole!”

Maybe he would have regretted it if he had been given just enough time to think over what he had said. But before he could go to cover himself, Whumper had already reeled back. Their hand had grabbed a fistful of his hair, ripping it at the roots before pushing against his skull as Whumper drove his head into the keys. The piano moaned, an offensive slam of the keys accompanying Whumpee’s scream of pain as they were immediately pulled back. Their vision had gone, tears blindingly stinging as Whumper once again drove their face into the keys. And again, and again. The keys smashed against Whumpee’s teeth as they shrieked, a warm wetness spreading on their face faster and faster with each slam against the instrument. Something in their nose cracked and a shooting pain exploded in their forehead. Whumper finally relinquished him, letting go of Whumpee’s hair. 

With too much pain to allow for strength, Whumpee collapsed once again over the instrument, a sobbing, trembling mess. They pushed off the piano and looked down at the scarlet blood that was seeping between the keys, red droplets having been sprayed to the farthest of them. Before he could even wipe his nose, his seat was pulled back. Whumper came around, collapsing onto Whumpee’s lap, straddling his hips. 

“No!” Whumpee cried, the word muddling as rivulets of blood seeped from his nose to catch between his lips. 

Whumper easily caught weak arms that flailed to push them off, and they set a palm on Whumpee’s face, cradling him. 

“Sh, shhhh,” Whumper soothed, taking a handkerchief from their pocket to dab at the blood on Whumpee’s face. “Stop crying, now. You see what you made me do? The discipline I have to instill when you behave like this?”

Whumpee continued sobbing, still trying to shake his head away from Whumper’s relentless dabbing at his blood. 

“Stop it,” Whumper said, their hold on Whumpee’s face tightening. “I said stop it.”

The tone in their voice forced a wince, but Whumpee finally stopped, swallowing back another cry. 

“Good boy,” Whumper said, ceasing to break eye contact as they stared into Whumpee’s eyes. “Are you ready to play now?”

Whumpee exhaled, shuddering as he did so. Barely able to register what he had just been told from the pounding reverberating within his head, he gave a compliant nod. 

“Good,” Whumper said, a fond smile returning as he leaned over to plant a kiss on Whumpee’s temple. “Good, Whumpee. I’m glad.”

They were finally standing up to allow Whumpee some room when the terrified young man spoke. 

“Th-the blood on the keys. My fingers will slip.”

Whumper rolled their eyes, but returned an understanding smile. “Wait here. And don’t move or I’ll have you shackled to the thing for the rest of the night. Have we reached an understanding?”

Still silently crying, Whumpee nodded. 

“Play scales while I find something to clean this up. Or Czerny. Just do something to warm up,” Whumper ordered before practically prancing out of the room. 

Whumpee obeyed, mind in a submissive daze as they struggled to warm up their fingers through the pain. Their fingers slipped against their own blood as the deep, melancholic wail of the piano echoed around them. Despite the fear and the pain, Whumpee could hear the instrument’s angelic tune, appreciating it for what it truly was since he’d been sat before it. He had always wanted to play a grand piano like this one. The one at the conservatory had been old, and despite the director promising every year he would replace it, he never had. Even Whumpee’s mistakes over the slippery keys sounded not half bad with the professional-grade build. After completing a standard set of scales and a small warm-up piece his professor had taught him the year prior, Whumper had returned with a clean rag. 

“Just get what you can for now,” Whumper said, tossing the rag over. “I’ll make sure to clean it properly tonight after I’ve tucked you in.”

Another tear dripped at the degrading words, once again being demoted to the status of a disobedient child as Whumpee ran the rag over the keys, the fibers quickly turning red. Just as they were about to finish, the sharp blade of a knife snaked its way under his throat. His breath hitched as he felt the pressure of the blade push into fragile skin, Whumper’s warmth returning to his back as a raised knee pushed against his waist. 

Whumper giggled. “Good boy. So obedient for me. Knows just when to stop…”

Whumpee squeezed his eyes tight as he felt the blade begin to swipe against skin, but no pain followed. He looked up to see what had been pulled away from under his chin and practically sighed in relief when he saw not a blade, but a long, wooden bow. A violin’s bow. He turned to Whumper, who seemed to have manifested a violin out of midair, holding it thoughtfully by the neck. 

“Do you like it?” Whumper asked. “It’s a Holstein. I’ve been needing to replace it but I’m just so fond of the memories.”

“You…play?” Whumpee asked, unsure of what else he could say without earning him some sort of consequence.

Whumper smiled with pride. “Going on sixteen years now. It was my father who first signed me up for lessons…” A wistful look glazed over their eyes before they shook their head and leaned over, setting down sheet music in front of Whumpee. 

“W-wait, I’m not very strong at sight reading,” Whumpee said, hands jumping to spread the pages apart. 

“You should be familiar with this one,” Whumper said, setting the end of the violin on their shoulder and raising their bow. “Nocturn in C sharp minor? I believe it was last spring you performed this piece? I didn’t like the violinist, Dora or whatever her name was.”

“Darla…,” Whumpee corrected them quietly. 

“Darla, yes,” Whumper said. “Too rushed. Doesn’t pay enough attention to the dynamics. And don’t get me started on the overuse of her vibrato."

“Darla is an excellent player,” Whumpee quickly defended, looking up with an expression of pure disdain. “She’s one of the best in the entire conservatory. She was offered third chair in the Boston Orchestra.”

“Mm, I’m sure she was,” Whumper said teasingly, raising their bow. “Now. Enough chir-chat. I want you to take a deep breath before you begin playing. Straighten up, now. Yes, like that. And please,” they emphasized their next words, “don’t stop until the piece is over. Or else I won’t be happy.”

Whumpee swallowed, followed by a terse nod before lightly setting his fingers on the piano. He waited a moment, attempting to take controlled, deep breaths as pain ravaged behind their eyes and nose. His gaze swept over his music, focusing on the dynamics of the piece he hadn’t played in months. He turned, received a nod from Whumper, and took another deep breath. 

The first notes were light. He pushed a little harder, cringing when the sound panged more than he had meant to. He looked over at Whumper, expecting a shooting glare, but calmed when he saw that Whumper’s eyes were closed. Then, as he continued, Whumper lifted their bow. 

The sound that escaped from their strings were like a cry, soft and drawn out though forgiving in their melody. Whumpee continued to play, listening to the vibrato of Whumper’s violin slip through one ear and out the other. The moment in the minor key lasted but another minute before he changed to major, Whumper’s sound escalating in strength, the warmth of a spring day accompanying the double harmony they so skillfully brought to existence. 

And then, Whumpee’s pain seemed to vanish. 

They had fallen deep into a catharsis, the muscle memory returning to them with a familiar comfort. Soon, he pulled his eyes away from his sheet music and closed his eyes, letting his fingers glide across the keys, guiding him without a second thought. Purpose seemed to burst within his chest. This, he knew how to do. This, he had been escaping within since the time he had first played “Heart & Soul” as a child, his mother eagerly filming from the doorway. In the past two days, there had been pain. There had been bruising and punching, stale food and cold, sore nights. But now, for just a sliver of time, there was bliss. He was no longer in an unknown mansion, somewhere far from home and comfort. He was no longer in just his boxers, but his father’s old suit. He was on the wooden stage of the conservatory, eyes closed as he played, only to open them at the sight of a concentrated Darla, brow furrowed over the faintest crick of a smile at the corner of her lips. His professor was in the wings, swaying to the music with a rhythmic nod as the lights blinded him from the audience that had caused the shaking in his fingers when he first began to play. 

Then, it was Whumper’s short solo. Whumpee stopped, taking the opportunity to breathe, before sinking back into his harmony, content to let the pain subside in favor of the music. Music, at least, had never assaulted him. 

Whumpee slowed his arpeggios just as Whumper completed his final measures. Soon, the music stopped, faint remnants still audible as it echoed through the acoustics of the foyer. And then, silence. 

Whumpee sat there, stunned, staring down at cakey red fingers that had somehow managed to keep him going, to whisk him away from this hell even if it was for just a moment. 

A hand reached down to caress his hair. Whumper fisted it, forcefully tilting his head to the side before planting a long, tender kiss just under his jaw before pulling back, a sparkling glint in their eyes. 

“That was beautiful, Whumpee,” Whumper praised him with a whisper. “Absolutely beautiful. You’re quite talented.”

Whumpee hung his head, tears returning. Whumper chuckled softly, tilting his head up before bowing down once again to kiss away his tears, sucking the salty liquid away as Whumpee trembled, a small cry escaping his lips. 

“I’d say you deserve a bedroom tonight, yes?”

They were obviously waiting for an answer. So Whumpee, defeated, nodded his head. 

“Mm, good.” Whumper's palm fell to the nape of his neck. “I think mine should do perfectly. Now get up, sweetheart. Let me run you a bath. Then we can get ourselves situated…”

CW: blood, self-harm

***

The whoosh of the plate flying lasted but a second before it made contact with the wall. It exploded—first cracking into hundreds of little pieces before they splayed out like a firework, falling to the ground like frozen rain. The second plate was no different. Whumpee hurled it with all their might, bearing their teeth as it hit the opposite wall and rained over the kitchen table. Another plate, this time a porcelain one they had had their last meal on. It was still dirty with the slime of lentils. They were already grabbing a wine glass before the porcelain could shatter on the floor. 

They screamed as they swung it, bloodshot eyes red with fury as it hit the ceiling above. But it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. Before they could even understand that they were floating away from their shell of a body once again, they were already gone. Their mind had been replaced with that of a creature’s. The limits of the human body drowned within their chest. There was nothing they couldn’t destroy. 

They forced a bare heel through the wooden cupboards and screamed with triumph as they broke through, wood splintering and flying. With as much strength as they could muster, they swiped off every dish that was left to dry on the counter. They opened up the glass cabinet, greedy hands going to palm shot glasses and mugs. The sound of the glass breaking became a tornado in their head as they smashed it, punched it, flung it, even taking a thin, delicate little coupe glass between their fingers and squeezing. It popped with a satisfying crack. 

Whumpee screamed at the top of their lungs as they continued their tirade, only shrieking louder when they felt their vocal chords begin to tear. They punched the wall, they elbowed the fridge, they kicked, and screamed, and sobbed, and—

They collapsed. 

Not even the ghost of a wince painted their expression when they fell, naked knees pushing into shards of glass that littered the floor like gravel. 

They took in a deep, shuddering breath, holding it for a moment before letting it out with the faintest cry. They bent forward, wrapping bloody palms around their torso as they opened their mouth, waiting for the sound to come out. Instead, they were met with a horrible, strangled rasp. 

“Tsk.”

They eyed the shiny leather shoes as they stepped out from around the counter, crunching over the shards as if it were nothing but cereal. Whumpee looked up, tears brimming. 

“You’ve made quite the mess, Whumpee,” Whumper remarked, looking around. They looked back down at their shivering victim, red seeping out from under their knees. They gave a proud smile before kneeling down next to them, cupping a loving hand to the side of Whumpee’s face. “Do you feel better now?”

Whumpee didn’t answer quite yet. They took a moment—looking around at the destroyed kitchen, taking in the sea of glass that had settled around them like snow—and looked back up. Did they feel better? They didn’t know. Their blood was pounding in their palms. Their voice felt like it had been ripped away at the claws of a monster. They didn’t feel…anything. So they shrugged. 

“Mm.” Whumper stood back up, hooking some fingers under Whumpee’s collar to pull them up to their feet. “Why don’t you go wait in the bedroom while I clean this up, hm? Then we can have a chat about your little tantrum.”