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a random stranger... sure, it's horrible and awful, but it makes more sense than whumpee. famous whumpee who everyone knows and sees in the media all the time. famous whumpee who has clearly been seriously injured yet checked out of the hotel with their team like nothing was wrong, though on second thought maybe they did look a little peaky.

Wow I haven’t done a nameless drabble in actually so long. Idek how this came up I just got the urge and had to write it… hope u enjoy :3

cw: mind control, hero/villain whump, hero whumpee, pet whumpee, conditioned whumpee

———

He’s big and he’s tall, much larger than Villain, with his face smothered by his master’s lap as he kneels beside the seat. 

It’s embarrassing, very much so, but there’s not much Hero can do about it but pretend it’s not happening the way it is. Even if his mind is scattered into bits and pieces by this point, he still holds the capacity to use an imagination. 

Today, he thinks of himself as a dog, a good boy that listens and is obedient and doesn’t get hurt. Villain holds tight on his collar still, although Hero knows he won’t do anything stupid. For just a moment Hero can buy into the idea that he’s a puppy, well loved and cared for, tagging along with his owner to a bustling event. That might just get him through the evening.

In reality, which is not too far off from the dream he’s in, Hero has long been under the ownership of Villain, his now called master. There’s not always much love and care, but Hero is always a good boy. It is an event, one he wasn’t informed the details of. No one tells their dog things that don’t concern them. Only commands and orders, ones Hero will follow dutifully.

It wasn’t always like that between them. In the early days Hero would fight and refuse, unbeknownst to him the days that would fold ahead. It’s a blur now, especially the times even before that when Hero thought he was someone. A person even, with a face and mind he can barely recall. Villain has taught him many things since then, among those being the cold, hard fact that Hero is not human. He’s less than, just a showdog to be put into place.

Hero’s okay with that now. He’s come to terms with his fate, the fact that this is what he was meant for. Both of them know he's fairly good at it, even if he commonly makes dumb mistakes. It only makes sense that a stupid mutt like himself would mess up sometimes.

Villain’s hand, cold and clammy, draws along his cheek in circles. Villain barely notices he’s doing it, caught up in conversation Hero isn’t awake enough to keep up with. It’s nice. It tells him that there will always be a chance to be spared some sort of reward, even if they’re scarce. Hero will remain grateful, knowing that he could be living a far worse reality.

The soft, silk fabric of Villain’s top hugs his face, and he buries himself into Villain’s legs. Right now everything is warm and calm, even with the bubbling party chattering around them. All that matters to Hero is the touch and the heat, making the room less cold and terrifying. Dogs that don’t mess up get pet. Sometimes, dogs who get pet get loved, a wish that seems far out of reach, yet still dreamable. 

Everything is sort of fuzzy, like the room and the lights, but they’re always slightly that way. Villain says he’s received enough trauma to the head to do that among other things, but he’s kind enough to keep Hero anyway. 

Arm heavy, Hero manages to brush over his legs, patting the hem of his boxers, the knowing of his lack of clothing curling his stomach. He should be used to it by now, most of his time is spent in only boxers, but it continues to be an unusual feeling. Villain says clothes are for people, and being uncomfortable with that will earn him punishment. Hero will have to get used to it.

“I just-,” a woman says out of sight, gushing, “I can’t believe you’ve gotten him so under control, Villain. This is incredible.” Hero knows she’s talking about him, but refuses to be bothered by it. There’s no use in getting self conscious. Dogs don’t do that.

Villain’s voice rolls off his tongue, sweet and smooth. “So I’ve heard.” He tugs on the leash a little, pulling on Hero’s neck, who promptly ignores the slight choke. “I won’t say it was easy.”

Hero wishes it would’ve been simple, that he would’ve given up with hardly a fight. Maybe Villain would like him more. Maybe the adjustment wouldn’t have been so difficult.

A man chimes in this time. “How'd you do it? Get the lead hero wrapped around your finger like that?” 

Lead hero.

That was his title at one point in time. He doesn’t think about it much, because then his belly hurts. Obviously that wasn’t the spot for him, and this role is much better suited.

Villain chuckles in amusement, raspy. “That’s a secret I can’t share, my friend.” One finger twirls through Hero’s hair, and he leans into it, silently begging for more. “Hero is one of a kind, you see, and I can’t just let anyone know of his training, now can I?”

He can see one of the villains pout, disappointed with the answer. “Can’t you show us anything? Something you’ve trained him to do.”

Thinking, Villain pats Hero on the chin. “I mean, I haven’t taught him much, to be completely honest.” Hero is sure he’s being humble. He would have to have six hands to be able to count all of the things Villain’s taught him. “I suppose I could give a short show, though.” 

Yanked up by his collar, Hero is barely startled by the pull, rather allowing his vision to focus on his master. Villain’s cheeks are sunken in that charming way of his, dimples popping with his smile. Never would Hero admit that he often missed the times when he was deemed attractive, when people would fawn over his appearance. No one thinks a dog is especially pretty.

Hero knows the trick Villain is preparing before a movement is made, just by the shift in the air between them. 

Villain leans in, catching Hero’s spit in his throat, winding in a way that makes it hard to breathe. His thoughts pop like bubbles. His limbs slack and tense at the same time. Fingers brush Hero’s jaw, thumb caressing his cheek in a kiss of juicy ownership. 

“I am owned.” He starts, and otherwise makes no movement. Words precise and factual, he makes not a single stutter. His voice flows out heavily, teatheting his body and mind to his master.

Villain’s smile carefully calms, but their faces are still locked. Hero stifles a gasp when his master’s hand finds his adam’s apple, tickling the spot. “I am obedient.” He confesses robotically.

The space is silent, villain’s hanging on his every word. They’re unimportant to Hero, background to his everything. 

The sensation of his master’s power holds him tight, washing through every crack of his brain to keep him focused on Villain and Villain only.

“I am worthless.” 

He’s not sure what his master’s power is - not many people are, including villains - but it matters so little when he’s caught in it. As far as the eye can see is his owner, circling the ideas inside of him and forcing them out. It’s almost as if he hears Villain’s voice alongside his own when the words spill out, but he’s not too sure. He’d much rather continue getting lost in his master’s glittering gaze.

“I am inferior.” 

“I am subordinate.”

“I am grateful.”

The speech doesn’t stop overflowing, each one following the last in perfect order. He can’t help it. He doesn’t want to, not when he believes each one with his whole being. 

In an instant the blooming life in Villain’s eyes drains, life becoming dull again. Hero craves for more, holding on for as long as he can, as if he could bring the energy or satisfaction back. When his master uses his ability - his gift - on Hero, it’s like everything settles into place. Like everything is right again. Once the fleeting feeling releases, there’s a solid hole in his chest where the belonging once was.

Hero blinks in quick succession once his master turns away, used to Hero’s subpar party trick. The other villains appear rather impressed, fawning over Villain excitedly. 

“Gosh Villain, that was striking!” One starts, face full of surprise.

Another one chimes in. “How in the world have you gotten him to do that? To be so-,” he seems to be at a loss for words, “so entranced?”

Villain chuckles, a slick rasp coating his voice. Hero curls his face back into his master’s lap, searching for a way to ease the distress swirling around his belly. “Top secret, my friends.” He pets Hero on the head, a sign that says both I own you and I won't get rid of just you yet.

Hoping for both to be reality, he hides the slight smile on his lips. 

Hero is alright with being owned. More than alright if he was completely honest, because he knows now that it’s what he’s made for. He’s naturally got a knack for obedience, not to mention the fact that he’s instinctually lower than everyone around him on every level. Appreciation is all he can really give Villain for all he’s done for Hero. Without him he’d still be living a lie, still under the belief that he could navigate life on his own. 

He’s owned.

He’s obedient.

He’s worthless, inferior, subordinate.

He’s grateful.

Caretaker starts off with very small things, always asking This or That questions to keep it easier on Whumpee who clearly doesnt want to do this. "Do you want to sleep on the bed or the floor?", "Would you like eggs or waffles for breakfast?", "Do you want to wear a hoodie or a T-shirt?" - All things that should be easy questions.

Except they're not easy for Whumpee. Every question asked is followed by 5 minutes of silence while Whumpee tries to figure out what Caretaker wants them to say, wanting to make sure they do whatever is "right".

Caretaker respects every choice they make. Whumpee chooses to sit on the floor to eat instead of at the table? Great. Everyone will sit on the floor with Whumpee now. Whumpee wants to wear a hoodie even though it's sweltering outside? No problem. The air conditioner will be on blast.

Coughing up blood into a hand and then looking at it with shocked/terrified eyes

The Tension™ of one character tenderly patching up another character's wounds and scolding them for being reckless

Apologizing right before passing out

A hand cupped to a forehead to check for fever

A hand going under a jacket or shirt and coming away bloody

Forced to kneel with a sword under their chin

Lying about the severity/hiding of an injury

Collapsing after a big magic spell/magical exhaustion draining them

The comic relief character joking about their trauma/injury to dissuade worry from them

Hero injured/collapsing on villians doorstep or vice versa, "I didn't know where else to go"

Being curled on the ground and then kicked in the ribs (literally being kicked while they're down)

Being injected with a needle of drugs/potion by villian that knocks them out

Having a terrible nightmare and waking up with a cry in a cold sweat

Fighting against unconsciousness (unsuccessfully)

"Permission to see-. Oh for God's sake!"

"Please-"

"You have blanket permission to do anything you want. Anything."

"But..."

"If there is any exception, one of us will tell you. Okay?"

The fact was, Meg had told her sister that she was dating the villain several times before, each time with equal worry and certainty. 

That, she realised now, had long since been the trap. Poisonous breadcrumbs set for - how long? Since she’d first heard of the villain? Before she even knew for sure what the bastard looked like? Cold crept down her spine. 

She knew now. She knew, and now was when the villain smiled politely across the garden, one arm looped a fraction too low around Ella’s waist. 

“This is Tomas,” she said. “Tomas, my sister - Meg.”

“So nice to finally meet you,” the villain replied, and held out a hand. 

Meg shook numbly, because they were in the middle of her parent’s garden party and driving away another of her sister’s ‘suitors’ might mean that her mother killed her before the villain ever had to. It felt like the ground was opening up beneath her feet. 

“Pleasure’s all mine.” If her voice came out a bit raspy, everyone already thought her a little weird. The family eccentric who was always late, or bleeding, or in the middle of some kind of ‘madcap scheme’. Never mind that all of those things had ended up with wild excuses for something that wasn’t ‘hello family, you know those people with superpowers who you don’t like? Yes, I am one of them.’ 

The small talk buzzed around Meg’s ears. Her gaze locked on the villain’s hand, stroking boldly at a slither of skin just above Ella’s hip. She watched as the villain grinned and whispered in Ella’s ear, making her blush, and the two of them exchanged glances as if they were completely smitten. 

Because Ella was smitten, wasn’t she?

Meg had been hearing stories about Tomas for months; it was a whole saga, friends first, real fucking dedicated. Time long enough for Ella to trust Tomas, to be invested in him. 

It hit Meg with a dawning horror that there was absolutely no way that her sister would believe her. Ella had the first time, of course. She’d been less willing to accept the hero’s word the second time, but done so, and by the third time Meg may as well have been the boy who cried for wolf for how likely it was that her sister would believe her about the wolf curled up in her bed. 

She didn’t trust Meg anymore. 

Meg could have started yelling, sure - but all it would do was turn them all against her, wouldn’t it? She would be ‘ruining the mood’, and they would all rush to defend Tomas’s honour from Meg’s unnecessary-‘clearly she’s jealous’ bitchiness. 

So she sipped her drink too fast and didn’t eat her favourite sausage rolls, and all in all did absolutely nothing.

The villain’s eyes met Meg’s several times over the course of the conversations that followed; his always twinkling with some dark mischief, something conspiring, like the two of them were in on some grand old secret with each other that nobody knew about. 

It would be so easy for him to kill everyone, and so Meg couldn’t leave either. How could she leave? She didn’t know what the villain would do. What Tomas did was pull Ella into his lap, what he did was kiss her cheek when he topped up the drinks, what he did was charm Meg’s parents better than she ever did and slide like a perfect snake into their intimacy and affections. 

They all just bloody well loved him, didn’t they? Why couldn’t Meg bring home such a nice young man also? 

In the end, she retreated. Mostly because she prayed that she knew him well enough to know he’d have to gloat, have to follow. Maybe Ella, maybe anyone, would hear them and Meg’s secret would be completely screwed but hey at least her sister would be safe. At least his secret would be blown too. 

But then if his secret was blown there was nothing to stop the bloodshed. 

And Meg cycled back to the start. 

She rested her head against the window of her childhood bedroom and tried to remember how to breathe. Her head spun. 

Still, he did follow. She caught his reflection in the glass pane, ghost-like and ever so casual as he leaned back against her door and closed it. She heard the lock click.

“You win,” Meg said. “Just leave her alone. Please. Leave my family alone.” 

The villain hummed, examining his surroundings with a mild curiosity. She was just glad that her parents were not the type to preserve the bedrooms of their daughters, and so there was little of her teenage and childhood self left within its walls. 

“Come again.” 

Meg squeezed her eyes shut, before opening them and turning to face him.  “I said you win. Happy?”

“Oh, very happy,” he said. “Your sister is delightful. Great kisser.”

“Don’t.”

A malicious, gleeful sort of smile curled his lips; at odds with the sunny little thing he’d wielded to all of the guests clustered below them. 

“It would break her heart, if I broke up with her,” he said. “She said she loved me, you know. Understood her like no one she’s ever known!”

“Yeah? Well, she doesn’t know you’re a vile snake.”

He clicked his tongue. “Such language, Megara.”

“You haven’t seen the half of my language!”

“I thought I won?” He raised a brow. “You’re not acting like I won. I think you should low a little more humility.” He twirled his glass in his head and cocked his head. “Don’t you?”

Meg gritted her teeth. Her heart pounded fit to explode in her chest. She exhaled a deep steadying breath. Electricity crackled and burned in the palm of her hand and hurt to be forced down. 

He took a slow sip, enjoying the show. 

“You know,” he said. “I just adore your family. They’re very welcoming. Surprisingly proper to the old ways. Why, they like me more than they like you.”

Meg’s shoulders tensed because it was true.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong.” The villain continued to study her with that smile. “They love you. They just really don’t like you very much, do they?”

“If you don’t stay away from them-”

“Oh, come now. No need for threats. It’s a party. And I won, so it’s not like threats are going to do you much good. Do you think I haven’t already planned for any threat you might make?”

The cold that had crept down her spine felt like it was everywhere, and everything felt very far away. Because, of course he had. He’d been planting villainous boyfriends for far too long for not this to have been unnervingly thought out, given that Meg had heard about Tomas before she’d heard of the villain!

“What do you want?” It came out a hiss, despite the breathing exercise. The electricity crackled in her palm again. She dug her nails in. 

"Do you remember when we first met?” He took a step towards her, then another, setting his glass down on the windowsill. His gaze drifted idly to the party milling outside and far below and he seemed utterly unconcerned by the thought of being shocked. 

She said nothing, but of course she did. 

“I asked you to join me, then,” he mused. 

“You’ll leave my family alone if I join you?” Nausea twisted in her gut. 

He hummed, glancing at her. Whatever he saw on her face made him smile again. “Would you?” 

“Fine,” she said, quickly, like ripping a plaster off. “I’ll join you. Whatever. Just leave - just leave them all out of it.”

She didn’t always like her family, but she did love them. When it came down to it they were a family and it didn’t matter that Ella didn’t believe her, wouldn’t believe her, Meg still couldn’t let this happen.  

His eyes gleamed. He held out a hand to seal the deal. 

Her stomach crawled, but after a moment she took it a second time that night, and tried not to think of devils and souls. 

This time, he used the touch to yank - drawing her close with a stumbled step, too close. Their lips brushed and her heart dropped and -

“You refused me,” he said, and there was none of the glee, none of the charm in his voice anymore. It was dark and cold and nothing. “We could have been gods among these pathetic powerless versions of humanity, but you chose them instead.”

Panic filled her. “I’m choosing you now.”

He pulled back, and smiled the perfect smile of her sister’s new boyfriend. He pulled her hand up and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

“And now,” he said, in a normal tone. “Everything you have is going to be mine. Get used to seeing me - by the end of the year I’ll be your brother in law. Do behave accordingly.”

He turned on his heel and walked out, back into the party, further into her life.

The electricity in her hands shot out and shattered the lights as the door shut behind him.