#avvail

content warnings: intimate whumper, hypnosis, conditioned whumpee, non-con touching (not explicit), mentioned non-con (not explicit)

“Aren’t they just so pretty?”

The caretaker says nothings. It’s obvious by the grim expression on their face that they don’t particularly want to encourage the whumper’s behaviour.

The last time they had seen the whumpee, they had been kicking and screaming. Putting up a fuss any chance they got, making life as difficult as they could for their captor. They had this fire in their eyes that didn’t seem to be dying out any time soon.

But now?

They’d almost been surprised by the quietness of the house. The whumper would usually have them restrained in some way, and they’d be writhing and kicking up a fuss, making lots of angry noises.

Instead, they observed their quiet, stiff form on the sofa. There was something eerie about their eyes; blank, unfocused, hardly even blinking. Even when the whumper carded a hand through their head, there wasn’t even a flicker of emotion on their face.

The caretaker was in awe at how complacent they were being.

“What did you do?” They find themselves asking absentmindedly, unable to tear their eyes away. Because they are genuinely shocked.

The whumper hums softly under their breath, scraping the hair away from the whumpee’s forehead. They’re devoid of usual cuts and bruises - the caretaker wonders how long they’ve been like this.

“I tried a new method,” the whumper answers vaguely, steely eyes staring into theirs. “This way, I can’t get bored.”

The caretaker doesn’t realise their confusion flickers in their expression, but the whumper notices it, as observant as they are. They gently run a finger under the whumpee’s chin, who still has that blank, half lidded gaze. Like a China doll.

“If I want them to be an eager little thing that serves to please me, then I can make it happen with just one word,” they hum, snapping their fingers in front of the whumpee’s face, as if to prove a point. They don’t even blink. “I like it when they put a fight, too, but too much noise, and I can simply admire them like this.”

They tilt the whumpee’s head back, just enough to admire their slack expression. “Isn’t it perfect?”

The caretaker’s mind swims. “So, you hypnotized them?”

A cruel smile appears on their face, squeezing the whumpee’s shoulders.

“Yes,” they answer. “Yes, I did.”

They slowly nod. That explained the sudden change, but seeing the whumpee like this, so dazed and so relaxed, they can’t help but shudder. There’s something really eerie about it. That the whumper holds their mind in their palm of their hand, triggered only by simple words.

“Was it hard?” They find themselves asking. The whumper smiles.

“They’re a stubborn thing,” they chuckle, tilting their head. “You know that. But I can programme them to do whatever you or I want.” Their voice drops dangerously. “You can take them to the spare room, if you really want.”

The caretaker immediately cringes, and they shake their head. They feel more disgust towards the whumper than ever before, and they don’t want to imagine what the poor whumpee’s been through already. If they remember it...

“No, thank you,” they grumble. The blank stare is unnerving them. “I’ll pass.”

The whumper chuckles, still running their fingers through the whumpee’s hair. They stop to observe their face, before a crooked smirk spreads across their lips. They tap their nose gently, cupping their cheeks as though they would with a lover. The whumpee does nothing back.

“I’m not really into cliché’s,” the villain, once who the hero thought they could call a friend, hummed under their breath, lip teasing up into a smirk. “So let’s skip the whole ‘join me’ speech, shall we?”

The hero felt the tip of the sword dig into their throat, and they could barely even meet the villain’s eyes. All along, they had never been on their side.

“Are you going to kill me?”

The hero feels themselves tripping over their own two feet as the imposing figure advances on them, until their back hits the wall with a solid thud. They attempt to keep their breathing under control, but it’s a difficult game.

“Where are you going?” The villain asks simply, as if they don’t already know the answer to the question. The hero grits their teeth, baring them viciously.

“Stay back,” they hiss. “I mean it.”

The villain’s fingers closed around the sidekick’s throat, digging so hard into the skin, it was already blooming with red marks. They gasped, choking and grappling uselessly at their wrist, but nothing was working. The hero shakily lifted themselves onto their knees, tongue spitting out words before they could stop themselves.

“Stop!” They blurted, their voice shaking. The sidekick’s eyes were wide with terror. “Stop it, just–just let them go. Let go of them. I’ll give you whatever you want.”

The villain calmly turned their head towards them. The sidekick squeaked when their grip tightened in a cruel, almost mocking gesture. “And what would that be?”

The hero released a shuddering breath. Their pleading eyes met the villain’s, relaxed and unbothered. Their lips quivered.

“Me?” They breathed.

“It must be suffocating,” the villain hummed, a fine whisper on their tongue and their fingers dancing a waltz through their hair. Soft strands curled around their finger, an absentminded and thoughtless movement.

They leaned down to kiss their temple, a chaste little thing that barely stirred the hero awake. Tucked against them as though they were lovers, as though this wasn’t a dangerously deceptive painting of their relationship.

“I know you can do good,” the hero’s sidekick gently assured, their voice laced full of gentle encouragement. They playfully nudge the villain’s sidekick’s shoulder, their eyes gleaming with care. With hope. “I’ve seen the way you try and help people. I know you’re capable of it”

The villain’s sidekick barely managed a tight smile across their miserable face, glancing at them fondly. “Collateral damage is more your thing, after all.”

They laugh, their head tilting as they placed a gentle hand on their shoulder. “I know you can do it. You’re my best friend, and I care a lot about you.”

The villain’s sidekick’s smile slowly fades, and a melancholy look gradually fades back into their face. They turn away, their shoulders heaving with a sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” they assure. “You don’t have to apologise.”

The hero only knew something was wrong halfway through the fight.

They’d kept up with the supervillain’s unpredictable fighting style, dodging and twisting and countering when they needed to. They had trained to adapt; this was no different. The file on the supervillain was a constant reminder in the back of their mind.

But the hero, just a little too late, realised something was wrong.

The scratch marks on the flesh of their arm stung, the muscles twitching occasionally. It might not have meant anything if they weren’t starting to lose feelings, a tingling, odd numbness weighing them down. Each new dodge became sluggish, a hairs breath away from another slash. Their knees wobbled every time they tried to right themselves.

The hero blinked through spots in their vision. There was even an uncomfortably clammy sweat building up at the base of their neck, tingling through to their fingers.

“Something wrong?”

The supervillain’s voice lilted with a twinge of knowing smugness, and the hero grit their teeth. If they could think of a witty remark, it’d be firing off the end of their tongue like a snake. But they couldn’t. Not only was their tongue too thick, but their mind was fogging over. The supervillain wasn’t even attacking, now. They just stood there, head tilted, mischievous glint in their eye.