#captivity

Whumpee waking up to Whumper sitting at their bedside.

"Aw, were you worried about me?" they sneer in a weak voice.

"You have to let me go."| Dying Alone | Drowning | Blame

This is a continuation of day 1 :)

cw: restraints, gagged, male whumper-turned-whumpee, female whumper, reference to abuse, victim blaming

She’d gagged him after that. She left him with a bucket to relieve himself and went outside with her computer bag. She was going to a cafe to work, she said. He would have asked whether accounting was even her real job, but he was gagged and anyway, he didn’t want to know the answer. Her betrayal tasted bitter in his mouth.

"Stay down." | Rules | Unfair Fight | Dehumanization

NB: This is my first time doing a whump event! I'm hoping to do a mix of writing and art, for a few different OC stories. Hopefully I'll get to every day but we'll see how busy I am lol :)

cw: restraints, shock collar, male whumper-turned-whumpee, female whumper, defiant whumpee, swearing

When he woke up, he was on the floor. His bones ached where they dug into the rough wooden floorboards; he moved to push himself up, only to find that his hands were stuck behind him. He was too dizzy to understand why. He registered something cold around his wrists, the rattle of metal chains. He looked up to see Jess sitting on a sofa, typing on her laptop with earbuds in. Daylight and birdsong streamed in through the open windows. Was this her living room?

TW: captivity, trauma, coercion, self harm

Chapter 9

Sugarcoated

Sunlight creeped in through the small window, shining on his face between the bars. His eyes fluttered open slowly and he immediately covered his eyes. He turned around trying to get back to sleep, but the brightness of the sun stuck around like a sticky memory that wouldn't leave him alone. He sat up, taking a deep breath. There was no tension left in his body. Just a quiet heaviness he couldn't shake. The room looked the same as ever. There was no point in looking. He knew. Every inch of the room was burnt in his memory. All the candles, the fairy lights, the shattered plate, the cigarette filter on the floor.

The sunlight hit one of the broken pieces of porcelain. It shone vividly, the reflection catching the corner of his eyes. He turned his head sharply, the brightness almost blinding him. The shape of the piece remained in his vision even when he rubbed his eyes.

The shattered pieces blurred into each other under his hazy vision. Then the broken piece became clear. Its length and the sharpness stood out among the other smaller fragments. That should do it. He rose to his feet and reached through the bars grabbing the long piece. The end of the porcelain chunk pointed to the ceiling as he held it in his hand. One stab and it would kill someone in seconds. It could... The image flashed in his mind before he could stop it. Blood on his hands and on the floor. She had no idea what a weapon she left behind. One second and she was gone. Her gun wouldn't stand a chance. No more lies. No more cage. No more cigarettes.

His vision was blurry again, but he couldn't blame it on the sun anymore. He edged towards the door of the cage, keeping his eyes on the fairy lights. No sound of footsteps. His hands reached through the bars and with a sharp movement he stabbed the pointy end of the piece into the keyhole. The chunk made a cluttering sound as it turned in the keyhole. Daryl's breathing was shallow and his eyes kept jumping from the door to the lock again as he desperately kept trying, until the piece broke in half and shattered against the ground. The other half stayed in the keyhole. He took it out and backed away from the door, gasping for air. A few minutes passed before he sat down again and placed the sharp fragment behind the mattress. Just in case.

Footsteps reached the room. Daryl snapped his head at the door's direction. Her presence lingered, and he could tell she was standing before the door, hesistant to enter. He waited while the silence remained. Then slowly - the door inched open. She stepped in holding a cake in her hand and a big smile on her face. The cake was covered in white frosting, and there were hearts drawn on the sides in different pastel colours. Tiny cupcakes were placed on the top, and sprinkles covered the cake all over. It had no candles.

Daryl squinted his eyes as he studied the cake. Questions flooded his mind. Was it his birthday? Nah, not even close. Was it her birthday? Possibly. But it has no candles... Did she make the cake? Looked like her style. All that fancy white frosting, the sprinkles, the pastel colours... Definitely. But most importantly... What was she smiling about?

"I made this for us"

He went still at the word "us". It stirred something in his chest that was a mixture of confusion, anger, and hurt.

Her smile didn't fade as she looked at him expectantly, waiting for his reaction, but the only thing she got was a judgemental look. The cake lowered in her hands as she looked down on it like she was searching for any flaws. There was almost none. Her baking wasn't the problem.

She sat down by the cage looking at him through the bars, her smile still there but less joyful than before.

"You made a cake"

It was a statement, not a question. His gaze remained on the cake.

"For what?"

He raised his head looking at her now.

"I don't know... Why not?"

She shrugged and began slicing the cake.

"Not hungry"

"Daryl..."

Her eyes met his as she stopped what she was doing and looked up at him. Daryl held her gaze. A deep sigh escaped her and the knife dropped down on the plate.

"Okay"

She gave him a half smile and stood up with the cake in her hands. The door creaked open as she stood there with her back to him, unmoving. For a moment it looked like she might turn back and say something but she just wiped a tear from her cheek and left.

TW: captivity, trauma, coercion

Chapter 8

Burning Low

Time dragged, hours looping over themselves. The same room, the same cage, the same wooden painting, and the same damn cigarette filter. A different person. Daryl sat in the corner, handcuffed. He hasn't looked at the door. Not once. His hand was still bleeding. Couldn't feel it anymore.

There were exactly eleven candles in the room. Seven paintings. And five crystals. He was certain he miscounted them every time so he would start again. The results were the same.

The doorway was traced in fairy lights, each one glowing faintly. He never counted them, and he wasn't going to. Every time his eyes drifted to the door he would redirect his attention to the candles like they were more worthy of looking at.

The first candle was sitting next to the small lamp in the corner. One. Another was set on the desk. Two. The third on the shelves. Three. Right next to it - Footsteps. Four. A knock. Five. No. Fairy lights. Door opened.

"Hey"

Six. Don't look.

"Daryl.."

A familiar voice.

"I won't bother you for long"

Lost count... Start again.

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry"

Daryl turned his head towards the corner, hair falling over his face.

She took a few steps closer to the cage, her hands closing around two of the bars.

"I understand... You don't want to talk"

Her grip on the bars tightened as she kept watching him. His eyes flicked from the corner of the room to where she was standing and then back. Her gaze never met his.

"I'm not proud of what I did"

Her voice cracked. Daryl's eyes fixed on one of the candles, unmoving.

"Okay."

She said followed by a shaky sigh. Her hands lingered on the bars before slowly slipping away.

"Goodnight."

The floor creaked under her feet as she walked to the door and fixed a sagging fairy light on the doorframe. She drew in a breath, like she might say something. Then the door clicked shut. He didn't look up.

His eyes drifted back to the cigarette filter, unable to pull away even as his chest tightened at the sight. But it didn’t matter. If it had, he wouldn’t have crushed it under his shoe and pretended it didn't exist.

His wrists kept burning under the cold metal of the handcuff. The more he pulled on it, the worse the pain became. The worse the pain was, the more he pulled on it. He brought himself to his feet, scanning the room. Ain't nothing useful here. The bars made an echoing sound as he kicked them hard.

He dropped onto the mattress, breathing heavily. His eyes shut tight as he leaned forward, letting a drop of sweat fall onto the blanket. The ceiling looked emptier than usual as he lay on his back. Then on his side. Then the other. He looked at the door for the first time since she left. There were twenty-three fairy lights.

Time passed. Whether it was five hours or fifty minutes, it felt long. Until the faint click of the fairy lights brushing together pulled his eyes open as she stepped inside. The moment she walked in, he switched sides quickly, and closed his eyes as he remained still.

"Hi"

She walked to the cage, her quiet footsteps and the soft sound of the keys in the lock filling the silence. But he didn't move. Her hands lingered on his wrists as she unlocked the cuff. As his hands came free, he held back a sharp breath. She set something down beside the mattress, her movements deliberate, before locking the cage and tiptoeing out of the room. The door shut quietly leaving a small gap.