#radpineapple

intimate whumper

Whumpee is chained to the wall, the cold metal has rubbed his wrists and ankles raw. When Whumper quietly comes into the room, he flinches. 

“Shhh,” Whumper hushes gently as he approaches. 

Before he realizes what he’s doing, Whumpee is shaking his head, curling in on himself, ducking his head down. 

“Oh, my beautiful thing, please don’t hide from me.” And somehow Whumper actually sounds hurt. As if it actually bothers him to have Whumpee shy away from him like this. 

Whumper is close. He kneels, and Whumpee can feel his body heat—his warmth—and craves it. 

He’s disgusted with himself for wanting it. 

“I’m here now,” Whumper reassures as if his presence is a wanted thing. As if he’s the balm to the wound instead of the knife. 

Days of torture and little sleep have caused Whumpee’s inhibitions to crumble like the Tower of Babel, and a fearful whimper passes through his lips without his consent. 

“Oh, my pet. You make such beautiful noises for me. Such a gift, and I haven’t even started.” 

A firm yet gentle grip on his chin has Whumpee tilting his head up to meet Whumper’s eyes. 

Whumper is staring at him with awe like he’s a shepherd in Bethlehem seeing the angels tell him of Christ’s birth. 

No one has ever looked at Whumpee like this. 

Whumpee’s eyes flutter closed, and he hears Whumper’s sharp intake of breath. 

Warm hands are on his shoulders. They pull him flush against Whumper, and he feels so warm and soft that Whumpee falls into him willingly. Whumper’s hands skate down Whumpee’s ribcage. Whumper holds him close. Tightly but not rough. 

One of Whumper’s hands slips under Whumpee’s shirt. There’s a half-second where Whumpee feels the cold press of the blade before the pain. 

Whumpee isn’t quite sure what sound he makes when the blade penetrates his skin, the pain floods his senses and blots out everything except Whumper’s warmth. 

Whumpee grips onto Whumper’s shirt. All he can do is hold on and ride out the pain. This is how Whumper likes it. 

Whumper has tortured him sharp and slicing and ruthlessly fast, but Whumpee soon realized if he allows the broken noises to escape and reaches to Whumper for comfort, Whumper will slow down. He’ll hold Whumpee. He’ll hold him like he’s something rare and precious. Valuable. 

“Shhh, shhh,” Whumper says. He begins rocking them slightly, the blade stabbing deeper and deeper into Whumpee with the movements. 

Quiet, devastated noises erupt from Whumpee’s throat each time the blade sinks in farther. 

Whumper presses gentle kisses to Whumpee’s head. The touch is light like a ghost. Ethereal. 

“Your beauty is magnificent,” Whumper praises. “There is nothing in all of creation like you.” 

Whumper drops the blade with a clink before his hands are under Whumpee’s shirt again. He traces the newest wound with so much reverence it would make a saint jealous. 

Day 4 - 9/26: "Leave me alone!" / bonus: emotional powers

This is based off this loose X-Men First Class AU thing I’m messing around with. There is lore/backstory I have ideas for that’s hinted at in this little fic. It's also not as whumpy as I thought it would be, so sorry for such a lack of whump in this little oneshot thing.

~ ~ ~

Charles feels it farther away than he thought he should. It’s a series of emotions. Flashing quickly. Powerfully. Chaotically. Whatever is happening is big. And it’s hurting a lot of people. Their thoughts are too jumbled and strong for Charles to separate them. To find who each thought belongs to. He’s racing towards it before thinking twice. 

They’re all over there. 

The other mutants. All of them. His new found family. They can’t be gone. 

Not so soon. 

There's pain. Searing. Debilitating. So much. Too much. Who. Who is it! Is it someone Charles knows?? 

Raven?? 

Erik?

Anger. So white hot it feels cold. Like a blue star. The tip of a metal fire poker. The drop of a roller coaster a moment before the sharp descent. It’s the most dangerous form of anger. Calm and collected. Controlled and sharp, like a hidden knife, deadly only by the precision of its wielder.

And then…

Fear. It clutches at his chest. Cold. Suffocating. Paralyzing. His footsteps stutter, and he breathes in a ragged breath.

Oh, God, please. Let them be okay. Please. 

Charles doesn’t even believe in God. 

His shoes slap loudly on the pavement. And then he can see it. Smoke rising above the nearby buildings, difficult to see in the darkness of night. Charles reaches his mind out. Searching. Feeling. Desperate to find answers but afraid of what he might see. There’s so much pain and fear. And they’re such strong, primal feelings they’re difficult to sort through. It’s not the usual thrum of low-level, day-to-day thoughts he’s used to. 

People race around the corner, and Charles slams into one of them. He’s thrown to the ground, and his head smacks painfully onto the sidewalk. 

Shit. 

He scrambles up, heart in his throat, and races onward. He blindly reaches out with his mind as he races towards whatever is causing this mayhem. And then he feels him. 

Erik.

That tranquil anger. It’s usually like a river. Rushing steadily yet calmly. But now…now it’s a waterfall. Not exactly chaotic, but unceasing. Impossible to ignore. Loud. Overpowering. 

Beautiful.

Erik is floating in the center of the street. Cars and buildings—even lampposts and fire hydrants—are bent towards him as if he’s their center of gravity. Charles has never seen him use his mutation before. He still isn’t even exactly sure what it is. But it’s obvious that Erik is powerful. 

There’s a group of people huddled behind a car, hands gripping each other, eyes pointed at the sky, fearfully searching for Erik, despite being unable to see him from their position. With a careless gesture, Erik sends the car crashing into a building. The fear from the people skyrockets, slamming into Charles. He clumsily puts up his mental shield a few seconds too late. He’d let it down in his search for the other mutants, uncaring what he let in. 

Erik floats down towards the group of people, a thousand different images of their deaths flashing through his mind. It’s almost satisfactory. But it’s…not. Death is not satisfactory. These are Erik’s desires. He’s become so entangled with Charles, Charles is having difficulty separating his own thoughts from Erik’s. He’s never struggled with that distinction like this before. 

Then Erik’s feet soundlessly meet the ground. His rage thunders in Charles’ ears.

“Erik!!” Charles calls. 

Erik freezes. His shoulders straighten, and his back goes rigid. 

Charles takes this time to slowly approach. “Erik, listen to me. Please. You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to hurt them.” He’s inching forward. 

Erik slowly turns. His eyes are cold. Distant. “You don’t even know half the pain they’ve caused me.” 

“I…” I do. 

But Charles can’t say that, can he? Because then he’d have to tell Erik he’s been able to read his thoughts this entire time. That he’s been a mutant this entire time. That he’s useless and pathetic and has gotten some of their brothers and sisters killed. That he’s worse than the humans that Erik hates. And that Erik should hate him, too. 

Erik will hate him, too.

“Erik.” It comes out breathless and weak. 

“I’m sorry, Charles, but this is who I really am.”

“No, it’s not!”

“You think you know me??” He suddenly advances, and Charles stumbles backwards. “I’ve killed people, and I will kill them again.” 

Images flash through Charles’ mind then. Erik’s murders. Blood, and its warmth and metallic smell. Eyes filled with fear. Bodies laying peacefully on the ground. Cold ruthlessness. Sick satisfaction. A sense of pride and justice. 

It’s a stab to the heart. Because it’s wrong. What Erik has done—what he’s doing—is wrong.

And Charles can’t—he can’t take it. He reaches a hand out towards Erik. He can almost touch him. “Erik—” 

“Leave me alone!” he shouts, shoulders moving from the harshness of his breath. It’s then that Charles sees his tears. They fall silently and leave twin tracks down his cheeks. “Charles, I—” His voice wavers. He grabs Charles’ outstretched arm and pushes it back towards him. “I am not who you want me to be. I am not kind. I am not nice. And I am not forgiving.” 

“You’ve been all those things to me,” Charles whispers, tears of his own spilling down his face.

“You are the only human who’s ever been kind to me first.”

And Charles cries harder, lip wobbling and tears falling, because he can’t even be that for Erik. He can’t be the kindest human Erik’s met. He can’t be his hope that there is good in humanity. He can’t be the reason Erik changes his mind about them. Because Erik will never believe it until he sees it. Until it happens to him. And he thinks it has. But it hasn’t. 

Because Charles isn’t human.

Yet he’s still everything Erik despises. Everything Erik claims all humans are: liars, weak…

The reason mutants are dead.

Charles is shaking his head before he even realizes he’s doing so. “Erik, I…I’m not human.” 

A beat. 

“What.” Erik comes closer. Just a couple steps. But now they’re close enough Charles can feel the puff of Erik’s breath on his face. “Charles…” He’s searching him, looking almost…wondrously at Charles’ face. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” 

“I— W-what?” 

One of Erik’s hands gently cups Charles’ cheek. Charles blinks in surprise, shocked at how gentle Erik is. Shocked at the intimacy he’s sharing with him. Their closeness. Charles instinctively reaches out to Erik’s mind to see what he’s thinking. Why he’s doing this. Why he’s not upset. 

That familiar anger greets him. Not quite the waterfall it had just been, but not as calm as the usual river either. Almost like rapids. Bumpy and wild and bordering on uncontained. 

“Did they do this to you?” Erik asks. Steel is in his voice. Hatred.

“Do what?” 

Erik brushes the side of Charles’ face, the ghost of a touch just above his ear. 

Pain. Sudden and sharp. 

Charles recalls falling on the pavement. 

Erik continues, “Humans hurt you, didn’t they?” 

Charles swallows, throat suddenly dry. “They were running from you, Erik.”

Erik’s gaze hardens, and he pulls his hand away. “You cannot keep advocating for them, Charles.”

“And you cannot keep hurting them!” he exclaims. “You are the reason they are so afraid!”

“They are always afraid. They are always violent.” 

“Not all of them! Not all of the time!” 

Where the hell is Erik? I am not leaving without him. There’s not much time. Where the fuck is he??

They’re not his own thoughts, but the tone of them is familiar. It’s someone he knows. It’s—

It’s Raven. 

Charles immediately turns to where he can feel the tug of her consciousness. She’s panicked. She’s afraid. 

“Charles?” Erik asks, concern suddenly flooding his voice as if they weren’t just shouting at each other two seconds ago.

Charles turns back to Erik. “It’s Raven. She’s looking for you.” His tone is clipped and cold. 

“You heard her?” 

“She’s over there,” Charles says with a quick nod. 

But Erik is shaking his head as if he’s the one who can read minds. “Come with us.” 

“Erik, I—” 

“Please.” And then he steps closer. They’re not even a foot apart. “We need you, Charles.” 

I need you. 

“O-oh. Erik…”

“Please? We can do this together.” 

“No, no. Erik, I— Violence isn’t the answer, and I don’t want any part of that.” 

“Then let’s discuss it. Later.” He places his hands on Charles’ shoulders. “Once you’ve come with us.” He doesn’t look away.

I have to make him see. I have to make him see. Doesn’t he realize I don’t beg for anyone but him? That I can’t fucking do this without him?

“Okay,” Charles hears himself agree, ears ringing, heart stuttering at Erik’s thoughts. 

Surprise splashes across Erik’s face before he quickly conceals it.

bonus prompt: whumpee wearing caretaker’s clothes

part 1 | part 2

Whumpee sits up gasping, body covered in sweat that’s now too cool. He shivers and lurches across the bed to flick on his lamp, scattering the shadows lingering in the room from his dreams. He still hasn’t caught his breath when he swings his legs over the side of the bed, resting them on the floor. He puts his head in his hands and closes his eyes. 

He didn’t used to get nightmares so badly. Only after Caretaker left Whumpee’s team. Caretaker’s presence has always been calming to Whumpee, and he’s always had Whumpee’s back. But Caretaker has been gone. He decided he needed a break and left for the main HQ nearly four months ago. 

Whumpee hardly sleeps due to the nightmares. He got his first write-up in his life this week because he messed up a training exercise two days ago because of how sleep deprived he is. He’s embarrassed and more stressed than he’s ever felt for this long. He’s exhausted in a way he’s never felt—a hollowed-out shell, empty and brittle.

He’s been putting off what he knows will help, but now he thinks it’s finally time. His sleep deprivation is negatively impacting his life. …Besides, Caretaker isn’t even here. 

Whumpee stiffly stands and sluggishly makes his way to the door. The way to Caretaker’s room is muscle memory. So is punching in the code to unlock his door. A ghost of a smile tugs at Whumpee’s lips when it unlocks. Caretaker still hasn’t changed the code. 

Caretaker’s room is cool. Whumpee considers turning on the light but decides against it. He’s too tired. 

He wants to be completely submerged in the covers, so he begins to take his clothes off. And that’s when his sleep-deprived mind whispers to him the sinful idea of wearing Caretaker’s clothes, too. As if sleeping in his bed in his room wasn’t enough. 

But Caretaker isn’t here, and Whumpee can have his sheets and clothes washed by tomorrow evening, so what’s the harm? 

Whumpee knows where Caretaker keeps his sleepwear. In the closet on the left. Whumpee grabs the first one he sees and immediately puts it on.

It smells like Caretaker. Like home. Like safety. 

Whumpee feels his muscles relax. He didn’t even realize he’d been so tense. He plops into Caretaker’s bed and slips under the covers, practically burrowing underneath. 

~ ~

Whumpee awakes slowly—peacefully—something that hasn’t happened in a while. He’s grown so accustomed to adrenaline and fear greeting him when he wakes.

He slowly blinks, movement catching his eye. 

Caretaker is sitting in the desk chair beside Whumpee, idly reading something on his tablet. He has the chair facing Whumpee. 

Caretaker flicks his gaze up, and their eyes lock. Caretaker immediately straightens and carelessly tosses his tablet on the desk. 

Then he leans forward and smiles, his eyes crinkling in the corners. It’s been a long time since Whumpee’s seen that smile. 

ao3

Will’s fallen in love. With an artist. It’s a terribly dangerous and stupid thing to do, and it’s ruined his life entirely. Will can pick out his artist’s work among his peers’ with ease. No one else can. Otherwise his artist would be caught. Imprisoned. Where he’d never be able to make another beautiful work again. That would be the ultimate tragedy. More tragic than the method Will’s artist uses to create his art. 

Because that is the catch, isn’t it? Creating art out of murder. Murdering to create art. Will wonders which of those his artist did first. Murder or art. 

Or, Will knows Hannibal is the Chesapeake Ripper and is completely in love with him, but he's convinced himself Hannibal will never reciprocate his love.

I used to make semi-annual/annual fic posts, but I haven’t posted fics this year then realized I didn’t make a post for last year, so

Here are the five fics I wrote in 2024

 recapture and tearful goodbye

part 1

Whumpee is waiting for her drink to be called at a café. The rest of her friends already got their drinks and are at a table outside waiting for her. It’s the prime of spring, and flowers are budding and the sun is shining. The air feels fresh. She feels alive. 

Finally. 

It’s been a tough few months recovering from Whumper’s torture, and her friends have been there for her every step of the way; she couldn’t have done it without them. She looks over at them, all seated beside each other, smiling and laughing in a rarely lighthearted way. Her heart grows soft and fond. 

And Whumpee is grateful for her friends and their support, but sometimes she’s found herself missing Whumper. It’s a completely unintentional and unexpected feeling. She’s not quite sure what to do about it. It’s like she logically knows she should feel disgusted at the thought of him, but…when he crosses her mind, she’s filled with yearning so strong it’s nearly debilitating. She knows there’s some sort of psychological explanation for this, but she isn’t quite sure what it is since she hasn’t told anyone or looked into it. She doesn’t want anyone taking her feelings for Whumper away from her. The ultimate guilty pleasure.

She flicks her gaze back down to her phone, waiting for her name to be called. And that’s when she feels it. An icy chill that causes goosebumps to crawl up the nape of her neck. She’s being watched. She turns, and he’s right there.

Somehow—impossibly—Whumper is here. 

Her heart stops. Then restarts erratically like a bird throwing itself against a cage. 

“I see you’ve missed me.” His voice sounds exactly as she remembered.

He lifts a hand to her neck, and she freezes, thrown back to every instance where he’s touched her. But instead, he delicately presses a finger beneath the choker she’s wearing; something she wore since it reminded her of the collar he used to make her wear. 

He leans in, breath ghosting the shell of her ear. Then he whispers, “Do you want to say goodbye to your friends?”

“Wh… Goodbye?”

“Oh, I’m keeping you,” he promises, “but I’m not cruel. You can say goodbye to them.” 

Her name is called for her drink, and she jumps. 

“I can grab that for you if you want to say goodbye.”

Heart pounding and hands shaking, she turns to look at her friends. 

They’re all still smiling. Joking and laughing. All she’s ever done is make them sad. Perhaps it’s better if she goes. 

“I… I don’t want to.” She turns back to Whumper. “Let’s just go.” 

He looks mildly surprised before wrapping a possessive arm around her waist and leading her to his car. He opens the passenger door for her. It closes, and for just a moment, the world is muffled and distant. Peaceful.

She sees her friends outside—happy and alive—probably for the last time. 

migraines

part 1

He can’t tell what’s bothering him more: the debilitating migraine or the horrific hallucinations. 

He didn’t take his pain meds quick enough to prevent the migraine, so now he’s curled up on his couch in nothing but boxers and a shitty robe from Walmart. The only light on in his apartment is the orange bathroom light, beaming onto the hallway wall across the room. 

Another wave of the sharp and unreasonably intense pain slams through his mind. A wounded noise leaves him. He curls in on himself, arms hugging himself tightly.

He forces himself to watch the man in the corner. Sometimes, when he doesn’t watch the hallucinations, they get too close and hurt him. The pain is never real, but it feels real. 

The figure almost looks normal. But it’s standing up eerily straight, eerily still, completely facing Whumpee. A smile far too wide for any human to have stretches across its face, baring the figure’s crooked teeth. Its eyes are glued to Whumpee.

Stabbing pain. Hot. Sharp. Fucking painful. 

The pain is beginning to recede when Whumpee realizes his eyes are squeezed shut. He flings them open.

His line of sight to the figure is blocked. By a pair of legs. The figure’s legs. 

A puff of warm air on his cheek. 

Panic grips him in its ironclad hold, and he flips onto his back. 

The figure is bent over him, its smiling face mere inches from Whumpee. Its warm breath hits him in rhythmic puffs. Whumpee’s vision is filled with those crooked teeth. There are too many. And they are too sharp.

Another wave of pain begins to build behind his eyes. 

“No, no, please,” Whumpee begs. 

The migraine slams into him. His body tenses, and his eyes instinctively squeeze shut. His adrenaline roars loudly in his eyes, and he doesn’t know how close the teeth are. He forces his eyes open.

And the teeth are there. The mouth opens, and in the next moment, those sharp, evil teeth pierce his throat.

And it’s even more painful than you think. 

All that consumes his mind is pain. He’s paralyzed with it. The teeth sink into his throat, and then they stay there. He tries to breathe, but his mouth is filled with thick, warm, metallic blood. He tries to spit it out, but it mostly falls back onto his own face; the teeth have locked him in place. 

He feels the liquid warmth of more blood spilling down the sides of his neck, and his mouth keeps filling with it. 

The migraine rings through him like a church bell—deafening.

Then he’s gasping, drawing in deep breaths of air, head still ringing, eyes unfocused, heart beating far too wildly. His eyes flick around the room as he continues to heavily pant. But his apartment is empty. 

For now.

body control + betrayal

this is the last prompt i've written for this event. i had so much fun participating. i would definitely do something like this again. i huge thank you to @augusnippets for putting all of this together.

Whumpee wakes to the sound of Whumper’s maniacal laughter. 

Whumpee glares. He knows his team will be here to save him at any moment. All he has to do is stall for time. 

“Now let’s see if it worked,” Whumpee says from across the room. “Get up and walk to me.” 

Whumpee is about to open his mouth to retort with something sharp, but he’s cut off when his legs automatically stand. And then begin marching towards Whumper. 

Icy, cold fear hits his veins closely followed by panic. He is not in control. His legs are moving, and he cannot stop them. He can’t even open his mouth to speak. It’s all happening so fast. 

He stops in front of Whumper. 

Whumper laughs again. “You kept reminding me your team will be here soon, so I thought it would be a great opportunity to try out a new procedure I’ve been working on.” He licks his lips, and his grin widens. “You will kill them like you walked up to me just now.” A beat. “I cannot wait to see the results,” he says while giving a nod to a camera in the ceiling corner before spinning around and walking out the door. 

Then Whumpee hears his team come for him. He’s sweating, beads dripping down the sides of his face, but no matter how hard he fights, he cannot regain control of his own body; he’s never been so afraid.

It’s Team Leader that bursts into his room. He visibly relaxes, and that’s when Whumpee strikes.

Whumpee tackles him, throwing them both to the ground. 

Team Leader grunts in surprise. “Whumpee?!” Alarm laces his voice. 

Whumpee’s body doesn’t stop. He scrabbles, so he’s on top of Team Leader, grabbing his weapon off him in the process. Team Leader’s eyes widen in surprise when Whumpee points the weapon at his chest. 

But he’s the team leader for a reason. 

In the span of five seconds, Team Leader has flipped and disarmed Whumpee. He’s always been so fast. His weight is pinning Whumpee to the floor, and he has a forearm pressed into Whumpee’s chest. His eyes are desperately searching Whumpee’s, rapidly flicking from one eye to the other. 

“Whumpee. What’s happened? Why are you doing this?” 

Whumpee’s unable to speak. But he remembers the sizable blade Team Leader keeps in his boot. His hand grabs it against his permission. Quickly, before Team Leader has the chance to realize something is wrong, Whumpee stabs him in the side. He pushes Team Leader down and watches as Team Leader’s eyes go from wide with disbelief and pain to blank and focused. He manages to get Whumpee pinned again, but not before Whumpee knees him in the ribs. 

And there’s blood. A lot. Too much. 

“Y-You betray us? Me??” The disbelief is back in his eyes. But now Whumpee can see grief there, too. “I can’t kill you.”