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One way or another, Whumpee convinces themself the whump was all in their head. It didn’t leave any marks, after all. No one even noticed they were gone. So of course they just dreamed it up, right? Of course they did. They’ve always been told they have a wild imagination.
Until, by chance, they encounter someone from that time — Caretaker — who asks how they’re holding up “after what happened”.
Emaciated Villain Used as Entertainment at a Hero's Party Part 15
Warnings: mega carewhumping, touch-starved villain whumpee, muscle fatigue & collapse (due to overworking oneself), forced painful medical care (bandaging wounds), mini panic attack, trust issues
He was making another mess and couldn't even clean it up. It was hopeless. Hero would never forgive him for making so many mistakes in a single day.
Hero snatched a rag from a cabinet and hastily wrapped it around Villain's hands.
"Hold this in place," she ordered, and he immediately complied, keeping the rag from falling off his hands while Hero practically dragged him to the bathroom, setting him on the floor propped up against the door and aggressively rifling through drawers.
Villain watched her every movement with wide, scared eyes, body trembling violently with fear. Now that his hands were clean, wouldn't the consequences of his failure be coming soon? Hero had probably washed the chemicals off so that she wouldn't get burned when punishing him.
He didn't relax when she brought out a couple rolls of gauze, cowering away from her when she knelt down in front of him.
He wished he could melt into the door at his back. Vanish into nothingness. He felt like a cornered animal, his heart fluttering like a caged bird beneath his ribs.
Hero's eyes showed no danger, but Superhero had pretended to be kind sometimes too. He couldn't trust the sympathy in her expression. Couldn't let himself hope it was genuine.
Hero set the supplies next to her and extended an empty hand toward him expectantly.
"May I see your hands?" she asked softly.
Villain eyed her open palm as if she were holding a gun. For once, he didn't obey. He kept both hands clutched tightly to his chest, as far away from the outstretched palm as possible.
He could vividly picture Hero's fingernails viciously digging into the inflamed cuts on his hands, ripping them apart and spilling more blood onto the tiled floor. Tearing skin and tendons alike without care, or dislocating his fingers one by one while he writhed and begged for mercy that would never come.
That was one of Superhero's favorite punishments. Dislocated joints were easy to fix but hurt like hell. It wouldn't kill her victims, keeping them alive to continue her cruel games.
Villain's terrified eyes locked with Hero's sad ones, and for a heartbeat, everything went perfectly still between them, the charged silence nearly unbearable.
Then Hero shuffled closer, hand still outstretched like she was trying to coax a frightened animal out of hiding.
Villain pressed himself flatter against the door, breaths quickening.
"Hey," Hero whispered in a soft voice, calm and reassuring. "I'm not going to intentionally hurt you, okay? I just want to bandage your hands. That's all. I won't touch you anywhere else without permission. Can you trust me?"
No, Villain's gut feeling answered. But what choice did he have? She'd just force him to comply if he resisted. And honestly, he was surprised she was even giving him the chance to obey on his own in the first place. Superhero would've jumped straight to using force at the slightest hint of hesitation.
He couldn't afford to waste Hero's patience and give her a reason to punish him. His body couldn't handle much more abuse.
So he swallowed the terror and reached out a trembling hand, cautiously placing it in hers like she was expecting.
"Thank you," Hero said quietly, and picked up one of the rolls of gauze from the floor, keeping her movements slow and predictable to avoid spooking him.
Villain flinched when the gauze first touched his skin, almost snatching his hand back on pure instinct before remembering why that was a terrible idea, and forcing himself to stay put.
He watched with dilated pupils as Hero delicately wrapped his hand, occasionally asking if the gauze was too tight, before moving on to his other.
Villain shook like a leaf the whole time, his entire body vibrating with fear.
It was an odd feeling, to be afraid of her touch yet crave it so deeply. Torn between recoiling and seeking out more.
It had been so long since he'd been touched kindly. So long since a lack of pain accompanied skin contact.
whumpee and whumper are in an environment where they’re together often, near constantly. they work together, or live together, or they’re teammates. and whumpee knows exactly what whumper wants.
it’s not that they’re being hit on, not really. whumper isn’t flirting, isn’t making overtures or invitations. it’s more like… attempts. it’s harassment and it’s attempts, every time they’re alone together, or there’s some reasonable expectation of privacy. whumper grabs for them, tries to pin them down, tries to corner them, goes for their clothes. but it’s always halfhearted. whumper isn’t going to fight that hard to get what they want. whumpee is able to fend them off every time.
maybe that’s why they don’t tell anyone. maybe that’s why they keep it a secret. maybe there’s another reason - shame or guilt or threats or an existing trauma background telling them this is inevitable. regardless, it’s fine. whumper never gets farther than some groping, and they always give up, annoyed, without things escalating too far.
until whumpee is compromised. they fell asleep somewhere public or they’re sick or they’re injured. they’re weak. and by the time they realize who’s there with them, whumper is on top of them, pressing them into a couch or a wall or a desk or the floor. they try to fight like they always do, to get away like they always do. but they can’t even manage the pathetic self defence that always made it stop before. and then whumper’s fingers are inside them, and it’s going to get worse, and all they can do is stare at the ceiling and suffocate on self hatred. they’re letting this happen after all.
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The first time the gruff caretaker find the whumpee in the shower (fully clothed, huddled in the corner, and letting the water wash away the blood and grime as they try to control their breathing) they turn the water off, toss a towel at them, and tell the whumpee to get themselves together and stop wasting water. After all, they never had the time to feel sorry for themselves, so why should the whumpee?
As times goes on, the whumpee gets better and the team becomes close. So when it happens again a while down the line - after a rough mission - the gruff caretaker is more patient. They know exactly where to find the whumpee, and sit on the other side of the cubicle - maybe talking, maybe in silence - as they wait for the whumpee to shakily reach up and turn the water off. They then help them to their feet, out of their sodden clothes and into a warm towel before addressing the wounds the whumpee was hoping would just... wash away after The Ordeal.
whumpee who argues. a lot. ever since rescue. but they're all bark no bite. they keep arguing and complaining every step of the way but they let the team and the rescuers do what they need to do. but never without annoyed comments and pushback
Whenever I see Whumpee with a knife to the throat (especially in the context of a standoff and/or hostage situation) I always want Whumper to push just a little harder. Just enough to draw some blood. Just as a warning, just to prove they're serious. Just as a treat for me
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On the first night, he stares at the ceiling and tells himself to be careful with his words - he won't give orders. He thinks about his day and tries to reword every sentence that could be understood as an order. He tries to erase imperative from his memory.
On the first day, Alaric finds out none of that matters because Laurel won't look at him or talk with him or laugh at his remarks or move closer to him. And since he doesn't usually give orders to them all the thinking he's done serves absolutely no purpose.
He spends about two hours at his desk and gets none of the things he was supposed to do done. Laurel is behind him, posture painfully perfect and quiet as a tomb. He sighs for the unknownth time.
He hands them the tome he's reading.
"Could you remind me why, exactly, reading on the Khasmic war became part of my duties? And tell me if there ever was a more useless and tedious war."
When he glances back, Laurel hasn't opened the book, holding it carefully. He closes his eyes.
"Perhaps His Majesty thought Your Highness would enjoy it. You spent quite some time reading on the war of 517 as a youth."
He whirls around but – no, Laurel's expression is carefully blank, their eyes lowered artfully. He groans.
"Please. I almost wish Father would figure it out. Maybe he'd stop sending me all of these."
He gestures vaguely at the piles of historic records he keeps getting gifted. "I think he even told the court. I think some of those are supposed to be bribes."
"Perhaps His Majesty is waiting for a confession."
Alaric presses his face into his hands, hiding a smile as he groans again. Laurel's voice is blank, still, and he physically feels how tense they're holding themself, waiting for a rebuke.
Still.
"Father isn't that cruel."
***
The vilest habit Laurel brought back from their time with the duke is bowing. They had never really breached protocol before – always proper for official ceremonies and showing the respects due the king – but they hadn't been so....
They quietly and fluidly slip to their knees, or bow and wait to be acknowledged and Alaric doesn't know how to deal with that.
Three days after their return, he looks up from his scroll and almost jumps out of his seat when he notices them in front of the desk. One knee on the floor, head bowed slightly, holding utterly still.
"Laur- Get up."
It's not rise, because it's pure instincts that control Alaric. He almost lunges himself across the desk to pull them up.
"How long have you been waiting?"
There's something hesitant in their eyes, a slight confusion in their voice when they answer.
"Not long, Your Highness. I meant to report on the new..."
They trail off, head tilting down. Maybe something is showing on his expression.
“Apologies.”
“That’s not- Why didn’t you say anything? I didn’t even notice you…”
Really, Alaric had only been looking up out of boredom, hoping something would catch his eyes – maybe he’d think of a new task or get lost in different thoughts… He had also vaguely been hoping his knight would scold him.
“I did not dare to bother Your Highness.”
He grinds his teeth. The knight had always been the prince’s Number One distraction, sometimes not even out of any faults of theirs – Alaric has never been particularly focused and in the presence of a strong, confident knight… Some things he would have never confessed to out loud.
“It’s not a bother. Please, never hesitate to talk to me. Nothing is more important to me than listening to what you have to say.”
Laurel gives a nod with a murmured assent, but there is still something doubting in their eyes that Alaric does not appreciate.
“Interrupt me, Laurel. I like listening to you. No matter the topic.”
They freeze before giving a small bow, and Alaric holds back a sigh. Their agreement sounds a little more solid, however. He gives a smile and forgets everything about the scroll he’s supposedly reading. Waving them over, he reaches for the treats in a drawer.
“Sit, sit – What did you want to talk about?”
***
Alaric is in the Hall before the council meeting starts. It’s unusual enough that the firsts to enter pause before bowing. He waves them up without a thought, eyes on Laurel. The knight is keeping watch, but he’s managed to coax them into keeping watch closer. The prince is almost giddy at the thought that his flimsy excuses were enough for his knight – who doesn’t move freely yet but accepts to use pretext.
The Hall is almost full when Laurel suddenly stiffens. Their left leg moves back just slightly – as if to kneel – before the knight can stop it. It seems purely instinctive and Alaric doesn’t have to turn to know who just entered the room. He forces a smile, ignoring the duke.
No, rather – he makes sure to turn his head to glance at the bowing duke, making a show of noticing him.
And then he turns away and addresses his knight.
“Apologies, we’ll have to finish this conversation at another time. Everyone has arrived so we’ll begin.”
He smiles at the assembly, turning towards the secretary, whose eyes are wild and darting between the duke and him.
“What was the first order of the day?”
He ignores the hushed whispers echoing through the room, keeping his eyes on the secretary’s.
The session starts, most of the nobles too distracted to properly take part: the first item is announced and the room stays quiet – besides ruffling and shocked murmurs – for a moment.
The duke chooses this moment to rise, a stiff smile on his face as he hesitantly looks up at Alaric.
“I don’t recall granting you leave to rise, duke.”
The prince sends only the barest glance the duke’s way, just enough to see the man’s face freeze as he forces himself into another bow.
The room has gone deathly quiet, every eye in the room on him as Alaric turns to the side.
“You expressed concerns, baron?”
Said baron looks at him with wide, unblinking eyes before stuttering out a response. The rest of the council goes along, pretending very hard that this is a normal session. Their eyes seem to go through the duke as they chatter louder than ever to hide the tension in the room.
Alaric hears Laurel swallow, then a very quiet presence presses against his seat.
“Your Highness…”
He doesn’t stop smiling.
“Don’t worry.”
***
The duke dismisses the servants with a wave of his hand and Alaric has to watch one of the most proficient and highly trained knights in the kingdom – the love of his life – move forward as if to pour the two of them tea.
His fingers dig into the meat of his thigh.
"Please guard the door, Sir Laurel."
A bowed head and they swivel towards the outside, bowing slightly before leaving the room.
Alaric leans back into his chair, eyes meeting the duke's. The latter is wearing a rather tense smile, far from eager to discuss the prince's earlier behaviour – rather, the reasons for it.
Humiliation on such scale is unheard of, from Alaric – and against a duke, no less. The man is probably torn between outrage and fear, scouring through his memories for possible offences and already wording his excuses.
Alaric doesn't care for that. He slowly, pointedly, moves his eyes towards his empty cup. Laurel had looked a bit too ready – practically expecting to have to serve the duke.
Alaric blinks slowly. Usually, he waves away the servants to prepare snacks to share with his knight. It is not princely, but he has never cared.
He's never before stayed utterly still and waited for someone of lower standing – a duke, still – to pour him a cup.
The situation dawns on the duke, whose smile suddenly stiffens. Humiliation? Rage, maybe? Confusion? Whatever it is the duke feels, he stands up and rounds the table, hands steady as he pours the tea.
Alaric continues to watch quietly, expression blank. He waits until the duke is squirming to give a permissive nod, allowing the man to slip back into his seat.
He doesn’t touch the cup.
“You brought knights with you, didn’t you?”
“I, yes, a few- my Lord,” there’s confusion in the duke’s eyes, calculations already started, “if I may-”
“You may not.”
Alaric sighs, tapping the table with the tip of his fingers. He keeps his eyes on the duke, who bows his head and does his best to exude apologies.
“Fetch them.”
“Pardon?”
It’s almost outrage in the duke’s voice. Alaric doesn’t bother repeating himself and doesn’t move a finger.
“Bring them to the main hall. Quickly.”
He watches the duke hurry out and follows at a more languid pace. Laurel tries to follow a few steps behind, but he stops to force them besides him.
Wanna know what's fun? A character who fits all three main roles in whump.
They are a whumper. They hurt a Whumpee without hesitation or restraint when ordered. They cause harm. Their hands firm and fast.
They are a caretaker. After the whump, they treat the injuries they caused and hold whumpee when they cry. They take care of whumpee. Their hands gentle and slow.
They are a whumpee. A well conditioned one under their whumper, who takes the bearings and manipulation. They receive harm until they're covered in scars. Their hands shake with pain.
A character who is all three. A vicious cycle they can never leave.
You're getting me! This whole post is about a new character of mine (Mar, still being developed) and she is absolutely conflicted. The jealousy and anger aren't huge (... so far. I'm gonna tuck that away for later), but absolutely on the conflicting feelings and orders being the only clear things in her head!
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