[Supervillain gives Villain a present for their birthday]
The hero and the infant
(grumpy old hero + superhero sidekick)
Partners in Crime
(Charismatic Whumpee, some goons and Powerful Whumper) [male whumpee/whumper]
A Benignant Mischief
(Fantasy found family, young elf outlaw captured by enemy kingsmen whose orders are to capture any elf for trial before the King/ hurt/comfort— ish, it’s giving fuzzy vibes) [male whumpees]
Powerful Fae Whumper Yandere x human whumpee
[male whumper/female whumpee]
Whump Events // Prompt Calendars
[Masterpost of Whump Events Masterposts]
Hero/Villain Drabbles:
Whump drabbles Masterpost
THE HERETIC
JoD Day nine: part one / part two / part three
Sneak Peak to book I'm working on (outside of Tumblr) Below:
“I’ll be fine,” Whumpee snarled in reply, trying to ignore the dull throbbing pain that still rocked their body. A snarl was pretty much all they had in defence by now. They could barely move, ribs bruised, arm broken, body battered.
And Whumper knew it.
“Will you, now?” He circled them, slowly, deliberately. The click of his shoes on the concrete echoed through the room and sonared right into Whumpee’s heart, amplifying their fear. Speeding up their breathing. Tensing their muscles.
The soft sounds of a predator.
Drawing out a now rather useless flight or fight response. Lovely.
He loved how the smallest things seemed to affect them. Sure, pain was a marvelous way to draw them out, but just little sounds like this? How they managed to widen eyes and speed up heart beats? Priceless.
“I actually meant to give you a bit of a reprieve.” He stopped behind them, smiled as he watched them resist the urge to look back. “Seeing as you’re so beat up.”
He nudged his shoe softly against their ribcage and Whumpee hissed.
“But if you say it’s fine… Well, who am I to say otherwise. You know your body best.”
If he meant his taunts for Whumpee to crumple at the loss of their reprieve, it didn’t work. They looked up and bit:
“Didn’t say I’m fine. You deaf or just plain stupid?”
“Oof,” Whumper winced dramatically. He unbuttoned his cuffs and started rolling up his sleeves.
“Maybe I am a little hard of hearing, who knows,” he conceded. “But there’s an easy solution to that.”
Before Whumpee could snarl another insult, pain shot through their body as it was pulled up by force and they were deposited onto their knees. One fist curled painfully tight in their hair, the other clamped around their throat, effectively stealing a rising cry of pain. He held them up, tilted their head back to make eye contact as he closed in on them and whispered:
Most animals don't scream in pain because that would just alert predators they're an easy target. Humans scream in pain because we're social creatures, our screams and cries are meant to alert others of danger, to call for help. Which makes it really ironic when those sounds are forced out of whumpee over and over again, and the only person around to hear is the one causing them...
So I've been thinking, wouldn't it be a fun concept to have two whumpers who don't just torture whumpee, but also each other, for funsies. Imagine whumpee being like "What is wrong with you two?! I'm scared! Someone, please, get me out of here!"
OH!!! YES!!! I actually love this idea so much!!! I have done some roleplay with @whumpasaurus101 on this multiple whumper topic to one Whumpee and it is ALWAYS SO GOOD BECAUSE WHUMPEE IS ALWAYS OUTNUMBERED AND RAGGGHHHHH— mmm delicious~
I actually read something like this before but I can’t remember what it was… it wasn’t Whump whump, but it was like they — oh wait, I think I’m thinking of the Whumper and their partner in Hasan and Declan — minor minor spoilers below cut — not even Spoilers, Hasan is a freak and we love them—
but the whumper is into kink stuff, and the whumpee is like “GET SOMEBODY WILLING” and the whumper is like “no… I want to go beyond consent and just play with you how I want and strip you of all your human rights pookie” and it is actually quite fucked, but very funny too
BUT!!!
To your point!!! I think that would fuck me up if I was Whumpee, like seeing them be like “harder” and “you call that a punch” AND FORCING WHUMPEE TO WATCH?! And if Whumpee responds or begs them to stop, they’re like “oh… look at that, A… Whumpee cares about you” and Whumper A is like “Whumps, how sweet. Do you want to take my place? Are you feeling left out?”
LIKE EW!!! EW EW EW!!!! <- in the best way hehehehe, you are quite sick in the head my friend, I love it!!!
CWs: discussion of future torment/ alludes to noncon
this is part 1 || part 2 || part 3
“How are you going to— h-how are you going to kill me?”
“Why?”
Whumpee shrugged weakly.
“Dunno. Lots of ways, Whumpee.” He traced Whumpee's hollow cheek lightly with his index finger. “I can’t pick only one. Gotta see all the different ways I can make ya squirm.”
The younger man wasn’t phased by the answer. He was used to the psychopath’s brutal honesty.
“What’s your favorite way to kill someone?”
It was the terror that he relished, not the act of killing itself. Getting them on the table was the height of the excitement for Whumper. The torture was enjoyable to a point, but by the time the endorphins kicked in the whole thing became work as usual. Not that Whumpee needed to know that.
“However I kill you will be my favorite, I guess.” His eyes grew wide, flashing wickedly in the fluorescent light.
“So, what’s your favorite way to die?”
Whumpee tried to fight the shiver that wracked his spine.
“Curled up in my bed at 95.”
“Funny.” Whumper remarked dryly.
Whumpee was painfully aware that the deadline was only three days away. He knew his family could never afford the ransom, even if they sold everything they owned.
There was no world in which Whumpee lived past the week.
“I just… I was wondering what happens when...”
“Time’s up?”
The gaunt man nodded.
“Ain’t long now,” the killer shifted his weight to stand. “You’ll see for yourself.”
“Wait!” Whumpee shot out his arm, impulsively clutching the bottom of Whumper’s elbow. “Don’t go.”
Whumper turned back to his captive, crumpled on the floor. It was late and he was exhausted from the day, but he couldn’t resist the desperation in Whumpee’s pleading eyes.
“Just tell me what’s gonna happen.” Whumpee begged. “I need to know.”
"It doesn't matter" Whumper dismissed.
"Come on." Whumpee wasn't budging an inch. "You're right, it doesn't matter. So tell me."
“All you need to know is this: when the ransom is up, you're mine, and I can do whatever I like to you.”
Whumper gently traced the curve of Whumpee’s bottom lip with his thumb.
“Maybe you’ll like some of it too.”
“I don’t think so.” He responded blankly.
“Mmm.” Whumper retracted his hand from the man’s face. “Good thing you won’t have any choice in the matter.”
Powerless to fight the deluge of tears leaking from his exhausted eyes, an aching sadness took hold of Whumpee. Tears rolled over his cheeks, but he didn’t sob. He was beyond hollow at this point, completely numb.
A piece of his heart broke for his former self when Whumpee had the cold realization that he would probably never see the sky again. He cursed his weakness, his inability to defend himself. His entire life he had been too shy, too soft. What a waste he'd been.
In a tone barely above a whisper, Whumpee pitifully murmured: “I don’t wanna die.”
Whumper scooped up the trembling man from the floor, his strong arms wrapping around Whumpee in a confusing display of dominance and affection.
It was a feigned act of compassion, but the warmth of human contact felt good anyways. This time, Whumpee allowed the touch to comfort him.
Whumper offered no reassurances to the shell of a man quaking in his arms, he didn’t say it’s okay I would never hurt you, you’re my favorite—he didn’t say it because it wasn’t true. He wasn’t holding Whumpee tightly in his arms to comfort him. He held him close to feel Whumpee shake with fear.
Three days left. Only seventy-two hours.
“I like you, but the same rules apply to you as everyone else here.”
Whumpee pulled out of the hug, shuffling backwards.
“You said I was your favorite.” He wiped his leaking face with the back of his hand, sniffling. “Was that even true?”
“Yeah.” Whumper chuckled lightly. “You’re sweet.”
"Then why would you—" The tears surged again, cutting him off. "—how could you...?"
“I won’t touch your pretty face. Does that make you feel better?”
“I don’t know.” He snorted loudly to halt the mucus dripping from his nose. Whumpee struggled to maintain a façade of emotionlessness, but his body betrayed him at every turn. He took in a deep breath, exhaling slowly, centering his mind.
“Just walk me through it. Just once. I need to know what happens.”
“Fine.”
Whumper crouched, locking his cold eyes with Whumpee's.
“It starts off the same for everyone. First I’m gonna have you go to the bathroom. If you’re good for me, maybe I’ll even let you use the one upstairs, the nice one. Sometimes people refuse to go and end up pissing on the exam table-- don’t do that. If you piss or anything when you’re strapped down, I’ll rub your fuckin’ face in it, so just go.”
“Okay.”
“Then you’ll strip down. Don’t put up a fight on that either. You won’t win.”
Whumpee nodded.
“I’ll take you to the room at the end of the hall. You know the one. Maybe I’ll have to tie you up, but if you’re a good boy that day I won’t need the ropes.”
An evil smile spread across Whumper's face. “The table is gonna feel cold on your skin. I'll have you lay back and once you lay down... Use your imagination. Anything could happen. I haven’t exactly planned it all out.”
“Yes you fucking have.” Whumpee bit back.
Whumper was taken aback. He was right of course, but he’d never heard the man swear before.
“Sure. I’ve thought about it.” Whumper chuckled. “I don’t think sharin’ every minute detail is gonna help.”
“Just tell me,” Whumpee urged.
Whumper looked down and sighed, his impatience mounting.
“Are you going to fuck me?”
“Yes.” He answered truthfully. “Among other things.”
It felt like a train crashed into Whumpee’s gut. It was happening. It was really happening.
“Will it--will it hurt?”
“A little. But I’ll try to make you feel good.”
“No I mean. After.”
“Oh." He patted the man's shoulder. "Yeah. It’s gonna hurt, Whumpee.”
As much as he didn’t look forward to sacrificing his special, trembling boy to some faceless nobody on the dark web, the money was too good to pass up. The truth was, Whumpee was worth far more dead than alive. Even if his family had managed to pull together enough funds for the payout, it was miniscule compared to what his buyer was willing to pay for the video.
“That’s enough for now. It’s late.” The killer made his way to the exit, the heels of his boots clicking against the tiles.
“Am I allowed to make a final request?” Whumpee called to his captor's receding form.
"I don't do that," the man said coldly, glancing over his shoulder.
“Please. It’s not a lot.”
"What?" Whumper snapped, impatience evident in his tone.
“C-can I please write a letter to my friend?”
The killer rubbed his exhausted eyes, sighing as he eyed the reinforced steel door.
“Please.”
“Fine, Whumpee. Whatever. You can write to your friend. I’ll get you some paper. Write a fuckin’ novel for all I care.”
“Thank y--.”
Whumper yanked the heavy door closed behind him, silencing Whumpee’s appreciation with a decisive shove, the thick thud echoing in the corridor. He had no intention of actually delivering Whumpee’s letter to anyone; but at that point he’d do anything to shut up Whumpee’s insistent questioning.
Still, a flicker of curiosity burned within him as he wondered what Whumpee might write.
sorry for bothering you, but i’m trying to find the whump blog with gagged loki as their pfp? thought you might be the person to ask :)
Not at all, not at all, come in Anon, let me direct you to that person— now where would they be?…
*takes out large file titled: BIGGEST PAINS IN MY ASS*
Ah, mmm, yes, yes, let’s see— hmm, they would be filed under deadly, yess, yes— ah, subsection sus — oh. *glances at Anon with a raised eyebrow* uh… if you’re positive you want to find them… ahem—
Yes yes, great writer *chuckles* feral individual… propensity to eat the things they enjoy with a voracious “oh nom nom nom” — YES!!! Here they are
You are looking for a one, @whumplicity my friend, though— please do be careful. They bite. Hope this helps!!!
*under the breath* good luck you poor fool, I have been trying to escape them for years now. . .
got a little obsessed with this idea. king whumpee and gray eminence whumper who is very displeased to have been disobeyed. publicly.
cw: royal whump, covert whump, manhandling, mentions of punishments
The duke holds the door open for him, a charming smile for the crowd. He bows his head when the king climbs in, also smiling at the crowd. They sit across each other, and the duke keeps one of the curtains open for the prince to smile and wave at the mass as the carriage starts moving.
He only lets go when the crowd has thinned, but his smile is gone long before that. As soon as the curtain has closes, the king sinks to his knees. There’s not much space in the carriage and his nose brush the archduke’s knees as the man spreads his legs.
“I apologise, Your Grace.”
The duke’s eyes turn towards him with a glint of something cruel as he evenly says, “Whatever for, Your Majesty?”
Truthfully, he doesn’t know, but there’s only so many things he could have done that would make the duke so angry. He speaks clearly, knowing better than to stumble over his words.
“I went against your will. I didn’t think-”
The duke’s hand moves and he flinches, expecting a hit. It only tangles in his hair, pulling his head up sharply. The duke doesn’t look composed anymore, and his voice is not so even as his lips curl into a sneer.
“You were never asked to think, were you?”
The tight space of the carriage makes it feel as though he is looming over the prince when he leans forward.
“Opposing me so publicly – Did you think you were allowed an opinion on my decisions? That you could… express it? Publicly?”
The hand in his hair tightens its grip and the duke shakes him a little. He doesn’t even try to speak to defend itself.
“I think not. I think His Royal Majesty simply forgot his place.”
The king swallows. He tries to lower his eyes, but the duke grabs his chin, nails almost digging into the skin – but not yet; there’ll be another crowd at the palace’s gates.
“My apologies, Your Grace. I didn’t- I didn’t realise it meant so much-”
He can’t flinch away from the slap. It’s almost a relief that the duke has let go of his hair, both because his neck and back were starting to hurt and because there’s no way he could have dressed his hair again if it became too dishevelled. He doesn’t have the luxury of another blunder right now.
“You naïve little fool. Everything I do means something. Every. Single. Thing.” Every word is punctuated with a sharp squeeze of the hand holding his chin, and the king assumes it’s already reddened. He can’t feel crescent-shaped thing digging into him yet, which should make it easier to hide.
The duke is in control enough – and kind enough – to not backhand him. There are no rings to scratch at him, and he shouldn’t bruise from this.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into that pretty little head of yours, but we’re going to fix it.”
Another flinch from the king, who forces himself to meet the duke’s eyes. “Please, Your Grace, I swear-”
The duke surges forward, pulling the king along. The king is slammed against the carriage’s wall, pinned under the duke’s frame. The duke is still holding his chin, but his other hand trails down the king’s chest, fingers splayed possessively.
“You’ve been such a wicked ward, haven’t you? Teasing me, defying me, making such a spectacle of us both.” He presses close, lips brushing the shell of the king’s ear. “Don’t worry, Your Majesty, I’m going to take good care of you. Do such a good job reminding you of your place.”
He keeps the king pinned a while longer before relaxing his grip and stepping away. The king sinks back to his knees, burying his face into the duke’s robes.
“Your Grace, please-”
“That’s more like. This is the respect you should have shown to me earlier.” He buries his hand in the king’s hair, almost petting. “Shh, there’s no need to cry. I’ll guide you. Put you back into your proper place.”
He tilts the king’s head up with a brush of his knuckles. “It’s my responsibility – my right – to discipline you when you stray.” His thumb brushes softly over the king’s lower lip. “We’ll work together, you and I, hmm?”
“Please-”
The duke tries to maintain his façade but his eyes glitter with satisfaction, something almost predatory in the way he looks down. He loves seeing this – a desperate, submissive king, completely at his mercy and grovelling for forgiveness.
“Shh. I told you there was no need for his.”
His hand moves from the king’s chin to his throat. His grip stays lax, more possessive than anything else.
“I suppose it’s been a while, but that’s no reason to behave like this.” A sharp squeeze to make the king meets his eyes. “When we arrive, you’re going to walk beside me; head held high and that pretty smile of yours for the crowd.”
His grip tightens a little as a flash of anger darkens his face. “If you even think about disobeying me again, so publicly at that, I will destroy you. Is that clear?”
The king swallows, throat bobbing under the duke’s grip. He nods, but the duke’s doesn’t relent. He lowers his eyes.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
A smile spreads on the duke’s face, wicked and slow. He lets go of the king’s throat, fingers trailing down. He leans back slightly.
“Good boy, I knew you’d see reason.” He lets go, straightening his collar and smoothing out any wrinkles with meticulousness.
“Remember, love, your happiness, your safety – your very existence depends on pleasing me.” His tone is gentle, almost sweet. “I can be very generous to those who obey, darling. You’ve seen it.”
He pulls the king up, pushing him back on the settee and not paying him any more attention as he tries to quickly straighten his clothes. The carriage slows down as they approach the gate and a smile is back on the duke’s face. “Let’s put on a good show, hmm? Smile for your adoring subjects.”
He doesn’t grant the king any time, quickly opening the door. The king pushes himself up and almost scrambles – but not because that would be stupid – forward to smile and wave and pretend.
The duke steps out behind the king, leaning close. “Such a good king, aren’t you? So well-trained, so obedient.” His hand finds the small of the king’s back in a gesture that appears supportive. It burns like a brand but neither of their smile waver.
He raises a hand to acknowledge the crowd’s adoration, smile just shy of seductive. “Please, Your Majesty. We have much to discuss in private.”
He bows slightly, letting the king leads them – though he stiffens with every step. The mask falls as soon as they’re behind closed doors, and the duke stalks forward.
“Alone at last,” he almost purrs, matching the king’s retreat step for step. “Now then, my disobedient little pet,” he grips the king’s wrist tightly, pulling him flush against his chest. “Let’s discuss your transgressions properly, shall we?”
Bookish - Prev chapter: Archaic practices - pt 1 here
Healthy consensual sex between enemies in my chapter? Headcanon, au, I don't know what this is, but here we go. Minors shoo.
-
“Just this once, okay!” Dani said, again, as Roman was unlocking the door to his bedroom. “And no sneaky business! I still don’t trust you.”
The lock clicked. Roman swung the door open and turned towards her. He held out a hand. “Truce. For now.”
She narrowed her eyes and glanced at his open hand as if it was a trick in itself.
“I won’t hurt you,” Roman said, voice calm and steady. “Unless you’re into that—” Dani snorted. “No funny business and in return you won’t try to knock me out.”
This was such a bad idea, but she’d actually like to feel good for once here instead of only experiencing pain and misery. This didn’t mean anything. It was just a little something to let off some steam. She shook his hand. “Truce. For now.”
He smiled, and for once it wasn’t the devil’s grin that usually adorned his lips. Then he pulled her into the bedroom and lightly spun her towards the bed.
There was a rush in their movements, as if they both either couldn’t wait or were sure that they were going to change their mind on this before they could get the clothes off each other. Roman pulled Dani’s – his – shirt over her head, the only thing she had on and it barely covered her undies, the sight of which had pretty much started this for him. Dani busied herself with the buttons of his shirt, slowly picking her way down under his fond yet hungry gaze and let him handle the rest of the fight with the sleeves as she unbuckled his belt.
She couldn’t resist a peek when he opened the bedside drawer. He searched for a condom; she searched for a weapon. Not for now, they had a truce, just information for later. But there was nothing. No gun. Not even a blade. She stored away the bit of knowledge – that he felt apparently untouchable in his bedroom – and shifted her mindset back.
Roman wrapped his arms around her bare hips, lightly picked her up, and carefully laid her down on the bed.
They didn’t kiss. Though Roman lightly brushed his lips over her skin, over her clavicle, up her neck, exploring her body and his hands roamed up her hips to her waist, hot breath indicating his eagerness.
“Does this count as hate sex?” Dani asked, surprised by the gentle touches.
He exhaled a chuckle and her skin prickled. “No,” he said into the nape of her neck, now slowly making his way down.
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t hate you.”
“Pfff.”
He went further down, lips brushing over her breast, her nipple, finally adding tongue and Dani let out a surprised little moan high in her throat. Spurred on by this, his lips closed around her nipple, one hand cupping her other breast, before he continued his way down. His tongue expertly swirled over her clit and she clenched a fist into the duvet, hissing in a breath.
He wasn’t that interested in sex, he had said. Yet he moved with casual experience and expertly treated all sensitive parts of her body with the respect they deserved. Unlike some of the more welcome bed partners Dani had shared, who were more kind, less sadistic, yet some still had no idea what to do. Maybe, because he was less interested, he focused on his partner’s pleasure more instead of his own? That is… if it didn’t involve pain and being an absolute asshole.
“All these sensitive nerve endings...” he murmured.
“Do not talk science to me right now,” Dani gasped. She let her fingers slide through his hair, her other hand roaming up and down the length of his forearm.
He hummed a teasing laugh. It vibrated right through her and she arched her back and her fingers, clawing over his head.
“You better stop soon…” she said, haltingly, and lightly tugged at his hair.
Another hum, questioning this time.
“Because if I come this fast I’ll kick you off the bed right after…”
That made him resurface and her body relaxed against the mattress. “Fair point.”
He tigered over her, low on his hands and knees, maintaining eye contact and that mischievous soft grin.
She welcomed him. But when the pillow dipped as he rested his hand just next to her head and lightly leaned forward, she startled.
“No,” she merely said.
Roman froze immediately, probably worried she had changed her mind.
But she nudged a hand to the side of his shoulder and the other against the underside of his ribs, slowly tilting him to the side.
He caught on and obediently followed, letting her roll him onto his back, swing a leg over his hips and straddle his waist.
“That’s better,” she said.
The earlier position was a bit too familiar for her taste. It hadn’t been the first time he’d been pressing up against her, or looming over her, caging her, his body a prison. And that usually was a prelude to fighting and pain. She didn’t want to think about that now. And perhaps more urgently, didn’t want him to remember this when he would close her in again in the near future, and risk that he’d start to associate the situation with sex.
This was good, sitting on top of him. A taste of his own medicine and, admittedly, she liked looking down on him. And from the looks of it, he enjoyed looking up at her, gaze roaming over her breasts, fingers fondly caressing.
Her hand found his jaw and with a mere flick of her fingers made him tear his gaze from her breasts.
She sat back and lowered herself to sit on his hips, pressing his cock against his stomach, and she slowly rocked back and forth, teasing him as she rubbed over the head and back down the length.
“Fff—” He tensed then uncoiled, relaxing against the pillow and squeezed his eyes shut, to her amusement.
She traced her fingers up his arm, over the vein crossing his bicep, exploring the dip of his shoulder before gently going around the scar an inch under his collarbone. She really had been close… It matched the one on her shoulder, but his was way more prominent; eye-catching against the tanner surrounding skin, a crater with sharper edges as if it hadn’t healed that well. She wondered if he removed the bullet himself. It wouldn’t surprise her.
It was a little strange, touching him like this; exploring and even admiring the physique that she used to – and would continue to – fight against. He was always unyielding, muscles hard under his skin, pushing back against her, straining, boxing her in and not giving an inch. Now he melted under her touch, bent whichever way she wanted him, and went along with the barest nudge of her fingertips.
He followed her example, exploring her body, her curves, hands never leaving her skin. And his eyes not leaving hers, testing more than just her softness; he checked her responses, if she twitched or winced, if she allowed him to continue.
And she did. Usually, his touches repelled her, made her shudder and twist away. Now they drew her in, his touch adoring and respectful instead of probing and clinical. Even the hand brushing her face now felt warm and genuine instead of mocking.
His hands moved to her waist, fingertips digging in softly as he encouraged her up, wanting her to take him.
Dani muttered a soft expletive as she did. She slowly sank down, savouring that initial sensation, his heat, the stretch as she let him go deeper and she rolled her hips into him. His breath hitched, his fingers trembled against her hips as if he were straining to hold himself back.
She slowly settled into a rhythm, riding him.
“Faster,” he breathed.
Dani hummed. She leaned forward, resting her hands on his abdomen as if bracing herself. But she only slightly picked up the pace.
Roman let his head fall back against the pillow and she could feel every muscle tense and untense again under her fingers as he tried to hold himself back. “How can you even call this hate sex?”
“You said you didn’t hate me.”
“I do now,” he bit off another curse, the remnants whistling between his lips. He lightly bucked his hips up and his fingers now dug into her hips, trying to spur her on. “Let me have my way with you,” he croaked and Dani hummed her disapproval.
“You always do. Now it’s my turn.”
Did hate sex have to be rough? Or was it enough to deprive him of what he wanted so bad right now. If frustration lay at the basis, she could work with that. And it showed wonderfully on his face. He was biting his lip, wincing lightly every time she moved up, as if he were afraid it was the final round and she’d get off him, and closing his eyes as she took him deep again.
When that familiar and all-overwhelming heat started building in her abdomen she started to move faster.
Roman instantly responded, now firmly fucking into her as if he’d finally gotten her permission until—
She came first. And as she clenched around him the pulses of her orgasm sent him over the edge as well.
He shot up, hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her in close, finally bucking up into her in irregular, shuddering thrusts. Lips brushed over her throat and she was sure he could feel her pulse hammering. A low groan echoed in her ear.
Dani tensed, her fingers clawed around his shoulder as he slowly fell back into his pillow, riding out her orgasm – and his – wave by wave until her body turned to goo and she fell forward. She rested against his chest, which rose and fell fast, his breath blew away wisps of hair. Only when his voice actually activated in a final moan and a compliment, did she realise who she was lying on.
She swiftly pushed away, off of him, and rolled over onto the other side of the bed.
“Post sex clarity is a bitch, hm?” Roman chuckled.
“It sure is.”
“It’s the sudden drop of just about every feel good hormone that—”
She reached out, casually let her arm fall to the side, and rested a hand over his mouth. “Don’t ruin it.”
-
Hoping there are no minors on this tag list: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @whumpy-daydreams @whumpyourdamnpears @auroragehenna @alsolucakairomi @suspicious-whumping-egg @whumppmuhw @withdrawingramen @theforeverdyingperson @treasureguardingdragon @theorangestofjuices @chaotic-orphan @artfulbok @ehobep @lolrpop @daggers-and-dangers @yet-how-they-creep @jumpywhumpywriter @whumplicity @whumpasaurus101
Content warnings: bullying, gaslighting, familial gaslighting, past trauma, noncon kissing, noncon touch, mundane whump, sexual assault, homophobic slurs. Kind of a rough one. Non graphic synopsis in replies.
"you understand, right?" Maisy, Matt's sister, looked at him expectantly. "It's only for a couple days. School was years back, can't you just let it go? For me?"
"I don't like having him in the house." said Matt, shifting uneasily on his feet. "Can't he just find a hotel?"
"Sure, he could, but the point is he sees how hospitable we are. You know how good it could be for me."
Jason had gone far since school. He'd gone through university on a scholarship, graduated valedictorian. Now he was Maisy's boss's boss. He was staying in their hometown for a trip, and Matt's family had happily opened their doors to him.
"It's just like when you were kids!" Matt's mother said. "Jason's gotten so tall! If only you'd stayed friends... think of all those wasted years."
"You know it wasn't a proper friendship." said Matt.
"Don't be like that," his mother said, "It's water under the bridge now. It's good to be kind. You lose your job, you can stay here. He needs somewhere to sleep, our arms are open."
***
They ate dinner together, which never happened normally. Jason was charming, making the whole family break out in raucous laughter, flattering the cooking, recounting stories.
"God, school was the worst. Good thing I had Matt by my side, eh?" Only Matt recognised the sarcasm.
"I don't feel good. I think I'm gonna go lie down." The hallway seemed to twist as he walked back to his bedroom, one hand on the wall for balance, the cool, smooth plaster grounding him. He collapsed into bed, curling into a tight ball. His phone distracted him till sleep came.
***
"You feeling better?" Jason asked. Matt had gotten up for a glass of water, but of course Jason just had to interrupt. He was in the living room, work laptop open on the coffee table, papers dominating the room.
"No." said Matt, flatly. "Can I not get a glass of water in my own house?"
"You can do whatever you want. I didn't think you'd still be mad." Jason leafed through a stack of paper. "It's crazy you still have the same posters up. This house is like a time capsule."
"What?"
"In your room. Did you not get any new hobbies?"
"What the fuck were you doing in my room?"
"Shh." Jason put a finger to his lips. "There are people sleeping. I just looked through the door when it was open, relax."
Matt was so furious he couldn't speak. Water forgotten, he went back to his room.
***
"I want him out."
Matt stood with his arms crossed. He wasn't budging on this one, Jason had to go.
"Really, Matt?" Maisy mirrored him, equally stubborn. "You're being such a child. It's a day and a night left. You'll live."
"He can go see the sights then!" Matt threw his hands in the air, "A hotel for one night? That's like two hundred dollars, I'll literally pay to get him out."
"Do you have two hundred dollars?" said Maisy,
"Yes! Fucking hell, I'm not-" he pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to compose himself. "I'm asking. Honestly. Please. It's hard to have him here."
Maisy softened. "I know. One more night, Matt, I promise, and then I'll buy you, like, an amazing dinner or something, okay?"
Matt's face fell. Maisy smiled sympathetically.
"I know he bullied you, and it sucked, but I really think he's gotten better. He's better than most of the guys at work. Just ignore him for one more day and I'll never ask you for anything again." Her smile turned mischievous. "Okay...?"
"...Okay."
"Okay!"
***
Somehow, Matt was stuck alone with Jason again. Maybe it was because they were both night owls. Jason had been in the hall when Matt opened the door, and he paused.
"Are you really still mad about school?" he said,
"Yes." said Matt. "Being nice to my sister won't change that. Most people are nice, I don't get why it's a big deal when you do the bare minimum."
"I'm sorry." Jason's voice was genuine. "I didn't realise it would affect you."
"It doesn't affect me," said Matt, face heating, "I just don't like you."
Jason moved closer. He was tall. Matt swallowed.
"You're still so weird about everything," said Jason, "You should chill out. Go to therapy or something."
"I have."
"Do you really hate me? I remember when you'd get jealous because of all the time I spent with the soccer club." He sighed. "It's been years since I played soccer." A hand touched Matt's side. "You don't hate me, Matt."
Matt couldn't move. Couldn't speak to disagree. He was shaking, his heart beating like it was fighting to get out of his chest. Suddenly Jason's mouth was on his, hot and demanding. One hand slid under his shirt, gliding over his skin as the other squeezed his ass. Jason laughed into the kiss and broke away. Suddenly, he drew a hand back to slap him. Matt flinched, but the impact didn't land. Jason laughed again, hand falling harmlessly.
"You don't hate me." He repeated, "You better not try and call me though, faggot."
Matt stood long enough for Jason to leave before sliding down the wall and crumpling into a ball of limbs. The urge to cry rose in him like a wave, like a tsunami, threatening to wash him away in a tide of emotion. Instead he shook, waiting to be able to move. His mum had been right, it really was just like old times.
***
Masterlist
Not a part of the main unlikely bonds storyline so no taglist. If you liked Matt having a bad time you'll love the main story.
Heavily inspired by @karolineprihodko princess x jester series on tiktok, her art is AMAZING!!! And I have been reading a lot of romantasies/romance books lately… uh, so this is my self indulgent WIP because of it, okay?
Princess lost her lady in waiting in the garden, cleverly pointing out Sir Matthew’s rapturous, meticulously styled golden hair that made her Lady in waiting swoon and start batting her eyes at the knight like a lovesick puppy.
There wasn’t anything inherently wrong about this; Lady Lillian was a fine looking lady, her blood noble enough, and once one overlooked her rather buggy eyes, very pretty. She should marry a knight, there were on almost equal standing in society. Except for the codes of honour that bound Sir Matthew.
And the fact that it wasn’t ladies he was interested in, but well… Lady Lillian didn’t know that. And despite her wide eyes, she wasn’t observant enough to care.
Plus, it wasn’t really Princess’s fault that she mentioned that Sir Matthew was looking over at them. So what if she exaggerated the look, and gently suggested that Sir Matthew was looking at Lady Lillian like she was a fresh platter of Chef’s famous cloud cakes.
It was no harm, no foul.
And this was the only time that Princess could manage to steal herself away from the palace grounds. From the mindless frivolity, and decorum, and politeness of the court.
She kicked off her slippers and picked up her skirts once she got to the forest trail that she adored. The sun beamed onto the canopy above the tall, thick elder trees, casting spotlights of warm sunlight onto the forest floor. She loved it.
The wind blew her perfectly styled hair back, her skirts bunched in her fists, held over her knees so she could sprint towards her safe haven of the grove. Her magical spot that didn’t see her as a princess, didn’t expect anything of her. Just peace and solitude and nature around her.
She skidded to a stop once she reached the small clearing, panting heavy as she stepped into the soft bed of white and blue flowers underfoot. The soil was softer here, the sun warmer, kissing her skin as she let out a soft laugh and tilted her head back to let it shine it’s light upon her.
She let out a soft laugh and a hum as she let her skirts drop and started towards the benbow tree, standing old and proud towards the end of the grove, like an guardian looking over the entrance. She only stepped one foot on the trunk when she heard a snap of a twig behind her.
She gasped and jumped back, spinning on her heel with wide eyes at the intruder. Nobody ever comes here. Nobody has ever come here when she was here. This was her spot.
Her eyes settled on smiling dark ones that pierced her throat with a bolt of fear at being caught somewhere she shouldn’t be. She froze under the gaze, swallowing as the court Jester stepped into the grove, the glint of secrets buried in the corners of his lips.
“My, oh my,” he began as he strut into the clearing like he owned the place, her place, “I came in search of solitude from the court and have found myself wanting.”
Princess blinked at him, at his words, before she remembered who she was. Her chin jerked up as she straightened.
“As have I,” she replied, not meaning for it to come out as cold as it did. “And I was here first, so you shall have to find another spot.”
Jester laughed, a warm, happy sound, one she heard so many times as he entertained the courts. He continued to swagger closer, much to Princess’s dismay. The closer he got, the brighter his eyes seemed, delighted with his familiar mischief. A scheme cooking behind them.
“You do not want to claim the forest as part of your dominion, little monarch,” he hummed in warning as he got closer and closer. Princess’s eyes widened a fraction as he stepped too close for propriety to demand, and she stumbled back into the trunk of the tree. He matched her step, coming even closer, and planting his palm to the side of her head on the trunk. He leaned in, the stored secrets glinting like razors in the depths of his dimples as he smirked down at her. “It is wild, and cannot be owned, and takes insult at being claimed as such.”
Princess swallowed as she looked up at him, momentarily stunned. It wasn’t the only wild thing she had to contend with in that moment.
She knew Jester, knew him to play and to pounce on unwitting creatures cruelly. He would have delighted at her suggestion that Sir Matthew was interested in Lady Lillian, would have encouraged it, and delighted in revealing that Sir Matthew would be more interested in him, given his gender. She watched him destroy people in court like that, humiliating for the sport of it, uncaring of people’s reputations or status.
To have him of all people find her here in her safe place, her sanctuary… her stomach twisted at the thought of what he would say to her father, to her brother. Of the ways he could spin this.
Despite the way her heart jumped in her chest at having him so close, she straightened, standing as tall as she could, and met his eyes with her stare.
“I wouldn’t dream of offending nature like that.”
Jester tilted his head, his dark hair falling over his forehead. Lips tugging at one side.
“No?” He asked innocently. “What about offending the nature of a woman?”
Again, Princess’s heart stammered at his words. “Excuse me?”
“A woman,” he continued, “of your age being out here in the middle of the woods, alone, not a chaperone in sight, and with a man.”
Princess stiffened at his insinuation. She couldn’t help the thinning of her lips as she searched his face for the threat. His other hand came up, caging her back against the tree, blocking any escape. She stifled the gasp and pushed her back flush against the Benbow.
Jester leaned further down, as if he planned on stealing the oxygen from her lungs. “And a Princess no less,” he tsked. “The scandal. What would your darling brother say?”
Her brother? Why would be say that and not her father? Unless he didn’t plan on telling him that she was here in the first place.
“He’d probably have your head if you suggested such a thing of his sister.”
Jester chuckled. The sound sent shivers down her spine.
“Would he, I wonder, when he is so just, and good, and righteous?”
Princess swallowed as Jester leaned impossibly closer, his lips going to her ear. She couldn’t stop her breath from hitching that time.
“I think,” he purred, “he would be more concerned with the wildness of his twin.”
Princess couldn’t help the shudder that went down her spine and twisted her stomach into delightful knots at Jester’s breath against her cheek, her ear, her throat. Gods, what was wrong with her?! This was entirely inappropriate and yet she wasn’t pushing Jester away, wasn’t threatening the guards or telling her father.
Jester’s eyes were mocking, yes, glinting like twin coals in moonlight, and yet, there was something in them, something burning behind that wasn’t the same mockery he showed the court.
He called her wild, he saw her as nobody else ever has, save for when she was a child and carefree of court decorum. Her pulse throbbed against her throat as Jester pulled back to catch her eyes in his, his smirk sly as his thumb ghosted along her lower lip.
The slightness of the touch burned, sending shivers of fire down her spine. His smile widened, as if sensing the effect he was having on her. The way the corner of his lips tugged harsher on one side to a smirk made her stomach swoop.
He incited too many feelings in her, she could hardly think.
“How rare a sight it is to see you speechless, Princess,” he murmured. Princess swallowed, her eyes rounding slightly as she looked up at him, frozen. “I think I like it very much.” His eyes flashed with that cruel mocking then and Princess’s stomach swooped for an entirely different reason. “And this adorable blush on your cheeks, you’re like a rose.”
That snapped whatever trance he had on her and she batted his hand away with her own. His face brightened with interest, at having his spell be broken so suddenly.
Princess narrowed her eyes.
“How typical of a man to compare a woman to a flower,” she scoffed, taking a step forward, expecting him to take one back. He didn’t. His smirk plain on his face. “As if poisons and poultices come from anything else. But men don’t say it as a compliment, and you certainly didn’t mean it as one, did you?”
He cocked a brow in reply. Annoyingly, he seemed to be urging her on, rather than wishing her to stop admonishing him.
“You want to reduce us to something as simple as beautiful, like we have no minds of our own.”
Jester chuckled. The sound was anything but friendly, anything but fire, and forbidding and enticingly ruinous. Princess should leave. She should be walking away before she gets burned. This was madness. She saw what he could do to people in court… antagonising him wasn’t wise.
“What a riveting speech, Princess,” he purred, his voice like melted chocolate over strawberries. “Bravo for the performance. However, I would never want to merely reduce you to your beauty.”
He steps forward, forcing her back against the tree. Again. His expression dark and something she was too frightened to name. When he spoke again, his voice was a rapturous whisper of a thing, like sin wrapped in something dazzling.
He took her chin in his hand and tilted her head. Their eyes met and it almost crumbled the ground beneath her feet. She knew that look. She saw it many times on other people in court, something decadent and too luxurious for a woman of her status.
Want.
He speaks low, his voice soft, his words burning. “I want to reduce you to moans and whimpers under my hands. I want to see how your pretty little mouth speaks when you are in private."
Princess searches his face, for any signs of deception, but all that was there was a dark, overwhelming intensity that stole what little breath was left in Princess's lungs. His hand slides down her neck, his finger and thumb pinching the sides over her pulse and eliciting a gasp.
He leaned in closer, his lips brushing hers as he said, "I want to hear what your mind thinks when allowed to express itself freely."
Somehow, that was the most intimate of the three things he wanted. Princess's knees felt weak at the confession, because that's what it was, wasn't it? Or was he toying with her? Was this going to be next week's material for the court? How easily he seduced Princess and -
Wait a minute. Seduced?! What was she thinking? Gods she can't think when his lips were not an inch away from hers, so close, and he wasn't kissing her. They were soft, that much she knew and she wanted to close the distance.
As if reading her mind, the very same soft lips spread into a smirk, his eyes darkening. He squeezed his fingers lightly, drawing another gasp, and Princess's hand shot up to grab his wrist.
"What do you want, Princess?"
God. What did she want? What didn't she want? What an utter stupid question to ask a Princess. Though she must look like she wants for nothing, her life of luxury and comfort was a gilded cage; stifling, rotten, claustrophobic. She wanted to be free. She wanted to be able to be a normal person for once.
She wanted to want.
She wanted to be foolish and self-indulgent.
"Kiss me," her voice was soft, breathless, and she only caught a hint of the darkness that brightened his eyes before he obliged and his lips were on hers.
And it didn’t feel ruinous because the kiss was so sweet at first. And then passionate. The way Jester held her against the tree, the bark pressing into her back like hands to hold her up while Jester’s lips teased, and his teeth nipped playfully, and his hands were everywhere. Everything heightening his expert mouth as his tongue swept over hers and she couldn’t breathe.
And she never wanted to breathe again.
Jester pulled away, his eyes ravaging her flushed cheeks and red lips, cataloguing the effect he had on her. Princess never felt so exposed. She knew Jester could wring anything out of anybody, but she was careful around him. Always so careful, so as not to be his next victim.
Her breath hitched for an entirely different reason when he caught her chin in his hand again, tilting her head back so she met his smirking eyes that swirled with all kinds of malice and triumph, and something else that sent heat straight to Princess’s core.
“You are bewitching, Princess,” he murmured thoughtfully, a little rueful, as he traced his thumb over her bottom lip. “And I am trapped in your snare.”
Princess swallowed. The air in her lungs couldn’t regulate her breathing properly, so every inhale felt like a desperate clawing for, and every exhale a punch in the space between them.
Another confession. Princess did not notice any of this in court. It felt like a prank, a cruel, delicious dangerous joke for him to perform. But she felt him watching her at times, usually when some pompous lord or baron was speaking nonsense and she had to work to compose herself. Or sometimes after his performances she would catch his gaze, either disapproving when cruel, or with tear filled, crinkled eyes from laughing too hard.
Jester took a deep breath, pulling Princess from her jumbled thoughts and back into her body, with him inches from her again.
He stepped back suddenly, his expression guarded now, the desire she saw in his gaze shuttering into his more cruel expression.
“This was a mistake,” he said, and, it shouldn’t have, but it felt like he shredded her with a wolf’s claws. “Forgive me, Princess. This is improper.”
Princess searched his expression. “I- I asked you to kiss me.”
“Which is improper.”
“But you kissed me.”
“Which is improper.”
“You’re not a knight,” Princess scoffed, throwing a dismissive hand in the air. “There is no code of chivalry for court Jesters.”
Jester’s jaw ticked at that. He bowed deeply, and she knew he was about to leave. “I will take my leave now.”
She didn’t know why she did it, but she caught his wrist as he came up from the bow, her expression painfully vulnerable for someone as dangerous as Jester to see.
“Do you regret it?”
Did she do something wrong? Was it bad? Was she bad? Did he regret it? Did he enjoy it? His face was maddeningly neutral.
He stood, withdrawing his wrist gently from her grip. The corner of his mouth curled into the sharp edge of his smirk, and he winked. Her heart fluttered in reply.
She was in trouble.
“Until next time, Princess.” He bowed his head and turned on his heel, leaving her unraveling.
*****
General Tag-list: (lmk if you want to be added or removed) @sunflower1000 @whumplicity @afternoonfairy @anxious-mess19 @scoundrelwithboba @distinguished-ruler
@castell-da-near (I just thought you’d like this tbh)
Villain grunted as the timer on his phone caused it to buzz against his thigh. He slipped it out of his pocket and set it on the table in front of him, followed by two knives and an old pair of wire-cutters. He stood and stretched his legs, then grabbed a set of keys off a hook on the wall and headed towards the cell down the hall. His hand stretched eagerly towards the lock then the knob.
He had let her stew long enough.
What he found when he opened the door wasn’t terribly surprising. His prisoner had slipped the cuffs and was now sitting on the opposite end of the room, making no attempt to hide the fact that she was no longer restrained.
Villain had to appreciate the brazenness.
She countered any concerns about that fact rendering her a threat by lounging back on the floor, legs laid out and crossed at the ankles, stomach stretched, free arms pillowed behind her head. It was an exposed position, and Villain knew it would be easy enough to catch her off guard and wrangle her back into some rope that would be much more secure.
He didn’t.
If she was willing to play ball, he was willing to provide some liberties. Though he didn’t particularly care for her awarding the privilege herself, he couldn’t be mad at the manner by which she displayed it.
She was smart, he’d give her that. She found the one method with which she could avoid being tackled and manhandled while still getting away with ditching his precautions.
That was the first and last thing she was going to get away with, however.
“Hope you don’t mind, those were getting a little tight,” she commented idly, gesturing lazily back towards the bar where the cuffs still hung.
“I see you’ve made yourself comfortable.” He folded his arms over his chest, even though she wasn’t bothering to look in his direction. “Apologies that the amenities aren’t five star.”
“No room service then, I assume?”
She removed one hand from behind her head and brought it in front of her face to idly inspect her nails.
“Not unless you plan on giving some really good intel.” Just like that, he wiped away his casual demeanor. He tacked on a question with a face of scrutiny that made it clear he was done with the small talk. “Are you working for The Boss?”
“Always straight to business with you,” she grumbled with a slight pout, “Ever think about having a little fun first?”
She did look at him then, her gaze light and playful.
As always, he didn’t take the bait.
“Answer, or I’ll put you in some knots you’ll never get free of.”
“Jeez, why so serious?” She sat up, bracing her arms behind her and throwing her hair over her shoulder with a flick of her neck. “Yeah, sure. I’m working for The Boss. I do the thing and he cuts me a check. What’s it to ya?”
“‘The Thing’ huh?,” he raised an eyebrow. “Expand.”
“Mm. You’re gonna have to pay extra for that.”
VIllain unfolded his arms and held her gaze.
“That’s fine. I’ll just go grab a few things and be back,” he remarked, far too casual for the threat it was. When she didn’t immediately object, he turned himself halfway towards the door.
“Would it kill you to just ask nicely?”
Villain pivoted then, heading for the bar with the cuffs. He slipped a hand into his pocket and formed a fist in a move he knew was menacing. By the time he stepped directly towards his prisoner, she was already changing her tune.
“Alright hotshot, cool your jets.” She shrugged. “Just playing a little hard-to-get.”
“That is not a game you can win.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
He took another step, causing her to raise her hands in an apparent surrender. “But relax. I’m not going to try.”
Her eyes rolled and she mumbled, “not today at least.”
“So answer the question.”
Villain held firm through her long-suffering sigh.
“Fine, I’ll spill. But you have to make me a promise,” her voice turned velvet smooth, and Villain knew better than to react. He was well practiced at keeping the blush from spreading across his cheeks. What she followed up with was yet another infuriatingly in-character line.
Two updates in a week? I know, I can't believe it either. Just a heads up, this one is, like, a lot, even by the standards of this series. Get ready for heavy emotional and physical whump. The only person having a good time is Marshall, and hopefully you, the reader.
Content warnings: Restraints, chains, torture, knives, needles, not quite medical whump but it has a certain medical whump aftertaste, gags, humiliation, begging, caning, drugging, stitches, branding, nonsexual but unwanted touching, creepy aftercare, isolation, emotional whump, implied fear of noncon.
Collin struggled and yelled profanities as he was dragged back to the whipping room, smearing grass and mud on the floors of the house above. He'd been left outside for 20 minutes after Marshall had guided Matt inside with a hand on the back of his neck. When Marshall had returned, he'd just about made it to the edge of the forest that surrounded Marshall's property. His white trousers were grass-stained, the skin on his back and arms tight, pink with sunburn. It wasn't really even an escape attempt; he had no plan for what he'd do if he managed to lose Marshall in the woods, how he'd get the binds off or find help. The main utility was making Marshall walk a further distance to find him and drag him back into the waiting cold of the basement.
The sight that greeted him when Marshall kicked him through the door of the whipping room made Collin feel sick with fear. A large metal table had been screwed into the floor. Matt was chained spread eagle on it, metal cuffs digging into his flesh. His jaw was forced open wide to accommodate a large ball gag. Collin redoubled his effort to fight back, futile as is was with his hands tied behind his head and his legs frogtied.
"We're not going to be your fucking pets!"
He yelled. Marshall just dragged him to one wall and attached his Collar to it. Collin was forced to kneel, with a great view of Matt and whatever was about to be done to him.
"Let's have a bit more of a can-do attitude, Chase. I can be so patient, and how long this next activity takes is really up to you."
Collin seethed. "You're doing this because you want to, don't pretend I have a choice in the matter when I'm literally-literally tied up in your basement."
Marshall didn't answer, instead setting up a smaller table next to Matt and carefully laying out implements on it. Knives, whips, pliers, needles. It was like something out of a horror movie. Matt shook his head, making a muffled protest from behind the gag. Marshall stroked his forehead soothingly.
"Shh. It's okay. You just need to lie still until I know you're sorry."
"Ah Mmhm! AhMmhm!" Matt frantically intoned.
"I'm sorry, Matt. I can't understand you. Chase here is going to speak for you. Once he convinces me you're sorry, I'll forgive you and we can stop."
Matt made eye contact with Collin. What the fuck was he supposed to do?
"How am I supposed to do that?" said Collin, "He's fucking sorry. There, can we stop now?"
"I need to believe you." said Marshall, "I want you to be his voice." He picked up one of the smaller knives and cut through Matt's shirt. "It's a shame. I just got this for you." he said. He trailed the knife lightly over his bare chest. Matt was stock still. He slowly increased the pressure on the knife, just enough that Collin could see a thin line of red trailing behind it. Matt's hands tried to form into fists on instinct, and whimpered as he aggravated his broken pinkie.
"Relax, pet. You'll only make it worse."
Matt shook his head, squeezing his eyes closed. Then he screamed into his gag as Marshall slashed a deep cut into his thigh. Matt's body convulsed in pain, instincts driving him to fight desperately against the chains. It was hard to hear, the sound echoing around the room. Collin tried to remind himself that this was Marshall's doing, that it was not his fault. He wondered if Matt would agree.
"Open your eyes." Marshall's knife was once again trailing lightly across Matt's chest, but his voice was hard. Matt opened his eyes. The skin of his thigh was cut open, letting fat peek out from behind it. Blood ran in rivulets down his leg and onto the table, where it pooled. Collin felt sick, and his heart throbbed when a muffled sob tore out of Matt's throat. Marshall continued, "Yes, like that. Keep your pretty eyes open. You don't get to escape this." He turned to Collin. "Do you think he's sorry yet?"
"Fucking--" Collin searched for words, "What's he even meant to be sorry for? For not wanting this? If you don't want an unwilling victim don't fucking kidnap people!"
"Is that what you think, Matt?"
Marshall's voice was low, dangerous.
"Mm mm." Matt shook his head, shame rising like bile. Tears slipped down his face and lost themselves in his hair. Collin wanted to desperately to be angry at him, but he couldn't.
"No? Then why did you ruin our lovely brunch?" A tense silence fell over the room as Collin tried to think of something to say that would salvage the situation. Matt tried to control his breathing as Marshall's eyes bored into him. "That's a hefty change of heart in just half an hour. You're so eager to please, aren't you? But it makes you a liar, pet. I don't want to hear what you think I want to hear. I want to hear how you really feel. You don't think you deserve this, do you?"
Matt shook his head again.
"It's okay," said Marshall stroking a gentle hand through Matt's hair, "You deserve this. You need this. Once I'm done, I'll know you're sorry, and I'll forgive you."
He set down the knife. Collin's eye's tracked the hand that floated over Marshall's torture implements, deciding what hell he'd inflict on Matt next.
"Are you sorry, Matt?" Marshall asked, but he was looking at Collin. He wanted him to beg, to plead forgiveness. Was that the right choice? If their positions were reversed, Matt would say anything to make Marshall happy.
"No." Collin's voice was shaking. "He has nothing to be sorry for."
The cane thudded against Matt's exposed chest, producing a wheezing yelp. A stripe of pink, inflamed skin appeared.
"I started keeping pets when I was twenty. Not counting you two, I've had seven since then."
Thwack! Another hit made Matt convulse, chains rattling.
"I was very stupid. The first one died when I left him outside overnight. The cold and his injuries killed him by morning."
Matt screamed and twisted as another impact landed. Collin could imagine his pain. The acute stinging of the thin weapon, and the deep, throbbing impact it left beneath the surface. Each additional stroke of the cane would aggravate the pain of the previous.
"The second I had for a little longer. She was fiery, that one. Stubborn and defiant. She survived everything I threw at her with a scowl on her face and a snappy comeback. But I got too comfortable. We were having an argument, I don't remember what about. I hit her."
Three consecutive strikes stole Matt's breath. Collin could see he was panicking now, when his breathing returned it was short and shallow. The cuts on his chest intersected with the strokes of the cane, weaving a tapestry of pink and red. Matt whimpered.
"She fell backwards and knocked her head on the floor. Kaput. That was it. She didn't move after that." Marshall leaned the cane against the table and turned to his other implements.
"The third was sweet, like you, Matt. But at the time I was worried about bringing even a well trained pet back to the city. I killed him painlessly in his sleep."
Collin's knees ached where they rested on the concrete. Reason wouldn't work on Marshall, any moral argument would be moot. He didn't see them as people. He'd used and thrown away so many others. Matt, he wanted to keep, but Collin would end up just another old bloodstain on the whipping room floor.
Marshall had selected the needle. He sanitised the top of a vial of something, then drew it up into the syringe. "The fourth and fifth were a couple. She came looking a few months after I acquired him." Marshall squirted the air bubbles back out into the vial, along with a little of the liquid. Then he replaced the needle with one that was smaller and thinner, placing the discarded one next to the knife.
"He died of an infection. She stopped being fun after that, so I gave her to a friend. Make a fist."
Matt struggled and shook his head. He was terrified, and Collin was letting it happen, even if he never wanted the choice. Marshall held his upper arm in a bruising grip, lining the needle up with the vein in his inner elbow. Matt made a wordless, muffled plea through the gag that fell on deaf ears.
"Stop!" said Collin. "Stop, I'm sorry. Please. I've learned my lesson."
Marshall looked from Collin to Matt and back again. "Have you, Matt?" he said, addressing Collin.
"I get it. I'll be good. Please stop." said Collin. He couldn't let this happen. On the table, Matt nodded.
"What are you?" asked Marshall,
"I'm..." Collin glanced at Matt, who was looking at him through grateful, tear-filled eyes. "I'm yours. I'm your pet. I'm sorry I didn't-- didn't appreciate the brunch."
Marshall carded a hand through Matt's hair. He looked into Matt's eyes as he said, "That's good. I'm so proud of you."
Matt nodded and pushed up into Marshall's hand, visibly relaxing. The gentle hand in his hair pulled back, and then slapped him, hard. His face flew to the side, a metal link on the side of his gag clinking against the table.
"You got through the warm up. You understand how necessary this is."
***
Across the room, Collin's chains rattled as he threw himself forward in anger. "What? No! Please, you said you'd stop, you fucking-- I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you, Marshall, like you deserve!"
The needle stung as it was pushed into Matt's arm, though the pain was nothing compared to the knife or the cane. Slowly, Marshall pushed the plunger down, sending the cold liquid into Matt's vein.
"You're fucking sick! I did what you wanted!"
"I only use this for special occasions;" said Marshall, as if he couldn't hear Collin's tirade. "I think it had origins in the CIA. It's not very good as a truth drug, it's too mind altering. People can't tell reality from imagination, give false accounts. But it's great for you, because all you need to do is listen and feel."
Matt tried to keep his breathing even. The colours seemed too loud, and Marshall's words twisted around each other in his head. Or was he repeating himself? "Listen and feel. Listen and feel. Listen and feel."
"Yes, good." said Marshall, seeming to interrupt his own voice. How did he do that? Matt's gaze fell to his leg, to the gore peeking out of the cut Marshall had given him. The blood was dripping off the table, surely adding to that dark stain on the concrete. Matt moaned in distress at the thought. How many people's blood had stained that floor? How many people had been strapped to this table?
"Are you feeling good?" Marshall asked.
"Go fuck yourself!" Collin shouted at the same time Matt uncertainly shook his head. The ceiling was pulsing, like he was inside some massive living creature. Like he'd been swallowed by something incomprehensible and evil.
"The sixth ended up not being my flavour. I gave him to an acquaintance. The same one I got the drug from." said Marshall, "Now, that I might feel a little bad about. He was a doctor, but now he's got some government gig. I love some nice marks but the things he does to his captives..." He chuckled. "But you can't always afford to burn bridges because of a difference in opinion. And he did teach me to sew. Hey." Marshall snapped his fingers in front of Matt's face. "Stay with me. You see this?" He was holding a curved needle so Matt could see it. "This is going in you. I'm going to use this to stitch your leg up. This is your last chance to convince me you're sorry before the big finale."
The cue was for Collin, Matt recognised. He gasped as the needle pierced his skin. It felt so vulnerable to be tied this way. Marshall's hands were occupied with the needle and pliers, which he used to pull the needle through the skin. His elbow was resting on Matt's inner thigh. Matt watched the scene as if it were happening to someone else. He clenched and unclenched his fist, feeling his broken finger throb and burn. At least it was a pain he could control. He was shaking he realised, and letting out short, meaningless noises when the needle was pulled through his skin.
"Marshall," said Collin, seriously, "If you like Matt, you should stop. He's not going to be any fun if you push him too far."
"You have a lot of experience breaking people in?" Marshall asked, casually.
"Please. Please, I'm begging you."
"Are you, Matt?" said Marshall. Collin looked desperate. Matt studied his face, feeling like he was looking through wobbly glass. The ache from the caning felt weird. It was like there were hands of pain inside him, reaching through him, wrapping around his organs and squeezing. He wheezed in fear, trying weakly to escape his bonds.
"Yes. Marshall, I'm so sorry. I deserve everything you give me. I need to be punished. I'll be good now, I swear."
"Owner," Marshall corrected, "That's what I am to you, Matt. I own you. You're my favourite possession. My most treasured thing in the world."
Collin's desperation was increasing. Matt looked down at his leg. Marshall had almost finished stitching him up. The cut looked weird with the stitches, like there were bugs holding it together. As Matt watched, the stitches started to move and wiggle. He felt tiny legs crawling over his skin, an extension of the house that had swallowed him, of the hands of pain that invaded his body and pulsed in time with his heartbeat. He rattled the chains, hot tears spilling down his face. He needed help, he needed to get out of here, he needed to get the bugs out of his leg, which now seemed to pulsate with bumps under the skin. He thrashed in earnest, voicing a long, animalistic cry of pain and fear. A voice cut through the pain.
"Owner, please. Let me show you how good I can be. I'm so sorry for ruining brunch but I'll be better, I promise. Please."
That was... Collin? The words sounded to unnatural in his voice. The needle dipped into his skin for a final time. The thread tied off and cut. The stitches still looked like bugs.
Marshall smiled cruelly. "Too late, Matt. I'm all done. Sit tight while I get the special finale."
"No!" Collin's ragged voice pierced Matt's head. "No, please! I did what you wanted! You've done enough!"
It took a second for Matt to realise Marshall had left his side. He knelt next to Collin, a hand on his exposed side.
"You've made so much progress today, Chasey. You sound so pretty when you beg. But I still need to teach you both a lesson." With that, he left the room.
***
A few minutes later, Marshall returned. In his hand was a long, thin piece of metal that curved into a zig-zagging shape at the end. Was he going to beat them with it? It was weird, and Matt's eyes followed it as Marshall approached. Across the room, Collin gasped.
"No. You can't." He was ignored.
"You know what you did wrong." said Marshall. It was a statement. Matt nodded, though he didn't really understand. His head was still swimming with pain. He'd made Marshall angry, that was the main thing. He wouldn't do it again.
Matt suddenly realised he felt very hot. He shifted, trying to make sense the unexplained heat in the cold basement. His skin was especially hot near where Marshall was standing. No, near the thing he was holding. Terror washed through him, the pieces coming together. Marshall was holding a brand. The metal might not be red, but it was scorching hot. Marshall drew the weapon back.
He screamed. And screamed, and screamed, until the air had left his lungs and he had to gasp in agonised breaths. The brand was pressed against his side, flesh sizzling. It was almost as painful when it was pulled away, another wave of hot, immediate burning that lit every nerve on fire. Each breath became a voiced moan of pain as Matt writhed. He'd squeezed his eyes shut again, too afraid to look at what had been done to him.
He didn't even noticed he'd been unchained until Marshall was forced to catch a flailing hand in his grip. Matt went limp, sobbing. He was pulled off the table and lowered to the floor, head and shoulders resting in Marshall's lap as careful hands carded through his hair.
"It's over." Marshall said, his voice quiet and soothing. "Shh, it's okay. We're done now. Breathe."
It's not done, Matt wanted to say, it still hurts. Pain was still wracking his body, and even once he healed, he'd always be marked. That was the point, he realised. Marshall had made sure he'd never forget who owned him. Opening his eyes, Matt stared at the searing mark. An 'M' burned into his side, sitting over his ribs.
"It looks beautiful on you." Marshall said, "I knew it would."
***
Matt was carried out of the whipping room and set down on something soft. The ball gag was unbuckled and tugged out of his mouth. He could feel the drugs wearing off. The pain was sharper without them, but it was still something of a relief not to be trapped in that terrible, nightmare realm his brain had created for him. Marshall was in the room, bustling about somewhere out of eyeshot. Matt stared at the ceiling until he realised it wasn't really a ceiling, but the cloth canopy of a four poster bed. How many days had it been since he'd slept in a bed? He was exhausted, but didn't know if he'd be able to sleep with the deep, searing pain eating away at his side.
"Where are we?" He asked, the question slingshotting him back to that morning when he'd woken up in the field.
"My downstairs bedroom." said Marshall. "I like to use it when I have new guests. You can share with me tonight."
The answer send another wave of terror through him. "I can't- not like this... Marshall-"
"Shh." Marshall came to sit on the bed beside Matt, lifting him into a sitting position. He pressed something cool into his side and instantly the pain lessened to be almost bearable. Matt sighed in relief. "You don't have to do anything tonight. I just want you to sleep next to me. Here," Marshall produced a glass of water and two pills. "This will help with the pain." He held the pills to Matt's lips. Seeing no other choice, Matt took them, and let Marshall tip water into his mouth, managing to swallow the pills.
"Good." Marshall said, smoothing a hand over his back. "Lie back down for me."
Matt did, and let Marshall manhandle him until his head was on the pillow and he was lying on top of the covers on one side of the bed. He was disappointed but unresisting when Marshall tied his ankles to the footboard and his wrists to the front of his collar, which in turn was tied to the headboard. It was comfortable enough, with enough give to shift about, but he clearly was not getting off the bed without help. His legs weren't parted, and his arms covered his chest, so it seemed like Marshall really did just want to sleep.
"Can't have you tossing and turning all night, can we?" Marshall joked. Matt shook his head in acknowledgement.
Marshall left for a while, and when he came back he smelled of mint. He was also wearing a t-shirt and comfortable trousers. He got under the covers, slinging one arm over Matt, pressing their bodies together through the fabric.
"Sweet dreams, Pet."
***
Marshall was gone, and he had taken Matt with him. Collin couldn't help replaying his screams over and over in his head. The way his body had shook. How the gag had made his words into noise. The way his shuddering breaths had slowed as he was cradled and eventually carried away. Collin was so cold, so tired.
"Too late, Matt." Marshall's voice had held so much cruel joy. Did Collin ever have a chance of stopping Marshall? If he'd begged earlier, harder, better, would things be different? Or was this exercise just a way of making Collin an active part of the torture? The fact that he was asking those questions was proof Marshall was getting to him.
It was so cold. Collin didn't want to spend another night bound on the concrete floor of the basement. He couldn't even lie down without choking himself. The table was still in the room, Matt's blood dripping off it slowly. He was alone. Tears came to his eyes. Not involuntary tears of pain, but hot, uncontrollable tears of emotion that dripped down his cheeks and fell with every heaving sob.
His mind went back to the last time he'd cried like this. He'd been a teenager, sitting on the curb of the local mall car park, knees hugged to his chest. The image of the pavement that night was burned into his brain, rough tarmac littered with discarded gum and forgotten receipts. He remembered the stinging of his black eye, the taste of blood in his mouth.
Most of all he remembered the loneliness, the feeling of being so pathetic and abrasive that no one would ever come to his side. That no one in the world would ever see him crying and think it was anything more than a little funny. He could feel it again, and no matter how ashamed he was, it didn't stop the tears from coming. Part of him was glad there was no one here to see it, but another part wished someone were here to wipe them away.
Collin was alone. His tears fell onto the concrete floor, and evaporated by morning.
Chapter 5 was getting too long (and taking too long) so it's been split in two!
***
Matt didn't dream. He was wrapped up in a cosy blanket of utter unconsciousness. When his senses came back, it was slowly. The warm sun on his face. A gentle breeze. Voices talking back and forth. He wondered where he was. His body felt heavy, and his back still ached. His finger did too, a deep, pulsing pain that radiated up his arm. He was meant to be... that cell. This didn't feel like that. There was grass under him. Had he been rescued? He tuned in to the voices talking above him.
"-Ever since I visited France, I've never had a charcuterie board that could live up to the standard. Still, I think I've done a good enough job. You have no idea how expensive these things end up being. What do you think?" Marshall's voice was casual, jovial, even.
Collin said flatly, "I don't care about cheese."
"Charcuterie actually refers to the meat, but my boards are always cheese heavy so I guess it's an easy mistake to make. You're not a vegan, are you?"
"No. I just buy whatever's cheapest."
"Try this, it'll change your whole world view."
Matt opened his eyes. He was lying in a field, surrounded by wildflowers. Above him, Marshall and Collin were talking about the impressive spread of bread, cheese and meat laid out on wooden chopping boards. Collin was ungagged, for once, but his hands were tied behind his head, legs folded and tied together. He looked awful, his skin pale, deep bags under his eyes, which held a resignation Matt had never seen before. His hair was slightly damp. He was still shirtless, but wore different pants. Long, white cotton trousers. Matt himself had a hobbing chain around his ankles, but was otherwise unrestrained. He realised he wasn't shirtless any more, now wearing a large tshirt that reached his bare thighs. Shifting, he noted with relief he wasn't going commando. Moving sent another wave of pain up his arm, and he gasped. Something was wrong.
"Look who's awake!" said Marshall cheerily. "Good of you to join us."
"What did you... do to me?" Matt's head still felt foggy.
"I thought you deserved a break, so I let you sleep nice and long. Now we're having brunch."
"...I'm wearing different clothes."
"You and Collin are still sharing. He gets the pants and you get the shirt."
There was no way he'd slept through all this naturally. Marshall had drugged him and used the opportunity to strip him and drag him out to this elaborate surprise. A
shiver ran through him. If Collin was ungagged, maybe he could tell Matt what had happened. If he was willing to talk to Matt at all. He sat up, putting weight on his hands and suddenly let out a cry of pain. He drew his left arm up to his chest, the pinky throbbing.
"Ah! Ah..h... What-?"
"Chasey can explain that one." said Marshall. Collin's expression was thunderous. He looked like he wanted to rip Marshall apart. Matt really thought he might for a second, but instead Collin turned to face him and said, in hollow tones:
"Marshall broke your finger to get me to do what he wanted."
Matt didn't know what to say. He had gone to sleep next to a Collin who would never comply with Marshall's demands. Marshall had come in while he was sleeping and used his unconscious body like a prop in his game. He'd dressed them up like dolls and made them attend a picnic.
"I wouldn't put it quite like that," said Marshall, "I think what Chase meant to say was 'I let your finger be broken because I was too stubborn to follow orders the first time.' But you're sorry, aren't you, Chase?"
"Yes." Collin grated out through gritted teeth.
"See? All is forgiven. Now let's have a nice brunch." Said Marshall.
***
A few hours earlier.
Collin didn't sleep well. His shoulders ached from hours of his arms being tied in the unnatural position behind him. His throat was raw and ragged from dehydration and being choked, making him aware of every breath. It was cold, especially where his stinging back touched the concrete wall behind him, or when he shifted and a new part of his metal collar dug into his flesh. Nonetheless, an exhausted, restless sleep took him, twenty minutes at a time. There were no windows, no way to tell day from night. Even when he wasn't sleeping, he was too exhausted and hungry to move. It felt like he'd stopped being a person and become simply an immobile vessel for the pain that wouldn't stop coming. At some point, even the twenty minute rests stopped coming, his body deciding for him that it must be day time. Out of sheer boredom, he glanced at the other prisoner.
Matt was lying on the ground, unrestrained. Unbidden, images from last night rose to the forefront of Collin's mind. Matt bending himself over the table. Matt knelt, forced to eat off the ground. Why the hell did he do that to himself? He couldn't get the images out of his head.
Matt's short dark hair clung to his skin, like he was sweating. His torso was curled slightly in Collin's direction, but the pose looked too natural somehow. Too limp and unaware for the place they'd found themselves, not to mention the cold. The other night Matt had slept curled up against the wall. Now he was sprawled. He was still, too. When Collin realised this, he felt a horrible pang of terror. It felt like his lungs were being crushed, like someone had grabbed his heart and squeezed. Was Matt dead? The thought of being alone here, of dying angry and cold and alone... He looked closer. Any sign of life. Matt's chest rose, then fell. Collin almost laughed out loud. This place must really be getting to him. The fucking pushover was breathing. He was fine. And even if he was dead, Collin would be fine. Better, even, without having to think about Matt's safety before he defied orders. Matt still hadn't moved.
"Matt.'' Collin's voice was rusty. "Matt. Wake the fuck up."
Nothing. It wasn't like Collin had anything better to do. He clanged the chain of his collar against the wall.
"Matt!"
Still nothing. Collin waiting for the spots behind his eyes to fade. What was with this guy? It was like he was in a coma. Except people in comas needed breathing tubes and things, didn't they? Collin distantly remembered a great aunt or something going into a coma when he was a child. He'd barely known the woman, but had gotten so worried he had to be taken home and allowed to watch TV in the living room till he fell asleep.
Was it the food? It had been at least another ten minutes, and Matt still hadn't moved. Had Marshall drugged him, just to leave him here? Why?
The jingling of keys heralded Marshall's arrival.
"Hey there, Chasey. How're you feeling?" He leaned against the door, cocking his head with a smirk.
"There's something wrong with Matt."
"Don't worry. I felt bad for leaving him to sleep down here." said Marshall, in a mocking tone of sympathy. "So I thought I'd give him some help."
"He's never going to trust the food again." Said Collin.
"I don't need him to, so long as he eats when he's told.'' Marshall swept into the room and sat behind Matt's supine body. One hand went to his neck, the other roving down his torso, the touch proprietary. Collin tensed, feeling ill. Marshall tugged Matt until he was sitting slumped in his lap.
"I might have gone a little overboard." Marshall admitted, carding a hand through Matt's hair, "He'll be dead to the world for at least the next couple hours, and I have a schedule to keep to. So I'm going to need your help."
"You're out of your fucking-"
"Don't think about refusing," Marshall interrupted, the hand in Matt's hair suddenly pulling taut. "Unless you want to explain how he got so many new cuts and bruises while he was out. He's not exactly in a state to fight back."
Collin glared. "No one's forcing you to do any of this. Don't try to make me responsible so you have an excuse to act like a sick fuck."
Marshall didn't say anything. He just picked up Matt's hand and started slowly bending the pinky finger back. His attention was wholly on his task, as if Collin wasn't in the room. Collin thought about Matt waking up, confused and in pain. I'm not the one doing this. He can stop whenever he wants. The angle of Matt's finger looked painful now. It was going to break any second. Collin didn't even like Matt. Fuck.
"Fucking, fine! You can stop now."
"No," said Marshall, eyes still on Matt's finger. "You've convinced me. I can't make you responsible just because I want to be a sick fuck. Take a nap or something. I'm doing this because I want to."
The snap of Matt's pinky breaking echoed around the quiet room. He twisted and gasped in his sleep. Marshall smiled and picked up the ring finger.
"I'll do what you want! Didn't you say you had a schedule to keep to?"
Marshall sighed, Matt's ring finger still in his hand. "I did have plans. Tell you what, you give me a nice apology and we can move on."
Collin hesitated. He wanted nothing more than to kill the man in front of him, to make him feel a fraction of the pain and fear he'd caused. The words tasted like bile as he said them.
"I'm sorry. I'll do what you want."
"Better, Chasey. You're learning! Matt is a great influence on you." Marshall pushed Matt off him, letting him thump onto the concrete floor, and stood up. "I'm going to give you a bit of freedom. You know what'll happen if you abuse it."
***
There was a sparse toilet that adjoined the whipping room that Collin and Matt had occasionally been brought to in between the boredom and torture. This wasn't that. This bathroom was down the hall, and like the majority of the basement was furnished with a quaint farmhouse aesthetic. It contained a combination bath/shower, a sink with a mirror cabinet, and a toilet. The bath towels had 'home, sweet home' embroidered on them.
Under Marshall's watchful eye, Collin stripped Matt of the remainder of his clothes and deposited him in the bath, which was now filling with warm water. Marshall now lounged at Matt's side, leaning on the side of the tub and occasionally stroking the sleeping man's hair. Matt refused to wake up. Collin had tried to be as respectful as possible while stripping him, but the whole process had still felt dirty. As if anything in this place wouldn't.
"Your turn." said Marshall. It wasn't exactly a surprise. Collin knew Marshall would go for this as soon as they got to the bathroom. It still made his skin crawl to hear those words. "Hate to break it to you, Chasey, but you don't smell so fresh. I think you could both do with a bath."
Collin was running out of steam. He hadn't eaten in days. Sleep had not been coming easily. But he just... couldn't not resist this. He realised he'd been frozen for a while now, eyes caught on the way the water shimmered, letting the words sink in. It felt like he was running on a hamster wheel, going over the same thoughts over and over, hoping for a way out.
"Chase." Marshall's voice was harder now. "Turn off the water. Do you want to drown him?"
Marshall was right there, his fingers tangled in Matt's hair. It would be so easy to pull him under and let him drown. Would Collin be able to stop him if that happened? He'd lost both fights against Marshall, and his physical condition was only getting worse. Maybe Matt would be better off dead. Collin felt like he was out of his body as he obeyed and stopped the water. The bathroom was suddenly deadly silent without the sound of the tap.
"Good. I think this is the most obedient I've ever seen you. Are you scared?"
Collin's grip tightened on the tap handle, his knuckles whitening.
"What? Do you need help?" Marshall asked. Every muscle in Collin's body was tensed, breathing shallow and quick through his nose. His bare skin burned under Marshall's gaze. Marshall laughed. "I'm joking! Calm down. And hurry up. We're having brunch after this. Don't tell me you're not hungry."
"I can't." The words forced themselves out of Collin's mouth.
Marshall finally got up, letting Matt's head slump against the wall of the tub. Collin could feel himself being crowded against the side of the bath. "Well, I can't say I'm surprised. Some people just need a firmer hand." Marshall's hands were wet as they glided over Collin's shoulders. He jolted away, but there was no where to go. "I really thought you'd be fighting me by now. I was hoping you'd give me a reason to break you in properly. But that's the great thing about you, Chasey. I don't need a reason. I can do anything I want to you, and it won't matter. Because I only really need him."
Collin yelped in surprise as he was shoved to his knees. Suddenly his head was in the water. He thrashed and sputtered as it invaded his nose, his eyes, his lungs. Marshall's hands were firm and unyielding as they held him down. His head bumped into Matt's legs under the water. Collin could feel his struggles getting weaker. He was going to die. Cold air hit his face as he was dragged back up to the surface, hacking and coughing, fighting to breathe. He was still bent over the side of the tub, Marshall's hands still in his hair and on his shoulder.
"Deep breath."
"Wait! Wai-"
Collin's panicked cry was drowned in the water as again he was shoved down. The water burned in his lunges. He convulsed, trying desperately to twist out of Marshall's grasp. The hand in his hair just gripped harder. Finally he was pulled up again, able to cough out some of the water and take a few breaths. It was only a few seconds before he was shoved back down. Part of his brain told Collin not to struggle, to relax into it, that he was wearing himself out. The larger part of him screamed to fight, to thrash, that he was going to die. On and on it went, up and down, unable to do more than writhe and suffer.
"No snarky remarks for me, Chasey?"
Collin could barely hear him over the roaring in his ears. He wheezed desperately for air.
"You're so pretty like this. If only Matt were awake to see you." Marshall teased. Collin shook his head. "No?"
"Fuck yo-"
The water felt so much colder this time. How long had they been doing this? Collin's fingers could barely hold on to the edge of the tub anymore. His brother wouldn't know what happened to him. Would he think he'd run away again? The soap burned his eyes. The air hit his skin and Collin was thrown to the tile floor, shivering. Marshall wiped his hands on a towel.
"That was fun. I love a good workout."
Collin's collar was attached to the rail in the floor with almost no slack, which kept him immobile until Marshall could fetch the bondage. His hands were clasped together, fingers interlocked, and then tied together. Then his wrists were attached to the back of his collar, keeping his hands behind his head. His legs were tied together at the ankles.
"You're not going to like this part," said Marshall. He was holding scissors. Collin realised what was about to happen.
"Get off me!" A hand on his ankles kept him steady as the cold scissors slipped under the hem of his sweatpants and began cutting up to the waistband. Collin pulled at his bindings, desperately shaking his head, thrashing almost as much as he had when he was being drowned.
"It's okay." Marshall soothed, "I'm not going to touch you. I just want to get you clean." The scissors reached the waistband and gnawed through it. The sweatpants were ruined. Collin stilled, staring at the ceiling. The scissors started on the other leg. When Collin was finally bare, Marshall took his time looking him over.
"You don't see that everyday." he said. "Is it weird? looking like that and having... different parts?"
Collin ignored the question. Marshall shrugged and drained the bathwater.
"I might have gotten a little carried away. The water's gotten cold."
After a new bath was drawn, Marshall picked Collin up bridal style. He twisted in his grip, acutely aware of his bare skin in Marshall's arms. It was a relief when he was finally placed in the water, facing the opposite way to Matt. The bath was small enough that it forced them together, their legs brushing against each other. It made Collin's skin crawl despite the warm, relaxing water.
Collin watched as Marshall cleaned Matt, wiping a washcloth over his face and chest, under his armpits, in between his legs. Marshall's touch looked reverent and demanding, but not sexual. He worked shampoo into Matt's hair. Collin's heart skipped a beat when Marshall lowered Matt's head into the water, but Marshall pinched his nose and let him up before he could drown.
Next it was Collin's turn. Marshall dragged the washcloth over his skin.
"You bruise very nicely." He said.
***
"Where are we?" Matt asked. Marshall pointed behind them. The house was in the distance, and behind that, the woods.
"Our own backyard. I was lucky enough to get this plot in the 2000s. Only the trees for miles around, so don't think running will get you anywhere. You've noticed how cold the nights are." There was a beat while Marshall scooped a bit of melted cheese with some bread. "Why don't you give Collin something to eat?"
Matt followed Marshall's lead and scooped up some cheese with a bit of toasted bread. It was only after he did this that he realised Collin was in no position to feed himself.
"Can I...?" He asked.
"Just get it over with."
Looking away, to give Collin some semblance of dignity, he held out the food. Collin took it in his mouth. Matt felt the rush of breath as Collin tasted his first food in days. It was gone in seconds. Marshall watched the whole exchange lecherously, drinking in the awkward tension he had created, the reluctance and desperation. Matt tried to ignore him as he retrieved some thinly sliced meat to give to Collin. The whole scene was surreal.
"What do you think Chasey? Up to your standards?"
Matt got some olives and feta on some bread, the act aggravating his finger. He gave the food to Collin. His hair was slightly damp. So was Matt's. Had he been washed? His throbbing finger was pink and swollen. He couldn't move it. Marshall was talking, but his words were swallowed by Matt's increasing dread. He could do it again. At any point Matt could fall asleep and wake up somewhere new, after having been used for anything.
"Marshall," Matt said, "Please don't drug me again."
Marshall's casual demeanour dropped away. "What? You didn't like it?"
"I..." Matt tried to tread carefully. "I'm scared. It scared me to wake up like this."
"Don't you trust me?"
"I don't know you." said Matt, "I don't want to be defenceless."
Marshal laughed cruelly. "Matt. You're always defenceless around me. Even if you were strong enough to, we both know you wouldn't fight back. Right, Chase?"
Collin said nothing, but the unspoken, guilty agreement hung in the air. Matt averted his gaze, looking instead at the display of meat, cheese and bread laid out in the field, the scene blurring with tears.
"Come on," said Marshall. "I'm sorry for upsetting you. You say sorry too, and we can enjoy this lovely meal. Isn't that what you want?"
"I want to go home!" said Matt, "How long are you planning on keeping us here? Please, Marshall, I'm not a doll, I can't do this! I can't... you broke my fucking finger!"
"Would you prefer I do it while you're awake?" Marshall's voice was quiet, foreboding. Matt felt a jolt of fear run through him, followed quickly by a simmering rage that bubbled over.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he demanded, "Why are you doing this?"
Marshall sighed, leaning back in the grass. "I'm about to turn fifty. It's a weird feeling. I guess I'm having a midlife crisis. It's been a few years since I last had a pet. I ended up giving her away... the spark just wasn't there anymore. Doing this, you end up with acquaintances who can take people off your hands. That's probably what will happen to Chasey. Or I'll just kill him. But I got to the point where I realised I needed a new project. Something to lovingly craft and then treasure 'till I'm dead." He turned to Matt. "That's you."
"What the fuck." Matt breathed. He exchanged a glance with Collin.
"But maybe I've gotten rusty. I've moved things forward too fast, been too lenient. I want you to be there already, and you're not. That's my mistake." Marshall stood up and stretched. "I think it's time I establish a new normal."
Content warnings: Captivity whump, restraints, muzzles/gags, starvation, withholding of food, mind games, choking, fear of death, whipping (mentioned), collars, creepy whumper, sadistic whumper, emotional whump, isolation, humiliation
Collin was so hungry. He'd been kidnapped sometime around midnight the night before. They'd arrived at the house close to dawn. Marshall had never returned his shirt after the whipping, exposing the welts on his back, the scars under his pecs, the blond dusting of chest hair. It was hard to tell how many hours had passed since then. Enough that his hands had started to tremble. He could barely stand up. The cold of his basement cage seemed to seep into him, draining him of strength and willpower. He needed to gain an upper hand. He needed to get out of here. He needed to eat.
***
How long had it been? The other prisoner, Matt, looked as bad as Collin felt. He was leaning against the wall, curled in on himself against the cold, dark hair shadowing his face. His wrists were red and raw from rope burn, his back covered in angry whip marks, and there were deep bags under his eyes. After the whipping, they'd been left bound together for four hours. Collin's calves burned from trying to balance on the balls of his feet. When they'd been let down Matt had just told him, `I'm gonna try to sleep over here. If you need anything… uh. You know.'
Matt hadn't made any other attempts at conversation, which Collin was grateful for. With the muzzle on his face, it wasn't like he could respond. He tongued at the rubber bit, trying to distract himself from the cold and the hunger.
``Comfy?''
Collin jerked to attention. He must have dozed off, now Marshall was standing at the door, an amused expression playing on his face. Collin forced himself to stand. If that prick came within reach of his chains he'd have a fight on his hands. Blue enveloped his vision and black stars danced across his eyes, and he had to plant his feet to keep the dizziness from bowling him over.
``Woah there!'' said Marshall, ``You're looking a little unsteady on your feet, Chase. Maybe if you'd done what I asked earlier you'd be in better condition.'' The jab stung while Matt was in the room. Matt, who'd been strung up alongside Collin because of Marshall's mind games. I'm not your enemy. Collin wanted to say, he's our enemy. He's the one doing this to us. ``The good news is,'' Marshall continued, ``I'm giving you an opportunity to make it up to me. Are you gonna heel, or do I have to drag you?''
Collin put his fists up, eyes narrowing.
``So stubborn. I can't wait to see you break.''
Collin had expected Marshall to go straight for him, but at the last second he dived to the side, grabbing the chain that attached Collin loosely to the wall. Both hands were on the chain, with about a metre of slack between them. Before Marshall could use the tether to unbalance him, Collin sprang forward and hit him with a right hook. Marshall stumbled, blindsided, and Collin used the opportunity to tackle him to the ground. They wrestled, but Collin could feel himself losing the upper hand. He hadn't been hit, but the effort of the fight was making sparks dance before his eyes, his body weak and uncoordinated. Marshall ended up on Collin's back, the chain winding around his neck above the collar. Collin wheezed as it was pulled tight, desperately clawing at the unforgiving metal digging into his skin.
``Another bruise for your collection. You're gonna make a pretty picture, Chase. I might have to take some photos to show you off.''
Collin panicked as his body truly started giving in. Marshall was crushing him, he couldn't breathe, couldn't think anything more than RUN RUN RUN GET OUT I'M GONNA DIE IT HURTS I CAN'T BREATHE HELP ME! His thrashing was getting weaker. He could barely feel his fingers. He was falling into a long tunnel.
``Stop, you're gonna kill him!''
Blood rushed back to Collin's brain, the chain loosening, clinging to him like a silent threat. His head felt like it was full of bees. The world was swimming.
``Relax. I'm done. He'll be fine.''
``You could have killed him!'' Matt was terrified. But he was angry too. That was a novelty, Collin supposed, as he tried to get his bearings.
``Very easily.'' Marshall agreed. What was he agreeing to? Collin had lost track. ``Can you hear me, Chase?'' Marshall pulled on the chain. Collin bucked, making a muffled protest behind the muzzle. ``Good, good. I was telling Matt how easily I could have killed you.'' Collin felt his arms being tied together behind his back. ``Are you done wasting time?'' Collin refused to respond. He was hauled through the door, chains clanging as Marshall dragged him through the halls of the basement. Finally he was dropped unceremoniously on the floor. Marshall bustled around him while Collin regained enough strength to sit up and glare. He was in some kind of dining room. Unlike the whipping room, this one was furnished. The walls were cream plaster rather than concrete. The table and chairs were wood. Warm yellow light illuminated the scene. It was almost homey.
``You look hungry.'' Marshall said. Collin's head whipped around to glare at him, causing another wave of sparks and dizziness to come over him. Marshall laughed. ``Just sayin'. Looks like you could do with a pick-me-up.'' He reached into one of the cupboards and produced a steaming bowl of spaghetti. Canned, by the looks of it, but still, Collin's mouth watered. Marshall lowered it to Collin's eyeline, letting the smell waft over him, before withdrawing.
``There are some strings attached. In a moment, I'm going to grab Matt and bring him to another room. Remember how I said you two have to share everything? That includes food.'' Collin's stomach audibly growled. Marshall laughed. Collin's face heated. He glared harder, refusing to break eye contact.
``It's okay. You'll have a chance to win the whole bowl fair and square. Look up there.'' Collin refused to look where Marshall was pointing. Fuck you. Fuck you and your stupid mind games. Collin noted with some satisfaction that his punch from earlier had left a mark, Marshall's cheekbone was pink and swollen. It would probably bruise. Marshall grabbed Collin by the hair and turned his head to a corner of the ceiling. There was a camera there. Collin wondered if there were cameras in every room of the basement.
``That thing is recording us right now. I'm going to leave the room, and you're going to get into some cute poses.'' He thought for a second. ``I wonder if the restraints are unfair… they'll restrict what you can do, but they make you look pretty pathetic on their own. If I take them off, you'd better go the extra mile to make it worth it.''
Collin shook his head.
``No? Your choice. Anyway, Matt's going to get the same instructions, and the one of you who gives me prettier pictures gets to eat.''
More mind games. More attempts to pitt Collin and Matt against each other. Only the stinging, throbbing pain in his neck stopped Collin from starting another fight.
``Well I'll leave you to it. You have five minutes, then it's Matt's turn. I'd try hard if I were you, you look like you need the food. And,'' He leaned in close, almost whispering in Collin's ear, ``Of the two of you he's my favourite.'' With that, he left, locking the door behind him.
***
A few minutes after Collin had been dragged away, Marshall returned alone. ``Follow me.''
The rest of the basement was in sharp contrast to the whipping room, with its concrete everything and hanging chains. It followed the same design scheme as the house above, cream plaster walls, warm lighting, occasional pictures hanging on the walls depicting the countryside and barn animals. Only the floor was concrete. There were metal rails embedded in it, which the end of Matt's chain lead had been slotted into. He could move sort of freely around the basement, but the rails ended at the stairs, so there was no way up and out. He was just glad he had enough slack to stand. He followed Marshall through the halls into a quaint kitchenette. Marshall pulled a chair out from the small table.
``Sit.''
Matt did. Marshall moved out of his line of sight, doing something in the kitchen.
``You're not going to eat me, because you would have cut me up in the other room.'' said Matt. Marshall laughed at his lame half-joke.
``That's not what I got you for.''
``What...'' Matt didn't want to repeat those words. ``Why am I here?''
``I was hoping we could have dinner together.'' said Marshall.
``Is that why you kidnapped me?''
``Partly.''
The hum of a microwave. When Matt heard the door open he was hit with the scent of spaghetti. It smelled like the most amazing thing in the world.
``Where's...'' Matt didn't want to call Collin by the name Marshall had given him. He didn't want to get whipped again either. ``Is he okay?''
``Who, Chase? He's fine.'' Matt startled as a hand landed on his head, but it didn't hurt him, just carded possessively through his hair. The spaghetti was placed in front of him. ``Are you hungry?''
``Yeah. Thanks.'' said Matt. He reached for the bowl, but it was pulled away across the table before he could grab it.
``You'll get to eat, but first you need to do something for me.'' said Marshall. ``You see that camera in the corner? Yeah, that one. It's recording us right now. I'm going to leave the room, and you'll have five minutes to give the camera some cute poses I can put on my wall. Say… five of them? If you can do that, I'll let you eat.''
Matt bit his lip. Of course it wouldn't be for free. He glanced at the camera, then back at Marshall. He was so hungry.
``You're asking for… sexual poses.''
``It's cute that's where your mind went. They don't have to be sexual. Humiliating, maybe? Something you think I'd like. Get creative.''
Marshall left. There was no clock on the wall to indicate time passing. Five minutes. Five poses. Fuck. His heart was beating out of his chest. He knelt down, putting his hands behind his back. His head tilted down slightly, but looking up through his lashes at the camera. That was one. Marshall had said he didn't want sexual poses, but… that was clearly a lie. It was the same thing he'd done with Collin while they were being whipped. He'd made the whip less painful, making sure the compliance came from Collin, not just from an involuntary reaction. How much time had passed? Matt needed to keep going.
***
Collin had, of course, not done as Marshall had asked. Marshall had huffed in amusement when he entered the room to see Collin, still gagged and bound, lounging on one of the chairs, feet resting on the dining table. It was uncomfortable, especially on his bound arms and whipped back, so he had been hoping for a bit more. A rage. A flicker of annoyance at the sight of Collin's running sneakers dirtying the table.
``You've made your choice, then,'' said Marshall, taking a seat next to him. He casually pushed Collin's feet off the table. Collin decided not to care. ``I guess the win will go to Matt by default. Unless he also just sits on his ass, acting like I don't literally own his life.''
Collin rolled his eyes.
``Let's have a look, shall we?'' Marshall pulled out his phone. It showed the video feed in another room of the basement. Matt was in there. He had the collar locked around his neck, but was otherwise free. He was bent over the small table, hands on the back of his head. Collin could see the pixelated stripes of pink and red that covered his naked back. As they watched, Matt got up from the position, ringing his hands, as if wondering what to do next. Marshall took the phone away before he could decide.
``Looks like your cellmate doesn't share your convictions. Do you want to see more? I've got three other poses on video, and he's really going for it. I guess he was hungry.''
Collin scowled. Inwardly, he kicked himself for feeling this way. For feeling betrayed. Of course, Matt had no reason to believe that Collin wasn't also giving it his all in this competition. But he'd hoped, for a second, that they'd both refuse to eat at the expense of the other. He'd hoped that Matt, who seemed so distraught when Marshall had been choking him, wouldn't so eagerly debase himself for a game so obviously unfair. He'd hoped he wasn't alone. He was hungry, cold, exposed, silenced, and his one potential ally was weak willed enough to humiliate himself and starve Collin for a bowl of fucking spaghetti.
``Sorry it wasn't what you were hoping for. I chose Matt specially. I know he's never going to be of use to you. Only to me.''
***
Marshall stopped just before a new door, and grabbed Matt's arm with bruising strength. ``One more rule. Chase refused to earn his dinner, so he doesn't get to eat. If you say one word to him while we're in this room, I will beat him until he can't move and chain him outside for the night. Do you understand?''
Matt shuddered. Of course Collin hadn't followed his orders. His will was so strong. The bowl of spaghetti felt heavy in Matt's hands. Proof of how weak he was. He couldn't let Collin be punished further. ``Yeah. I understand.''
``Good.''
Marshall unlocked the door and pushed Matt through first with a heavy hand on the back of his neck, locking the door behind them. Collin was sitting in one of the chairs, his hands still restrained behind his back. Fresh red bruises ringed his neck, ugly and obvious. He looked up abruptly when Matt was pushed into the room, eyes catching on the bowl of spaghetti. He looked up to Matt's eyes, emotions flashing across his face. Surprise, hurt, anger, disgust. Matt couldn't meet his gaze.
``I don't know what you were finding so hard, Chase. Matt managed just fine.'' said Marshall. Matt's face burned with shame as Marshall brought him to a stop at the head of the table.
``You can put that down now, Matt.'' Still refusing to look at Collin, Matt set the bowl down on the table.
``That's an interesting choice.'' said Marshall. His hand was still on the back of Matt's neck, pressing with just a bit of force. Fingers resting on his pulse. ``Chase seems to think he deserves to sit at the table. You know better, don't you?''
Matt stilled. He knew what Marshall was implying. He waited, hoping to be proven wrong. Marshall's voice was quiet and intense in his ear.
``You know what you are. You know where you belong. Eat or don't, you've already given me the pictures to prove it.''
Matt drew breath. ``What do you want?'' Please not this. Marshall's tone was hard, mocking.
``Are you stupid? I want you to eat off the floor.''
Matt turned to meet his gaze, hoping it was a joke. Marshall was deadly serious. He could feel Chase--Collin, don't forget--Collin's eyes boring into him as he picked up the bowl and went to his knees, placing it on the ground with a quiet `clink' that seemed to echo off the concrete floor. He looked up at Marshall, who's gaze was appraising. He lifted one eyebrow. Hesitantly, Matt lowered his face to the steaming bowl. The smell of spaghetti was hot as it overwhelmed his senses. He was so desperate to eat.
He thought back to the night he'd been kidnapped. It would be so much easier if Collin hadn't interrupted, if he could suffer this humiliation without the judgement of someone with a stronger will. It would be so much easier. Why couldn't Collin have just walked away when he had the chance?
After so many hours of empty hunger, it was the best thing he'd ever tasted. It was difficult to eat, the collar was tight enough to choke him slightly when he bent over, and it was hard to get his lips to the food without sticking his nose in too. Nonetheless, he managed to finish the bowl. At some point, Marshall had sat down in the seat Matt had tried to take, making casual, one sided conversation with Collin.
``Finally. It looked like you needed that.'' said Marshall. ``See, Chase? It's not that hard. Maybe you'll get fed next time. I hope you learn before you starve.''
Matt was yanked to standing by his hair. Stumbling, he caught himself, too late to avoid Collin's eye. The look on his face made him feel sick, the food now threatening to resurface. It was a look of horror, fury, betrayal. It wasn't directed at Marshall; it was directed at Matt. How dare you be what he wants. How dare you be so weak. How dare you make me watch.
``I'm sorry.'' Matt gasped. He froze. He'd just spoken. Was it obvious he'd been talking to Collin? Luckily, Marshall seemed to take the apology for himself.
``Don't apologise,'' said Marshall, ``You're both learning, aren't you? You've set such a good example.''
Matt squeezed his eyes shut against tears. He didn't deserve to cry.
***
They were back in the whipping room. Collin's collar had been chained to the back wall, his arms still restrained behind him. Matt was attached to the rails in the floor, hands free. Before Marshall left, he chucked a set of keys on the ground. They clattered and slid, stopping at Matt's feet.
``You can give Chase a break from the muzzle if you want. I'm not treating any bites, though.''
``Okay.'' said Matt, softly.
Marshall tilted his head slightly. ``Let's have a bit of class, Matt. When a child has to clean his room he says `okay'. When your owner,'' --The word sent a shiver down Matt's spine-- ``Gives you an opportunity, you say…?''
``Yes, Marshall.''
``Better. I'll see you in the morning.''
Matt picked up the keys. Collin glared at him as he approached.
``Is it okay if I…'' asked Matt. Collin gave a short nod, and let Matt gently guide his head down, exposing the back of his neck and the lock of the muzzle. He brushed the blond hair out of the way of the lock, feeling Collin suppress a shiver, and slid the key in. The muzzle was tugged off Collin's face, and he gasped in relief as the rubber bit came out of his mouth, followed by a trail of saliva. Footsteps echoed as Matt took several steps back, giving him space to breathe. A tense silence followed. Matt broke it.
``I'm really sorry. I didn't know it would be like that.''
``You didn't know I'd have to watch?'' Collin's voice was clumsy from misuse. He stretched his jaw.
``No.'' said Matt. ``I didn't. I guess I should have expected you to… not do what he wanted.''
``I'm not gonna roll over and take it.'' said Collin, sharply. Shame heated Matt's face.
``I just-'' Matt didn't know how to finish the sentence. ``I didn't want to starve.''
``Neither did I.'' said Collin.
Matt didn't say anything. Collin was so angry at him, just for trying to survive. Like it was him and not Marshall forcing them to make these choices.
``I don't want to be your enemy,'' Matt attempted, ``Obviously we're different people. Your way is great, like, heroic even, maybe. I just don't know if I can handle it. If I have to- to act like how he sees me to get through the day, I'll get through the day. I can unpack it in therapy once I'm out of here or something. That doesn't make me his pet forever.''
``That's exactly how he wants you to think.'' said Collin, ``If you give him an inch he'll take a mile. The only way we can fight against him is by showing him we won't break. That his methods won't work on us. That's the only power we have.''
``Or the power to pick our battles,'' muttered Matt.
``Whatever. He's obviously trying to make us hate each other. If you keep fucking talking it's gonna work.''
Collin turned his head away from Matt, which was as close as he could get to storming out of the room while being tied to the wall. Matt walked to the other side of the cell and slumped against the wall. Even with food in his stomach, he could tell it was gonna be another cold night.
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Author's note:
Thank you all for reading and waiting! This was a big one which is probably why it took so long, but I was soooo excited for this idea I had to do it. Thanks for sticking around. Let me know if you see any errors. Tumblr hates my weird formatting and often will make my writing illegible but I think I caught everything before publish this time. Yay!
Tag list:
@notlikeothernurses @hiddencowboybarbarian @chaotic-orphan
If you want to be added to or removed from the tag list, leave a comment.
Is it realistic? No. Is it medically accurate? ...Also no. Am I obsessed with this trope anyway? Absolutely.
Because you can pry this trope from my cold, dead hands, I present—
CHLOROFORM WHUMP PROMPTS
It's just so... delightfully dramatic >:)
These can also double as kidnapping/capture whump prompts.
*~*~*~*
HERO X VILLAIN
Villain genuinely likes Hero—that's the whole problem—which is why they choose the cloth over the knife they're supposed to use tonight. "Consider this a professional courtesy," they murmur, lowering Hero to the ground far more carefully than the job requires.
Hero reaches the edge of the building with nowhere left to run. Villain stops several steps away instead of rushing them. "Jump if you want," they say evenly. "Either way, you're coming with me."
Villain doesn't have time for a fight tonight—the reactor's already counting down—so they don't even bother monologuing before the cloth goes over Hero's face. "Nothing personal," they mutter, dragging Hero's dead weight behind a support beam. "I just need the city empty for six more minutes."
Villain lets Hero get one hand on their mask before the cloth does its work, and the mask stays half-peeled, revealing just enough to make Hero's last conscious thought a furious, useless I knew it.
Instead of mocking Hero, Villain catches them before they hit the ground. "I'd love to monologue," they sigh, "but we're already behind schedule."
Hero hears Civilian’s scream from the next room just as the cloth slams over their face. They spend every last ounce of strength trying to get back to it. "You're very good at your job," Villain admits. "That's why I had to remove you first."
Hero watches their team getting closer on the tracker clipped to Villain's belt. Villain notices where they're looking and grins. "They're only... forty-seven seconds too late."
Reinforcements appear at the end of the corridor just as Villain starts backing away with Hero. Villain casually waves with their free hand. "We'll return your hero eventually."
BOUNTY HUNTER
"Alive," Whumper reminds themself under their breath as Whumpee lands another elbow to their ribs. "The poster said alive."
Whumper has to switch arms halfway through because Whumpee is putting up far more of a fight than expected. "Seriously?" they mutter, readjusting their grip. "Do you ever make anything easy?"
"You're worth a ridiculous amount of money," Whumper says, tightening their grip when Whumpee starts struggling again. "I'd appreciate it if you stopped trying to lower my hourly rate."
Whumpee slams a boot down onto Whumper's foot. Whumper winces, adjusts their grip, and deadpans, "Adding 'steel-toed boots' to next year's budget."
"I'd apologise," Whumper says as they wrestle Whumpee's wrists behind their back, "but this is literally my dream job."
Whumpee finally goes limp. Whumper waits another few seconds anyway, then sighs. "You faked it better than the last guy."
Whumper glances between the increasingly tattered wanted poster and the now-unconscious Whumpee. "...They forgot to mention what a pain in the ass you are."
SPY
Whumper waits until Whumpee has finished checking the room for bugs, hidden cameras, and exits before stepping out from behind the curtains. "Done?"
Whumpee recognises the hold immediately. They taught recruits how to break out of it. It doesn't work nearly as well from the other side.
Every escape technique Whumpee knows requires leverage. Pinned against a wall with someone stronger than them, they're useless.
Whumpee catches Whumper's wrist with both hands and forces it inch by inch away from their face. Every muscle shakes with effort. Then one hand slips.
They reach for the hidden knife sewn into their sleeve—or the concealed pistol at their hip—but their arm suddenly feels too heavy to lift. By the time their numb fingers finally brush the weapon, they refuse to close around it.
"Go on," Whumper murmurs. "Profile me." They keep the cloth firmly in place while Whumpee's increasingly unfocused eyes desperately search their face for anything useful to remember.
Whumpee manages to tear the cloth away for one glorious second before Whumper simply catches their jaw and puts it right back. "That was your chance."
Whumper pats them down after they've gone limp, pausing when they find three hidden weapons. "See? This is why I brought the cloth."
DETECTIVE
The detective recognises the smell instantly. Their own notes said victims usually lost consciousness within minutes. Minutes. They've never hated being right more.
"You know," Whumper muses, tightening their grip just enough to stop another desperate attempt to pull away, "it's refreshing not having to explain what's happening." The detective's horrified expression says they already know.
The detective has spent years chasing a criminal who always seemed to know what the police knew. As Whumper casually quotes entire paragraphs from the detective's private notes, the horrifying answer finally clicks into place.
Whumper raises an eyebrow as the detective abruptly stops struggling and instead starts trying to hold their breath. "Ah," they smile. "So you have read the toxicology reports."
The detective slams Whumper backwards into a filing cabinet. Drawers burst open, papers exploding across the room. They wrench the wrist holding the cloth away for one glorious second—just long enough for a desperate gasp before Whumper drives them into the desk and the cloth is there again.
"Come on," Whumper taunts between strained breaths. "You were putting up a much better fight thirty seconds ago."
ROYAL WHUMPEE
Whumpee's crown crashes to the marble floor between them. It rolls away, forgotten in the struggle.
Whumpee tears at Whumper's wrist with both hands, twisting until the grip falters. The cloth slips away for half a second. They suck in one desperate breath before Whumper yanks them back against their chest.
"Careful," Whumper laughs as Whumpee nearly headbutts them. "I need you conscious long enough to fetch a ransom."
The orchestra never stops playing. Guests laugh, dance, and twirl beneath glittering chandeliers while Whumpee struggles behind a velvet curtain, hidden only a few metres away, desperately trying to turn their face away from the sickly sweetness of the cloth pressed over it. "Listen," Whumper whispers, breath tickling Whumpee's ear. The music swells. "They don't even know you're gone."
"Do you know how many kingdoms would go to war over you?" Whumper murmurs, tightening their grip. "Let's see how much they really love their heir."
UNDERCOVER/TRAITOR
The meeting room is empty except for their teammate. Whumpee stops in the doorway, their stomach dropping as they meet their gaze. The smile they get in return is all the confirmation they need. Before they can shout, their teammate crosses the distance and clamps a hand over their mouth.
"You figured it out," Whumper murmurs, tightening their grip. "Unfortunately... so did I."
The last thing Whumpee sees before everything blurs is Whumper calmly straightening their uniform and walking back toward the others... alone.
*~*~*~*
General taglist (lmk if you want to be added or removed! <3): @stars-hide-our-fires @neon-kazoo @chaotic-orphan @galactic-worm @castell-da-near @daggers-and-dangers @atomicduckthefirst @dreamingofviolence
Me: *can’t access laptop for another few days because I left it in friends house* Well!! I guess I could write a cute little drabble of whump😇 something easy and ties itself up well
*starts writing drabble*
Me: uh… hah-hah, this sure is a lot of worldbuilding for a drabble brain
Brain: . . .
Me: no, you’re right, people need to understand the world and stuff haha… *Reading what I’m writing* kinda seems like you’re setting up too plot that can’t be finished within one part, Brain, this is an easy one off drabble, Brain😅😅😅 R-right Brain?!
Brain: We were never going to be writing a one off drabble MWUAHAHAHAHAHAH
