#affectionate whumper

[ziptiesnfries]

i loooove affectionate whumpers. it's like, take all the comfort and praise that whumpee craves and deserves, but make it BAD!!!

[acta-est-fabula-plaudite]

It's raining and started to thunder. Violent and loud neon white thunders in the night sky

Whumpee did something wrong and bold, and as punishment, Whumper decided to subject them to their worst fear, thunders.

The stoic and strong Whumpee now pleading and desperately clawing at the door, wet and on the verge of a panick attack.

Whumper feeling a little pung of mercy opens the door to see Whumpee looking like an abandoned wet kitten and welcomes them inside.

Whumper drying Whumpee and laying on the floor, petting their hair while Whumpee slowly falls asleep, warm and safe.

Whumper would never abandon their pet. No, that would be cruel of them.

After all, Whumpee is theirs, and this is where they belong.

[sugarandspice0]

“How disappointing.”

Contains: intimate/affectionate whumper, carewhumper, psychological whump.

[In which Whumper caught Whumpee trying to escape.]

[It had all been a setup, of course. Whumper was careful. Meticulous. They would never allow for the slightest chance of losing their beloved.]

[But they loosened the leash. Just a bit. Just to see what their precious whumpee would do. Could their captive truly be trusted? Or was this delightful, newfound obedience just a front?]

[What a shame. It seems Whumpee was not as house-trained as Whumper had hoped.]

———

"This was a test, my dear”, Whumper drawled, regarding Whumpee cooly, "and you failed."

Whumpee fell to their knees, clutching their head as a horrible sob racked their throat. They looked up at Whumper with wide, panicked eyes. “I'm—I’m sorry! I’m sorry.”

Clicking their tongue, Whumper shook their head pityingly. “No. No, you're not. You're sorry you got caught."

Whumpee turned away. Their breath was ragged and uneven. Hair fell over their face in a messy cascade.

Whumper knelt down and gently pulled Whumpee’s head to their chest, cradling their captive’s trembling form; shushing them, stroking their back, whispering sweetly.

“It hurts me to see you like this, sweetheart. It hurts me even more to have to punish you. Everything would be so much easier if you'd just give in.”

"Please, please, I'm sorry. I’m so sorry. Please.”

Whumper sighed, and ran a hand through Whumpee’s hair, "I'm not mad, you know. Just disappointed. I thought we were making progress. But I blame myself, really. Silly pets don’t know any better.”

Whumper cupped Whumpee’s face and dragged their captive’s gaze up to meet their own. The contact burned like fire on Whumpee’s skin, but they didn’t dare pull away.

“It’s a good thing you have me,” Whumper cooed. Their grip on Whumpee’s face tightened. Whumpee whimpered miserably, flinching, squeezing their eyes shut, as if that would protect them from the inevitable.

Whumper’s thumb brushed against Whumpee’s quivering lip.

“To teach you right from wrong.”

[yougivemewhumperflies]

Do you like affectionate whumpers? Because... have you considered villain whumpee + affectionate whumper? Especially if whumper is hero or something like that 😍😍

You know, this is one I have not thought a lot about until making this post! Honestly, affectionate whumpers give me so much ick lol. But I don’t mind trying, so here’s one way to do it (for simplicity I’m just making Villain male, but do what you will):

TW: captivity, mentions of water torture, shock collar, stress positions & food deprivation. Non-consensual comfort touching and kissing. SFW

Whumper is enamored by Villain. Like, they constantly daydream of Villain, imagining what it would be like if they were together. They start to imagine being the one to change him, to make him a better person.

This infatuation grows to the point where Whumper develops a whole plan to capture Villain and reform him. They do succeed in capturing him.

Whumper, of course, can barely restrain their excitement. On their first visit with Villain, they try to be kind as they explain their plan, and then they are shocked by how volatile his reaction is. Villain is fighting against their restraints, screaming horrible things at them. Whumper is sad about what’s next, but they know that Villain won’t change without some pain.

Whumper sticks to methods that mostly won’t leave permanent damage to appearance. Shock collar, water boarding, stress positions, withholding food and water.

*collecting myself for this*

Whumper is genuinely sad about Villain’s pain, to the point where they are comforting Villain even as they torture him.

After every shock, Whumper falls to their knees and brings Villain’s head into their lap, stroking his hair and murmuring comfort.

In the middle of Villain being in a stress position, Whumper gently holds up his head, thumb brushing against his cheek, kissing away his tears.

Whumper hugging a gasping, half-drowned Villain. Telling them to “hold on” and “it’ll be over soon.” Patting his back. Holding his hand.

Villain forced to say things like, “I’m sorry” and “I’ll be good now” to earn food and water. Hair ruffles and more cheek caressing.

Villain begging for it all to end. As much as he hates Whumper and how uncomfortable they make him feel, he does everything he can to “be good” so that Whumper will stop. Except Whumper still isn’t letting them go.

yikes

Assuming a happy ending where Villain gets rescued, he will be the quite the comfort/touch averse whumpee. Words of encouragement make him flinch. A pat on the back makes him shove someone away. He’s so traumatized from his experience, but he literally can’t handle anyone trying to be there for him. It tears him apart. He just wants to be around someone without hearing Whumper’s voice and feeling their hands on him.

can’t end there it’s too sad. Okay recovery arc could be Villain being assigned rehabilitation work with the most impassive, seemingly uncaring Hero. Hero that doesn’t small talk, doesn’t send pity eyes at him. And most importantly, never talks about or forces Villain to be “good.” At first, they just get work done and go their separate ways. But over time, Villain sees that Hero does care, it just looks different. To Hero, comfort is sharing a cup of coffee, inviting Villain to grocery shop with them, or listening to music together. It’s exactly what Villain needs to heal.

[mediocre-quill-ink]

Intimate whumper... Possessive whumper.... Creepy whumper... Affectionate whumper... Guh....

[c-zira]

Canna’s interview

Questions taken from the whumper asks on the whump ask game here. (I have answered question 10 in more detail before.) 50 questions in total.

1) How did you acquire your whumpee? How hard it was?

He was assigned to me, so aquiring him was no effort in of itself. But I have worked hard to attain my position.

2) From all the possibilities, why did you pick your whumpee rather than anyone else? 

I did not pick him as my subject, but he is my favourite because… well, at the risk of sounding sentimental, because he likes me. There are other factors too, of course. He is the most ambitious project I’ve ever worked on, with the most artistic freedom. And he is well-behaved.

3) Why do you keep your whumpee captive? Why won't you let them go? 

Letting him go would be aiding and abetting a traitor, which is itself treasonous.

4) Is everything you do to your whumpee legal? Do you have to hide it from the authorities? 

Yes, it is legal. I am part of the legal system.

5) How open are you about keeping your whumpee? 

Completely, for the above mentioned reasons.

6) Where does your whumpee live? 

In one of the lower cells of the fortress dungeons. It is safe and out of most people’s way, while also being a functional space. That said, the equipment was somewhat lacking when he was first brought down there.

7) Do you bring your whumpee to your workplace? How about bringing them to your social activities? 

Bring? The fortress is my workplace. I do not, however, bring him home or to any other activities.

8) How would you describe your whumpee? 

Quiet, compliant, gentle, beautiful, but also little naive and foolish, certainly reckless.

9) Tell me about your whumpee's prettiest features! 

Where to begin? He was known for his beauty before I got my hands on him, so if you are asking about conventional attractiveness then there used to be plenty of pleasing, unremarkable features. But I have been working on those. Now, his beauty is striking and interesting. There is symmetry to his scars, and the softness and strangeness of his face makes him something other, almost ethereal. You will excuse me for getting a little poetic- he is my masterpiece. If I have to chose a favourite feature, then I will pick the scars on his cheeks, the way they shape the flesh and add a little colour to the skin- though that will likely fade with further healing.

10) How does your whumpee behave around you? How much did it change from the moment of capture? 

He is remarkably comfortable around me. I am quite unused to that degree of trust. Naturally, this is something that has developed as we got to know each other. In the beginning, he was polite but wary.

11) What rules do you have for your whumpee? 

Cooperate. It is that simple.

12) What do you do if your whumpee misbehaves? 

I would need to come up with a fitting punishment. If I must, I can withhold affection for some time. I will be sure to make it clear why I am doing so.

13) Have you ever tortured anyone aside from your whumpee? If so, what's the difference between your torture techniques for your whumpee and for others? 

Yes, many times. There are two main differences in this case. The first is that I can take mutilation further than is normally permitted. The second is that I must be far more careful not to cause more damage than intended, to prevent infection, and generally ensure his continued survival.

14) Your favorite torture method?

I would like to use burning more often. It is easy for me to do, the pain and threat are significant, and I find both the texture and appearance of healing and healed burns to be quite pleasing. However, opportunities are limited outside of using cauterization to prevent bleeding. Other than that, I do admittedly enjoy making my subjects complicit in their own harm. In most, this increases distress while also improving obedience. With my current project… there is something deeply satisfying about the ease of his compliance. I suppose it is because it reflects the ease of my power.

15) Do you give your whumpee any gifts, rewards or treats? If so, what are they? If you don't, why? 

Yes, in a sense. I give him things that are practical and useful, such as blankets and food. I reward him with touch because it seems to be the most effective. And, admittedly, because I myself have few avenues for physical contact.

16) How possessive you are about your whumpee? 

I would not say that I am overly so. I look after him, and he is, at this point, fundamentally mine, but I have no problems with letting others interact with him, or torture him for that matter- though I will supervise the latter for safety’s sake.

17) Has your whumpee ever tried to run away from you? What would you do/have done in that case? 

No, never. But I would understand if he tried. Freedom and respite are quite fundamental desires. I would explain the futility of the attempt, but I believe failing would be punishment enough without me having to add to it.

18) Did you finally break your whumpee? How hard it is/was? 

It was remarkably easy. He did most of the work for me, giving up hope in what I can only assume was an ill-advised attempt to protect himself and adapt- but he has adapted, and breaking is part of that.

19) Does your whumpee fully belong to you? If not, why? 

I wish he did, but in the end, everything here is the Emperor’s.

20) Is your whumpee allowed to move freely? How much? 

When his collar is on, which is usually the case, he can reach a little more than half the cell and do whatever he wishes within that space. However, he has little interest in this and using ends up withdrawing to the same corner.

21) Do you believe you're doing the right thing? Have you ever felt guilty about what you do to your whumpee? 

It is complicated. From one viewpoint, I am doing the right thing by obeying my superiors and doing my duty as an imperial citizen. But there are also many who would say that torture is an inherent evil no authority can make right. The extent of what I have done to this captive is also generally outlawed, though the Emperor demanded an exception be made. So… I would generally say that what I am doing cannot be called good, which, I suppose, means it is not the right thing, morally speaking. From a pragmatic and self-interested standpoint, of course, it is absolutely the right thing. Additionally, you could say that if I refused the assignment, someone else would simply take it. My point is, there is no easy answer here. But I am comfortable with who I am and what I do. I do not feel guilt.

22) What would you do if someone tried to take your whumpee from you? 

I would do whatever it takes to get him back, even if I had to take the matter to the Emperor himself… or defy him.

23) Does your whumpee receive any medical care or health checks? If so, where? 

Yes, from me. I am one of the foremost medical experts in the court.

24) Any advice on brainwashing or conditioning? 

That is not my area of expertise. Any conditioning is a side-effect resulting from my methods and closeness to my subject, as I encourage compliance.

25) Have you made your whumpee learn something aside from rules and behavior lessons? 

Hardly. I have occasionally given advice on adjusting to his new physical limitations.

26) Do your friends/teammates/coworkers help you to tame your whumpee? Do you allow anyone to handle them? 

They try, and I can generally always count on them if I ever need assistance, but none of them have established anything near as close a relationship to him as I have. I allow handling, including, as I mentioned before, torture under my supervision.

27) Do you allow anyone else to talk to your whumpee? 

Yes. Talking is not risking harm, and I trust my underlings to have, if not the loyalty, then at least the self-preservation to not try and talk him into escaping or other such things. If one of them sympathizes with him, well, that is none of my business.

28) Do you respect your whumpee's boundaries? 

I ask, in all seriousness, what boundaries? Whatever was has long been erased.

29) Did you know your whumpee before capturing them? 

No. I might have seen him once or twice, but he and I were usually in very different areas of the court, and I do not bother remember all the Emperor’s consorts.

30) How often do you feed your whumpee? Have you ever used food as punishment? 

Usually twice a day, and no, I have not.

31) What do you use your whumpee for? 

Use? Well, he is my work. On a personal level, I regard him as something akin to an art project, so I suppose I use him as my canvas. And… I admittedly use him to satisfy my own emotional need for closeness. I like seeing him, and spending time with him. It’s… strange. But not an issue.

32) Does your ownership of whumpee mean anything symbolic for you? Do you make any sort of statement by keeping them? 

I feel elevated. My official title is exalted master, but it is as though both those things have truly been realised through him. I am exalted by the power he gives me, and I demonstrate my mastery both over him and over the subjects of art and medicine.

33) How would you describe the feelings you get from owning/hurting your whumpee? 

It is power, but it is also… I suppose the fitting term would be intimacy. No one has ever been mine before, not so completely. He does not flinch from me. Did you know that? He… he trusts me. I…

Nevermind.

34) Have you trained your whumpee to obey your commands? How so? 

I have not trained him consistently, or put thought into doing so. I have given him commands to see if he would obey them and, once it was clear he would, to demonstrate to others that I control him. But training implies significantly more effort and intent, so I would not use that word.

35) Do you need to restrain your whumpee often? How and why so? 

Yes, when I am working on him. Holding still while in pain is quite difficult, and it is much safer for him to be restrained. I usually restrain him on a slab at several points, since this is useful for most operations I wish to perform. For smaller things, I sometimes simply make do with a firm grip. Finally, he is restrained when displayed, as a side effect of that.

36) What do you dislike about your whumpee? 

I… hm. Interesting. There might genuinely not be anything.

37) Do you decide on your whumpee's clothes? If so, what do you usually make them wear? 

Yes, and nothing. They would only get in the way. Denying a captive clothes is also a well known way to increase vulnerability and take away personhood, which was my original reasoning.

38) Do you ever believe you could be punished for your deeds, whether in your lifetime or after? 

If the rebels succeed and take power, I will likely be executed. If I have the opportunity to talk myself out of it, or to escape, then I will naturally take it, but if not I will have to be satisfied with a shorter life, one I made the most of. I do not believe there is any justice in the afterlife. Assuming it even exists, it was made by the same powers that made this world, and there is no inherent justice or fairness here.

39) Could you tell me a bit about your values? How would you describe what you believe in? 

I believe in responsibility, both the personal responsibility of each being and the responsiblity of rulers and ruling systems. I believe in facing the world with strength and confidence, in being honest with oneself and others insofar as one can afford it. I admire conviction and kindness in others, but have no desire to emulate it- my strengths do not lie in morality. I believe that the world is cruel and that people should be prepared for this, but I do not believe there is any value in adding to its cruelty- and yes, I am well aware of the irony. I believe in the beauty of self-expression and the value of creative freedom. I believe in power, and in proving oneself worthy of it. We are not born equal, we are not made equal, but we all have potential, great or small. Though I suppose we do all die equal, so there is that. Ultimately, I believe that it is up to each individual to find their place in the world, wherever it may be.

40) What do other people usually say about your whumpee? 

Depending on the person, he is intriguing, pathetic, or to be pitied. Sometimes all three.

41) Do you use a collar or a leash on your whumpee? Do they have to wear it everyday, or only on special occasions? 

A metal collar, with a long chain attached. It is an easy way to keep him secure while still allowing freedom of movement.

42) Is your whumpee marked as your captive/possession in any way? How so? 

He is not, other than his injuries. The scar on his chest only marks him as a traitor. But if I could get away with it without raising so many eyebrows, I would brand him with my hand.

43) Have you ever considered returning or releasing your whumpee? 

No.

44) Do you ever appear with your whumpee in public? If so, how do you make sure they won't run away? 

Yes, in order to display him as per His Imperial Majesty’s orders and the High Inquisitor’s recommendation. He cannot run away, firstly because he cannot run, and secondly because he is typically suspended from the fortress gates.

45) Have you ever drugged or sedated your whumpee? Why? 

No. There is no need to.

46) Has anyone ever tried to search for your whumpee or rescue them? How do you prevent them from succeeding? 

A few rebels have attempted to breach the fortress twice, both times escaping once it became clear they would not succeed. The first time, I had a warning put out that the prisoner would be punished for further escape attempts. You see, he is of no use to them anymore, which means they are doing this out of some loyalty or compassion for their former comrade- to protect him from harm. Making their efforts counter-productive seems like a good way to dissuade them. Naturally, I followed through after the second attempt. There have been none since. I was a little worried that, had they come close to succeeding, the High Inquisitor would have deemed keeping the prisoner alive too risky- and the High Inquisitor has the Emperor’s ear.

47) Which aspects of comfort do you allow your whumpee to have, if you do so? 

Blankets, good food, and my company.

48) Do you ever discipline/torture your whumpee when they didn't do anything wrong? For maintenance, for showing off, just because you felt like it? 

Well, while the initial torture was explicit a punishment, everything not contained within the Emperor’s instructions was, I suppose, "simply because I felt like it", if that is what you call artistic vision. I have also admittedly shown off a few times.

49) Would you mind me to see your whumpee? Could you bring or call them to come here? 

No, but I can bring you to see him. If you’ll follow me…

50) Your whumpee is so pretty! Can i pet them? Please :) 

Of course.

(Continue with the whumpee’s interview here.)

[snakebites-and-ink]

Best affectionate nickname for a whumper to call their whumpee...

Darling

Sweetheart/sweetie

Honey/hon

Dear/dearest

Baby/babe

Cutie

Little one

Love

Pretty thing

Buddy/bud

Gorgeous/beautiful

No affectionate nicknames, only insults >:(

Voting ended onOct 10, 2023

(I know there are lots more good possibilities but I ran out of poll options :/ )

[ziptiesnfries]

Upstairs

kinda continued from here - Roux & Ambrose masterpost

tag list: @theelvishcowgirl @transgender-scout @gala1981

Takes place a week into Roux’s captivity

CWs: captivity, drugged food, creepy whumper, panic attack

The door creaks, and suddenly Roux is wide awake, bolting upright in bed. They blink the bleariness out of their eyes to see Ambrose standing in the doorway, the scent of bacon wafting in behind him. Despite themself, their mouth begins to water; he neglected to feed them yesterday, and now they’re sure it was on purpose. “Good morning,” he chirps. “I made you breakfast. Are you hungry?”

On cue, their stomach growls, and their face turns red. They shove the covers off their legs and hop to the floor, stumbling at the drop—they’re still not used to sleeping in a bed that’s so high off the ground.

Ambrose smiles at them, like he thinks it’s the cutest thing in the world that they’re too short to reach the floor. They want to strangle him. “Come on.” He motions them towards the door. “It’s going to get cold.”

Warily, they follow behind him. He hasn’t let them out of the bedroom yet, so they’re curious—and a little scared—to see what the rest of this place looks like.

Just beyond the door, there’s an open living room and kitchenette area, with small windows set high into the walls. Beyond the windows, all Roux can see is grass. So this is Ambrose’s basement. That explains why the bedroom—as nice and normal-looking as it is otherwise—doesn’t have any windows.

They want to keep looking around, get more familiar with their surroundings so that maybe they can find a way out, but Ambrose puts a hand on their back and guides them over to the kitchen table. There’s one place set, the plate heaped with pancakes and bacon, a glass of orange juice sitting next to it. Suddenly Roux is having a hard time concentrating on anything else.

But they’re not hungry enough to be stupid about it. They sit at the table, eyeing the plate warily. Ambrose takes the chair across from them, a perfectly innocent smile on his face. “Well?” he prompts.

Again, their stomach growls, reminding them that they can’t afford not to eat. They pick up their fork and take a small bite of bacon. That should be safe, right? It would be hard to subtly drug bacon. Unless it was cooked in something, their brain helpfully supplies. It tastes normal enough. They keep eating, trying to reassure themself that if Ambrose wanted to kill them, he would’ve done it already. But it’s not so comforting when they know that he could do a lot worse than kill them.

The way he’s watching them right now, for example, the same way he might watch a cute animal video, is a lot worse than death. “Do you have to stare at me like a fucking creep?” they ask, just before taking a tiny, tentative bite of pancake. It practically melts in their mouth; it might be the best pancake they’ve ever had. They swallow, still trying to decipher whether it tastes drugged.

Ambrose’s smile falls. “You’re very rude, sweetheart.” His expression clears quickly, though, and he rests his chin on his hand. “You’re lucky you’re so adorable.”

They glare at him, trying not to squirm under his invasive gaze. Another bite of pancake, larger this time. They wonder whether Ambrose really made this himself, but a glance behind him shows pans on the stove and utensils in the sink. Maybe the entitled rich boy does know how to cook.

They decide that the pancakes taste safe enough, and also that they’re too hungry to care. “I’m not adorable,” they finally reply as they eat another forkful of pancake. “You’re just deranged.”

It might be unwise for them to taunt their captor like that, but he just laughs. “Like I said, you’re very rude. We’ll have to work on that.” They don’t want to know what he means by that. Hopefully they’ll be out of here long before they find out.

They finally get around to the orange juice. One tiny sip, and they’re already sure it tastes wrong, something extra under the tanginess. But they keep their expression indifferent as they swallow, putting the glass down. They’re not drinking any more of that.

Then the first wave of dizziness washes over them, and they almost drop their fork. What the hell? They blink, trying to snap themself out of it, hoping desperately that it’s a fluke. Then they start feeling a little drowsy, their muscles weakening, and they know it’s not. But they only drank a tiny little bit of the orange juice—that wouldn’t be enough to do this to them. Would it?

A slow, pleased smile spreads across Ambrose’s face as he notices. “Something wrong, sweetheart?”

They grip the edge of the table, partially out of rage, and partially to keep themself balanced. “What did you do?” they hiss.

“Oh, well, I did put a light sedative in those pancakes. Just something to keep you calm.” Right now, they feel anything but calm. Their vision is getting blurry, and they don’t even realize they’re listing to the side until Ambrose reaches across the table to steady them. He quickly gets up to help them out of their chair. “Careful, there. No need to panic; I’m not going to hurt you.”

They shove him away, but it makes them lose their balance. Suddenly they’re sitting on the floor with Ambrose looming over them. He scoops them up in his arms. “Let … let go of me.” They try to claw at him, but their muscles feel so weak.

“Shh, it’s okay.” He bounces them a little, like he’s trying to calm a baby, as he carries them across the basement. “I just wanted to take you upstairs with me, and I couldn’t have you running off. You don’t have to do anything, okay? Just relax.”

“Put me down,” they whine, but they’re already going limp in his arms, their head lolling against his chest.

Ambrose carries them to the back of the basement and up a flight of stairs. Part of them wants to just close their eyes, give into the drowsiness, but they force themself to pay attention. Maybe this is finally their chance to figure out how to get out of here … Ambrose nudges open a door at the top of the stairs, emerging into a hallway with dark wood paneling. Once he starts moving, though, all sense of clarity is lost. The space passes Roux by in blurs of dark wood, gilded paintings, brass light fixtures … It makes them dizzy, trying to watch it all blur by. Finally, the nausea forces them to close their eyes.

A door creaks, and a moment later, Ambrose sets Roux down on a soft surface. Their eyes crack open long enough to see him leaning over them, with the vague outline of a wall of bookshelves in the background. He gently lifts their head to slide a pillow underneath, and they feel like a ragdoll in his hands, too drugged up to move a muscle. “I’ll just be working at my desk.” He strokes their hair, and although it makes their skin crawl, they can’t find the strength to flinch away. “Let me know if you need anything, sweetheart.”

“Fuck you.” It’s hard to put any venom behind the words, but they try.

He pats their cheek as he stands up. “We’ll work on your attitude problem later.” Their eyes slip shut as his footsteps recede.

Without much else to do, they doze. Occasionally, briefly, they try to look around, but moving their eyes too much still makes their head spin. Judging by the bookshelves and the desk across from where they’re lying, they gather that this is some kind of office. Or, rather, a study; someone as pretentious as Ambrose would probably call it a study.

For a while, the only noises are typing and quiet sighs from Ambrose. Roux tries to sleep, tries not to think about the fact that he only brought them up here to stare at them. What a fucking creep. At least they know how to get out of the basement now, but the information isn’t doing them much good in this condition. Maybe another time, though, when Ambrose trusts them enough not to drug them … they don’t know how they’re going to build that trust. They don’t even want to be here long enough for that, really, but unless they get really lucky, they doubt they’ll get an opening. He’s had them locked in the basement for the past week; he’s being careful. But maybe they can find something to pick the lock with, and maybe there’s some other way out of the basement, like a cellar door …

The soft sound of rain against the window panes snaps Roux out of their sleepy ponderings. Their stomach jolts, and they take a deep, shaky breath. It’s just rain, they reassure themself. Nothing to worry about. It’s not like it’s—

A low rumble starts up in the distance, and the blood freezes in their veins. They squeeze their eyes shut and take another breath. Please, not here, not now. Not in front of—

The thunder gets louder, and they swear they hear the windows rattle. A whimper slips past their lips, and the show of weakness makes them wince, even with the panic setting in.

“Roux?” Ambrose’s chair creaks. “What’s wrong?” They open their mouth to respond, but another rumble of thunder cuts them off. Their breath hitches as they tighten their arms across their chest, like that’ll keep their heart from pounding out of control. “Oh.” He laughs a little. “It’s just thunder, sweetheart. It won’t hurt you.”

That’s what everyone says. That’s what people have been telling Roux since they were a little kid, hiding under the bed with their ears covered to escape a storm. But knowing that it won’t hurt them doesn’t stop their heart from pounding, their chest constricting, their head going fuzzy every time they hear thunder in the distance. It may be true that thunder is only a sound, that it can’t hurt them. But the lightning? That will hurt them. The fact that it never has before doesn’t stop the gut-churning certainty that it’s going to kill them.

As if on cue, right as they open their eyes, a flash of light illuminates the bookshelves. Their chest constricts, and they begin to sob.

“Oh, sweetheart …” They hear Ambrose hurrying over, but the sound is quickly muffled as they clamp their hands over their ears and curl into a ball. Part of them is mortified to be doing this in front of Ambrose, exposing a weakness he could use against them. They desperately want to stop crying, but their body won’t let them. Every flash of light they see from behind their eyelids—even if they know it’s just their eyes playing tricks on them—sends them into hysterics all over again.

Ambrose gently lifts them up to sit beside them, but even that doesn’t snap them out of it. He pets their hair, pulling their head into his lap, and they can vaguely hear him murmuring reassurances, but the low rumble of his voice just sounds like more thunder. They can’t stop crying, can’t even control their limbs enough to pull away. They feel mortified and pathetic as they sob into his shirt and let him hold them, even though all he’s doing is making them feel worse.

Finally, he scoops them up into his arms and carries them out of the room. It’s almost a relief to be out of the study, if only because it means they’re farther away from the windows—Although the lightning could always strike the house and burn it down, their brain helpfully adds in. They grit their teeth and bury their face in Ambrose’s shirt. It’s a relief when he takes them back the way they came, back down into the basement, with its lack of windows and relative sound insulation.

He sets them down on the bed, and they curl into a ball, tentatively removing their hands from their ears. Right now, they can’t hear any thunder, but they don’t think being in the basement would completely block out the sound anyway. They’re still tense, ready for it to start up again.

The bed dips as Ambrose sits beside them, rubbing their back. “So,” he says lightly, “you’re afraid of storms?”

They jerk away. “Shut up,” they hiss, their voice thick with tears. “Just shut the fuck up.”

His hand chases after them, and he continues rubbing their back. They grit their teeth and begrudgingly allow it—they’re too exhausted and drugged to keep squirming away from him. “It’s alright, sweetheart. Everyone’s afraid of something, aren’t they?”

“I said, shut up.” Their face burns with humiliation. This is why they didn’t want to do this in front of him—because he’s so goddamn smug about it, using it as an excuse to get closer to them, to baby them.

“I hate to tell you this,” he says, “but there are a few storms in the forecast for this week.” They know he’s just trying to get a reaction out of them, but still, their whole body goes rigid. “But don’t worry, sweetheart,” he continues, “you’re perfectly safe down here. Maybe we’ll hold off on having you hang out upstairs for a little while.”

They’re too exhausted to argue with him or to retort that they’re anything but safe down here. They bury their face in a pillow and let him pretend to comfort them.