#backhanded slap

[whumblr]

Thinking about characters getting a nice demeaning slap in the face, in *warning*, telling them in not so unsubtle terms to watch their mouth. Two slaps maybe... or a backhand if they're really pushing it...

[ladylucksrogue]

Whumpuary

Day 23: Can't Do This Anymore (Rex)

Rex struggles with nightmares after Kadavo

Shoutout to @whyamismall for the ideas on this one! You have have the best ideas on how to whump poor Rex, really, and I couldn't help but combine a few.

cw: mention of slavery, injuries. It's dark but nothing explicit.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61978897/chapters/159897505

[piplupfluffwritingstuff2]

Meeting Kai

Credit and big thanks to @deckofaces for inspiring how Kai and Y/N met! (Note- y/f/c= your favorite color)

Kai Masterlist

              Y/N swam between schools of fish, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Any magical object, maybe something to wish on; she wasn’t sure what to look for, but she was desperate enough to look anyway. Since being cursed, she would turn into a mermaid anytime she touched water. That included a shimmering, y/f/c tail, webbed ears, and little scales peppered sparsely across her body. Her mer form was beautiful, but it was a hassle at best, even if it did include the ability to breathe underwater.

              Y/N was so focused on treasure hunting that she didn’t notice the shadow forming over her until it was too late. Y/N looked up just as a net descended beneath the surface. Her and the schools of fish began to swim in evasive patterns. Their efforts were in vain, however; the fish were caught immediately, and Y/N with them. Y/N struggled to get out of the net, but her tail and arms had gotten tangled in it during her efforts to escape. Y/n could do nothing but struggle and wait for the net to get hauled up out of the water.

              Within moments, she was hauled on deck of a pirate ship. The fish around her flopped helplessly in the net. Y/N got smacked in the face several times by their fins.

              “Good work men,” a voice echoed, “we’ll be able to fetch a fair price for these at port.”

              Fishermen. Hopefully they were the benevolent type.

              Y/N yelped as the net was dragged across the ground.

              “Wait,” the voice said, “what is that?”

              The net stopped moving, and Y/N was uncomfortably aware that she was being watched. A young man stood over her, a grin on his face.

              “Hello there,” he said, “what have we here?”

              “Um, hello,” Y/N said sheepishly.

              Y/N tried to wave, but the net tangled around her arms made that difficult.

              “Hehe,” Y/N laughed nervously, “I was just passing by when your net caught me. I don’t suppose you could…?”

              Y/N looked down at the tangled mess for emphasis. The fisherman blinked, then laughed.

              “Of course, little fish,” he said, “hold still.”

              The fisherman dragged Y/N to the center of the deck, then pulled out a knife. He cut through the ropes, being careful not to hurt Y/N.

              “Thank you,” Y/N said, “thank you very much.”

              “It’s no trouble at all,” the fisherman said, “my name is Kai, what might you be called?”

              “I’m Y/N,” Y/N answered, “now if you could just throw me back, I’ll be out of your hair.”

Kai smiled. He wordlessly slid an arm under Y/N’s tail and another behind her back, lifting her up in a bridal carry. Y/N tried to ignore how Kai’s men gawked at her as he carried her, not to the ship’s railing, but to the captain’s cabin.

              “Wait, where are we going!?” Y/N asked, “you have to throw me back!”

              “But we’ve only just met, little fish,” Kai said, “it would be rude to leave without getting to know each other first. Not that I’ll be letting you leave, but the point still stands.”

              “What!?”

              “As captain of Calypso’s Wrath, I am responsible for managing all of the treasure we collect. And you are certainly the finest addition to the collection.”

Calypso’s Wrath? That did not sound like a fisherman’s ship.

              “Y-you,” Y/N gulped, “you’re not a fisherman, are you?”

Kai looked down at Y/N and laughed out loud.

              “What a naïve little thing you are,” Kai said, “I am Kai Nelson, the captain of the most feared pirate ship this side of the globe.”

              As Kai spoke, he set Y/N down in a large, glass tank filled with water.

              “I was going to use this to house rare species of fish,” Kai explained, “but you’re more valuable than anything else I could catch.”

              “Please,” Y/N said, sitting up so that her upper half poked out of the tank, “let me go. I haven’t done anything to you, I’m nothing of value-”

              A backhanded slap tore across Y/N’s face faster than she could perceive it.

              “Nothing of value?” Kai said darkly, “I’ll be the judge of that. I don’t want to hear you talk about yourself with any lesser treatment than you deserve. Understand?”

              Y/N nodded with wide eyes, rubbing the side of her face.

              “Alas, little treasure, I must leave you for now,” Kai said, “the men get rowdy without instruction you know.”

Kai left the room, closing the cabin door behind him. The reality of Y/N’s situation sunk in and tears welled in her eyes. Y/N would cry for a good long while before the beginnings of an escape plan would form in her mind.

ko-fi

tags:  @mythixmagic @infinityshadows @fishtale88 @thelazywitchphotographer @the-beasts-have-arrived @princessofonwardsworld

[chaptertwo-thepacnw]

classic martin and bart |1991|

[orchidscript]

Nemesism (Emmett)

So, I’m taking a little break from Henry’s recovery arc -- the last few installments are tearing my heart out and I need breaks -- to dig back into Emmett’s time with Rhiannon. It’s less than fun, to be sure, so fair warning ahead. This one is for the @badthingshappenbingo prompt “Backhand Slap.” And I sincerely hope you see where this is going dear, reader -- AND I hope you enjoy!

Passing Notes Masterlist

Tags: @lave-whump, @highwaywhump, @pebbledriscoll​ (Let me know if you would like to be added or removed from the list!)

Warnings: BBU general warning; pet whump, captivity themes, romantic whumper, creepy/intimate whumper, defiant whumpee, broken-down whumpee; anger, frustration, fear reaction, anger reaction, the whumpee snaps; backhanded slap, punishment/retribution, noncon touch. Mentioned past noncon. Be warned.

~*~*~

It was endless.

She wanted and wanted and wanted that morning. 

She wanted eggs Benedict and a “perfect” lavender London Fog for breakfast, then fresh sliced strawberries for her bath an hour later. She wanted rose-scented bath salts and skin-softening oil added to the water, then insisted he strip her naked and take his shirt off. Water sloshed over his shirt front when she yanked him towards the bathtub’s edge. She demanded photographs of her in the water, that particular record spinning in the background. The orange one with the penguin on the front. The one featuring her name.

Then another tea to accompany the ordeal of her skincare routine, outfit selection, and complicated lunch order. All before driving her to a fresh audition.

She was coming off the high of two stage castings, insisting she deserved another film role after her somewhat-lauded first performance. She chattered about it the whole drive, correcting his driving and prodding him in the ribs at red lights when he didn’t lavish her with enough compliments to “boost her self esteem.”

He held his tongue and gave her what she wanted.

Words lodged in his throat, preventing him from swallowing.

He didn’t think about how much he wanted to scream them at her.

The hour and a half Emmett spent alone, in the car, in the parking lot, was the longest reprieve of his day. It wasn’t even that much of a reprieve. The quiet was more or less what he was after, but it was external quiet he was rewarded with. His brain still buzzed with the list of tasks and chores awaiting him on their return. The pain of Rhiannon’s whims the night before crept up and down his nerves, his skin, through the ends of his hair. 

It was ruining his peace; the singular moments left entirely to himself all day.

All week.

She hadn’t let him out of her sight in days -- ten days to be exact. She’d been sluggish and bored, scratching at the walls for a new project to work towards. She had harnessed her boredom, her irritation, and foisted it on him. Had kept him twisted up and on his back more than he could ever remember being. He was scratched and bitten, bruised and licked and wrung out. 

He leaned against back against the driver’s seat. He squinted through the glaring sunlight on the windscreen, ignoring the shivers at the forced pleasure. Hours later, it still lingered in his skin, in his brain.

It was too much.

Becoming too much, he corrected himself.

He had been holding himself together, successfully masking the swirling agitation underneath the surface. He had become adept at keeping everything bottled up, relying on riding out the current of his training. Yes miss, of course miss, when miss, right away miss. It had lasted him three years, holding up well over and staying lithe throughout Rhiannon’s many whims.

Still, he felt as if it might finally fail him. Something in the air, the water of his showers, told him something was about to give. He felt it inside himself, late at night when he lay awake, aching and exhausted, in her bed. Something built up inside his chest was shifting and sliding, like an un-mortared brick wall in an earthquake. Swaying, close to collapsing, close to cracking. 

Despite his conditioning, his training, shrieking inside his skull, Emmet was inclined to let it.

A little voice worming through his head told him it was inevitable.

And he was exhausted.

When they returned home, he had laundry and dishes to contend with. Dinner to prep and meals to plan for the next day. His sheets needed to be stripped and replaced, the baseboards needed to be wiped down to keep their sneezing down. His ability to get it all done was contingent upon Rhiannon’s mood when she dropped down into the passenger’s seat next to him. 

If she had the role, he would be left to his work as she devoured her new materials.

If she had a callback or a screen test, she would be too busy preparing to bother him.

If not... Emmett grimaced at the possibility.

He stared through the windscreen, trying to keep down the shivering that was creeping up on him. Phantom fingers danced over his legs and hips, raising gooseflesh in their wake. He recognized the pattern -- the exact same Rhiannon’s own had followed the night before as he squirmed with his hands tied over his head. 

He shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose hard. He crossed his legs tightly under the steering wheel and thought hard about anything else. 

The scratches on the car’s dashboard and gear shift.

A bird hopping across the parking lot.

Dinner was going to be chicken and all the vegetables left in the bin, couscous with kalamata olives on the side. His trip to the grocery would be the next morning and he could stock up to appease Rhiannon’s latest whim. She was insisting on no red meat, limited wheat products, no dairy save for yogurt in the mornings for... 

Well, Emmett didn’t know what for. It was another whim, another flight of fancy. Something half-baked pulled of her cell phone and into her brain. To be acted upon and implemented as soon as possible, then discarded when she found it unsatisfactory or distasteful or boring in a week or two.

His nose curled.

All her whims but one were discarded, never to be revisited.

Why couldn’t he be one of them?

He dug his fingernails into his scalp, the delicate skin around his nose. He tried to refocus, tried to settle himself before she inevitably reappeared. He was only ratcheting up his frustration, making himself angrier and angrier as the minutes ticked by. He wasn’t allowed to be angry with her, all his training screamed at him. He was supposed to be sturdy and obedient, indefatigable. In a word, beyond human.

But he was human, wasn’t he?

She wanted him to be soft and easily coaxed to the edge, like any of her other dates. She wanted him to fit into the world around them, unseen and unknown as his true purpose. She wanted the newspapers to insist he was her boyfriend, her partner, her fiancé -- a respectable, full man.

But he wasn’t, was he?

“Drive.” Rhiannon hissed as she dropped into the car. She slammed the car door and wrestling with her seatbelt.

Coming out of a stupor of sorts, Emmet watched her. A sinking feeling overcame him, minute after minute. The audition hadn’t gone well. His nicely laid plan was burning up in front of him.

Fingers pinched and twisted his ear lobe, a gasp forcing itself from between his lips. “Are you listening to me?”

“Yes, miss.”

Her palm smacked across his jaw, then up the back of his head. “I said drive. I swear, Emmett, you’re just as dumb as them.”

“I’m sorry, miss.”

“Fucking useless sometimes... my god.”

Emmett ground his back teeth together. Agitation, frustration, flooded him once again. Now, it was bolstered by the car engine turning over, accelerating onto the main street and then highway. He didn’t say another word. He had too much vitriol to keep down his throat. Rhiannon had too much to air between them. 

He had to focus on the road, the car, he tone, her hands, the weight of his foot on the gas pedal.

He had to focus on her whining complaints, her biting criticisms of the casting agents, her scathing criticisms of him. He had to focus on staying still, nonreactive. 

He had learned that she wanted a reaction. She wanted him to his and snap, to struggle underneath her commands and her body. She was developing a taste for discipline and enjoying forcing him to breaking, giving her the perfect excuse to lay into him. Emmett was sick of screaming for her and listening to her laugh.

He was learning to hate her laugh. He was learning to hate her.

Truly, perfectly, deeply. 

A feeling that he had hated her his whole life, right down to his core.

She shouted at him when they reached the short, angled driveway, furious at how he had braked then parked. It continued into the house, a flurry of furious insults and fresh orders coming out of her mouth at light speed. Emmett stood by, taking in every order with a stiff nod, the dreadful realization that his chore list had doubled stuck fast in his throat.

She changed what she wanted for dinner twice, then demanded a cocktail. She pinched him hard on the arm when he wasn’t moving fast enough. She tossed all her audition papers onto the living room floor before storming off to a shower, demanding he clean it up before she returned. 

He left her drink, unfinished on the kitchen counter -- there was no point in letting it get watery while he waiting on her -- and rushed forward. He stripped his bed and grabbed her hamper to start the laundry. He pulled out the ingredients for Rhiannon’s new dinner request, then abandoned it for the papers scattered all over the carpet.

Rhiannon didn’t take her shower. She reappeared, hair tied up and bundled into sweatpants and a sweatshirt. The minutes in between had not sobered her, had not mollified her fury nor calmed her annoyance. If anything, she was worse.

“I thought I told you to have that picked up!” she shrieked, stalking towards him. Her eyes were narrowed to slits, as dark as he’d ever seen them. 

“I am, miss,” Emmett answered, tone strangled. “I’ll be done in a minute.”

“Be done now. I want my drink.”

“Yes miss.” He collected the last two pages, then went back to the kitchen. He deposited the stack on the table before returning to the shaker and bottles he’d started with. A lemon drop -- vodka, orange liquor, lemon juice, honey -- shaken to oblivion and poured into an antique cut glass. 

“Emmett! I’m waiting!” She called, dropping onto the living room sofa. “I don’t like waiting! You know that!”

The agitation consuming him all day long gripped him once more as he walked towards the living room. It seized him and transformed into wholesale malice. Acid sat on the back of his tongue, venom waiting to be spit into her face.

Not today, though.

He would not let her get him today.

He would not bite back today.

He held out the glass to her, mustering a strained somewhat-smile. She didn’t thank him, only sniffed and took a tentative sip. She didn’t find issue with the drink. Emmett figured he could be grateful for that. “Can I get you anything else?”

“Dinner. Please,” she snapped. “As soon as you possibly can.”

“Yes, miss.” Emmett began to turn, but her hand wrapped hard as steel around her wrist. It stopped him dead. He glanced back. “Miss?”

“What am I seeing, Em?” she asked archly. “Under the console?”

He turned over his shoulder to look where she had said, catching a sliver of white underneath the wooden shelving. The bitterness coated out his mouth, lacing his tone as he answered. “I’m sorry, miss. I’ll pick it--.”

He was greeted with a full face of vodka and lemon. It caught on his eyelashes, stung the inside of his nostrils, dripping down his neck and onto his shirt collar. He blinked the drink out of his eyes and stared at her. Trying to control himself, trying to stay in line. 

It was getting harder and harder.

She shoved the glass at him. “Make me another.”

“Yes miss.” He took the glass and turned to retrieve the missed page. 

In a second, he found himself face down on the carpet. Rhiannon had pushed him, shoving her foot into the small of his back and sending him clattering to the floor. The glass landed and rolled away from his fingers, unharmed. When he rolled over to push himself up, he found himself shoved back down onto the rug. She was kneeling next to him, curls falling out of her bun. It gave her the appearance of deranged princess beginning her mutation into the evil queen. 

“I told you-!”

Emmett couldn’t keep it back any longer. He was past his limit. He snarled up at her, the malice taking over. His hand slapped hard across her face twice, palm then knuckles, as hard that angle would let him. 

Rhiannon stared back at him, gobsmacked. Her mouth had dropped open, eyes wide as she realized what he had done. As Emmett realized with her. They were frozen, locked in a moment where the air buzzed and crackled. When the world moved again, she sprang for the glass, resting just over his right shoulder. She wielded it over his head, red glinting in her eyes.

The glass came down across his cheekbone.

“Bad.”

It came down a second time across his nose and mouth, splintering this time. Glass crackled and bent to dig into the flesh of his cheeks, catching in his lower lip and chin. 

“Boy.”

Emmett dug his fingers into the rug’s surface, willing them not to give into the hatred again.

[thewhumpstuff]

You and I, Me and You [8]

@badthingshappenbingo​ [Original characters and content for prompt - Backhand Slap] Special thanks to @simplygrimly​ and @lettuceknighted​ for all their help and it was a lot! I feel like a child learning to walk and you guys held my hand throught this ;) --------------

[Teaser and Master List] [Archives of our Own] (You and I, Me and you: Chapter 9)

[<– Previous] ~ [Next –>]

Below the belt.

“Should’ve given me a chance if you really wanted to know. But you know what they say, if at first you don’t succeed, try try again.”. Her voice echoed in the cell and in his head. Jared clenched his fists and narrowed his eyes as she seemingly, threatened his life. Her words were blatant too and hurtfully so. She twisted the words he used to encourage her playfully. Not that she had any way to act on her words. Does she really want me dead, then? He looked down at the implement in his hand. And he hated her for being right. He could not simply channel the spirit of someone like Scarlett… Brutally, and yet, systematically thrashing a victim with a cane, especially an incapacitated one like Akira. Especially against Akira herself. It was not something Jared could pull off, not unless he absolutely had to. And he hated being in that situation, he had been there too many times.

But there were other things he could do… Death would merely be an unlikely sequela. In the end, it was an inevitability any way. He recognized that some part of his brain, did not quite reject that outcome as vehemently as it should have. He let the thought come… and go. No, I won’t let her take anything from me anymore. Besides, I’m better. Jared snorted. “Yeah? You wanna have a go… Shira?” She looked at him resolute, neck slightly craned to accommodate for the collar. Her eyebrows shot up with a certain eagerness. Tempers were smouldering. “You really are that curious, eh?” He answered by shoving his hand into his pocket, he clicked something, and the collar expanded. “The chain needs a valve, but the lock opens with a button…” She muttered with a mild fascination, it had enough room for her to wriggle it off her head, but it was heavy enough to require some effort.

He kept his distance and chuckled at her observation. “Didn’t expect us to employ designed theatrics?” A part of her could not fathom why he still insisted on associating himself with SpecSyn. It was her turn to slow clap. She beamed with mocking exaggeration. “Congratulations, my Red Knight! You have successfully risen to the level of your enemy. Because, honestly. SpecSyn does play nastier don't they? Either way, aren’t you proud?” Her accusation was against him as much as it was against the organization she had sworn her loyalty to. So she just decided that SpecSyn was nastier? Is that why she decided to simply stop doing her job? She really had a knack for killing the small joys he was trying to derive. The ghost of his chuckle echoed in the room. His palms were itching now. He dug his nails into them as he opened and closed his fist, stretching his fingers. “Go on then, get the shard, Akira, I’d hate for this to be one-sided.” Back to Akira instead of Shira. The sharper ache she had once felt at the loss of endearment, was much duller now.

She was tired, she was hungry, she was addled, and she was pissed. So, she leapt off her feet and flung herself at him. That was just insulting and pathetic. He had enough time and warning. His free hand wound towards the opposite shoulder, then it swung towards her face, once she was close enough. Smack. The combined momentum was enough for the impact of his knuckles and fingers to knock her back. Her face swivelled. Everything blurred. She panicked briefly, but he did not follow up with anything… yet, and gave her a chance to compose herself. Was he going to draw this out? Was this some perverse lesson? She gasped and stumbled backwards, carefully avoiding the smaller pieces of glass still on the floor. She held her ground. The sting of the slap felt intense enough to leave a lingering sense of numbness. Her ear rang a little. Her tongue jutted out to catch the trickle of blood that snuck out of the corner of her mouth, her lip split a little. Slowly, she righted her head to glare at him again. He had successfully evoked the feral in her. Never, had he struck her like that before. So, it was truly over then. This was it. At least, that is what it felt like. Her breathing was uneven, so was his.

“You expected me to roll over and die for you, Shira?” A drawl was not a common tone for Jared, but it suited him fine now. She realised that he adopted Shira whenever he got his taste of a small victory. He is mocking me… by mocking us! Or… Despite her being the captive, the interrogee… Being at his mercy, maybe she still had some hold over the situation. A part of her revelled in that knowledge. She wished to savour it for as long as she could. The power struggle between them was palpable. Akira wasn’t sure about killing him before, but she sure as hell wanted to now. An animalistic war-cry tumbled out of her lips. She threw herself at him yet again, but this time, her leap was measured.

He really did not peg her for the sort to make the same mistake twice. But then, she was being bullishly bellicose. Was she still not thinking with her head? He decided to use the cane this time, swinging it over his head almost warningly as she got closer. She did not stop. So, he decided to follow through. But he should have trusted his hunch. She was thinking with her head alright.

She did not simply lunge at him, she had a plan. Akira stepped in, towards him. Her arm shot straight out, as a wedge between him and his outstretched limb. Hers was flattened against her ear and blocked the incoming strike before he got the full-swing’s worth. The stick slid against her; she rolled her arm over his, to lock his stick-wielding wrist. Before he had the chance to wriggle out of this, which he certainly could manage with sheer brute force, she jabbed her knee into his crotch, once… twice, reared up for thrice but couldn’t follow through as her hatred waned. He exhaled sharply, then grunted as he keeled forward. The other hand caught her knee, her hesitance gave him time. “Below the belt… really?” A raspy, strained voice called her out. She would have retorted that after the slap, this barely left them even. But she was more interested in shutting him up.

She rearranged her knee, pulling it closer to herself. Her joint whisked his blocking hand on the way to its target: his face. He pulled away enough to prevent a nose break and almost opened his mouth to let his teeth graze flesh, but he did not want to fight dirty, or worse… end up with his teeth knocked in. His lips split in two places too. All he had to do, was to wait for her to make a mistake, because he was certain she would. She manoeuvred him to the floor, with his arm still in her grip. She pivoted him, by twisting the arm cruelly, as he fell. She ensured that he landed on to the glass shards on the floor. The cane slipped out of his hand. “Here, have your god-damn shards.” She hissed pressing his face into the ground with her knee and holding his arm in a lock, her hip flush against his elbow.

The small cuts against his jaw and cheekbones spouted crimson. But there were other pressing matters to deal with. Literally. Something was pressing against a joint he was rather attached to. Her legs stretched over his throat and neck as she sat back, with his arm pulled across her. She kept her elbows tucked in and his wrist in a strong lock as she slowly bucked upwards, rolling her hip against his outstretched elbow. “Having fun?” His words were still laboured, but the implication in his voice almost made her head cloud again. Almost. Keeping her motion controlled so she could draw this out, took effort, so her own voice was worn too. “You betcha!” But to show him that she was serious, she notched upwards just a little faster and just a little higher. He drew a sharp breath; he choked out a sound and swore with anguish. “F-FUCK…” Akira could have sworn she heard something crack. She loosened her grip.

In fact, she had not heard a thing, because nothing was broken. He was still reeling from the explosive pain between his legs. But his arm was fine. He flexed his elbow, it was close the fork between her legs now. In a moment of flitting anger, Jared considered taking revenge for the crotch shots but thought better of it. He sharply tucked his arm towards himself. His wrist slipped out of her grip. The moment the hold was broken, the two of them snapped away from each other, and they got to their feet in a hurry. I will walk away a better man.

Barely though, he did just test her concern for him and was surprised to find it was still there. He was not happy about the tactic he used, especially because it worked. In the recesses of his mind, he wished she did not betray any evidence of feelings that she may or may not have for him. That uncertainty, complicated things, in intent and in action. Akira let out a hollow, giddy giggle, it cracked the words she used to call out his cheap tactic. “I thought I’d be able to tell if you were ever faking it.” He rolled his eyes and absently flicked his thumb over the cuts on his face, to assess the damage. Expectedly, the touch elicited a sharp sting across the wounds and viscous crimson painted his skin.

She stumbled backwards to keep her distance, till her back was flush against the wall. “I mean… You could never tell when I did.” Her words dripped with bitterness. Naturally, she was hurt that he had exploited the fact that she still cared, it came as a surprise to her too. Now that it had been used against her, that tendon of attachment broke like the arm had not. It made her want to hurt him again. Somehow.

He had never paid much mind to the lurking feelings of inadequacy when it came to her, of not being social enough, happy enough… experimental enough. She had never let him dwell on it too, not until she left for Q.B… and met someone else, or so it seemed. It was not the original source of his antagonism towards her. He did not wish ill upon her for moving on as the distance and circumstance made communication impossible. But, with the backdrop of friction and guilt, her words touched a nerve he did not know had been exposed all this time. Neither did she.

Jared was unexpectedly swift. He really should not have let her petty words drive him to lash out. And he realised as much, in the time it took for him to close the distance and throw a punch. She barely managed a guiding parry and a small side-step away from him. The air his motion perturbed, whisked against her side. His knuckles collided with the wall. His own aim had wavered enough for him to miss, just barely. Her side step assured it. He was glad he did, even though, this time something did break. He groaned, but his fist remained against the wall and his arm stood like a fence between them. Aki’s fear rose like bile. She swallowed. If that had connected, she would be… considerably hurt. Without giving her a chance to recover from the shock, or himself from the pain, he stepped in closer yet and folded his elbow. His forearm fell across her throat. His shoe fell across her bare feet. Panic. There was the mistake he had been expecting. She tried to claw her way away from the wall and he let her, just enough to slip his arm around her throat. That's it then, for real this time. He's going to kill me. She thought as the arm coiled around her like a snake, tightening to slowly choke the life out of her. She almost wished she had taken the chance to tell him everything. She felt just as breakable as his arm and just like she could not break a limb, he certainly couldn’t break her. He did pull his arm towards him and squeezed, carefully. Not to kill, just to neutralise. As he slowly felt the struggle melt out of her body, his rage followed suit and melted out of him. She slackened in his hold.

[Category 2] [Tags: @cashieeetime​ and @beckstriad​ (because you’ve already seen the process ;) )]

[whumblr]

Anticipation

The Whumpers’ Soirée - @the-whumpers-soiree - Continuation from Among friends

-

With a little help from the doorman, Whumper managed to carry his new prize off to his car and he fondly looked at the man sprawled over the backseat. But while he was sleeping peacefully now, he knew there was going to be hell as soon as the guy would wake up.

“Don’t suppose you got any handcuffs?” he muttered to the doorman, more lost in his own thoughts than actually expecting an answer.

But the doorman held up a finger, gesturing for him to wait, and disappeared inside. When he returned, he flipped the man over to lie onto his stomach and cuffed his hands behind his back.

Whumper quietly watched him work, somewhat impressed. This event really did come with all perks available. He would have to thank them, maybe send a donation, and was already looking forward to the next event.

“I hope I didn’t ruin any plans you had for your own evening?” He winked to the doorman and gave him a handsome tip.

“Oh, no, sir,” the doorman replied with a laugh. “Not everyone here wants to take their new friends home. We provide soundproof rooms for the night, with all kinds of items available.” He nodded to the handcuffs.

Whumper beamed. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

-

He casually let the man slide from his shoulder, letting gravity take over as he dropped him without a care onto the cold concrete floor of his basement.

It forced a soft grunt from the man and he stirred lightly. Good. That meant he wouldn’t have to wait long. He pulled up a chair, twirled it backwards and rested his arms over the back, keeping his captive in full view as he slowly woke up.

He watched as the man – Whumpee – glanced around, confused, getting to terms with his dark and bleak surroundings, with his circumstances when he meant to sit up but realized his hands were held back with cold metal.

His eyes narrowed as he noticed Whumper, silently watching him with a soft smirk on his face, and his body bristled with anger.

“You,” he snarled, pulling more forcefully at the cuffs. “What the hell is this?! What did you—!“

“You're the spoils of the hunt.” Whumper merely shrugged.

“I am not—“

“That blue bracelet marks you as prey,” Whumper simply cut over him and nodded at the glowstick rattling against the cuffs.

“You put it on me!”

Whumper’s face lit up with a malicious grin. He stood and slowly walked towards Whumpee, who now scooted back a little. “Because I recognised you for what you are,” he almost whispered.

By mistake, though, but what a mistake this was. He liked the fiery ones. Taking them down a notch. Was there a better challenge than taking down a predator? And this guy had just that mix of vulnerability and fire; walking around as if he was king of the rock, his red bracelet probably giving him more confidence and courage than he really had, which showed in his hesitance at the party. Like a predator used to hunt in a pack, now forced to go alone. And without his red marker, he was outed. He was nothing more than prey. Prey that now, slowly but surely, came to terms with the situation he found himself in; drawing back, tensing up, the fear so adamantly held back by the fury in his eyes.

“Come on,” Whumper drawled. “How did you even get that red bracelet, hm? It’s for VIPs only, didn't you know?” he taunted, knowing very well no whumpee could’ve ever have gotten their hands on one.

“I am a VIP! I was invited as a VIP!”

“Oh, my bad then.” Whumper’s grin couldn't get any wider.

He watched on in silent amusement as Whumpee struggled by himself, teeth grit and eyes still furious on him, to get a shoulder under him and push himself up. His fists clenched behind his back and with a bit of wiggling and some unflattering poses and grunts, he managed to get himself to sit on his knees.

“Look at you,” Whumper purred. “Look how you’re already getting on your knees for me without any prompting. VIP,” he scoffed, emphasising each letter distinctly and in disdain.

Whumpee bared his teeth but otherwise didn’t rise to the taunt and sat back on his heels.

“Tell me, then,” Whumper continued and he slowly paced back and forth in front of his captive, looking down on him. “What were you looking for at the party.”

But Whumpee turned his head and pointedly looked away.

“Relax, I’m not police,” Whumper said. “Just a fellow… hobbyist. You can tell me.”

And after a beat, the man relented and looked up. “I was just looking for someone to beat the shit out of.” Whumpee’s tone was one of defeat, almost like a scolded child. But something dangerous still lurked in his voice, probably hoping that his answer might scare his captor, and his eyes, fixed on Whumper’s, betrayed his intentions. Were he ever to get out of those handcuffs.

Whumper however shook his head at that and sighed. “That's...” he clicked his tongue and circled behind Whumpee. “That’s not... you were at that event just to find someone to beat up?”

“I guess you will do,” Whumpee continued almost in a growl.

But Whumper was not impressed, although secretly glad that he handcuffed the guy. He was sure he could wrestle him into submission, but fighting was such a hassle. While offering false hope was a nice thing, yanking that little bit of control back from those cuffed hands, in some cases he wanted to keep hold of all strings.

“You could’ve just plucked a random guy off the street.”

“So could you.”

“I’m looking for a little more… substance, if you know what I mean.” Probably not, given the simplistic nature of the man’s venture. “And not just everyone will do.”

“What is it you do, then?” Whumpee asked in his aggressive tone and as soon as the words left his mouth he realised what he asked and instantly regretted it.

Whumper allowed himself a soft smile. “I don’t mind showing you. I think by now, you can kinda get the picture.” He reached inside his pocket for his switchblade. And, as he expected, he saw the man’s shoulders tense, flinch ever so lightly as the click of the blade pierced the silence he left. “This is all about anticipation. Building up fear. Breaking down limits.”

Breaking pride. He stepped in front of Whumpee again, caressed the man’s cheek with the cold blade as he passed him and once again he flinched away from him. “It’s not about getting high on power for a minute as you beat someone into the ground. It’s all about the long run. Where you break more than just bones.”

He knelt down on one knee in front of his captive, teased the blade over his collarbone, and continued in a soft whisper:

“This. This is about control.”

He half expected the man to lunge forward to catch him off balance– hence him not crouching down – but he seemed to be frozen in place. His mask of anger slowly melting away.

“Tell your captive what you expect from them. Or better yet, teach them what to expect.”

“Which is?”

“Your undivided attention. Look, if I were to just strike you—“ and he suddenly lashed out with a brutal backhand. The sound echoed off the walls, almost drowning out the man’s grunt as the force of the blow sent him to the ground.

He snarled and spit, sputtered some blood from his lips, grunts of pain turning to growls of rage again.

“See, I’ve lost your attention and all it does is make you angry. You don't want angry. I don’t want angry. I want fear.” He grasped a handful of hair and pulled him up. “Fear makes people attentive, alert, ready for what's next.”

“Well, tough luck. All I got for you is anger.”

Whumper hummed at that and pulled the man closer. "And lies, apparently." He could clearly see the fear in those wide eyes, noticed how the man’s breath hitched as he inched closer, how he pulled at his grip to gain a more safe distance.

“Do you know what happens the next time you lie?” He almost purred, knife now sliding over the bloodied lips.

“I don’t care. Beat me, carve me up with that knife of yours, see if I care.”

“You should. You should care. And believe me...” he trailed off, walking back to his chair and rummaged about in the duffel bag he had dragged down with his favourite tools. His fingers slid over the whip but he left it alone, not wanting to break his prey so badly from the start. He wanted to draw this out a little. Not just to make a point. To have some more fun. Slowly building up so that when the man did break, it would be glorious. Instead, he pulled out a cattle prod and a cane.

“You will care.”

-

Continued here

Tagging: @dutifullykrispyland @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @forthetaintedsorrow-whump @soopytime @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @myst-in-the-mirror @whumpawink @painsandconfusion

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Whump prompt XXXI

“That’s a nice ring,” Whumpee said, eyes on the seal ring their captor was wearing.

The compliment was swiftly repayed.

A harsh backhand snapped their head to the side. The ring left a cut under their cheekbone.

“You could just say ‘mind your own business’,” Whumpee groaned.