Whumper and Whumpee went out for a night. Not necessarily as a date, just friends hanging out at the club. When they get home, they're both drunk and Whumper's horny. Whumper starts to perform orally on Whumpee.
Whumpee lets it happen at first because they've seen how aggressive Whumper can be when drunk, but when they then try to gently get them to stop, Whumper bites, just hard enough to scare and hurt. It's a warning not to struggle again.
the thing that's standing out the most here is the implication behind 'they've seen how aggressive whumper can be with drunk'
the implication that if they fight, they'll be hurt. they're aware whumper can get aggressive. maybe violent. they never thought it would be this, though. they were still okay going out together, hanging out. maybe they didn't think whumper would drink that much? maybe they thought that whumper would never turn that aggression on them.
until whumper was kneeling between their forced-open thighs, mouth on them, giving them pleasure that they don't want. and they can still get out of this. they can still make this stop, it doesn't have to- whumpee can just. gently ease their head away, get their legs closed, scoot away. until they feel teeth. teeth on the soft, vulnerable skin of their inner thigh, high up by the crease of their groin. it's startling and painful and it's a clear threat.
stop fighting. stay fucking put. this can get so much worse for you.
leaving whumpee laying on their back, staring at the ceiling, struggling to get breath in. their body is reacting, responding. they can't make it stop. there's no way to make this stop.
Here is the next part to Kai's story! I hope you guys enjoy! It is fairly long so 99% of it is under the cut!
Y/N hadn’t been left alone for a moment after that; not until the evening, when the raucous revelry began. Even though the cabin door had been shut, the sounds of music, dancing, and laughter were easy to hear.
Y/N sat propped up against the tank wall. She had blown her one chance to escape. Could things get any worse?
The noises of merrymaking became deafening as the cabin door creaked open. A man slipped inside, closing the door behind him.
Y/N found herself shrinking under the water, as though the surface tension would keep her safe. He made his way toward her in clumsy, drunken strides.
He knocked on the glass, which immediately served to give Y/N a headache. She popped her head above the water, and the scent of rum assaulted her nostrils. Her nose wrinkled as she scooted back to the farthest corner.
“Pretty thing,” the man slurred, “what’re you doin’ all alone in here?”
“N-nothing,” Y/N said.
“Hm. You’ve got nice fins,” he said, cracking a toothy grin, “and a pretty face.”
He took a swig of rum from a bottle in his jacket. Y/N wished her tank offered deeper water.
“Ah.” He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, “I know lots of stories about your kind. I hear that a kiss from a mermaid grants a man the breath of the ocean.”
He looked at Y/N expectantly.
“I don’t think that’s a true sto-”
“You know what that means, don’t ya, pretty fish? It means breathin’ underwater. Never drownin’. Imagine all the treasure you could find. And all the other mermaids you could meet.”
He leaned up against the glass.
“How about you do old Sychar a favor, hm? Just one little kiss, unless you be wanting more.”
“N-no, thank you,” Y/N said.
“I’m a good kisser, you’ll like it,” Sychar said, “come on-”
He leaned over the tank wall.
“I don’t want to,” Y/N said, shrinking once more.
It was only her head above the water now.
“Why not?”
He reached for her with both hands.
“Go away!”
She dove completely under the water. It only gave her a few inches of distance between them. She inadvertently splashed him in the face.
“Wench! Get back up here and give me what I’m owed!”
His hand reached under the water. Despite his intoxication, he was able to grab her wrist in a vice-like grip. Y/N cried out. He yanked upwards. She broke through the surface once more.
She screwed her eyes shut, going to scratch him with her nails. He caught her other wrist.
“Hold. Still. Wench!”
“Sychar!”
Y/N cracked an eye open as Sychar turned to face the captain. Kai’s hand was on the handle of his cutlass.
“Release Y/N. Now.”
“But Captain-”
“Now!” Kai barked.
Sychar made a dramatic sigh, letting Y/N go. She dove back under the water, for what good it would do her.
Kai approached Sychar, his jaw set and his eyes dark. He grabbed the man by the collar.
“Drinking,” Kai spat, “I’ve told you all. If you’re going to get drunk, make sure you know what you’re doing.”
“But I knew what I was doing, Captain,” Sychar continued to dig his grave, “I was getting a mermaid kiss-”
Kai’s hand came off of the cutlass, opting instead to punch the man in the face.
He blinked, blood dripping down his nose.
“Adriana!” Kai shouted.
Adriana came in, laughing from a joke someone made outside. Her expression fell when she saw Kai and Sychar.
“Aye, Captain?” she said.
“Prepare a rowboat,” he said, “we have some filth to jettison.”
“Captain?” Adriana asked.
Adriana’s cold eyes met Y/N’s wide, frightened ones. Her face hardened.
“Aye, Captain.”
Kai threw Sychar into a table. He went careening over it and tumbled to the floor. Adriana called for two crew members to help haul him out.
Kai knelt down in front of Y/N. His eyes softened just a little. He pointed upwards and stood. Y/N followed, her top half poking above the water.
“Did he hurt you?” he asked.
His voice was uncharacteristically gentle.
Y/N didn’t speak, but her eyes drifted down to her wrists, where bruises had started to form. Kai followed her gaze, then nodded.
“I’ll send for Silas,” he said, “he should have something to-”
“No!” Y/N said quickly, then shrank back.
Kai quirked a brow.
“I-I mean- it’s fine. I don’t need… Silas…”
Kai took a deep breath.
“Would you prefer to be alone or with company?” he asked.
“I-I don’t know,” Y/N said quietly, “I don’t know… I want to go home.”
“I can’t grant that request, but… come with me,” he said, “I am going to pick you up.”
Y/N stiffened as he lifted her out of the water. He set her down on a chaise lounge. He didn’t seem to care that the upholstery was now soaked.
He took some linens from a cupboard and began to dry her off. When her tail severed, he faced the other direction as he offered her the clothes from earlier in the day. Y/N looked at him quizzically.
“You needn’t be defenseless on this vessel,” Kai said, “your fins put you at quite the disadvantage, which I had failed to consider.”
At that, Y/N proceeded to get dressed. The trousers, the shirt, and the boots all went on. Y/N cleared her throat, and Kai turned around.
“Right,” he said, “come along, Y/N.”
…
Kai escorted Y/N onto the deck, keeping his arm linked around hers should she try to run. He approached Sychar, who seemed to have sobered up a bit.
“Captain, please-”
“Spare me your mewling,” Kai said coldly, “you’re lucky to be getting the rowboat. I would’ve simply thrown you overboard were it not for our code.”
The rest of the crew murmured.
“Captain,” Sychar begged, “may I be granted the mercy of a choice in punishment?”
Kai cursed quietly.
“You don’t deserve any quarter for your crimes,” Adriana snapped.
Kai held up a hand.
“Adriana, our code dictates that a choice must be offered if requested. And I have just the choice.”
Kai unsheathed his cutlass, and Sychar paled.
“Captain?” his voice cracked.
“Either you may be deserted in the rowboat, or you will be thrown in the brig until we reach port. If you choose the latter, there is one condition.”
The sword’s point drifted down to Sychar’s breeches.
“The problem must be removed at the root,” Kai said.
“Captain! That’s not a fair choice!” Sychar argued.
“And what would you have me do, Sychar?” Kai demanded, “let you leave to bring some other innocent maiden to harm? Even pirates have standards. The choice is before you, now choose before you force my hand.”
…
The rowboat was lowered with Sychar in it. A pistol with one shot lay in the floor. The tiny vessel hit the water with a splash. Sychar looked up with pleading eyes. Y/N looked away, and Kai held her closer.
He turned to the crew on deck.
“Let this be a reminder to us all what happens when wicked advantages are taken aboard my ship. Back to business, all of you!”
Kai escorted Y/N back to the cabin while the ship’s inhabitants slowly returned to their evening activities. Eventually, the merrymaking started back up. He closed the door behind him and set Y/N on the bed.
“I had Silas bring some supplies, but he won’t be touching you,” Kai said, opening a med kit.
He took one of her wrists and rubbed an ointment into it, then wrapped it in coarse bandages. He did the same to the other.
“Should anything of this nature happen again, I want to know,” Kai said, “do you understand?”
Y/N stared at Kai. He gripped her chin, though not roughly.
“Do you understand?” Kai asked again.
She nodded.
“Good… I will see to it that you have the appropriate living arrangements in here.”
Kai stood to leave, and Y/N found herself gripping his sleeve like a lifeline.
“Wait!” she said.
Kai looked as surprised as she was.
“Please, don’t leave me. Not yet.” She said, “I don’t want to be alone.”
“I have duties to attend to, little fish,” Kai said, apology tinging his tone, “but I will send for Adriana.”
Kai looked at her a bit longer, then sighed.
“Very well,” he said, “but only this once.”
The captain stayed with her the rest of the night, long after Calypso’s Wrath had sailed past Sychar’s condemned rowboat and into the dark expanse of its course.
CWs: beating, drunk whumper, pet whump, noncon touch, creepy whumper
The basement is chilly as usual, but for once, Lynx isn’t cold. They’re curled up in their pet bed, bundled in their new red blanket. Their food and water bowls are full, and they haven’t seen Kennedy in hours. He went out to have Christmas dinner with some friends, which means Lynx won’t see him until tomorrow morning. The promise of solitude is an even better gift than the blanket—although they’re not complaining about either.
Lynx has never celebrated Christmas before. At their last owner’s house, they stayed chained to the hot radiator in the living room, watching Christmas movies on TV while the humans did their little rituals. Everyone in those movies, even the meanest, shittiest people, seemed to be nicer on Christmas. Lynx never really believed that a specific day of the year could make someone nicer; that was just made up for TV. But they’re not sure how else to explain Kennedy’s attitude today. He fed them three meals, didn’t dig his fingers into the sores on their arms, didn’t even snap at them. He treated them more like a regular pet than a punching bag.
Of course, they’re not getting their hopes up. He’ll be back to normal tomorrow. Maybe he’ll even take away their blanket and bed again and leave them freezing in the corner of the basement. But tonight, they don’t have any new wounds, and they drift off to sleep warm and content.
-
The basement door slams open, and Lynx jolts awake. Their heart pounds to the sound of footsteps beating down the stairs. They’re upright before they can even think about it, pushing off the blanket as they scramble out of bed. The lights flicker on, searing their eyes. “Get over here, mutt,” Kennedy snaps.
They stagger to their feet, still squinting. Suddenly Kennedy’s fingers hook through their collar, yanking them off their feet. “I’m not in the fucking mood,” he hisses. His breath reeks of alcohol. Lynx cringes away. “Get on your knees.”
He drops them, and they let their knees hit the floor, tensing their stomach instinctively. Sure enough, his foot drives into their gut and sends them sprawling backwards. The next kick catches them in the ribs, and they curl up to protect themself as the blows rain down. “Son of a bitch,” Kennedy seethes. “That fucking asshole—” The next kick hits Lynx in the stomach, forcing the air from their lungs.
The kicks let up sooner than expected. Lynx takes the opportunity to catch their breath. They remain curled on the ground, arms wrapped around their torso, bracing themself for more.
Kennedy’s catching his breath, too, panting hard. “Ah, shit.” He kneels down, his hand sliding into Lynx’s hair. They flinch, expecting to be yanked upright. Instead, his fingers scratch against their scalp. He sighs, and they hesitantly peek up at him. “Those guys piss me off sometimes,” he mutters. “You didn’t do anything. You’re a good pet, Spike.”
They raise their eyebrows, but stay quiet. He’s drunk, they think to themself. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. Their skin crawls as he pets them, but as long as he’s giving them a break, they don’t want to set him off again. Lynx stays put, resting their head on the carpet.
“You’ve been so good today,” Kennedy mumbles, continuing to pet their hair. “I shouldn’t have kicked you, since it’s Christmas and all. I was just a little mad after hanging out with the guys, that’s all …” They stiffen as he drags their head into his lap. They try to squirm away, but his grip tightens, pulling at their hair. He doesn’t seem mad about it, though, so they reluctantly stay still. “I promised myself I wouldn’t hit you today,” he continues. “I was giving you a break, as long as you didn’t act like a little bastard, and you’re being so good …”
He cups their face, his thumb stroking their jaw, and a shudder runs down their spine. They’re just about to pull away when a shaft of light catches their eye. Hesitantly, they follow it up the wall, all the way to the top of the stairs. The door is open. Kennedy, in his drunken stupor, left the basement door open.
Lynx’s heart flutters. They take a deep breath and brace themself against nausea before nuzzling into Kennedy’s leg. “Aww,” he coos, laughing. “Are you tired? Is that why you’re being so cute?”
“Yeah,” they grumble, “you woke me up.” They have to be careful. Too much attitude, and he’ll get pissed off. Not enough, and he’ll sense that something’s up. They have to keep him distracted.
“Oh, you poor thing.” He sounds mocking, but only a little. His fingers stroke skin-crawlingly through their hair, catching on knots. “Want me to rock you back to sleep?”
“Fuck off.” Lynx slowly pushes themself upright, pressing their cheek into his shirt. It makes them feel sick, drowning in the scent of his cologne, the warmth of his body. They’d rather freeze to death than fall asleep on him. They swallow down bile as they rest their head on his chest, faking a yawn. Now, they’re in a better position, leaning sideways to rest against Kennedy’s chest.
He chuckles, hands sliding up to support their back. They halfway suppress a shudder, but Kennedy’s used to that—enjoys it, even. “I’ll never understand why you don’t just let yourself be a lapdog,” he murmurs, breath ghosting against their hair, palms sliding down their waist. “You’ve got the looks for it, when you’re not acting like a little asshole …” His pinky brushes the bare skin beneath their shirt.
Lynx’s stomach riots, and their patience evaporates all at once. They shove Kennedy as hard as they can. He tumbles backwards, and they just barely glimpse the slow, shocked expression on his face before they slam the heel of their hand into his nose. He grunts in pain, and they scramble over him, slipping away from his blindly-grabbing hands as they sprint for the stairs.
They take the steps two at a time, using the handrail to haul themself up. They hear Kennedy growl behind them, maybe at the foot of the stairs already, but they don’t look back. Their feet pass the threshold, and then they grab the door and slam it, fumbling with the deadbolt. Not a second later, Kennedy’s weight slams into it. “Spike!” he shouts. His fist pounds incessantly against the wood, jolting Lynx’s body with each strike. “You fucking bastard, open up!”
The doorknob rattles. Lynx backs away and watches it cautiously. It doesn’t budge. Their heart pounds as they fumble with the chain at the top of the door. The motions are unfamiliar, clumsy; they’ve never locked a door before. They’ve fought and spat at people all their life, but they’ve never done something this brazenly stupid before. They watch the door with amazement, and for all its trembling and shuddering with the force of Kennedy’s struggles, it holds true. He’s locked in.
“Spike!” The pounding continues as Lynx brings themself to attention. They’re out. They need to … they need to … fuck, what should they even do? “Spike, I swear to fucking god, if you don’t let me out right this second, I’m putting you down!” Lynx unbuckles their collar and tosses it on the ground with a satisfying thud. They’re so glad Kennedy never bothered with the padlocked one he always threatened them with. “I’m serious! First thing tomorrow, you’re going to the vet and I’m making them euth—euthan—” Kennedy’s threats become background noise. They consider their thin sweatpants and tank top, and then glance down the hall. “I’m going to kill you!”
Kennedy’s voice recedes as they make their way to the foyer and glance out the window. There’s snow on the ground; of course, it’s Christmas, it’s probably freezing as fuck out there—not that they’ve been outside recently. They have to do some scavenging. Quickly.
The screaming from the basement keeps Lynx on task as they root through Kennedy’s closet. His clothes are too big for them; they have to roll up the sleeves and pant legs, and cinch the belt tight. What the hell do humans wear out in the cold? Hat, gloves? Lynx isn’t used to it. They grab everything they can put on. They find Kennedy’s wallet in his coat pocket and strip it for cash; they’re not making that mistake again. Kennedy’s stench is thick on the scarf as Lynx wraps it around their neck, pulling it up to their face.
“Spike!” The door almost sounds like it’s splintering now. “Let me out, you stupid, evil little son of a—”
A frigid wind blows into the house as Lynx opens the front door. Just for a moment, they stand at the threshold. The cold, dry air stings their nose as they drag it into their lungs. They step out onto the porch. The fresh snow on the railings sparkles under harsh floodlights and gentler, decorative string lights. Lynx has never noticed the snow before. It’s pretty.
They shut the door behind them, and Kennedy’s protests go silent.
-
Box Bastards tag list: @spectral-whumpy-writer @transgender-scout
TW: truth serum, dubcon touching (not really sexual), intimate whumper
Tag list: @whatwasmyprevioususername @milk-carton-whump @whumpasaurus101 @whatwhumpcomments @mnmlover2002 @ashintheairlikesnow
-
Charlie’s heart was racing. Truth serum? I’m fucked.
His arms ached as he held himself up. He held his breath, anticipating another question.
“So, your friend. What’s his name?” Mallory asked.
“Rex Quinn,” Charlie spoke without hesitation.
Fuck.
Mallory’s smug look made Charlie clench his jaw. If he had the strength, he’d punch him right in the nose. But his arms were tired; he was forced to lie back down.
“Do you know what he’s up to?”
“I have no idea,” Charlie said.
“Does your team know?”
“They didn’t know where he was when I asked them.”
Mallory seemed disappointed. He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed.
“Well, at least I know his name now. All thanks to you,” he said, patting Charlie on the shoulder.
“Why do you even want his name? What’s that going to give you?” Charlie asked.
“A name can go a long way,” Mallory replied, “There’s a lot of ways to find things out with only a name.”
Charlie rubbed his eyebrows, trying to find some relief from the sharp pain radiating throughout his head.
“Maybe if you would have told me earlier, you wouldn’t be in so much pain,” Mallory teased.
“Maybe if you weren’t such an asshole,” Charlie muttered.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
Charlie shot a glare at him. He knew he shouldn’t push his luck with the state he was in, but he figured Mallory was far too drunk to do any real damage. Luckily, he didn’t do anything to retaliate, like he had hoped.
“So, have you thought about Crow?” Mallory asked.
“Yes,” Charlie said.
He hoped he wouldn’t bring it up, but he wasn’t surprised that he did.
“Yeah? And how do you feel about him?”
“I’ve always thought he was good looking,” Charlie answered. He felt his cheeks become hot.
“Aw, look at you. You’re embarrassed,” Mallory teased.
Charlie turned his head away. He hated blushing, and it happened far too easily. Mallory started laughing, and Charlie covered his face with his hands.
“I need to know,” Mallory said, “Did he show any signs? Any at all? Or was this really a complete surprise?”
“No. I mean, I’ve playfully flirted with him, because it made him uncomfortable. Looking back, it’s probably because he was actually into it. God, I’m so stupid,” Charlie said.
As much as he didn’t want to talk about it, especially with Mallory, it kind of felt good to get off his chest.
Mallory stared blankly for a second before bursting out laughing. He laughed hard enough that he fell over onto his back. It even made Charlie laugh a little. Finally, after a minute or so, Mallory calmed down. He stayed lying down, but rolled over to look at Charlie. He wiped the tears from his eyes that had formed from laughing so hard. Charlie was having a hard time believing this was the same man who just beat him unconscious earlier.
“I’ve had few crushes in my life,” Mallory spoke.
“Yeah?” Charlie said.
“I don’t really care about the whole ‘love’ thing, you know? I’ve got more important things to worry about right now,” Mallory said.
“Have you ever loved anyone? Is that even possible?” Charlie asked.
He wasn’t sure why. He didn’t really care. Maybe it was because he was enjoying having an actual conversation for the first time in awhile. While he’d rather it be with anyone else, this was the closest he had gotten to actual communication.
“Once upon a time, yes. It’s been a long time. I’m more interested in sex than an actual relationship, I suppose,” Mallory replied.
“Jesus,” Charlie said.
“What? It’s true.”
It was Charlie’s turn to laugh. He started cracking up, which made Mallory laugh.
“You’re so stupid,” he jested.
“You’re stupid,” Charlie poked back.
It was a strange feeling. It was like bantering with an old friend, and Charlie wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Mallory was a completely different person while drunk.
“You’re a lot more pleasant to be around when you don’t have a stick up your ass,” he said, “maybe you should drink more.”
Great, the truth serum made him speak his mind, too.
“I’m usually pleasant. Just not to people who mess with my plans,” Mallory said.
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Charlie said.
“You’ll see it if you start cooperating with me. I do these things to you because you leave me no other choice.”
“Maybe if you weren’t such a prick, I would cooperate.”
“I guess we’re at an impasse.”
“Guess we are.”
They lied there in silence for a few moments. Charlie relished in the calm. He hoped Mallory would remember this conversation when he sobered up.
“So you like guys,” Mallory said.
Charlie laughed at the sudden statement.
“I mean, yeah. Thought that was obvious.”
“When did you realize?” Mallory asked.
“13 or 14. I thought I was bi for a long time, but then I finally realized I was gay.”
“I didn’t realize I was until I was 20 or so,” Mallory said.
“You’re gay?”
“Surprised?”
“I never really cared to think about it,” Charlie said.
They looked at each other for a second, but Mallory looked away and sighed. Charlie looked at the ceiling again and folded his hands together over his chest. His headache eased slightly, and he was grateful. He looked back at Mallory, taking notice to the scratches on his wrists and hands from earlier. They were deep, red, and plentiful. He began to feel guilty, even knowing that he deserved it.
Mallory noticed him looking and raised his hands to look for himself.
“Stings,” he said.
“Looks like it,” Charlie replied.
He didn’t place his hands back down. Instead, he slowly reached out and gently grabbed Charlie’s chin. He pulled his lip down with his thumb to look at his missing tooth.
“Bet that hurt.”
“It did.”
Mallory didn’t pull his hand away. Instead, he slowly moved it to Charlie’s cheek, thumbing over the bruise on the side of his face. Charlie closed his eyes, the gentle touch offering a small bit of comfort. Even if it was from the one who caused the pain in the first place. He noticed himself lean into the touch, but he was too exhausted to care.
“You’re kind of cute,” Mallory said softly, “it’s really a shame that I have to hurt you.”
“Don’t call me cute,” Charlie mumbled.
“You’re supposed to say ‘thank you’ when someone compliments you.”
Charlie sighed through his nose and kept his eyes closed. Mallory traced his fingers gently around Charlie’s face, grazing his thumb across his lips. Charlie turned his face away and buried it into the blanket. It startled him slightly - and he began to blush again.
“What?” Mallory whispered.
“Don’t do that,” Charlie murmured, muffled by the blanket.
Mallory reached for his chin and pulled his head up to face him again.
“Why not?”
“I-I like it,” Charlie answered, face on fire.
He wanted to curl into a ball and hide. He felt uneasy. Why do I like it? And when will this fucking truth serum wear off?
He hid his face again as Mallory laughed. He pulled his hands up to keep the blanket tightly against his face. Mallory sat up and ruffled his hair.
“Get some sleep,” he said.
He stood and started toward the door. Charlie didn’t move the blanket from his face until he heard the door click shut. He was embarrassed and confused. Hot tears formed and fell down his face, and he whimpered as he hugged the blanket tightly.
The whimpers turned into sobs, causing his headache to return to full force. He rubbed his face as he cried, clenching his jaw shut to hold back sobs. He hated that he felt the way he did, and he hated that he couldn’t stop himself from saying it aloud.
The bottle shattered against the wall beside Jadia’s head and Alexandra grinned as the princess flinched. That shut her up. Alexandra thought smugly. She wondered if she’d had a little too much. She’d missed actually hitting Jadia, but only because she was too tipsy to aim properly.
Alexandra approached Jadia, stumbling more than she’d like to admit, and leaned a hand on the wall. Jadia shrunk away from her, fear in her eyes. Good.
“Do you think I wanted you, darling?” Alexandra wondered if her words were slurring. It didn’t matter. “I keep you to fulfill a promise, nothing more.”
