pet whump with a pet whumpee who has Stockholm syndrome? (if you wanna tag me, my whump blog is bone-hurting-juice :D)
Here you go @bone-hurting-juice 🥰 It may not technically be Stockholm (maybe more just broken?) but I liked where this went so I’ll post it anyways.
TW: gun/gunshot, implied death
(He/him for Whumper & Whumpee, she/her for Caretaker)
It had taken forever, but she had found him.
And then she promptly got caught.
So close and so far, now Caretaker was locked in some room, bound and immobilized. It was humiliating, and she couldn’t even fathom what Whumpee felt like, living in this god forsaken house.
A knock at the door. Caretaker tenses.
In walks Whumper, and she glares and almost growls in anger. But then she sees Whumpee, not far behind.
“Whumpee! Whumpee, it’s me!”
He doesn’t look up, eyes fixed to the floor. Caretaker frowns and wonders what was wrong. Was she mistaken? Was it really him?
Whumper seemed amused. “Before I kill you,” he starts, leaving the sentence open on purpose, dragging it out, “I just wanted to show you some dog tricks.”
He turns to face Whumpee, and snaps once. Whumpee immediately gets on all fours, crawling up close to his masters legs, ready for an order. Caretaker can only watch the show, horrified.
“Sit.”
Whumpee plants his butt down and looks up expectantly.
“Speak.”
“Yes, Sir,” was the immediate response. Caretaker’s eyes bloomed with tears at hearing his voice. He sounded... compliant, and it was the worst. She had been too late, she had left him alone in this house with a monster, and the monster had ruined him, had broken him.
“Tell me you love me.”
Whumpee didn’t hesitate for one second. “I love you, Sir.”
Caretaker could feel tears down her cheeks, holding back a sob. This isn’t what she came here for, to watch her friend be played with like a dog. She came to save him, and instead Whumper is forcing her to watch just how un-saveable he is. It broke her heart, and she knew that’s what Whumper wanted.
“Should we...” Whumper starts, putting his hand in his pocket, “teach your friend how to play dead?”
Caretaker’s heart froze, her mind reeling. She couldn’t tell where this was going. Or, maybe she did, but she didn’t want to believe it.
“Wait—”
“I wasn’t talking to you,” Whumper called over his shoulder, still facing his pet.
“Now,” he said softly, squatting down to meet his pet’s eyes at even level, “do you think you can teach her that?”
Whumpee nods, ready to follow orders. Caretaker shakes her head and blinks away tears, trying to squirm out of the ropes that bound her.
Taking his hand out of his pocket, Whumper motions for Whumpee to stand and put his hand out, which he does. He places a gun in his pet’s hand, and wraps his fingers around the trigger.
Aiming at Caretaker, but not really seeing her for who she was, Whumpee doesn’t doubt his actions. His master told him to, so of course he would listen.
“Play dead,” Whumpee says softly, and pulls the trigger.
