Who Needs Plot For Whump, When Sometimes It's All About The ✨aesthetics✨ Of A Bloodied And Bruised

a quickie sequel to this

WHUMP PROMPT - #3

Things that a whumper may like about a gagged whumpee.

The utter helplessness of it. Having taken away both their physical mobility with restraints and now the only "weapon" they had left. No more retorts. No more cursing. No more refusing. Reduced to no more than a wriggling, moaning, thing. Of which the whumper has complete control.

Perhaps they like the sounds. The ragged, quickened breath through the nose. The muffled humming of each would-be-word they uselessly try to push out.

Perhaps they find it all humorous. Perhaps they like the embaressment it affords their victim. Perhaps they just like the look in their whumpee's eyes, the helpless glaring as their lips are so beautifully sealed behind a length of tape, or cloth.

Bad Dream

Warnings: kidnapping, torture, restraint, drugging, creepy/intimate whumper, hurt/aftermath

Whumpee woke slowly, their face aching from where Whumper had struck them. Their heart started racing. They tugged uselessly at the bindings. Hot tears leaked down their cheeks. 

“My Whumpee! You’re awake. Excellent.” Whumper’s footsteps stopped short of the edge of Whumpee’s bed. Whumpee could hear them, but not see them. “I’m thinking of trying something fun today!” Whumpee felt the bed shift. “It’ll be fun for all three of us.” Whumper remained out of sight. 

“Fun? How is this fun? I’m tied down. And not in the fun kind of way. Drugged, bound, and with you.”

“Come on, Whumpee, you like me.” There was an edge to Whumper’s voice.

“You’re right. I’m sorry, Whumper.” Whumpee swallowed and closed their eyes. 

“Keep your eyes open. You’re going to do as you’re told, Whumpee. From now on. And I won’t turn my attention to Teammate. You are mine. Mine. Do you hear me?”

“I’m not fucking yours.” The words tumbled out of Whumpee’s mouth before they could stop themselves. Before they could help and save themselves.

Whumper was in front of them again, slapping their face. “You are mine. And you will say that. Each time. Or I will do what I want with Teammate, and you will not like that. Are we clear, Whumpee?”

“Fuck you,” Whumpee spat in Whumper’s face. 

Dark eyes frowned down at Whumpee. “I did try to warn you. I know you aren’t stupid. Such fighting spirit. But you will come around, my Whumpee. And you will be mine. Always and forever.” Whumper lifted Whumpee roughly. Whumpee fought against Whumper weakly, the drugs still in their system. Whumper flipped Whumpee over so they could face the bound, gagged, and unconscious Teammate. 

“Now you have to watch me give Teammate the attention that I would have given you if you’d just complied.”

“No, no, no, wait. Wait! Whumper, wait!. I’ll be yours. Wait. Yours, right, that’s what you want to hear?” Whumpee desperately tried to get Whumper’s attention. 

“No, my Whumpee, that’s not how this works. I know you are trying to trick me,” Whumper wagged a long finger in Whumpee’s face. “You have to be punished for your disobedience. One day you’ll learn. And we have all the time in the world.” Whumper turned their loving gaze back to Teammate. “You know, teamwork makes the dream work.” Dark eyes glinted up at Whumpee. 

Whumpee jolted awake. It was dim in the room, the light coming from just beyond the door. Their nightmares had been getting progressively worse. The memories of what had happened infiltrating even moment of their waking and nonwaking hours. 

Caretaker walked in quietly. “Whumpee, you’re awake. Are you hungry?”

“No, thank you Caretaker. How long was I out for?”

“About six hours. You needed it, Whumpee. You’ve been fighting sleep for weeks.”

“Can’t sleep. Whumper’s there. Every time I close my eyes. It’s Whumper.”

Caretaker sat down on the edge of the bed. They held open their arms for Whumpee. “I’m here, Whumpee. And Whumper’s not. You’re safe.”

Whumpee bridged the gap between them, clutching at Caretaker’s shirt. Their tears were already flowing. They knew that. But it didn’t change the memories. It didn’t change that they relived every moment with Whumper every time they close their eyes. 

16th hour — #2 Marked

Masterlist/ Previous

CW: themes of captivity, violence, sexual assault(not detailed) , and dehumanization.

Samuel's consciousness flickered like a sputtering candle as he awoke in the dim, grim confines of the transport truck. His limbs felt leaden, the remnants of the sedative dulling his senses. The air was thick with a pungent mix of sweat and despair.

He wasn't alone. As his vision cleared, he saw others huddled in the cramped space, their faces reflecting the same horror and helplessness that he felt.

A stifled sob drew Samuel's attention to a girl about his age, her shoulders shaking with each breath. Her eyes were red and swollen, tears carving tracks down her grimy freckled cheeks. Across from her, a boy thrashed against his cuffs, his voice a raw scream of defiance and fury.

"Fuck this! Let me out, you bastards! You can't do this to us! We're people, not animals!" His words bounced off the metal walls, unanswered.

"You fucking bastards! Let me out! Let me out!" His shoulders pounded against the walls of the truck, the sound echoing in the confined space. "I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you all!"

In the opposite corner, another boy had a girl pinned against the side of the truck, his intentions horrifyingly clear. Her terrified whimpers and pleas for mercy filled the air. He wanted to move, to stop the atrocity, but his limbs felt like lead, the sedative still dulling his reflexes.

"N-No, please... don't..." she begged, her voice breaking.

The boy's eyes were wild, filled with a mix of panic and desire. "Shut up! We're nothing now anyways. Might as well enjoy myself for the last time."

Samuel's stomach churned with a mix of fear and revulsion. He forced himself to move, his voice a raspy whisper. "Don't."

The boy turned his head towards Samuel, his eyes narrowing in anger. "Stay out of this pretty boy."

The girl looked desperately at Samuel, tears going down her eyes. Desperation fueled his movements. He stumbled forward, his body protesting every step. He threw himself at the big-bodied boy, their bodies colliding in a tangle of limbs. They hit the floor hard, the impact jarring Samuel's already aching side.

The boy looked like he was about to punch Samuel if only his hands weren't cuffed behind him. The attacker snarled, his hands closing around Samuel's throat. "You should have stayed out of it, hero." His grip tightened, cutting off Samuel's air. Spots danced in his vision as he struggled, his hands clawing at the man's wrists.

Just when the other boy could take any other action, the truck lurched to a stop, throwing everyone off balance.

The doors swung open, blinding light flooding the space. Uniformed men began pulling the captives out one by one, their expressions devoid of compassion. The girl that was about to almost get raped by the boy mouthed a thank you though it seemed broken.

The outside world was a stark contrast to the darkness of the truck. They were in a large, enclosed compound, the high fences topped with barbed wire. The air was thick with the cries and shouts of other captives, a symphony of suffering.

He was lined up with the others, their fates hanging by a fragile thread. The compound was a cacophony of fear and confusion. Captives of all ages and backgrounds milled about, their expressions a mix of shock, anger, and hopelessness. The sobs of "I don't deserve to be here." and lifeless voices of "Why am I here...?"had filled the room.

A stern-looking man in a uniform walked down the line, his cold eyes assessing each captive with dispassionate precision. He was flanked by guards, their expressions as hard and unforgiving as the concrete beneath their feet.

"Why are you doing this to us?!!" A guy demanded, her voice shaking from anger and fear. "YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO US!!"

Somehow seeing this rose up the voices of other people, as they tried pushing and breaking the cuffs behind them. The middle-aged man simply hummed, before swishing his hand to a guard.

The uniformed man smiled looking over at the clipboard in his hand, but the smile was a cruel, empty expression. "You're 'L,'" he said, his tone filled with proffesionality.

Before he could respond, a guard stepped forward, a branding iron in his hand, its tip glowing red-hot. The boy screamed as the iron seared his flesh, the stench of burning skin filling the air. His cries echoed through the compound, a harrowing reminder of their new reality. The guy buckled to his knees with small sobs, unable to hold his weight any longer as some officers dragged him away. The branding had left a cruel "L" on his shoulder, marking him less than human.

The other captives recoiled in horror, the entire place filling with uncomfortable silence. Some were weeping openly, others staring in stunned silence. Samuel's heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. He knew his turn was coming, and the thought of that searing pain made his stomach churn with dread.

After a few torturing hours, his legs were basically throbbing with pain from standing for too long. The line had been going on, with the man marking with certain people as "L", "B" or "S", which was followed with agonizing screaming and crying that managed to send a flinch down Samuel's spine every time. He tried thinking about what they could've meant but every time he was interrupted by either shouting or the cracking of a taser when people became too violent.

"Step forward," the guard commanded, his eyes locking onto Samuel.

Samuel's legs felt like they were filled with lead, but he forced himself to move. He stumbled forward, his entire body trembling. The guard with the branding iron stepped up, the heat radiating from the iron making Samuel's skin prickle. The stout man looked at Samuel, and was just about to say something before Samuel cut him off.

"Can I ask something?" He blubbered out before he mentally slapped himself for thinking without speaking. The man only raised his eyebrow in question and signed his hand in a way as if to say 'go on.'

"I-Its just.. I-I thought the ones who were classified as livestock w-were the ones who were from lower class.." Samuel couldn't help but think how egoistic he must've sounded but right now that was the least of his worries.

"Samuel. Samuel Dawson. Son of Edward Dawson and Juli Wood. Mother passed away on your birth so your Father married Camila Fletcher. Your mother was classified as livestock." Samuel basically froze, his mind struggling to process what the man just said. He had been livestock by birth..?

The man simply smiled at Samuel, continuing with his now torturing claims. "Spotted many a time taking pity on livestock. Having arguments about livestock having rights. Secret letters to the government as well to consider dropping down the livestock system. My, my Mr. Dawson. And you ask why you're livestock."

The man laughed, though Samuel didn't think it was funny. "We cannot have anyone disrupting our system. It is the way it is and it will be as so in the future as well."

Before he could react, the man nodded and the guard pressed the branding iron against Samuel's shoulder. The pain was instantaneous and excruciating, a fiery agony that made him scream until his voice was raw. His vision blurred with tears, the world narrowing to the searing torment and the smell of his own burning flesh.

When the iron was pulled away, Samuel collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath. He was dimly aware of the others being branded, their screams mingling with his own. The agony in his shoulder was overwhelming, a constant, burning reminder of his new status. He looked at his shoulder, and the disgusting sight of broken flesh and blood among a red covered "L" made him want to puke.

Just when he thought it was over, the man in the uniform frowned, looking at the mark on Samuel's shoulder. He gestured to another guard, who approached with a different branding iron, this one marked with an "S".

"No no nononno!!" Samuel tried backing away. What the fuck was going on?! He already got branded! Fuck he can't do this again!!

"There's been a mistake," the man said, his voice devoid of any hint of apology or compassion. "You're not an 'L.' You're a 'S'."

Samuel barely had time to comprehend the words before the second branding iron was heated. Unlike the first guard, this one moved more methodically, examining Samuel's shoulder for a spot not marred by the initial brand.

Before Samuel could react, the second branding iron pressed against a fresh part of his shoulder, the tip glowing with the same cruel heat. The second iron seared into his flesh with a new level of agony, the pain even more unbearable as the two brands burned into his skin. He screamed again, the sound raw and primal, tears streaming down his face as he felt his consciousness waver.

Samuel's vision swam with spots, the pain overwhelming his senses. When the iron was finally removed, he collapsed completely, his body unable to take any more. His mind drifted in and out of consciousness, snippets of conversation filtering through the haze of pain.

"Get him to the holding for 'S' class." He heard someone say, but he couldn't see who it was. The words were getting more distant or was it the people who were? There was a strange ringing in his ears and he could feel something cold dripping down his arm. He tried to lift his head, to see who was speaking, but his body felt heavy and unresponsive.

The coldness spread through his veins, numbing the agony, but leaving him disoriented and weak.

Samuel's breath came in shallow gasps, his chest rising and falling with effort. His eyelids grew heavy, the world tilting dangerously around him. The voices of the guards and the other captives melted into a distant murmur, fading into the background like an elusive dream.

And then, with a final, desperate attempt to stay conscious, Samuel succumbed to the overwhelming exhaustion and pain. His body slumped forward, darkness swallowing him whole.

He had always been scared of the dark but this time he felt comfort in it. As if it was keeping it away from the troubles that seemed to keep mounting up on him.

Taglist: @anutz1234 @ash-reh @whumped-by-glitter @catnykit @morning-star-whump

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@nuriiz134 @fox-fox234 @carosbee @writingphoenix @carolinethedragon

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@demetercabingreen-thumb @noeul-whumpppssssss1234(let me know if you want to be added or removed <3)

Reblogs are appreciated :)

When the whumper ties the whumpee’s hands high above their head so they are all stretched out. And then the whumper can invade their personal space with no obstacles. When the whumper strokes the whumpee’s chin and they can barely move away because they are stuck, so they just grit their teeth and look away. It’s just great.

He didn't do anything :c

How do we feel about caretaker having to take whumpee prisoner because of opposing sides but they still look after them and the whumpee is like so scared and the ✨A N G S T✨

anon you have unlocked whump GOLD 🤩 I don’t vibe with every captivity scenario but this one ✨HITS ✨

the fear in caretaker’s eyes matches the fear in whumpee’s, and all they can do is whisper “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry” under their breath as they lead them to their captors.

caretaker lightly holding whumpee’s arms behind their back: firm enough to look convincing but gently enough that it doesn’t hurt. still, they can feel whumpee trembling under their fingertips, knowing what comes next.

when whumpee is led away from caretaker, and casts one last terrified look over their shoulder, so scared and small-looking that caretaker feels their heart shattering.

caretaker watching helplessly as whumpee is brutally, mercilessly interrogated for answers caretaker knows they don’t have.

caretaker volunteers for night shift after night shift to guard whumpee. they’re woefully sleep deprived, but no one is hurting whumpee on their watch.

caretaker sneaks whumpee a little extra food and a blanket at night, after all the others have gone to sleep.

caretaker feels guilty af when they have to take the blanket back in the early morning hours before anyone wakes up - and it nearly crushes them when they see a sleeping whumpee curl up tighter as they try to retain the heat they’re losing.

caretaker finally stepping in to stop a particularly personal line of questioning: “no. stop. that’s enough.”

caretaker walks them back to their cell and secretly slips their hand into whumpee’s and gives it a squeeze. whumpee squeezes back, and caretaker doesn’t miss that whumpee holds it a beat too long before letting go.

caretaker fighting back tears as whumpee rocks themselves back and forth in the corner, singing softly to themselves. if only caretaker could just give them a hug-

THE GUILT CARETAKER FEELS THE WHOLE DANG TIME

when whumpee gets sick, and caretaker desperately tries to obtain any bit of medicine to help. when they bring what little they find, whumpee looks at them with such fevered gratitude that caretaker can hardly bear it.

that night, caretaker says to hell with the consequences and gets whumpee and themselves out of there.

whumpee’s so exhausted from the ordeal that caretaker has to carry them out in the dead of night.

let’s not forget the night they have to spend in the woods on their way to the safe house, caretaker curled around whumpee’s body to keep them warm.

when they reach the safe house, and caretaker refuses to leave whumpee’s side, nursing them back to health and staying with them around the clock.

when whumpee is finally out of the woods, a guilt-wracked caretaker collapses into whumpee, hands clutching the fabric of whumpee’s shirt, sobbing about how sorry they were.

“we should I have left sooner - I should have done more - I could’ve done something….”

whumpee swallows around the lump in their throat and tentatively strokes their caretaker’s back. “shhhh,” they whisper soothingly. “it’s alright. it wasn’t your fault. you did what you had to. and hey,” they smile weakly, thumbing the tears away from whumpee’s cheeks, “you got me out, didn’t you?”

caretaker nods, but they still don’t let go of whumpee for a long time after that. and whumpee doesn’t let go either.

Gag

Caretaker and Whumpee are hiding from Whumper’s forces. Whumpee can’t help moaning in pain and Caretaker keeps begging them in a whisper to be quiet.

“Gag me,” hisses Whumpee through gritted teeth. “I can't… can’t keep myself quiet, so gag me.”

Caretaker stares at them; they know that due to  previous experiences Whumpee even finds holding something in their teeth because they don’t have enough hands to be triggering. “Are you sure?”

“As sure as I can be. Do it before I lose my nerve.”

My Personal Favourite Whump Series :>

Hi! These are just some of my favourite works that I’ve found while lurking. I love these works so much, the whump community has so many talented writers, I just want to shower you guys with compliments ❤️❤️❤️

Honor Bound - by @whump-tr0pes (NSFW)

^ This altered my brain chemistry

Behaviour Modifcation - by @whumpcereal (NSFW)

Brother’s Keeper - by @darkthingshappen (NSFW)

The Kennel - by @whumpcereal (NSFW)

Written in Blood - by @as-a-matter-of-whump

The Crow and the Dove (Kai and Kyriel) - by @there-will-always-be-blood (NSFW)

Privilege

Cw: knives, restraints, manhandling, mouth whump, implied torture/amputation, noncon touching (non sexual)

“Open your mouth.”

Whumpee shook their head, eyes brimming with tears as they twisted against their restraints. The coarse fibers of the braided rope dug deep into their wrists, chafing the skin and rubbing it raw. Despite the terror that shook their entire body, their blood stained lips stayed firmly shut.

“Whumpee.” Whumper growled, their hand slipping into their back pocket and pulling out a small butterfly blade, perfectly polished and freshly sharpened.

Whumpee whimpered, their eyes going wide as Whumper slowly brought the knife to their lips.

“I’m giving you one last chance,” Whumper growled, digging the knife into Whumpee’s bottom lip, drawing a bead of blood. “Open. Your. Mouth.”

Whumpee shuddered, every last bit of defiance draining from their body as they parted their lips with a sob.

Whumper’s other hand flew up, gripping their face by the chin. Their thumb forced between Whumpee’s teeth, tugging their jaw open further.

Whumpee squeezed their eyes shut, tensing as they felt the blade slip past their lips, the flat of it resting against their tongue. A metallic taste filled their mouth, cold and threatening. They didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe. One wrong move and.. shit..

“Speaking is a privilege,” Whumper drawled out, wrenching Whumpee’s head up and angling the knife. “One that can easily be taken away, do you understand me?”