Whumper Torturing Whumpee With A Shock Collar? Even Better If Caretaker Is Watching.

👀👀❤️👍

Whumper torturing whumpee with a shock collar? Even better if caretaker is watching. ❤

Do I really have to make a new plot for every single one of these requests? Yes. Yes, I do. Will there ever be conclusions to these plots? No. No, there won’t. 

“Boss? There’s something here you might want to see.” 

Caretaker raises their eyes from their work to one of their teammates. They’re standing at the door of the office, holding a flashdrive. 

“And what’s that?” 

“It’s the footage from that warehouse we stormed yesterday.” 

“Is there a lead to where they might have gone?” 

“No. We managed to get a couple of license plates, but that was about it. But… There’s something else in this footage. You just… You have to see it.” 

They go around the table and plug the flash drive into the computer. Thirty days of footage are divided into sixty files. The team mate clicks one of them, jumping to a certain point in time. When the cursor scrubs the player, Caretaker sees quick movements around the warehouse, until team mate finally stops. 

There is one chair in the middle of the warehouse, directly under a light. There is one person sitting on it, fighting restraints. Their face is battered, and they’re leaning like they can’t hold the weight of their own body. They raised their face, like they’re looking for a way out. Caretaker grabs the arms of their chair, losing their breath. 

“Whumpee.” They look at their team mate, looking for a confirmation. “They’re alive?” 

Whumpee had gone missing three months before. Their apartment was torn down, there was blood all over. When they weren’t found, Caretaker had assumed the worst. 

“I don’t know, boss.” They say, without moving their eyes from the screen. “But they definitely were three days ago. Take a look.” 

Someone arrives, walking slowly, cockily. Caretaker’s hands close into fists. They’d know that silhouette anywhere. 

“Whumper,” they growl. 

And it is them. Whumpee freezes when they see them, sinking into the chair. 

“Not again. I told you, I... ”, Caretaker hears, although the audio is bad. They raise the volume on the computer.

“No. No, no, no…” Whumper shakes their finger, shushing Whumpee. “You’ve told me nothing. And I told you that nothing is inacceptable. So I thought we could try something different.” 

Whumpee starts to struggle again and Caretaker feels like cheering them on like a football coach would. They know this was days ago and if Whumpee had managed to escape, their team mate would have been able to track them. But knowing Whumpee is alive again… It’s almost too much hope to bear. 

Ignoring their fight to escape, Whumper takes something out of their pocket, unravelling it. Caretaker squints to see, but from afar it looks like a strap of fabric with some sort of device attached to it. 

“What is that?” Whumpee asks, right on cue. 

“Ah, you’ll find out.” They obscure Whumpee for a second, hovering over them. Caretaker tries to see what they’re doing, why Whumpee is screaming and thrashing. Then, Whumper steps aside and Whumpee spits on the ground next to them. 

“Are you kidding?! A collar?! Did you just collar me, you sick bastard?”

“I’d say it’s what you deserve. If you had been more collaborative, this wouldn’t have to happen. I’m just trying to make ends meet.” Whumper takes something else out of their pocket and shakes it in front of their face. “Are you familiar with these?” 

“No. I’m not a psychopath! What is this shit?”

Whumper sighs. 

“It’s for other people concerned about non collaborative animals.” They press a button and Whumpee lets out a scream. Caretaker almost jumps out of their chair.  Whumper merely laughs. “Sorry, did I startle you? I think you got the gist of it now, didn’t you?”

“What kind of collar is this?” Whumpee tries to look down, but it’s too tight for them to see anything.

“A shock collar. For disobedient pets. Of course, bigger pets require bigger shocks. I had someone make some changes for me.” Whumper pushes the button again, just for the joy of it. 

Whumpee screams louder than before, their body lifting slightly from the metal chair. When Whumper let go of the button, they fell to it, breathless, head sinking forward. 

Caretaker slams their fist against the table. 

“How long does this go on for?” 

Their team mate swallows. 

“A while.” They scrub over the next scenes. The shocking goes on and on for at least thirty minutes. Team mate finally pauses. “I- What… What should we do? What are the orders?” 

Caretaker rubs their face. 

“Find them. End Whumper. What it’s always been.” 

“But… If they’re keeping hostages now… They could force us to retreat.” Team mate retrieves the flashdrive. “If it was between Whumpee and the mission… Could you do it?” 

Caretaker feels their heart twisting. It was a twist much like the ones they felt every single night they went to sleep thinking they’d never see Whumpee again, that they were gone for good. They know what Team Mate is asking, and they’re right. The mission should always be first. 

Caretaker stands up and extends their hand to their team mate. The other took it. 

“Take care of the team for me.” 

“W- What? What are you— What will you…” 

Caretaker takes out their insignia and their weapon, leaving them on the table. 

“I’m going rogue.”

As always, my askbox is always open for requests. If you enjoy what I do, please consider getting me a ko-fi!

Yes

idk whether this is an underrated trope but man i love the kind of whump where the character passes out, like total dead weight, and the caretaker (bonus if it's their rival/enemy) has to carry them back to safety (whether it's bridal style, on their back, with their arms under whumpee's armpits)

Goddamn-

Masochist whumpee who messes up simple tasks to get hurt by their master. When whumper notices this they get very angry and decide to show whumpee what real pain feels like

CW: torture, masochism, sadism, emotional and physical abuse

The room was dimly lit, the faint glow of a single bulb casting eerie shadows on the walls. Whumpee stood trembling, their fingers fumbling, either in excitement or fear over the broken vase pieces scattered on the floor.

They knew the routine by now, the cycle of mistakes and punishments that had become their twisted solace. They longed for the sharp sting of their master's wrath, the only connection they had left in this world.

Whumper entered the room, their eyes narrowing as they took in the scene. "Again?" They hissed, the word dripping with venom. "You can't even handle a simple task like this?"

Whumpee's heart raced, a mixture of fear and anticipation swirling in their chest. "I'm sorry, Master," they whispered, their voice barely audible. "I didn't mean to..."

Whumper's hand shot out, grabbing Whumpee by the collar and lifting them off the ground. "Don't lie to me!" they roared, shaking Whumpee violently. "You did this on purpose, didn't you? You want me to hurt you, don't you?"

Whumpee's eyes filled with tears, their breath coming in ragged gasps. "Please, Master... I... I just..."

Whumper's grip tightened, their eyes blazing with fury. "You think this is pain? You think you know what real pain feels like?" They threw Whumpee to the ground, their voice low and menacing. "I'll show you what pain really is."

Whumpee curled into a ball, their body trembling as they awaited the inevitable. Whumper disappeared into the shadows, returning moments later with a thin, cruel-looking whip. They cracked it in the air, the sound echoing through the room like a gunshot.

"Get up," Whumper ordered, their voice cold and devoid of emotion. "Stand up and face me."

Whumpee struggled to their feet, their legs shaking uncontrollably. They met Whumper's gaze, a mixture of fear and desperate longing in their eyes. "Please, Master... I..."

"Silence!" Whumper snapped, raising the whip high. "You want pain? I'll give you pain."

The first strike landed with a sickening crack, the force of it sending Whumpee crashing to the ground. They screamed, the sound raw and guttural, echoing off the walls. Whumper didn't stop, the whip lashing out again and again, each blow more brutal than the last.

"Is this what you wanted?" Whumper snarled, their voice growing more frenzied with each strike. "Is this what you needed?"

Whumpee's screams turned to sobs, their body convulsing with each hit. They could feel their skin tearing, the blood flowing freely down their back. The pain was unbearable, a searing agony that consumed every inch of their being.

Whumper finally stopped, their chest heaving with exertion. They looked down at Whumpee, a twisted smile playing on their lips. "Now you know what real pain feels like," they said softly, their voice almost gentle. "Now you understand."

Whumpee lay on the ground, their body broken and bloodied, their mind a haze of pain and confusion. They had wanted this, hadn't they? They had needed this. But now, as the darkness closed in around them, they weren't so sure. The only thing they knew for certain was that they were completely, utterly alone.

Whumper wasn’t done. They dragged Whumpee by their hair to the basement, each step down the creaky stairs echoing with dread. The basement was a chamber of horrors, tools of torment meticulously arranged on the walls. Whumpee’s eyes widened in terror as they were shoved against a cold, metal table. Their wrists and ankles were strapped down with cruel efficiency.

"Now," Whumper said, their voice a chilling whisper, "let’s see how much you can really take."

They reached for a set of sharp hooks, dangling them in front of Whumpee's wide, terrified eyes. "no..." Whumpee pleaded, their voice barely more than a hoarse whisper.

Ignoring the pleas, Whumper pressed the first hook into Whumpee’s flesh, just below their ribcage. The hook dug in with a sickening squelch, and the guttural scream that escaped Whumpee was animalistic to say the least.

"Shh," Whumper cooed mockingly, twisting the hook slightly. "This is just the beginning."

Whumper moved with practiced precision, embedding more hooks into Whumpee's skin, each one drawing fresh screams and rivers of blood. Whumpee's body was a canvas of suffering, each hook a cruel reminder of their tormentor's power.

"Oh but whumpee.. Do you not enjoy this..?" Whumper cooed making whumpee shake their head so fast, that their ears started ringing. Or maybe that was because of the blood loss. They weren't so sure now.

"Why do you do this, whumpee?" The whumper's voice cut through the haze of pain, his words a cruel taunt. "Why do you crave this suffering?"

Whumpee could only whimper in response, their mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions—fear, desire, and a twisted gratitude that they couldn't comprehend. The pain was relentless, a symphony of torment orchestrated by their own hand.

"Answer me!" The whumper's voice boomed, shaking them from their stupor. "Or do you need more?"

"I... I don't know!" Whumpee gasped, tears mingling with the sweat and blood on their face. "I just... I need..."

"You need me to show you what real pain feels like," the whumper finished, their voice low and chilling.

As Whumpee's screams subsided into weak, shuddering sobs, Whumper pulled out a thin, serrated knife. "You've been such a disappointment," they murmured, tracing the blade along Whumpee's thigh. "Maybe this will teach you to do better."

They carved slowly, deliberately, the knife slicing through flesh with a sickening ease. Blood pooled around Whumpee’s legs, the metallic scent mingling with the damp, musty air of the basement. Whumpee's cries grew weaker, their body wracked with uncontrollable shivers.

Whumper stepped back, surveying their handiwork with a satisfied grin. "You see," they said softly, "this is what pain really feels like."

Whumpee's vision blurred, their mind teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. The pain was a consuming fire, burning away any coherent thought. All that remained was a raw, unfiltered agony that left them broken and hollow.

As the darkness closed in, Whumpee’s last thought was a fleeting wish for an end to the torment, a desperate hope that they would never wake to face their master’s wrath again.

🥲👍 right in the feels god-

Fingerprint

"Caretaker…"

Whumpee mumbled out. They crawled slowly to Caretaker, reaching for their dead body. "Answer me…"

Whumpee held Caretaker's hand, searching for any warmth but they found none. Caretaker was cold. So so cold. They put two fingers on the pulse point and exhaled shakily when they couldn't feel anything. Whumpee shook Caretaker's body, their tears dripping down onto Caretaker's face.

"Wake up…wake up…!"

Whumpee cupped their cheeks with their bloodied hands. They rubbed their thumbs around it, feeling the soft skin. "Caretaker, please…please…don't leave me…!"

Whumpee leaned in closer and before they could give Caretaker a goodbye kiss, a pair of arms wrapped around their waist from behind. Whumper pulled Whumpee into a tight hug. Embracing them, soothing them and comforting them.

"Let me go! Let me go!"

Whumper tightened his hug, sighing softly. "Shh…it's okay, dear." Whumpee kept kicking and thrashing in Whumper's grip. They didn't seem to calm down anytime soon so Whumper turned their body around, keeping them close.

"Let me go! Why are you doing this to me?!"

"Shh…shh…it's okay. I will take care of you."

"No!"

Whumpee placed their palms on Whumper's chest, pushing them away. Whumper sighed, tightened the grip around Whumpee's waist as he brought up another hand to cup Whumpee's cheek. 

"Listen—"

"No! Let me go! I hate you!"

"Listen! Hey, hey…dear, look at me. I said, look at me."

Whumpee teary-eyed looking up at Whumper. They sniffled as Whumper brushed away their tears. "I will take care of you, okay?"

Whumper said gently. His gaze softened as Whumpee's shoulders slumping down, finally relaxing around them.

"You will follow me, okay?"

"H-huh? To where?"

"To our house."

Whumpee lifted Whumpee up, carrying them in a bridal style. Whumpee tensed up again, they squirm around in Whumper's arms. "N-no please…please…don't take me away…!"

Whumper pressed a finger against Whumpee's lips, silencing them. "Shh…we don't want to wake up the dead now, do we?"

~

@nothing-but-glitter-and-lashes @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @risk606 @heyyitsworld @htavin87 @jennyyy007 @electrons2006 @valravnthefrenchie @theforeverdyingperson

This is very true, be more like little kids!

Damn

"It didn’t have to be this way."

Scream | Double Cross | Made to Watch @juneofdoom Day 2

cw: violence, beating, living weapon whumpee, implied captivity, see above

“You dumb, stupid girl,” Handler said, razor-sharp with disdain. This one always had a nasty look on his face, and he wasn’t particularly fond of her. Probably because mouthing off to him and his dumb lackeys had become muscle memory by now. “You just can’t keep your mouth shut, can you?”

She crossed her arms. It didn’t matter how many people were watching her— Handler and another handler, some of their lackeys and some of their minutemen, and Asset. The bodyguard that had been assigned to her. They always had this whole entourage with them, and these days she preferred it when it was just her and Asset. Stupid, stupid girl.

“Yeah? What are you gonna do about it? Beat me, drug me, do whatever the fuck else you do to control the rest of them?” She laughed in his face. ”Try me. I know it’s all empty threats.”

Asset gave her a hardened look. One of warning. It was hard to think about how he was included in them— how he already had years and years of being beaten, drugged, so conditioned into place. Into being one of their best.

She probably shouldn’t have ignored that look.

“I don’t need to make empty threats,” Handler assured her, so dry and unconcerned that it made her want to turn into a spitfire, spewing flame and vitriol, a maelstrom too violent to contain even with all these fucking men around. “That’s what you don’t understand. Control is an easy thing.” He pulled out one of those fucking batons, so sleek and easy to extend. It slipped right into place. “Asset.”

She steeled her shoulders as Asset stepped forward. Her heart pounded and pounded anyways, a betrayal to her big stupid ego and all the false confidence that got her into this. What was Handler going to do, really? Force her own bodyguard to beat the shit out of her? Yeah, right.

“I don't need to touch you to make you suffer,” Handler continued. “You’ve already made it too easy for me.”

Asset gave a preemptive grimace. He saw it coming way before she did.

The baton cracked off of Asset’s face in one violent swing. Handler struck again and Asset stumbled back, shielding an arm across his head, but it didn’t matter. The baton struck him across the ribs next, and then his back, and then his face again. Again, and again.

She cried out. “No! Stop! What the fuck are you doing?!”

Asset desperately tried to stay on his feet, but then it was an onslaught. Three, four more batons extended, and suddenly all those damn minutemen were going at it. Strike after strike, each one more merciless than the next, metal cracking against muscle and bone until there were welts and blood.

It didn’t matter if Asset fought back, briefly, overwhelmed by violent instinct and blocking with a forearm, grappling a baton, swinging— only for one hard hit to land right up between his shoulders and send him crashing to the ground.

“Stop!” She screamed. It didn’t matter if she rushed forward, blind with desperation, caught in arms too strong even as she fought and kicked. “Get off him! This has nothing to do with him!”

“No, it doesn’t,” Handler agreed, standing back as his entourage took over the beating. “This is about you. This is your punishment. A reminder about actions and consequences.”

Asset grunted and cursed, trying in vain to shield himself curled up on the ground until a hard kick to the ribs had him sprawling onto his back. The batons landed again and again. At some point he stopped even defending himself, going slack all at once.

She kicked and flailed and screamed again. “Asset!”

“You’re just as simple as the rest. Forming attachments that make you weak,” Handler said, and he sounded so damn pleased. This was certainly playing out nicely for him. “Even worse for you to form attachments with things that don’t even belong to you.”

One of the men grabbed Asset by the collar and jostled him hard. Like he needed to wake up before the beating could continue. Asset’s eyes fluttered, dazed and already so swollen, a hand weakly grasping at the man’s as he sputtered out blood and saliva and a breathy broken, ”Fff-f’cker…”

The man yanked him right into his fist. Droplets of blood scattered once, then twice. He had to stop to shake Asset around again, and a horrible sound left him as he came to— like a groan and a whimper all twisted up in one broken jagged breath, like the next one would be too hard to come. His gaze wasn’t even tracking anymore, hazy and half-lidded, hands fumbling and slipping aside.

Another strike. And another.

“Stop,” she begged, everything blurred between tears. ”Asset.”

They had forced her onto her knees now, forced her to sit there and watch. Like some waking nightmare. Handler leaned in close and spoke gently. “It didn’t have to be this way, but I want you to remember this moment. This is what control feels like.”

Asset couldn’t even be roused. The man gave him a good shake and he just lolled, all deadweight, his head hanging back. The man let go and he hit the tile in one ugly heap. Blood smeared all over his face, blood slipping from his lips. So limp and lifeless.

“Powerlessness, cruel and swift. Doesn’t it seem effective?”

She sobbed. “I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.