Sooo, I'm Literally IN LOVE With Intoxicating Fear, But... More Choking Whump Pretty Please??

sooo, I'm literally IN LOVE with Intoxicating Fear, but... more choking whump pretty please??

omg I'm literally so embarrassed to be saying this but I am OBSESSED with that tie scene between Kit and Ambrose, and just anything more like it... omg gimme!!

Thank you so much, your work is so, so appreciated by all of us!! Lots of lovee xoxo

KIDNAPPED

Anon! Thank you for the ask and nice words, it made me smile! But, fret not, You are not alone, I love choking scenes too there is something so - whumpy - about them. It's not Kit and Ambrose again, but I hope you enjoy this drabble :)

TW: choking, restraints, bound whumpee, choking described, gagged whumpee, collared whumpee, blindfolded whumpee, terrified whumpee, creepy whumper, intimate whumper

*~*~*~*~*

Whumpee flinched at the sound of the giant metal door thrumming open. They were shaking, their entire body was shaking and they couldn’t stop it no matter what. At first they tried to tense their muscles, they didn’t want to show their kidnapper(s) weakness, but that only seemed to make it worse.

They couldn’t move from the position they woke up, even if they tried. And they tried. The first thing they noticed when they woke up was that they were blindfolded and gagged. They shook their head, trying to loosen the things from their face but it was no use. They could hear the buckles of the restraints jingle as they moved, leather cutting into their cheeks.

That was enough to terrify them because they couldn’t see, and they couldn’t scream for help. Not that screaming would help them, it would probably only alert their kidnapper(s) that they were awake. Whumpee shuddered to think of their kidnapper(s) returning. They could still feel the needle in their neck, the hands on them. They wanted to be sick. They were going to be sick… but… oh god if they got sick with the gag in their mouth would they choke on it?

The gag was monstrous. It was like there was a ball of air inside their mouth, almost cutting off their air supply from their mouth, forcing them to breathe heavily through their nose. Every time they swallowed around the gag, their air would cut off and they would panic before they regained their composure. They groaned and not a sound came out, just a tiny whine in the back of their throat that threatened to choke them.

They didn’t want to think about that now. They needed to find a way to escape or focus on something else. Their position. Yes, their position. They were on their knees, sitting on their heels. Their shoes had been removed which unnerved them, so they were perched on their sock-clad heels. They knew the minute they woke up their legs were asleep and dead, stifling any chance at being able to get up and run. To take their kidnapper(s) by surprise and lunge at them.

The first thing they did was try to move their feet and get their legs out from under them, to get rid of the pins and needles before their kidnapper(s) came back. They quickly learned that their feet had cuffs locked around the ankles with a short length of chain attaching them to the ground. Whumpee had barely jerked their knee forward before the chain link yanked taut.

Their eyes went wide behind the blindfold once they realised they wouldn’t be able to move an inch away from the position, ensuring they would remain on their knees. Ensuring that their legs would be dead… ensuring they couldn’t get away.

Whumpee felt tears rise behind their eyes but they didn’t let them fall. They refused. It was easy, especially when the emotion clogged their throat and they started freaking out about not being able to breathe rather than cry so you know… perks.

Their hands were cuffed behind their back in the same way. A length of chain leading to a ring? Or a hook of metal that seemed to be embedded into the ground, or was that the wall? Whumpee tried to reach their fingers out but the chain pulled taut even as they reached backwards. Another length of rope was tied above their elbows, keeping them together snd Whumpee’s shoulder blades tensed.

Something heavy rested around their throat, but that was as far as they got in their assessment before they heard the door and they froze. They wished they stayed frozen, but then their traitorous body started to tremble like a baby lamb and they wanted to cry, or scream, or something! Something that was less pathetic than trembling like a nervous puppy.

They couldn’t see their kidnapper(s). They didn’t even know if light was flooding the room or whether it was dark outside. They couldn’t see if there were any windows or, or something, with the blindfold blocking out all traces of light and sight.

Whumpee flinched when they heard footsteps advancing, but it was the dark chuckle that followed which sent cold terror racing through their veins.

“Oh you are just precious,” Whumper said, his voice far closer than Whumpee would’ve liked. Their head turned to the sound, their eyes still trying to see what was happening in front of them. They felt breath on their face and they flinched back, their chains clinking as they moved. “Shush, you’re alright little dove.”

A hand grasped Whumpee’s chin, coarse fingers tilting their head left and right. Whumpee whimpered, trying to pull away from the hand but there was nowhere to go. The hand tightened on Whumpee’s face, the chuckle following Whumpee’s pathetic whine in the back of their throat.

“Oh, yes. You and I are going to get very well acquainted, little one. Kidnapper really knows my taste.” The man’s hand ran over the collar on Whumpee’s throat, squeezing the top of it, making it harder for Whumpee to breathe. They shook their head, trying to pull away, but the hand chased their movements and fuck. Whumpee heaved in breaths but they wouldn’t go down past the hand squeezing their neck, stopping any oxygen from reaching their lungs.

Whumpee screamed around the gag, but the result was a muted cry, punctuated by choking sounds and hitches in their throat.

Whumper pulled his hand back and Whumpee bowed their head forward, their entire body shuddering as they sucked in breaths through their snot ridden nose. Fat, hot tears rolled under the blindfold, down their cheeks as Whumpee sniffled.

Two big hands cupped Whumpee’s cheeks, stroking the tears away. “Oh you poor thing. You probably have no idea what’s going on, do you?”

Whumpee shook their head as best as they could, whimpering around the gag. “That’s okay. You never have to worry about anything again. From now on, I’ll do the thinking for both of us, and you will be my little treasure.”

Whumpee shuddered at the words that the man spoke as if they were comforting. They tried to express their protest but every noise from the back of their throat sounded the same. Helpless and muted. Just how Whumper liked them.

WHOA!! oh my god that took a TURN JESUS-

Racing Time

(tw: death, mercy kill, suicide mention, torture, illness, bad caretaker)

.

Time is cruel.

No. No, that sounds like it’s the beginning of a sorrowful love story. This story was nothing like that. No love letters or star-crossed drama. No soft cotton sheets dampened with delicate tears.

Caretaker’s story was just blood and pain. Gore and screams. Darkness and terror.

Yet, through it all, time was the worst part by far.

Caretaker and Whumpee had been with Whumper for a month already. Each day, they’d slip into the captives’ cell, latch Caretaker to the wall, then carve out fleshy chunks of Whumpee’s proverbial soul. So many times and in so many ways. Caretaker’s only injury was the bruising of their wrists and the ache that settled into their ears after Whumpee’s screams crashed like a bullet through their skull. 

They didn’t complain. What was there to complain about? And to who? Whumpee? Who was always trembling, sobbing, or comatose on the concrete floor after Whumper left?

Their pain didn’t matter. They just held Whumpee, dressing their wounds and cooing soft songs to fill the silence. To fill the time.

So much worse than the daily tortures was the wait between them. Not knowing what time it was. How long they’d been here. When Whumper would come again.

Whumpee couldn’t do this any more. Caretaker saw first hand time and time again how the cracks in their mind began to form. How their body shattered into illness - which granted them no reprieve or respite from the pain.

Whumper didn’t care. They would keep on going until Whumpee’s agonized body finally gave out. And already, they were so weak. So pathetic when they tried to crawl or thrash or fight.

They didn’t have it in them anymore to scream.

Caretaker nestled Whumpee in their arms - Whumpee’s back against their chest. Caretaker let their soft, flawless form wrap around Whumpee’s shivering and battered one.

“You know I’d do anything for you, right? That I only want the best for you?”

Whumpee twitched a nod against Caretaker’s shoulder, their cold nose pressed into their protector’s neck.

“..do you trust me?”

There was a slight hesitation, but Whumpee didn’t have the mind to think any more than necessary. Again, Caretaker received a nod.

Caretaker’s hand was shaking as it reached up, wrapping softly around Whumpee’s throat. Their thumb and middle finger found the tender veins sluggeshly thunking away on either side of the trachea. With great precision and as much gentleness as they could manage, Caretaker applied pressure, feeling the blood and precious nutrients dam up against their grip.

Whumpee twitched, but the pressure wasn’t painful, so they stayed. At least, that’s what Caretaker assumed was going through their mind.

“..I’m going to put you to sleep, okay? Then you can get away from the pain. Just let yourself black out and I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Whumpee tensed slightly - likely the pressure starting to build up in their skull causing discomfort and not at all aiding in the concussion. But they didn’t move. They simply gripped Caretaker’s other arm a bit, letting this happen. Eyes closing against the sensation.

It didn’t take much time. Nor did Caretaker want it to. Time was cruel. Sadistic and unforgiving. Whumpee didn’t deserve to spend so very much of it having nothing to look forward to but pain and death. 

Caretaker’s grip didn’t let up when Whumpee blacked out. They kept the steady but gentle grip, kissing Whumpee’s hair and humming the first wordless melody that came to mind. They kept their fingers in place even when Whumpee's rattling lungs stopped scraping for air.

Whumpee wouldn’t choose to die. At least, they shouldn’t. No one should.

Caretaker would do it for them.

. (I'm sorry, I don't have energy for taglists today)

i hope u dont mind i go to you for whump ideas !! do u have any ideas/prompts for a living weapon/forced soldier(?) type thing👀

I certainly do not mind! I do love making prompts.

This is basically a whole genre of whump, so this will be long and I'm just getting started honestly.

💥 Living Weapon Whump 💥

Whumpee is forced to kill - this is kind of the heart of the trauma. How do they deal with it? Do they blame themself? Do they hate the ones who did this to them? One way or another, they have to live with terrible memories of what their own two hands have done.

...Or maybe they don't live with the memories. Whumpee dissociates heavily and perhaps even deals with amnesia from things they can't bear to face.

Dissociation overall is important. To act violently and efficiently in a fight, when you don't want to act, requires separating emotions from actions and becoming distant. When whumpee gets hurt, or sees something horrifying, they don't respond. They're calm. Too calm.

Self-hatred. Viewing themself as a weapon, only good for killing and incapable of love or kindness. Unworthy of having basic human needs met.

If the training started young, whumpee was raised in isolation, so they struggle to understand basic social cues, pop culture references, and just how to act normal. They're very nervous around people.

This can also have other effects on how they socialize and on their personality. Maybe it wasn't safe to have empathy for others if everyone around them was getting hurt and killed regularly, so they lost touch with empathy. Maybe any mistake or sign of weakness would lead to punishment, so honor became crucial.

They're probably going to have an unusual relationship to physical touch. They've mostly only been touched in violent ways, so they'll either be touch starved or touch averse. They flinch when someone moves suddenly. It takes a while to learn that touch can be positive. Maybe sparring and playfighting is one of the only ways they feel comfortable touching other people - or maybe it's something they never want to do with people they love, because it's connected to too many bad memories.

Whumpee expects to be hurt and thinks it's normal. They get into bad relationships, difficult jobs, etc. They don't take care of their health. Why? Because their suffering "doesn't matter." They're just a tool.

Maybe whumpee is conditioned to respond to a code word. When they hear that word or phrase, they start killing anyone around them indiscriminately until another code word (or passing out, or something else) snaps them out of it.

If they can't control when they'll become dangerous (either because of a code word like that, or because they get violent during PTSD triggers, or just because they don't trust themself), maybe they try to incapacitate themself or lock themself up. Maybe they get thrown into prison or an institution on purpose, to protect their loved ones. Maybe they run away.

Maybe whumpee has permanent physical alterations because of their training. Maybe they were branded or tattooed. Maybe they have cryogenic implants or embedded tracking devices. Maybe they've sustained injuries that now result in chronic pain.

Whumpee faces trial for things they were forced to do, things beyond their control. But maybe they blame themself completely. Or maybe they don't, and they're enraged to be in this situation.

I could continue this list for days honestly haha, this is one of my favorite tropes. Now I want to do a separate one focused on living weapon comfort...

Whumptober Day 3: Impaled

The bloody trail leading up to the whumpee who is curled up against a wall. The line of blood coming from the corner of their mouth, which grows with every painful cough. Their hands slick with blood, pulled in protectively towards their abdomen. The wound that they can barely comprehend through their haze of pain. The metal rod jutting out below their ribs, pushing open muscle and skin. The infections that come with open and unhealed injuries. If only they could stop shaking...

I would like to highlight this chat response to “Remember Them” cutting out in the livestream

I'll Have You Begging

Warnings: captivity, torture, restraints, physical violence, bruising, defiant whumpee, whipping, blood

Whumpee screamed out their pain. Screamed each time Whumper cracked the whip along their back. Screamed because it was all they could do.

Initially when Whumper had chained them to the post, Whumper had slapped them around a bit, bruising their cheek in the process. Whumpee had cried out in pain at that point.

But they hadn't given Whumper any information.

Incensed, Whumper began to whip Whumpee. Whip them harder and harder. Make them cry louder and louder. Whipped them until their skin split and bled. Whipped them until blood ran down their back in rivulets.

But still, Whumpee didn't give up the information they were protecting.

"You'll break any time now. I'll have you begging for me to stop. Begging me to let you speak. Any moment now," Whumper said as they cracked the whip harder across Whumpee's back.

Whumpee gave a particularly loud scream. They were content to let Whumper think they were on the verge of breaking. Were content to let Whumper think they were winning. Because the reality was, Whumpee could scream and shout as much as they wanted because they were never, ever going to give Whumpee the information. They were never going to give Whumper the satisfaction of breaking them.