Intimate Whumper - Tumblr Posts

“Oh, darling,” the whumper cooed. They looked down at the whumpee, snivelling and crying on the floor. The whumpee shook, heaving with sobs and exhaustion, tear tracks cutting lines through the dirt on their face. The whumper leaned down a stroked hand down their cheek, ignoring the soft flinch from the whumpee. 

The whumper smiled, tucking a lock of hair behind the whumpee’s ear. “You look so fucking pathetic.”

Prompt #3: Stars

The sick, warm sensation of crimson blood seeped into Villian's jeans as they knelt, cradling Hero's limp form in their lap. Hero squirmed in their grasp, closed fists trembling. A truly pitiful sight.

"Now will you tell me who sent you?" Villain pressed; voice uncharacteristically gentle.

"Or-organization." Hero coughed, gasping as the silver blade was yanked from their chest. They attempted to sit up, Villain pulling them close.

"Shh, you did so well." They cooed, carding a slender hand through their sweat-covered hair.

"V-villain? Can I.."

'Yes, Hero, anything. What can I give you?"

"I-" They coughed, scarlet blood filling their throat.

"Stars."

Villian sat, cradling their form for a moment before comprehension plastered their face and they glanced up. Sure enough, the tree they were under was blocking the view of the night sky. Villian gently stood, Hero's expected exclamations absent. A short brisk walk to a grassy hill left the sky open and exposed, stars burning unusually bright above. Hero's face softened, eyes dimming as the stars reflected back from their tears. They coughed once, a meek convulsion, and the blood stopped draining from the wound. Their head lolled back, stars still reflecting off their unseeing gaze. Villian cradled their limp form.

Now they finally knew who Hero worked for, and they swore to themselves:

They would kill every last person who sent kids to fight their own battles.

Whumpay Day 10: Trapped in Own Body

TW: Non-consensual (but not sexsual) touching

Whumpee tried to move any of their limbs, tried to scream, tried to do anything, but their body kept moving on their own. They helplessly watched as they kneeled in front of Whumper, as they brought their lips to her boot and reverently kissed the limb. 

A shrill laugh filled the air. Whumpee wanted to cover their ears at the sound, but couldn’t, feeling as their body moved to look up at the woman sitting on the throne in front of them in confusion. 

“What a sweet, obedient little thing you are.” A hand came down to caress their cheek, and they felt themself nuzzle against the warmth. All they could do was grit their teeth in shame. “Isn’t this so much better than your insistent yapping and disobedience?”

“Yes mistress.” Their response was automatic, almost robotic, and Whumpee could feel how their jaw clicked open and their voice streamed out without any input by themself. The body they inhabited turned to kiss the hand on their face.

Whumper laughed again. “Oh, I really do love this.” She continued to lovingly run her fingers through their hair, “I will make sure this is our future together.”

Whumpee wanted to cry, but no tears were allowed to spill out.

overly intimate whumpers who touch and hold their whumpees.

whumpees who a: have been there so long and are so touch-starved that they eventually just lean into it, or b: have been there as long as they can remember and think that’s what love is

caretakers who are horrified when they find out the reason whumpee braces themself when they’re hugged

caretakers being heartbroken at how touch-starved whumpee is, the way they’d do anything to be held

Whump Idea

Yes I know this is my first time posting whump (or really posting on this acc) but I had an idea!

A Whumpee who loves colors, rainbows 🌈

And a whumper who wears different colors depending on how they’re going to torture Whumpee that day.

Red means whumper is going to cut Whumpee

Orange means fire

Yellow means electricity

Green means they’re going to be drugged

Blue means waterboarding/ water torture

Purple means they’re going to be tied in uncomfortable positions (leaving purple bruises where they’ve been tied) and left all day.

Pink is Whumper’s favorite, it means they’re mixing a bit of multiple.

Black is Whumpee’s favorite. It means Whumper is ignoring them that day. Sure it also means no food or water, but that’s surely better than having Whumper’s attention.

Grey means Whumper is feeling nice, and they’re going to cuddle.

Whumper never wears white, that’s for Whumpee to wear so Whumper can see all their blood and scars beneath the fabric.

Just imagine the recovery for Whumpee after all this, someone who once loved having every color in their room needing everything to be black or white. Panicking when they see colors they used to love. Going outside is a nightmare.

How is Caretaker going to get rid of this kind of conditioning?

Whumpers who use affection to pacify aggressive Whumpees. Whumper's voice is calming and motherly, whispering praises as they run a hand through Whumpee's hair, offering sweets or pleasantries. In return, Whumpee adores them wholeheartedly. Whumpee puts on any restraints they are ordered to, comforts Whumper when they're stressed out, all that. But as soon as Whumper makes the command to tear someone apart? God have mercy on their soul, because Whumpee surely won't. As blood drips down Whumpee's chin, they nuzzle Whumper's hand, and puts the muzzle back on. Whumper gently whispers in Whumpee's ear: "Well done. Let's get you some treats." wtf why do you all like this so much

Dark Currents (Intoxicating Fear Fanfic)

I: Dark Currents

@chaotic-orphan

TW: choking, strangling, strangulation, stalking, drugging, intimate whumper, intimidating whumper, disoriented whumpee.

The night was a deep blanket of silence as Kit walked home, the distant sounds of the city fading behind him. After a gruelling shift at the hero tower, fatigue clung to him like a shadow. The dark alleyway ahead felt especially foreboding, its walls lined with graffiti that whispered stories of forgotten souls. Streetlights flickered, casting unsettling shadows that danced across the damp pavement, creating an eerie mosaic of light and dark.

Just as Kit turned a corner, a figure lunged from the depths of the shadows—Ambrose.

Before Kit could react, Ambrose tackled him to the ground, the impact knocking the wind out of him. He gasped as Ambrose’s hands tightened around his throat, panic surging within him like a tidal wave. The chill of the concrete seeped into his skin, contrasting sharply with the heat of his rising fear.

"You thought you could escape me?" Ambrose’s voice was cold, filled with a twisted satisfaction that sent shivers down Kit’s spine.

"Let me go!" Kit shouted, desperation creeping into his voice. He strained to summon his electric abilities, but Ambrose’s grip was like iron, dulling his spark, leaving him feeling powerless.

Ambrose leaned closer, a cruel smile curling his lips, the flickering streetlight illuminating his features in a sinister glow. "You’re not in control here."

Kit’s heart raced as he twisted beneath Ambrose, trying to break free. With a sudden burst of strength, he managed to throw Ambrose off balance, but it was temporary. Ambrose was on him again, pinning him down, his hands constricting around Kit’s throat like a vice, the world narrowing to a painful focus.

"Why did you come back?" Kit gasped, struggling for air.

"Because you need to come with me," Ambrose replied, his tone unyielding, as if he were delivering a decree. "You belong with me, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen."

Kit’s mind raced, memories flashing like lightning. The last time he had seen Ambrose, it had been under vastly different circumstances—filled with a familial solidarity, occasional laughter echoing in the air, not this violent chaos.

In his mind's eye, Kit recalled Ambrose and Jude, silhouetted against the city lights, locked in a passionate kiss, their joy stark against the backdrop of a darkening sky. They had looked so carefree, so oblivious to the storm brewing around them.

It was just a rumour, Ambrose’s voice echoed in Kit's thoughts, a haunting refrain. Jude and I... it meant nothing.

With a sudden surge of adrenaline, Kit managed to shove Ambrose off him, scrambling to his feet. But Ambrose quickly recovered, grabbing Kit’s arm and pulling him close again, the smell of sweat and cologne enveloping Kit in a dizzying haze.

"Let’s talk," Ambrose said, his grip still firm, the intensity of his gaze unyielding.

Reluctantly, Kit followed, feeling the tension crackle in the air between them like static electricity. They walked to a nearby bar, its neon sign flickering ominously, casting a ghostly glow on the cracked pavement. Inside, the atmosphere felt heavy, thick with unspoken words and the scent of stale beer mingling with the faint aroma of cigarette smoke.

Max, the bar owner, greeted them with a nod, his weathered face a map of years spent in the dim light. "What’ll it be?"

"Two shots of whiskey," Ambrose ordered, his tone lacking warmth, as if he were merely playing a role in a dark theatre.

As they settled onto the bar stools, the faux leather cracked beneath them, and Kit couldn’t shake the unease that clung to him like a second skin. "What about Jude?" he pressed, muted anger flaring again, the question like a lit fuse.

Ambrose waved a dismissive hand, irritation flickering across his features. "Forget him. We have more pressing matters."

The whiskey arrived, amber liquid glinting under the low light, and they downed the shots, the burn cutting through the tension like a knife. Ambrose leaned in closer, his voice low and conspiratorial. "You still don’t understand, do you? You’re meant for more than this life."

Kit narrowed his eyes, anger bubbling beneath the surface, a tempest ready to erupt. "You think you can just show up and demand I leave everything behind?"

Ambrose’s gaze was intense, as if he were peering into Kit’s very soul. "This place is holding you back," he replied. "You need to step into the light with me."

Kit felt the weight of Ambrose's words, but the alcohol was dulling his resolve, making the room sway slightly.

Unbeknownst to Kit, Ambrose had slipped something into his drink. After another sip, a wave of dizziness washed over him, the world spinning around him like a carousel gone awry.

"What did you do?" he slurred, struggling to stay upright, the edges of his vision blurring.

"Just a little something to help you relax," Ambrose said casually, a predatory glint in his eyes that sent a shiver down Kit’s spine.

Kit’s strength faded, and he felt the ghost of Ambrose’s hand tighten around his throat again, the imaginary pressure making it hard to breathe, suffocating him with fear.

"Why are you doing this?" Kit gasped, panic rising like bile.

"Because I need you to understand," Ambrose said, his tone chilling, devoid of warmth. "You’re mine."

As they stumbled back to Kit's apartment, Ambrose’s presence loomed over him like a storm cloud, dark and oppressive. Inside, Ambrose closed the door with a slow, deliberate motion, the sound echoing ominously in the small space.

"This isn’t over," Kit whispered, fear and anger churning in his chest like a storm at sea.

Ambrose stepped closer, his expression shifting to something darker, more primal. "We need to talk about us."

"Us?" Kit echoed, scepticism lacing his voice, as if he were trying to make sense of a riddle with no answer.

Ambrose held his gaze, eyes intense and fierce. "I didn’t abandon you. I had my reasons, but now I’m back for you."

Kit’s heart raced, caught between anger and the flicker of something darker, something he didn’t want to acknowledge. "You think it’s that simple?"

The pressure around his throat returned, tightening just enough to send panic coursing through him like a wildfire. "You need to listen," Ambrose commanded, his voice low and dangerous.

"You can’t just expect me to forgive you," Kit managed to say, breathless, the words escaping in a whine.

"I came back for you," Ambrose insisted, his grip still firm, unyielding. "You have to understand."

Kit felt the pressure building, the edges of his vision blurring as darkness threatened to creep in. "You’re hurting me," he gasped, his voice barely a whisper.

Ambrose released him slightly, but his eyes remained locked on Kit’s, a predatory intensity that made Kit’s pulse race. "I won’t let you go that easily."

"What do you want from me?" Kit managed, desperation creeping into his voice, the weight of the world pressing down on him.

"I want you by my side," Ambrose replied, voice low and menacing, each word dripping with a power that was both alluring and terrifying. "But first, you need to know what you’re getting into."

Kit glared at Ambrose, heart racing, feeling trapped. "This isn’t love—or whatever you think this is. You’re just trying to control me."

Ambrose stepped closer, the tension between them palpable, electric. "I’m trying to save you. You don’t see it yet, but I’m the only one who can."

"I can take care of myself!" Kit shouted, his anger finally boiling over, a defiant spark igniting in his chest.

With a swift movement, Ambrose seized Kit again, his grip tightening until Kit felt the world closing in around him, darkness threatening to swallow him whole. "You’ll understand," Ambrose said, voice cold and unyielding.

Just as Kit felt he might pass out, Ambrose released him, stepping back, breathing heavily, as if he were wrestling with his own demons. "I want you back, Kit. But you need to accept that I won’t let you go."

Kit staggered, gasping for air, the fear mingling with something else he couldn’t quite place, an unsettling mix of dread and yearning. "What have you done?"

Ambrose’s expression turned serious, the weight of his words heavy in the air. "I’m not playing games. This is about survival."

As dawn broke, pale light filtering through the grimy window, Kit knew he had to confront Ambrose and figure out what he truly wanted. The weight of the night pressed down on him, suffocating yet exhilarating, but he couldn’t ignore the twisted bond that kept pulling them together.

This was only the beginning, and Kit had no idea where it would lead them. The struggle for control would continue, but one thing was certain: he wouldn’t back down that easily.

Continued here

Dark Currents (Intoxicating Fear Fanfic)

II: The Edge of the Knife

@chaotic-orphan

TW: stalking, drugging, intimate whumper, intimidating whumper, disoriented whumpee.

A thin, pale light filtered through the grimy window of Kit’s apartment, casting long shadows across the room. Dust motes hung in the air, untouched by the frail dawn that did little to banish the clinging darkness. The night had been a war of attrition, and now, with the arrival of morning, Kit felt no more victorious than when it had started. His body was heavy, his limbs tingling with the remnants of whatever Ambrose had slipped into his drink, and his mind was a haze of confusion and anger.

In the corner of the small, cluttered apartment, Ambrose stood motionless, his silhouette sharp against the dim light. His expression was unreadable, his dark eyes fixed on Kit with an intensity that made Kit’s skin prickle with unease. There was something about Ambrose that always felt too much—like he took up too much space, like the very air around him warped under the weight of his presence. It had been that way since the moment they’d met, but now, standing on the edge of something neither of them fully understood, it felt suffocating.

Kit pushed himself up from the bed, his heart pounding in his chest. The silence between them was thick, electric, like the air before a storm. He needed answers—needed to know what Ambrose truly wanted, why he was here, and what had driven him to this point. But most of all, Kit needed to understand the strange, twisted connection that seemed to keep pulling them together, no matter how many times he tried to walk away.

Ambrose’s face was shadowed, but his eyes glinted in the low light, dark and unreadable. He stepped forward, his boots crunching softly on the worn wooden floor, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. Kit’s pulse quickened, his muscles tensing as Ambrose closed the distance between them, the air between them tight with tension.

"I’m not playing games," Ambrose said, his voice low and gravelly, each word heavy with meaning. "This is about survival."

Kit swallowed hard, his throat dry, his eyes narrowing as he forced himself to meet Ambrose’s gaze. "Survival?" he scoffed, his voice hoarse, barely masking the fear that coiled deep in his gut. "Is that what you call this?"

Ambrose’s lips twitched into a smirk, but there was no humour behind it—only something dark, something primal. "You have no idea what’s coming," he said, his voice a quiet threat. "I’ve sacrificed everything for this. For you."

Kit’s heart stuttered in his chest, his breath catching as Ambrose’s words hung in the air between them. The weight of the night pressed down on him, suffocating, the twisted bond between them thrumming like a live wire. He wanted to push Ambrose away, to demand answers, but his body felt sluggish, weighed down by the lingering effects of whatever had been in his drink. His mind raced, but his limbs were slow to follow, like moving through water.

"You don’t get it, do you?" Ambrose’s voice cut through the silence like a blade, sharp and dangerous. He stepped closer, his presence looming, filling the small space with a suffocating intensity. "This isn’t about what you want."

Kit’s breath hitched as Ambrose’s hand shot out, gripping his shoulder with a force that was both possessive and commanding. Kit’s body tensed instinctively, his muscles locking as Ambrose shoved him backward. His legs hit the edge of the bed, and he collapsed onto it with a grunt, the suddenness of the action stealing the air from his lungs.

The mattress creaked beneath him, the springs groaning in protest as Ambrose followed, his movements fluid and predatory. He climbed onto the bed with a grace that belied the danger simmering just beneath the surface, his knees pressing into the mattress on either side of Kit’s hips.

Kit’s pulse spiked, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts as Ambrose’s hands found his wrists, pinning them to the bed with a strength that made Kit’s heart race. The heat of Ambrose’s body pressed down on him, their faces inches apart, and Kit could feel the weight of his gaze, intense and unyielding.

"You don’t understand how far I’m willing to go," Ambrose murmured, his voice low and rough, vibrating with a dangerous edge. His eyes bore into Kit’s, filled with something raw and unrelenting—something that made Kit’s stomach twist with a mix of fear and something darker, something he was too afraid to name.

Kit’s mind screamed at him to fight back, to push Ambrose away, but his body felt frozen, trapped under the weight of Ambrose’s gaze and the suffocating tension that crackled between them. Panic curled in his gut, but he forced it down, glaring up at Ambrose with as much defiance as he could muster.

"Let me go," Kit hissed through gritted teeth, his voice tight with frustration and fear. "You can’t just—"

"I can," Ambrose interrupted, his grip tightening on Kit’s wrists. His tone was a quiet, dangerous promise. "And I will."

The room felt impossibly small, the air thick with the weight of unspoken words and the suffocating tension that hung between them. Kit’s chest heaved with shallow breaths, his mind spinning as he tried to make sense of the situation, of the weight behind Ambrose’s words, of the twisted bond that seemed to pull them together despite everything.

"I don’t want your sacrifices," Kit spat, his voice hoarse, barely holding onto the thread of his defiance. "I don’t need them."

Ambrose’s lips curled into something between a smirk and a snarl. His fingers flexed around Kit’s wrists, his grip firm and unrelenting. "You don’t know what you need. Not yet."

With a sudden, violent motion, Ambrose leaned down, his breath hot against Kit’s ear. "But you will."

Kit’s heart raced, the sound of it pounding in his ears. Ambrose’s words sent a shiver down his spine, and for a moment, he couldn’t tell if it was fear or something darker, something he was too afraid to admit. His mind screamed at him to fight, to break free, but his body felt sluggish, the weight of Ambrose’s presence pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket.

Ambrose pulled back just enough to meet Kit’s gaze again, his eyes burning with a fierce, unrelenting intensity. "Fight me all you want," he said, his voice low and deliberate, each word a dark promise. "But I’m not letting you go."

Kit’s chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, his mind spinning, the weight of Ambrose’s words settling over him like a leaden cloak. He wanted to scream, to demand answers, to push Ambrose away—but something in Ambrose’s gaze held him captive, something he wasn’t sure he could escape from, no matter how much he tried.

And deep down, despite the fear that churned in his gut, a small part of him wondered if Ambrose was right.

Continued here

Dark Currents (Intoxicating Fear Fanfic)

III: Between the Lines

@chaotic-orphan

TW: stalking, drugging, implied noncon, intimate whumper, intimidating whumper, disoriented whumpee.

Kit stared up at the cracked ceiling, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. Ambrose’s presence was a weight that pinned him to the bed, but it wasn’t just physical. There was something else, something darker that twisted between them, something that made Kit’s skin crawl and his pulse race.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched thin, taut like a wire pulled to its breaking point. Outside, the city was waking up, the distant sounds of traffic and early morning bustle filtering through the window. But inside the apartment, time felt frozen, suspended in the crackling tension between them.

Ambrose’s grip on Kit’s wrists loosened, but he didn’t move away. He stayed there, hovering over Kit, his eyes still locked on his with a fierce, burning intensity. Kit’s mind raced, trying to piece together the fragments of the night before. The bar, the drink, the way Ambrose had watched him from across the room like a hawk circling its prey. And then… the blackouts. The missing hours.

"What the fuck did you do to me?" Kit finally managed to choke out, his voice hoarse.

Ambrose’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. "I didn’t do anything you didn’t want, Kit."

Kit’s stomach twisted at the implication, but there was no time to dwell on it. The fog in his mind was beginning to lift, and with it came a flood of memories—disjointed flashes of the previous night. The dimly lit bar, the feeling of eyes on him, the cold touch of Ambrose’s hand on his arm as he’d leaned in, too close, whispering something that Kit couldn’t quite remember.

Kit’s jaw clenched. He pulled against Ambrose’s grip, and this time, Ambrose let go, sitting back slightly, though his knees still bracketed Kit’s hips, keeping him in place.

"I want answers," Kit demanded, his voice stronger now. "Why are you here? What do you want from me?"

Ambrose’s expression darkened, his eyes narrowing. "I already told you. This is about survival. Do you think all of this is some kind of game?"

Kit shook his head, frustration bubbling to the surface. "Survival? What are you even talking about? You show up out of nowhere, drug me, drag me back here, and now you're talking about survival like I'm supposed to understand what the fuck is going on?"

Ambrose’s gaze flickered, something unreadable passing over his face before he looked away, his jaw tight. For the first time, Kit saw a crack in the armour—a flicker of something deeper, something vulnerable. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by the same cold, unrelenting intensity.

"You don’t know what’s coming," Ambrose said quietly, his voice almost a whisper. "But you will."

Kit’s frustration turned to anger. He pushed himself up, forcing Ambrose to shift back slightly to avoid being knocked off balance. The movement was sudden, a surge of adrenaline cutting through the lingering fog in Kit’s veins.

"Enough with the cryptic bullshit, Ambrose!" Kit snapped, his voice rising. "I’m done playing whatever game this is. You want to talk about survival? Fine. Start explaining. Now."

For a long moment, Ambrose didn’t respond. His eyes flicked to the window, then back to Kit, as if weighing his next words carefully. The silence stretched on, the tension between them thick and suffocating.

Finally, Ambrose exhaled a slow, measured breath. "There are forces at work you don’t understand. Dark forces. And you… you’re in the middle of it, whether you like it or not."

Kit blinked, his anger momentarily faltering. "Dark forces?" he echoed, his voice tinged with disbelief. "Are you serious?"

Ambrose’s expression hardened. "Deadly serious."

Kit shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "This is insane. You expect me to believe—"

"I don’t expect you to believe anything," Ambrose interrupted, his voice sharp. "But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s true. You’ve felt it, haven’t you? The strange things happening around you? The sense that something’s been watching you, following you?"

Kit opened his mouth to argue, to deny it—but the words died in his throat. Because the truth was… he had felt it. For weeks now, there had been an odd sense of unease gnawing at him, a feeling that something was just out of sight, lurking in the shadows. The lights in his apartment flickering for no reason, the strange cold spots that made his breath fog in the middle of summer, the nightmares that left him drenched in sweat, heart racing.

And then there was the strange encounter in the alleyway a few nights ago—the way the shadows had seemed to move, to shift and twist as if they had a life of their own. He’d written it off as a trick of the light, a figment of his imagination. But now…?

Kit swallowed hard. "What… what are you saying?"

Ambrose’s eyes bore into his, the weight of his words heavy with truth. "I’m saying that the world isn’t what you think it is. There are things out there—things that want you, things that will stop at nothing to get to you. And if you don’t start taking this seriously, you’re going to end up dead. Or worse."

Kit’s breath hitched in his throat. Dead? Or worse? The room felt suddenly too small, the walls closing in around him. He shook his head, trying to make sense of it all, but it was like trying to hold water in his hands—everything kept slipping through his fingers.

"I don’t understand," Kit whispered, his voice barely audible. "Why me? What do they want from me?"

Ambrose’s expression softened, just for a moment. "It’s not just you. It’s us. We’re connected, Kit. More than you realise. That’s why I’ve been watching you. That’s why I’ve been trying to protect you."

Kit’s heart skipped a beat. "Protect me? You drugged me and dragged me back here against my will!"

Ambrose’s lips pressed into a thin line. "I didn’t have a choice. They were closing in on you. If I hadn’t intervened…"

He trailed off, but the unspoken words hung heavy in the air.

Kit felt a chill crawl down his spine. "Who are they?"

Ambrose hesitated, then shook his head. "It’s better if you don’t know. Not yet."

Kit’s frustration flared again. "I deserve to know what’s happening to me!"

Ambrose’s eyes flashed with anger, but it wasn’t directed at Kit—it was something deeper, something simmering just beneath the surface. "You’ll know soon enough," he said, his voice tight. "But first… you need to trust me."

Kit let out a bitter laugh. "Trust you? After everything you’ve done?"

Ambrose’s gaze softened again, and for the first time, Kit saw something like regret in his eyes. "I know I’ve made mistakes. But I’m trying to keep you alive. You don’t have to like me. You don’t even have to forgive me. But if you want to survive this, you’re going to need me."

Kit stared at him, his mind racing, torn between disbelief and the growing sense that maybe—just maybe—Ambrose was telling the truth. The strange occurrences, the feeling of being watched, the sense that something was closing in on him… it all lined up, even if Kit didn’t want to admit it.

But trusting Ambrose? That felt like a step too far.

"I don’t know if I can trust you," Kit said finally, his voice quiet but firm. "But I’m not going to let you call the shots anymore. If we’re going to do this, we do it on my terms."

Ambrose studied him for a long moment, then gave a slow nod. "Fair enough."

Kit exhaled, the tension in his chest easing just slightly. "So… what happens now?"

Ambrose shuffled off the bed, finally giving Kit space to breathe. He crossed the room to the window, looking out at the city below. "Now," he said, his voice low, "we get ready. Because they’ll be coming for you soon."

Kit’s stomach twisted with unease. "Who?"

Ambrose turned, his eyes dark and serious. "The shadows."

Continued here

Tbh, it was like 2 AM when I was writing this and my brain was most certainly doing a thing lmao. I’m so weak for Whumper lines :’). Anyway, enjoy! Oh, and feel free to use them (just tag me when you do, I’d love to read what ya’ll write) :3.

Whumper lines #1

“Don’t keep me waiting, Sweetness.”

“You will regret that.”

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t run from me.”

“Cry harder, Darling.”

“It hurts, right?”

“You need me.”

“No one will ever find you here.”

“Don’t disobey me.”

“Sit/Stand/Lay still.”

“I love the taste of your blood.”

“I can feel that you’re growing weaker.”

“Sing for me.”

“Bleed for me.”

“No.”

“I will always be here.”

“You bruise so pretty.”

“Let me bite you.”

“The flesh of your neck is so soft.”

“You taste ever so sweet.”

“I want to hear your screams while I take your life.”

“Let me tie you up.”

“You have been very good.”

“Beg.”

“Don’t piss me off.”

“I’m in a particular mood.”

“I warned you.”

“Don’t provoke me.”

“Can’t you see? I’m being generous right now.”

“I win.”

“I don’t get scared, Darling. I’ve seen death.”

Whumper lines #2

“Oh, you’ve done it now.”

“You’re my muse.”

“Come here. Now.”

“Come here, Darling. I’ll stitch/bandage you up real nice.”

“Watch me.”

“God. Every time I look at you, the urge to hurt you grows even stronger.”

“I’ll always find you.”

“You’re so beautiful.”

“Oh, Darling… Just trust me. I’m very real.”

“Shhh. It’ll be over soon.”

“How dare you interrupt me.”

“You may rest now, Sweetness. But not for long.”

“Don’t try to fight me.”

“We’ll be together forever.”

“The outside world is more cruel than I am, Dear.”

“Give up already.”

“Don’t die on me, now.”

“Dare to look at me with those pretty eyes again.”

“I don’t bite. Hard.”

“Oh, well. I lied.”

“My, my. You’re being feisty today.”

“Oh, My Love. You’ll find out soon enough.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Relax.”

“Keep squirming like that. You’ll see what happens.”

“Things will get messy.”

“Anything for you, My Sunshine.”

“You’re safe in my hands. I promise.”

“My eternity will be yours as well.”

“May I have this dance?”

“I’m thirsty.”

“No one can hear you down here.”

“I will break you.”

“Don’t make me.”

Whumper lines #3

“I will never ever let you go.”

“You surely didn’t think that I’d let you escape, did you?”

“Found you.”

“Yes. Keep gasping for air.”

“Stop acting so tough.”

“Just what do you think you’re doing?”

“Aren’t you happy?”

“You sure got some nerve.”

“Stop struggling.”

“You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

“I said something about that, didn’t I?”

“How troublesome.”

“Don’t you remember?”

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Don’t. Try. Me.”

“With that beautiful face of yours, you deserve nothing but pain, don’t you?”

“You fainted already? How boring.”

“I will punish you for that.”

“This will have great consequences.”

“You were wrong.”

“Just wait and find out then.”

“You shouldn’t think that you can escape from me.”

“Beg for me to stop.”

“Turn around and look at me. Now.”

“Let’s have some fun, shall we?”

“You won’t say anything like that anymore after I’m done with you.”

“That’s a good boy.”

“You asked for it.”

“Time to say goodbye to the world you once knew.”

Another very well written chapter! I loved Hayes’ POV so much HES so delusional but I love how he genuinely thinks he’s being reasonable

CONTAINS: pet whump, forced to drink/get drunk, very creepy intimate whumper, mentions of torture/non-con from other chapters, whumpee victim blaming himself more, non-consensual touching, implied fade-to-black non-con at the end.

|| 18+ Interaction Only ||

[9.]

[prev] [series masterlist]

Asa wakes to hands on him, again.

His first thought is that at least he isn't alone anymore.

Somewhere he realizes just how horrible it is. Just how disgusting. But there's nothing in him. No more energy. No more strength. He believes this is much how it must have been like to be drugged, though he doesn't remember. Completely unable to move much more than a twitch, so pathetically weak, and even as his stomach starts to churn at the slow recollection that it's Hayes that's holding him, he can't manage to pull away.

He wonders briefly if he even wants to. He feels like he does, knows he does, but...his body always seems to want something different, doesn't it? It wouldn't have come, if it didn't want it. Not then or now. Not with anyone. It betrays him, every time, and he thinks, right now, maybe it's better to just fucking let the stupid thing do whatever it wants because he's too goddamn fucking tired. Too achy and sore and hungry and just...

Done. He's just done.

He feels like he should be embarrassed, humiliated, but he's just too tired for that, either.

He drifts in and out for a while, not comforted by the touch but relieved at the consistent reminder he's no longer in that closet, that he's no longer in the dark before finally Hayes stirs behind him, a little and then a bit more before finally planting a gentle kiss to the back of his neck.

Asa hates him. Asa wants him fucking dead. He wants everyone dead. He wants the whole fucking world to burn for what it's done to him.

"You're awake," Hayes murmurs, stroking hair from Asa's face, tucking it behind his ear. "Hi, baby. How're you feeling?"

Fucking homicidal. Not that he can do a damn thing with it.

"You slept all day, love. I had to take off work to stay with you...you're not good enough to be on your own yet."

Vaguely, something flickers. A hope, maybe. A promise that, eventually, he'll be left alone? Would it be long enough to get away? The things it will probably take to get to that point, though...to get Hayes to trust him...no, no, no...

"Got you to drink a little here and there, but you've been so sleepy...and no wonder. I imagine it wasn't very comfortable in there, was it?"

Asa doesn't remember. He doesn't fucking remember anything but darkness. His mind isn't working. Does that mean he's gone an entire week without food now? He thought he wouldn't mind...he thought he'd never be hungry again. But he feels like he's dying. And he's still so thirsty...

There's a half-full glass on Hayes' dresser that he notices, and he licks his lips. He doesn't even know if he could speak if he tried.

But he needs it. He'd do anything for it.

Please, he mouths, and tries so hard to reach for it. His hand twitches, stretches out, but he can't even begin to do anything more.

Hayes does, instead. Hayes does, like he's not the reason for it all in the first place. He leans over, takes the glass, and lets Asa drink it. All of it, without question, without needing anything first.

The relief is almost worth the kiss Hayes forces upon him afterwards.

"Such a good boy," Hayes tells him, petting his hair, and Asa's throat burns as he realizes the only people who've ever done something this gentle, treated him this sweetly, have hurt him in ways he doesn't think he'll ever recover from.

"Oh, I'm going to treat you to something special tonight, Asa. I am. You just stay here, alright? Can I trust you to stay here and wait for me to come back?"

Asa hates himself and the fact that he can't do anything but that. He doesn't reply, and Hayes takes his chin and tilts it to the side, just an inch away from being painful, from straining it to the point he might gasp.

No more. Please. Not right now.

"Yes," he whispers, voice returning just enough to do so.

"Yes...?"

Asa closes his eyes. Vaguely, almost as if instinctually, he knows what's wanted of him.

"Sir," he replies. "Yes, sir."

"Oh, Asa," Hayes purrs, lowering himself along Asa's body, kissing a line down to—

"No," Asa gasps, using everything he has to curl his knees up, and Hayes...

Steps back. Smiles at him and pets his hair, and says, "You're right. Dinner first, okay?"

First. That means if he accepts Hayes' food, he knows exactly where it's going to lead second.

And worse, he knows there's not a single thing he can do about it, and that it'll happen whether he chooses to keep starving or not.

So he nods, just so Hayes will leave him be, and then as soon as the door's closed, he buries his face in the pillow to muffle his sobs.

—x—

He makes it all perfect, for Asa.

He even lights a candle on the table. All for his boy.

His boy, who's barely conscious, and doesn't seem to even notice let alone appreciate all the work he put into it all.

He has to carry Asa downstairs, sit him upright in a chair at the table, and still, the second Hayes leaves to grab something, he comes back to Asa with his head resting on his arm against the top.

He smacks down a bottle of wine against the wood, and Asa flinches and moans softly.

"No one ever teach you manners, pretty baby?" he asks, pouring a glass. "Elbows off the table."

Slowly, Asa drops his arm down, but his head stays lowered, his eyes closed. Fuck, he's so weak...Hayes could do anything he wanted to him. Anything at all.

But he's going to feed him, right now. He's going to feed his boy, because that's what his boy deserves.

At least...for right now.

He cups Asa's chin and kisses him. Slips his tongue into his boy's mouth and hums.

"You taste so delicious, my love," he says. "You deserve something tasty, too."

Asa looks like he expects Hayes to mean something very different by that. Which is good, because usually, Hayes will.

But he's gone long enough without food. He really, really seems like he can't go any longer.

Hayes could push it...or could only feed him enough to keep him alive, and make him like this all the time...

But Asa was good. He was finally good. Hayes wants him to know just how good it can be for him, too.

"Does this smell good, sweet?" he asks, placing a plate of food before him, and then smacks Asa's hand away when it inches towards it.

"What did I tell you? You need permission. Wait for it, or you won't get anything."

Slowly, Asa's hand draws back towards himself. So obediently...so submissively.

Just as he should be. Maybe the next time he wants to act out, he'll think about the closet, and how much he doesn't want to be in there again.

"You're so sleepy, still," Hayes murmurs, smiling as he pets through his Asa's hair. "Can barely move...maybe it'd be easier if I helped, hmm?"

Asa grunts softly. Definitely not an agreement, but Hayes doesn't care. He picks Asa's pretty body up from under his arms, sits in the chair, and then—

"No—" Asa mumbles, squirming, but Hayes pulls him down to sit in his lap anyways. It's so easy. And even though Asa writhes, he's completely out of breath after just a few seconds and just...stops.

"Don't...don't..."

"Baby," Hayes tuts. "You think I'd fuck you over the table here? We eat here. Such a dirty little mind you have...maybe you'd like that. You seem to like a lot of things."

He reaches up, stroking Asa's throat, then his mouth, slipping a finger between his lips. "Open...that's it, good boy..."

And then he takes a piece of food, brings it up, and places it in Asa's mouth.

He feels Asa gag. He feels him squirm again and protest softly, almost spitting it out, but then...he doesn't. He groans softly, and swallows, and eats the next piece, too, even a bit more eagerly.

He looks like the most perfect little pet. Letting Hayes feed him, as he should. Letting Hayes take care of him, like Hayes always will.

"Good boy," he murmurs, lips against Asa's ear. "Good boy. Look at you. So behaved. I love you, Asa. Keep being good like this and you can keep being treated like this. Please...let me treat you good, Asa. Let me take care of you."

He picks up the wine glass, taking a sip, and then presses it to Asa's lips. "Taste, love. It's delicious. I'm sure you've never tasted something so expensive..."

Asa grunts, tries to tilt his head away, but the way he's tucked back against Hayes leaves there no real place to go. Hayes presses a bit harder, until he hears the glass clink against Asa's teeth, and then Asa makes the cutest little noise and takes a drink. Even when he chokes quietly, because he expects Hayes to pull it away sooner, he drinks the entire glass down, coughing softly as Hayes sets it back on the table to refill it.

"You're beautiful, baby," Hayes says, giving him another few bites of food in between another few mouthfuls of wine, kissing at the spot just between his neck and shoulder, so soft, as his free hand travels down to gently stroke over Asa, just because he's there.

And Asa moans, far louder, and mumbles, "Fuck..."

Hayes stops, more than a little stunned by that. He tilts Asa's head back to better see his expression, and his boy's pale face has gone rosy, his eyes shut tight. "What was that?"

Asa doesn't respond. Hayes chuckles, and brings the glass back to Asa's pretty mouth.

"It sounded like you felt better, pet," he says, as Asa chokes down more wine. "Lightweight, are you? How adorable. Oh, Asa. You're adorable."

"Don't—" Asa coughs out, but Hayes grabs his chin and forces him to finish the glass. Each were quite full, he has to admit, and it seems more than enough by the end of this one to have the boy heavily influenced, his head dropping back on Hayes' shoulder as he...

Giggles. Like the most precious and content little pet Hayes wants him to be.

"My goodness," Hayes murmurs, nuzzling into his hair, "my pretty, tipsy little boy...is that what you are?"

Asa mumbles under his breath, head lolling. He was probably still a little dehydrated, needing water more than wine...but that's okay. There's plenty of time for that, later. After this. It's liquid after all, isn't it? He'll be just fine.

So he pours another glass, and has Asa sipping at it until he's doing it willingly, spilling it down his chin and smiling when Hayes licks it.

Hayes can't help but groan at the sight—and apparently, Asa can't help but groan when Hayes wraps a hand around him again. He uses his other hand to run up Asa's body, scratching gently at his belly and chest, pinching and twisting at one of his nipples, and Asa gasps and squirms and then ruts down against Hayes' quickly hardening self like he finally wants it, too.

"So fuckin' sensitive like this, baby...are you ready to go up to bed? Huh? You want me to fuck you so good you scream? Because that's what I wanna do right now...does that sound good?"

Asa mumbles something else, drunkenly incoherent, but he's reacting so beautifully, and Hayes can't let it go to waste.

Another reward, for being good.

"Yeah," Hayes purrs, picking him up, leaving everything to clean later, "that sounds good, doesn't it?"

Asa's head falls back, humming. He doesn't say a word as Hayes brings him back up to the room, lays him back down, and even giggles again when Hayes starts to kiss along his chest.

And then he says a name. Not Hayes'. Someone else's. A name Hayes has never heard.

He pauses, leaning back a bit. "Who's Evan?"

Asa doesn't answer. He just arches back against the pillows, and, well...Hayes can't very well ignore that. He grabs for the lubricant again, and listens to Asa keen as he's touched, and relishes every beautiful moment of this.

He'll ask again, later, when his boy is coherent again. Right now...

Well. There's other things to focus on, other things to do, other places to touch and squeeze, and so he does.

"Mine," he whispers into Asa's ear, and smiles at the first time he hasn't heard a protest in response.

taglist: @oddsconvert @darkthingshappen @leyswhumpdump @littlespacecastle @keep-beach-city-werid @forthetaintedsorrow-whump @veyroswin @eatyourdamnpears @t0rture-me @darlingwhump @melancholy-in-the-morning @flowersarefreetherapy @ender-whumps @the-infinant-one @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @endless-whump @bluewhumpcrew @serickswrites @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @flynnswhumpprompts @whumpcereal @whumpqin @honeybunny-og @whumpyblogthing @whumpzone @catawhumpus @quietlywhump @sparrowsage @the-turnips-last-stand @endlesscyclezz @goesaroundcomesaroundwhat @whumpy-catfish @dont-be-gentle-please @the-bloody-sadist @whumpinggrounds @squishablesunbeam @canislycaon24 (let me know if you want on or off this list!)

Another very well written chapter! I loved Hayes’ POV so much HES so delusional but I love how he genuinely thinks he’s being reasonable

CONTAINS: pet whump, forced to drink/get drunk, very creepy intimate whumper, mentions of torture/non-con from other chapters, whumpee victim blaming himself more, non-consensual touching, implied fade-to-black non-con at the end.

|| 18+ Interaction Only ||

[9.]

[prev] [series masterlist]

Asa wakes to hands on him, again.

His first thought is that at least he isn't alone anymore.

Somewhere he realizes just how horrible it is. Just how disgusting. But there's nothing in him. No more energy. No more strength. He believes this is much how it must have been like to be drugged, though he doesn't remember. Completely unable to move much more than a twitch, so pathetically weak, and even as his stomach starts to churn at the slow recollection that it's Hayes that's holding him, he can't manage to pull away.

He wonders briefly if he even wants to. He feels like he does, knows he does, but...his body always seems to want something different, doesn't it? It wouldn't have come, if it didn't want it. Not then or now. Not with anyone. It betrays him, every time, and he thinks, right now, maybe it's better to just fucking let the stupid thing do whatever it wants because he's too goddamn fucking tired. Too achy and sore and hungry and just...

Done. He's just done.

He feels like he should be embarrassed, humiliated, but he's just too tired for that, either.

He drifts in and out for a while, not comforted by the touch but relieved at the consistent reminder he's no longer in that closet, that he's no longer in the dark before finally Hayes stirs behind him, a little and then a bit more before finally planting a gentle kiss to the back of his neck.

Asa hates him. Asa wants him fucking dead. He wants everyone dead. He wants the whole fucking world to burn for what it's done to him.

"You're awake," Hayes murmurs, stroking hair from Asa's face, tucking it behind his ear. "Hi, baby. How're you feeling?"

Fucking homicidal. Not that he can do a damn thing with it.

"You slept all day, love. I had to take off work to stay with you...you're not good enough to be on your own yet."

Vaguely, something flickers. A hope, maybe. A promise that, eventually, he'll be left alone? Would it be long enough to get away? The things it will probably take to get to that point, though...to get Hayes to trust him...no, no, no...

"Got you to drink a little here and there, but you've been so sleepy...and no wonder. I imagine it wasn't very comfortable in there, was it?"

Asa doesn't remember. He doesn't fucking remember anything but darkness. His mind isn't working. Does that mean he's gone an entire week without food now? He thought he wouldn't mind...he thought he'd never be hungry again. But he feels like he's dying. And he's still so thirsty...

There's a half-full glass on Hayes' dresser that he notices, and he licks his lips. He doesn't even know if he could speak if he tried.

But he needs it. He'd do anything for it.

Please, he mouths, and tries so hard to reach for it. His hand twitches, stretches out, but he can't even begin to do anything more.

Hayes does, instead. Hayes does, like he's not the reason for it all in the first place. He leans over, takes the glass, and lets Asa drink it. All of it, without question, without needing anything first.

The relief is almost worth the kiss Hayes forces upon him afterwards.

"Such a good boy," Hayes tells him, petting his hair, and Asa's throat burns as he realizes the only people who've ever done something this gentle, treated him this sweetly, have hurt him in ways he doesn't think he'll ever recover from.

"Oh, I'm going to treat you to something special tonight, Asa. I am. You just stay here, alright? Can I trust you to stay here and wait for me to come back?"

Asa hates himself and the fact that he can't do anything but that. He doesn't reply, and Hayes takes his chin and tilts it to the side, just an inch away from being painful, from straining it to the point he might gasp.

No more. Please. Not right now.

"Yes," he whispers, voice returning just enough to do so.

"Yes...?"

Asa closes his eyes. Vaguely, almost as if instinctually, he knows what's wanted of him.

"Sir," he replies. "Yes, sir."

"Oh, Asa," Hayes purrs, lowering himself along Asa's body, kissing a line down to—

"No," Asa gasps, using everything he has to curl his knees up, and Hayes...

Steps back. Smiles at him and pets his hair, and says, "You're right. Dinner first, okay?"

First. That means if he accepts Hayes' food, he knows exactly where it's going to lead second.

And worse, he knows there's not a single thing he can do about it, and that it'll happen whether he chooses to keep starving or not.

So he nods, just so Hayes will leave him be, and then as soon as the door's closed, he buries his face in the pillow to muffle his sobs.

—x—

He makes it all perfect, for Asa.

He even lights a candle on the table. All for his boy.

His boy, who's barely conscious, and doesn't seem to even notice let alone appreciate all the work he put into it all.

He has to carry Asa downstairs, sit him upright in a chair at the table, and still, the second Hayes leaves to grab something, he comes back to Asa with his head resting on his arm against the top.

He smacks down a bottle of wine against the wood, and Asa flinches and moans softly.

"No one ever teach you manners, pretty baby?" he asks, pouring a glass. "Elbows off the table."

Slowly, Asa drops his arm down, but his head stays lowered, his eyes closed. Fuck, he's so weak...Hayes could do anything he wanted to him. Anything at all.

But he's going to feed him, right now. He's going to feed his boy, because that's what his boy deserves.

At least...for right now.

He cups Asa's chin and kisses him. Slips his tongue into his boy's mouth and hums.

"You taste so delicious, my love," he says. "You deserve something tasty, too."

Asa looks like he expects Hayes to mean something very different by that. Which is good, because usually, Hayes will.

But he's gone long enough without food. He really, really seems like he can't go any longer.

Hayes could push it...or could only feed him enough to keep him alive, and make him like this all the time...

But Asa was good. He was finally good. Hayes wants him to know just how good it can be for him, too.

"Does this smell good, sweet?" he asks, placing a plate of food before him, and then smacks Asa's hand away when it inches towards it.

"What did I tell you? You need permission. Wait for it, or you won't get anything."

Slowly, Asa's hand draws back towards himself. So obediently...so submissively.

Just as he should be. Maybe the next time he wants to act out, he'll think about the closet, and how much he doesn't want to be in there again.

"You're so sleepy, still," Hayes murmurs, smiling as he pets through his Asa's hair. "Can barely move...maybe it'd be easier if I helped, hmm?"

Asa grunts softly. Definitely not an agreement, but Hayes doesn't care. He picks Asa's pretty body up from under his arms, sits in the chair, and then—

"No—" Asa mumbles, squirming, but Hayes pulls him down to sit in his lap anyways. It's so easy. And even though Asa writhes, he's completely out of breath after just a few seconds and just...stops.

"Don't...don't..."

"Baby," Hayes tuts. "You think I'd fuck you over the table here? We eat here. Such a dirty little mind you have...maybe you'd like that. You seem to like a lot of things."

He reaches up, stroking Asa's throat, then his mouth, slipping a finger between his lips. "Open...that's it, good boy..."

And then he takes a piece of food, brings it up, and places it in Asa's mouth.

He feels Asa gag. He feels him squirm again and protest softly, almost spitting it out, but then...he doesn't. He groans softly, and swallows, and eats the next piece, too, even a bit more eagerly.

He looks like the most perfect little pet. Letting Hayes feed him, as he should. Letting Hayes take care of him, like Hayes always will.

"Good boy," he murmurs, lips against Asa's ear. "Good boy. Look at you. So behaved. I love you, Asa. Keep being good like this and you can keep being treated like this. Please...let me treat you good, Asa. Let me take care of you."

He picks up the wine glass, taking a sip, and then presses it to Asa's lips. "Taste, love. It's delicious. I'm sure you've never tasted something so expensive..."

Asa grunts, tries to tilt his head away, but the way he's tucked back against Hayes leaves there no real place to go. Hayes presses a bit harder, until he hears the glass clink against Asa's teeth, and then Asa makes the cutest little noise and takes a drink. Even when he chokes quietly, because he expects Hayes to pull it away sooner, he drinks the entire glass down, coughing softly as Hayes sets it back on the table to refill it.

"You're beautiful, baby," Hayes says, giving him another few bites of food in between another few mouthfuls of wine, kissing at the spot just between his neck and shoulder, so soft, as his free hand travels down to gently stroke over Asa, just because he's there.

And Asa moans, far louder, and mumbles, "Fuck..."

Hayes stops, more than a little stunned by that. He tilts Asa's head back to better see his expression, and his boy's pale face has gone rosy, his eyes shut tight. "What was that?"

Asa doesn't respond. Hayes chuckles, and brings the glass back to Asa's pretty mouth.

"It sounded like you felt better, pet," he says, as Asa chokes down more wine. "Lightweight, are you? How adorable. Oh, Asa. You're adorable."

"Don't—" Asa coughs out, but Hayes grabs his chin and forces him to finish the glass. Each were quite full, he has to admit, and it seems more than enough by the end of this one to have the boy heavily influenced, his head dropping back on Hayes' shoulder as he...

Giggles. Like the most precious and content little pet Hayes wants him to be.

"My goodness," Hayes murmurs, nuzzling into his hair, "my pretty, tipsy little boy...is that what you are?"

Asa mumbles under his breath, head lolling. He was probably still a little dehydrated, needing water more than wine...but that's okay. There's plenty of time for that, later. After this. It's liquid after all, isn't it? He'll be just fine.

So he pours another glass, and has Asa sipping at it until he's doing it willingly, spilling it down his chin and smiling when Hayes licks it.

Hayes can't help but groan at the sight—and apparently, Asa can't help but groan when Hayes wraps a hand around him again. He uses his other hand to run up Asa's body, scratching gently at his belly and chest, pinching and twisting at one of his nipples, and Asa gasps and squirms and then ruts down against Hayes' quickly hardening self like he finally wants it, too.

"So fuckin' sensitive like this, baby...are you ready to go up to bed? Huh? You want me to fuck you so good you scream? Because that's what I wanna do right now...does that sound good?"

Asa mumbles something else, drunkenly incoherent, but he's reacting so beautifully, and Hayes can't let it go to waste.

Another reward, for being good.

"Yeah," Hayes purrs, picking him up, leaving everything to clean later, "that sounds good, doesn't it?"

Asa's head falls back, humming. He doesn't say a word as Hayes brings him back up to the room, lays him back down, and even giggles again when Hayes starts to kiss along his chest.

And then he says a name. Not Hayes'. Someone else's. A name Hayes has never heard.

He pauses, leaning back a bit. "Who's Evan?"

Asa doesn't answer. He just arches back against the pillows, and, well...Hayes can't very well ignore that. He grabs for the lubricant again, and listens to Asa keen as he's touched, and relishes every beautiful moment of this.

He'll ask again, later, when his boy is coherent again. Right now...

Well. There's other things to focus on, other things to do, other places to touch and squeeze, and so he does.

"Mine," he whispers into Asa's ear, and smiles at the first time he hasn't heard a protest in response.

taglist: @oddsconvert @darkthingshappen @leyswhumpdump @littlespacecastle @keep-beach-city-werid @forthetaintedsorrow-whump @veyroswin @eatyourdamnpears @t0rture-me @darlingwhump @melancholy-in-the-morning @flowersarefreetherapy @ender-whumps @the-infinant-one @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @endless-whump @bluewhumpcrew @serickswrites @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @flynnswhumpprompts @whumpcereal @whumpqin @honeybunny-og @whumpyblogthing @whumpzone @catawhumpus @quietlywhump @sparrowsage @the-turnips-last-stand @endlesscyclezz @goesaroundcomesaroundwhat @whumpy-catfish @dont-be-gentle-please @the-bloody-sadist @whumpinggrounds @squishablesunbeam @canislycaon24 (let me know if you want on or off this list!)

Another very well written chapter! I loved Hayes’ POV so much HES so delusional but I love how he genuinely thinks he’s being reasonable

CONTAINS: pet whump, forced to drink/get drunk, very creepy intimate whumper, mentions of torture/non-con from other chapters, whumpee victim blaming himself more, non-consensual touching, implied fade-to-black non-con at the end.

|| 18+ Interaction Only ||

[9.]

[prev] [series masterlist]

Asa wakes to hands on him, again.

His first thought is that at least he isn't alone anymore.

Somewhere he realizes just how horrible it is. Just how disgusting. But there's nothing in him. No more energy. No more strength. He believes this is much how it must have been like to be drugged, though he doesn't remember. Completely unable to move much more than a twitch, so pathetically weak, and even as his stomach starts to churn at the slow recollection that it's Hayes that's holding him, he can't manage to pull away.

He wonders briefly if he even wants to. He feels like he does, knows he does, but...his body always seems to want something different, doesn't it? It wouldn't have come, if it didn't want it. Not then or now. Not with anyone. It betrays him, every time, and he thinks, right now, maybe it's better to just fucking let the stupid thing do whatever it wants because he's too goddamn fucking tired. Too achy and sore and hungry and just...

Done. He's just done.

He feels like he should be embarrassed, humiliated, but he's just too tired for that, either.

He drifts in and out for a while, not comforted by the touch but relieved at the consistent reminder he's no longer in that closet, that he's no longer in the dark before finally Hayes stirs behind him, a little and then a bit more before finally planting a gentle kiss to the back of his neck.

Asa hates him. Asa wants him fucking dead. He wants everyone dead. He wants the whole fucking world to burn for what it's done to him.

"You're awake," Hayes murmurs, stroking hair from Asa's face, tucking it behind his ear. "Hi, baby. How're you feeling?"

Fucking homicidal. Not that he can do a damn thing with it.

"You slept all day, love. I had to take off work to stay with you...you're not good enough to be on your own yet."

Vaguely, something flickers. A hope, maybe. A promise that, eventually, he'll be left alone? Would it be long enough to get away? The things it will probably take to get to that point, though...to get Hayes to trust him...no, no, no...

"Got you to drink a little here and there, but you've been so sleepy...and no wonder. I imagine it wasn't very comfortable in there, was it?"

Asa doesn't remember. He doesn't fucking remember anything but darkness. His mind isn't working. Does that mean he's gone an entire week without food now? He thought he wouldn't mind...he thought he'd never be hungry again. But he feels like he's dying. And he's still so thirsty...

There's a half-full glass on Hayes' dresser that he notices, and he licks his lips. He doesn't even know if he could speak if he tried.

But he needs it. He'd do anything for it.

Please, he mouths, and tries so hard to reach for it. His hand twitches, stretches out, but he can't even begin to do anything more.

Hayes does, instead. Hayes does, like he's not the reason for it all in the first place. He leans over, takes the glass, and lets Asa drink it. All of it, without question, without needing anything first.

The relief is almost worth the kiss Hayes forces upon him afterwards.

"Such a good boy," Hayes tells him, petting his hair, and Asa's throat burns as he realizes the only people who've ever done something this gentle, treated him this sweetly, have hurt him in ways he doesn't think he'll ever recover from.

"Oh, I'm going to treat you to something special tonight, Asa. I am. You just stay here, alright? Can I trust you to stay here and wait for me to come back?"

Asa hates himself and the fact that he can't do anything but that. He doesn't reply, and Hayes takes his chin and tilts it to the side, just an inch away from being painful, from straining it to the point he might gasp.

No more. Please. Not right now.

"Yes," he whispers, voice returning just enough to do so.

"Yes...?"

Asa closes his eyes. Vaguely, almost as if instinctually, he knows what's wanted of him.

"Sir," he replies. "Yes, sir."

"Oh, Asa," Hayes purrs, lowering himself along Asa's body, kissing a line down to—

"No," Asa gasps, using everything he has to curl his knees up, and Hayes...

Steps back. Smiles at him and pets his hair, and says, "You're right. Dinner first, okay?"

First. That means if he accepts Hayes' food, he knows exactly where it's going to lead second.

And worse, he knows there's not a single thing he can do about it, and that it'll happen whether he chooses to keep starving or not.

So he nods, just so Hayes will leave him be, and then as soon as the door's closed, he buries his face in the pillow to muffle his sobs.

—x—

He makes it all perfect, for Asa.

He even lights a candle on the table. All for his boy.

His boy, who's barely conscious, and doesn't seem to even notice let alone appreciate all the work he put into it all.

He has to carry Asa downstairs, sit him upright in a chair at the table, and still, the second Hayes leaves to grab something, he comes back to Asa with his head resting on his arm against the top.

He smacks down a bottle of wine against the wood, and Asa flinches and moans softly.

"No one ever teach you manners, pretty baby?" he asks, pouring a glass. "Elbows off the table."

Slowly, Asa drops his arm down, but his head stays lowered, his eyes closed. Fuck, he's so weak...Hayes could do anything he wanted to him. Anything at all.

But he's going to feed him, right now. He's going to feed his boy, because that's what his boy deserves.

At least...for right now.

He cups Asa's chin and kisses him. Slips his tongue into his boy's mouth and hums.

"You taste so delicious, my love," he says. "You deserve something tasty, too."

Asa looks like he expects Hayes to mean something very different by that. Which is good, because usually, Hayes will.

But he's gone long enough without food. He really, really seems like he can't go any longer.

Hayes could push it...or could only feed him enough to keep him alive, and make him like this all the time...

But Asa was good. He was finally good. Hayes wants him to know just how good it can be for him, too.

"Does this smell good, sweet?" he asks, placing a plate of food before him, and then smacks Asa's hand away when it inches towards it.

"What did I tell you? You need permission. Wait for it, or you won't get anything."

Slowly, Asa's hand draws back towards himself. So obediently...so submissively.

Just as he should be. Maybe the next time he wants to act out, he'll think about the closet, and how much he doesn't want to be in there again.

"You're so sleepy, still," Hayes murmurs, smiling as he pets through his Asa's hair. "Can barely move...maybe it'd be easier if I helped, hmm?"

Asa grunts softly. Definitely not an agreement, but Hayes doesn't care. He picks Asa's pretty body up from under his arms, sits in the chair, and then—

"No—" Asa mumbles, squirming, but Hayes pulls him down to sit in his lap anyways. It's so easy. And even though Asa writhes, he's completely out of breath after just a few seconds and just...stops.

"Don't...don't..."

"Baby," Hayes tuts. "You think I'd fuck you over the table here? We eat here. Such a dirty little mind you have...maybe you'd like that. You seem to like a lot of things."

He reaches up, stroking Asa's throat, then his mouth, slipping a finger between his lips. "Open...that's it, good boy..."

And then he takes a piece of food, brings it up, and places it in Asa's mouth.

He feels Asa gag. He feels him squirm again and protest softly, almost spitting it out, but then...he doesn't. He groans softly, and swallows, and eats the next piece, too, even a bit more eagerly.

He looks like the most perfect little pet. Letting Hayes feed him, as he should. Letting Hayes take care of him, like Hayes always will.

"Good boy," he murmurs, lips against Asa's ear. "Good boy. Look at you. So behaved. I love you, Asa. Keep being good like this and you can keep being treated like this. Please...let me treat you good, Asa. Let me take care of you."

He picks up the wine glass, taking a sip, and then presses it to Asa's lips. "Taste, love. It's delicious. I'm sure you've never tasted something so expensive..."

Asa grunts, tries to tilt his head away, but the way he's tucked back against Hayes leaves there no real place to go. Hayes presses a bit harder, until he hears the glass clink against Asa's teeth, and then Asa makes the cutest little noise and takes a drink. Even when he chokes quietly, because he expects Hayes to pull it away sooner, he drinks the entire glass down, coughing softly as Hayes sets it back on the table to refill it.

"You're beautiful, baby," Hayes says, giving him another few bites of food in between another few mouthfuls of wine, kissing at the spot just between his neck and shoulder, so soft, as his free hand travels down to gently stroke over Asa, just because he's there.

And Asa moans, far louder, and mumbles, "Fuck..."

Hayes stops, more than a little stunned by that. He tilts Asa's head back to better see his expression, and his boy's pale face has gone rosy, his eyes shut tight. "What was that?"

Asa doesn't respond. Hayes chuckles, and brings the glass back to Asa's pretty mouth.

"It sounded like you felt better, pet," he says, as Asa chokes down more wine. "Lightweight, are you? How adorable. Oh, Asa. You're adorable."

"Don't—" Asa coughs out, but Hayes grabs his chin and forces him to finish the glass. Each were quite full, he has to admit, and it seems more than enough by the end of this one to have the boy heavily influenced, his head dropping back on Hayes' shoulder as he...

Giggles. Like the most precious and content little pet Hayes wants him to be.

"My goodness," Hayes murmurs, nuzzling into his hair, "my pretty, tipsy little boy...is that what you are?"

Asa mumbles under his breath, head lolling. He was probably still a little dehydrated, needing water more than wine...but that's okay. There's plenty of time for that, later. After this. It's liquid after all, isn't it? He'll be just fine.

So he pours another glass, and has Asa sipping at it until he's doing it willingly, spilling it down his chin and smiling when Hayes licks it.

Hayes can't help but groan at the sight—and apparently, Asa can't help but groan when Hayes wraps a hand around him again. He uses his other hand to run up Asa's body, scratching gently at his belly and chest, pinching and twisting at one of his nipples, and Asa gasps and squirms and then ruts down against Hayes' quickly hardening self like he finally wants it, too.

"So fuckin' sensitive like this, baby...are you ready to go up to bed? Huh? You want me to fuck you so good you scream? Because that's what I wanna do right now...does that sound good?"

Asa mumbles something else, drunkenly incoherent, but he's reacting so beautifully, and Hayes can't let it go to waste.

Another reward, for being good.

"Yeah," Hayes purrs, picking him up, leaving everything to clean later, "that sounds good, doesn't it?"

Asa's head falls back, humming. He doesn't say a word as Hayes brings him back up to the room, lays him back down, and even giggles again when Hayes starts to kiss along his chest.

And then he says a name. Not Hayes'. Someone else's. A name Hayes has never heard.

He pauses, leaning back a bit. "Who's Evan?"

Asa doesn't answer. He just arches back against the pillows, and, well...Hayes can't very well ignore that. He grabs for the lubricant again, and listens to Asa keen as he's touched, and relishes every beautiful moment of this.

He'll ask again, later, when his boy is coherent again. Right now...

Well. There's other things to focus on, other things to do, other places to touch and squeeze, and so he does.

"Mine," he whispers into Asa's ear, and smiles at the first time he hasn't heard a protest in response.

taglist: @oddsconvert @darkthingshappen @leyswhumpdump @littlespacecastle @keep-beach-city-werid @forthetaintedsorrow-whump @veyroswin @eatyourdamnpears @t0rture-me @darlingwhump @melancholy-in-the-morning @flowersarefreetherapy @ender-whumps @the-infinant-one @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @endless-whump @bluewhumpcrew @serickswrites @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @flynnswhumpprompts @whumpcereal @whumpqin @honeybunny-og @whumpyblogthing @whumpzone @catawhumpus @quietlywhump @sparrowsage @the-turnips-last-stand @endlesscyclezz @goesaroundcomesaroundwhat @whumpy-catfish @dont-be-gentle-please @the-bloody-sadist @whumpinggrounds @squishablesunbeam @canislycaon24 (let me know if you want on or off this list!)

Rojan can be a little creepy sometimes. He kind of gives me like intimate creepy whumper vibes, but he doesn’t do anything sexual. He just gets in your personal space and loves pet names too. He thinks it’s funny to make people uncomfortable sometimes. [Specifically Vampires]

He loves reminding Cordova how much smaller he is compared to him. So you’ll find him towering over him on purpose just for the hell of it. It’s also convenient for him to carry Lilith around without any effort. He’s a pretty good cuddle partner too ;)

Some of the scars you can see in this shot are all basically from the vampires he’s hunted and caught. Although, some of the ones on his hands are from him being stupid as a kid and playing with butterfly knives. He loves a good knife.

Side note: My art style changing every other week should be a sin. [Pinterest Reference. I think it’s by Maho]

- 🪻

So, there’s a trend on tik tok for a song and it’s basically the words you see here. I thought it fit these two perfectly, so here’s a little comic for shits and giggles.

Presenting Josh and Felix from @oddsconvert Play Pretend.

And here’s a little aftermath too.

Poor baby blue 😅 sorry not sorry.

- 🪻

Fiona & Moriarty- Lesson Two

Part Two. Content includes kidnapping, threats of violence, actual violence, swearing, forced to hurt, dehumanization, mutilation, noncon touch (nonsexual), autocannibalism, branding, and torture. Moriarty is co-owned with @space-is-out-there! Let me know if I missed any tags.

Lesson two. Respect.

"Welcome to my humble lair!" Moriarty announces, as if Fiona is supposed to burst into applause at the sight of dingy dungeon walls. Instead, she nearly breaks a wrist trying to pull the chain she's cuffed to out of the wall. "Where is everyone?! Where did you take me?!"

"A- wouldn't you like to know and B- to my home!"

"A- Yes I would and B- fuck you and your dungeon house," the girl snaps. Moriarty cackles at that, flashing perfectly white teeth as Fiona looks around in a sudden panic. "What did you do with my wand?!"

"I assure you it's unharmed. I'm just saving it for when you earn it."

What-

"I was wrong about Mark," Moriarty says, waving a hand dismissively at the thought of his son. "I thought he might have what it takes, but... I'm still in the market for a protégé."

Fiona's expression is incredulous. "No way I'm doing that! You're even more insane than I thought if you think I'll EVER work for you!" She pulls even harder at the chains, but they don't budge.

Moriarty rolls his eyes. "They use those chains to wrangle dragons, you know."

Fiona stops pulling and glares at him. "So what, then? Are you planning on just keeping me in here forever?!"

He scoffs, like she's an idiot. "No, of course not. If I can't convince you, I'll merely erase your memory and mind control you!" He pauses, tapping his chin as if deep in thought. "...Or I'll kill you and feed you to the rats. Depends on my mood."

Fiona wipes the horrified look off her face before that statement can sink in. "Great. So there's no option where I, say... stab you in the back?"

"Not unless you want to be tracked to the ends of the earth by my men and fed the skin of everyone you care about," Moriarty responds matter-of-factually.

Fiona feels ill. "Thanks for that image."

"You're welcome, love!" Moriarty chirps, and claps his hands together. "Now, if we're going to get along, there are some ground rules you should know about. Follow them, and your apprenticeship will be relatively pain-free. Disobey, and there will be consequences. Number one-"

Abruptly, he is standing less than a foot away from her, and she startles on instinct. He clicks his tongue. "Don't hesitate. Hesitation makes you weak- and you can't run a criminal empire like that, can you?"

She opens her mouth to speak and he holds up a finger to silence her. She's so surprised that she says nothing, her mouth agape- and Moriarty claps. "Rule number two- respect. You may be next in line to run this place, but I am your boss. You follow my orders, when I give them. You may call me Moriarty when we're alone; boss or sir when in public."

She can't help herself. "What are you calling me?"

"Whatever the hell I want," he says.

She wasn't sure what else she expected.

"Rule two-and-a-half- look me in the eyes when I speak to you." Moriarty snaps his fingers, catching her attention from an extremely interesting mold spot on the floor. "Manners are important- we can't have anyone thinking we're uncivilized, can't we? We're not barbarians."

"Yeah, just criminals," Fiona mumbles.

"That's no excuse to be rude," Moriarty retorts, snaps his fingers, and her cuffs vanish. As Fiona rubs her wrists, he taps his watch. "Hmm... that's all I have for now, so... Time for training!"

"I don't want to," Fiona says. Just how far can she push him...?

"Too bad."

That answered that question.

"Now are we going? Or am I dragging you out one chunk at a time?" Moriarty asks, looking at his nails as if her answer didn't really matter. (It didn't.)

"Keep your shirt on, I'm coming," Fiona grumbles, rising from her spot on the concrete floor. "Although I am interested in how exactly you'd train a dismembered protégé."

"With great effort!" comes the cheerful reply.

----

"First, I’m going to teach you a very important part of running this operation," Moriarty tells her as they stroll into a warehouse. She has no idea where they are- planewalking definitely broadens one's options for evil hideouts, she supposes.

Most of the goons that catch sight of them avert their eyes and scurry in the other direction. She wishes she could too, but Moriarty has a grip on her shoulder- she swallows her discomfort and pipes up. "So it's not just fancy suits and maniacal laughter?"

"No, those are just perks," Moriarty responds without skipping a beat. "Respect. Respect is important. There’s someone here who has disrespected me. We’re going to make sure he doesn’t do that anymore."

"What'd he do?" Fiona quips. "Stole your ice cream money? Broke your Action Man?"

"Someone’s been skimming off top of their transactions," Moriarty says, and gestures to a scrawny man being held by two guards. The man flinches when Moriarty makes eye contact with him, and cowers when the mastermind strides forward to speak. "Thought you could fuck me over, did you?!" He leans in to yell in the man's face. "DID YOU?!"

"Seems to me like he already regrets his situation," Fiona says quietly.

Moriarty steps back to stand next to her and draws a knife out of his jacket pocket. "He skimmed off the top of my money so I say... we skim off the top of his head."

Fiona looks at him blankly. Moriarty rolls his eyes and clarifies. "Cut off his ears... and make him eat them."

The man blubbers and starts to cry. Moriarty flips the handle towards Fiona expectantly, who flinches as if it might jump and bite her. She stammers. "Are you sure this is… necessary?" She grasps for something, any excuse to get out of this. "It just- uh- seems like a lot of effort to deal with all of this personally..."

"This is what we call a teachable moment! You see- if you don’t make people respect you, they'll just take it as permission to walk all over you."

"Can't you get respect by, you know… treating people like people?"

"No," Moriarty shakes his head. "That only works in la-la land... and in Philadelphia. AND I DON'T SEE ANY CHEESESTEAKS, NOW DO WHAT I ASKED!"

She reels backwards at his screaming, and unconciously takes a few steps towards the captive instead, who is whimpering and sobbing. Like a switch was flipped, Moriarty grins widely and gives her a thumbs-up. "Go on!"

Her throat is bone-dry. Her voice comes out hoarse. "My hand is shaking."

"Rule number one," Moriarty reminds her. "It hurts more when you hesitate."

It's like her arm is detatched from her body. It moves on its own, drawing the blade closer. It cuts cleanly, and the distant thought occurs to her that the knife must be very sharp. Blood drips off the blade and onto the floor, stark red against the gray.

Blood pools on the ground and stains her fingers. There's an incessant loud noise droning on in the background, and Fiona resists the urge to cover her ears.

Moriarty is clapping. "Is this how proud parents feel? I never got this feeling from my kids." He gestures for the guards to drag the man closer. He hasn't stopped screaming. He stops, briefly, to swallow, when she places the severed ears into his mouth, and then Fiona doesn't see what happens, because she's vomiting onto the floor.

She retches and gags and sobs and by the time she comes back to herself enough to think, the man is gone, and Moriarty is clapping her on the back, talking at her as if she's in any state to pay attention.

"Honestly, it looks like you were dressed by a pedophile with a doll fetish- oh wait! You were."

The world swims before her eyes, and she takes in a deep, shuddering breath. Shoves the images in her mind away. Stands up straight. Don't think about it.

"I think you would look good in a suit," Moriarty muses.

Fiona can't stop a laugh from escaping. It wasn't particularly funny. Her voice comes out sounding like it belongs to someone else. "Matching outfits? Really?"

"Please. Female crime bosses have to work twice as hard to get half the respect. I’m helping you." Moriarty takes her hand and swings it between them like a loving father. "Now let’s go shatter that glass ceiling!"

----

Several hours later, Moriarty sits at his desk. Fiona, for her part, is standing in the corner doing her best to avoid attracting his attention. Doing her best to keep her mind blank. She shifts uncomfortably in her new suit- not because it doesn't fit, but because it's a mirror of Moriarty's outfit.

The mastermind spins around in the chair like an excited toddler, beaming at her. "You did excellently today- I'll give you a reward. Come here."

It's a simple demand, and an enticing prospect. Moriarty waits for her, entirely unreadable, betraying no hints for what the "reward" will be.

Her legs aren't moving.

Moriarty smiles and repeats himself. "Come here."

She doesn't want to. "Can I- can I stay here?"

"Ah, that's very polite, asking for permission," the man nods, approvingly, before continuing, "You may not."

Haltingly, she shuffles over to him, defiantly stopping a bit away. Oddly, he doesn't seem to notice her hesitation- or, more likely, just chooses to ignore it. He draws her into his arms, running a hand through her hair, forcing her to look into his eyes. His voice is quiet. Hushed. "You're so tiny."

She blinks. Why-

Abruptly, he runs his fingers through her hair, down the back of her neck, and every muscle in her body braces for pain- but instead, he guides her to sit on the floor, resting a hand on her shoulder. Before she can fully process what's happening, he's tied a blindfold around her head, plunging her world into blackness, binding her hands in front of her-

She closes her eyes as she feels the telltale pinpricks of tears forming at the corners of her eyes. "Please," she whimpers, but he only shushes her. All she can hear are his shoes tapping against the floor, and touch is the only sense she still has- but it's okay. It's going to be okay. She did what he asked. He said this was a reward. It's okay-

And then she feels something caress her shoulder.

Fiona flinches, her back arching against the sudden touch. Moriarty hushes her. She can feel his breath against the back of her neck. The tears spill over, soaking into the blindfold and running down her face, dripping off her chin. Moriarty stops tracing her arm and gently wipes her cheek with a finger.

She never gets used to it- every time she thinks she's getting used to the pattern, the awful cold feeling of his fingers all over her, he'd drag his nails across her cheek, she'd feel his tongue in her ear, kisses pressed to the back of her neck, and her whole body would spasm with shock, with terror. Moriarty holds her close, stroking her hair, her face, and for just a split second, she's back with her family- she can't bring herself to move away, she can't. Not even when the cold steel of a blade presses against her bare cheek.

"Hold still now…"

Pain. Sharp and white-hot, like fire magic. She bites her tongue to keep from screaming as the blade draws four shallow lines across her skin. She can feel the blood run down her cheek and her breath hitches, a sob tearing itself free from her chest. Moriarty hums, pressing a wet cloth against the burning sensation, and Fiona clutches at his suit coat, heaving shudering breaths. "What did you..."

The man shushes her. The washcloth is removed, and Fiona winces, but the fiery feeling has mostly faded away. In its wake is a peculiar sensation on her cheek- like exposed skin hitting air.

Ever so gently, Moriarty traces along her cheek, in a peculiar pattern that she can't quite place.

|\/|

"Congratulations, my dear protégé."

His voice follows her into unwilling sleep.

No devil hides beneath my bed

Part 1, Part 2

AO3 CW: nsfw (minors dni), whumper pov, past noncon, promise of future noncon, pet whump, captivity, dehumanization, sexual slavery, put on display, intimate whumper, creepy whumper, multiple whumpers, cages, restraints, ring gag, forced arousal, object insertion, overstimulation, auction, noncon touching

Tonight Scarlet hosts the Lanista Society for a special dinner event. The Champion is the coveted prize, and Ivan is honored to have been the cause of it.

Champion taglist: @emmettnet , @ostensiblyfunctional

Ivan is left marveling once again at his superior's immaculate taste.

High Martinet Matar sure knew how to throw a party.

Her guests had been greeted with the finest. A banquet of gourmet Crescentine dishes and exotic delicacies. Fresh fruits and cheeses, tender meats and fish, spiced breads and decadent sweets, aged wines from the mountain vineyards. The finest money and magic could offer.

Their venue is just as grand, perhaps more so due to its creativity. A conjured demiplane Scarlet produced specially for this affair. Ivan finds it rather ingenious.

The woman was no stranger to hosting guests at her manor; he himself had been there only last week. But she limits those meetings to no more than a few people at a time. Fewer bodies are easier to keep track of. With large parties like this, comes the ever present risk of unsavory infiltrators. The Lanista Society held members with many enemies. The uninvited in disguise or potential rivals waiting for the right moment to snoop around. Larger groups made it inconvenient to keep tabs on everyone.

The demiplane removed that risk.

No need to worry about the unwanted loose in your home if you're not bringing them to your home to begin with.

And as a bonus, the spell's design was limited only by the imagination. And a wizard of Scarlet's caliber knew fine decor.

All which was fully on display for tonight's event. It was a special occasion after all.

On one end of the chamber, seated on a raised platform, was an ornate bronze cage. Round and domed at the top like one of those old-fashioned bird cages that didn't allow room for the bird to spread its wings. However this cage was far larger, for its occupant was no bird.

Scarlet found the perfect display for the Society's beloved Champion. An advantageous maneuver given he was the subject of business this evening. If Ivan had thought he looked enticing their first meeting a week ago, Scarlet had expertly ensured that the people present now would be incapable of keeping their eyes off him.

In fact, there was already a crowd forming around the cage.

Knees spread and wrists secured above him, the Champion was giving everyone a show with his trembling body. Years of fighting had toned his muscles, and the shimmering red velvet bands only accentuated them. Scarlet must have gotten the outfit custom tailored, for it turned the tiefling's form into a canvas painted with red. Velvet strips hugging his thighs and shoulders. Flowers of beaded lace climbing from hip to collar to the small of his back. Dangling garnets mimicked the appearance of dripping blood.

Absolutely exquisite.

Scarlet had elected to keep his lower region covered, draping that same black cloth around his waist that he'd worn last time. Ivan could see the sense; what was already being shown was enough of a free sample.

The guests were permitted to touch, at least to the extent they were allowed without having to pay. And the Champion’s body was a buffet getting more attention than the actual food. Fingers traced the soft velvet, then slipped in between to caress exposed skin.

“He has the best reactions if you stroke his tail,” Ivan had informed them, and they were quick to take advantage.

The touches worked well to elicit forced pleasure, though perhaps not as much as some other things.

Scarlet couldn't allow her pet to spend the whole party glaring or growling at guests, so Ivan suggested a means to keep him occupied. Just a couple simple toys, one placed inside him and the other encircling the base of his tail where he was most sensitive. Both hidden from the guests eyes with a specially crafted belt that doubled to prevent the tiefling from making a mess of himself.

From how much he was trembling, struggling to close his legs, face flushed as he moaned around the ring gag strapped around his head, the toys were doing their job. And the guests were very much appreciating the sight. Ivan could see a number of people with their hands under their pants.

He couldn't blame them. They stood before a desperate succubus, beckoning them all with pleading huffs of breath and squirming hips. Ivan himself was imagining how pretty that face would look around his cock.

He would have to wait his turn.

Ting! Ting! Ting!

The rhythmic taps of a wine glass drew the attention of the masses to the head of the table where Scarlet stands.

“Now now, everyone. I know my pet has been an exciting treat for you all, but I do hope you help yourselves to the dessert table.”

There were more than a few bouts of embarrassed laughter. Ivan included, as he too nearly forgot to go fill up his dish.

“I'm pleased to see he has garnered such interest,” she continues. “Just a quick reminder that the bidding period ends in thirty minutes. The current highest offer stands at 2,500 platinum.”

Well, not too bad a price tag for the Champion’s first official patron (Ivan's previous night with him didn't count). And if this went to a formal auction at the end of the party, if there was still an active bidding war, that amount would likely grow.

But already, he'd be returning home tomorrow with a decent payment. In a deal that spoke wonders of her generosity, Scarlet had agreed to save a percentage of the funds for him. None of this would've happened had he not raised the suggestion to her.

Lucrative business indeed. Ivan could recognize many big names at this party. Politicians, industry tycoons, nobility, all those with plentiful riches and power. He wonders if he could convince some of them to assist him in forming a similar operation in Mężnydzik. Or perhaps a connected branch.

Those were thoughts for the future. Right now, he was enjoying the view.

The first moment the cage is clear of onlookers, Ivan walks over and reaches through the bronze bars to lift up the Champion’s head to face him. With how long he'd had his mouth held open, his chin was streaked with drool, but thankfully Ivan had the foresight to wear gloves.

“Just like I said, little devil,” he purrs, gazing into eyes that struggle to focus through the mind clouding sensations. The tiefling whines in protest as Ivan lets his other hand trail up his thigh. “I knew you'd be quite popular.”

There's a moment of clarity to the Champion’s stare. A moment he's able to fight through the tears and the unwanted stimulation and-

Oh. Well isn't that a nasty look.

Reference for the outfit here.

behavior modification master list

WRU has hired renowned behaviorist Dr. Ivan Peters to refine their training protocol for Romantic acquisitions. When Jack Kenyon–the brilliant young partner of one of Ivan’s med school rivals–applies to be Dr. Peters’ research assistant, he has no idea what he’s signing on for. 

Please see individual chapters for detailed and specific content warnings. This story will contain noncon elements [*]; proceed with caution!

behavior modification pre-timeline content: organized in rough chronological order

past snippet: jack's fourteenth birthday

-/-/-

part one: jack and ivan at dinner

part two: jack and joe, before captivity

part three: jack's abduction

part four: ivan welcomes to jack to captivity

part five: worries for joe, bath time for jack

part six: jack's intake interview (part one)

part seven: jack's intake interview (part two)

part eight: past, present, and future

part nine: breakfast time

part ten: jack learns his positions

part eleven: jack's consequences*

part twelve: ivan's apology

part thirteen: jack's last chance to feel*

part fourteen: joe and his mother

part fifteen: prelude to punishment

part sixteen: jack's first treatment*

part seventeen: deprivation

part eighteen: jack loses joe

part nineteen: case notes*

part twenty: yes, sir*

drabble: statue*

drabble: bravo*

drabble: good boy, sweet boy*

-/-/-

behavior modification post-rescue content: organized in rough chronological order

first night home: joe gives jack a bath

first night home: from joe's pov

first night home: dinner and bedtime

drabble: zombie

trouble sleeping: grounding

just after: small decisions

drabble: joe sees ivan's videos

continuation of above: cut

drabble: he needs me

early recovery: bittersweet

starting over: undone

drabble: press conference blues

drabble: jack trusts joe

first time after: lightning glass

future snippet: rest now

drabble: jack's hair

drabble: it's over

future snippet: eros

baby drabble: christmas tree

baby drabble: corduroy bear

years later, with their child: lucky

kid-related drabble: lemonade stand

teenaged hallie miniseries: like father, like daughter

teenaged hallie miniseries: kids will be kids

teenaged hallie miniseries: daddy's little girl *

teenaged hallie miniseries: daddy and chief

-/-/-

role reversal alternate universe:

part one: sweetheart

part two: open *

part three: filled*

part four: initiation*

part five: better*

post-rescue drabble: mama

post-rescue drabble: the blanket is warm

post-rescue drabble: hidden shame

post-rescue drabble: nightmares

-/-/-

role reversal alternate universe on steroids:

part x: a real white knight