A doodle request of a guy lying on his back with a hand turning his chin is the first one that came to mind. 👀

As for a drabble prompt, I’m thinking “You know you had it coming” as a possible starter?

"You know you had it coming."

Whumpee's gaze trails over cracks in the ceiling, following each line as it twists and turns across the white plaster. Somehow, the cracks resemble a map of rivers, and Whumpee finds himself daydreaming about places on that map he could go to. Anywhere but here.

"Hey. Don't ignore me."

A hand grabs his chin, fingers carefully placed to avoid pressing into the bruises on his face, and turns his head to the side. Whumpee doggedly meets Caretaker's look of disapproval. The room keeps spinning somewhat, even when they've let him go.

"He thinks you're trying to stir up a riot," Caretaker mutters. "You really think he'd let you act the way you do without consequences?"

"No," Whumpee says. His fingers twitch, and the pain in his arm reignites, dull and drawn out. Keeping it from showing on his face is easy by now; he's exhausted.

"Yeah, well, then I'm right, aren't I?" Caretaker shakes their head a little. "Look, I hate him as much as you do, but I don't wanna be your nurse forever. Keeping your head down and your mouth shut is not that fucking hard."

Whumpee swallows a rebuttal, turns his head to face the ceiling again. Following Caretaker's frustrated sigh, he waits until the matress springs creak and their footsteps retreat from his bedside. Then he lets himself slip back into fantasy.

Along cracks in the ceiling are ports and shores, jetties and waterfalls.

Places that don't exist.

“Looks like you’re not useful anymore.”For Kit please??

Sorry this took a few days anon, but I loved the idea and wanted to write it properly, I hope you see this and enjoy it! This is set probably towards the end of Kit’s time with Emile, when he’s an angry owner and takes it out on Kit. I’ve never hated Emile as much as I did writing this...

Warnings: pet whump, injury mention, stress position, cruel whumper, burns from hot liquid.

Kit had been injured several days ago, his shoulder wrenched painfully by one of Emile’s… were they friends? Business partners? Kit wasn’t sure, but he’d been, as Emile said, loaned out. A punching bag, or a bit of fun, depending on the person.

And this time he’d come back with a sore shoulder, and a tremor in his hand when he tried to grip too tightly. Bruises too, beneath his clothes, around his ribs. Everything hurt just a little too much to manage discreetly and Emile’s temper was a frayed and delicate thing these days anyway.

It was better, he had recovered a little, but still Emile was pissed, short and sharp with him. He was trying to make up for it now, a test of sorts.

“A little higher Kit, I don’t want to strain myself.”

He held back a whine and lifted the mug of coffee higher in his aching hands. “Yes sir, sorry sir.”

He wasn’t all that sorry, really—he didn’t have a lot of respect for Emile left, only fear of his anger and the punishments that came closer and closer together.

But he would be sorry if he dropped the mug and got burned. It was just a little longer, and he’d be through this. The mug was half empty already, less scorching on his tender palms, less heavy to hold with his shaky arms. He held it as high as the side table that had been pushed out of the way for him to kneel, and offer his service as furniture. He wanted to curl his fingers and hold the mug, but Emile had chastised him for that, so he kept his palms flat, and locked his elbows to carry the weight. He sighed in relief as Emile took to cup and another long sip of the black liquid. He winced as the mug returned forcefully to rest on his hands.

He did fine, he managed, and when Emile looked into his empt mug and placed it back on Kit’s hands with a grunt, he stood to wash it out.

“Another cup, I think Kit. Quickly now.”

His swell of relief hit the floor in an instant, and he almost dropped the mug where he stood. Tears welled behind his eyes and he blinked them furiously away, tried to roll his shoulder and get some relief but none came.

The cup refilled, his position retaken. His tremor worse with each passing moment.

He couldn't hide it, saw the liquid inside trembling right along with him, and when finally a sharp pain twanged through his shoulder he cried out and the mug dropped. He wailed then, hot coffee soaking through his thin pants burning his thighs and his hands where he caught the mug before it smashed on the floor.

He hadn’t been given permission to rise, and he leaned over his burning knees, trying to mop up the coffee with the hem of his shirt. A pinch on his ear dragged his face up, and Emile glared at him, looked down at the soiled rug and his bright red hands and tutted. “Looks like you’re not useful anymore.”

Kit sobbed, once, and regained his composure. “Please, please, it hurts. Please let me clean up.”

“Useless pets get locked away, you know.” Emile’s hand moved to the back of his neck and hauled him upright, the coffee cup rolled out of his hand and landed with a thump on the floor.

The store cupboard loomed before him as he was shoved forwards and then in, pushed down onto his knees. “Stay out of my sight, and don’t think I’ll let you off easy, you can clean that stain later when you’ve had time to calm down.”

The door slammed behind him, knocking into the back of his head and Kit shoved his blistering hands over his mouth to stifle the scream. He just wanted to be looked at with pride again, appreciated again, but instead he clutched at his face as the words not useful not useful not good repeated around and around. What would happen, when he was so unwanted that Emile wouldn’t even keep him around anymore?

His heartbeat throbbed in his sore shoulder and his burned skin, and he wondered if it could beat loud enough to let someone—anyone—know that he still needed to be loved.

Written from a prompt from this list from @whumpster-dumpster