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generic-whumperz · 5 days ago

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The Professionals: Passing the Buck

Follow up to this piece The Professionals || In The Woods Somewhere || Professional//Victim Content warnings: Long term captivity, discussions of past torture, discussions of near death experiences, discussions of sexual assault

Fletcher was sitting on the front steps whittling when Buck pulled up in front of the lodge. They stood and strolled up, looking the vehicle over as Buck got out.

“This is the car I bought you?” they asked.

“Yeah,” Buck said. “Thanks, again, for the cash.”

“Uh huh. Looks nice. Gotta be honest, though, I’ve been driving the same truck for a decade, so.” Fletcher shrugged. “Listen, we gotta talk before you go in.”

Fletcher paused. “You’re just double-fisting drinks there.”

Buck bristled. “One is for Tommy.”

“Okay, look,” Fletcher waved it off. “I don’t know exactly how you think this is gonna go. You think this guy is like, someone you can take under your wing because you’ve been through it before, right? You have to understand, he has been through much worse, and for much longer, than you. I think you’re going to find yourself out of your depth here.”

Buck frowned. “It’ll be fine. There’s not a lot of people you can talk to who can relate when you’ve gone through something like this. And I can’t… not do anything for him. Knowing he’s here.”

“It’s not your fault he’s here,” Fletcher said.

“I know. I guess. It’s just weird. And I feel like…” Buck thought about the man he had seen be dragged in for Fletcher to torture, only to be dragged out again and killed. He thought about how he watched it happen and did nothing. Maybe there was nothing he could have done - it had certainly felt that way at the time - but he still felt the guilt like a knife in the stomach when he thought about it.

And he should know, having taken a knife to the stomach.

“I just want you to manage your expectations,” Fletcher said after Buck had trailed off. “And don’t get any ideas about ‘saving him’ or whatever. Trust me when I say this is an upgrade from where he was before.”

“Yeah, you’re a saint, Fletcher,” Buck quipped. “Can we go in now?”

Tommy was reclined on his bed doodling in a notebook when Fletcher knocked on the door. With them, the knock was just a heads up that they were about to enter. Tommy quickly stashed the notebook and pen under his pillow and sat up straight.

“You’ve got a visitor,” Fletcher said, pointing a thumb over their shoulder as they walked into the room.

Following behind Fletcher was the man who had come to the lodge… It must’ve been a week or so ago now; the cuts on his arm from that day were scabbed over, but not gone like they would have been with Sam’s technology. It was something Tommy was still getting used to.

Buck, Tommy remembered.

Buck had his hair tied back this time, with pieces falling loose in front. Tommy’s eyes read over the scars on his face like words across a page.

The first time he saw Buck, Tommy had thought he had looked tough - scary. But as he studied Buck now, there was no sharp edge in his expression. His face was soft, his eyes were sad, he shrank himself as he walked carefully through the house. He didn’t look hard so much as hurt. Not injured, but a lingering sort of hurt. The kind that gets beaten into you permanently. Tommy couldn’t reconcile that with also being someone who willingly spends time with Fletcher.

“Hey, uh…” Buck waved awkwardly. He was holding a to-go cup in each hand. “Told you I’d be back.”

Tommy’s eyes moved to Fletcher, leaning against the wall with their arms folded, staying out of the way. He looked over Buck again, searching for signs of danger. If he was one of Fletcher’s friends, he may have similar interests. Fletcher could have brought him here to torture Tommy as a pick-me-up. It wasn’t clear to him yet what the intent was, and that put Tommy ill at ease. He carefully watched Buck's face and tone, rifling through an index of roles he could play while he struggled to find the right fit for his mysterious visitor.

“Um, I brought you this,” Buck held out one of the drinks. A peak of whipped cream sat on top. “It’s a mocha shake. Like a coffee chocolate milkshake. I don’t know, um, if you like coffee, or how you take it, but it’s pretty sweet so I figured it would be safe. Mostly tastes like chocolate.”

Tommy looked at the drink, then up at Buck - he wore an encouraging smile but still carried those sympathetic eyes - then turned to look at Fletcher. He waited for their approval before he dared lift his hand toward it.

“You said you like your coffee sweet,” Fletcher conceded. They gestured to the cup.

Tommy reached out and accepted the drink. “Thank you.”

He took a sip. It was indeed sweet, sickly sweet almost, but with just enough balance from the bitterness of the espresso to not tip it over the edge. Tommy slurped it down until he gave himself a brain freeze. With a grimace, he pressed the palm of his hand against his temple.

“Yeah, sorry, I know it’s a little cold out for shakes,” Buck said. “But I figured a hot drink would cool off by the time I got here, and this wouldn’t melt as much.”

Buck sat down on the bed next to Tommy. He did his best not to take up too much room, or encroach on Tommy’s space, both hands cupped around his drink. Still, Tommy drew back his legs and inched away just enough to make sure they wouldn’t accidentally touch.

“So,” Buck gave a smile that was half-grimace. “How are you holding up here?”

Tommy’s eyes shot to Fletcher. This was almost too obvious of a trap.

“Fine. Good. I’m very grateful to Fletcher for getting me out of my previous situation and providing a home for me here.”

Buck opened his mouth but was at a loss for words. Tommy couldn’t help but look to Fletcher again for approval. Their face remained mostly neutral, but there was satisfaction there underneath.

“Right. Well that’s…” Buck shot a look to Fletcher as well. He didn’t seem convinced. “Great to hear.”

Of course he wasn’t convinced. It was too obvious. But Tommy was a professional - he just had to give them what they wanted.

“Really,” Tommy pressed. “I’m - it’s much better here. I owe Fletcher a lot for taking me in.”

“Sure, yeah.” Buck squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. He fixed his face when he opened them again, forcing that encouraging smile. “What are some things you like?”

This was not a turn in the conversation that Tommy had anticipated. “Um… sorry?”

“Like, what’s something you miss from the outside world?” Buck asked.

“Oh, uh,” Tommy gave a small laugh and said, “I try not to think about it.”

Buck cringed. “Right, sorry, uh, I just ask because I was thinking I could, like, bring you something.”

Tommy searched Buck’s face as if he could find the missing piece that would make it all fit together into a clear picture.

“Something…?”

“Yeah, like, is there a food that you like?” Buck asked.

“Oh, Fletcher feeds me very well here,” Tommy assured him.

“Yeah, I - okay.” Buck regrouped. “Is there - what about like candy or something that Fletcher doesn’t make?”

“Um…” Tommy pinched at the fabric over his legs and glanced nervously at Fletcher, who was just watching the exchange silently. Was this all still a test? Why was he being so insistent? “I’m sure if - if there’s anything Fletcher wants me to have, they would provide it for me.”

Buck now turned to look at Fletcher with a pained expression, but Fletcher was looking smug.

“Okay.” Buck rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay. Um. What kind of stuff do you like? Do you have any interests or hobbies you want to pick back up? Books, movies, music?”

Tommy's anxiety was rising. Whatever Buck was looking for from him, he was clearly failing to provide. His answers were all wrong. Buck was getting frustrated. He couldn’t figure out what the right thing to say was, and Buck was going to keep pushing until he got it right.

Tommy shrank down, pulling his shoulders up and averting his gaze to the floor.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re looking for right now,” he admitted.

Buck’s brows pulled together. “Hey, no, you’re okay.” He put his hand out towards Tommy like he was trying to steady a scared animal. “I’m not looking for anything, like - you’re not in trouble, okay? I just… I remember… Fletcher said you’ve been, um… captive for a pretty long time, and I was just thinking it might be nice if I could bring you something you couldn’t otherwise get.”

Tommy set his drink aside. He wiped the condensation off his hands onto his pants, running his hands over his legs over and over. As he spoke, he kept his eyes down.

“You don’t have to get me anything,” Tommy said. “You can just take what you want. We don’t have to… delay the inevitable.”

“Wh- uhh…” Buck was at a loss. “I’m not here to…” He looked to Fletcher out of desperation.

Fletcher cleared their throat to get Tommy’s attention, then said, “What’s the worst thing you’ve been through?”

“Fletcher!” Buck exclaimed indignantly.

“You want to bond?” Fletcher asked. “Find a shared experience. You can give your answer next.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t want to talk about it,” Buck argued.

“You don’t know that,” Fletcher countered. “Maybe he wants to get it off his chest with someone who can understand, huh? Why don’t you go first, actually. That way he’ll be more comfortable.”

Buck grit his teeth. “I think you know mine.”

Fletcher shrugged. “There’s a few things I could guess, but I don’t know where you rank them.”

Tommy watched the two of them, relieved for the attention to be off of him for a moment. There was conflict here he was desperate not to be in the middle of. He still didn’t understand their dynamic, or Buck’s position in general. He grasped at any enlightening information he could get.

Buck sighed, annoyed. It was the first time Tommy saw the flicker of real anger in his eyes.

“Probably when you beat, waterboarded, and pretended to execute me.”

Tommy failed to suppress his look of alarm as he gaped at Buck. Fletcher had done all that to him? Why was he back here then, seemingly visiting of his own volition, delivering coffee to Fletcher’s new prisoner?

“Hm,” was Fletcher’s response. “Not when you got stabbed or shot?”

“No,” Buck said. “I mean… they were all bad. But that day stands out.”

Fletcher scratched their cheek in thought. “I was just thinking, getting shot was what started it all. And getting stabbed was the closest you came to dying. O’Connor did a number on you, too.”

“Yeah, well…” Buck lost his words for a moment. He closed his eyes, adrift in his memories. When he opened them he said, “Yeah, they were all fucking bad. Getting stabbed is a close second. But when you… I really thought… you drew it out so much. I thought you were going to kill me, for real. Like, I was going to die on my knees in the dirt. And you beat the shit out of me for…” Buck stopped himself, looking away. “Never mind. Let’s not get into that.”

Tommy’s eyes danced between them. Each new turn in the conversation left him more and more lost. How did they end up where they are now? Fletcher had been so vague before - just that Buck had saved their life. Why would Buck save the person who had tortured him?

“Well, there you have it,” Fletcher said to Tommy, who quickly tried to swallow down his look of horror. “Buck’s been through some shit. Your turn.”

“Oh… um… that you’ve done?” Tommy did his best to collect himself. “Um, my arm was pretty bad. But burning my hand on the baking sheet was pretty scary. And slamming my head into the cabinets. But I know I deserved it,” He added quickly before offering a sheepish smile to Buck. “I ruined the dinner that Fletcher had worked really hard on.”

Fletcher waved it off. “Not from me, the worst in general. I’m guessing your clients wanted a little more than a toasted hand.”

Tommy flushed with humiliation at the mention of his clients. Buck gave him a questioning look, but Fletcher was waiting expectantly. Tommy’s mouth was dry again, but he feared Fletcher’s impatience.

Tommy had no idea what to say. “Hey, those things have happened to me too, samesies bro”? He didn’t want to volunteer any wicked ideas Fletcher might want to reprise, or try to one-up. His mind went to Sarge. No, steer clear of admitting you tried to kill Caius. Darwin - too difficult to describe. His birthday - he winced away from the memory, no, he could not possibly explain that.

“Maybe um. This couple…it was a flogging, and then lashes with the cat of nines, and hung me up on some meat hooks to fuck me.”

Buck recoiled. He hadn’t meant to. It was just more than he was ready for. And the way Tommy said it - so casually, like it was another day at the office.

Tommy saw Buck pull back, eyes wide. His face reddened, hot up to the tips of his ears, and he dropped his gaze to the floor. He was sure Buck was picturing it now. At the time, he had begged even Caius to look away, and now he gave it to Buck and Fletcher to picture in their heads.

Buck quickly pulled himself together when he saw Tommy get embarrassed. Maybe he should be casual about it too, so Tommy didn’t feel like it was a big deal. But he had no idea how to be casual about that. Buck had been beaten, but never flogged or whipped. And he had certainly never been raped.

That stuck out to him the most. Tommy didn’t even call it rape, just that they fucked him. Made it seem like it was a regular occurrence.

“Um,” Buck cleared his throat. “When you say they hung you on hooks…” he began, remembering being strung up in Fletcher’s basement, “...do you mean, like, by your wrists? Like were you in cuffs, or..?”

“No, they went through my back,” Tommy said, keeping his head down.

Buck felt sick. “Like… you were impaled?”

“No - no, sorry,” Tommy shook his head. “Just, in my back and out my back. But they went under the skin, you know?”

“Sure,” Buck mumbled. He could see out of the corner of his eye that Fletcher was looking at him, but he refused to make eye contact. “How long were you, um… what was your situation?”

“Five years, about. There was this…business, that rented me out. They’d take me to a client’s house for them to use me for -” He made a vague hand gesture that Buck wasn’t sure he wanted to understand, “-whatever. Whatever they wanted to do that they normally couldn’t, but I couldn’t say no, so…yeah. Then I’d go to the doctor, he was in the business too, and he would fix me up and cover all the scars and stuff and get me ready for the next one.”

Once he started, it all came out in a rush, and he sat back, a little surprised at himself. He’d never told anyone about any of this stuff, no one had asked him. Buck was the first one who didn’t already know what he did. He felt like maybe it didn’t sound so bad when he said it out loud that way. He didn’t want to scare Buck too much.

Buck tried to process what he’d heard. “So they would just… rent you out? And people would, like… just torture and rape you? And then they’d rent you out again to someone else?”

That sounded less good.

“Well…I would usually have some time to heal, in between. Do some chores whenever I was able. If I earned a punishment it might take a little longer before I was ready for the next one but, yeah. As soon as I was in good enough shape they’d take me to the next one.”

Buck looked down, blinked, and then turned away. He sat like that for a moment, thumb rubbing over the lid of his coffee cup. Tommy couldn’t see his face, and feared he had said something wrong. He felt foolish that he had not put it together that Fletcher hadn’t used Buck for sex, and without that shared experience, Buck would see him differently.

Buck must think I’m a whore.

Buck turned back then, keeping his eyes low. He reached out and put his hand over Tommy’s.

Tommy froze. He didn’t pull away. He knew not to pull away. Touch was always scary. It had been a long time since he’d been touched at all by someone who didn’t want to hurt him. But Buck… Buck’s touch felt nice. Part of him wanted to crawl into Buck’s arms, although he knew he still couldn’t be sure of Buck’s intentions in the long term.

Buck looked up into Tommy’s eyes. He was blinking a lot, trying to keep tears from welling up.

“I am so sorry you went through that,” he spoke with sincerity. “You didn’t deserve it.”

Fletcher made a face at the mention of deserve, but neither were looking at them now. Tommy was caught in Buck’s gaze like a deer in headlights, his own eyes suddenly stinging.

“Oh,” was all he managed. His throat was suddenly too thick to speak. There was a painful pang of longing being strummed in his chest by Buck’s gentle touch. He wasn’t sure if he was going to cry, or throw up, or if he was falling in love. At least two out of the three, he feared.

Fletcher let out a loud sigh. Both Tommy and Buck turned to look at them.

“Fletcher,” Buck said. “Seriously?”

“I’m just asking myself why I’m here watching this,” Fletcher shook their head.

“You don’t have to be here,” Buck said pointedly.

Fletcher scoffed. “Oh come on. Like I’m going to let you be alone with him. Once you start thinking of deserve it’s all downhill. Look, I’m not going to stop you two from bonding or whatever, I just don’t want you to start getting ideas. I think your little pet project would be better suited to, like, coming over for movie night and shit. Bring some board games if you want to bring something. Fun distractions. Give him a little something to make his living situation better, because this is his living situation, and that’s not changing.”

Tommy didn’t realize his heart had lightened until it sank again with Fletcher’s words.

They warned you not to get your hopes up.

Buck looked at Tommy again. Fletcher was right, in a way, despite being an asshole about it. He knew he couldn’t really change Tommy’s big picture situation. If Petrova hadn’t tried to kill Fletcher, Buck himself would probably still be stuck here. His goal should be to do what he could to make Tommy’s life here at the lodge less miserable and alone than his own was.

“Does a movie night sound good to you?” Buck asked Tommy gently.

Tommy nodded, managing a nervous smile in spite of himself. He didn’t know how to tell him, so he squeezed Buck’s hand, hoping he knew that he was grateful.

“Alright, let’s go pick a movie.” Fletcher clapped their hands once and opened up the door to usher the boys out. “I don’t know why you’re being so mopey about this. It’s overall a net positive. Let’s make some popcorn.”

@suspicious-whumping-egg @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome–hunter

@whumplr-reader @theelvishcowgirl @sunshiline-writes @dont-be-gentle-please @galesgallery

@2in1whump @sparrowsage @apokolyps @whumpinggrounds @morning-star-whump

@leviiio @alexmundaythrufriday @defire @jumpywhumpywriter @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @whatwasmyprevioususername @cursedandtired

@whump-only @misspelledwitch @redstainedsocks @thehopelessopus @im-just-here-for-the-whump

@thatsthewhump @utopian819 @pretty-face-breaker @inpainandsuffering @victimeyez

@light-me-on-pyre @dislexiher @paperprinxe @desert-dyke

#wait what was that? Tommy being actually humanized by another person?!#poor boy don’t know how to act #the definition of a kicked puppy #‘He wasn’t sure if he was going to cry; to throw up; or if he was falling in love. At least two out of the three; he feared.’#<-OKAY SO THAT JUST DID THINGS TO ME HOLY FUCK #sitting alone with all of these thoughts

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generic-whumperz · 5 days ago

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Ok, so…

Tag list for those that read it: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz

@bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@defire

#Tom and Nico both being Han Solo cracks me up 😂#and how dare Tom slay the house down boots #Tom won the ‘who wore it better’ I fear 🫠#the most clothes I’ve ever seen Khaled in I swear 😅#Julio is ready to fuck someone upppp!

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generic-whumperz · 8 days ago

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Khaled’s First Halloween

Well, okay, more like ‘Khaled’s First Pumpkin Carving’

Inspired by my parents’ exchange students they hosted over the years, and their exact reactions to sticking their bare hands into cold, clammy pumpkin guts for the first time 🫠

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz

@bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@defire

#their reactions are ✨everything✨

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generic-whumperz · 11 days ago

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It's Not Over, Is It?

Dear Readers,

By the time you read this, the Eternal series will be over. Thank you so much for sticking around and seeing this crazy ride through to the end, and enjoying my baby that I have worked on dedicatedly for more than a year and a half (not counting the previous attempts which stretch back all the way to high school) ❤️ you all have been amazing and I have loved loved LOVED hearing from each and every one of you as you went through Eternal with me.

Of course, just because it’s over, doesn't mean I'll be done with this story forever!

I have a sequel in the works that I've been steadily slogging through for several months now, consulting my ever-amazing beta readers @whumped-by-glitter and @generic-whumperz as well as other notables of the whump community. I'm not sure yet when that's going to start, but probably expect an Eternal Sequel sometime in the spring of next year. And if you want to be on the tag list or not, please let me know. I will say the sequel will be less of the whump, more of the whump aftermath as we focus nearly entirely on a recovery arc, so if that's not your thing, I totally get it if you'd like to be taken off the tag list for the sequel. (Otherwise I’m gonna use the same tag list I used for Eternal.)

Sequel aside, I will also be writing and/or drawing more backstories, drabbles, and tidbits within this story between that time, just because my brain has not totally closed the door on this part of the story. For those extra bits, I'll keep the tag list the same.

So as you see, it is far from over! Hope to hear from you soon!

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz

@bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@defire

#but wait…THERE’S MORE!

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generic-whumperz · 11 days ago

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The Morgue

<prev

Dear Readers,

Yep. This is it. Eternal's last chapter (at least for now). Thank you for sticking around for so long, I appreciated each and every one of you for reading this story and interacting with it! And thank you beta readers @whumped-by-glitter and @generic-whumperz for reading draft after freaking draft of this story for months now; I look forward to collaborating with you in the future.

The ending is kind of open ended, and I acknowledge this may frustrate some people, but I promise I'm not gonna pull a Netflix and drop this series on a cliffhanger (looks passive-aggressively at Netflix). Whatever happens next is for tomorrow; today, without further ado, here is the conclusion to Eternal!

TW/CW: death of a major character, aftermath of death of a major character, gore /graphic descriptions of a corpse, blood, emotional angst (I think?), nonconsensual nudity, slave whump /transfer of ownership, defiant whumpee, creepy whumper

Khaled was more than a little concerned when he woke up the next morning and his master’s bedroom was still empty. He was downright worried that he had not heard even a word from him by midday. This is so unlike him, Khaled thought as he checked the spare phone for any text messages he might’ve missed in the night. No new messages. Where is he?

He went to his room and retrieved his hidden cellphone from the place he had hidden it. There was one new message from Julio, but Khaled quickly swiped past it to text the one other contact he had on this illicit device.

To: Nic-Nac Have you seen the Boss today? He didn’t come home last night.

The subtle click of the door unlocking made his heart jump into his throat. Khaled quickly hid the phone away, bolted into the living room, chucked off the blanket, and assumed a perfect kneeling positon by the entrance, back straight, chest out, palms down on thighs, just as he’d been trained. His heart sank as the door opened and a man who was definitely not his master entered the apartment.

“Throw a coat on and-” Underboss Luca dropped his gaze down at Khaled once he realized he was not at eye-level. “Oh, right,” he groaned, punctuating his comment with a dismissive eye roll. “Should’ve known you’d be on your knees.” Khaled’s cheeks flushed bright red. “Get up and put some clothes on, we need to go to the morgue and identify a body!”

The last part of that command jolted Khaled out of his conditioning as abruptly as a kick in the teeth. “Wait, what?!” he asked, straightening up from his kneeling position.

“Just get dressed and come with me!” Luca said. He fumbled around his pockets until he found a small key. “You know where the safe is; get your clothes, and let’s go,” he instructed, tossing it to Khaled.

The young man caught it and dashed to the safe in the master bedroom, unlocking it and sprinting with the pile of clothes in his arms to change in his own bedroom. As he quickly dressed, he had an unshakeable feeling of dread. Thomas not coming home at all last night, no communication this morning, Luca coming over, and now this trip to the morgue –it was all adding up. If his master was truly dead, then he had no idea if or when he would be back at the apartment.

Khaled saw the designated hiding space for his cash jar out of the corner of his eye. He yanked it out and emptied it onto the bed, quickly folding and stuffing the dollar bills into every pocket, fold, and crevice of his outfit he could manage. Lastly, he grabbed his forbidden cellphone from its hiding place and jammed it into his pants pocket as he sprinted out to meet his foreboding feeling head-on.

Luca filled him in on the details as they drove to the morgue. A little after six in the morning, a bloodied and mangled body had been found hanging upside down from a crane at the dockyard. The ID in the dead man’s coat pocket had identified him as Thomas J Costa, but his face was barely recognizable beneath the blood and gore. The forensic pathologist would need a positive ID on the dead man’s corpse before they could tell the coroner to issue the death certificate for Don Costa, hence the need for Luca and Khaled to come down to the morgue.

“You know, if it is Tommy-boy on that slab, all of his assets will immediately be transferred to my control,” Luca reminded him, snaking an arm around the young man in a feigned gesture of comfort as they walked to the entrance of the morgue. “All of them,” he whispered. Khaled bristled under the other man’s touch as Luca moved his hand downwards. He did not miss the hidden meaning of those words. He jumped a little as Luca experimentally groped his ass on the way through the entrance.

The forensic pathologist met the men, their androgynous face set into a grim expression. “Next of kin for Mr. Thomas J Costa?” they asked. Both men nodded. The pathologist waved at them to follow them. “I gotta warn you though, he’s not a pretty picture. I cleaned him up as best I could, but just be prepared.”

No forewarning could’ve prepared Khaled for what he saw when the sheet was lifted from the corpse on that autopsy table. He recognized the cold gray eyes that now stared unseeingly up at him, the telltale scar at the man’s left temple, and what remained of the skull and snake tattoo on the man’s left pec, but that was about it. The rest of his master’s body looked as if wild animals had gotten to it. His usual dirty-blond hair was stained a coppery red, matted in places with clotted blood. There were cuts, bruises, and even burns scattered around his face, disfiguring it into something near unrecognizable. A long, jagged cut ran from his jugular down to his sternum, deep crimson with coagulated blood that had long since stopped bubbling from its schism. Deep gashes of a knife punctured his upper body and torso. His privates were…gone… and his legs from upper thighs to ankles were littered in cuts and bruises. The soles of his feet looked as if they had been burned away. Merely looking at his feet made Khaled feel faint, so he let his eyes travel back to Thomas’ face. The man’s dull gray eyes stared up at him.

“Well, is this him?”

“Yes,” Luca answered solemnly. He quickly swiped a hand over his eyes and took a breath to compose himself before turning to Khaled.

No matter how much he wanted to, he could not tear his gaze from the man’s dead eyes. He gave a small nod, at a complete loss for words otherwise. The pathologist merely answered a quiet “okay” before draping the sheet back onto Don Costa’s mutilated body, shielding Khaled from those steel gray eyes forever.

It’s finally happened, he thought. Master is dead… Instead of hope, or sorrow, or anger, or even a sick sense of satisfaction from witnessing this karmic justice, Khaled searched within himself and found nothing. He felt nothing, and then he questioned what kind of person he was, to feel nothing.

“Khaled, hey, Khaled…” a faint voice called out to him through the fog of his mind. Khaled stayed rooted to the spot, unable to move as he stared down at the veiled corpse.

“Khaled, sweetie, it’s time to go.”

He’s dead now, which means…which means what? The feeling of Luca roughly pulling him away from the autopsy table and dragging him back the way they came answered his own question for him. All the while, Khaled took shelter in his thoughts, not even fighting back as he tried to process what he just saw and what it meant for him. The man who had fed me, clothed me, given me everything is dead, and now, what am I?

“Well, it looks like you’re mine now,” Luca announced, pulling on his leather gloves as they exited the morgue and stepped into the parking lot.

That snapped Khaled out of his mind quick. The man who had once openly said he would’ve taken him while he was still a minor flashed him a small, sad smile. “Of all the ways I could’ve gotten you, this is the last one I wanted,” he admitted. He raised a gloved hand to Khaled’s face, gently caressing his cheek with leather-clad fingers. “But maybe, together, we can help each other process our loss.”

No. Khaled shook his head. Luca’s soft caresses quickly hardened into a crushing grip on his face. He drew him in closer until their faces were mere inches apart. “You’re mine now, Khaled,” he growled, glaring into the young man’s eyes. “I never approved of the erratic, unpredictable way Tommy treated you, and I promised myself that when it was my turn, I would be better.” Khaled’s hands scratched at Luca’s arm, which only served to tighten the hand around his jaw. “But not if you’re going to fight me the entire time!” He drew Khaled in closer, too close for comfort, as he maintained that crushing grip on his face. “So, what’s it gonna be? You gonna be a good boy for Master, or are you gonna make me hurt you?”

Letting go of Khaled’s face to allow him to answer was the greatest mistake Luca would make. With a fierce desperation to die rather than be owned by someone far worse than Thomas, Khaled drew his head back and collided their skulls with a crushing force. Both men withdrew from each other, each groaning in pain as they held their heads, but Khaled recovered from the head-butt first, and used the ten-second head start to make a run for it out the parking lot.

“You bitch! Get back here, you stupid little slut!” and various threats of bodily harm were shouted at him as he ran. He kept running, even when he rounded the corner and an exposed piece of chain-link fence grazed his thigh, nipping the skin enough to draw blood. He kept running, even when he wasn’t sure which streets he was running down as he single-mindedly sprinted ahead, most definitely lost. He kept running, even as the tears blurred his vision and the cold air stung his throat and lungs, and every time he tried to blink back his tears all he saw were those cold, dead eyes staring up lifelessly back at him. He kept running.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @defire

#RUN KHALED RUN 🏃💨#I love where things have ended off!#(not calling it ‘the ending’ but you know what I mean!)#Luca is such a fuck face—I love to hate him as a bastard antagonist #it’s so satisfying to see Tom dead on a cold slab not gonna lie #words cannot express how happy I am that that fucker has met his end!#Khaled being in shock here and not feeling anything is so fucking real!#god I just really love the way you took this and his reaction is so genuine #Luca calling Tom ‘Tommy’ still after all these years is a great touch—I know this is a small thing but I notice it and eat it upppp!

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generic-whumperz · 14 days ago

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Sending my boy my prettiest glass shards to replenish his collection 🥲

Chapter 2 Part 2: Shattered Glass

⚠️CW: Institutionalized slavery, torture, dehumanization, humiliation, angst, bullying. If I missed anything, please let me know.

A special thanks as always to @3-2-whump and @generic-whumperz for listening to my babble, talking things out is the best way for me to world build. Sorry its been a hot minute everyone, but I needed a shutdown period for a bit.

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Story under the cut.

The large, muscular Drar with short cropped black hair and an air of insolence walked in. The Mongrel was just a few steps behind him, eyes downcast. The difference between the two slaves couldn’t be more stark. Even Balor himself had to admit that the Dog’s manners and obedience were much finer, as was expected. The Mutt has been much more thoroughly trained. Additionally, after everything, it owed him absolute obedience.

“What do you want?” Zan asked hostilely.

Balor noted that the other slave’s response made The Mutt flinch ever so slightly. Balor smirked, The Mongrel knew what was coming. He tucked away The Runt’s reaction, making a mental note to punish it for breaking bearing later.

“Leave us, Mutt,” Balor ordered, his voice echoing slightly in the large marbled entry room of the mansion.

The Mongrel bowed deeply, once again displaying perfect form, before wordlessly leaving.

“Now…” Balor circled Zan a bit, like a raptor circling his prey. “….Care to rephrase that last little comment?”

“Fuck you, you aren’t my master, I don’t owe you courtesy. You’re just a spoiled child. I’m not like that damn simpering dog that just walked out.” Zan glared at Balor, fists balled.

“Funny, your Master put me in charge. And last time I checked I’m both a Tallisian and a noble, thus entitled to respect from a mere slave.” He grinned ear to ear, “You could afford to be more like that simpering dog, maybe we should arrange that.”

Balor watched with glee as Zan’s eyes grew wide with horror. It had been a stab in the dark, but to his pleasure he had hit a soft spot.

“Basement, now.” Balor hissed the order in a dangerously quiet tone. The bands would ensure that he would obey.

*****

Once outside The Dog took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the cool autumn air. The scent of dying leaves and sweet ripening fruit wafted around him in the breeze. It was soothing to his raw nerves.

He walked around to the backside of the slave house, to the outside corner furthest away from the mansion. The Mutt suspected that Sir would be busy with Zan for a while, and decided he could risk a look at his one and only possession he has ever had.

Other slaves might be allowed a few small trinkets, but for him, it was forbidden. Of course he would be forbidden, dogs and tools are only owned, they don’t own things, they don’t even own themselves. The Dog would be in so much trouble if this was ever discovered, but it wasn’t like he was hoarding anything valuable.

The Mongrel dug up the tiny pouch he kept safely hidden away. The smell of damp dirt and leather tickled his sensitive nose. The scent was comforting. It wasn’t lost on him how dog-like this behavior was, ‘Master is right,’ he sighed to himself.

The contents of the pouch jingled slightly as The Dog plopped himself down on the soft grass. With trembling hands, he dumped the contents into his palm. A colorful collection of broken glass bits tumbled out. Hues of blues and browns danced across his skin as the sunlight hit them.

They were just bits of trash, not unlike himself, but they were beautiful, and they were the only thing truly his. The Mongrel didn’t have a mat or a pillow like the other slaves or even a name, and clothing was a privilege that could easily be revoked by his master. These bits of glass were HIS and served as proof that even he could be liked one day.

Though, did he really deserve it. The years old familiar guilt crept in. He hadn’t thought of that incident in ages. He earned this treatment. He was the reason she left. Because of him Balor wore a scar to this day across his chest. He truly wasn’t a person; he didn’t deserve to be liked. Nobody liked monsters.

The Mutt was so caught up in his thoughts and glass, he wasn’t paying attention to his senses. He jumped when he went to hold a piece up to the sun, only to see Balor standing of too the side.

“And just what do you think you’re doing?” Balor’s voice tore The Dog’s fragile moment of peace. His tone was not unlike the sound of ice cracking, and equally as cold.

The Dog fell to a kneeling bow, quickly trying to hide the glass under his torso. His- its- throat constricted in fear. He, no, its thoughts raced. Balor was not predictable like its master, he wasn’t safe like his - its master….. Balor relished reading minds, just looking for an excuse to hurt them, but mostly it, which it deserved. Its Master usually didn’t waste the energy. He disliked it when The Mutt thought of itself as a person, but didn’t care if it used the same terms you would refer to a dog as. Master would just take its glass and make it sleep outside for a while, but that wasn’t Balor’s style.

The Mongrel knew better than to try to lie. It didn’t even know how long he’d been standing there. It took a quiet breath. “This slave was looking at broken glass,” It replied honestly. It didn’t risk a glance up; it could smell the danger it was in for rolling off the man in front of it.

Again, unwanted memories surfaced. That scent of danger used to be the scent of warmth and happiness. Thirteen years ago, with its first taste of Divinity’s Downfall, was its last taste of friendship.

“Is that right?” Balor hissed. “And just where did you get this glass? Sounds like you’ve been stealing.”

The Mongrel visibly flinched, which was the wrong move. Flinching only ever made things worse. “No Sir, this slave would never steal. It….”

“Liar, I know for a fact you stole food a few days ago!” Balor yelled, cutting The Dog off holding up a hand of silence. “I’ve heard enough, I forbid you from speaking further. Now give them to me.”

Unable to resist a direct order, it fell silent. Its bands glowed bright purple with the difficulty of the request, yet their pleasant hum could not dull the sting. This collection was the only thing it had to its name. The pieces were just going to be thrown away, The Mongrel didn’t understand why it couldn’t have this one thing, this one small good. It had no bedding, shoes, or even a name. The only positive in its life was the glowing purple thrum of the bands when it obeyed. It was an artificial comfort, but it was all it was allowed.

‘No, dogs don’t own, and it’s a dog not a slave,’ it reminded itself, swallowing back the impulse to use “I”.

It could talk and think like other slaves, it could even walk on two legs when permitted. It didn’t look like a dog either. Master called it a dog though, Master couldn’t be wrong…. Dogs get bones and toys and beds though; it was definitely not a dog…. Being a dog meant being cared for…. Being a dog would be a luxury.

‘It’s just a tool, tools don’t own. Tools don’t get people names. tools were nothing, had nothing beyond their usefulness. It was definitely a tool. A slave shaped tool.’

That was the mantra it repeated frequently, to lessen the suffering. It can’t suffer if it’s just a thing. Its master called it an ‘important tool’ once, and it grew in The Mongrel’s head from there.

It shook its head, tool, dog, it didn’t matter. Tremoring hands collected up the glass, returning the colors back into the dark. The Mutt knew it was in for it. Trying to brace itself, it handed the pouch to the man in front of it as it bit back a bitter, heavy feeling it only vaguely understood as sadness, this was all it had. Clawing through the sadness was also a growing fear.

“ZAN! BRING OUT A TRASH CAN!” Balor bellowed. There was no glass in the windows of the slave quarters, so Zan would have been able to hear him without the yelling.

About 30 seconds later Zan appeared around the corner of the brick building. The breeze kicked up and The Mutt could smell the metallic scent of blood on the slave. It risked a slight glance up, not enough to see Zan’s face, but enough to see his lips dripping with blood.

Before The Mongrel could react to the blood, Balor snatched the waste bin from Zan and approached the….. the tool, yes tool.

“Take off your trousers, put in your leather bite.”

The order was as crisp as the autumn air and it scrambled to obey. It folded them and laid them neatly to the side, allowing the gentle thrum to soothe its nerves. The taste of the thick leather that it kept on a cord around its neck filled its mouth. A taste that signaled pain was soon to follow, a taste that always turned its stomach with dread.

The leather was one privilege the others never got, something to bite down on during punishments. It wasn’t for its own comfort though; it was simply to protect its tongue from any accidental bites. That was the only part of The Mutt its master valued after all….

The younger Tallisian man crouched in front of it. “Put on your blindfold, I don’t want to see your creepy eyes or feel you staring at me.”

The Mongrel did as it was told, almost automatically. Another wave of the band’s warmth flowed through its veins. The world around it dulled only slightly with the loss of its sight.

Its acute hearing picked up the subtle tinkle of the glass in the pouch, followed by a sharp pain in its thigh, then another, and another. To The Dog’s horror and relief, it realized one by one, its glass was being embedded into its flesh. With its stunted healing the wounds would almost certainly get infected, but it would at least still have its glass. The one thing in this world that caught the sun and gave it to it, the warmth it was desperate for.

After the last one-it had been keeping count- It heard Balor stand, something thudded in front of it, and then another hollow thud that it recognized as the trashcan.

It came as no surprise when there was more pain. The Mutt came to expect pain and humiliation whenever Balor was around. It could feel the noble use his shoe to press down on its freshly bloodied thighs, driving the glass deeper.

It gasped. The Dog gritted its teeth, it could feel some of the pieces break inside of its flesh. It was desperately trying to hold and vocal sounds of pain in as Balor ground his foot into its thigh. Sounds would only cause the bands to add to the cacophony of pain. For now it took some small comfort in their gentle thrum, a small reward for staying silent.

“Remove your blindfold.”

The Mutt did as it was told once again. Once its eyes adjusted, it realized the source of the first thud was a knife sticking out of the ground.

“Now, dig each piece out and throw it away, one by one.” Balor’s voice was disturbingly amused as he snapped for Zan to lower to his hands and knees to provide a stool for him to sit and watch.

The mongrel felt like its stomach fell out of its belly. This was too much….. The hesitation caused the bands to begin their warning tingle. It reluctantly picked up the knife to avoid the pain.

A single, unbidden tear slid down its cheek as it began to slice into its own thigh to dig out the first piece. It recognized the shape as its favorite, but the blood coating it denied a final look at all of the little cracks and bubbles inside of it.

“I don’t know what you’re crying about, dogs own nothing,” Balor scoffed.

The pain was excruciating but it barely registered as it placed another shard into the bin. ‘Just a tool.’

The knife and glass were slick with blood and Balor had pushed the pieces in deep. This all made the removal process arduous and painful. Some pieces broke inside of it as well, further complicating getting everything out.

Finally, after what felt like hours, it fished the last piece of glass out of its thigh. It made a small tink in the bottom of the bin. It was probably only 2 hours judging by the sun, but it felt like an eternity.

Balor stood, getting off of Zan. “Don’t worry, I’ll be telling my father when he gets home as well. He will definitely be interested in knowing about this little hoarding habit you’ve picked up. I’ll let you two rest for now, I’ve got big plans for the two of you this evening, so clean yourselves up.” He whistled as he walked off with the bin of bloody glass.

@whumpsandbumps, @whumperofworlds, @skittles-the-whumpee, @wounds-seen-and-unseen, @emptycalories-splitlip

It was incidents like this that made The Mongrel wonder if Balor even remembered that they had once been friends at all.

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@pigeonwhumps, @i-eat-worlds, @starfields08000, @onlywhump, @snakebites-and-ink

@aloafofbreadwithanxiety, @turvuren, @whumps-and-bumps, @paingoes, @spectral-whumpy-writer,

@vampiresprite, @whumping-in-the-dark, @saffitaffi, @ichortwine

#I love the mental back and forth here so much!#arguing with himself and telling himself he’s just an object—not even good enough to be a dog 🥲#BALOR IS SUCH AN ASSHOLE!#the Balor & Mutt backstory though—last sentence got me like 👀

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generic-whumperz · 14 days ago

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Wooooo! Love these docs, they are so official!

Dasa's First set of Slave papers

A bit of world building for you all since I've been MIA lately.

@generic-whumperz, @3-2-whump, @whumpsandbumps, @whumperofworlds, @skittles-the-whumpee

@wounds-seen-and-unseen, @emptycalories-splitlip, @pigeonwhumps, @i-eat-worlds, @starfields08000

@onlywhump, @snakebites-and-ink, @aloafofbreadwithanxiety, @turvuren, @whumps-and-bumps

@paingoes, @spectral-whumpy-writer, @vampiresprite, @whumping-in-the-dark, @saffitaffi

@ichortwine

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generic-whumperz · 19 days ago

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Falling Like Snow

<prev

The penultimate chapter, can you believe it? Break out the tissues for this one, folks.

Thanks again @whumped-by-glitter and @generic-whumperz, you two are the best!

Obligatory Author's Note: This is it, folks, the end of Tom's story. Sorry to those who wished for a miracle, and congratulations to those of you rooting for his demise. You know exactly what to do if you desire a different ending. Fanfiction, canon divergence -the world is your oyster, so just go for it! I encourage it, if anything! Just, you know, tag me or let me know in some way. But anyway, here we go

TW/CW: major character death, blood, gore (?) (tagging it just to cover my bases), aftermath of torture, cigarette whump (brief), emotional angst, slave whump, noncon nudity (in the first half), Stockholm Syndrome (maybe?) (like the beginnings of it), but more so, emotional angst. So much angst. Please let me know if I missed anything though! Enjoy

From: Master Forgot about a meeting I have tonight. Be home late. Wait for me.

Khaled noted the time the message was sent, and compared it to how late at night/early in the morning it now was. He wondered if his master was out drinking, or whoring, or whatever it was he got up to when he’d stay out late on short notice. Not like it was his business anyway.

Khaled yawned, shaking out the numbness in his legs from his kneeling position next to the couch. He put away the plate of food on the table that had long gone cold by now. His own stomach gurgled with the need to eat something, but he dared not touch any of the food he carefully stowed away.

With the leftovers sorted out, there was nothing to do but put the dishes in the dishwasher and start the cycle. The kitchen, as well as the rest of the apartment, was spotless, since now he had nothing else to do but keep it clean. Khaled returned to his place on the bare living room floor, grabbing a blanket off the couch as an afterthought as he wrapped it around his nude frame. He was forbidden from wearing any clothes now, as the man who owned him was just a little too eager to see his ‘beautiful body,’ as he called it, and did not want anything obstructing its form. He’d watched in abject horror as all but a few changes of clothes were burned before his eyes and the rest had been locked in a safe. It had been a cold February ever since.

“I like you more like this,” his master had told him. “You’re far more cuddly like this, love, far more tactile.”

That’s another thing; Master was saying the word ‘love’ a lot more, averaging at least one “I love you Khaled” per day for the past two weeks. More than a little overwhelming, the frequency at which he’d expressed his affections seemed just this side of insincere. The three little words Khaled had craved for so many years now sounded so flat and fake, given everything else that had happened to him. How could anyone who isolates a man from his friends, from his job, from the world itself claim to love him? How was any of what he went through love?

What was more unbearable was when he was expected to say it back.

And he would say it back, a strained ‘I love you too’ that grated against his throat like swallowing broken glass. Yet, with a defeated resignation, Khaled realized it had gotten much easier to say, with enough repetition. If he said ‘I love you too, Master’ enough times, he may actually begin to believe it. It was only a matter of time until he would say it and mean it, if his enforced isolation continued much longer. Thomas Costa and Luca Bianchi were the only other human beings he had seen for two weeks now; he had no idea how he was strong enough to deal with this for more than a year when he was a child!

He positioned himself on his side, his sore back facing the door and his head facing the wide windows of the living room overlooking the city skyline. Outside it began to snow. The white, fluffy flakes were a vision of beauty flying against the heavy gray sky. Khaled’s eyelids drooped as he watched the snow fall in the greyish-white winter night. It was cold, yes, but beautiful, like him, he guessed. His last conscious thoughts were wondering when his master would come home to him. Regardless of whether he loved him back or not, he was cold, so cold without him.

It was cold, so cold, on the dirty concrete floor. Not even the blood pouring out of his lacerated wounds could keep him warm anymore. Above him, Julio circled him like a vulture, taking a long drag of his cigarette before throwing it lit-end first at Thomas’ face. The beaten man was too far gone to even flinch.

Damn, is this how Khaled felt when I cut him? he deliriously wondered. With all that Julio and the Juicio Divino boys had done to him, he doubted he’d ever get the chance to ask.

Khaled. There are so many things Thomas now wished he did differently. He should’ve been kinder, more patient, should’ve protected him from the world, from his men -even from himself. Especially from himself.

“Khaled…” he moaned.

A blood-speckled Nike connected painfully with his side. “You dare call out to him, even now?!” Julio growled icily. He kicked Thomas again.

“Julio, just kill him already, for fuck’s sakes,” a voice shouted from the corner of the warehouse. The traitor –Nico- stood off to the side, icing his bashed-in face with some snow wrapped in shirt fabric. “You’re worse than a cat that plays with the mouse it caught!” he admonished. As furious and confused and disappointed as Thomas was about the Clemenza boy betraying him like this, the primal animal part of him was grateful that he was asking for mercy on his behalf.

Although he could no longer raise his head to see past Julio’s ankles, Thomas could feel the assassin roll his eyes above him as he cursed in Spanish. The next thing he knew, Julio was crouching down to his level. He tried to mentally prepare for whatever would happen next.

Julio sunk his fingers into his short, blood-soaked hair, wrenching his head back as he held up a now-very-familiar knife to Thomas’ throat. “Any last words, puto?”

So many last words.

So many things to apologize for.

So many words left unsaid. Not just to Khaled, but to Callahan, to Trémeaux, to Robinson, Kreuger, Martinez, Kościelsky, and of course to Tony. Young Tony, dear Tony, high as fuck at a church wedding Tony. His pain in the ass little brother and his only constant in his childhood, who never lived to see twenty-two years old.

Khaled and Tony were a lot alike in some ways. Smarter than they thought they were, yet looked up to him for no explicable reason. It was a shame Thomas never consciously noticed that similarity until now.

All this time, Thomas thought he bought Khaled as a form of penitence, to make up for killing that boy who was suspected of killing his brother. And while, yes, that was partially why he bought him, maybe he also bought Khaled as a way resurrect his brother. It had been so long since he’d seen warm brown eyes look up at him, he didn’t even know he missed it until he saw Khaled’s eyes that day.

“Forgive me…” he rasped.

Maybe it was the blood loss, maybe it was the certainty that this was the end, making him see things, but for a second, Thomas saw a crack in that frosty glare Julio bore down onto him. For a brief second, a painful mix of shock, anger, sadness, and even sympathy flashed within Julio’s golden eyes, before the glacial cold vengeance covered them in its frosty glare once again.

“See you in hell,” Julio murmured.

A sharp pain sliced its way into his jugular and down. (Who the hell slices down?!) As the pain dulled and his vision started to go, Thomas’ ebbing consciousness latched onto a memory, one of the fondest memories he had of Khaled.

He’d had an intense nightmare within the first month of buying his new slave, and instead of deriding him or prying for more details than he was owed, the boy had heated him a cup of milk, rubbed his back, and stayed up with him until he was ready to go to sleep again, just like how he and Tony used to comfort each other after a nightmare. As the last threads of his vision faded and the boss’ surroundings sunk into darkness, he swore he could still hear younger Khaled’s words that night, murmured shyly as he still had his accent.

“Sleep well, Master.”

#DING DONG THE BITCH IS DEAD!#not me rejoicing this fucker finally gets what he deserves!#okay but fr—LOVE LOVE LOVE this. it’s almost bittersweet in the way that Tom is humanized but sealed his fate with his horrendous actions #I love the direction you took this in and looping it back to my sweet bean Khaled ❤️#Julio coming throughhhh

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generic-whumperz · 21 days ago

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The Professionals: Something Old, Something New

In The Woods Somewhere x Professional//Victim crossover AU

*Holds out Buck content in my hand like animal feed* Pss pss psss come and get it @apokolyps suggested "the professionals" as the title of the crossover and when I pitched it to @victimeyez he was like "seriously? that's what I titled our shared doc." Content warnings: Knives/cutting, long term captivity, reference to drugging, just a coupla boys who have been through a lot

“You just need to let me get this out of my system.”

Fletcher had led Tommy down to the basement, hand on his back to guide him. There was already a pair of chairs set out in an otherwise vacant area. They sat across from each other as Fletcher explained the situation to Tommy, holding a knife loosely in their hand, arms draped casually over their knees.

Tommy swallowed anxiously.

You knew this was coming.

“Yeah, I - I understand,” He mumbled, averting his eyes from Fletcher’s watchful gaze. He was struggling to get used to Fletcher’s needs - it’s not like Caius ever sat him down and let him know he was going to be punished. He just knew it once he started in on him.

Fletcher held out their left hand. Tommy swallowed and put his hand in theirs. Fletcher held it firmly - not squeezing, just keeping it steady. They lined up their knife with the back of his arm, just above the wrist. Tommy turned his head away before the skin broke, before the line formed, before the blood welled up and spilled over.

The pain was sharp and fiery. Tommy hissed air through his teeth. He glanced sideways at Fletcher, trying to read their expression. If he gave them what they wanted out of this, maybe they would be satisfied for a while. Maybe they could wrap it up sooner than later.

Fletcher was just focused on their work, not even devouring Tommy’s reactions like he expected them to be. Maybe it was the sounds - he could try to play it up, but Fletcher would likely see through any faked reactions. Should he beg? Or did they want him to sit quietly and take it?

Fletcher lined up the next cut.

Tommy tensed in spite of himself, gritting his teeth on a harsh groan as the knife bit into him again. He panted shallowly, trying to focus on flowing with the pain instead of against it, but the next cut hit him just as hard. A cry snuck its way out of his throat, and he cut it off with a whine. He tried to go slack, but couldn’t uncurl the fingers of his free hand from where his nails dug into the chair, and couldn’t stop his legs from shaking. Tommy sniffled and whimpered, knees knocking together as Fletcher ran their thumb through the rivulets of blood, grazing over the fresh wounds.

“Relax,” Fletcher breathed. They brought his arm closer to examine, still not looking at Tommy’s face. “Try to keep your arm still, at least. Don’t want me to… hang on.”

Fletcher dropped Tommy’s wrist and switched their knife to their non-dominant hand to pull a phone from their pocket. They looked at the screen, then, with their knife hand, curled their finger at Tommy, gesturing him to come closer.

Tommy had cautiously pulled his arm in towards his chest, ready to relinquish it again upon request. Somewhat unsure, he scooted forward.

Fletcher closed their knife one-handed and tucked it into their shirt pocket, then clamped their hand over Tommy’s mouth. They put a finger to their lips and answered the call.

“Hey, Buck,” they said in a cheery tone. They half-turned away from Tommy in some semblance of having a private conversation. “What’s going on?”

Tommy did his best to hold his arm together, but the pain swimming in his head mixed with the blood loss was starting to make him nauseous. He could feel his skin getting tacky as the blood dried, gluing one hand over the shreds up his arm. Fletcher’s hand covered his nose and mouth in one punishing grasp, and he struggled not to make a sound.

“Why do you need me to do it?” Fletcher asked the person on the other end. Whatever the response was prompted them to roll their eyes.

Tommy was running short on air. He didn’t want to interrupt, but he involuntarily started to squirm. Fletcher looked over at him and moved their hand enough to uncover his nose. Tommy sucked in a breath and did his best to look grateful through his eyes alone.

“Well, I’m not signing anything,” Fletcher said, turning away again. “But I can give you the cash.” A pause. “Yeah.” A smirk. “Mm… maybe. I don’t know that there’s anything that I want from you. Maybe something will come up… Oh, relax. I’ll give you the cash. You have to come get it though… I’m not driving all the fuck out there - you want the money... I don’t know, figure something out - borrow Nico’s… That’s up to you… That’s the deal, man.”

There was a longer pause. Fletcher rolled their eyes again.

“Alright. When are you coming?” Fletcher twisted the hand on Tommy’s face, pushing his head to the side with it, to look at their watch. “Okay, see you then, Buckaroo.”

Fletcher hung up the phone and let go of Tommy’s face.

“Sorry about that interruption,” they said, returning their attention to Tommy. “Anyway. We still have some time.” They put out their hand. “Where were we?”

Tommy’s entire forearm was wrapped in gauze. He kept it tucked in close to his middle.

Fletcher broke out the good stuff for Tommy this time - gave him two oxy and told him to sleep it off.

He must’ve played his part well.

Tommy turned the pills over in his hand.

Get drugged up and get out of the way. Get drugged up so you don’t know what’s being done to you.

“Can I, um… can I just do one?” he asked.

Fletcher cocked their head. “Really?”

Tommy gave a small shrug and shrank down. “I’ll take both if you want me to…”

“I mean… up to you, I guess,” Fletcher said. They took one of the pills and returned it to the bottle. “Don’t come crying to me later though; I’ll just give you acetaminophen.”

The single pill still helped subside the pain, and Tommy did manage to take a nap for a while. He awoke with a yelp when he rolled over onto his arm.

Tommy sat up in bed, clutching his arm to his chest, waiting for the throbbing to die down. It passed after a few moments, returning to the familiar radiating heat of a fresh wound, and Tommy was left with a dry mouth and a headache. Probably dehydrated. He stood from his bed, only feeling woozy for a second, and made his way to the kitchen.

He froze when he passed through the living room.

Fletcher was talking to a man with long brown hair. It was tucked behind his ears, allowing Tommy to see the scars on his face - one across his nose, one beside his eye.

Obviously someone intimately familiar with violence. If he was friends with Fletcher, violence was probably his business. Both of them turned their heads to look at Tommy, who immediately averted his eyes.

Tommy regretted not staying in his room. Fletcher had probably intended for him to be asleep through whatever dealings they had going on.

Oops.

Buck was no longer a captive, and all the trainees who tormented him here had long since moved on, but he still didn’t want to run into any of Fletcher’s new best and brightest of the criminal underworld. He immediately dropped his gaze to the floor when he saw a man about his age stumble into view, but his sights froze on a familiar cuff around the man’s ankle.

Buck’s eyes slowly traveled back up to his face.

His hair was black and curly, his eyes a light green when they caught the sunlight through the window. He looked nothing like Buck, and yet it was like looking into a mirror.

The same averted gaze, head down, shoulders up, arms tucked in close, fingers working at the fabric of his loose shirt. He even had a fucking scar on his face, marring its way down past his right eye. The collar was a new feature; that was never something Fletcher made him wear around the house.

“S-Sorry,” Tommy said. “I’ll - I’m just getting water, from the kitchen.”

Fletcher ran a hand over their face.

“Fletcher.”

“Yes, Buck?”

“Who the fuck is that?”

Tommy blanched, tucking tail, ready to retreat back to his room. He would drink from the bathroom faucet if he had to. It wasn’t his intent to interrupt anything, and the fear of retribution on top of the throbbing pain in his arm had him anxious to remove himself.

“Hey - hey…” The first one was angry, the second one was gentle. Buck held up his hands towards Tommy. “Please don’t leave yet.”

Tommy was frozen stiff. He slowly turned back and looked first at Buck - he had a small, somewhat forced smile and sympathetic eyes. Almost too sympathetic, like he was on the verge of tears. Then at Fletcher, whose direction was the one he really needed to follow - they looked like things weren’t going their way.

“I think it’s rude to have a conversation about the man in front of him, don’t you?” Fletcher said to Buck.

“You got another one?” Buck said to them in disbelief.

Another one? There was someone before me? What happened to them?

“This is a completely different situation,” Fletcher waved the comment off. “He’s practically a rescue.”

“A r-” Buck cut himself off, putting his head in his hands. He steadied himself before looking back at Fletcher and saying, “What happened to his arm?”

Fletcher pursed their lips and didn’t answer.

“Fletcher-”

“This is why I didn’t want you two to see each other,” Fletcher said, throwing their hands up. “You’re gonna get all… ehh.”

Buck was at a loss. He kept looking between Fletcher and Tommy.

“You can’t…” Buck trailed off.

“You know I can.” Fletcher answered.

“How can you expect me to walk away knowing about this?”

“One foot in front of the other,” Fletcher scoffed. “Unless you want to stay.”

Buck paled at the thought. He kept staring at Tommy like a solution would come to him.

“How about you take your money and go home to the nice apartment I gave you, and be glad you’re not in his place, hm?” Fletcher held out a thick envelope to him.

Tommy eyed Buck again. Not in his place? Was this guy the previous one? How could that be? How was he free? Why would he come back?

Buck stood motionless. He was staring at the envelope, but his focus wasn’t on it.

“Buck,” Fletcher called his attention. “There’s nothing you can do, so don’t feel bad about it.”

Buck opened his mouth, then sighed and closed it again. He looked at Tommy, his eyes full of sadness and a desperate longing. Then, a resolve came across his face, and he turned back to Fletcher.

“You said I could come back to the lodge at any time,” Buck said.

Fletcher lowered the envelope back to their side. “I did. As long as you call ahead.”

“What’s your name?” Buck asked the stranger.

“Uh…” Tommy fiddled with the collar of his shirt, looking at Fletcher for guidance. “It’s… complicated.”

Buck raised his eyebrows at Fletcher.

“It’s… Tommy,” Fletcher grumbled.

Buck took a second to make the connection, then asked, “Did you name him that?”

“No,” Fletcher snapped. “I want him to change it. He just hasn’t picked a new one yet.”

“You didn’t let me pick my name.”

“Oh my god,” Fletcher groaned.

“Tommy,” Buck said earnestly, looking him in the eye. “I’m going to be back.”

The visitor had an intense look of determination on his face. It might have been more impactful if Tommy had any idea what in the flying fuck was going on.

Buck reached out his hand for the envelope, but Fletcher held it away.

“What the fuck does that mean?” they demanded.

“You said I could-”

“Are you planning something?” Fletcher interrupted. “Don’t be fucking stupid; you’ve got a good thing going. You don’t want to lose that. You don’t know the situation here. And maybe you’ve forgotten…” Fletcher stepped closer, entering Buck’s space to stare him down. “...To be afraid of me.”

Buck shied away slightly, leaning his head back, but he didn’t retreat. “I haven’t,” he said quietly. His eyes drifted to Tommy, then back to Fletcher. “You wanted me to visit. I’ll visit.”

Fletcher studied Buck’s face for a moment, not speaking. Tommy watched them both, trying to read the intricacies at play, trying to decipher the history between the two of them to understand the dynamic.

Fletcher held up the envelope between them. “I’ll be seeing you, then.”

Buck took it. “You will.”

Buck nodded at Tommy, lingered a moment, then disappeared out the door. Fletcher strolled to the window, arms folded across their chest, and watched Buck drive away. Once the car had disappeared into the trees, they turned back to Tommy.

Tommy’s stomach dropped. He suddenly felt like that man’s presence had been offering some form of protection, like Fletcher was trying to behave in front of him. But now it was just the two of them, and whatever punishment was brewing in Fletcher’s mind.

“I thought you were going to take a nap,” Fletcher said.

Tommy opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He swallowed dryly and tried again. “I was, for a little bit. I’m sorry, I didn’t know…”

“Go get your water.”

Tommy obediently turned and headed into the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of water and drank it down with trembling hands. Fletcher walked in behind him, but Tommy couldn’t bring himself to turn around.

“Look,” Fletcher said finally. “Buck was… in your situation in the past, but he came into that situation under very different circumstances. He’s out now, but only because of… extreme circumstances. It won’t happen for you. I don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

He got out.

“You’re better off now than you were before,” Fletcher said. “I think you should focus on that.”

Tommy’s heart sank just as quickly as it had leapt. He ran his hand over his bandages and nodded.

“What were the circumstances?” he asked.

“He found this place, and it was a ‘you’ve seen too much so I can’t let you go,’ situation. I decided not to kill him, and just kept him here instead. Then he… later on… he saved my life. So I repaid him by giving him back his life. Or, a new one. But we have an understanding; there are conditions.”

Tommy looked at Fletcher now.

“He saved your life?” Tommy asked, incredulous. “Why?”

Fletcher snickered, bearing that dangerous smile of theirs. “Interesting word choice,” they said, strolling closer, closing Tommy in against the sink. “Not how did he save my life, just why would he? What, you wouldn’t do the same?”

Tommy shrank back. “I… I don’t…”

“It’s okay,” Fletcher said. “We haven’t gotten to know each other well enough yet.” They cuffed Tommy lightly under the chin. “Plus, there are worse people than me. Buck had to make a choice, and he made the right one.”

“And he… comes back? On his own?” Tommy missed Caius sometimes, in a comfortably miserable kind of way, but he didn’t want to even entertain the idea of returning to that lonely house to visit.

Fletcher shrugged and allowed Tommy space again. “Not usually.”

Tommy thought about how earnestly Buck had looked at him. How he had walked out the door unimpeded and left on his own. Tommy tried to heed Fletcher’s warning not to get his hopes up, but a small spark within him flickered anyway.

@suspicious-whumping-egg @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome–hunter

@whumplr-reader @theelvishcowgirl @sunshiline-writes @dont-be-gentle-please @galesgallery

@2in1whump @sparrowsage @apokolyps @whumpinggrounds

@morning-star-whump @leviiio @alexmundaythrufriday

@defire @jumpywhumpywriter @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@light-me-on-pyre @slighlydisturbedbeans @dislexiher @paperprinxe @desert-dyke

@just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @whatwasmyprevioususername @cursedandtired

@whump-only @misspelledwitch @redstainedsocks @thehopelessopus @im-just-here-for-the-whump

@thatsthewhump @aqua-blogging @utopian819 @whumpinggoodtime @pretty-face-breaker

#AHHHHHHHHH 👀

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generic-whumperz · 24 days ago

Text

Ok, so…

Tag list for those that read it: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz

@bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@defire

#A THOUSAND TIMES YES

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generic-whumperz · 25 days ago

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Wrong Turn

<prev

Divine Judgment comes

Thank you @whumped-by-glitter and @generic-whumperz , this chapter would not be what it is without you beta-ing for it!

Obligatory Author's Note: So, it's pretty obvious we're nearing the end of Tom's story, but at this point, it's pretty open ended. If you'd like to stop here and imagine he mansplains-manipulates-manslaughters his way outta this trap, then by all means go ahead. Fanfiction is a thing, canon divergence is a thing, I encourage it, if anything! Just, you know, tag me or let me know in some way. But let's get right to it!

TW/CW: slave whump, intimate whumper, (brief) dehumanization, whumper turned whumpee, kidnapping, leaving off on a cliffhanger

Thomas J Costa, you are a fucking genius, the mob boss thought to himself. This was one of the best two weeks of his and Khaled’s shared life together. Two weeks of coming home to a sparkling clean penthouse, a plate of either half-cooked or slightly scorched food (hey, the boy was trying), and a submissive bedmate made him perversely wonder why he didn’t try this scare tactic sooner.

He checked his watch. It was only half an hour until he’d usually leave for home, but he decided he’d been at work long enough that day. Just as he was about to log off of his desktop, an email of high priority chimed. He opened it, then groaned. That meeting with the stakeholders of White Shore Resort: Miami was tonight, and he’d completely forgot. As much as he’d rather not do it tonight, he did not need to burn this bridge, of all bridges. So, with a reluctant sigh, Thomas put on his coat and shot a text home. He’d left Khaled with the spare cellphone he’d given him when he was in the hospital that one time, a dense brick of a device that could only perform basic call, text, and photo taking tasks, specifically to send him messages like these.

To: Holes Forgot about a meeting I have tonight. Be home late. Wait for me.

With that sent, he tucked his phone into his coat pocket and begrudgingly left.

The boss was a little more than surprised to find his car keyed and his tires slashed. What surprise he did feel was quickly replaced with burning rage as he marched his way to the guard shack and banged on the door. “Nico!”

Michael’s nephew opened the door, brown hair amess and blinking in confusion as if he had just woken up from a nap. “Boss? What’s up, what’s wrong?” he asked, pulling his coat around him.

“Don’t even - somebody’s slashed my tires on your watch!” Thomas grabbed Nico by the arm and yanked him along across the parking lot. He practically threw the young guard at the defaced car. “Look at this! Did you see who did this? What the fuck am I even paying you for if you don’t even know who did this?!” he roared.

“Shit man, I-I’m sorry! What can I do to fix this?” Nico asked.

Tom checked his watch again. Despite the meeting being on the other side of the city, and the whole setback with his car, he knew he could still make it. “You,” he decided, “are going to drive me! No arguments, let’s go!”

Nico’s mouth opened and closed mutely like a fish before he threw up his hands in a shrug.

It was a very awkward drive in Nico Clemenza’s cluttered Jeep. Some people kept the interior of their cars spotless, some people treated the interior of their cars like a large storage locker, and it became very clear which one Nico was that evening. Thomas must have counted at least three first-draft essays, one notebook, four pairs of unwashed athletic clothes, and a pair of sneakers back there. At least the weather was cold enough out that they didn’t stink, which was a small mercy of being trapped in such a disgusting car. He wanted to retch, but this was his best and quickest option to get to that meeting on time. Maybe I’ll just make the kid drop me off a couple blocks away, and I can walk there, he thought to himself.

Meanwhile, Nico himself seemed visibly on edge as he drove stiffly and uncomfortably with the boss in his car. It was enough to make himself feel tense. Thomas sighed. “Look, Nico, bud, I know you don’t necessarily approve of how I handle your dear little friend, but there is no reason why things have to be so tense between us personally,” he said. “I’ve never actually done anything to you, have I? Like, I’ve never physically harmed you or nothing. And I’m on great terms with Bennie and Michael, so why don’t you just relax a bit? I’m not gonna kill you, I swear.”

Nico nervously glanced at him before focusing back on the road. Thomas shook his head. There was an impassible power barrier between himself and some of the younger guys in the organization, one that wasn’t there before he became the boss nearly eight years ago. It made people act all fake and freak out over little things as they forgot that he was just a person, too; like how Nico completely missed the exit they needed to take.

“Hey, wait, the Antechamber Taphouse was back that way,” he reminded him. Nico kept driving, not responding as his eyes remained fixed on an unseen destination. “Nico, hey, Nico!” Tom snapped his fingers in front of the driver’s face, hoping to get his attention. “Nico, you missed it!”

“No I didn’t, because that’s not where we’re going,” Nico relied cryptically.

“Yes, it is, though, I told you we were going there!” He brought this fingers up to Nico’s temple and poked at it. “What’s wrong with you?” Nico did not respond as he pulled off at the next exit and drove them further from Thomas’ intended destination. “Take a left, and another left,” he instructed. They might just be able to make it to the taphouse if they took the detour Thomas knew about.

Nico pulled off at the next exit and ran every red light as he took the exact opposite directions, driving them closer to their unknown destination. The passenger gave up dictating directions once he realized this dumb fuck behind the wheel wasn’t going to listen to him. Whether it was because Nico didn’t know the area and was stubborn enough to spurn all directions, there was not much Thomas could do until they got where they needed to be. With a final grumble, he whipped out his phone and started sorting through emails. Confirmation of reservation, reminder of reservation, junk mail, junk mail, junk –ooh, a user called ‘there-a-Glock-in-my-sock-85’ responded to my Reddit question!

It was only once the car came to a stop and parked that he looked up from his phone. Far from the urban core of his intended destination, he found them parked at the docks, just outside the empty warehouses. ‘Something is wrong’ seemed like the understatement of the moment here as Thomas tried to determine Nico’s true intentions.

Then, the door to one of the warehouses creaked open. Nico unlocked the doors and unbuckled his seatbelt. “Alright, sir, come with me,” he said.

“Where are we?” he asked, unbuckling his own seatbelt.

Nico did not respond, only silently opening the door of the car as he pivoted his body to get out. The boss finally figured out there was something much larger at play. He thought about the young guard’s sketchy demeanor and their conveniently desolate location before remembering what Nico had said the last day he saw Khaled.

“But, he didn’t do it, sir! He had no part in it! I can prove it, just listen to me!”

His jaw dropped as he made the connection. “Wait a minute, you were the one who put that hit out on me last summer?!” The lack of an answer was all the confirmation the boss needed. “Oh, you little shit!” Thomas grabbed Nico by the shirt collar and yanked him away from the door. He pulled Nico by the back of his hair and slammed his face into the dash board –once, twice, and one more time for good measure before pushing Nico out the open door and crawling into the driver’s seat himself. He was just about to close the door of the Jeep and lock it until a chillingly cheerful voice called out from the shadows.

“Where you going off to, man? You just got here!”

Tom immediately unsheathed his pistol, aiming at the source of the voice amongst the dark. A pair of cat-like golden eyes gleamed in the darkness as the boss of Juicio Divino emerged like a phantom from the dark warehouse entrance. Six more phantoms materialized alongside him with their own weapons drawn and aimed at the Costa boss. Julio’s eyes briefly flickered down to his accomplice who’d been thrown out of the car before fixing back on Thomas again. He lazily grinned, his teeth shining unnaturally white in the dark night. “Why don’t you step out of the vehicle and come on in here?” It did not sound like a request. Six guns remained trained on his body behind the windshield.Thomas growled like a cornered animal as he reluctantly set his gun on the dashboard, got out of the car, and put his hands up. Attacking Julio directly would guarantee he’d be killed, but surrendering and giving them what they wanted now would at least open an opportunity to gain the upper hand later, he reasoned. Although he doubted this wild cat would ever give him the chance.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump , @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @defire

#Yes yes yes! 😈#This chapter is 🔥🔥🔥🔥#The text message from ‘holes’ makes me giggle every time lmao #Nico making the comeback of his life here fr #I love Tom getting bamboozled #Motherfucker (Tom) getting what’s deserved

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generic-whumperz · 30 days ago

Note

Cursed NSFW Q’s for the bastard himself—Thomas Costa!

3. Does size really matter?

41. What's the most challenging part about sex?

32. Had a threesome?

48. What's the most memorable orgasm you've ever had?

NSFW Ask here

Okay, here goes

3. Yes, yes it does

41. It depends on whom I’m having sex with, but overall, the problem boils down to both parties (notably me) getting what we want and coming out satisfied at the end

32. Several, during my ‘nice guy’ stage. I had to release that pent-up energy somehow!

48. The night Khaled turned eighteen and we had sex for the first time, it was just as good as I imagined it to be

#what an asshole! (Tom you suck!—AKA great answers lol)#whumpers just love taking their slave whumpee’s v-cards don’t they? 🥲

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generic-whumperz · 1 month ago

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Adjusting Well: A Parallel

<prev

By all accounts we weren't going to even have this chapter, but my beta readers convinced me to make this drabble canon. So, here it is. Everyone say thank you to @whumped-by-glitter and @generic-whumperz for letting Tom live one more chapter and prolonging Khaled's misery

A parallel to Adjusting Well

TW/CW: noncon nudity, multiple whumpers, degradation, emotional manipulation, degrading speech, threat of castration (not followed through), humiliation, noncon oral, self-harming behaviors

“How’s he adjusting?”

Thomas sighed. “Fine, I guess?” He threw a backward glance at a shirtless Khaled from where he sat on the sofa. The slave was engrossed with buffing out the scratches on the granite countertop. “He doesn’t talk much anymore-”

“When did he ever talk much?” Luca shrugged.

“Well, it’s worse now,” Thomas explained. “He just sulks all the time, shambling like a zombie from one room to the next!” He leaned in close to his oldest and most trusted friend. “When I took his cock cage off yesterday, he barely even reacted! Barely remembered to thank me, too,” he grumbled.

“I don’t understand,” Luca said as he furrowed his brow. “This is what you wanted, right? A living fuck doll to keep you warm at night?”

“No, that’s more of what you want, man!” Thomas shook his head, then leaned back onto the couch with a sigh. “I wanted at least a little bit of liveliness, maybe even some enthusiasm, if that wasn’t too much to ask for! I don’t know how to break him out of this slump, or if I even can!” he groaned.

Luca pursed his lips, looked over the side of the couch back at Khaled, and then back at Tom. “Bring him over here, I want to talk to him,” he said.

His friend obviously had an idea, though what exactly this idea was remained to be seen. Thomas craned his head over his shoulder once again to look back at the slave behind them. “Khaled, come here,” he ordered.

The boy looked up from the countertop as his hand holding the cleaning rag stopped buffing. He looked back down at the counter, then sighed, putting the rag down and stepping out from behind the counter. Without the granite and hardwood in the way, it was plain to see Khaled was completely naked. Luca gave an appreciative whistle. Thomas shot him an exasperated look. It was nothing the man hadn’t already seen at this point, but he always leered at Khaled’s nakedness as if it were the first time Tom got the idea to pass him around.

Khaled finally stood before the two men, waiting silently until he was commanded to kneel in the presence of his master.

“So, I heard you’re feeling kind of down,” Luca said as the boy settled onto his knees.

Khaled glanced toward his master, then back at Luca, and nodded somberly.

“Not sure why you’re so upset, though. I mean, really –did you not think your actions would have consequences?” Luca asked rhetorically. Thomas recognized this speech from those few times he’d interacted with Luca and his family before. This was the speech Luca used to use on his sons, with some obvious modifications to fit this specific situation. Never had he ever thought the man would rehash the ‘own up to your mistakes’ monologue onto his slave.

“Here my buddy is, just trying to protect you from your baser instincts –the same instincts that got you infected –and you think you have the right to be upset about it?” He tutted and shook his head in disapproval. “You stupid little slut! You still don’t know how good you have it, do you?” Luca admonished.

Khaled hesitantly shook his head, a flicker of uncertainty crossing those dark, lifeless eyes.

“If you were mine, I never would’ve tolerated this shit! I would’ve had you fixed like the horny little bitch you are the moment I suspected you spreading your legs for someone else!”

Khaled flinched, bringing his hands to his front to shield himself the moment the word ‘fixed’ was uttered. “Khaled,” Thomas warned. The boy nodded his head and reluctantly placed his hands at his sides, exposing himself again.

“You would never have left my sight for even a moment,” Luca continued, “but noooo, Tom felt bad for you and allowed you to ‘make friends’ or some shit! At least it was with Nico, at first –did you screw him to be your friend, too?”

Khaled’s face burned bright red at the invasive question. “What? No, I-”

“Quiet!”

On the other end of the couch, Thomas rolled his eyes. “See, of course now he talks, to defend what little honor he thinks he has left!” he scoffed.

“Honor?” Luca let out a snide laugh. “These slaves don’t have honor!” He leaned back onto the couch and gestured to Khaled as he explained. “No, no, what you think of as honor, I see as favor. Slaves are granted favor at the discretion of their owners, and that favor can be lost just as easily as it can be given. And this one lost favor due to his own actions alone.” He cast a smug look back at Khaled and asked, “So, what do you have to say for yourself?”

“Um, I’m sorry?” Khaled murmured.

“Tom, do you accept that apology?”

The boss shook his head as his lips quirked into a wry smile. “No, I don’t think I do. It didn’t feel…genuine enough.”

“Yeah, come on, Khaled,” Luca jeered. “Let’s try that again! What do you have to say to the man who raised you, who waited for you to become legal all those years before laying his hands on you, who gave you everything?”

Khaled gave a shuddering sigh before lowering his eyes respectfully. “I’m sorry,” he answered, voice full of conviction. He effortlessly folded himself over into a bow, planting his forehead onto the carpet in front of their feet. “Forgive me, Master,” he said loud and clear.

“Forgive you for what?” Thomas asked, fully leaning into this game now.

“Forgive me for sleeping around, for taking you for granted, for-for not loving you like you want me to!” Khaled answered.

“How sorry are you?”

“So sorry!”

“Would you like to show us? Go on, boy, show us how sorry you are!”

This reminded Tom of when he and his friends were younger, when they would bully the freshmen at St. Drogo’s and rob them blind of pocket change. Khaled begged and screamed repeated apologies over and over, bashing his face into the carpet repeatedly each time as Luca goaded him on. “Okay, okay, stop, stop, stop!” Thomas commanded, intervening before Khaled could truly hurt himself. “Goddamn, Luca, you’re gonna give him brain damage!” He softened his tone as he redirected his tone to Khaled. “Get up here, sweetheart.”

Khaled raised his head slowly, sporting a deep red, carpet-patterned imprint on his forehead and tears falling from his inky dark eyes. He crawled on all fours until his body was between his master’s legs, his cheek leaning against his master’s thigh. Thomas stroked his face gently, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Show me how sorry you are,” he ordered softly. His hand left Khaled’s face to tug down the fly of his pants. Without a word, his slave pulled his hardening member out of his pants and popped it into the warm, velvety cavern of his mouth, lightly sucking on it and brushing it along his tongue to stiffen it to full mast.

“See? That’s better,” Thomas cooed.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Luca chimed in. “He’s out of his slump and onto your cock where he belongs.”

“God, how do you not have one of your own to boss around already?” Thomas asked, completely ignoring Khaled’s efforts to please him.

“Not all of us have $30k to throw away; some of us gotta put our sons through college,” Luca griped.

Thomas rubbed the back of Khaled’s head, brushing the boy’s shaved undercut against the grain as he hummed contemplatively. “Well, I know it’s kind of gross for me to be offering my used sex toy like this, but you’ve always seemed to take an interest in him.” His hand traveled up to the longer hair on top of Khaled’s head, fisting into it as he pulled the boy’s face further into his lap. “What if I left him to you, if something should happen to me?”

Khaled made a small choking sound, which Thomas shushed away as he continued face-fucking him.

Luca smirked. “If it was anyone else’s used sex toy, I would say they were crazy. But him, I like him. He’s still young, and handsome too. And god forbid anything should happen to you, of course-”

“It’s already happened, Estrada shot me-”

“-I would be happy to take him,” Luca said.

Thomas sighed in relief. That was one less thing to worry about if Julio or anyone else ever succeeded in killing him. They shook on it, with Tom promising to contact his executor on the next business day as he came down his slave’s throat.

#everyone—YOU’RE WELCOME! (/j)#what a lovely little addtion 🥰#Luca is such a motherfucker—egging Tom on and making things ✨worse✨#bastard whumper tag team from hell! 🙌#Luca really being like ‘yeah Tom—buddy ole pal— I’d love to take care of your sex toy if anything were to happen to you.’ 😅😈🫠#the Luca monologues are *chefs kiss* (love to hate this bitch)#💦

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