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generic-whumperz · 12 hours ago

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Me reading this at the edge of my seat, screaming internally: DEAD PEOPLE. Sam is smelling formaldehyde and embalming fluids cause it’s IN THE GODDAMN ROOM! FUCKKKKKK!

The Dollhouse

Chapter 28 of Professional//Victim

Tommy is paralyzed for his client, and begins his roll as a doll.

CW: Captive whumpee, intimate whumper, drugged whump, dehumanization, "willing" whumpee, medical whump, medical torture, doll whumpee, doll fetishization, desecration of remains, and strong horror elements.

Dae-Ho opened the door with a warm smile and eyes filled with excitement. Tommy recognized him from the brief video chat they’d had over Caius’s phone.

“Tommy, Caius, Sam! You came! Please, please come inside!” He ushered them in like family long since seen. Stepping into the foyer, Tommy took a quick moment to take in the place. The lobby more resembled the waiting room of a spa, designed to be warm and calming. A wax heater perfumed the air with some scent, clean and slightly sweet. A fountain feature built into the far wall made for an exquisite accent, incorporating rustic slabs of warm-toned river stones with a little waterfall trickling through merrily. It was carefully fashioned to appear naturalistic, leaning away from a cool cement design that could bring to mind cemetery features.

Neatly aligned chairs and couches were offered for anyone waiting, furbished with a soft tan hide and cushy padding tight enough to still offer support. An enormous persian rug carpeted most of the room, light and clean with dark blue accents to help balance the warmer tones. There was an office attached, and a small counter crafted to still appear open and welcoming. A soundscape of soothing nature sounds permeated quietly, accompanied by string instrumentals light enough to calm but not depress,

I could never afford to die here, Tommy thought. There was a distinct feeling he always got when they visited the ritzy places many of his clientele inhabited. Truly, it was almost the same that he felt in his life before. As an impoverished punk in ill-fitting thrift store clothing, whenever he visited anywhere that displayed a modicum of wealth, he got a distinct feeling of being alien and misplaced. I don’t belong here. He knew it, and everyone else did, too. He did his best to act otherwise, but he simply couldn’t hold his space the way people experienced with luxury could. Especially now, deprived as he was within his meager living space. Even the rest of Caius’s house felt too fancy for his worth.

If Dae-Ho judged him, he did not show it. His eyes twinkled excitedly behind his horn-rimmed glasses, kind and inviting. He was exquisitely dressed in a fitted black suit, with subtle paisley dyed slightly darker in a shadow-like effect. In lieu of a tie, he wore a well tied cravat of magenta with a matching pink and white pocket square. He wore shiny saddle shoes with shiny magenta laces. If he had donned a top hat and a cane, it would not have looked out of place.

“Tea or coffee for you gentleman?” Dae-Ho swept a hand towards a stand beside the desk, laden with various coffee and tea accoutrements.

“Coffee sounds good,” Sam suggested.

“I wouldn’t turn down an earl grey, if you have it. Would you like anything yourself, Dae-Ho? Tommy would be happy to serve you,” Caius asked, his customer service voice in full force. Dae-Ho smiled and waved his hand easily.

“Nonsense! You are all my guests, I am excited to have new additions to the tea party. I make everything for it myself, though dinner tonight will be catered so we can maximize our time together. If you’d accompany me to the mortuary, I have a sanitized space available where you can prepare Tommy.” Dae-Ho took Tommy’s hand in his and squeezed lightly, giving Tommy a giddy look as if they were sharing a private joke. He led them back down a couple hallways, followed closely by Caius and Sam.

There was an electronic keypad Dae-Ho unlocked to enter the lab, and he held the door for Caius and Sam without letting go of Tommy’s hand. His grip was oddly gentle, his hands a little damp, the only indication he might be nervous. The flooring inside was a black and white tile dotted with intermittent drains, with a wall of morgue drawers along the back. There was a main slab in the middle of the room, but it resembled an adjustable hospital bed more than a classic metal autopsy table. No railings, allowing for easy access, but it was padded and covered in a shiny laminate for cleanliness. Other rolling racks and trays were stored neatly to one side. Sam whistled, looking around appreciatively, as if being shown some kind of pornography for custom labs. There was an acrid smell to the room here though, a far cry from the melted wax scents in the foyer.

“I have something special for you, Tommy. I had it tailored to you, per those measurements Caius sent,” Dae-Hold told him, dropping his hand to go collect his gift from one of the cabinets. Tommy wasn’t aware of any measurements Caius had sent him, but he knew Sam occasionally took his body measurements when he lost weight. Dae-Ho came back with a long and thin gift box, wrapped and tied thoughtfully with a silky red ribbon. The bow it culminated in looked complicated, and he hesitated to touch it when Dae-Ho set it on the slab before him.

He had been trying to read Dae-Ho since they met eyes at the door. There were plenty of things he could surmise about him from the state of the manor, the decoration, and his personal sense of style. It was interesting how he was treating them like friends, dropping the formal pretense of a business transaction in spite of his careful state of dress. Tommy had anticipated being regarded as a doll from the very start, not that Dae-Ho would acknowledge him and act so fondly. He had asked Tommy to say hello to him over the phone, but Tommy had dismissed it as a kind of wind-up doll desire. Pull the string to hear what your dolly has to say!

What he couldn’t tell yet was Dae-Ho’s intentions. His joy and hospitality felt very genuine, regardless of the circumstances.

You know this, you just can’t quite put your finger on it. What does a doll have to offer?

“Tommy?” Dae-Ho prompted, when the gift wasn’t readily accepted.

A doll offers…

The coin dropped. He remembered then, something he had already forgotten that he knew.

A doll offers companionship. He wants a companion. One without needs, one that never disagrees or dislikes the things he likes. Companionship without the emotional risk of genuine human connection.

A people pleaser. Specifically, a Dae-Ho pleaser. I can do this. I can be this doll.

Tommy shifted gears abruptly to accommodate, straightening his posture and smiling brightly. Dao-Ho flinched in surprise, but Tommy was tuning in.

“Wow, this is beautiful Dae-Ho! You are so thoughtful. I’m afraid to open it, it already looks so nice, I don’t even know where to start,” he gushed, touching the sides of the box reverently. He tipped his head down slightly to look up at him through his eyelashes, giving a shy but flirtatious smile. Dae-Ho’s eyes immediately widened, giving him a broad grin back, even taking a step closer as if Tommy had magnetized him.

“The pleasure is all mine, I wanted you to have it. Would you like help opening it?”

“Yes please,” Tommy said, giving him a little embarrassed smile. Dae-Ho’s eyes gleamed manically, and he tugged on one end of the ribbon, drawing it slowly to watch it unfurl.

When he lifted the lid, Tommy got a look inside. It took a second to make sense of what he was looking at, but after his experience with all the strappy nightmares Caius put him in, this one was easy to figure out. Unfolded, it was a thickly braided wire armature with leather straps attached to buckle it on. It was shaped a little like a stick figure with no head. He could make the leap without an explanation - this would buckle like a body harness onto him, with a wire skeleton that they could use to pose him. He tested a wire braid with his hands, and it was pretty strong, but still bendable by hand with some force.

Tommy felt nauseous looking at it. He’d known he would be paralyzed, but this felt grotesque. The threat of impending helplessness made the little color he had drain from his face.

“You’ll be the best dolly,” Dae-Ho reassured him. Tommy kept his forced smile, but he held it with a grim resolve.

“Thank you Dae-Ho, this is very special.”

He numbly followed orders to strip, and stand there naked, his arms and legs held away from his body as the armature was attached. The wire at the top had a smaller ring that attached the metal spine through his collar. He supposed it was easier to get it on before he was paralyzed, but once it was on, he was out of time to remain autonomous. Stiffened now with the armature in place, Dae-Ho generously helped him onto the table. As he laid down, he felt as if he was resting his head in the cradle of a guillotine. When Sam lined up a tray of shots and leaned over him, Tommy imagined the rope in his gloved hands, ready to cut it and get the session started in earnest.

“What I’m going to be administering today is a series of pain blocks at the base of each limb. These are localized anesthetics that will prevent any sensation at all throughout each appendage, until it starts to fade after about seven hours. He also will be unable to move the limbs at all. I had one of these done when I got surgery on my arm – I had to hold my arm in my other hand when I walked for the rest of the day, otherwise it would start swinging like dead meat from my shoulder.”

Dae-Ho laughed like Sam was telling a joke.

“The only parts he’ll be able to feel, or have any muscle control, will be from here-” Sam drew imaginary lines with his finger over where Tommy’s thigh connected to his groin over to the base of his hip, severing his legs completely.

“-to here.” He drew lines from the base of each of Tommy’s shoulders down through his armpits.

“Ah…” Dae-Ho flanked Tommy’s other side and reached out to touch him, stroking an appreciative hand down his chest to his stomach.

“So smooth,” he complimented.

A gentle hand like that could have been something Tommy enjoyed, but under the circumstances, it revolted him. Dae-Ho’s hand stopped just above his groin and he held Tommy’s hip instead.

“Will he still be able to feel pleasure?”

Tommy’s stomach churned. Sam looked slightly put off, as if disgusted by the idea. Like he hadn’t unloaded down Tommy’s throat the night before.

“Yes, he should still be able to feel…everything. Like that.”

“Good,” Dae-Ho breathed. He reached up to touch Tommy’s lips, tracing them with a finger. As part of his “dollification”, Caius had used a lip stain on him that made them look pinker and plumper. He’d even glued on false lashes, delicately curled to give him a more doll-like appearance. The final touch had been the colored contacts, wide emerald irises on top of his natural greens.

“I have a few rules for you, so I need you to listen closely, okay?” Dae-Ho reached up to tap his own ear, as if instructing a toddler. The top of the wire armature was uncomfortable against the back of his skull under where Tommy was laying. He nodded.

“One - dolls are always happy.” Dae-Ho smiled and pointed to the corners of his mouth. Tommy answered by mirroring his smile in a mirthless mask.

“Good! Two, dolls do not speak. If Dae-Ho wants you to speak, Dae-Ho will tell you.” Dae-Ho pointed to himself, as if it was not clear, even when slipping into third-person. Tommy nodded. It would be a nice break from trying to guess what the right things to say were, at least.

“Three, dolls do not cry. Dolls are happy to be with Dae-Ho, dolls do not speak and complain, and dolls do not cry. Okay?”

Hadn’t he just been thinking about that? It was eerie. He definitely hadn’t said anything about it to Dae-Ho, and wracking his brain, he couldn’t recall Caius saying anything about it. They hadn’t discussed it in the short video call.

Sometimes he did this with Caius, when he would say something and Caius would look at him like he’d just read his mind. I was just thinking that! Are you having one of your little psychic moments, Tommy? He would ask playfully.

Psychic - as if. If he was, he would have run before Caius could take him. Maybe he wouldn’t have agreed to finally go to church with Mom, for just one Sunday. If he hadn't gone, he never would have met Caius’s mother. He never would have met Caius. And sure, cancelling would have disappointed Ma, but that wouldn’t have been any change of pace.

“I’ll go start the tea. When I come back - we follow the rules, okay?” Tommy gave Dae-Ho a mechanical nod, and he breezed out.

Tommy counted ceiling tiles while Sam cleaned a spot by his hip with an alcohol wipe. He hated needles. He didn’t usually go weak at the knees about them anymore, not after all the hundreds of injections they’d put him through over the years. Vaccines, antibiotics, scar treatments, anesthetics, muscle relaxants, steroids, cocktails Sam cooked up and didn’t even tell him what he was being injected with. Not to mention, more stitches than he could count.

He remembered, suddenly, something he hadn’t thought about in a long time. His piercer, back home, a lifetime ago. She worked out of a tattoo parlor with no name, just the generic TATTOOS sign on the side of an old road in a bad part of town. His bad part of town. But she was gentle, as gentle as one could be with a needle, and he knew because he’d gotten other piercings elsewhere.

Anika was tall, making him feel especially small when she stood before him as he sat on the edge of the tattoo table. She was so pretty, with all her piercings, her voice deep and sweet. He’d liked her short hair, but her new braids looked good too, loose strands framing her face with the rest swept into a high messy bun. He liked the way she laid her baby hairs, in tiny little curls around her hairline.

“Alright, don’t forget to breathe. Quick pinch. Breathe in…” Tommy took a slow breath in, and the needle slid through the shell of his ear. She quickly slid the piercing into place, leaving it in as she retracted the piercing needle. “-aaaaand breathe out. Good boy, you always take it like a champ.” His heart fluttered a little in his chest, the way she said it.

Words like that were different nowadays. Maybe that’s why Caius chose him. Saw his hopeless need to please somehow, and decided to make Tommy please him.

Sam pushed the needle into his shoulder. Breathe in, Anika said, an echo from years ago. He breathed in, slow. The numbness started to streak down his arm immediately, and Sam pulled the needle out. Breathe out…good boy, Tommy, she complimented. It didn’t matter that she never called him Tommy, when he knew her. It didn’t matter that she never even remembered his name.

She talked him through each injection, comforting even as Sam worked with clinical austerity. Tommy focused on his hands, making them into fists, relax, fists, relax. Curling his toes, uncurl, curl, uncurl. Until they felt weaker, and weaker, and numb, until he couldn’t feel them at all. Like they’d been amputated, no signal at all that they were even there.

The best he could do was wiggle a little by tensing his stomach. His limbs, the bulk of his bodyweight, were suddenly dead weights, fleshy anchors he couldn’t unbind. This wasn’t just being tied up - he was completely imprisoned in his body.

Tears welled in his eyes before he could stop it. It felt like the contacts might actually help a little as he blinked them back, trying to compose himself. Sam returned to his side, holding a steel water bottle.

“Open,” he coaxed, twisting the lid off. Tommy did, but Sam pinched his nose anyway, pouring the water into his mouth. At least, he’d expected water, but there was a kind of chemical taste to it, something sweet. He swallowed it to keep from choking, but when Sam pulled the bottle back, a pink trickle dribbled down the side.

Bastard, Tommy swore internally. He should have guessed Sam was drugging him when he waited until Tommy was unable to move to have him drink. Caius pulled a tissue from his bag and dabbed around Tommy’s lips.

Completely unable to move, no matter what happened, for the next seven or so hours. Fed aphrodisiacs, while he couldn’t fight back, while he couldn’t attempt to cover himself. The helpless feeling suddenly became overwhelming, and a few tears overflowed, even as he struggled to hold them back.

“Oh dear. It’s alright, little one, be brave for me,” Caius cooed. He ran a hand softly over Tommy’s belly, soothing him with a gentle touch. In spite of everything, it helped. He wiped the tears away with the tissue.

“Is it scary?”

Tommy’s throat was too thick to speak. He managed a nod. Caius gave him a look of sympathy, more than Tommy would have expected after his demands. Sam’s face reflected his similar bewilderment.

“This won’t be so bad. He just wants to play with you, he doesn’t have any plans to hurt you. You can eat and drink, he really does have a tea party planned. We will be with you in case you need anything. Did you have fun at the aquarium?”

“Yes,” Tommy croaked, and then cleared his throat. “Yes, I did, thank you, it was beautiful. I had a lot of fun.” Less hoarse this time, and the leaking from his eyes was quickly subsiding.

Caius did a little more shuffling in his bag, and his touch returned to Tommy’s face with a powder brush, covering up the pink on his nose and the red around his eyes. “I had fun with you, too,” Caius admitted, and something about it brought a funny smile back to Tommy’s face.

Deep breaths. You can do this. You don’t even have to talk. Play dolls with him. Just…babysitting.

Definitely not babysitting, another part of him reminded cruelly. He wanted to know if you can feel pleasure, they drugged you with the aphrodisiac. You’re going to spend the day as the perfect unwilling fuck doll and there’s nothing you can do about it. Tommy tried to shove those thoughts to the side in order to keep his newfound composure.

Sam pinched and poked his arms to test the numbness. It might as well have been done to someone else, for the amount of sensation Tommy got from it. When Dae-Ho came back, his gaze on Tommy was hungry.

“Let’s get you dressed up again, shall we?”

The armature harness had replaced the fashion harness part of the outfit that he had chosen, but Dae-Ho pulled his stack of clothes from the counter where Tommy had folded them.

Trying to bend the armature to make his limbs follow was unsuccesful. After some fussing, Dae-Ho realized he could bend it much easier by manipulating Tommy’s limbs themselves, letting his weight help apply force to bend them the way he wanted. The wire was strong enough then to hold him in place. Dae-Ho posed him a few times for fun, and then used it to bend his limbs in positions that made dressing him easier.

“I should use these for all my bodies!” Dae-Ho exclaimed, a little breathy from the effort. Tommy had been dressed by Caius and a few others before, when he was unable - or unwilling - to dress himself. Not in the things some of the clients wanted, especially at the beginning. Tommy knew better than to fight back much anymore, though he had just made his little stand in the car earlier.

When he was dressed again, in his blousy white dress shirt and black latex pants and matching bowtie, Dae-Ho laced him into a pair of saddle shoes with spats. He was settled into a wheelchair, lowered in with practiced ease by Dae-Ho. He was deceptively strong underneath his fine suit. Tommy was wheeled to the stairs then, Caius and Sam trailing behind, and stopped at a stair lift waiting at the bottom. He’d only ever seen them in commercials before, of elderly people smiling as they buckled themselves into the seat to be pulled up the stairs on a motorized track. He could see it installed up the wall, rounded off at the corners to go up the stairs, turn onto the landing, and continue up the next flight that changed direction.

Dae-Ho turned to Sam.

“Doctor, will you please help me move it onto the lift?” Sam had a pinch in his forehead, but after a hesitant look to Caius, he agreed. Not being able to feel or move his limbs was uncomfortable to Tommy - any part of him that wasn’t supported hung limply down, and he couldn’t help at all. As he was settled into the chair and buckled in, his arms bent awkwardly in front of him. Sam moved his hands into his lap, and one immediately fell off, dangling strangely. The best he could do was attempt to sit up and back to move his arms back in, but they were nothing more than warm dead anchors hanging from his shoulder. He also couldn’t adjust his hips to sit up, so he hung uselessly in his harness.

With the press of a button, the chair let out a grinding sound and started to advance up the wall. At the corner, he heard his ankle bash the wall, but he couldn’t feel it at all. The helpless feeling was significantly worse than when he was bound and he could strain against his bindings - this was more intimate, more violating, the way it robbed him of the little autonomy he had left.

The machine went slower than walking speed, so the others met him again at the top after passing him. Dae-Ho already had another wheelchair ready, and he flopped haphazardly in with a push. The acrid smell had grown sharper, turning sour and musty, though the upstairs appeared clean and brightly lit. Caius wrinkled his nose slightly, struggling to be polite, but Sam gave a look of open disgust.

Tommy was wheeled into a lavish dining room, made up as the pinnacle of a lavish art-deco design. It felt like it belonged in a scene from The Great Gatsby. The center of the room was dominated by a round table - and the rest of the company had already found their places. Dolls were seated around the table, some propped up in chairs, others in wheelchairs like Tommy. They were of varying sizes, some child-size while others appeared as tall as Caius. There were a variety of designs among them - some very simple, others far more realistic. One had clearly been a scarecrow, a few were just mannequins, and a couple of halloween prop dummies with plastic heads and hands. One seat held a long body pillow with a pillowcase featuring an anime girl posed in a vulnerable way, blushing.

There was a gigantic Barbie and Ken, their placid smiles unsettling at such a size. Next to them sat what looked like a crash test dummy that had been badly painted, the mouth too low on the face, the eyes too far apart. A large green power ranger plushie had a spot, as well as a plastic Optimus Prime that stood up stiffly in his chair. One seemed to be an evil clown animatronic, another one a human-sized plushie blue tiger.

Tommy preferred that to the ones that were obviously sex dolls, made with an attempt at realism that was undermined by their soulless faces and cartoonish proportions. Most of the dolls were dressed in roaring 20’s outfits, but the sex dolls wore skimpy club wear that highlighted their enormous plastic breasts and tiny waists. Other more detailed mannequins had closer to human proportions, all slightly different shapes and sizes, but their plastic faces were identical - one face for all the “women”, and another for the “men”. Their eyes were sunken, but more lifelike in color and size, the glossy glass orbs taking on a wet look. Wigs, flapper dresses, patterned suits, and fake eyelashes abound.

Dae-Ho’s seat was obvious, as an empty throne of garish gold. He had a sex doll immediately to the left, and wheeled Tommy into an empty spot to the right. Caius and Sam took to a couch on the side, away from the table.

“You all get to know each other a bit, and I’ll be back with everything for the tea party,” Dae-Ho addressed his inanimate guests, and left the room.

The smell was strong, though if Dae-Ho noticed, he didn’t mind. As soon as he left, Sam started searching the room.

“We’re not casing the joint, you know,” Caius mused, as Sam made his way around the edge of the room.

“It smells like - something, I can’t put my finger on it, but it reeks in here,” Sam explained, opening the drawers of a wardrobe. He sniffed over one, made a face, and started to rummage through.

“We are directly above his embalming room, you’re probably smelling something from that,” Caius pointed out, but they all knew the smell had been fainter in the lab below. Sam ignored him, moving on to another drawer.

“Hey,” Caius said sharply, and both Tommy and Sam jumped. Well, as much as Tommy could jump.

“We are guests here. Stop touching his things, put everything back exactly the way it was, and sit. Down.” Caius hissed, and it sent Sam quickly packing everything back in. It felt a little like a mother reigning in her boys, though Tommy sat dutifully in his place at the table - not that he could do anything else.

“Just let me look at the dolls,” Sam mustered, passing the couch to inspect them. Caius sighed.

“If he comes back and sees you, he very well might invite you to the table. And if he does - you will sit down at that table and shut your mouth, so help me god.”

Sam sniffed around the circle, but he mostly just seemed curious about the dolls. He poked the animatronic in the eyes, and posed the Optimus Prime with his little hands on the table. When he got to a sex doll, he squeezed her breasts, giving a mischievous smile to Caius.

“Jealous?” He waggled his eyebrows up and down goofily. Caius rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of his thin lips.

“Hardly. If you want some big silicon tits, I know a doctor who might be able to help.”

Sam twiddled with the swollen boobs. “They even have nipples.”

“Of course, how else would she breast feed?” Caius said dryly, but he was enjoying his boyfriend’s antics a bit.

Sam reached the mannequin beside Tommy, and pulled it back to sit upright so he could take a closer look.

“These ones have like - I think these are real human replacement eyes, like if you lose an eye? Do they use those on bodies?”

“No, much worse, they put these little hooked pieces inside to keep the eyelids closed,” Caius supplied helpfully. Sam and Tommy made the same face at the same time in response to the information.

“I knew a doll fucker, this guy Pete. Had a whole ‘harem’ of the things, even had a wedding ceremony with at least one of them. I almost went, just to see, but there wasn’t an open bar and the ceremony was supposed to be like two hours long. But he was collecting these mannequins that they used in a couple high end places in France or something, they were super articulated and rare. These might be those types, or something like it.” Sam squeezed one of the arms.

“What do you bet all of these have a fleshlight installed? I bet even Optimus over there is rocking something.” Sam pulled the wig hair back to get a better look, and made a face.

“Oh, shit, this thing stinks. I hope we don’t have a-” Sam stopped suddenly, freezing in place.

“Don’t,” Tommy whispered.

Sam pressed something behind the ear, palpating it with his fingers before switching to picking at it with his fingernails.

“Sam don’t-”

Sam tugged shortly, and then slower, drawing out an enormous metal pin that had been hidden inside the head. The awful smell grew much more intense, and a foul brown liquid dripped down the side of the doll’s face from where the pin had been pulled.

Why Sam couldn’t leave it be, Tommy would never know. But when Sam pushed the wig away from the hole to see, the doll’s head shifted and opened like a clam, the face swinging open and away, clicking lightly when it hit the hinge behind the other ear. Plastic blond ringlets fell in the way as Sam let go, but they couldn’t cover enough of what was inside.

The face underneath was leathery and shiny, with glass-like cracking in areas. All the shellac in the world couldn’t keep a body from rotting. The false eyes were glued over blackened sockets, obtrusive and bulging. Her lips were painted on poorly, closer resembling a beak, and the thin shell of preservative was the only thing shaping the nose, which seemed to have liquified underneath.

The smell was putrid and overwhelming, and both Tommy and Sam turned away to retch. Sam crossed the room away from it, leaving Tommy dry heaving beside the body.

With a horrified realization, Tommy looked up and counted the other dolls with the sunken, human eyes. Six total, hunched over in wheelchairs around the table. Sam was swearing, but Caius stepped up beside Tommy to look, holding a hand over his lower face.

Doing a once over of the "doll", Caius sighed.

"Damn."

Taglist:

@suspicious-whumping-egg @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @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

@light-me-on-pyre @slightlydisturbedbeans @dislexiher @knivestothroats @paperprinxe

@watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

Thank you all so much for reading!!!

#I waited until Christmas morning to read this as a lil present for myself #Also read this on an empty stomach after I downed a Rockstar for the ultimate jitters and nausea inducing experience #Yes; because this is an ✨experience✨#And how delighted I am by these horrors #(Tommy/Caius lore drop?! Their moms were fellow church goers?! HE MET CAIUS AT CHURCH?! WHAT THA FUCK!)#HOUSE OF WAX LEVEL SHITZ #I kept by big fat trap shut but just know— I FUCKEN KNEW DAE-HO WAS AN ANATOLY MOSKVIN TYPE!#(If you know; you know; if not—don’t look it up)#take that; Mad Hadder tea party!#Caius all casual—‘yeah so I knew this doll-fucker once…’ THIS GUY I SWEAR #Tommy; dear God buddy—GOOD FUCKEN LUCK 😭#Horrified in the best way possible rn #but forreal I’m afraid for Tommy in a way I haven’t been yet #at least Caius and Sam are there?#not really an assurance as we know—but *kinda*? *cringes*

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generic-whumperz · 13 hours ago

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POV you’re whumper and your Whumpee doesn’t have anything to give you today and is unhappy about it:

“It’s okay if you don’t have anything for me, you have nothing to give me that I don’t already have, or won’t take from you anyway. I have you, remember? And that’s one of the best gifts I could’ve asked for.”

#Now get down on your knees #say Merry Christmas to this dick #(sorry I woke up zesty this morning)

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generic-whumperz · 14 hours ago

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The Professionals - Overdraft Fee

(Because it comes after Withdrawals) The Pros Masterlist || ITWS Masterlist || Pro/Vic Masterlist CW: drug addiction/withdrawls, vomiting, hallucinations

Fletcher eased the door open and peered in at Tommy. He was pale and sweaty, squirming in discomfort on top of the bedsheets.

“Hey,” Fletcher shut the door behind them. “How are you doing?”

Tommy’s eyes snapped open to glare at Fletcher, but he held his tongue.

“Drink more water,” Fletcher said, nodding to the still mostly full bottle on his bedside table. “You don't need to ration it. It’ll help with the aches.”

“It’ll help with the aches?” Tommy repeated scornfully. “I can think of something that would help more.”

Fletcher put their hands on their hips. “Okay, I understand that you’re going through it right now, so-”

“You don't understand what I’m going through!” Tommy snapped. Some of the anger dissipated from his features under Fletcher’s cold stare, replaced by fear and misery. He pressed his hands over his eyes. “I’m sorry, just… I can be useful to you if I’m not sick. Please, just… give me something.”

“Look, I can get you methadone tomorrow - probably. You just have to make it ‘til then.”

“I don’t believe that you don’t have anything.”

“Why would I withhold that?”

“No, drugs!” Tommy snapped again. “You have to have something!”

“I never said that I don’t have any painkillers,” Fletcher responded evenly. “I don’t keep recreational drugs in the house, though. So no coke. And no antidepressants, either, although we can… figure that out later if we need to.”

Tommy scoffed. “Maybe you should.”

Fletcher stepped closer. “What?”

Tommy scowled and looked away. “Nothing,” he muttered.

“No, what did you mean?”

Tommy looked at them now, hate burning in his eyes.

“Maybe you should be medicated. Or at least take something that makes you fun to be around, instead of being some sad asshole who lives in the woods out of-”

Fletcher slapped him hard enough to make his head spin. Before Tommy could curl up in a defensive position, Fletcher grabbed his face and brought it close to theirs.

“Out of what?” they hissed.

Tommy averted his eyes and gritted out, “Sorry,” despite still looking pissed.

“No,” Fletcher gave his head a little shake. “Out of what? Tell me what you were gonna say.”

Tommy wasn’t out of his head enough to finish his sentence. He knew it was better to keep his mouth shut. But they were digging their fingers into his cheeks and demanding a response and they weren’t even letting him beg or bargain for pain relief and….

Tommy began to cry, still caught in Fletcher’s grip. He didn’t mean to, but his head was pounding and his body ached and he was hot and cold at the same time and he never stopped feeling like he was on the verge of throwing up and Fletcher wouldn’t even let him do anything to get drugs. They wouldn’t give him anything at all.

Fletcher made a noise of disgust and released him.

“Give me a shout if you think you’re gonna die,” they said over their shoulder as they stormed out of the room, leaving Tommy alone again.

I just have to get through the break, Tommy kept telling himself. This fever - the withdrawals - they had to break at some point, right?

God, he missed the internet. WebMD, save me now. He wasn’t sure what would happen, or how long it would take. Would he really die?

The idea of Fletcher letting him die, purely out of spite, just because they wouldn’t give him drugs, was a funny thought. Funny enough that he laughed about it. It felt like a real possibility, real and close to happening, and he was just snorting and giggling about it on his sweat-soaked sheets.

Maybe they’ll do it. It might as well happen. He’d had his fun, got to play for a few hours thinking maybe this new life could be okay, could be better. Only to have it snatched away, the dwindling drugs leaving him dying here would be a poignant last kiss goodbye from Caius. He stopped laughing. He laid there in silence and wished things were different. That maybe he could have been someone else.

He hated Caius. He hated Fletcher. To his surprise, Caius visited first.

Tommy didn’t hear him come in. There was a hand on his face, cradling his chin, another pushing the hair back from his sweaty forehead. He smelled like clean cotton and sandalwood. He was put together as always, beautiful as he was the first day they met. He was wearing that soft linen shirt Tommy liked, that he would rub his cheek on when he pulled it out of the laundry just because it felt nice. So few things in Caius’s home made him feel nice.

There were no eyes past his clear rimmed glasses, replaced with glowing circles, just like spots in his vision when he’d stared at the sun for too long. The hands on his face were hot, too close, his skin felt unbearably sensitive to his touch - but Caius had come back for him, he wouldn’t let Fletcher leave him to die.

“Caius,” he breathed, and a sob of relief bubbled in his chest. “You - you came back for me.”

“You look awful. Is this any way to behave for one of my friends?” His tone was deceptively gentle, the way it always was, chastising him softly.

“Nooo,” Tommy wheezed, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-”

“They’re sending you home with me. They don’t want you, either.”

Tommy whimpered, sneaking a peek back at the window, at the sunlight streaming in. He felt a pang of remorse for snapping at Fletcher, after all they’d done for him. Caius’s hands pulled his face back, forcing him to stare back into those hollow eyes.

“It’s okay now Tommy, I can make it stop.”

Tommy clutched at his wrists, needed to feel he was real.

“You can?” The whole room was swimming, and all he could do was drown.

“Please, please, make it stop, please, I’m so sorry,” he begged. He could go home with him happily if he would just stop the pain.

“What are you sorry for?”

Caius’s voice turned cold. So did his hands, suddenly freezing against his skin. He feared they might stick, like a tongue to a frozen pole. He couldn’t speak. He was frozen, too.

“For ruining everything we had? How about that, Tommy, is that it?”

“Yes,” Tommy gasped, as Caius’s nails grew into talons sharp against his face. “Yes, Caius, I’m so sorry, I-”

“Look at me,” Caius snarled, and he gripped the sides of Tommy’s face, looming in closer. Those fingernails burrowed into his scalp. Tommy couldn’t look away, staring into the blinding suns of Caius’s eyes. It burned a searing pain, his eyes were on fire, but he was paralyzed with fear. Caius pressed his thumbs under Tommy’s eyes, pulling the lower lids down as if to peel them from his face. His fingers were long and needle-like now, the sharp tips hovering only a hair’s breadth away from Tommy’s eyes.

“I’m going to make sure you never see the sun again,” Caius hissed, and he plunged his armored thumbs into his eyes, turning the whole world black in an explosion of pain.

Tommy screamed and thrashed. A shadow moved in Caius’s eyes and suddenly he wasn’t there. Forming in his place was Fletcher leaning over him, blocking the harsh glow of his ceiling light.

“Hey, hey.”

The hands on his face were human again. He reached up and grabbed onto Fletcher’s wrists. They felt more real.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he wailed. “I’m sorry for what I said. I don’t want to go back, I don’t want to go back in the dark…”

“Alright, alright, calm down,” Fletcher assured him. “You’re not going anywhere, okay?”

Caius peered down at him from over Fletcher’s shoulder.

“I can make the pain stop if you come home with me,” he promised.

Tommy wanted the pain to stop. He wanted it more than anything. But he knew going back with Caius meant being locked back in the dark, cold basement. He knew he would be trading this pain now for more pain in the future. He had made Caius so angry… but still…

“How could you get rid of me?” Tommy sobbed. “How could you… how could you not even say goodbye… after everything… after everything you did to me…”

Fletcher’s brows knit together as they watched Tommy babble to no one, eyes unfocused and drifting. His body jerked suddenly and he rolled over to throw up into the garbage.

At least he had the wherewithal not to asphyxiate. Fletcher pushed his hair off his face as he heaved again. He was hot to the touch.

The door opened and Williams poked his head in.

“What’s going on in here?”

“Do you need something?” Fletcher asked impatiently.

“I heard screaming; are you torturing him or something?”

“Willy, you thought I was torturing him in here and you just walked in?”

Williams bristled. “It’s Billy.”

“What do you want?” Fletcher repeated.

Williams nodded towards Tommy. “What’s the matter with him?”

“He’s going through withdrawals.”

Williams blanched slightly. “Oh, yeah? What, uh, kind of stuff was he on?”

Fletcher sighed and shook their head, watching Tommy spit into the can. “I don’t know. Opioids mostly.”

“Methadone helps with that.”

Fletcher sighed louder. “If I had methadone, I would be using it. I have a hook up, but I can’t get it until tomorrow.”

Williams studied Tommy for a moment. “You buy this guy on the black market or something?”

“…Something like that,” Fletcher conceded. “Last time I’m going to ask you if you need something, otherwise leave.”

Williams put up his hands in surrender and left, closing the door once more.

Fletcher turned their attention to Tommy again. He seemed to be done retching, and at least wasn’t begging to empty air anymore.

“Okay, try to stand up.”

Fletcher took Tommy’s arms and gently pulled him up. They put an arm around his waist to guide him onto his feet. Tommy grabbed onto their shirt to steady himself, leaning against them as he wobbled through the first few steps across the room.

“Easy, Model-T,” Fletcher cooed. They kept him steady as they led him to the bathroom and shut the door behind them.

“Alright, get out of your clothes.”

Numbly, Tommy disrobed, refusing to look at Fletcher. He was sweating and shivering at the same time, too empty to retch again. He was distinctly aware that he was not impressing Fletcher.

Fletcher looked him over with a clinical eye. They’d noticed the new scar on his face, and some uneven marbling of his skin, but they had assumed them to be more scars, or a skin condition. Whatever it was, it was brought to stark relief with him nude in the bathroom light. He was dappled all over in patchy white marks, so bleached they looked almost translucent. His ribs jutted out, clearly underfed and malnourished from years of neglect. Whatever the hell they had done to him, his body had taken a severe toll. But now was not the time to interrogate him.

“Okay, get in the tub. You can sit if you need to.”

Fletcher turned the water on as they gave the instructions, putting their hand in the stream to check the temperature.

Tommy teetered as he lifted each leg to step into the tub, and kept a hand on the tiled wall as he lowered himself down.

“Okay, it’s gonna be cold,” Fletcher warned before pulling the diverter and switching the stream of water to the shower head.

Tommy flinched as the water hit him. It wasn’t hard, and it wasn’t freezing, but it was a shock against his feverish skin. After a moment, it became a relief, grounding him.

Tommy leaned against the wall, resting his temple on the tiles. He pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms under his knees.

“‘M sorry,” he murmured.

“You don’t have to keep saying that,” Fletcher responded, sitting on the closed toilet. “I don’t even think you know what you’re apologizing for.”

“No… I’m sorry you have to do all this for me. I’m sure this isn’t what you wanted… when you bought me.”

Fletcher said nothing.

“I, um,” Tommy swallowed. “I’ll make it up to you. When I’m better.”

Fletcher sighed. “Alright. I’m sure you’ll be cussing me out for not giving you drugs in like ten minutes.”

They both sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the rush of the falling water.

“Are you going to send me back?” Tommy asked in a small voice.

“No.” Fletcher didn’t hesitate.

All things considered - at least until the next wave of pain and nausea hit and the cravings took over his system - Tommy hoped they were telling the truth.

Fletcher stopped the shower before Tommy got too cold. They let him towel off and returned with clean clothes before leading him back to his room.

“Try to get some sleep. I’ll be back around.”

Sleep wasn’t on the table for Tommy. Not in this state. He tossed and turned, unable to get comfortable.

When the door opened again, it wasn’t Fletcher - it was Williams.

He slipped carefully into Tommy’s room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

“What were you on before?” he asked. “Percs, oxy?”

“I don’t know,” Tommy groaned, turning his head away. “Probably.”

Williams leaned down close. He took hold of Tommy’s chin with two fingers, turning it towards himself and guiding it down. Tommy dutifully opened without much thought. Williams placed something on his tongue.

Tommy’s eyes widened.

It was a pill.

“Don’t say I never did nothin’ for ya.”

Tommy grabbed his water and drank down the pill as Williams slipped out again.

Maybe it was foolish not to spit it out and check what it was. He wasn’t sure if he’d even be able to tell. But at this point, he didn’t really care. He just wanted to feel good enough to return to his chores.

Whatever happened, he couldn’t lose the light again.

@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 @slightlydisturbedbeans @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 @utopian819 @pretty-face-breaker @thesuffererrrr @victimeyez

#weak. begging. sweaty disheveled mess.#excellent👌#(& just the way I like ‘em)#BUT OH NO NOT THE CAIUS HALLUCINATIONS 😭#Tommy ain’t never had a break in his whole ass life #Williams what THE HELL are you doing my guy

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generic-whumperz · 1 day ago

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Nothing like a man bleeding out through a white shirt

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generic-whumperz · 1 day ago

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i love a good destructive obsession. an all-consuming, soul-rotting obsession that overtakes her and makes her hard and cold and uncaring about anything other than the thing she's obsessed with. bonus points if it's for revenge

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generic-whumperz · 1 day ago

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Pirate Whump

the brig!! thrown in there and forgotten while saltwater seeps through and drenches whumpee constantly leaving them coughing and miserable

lack of sleep, forced to be on duty for hours at a time

smacking whumpee to the deck with a blow that leaves their eyes watering.

scrubbing the deck until their hands are scraped and bleeding. their arms and back ache so badly that when they stand up, they immediately double over.

flogging for minor mistakes. the humiliation of having their shirt ripped away and the stabbing, sharp pain of the cat o'nine tails on their skin is enough to break down the most stoic of the crew

collapsing on deck. in general. fainting. nausea. suddenly light headed and woozy from blood loss

falling to the deck on hands and knees and scraping them on the rough, worm-eaten wood

hostage situations on “friendly” terms. whumpee can wander around on deck and maybe they even joke around with some of the pirates. but the minute they try to escape, there’s a sweeping blade at their throat and someone roughly manhandling them to the captains quarters to be “dealt with”

being made an example of for misconduct is often extreme and cruel. there are no laws on the high seas

the damage left by the opposing side’s cannon fire? timber embedded in limbs, gaping wounds, and formerly brave sailors curling up in fetal positions to try and protect themselves

a captain whumper who calls their prisoner whumpee “darling” in the most derogatory way possible.

emergency first aid being applied hurriedly and with unskilled hands.bandages made from old shirts, amputations done unabashedly and crew mates being carried back fireman style to their ship.

“bite down on this” and “don’t look” as they cut away a damaged limb, multiple crew members holding whumpee down

mer whumpees— caught and put on a leash so they’re dragged along the side of the boat. sometimes they pull whumpee up and “have a bit of fun” as whumpee thrashes and gasps for air.

captain whumpee found stranded on an island by an opposing captain. they’re “taken care of” by being humiliated and beaten, laughed at, and forced to be the cabin boy

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generic-whumperz · 1 day ago

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Youth of may : Episode 11

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generic-whumperz · 1 day ago

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Two Whumpers playing tic-tac-toe by carving the shapes and layout into Whumpees skin.

By angrylittleghostinacup

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generic-whumperz · 2 days ago

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Darius bound to a chairius, tied up and pissed off :) ❤️

Tag list: @dutifullykrispyland, @fleur-a-whump, @gala1981, @generic-whumperz, @risahraun

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Tag list (continued) : @morning-star-whump, @defire

#AWEEE LOOK AT EM #captive #captivity whump #whump art #darius #darius astor #whump #whump community

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generic-whumperz · 2 days ago

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We Are TroubleD – “Try to Forget Him” (Pre-capture) - Part 2

Written as a part of @whumperofworlds' WoW's Birthday Whump Event! 2024

Day 7 (my chosen prompts are bolded) - Bloodied knuckles / Wounded / "Is that blood?!"

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This is part two of a two-part short story! Part one is here.

Event page | My event participation masterpost (coming soon) | “We Are TroubleD” Masterpost | Previous | Next

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Content warnings: Alcohol, blood, drinking, emotional whump, heartache from breakups, injuries, jealousy, off-screen homophobia mention, off-screen violence (fist fight), pining after unrequited love, self-loathing, smoking, swearing

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Tristan descended the staircase down to the main floor and shuffled outside, figuring that Darius and Cici were most likely on the patio. As he rounded the corner, he spotted them, Darius lounging on one of the railings and Cici seated beside him at a table.

The two were engaged in a conversation with one of the club’s drag performers, Steeple Towers- a very tall queen decked out in a gorgeous sparkly hot pink number, complete with a comically oversized bow on the back of her dress. Her cotton candy-esque wig was so poofy and enormous that it probably should have had a blinking light on top to warn airplanes to steer clear.

For a second, Tristan was too shy to approach. He had met several of the local drag performers before when they were their normal selves. Darius knew some of them from school and had even invited them over for dinner a time or two. They were all very kind, sweet guys and loved trading makeup tips and tricks. But man, when they put on their drag personas it was like they were different people. Fierce, confident, scary… not frightening, just scary in how incredible and otherworldly they were. It blew Tristan away how someone could be so well put together and perfect that they were intimidating.

How cool it would be to have even a shred of that fun, unapologetically outgoing personality…

He took a step forward but spotted something that he really didn’t like- between Darius’ fingers was a lit cigarette. With utter disdain, Tristan watched as the smoke curled up toward the sky. Ugh. Darius hadn’t indulged in that vice for quite a while.

Cici had an equally disapproving look on her face, watching judgmentally as Darius took a long drag of it. She had been the one to spearhead the campaign to make him quit, and all of their friends had joined in the journey to help him along the path.

Darius saw her staring and grinned innocently with the stupid object between his teeth.

“I love you!” He tried, but Cici shook her head. He withdrew the cigarette and blew the smoke straight up into the air like a chimney, then snuffed the thing out on the railing without it even being half spent. “Fine, fine. Don’t give me that look…”

Cici’s face melted into a satisfied expression, but she turned to Steeple and crossed her arms.

“I told you not to enable him, damnit!” she chided. Steeple threw her hands up as if being accosted by a cop, but she was still playing her saucy character.

“Arrest me then, officer! I’m only guilty of giving this cutie pie what he wants.”

It was a funny scene. Tristan should have wanted to join in and play along. He should have wanted to take a seat and chat with them in the nice evening air. He should have been enjoying himself tonight… but he couldn’t get up the nerve to go over.

He felt that same pang in his heart and tried to figure out why. Was it the pain of seeing Darius hurt himself again by smoking? Or was it once again seeing him with her…?

‘I love you!’ Darius had said in that cutesy voice that begged “Don’t be mad at me!”. He said stuff like that all the time to get out of trouble.

But he had said it to Cici, and once, he did love her.

… God, was he ever gonna stop?

Tristan clenched his fists. This wasn’t healthy. He shouldn’t be thinking about Cici like that, like she was “the other woman” or something. Competition. She wasn’t.

No… he wasn’t.

There wasn’t a contest. He wasn’t in the running. He never had been in the running. Darius had been hers for years. Tristan had been fine with it then. Why was it now that he was suddenly so…

So…

… so fucking jealous?

With a frustrated noise in the back of his throat he spun on his heel, turning and making his way back inside. He had to get out of there. He didn’t want to hate Cici. He didn’t hate her. He couldn’t. He hated himself. He hated himself and his stupid fucking crush and how he couldn’t ever, ever let it go. Why was it flaring up so badly tonight?! Jesus!!

As he reentered the building, he heard that “Mr. Brightside” was playing. Of course it was. Tristan wished that it all would fucking end.

If Darius could indulge in one of his unhealthy vices, Tristan would, too. He plopped down at the bar and ordered two Skittle shots. At least that was one surefire way to taste the rainbow tonight. He slammed the drinks back and shuddered at the vodka's sting, then took a long deep inhale through his nose and buried his face in his hands, trying to get a grip on himself.

“Boyfriend trouble, eh?”

Tristan peeked out and over to where the voice came from, a little way down the bar. A man sat there, a big burly guy jacked to all smithereens with close cropped salt-and-pepper hair and a sort of military look going: a tank top, camo pants, and big heavy combat boots. Man, what did this random older guy care? … But Tristan supposed he could chat with a stranger for a bit anyway. Maybe it’d help him calm down.

“Something like that.” Tristan said miserably. “He’s not my boyfriend, though, just—” he sighed and lowered his head again, eyeing the menu on the table in search of his next drink selection.

“Y'wish he was.” The man said knowingly.

Tristan sat silently, now staring at nothing, but eventually he nodded smally.

“Hey, it’s rough.” The man said. He had a country drawl that somehow disarmed Tristan. The guy could be spewing pure bullshit, but with an accent like that, it was hard to believe that he would be capable of saying anything unkind. “Some guys ain’t worth the heartache.”

“I feel like he is.” Tristan picked at the hair tie on his wrist. “It’s stupid, but I’d go to the ends of the Earth for him if he needed me to.” He took a beat, his dewy-eyed expression dissolving back into full on sorrow. “Love is stupid. It’s so fucking stupid and unfair. I hate it.”

“You should stay away from him.”

“What?” Tristan couldn’t help but look back up at the guy. That advice felt like it came out of left field.

“Yer only gonna get hurt if ya don’t.” The man said.

Tristan frowned. “He wouldn’t do that intentionally.”

“Of course not. But is he tryin' to hurt you now?”

“… Well, no…”

“And are ya feelin' hurt anyway?”

Tristan dropped his gaze.

“Trust me kid, cut ties now for yer own good. It’ll be a lot easier on you that way when he’s not around anymore.”

‘When he’s not around anymore’? Geez, that was pessimistic. The drawl didn’t cover up bleak sounding things after all. This dude must have seriously been burned by past relationships to instantly assume that someone would leave, not could. Darius wouldn’t just up and disappear someday… right? Their friendship was solid. Even if things got awkward, they could work it out.

Perhaps the guy meant something else though… Darius not being around in the future… it hurt to think about, but they were nearing the end of college. Despite both being from the same town, they probably would have to part ways eventually for their careers. That didn’t mean the friendship needed to end, but things weren’t going to be the same once they moved out and were no longer roommates.

‘When he’s not around anymore’… Ugh… How would Tristan handle that? It would be a sad goodbye, that’s for sure. He hoped that they’d keep in touch and maybe see each other a few times a year if they were lucky.

Tristan scrunched up his nose, not wanting to think about it anymore. Hopefully that was a long way off in the future still… No need to dwell on it now. Darius wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. They’d just have to make the most of whatever time they had left together… to live it up while they still could.

The man seemed to notice Tristan wrestling with that idea; his face gave it away.

“Look, yer an innocent, nice fella.” The guy said. “You don’t deserve to be hurt.”

Tristan lightly chuckled at that. This stranger didn’t know him at all, but it was nice that he still wanted the best for him.

“Thanks.” Tristan said quietly. He had no intention of cutting Darius out of his life, but hey, free advice was free advice, even if he wasn’t going to follow it. The guy only seemed to mean well.

The man tipped his head and went back to nursing his beer. Tristan sat quietly and stewed in thought.

Suddenly there was a commotion from outside: a high-pitched shriek, a loud and angry yell, the sound of a scuffle, then more shouting and screaming. Tristan sat up and craned his neck to get a look, moving to hop off the barstool when Darius stormed through the front door clutching his face with one hand and waving Cici and Steeple off dismissively with the other.

“Are you fucking insane?!” Steeple shrieked, her heels clicking loudly against the wood floor as she followed him. “You could’ve been killed!”

“I got your fucking bow back, didn’t I?!” Darius snapped.

“He was an asshole, Dair! Just some fucking loser! I much rather would have preferred for him to walk off with it than for you to get hurt! How could you be so stupid?!”

Cici ran over to the counter and frantically asked the bartender for a first aid kit.

“What’s going on?!” Tristan exclaimed. Cici turned and relief flooded her face when she noticed him.

“Tris! Oh, thank God! Darius, he… Stupid idiot! There was this guy—”

“Is that blood?!” Darius had finally gotten close enough for Tristan to see him in the dim light. His roommate blew past on the way to the bathroom, too distracted to see him.

“Some jerk on the street was harassing us… Darius went after him and there was a fight, and, and—” Cici was tearing up, the fright suddenly catching up to her. “I didn’t know what to do! It all happened so fast, I—”

Tristan caressed her upper arms and tried to calm her down.

“Hey, shh, hey, it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay, Cici. I’ll go help him.”

Cici threw her arms around him, and Tristan felt like a complete idiot. All night he had been vilifying her and feeling horribly jealous as if she wasn’t like a sister to him. She loved and trusted him, and now she was vulnerable and scared and chose to come to him for comfort.

How could he have been so heartless?

She was trembling. Tristan returned her embrace and gently rubbed her back, lingering in the hug for longer than he originally intended, hoping that she’d feel better. She needed this. Maybe he did, too.

Cici straightened with a sniffle and handed him the first aid kit that the bartender had slid over.

“Thanks Tris… You know how he is… I just—”

She worried. So did he. They had this conversation before as two of the people who knew Darius the best. The guy could be bullheaded and impulsive, rushing into almost anything—even something dangerous—to help someone that he thought needed it. A self-sacrificing dumbass who occasionally leaped before he looked.

Again, Tristan felt so foolish. He had shared many late nights with Cici where they had deep, heartfelt talks, even without Darius around. She was one of his closest friends, too; that was how he knew exactly what she was feeling and thinking in the moment. Boy did he feel terrible.

“It has to be you. I can’t go in there.” Cici sobbed. Almost on cue, Darius shut the men’s room door behind him.

Tristan stood and the world swayed. Fuck, the shots! Not now… not now! What a horrible time for them to kick in! He steadied himself against the barstool and flashed Cici as confident of a smile as he could muster, praying that he looked sober enough that she wouldn’t worry. He focused extra hard on walking straight and hoped that he was nailing it.

In the bathroom Darius sat on the sink counter looking pissed off and ill-tempered as Steeple patted at his wounds with a wet paper towel. Darius shoved her hand away.

“Knock it off! I’m fine. You’re gonna get blood on your outfit.” he complained.

“I don’t give a shit, Darius. Shut up and let me help you.” she pulled the bloody paper towel away and tossed it in the trashcan.

“I’ve got a first aid kit.” Tristan announced, holding up the supplies. Steeple gave him the same look of relief that Cici had. Darius must have been giving her a rough time.

“Oh, thank God! I think it looks worse than it actually is, but still, let’s get him cleaned up.” Long manicured nails be damned, the queen dug into the box and ripped open a hand wipe, then reached for Darius’ face again, dabbing at a cut. Darius flinched away.

“Fucking stop it! That hurts!”

Steeple looked exasperated and opened her mouth to snap back at him, but her thought was cut off by a tinkling melodic alarm.

“Shit!” She reached between her fake bosoms and pulled out a cellphone, then shut off the alarm and checked the time.

“The show’s about to start. I’ve gotta run… will you be okay?”

Darius looked terrifying with the streams of red trickling down his face, even more so when he fixed Steeple with a deathly serious stare.

“Get out there and be fabulous.” It was a threat. An encouraging one, but hostile all the same. “Do it for me.”

Tristan gave the queen a proper answer. “I’ve got him. Thanks Steeple.”

“Thank you Tristan.” Steeple turned and punched Darius lightly in the arm. “Don’t. be. stupid! And don’t be mean to this nice boy! He loves you just as much as I do! We’re your friends, you dick!” She rinsed her hands and grabbed her bow.

Tristan’s throat bobbed. Just as much as Steeple loved him? Oh, no. No. Tristan loved him more. Far, far more.

“Good luck. He’s still riled up.” Steeple whispered to Tristan, then set off to head backstage.

Once she was gone, Darius deflated and bent forward, his defensive walls tumbling down. It was just him and Tristan now. He didn’t have to act tough and put up a brave front anymore.

“Motherfucker…” he groaned. “Fuck, that hurt.”

Tristan put a comforting hand on Darius’ knee.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

Darius peered up at Tristan, his face ragged and tired, though he forced a wry smile.

“You should see the other guy.” He laughed darkly.

Tristan scoffed, then took a moment to assess Darius’ condition. He was pretty roughed up. Blood trickled down his face and cemented clumps of his flowing black mane to his temple. Gently Tristan swept those out of the way, but the strands flopped back down again.

“Here,” Tristan said, slipping the hair tie from his wrist. “put your hair up.”

“My friend the Boy Scout.” Darius teased, taking the elastic and pulling his hair into a ponytail. “Always prepared…”

“Shut up.” Tristan lifted a towelette, then carefully reached up to go over the cuts on Darius’ face and hands. Judging by the injuries, it seemed like he had been forced to the ground either from being pushed or punched.

“What happened anyway?” Tristan asked.

“We were sitting outside talking and some homophobic asshole on the street came by and started slinging slurs.” Darius sucked in a sharp hiss with the sting of the wipe, but didn’t pull away. “He ripped Steeple’s bow off and started running, and I went after him. I don’t know who threw the first punch. It’s kind of a blur…”

Tristan finished cleaning Darius’ wounds and pulled out a few band-aids. Luckily Steeple had been right: he wasn’t as bad as he looked, head wounds just tended to bleed a lot and look really dramatic.

Darius watched Tristan studying him when he took a step back.

“Is it bad?” Darius asked warily.

Tristan tsked, his voice gentle.

“I think you’ll live, idiot.”

‘Idiot’. He didn’t have to say anything more. The corners of Darius’ mouth pulled up slightly in a tiny, knowing smile. That one word expressed everything that Tristan was feeling regarding the whole situation. Darius knew him well enough to figure that out. ‘Idiot’, meaning something more along the lines of ‘How could you be so reckless? You care too much. You shouldn’t have put yourself in harm’s way, even if it was the noble thing to do for a friend.’

Tristan was slow with bandaging up Darius’ hands, his movements a little unsteady. Darius took notice, especially when Tristan started swaying.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, I just… alcohol…” Tristan admitted. The multiple drinks were finally fully hitting him.

Darius’ thick dark brows pulled into a frown. “How much more did you have?”

“Two more shots… I’m fine…”

“Yeah, okay. Come up here and have a seat with me.”

The blonde finished dressing the wounds and sloppily tucked the remaining supplies back into the first aid kit. Clumsily he hopped onto the countertop next to Darius.

“Thanks Tris.” Darius said, a pinch of embarrassment in his otherwise grateful tone.

Tristan nodded heavily. “I agree with Steeple.” he replied. “Don’t be stupid.”

Darius chuckled. “I try not to be as a general rule.” but they both knew that wasn’t always the case.

Without looking at him, Darius leaned over wearily and rested his head on Tristan’s shoulder in an appreciative gesture. He must have been crashing from the adrenaline rush. Tristan tried to keep cool and bite his tongue, but the liquid courage in his system was making him… well, courageous.

What would he even say in a moment like this? 'I love you, don’t you ever scare me like that again!'? 'Hey, could you stop flirting with your ex? You’re kind of killing me.'? 'Please promise you won’t ever leave me.'?

Instead, he pressed his lips together and simply rested his head on top of Darius’. The two of them sat there for a moment in silence to recover from the chaos.

The moment lingered on.

And on…

It was weirdly peaceful.

“You know we can’t stay like this forever…” Darius finally mumbled.

Tristan didn’t realize that he had closed his eyes until they were open again. Had he just taken a three second nap? His heart beat faster, his half-asleep, alcohol impaired mind trying to figure out what Darius meant. They couldn’t stay like this forever? What was he saying? Darius must be about to dump him as a friend. That was the only explanation. The guy at the bar was right. Tristan was convinced. In the span of a millisecond, Tristan spiraled. It was over. Their entire friendship was over. It had to be.

“I’m not staying the night in a dirty club bathroom.”

The flurry of paranoia swirling in Tristan’s brain stopped on a dime and his panic dissolved. Darius was right, this place wasn’t fit for them to stay in at all.

“Mm…” Tristan nodded in agreement and groggily sat back up.

“I don’t know about you, but I think I’ve had enough clubbing for tonight. You wanna head home?”

“Yeah.” Tristan was woozy. It was a nice buzz, and his heart wasn’t aching as badly, but he was definitely done with the evening. Darius hopped off the counter, then helped him down, supporting him until he could stand better. Tristan collected the first aid kit and they moved toward the bathroom door.

“You’ve gotta tell Cici you’re ok.” Tristan uttered. “She was really worried about you.”

Darius' face fell. “Yeah… Well, that’s partially why she left me... Too scrappy. I sure did a great job of proving her point tonight.” His tone was bitter as he reflected on his own actions. Perhaps the breakup hadn’t been as mutual as Tristan initially thought.

“You still love each other.” Tristan said. It was a statement, not a question.

“Yeah, as friends.” Darius answered.

“You mean you’re not trying to get back together?”

“No. Of course not. What makes you think—”

“Flirting.” Tristan blurted out. “You’ve been flirting with her all night.”

Darius looked perplexed. “I’ve been flirting with everyone all night. Even you.”

What little shred of sanity Tristan had left broke at those words, and temporarily he was speechless. His dumbstruck expression must have read, because Darius gave him a weird look.

Tristan wanted to ask a thousand questions- ‘How seriously were you flirting?’, ‘Was it just for fun, or are you actually romantically interested in me?’, ‘Is this a joke to you?’, ‘Are you trying to lead me on?’, ‘Do you know how badly something like that could destroy me?’ but all that came out was one simple word:

“Why?”

Darius shrugged.

“Because I love you, Tris.” he said it so nonchalantly, like it was simply a matter of fact. There was no sense of gravity to the thought. It was light. Airy. Easy.

Tristan was silent. Dead freaking silent.

As a friend. Darius didn’t say it, but somehow, Tristan knew that was what he meant. Darius loved him as a friend. Nothing more. Clearly, he was still completely clueless as to how Tristan felt. He had to be. He wouldn’t just speak that sentiment so casually otherwise.

All the same, Tristan’s insides felt warm.

“I—”

‘I want to be with you.’, ‘I need you to know just how much I care about you.’, ‘I don’t ever want to leave your side.’, ‘I wanna ruin our friendship, we should be lovers instead.’

… Careful, Tris.

“I love you, too, Dair.” Not even Tristan knew what level of intensity he was putting behind those words. He would never force something on Darius like that, no matter how badly he wanted it. It felt nice just to voice the thought out loud either way… to officially release it into the universe.

They loved each other. It didn’t matter in what capacity. At least now they both knew.

Darius beamed and wrapped an arm around Tristan’s shoulders to keep him steady.

“I’m glad. Now let’s go home.”

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This is part two of a two-part short story! Part one is here.

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Thank you as always to @risahraun for beta-reading! <3

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Tag list: @dutifullykrispyland, @fleur-a-whump, @gala1981, @generic-whumperz, @risahraun

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Tag list (continued) : @morning-star-whump, @defire

#they’re so cute 🥹#love them

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