generic-whumperz

[generic-whumperz]

I loved the neon scheme @twigsofmanyfaces came up with for Midnight Snack so I drew a more neon-y Kiv <3

[generic-whumperz]

BTS montage of Pedro Pascal’s Vanity Fair photoshoot

[generic-whumperz]

First Night with Company

The two-year celebration continues!

Thanks @whumped-by-glitter and @generic-whumperz for beta reading, as always, your suggestions are greatly appreciated!

Khaled’s POV here

TW/CW: minor whump, slave whump, potentially nsfw whump (inappropriate thoughts toward a minor that are not acted upon), dead sibling/past trauma briefly mentioned, alcohol abuse (like at the very end)

It was 11:45, closer to 12:00 than Thomas would’ve liked, if he were to get up at 6:30 the next day. He’d gone through the motions of winding down his evening: he took a short shower, blow-dried his hair, brushed his teeth, and applied that expensive-looking moisturizer his ex-fiancé left behind (hey, she might’ve had a shitty taste in men, but she knew her way around skincare!). He blearily looked in the mirror, hoping to see the reflection of the next boss of the Costa family staring back at him, but only seeing some tired blonde bastard with streaky lotion on his cheeks.

“It should’ve been you, Tony,” he muttered mournfully.

He shook his head. Okay, time to silence that train of thought before it could ruin the rest of his night! He reached up to unlatch the mirror, letting it swing out to reveal the medicine cabinet behind his reflection. He took out a bottle, shook out two pills, downed them with a glass of water that always failed to mask their bitter taste, then closed the meds up and put them back in the cabinet. His disappointing reflection stared back at him as he latched the mirror back in place.

He was just about to lay down in bed when a timid knocking sounded on his door. Thomas looked up, staring at the door in the drowsy confusion of nearly 12:00 AM. Who is that? he thought. Another knock, this time a bit louder, and Thomas quickly put it together. He got out of bed, smoothed the blankets back into place, and walked briskly to the door.

There, outside his bedroom, stood Khaled, his brand-new slave, bought no more than 24 hours ago, staring up at him through unruly black waves as his fingers twisted in the edges of a blanket over his shoulders. “Khaled? What’s wrong?” He wore the blanket Thomas had given him, hugging it so closely that his new pajamas were scarcely visible under the plush throw. He looked so cute, so small–and the boy was small, Thomas realized, with his line of sight only coming up to his nipples. He wasn’t just short, but bone-thin, too, thanks to the work of the traffickers. It would be so easy for him to just pick him up and–

“I can’t sleep, sir,” the boy replied. The heavily accented words rolled off his plump, golden lips, those lips that now downturned into a pout as Khaled awaited his response.

Can’t sleep? Thomas glanced over his shoulder at the nightstand behind him. The digital alarm clock read exactly midnight. Thomas thought back to their first day together, from meeting Khaled at the auction to setting him up on the air mattress a couple of hours ago. Nowhere in between those times did he even witness the kid nod off and nap. He’s been up more than 24 hours; how is he not asleep?! he wondered. Part of him was jealous of that youthful energy, and perhaps that was the primary emotion that bled into his sharp reply.

“Well, did you try?��

The boy stiffened, shrinking away from the harsh tone. Thomas didn’t even have it in himself to feel bad for snapping at him. Khaled mutely nodded, though, answering his question. The mafia heir–no, the mafia boss��sighed. He raised a hand to pinch between his brows, where he could feel the tension building. “So, what seems to be the problem?” he asked, trying to sound calmer and less annoyed. “Why can’t you sleep?”

Khaled’s nimble fingers fumbled with the blanket as he struggled through the words. “It is…it’s too…”

Out with it, kid, I’m fucking tired! he wanted to scream.

“…alone…I am alone. It is hard to sleep when alone,” the boy finally said. He looked up at him with those beautiful dark eyes, sparkling with undisguised hope, and an undeserved trust, in the man who’d bought him.

You’re not alone, you have me... I have you, I’m not alone... For the first time in several years, he was not the only one in this apartment anymore. That belated revelation made his heart start to twist as feelings he would rather not name began to simmer in the deepest depths of himself. Then come in, Thomas wanted to say. My bed’s big enough, he wanted to say. There’s no reason for either of us to be alone anymore, he wanted to say. But before he could make any decisions he would regret the next morning, he remembered he had no idea of Khaled’s age.

He subtly looked the boy over. Was Khaled small because of malnutrition, because he was a child, or a little of both? Hell, his voice had barely dropped; how old was he, anyway? When was his birthday? How good was the record-keeping where he came from? Surely, they’d at least get the year right, wouldn’t they?

He was too tired to ask all those questions right now, so he didn’t. They didn’t have to do anything on Khaled’s first night (or any night until Thomas was sure Khaled wasn’t a minor); surely there would be other nights. He looked down at Khaled, who was still looking up at him hopefully. “You’ll get used to it,” he finally said, and, defying every muscle in his body, he closed the door in the boy’s face and flipped the lock.

You finally have company, and yet you’re still sleeping alone, he thought to himself as he finally settled into bed. Whatever, it’s worth it to sleep with a clear conscience. He reached over to turn out the lights. If he heard a faintly muffled whisper of “Shab bakhair… master” come in through the crack at the bottom of his door, Thomas paid no mind to it.

-

Three hours and one vivid nightmare later, he nearly tripped on Khaled’s prone figure on his way out to the living room. The boy was asleep in front of the doorway, curled up on his side with his blanket wrapped around him. His heart leapt into his throat, then he remembered to breathe again as he crouched down to pick up the sleeping boy. “You’re going to take some getting used to,” he murmured, carrying his slave to his own room. He gently arranged him onto the blow-up air mattress, and paused for a second, looking down at his newest possession. Khaled was deep in sleep, his chest rising and falling, his lips gently parted, his eyes shut behind dark, long lashes.

“Goodnight, Khaled.” With that, Thomas pivoted out of the guest bedroom, made his way back to the living room, and dove straight for the liquor cabinet to drink away the unwelcome thoughts.

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 @phoenixpromptsandstuff @scumashling @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94 @arobear @whumpty-dumpty-doo @hellodecisionparalysis

[generic-whumperz]

First Night Alone

Happy 2 year anniversary to this iteration of my on-and-off 15 year old story (Holy shit, I've been doing this for a long time lol)! To mark Khaled and Thomas' second year of existence, I've got an in-between chapter from both their POVs.

Canonically, this occurs right after The Auction Floor

Thank you @whumped-by-glitter and @generic-whumperz for beta-reading and offering such good suggestions!

Tom’s POV here

TW/CW: minor whump, slave whump, language barrier, past corporal punishment mention, but otherwise whumpee just radiating kicked puppy energy

That first night he spent alone was one of the hardest nights Khaled endured, even more so than the nights locked below the deck of a ship with six kids crammed into a single cell. He’d never slept alone before, having always shared a room with a sibling or two back home. Now, here he was, in his new master’s home, laying on an inflatable mattress in the middle of a spare room with a scratchy pillow and the world’s softest throw blanket wrapped around him. By all accounts, he should be grateful that the first full day with his master ended on such a high note, but all he could do was toss and turn under the diffuse silver moonlight.

Minutes of consciousness stretched into hours, yet sleep eluded the tired boy. It was just too quiet hearing no other breaths but his own, and it was just too cold on that spacious air mattress all by himself. He briefly thought about escaping in these still and sleepless hours, but the idea came and went just as fleetingly as the slumber he chased. He weighed the decision in his mind for what felt like an hour more of reluctant consciousness, and ultimately decided to push his luck. Gathering the blanket and his courage around him, Khaled rose from the mattress, opened the door of his room, and walked through the silent, dark apartment to his master’s bedroom. The door that led to the hall and the elevator was tantalizingly close, and yet too far to reliably reach it and slip out undetected. He ignored it, and stopped just outside the other door, noticing with relief and renewed nervousness that a warm, glowing light seeped through the crack at the bottom. The man was still awake. He hesitantly knocked.

No answer. He knocked again, just a bit harder. The faint sounds of rustling sheets and footsteps approaching were all the warnings he had before the door swung open. The man who bought him still looked terrifying, even in the dead of night, clad only in a wife-beater and boxer shorts. “Khaled? What’s wrong?”

Khaled’s grip in the blanket around his shoulders tightened, but he had to push his terror aside and talk to this stranger. “I can’t sleep, sir,” he answered, fumbling with the foreign words on his tongue. (Why didn’t I try harder in English class? he chastised himself.)

The stranger–his owner–glanced behind him at an alarm clock on the nightstand, then redirected his attention to Khaled. “Well, did you try?” he asked, voice sharpened with annoyance. Khaled shrank away from the sharp voice, but nodded. A frustrated sigh escaped the man’s lips as he pinched at the space between his brows. “So, what seems to be the problem?” the man asked, sounding a bit calmer and less annoyed at him. “Why can’t you sleep?”

Khaled fidgeted with the blanket again. It was a bad habit he’d carried over from his school days, fidgeting with whatever was in reach whenever he was called on and had to concentrate on answering correctly. His teachers had tried to cure him of it with a judicious smack of a ruler, but he still caught himself doing it well after school: when he’d have to recall long orders at the café, or remember words in a language he was terrible at speaking.

“It is…it’s too…” What was that word in English again? “…alone…” Yeah, that one. “I am alone. It is hard to sleep when alone.”

The man glowered down at him silently for a few tense seconds before answering, “You’ll get used to it.” With that callous remark, he shut the door in Khaled’s face. The muted click of the lock made the boy’s heart sink. He slumped his shoulders as the tension in his body dissipated.  It was clear that his owner would not help him, but now he had his answer. He was well and truly alone.

There weren’t many options after this. Either he could go back to his room to toss and turn some more, chasing sleep but not catching it, or he could pound on the door and beg to be let in, potentially attracting his master’s ire. As the weight of the last few days pulled at his consciousness, he decided he was too tired for either option. The boy quietly sank to the floor and curled into a fetal position. If he positioned his ear next to the bottom of the door, he could imagine he could hear his master’s breaths. If he huddled closer to the door, he could hope to feel a fraction of the warmth coming from inside. His eyelids drooped until they were so heavy they weren’t worth opening anymore, and he slowly let his blanket-wrapped body melt into the floor. “Shab bakhair… master,” he whispered. In that moment, Khaled felt a little less alone.

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 @phoenixpromptsandstuff @scumashling @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94 @arobear @whumpty-dumpty-doo @hellodecisionparalysis

[generic-whumperz]

Hannigram shitpost inspired by this tweet I saw vv

comms open - info pinned

[generic-whumperz]

"are you normal about-" no I'm an insane pervert

[generic-whumperz]

whumpee who doesn't need to be chained up in a basement. whumpee who's hidden in plain sight. whumpee who hides their own bruises and smiles when strangers ask them how they're doing.

[generic-whumperz]

[generic-whumperz]

Gucci Mane’s line in Both —

“Hoe pull your panties up, cause you fuck like a granny fuck, you’re just an amateur”

—has never made sense to me on account on the fact that—if we’re measuring proficiency in the sex by active years—a granny is a seasoned veteran, not some wet-behind-the-ears rookie who just unlocked tier one missionary on the skill tree.

[generic-whumperz]

Third Time’s the Charm: Rediscovering Hobbies

<prev next>

Cade's turn with Khaled again, since Vik and Eric have had plenty of one-on-one moments with him so far

Thank you beta reading team @whumped-by-glitter and @generic-whumperz

TW/CW: none? Okay, cool. I mean, there are some tense moments and some emotional strain due to whump aftermath/recovery stuff, but nothing too terribly triggering, I think.

Cade slipped through the door on an early spring morning, closing it to the cold while toeing off his sneakers. He hung up his coat in the closet, then upturned his shirt collar. Finally, he let his loose hair fall over his shoulders to cover the hickeys his date gave him last night. He smelled pancakes–burnt pancakes, maybe, but nonetheless a sign that at least one of the guys was already up, and he did not need any juvenile teasing about his hickeys this morning.

Cade’s mouth began salivating at the idea of a plate of pancakes with a couple vegan sausage patties. He hoped whoever was up so early was willing to share.

He rounded the corner to find Khaled, standing at the stove, silently cursing as he chucked something resembling a carbonized hockey puck into the trash. Pancake batter encrusted the stove. The fumigation hood hummed, its fan cranked to max. Cade shook his head fondly.

“I hope you didn’t go through all that trouble on my account!” he commented.

Khaled whipped around, then, once he saw it was Cade, let his defensive posture deflate. “Thought I’d try making pancakes,” he sighed.

Cade reached for the hair tie at his wrist, hickeys be damned. “Need any help?” he asked, already tying back his hair.

“No, it’s fine,” Khaled said.

This reminded Cade of that story Vikash told him of the last time Khaled tried to make breakfast in secret. “Seriously, I could even just clean up as you go?” he offered helpfully.

“It’s okay, really!” Khaled insisted.

Cade reminded himself of what Vikash and Eric had told him. “Wait…” He crossed his arms, leaning against the counter as he looked at Khaled questioningly. “You’re not doing this to ‘earn your keep’ or anything like that, right?”

Khaled’s eyes drifted down to his spatula. “…no…”

“Because, you don’t have to, you know.” Cade thought maybe offering a concrete example would help make his point. He rubbed awkwardly at his neck, readying himself to confess a detail from his personal life. “Not like our situations are similar in any way,” he acknowledged, “but when I first moved in here, I felt like I had to repay Eric and Vik’s hospitality, too–”

“Yeah, well, it’s like you said, our situations aren’t similar in any way! Maybe you got over your obligation to repay their favor, but I’m never going to, because this is all I know how to do, and I don’t know how to stop!” Khaled snapped. An acrid smell wafted between the two. The butter in the pan had burnt. “Why am I like this?!” Khaled groaned. He took the pan off the heat and tossed it in the sink to cool.

“Hey, calm down, calm down,” Cade said soothingly, reaching over to turn off the burner. “You’re okay. Really. Now, what do you mean you don’t know how to stop?” he asked.

Khaled leaned on the counter on the other side of the stove, turning his head to look at Cade. “I mean, part of it is the feeling that I can never ever hope to make it up to you guys for what you’ve done for me. The other part is that, honestly, I don’t have anything else to do,” Khaled confessed. “No job, no school, no friends to visit. I wake up, I eat breakfast and dinner with you guys, Vik maybe takes me to the gym if I’m up on time, and you or Eric take me to therapy. Aside from that?” Khaled shrugged. “It’s either doing random shit around the house like I was trained to do, or slowly going crazy as I wait for you to come home.”

Cade furrowed his brow. “Don’t you have any hobbies or something? Any fun ways to pass the time?” He remembered what Eric had told him when he intercepted Khaled cleaning the stove. “And bleaching the grout in our shower does not count,” he clarified.

Khaled took an uncomfortably long time to respond. Cade was worried he wouldn’t respond at all, until he mutely shook his head.

Cade gawked at him. No hobbies? As a man who was involved in several hobbies and the communities that surrounded them (music, aquariums, crystal collecting, marijuana), he could not imagine such a bleak existence without the little things that bring a person joy.

Although, maybe Khaled did have hobbies like that, before everything that happened to him. Cade scrunched his brows and narrowed his eyes, deep in thought. Yeah, Khaled probably had hobbies before, hobbies that were lost, and that could be regained, if we just found the right stimuli...

“Okay!” he said decisively. Khaled cocked his head to the side, confused by this random outburst. Cade stooped over to open the refrigerator and got out a carton of oat milk. “Once we finish breakfast, I’m taking you to Paragon!”

“Para-where?”

“Paragon! It’s the coolest strip mall around, cause it’s all niche shops that cater to different hobbies! I’ll take you!”

Khaled raised his hands. “Oh, no, you don’t have to–” he said.

“I want to! Besides, I have to go and buy new guitar strings anyway, the only difference is you’re coming with me,” Cade rationalized. He got on his tiptoes to reach the box of cereal on top of the fridge, then walked to the cupboard to get two bowls. “Come get us some spoons and join me,” he invited. Khaled glanced briefly at the abandoned pancake project, then fetched the spoons.

-

They took two buses to Paragon Plaza, the unique strip mall full of niche shops Cade had mentioned. The musician made his first stop for guitar strings, but took his time browsing the guitar straps and shiny new picks. Whenever he’d occasionally glance at Khaled, the man didn’t seem interested in anything at the music store.

The next store didn’t seem to grab his attention either, as Khaled aimlessly wandered the rows upon rows of boxed mini figures and tiny bottles of expensive paint. Nor did he seem interested in the next store, with its colorful beads and glittering gems hanging from strings on a wall. At least the paper goods store seemed to interest him a little, Cade noticed. He spotted Khaled going through roll upon roll of patterned washi tape, presumably for his dream journal.

They’d spend an hour and a half at almost all the stores at Paragon, and Cade was about to call it quits on discovering Khaled’s hobby. He noticed his friend break away from his side as they were about to head to the bus stop. He followed him to a large window display modeling tennis rackets, volleyballs, soccer cleats, and other sports paraphernalia underneath a banner that read ‘SPRING IS HERE!’ He followed Khaled’s eyes to the soccer cleats, noticing something akin to mournful longing in the man’s deep dark eyes. “See something you like?” he asked.

“I… um, I used to play soccer,” Khaled said quietly, staring longingly into the window display.

“Would you like to come in?” Cade suggested. “We’ve got plenty of time!” And no other store seems to have grabbed your attention like this one, he noticed.

While Cade himself was not a sporty person (anymore, that is), he did find some of the things in the store familiar, and felt similar waves of nostalgia and mourning as they walked through the store. He wholeheartedly encouraged Khaled to buy some cleats and a soccer ball. At the register was a flyer advertising adult leagues, saying that they looking for new players for the season and that auditions were next weekend. It didn’t take much needling to convince Khaled to go and give it a try, although the concept that he could leave the house without one of them had yet to sink in.

“And if I make the team, I can leave for practice whenever?” Khaled asked again on the bus ride home.

“Oh my god, dude, yes!” Cade laughed, answering yet again. “Look, you’re not a prisoner in our house or anything, I promise!  When you make the team, you can come and go as you like.”

Khaled hugged the soccer ball in his lap. “Okay.” He looked down at the cleats in the bag in his hand. “Thank you,” he murmured shyly.

“Any time.” He fished around for his pockets and popped out his Bluetooth headphones. He offered one to Khaled, who took it gratefully with a small smile. “Here’s this song I’m trying to learn,” Cade introduced as he opened his music app. “It doesn’t sound too hard, but it still sounds really good…” The two friends listened to the acoustic guitar cover of Pearl Jam’s “Even Flow” the rest of the ride home.

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 @phoenixpromptsandstuff @scumashling @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94 @arobear @whumpty-dumpty-doo @hellodecisionparalysis

[generic-whumperz]

Who's a Good Boy?

Chapter 20 of The Professionals with @knivestothroats

Tommy struggles to understand that Fletcher doesn't want the person he has been forced to be.

tags: long term captivity, "cooperative" whumpee, post traumatic stress disorder, collared whumpee, behavioral conditioning

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The crops in Fletcher’s garden ripened in stages across the seasons. Even as winter descended, the apple trees still held some fruit, sweet as candy when the first frosts turned the starches to sugar. 

In spite of this thoughtful design, there was no way to avoid the fact that the bulk of the crops came ready to harvest around the same time. It could mean some long days harvesting, and more pickling. Or jarring, baking, ricing, trimming, cleaning, pitting, juicing, washing, spiralizing, mashing, boiling, peeling, plucking, salting, candying, frying, drying, dancer, prancer, donner, vixen…

It was hard for Tommy to muscle through the harder physical labor, his body already a perpetual state of bruised and sore, but he could appreciate the process. He liked working with his hands; tasks that created tangible rewards, rather than just another grueling endurance of punishment. Jars lined neatly in rows, filling the root cellar shelves with salsas and jams and preserves. Greens that he had tended to with a fastidious hand made bright, fresh salads that tasted buttery and delicious only moments from field to plate. It was lively and gloriously satisfying, especially after a long day’s work.

Fletcher wasn’t teaching today, and they’d worked together since early in the morning. It had actually been kinda fun, and Tommy had a chance to study Fletcher working. The way they handled themself, the way they moved. Relaxed, confident in their work without feeling any need to show off. 

He stole glances when he could, watching Fletcher stand and straighten their back with a grimace. They put their hands on their hips to stretch back, before wiping the sweat from their brow with the back of their forearm. Loose strands of their dark hair had pulled free from their ponytail, falling around their face in darts. He admired their bronzed and freckled skin, their tank top revealing scars and tattoos. 

This is who I’m going to spend the rest of my life with.

How can I make this work? How can I be a good companion? How do I give them what they want?

The satisfaction he felt from the work and some pretty amicable time with Fletcher made him want to show them he would try. That he could be their good boy, and then maybe they wouldn’t make it all hurt so much. 

It was a long day, but they were finally finishing up and heading inside. 

“Hey, good work today,” Fletcher said, bumping their fist against Tommy’s shoulder.

“Oh! Thank you,” He beamed, managing a tired grin. He rubbed his shoulder after their hand left him, replacing it with his own for a moment before dropping it. 

Fletcher stood washing their hands in the sink, and they had their back turned to him. With effort, Tommy tried for his best casual tone. 

“Hey, I uh, I feel like this has been a pretty good, pretty good week. For us. Yeah...?” Stop stammering, goddamnit.

“Uh… yeah, I guess,” Fletcher agreed. They looked at him over their shoulder and added in a light tone, “You haven’t done anything to piss me off lately.”

“So, that’s- yeah, that’s a good sign.” He drew in a nervous breath. “I want to be a good boy.”

Fletcher quirked an eyebrow and gave an awkward chuckle before turning back to the sink to wash their hands. “Uh huh. That’s good.”

“Yeah, I mean…” He rubbed his arm. “Am I..?” 

Fletcher looked back at him over their shoulder again. They waited for him to finish his sentence with their eyebrows raised expectantly.

Tommy swallowed nervously, though he maintained a casual posture. He forced his eyes up to meet their gaze, and asked hopefully, “Am I a good boy?”

Fletcher gave him a pitying grimace before turning back to face the sink.

“Have a little dignity, dude.”

That cut deep. It him him hard enough he gasped, “Oh!”, and covered his mouth with his hand. Sucking a few shaky breaths in, he shrank back a bit from his place against the counter. 

“Look,” Fletcher said, turning back and wiping their hands on a towel. “You’re fine. Just… you don’t have to act like a dog. Or a child. You did a good job. That’s all. Okay? I told you that you did good, I’m acknowledging it, we don’t have to make it weird.”

Tommy nodded, his eyes huge and horrified. Pink to the tips of his ear, he nodded jerkily, his composure crushed. He pressed his fist tightly to his mouth, trembling. 

“Alright, just go… take a shower. You can take it easy for the rest of the night. Got it?”

He nodded again and ducked his head, quick to retreat to his room. Locking himself in the bathroom for a bit sounded just fine to him. When he went to take his collar off, he remembered with a start that he had asked Fletcher if he could sleep with them tonight. Fletcher had hemmed and hawed, but said they would think about it.

At lunch, they’d said yes. Usually they didn’t say yes until he asked again right before bed. 

Great. The one day they don’t draw it out the whole time, and the one day he wished they had. 

His stomach clenched with anxiety. He wanted more than anything to hide, but he couldn’t imagine telling Fletcher that – what? He changed his mind? They might not let him sleep next to them anymore. 

And he…did want to sleep next to them. If he faked falling asleep long enough, Fletcher would hold him, and it felt so nice to be touched without pain. When they pressed against him, their warmth helped soothe his aches, and he could finally fall asleep… he couldn’t lose that, couldn’t even risk it.

He sighed and leaned forwards towards the mirror, his fists clenched on the bathroom counter. He looked at himself for minutes, forcing his own eye contact to punish himself as he let the shame eat him alive. 

~

Tommy was unusually distant in bed that night. He clung to the edge of the bed away from Fletcher, and he was pointedly looking at his bear when Fletcher turned the lights off.

“Goodnight,” was all he whispered, and he lied eerily still in the dark. His posture was taut, forced. Fletcher knew they had run him down to utter exhaustion today; they were worn out themself. In spite of their tense companion, Fletcher started to fall asleep exceptionally early – a mere forty-five minutes after laying down.

They woke up to a trembling of the bed. It was only so lightly; a slight shiver in the dense foam of the mattress. Fletcher immediately looked for Tommy, to find he was twitching and shuddering on his side. Only then did they register the sound of gasping, muffled sobs, and they realized he was crying.

Fletcher listened for a moment, the way they listened for the thunder in the storms or the patter of the rain on the roof. They knew he had tried his best to hold off. He had his part of the blanket bunched up to his face, sobbing into the folds to dampen himself. After a few minutes, they reached over and felt his shoulder. Jerking violently on the bed, Tommy curled away from their touch. He shuddered in a few short gasps before hiccuping out,

“I don’t- hic- know- hic- why- hic- I’mlikethis!”

Fletcher leaned over and patted him, unsure of what to say.

“It’s…fine. You know, just…not my thing.”

Tommy sobbed harder. He had to struggle to collect his words for a minute.

“He - he got inside my head.” 

Tommy’s harsh gasp sounded pained.

“He made me like this. And then he just…threw me away. I don’t know what’s left of me at all.”

Fletcher didn’t know what to do. After a moment, they scooted forwards, and wrapped their arms around him. A little awkward, neither quite sure what to do.

“It’s okay,” Fletcher’s dark voice sounded almost emotionless, but Tommy could sense their honesty.

“Look,” Fletcher said. “You did what you had to do to survive. Survival isn’t pretty. You were there for five years, and you’ve only been here a few months. It’s not realistic to expect you to adjust immediately.”

“I just…” Tommy choked back another sob. “I don’t know what you want from me sometimes.”

Fletcher thought in silence for so long Tommy assumed they wouldn’t answer. When they finally spoke up, they told him, “I want you to be a person, who follows orders. When you have a job you still have to do what your boss says, but you don’t have to…”

They sighed, trailing off.

“I know it’s different, because I can hurt you and you can’t leave. But in the… the downtime, you can act normal. I know that this is different for you, but you were a person for 25 years before Caius. You just have to remember how to do it again.”

“That person…” Tommy spoke in a small voice. “I don’t think he exists anymore.”

“Then be a new one.”

“I just…” Tommy curled his bear tighter to his chest. “I just want to make you happy. So you don’t hurt me. As much, I mean, I know - I know - I know you can hurt me, wh-whenever you want to or-or feel like it, but… I knew how to make Caius happy, sometimes, so… things could be easier. So things could kinda be okay. I don’t… I don’t know how to make you happy.”

Fletcher rested their hand on his arm. 

“Listen. I will tell you when I want you to do something. Outside of that, you can do what you want, and if I don’t like what you’re doing, I will let you know. You don’t have to be tripping over yourself to anticipate what I want you to do; I will tell you. If you don’t have any assignments you can watch TV or braid a daisy chain or cook yourself food or whatever. You can speak freely, just be respectful. If you’re saying something that’s going to make me angry, I will let you know before you dig yourself into a hole. I want you to have a personality, T-Bird. You can have a personality and still take orders.”

Tommy was quiet for a long moment. Talking about it was helping him calm down, and he wasn’t shaking as much. He took a few long, labored breaths. 

“How do you find that?” Tommy asked.

He swallowed painfully against his dry throat. 

“I know it’s just…supposed to be natural. It was, before – before him. But… I don’t know. He broke me. I don’t know how to function outside the house anymore.” He sniffled sadly, but he was finally starting to relax.

“It’s just gonna take time.” Fletcher yawned.

They laid in silence. Tommy’s breathing was starting to even out, his crying giving way to exhaustion. It was the first time Fletcher could actually see him respond to being held, and it had a calming effect on him. They supposed they should not be surprised – he calmed from his nightmares when Fletcher held him close at night, pulled from their shallow sleep by the sounds he made in his. 

“Can you…be patient with me?” Tommy asked softly. 

Fletcher was no longer interested in forcing their eyes back open in the dark. 

“Hmm…” they murmured. “No. But we’ll figure it out.”

Tommy actually chuckled. Strange kid. But it had broken Tommy’s fever, and they fell asleep in a companionable silence.

~

~

~

Taglist:

@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

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@thatsthewhump @utopian819 @pretty-face-breaker @thesuffererrrr @technicallydeliciousdeer

@notactuallyluska

[generic-whumperz]

if you're writing and find yourself thinking 'this is too weird/gross/offputting/esoteric/ambitious/catered to my specific interests + sure to push away a broader audience' that is the devil speaking and it is a lie. you are already firmly on the right path and you need to double down

[generic-whumperz]

春に孵る

[generic-whumperz]

Dream Journal

<prev next>

This chapter is a short one, formatted a little differently than the rest. Thanks beta readers for looking this one over ❤️

TW/CW: graphic nightmares featuring noncon/the fear of noncon, emotional angst, insomnia, aftermath of whump, brief description of dead whumper (with broken bones and blood). IDK, I think I got all the revelant bits tagged, but kindly lmk if I did not!

Khaled stared at the blank page in the notebook in front of him. The easiest way to begin was to, well, begin, but honestly, he felt silly for it. Nobody else would read it, not even Marcie, his new therapist, if he didn’t want her to, so what was the point in keeping a dream journal?

Because it’s 12:30 at night, and you’re afraid to go to sleep still awake, he told himself. He took up the pencil with a shaking hand and scrawled the first words into the empty page.

‘So I guess this is my dream journal now. Hi.’

He blinked once or twice at the new words, black graphite on the white page. He hated that introduction, almost enough to flip the pencil around and erase it from the page, but then he remembered he could write whatever he wanted. So, that’s what he did.

‘I had that dream again, where I am in the morgue, and I see Master’s body on that table, and he reaches out to grab me. He used to miss, barely grazing my arm with his cold and broken fingers, but lately he’s been able to grab a hold of me, and just last night, he pulled me weakly toward the autopsy table. I guess I’m still awake because I don’t know how far he’s gonna go tonight, how far he’ll be able to go.’

Inexplicably, Khaled felt a bit lighter, like the knots of anxiety and dread that came with the feelings of drowsiness were slowly unwinding. He freely scribbled more into the journal, alternating between fragmented sentences and doodles in the margins of the page. He wrote and drew until he felt tired, and this time when he took his meds and laid down that evening, he didn’t dread going to sleep quite as much as before.

-

‘Had that nightmare again.’

‘Why did I think the dreams would stop if I started writing them down? I feel so stupid, he was all over me last night, staining me with his blood, kissing me, crushing me…’

‘But I still write it down because it feels better than keeping it all bottled up inside. When I write it down, it’s like transferring my burden somewhere else, lightening the weight of the fear that sits on my shoulders.’

-

‘I had a dream about sailing, in a small boat on an endless sea. I was by myself, and there were birds and seals, and the fish spoke in the voices of my family as they flopped into my boat. It was weird, but not bad. I hope to have more dreams like that.’

-

‘I was lying on the couch on top of him. He stroked my hair under the midsummer sun as it came through the windows. It was just like our quiet moments together used to be, except I couldn’t hear his heart.’

-

‘I used to dream of flying when I was his slave. In my dreams, I would fly on midnight wings through volcanic vents and crimson skies. Then, I would wake up, still tethered to the ground.’

‘The flying dreams have stopped, but now I feel as though I’m sinking.’

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 @phoenixpromptsandstuff @scumashling @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94 @arobear

@whumpty-dumpty-doo @hellodecisionparalysis @borp0

[generic-whumperz]

Go Dark

Chapter 36 of Professional//Victim

Tommy gets to go outside, but Caius has a way of ruining everything.

Tags: Long term captive, Caius and Sam's relationship, chemical restraints, noncon drugging, bondage, gags, mouth soaping, helplessness, noncon nudity, sensory deprivation, psychological torture, panic attacks, a hysterical breakdown resulting in a vision of Clippy the paperclip

_____________________________________________________________

Tommy ground his teeth deeper into the soap when Sam joined them. Caius shut the shower off, leaving him dripping and exposed. He wished he didn’t care anymore, but the hot hand of shame squeezed the back of his neck. 

He shivered as Caius approached him, putting a foot up on the edge of the tub and leaning in to stare him down. Tommy tried to pull back, lowering his head further to avoid his gaze. 

“Do you want to go outside, Tommy?”

Tommy stared at the drain, and wished he could dissolve away with the water. Create a new life in the sewer. Wait, hold that thought, I could explore that later…there’s meat on those bones, that’s something I could think about for…a little while, at least an hour or two. Just to pass the time. Escape through the sewer…No, don’t get distracted. Focus. 

If he answered yes, Caius might read it as him doubling down on his ultimatum. Which…would be true, but he hoped he might appear chastised enough that Caius wouldn’t start the cold water again. 

If he answered no, Caius might think he was backing off. Which could mean losing his chance for time outside. But Caius could say he was obviously lying - also true - and turn the water on again. 

Or I could - well, maybe I… fuck, he was taking too long. 

He nodded his head, unsure. 

Caius smiled, as sweet as he was fake, like splenda. “Sam is going to give you something, and then we can go upstairs, okay?”

Tommy nodded slowly, eyes flitting around Caius’s so he only made direct contact for brief moments. He nodded again. 

Caius raised a hand and slammed it down as a fist on the crown of Tommy’s head. 

The jarring impact felt like a sudden explosion of pain in his head, effectively rendering him dazed. Caius fisted a handful of his wet hair, holding his head steady as Sam held up-

TSSSCHCHHHHCT! Something was sprayed right into his eyes, and another spritz for good measure when he snapped them closed. It surprised him so badly that he jerked back, immediately stopped by the painful hand in his hair. If he didn’t have a bar of soap stuffed up his gob he probably would have screamed a similar sentiment to WHAT THE FUCK?!

It immediately started to sting and he cried out, trying to shake it off as his eyes filled with searing pain. Caius’s hand held his head up as he spluttered, foamy rivulets of chemical tears streaming down his face. It burned in his nose with a shockingly acrid odor. 

Caius dropped him and he struggled at the end of his chain, but the sting ended after only moments. He blinked the last of the pain out of his eyes and it was a blessed relief. 

He blinked again, slower. Slower….Was he blinking? He couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t feel his eyelids touch…did he usually feel that? What did it usually feel like?

Auras sprouted in his vision, then eclipsed by overlapping spots that reminded him of staring too long at the sun. The little halos left in his vision after looking into a bright light, they popped like bubbles and took his vision with it. 

He blinked hard, harder, mashing his eyes down as hard as he could but he couldn’t feel a thing. He couldn’t see a thing either, it was like the connection had been lost. He’d get just as much information from trying to look out of his elbow. It was just black. Not like a blindfold, but the impossible black that fills spots in your vision.

“Tommy, can you see?”

It snapped him back to himself. The ache in his shoulder and the pain radiating up to the tips of his fingers. How cold he was, the droplets running down his skin ebbing away his life in tiny rivulets. Then Caius and Sam were…just watching him struggle and then still, blinking hard and looking around confused.

“Can you see? Nod your head if you can see me.” Tommy’s breathing slowed, his brain stalling. Slowly, he shook his head side to side. 

“Can you see anything?”

He shook his head again dumbly. 

“Very good.” 

Tommy felt the tips of fingers touch under his chin. He automatically opened his jaw and spit the soap into Caius’s hand. I’m the world’s shittiest Pez dispenser.

“Are you going to be respectful?”

Tommy searched for his eyes but couldn’t find him. 

Sometimes he felt like his brain was overloaded. Too much to process, he couldn’t handle it. But he wasn’t allowed to shut down. 

He remembered microsoft word on his dad’s boxy computer as a kid. The little paperclip guy that would make helpful suggestions. Clip. No. Clippy. Hi! I’m Clippy, your office assistant. Would you like any assistance today?  He could change the icon too, there was a little wizard….wasn’t there a cat one or something? 

Grey eyes and long blond hair and clear glasses, an adorable little Caius in the corner of his brain. 

Hello there! I see you’re about to lose your shit. How would you like to shut the fuck up and get down from the chain instead?

….okay. How do I do that?

Would you like some assistance?

Tommy groaned out loud, swaying on his feet.

Yes. Please.

The question was, “Are you going to be respectful?” Try saying, “Yes Sir”. 

“Yes, Sir.”

“Grand,” Caius answered, and he sounded pleased. Tommy startled when he heard the water turn on again, but it gushed out of the tub faucet instead. He felt it just starting to pool at his feet when a palmfull of cool water was pressed over his mouth, followed by a wet washcloth that dabbed at his chin. 

“I like that. I think we should bring back Sir for the evening. Hmm?”

Tommy chewed his lip. His mouth tasted like soap’s asshole. “Yes Ca– Yes, Sir.” 

Caius had bouts where he preferred to be addressed as Sir, but he liked Tommy saying his name. The training was radically inconsistent, but of course, it wasn’t Caius who had to pay the price. 

He could sense, somehow, Caius moving slightly away. Fussing at the tap, splashing as the flow of water was interrupted. Caius swung back up, closer; Tommy flinched away, unsure of how close. 

“Open.” 

He opened. Mostly soap free water was wrung out of the washcloth and into his mouth.

“You know the drill. Swish and spit.” He did know the drill. It had been a while since he got his mouth soaped. No matter what, he never got used to the taste. He swished the scant mouthful around and then dropped his head, hesitating to spit when he couldn’t see where it would land. 

“You can spit.”

Caius gave him one more taste of mostly soapless water to rinse before he was unchained. He lowered his aching arms as slowly as he could, moving in increments to try to keep the pain to a minimum, but his muscles were sore and weak from struggling. He dropped them to his sides too quickly, and fresh pain burned in his shoulders like acid in his veins. He shuddered, reaching down with humiliation to tuck his penis between his legs, away from unseen eyes. His hands retreated to fold over his chest against the cold, rubbing them up and down to soothe himself.

“S-Sir, did…am I blind? What…” A lump formed in his throat that stopped him from spewing it. 

What’s happening to me?!

A hand cupped his jaw again and he winced, expecting a hit. None came, his head was just tilted slightly to one side, and then the other. 

“Wait, do the left again.” Sam spoke up, after being silent through Tommy’s treatment. Do what to my left?? His head was tilted again, and nothing worse came. 

“No pupil reaction at all. He can’t see a thing.”

“Baby, can you see the light?” His hair was released and then smoothed back gently, petting him with a sudden tenderness.

“N-no, no Sir,” Tommy whimpered. “Is this - am I blind now?! Oh god, oh god, no, please! Please fix me!!” He raised his sore arms to reach out for Caius desperately. When he felt the cloth of his shirt, he dragged himself closer, clinging to him for comfort. 

“Ugh, no, you’re all wet!” Caius shoved him back. Tommy stumbled, and his wet feet slid from under him as his stomach gave a sickening lurch. Without the usual sense of space his sight afforded him, he gave an uncoordinated flail and failed to right himself. Kicking out to find his balance only succeeded in slamming his toes. He jammed his tailbone into the porcelain lip against the back of the tub, and fell on his butt with his legs folded over the side.

He sat there, blind and humiliated, cold and naked in front of his master and his boyfriend, and it all abruptly became far too much. His face got terribly hot, and a deep sob hiccuped out of him before he could stop it. 

“Oh god, here we go,” Caius mused with an emphasized exasperation. Tommy’s heart was pounding so hard and so fast in his chest it hurt. It was happening. Suddenly he was drenched in sweat and shaking violently, wailing into his trembling hands. His eyes were so numb he couldn’t feel the tears forming, just realized they were falling when he felt them run down his cheeks. A dull, dizzy ache in his brain was interrupted every other moment with the urgent pounding of his head, and he sucked in tiny gasps of breaths as fast as the footfalls of a racehorse. He curled in on himself, rolling into a ball in the bottom of the tub.

Caius sighed loudly and bent over to pull his hands away from his face. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph – you need to calm the fuck down. It’s only for a few hours, it’ll come back.”

Tommy stuttered out painful sobs and let his hands be pulled from his face, reaching out instead to seek comfort from Caius. He wrapped his arms around his waist and mashed his face into his chest to cry.

“Great, he’s having a fuckin’ panic attack,” Sam spat. Tommy swore he could sense Caius rolling his eyes. 

“Yeah, it doesn’t take a fucking fake doctor to see that,” Caius cut back, and Sam huffed. He lowered his voice, more gentle, searching. 

“Come on Cai, we talked about this. Please.”

“Whatever. Fine. You’re right, I’m wrong. Growth.” Caius patted Tommy’s head awkwardly, as if he didn’t know how to hold him. It was an awkward position, on his knees reaching so far up. Tommy felt like he couldn’t control himself, couldn’t even comprehend what he was doing. 

“Sam, give him his panic kit, he’s gonna pass out.”

There was some rustling for it, but when Caius pushed him back and he heard a cork pop, he froze. He was still vibrating, but was able to keep still enough when the popper bottle was shoved under his nose. Struggling against his hyperventilation, he still managed to get a whiff. It popped his brain like a bubble in a sudden rush, and his breathing started to open up as it was followed with a nasal spray. 

“Inhale,” Sam coaxed, and far more of the inhaler was shoved into his mouth than necessary. He managed to wheeze in a lungful before violently coughing it out. His lungs burned with soreness, lactic acid seeping in. He remembered the next treatment step when the syringe was pushed into his neck, and he got a sudden tang of something metallic in his mouth just as his brain started to melt, his body relaxing to the point of weakness. It forced his panting to finally slow, his breathing laborious. 

“Much better,” Caius soothed, and a towel was draped around his shoulders. His hair was tousled dry and then the damp towel was wound and folded tightly around him, almost swaddling him. Tommy drooped, forced maddeningly calm by his chemical restraints. It didn’t feel good to panic. It didn’t feel good to be denied it either. 

“There we go, come on.” Caius took the brunt of his weight to help him out of the tub, guiding him back into his room to sit on his bed. 

“I thought we were just going to chill today,” Sam complained. “It’s been ages since I’ve had a cigar.”

“We are, we will, he’s not going to be an issue. I just need him in something more than his collar, give me a sec.” Caius’s voice changed as he walked away, his voice dipping when he bent over in the bathroom, and returned having collected Tommy’s clothes. The bundle was pressed into his hands and Caius addressed him again.

“Just put on your little boxers and your socks and we can go upstairs.”

“I’m going up and you can meet me out back when you’re ready.” Sam sounded irritated beyond measure. “...Unless you need help,” He begrudgingly tacked on, softening his posturing to come across as less confrontational. Tommy recognized the tactic well, one he’d used to try to save face with Caius a million times. 

“Yeah yeah, go ahead. I’ll make tea.” Caius dismissed him absentmindedly as his hand snaked around Tommy’s ankle hanging off the edge of the bed, positioning his foot to start rolling one of his socks back on. Tommy could hear the door open, but Sam didn’t bother to close it behind him. Not like he could make a dash for it anyways. 

He felt tiny as Caius guided his legs into the holes of his underwear and helped slide it up his thighs, tucking his more sensitive parts in under his waistband. He was grateful for even that minimal amount of cover, though he longed for the dignity and the warmth of pants and a shirt.

He felt the mattress dip as Caius joined him on the bed, circling around to his back. Practiced hands worked a product into his drying hair, and he closed his blinded eyes to focus on the feeling of that gentleness. He wanted to soak it all up, but inevitably, t ended too quickly. Two of Caius’s fingertips traced down his spine in a way that made him shiver. He knew his sensitivity pleased his handler, but it failed to prevent the cuffs from securing around his wrists again, rendering them useless bound behind his back. 

Something cold pressed to his lips. Hard, cool, a metallic clink accompanying its movement, a hint of leather in his nose — he knew what it was. When that metal was pressed to his lips, he made a soft sound of dismay. 

Don’t give him any more reason to think you need retraining. 

He opened his mouth and accepted the bit. He could feel himself sinking into a darker state, his resistance crumbling under the stress. 

I have to please him. He knew that was the voice of survival speaking, the one that told him to do dark things to save himself. 

He didn’t know what to do about the other part, the inflamed sliver deep down inside of him, that took a sick pleasure in being good for him. 

The metal bit was forced between his teeth, and a new swell of panic was crushed under the merciless weight of the drugs before it could even begin. The bridle that held the gag in place hung limply from his face, and he heard the clicking and creak of plastic for a moment until headphones were forced over his ears. He startled internally, but his body was too slow and dumb to react. 

No, please, he wanted to beg, but he didn’t dare dislodge the gag to voice it. He had sunk too deep, weighed down by the bootstraps with whatever chemical restraints Sam had pumped into him. Caius fastened the leather straps around his head with a strict tightness, locking the headphones down over his ears. He paused only to pull his hair out the binding’s hold with a sudden tenderness.  Tommy knew he was done when he was stood up and urged forwards with a reassuring pat on the ass. 

Muted, blinded, and deafened, Tommy felt overwhelmingly vulnerable. When Caius took his shoulder to guide him, he curled in towards him and nuzzled into his shirt. He could feel him heave a sigh under his face, but arms encircled him for a moment nonetheless. Warm lips pressed to his forehead and he leaned in shamelessly, humming a note of need. For his troubles, all he earned was the weight of a leash clipping to his collar.

It was a difficult journey, up the stairs and through the house. He wasn’t sure if he would be let out, but he knew when they stepped past the threshold of the back door.

His first step out found purchase on a stone path that Caius led him down, the surface warmed by the sun. Tommy’s heart fluttered when he felt the welcome warmth on his skin, could smell the fresh air rich with grass and dirt and the last traces of smoke from the construction. 

He felt the sun on his face, and turned up to meet it. His eyes searched desperately for it, the beautiful source of life that he had been denied for so long. 

His blind eyes roved and searched and strained, but all Tommy could see was the unrelenting black. Agonizingly close to the light, Tommy still could not escape the dark.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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 @whumpinggrounds

@morning-star-whump @leviiio @alexmundaythrufriday @defire @jumpywhumpywriter

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@2in1whump @sparrowsage @whumpinggrounds @galactic-worm @hellodecisionparalysis

THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH AND WELCOME HELLODECISIONPARALYSIS!!!!

[generic-whumperz]

I Will be Fine

<prev

I had a whole other page specifically of Khaled trashing his room. Did I include it? No 🙃 but here are the aftereffects of his emotional breakdown

Series tag list under the cut

@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 @phoenixpromptsandstuff @scumashling @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94 @arobear

@whumpty-dumpty-doo @hellodecisionparalysis @borp0

[generic-whumperz]

Yet Another Morning at the Gym

<prev

Every day, my baby grows stronger 💪🏽

Series Tag List under the cut

@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 @phoenixpromptsandstuff @scumashling @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94 @arobear

@whumpty-dumpty-doo @hellodecisionparalysis