#Oh yeah. Don’t mind the little guy next to him. That’s just Colten. He’s chill.

[theflowerofthecommonwealth]

Four friends having a sit down.

Featuring a Goth RoboDad.

[friendlylocalwhumper]

part 1 | part 2

The pain is what wakes him, in the middle of the night. Lux gives a sleep-laden whine as Emory drapes an arm over him, and then the discomfort of new pressure becomes sudden agony. The sleepy groan that was starting turns into a raw whimper as the warlock wakes and scrambles to remember where he is. Just home, still home, in bed - but his ribs feel like they’re being broken all over again.

“Ple-ease,” He begs softly into the dark room. Weight shifts beside him and he realizes, as the arm lying over his chest cinches around it, that Emory is trying to hug him in his sleep.

“Em, w-wake up.” He’s being quiet, nervous about waking Emory up and making him feel bad, but it’s too quiet. His boyfriend cuddles closer with an unconscious sigh and hugs tighter. His hand, tucked around the side, digs in at just the wrong spot, and Lux yells in pain - not an angry-sounding yell, but one that’s airy and rough from the pain of forcing it out of a battered ribcage.

“Wha-?” Emory jolts awake, hands fumbling as he pushes himself up and away from the one beside him. “Lux?”

Low pained sounds huff out of Lux as he raises a shaking hand to hold it over his own chest protectively.

“Are you okay? What - did I hurt you?”

“Mmhmm,” Lux answers tremulously, unable to admit it in words. “Nnnnh…”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, honey, I was asleep… are you okay? Did I - nothing, nothing cracked, right?”

“‘s alright, I-I’m okay, it’s okay.” He can’t manage even a hint of a shaky smile, but Lux tries to assure Emory that he understands. “‘s okay-“ Lux's eyes go wide and he chokes out a startled whimper, turning his head away with a sharp flinch, as Emory reaches for his face. Gonna get hit, gonna get hit, he thinks, eyes squeezed shut tight. All sense and awareness evaporated at the sight of the hand approaching, with the pain he’s in, and the suffocating doom-feeling of knowing he disobeyed the Hunter today.

“I’m not gonna hit you,” Emory says, tone gentle and aching.

“S-sorry,” Lux rasps. His eyes open and then flutter before squeezing shut tight again against a new wave of pain. A dull, ominous crack from within his chest is followed by a real scream this time.

The punishment isn’t over. Lux lets out a weak sob as the next rib is fractured by the Hunter’s magic. The first four ribs were snapped earlier, after Emory helped him limp into their bedroom (his hip, though healed, still ached from the recent trauma of being shoved out of place). A punishment from the Hunter. Lux had buried his face into Emory’s shoulder to stifle his sounds, unwilling to worry Alex. Poor Alex was lying out there on the floor, coughing up blood and crumpling to the floor when he tried to stand.

Now, the punishment has started up again. Emory flinches right along with Lux each time the next rib cracks.

“I hate that sound,” Emory comments as he holds Lux’s hand. “I, I can’t stand it.”

Lux gives a short jerking nod. “M-me too. ‘s okay if, if you don’t wanna h-hear i-it… g-, go ou-, go out to the - to the -“ Another ribs snaps, eliciting a raw and broken sound. “To, to the couch, ‘m okay, don’t h-have to… to stay…”

Another crack, another feeble scream, and then warmth at his cheek. Lux tips his head to lean into it, into the hand, and keens when a kiss is pressed to his other cheek. His eyes are closed against the onslaught of pain from the magic breaking his bones; his brows draw together at the soft, loving gesture. Another kiss is pressed to his forehead.

“I’ll stay with you, I’m right here. Keep breathing, Curls.”

Lux complies, forcing himself to draw a deep breath. His ribs crackle and creak, but the pain only spikes a bit.

“You really can’t heal them? Not even after a few days, when it’s stopped?”

“N-no, he, he’ll be a-angry… ‘s my punishment, ca-an’t heal it. ‘ll just break ‘em again.”

“How long do they take to heal?”

Another crack, not quite as loud but seemingly no less painful. Lux whines.

“Don’t rem-member… weeks? Mmmh, months, maybe? Nnnh, just gotta, gotta heal slow. No m-magic. Nnnnhh-!” A double break - crack, crack - steals his breath.

“Can’t someone help? Taryn, Anders? Protect you with magic?”

“Wa-ants to pun-nish me, he’d, he’d break them worse for g-, getting in th-the way. I, I, I don’t w-, don’t want an-nyone else to get h-hurt.”

Emory runs a hand along Lux’s arm - the one that wasn’t shattered and twisted and healed all in one day. He listens to Lux’s hesitant, ragged breathing, hitching in anticipation of the next rib to break. He thinks about the big, angry, powerful man that has always kept Lux in line with the threat of punishment and the brute strength to enforce his promises of coming pain. How Lux has survived this long, being the favorite of someone so sadistic.

The Hunter knows that Lux is a good listener, patient and attentive and earnest. He doesn’t have to reinforce lessons with pain, he didn’t have to break Lux to make him sweet. Even now, Lux wants to obey, wants to be sweet so no one gets angry with him - this punishment, these broken ribs, it’s not necessary. Just a show of power. It’s better than the mangled arm and the disjointed hip, though. Healing those injuries, even if this is the punishment, was worth it. Lux can walk, can move without giving a violent shudder and nearly passing out.

“Thank you for protecting me,” Emory mutters, suddenly overwhelmed by how much Lux has suffered today just to keep him completely unharmed. He wonders if Lux did that much for Colten, if that little kid heard screams like the ones forced out of Lux today. He wonders how many times you can hear yourself screaming before you lose your mind, how many times you can beg before you give up on people entirely.

It seems that the punishment is over for now; no more breaking bones. Lux sinks down in relief. “I know it was hard to w-watch. It’s a lot… I, I’d understand if you can’t take it.” He pauses, wheezes, winces as his ribs shift. “If you wanna - ‘f you want me to leave.”

“No! No, come on, Lux, I just, I’ve never… I’m not used to it. He’s… scary. I get how he affects you the way that he does.”

“Really scary,” Lux agrees. “Mmmnh… before I woke up, when you were, were tied up… did he hurt you? Or scare you? He m-, must’ve said something.”

Emory sits up, taking his time as he gathers his answer.

Lux is in the bedroom. He should be waking up from his nap soon - Emory can hear shuffling in there. From where he kneels on the floor, wrists bound in rope, he stares at the man standing beside the bedroom door, waiting to attack. The Hunter is going to scare Lux so bad, do everything that Lux hates - grab him, lean close, pin him down. Emory knows the Hunter has done it before; the man has put in a great deal of time learning how to scare Lux.

The door opens. Lux walks out, looking down as he tugs idly at the sleeves of his unzipped hoodie, not paying attention, not on guard, relaxed and feeling safe - the Hunter strikes, quick and efficient, grabbing Lux from behind and locking him in a chokehold. The sound of sneakers scuffing against the floorboards and Lux’s strangled, confused sounds make Emory’s heart hurt. He tries to rise up on his knees, to speak despite the gag between his teeth, as Lux makes eye contact with him, teeth gritted together in fear, brows furrowed, fingers curling around the arm crushing his throat. Emory watches Lux’s body give weak, fading spasms before it falls limp, arms falling to his sides and head lolling forward.

No, before that. Before Lux got there.

The silent struggle of being accosted as he got home, tied up and shoved to his knees on his own living room floor. The man towering over him with a smile, laying a hand on Emory’s shoulder as if holding him in place is a satisfying mark of ownership in itself.

“What do you-“ Emory frowns as the Hunter presses a finger to his own lips to gesture for him to be quiet. “What do you want?”

“Interesting first question. Not the most original. You know who I am, then?”

Feeling incensed and defiant, Emory calls on a vague memory of how Lux’s friends describe this man. “You’re the mindfucker,” He answers with clear hatred. And then, hoping to maybe elicit sympathy for his boyfriend, not yet harmed - “The one who gave Lux those nightmares. Scars.”

The Hunter beams. “Yes. Some of the nightmares, most of the scars. He’s a sweet boy.”

“Hey,” Emory growls, rising where he kneels. “You don’t talk about him like that.”

“Oh?” The man above him cocks his head to the side in mild intrigue. “Is that so?”

“Yeah. Not here. Not in our house. He’s not your - not your sweet boy. He’s a man, one who survived whatever your sick ass did to him, and he deserves respect. You’re not taking his dignity away with your creepy ownership kink or whatever.”

Emory almost regrets his outburst at the glint in the man’s eyes. Why is that fury contained? Does the Hunter need him alive? Unharmed, even? Emory was hoping to maybe catch a beating, draw some attention away from Lux, or even get Lux’s attention se he could try to get away.

“You wouldn’t understand,” The Hunter decides finally, glancing toward the door behind which Lux is temporarily safe. “He’s strong, yes. That’s why he’s survived so long, after all I’ve done to him. He’s the longest lasting little warlock I’ve kept. And always, always broken. You’ve seen it, I’m sure. The flinches, the flash of fear in his eyes, the stuttering. Always so sorry, so hesitant. Like he’s half afraid that he’ll be hit at any moment. It’s addictive to watch.”

“...Sick fuck,” Emory mutters, though his voice wavers, his wrists twisting in the ropes behind him. This guy is every bit as scary as Lux makes him sound.

The Hunter tuts in annoyance and summons a strip of cloth with a flick of his fingers; the cloth wraps itself around Emory’s head and wedges it between his teeth to serve as a gag.

A faint, squeaky yawn can be heard from the bedroom. The Hunter smiles again, sending a chill down Emory’s spine. Lux is awake.

“He didn’t hurt me,” Emory answers slowly. “Just… talked about you. In that awful way where it sounds like you’re his or something. Pissed me off.”

“You got a-angry with him?”

Angry, not pissed off. Word choice like that matters here - Lux needs him calm. “Yeah, angry with him. I told him off.”

“R-really?”

“Uh-huh. Did you ever do that?”

Lux hesitates before he nods slightly. “Used to.”

“Would you ever do it again?”

The warlock glances at Emory. He’s so tempted to say no, never, would get punished, ‘m not that bad - but something about knowing Emory was brave makes him want to give himself a bit more credit.

“Maybe,” He supposes. “If, if he was hurting someone who shouldn’t be hurt. I’d maybe f-fight, struggle… s-say things. It, it kinda hurts less, when you fight, ‘stead of just taking it. I li-, I liked being tough.”

“I bet you were real tough. I bet you still are! You just found a different way to get by, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh.” Lux takes in a shaky sigh, holds it, and then lets it out slowly. “...Em, what if he breaks more ribs tomorrow? Or, or goes in my head? What if he keeps pun-nishing me?”

Leaning over - carefully, carefully - Emory meets Lux’s nervous eyes with all the determination he can find. “Then you’ll be tough.”

Something twinkles in Lux’s eye. “Can I cry if it hurts a lot, still?”

“Who said crying isn’t tough?”

“Wh-, what about, what about begging?”

“Do you do it on purpose? Do you choose to?”

“N-no.”

“Then it’s natural. Still tough.”

Lux’s eyebrows rise just a little. He can be tough - Emory says it, and it sounds true. Lux can be tough.

“Okay. I’ll be tough then.”