#past implied noncon

[whumpshaped]

Something specific I‘d love to see from the perspective of your writing is a ex-heavily conditioned whumpee‘s pov of being caretaked when their are too delirious to realize their it’s not their master it’s their friend (caretaker)

tw sickfic, past trauma, past implied noncon, delirium, whumpee offering themself up, conditioned whumpee

"N-no, no, please, not tonight... n-not tonight... I won't be able to..." Whumpee trailed off, flinching when Master's hand brushed against their forehead.

"Won't be able to do what, sweetheart?" they asked softly, the pet name soothing their nerves a little.

"Please you," they muttered. "I don't think... I don't think I c-can–"

"Whumpee, what are you saying?"

Oh. Master was angry. Even in their half-conscious state, they scrambled to backtrack and correct themself. "N-nothing, nothing, you're right! You're right, I can take it, I can do– do whatever you want, and... and I'm nice and warm, at least–"

"Whumpee." Master cupped their cheeks, and Whumpee's eyes fluttered closed as they waited for either a hit of a forceful kiss. "Whumpee, darling, are you with me? Do you know who I am?"

Do you know who I am?

"Master, my master, my owner, my saviour, my god," they recited the words obediently without any thought, as they had done so many times before. "And as your lowly p-pet, I take anything you give me with endless... endless gratitude..."

"Oh, dear. You're so much sicker than I realised..."

"I'm sorry, Master. I'll do my best for you. I'm sorry I tried to get out of it."

Instead of more scolding, Master pulled back and away from them. They opened their eyes just in time to see them wipe away a tear, and their heart sank. What had they done? Had they done something wrong? Had they upset Master?

They tried to get up so they could grovel properly, but Master pushed them back down onto the bed. It didn't take much effort, really; they had already been weaker than them before the sickness, and doubly so now. Not to mention the way they'd been trained to go limp whenever Master wanted to manhandle them.

"You need to rest, sweetheart. Okay? That's all I ask of you."

Whumpee blinked, then nodded. How gracious. How merciful. Even though they'd been a horrible pet, already resisting and arguing before Master had even told them their intentions, they still found it in themself to forgive and let them sleep. "Thank you," they murmured. "Thank you, Master."

~

general drabbles taglist: @ashh-ed @whumpsday @whump-queen @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @rosewriteswhump @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @whumpkinpie @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @whump-em @cyborg0109 @morning-star-whump @justanotherlokifan @2in1whump @lthrboy @justletmereadmywhump @florissimps @anonymous-tiangou @whump-kitty

[whump-tr0pes]

Honor Bound 6 - 23

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3, Honor Bound 4, Honor Bound 5, and the prequel Vera.

Masterlist

AO3

Contents: past attempted murder, past implied noncon, conversation about improving as a person, mis-naming, past hallucinations, Sam being very low on patience

~

“T-twice,” Edrissa murmured, her voice thin as a string. “I’ve tried to kill him… twice.”

Sam swiped tears from their eyes, their giggles finally dying down. “Twice,” they managed, their stomach sore from laughing. “You’ve tried to kill Gavin twice, and he hasn’t laid a hand on you, and you still think people can’t change.” They chuckled, unable to stop themself.

Edrissa shot them a dirty look. “You don’t—”

Sam held up a hand to stop her. “If you tried to kill me twice, Edrissa, I’d have a problem with you. Why didn’t…? Does anyone else know about the other time?”

Edrissa’s eyes searched Sam’s for a long moment before she answered, “No.”

Sam sighed and pulled their hand through their hair. “When?”

A long silence drew out between them. Edrissa scooped up another bite of pie and avoided Sam’s gaze.

Sam chewed their lip. “Edrissa,” they said quietly, trying to duck into her eyeline. “Is it that people don’t change? Or you don’t?”

Edrissa’s eyes snapped up to meet Sam’s, fire momentarily flaring behind the ice. “O-of course I’ve changed,” she snarled, stumbling over the words. “Sir changed me.”

“But nothing else can change you?” Sam challenged. Their shoulders stooped with sudden, bone-deep exhaustion. The door beckoned to them again. “You can’t change for the better? Our relationship didn’t change you?”

Sam watched as the fire died in Edrissa’s eyes. “That’s not fair,” she murmured. Tears glittered on her lashes.

“None of this is,” Sam retorted. The words came out softer than they meant them, though.

Edrissa drew in a deep breath, held it, let it out. She leaned her elbows on the table and buried her face in her hands. The silence drew out so long between them that Sam thought she probably wasn’t going to speak again.

Finally, she said, “No telling Isaac.”

“I won’t,” Sam said gently. “You know I won’t.”

Edrissa heaved a sigh, but didn’t lift her head. “In June,” she said. “Back in June. That was… the first one.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

Edrissa’s golden hair flew around her as her head snapped up. “Of course, I’m serious, Sam,” she said through her teeth.

“So,” Sam said. They nodded as they thought. “For… what, for two months, Gavin lived with you, after you tried to kill him? Even though you tried to kill him? And he never told… anyone?”

“I don’t think so,” Edrissa whimpered. Her hands curled into fists on the table. “I never… I mean, Isaac never… came after me for it, so…”

“Shit,” Sam breathed. They couldn’t help the huff of laughter that came next, and avoided Edrissa’s glare. “So… how did you do it?”

Edrissa cringed and stared at the table. “I…” She screwed her eyes shut and shook her head. “I, um… well, I waited until everyone in the house was either gone or, um, asleep.”

Sam’s eyes widened. This probably happened while I was asleep in that house, and I had absolutely no idea. Gavin never let on at all.

Edrissa cleared her throat. “I stole a knife from the kitchen and I, um, lured him to the barn.”

“H-how did you lure him to the barn?” Sam asked, a pit growing in their stomach.

“I…” Edrissa’s cheeks flared with a blush of what Sam hoped was shame. “I said I needed help getting something down off a high shelf.”

Relief crashed through Sam, guilt right on its heels. Relief that the lure had been something so innocent, and guilt for considering, even for a moment, that it could have been anything else.

Edrissa continued. “S-so then I… well, I made sure he had his back to me, then I took him down with the moves that Vera showed me. That’s why I learned them. So that I could… could kill him, when I was ready.” Edrissa lifted her chin, but couldn’t seem to meet Sam’s gaze. “I h-held a knife to his throat.”

Sam’s own throat tightened. “But you couldn’t do it?”

“I tried to,” Edrissa said, the words tight with tears. “I really did. I broke the skin. I told him to stop me, or I was going to kill him. But he just kept saying that’s not who he was anymore, and that his name is… is Gavin Uriah, now.”

“It is Gavin Uriah,” Sam said defensively.

Edrissa waved the comment away. “I know, I know. But… I kept trying to make him stop me. Hurt me. I kept telling him that I was going to do it, I kept on… trying to make myself do it. But I… I couldn’t.”

“And neither would he.”

Edrissa slowly closed her mouth and raised her eyes to look at Sam. Her gaze was softer than they had seen it since they’d walked in.

“Yeah,” she said quietly.

Sam’s mouth twisted in a half smile. “Maybe that’s what healing looks like,” they said carefully. “Two idiots who’ve been hurt by the syndicates refusing to kill each other in a barn.” They sucked in a breath and bit their lip, waiting for her response.

For a single, delicate moment, neither moved or breathed.

Then, Edrissa let out a broken laugh and pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. “Okay,” she snorted. “I’ll give you that one. I was sort of being an idiot.”

Sam let out a breath of relief. “I think we’re all entitled to those moments every now and then. This is a crazy world.”

Edrissa cackled. “Everyone is entitled to exactly one attempt on Gavin Stormbeck’s life.”

Sam let out a huff. “Gavin Uriah, Edrissa, come on…”

She sobered quickly. “I know. I’m sorry.” The corner of her mouth pulled into a smile. “Besides, I’m over my quota.”

“That’s okay, so are Isaac and Vera,” Sam said gently. “They’re both at two as well, I think. Although, I don’t know if Vera was intending to kill Gavin when she blew up his compound. So, I don’t know if that one counts.”

Edrissa snickered and took another bite of the pie. Sam scooped up their own bite, contemplating it silently. They set their fork down and wet their lips.

“What made you stop this time?” they said, voice low.

Edrissa’s smile fell as she swallowed hard. Her gaze fell. She tucked her hands into her lap and stared at the table in front of her. “I… don’t know,” she said stiffy.

Sam peered at her, trying to catch her gaze with theirs. Her eyes stayed fixed on the rough woodgrain in front of her as if her own survival lay in keeping them there.

“Edrissa?” Sam murmured, ducking lower, trying to catch her gaze. She lowered her eyes into her lap, letting her hair fall in curtains on either side of her face. Sam tapped their fingertips on the table and leaned back. They blew out a slow breath. “Are we done talking?”

Edrissa’s head shot up. There were tears glistening in her eyes and a shameful flush coloring her cheeks and neck. She pressed her lips together and leaned back in her own chair, mirroring Sam’s posture. Her arms folded stiffly across her chest.

More than the hurt at her closed-off expression and the loneliness at the distance between them, Sam hated the resentment that prickled through them like feeling coming back into a limb. It ate at their insides and their throbbing heart and they were just so damned tired of it. They pushed their chair back and nodded.

“Okay,” they murmured. “Thanks for the pie, Edrissa. I’ll see you around.”

Edrissa’s pale arm shot across the table as if to hold them there. “Wait,” she breathed.

Sam waited. For a breath.

Then, Edrissa said, “I… I d-didn’t stop.”

Sam blinked. “Um… what?”

The tears in Edrissa’s eyes spilled over and she dashed them away. “I didn’t stop,” she whispered, leaning forward as if horrified that anyone else might hear her confession.

“But… Gavin’s—”

“Alive because Isaac stopped me,” Edrissa breathed, and pressed her face into her hands.

Sam stared at her, mouth open. “So… you were… about to—”

“Yes.” The word was a sob. Sam glanced around the store, but they didn’t see anyone inside, not even Meredith. “I was going to do it. I had his wrists tied, I had him in the bathtub, I had the knife to his throat, and… and I was going to do it. I did it, he was bleeding. But then Vera… Vera called Gavin’s name outside the door and I, I knew I was caught.”

The air Sam breathed felt icy in their chest, their blood cold in their veins. “But…” They forced themself to take a deep breath. “But… Edrissa… if you knew you were caught… you could have just done it anyway. Why didn’t you?”

She shook her head helplessly. “I don’t know.”

“You thought Isaac was going to kill you. I saw your face, you were… terrified, Edrissa.”

She raised her eyes to theirs. Her lashes were stuck together, her cheeks red and blotchy. They saw, for perhaps the first time, how truly exhausted she looked. They wondered if they had ever seen her truly well-rested or happy – or if that would have ever been possible for her, living under the same roof as Isaac and Gavin. They leaned forward and carefully took her hand in theirs. She watched them with wide eyes, as if ready to bolt if they moved too quickly.

Sam stroked the back of her hand with their thumb as they said, “Edrissa, if you thought Isaac was going to kill you anyway… what stopped you from going through with it?” They searched her eyes with their own, silently begging her for the truth. Begging her to tell them something that would let them know Gavin wasn’t still in danger.

Do I need to tell Isaac about this?

Will Isaac let her survive this?

They knew without having to think about it that he wouldn’t – but they also knew they would at least give her enough warning to run from his fury.

They were about to release her hand, get up, and walk away when she parted her lips. Quietly, so quietly they almost couldn’t hear her, she said, “H-he protected me.”

Sam blanched. “Who? Did what?”

“G-Gavin,” Edrissa said, shaking. “Gavin did. Protected me. When…” She shuddered and forced her eyes shut, wrapping her arms around her chest. “When Isaac was about to break the door down, Gavin, he, um… he called out and… told him not to. Again and again. Even though he was…” She shrugged jerkily. “He was… struggling. He was seeing things, I think.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up.

Edrissa chewed her lip. “He kept calling me, um, th-the mayor. And telling me things that his parents did to him when he was, um, a kid.”

“Oh, no,” Sam breathed. Suspicion crept into their mind. “You didn’t… give him anything…?”

“No,” Edrissa said distractedly. “No. But then he… right before Isaac came in, Gavin said…” She blinked more tears out of her eyes, and they ran down her cheeks. “‘Get behind me.’”

Sam sucked in a breath through their teeth. “So he definitely knew that Isaac might—”

“Of course, he knew,” Edrissa whimpered. “It’s why he didn’t say anything the first time, either. He promised he wouldn’t. And he… didn’t. He never told. Or I wouldn’t be alive right now.”

Sam met Edrissa’s gaze and pressed their mouth into a line. No, probably not.

“He begged me.” Edrissa dissolved into messy sobs. “H-he begged me. Over and over. To let him live. So he could see his… his family again. You and, and the rest.”

Each heartbeat was an ache, and Sam felt sick with it. Their eyes smarted and their throat grew tight.

Edrissa pressed her hand to her lips and spoke in muffled whimpers. “I c-couldn’t… do it after that. I thought I was ready, but… I couldn’t. Not after hearing him… sound like that. Not after hearing what happened to him. Not after… what he said to Isaac. Before, in the barn, it was a truce. But two days ago? He… s-saved my life. And I could have killed him anyway.” Her voice faded away into nothing, leaving only stunned silence between them.

Sam felt their pulse in their ears. Their right fingers ached. Slowly, they drew in a deep inhale, and slowly, they let it out. Again, in. Again, out. They hoped Edrissa would follow suit. She sniffled and wiped her nose on a napkin.

“Sounds like we’re all having kind of a hard week,” Sam said carefully.

Edrissa let out a weak laugh and nodded. “Yeah,” she grumbled.

Even more carefully, Sam said, “Also sounds like you probably won’t be trying to murder Gavin again…?”

Edrissa shook her head. “No,” she said. “I think I’m done with that.”

Sam leaned back in their seat, not willing to push the topic any further. They nodded once and glanced around the store. Meredith seemed to have somehow chased all her customers away, both current and potential, while they were having this conversation. The place was completely empty and had been for some time. Sam’s lips quirked as they looked at Edrissa again.

“So… what else here is good?” they said.

“I’ve tried their tea, and it’s okay,” Edrissa said, wiping her nose again. “I think I’ll have to hook Meredith up with my connections in Burmingham so we can at least increase the variety.” She sighed.

“Your connections,” Sam said with a breathy, nearly-silent laugh. Relief fluttered in their chest – the air was escaping too quickly with each breath out and they couldn’t pull in enough air with each breath in. Edrissa offered an unsure smile.

“I have those,” she said as she jutted out her chin. “I’m just like the rest of you.”

Sam bit their lip and returned her gaze. Her smile widened and her cheeks flushed as they did, and they couldn’t look away fast enough. In that momentary glance, they could see the hope blossoming in her eyes, the fondness that had once made Sam’s heart swell to bursting with longing. Now, it only made their stomach sour to realize her feelings were still there, despite everything that had happened.

Despite everything she had done.

Their throat worked. They scooped up another bite of pie. “Fair enough,” they said, and ate the bite quickly.

Continued here

@womping-grounds ​, @free-2bmee ​, @quirkykayleetam ​, @walkingchemicalfire ​, @inpainandsuffering ​, @redwingedwhump ​, @burtlederp ​, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog ​ , @whatwhumpcomments ​, @whumpywhumper ​, @stxck-fxck ​, @whumps-the-word ​, @justplainwhump ​, @finder-of-rings ​, @inky-whump ​, @orchidscript ​, @inkyinsanity ​, @this-mightaswell-happen ​, @newandfiguringitout ​, @whumpkitty ​, @pretty-face-breaker ​, @pebbledriscoll ​, @im-just-here-for-the-whump ​, @endless-whump ​, @grizzlie70 ​, @oops-its-whump ​, @kixngiggles​, @1phoenixfeather ​ , @butwhatifyouwrite ​, @carnagecardinal ​

[whereallthewhumpgoes]

Pet Recovery Counter-Conditioning Phrases

"I am my own person. I am allowed to prioritize my own needs and assert my own boundaries."

"I belong to myself and only myself."

"I deserve to be loved by others, touched gently, and treated with compassion."

(Romantic specific) "My body is mine. No one is allowed to do anything to my body against my will."

"I am a human being, and I am entitled to human rights, such as food, water, and sleep. My needs are not a privilege that I have to earn, they are human rights, and I will fulfill them when necessary."

"I can think for myself and take care of myself."

"I am a human being, not a slave. I am under no obligation to obey anyone's command."

"What happened to me was unjust. I did not deserve to be abused by my former master, and I will not tolerate abuse from them or anyone else."

"I am a good person."

"I have a right to be treated with dignity."

"I am not worthless. I have value apart from my master's attention."

(Romantic specific) "I am allowed to say no."

(Guard dog specific) "I am not a monster. In the past, I acted to protect myself, and I will continue to protect myself with or without my master."

"My rescuers are not a threat. My rescuers do not want to hurt me. My rescuers are safe people."

"If I am ever mistreated, I will report it to my rescuers as soon as possible."

"I do not need to lie to protect myself."

"I am allowed to love myself."

"I am encouraged to form relationships with the other recovered pets, and they will not be hurt if I interact with them."

(Bonded pair specific) "I do not need to protect my bond. I do not need to depend on my bond. My bond and I are our own people, and I am allowed to develop my own interests and take care of myself before my bond."

"I am a person, not a pet."

[whump-and-other-misfortunes]

Whumpuary 2024 Day 14

14. (Jan 27-28) Flinching / Breakdown / Sleep Deprivation 

cw past trauma, implied noncon/torture, hurt/comfort, aftermath of whump

“You’re slower than usual,” Hero teased when they pinned Villain to the wall. “Lost your edge after that little vacation you took?” 

Villain was breathing heavily. Their hands grasped at Hero’s, which were fisted in the front of their suit, but Villain lacked their typical strength. “Wasn’t a vacation, you jerk,” they huffed. “And I’m doing my best here.” 

Hero pulled one of their hands back, and their heart jumped when Villain flinched away from them; they’d never reacted like that before. The instinctual fear was clearly visible in their eyes.  

“Whoa, hey,” Hero said softly. “I was just gonna—your mask is slipping.” 

Villain looked down, frowning. “Sorry. I just...go ahead.” 

Hero raised their hands slowly and adjusted Villain’s mask, noting the sharp intake of breath when Hero’s fingers grazed their cheek. As they put it back in place, Hero could see a dark bruise hiding under the mask. The slightest bit of purple spread up their cheekbone. 

Villain was trembling when Hero stepped back. 

“Are you okay?” Hero asked. Logically, they knew they should take advantage of Villain’s weakness and bring them in. But they just couldn’t bring themself to be that cruel. 

“When I was gone this week,” Villain whispered, “I was...Supervillain took me hostage. I’ll spare you the details but...they did some shit to me I wouldn’t even do to my enemies.” 

Hero felt their heart ache at the admission and the pained expression in Villain’s eyes when they looked back up. “I’m sorry, I—I had no idea.” 

“Not your fault,” Villain said with a shrug. They tried to force a smile as well, but it didn’t quite work. “But it messed me up pretty good. I can’t sleep. I can’t move without remembering their hands on me.” 

A sick feeling curled in Hero’s stomach as they imagined what the normally collected Villain must have been through to have them on the verge of tears at the memory. They slowly reached out, giving Villain enough time to stop them—but when they didn’t, Hero pulled them into an embrace. “It’s over,” they muttered into Villain’s hair. “You're safe now.” 

Their words seemed to open the floodgates, and suddenly Villain broke down. Hero didn’t know what to do, so they just held their nemesis as they cried. The fact that they’d been in the middle of a fight passed through Hero’s mind, but it didn’t matter now. They were a hero—their job was to help people. Even if those people regularly made their life hell. 

“I’m sorry,” Villain choked out. “This is pathetic. And I—I deserved it.” 

“No one deserves to be hurt like that,” Hero said, rubbing their back in soothing circles. 

Villain tried to steady their breathing as they looked up at Hero, eyes glistening with tears. “Thank you. Just—give me a minute, and we can get back to it.” 

“What do you say we get a rain check,” Hero asked with a small smile, “and you let me buy you a coffee instead?” 

Villain sniffled and rolled their eyes. “As long as you promise to reschedule. Because I was looking forward to kicking your ass.” 

Hero laughed. “Okay, deal.” 

Although the coffee may not have truly fixed anything, it was a welcomed comfort. 

taglist: @morning-star-whump

[friendlylocalwhumper]

The Cycle series in chronological order (pts.1-26) | Misunderstanding (pt.26)

“Wait - wait - fuck, wai-, wait…” Pitchy, violent keens. Frantic scarred hands scrabble across the master’s chest. Not clawing, not hitting. Just trying to push him away, push him back, get some space.

Simon reels back, and when his fist lands, it knocks a pained sound out of Major’s mouth. Those eyes fly back open almost instantly and Major grits his teeth more desperately.

Major doesn’t even apologize for the cursing like he always does. Like he used to. He only continues to struggle, fingers entangling with the master’s shirt and searching for any purchase at all.

“Don’t, don’-, fu-, fffh-, please…” Bruise-dark chest heaving for air in frantic twitches, Major gives up on pushing Simon away and settles on just trying to brace against him leaning any closer.

That look in his eyes is wild. Not just scared, but truly terrified. Major looks more scared than he would even be of death. He is in trouble, he is going to pay for what he’s done, but… this is wrong. Something is wrong.

“What?” Snaps Simon. It is all but hissed from between clenched teeth. “What, what are you freaking out over? You never fight back, you know better.”

The threat, the reminder of his place, chills Major to his core. Hits like ice to his teeth. His strength falters, and then he stops pushing on Simon’s chest - which allows the master to fall closer, and from mere inches away, Simon can finally see what Major was so afraid of.

Simon was trying so hard to pin him, to stifle the rebellion. To beat him back into submission and make him sorry for hesitating to obey. He was trying so hard, with so much force, that he didn’t notice. How getting closer, managing to pin him, made Major plenty scared. Just not of a beating. The last time that Simon saw him this wild and thoughtless, it was during the break-in.

They are nose-to-nose, now, and the master sees it. How the proximity has Major cowed into squeezing his eyes shut and taking short, rapid breaths. How those bushy brows are knitted together, pushed upward, with distress. In Major’s mind, he’s lost the struggle, and now comes the worst part.

“That’s not what this is,” Hisses the master. Spittle flecks across Major’s bottom lip, his cheek. The captive flinches and it is less than satisfying to watch. “Hey. Look at me.”

Hazel eyes flutter open and focus on the man above him. His hips shift uncomfortably up off the floor, then thud back down, shame and doubt flashing in that twisted expression.

“This is not that. I don’t do that.” The swelling in Cupcake’s face has been going down, so both of his eyes can blink. They do, the unswollen one squinting as he tries to understand. He is always so slow to understand, to think.

Simon loathes Cupcake. He is worthless, he deserves the beatings that he gets. He deserves worse. But seeing him like this - this isn’t what Simon wants. The break-in was… a time that Major genuinely surprised him. He took it - Simon’s eyes go unfocused as he remembers, as he sees it all again - Major took it, body lurching and pained grunts muffled by a hand, unable to walk the next day, having nightmares for weeks and waking up in a panic more often than not - and afterward, Major killed every last intruder. Put in the painful effort to cut Simon free.

Major doesn’t deserve to feel that again. Simon doesn’t want to see that look on his face again. Doesn’t want to be straddling him right now. It takes all his reserves of rage to stay put, to stay pinning Major on his back, to scare him so bad. Cupcake deserves it, he does. To be scared. Just - not that bad. Not about that.

“Stop fighting me. It’ll be over quicker if you just stop.”

Oh, he knows that look on Major’s face. Deepening horror. Defeat. Regret. That was the wrong thing to say. It infuriates Simon that there are still wrong things to say, that he still messes things up. Even when he’s in charge and Major’s pissed him off to deserve the roughest treatment. Still, after everything, Simon is still screwing up. He’s still performing.

Fed up with talking, the master growls out his frustration and slams his hands to Cupcake’s throat. They wrap around tight and press downward, cutting off his air. Animal panic sends those eyes flying wide open, and in an instant, everything becomes simple again. Hurting him is right, punishing him is good. It’s what he should be doing. No misunderstandings, no unfair pitiful flinching from Major. Just choking him out, beating his half-conscious body, shoving him back into the cage. Enough of this weird guilt and uncomfortable memories.

taglist: @morning-star-whump , @lthrboy, @apokolyps, @paperprinxe , @vampiresprite,

@wollemi-whump, @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees , @whumps-and-bumps , @defire, @notactuallyluska

[hold-him-down]

"hey handsome. miss me?"

(humble request of smol fic, author's choice)

tw: implied past noncon, implied future noncon, institutionalized slavery

notes: follows this piece from this ask game

✥ ✥ ✥

“Hey handsome,” Parker says softly, sidling up next to Leo at the after-dinner buffet. Leo freezes, just for a moment, before gingerly laying the spoonful of strawberries onto his plate. There have been moments, over the last couple of years, where Leo has crossed Parker’s mind. Brief and insignificant as they may be, he would be lying if he said he never thought about the way Leo’s body would melt into his, or the way he would seize up when Parker went too far. “Did you miss me?” He lets his hand graze Leo’s lower back, aware that the senator would be hot on his heels.

Leo inches forward to break the contact, and Parker smiles.

“Parker,” Leo whispers. “You can’t be here.”

“Excuse me?” Parker replies, feigning shock. Leo tenses, but keeps his eyes on his plate. “I can’t be here? What, suddenly you’re fucking a senator and I’m no longer allowed to attend fundraisers?”

“Parker, please.” The edge of desperation that seeps into his tone is almost too much. Parker steps behind him, his fingers grazing Leo’s back. “He doesn’t know,” Leo whispers. What is that, shame? Embarrassment?

Parker scoffs. “Know what?” he asks. “That it used to be me bringing you to these events? Or that you used to beg in the bathrooms? Or,” Parker continues, “he does know all that, but he doesn’t know about this specific bathroom?”

“Parker, please… I–”

“Will you meet me there?” Parker interrupts, taking the spoon from Leo’s hand if for no other reason than if he continues holding it over the strawberries, he’s going to draw unwanted attention. “In the bathroom? Ten minutes?” He scoops himself a plateful.

“I can’t–” Leo starts, an edge of hysteria to his voice. God, it’s sexy. Still, Parker interrupts again.

“Allow me to rephrase. Meet me in the bathroom in ten minutes, or I’ll find something more interesting to do.” He opens his phone, angles it toward Leo, and starts scrolling through his pictures. “It shouldn’t be too hard. I have some videos I’m sure Senator Bennett would love to spend some time watching.” He shifts his focus to Leo’s face, acutely aware of Leo’s new buyer beelining directly for them. “I’ll see you in ten,” he whispers, closes his phone, and walks away.

[absolute-flaming-trash]

Pairing: Yandere!Mahito x AFAB!Reader

NSFW

Word Count: 2'133

Warnings: Yandere, Dubcon, Implied past noncon, Kidnapped reader, Captive reader, Denial of basic needs, Graphic descriptions of period blood, Descriptions of period cramps, Humiliation, Mahito is a fucking asshole in this. Dead dove do not eat.

Additional Notes: This is disgusting and I'm not sorry for a single moment.

There were just over two hundred cracks in the ceiling.

Two hundred and three, give or take, from the ones you could see.

It was hard to be accurate from your position on the floor. The angle from your little corner combined with the dim lighting of the sewer did you no favors, but you had counted them all five times now.

It was something to do. Something to distract you from the horrendous, gnawing pain that wracked your abdomen.

You had been dreading this day. After two weeks in Mahito’s captivity, you were nervous, but after three? You knew it was no longer a matter of “if” but “when” your period would hit while in his “care”. Mahito liked you too much to kill you, at least for now. He had made that explicitly clear in his extremely chipper response as to why you were still alive, however part of you genuinely wished to join the growing masses of his experiments in the tunnels rather than go through this.

You had nothing. No pads, no tampons, and nothing that you’d normally use to cope with the pain. After discovering the magical combination that eased you through this hellscape with minimal suffering, you had never gone a cycle without it.

But now you were dealing with it in full force for the first time in god knew how long with nothing but the cracks in the ceiling to distract you, and god, what a poor distraction it was.

After the sixth round of counting you couldn’t take it anymore. You could feel the blood oozing through the material of your pants and the cramps were fucking unbearable.

 “I need a new set of clothes.”

Mahito hummed softly in curiosity, giving you a once-over from his spot in his hammock. “What’s wrong with the ones you have on now?”

“I just need new ones.”

“Need or want~?”

“Goddamnit, Mahito, please.”

The slip-up left before you could catch it, and you watched in what felt like slow motion as his expression shifted into sinful delight mixed with intrigue.

You’ve never begged him before. Not once. Not unless he made you.

“Really?” He sat up and turned his body towards you fully - leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Now what could be so dire, I wonder?”

A particularly nasty cramp hit at that exact moment, and it took everything to keep from doubling over and letting him see you like that, but your pain tolerance was not good enough to keep such a display from showing on your face.

He saw it clear as day.

“Oh?” He tilted his head. “Are you sick?”

“No, but I genuinely would rather be.” You muttered, hugging your abdomen and closing your eyes while taking a few deep breaths through your nose and exhaling shakily through your mouth.

The crunch of debris could be heard as Mahito got off the hammock and strode over to you. You opened your eyes in time to see him crouch down to your level.

“You’re pale and you keep wincing, you’re sick.”

“I’m not sick! I’m just-” You cut yourself off, taking a moment to collect yourself since the growing exasperation in your tone was only serving to add to Mahito’s excitement over the whole thing.

Might as well rip the bandaid off…

“I’m on my period.”

He blinked, processing the information for a few seconds before he threw his head back and started laughing. The sound was sharp, and it echoed around the room - making you flinch back with a deep frown.

“It’s not funny.”

“Oh, you have no idea how funny it is.” He replied, still giggling as he spoke. “Your period?”

You grit your teeth to the point your jaw ached. “My menstrual cycle, it comes every-”

“I know what you’re talking about.” He said, dismissing your words with a wave of his hand and leaning in closer to you - analyzing everything. “Never thought I’d have a human around long enough to witness it, though.”

Humiliation burned in your face, but you kept eye contact. “Are you going to help me or not?”

Mahito clicked his tongue and lifted a hand to poke at your stomach - easily maneuvering around your attempts to bat it away. “Why should I get you new clothes when you’re going to bleed through those too?”

Another wave of cramps passed through you, causing you to hiss through your teeth. “So you propose I should just sit in my own blood?” Indignation practically dripped off your tone as you seethed.

He shrugged as he changed his position so he was sitting cross-legged in front of you. “You could always take them off,” He smiled. “I won’t mind.”

Of course. Of course, that would be his solution to your problems.

“I’m good, thanks.” You muttered, not bothering to hide the disgust on your face.

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” He said as he rested his chin in his hand. “Besides, the longer you sit there doing nothing, the more blood is going to soak into your clothes.”

If looks could kill he would’ve been buried ten times over, but Mahito’s smile only widened in response.

“It’s your choice~.”

Damn him. Damn him to the deepest pits of hell or whatever godforsaken crevasse he crawled out of.

But he was right.

The humiliation felt like it was going to swallow you whole as you reluctantly hooked your thumbs under the waistband of your pants and underwear and pulled them down in one go, refusing to look him in the face the entire time you did so.

The tangy smell of iron hit the air immediately.

“Wow, you bleed a lot.”

His comment did absolutely nothing to help the way you wanted to simply curl up into a ball and cease to exist, and you placed your bundled-up clothes in front of your lower half to preserve some form of modesty.

“Will you help me now?”

He chuckled again, “Now how can I help you if I have no idea just how much you bleed?”

You returned your gaze to him, glaring daggers. “What?”

“I need to know the right stuff to get since clothes aren’t the only thing you need.” He replied so casually that you wanted to strike him across the face. “I’ve read human menstrual products aren’t… what’s the phrase? One-size-fits-all when it comes to flow.”

A twitch went through your eye. “I flow heavy.”

Mahito snorted, rolling his eyes after. “Obviously, but I need to know how heavy.”

You continued to stare at him, waiting for him to elaborate on exactly what the fuck he meant by that.

He smiled. “Let me see.”

…Oh.

The simmering humiliation-based anger quickly turned into nearly excruciating self-consciousness, and you pressed your thighs together tightly.

He sucked on his teeth and went to stand up. “I guess you don’t really need my help, then~.”

“No, wait!”

You hated it. The desperation that coated your words as you said them. Mahito only paused and tilted his head at you in that horrifically condescending way he seemed to enjoy so much as he waited for you to comply.

“...How long do you have to look?”

He tapped his chin and looked up in faux thought before giggling again. Like this was all a game, and to him it probably was.

“As long as I need.”

No. Not probably. It definitely was.

Damn him.

You couldn’t even look at him, not wanting to see what kind of vile excitement pulled at his stitches as you moved your clothing to the side and slowly but surely parted your legs. Your gaze was transfixed directly on the wall behind him as he made himself right at home - settling on his stomach with his face far too close for comfort from the most intimate part of you.

The silence was the worst part of it all. What was probably only seconds felt like hours and you made the mistake of looking down to see him just… staring at your cunt. Looking at it with wide eyes akin to a kid spotting a prize at a shitty pop-up carnival game as menstrual blood dripped from you.

His hands felt like ice when one closed around your thigh and the other swiped two fingers through your folds, causing your body to jolt backward in response.

“What the fuck are you-”

“Helping.” He stated simply as he slipped two fingers inside you without so much as a breath of warning.

It made your body seize and your hands shot to his shoulders out of reflex, but you knew better than to try and shove him off. Instead, you gripped onto him, stabilizing yourself as you were forced to endure it.

You just had to endure it.

“Huh.” He hummed, already deep in thought - marveling at the sight of your blood coating his fingers every time he pulled them out and plunged them back in at a horrifically languid pace. “You feel different when you’re like this.”

It felt awful. An achy, churning sensation that added to the usual discomfort you felt whenever he decided to touch you like this. Every time he crooked his fingers he made horrible scooping motions whenever he pulled them back out, and you could feel the excessive wetness as it left you.

It was disgusting. Repugnantly nauseating, and yet he also knew how to play you like a fucking fiddle as he did it. The mortification welled in your soul like the tears that welled in your eyes, and your knuckles went white as they gripped the fabric of his shirt to deal with the building pressure.

“This isn’t helping.” You said, breath catching on the last word.

“Is it not?” He asked, faux ignorance mixed with mirth as he lifted his head enough to look you in the eyes. There was no obvious expression for once, but you could feel the way his soul taunted yours. “Pity, I read orgasms supposedly helped with the pain.”

A whine slipped from your lips as he curled his fingers again, stroking a part of you that should’ve been reserved for lovers. For someone who cared for you as much as you cared for them.

Instead, you were reminded of just who it was between your thighs when you felt him smile against you - stitches bunching against your skin as the motion of his fingers repeated over and over and over again.

“Then again, you’re not quite there yet, are you?”

The sound that left you was strangled, a mixture of a grunt and a whimper that only added to the coil of what you could only describe as despair in your gut.

You refused to call it pleasure.

Each quirk of his wrist was like fire turned liquid with how it burned in your veins. It only grew hotter when he split you open with another finger, causing your hips to jerk against him. He only laughed and pinned them in place with another set of hands.

“Never mind, it looks like you’re particularly sensitive when you’re like this~.”

The curses you wanted to call him died on your tongue as his efforts doubled, blurring the line between disgust and euphoria even further until it finally came to a head. You could feel it in excruciating detail - the pulsing of your walls as they contracted around his fingers and your climax washed through you. The predisposition set upon you by your cycle amplified everything. The good. The bad.

The repulsive.

“There!”

Mahito’s cheerful voice was almost as jarring as the sensation of him pulling back and sitting on his haunches, withdrawing his fingers from you and leaving you with a worse ache than before.

Again you made the mistake of looking at him as he held up his hand, his fingers dark red with a thick glob connecting his middle and index together in a maccabe web.

Bile rose in your mouth and you had to quickly look away in order to prevent yourself from emptying what little stomach contents you had onto the floor when he placed the fingers in his mouth, sucking them clean.

“Are you done?” The question was bitter, full of resentment and utter shame as you waited for your humiliation to be complete.

There was that awful silence again, hanging in the air until it was broken by the sound of shifting clothing immediately followed by the sensation of gravity taking hold as you were pushed completely onto your back.

“Not yet,” Mahito answered, eyes gleaming as they stared down into yours - unyielding and completely merciless. 

If eyes were windows to the soul, you couldn’t bear the clarity in how he looked into yours.

And your gaze shifted back up to the ceiling, beginning to count once more.

© absolute-flaming-trash 2023. Do not repost, modify, copy, or claim.

[sionisjaune]

For the prompts… “Later you will definitely need to tell me where you learned this.” With sebcedes? Or nico/micheal/mick? Any fucked up dynamic basically

Toxic mick/nico plus a little bit of nico/everybody for the prompt game:

Mick wasn't exactly surprised when Nico dropped to his knees, undid the fly of Mick’s jeans and choked him down without protest or complaint. His tongue massaged the underside of Mick’s cockhead cleverly, and he kept a hand fisted around the base of Mick’s dick like someone who knew what he was doing. Mick sighed. If he couldn’t have the Mercedes seat, at least he could have this—Nico Rosberg on his knees. 

Once Nico had brought Mick nearly to the edge, Mick slid his hand into Nico’s hair and used a silky fistful to pull him off. 

“You don’t learn that from a decade of marriage,” said Mick, trying for funny and domineering. 

“No,” Nico agreed, snide, and tried to swallow Mick down again. Mick held him off, and Nico’s lips kissed ineffectually at the blushing head of his cock. 

“Who did you learn it from?” said Mick. Nico frowned, the lines on his face rearranging. Mick tugged on his hair again, encouraging him. “Can I guess?” he asked. 

“Have at it,” said Nico, frowning. He looked bored, now that there was no cock stuffing his mouth. Mick watched him glance surreptitiously around the room as if looking for an opportunity to excuse himself, dust off his slacks and stride out. 

“Lewis,” said Mick. 

Nico laughed sharply. “You’re not serious,” he said, arching an eyebrow. “Lewis is far to big for my throat.” 

Mick chewed on his lip, and then thought better of it and schooled his expression into something neutral and in control. He gave Nico another tug for good measure. “Seb?” he guessed. 

“Ha,” said Nico. “I perfected my craft years before I ever fucked him.” 

“Jenson,” said Mick, growing uncertain. 

“He never wanted my mouth,” said Nico, oddly thoughtfully. “It was always face down, ass up, with him.” 

“That doesn’t—” said Mick. 

“Doesn’t make any sense, I know,” Nico finished for him. “Like he couldn’t have closed his eyes and imagined a girl.” Nico rolled his eyes. He returned a hand to Mick’s cock and jacked it measuredly. Mick was flagging, which was unusual. 

“Toto?” Mick asked. He could imagine it—Toto inviting Nico, freshly recruited, to his office, telling him there was something he could do to gain favour with the team, so long as he was willing to do it.

“Getting warmer,” said Nico, his hand still cradling Mick’s cock. “Out of guesses? Let me just tell you.” His grip encircled the root of Mick’s cock again, drawing tight. Mick felt his balls contract towards his body. “The first time I ever sucked a cock, I didn’t want to.” He stroked Mick again, employing a punishing pressure. “I learned to like it, though. Your father made sure of that.”

[befuddled-calico-whump]

(remaining panels under the cut for gore + implied noncon)

Test Track AU (T$$ AU Masterlist)

previous /// next (cw: injection)

(suggested by anon! not adding the tag list to this one just in case)

[awriterinacorner]

Eternity- Panic

before next

warnings; implied noncon, past torture, panic, anxiety, self deprecation, this is a heavy one so take care of yourself!

Amir flinched when the largest of the soldiers spoke. They were so loud against Amir's headache and he just wanted them to finish whatever they were doing and leave. Hopefully they would leave. Sneherr preferred to tell him what was about to happen personally so he could watch Amir's face. He had absolutely been playing up the expressions of horror to try to lower the punishments, and it had worked fairly well! He was alive at least. 

There was no telling what the guards would do. Some of them enjoyed it when he was pathetic, and others thought it was annoying. If these guards decided to hurt him he’d have no way of knowing what to do. That was the worst part of all of this; the fact that he would be completely at their mercy with no way of doing the correct thing. 

He was brought out of his thoughts when the largest guard approached him. The largest guard approached him. Now that he was looking closer they didn’t actually look like a guard. They looked more grandiose, like a prince. The fabrics they were wearing were expensive, and clean. And they were wearing jewelry. Jewelry Amir could never dream of affording. On top of that they seemed to have very large leathery wings. He couldn’t remember which species had wings besides…

Oh no. This was a sand devil royal. They were known to be the most ruthless and aggressive species known. He couldn’t believe that fate would treat him like this. Plus he didn't, no he couldn’t, make it through the training of another master. His mind was too fragile, he’d break. He hoped this royal would see that and let him rot in a room somewhere. It would be a kinder fate. 

He closed his eyes as the royal came even closer. He couldn’t stand to watch what he knew was about to happen. It was too painful, too terrifying. He wasn’t ready to find out what this new master liked. What punishments they’d give. What the rewards will be. He wasn’t prepared, and he didn;t know if he ever would be. 

A hand grazed Amir’s ear, and he whimpered. It wasn’t fair. He should have been a blacksmith's son. He should have grown up learning how to make the very weapons his masters carried. Instead he had been forced to be a bed warmer; someone to be used, and opened, and broken until he was so pliable that he was boring and he was thrown to the guards. He couldn’t handle that fate, he’d rather die. 

Amir realized that the royal was talking to him. He was so lost in thought that the words sounded like gibberish, and at this point he didn’t care. Whatever they were going to do to him he only hoped it would be quick. 

Someone was picking him up and he saw red. He would not go quietly, he couldn't, it wasn't his nature.

He flailed as they went through the motions of moving him onto a stretcher. He didn't know where they were going to take him, and he honestly didn’t want to know. Whatever it was it would be torture whether ethe slow and gentle kind of the forceful and voilent kind. It was all he was good for. 

This one was the hardest to write so far, I put so much of my own anxiety into it

[whumpshaped]

Epilogue – Jonathan

Dollhouse Masterlist

tw aftermath of horrible trauma, talk of surgery the aftermath of it, mentions of drugs, rehab, suicidal tendencies, past implied noncon, rocky recovery, past lady whump with effects in the present, self-blame, self-doubt, mention of major character death within the family, parents sent to prison, it’s a lot but it’s happy i swear

Jonathan tried to balance all the boxes of food in one hand as he reached for the door handle with the other. He narrowly missed it, the door seemingly opening on its own; Honey stood in the doorway, quickly taking half the boxes with a concerned expression.

The transformation she’d made since last year still astounded him. Some of it was physical, readily apparent upon first glance, like slowly gaining back up to a healthy weight with the help of the family’s private dietitian, growing her hair out to be able to wear it in elaborate braids, and changing her wardrobe from custom doll clothes to jeans, sweatpants and T-shirts with smiling avocados on them. But for the most part, it was things like allowing herself to slouch a little, speaking “out of turn”, making decisions on her own… like officially changing her name to Honey after her escape and stay at the hospital. 

“You really shouldn’t strain your hands like that,” she said softly, the way she said most things. 

“They don’t really hurt anymore, really.” He pushed the door closed after himself with his foot, taking care to do it slowly instead of slamming it. “Thank you.”

“Well, you don’t need to make them hurt again. Plus, you’re gonna drop them one day. It’s an accident waiting to happen.”

He sighed, placing the boxes on the kitchen table. “I’m sorry. I’ll make two trips next time.”

Honey put the rest of the boxes next to those ones. “No, it’s… I don’t know. I didn’t mean to scold you. Sorry. I just… I’ve been feeling weird lately.”

Jonathan gave her a look of genuine empathy. Their situations weren’t the same, but unfortunately, they both had some trauma relating to the coming days. “The anniversary?”

She nodded. “Sorry. I know– It’s not the same. She was your sister. I shouldn’t be wallowing so much, I just… And not even just your sister–”

He shook his head. “Don’t do that to yourself. It’s difficult for all of us. Don’t– don’t try to go through it alone.” He spread his arms a little, allowing her to step closer and nuzzle against his chest. He wrapped her up in a tight hug, letting the words sink in for a moment. “You can feel things, yeah? And you can tell me about them. And you can cry, and be angry, and be anxious. I’m here for you, okay?” 

She didn’t respond right away. He knew she was mulling it over, trying to actually take in the meaning of the words instead of giving a manufactured reaction. “I’m here for you, too,” she said eventually, and Jonathan knew she meant it. She had been there for him throughout all of this, despite her own struggles. They’d been there for each other.

“Let’s call the others, yeah?” 

Seeing the dolls improve as they did was beyond Jonathan’s wildest dreams. Sure, he knew that their family fortune would be able to pay for a lot of procedures and therapy, but he didn’t think he would have access to that fortune after Grace’s passing. The fact that his father stepped up and ensured that everyone who was willing to accept the help would be taken care of was absolutely fantastic. Jonathan had never felt so much love for him before, and especially since they’d had that talk about Grace.

As it turned out, his mother was the one forcing him to play along. With Grace’s death, he realised he couldn’t do it anymore, and did what he could to remedy the whole decade of inaction. The truth came out bit by bit, starting with the events of that fateful day, but his father made sure that all the victims were set up with the best legal teams. When it came to his own family, he was as truthful as he could be, incriminating both his wife and himself in the process. He never protested the decision of the court. 

Jonathan had inherited the company, and he immediately dismantled it from top to bottom. He started a smaller business with part of the leftover money, spending the rest on the recovery process. Not all the dolls had decided to come live with him, of course. Some of them completely cut ties with him, and he had no idea whether they’d managed to get back on their feet. But the ones that were living with him? He was so fucking proud of each and every one of them.

The doctors at the hospital had managed to fix all of Dottie’s prosthetics almost completely. She had also received a considerable upgrade; she was now able to walk on her own and learning to use her hands again. Jonathan sat with her for hours upon hours, practising sign language together to make up for her severed vocal cords, helping her bend her artificial wrists and fingers this way and that. Her face wasn’t frozen in that one acceptable expression anymore either. She frowned, and she grimaced, and she cried, and she grinned with mischief and genuine delight. She had so much personality all bottled up, that much was clear even without being able to express herself perfectly. Even though she kept the name Grace had given her, she couldn’t have been any more different than the doll Jonathan had met.

Basil, now Nix, was under medical supervision for months regarding their several and serious addictions. The withdrawal symptoms were intense and at times terrifying, and Jonathan thought multiple times that he was going to lose them. He hadn’t known them for long at that point, but he knew that no human deserved to have to go through something like that, and it was pretty clear that they were doing their absolute best to come out on the other side. And eventually, they did, coming home with five bottles of different medication to keep them stable, but alive, and announcing the name change. “It’s short for Phoenix. I mean, if those weren’t the ashes, I don’t know what the fuck I’ve risen from,” they’d said with a laugh. “Besides… I kinda feel like I’m nothing without the– the whole persona. So… Nix.”

Toxicant-induced loss of tolerance wasn’t something Jonathan had ever heard of before talking to Nix’s doctors at the clinic. It wasn’t surprising, given that Grace had been pumping them full of chemicals for several consecutive years, day in and day out, but the effects were absolutely horrifying. It was like they were allergic to everything now. Cutting out everyday stimulants like caffeine wasn’t even the issue, really, it was trying to cut out things like food colouring; especially when that stuff was put into medications. And whenever Jonathan had made a mistake regarding their diet? Nix was punished with days upon days of heart palpitations, night sweats and vomiting. Their diet had slowly taken shape over the past half a year, and they were able to enjoy family dinners with the rest of them now.

The twins refused to part with either Dottie or Nix; the four of them were inseparable. They both had to go to vocal coaches to get their voice back in working order after close to eight years of forced silence, and they also had their gastrostomy tubes removed. They had been at risk of refeeding syndrome, like most of the dolls, but after clearing that obstacle and being allowed to eat freely, their symptoms of malnutrition subsided, even reversed. They went the opposite way in clothing stores now, making sure they looked as different as possible. Muffin went by Lux now, the name they’d originally wanted to change their birth name to before they got snatched up by Grace. They’d had their hair buzzed and several tattoos made before moving onto piercings, moulding their body into something they thought was furthest from a doll. Berry went back to his given name, Devante, exclaiming that his mother had already known he’d have to fight for his own justice against others’ horrible wrongdoings. 

Despite that sentiment, his mother never got to hear about it. Dottie, Nix, Dev and Lux had all decided not to contact their parents. They had been gone for way too many years. They had read their own obituaries, saw their family’s posts on social media about their passing on every single anniversary of their “death”. They had agreed it would’ve been too much to just come back after half a decade or more.

“I don’t want my mom to see me like this,” Dottie had told him. “I can’t even go back to the name she’d given me. I feel like the ship of Theseus. I want her to remember the old me.”

If anything, Jonathan could at least relate to losing a mother who was still alive, and he did everything in his power to make it better for everyone around him. 

Honey did contact her family after a few months, when she felt like she was ready. Jonathan held her hand throughout the phone call. He listened to her father ask whether there was a lawsuit, and whether she’d gotten any money from it. He listened to her mother say that they’d sold all her things already, so she didn’t have to go home. When Honey asked if they could meet anyway, she told her she was busy, and hung up the phone. He’d spent the next weeks consoling her.

As Jonathan watched them all take their seats at the kitchen table, he wondered what could’ve become of all these people, had he called Grace in advance about his visit that day. She would’ve told him it wasn’t a good day, and they would’ve rescheduled. All these amazing people could’ve been lost. All this laughter could’ve stayed a fantasy of their captive mind.

The phone began ringing before Jonathan could’ve had a single bite, and he sighed and put down his utensils. When he saw the number, however, he decided he wasn’t even annoyed anymore.

“Hey,” he said with a smile, despite Bora not being able to see it.

After being called Coral for several years, having his hair grown out and coloured to match the name, he decided he wanted to go back to his given name, chop it all off and dye it black. He’d gone into his kidnapping and captivity with a debilitating case of depression, and the therapy and medication he’d been able to receive since his rescue was beyond helpful.

“Hey, man. I just wanted to call, because… you know. Just wanted to check on you guys.” 

In all honesty, Jonathan expected a call from him sometime that day. Not even just because he was a good person, good people didn’t need to put their trauma aside to reconnect with others reminding them of said trauma. But the fact was, Bora had a lot of survivor’s guilt. Grace had never really done anything drastic to his body, nothing that couldn’t easily be reversed. His depression had been worsened by the situation, as anyone’s would’ve been, and he’d been forced to play along with a relationship he never wanted, but he had never gotten his limbs chopped off. He was working through the mental issues in therapy, and he was trying to live by the rule of not comparing his pain to others’, but every time he called, the overwhelming guilt was painfully obvious in his voice.

“I think we’re doing fine, considering, you know, everything. We’re all a bit out of it. It’s hard to think it’s only been one year… and at the same time it’s like, wow, it’s already been a year.”

“Yeah. I’m not… super excited for the articles tomorrow.”

“Would you like to come over? I don’t know if we’d necessarily take your mind off of it, but we all kind of formed a pact that none of us would look at social media for a while.” He lowered his voice, walking a little further away from the table. “And they’d love it, too. They’re always asking me whether you’ll come visit after your calls.”

There was no response from the other side, and for a moment, Jonathan thought he’d pushed it too far. But then he heard quiet sniffling, and Bora choked out, “I’ll drop by.”

“We all love you, okay? Don’t feel like you need to hide from us.”

Another pause. “Is Val coming?” 

Well, maybe he needed to hide from one person. After their time spent together in captivity, all that forced intimacy and shared trauma, it was understandable when Valerie drew a line in the sand about seeing each other. Her doll name, Anise, was way too close to her original name, Annie, so she decided to go the complete opposite direction and choose an entirely new one. That was around the same time when she told Bora she needed to get as far away from him as possible, in a desperate effort to distance herself from her past entirely. 

It was a difficult situation for everyone. After having her face surgically frozen at Grace’s house, Val wasn’t even able to communicate anything. Bora somehow ended up taking on the role of her helper, which Grace took full advantage of, but at least he was able to apologise, or ask things, or request things not to be done to him, whenever that was even an option. Valerie had her voice taken away, her sight, her facial expressions, everything. The doctors were able to do some reconstructive surgery, but she was told that seeing and speaking were completely off the table with the way her body adjusted. Learning sign language without being able to copy by sight proved to be a massive task, and Bora, as always, attempted to be as much help as he could be. Almost the first thing Val had told him was that she couldn’t handle his skin touching hers, or the sound of his voice, and she wanted to leave immediately. Bora had respected her wishes, as was the right thing to do.

Jonathan had spent the next few months almost constantly on call with him, and when the two of them weren’t talking, Bora was phoning the hotlines. Being riddled with guilt to the point of not wanting to live anymore was a common sentiment across the board when it came to their little patchwork family, but Bora was alone, and he refused to get any help that would’ve put him in direct contact with others. It was always just the phone, and always only Jonathan. He still had nightmares about the phone ringing and him not being able to reach it in time. 

“We haven’t talked in a good while,” Jonathan admitted. “I tried to send her a text earlier today to make sure she was doing okay, and it didn’t go through.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sure she’s okay, though. She just doesn’t want to talk about being okay with us specifically.”

The rest of the call went by quickly, and when Jonathan rejoined the rest of them for lunch, he found them all dead silent and clearly trying to eavesdrop. They didn’t even try to hide it.

“Is he coming, then?” Lux asked.

“He said he was, yeah.” They all looked at each other in utter delight, smiles spreading from one face to the other so quickly it was impossible to tell who started it. 

The next day, Jonathan immediately bumped into his sister on his morning walk. “One Year Has Passed Since Killer Barbie’s Funeral”, read the headline on the stupid magazine that was displayed at the newspaper stand, showing her eerily smiling face and pink casket. He had to turn around and go right back home, desperate for one of Honey’s sweet, warm hugs. 

“I didn’t break the rules,” he sobbed as quietly as he could. “It was– it was a newspaper, I just– I glanced in the direction of the stand–”

“I know.” She pet his hair gently, tears of her own slowly joining Jonathan’s in soaking their clothes. “I know. You don’t need to explain yourself.”

Jonathan’s morning breakdown set the tone for the entire day, and they all took turns hugging and holding each other while the other cried. Board games, tremendous amounts of snacks they could now enjoy freely, and a massive pity party took up the entire day of the anniversary; no tears remained unshed, and no one was left without several friends’ worth of consolation and compassion.

And when the sun rose again the next day and Jonathan turned over in his bed to see Honey sleeping soundly, he got the distinct feeling that it was all going to be okay. If they could survive one year despite all that had happened, they could survive a thousand.

~

taglist: @whumpsday @lonesome--hunter @reblogging-whump @panic-and-chaos @kim-poce @uwu-scraptrappy @mikaelaix @whumpinggrounds @hidden-dreamland @the-scrapegoat @whumplr-reader @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @whumpinthepot @devourerofcheesecake

[sparrowsage]

Revenge, Part One: Ghosts of the Past

Hello! I know I haven't posted in while. I've had some major stuff pop up in my personal life, but things are on the mend! This is the first part in a mini series that takes place six months after the end of Warehouse. It's very far out in the timeline for the Warehouse series, but my brain wanted to write this, so here it is! I'd like to give a special thanks to @oddsconvert and @darkthingshappen for the mention of their oc's Henley Allen from A Taste of Your Own Medicine and Agent Vaughn from Brothers Keeper. And I'd also like to thank them as well as @whumpcereal and @flowersarefreetherapy for their support as I wrote this! I got the inspiration and motivation for this piece from day four of the Merry Whump of May event as well and it was a ton of fun!

TW: Vague mentions of past captivity, vague mentions and implied past noncon, kidnapping, noncon drugging, mentions of past character death, threatened murder (if I missed any, let me know and I'll add them!)

MWoM Prompt: Day 4 “Forgettable, ‘Who are you?’ Lamp, Alleyway” 

If Sparrow would have been asked when he was teen where he thought he’d be when he was an adult, his response wouldn’t be what you’d expect. As far as he knew, he was going to be in the Warehouse facility for the rest of his life, or with some random person who had bought him if he ever got to the point of being sold. Not once did he ever think that he’d be living with a close and trusted friend, free to make his own decisions, able to finally carve out a life for himself of his own free will. 

It had been six months since the Warehouse had gotten raided. Six months since Damon had tried to escape the facility with him in tow. Six months since he was reunited with his friends and finally free from the hell he never thought he’d be away from. 

Sparrow snapped out of his thoughts as he heard his friend giggle, looking over to him as Felix spun around in a small circle, arms outstretched. 

“It’s been so long since I’ve been able to go and see a live show like that!” he exclaimed. “Thank you for coming with me.” 

Sparrow gave his friend a soft smile, putting his hands in his pockets as they walked back to their apartment building. “Thanks for offering to take me. I’ve never seen something like that! I’m surprised they have all those lines and stuff memorized, it looked like a lot!” 

Felix nodded, looking up at the clear night sky above them for a moment before looking back at his friend. “It’s their job, and it does take a lot of work, but it’s totally worth it. I’ve often had thoughts of trying to get into theater like that, but I think my stage fright would get in the way of it all.” 

Sparrow chuckled, giving Felix a light nudge as they continued on their way, “With how often I hear you singing in the apartment, I know you’d do great!” 

Sparrow let out a sigh, recalling the memories. It had been a whirlwind to try and get things back on track once he was released from the hospital this time. He still had weekly therapy appointments with Alex, but it had been more difficult to fall back into old routine with Felix this time around. There had been a short period of time where there were awkward conversations when the two interacted, both from Felix’s guilt over the invitation Damon had sent out and Sparrow not showing Felix the invite before he left amongst other things. Over time, they had talked things out and their friendship only got stronger from there. Henley still came by frequently as well, often spending a lot of time with Sparrow when he was free, which Sparrow appreciated. The two of them would help teach Sparrow how to read and write alongside teaching him about other things while also having some fun. 

At the thought of Henley, Sparrow took his hand out of his jacket pocket, looking at the digital watch Henley had given him a few months back. 

“Hey, it’s already 10:43. Do you think Henley would mind much if we moved movie night to tomorrow?” he asked. 

Felix looked at his own watch in return before looking at Sparrow, “I don’t think he’d mind. We did warn him the show may run late and he seemed fine with the possibility of postponing movie night. We’ll text him when we get home.” 

Sparrow hummed in agreement, putting his hand back in his pocket as they continued home, looking around the street as they walked. Due to how late it was, there weren’t any people out and about, the only lights coming from the lamp posts lining the sidewalks and the light up signs in the shop windows, long since closed for the day. 

Being outside at night was something that Sparrow had never realized he’d appreciate so much. Sure, there was anxiety lurking in the shadows, often keeping the man on edge, but nights like this where he could look up at the clear sky and see the glittering stars and enjoy the light breeze and inhale the nightly air, it felt freeing. 

As the two passed by a dark alleyway, some rustling caught Sparrow’s attention. He paused his steps, Felix looking back at him a few seconds later when he realized his friend wasn’t beside him. “Sparrow, you alright?” 

Sparrow stared into the dark alleyway, trying to see what was hidden in the shadows before shaking his head slightly to clear it. “Y-yeah, just thought I heard something is all.” 

Just as he was about to continue walking, a voice called out to them, “P-please help me.” 

The two hesitated, giving each other a look before Felix hesitantly approached the entryway to the alley. “Are you alright sir?” Felix asked. 

“Do either of you have some spare cash, or some change?” the voice asked, his voice sounding rough and raspy. 

Felix squinted as he hovered at the edge of the alleyway, trying to make out whoever was talking to them. “I-I’m sorry, but we don’t have any cash on us.” 

“That’s quite alright,” the voice responded. There was something about the voice that seemed off to Sparrow, but he couldn’t place it. There couldn’t be a way for Sparrow to know that voice, but the fact that it sounded familiar ate away at him the more the stranger spoke. 

“Felix, we should be getting back home,” he said, trying to keep his voice level. He didn’t want to scare Felix just because he felt uneasy. It was probably nothing. 

“Could you just help me up, sir? Before you leave? I have a bad knee.” 

Felix looked back at Sparrow for a moment before he stepped into the alleyway, the shadows swallowing him, “U-uhm, yeah sure.” 

From Sparrow’s spot on the street, he kept an eye on the dark alleyway, expecting Felix to come out seconds later, but all he heard was rustling before a muffled shout came from the shadows. 

“Felix?” Sparrow asked, taking a step towards the alley, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. 

Something was wrong. 

Sparrow heard some more rustling and a bit of muffled cries before he spotted a figure in the shadows of the alleyway. 

“You should teach your friend to be more careful. Helping the wrong stranger is going to get him into trouble,” the figure said. 

“Who are you and what do you want?” Sparrow asked, his body frozen in place on the sidewalk. 

The figure started walking forward towards him, an unmistakable limp to his step that made the blood in Sparrow’s face run cold, further cementing him to the sidewalk. 

This can’t be him, Sparrow thought. He didn’t remember Agent Vaughn telling him about some Keeper’s getting free from the raid. He thought that since his name didn’t get brought up in the court case or the fact that he didn’t see him in court meant that he died during the raid. 

“I bet you’re surprised, aren’t you?” the man asked, the light from the lamp posts illuminating his face as he stepped out of the alleyway. “Because who would have thought that you’d be seeing me, of all people, again after so much time.” 

“What do you want with us, Logan?” Sparrow asked again, his voice low but lined with fear. 

“You’re in no place to be demanding answers here, Sparrow. You should know that. Has living outside the facility for six months really put you back so much on your training?” 

Sparrow’s hands balled into fists at his side as he tried to figure out an answer. Logan took the hesitation of an answer to motion whoever was behind him in the alleyway to step forward, causing Sparrow’s breath to hitch. 

Five more people stepped out of the alleyway, one of which had Felix flush against his chest, a hand clamped over his mouth while the other held his wrists behind his back. Felix looked at Sparrow with a scared expression, his whole body trembling as his eyes started to water. 

“It’s been hard, these last six months, you know,” Logan started, slowly walking towards Sparrow. “Having to hide from the police all because the facility got shut down. They’d arrest us on sight if anyone found us. But you know what kept us going?” 

Sparrow let out a low and quiet growl as Logan got close to him, taking a small step back as Logan leaned in close. “Finding a way to get back at the person who ruined the entire operation.” 

“Felix wasn’t the one who took down the Warehouse, the FBI did,” Sparrow said, his gaze flickering between Logan and Felix. “You have no business with him.” 

Logan straightened himself as he faked a look of thought. “You’re right, it wasn’t the runt who got the Warehouse shut down, not in full. But he played a part in it.” 

“Vaughn was the one who found the place, not Felix.” 

“Yeah, that fucking agent found the place, but you know who went crying to the FBI when you didn’t return home that night you went to that party? Him. And why did he go to the FBI? Because you managed to escape and make friends, connections, something of which you had no right doing. He cared about you so much that he did everything he could to find you and get you back safely. If you hadn't defied orders and escaped the facility ten months ago, then we wouldn’t be here now.” 

This wasn’t good, Sparrow didn’t know what to do! If it were just him facing off against these guys, he’d fight back, but with Felix trapped, Sparrow couldn’t risk his friend getting hurt all because of his actions. 

“Just let him go, Logan,” Sparrow tried, a hint of desperation leaking into his voice. “You have issue with me, not him. Let him go and we can work this out.” 

At that, Logan let out a laugh, as did the other men standing around them, causing Felix to squeak in fear at the sound. “You think it’s that easy, pleading with me to let your friend go? And that I’m here for you? I often forget that you’re not that fucking smart when it comes to how the real world works. We came here for him and you just so happened to be with him. We’ve had our eyes set on this runt for months, we just needed the perfect moment to grab him, and what better night than tonight!” 

Sparrow glared at Logan as he spoke, trying to work out a way to get them both out of here safely, but anything he thought of wouldn’t work. In every idea he thought of, Felix would get hurt and Sparrow couldn’t let that happen. 

Logan looked around the empty street for a moment, turning on the spot to look back at his men and Felix, who stared back at Logan in fear. “Get him ready to transport, we’ve spent enough time here.” 

At the word ‘transport’, Sparrow started towards the men around Felix, anger and fear powering his limbs. “Don’t you fucking touch him!” he shouted, lunging for the closest man that was around his friend. 

Before he could get very far, three of the remaining four men pounced on Sparrow, quickly grabbing onto him as the fourth man grabbed a prepped syringe from his pocket. Felix started squirming the moment Sparrow was grabbed, just about missing the needle headed straight for his arm. He let out a loud but muffled yelp as the needle was jabbed into his arm, causing Sparrow to struggle even harder, but it was no use. The three men holding onto him were too strong and he was very outmatched. 

Amongst his struggles, Sparrow watched as Felix started to grow limp, his eyes slipping shut as the drug he was injected with took hold of him, forcing him into an unwanted sleep. Once he was under, Logan turned his full attention to Sparrow, who only continued to struggle. 

The former Keeper nodded to his men and they forced Sparrow to his knees on the ground. Sparrow let out a hiss as the gravel and pavement dug into his knees as he tried to pull his arms out of the grips that held them, but he slowed his attempts as Logan stepped closer to him, leaning down at the waist slightly. 

“I swear to god, Logan, I’m going to fucking kill you if you hurt him,” Sparrow growled as he glared at the former Keeper. 

Logan chuckled at the sight of the former pet, letting out a short sigh. “Your threats don’t work on me. Over the twenty years I worked to train you, you’ve only come close once, and that’s because I let my guard down. I’m not making any mistakes this time. You’re going to watch as I destroy your friend, bit by fucking bit, til there’s nothing left of him, and you’re going to help me do it.” 

Sparrow tried to jerk one of his arms free, his gaze never breaking from Logan as he let out a grunt at the wasted effort. “You’re fucking crazy if you think I’d willingly hurt him.” 

“Ah, well you see, I know you. You’d do anything to trade places with him, no matter the cost, and I think that seeing you get tortured in more ways than one will do just as much damage to him as if he were the one being hurt.” 

Sparrow stilled as the words registered, his expression falling for a moment. Logan was right, he’d do anything to make sure Felix didn’t bare the front of what they were about to endure, even if it meant sacrificing himself. 

“You’ve been told, time and time again by multiple people that you’re not supposed to form connections or to make friends because it isn’t your place to have feelings. Your job is to serve and please whoever owns you, doing whatever they ask of you with no hesitation. I am excited, if I’m to be honest, Sparrow. You know why that is?” 

“Why?” Sparrow asked through gritted teeth. 

“Because I get to hit you where it hurts. Just because we were going after him doesn’t mean that I won’t be paying special attention to you. You’ve caused me so much trouble ever since you were brought into the facility, especially after Damon took on your case. Now it’s my turn to level the playing field. You remember how you used to protect Jayden when he was alive? How compliant you got all because of a simple threat to his well being?” 

Logan stood then, nodding to one of the men holding Sparrow. “Well, you know that I won’t hesitate to kill your friend here if you step a toe out of line. I highly doubt that you want another one of your friends to die all because of you.” 

The mention of Jayden made the blood drain from Sparrow’s face as a new fire blazed inside of him. This wouldn’t be a repeat of what happened with Jayden, Sparrow couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t let another one of his friends die by the hands of this fucking bastard. 

Just as Sparrow was about to start struggling again, he felt the pinch of a needle in his neck and a coolness spread throughout his body. As his vision started to tunnel, he looked up to see Logan start limping back into the alleyway as he started to lose feeling in his limbs.

“Let’s get these guys into the van, and don’t forget to restrain them. The runt will be out for a while, but with this shit��s tolerance, I don’t know when he’ll wake and it’ll be easier to handle him if he can’t move.” 

The last thing Sparrow remembered seeing was a set of headlights turn on far back into the alleyway and hearing an engine roar to life as the drugs dragged him under. 

Taglist: @mannerofwhump, @honey-is-mesi, @painful-pooch, @whumperfully, @hiding-in-the-shadows

@flowersarefreetherapy, @goronska, @blueyellow8green (If you want to be added, let me know!)

[necros-writing-stuff]

Ok! There’s something HOT about Eden using wolf/puppy PC as an actual dog, like hunting etc.

If you’re able write a small fic/HC? Love it

What about yandere wolf PC who comes to Eden in hopes of mating, only to find themself put in the place of a pet while they pine after the hunter?

They want to crawl onto the bed, burrow under the furs and nuzzle against his crotch. Get that delicious scent on their skin. But Eden snaps at them every time they try to get up and tells them to get back to their cage.

They want to sit in his lap and eat together, but they have to settle for eating from their bowl on the floor. If they're extra lucky, Eden will hand-feed them scraps from his very own hands that they get to lick clean.

They've given up their pack, their family, their life all to be his. To have their tail lifted and body used as Eden wants. Instead, he refuses to see what good mates they'd be.

Until he's just too sexually frustrated to ignore the golden opportunity in his home. The willing, desperate wolf person he's been using to hunt, to tamper his loneliness just a tad. But it isn't enough is it? A pet isn't enough.

There's still guilt and shame in his heart when he does fuck you in his bed. You're ecstatic, howling out your joy while he scrunches his eyes closed and presses his face against your neck. He doesn't bite. Even when you beg for it. He can't go that far - not when he feels ashamed for laying with a beastly creature in the first place.

It's not your fault he hates you so bad for what you are. You weren't a wolf that tried to kill him. You weren't a client looking to treat him as an animal. The same way he's now using you.

No - not the same. You at least revel in your place. He never had.

That can't stop Eden seeing himself beneath his body when he fucks you to sleep.

[friendlylocalwhumper]

“Yes.” | “Kneel.” | Best of Three | Correspondence | Appraisal | Collapse | Cupcake | Foggy | Cracking | Just Breathe | Urge | Trim | Stupid | Upkeep | Old Defeat | Watching | Simple Loyalty | Overreaction | Set Up for Failure | Burning | Healed Wrong | Haunted | Boxes Buried | Heavy Blow | Loneliness

Cupcake hasn’t been sleeping well lately. With anyone else, Simon would assume it was the whole being a prisoner thing. But this one is tough. He doesn’t seem to think he deserves better, even if his pride gets in the way sometimes. There are no longing glances toward the windows, no getting lost in daydreams. Cupcake just wants a beer, some TV, a place to sprawl and relax.

Last night Cupcake dozed off on the couch for a few minutes. Simon watched as bushy brows twisted, as the scarred chest hitched under the wifebeater, as rugged fingers twitched at his sides. He woke too soon and reached instantly for his bullet-riddled right leg.

The pain is keeping him up. Simon almost feels bad about that, although they’ve gotten to have less sessions, this week, with the little thrills he’s getting seeing that pain all day long.

He’s asleep now, though. Cupcake is on his back, on the floor instead of his bed - which is strange, although he probably gave up on the blankets and tried the carpet, instead, in his pained tossing and turning. Leaning in the doorway, Simon feels his attention slide off the man that he’s watching, straying to thoughts of groans and muffled screams. Maybe if Cupcake eats well enough at breakfast, he can suggest they have a session. Could be fun. The itch is there under his skin.

Into the room he pads softly. His pajama pants brush softly against his ankles, long hair warm and comforting across his shoulders. It’s a peaceful night with the cool air after last night’s rain and the crickets chirping outside. As Simon draws near, he can make out the very faint freckles across Cupcake’s cheeks. His short brown curls that make him look so much younger than the previous bleached mess. Twenty-seven, his file says. But Cupcake cannot read, can barely add numbers in his head, struggles to come up with words that are more than two syllables long.

Violent, antisocial, sadistic, restless, said the file. Cupcake’s never shown his violent side, here. Head tipping to the side to ponder as he watches the man sleep, Simon wonders if Cupcake is really violent by nature, or if he lashes out when provoked, like a malnourished dog in the back corner of a shelter. Antisocial makes sense, with Cupcake barely bothering to talk about the outside world and taking so long to try to get out. Must not have family. Sadistic - Simon can’t speak to that. There’s rage in his eyes, sometimes, but that’s normal for his position. There is no one here for him to hurt but himself.

Restless is the most fitting of all his descriptors. Simon finds himself reaching out, despite wanting Cupcake to stay asleep. There are dark smears of exhaustion under those closed eyes. He’s been healing slowly, he needs this. But traitorous fingers creep forward through the air until they find a stray lock of that soft brown hair. Why does Cupcake hate it so much? Enough to fry it into straw, and change its color, and grow it out in a frizzy mane. It feels reminiscent of how Cupcake ignores mirrors like they aren’t reflective at all, they’re just a normal stretch of dull wall.

His rumination wandered, and his fingers laid too heavily against Cupcake’s scalp. The soft bed of hair disappears suddenly, and the body that was so still and relaxed a second ago is moving sharply. Simon barely has time to widen his eyes before Cupcake jolts and slams bodily into him, sending them both tumbling across the floor.

A flurry of brown hair, round eyes, fists. Animalistic grunts punch their way out of Cupcake as he tries to beat Simon away from him. He can punch, Simon finds, winded into silence by the second blow and then struggling to escape a single hit. It’s like a brick is being driven into his ribs, his head, his upper arms.

Above him, straddling him chaotically, Cupcake bares his teeth and looks like a child trying to beat back a demon. Simon finds himself trying to contain the violent swinging arms rather than truly fight back. The panicked growls and grunts get louder as Simon manages to roll over and get Major onto his back, locking him in a bear hug.

“Nngh, nnh, nnh,” Cupcake grunts, breaths hissing out through locked teeth. He is shaking, vibrating under Simon, who is focused on setting his knees against the floor and tightening his arms to effectively snuff out the fight. “No, no, nnh…”

As close as they are, Simon can hear the tears clogging up Cupcake’s throat and suffocating the pleas out of the air. As soon as his hold is secure enough, Simon lifts his head.

Mistake. A collision with his head, pain blooming hot in his nose. Violent, antisocial, sadistic, restless. One of Simon’s arms unwind from around Cupcake’s back and twist fingers in his hair to pull his head up and slam it back down.

It didn’t feel forceful enough to knock him out, but Cupcake goes still with a shudder. Simon pulls back farther to urgently look into his face, hand sliding down from the short curls to tug on Cupcake’s face and check his eyes. But Cupcake is still awake. He tries to squeeze his eyes shut, and turn his head away, and only croaks out a soft sound of defeat when his head is yanked back and his eyelids pulled open, one at a time.

Simon’s not even sure if a concussion would appear as oddly sized pupils so soon, but they look fine for now. So he pulls back, planting firm palms on Cupcake’s shoulders to help him remember to stay down.

It seems to be dawning on the pinned man that he just fought back. That he beat Simon into the ground, if only for a minute. As soon as he can, he closes his eyes again, breathing hard through flared nostrils.

“What was that?” Asks Simon, voice soft. The blood dripping from his nose and onto Major’s bare chest doesn’t register to either of them as a pressing issue. “What was that, Cupcake?”

Cupcake is afraid. He’s always quieter, when he is. His angry is loud and energetic, his excited is stunned and hesitant. His afraid is very still, breathing hard, trying to process things and largely failing to. The rusted cogs in his head only turn so fast. Cupcake doesn’t know what to do now that he lashed out, doesn’t know what comes next.

“I won’t punish you,” Offers Simon, leaning down harder to show that he can keep the man pinned. “If you talk.”

Cupcake sniffs, and grimaces at how snotty the sound is. He never looks more silently furious than when he sounds pathetic. “Talk?”

Simon runs a thumb back and forth near Cupcake’s collarbone. He either doesn’t notice it, or doesn’t want to be caught showing he hates it. The silence that comes in the stead of an explanation from Simon doesn’t help.

“‘bout the…” Cupcake clears his throat. Opens his eyes, which instantly skitter away from Simon’s kind, curious face. “...Freak out, when I wake up, and… and there’s someone on me. Okay?” He lashed out. He could be killed for this. He knows it, it’s got his chest still lurching with shallow gasps. “‘m sorry. Didn’t know it was you.”

With a sympathetic nod, Simon adjusts his weight to be more on Cupcake’s hips and less on his stomach, to make breathing easier for him. “Who did you think I was?”

Silence. The pain of his shot let has him twitching, trying to change his position without it looking like he’s trying to throw Simon off. No answer.

“We’ve been doing this for a while, Cupcake.” Simon lifts a hand from a pinned shoulder to take hold of his jaw and force eye contact. Cupcake looks angry, but maybe not at the man above him. Or not just at him. “I let you get away with things. Have things your way. It’s better for both of us, to not be too strict.”

The reminder of his place is working, already, without the threat being spoken. Simon can see it in how Cupcake’s breaths miss a beat, how he holds still and waits for the promise of things getting worse.

“Would it be easier for you if I held the gun to your head?”

“...Don’t.” It is quiet, almost a whisper. “Make me. Too fhh-... dumb as, too - stupid. To make something up. I just… don’t make me talk.”

There is something in the vulnerability, there. Something more than pain in his voice. Simon is curious, so curious. But should he really devote energy to punishing the guy having a nightmare, or a trauma response, or whatever that was? Should he tear Cupcake open and expose his fears to the air, just because he wants to know? Maybe Cupcake has earned some grace.

“Okay.” Hand sliding off of Cupcake’s jaw, he draws back and stands. Cupcake slowly, achingly drags himself toward the bed. Climbs up onto it, eyes on the floor the whole way. He needs space, needs to be left alone. “Sure thing, Cupcake. Try to sleep.”

Cupcake is silent until Simon is all the way out the door. In the dark of the room, he mutters, just barely audible, “...Thanks.”

taglist: @morning-star-whump , @lthrboy, @apokolyps, @paperprinxe , @vampiresprite, @wollemi-whump,

@watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees , @whumps-and-bumps , @defire, @notactuallyluska

[dreamties]

there's nothing really wrong with me; i'm just choking almost constantly || Polyam! Ghostface x GN! Reader

title from Twinkle Lights by The Sonder Bombs

Reader is dealing with the aftermath of their sexual assault, to which they still haven't told Billy and Stu that it was even a thing that happened. After a particularly rough night, the boys comfort them.

1st person POV

TRIGGER WARNINGS: there is reference to past SA, but it's not too graphic. the reader talks about it and there's like, references about it through out the text- and I know it can be really traumatic for some to read it so PLEASE be careful and read at your own risk. panic attacks, nightmares, i believe that's it !! let me know if I need to add more warnings!!

I blink awake, filled with an erratic, heart-pounding panic. It takes a moment to realize where I am- home, in my bed, by myself. I'm not at the trailer and I can't feel his breath down my neck anymore. 

I let out a shaky breath and sit up slowly, trying not to shock my body anymore.

My body feels unstable and wrong as I walk through the house. My mind and body caught in a fuzzy sort of dream state. 

I dial Stu's phone number, because I know he'll ask less questions than Billy- and that's what I needed right now. Just a distraction.

I school my voice to properly fake that sort of "I'm fine, nothing bad has ever happened to me" tone.

I clear my throat. "Stuey? I know it's a little late, but-"

"Nah, it's okay, baby. Whaddya need?"

I laugh- of course Stu sounds so chipper, he was likely up looking at Play Boys or watching total torture porn (aka a load of trash). 

"Could you pick me up? It'd be nice to stay at your place tonight." 

I can practically hear him grin on the other line. "Ab-so-LUTE-ly!"

I kind of half-giggle and thank him. I pull on an extra-long hoodie and grab the handmade Michael Myers plush my friend gave me off my bed. I wait out on the front porch for him to arrive. 

I settle into Stu's bed, and he hurriedly puts his magazines and other items under his bed, careless to the minor scrumpling to his merchandise. 

“Hey baby,” he kisses the top of my head and I try not to shrink away too much when he does so. I know it’s Stu, I know I’m safe- I can still feel his touch around my body, his hands at my throat, though. It’s so hard not to think he’s there with me, in bed next to Stu and I.

I smile at him and let him turn his lamp off even if the darkness and the looming shadows in his room are wholly disorienting.

I can feel a light tickle against the shell of my ear, like someone is whispering, “I won't be able to stop myself.” I shake him off of me and turn to my other side.

Just leave me alone, please.

I probably toss in my sleep the whole night, but Stu doesn’t seem bothered when we wake in the morning. My eyes are bleary and blinking back tears, hoping he doesn’t see. 

I should know better than to think Stu could keep any secret from Billy. I'm still surprised, however, that Billy jostles into the Macher's kitchen at 9am, already with a prickled attitude.

I drop the spoon into my bowl of cereal, milk splashing up and over onto the counter. I try to school my expression into something more neutral, so my surprise doesn’t hurt him. 

“Billy,” I greet. 

He replies back with my name, which I can only half-hear through the fuzzy, distant feeling in my body. 

Billy sits on a stool next to me, moving my bowl a little further from my reach. “Why were you up so late?”

I half-laugh, still tired, still groggy. “What, I’m not allowed to stay up?” I tease. And the hurt sick feeling settles in my throat. 

Billy shakes his head and sighs- he’s clearly frustrated. 

Stupid. Stop teasing him, he’s- I physically shake the thought off. Trying desperately to repel the negative energy like water to oil. Get it together.

“C’mon,” Billy tries again. He seems abnormally pissy, and I wonder what Stu told him on the phone. It’s no way that either of them could have figured it out, but the lump in my throat still grows at the possibility. 

“Just- missed Stu. That’s all.”

“You brought along your plushy,” he says, like that’s supposed to prove anything. “And that big hoodie of yours that you only wear when you’re sad.”

“Did Stu tell you that?” I try not to sound too antsy or annoyed. I know they’re only worried. Of course they’re worried- of course they know my tells like the back of their hands. I should have just stayed home, even if that meant waking up with the feeling of him pressed against my body. 

He nods. “You always tell us what’s wrong,” and he whispers my name in that hard-soft tone he gets when he’s anxious. I shiver.

“Nothing’s. . . nothing’s wrong.” I try and I know it’s bullshit. It’s a dumb attempt and Billy sees right through it. “Nothing that you can fix.” 

And I know Billy takes it as a personal attack- that I think he can’t take care of me. That his comfort isn’t enough, that he isn’t enough. I don’t know how to tell him that’s not what I meant, though, without telling him what happened. It feels hard to breathe, I take a shaky, sharp breath in. It doesn’t help. 

I don’t even know what’s going on, my eyes teary and blurred. My ears are ringing out. My body feels so fuzzy and too soft at the edges. My thoughts muddle in my brain and I don’t know if I'm breathing or talking or breathing or- I gasp out. 

Stu’s hands hold my shoulders tightly, trying to ground me. He’s done it a hundred times before, and it works nearly every time. 

My breath is labored, heavy and quick. Too quick. I still can’t feel myself breathing.

Billy and Stu both try to reassure me- I think. Their voices still unclear through the fog. 

“‘M sorry, ‘m sorry, sorry, sorry,” I repeat, till the word feels unsafe and garbled through my lips. “Shouldn't have to- shouldn’t have, shouldn’t have to. Have to- have to worry.”

My voice sounds so far away, like I’m speaking into a dying microphone, to the clashing, screaming crowd before me. Feeling so unheard, so unseen, even at center stage. 

The fog fades around Billy’s voice. “Hey, hey, it’s fine. Just- stop apologizing,” my name is slow on his tongue. “Can you hear me? C’mon, baby, you’re worrying Stu.” 

And I should respond. But everything just feels so- off. I’m not even sure what I’d say. I don’t want to explain myself. 

When the fog finally finally cuts through, I can breathe again. I’m sitting on the tiled floor of the Macher kitchen, with my knees pulled up against my chest. Billy and Stu sit on either side of me, their hands tentatively retracted from my body. 

I can finally breathe in the clearing. I could cry, if feeling my feelings didn’t hurt so much. If everything didn’t hurt. 

My breath takes a while to steady, and when it does, Billy takes this as a sign to pounce on me again. 

“What happened, baby?” And he sounds so . . . concerned. It hurts to know I’m hurting him. My body aches with every pound of my heart against my chest. 

“I think I had a panic attack,” I managed. 

Stu lets out an awkward laugh, and I don’t freak out this time when he touches my shoulder. “No shit!” 

He murmurs an apology and repeats himself, quieter now. It was sweet. Stu was so sweet and I can’t get over myself to just- live and not cause all this . . . all this angst and trial and tribulations between us. Billy would remind me- if I vocalized this ache - in my own words, that having tough emotions aren’t a burden. It feels like it is though. 

“I’m sorry,” I try and Billy shushes me. He seems annoyed still, I know it’s just the look he has when he’s scared, though.

Fuck, he’s scared. Get yourself together.

I swallow down the lump in my throat.

“Okay, fine. I can’t apologize, I get it.” I realize now that my voice croaks out, like I'd been crying. 

My eyes still feel hazy around the edges and they still struggle to focus on anything properly. 

“What can I say then?” I teasingly ask, and I feel sick to my stomach. 

Please don’t ask me why. Please don’t ask why. Please don’t ask why. Please.

“What’s up with you?” Billy asks. I’m not sure if that’s any better of a question though. 

“I- I can’t tell you.”

Billy rolls his eyes. “We can’t help you if we don’t know what’s wrong.”

Stu sighs, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze. His fingers tense when he speaks. “Please? We won’t- Stu glances at Billy and then back at myself- I won’t ask any other questions, I promise.” 

I give a humorless laugh in response. “Real assuring.”

“C’mon, I can’t control what Billy does,” he whines.

And there it is again. The lump in my throat. His breath tickling against my face. “I just can’t control myself around you.”

The attempts to shake off his incessant greed seem to only be in vain.

“Just- just get off of me, please,” I have to wrench the words out of my throat. “Please, ‘m sorry for- I’m sorry- just. Let go.”

Stu quickly winds his hand from my shoulder and puts his hands up, in defense. He looks at me all confused, his eyes wide and his brows furrowed. 

He lowers his hands and gives me those stupid, big blue puppy eyes.  “What’s wrong?” And he says it so gently. His voice felt warm and comforting.

“Just- I. Give me a moment.” 

“Okay,” both boys reply. 

“I- I think I was sexually assaulted.” My voice comes out in a tight whisper, lodged somewhere between my throat and the tension of the kitchen conversation. “I thought- I thought it was my fault or maybe it didn’t- it didn’t happen. Or- or maybe I misremembered it but-”

My voice gets caught and I let out a measly sob. 

“Woah,” Billy carefully reaches a hand out towards me, but doesn’t touch me. “Woah, woah. Baby,” he whispers. “What- who did this to you?”

I sniffle. I didn’t want to tell them.

It felt so much more real speaking it aloud. 

His voice feels dirty against my body, and I just want to get away from him. But he’s in the walls, he’s in my dreams. And I can’t escape. He’s sitting with me as my boyfriend’s try to comfort me. 

“I know better than that. I should have known better than that and-” my throat feels all funny, like I can’t breathe again. A sharp intake in, a shaky breath out. “And I still let him put his grubby hands all over me.”

“Woah, baby,” Billy’s voice is impossibly quiet and calm. He appears more apologetic and concerned with how I am, than the dark, revengefulness that usually seeps out of him when someone hurts me. “Baby, look at me, okay?”

I keep my head snuggled at the top of my knees, straining my eyes to look in his direction. I hum, not trusting myself to speak without crying. 

“It’s not- it’s not your fault. Whatever happened, it’s-”

My mouth seems to be on its own agenda. And my head feels impossibly fuzzy again. Everything is so . . . so disconnected. I tap my fingers against my shins, and they don’t feel like they’re really there at all. No matter how many times I tap them in the same familiar pattern. 

Nothing feels right. 

“I shouldn't have been such a tease. I- he told me to stop, said he wouldn’t be able to control himself if- and, and I didn’t listen, Billy. Was so confused, didn’t know where I was, Stuey and- and he- I told him that. But I should’ve listened. He w-warned me and I should have- I’m sorry.”

“Hey, shh,” Billy tries once more. “It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s not your fault, baby. Whatever- whoever it was, who convinced you . . . it doesn’t matter, okay? He doesn’t- you didn’t make him do anything. You-” even Billy struggles with it. 

He sighs, “what do you need from us? Just right now- what do you need at this moment, okay?”

Stu tries, as well. Learning from his previous mistake. 

“Is it okay to hug you or touch your shoulder right now?”

I shake my head. His hands at my throat, his voice tickled against my face. 

His hands at my throat, telling me to behave. 

Taking my “i’m fine”s and “okay”s out of context, blatant ignorance of my confusion.

“Could we just- could we sit on the couch maybe?”

It felt better, safer, in the openness of the living room. 

Like I wasn't going to suffocate and, like, explode or something. 

Stu's hanging his limbs off one end of the couch, and Billy tentatively perches on a couch arm. I assume Billy is sitting strangely to give me space- Stu's position is natural though. He always sits weird, and does things weird, which I love. I love him. I love Billy, and I'm just. I'm hurting them- I'm sitting in the middle of the couch, shaky and strange, and hurting them.

“What can we do?” Billy sounds gentle. He sounds sincere. I think . . . he is. The whole situation is strange and terrifying. I want to go back to sleep and hope when I wake that the past few months were some fever dream instead. 

I let out a shaky, heaving sigh. 

“I don’t- I don’t know.”

“That’s- that's okay. Baby,” his voice is sturdy, despite the uncertainty bleeding in.

“Yeah!” Stu smiles at me, and it feels sort of warm. It feels almost good. 

“You shouldn’t have to deal with someone so damaged.” I stare at my feet and my hands fidgeting absently in my lap. Tears pricking, stinging at my eyes.

I stumble over and retract apologies in my head. Trying to justify what he had done to me, to pin what he said, to pin his hands around my neck and push me down, as my own fault. As my own actions. 

I can’t tell Billy that. Not to him, not to Stu.

Billy has this restrained look in his eyes, and his face is twisted into an almost scowl. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but I know I shouldn’t have said that. Because Billy thinks he’s broken, all the time.

He’s told me or alluded to his mom’s disappearance, to his asshole father. About the disconnect between himself and his own thoughts, his hands and his actions. He’s told us why he’s only ever felt safe and trusting in the arms of his lovers. 

And that he’s so afraid that one day, we’ll up and leave him, too. 

That he’s too damaged, too broken, to be loved. 

And I go and fuck it up again. I only know how to hurt.

“That’s, wait- that’s not. I’m sorry, Billy. I-”

And his voice is uncharacteristically sweet. It’s calm and low, and I can’t hear held back anger.

“It’s okay.”

“What?” My voice is small and squeaks out, unsure. 

“It’s okay. Baby," Billy says my name with my name with care. “You’re not- you will never be too fucked up to be loved by us.”

Stu smiles, protective. “I- we will never let that happen to you again.”

They offer physical comforts, they lean closer but not close enough to touch me. 

Maybe I shouldn’t be so trusting. He had promised to never hurt me and I followed him blindly. But Billy & Stu aren’t him. And I should be allowed to put my faith into others, without fearing I'll be hurt again.

I lean into Billy's touch, allowing him to encase me in his strong arms. Stu leans against us, bringing his long, sweater-clad arms around the huddled mess of us. 

Maybe it's against my better judgements.

Maybe it's a mistake.

But maybe, too, this is safety. This is love.

[whump-card]

This Death That I Chose: Chapter 1

2507 words

CW: implied past noncon, derogatory language

Masterlist, Next

~~~

“My name is Lark.”

Joshua Tao studied their new captive carefully. The two of them sat opposite each other in the makeshift interrogation room – a back room in the abandoned house the Watch had set up in, the windows boarded closed. The prisoner had shackles on his ankles and wrists, and with his left arm in a cast from elbow to palm and resting in a sling he was forced to hold his right hand up awkwardly to avoid jostling it. Tao was deeply puzzled by him. The Watch had captured him purely by chance: they strayed too far into the ruins during a night patrol due to an over-enthusiastic new member, and spotted a Military transport van moving along an abandoned track. A split-second decision led to the van being stopped, boarded, and overpowered. When the fighting was over, the Watch headed home to their little rebel settlement with four prisoners – until the three captured soldiers cracked open their cyanide teeth and had to be left to rot in the ruins. That left them with one: silent, wide-eyed, with a broken arm, and clearly the transport’s primary passenger. The soldiers had fought wildly to protect him.

The prisoner was no soldier himself, of that Tao was certain. He had a slim build, hardly any muscle at all, clearly revealed by the sleeveless turtleneck he wore. He had pale skin and silky black hair that was too long and well cared for. Neither did he have the age or aura of an officer; the young man had put up no fight, and now stared down at the table between them, refusing to risk antagonizing his captors with eye contact. His face – which looked small penned in by the dark of mop of his hair and the high turtleneck – was ashen and slick with sweat, the result of the hours-long slog through the ruins on a hot summer night. He didn’t seem scared, though. Instead he seemed cold. Detached.

“Your name is Lark.” Tao echoed, drumming his fingers on the holster of his gun. Like the bird? “Okay, ‘Lark.’ What were you doing in a Military transport going through the ruins in the middle of the night?”

“We were returning from the Conservatorium to the Capital.”

Tao wasn’t expecting such a straightforward answer. The young man’s voice was quiet, with a smooth, controlled cadence.

“What were you doing at the Conservatorium?” Tao asked.

“I needed to see a doctor there.”

“For your arm? It doesn’t look bad enough to warrant a trip to the Con.”

“It was… Badly infected.”

Lark’s first hesitation. Tao made a mental note of that, and moved on.

“So you live in the Capital?”

“Yes, sir.”

‘Sir’? He really doesn’t want any trouble.

“What do you do there?”

Another pause. Lark’s eyes darted back and forth, searching the table for the best answer. Tao suppressed a smile.

“I don’t know anything useful to you,” Lark said carefully.

“That’s not what I asked.” Tao leaned forward. “You’re a scientist, aren’t you? Pumping out murder machines, getting top-notch medical treatment when an experiment goes wrong?”

Lark was shaking his head before Tao even finished talking.

“No, sir. I’m not a scientist. I don’t know anything.”

“Sounds like something a scientist would say.”

“I’m not. You shouldn’t keep me here.”

“Woah!” Tao laughed, “Giving orders already? And here I was, thinking you were a pushover.”

“No, sir, what I mean is, people will miss me, in the Capital. They will come looking.”

Emotion was starting to color Lark’s voice for the first time: a hint of desperation.

“They won’t find us,” Tao said.

“You think he doesn’t know you’re out here?” Defiance. And he.

“So you do know things.”

Lark finally looked up from the table, his eyes meeting Tao’s for the first time. They were dark bronze, like late-season honey.

“No, not anything useful, I swear.” Gone was his carefully measured tone and pace. His words flowed quickly and betrayed a slowly rising panic. “If you keep me here you’ll learn nothing from me and the Commander will destroy this place to get me back. You should trade or ransom me for something that’s actually valuable as soon as you can.”

“Aww,” Tao’s voice dripped with fake sympathy, “It almost sounds like you care about us.” He laughed, then grew serious again. “And it sounds like you’re pretty important to the big guy.”

Lark hesitated again before admitting it.

“Yes, sir. I am. In fact -” He gained a second wind of boldness, leaning forward slightly. “In fact, the Commander took a great risk in resources and political standing by sending me through the ruins to the Conservatory for emergency medical care. He has gone through great lengths to ensure my health and safety, and I know he’d be willing to offer you anything you wanted in exchange for my safe return. But… he’s not a patient man. You’d need to act quickly.”

“Well, what I want is my home, my country, and my brother back.” Tao stared Lark down. “I don’t think that’s going to happen, do you?”

Lark was left speechless, his open mouth trembling slightly. Tao stood.

“I’m going to give you some time to think. I’m sure you can come up with something interesting to tell me. If not… We’ll help you out.”

Tao started to leave, but heard chains rattling behind him.

“Um, please, wait!”

Lark’s tone was much different now. He was scared – clearly he hadn’t thought Tao would cut off their conversation so soon. Tao turned back.

“What is it, thought of something already?”

“No, sir, sorry, I – my arm,” Lark gestured weakly to his sling, “It’s not fully healed. I had antibiotics with me on the transport, I need them so that the infection doesn’t… come back. Please.”

Tao nodded slowly.

“We’ll see,” was all he said.

Tao left the room and found himself toe-to-toe with Becca and Vic, who had been listening just outside the door. They said nothing but made expressive faces as Tao mockingly waved them away and bolted the door – the lack of soundproofing went both ways. How Tao wished they had a real interrogation room, with an intercom and a slick one-way window. But buildings like that hardly existed anymore outside of the Commander's hold.

The three of them moved from the small hallway to what had once been someone’s living room, but was now the Watch’s meeting and strategy room. Vic, the Watch’s other leader along with Tao, practically exploded.

“This is crazy. Do you really think he’s a scientist?”

Tao let out a long breath, cracking his knuckles one by one. The whole thing had him more tense than he realized.

“He’s gotta be. I don’t know what else. If he was some kind of laborer or domestic servant, he could’ve just said.”

Becca, the rebel community’s de-facto “mayor,” snapped her fingers to get the two men’s attention.

“Hey. Did I mishear, or did you vaguely threaten him with torture? Because we’re not doing that. Ever.”

“Oh, jeez, no,” Tao put up his hands, “I was just trying to scare him.”

“Aww,” Vic complained, “Can’t we rough him up just a little? He’s part of a fascist regime!”

“No,” Becca insisted, “And Tao, you better track down that medicine he needs. We respect the Geneva Convention in this house.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Vic, how goes the data retrieval from the Military van?” Becca asked.

“It’s going,” Vic nodded, “We should know a lot more about who this guy is very soon.”

“Good. We’ll talk to ‘Lark’ again when we do. Until then,” she pointed to Tao, “Medicine, and,” she turned her finger toward Vic, “Guard him. No funny business.”

Vic gave a lazy salute. “Got it.”

~~~

Tao was going to get the medicine, he really was. But after being out all night and the skirmish over the transport van, he was exhausted, starving, and had a few bumps and scrapes that were begging for attention. Sustenance came first: he left the house that served as the Watch’s headquarters and walked down the cracked and weathered road to the cookhouse.

The little rebel “town” was modest. It was a ragtag collection of survivors that had set up in an abandoned semi-rural neighborhood, guarded and provided for by volunteer Watchmen who scavenged the nearby city ruins. The houses were spaced apart, and there was thick tree coverage that kept them visually shielded from any aerial eyes that didn’t know what they were looking for.

The cookhouse was a home that had been remodeled shortly before the war to sport a modern open floor plan. This made it the largest indoor space, and combined with its state-of-the-art kitchen it was the best mess hall they could manage.

Tao knocked back two cups of instant coffee and some watery eggs, fending off questions from other breakfast-goers about the Watch’s new prisoner. He only just got here. Yeah, yeah, we’ll make an announcement if he spills something juicy. Only the cook on duty cared to ask him how his food was, chuckling out a good-humored “Today is a disaster!” when he couldn’t fake a good enough smile.

Once he had some peace, he rolled the prisoner’s words around in his head. “Lark.” Yeah, right. But…

“You should trade me for something that’s actually valuable.”

The young man hadn’t sounded like he was lying.

~~~

Tao went to the infirmary next. Their doctor, Faye, was a bony old woman with an ornery personality, but she got the job done.

Once Tao had been patched up and downed some ibuprofen he asked her if his crew had dropped anything off for her. She unceremoniously shoved a shoe box of various supplies into his hands.

“I haven’t gone through it yet,” Faye said, “Looks like quality stuff.”

“Yeah, well…” Tao shuffled through the spare sling and packets of bandages to pull out a pill bottle – the antibiotics. “These were for the prisoner we took, and I think he still needs some of it.”

Faye scoffed.

“That’s good medicine, and we’re wasting it on some fash bastard? Tell me you’re not serious.”

Tao shrugged weakly in the face of her ire.

“Geneva convention?”

~~~

Tao escaped the infirmary without any new injuries and made his way back to the HQ with the shoebox tucked under his arm. Inside he found Vic, bouncing on his heels and practically glowing as he scrolled on a tablet.

“You’re never going to believe this!” Vic crowed.

“What is it? You retrieve the van data?” Tao grinned, certain his scientist theory would pay off.

“Yeah we did! And guess who our little friend in there is.”

“Just spit it out, Vic!”

“He’s the Commander’s whore. Listen to this.”

Tao found himself spinning between Vic’s infectious delight and a horrible sinking feeling. He opened his mouth but was cut off by a compressed, crackly recording emitting from Vic’s tablet.

“Home base, this is transport 562, we have departed Conservatory with the fucktoy, en route to home, ETA 07:00, over.

“Transport 562, this is home base, we read you, please be advised to keep your language clean on the coms, over.”

“Yes sir, revise to: we have departed with the… boytoy. Over.”

“…”

“The Commander’s main squeeze? Over.”

“Jeremy I swear to God-”

Vic stopped the recording with a cackle.

“Can you believe it? No wonder he didn’t want to tell us what his job was!”

Vic continued to laugh, slapping his knee, and Tao felt a hollow, automatic chuckle escape his own mouth. Because… it was funny… right?

“Can you imagine what kind of… literal ass-kisser this dude must be?” Vic wheezed, nearly tearing up, “Who in their right mind would fuck that Palpatine-lookin’ motherfucker-”

“Hey, let me see that.” Tao dropped the shoebox of medical supplies on the table and grabbed at the tablet. Vic handed it over, sinking into a chair.

“Oh shit, who fucks who? D’you think -” Vic’s words were consumed by his own laughter as Tao scrolled frantically through the info scraped from the van. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was looking for, but he found the Conservatory’s visit summary.

“Lark.” No surname.

Based on his birthdate, he’s… 22. Shit.

“Arrived with compound fractures of both the radius and ulna, and severe infection. Patient reports arm was broken twice and set improperly the first time. Patient is unclear when the infection set in.” …Twice?

“Pain management disregarded upon request of the payee.”

Tao dropped the tablet to the table with a clatter and scrabbled at the shoe box, upturning the contents and spreading them out with shaking hands. Vic stared at him, finally coming down from his hysterics.

“What’re you doing?”

“There’s no pain meds!”

“What?”

Tao grabbed the antibiotics and rushed past Vic towards the back room.

“Woah!” Vic jumped up to follow him, “Shouldn’t we wait for Becca?”

Tao ignored him, unbolting the door and flinging it open.

“Lark-”

Tao choked.

In stark contrast to his stiff, prim, upright posture earlier, Lark now sat slumped over, head on the table.

“Hey!” Tao shouted at him. Vic came in to stand beside him, cursing.

Lark didn’t move.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Tao darted around the table, stuffing the antibiotics into his pocket. He put one hand under Lark’s head and one on his shoulder and tried to lift him up without upsetting the broken arm, only to find it already pulled awkwardly out of the sling by the shackled weight of the boy’s other arm. Luckily the cast was holding strong. Lark’s head lolled back, and his eyelids fluttered. His color was even worse than it was earlier and his forehead was hot and slippery with sweat under Tao’s hand.

“Help me!” Tao waved Vic over, “Undo the shackles!”

“Are you sure-”

“Does he look like he’s going to escape, Vic?! Get your head out of your ass!”

Vic hustled over and Tao eased Lark’s broken arm back into the sling and held it steady as Vic sorted through his key ring and unlocked the shackles. Lark let out a tiny, pained whimper that made Tao want to throw up.

“Shit, okay, we gotta – we gotta get him to Faye!”

Vic kicked the shackles out of the way.

“Are you sure-?”

“Vic, I swear I will explain what I think is happening here, but he needs help first.”

Vic hesitated, but understood that stopping to argue would get them nowhere. He nodded.

“Thank you. Okay, Lark?” Tao placed a hand on Lark’s burning cheek to gently tilt his face towards his own. “We’re gonna help you walk a little ways, can you do that for me?”

Lark’s eyes fluttered open, and his unfocused gaze wandered over Tao’s face. His eyes abruptly filled with tears, and he took in a sharp breath.

“Please,” he whispered, “Please don’t break my arm again.”

Tao looked up and met Vic’s solemn stare. The other man had finally grasped that something was wrong.

This was going to be a lot more complicated than they thought.

~~~

Masterlist, Next

Taglist: @angst-after-dark, @sunshiline-writes, @flowersarefreetherapy