#referenced intimate whump

[whumpitisthen]

Too Much

alt.: How to Break a Defiant Whumpee 101, cws in tags!

When the lock clicks and the door opens once again, the foreboding light cascades down in the form of a person's shadow onto him and he cannot hold in a moan of distress.

He jerks his hands down against the cold floor in helpless, terrified frustration. His blood trickles from under the thick cable wire tying his wrists tightly together, collecting in a puddle with the rest of his spilled life force on the floor. Those cuts barely had time to close over, now torn open again. It cannot have been more than a couple hours since the last visit; what had he done to incur this unbearable punishment today? Who did he piss off this bad?

He listens to the familiar, heavy footsteps nearing him, hoping desperately that they aren't here for him. Unfortunately, those steel-toed boots enter his vision and do not leave, slowing to a stop right in front of his cell, peeking through the bars curiously. He wishes that just once, they would walk right past him; that he would be ignored and left alone. Alas, today has not been the luckiest.

"Oh, just look at you. Always such a sight for sore eyes."

"F-Fuck off."

Leaning up against the cell door, they trail their eyes along every inch of his skin. Of all his captors, this one might just be the worst, if only for their creepy fucking mannerisms. It's hard to forget about those intense, dark eyes and that impossibly smooth, gross voice that makes his skin crawl and keeps him company even in his nightmares. Among all the other things he was hoping for just a moment ago, not having to see them today was quite high up on his list.

They click their tongue. — "You still have your tongue then. Could've fooled me. You look awful."

Their grin made the insult sound more like a twisted compliment. He forces out another weak reply. — "Wow. Thanks."

They pause, tapping their index finger against one metal bar. They are just standing there, staring at him. Their expression is infuriatingly pleasant.

He fucking hates this. Why couldn't they just leave him alone today? Why does he have to be looking up at this terrifying motherfucker from the coldest, most uncomfortable corner of his cell, already exhausted, beaten halfway to death, and be forced to go through yet another round of pain? This just isn't fair.

They take a deep, content sigh, seemingly done with their sightseeing. — "Right."

They back up to stretch, then fit the key into the cell door, promptly sliding inside once it's open. His foreseeable future has swiftly become his near future, and he is anything but ready for it to become his present.

"W-Wait, wait, don't come in, you can't be ser— "

"How could I not when you look so lonely, cuddled up to the wall all by yourself?" — they sing, watching him struggle to push himself further into the corner he was left in by the one before them. From this close, it's even more apparent how rough he had it lately.

If the numerous black-purple pools of blood under his skin weren't enough, the fresh pool by his hand and the splatter of red across the walls would make it more than obvious. Everywhere they look they find another cut, another bruise, another mark and slash and burn. The ever present rings around his wrists are deeper, and now a new one resides around his throat like a collar. His eyes are dark and crimson, looking at them like he might just burst into tears.

He pushes his back into the wall with a cry. A new desperation has morphed his voice into something truly delicious. — "Just, leave, leave me alone!"

They smile innocently. — "Oh, should I? I'll consider it."

"No, stop, please — !" — his throat rasps and breaks his words, but that is nothing new. What is new, however, is the begging. This one has to be forced to beg usually, and now here he is, already close to sobbing for them to just let him be before they could even set a hand on him.

With something between a groan and a whimper, he twists his body to be hidden, curling up to the side and squeezing his eyes shut as he cowers, shaking, shielding his face with bound hands before they could even reach him. He looks utterly pathetic, and that melts their heart — but then they notice something truly surprising, something deviously intriguing.

"Don't tell me... Baby, are you crying? Already?" — They do not even try to hide the grin in their voice as they kneel in front of him. He only curls up tighter, sniffling. — "Now you're starting to worry me. This is very unlike you. I expect insults and swearing, not weeping."

He doesn't respond with anything but a huff of air. They try to peer behind those twitching fingers — a couple of them are definitely broken — but their curiosity isn't sated. The thought of finally having broken him crosses their mind. — "What happened?"

Their question goes unanswered. This guessing game is already starting to irritate them.

They take a light hold of one of those fractured fingers, leering; only a threat for now. — "You know I prefer screams to silence."

"Don't," — he half-wheezes.

"Talk to me then. What's troubling you, sweetheart?" — they cut him off entirely, cooing like they aren't the very reason he's like this.

"I'm... I'm scared."

"I can tell."

"I just — please, I-I just —"

They say nothing. He swallows dryly.

"I just don't want to be hurt again," — he whispers miserably, — "I can't, again, I can't — "

They still don't say anything. They still hold onto that damn finger. He almost wishes they would just get on with the torture instead of whatever this is.

"What, what do you want from me? Just fucking leave! Please!" — he yells, pleads, loses his mind a little more. — "Are you blind? Do you seriously want me to explain to you why I'm, why I'm having a-, a fucking meltdown?"

"I've barely had a, a single minute to myself today where I didn't have to en-entertain any of you pricks, and when I think it's finally over, when, when I get just a second, a m-, a moment to breathe," — he takes a strained couple inhales, almost hyperventilating before harshly gulping down his anxiety again, fighting sobs, — "y-you fucking show up. Like you always do. And, and now I'm here, yet again, left on the floor tired and, and hurt and bleeding — and you're, you're — it always g—, it never gets better. It never f-fffucking stops."

Nothing more is said for a while. They just watch him cry in his little corner coated in fresh blood, breaking apart in front of them. This is an incredible, rare sight. An important moment. They see a precious opportunity and they simply cannot resist seizing it.

They let go of his hand, gently laying their palm on his head instead. The gasp and the flinch are wonderfully unexpected, yet so beautiful to see. — "How many of us came today?" — they inquire softly, almost genuine.

His fragile throat lets out the most raw, wretched sounds they have ever heard him make. — "Y-You were the only one who hasn't. Eh-everyone and their mother came to visit me. I was really fucking hoping you wouldn't."

Ah. The others all took turns today, huh. They did a fine job at whittling him down. They don't even know how all of them managed to get their round in in such a short period of time.

"All five of us?"

"Yeah," — he mumbles. He's furiously wiping at his eyes, starting to lose all hope of getting any rest now that they are this close, and clearly not leaving any time soon. He hoped this embarrassing outbreak would at least deter them somehow, but none of his hopes today came true. They aren't exactly a bleeding heart who would change their mind about torturing him just because he's a little sad. If anything, he thinks, being this pathetic might have just spurred them on. — "But it doesn't, doesn't matter, does it? You sadistic freaks don't care about anything but, but beating the shit out of me any chance you get. I don't know why I thought that you of all people would understand."

This is perfect.

They lean in close. — "Me of all people? What's that supposed to mean? Am I special?"

"Especially annoying." — Now that's more like him. Retorts and insults flying out of his mouth like bullets. They really wish they could have him confess that he finds them the most intimidating out of everyone, that the ‘annoyance’, as he put it, comes from the fact that his backtalk doesn't have any effect on them, and that they know him on a deeper level than any of the others and that scares him more than anything — but they recognise when the moment allows for a play like that. He's already building up his walls again; they can't let this moment slip through their fingers.

"Mmm. Well, I have a proposal for you." — They dig their fingers under his great mess of locks, not unkind. — "Look at me."

"That's not a proposal."

"I'll tell you once you look at me."

"No."

They sink their hand in deeper, twisting into his hair like the claws of a beast. — "Come on. Don't you want to hear it?"

He only lifts his hands higher to hide behind, now muffling his tone. — "I know that, th-that you only want to see me cry."

They smile. — "Yes. And I know you want to avoid more pain."

This thinly veiled threat does two things: it pisses him off, and it brings back that foolish hope that they will take mercy on him if he behaves as they like.

Just one more push. A soft, light order. — "Look at me, baby."

Ordinarily, this would never work. He might even laugh in their face or spit at them for asking, especially so sweetly. This time, however, he is just a lonely, sad little guy in a cell, desperate for sweetness. They wait patiently. He shudders uncomfortably, snivelling.

Silently, with a deadly glare, he finally looks at them.

His eyes are red, puffy, and so, so tired. His lips are bitten bloody, cracked, pouting. The scar over his right cheek has been reopened, enlarged to run down the side of his neck. A gorgeous purple bruise has nestled under his left eye, running like paint in water across his skin. His tears drew clean streaks along his face, sliding down the length of his neck. It's beautiful, mesmerising. They are mesmerised for a little too long, though.

"I hate you so fucking much, you're so gross," — he hisses, done watching their eyes rake over him like an object while having the most adoring, fond smile doing so. It always sends a shiver down his spine when they do this, and having them be so close just makes it even more unbearable. He can clearly see their eyes refocus and return to make eye contact at his remark and it makes him nauseous.

It's fascinating how little bite his voice holds now, with the tears still flowing freely and his throat closed up. So many thoughts of torment run through their mind, images of taking advantage of this weakened state he is in and breaking him until there is nothing left, until he is like this all the time; crying and pitiful and obedient and lovely. None of that makes it to the surface.

"My proposal is this;" — they say instead, — "we could go on with what I had planned for today. This option includes this high voltage shock collar I brought with me."

As they turn to get the collar he assumes they must be bluffing, but horrifyingly enough, they turn back with a thick, black loop of leather with a box attached to it and a remote in their other hand, grinning excitedly. He remains silent in shock.

"Or," — they say after a pause to let him simmer in anticipation, setting their toy to the side, — "we could forget about that for now, and let you rest instead. How does that sound?"

He can barely believe his ears. They actually care? This is a trick, it must be.

"You're lying." — His splotchy face must have betrayed his bewilderment, because they murmur a chuckle before they respond.

"I am not. I can tell you are in a lot of pain."

They take a gamble as they take his head into their hand gingerly, turning him towards them by one shoulder and one cheek carefully, fully expecting him to struggle. There is resistance, as always, but quieter, just a small weight put behind pulling them forward which might as well just be his tired body refusing to cooperate. He says nothing. His lip wobbles. His expression is less cutting than usual, the edge replaced by worn flesh and agony.

They make an effort to remove all malice from their eyes, looking at him with sympathy and love instead. They give him exactly what he has been craving for the weeks he has been trapped here. Someone who can tell him they know he has been trying his best.

They look right into his eyes empathically, and sadly sigh; — "You're just tired, aren't you?"

Those are the magic words to open the gates to his true anguish. Something about this awfully simple, assuring sentence whispered so knowingly — it breaks something in him, and his eyes fill with fresh tears, and he cannot help the sobs bubbling to the surface. Because it is that simple, isn't it? He is so, so damn tired. All he wants is some rest. The assurance that someone sees him struggling, and understands how badly he hurts, and how little he really asks for. Coming from his torturer, it should not feel so liberating. But he is far past rationalism, his want for a single kind gesture has long become a burning need he would do anything for in this moment.

He may regret it later, but for now he leans into their hand as he lets every sob he ever swallowed down free, letting them see how broken he truly is already. From under all that grit and animosity comes pure childlike, innocent suffering, so potent he doesn't know what to do with it besides letting it envelop him. Just the right opportunity and a couple pokes, and he has crumbled under all this weight.

They lead him closer, pulling him out of his defensive position against the wall slowly to embrace him. He is all but powerless to stop his fragile form from moulding under their touch, gasping wretchedly in their arms. He is shivering like a leaf. It's intoxicating.

There they remain until his sobs weaken, and his exhausted body slumps against them like dead weight. Somewhere along the line they had let themself slide down to the ground, inviting him to lie on something soft for the first time in forever, even if it is only their own body. The floor isn't exactly clean — it's quite disgusting in fact — but it is well worth it to have this ball of resentment tamed for even a small bit, even if they have to lie on filth for it. This one instance of kindness will have lasting effects on their relationship and him as a person, even if he doesn't realise it, or even if he does. He will find it hard to look at them the same way, and will find it difficult to keep up his defiance in front of them when he knows they have seen him truly at his wits end.

He may let them touch him more often without a word. He may find it easier to do as they say without fighting. He may grow more attached to them through this, having a closer connection to them than to any of the others. He may even ask them again, once the time comes, to have mercy on him again, and they will give it to him, letting him fall deeper and deeper. He will have to swallow his pride, and he will only swallow it for them. This small moment will be crucial in the future. Maybe they could capitalise just a little more on this by telling the others they can't see him for a day. They will visit him tomorrow and ease his mind again, let him heal, see how he acts after this humiliating exchange.

The unconscious man in their arms will learn to be theirs with time; he has already made so much progress. This one is theirs, just as soon as it becomes too much to bear again.

...

He didn't even yell at them for calling him baby.

~

Taglist: @morning-star-whump

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

[serickswrites]

You Belong To Me

Prompt from the lovely @watermelons-whump-game

Warnings: pet whump, captivity, collar, non con touch, creepy/intimate whumper, manipulation, captivity, referenced physical violence

"Aren't you just lovely, my pet?" The Master said as they stroked the Pet's hair. "You belong to me. And only me. Forever."

The Pet knew better than to respond. They knew better than to do anything other than let the Master pet them. It had taken them the better part of a month to realize what had happened to them. How they had been lied to, tricked, and manipulated into this. How they had been betrayed by those closest to them and kidnapped and brought here.

It had taken the Pet another month to learn exactly what the Master wanted from them. From the moment the Master fastened the collar around their neck, the Pet realized life as they knew it had ceased to exist. Each beating because they failed to follow a command the Pet realized that their life was over. That everything they had hoped and dreamed of was over.

"You are just so perfect," the Master whispered in the Pet's ear.

The Pet held themself very still. The Master wanted the Pet to be very still while they touched the Pet. They had to hold themself very still.

"I am so glad I have you," the Master breathed as they caressed the Pet's chest and kissed down their neck. "You are my favorite by far."

The Pet fought against the tears that filled their eyes. They couldn't let the Master see. The Master didn't like it when the Pet cried. They only wanted the Pet to lay there and let the Master do whatever they wanted.

And so the Pet did. They did knowing that they had no choice. They did knowing that if they didn't there would be hell to pay. They did it knowing that this was all that they had in life. They did knowing this was it.

[3-2-whump]

You Told Me It Had Stopped

<prev next>

Hi again, everyone! Ready for more pain and angst? (I wasn't asking!)

So hard to believe we're reaching the end of this story! With only five more chapters to go after this one (unless I cram in more story at the last minute), things are only gonna get crazier from here, but hopefully, it'll be just as satisfying as the last few chapters.

Shoutout to my amazing beta readers @whumped-by-glitter and @generic-whumperz , this chapter would not be what it is without them!

This chapter will have links within it referring you to previous chapters. If you have not read In Vino (et Venenum) Veritas or Tying Up Loose Ends, I'd highly suggest you give those a peek

TW/CW: slave whump, intimate whumper, manipulative whumper, emotional angst, prostitution, dehumanization, blackmail, referenced noncon, forced to watch (though not in the traditional sense)

“GOAL!” the announcer’s voice rang out over the laptop’s speakers.

Nico and Khaled cheered in unison as Portugal secured its place in the quarterfinals. Nico wrapped an arm around Khaled to hug him close, but a flash of purple from Khaled’s shirt collar stopped him.

Khaled sensed the change in atmosphere immediately. “Wait, what’s wrong?” he asked, his smile waning slightly.

“Is that a hickey?”

The sounds of cheering from a stadium half a world away were forgotten as Khaled’s smile dropped completely. He instinctively tried to adjust his shirt collar, but Nico grasped his hands in his own before he could. “Is that a hickey?” he asked again, tone serious.

Khaled nodded as his eyes turned downwards. Nico let go of his hands, frowning all the while. “I thought it had stopped,” he said, letting the disappointment creep into his voice. “You told me it had stopped, Khaled.”

“It did stop,” Khaled answered, eyes still downcast. “But then… it started up again…”

“I thought he was paying you to be his executive assistant-”

“Oh he is,” Khaled replied tersely, “and he’s paying me for this too.”

Nico faltered. “But, how –why –how could you?” Nico told himself the anger he felt was supposed to be for the Boss, and that he was misdirecting it at Khaled, who was already going through so much already. Though, if he was being completely honest with himself, his anger at Khaled wasn’t that misdirected. He was so, so tired of being lied to. “Fuck the money, why would let him do it again?!” he demanded.

“Why would I let him do it again? Do you think I have any choice in this?”

“No –yes –wait, no?” Nico shook his head. “I don’t know. What I’m trying to say is, you could’ve turned down the money, couldn’t you?!”

“Like fuck I could!” Khaled argued. “Are you the one saving up for his freedom? Don’t talk to me about money, Nico!”

“What good is money and freedom when it means losing your self-respect, and your friendship with me, Khaled?!”

Khaled made an exaggerated snort. “Some friendship we have! Remember when you took me out drinking, and I got so drunk I told you everything?”

Nico cringed at the memory, and more importantly at what came after. Khaled noticed his discomfort right away and dug his claws in deeper. “And do you remember when the Boss paid you off to keep silent about me, and you fucking took the bribe?”

“He was holding my tuition hostage-”

“Your tuition –he’s holding me hostage!”

“-That was not a bribe!”

Khaled ignored the minute distinction. “It still hurt, you know!” And then, he locked eyes with Nico. “My first and only friend since I was stolen to this awful place turned his back on me, and all I asked myself was why wasn’t I good enough, why wasn’t I worth defending!” Despite the black flames of vitriol in his eyes, Nico could see a faint, vulnerable sheen of tears. 

“Wait, shit, no-” he began to apologize. The damage was done as Khaled shoved his coat on and walked to the door. Nico belatedly reached out his hand. “I’m sorry, Khaled! I didn’t mean to hurt you like that! Come back-”

“Go fuck yourself!” Khaled cried. “It’s not like you want to be friends with someone who sells themselves, anyway,” he murmured angrily as he let the door slam behind him.

Nico was left all alone with his regrets as the game played on his laptop in the background.

-

Three days after they had that argument, and Khaled had not seen Nico for lunch since. That was entirely expected though. He had hurt his friend immensely, and, three days later, he was still no closer to coming up with a sufficient apology for what he’d said. He decided to at least add the new mark to his log, although he regretted not being able to snap a covert picture of it to add to his records. He ducked into his backpack’s inner pocket to retrieve his flash drive, where he made it a habit of storing all evidence of Khaled’s abuse for future reference.

It was not in the inner pocket.

Well, maybe it’s in the bottom of my backpack? Nico reasoned. He methodically took out each textbook and groped around the bottom, shining his cellphone light down there, too.

It was not at the bottom of his backpack.

Where is it?! Nico tore through his backpack, searching it thoroughly, even so much as to turn it upside down and shake it. He checked every desk drawer again and again, and emptied every pants and jacket pocket. Still no flash drive.

A chiming sound from his monitor signaled an email, a high priority one at that. Nico paused his tearing apart of the guard shack to view it.

One (1) new message from The Boss

Nico clicked it.

Looking for something? Meet me downstairs to retrieve it.

It was succinct, yet it elicited so much dread. He gulped.

As if crossing the parking lot late at night in the dead of January wasn’t creepy enough, Nico stood at the top of the stairwell leading to the infamous T & I cellar, feeling the winter’s chill even inside the brick and mortar walls of the mansion. Even from the top of the stairs it smelled like dried blood, and the dimness of the room below made it look as if the stairs descended into an abyss. He steeled his nerves and descended into the abyss, step by concrete step, painfully aware of how much noise his shoes made in the quietness of the empty building.

Even though he had seen the T & I cellar in the security footage, Nico realized nothing compared to being down there in person. Dusty, red bricked walls arched into a curved ceiling where two overhead lamps dangled unlit like limp, long dead jellyfish. The fireplace was concealed behind a large white sheet, stretched taut and glowing bluish white over the expanse of the wall. The opposing wall still boasted its rack lined with various instruments of torture out in the open. In the middle sat one large table with scratch marks furrowed into its edges, and large mottled stains of red that could be traced down to the concrete floors below. Nico thought he would be sick just looking at the bloodstains alone. There were chairs pulled up to that table, though, one of which was occupied by the boss Don Costa himself, looking mighty smug in the dimness of the room. Near the edge of the table was a projector and a laptop, operated by Khaled, who stood silently beside the table bearing his own bloodstains as if he weren’t affected at all. His dark brown eyes flitted to Nico once, possibly just to confirm he was there, before resolutely fixing back onto the laptop and projector in front of him. Nico couldn’t blame him for being mad at him still.

“Nico Clemenza,” Don Costa greeted, breaking the tension between the two friends, “do you have any idea why you’re here?”

I’m not in trouble, I’m not in trouble, I’m not in trouble -am I? Nico thought. That tone of voice and the whole context of meeting in the T & I cellar certainly seemed to contradict that. “You have something that I’m looking for, sir?” He didn’t mean for it to be asked like a question, but right now he wasn’t sure what the safe answer would be.

“That’s right,” his boss affirmed, smirking condescendingly. “I got a little tip-off from Bennie and Michael last weekend that you have been rather cagey about a certain flash drive.”

Dad and Uncle Mike? The last time Nico had seen them was when he’d just visited home last weekend. He had gotten into an argument with his uncle over Khaled’s treatment, and he had pushed his dad out of his room when he’d asked about the flash drive labeled ‘Saved Footage’. Did they go through my stuff when I wasn’t there? Did they find the flash drive and snitch on me?! He knew the oath of loyalty these men had taken, but the betrayal by his own family still hurt.

“I asked Khaled about it, but my poor pet didn’t seem to know what it was for, either,” the boss continued. “So you can imagine how he reacted –how both of us reacted, when we plugged it in and saw all that saved footage.”

Nico’s face paled in horror, eyes widening as he realized how years-worth of Khaled’s torture saved to his personal device must have looked out of context. He quickly turned to Khaled to beg for his understanding. “Khaled, I can explain, it’s not what it looks like!” he protested. His friend finally turned toward him, delicate lips downturned into a slight frown. “I don’t know what he told you, but please, believe me, I can explain!”

“Oh, we know what it looks like,” Don Costa sneered. “It’s funny, I always wondered why you were so interested in my slave, but now it makes perfect sense!” He laughed as Nico’s jaw worked up and down, sputtering in a pathetic attempt to verbally defend himself. Khaled meanwhile stayed still as a statue, focusing only on the laptop screen in front of him. “I could just get you your own once you graduate, you know, like as a graduation present. You don’t have to lower yourself to befriend mine.” He tilted his head toward the projector. “So, here you were, playing at being friends with my pet while stealing away all those moments caught on film the whole time, whether it be for your own pleasure or-” The older man raised his eyebrows as a mischievous sharpness glinted in those cold gray eyes. “-Maybe you’re uploading them somewhere for the pleasure of millions?”

Nico choked a little at the baseless accusation.

“But, whether you’re saving them for your personal spank bank or uploading them to a porn site, you are still called down here for violating your NDA,” Thomas concluded. He whipped out a stack of papers and dramatically slammed them onto the table, the impact echoing a bit in the otherwise silent room. Nico eyed the stack of papers warily. When he first started working for Costa Insurance, he did what anyone else would and skimmed the document for the right places to initial or sign. Now, as a nearly completed law student, he recognized the weight of the consequences that violating an NDA would lead to.

“Go on, have a seat.”

Nico approached the table like a death row convict on the way to his execution. He lowered himself into the chair and stared down at the document before him, thumbing through its pages as he now read every word. He obviously must have taken too long, as the man seated in front of him cleared his throat impatiently as he murmured, “Page eight, paragraph B.”

Nico flipped there. “There shall be no extraction or publication of client’s names, addresses, accounts, or other personal information outside the grounds of Costa Insurance,” he read aloud.

Before he could ask for an explanation, Don Costa turned toward his slave, who had remained silent throughout the whole thing. “Khaled, play February 9, 2018.” Khaled typed into the laptop almost robotically as he brought up the footage from the specified date. There, projected on the makeshift screen for all three viewers in the room to see, was footage of Khaled lying naked on the ground with his hands tied behind his back, a silk tie wedged into his mouth, and Jaime’s boot on top of his head. Nico recognized it from the Key Game era.

“See, there,” the boss pointed out, referring to a desktop screen in the peripheral of the video.

Nico scoffed. “But you can hardly even read that!”

“Nevertheless, there is sensitive client information on that computer screen that cannot leave these grounds.” He nodded toward Khaled. “September 24, 2018.” Khaled obeyed, his face a calm mask of detachment as he pulled up another video of his own tortures. The next scene featured Khaled, on his knees, sucking off Nico’s uncle as he and the Boss talked business. “There, on the coffee table,” Don Costa directed him. The list of phone numbers was slightly more legible than the previous leak of sensitive information. A pit of dread opened in the bottom of Nico’s stomach. How many more of these videos coincidentally contained sensitive information in their periphery? Were they placed within the camera frame on purpose?

“Khaled, November 21-”

“I get it, I get it,” Nico objected, palms raised up. “I fucked up, I get it. So, what do you want me to do about it, sir?”

Don Costa’s mouth upturned into a sickening grin. “Easy! Destroy the flash drive, take down whatever videos you posted, and, should this data leak come to bite us in the ass one day, take full responsibility for it and resign,” he explained.

Destroy all the evidence? Nico gulped. He wasn’t keen on losing years’ worth of documented human rights abuses, but he also didn’t want to deal with the threat of litigation.

“What are you willing to give to see Khaled happy and free, as he should be?” Julio’s question haunted him. Nico summoned his courage to look the bastard in the eyes. “And if I refuse?” he asked.

Khaled visibly perked up, shooting a questioning glance at Nico’s rare moment of defiance. Meanwhile, the smile dropped off Thomas’ face. “Then I reenact every single thing I’ve done to Khaled that you’ve saved on that little flash drive of yours,” he threatened. Khaled’s attention focused back onto his master, and although Nico may have imagined it, the young man trembled. “You have years’ worth of footage, and the night is still young.”

“You’re bluffing,” Nico replied, ignoring the certainty in his mind that this man was not bluffing. “You nearly killed him last spring when you carved his back open! Are you really going to take that risk again?”

The boss merely shrugged. “He survived the last time, why not?” he asked nonchalantly.

Khaled’s face paled, taking on a sickly color as his trembling worsened. Nico folded. “Okay, okay, fine!” The last thing he wanted to see was Khaled getting tortured and knowing he could’ve stopped it. Nico thrust forward a reluctant but outstretched palm. “Give me the flash drive, and I’ll smash it right here,” he promised.

Khaled breathed an almost-imperceptible sigh of relief, but the boss stopped him just before he could unplug the flash drive. “Wait, before you smash it, I just gotta know…” He smiled conspiratorially at Nico. “What part was your favorite?”

-

Nico waited patiently for the phone on the other end to pick up that night, drumming his fingers against his desk as he overlooked the city from his bedroom window. Eventually, the repetitive ringing was replaced by a very loud Pitbull remix, followed by a heavily accented “Alvarez Auto and Motorcycles, what do you want?”

“Yeah, can you tell me my status on my radiator hose? Did you use a 9-mm wrench?” Nico asked, well-practiced in the Juicio Divino code by now. The person who had picked up the call fell silent, the music thumped on in the background, and eventually a new voice carried over the phone.

“What are you calling me for, I told you only to call me if it was an emergency!” Julio yelled. There were light shuffling sounds, and then no background music at all, an indication that Nico’s partner in crime had moved to a more private place to talk.

“We need to try to kill him again,” Nico explained, getting straight to the point. “Things are getting worse on my end.”

“Worse, what do you mean worse?” Julio’s breath hitched a little. “Does he know you’re working with me?!”

“No, he –he found my flash drive,” Nico explained. “Made me destroy it. That’s four-ish years of evidence, gone.”

Julio went silent for a couple seconds before coming to the same conclusion. “You’re right. We need to kill him again. And this time, I won’t miss.”

“We won’t miss,” Nico corrected. “We’re in this together, partner.”

The static-y sigh on the other end of the line made Nico’s heart do something weird and tingly. “Yes we are,” Julio conceded. He hung up. Nico brought the phone down from his ear and caught his own reflection in the window. He was smiling.

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

@defire

[spidersanonymous]

There was a soft knock at their door. Caretaker looked up from their mountains of paperwork, eyebrows furrowing as Whumpee fidgeted in the doorway.

“Hello, Whumpee,” they greeted smoothly, “is there something you needed?” Whumpee didn’t tend to stray from Whumper’s side, Caretaker could only imagine what they might need. With a glance at their emancipated figure, probably a hot meal and a bed.

“Caretaker, i-” Whumpee bit their lip, shakily stepping further into Caretakers office, “I need- help. Your help,” they finished lamely, shifting on their feet as they awaited Caretaker’s response.

Caretaker rose an eyebrow, a record amount of seven words in a span of all of twenty seconds, “Okay?” they set down their pen, giving Whumpee their full attention, “Here,” they stood up from their chair, the old metal shrieking, “i think you need a seat, yes?”

Whumpee’s lip curled down but they still crossed the room and sat down, the chair groaning quietly under their weight. They hugged their arms around themself, head bowed as they anxiously glanced at the door.

Caretaker hummed, eyes tracing over Whumpee before making a decision, “I could close the door if you’re that concerned about it,” they nodded towards the doorway.

“Don’t,” Whumpee rasped, eyes widening as their words registered; still, they continued, “it isn’t- it’s not- it’s… fine.” their frown deepened as they stammered through the words. Caretaker could sympathize.

“If you’re sure,” Caretaker shrugged, leaning against their table with as much casualty as they could manage, “so, you needed my help with what, exactly?” they asked, not unkindly.

“Um,” their arms tightened, “i need- you help victims um, escape from their abu-abusers, right?”

Caretaker leaned forward with rapt attention, eyes sharpening as they drank in Whumpee’s quivering lips, tight posture, the way their nails picked at the fabric of their shirt. Caretaker never saw Whumpee at lunch, nor did they ever come to the employee hang-outs on weekends. Something forced the ever elusive Whumpee to come out of hiding. “Right,” they nodded, “I do.”

“Okay,” they nodded once, twice, “Yes, there was a case- Jorgie May, and her sister,” they picked furiously at a view loose threads, avoiding Caretaker’s eyes as their gaze darted across the office space. There wasn’t much to see.

Caretaker hummed agreement.

“Their mother,” their voice strained, throat bobbing as they forced the words out, “she was- erm- abusive,” their eyes suddenly found Caretakers, “how did-” they licked their lips nervously, “how did they get help?” What did they say to make people believe them? Was left unsaid.

Whumpee’s words lingered in the air for a moment as Caretaker considered, leaning closer as they dropped their voice to a whisper, “They gathered evidence, took pictures of their injuries, recorded arguments they had with their mother, things of that nature. One night their mother was drunk, so she took all of the evidence -and her sister- and went to the police,” they leaned out of Whumpee’s space, “bit hard to claim two malnourished kids covered head to toe in bruises were liars.”

Whumpee shuddered, squeezing their eyes shut as they exhaled forcefully.

“The fact the neighborhood didn’t have the highest opinions of their mother probably helped, as well,” they mused to themself.

“Thank you,” they whispered, “that’s-”

“A lot?” Caretaker suggested, eyebrow raised.

“Sure,” they shrugged, glancing at the door, “i should probably get going-”

A quiet knock interrupted Whumpee’s words as Whumper slipped in from the ajar door, “Ah,” they hummed, eyes narrowing, “Whumpee and… Caretaker. How curious.”

Not even a hello, “Hello, Whumper,” they greeted as smoothly as they could manage, “was there something you needed?” even then, their words were curt.

“There’s no need to be hostile, Caretaker,” they chastised with a frown, stalking further into Caretaker’s office, “I’m just here to collect my charge, I am responsible for them, you know,” their lips curled up, as if letting Caretaker in on a joke. Caretaker hated the look on them.

“Of… course,” Caretaker agreed, words sour, “is there any chance we could take a minute and chat?” and maybe, possibly, knock you over the head with a baseball bat?

“No, unfortunately,” they crooned with false pity, smiling sickly-sweet, “Whumpee and I have a meeting to attend, and we simply don’t have the time for any further conversations,” they spat the words, expression darkening as they grabbed Whumpee’s wrist and harshly pulled them up.

Whumpee, for their credit, didn’t yelp at the pull, even though they looked like one strong wind took knock them over. They grit their teeth, allowing themself to be pulled to Whumper’s side. Whumper curled an arm around their shoulder, looking painfully smug.

Caretaker wanted to wipe that look off their face.

“If that’s all, Whumpee and I really do have to be going,” they dragged Whumpee out the door, “it was lovely speaking with you, Caretaker.”

Can’t say the same for you, “Likewise.” They managed to spit out.

With one last smug smirk, they both disappeared behind the door, finally shutting closed with a click.

Caretaker only wished they gave Whumpee their number.

___

kind of insane about this idea tbh. not sure what about it is so good but… ohh boy. wrote this in a span of two days, lightly edited. also let me know if anyone wants to be added to a taglist lol

[ratking-roleplays]

"-m sorry." Whumpee slurs, leaning their head against the wall. They're on the edge of consciousness, eyes fluttering, head spinning. They let out a whimper as a hand cups their face, tilting it towards the light.

"You did perfectly." Whumper smiled, caressing their bloody cheek. "So good for me... once we get past all that fighting, you're just a pretty little canvas, hm? You know this is all you're good for, dear, and I'd be stupid to deny it. Anyone would. You're only useful when you're hurt, dear heart."

Whumpee whimpered, leaning into the touch foolishly. Most of Whumper's words didn't register, but the shame burned like coals in their chest. It would take years for them to understand that they weren't just a punching bag.

[victimeyez]

Prepare (Prologue to Lisa and Mark)

Professional//Victim pt.4

Caius prepares Tommy for his next client.

Masterlist: x Prev: x Next: x

Taglist: @suspicious-whumping-egg @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome--hunter @whumplr-reader @theelvishcowgirl

CW: Captive whumpee, fuck it.. femboy Tommy, forced crossdressing, mention of intimate whumpers, restraints, shock collars, begging, cruel whumpers

~

Tommy’s room was probably not up to code.

It was a small room in the basement, barely bigger than his twin bed. The only semblance of a window was a short row of thick glass blocks at the top of the far wall. They couldn’t be seen through, and only let in a limited and filtered daylight. 

The carpet was long worn out, the soft cushioning of the fibers ground into a tough mat. The clothing his captors provided was locked away from him in a trunk under the bed, and a rotting bookcase housed handfuls of random books. Bare wires hung from the unfinished ceiling and walls, smartly covered with a clear pane of plastic to keep them out of his reach.

He used to have one of those old TVs, the big boxy ones no one used anymore. All it got was the public channels, but he liked to keep it on, just to hear people talking. It was taken away after he scratched Caius, and now he only listened to the sounds of the house and the overhead pipes. 

Either they had forgotten to give it back, or they still held it against him - it didn’t truly matter either way, if he asked he would be told no.

He was afforded a few CDs and an old walkman. It lay discarded next to him in bed - he knew what was coming and didn’t want to be taken by surprise. Sam had “cleared” him as his skin had been forced whole again, little trace left of the pain he had endured. Every single time. He stared at the waterstained ceiling and listened until there was the familiar sound of his door unlocking. Caius was the only one that ever came down here. He pulled the sheets over his head.

“You need to get dressed, we have a client tonight.”

Tommy knew. He had been stewing in his dread all day, hiding under the covers in his bed. 

“What does this one want from me?” Tommy asked from under the blankets.

“Well… this one is a little more complicated. I’ll tell you about it in the car. But I need you to put this on.”

Tommy felt a very slight weight over his foot.

“It’s at the foot of your bed. I’m going to give you ten minutes to get dressed. I’ll be back, and then we gotta do some prep in the bathroom.”

Tommy peeked out from the covers at Caius.

“The bathroom?”

“The bathroom. Be ready within ten minutes. I’ll leave you to it.”

Caius padded out of the room, clicking the lock shut behind him.

It was nice to have a little space for once, instead of having to strip and dress in front of Caius, but it was hard to motivate himself to emerge from his cocoon. He stared at the clock until 5 minutes passed, and made himself sit up.

(Let’s just take it one step at a time… we’re just getting dressed and going for a car ride… )

It wasn’t very common for clients to request specific clothes, but it happened sometimes. A few wanted him to come in dress clothes. Others had wanted him to dress up for some kind of sick role play.

He grabbed the black fabric at the end of the bed and immediately realized why Caius had left.

The first item he held up was a mess of black leather straps. He couldn’t make heads or tails of it and tossed it to the side 

The next item he pulled was a very long black sock - no, stocking. 

He frantically shook out the rest of the costume to see what he was working with. 

Head to toe, there was the strappy mess, a short black skater skirt, a black goddamn jockstrap, and black thigh-highs with elastic garters already attached.

Fetish gear. Bile rose in his throat.

(What the fuck are they gunna do to me?)

He glanced at the clock and saw he only had two minutes left.

(Empty your head. Just - put it on. Two minutes.)

The jockstrap was a cold faux-leather, but slipped on easily enough. He hardly felt more covered by the skirt, no matter how low he pulled it down his hips. He was so frustrated, so angry, but above all terrified of Caius coming to that door before he was dressed. He caught himself tearing up while he struggled to roll on the long socks. The elastic at the top sat snug enough on his thighs that they seemed to stay up, at least for now. (How the fuck do I put the straps on?!)

Three sharp warning knocks on the door. 

The back of his neck felt hot, almost guilty, fearing punishment.

Caius opened the door to a tearful, wide-eyed Tommy on his bed, flushed red and a little short of breath. He had one hand on the hem of his skirt, trying to pull it flat out across his lap to shield him. The other grasped a fistful of the hopelessly tangled harness, pressed to his naked chest.

“Um, could you - can you help me with the-” He swallowed anxiously.

“-With this?”

Caius stared for a moment, unable to keep himself from cracking a grin. 

“Yeah, sure.”

Tommy breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed somewhat, dropping the harness to his lap and lowering his gaze. He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand self-consciously. He tried not to make eye contact with anyone anymore. 

Caius kneeled on the bed beside him and took the harness, holding it up and starting to untangle parts to try to see how it would fit on. 

“Is it Alice?” Tommy asked quietly.

Caius chuckled and buckled a part together.

“No, not today. I’m sure you won’t be free of her forever, but she hasn’t set up another booking yet.”

Tommy looked hard at his knees, and pushed the skirt in between his legs so they felt more like shorts. He didn’t feel as comforted as he had hoped. 

“They’re new clients, a couple. They just want someone to play with Tommy, you can do it.”

“I don’t want to,” Tommy whispered, his throat thick.

“I know.”

Somehow it was so hard to admit it to Caius. But it wasn’t like he had anyone else he could confide in. Caius would tolerate a certain amount of complaining, but he had to watch his mouth and try to gauge the other man’s mood. Right now, it was just them in Tommy’s room, in the yellow haze of his old lamp.

He stared at the matted carpet while Caius dressed him, fastening him into the harness and adjusting the straps to fit him snugly. He was also put in his collar, locking the barbs under his skin.

“Do you want to see yourself in the mirror?”

“No,” Thomas answered quickly and curtly.

“What do we have to do in the bathroom?”

“Eh, Michelle wanted to take a shower, so we can do it in your bathroom. You showered?”

Tommy nodded. 

“When?”

“Um, about an hour ago.”

Caius nodded and led him to the next room.

Tommy had a small bathroom beside his room, and they had sawed a doorway into the separating wall to give him access to it. The outer bathroom door had long been locked and walled over, and he wasn’t given a door between the two rooms. 

There was only one lightbulb in the three-light strip above Tommy’s mirror, and the dim yellow glow gave the bathroom a perpetually dingy look. 

Caius pointed to the closed toilet and sat down on the tub edge beside it. Tommy pulled his skirt straight and sat on the toilet cover.

Caius fished a couple tubes from his pocket, and gripped Tommy’s jaw in one hand, positioning him like a doll to look up at him head-on.

“Close your eyes.”

It made him very nervous to look at Caius’s face, so he gladly closed his eyes. 

He felt something touch his lip and he jerked back, opening his eyes again.

“Hold still,” Caius ordered, and reached forwards to touch the applicator to his lips again. It was a little more gel-like than chapstick, and tingled like menthol.

“Does it hurt?” Caius asked, more out of curiosity than concern.

“It tingles,” Tommy said, “but it doesn’t hurt.”

“Close ‘em.”

Tommy closed his eyes again and felt something small and round start to trace his eyelids. 

“I hadn’t heard of the lip stuff before, but it’s like a tinted gloss with bee venom in it, of all things.”

His eyes were circled a few times, and then Caius pressed fingers to his eyes and rubbed them until they started to water. 

“Open.”

Tommy obeyed, and Caius studied each of his eyes carefully. He tried to look away, but it was impossible to get him out of eyesight with his face so close.

The next one Tommy recognized as a mascara wand, and it was applied in layered brush strokes until he thought his eyes had watered enough to rid him of the eyeliner.

“Stand.”

Caius stood with Tommy, and put two hands on his shoulders, guiding him to the counter and turning him to face the mirror.

“Not bad, huh?”

(…)

Tommy did look. His reddened eyes were framed with coal-black liner, a little smudged, but it looked intentional. His eyelashes looked long and separated, and his lips were full and pink. 

It had been so long since he had actually looked at himself in the mirror. His face looked pale and gaunt. He didn’t recognize himself. Caius fixed his hair with a mild smile, and Tommy stared at the stranger before him.

“You look pretty cute, actually. You can wear a hoodie for the drive. You’d better take a bathroom break before we go, unless you want to show off your new skirt at some Ohio gas station.”

Tommy winced away from his reflection and shook his head, as if to shake off the thought Caius had offered. Caius chuckled and walked back into the bedroom, leaving him there. 

“Clean yourself up. Five minutes max.”

When Tommy came out, Caius was sitting up at the head of his bed, flipping through the old book Tommy was working through for the umpteenth time. He bit back a flash of anger at the sight, the only semblance of ownership he had here  casually being violated. 

“This looks good.”

“You can borrow it if you like.”

Caius gave a little smirk and tossed it aside. 

“Let’s roll.”

~

 It was surprisingly cool out. Caius did give him a hoodie to pull on over the harness, but he still shivered while Caius unlocked the car and pushed him into the back seat. Even when it was just them on a drive, Tommy wasn’t allowed to sit up front, it was too conspicuous. 

Since only Caius was attending him, he got collared and handcuffed to the car door. As Caius got situated, he heard the gentle click of the child locks activating.

Caius let the time pass without comment as they pulled out and made the usual drive out and onto the highway. 

Tommy’s stomach hurt. It was early evening, and he hadn’t had any food since noon. He wasn’t allowed to eat for six hours prior to meeting with a client, or drink within four. They didn’t want him to puke when they did whatever they would do to him. 

About an hour in, Caius finally spoke.

“We’ve got a little over two hours left, but I’m gonna prep you now.”

Tommy leaned his head against the window, already dreading whatever would unfold..

“Tonight is a celebration, okay? Their names are Lisa and Mark, and it’s their wedding anniversary.”

Caius didn’t have to look at Tommy’s face in the rearview mirror to know his disgust and anger, but he did anyway.

“Lucky for you, they like the feisty ones. So…go hog wild, I guess.”

(Lucky. Sam said something similar the other week. He could laugh if it didn't taste so goddamn bitter.)

“I’m gonna need you to put on a little show. Struggle a little, be a brat all you like, the works. But if you bring about any harm to them, if you so much as raise a hand, I will drop you.”

“What the fuck? They get off on me not wanting to play their game?!”

“Yeah, they do, and you’re going to play along. You’ve got two hours to get over it.”

Tommy was fuming. Caius spoke to him like a petulant child, as if he wasn’t a grown man being told to behave for his torturers. The feeling was so overwhelming while he was unable to do anything about it, and he struggled to separate himself from his impotent fury. 

He shifted in the handcuffs, twisting his hands to grab the short chain looped through the inner handle. He grasped it as tight as he could and pulled. He knew the handle would never budge, but it felt good to strain and feel like he was trying something, anything. He held his breath and pulled until his arms were burning and his hands throbbed intensely where they were wrapped in the chain. 

He finally relaxed and let go, slumping down in his seat while the blood started to rush back into his fingers. He tried to catch his breath evenly and quietly so Caius wouldn’t accuse him of throwing a fit. Every time the helplessness welled in his chest, he held his breath and pulled, until he was tired and hungry enough to doze off. 

                                                                 ~

When the car rolled to a stop, Tommy was gripped with a renewed sense of doom. The walk from the car always felt like walking the plank. 

(Breathe in 1, 2, 3, 4…)

Caius rolled down Tommy’s window, got out of the car and stretched.

(Hold it in 1, 2, 3, 4…)

Caius reached through the window to unlock Tommy’s cuffs, and pulled him out of the car.

(Breathe out 1, 2, 3, 4…)

His handcuffs are locked again, pinning his wrists together behind his back.

(Hold, 2, 3, 4…)

Caius guided him up to the door with a hand on his shoulder.

Tommy’s heart was pounding. Caius reached for the doorbell.

“Wait, wait.” He couldn’t put a hand out to stop him, but he took a small step into Caius’s space, and it surprised him enough to hesitate. He forced himself to look into Caius’s eyes, desperate to find some connection there.

“Please. Please don’t do this. We can get back in the car. We can just go home.”

He hated how small and pathetic his voice sounded when he begged. His throat grew thick as he began to tear up with desperation.

Caius had never heard Tommy call their place “home” before, only “the house”. 

“Tommy.”

“Please Caius, please, just this once, please don’t make me go in there!”

Caius sighed.

“I can’t deal with the pain, the- the humiliation, this stupid outfit, I-”

“Tommy.” Caius silenced him with a thumb to his lips, his hands cradling his face, holding his gaze.

He spoke gently, softly, as if explaining something to a child.

“We sold your dignity five years ago. You have nothing left.”

The grief stuck in Tommy’s throat, rendering him unable to speak.

Caius reached out and pushed the doorbell with finality.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

It Has to Be

For @amonthofwhump 12 Days of Whumpmas, Day 5: Ebenezer Scrooge |Power Outage | Time Loop | Overworked Whumpee | Comfort: Snuggling by the Fire

CW: Intimate whumper, past drugging and noncon, references to captivity and scars

The Motherfucking Gallaghers Masterlist

As always, Jax (and the mentioned Alfie) belong to @comfy-whumpee and are used with their input and permission.

-

Finley White is getting so tired of looking at Savvie Marcoset’s face. At least during the prepping stages, it’s mostly through videos and photographs. They can turn it off, turn away, take a break. 

But they’re still tired of seeing it.

Not half so tired, they muse, as their client must be.

“Miss Savvie Marcoset, is it really you?! How are you?!”

“It’s Mrs. Savvie Marcoset,” She corrects, prim and proper. Savvie has her hands folded in her lap, her hair pulled back with a clip. The shadows under her eyes are the only sign that she is, at the time this was recorded, someone frantically searching for her missing captive. In a long off the shoulder black sweater and leggings, she seems relaxed and happy. She smiles, gentle and sweet. It looks utterly sincere. “I am married, you know.”

She holds up a hand and waggles her fingers, showing off the brilliance of her diamond ring. 

The person wearing the camera device gasps with audible delight. “Did you really finally get him to put a ring on it? Gosh, Sav, I thought he would never propose!” 

“I know that voice,” Finley White's client says, leaning forward. He frowns, his knee bouncing beneath the table. “I remember she was a twat.”

The corner of Finley’s mouth twitches, a smile they can't quite suppress. “Virginia Marshall, goes by Jennie. Went to college with Savannah Marcoset. The Marshalls were longtime friends with the Marcosets, close enough to be trusted. Jennie was facing some low-level charges of her own and agreed to help build this case as part of a plea deal.”

“Twat and coward.” He snorts. “Sounds about right.”

“Well, technically I was the one who got down on one knee,” Savvie says. There’s something strange in her eyes, like always - she looks with too much intensity. She’s hiding it well here, acting with the best of them, but Finley’s been staring at her face for so long that they can see right through it even so. 

Finley saw Savvie Marcoset’s true talents on the stand, the first time. They had watched with surprised dismay as she charmed the jury, seeing how she could channel her intensity and terrifying focus into overwhelming charisma before an audience.

“Oh, that’s so modern,” The woman wearing the hidden camera gushes, cooing over the ring. “Did you write your own vows, too?”

Savvie laughs, abashed. “No, no. Traditional. I always wanted a traditional wedding. So did he, really, he's an old-fashioned kind of guy. You should have seen him blush during 'love, honor, and obey.'"

The noise Finley's client makes in reaction to that statement is indescribable.

“Traditional vows... makes sense. You’ve always been the romantic type. Where is that lucky duck today, anyway? The hubby? He isn't with you?”

Savvie's smile doesn't even flicker. “He’s at home with our babies. He loves being a stay-at-home dad, you know? It’s all he ever wanted to be.” 

In reality, at the moment this video was recorded, the escaped Jax Gallagher was in his father's apartment, likely pretending to sleep, but at least not sleeping next to her. His children would have been nearby, safe from Savvie's cruelty for the first time.

You’d never know anyone was gone. She's as good an actress as she is at playing music, when she wants to be. And she is clearly pretending that absolutely nothing is wrong. 

“Oh, well, bring him to my house sometime, yeah? Let me get a look at him and those little ones.”

“He’s… very private,” Savvie says, low and soft. She gives a little roll of her eyes. “Because of me being, you know, known, and he isn't from a famous family or anything… we like to keep his name out of things. His family is so toxic, plus you know how gossipy the press is about him…”

“Him? Him who?” The informant plays dumb. 

“You know… My ex..."

“Oh, your ex Bastian Brighthall?” 

“Ha! No, no. I just mean… you know. Since… prison. Which, like, can no one become rehabilitated in this country? Let me live! I’m a law-abiding citizen now, and, and a wife and mother! You have no idea what it's like just trying to raise babies these days..."

She’s so deeply offended. The informant pretends to be offended, too, and lets Savvie change the subject, turn it around to how hard it is to be a woman just trying to live out her happily ever after. It’s masterful, how well she can lead someone along and away from what she doesn’t want to share. 

Finley White’s eyelid twitches where they sit at a table, watching this conversation unfold on a television bolted to the wall on the opposite side of the room. Beside them, their client has lapsed back into stony silence, his jaw set, arms crossed. He doesn't look at Savannah Marcoset’s sweet and smiling face, not directly. 

He’s tense enough that Finley worries, more than a little, that one of his tendons will simply snap from the stress. He knows - he knew long before Finley said it out loud - what a farce this is, how utterly unnecessary. He knows better than anyone that Ms. Marcoset could have pleaded guilty and saved them all this expense and trouble. The evidence is thoroughly stacked against her. She has no way out, but it doesn’t stop her from throwing out every delay tactic she has. 

Jax had been the first one to vocalize the point of Savannah’s strange game, during their meeting with him and his father after the arrest. She’ll drag it out, make it take as long as possible, he’d predicted, sitting in his father's cozy living room in his apartment in England. Finley had flown to him, once again - they had sworn to him once, after the first trial’s conclusion, that they wouldn’t ask him to fly back to America unless they had to.  

He’d still been visibly recovering, a man made of shadows who sat with his little girl and her enormous curly hair clinging in wide-eyed silence to him. He’d held onto her just as tightly, as if even Finley might simply take her away if he let go for even a second. She’ll make it fucking miserable for everyone, just to get at me. She always fucking does. 

Language, Jax’s father had admonished in a distant and fond way. That's one for the chocolate jar. Or two, maybe. 

Jax’s child, who was so perfectly silent Finley kept forgetting she was there, had spoken for the first time. I don't mind, Daddy, she had said. She was so soft Finley barely made out the words. I know that’s grown up words. You don't have to do the jar. You can get chocolates. 

Both men had smiled, then - one with open affection for his grandchild, one with a faint shift of lips that vanished as soon as Finley took it in. 

Sorry, kiddo, Jax had murmured, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. More for you, then, yeah? Finley had wondered, then, what it must feel like to love a child - to love someone that much - who only existed because of this kind of assault? 

Jax had been angrier, or at least more obviously so, the first time they worked with him. After the first escape. During the first trial. The anger that had still flared up then was now a smoking skeletal forest, where you could feel heat against your palm when you laid it against the trunk of a tree, but not even embers were left to glow. 

Are the little girl and the baby boy the first green things to grow afterward? Or just… bones, blackened stones weighing him down? 

Shit, they need a drink. All their poetry electives from their own college days come out in florid metaphors on days like this one. 

More than a drink, they need  about sixteen hours of sleep. Not that Jax doesn't need both things more than they do, going through all this again, and again… they’d put it off as long as they could, but finally they’d had to ask him to fly here one more time. 

This will be the last time. Finley White will stake their career on Savannah Marcoset never seeing daylight as a free woman again, or they’ll quit and take up needlepoint or whatever it is lawyers who drop the ball that badly do. 

They failed him, once, in their own mind. That it could happen to him again feels like their fault, their responsibility, somehow. 

Jax had been angrier, before, but less determined than he is now. He had found it much harder, then, not to look at Savvie Marcoset. As if he couldn't break himself of having all his thoughts centered on keeping her from punishing him. The way he had seemed frightened when they took her away, after the verdict, had been painful to watch. 

Now he simply doesn't look at her on the screen at all. 

Finley picks up the remote, scratching a fingernail over its smooth plastic surface.  

Would it have been better, if they had managed to make it so she never walked free? It would have meant no second time held prisoner and therefore no children. Obviously it would have been better. Would he have chosen it, though, if he knew… chosen not to ever meet the quiet little girl and boisterous baby boy… maybe he would. Probably he would. 

They would never ask. 

In the present, Finley keeps their thoughts to themself. They lean forward, briefly pausing the video. “There’s a few minutes of going back and forth on this, Ms. Marcoset describing a… well, a very fanciful personal idea of the alleged wedding and honeymoon… I’m going to fast forward past it.”

“Thank fuck,” Jax mutters, scratching at the back of his head. His fingers twitch, involuntary, and he drops his hand quickly. 

He didn't tremble like that the first time, either. That’s a lasting effect of the shock collar he’d been wearing when he turned up on his father's doorstep after running away with the kids. He hides the scars beneath scarves and Finley pretends they don't see them even when they do. 

Those scars feel like visible evidence: Finley White fucked up, and here’s living proof. They’d gotten the conviction, decent prison time, parole within a limited area after release… and it hadn't been enough. 

They’ve gone over and over the case, when they can't sleep or think about anything else. They had done a good job. They and a single paralegal, alone, had taken on the Marcoset team of defense lawyers and wiped the floor with them. 

Jax seemed to think they had done a good job. Good enough that when he ran this time, he’d called them as soon as he was ready, anyway. He could have gotten a different lawyer, but he had called them, and trusted them, to put her away again. 

They just have to make sure it sticks this time. For life, bar the door, throw away the goddamn key. 

It was another thing Jax said first, although not in so many words - that if she ever left prison again, Jax almost certainly wouldn't survive it. He’d been hunched over a beer, that first in-person meeting at his father's place. Finley was still jet-lagged from getting on the first flight out, and nearly asleep on the sofa. He hadn't brought it up until the kids and his father were safely asleep. 

If she gets out again, or… comes h-here… that's it. He hadn't looked up at them, just stared down at his beer. The kids vanish first, probably. Dead or disappeared. Whatever she thinks will fuck me up worse. Actually, probably disappeared and then dead later once she thinks-... once she’s made me sorry. Then me, after them.

Then you? Last?

Yeah. Disappeared. Or dead. Or both. But she’ll go after them first. She'll-... He drank half the beer in three long swallows, wiped a hand over his face, and then exhaled and looked over at them. She can't hurt my kids. Okay? She can't. 

Finley had nodded, and lifted their own beer in a kind of grim salute. She won't. We nail her to the wall this time, Jax. I promise.

Fuck yeah. His expression stayed flat, but he clinked his beer glass against theirs and that was that, he was Finley White's once and future client one more time. 

Even though the case is open and shut, they’re throwing everything they’ve got at this, leaving nothing on the table. Leaving nothing to chance or luck. They have a promise to keep. 

“Our informant wore this camera to get an idea of what Mrs. Marcoset was thinking, how she was playing your disappearance from her life. It was recorded before she was arrested,” Finley explains. On the screen, Savvie's rushed dramatics are silent, her hands moving in gestures that constantly flash the ring. Her smile is absolutely radiant. She has always been a beautiful woman, layered over the cruelty beneath. “We probably won't need this at court-”

“Then why are we watching it?” He asks abruptly. Not angry or hostile, just wanting to get it all over with. 

They know the feeling. 

“Because I thought you might want to see this part,” They say, and hit play, the video shifting back into regular speed, the casual buzz and clink of the restaurant around them kicking back in. 

“-three years old,” Savvie is saying. She is every inch the proud and loving mother, pulling out her phone and then turning it around to show the informant. “Born in… in May, named after my grandmother. Isn't she beautiful? Doesn't she look just like me?”

“This was after I left?” Jax frowns at the photo Savvie has pulled up - of Jax holding his daughter back when she was a baby who already had too much hair and eyes too big for her face. Jax, his gaunt frame dressed in slightly oversized designer clothes to hide bruises and his unreliable access to food, is looking at the camera with a false and slightly hazy-seeming smile. 

“Yes,” Finley answers, nodding. “This conversation would be maybe… six months after that.” 

Jax’s eyes narrow. “That photo’s of Izzy as a baby, for one thing. For another… her birthday isn't in fucking May. Jesus. I didn't know the day, she never would tell me, but I knew what season. Also, Iz was four when we got back home, and she would have turned five by… whenever this is. We got her a fucking cake, my dad and I, when she turned five."

“You are absolutely certain that-”

“Yes,” He answers them, voice flat and cold as paper on stone.

“You may have to testify about that, Jax. Good evidence of a lack of connection to Isabeh-”

“Izzy,” He corrects automatically. 

“Right. Sorry. I’ve been elbow-deep in legal docs all day, everything is full legal names. This video might not be worth much during the criminal trial, but for the civil case regarding the children’s living arrangements-”

“Yeah, fine, I’ll testify. Yeah.” He snorts. “Also, I'm fucking drugged in that photo she flashed around. If that matters.”

“You are?” That's a surprise to them. They turn to rewind the video back to when the photo is held up, pausing it, scanning it over again. The slight smile, the way he gripped tight to the girl… almost white-knuckled… 

“Yeah. High as hell and terrified I'll drop her. Scared that that's her game this time. Get me to let Iz slip through my arms and then get goddamn mad at me for not being careful enough. I got her to stop putting shit in my drink when the kids were awake eventually, but she was still doing it, then.”

He isn't casual with how he drops these pieces of abject horror into conversation - no, Jax wields this information like a riddle, or a test. How you respond is to pass or to fail, and Finley knows him well enough by now to be aware that very few people come back from failure. 

So they nod, and wait to see if he plans to offer anything more. 

He looks over at them, then back at the photo frozen in time on the screen. “Had to tell her I liked that shit, just… you know. After the kids went down to sleep.” He meets Finley’s gaze head on, staring them down. 

But he knows them well enough that he knows he never has to spell any of it out, not anymore. 

So they nod again. “And it worked?” 

“Yeah. Mostly.” He looks away. Finley never knows for sure if they’ve passed the test, not until he keeps talking. “I could put her off with asking for it to happen later. Savvie forgets shit. Half the time by the time she went to sleep, she didn't remember she even brought it up.” 

Half the time. 

Finley looks back at the video, and hits the play button. Savvie is back to happily chattering about her perfect husband and perfect children, sitting in a café months after the bruised, battered, scarred man and children in question had escaped her grasping fingers and shock collars and cruelty, but before there was enough to bring her in. 

She had to have known they were coming for her, by this point. And yet she pretended everything was completely fine, that nothing had happened. She was either so sure her family would throw enough weight around to fix it for her in the end, or… 

“She’s completely out of her mind,” Finley whispers. Not that they hadn't said it before. But this… this is different. “She just. Can't deal with it, and so she just doesn't even acknowledge the problem exists. Jax-”

“Yeah, I know how she is. Lucky you, you didn't get that shit up close and personal like I did. This isn't even the worst of her bullshit.”

“Looking at her, you’d never know it.” Finley sits back, not allowing themself to slump. If they can pull this off, there's a four hundred dollar bottle of stupidly priced bourbon they’re going to buy to celebrate. “Look at her. No sign whatsoever of anything but happily ever after. You ran. It’s been months since she last saw you or your children… and she’s calm as can be. She doesn't even know where you are."

“She probably knew where I was.” Jax shrugs, outwardly unbothered. “I mean, she’s a stupid shitsnob, but she knows I'd go to my dad. She knew where I was gonna go if I got away from her.”

“She didn't go for you, though, didn't try to recapture you. At the time, if she knew…”

Jax gives them the stare again. “I know exactly what she did. She freaked out when we were gone, called her bastard shitstain uncle for help. He had people hunting me, until we got to the border. We barely managed to keep out of sight of them. We had to cross the border… we had to.” 

“Right, because in the UK… you’re, uh-” They hesitate. 

Jax prickles when they hesitate. His eyes narrow, and Finley straightens their posture, refusing to wilt before that stare. “You can say it,” He says, voice flat. “Fucking famous for being kidnapped, right? There were programmes about that shit. Fucking journalists. And I bet once we made it over the border, dear Uncle Isaac told her he wasn't going to risk it anymore, to pack her shit and go home, act normal. Be seen so she could act like she never left. See if they could wait me out.” 

Sometimes they forget how watchful Jax is, how well he understands not just Savannah Marcoset herself but the parade of Marcoset family members who treated him like Savvie's toy or worse. He didn't understand it all that well the first time.

Another thing he only has to know because they couldn't keep him safe.

“Right. But that's practical... from a criminal perspective. That's not… this.” They look over at the screen again, frozen once more on Savvie's cheerful, winning smile. 

“No.” Jax’s knee is bouncing again. There has always been a hum of energy in him, but even that is held more inside him now. Because they hadn't hammered their case hard enough. 

It just hadn't been enough. 

It has to be enough this time. 

“Jax… we have to show them that Savannah Marcoset. Not the one in this video, but the one who incapacitated you to make it easier for her to harm or control you. She is going to want them to see the act, try to get parole on the table, try to get at least limited access to the children-”

“Which she won't fucking get.” For just a second, the layer of self-protective hostility drops. It’s not panic, not visibly, but it’s close. “I told you, first thing I fucking said, she can't get at my kids. The whole reason I'm fucking doing this is to keep them safe. She can't get her hands on my fucking kids.” 

“No,” They say, voice firm, and meet his eyes. He scoots slightly back, arms crossed again, staring at them fixedly with his chin tipped slightly down. They watch him right back. “She won't. We talked about it, I remember. No access, full stop. No presents, no letters, she gets no photos and no updates. Absolutely nothing. Complete termination of parental rights. Complete. No exceptions."

“And prison for-fucking-life, and no parole.”

“No chance. It’s going to be rough, Jax, I won't lie to you. She’s going to put on a show, and we are going to need to systematically dismantle it. Take away all her charm and let them see who you saw, day in and day out.”

He nods, jaw set. Stubborn and determined, and maybe the fire still burns down in there somewhere. His smile is so genuine they nearly wonder if it's real. “Good. Yeah. Uh, how, though?” 

They look back over at Savvie, the face filling the screen. Savvie will be magnetic, just like the first time. Not so young, now, not able to play the innocent girl led astray. But she'll play all the greatest hits of sincerity, earnestness, contrition… Jax, by contrast, is all rough edges and bristling quiet. He won't charm anyone so readily. But his story will be what actually happened. 

They just need to prove it. 

“I had a couple more recordings for us to look at today,” They say, thinking, mind spinning. “But they aren’t urgent. Let’s break early, you head back to see what your little ones are up to, and I'll start drafting an outline of what we prove and how we prove it. I have some ideas. We’ll reconvene here tomorrow at 8 am.”

“Sounds good, yeah.” Jax shifts, restless, ready to get out of the room with Savvie’s face still on the wall. 

“Tomorrow we’re going to talk about some… difficult stuff, Jax. Make sure you take it easy tonight.”

He looks at them, then just turns away, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair. “Right. Yeah. Stuff about the kids, or the rape?”

It’s a test again. 

God, how Finley hopes they never fail this man, not this time. Not when they couldn't keep him as safe as he deserved to be. 

“Just the outline,” They say, casual as can be. “But.. both. All of it. No details yet. But later-”

“Yeah. I’ll be back at 8. Ish.” He leaves before they can say another word, and they sit back, staring after him. 

They have mountains of documents to finish sorting through, and a man carrying so much cruelty in his head that if he opens his mouth on the stand, a waterfall might come rushing out. He's covered in scars from Savvie's abuse, has two kids that are living evidence of assault. They have a traumatized little girl in therapy multiple times a week. They have Jax’s devotion to his son and daughter compared to Savvie not even knowing what time of year Izzy was born in. 

They have so much. 

It has to be enough. 

[pretty-face-breaker]

post-torture cuddles? :3

CW. creepy comfort, masochism, unhealthy relationships

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Hayko watches the smattering of cast-off bloodstains on the sheets. Glossy, an hour ago, and now dried flat and dull to the cotton. There’s a ringing in his head, hurting with each pulse. He doesn’t respond - the words didn't quite make it through.  

Nick kneels behind him and kneads his shoulders, almost gently. It’s the feeling of his nose in his hair that jerks him out of the reverie. He tenses, sucks in a breath, and blinks away the sting in his eyes.

“Are you back with me again?”

“Partially,” Hayko says, throat raw. He can’t stop the whine when Nick cuts his wrists free from the ropes with a few sharp tugs of his folding knife. Realizes, immediately after, that he didn’t hear him pull it out.

A puff of laughter against his neck, then. “Back in your skin?” 

He’d be lying if he repeated himself. He was. When the pain was a punishing, pulsing thing. Now, with it gone, he’s untethered again. The light cascading in from the window is too bright, the carpet springy and rough. It’s too much. 

“Hey, now.” Nick taps him twice on his cheek, just on the edge of too rough. “I didn’t whip the wits out of you, did I?” 

 “Hardly.” In different circumstances, he might have laughed. “If you did, wouldn’t be much left of me, at this point.”

Nick’s smile comes sharp against his head, an eyetooth pressing into his scalp. He rubs away the chaffing on Hayko’s wrists, sitting limp on the mattress. It’s a mean thing. They’re bantering. Bantering after he just consented to being beat out of orbit for-

For his-

“Is there something you’d like?”

“Just-” His voice chips and self-loathing fills it. “Just stay for a few minutes. Just-”

Nick hushes him, so gently his eyes sting again. Hayko’s throat tightens as the ministrations move to his hair and Nick smooths out the snarls. A few beats of that and he’s pulling him back against his chest. Hayko lets himself fall and hisses, when his shirt catches on the welts. 

“Have I ever left you like this?” 

Hayko swallows, a fervid when haven't you? tucked behind his teeth. But he knows what Nick is referring to, and no, technically, he’s never left him after this. Something decidedly not safe or sane but asked for, all the same. 

He must drift for a minute because when he opens his eyes again, he’s draped over Nick’s chest on the bed, half-wrapped in a towel. He foggily registers a hand smoothing gel over his skin, the other playing along his ribs. 

“You’re running out of time, you know.” 

The hands stop. Nick’s heartbeat is steady beneath his ear, unyielding in a way that seems to disagree with that. Hayko stops himself from flinching when he speaks again.

“Don’t worry about me, dear.” 

He takes the press of lips to his scalp with little more than an aborted breath before Nick gives his ribs a squeeze. Presses into the welts hard enough to startle a full gasp out of him. He’s afraid he might not stop his probing, might just sink his claws clean through his back and into his lungs- 

“Oh. Please-...” 

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Nick’s voice is gnarled with a grin. 

His next breath whistles from his teeth. It fucking hurts. It hurts like nothing. It's so good. “Yes. Yes.” 

And then, nothing. His fingers are gone, leaving him panting and arching up. Bastard, he wants to say, as Nick pulls them through his hair, smearing blood through his curls. Within a second, he’s back to rubbing aloe cream on his back. 

“Don’t worry about me,” Nick says. “After they run out of time, it’ll just be us. No distractions, hm?”

-

@doveotions @heathenville @thewhumpstuff @thatsthewhump @adamantem-rose @lonesome–hunter @whumpsorbet @whumpasaurus101 @lektricfergus @downrivergirl914 @burtlederp @redwingedwhump @nicolepascaline @ifbtnna @oh-so-skeletal @whumperfully​​ ​@brittaunfiltered09

[sunshiline-writes]

A Rose Amidst Thorns #7: Anger Arrives

Oh boy, this chapter is ROUGH. PLEASE HEED WARNINGS THAT I POST BC THIS IS A WILD ONE. -- Miguel finishes his punishment and Solomon stands up to Xavier after seeing what has been made of his ward. CW: Whumper POV, deaf whumpee, defiant whumpee, ableist language, suggestive comments and actions but nothing super sexual actually happens, broken bones, nailed to the wall, removing nails from hands, Xavier being a CREEP, sadistic whumper, intimate whumper, threats, fingerfucking a hand hole (I am so sorry), whumpee is referred to as a kid but is an adult, dissassociation, blink and you miss it mention of disordered eating, Xavier doesn't know how to keep his hands to himself, uhhhh I think that's it.. but like... let me know if I missed anything -- Previous | Masterlist | Next

Xavier was not one to stay angry for very long. He released his anger once and it was done. This time however, he’d been holding onto the anger for a long time. Three years against Miguel, against Henrietta. It festered and bubbled and destroyed him. Now he would destroy them from the bottom of their souls, break them up, and then put them back together again. Xavier loved putting people back together. Molding them, shaping them. Humans were so malleable once they were broken down to their core functions. 

Lately it seemed though, that Miguel was constantly needing to be broken down, shapened, and broken down again. Miguel was someone who took a little more finesse than what he was used to. Perhaps it was because he started young. Or perhaps it was because Miguel was just that stubborn. Whatever the case, it made Xavier’s blood boil. 

When he made his way back into the barn, the anger was still there. Xavier walked directly up to the boy and sighed, taking in the sight. Blood ran down his arms, dripping from his elbows. His white undershirt was soaked in blood and covered in dirt. Every muscle in his body was wound tightly. He was still on the tips of his toes, trying not to hang from the nails in his hands, his calves shaking. Sweat dripped down the sides of his face. It was his hands though, they looked the worst. His right one, the one he had broken, was swollen, purple and misshapen. It was so swollen he almost couldn’t see where the nail had been embedded in the middle of his hand. Xavier smiled to himself, admitting that he admired his handiwork. Miguel’s head rested on the harsh wood, the bridle still in his mouth, teeth clenched down on it. A good distraction, Xavier assumed, from the pain of everywhere else. 

Slowly, he ran a hand over the bit, halfway in his mouth, pressing a finger against his tongue, this caused Miguel to open his eyes, breathing hitching. His eyes were cloudy with pain. Xavier pressed down harder on Miguel's tongue, just to see him squirm before retreating his hand. Miguel dipped his head low, staring at his boots.  

Xavier watched him. An old memory of when he first met the boy flashed in his mind. Scared and hiding behind his father, having to be dragged away kicking and screaming from his family. It didn’t matter. Fighting never got him anywhere. Another memory of the boy holding the gun, pointed straight at him. Xavier wasn’t afraid then, but the anger flashed hot in his stomach now. The kid had always been a pain. 

Reaching out, Xavier wrapped a hand around Miguel's throat, forcing Miguel's head up, grinning from ear to ear. The boy looked up at him. He was met not with pain or even a blank expression like Xavier had originally suspected. Instead he was met with an icy glare. A smile tugged at the corner of Xavier’s lips. 

“Do you hate me Miguel?” he asked, enunciating, speaking slowly so he could read. 

Miguel’s glare faded and he gritted his teeth on the metal bit in his mouth, the sound vibrating through the boy's throat and Xavier laughed. Pressing his head against Miguels forehead. The boy winced as he pressed his head farther into the wall behind him trying to get away. But he couldn’t get away. There was nowhere to go. His family was gone and no one wanted a defective person working for them. Xavier didn’t want him at first. But after the first time that the boy pointed a gun at him, Xavier knew that breaking him would be a fight well earned. It had been fun and interesting to see what broke the boy down, slowly, bit by bit. Sometimes it was successful, other times less so. 

This was one of those times that it was a strange mix of the two. Xavier gave Miguels throat a little squeeze. “I asked a question..” he said, stepping back slightly. 

Miguel nodded his head slightly, movement restricted by the bridle. 

“Oh Miguel.. You don’t have to lie. I saw the way you looked at me. You don’t hate me, you fear me.” Miguel’s eyes were wide, tears starting to stream down his face. “I like you like this. Afraid, in pain, you’re so much less of a problem like this,” a choked sob came from the boy beneath him. Miguel shook his head and closed his eyes. Xavier could hear the way Miguel’s teeth grinded against the metal in his mouth. His grin widened. It was like hearing a real horse chew on the bit. The thought amused him. 

Xavier squeezed again, a choking sound came from the boy but he still didn’t open his eyes. Stubborn mule. His hand retreated from his throat and instead went to his back pocket where the bandana hung loosely. He took it out. It was annoying how much he fought him. Fought what was about to happen, as if he could stop it. Well, if he wasn’t going to open his eyes to listen to him, he didn’t need them right now anyway. Xavier had thought about it before, permanently blinding Miguel, but always decided against it. There was no use in keeping around a blind and deaf person, not unless they wanted what was an equivalent to a corpse stumbling around. The blindfold usually did the job anyway. 

Instead his palm connected with Miguel’s face, the slap loud but not nearly enough to make a lasting mark. However, it was enough for Miguel to open his eyes with a groan as he slipped and hung by the nails in his hands for a second. Another whimper escaped him and Xavier grinned. 

“If you won’t look at me, if you won’t listen, I think you deserve the blindfold,” he stated simply. Dangling the blindfold in front of Miguels face, who was now breathing more heavily than before and shaking harder. He could almost see how he normally responded, the index and middle finger pressing onto the thumb. The simple ‘no’ sign. It was the first sign he ever learned. The first word he saw Miguel speak to his parents. “Shhhh,” he cooed, starting to wrap the black bandana around his eyes, tighter than he assumed was comfortable, and tied it around the back of his head, the knot tangling in his hair. It wasn’t about his comfort anyway, he ignored the way his stomach dropped at the way Miguel whimpered and shifted his stance slightly. Scared and unable to  guage his surroundings. It was his favorite punishment for Miguel at times. It happened less often now. But he always loved the way his body tensed and he strained to understand what was happening to him. The stress of not knowing what was happening, it was exhausting to Miguel. Made his light go out faster. It was why it was a favorite of Xaviers. It was also the fact that Miguel just looked so good blindfolded and shaking like this. He trailed his fingers up Miguels Adams apple, pressing into the soft flesh under his jaw. Xavier dragged his fingers up to the side of his jaw and traced the outline of it. Cupping the boy's cheek, he kissed his forehead again. Sighing softly. “I’ll take you down now. Just a few more things..” he whispered, he knew that the boy could not hear him, couldn’t even tell that he was talking, but sometimes talking outloud helped with the thought process. Xavier left for a moment to grab the hammer. He thought for a moment about hitting his broken hand again with it, but at the look of it, it did not need to be more broken. It would be hard enough dealing with it the way it was. 

It was hard to find where the nail had gone in, the hand was so swollen. But he found the area quickly and with an amount of gentleness that surprised himself, he used the claw of the hammer to pry the nail out. Miguel screamed as the nail left his hand and it was left dangling by the cuff Xavier had put on earlier. The boy groaned and shuddered lightly as he used the claw to pull the nail from his other hand. Then he let the boy hang from the cuffs. 

Miguel was sobbing, barely holding himself up, head bowed. Xavier stared at him, just watching for a moment. How sad it was, that the boy had been reduced to this sobbing, whimpering thing. When he had first arrived at the ranch, he was all fire and all bite. Now he was a good little dog, hanging by broken hands. He took the boy down from the nails on the wall, positioning him on the floor. 

“Good, good, you’re so good for me Miguel,” he cooed gently, running a hand in his hair as the man beneath him withered on the ground. He took a deep breath and pressed his forehead against Miguels, kissing the tip of his nose. Pulling back, smiling at the thing below him. That is, until he was hit with a sudden wetness on his cheek. Did he just.. spit on him? 

“What the fuck?” He wiped the wetness off his cheek, looking down at the smiling expression on Miguel. “You never learn do you? Never. Fucking. Learn.” Every word was punctuated by Xavier forcing his hands above his head, straddling him, and then panting. “I give you clothes, shelter, a job. I make you fucking useful, and you still never learn. You’ll never learn. I should really just kill you. It would be a load off my mind. But..” one of his hands that held onto Miguels wrists, let it go, his other hand still held firm. With his free hand, he pressed a finger into the hole in the hand that wasn’t broken. The one that he could still hurt. “Does this hurt Miguel?” Miguel opened his mouth and the bit was pressed further into his mouth, making him choke. Xavier pressed his finger deeper in and finally, he heard what he wanted to hear as Miguel screamed again, choking on air. Coughing and sputtering on his own spit. Xavier pressed harder into the wound, slick with blood, now he was so deep into his hand that he couldn’t see his first knuckle. Still he pressed harder and further, until he could feel the dirt on the other side of his hand and he stopped when his second knuckle disappeared into the wound. He marveled that Miguel was even still awake. But he was kicking and screaming under him. Miguels knee slammed into Xavier’s back slightly and that only made Xavier angrier. His finger curled into the wound and he pulled slightly, feeling bone and tendons shift. There was a certain giddiness that he felt over it. Miguels hand clenched and he turned his face, screaming again. 

The boy would not stop screaming. That didn’t bother Xavier, not really, it was what he wanted. There was a point after Xavier pulled his finger back and then pushed back in that Miguel stopped screaming. Instead opting to groan and sob quietly. Yes.. yes he was getting it now. The silence that Xavier often asked for. He was so close to being good again for him. He pulled his finger out so only the tip of it rested against the wound, then plunged it back in, curling it again. 

“This is different from what I usually do. I think the difference is welcome though,” he said with a laugh. Then he continued to finger the wound, still not satisfied as the boy eventually stopped groaning and the only sound that came from him were quiet whimpers. Too weak to even try to fight back. Even Xavier was panting by the time he even thought about retracting his finger. He curled and pulled at the wound, widening the hole slightly, one last time before he looked up. 

“What are you.. doing?” Solomon asked, voice tense, expression hard. 

“Having a little fun,” Xavier responded cooly, despite the cold shiver that went down his spine. The anger that radiated off Solomon could be felt throughout the barn. It was thick in the air. 

“You’re done now,” Solomon said, it was not a request. He was telling him that he was done.

“I am now?” 

“Yes, you are. Uncuff him, take that bridle off and get your damn finger out of his wound. You’re going to cause an infection.” 

Xavier sat there for a moment longer before licking his lips. He did follow the orders from Solomon though, retracting the finger and uncuffing the boy. Then he removed the blindfold and the horse bit. The boy was panting under him, eyes closed still and face stained with tears. Xavier gently stroked his face, tapping his eyelid gently. 

When Miguel opened his eyes, his expression was different. Good that was exactly what he wanted. His eyes were full of pain and of fear. “Good. You did good,” and when Xavier kissed his forehead one more time, Miguel did not flinch. Then he stood up, using the bandana that was damp with tears to wipe the blood from his hands. “All yours Solomon,” he said to the man with a smirk. 

*** Solomon was not an angry man. Not usually. But at the moment, it wouldn’t take much for him to snap Xavier’s neck in two. Especially after that smirk. It was the smirk that made him see red. He clenched his fists, clenched his teeth and waited for Xavier to pass him and leave the barn before he rushed to Miguel.

Gently he picked up the boys torso and held the limp body close. “You’re okay Miguel. You’re okay. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” he whispered softly, taking the boy's hands, covered in blood and grime. He looked them over. Purple, red, swollen. It was awful. He’d seen worse, but his right hand was something that he could never repair wholly. There was a chance that Miguel would lose all feeling in that hand alone. His left hand had a hole through it that would have  “Oh god,” he whispered. Solomon shook his head and gently looked at the boy's face, he seemed to be staring far away. Not even registering Solomon's appearance, or the fact that Xavier had left.

“Miguel, look at me. You have to look at me,” he said to him, gently cupping his cheek and moving his face so that he looked at him. If Solomon didn’t know better, he would have guessed that the boy was dead. But he was still breathing. He blinked at him slowly and tears came to his eyes again. “There you are. You’re safe. You’re safe..” 

Then Miguel was sobbing, curling into Solomon's chest, hands unmoving. He buried his face into Solomon's shirt, in the space between his shoulder and chest. “Shhh.. Shhh,” he begged quietly, one hand holding Miguel's head for support. Miguel pulled his face away, eyes glazed with pain. Hands twitching. “No no… don’t try to move them. I have to carry you now okay?” Solomon told him, the hand on the back of his head slid to his back, and his other arm cradling Miguel's knees. Then he lifted, staggering to his feet. 

Miguel was surprisingly light and Solomon made a mental note that after he gave the morphine, he’d make Miguel eat something. Miguel cried out when his hands shifted onto his stomach, curling tighter. “I know, I know. I’m sorry.” As he walked to the house, Solomon thought of Henrietta. He wanted to blame her. It would be so easy too. But blame never did anyone any good. The only blame that was deserved was Xaviers. He was the one that hurt them, he was the one that threatened them all into compliance, hurt them when they didn’t abide. It was all his fault. Every single piece of this was his fault. Solomon glanced down at Miguel who’s eyes were closed, his body was trembling. 

Miguel was going to need a splint, antibiotics, pain control.. There was so much that Miguel needed right now. Solomon couldn’t possibly do everything all at once. Or maybe he could. If he could get the morphine at just the right dose to let him fall asleep… Yes that was what he would start with. The morphine. 

Solomon walked up the steps of the house, walking through the open door. Then he immediately took Miguel to his room. Solomon’s room was small, only a bed, dresser and bed stand was in it. He never saw a reason to add anything else. He laid Miguel into the bed, letting Miguel curl in on himself for the moment. While Miguel made himself comfortable, Solomon grabbed his medical bag under the bed. Shuffling through it for a moment, he grabbed the morphine bottle and the needle he needed. He filled it to what he thought was sufficient enough, and he didn’t tell Miguel when he injected the needle into his shoulder. He just did so, stroking his hair until Miguel's breathing evened out and he stopped trembling. 

“Will he be okay?” came the voice from the doorway as Solomon manuevered Miguel to lay on his back as gently as possible.

“Leave,” Solomon said, gently taking Miguel’s hands in his. “Now.” 

“You’re in a mood right now so I'll let that go..” Xavier said, leaning against the doorway. “It was a simple question.” “No. He is not okay. You took his hands,” Solomon said, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. From Xavier’s smirk, he wasn’t doing a very good job at that. 

“So?” 

“So, he can’t..” Solomon almost said communicate but that wouldn’t prove anything to Xavier. In fact, Xavier would probably laugh at that. Solomon could hear the snarky comment about how Miguel didn’t talk anyway. He didn’t need to communicate to work. All things he’d said before. So instead he tried a different route, “he can’t work. You destroyed his hands and he can’t work for the foreseeable future. He can’t grab the saddles or the leads for the horses. Let alone carry things with these hands for months at the very least.” As he spoke, Solomon cleaned out the wounds, disinfecting them with care so he didn’t cause so much pain as to wake the sleeping figure on the bed. “You put him out of commission as your saddle boy,” Solomon finished. Glancing up at Xavier. Xavier seemed to be contemplating his words for a moment, expression pensive, before it warped into a grin. “He has other uses.” 

“No,” came the automatic reply. 

Xavier let out a snort. “Get your mind out of the mud Solomon. I was going to suggest simple house work.” 

“You’re disgusting,” Solomon said, returning his attention to Miguel’s hand as he set up the splint. Every touch of the boy's right hand made Miguel whimper and groan in his sleep. Pain shot through Solomon's chest and he shoved it down. He could deal with that later. He could try and understand this later. For now he had to focus on the here and now. Like right now, there was a new tension in the room. Xavier pushed himself from leaning against the doorframe. “Watch your words Solomon. I never had to hurt you before, don’t give me a reason to do so now. I know plenty of ways to hurt you without rendering you unable to do your job.” 

Solomon finished the splint, gently placing Miguel’s hand down on the bed. Then he stood from his chair and stood up looking Xavier in the eye. “Here is what is going to happen. I don’t want you or Jesse touching him until I say. He needs to heal and if you or Jesse slow down that progress I will do unspeakable things. I am a doctor but I will not hesitate to use my knowledge to cause pain, instead of relieving it,” he watched Xaviers blank expression shift slightly, “do you understand me Xavier?” 

The silence felt like it was eating him inside, but he did not falter before Xavier smiled again. “Ah, so you didn’t lose that backbone I admired so much back in the day.” 

“Do you understand me Xavier?” 

Xavier waved his hand in a dismissive fashion and glanced back at Miguel on the bed. “Yeah yeah. I understand you. No touching until he’s all healed up right?” 

“Correct.”

“Understood doctor.” Xavier said with a chuckle, “he’ll have to make up for all the work he missed later. But it’ll never get this bad again. He took the punishment well and I’m sure you and Etta will make up for it too, yes?”

Solomon thought for a moment before nodding. “Yes. We can do that.”

“Good, good. Very good Solomon. I’ll let you continue your work then,” Xavier grabbed one of Solomon's braids and gave it a playful tug. It made Solomon's skin crawl. Like he had just touched a part of his soul. Which he technically did, but.. Solomon tried hard not to think about it. Xavier grinned, letting go of his hair, turning around and leaving. 

Solomon collapsed into the chair next to the bed. 

“I’m so sorry Miguel. I’ll get you out of here soon. I promise,” he said to the sleeping figure, rubbing a thumb along Miguel's forearm. 

This time, this time he meant it. 

This would be a promise that he was going to keep. Even if it killed him. Even if he had to sacrifice everything. Miguel and Henrietta deserved better than this. They deserved freedom. Solomon was going to do everything in his power to get them there. He just had to be patient and not let the anger in. 

But the anger was already here. No, he just had to control it now. 

He could do that. 

Solomon had to do that. 

For them. __

Taglist:

@demondamage @burntcoffeewhump @for-the-love-of-angst @just-a-silly-little-whumper @tictac-murder-spaghettii @crash-bump-bring-the-whump @whumpifi

@flowersarefreetherapy @badgerwhump

ask if you'd like to be added or removed!!

[hurtthemgently]

19 for maze

Masterlist

19 (stress position)

From this prompt list

Cw: tiny whumpee, stress position, restraints, creepy/intimate whumper, mild lab whump, non con touching and kissing, burning

The vines that encircled Maze’s wrists pulled him up to where he could stand flat on his feet. He squirmed against the restraints. Kicking and swinging, Maze was able to lift himself up, but couldn’t get out of the vines.

The metal panel that he stood atop was thin, and he was almost scared it’d bend under his weight. Briar lit a candle and lowered it under the panel, and he sobbed, realizing what was happening.

The metal warmed under his feet. Quickly becoming unbearable. He pulled himself up by the vines, grabbed them as the restraint wasn’t enough to lift him, holding himself above the heated surface. The second his feet left the surface, they clicked a timer.

“Wait— please! Don’t leave me like this!” Tears fell, and he writhed to get out of the hold.

“Oh but how else will I find out how long you can hold yourself up? You’re so light, and can lift much more compared to your body weight. I want to know if you have the endurance to match that strength.”

“Please.” His eyes were wide, glassy with tears. A vine wrapped to fit between his teeth. “Mmhh!”

They left the room after checking the timer was working.

——

His arms burned. He couldn’t hold himself up for much longer, but the prospect of the burning metal beneath him was too terrifying to contemplate. He was shaking with effort.

Briar returned, and stopped to examine him with a magnifying glass, checking for burns. He strained as they circled behind him. Without warning, they pressed a soft kiss to his back. The movement pushed him, straining his arms.

He almost fell at this. They went to sit in an opposite corner of the room, reading a book in a language he didn’t know.

——

When he finally fell, his arms were ablaze moreso than his feet where he touched the hot surface. He heard a small sizzle before being lifted. He could only scream behind the gag, barely enough strength to keep his eyes open, much less try and move.

They tilted his chin with a sharp nail, and every little nudge sent waves of agony through his arms, through his stomach. He collapsed to the table when the vines let go.

Laying there, he wanted nothing more than to drift of to sleep, for the fiery ache to fade. Briar marked down the time, and put a gel on his feet.

“This’ll get those burns healed quick and clean, ready for us to test again tomorrow!” They cheered, blowing out the candle to save it for later.

[whumpitisthen]

"Shhh... Don't be scared. Be good and just let it happen — and don't hold out on me. I want nothing more than to hear you cry, so feel free to show me just how much it hurts."

[ha-ha-one]

(continuation of this)

not the best but i’m kinda tired and i had to rewrite this ‘cause the first one was really bad, sorry

[cw: emotional whump, recapture, creepy/intimate whumper, sad whumpee, manipulation, creepy talk by whumper, noncon touching and noncon kiss (both non-sexual), whumpee giving up, referenced alcohol abuse, subtly referenced torture, crying, lmk if i missed anything]

//

He had never thought he’d be back here.

He had escaped. He was out! He was a free man! He could do whatever he wanted! He would not hurt anymore!

But life had other plans for him.

And he sits there, hands neatly resting in his thighs, as he watches from the corner of his eye the reflection of his worst nightmare gently brushing his hair.

William, that monster had his hands on him again.

“What’s in your head, darling? Something you want to say?” William says, voice gentle and inviting, like someone comforting a crying child.

Bullshit.

He stays silent, his eyes staring daggers at them man through the mirror. He tries to stay defiant, even if he’s too tired to do if.

William sighs, “I guess I’ll do the talking then…

When you disappeared a month ago, I was terrified, worried that something bad was going to happen to you. I thought we were doing great! You had even started to warm up to me! I spent all of those days looking for you, scrutinising every nook and cranny in this dammed city… and then I found you in that alleyway. My heart broke into a million pieces! I didn’t even know you drank!”

He stopped for a minute, putting the hair brush down on the table and looking directly at the younger man in front of him, a look of pity in his eyes.

“I know it’s been a few rough weeks, Lucy, so I’ll let this pass for now. After this, I’ll give you some space to think of what has happened, and then we’ll go back to how everything was before, okay?”

He cups Lucas’s cheek with one hand, the other wiping the already dripping tears out of the trembling boy’s cheeks. He leaves a gentle peck in Lucas’s forehead, petting his hair.

“You belong with me, Lucas. I know what you need and I can help you become better, you just need to let me in. Will you?”

Lucas should’ve said no, he should’ve hit him and told him to stop, to leave him alone and let him rot on the streets.

But now, now that he realised that he truly has no-one to help him, now that he realised that there’s no escape to this twisted dollhouse, he gives in.

He lets him in.

//

taglist; @oddsconvert (lmk if you want to be added)

[steddieunderdogfics]

For the hurt/comfort weekend, may I suggest the ongoing fic “count to thirty. breathe twice. repeat.” By WingedQuill!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42662157

The summary: “Billy Hargrove doesn't keep his promise to Max. He doesn't keep it in a pretty spectacular fashion, actually. Instead of staying away from her friends, he murders one of them.

Unfortunately for Billy, Hellfire meets right after basketball practice. And fortunately for Steve, Eddie knows CPR.”

Steve is hurt super badly, and the party, Hopper, and Eddie (including Wayne and the Corroded Coffin guys) are there for him ❤️

count to thirty. breathe twice. repeat by WingedQuill

Rating: Mature

48,013 words, 17/? chapters

Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Tags: Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation, (really ao3 is "CPR" too basic of a tag for you?), Post-Season/Series 02, Hurt Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, the intimate rituals of saving your unattainable crush's life, the intimate rituals of murdering your rival in the locker room, Attempted Murder, Implied/Referenced Torture, rip steve's hair i should tag this fic MCD for that alone, Whump, this probs counts as whump let's be real, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, i continue my Branding(tm) of cutting off all my blorbos' hair, watch out trevor belmont ur next, Trauma, Hurt/Comfort, Recovery, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ensemble Cast

Summary:

Billy Hargrove doesn't keep his promise to Max. He doesn't keep it in a pretty spectacular fashion, actually. Instead of staying away from her friends, he murders one of them. Unfortunately for Billy, Hellfire meets right after basketball practice. And fortunately for Steve, Eddie knows CPR. (Or: There is a clearly defined set of steps to keep someone's heart beating. There's no guide for the aftermath. Steve, Eddie, and everyone they love write one together.)

Thanks for the rec!

This rec is a part of Theme Weekend. The theme this weekend is Hurt/Comfort.

Know a fic that deserves extra love? Submit through our asks or the submission box!

[wangxianficfinder]

In the mood for...

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1. Hi!i love your blog and the hardwork the admins put it into it . It absolutely regenerates my energy to see more and more FANFICS .So thank you !  I wanted to read a fix where the plot of the fic revolves in Lotus pier only Wangxian centric like the Twelve Moons and a Fortnight fanfic It can be canon divergence (preferred) or compliant or any AU (arranged marriage etc.) Secondary - It would be great if it implied the abuse by Madam you and Jiang fengmian but like the Jiang siblings are close !

💖 sweet chaos by eachandeverydimension (G, 86k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Canon Divergence, Fluff, Romance, Light Angst, Falling In Love, Different First Meeting, Qīnghéng-jūn’s A+ Parenting, Night Hunts, Chinese Language, Good Sibling LXC, Good Sibling JYL, POV LWJ, Getting Together, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Chinese Culture, Slow Burn, No Homophobia AU, Chinese festivals)

Just Say Yes series by edenwolfie (M, 338k, wangxian, canon divergence, matchmaking, pining, cloud recesses study arc, getting together, fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, everyone lives au) particularly the third story, has some interesting stuff about wangxian at lotus pier and lwj figuring some things out about the family dynamics

could you find a way to let me down slowly, if you’re leaving baby let me down slowly by ravenditefairylights (M, 36k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Golden Core Reveal, Implied/Referenced Sex, Miscommunication, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Twin Prides of Yúnmèng Dynamics, Hurt WWX, Mutual Pining, Unreliable Narrator, Self-Esteem Issues, Twin Prides of Yúnmèng Feels, Protective Siblings, Trauma, Slightly dubious consent, courtesy of drunk sex, Inventor WWX, Genius WWX, Phoenix Mountain, Chronic Pain, Getting Together, Fix-It of Sorts, One Braincell Trio, PTSD) i think it fits? The story mostly in lotus pier

use the wood brought in by the tide by Lirazel (M, 27k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Hurt/Comfort, Warning for Physical Abuse, Falling In Love With Your Husband, pining for your husband, Sibling solidarity, dealing with your in-laws, lwj’s typical inner maelstrom of emotions, WWX Whump, Protective!LWJ, lwj&jyl friendship, intimate hair brushing, Skinny Dipping, Growing Up, Establishing boundaries)

The Scarlet Lotus by rainbowninja167 (M, 137k, WangXian, Marriage of Convenience, Secret Identity, Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Canon-Typical Violence, canon-typical war crimes, Yunmeng Bros, the mortifying ordeal of getting seduced by your own husband, nonlinear chronology we die like cql, just kidding nobody dies in this fic, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Miscommunication)

~*~

2. Hi for itmf are there any fic like disruptions by mondengel ? Merci beaucoup!💛

Wait, What? by MarbleGlove (G, 1k, WangXian, Time Travel, POV Outsider) I took the ask to mean POV lan xichen finding out his didi is in love/is loved in return?

Always the right way round by so_shhy (G, 3k, wangxian, LXC & LWJ, modern, fluff, LWJ loves rabbits, good brother LXC, excellent BF WWX, office party, outsider pov)

The Misunderstanding by kisahawklin (T, 9k, wangxian, modern, misunderstanding, outsider POV)

oh brother by lanzhans_rbf (G, 5k, LXC & LWJ, wangxian, modern, outsider pov, twin jades of lan dynamics, twin jades of lan feels)

~*~

3. Do you know any good crossovers with Heaven Official's Blessing? I have a mighty need.

preferably with not too many spoilers bc I read the Seven Seas books and don't know any more than that. @miertje1000​

silvery eyes meet silver wraith butterflies by sweetlolixo (T, 17k, HC/WWX, wangxian, romance, fluff, angst, pining)

Hua Xianle by Tiffany_Guinne (Not rated, 144k, hualian, wangxian, TGCF, canon divergence, not Jiang friendly, madam lan lives, WWX adopted by hualian, WWX with  different name, overprotective hualian, hurt WWX, WIP)

+1 Life (一生 Yīshēng) by SnowY14 (T, 78k, Time Travel Fix-it, Happy ending, Fluff, Humor, Light angst)

Can we skip to the Good Part? by pink-lotus-pods (Waterlogged_fireflies) (T, 107k, hualian, wangxian, crossover, YLLZ WWX, slow build, canon temporary character death, Fix-It of sorts, panic attacks, suicidal thoughts, genius WWX)

Just one person is enough by Sarah_R (T, 11k, hualian, wangxian, HC & WWX & XL, WWX & HX, WWX & SQX, canon divergence, TGCF crossover, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, hugs, past child abuse, cute, healing, canon-typical violence, WWX protection squad, falling in love)

【银 劍 探 心】| Silver Jian Seeking Hearts by stiltonbasket (M, 26k, wangxian, tgcf fusion, calamity lwj, reincarnation, heavy angst w/ happy ending, WIP)

~*~

4. hiii for ITMF, i'd like to ask for a fic where WY's blindfold slips during the tree scene and this changes things (for the better if possible). if you could, plz recommend those where fewer ppl die thx :) @crazy-gay-killxr

Fallen Belt by vettany2 (T, 4k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Phoenix Mountain Night Hunt Competition, Non-Consensual Kissing, Boys Kissing, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Feels, Confused WWX, Supportive Sibling LXC, Shy LWJ) uhhhhh, this one has LWJ accidentally knock the blindfold off

not a maiden by cannotsleep (examtomorrow) (T, 2k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Open Ending, Baifeng mountain kiss) And this one has the blindfold be see-through? I think these work for what OP wants?

No one else but you by chrisemrys (M, 17k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, First Kiss, Stolen Kiss, Love Confessions, Fix-It, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Semi sentient resentful energy, Golden Core Reveal, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, First Time) if OP is OK with a slight divergence to the prompt, this fic has semi-sentient resentful energy basically tell wwx it's lwj who's kissing him because it won't hurt lwj

~*~

5. I'm in the mood for dadji fics

box your errors by mellowflicker (T, 42k, WangXian, Modern AU, single dad lwj, Domestic Fluff, Family Issues, Slow Burn, Kid Fic, let lwj have friends agenda, Hurt/Comfort, Pining)

I know what my heart wants by yakuso5u (Not Rated, 28k, WangXian, Modern AU, Single Father LWJ, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Getting Together, Accidental Child Acquisition, Domestic, Slice of Life, Christmas references)

paint smears on sunny days by SnowshadowAO3 (E, 53k, wangxian, modern, fluff & smut, dad LWJ, pining, happy ending, art teacher WWX, accidentally co-parenting, fatherhood)

finally safe (for me to fall) by sassybluee (E, 77k, wangxian, modern, sugar daddy au, age difference, sex work, rich WWX, older WWX, service top WWX, poor LWJ, single parent LWJ, sugar baby LWJ, family issues, hurt/comfort, angst w happy ending, slow burn, cockblocking, anal sex, blowjobs, no lube & lube, addiction, compulsory heterosexuality, implied/referenced abuse, wangxian + others)

the low sky, raining over by chibilwj (thelogicoftaste) (M, 37k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Kid Fic)

Work in Tandem by MimiSpearmint  (E, 23k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Single Parent LWJ, when you just want disability-led sword lessons for your child, swordflight instructor!wwx, swordflight instructor!lwj, Fluff, give lwj friends agenda, Protective LWJ, Getting Together, Intercrural Sex, Choking, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Implied off-screen D/s negotiations)

When You Wake, 怎能当梦一场 by MouSanRen (T, 39k, WangXian, Modern AU, WWX is in a coma, Angst with a Happy Ending, Modern AU, Single Dad LWJ, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Parenthood, YZY’s A+ Parenting, JFM’s A+ parenting)

No Need to Change a Tune by yeolinski (T, 9k, WangXian, Modern AU, Single Parent LWJ, Chemistry Teacher!WWX, Music Teacher!LWJ, Kid Fic, Getting to Know Each Other, Getting Together, Fluff, Family Fluff) 

🧡 tear out the thread one by one from your skin (’til your bones feel embarrassed by all the attention) by lightningalwaysreturns (E, 40k, WangXian, Modern AU, Holidays, Getting Together, Professors, Pining, Spring, Fluff and Smut, Family, single dad lwj, so many novel refs, Explicit Sexual Content, service top lwj/power bottom wwx vibes)

I know what my heart wants by yakuso5u (Not Rated, 28k, WangXian, Modern AU, Single Father LWJ, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Getting Together, Accidental Child Acquisition, Domestic, Slice of Life, Christmas references) 

and still by detention_notes (G, 4k, implied wangxian, parenthood, reminiscing, grief/mourning, diary/journal, epistolary, healing, childhood, love, single parent LWJ, how to love a memory, how to raise the next generation, canonical character death, yearning, bittersweet, hopeful ending)

Wei Wuxian’s Home for Lost Creatures by Stratisphyre (G, 22k, wangxian, LWJ & LSZ & WWX, modern w magic, Julia’s Home for Lost Creatures fusion, fluff, single parent LWJ, near drowning, injured animals, first meeting, falling in love)

~*~

6. Hiii love the page, thanks for the hard work and amazing recs!!!!

For the next itmf I’d like some fics (no modern au) of wangxian basically maturing together. Like fics of them figuring themselves out, figuring their sexuality, their likes, their dynamics, how they work together, etc. Not necessarily in a sexual way but also just in general, like the both of them just growing together.

Sorry if it’s too vague! Anyways thank you!!! :D

Lead Me On Through by vesna (mrsronweasley) (E, 54k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Practice Kissing, practice other things, horny boys in love, questionable logic, Questionable Choices, slight knives, Happy Ending)

Straight at the Sun by diamondbruise (E, 33k, WangXian, Canon Universe, no war though, Mutual Pining, Pining while fucking, Misunderstandings, First Time, Anal Sex, Miscommunication, Jealousy, in abundance, Happy Ending)

Fentao-laoshi's Guide to Cut-Sleeve Pleasures by occultings (microcomets) (E, 31k, wangxian, canon divergence, pining while fucking, friends with benefits, first time, cloud recesses study arc, practice kissing, sharing a bed, jealousy, getting together, confessions, happy ending)

Teach Me The Ways by likeafox (E, 58k, wangxian, canon divergence, porn with (is) plot, much smut much feelings)

~*~

7. Hi lovely people! I’m itmf fics where either lwj or wwx suddenly safeword out of the blue. Whether done out of love, trauma, confusion, something embarrassing… any situation. Ty!!!

The Boys of Summer by thievinghippo (E, 83k, WangXian, Modern AU, Sports, Baseball, pining for one's husband, mentions of past emotional abuse, Feelings Saturday (it's a thing), slight angst, Happy Ending, Top/Bottom Versatile | Switch WangXian, but mostly top LWJ) I immediately thought of Boys of Summer, in chapter 7.

Honey Roast by uaevuon (E, 54k, wangxian, modern, BDSM au, dom LWJ, sub WWX, disability, HIV/AIDS, impact play, knifeplay, cock & ball torture, closeted character, implied self-harm, ageplay, matchmaker MXY, overstimulation, forced orgasm, S & M, sadism, masochism, body worship, consensual noncon, love confessions, blowjobs)

oh, these are real things by typefortydeductions (E, 15k, WangXian, Modern AU, The Porn Is the Plot, Kink Negotiation, Under-negotiated Kink, Safewording, Light BDSM, Dom/sub, Fisting, Sex Crying, lil bit of gender stuff, Panic Attacks, Top Drop)

~*~

8. Hi luvvv :D for the next itmf I was hoping to find some fics, canon era, of wangxian engaged? Like the whole courtship and negotiations and dowry process and the elation of being about to marry and the meeting the family, the whole deal.

Thank you! And thanks for your hard workkkk

💖 sweet chaos by eachandeverydimension (G, 86k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Canon Divergence, Fluff, Romance, Light Angst, Falling In Love, Different First Meeting, Qīnghéng-jūn’s A+ Parenting, Night Hunts, Chinese Language, Good Sibling LXC, Good Sibling JYL, POV LWJ, Getting Together, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Chinese Culture, Slow Burn, No Homophobia AU, Chinese festivals) (link in #1)

Lead Me On Through by vesna (mrsronweasley) (E, 54k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Practice Kissing, practice other things, horny boys in love, questionable logic, Questionable Choices, slight knives, Happy Ending) (link in #6)

🧡 Stunted, Starving Juvenility by TomatenMark (E, 644k, WangXian, WIP, Fix-it of sorts, Talisman master WWX, Not JFM Friendly, Study Arc, Getting together, Fluff and Angst, Engagement)

a light hidden and singing by occultings (microcomets) (E, 48k, wangxian, arranged marriage, pining, getting together, slow burn, misunderstandings, miscommunication, blood & injury, happy ending, smut)

Give Me a Chance to Fall by brooklinegirl (E, 37k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage)

~*~

9. ITMF: I’m obsessed with Truth Will Out (When Caught On Camera). I’m re-reading it every time a chapter comes out. Does anyone know of anything similar? Any other stories where Madam Yu abuses Wei Wuxian and other people find out about it? @anxiousdemonspirit

The Boys of Summer by thievinghippo (E, 83k, WangXian, Modern AU, Sports, Baseball, pining for one's husband, mentions of past emotional abuse, Feelings Saturday (it's a thing), slight angst, Happy Ending, Top/Bottom Versatile | Switch WangXian, but mostly top LWJ) (link in #7)

please don’t let me be misunderstood by sysrae (T, 3k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, getting hit by cars, Past Child Abuse)

the soft animal of your body by sysrae (T, 15k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, modern culitvation, Golden Core Reveal, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Animal Transformation, Shapeshifting, Sort Of, Getting Together, Confessions)

~*~

10. hi!! itmf celebrity/idol/actor au fanfiction or they're just famous people in general and alot of people gossip about them online

He is Wei Wuxian’s by devinokaze (T, 41k, WangXian, Modern AU, Celebrity, actor!wwx, singer!dancer!lwj, Social Media, Entertainment Industry, POV Outsider, Fluff and Humor)

life, drama and action by Akai__hana (G, 13k, WangXian, XuanLi, singer!lwj, actor!wwx, Social Media AU, Fluff and Humor, Established Relationship, Fluff and Crack)

🧡 I Don’t Want to Debut! by countingcr0ws (G, 56k, WangXian, Modern AU, Reality show, Idols, Actor LWJ, Forced Contestant WWX, Tencent’s 2021 Idol Producer, [Podfic] I Don’t Want to Debut! by PandaReads (DrPanda99)) ps: for the last one LWJ is a celeb and WWX is a famous novelist who's on an Idol Servival Show

Some of You by tangerinechar (M, 60k, WangXian, Modern AU, Social Media, Actor AU, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Fluff, Love Confessions, Matchmaking, Light Angst)

call me, beep me by myung (T, 39k, wangxian, modern, social media, actors au, celebrities, chatting & texting)

【那夏天的我們】a stroke of fate by puddingcatbeans (G, 59k, WangXian, Modern AU, Fluff, Slice of Life, Falling In Love, Summer, Barakamon AU, good times only, YouTuber WWX, Food)

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11. Itmf fix it fics or modern au's (maybe even post canon) that has switch/versatile wangxian

best laid plans by ilip13 (E, 20k, WangXian, Modern AU, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Also some angst for our suffering hero, Developing Relationship, Porn with Feelings, An Ode to Switching, Top/Bottom Versatile | Switch WangXian, Unreliable Narrator)

Waiting for Spring Series by thievinghippo (E, 225k, WangXian, Modern AU, MLB AU, Baseball AU, Mutual Pining, Pining while fucking, slight angst, Happy Ending, Top/Bottom Versatile | Switch WangXian, but mostly top LWJ)

pitiful destiny, point your finger at me by sassybluee (E, 66k, WangXian, Royalty, Yílíng Wèi Sect, Arranged   Marriage, Pining while fucking, Childhood Friends to Lovers, Secret Identity, Under-negotiated Kink, Donghua YLLZ, CQL LWJ, Top/Bottom Versatile | Switch WangXian, Identity Porn, Porn With Plot, Resentacles, YL WWX, Additional Warnings In Author’s Note)

carry me when i’m weary by spookykingdomstarlight (E, 38k, wangxian, WWX/OFC, modern, PWP, character study, touchstarved, pining, sex club, gentle dom WWX, service top WWX, bottom LWJ, versatile wangxian, friends w benefits, light bondage, blindfolds, getting together, happy ending, kink exploration, implied/referenced dubious consent)

Teach Me The Ways by likeafox (E, 58k, wangxian, canon divergence, porn with (is) plot, much smut much feelings) (link in #6)

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12. As an In the Mood for a Fic, I've been struggling to find fics where someone saves WXX from the three months he spent in the burial mounds. Preferably something sweet and with a good helping of hurt/comfort, but anything of the like would be fantastic

Thank you l!

Instead by apathyinreverie (T, 27k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, like self-indulgently so, by way of dark(er) gusu lan, manipulative elders, but in a good way, Golden Core Reveal, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, of sorts, not Jiang friendly, not really gusu lan friendly either, not particularly friendly towards anyone really, aside from wangxian of course, Cultivation World Critical, Sunshot Campaign, Fluff, Politics, Courting Rituals, possibly implied mpreg, Genius WWX, Talismans, No demonic cultivation, but wwx is still the lynchpin of the war, Possessive LWJ, Protective LWJ)

these colours fade for you only by doodlebutt (T, 36k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Everybody Lives, Golden Core Transfer, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, ...eventually, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, bed sharing, Mutual Pining, like really unreasonable amounts of pining, Slow Burn)

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13. Hi!!! Love what you guys do here & I've found so many great fics through you guys!!! For ITMF I was wondering if you knew of any fics with aro/ace jiang cheng? Doesn't have to be jiang cheng centric, but it'd be nice, also no jiang cheng bashing pls 💜 @loveshinesbrightly​

Indigo by Eleanor_Fenyx (M, 6k, JC/WQ, ace WQ & JC, dom/sub, rope bondage, subspace, getting together, fluff, praise kink, non-sexual submission, non-sexual bondage, non-sexual kink, dom WQ, sub JC) Ace JC and ace WQ modern AU kinky romance

A Bit of Ruthlessness by jirluvien (M, 110k, LXC/JC, post-canon, epistolary, angst, slow burn, courtship, asexual JC, hurt/comfort) Ace JC Xicheng post canon longfic

Lynchpin by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 103k, WangXian, ChengQing, Time Travel, Fix-It) Aro and romance repulsed JC in a long time travel fixit

Here's to our Future, to honour the past by Cy_an_Blue (T, 5k, background JYL/JZX, background wangxian, canon divergence, aroace JC, JC pov, politics, discussion conferences, plotting, rule bending, loopholes, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, non-graphic character deaths, fix-it of sorts, canon timeline, post-canon, twin prides of yunmeng dynamics, JC & WWX reconciliation, mention of suicide, angst w happy ending)

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14. Hi!! ITMF fics with dead/terminally ill LWJ and bonus points if the death is temporary.

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15. Hi! I just read The Meaning of Silence by The Silverfish (ZephyrAndTheSilverfish) and I was absolutely delighted!

Do you happen to know any fics like that? Canon era with wangxian knowing each other better than anyone, bit of angst like in the fic it’s okay but happy ending is a must!

Thank you! You’re a sweetheart btw, wish you the best!

seeds by antebunny (G, 3k, WangXian, SS & LWJ, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Identity Porn, Dramatic Irony, identity theft, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, the Inherent Romance of Being Known, BAMF WWX, protective boyfriend!wwx, simp!lwj)  

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16. Hiii thank you for your work! For the next ITMF Do you have fics where WXX surrenders to the Jin/lan/Jiang/Nie before JY dies? Specially where he surrenders to The Jin.

To Mourn the Young Man by Iamnotawriter (T, 56k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, BAMF WWX, Most people live, but not the bad guys, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Hurt/Comfort, Golden Core Reveal)

pakhnokh's House of Gentians comic fits?

Always walked a very thin line by tucuxi (T, 22k, NHS & WWX, JYL & WWX, WangXian)

If the Sun Never Set by SuibianIsOnVacation (Not rated, 12k, wangxian, JYL/JZX, JC/WQ, graphic depictions of violence, major character death, suicide, angst, triggers, grief/mourning, rage, angst w happy ending, WIP)

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17. Hello! I'm in a mood for your favorite fics with festivals and such

💖 sweet chaos by eachandeverydimension (G, 86k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Canon Divergence, Fluff, Romance, Light Angst, Falling In Love, Different First Meeting, Qīnghéng-jūn’s A+ Parenting, Night Hunts, Chinese Language, Good Sibling LXC, Good Sibling JYL, POV LWJ, Getting Together, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Chinese Culture, Slow Burn, No Homophobia AU, Chinese festivals) (link in #1)

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If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what  you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack,  whatever - it’s all good!***

[ratking-roleplays]

"I can't do this-" Whumpee's voice breaks as they sob, clutching their own battered form. "Please- please, I can't-" Their entire body aches, all the broken fingers and bruised ribs blending together. There is blood on the ground, but they're not sure where it's from.

"Oh, honey..." Whumper smiled with mock sympathy, leaning the bloodied crowbar against the wall. "You can. And you will. You make such a pretty pet dear, and you're so resilient." They praised, kneeling on the concrete beside their beloved Whumpee. "You've done it before, and you can do it again, sweetheart." They cupped Whumpee's tear-soaked cheek and rubbed their thumb against the bruised skin, not mistaking how much their captive leaned into the soft touch.

"It hurts..." Whumpee whispered, letting their eyes falls shut under the guise of safety. "Please."

"I know," Whumpee smiled softly. "I know, dear. But you're taking it so well." They pushed down on the dark bruise, feeling Whumpee's breath hitch as they hiccuped a sob.

"I don't wanna-" The captive mumbled, whimpering as Whumper pulled them closer, cradled their bruised body. "Please, Whumper-"

"Shh..." They stroked Whumpee's hair, shushing them affectionately. "It's over, honey, for tonight. You did so well my love. I can't wait to see what pretty sounds you'll make for me tomorrow."

[pretty-face-breaker]

can we have some nick and hayko fluff if you're so inclined 🙏🥺

cw. intimate whumper, manhandling, Hayko's bad flirting

before

“What were you thinking?” 

“Hm?” Hayko scrubbed his thumb over the bathroom sink, working the soap where he hadn’t been able to pick during the car ride. He kept his shoulders lax, watching the water turn pink and swirl out of sight. Playing at noncommittal. 

Nick watched him until it stopped working. “When he tried to stick you.” 

“Oh, not much.” Hayko stilled and swallowed, lingering. It had been an easy decision. 

It hadn’t been one, at all. 

He saw it now, the sneer, lunging at him from the darkness. Sweeping the crowbar in an arc until it connected with his temple and how the gleam in his eyes had gone out like ice giving away. How one hit hadn’t been enough, not until he was soaked in-

Nick fought down a smirk and tidied his own hands. “I know you’re rattled but you’re still not allowed to lie to me.” 

“I’m not.” 

Hayko spun around at the sudden clicking on the tiles just as Nick loomed over him, boxing him in with his hands on the sink. He didn’t break eye contact as he turned off the water. Hayko stared back, unflinching as Nick thumbed his cheek to scrape away a bit of dried blood. 

“I wasn’t thinking. I saw him coming, it wasn’t-” 

“-a decision?” Nick finished. “Just went for it?” 

“Unless you’d prefer someone else making me bleed.” 

Nick grinned sharply, thumb absently pressing into his cheek apple. “Did it for my benefit, hm? Keeping your own leash?”

Hayko snarled before he could stop himself.

“Fuck you.”

Nick’s reaction was inconsequential. If he made him pay, it wasn’t like his shirt could be ruined much more and he had already psyched himself up for a fight.

Fuck, he’d psyched himself up for more than that because, miles away, there was a man whose brains he’d turned into whipped ganache with a fucking crowbar today.

With his own hands.

It had barely been a decision.

Only Nick would ever hurt him like that.

But before Nick could respond, with violence or otherwise, Hayko swallowed, realising how close they were. How close their mouths were. With a shock of vertigo, something from weeks earlier replaced the images of the dead man.

A knife against his ribs, a hand in his hair. Nick’s mouth pressed to his, pressing his back to the wall, pressing. A proposition whispered against his neck, that he didn’t need to make it hurt, all the time. That he could give him something else. 

Nick’s knuckles clenching made the sink squeak. “Not enough violence today, love?” 

Hayko inhaled shakily, snapping back to the moment.

Right, the moment would probably develop into more blood, or Nick sending him down on his knees to whip him senseless or carve him up, or maybe nothing at all. Kissing probably wasn’t on the table, even if the offer was there, collecting dust. Even if he wanted it.

His next breath whistled through his teeth.

In the past day, Hayko had negotiated a weapons deal with a depraved murderer, sitting next to another one, before murdering his crony with a crowbar. 

Even if Nick’s offer wasn’t on the table, even if this was going to devolve into their particular brand of conflict-resolution, he was officially out of shits to give.

With an audacity that shocked him, Hayko glanced up at him through his eyelashes and tilted his head back to reveal his throat. Blood dotted his jaw and collarbones. “No. I think I’ve had enough.” He wet his lips. “Of that, anyway.” 

Briefly stunned, Nick blinked. The bathroom fluorescents hummed steadily.

As Hayko inwardly cursed himself for trying to seduce this lunatic, of all the lunatics he knew, a peal of laughter startled him. Nick pulled away and rubbed his grin with the back of his hand, the shadows suddenly gone from his eyes. 

“I’m not-” Nick gave an aborted chuckle. “I’m not quite sure what your aim is. You tell me to fuck off then try to charm me with those pretty eyes of yours?” 

Hayko, hoping he wasn’t too red, reddened further and began to flounder. “I-”

“You’ve thought about it, then?” Nick gave him a fond pat on the cheek, turning his hand to feel the heat radiating from it. “I didn’t think you’d take it seriously.” 

What Hayko heard was I didn’t think you’d ask for it.

“You obviously weren’t joking, unless kissing me with a knife against my ribs counts. Not very funny, by the way,” Hayko said, going redder now for a different reason. “Or are you just entitled to fuck with me, however you want and whenever you feel like it?”

Nick’s smirk grew at the sudden flare of anger. “What do you feel, right now?”

“Like maybe I should’ve bashed your head in, instead.” 

“Thought you’d had enough? Of that, anyway.”

Hayko shoved Nick out of the way, making a beeline for the door but ready to get yanked back by his hair. To his shock, all Nick did was stifle his laughter and follow behind.

“Oh, don’t do that, sweetheart. Do you want a kiss, or not?”

As Hayko threw back a glare, Nick’s amusement had gone nowhere fast. He could storm off, let Nick follow him until they settled the tension with violence, or start it up now. He could.

But Hayko stopped to turn, waited until they were toe-to-toe again. Swallowing hard, he watched the tamped-down delight in his eyes as Nick’s hand snaked around his waist.

Tried to control his breathing as he pulled him in to press a slow kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Failed on that count, feeling his sigh shake as Nick’s lips lingered. 

“What were you thinking?” Nick whispered against his mouth.

Hayko’s breaths came in rapid puffs. “Th-that he wasn’t allowed to. To get close to me, like that. That only you-” 

He gasped as Nick nipped his mouth and pressed him against the hallway closet. Palm holding a steady pressure to his spine, he was both the storm and the port. Hayko squeezed his eyes shut and kissed back with a small noise, getting shoved roughly up the closet for his efforts.

They needed to wash the blood off. He needed to get his head on right and plan to get away, needed to consult Vladimir.

Nick drove those thoughts further by the minute.

Hayko decided, breathless and with lips chafed raw, that he could have this. Just for a moment.

@doveotions @heathenville @thewhumpstuff @thatsthewhump @adamantem-rose @lonesome–hunter @whumpsorbet @whumpasaurus101 @lektricfergus @downrivergirl914 @burtlederp @redwingedwhump @nicolepascaline @ifbtnna @oh-so-skeletal @whumperfully​​ ​@brittaunfiltered09