#ridley lordin

[justplainwhump]

☆ A plug or vibrator to wear covertly for Dany ;)

Thank you so much, moose! Now I had to write it indeed 🥰

[Dany's Story]

Ridley belongs to the wonderful @hackles-up and is used with permission. Prompts from this [ask game]

Content: nsfwhump (obviously; but not very explicit), noncon use of toys, a little bit of noncon fingering, dubcon kissing; intimate whumper, m/f, fake relationship between whumper and whumpee.

The security guard leads me into one of the backstage dressing rooms of the theatre. It's a huge room, yet right now only used by Ridley, lounging in a leather chair in front of a mirror. Someone has done miracles to his hair, worked out his natural waves to give him a more approachable look. This is a campaign event, after all, a political show, not a business one.

Which is also why I'm here. Allow him to paint the image of a family man, of a doting husband, loving and loyal. It's sickening.

The guard leaves, while Ridley observes me in the mirror, takes in the red dress, emphasising my waist while covering as much skin as possible, checks the way my hair is falling over one shoulder, before his gaze rests on my face.

I forbid myself to show any mimic, just stare forward, as I wait for his judgement.

And of course, it comes right away, a theatrical sigh, before he spins around in the chair. "Oh, Princess, when did you become so boring?"

I do raise an eyebrow now. "It's not like I chose any of this myself."

"Of course you did, baby girl. Remember, there were times when you chose to fight." Ridley saunters over to me and places a hand on my cheek. His thumb runs over my lip, and instinctively, I part my lips and lean in for him to kiss me.

He doesn't, though, just sighs again. "Booooring," he repeats. "I bought you for fun, not for ..." He vaguely gestures at me. "Whatever that act is."

I close my eyes. "You've won, Ridley. Isn't that what you wanted? You've said it. You've won, and I've lost."

"Yeah, you have." He smiles. "I always win. But it's the winning that's fun, not the having won." His hand wanders back, softly brushes a lock of hair behind my ear, before it balls into a fist and he yanks back my hair. I yelp, and he smiles down at me. "The fun is in seeing you lose, baby girl, and I suggest you keep on entertaining me."

He does kiss me now, rough and bruising, and despite the tears springing up in my eyes, I kiss him back.

His other hand has sneaked under my dress, caresses the inside of my things, the hidden scars and fresh bruises, and I feel him chuckle into the kiss when I tense at his touch.

"Not now," I whisper. "Please, you... You need to get on stage any minute."

He clicks his tongue. "Ever so rational, baby girl, aren't you? But you're right of course. It's an important day for me. Gotta convince some people to vote for me, give me their money... I need to be at my best, just as my wife, standing by my side, all collected and polite and pretty, nothing in her stupid little head."

His fingers under my dress push aside the sheer lace of my panties. There's something in his hand, hidden in his palm, brushing against me. Solid, heavy, warm to the touch.

I freeze.

"You want to be good, don't you? No fun without a challenge."

My back is pressed against the dressing table, and he pushes me on it. "Open your legs, Mrs Lordin," he mumbles into my hair. The toy in his hand is pressing against my entrance.

"Please," I beg. "Don't do this, I... I can't, I'll be..."

"You'll have to show some of that fight I got you for," he hums. "Don't embarrass me in public. Leo will be watching this. You know, he'd hate it, if you caused a scene."

"Don't-"

Someone knocks at the door. "One minute, Mr Lordin." They retreat right away.

"Please." I search for Ridley's gaze. There's perverse amusement in it. "This is insane, you know I-"

"Oh yes, I know you're a needy little whore who can't hold back." He smiles, almost lovingly. "That's why I picked this game." His thumb circles around my clit. "Open up."

My legs are trembling, as I obey.

"Here we go," Ridley mumbles, gently sliding the toy into me. "See, this is going to be great fun."

"Thirty seconds!"

He brushes my panty back into place and pulls me from the table, holding me in a tight embrace.

His hand vanishes into his pocket, and inside of me, the vibrator buzzes to life. I can't fight a shiver.

"Mh, good girl." This time, Ridley's kiss is soft. "Don't forget to smile."

[ocean-blue-whump]

10 - Ian

(Happy!AU - The Kidnapping Arc -> Shattered Diamonds)

The very angsty arc of the Happy!AU where Dany never gets forced to marry Ridley Lordin and follows in her father’s footsteps as a crime lord, Lorenzo Whitlock never becomes Sunny, and their one-night stand at the Bahamas leads to a happy, loving marriage. This is a collaboration with @justplainwhump , Dany is her character.

Thanks for your patience in getting this part out! Hope it’s worth the wait. 

Dany Masterlist || Sunny Masterlist

[Part 1] [Previous] [Next] [Masterlist] [Ao3]

Tagging both the Dany crew and the Sunny crew! @ashintheairlikesnow @whumpinggrounds @whumptakesthecake @whumpfessional @winedark-whump @painful-pooch @distinctlywhumpthing @whumping-on-the-ridge @queenofthenoobs @hackles-up @whumping-newbie @just-horrible-things - let us know if you want to be added or removed from this tag list.

CW: 18+, EXPLICIT NONCON, derogatory language, degradation, forced to watch, lady whump, BBU (not pet whump but “boxies” are discussed), whumper POV, very brutal, please heed the warnings. 

***

Ian can hear the noises all the way in the other room. Adam moaning loudly and talking in a low, aroused voice, skin slapping together, someone kicking a table leg, and the Hammond bitch screaming and crying. Fucking finally. He’s been wanting to do that for so long. 

Normally, he wouldn’t let Adam fuck the hostage, especially not on location. But if he wanted Danielle to be destroyed completely—well, sacrifices must be made. He heard the husband scream at first, he hasn’t heard anything else. 

That scream…Ian wishes he had it recorded so he could play it over and over in Danielle’s ear. Make her relive the moment her husband broke until she lost her mind. 

He hears another particularly pathetic cry from Danielle and laughs. This has been an amazing day. Sure, the Hammond bitch hurting Jonah was unexpected, and Fitz took a risk pulling back the slide while the gun was in the husband’s mouth. If he had killed him…the Hammond bitch wouldn’t have cooperated. But it all worked out in the end.

Danielle Hammond is breaking for him, watching her husband get fucked like an animal. 

She’s been a fucking thorn in his side ever since she stepped into power. She’s good at her job, that’s the problem. That, and the fact that she’s a pretentious little bitch who sits there in her fancy corner office and parades around important meetings dressed to the nines with her nose turned up, sometimes with her husband on her arm like a trophy prize. 

Good for you, bitch. You managed to fuck him stupid enough to marry you. 

At least Ian could have some semblance of respect for her father. He worked hard. Danielle was raised in a fucking palace, surrounded by bodyguards, and anyone who dared call her a slut for fucking those bodyguards got knocked off. 

Stupid daddy’s girl. She’s in the big leagues now. She should know better than to be emotionally connected to someone, especially someone so useless as her husband. Even his muscles, his defined abs, are just pretty decoration. 

Danielle is nothing but a spoiled bitch who keeps her husband among her prized collection of hitmen and preppy tennis clothes. She hasn’t had to do a damn thing to get everything she has. 

That stupid fucking cunt. Her father was a major detractor of Ian’s business, too, but at least he wasn’t so blatant about it. He should just make both of the Hammonds pets and call this done with. 

“Fuck!” Adam is yelling. “Fuck, yeah, diamond boy.”

Sounds like his cue. Time to see how much more he needs to push the Hammond bitch before he gets what he wants.

Ian walks back into the room, smiling. The sight before his eyes is…magnificent. The husband, still bent over the table, cum and blood between his thighs, teeth marks on his back. The Hammond bitch, face red from crying, made into an utter wreck and barely held upright. Ian’s day just keeps getting better and better. "How'd that go for everyone?" 

Adam pulls out of Lorenzo, wiping himself off with the stupid apron they found him in. "Great, boss." 

Ian stalks over, completely ignoring Dany, to stare at Lorenzo. He looks fucked out, he's not even there anymore. "Shit. You fucked everything out of him." 

Adam grins lazily. "I'm thorough." 

Dany wails into Fitz's hand, kicking desperately at the two men holding her. Fitz rolls his eyes. "She's been doing this the whole time. Fucking bitch." 

"You can let her go now. I'm sure she'll be good and quiet knowing that Adam would love to go round two. Do you think Mr. Hammond would look good, gagging on your cock?" Ian knows exactly what the words do to Dany, the angry glare he gets in response for his words. 

"He looked good gagging on a gun." Adam shrugs. "I think it's worth a try." 

Fitz and Andrey step back from Dany, but she doesn't move from her spot. 

Ian circles to the back of Lorenzo. "You tore him," he says, watching blood and spend slide down Lorenzo's thighs. "Think that'll ruin the sale price?" Ian doesn't wait for an answer, seeing how Dany shudders. "Why don't you give me a product review, Adam? Tell me all about WRU's potential new recruit." 

It's amazing how the man bent over on the desk doesn't even react to what Ian's saying. He just lies there with empty, hollow eyes, occasionally whining like an animal. Ian grabs him by his hair and lifts his face up towards Dany's. He doesn't fight back, Ian can pull him around every direction he wants. Pliant. Dull. And he's not even a boxie yet. 

"Oh, with pleasure, boss." Adam walks over, cupping Lorenzo's ass with his hand. "This is almost good enough to seal the deal alone. See?" He brings his hand down, and both men watch the skin ripple with the blow, turning red in the shame of a handprint. "He's got quite the ass. WRU should list that as his main feature on their webpage. I'd buy him just for that."

Dany stiffens as Adam walks closer to her, but all he does is shove his fingers in Lorenzo's mouth and smile at her. "He's not loud enough for me, but I can imagine that when he's not floating off to Neverland, he's quite a vocal slut." 

Ian chuckles. "You think they can train that out of him?" 

"For how much these things cost? WRU can do almost anything." Adam pulls his hand out of Lorenzo's mouth, wiping the saliva off on Dany's shirt. She flinches away from him, her tears dry on her cheeks. "I've already tested his mouth with the gun, as I'm sure his wife remembers, but that was a very positive experience." 

Ian nods. "Not a biter?" 

"Nah. He's a sweet, pretty toy. Aren't you, diamond boy?" Adam slaps Lorenzo's ass again, and he whimpers, but doesn't resist, doesn't try to pull away from Ian's hand keeping his head up. 

Ian looks to Fitz, who's watching Adam eagerly, and Andrey, who looks a little sickened. His eyes narrow. Maybe Andrey will have his own reckoning with a gun, once this business is over. Can't trust people who aren't on board with his decisions. 

"Now," Adam says, leering at Dany. "Let's talk about how good he felt on my cock. I don't know much about his sex life--obviously I know he's a slut--but damn. He's tight. He tore on the first thrust, but it made the friction a little less. And I like my men bloody. He's perfect, though. Like he was made for taking cock." 

"I looked over their house," Fitz says. "This bitch gives him free rein. Lets him read and write, go grocery shopping." 

Adam shakes his head. "It's a waste. She's wasting him. Something this good should be kept tied up to be used all the time." 

"She does keep him collared," Ian says. "I'm sure it's not all the time, but he seems to know his place." Ian's never been one for fucking his captives, but he's a little turned on by Lorenzo's eyes. There's nothing there. Not a single spark in that ocean blue. Like it's all been sucked out of him, like the sea after a storm.

"My final rating would be a nine out of ten," Adam says, shoving a finger into Lorenzo and relishing in Dany's horrified whimper. "Tight, pretty, nice ass, but too quiet. I know it's cliche, but I like the boxies that ask for it, that are all slutty and loud. Once he decided to let his brain get fucked out of him, he was just silent. If I'm paying for a boxie, I want him moaning so loud they can hear it two counties over." He pulls his finger back out, covered in blood and cum, and wipes it on the apron. 

Ian switches his grip to hold Lorenzo by the collar, shaking him around. "Lorenzo," he calls. 

No response. 

"Yeah, he's too far gone." He yanks the man back, throwing Lorenzo's naked body onto the concrete floor. Dany cries out as Lorenzo whines in pain from his dislocated shoulder. 

"He's a waste," Adam says. "Finally, we got his wife to destroy him like he was meant to be. You hearing me, Hammond bitch? This is all your fault." 

Ian slides the laptop back in front of Dany and opens it. "Make the cargo arrangements." Adam kicks Lorenzo in the ribs; Dany flinches more than he does. 

Ian smiles. He's got them exactly where he wants them. Pretentious bitch Danielle Hammond, a crying, scared mess. She shouldn't have played with fire, she should have left that to the professionals. She can walk around showing off her daddy's money all she wants, it doesn't matter when her husband is a whore and she's doing exactly what Ian wants. His day couldn't be going better. "Just make the arrangements and I'll let you clean him up before Adam gets horny again." He turns away. "For the record, Danielle, fourteen days is perfectly fine."

[justplainwhump]

Ridley Dies AU: Not without B

The Ridley-Dead-AU, a short part two after a short part one [here]. I feel like I owed you this.

Dany saving herself, or at least - working on it.

B, Ridley and referenced Leo belong to the amazing @hackles-up who I am infinitely grateful to for creating this AU with me.

Cw for vague BBU, mentions of blood and murder. Language. Nothing more.

[Continued from here] [Dany Masterpost]

The small gun is heavy, suddenly. I have to take my other hand, to keep it straight, directed at the one person I want to protect.

I have to do it, for him, I tell myself. B can't live without Ridley.

Well.

I don't want to live without B.

He'll die out there. He's hurt, he's injured, he's lonely, he's utterly unprepared to be free. To be on the run. He'll slow me down, and it'll be both our death.

He's also strong, he's loving, he's loyal. I feel safe in his arms, and loved in his gaze. He's saved me, we've saved each other, countless times.

My scars itch, scars that B gave me.

But without Ridley, he'll never have to hurt me again.

Fuck.

I lower the gun.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This is either the greatest mistake of my life, or the last.

Probably both.

I step in closer, rest my hand against his cheek. He's breathing more peacefully now, steadier and stronger. He'll wake up, soon. I hope. I fear.

"I've got this," I mumble, more to myself than him. "I'm sorry. I... I've got you, B."

I jog back to the bedroom, the direct way, taking a big step over Ridley's body. If it'd make any difference, I'd shoot him again. And again. And again. For what he did to B, what he made him do to me. For what I was about to do to B.

B's corner of the wardrobes is all black, all multiples of the same set of clothes. I take a long sleeved shirt and loose pants for him. My clothes, I don't even bother to look at. None of them are practical. Instead, I slip into a pair of Ridley's jeans and one of the more casual T-shirts he has. It sports his company logo. Fucking ironic.

When I return to B, he's murmuring something, still unconscious. Quickly, I check the messages on Ridley's phone. Leo is still busy. The project doesn't look like she can hold up any longer.

*How are yours?*, Leo asks.

*A little defiant*, I reply. *But I took care of it.* Happy emoji. Heart eyes emoji.

I shove the phone back into my pocket, before I gently lift B's upper body from the couch and pull the shirt over his battered body. There's no time to clean him up. He whimpers in pain.

"I'm sorry," I say and run a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry, B, you have to wake up."

"D... Dany?" Disoriented green eyes search for my gaze.

"B." I swallow, steel myself for what is about to come. "B, we have to run, okay? Something... Something has happened. Somebody..." I inhale. "Someone has murdered Ridley."

[justplainwhump]

Hold On

( @whumpmasinjuly Day 6 // Ridley, Dany and B)

In the aftermath of a 'lesson' from Ridley, Dany struggles to hold on to herself.

Ridley and B belong to @hackles-up and are used with permission. This is set directly after the events in [Lost], and references this ['comfort' prompt fill].

[Dany Masterpost]

Content - aftermath of choking, aftermath of noncon, locked in a cage, intimate whumper, implied mutual noncon, manipulative whumper, creepy comfort, degrading and dehumanising language. Believe it or not, though, technically, this is about love.

My mind is drifting through an ocean of darkness. There's flashes of burning pain, the crashing weight of waves pulling me down, there's tides tugging at me, towards a black hole in the center of the sea, then back towards a distant blood red shoreline.

Nothing is real.

'You lost.' An echo of him whispers at me. 

Digs into my ribs.

Burns on my skin.

Claws at my insides.

Tightens around my throat.

I whimper.

The sound catches in my throat, weak and painful. It hurts. It hurts so much. I can't breathe. My hands fly up, fingertips brush against soft leather. The collar. My collar. Back on. Too tight. Pressing into aching bruises, cutting off my air.

"No," I want to whisper. I can't. My voice is gone. A pathetic croak is all the sound I can make.

Another spike of pain, drilling into my side.

"Look at me, bitch."

I blink. Force my eyes open. There's light, too much light, and in between a figure is looming over me.

I blink again, squint my eyes, until the blurry lines of Ridley's face take shape, far away, behind sturdy metal bars.

I'm in a cage. Laying on the floor of the narrow dog cage, in Ridley's splendid living room. 

Above me, Ridley smirks. He's in a suit, fingers busy adjusting his tie. His polished shoe is poking into my side between the bars.

"There she is. Good morning, princess. How did it feel? To die, at my Bee Bee's hands? I must say, I liked you a lot better, stripped of that annoying attitude."

I try to shift away from his foot on the cold cage floor. Pain rips through me, tearing right through my core. Horribly familiar. Worse than ever. 

A weak whine escapes from my throat.

Ridley hums contently. "Yeah. Fucked you raw. You'll be sore for a while. Might give you something to remember. That's what you're for, baby girl. Everyone knows it. I know it. You know it. Even the dog understands." Ridley pauses, adjusts the collar of his suit, while his gaze runs over my body. There's a smug grin on his lips. "You should know, I let him have a go at you, too, after I was done. He knows you're not his friend. You're not his savior. You're his master's fucktoy." He turns around and I follow his gaze to see B curled up at the other side of the living room, chained to the floor by his collar. Ridley clicks his tongue. "I actually had to step in. He fucked you hard enough to almost kill you a second time. You know him. Can't hold back when he's in the zone. What a vicious creature." He sighs. "Still, even when he messes with my property like that, I just can't bring it over me to put him down. I'm too soft on both of you, really."

I can't even sob. I roll to my side, turn my face away from Ridley, from B, from everything. My skin hurts, itches where it stretches under dried come. The blue dress I wore to the reception is torn to shreds.

"I'll have to get to the office now, baby girl. You'll stay in the cage for the day. Keep you safe from the dog, and your own dangerous attitude. And if you're good tonight, I'm even inclined to allow you back into my bed."

Something nudges through the bars. Not his foot again, but something soft. "There. Some comfort, while you recover. My dog hurt you so much. This one won't." 

I don't look up, almost surprised when Ridley doesn't insist that I do. Instead, I hear him leave with a whistle and a relaxed spring to his steps, followed by the soft closing of the elevator doors.

-

I can't tell how much time has passed. I've fallen into a fitful sleep, nightmares of teeth and pain and drowning. Something small is pressing into my back. Wincing, I pull it out from underneath me.

It's a stuffed animal. The plush dog Ridley has gifted me, with huge plastic puppy eyes and a broken ear. It's sticky, a smudge of blood staining its fur.

My hands curl into fists in the soft plush. I want to scream, yell, curse, but there's nothing left in me but a painful, garbled sob. 

Fuck you, I think, what I can't say out loud. Fuck you, Ridley Lordin. It won't work. You won't win. I'm more than what you want me to believe. B is more than what you want me to believe.

I press the stuffed dog against my chest. You won't win, Ridley.

I won't give up. I'll hold on. To B. To myself. We're more.

I turn my head to look through the bars. B is half awake, still feverish, his body shaken by violent shivers. 

I hug the plushie tightly.

"We're more." My voice is nothing but a faint croak. B can't hear me. 

It doesn't matter. 

I'll hold on for the two of us.

--

[Next >]

[justplainwhump]

Lost

( @whumpmasinjuly Day 3 // Ridley, Dany and B)

Dany is protective of a feverish B. Ridley doesn’t like it one bit.

Ridley and B belong to @hackles-up and I love them. This is set pretty late in their timeline.

[Dany Masterpost]

Contents - choking (fade to black), intimate whumper, possessive whumper, multiple whumpees, forced to hurt, pet whump, conditioning, BBU setting, sick/feverish whumpee, some degrading language.

The sun is setting, as we arrive in the penthouse. It's too early to return from a reception like the one we were at, and all of us know it. I watch Ridley's back in the elevator in front of me. His back is straight, his shoulders tense, the muscles around his jaw working. He doesn't look at me. Us.

B is leaning on my shoulder. Heat is radiating from him. His fever has grown worse. I can feel him trembling through his leather jacket, swaying on his feet, while I do my best to keep him upright. He's heavy, and I have lost a lot of my former strength to Ridley. "M' sorry," B mumbles, as he did most of the otherwise silent ride in the limo. "Sorry, Sir, I can… I can be good. A good dog."

Ridley does not reply. The elevator doors slide open, and he exhales sharply, smoothes his hair as if to prepare himself for something, before he strides out, heading straight for the bar cart. 

I follow, my hand on B's chest, carefully guide him towards the bedroom.

"Where do you think you're going?" Ridley's voice is cold, accentuated by the clinging of ice cubes in the glass he's preparing.

"He needs to lay down. He's sick." 

"And what makes you think that you have any say in what happens to my property?"

I want to go on toward the bedroom, but B has gotten heavier, somehow - No. He just stopped walking. 

"Come on, B," I whisper into his hair. "You need to rest. That's my fight, not yours."

"B. Get over here."

"Sorry," B murmurs. He reaches up, slowly, and takes my wrist, guiding my hand away from his chest. Ridley watches impassively, as B stumbles across the room.

"Knees."

B obeys, slumping to his knees at Ridley's side. Ridley's hand runs through his wet hair. His gaze, however, is on me.

"Do you want to go on playing your silly little game, princess?" His fingers curl into a fist in B's hair, and B winces. I have to swallow back a sob. "You've embarrassed me at the party. And what for? To defend the dog? What makes you think he's worth it?"

"He's not a dog," I whisper.

"Oh, but he is. An old and almost useless dog, aren't you, Bee Bee?"

"I… I'm good Sir, le… lemme be a good dog for you,… please, Sir."

Ridley raises an eyebrow at me. "A dog. My dog."

"Ridley, please. Just… just let him rest."

"Ridley?" He clicks his tongue. "There's nobody listening, baby girl. You call me like I taught you to."

I almost choke, just weakly shake my head. I can't do this. "Please."

With a dramatic sigh, his gaze wanders down to my hand, the thin lace gloves I've been wearing to hide my scars when in public. My wedding ring is over it, visible to everyone. "You're forgetting your place, Danielle. That ring I put on your finger doesn't make you my equal. You're my property. Just as he is."

B is shaking under his hold, but still leaning into his touch. He presses his face to Ridley's thigh. "I can be good," he mumbles.

"And you will be," Ridley replies smugly, casually petting B’s head. "You both will."

"I can…" I steady myself. "I will be good, I promise. I'll do whatever you want. Just… just let B rest, please. He's ill."

Ridley lets go of B's hair to uncork a bottle of whiskey, and B slumps down against his legs. "Not good enough. You started this little game. You'll see the end of it."

"It's not... It's not a game."

"You're really fucking stupid, aren't you?" He sighs, while he pours himself a generous drink. "You're wrong again. It's a game, because I say it is." He nudges B with his foot. "Bee Bee. Listen to what my fucktoy wants of you."

'Fuck you', I mouth. I don't dare saying it out loud.

Ridley takes a sip of his drink and licks his lips. "Come on. Tell my dog what you want him to do. He's free to oblige. B. You're free to oblige."

B nods and stares to the ground with glassy eyes. "Yes. Yes, Sir."

"Danielle?," Ridley prompts.

"Go..." I swallow. "Go to bed and rest, B. Please."

"Hm," Ridley murmurs and takes another drink. "Bee?"

"I... Sir. May I?" 

"You may. I said it, didn't I?"

Both Ridley and I watch B struggling to get to his feet, stagger toward the bedroom. He looks at me, as he's passing me. There's confusion in his hazy eyes, but also something else. He's grateful.

He shouldn't be. I know he shouldn't be.

"Stop," Ridley says and I flinch at his voice. B stops dead in his track, right in front of me. "Now, Bee, you know what she asked, but I have something of myself. It's a suggestion, not an order. You choose. You choose what you do. She thinks you can do that, you know? She thinks you're a real man, for her to love and care for. Not a pet. So you think really hard about what you'll do now, will you, Bee Bee?"

"No." Weakly, I shake my head. "Don't, please."

B shivers, still shaky on his legs. "Sir, you're my owner, I..."

"Yeah yeah, whatever. I say you choose. Between my... suggestion and hers. Now, hers is for you to go sleep. Here's mine." There's a sharp smile on Ridley's lips. "Kill her."

For a second, B hesitates. 

Then, he slams into me. 

I fall to my back, B's crushing weight on my chest. His breath is coming in sharp gasps. 

"Choke her," Ridley says, far away. "Use your hands."

"No," I scream. "No, B! Don't!"

B's movements are sluggish, but he's strong, so much stronger than me, and his hands are on my throat, his skin burning on mine.

"No," I rasp. "Please -"

"Oh, Bee Bee," Ridley sing songs, and I hear his steps closing in, the clinking of the ice in his glass. "She says, she doesn't want it."

My pulse is racing under B's hands. His grip is firm, but I can still draw in a shaky breath. I can't. I can't die like this. "P... Please, no."

"Sir," B's voice trembles. "But... But you..."

"Mh. Yes. I do want it. It'll make me happy. You want what makes me happy, don't you?"

B's hands close around my neck. 

I lift my hands to fight off B's hold, but Ridley's foot slams down my wrist. 

"Still enjoying your little game, Danielle?"

"Rid... Da... Daddy," I choke. "For... Forgive me!"

"Nope," he says. "No, I don't, baby girl. My Bee Bee will kill you and you'll look into his pretty, sad eyes while he does. Whatever your little fantasies tell you that he is to you, I paid a shit load of money to make sure he's mine first."

Black dots are blurring my vision. My legs are thrashing uncontrollably. 

Something brushes past my temple, and I can't make it out, but I think it's Ridley, kissing me.

"You're not going to save him. You can't even save yourself. You're both mine."

Everything hurts. I'm falling. Fading.

"You lost."

I lost.

--

[Next >]

[justplainwhump]

Ridley Dies AU: Turning Point

The Ridley-Dead-AU, everyone. I shall tag these who commented on it, plus the Dany tag list: @distinctlywhumpthing @whumping-on-the-ridge @queenofthenoobs @ocean-blue-whump @just-horrible-things @whumpymirages 

Ridley, B and Leo belong to the wonderful @hackles-up

[Dany masterpost]

Cw for (obviously) major character death and thoughts about it. Very vaguely implied past noncon. BBU (vaguely mentioned). Whumpee married to (dead) whumper. Blood. Thoughts about killing a loved one.

He's dead.

Ridley Lordin is dead. His body is still warm, his  brown eyes still open, empty, staring into nothing. There's a hole between them, slightly asymmetric, towards his right eyebrow. The hole is ridiculously small. Like his ridiculously small gun. Like he is a ridiculously small man. 

I don't know where my thoughts come from. I feel like I'm stuck here, stuck in the present, stuck in this moment, with the cool metal of the small gun trembling in my hands, and warm blood soaking the carpet under my bare feet.

The hole is bigger at the back of his head, of course.

I feel sick.

Next to his body, his cellphone vibrates once. It must've slid out of his pocket. New message. Leo. 

Ridley Lordin is dead, but Leonardo Luciano is still alive.

My head is spinning. There's only one thing I know. I have to leave the city before he finds out.

I step forward. The carpet is sticky. Mingled in his beloved 80s rock music are the smacking sounds of my steps. 

I take his wrist, pausing as my gaze falls on our hands. His wedding band next to mine, his perfect skin next to the scars crossing the back of my hand. "Fuck you," I whisper, repeat the last words I said to him. Probably the first ones, too.

I almost have to laugh, even though I don't know why. Nothing of this is funny. Still, it feels ridiculous.

I place his thumb on the phone's sensor to unlock it. 

Love you. Looking forward to date night. I'll text you when I leave here. Special project needing a little more attention tonight.

Date night. Tonight. Here.

There's even less time than I hoped. 

Without another glance at my husband, I walk into the office, leaving a trail of bloody footprints. I don't bother. Leo will know everything, anyway.

I know the layout of Ridley's office by heart. I've spent countless hours on his lap, even more crammed under his desk, keeping him warm. I know where he keeps his laptop, his paper files, his special thumb drives. I pack them all, throw them into a large briefcase. 

There's a stack of bills in his safe, less than I hoped, but it'll do for a start. I add it to the pile. I also know his credit card pin. I'll be able to get more.

Ridley's phone vibrates again. A photo. Leo's  special project, in what must be excruciating pain.

My stomach twists, as I reply with a chain of heart emojis, just as Ridley would.

I can't help her. I can't help anyone but myself.

Not even -

My gaze goes to B, sprawled over the couch, barely breathing. He's still unconscious, bleeding on his head, his arms, his chest, from the brutal blows Ridley rained down on him.

For me.

He'd punished him for me, because his wife can't have bruises in public, but his pet can. Because he knows B matters more to me than anything else.

There's a tear running down my face. I don't fight it. It's ironic. I wanted to save B, but instead I destroyed everything for him. B can't live without Ridley. He'll fall apart. He'll tear me apart, for what I did. And then, Leo will torture him to death, for his failure.

If I'm clever, if I'm quick, and with a whole portion of luck, there's a chance at freedom waiting for me, just outside.

B can never be free.

There's only one thing I can do for him.

"I love you, B," I whisper. "Thank you for everything. I... I wish it had ended differently."

I lift the gun and point it at his heart, blink back the tears.

"I'm so sorry."

[Next]

[justplainwhump]

🧸 for Dany~

Set after [Game of Trust] and [Clinic]

Ridley and B belong to the amazing @hackles-up and are used with permission; most of this is adapted from an RP we did.

Made for these comfort prompts. But. Little Disclaimer - this is not comfort.

[Dany Masterpost]

Cw for intimate whumper, possessive whumper, general humiliation, conditioning, BBU setting, tiny reference to noncon.

Ridley picked me up from the clinic, and he’s in a fantastic mood. Like nothing even happened. He’s forgiven me, he told me. Forgiven me. 

And the worst thing is, I’m relieved. I want him to be happy. I want him to forgive me, to believe that I can be good. I’ve betrayed him. It’s his right to punish me, is it not? 

Not B, though. None of this was B’s fault. I’ve used B, just like Ridley has. I’ve made him break his rules, for my own good. B is the one who deserves redemption. But he’s not here. 

Ridley has come alone, perfectly dressed, with an arm full of flowers and a huge wrapped gift box, both sitting on my lap now, as he’s driving us back to his penthouse. Back home.

I stare down at my hands. My left hand, holding the flowers in place, smooth skin, the diamonds of my engagement ring catching the light of the sun. My right hand, held by a splint, wrapped in thick bandages, resting on the box. It hurts a little, every bump he’s speeding over sending echoes of pain up my arm. I’ve had three surgeries. There’ll be more, in the coming months. And even then, it’ll never be fully functional again. 

"Where is he?", I whisper.

"I’ve dealt with him," Ridley says. A smirk is dancing around the corner of his lips, as he keeps his gaze on the street. "Don’t worry, princess. I’ve dealt with the big, bad dog that hurt you. You’re safe now."

Dread pools in my stomach. 

"No… I… It was me. I’ve been bad. Not him. Please, you have to-"

"You’ve both been very bad, princess. You? You’ve always been a bit of a project for me. But he, he broke his training."

"You… you can’t…" My voice is breaking.

"He’s mine, Danielle. Just as you are. I can do anything I want." He turns up the radio, blasting some horrible 80’s station, and starts singing along, fingers drumming on the steering wheel.

B. I doomed him. I remember his pain, mingled with my own. I remember Ridley, raining punches down on him, then kicks, when B was on the ground. And B just took it. Took everything his owner unleashed on him, until I passed out, or him, I don’t even know.

"I’m sorry," I whisper. I don’t think, Ridley hears me. I don’t think it was meant for him, anyway.

He pulls the car into a sharp curve and takes us into his garage. 

I have to wait for him to open the door for me, and he guides me out and into the elevator, a firm hand around my waist, the other taking the gift box.

"Well, home sweet home, sweetheart." He says, yawning, as the elevator doors slide open. "Time for coffee, isn’t it?" He’s moving to the kitchen, but I don’t move along with him. I stand frozen in place, staring onto the little carpet in front of the huge windows. B’s carpet. 

He’s there. Lying in his usual spot, warmed by the sun streaming in through the window. Horribly hurt, but alive, breathing. Not dead. Not gone. Here.

"Ridley, you fucking monster," I sob. 

I run toward B, fall to my knees next to him, afraid to touch him, for so many reasons, but wanting to, for so many others. 

"B", I whisper. "B, you're here, you're alive." Tears are streaming down my face, uncontrollable.

Behind me, Ridley chuckles.

B is on his hands and knees in an instant. He whirls around, hissing. 

"B, it’s me!" I reach out. 

He snaps his teeth at me, and I stumble back, catching myself on my hand, and then not. Pain flares through my, my broken hand, my wrist, and I fall onto my back.

B blinks at me, hunches low, growling through bared teeth. "Stay... stay away from me."

"Careful, sweetheart." Ridley calls out, smug.

"No", I whisper tonelessly, keep my distance from him. "B, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, for everything."

Ridley has showed up at my side now, crouching next to me. "Hey, careful now... don't make that hand worse. Come on... give him some space." He all but drags me away from B. Numbly, I let him. All my resolve is gone.

B is staring at us, at me, carefully, and only when we’re far away from him, does he crawl back to his spot on the rug, lying back down with a pained moan.

I'm sobbing, trying to convince myself it's the pain from my hand, not my heart. "What did you do?", I whimper between tears, even though I don't want to hear  the answer. "I... We... We wouldn't do it again, I know, I understand, we've been bad, but not..."

I cling to Ridley, because he's there, his voice is soft, he's holding me, and I need to be with someone right now, even though it's him, who has taken my only friend, who has broken him, once more. "No, please, he... Let me help him, please. He... He needs someone." I do. I need B. I can't make it, without him, not like this.

"I didn't do anything, baby girl." Ridley croons, stroking my hair. "He's a guard dog, Danielle... My guard dog. It's in his training. He sees you as a threat now. Don't force him to hurt you again by doing something stupid."

I look at B from where I am, pressed to Ridley's chest, blinking against the tears in my eyes. I remember what it felt like to be held by him, kissed by him, with a care and tenderness that Ridley would never know. 

"You don't touch him…" Ridley murmurs into my hair. His hold of me has gotten too tight. "You don't fuck with him or me... You'll be safe."

Never touching B again. Being with him, but forced apart like this. He's been my rock, whatever he has had to do, the one thing to hold on to, at night or at day when we were alone. I've destroyed it.

I'm so sorry. I hope B can read it from my eyes. I'm so sorry, it was my fault, forgive me.

Ridley is kissing my neck. Something like paper tears next to me, and it takes me a second to understand he’s ripping open the paper of the gift box. "Got you a little something to get used to it, baby girl. Help you understand the situation."

His arm wraps around me again, and there’s something soft in his hand, gently brushing over my skin. I squeeze my eyes shut. I feel sick. I don’t want to see it. 

"Take it," he growls. "Take my gift."

Eyes still closed, I reach up with my left hand, my good hand, and it digs into soft plush. A stuffed animal. I stifle a sob. "You’re insane."

"Oh no, baby girl, you’re the insane one. Thinking you can take what is mine. I decide what you have, baby girl, both of you. I decide who touches you. I decide who gets to fuck you. You’re mine. B is mine. Mine only. And he does what I want. You’re alone, princess. I’m all you have. I’m all you need. And I’m being fucking generous with you, right now." He presses the plush dog to my chest. "You want your own soft little doggo to cuddle? Here. That one is yours."

He guides my hand over it, closes it around a small plush ear. It feels like it’s split. Ridley’s breath is hot in my neck. "Even a little broken," he whispers. "As you like them."

[justplainwhump]

Smile.

The wedding, chapter 1

[Dany’s story]

For no obvious reason, I’ve decided to write some wedding whump. This was mostly inspired by a prompt I couldn’t find again of a whumper commanding whumpee to smile, and includes an ask reply for @painful-pooch .

I borrowed @hackles-up 's mob boss Leo Luciano for this, because he’s perfect. As always, Ridley Lordin and B are hers as well.

Content / warning: mafia whump, intimate whumper, knife, forced marriage (m/f), threats, very graphic threats of noncon, misogynist language, implied pet whump, referenced dehumanisation.

An exclusive, secluded, and so wonderfully quiet wedding venue, I’ve heard Felicity gush about the chateau.

Wonderfully quiet.

I wish.

I haven’t had a moment of quiet in what feels like days. There’s been hordes of people around me, all the time. Felicity, master of ceremonies, everywhere, with clicking heels and fake glasses and a clipboard that holds absolutely no information but makes her feel in charge. A person, whose only job it was to get me into my dress and sew it close on my body. Two make up artists, to make me look "classy, natural!" and cover up the scars that couldn’t entirely be hidden underneath the exclusive white lace. Two more for the hair, even though Felicity decreed I was meant to wear it open not to draw too much attention to the thin lines in the back of my neck, where not long ago the collar had rested. Someone lady had rushed in to freshen up my nail polish, someone else delivered boxes of jewelry from the city’s most exclusive goldsmith and tried them all on me.

I’m sure I look fantastic. But all I see as I look into the mirror in front of me is defeat.

I never wanted to get married. And sure as hell, not even in my nightmares would I’ve imagined to get married to a man like Ridley. When this day is over, every last part of me will be signed over to him. I’ll become his, not only in the private, secluded shadow world where he can show me off as his pet, but in the most public way possible. Ridley is the richest man in the state, he’s running for mayor, he’s a celebrity in his own right. Behind the curtains only in the last half hour, I’ve seen more than two dozen limousines pull in, and twice as many sleek sports cars. The Lordin wedding is the societal event of the summer season.

"Don’t mess it up, princess," Ridley’s told me cheerfully, before he rushed off to meet someone important. "You’ll regret it."

As if I could. I’ve lost, each and every time I tried.

I reach for the white lace gloves on the cabinet in front of me and pull them over my scarred hands, swallow back the memories of what happened to them. That had the last time I’ve tried - we’ve tried - to be something more than what Ridley wants us to be. And we’ve paid the price.

I don't hear Leonardo Luciano step up behind me, but I feel him nonetheless. I don't know what it is, maybe a subtle draft of air on my skin, covered only by sheer white lace. Or maybe he does in fact exude a physical coldness all by himself. With what I've witnessed him do, I wouldn't be surprised.

I don't turn around, don't want to acknowledge his presence, but it's worthless of course. Just as I can sense him close in, he can sense my fear. And I know he savors it.

Topina, Leo calls me sometimes, little mouse. I hate how fitting it feels. A little mouse, nothing but prey, to be played around with, before the finishing strike. A trapped little mouse, heart racing uncontrollably at his presence. Playing along, because there's nothing else I can do. Because I’ve tried, and I’ve failed.

Something cool presses to the side of my neck and despite myself, I flinch. The flat side of a knife, all but caressing me.

"Stuart Hammond's precious daughter," Leo mumbles. He leans in over my shoulder, close enough for me to feel his steady heartbeat. His blue eyes meet mine in the mirror, shining with cold amusement. "Look at you now. All prettied up for your wedding. So quiet and obedient. His legacy. In my hands."

"Why are you here?" I whisper. Not that my words could make a difference. He was going to tell me anyway, or he wasn't. Nothing I do or say could change anything about his plan. I still try to keep up the illusion that I have a role in this, that I'm more than a mere prop.

"To be with my love on this special day of his life, of course." He smirks, and lets the blade wander closer to my throat. "And maybe to send a special message to my enemy."

I try to control my breathing. He can't kill me. Not like this, not on my wedding day, not under the eyes of everyone. He can't.

"Your Daddy won't be joining us today. Won't be here, to show off his principessa. But you're not his anymore, anyway."

I've never been, I think. I've always been my own. Dad has always let me be.

"I've taken the Hammond business. I've taken everything he ever had. Lots of it in the shadows. But the final step..." He places a kiss to my collarbone, and I freeze. Leo never did this. Never faked any affection. Leo is efficient and cold and brutal. This is new and it's frightening.

He chuckles, when he notices my shiver. "The final step will be in the light. I'll be the one to lead his treasured princess down the aisle. Show the world, who owns this city. Show the world who won."

No. No. He can’t do this to him. He can’t do this to me. After all he’s done to me, all he’s made Dad watch, this is… Too much. It’ll break him, if nothing else did.

"Please." My voice breaks, and I try to look away, but the tip of his knife bites in the skin underneath my chin, tilting my face up to look at him in the mirror. "Don’t… don’t do this."

Leo smirks. "Pathetic, how little fight is left in you. Pathetic you think you have any say in this. I enjoy watching my boyfriend play with you, but you're mine, Hammond."

He yanks at my hair and pulls me back hard, my spine bent painfully over the back of the chair. His face is blurry through the tears in my eyes. The knife is still there, blade resting against my throat, forcing me to stay in position.

"When will you learn that you're nothing? You're wrapped in pretty fabric now, but we all know underneath it you're nothing but your father's name with a tight little cunt attached to it. You-"

He's interrupted by a loud knock at the door, and a giggle that makes my stomach clench.

Leo enters a room just as he wants to be perceived, quiet and calm and efficient. Ridley however is loud and offensive, turning all eyes on him instantly. He looks like a picture cut out from a wedding magazine. Auburn hair styled to bring out his soft natural curls, white silk shirt, fitted tuxedo, dark red sash and cravat. His face is the slightest bit flushed, as from excitement, but from the way I see B behind him carefully wipe off his mouth, I am quite sure that the reason is another.

"It's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding," someone else chides behind him.

"Not here for the bride," Ridley retorts. He's not looking at the speaker, nor at me. His eyes are sparkling, set on the man still pressing a knife to my skin.

Leo clicks his tongue and I feel him shake his head, before he lets go of my hair and lets me slump back into my seat. "Amore." There's a nauseating softness to his voice. "On a day like this, we should respect the traditions."

I can't stop a hard chuckle. "The fuck you honor-"

His hand flicks up and the knife presses against my throat. "I love tradition," Leo purrs into to my ear. "Like - the woman keeps quiet when her betters are talking." He presses down on the knife, and I gasp as I feel it nick skin, blood welling up.

"Danielle, no," Felicity gasps, hands raised, frozen in place. "The dress! The blood."

"Danielle, no," Leo echoes, mocking. His other hand is on my neck, too, pressing a handkerchief to the cut. "You'll be useless, if you ruin this wedding. But still stupid enough to risk it, aren't you? Hammond through and through."

I can hear Felicity's relieved sigh when the knife is pulled away and the blood catches in the fabric. I still don't dare breathing.

"Just a kiss?" Ridley pouts, ignoring me. "You can't look that hot and not let me kiss you."

"After," Leo says and shushes him away with the knife in his hand. There's a hint of my blood still shimmering on the blade. "Now, go, amore. I'll see you at the altar, when I hand you our principessa."

Ridley looks at me now, finally, a condescending smirk dancing on his lips, as he takes in my dress and body, and I find myself begging all higher powers that the superstitions are true, that bad luck will curse him until the end of his days.

"Good work," he says to Felicity appreciatively. "Dress really brings out that cute little ass of hers, doesn't it?"

Leo has stepped up to my side, clicking his tongue impatiently. "Leave," he repeats sternly. "All of you. I want to be alone with her."

Ridley rolls his eyes and blows him a kiss, before he retreats. "Two minutes," Felicity calls, before she follows at his heel.

One of Leo's men steps in to hand a small bottle to Leo, before he too leaves and draws the doors close, leaving me alone in the plushy hotel room with Leo.

He grabs my chin, tilts my head up and I gasp in surprise as something cool hits my neck. Spray bandage, to seal the little nick on my throat. They've prepared for everything.

"I could've cut deeper." Leo cleans his knife on the handkerchief, looks at it thoughtfully, before he tucks it away. "But you know, Hammond, with you, I wouldn't. Because right now, I don’t have a reason. Because if you did give me a reason, just the tiniest one, if you try and use that marriage to mess with my fidanzato, you're my enemy. And my enemies don't get the mercy of a knife to the throat."

I nod, clenching my teeth. The skin on my throat feels tight under the spray. It's just that, I tell myself. It's not dread pressing down on my chest, making it hard to breathe.

"I know," I mumble.

"Oh, no, piccolina. I don’t think you do." He checks his watch, and gets up, offering me his arm. "It’s time."

I steady myself on the cabinet, just for a moment, before I rest my arm on his.

As we step out, one of the hairdressers rushes in to fix my hair, fingers combing through it and adding another layer of hair spray. I don’t even see the person behind me, laying out the long train of the dress, just feel the short tugs at my hips.

Leo’s hand on mine is like a vise. "You need to understand," he says, as he starts walking down the opulent corridor. "What your Daddy did was, he fucked with my business. I don’t accept that. So I took everything he loves, and destroyed it, little by little, and I let him watch."

We turn around a corner, and two employees in grey suits step back to open the winged doors to the estate’s grand ballroom.

Faint music sounds from the back of the room, but I can’t hear it over the collective gasp of the crowd, hundreds of faces I barely remember, staring at us, walking down the aisle. With him by my side, it feels like walking the gauntlet. Leo nods towards a camera. "He’s watching right now. I’ve set up a live stream for him. Smile for Daddy, will you?"

The corners of my visions start to blur. I force my lips to curl upward, still.

"And mind you, this was because he messed with my business. Ridley - he is my personal interest. So let me make this abundantly clear to you, Hammond." His voice is all but a murmur in my hair, barely audible over the wedding march played on the ballroom’s huge organ. "If you mess this up, I'll throw you to my men and let them fuck you, over and over, until you’ve stopped moving, and then I'll let my dogs have another round with you."

He waves at someone in the crowd. I can’t make out any details any longer. I just stare forward.

From the end of the aisle, between too many camera lenses and too large bouquets of dark red roses, Ridley is looking at us. At Leo, me, my dress, my face. His smile is almost cruel, almost hateful, almost obvious, but not just yet.

I stumble over a fold in the carpet, and Leo catches me. The warmth of his skin is nothing compared to the icy cold in his blue eyes.

"And only when even they have no use for your sorry remains any longer, I'll chop those up into bite sized pieces and serve you to Ridley's dumb old guard dog in his dog bowl, for dinner."

A camera shutter rapidly clicks in front us, as the photographer dances backwards, all lenses on us.

"Got that?" Leo asks amicably.

"Yes," I whisper tonelessly. There’s still some meters left to walk. I don’t think I can make it.

"Good." His hold of me tightens. "Now smile. You look horrible."

I stagger forward. Leo's hand rests over mine lightly, underneath his thumb is digging into the freshly healed stab wound in my palm.

I swallow back a yelp.

"You heard me, Piccolina," he whispers into my hair. "Smile."

I straighten my shoulders, raise my gaze, focus on Ridley's face, closer now.

He smiles.

So do I.

The camera clicks again.

[justplainwhump]

Break room

The wedding, interlude

[Dany's story] [The wedding, part 1]

Wrote this very introspective piece a while ago, and think I could just post it. Referenced characters Ridley and B are @hackles-up , as always. Bride!Dany, barely holding it together.

Cw - not really. Whumpee giving up, implied non consentual marriage (f/m), implied noncon touch.

It's too much.

The stares, the words, the hands. There's soft music, soft voices, soft colours, soft fabric, but nobody cares about the harshness right under the surface.

People congratulate me with perfect smiles, how beautiful I look, how lucky I am to have found a man like Ridley. I don't know what is worse. The ones who really seem to believe in the superficial lie this marriage is, in the image he wants to paint to the public, or the ones whose lips twitch sarcastically while they hug me and whose hands wander too low on my back, because they know what I am. What he's made me into.

It won't stop. It'll never end. I'm his wife now, but I'll stay his pet. Till death do us part.

Faces blur in front of me, words turn into sound without meaning. Smile, Leo has told me, and I do, I smile and I nod and I nip on the glass of champagne in my hand that someone keeps refilling. Ridley was by my side for a while, but he isn't any longer. Doesn't matter. Someone is always watching.

"Can't wait for the next time he brings you over," a middle aged man breathes into my hair, while shaking my hand very stately. I don't remember his face, but something to his voice lets me shiver. "You were a little... stubborn last time, though. Let's hope marriage made you a little more mellow, hm."

Before I can mumble a reply, the next one in line steps up, the next stranger hugs me.

"Congratulations, Mrs Lordin," she chirps. "You must be so happy. You've won the grand prize, haven't you?"

The world is spinning. "No, I'm..." I shake my head, reach for the corner of the closest table to steady myself. Shakily, I put my glass down. "I'm sorry, please, excuse me, I... I don't feel so well."

I didn't trust my legs to carry me, but they do as I all but flee the ballroom. The washrooms are in the basement, pink marble stairs, chandeliers, and plushy carpets. Golden rimmed mirrors on the corridor walls reflect my face, pale under the precisely applied make up, barely contrasting the white dress. Diamonds sparkle around my neck and from the tiara in my hair, bright enough to distract from the dull void in my eyes.

Danielle Lordin.

A perfect trophy.

They won.

I close my eyes and rest my forehead against the cool glass of the mirror, hoping it could just swallow me, open a portal to another dimension, bring me back maybe, to reality, my reality, my life, out of this nightmare.

There is no portal.

Just me, wearing a too tight dress and a name that doesn't belong to me.

"Fuck," I whisper. It comes out as a sob. "Fuck."

I can hear faint wisps of the music from upstairs and elated voices from the bathroom. Guests, enjoying themselves, celebrating my misery. They're about to step out.

Fuck. Whoever this is, they mustn't see me cry. I hurry forward, down the corridor. "Staff only", the next door says. It opens when I turn the door knob, and I vanish into it just as the washroom door behind me swings open. My ears pressed to the door, I can hear the chattering voices turn louder for a moment and are then swallowed by the carpet, heels clicking on marble stairs, as the guests return to the party.

I exhale in relief.

"Ma'am?" I stare into the wide eyes of a young woman in a catering uniform. "Are you alright?"

For a second, I consider laughing. The last time I've been alright was almost a year ago. Before I've met Ridley Lordin. My husband, as of today.

"No," I admit. "I'm not good at all."

She bites her lip. "Aren't you... You're... the bride, right?"

I manage a smile. "What gave it away?"

She blushes. "Excuse me, ma'am, I didn't... I, uh. Can I help you with something?"

Only now do I take in the room around us. It's fairly spacious, holds some lockers, benches and cabinets. There's a bunch of plastic wrapped uniforms on a coat rack. Changing room for the staff, presumably. The girl has dropped a bag to the ground. I can make out blue jeans and a pair of sneakers in it.

She is about my size, I guess. Little shorter, little more muscular. But I could probably fit into her clothes. Change my appearance, find a back door, just walk out and away. From the ballroom, the wedding, Ridley.

She notices my gaze, I think. She looks me down as well, then frowns, softly tapping her foot against the bag.

She'd do it. I'd only have to ask.

The scars on my hand are itching horribly.

It's too late. I'm Danielle Lordin now. There's nowhere left to go. I wouldn't make it. I couldn't. Not with B on the other side, either the first one to be sent after me, or the first one to pay for my rebellion.

Not with B on the line.

"No," I say, finally, shaking my head. I'm dizzy "No, I... I just need to rest for a moment."

[justplainwhump]

Ridley Dies AU: Amends

Another installation of the Ridley-Dies-AU - these updates will come as little vignettes and maybe never make up a full story.

This is still day 0. Here's Frankie.

Ruby, B, Ridley Lordin and Leonardo Luciano all belong to @hackles-up

Cw - referenced death of a loved one, referenced noncon drugging, referenced domestic abuse; all narrated from a distant pov.

It takes Frankie a second to realize what had woken him up. He's in his bed, in his small house outside the city, the night is a little too warm maybe, and Ruby has kicked the blankets off the bed once again.

She's sleeping peacefully at his side now, grunting a little in her dreams, and he almost has to smile, as he leans over her to reach for the blanket on the ground.

There's a loud rap on the front door, and he freezes. Was that it? Was that what woke him up? It's past midnight. There's no good reason for anyone to show up here at a time like this.

Especially not in his line of work.

He gets up quietly to go over to the safe box he keeps his gun in.

He remembers he's dreamt of Dany. It doesn't make sense, really. He's over that. He's sworn himself that he's done with this. He's guilty, yeah, but he's gotten all the closure he can get.

He'd seen Dany again at her father's funeral, some weeks ago. She'd been in all black, elegant short dress covering all her upper body, black lace gloves, even a veil concealing most of her face.

It couldn't hide her disorientation, or the sluggishness of her motions. She'd clearly been drugged, and he'd wondered how many of the guests had recognised it for what it was, and how many had believed Ridley Lordin's smug explanation that his grieving wife had drunk a like too much over her loss.

There'd been eyes on her, all the time. Her husband's, Luciano's, the press', probably even one or two undercover cops. Trying to find out, what was left of Hammond's crime syndicate. Who would come to pay their respects, and who wouldn't.

Frankie had come.

It had been stupid, in retrospect. Everyone close to their business knew what he'd done. That he'd been the first one to leave the sinking ship, selling out the single most important thing Stuart Hammond had left. If there'd actually been loyalists present, Frankie could've ended up with a bullet in his head.

But there hadn't been any. Most of Hammond's men had either changed sides, or gone into hiding. Those present at the funeral weren't there for Hammond or Dany, they were there for Lordin and Luciano.

Yet somehow, Frankie's reputation had given him the chance at a private moment with Dany. A moment, when her husband hadn't held her close to him with a grip that only very superficially could be interpreted as supportive.

Lordin had stepped aside, exchanging some words with Luciano, and while Luciano's chilling blue eyes had been on Frankie and Dany, they still couldn't be overheard.

"Dany," he said, and he'd seen her eyes behind the veil aimlessly run over his face. "I'm... I'm sorry for your loss."

"You're...," she slurred. "You're... wrong."

He wondered what they'd given her to knock her out like this. What she could've done with a stage like this, sober.

Maybe it was better like this. He could say what he wanted to get off of his chest, and she'd not be able to make it worse.

"I... I shouldn't have done what I did. I... It... It went too far. I'm sorry, Dany."

She squinted behind the veil and tilted her head. "I hate you."

"Fuck. No, I..." He shook his head. "Whatever. I wanted to tell you that, uhm. Forgive me?"

She swayed a little bit on her feet, and looked around herself, as if searching for someone to steady her. It was weird, that she seemed to consider Lordin, before him.

A looming shape appeared behind her, and Dany leaned back against the chest of Lordin's huge bodyguard.

"Go away, Frankie," she mumbled. "Go away."

A rumble came from somewhere, and it took a second for Frankie to realize it was the bodyguard. He was fucking snarling at him.

"I, uh, If you..." Frankie swallowed, trying to search for words. "If you need anything, Dany..."

Another growl. But this one came from her.

"Go," the big man rumbled.

With a long look at Dany curled against him, Frankie stepped back.

"Everything alright?" Lordin had returned, raised an arm toward Dany, and like on autopilot, she switched to his side. A good, obedient pet. It made Frankie shiver. "My wife isn't feeling too well today. Excuse her."

Frankie nodded, as if he believed it. "My condolences to you, too," he'd mumbled, before he'd turned on his heel and left without waiting for an answer.

He'd thought that was it. The last thing he'd seen of her, he'd faced her, said he was sorry. He'd done better with Ruby, he'd saved someone else from a fate like Dany's. Balanced the scales in a way.

He thought he'd been done with this episode of his life.

The banging on his door gets louder.

"Open the door, Frankie, you fucker," Dany Lordin yells. "I know you're in there."

He's been utterly wrong.

[justplainwhump]

Ridley Dies AU: Bad News

You might not all be aware of it, but Dany got to Ridley via a deal with the Casino in the first place - and some people there are very, very worried now.

As always, referenced Ridley and Leo belong to @hackles-up.

-

Cw referenced organised crime, vaguely implied human trafficking, referenced murder

-

"Something is up," were the words Lydia woke up to, and she was in the business long enough to be alert immediately.

She'd shushed Marissa out of her bed, gotten dressed, combed her hair and downed her first is many espressos within less than 10 minutes.

At first, the information didn't make much sense. Leo Luciano was on the warpath, definitely good to know, not necessarily impacting her business. She dealt with all of them, not only Luciano's organisation, and if the Casino remained neutral ground, she'd be alright.

But then another name started making the rounds, quickly followed by a third. Danielle Hammond. Ridley Lordin.

Murdered.

Funnily enough, Lydia's first emotion was a hint of smug satisfaction. He'd had it coming. Lordin was an asshole, one of the worst she's ever dealt with, and she still felt an old anger at him flare up regarding their negotiations about the purchase of -

Destiny. Danielle Hammond, Danielle Lordin, now.

"Is she...", she asked into the phone, realizing how her knuckles turned white around the edge of the table. Her throat was dry. "Just to clarify. Is she... a victim, too? Or is she the murderer?"

The phone cracked with static, as if her contact was speeding in a car. She could recognize rough laughter, though. "No need to put a bounty on a dead girl, is there?"

Lydia bit her tongue before she would repeat herself. Her mind was spinning. "Do you have a lead on her? Does the police know?"

"... Leo's business...," the voice crackled. "... wants them alive."

"Them?", Lydia repeated, but the call disconnected.

She forced her fingers to let go off the table.

All of this had been a horribly dumb idea. The girl should've been dead years ago, never gone into private property, not married off to a fucking celebrity.

She shouldn't curse. She was above this. She'd warned Senior Management, multiple times. They'd told her off, blinded by Lordin's fortune and a scrap of Luciano's favour.

And now, it was her who had to deal with this. A pretty, young, rich wife with ties into organised crime, murdering the city's controversial, yet equally attractive mayor.

Everyone would be all over it. It's the blend of story the media would go insane about. They'd try and shed light into every corner of their relationship.

Including the Casino's corner.

She couldn't have this happen.

She looked over at her head of security. Williams, equally tired as her, but worse at hiding it, tilted his head, questioning. "Madam?"

Was she surrounded by idiots? Did she have to give every order herself?

"Round up everyone," she commanded. "We'll help Luciano find her. Except, she'd rather be dead for me. If you have a chance at the kill, do it. She can't talk to anyone, or it'll be over for all of us."

She lifts her phone again, dialling already. At least they had a joker on their side. Frankie Mueller had sold the girl out once. If anyone knew her network, chances were it'd be him.

The call went straight to mailbox. Lydia frowned. She expected her employees to be at her disposal at any time.

"Send someone to Mueller's place," she added. "Get his ass here, and his pet girlfriend's, too. He's going to answer some questions."

With a raised eyebrow, she switched to Frankie's home number.

No connection.

Weird.

Disconcerting.

She exhaled slowly. "Be careful approaching the place. If the girl's out for blood, we better be prepared. She has every reason to come for him next."

And then, her.

She didn't say that part out loud.

[justplainwhump]

Thoughts about post Ridley-Dies-AU Dany, and about how Ridley will never be really dead for her:

- Dany keeping his name, referring to herself as Dany Lordin.

- Dany still wearing their wedding band. She hates it and she hates him; she tells herself she wears it as a token of victory, but the truth is she doesn't know who she is without him.

- And if you didn't notice it, the clothes she wore to escape? Not hers. His.

- Dany sitting in a restaurant, reading the menu, unable to comprehend that she actually has a choice now, not even aware what she herself likes any more. Still, putting on a most confident smile when the waiter steps in, and ordering the dish she knows would be Ridley's favourite.

(The AU is developed with the wonderful @hackles-up who owns Ridley and who was the first I ran these head canons by :))

[justplainwhump]

Ich habe 605 Mal im Jahr 2022 etwas gepostet

Das sind 152 more posts als 2021!

220 Einträge erstellt (36%)

385 Einträge gerebloggt (64%)

Blogs, die ich am häufigsten gerebloggt habe:

@justplainwhump

@angst-after-dark

@ocean-blue-whump

@hackles-up

@ashintheairlikesnow

Ich habe 479 meiner Einträge im Jahr 2022 getaggt

Nur 21% meiner Einträge hatten keine Tags

#bbu – 130 Einträge

#self reblog – 84 Einträge

#pet whump – 52 Einträge

#lady whump – 50 Einträge

#ira white – 50 Einträge

#dany – 37 Einträge

#whump – 35 Einträge

#mark and gemma – 33 Einträge

#timezone reblog – 26 Einträge

#gemma sinclair – 24 Einträge

Longest Tag: 63 characters

#also the many many glimpses at how layered this entire world is

Meine Top-Einträge im Jahr 2022:

#5

Dressing Room

For the anon who asked for the prompt “poke and prod at my muse’s injuries”, and dedicated to @whumpymirages , you know why.

Referenced Ridley, Leo and B are @hackles-up s characters. Felicity works for Ridley, and it shows.

Dany isn’t in a good place.

[Dany Masterpost]

Content - lady whump (female whumper and female whumpee), noncon stripping, noncon touching (not sexual, but uhh.. getting there), bruises, references to noncon (male whumper), slut shaming and humiliating language, overall pretty heavy humiliation, mention of a shock collar, references to noncon marriage. This is somewhat darker than the warnings may make it seem. Let me know if I should add something.

"Spin", Felicity commands, her finger drawing a lazy circle in the air. There's a glass of champagne dangling from her other hand, that she takes small sips of sometimes, when she's not busy smacking her lips or talking shit. Which means, she doesn't drink too much. She is, however, certainly enjoying herself. I'm standing on a little, circular platform in the middle of a huge dressing room. There's nothing but shades of white around me, or, more correctly - diamond white, ivory, champagne, eggshell, pearl and blush, as I couldn't help but overhear, when Felicity was talking about me to the dressmakers. Diamond white makes her look sickish, it's gross. Oh, I wouldn't go with champagne, it's so conventional, we need her look to be special.

"Danielle." I hate the condescending tone my name has in her voice. "Spin, bitch. I'm doing my fucking job here, and I won't have your bitching around ruin this wedding. It's going to be perfect." 

I can't help but think about wrestling that glass from her hand, smashing it on the ground and burying the remains into her neck. She'd bleed, quickly and violently, red pooling on the light wood, perfectly contrasting the eggshell. I'm pretty sure of it.

With a sigh, Felicity puts the glass aside and reaches into her purse for the little, plastic controller. It looks hilarious in her perfectly manicured hand, next to dangling golden bracelets and expensive rings. A token of brutality, framed in elegance. "You really leave me no cho-"

"No" The tailor all but falls into her arm. "Noo! No, miss, don't shock her, please! This dress is Vera Wang, she'll tear it if she spasms, don't!"

I chuckle dryly. Yeah. Don't endanger the goods. The dress is worth more than me, after all.

Felicity exhales sharply through her nose, clearly annoyed by a little employee trying to tell her off. "Fine", she hisses. "You know what else is on the table, Danielle. I'm pretty sure Mr Lordin laid out in detail how he is going to discipline you, if you go on sabotaging this project. Discipline you, or this horrible, gross guard dog of his."

I blanche, probably matching the color of this fucking dress even better now. She's right. Ridley did go into detail. I can't. I can't risk B's life just to keep up some stubborn pride in front of a ridiculous marketing assistant like Felicity. With my jaw clenched, I spin.

"Stop", she calls. I obey, and I hear her step onto the platform behind me. She's clicking her tongue dismissively. Without further warning, her hand is on my shoulder, fingers digging into a fresh bruise. Pain bursts through me, fresh and reignited by her fingernails, dull and memorized in the shape of Leo's fine leather shoe. 

"Please," I breathe. "Please, don't."

My knees give in under her relentless grip, and the only thing hindering my fall is the tailor steadying my side while gathering the dress. "The seams", he whines. "Careful!"

"This looks horrible", she says, fastening her grip. I can't help but wince again. She doesn't care. "It's fucking black. The wedding is in mere weeks. How can you still gather such ugly bruises, you should know better, really. Especially with that pale skin color."

I can't reply, can barely breathe. Tears are welling up in my eyes.

With a final sigh, she lets go. "Take it off," she tells the tailor. "Too much back. Even if that ugly thing heals in time, can't have these other scars show either." I hold back a shivering breath, when she runs her fingers over the ends of the whip marks between my shoulder blades.

"There isn't much opportunities with a high back," the tailor hurries to say. "Out of style, but... Let me see what I can do." A second set of fingers dances over my back, as he undoes the buttons and slides down the dress, carefully aiding me to step out of it and then vanishing towards his storage.

They don't care I'm shivering in my underwear. I'm a thing, meant for a rich man's pleasure. Nothing-

Felicity's fingers are unclasping the strapless bra and I freeze. "Let's have a look at the whole package then, shall we? I gotta know what I'm working with." Her breath on the back of my neck suddenly feels hot. Menacing. I barely hear the soft lace hit the ground, when she drops the bra to the ground. "Spin," she says again. Calmly, this time.

I obey.

She didn't even step back. She's right in front of me, a lot shorter than me, but she isn't looking at my face anyway. She's looking at my body, at my breasts, my belly, my thighs, and there's a contempt smirk on her face. "What a whore," she mumbles. "And I used to be jealous of you. You really are nothing but a dumb little slut, aren't you?" 

She rests her index finger against the shock collar, the other hand idly playing with the remote. I won't give her the pleasure of using it, I swear to myself. This isn't a fight I need to win. She's nothing. She doesn't matter.

With a soft hum, she runs her finger down, following a line of dark purple hickeys, on top of a green and blue one. "Disgusting," she says conversationally. "For someone with such a foul mouth, you sure play submissive when he fucks you, don't you?" 

I shiver, when her finger prods at my breasts, follow the long finger-shaped bruises. "But that's all you're good for. I can accept that, you know. I run his business. You? You're not his fiancee. You're his fucktoy." Her eyes narrow, my only warning before she pinches and twists my nipple and doesn't let go. 

Pain floods me, fueled by humiliation. I cry out, try to back away. "Gosh. Your tits are a fucking mess. He bites you, doesn't he? Yeah, I wouldn't be into that."

My knees threaten to fail. Weakly I put my hand on her arm. "Pl-" No. My head is foggy with pain. I don't want to beg. Not her.

Vollständigen Eintrag ansehen

55 Anmerkungen – Gepostet 19. Januar 2022

#4

(A BBU Concept)

Radical pet lib cells, determined to show the cruelty of WRU by doing everything that happens to trainees to pet owners, documenting and filming it.

A proof, that everyone breaks under such methods, even those convinced they're so much better than pets.

Oddly enough, some people think this casts a horrible light on pet lib - but some others are convinced it's a necessary price to pay to really unveil the horrors of the pet business...

(Thanks to @whumpymirages @gottawhump @painful-pooch @whumper-in-training for making this a whole thing in my head)

66 Anmerkungen – Gepostet 23. Februar 2022

#3

Assignment

WRU Senior Handler Alan Nguyen tests the boundaries of his his new trainee.

References some of @ashintheairlikesnow s characters in the first part, and is heavily inspired by her facility whump.

[Angel's story]

Contents: BBU, noncon fingering, implied and frankly discussed noncon, romantic pet, institutionalized whump, shock collar, whumper pov.

Alan Nguyen skimmed through 002238's intake paperwork on his tablet. The file was larger than the average, classic indications for the cases of assisted walk ins. Lot more vetting necessary with these involuntary acquisitions. But also, lot more money to be made.

He raised a brow at Alex Nadler from Client Relations. "I see how she's a high security case, but I don't see how I come in. All romantic positions, no pain training, no specialty training, can't get more vanilla than that. Inability to say no, or 'quantum' - now that's a weird one, but still, give them a shock collar and even our interns could get this stuff out of her. Genital piercing. Well, Alex, I won't do that myself either. None of this matches my pay grade."

Alex cleared their throat, obviously uncomfortable. Good. Alan liked making people uncomfortable. He folded his arms and waited patiently.

"The client said he wanted only our best romantic handler on this case. According to client satisfaction, that's you, Mr Nguyen."

"That's me, but I don't do one-on-one training any longer. I oversee. I don't get in close."

Alex exhaled slowly, before they replied. "The Director says you do."

"The Director has another special friend who can do this instead of his actual job."

"You know as well as anyone that he only takes males. You're the best call for this one."

"Fine," Alan snapped and picked up the tablet. "I'm better than him anyway."

Alex granted him a thin smile and Alan replied in turn, before he added. "I want a junior handler in on this."

"There is one. Tyler Parker. He's gone over some of the basics with her already, while you were out on vacation." There was a small rebuke hidden in the emphasis on the last word that Alan chose to ignore. He was under no obligation to answer his phone on his holidays, not with how hard it was to find a timeslot just for him and his husband in Jeff's busy university schedule.

"Good. I want to meet him, before I see the pet."

*

Handler Parker was pretty much exactly as boyish as Alan had expected from someone called Tyler. Tall, broad shoulders, shaggy haircut and a stubble that definitely wouldn't have been allowed for a handler, when Alan had been his age 20 years ago.

"Handler Nguyen, Sir." Parker's back had straightened when Alan entered the observation room. Good start, at least, Alan supposed. "It's an honor, being assigned to you."

Alan nodded. "Thanks." He dropped the tablet on the desk and opened the training report. "She your first trainee?"

"Third. But first one in high security."

Alan tilted his head in acknowledgement. "You'll find out, it's the same work here, just more of it because there's less staff to help out." He pressed a button to fill the screen with the video image of the trainee in the neighboring training room. She was sitting still on her knees, hands open, oversized white tee loose around her body. Long blond hair fell around her shoulders, slightly unkempt. Her neck was a little reddened around the shock collar, yet apart from that she seemed physically unharmed, even fit.

Her brown eyes were boring into the camera, staring directly at them, from an otherwise calm face. Alan smirked. Probably alerted by the little red light turning on. He didn't particularly like the trainees to know when they were being watched. They should know they always were. But he did like what he saw in her gaze nonetheless. Determination, shrouded in obedience. When directed properly, that determination would be her undoing.

"What did you do with her so far?"

Parker's gaze flicked to the records in front of Alan and then back to his face. Alan smirked, but stayed silent.

"Um. According to the handbook, Sir. Stages 1.1 to 1.4. We went through the positions, all of them. And I... I went through some of the other basics, too. She... She took to it very eagerly. Quick to adapt."

"I take it by that you mean, you've fucked her?"

Parker nodded nervously, and Alan hid a smirk. That kid better dropped the shame about his job, or even his mind wiped trainees would be able to outsmart him.

"File says she's been sleeping around before. Any information on preferences?"

Vollständigen Eintrag ansehen

66 Anmerkungen – Gepostet 28. Juli 2022

#2

Searching for recommendations! ("Mundane BBU")

Hi everyone! These days, I'm very much into BBU stories that focus on the mundane sides of the universe (handlers "just doing their job", owners who aren't rich sadists but still maybe horrible, people who stumble upon pets and don't know what to do, the whole array of little things that spread around the WRU ecosystem in a world that is still so similar to ours).

Please reblog or comment, if possible with direct links to masterposts or your favourite piece of writing, so this post can double as a little collection! Your own writing, but also, I'm especially happy to see you gush about others!

Nsfw is fine for me, maybe add a note for it to warn others interacting with this!

I'm excited!

77 Anmerkungen – Gepostet 2. Mai 2022

Meine #1 des Jahres 2022

Match

Handler Tyler Parker learns that he can't just leave his job behind.

A part of Angel's story.

Cw for BBU, referenced institutionalised whump, whumper (who doesn't get it) pov, very shortly and clinically referenced noncon (BBU romantic training), some oversimplified views on relationships. Guilt and shame.

Tyler's colleagues at WRU hung out together after work, too. The week before the game, he overheard them make plans for barbecue, who'd buy beer, who could make it from work and who had special assignments that kept them busy at the facility. He'd even been invited himself twice, first by Carly who mostly trained romantics for female prospectives and shared Tyler's taste in folk punk, and later by his superior handler Alan Nguyen. He'd declined both.

Tyler prided himself in having his own friends, not having been fully absorbed by the company that paid his bills. He was going to be at a sports bar with a bunch of old friends from college. He was looking forward to it, sharing old stories from a life before WRU, maybe even becoming a bit more grounded again.

At lunch, when he'd told her about his plans, Carly had looked at him with a hint of pity. Her friends dropped out when they'd found out she wasn't actually an accountant. Tyler doubted his would. Some of them had ended up in law enforcement, others in private security, he wasn't the only one with a somewhat suspicious employer. He'd told them, that he worked security in a high profile research lab. Nobody had ever asked.

He'd be fine, he told himself. His friends weren't like Carly's and he wasn't like her either.

"Oh, but you are," she'd said and patted his shoulder. "You're at facility 002. Involuntary acquisitions. Trust me. We're all sickos."

He wasn't. Tyler Parker wasn't a sicko. He was a great midfield soccer player, he still was a singer in his old band, he even took psychology classes besides his work. His job was his job, but he didn't take it home with him.

-

"Buddy, you really need to get laid," Mal said and leaned in over the sticky table to grab another chicken wing. "You're all work and no play. I mean, yeah you do your workout and show up for soccer, but when's the last time you've had some pussy?"

5.29 pm. PIV. Position 35. Trainee restrained to table. Very receptive. Denied orgasm.

"Well what about you?" Tyler shot back, taking a swig of his beer to drown the memory. "Last time I checked it was just you and your right hand."

The others snickered.

"Well, you haven't checked in a while. Going steady with Emma now. Met her on that dating app. You ever tried that?"

"Dating apps, I don't know..."

"Drop the act! You do have one," Tara chimes in. "We made you a profile, remember? Did you ever check it?"

"I do," Tyler admitted and pulled out his phone. He'd swiped through that app at work, sometimes, even had some nice chats that went into nowhere. He hadn't used it however since he worked high security, where they had to check in their private phones for their shifts. Better that way, the potential of any footage -

Work. Why did he think about work again? His friends were right, probably. He should find himself some distraction. Wouldn't hurt trying. With some taps, he opened the app and pulled up his eyebrows dramatically. "Let's take a look at the market then."

With an excited squeal, Tara squeezed in between Dave and Tyler on their side on the booth. "Show me!"

She took over his phone and he let her, all four of them looking at the small screen, and Tara swiping. Tyler felt himself relax, shoulder to shoulder with his best friends, a cool beer in front of him, the game commentary from the TV screens a soft background noise.

"Undercut?" Tara mumbled. "Nah, that's my taste, not yours, off you go. Too thin. Nope. Too pretentious. Bye. Hmm, this one?"

A short girl with an even shorter dress on a boat, intense blue eyes, blond locks flying in the wind.

All Tyler could see where blond locks fall over a white tee in a white room, his hand curled up in that hair and -

"No," he said decidedly. "Not uh. Not blonde."

"Really? Thought you liked them." With a shrug Tara swiped left. "I mean, your call, it's your sex life we're going to fix here."

She went on. No freckles, Tyler added, thinking of the freckles littering 238's smooth skin.

To their collective surprises, two or three girls turned out a match, and with Tara's aid, Tyler did send them some sincere-yet-flirty messages.

He had just stepped to the bar to order another round, when he heard Dave whistle. "Gosh, this one must be the woman of his nightmares, then."

Vollständigen Eintrag ansehen

83 Anmerkungen – Gepostet 24. Juli 2022

Hol dir deinen Tumblr-Jahresrückblick 2022 →

[justplainwhump]

Celebration

For @whumpawoman Angstpril, prompt “bad news”. 

Ridley and B are @hackles-up s characters and used with permission.

[Dany Masterpost]

Content - lady whump, intimate whumper, dubcon kiss, noncon touch, murder mention (of a loved one), referenced noncon, derogatory language, implied noncon (fade to black).

Ridley came home from work early today, and he's in a weird mood. From the living room, I can see him in the kitchen, see and hear him. He has turned on the radio and is singing along, like he does in the shower. I don't know if I've ever seen him this cheerful. He's dancing with himself, as he takes a bottle of champagne from the fridge and nudges the door close with a sway of his hip. He's not a bad dancer, his movements are easy and confident, with little accents on just the right beats. 

His hands are fumbling with the tinfoil around the cork, when he notices me staring, and his smile seems to grow even wider. 

"Princess. Get in here. Dance with me."

I cast a side glance at B, standing to the wall dispassionately, hands clasped before him, attentive and waiting. He's been quiet today, when he picked me up from Ridley's bedroom. Usually I like the days when I get out early. Not as much stress pent up in Ridley, sometimes even a nice dinner, or - rarely - a quiet evening when all he expects me to do is lie next to him on the couch. However, I do not feel like today will be a good day.

B is looking away from me, his jaw clenched. He jumps forward, though, when a loud pop sounds from the kitchen, and I flinch. 

From the side Ridley is chuckling. "What is it, with pets and loud noises?" He sips some of the foam from the bottle, humming along some tunes, before he pours two glasses. "Get your sweet ass over here, princess, or I'll give you a real reason to be nervous."

I clench my teeth and follow his order, a forced smile tacked on my face. The music is still running, some 80s pop song I probably should know, but have forgotten.

Ridley's arm wraps around me, pulls me flush against him, and I don't need another prompt to lean in, press my lips on his for a kiss. His lips are sticky with champagne, and I taste whiskey on his tongue. He's been drinking in the office. In the afternoon. I don't even want to know.

He's humming into the kiss, shoves his hips against me, right hand firmly on my butt, while his left hand's fingers entwine in mine and pull my hand up into dancing posture. "Good girl." He steps forward, leg pressing between mine, and I follow, a pattern ingrained somewhere deep in my subconscious. I'm a decent dancer, slightly rusty, but our wedding has just been some weeks ago, and I've been forced to perform. My skin still crawls, remembering the men I've danced with, the hands roaming over my body, the dirty promises whispered into my hair. 

He leads me into a turn in the narrow kitchen aisle, stops me right before the stove and spins himself, more smooth than me, with a teasing hip swing and sickening confidence. With a too harsh tug, he guides me back against him and leans in, lips against my ear. “We’re celebrating something big today, babygirl. Wanna guess what it is?”

I smirk. I don't. I have no interest in whatever makes him happy. But I know better than to stay silent. "You're finally a billionaire," I suggest.

"Hm." Ridley pulls me close to his chest with one hand, while he pulls out his phone with the other and scrolls over some numbers. "Nope, still at 958 million." The way he pops the p between his lips is pathetic. I hate it, almost as much as I hate the fear pooling in my stomach. His stocks have dropped. He was at 980 just some days ago. He should be pissed, angry, taking it all out on me. He shouldn't be happy enough to dance.

Ridley lifts his arm to lead me into a finish of my spin, trapping me between himself and the kitchen island. His face is in front of me, irritatingly close, lips curled into a smile, eyes taking in my face. "Guess again. I'll give you a hint." He reaches out to playfully twirl a lock of my hair around his finger. "It's about you."

There's nothing 'me' left, I think bitterly. He's destroyed everything that made me. All I am is his. His babygirl, his plaything, his wife. Perfectly moulded into shape for him. 

There's nothing about me that could even change any longer. No job, no uni, no friends, no fam-

I freeze.

Ridley chuckles. "I guess I've really fucked you stupid, babygirl. Such a slow thinker. Adorable. Even B is smarter than you."

I see B, from the corner of my eyes, moving the knife block off the counter. Out of my reach.

"No," I whisper tonelessly. "No. Not... . No."

"Stuart Hammond. Murdered in his filthy jail cell. Alone and ashamed."

I shake my head, try to back away, but I'm stuck between his body and the edge of the counter. "No. No. I would've... You wouldn't..."

"I killed my own father. Why should I hesitate about my father in law?" I yelp when I feel his hand wander up between my legs. "I like to think that you were his death. Watching his whore daughter, taking all these cocks? You've ruined him, Danielle. That shiv to his stomach, it probably was a salvation."

My legs give in. He's holding me tight, lips pressing little kisses onto my neck. I don't feel them. I don't feel anything. I'm numb. 

Stuart Hammond. Dad. Fearsome criminal, loving father. I've been waiting for him, I realize. For him to escape jail, to get here, put a bullet into Ridley, sweep in and save me. All my life, he's been there for me. And I for him. Until Ridley.

I know he's seen the tapes. All my torture, all my pain, some of it has been streamed to him, live. I know they've bragged about it to him, Ridley, Leo, his rivals and enemies. And I've played along. I've let it happen, to survive, to keep at least part of me alive. Preserve a part that still could be saved.

I failed. 

It's over. Everything is. 

Stuart Hammond is dead.

Danielle Hammond is, too.

Bent over the kitchen island, Danielle Lordin spreads her legs for her husband.

[justplainwhump]

Game of Trust

Things happened. Ridley has trust issues.

Cw: pet whump, lady whump, threat of hand whump, multiple whumpees, otherwise: bonding between co-captives and just a lot of angst.

Ridley and B are @what-a-whump s characters.

[Dany Masterpost]

Ridley is looking at me, different from how he usually does, quiet, almost contemplating. I force myself to finish my breakfast as calmly as possible. I will find out what's wrong. He's not one to keep his feelings to himself anyway.

"B", he says, and on the floor next to him, B snaps to attention. "Sit down next to my princess, will you?"

B does as he's bid, kneels down next to my chair without hesitation. He cocks his head at Ridley after he's settled. My heart is racing. There's a threat in what he's doing, but I can't grasp it, don't know why every fiber of me is screaming at me to run.

"Open your mouth, B, far enough so she can put her hand in it."

I look from B back to Ridley. His eyes are unreadable. "It's a game of trust, princess", he says. "Put your hand between his teeth. Do it."

I oblige. Carefully, I slip the side of my hand into B's mouth, shivering as the metal of his sharp teeth pricks into my palm. He breathes flatly and carefully around me.

"Perfect", Ridley says with a wide smile that doesn't extend to his eyes. "The rule is simple, Bee Bee, really. I'll ask her a question. If she lies to me, you'll bite. Understood?"

There's a tiny moment of silence, before he mumbles something, muffled by my hand. "Yeshir"

Dread rises in my chest, and I try to pull my hand back, but B's titanium teeth hold me in place gently.

"What-?", I begin, but Ridley interrupts me with a finger on my lips.

"Shhh, princess. I just want to hear your answer. Remember the rules? Here's the question. Did you two fuck?"

[justplainwhump]

Putting up the Tree

This is for day 1 of the @amonthofwhump 12 days of Whumpmas.

Pure angst for Dany. As always, Ridley is moose's character, used with permission.

[Dany Masterpost]

Cw for intimate whumper, (sort of) domestic whumper, nonconsensual touching. Vaguely referenced noncon, referenced hand whump.

The Christmas tree that has been set up in the center of Ridley's living room is ridiculously pretentious. It's too large, I think. Too artificial. Too fake snow, too glittery balls, too stark whites and too lush greens. It's a perfect, beautifully styled illusion, only existing to make him look greater. Like everything he has. Everything he does. And he gets away with it. Later at night, his taste will be complimented, his style, his tree, his wife.

I run my fingers over the tree's branches, lose myself in the soft prickling of the needles against my skin. I can't feel it everywhere, though. The nerve damage is permanent, the therapist said. Half of my palm is forever numb, two fingers are too. One of these fingers is encircled by gold. By my wedding band.

Slowly I press it against a knobby branch. Nothing. I feel nothing. I wonder, sometimes, if I could just cut it off. The ring. The finger. If it would hurt at all.

This thought is an illusion too, of course. I know. I'm not at liberty to hurt myself. My body is his.

"Princess", he hums behind me. He must've entered without me hearing him. Or maybe, I just didn't want to hear. It would've been nice, being alone. Without him, without his staff scurrying through the room, decorating table and sideboards, making the penthouse the prefect embodiment of a glossy holiday advertisement.

Ridley's voice sounds cheerful, almost, matching the soft tunes of the Christmas songs playing in the background. Enjoying the holiday season. I don't turn around. "Do you like the dress I chose for you?"

He steps in behind me, and his hands are on me, of course they are, running down the smooth red velvet, groping my breasts without any decency. I yelp, as he pinches me, where his teeth have left bruises just minutes before.

"Shhh", he hisses into my ear. "Behave, Danielle."

It's not like anyone would care. His service staff know him well enough. The soft clattering of them setting the dinner table goes on uninterrupted.

Still, his voice has lost all cheer. His breath in my neck feels cold, somehow. "This is going to be an important evening. These people are invited to their CEO's place to be awarded for their performance this year. My wife is to be a perfect host for this party. No complaints. You keep that pretty mouth shut, except for meaningless pleasantries, baby girl, understood?"

One hands stays around my chest, but his right hand wanders to my hip, his fingers digging through the fabric, pressing against one of the barely healed cuts he left me with in our wedding night. Pain tears through me. Pain and memories of shame and defeat.

I arch in his embrace, against his body, force my lips shut, teeth clenched, as I fight the urge to cry out. My head falls back against his chest, and he hums in contentment at my silence.

"Yes", I whisper, once I'm in control of my voice again. "Yes, Daddy."

"Mhh." He kisses the side of my neck, while his fingers still press on my wound. "There she is, my perfect, obedient little wife. It's Ridley tonight, though. Not Daddy. We want to keep up a certain image, don't we?"

I blink back my tears, as I stare into the decorated tree in front of me. My hand is still clutched around the little branch. I still can't feel it.

It takes a moment to force myself to let go of the tree. To bury the pain, the shame, the anger, and smother them somewhere deep inside me. To lean into Ridley's embrace, turn around in his arms.

When I look up at him, there's a perfect smile on my lips.

"Ah yes, princess", he murmurs. I catch a glimpse of appreciation in his gaze, and I hate how it makes me feel safe. "You'll do great tonight."

[> Next part]