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victimeyez · 8 months

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Prepare (Prologue to Lisa and Mark)

Professional//Victim pt.4

Caius prepares Tommy for his next client.

Masterlist: x Prev: x Next: x

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

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

Tommy’s room was probably not up to code.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tommy felt a very slight weight over his foot.

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

Tommy peeked out from the covers at Caius.

“The bathroom?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fetish gear. Bile rose in his throat.

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

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

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

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

Three sharp warning knocks on the door.

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

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

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

“-With this?”

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

“Yeah, sure.”

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

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

“Is it Alice?” Tommy asked quietly.

Caius chuckled and buckled a part together.

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

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

“No,” Thomas answered quickly and curtly.

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

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

Tommy nodded.

“When?”

“Um, about an hour ago.”

Caius nodded and led him to the next room.

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

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

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

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

“Close your eyes.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Close ‘em.”

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

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

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

“Open.”

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

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

“Stand.”

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

“Not bad, huh?”

(…)

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

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

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

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

“Clean yourself up. Five minutes max.”

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

“This looks good.”

“You can borrow it if you like.”

Caius gave a little smirk and tossed it aside.

“Let’s roll.”

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

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

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

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

About an hour in, Caius finally spoke.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Breathe in 1, 2, 3, 4…)

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

(Hold it in 1, 2, 3, 4…)

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

(Breathe out 1, 2, 3, 4…)

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

(Hold, 2, 3, 4…)

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tommy.”

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

Caius sighed.

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

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

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

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

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

Caius reached out and pushed the doorbell with finality.

#captive whumpee #whump #professional victim #intimate whumpers #defiant whumpee #referenced noncon #sadistic whumper #forced crossdressing #femboy whumpee cuz fuck it we ball

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thewhumperinwhite · 1 month

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WKW: Spine

Masterpost // Previous

@annablogsposts @whump-cravings @whumpitywhumpwhump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @favwhumpstuff @the-monarch-whumperfly @iboopsstuff (also: i finally added a taglist to my main wkw doc, so please send me a message if you wanna be on that list)

TW for: back injury; burns; Magical Injury/painful healing; guilt; Injury To The Degree That It Is Kind Of Body Horror; potential/partial paralysis; referenced past abuse/murder; referenced noncon; nonsexual nudity (brief/implied).

----

Night has barely fallen when they bring the dying Prince to Feira’s salon. By the time she has stitched him together enough to leave him sleeping on her table, his face shadowed and aura flickering but death no longer crouching on his chest, the sun is streaming through the salon’s single window and directly into Feira’s eyes. She collapses back into the single chair that sits opposite her table, wiping sweat and stray strands of grey hair from her forehead with the least bloody part of her sleeve.

It should not have taken this long.

Spines are delicate things, and the care with which she knits one back together will mean the difference between a Prince who someday walks again and one who doesn’t; but she has studied the inner workings of the spine extensively, ever since she put the Prince’s back together from whole cloth after his botched execution. This was never going to be easy, but it should certainly be possible.

It takes her twenty long, harrowing minutes to identify the problem, as she has never encountered anything quite like it before. The iron manacle, clamped to the stump of the Prince’s wrist, is drinking in her magic. Sucking it up like a rag in a puddle. By the end of that first twenty minutes, she is sweating with effort, the Prince is still writhing with the effort of each breath, and when she happens to brush the manacle with the back of her hand, she draws back with a hiss. The metal is hot enough to burn her skin.

Feira is familiar with iron as an insulator against magical energy, of course. Magic-resistant armor is always made of iron; one of the earliest ways to recognize magical aptitude in a child is a rash-like reaction to the touch of iron. But she’s never seen anything like this before. She takes hold of the Prince’s wrist to examine the manacle—seeing, now, the way his skin is already reddening from the heat—and sees the unfamiliar rune welded into the metal. It can be no accident: it must be an intentional damper on the Prince’s magic.

There are—implications, there. About the fall of Fourshield House; about claims that the White Crane has made. None of which Feira has time to think about now, while the Prince is dying on her table, and she does not have the key to his cursed shackle.

It is—not an insurmountable obstacle. But it does mean that Feira must dig deeper into her Patron’s magical reserves than she ever has before, must strain her own aura to the point of pain and dig deeper into the Prince’s soul than she would ever have done given the choice—and must close her eyes to how the skin of his arm reddens and then blisters. The Prince slips in and out of awareness throughout the night; sometimes he is even awake enough to beg for mercy, though he never seems coherent enough to know who his torturer is, and Feira is shamefully grateful for that.

In the end, he still—has an arm, however useless it is without a hand attached. It is a horrible sun-scorched red up to the elbow; the place where the manacle once touched skin has burned down deep into the flesh beneath; in between the skin has bubbled and blistered in ways that make Feira have to stop in the middle and waste seconds she doesn't have gulping air and trying not to be sick. And even then—a spine is a finnicky thing. She may have twisted his arm beyond repair without even returning the use of his legs. She doesn’t know. Certainly he will be well within his rights to hate her to the end of his days, for these hours of torture if not for the years of neglect that preceded them.

But he does not die.

----

Thorne does not expect to fall asleep, not even when he gives up on pacing the hallway and sits down outside the Healer’s door with his forehead pressed to his knees and his eyes squeezed shut. Andry is not screaming as much, by then. Thorne doesn’t know if that means the pain has lessened, or the Prince’s throat has simply given out.

He doesn’t know how long he sleeps; he doesn’t even know it's happened until he hears his Master’s voice—he knows it immediately, even in sleep, and is halfway to his feet before he is fully awake or his Master has finished the sentence—say, “What are you doing here?”

Thorne snaps to attention, though he has to grab the wall to keep from falling over while his vision clears. Morden is looking at him with blank surprise but no anger, thank the gods. Morden looks like he hasn't slept, either, and for some reason there is a smudge of blood near one corner of his jaw, like he has tried to wipe it away and not quite succeeded.

“Master,” Thorne says, his mind blessedly blank with relief. “I was—” Part of him knows he is not being careful enough, that he is too tired and wrung out to pay attention to what he says, that he must no better, by now, than to speak to his Master without thinking first.“Someone—I wanted to—they almost killed him, Master,” he blurts out. He sounds like a child to his own ears; high pitched and near tears.

Morden blinks at Thorne. Thorne cannot read his Master's face. That sends an immediate spike of panic into Thorne's guts that brings him halfway back into his body, thankfully. He pulls himself together, with a mighty effort, and bows his head properly, like he is giving an ordinary report, and his voice is almost steady, this time.

“There was an attempt on the Summer Prince’s life, Master,” Thorne says, without lifting his head. “I was—absent from my quarters at the time. I apologize for not taking more care with your gift.”

He should say more. He should tell Morden about the guards. Even if... they were enlisted men, not officers, but Morden might still notice their absence. Thorne didn’t even think to look around the Healer’s room' their bodies might be right inside the door for all he knows. He should tell Morden.

(The word "gift" shouldn't make his mouth fill up with bile, like he's going to gag on what his Master has given him. He should be anticipating his Masters needs and striving to meet them. He shouldn't be thinking about his Master's needs and feeling—feeling—)

(Morden, for his part, is afflicted with a strong desire to laugh. Thorne, his head still bowed, does not see this. Morden schools his features carefully before Thorne meets his eyes.)

“…I see,” Morden says. “And was that attempt successful?”

Thorne shakes his head.

“No, Master,” he says. “No, he—he’s alive. But—I—they—” The words do not want to come. But his Master is watching, so he makes them. “His back is broken, I think,” he says, though it comes out thin and whispery and wrong.

Morden raises his eyebrows. Thorne looks at the blood on his Master’s jaw. His Masters next words are muffled by the sudden buzzing in Thorne’s ears.

“I imagine he'll be fine,” Morden says, and brushes past him to open the Healer’s door.

----

Andry knows the ceiling of the Healer’s room as soon as he opens his eyes. It is decorated with vines and fruit and beehives, sculpted out of white plaster, cracked a little with age.

He feels cracked that way himself. He doesn’t try to move his arm, but even in stillness it feels

(like it is filled with crawling insects who are eating it from the inside like old wood like it is in a sleeve of struck matches like it has swollen so far that the skin has split like rotten meat left in the sun)

bad.

The door of the Healer’s room opens. Andry does not see who has entered, at first; he only sees Lady Feira, the old Court Healer, leap to her feet, placing herself bodily between him and the intruder.

“No,” Lady Feira says, in thickly-accented Leisevan. “No visitors. Get out.”

“Now is a bad time to be in my way, Madam Healer,” the Winter King says in a soft, gentle voice. His Craetan is very good, as always.

Andry feels his heart stutter painfully in his chest, but it has been a long, long night, and he is too tired to feel properly afraid.

Lady Feira is shaking her head. “No. It is enough. You have done enough, you will do no more, I will not—”

Andry takes hold of the Healer’s wrist with his good hand. She stills, though he can feel that she is trembling slightly.

“It’s alright, Feira,” he rasps.

Lady Feira turns to look down at him, over her shoulder. She looks—stricken in a way he has never seen her look before, even when his fever came back a few weeks after his back had begun to heal. He might feel sorry for her, in a few hours. He is too tired for it, just at the moment.

Lady Feira removes her spectacles and rubs her eyes, letting her shoulders sag and not looking at either Andry or Morden.

“Fine,” she says, after a moment, in Craetan. “Fine. Speak, Winter King; but do no more or you will waste the hours I have just spent keeping the Prince alive.”

Andry can see just enough of Morden over the Healer’s shoulder to see him cross his arms and raise his eyebrows at her expectantly. The Healer swears under her breath. She turns back to Andry.

“Don’t try to move,” she says curtly. Her expression seems more under control, though her eyes are still tight with misery. “I won’t go far.”

It’s—kind enough, as a sentiment. Andry knows she can do less than nothing against Morden, any more than he can. It’s nice that she's—thinking of him, he supposes.

Morden watches her leave. When she has closed the door behind her, he turns to look down at Andry, narrowing his black eyes.

Morden pulls up the Healer’s chair and sits down beside the sickbed. The Healer has draped a blanket across Andry's chest; it is the only thing between him and the Winter King. Andry tucks his ruined arm underneath it.

“Alright, Summer Prince," Morden says. "You've got my attention. Tell me about your sister.”

#the winter king's ward #original whump #fantasy whump #royalty whump #broken bones #magical healing #painful healing #guilt #manipulative whumper #brainwashing and manipulation #<-it's not like Being Done in this chapter but thorne is. Feeling Some Cognitive Dissonance and he Doesn't Like It #back injury tw #burns tw #referenced noncon

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quietly-by-myself · 6 months

Text

A Wicked Work of Art - Final Chapter

Masterlist

Thank you for the ride y'all.

CW: medical whump, trans whumpee, test subject whumpee, experiment whumpee, fantasy racism, dehumanization, fantasy whump, institutionalized slavery, angels and demons, transformation whump, referenced noncon, referenced suicide attempts

===

Nothing was easy about it. In that protected place that Elias, Elias the Protector, had created with the strength of his magic, Akakios found himself in another hospital bed.

That hospital bed was his home for weeks. Medications, stabilization, blood tests, refeeding diets, but most of all, healing. It was the first time Akakios had been in a hospital bed and actually felt that he was healing.

Asimi, in their bedside vigil, spent day and night with Akakios. They knew the obvious - Akakios couldn’t be alone in a hospital, not after the Facility.

Stergios was a strange man, Akakios found, but he was well-meaning. Akakios found that Stergios also knew the boundaries that Akakios had - Stergios was a light mage, after all. He was one of Akakios’ oppressors, in some way. Maybe not directly, because he fought for Akakios’ rights, but Stergios would be a light mage until the day he died and Akakios couldn’t trust him as long as he was a light mage.

It was Elias who brought Akakios out of his own head the most.

He tried to convince Akakios of the obvious or, at least, what the people around him thought. Something in Akakios was too hurt, too far gone, to accept any good in himself yet.

Soon those conversations turned to arguments. Akakios found himself pushing everyone away, even Asimi.

If all the torture had been to tame him, to make sure that he wouldn’t hurt anyone, why had it happened at all?

Had Akakios wanted to hurt anyone?

What had gotten him caught?

It was that night, defending the hens. A fox had come to attack them while Akakios was relaxing, laying back, watching the stars and talking to Asimi. Little did Akakios know that his father had come with a shotgun at the squawking. Akakios’ father had seen the magic, the glow, and the dead fox. He’d put two and two together.

Akakios was honest. His mom and dad told him that they loved him no matter what. That they accepted him. That they wouldn’t tell anyone.

What a horrible lie to tell.

The next day, he’d been arrested and brought to intake at the Facility.

The day he met Constantine.

Akakios squeezed his eyes shut each time the image of his parents floated through his mind. They’d betrayed him.

Then there was Constantine.

“You’re defective,” he’d told Akakios that first meeting, when he was being valued for sale. “Your joints are too flexible, too weak. Your skin bruises so easily. You can’t even stand for long periods of time.”

Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome was what Constantine’s doctor had called it. Not that Akakios understood then, nor now.

“You’ll be trained for sex. We’ll get some value out of you that way.”

It was that first night that Akakios had first attempted suicide.

And it was three nights later that he attempted next.

Gods, he’d lost track of the amount of times he’d attempted. Even as Constantine respected Akakios’ gender and helped him transition, Constantine was still a rapist. He was still a bad person. But he wasn’t a monster. Akakios was a monster. Constantine had taught him that.

Vasiliki didn’t have the guts to visit Akakios. Akakios didn't see the doctor the entire time he was on the ward.

“Are you sure you want to see him?” Asimi had asked, a little bit of anxiety clear on their face.

“I am. I have something I want to say to him. Alone.”

Behind him, the monitor was beeping.

The painkillers were doing a good job of numbing his anxiety. After all, his ankle had never healed. It was destroyed. Elias had told him that he’d need an amputation of it.

“Maybe not the day before your amputation is all I’m saying.”

Akakios swallowed. With Asimi, he could speak his mind, even if he couldn’t with others. “It’s okay. I want to see him now. He’s- I want him to see me before that. I want him to know.”

“You don’t need his approval. You don’t need anything from him.”

“I know. I’ll be okay, Asimi.” Akakios gave a weak smile.

Asimi hissed a little and crossed their arms, but eventually sighed. “I- okay, my love. I’ll have Elias fetch him.”

Asimi left the room and for the first time in a long time, Akakios, Akakios the devil was truly alone. It was a strange feeling, no matter how many times it had happened.

A knock at the door startled Akakios. When he looked up, a shaggy-haired, exhausted-looking Vasiliki stood before him. His glasses weren’t even straight.

The cardiac monitor beeped quietly in the silence.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Akakios?”

Akakios swallowed. Looking at Vasiliki made him think of the Facility, of the lab, of the torture. That was the word for what had happened. Torture.

“Yeah.” Akakios lost all his moxie looking at Vasiliki.

Vasiliki quietly took a chair, looking at Akakios. Akakios swallowed, getting ready to talk, but Vasiliki beat him to it.

“Why do you want to see me, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Akakios took a breath. It was the question they were both asking. “I-I find that I can’t- Vasiliki, sir, I’m getting an amputation tomorrow. My ankle didn’t heal when I transformed, meaning it would’ve never healed.”

Vasiliki looked into Akakios’ golden eyes. “I’m sorry. I failed you.”

Opening his mouth to argue, Akakios was quietly cut off by Vasiliki. “I failed you in so many ways. You and so many others. I was part of a horrific system. I find myself sitting in my own self-loathing these days. I just- I want you to know, Akakios, that you don’t have to forgive me. I’ll never forgive myself.”

Akakios sat there, quiet. “I don’t forgive you, Vasiliki, sir.”

Vasiliki chuckled a little. “Coming from a devil, that’s a terrifying thing to hear.”

“But I don’t hate you either.”

That caught Vasiliki off-guard.

“I don’t hate you for what you did.” Akakios took a breath. “Vasiliki, sir, I’m a monster. A beast. I’m evil and will always be so.”

Vasiliki opened his mouth to argue, this time, but Akakios cut him off. “You failed me. You failed so many. You enabled so many awful things.” Akakios went quiet for a while. “Elias says I’ll never recover fully. The trauma was too severe. I’m a marred beast, but a monster nonetheless. I- Vasiliki, sir, I don’t forgive you. You’re part of the reason I’ve become like this.”

“Akakios, you aren’t a monster. You never were.”

“Maybe I wasn't before I was caught, but I am now.” Akakios looked off to the side, unable to meet Vasiliki’s gaze. “I find myself willing to do whatever I need to in order to save others like me. Killing others, if I have to. Nobody should have to go through what I did. I find myself a monster for believing that.”

Vasiliki was quiet, allowing Akakios to continue.

“Monsters hurt others. I will hurt people one day, Vasiliki, sir. I know I will. And maybe I’ll feel guilty, but it won’t change that fact. I’m joining the war. I want to fight. Elias says I’ll have a prosthetic if I want one, but that as a mountain lion, I can fight even without my ankle.”

“Akakios-”

“Vasiliki, sir, I want you to know something: I am the beast you feared, but I am a product of your creation. Not of my nature. I will forever hate myself for that, but I cannot change what I have become. Because I’ve realized: the torture I went through was to turn me into a monster that can end this war and restore balance. So, Vasiliki, sir, thank you. Thank you for making me a monster.”

Vasiliki opened his mouth to speak, but found himself speechless. For once, perhaps for the first time, Akakios felt he had won at something.

As the beast, not as Akakios, the once weak.

“So, fuck you, Vasiliki. I have nothing else to say.”

Vasiliki looked at Akakios for a moment, then went to the door. “I respect your decision, Akakios, if you never want to see me again.”

“I don’t. Maybe one day, I will, but you have a long way to go before you can even think of asking for forgiveness.”

“I know.”

“Then do something worthy of it.”

“I will.”

With that, the door closed and Akakios was left in the silence of the cardiac monitor.

He’d made his peace. He’d said what he needed to. He’d won.

So why then, did he only feel the empty rage of the beast?

===

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#medical whump #trans whumpee #test subject whumpee #experiment whumpee #fantasy racism #dehumanization #fantasy whump #institutionalized slavery #angels and demons #transformation whump #referenced noncon #referenced suicide attempts #whump #whump writing #whumpblr #whump fic #whump community #conditioned whumpee

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inorganicone2230 · 1 year

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Purity (Finale Part 1 of 2) Yandere!Overhaul x Fem!Reader

Part 28 & Finale Part 2 of 2

Summary: Overhaul meets a quirkless foreigner who holds some very interesting views on his way of thinking. The more time he spends with her, the more he wants to keep her and her purity for himself. And he has no problem with falling to the depths of obsession if it means getting what he wants.

Other Warnings: Trigger warnings, mentions of past domestic and physical abuse, blackmail, referenced kidnapping, referenced rape, referenced physical abuse/torture, emotional and mental manipulation, toxic relationship, gaslighting, forced pregnancy, VERY YANDERE!!! See tags for more…

Side Note: I do NOT and never will condone the actions committed in this and future chapters, please be mindful and respectful of the fact that all of this is purely fiction.

5 Years Later

Looking down at his phone to check the time, Kai nearly groaned when he saw that it was already well past 6pm and they were still nowhere near ready to see this latest deal closed.

They had been debating these negotiations with this new group for the last three hours and despite Kai and the Hassaikai’s incredibly generous offer, they still hadn’t found a mutually agreeable price or terms to settle on.

“Look,” The head of the group said, clearly annoyed that they weren’t giving into their, quite frankly, ridiculous demands. “I just don’t see what the big deal is; all we’re asking is for an undiluted sample of the product to see how it will respond to someone under the effects of a stronger form of trigger.”

“The problem is that it’s a risk and a liability that we’re not willing to take.” Hari said for the umpteenth time through gritted teeth. “It’s been nearly five years since we completed our finished product, and in that time, we haven’t seen a single successful copycat drug hit the streets, so as I’m sure you can imagine, it’s a record we’d like to see keep going for as long as possible.”

One of the men across the table, an enforcer with a temper worse than Mimic’s, slammed his fist on the table in outrage.

“Are you uptight assholes trying to accuse us of wanting to double-cross you?!”

Kai rolled his eyes at the pathetic display before speaking up himself.

“I believe what my second in command is trying to say is that it’s a risk we’re just not willing to take for anyone.” He tapped a gloved hand on the paperwork in front of him. “You’re not the first buyers to ask us for such concessions, and we’ve turned them all down, even groups that we’ve had good standing with for generations, so no, we’re not about to break that stance for a gang that’s only just barely made a mediocre name for themselves.” His golden eyes flashed bright, promising pain and torment for anyone who thought it a smart idea to question him and the man who opened his mouth to respond to the insult, wisely shut it. “So, you can either take what we have so kindly offered you, with a small discount as a show of our immense generosity, or you can leave this room and consider yourselves permanently blacklisted from our dealings and future negotiations.”

The men across from him all sneered with outright contempt.

“And here I thought the infamous Overhaul was supposed to be a tyrant without mercy, a monster disguised as a man.” The leader said, giving him a once-over that clearly said he wasn’t all that impressed. “Seems to me that all those stories are nothing but baseless rumors.”

“Is that so?” Kai asked, rather absentmindedly, and as if in answer, his glove, along with the stack of papers underneath his hand quickly became particles floating through the air. “Should you continue with this disrespectful posturing, I can just as easily do the same to your bodies and you can leave this room, and the world of the living, through the drains in the floor.”

The men opposite him and Hari suddenly looked far less confident and Kai’s blood thrummed with the promise of potential violence. He didn’t relish the mess that would inevitably follow, but after last night, he needed something to take the fucking edge off, and wiping these vermin permanently out of existence seemed a good enough choice.

In the five years since the birth of his and your son, Kazue, there had been a great deal of changes brought about by the boundaries he’d set for you and himself to follow. Most of the changes were in regards to his relationship with you and the children, and it most definitely took some getting used to it all in the beginning, especially during that first year.

Touching you had been like second nature to him by that point and there were so many times where he had caught himself reaching for you and had to physically leave the room for fear of breaking his promise to you. He was a man of conviction after all, and he prided himself on his sense of self control, but not being able to hold you in his arms or feel your lips and body against his own was pure torture for him. He’d gone so long despising even the thought of physical contact with others, but once he got a taste of it with you, he became addicted.

That’s why he tried so hard to stay as far away from you as possible in those early days, spending as much time around you as he used to proved to be too much of a temptation for him and he was determined to prove to you that he could be a man of his word.

One of the first changes he had tried to make in the beginning had been in offering to find another place for himself to sleep, especially once he moved you all up into the house above the tunnels, a suggestion you had, very surprisingly, turned down. Sadly though, he didn’t need to be informed that it wasn’t because you would have missed his presence beside you at night, but because you didn’t want to worry Eri by letting her believe there was animosity between the two of you. You would continue to share his bed in a strictly platonic manner and keep up the guise of being cordial with him, if only for the sake of the children and their stability. But beyond that, and raising the children together, you did much of everything without him back then.

Along with the loss of his intimacy with you, he ceased doing quite a lot with you during that time period; picking out your clothes for the day, bathing with you, making idle conversation with you, even just spending quality time with you in the same room, all of it came to a sudden halt. None of it was out of maliciousness on his part of course, it was just easier to stay away until he could get a grasp on his self control. A task that proved itself to be one of the most difficult of his young life.

And that’s roughly how the first two years had progressed.

You spent time with him, usually only when the children were involved, and life dragged on accordingly. And over time, he ever so slowly began to lose hope that anything would change the horrible circumstances of his own careless actions.

Until one event that set in motion a ripple effect, one that went on to ever so slowly alter the last three years, enough to restore that small ember of hope he’d been holding onto.

—————

It was late, nearly three in the morning, by the time he slowly and quietly made his way through the halls of the ‘family residence’ and into the bedroom, silently praying that you and the children were already asleep and that he wouldn’t accidentally wake any of you up and have to explain his haggard appearance. Getting to spend time with you and his babies was usually the best part of his day, but not tonight. It had already been such an agonizingly long and hard day, one of the most difficult of his life, and he just didn’t have the drive or the energy to deal with anything else.

Unfortunately though, those prayers went unanswered as he quietly opened the door to find you still awake and sitting up in bed with a book in hand.

You looked up, your beautiful face as impassive as ever, and if you were at all surprised or concerned by his less than normal countenance, then you certainly didn’t show it, and he was far too tired and drained by that point to feel hurt by the minor snub.

“What are you still doing up?” He asked quietly, more out of habit than actual interest, as he trudged over to his dresser to pull out a clean pair of boxers and sleeping pants.

Since anything and everything sexual was now off the table for the two of you, he had conceded and begrudgingly, but understandably, started wearing some kind of sleepwear to bed. He found it uncomfortable most nights, as he was so accustomed to sleeping in the nude, but he found that as long as he was wearing something that at least left his lower body covered, like a simple pair of boxers, you didn’t feel the need to voice any complaints about it. Although, when this arrangement had first started, he was smugly pleased to see that you were just as uncomfortable as he was when it came to wearing clothing to bed. In the beginning you tried to wear the most unflattering pajama sets to bed in an effort to hide your body from him, but those attempts had lasted all of three months before you broke down and just started wearing the least revealing nightgowns and other sleepwear he’d previously purchased for you to bed at night. It certainly wasn’t something he was ever going to mention for fear of losing the stunning visuals they provided him with, and definitely not now that he was forced to take his pleasure into own hands… quite literally these days.

Under normal circumstances, he would have spent a few minutes talking to you and greedily drinking in the sight of you in a silky midnight blue night shirt and shorts, especially when he could clearly see the outline of your nipples straining against the delicate material, but the entrancing sight held nearly no sway over him this night.

He saw you shrug out of the corner of his eye and turn the page of your book, just as uninterested in him as you always were. “Kazue got a tummy ache after dinner tonight, so I sat up with him until it passed and he was able to fall asleep. I’m starting to think he might be a bit lactose intolerant, and it was the cream based sauce that did it.”

“I see…” Was his only response as he made his way into the bathroom to take a scalding hot shower, completely missing your wide eyed stare following him all the way to the bathroom and lingering long after the door had shut behind him.

—————

And perhaps it was his complete and utter disinterest in the well-being of his son that tipped the scales in his favor that night and made you act so out of character, Kai thought to himself, because any other time you said such a thing, he would have been asking a whole host of increasingly concerned questions and rushing into the child’s room to see for himself that he was safe a well.

—————

By the time Kai emerged from the bathroom over an hour later, his skin having turned a pinkish red and scrubbed so raw in places that he’d likely taken away a layer or two, the bedside lamp was shut off and you were nestled comfortably under the covers, though he could tell you were still wide awake. But still, he said nothing as he pulled back the covers and finally laid down. He was exhausted, both mentally and emotionally, and he felt it deep down in his bones, but he just couldn’t seem to get his mind to settle.

It also didn’t help that he could feel your gaze drilling holes into his back and adding to his already mounting tension.

You hadn’t said anything, but he could feel your questions hanging in the air all around him and the pressure of it made his already sensitive and scalded skin itch. He’d never had this kind of adverse reaction to you before and it terrified him to no small degree. He knew it was just the lingering effects from what had occurred today, but still, it wasn’t a feeling he’d ever wanted to experience where you were concerned.

So he answered your unspoken question, if only to try and make the itching go away.

“He’s dead…”

The two softly spoken words rang hollow in the quiet of the bedroom and while Kai knew he didn’t need to elaborate further on who he was referring to, you would already know, the floodgates were now open and he couldn’t stop himself from speaking further, even if there was no prompting for it from you.

“The underling assigned to care for him said that the readings on all his monitors were fine this morning, but when he came back to check on him during lunch…” He trailed off, his throat constricting around the words as he fought to keep some semblance of his composure intact, but against all his best efforts, a pathetic and broken sound, somewhere between a sob and whine, slipped out of him instead. He hated how weak he felt in this moment; he’d seen his own fair share of death and horrible things over the years, Hell!, he’d performed human medical experiments that could easily be qualified as torture, and on his own daughter of all people! And yet he’d never felt as grief stricken and misguided after coming to terms with those instances, not the way he did right now with this.

He knew it was bound to happen someday, Pops dying… but he never thought it would be so soon, and certainly not before he was able to wake him up and show the man everything he had achieved, not just for the Shie Hassaikai and the yakuza, but for himself.

And now he would never get that chance.

He would never get to tell him how much he honored and respected him, or how grateful he was to have been saved and raised by him, how he thought of him as a father, even if he’d never had the courage to call him by such a title in all the years he’d been under his roof. He’d never get to introduce you to him and hear him laugh when you inevitably called him out on his bullshit and sometimes poor behavior, or see him hold Kazue in his arms and try Eri’s spectacular cooking for the first time. He’d never again feel that strong hand on his shoulder, or hear his voice telling him how proud he was of him despite all his faults and mistakes.

But worst of all, is knowing how he’d never get the chance to beg for his forgiveness, and tell him just how sorry he was for what he’d done that last day they’d spoken, when he laid out the original details of his plan, before everything changed… before you had come into his life and changed everything.

When you failed to respond after a few moments, Kai began wondering if he had imagined you still being awake. Perhaps it had been wishful thinking on his part and his tired mind had simply wanted to believe that you were just the slightest bit worried for him.

He was just about to roll over to try and sleep, and hopefully forget all about this for a little while in dreamless oblivion, when he felt a light pressure on his bicep, so light and tentative that, were his skin not so sensitive from the shower, he might not have noticed it right away.

The contact of your hand made him immediately go rigid, completely terrified that one wrong move would send you reeling back to the other side of the bed. He’d been so distracted that he hadn’t noticed you inching closer to his side of the bed until now, and he didn’t even know what to do with himself. Sure, there had been brief and accidental exchanges of touch since Kazue had been born, usually when passing the children to one another or when you got in close quarters with each other, but in all actuality, you hadn’t gone out of your way to touch him in years, and now, he didn’t have a single clue as to what to make of this. It wasn’t as if he was complaining about it, far from it, but he just didn’t know what to take it as.

He told you before that every future touch would be on your terms, and he wanted to keep his word on that front, and he truly didn’t know if this moment was meant to go beyond what was already happening. He didn’t want to misinterpret you touching him like this as more than what you were intending it to be, because for all he knew, you only meant for this to be a consoling touch to try and give him some small form of comfort during this difficult situation he was facing. So he would take what he could get and he would commit this feeling to memory and use it on days when the strain of not being able to touch you was at its strongest, he would use it as a reminder of what he was working so hard to prove to you.

…

Minutes passed, and after some time, he received yet another shock when he felt the slightest pull on his arm.

He barely noticed it at first, and when he did, he just assumed you were getting ready to take your hand back, but when your touch lingered, the pull becoming more insistent, he finally gave in and turned to face you.

You were laying on your side, a look of conflicted contemplation settled over your face and his eyes immediately zeroed in on the way you were biting your bottom lip, a clear sign you were deep in thought on a subject you likely considered very worrisome. Even with the tragedy of Pops’ death hanging like a morbid sheet over his head, Kai couldn’t keep his mind away from thoughts of how those perfect lips of yours used to feel wrapped around his cock, or even how they simply felt against his own. If things weren’t so strained and different between the two of you these days, he likely would have been inside you already, using pleasure and ecstasy to temporarily push aside the unusual feelings of sorrow and grief that were currently plaguing his mind.

As it stood though, that wasn’t even an option right now and he needed to get a hold of himself and gain back some semblance of self control.

“Was…” His voice sounded strained and thick, even to his ears, and he cleared his throat before continuing. “Was there something you needed, my love?” He asked cautiously, not wanting to make a big deal about this odd touch of yours and risk spooking you.

You didn’t respond though, in fact, you couldn’t even bring yourself to keep eye contact with him for longer than a few seconds. There was just enough light in the room for him to see that your gaze kept shifting around, and he wondered what was going on inside your head for you to be feeling so nervous and fidgety. It wasn’t a trait you often showed around him, not anymore at least.

Eventually, after a few more quiet moments of thought, you finally got your bearings back and decided to show him what you wanted, rather than expressing it through words, as you rolled over onto your back and opened your arms to him…

Kai was so shocked and stunned by this unexpected turn of events, that he didn’t know what to do with himself and he just continued to stare at you with wide eyes and an open mouthed expression adorning his usually carefully controlled features.

“Well…” You finally snapped at him quietly, although the words carried zero bite to them. “Are you going to come over here or not?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, as if you were afraid of being too loud for some reason.

But at your insistence, Kai moved without another thought.

—————

Even three years later, Kai could still remember that night with perfect clarity.

He could still recall the warmth and softness of your skin, the feel of your arms wrapping around his back in an awkward, but still comforting embrace, he could even remember the way you’d smelled of lilies and eucalyptus as he’d buried his face in the crook of your neck and shoulder. But what he recalled the most vividly, was how he hadn’t felt the least bit judged for the tears that eventually started to fall, or for the quiet sobs that had shaken his body. And all the while, you had simply and silently held him through all of it, you had even stroked your hands up and down the length of his back once in a while.

You hadn’t offered him your condolences or any words of comfort, but what you did give him was so much more profound. The fact that you had chosen to set aside your own negative opinions and personal feelings for him and allowed him to have that moment of silence to grieve and let it all out, that mattered more to him than mere words could ever hope to convey. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d cried over anything, he’d come very close to it a few times during the days surrounding Kazue’s horrifically premature birth, but the ability to shed true tears was something he thought he’d long since purged from himself.

And afterwards, during the following morning, when he’d slowly and silently pulled himself from your arms, savoring every last second he could soaking up your warmth and scent, before he allowed himself to give your cheek the lightest of kisses, he thought that would be the first and last time something like that would occur, that it was a one and done moment. He assumed you wouldn’t even want to talk about it, so he hadn’t brought it up at all and chose instead to keep it tucked away in his heart as a sort of keepsake memory.

But, to his still shocked and bewildered delight, you had offered him the same thing again that night… and the next night, and the night after that, until it became commonplace and a habit neither of you seemed willing to break.

And slowly, little by little, you started opening up to him more after that and Kai relished every moment of it.

He wasn’t delusional enough to think you had entirely accepted your life here with him, he knew that acceptance and complacency were two vastly different concepts, and you were still far from happy. But every time you let your guard down and touched him, or gave him a smile that wasn’t forced and strained for the children’s sake was still a win for him. It felt so much more rewarding and genuine, in a way forcing you never had. He still couldn’t bring himself to fully regret the actions he’d taken that had led him to this point, but now he could see the benefits that could be obtained through time and patience. It wasn’t easy by any means, there were still days where he found himself feeling resentful and bitter that he was having to work so hard for something that, in his mind, he still viewed as rightfully his, but a quick flashback to the awful day of Kazue’s birth was usually enough to snap him out of it.

Sometimes, the memories of that day were so terribly vivid that it felt like he was reliving it all over again and he could still hear the sound the back of his fist had made as it cracked against your face, or the sound of your heavily pregnant body hitting the floor. Those were the mild ones though, the worst came when he could see your blood on his hands and smell the coppery scent of it hanging in the air all around him.

It was so bad in the beginning that he often awoke from nightmares of it, gasping for breath and drenched in a cold sweat that even the heat of a blistering shower couldn’t fully wipe away.

But it was getting better with time, and as selfish as he knew it was, the main reason for that was because he had the assurance that you would never know or remember the exact details of what happened that terrible day. Even five years later, you never once gave him any indication to believe that the false memory he had planted in your mind was fading. It didn’t completely wash away the immense guilt he still felt over it, but had you been allowed to hold it over his head like he knew you most certainly would have, it would have eventually torn him apart from the inside out and made even looking at you and the children nearly unbearable.

…

“Are you listening to me you fucking asshole?!”

Something whizzed past his face and crashed into the wall behind him, pulling him from his musings and bringing his mind back to the present situation at hand.

Kai turned his head to see that it was the bottle of whiskey that had been sitting in the middle of the table, the amber liquid slowly trickling down the pristine white wall and forming a puddle on the floor, along with the broken shards of glass.

Having two children, especially when one of them was a very rambunctious toddler, had done a lot to help him develop a stronger tolerance for messes and disorder, but even so, having a full grown man throw such a childish temper tantrum in his presence was more than enough to make his brow twitch in irritation.

Kai shook his head in disgust. “I have to admit, this really is rather pathetic.” He said, turning back to face the group across from him. “ When my son was going through his terrible twos, he was still better behaved than you and your sorry lot.” And from somewhere behind him, he heard quiet laughter come from the men standing against the wall. Not a surprise really, his Precepts had all spent enough time around the boy these last five years and knew perfectly well how energetic he could be, thankfully though, for as much as Kazue took after Kai in the looks and quirk department, he had seemingly inherited your mellow disposition.

It took a minute, but once the insult fully registered, the man’s face turned an impressive shade of red for a few moments before a thought must have hit his pea-sized brain and a sinister smirk curled up the corner of his lips.

“A son, huh?” He said, easily taking the bait Kai laid out for him. “Gotta say, I never would have suspected that the feared Head of the Shie Hassaikai was a family man.” The morons behind him must have thought he was doing a remarkable job of it, since they all laughed right along with him, and spurred on by his men’s reactions, he unknowingly kept digging his own grave. “That must mean you have yourself a woman…”

His words might have actually hit their intended mark, had Kai not already anticipated the response and prepared his temper for it accordingly. He didn’t exactly need a reason to take the fools out, he could have done so already and called it a day, but he was feeling generous at the moment and decided to allow the scumbags before him to think they could have been spared from his wrath if only they had left talk of you and Kazue out of it.

“I’ve heard how insanely high maintenance you are, so she must be one helluva ride in the fucking sack if she caught your eye.” He continued on, so convinced of his own superiority over Kai and his Precepts that he failed to notice the way his disrespectful words had very quickly drawn the ire of the loyal men standing behind the golden eyed leader. “Tell you what, you give me and my men a free pass with her, and we’ll call this whole situation a simple misunderstanding.”

Kai knew that such a remark was coming, but even then, the rage that consumed him was so blinding, so all consuming, that it almost caused his quirk to activate without conscious thought.

But surprisingly, it wasn’t Kai himself that reacted first, it was Hojo who slammed the side of a crystal fist against the back wall, the force of it cracking the cement and rattling the room hard enough that debris rained down from the ceiling in a few places.

“Keep your disgusting comments about the Lady out of your filthy mouths.” He said, his tone low and menacing. “If I hear something like that again, I’ll personally nail each and every one of you to the walls by your shriveled up balls and dicks.” Hojo’s eyes were normally shadowed, but right now, the crystals that formed them were bright and blazing with barely contained fury.

Silence filled the meeting room for a few short seconds before the leader of the soon to be eradicated gang spoke up again, this time with a bit of fear lacing his otherwise steady tone of voice. Kai didn’t know if it was overconfidence, or just plain stupidity that kept him from pissing himself, but the little fucker had some balls, that was for sure, and Kai was willing to give him credit in that regard at the very least.

“Are all of you Hassaikai pricks this sensitive when it comes to such little things?” He scoffed dismissively before meeting Kai’s gaze. “You disrespected us, and I only suggested it as an easy way for you to express your regrets, but if it’s too difficult to hand over your woman to us for a night, then I’m sure we can figure something else out to fix this situation.”

Kai was now thoroughly convinced; this moron's overinflated bravado and sense of self worth was heightened by nothing more than sheer stupidity. For him to think that Kai cared enough about making this deal happen that he’d be willing to bend over backwards to please them was just plain laughable. They had more than enough mules to push their product, they didn’t need these inconsequential nobodies, but enlisting a few extra hands never hurt.

It’s just a shame that some of those hands were a little too far reaching.

“Is that so?” Kai said quietly. “You must be quite full of yourself if you think that asking for permission to violate my wife is something I’m just going to overlook?” His voice was level and lethally calm, but the absolute disgust he felt could be heard in each word he spoke.

The moment the words registered in their pea-brain heads, all the men went as still as statues and noticeably paled. It would have been one thing if they had insulted a common whore or a bed warmer, but they didn’t, they insulted a powerful leader’s wife, and it didn’t make a lick of difference to Kai whether the fools knew that detail beforehand or not.

They tried to plead half-hearted apologies, then they begged, then they tried to run…

Then, the bloodletting began.

—————

Kai slumped back in the chair behind his desk with an audible groan as Hari placed a glass of bourbon before him and took a seat across from him with his own.

“So, did you get it all out of your system?” The silver haired man asked him, hiding his insufferable and knowing grin with a well timed sip of his drink.

Kai glared, albeit half-heartedly. “And just what is that supposed to mean?” He asked, and picked up his own glass, downing the knuckles worth of liquor in one go

Kai’s disposition had mellowed out in the years since Kazue’s birth, Hari thought, and while he would never call the man soft or say he’d lost his brutal edge, he had certainly opened up and relaxed a bit more when it came to those within their inner circle. But even still, he knew better than to outright laugh at him. He could easily get away with a bit of heckling, but even he had his limits where Kai’s temper was concerned.

“You went into that meeting looking for any excuse you could to take out that pent up aggression of yours on them, that’s the only reason you allowed it to happen in the first place.” The second in command shot back. “So, which one of you was it this time?”

There was silence between them for a few more heartbeats before Kai spoke.

“Her.”

That one simple word carried so much weight to it that Hari could practically see it wearing his friend down.

“Well that explains it.”

Kai nodded in answer but didn’t elaborate any further. There was no need to, Hari already knew everything there was to know about the situation, about the little game you and he had been playing for the better part of the last two years.

It had truly been an accident, the day you had unknowingly walked into this very office, only to find him with his hand wrapped around his cock, and watching one of the many saved videos he had from the camera recordings of your old room down below. The volume had been reduced considerably, but there had been no mistaking the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, or that of your exquisite voice moaning and crying out his name.

You had stood in the doorway for only a handful of seconds before turning on your heel and leaving without a single word, but in that short span of time, Kai had seen the way your eyes lingered on his aching cock, had seen the way you licked your dry lips before biting the bottom one between your teeth. It was that image, not the one of you and himself together on the screen of his computer, that had sent him over the edge into a mind numbing orgasm.

But once the haze of pleasure had ebbed away and no longer clouded his sense of thought or reason, the panic had quickly set in. All throughout the rest of the day, he had been terrified that this incident would set back all the progress the two of you had made together so far these last three years. He had anticipated you getting angry and calling him a vile piece of shit at best, or giving him the cold shoulder at worst, what he hadn’t expected though, was that you wouldn’t do anything at all.

At first…

Nothing was amiss, you’d acted no differently than normal, and if he hadn’t known any better, he might have even gotten it into his head that he had imagined your appearance in his office earlier. He let himself think that perhaps you just wanted to pretend that it had never happened and you were showing him kindness by not bringing it up. So, as the night wore on, he’d relaxed more and more, and when the children were finally put to bed and fast asleep, he hadn’t given it a single thought when you said you were going to take a bath to relax before joining him in bed.

Until he saw you approach his closet, got a look at what you had grabbed from its contents, and realized that your real reaction was going to be so much worse for him than what he had originally built up in his mind.

—————

Kai watched, his curiosity now thoroughly peaked enough that he didn’t dare ask what it was you were doing, as you made a beeline straight for his closet.

He kept his eyes trained on the entryway as you disappeared into an out of the way corner within the small space and began rummaging around. He strained his hearing, trying his best to figure out what you were looking for based on the sounds, but he couldn't be entirely too sure and gave up after a short while, resigning himself to just learning what it was when you finally emerged.

And soon enough, you did, but what you held in your hand was nearly enough to give him a heart attack, because there, dangling loosely from your grip, as if it were nothing more that a simple article of clothing, was one of the many toys he’d always kept stashed away in a trunk at the back of the closet. He’d kept them all, but after he moved you and everyone else upstairs to the main house, he’d made sure that you and he had separate closets, so you’d have a place to change clothes in private, and the trunk was placed in his, and somehow, you must have guessed that he’d do such a thing, because he had certainly never mentioned it to you.

He recognized it as one that he’d used on you fairly regularly; long and purple, it was shaped like a realistic cock, including ridges to resemble veins and complete with all the bells and whistles of a regular vibrator, it even had an attachment meant to help stimulate the clit. And whenever he used it on you back then, he always loved just letting it sit there inside of you, sometimes tucking your soaked panties around its base to help keep it in place so his hands could be free to pleasure you in other places, or stimulate himself while he watched and listened to you beg and plead with him to take it out or make the over-stimulation end.

He tried to keep you from seeing just how much the sight of you with that object was affecting, not just a certain key area of his lower body, but his mental state as well, but he highly doubted he was doing a very good job of it. He sometimes didn’t know how to act around you anymore now that he was striving to be less dominant and forceful with you. It was probably one of the hardest things he had ever done, and even now, after years of teaching himself not to react in a volatile manner when you did or said something that he didn’t approve of, it still ate away at his pride a little.

The idea of you pleasuring yourself was never a thought he allowed his mind to dwell on for too long, mostly because it was a subject that did nothing more than rub salt into the wound that was his still broken heart. All it did was remind him of those last words you spoke to him right before that terrible incident three years ago, when you said you always tried to think of someone else every time he forced himself on you. He knew you’d only said it to hurt him, but the comment most definitely hit its intended target, and every time the words unwittingly came to the forefront of his mind, it proved a challenge for him to keep himself from raging like a madman. He wanted so very badly to grab you and throw you down onto the bed, to fill you with his cock again and make you cry out his name like a prayer to the heavens, make you swear that you’d never touch yourself again unless it was to put on a show for him.

These days though, those moments were growing fewer and farther between.

He knew that his dominant and forceful approach to intimacy wasn’t something he’d ever be able to completely erase from his personality, but he promised himself that if you ever choose to be intimate with him again, he would put forth every ounce of effort he could muster towards begin better, to being a man that was worthy of your willingness and acceptance. He’d told you before that if you ever choose to be with him like that again, that things would go right back to the way they’d been and you would have no one to blame but yourself for it, and while that statement had been true at the time, that was no longer the case for him.

But seeing you standing before him now, dressed in nothing but a black nightgown that hugged all your lovely curves perfectly and holding that toy in your delicate hand, he felt his self control hanging on by a very flimsy thread as he, very unrealistically, imagined you blessedly asking him to help you with it.

He was so distracted by the sight of you that he barely heard you when you spoke and he had to awkwardly ask you to repeat yourself.

You didn’t smile or react in any way except to hold the vibrator up in the air, as if it needed to be pointed out so he’d know what you were referring to, and repeat yourself.

“This one is waterproof, right?” You asked, your face a mask of bored indifference. “I remember you used it on me in the shower a few times, or was it a different one than this? There were a few purple ones mixed in there.”

Kai blinked at you in shock, because in the last three years, not a single word had been uttered between the two of you regarding your prior sex life. He hadn’t wanted to trigger you by making references to it, and he just assumed that you never brought it up because of fairly obvious reasons. It genuinely surprised him how easily you were mentioning it, and with such a straight face and bland expression. He guessed you were only trying to goad him into reacting as pay back for what you had caught him doing earlier, but he figured it was best to move it along quickly to avoid falling into whatever trap you were potentially trying to lay out for him. His patience and self control could only stretch so far after all.

He cleared his throat and forced his gaze to turn back towards the report in his hand, not that he was actually reading it anymore, but that was beside the point.

“It’s waterproof.” He said, perhaps a bit too tightly. “It’s been years since it’s been used though, so the batteries might be dead, and it’ll need to be thoroughly cleaned.”

He hoped that would be enough to satisfy you and you’d finally take it away from his presence, but the sudden buzzing sound told him he wasn’t that lucky and he gripped the paperwork in his hand all the tighter to keep himself in check.

“Sounds like it’s working just fine to me.” You said, clicking it through all of its different settings before it went silent once more and he relaxed ever so slightly. “If you’re asleep when I get done, I’ll try not to wake you up when I come to bed.”

And with that, you walked off, quietly shutting the bathroom door behind you and leaving him alone in relative silence, but the moment he heard the sound of rushing water filling up the tub, he scrambled to turn the bedside lamp off and go to sleep as quickly as possible. He hoped he might get lucky and you’d do whatever it was you wanted with that thing while the water was still running and spare him from the potential torture of having to hear anything, or better yet, maybe you wouldn’t do anything with it at all and you taking it in there with you was just for show.

The water shut off and he waited a solid ten minutes or so before he deemed it safe to finally relax and try to fall asleep like normal, but then it happened…

He heard the muffled vibrations of the toy and the sloshing of the water, and not even a few seconds later, his keen hearing also picked up on the unmistakable sound of your quiet little moans and gasps of pleasure.

He was lying on his stomach, with his hard cock pinned uncomfortably between himself and the bed, but he refused to move and relieve himself. Even as the noises you made grew higher in pitch and more erratic, he wanted to listen to them all, to absorb them all and use them for his own fantasies, and all the while, he felt utterly torn between praying that you’d stop, and never wanting it to end. He couldn’t stop himself from wondering if it was himself you were thinking of in there, if you were remembering all the ways he used to touch you and kiss you, if you were hearing his phantom voice whispering filthy words and dark promises in your ear, but most of all, he couldn’t help but wonder if you would end up feeling dirty and regretting it afterwards, if you were in fact thinking of him.

Eventually, your voice reached a pitch that couldn’t be misinterpreted as anything but that of someone reaching the peak of orgasmic pleasure and Kai found himself near to weeping in gratitude when all went quiet again before the sound of draining water filled the silence instead. He knew you would be coming out and climbing into bed at any moment and silently willed his aching cock and rising desire to calm down and lessen.

A few minutes later, after the water stopped draining from the tub, Kai heard the door quietly creak open and he listened intently while you padded across the carpeted floor and climbed into bed with him.

He was surprised when he felt you slide over and cuddle up to his back, having thought that you wouldn’t be comfortable with it tonight, but you dropped your arm across his waist and allowed your hand to rest on his stomach, dangerously close to the tip of still fully erect cock, but he certainly wasn’t about to make any complaints about it. These moments with you at night were bittersweet torture for him, but Kai wouldn’t end them for all the world, not when it was the only time he allowed himself the privilege of touching you for longer than a few scant seconds. Even if the puffs of your breath on the back of his neck made his hips and cock twitch, and the feel of your unbound breasts pressing into his shoulder-blades made him imagine rolling over-top of you and latching his mouth onto one of those sensitive little nipples through the nightshirt you currently wore.

“Kai?”

Your voice cut straight through the fog of sleep that was beginning to cloud his senses and he shifted ever so slightly to let you know he was still aware and listening.

He felt you smile against the back of his neck and stiffened when you leaned up to breathe the words against the sensitive skin behind his ear. “I just thought you should know that we’re even for now.” And to his complete shock and surprise, you laid a quick, barely there kiss to that same little spot of skin. “That’s all.”

—————

That night was the precursor to what would become this ongoing game between the two of you that had been playing out for nearly two years.

Kai hadn’t been able to get what you’d said out of his head for nearly a week afterwards, or rather, it was two words in particular that stuck with him so strongly.

‘For now.’

He might have overlooked it, had you not said it in that teasing and lilting tone of yours and concluded it with that little brush of your lips.

So, he decided to test out this new theory of his, and the next time he felt the urge to pleasure himself, he made sure you would be fully aware of it.

He’d done it simply by taking a shower at the right time and leaving the bathroom door slightly ajar, and when he heard you enter the bedroom, he hadn’t bothered to try and contain the sounds of his pleasure or stop your name from rolling off his tongue. Knowing that you had been fully aware of what he was in the midst of doing, that you were just on the other side of the door, had heightened the intensity of his orgasm when he finally found release, enough so that he’d had to take a seat on the bench in the shower to catch his breath before drying off and emerging.

You’d taken a seat in front of the tv on the other side of the large room, watching some kind of documentary, but he’d been able to tell right off the bat that you hadn’t been paying a lick of attention to it. You’d kept stealing so many sidelong glances at him that it was almost comical, and when he flashed you a knowing smirk before climbing in bed that night, he knew without a doubt that you’d understood he’d done it on purpose.

Two days later, you’d done it again as well, letting him hear every little sound that escaped your mouth while you fucked yourself with your own fingers this time, and while he never once heard his name fall from your lips, he was confident this time that it was him that you were imagining, him, and no one else.

The two of you had been at it ever since, and over time, some unspoken rules had developed between you both, especially since it had escalated and moved from the bathroom to the bedroom where you both laid side by side.

For starters, while this was something that the two of you both participated in, it was never spoken about, either during or afterwards. Neither of you sought pleasure at the same time or on the same night, and though both of you knew that the other was always listening intently and sometimes even watching, it was always done under the guise of pretending to be asleep.

“So, what made this time so difficult?” Hari asked him casually, pulling him from his introspection on these events of the past.

It seemed to be a running theme for him today.

Kai gritted his teeth as a wave of arousal washed over him. “She let my name slip again.”

Last night had been your turn, and when he’d cracked his eyes open just bit to see your fingers pinching one perfect nipple and your hips rising off the bed with the force of your orgasm, he’d nearly broken one of those unspoken rules when you’d breathlessly whisper-moaned his name. It wasn’t the first time you’d done it, but even still, it hit him just as hard whenever it did slip out.

Sometimes, whenever he let himself dwell on the thought of it for too long, he felt like it might just drive him mad.

For fear of ruining what little trust and progress you had gained with him these last five years, he could never bring himself to ask why you couldn’t simply admit that you wanted to resume sharing his bed with him in every way that counted. Not just to sleep and rest in, nor as a ruse for the sake of allowing the children to believe they still had two parents who loved one another. You knew from experience that he could bring you more pleasure in bed than you ever could hope to achieve on your own, and you obviously still wanted him, if not emotionally, then physically at the very least, and he often wondered what would happen if he were to break down and ask you about it. But every time he started to open his mouth to do so, all those ghosts of the past would creep up his spine and remind him of all the horrible ways such a thing could backfire on him and the ramifications that would follow.

As Kai continued to silently stew in his own bitter musings, Hari couldn’t help but let his own thoughts wander in the same direction.

His own relationship with your sister was at a similar standstill, but for all the opposite reasons.

After that first night, when she came to him, drunk and seeking a way to help her forget about the temporary death she and the doctor had miraculously managed to pull you back from after the horrific birth of Kazue, it hadn’t stopped after that. It was like the dam that was her iron resolve had permanently cracked after that and she couldn’t bring herself to stay away from him any longer. And even though it was mindbogglingly amazing, the best sex he had ever had in all honesty, it just so happened to be the thing tearing him apart inside, because that’s all it was.

Just sex.

She came to him for it whenever Rappa wasn’t around, and sometimes even when he was and she just wanted a change of pace. But she never stayed for very long afterwards, not unless she was interested in going at it again for multiple rounds. Beyond that first night, she never slept in his bed, nor did she allow him to sleep in hers. Once in a while she would stick around and chat with him while she got her bearings back or while she took her time getting redressed, but she never stayed for too much longer than that

There were so many times he felt that he should just give up and accept that he’d never have her the way he truly wanted, but whenever she came to him, he couldn’t bring himself to ever turn her down. He kept holding onto the hope that she’d one day see what they could have together if only she’d give him a chance and open up more than just her body to him. He could give her so much more than Rappa ever could, and she knew that, but still she refused to give him the opportunity to prove it to her.

Hari never once tried to talk to Kai about this though, as the other man had more than enough stress and worry of his own to deal with. Not to mention, he felt like talking to him about the frequency of his own sex life would probably do nothing but make his boss dwell even harder on the continued lack of it in his own relationship with you. He couldn’t imagine what it must be like for him to share a bed with you every night, listening to you pleasure yourself so often right beside him, and not give into the temptation of touching you. He might not fully understand why Kai let this stalemate with you drag on for so long, but he couldn’t deny how much he admired the man’s level of restraint and determination to see his promise to you fulfilled.

Neither of them spoke much after that, and their once companionable silence soon morphed into morose brooding as each of them continued to dwell on the issues surrounding the women in their lives.

For those of you who aren’t aware, I set up a poll a few days ago asking whether or not I should split this finale into two parts, and while it was a close match, the majority said they wanted it split, so that’s what this is.

I apologize that this entire chapter was Kai-centric, I know a lot of people prefer to read entirely from the Reader’s POV, but I felt that an entire chapter/part from Kai’s perspective was necessary to get across the changes he’s gone through during the time-skip.

We’ll be getting back to the Reader in the next chapter though and you’ll all get to see how she’s been fairing, rather than hearing about it secondhand from Kai. So I’m hoping to have Part 2 finished and posted in a couple of weeks, so please be on the lookout! 🥰

I hope you all enjoy this and please don’t hesitate to let me know what you think! Thank you for all the support!

And as always, I want to give a BIG thank you to my amazing friend @talpup for all the brainstorming and encouragement on these stories! I’m sure I would have given up on this blog a while ago if it wasn’t for all of their help. I highly encourage anyone who takes the time to read this to go over to their page or their AO3 account under the sam name and check out their works, especially Chaos and Lost Song. They are two of my favorite BNHA fics of ALL TIME! And who has also started their own Yandere!Overhaul fic called Crossroads and is set in a 1920′s prohibition style era, it’s amazing and you need to check it out!

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whumpacabra · 4 months

Text

17. Inventory

Panic attack, collapse, exhaustion, difficulty breathing, dehydration, concussion, fever, medical treatment, implied starvation, referenced blood loss, referenced past noncon

AU Masterpost / Previous / Next

Harrison's ears were ringing, every breath aching as though his ribs were freshly broken. Were they broken? He couldn't remember - he could barely breathe.

“Easy now.” Thomas’ voice was soft as he gently held Harrison’s shoulders. “You’re alright. Merrill and Dan are gonna do what they can.”

He nodded shakily, legs giving out as he tried to turn and look at Wolf. Thomas caught him, easing him down to the ground.

“Easy, easy…Jesus, you’re in rough shape too.”

“You’re telling me.” Harrison’s voice croaked, smile forced. The world was spinning, dimming as he choked on his words. He couldn't feel his hands anymore, but he could tell they were shaking. “I’m fine - fine. Comparatively. Could I - water?”

His throat was dry, vision fading gray. He didn’t know how a cool glass of water made its way to his lips, all he knew was that it was cold and bitter and invigorating.

“Easy now, you choke I’m gonna laugh at you.” He blinked up, the woman - Merrill - his head resting on her lap where he laid on the floor. He tried to push himself up only to find her arms stronger than his. “No you don’t - you’re concussed, dehydrated, and running a temperature. You’re staying down until Dan gets a look at you.”

Harrison’s head snapped to the side, relieved to see the shallow but steady rise and fall of the Wolf’s broad chest. He almost looked peaceful asleep. Almost.

“He’ll be just fine. Cut it a bit close but thankfully Dan’s been soliciting blood donations for years. Had some O negative from the Lawers in stock.”

“Thanks.” His voice felt cottony; he wanted more water. Harrison let his gaze wander the garage. Deputy Thomas wasn’t in sight, and Crazy Dan was swapping out his bloodied blue nitrile gloves for a fresh pair. He shuddered as Dan cut away Wolf’s undershirt, baring fresh bruises and still weeping welts.

“Are you injured?” Merrill was looking down at him with clinical but gentle eyes. Harrison almost laughed. Almost.

“Just some bruises and scrapes. Trust me I’m - I’m fine.”

“Hm, any of those scrapes infected?”

“What? No - not that I - ” Lying on his back had one unforeseen consequence: it made it so much harder to cough. Merrill simply nodded at his hacking fit and raised a hand in the air.

“Stetho.” Dan tossed the stethoscope practically blind, but Merrill caught it with ease and put the cold metal against Harrison’s chest as he drew shallow, gasping breaths. “God you sound awful. What did you do, drown?”

“Sort of.” Harrison couldn’t help but squirm a bit as her fingers ran over his too-prominent ribs. Her face darkened, eyes glancing over to Wolf’s painfully still form. Dan was focused, swabbing antiseptic over the burns across his shoulder. She withdrew her hand and put the stethoscope around her neck.

“Does he have any other injuries we should know about? Any illnesses?”

Harrison swallowed, throat dry and words soft.

“He - he was raped. Recently.” His throat bobbed, anger burning in his chest as shock morphed to pity on Merrill’s face.

“And you?”

“I’m fine.” His voice was flat, exhaustion dragging at his bones. “Physically speaking.” Merrill gave a curt nod.

“We’re gonna take care of you boys, alright?” He eyed her, face blank. “Whoever hurt you…they ain’t coming ‘round here without catching some lead. You hear?”

Harrison nodded weakly, eyes flicking back to the Wolf’s steady breathing. They weren’t followed. Not that he knew.

AU Masterpost / Previous / Next

(An AU of my Freelancers series)

#whump #panic attack #collapse #exhaustion #difficulty breathing #dehydration #concussion #fever #medical treatment #implied starvation #referenced noncon #past noncon #freelancers au #a bit of a breather of a chapter (no pun intended)#given how i redistributed the last few chapters this felt like it needed to be separate so. bonus chapter.#survived [redacted] yesterday btw o7 i love political events (lying)

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suspicious-whumping-egg · 2 years

Note

Whumper/whumpee falling into (maybe unrequited) love with the other? Also homoerotic knives

TW: Yandere, referenced/implied noncon, noncon kissing, creepy/intimate whumper

Whumpee's eyes narrowed. "You kidnapped me. You tortured me. Why the fuck would I love you?!"

Whumper shook their head, tilting Whumpee's face up towards them with a finger. "I'd never do that, darling," they said softly. "I love you. I would never, never even think of such a thing. I rescued you from your old life. I took you from that suffocating little town and gave you a life you never could have dreamed of. I taught you how to serve a greater purpose. Nothing I did was without reason. And you wanted it last night. I know you did. You might not know it yet, but you'll come to your senses."

Whumpee recoiled from them, curling into the corner of the armchair and tucking their legs to their chest. Their shaking hands, resting on their knees, were still covered in the raw, red scars that trailed up their forearms like cobwebs. Whumper saw their weakness from where they stood behind them, but Whumper had exposed far greater fragility than such subtle trembling.

"I'll never fucking love you," they hissed through clenched teeth. "Hurt me all you'd like, you're the one lying to yourself."

Whumper coiled their fingers through Whumpee's hair, tipping their head back and pressing a kiss to their lips from above them. Whumpee shuddered despite themself. They were far too familiar with Whumper's blade to struggle regularly, but their captor was far more repulsive than usual after the night before. It was only for the barest sense of self-preservation that they didn't break away from Whumper's grasp and make a fruitless run for the window they knew was covered in a tight grid of steel bars.

Though their resistance was miniscule, it wasn't trivial enough for Whumper to overlook such a behavior. They deepened the kiss, forcing their tongue into Whumpee's mouth, biting their captive's lip until they tasted blood.

They only pulled away when Whumpee was dizzy with lack of oxygen, their neck limp and their head lolling in Whumper's hands. They gasped for breath, choking down the urge to cough and retch until any trace of the invasion was gone. They simply clenched their jaw shut, forcing a placid relaxation onto their face.

"Oh, don't give me that face," Whumper intoned. "You know it's too late for that, love. Behavior like yours stands to be corrected."

They reached into their pocket for a gleaming, wickedly curved karambit and pressed the tip of the curve to the most recent of their wounds.

"Deep breath, darling."

They carved into the edge of the barely-healed cut, dragging the blade slowly and purposefully down Whumpee's arm. The hot, splitting pain was all too familiar by now, but that didn't make it hurt any less. Whumpee bit back a cry as Whumper lifted the knife and traced the scar from their middle fingertip all the way to their elbow, dragging the blade through flesh at a sickeningly deliberate pace. The other lines, white and thin at the edges of their fingers and scabbed over by the time they reached their forearm, would soon extend just as far.

"You know I only do this because I love you, yes?"

Whumpee knew better than to dispute them, pressing their lips together and nodding weakly. Yet they vowed to themself that they'd let Whumper's marks cover their whole body before they truly believed it.

#blue writes #yandere #yandere whumper #intimate whumper #referenced noncon #implied noncon #noncon kissing

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whump-cravings · 11 months

Text

The Harem - Snap

Masterlist

1.5k words | The Harem - AU of The Royal Three (original work) - this is pretty far into Hakon's imprisonment at the Vusen palace as a member of the royal harem. He was recently subject to a vicious gang-rape and has gone mute and compliant.

Content: public self genital mutilation, heavily referenced noncon, long-term captivity, forced surgery

taglist: @nabanna @emcscared-whumps @suspicious-whumping-egg @i-can-even-burn-salad @mylifeisonthebookshelf @thecyrulik @honey-is-mesi @spookyceph @melennui

Hakon was thinner.

Out the corner of his eye, Sevae watched the man docilely refill empty cups, drifting around the table. He never sought out Sevae's eyes anymore. The bruises, previously a constant, had all but faded, which Sevae supposed was... good.

Except it meant he wasn't fighting back anymore.

"I humbly ask again for custody of the foreign prince," Sevae had said, kneeling before his queen.

"We settled this matter months ago, lieutenant general," Queen Hemuh said. "Why now? Naetehu's finally reformed him into a model citizen."

"Forgive me for impertinence, my queen, but his altered behavior is the cause of my concern. A prisoner subject to extreme stress over a prolonged period is—"

The queen gave a dismissive scoff. "An outlet for manly urges and moderate correction is hardly 'extreme stress.'"

Sevae bit his cheek to keep anger contained, eyes trained on the steps to the throne. What callous words, what casual cruelty. Had he truly once admired these people?

"Be as that may, your majesty," he tried once more, for Hakon, "I expect that this is but a precursor to far more worrisome behavior."

"Perhaps," she said dubiously. "But for now, you may bring your concerns to my son. It is not befitting for a man of your station to subvert the proper channels of authority."

Bitter frustration on his tongue, Sevae bowed his head further at the chastising dismissal.

Sevae stabbed at a cut of boar, hand tightening at the memory. Prince Naetehu would not so much as grant him an audience since that first time Sevae had approached him with 'concerns.' It was hard enough to secure time with Hakon, who didn't have the power to turn him away.

"Your mind seems elsewhere today," Ebaeru commented.

Realizing the woman had been speaking for the last minute or so, Sevae grimaced. "Apologies. You were saying?" This was hardly the time to allow alliances to dwindle from inattention.

"No worries, friend," his dinner companion said. "Could your distraction have something to do with your recent audience with the queen?"

Sevae shifted with a tilting acknowledgment of his head and a tight smile. "You read my mind, madam. It is not a subject for polite conversation, I'm afraid."

"Ah, I see," she said. "Perhaps you can—"

A scream set Sevae's blood pumping, his shield bumping up against others as the war mages in attendance instinctively threw up protection. Already on his feet, Sevae looked towards the source. Nobles were backing up from a scene, which Sevae was only able to glimpse.

Hakon laid on the ground in a fetal position, blood pooling out below him.

Sevae's heart bottomed out in his stomach. Taking up a silver knife, he used his chair as step a to leap onto and over the table. As he encountered resistance from another's shield, he slashed through it with his knife, driving a wedge of magic into the opening to allow him passage.

He fell to his knees while running, sliding the remaining distance to Hakon's side. "What happened?!" He directed this question upward at the table of pale-faced nobles as he grabbed Hakon's shoulder to lay him flat.

"He just—he cut it off," Lord Rethu exclaimed.

Hakon gave a weak laugh as his body unfolded, a knife slipping from his hand. The blood was concentrated about his groin. Sevae severed the waistband of the soaked harem skirt, finding only gore where Hakon's manhood ought to be.

"Put your shields down," Doctor Cecel called. "Let me through!"

Horror rose up and Sevae shoved it aside, forcing himself into a clinical mindset as he spread a barrier across the gaping wound. Contouring to the body slowed him down, but he swiftly ensured the entire injury was covered, keeping the blood contained much like skin.

"Where is it?" Naetehu's voice rose above everything else. "Find it!"

Sevae wanted to shake Hakon, to ask what on earth he was thinking, but that was obvious, wasn't it? He shrugged out of his jacket to lay it upon Hakon, both for the man's dignity—whatever was left of it—and to keep him warm in light of the blood loss and shock.

"Prince Hakon," Sevae said, grasping the man's shoulder.

The foreign prince looked at him, mouth twisted in some mockery of a smile. "Hurts more than I expected," he remarked deliriously.

Words of comfort settled on the front of Sevae's tongue, but what could he say that would truly bring hope? I am working towards your freedom, I swear. Hang on.

But his efforts could never have come to fruition soon enough to spare Hakon from hell.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered as the doctor finally made it to Hakon's side. The woman knelt as well, flipping back the now-bloodied jacket to examine the injury, stone-faced.

"Good work," she said to Sevae. "You may have saved his life."

For what good that does him.

"There it is," someone cried, and Sevae lifted his head to see Naetehu marching to retrieve the severed part.

Rage surged through him, heat burning in his chest and pressure constricting his head. Hakon had wounded himself, had almost bled out, and Naetehu's greatest concern was having him in one piece.

Seldom did Sevae find himself so overcome, but he found himself shaking from the force of his fury, jaw creaking. What he wouldn't give to switch which prince laid on the ground, to take Hakon from this place, to tear down this corrupt nation.

"Friend," Ebaeru's voice commented, hand settling cautiously on Sevae's shoulder. "You've done what you can." Her tone conveyed an unsaid message: it's not the time.

The much-needed anchor to reality let Sevae breathe and loosen his fists, nodding as he stood and stepped back. Two people arrived with a stretcher, perhaps having been sent by the doctor as soon as she saw the commotion. With minimal resistance, Hakon was loaded onto it, along with his manhood wrapped in a napkin.

As Hakon was carried away, Sevae mustered strength to go before his monarchs. He sank to his blood-soaked knees, raising his eyes to meet the king's. He needed not speak his request again; they knew his desire well enough.

Gazing with displeasure at the scene and his son, King Aeret gave a sigh as he met Sevae's gaze. He glanced to his wife, whose expression was similarly displeased. She dropped her napkin across her plate before standing.

"Your petition is granted, Sir Sevae," she said. "You are entrusted with the custody and well-being of Prince Hakon of Ironda."

"What?" Naetehu said. "He's mine! You can't—" The prince flinched as Aeret pierced him with a look. Frustration flashed on his face, mouth twisting, before he stormed out the doors.

"What a mess," the queen muttered as she turned away from the table.

King Aeret picked up his utensils. Glancing at Sevae, his voice spoke to the lieutenant general's mind before he went on to finish his meal. - See to it that this does not happen again.

Sevae bowed his head before taking his leave.

***

"How is he?" Sevae asked, standing as Doctor Cecel stepped into the waiting room.

"It's reattached," Doctor Cecel said, wiping her hands on a cloth, smock spattered with blood. "We'll know with certainty within a few days whether the stitching took, though who knows about functionality. He's still sedated."

Relief rushed through Sevae. "May I see him?"

"Elme and Cudul are about to trundle him back to the harem, so—"

"Not the harem," Sevae said. Never again. "My quarters. I've been granted custody."

"Oh?" Doctor Cecel gave him an appraising look. "Good." She sighed, tucking the rag into the pocket of her smock. "That's good." She folded her arms as she looked at the floor, lips pressed thin, and silence hung in the air.

"It's too little too late, isn't it?" Sevae said softly.

She nodded. "I've seen this sort of thing in veterans before, and it usually isn't a one-time occurrence. You'll need to monitor him closely."

Her two assistants appeared then with a sleeping Hakon on a stretcher, and Cecel said, "Right. Well, the boys will let you know how to tend to him for the next few days, and of course I'll be by daily to check on him. Off you go."

After Sevae and the assistants got Hakon set up in Sevae's bed and Elme and Cudul delivered care instructions, Sevae thanked them and sent them on their way. Finally, quiet descended.

He took the chair from his desk, carrying it to the bedside. Hakon looked... so peaceful in his sleep. Sevae reached out, intending to brush a lock of hair from his face, but hesitated before he could make contact. Hakon had been touched so much against his will.

Sevae dropped his hand. "I'm so sorry," he whispered into the silence. "Had I known it would turn out this way, I would have..." Leaning forward, he cradled his head in his hands.

I would have never taken you alive.

You were right. I regret it.

#whump writing #royalty whump #self harm whump #harem!hakon #TR3 au #forced surgery whump #referenced noncon

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 months

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Oh Rafael my precious boy! I will buy him everything he wants and most importantly: make a nest on the sofa, cuddle him all he wants and watch movies with him all day and buy his favourite snacks🥺

He deserves the woooooorld😭

How is he doing these days?🥹❤️

Oh, Raf is fine these days, but remember when he wasn't-

CW: Takes place when Rafael was at his first safehouse. Soooooo much casual slut shaming here, people. So... so much angst.

They go quiet when he comes back, the group of three sitting at the kitchen table. Rafael feels their eyes on him like lit matches on the tips of his fingers and he hunches his shoulders, arms crossed in front of him. His backpack is lighter than when he left, and he wonders if anyone ever pays enough attention to notice.

"Holy cow, I didn't even know he was gone," A former Domestic, Freddie, says with a slightly nervous, airy laugh. Her voice is a whisper that isn't quite quiet enough, but Raf pretends he can't hear it anyway as he slips his shoes off to leave on the little rug by the door.

"That's what they do," Another says - Sam, or Sal, or something else Raf can't quite remember. His voice sounds like he must be rolling his eyes, but Raf refuses to look and see if he is or not. "They sneak around like that, they teach them in training. I saw one getting his feet whipped because he walked too loud once."

"Gross. That-... that sounds awful." Raf blinks, surprised at the hint of sympathy, and glances over to see Freddie shiver.

"Honestly, he probably liked it. They love that stuff, that's why they get picked for it. They're just like that already. I heard they have to talk about their-" Sal lowers his voice, but it still carries. "-their kinks with their handlers when they sign up."

Rafael's face burns as he moves to walk past the doorway. His handler never asked him what he liked or didn't like. His handler had told him outright it didn't matter and the person he was before didn't exist any longer. He, if he wanted to be good, would learn to want what his master or mistress wanted, there was no such thing as having a desire of his own. Did they not know that?

It was warm outside, and he'd been sweaty on the bus in his black sweater and pants with the sun beating down and heating them up, but now he shivers from a chill that lives entirely under his skin.

They know. They don't care. The idea that he wanted it all is easier, and... he must have, right? Or he wouldn't have ended up like this.

"Hey." The third one speaks up, waving to get his attention. "Uh... Romantic. What was your name again?"

Raf pauses, turning to look instinctively, meeting three pairs of flat, hostile eyes in flat, hostile faces. Mr. Martin swears they'll warm up to him, but they never have. Maybe no one ever will. Even Mr. Martin treats him like there's slime on his skin, especially when he said he didn't want to change his name. "It's Rafael. Yeah?"

Vex, that's what the third one calls himself. Raf remembers that, because he'd told Rafael once it was because he hoped him running pissed off the people he'd run from. Rafael had thought he was sharing as a way to break the ice, but then Vex had never spoken to him again. Until now.

Vex's eyes narrow. "Where do you keep going all the time?"

His heart stops, panic sparking like torn wires in his nerves, but Rafael knows how to be terrified and never show it. He only smiles, perfect and pretty, his good-pet-grin. "The library. I'm trying to learn how to read again."

His voice comes out smoothly sincere. He's a good liar. All Romantics are incredible liars. That's what everyone says, anyway. And Raf is pretty good at it.

"Huh." Vex shares a look with the others that Raf can't quite read, and his prickling unease keeps rising. "You never come to our group lessons, though."

Rafael has an answer prepped for this. He shrugs, unbothered. "You said it wasn't comfortable for you when I did."

Vex frowns, thoughtful, some of his prickling hostility fading. To Rafael's shock, he looks... almost guilty. "... Oh. Yeah. I forgot we told Mr. Martin that."

"You kept sitting with your legs open," Freddie says, voice slightly uneven. "And... sitting too close."

"... I know. Again, i'm-... sorry, I am, I didn't even know-... No one told me until Mr. Martin said you told him-"

"Whatever." Vex snorts. "Let's talk about the library. You're spending, like, hours over there."

"Well... It's not just learning to read." His heart isn't pounding in his throat at all, he can't feel his fingers trembling until he hides them in his pockets. He doesn't even flush when he realizes in a spike of shame that there's an empty condom package still in there. He forgot to throw it away before he got back. It crinkles and he has to fight not to widen his eyes. The sound feels impossibly loud.

It must not carry. None of them seem to notice.

Freddie nudges Sal with her elbow. "Told you so. He's fucking somebody."

Sal sighs. "I didn't argue with you, Fred."

Vex's eyebrow raises. "That's against the rules. Mr. Martin says no inappropriate relations inside or outside the house. Especially sex ones. You'll get kicked out for that."

"I'm not sleeping with anyone," Rafael lies without even batting an eyelash. "You can have Mr. Martin check my phone, I'm at the library the whole time."

The phone is, anyway. He leaves it there, most of the time, in a hiding spot inside a conference room nobody ever uses, before he meets one of the other Romantics who work on the street and goes back to the apartment and the warmth of their arms and the familiar slick slide of their bodies against his. Sometimes he has money to pay, sometimes he doesn't, but they open the door even when he has nothing but his body to offer.

Sometimes they just hold him, and it's enough to make him feel human again, for a while, anyway.

Vex looks at him, then away. "Whatever. As long as you're a creep somewhere else, who cares what you do?"

Raf swallows. His throat feels too small for the air he has to breathe. "You can ask Mr. Martin-" He starts again, catches his voice wobbling and fights hard to keep it steady, falsely confident.

"I'm not a snitch," Vex interrupts, snapping the words angrily. Raf catches himself backing up instinctively to avoid anyone who might be angry getting close enough to hurt him for it. "None of us are. We aren't Romantics like you."

"Yeah, we're not the ones who go tell the owners whatever gets them more dick and called a good boy," Sal sneers. Freddie just looks worried and a little scared of them all. Raf's face burns bright red.

"I-... I don't-"

He does, though. Sort of. Rei, his second-favorite of the others he finds on the streets who understand him, calls him that at the end. Raf likes it and Rei likes to play good and gentle owner with happy pet, using a soft voice that warms Raf inside and out with the idea of anyone ever saying it without the edge of humiliation or danger his own master and mistress held.

Sometimes just hearing it so sweet like that can have him coming in a flash or crying and the feeling is almost the same.

"It's-" Raf's voice finally cracks, and he clears his throat. He can't look them in the eyes any longer. "It's against the rules to use unkind language to each, each other-"

"It sure is." Sal snorts, derisive. Disgusted with him. "Gonna go tell Mr. Martin we were mean, Romantic?"

"My name is Raf-"

"We don't care. Look, you tell Mr. Martin we were big meanie-faces and hurt your delicate little slut feelings, then maybe we tell Mr. Martin that you're definitely not spending all that time just learning to read."

Rafael's heart beats so fast he feels like he's trying to outrun his own body. "No, I, I am-"

"We just said we don't care. Just... go somewhere else." Vex waves his hand, and Rafael turns on his heel and tries not to move like the beaten animal he is as he goes back to the room he stays in, alone, where he lays awake all night in a bed where there is no one to hold him.

How they talk to him would hurt less if it wasn't true.

He is sneaking off to find sex, the comfort he isn't allowed to have, the only touch anyone ever gives him. He does sit too close, and not know how to stand or sit in ways that aren't a wordless invitation. He does lie, over and over and over again.

He breaks all the rules and he can't seem to stop.

But... it's only because he's so lonely he could scream until his throat bleeds if he has to live where no one will touch him.

Rafael throws his backpack across the room, slamming his door so hard the frame rattles and hearing Mr. Martin's muffled no slammed doors, please! from somewhere else within the house.

Another broken rule.

Rafael collapses onto his bed, curling up on his side, pulling out the plastic feather he carries everywhere he goes. Rubbing his fingers over the texture helps remind him - the guy who gave him the feather thought he could do this. Believed in him.

Had said, somebody loved you, and really, really meant it.

Even if someone had, Raf thinks, they probably couldn't love him now. Not this version of him, anyway. And the guy, who had been gorgeous and had been one like him, definitely... He didn't really know Raf at all. No one does.

But everyone here thinks they don't need to talk to him at all to already know everything they needed to in order to judge him as worthless.

Their judgments would feel less like damnation if he didn't think so, too.

He'd only ever been worth what his body could do for the ones who put the collar around his neck. That hasn't changed at all. He just has no collar and no one to care for him now. No one who cares about him. His handler was right. He's only ever going to be wanted for one thing.

If it weren't for the feather and the memory of the man in the museum believing he deserves to be free, he'd walk outside right now and turn himself in.

Go back to his master and mistress, to a home that isn't home but at least there they cared enough to touch him.

At least there he had been lonely without being alone.

#rafael is no one's saint #whump #bbu #box boy universe #writing #box boy #referenced dubcon #referenced noncon #runaway whumpee #ANGST

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whumpyblogthing · 2 years

Text

Deserted

PART FOUR - LORD BECKETT

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

CW: More references to sexual slavery/noncon. Beckett being a garbage human being.

Author's Note: Thank you ALL for hanging in there with me on this. It's turned out to be more parts than I thought, since I'm making them a bit smaller. I know it hasn't been super whumpy yet, but I PROMISE that is coming. Very soon. Perhaps even later today, but tomorrow for sure! I was going to include the next part with this one, but... well. This one is already a little longer, and I want to keep certain content separated in it's own part to be skipped if desired. So. Stick with me, we're getting to the whump soon! And thank you again!!

***

Charles Beckett is not pleased.

He should be, damn it. With a victory as easy as the one they’d had, not losing a single man and taking hardly any time at all, he should be throwing a party for his officers in the main hall of the keep, not interrogating the Bastard’s leftover household staff.

The little Lordling. Beckett’s late wife’s cousin, who’d somehow weaseled his way into control over the estate that should have been her’s, and therefore Beckett’s, now. And it wouldn’t have mattered so much if the foolish little shit weren’t so inept. Theodore had been running the estate into the ground from the moment he took ownership. The mismanagement was so painfully bad that, when Beckett had appealed to the King for his permission to reclaim the estate, his request had been almost instantaneously granted.

Beckett has control of the estate, for now, but without Theodore present to officially sign over the land and give up his future rights to any claim, Beckett’s hold is tenuous.

Damn the coward for running.

And of course, his servants are just as useless as he is. Beckett is certain that if any of those left behind had any notion of where their Lord had gone, they’d give him up in an instant. It’s clear that Theodore had garnered very little favor amongst those he’d left behind.

Beckett is preparing to face the inevitable and send out parties to begin searching for signs of Theodore’s passage in the surrounding areas when he’s told that there may have been a breakthrough. That something important had been found. He feels a spark of hope at the words and follows the soldier eagerly into the keep.

The last thing he expects to find waiting for him is a damned bed slave, though really, he’s not surprised. He wouldn’t have been surprised to find a whole fucking harem, considering the gossip he’s heard about Theodore. The boy on the bed seems utterly useless, a complete idiot, but if anyone were to know Theodore’s secrets it would be the one he spent his nights with.

Beckett returns to the hall and finds that he is thinking of the boy despite himself, grudgingly realizing that one thing he can’t fault Theodore for is his taste.

The boy is lovely, there’s no denying that. Sable hair long enough to grab hold of, pale skin that had seemed perfect for leaving marks, pretty lips, his body finely formed and slight, perfect for…

Beckett huffs, shaking his head and dispelling any further thoughts of that sort. He’s never kept a pleasure slave before, but he understands the appeal, especially now that he’s a widower… But. He has far more important matters to attend to. The only consideration he should be giving the slave is for the information he can provide.

Tristan returns to the hall alone, apparently trusting his man upstairs to deliver the boy without any undue delays…Beckett’s not sure he would have been as trusting, but time will tell.

Somewhat to his surprise the soldier and the boy appear only a few moments later. The boy is clothed simply, and barefoot, and starts to tremble when Beckett approaches. Silly thing.

“Sit, boy. You look like you’re about to fall over. Tristan! Bring the boy some wine, it’ll settle his nerves.”

Beckett doesn’t miss the way Tristan frowns, but he obeys immediately. He’s a good boy, knows his place. Tristan is smart, competent, a fantastic leader of his men. His only flaw is that he has four older brothers. But, he knows his place, knows his best chance at advancing himself is by gaining a place of prominence in some powerful noble’s household. He listens well, carries out orders proficiently and efficiently. A good boy, if a bit soft at times. But he’s young, yet. He’ll learn.

Tristan smiles at the boy when he gives him the wine and gives him a little nod of encouragement. Beckett rolls his eyes. Soft. Or besotted, which is understandable enough. But a bed slave doesn’t need any wooing.

The boy takes a few hesitant sips, then holds the cup in his lap, staring down into it as if the dark liquid holds the secrets of the universe.

“Good. Now, tell me, boy. Where did Theodore run off to?” Beckett demands, crossing his arms over his chest and staring down at him, watching for any sign of understanding or attempts at deception.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry,” the boy answers softly, shaking his head.

Beckett scoffs. “Surely he must have said something to you? Talked about a- an ally? A hiding place? Somewhere he meant for you to join him?”

The boy glances up at that, a look of hurt passing over his face before he drops his gaze once more. “He didn’t. He didn’t say anything. I didn’t even know he’d left, until. This.”

Beckett purses his lips, eyes narrowing as he considers the boy’s words. He’s not sure he believes him.

“Look, Emery,” Tristan says, stepping forward to crouch down in front of the chair where the boy is seated. “This must be frightening. I’m sure you want to- to do right, by your. Uh. By Lord Reynald. But I assure you, we mean him no harm. Or you!”

Beckett watches silently, willing to give Tristan’s more gentle approach a chance. It may be all the boy needs is a more tender hand. Though he doubts he received any such treatment from Theodore.

The boy—Emery, Tristan had said?—shakes his head once more.

“I don’t,” he bites out, the first sign of any sort of emotion he’d shown besides fear. “I never want to see him again. He’s-” The boy snaps his mouth shut, eyes going wide as he glances between Tristan and Beckett, clearly having said more than he’d meant.

“Okay, that’s- that’s all right,” Tristan assures him. “You don’t have to. He’s not in charge here, any more. But that’s why we need to find him, to make sure it stays that way.”

Emery looks up at Tristan, meeting his eyes directly. “I swear, sir. I swear, I don’t know.” He glances up at Beckett, then. “I’m sorry, my lord. I- I don’t know. He never said anything about leaving. Ever. He always, just. He was so proud. He’d boast to anyone he could about how he was Lord of this place and would be always. He never spoke of leaving it.”

Beckett scoffs. Of course the fool would make such arrogant claims.

Damn. Damn! Another dead end. Useless fucking boy. And what was Beckett supposed to do with him, now? It’s not as if he can just throw him out into the streets. He starts to pace, back and forth. Tristan is saying something else, too quiet for Beckett to hear. The boy nods, eyes downcast once more.

His lashes stand out prettily against pale cheeks. Long, thick for a boy. The poor little thing wouldn’t last a day out in the world. Beckett isn’t sure he trusts him enough to let him leave, anyway. Words are cheap, the words of a whore even more so.

“Make sure he stays under guard, chain him up again if you must. I want him kept close,” he orders Tristan.

“My lord?” Tristan says, brows drawing together in confusion. None of the other servants had been detained, but none of them had shared Theodore’s bed. Presumably, at least.

“I’ve better things to do than worry about some bed slave running off to send out a warning,” Beckett explains with a wave of his hand.

“I wouldn’t-” the boy begins to say, and Beckett rounds on him, grabbing him by the chin.

“Enough. Not another word from you unless it's a damned location or direction or something useful. Now get him out of here,” he orders.

***

Beckett doesn’t give the boy another thought the rest of the day. Well. Much thought.

He sends out the search parties and resigns himself to wait; there’s plenty of work to be done in the meantime. Storerooms to check, papers to go through. He walks the grounds, inspects the outbuildings. It’s busy work, but necessary, and it passes the time.

Of course, none of it will matter if the bastard is off somewhere gathering a company of men to come take the estate back.

At last, as dusk is settling over the estate, a lone rider gallops into the courtyard, practically leaping from his horse and jogging over to where Beckett is using the last of the light to check over the empty stables.

“My lord! Lord Beckett! We found the trail!” the man cries out.

A round of cheers goes up from the men in the yard who hear the news, and Beckett can’t help but smile triumphantly. At last, something to celebrate.

“Which way?” he demands.

“East, my lord. The rest of the party followed and sent me back with the news.”

“Well done, lad. Here, put your horse up. He deserves a treat. As do you! Get some rest! You’re to lead us out early tomorrow,” Beckett orders, clapping the rider on the back.

Tristan comes bounding down the stairs, then, expression hopeful. “Success?”

“Yes, at last. He went east. I want you after him as soon as the sun starts to rise tomorrow, understood? With as many men as you need, but traveling fast.”

“Yes my lord. We’ll have him yet!” Tristan exclaims with a boyish grin before scurrying off to where their men had set up their encampment.

In all the excitement, Beckett forgets about the boy. He sups with the men, and though he’s not ready to celebrate a full victory yet, he does partake in a few glasses of wine as well, which leave him in high spirits and only a little drunk.

He’s determined to sleep in the keep, though, in what were once Theodore’s chambers, and are now rightfully his.

It’s not until he’s preparing for bed and catches sight of the chain still dangling from the bedpost that he’s reminded of the bed slave. Emery.

A pretty name for a pretty boy.

Beckett stands at the foot of the bed, looking down at the chain, the cuff.

He is lord here, now. The papers are a formality. He has the King’s blessing for god’s sake. The Reynald estate and all that it entails belongs to him. Including the boy.

He can’t deny he’s…curious. The keeping of pleasure slaves is a common enough practice, especially boys. No one wants a bastard running around, causing trouble. But he’s never really seen the appeal, until now.

The boy is pretty, but also.

He’s Theodore’s.

Beckett is man enough to admit to his own shortcomings, and the desire to seek recompense, even in something as petty as bedding his rival’s slave, is a strong one.

Theodore might not even care. He’d left the boy behind, after all. But still.

Beckett has one last claim to stake on Theodore’s former belongings.

---

Part Four, Continued

Tag List (let me know if I missed you or if you'd like to be added!)

@lonewhumper @darkthingshappen, @befuddled-calico-whump, @gay-af-satan, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @serickswrites, @thecyrulik, @flowersarefreetherapy, @t0rture-me, @nicolepascaline, @no-terms-and-conditions-apply, @aseasonwithclara

#whump #whump writing #referenced noncon #oc whump #whump blog #medieval whump #deserted #lord beckett #tristan #emery #theodore reynald #whumpy.writes

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quietly-by-myself · 1 year

Text

Shattered Shadow - Chapter 3

Shattered Shadow Masterlist | Shattered Masterlist | Shadow By My Fireplace Masterlist

This is a long-in-the-making AU collab with the lovely @oddsconvert of Vamp!Cyril and Bloodbag!Sacha meeting and staying with August, Declan, and Lucas.

This chapter is our personal favourite so we hope you enjoy :)

CW: Whumpee turned caretaker, wounded caretaker, vampire caretakers, human caretaker, multiple caretakers, bloodbag whumpee, multiple whumpees, past noncon, whumpee offers themselves up for noncon (and gets denied), nudity (somewhat sexual), fears of death, references to murder, brief references to starvation

===

Sacha kneels perfectly straight in the new vampire’s bedroom. He’s stripped off all his clothes, just what he knows is expected of him. His heart is pounding in his chest. He’s not ready. He sees no restraints like at Master’s. He does not want kindness. The moment the vampire walks in, he’s sure he’ll panic. Cyril isn’t there. No, Cyril is wounded and cannot protect him. Sacha has to do this alone. This is his duty. This is what he can do to keep Cyril safe.

Sacha hears a faint creak of the door before the vampire is before him, looking at him. It takes everything in Sacha to be quiet, like he is expected to be at all times.

If fear didn’t cloud Sacha’s mind, blur his eyes with bitter tears - he might have noticed the look of pure horror staining August’s face. The way he freezes in the doorway and his jaw nearly hits the floor, staggering for words but what can anyone say? To Sacha, he reads the look as pure disgust - maybe he wasn’t good enough, desirable in this creature’s eye’s.

“Sh-Shadow… please don’t. You never need to do that. You’re safe, I swear-” August’s voice trembles. All the horrors he’s seen, broken humans chucked to him in the dozens but none of them had offered themselves to him. He swallows the lump in his throat, “I’m not, and no-one is going to lay a finger on you.”

Every fear bashes around in his skull… why did Shadow expect this? Who made him expect this? What hurt had he been through? If the answer to any of those questions involves the vampire sleeping soundly below them right now; hell will break loose.

Sacha’s body is beaten and battered, littered with scars and a horrendous brand that sits below his ribs. He knows he’s hideous, difficult to look at even. However, the disgust from the vampire, followed by an empty promise of safety, sends Sacha over the edge.

He darts. He presses himself up against the wall in a corner, any corner that he can find. Tears roll down his face. He’s panicking. He can’t breathe. Cyril taught him that these were panic attacks, but oh it feels so real. The pain of not knowing what’s next for him. Everything boils and boils until it spills over. Sacha is in a ball, hugging his knees. Yet, he makes no sound. He can still do that, right?

The vampire is disgusted. He might be killed. He might not be able to protect Cyril. He’s going to die. He’s going to die. He’s going to die.

August takes one step forward, slowly and careful not to spook - holding his hands out before him as though he was approaching a frightened wild animal.

“Nothing will happen that you don’t want to, Shadow. I promise. C-Can I come near?” August lowers his voice to a soft whisper, taking another singular step forward.

Sacha is afraid and he’s shaking because he’s cold. It’s very cold to be like this in a vampire’s house. However, he manages to look at August, his eyes red, and nods. Maybe the vampire wants to feed. Maybe the vampire simply wants to turn his wrists out and whip him. Maybe he just wanted to drain Sacha completely. Whatever the case, Sacha will not say no.

The vampire lowers himself to his knees as he draws close, matching Shadow’s level. The human’s eyes are wild, saucer-wide but his lips remain sealed shut - quivering.

“I’m so sorry, bud. I don’t want you to be afraid, there’s no need. All I expected of you was to be wrapped up in blankets and fast asleep in bed - for you to rest. And not a thing more.”

August watches as Sacha wraps himself further into his arms, shivering violently and teeth nearly chattering. His skin drained to a pale white and not the flushed pink human skin should be.

“You poor thing, you’re freezing. Let me get you some clothes, help tuck you into bed for some sleep. Then when you wake in the morning, I’ll bring you up some breakfast. How does that sound?”

“F-food?” Sacha utters in disbelief. Right away he clamps his hand over his mouth and his breathing gets shallow and rabbit-fast. No. No. No. No.

That was too far. He was going to be punished. He was awful. He’d disobeyed. No vampire would feed him other than Cyril. It is foolish to think otherwise. But oh God, he spoke. He spoke to the vampire.

He looks at the vampire, pure horror in his eyes making it clear that speaking was strictly off-limits.

August can’t believe his ears, can’t trust his eyes. He recalls Cyril telling him that the human rarely speaks to him, and here he was - letting his walls down. He brushes off the way Shadow responds, freezing up and looking like he’s just stared death right in the face. It’s important to bring normality back, to not reinforce that fear.

“Right! Food!” August elates, a warm smile beaming back at the boy, “All yours! Are you hungry now? I can raid my cupboards and see what I’ve got for you to eat? Little snack before bed-”

Sacha shakes his head no. He doesn’t want to impose any more than he already has on the vampire. He can see the sadness behind the vampire’s smile, the way it doesn’t reach his eyes. The vampire pities him. It’s as clear as day. He doesn’t need food anyway. He’d gone hungry for much longer than a few days. He could survive until Cyril brings him out of this strange place.

“It’s okay if you are. If ever you need anything, I want you to tell me. Food, shower, water, blankets - whatever. You’re entitled to it all, Shadow.”

The boy will get nourishment regardless. August decides then and there he’ll make sure his room is constantly supplied with food and water for whenever the courage builds in him to attempt it. He stretches over to the bedside table and pulls out a t-shirt from one of the drawers. There’s no doubt it will be humongous on Sacha’s frail body - almost a night dress, although a perfect fit for himself. The shirt dangles from his hands as he holds it before the boy.

“So here’s the plan, little one. Comfortable pyjamas - I’ll lift you into the bed, put your head on the pillow and try to get some sleep? I can imagine the constant fear is so exhausting, hm?”

Sacha nods, happy to finally be dressed again. Somehow, having everything that was going to happen explained to him makes Sacha less scared. Does he trust the vampire to follow his word? Absolutely not. But Sacha can hope.

He uncurls, out of his ball, and allows for August to put the shirt over his head. He’s thankful, thankful beyond words - words that he’s prohibited from saying but words he wishes he could say nonetheless. Is it possible, not to be at a loss of resources like with Cyril? Is it possible that another vampire can be kind? Sacha isn’t sure and it feels like a betrayal of Cyril’s kindness to even consider it.

“Can I hold you, Shadow? Just to lift you and put you on the bed?” August holds his hands against his lap, reluctant to move them an inch further until he has Shadow’s say so.

Sacha isn’t used to being asked for permission and it catches him off guard. He’s almost worried, looking at the vampire. Why ask for so much permission? He’s going to say yes anyway. So, he nods, giving the vampire the go-ahead. He needs this all to be over, to either be hurt or to be left alone. Kindness is overwhelming.

It’s almost too easy. Featherlight, August scoops Sacha into his arms like he’s nothing but air. Holding him tight to his chest in a bridal carry, the boy's legs swinging off the side. Sacha whimpers and curls into himself in the hold. August lets him roll from his arms and dip into the mattress, quickly moving to tuck the sheets over his trembling body and tuck them into the mattress.

“Goodnight, Shadow. Sleep well.”

Sacha allows himself to sink into the mattress, with the vampire standing over him. He was not undressing himself or in any way looking to hurt Sacha, at least, not right now. Maybe, just maybe he wouldn’t be hurt tonight. That is the best that Sacha can hope for. He does not dare to hope for more.

Should he thank the vampire? Somehow, he feels that if he speaks, it’ll only serve to make the vampire more angry. Angry is never a good thing for a vampire to be, at least, not for a human. It only means the worst, Sacha had come to know.

Still, he allows himself to rest. Maybe it was rest before an even worse hell than Master, but Sacha finds himself not caring. Cyril and him were hardly surviving out there and Cyril gave everything to make his life as nice as possible. Sadly, that was not much.

A few stray tears run down his face. He hopes the vampire doesn’t think that Cyril did this all to him. Cyril, who gave everything to save him. No, Cyril cannot get hurt because of him.

The thoughts can’t keep him awake any longer, though. He is exhausted and the bed is wonderful. Even if the vampire wakes him up by dragging him out of the bed and dropping him on the floor, Sacha can rest now. It isn’t long before Sacha falls asleep.

He’s out like a light, thankfully. The second his weary head slams against the pillow the sleep steals him away. August moves to stand over the foot of his bed and watches over, looking like a guardian angel. He can’t help but smile at the way all the tension seeps from the boy’s muscles when he rests, his eyebrows furrowed and nuzzling further into the pillow and sheets.

Who could ever want to hurt someone so frail and precious? Someone who could do no harm in the world?

What if the very person who’s capable of such atrocities is sleeping soundly downstairs…? August can’t ignore the possibility that Cyril is the source of all the human’s suffering, the reason why he’s so damn terrified and a shell of himself.

August flies down the stairs at full speed, rushing towards Cyril and pinning him down by his shoulders.

“Enough. No more fucking smoke and mirrors. Tell me everything! What did you do to him?!” August roars, jumping on top of him and pushing him back into the sofa.

Cyril wakes with a start, his side practically being ripped apart as the much stronger, much faster vampire pins him. He can see his fangs as August roars in his face and for a moment, Cyril feels that primordial fear that’s been drilled into him for years - years as a human and years with Emery.

Cyril shakes the sleep off easily. He’s afraid. He’s in pain. But most of all, he’s angry. “What the fuck do you mean?” Cyril struggles a little. “Fucking let me up. My side is killing me.”

“You know what I mean! I’ve just had Shadow knelt naked in my room waiting for me! Did you teach him that?”

August is practically foaming at the mouth, squeezing his fists tighter with fury. He’ll never forgive himself if he’s housing the human’s tormentor. Fuck, he actually aided him and fixed him up. What if he’s just saved his life so he can sweep Shadow away and continue the suffering?

He just needs to know - or he won’t be held responsible for his actions.

If Cyril has any colour in his face, it quickly drains away. A lump forms in his throat. His chest grows tight. August is holding him tightly enough that he’ll have rings of bruises in a few hours.

Anger seeps into the cold created by the accusation. “How-” Cyril pauses. “How fucking dare you accuse me of that!” He can’t muster the same strength behind his voice. He’s weak, of his own volition, yes, but still weak. Cyril grits his teeth, trying to put together the words before the vampire over him murders him.

Murders him for what his Maker did.

Blood seeps through the bandages in his side. Any healing has been undone. “I would never do something like that,” Cyril hisses. “The truth is much uglier than it seems.”

“Tell me the truth, then. And the whole truth, spare no details. Or I cast you out in the cold and let the elements deal with you, and I’ll protect Shadow.”

Cyril knows he is in no position to bargain. August has him up against a wall in a literal sense. He wasn’t even bold enough to ask for his hands to be let go of. He knows that August would refuse.

“It was my Maker,” Cyril starts. “My Maker was a real monster, an awful creature. I was kidnapped by vampires as a human - I was a doctor about two hundred years ago. My Maker trained me in modern medicine as it evolved and forced me to patch up his humans.”

Cyril stops himself. “But I know you don’t care about me. You want to know about Shadow. My Maker prided himself on being able to break humans without persuasion. Shadow was a find at an auction. He had his fun with him, though he took an odd liking to Shadow and began to abuse him differently. I… at least in my time with him, he’d never abused a human like that. I couldn’t take it. I killed him last month after four years of Shadow’s captivity. Shadow and I ran away, but since then, my Maker’s loyalists have come after me. I don’t drink blood, so I cannot fight them.”

Cyril’s voice grows shaky. “I’m too weak to protect Shadow on my own. So cast me out if you please. Just, take good care of him. I betrayed our society and committed a heinous act to save him.” Cyril bites his lip. Emotions flood him and he doesn’t know why. “Shadow deserves better than a vampire that got manipulated and used by a pureblood.”

Somehow, it’s not what August wanted to hear and everything he needed to, at the exact same time. The breath he held hostage in his lungs finally escapes in a gasp of relief, dropping his head until it’s nearly butting foreheads with Cyril. The distrust was essential - he couldn’t blindly adhere to the stranger’s every word but August still resents having to force the agony out of him.

“No casting out,” he sighs, finally releasing his grip and pulling away, finally noticing the blood seeping through the bandages. Fuck - all the work undone. “You and the human both have asylum here. Both under my protection. I needed to be sure, you must understand. That you weren’t the one harming him. If the roles were swapped, you’d do the same.”

“Absolutely,” Cyril agrees, struggling to sit up with the wound in his side. There are bruises forming around his wrists from the force that August had grabbed him with. “It isn’t exactly the first time I’ve been tossed around.” He goes quiet for a little while. “I just never expected a pureblood of all vampires to be sympathetic to our situation. I’m sure you understand that you would try to protect Shadow if you were in my situation.”

He allows himself a breath. “Just, his name was Emery Abberton. If you want to check on what I said with any contacts. He was well-known for being awful to the humans that ended up with him. I can tell that you don’t exactly believe me and you’re right not to. I lied to you. And I’m a murderer.” Cyril laughs a little to himself, with tears forming in his eyes. “Nobody tends to think well of vampires that murder their sires.”

August holds his hand out, offering to pull him up, “I’m glad you killed the bastard. You did the world a favour. You’re a good man.”

He’s seen his fair share of human suffering, standing idly by wishing he could somehow put a stop to it all and never quite courageous enough to do so. How could he do anything but respect the man in front of him who saved the human, and rid the evil plaguing the earth?

“These loyalists… they’re after you and Shadow? Where will you go once your care here is done?”

Cyril looks out blankly, tears beginning to roll down his face as he takes August’s hand and sits up, holding his side. “I…” He swallows, trying to hold back tears that don’t abate. “I’m hoping we can live quietly until Sacha dies in the next fifty or so years. But I don’t think that’s possible. The answer is that if we keep being persecuted, we don’t really have anywhere to go. I’m hoping the loyalists get a new leader and leave me alone. But that’s hopeful at best, foolish at worst.”

Cyril doesn’t dare think about staying with the vampire he’d lied to. The one who told him he was right for killing Emery. The one who somehow believed him after everything. “They’re mostly after me. Shadow, rarely. He’s human. He’s not worth much to them.”

August shakes his head, “After all that, you deserve to live a peaceful life”. Both of them do. From the sounds of it, there will be no end. Shadow will live the entirety of his short, pained mortal life in constant fear - looking over his shoulder and fighting demons that may never leave. And Cyril? When will he get to rest? Even with the human long gone, they’ll still come for him. Won’t stop until he’s dead - even if it takes eternity to get there. Every drop of energy will be spent trying to save them both, fighting just to live until the next day.

That’s no life. At that rate, their master may have just put an end to them before Cyril could strike him.

“You’re welcome to stay. The both of you are - however long you need. A day or a millenia. What’s the point of survival if you can’t live?”

Tears flow freely now down Cyril’s cheeks. He’s overwhelmed. He’s happy. He’s relieved. He’s also sad and angry that this is his life now. There really was no escape from Emery. “Thank you. I was nothing but cruel to you and for you to do this - really, thank you. From the bottom of my heart, if it means anything.”

He tries to get himself to calm down, but the emotions, the adrenaline, it’s all crashing down like a monstrous bolt of lightning. “I’m sorry. I’m not normally one to get emotional.” He touches the scar on his cheek - the scar that marked the last time he cried. “I can pay you back for it, too. I can work as your medical assistant. Anything. I’m… I’m very good at what I do. I just haven’t had supplies for Shadow.”

“The help would be appreciated,” August chuckles lightheartedly, “But not at all expected or necessary. If anything, it’s a privilege to be able to assist in Shadow’s care. Hopefully, we can restore his faith in the world.”

August eyes glance down to the wound. Again. Saturated in deep crimson blood, Cyril’s hand planted on top of it, stained too.

“Fuck, man - I really didn’t mean to. I’m so sorry, can I take a look again and then I’ll leave you for the night. Promise.”

Cyril winces a bit. He has hardly realised how much blood was on his hand until August points out that he needed the wound treated.

What is he supposed to say to that? Of course he has to offer something. He can’t just be a deadbeat. He can’t just sit around all day. He needs to work to prove his worth. As much as he resents healing humans abused by vampires, he sees it as a necessary evil to be able to take care of Shadow.

“I’ve had worse,” Cyril says with a chuckle. “After all, I had to be killed to become like this.” He gives a wry smile, one of goodwill. “Emery was not a kind Maker, either.” He goes quiet for a little while then whispers, “Thank you for taking care of Shadow. Is he okay or should I go see him?”

“He’s fast asleep, I believe. The second his head hit the pillow. You’re more than welcome to check up on him now or in the morning. I’ve promised him breakfast.”

August remembers the way the boy's eyes lit up at the mere mention of food, the small glimpse of hope of ridding the gruelling hunger. It’s not fair that the necessities of survival are a rarity for the likes of him. If only he could help the vampire sitting across from him, but without blood - he’s at a loss.

“Thank you.” Cyril goes quiet for a beat too long. “He still doesn’t believe that he’ll be fed every day, three times a day. Emery neglected him a lot. I wasn’t always able to help, either.” Cyril swallows. “I’ll see him in the morning. I trust that you’ve taken care of him. I don’t think I could make it up the stairs, regardless.”

Cyril thinks for a little while. He’s hungry and dizzy and tired and really just wants to sleep but knows that he can’t without his wound being treated. It bothers him, that it would be so easy to drink blood and have it all go away. He hates that it’s his nature. He hates himself.

“I’ll help you through to the surgery again. This time I’ll try not to re-open the wound in blind rage-” August lightheartedly yet awkwardly chuckles, scratching the back of his neck. This is one moment he’s not going to live down. His healing hands being the source of pain for another. He outstretches his hand out for the taking, desperately hoping that he hasn’t crushed Cyrils’ trust to the point where he rejects.

Cyril takes August’s hand, using his other hand to hold his side which is throbbing now. Trust is difficult for Cyril - after all, he doesn’t even trust himself. He’s a monster surrounded by monsters. Monsters that want to kill him. Monsters that want to heal him. Monsters that don’t give a shit about his existence.

The world is too confusing and Cyril wishes he could hide away forever, isolate himself, and live peacefully, but that’s never going to happen.

As August patches him up and then helps him over to the couch where he brings Cyril blankets and pillows, Cyril can’t help but be a little thankful for a moment of respite, no matter how brief.

===

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#references to noncon #referenced noncon #Shattered Shadow #Collab #Vampire AU #Whumpee turned caretaker #multiple caretakers #multiple whumpees #vampire caretaker #references to previous abuse #whump #whump writing #whump community #whump blog #whump fic #bloodbag whumpee #Shattered #shadow by my fireplace

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