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galaxywhump · 5 months

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Prompt: Wren doing something that's blatantly stupid/suicidal (like going out into the jungle to pick fights with the wildlife) when he becomes apathetic about his own life, and Daniel's reaction to that?

[SV-240 masterlist]

Thank you for the prompt, anon! Sorry it's so late, it's been in the making for a while now and I finally got the motivation to finish it.

Warning: this is a rather heavy one; it's also not canon.

contents: slavery whump, forced relationship, creepy/intimate whumper, suicide attempt (nothing graphic), depression, restraints, comforted by whumper.

~~~

Wren leaves the house without Daniel’s knowledge.

He still has the tracker, of course, but when he left, Daniel was napping, so hopefully he won’t wake up for a few more hours. Wren just wants to go for a swim in the picturesque pond he remembers the path to. He’s unarmed, without so much as a kitchen knife, but he’s not scared. He’s not anything.

There is an emptiness inside of him that has had a grip on him for several weeks now. It’s the sort of hopelessness he’s been trying so hard to avoid, but instead of making him Daniel’s loving partner, it’s only making him… do this. Go for a walk in the jungle, looking straight ahead, not scanning his surroundings, barely flinching when he hears rustling and other sounds of the dense forest.

He’s had these thoughts a few times before, but now he’s decided to follow them. Not directly, even though he knows there are several options inside the house; instead, he lets fate decide, since it seems to control his life anyway. So he goes for a swim. If fate decides he should stay underwater, he won’t fight it, nor will he fight if it decides not to let him reach the pond at all.

He’s clothed, and yet feels so exposed, a puny human in a jungle full of animals he knows nothing about, having only met one, which tried to kill him. Maybe there are others like it. Maybe one is already stalking him.

Keep walking, not running, walking with calm emptiness. Get away from Daniel’s house, leave his life on the jungle’s mercy. He frowns when he feels a small pang of regret. He should turn back. He should live. But it’s too late now, isn’t it? He’s far enough that the way back would be anything but safe, and he doesn’t want Daniel to question him once he returns. He takes a deep breath, clenches his fists, and keeps walking.

There are noises all around him.

There’s a noise somewhere behind him.

Soft steps, a low growl. He’s being stalked.

He closes his eyes.

And then there’s a familiar man-made sound, cracking bolts of plasma piercing the air; one followed by the sound of the animal fleeing, one hitting a tree just a few centimeters left of Wren, making him jolt in place.

“Hi there,” he hears Daniel’s voice, almost playful. He swallows and slowly turns around to face his captor, who’s standing still with his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed.

“You missed,” Wren says, lifting his chin, though there is nothing more to his defiance, no spark in his eyes.

“If I wanted to shoot you, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.” There is no affection in Daniel’s voice, and Wren prefers it this way. “Have you forgotten about your tracker?”

“No.”

Daniel raises his eyebrows.

“What was even your plan?”

“I went for a walk,” Wren explains, looking him straight in the eye; his expression remains empty.

“Good one,” Daniel scoffs. “You know you’d be dead before the day’s over, don’t you?”

“I do.”

The silence that follows is unbearably heavy. Daniel gets it, and for a split second he looks genuinely surprised before going back to his usual unbothered expression.

“Come here. Let’s go home.”

Wren doesn’t break eye contact.

“And if I run?” he asks. “Will you miss again?”

“I’ll shoot, but I won’t kill you. I’ll target your leg, maybe both, and I’ll drag you back. Now come here.”

He does, his head lowered, brow furrowed, mind blank. The jungle around them is bustling with life, never completely quiet, yet the silence between them feels suffocating enough that it could spread over the entire forest, forcing it into stupor. Neither of them says a single word on the way home.

Home. Wren sighs. Home. Daniel’s house is his home now, there’s no denying that. He’s too tired to deny anything anyway, not to mention worry about what Daniel’s going to do to him after his stunt.

They’re still silent when they reach the house and the door closes behind them. Wren follows Daniel to the living room, sits down on the couch, and watches him retrieve two pairs of leather cuffs.

“You’ll have to be restrained more after this, you know that?”

“Yeah.” Wren puts his arms in front, wrists close together, and does the same with his ankles. The cuffs close, a familiar sensation, and he stares down at them, barely feeling anything.

“It’s for your own safety.” Daniel doesn’t crouch down, doesn’t sit next to Wren, still standing in front of him, towering over him.

“Yeah,” Wren repeats, his voice monotone; he only wants this pointless conversation to end, and Daniel can sense it, which doesn’t mean he cares.

“Look at me.”

When he does, Daniel frowns seeing the weary emptiness in his eyes.

“Why did you do it?” he asks, and his accusatory tone makes Wren flinch, like he’s being scolded. It’s the last thing he wants to experience today.

“Take a guess,” he mutters, lowering his gaze, as if even looking up requires too much energy.

Daniel sighs and his frown deepens. He knows the truth, as much as he doesn’t want to accept it.

“I won’t let you do that, Wren.”

“I know. Cause I have nowhere to run, right?” For the first time today, there is something in Wren’s voice, the tiniest of sparks. “I can’t fucking escape you and this-this fucking nightmare, I’m stuck here and you won’t even- you won’t even let me-” He gets choked up, and to his frustration he tears up. “Fuck, just fucking hold me already and spew your bullshit, I know you’re going to do it anyway.”

Without a word, Daniel sits down next to Wren, who leans against him and exhales slowly when Daniel embraces him.

“I’m not going to spew any bullshit. I just…” Daniel trails off for a moment and gives Wren a light squeeze. “I wasn’t expecting this, and it hurts.”

“Oh, it hurts you?” Wren laughs in disbelief. “Poor you, the guy you’re keeping captive and torturing is a depressed loser. Cry me a river.”

“It hurts me because I love you, Wren.”

“You said you weren’t going to spew bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit to me, and I hope that soon it won’t be bullshit to you, either.” Daniel sighs, a heavy sigh that makes Wren even angrier, which he knows is, at the very least, better than complete emptiness. Daniel doesn’t have the right to feel and react this way, not when he’s the cause of all of this. “And remember that you were depressed even before I bought you.” He feels Wren tense up at that. “You can’t pretend otherwise, it was right in your file. Depressed, isolated, drinking problem. You were lonely, and that made it possible for Berkeley to make you disappear without raising any eyebrows. Now you’re here, I’m here with you, I know about your problems, and I want to help. On my terms and at my pace, but I do.”

“You’re not helping,” Wren croaks, trying and failing to blink away tears, Daniel’s blunt words feeling like a dagger piercing his heart, over and over again. “I wasn’t- It was better than this, I wanted to get better, I just…”

He just couldn’t, and it was only getting worse, until he started spending entire hours - he was too busy to afford days - curled up in his bed, staring at the wall, questioning the point of it all, and he was alone, completely alone, and-

“On Earth, I wouldn’t have been there to stop you.”

Daniel’s words are like a punch to the face, strong enough that Wren would sway on his feet if he wasn’t sitting down. It’s true, he realizes in horror, and a painful sob reverberates through his body; he slumps in Daniel’s embrace, overwhelmed by the most terrifying what if he’s ever had to consider.

“Shh, sweetheart.” Daniel gently runs his hand up and down Wren’s arm and pulls him closer as he sobs, unable to stop, because Daniel is right, and he was so stupid, and in a twisted way he almost let Daniel win.

What could have been back on Earth doesn't matter anymore. Here, if he dies, Daniel wins. It’s a way to escape, but it comes at too great a cost, and now that he can think more or less clearly again, he can’t believe he even attempted that. So stupid, so stupid, and if it wasn’t for Daniel, the very same person he's fighting against, he wouldn’t be here right now.

He won’t thank Daniel, he can’t, but he leans into his touch ever so slightly, and he’s still crying, so overwhelmed by what he almost did and so relieved that he’s still here, still fighting.

“Cry it out, sweetheart. I’m right here.”

For the first time, though he would never admit it out loud, he’s grateful for that.

~~~

taglist: @faewhump @inky-whump @whole-and-apart-and-between @whatwasmyprevioususername @procrastinatingsab @funky-little-glitter-bomb @goneuntil @redstainedsocks @luminouswhump @lonesome--hunter @as-a-matter-of-whump @renkocchi @whump-only @muddy-swamp-bitch @girlwithacoolcat @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @sophierose002 @whump-headspace @to-whump-or-not-to-whump @kixngiggles @ohwhumpydays @whumpsical @wibbly-wobbly-whump @stab-the-son-of-a @his-unspoken-words @pumpkin-spice-whump @onlyhappywhenitpains @suspicious-whumping-egg @morning-star-whump @burtlederp @there-will-always-be-blood @springwhump

#slavery whump #forced relationship whump #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #suicide tw #suicide cw #creepy comfort #depression whump #restrained #sv-240 #wren rackham #daniel rooney #my writing #so much time passes between updates i forget all my tags #anyway thank you for the prompt anon i really loved it!#writing this was really cathartic and i hope you enjoy

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nichiperi · 2 months

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Zagf? (For the art request)

This might come as a surprise to some, but ZAGF is the only IZ ship I am truly ride or die for. I waNt theSE TWO TO BE FRIENDS!!! (⁠┛⁠✧⁠Д⁠✧⁠)⁠)⁠┛⁠彡⁠┻⁠━⁠┻

#i like other ships but this?? non-negotiable #in my mind they hang out. :)#urrghhh aaaaaughhh gotta restrain myself from dumping my headcanons upon ye #invader zim #gaz membrane #zagf #tw eyestrain

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ziptiesnfries · 4 months

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Persuasion, part 1

(Loosely based off of this post by @whumpshaped)

CWs: mind control, whumper POV, kidnapping, restraints

Everyone loved Gianna Jennings. Her friends said she gave the best hugs. Her fans adored her makeup tutorials, and even her most vocal critics had to agree that she was charming in person. Gianna wasn’t sure how old she was when she first noticed it—really noticed it. All her life, her family had adored her, and even strangers would bend over backwards to please her. She’d always been affectionate, so maybe that was why it took so long to notice: it was her touch. Any skin-to-skin contact made the people around her much more agreeable. The effects only intensified the more she learned to control it.

Of course, she never let it get out of hand. But what was a talent like this for if not to be used? It served her well with getting sponsorships when she launched her career as a beauty guru. Most of her job happened online, but after years of building up her charisma, she knew how to work her audience. She didn’t need touch to draw people in, but when it came to in-person contact, it certainly gave her a boost.

Having the whole world at her fingertips was lovely, but it wasn’t very exciting. She wondered what it would feel like to make someone hate her—really, truly hate her—and what would happen if, then, she used her powers on them. The thought of it was more than a little alluring. It sounded complicated, interesting, real.

She decided to go hunting.

After visiting the same club a few weekends in a row, Gianna had finally found her target. They were smaller than Gianna, and always wore short skirts and tank tops—the kind of outfit that would give her ample opportunity to use her powers. Every weekend, without fail, the target arrived at the club with the same group of friends and spent the entire time sitting in a corner, texting. They seemed utterly disinterested in everything around them, even their friends—although, given the interactions she’d seen, Gianna was hesitant to label them as friends. Others who tried to approach the target had been met with either apathy or outright hostility.

They were perfect.

Gianna had already been at the club for an hour, chatting people up, when her target slouched in behind their usual group of three others. One of them, a tall girl with long brown hair, looked similar enough to be related to the target—a sister, maybe a cousin—and she interacted with them the most. The other two, another girl and a boy, hardly spoke to the target at all.

Gianna watched as the group claimed a table, and the boy went off to the bar. The two girls sat next to each other, chatting and laughing. The target was already slumped down in their chair, eyes glued to their phone, their bleached bangs obscuring half their face. When the boy came back with the drinks, he only brought three, depositing two in front of the girls and one in front of himself. The target didn’t seem to notice or care.

Gianna kept an eye out as she circled the room. The three friends took a while to drain their drinks before they finally headed for the dance floor. The brown haired girl hung back for a moment, tugging at the target’s arm. The target yanked away, and although Gianna couldn’t hear across the club, it looked like they’d snapped at the girl. The girl stormed off, and the target was left alone.

Gianna took her time, idly circling the club before she sidled up to the target’s table. “Well, aren’t you a pretty thing?”

They gave no indication that they’d heard her. The blue glow from their screen reflected in their bored eyes and highlighted glitter on their cheekbones. She could just barely hear their response over the music. “Who said I was trying to be?”

Instinctively, her wrist twitched to touch their shoulder, but she lowered her hand quickly. She was wearing lacy, elbow-length gloves to ensure that there weren’t any slip-ups. She didn’t want to use her powers—not yet, anyway. She laughed. “That’s cute.” She leaned on the table, tilting her head. “What’s your name, gorgeous?”

The target’s eyes flicked up. They scanned her face for a moment before turning back to their phone.

“I’m Gianna.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Really, though, what’s someone as pretty as you doing by yourself?”

Finally, they lowered their phone and gave her an exaggerated eye-roll. “None of your business,” they said, enunciating each word.

It was like talking to a brick wall. Gianna could see why everyone who had spoken to them had given up. Even she was tempted to take off her glove and touch their hand, just to get them to open up a little. But she refrained; the whole point was for them to hate her, and it seemed like that was going well. She pouted. “Oh, come on. You don’t even have a drink. I’ll get you one, okay?”

As she headed for the bar, she thought she heard them mutter, “Don’t come back.” She grinned to herself. She couldn’t have chosen a better target.

When she returned, they hadn’t moved an inch. She slid their glass across the table, and they kept texting. “I don’t drink,” they said.

“It’s seltzer.” It wasn’t, and they’d know right away if they took a sip, but they didn’t even glance at the glass. She stirred her own drink with her finger and wondered how to provoke them. Clearly they weren’t interested in playing her game, and that was what she’d expected, but she needed the tables to turn in her favor a little if she wanted to take them home tonight.

“Don’t care,” they said dismissively. “I don’t take drinks from strangers.”

“That’s smart.” She smiled and rested her chin in her hand as she leaned forward. “But I think you deserve to have some fun. Don’t you?”

They shot her a scathing side-eye. “I’d be having a lot more fun if you weren’t—”

“Oh my god, Shelby!”

Their head jerked up, and Gianna turned to see the brown-haired girl from earlier approaching the table, her two friends in tow. All of them looked tipsy, but the brown-haired girl seemed just a tad more wasted than the others, casually gripping the table for balance. Gianna suppressed a grin as she turned to her target. “Friends of yours?” she asked innocently.

The girl didn’t seem to hear her. “Oh my god, Shelby,” she repeated, turning to the target. “Are you actually talking to someone for once? I never thought you’d—”

“Shut up,” they hissed, lowering their phone into their lap as they glared at the girl. “I’m not—”

“We were just having a little chat,” Gianna interrupted. She extended a hand over the table. “I’m Gianna.”

The girl shook her hand limply. “I’m Taylor.” She was talking too loud, even for the background noise of the club. “And that’s Anna and Tate. And of course you know my baby sibling, Shelby.” She squeezed their shoulder.

Shelby jerked away, their elbow missing their untouched drink by an inch. “Fuck off!”

Taylor pouted at them sarcastically. “Oh, sorry, was I interrupting something?” She shot Gianna a suggestive grin.

“I said, fuck off!” They crossed their arms, their phone clutched tightly in their hand. “Can we just go already?”

Taylor rolled her eyes. “We just got here. Why don’t you go home with someone else for once? Loosen up, have a little fun!”

Shelby’s arms tightened around their chest, and they opened their mouth to protest. “I’d be more than happy to help with that,” Gianna cut in.

Blush rose to Shelby’s face. “Yeah, I’m sure you fucking would.” Their chair nearly toppled as they got to their feet. “Whatever, I’m calling an Uber.”

Taylor rolled her eyes. “You’re such a killjoy.” They didn’t dignify her with a response before storming off across the club.

Taylor didn’t seem keen to go after her, and the other two hung back, exchanging uncomfortable glances. Gianna gave them all a sympathetic smile before she turned to pursue her prey.

She found Shelby near the entrance, tapping furiously at their phone screen. “Hey,” she said, just loud enough to be heard over the noise. They stiffened, but they didn’t turn toward her. “I’m sorry if I was being too forward. Do you need a ride home?”

Their back was still turned, but she heard them snort. “Like that’s not the most forward thing I’ve ever heard. I’ll take an Uber, thanks.”

She approached casually, sliding an arm around their shoulders. They stiffened as she leaned in close and murmured, “Come on, let me drive you home. It’s the least I can do.”

Her lips brushed their ear, and that was all it took. The tension melted out of their shoulders, their phone lowering. They were quiet for a moment before they cleared their throat. “I … guess you could take me halfway there?”

She squeezed their shoulder before letting go. They’d feel the effects of her touch for another few minutes, and she’d sneak in another dose along the way. Of course, she’d prefer not to use it at all, but Shelby was a difficult target. A little persuasion would be necessary. “I’d be glad to,” she murmured.

Gianna took off her gloves to drive. Shelby was quiet in the passenger seat, their face turned out the window, their phone all but forgotten in their lap. “What’s your address?” she asked.

They didn’t turn their head, but their voice still sounded a little distant as they said, “You can drop me off at the corner of Fourth and Fremont. I’ll give you directions.”

“Oh, no worries. I know where that is.” Her house was that way, anyway—just a little farther down. Maybe Shelby actually lived near her; that was an interesting thought. “I really am sorry about earlier, by the way,” she added. “I know I can be a little pushy. And your sister … well, she didn’t seem very nice.”

They blew out a sigh that lifted their bleached bangs, propping their chin in their hand. “Fucking tell me about it. She’s a real asshole sometimes.”

Gianna suppressed a grin. “Oh? What’s she like?”

“She thinks I should worship the ground she walks on just because she’s letting me live with her.” They rolled their eyes. “I’d appreciate the favor more if it didn’t come with so many fucking strings attached.” They cut off abruptly and glanced at Gianna. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to dump all that on you.”

“That’s alright.” The car was rapidly approaching the corner Shelby wanted to be dropped at. Gianna leaned over and laid a hand on Shelby’s shoulder, feeling the warmth of her power flow through her palm. “Are you sure you want to go home, then? Maybe it would be nice to spend a night away from her. She sounds so overbearing.”

When she glanced over, Shelby’s lips were parted, their eyes halfway glazed as they gazed out the windshield. “I, um …” Gianna removed her hand, allowing the poor thing to think a little more easily. They blinked hard a few times. “She is overbearing,” they admitted.

Giddiness rose up in Gianna’s chest, but she couldn’t let it show. She rarely allowed herself to play with people like this, but god, it was fun. “Well,” she said, in her best logical, concerned tone, “take a break from her, then. It’ll be good for you.”

The intersection passed by, and Shelby blinked again as they realized. “Where are you …?”

“You can stay the night in my guest bedroom.” Gianna’s voice was pleasant and soothing, trained to perfection. Her powers may have only worked through touch, but people always responded well to her words, too. “You won’t have to see your sister again tonight.”

“Alright,” Shelby agreed quietly. Their hands rested in their lap, their eyes forward. “Thanks.” Gianna smiled.

It didn’t take much longer to get to Gianna’s house, a quaint two-story home in a quiet neighborhood. It was a bit big for one person, but Gianna had always liked it, and the extra space came in handy for guests. Shelby was quiet and pliant as Gianna led them inside, a gentle hand between their shoulder blades. The lightest touch was enough to keep them relaxed all the way up the stairs and into the guest bedroom.

Once they were in the room, Shelby paused, trying to gather their wits. “Ah … thanks for letting me stay over.”

“Of course.” Gianna smiled, her heart thumping. “Could you come in here with me for a moment?” She nodded toward the guest bathroom, attached at one end of the room.

They looked confused, but with her thumb rubbing circles between their shoulder blades, they followed her into the bathroom. She flicked on the lights and casually grabbed the pair of handcuffs she’d left on the counter earlier. Shelby looked even more confused at the clink of metal, and when they spotted the cuffs, they stiffened.

They made to pull away, but Gianna grabbed their wrist, channeling her power into the touch. Their phone cracked against the floor as they dropped it. “It’s okay,” she murmured, like she was soothing a frightened animal. Her heart pounded. She’d never done this before—never tried to calm someone over anything truly objectionable. She wasn’t even sure whether it would work. Shelby’s wide, fearful eyes flicked from the handcuffs to Gianna’s face, and she smiled at them reassuringly as she gripped their wrist. “It’s alright; you’re okay.”

Their mouth was agape, struggling to protest, but their body was like putty in her hands. One cuff clicked around their wrist, and Gianna gently guided them closer to the towel bar before looping the chain around and securing their other wrist.

“Good.” She removed her hands and stepped back to admire them, feeling giddy that it had actually worked. They twisted their neck after her, their lips still slightly parted, distress in their eyes. She scooped their cracked phone off the ground and smiled reassuringly. “I’ll be back soon, okay?” Their bewildered gaze followed her as she shut them in the bathroom to wait for the effects to wear off.

Read part 2 here

#whump writing #whump #mind control whump #kidnapping whump #whumper pov #restrained #kidnapping tw #oc: gianna jennings #oc: shelby #zipwrites #y'all i'm having SO much fun with this one

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thebramblewood · 6 months

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An Ill-Fated Afterparty: Part III

Previous / Next

Lilith: [frantically] CALEB!!!

Caleb: [mutters] This isn't your problem, Caleb. Do not get involved. Do not get involved. Do not-

Lilith: [hysterically] CALEB!!!

Caleb: Damn it.

Caleb: Jesus Christ, Lilith.

Lilith: I didn't mean to do it, I swear!

Caleb: You always go too far.

Lilith: It was an accident!

Caleb: Well, maybe if you exercised even a sliver of self-control-

Lilith: You can lecture me later, Caleb. Fix her!

Caleb: Look at her, Lil. She's beyond repair.

Lilith: Then turn her!

Caleb: It’s far too late for-

Lilith: Please try. It was a moment of weakness. Is that what you want to hear? I'm weak and you're strong and I need your help! I'll get on my knees and beg if I must!

Caleb: [sighs heavily] Just get out of my way.

Caleb: I’m sorry, Lilith. I think she’s too far gone.

Lilith: Then get rid of her.

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dresden-syndrome · 7 months

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14/VI-1964. Advanced State Research facility Erfurt-53. German Democratic Union Republic, EESU.

The EESU government provides a strict production safety standard, working hard to keep its people protected from harms and poisons their manufactured goods could contain. All chemical components in medicine, hygiene and household products are carefully studied in ASR facilities around the country in order to determine their health effects, sometimes taking tens to hundreds class IV human subjects for one safety testing stage.

Chemicals in a gas form are usually distributed to the subjects through forced inhalation for a short period of time; after the exposure process, they are taken for examination to evaluate the changes and effects on the body. Results are measured both by the subject's descriptions and the examination procedures data. Newer subjects or subject showing aggression or agitation must be restrained.

On a picture: PT-8666, undergoing the inhalation stage.

Day 10 of Whumptober

Prompt: Lab rat (alternative)

Art taglist: @painful-pooch @prismpanic @generic-whumperz @suspicious-whumping-egg @onlywhump

#whumptober2023 #no.10 #lab rat #altprompt #oc #art #medical malpractice tw #restrained #historical whump #lab whump #med whump #medical whump #whumpblr #whump art #whump community #whump ideas #whump oc #whumpee #captive whumpee

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3-2-whump · 10 days

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Doctor of Nonpersons

A.K.A., the author takes inspiration from their own tonsillectomy! Fortunately, for the author's procedure, the doctors were legitimate and used anesthesia, so a lot of this was extensively researched and imagined instead of being experienced first hand (thankfully!) Special thanks goes out once again to @whumped-by-glitter for beta reading.

Read this chapter before hand, or you will not understand the references made to the Key Game

TW/CW: nsfwhump, medical whump, multiple whumpers, institutionalized slavery, noncon drugging (injection), blood, graphic description of tonsillectomy, restraints

It took Khaled only half the time to find the key nowadays, with Nico’s assistance. Even if they didn’t see each other for lunch anymore, Nico would always text him late at night as soon as he knew who had the key. It was a gesture Khaled deeply appreciated from his friend, and he thanked Nico generously each time, but all Nico wanted in return was the truth, and he had yet to give it to him.

Of course, knowing where the key was didn’t change the fact that Khaled still had to degrade himself to get the key, and now there was the added element of waiting until a reasonable amount of time had passed before presenting the key to his master, lest the man become suspicious. Don Thomas Costa was a smart man, he would find out eventually, and Khaled found himself dreading the day the key game would have to be forcefully put to an end. But it didn’t end the way he had thought it would.

“Is your dancer okay? He looks kinda sick.”

Khaled’s head swam as he reluctantly detached himself from his master’s arm and straightened his posture. The boss had dragged him out to one of those parties again, forcing him to wear that same red outfit that revealed everything. He didn’t want to go; he never felt up for being stripped and dolled up and displayed like this, but especially not tonight. His throat was so sore he could barely talk, drink, or eat for the past few days, so he didn’t. The lack of food and water made him weak, his head throbbing with an underlying current of nausea throughout. And it was hot, so hot, and yet he couldn’t stop shivering. Even the simple act of standing hurt. He wanted to go home.

Thomas covered for him. “He’s fine, he’s just a bit tired, right? Go on, boy,” he implored, his tone on the knife-edge of civility. “Tell him you’re fine.”

All that came out of Khaled’s inflamed throat was a pathetic wheeze. Understandably deterred, the guest who checked on him immediately retreated, side-eyeing Thomas all the while. As soon as he could confirm no one was paying attention to them, Thomas grabbed Khaled’s wrist and dragged him to the nearest private place.

He took refuge behind a large potted palm tree. “What’s wrong with you?” he whisper-hissed. He forcefully gripped Khaled’s face in his hand and craned his head up to meet his eyes. “You’re burning up, are you sick or something?”

Khaled tried his best to nod with his head in such an awkward positon.

Thomas huffed. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you have to wait until we were in public? Are you trying to make me look bad?”

“I’m sorry, Master…my throat… it…” The words ground abrasively out of Khaled’s sore throat.

His master’s gray eyes widened in realization. He let go of his face and reached into his pocket to retrieve his phone. “Open,” he commanded.

The young man’s jaw dropped with a practiced ease. His master turned on the light to his phone and shone it straight into his mouth. If the silently whispered “oh my god” was anything to go by, then it must have looked as bad in there as it felt. Twisted as it was, he was almost glad Thomas deemed him sick, too, if only to validate his suffering. “Okay, close.”

Khaled reflexively closed his mouth. The older man scrolled through his phone, muttering all the while. “This isn’t some common cold, this is far beyond what I could do treating you at home. I’d really rather not take you to the hospital; I have a fake ID and a convincing backstory for you, but I’d have a tough time explaining away all your disciplinary marks-” Thomas cut himself off with a groan. Then, in a move Khaled had never seen before, the boss heaved a reluctant, almost defeated sigh.

“Master?” he rasped.

“It’s decided then,” he said bitterly, “I’ll have to take you to her.”

Thomas had only heard secretive whispers and unsubstantiated rumors about this clinic, and those whispers and rumors yielded mixed reviews, to put it nicely. However, Khaled was sick enough for him to drive across state lines in the dead of night to find one obscure little shop front in an unfamiliar city, to put his pride aside and ask for the help of someone who might not even help him anyway.

A short, waif-like, collared redhead answered the door. She took one look at him and Khaled with her tired blue eyes before opening the door wider and silently ushering them in. Thomas noticed a neat vertical scar running down the front of her neck. Looks like I’ve found the right place.

The mute slave girl led them past a harshly-lit waiting room, through a maze of narrow corridors decorated with unobjectionable photography, and into a tiny room with two plastic chairs and the typical examination table in the middle. Thomas was impressed that it was almost like any other medical clinic, but perturbed by the distant screams and weak sobbing sounds coming from the neighboring rooms. The redhead closed the door behind her as she left. A faint clicking noise as she left indicated that they were locked inside.

A warm weighted pressure on his right redirected Thomas’ feelings of dread and regret. Khaled was clinging to his arm, looking up at him with terrified eyes. He was trembling, whether it was because of the fear, the fever, or because he was still in that damn dancer outfit, Thomas wasn’t sure. “I’m sorry, boy. I don’t like it either, but this was our only option,” he sighed.

The door unlocked and opened with a faint click as the doctor came in to their room. She was a woman in her early forties, wearing a white lab coat over business casual clothes, who nearly dropped her tablet as she noticed them standing in the exam room. She blinked once, twice, and adjusted the glasses on her face. “I don’t believe this,” she gasped. “Is that you, Thomas?”

“Lennie Sal…”

The woman frowned –something she seemed to have done quite often in the intermittent years since he’d seen her. “You know damn well you’ve lost the right to call me that,” she replied, her tone turning frosty.

Thomas groaned. This bitch. He remembered why he’d never kept in touch with her. “Lenore,” he sighed through gritted teeth, “I need to call in a favor.”

The woman squinted at the feverish slave leaning on his shoulder. “That one yours?”

“Who’s else would he be?” Thomas guided Khaled to the raised examination table and lifted him onto it. It took everything in the boy to keep himself in an upright seated position; he started leaning to one side as soon as Thomas took his hands away.

“I’d heard rumors, but never actually thought you would acquire a nonperson,” she shrugged. She gave Khaled a quick once over before going to the sink to wash her hands. “Though, from the looks of him, I can see why you bought him. You certainly did have a type after Afghanistan,” she commented with a wry side-eye.

Thomas deliberately ignored that comment. “He’s got a fever, and a sore throat. When I shone my phone light down his throat, it was all red and irritated. And his tonsils looked, I don’t know, pitted?”

Lenore had just pulled on a new pair of gloves. “That so?” Turning to her patient now, the doctor adopted a completely different demeanor. “Open.” Khaled’s jaw dropped on reflex as he stretched his mouth wide and stuck out his tongue invitingly. “A little further out, like that –yeah, just like that, good boy,” she praised, much like a veterinarian to a pet. Taking out her penlight, she peered down the young man’s throat and confirmed what Thomas had suspected. “Yup, they’re infected. They’re basically nuclear.” She withdrew her instrument and directed Khaled to close his mouth. “I won’t bother asking why you didn’t come to me sooner,” Lenore began, “but the point is you’ve come to me now.” She gently but firmly pushed Khaled down onto the examination table and reached underneath for a set of straps. “Has he taken any of the following meds in the past ten days?” she asked, following up her question with a rapid-fire list of OTCs.

Thomas shook his head. “No, don’t think so,” he replied.

“Has he eaten or drunk anything in the past several hours?” Lenore restrained Khaled’s wrists and upper torso snugly to the table with the straps.

“Nothing we can’t just make him throw up, right?” The flat, unimpressed stare Lenore gave him made Thomas cringe. “No, he hasn’t eaten since lunch, about ten hours ago, and I don’t think he even ate that much.”

She had just finished securing the young man’s legs and ankles. “Hold his head in place,” she directed with an offhanded wave. There was a clatter of a compartment opening under the examination table. “Intimate types seem to do well with the physical contact they get from their masters during procedures. The touch grounds them, I think,” she explained, fishing around the compartment until she found the tool she needed.

Khaled recognized it right away, shaking his head and whispering a hoarse “please, no, Master, please-” Thomas locked both hands on each side of the boy’s head, just as he’d been directed, to keep him from turning away as the doctor worked the open-mouthed gag in between his teeth.

“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Lenore asked as she buckled it tight behind the boy’s head. She gave his distended cheeks a condescending pat before addressing the man above him. “So, do you want me to give him something for the pain, or should I just get in there and…” She made crude snipping motions with her index and middle fingers.

Thomas scoffed, unbelieving that such a sweet girl like her could’ve become so cold. “God yes, woman! Of course, I don’t want him to feel it!”

“Hey, hey, doesn’t hurt to ask,” she defended. She lowered her head to address her patient again. “You’ve got such a considerate master, pretty boy. Looks like he ‘doesn’t want you to feel it,’ isn’t that nice?” she said with a smile.

Khaled let out a pitiful whine.

The doctor turned toward a mysterious rack of vials and tinctures as she procured a sterile needle from a drawer under her desk. “You’re going to have the best twenty minutes of your life,” she promised as she siphoned out an esoteric blend of medicines from the bottles.

Thomas frowned skeptically at the rack as his former lover hummed a song they once danced to under her breath. “Wait, what exactly are you giving him?”

“Oh, just a custom cocktail of sedatives and psychotropic drugs,” Lenore explained. She inserted the needle into a vein of one of Khaled’s restrained hands –though not without difficulty, considering how much he squirmed. She emptied the contents of the syringe completely into the boy’s bloodstream. “It won’t knock him out completely, but it should dull the pain, as well as the rest of his senses.” She sat back with a smug smile as she withdrew the needle. “It’s relatively quick too, just like hospital-grade anesthetics. Look at him.”

Thomas looked down. The young man lay motionless on the examination table, his body slack against the restraints. His eyes were hazed over, distant, and half-lidded. Thomas waved a hand over those blank eyes. The only indication he was still in the world of the living was the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. “Wow, out already?” he asked incredulously.

“Not out,” Lenore gently corrected, “just too sluggish to put up a fight. Now hold his head straight for me, please.”

Thomas repositioned Khaled’s head between his hands. He tried not to think of how close in proximity Lenore was to him as she bent over the boy’s mouth. Her hair now had thin threads of silver running through its thick chestnut brown ponytail. He resisted every urge to reach out and touch it. He knew he’d lost that right years ago.

“So…” he began, punctuating the silence, “what have you been up to?”

“Oh cut the crap, and hold his tongue out for me,” she instructed brusquely. Thomas carefully reached into Khaled’s mouth to pinch his tongue between his thumb and index finger and extended it gently. It was hard to get a grip on the slippery little thing, which prompted Lenore to hand him a gauze pad to place between his fingers and Khaled’s tongue, giving him a much better grip.

“What I guess I’m trying to say, Len-Lenore…” It wouldn’t do to piss off the lady holding surgical tools down his slave boy’s throat. “-is do you ever wonder why it didn’t work out between us?” Thomas asked.

“Not really,” his ex-fiancée shrugged.

The motion of her shoulders jiggled the forceps and electrocauterizing pen in a way that made a cold bead of sweat run down Thomas’ back. He blinked, just to give his body something to do while his brain formulated his next words carefully. “Look, if it was because of the family business that made you change your mind, you could’ve just told me-”

“It wasn’t,” Lenore interrupted. She gently pulled away the irritated tissue with her forceps as the pen severed its connection to the wall like butter. “You know, I wouldn’t have even minded –hold his tongue further out,” she instructed, resuming her thoughts as soon as Thomas had done as she asked. “I didn’t mind the killing, the extortion, the cheating, but I just didn’t like that you lied to me about it!”

“Well, what was I supposed to do-”

“Tell me the truth, Tom! That’s all I ever wanted, the truth!” The wet splotchy sound of freshly excised tissue hitting the bottom of a stainless-steel bowl punctuated her argument.

“Wait, is this about you walking in on me blowing the priest?” Thomas guessed.

“No, no, it’s because it was hot that day, and –of course it’s because of you blowing the fucking priest on the day of our fucking wedding!” she screamed. “It’s because of all those times your smile didn’t meet your eyes, those times you’d pull your hand away from mine as soon as we were truly alone, those times when your head would turn as soon as you saw a-” The second tonsil soon joined its twin in the bowl, its own sound no less wet and splotchy. “-without even giving me a second glance! You and your fucking family who saw me as nothing more than a jewel to your crown, so just admit it –you never loved me!”

“Renée Lenore Salvatore!” Thomas hissed, ignoring the bleeding gashes her barbed words left on his heart. She looked up at him in equal mixtures of shock and anger that he dared to use her full name. “Never assume that what I felt for you wasn’t real!” Thomas cried. “Maybe you’re right in that I never loved you like I should have, but never say I never loved you.”

A small moan rose from below him. He glanced down at the examination table, and Khaled’s glassy, unfocused eyes stared back. “At any rate, let’s not argue in front of him, okay? All this shouting is probably stressing him out.” He leaned forward to give Khaled’s forehead a reassuring kiss.

Lenore gently removed her tools from Khaled’s mouth, setting them aside the metal tray with the severed tonsils. “Fortunately, we’re basically done with the procedure now,” she said as she swatted him away. She leaned over Khaled’s head again, unbuckling the gag before pulling it out of his mouth.

Khaled remained slack-jawed. Thomas had to close his mouth for him. “You don’t need to stitch anything up?” he asked curiously.

“No. The pen cauterizes the flesh as it cuts, sealing off any blood vessels along the way,” Lenore explained. She moved on to undoing the straps on the table next. Thomas joined her unprompted as he undid the other side.

“I gotta ask, though,” Lenore piped up, seemingly out of nowhere. “Is his primary role what I think it is?” The devious smirk on her face as she threw away her bloodied gloves filled in the blanks.

Thomas nodded, averting her knowing eyes. She (understandably) didn’t take it too well when she caught him in the act with a priest twice their age. He could only imagine how painful this must be for his ex-fiancée, to see the man she had loved strolling in with a pleasure slave half her age.

Whatever she must have felt was kept perfectly masked behind her ‘good doctor’ act. “And are you sharing him, or is he exclusively yours?”

“Mine, for the most part…” Thomas trailed off, remembering the devious Key Game he’d invented. The woman waited for him to finish. “I mean, at least his ass is all mine,” Thomas explained, though not without going red from embarrassment.

“Ah.” Wordlessly, though not without a heavy air of judgment, she typed something into her tablet. Thomas swallowed down the embarrassment and the morbid curiosity to see what she wrote in the post-op notes.

“The next part involves monitoring him for any complications within the next twelve hours,” Lenore told him. “Now, nobody expects you to stay here for twelve hours, so drive home, get this poor thing some actual clothes, and come back in the morning.”

“But-”

“It’s fine,” she reassured. She flashed him a familiar smile, though far less warm and happy than he remembered. “I know how people get around certain pets, and I can see you’re one of them. Your boy will be fine, I promise.”

With her peace said, she tucked the tablet under her arm and walked toward the door.

“Lenore,” Thomas implored. The woman of his dreams turned around, hand gripping the door knob, resting bitch face back as she stared blankly through him. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” he said truthfully.

A melancholy darkening of her dull brown eyes lasted for only a second as she dropped her gaze to the linoleum floor. “Yeah, well… I’m sorry I let you.” Her white lab coat swished lightly as she walked through the open door. “You may pick your pet up after the twelve-hour observation period, where I will have a detailed post-op care sheet for you to follow to the letter. Bella will see you out now.” And with a final swish of her coat, she was gone.

POST-OP CARE SHEET FOR THOMAS J. COSTA

Nonperson: Khaled

Procedure: Tonsillectomy

Stitches: No

General Comfort: Keep him at home for one to two weeks, avoid exposure to sick people during these one to two weeks. He will likely be tired and still have a sore throat for the first week; that is normal. He may also feel pain in the ears, neck or jaw, nausea, and like something is stuck in the back of his throat; that too is normal. Please contact this clinic if Khaled shows any excessive bleeding, a fever exceeding 102° F, difficulty swallowing or breathing, signs of dehydration, and/or if he is not responding to pain medication.

Exercise: No strenuous physical activity for two weeks after surgery.

Feeding: Keep him hydrated, plenty of fluids, nothing too acidic. Soft foods are recommended, nothing too acidic, nor spicy, nor crunchy so as not to irritate the throat.

Medication: Antibiotics and pain medications as directed.

Sexual Activity: falls under strenuous activity, also see note below.

Any Additional Notes: STOP PIMPING HIM OUT TO OTHER PEOPLE, YOU ARE SO LUCKY HE ONLY GOT INFECTED TONSILS THIS TIME!

Khaled may return to his duties when he can eat a normal diet, sleep throughout the night, and no longer need pain medication.

Schedule a post-op assessment: xx/xx/20xx

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#whump writing #nsfwhump #medical whump #multiple whumpers #tw slavery #tw noncon drugging #tw injections #tw blood #restrained #i'm not big on the medical whump but hopefully i did good by it #anyway have fun with the whumper lore i just dropped

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