#box boy universe
For@amonthofwhump Mafia Madness! Prompt: Family Business
Tagging a few people who might be interested: @painful-pooch@whumptakesthecake - let me know if you want to be added/removed!
CW: pet whump, BBU, lady whump, organized crime, heavily conditioned whumpee, derogatory language, mention of severed fingers, not super heavy on the whump but a look at the McIntyre family, consensual sex mention
***
“Does the pet really have to be here for this?” Siobhan asks, crossing her arms across her chest from her seat at the head of the table, her pursed lips painted mulberry purple.
Rhys smirks. “Of course she has to be here. My toy can be good.” He sits down in his chair and pats his lap. “Up.”
Pumpkin gives Rhys a longing look, climbing up into her Master’s lap and burying her face against his chest. He grins, running his hand along her back. His gorgeous toy. So obedient. So perfect.
Siobhan rolls her eyes. “I still don’t understand why you bought a Romantic. My Guard Dogs are much more useful.”
Making the McIntyre Toy
For@amonthofwhump Mafia Madness! Prompt: Rite of Passage/Initiation
Introducing you to Irish mob boss Rhys McIntyre and his pet Pumpkin, and their very dysfunctional relationship. These characters were first created in RP with @whumptakesthecake, so thank you, Alex!
Tagging a few people who might be interested: @painful-pooch @whumptakesthecake - let me know if you want to be added/removed!
CW: pet whump, BBU, lady whump, organized crime, heavily conditioned whumpee, derogatory language, stripping (nonsexual), gun in mouth, tattooing
***
Rhys runs his hand over the pet’s lower back. “Take your shirt off, Pumpkin,” he says in a low, growly voice. “Just the shirt.”
Pumpkin trembles under his touch, but undoes the buttons on her white shirt and pulls it off, folding it neatly.
Rhys takes the shirt from her and throws it into the corner of the dimly lit room, leaving the pet in nothing but a bra and navy blue pants. “Tonight, my pet will officially be allowed to take her place under my control as a McIntyre toy. She’ll receive our family crest.” His sharp Irish accent echoes off the walls and bounces back to him and the pet.
Pumpkin keeps her back straight and her chin up. She’s earned this. She’s fought for this. Her place as a McIntyre toy wasn’t just given like all those other pets. She deserves this.
Mafia Week: Family Business
Decided to put my Paul Higgs story on the backburner so I can have more fun with it, and wrote a wee little epilogue for this week’s Nanda and Jameson showcase instead!
For@amonthofwhump’s Mafia Madness - Family Business
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Kidnapping|Snitches and Stitches|Vendetta|Assassination | Family Business
CW: Pet whump, intimate whumper, internal injuries, injured whumpee, creepy comfort, some brief dubcon references, dehumanizing/degrading language, Nanda is kind of a possessive creep, but also this is pretty soft? They’re so weird. Just a little epilogue, of sorts.
-
The pet’s eyes narrow as he watches Nanda enter the room. He’s weighted down under heavy blankets, layers that keep the air around his body warm, working with the painkillers to keep him loose-limbed and languid, barely able to move.
Not that he wants to. Every slight shift sends a thrill of pain up his spine from somewhere deep inside of him. Even taking too deep a breath brings to brief, blurry life the aches and pains he’s littered with. It breaks through the wall constructed by the drugs that hold him, fuzzy and protected from the awful ache of his own body.
The odd, unpleasant medic is gone – with his businesslike invading fingers, his way of causing pain without any method of making it good,his flat stare as he worked. His pet is gone, too, the Platonic who had come out of shock only to cry until Arvid took him in his arms and whispered to him, the pet nodding and nodding like a puppet on a string, his sobs turning to sniffles and then to whispers in return.
He had never looked at the pet, not once. The other pet had treated him like he’s invisible, like the others always treat the Romantics, but at least it’s better than treating him like he’s a lying little snitch.
Eventually, they’d gone, with Arvid shoving a bottle of rattling pills into Nanda’s hand and giving him timing and dosage the pet couldn’t overhear. He doesn’t know if he’s being given too much or not enough.
He just has to trust Nanda.
And he tries.
For@amonthofwhump Mafia Madness! Prompt: Vendetta
Tagging:@painful-pooch@whumptakesthecake - let me know if you want to be added/removed!
CW: organized crime, referenced pet whump/BBU, referenced workplace sexual harrassment, threats
***
“I don’t want you to handle it like this.”
Donal checks over his shoulder, making sure no around. Rhys, his crazy bastard of a brother, would consider this to be an act of treason. “I told you. I’ll take care of it. He could come back for you. He hurt you. And I won’t let it happen again.” His throat catches. “No matter what the rest of our siblings say…you’re family.”
“They still don’t suspect you?” Her voice sounds so scared and weak.
Donal’s expression darkens. “They underestimate me. I play my part well, Eireann. They think I’ve shunned you, too.”
Retaliation
Sasha
CW/TW: blood, knife, killing, death. For @amonthofwhump Mafia Madness: Assassination.
“You thought you could steal from me, Maxim?”
“You thought you could spy on the whole damn organization, Aleksandr! Or was that your so clever husband’s idea?”
“It hardly matters now.” He shrugs, displaying more calm than he feels. “You stole from me, you damaged my property, you tried to blackmail us.”
He moves closer as he speaks, the words mostly meant to distract the other man. People trying to verbally riposte often forget to guard themselves physically. And Maxim’s used to relying on his Guard Dog.
He’d already dealt with the Guard Dog, knocking it out with a tranquilizer dose before it raised an alarm.
“Youupset my so clever husband, Maxim.” With that his arm lashes out, too quick to block, slashing Maxim’s throat open, carotid to jugular, deep red blood pulsing out the other man’s life in seconds.
He scrubs away all signs of his presence before he leaves, as he always does.
For@amonthofwhump Mafia Madness! Prompt: Snitches and Stitches
Farkas Abernathy (mentioned) belongs to @painful-pooch and is used with permission.
Tagging:@painful-pooch@whumptakesthecake - let me know if you want to be added/removed!
CW: pet whump, interrogation-style whump, BBU, mouth whump, noncon kissing (nonsexual), very very vaguely implied noncon, derogatory language, organized crime
***
Nessa gives Rhys a long look, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Let me have my fun.”
He shakes his head. “No. Get off of him, Ness.”
She gives him the finger as she stands up off the lap of their captive. “You don’t let me enjoy myself ever. I try to have fun with your pet, I try to have fun with this asshole…”
The man tied to the chair, Rory Walsh, gives Nessa a filthy look. “I was having fun with ye.”
She slaps him in the face hard before gripping his jaw, her ruby red nails digging into his cheeks and drawing ruby red blood. “I’d think real careful about what comes out of your traitorous mouth next before my brother puts his gun somewhere you won’t like.”
CW: Guns, character death, just so much violence, light gore in one spot, severe injuries, some nsfw language, noncon references, betrayal! intrigue!, Nanda is a possessive creep
Kidnapping | Snitches and Stitches |Vendetta | Assassination
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I need to sleep but we should hook up when I’m back. Love you.
He sends the text knowing damn well she’ll leave him on Read. Might send a reply eventually, whenever she gets around to feeling like it. That’s kind of the downside to dating someone so ridiculously out of his league – he’s at her mercy, start to finish, and that’s not exactly a bad thing, but… it definitely keeps him a little insecure.
She seems to like him that way, though. Ysabel is twenty years older than he is and loves to keep him dangling over the side of the cliff, gripping desperately onto her hands for some reassurance she won’t let him fall. He blusters and bluffs his way through things with the other guys, but… Ysabel is utterly, totally in control here.
Add being the best sniper he’s ever met to her natural, entirely earned confidence in herself and it’s easy to see why he’s terrified of pissing her off or dumping her before she’s ready to dump him.She had taken notice of him, been the one to offer him a little side-job, undermining his current employer with encrypted tech that let them track movements and listen in on conversations, set a few guys up to get caught by the law, that kind of thing.
After a while, those little jobs had become bigger ones, turning full traitor. He’d agreed to work for the Baeren Group, and that had led to him asking his two closest coworkers if they’d be interested in some money on the side. And somewhere in there, she’d pulled Joey into her bed, and told him he would stay right there until she kicked him out of it.
It’ll be soon, though, he thinks. She’s losing interest, but it has to be her interest to lose, not his. He knows that. You don’t turn down Ysabel Baeren, and you don’t walk away from her, or she’ll find a reason to make you regret it.
Hell, she’s likely to shoot him right between the eyes rather than just break up if she finds out he took his turn with the Romantic they’ve got tied down to the floor in the back. He shouldn’t have – he told himself he wouldn’t, and he told the guys he wouldn’t – but then he found himself wondering what a real, professionally-trained pet is like.
The answer is fucking dynamite.
For@amonthofwhump Mafia Madness! Prompt: Swimming with the Fishes
Tagging:@painful-pooch@whumptakesthecake - let me know if you want to be added/removed!
CW: referenced pet whump, takes place in the BBU so pets are referenced, organized crime, minor character death, alcohol
***
“Get him out of the car, Darragh,” Rhys says, climbing out of the driver’s seat and stripping off his gloves. “Let’s not waste time here. I need to get back home to have some fun with Pumpkin.”
“You and that thrice-damned pet, Rhys,” Siobhan says, stepping out of her car holding a length of chain. “It’s appalling, how attached you are to it.”
“She’s one hell of a Romantic.” Rhys walks forward, shaking his sister’s hand. “How’s Fergal?”
“On business,” she says, her voice cold. She pulls her coat tighter around herself. “What’s taking Darragh so long?”
Drowned Kitten
Jonas/909
CW/TW: drowning, drugs, restraints, lady whump, pet whump, BBU/WRU. Because apparently another POV is needed. Remember Jonas from here? Get to know him better. For @amonthofwhump Mafia Madness: Swimming With The Fishes.
“You want to cuddle the pretty kitten, Jonas?”
He does. He wants the luxury of touching the little Romantic without violence, if not without fear. He wants the luxury of touch, period.
His owner shoves her toward him, and she trips, her grace impaired by the drugs in her system and her hands cuffed behind her back. Jonas catches her before she falls onto the floor, and he feels her whole body flinch away.
“I don’t think the kitten likes you much. Maybe after a bath.”
He holds her head under water, counting the seconds in his head. Too many and she dies; too few, and his master will be angry. He waits for the nod that says he can stop. She mewls like a cat when she is finally allowed to breathe again.
Or so he guesses. His only memory of a cat are the times spent in her owners’ apartment, a small noisy thing that yowled and hissed at Jonas.
“Pl’s, pl’s,” she pleads. “‘ll b-be g’d.”
But his master gestures, and Jonas plunges her head into the deep icy water once more. His hand engulfs the back of her head, and through the wet tangled hair he feels an anomaly, something small and hard.
He pulls the long brown-black hair to the side the next time he lets her up for a breath. At the base of her skull there’s a tiny slot, embedded.
“Sir,” he says, “you may want to see this.”
The find pleases his master.
He allows Jonas to cuddle the stolen Romantic, when he is allowed to sleep. She won’t stop coughing or shivering, which keeps him awake. He doesn’t mind; he’s used to staying up night and day on watchful alert, with little sleep.
She burrows into his enfolding arms, molding her body against his, as if she needs him. Romantics need to be touched; you don’t. He wonders if this is what it feels like to have a bonded.
He wishes he was bonded.
237599 (338947): Lourdes’ Acquisition Papers
DATE OF ACQUISITION:03.22.20XX
LOCATION ASSIGNED: Facility 023
SUBJECT:338947
PREVIOUS ALIAS: Bayani, Jaslene
AGE:29
DATE OF BIRTH:08.06.20XX
HAIR:Black
EYES:Brown
HEIGHT:5’1"
WEIGHT:105lbs
SEXUALITY:Bisexual
DESIGNATION:Romantic
KNOWN SKILLS: Second chair violinist in local symphony; known to also sing, play piano, and flute.
KNOWN CONCERNS: Subject’s family should be monitored in aftermath of acquisition. Steps will be taken to ensure that any attempt to “go viral” with false missing persons claims does not succeed.
Caution for: BBU, pet whump, conditioning and associated tropes, “romantic” pet, noncon
Just Acting - Reflection
[First | Prev| All | tbc]There were chains in the Facility. Gleaming silver things reserved for pets who needed more correction than a brief round of discipline. 651 has hazy memories, somewhere in the white light that swallows early training, of posture correction, a chain linking her hands to the floor, her collar to the wall.
The chains in the Facility were cold and hard and unforgiving, but they were always clean. Bethany imagines a handler scrubbing the shining links with the same meticulous thoroughness that they use to scrub the pets clean.
The chain round her ankle now is black with filth – gritty, sticky, clinging oil that has left stubborn smears all over her skin and her clothes despite her best efforts not to touch it. She hatesit, with a depth of loathing that she hasn’t felt for anything since they took the shock collar away and swapped it for the one that is meant to be safe.
237599 (338947): Lourdes’ Acquisition Papers
DATE OF ACQUISITION:03.22.20XX
LOCATION ASSIGNED: Facility 023
SUBJECT:338947
PREVIOUS ALIAS: Bayani, Jaslene
AGE:29
DATE OF BIRTH:08.06.20XX
HAIR:Black
EYES:Brown
HEIGHT:5’1"
WEIGHT:105lbs
SEXUALITY:Bisexual
DESIGNATION:Romantic
KNOWN SKILLS: Second chair violinist in local symphony; known to also sing, play piano, and flute.
KNOWN CONCERNS: Subject’s family should be monitored in aftermath of acquisition. Steps will be taken to ensure that any attempt to “go viral” with false missing persons claims does not succeed.
KNOWN IMMEDIATE FAMILY: Bayani, Alon, father. Bayani, Reyna, stepmother. Bayani, Crisanto, Chesa, Vergel, and Efren, siblings.
OTHER KNOWN FAMILY: Lacanilao, Mauricio and Jejomar, uncles. Lacanilao, Danilo, Makisig, Ikso, Benjie, cousins.
METHOD OF ACQUISITION: Participant in loyalty retention exercises.
ASSIGNED HANDLER: William Beckendorf, Romantic high-security wing and Guard Dog division, primary. Nina Valens, Romantic division, secondary.
SIGNATURE PROVIDED VOLUNTARILY, SUBJECT NOT SEDATED FOR SIGNING. SUBJECT REPORTED EXHAUSTION, HUNGER, AND CONFUSION COMMON TO NEW ACQUISITIONS.
CONTRACT SIGNED: 04.01.20XX, 2:36 am. PRESENT AT TIME OF SIGNING: Niall Thomas, WRU Legal Counsel; Nina Valens, WRU Handler; Daria Federova, head of Facility 023 Acquisitions Coordination.
ESTIMATED COST FOR TRAINING: $150,000; ANTICIPATED PRICE POINT: $275,000 ADDED FEES: TBD AT TIME OF SELECTION BY PROSPECTIVE.
CURRENT LOCATION: Facility 023, Romantic division, room D-3686.
REQUESTED TRAINING: All standard positions; Romantic subset positions; flexibility training; yoga; dance classes; conversational training; beauty and makeup application; hair styling training; literacy removal.
COMMENTS:William Beckendorf: Acquisition achieved desired outcome wrt Handler Lacanilao. Acquisition was a shitshow in pretty much every other respect. Subject was quite the little spitfire. Nearly bit my finger off. Gonna enjoy working that out of them. Request to assign Lacanilao to my wing when I bring them through the dog gauntlet. That should make sure the lesson sinks in.
Nina Valens: They’re quite the looker. They’ll fetch top dollar once we break them of that biting habit. Little shit pitched a fit at the signing, snapped the pen and lunged at the lawyer. Suggest a tube feeding gag or muzzle with IV nutrition for at least a month. Suggest additional courses with the Drip also. I want them so fucking loopy they don’t know which way is up by the time we take it off.
concept: it’s an open secret that BBU chick fil-a is staffed entirely by pets. people ha-ha about how eerily cheerful and assiduous the staff are but everyone knows that the high necks of their uniforms conceal collars. there are videos on the internet of various locations with each shift change arriving together in a big white van, which also picks up the departing shift. the “managers” sometimes carry something blurry pictures and stolen security camera footage claims is a taser or shock collar remote. most importantly there are absolutely no retail horror story tiktokkers who claim to work or have worked at chick fil-a
The Same Bed, Part Three: Chris
Follows on Part One: JakeandPart Two: Vincent.
CW: Stalking, harassment, threats, dehumanizing a d derogatory language, implied recordings, referenced consensual spice and past noncon, brief reference to past ableism
Laken wakes with a long stretch and an arch of their spine, turning their head to look through the tumble of their thick black hair at Chris beside them.
He’s still sleeping, his feet twitching lightly and rubbing at each other beneath the thin sheet in the early-morning light, thin and pale through the gauzy curtains. His hair gleams lavender, and they love the way the moment makes him look inhuman, almost elfin, as if they’d found the love of something supernatural and not only a man.
Laken’s body, though, is a little more insistent on needing the bathroom than they are on staring at their sleeping partner, so they slip out from under the covers, walking barefoot across the floor in boxers and a tank top and out into the hall.
They’re flushing the toilet in the bathroom when they look to their right to see the bathroom window is wide open.
Dark thick eyebrows furrow over black eyes as they stare, almost too confused for conscious thought to break through their tiredness, at empty space where glass or at least a window screen should be.
Leaning out, they look down towards the grass. The window screen lays there, staring back up at them.
Did it fall off? Can that happen? Laken blinks again and pulls their head back inside. A door shuts somewhere in the small, decrepit house they rent with two friends across from a church and they jump, hand over their heart - only to let out a breathy nervous laugh when they hear one of their roommates humming, clearly the source.
Laken shakes their head, then their whole body - like a dog shaking off water. What a weird way to start a day, they think as they drop their boxers and tank top into the laundry hamper.
They shower, the house waking up around them. They hear their roommates calling to each other faintly over the sound of the water, scrubbing shampoo into their hair, rinsing it out and watching the bubbles circle the drain. Drying takes a while longer - lucky this place has two bathrooms - and then Laken steps out, wrapped in a towel, to hear back to their room.
“Hey, Chris, it’s time to wake-… Chris?”
Their partner sits up in bed, staring with huge green eyes across the room, full of a terror Laken can barely fathom.
They turn, following his stare.
Written on their bedroom wall in bright green market is ONCE A PET, ALWAYS A PET.
Below that is SLUT, WHORE, a few other words Laken has heard Chris call himself on his worst days. Words he learned from the place that hurt him.
Below that…
YOU DESERVED IT, TRISTAN PAUL HIGGS.
Laken swallows, breath and voice gone as they look at photos taped to the wall, realizing they’re seeing crime scene photos - two people murdered, bloody bullet wounds, seated against a wall in a home somewhere. A woman whose blank dead eyes stare forwards, dark hair framing her look of endless, unending grief.
A man, next to her, and in his emptied-out expression… The shape of his face and the way his eyes look so huge against the smear of blood that runs down over nose and mouth…
“Dios,” Laken whispers. “Chris, those are-”
Chris doesn’t speak, but his lips move. My parents.
“I just-… I was just in here, none of this was-” Their voice catches and they move forward, lunging to tear the photos down even as Chris sits in a terrible frozen stillness, a statue of fear in their bed. “Who came here, Chris? Who was here?!”
“N, n,… Nobody,” Chris manages, voice thin, cutting in and out. Forcing the words through the overwhelm in his mind. “It, I, I, I woke up and and and it was, um, it w-was here, all, all here-… Once a pet, always a pet once a pet always a pet once-”
“Chris, stop. Listen to me!” Laken puts a hand on either side of his face, forcing him to look them in the eyes. Chris shudders and Laken lets him drop the eye contact, realizing too late it’ll only make it worse. They try to gentle their voice. “Listen, baby, none of that was here when I got up, that’s, that’s all less than an hour old. Okay? And my roommates didn’t hear anything, someone has been in my house-”
The bathroom window was open.
“… And I know how they got here. But why the fuck-”
“More,” Chris mutters. He tries to sway, in their grip, and they let him go to find what peace he can from the movement. “More on, on the end of the bed, more.”
Laken looks, and sees more photos piled there. They brace themself against the possibility of more gruesome murders scenes, but what they find instead sends cold straight down their spine.
They’re photos of Laken and Chris last night, fooling around on the bed. Laken with their arms around his neck while they kiss, Chris with his head between their legs, smiling up at them with pure love in their eyes. Laken’s eyes wide as they reached their climax with his fingers inside them. The two of them cuddling afterward, Laken flushed and smiling and so, so in love.
The angle the photos came from…
Laken looks.
Their closet door is open. When they race over to fling the door wide, their clothes are shoved to either side. A small throw pillow sits on the ground, an empty soda bottle beside it. An equally empty protein shake.
There’s another note written on the inside of Laken’s closet, just below a scratch in the paint.
This note is written in black.
Kauri, come home. Or else.
“Wh-… What the fuck? Chris, what-”
Chris is suddenly behind them and Laken lets out a breathy scream in surprise before turning to pull him close, holding him tightly. He shakes against them, burying his head against their neck.
“Someone was in my room all fucking night,” Laken says, almost whimpers, and hates themself for showing fear. “Someone watched us-… Someone watched us and took photos and waited-”
Chris nods, his fingers digging into their back. His tears burn against their skin as he cries. “My, my, my mom and my d-dad, they they they Owen has has photos of of them, d-dead, dead, d-d-d-… Silence is better than stammering, stillness is better than what I do silence is better-”
“Chris, stop! Baby, baby no, I need you to stay with me right now, okay? Please, baby, stay with me, we need to call someone-”
“K,Kauri come home,” Chris mumbles, shaking his head back and forth, back and forth, still sobbing in-between hitched attempts to stop. “Kauri come home-”
“Chris, fuck, please don’t do this right now-”
“I, I, I need to to to-to call Jake.” Chris looks up at them, his eyes far, far too wide. “I have to to to tell Jake.”
On the bedside table, Chris’s phone starts to vibrate.
Both of them jump and turn to look, half expecting another threatening message.
But all it shows is Jake calling them.
“Oh, shit.” Laken swallows and slowly looks back at the graffiti all over the wall. Slut. Whore. Oliver Branch’s Little Bitch, god, what fucking monster could have seen Chris now and still think of doing this?
They don’t answer the call in time. It cuts out.
Jake immediately calls again.
“What the fuck is happening?” Laken whispers. Inside of them, fear begins finally to melt as the heat of anger takes hold, and they turn to the closet and punch the writing on the wall.
Their hand hurts. They shake it out and punch again. Cheap plastered drywall starts to crumble under their fist.
Chris reaches for the ringing phone with trembling hands to answer.
-
@burtlederp@finder-of-rings@endless-whump@astrobly@thefancydoughnut@newandfiguringitout@doveotions@pretty-face-breaker@gonna-feel-that-tomorrow@boxboysandotherwhump@oops-its-whump@cubeswhump@whump-tr0pes@downriver914@whumptywhumpdump@whumpiary@orchidscript@nonsensical-whump@outofangband@eatyourdamnpears@hackles-up@grizzlie70@mylifeisonthebookshelf@keeper-of-all-the-random-things
At random, whenever they strike me, have some little bits of whump.
CW: PET WHUMP, BBU
AU: Riley, a big tough Guard Dog “box boy” captive, inherited or caught and sold, not back to WRU, but into a black market for underground “Dog” fights.
Picture him kneeling in a darkened cell, muzzled, chained wrists above his head so he can’t lie down. They’ll leave him like that, depriving him of sleep to wear him down before they go in to teach him his place and his new role.
This is a series! Masterlist here!
This chapter is another Flashback so if you want to read only the “current” storyline you can skip this, it just adds context.
Content: Box Boy Whump, BBU, dehumanization, domestic abuse, victim blaming, conditioned behavior, shock collar, alcohol mention
Riley had spent a busy night fielding drunks at the Diamond nightclub away from Mr. James. Usually he did this by getting in their way and steering them along to one side, but sometimes, like tonight, someone actually tried to start trouble. Mr. James was the kind of man who occasionally made enemies, or found himself resented by lesser businessmen and their cronies.
The sight of a huge Guard Dog pet in his studded collar and black leather motorcycle jacket, looking like a particularly young and restless Hell’s Angel, was enough to make people think twice about trying to take a swing at Curtis James. Well, most people. Every so often, someone was angry, and drunk enough to be stupid.
Dark!Alex AU: Ben and Zee’s First Time
CW: EXPLICIT sexual dubcon, pet whump, bbu universe, explicit noncon elements, toys, double penetration, overstimulation, begging to stop (the overstimulation, not the sex) spitting in mouth, alcohol, three on one, everyone has a turn holding Zee’s head
-
Zee didn’t know what to expect, and that had left him nervous all day. He was scrubbed clean, shaved to softness in places— and nervously clacking a fireball around his teeth. It mixed strangely with the toothpaste aftertaste in his mouth.
Cam was being nice. He kept saying mean things to Alex, giving Alex a hard time, but he wasn’t taking it out on him, and that’s all Zee cared about.
When Ben came by they acted painfully casual for a while, as if they had really gotten together just to drink Corona and watch a football game on TV.
Oh, Bee, this was delicious!!! Absolute 10/10 loved it!
Damn, I’m gonna read this a thousand times!
The Same Bed: Antoni
CW: Burning, beating, some derogatory language, ptsd, references to murder
Part One: Jake|Part Two: Krista|Part Three: Chris |Part Four: Vincent
-
The sun is setting as Antoni pushes the shopping cart out of the store, throwing a kind of golden haze over the dozen or so cars in the parking lot. The water in the bay will be glittering, he thinks, appearing streaked with reddish gold. To the north, the sky is turning orange, the legacy of wildfires up in the canyons far from Berras, fires that won’t stop burning.
If he stops, he can smell smoke in the air, just a little.
The fires aren’t coming south, they say, but it doesn’t matter. Antoni’s carefully rebuilt life is on fire without their help. The people he loves are being set aflame and he can’t do anything but offer to go buy groceries while Jake holds a shaking, sobbing Kauri and the new one, Rafael, tries to talk to a nearly-silent, perfectly-still Chris.
Heat sticks his shirt to his shoulder blades, makes his scars itch all over his arms and his torso, has the dark brown curls at the nape of his neck tickling his skin. He wears long sleeves no matter the season, but that gets its own kind of unwelcome attention in blistering dry heat like this.
One wheel on his cart sticks and he has to constantly course-correct, pulling the cart back slightly and then pushing forward again, bumping off the walkway into the pavement. The cart rattles, the plastic rustles, and Antoni is going to lose his mind with the anger he can do nothing about.
A woman with a little girl holding her hand walks past him, the little girl singing something vaguely familiar. They look at him - and whatever the woman sees in his face, she tightens her grip and hurries the girl along.
Jake’s ancient car doesn’t unlock from a key fob, and Antoni has to feed the key into the lock on the trunk physically to get it open. The trunk groans in protest, but Antoni pushes it up anyway, and feels a brief burst of something like delight when it stays up instead of trying to crash back down on his head like usual.
The trunk is huge, at least, and there’s plenty of space for everything he needs to put in there. Chris’s favorite cereals and some chocolate nutrition shakes - he stops eating when he’s like this, unless you force him to, and then what he can eat narrows to a tiny sliver of options. Antoni did his best - the cereal and the shakes, the frozen chicken nuggets and french fries, loaves of plain white bread - that’s all for Chris, to coax food into him when his body is too frightened for anything but whatever it reads as safe.
He has cat food and litter for Krista’s little old man Pepperjack, too, while she stays with them for a few days. Jake’s called some people to check her apartment over and change the locks, but Antoni thinks Krista will move, soon, anyway. Her lease is almost up and she won’t feel safe in that space any longer.
Even if she wasn’t the actual target.
His chest twists in anger and nerves, but Antoni is solid, and he is quiet, and he loads the bags without allowing his anger to take root. They’ll deal with it all as it comes, like they always have. Antoni will handle it, if he can, and let the rest of them heal themselves with contact and touch and soft words.
Antoni will handle the other things, the things that would make them have to leave the safety of their home.
Above him, the light has dimmed enough that the big streetlights in the parking lot click on, and a low soft buzzing sound settles under the calls of birds and distant human voices, the rumble of traffic down the highway.
If it weren’t for the slight scent of smoke that prickles across every visible centimeter of skin, it would be a lovely night.
He drops the last bag inside and slams the trunk door shut so it’ll catch, turning to push the shopping cart to the little cart corral on the next row, about ten spots down. He’s vaguely aware of another car door opening, clicking shut quietly, but the rattling of the wheels and metal of the cart mostly cover up the sound of footsteps behind him.
He pushes the cart into the corral, watching it crash against the back and come to a rough stop. He exhales, sticking one hand in his pocket to pull Jake’s keys back out.
And then there’s something immensely, awfully familiar shoved against the small of his back. Antoni tenses, spine ramrod-straight, and the solid muzzle of the gun - that’s what it is, he’s had guns pushed against every part of him with Mr. Davies, knows the feel of a gun more intimately than any kiss - pushes harder, bruising through his shirt.
“Walk,” The owner of the gun says softly.
Antoni hears the safety click off.
He walks.
Ok, ok, I think I put my thoughts in order enough to manage some sort of comment!
First of all, I love Antoni’s quiet anger and more than that his resolve to keep that anger at bay
I love how he is scared, but still mostly in control while Owen threatens him with a gun, and beats him up, but the moment the clove cigarettes appear he’s panicking
I love that he did call Jake for help, I love that still determination is his answer to all of this.
I don’t need to tell you how much I fucking love Antoni, by God, you know… But damn, Ash… I can’t handle this man! This was so good and I had such high expectations for his piece and I am so thrilled at what we got!!!
So, I have been meaning to draw @peachy-panic characters for a while, but I couldn’t decide which one or what scene to do first. Then I read this drabble today and my brain was like “yes, that one!”
So here you have it, my boy Jamie having a panic attack covered in blood <3
I wasn’t sure what outfit Peach’s boxboys wear, so I went with the classic black shorts/white t-shirt (click for better quality)
Shatter
Part of Do No Harm.
Timeline wise – Still Day 9, continued fromhere.
Warnings: Some dark subjects here. Suicide (minor character), self harm, blood, nudity, navigating some extremely fucked up power dynamics, implied noncon, severe panic attacks, BBU/BBU-adjacent
The shower in the staff locker room can’t get hot enough.
Sebastian stands there long after his skin is pink beneath the spray, lost in his own head. His skin may be scrubbed clean after the first few minutes, but he is confident his body will never forget the memory of this stain.
Two slashes down the wrist with whatever contraband they’ll inevitably find later in her cell.
And he couldn’t save her.
Oh, fuck! I had forgotten that’s where we’d left off!
Tomorrow morning, he will do whatever is required of him to file a formal application with contract affairs.
YES!!! YESSSSSSS!!!! OH GOD, YES!!!!!
Oh, Peach, this chapter fucking murdered me!!! Jaime falling apart like that is not only heartbreaking and a testament to how fucked up he is in that moment, but also speaks loads of how much Sebastian has actually gained his trust.
Damn, i love them so much, you don’t even know! I’m glad I was finally able to read this one
