Despite Mark, despite his idiocy and dumb stubbornness and despite her own rightful anger, Gemma still was a professional. She’d cried in the car a bit, after she had pulled into the garage at work, granted, but then she’d pulled out her kohl pencil, adjusted the rear mirror, and fixed her eyeliner.
She’d aced her presentation. The numbers were flawless, her slides were well prepared, she’d been able to answer every question and even that stoic Richard from legal affairs had nodded in approval.
Anger was still seething under her skin, but it was slowly smothered by deep, exhausting disappointment. Gemma excused herself, asked for the afternoon off, and her bosses didn’t ask. She listened to some variants of “Of course, you deserve it,” and then she was outside again. She drove over to Vincent’s Cafe, where for the first time she tried their Cherry Cake instead of her usual order. It had been great, even better than the chocolate cake. That wasn’t the reason why she cried, though, despite what she told the waiter.
This time, she didn’t bother fixing her make up in the car. She checked their joint bank account instead, hoping to see a second payment to Vincent’s, desperately hoping Mark had had the common sense to go over there and buy her another piece of chocolate cake. Maybe not a piece, but a complete cake, and he’d say sorry and explain himself and she could forgive him.
Despite Mark, despite his idiocy and dumb stubbornness and despite her own rightful anger, Gemma still was a professional. She’d cried in the car a bit, after she had pulled into the garage at work, granted, but then she’d pulled out her kohl pencil, adjusted the rear mirror, and fixed her eyeliner.
She’d aced her presentation. The numbers were flawless, her slides were well prepared, she’d been able to answer every question and even that stoic Richard from legal affairs had nodded in approval.
Anger was still seething under her skin, but it was slowly smothered by deep, exhausting disappointment. Gemma excused herself, asked for the afternoon off, and her bosses didn’t ask. She listened to some variants of “Of course, you deserve it,” and then she was outside again. She drove over to Vincent’s Cafe, where for the first time she tried their Cherry Cake instead of her usual order. It had been great, even better than the chocolate cake. That wasn’t the reason why she cried, though, despite what she told the waiter.
This time, she didn’t bother fixing her make up in the car. She checked their joint bank account instead, hoping to see a second payment to Vincent’s, desperately hoping Mark had had the common sense to go over there and buy her another piece of chocolate cake. Maybe not a piece, but a complete cake, and he’d say sorry and explain himself and she could forgive him.
There was no new transaction.
Of course there wasn’t. Mark just had the emotional maturity of a five year old boy riding a plastic car.
Time to re-evaluate.
She couldn’t just act like nothing happened. He probably would do just that, and think everything was alright, while she wanted him to understand he’d hurt her, and to do learn and do better. So the best thing would be to just leave the pet in its room, sit Mark down, and talk it through. She’d explain her job to him, the importance it held to her, and how he could support her. She’d be calm and reasonable. No crying, no shouting, no drama. Yes. She was a professional.
With her chin lifted, shoulders straight, she left the car and marched upstairs.
The apartment was quiet, when she entered. Marks shoes were still by the door where he’d kicked them off yesterday. Gemma nudged them under the shoe shelf with a frown. She’d told the pet to clean up such obvious things. It had done so well the past days. Today though it had been pretty oafish. At the end of the corridor, she could see the kitchen counter, dirty breakfast dishes still on it. Great. Pet was dumb, and Mark didn’t even care enough to tell it what to do. She slipped out of her own shoes and pushed open the door of the guest bathroom. The mat the pet slept on and its few clothes were nearly folded and tucked away under the sink. The pet itself wasn’t there.
It wasn’t in the living room either.
Gemma felt anger boil up in her stomach again, and she welcomed it. Better than the cold dread spreading through her body. “Mark?”, she called. “Pet?”
She opened the door to his office and peeked inside. His desk was a mess, as usual, but there were no discarded headphones on top of it, no used coffee mug. Didn’t look like he’d worked here at all today.
“Mark?”, she repeated.
Then she heard it, the sound of water running, from next door. The master bathroom.
She felt sick to the bone.
Her jaw clenched, and she had to force her hand open to touch the bedroom door and press down the handle, her other hand still balled into a fist.
She didn’t know what she’d expected.
Not this.
The pet was laying on the bed, their bed. Herbed.
Her pet.
Naked. Bruised. Bleeding.
And sobbing, soundlessly, only its trembling frame and shaking shoulders betraying it.
Its hands were tied to the bedframe with the cuffs WRU had delivered it with, its neat white hair was a mess, its body covered in - oh, no, Gemma didn’t even want to think about it.
“I…,” the pet whimpered. “Ms Gemma, forgive me, I… I didn’t want it, I said… no.”
Stupid fucking lying romantic. Just as her friend Lily had said. They can’t beat their training.
“You seduced him,” Gemma said flatly. “You did this.”
“Forgive me,” the pet repeated. “I was bad, a pet bad for you, I deserve -”
Gemma had stuffed the plastic cane from the WRU box into the back of her closet, sure she’d never need it. She didn’t know, how it ended up in her hand just so smoothly. All she knew was that this was wrong, everything was, and she had to make it right.
The cane hissed through the air, and the pet’s words dissolved into a tiny pained moan, when the cane smacked across its stomach.
CW/TW: depression, self-esteem issues after violence, lady whump, pet whump, BBU/WRU. Some wandering tenses, sorry. For @whumpawoman’s Day 8: Bad News.
Ruined.
Did any other words matter after that one?
It hurts worse than the broken bones in her face.
Oh, Maxim ruined you, koshechka. Such casual disappointment.
Master liked his things perfect. Sir liked beautiful things. She was neither now. She was ruined. They discarded ruined things.
She might be sold, to someone who doesn’t care if she isn’t pretty anymore. She might be refurbished, repurposed into a Platonic or Domestic-only. White walls and pain and babygirl.Oh, please not that. She might be put down.
The not-knowing roils her mind and her stomach, and she has to get up to vomit.
“Madeline, hello!” She hears Sir says on the phone, “I have to ask for a favor.’
CW: pet whump, collars, leashes, whumpee calling whumper Master, abuse (implied), abusive relationship, intimate whumper, possessive whumper, vampire whumpee, disassociation (mostly after the timeskip), whumpee misgendering himself while disassociating (using they/them/their as a gender neutral pronoun), nudity (not sexual and not explicitly described)
“Open your eyes, pet.”
Dirk didn’t want to. He didn’t want to open his eyes out of fear of what he would see in the mirror. Because he knew it would be a part of himself that he hated.
A part of himself that Jackson claimed was his true nature, and that Teddy agreed with, and that both of them worked to chain and command as their own.
Taming a beast with a human face.
Leashing a wolf wearing someone else’s skin.
The leash hanging from his collar was heavy, a gold chain to match the gold tag that dangled from the leather collar, jingling with even the smallest movements. A temporary mark of ownership in the form of Master’s insignia to match the permanent one branded on his lower back.
The collar squeezed his throat when the leash was tugged.
“I won’t repeat myself, pet.”
Dirk opened his eyes, and his fears came true.
There he was, kneeling on the bedroom floor in front of the body mirror, shamefully exposed. Clothing is a privilege, not a right. And he lost that privilege when he misbehaved. He didn’t even remember what he did.
But that didn’t matter.
What mattered was Master sitting behind him on the bed, holding the handle of the leash in one hand, the other close to some object on the bed. When he looked closer, he realized that it was a muzzle - a broken muzzle, because the gag that was supposed to keep his mouth open and his fangs exposed was bitten clean through.
He didn’t even remember biting it.
But that didn’t matter.
“What do you see in the mirror?”
There were many answers. Myself was not one of them.
Dirk saw individual parts that somehow still failed to make up a whole person. He saw shame in the flush of their cheeks and the way they hung their head, like a scolded dog. Guilt in their eyes, heavy enough to outweigh any anger. Fear in their tense body, unable to relax while their Master was unhappy.
And devotion in the bruises that kissed their skin.
No.
Hisskin.
That’s what set him apart from the person in the mirror. Reminders of Master’s love, pressed into him with loving fingers, beaten into him with loving hands. That’s what he saw.
Proof of his loyalty to Master, and Master’s love given in return.
He swallowed down whatever doubts remained.
“Your pet, Master.”
The look of approval on Master’s face made him happy. And that was love, wasn’t it? Making each other happy?
He chose not to dwell on it as Master gestured for him to come closer. And so, he crawled, turning his back to the mirror and all of his attention to Master. He kneeled between Master’s legs expectantly, waiting to be told what to do, to be given a chance at making up for his disobedience.
Master pat his thigh. “Turn around and sit on my lap.”
His pet obeyed. He faced the mirror again as he sat down, suppressing a flinch when Master’s arms came to wrap around his waist. A single knuckle was used to gently tilt the vampire’s face up, making eye contact with Master’s reflection before quickly averting his eyes.
“Despite all of the trouble you give me,” Master said, moving his hand up to pet the vampire’s hair, “you are the best pet that I’ve ever had.“
His fingers skimmed across the back of his pet’s neck, eliciting a shiver. “And you are the onlypet that I will ever have. Do you know why that is?”
He does. His pet knows because Master has told him again and again, with both punishments and rewards.
“Because I was made for you, Master.”
A hum of approval. His pet almost smiled, and was proud of himself for not flinching this time when Master kissed his temple, still petting his hair.
“Good boy,” he murmured, and the vampire swelled with pride.
—
Dirk stared at his reflection in the mirror. But the longer he looked, the more he started to feel like he wasn’t looking at himself. That the reflection staring back at him didn’t match the image of himself in his mind.
The bruises from earlier had already healed over, like an author deleting words off the page. He wanted to see them. He neededto see them. Because they were marks of Teddy’s love, and he wanted to be marked, he neededto be marked to know that he was wanted, and loved, and himself.
His neck was uncomfortably bare. No collar, no leash, nothing that made it clear who he belonged to, and that was a scary thought, not belonging to anyone.
Not belonging to Teddy.
Not belonging to Master.
He would always belong to Master, right? Master said that himself. Said that he was the best pet, his only pet, a pet made just for him.
His pet touched the barren skin of his neck, trying to picture the collar there. He pressed down with his fingers and squeezed, hard enough to cut off his air, hard enough to force out a choked breath. But it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t his collar. It wasn’t Master.
It wasn’t him.
The vampire stared at the person in the mirror. Who was it? He moved his hand down, over his collarbone, feeling water droplets stuck to his skin. The hand in the mirror moved down too, but it wasn’t his hand, and it wasn’t his skin, and he was starting to think that these weren’t histhoughts.
Whose were they?
It scared him not to know, but the fear just swelled inside of him and stayed there, trapped under the stranger’s skin. He didn’t move. They didn’t move. Neither of them moved, but one of them thought, and they wanted to stopthinking.
They wanted to know who they were.
But only Master could tell them that.
Eventually, they saw him. They saw Master enter the room, and a part of their mind familiar with Master’s schedule knew that he had just gotten back from a business dinner, and that’s why he was wearing a fancy suit and tie. They heard him say something.
Did you shower thislate?
But they couldn’t process the words, just the sound of his voice, and the sight of him approaching in the mirror. There were more words.
The floor around you is all wet, Dirk.
Dirk.
That was their - that was his name. Dirk. Not the stranger’s name. He didn’t know who they were, or what their name was, but they must have left because Teddy was there, Master was there, and he was starting to remember who he was.
This time, he understood Master’s words.
“Is something wrong, pet?”
Pet.
Master’s pet. That’s who he was. Made for Master, made to serve him, and obey him, and love him. Dirk blinked, and he realized that his skin was pruning, that the floor was all wet, because he had been standing there for hours after showering.
“I’m sorry, Master,” he blurted, referring to the state of the floor.
Master looked surprised. Confused. It wasn’t an expression Dirk was used to seeing on him, and somehow he caused it, so he rushed to explain. “I took a shower earlier, way earlier, but then I was drying my hair in the mirror, and I - I somehow lost track of time, s-so I accidentally got water on the floor and I’m r-really sorry.”
Master frowned. “You don’t know how long you’ve been here?”
Dirk shook his head. “I…I thought I was someone else,” he admits.
Something seemed to click for Master. And his confusion warped into satisfaction, which was confusing to Dirk, because he thought Master was upset about the floor. “Dirk,” he said, and it was more fond than scolding. “Say my name.”
“…Master?”
“That’s my title,” Master corrected. “Try again.”
Dirk thought for a moment. And eventually, a name rose from his memories, breaking through the mindless haze of obedience.
“…Teddy.”
“Correct.”
Teddy smiled and cupped his face. Dirk instinctively leaned into it, allowing himself to close his eyes for a moment with a relieved sigh. He suddenly felt exhausted, like he had been running away from something chasing him, and now his heart was still pounding, his legs threatening to give out.
“You will always be my pet, Dirk,” Teddy reassured him, easing him over to the bed. Dirk sat down with trembling legs. “But you’re also my underboss. My second in command,” the mob boss said, with a hint of pride that made Dirk smile. “You won’t be able to work if you keep getting lost in your thoughts.”
“I’m sorry,” Dirk said, another instinctive apology. But he knew apologies meant nothing without a promise to do better. “I…I won’t use that mirror again. Or any mirror.”
Teddy seemed to accept that. “Unless I tell you to,” he said, because that was always the exception to Dirk’s boundaries. “And that way, I’ll be there to keep you from losing track of time again.”
Victor was called up to Alexi’s office. He expected another night of kneeling next to Alexi while he worked. when he got there Alexi wasn’t at his desk, instead he sat on a couch by the fireplace. Alexi beckoned Victor over. Victor knelt by his side. Alexi played with his hair for a while before suddenly standing up. Victor watched him warily.
“Come here and Lay down on your back.” He said softly
Victor did as he was told. Alexi sat on top of him straddling his waist.
“What are you-“
“Hush.”
Alexi unbuttoned Victor’s shirt. Victor shivered despite the heat of the fire. He followed Alexi’s hand with his eyes as he reached towards the fire. That was when he noticed the branding iron.
“Please don’t” Victor cried “please I’ll do anything you want just please don’t do this.”
Alexi just shushed him. And raised the iron over Victor’s chest, lining it up over his left pec.
“Now don’t move. I want this to come out nice and clean.” Alexi demanded.
“Please don’t” Victor sobbed “please”
All he could do was scream as the blazing hot iron was pressed into his skin. The stench of burning flesh hit him in a wave.
Alexi leaned down and kissed him silencing his cries. It was horrible and disgusting and violating. All Victor could do was let the tears roll down his cheeks as he whimpered into Alexi’s lips. Alexi broke the kiss and licking a stray tear from Victor’s cheek. Victor shivered with disgust.
Alexi sat back up and pulled the iron away then dropped it in a waiting bucket of water.
“Good boy, you took that so well.” Alexi cooed as he ran his hand over the brand.
Victor’s breath caught in his throat at the pain of pressure on the fresh burn.
“I am not your property” Victor seethed “you had no right.”
CW: caretaker new master, pet whump, multiple whumpees, fear of punishment.
=-=
Night looked around the room. Everyone was sleeping in the pile, it was an uneasy sleep, but at least they were together and when someone whimpered scared the others were quick to calm them down.
It’s late. Night thought as he got up —Master Eri said they are allowed to walk, he isn’t being a bad pet, he is just obeying— and walked out of the room. The night would protect him; if anything he could say he was working, and if he was found somewhere he shouldn’t be he could say he heard a suspicious noise there.
The doctor —Sir. Beckett, if Night heard right— had left. Night heard the fight, although he didn’t quite understand, “Why did you call me here if you thought I would hurt them?” the doctor shouted. Maybe master wants you to hurt us. Night thought, it made sense, in truth it was obvious.
“I’m sorry, I just- please I need help!” Master had said, and if Night didn’t know better, he would say his voice was full of despair.
As if humans can even know how this feels! Night stopped in front of the room the youngest was, he had had it too hard already so why? Why is this master picking on him too? There are five other —stronger— pets! Why do they want to hurt the weakerone? The one that can’t survive this much longer!
I heard a suspicious noise, so I went to check in. I heard a suspicious noise, so I went to check in. Night thought his excuses beforehand and he touched the doorknob. Yes, he would still be punished for chasing a nonexistent threat, but he would be punished even more harshly if he were to say he just wanted to check in on the boy.
The door had barely opened when Night regretted his choices. The boy was lying on the bed, apparentlywithout new wounds, but there was a tub going into his nose from somewhere Night had no time to check; the boy wasn’t alone. Bad idea bad idea bad idea idea-
“Night?” Master Eri —who had woken up with the sound of the door being open– asked, rubbing his eyes and making Night wonder: If he just closes the door and hides, would master think he was dreaming when he saw Night?
Master checked on the phone just long enough to look at the time, “Are you working, dear?” he said with a sleepy voice.
“Yes, Sir,” Night lied, almost putting himself on his knees, but master —says— he doesn’t like it when the pets kneel, maybe it’s because he knows that kneeling eases some anxiety, it gives some sense of safety, of being proper; Why would master want them less anxious?
“I… heard a suspicious noise, so I came to check in.”
“Seriously? I didn’t heard anything,” Master Eri said, making Night’s blood run cold; If this excuse don’t work I- “But, well, I was sleeping so I wasn’t really paying attention, thank you for coming to check, Night,” Master smiled, and even if Night didn’t find any of the little signs from when someone is lying, he was still suspicious.
“Is everyone okay?” Master Eri asked getting up, “Maybe I should take a look-”
“No need,” Night cut, swallowing hard at his own bad behavior, but if Master sees everyone on the pile he will be so mad right? Since the pets are comforting each other. Cruel. If Master hadn’t left them this anxious they wouldn’t need comfort to begin with! “They are only pets, sir, they don’t need your attention this late.”
Master frowned, which is odd, humans like when pets talk about how little they are worth. “Still, it’s better to-”
The boy whimpered quietly, making Master’s eyes turn at him. Night tried to ready himself to the sight; the boy would be punished for sure, even if he has no fault, even if it was just a little sounds, even if-
“I’m sorry,” Master said and, for a second, his smile fell and he looked so tired, it was only a second, Master’s usual expression was back, but Night had no doubt about what he saw, “I didn’t pay attention to any of you but him the past days, I- I’m sorry, I’ll do better in the future,” he sat back down, seemly not willing to explain his nonsensical words. “I trust you to keep everyone safe, Night, I know how trustworthy you are.”
The praise got him off guard, making his face go hot.
“I’ll be staying here tonight,” Master continued, looking at the —now silent— sleeping pet.
Night tried to understand the situation, but in the end he is just a stupid pet and whatever master was talking about made little to no sense. But he understood one thing. Master won’t leave the room.
The others would be safe but the smaller, weaker one would be here; on reach, too defenseless and easy to hurt. Night didn’t want to allow that, even if a pet doesn’t really have a choice about anything.
“Then I’ll stay too,” the words left Night’s mouth before he could think about it, he glanced at his owner, but Master didn’t seem angry at that so, against all reason, Night decided to keep talking. “Since I heard the suspicious sound…” he lied, “so it’s safer for you, Sir.”
Master thought about it for a few seconds before nodding tiredly, “I can use some company, thank you.”
Some company… so he really wants something to hurt.
Night walked in after closing the door behind him, he knelt as he was trained, not as gracious as Purple, certainly not so cute as Pink or desparate as Day and Beige, but still submisse, still waiting for a pain he knowshedoesn’t deserve, but that he has no way of stopping.
“You are really kind, Night,” Master said absent-mindedly while patting the pet, who was then too scared to enjoy, in truth this only made his stomach turn, “Try sitting okay?” Master ordered, and Night obeyed, feeling the anxiety increase at the improper and not trained position. Master leaned back on the chair and closed his eyes, “Thank you for coming here, really, I’ll make up for leaving you all alone. I’m just–” he yawned, “–a bit tired now.”
Night noticed that Master had drifted back to sleep, he can do that, he isn’t the vulnerable one, he won’t be hurt no matter what he does. The boy whimpered in his sleep again, he seemed in pain, he wasin pain.
Because we are pets. Night thought, because we must suffer even in our dreams.
It was cold. Whumpee was hovering right in between consciousness and passing out again, but it was cold.They were shivering before they had even come to, their entire body shaking.
A sound accompanied it, accompanied the shaking. It was a clinking sound. A sound that echoed and reminded them of wine glasses at dinner parties. But they couldn’t be bothered to care about that when it was so fucking cold and their head was so heavy and the pressure behind their eyes was building and building into a sizeable migraine.
Squinting, they groaned, clenching their teeth together. A blinding light blocked everything out, seemingly positioned squarely above their line of sight. Instead of trying to see where they were and why it was so cold, they listened, trying to decipher. They could hear talking, muffled albeit.
Their limbs felt heavy too; they couldn’t move. They couldn’t move. They realized came like a punch to the gut and they started thrashing. Their eyes flew open, in spite of the light.
A few different voices spoke at once. Whumpee stopped cold. They recognized one of them, and once their eyes adjusted, their blood went cold.
Whumper stood above them, face unreadable save for a small smile. They leaned in closer, one hand petting them like an animal. The other held a syringe.
“Don’t.” Whumee said, voice strained and mouth dry. They pulled against the restraints, but they held tight. A table, fitted with leather straps. “I’ll fucking kill you. Don’t you dare-”
They felt the tell-tell pinch in their neck, felt the sting. Only moments later, they could feel their body going slack. Their breath slowed. Or maybe the world did. Things tipped out of proportion, colors leaking into each other just a little.
A soft groan left their mouth as they focused on staying awake. They couldn’t quite remember why they needed to stay awake, only knew that they did. They needed.. they needed…
—
Whumper chuckled as Whumpee’s body relaxed, betraying them. A second or two later, their eyes took on a glazed over look, one that said Whumpee was utterly gone. Maybe even comeplety blacked-out at this point.
“So sorry for the inconvenienc, ladies and gents.” They capped the syringe and stuffed it in their pocket. “This one is unusually hard to keep sedated, but they are a pretty one, aren’t they?” Whumper said, tilting their head from side to side for the party-goers to ogle.
CW// Dehumanization, it as a pronoun, pet whump, self harm
It had stopped being human a long time ago. It had turn into just a battery for whatever plans his Master had. It was a tool and without a Master, its life has no meaning or direction. A complete waste of space.
A waste of space doesn´t deserve a bed of newspaper to sleep and rest, nor does it deserve to eat or have a name. A waste of space doesn´t get to have the collar Master gave it as proof of their ownership.
The battery decides its not needed to take off the collar to burn it from where it hangs against its throat. Such considerations are reserved for humans, but just brushing their fingertips against the lock makes it immediately drop its hands back to its sides.
No, no. No touching. Merely hours away from Master and it has forgotten already? No. Can´t break Master´s rules even if they don´t want to be its Master anymore.
But then, now that it’s been abandoned, is it allowed to touch? Or is it not allowed? Would it be punished for keeping it? Which is the correct answer? It doesn’t know.
See? That´s why a battery needs a Master. It is no longer a human that can take decisions by himself, so in the midst of its confusion, it notices it has become night and gives up in coming up with an answer it’s not capable of getting before it crawls into an empty, knocked over, metal container.
– tw;; pet whump, captivity whump, multiple whumpees, caretaker new master, mild angst (?), references to training, long paragraphs –
I think there was something you saw, walking down that street. You were staring endlessly, breathlessly, until you inhaled sharply. Stabbing through my thoughts like a dull knife and pulling down to make me see the tears wetting your shirt. I reached out to dry it off, to make the stain disappear before Master came back. You turned to me but never met my eye and I apologized. You weren’t quiet. You were crying, right on my shoulder where the tears moved to fall on my sweatshirt. The one you gave me that night, when I was covered in water. And blood. The blood still stained because you couldn’t wash it out. Master said it was fine. He’d buy a new one. But I denied. I denied because I was scared that the new one would get stained the same way. He nodded with a fake smile. I wish his smile was more like yours. Warm and familiar. Yours is sweet and real. Calm and soothing. Adjective and adjective. Theres too many ways to describe how I feel about you. There’s been many ways others have described how they feel about me. None of those could apply to you. For you, the opposite is real. I wish today was the opposite, so that you’d be smiling again. Smiling and telling me how you thought the bug you saw on a leaf in the garden had cute horns. They weren’t horns, Master corrected you. I don’t care what they are, or what they’re called. But in the moment I wish I did.
If I told you all I knew about the bugs in the garden, would you look in my eyes and smile again? Or compliment me on my knowledge of animals? Perhaps that would distract you from the pain you are in. I distract myself with thoughts. Endless thoughts that endlessly run through my mind. They pause when you look at me, and huff with a smile. I don’t know why you huff. Are you the one running through my mind? It feels like you’ve been occupying a space in my head all along. A space I thought would remain empty. I shouldn’t think. My thoughts are always wrong. That’s what the trainers said. And repeated. They always repeated it. They repeated it until I repeated it. I have too many thoughts. I think too much. That’s what they always say. No. No not the trainers. The people. The people you stare at so intently when they walk by on the street. The ones that made you cry when you looked at their faces but I didn’t know why. Why would you cry looking at someone without a face? Maybe you don’t like faceless people. If you don’t like faceless people then why don’t you look at me? I have eyes you can stare at, a nose you can touch yours with and lips that allow us to talk.
I want you to stare at me. I need you to look in my eyes with that deep gaze you always seem to have. You’re always looking. You’re attentive and alert. Your mind isn’t occupied by unnecessary thoughts like mine. You didn’t need to be told to stop thinking because your mind doesn’t hold your thoughts but your eyes do. They don’t look at your eyes the way you look at theirs. And mine. You look at mine so differently. I don’t want them to look deep into your eyes and occupy place in your mind. I want to take a spot in your mind the same way you took one in mine. Or perhaps I’m incapable of that. You’re capable of so many more things. You know what to do and when to do them. You follow the commands of the faceless people so much better then I do. If I claim a spot in your mind, can I learn to be so great? Perhaps you’ll look deep in my eyes and teach me.
I want you to open your eyes and allow me to dry the tears running down your cheeks. They fall past your lips like they aren’t there. I see its there. You use it to talk to me, and tell me how I feel. You know how to do that. You’re good at telling me what is important to think because I think too much and those thoughts trample over what is important for me to know. You tell me I need to know my emotions. You said you would help me know. I want to know your emotions. I want to know how you feel, how you think and how you’re so good. When I cry you hug me and tell me its alright. I do the same for you. I hold you closer and closer. Your hair is getting in my eyes and mouth but I do not know if I should care. I decide not to care. You hug me back, the weight of your arms keeping me connected to the ground and reminding me to care about the cold tiles beneath us and the footsteps that echo off it. But I chose not to care about our Master crouching down beside you, slowly petting your head. I want to be the one doing that but I didn’t think of doing that because nobody told me I needed to.
I think you’re important enough to care for me to about. You’re important enough for me to care about. You’re important. You’re important to me. Am I important to you? Do you think about me? Am I important enough to think about? Am I important enough for you to care about? Or are those thoughts about me a discard-able thing like I am. Will you discard me from your mind? Will you push me away and look me in my eyes while telling me that I’m no longer fun? People have told me that many times. It’s okay. You can be honest. You can tell me how you feel. I need to know how you feel. I need to know that you’re alright. Or that you’re not, so I know to make you feel alright. Your words make me feel okay. I hope mine do the same for you.
Everything had settled perfectly before Eddie had left; or so he thought. He was making jokes about losing his own head and basically told Riley not to worry about it. Lost or stolen, either way, he still went out regardless. Had his cake and ate it too.
“They were in the basket weren’t they?”
“Yeah, they were there this morning, but they were absolutely not there last night when I was searching.”
So if he had them now what’s there to solve? Unless- “Did someone blame me?"
His petless friends could tell all the horror stories they wanted.The only person whose opinion Eddie wouldn’t be able to shake would be the person who’s lived it first hand, which brings Riley to wonder- how many of Max’s belongings had gone missing since Carlo’s arrival?
"No that’s not- it just seems odd that-”
“You think I stole them?” Riley lets his voice wavers and forces a tremble through his fingers as he weakly raises his hand to his mouth in disbelief.
“No Riley I’m not-” Eddie backtracks. He rubs his eyes behind his glasses like he did when exhausted from a task he had to see all the way through.
“I told you that I saw you take them into the kitchen.”
“Right,” Eddie adds in a flat, unsympathetic tone. At this point Riley knew how sorry he’d have to make him feel to get out of this.
He felt no joy in hurting Eddie. In a perfect world he would stay home- maybe even take Riley with him to flaunt the way Max did. Maybe he couldn’t read as well as Carlo but he knew about Pulp Fiction and Kill Bill. Sure he didn’t know how to drive or drink so well but he could learn any game from hearing the instructions once. If he can use that pain, hurting Eddie won’t be so hard.
“I scoured the house. I looked everywhere while you were gone,” hours and hours alone and waiting “They’d fallen between the fridge and counter… I-I moved the fridge and got them for you so you’d have them for next time you went out.” Which will be soon, I assume, and without me “I put them in the basket like I said I would. I would never do anything to…” Riley’s chest starts to tighten for real. “I was trying to be a good pet for you, Sir. I’ll do better. I won’t let anything go missing e-ever.”
“I… I don’t just need them for going out, Ry. I need them for work and bills and my ID. I’m not… I didn’t mean to accuse you of anything…”
Did Eddie even hear him? Was it just his stupid things he cared about? Wasn’t Riley just another one of his stupid things? Would Eddie even care if he went missing?!
“Riley?” Eddie lays his hand on Riley’s shoulder, scaring him out of his daze.
“Ah!… Will you punish me?” Riley blurts. This should get his attention.
“What!?”
Riley tucks his hair back, baring his face. His chin trembles, eyes squeezed shut, shoulders dropped, offering himself to be hit.
“I’m ready, sir.”
“Hey! Nononono that’s not what’s happening!”
“But you want to. Because you’re angry with me.” Riley imagines what it would be like. If Eddie found it fun he could invite all his friends over to show him off. They could take turns knocking him around. He couldn’t see Eddie letting it get too out of hand. Nothing worse than the state home.
“Absolutely not. I would never hit you. C'mere.” Eddie pulls the boy into a sudden hug that knocks some wind out of Riley on impact. “And don’t call me ‘Sir’, okay?” He adds, resting his chin atop Riley’s head for good measure. Now he’s made it in the clear.
“You moved the fridge?”
Riley nods against Eddie’s soft shirt, burying himself in the smell of home. Their detergent, their food, last night’s aftershave, all amplified by Eddie’s sleep warmed body.
“Was it heavy?”
“Yeah,” he adds pitifully. “I hope I didn’t break it. The milk was warm this morning.” Eddie pulls back gently.
“What now?”
…
“Yup. Looks like it just got unplugged is all.” Eddie replaces the plug and comes out with a sigh, pushing his messy hair back. “We’ll have to go shopping. Start tossing this stuff and I’ll order us some take out.”
Riley sorts through the tepid fridge, dumping spoiled food into the trash. Although his plan had worked- Eddie in the living room ordering them pizza, most likely inclined to rent them a movie as well- Riley felt a heavy pang of guilt that muddied with bitter taste of betrayal from whoever put the idea in Eddie’s head.
Riley!!!! Blurting out something like that for attention!!!??? I am….. actually not surprised but still a bit scandalized. Poor Ry baby. What new tactic is he dreaming up?
Also I love the sort of passive aggressive or maybe just wounded little italics of his thoughts, really highlights Riley’s words versus Riley’s thoughts. Two different worlds here.
CW: captivity, false imprisonment, pet whump, blood, bruising, abuse, beatings, guns, vaguely implied threat of noncon
-
Carlo woke afraid, from dreams that seemed real and surroundings that seemed dreamlike.
The floor left him sore and cold. He shivered, tasting blood and noticing the cut on his lip had left a series of stains on the cement.
As he pushed himself gingerly to sitting, his Master’s heavy black coat slid down his shoulder. Holstrom had placed it over him open like a blanket, keeping him from the worst of the cold.
He sat against the wall and clung to it, wincing at a pain in his ribs.
“Look at me,” Erik said from beside him. Carlo turned his head.
A gentle finger brushed his bruised cheek, traced the unhurt part of his lip as of surveying the damage. “Laying hands on another man’s pet. They ought to be shot in their sleep.”
Carlo shivered. He closed his eyes and leaned into his Master’s touch. Far away a dog was barking. A metal door slammed down the hallway, the clanging wound reverberating through the door that kept them trapped.
“What else?”
Carlo opened his eyes. “Sir?” he whispered.
“What else did they do to you? Those men?”
Carlo swallowed the coppery taste in his mouth. “Nothing.”
The familiar, square fingertips slipped up by his ear and Erik’s palm cupped his hurt cheek, so tenderly it did not press on the bruising.
“Are you sure? I heard them talking.”
“One kicked me,” Carlo said. He didn’t want to seem like he was complaining. His Master had a cut on his eyebrow that had bled and bled, and was swollen now, making one eye appear half shut. But he did not want to lie.
Erik searched his eyes a moment longer. “It’s alright, love. You’re going to be alright. You know that, don’t you?”
Carlo swallowed harder, a painful lump rising in his throat. He had been scared before plenty, entire days in the warehouse he’d been afraid and alone, and he’d been scared when he’d first come to his new home and Erik had slapped him.
But he couldn’t think of a time when he had been this afraid. The men who took them from the back of the car had guns— not handguns like Keith carried at his hip but big guns like in movies, and thick green vests on their chests that made Carlo think they might be soldiers.
Erik sighed, and did something he never did— he took Carlo’s cold hands in his big warm ones and squeezed. “You’re with me, pet. I’m here. Remember that.”
It was such a perfect day, not too warm but no longer as chilly as it had been the past few weeks. Niner lay happily sprawled out on the lawn, soaking up the warm spring sun. The door leading to the backyard opened and the greatest master and owner in the whole world came out of the house. It made the pet grin and scramble up out of the soft grass and crawl over happily.
“Hi Master!” Niner said warmly, pure admiration soaking the two simple words.
“Hey K-9, wanna go to the store with me?” Hayes asked, only now glancing up from his phone.
An eager nod quickly followed from the boy, he loved going on trips no matter how long or short. Soon enough Hayes had gotten the harness on him and they were walking to the car. He tugged eagerly on the lead, nearly dragging his owner to the car.
“Alright, alright. Relax!” Hayes snapped and yanked sharply on the harness, knocking Niner off balance and scraping up his hands and knees.
“I'm…I’m sorry, Master.” Niner said miserably, his heart hurt.
“Whatever, get in the car.” A scowl on Hayes’ face as he opened the car door.
Niner climbed in, curling up on the floor of the backseat, taking up as little room as he could in an attempt to make Hayes happy with him again.
The ride was bumpy, making the pet happy he couldn’t see out the window, it would’ve made him sick and that would’ve made his owner even more upset with him.
The car came to a stop and Hayes got out, the automatic locks engaged. Niner began to paw at the door, sitting up on his knees and watching his beloved owner walk into the store without him. A sad whine escaped his throat, he wanted to go with him.
Minutes passed, it started to get warmer in the car which made the pet start to sweat. Time seemed to drag on and he wasn’t sure if he was imagining it or if the car seemed to warm up even more. He wanted to be good still, be perfect for the most perfect person in the world. Even though his brain was simple, he was beginning to struggle to think the most basic thoughts.
“Master?” He asked to the nothingness of the car interior.
“Yes I’m being good, just like you told me to be.” Niner said warmly, despite being alone.
He looked up at the window, sweat now pouring down his face and arms, it made him giggle. It was like a nice swim in the pool, the water cool against his skin and the warm sun overhead kept him comfortable and cozy.
The car door opened and cool air rushed in, hands grabbing his body and moving him. He laughed and couldn’t understand the silly words the blurry faces around him said.
——————-
“What the fuck in wrong with you?! You left your pet in the car on the hottest day of the year so far??!” The woman who’d dragged Niner from the car snapped at Hayes.
“I didn’t think it was that hot. It’s only spring,” Hayes said, clearly annoyed.
“Yeah and you could’ve killed him!” She yelled as Niner sang complete nonsense that no longer even sounded like words.
“Ugh relax, he’ll be fine.” The man snapped back.
The woman rolled her eyes and doused Niner’s body and face with cool water to bring his temperature down to something more reasonable. She really didn’t want to send the poor pet with this awful man.
Tw/Cw: Pet whump, multiple whumpees, multiple whumpers, held captive, brainwashing, kind of sad ending.
Werner first met Nel during the “revard” time. He and other Trainees “earned for behaving”. He already moved out from the ‘useless defiance’ phase to ‘sad and resigned following orders’. Though he did plan on intentionally failing some task, just to make sure, he’s not reallybreaking.
“Revard” turned out to be some sort of movie night. There were no blankets or snacks like on movie nights he was during his freedom days, but it was a break.
Projector started out and some kid’s show started playing. No, not ‘kid’s show’, it was a damn freaking Pet show. Brightly colored characters, simple dialogue spoken in annoying high-pitched voices and each episode having “a lesson” to it. He almost laughed at himself. What did he expect from the brainwashing facility?
And though he didn’t really want to watch this, there was nothing else to do. And who knows if he won’t be asked about the plot or something? It was still so annoying. He did not need to have the same scene replayed a few times, to follow up on what’s happening, voice acting was stiff and the whole thing was garbage on multiple fronts.
“I’m losing brain cells just looking at this” he said under the breath
“Yeah, that’s the whole point” the person next to him whispered. He jumped, realizing someone had heard him. But to his relief, it turned out it was just another Trainee. Another Prisoner he corrected himself.
Werner smiled and the boy smiled back.
“Nel” he said, pointing at himself. Whisper was so quiet that no one else could hear it, and even Werner wasn’t sure if he heard that or did he read from the lips.
He wanted to answer, but it was just too much of a risk, to chat like that. So he pointed at the floor and traced letters of his name on the ground.
Nel traced them back, and looked at him with “did i got it right” written all over his face. Werner nodded.
That’s how their friendship started.
__________
To be honest, he did not expect to see Nel ever again. The facility was big, and they didn’t get any free time to walk around and conspire.
So when at one meal he felt someone nudging him with elbow, he dismissed it as an accident. But then it happened again and again and he thought someone tried to pick on him. Annoyed, he turned his head and saw Nel smiling at him. He was so surprised he didn’t say anything.
Approaching footsteps janked him out of confusion, and both boys lowered their heads, until the guard went away.
“Didn’t expect see you” Nel said
“Neither,” Werner answered.
Guard was going back now, so they had to stop their chat, and they didn’t say anything to each other until the meal ended.
__________
“was in med school before” he whispered, a few meals later, when they got spots next to each other again.
He thought about what to say a lot. They had time to exchange two to four incomplete sentences at a time, so they had to matter. That would be a good choice, right? A little background and all of that? Werner couldn’t think of any hobbies worth mentioning, and he wanted to mention life before.
“Engineering,” Nel answered.
That was it. Whole conversation to think about. He was in engineering? That must have meant he was probably good with math and that he had a practical mind.
Word to word Werner tried to build Nel’s image in mind.
He was funny, smart and more of a social soul.
That must have been hard on him. Werner was way less needy for human contact and his cell was making him insane. How would that affect someone in greater need of social interactions?
Nel liked music and forest walks.
He tried woodworking before and had a scar from when he fell from a tree in childhood.
Werner awaited every time they would meet again. It was mostly during meals, but they had stumbled onto each other during several other occasions too, and every time, Werner’s mood lifted a bit.
Nel was learning engineering before and even though neither one mentioned it, Werner was sure he wasn’t there voluntarily either.
__________
They got exactly one chance to talk freely to each other.
Werner was in his cell, laying defeated and bruised on the floor, when he saw white light he loathed so much flickering. At first he thought it may be new torture method, forcing him to constantly adjust to changing light, but soon the doors opened and one trainer stormed in. He was wearing a raincoat. It was completely wet, just like his hair and boots.
And the trainer was agitated.
Instantly, Werner knew it was not a part of training.
“Come there” Trainer yelled and he obeyed.
As he was dragged down the corridor, he noticed it wasn’t just his cell that had trouble with the lights.
His mind put the puzzles together. Power issues. The Raincoat. Trainer’s messy hair. There must have been a storm outside. A big storm.
Werner smiled to himself. He almost forgot there was weather outside. How nice it would be to feel the rain and wind on his skin?
He would have to wait for it, though. Right now all he felt on his skin was the concrete floor he was thrown on.
“That’s the last one” harsh sentence was followed by door slam.
Werner looked around. There were a lot of other Trainees there. ‘
that’s the last one’
Maybe it meant that all of them were there? It was plausible.
What’s more, no one was really guarding them.
Trainees could talk freely.
Werner looked around for a familiar face, and…
‘Nel!’ he whisper-called him and made his way through the crowd.
“Here you are!” Nel beamed “do you know what’s going on?”
“I have a suspicion”
It was so weird to be able to talk in full sentences.
There won’t be an opportunity like that second time. They had to make the best of it.
“Nel, listen to me carefully” he grabbed his friend by the shoulders and recited the address “If you ever get out, go there and either meet me or tell my family what happened, okay?”
“Got it”
“Repeat it”
Nel repeated the address
“Can I ask you for the same?” he added
Werner just nodded.
And they stayed together until crisis was gone and facility workers came to separate them.
__________
And then one day, they saw each other for the last time.
They usually meet once every few meals, different groups had different schedules, so it was not a surprise they didn’t get to meet everyday.
dfafhgiprughipuhptuhriphy pain
At first Werner just thought it was a normal break and that they will see each other in a few days.
But then the break was getting longer and longer.
Every meal, every activity in a bigger group he looked for those wavy blonde hair and didn’t see them.
Slowly, the realization settled it.
The realization that it may be the last time.
He saw Nel for the last time, and didn’t even say goodbye, didn’t wish him luck.
He didn’t even give him a last nod or a smile.
It ended… just like that.
With no explanation or notice.
One day they were friends, the other day they were separated forever.
Tw/Cw: Pet whump, multiple whumpees, multiple whumpers, held captive, brainwashing, kind of sad ending.
Werner first met Nel during the “revard” time. He and other Trainees “earned for behaving”. He already moved out from the ‘useless defiance’ phase to ‘sad and resigned following orders’. Though he did plan on intentionally failing some task, just to make sure, he’s not reallybreaking.
“Revard” turned out to be some sort of movie night. There were no blankets or snacks like on movie nights he was during his freedom days, but it was a break.
Projector started out and some kid’s show started playing. No, not ‘kid’s show’, it was a damn freaking Pet show. Brightly colored characters, simple dialogue spoken in annoying high-pitched voices and each episode having “a lesson” to it. He almost laughed at himself. What did he expect from the brainwashing facility?
And though he didn’t really want to watch this, there was nothing else to do. And who knows if he won’t be asked about the plot or something? It was still so annoying. He did not need to have the same scene replayed a few times, to follow up on what’s happening, voice acting was stiff and the whole thing was garbage on multiple fronts.
“I’m losing brain cells just looking at this” he said under the breath
“Yeah, that’s the whole point” the person next to him whispered. He jumped, realizing someone had heard him. But to his relief, it turned out it was just another Trainee. Another Prisoner he corrected himself.
Werner smiled and the boy smiled back.
“Nel” he said, pointing at himself. Whisper was so quiet that no one else could hear it, and even Werner wasn’t sure if he heard that or did he read from the lips.
He wanted to answer, but it was just too much of a risk, to chat like that. So he pointed at the floor and traced letters of his name on the ground.
Nel traced them back, and looked at him with “did i got it right” written all over his face. Werner nodded.
That’s how their friendship started.
__________
To be honest, he did not expect to see Nel ever again. The facility was big, and they didn’t get any free time to walk around and conspire.
So when at one meal he felt someone nudging him with elbow, he dismissed it as an accident. But then it happened again and again and he thought someone tried to pick on him. Annoyed, he turned his head and saw Nel smiling at him. He was so surprised he didn’t say anything.
Approaching footsteps janked him out of confusion, and both boys lowered their heads, until the guard went away.
“Didn’t expect see you” Nel said
“Neither,” Werner answered.
Guard was going back now, so they had to stop their chat, and they didn’t say anything to each other until the meal ended.
__________
“was in med school before” he whispered, a few meals later, when they got spots next to each other again.
He thought about what to say a lot. They had time to exchange two to four incomplete sentences at a time, so they had to matter. That would be a good choice, right? A little background and all of that? Werner couldn’t think of any hobbies worth mentioning, and he wanted to mention life before.
“Engineering,” Nel answered.
That was it. Whole conversation to think about. He was in engineering? That must have meant he was probably good with math and that he had a practical mind.
Word to word Werner tried to build Nel’s image in mind.
He was funny, smart and more of a social soul.
That must have been hard on him. Werner was way less needy for human contact and his cell was making him insane. How would that affect someone in greater need of social interactions?
Nel liked music and forest walks.
He tried woodworking before and had a scar from when he fell from a tree in childhood.
Werner awaited every time they would meet again. It was mostly during meals, but they had stumbled onto each other during several other occasions too, and every time, Werner’s mood lifted a bit.
Nel was learning engineering before and even though neither one mentioned it, Werner was sure he wasn’t there voluntarily either.
__________
They got exactly one chance to talk freely to each other.
Werner was in his cell, laying defeated and bruised on the floor, when he saw white light he loathed so much flickering. At first he thought it may be new torture method, forcing him to constantly adjust to changing light, but soon the doors opened and one trainer stormed in. He was wearing a raincoat. It was completely wet, just like his hair and boots.
And the trainer was agitated.
Instantly, Werner knew it was not a part of training.
“Come there” Trainer yelled and he obeyed.
As he was dragged down the corridor, he noticed it wasn’t just his cell that had trouble with the lights.
His mind put the puzzles together. Power issues. The Raincoat. Trainer’s messy hair. There must have been a storm outside. A big storm.
Werner smiled to himself. He almost forgot there was weather outside. How nice it would be to feel the rain and wind on his skin?
He would have to wait for it, though. Right now all he felt on his skin was the concrete floor he was thrown on.
“That’s the last one” harsh sentence was followed by door slam.
Werner looked around. There were a lot of other Trainees there. ‘
that’s the last one’
Maybe it meant that all of them were there? It was plausible.
What’s more, no one was really guarding them.
Trainees could talk freely.
Werner looked around for a familiar face, and…
‘Nel!’ he whisper-called him and made his way through the crowd.
“Here you are!” Nel beamed “do you know what’s going on?”
“I have a suspicion”
It was so weird to be able to talk in full sentences.
There won’t be an opportunity like that second time. They had to make the best of it.
“Nel, listen to me carefully” he grabbed his friend by the shoulders and recited the address “If you ever get out, go there and either meet me or tell my family what happened, okay?”
“Got it”
“Repeat it”
Nel repeated the address
“Can I ask you for the same?” he added
Werner just nodded.
And they stayed together until crisis was gone and facility workers came to separate them.
__________
And then one day, they saw each other for the last time.
They usually meet once every few meals, different groups had different schedules, so it was not a surprise they didn’t get to meet everyday.
dfafhgiprughipuhptuhriphy pain
At first Werner just thought it was a normal break and that they will see each other in a few days.
But then the break was getting longer and longer.
Every meal, every activity in a bigger group he looked for those wavy blonde hair and didn’t see them.
Slowly, the realization settled it.
The realization that it may be the last time.
He saw Nel for the last time, and didn’t even say goodbye, didn’t wish him luck.
He didn’t even give him a last nod or a smile.
It ended… just like that.
With no explanation or notice.
One day they were friends, the other day they were separated forever.
Star, in her slight drug-induced haze, watches her gorgeous, shirtless husband cook her dinner. They got home from the hospital late last night once her fever had passed, and spent most of today in bed.
In bed with his muscles…
Star shamelessly stares at him and wonders how she got so lucky. He had scooped her out of bed, kissed her on the forehead, and told her he’d make her pasta for dinner, carried her in his strong arms and set her down on the couch. Even though he hates needles, he helped her get her IV connected to her port to run her at-home infusion, draped a flannel blanket over her legs and kissed her again.
He did the buttons on her shirt so she didn’t have to struggle on her own, called Russo and told him they needed time off, tied her hair out of her face with his gentle, giant hands, helped her slide her wedding ring on.
Tonight feels like one of those nights where they’re all too aware of their situation. All too aware of how fragile she is, of how they’re running out of time together. Of how the pills on the table equal extra minutes they’ll get before she has to say goodbye to her true love.
It’s one of those nights where everything is right and wrong at the same time.
She looks up at the fairy lights above her head, at the walls around her. She knows each scuff mark, each picture, each story. Not as well as she knows Cas’s body. Knows the scars and divots and strong curves of muscle. She knows him better than she knows herself, and she loves every part of him.
He dashes some olive oil into a pan and looks back to smile at her.
She grins in return. Her beautiful, wonderful, amazing husband who she belongs to completely, and him to her, body, mind, and soul. Each aspect of their lives, they share.
He can’t promise her forever, but he did anyways in his vows.
Her husband looks unbelievably attractive in a suit, too. He looks attractive when doing anything, though. She just wants him to finish cooking so she can bury herself in his chest and be completely enveloped by her sexy Scottish man.
She’s so in love with him, every aspect of Cassiel Belanger couldn’t be more perfect.
It’s funny, it’s almost as though they were meant to find each other. But she’s never been a big believer in fate. They worked for this. They found each other when they needed it most. 728501 and 496173. Handler Greco’s prized possession and the man who couldn’t seem to forget his name. They found each other through violence, the fight the handlers wanted that never happened.
They found each other on the bathroom floor in the bar, Cas bleeding from the head and Star’s clothes torn apart. They found each other in a hospital room over and over as Star’s health ebbed and flowed. They lost each other in a hospital room too. They lost each other in a warehouse, they found each other in Faraday Abernathy’s mansion bearing more scars than before. They found each other and turned a white room to a street corner to an apartment.
Star holds her regrets so close to her head. She regrets not loving him sooner, she regrets hiding so much from him.
He carries her. He always carries her and he’s never going to stop until she’s gone.
Tonight is just one of those nights where everything feels real.
Her impending fate, a slow, painful death with no way to stop it, just delay the inevitable.
More importantly, though, their love feels real, like she can reach through the air and touch it. Little golden threads connecting her to her husband forever and always.
She can’t let go. She could never but it’s something she has to accept.
Star had accepted it at the beginning, was ready to stop taking her meds and die as quickly as possible. But then she learned that she was allowed to let herself be loved.
Maybe she wasn’t all bad, she wasn’t just a mutt after all.
She has value, and that value was given to her over and over by Cassiel Belanger.
Not many people are lucky enough to find a love like theirs. A love that’s not perfect and quiet but a fiery love, battle tested and hard earned, a love built to last.
Certainly not a pure love with the way she’s staring at him. Cas being shirtless does things to her.
Cas and the lamb, always and forever, forevermore free. The ending she’s always wanted but never thought she was good enough to earn.
When she dies, she won’t remember the bad stuff. Faraday and Rhys, the bar bathroom, her bad decisions made before their marriage, Handler Greco. Dr. Roth said she might lose some of her memory as her disease progresses, and she knows what she needs to hold onto.
It’s little snapshots and little moments in time.
Cas’s face lighting up when they first walked into their apartment.
Buying their first Christmas tree together and decorating it together.
Dancing in their living room to the Beauty and the Beast soundtrack, her standing on Cas’s feet in a yellow sundress, him singing so softly to her.
Cas rushing into her hospital room and doing his best every single time she’s there to make it feel more like home.
Him feeding her soup when her hands are too weak to hold a spoon.
Her burying herself against him, a blanket covering them both up, smelling the forest on his shirt.
Their wedding, seeing her future husband waiting for her after all the times they’ve suffered.
Could a pet, a monster, have loved like this? Could a lab-created dog have such a vibrant life?
No.
It’s through Cas that she realized that she isn’t a pet and never was, that WRU lied to them.
They’re not dogs.
They’re people who love and hurt and cry and smile. Real people who will be missed when they’re gone.
And maybe this feeling of being real can be overwhelming. If one thing is real, it’s all real, the good and the bad.
Overwhelming is good because it reminds her that she’s still here.
“Cas,” she murmurs. “Leave the food.”
He looks over at her in a mix of confusion and worry. She knows what’s going through his mind, the fears that immediately crop up. She could be feeling sick and need to go to the hospital where the doctors will try to rip her away from him again while her body breaks down. She could be denying herself food as a punishment for doing something wrong. Or it could be a flashback or trauma response because she doesn’t eat during those and that’s a whole other set of problems.
She just smiles and reaches her slender, scarred, strong hands out towards him, a bruise still on the back from her IV. “Leave the food,” she repeats. “Leave the food and get your gorgeous self over here to hold your wife.”
Star feels like dancing tonight. She feels like dancing and running and jumping around, but she knows she has limits and tonight? She should just relax and let Cas take care of her.
It was hard to acknowledge that. Hard acknowledging she couldn’t be the fighter she once was. To take that leap…it was painful. She was trained to be better than this. Trained to fight through pain, except when she feels pain, she knows now it’s a sign that something worse could be brewing in her.
Accepting her limits was a good decision. It makes the good days great and the bad days bearable. There’s good in taking a break.
She’ll always be his lamb, no matter what he does.
His lamb in a white t-shirt and black shorts and a collar.
His lamb behind the bar mixing up a drink.
His lamb in a hospital bed, tubes all over her body.
His lamb, forever and always.
Cassiel Belanger, making dinner for her while shirtless because he knows she likes to watch him, smiles at her and kisses her so softly, like she’s the most precious thing in the world.
CW: pet whump, BBU, derogatory language, threat of noncon, sad Star hours
***
“Get in there,” Mr. Bianchi growls, pushing Star into the small closet.
She turns around before she makes it in, growling at him. “No. I don’t want to.”
“Get the fuck in the closet, puppy.”
Star looks out across the hotel room, at Comet and Sunny, who are standing behind Mr. Bianchi. “I thought I was supposed to come with you, Sir,” she whispers, trying to make her voice as sweet as possible, trying to appease him. Anything so she won’t be left alone in the closet.
Mr. Bianchi sighs. “Do you understand where I’m going today? Why we’re here, not at home?”
Star shakes her head. Of course she doesn’t, he doesn’t tell them anything, and if he does, she can never remember it. Too many hits to the head, or something like that.
“Dumb slut.” Mr. Bianchi stares at her, smirking condescendingly. “I have a very important business meeting. One where I’m not renting you and Sunny out, so I want my good pets. The ones who make me proud.”
Both Comet and Sunny look uncomfortable, but they don’t say anything.
Star clenches her hands into fists, setting her jaw and jutting her chin out. “I can be good.”
“Please. You look pathetic like that.” Mr. Bianchi steps forward. “You always say that and you never follow through.”
“Don’t fucking leave me!” Star’s eyes are wild with anger, with fear. Not the closet. Please. She doesn’t want to be alone again. “I’m useful. You like bringing me to these things, I can help you!”
“Only when they want something to use,” Mr. Bianchi hisses. “Like you did for Mr. McIntyre.”
Star’s face flushes, remembering the Irishman and what he did to her…
“Whatever.” Mr. Bianchi takes another carefully measured step forward. “Get in the fucking closet. Don’t make me ask again, or I’ll…”
“You’ll what?” Star snaps, internally cursing herself. If she wants to avoid the closet, to stay with her bonded, she has to be good. She falls to her knees, batting her eyelashes. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me, Sir.”
“You’d be more convincing if you weren’t swearing at me a few minutes ago. If you really want to be sorry, then get in the closet.”
“Please.”
“Would it make you feel better if I let Comet beat you first?”
For the briefest of moments, Star swears she sees revulsion flash in Comet’s eyes, but he schools his face back into neutrality.
Star is well and truly alone, and she focuses back on Mr. Bianchi. There’s no getting out of this, she can tell that much. “What if I run?” she asks, fire in her eyes.
“You’ll run where, puppy?” Mr. Bianchi lets out an amused, barking laugh. “You’ll leave the hotel room and everyone will see what a little slut you are and send you to the pound. If you even get that far. I know you won’t leave Sunny.”
He’s right. She can’t leave her bonded behind and that’s the only thing stopping her from leaving.
“Stop dragging this out and get in the goddamn closet.” He takes another step forward and grabs her collar. Her heartbeat stutters, she can feel his breath on her neck. “Come on, puppy slut. You’re either going to feel so fucking good when I get back—“ His hand dips down, brushing across her ass. “—or I’m going to make your life a living hell and add another scar to that gorgeous, fucked up face of yours.” He grabs her roughly, drawing a yelp from her. “What’s so bad about the closet, hmm? I want the truth.”
Humiliation washes over her, cheeks turning red. “I don’t want to be alone,” she growls. She hates him and she loves him and she can’t lie to him.
“Aw. Poor puppy,” Mr. Bianchi mockingly coos at her. “Get in the closet.”
Star looks at him with bitter fear and anger, her heart dropping as she backs into the closet.
Mr. Bianchi grabs black rope and winds it around her wrists, leaving them bound in front of her. “Get comfortable while I go get the gag,” he says, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. “I need to store my puppy right.”
Star settles, sitting with her back to the side wall and her legs curled into her chest. Deep sorrow is already pooling in her lungs and the door hasn’t even been closed yet.
Comet and Sunny look down at her, not saying anything. She wants them to, wants them to scream and fight back and do *something,* anything to get her out of this.
They don’t move.
Mr. Bianchi comes back with a red ball gag and grips Star’s jaw, forcing her lips to part so he can shove it in her mouth and buckle it behind her head. “Pretty,” he says, brushing back her hair.
The gag is already hurting her jaw, drool dripping down her chin.
Mr. Bianchi backs away, giving Star a smile. “See you in a few hours, puppy.”
There’s no ceremony as he closes the door, just darkness falling over the shaking, scarred body of the pet. Some light peeks through the slats in the wood, but not enough to bring Star any sense of comfort. She doesn’t mind the dark. It’s the loneliness that gets to her in the end.
She hears the door to the hotel room slam shut and knows that she’s well and truly alone. WRU made her need to be touched, made her crave something against her skin, a caress or a fist or a whip. She wasn’t meant for loneliness.
Star tips her head back and starts tapping out a rhythm on the wall. All of her first memories are songs, she doesn’t know why.
A single tear slips down her face, she tongues at the gag. This isn’t her purpose but it has to be now. She was bad and this is what bad pets get.
They have to be alone.
She has to lean how to be alone, so she keeps tapping out the rhythm of the song like she’s drumming with her bound hands.
CW: pet whump, BBU, EXPLICIT NONCON, MINORS DNI, NSFWHUMP, derogatory language, dehumanisation, guns, Rhys is his own content warning, lady whump
***
Rhys is on her in a second, slamming her head against the headboard and wrapping his strong hands around her throat. “You fucking bitch,” he hisses. “You stupid fucking animal.”
A bruise is forming on his cheek, sharp and angry and swollen.
Star laughs. “That hurt, bitch?”
She hates his fucking accent, hates how rough it is in her ear as he growls, “Not as bad as you’re going to be hurting.”
“Isn’t the punishment supposed to fit the crime?”
He slams her into the headboard again. “Oh, you shouldn’t have done that.”
“Didn’t…fucking…do anything, you Irish bastard.”
Rhys starts putting pressure, cutting off her air. “Bitches don’t talk. Bitches get fucked, you cunt.”
Star has given up on surviving this, her bonded is safe and she wants this bastard far, far away from her. “Gonna kill you,” she chokes out.
“No. You’re going to take my cock like the fucked up Romantic you are. Understand?” His grip tightens.
She smirks up at him, her face turning red. “The fuck are you going to do if I don’t listen? Fuck me? Hurt me? You’re going to do that anyways.”
“I’ll take your bonded,” he hisses into her ear. “I’ll take him and I’ll ruin him and I’ll give him back once he’s a fucking shell of who he used to be. I’ll make sure when you look into his pretty eyes, there’s nothing there. He’ll just be a walking corpse.”
Star’s mouth goes dry. “Sir wouldn’t…”
“I wouldn’t test that theory. He gave me you for the night, didn’t he?” Rhys lets go of her throat, roughly grabbing her breast. “I think there’s a lot your Sir is willing to do to have my protection.”
“Your protection doesn’t mean shit, seeing how you got punched by a pet.” She makes a pouty face. “Can’t even protect yourself from a whore like me?”
“That’s right. You are a whore. At least you know that much, you stupid bitch.” Rhys takes his hands off her throat to tie her hands to the headboard and pull out a knife. “I’ll take your bonded. I’ll make him mine. Wipe any thought of you out of his head. Because you’re not actually in love. You’ve just got all those stupid programmed thoughts in your head. I’ll wipe them out. I’ll make him love me.”
“You can’t,” she hisses, fear overtaking her senses.
Rhys begins slicing apart her shirt, baring her skin to him. “Pretty tits.”
“Fuck off.”
“Watch your mouth or I’ll give you something good to do with it.” He pulls the shredded pieces of her shirt away and starts teasing her waistband with the knife. “Let’s see if you’re worth all the stress you cause Hunter, hmmm? If you’re a good Romantic slut. Because you’re sure not a worthy one.”
She spits in his face. “Your definition of worthy is fucked.”
Pure rage shoots through his eyes, and he reaches up to wipe the spit off his cheek. “Stick your fucking tongue out, cunt,” he growls. “Or I’ll fuck you with my knife and make your bonded watch.”
Star can barely comprehend the terror rushing through her, but shakily, she sticks her tongue out.
Rhys sets the knife down, pulling out a gun and turning the safety off. “Go ahead. Lick the gun.” He puts it out, rubbing it against Star’s tongue.
The bitter taste of the metal makes her gag, but she gives the gun kitten licks. Her gaze is angry and defiant, and she looks at Rhys, trying to let him see that she won’t break.
Rhys laughs. “Good cunt.” With no warning, he shoves the gun into her mouth. “Hold it. If you drop, your bonded is mine.”
Star gags at the intrusion, but closes her lips around the metal obediently. She doesn’t want to die, and even more, she doesn’t want Sunny to break.
Rhys roughly yanks her panties down, picking his knife back up to trace the crease of her thigh. “Now I see why you’re a Romantic.”
She glares at him. She can take this, it’s what she’s meant for.
Rhys undoes his pants, lining himself up with her entrance. “Don’t drop the gun. Or…”
He doesn’t need to finish his sentence.
Rhys thrusts in and Star bites down on the gun, metal scraping her teeth. Fulfilling her purpose for Sir. Like she’s meant for.
***
“Was she good?” Mr. Bianchi asks Rhys.
Rhys shrugs. “Tight. Defiant, but I fixed that.”
“What’d you do?”
“Put a gun in her mouth.”
“That’ll shut the whore up.” Mr. Bianchi finally looks over at the corner of the living room, where Rhys had discarded Star after using her. “Time to go home, puppy. Your bonded is in the car.”
Sunny. Star perks up at that, dragging herself to her feet, her inner thighs still sticky with Rhys’s spend.
Mr. Bianchi clips a leash to her collar. “Call me about our business deal tomorrow morning.”
“Sure. Thank you.”
Mr. Bianchi nods and pulls Star out the door. “Finally, you didn’t get a bad report.”
“Because he’s fucking terrifying,” she whispers, voice hoarse from the gun.
He slaps her across the face. “Dumb bitch.”
Star is tossed backwards by the hit, and he takes the chance to throw her into the car and climb in after her. He taps on the slide to let the driver to start going.
Star grabs onto Sunny, holding him tightly. “Don’t ever leave me,” she whispers. He’s here. He’s okay. She was good enough to save him this time.
“I, I won’t,” he responds, gently rubbing her back.
She did it. She kept him safe, no matter how ruined it made her. Star tightens her grip, trying to ignore the watchful, lustful gaze of Mr. Bianchi.
They all know what’s going to happen when they get home.
CW: lady whump, BBU, pet whump, burning, dehumanisation
***
Star is on autopilot. There aren’t enough customers for her to stay focused, and her head is throbbing with a dull ache.
Cas has already started cleaning the kitchen for the night. Star listens to him singing while he works, smiling at the sound. That’s it. If she focuses on his voice, maybe the pain will disappear.
She’s so enthralled by his beautiful singing that she doesn’t notice the new customer at the end of the bar until the woman clears her throat.
Star throws her towel over her shoulder and walks over. “What can I get you?”
“728501, right?”
Star freezes. 728501. It’s been…three months, roughly, since she and Cas escaped. Three months isn’t long enough for her body not to react to the numbers. Slowly, she raises her head to meet the woman’s eyes. “Handler Reyes.”
Handler Reyes smirks. “501. Greco’s been so damn angry since you’ve been gone.”
“G-good,” Star stammers out, trying to keep her bearings despite the world crumbling around her. Handler Reyes wasn’t her primary, but the woman had helped Handler Greco with some of her training. Star remembers the pain left in the wake of the woman’s baton, the bruises and welts and shocks and blood, red against the white floors. “Why are you here?”
“Believe it or not, pet, I’m here to get a drink. Seeing you is just an added bonus.” Handler Reyes drums her fingers on the tabletop. “I’ll have an old fashioned.”
Star puts the sugars and bitters into a rocks glass, keeping her eyes on Handler Reyes. She can’t let her know that Cas, another escaped pet, is just in the kitchen, oblivious to what’s happening at the bar. She can suffer, but she won’t let Cas be taken back there. He deserves to be free, he’s not meant to live in captivity.
She’s a mutt. Her freedom doesn’t matter.
“Greco has been…well, right after they found out you escaped, he put a Guard Dog in a coma. Kid wasn’t going to make it out of training anyways, but still. I’ve never seen him that mad.” Handler Reyes looks at Star’s shaking hands. “Trouble?”
“Yeah, I’m having trouble,” Star snaps, adding water to the glass and stirring to dissolve the sugar. “Are we really going to play this game?”
“What game, 501? I just want my drink.” Handler Reyes leans back in her chair, crossing her arms across her chest. “One of my friends recommended this place to me. Said the bartender wasn’t half bad and the cook was pretty good. Where is he, anyways?”
“Manager sent him home early.” Star can’t breathe, frozen in place with the glass in her hand. “It’s just me tonight.” She has to protect Cas. “And stop playing games with me.”
Handler Reyes shrugs. “I’m not playing games, you dumb mutt. I just got off of work and I want a drink. That’s it. I’d fix that attitude of yours, 501, or I’ll have to punish you.”
Star glares at her. “I’m going to get punished anyways once you bring me back, so fucking do it, you coward.”
There’s a moment of silence before Handler Reyes bursts into laughter. “You’re still a spitfire. Even when you’re not in a white shirt and black shorts with a collar around your neck.”
Star snarls, her heart racing, but she adds large ice cubes to the glass with shaking hands and selects a high proof bourbon. Three months. That’s all she got. Three months of happiness.
It’s not long enough to satisfy her, but it’s long enough that she knows going back is going to hurt so much worse, knowing what she could have instead.
For the first time since she’s seen Handler Reyes, Star looks over at the kitchen, where Cas is cleaning away, still singing.
He doesn’t know. He’s going to walk out once he’s done and find nothing but an empty bar, nothing but an empty space where a mutt used to be. She has to hope, though, that he can move on. That he’ll find something and some reason.
She has to leave some kind of sign, something to let him know that she didn’t just leave him, that she was taken.
The image of Cas thinking she left because of him hurts her more than the idea of going back to WRU.
Is that…tears are building in her eyes. Star brushes them away and pours the bourbon. “So take me back. That’s how this ends, right? Handler Greco gets his spitfire mutt back in a collar and on her knees?”
“No.”
Star’s eyes widen. “What?”
“Keep stirring my drink, 501. My, my. It’s taking you an awful long time to make a simple cocktail.”
“Because you’re a goddamn Handler,” Star retorts, stirring the drink obediently. “I can’t fucking focus because the last time I saw you, you were bashing my face in with an electric baton.”
“Good times, 501. Good times.”
Star adds the orange to the drink and slides it across the bar. “So how do you want this to go? I’d prefer quietly, and I’ll come without a fight.” She has to protect Cas at all costs.
“Please. If I was going to take you back to WRU, I would have already.” Handler Reyes takes a sip of the drink. “Mm. Good job, 501. You make a mean cocktail. Throw a mean punch too. A natural Guard Dog.”
“So then just get this over with!” Star roars, slamming her fist against the counter. “Fucking take me back to Handler Greco already!”
Handler Reyes wrinkles her nose. “See, that’s the problem. The only reason I’m not dragging you back to WRU by that pretty brown hair of yours is because I’ve got a bone to pick with Devin Greco and you back in his arms would bring him far too much pleasure for my liking.”
Star grips the edge of the bar, knuckles turning white. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not. That fuck Devin Greco walks around thinking he’s the founder of life as we know it. Getting you back would make him even more smug, somehow, and I couldn’t handle that. Plus, he’d probably just buy you himself so you could never leave.”
Star’s heart skips a beat. “B-buy me?” Not Handler Greco. Not the man who did nothing but drug and beat her and say it was for her own good.
“Oh yeah. He’s obsessed with you.” Handler Reyes takes another sip of her drink. “God, this is good. If you weren’t so feral, I would have put you as a Domestic.”
Star is speechless, her eyes wide and her breath coming quickly.
Handler Reyes chuckles. “You’re terrified, aren’t you? I miss hearing your screams coming from Greco’s training room. And as much as I hate that man, he got the most delicious sounds from you. Do you still know your positions, trainee?”
Star nods, her whole body trembling under Handler Reyes’s cold stare.
“Position six.”
Star’s arms move on their own, extending all the way out with her wrists together, right in front of Handler Reyes.
“Good mutt.” Handler Reyes digs around in her purse. “Do you think I can get a scream out of you?”
Star’s mind immediately shoots to Cas. If he hears her scream, he’ll come running out, and Star doubts that Handler Reyes won’t send him back to Handler Rowan. “No, Handler.”
“We’ll see.” Handler Reyes pulls out a lighter. “This way, I can scar you all I want and not get busted for damaging the merchandise.”
She has to be strong, she has to take this for Cas. “Will you tell Handler Greco you found me?” she asks, fear in her voice.
“Maybe. Maybe not. But first—” Handler Reyes opens the lighter, and a bright flame ignites. “You’re going to burn for me, pretty thing.”
Star bites down on her lip as Handler Reyes brings the lighter closer and closer to the underside of Star’s forearm, watches with building anticipation and a sick feeling in her stomach as she can feel the heat on her skin.
The flame makes contact with her skin, and Star barely manages to contain her whimper. The pain is immediate, searing, and Star wants nothing more than to pull away from the fire. But she holds her position, even as she can smell her own skin burning, mixed with the smell of the bar.
Handler Reyes takes a sip of her drink, tracing the lighter around a small portion of the back of Star’s forearm. “One hell of a bartender, 501.”
Star grits her teeth, tears building in her eyes from the bitter pain. “That’s not my fucking name.”
“It’s what your barcode says. It’s the only thing that matters.”
“Why don’t you do me a favor and burn the barcode off? I’m not a pet. I don’t need it anymore,” Star hisses.
“You’ll need it one day. You’re still just a mutt.” Handler Reyes smirks. “I think you like it, too. The barcode. Belonging somewhere. So no. I won’t burn the barcode off. But I’ll burn the rest of this pretty skin until I get the sound I want.”
“Fuck you.” The pain builds, and Star feels her skin slowly being destroyed. She’s going to be sick. But she can take it, she has to take it.
Handler Reyes doesn’t say another word, Star keeps her screams smothered, and in this silence, she can hear Cas singing away in the kitchen, unaware of how well Star burns. Good. He needs to stay that way at all costs.
The seconds stretch into minutes and the minutes stretch into hours and what must be an eternity of pain passes before Handler Reyes puts the lighter away and goes back to her drink.
Star doesn’t move.
“Impressive. Even the best Guard Dogs I’ve trained would have pulled away, or at least shed a tear.”
Star stares at the far wall, her lip trembling. She’s just a mutt. She’s supposed to take it.
Handler Reyes finishes her drink and slides the empty glass across the counter along with a ten dollar bill. “Keep the change.”
She didn’t say to release position, so Star stays still as a statue.
Handler Reyes pulls out her phone and snaps a picture of Star’s arms, making sure to get her barcode and numbers in the shot. “Just in case Greco gets on my nerves. Relax, 501.”
Star gingerly brings her arms back to her sides, the pain making her eyes misty.
“Go clean yourself up. Don’t worry. I won’t come back again. You’ve served your purpose.” Handler Reyes stands up, looking Star over. “Not a scream. Damn. You really are a cold and calloused mutt.”
“Yes, Handler,” Star whispers.
“Good mutt.” With that, Handler Reyes walks out the door, leaving the smell of burning skin behind.
Star runs over to the sink, letting cool water rush over the burns. It helps, a little, enough that she’s able to bite back her cry of pain when she puts a jacket on. Cas can’t know what happened here.
There’s things to do. Glasses to wash, liquor to organize and label, drink mix to throw away.
Star stands in place, staring out on the bar.
Something wet runs down her cheek.
She’s crying.
Just like that, Star is crying. From the pain and the humiliation and the knowledge that she’s just a mutt and she’ll never be anything more. Just a mutt. Just a toy.
She twists a towel around her hands until she cuts off her own circulation and silently, she cries, tears streaming freely down her cheeks.
She breaks. She rebuilds. She repeats.
And she pushes it all down the minute she hears Cas call out for her, wiping away her tears with the sleeve of her jacket. “Coming, Cas,” she says, keeping her voice neutral.
He can’t know how close he was to going back, what Star just let happen to her. He can never know. It’s just the way it is. She has to keep him safe.
She doesn’t know why, but she’s drawn to him like nothing she’s ever felt, so she has to keep him safe.
It’s what good mutts do.
It’s what good people do, too, and Star is a mix of both these days.
CW: pet whump, BBU, lady whump, stabbing aftermath, PTSD flashback, self-hatred, dehumanization, memory gaps, complex feelings around trauma and bonded whumpees, idk how to tag this
***
Star had to stitch up her own wound. Unravel the bottom of a towel, thread a needle she’s used one too many times, and weave it around the wound to stop the bleeding before she passed out. She’s done this before, she knows she has. The scar on the other side of her torso that she doesn’t remember getting tells her a story of its own.
She’s done this before.
Push the needle in and out of skin, try to ignore how her nerves feel like they’re on fire, try to ignore the images flashing in her head nonstop. Sunny, coming at her with a knife.
She loves him. She still does.
She loves him even though she can’t stop seeing the way his face looked the moment before he plunged the knife in. Determined, almost. Like he wanted to do it.
But that…it’s pulling up things she’s not supposed to know, false memories that are just a natural part of training. They’re just false memories.
That dark hallway, the glint of a knife as someone approaches her…it’s just false memories. A communal bathroom, blood on her hands and the smell of death in the air…it’s just false memories, false memories, it’s all false memories.
She doesn’t realize she’s hyperventilating until she feels like she’s running out of oxygen, finds herself on her hands and knees, sweaty forehead pressed to the wooden floor, teeth gritting together.
501, you’re fucked in the head, you know that?
How did she get back to the pet room from the bathroom, she doesn’t remember putting a white bandage over the stitches. She’s losing time, losing time, losing time, she’s remembering things that shouldn’t be there.
501, you’re fucked in the head, you know that?
Loud music, drums and guitar and someone singing but the drums stop and she’s on her knees and she can’t breathe, she’s not supposed to remember any of this. False memories, false memories for her stupid bad mutt brain.
How can Sunny love her when she’s fucked in the head, you know that?
Does he even love her?
She would have stabbed herself if he had asked. She once was a Guard Dog, she could have done it right, made sure nothing bad happened to her organs, made sure the wound was just enough to stop her stupid mutt paws from hurting Mr. Bianchi but not so bad that Star swears she heard the knife scrape bone.
She’s supposed to think about her bonded to calm herself down. Supposed to focus on her beautiful Sunshine’s face, but now that face is connected to the gleam of a knife and the gleam of a knife is connected to a dark hallway and the rotting stench of infection and blood and sweat and something darker, low throbbing energy that makes her want to stand up and scream. It’s a pulse of violence, the desire to crack her hands against a brick wall, adrenaline coursing through her along with a twisting sense of dread.
She can feel phantom hands pulling her along, phantom hands kicking and clawing and punching at her and the distant, false memory of her own hands pushing back, of her own lips pulling up into a satisfied snarl and she’s lying on her back now, gasping for breath and whining softly.
Phantom pain on her body…not her body, Mr. Bianchi’s body, Sunny’s body, just a vessel for her stupid mutt brain.
What are you what are you what ARE you, girl
I’m your worst goddamn nightmare
“I’m a mutt,” she whispers into the nothingness.
“I, I’m b-back.”
Star props herself up on her elbows and looks at him but his face makes her think of the knife and the knife makes her think of her false memories and this is a bad night, bad pain night with her head splitting itself open.
She turns away and doesn’t say a word because the face that brought her so much light and joy is just sending her down dark hallways and false memories and things that just show how she’s a stupid bad mutt.
501, you’re fucked in the head, you know that?
He’s crouching down next to her and whispering something and Star is everywhere and nowhere all at once, the pet room and Hunter’s bedroom and the Facility and dark hallways that are just her false memories.
She whimpers, she’s not angry anymore, she’s in too much pain and too tired.
She does so much to protect him. She tries her hardest and she takes all the punishments she can because she understands how her owner operates beyond just wanting to please him. She knows he’ll hit them anyways but if she can divert his attention and take all the pain no matter what it is, maybe Sunny won’t become a stupid ugly mutt like her.
She has to talk to him, though, she’s bound by chemical need and what WRU made her into. “You hurt me,” she says, her voice hoarse from holding back her screams when she sewed herself up.
“I, I know.”
She keeps her eyes closed, can’t look at his face, can’t look at his face and she can’t explain why the idea of that fills her with fear. Her skin is cold and clammy and it’s like she’s holding onto a ledge that’s crumbling underneath her fingertips.
She’s not allowed to let go.
Falling means death, fists pounding into her face that won’t stop or Handlers with drugs and batons or Hunter with his whip or Sunny with his knife. Falling means failure and failure means death.
“You hurt me,” she repeats.
“Y-you were, were going to h-hurt Sir.”
It’s supposed to be so plain and simple but it’s not, it’s not and the ledge crumbles a little more.
501, you’re fucked in the head, you know that?
“Okay,” she whispers. “I fixed my own wound, in case you were wondering. You didn’t ask but I’ll tell you anyways. I sewed my own wound shut.” She tries to hang onto her own words, tries to pull herself off the ledge but her muscles are so weak.
“I h-had to do that,” he whispers.
She doesn’t look at him but she can still feel him tense, she feels his heartbeat and his anxiety like it’s her own.
“Why?”
It’s one word.
One word that seems to such all the life out of the air.
So she repeats it.
“Why?”
One word and it’s a death sentence, one word and Star feels like her ribs are going to cave in.
She’s searching for something that doesn’t exist and they both know it. Looking for a light in a darkness that isn’t there.
“I h-had to.”
“That’s not an answer.” She’ll always be the bad pet, the pet full of hatred and anger, the discount mutt. She knows that won’t change. But he could talk to her. Please. She can’t take all the pain on her own, she needs to be helped up from the ledge even though she’s a stupid mutt who doesn’t deserve it.
“Can, can we just g-go to bed? Sir h-h-hit me.”
Compartmentalize. Push it all down and learn how to deal with it. She doesn’t have another choice. She has to pull herself up the ledge again even though she doesn’t even understand where she is. Her and the world and a foggy pane of glass but leaving her eyes closed feels like safety. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs to him.
“It, it’s okay.” She feels him snuggle up to her and she winces from his bony elbow pressing into her wound.
“You stabbed me,” she reminds him, her heart racing in her chest. Hands on her is bad, she has to fight and win but she can’t. It’s her bonded, she can’t hurt him. “How?”
“Because you, you threatened S-Sir.”
“But I’ve tried to hurt you before and it didn’t work.” Eyes still closed and she’s slipping under again. “Even when Sir told me to, it didn’t work.”
“C-can we go to bed?” Sunny asks, his voice a little more insistent.
“I don’t think the knife hit anything major,” Star responds. “If you were wondering.” It’s almost like he’s forgotten but Star is still dangling from the ledge.
“Oh-okay.”
It’s with her eyes still closed that Star crawls over to the sheets, her wound burning, and falls over, panting.
Sunny’s right there, curling up next to her.
Another brief moment of silence before he speaks again. “I d-did it because you were thinking bad, bad thoughts and I needed to f-fix you before you, before you did something stupid.”
“Right. Because I’m just a stupid mutt.”
Sunny nods and a tiny part of Star shatters.
“N-night, S-Star,” Sunny whispers, holding her to him.
It hurts, but she doesn’t say no. He corrected her behavior once, she doesn’t want him to do it again. Pets can’t say no.
CW: pet whump, BBU, facility whump, lady whump, nonsexual partial nudity, dehumanization, possesive whumper
***
“Lift in three…two…one.” Devin Greco lifts up one side of 728501 while another Guard Dog handler, Analyn Reyes, grabs the other side of her. Together, they move the trainee onto a metal table, her pale skin almost sickly in the harsh lighting. Greco looks down at her, smirking. “You’re good, Analyn. I don’t need you anymore.”
“I want to stay,” Analyn says, her voice smooth. She moves to stand by the wall. “You’ve talked so much shit about how you got this trainee, I want to see what’s under the surface.”
“We’re lucky she’s drugged.” Greco starts stripping 501 down to her undergarments. “Since you’re here, grab the clipboard and start taking notes.”
When he’s got 501 out of her clothes, his eyes go wide. “Holy fuck.” 501’s got some scars on her, some injuries that he didn’t find during intake, hidden by that stupid baggy shirt she was wearing when he grabbed her. She’s only been at WRU for two days, not long enough for all the marks to heal, and certainly not long enough for some of these scars to fade.
“What?” Analyn asks.
Greco gives her a long look. “You can come see, but don’t get too handsy.”
“Don’t worry, I don’t want to get too close to the fucking mutt,” Analyn says, walking back over. “Holy shit.”
Greco smirks. “Told you. Alright, let’s get this started before she wakes up and starts trying to bite. Hands are—”
“Start from the head and work down,” Analyn says. “Head, neck, torso, arms, legs.”
He glares at her. “Fine.” He turns all of his attention back to the pet on the table, reaching out to push her brown hair out of her face with his gloved hands, already planning her next punishment. “Tiny, tiny scar on her right temple. Practically unnoticeable.”
“Got it,” Analyn says.
“Nose is crooked by…not much. Maybe half a degree. Shouldn’t be noticeable to any perspectives. Hell, I think it gives the kid some character.”
“Leave the personal comments out of it,” Analyn says.
Greco rolls his eyes. Analyn Reyes is a good Guard Dog Handler, but she’s all protocol, no fun. Doesn’t bend the rules, not even with something like 501. The rules are meant to be broken when it comes to a feral, gorgeous mutt like her. “Faint scar on cheekbone, bruise on jaw,” he calls out. “My girl’s a spitfire.”
“Your girl is going to be a fucking menace, based on what you’ve told me so far.” Analyn taps her pen against the clipboard. “Need me to take the collar off so you can look at her neck?”
“No. I saw it when she came in. There’s nothing there.”
“You mean when you had her tied to a chair for days trying to see to see if she would break.”
“I’m glad she didn’t,” Greco murmurs, tracing his fingers across the trainee’s shoulders, admiring the strong muscles there. “I’m going to make her crumble into a million different pieces so I can be the one to tape her back together.” He pulls his hand away, only to slap her across the face.
Analyn makes a face, seemingly annoyed. “Next thing?”
“Worried she’s going to wake up?” He shoots her a smug smirk. “I want to see what the kid was hiding from me during intake. All the damage that this body has taken.” He runs his gloved hands down her torso, lingering on a wicked two inch long scar, tiny dots from stitches on either side. “Well, hello there,” he says, running his hand over where the scar divots into her skin. “Kid got stabbed.”
Analyn looks over. “Seems like it.”
Greco’s eyes lock back onto the sleeping face of 501. “What else are you hiding, Marlow?”
“728501,” Analyn corrects.
“Does it matter? I like knowing her name. Makes it so much better looking at her now.”
“Anything else on the torso?”
“Relax, Analyn.” Greco puts his thumb against 501’s lip, parting them. “I think she’d look amazing with some metal fangs.”
“Greco. Irrelevant.”
Greco shrugs. “Not to me.” He pulls his finger away from her lips, tracing her arms. “Few faint scars on the arms, looks to be shallow knife wounds. Her knuckles are bruised, but I guess I already knew that.”
Analyn makes the notes quickly, and Greco moves onto her legs. “A few various knife wounds on the legs. Nothing much. But damn. She’s muscular.”
“Already knew that.” Analyn frowns. “Flip her over.”
Greco eases his arms underneath the sleeping trainee and rolls her onto her stomach. What he sees makes him stop in his tracks, makes anger cloud his vision, his mind roaring with thunder. “What. The. Fuck.”
“Oh, *shit.*” Analyn keeps tapping her pencil against the clipboard. “How…”
501 has a massive bruise spanning most of her back, a combination of purple and angry red, swollen up from her skin. Greco gingerly reaches his hand to touch it, feeling how warm it is. It’s almost like 501 was attacked by a wild animal, thrown into the wall over and over again. If she hadn’t been walking this morning, Greco would have assumed something was broken.
“How did this happen?” Analyn asks, her voice hushed.
Greco’s still trying to figure that himself, running through all possible options in his head. It couldn’t have happened today, he hasn’t left his girl alone—
He went home last night and left her under Handler Robinson’s care. “That *bitch,*” he hisses, pulling out his phone and calling her.
“What?” She answers in a bored tone.
“What the fuck did you do to my dog?”
“She jumped at me. So I had one of my trainees teach her a fucking lesson.”
“No. Fuck that. She could beat the shit out of all your trainees.” Greco’s vision is going red at the edges, he can barely breathe. “Tell me the truth, Analyn, or I swear to fuck…” Greco’s got plenty of influence around here, just as much as Willow, but he has more…connections than her.
“I’m telling you the truth. I had one of my trainees use her back as a punching bag while she was tied up and muzzled.”
“Who gave you permission to do that to her?”
“I have seniority over you, Greco. And she’s fine.”
The line goes dead, and Greco stares at his phone, seething. “That bitch.”
Analyn snickers. “She had it coming.”
Greco stares at her “Don’t. Don’t even go there.”
“Fine. Fine. I’ll note this in the injury report.”
“The bitch mutt fucking hid this from me, too.” Greco grabs 501 by the back of her hair and yanks her head back. “Oh, kid. I’m going to teach you one hell of a lesson when you wake up.”
“I’ll forward this information over,” Analyn says.
“And find out which one of Willow’s mutts did this to my girl.”
She gives him the middle finger. “Do I look like your fucking secretary? Figure it out yourself.” With that, she walks out of the room, leaving Greco alone with 501.
He begins carefully redressing her. “I didn’t want anyone else to touch you,” he murmurs into her ear, not caring that she can’t hear him. “Those mutts are nothing like you. They’re worthless.”
Marlow Lancaster. 728501. Greco wants to ruin both.
“I’m going to give you purpose, kid.” Greco grabs a muzzle, fastening it to 501’s face. “And I’m going to show you that you should never fucking lie to me like that. You tell me everything. Even if I don’t ask.”
It’s funny, how innocent she looks in her slumber. Like a true eighteen year old, barely old enough to vote, not even old enough to drink. But she’s not human. She’s a vicious, bloodthirsty mutt.
“If you’re extra good—“ He runs his hand through her hair. “I’ll let you really fuck up the dog that hurt you. Wish you could hear me right now, kid. You’re mine. Understand? Mine.”
It’s laughable that she thought she could go to college. Something with so much potential shouldn’t bother with that.
“Mine. You’re never going to forget me, not even once we’re apart. Mine, kid. All mine.”
CW: EXPLICIT NONCON, NSFWHUMP, MINORS DNI, lady whump, BBU, former pet whumpees, dehumanization, derogatory language, degradation, self-hatred, defiant whumpee, this is fairly intense so let me know if I missed anything!
***
“Excuse me.”
Star turns around, one hand on her hip, the other holding an empty glass. Tonight’s been slammed, she’s barely had a minute to breathe, let alone go pop an Advil for the pain creeping into her bones. “Give me one moment, I’m making a drink.”
The man across the bar, the one who interrupted her, sheepishly smiles. He’s not unattractive, in his late twenties. His friends have been by the pool tables for the last thirty minutes, all playing horribly. “I’m afraid it can’t exactly wait. Someone’s in the bathroom, he seems really sick and I don’t know what to do.”
“Fine.” She sets the glass down and wipes her hands off. She looks around for her knife, better safe than sorry, but swears internally when she remembers that Cas took it because he thought she was in a bad mood this morning.
Damn you, Cassiel. She glares over at the kitchen, but all he does is wave eagerly at her.
Star steps out from around the counter. “Alright. Let’s go. The sick dude, he one of your friends?”
There’s a slight pause before the man answers, something off about his voice. “No. I just went in to…you know.” His laughter sounds forced, and Star doesn’t like how close he’s standing. Her fingers twitch, wishing she had her knife.
“Actually, you know what?” She says, stopping in her tracks. “Let me go grab the bouncer, if this guy’s really that drunk, I could use the help.”
The man puts his hand on her upper back. “I’m sure he’s busy. I’ll help you out if he gets too rowdy.”
Star looks over her shoulder, but she can see Andy busy checking people in at the door and watching over the crowd. “Yeah. Okay.”
They make it to the bathroom, and the man opens the door. “After you.”
She nods at him and steps in. The lights are off, and she fumbles for the light switch, but not before she hears the door lock behind her.
Starr finds the light switch, and her heart sinks at what she sees. There’s no sick man in sight. Instead, there are three other men standing there, one holding a switchblade.
“What the fuck!” Star yells, turning around to escape, but the man from before blocks her.
“Not so fast.” He steps forward, crowding her into the center of the room. “Don’t make a sound, little boxie, or Owen will slit your throat.”
They want her to fight. They want to take her back to WRU and make her into a good Guard Dog. They want to get the pretty finder’s fee on runaway pets.
Star stares defiantly at the man, a growl escaping her throat. “Let me out and I won’t shatter your skull.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
Star whips around, seeing that each man has stepped even farther forward, boxing her in. Her heart pounds into her chest. Think. Be reasonable. If they want to take her to WRU, they probably have some drugs or something to knock her out. She just has to fight her way out of here.
She was always one hell of a fighting mutt.
Star shakes her head and takes up a defensive stance, slowly stepping around to make eye contact with each of the men. “I’ll kill you before I go back.”
“Go back where?” One of the men asks, a sadistic grin on his face.
Star stares at him. “You know where.” There’s a single beat, one half moment of silence before she lunges forward, aiming a kick at the man’s chest. It lands, and he goes stumbling backwards, but someone is grabbing Star from behind, pinning her arms behind her back.
She snarls, thrashing in the grip and shooting her leg out behind her.
Greco taught her well, she’s lucky for that, lucky she caught onto the training so quickly. She catches her attacker in the sensitive spot just above the knee and wrenches herself from his grasp. She doesn’t wait a moment before she attacks the next person, trying to land a flurry of punches and drive the man away so she can get to the door.
Get to the door. She knows this drill, she’s done it before. Get to the door and protect your owner. She always was such a good fighter, but these days, her body is breaking down.
Pain shoots through her back, and Star winces, her rhythm thrown off by the sudden flash of agony. She stumbles backwards, hitting the far wall, and one of the men takes the chance to jump on her and start punching.
Star’s vision blurs, her ears ring as the blows rain down on her face, blood dripping from her nose and mouth and cheek. She puts her hands up to protect her head, knowing her only option is to try to protect herself
The first man walks up to her, grabbing her by the hair and twisting her head back to look at him. “You fucking bitch.”
One of the other men slams his fist into her stomach, and Star doubles over, gasping for breath. “Who’s she going with first?”
So they’re going to take turns carting her back to WRU, back to the white walls. Star whimpers. She has to get out of here, she can’t go back but her body is being torn apart by pain.
“You take her first,” the man with the switchblade says, gesturing at the first man. “You were the one who got the dumb bitch in here.”
He smirks. “With pleasure.” He twists his hand further into Star’s hair and pushes her forwards.
She kicks and screams and scratches at his arms, but she knows no one can hear her. No one can save her. It’s just her with no chance to say goodbye.
The man bends her over the sink and lets go of her hair, only to grab her hands and roughly zip tie them behind her back. “You’re lucky you’re pretty,” he hisses into her ear.
What’s that supposed to mean? Star stares down at the sink, still trying to kick her legs to get the man off of her.
“Stop fucking moving,” the man with the switchblade says, grabbing a fistful of Star’s hair and yanking her head back, forcing her to look at herself in the mirror.
Star sees her long brown hair pulled into a ponytail, she sees her green eyes full of pain and fear, she sees her pale skin underneath the bathroom lighting with her hands tied behind her back and she sees her face bloody and bruised and broken. She sees the man behind her run his hands down her back because she doesn’t want to feelit.
Star goes still. “How are you going to take me back without people seeing?” she asks.
“Take you back?” The man with the switchblade laughs and presses the knife to her neck. “Oh, you dumb bitch. You’re not going anywhere.”
“What do you–”
Star is cut off when the first man hooks his fingers in the waistband of her jeans and slowly starts pulling them down.
Aren’t you lucky to be here, 501? Not down the hall with the Romantics?
The pieces click together as soon as the man has pulled Star’s jeans and underwear all the way down. “I’m not a–” She can’t think, she can’t process what’s happening. “I’m not trained for this, Sir.”
“You don’t need to be trained,” the man hisses. “You just need to stay right there and don’t fucking scream.”
Star’s eyes dart to the side, panic clouding her brain, her breath coming in quick pants. This can’t be real, this can’t be happening, she doesn’t know what to do, how to react.
The man with the switchblade digs the knife into her throat, drawing a bead of blood and sharp pain with it. “Look at yourself. Go on. Watch yourself.”
Star looks at the mirror, her heart shattering as she sees her eyes. No longer human and brave and defiant and everything she liked about herself, everything she had gotten back from WRU. Just afraid.
The man runs a finger across her slit, and Star whimpers, sick to her stomach and disgusted with herself. “I’ll go back,” she whispers. “I don’t want this.”
The man hushes her. “You don’t need to talk. Just take it, bitch.”
The other two men walk to stand by the door, both staring at Star, staring between her legs at what’s now bared to them.
Star can’t close her eyes, can’t look away. She can’t do this. Greco might have drugged her and beat her and broke her down but he never did this to her. She’s never had sex before, not even in her false memories. She doesn’t even want to have sex. “Please,” she whispers at her reflection.
Her reflection doesn’t answer.
“Going to prep her?” one of the men asks.
“Nope.”
Star feels something press against her entrance. She’s dry and scared and she doesn’t want this, please, she doesn’t want this. She twists around, trying to free herself.
The man with the switchblade tightens his grip on her hair and presses the knife further into Star’s throat. “Keep moving and you’ll bleed out.”
She doesn’t want to have sex with this man. She doesn’t want to die like this, she wants to die in the hospital like she’s supposed to in a few years.
She stays still and hates herself for it.
“She’s nervous,” the man with the switchblade says, smirking. “I don’t think she’s done this before.”
“Good. She’ll be tight.”
Tight? What does that mean…oh. Oh. No, absolutely not, she can’t, she doesn’t want this, she can’t even think about it.
There’s no fighting this, no way out.
So Star screams, hoping someone, anyone will hear her and come in and save her from this…this thing that Star can’t name, even if it’s just having sex.
Greco had protected her from this for so long.
Maybe it’s not a good thing that she left him, because now…this can happen. Without Greco, she has to have sex.
Her scream is short-lived by the man with the switchblade putting his hand over her mouth and snapping, “Hand me her panties.”
There’s a brief rustle of movement before she sees her gray underwear being passed to the man with the switchblade. He pries her mouth open and shoves the fabric in there. “Finally. Now you can fuck her.”
Star chokes on her underwear, her eyes filling with tears. No. She can’t cry, it has to be fine, it’s just sex, right?
“Hold her head up,” the man behind her says. “I want her to watch herself get used.”
Get used? Maybe that’s what this is. She’s getting used. There’s not a difference between that and sex.
The man with the switchblade yanks Star’s head back up, and she’s forced to confront her dead green eyes again, the underwear distorting her face and making her look disgusting. Worthless. Like a piece of shit, useless bitch who deserves to die.
Maybe it’s a good thing she’s gagged so Cas doesn’t have to see the worthless mutt he rescued being…used like this.
She holds her gaze at her reflection and her reflection stares back as she hears a bottle cap opening and a clumsy hand spreading something gelatinous and cold across her vagina. “Don’t want her to tear, knowing the three of you are going after me?”
There’s *more?*
The man with the switchblade grabs at Star’s thin black t-shirt, and with one strong pull, he rips it off of her and slices her bra off with his knife.
She’s naked and she hates this so much and Handler Greco was supposed to keep her safe from this.
It’s what she gets for leaving him behind.
“Perfect tits.” The man behind her runs the back of his hand down her back, stopping at her bound wrists. “Let me show you how a real man fucks a whore, gentlemen.”
A whore. That’s the word she was looking for, the word to describe what she really is. She’s a whore.
“Gonna fill this useless bitch up with my cock.” The man thrusts in.
More of Star’s hope vanishes.
He pulls out. Thrusts in again.
Any light left in Star’s eyes is gone.
He pulls out again. Thrusts in again.
Star, the whore mutt, doesn’t want to be here anymore.
Pulls out, thrusts in, over and over and over.
All Star can do is look at her bruised, bloody, pathetic face in the mirror and hold back her tears and watch herself shatter. She should have stayed with Handler Greco. She should have done something different.
But instead she takes a stranger’s cock like a good whore with her underwear in her mouth and she’s breaking. The reflection in the mirror moans around the gag. The reflection’s cheeks are streaked with tears, the reflection’s body rocks with each thrust. The reflection reacts, moves like a good pet.
It was such a perfect day, not too warm but no longer as chilly as it had been the past few weeks. Niner lay happily sprawled out on the lawn, soaking up the warm spring sun. The door leading to the backyard opened and the greatest master and owner in the whole world came out of the house. It made the pet grin and scramble up out of the soft grass and crawl over happily.
Think I’m gonna try to write today, y’all! In the meantime though, a very cute picrew@sideblogformindtrash sent me of sweet Apple, Benji, and sucky Clay lol.
Cw: gun violence, urination mentioned, panick, dehumanisation, pet type captivity, hunting, death, blood
He flinches hard as the trigger is pulled, the sound of the gun making his ears ring and his entire body shake. Somehow, he manages to pull himself together against the strength of his fear, and stay put.
He manages to control his bladder too, and he is so thankful, because a dog that is scared of guns cannot be a hound. If Stupid isn’t a hunting dog, then he is useless, and Sean has no use for useless things. He has made Stupid learn that lesson very well.
With the second shot, the prey falls down, and he runs, on all fours, towards the falling prey. He hops on top of it, keeping it down, no matter how much he hates this.
He used to cry, he doesn’t anymore. But he still can’t face it, the blood mixing in mud and grass, eyes that slowly dry out, the light disappearing as if the soul has been vanquished. Eyes he hunts at day and that haunt him at night.
Sean’s steps are much more steady, boots slamming through the wet dirt, shotgun lazily in hand as he blows away some smoke from his cigar.
He stop besides Stupid, caressing his hair with a sweetness that makes him drunk, helping dissolve the lump on his throat and on his chest.
“Good doggie” he smiles, touching the pray with the sole of his boot, smearing around some more blood.
He can’t find any words to thank him, so he barks and whines, like a dog should, and he believes that was a good choice, because he decides to put the cigar down on the floor, and not on Stupid skin.
“help me carry it, will yah?” Sean smiles, and Stupid tries to control his whimpering fear and just be good. Maybe if he does, he might get dinner today, and Sean seems in such a good mood!
No matter the blood, the dirty trail they leave on the ground, clumsily carrying the dead weight, the tears all falling down his cheeks, he must be a good dog.
CW: Vampire Whumper, Vampire Caretaker, Pet/Bloodbag Whumpee, Captivity, Restraints, Muzzled, Vegetative State/Disassociation, Use of hypnosis/mind control, Starvation (brief mention of weight), Creepy/Intimate Whumper, Mentions of death, Selling of human, Illness/infection, Implied previous abuse…*I feel like I’ve missed some, please let me know if I need to add some*
-
“You understand… this is an ‘end of life’ sale? That’s why the price on the advertisement was substantially low”, Vince cautioned with a quizzing brow, leading August through the long, winding corridors of his manor. “I very much doubt the boy will live to see the light of next week. I advise that this be a temporary blood bag till you find something a bit more ‘permanent’”. Biting his tongue, needle-sharp fangs sinking into the edges of the muscular organ, August suppresses the repulsed quips and curses he wishes he could hurl in Vince’s direction. The way in which he spoke of the boy as merely food and nothing more, it sickened him to his stomach.
Was it not that the boy’s heart still beats vehemently within his chest? Hopes and desires nesting in his soul that he may now never fulfill, affection that would go unshared, goodbyes never to be uttered? This was not a matter as simple as some food going off; did Vince really not comprehend the complexities of humanity? Or was it more so that he chose not to understand, lacking the necessary compassion and empathy to care? A slight suspicion indicated it would be the latter reasoning. The boy’s suffering will not end with him upon his death, as brutal as that truth was. It will only trigger a ripple of despair amongst those who care for and miss him, and that’s why August swore to himself and will later swear to Declan if given the chance, that he will one day reunite with his family again.
“I understand. I wish to proceed with the sale.” August bluntly retorted. Keep it professional, no letting tangled emotions get the better of you. See the boy, pay Vince, take him home. Done.
Vince hums in approval, a toothy smile growing on his face. When they finally approach the brass-bound, hefty door locking away the basement, it wouldn’t be far-fetched to assume it imprisoned an unimaginable monster, maybe even the devil himself - instead of a measly human with a melted mind. Dozens of varying locks bolted down the entire length of the door; chains, bolts, key locks. By the time the first couple were done, the rest of them were completely redundant. Overkill. August crosses his arms across his chest, tapping his feet impatiently on the floor with a vexed huff, awaiting for Vince to go through the hassle of opening every single one. When he does, he forcefully shoves the door open, causing an almighty metallic bang to ring through the house. Outstretching his arm inside the dark abyss of the room, gesturing for August to enter first.
“After you…”, Vince grins at him, waving his hand to usher August through the doorway,
Descending into the basement, the icy hush of air instantly wraps itself around August’s body - an involuntary shiver coursing down his spine, goosebumps prickling along his arms. If August; a cold-blooded creature, is bothered by the extreme chill, he dreads to imagine how the human must be coping with it. Rusty squeaks of the metal stairs sound with each cautious step down, and then the boy comes into view. Crimson eyes widening at the sight laying before him.
Declan is crumpled onto callused, bruised knees, head bowed down towards the floor with sopping wet hair leaking water droplets off the end of his curls. The boy is violently shivering, the freezing temperature and his soaked, dripping wet skin and clothes being the culprit. Though August imagines that Declan is entirely oblivious of just how much his body is rocking and trembling on the ground, fatigued muscles involuntarily straining from the physical stress.
“I did you the favour of getting him all spritzed and cleaned up”, Vince chirps, striding towards the boy and hooking his fingers underneath his chin to snap his head up and aimed towards August - his body just limply rolls in whichever direction it’s forced towards, not an ounce of stiffness. Half-lidded, glassy eyes just wearily blink at him, completely out of it and truthfully not comprehending a single word spoken in his vicinity. But now the boy’s face is lifted, August notices the thick leather muzzle buckled around his head and swallowing the lower half of his face. Scrawny arms stretched impossibly tight behind his back, wrists and upper arms bound with lengths of scratchy rope forcing his chest to puff outwards.
“He absolutely stank; reeked of sweat and piss and well… god knows what else. But don’t worry, that service is all free of charge-”
“You said he was broken? That he was living in a comatose state?” August queried, beaming a look of perplexion towards the other vampire that was now working at flicking wet strands of hair out of the human’s expressionless face.
“That he is, indeed” Vince let out a chesty sigh, plucking his hand away and allowing the boy’s head to plummet back down onto his chest. “It’s a shame, really-”
“So then why is he muzzled and tied?” August interjected, the disgust in his voice unintentionally evident.
“Ah! That…” Vince trailed off, back and stroking a finger across the muzzle, tracing along the boy’s prominent jawline to zero reaction. “Some other prospective buyers expressed… concerns. Believed him to be faking, trying his luck at a little escape. Wouldn’t hear a word of it when I ensured the boy can’t string a sentence let alone devise an elaborate escape plan. Just a precaution, to give you peace of mind-”. August’s stomach churned, observing the demeaning way Vince’s fingers swept across Declan’s paling complexion, floating over angry scars and old, healing wounds that were seemingly painted across his entire body.
“Thank you, but that’s unnecessary.”
“Want to inspect the goods before you buy? Maybe a little taste sample?” Vince roughly forces the boy’s head to the side, shoved into his own shoulder; exposing the sore, wounded throat with two perfect puncture marks.
Infection. August immediately homes in on the sore, inflamed skin circling the two fang incisions, and can almost see the sickly heat radiating from it. Poorly scabbed over wounds, weeping and raw. It’s definitely infected.
“No. I’m satisfied with what I’ve seen. I’ll take him”. To leave the poor thing to suffer another day in that state was nothing short of barbaric and cruel, and to sit idly back and allow another vampire to swoop in and buy him first, was complicit in what would be the boy’s murder.
“Perfect!” Vince’s face lights up, clapping his hands together with anticipation, “I don’t do returns. No refunds. I believe I’ve been pretty transparent; the boy is dying. Will die. There’s no dragging him back in three days time when he’s finally kicked the bucket-”
“Understood.” August chucks the envelope of cash into Vince’s hands, a smug grin emerging as he flicks his finger through all the notes, stepping away with satisfaction from the bowing pet.
“All yours.”
August bends to his knees, lowering to Declan’s level, refusing to insinuate any derranged hierarchy of power by towering above, looking down on him. The human’s pupils were mere pin prick dots almost lost in the murky brown eyes, glaring blankly back at the vampire’s deep ruby one’s. And though his body racked with trembles from the cold, when August gently places the back of his hand against the boy’s pale forehead, he’s warm to the touch. Blistering hot and sweating in fact; August hisses and withdraws his hand, his worries of infection further confirmed. He begins scooping the boy into his arms, he doesn’t expect him and will not make him stumble to the car, doubting his abused body could handle the exertion. Even if Declan wasn’t incredibly light, reduced to skin and bones - August was more than strong enough to carry him without so much as busting a sweat.
“Oh, you don’t need to do that!” Vince scoffs, “Walk with your new master, pet!” he bellows the order over August’s shoulder. Declan instantly obeys much to August’s horror; attempting to wobble to his feet, stumbling off balance and looking like he was experiencing an earthquake with how much every muscle was plagued with pained tremors.
“NO! Sleep!” August shouts the alarmed command to override Vince’s, watching with regretful eyes as Declan’s body crashes harshly back to the ground, eyes rolling back into his head and eyelids fluttering shut. Vince shoots a questioning look at August, glancing down at the unconscious boy and flickering his attention back up to the peculiar buyer. August really resented the idea of using persuasion on the boy, he had no intentions of everdoing it but Vince forced his hand. It was safer, kinder and merciful in the long run to force him unconscious… he’d avoid using persuasion at all cost in future.
August unclips the muzzle from Declan’s mouth, carefully removing the bit pressing down on his tongue, the saliva drooling out with its removal and tossing the repulsive device across to the other side of the room.
“You can keep that vile thing!”, August growls, the mask finally slipping and his true emotions leaking out. He wordlessly scoops Declans limp body into a bridal carry, the boy’s legs dangling to the side and freely swinging through the air with each step. This buyer absolutely befuddled Vince; acting so high and mighty, ‘holier than thou’ type bullshit. He silently judges the man, his cowardly gentleness with the pet.
“Pleasure doing business with you-” August grits between his teeth, making a point of barging past Vince with the boy cradled in his arms, and seeing himself out.
Carefully, he shuffles Declan into the car, laying stretched on his side across the leather back seats. Fiddly fingers working at the tight knotted ropes brutally restraining the poor thing. A sense of relief washing over when the binds are pulled away, limbs falling to his sides, but a pang of guilt ensues when he spots the raw, bruised skin that had been concealed underneath. August unwinds the seatbelts from their holsters and clinks both sets around Declan’s sleeping body. For a moment, he just sits with him and watches the weak, tired breaths shudder from his lips - the troubled rise and fall of his chest. Circling soothing rubs on his back that he is well aware have no effect on him, it won’t calm any nerves because there are no nerves to calm. Just hollow. But August is determined to fix that, certain he can breathe life back into the boy and nurse him to health.
It may not work. Not oblivious to the fact that a rough journey lay ahead. Maybe it will all be fruitless and fighting for a lost cause. But he can at least try, right?
Years of being kept held captive, under the vampires brutal persusasion has finally broken Declan, shattered his mind. Not living but not quite dead, paralysed in a comatose-like state. Vince decides his once delicious bloodbag has finally reached its end, selling it during it’s final few days. When August sees the advert for the dying human, he knows what he must do. Taking on the responsibility of nursing Declan back to health - though he is woefully unprepared for just how deep and severe the damage is and the hardships that will arise whilst tackling it.
CW: Vampire Whumper, Vampire Caretaker, Pet/Bloodbag Whumpee, Captivity, Restraints, Muzzled, Vegetative State/Disassociation, Use of hypnosis/mind control, Starvation (brief mention of weight), Creepy/Intimate Whumper, Mentions of death, Selling of human, Illness/infection, Implied previous abuse…*I feel like I’ve missed some, please let me know if I need to add some*
-
“You understand… this is an ‘end of life’ sale? That’s why the price on the advertisement was substantially low”, Vince cautioned with a quizzing brow, leading August through the long, winding corridors of his manor. “I very much doubt the boy will live to see the light of next week. I advise that this be a temporary blood bag till you find something a bit more ‘permanent’”. Biting his tongue, needle-sharp fangs sinking into the edges of the muscular organ, August suppresses the repulsed quips and curses he wishes he could hurl in Vince’s direction. The way in which he spoke of the boy as merely food and nothing more, it sickened him to his stomach.
Was it not that the boy’s heart still beats vehemently within his chest? Hopes and desires nesting in his soul that he may now never fulfill, affection that would go unshared, goodbyes never to be uttered? This was not a matter as simple as some food going off; did Vince really not comprehend the complexities of humanity? Or was it more so that he chose not to understand, lacking the necessary compassion and empathy to care? A slight suspicion indicated it would be the latter reasoning. The boy’s suffering will not end with him upon his death, as brutal as that truth was. It will only trigger a ripple of despair amongst those who care for and miss him, and that’s why August swore to himself and will later swear to Declan if given the chance, that he will one day reunite with his family again.
“I understand. I wish to proceed with the sale.” August bluntly retorted. Keep it professional, no letting tangled emotions get the better of you. See the boy, pay Vince, take him home. Done.
Vince hums in approval, a toothy smile growing on his face. When they finally approach the brass-bound, hefty door locking away the basement, it wouldn’t be far-fetched to assume it imprisoned an unimaginable monster, maybe even the devil himself - instead of a measly human with a melted mind. Dozens of varying locks bolted down the entire length of the door; chains, bolts, key locks. By the time the first couple were done, the rest of them were completely redundant. Overkill. August crosses his arms across his chest, tapping his feet impatiently on the floor with a vexed huff, awaiting for Vince to go through the hassle of opening every single one. When he does, he forcefully shoves the door open, causing an almighty metallic bang to ring through the house. Outstretching his arm inside the dark abyss of the room, gesturing for August to enter first.
“After you…”, Vince grins at him, waving his hand to usher August through the doorway,
Descending into the basement, the icy hush of air instantly wraps itself around August’s body - an involuntary shiver coursing down his spine, goosebumps prickling along his arms. If August; a cold-blooded creature, is bothered by the extreme chill, he dreads to imagine how the human must be coping with it. Rusty squeaks of the metal stairs sound with each cautious step down, and then the boy comes into view. Crimson eyes widening at the sight laying before him.
Declan is crumpled onto callused, bruised knees, head bowed down towards the floor with sopping wet hair leaking water droplets off the end of his curls. The boy is violently shivering, the freezing temperature and his soaked, dripping wet skin and clothes being the culprit. Though August imagines that Declan is entirely oblivious of just how much his body is rocking and trembling on the ground, fatigued muscles involuntarily straining from the physical stress.
“I did you the favour of getting him all spritzed and cleaned up”, Vince chirps, striding towards the boy and hooking his fingers underneath his chin to snap his head up and aimed towards August - his body just limply rolls in whichever direction it’s forced towards, not an ounce of stiffness. Half-lidded, glassy eyes just wearily blink at him, completely out of it and truthfully not comprehending a single word spoken in his vicinity. But now the boy’s face is lifted, August notices the thick leather muzzle buckled around his head and swallowing the lower half of his face. Scrawny arms stretched impossibly tight behind his back, wrists and upper arms bound with lengths of scratchy rope forcing his chest to puff outwards.
“He absolutely stank; reeked of sweat and piss and well… god knows what else. But don’t worry, that service is all free of charge-”
“You said he was broken? That he was living in a comatose state?” August queried, beaming a look of perplexion towards the other vampire that was now working at flicking wet strands of hair out of the human’s expressionless face.
“That he is, indeed” Vince let out a chesty sigh, plucking his hand away and allowing the boy’s head to plummet back down onto his chest. “It’s a shame, really-”
“So then why is he muzzled and tied?” August interjected, the disgust in his voice unintentionally evident.
“Ah! That…” Vince trailed off, back and stroking a finger across the muzzle, tracing along the boy’s prominent jawline to zero reaction. “Some other prospective buyers expressed… concerns. Believed him to be faking, trying his luck at a little escape. Wouldn’t hear a word of it when I ensured the boy can’t string a sentence let alone devise an elaborate escape plan. Just a precaution, to give you peace of mind-”. August’s stomach churned, observing the demeaning way Vince’s fingers swept across Declan’s paling complexion, floating over angry scars and old, healing wounds that were seemingly painted across his entire body.
“Thank you, but that’s unnecessary.”
“Want to inspect the goods before you buy? Maybe a little taste sample?” Vince roughly forces the boy’s head to the side, shoved into his own shoulder; exposing the sore, wounded throat with two perfect puncture marks.
Infection. August immediately homes in on the sore, inflamed skin circling the two fang incisions, and can almost see the sickly heat radiating from it. Poorly scabbed over wounds, weeping and raw. It’s definitely infected.
“No. I’m satisfied with what I’ve seen. I’ll take him”. To leave the poor thing to suffer another day in that state was nothing short of barbaric and cruel, and to sit idly back and allow another vampire to swoop in and buy him first, was complicit in what would be the boy’s murder.
“Perfect!” Vince’s face lights up, clapping his hands together with anticipation, “I don’t do returns. No refunds. I believe I’ve been pretty transparent; the boy is dying. Will die. There’s no dragging him back in three days time when he’s finally kicked the bucket-”
“Understood.” August chucks the envelope of cash into Vince’s hands, a smug grin emerging as he flicks his finger through all the notes, stepping away with satisfaction from the bowing pet.
“All yours.”
August bends to his knees, lowering to Declan’s level, refusing to insinuate any derranged hierarchy of power by towering above, looking down on him. The human’s pupils were mere pin prick dots almost lost in the murky brown eyes, glaring blankly back at the vampire’s deep ruby one’s. And though his body racked with trembles from the cold, when August gently places the back of his hand against the boy’s pale forehead, he’s warm to the touch. Blistering hot and sweating in fact; August hisses and withdraws his hand, his worries of infection further confirmed. He begins scooping the boy into his arms, he doesn’t expect him and will not make him stumble to the car, doubting his abused body could handle the exertion. Even if Declan wasn’t incredibly light, reduced to skin and bones - August was more than strong enough to carry him without so much as busting a sweat.
“Oh, you don’t need to do that!” Vince scoffs, “Walk with your new master, pet!” he bellows the order over August’s shoulder. Declan instantly obeys much to August’s horror; attempting to wobble to his feet, stumbling off balance and looking like he was experiencing an earthquake with how much every muscle was plagued with pained tremors.
“NO! Sleep!” August shouts the alarmed command to override Vince’s, watching with regretful eyes as Declan’s body crashes harshly back to the ground, eyes rolling back into his head and eyelids fluttering shut. Vince shoots a questioning look at August, glancing down at the unconscious boy and flickering his attention back up to the peculiar buyer. August really resented the idea of using persuasion on the boy, he had no intentions of everdoing it but Vince forced his hand. It was safer, kinder and merciful in the long run to force him unconscious… he’d avoid using persuasion at all cost in future.
August unclips the muzzle from Declan’s mouth, carefully removing the bit pressing down on his tongue, the saliva drooling out with its removal and tossing the repulsive device across to the other side of the room.
“You can keep that vile thing!”, August growls, the mask finally slipping and his true emotions leaking out. He wordlessly scoops Declans limp body into a bridal carry, the boy’s legs dangling to the side and freely swinging through the air with each step. This buyer absolutely befuddled Vince; acting so high and mighty, ‘holier than thou’ type bullshit. He silently judges the man, his cowardly gentleness with the pet.
“Pleasure doing business with you-” August grits between his teeth, making a point of barging past Vince with the boy cradled in his arms, and seeing himself out.
Carefully, he shuffles Declan into the car, laying stretched on his side across the leather back seats. Fiddly fingers working at the tight knotted ropes brutally restraining the poor thing. A sense of relief washing over when the binds are pulled away, limbs falling to his sides, but a pang of guilt ensues when he spots the raw, bruised skin that had been concealed underneath. August unwinds the seatbelts from their holsters and clinks both sets around Declan’s sleeping body. For a moment, he just sits with him and watches the weak, tired breaths shudder from his lips - the troubled rise and fall of his chest. Circling soothing rubs on his back that he is well aware have no effect on him, it won’t calm any nerves because there are no nerves to calm. Just hollow. But August is determined to fix that, certain he can breathe life back into the boy and nurse him to health.
It may not work. Not oblivious to the fact that a rough journey lay ahead. Maybe it will all be fruitless and fighting for a lost cause. But he can at least try, right?
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.
Referencing@ocean-blue-whump ’s Nessa because she and Farkas are a bad couple!
CW: Pet whump, BBU, lady whump, organized crime, conditioned whumpee, derogatory language, gun violence, knife violence, bondage, death threats, mentions of past abuse and torture, mentions of drugs, Faraday and Farkas deserve their own warning, and death (not a major character)
~~~
Saber stood to the side of the room, closest to the door, her eyes locked dead ahead while Faraday and Farkas, his nephew, both were roaring at a man that had gone to blab to the police about some shady shit happening at one of the warehouses by the pier. Their screaming always terrified her, but she couldn’t let that show.
She was built to handle it all and trained how to be a good Abernathy dog, worthy of a special collar that separated her from the domestics and romantics, but… not like it mattered when it came to Farkas. She was scared of him the most, especially if Nessa, his girlfriend, was around too. They both knew just how to make her miserable, and she knew that she couldn’t let the pain be shown unless they wanted it obvious. They’d make sure of that at least.
“Really?! You thought the cops were going to put you in some witness protection shit, Winston? Are you fucking stupid?!” Farkas asked, slapping the man who was tied up, his hands tied up above him with chains. Saber used her peripherals to see that the man was stripped down to his boxers, his torso covered in splotches of black and blue, red accented wherever it managed to find the canvas that was their unmarred skin.
A laugh came from Faraday and he held a knife under Winston’s chin. “I have half a mind to send your ass to WRU, have them wipe you, and give you to your wife, so she can see what a disgrace you became. At what cost, hmmm? You thought you were going to one up me or something? How about I just get rid of your entire bloodline and have you bury them?” He inquired, digging the tip of the blade in, the poor man sobbing and looking up at his torturer.
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.”
I’m starting @amonthofwhump’sMafia Week a day early! Here is my first take on a prompt: kidnapping.
CW: Nanda is honestly kind of a creep guys, abduction, restraints, defiant whumpee, recorded torture, intimate whumper who actually isn’t the villain here for once, Nanda has lots of nsfw thoughts
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For the moment, he can relax.
Job complete, and his flight’s in the morning. He’s good enough - and has a good enough reputation - to be paid upfront before the job’s done, because everyone knows the job willbe done.
Nanda settles back against the headboard of the hotel bed, rubbing at the back of his neck idly as he presses the CHANNEL button on the remote, aimlessly scanning through 70-some channels of banal pointlessness. Why he bothers is anyone’s guess - he knows he’ll end up ordering some sort of… whatever Pay-Per-View is here, paying too much for a vague artificial shade of what he has with his pet left back at home.
There’s a news show blaring panic, and he watches it. He recognizes the face of the dead ex-Prime Minister, and huffs a bit of laughter. Well, if he’d known who the man was,he’d have charged more.
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.
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.
