SophieRose002

I feel like death...Is that normal? 

[injuries-in-dust]

Comic by PetFoolery

Hands up if you'd also adopt that little noodle! ✋

[the-sighs-of-sunset]

Tags by @interstellarvagabond

[injuries-in-dust]

THERE'S A SEQUEL!

[theanishimori]

MR. NOODLE

[injuries-in-dust]

The adventure continues!

Awesome dad is awesome.

[raimagnolia]

Hopefully the mother will get used to it

[injuries-in-dust]

Mom finally warmed up to Mr Noodle.

Made by PetFoolery

[without-ado]

Cutie-pie of the sea (x)

[spike-cannon]

Taking myself on a silly little walk for my silly little mental health

[furbearingbrick]

walk-topus

[galaxywhump]

Home Again

Trope: Not Used to Freedom

Fandom: Original Work

[SV-240 masterlist]

[blue for completed]

Timeline: post-captivity, set after Ghosts of the Past.

contents: recovery from slavery whump and forced relationship, hospital setting, childhood trauma, mention of therapy.

~~~

“Jonna Schulte visited me yesterday.”

Nathaniel is looking out the window, so Wren can’t see his expression, but he does notice the tension in his shoulders.

“I know.” Nathaniel’s voice is forced, stiff. “I talked to her.”

“Yeah, I heard you talking.” The emphasis Wren puts on the last word goes unnoticed. “So, what’s the deal with… all that? She didn’t tell me much.”

“We were married, it didn’t work out, so she left.”

Nathaniel spits out his words like they’re poison, as is the topic at large, but Wren doesn’t want to back out. It’s too important, and too confusing.

“She said she didn’t want to abandon me.”

Nathaniel inhales sharply and crosses his arms. “I don’t know what she did or didn’t want. You can ask her.” He finally faces Wren, his gaze like the dark sky before a thunderstorm. “‘I don’t want to talk about this.”

His tone is harsh, and it makes Wren freeze. There it is, the tension he’s felt for so long, his instincts urging him to run, and he feels so small and insignificant, but not in the same way that SV-240 made him feel. He doesn’t feel like a human being confronted with the unimaginable loneliness of being trapped on a distant planet. He feels like a helpless kid.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, looking away, his heartbeat deafening, his hands shaking.

Nathaniel seems surprised by Wren’s reaction, but he doesn’t add anything. The sense of immediate danger slowly fades, though the implications linger in Wren’s mind.

Nothing has changed. The events of the last two years did not overwrite his earlier memories and instincts, not that he really expected otherwise. What Daniel had put him through made him discover mechanisms within his psyche that he wasn’t aware of before, and which he figures must have come from his childhood. Now he gets to see their root cause with new eyes, and he doesn’t know if he’s ready for it.

Between living alone, struggling with the way his body and mind work now, and going back to living with his father, he’s not sure if there exists an option that isn’t terrible.

“Do you need help packing?”

He nearly jumps in place and shakes his head.

“No, no, I’ll do it myself. It’s not a lot.”

His hands are shaking as he puts what little he’d taken out back in the bag and zips it up.

As much as he wanted to leave the hospital before, now he wishes he could stay.

***

When they exit, there are people waiting for them, a small crowd gathered near the entrance, the sight of which causes Wren to stop abruptly, his eyes going wide. And then there’s noise, voices, and they don’t sound angry, but they’re too overwhelming for Wren to register anything. He stepped out of the hospital and fell into a void, and he’s frozen in place, gripping the strap of his bag so hard his knuckles turn white.

Someone grabs his arm and pulls, and his immediate reaction is to try and free himself, but when he manages to tear his gaze away from the crowd, he sees it’s just his father, so he forces himself to move, to put one foot in front of the other, to get the hell out, away from those people, everything is too much, too crowded, and it isn’t until he’s seated in the car that he can breathe again.

He exhales and leans forward until he rests his forehead against the back of the front seat, but he has to straighten up when the car starts. He blinks and his gaze flits towards the window, but he has to look away when he sees the crowd again.

“What happened?”

Wren winces. He can feel Nathaniel’s eyes boring into him, but he doesn’t want to look. It’s not like he knows what happened, anyway; for all he knows, he left the hospital building and regained consciousness in the car.

“Sorry,” he says, and Nathaniel doesn’t push, he never does anymore, he only wants uncomfortable conversations to end, and that’s exactly what happens. The drive home passes in silence, and Wren spends its entirety swallowing back tears.

***

Unlike him, the house hasn’t changed at all. It’s still neat, but unremarkable, average in just about every way; Nathaniel never flaunted his position by going for unnecessary luxury. Still gripping the strap of the bag tightly, Wren enters, and the inside is the same too, because it has always been comfortable, and that was enough. There are some new things, things he doesn’t recognize, but they’re minor, they don’t matter.

The door closes behind him, and something about the sound both sobers him up and sends him back to a day he’d rather not reminisce about. He can’t breathe, he can feel tears coming again, and this time he can’t hold them back, so he rushes upstairs, to his old room, which is also the same, the only difference being the boxes strewn about the floor. His things, brought back to the place he had escaped years ago.

He’s home.

Tears overflow and he furiously wipes them away. All he wants to do is sit on his bed and wallow in emotions that he can’t even identify, but he hears his father’s footsteps on the stairs, and he knows he has to appear at least a bit more put-together. He sits down on the bed anyway, unzips his bag, and starts unpacking it.

“Hey,” Nathaniel says after a symbolic knock on the doorframe. “Need any help?”

At first Wren wants to refuse again. These are his things, he can handle unpacking, and having his father here will probably only lead to more tension, more awkwardness, but…

He looks at the boxes. The bag he can handle, but with how he’s feeling he’s not sure the same can be said about the boxes. Besides, if he’s left on his own, he might just burst into tears and accomplish nothing, and his room being a mess will only drag him further into misery.

“Actually, yeah,” he says, looking up from the bag with a slightly forced smile. “I don’t know what I’m going to put where yet, but if you could help with the boxes, that would be great. Just… clothes on one pile, other stuff on a different pile, something like that.”

“Sounds doable,” Nathaniel laughs, and Wren does too, and they get to work, mostly in silence, sometimes making small talk or commenting on their finds.

“You still have this T-shirt?”

“Yeah, it’s living its best life as pajamas now.”

“Mhm. And this one?”

“Pajamas. Or, uh, for cleaning days.”

“This one too?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s a hole in it.”

“Exactly. It’s perfect.”

They laugh, Wren through tears, because of course he’s crying, because he hasn’t seen these things in such a long time, he thought he’d never see them again. There are tears in his breaking voice too, which go unaddressed; it feels absurd, this elephant in the room, his silent breakdown and its cause, but he convinces himself that it’s better this way, that they can both pretend that everything is fine, even when nothing is.

Their conversations are normal, ignoring the context that is anything but. Catching up, how much has the city changed? It must have changed, it’s been… a while. Food. Food is a normal subject. They can get takeout, whatever Wren wants. Not from that one place, though. It closed down a year or so ago. 

It’s strange to think that normal things were happening while he was away. A silly thought, of course he’d never think that everything was put on hold when he was kidnapped, but somehow it still hits him hard. The restaurant closed down, and he was busy being a captive. He doesn’t even know what was going on with his father when he was presumed dead, but he doesn’t want to start that conversation yet; he can ask about it later. Right now he focuses on dividing his clothes into categories with some semblance of sense before putting them in the closet.

The last thing he reaches for is his running T-shirt, and he pauses, holding it up, rubbing the slippery fabric between his fingers.

“I think I’m gonna go for a run,” he says, his idea verbalized as soon as it appears in his mind. Nathaniel, busy collecting the now empty boxes, looks at him with a frown.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea?”

Naturally, Wren starts doubting himself, and maybe it is a stupid idea, but it’s an exciting one, and he doesn’t want to just give it up.

“Yeah, I… think I need it. I miss running.”

“Alright,” Nathaniel says, still seemingly unconvinced. “Now?”

“No.” Wren shakes his head. “I’ll wait until the evening. So it’s less warm.” And, hopefully, so there’s fewer people. He doesn’t say that part out loud. Being concerned about the weather is normal. Freaking out after being one of the only two people on an entire planet is not. He wants to be normal, and if he can’t, he’ll at least pretend.

The food they get from a place Wren knows well tastes different from what he remembers, but maybe he just doesn’t remember it well, it’s been so long, after all. They talk for a bit about nothing in particular, and when the silence threatens to turn awkward, Wren suggests watching something light, maybe a game show, and they do just that, joking and trying to guess the answers before the contestants do. It’s a familiar scenario in a way that fills Wren with unease as time goes on; he’s relieved when evening comes and he can excuse himself to get ready.

Putting up his hair to keep it out of the way and warming up before leaving the house is a routine he hasn’t forgotten, but it’s not as nostalgic and uplifting as it should be, because he used to do this on SV-240 too. Back then it made him feel better, but the price he pays now is that it’s become tainted, linked to memories of running laps around Daniel’s house, of working out alongside him. That, however, is reduced to a triviality when Wren leaves the house and faces the world outside.

Running laps within the safe area around the house, guarded from the dangers of the planet, was one thing; being faced with the startling realization that he can go wherever he wants is something else entirely. He’s no longer confined, be it to the house, the spaceship, or the hospital. He’ll have to go back home eventually, but he’s the one who gets to decide when that will be.

He’s free.

He sways on his feet a little, and has to take a deep breath of Earthly air. For just a moment he considers turning back, going back inside, but above all he feels… excited. Energized. He wants to get the most out of his newfound freedom, so he braces himself, chooses a direction, and starts running, maybe a bit faster than he usually would, and a wave of euphoria the likes of which he hasn’t felt in a long time spreads throughout his body, through his every nerve. His shoes hit the pavement at a steady pace, and his breathing falls into a familiar rhythm. That’s all that matters.

When he comes back home, he’ll have no choice but to face his thoughts. His first therapy session is coming up - how should he approach it? How much can he tell his therapist? He’ll have to bring up something, think about the last two years with Daniel, recall some of the physical torture, because he can’t imagine himself talking about anything other than that, even though it’s the other memories that give him nightmares each and every night. Is he going to have one tonight, in his old room? He doesn’t want his father to hear it. His father… The time they spent together was nice, and Wren knows it’s nothing new, nor was it a one-off. There have always been days like this, filled with casual, lighthearted conversations, joking and laughter, and yet, when he was away, he could only remember the other days, raised voices, disappointment and contempt. He got a reminder of that earlier, Nathaniel’s reaction to his question about Jonna, Jonna, his mother, who didn’t want to abandon him, who’s one message or call away…

He never wants to stop running.

~~~

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

[iosonomer-blog]

[yia67]

🥰🥰👆

[calizzie]

Sheer JOY! 😍😍😍🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

[byehellsitelmao-deactivated2023]

reblog and tag what is “your” video game, aka the game you could make an entire video essay on it, mines acnl

[memewhore]

[lovelyfran]

my brother in christ-

[graceless-writing]

“How’s your WIP going?”

"Have you made any progress?”

“How close are you to being done?”

[whatwhump]

Ex-Villain Whumpee: Pt. 4!

Hello lovely whump community! I apologize for how long this took me; I’m in school so it can be hard to find time to write sometimes. :) 

Anywho, thank you for all of the encouragement for this story! I’m excited to announce this will be an ongoing series! I’m not sure for how long, but what I anticipated as being only a few posts I think has potential to be a larger arc. I’m really excited to dive into these character’s relationship dynamics and plan to use all of my favorite whump tropes! I’ve got some pretty evil fun ideas in the works. ;) My goal is to update this story bi-weekly. 

This is by no means my best work because I’m just doing this for fun. I hope you don’t mind and still walk away with whumperflies! 

**For list of character names/roles as well as Parts 1-3, see the previous post here**

Keep reading

[sophierose002]

Could you add me to the taglist please? This is so good.

[chaotic-orphan]

Defiant Leader x Confident Villain: Part 4

Read Part one here

Continued from this part here

Honestly I have found so many good series parts in my drafts that just needs cleaning up with a light edit and boom, more content- it's great!

I am just ignoring my Christmas assignments and exams because who needs a degree, am I right? Enjoy!

TW: intimate whumper (ish), torture(light) and broken bones

*~*~*~*~*

Leader woke up to a finger in their cheek. They batted it away lazily, in theory.

In reality, their arms felt too stiff to move, groaning for Second to give them just five more minutes. They’d had a long fucking day, and their body was exhausted, not even accounting for the mental exertion it took to balance Villain as an enemy and not a member of their team anymore after they took them and strung them up—

Leader’s eyes shot open, but they didn’t meet Villain’s smiling face. Instead, they were met with two owlish eyes the colour of the Dead Sea, as if Leader could see through them.

Leader knew those eyes. Knew them too fucking well.

Leader evened their expression as much as they could, while Supervillain’s lips broke into an amused smile.

“So, you’re Villain’s old mentor,” Supervillain hummed, going to poke Leader in the cheek again. They were too close. Far too close to Leader’s face for comfort. Leader was tucked up against the wall, hands in the same heavy manacles Villain left them with as they drifted to a deep sleep. Their legs had moved, one bent slightly while the other was straight, and in the small bend of Leader’s leg was Supervillain’s foot.

Too close.

Leader tilted their head to the side, voice deadpan as they replied: “so you’re Villain’s new babysitter.”

“Villain said you were funny.”

“That’s funny, Villain never mentioned you,” Leader replied coolly, eyes never leaving Supervillain’s too-clear blue ones. “Mustn’t take it personally, maybe you just don’t make much of an impression.”

“Woke you all the same.”

“Yes, you did,” Leader said, then made a shooing motion with their fingers. “Now that you mention it, it was a very nice sleep, and I would like to get back to it now.”

Supervillain searched Leader’s eyes for something, then let out a soft hmph. “I have a better idea, Leader.”

Before Leader could protest a hand was in their shirt and in one fluid motion, Supervillain dragged Leader to their feet with such force Leader’s eyes blew wide, they weren’t touching the ground for a minute before their bare feet mercifully touched the floor again. Leader had a panicked grip on Supervillain’s arm holding them to the wall and only then did they notice the slight size difference.

Supervillain was tall, a good head taller than Leader, who wasn’t considered short by any means. That’s not where the differences stopped; where Leader was all lean muscle and agility, Supervillain filled their broad shoulders with strong, defined muscles that lay under his casual shirt and pungent leather jacket. Leader could make them out even when he wasn’t tensed and that annoyed more than scared them.

Leader had met Supervillain before, obviously, but this close? With this height difference? This disadvantage Villain had left them with, with no gear, no boots, no weapons. Leader didn’t like their odds. It was too new. Jarringly new and it sent a cold shiver down Leader’s spine, their mind racing on ways they could adapt to their sudden enforced weakness around their wrists and in their bare feet.

When they met on the field they were somewhat even. Supervillain was strong, stronger than Leader, but Leader made up for it with their speed. They danced in and out of one-punch-knockouts Supervillain had thrown at them before, they could do it again…

But that was in their combat gear, with their blades by their sides. That was with their boots on and their team at their back, and that was without heavy iron manacles locking their hands together.

Like this? Leader was too exposed, too weak, and they were just staring at Supervillain who could kill them without breaking a sweat right now, hiding all this panic behind an impassive expression, but they couldn’t hide that wide eyed surprise.

Supervillain had seen.

Supervillain saw Leader’s eyelids fly open in shock, so different from the half-lidded indifference Leader was trying to show off. Supervillain noticed the smallest thing, and maybe that was what was scaring Leader more than their disadvantage.

“What?” Leader asked, voice thankfully, mercifully even, “was your better idea making out or? This is very intimate Supervillain, honestly? I’m flattered. Kind of enemies to lovers scenario—”

All Supervillain had to do was curl their fingers into Leader’s shirt, knuckles resting painfully on Leader’s ribs and push Leader against the wall more. Pinned between a solid surface and Supervillain’s unforgiving grip, Leader didn’t know which would crack first, the wall or Leader’s ribs. Leader bent a knee and pressed the sole of their bare foot against the wall for leverage.

“Mmm,” Leader ground out, trying and failing to alleviate the pressure. “Kinky, don’t worry, kinda into it.”

Supervillain laughed. “You don’t shut up, do you?”

“Not unless you gag me, Da—” Supervillain let go of Leader then and Leader smiled. All doubt melting away as they pressed the sole of the foot into the solid surface, muscles tensed and at the ready.

Idiot.

Leader pushed off the wall with their foot, springing towards Supervillain, swinging their iron manacle clad hands up at Supervillain’s jaw. They missed the jaw and hit Supervillain’s nose instead and Supervillain fell back a step, letting out a startled cry, hands going to their nose in shock. Leader watched with a grin as blood trailed through the cracks in their hands and dribbled down their chin, staining their stupid shirt.

Their eyes would be blurry now, an advantage Leader needed. Leader shot their foot out, kicking Supervillain’s knee, then thigh, then ankle until they were wobbling, almost down.

One more hit.

Leader threw their hands up again as Supervillain’s eyes locked on Leader’s and Leader knew they made a mistake.

Clear blue eyes were the last thing Leader saw before the wind was knocked out of them and they were gasping for breath, Supervillain’s hand wrapped around Leader’s throat pinning them back against the wall. Leader thought they broke a rib with the impact, but they couldn’t think now, they were too busy panicking. They needed to break free.

They kicked out at Supervillain, trying to hit them anywhere until Supervillain stepped closer, making Leader’s legs useless, pinning Leader’s legs with their own and the wall, and the panic seized Leader’s chest. They were like a fish out of water, gasping on nothing. That’s when Leader brought their manacled hands down on Supervillain.

Loosen the hold for a second.

Or that’s what they intended to do.

At the last second Supervillain caught Leader’s wrist just below the cuff.

Fuck.

Supervillain slammed Leader’s arms back above their head and held them there no matter how much they writhed and struggled and fuck— black dots were encroaching on the edges of Leader’s vision like a vignette.

They couldn’t speak.

They couldn’t breathe.

They couldn’t fight.

They were going to die here. Supervillain was going to kill them and not break a sweat. Their struggles were weakening, and Leader knew they were gone, that Supervillain had won.

Would Villain be sad Supervillain killed them? Or is this what they wanted all along?

Leader was so fucking stupid and it got them killed.

At least Leader got a good few blows in before they died, at least they made Supervillain bleed, at least they went out fighting…

Those crystal-clear blue eyes stared down at Leader’s as they slowly lost consciousness and darkness engulfed them.

*~*~*~*~*

Villain was leaning against the wall beside the door to Leader’s cell, arms folded, head resting against the wall. When the door opened, Villain pushed off quickly, turning to see Supervillain with dried blood caked on their upper lip and nose, staining their shirt. Villain’s face dropped.

“What happened?”

Supervillain smiled, showing bloody teeth. “Nothing I couldn’t handle. They got rowdy, so I put them down.”

“You said you’d be gentle.”

“You said they were weak and exhausted.”

“They are!” Village protested.

Supervillain raised an eyebrow at Villain’s voice rising in pitch, a smile tugging at the corners of their mouth as Villain looked away, and said, “they were. I left them hanging for three days, I was worried their shoulders would pop out of their sockets!”

“Did you have mercy on Other Villain’s Henchman when you left them hanging? Did you worry about their shoulder joints?”

“It’s different,” Villain said, eyebrows knitting together. “We were torturing Other Villain’s Henchman for information. Leader is just a prisoner, and you have to be humane. It’s not personal, it’s—”

“Humane?” Supervillain asked and Villain sighed, running a hand down their face. “Maybe if you were a bit less humane, Vil, it would have prevented the broken nose,” said Supervillain not unkindly, voice gentle and soothing, which just made Villain feel worse. They were going easy on Leader, and Supervillain noticed.

Supervillain placed a warm hand on Villain’s shoulder, and smiled when Villain looked up at them, eyes steeled. “It won’t happen again.”

“Oh, I know, Villain… I trust you,” Supervillain said, squeezing Villain’s shoulder lightly, and Villain tried hard not to blush at the words. It didn’t work.

“I mean obviously Leader has to be punished. Not just for this,” Supervillain said gesturing to their nose, “but for doing the Commission’s dirty work for them.”

“What? But you forgave me,” said Villain, setting their jaw, lips stretched into a thin line.

“I did,” said Supervillain. “The difference is you saw the corruption they wrought. Leader is still under their influence. They need to be persuaded.”

“Why does persuasion sound a lot like punishment in this case?” Villain snapped, jutting their chin out at Supervillain who just kept that same level smile on their face. Their crystal-clear blue eyes beaming with pride down at Villain.

Supervillain stood up straighter, took their hand from Villain’s shoulder and touched their bloodied nose gently.

“You’ve done beautifully, Villain. Leader is our biggest threat to enacting meaningful change. You got them out of the way! You should be celebrating; you should be proud—”

“What about the commission?” Villain demanded hotly. “You said they were the enemy!”

“They are, Villain. Leader is but a pawn and taking them off the board will rattle the commission into making a mistake, one we can use to press our advantage.”

At Villain’s silence Supervillain sighed. “You know firsthand how corrupt they are. If capturing Leader has rattled you—”

“I’m not rattled,” Villain said, voice a bit too defensive. Villain sighed, then gestured to Supervillain’s face. “Go… go get that cleaned up, you’re bleeding all over the place.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Villain lied easily, “yes I’m fine, I’m just tired.”

“Okay. Maybe get some rest, Villain.”

“Yeah, I will.”

Supervillain nodded, then walked to the end of the hall, towards the stairs out of the basement. Villain waited until they heard the sound of the heavy door shutting before they leaned against the wall and let out a long-laboured breath.

This was all they needed.

Then they opened the door to Leader’s cell and walked in, letting it close behind them.

Supervillain watched from the shadows of the stairs, a frown finding its way onto their face. Then they turned and actually left to fix their nose.

*~*~*~*~*

When Leader woke up again, they gasped awake, desperate to get some air into their lungs as the hand on their throat— Leader blinked, and it was the biggest mistake they ever made. A thundering headache followed, and they nearly whimpered at the pain but kept silent as they took in the new room around them.

At least they were sitting down this time and didn’t have any less articles of clothes on than they did before which was a plus, although their feet were starting to feel the cold. This time Leader woke in a chair, a comfortable enough chair, their arms resting on the arms rest were tied down with reinforced leather straps that brokered no movement when Leader tried to yank their hands free. All it did was tighten the leather around Leader’s fists, crinkling like rubber, but they couldn’t complain. The leather was far more comfortable than the manacles, Leader was getting first class treatment as far as the last few days were concerned.

They longed to stretch their limbs, but as feeling slowly came back to their body they realised they couldn’t move their legs either, strapped to the legs of the chair in what felt like the same strong leather as their wrists. They let out a soft sigh and pulled at their restraints just because.

They were tired.

Exhausted.

Their head was fucking pounding because of Supervillain and his stupid need to be tall and strong and authoritative. He could have at least been kind about the strangle hold, like, oh I’m sorry Leader, here’s some paracetamol for that headache you’ll wake up with.

Leader just wanted to go home, be with their team. They should have never pursued Villain; in hindsight they should have stayed with their team and then none of this would happen.

They would have stayed on mission and not abandoned their target to pursue an obvious trap, Villain knew they would follow though, Villain wanted them to, counted on it. They wanted to show off their new reinforcements and show Leader, they didn’t need them and their team anymore. They wanted to show Leader who was stronger, and Leader’s ego made them follow.

Stupid.

There wasn’t much room for any other thoughts after that.

From behind them Leader heard movement and then they saw the hammer coming down hard, a merciless swing, straight on the back of Leader’s right hand. Leader screamed as they felt, no heard, every bone in their hand shatter. They struggled in the comfortable chair, trying to alleviate some of the pain, to get away from the aftershocks of pain as Leader tried to move their fingers.

“Do I have your attention, Leader?”

Leader howled when Supervillain drive the hammer down harder on the back of Leader’s hand, rubbing against broken and bruised bones. “Yes! YES! Just stop!”

The hammer lifted after Leader found their words and their sigh of relief ricocheted through their entire body, adrenaline pumping in their blood. They sucked in a sharp breath when Supervillain came to stand in front of them, glaring angrily up through pain blinded eyes. Their chest rising and falling like a rabbit’s that was suddenly cornered by a dog.

“Good,” Supervillain said with a smile and dropped the hammer unceremoniously on the floor. Leader flinched when it clanged against the concrete floor. Their breath still struggling to fill the hole in their lungs from the shock.

“Villain asked me to go easy on you,” said Supervillain. Leader’s heartbeat skipped at that. Villain still cared. Just not enough to get you out of here, a nasty voice in the back of Leader’s head hissed. “They think you’re just blindly following the commission’s orders, that you need to be persuaded to see the light like they did.”

“Yeah?” Leader laughed, the laugh manic, off and wrong. “And follow you, is it? I’m devoted to one dogma, Supervillain, I can’t stomach two, I’ll have to pass.”

“Why do you follow the Hero Commission’s orders, Leader? Hmm?”

“Why don’t you ask Villain?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“Villain only followed you,” Supervillain said, delighting at the pain that must have showed on Leader’s face. “They never believed the commission’s bullshit, or so they say.”

“But they believe your bullshit, is that it?”

“I am just one man,” Supervillain said with a smile, spreading their hands wide. “Ineffectual. What could I do that’s so bad?”

“Oh, I don’t know, using a hammer as a wakeup call comes to mind,” Leader grouched, relaxing back against the chair. “Aside from that do you want the list categorically from worst to least bad, or chronologically, either way it’s a long time we’re going to be chatting.”

“Oh Leader, don’t worry. We have time,” Supervillain purred, walking over to Leader’s chair. Leader couldn’t even back away, couldn’t flinch, couldn’t do anything with how fucking tightly they were tied down and it scared them.

Scared them how easy it would be for Supervillain to kill them then and there.

Tied up, defenceless, immobile.

The fear must have shown in their eyes because Supervillain let out a soft laugh when their legs touched Leader’s knees.

“You’re not so brave like this, are you? Did I scare you earlier Leader? Did you think I was going to strangle you to death? Are you afraid I’ll do it again?” Supervillain reached a hand over and Leader recoiled, trying to avoid it getting anywhere near their neck, but Supervillain’s hand pressed against Leader’s throat all the same and the fear gripped them like a vulture’s talons.

The courage bubbled up Leader’s throat and they bit out, “yeah? Let’s see how brave you are stripped of your gear and tied up in enemy territory.”

“I could you know. It would be so easy,” Supervillain said with a soft hum, squeezing slightly.

Leader’s eyes turned to stone, a grave challenge in them, the kind Leader would wager their life against. Leader leaned forward slightly, staring directly into Supervillain’s stupid smiling face, and said: “then do it and get it over with. Kill me and spare me the torture of having to listen to you talk.”

Supervillain smiled a handsome smile.

Their smile didn’t waver as they drew their fist up and slammed it down hard on Leader’s broken hand. Leader howled, throwing their body forward on instinct, trying to protect themselves but all they did was drive themselves straight into Supervillain’s strangling hold and Leader gasped in pain, tears streaming down their face as Supervillain shoved them by their neck to the back of the chair.

Leader choked on nothing, sucking in startled air which got caught on their strangled cries of pain in their throat. Their body fighting against the restraints and Supervillain’s hold trying to fight, trying to escape. Their body hadn’t gotten the message that struggling was futile yet.

“Hmm,” Supervillain hummed. “I think you’re right Leader. I much prefer the sounds of your screams over my voice.”

“You fuc—” Leader screamed again as Supervillain drove the palm of their hand into the back of Leader’s, kneading the shattered bones, choking on their screams, clamping their teeth down on their cheek to soften them to more of a pained hum.

“I can make good on that gag Leader,” Supervillain promised, moving their fingers up to pinch Leader’s cheeks and force their mouth into an O shape. Leader swallowed, feeling Supervillain’s hand bobbing with their throat. “That way I still get your delightful screams and cries of help.”

Leader huffed out a breath, the pain finally receding in their brain enough for them to think.

 “Grapefruit.”

Supervillain blinked, then frowned, then raised their eyebrows and tightened their hold ever so slightly.

“What?”

“Grapefruit,” Leader said again, voice raw, almost breathless and Supervillain let their grip loosen a little.

“Have you lost it already, Leader?” Supervillain asked and Leader shook their head as best as they could.

“Then what’s Grapefruit?”

Leader swallowed hard and rasped: “It’s a citrus fruit—”

“I know what grapefruit is,” Supervillain huffed, “I don’t know why you keep repeating it.”

Leader looked up through their tear-soaked lashes, all innocence and doe eyed charm, and said with a straight face: “my safe word is grapefruit.”

Supervillain stood up straighter and let go of Leader’s throat and Leader could breathe easy for the second of relief that came with it. Then Supervillain slammed down their hand on Leader’s hand and Leader struggled and howled and screamed and cried, “oW! JEES— motherFUCKER! GRAPEFRUIT! GRAPEFR— FUCK!”

“Maybe I hurt the wrong part of you, Leader. Maybe I should have broken your jaw, then maybe you would shut up!” Supervillain hissed.

“Maybe….” Leader ground out, a shit eating grin on their face despite the pain, despite their situation, despite everything that was thrown at them in the last week. “Maybe you’re going to have to kill me to stop me, Supervillain. Do it right now, say it was an accident and maybe, maybe Villain— argh! Maybe Villain forgives you. I’m irritating, an honest mistake, I pushed you too far…”

Supervillain glared down at Leader now, hands completely off Leader, balling into meaty fists at their sides, nostrils flaring in anger. Leader took that as their cue to continue with their exhausted throat.

“But the longer you keep me alive, the longer I have with Villain? The less sleep you’re gonna get because I found Villain, I made them who they are today, and you’re scared. You are terrified of me, that’s why you tied me down so tight. That’s why Villain isn’t here right now. You’re in deep, and you don’t know how to get out. Kill me, you risk alienating Villain forever, keep me alive? Me and Villain have more chats about the good old days, and you still lose them. Either way you’re fucked, but I know which one I’d choose, Supervillain. Take your hammer to my temple and be done with it.”

Supervillain stilled, eyes widening slightly in a dim realisation, and then, to Leader’s chagrin, Supervillain smiled. Smug and superior and oh so knowing, and Leader frowned because they didn’t know what they had to be so happy about.

“Oh Leader,” Supervillain sighed. They patted Leader’s head and let out a small, startled laugh. “Leader, Leader, Leader,” they said and as quick as they arrived, they left, and Leader tried to turn in their seat to see what they were doing but they couldn’t. All they could do was stare forward and hear Supervillain’s footsteps getting further and further away.

“What?!” Leader yelled, twisting and turning and getting nowhere except aggravating their hand and they cursed and sat staring at the wall. They flinched when they heard a door open and close, and Leader was left alone.

That thought scared them more than anything Supervillain did.

*~*~*~*~*

Orphanage roll call (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @nameless-beanie @aarika-merrill @criohfreeze @bandnbookbag @gala1981 @theonewithallthefixations

[galaxywhump]

Ghosts of the Past

[SV-240 masterlist]

Timeline: post-captivity, set after A Day of Revelations.

contents: recovery from slavery whump and forced relationship, hospital setting, nightmares, mentioned surgery, torture, branding, therapy and past weight loss, absent parent.

~~~

He must have fallen asleep.

He wakes up with tears in his eyes and the memory of Daniel clear in his mind, in the hospital room, not alone. Blinking, he expects to see steel-gray eyes and a familiar fond smile, feel a hand brushing his hair away from his forehead, hear a voice that tries and fails to be soothing. Instead he sees brown eyes and concern written all over the familiar face of the person leaning over him, their hand still resting on his shoulder after they shook him awake.

“Breathe, Wren. Breathe.”

He doesn’t remember this voice ever being soothing, but it works. Breathing deeply, he nods, his body in a state of panic even though he can hardly remember why. He reaches up to wipe his tears away, and his breath stutters again. There’s no way he can speak in this state.

“Are you okay?” Nathaniel asks, just as, if not more, nervous as his son.

No. Isn’t it obvious?

Wren nods again, and Nathaniel frowns.

“Sorry I had to wake you. You were…” He hesitates, looking for the right word, or maybe considering how much to tell him. “Thrashing.”

Another nod. Wren’s throat is squeezed tight, his heart fluttering in his chest, so he stays silent, focused on breathing.

He had a nightmare, and his father saw it.

It’s a strange realization, as if he had mentally placed a division between the person he was on SV-240 and the person he’s here now. He knew that returning to Earth wouldn’t erase his memories and trauma, but Daniel’s strong presence in his mind is the most striking reminder of that. The captive from SV-240 has been transported to Earth and sticks out like a sore thumb.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “Must’ve had a nightmare.”

It’s Nathaniel’s turn to awkwardly nod. He parts his lips as if to say something, and his grip on Wren’s shoulder tenses, but in the end he lets go and looks away.

Despite knowing better than to expect any comfort, Wren’s disappointment is almost painful, and he barely stops himself from reaching out to grab his father’s hand, begging him to care.

“I brought you some things,” Nathaniel says, and when Wren follows his gaze, he notices a large bag by the wall - his bag, one he hasn’t used in years, but seeing something that belongs to him fills him with warmth, a feeling so strong he can’t believe it’s caused by something as mundane as an old object.

“Thanks.” Smiling requires a shocking amount of effort even when it’s for the most part genuine.

“Have you thought about where you want to stay?” Nathaniel pulls a chair closer to sit down. “I’ve found some places for sale or for rent, I can send you the offers.”

“Can I stay at your place?” Wren blurts out before he can stop himself. It’s a terrible idea, he knows it is, but the thought of having to choose is overwhelming. His recent nightmare also causes him to tense up and his mind to protest when he imagines being alone. Just him and a ghost, and nobody else.

“Of course.” Nathaniel’s response is immediate despite the look of surprise on his face. “It’s still your home too.”

This time there’s nothing forced about Wren’s smile.

“Thanks. I won’t stay long, just until… I get back on my feet.”

“You can stay as long as you like.”

That’s a relief when Wren has no idea how long it will take him to get back on his feet, if that’s even possible. What does that even mean? Functioning on his own, probably; the thought makes him anxious, so he drops it for now.

“Thank you. Really.”

Nathaniel nods, and they both fall silent, with too many unsaid words ringing in the air. There has always been a barrier between them that Wren couldn’t get through, and even now, when Nathaniel’s being more vulnerable than Wren’s ever seen him, the barrier is standing strong, intimidating and stifling. Worst of all, it prevents him from telling his father about anything, really. He should at least mention the tracker that’s going to be removed shortly, but even that fills him with deep shame. And then, of course, there’s the relationship Daniel had forced him into, the affection and intimacy that affected him more than anything else did, which is the last thing he wants to reveal to anyone, period.

Bearing it alone makes it hard to breathe, but he can’t imagine choosing the alternative.

---

The bag contains clothes, his clothes: familiar flannel shirts, plain t-shirts and relaxed pants, all ironed out and neatly folded. He reaches inside the bag and rests his fingertips on the clothes, and the feel of the fabric is familiar too. He clears his throat and blinks rapidly when tears threaten to gather in his eyes, and pulls out one of the shirts, unfolding it and holding it in the air, staring at it while his mind is racing.

It’s been years since he was allowed to choose what to wear. The clothes chosen by Daniel weren’t bad, they were comfortable and practical, but that was the problem - they couldn’t get in the way of Daniel’s sadistic ideas, and it wasn’t much of an issue if they ended up stained with blood. He was a plaything, a blank canvas, dressed accordingly, even when Daniel tried to convince him that they could be close to equals if he only gave in.

Now, he can finally make a choice, even one as seemingly inconsequential as this.

Once he’s dressed, he stands in front of the mirror and chokes on his breath.

The clothes still fit him well; they would’ve been noticeably more baggy if he’d stayed malnourished like he was during the first few weeks on SV-240, but since his starvation ended and Daniel allowed him to start working out again, he’s gone back to looking like himself, the person he used to be. It’s all the more jarring as he stares in the mirror at someone from over two years ago.

Someone he no longer is.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath when tears come back, this time impossible to stop. He shoves his hands into his pockets and looks up at the ceiling, away from the mirror. “I’ll get used to it,” he whispers, closing his eyes. “It’s just clothes, and they should make me feel better, for fuck’s sake.”

Wearing them does help, but seeing them does the exact opposite, so he ends up walking away from the mirror, and avoids looking into it if he can help it.

---

He spends a few more days in the hospital, and every single morning he wakes up from a nightmare. While it might be better than waking up to a nightmare, it’s exhausting in its own right, and leaves him a mess.

Reality doesn’t help as much as he hoped it would. He’s free, but everything feels like too much.

Someone visits him and introduces herself as a therapist; that information alone makes him so anxious he fails to catch her name. She talks to him, and he’s tense the whole time, mentally building walls around his mind as if the therapist could read it and learn about everything he went through. His input is limited to nodding along, waiting for the conversation to be over. He doubts therapy will help when his plan is to take the full scope of his trauma to the grave.

Later that day he’s scheduled for surgery. Something in him flares up in protest when he slowly slips into unconsciousness, a scared part of him that doesn’t want him to be defenseless, at someone else’s mercy, with no guarantee that they won’t hurt him or tie him up, but there’s nothing he can do at this point. When he wakes up, everything is alright, his shoulder is bandaged and the tracker is… gone. He can’t help but think that it would feel more significant if he wasn’t still branded - and he can see the sympathetic looks on the faces of the doctors who saw his back. He stays silent.

His father visits him again, they talk about nothing in particular. With the visible bandage on his shoulder Wren can’t hide the truth any longer. He had a chip. A tracker. It was nothing, and it’s gone now.

“That’s good.” Their conversation dies down.

Another night, another nightmare, which a nurse wakes him up from. His face burns with embarrassment, and he doesn’t know how to explain himself. Thankfully, they don’t pry.

He’s sitting in an armchair by the window, looking outside, when raised voices out in the corridor make him flinch. He looks in the direction of the door with a frown, and recognizes one of the voices as his father’s, but the other one he’s never heard before. It’s probably a hospital worker, but the conversation certainly sounds… heated, though he can’t make out enough words for it to make sense. The voices get calmer eventually, and he can hear footsteps getting closer. Then a moment of silence - and someone knocks on the door. His father and the hospital staff have used knocking as a mere formality, letting themselves in unless he tells them to wait, but this person doesn’t open the door.

“You can come in!” he says.

He doesn’t recognize the person that enters the room, but there’s something about the way she looks him up and down and her eyes widen that gives him the impression that she recognizes him.

“Hi,” he says, standing up.

“Hi,” she responds and clears her throat when her voice trembles. “Wren, right?”

“Yeah. Wren Rackham.” Who is she? He narrows his eyes when he considers all the options and lands on one he’s not excited about in the slightest - that the person in front of him is a journalist, here to ask him about everything he went through. That would explain the heated discussion, too, but he really hopes that’s not the case. “Do I know you?”

There’s a flash of emotion on her face, too brief for him to try and understand it before she speaks.

“No, I suppose not,” she lets out a soft sigh. “I’m… My name is Jonna Schulte.”

Should that tell him something? She looks at him expectantly, but no matter how hard he tries to place the name in his memory, he fails.

“I’m sorry, I don’t…” He shakes his head helplessly.

“So he never… okay.” Jonna clears her throat again. “How do I even say this… You… you’re my son, Wren.” Her words feel like a punch to the face, and Wren’s eyes go wide. He doesn’t get to say anything to that - and he has no idea what he could say anyway - as she continues, clenching her fists to hide the trembling of her hands. “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, Wren. I never wanted to abandon you, but I was forced to, and I regret it every single day. I-I know I can’t make up for my absence, and I’m sorry I’m visiting you out of nowhere, but when I heard what happened to you I… I had to see you.”

Wren puts his hand against the wall to steady himself when his legs threaten to buckle under him. As he’s staring at Jonna’s face in disbelief, he can’t help but notice that there is some physical resemblance between them, which means… she might not be lying.

The thought turns his world upside down to the point where the memories plaguing him are overshadowed for a short moment.

His mother was never in the picture, and he was used to it. Nathaniel didn’t seem to like talking about her and avoided the topic until Wren gave up and dropped it. All he knew was that she left him when he was three, and since he couldn’t remember her at all, he just… never had a mother. As hard as it was sometimes, he had to accept it.

And now she’s here. A complete stranger, appearing in his life when he’s already overwhelmed and her presence feels like an explosion that only destabilizes him further, his mind racing, torn between confusion and… anger. He takes a deep breath to calm himself down, not wanting to say something he’ll regret later.

“I’m sorry,” Jonna repeats. “I shouldn’t have- You’re already going through a lot and I- I’ll leave you alone.” She turns to leave, but before taking a single step she pauses and hesitantly takes out a small notepad and a pen. “We can pretend this never happened, but if, um, you’d like to get in touch someday…” She writes something down and sets the note on an end table. “Here’s my number. You don’t have to do anything with it, I just… thought I’d leave it here.” When he doesn’t respond, she swallows and looks away. “Goodbye, and… I hope you make a good recovery.”

Does he want to pretend this never happened? Maybe. It would be easier not to have this bomb of a revelation on his mind, but he can’t just forget about it. He used to think his mother had decided to abandon him, but if she hadn’t, and she seems to really regret it… it changes everything.

“Wait,” he says, stopping her in her tracks.

“Yes?” She looks so tense, like she’s waiting for him to start screaming at her, and a tiny part of him almost wants to do that, to vent his frustrating confusion, but he nips that thought in the bud.

“I-I’ll think about it. It’s a lot right now, but I’m… not saying no. I just need some time.”

She nods and relaxes her shoulders.

“Of course. I’m not going to push, it’s your decision.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

The corners of Jonna’s lips rise in a slight smile of relief, and Wren can’t help but wonder if their smiles are similar too.

When the door closes behind her, Wren can finally breathe again. He sits down and works his fingers into his hair, and sits motionless in the quiet room - too quiet, oppressively so - for a long while, until reality becomes blurred enough that he’s not sure if Jonna Schulte had actually visited him. Maybe it was another dream, a weird one that’s still preferable to the nightmares tormenting him every time he falls asleep, but…

He lifts his head and his gaze lands on the note left on the end table near the door. It’s real without a doubt; he confirms it when he picks it up. He reads the number several times until he’s memorized it, and hides the note in his pocket.

For the rest of the day it’s all he can think about, and he wouldn’t be surprised if the note somehow burned through his pocket with how aware he is of it at all times.

At least, no matter how he feels about it, it’s a welcome distraction until Daniel inevitably visits him in his dreams again.

~~~

[next]

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

[avvail-whumps]

Can we get an alternate ending where Leo tells the truth and Sharpe is determined to get Roy punished whereas Roy is already planning how to hurt Leo more

‘guns for hire’ — alternative ending (money solves everything)

guns for hire masterlist

cw: past captivity, past torture, rescue, slight recovery whump, whumpee referred to as “kid” but he’s an adult, discussions of dub-con, stockholme syndrome, minor blood, violence, manhandling, recapture, kidnapping, implied non-con at the end (nothing explicit)

Leo didn’t actually remember nodding his head.

It was like he had been dreaming; everything had been floating like his head was flying off his shoulders, all the words they spoke like muffles in his ears.

Sharpe had come round the desk, his hands heavy on his shoulders and grounding him back into reality. He hadn’t even realised that there were tears streaming down his cheeks until Summers had appeared by his other side with a box of tissues.

“It’s okay, Leo,” she whispered softly, and there was relief in her eyes. Relief that Leo wasn’t sure he was feeling right now. “Can I wipe your face? Is that okay?”

He felt himself nod his head that time. That was a miracle in itself. Her gentle hands wiped the tears from his face with a soft tissue, a warm touch that didn’t make him feel as comforted as Roy’s. His throat closed up in terror. What had he done? He’d disobeyed his orders and he’d told them.

Why? Why had Leo done that?

“But I love him,” Leo sobbed, and Summer paused for a second, a grimace on her face.

“It’s not love, Leo,” she answered gently, as if she was treading on thin ice or that he was made of glass and could break any minute. His shaking hands tried to scrub the tears away.

“He’s going to be so mad at me.”

The words had become clogged in his throat, and Sharpe squeezed his shoulders again, trying not to let him spiral. Leo wasn’t sure if it was working or not, because he could just imagine Roy in the same building as him, blissfully unaware of the fact that he’d just destroyed any chance of theirs to be together.

Because that was what they both wanted.

“Roy doesn’t love you.”

They both wanted it.

“What you’re feeling may seem like love, but it’s not real.”

He was so sure of that.

Summers set the box of tissues down on the table, easing him out of his relentless thoughts. His puffy eyes met her own gaze, pooling with deep sympathy. Sympathy? Why sympathy?

“Roy isn’t going to hurt you again, kid,” Sharpe cut in, drawing his attention away from the female detective with a soft blink. “You’re gonna spend some time in Witness Protection, alright? He won’t be able to touch you again. You, or any of the others.”

His back suddenly spurred with this stinging pain, reminding him of the whip tearing his muscles apart, the blinding agony that he’d succumbed to. The person who whipped him had a blurry face, but just for a second, he saw Roy’s eyes.

But he was also kind. He cooked with him - he was bad at things and he laughed when he would. He didn’t want to let that go. It was all he ever wanted.

He heard Sharpe turn to Summers, his voice quiet. “I want him at the hospital and I want him properly fed and comfortable. I want a psyciatrist called for an evaluation before they want him in court to testify.”

“Psychiatrist?” Leo croaked, his heart thundering. Sharpe offered a small smile.

“Yeah, kid,” he nodded. “You’ve been through a lot. You’ll get the help you need.”

The two kind detectives had stayed by his side until his tears stopped, and Leo was able to exit the stuffy room in order to see his father. It had been an amazing thing, to feel his dad hug him so tightly for the first time, and he hadn’t even wanted to let go. Leo’s head had remained plastered to his father’s shoulder during the journey to hospital, and after riding in silence, Leo had dissolved into sobs once again.

His father held him tightly, so tightly, but it wasn’t tight enough to fill that hollow void that was tearing him apart. His father’s arms embraced him, cupping the back of his head and tucking him under his chin, in a way that any child would want to be held.

Once his time at the hospital had passed, his mind only consumed with thoughts of Roy, he’d sat through his first session with a psychiatrist. It was a tall, blond woman - she seemed nice, but Leo couldn’t focus on that when all he could think was how much he wanted to leave.

“Did you have a sexual relationship with Mr Gatlin, Leo?” She had asked gently, like the words hadn’t made his stomach twist with dread. His eyes were focused on the glass table in front of them, like maybe if he stared at it for long enough, he would see Roy’s face in the reflection instead of the psychiatrist.

Leo’s foot tapped anxiously. “Yes.”

He’d wanted to lie, but what was the point? It felt like she could see right through him. The sessions were one of the most uncomfortable things he had ever had to experience. The anxiousness, the embarrassment, the idea of spilling his darkest secrets and thoughts to a complete stranger in the lonesome room.

He imagined what it would be like if Roy was here, holding his hand to help him get through it.

“But why would he have sex with me if he didn’t love me?” Leo softly breathed towards the end of the session, his eyes gleaming with pain. He rubbed his thumb against the scars on his wrist, refusing to meet her eyes. They were too sharp, too imposing, like she could read every thought in his little head.

“You experienced life changing traumas during your captivity, Leo,” the psychiatrist offered. He squeezed his eyes shut. “Mr Gatlin expressed qualities your mind was tricked into thinking was genuine kindness. He took advantage of your vulnerability. Your need for that physical affection.”

Her lips curved slightly.

“Have you always believed that sex is a romantic gesture?”

Leo nodded his head slowly. “Why would someone do that if they didn’t love them? Why would they bother?”

“A lot of people separate their sexual needs from their romantic ones. It’s a blurry line, but there is a line, Leo.”

“He told me he loved me,” he sniffled, pressing his hands into his face. He could feel himself shaking. “He, He said that he...”

“Mr Gatlin kidnapped and tortured you,” she softly spoke, slowly pushing the box of tissues closer towards him. She settled back in her chair with a sigh. “Do you really think someone like that is capable of truly loving you?”

Leo let out a quiet sob. Everyone was telling him that he didn’t love him - that these feelings were born out of necessity and trauma, that his isolated childhood was playing a part in his psyche. He ran his fingers through his hair.

“How frequently did you and Mr Gatlin have sex, Leo?”

He lifted his head, gently wiping away the tears. His heart squeezed a little. “Um, I suppose...often.”

“How long had this relationship been formed before you were separated?”

“I think...” He swallowed uneasily. “Not that long. I can’t really remember.”

The psychiatrist nodded her head. She was always incredibly patient with him, and that made it all the more easier. He frequently visited her during the court sessions, which he found himself avoiding, only until the day he had to testify.

He had kept his eyes downcast, despite seeing the man—he...loved? Thought he loved?—seated in his peripheral. He’d recited everything that had happened, answered the questions, and left. Sharpe had given him a lift, though it wasn’t easy to hear his and Summers conversation while he stared out of the window.

“We’ll win this case,” Summers had said, and yet Sharpe had let out a sharp tut.

“Yeah, that’s if his uncle doesn’t have the judge or the even damn jury in his backpocket.”

“Not with the kid in the car.”

Sharpe had always kept in touch over the months. Asked him how he was doing, how he felt about the psychiatrist – he came round for dinner sometimes, and his father seemed more than happy to cook. Leo sometimes found himself smiling and laughing along with them, but other times, he would be picking at his food with only one person on his mind.

Later, Roy was found guilty.

His father had hugged him and sobbed hysterically, thanking everybody out there and keeping him so close. Leo had cried too, but not for the same reason.

The mercenary was never truly off his mind. Even if it was easier to go about his day without being consumed by him every waking hour, he was still there. Somewhere.

Whispering sweet nothings in his ear.

Holding him close.

Having sex with him and telling him he loved him at the same time.

Leo was curled up in bed, late at night, when he heard his father’s phone ring. He hadn’t been able to sleep well, and carefully listened into the muffled conversation from his comfortable position.

“Oh, Detective,” his father greeted, his voice melting into warmth and excitement. Leo’s ears perked up. He wondered why he was calling so late at night. “Are you—?”

His father was abruptly cut off. Faintly, during the silence, Leo’s blood spiked with anticipation.

“Bail—?” His father all but cried, and he could sense the crushing despair in his voice. “But it was so high!”

Leo’s heart rate began to pick up. Bail? They could only be talking about Roy. The bail had been expensive, so expensive it would have been impossible for someone, even of the uncle’s stature, to pay it off. How? How so quickly?

Leo heard a thundering crashing noise, and suddenly, he was leaping out of bed in fear. He rushed out of his room and into the corridor, the sight of his father’s limp body sprawled along the floor making him almost scream.

“Dad!” He called out, collapsing to his knees beside him in horror to find blood pooling around his head. Tears stabbed his eyes. “No, no, no, no, please.”

His fingers gripped his shirt desperately, the panicked thoughts going haywire in his mind. He could feel the static consuming his hearing, making it all fuzzy and incomprehensible as he squeezed his eyes shut, all those horrible memories crashing into him.

“He’s not dead,” came a firm voice, and Leo’s head snapped up to meet the smiling face of Roy. It was a cold smile. “Still breathing.”

The secretary made a dash, but as always, as it had been since day one, Roy was quicker.

Fingers tightened in his hair and slammed his face into the wall, a gutteral groan tearing from his throat when stars erupted in his vision. The gloved hand kept him there, hearing a sharp sigh from Roy.

“I’m so fucking disappointed, lion.”

The tears streamed down his face. It felt like his knees were going to give out on him.

“The worst part, is that I’m absolutely livid, too,” he hissed, and God, Leo had never heard anger dripping off Roy’s words like this. The worst part, was that they both knew he was holding himself back.

“I really thought you were smart,” he hummed, pressing his face harder into the wall. Leo let out a pained sob, his breathing picking up. “I leave you alone for forty-eight hours, and they manage to get into that little head of yours.”

Roy jerks his head back, spinning him around so that he’s facing him. His knees can barely even support his own weight, staring at the face he’d failed to get out of his own head.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed, choking on a breath. “I’m so, so sorry—”

“You’re sorry now?” Roy snapped, his lip curled into a snarl. “You’re a fucking mess. Look at you. This could have even easy, but you’ve only gone and made this way harder than it has to be.”

The mercenary sighed sharply, his eyes flickering over to his father’s unmoving body. They softened, just a fraction.

“New names, new identity,” he hummed, tilting his head. “Shame. I like you as a blond.”

Leo sucked in a gasping breath. The grip on his hair was absolutely unrelenting, and he hadn’t eased up for even a second. He tried to open his mouth to speak, but the mercenary just gave him a violent shake, and it died on his tongue. An unspoken I love you, even after everything. Leo wondered if it was real or because he was scared.

“I’m so mad,” he reiterated, his jaw clenched as those fiery eyes bore into his own. “I could break both your legs and make you crawl after me. But you know what? I’m not going to do that. I’m not going to hurt you, lion. I’m going to do something much, much worse.”

The hand violently pushed him down to his knees, and Leo sucked in a hyperventilating breath. He looked up in horror when Roy started to unbuckle his belt.

“My uncle’s waiting for us both in the car,” Roy told him sharply, and his stomach twisted in dread at the word ‘us’. Us. He desperately shook his head.

“Roy, please—”

A harsh slap shut him up, and the hand returned to his hair as he started working his zipper down.

“Like I said, he’s waiting for us,” he growled, his eyes narrowed into vicious slits. “So that mouth better work quickly and give me a different kind of apology.”

tag list – @unorganisedalienrubbish @d-cs @rabidrabidme @sordayciega @burningkittypoet @whumpawink @mannerofwhump @suspicious-whumping-egg @welcome-to-the-whumpfest @whatwasmyprevioususername @crilex29 @firefly017 @dutifullykrispyland @wibbly-wobbly-whump @there-will-always-be-blood @anonintrovert @justawhumpjunkie @whumptastic-world @ha-ha-one @whatwhumpcomments @whumpterful-beeeeee @anonymous1235 @sonder35 @unforgiven235 @whumpasaurus101 @mj-or-say10 @professional-idiocy @seaweed-is-cool @theelvishcowgirl @atomicsandwichprince @sunshiline-writes @peasandpotatos @pirefyrelight @enigmawritesstuff @reverie1234 @obsessedsplicer505 @mithras-energy @morning-star-whump

please let me know if you would like to be removed from the tag list at any point!

[jordanstrophe]

Abandoned whumpee: Sub Masterlist

This may or may not be official and I have no title for any of it, for now it's just a place I can find everything for later. *cough* which means more is coming *cough*

1: Sacrificed

2: Abandoned

3: Taken by the Enemy

4: Blood loss

[friendlylocalwhumper]

Hi Scott! Do you have a masterlist for Quinn? They are such an intriguing character. While Lux has got the heart, they've got the brain. Love it! Happy Holidays!

hi!! here is quinn’s tag. i don’t have a masterlist for them, but here is a link to the last piece in the arc of quinn and oscar, which is my personal favorite arc - at the bottom of the drabble there is a list of links for each piece in the arc. hope this helped a bit!

also, i love how you phrased it - lux has got the heart, quinn has got the brain. so true!

[libelelle]

Epic cards my brother bought

[eggskie]

[basalt-havic]

mutuals do this

[sophierose002]

The dwarves from the hobbit be like...

[only-tiktoks]

[lacefuneral]

[luxlightly]

I love that he apparently got the job because he looked so pathetic that children truly believed he would be unable to solve puzzles created by a cartoon dog without their assistance.

[thespongemagic]

kids really said “i can fix him”

[huskyoverload]