#implied non-con

[letitbehurt]

The moment a defiant Whumpee relents for the first time. The first “please” that breaks from their lips. The first time they do what they’re told without a fight. The first night they don’t attempt an escape. The first meal they don’t throw back in Whumper’s face. The first kiss they don’t refuse. The first, the first, the first, until there are no more firsts. Until they are no longer defiant.

[whumblr]

Whump dialogue #49

"Shh, shh, it's okay. It'll be fine. Hey," Whumper crooned in a soft voice, "Just tell me when it hurts. Okay?"

Whumpee sniffled and nodded. They grit their teeth, tried to bite away the pain but soon they had to cry out: "No, stop. No, it hurts. It hurts!"

"That's good, darling, that's good."

"Stop! Please!"

"I never said I'd stop. I just wanted to know when it really starts to hurt."

[turnthetablesonthem]

Darkness Falls - 9

Warnings: Infection, Fever, delirium, panic attack, begging, illness, implied non-con, nightmares, past child abuse mention, past homelessness mention, past abandonment, antibiotics, needles tw.

Taglist: @purple-heart-x, @whumpwillow, @briars7, @shydragonrider, @whumpsday, @kira-the-whump-enthusiast, @mylifeisonthebookshelf, @interdimensional-chaos, @wolfeyedwitch, @elrys-creates

NOTE: We can always have extra fun with fever whump.

Also, If anyone is curious or wants to send asks to my characters, feel free! (Read as, Please I beg you.)

_______

Nemesis had fallen asleep in a chair next to the bed, her dreams haunted by memories of her childhood and teenage years. She dreamed of the old box she’d used to sleep in, of spending her time alone in the streets.

But the clearest of these memories was the day her parents had abandoned her.

She’d been sitting on the dingy kitchen floor, trying to amuse herself with drawing. Her father had come in, holding a backpack in on hand.

“Girl.” He said gruffly.

The nameless child looked up at her progenitor, her light green eyes meeting his bloodshot ones.

“Yes?” The child asked, standing up.

“Come this way.”

“Okay.” She said, and got up to follow him to the door of the shoddy apartment.

“You’re twelve now.”

The child blinked in surprise. Her parents had never acknowledged her birthday before.

“Today?”

“Yes.” The man said curtly, stopping at the door. The child’s mother stood next the man, her eyes unreadable.

“It’s time for you to go, girl.” The man said.

The child looked up at him in confusion. “Why do I have to go?” She asked. “Did I do something wrong?”

“You’re not wanted here.” The man said.

Tears welled up in the child’s eyes. She looked to the woman. “Mama?” She asked, reaching out with a small, shaking hand. She’d never reached for her mother’s hand before.

The woman looked away.

“Just go, girl.” She said coolly.

The man handed the child the backpack, and opened the door. When she hesitated, he pushed her out. It wasn’t a hard shove, but it was firm, it’s meaning clear and final.

As the door closed, the child began to cry, not understanding what she had done wrong.

Shivering from the cold, the child reached up with shaking hands, pulling up the hood of her coat, concealing her pure white hair.

Nemesis’ eyes flew open and she sat bolt upright, breathing shakily. Her cheek tickled, and when she lifted a hand to it, her fingers came away wet with tears. Ten years later and she still cried every time she had that dream.

She hated herself for that.

A low groan caught her attention, and Nemesis peered through the darkness at Slipknot.

“Slipknot?” Nemesis asked, standing up.

“No.” He moaned, tossing and turning restlessly. “No, no... please.”

“Hey.” Nemesis murmured, reaching out to cup his cheek in her palm. She froze, able to feel the vicious heat of his fever from an inch away. Immediately, she was alert. It was much worse that it had been that evening.

She turned on the bedside lamp, bathing the room in a soft red glow, her hands were still shaking as she reached for a pair of scissors in the medical kit. She took a deep breath to steady herself as she cut through the bandages.

Nemesis winces at the smell as the bandage peeled away from the festering mess of sickness and blood on his chest. The stitches were torn, the infection already seeping from the wounds.

“When did this happen?” Nemesis murmured, as Slipknot’s icy blue eyes fluttered open, foggy with fever.

He moaned in pain, too delirious to answer her.

Nemesis stood up, knowing she needed Joey to deal with this, when a hot, clammy hand grabbed her wrist in a weak grip.

“W-wait.” Slipknot whined, shifting with a hoarse sob. “D-don’ leave me h-here...” He mumbled, his glazed eyes full of panic. “She- she’ll f-find me. I-I can’t.” He squirmed in the drenched sheets with a frightened sob, his skin coated in sweat.

“I-it was b-bad enough when sh-she d-did it, b-but th-then he thre-threatened too- I-I can’t do this, d-don’t make m-me do th-this, please...” He trailed off with an exhausted whimper.

“Slipknot.” Nemesis murmured, sitting next his head, and gently brushing his sweat-soaked locks back. He tilted his head into her hand, mumbling incoherently.

Unwilling to leave him in such a state of terror, Nemesis grabbed her phone, and called Joey’s number.

“Why are you calling me from down the hall at... 2:47 in the morning?” Joey asked with a yawn.

“It’s Slipknot, he’s worse. The infection in his chest. It’s worse, he’s delirious again. He’s scared, he thinks I’m leaving him for those sick bastards.”

“Fucking hell. Okay.” Joey replied, and hung up.

Mere seconds later, he opened the door.

__________

“Hey kid.” Joey said softly.

“Hey.” Nemesis replied, equally quiet, as Joey flicked on the overhead light. Slipknot flinched at the sudden brightness, hiding his face against Nemesis’ leg with a whimper.

“Sssshhh, ssssshhh, it’s alright.” Nemesis soothed, cupping his cheek in her hand.

Joey cursed softly, looking at the wounds.

“He tore the stitches. Fuck, he should have told me, or you.”

Nemesis just looked down at Slipknot, who was breathing raggedly.

“Damn the Rogues, especially Lena, for what she did to him.” Joey hissed, noticing how Slipknot flinched at the mention of his tormentor’s name.

He flinched hard when Joey probed at the hot, damp flesh around the festering wounds, a distressed whine slipping past his lips.

“Easy, easy, just lay still, I know you’re scared, try to relax.” Joey murmured, his heart breaking for Slipknot.

He continued speaking softly, exactly how he had to Nemesis when he’d first found her. He’d never forgotten how scared she’d looked that night, freezing, starving, and covered in blood that wasn’t hers.

Joey shook his head, watching as Slipknot shuddered, whimpering quietly.

Nemesis carded her fingers through his hair, speaking softly to the shivering Supervillain.

____________

It was four-thirty in the morning by the time Joey finished cleaning and re-stitching the wounds. Slipknot was barely conscious by now, his fever having spiked too high for him to stay fully awake.

Nemesis sat next to him, holding his hand as he mumbled incoherent pleas for mercy.

With a sigh, Nemesis lay down beside him, draping one of her arms around his broad shoulders, and cupping his flushed face in her other.

“Just rest. No one is going to hurt you.” She murmured, stroking her thumb over his overheated skin.

He fell still at her touch, his breath steadying slightly.

“Sssssshhhh, that’s it.” She cooed, letting him snuggle against her, smiling slightly as his shivering slowed.

Joey had given Slipknot some stronger antibiotics, as well set up an IV drip to keep him hydrated.

“I’m here, I’ll keep you safe.” Nemesis whispered, holding him as tightly as she could without aggravating any injuries. 

She stayed beside him, dozing lightly, until well after sunrise.

[storybookstalker]

Can I request yandere Melon from beastars? HC if you can sfw or nsfw would be amazing! Feminine darling who's also a hybrid that is a college student

→ ;SFW

It’s rather difficult to reel in this yandere, so congrats!

A hybrid darling would catch his attention more than other kinds of darlings, especially if she’s open about being a hybrid! He’s both impressed and envious, or rather, a better word might be “insecure”. Melon loathes his predator heritage, so he doesn’t understand how anyone could ever be so relaxed about it. He finds himself hating her for it; how dare she just flaunt it so openly? And in front of him, no less.

He doesn’t notice it at first, but his darling will quickly take up most of his thoughts. He thinks it’s because of how much he hates her. That must be the reason, Melon doesn’t understand how it could be otherwise. Maybe he wants to eat her? Whatever it is, he acts rather two-faced towards her. She’ll probably think she did something to offend him, or he hates her because of her hybrid nature.

It isn’t really until he catches her being flirty/someone flirting with her, that he notices how possessive he really towards his darling. Melon finds himself stepping in to control the situation and to ward off whatever filth that thinks it’s good enough to interact with his darling.

Sure, he’s confused (as is his darling) but now he knows that he wants them. Nothing else matters now, there’s nothing that can get between him and his darling once he realizes that he’s in love.

It’ll take him a while to get to that point, and darling will probably be very wary of him before this point.

Melon is a extremely possessive yandere, believing that his darling belongs to him and only him. Depending on how darling acts, he might even delude himself into thinking they were made for each other. After all, how common are hybrids? Not common at all, and he just happens to meet one? What are the odds? Clearly, only he understands what they’ve been through, the struggles of being a hybrid. Too much of a predator to ever be considered safe by smaller animals, and too much of a prey to ever be fully respected by predators. They’re meant to be together, and he’ll make sure they understand that very well; as Melon is not a very patient man.

→ n; SFW

↳ Warnings; Pregnancy mention; breeding mention; vague/implied non-con; pain kinks; aggressive and sexual yandere things.  

Melon enjoys pain; he enjoys inflicting it, and he relishes receiving it. As a fellow hybrid, he truly believes his darling must feel the same. As hybrids, they cannot taste anything, so pain is something to enjoy, right?

He’s not so deluded that he’ll force pain onto his darling, but he’ll make them hurt him instead. Especially if their claws are well developed. He enjoys having his darling “punish” him for being born as a hybrid, and likewise will happily take out his frustration on his darling. 

Melon is rough, violent. Sex is more of a flash of teeth and blood rather than the soft connection he believes it is. Aggressive and possessive, Melon isn’t the most romantic despite any effort he might put forth. Which is to say, not much effort at all.

He tends to flip a switch rather often; one day wanting to tie his darling down and rip into them, the next practically forcing his darling to hurt him in any way possible. 

Most of his kinks purely involve claiming one another (whether his darling wants to claim him or not). He’ll be rather upset if they refuse to claim him, taking it as rejection. It’s a little scary, having Melon ask her to tear into him, since his idea of claiming is causing permanent scarring. 

He does enjoy the idea of breeding his darling, very much so actually. The idea of marking her as his in any and all ways is intoxicating, and has him feeling higher than he ever has from pain. Though he’s terrified at the idea of her actually getting pregnant, sure, the idea of having physical proof of their love, of them being soulmates, is amazing; but on the other hand? He’s not sure he could handle becoming like his mother. The whole situation leaves him feeling out of control, so he’d rather it just not happen in the first place.

He’s really not even sure he could get his darling pregnant, and if the chances are low enough, he’ll just ignore the possibility of it happening. It’ll make him freak the fuck out sometimes, but not enough to keep him from holding his darling down and fucking them until they forget their own name. 

Melon is the type of yandere who’d happily carve his darling’s name into his flesh, or even tattoo it. He might force his darling to have his name on them too, but they could also get away with copying his melon leaves instead of name. 

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

from the next chapter of Lady in Red - a Doctor Strange x OFC fic

characters:  Stephen Strange x Teyla of Hadeeth (OFC); previously established relationship

rating:  Teen and up; angst, hurt/comfort, romance, implied non-con (in the past)

word count:  1.7k

Ten days later, and Teyla’s physical wounds were well on the mend, the cruel bruising she had suffered almost faded away, and her cracked ribs well-knit and no longer even tender, thanks to the curative spells practiced by the Healers of Kamar-Taj. Her appetite was beginning to return, and hour by hour she seemed to be more like herself. The nightmares that had plagued her were coming less often—and with Stephen ever near to comfort her when she awoke from those night terrors, her sleep had become more restful.

Still, Stephen remained dismayed that Teyla continued to provide him with only the barest details about her experience—reading in that choice her desire to protect his feelings. All that he could do about that was to gently remind her that he loved her unconditionally and that when she felt ready to break her silence, he would be here for her, to comfort and never judge. As far as he knew, she had not chosen to lighten the burden of those foul memories by airing them with anyone in their Order, even those whose expertise lay in providing for the wellbeing of mind and heart.

Finally, Master Isumo judged that Teyla was fit enough for light duties, if she so wished, and to leave the confines of the compound and Kathmandu. Stephen’s first thought was to bring her to their most special place on Earth: the little hut that he had previously fit out to please her, their private sanctuary whose walls were filled with only love and the dearest of memories.

When he announced his intention to bring her there, just the prospect of that trip enticed the sweetest and much-missed sunshine smile to dawn upon her face at last. That being the first time that Teyla’s smile had looked truly untroubled by the shadow of her ordeal. With Kamar-Taj only a portal away in case of any sort of relapse, Stephen felt confident that this would be the best medicine toward continuing her recovery.

They arrived in the early evening, and everything about the place was the perfect picture of their first night there, the mock orange bushes bordering the rustic cabin in full, fragrant bloom.

Teyla stood stock still and shut her eyes as the golden gateway closed behind them, and then took several deep, cleansing breaths, to hum softly in relief. “I feel as though I am finally home, Beloved. As safe in this shelter you have made for us, as I ever feel in your embrace.” When she opened her eyes again, Stephen thought they looked as soft and warm, and as free of the painful burden she’d been bearing in silence, as they had been since he had brought her back to Earth.

“You can count on that, sweetheart. In all the months and years ahead.” He pulled her to him, as though in proof of that promise, the fit of slim form against him the greatest relief he’d felt in what seemed ages longer than the two weeks time since she’d been abducted. Since the moment he had found her alive, in fact, though she had still been caught in Hades dark magic. “I want you to remember this feeling, honey. Because someday coming up, I will have to leave your side and return to my full responsibilities—but at those times I can’t embrace you physically, I am always holding you this close in my heart.”

Teyla tightened her arms around his back. “Even so, do I hold onto you, Beloved.” Her voice went low and tremulous as she reminded him, “ ‘Twas only knowing that you hold me in your heart no matter where you traverse the cosmos, that gave me hope enough to survive those dark, endless hours until you came to claim me.”

He would not tell her in that moment, but he had already doubled down on matters of her safety---delving deep into ancient documents to research and devise even stronger warding spells to protect her whenever he should need to travel afar. Stephen was aware now, more than ever, that his reputation as one of Earth’s staunchest protectors proceeded him wherever his duties took him---thus making those he held dear, especially Teyla, targets for vengeance and a toy for coercion. “I will always come for you, my love. Come hell itself, I’ll find the way.”

_____________________________________

Teyla had taken a brief nap that afternoon, which had freed Stephen up to transport a few things they would need while staying in their quiet hideaway. A well-stocked hamper of food and drink, extra blankets for the cooler nights, and a wicker chaise---complete with soft, comfy cushions---large enough for them to relax in the open air together. They reclined there now, as the sun set behind the mountain and dusk stole across the sky.

He lay on his back, waiting for the first stars to appear, and Teyla was curled against him, resting her head on his chest and one arm tucked across him. She had gone so quiet that he thought she had drifted off into a peaceful doze, but as the darkness grew, she hummed contently and quietly asked, “Do you think there will be fireflies tonight?”

Stephen drew a deep breath of the pure, crisp air and shook his head. “I don’t think so, honey. That time of year has passed; the nights are too cool now.”

“Hmmm,” she shivered softly, so that he raised his free hand and caused the blanket at their feet to lift up and settle over them. “That’s a shame---I would have liked to see them again.”

He felt a smile tug at one corner of his mouth as he recalled an ancient bit of wisdom he had learned in Sunday school, and which he had seen echoed in one way or another in cultures all across the universe. “To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven.”

Teyla laughed softly, “Has happiness made you a philosopher, my darling? We have a similar saying on Hadeeth.” She recited it, in all its gentle rhythm, then added, “It is good to be reminded of such things.”

“I can’t claim credit for it, sweetheart. But it’s a truth that took me most of my life to learn.” He turned his face enough to kiss the crown of her head. “And honestly, I only came to truly appreciate it because of...you.” Though he couldn’t see her pleased smile, Stephen felt it in that wonderful way they shared, of knowing what the other felt. This is some perfect night, isn’t it, my dear, he thought her way, testing to see if that bond had returned to its full power---for during the weeks of her recovery, it had seemed to him that Teyla had somehow been shielding her mind from his.

Nearly perfect, Beloved. But would become even more so if you would take me to our bed.

He gave an audible gasp, not having expected her to ask, or ask so soon. Are you certain you’re ready for that, baby?

“More than ready,” she affirmed, rising up to lean on her elbow, “And surprised to find I have less patience in this matter that you.” She gave him her rarely used, but very genuine pout. “I have begun to fear you think me too fragile...or perhaps...”

“Perhaps?” He found the uncertainty in her voice startling. “Perhaps what, honey?”

She lowered her eyes and traced a lazy heart upon the center of his chest, “That...that now you find me...tainted...by the things...the things that happened when I was...held captive...”

“Oh, baby, no,” he exclaimed, claiming her hand to kiss tenderly, “Not in a thousand lifetime! I love you and want you more with every day that passes.” Stephen sat up and cupped her face in both of his hands. “Can’t you feel that from me? As you had even before I knew it myself?”

Teyla shook her head, her lashes wet with unshed tears, which now spilled down her cheeks and onto his skin. “It may be that my fear of it happening has been enough to keep me from the knowing. And from believing you could want me still...”

“My sweet, sweet angel,” he affirmed in his gentlest tone, “My beautiful, little miracle worker. My beautiful miracle. You know me better than that.”

“I do, my love...I swear I do,” she rushed to assure him, “Yet still the fear and doubt have weighed heavily upon me---and then, in some of my dreams...” She shuddered, and he knew no chill had caused it, but the illusions that had visited her nightmares. “Forgive me, Stephen...in some dreams, after saving me, you came to...to shun me.”

“Oh, baby...never!” Stephen held her to him, feeling the trip hammer of her heart and rocking her gently, while aching to banish any of her remaining fears. Feeling he fell short when better words eluded him than what he’d managed. “It’s all going to be okay, honey. Trust in me.”

“I do. Always, I do. But in these past few days, I have been so much better. And you’ve held me through the night, yet I have not felt even the smallest stirring of your desire for me.”

“Only because I wanted to be careful, honey. To wait until both your body and mind were healed. And to keep from hurting you, inadvertently.”

“Beloved,” she told him, laying her hand against his cheek, “Know you not that there is no manner in this or any world that you could hurt me? Unless your heart should uncouple from mine—an event that is well beyond any dreams or nightmares or even imaginings.” Teyla drew his face to hers, to murmur against his lips, “The final cure I need must come from you, Stephen. Only then will I be completely restored to the woman I was before…before that beast’s foul touch.”

She was trembling in much the same way as the first night they had spent in this place, and he could feel the fierceness of her need for him at every point of contact between them, clothed or unclothed. “Take me to our bed, my love, and make me whole at last.”…

read chapters 1-4 on AO3

...and perhaps if I get a good response to this piece, I'll finally finish the chapter in full!

[s-ephiroth]

Sephiroth Week 2021

to the moon!

An AU in which Sephiroth is rescued and given a chance to have a proper childhood and grow up in a village of yokai. Please mind the tags and enjoy!

[ on AO3 ]

Day 1: (Memories) Found Among Bamboo

The thing he thought the most about and remembered better than nothing else of his early days was the angel.

His angel.

Perhaps that was a bold claim to make about an immortal, but at least he wasn’t doing it aloud for the four winds to hear; it was much like a little secret, best kept to himself and perhaps, whispered among the sea of bamboo and apple trees to the little company he kept.

Regardless, it was his clearest memory; standing precariously on the roof of that weird house and waiting, either for a monster to dive down and get him or for the courage to fall. For the will to put a stop to everything the person inside that house, the one in the sterile white coat, had been doing to him. Just so he could experience something different for once, for as little as seven seconds before the world could go dark.

And yet, no monster came to sweep him off his feet.

The courage to just do it himself didn’t come either. If anything, any drops of it just left entirely.

Sephiroth trembled in his mix of fear and hesitation; he had climbed too high up to go back down, but going back inside the house meant terribly clean walls and floors, and the touch of the angered master of that place, who maybe would definitely break his legs this time around or cut them off as if they were made of bamboo, just so he wouldn’t run, neither climb so high again.

Maybe it would’ve been better to run into the woods instead?

If anything, the wolves would’ve gotten him before he could think any further about all of that. He was very small and easy to tear apart, as it was proven to him time and time again by the merciless drag of the scalpel; by the hands holding his body down as he was covered in unwelcome touches and filled in ways that had him feeling ill.

Oh, the wolves would’ve been so much kinder.

Their howls would fill the air as they chased him, so different from the voice that called for him from inside that place with anger.

Sephiroth had tried not to look down.

But the shadow of something flying above made him look, out of fear of facing the jaws of some diving beast; scary enough for him to lose his footing and fall.

He didn't scream, out of sheer fear. Because that was to be it and he would be gone before he had any time to wonder what would become of the body he was to leave behind.

Maybe Hojo would find it and enjoy that he could no longer give out any pained yells, but—

He didn't make it to the ground.

Something— No, someone had caught him and they were flying. Sephiroth had been afraid to open his eyes in the chance it was a monster, but once he did, he didn't want to close them again.

The figure holding him appeared to be strong, yet delicate; with eyes of a gentle but piercing blue and hair so golden that it had him feeling a little dizzy from looking at them. Regardless of that, when put together with the fluffy white feathers of those giant wings, that had to be the most beautiful thing he had ever seen at that age, maybe in his whole life, even.

They spoke little — mostly to ask him if he was hurt or to warn about standing on rooftops like that — but their voice had been as soft as a cloud looked like.

(Sephiroth wasn't sure if clouds were actually soft considering that they were made of water.)

So gentle that he couldn't help but start crying in earnest, even if the fear of punishment for his tears was still there, despite the fact that… that figure, that angel, they just let him let everything out without any judgement; a hand coming to run through short, silver hair without any malice.

When he was done, for some reason, Sephiroth started babbling about how awful life had been in the house they were flying far away from, as if he knew that angel for a real long time and as if he was something more than his few years of age.

He was being raised not to be a child or a person, after all. Not that he knew that or how a… regular child was supposed to act.

The angel tried to pretend he wasn't as angry and horrified at the whole prospect, maybe, in retrospect, not to alarm him. But it was a little too obvious that there was something off there. And Sephiroth had thought at the time that now that they knew about how broken he was, they would no longer help him.

"P-please don't drop me," he remembered himself begging.

The grip around him tightened a little, instead.

"I won't, never," the angel had said, "don't be afraid, ok? I'll take you somewhere good. No one's gonna hurt you like that anymore."

Oh.

They were angry on his behalf.

And though the angel didn't make any promises with that, to Sephiroth it had sounded like one.

He had only hoped it meant that the angel would stay.

Not that life hadn't turned out to be good afterwards, but for many years he had held onto that last memory of seeing the angel in their full glory as they left him in front of Gillian's house, with a cold gust of wind that made Sephiroth shiver in his green medical gown.

And sometimes, he would go outside with the intent of watching the stars and clouds alike, hoping that one would dive down all the way from the moon to get him, with six fluffy wings and dressed in robes of pure white.

It was a silly hope, but at least his friends didn’t judge him for it; even if Genesis made a sassy remark on it from time to time, he still joined Sephiroth and Angeal in the usual skywatching session, his fox ears always held high in attention to the sounds of the night.

“What would you do if they came back for you?” Angeal asked one time, the tip of his tiger tail twitching in curiosity; black and white flicking quickly.

To which, Sephiroth had only replied, in all honesty, “I don’t know,” as he stared at the crescent moon in the sky with his shining eyes, colored not quite bamboo but also not quite the sky.

But even since then, holding onto the memory that was most precious to him, he hadn’t quite stopped thinking about it.

What would he do, indeed?

[aki-draws-things]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

@rumrollinsweek

Day 03 ~ "how do you want me?"

A bit more of fluff before things go downhill for our new lovely Asset.

I'm a couple of chapters Bucky will slip in the picture too, but until then they'll have to suffer alone.

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

An Oxymoron - Mark Davies

CW: Box Boy Universe, implied non-con, implied future non-con, conditioning, box boy whumpee, box babe mention (like 2 words), non-con touch, BBU mindset

This also vaguely references/has correlation/implies real-life Hollywood issues, so please be advised. Nothing is stated outright, but it’s one of those “we all know” kind of deals. Stay safe, loves. 

[Other pieces here + here] 

It was poker night, but Douglas hadn’t invited the other agents over to smoke them at poker. No, not tonight. He had a special announcement for tonight.

“Gentleman, I want to introduce you to my latest superstar. Come in here, Mark,” Douglass called to the hall as he gestured an arm out. There were just a handful of men there, longtime friends of Douglass Archer.  

A boy popped his head around the corner, headphones hanging off one ear. He smiled and pulled them off his head entirely. He had a charming white smile, black hair tied up on his head in a loose bun.

“Hey,” he greeted casually as he reached a hand out for a handshake. The other agent smirked and shook his hand.

“There he finally is! I’ve been hearing good things about you, kid. I’m David Ferguson, but you can just call me David. Quite a devil you got yourself as a manager. Be careful, I’m pretty sure he bites.”

Mark smiled again and shook his head slightly. “Hey, I’m just grateful for the opportunity, you know?”

David laughed and clapped a hand on Mark’s back. “God, I miss when they’re young and humble. All my clients do now is call to bitch about their social media numbers.” He fished a card out and tucked in the pocket of Mark’s black jeans. “Call me if you ever find yourself find yourself in the market for a new agent, I’d love to have someone like you on my team.”

Mark squirmed a little under David’s arm and the other man took it as sign to back off. He pulled his arm away and bumped Mark’s elbow conspiratorially. “Joining us for the game?”

Mark shrugged. “Sure, but I probably won’t play.”  

“Oh, that’s fine. You can just watch me as I take your Manager’s beach house.” Douglass and David laughed at some inside joke and Mark cracked a smile, too. He said hello to the other three men and they sat down at the table.

Phil insisted that Mark dealt so it was fair.

~

Douglas leaned back in his chair and took another drink. His cards were fine, but nothing to write home about. David across from his raised an eyebrow a minute amount, but Douglass had played poker with him long enough to know it was a fake tell.

Mark sat at the table with them but didn’t play. He chatted with the other guys or scrolled on his phone, paying attention absently. Just there.

In the end, Phil won and they called it a night. When everyone was still milling around and finishing up their drinks, Douglass pulled his old friend aside.

“Hey David, you remember that idea I had early last year?”  David gave an amused yet exasperated sigh.

“Oh, come on Doug, you can’t expect me to remember all your hair-brained plots. Just fill me in.”

The other man didn’t answer, arching his brows and grinning like a cheshire cat.

David ran his tongue across his teeth and tried to remember which one of the plots would impress itself so hard into his friend’s memory when the others hadn’t. He groaned.

“The WRU one? Doug, there’s no way-“

Douglas put a finger up to stop him and turned his head.

“Mark? Show some respect.”

Mark had been standing off to the side, chatting with Phil. At the command, a thud rang through the room and Mark was on his knees, forehead pressed against the floor. Phil took a step back, surprised and muttering curses under his breath.

David’s jaw hung open, and Douglass relished in the responses.

“Holy shit! I didn’t notice anything! Damn, WRU can really do anything can’t they?” David mussed as he walked over. He snapped his fingers a few times to get Mark’s attention. “Position two.”

Mark sat up on his knees, chin level with the floor and eyes straight ahead. David took his chin and tilted the boy’s head to take a better look.

The boy he had been chatting and laughing with not ten minutes before.

Mark didn’t react, didn’t pull away or flinch. His eyes were different now, distant and softer. His body language was tense and stiff. Breathing shallow.

“This is crazy impressive. I think if I had mine try and act like a real person, you’d be able to see whatever’s left of her brain dripping out her ears. She’d last less than a minute before breaking out in tears.”

The man studied Mark’s blank expression for another moment before a slight look of confused amusement came over his face.

“Position 6.”

Mark brought his arms out, wrists up, and the man pulled up the sleeve on his right arm. Then his left.

“No barcode? How’d you get away with that? I thought that was some kind of requirement or something.” Douglass grinned and pulled a small black flashlight out of his pocket.

David nearly laughed at how well planned out this was. The meeting, the big reveal, everything.

He clicks it on and shines it on the skin of the boy’s right wrist, lighting up a previously hidden tattoo. Under the light, his barcode and the numbers are easily read.

“Ooh, very nice. But what if he gets lost?” Douglas turned off the light and put it back in his pocket with raised eyebrows.

“Oh, this kid’s going to be a superstar. Won’t be able to get five feet from me or a bodyguard, hell even the paparazzi. He’s not going anywhere.”

He reaches down and tugs at the boy’s hair playfully. His hands are still out in front of him, waiting for further instruction.

“Besides, he’s still chipped so you’re really not going anywhere are you, Mark?”

“No, Sir.” His voice is different now, soft and docile. David shakes his head in amazement.

“This is just crazy, man. Mark, what’s your designation?”

“Platonic, Sir.” His manager arched an eyebrow and grabbed the boy’s bun, pulling his head backwards.

“And?”

Mark swallowed as he leaned back to try and get enough slack to breath properly. He nearly jerked his arms back for balance, but he knew Sir would want him to be perfect for his friend. Perfect for the crowds and the pictures and the crew and for him. Perfect, perfect, perfect. Never a detail overlooked or glance in the wrong direction for too long.

He had just wanted to sing. He had just wanted to be an artist.

You signed up for this.

“Platonic w-with secondary ro-mantic training, Sir,” he squeaked out. His hair was released, and he fell forward slightly as he took a deep breath. He fought a shiver as David laughed. Whenever possible, Mark skirted around his saying romantic training. It was okay, he could be good, but wasn’t made for it. He was made for Sir, and Sir didn’t want him for that.

He’s supposed to, though. He’s supposed to want me but he doesn’t. The handlers told me that my owner would want me but he doesn’t. He doesn’t and he never will. People say I’m supposed to love him but they never taught me to do that and he doesn’t want me like that. 

“How does that work? Isn’t that some sort of oxymoron or something?” asked Phil, stepping forward and eyeing Mark with a different kind of look.

That was the other reason he didn’t want to mention his secondary training. Mark like to imagine that he shied away, but in reality, he stayed perfectly still. He could only pretend, only imagine leaning away from the hands that would come and touch and touch and touch.

“Oh he’s a platonic for me and a romantic for anyone who wants to sleep with a superstar.”

Mark swallowed again, hoping that it wasn’t noticeable. He didn’t love Sir, but he didn’t hate him. He was trained for him and he cared about him, but he knew it wasn’t mutual. It wasn’t even; Sir was still his owner and Mark was his pet. His pet that he could make do whatever he wanted.

The handlers told me collars are safe and my owner wants me, but I don’t get to wear mine most of time and he doesn’t want me. Mine doesn’t he want me. I must have done something wrong or misunderstood or something because something is missing and he doesn’t want me. But he gives me away to other people and I don’t understand. 

Why did he let them train me for him and then not want me? 

No, no no no bad. 

It’s okay it’s okay it’s okay.  

Phil used his foot to push down Mark’s shaking arms. He crouched down and lifted the boy’s chin with a smile.

“God, why didn’t we think of this years ago? Could have saved Hollywood quite a bit of trouble and maybe even a few scandals.”

The room laughed again, but this time no one expected Mark to pretend to laugh along with them.