#comfy-whumpee

[ashintheairlikesnow]

All We Have Is Each Other

CW: Intimate whumper, captivity, defiant whumpee, biting, creepy whumper, obsessive whumper, noncon kiss, vague noncon references, drugging. For @amonthofwhump Tropeathon Day 1: Duel

The Motherfucking Gallaghers Masterlist

Takes place during Jax’s second captivity. As always, Jax is used with oversight and permission from @comfy-whumpee)

-

Savvie rolls dice every time she uses the mortar and pestle in the kitchen to grind up one of her collections of pills and mix it into Jax’s drink.

She’s always gambling with the drugs. The first part of the game is seeing whether he’ll drink it before he realizes there’s something in it. If she doesn’t mix it well enough, he’ll see the cloudy bits floating around in the glass and look at her with terrible sad eyes. Sometimes she can’t take it. She just takes the drink right back out of his hand and pours it out, makes him a new one. 

Other the other hand, sometimes his sad voice and sad eyes piss her off worse than anything else could, and she just tips it up until he chokes and makes him finish it anyway. Or shocks him, pressing the button to the remote and watching his muscles lock up, knowing he’ll look sweeter once he’s fighting the way his muscles jerk afterward, the unconscious twitches he can’t quite get rid of as the aftermath works its way through him. 

Sometimes he even looks scared. Those nights are some of her favorites. Savvie never loves Jax as much as she does when he is scared of her. 

But... she can’t keep him scared all the time. What kind of marriage would they have if she did that? No, the drinks aren’t to scare him, they’re just to make… to make things easier. And she doesn’t always do it! She doesn’t always drug him, but it’s enough that he never trusts her. She knows that. He doesn’t… trust easily. 

That’s okay. 

Their relationship got off to a rough start, that’s all, what with Jax starting off as one of the staff, bought and paid for. Plus, Jax’s dad convinced him Savvie was evil, once upon a time when he ran away from her. Taught him to hate her. She had to have her uncle fly all the way to England to bring Jax back, and it’s taking years to undo all the damage that stupid old man did. 

That’s okay. He’s getting better, he’s definitely getting better. He is. He has to be getting better. 

Still… he’s not an easy man to be married to. Not with having to keep an eye on the remote to his shock collar so he can’t take it off and try to run away again, not with the way he watches her sometimes like he wants to dunk her head into the toilet and hold it there until she drowns. Putting stuff in his drink just lets Savvie be able to relax. 

She doesn’t have to worry about what he might do when he’s so high he can’t do much of anything. Besides, it’s only like one out of every ten nights, sometimes twenty, sometimes she even goes for a month or two without doing it. 

She really doesn’t even want to. If he would just learn to be happy without it, she wouldn’t have to keep drugging him, would she? If he’d just stop being so difficult about being her husband… but that isn’t fair. He can’t be any better than he is, not really. Jax just… isn’t wired that way.

So she has to help him a little, to make it so he can have nights when he can’t stay mad at her. Or at least nights when his anger isn’t able to simmer in there behind his eyes while he says Yes, Miss Savvie or No, Miss Savvie like there’s a gun to his head. 

Still. Trying to give him these evenings where both of them just relax… it’s always a gamble. 

Even if he drinks whatever she makes without realizing it’s spiked, he doesn’t always react the same way. If she’s lucky - if her dice rolls well - the drugs make Jax… softer. He’ll lean against her when some of his strength slides away, not seek out touch but loathe it less. Those are the nights she can coax a sound out of him that isn’t clipped or tense. She still thinks about the night she gave him a back rub and he genuinely fell asleep sitting on the floor between her knees, his head drifting until it rested on her leg, the knots of tension slowly loosening beneath her kneading hands until she got distracted by the movie and forgot what she was doing. 

Sometimes he smiles, when he’s blurry and unfocused. Smiles, enough to show teeth even… God, sometimes he even laughs at some of Savvie’s jokes. It’s rare, but it happens. She loves those nights the best. Those are the nights that their marriage almost feels normal… if she just ignores the dilated pupils and the way he can’t stand up on his own. 

Sometimes he gets so foggy he can’t stop laughing, which is irritating but at least adorable to watch and take videos of to make him look at later on the next day when he sobers up again. Sometimes the side effects make him too scared to smile, his eyes darting nervously everywhere watching the movements of shadows he swears are watching him. She… tries not to give him those pills anymore.

The nights tend to end with her telling him to take off his shirt so she can enjoy the view, or even his pants, too. She usually waits on that, though, because it doesn’t matter how good the drugs are - he always hesitates when it comes to taking off his pants, as soon as his fingers touch the boxers with their oddly rolled waistband. 

It reminds him he doesn’t want to be here. Makes his addled mind come back to the collar he wears around his neck, to the reality of the life they’re living, the marriage Savvie has built all by herself whether he wanted to or not.

And he… he didn’t want to. 

So normally she waits on the getting naked bit until they’re in the bedroom and what he wants matters so much less that neither of them think about it any longer. The drugs, at least, make it harder for him to slow her down in there. 

Savvie tries not to think about that, because she doesn’t remember it that way. She likes the nights best where he doesn’t even try to fight, just lets her pull him upstairs and she gets to bury her hands in his hair and tell him what to do and have him, languid and loose-limbed, follow every command without the tension and misery he usually carries into their bed. 

She doesn’t always roll well. 

Sometimes, she rolls snake eyes… and she gets this, instead.

“Fuck’s sake,” Jax groans, words slurring around the edges, rubbing a hand over his eyes. He pushes clumsily away from her, nearly falling off the couch before he manages to catch himself. “For… f’r fuck’s sake, Savvie, what the fuck.”

His wedding ring glints, light from the TV bouncing off the deceptively plain platinum band. She’s hit all over again with a wave of love for him, for the life she’s built after he was brought back home to be hers forever, just like he always should have been. She’d been an idiot not to see it, not until he was gone and she spent years in prison dreaming about getting him back. 

“Fuck’s sake what?” She asks, voice light, smiling at him and poking him in the shoulder where they sit on the couch. 

He doesn’t slap her hand away, but she sees him look at her and… he wants to. His expression is dark. The light is bouncing off his hazel eyes, too, giving them a strange sheen of white that wipes out the color, obscures even his dilated pupils slowly taking over the iris. “What the fuck was it?”

“What was what?”

“What the fuck did you give me?” He goes to push himself to standing only to have his knees buckle beneath him, crashing him to the floor, barely catching himself on his hands. Savvie’s mouth waters, and she swallows, trying to ignore the flutter of fascinated interest in watching his fingernails scrape the rug as he tries to steady himself. “What the fuck is it, Savvie?”

“It doesn’t matter,” She answers, without changing her own tone, leaning forward with her arms resting on her thighs. Her hair falls in heavy waves down her back and over her shoulders. “It’s not anything that could hurt you.”

This time, he doesn't say Miss Savvie or try out the sad eyes. Instead, he looks away. She can nearly hear his teeth grinding. “Yeah, but once I’m all fucked up, you will.”

“Don’t be rude,” Savvie chides him, but she doesn’t move. He looks good, on his hands and knees on the floor. Well, he looks good all the time, really, but he looks even better on his hands and knees. She knows the physique he’s built with the workout routine she makes him do, knows the muscles there hidden beneath the green sweater and jeans he’s wearing. “You’ve been stressed all week. I’m just trying to help-”

“Fucking shit, the hell you are!” He manages to sit back on his knees, then collapses back until his back hits the edge of the couch cushions, upright through sheer force of will and a bit of good luck. His hands lay limp at his sides, now. When he turns to look at her, his eyes don’t focus quite right - but the fury in them is clear.

Well.

Tonight’s not going to be the best night for them, then, she supposes. She feels the edge of a headache starting up, and sighs, looking mournfully at the movie she’d pulled up for them to watch. Another night, then. A night when the gamble pays off and doesn’t backfire. A night when he can’t remember how to be angry at her.

“Fine,” She says, heavily. “I’m not trying to help you. I’m trying to help me.”Her own voice changes - drops almost a full octave from her usual carefully constructed diction and sweetness to something sharper. “I’m making tonight easier on me. Making you less… less-” She can't think of a good way to end the sentence, so she just lets it hang there between them. 

Jax snorts, looking away again. His head keeps lolling forward until his chin nearly touches his chest before he jerks it back again. “Yeah, I fucking know,” He manages, but his slurring is getting worse. “Shit f’r brains.”

Savvie sniffs, but the fake tears aren't coming as easily as they usually do. She probably accidentally gave him too much again. It’s just sometimes so hard to remember exactly how much the dose is supposed to be…

“I don’t enjoy you being cruel to me any more than you enjoy it when I do it to you, you know,” She says, suddenly… so tired. She spends so much time and effort creating a marriage herself out of a man her uncle bought for her once and abducted for her the second time, and she’s doing this all on her own - no one helps her, not really. And Jax never gives up.

She’d been sure he’d start to settle in and understand by now, but he just… he just doesn’t. And she’s so tired. Her fingers toy with the little black remote to his shock collar. Maybe she should just… just give up on having a good night and punish him for the cursing until he just bites off his stupid tongue. 

No, wait. 

She likes what he does with his tongue, when she gives the order. He’s so good with it now. Maybe… maybe just a small shock. Just to remind him he's hers. She takes a deep breath. “Jax… get on your-”

“On m’knees f’r discipline?” He starts laughing before she can finish, cutting her off, letting his head fall totally back against the arm of the couch until he’s staring at the ceiling. He sounds wild, almost like an animal. Her quiet watchful husband is feral, and Savvie resolves never to give him the pill she gave him tonight ever again. “Yeah, fucking… fuckin’ do it. Second I don’t play along, there y’go. Bzzzt.” He cackles, a cracked bark of laughter she’s never heard him make before. “Shut me up so you don’t hear me say it.”

Savvie’s heart twists. “Say what?”

The laughter dies in him as suddenly as it appeared. He turns his head, or tries to - it mostly just falls to one side until he’s looking at her. Their eyes meet, his all black pupil and hers with nearly no pupil at all. “How much I fucking hate your fucking guts.”

“You don’t hate me.” She says it firmly, as if he’s being ridiculous. “Don’t be mean, Jax. You don’t hate me at all.”

She takes a deep breath. Married couples have fights, even ugly ones sometimes, and they work it out-

“Yeah. I… I really do.” Disgusted, that’s the tone in his voice. Disgusted with her. “I do. I hate you.”

“Why do you hate me?”

The look he gives her is such a blatant are you a complete fucking moron that she can hear his voice even though he doesn’t say a word. 

“No, hold on.” She waves one hand, dismissing her own question. His eyes briefly follow the movements of her fingers, distracted by whatever the drugs make him see there. Trails of light, maybe. It’s probably beautiful. “Hold on. I know why-”

“Do you?” His question is sharp, snapped, even as his every muscle can barely tense enough to move. “Do you fuckin’ really?”

“Yes. I do.” Savvie’s too tired to talk him in a circle tonight. She’s just… too exhausted by her bad gamble, bringing neither the snuggly Jax or the scared one, but this angry, vengeful animal instead.

Her headache is getting worse. 

She grabs her glass of wine off the coffee table and chugs it so fast a little drip escapes the corner of her mouth and runs down her chin. She has to wipe it away, wincing at the… at the idea of how that looks. Her mother would have had a fit about it. If she hadn’t died years ago. “Because I had you kidnapped.” 

Jax is silent, for a beat. He squints at her. “Fuck… what’d you say? Might be hearin’ shit.” 

She laughs, softly. Not her usual laughter, crafted to fill up a room and put all eyes on her. This laugh is barely there, but far more genuine. “No. You're not hallucinating, that shouldn't happen with what I gave you tonight.”

“Oh, good, not this fucking drugging, then, jussss-” His head falls too far to one side and he forces it back up, groaning. “Jusss… others.”

“Only one of the pills does that. And you were cute when you thought there were monsters in the bathroom.” She gets that flat stare from him again and this time she can't hold eye contact, looking down and away, still fiddling with the remote to his collar. “I just. I do know what I did, Jax.”

“Yeah, I fucking know you know-”

“I had you kidnapped.” She takes a deep breath. It feels oddly good to say, like a scene in a movie confessing to a priest. A foul-mouthed priest she’s been sleeping with for over a year. The thought makes her smile, just a little. “My uncle had people watching you, and when I was ready, he knew where you’d be and he abducted you for me. I know that. I know that you’d run, if you could. I’d take your collar off right now if I thought you’d stay without wearing it.”

Jax is silent for so long she briefly wonders if he's flat out forgotten how to talk. Then he shrugs - or tries to, his arms don't quite follow his commands. “You’d find somethin’ else, some other reason for shit ‘round my neck. You fuckin’ like it.”

For the first time, she doesn't deny it. “I do.” She laughs at the way he looks almost comically surprised, unable to keep his usual closed-off expressions in place with the drug coursing through his veins. “What? Can't a girl have a kink?”

“Sure fuckin’ can, but you… you don' have a kink, you got… goddamn victims.”

“... I… yeah. But it-... that's not my point. It isn't about the collar, Jax. Your wedding ring does it for me, too. I could barely wait to get you home after we signed the marriage certificate.”

The glare is back. His hatred is blistering her skin. She watches him try to stand, making it nearly upright before he falls back down again with a heavy thump. 

Her mouth twitches. “You want help, sweetie?”

“Ffffuck you.” 

“Well, I mean, if you’re asking so nicely.” She giggles at her own joke. 

He mumbles something she can't quite hear, trying to stand one more time but quickly giving up. He makes it onto the couch, at least. Savvie stands, turning to grab his ankles, shifting so he’s lying on his back, head and feet each cushioned by the arms of the comfortable, overstuffed couch. He struggles weakly, and it's hard work, but she gets him where she wants him. She barely breathes, taking in his chest rising and falling under his sweater, how his inhales are coming more sharply. 

She can't help herself. 

Savvie climbs on top of him, like she’s done a hundred times. She straddles him, sitting on his hips and leaning down to kiss his neck, nosing under his jaw. At first, his head tips back in resignation - but then he curses and pushes at her weakly instead. “Don’t.”

She grabs his wrists and shoves them above his head. He’s so weak, the drugs have taken all that muscle and made them… useless at holding her off. There’s a shiver of excitement down her spine. “Uh-uh, sweetie. You’re the one who said to fuck you, remember?”

She feels a thrill at saying fuck, like she’s still a kid sneaking swears in her room when her parents won’t overhear. 

“Don't,” He groans. “Sav-... Savvie, stop. G’t off me. I hate you.”

“I know.” She smiles down at him. His eyes meet hers, tired and bleary. Furious and almost resigned. “I know you hate me, Jax… but I love you.”

She leans down, her hair a waterfall curtain, blocking them both off from the world. She can smell the cologne she buys for him, blended with her own pricey perfume. His wrists jerk against her grip and she digs her nails in until he grunts in pain and the skin gives beneath. 

“Savvie,” he whispers. 

“Sssshhh.” She lets go with one hand, shifting both his wrists to her other one, and presses a finger against his lips. “I love you so much,” She whispers. “And I don't need you to love me back, sweetie, I don’t. I just need you to lie for me.”

 She kisses him, then, pressing her lips firmly to his. For half a second, his mouth is slack and unresisting even as his body shudders with disgust. He’s warm, his skin burning up beneath her. Her mouth moves against his, trying to get him to answer her, to open up.

His lips gently part. For a brief moment, Savvie feels the rush of victory.

Then he bites.

Pain blooms in a sudden flare as his teeth bury themselves into her lower lip and he jerks his head to the side, sensitive skin tearing.

“Shit!” Savvie jerks backwards, staring down at him wide-eyed. She can taste her own blood in her mouth. It’s smeared on his lips and his teeth like badly-done lipstick as he gives her a smile that's really a snarl. “Oh my God, Jax-... how dare you-”

“Fuck you! Don't fucking touch me!” He gets his arms more or less under his own control and shoves her off of him. She crashes into the coffee table, the legs giving out, tumbling her to the floor. Pain spikes hot and demanding along her hip where she hits the hard angle of the corner and she finds herself the one lying on the floor, while Jax slowly sits up, wiping blood off his lips. 

Her blood. 

Savvie pulls her fingers from her mouth and gasps. There’s a smear of red, bright and vibrant, the unmistakable sense of blood trickling down over her chin. She tongues at the wound, then winces as the pain flares bright, like he’s bitten her all over again. She considers tears - looks at the loathing in his eyes, the absolute rage written in the lines of his face - and then decides they’re wasted on him tonight. Instead, she just shakes her head. “That hurt.”

“Good. Don' like bein’ the one fucking bleeding for once, huh?” His eyes drift closed. He struggles to open them again, to keep his eyes on her. “Shit feelin’, isn't it?” 

“God.” She swallows. Blood on her tongue is making her feel nauseous and she gets to her feet carefully. Her mouth and hip throb. She’s going to be so bruised tomorrow, going to ache so much. “You’re awful sometimes, you know that?”

“Yeah.” He grins. He hasn't bothered to try and get the red off his teeth. “I know. So… so fffffuckin’ get rid of me, then.”

Savvie snorts, limping a little as she moves to pick up the spilled wine bottle from the floor. She could shock him now - that’s what she would usually do. Or call Isaac and have him carted off to spend another month locked in the kennels with the dogs. He… probably doesn’t care about that, though. Anything to get away from her. Anything is better than her, to him.

“Get rid of you?” She drinks the last swallow in the bottle, washing blood down her throat with the wine. “Then what, Jax? I should just… live here alone, without you, for the rest of my life?”

“Fucking-... yes, or go fucking die. I don't fucking care.” The flush of hot anger bleeds away, his voice softening a little. “I don't… don' care, Savvie. I don’t care about you.”

“No. You do.” She feels a burst of desperation to make him understand. “You hate me, right? That’s caring about me, still.”

“Savvie-”

“No. I love you. You are mine, and I am keeping you. This is love, Jax. What I feel for you is true love.” 

He shakes his head, swaying a little where he sits. He tries to push her away again as she takes him by the arm but his burst of energy seems to have used him up. He lets her, in the end, get him onto his feet. She leads him on his unsteady legs out of the room, and he stumbles along with her. 

“S'not love,” He mumbles. She keeps an arm around his waist to help him balance. “Fucking… fuck you. Let me leave, Savvie.”

He doesn't have the strength to push her away, not anymore. He has to use her to stay up as they take the stairs one at a time, although after three or four he jerks away again and uses the railing, leaning heavily against it as he drags himself upwards, inch by inch, step by step. 

She lets him pull away, watching his determination to not need her, how badly he doesn’t even want her. There’s a canyon inside of her, something dark and deep that hurts so much worse than her hip or her torn open lower lip, threatening to claw its way out as she watches the man she has forced to play the role of her husband do anything he can to avoid her touch. 

Her jaw sets. “It is. It is love, and you know what? It’s all the love you’re going to get. Ever. No one else will ever love you.” Savvie’s voice stays low. “You’re not… you’re not lovable, Jax, but I don’t care, I love you anyway. Nobody else would. No one is ever going to even want to love you but me.”

He slumps. The fight’s all gone out of him, for now. Her gamble failed tonight and Jax is buckling under the weight of what runs through his veins, the heavy expectations in her eyes and her smile and her devotion. 

“Fuck,” is all he says, barely a whisper under his breath.

Savvie sighs, touching her fingers to her lip again. The bleeding has slowed but there’s still a spot of red. “Goes both ways, though, I think.”

He doesn't look at her. “What?”

“This… how much you hate me… how I had to kidnap you, and put that thing on your neck to keep you here, how you wish you were anywhere but here with me… you know, I, I get it.”

He has to stop at the landing and lean over, resting his forehead against the wall. 

She lays a hand on his back, leaning over to speak right against his ear. “I get that your hate is all the love I’m going to get, too, Jax. Nobody else will ever love me, either.” 

Her throat feels tight, and she can’t tell if she really feels the twisting nerves in her stomach, the sense of dread, or if it’s part of her act for Jax. Sometimes even Savvie isn’t sure when she means the things she says. Sometimes, even worse, she really does.

“All we’re ever going to have is each other.”

He doesn’t answer her. But when she takes his arm in her hand, he allows himself to be dragged along towards her bedroom. The fight might be gone, but so is the feeling. There’s nothing in his eyes that shows he even heard her.

That’s okay. She can be honest, in the dark, in the middle of the night, knowing that he’s too drugged to remember anything she said when he wakes up again. She’ll lie to herself again by morning. So will he.

She just needs him to lie. 

-

@whumpyourdamnpears consider this my evil savvie gift to you

#whump #amonthofwhump #amow tropeathon day 1 #duel #intimate whumper #obsessive whumper #creepy whumper #noncon touch #noncon kissing #noncon references #sadistic whumper #drugging tw #drugged whumpee #jax #comfy-whumpee #captivity #defiant whumpee #whumpee fights back #amow tropeathon2024 #day1

[lektricwhump]

LOCAL THEMBO found INNOCENT of ALL CRIMES

they've never seen a crimes in their life :pleading_face:

#oc tag #bellamy #answered asks #comfy-whumpee

[chiharuuu22]

Whumpee and Caretaker sat side by side in front of the fireplace. Whumpee leaned his body against Caretaker's body and rested his head on Caretaker's shoulder. Occasionally, you could hear Whumpee coughing.

Caretaker, who sat beside him, embraced him from behind. Caretaker's hands stroked Whumpee's head, shoulders, and back, trying to provide comfort. Caretaker's hand holds a glass filled with warm milk, which Whumpee occasionally drinks.

They were both clad in pajamas, with blankets covering their shoulders and backs. Whumpee wears socks, and Caretaker leaves the soles of feet exposed.

Whumpee looked at Caretaker from his spot, and Caretaker just smiled back. Whumpee smiled back and closed his eyes. He had gone home. He's home now.

#whumpee #caretaker #whump #caretaking #whumpee x caretaker #caretaker x whumpee #whump writing #recovery whump #whump comfort #whumpblr #whump prompt #whump tropes #comfort #warm and comfy

[befuddled-calico-whump]

At the test track, is it just Sahota and the interrogator? He has nothing to do between torture sessions? no one to actually talk to??

Isn't solitary basically a war crime? I know it's been studied in irl prisoners and even a relatively short time will majorly fuck a person up on a deep level (ignoring the fact Sahota is already majorly fucked on a deep level)

My point is, if this is really supposed to be a fucked up pursuit of science, surely the time in-between experiments on how an individual succumbs to torture, should not also be a well-established torture in and of itself.

Give that mans a stim toy. Give him a pumpkin full of meat to roll around his enclosure. Give him a call home (to Vic)

I just feel he needs a *crumb* of comfort, for science.

pumpkin full of meat for the lad 😭😭

And yep! Solitary is at least war crime-adjacent as far as I'm aware, and just a generally shitty thing for someone to go through

While the interrogator initially wanted Sahota for the sake of testing out new ideas, his stoicism and minimalist answers irritated them, so they've gotten a little petty. At this point, they just want to see him break down. (But hey, it's for science! They're documenting the process so they can use it step-by-step on someone else if needed :) )

#no comfy he suffers #anon #t$$ test track au #very very hard on him #but hey i like breaking my stoic whumpees

[echo-goes-mmm]

We don't have enough vampire caretakers in whump

Think of the possibilities! Sure they may or may not feed off of whumpee, but that's a very small price to pay for safety in a thoroughly hurt whumpee's mind

Vampire Caretakers can tell with a taste or even smell that whumpee needs more calcium or iron in their diet

Vampire Caretakers can use their Charm ability to help soothe whumpee

Vampire Caretakers who have all the time in the world with many resources to make whumpee as comfortable as possible

Vampire Caretakers that no whumper would Dare cross bc Caretaker could CRUSH them

Vampire caretakers Will Kill for their whumpee and god help Whumper when Vampire Caretaker gets ahold of them

Idk I wanna see a person capable of great harm being the kindest, gentlest person in a whumpees life

And maybe Vampire Caretaker has been lonely for far too long and now? A Friend! And they Will Love and Cherish their new companion damnit

#whump #especially if whumper is human #like imagine if you (whumper) somehow lost whumpee and you track them down and HOLY SHIT THATS A VAMPIRE #how the fuck would you get whumpee back?? your only hope is to convince the vampire to share #surely a vampire would have fun with whumpee just like you did right? #BUT NOPE OH MY GOD THE VAMPIRE IS IN LOVE WITH WHUMPEE SHIT SHIT SHIT #also tfw you (whumpee) stumble into a seemingly abandoned gothic castle to hide from whumper #and then you stumble upon a friggin vampire #like youre bleeding already and totally done for right? this is your new hell or you are going to die right now #but. the vampire cocks their head at you. and leads you to a very cozy drawing room (with a roaring fire and /very/ comfy couches) #and yup. new whumper. #but then the vampire guides you to lie down and gently wipes away the blood off your back #they bandage you up #and suddenly you feel relaxed for the first time in years #and oh. this is nice. you decide to stay #its the best decision of your life #my stuff

[mrswint3rs]

˗ˏˋ 𝐦𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐬 .ᐟ

✧ hihii! being a copy cat and doing a mutual appreciation post. ✧

- lmk if you would like for your tag to be removed -

˗ˏˋ 💋 ˎˊ˗ @flkwh0re - my bsf. i love you fr. IDEK WHERE TO START UGH. tysm for putting up with me throughout all my rough patches and stupidity :3 someday i’ll get into marvel and stuff for you i swear. since i forced you into resident evil… even without knowing marvel lore, your writing is chefs kiss !! yumyum

˗ˏˋ 💋 ˎˊ˗ @argreion - actually one of the sweetest people i’ve ever met omg. honored to be able to call you my friend :3 you get me fr thank you for all that you do!! especially with supporting me n stuff when i’m feeling like shit. and you’ve helped sm with my fear of interacting with people on tumblr… AND I LOVE YOUR WRITING AND ART SM TOO. absolutely scrumptious!! you’re too hard on yourself >:(

˗ˏˋ 💋 ˎˊ˗ @whiskers-my-beloved / @tigardf - one of the first people to like. actually interact with me on here. making that art inspired by my silly wesker fic… actually meant the world to me (still does obvi but) made me feel important :3 AND you’re super super sweet n cool. i love talking to you ^.^ also love your comic pages and your ideas smmm!!

˗ˏˋ 💋 ˎˊ˗ - @dollfacefantasy - honestly was so giddy the day you followed me back ‘cause you’re one of my favorite writers. need you to teach me your ways seriously omg. idk you very well but!! you genuinely seem super cool (fight club header alone proves that)

˗ˏˋ 💋 ˎˊ˗ @sqiim - fellow pack leader!! seriously tho, love your vibe AND WRITING. think about that ethan fic literally every second of every day atp… obsessed with all of your writing though. you seem super silly nd cool :3 would love to interact with you more!! & ur one of my main inspirations with dc (but i told you that before i think)

˗ˏˋ 💋 ˎˊ˗ @d10nyx - also super silly ily :3 love all of your writing as well AND BOTS. blaming you for my dad toji addiction seriously. AND YOUR ART TOO. too many talents lad… also also thanks for helping me make my secret identity that lasted like. 3 weeks.. led me to being more comfy with dc on main and other ppl!!

˗ˏˋ 💋 ˎˊ˗ @rigorwhoring - insanely sweet omg. i get super nervous about dming people but you’re rlly easy to talk to! your writing is also insanely good it seriously baffles me. you eat every single time…

˗ˏˋ 💋 ˎˊ˗ @the-bar-sinister - tysm for all of y’all’s posts about profiction stuff. makes me feel better about writing darker themes and made me open my eyes about a lot of different things. also 90% of yalls reblogs are always real asf and i’m being slowly pulled back into my ace attorney era… AND ty for educating me on whump / whumpee ! and self shipping and all that :3

˗ˏˋ 💋 ˎˊ˗ @pupcuck - feels illegal to be mutuals with you bc you’re like. an icon idk. your writing is next level. your metaphors and stuff… shocks me to my core every-time i start reading one of your works. uhh never was into inc*st fics rlly until i came across your blog and i was like. whoa. brainrot!! all started with that gilf leon fic i think… also never had seen ddlg in writing before you so ty for that. i have been into darker themes in fiction and whatnot but you brought the demons out of me fr. ALSO you seem super super sweet. AND YOUR CAT IS SO ADORABLE OMFG.

˗ˏˋ 💋 ˎˊ˗ @missoranjespersonal - also feels illegal to be mutuals with you because your writing is next level. i absolutely adore your chris content. HEART SHAPED PANCAKES MADE ME CRY it was so ughhgggga. but love the way your mind works seriously your ideas are so amazing and i would love to talk to you more :3

˗ˏˋ 💋 ˎˊ˗ @ch-4-eri - THE jill valentine writer!! so glad i came across that fic you’re seriously so cool :3 if you ever write for lara croft i will pass away on the spot… would love to interact with you more bc you’re so insanely real !

˗ˏˋ 💋 ˎˊ˗ @xoxostarlet - love youu and your blog theme and nav stuff it’s so perty :3 love your writing style as wellll step uncle leon save me… and knight carlos was the cutest shit ever! all of your writing is but i dont wanna yap too much about each fic T-T ALSO sorry about your divorce 😖

˗ˏˋ 💋 ˎˊ˗ @admirxation - I FEEL LIKE WE DONT INTERACT ENOUGH AGGH :(( would love to yap about jojo’s with you :3 but seriously love your writing (blessed everyone with that krauser fic esp!!) AND OTHER WORKS OFC BUT. can’t stop thinking about that fic im sorry..

˗ˏˋ 💋 ˎˊ˗ @angelofwoe - i’ll admit i was very scared to interact with you for the longest time 😭 i loveee the way you write leon.. as a switch, it’s nice seeing some sub leon content for a change!! also not into the whole cannibalism thing but you wrote that so beautifully. and tyty for participating in ask games ^.^

˗ˏˋ 💋 ˎˊ˗ @getonite - Sebastian michaelis’ canon lover !! i need to catch up with reading your writing omfggg but your blog theme always eats… and directory/nav set up is so cool as well.. need to interact with you more because you seem really cool

˗ˏˋ 💋 ˎˊ˗ @sassuguru - also super cool blog setup.. i need to learn how to do cards and stuff 😓 loveee your writing like. i despise mori with every fibre of my being but that fic was so yummmm!

˗ˏˋ 💋 ˎˊ˗ @tipsyleaf - loveee your bots and stuff and how you interact with all of your anons and stuff!! super cute blog layout also. need to interact with you more <3

˗ˏˋ 💋 ˎˊ˗ @chetchad - never encountered a brad enjoyer before so that’s a nice change :3 looking forward to your works !! you seem very sweet !

˗ˏˋ 💋 ˎˊ˗ @sirenscriptures - new mutual!! but that heisenberg fic AUGGGGG absolutely ate down. loved it and am hype for whatever you write next!!

˗ˏˋ 💋 ˎˊ˗ @bonnibuckets - love when you come into my ask box :3 ALSO krauser coming soon…? i will go feral! also also need to catch up on reading all of your works omfg😓 and congrats on 1k!! deserved :3

˗ˏˋ 💋 ˎˊ˗ @wolfieisacat - also one of the first people to interact with me on here!! super cool and would like to interact moreee (so sorry im terrible at maintaining conversation)

˗ˏˋ 💋 ˎˊ˗ @localkiss - adore your writing <3 heavenly sin was so so good .. ALSO need to interact with you more (ive said this about too many ppl on this list oml but!) so sorry

- more to be added!! promise I didn’t forget you, just trying to do people i’ve interacted with more than once 😭 so plzplz don’t feel left out!! ily all -

#mutuals #mutual appreciation #yapping 🎀 #im so bad at complimenting ppl im so bland with it IM SORRY

[feverwhump]

Whumpee is at an evening event they can’t get out of and starts to feel increasingly sick. They’ve got chills to the point of shivering and the tickle in their throat has settled into a persistent soreness. Whumpee’s exhausted, but they can’t leave, so they start texting their significant other/caretaker that they think they have a fever with a list of their symptoms. The night goes on, and as new symptoms begin to arise, the keep caretaker updated. Once the night ends and they’re finally able to get home, their caretaker is up waiting with comfy clothes, a thermometer, and medicine.

#fever whump #fever #sickfic #sicknario #whump #whump prompt #sickfic scenarios #sick whump #caretaker #whumpee #caregiving #fever whump will always be top tier #I wrote this in under 3 minutes please don’t judge

[whumpwillow]

Demon's Haven 17

they are so so comfy

—  

masterlist

warnings: past torture, blood, whumpee wondering when caretaker will hurt him, self-worth issues

—  

“Just focus on getting better. Okay? That’s how you can help.”

Envy didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t know when the witch would stop pretending to care about him. Even if she was willing to take in a random demon—an already foolish move for any witch or human alike—she couldn’t possibly be alright with the idea of taking care of a demon prince. He and his brothers had a…reputation.

He wondered when she would stop being nice to him. When it finally caught up to her that he was cruel and evil and beyond saving. That he wasn’t worth her time except to cause him pain and show him just how wrong he had been.

He knew that’s what he deserved, but he selfishly wanted to enjoy her kindness while it lasted, however long that was.

Haven helped Envy back onto the bed, which involved him not standing and instead flopping onto the mattress as if he were climbing into a boat and then floundering embarrassingly. He felt his cheeks grow hotter by the second. The witch guided him onto his back and he was grateful to relieve the pressure on his ribs. She put a hand on his head and lowered him until he was resting on a pillow, then picked up a few more off the floor. She smacked the pillows with her hand a few times to fluff them, then placed them on the bed as well, Envy sandwiched in the middle. He could hardly remember the feeling of such luxury, even when he had lived his whole life immersed in it up until the angel took him. It felt foreign to him now.

“Good night…Your Highness,” she said.

She added the title as an afterthought. He hadn’t heard it in years—his subjects had simply used “My Lord” and his brothers, well, nothing at all.

“Envy is fine.”

Haven smiled. “Good. I’m not even sure how to do a curtsy.”

He smiled at that, and for some reason, his fear dissipated. That was, until he realized he was lying in her bed and she was clearly not.

“Oh!” he exclaimed.

Envy threw the blankets off himself and was about to try another disastrous climb off the bed when Haven stopped him. She put a hand on his shoulder—the less bruised one—and gently pushed him down until he was once again nestled among the pillows.

“No, no, please, just stay there,” she said, a bit exasperated.

He looked up at her helplessly. “I can’t just take your bed from you.”

Haven crossed her arms over her chest and erected her most put-upon expression. “You can and you will. Now go to sleep.”

“Okay.”

It was all he could say before he fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

 …

Envy woke not knowing where he was.

It wasn’t the cell. The cell was dark and cold, made of stone, and it certainly didn’t have a bed. It smelled of iron and copper and stinging silver, not the fresh and comforting scent of chamomile and lavender. Envy lie buried in soft sheets among various blankets and pillows—not the silken quality he’d been used to at his House, but which was still leagues better than waking up in chains with blood streaming down his back from the previous night’s whipping.

He wasn’t in his cell. He wasn’t back at his House. And he wasn’t in chains.

He processed this information for the few seconds it took him to remember what had happened last night and over the past few days. The memories resurfaced blurry in his mind, a haze of activity after so long spent in nothingness. He’d been summoned at the best possible moment and subsequently spent three fearful days and nights in a summoning circle before making a soulbond with a witch.

Haven.

She saved him. She could have sent him back—and really, it would have been the logical choice. Who in their right mind would make a soulbond with a demon just because he begged for it? The angel certainly hadn’t ever cared when he begged for anything, though it didn’t stop him from trying.

She’d cut herself. Spilled her own blood into his just to save him from his personal torment. Helped him stand. Supported him on that dreadful walk through the city where he felt he might collapse into nothing but a pile of bones at any moment. She’d taken him inside her home, tended to his wounds, cleaned him, comforted him…

And now he awoke in her bed.

Envy hiccupped. A sob rose in his throat, but he swallowed it down. He sat up and drew his knees to his chest—still wrapped in bandages. The place he awoke in was a mess, but it was a lived-in sort of chaos. Not one that he was familiar with. Sunlight streamed in through gauzy curtains half-drawn over dusty windows. Plants grew from a box just outside it, and more rested in pots on the sill. Some hung from baskets attached to the ceiling with thick rope tied into mesh holders. Books lined the shelves. Clothes littered the floor.

Haven, the witch herself, had curled up in a chair that resembled a giant nest. The cushion it held was just a circle set into a wooden frame, and Haven had surrounded herself in it with blankets made of patchwork cloth scraps of all different colors sewn together.

It wasn’t a dream. It took a few moments for this thought to settle in, for Envy to realize that he was really, truly, out. He was safe, if only for the moment. It felt strange to him after so long spent in darkness, wishing for some kind of reprieve, anything, anything. He almost couldn’t believe it was real.

Haven had been so kind to him. More than he deserved.

Then he remembered what he’d told her. His name—and all that came with it. His identity, his past, his wickedness. He remembered the fear on her face, the way she’d jumped from the bed and backed away, the way her eyes scanned the room as if to search for a weapon. He had no illusions that she wouldn’t hurt him if he gave her aim to, so he was determined not to give her any reason. He’d make himself as nonthreatening as possible. Take up as little space in her cluttered home. He’d live like a ghost, if that was her wish.

He sat, still and motionless, until Haven awoke. He didn’t want to disturb her accidentally, for he’d already caused enough problems already and didn’t want to test how far her patience could extend before it snapped. He wondered vaguely what it would take, how far he could push until she hurt him like the angel had. What he would need to do to be punished.

He swallowed the thought. It lingered inside him, thick and heady like molasses.

He held himself still, arms wrapped around his legs drawn up to his chest. Moving through the sheets made noise, however slight, and he didn’t want to wake the very person who had given up her own bed for him to sleep in. It wasn’t bad. The morning was rather pleasant. He was clean, and not in chains, and not in pain. He hadn’t slept in a proper bed in ages so he wasn’t used to the softness and spent a few minutes just admiring the sensation. He let his eyes close and tilted his head back, feeling the warm sun on his face, sighing.

“Envy?”

He jolted. The movement sent a pillow to the floor, causing him to wince. All at once, whatever peace he had managed to gain in the previous moment had fled him during this one.

Haven shifted in her nest-chair and let out a small groan. She reached her arms up above her head and stretched, blinking the sleep out of her eyes. Envy waited patiently, unmoving. The witch squinted at her resting place, momentarily confused like she didn’t know how she’d gotten there.

Haven sat up in her nest chair, a variety of multicolored pillows falling to the floor around her. A blanket slid off her shoulders to pool around her hips. She still had on the same dress from yesterday.

“I—” Envy began in a weak voice.

“You’re awake.”

He nodded.

Haven stretched again, then glided out of the nest-chair amid a tumble of pillows and blankets. She padded over to the bed, and Envy willed himself not to flinch. All she did was pick up the fallen pillow and set it back at the head of the bed.

“Sorry…” Envy began.

Haven held up a hand to stop him. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Did I wake you?” he asked tentatively.

Haven shook her head and smiled. She reached toward him and Envy ducked on instinct, thinking she was about to hit him, but she merely went to touch a bandage that had come loose at shoulder, but paused when she noticed his reaction. She gave him a sheepish look.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to.”

“It’s fine.”

She sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. Envy eyed her movements warily. He set his hands down on the bed, but kept his legs pressed against his chest.

“How are you feeling?” Haven asked.

Envy opened his mouth to respond, then thought better of it. He needed to give her an answer, to not say anything would be rude, and even when he thought he could push her to hurt him, he didn’t want to, he just wanted an end to the pain. He was in so much pain.

It came back to him once he awoke, the effects of his wounds. The pleasurable feeling of being clean and sleeping on a soft mattress rather than a cold stone floor greatly lessened the effect, but the sensation was still there. The licks of the whip that cut into his back, burning fire in stripes down the skin that tore and rended the flesh. The holy water that had marked him, had turned his insides to molten gore. The weeping wounds, the dark bruises. The bone-deep exhaustion that still plagued him, no matter how much he slept.

“I—” Envy began.

He could tell her the truth. He was already pathetic enough as could be, falling all over the floor and weeping in her arms. But he could tell her he was alright, and save some face at least. It had nothing to do with him not wanting her to worry.

“I’m alright,” he lied.

“Hm,” Haven murmured.

Her eyes narrowed, like she didn’t believe him. Envy wondered when she’d gotten so good at reading him. He attributed it to his exhaustion—he was usually much better at this back in his own realm.

His old life.

Haven set a hand on the bed, an inch from his own. “You can tell me,” she said. “If you’re in pain. If you’re hurting. If you feel like you want to cry, or scream, or do whatever it is that would make you feel better.”

She looked up at him then, quick enough that it didn’t give him a single second to recover from her statement and he was caught in full view during the throes of his misery. His eyes had begun to well again with blasted tears and he cursed himself for it. He just couldn’t seem to stop.

Haven smiled gently. “I told you before. You needn’t soften your grief around me.”

A sob escaped him, one he had barely been holding back. Envy clenched his teeth, wishing it was enough to will some semblance of composure back into his expression, but the tears had already started pouring down his cheeks. Awful, wretched sounds came from deep within him, from a place he tried his hardest to bury.

“It hurts,” he whimpered.

Haven nodded, and drew him in close. Envy curled into her easily. She wrapped her arms around him, one hand on the bandages covering his back, and the other in his hair. She brought his head toward hers and their foreheads touched, and at once, all the thoughts in Envy’s mind that told him he was unworthy, were silent.

—

next

(taglist in reblogs)

#im tricking you guys into thinking im someone who updates on a consistent basis #you fools...you are falling right into my trap /lh #whump #whump writing #my writing #willow writes #original work: demon's haven #demon whump #demon whumpee #oc envy #oc haven

[whumpshaped]

you‘ve absolutely re-awakened my love for drugged whumpees! what about a whumpee drugging themselves as a bad coping mechanism? maybe even specifically with a feel-good drug (because i loved those drabbles)! but this time a friend is there to take care of them and make sure they are safe, maybe they got some concerning messages from whumpee and went to visit them.

also because i am afraid of you and your angst (/positiv) please let this be comfy i am always in need of comfort

tw drugs, addiction, past trauma, alcohol mention

i love you sooo much

ive never had such a good friwnd u know that?

ur fucking awesome and we shuld hang out more

As touched as Caretaker was reading the messages, they didn’t sound like Whumpee in their usual state. They rarely ever got sappy like this, and they never resorted to the abbreviations unless they were too drunk to see the keyboard. There was something going on, and Caretaker hoped it was just a couple shots of vodka — despite it being 10 am.

“Hey, Whumpee?” They knocked on the door again, louder this time. “Can we hang out, like, right now? I brought some food.”

That was a bit of a stretch, but the door opened soon after they’d mentioned it. “That’s awesome,” they slurred, their excited grin faltering when they saw no bags in Caretaker’s hands. “Where’s it…?”

“I lied,” they said easily, gently guiding Whumpee back inside. “But I brought myself, and I can make you some food in a bit. Before that, though… Drinking in the morning again, are we?”

Whumpee gave them a sheepish smile, the promised free meal entirely forgotten. “Y’know how it is,” they said, giggling a little. “Some days y’just gotta… feel alive…”

Caretaker frowned. This felt different from when Whumpee was drunk. “What did you have?”

“Ah, just… just a bit of this and that…”

They stepped closer and cupped Whumpee’s face, taking a good look at their eyes. That didn’t look very promising. “Whumpee, did you take something?”

“Noooooo…” Whumpee tried to swat their hands away, with little success due to how uncoordinated their movements were. “No, you’re– you’re misunderstanding, ’m just… just happy to see you. Your pupils dilate when you look at someone you looove...”

Caretaker sighed. “I would like you to honestly tell me what you’ve taken. Please. I won’t judge, I won’t be mad, all I want is to stay here and take care of you, okay?”

It was like Whumpee didn’t even hear them. They kept nuzzling against Caretaker’s hands, almost purring as they did so. “You’re so warm…”

“Sure am.” They poked their cheek. “Whumpee, listen to me.”

“Would you ever kiss me?” they asked abruptly, unfocused eyes now fixed on Caretaker’s lips. “‘cause I really wanna kiss right now… Just once…”

Well, that wasn’t a direct answer to their previous questions, but it might as well have been. There was one drug they knew of that made Whumpee act like this, one they’d said they had quit months ago.

The one Whumper had gotten them hooked on.

“You wanna kiss me, specifically?” Caretaker knew well that Whumpee didn’t see them as anything other than a friend, and they weren’t the type to be going around kissing people platonically.

“Mmm, yeah… You’re a good kisser, I’m sure… I can tell stuff like that…”

Yeah, they’d definitely taken Whumper’s drugs. Fantastic. Apparently there was still someone out there who was supplying Whumpee, but that was a problem for another day.

“Tell you what,” they started gently. “Instead of kissing, we’ll go to the kitchen and I’ll make you some of your favourite food.”

Whumpee lit up instantly. “Deal!”

Caretaker kissed them on the forehead and led them to one of the chairs, making sure they were comfortable before walking over to the cupboards. They were going to have to keep Whumpee talking, so they could track their movements inside the house; they were prone to wandering whenever they were high, and they couldn’t keep staring at them while cooking.

In all honesty, there was not much Caretaker could do now that Whumpee had already taken the thing. They couldn’t even do much about the addiction itself that seemed to be ruining any semblance of a chance of a full recovery. But there was one thing they could do, and that was supervising their friend whenever the need arose.

#asks #whump #whump drabble #alcohol mention #addiction whump #recovery fic #rocky recovery #comfort #past trauma #drugs

[ashintheairlikesnow]

It Has to Be

For @amonthofwhump 12 Days of Whumpmas, Day 5: Ebenezer Scrooge |Power Outage | Time Loop | Overworked Whumpee | Comfort: Snuggling by the Fire

CW: Intimate whumper, past drugging and noncon, references to captivity and scars

The Motherfucking Gallaghers Masterlist

As always, Jax (and the mentioned Alfie) belong to @comfy-whumpee and are used with their input and permission.

-

Finley White is getting so tired of looking at Savvie Marcoset’s face. At least during the prepping stages, it’s mostly through videos and photographs. They can turn it off, turn away, take a break. 

But they’re still tired of seeing it.

Not half so tired, they muse, as their client must be.

“Miss Savvie Marcoset, is it really you?! How are you?!”

“It’s Mrs. Savvie Marcoset,” She corrects, prim and proper. Savvie has her hands folded in her lap, her hair pulled back with a clip. The shadows under her eyes are the only sign that she is, at the time this was recorded, someone frantically searching for her missing captive. In a long off the shoulder black sweater and leggings, she seems relaxed and happy. She smiles, gentle and sweet. It looks utterly sincere. “I am married, you know.”

She holds up a hand and waggles her fingers, showing off the brilliance of her diamond ring. 

The person wearing the camera device gasps with audible delight. “Did you really finally get him to put a ring on it? Gosh, Sav, I thought he would never propose!” 

“I know that voice,” Finley White's client says, leaning forward. He frowns, his knee bouncing beneath the table. “I remember she was a twat.”

The corner of Finley’s mouth twitches, a smile they can't quite suppress. “Virginia Marshall, goes by Jennie. Went to college with Savannah Marcoset. The Marshalls were longtime friends with the Marcosets, close enough to be trusted. Jennie was facing some low-level charges of her own and agreed to help build this case as part of a plea deal.”

“Twat and coward.” He snorts. “Sounds about right.”

“Well, technically I was the one who got down on one knee,” Savvie says. There’s something strange in her eyes, like always - she looks with too much intensity. She’s hiding it well here, acting with the best of them, but Finley’s been staring at her face for so long that they can see right through it even so. 

Finley saw Savvie Marcoset’s true talents on the stand, the first time. They had watched with surprised dismay as she charmed the jury, seeing how she could channel her intensity and terrifying focus into overwhelming charisma before an audience.

“Oh, that’s so modern,” The woman wearing the hidden camera gushes, cooing over the ring. “Did you write your own vows, too?”

Savvie laughs, abashed. “No, no. Traditional. I always wanted a traditional wedding. So did he, really, he's an old-fashioned kind of guy. You should have seen him blush during 'love, honor, and obey.'"

The noise Finley's client makes in reaction to that statement is indescribable.

“Traditional vows... makes sense. You’ve always been the romantic type. Where is that lucky duck today, anyway? The hubby? He isn't with you?”

Savvie's smile doesn't even flicker. “He’s at home with our babies. He loves being a stay-at-home dad, you know? It’s all he ever wanted to be.” 

In reality, at the moment this video was recorded, the escaped Jax Gallagher was in his father's apartment, likely pretending to sleep, but at least not sleeping next to her. His children would have been nearby, safe from Savvie's cruelty for the first time.

You’d never know anyone was gone. She's as good an actress as she is at playing music, when she wants to be. And she is clearly pretending that absolutely nothing is wrong. 

“Oh, well, bring him to my house sometime, yeah? Let me get a look at him and those little ones.”

“He’s… very private,” Savvie says, low and soft. She gives a little roll of her eyes. “Because of me being, you know, known, and he isn't from a famous family or anything… we like to keep his name out of things. His family is so toxic, plus you know how gossipy the press is about him…”

“Him? Him who?” The informant plays dumb. 

“You know… My ex..."

“Oh, your ex Bastian Brighthall?” 

“Ha! No, no. I just mean… you know. Since… prison. Which, like, can no one become rehabilitated in this country? Let me live! I’m a law-abiding citizen now, and, and a wife and mother! You have no idea what it's like just trying to raise babies these days..."

She’s so deeply offended. The informant pretends to be offended, too, and lets Savvie change the subject, turn it around to how hard it is to be a woman just trying to live out her happily ever after. It’s masterful, how well she can lead someone along and away from what she doesn’t want to share. 

Finley White’s eyelid twitches where they sit at a table, watching this conversation unfold on a television bolted to the wall on the opposite side of the room. Beside them, their client has lapsed back into stony silence, his jaw set, arms crossed. He doesn't look at Savannah Marcoset’s sweet and smiling face, not directly. 

He’s tense enough that Finley worries, more than a little, that one of his tendons will simply snap from the stress. He knows - he knew long before Finley said it out loud - what a farce this is, how utterly unnecessary. He knows better than anyone that Ms. Marcoset could have pleaded guilty and saved them all this expense and trouble. The evidence is thoroughly stacked against her. She has no way out, but it doesn’t stop her from throwing out every delay tactic she has. 

Jax had been the first one to vocalize the point of Savannah’s strange game, during their meeting with him and his father after the arrest. She’ll drag it out, make it take as long as possible, he’d predicted, sitting in his father's cozy living room in his apartment in England. Finley had flown to him, once again - they had sworn to him once, after the first trial’s conclusion, that they wouldn’t ask him to fly back to America unless they had to.  

He’d still been visibly recovering, a man made of shadows who sat with his little girl and her enormous curly hair clinging in wide-eyed silence to him. He’d held onto her just as tightly, as if even Finley might simply take her away if he let go for even a second. She’ll make it fucking miserable for everyone, just to get at me. She always fucking does. 

Language, Jax’s father had admonished in a distant and fond way. That's one for the chocolate jar. Or two, maybe. 

Jax’s child, who was so perfectly silent Finley kept forgetting she was there, had spoken for the first time. I don't mind, Daddy, she had said. She was so soft Finley barely made out the words. I know that’s grown up words. You don't have to do the jar. You can get chocolates. 

Both men had smiled, then - one with open affection for his grandchild, one with a faint shift of lips that vanished as soon as Finley took it in. 

Sorry, kiddo, Jax had murmured, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. More for you, then, yeah? Finley had wondered, then, what it must feel like to love a child - to love someone that much - who only existed because of this kind of assault? 

Jax had been angrier, or at least more obviously so, the first time they worked with him. After the first escape. During the first trial. The anger that had still flared up then was now a smoking skeletal forest, where you could feel heat against your palm when you laid it against the trunk of a tree, but not even embers were left to glow. 

Are the little girl and the baby boy the first green things to grow afterward? Or just… bones, blackened stones weighing him down? 

Shit, they need a drink. All their poetry electives from their own college days come out in florid metaphors on days like this one. 

More than a drink, they need  about sixteen hours of sleep. Not that Jax doesn't need both things more than they do, going through all this again, and again… they’d put it off as long as they could, but finally they’d had to ask him to fly here one more time. 

This will be the last time. Finley White will stake their career on Savannah Marcoset never seeing daylight as a free woman again, or they’ll quit and take up needlepoint or whatever it is lawyers who drop the ball that badly do. 

They failed him, once, in their own mind. That it could happen to him again feels like their fault, their responsibility, somehow. 

Jax had been angrier, before, but less determined than he is now. He had found it much harder, then, not to look at Savvie Marcoset. As if he couldn't break himself of having all his thoughts centered on keeping her from punishing him. The way he had seemed frightened when they took her away, after the verdict, had been painful to watch. 

Now he simply doesn't look at her on the screen at all. 

Finley picks up the remote, scratching a fingernail over its smooth plastic surface.  

Would it have been better, if they had managed to make it so she never walked free? It would have meant no second time held prisoner and therefore no children. Obviously it would have been better. Would he have chosen it, though, if he knew… chosen not to ever meet the quiet little girl and boisterous baby boy… maybe he would. Probably he would. 

They would never ask. 

In the present, Finley keeps their thoughts to themself. They lean forward, briefly pausing the video. “There’s a few minutes of going back and forth on this, Ms. Marcoset describing a… well, a very fanciful personal idea of the alleged wedding and honeymoon… I’m going to fast forward past it.”

“Thank fuck,” Jax mutters, scratching at the back of his head. His fingers twitch, involuntary, and he drops his hand quickly. 

He didn't tremble like that the first time, either. That’s a lasting effect of the shock collar he’d been wearing when he turned up on his father's doorstep after running away with the kids. He hides the scars beneath scarves and Finley pretends they don't see them even when they do. 

Those scars feel like visible evidence: Finley White fucked up, and here’s living proof. They’d gotten the conviction, decent prison time, parole within a limited area after release… and it hadn't been enough. 

They’ve gone over and over the case, when they can't sleep or think about anything else. They had done a good job. They and a single paralegal, alone, had taken on the Marcoset team of defense lawyers and wiped the floor with them. 

Jax seemed to think they had done a good job. Good enough that when he ran this time, he’d called them as soon as he was ready, anyway. He could have gotten a different lawyer, but he had called them, and trusted them, to put her away again. 

They just have to make sure it sticks this time. For life, bar the door, throw away the goddamn key. 

It was another thing Jax said first, although not in so many words - that if she ever left prison again, Jax almost certainly wouldn't survive it. He’d been hunched over a beer, that first in-person meeting at his father's place. Finley was still jet-lagged from getting on the first flight out, and nearly asleep on the sofa. He hadn't brought it up until the kids and his father were safely asleep. 

If she gets out again, or… comes h-here… that's it. He hadn't looked up at them, just stared down at his beer. The kids vanish first, probably. Dead or disappeared. Whatever she thinks will fuck me up worse. Actually, probably disappeared and then dead later once she thinks-... once she’s made me sorry. Then me, after them.

Then you? Last?

Yeah. Disappeared. Or dead. Or both. But she’ll go after them first. She'll-... He drank half the beer in three long swallows, wiped a hand over his face, and then exhaled and looked over at them. She can't hurt my kids. Okay? She can't. 

Finley had nodded, and lifted their own beer in a kind of grim salute. She won't. We nail her to the wall this time, Jax. I promise.

Fuck yeah. His expression stayed flat, but he clinked his beer glass against theirs and that was that, he was Finley White's once and future client one more time. 

Even though the case is open and shut, they’re throwing everything they’ve got at this, leaving nothing on the table. Leaving nothing to chance or luck. They have a promise to keep. 

“Our informant wore this camera to get an idea of what Mrs. Marcoset was thinking, how she was playing your disappearance from her life. It was recorded before she was arrested,” Finley explains. On the screen, Savvie's rushed dramatics are silent, her hands moving in gestures that constantly flash the ring. Her smile is absolutely radiant. She has always been a beautiful woman, layered over the cruelty beneath. “We probably won't need this at court-”

“Then why are we watching it?” He asks abruptly. Not angry or hostile, just wanting to get it all over with. 

They know the feeling. 

“Because I thought you might want to see this part,” They say, and hit play, the video shifting back into regular speed, the casual buzz and clink of the restaurant around them kicking back in. 

“-three years old,” Savvie is saying. She is every inch the proud and loving mother, pulling out her phone and then turning it around to show the informant. “Born in… in May, named after my grandmother. Isn't she beautiful? Doesn't she look just like me?”

“This was after I left?” Jax frowns at the photo Savvie has pulled up - of Jax holding his daughter back when she was a baby who already had too much hair and eyes too big for her face. Jax, his gaunt frame dressed in slightly oversized designer clothes to hide bruises and his unreliable access to food, is looking at the camera with a false and slightly hazy-seeming smile. 

“Yes,” Finley answers, nodding. “This conversation would be maybe… six months after that.” 

Jax’s eyes narrow. “That photo’s of Izzy as a baby, for one thing. For another… her birthday isn't in fucking May. Jesus. I didn't know the day, she never would tell me, but I knew what season. Also, Iz was four when we got back home, and she would have turned five by… whenever this is. We got her a fucking cake, my dad and I, when she turned five."

“You are absolutely certain that-”

“Yes,” He answers them, voice flat and cold as paper on stone.

“You may have to testify about that, Jax. Good evidence of a lack of connection to Isabeh-”

“Izzy,” He corrects automatically. 

“Right. Sorry. I’ve been elbow-deep in legal docs all day, everything is full legal names. This video might not be worth much during the criminal trial, but for the civil case regarding the children’s living arrangements-”

“Yeah, fine, I’ll testify. Yeah.” He snorts. “Also, I'm fucking drugged in that photo she flashed around. If that matters.”

“You are?” That's a surprise to them. They turn to rewind the video back to when the photo is held up, pausing it, scanning it over again. The slight smile, the way he gripped tight to the girl… almost white-knuckled… 

“Yeah. High as hell and terrified I'll drop her. Scared that that's her game this time. Get me to let Iz slip through my arms and then get goddamn mad at me for not being careful enough. I got her to stop putting shit in my drink when the kids were awake eventually, but she was still doing it, then.”

He isn't casual with how he drops these pieces of abject horror into conversation - no, Jax wields this information like a riddle, or a test. How you respond is to pass or to fail, and Finley knows him well enough by now to be aware that very few people come back from failure. 

So they nod, and wait to see if he plans to offer anything more. 

He looks over at them, then back at the photo frozen in time on the screen. “Had to tell her I liked that shit, just… you know. After the kids went down to sleep.” He meets Finley’s gaze head on, staring them down. 

But he knows them well enough that he knows he never has to spell any of it out, not anymore. 

So they nod again. “And it worked?” 

“Yeah. Mostly.” He looks away. Finley never knows for sure if they’ve passed the test, not until he keeps talking. “I could put her off with asking for it to happen later. Savvie forgets shit. Half the time by the time she went to sleep, she didn't remember she even brought it up.” 

Half the time. 

Finley looks back at the video, and hits the play button. Savvie is back to happily chattering about her perfect husband and perfect children, sitting in a café months after the bruised, battered, scarred man and children in question had escaped her grasping fingers and shock collars and cruelty, but before there was enough to bring her in. 

She had to have known they were coming for her, by this point. And yet she pretended everything was completely fine, that nothing had happened. She was either so sure her family would throw enough weight around to fix it for her in the end, or… 

“She’s completely out of her mind,” Finley whispers. Not that they hadn't said it before. But this… this is different. “She just. Can't deal with it, and so she just doesn't even acknowledge the problem exists. Jax-”

“Yeah, I know how she is. Lucky you, you didn't get that shit up close and personal like I did. This isn't even the worst of her bullshit.”

“Looking at her, you’d never know it.” Finley sits back, not allowing themself to slump. If they can pull this off, there's a four hundred dollar bottle of stupidly priced bourbon they’re going to buy to celebrate. “Look at her. No sign whatsoever of anything but happily ever after. You ran. It’s been months since she last saw you or your children… and she’s calm as can be. She doesn't even know where you are."

“She probably knew where I was.” Jax shrugs, outwardly unbothered. “I mean, she’s a stupid shitsnob, but she knows I'd go to my dad. She knew where I was gonna go if I got away from her.”

“She didn't go for you, though, didn't try to recapture you. At the time, if she knew…”

Jax gives them the stare again. “I know exactly what she did. She freaked out when we were gone, called her bastard shitstain uncle for help. He had people hunting me, until we got to the border. We barely managed to keep out of sight of them. We had to cross the border… we had to.” 

“Right, because in the UK… you’re, uh-” They hesitate. 

Jax prickles when they hesitate. His eyes narrow, and Finley straightens their posture, refusing to wilt before that stare. “You can say it,” He says, voice flat. “Fucking famous for being kidnapped, right? There were programmes about that shit. Fucking journalists. And I bet once we made it over the border, dear Uncle Isaac told her he wasn't going to risk it anymore, to pack her shit and go home, act normal. Be seen so she could act like she never left. See if they could wait me out.” 

Sometimes they forget how watchful Jax is, how well he understands not just Savannah Marcoset herself but the parade of Marcoset family members who treated him like Savvie's toy or worse. He didn't understand it all that well the first time.

Another thing he only has to know because they couldn't keep him safe.

“Right. But that's practical... from a criminal perspective. That's not… this.” They look over at the screen again, frozen once more on Savvie's cheerful, winning smile. 

“No.” Jax’s knee is bouncing again. There has always been a hum of energy in him, but even that is held more inside him now. Because they hadn't hammered their case hard enough. 

It just hadn't been enough. 

It has to be enough this time. 

“Jax… we have to show them that Savannah Marcoset. Not the one in this video, but the one who incapacitated you to make it easier for her to harm or control you. She is going to want them to see the act, try to get parole on the table, try to get at least limited access to the children-”

“Which she won't fucking get.” For just a second, the layer of self-protective hostility drops. It’s not panic, not visibly, but it’s close. “I told you, first thing I fucking said, she can't get at my kids. The whole reason I'm fucking doing this is to keep them safe. She can't get her hands on my fucking kids.” 

“No,” They say, voice firm, and meet his eyes. He scoots slightly back, arms crossed again, staring at them fixedly with his chin tipped slightly down. They watch him right back. “She won't. We talked about it, I remember. No access, full stop. No presents, no letters, she gets no photos and no updates. Absolutely nothing. Complete termination of parental rights. Complete. No exceptions."

“And prison for-fucking-life, and no parole.”

“No chance. It’s going to be rough, Jax, I won't lie to you. She’s going to put on a show, and we are going to need to systematically dismantle it. Take away all her charm and let them see who you saw, day in and day out.”

He nods, jaw set. Stubborn and determined, and maybe the fire still burns down in there somewhere. His smile is so genuine they nearly wonder if it's real. “Good. Yeah. Uh, how, though?” 

They look back over at Savvie, the face filling the screen. Savvie will be magnetic, just like the first time. Not so young, now, not able to play the innocent girl led astray. But she'll play all the greatest hits of sincerity, earnestness, contrition… Jax, by contrast, is all rough edges and bristling quiet. He won't charm anyone so readily. But his story will be what actually happened. 

They just need to prove it. 

“I had a couple more recordings for us to look at today,” They say, thinking, mind spinning. “But they aren’t urgent. Let’s break early, you head back to see what your little ones are up to, and I'll start drafting an outline of what we prove and how we prove it. I have some ideas. We’ll reconvene here tomorrow at 8 am.”

“Sounds good, yeah.” Jax shifts, restless, ready to get out of the room with Savvie’s face still on the wall. 

“Tomorrow we’re going to talk about some… difficult stuff, Jax. Make sure you take it easy tonight.”

He looks at them, then just turns away, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair. “Right. Yeah. Stuff about the kids, or the rape?”

It’s a test again. 

God, how Finley hopes they never fail this man, not this time. Not when they couldn't keep him as safe as he deserved to be. 

“Just the outline,” They say, casual as can be. “But.. both. All of it. No details yet. But later-”

“Yeah. I’ll be back at 8. Ish.” He leaves before they can say another word, and they sit back, staring after him. 

They have mountains of documents to finish sorting through, and a man carrying so much cruelty in his head that if he opens his mouth on the stand, a waterfall might come rushing out. He's covered in scars from Savvie's abuse, has two kids that are living evidence of assault. They have a traumatized little girl in therapy multiple times a week. They have Jax’s devotion to his son and daughter compared to Savvie not even knowing what time of year Izzy was born in. 

They have so much. 

It has to be enough. 

#whump #amow #amow 12 days of whumpmas #12 days of whumpmas #traumatized whumpee #recovering whumpee #trauma recovery whump #escaped whumpee #intimate whumper #referenced abuse #past captivity #child of whumpee #whump ocs #comfy-whumpee's oc #comfy-whumpee #the motherfucking gallaghers #jax #dad jax #past noncon #past drugging

[mightaswell-whump]

Thinking about a whumpee used as nothing more than a bedwarmer. Not a human. Just something to make sure the sleeper is suitably comfy

#whump writing #whump prompt #pet whump #conditioned whumpee #obedient whumpee

[whumpndump]

I like whump where TECHNICALLY the punishment is a good thing, just in excess or messed up in some way, so Whumpee can't complain without angering Whumper.

Whumper feeding Whumpee lots of yummy snacks after denying them good food for do long. They keep feeding them until they feel sick, and well past they've thrown up.

Whumpee finally being allowed to rest in a comfy bed, except they're strapped down and left there for days at a time.

Whumpee being left in a warm bath that slowly goes lukewarm, then cool, then cold, then freezing. Multiple hours later, Whumper retrieves a shivering Whumpee from the bath.

Alternatively a long bath constantly being topped up with boiling water that leaves Whumpee's skin red and raw.

Letting Whumpee go out into the garden for fresh air and sunlight, only to leave them there overnight in the cold.

Ive said this before: water til they puke!

Whumper gives Whumpee a book to read, their only entertainment. Its a psychological horror book, with themes relating to some of Whumpee's biggest fears.

Alternatively, they give a very smart Whumpee a little kids book, and if they complain Whumper goes "Aw I'm sorry, was it too complex for you? I'm sure I could find you one without words with only pictures dear."

Whumpee's favourite song played at a painful volume through headphones for hours and hours every day until they hate it.

#whump #whumpdumps #whumpblr #whump scenario #whump prompt #emetophobia cw

[whumpdrivethru]

Hello! I would like to order a delirious whumpees with an extremely high fever resting badly to seeing caretaker (Who has pretty visible Burn scars covering part of their face and/or body) wearing comfy or otherwise loose fitting clothing and with their hair up (maybe they get scared of them, maybe they start to cry because they think caretaker is hurt)

Hi there! Let me get that started for you! Thank you for choosing the Whump Drive Thru!

Whumpee tossed and turned in bed, their fever climbing dangerously high. Caretaker entered the room with a washcloth and a bowl of ice water.

“Hey,” Caretaker said softly, dipping the cloth in the bowl and dabbing it on Whumpee’s forehead.

Whumpee only whimpered in response. They looked up at Caretaker through hazy vision.

“Caretaker?” they asked, their glassy eyes going wide.

“Yes? What’s wrong?”

“Y-you’re hurt!” Whumpee cried weakly.

“Huh?”

Whumpee feebly reached up and cupped Caretaker’s face. They then promptly burst into tears.

“How did this happen?” Whumpee sobbed.

“How did what happen?” Caretaker asked.

Whumpee didn’t answer. Caretaker needed help and fast. They clambered out of bed, despite Caretaker’s protests, and hurried over to the medicine cabinet.

“Whumpee, you need to stay in bed!”

Whumpee rummaged in the cabinet until they found the ointment for burns. They rushed back to Caretaker. They had just unscrewed the cap when a wave of dizziness washed over them.

“Put this on,” they slurred, squirting some of the medicine onto their fingers.

“Whumpee, what are you doing?” Caretaker asked.

Whumpee just managed to dab some of the soothing gel onto Caretaker’s face when their knees buckled. Caretaker caught Whumpee before they could crumple to the ground.

“Come on, let’s get you back to bed,” Caretaker said gently.

“No! You’re hurt! I need to help you!” Whumpee wailed.

“Whumpee, I promise I’m not- oh.”

Caretaker felt the side of their face, the side with the burn scar, the side where Whumpee had desperately applied medicine.

“Whumpee, I’ve had this for years, remember?”

Whumpee shook their head, tears flowing freely.

“We need to treat it now! Or it’ll scar!”

Caretaker gently manhandled Whumpee back into bed, then picked up the washcloth. Whumpee snatched the washcloth out of their hands and started dabbing at Caretaker’s scar.

“Does that feel any better?” Whumpee asked.

“Whumpee, I-” Caretaker put their hand on Whumpee’s, “-yes, it feels much better. I think you’ve covered everything, I’m gonna be just fine.”

Whumpee breathed a sigh of relief.

“G-good, that’s good…”

“How about you try to go to sleep, yeah?” Caretaker asked.

Whumpee was already out before Caretaker finished their sentence. Caretaker sighed, taking the washcloth and rubbing the ointment off of their face. They planted a soft kiss on Whumpee’s forehead, feeling the heat radiating off of them. If anyone needed medicine, it was Whumpee. Caretaker left the room to go fetch them some fever reducers. Meanwhile, Whumpee twitched and fidgeted in their sleep, subconsciously worried about their friend.

you have been served by Huffle!

#whump community #whumpdrivethru #whumpblr #whump #answered asks #whump writing #whump blog #huffle #ask game #fever #sickfic #delirium #delirious whumpee #sick whumpee #scars #burns

[echo-goes-mmm]

So we all the love the whumpee-thinks-caretaker-is-their-new-master trope but what if it's true

Caretaker who did buy whumpee, and who does wholeheartedly believes and acts like whumpee belongs to them

But damn it they take great care of their possessions. After all, cats and dogs get spoiled with treats and comfy beds and vet visits when they're sick and cuddles and a form of love

Why should a slave be any different? Especially because caretaker bought whumpee for companionship

Plus whumpee can tidy up, cook for themselves, hold a conversation, and even play games like cards or board games, and can go everywhere caretaker can

That's infinitely better than a cat or dog.

It's just such a shame their old owner was so terrible. Whumpee is so timid now, and nearly skin and bone. But that's nothing a good owner can't fix, right? The poor thing needs some proper structure and attention that's all. It's a good thing whumpee is human. It would be a lot harder to rehabilitate a rescue who can't comprehend speech.

And whumpee doesn't want to leave. Fetching files from a desk and playing checkers and occasionally cleaning the kitchen while master chatters about work is far better than being locked in a cold basement and getting beaten every day

Their new master doesn't lay a hand on them, their version of punishment is no music while doing chores, or no dessert

After all, you wouldn't hit your dog. Caretaker's new pet deserves at least that

#carewhumper #i suppose but caretaker isnt super whumpy here #whump #this is super indulgent #pet whump #i guess but not really #slavery whump #yeah that fits better #its the good master trope #yeah yeah we all know slavery is bad #this is fiction get off your high horse #but like wouldn't this be nice for whumpee?? #its the benefits of being owned (protection. doesn't have to worry about bills/homelessness. possessiveness as care against other whumpers) #plus being told whats right and wrong you dont have to think much as long as caretaker is Clear #without much of the drawbacks of being a whumpee (torture. starvation. lack of social interaction) #i imagine this world is like your typical fantasy/medieval world #caretaker is probably wealthy or a lord with an estate and servants #caretaker got lonely maybe. wanted someone in their life more personally attached than hired help #like personal assistant meets pet whump meets default friend #i do think whumpee and caretaker would become close friends #Meet caretaker: a minor lord who recently inherited the title! #Meet whumpee: caretaker's new slave whos just happy to be fed and have his own bed #journey with them as they navigate the condescension and annoyances of the royal courts! #caretaker needs a friend they can trust while whumpee discovers that they deserve affectionate actually #hurt/comfort shenanigans ensue #head chef edna just wants everyone fed #whumpee have a cookie challenge #get that whumpee a meal #my writing

[crash-bump-bring-the-whump]

Whumpril 2024 - Day 22 - Stoicism Breaks

I've been threatening to send Mariano to therapy so here we ARE! I reference a little RP I had with @comfy-whumpee that's been swirling in my brain ever since we did it c:<

TWs: self harm mention, suicide mention, anxiety mention, talk of a shooting, talk of captivity, this is real cathartic though I promise it's not bad

Ex-military, spent most of his twenties in foreign federal prison, history of anxiety, suicidal ideation, and self-harm. Stoic, highly traumatized, closed off, slow to open up. Hesitant to talk about intense experiences, needs reassurance. Overly concerned with others' needs.

Mary Barlowe looked over her notes before walking into the latest session with Mariano Cross. He wasn't her most difficult patient to talk to, not by a long shot. She never had to worry about calling security, or convincing him to leave when time was up. He was polite, punctual, and friendly.

But he was challenging in his own way.

He'd had a full decade of people telling him that he was an irredeemable monster, and he'd taken it all very seriously. Discussing anything heavier than everyday troubles was approached with the same caution that stray dogs approached an outstretched hand. He barely seemed to have even a basic connection to his own body or emotions, sounding detached whenever he spoke about them. They were things he needed help with, of course, but it was clear that there were things buried deeper than that.

The small, quick smile he gave her when she entered was a fantastic sign. "Good afternoon, Doctor Barlowe." He was already seated, back straight, both feet flat on the floor, and careful hands folded and resting on his leg.

"Good afternoon, Mariano." She returned the greeting easily, taking her own seat in the comfortable chair opposite his. "You mentioned wanting to talk about something difficult today, did something happen?" She knew the answer to that. He'd missed a few sessions due to being hospitalized from a robbery gone wrong.

He hesitated, dark eyes darting to the table between them. "Yes. I...there was something that happened." He seemed to close in on himself, just so, hands still clasped firmly together. She could feel the tension that crept into his voice. "But I understand if we can't."

There it was, the familiar beginning of withdrawal. "Why wouldn't we be able to talk about it?" She leaned forward, a small smile on her face. She kept her features soft, her posture relaxed. "You're paying to have a space to talk about the difficult things."

"I am, yes." He trailed off, not quite meeting her eye yet. "But it was...graphic. I don't want to overstep. I've accidentally done that before, and I...I don't want to find a new therapist. I like you."

"Oh?" Mary's voice softened. "Mariano, let me reassure you: You are not the first former prisoner I've worked with, or the first soldier. If I need a moment after hearing something then I'll let you know, but you're not going to destroy me by just talking.

"You deserve to feel safe enough to say what's on your mind. I'm sure it gets heavy holding it in, doesn't it?" She saw something in his jaw tense, the hold he had on his own hand growing tighter.

Mariano swallowed, nodding, eyes on the tissue box between them. "...It does. I have dreams about it sometimes."

"I'd imagine so." She said. "What happens in those dreams?"

When Mariano spoke again, his voice was barely louder than a whisper. "I can't call for help after I'm shot, and I wind up dying." He took a deeper breath, the sound just barely trembling. "It always feels...very realistic."

"Were you alone when it happened?" Mariano didn't move. His eyes never left the tissue box. "Mariano?" She had a feeling that he wasn't thinking about whether or not he needed a tissue.

He looked up at her, tension tight around his eyes, jaw set, and shoulders curled in on himself. "I...I don't want to hurt you."

"Have you hurt someone by talking about this before?" She spoke to him like he was backed into a corner, cowering away. He was, in a sense. It was like he was waiting for her to snap at him.

Mariano nodded.

"Can you tell me about it?"

Mariano hesitated, his grip shifting to his own elbows. He looked even smaller in the soft, pale green chair. "One of my friends asked me what happened, and why people weren't applying to the ad we put out for more managers. I said that I got shot during a robbery and almost died, and that it had gotten publicized--I don't think I went into detail, but he said that I...ambushed him?"

Mariano's breath caught. "I don't want to overstep again." He repeated. "He's a therapist and...I tried to keep things civilian friendly. It was why people hadn't been applying, and I tried to keep it brief, I...I don't really know what I did wrong. I didn't want to ask him to explain if I'd already hurt him."

A frown ghosted across Mary's face. "I see. Well, you don't have to worry about that, here. I have my own therapist, and I come to work expecting to hear about hard things."

She pushed the tissues closer, leaning forward to catch Mariano's eye. "And I think that I would've answered similarly, in your shoes. Maybe your friend was just having a hard time himself, and didn't communicate that well.

"But most people wouldn't consider that an ambush, just like you wouldn't consider it one if you asked a friend how they'd been and they said that they'd broken their leg recently, or lost a pet." She smiled softly when Mariano continued looking at her. "I think you'd just consider that surprising and unfortunate."

Mariano's jaw trembled. His eyes shone in the mid-afternoon light that streamed in through the window. "...I would."

"This hour is yours, Mariano. I'm not going to get upset at you." She plucked a few tissues and offered them over. "I've seen you for a while now. You don't have to be vigilant like that with me."

Mariano took them, holding them tight.

"Let me help you set some of that heavy stuff down." Mary offered. "You don't have to hold it all in on your own. You won't hurt me with it. It's safe."

Mariano's shoulders shuddered as he crumbled face-first into the tissues. A sob crawled out of him, escaping into his palms. It sounded agonized, like he'd been holding it in for months.

It was the most emotion he'd shown the entire time she'd known him. "It's okay to let people help you. You don't have to be a one man army anymore."

When Mariano had collected himself again, minutes later, Mary listened as he told her about the night that he almost died.

@whump-captain @whumpr @whumperofworlds @lektricwhump @cyberwhumper @bxtterflystxtches @inscrutable-shadow @honeybees-125

#whumpril2024 #whumprilday22 #day 22 #stoicism breaks #self harm ment #anxiety ment #suicide ment #talk of a shooting #talk of captivity #talk of imprisonment #murder mention #mage of violence #mary barlowe #I love when conflicts happen in rp and it informs how a character interacts with people #it's fascinating!! #mariano is so ready to accept that he's hurt someone and needs to change even if other people's trauma might be informing their reaction #He's so ready for more instruction on how to be better and how to dull any sharp edges

[justbreakonme]

“I’m tired…”

“I know sweetheart, we’ll be home soon.”

“Sleep?”

“Yeah, sleep. In a big comfy bed, with those pajamas that you like. The blue ones.”

“Good… sounds good.”

Caretaker gently brushed the hair out of whumpees face, praying that the rest of their team could get to them before Whumpee passed out. They knew they had to keep talking. Had to keep them awake.

“And guess what?”

“Hmm?”

“Guess.”

“Nnh,” their eyebrows drew together in a grimace as they shook their head, “Just tell me…please…”

“I’ll make you coffee cake. The kind with the crumbs on top, that you really like.”

Their lips quirked up in a smile. “But you hate that…”

“No, not really.”

“You hate crumbs. I get crumbs on the rug…”

“I’ll vacuum,” Caretaker looks up at the sound of footsteps, distant but distinct, “You just gotta stay awake okay? Until we get home, alright?”

“I can’t though… My head hurts…” Whumpees eyes had been fluttering open and closed randomly, but now it seemed like a losing battle.

“You have to. You have to stay awake, please, whumpee please,” they begged, shaking them slightly, guilt burning a hole through their heart at the cry of pain it caused.

“You’re hurting me!”

“Whumpee, you have to stay awake. I know you’re tired, and I know it hurts. It’s going to be all better soon, I promise, but not if you fall asleep now. You have to wake up.”

“I can’t… I don’t want to…” they sobbed, “Please, I can’t anymore…”

The footsteps were getting closer and closer, just a few minutes and they would be okay. They set their jaw, and closed their eyes, wishing they could plug their ears.

“I’m sorry, Whumpee, I’m so sorry…” they whispered, before grinding the heel of their palm into one of Whumpees wounds.

The broken howl of pain seemed to carve right through Caretakers heart. They would never be able to unhear it, undo it, unsee it.

But as the rescuers surged around the two of them, at least they knew they would be around to apologize for it.

(Edit: Part two here as requested!)

#whump #whumpee #caretaker #whump prompts #whump prompt #rescue #whump scenario #exhaustion #forced to hurt whumpee