#merry christmas y’all | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

flowersarefreetherapy · 4 months

Text

Sunshine House: When Skies are Grey

CW: Mentioned minor character death, dehumanization, BBU typical violence, dubcon kiss, light dubcon, blood, violence, pet whump

001 is silent. They stare at nothing, ignoring the cries of the newer members. Lance punches the bars of their cage as he walks by and all 001 does is bare their teeth in a snarl. 002 watches them out of the corner of his eyes, though he drops his gaze when Lance passes him.

The screams and cries echoing through the room wash over 002 like waves. The squeal of rusting metal stabs his head as the handlers grab one of the newer fighters. Fighting and screaming and then they go limp with a blow to the head. They aren’t coming back, not after a hit like that. He’s seen it happen all too well.

“Damn,” 003 whispers. She crouches back on her heels, rubbing the sleep from her eyes with one mitted hand. Dirt smears across her cheek. “I forget how loud they are.”

002 dips his head a fraction. Enough for agreement, but not enough to be noticed by the handlers. He watches 003 in envy. Her small frame allows her to fully sit up in the cage. Not only that, but she doesn’t mouth off or bite when the handlers are near, so she doesn’t wear the muzzle that so many of the other fighters do. His cramping jaw and back scream in protest as he faces front again.

001 growls as Lance steps back in. As the door swings shut, they hear the roar of the crowd. 002 can smell the bloodlust in the air. Lance saunters over and crouches in front of 001. He slips his fingers through the bars of the cage and cups their face. Behind the muzzle, they bare their sharpened teeth.

“I know, baby, you’re so excited to get out there.” Lance grabs a handful of their short hair and twists their head to the side. “Ready to go get your little paws dirty?”

002 ducks his head. It’s never good to get in the sights of a handler. 005 had his hand broken because he didn’t snap to attention quick enough. 010 was beaten unconscious and one of the fighters who didn’t live long enough was taken from the room every night. He’s seen what happens to those who capture attention and he wants nothing to do with it.

“Sadly, you’re not fighting yet.” Lance tugs on the muzzle, pulling 001 close. They growl. “Hush, little puppy. You know your mouth has better uses.” He pushes himself to his feet, both knees popping, and snaps his fingers. “002, here, mutt.”

He shuffles back from the door, keeping his head lowered as Lance unlocks the cage. 002 lets the handler grab his collar and pull him out into the center of the room. The gazes from the other fighters burn the back of his neck and he lets out a slow breath.

“Heel,” Lance orders. 002 crawls at his side, keeping pace until they reach the entrance to the ring. “Good boy.”

A small flush of pride overrides his fear at the screams of the crowd. He doesn’t need to be dragged. He follows orders. He is a good mutt, not like the others. Not like 001, who has to wear a shock collar. Not like 003, who keeps her anger hidden and lashes out at the other fighters.

Good boy. I’m a good mutt.

“Ready?” Lance asks, unclipping his collar. 002 dips his head in agreement. His muzzle is next and he slowly opens his mouth, relaxing his jaw as much as he can. Tensed muscles will do nothing to save him in a fight. “Good mutt, knew you were. You’re gonna fight good tonight. There’s a reward if you do, puppy.”

002’s snaps up. A reward? He doesn’t get rewards. He’s just a stupid mutt, he doesn’t deserve rewards. He only does what he’s told. It’s nothing special.

Lance smirks and scratches behind his ear. 002 melts into the soft touch, whining a little as the crowd quiets and he hears the muffle voice of the announcer. Lance pulls up on his hair and he gets to his feet, rolling his neck and stretching out his arms.

The door opens and he walks into the ring with all the confidence he doesn’t have.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The bell digs and the crowd roars in approval, along with the few cries of disappointment as bets are lost. 002 staggers to the edge of the ring, blood dripping from his fingertips. His gaze stays locked on the body in the middle of the arena, the young man gasping his final breaths from a throat torn beyond recognition.

002 swallows hard, mouth thick with the taste of blood. Something is stuck in his teeth. Bile slides up his throat, burning against the blood. A whistle sounds behind him, breaking his concentration.

“Come, mutt,” Lance says. “Now.”

Several handlers wipe the blood from his hands and mouth and Lance hands him a cup of water with the order to drink. He does as he’s told, nothing snapping into focus. All he can feel is the thrashing body under him as he tears out the young man’s throat.

“Heel,” Lance orders.

002 follows him out of the room and into a maze of staircases and hallways. He swallows, his heart racing faster than in the ring. The collar he doesn’t remember being placed around his throat seems to tighten with every breath. Where are they going? What is happening? Is this his reward?

“There he is, our champion fighter!”

His head snaps up. He stands in the middle of a room, staring down his master. With a flinch, he drops to his knees, ducking his head in an effort to appear invisible. A chuckle makes its way through the room, then conversation returns. He knows his master’s voice, but there are a few others he knows from meetings before.

“Here, mutt,” his master orders. 002 crawls to his side, the carpet soft under his fingertips. There is blood still caked under his nails. “Good boy. You did good today.”

“Thank you, master,” he whispers in a voice like gravel.

“I won a lot of money on you, mutt.” A different voice, someone he knows. “You’ve made us both very happy, so I thought a reward was in order.”

“You’re going to spoil him, Patrick.”

“It’s not spoiling. Cam doesn’t mind, does he?”

“No, master.”

A shudder races down his spine. No, no, no. 002 draws in his shoulders and the back of his neck burns. No, he doesn’t want this. This isn’t a reward he wants. He whimpers softly, twisting his hands in his lap.

“Mutt.”

His head snaps up. Cameron is there, dressed in nothing but a too-long shirt. Icey blue eyes stare 002 down, calculatingly watching his reactions. The coppery smell of blood assaults his senses. His master’s fingers snap, catching his attention. 002 ducks his head again.

“Be nice,” his master orders. “I don’t want you injuring Patrick’s merchandise.”

Bare feet enter his vision and cool fingers slide down the dent left behind by his muzzle. The flesh on 002’s arms raises and he whimpers as Cameron lifts his face upward. He can’t breathe. He swallows back the urge to rip his hands off him.

“Hey, fighter,” Cameron croons, crouching down. His shirt slides up his thighs. “I saw you fighting today. I didn’t miss a single second. How could I not pay attention?” His other hand slides down 002’s arm. “Not with strength like this.”

002 whimpers again. The word “no” balances on the tip of his tongue. He swallows it back, acutely aware of his master watching him. His fingers twitch at his side, desperate to push Cameron away with each brush of his skin against his.

Cameron leans forward, lips brushing against 002’s ear. “The way you held that poor fighter down? So easily, didn’t even break a sweat, hardly noticed. You know, there are far better ways to be using that strength of yours. Want me to show you?”

His hand slides up 002’s thigh, slipping between his legs. He freezes, staring into the middle distance as he fights to breathe. Everyone continues their conversations, ignoring the two pets. 002’s gaze darts to his master. He’s talking and doesn’t seem to be paying attention.

“Please,” 002 whispers, taking the risk. “Please, I don’t want this.”

“It’s what we’re made for.” Cameron smiles up at him through his lashes, fluttering them a little. “We want this. This is what we’re made for. All of you want this, you just pretend you don’t.” He smiles, like he’s telling a joke. “I’ll make it good. You know that. You know you want me.”

002 shakes his head. “Please . . . I don’t-”

“You aren’t allowed to say no.” Cameron’s voice drops, taking on an edge. “Hurt me, make me scream, make me bleed. You aren’t allowed to say no, they won’t let you.”

002 closes his eyes. If he isn’t allowed to escape, then at least he doesn’t have to see. Cameron’s lips press softly against his collarbones, then his neck, teeth scraping along the edge of his jaw. It doesn’t feel right, it doesn’t feel good, and that’s stupid, because he’s a dumb mutt, this is what he wants, this is what Cameron is good at. This should feel good.

Yet all he wants to do is throw Cameron across the room.

Laughter from somewhere far away. Weight in his lap, Cameron’s hands running through his short hair. His lips press to his ear. Words that he doesn’t hear and his eyes burn with tears he forces away. They have to perform. Like in the ring. Give them a show and they will be happy.

“Come on,” Cameron whispers. “You have to give me something to work with. I can make you feel so good, so please, help me.”

002 finally opens his eyes. Cameron’s face is split in a smile clearly meant to charm and disarm, but all he can focus on is the pain in his eyes. They have to play a part and he takes all his emotions and shoves them into the dark corners where they will stay hidden.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” 002 whispers. His hands shake as he rests them on Cameron’s hips. Bloody fingers on white shirt. He winces at the sight. Will he get in trouble for that?

“Oh honey, I would love you to.” Cameron’s smile is all teeth. “Make me bleed and scream and I will get on my knees for you.”

“I won’t. I won’t do that.”

Cameron cups his face and leans in close, pressing their lips together. This time, 002 responds, leaning into the kiss with all the enthusiasm he can fake. Tears burn his eyes as Cameron’s hands slide down his chest. He lifts his hips slightly, swallowing back a whimper.

“I told you,” Cameron breathes. “I’m good, aren’t I.”

He doesn’t know how long the Romantic kisses him for, how long it is before he slips from his lap to between his legs, bent in half to take him into his mouth, taking his sweet time drawing him towards release. 002 throws his head back, nails digging against Cameron’s scalp, tangling in his hair and yanking without thought. The urge to destroy wars with pleasure. Cameron groans after a particularly harsh tug and he swallows back bile.

Then Cameron is leaning back, wiping his mouth with a smirk. 002 sags, chest heaving as he fights to regain control of his body. He hates this feeling of his body, which has never failed him, acting without his permission. A betrayal, of a kind he can’t name.

“Good boy,” Cameron’s master says. The Romantic returns to sitting dutifully on his lap, his master’s fingers stroking lazy lines down his throat. “Look at your strong fighter now.”

002’s master laughs. “Such an animal. My fighters are the best, but they are too often driven by their carnal urges for me.”

002 crawls to his master’s side, trying his best to subtly fix the waistband of his shorts. In theory, it shouldn’t bother him, but knowing that Cameron watches him makes his hair stand on end. He kneels, resting his weight on his heels, keeping his gaze lowered. For a moment, he wonders what it would be like to have his master treat him with the same kindness as Cameron’s. Tell him how well he’s doing, run his fingers through his short-cut hair, give him a place to himself.

It’s a foolish dream, one he shouldn’t entertain. He is his master’s champion Fighter and Guard.

There is no reason for him to be anything else.

Tagging: @pigeonwhumps@blood-is-compulsory (please let me know if you want to be added/removed!)

#merry Christmas y’all #come and get your Cameron content!#minor character death #dehumanization #violence #dubcon kiss #dubcon #blood #pet whump #bbu #bbu universe #thad #cameron #sunshine house

17 notes · View notes

neverwasreddie · 1 year

Text

Part 2 of my reddie Christmas ficlet that nobody asked for!

Eddie’s trying really, really hard to be chill about Richie’s Christmas gift, but 1. “chill” is not a word that has ever been used to describe Edward Kaspbrak, like, not ever as long as he’s been alive, and 2. how can he possibly be chill about this?

Richie swears up and down that it’s nothing, that Ben loves tinkering around in his little garage-turned-woodshop and it gave Richie an excuse to try and reenact the Ghost pottery scene with the hottest Loser without his Beverly around to interfere.

But Eddie knows better, saw the flicker of fear on Richie’s face when he finally opened the gift. Knows that this means something special to Richie, something he’s too shy to put into words.

And the fact that the wood is from the Kissing Bridge of Derry is no coincidence, either. That is the detail Eddie keeps getting hung up on, no matter how Richie tries to brush it off.

“I just don’t get it!” Eddie is still saying a few days later, dusting the shelf around the frame with the utmost care. “Did they demolish that safety hazard while I was in the hospital, or what?”

Richie snorts, not even bothering to look up from the Rubik’s cube he’s fiddling with on the couch. “Well, someone almost did. Lucky Mikey boy caught me before I burned his whole stupid town to the ground.”

He’s casual on the surface, but there’s enough bite to his words for Eddie to turn and ask carefully, “What?”

Sighing, running a hand through his hair and refusing to look up at Eddie, Richie shrugs. “I wasn’t exactly in tip-top shape while you were in your little coma nap, there, bud. When they finally kicked me out of your room to go shower and sleep, I took the long way back to the inn. Got some of my frustration out on that stupid bridge. And before you say anything, I didn’t vandalize the whole thing, alright, just that one slat that was already rotting in the center. Didn’t take much to rip it off.”

A flashback to his hospital room strikes Eddie, then: the feeling of Richie’s raw, scraped hands gripping his tightly, Eddie assuming the injuries had come from his fall from the Deadlights.

“You really took this wood from the bridge?” he asks carefully, dropping his dust cloth and carefully approaching the couch. Richie is still sprawled out on his back, gaze turned from Eddie, so there’s no room to sit beside him, but Eddie feels the inexplicable need to be near Richie for this conversation.

Always feels that need, if he’s being honest with himself.

“Yeah, well, excuse me for not exactly thinking straight,” Richie mutters, and it’s a testament to the sincerity of the moment that he doesn’t even go for a low-hanging gay joke at his expense. “I thought I was losing you after just getting you back, and I…”

He squeezes his eyes shut, shakes his head and lets the Rubik’s cube drop to the floor.

“Hey.” Eddie drops to a knee beside him, picks up the toy and squeezes Richie’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring it up if it was going to upset you. I’m…I’m still just really surprised about the gift, that’s all. It means more to me than you know, alright, even if I…even if I’m showing it in a stupid way.”

Richie cracks an eye open, then smiles when he sees whatever pathetically earnest expression Eddie’s probably wearing in return.

“Just glad the work was worth it, Eds,” he says softly. “That stupid hunk of bridge is about the only thing worth taking from that town.”

Eddie doesn’t know how serious Richie is about that statement until later that night.

Their evening of Hanukkah and Christmas gift-giving with the other Losers had been a smashing success, with all the stupid gag gifts one could expect from the friends of Richie Tozier mixed with all the sentimental and heartfelt presents to be expected from the likes of Mike, Ben, and, surprisingly, Stan, secret sap that he is. By the time the others stumble back out to their homes or hotels for the evening, safely and drunkenly tucked into Ubers lined up like Christmas sleighs, Eddie is feeling warm with love like he hasn’t felt on Christmas Eve in decades.

Richie is looking just as warm and relaxed from his spot on the couch in the corner, flushed from mulled wine and cozy in an ugly Christmas sweater and smiling at Eddie like he’s never been so content.

“Did you have a good Christmas Eve, Eddie Spaghetti?”

“The best,” Eddie says honestly, ignoring the nickname in favor of painful sincerity. “Thank you for letting me host that here. That was…you’re really the best, you know? That was the best Christmas I’ve had since the last time we were all together.”

Richie’s smile only grows at that. “Glad to hear it, Eds. Anything for you.”

It’s hard for Eddie to look too closely at Richie when he’s turning his full attention on him, knowing he’ll never have it like he truly wants it, so he fiddles with the decorations on the bookshelf for something to do. A nutcracker and a snow globe and a fat, squishy snow man, lined up next to Richie’s homemade frame.

“It’s just nice having everyone together. It’s just…we’re so lucky, you know?” he murmurs, his wine-clumsy fingers knocking the nutcracker over, hurrying to catch the frame before it can fall.

It’s only then in his hands that he sees the back of the frame for the first time, the engraving on the back that looks much older than Richie’s more recent carpentry efforts on the front.

R + E

“Oh,” Eddie breathes, a rush of cold panic and warm hope pouring over him all at once. “Richie, what’s…is this from the bridge?”

Richie looks up, curious, paling slightly when he sees what Eddie is looking at.

“Oh, yeah. That. It was, uh, it was on the part of the bridge I broke.”

“It’s our initials, Richie. R and E.” Barely able to hear over the pounding in his ears, Eddie whispers, “Is that us?”

Flushed from the tips of his ears to the collar of his sweater, it’s impossible for Richie to do anything but nod, a little sheepish as he drops his gaze to the floor.

“The summer of the clown, when you were grounded and we were all in that awful fight and I couldn’t see you, or anyone…” He laughs, a bleak and mirthless sound. “I thought I was going crazy, you know? I needed you more than I ever did, because that stupid clown knew my secret and…and I was already so scared of him doing something to me, but then he knew how I felt about you, and if he did something to you…” He shakes his head, eyes falling shut as the fear of the memory washes over him.

“How you felt about me?” Eddie clutches the frame to his chest like a raft in a stormy sea. “How did you feel about me?”

Richie opens his eyes and looks steadily at Eddie. “How did I feel?” he asks. “I felt enough to carve our initials into the Kissing Bridge without caring if anyone saw. I felt enough to rip that bridge apart and take those letters with me in case that’s all I had left of you when I left that stupid town this time around.”

He closes his eyes, briefly, and then, like he’s steeling himself for something, he adds, “I don’t know why we’re saying ‘felt’ in the past tense, like I just gave that frame to you for no reason. As if any of those feelings ever went away.”

All at once Eddie feels lightheaded, like the first thrilling time he drank a beer with Richie and thought he was going to fall over, but knowing all the while without knowing how he knew that Richie would catch him if he needed to.

“You still like me like that?” he whispers, running his fingers over the letters with reverence before placing the frame back on the shelf.

Richie smiles ruefully, makes a buzzer noise out of the side of his mouth. “Wrong four-letter word, there, Eds. Try it again. Same first letter, whole different set of consequences for me.”

Eddie approaches Richie with all the care needed to approach a startled fawn, quiet slow steps forward and a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Come on, Rich, don’t chicken out on me here. Can you say it? Please? For me?”

Eyes wide with someone less like fear and more like wonder, Richie swallows and grips the hand on his shoulder with all the strength of someone about to unburden something he’s been carrying for far too long.

“I love you, Eddie. I’m in love with you. Always have been and always will be.”

It’s like someone unlocked a box that had been hiding in Eddie’s chest, flipped it upside down, and shook it until every joyful emotion he’d ever known came tumbling out in one jumbled mess. It’s a thrill unlike anything Eddie’s ever felt: every leap into the quarry, every stolen moment in the hammock with Richie, every night sneaking in and out of windows and whispering in the too-near closeness under bedsheets.

Richie loves him.

“Does it count as a Christmas gift,” Eddie says breathlessly, pulling Richie to his feet, “if I tell you that I love you, too?”

Dazed, eyes wide and lips parted slightly, Richie nods stupidly until it seems his brain has caught up with his heart.

“Only if you mean it,” he says, gathering Eddie into his arms and pulling him in to a first-class kiss for the ages.

Eddie thinks, if this is how Richie is going to kiss him every day, he’s going to have to find him a Christmas gift, after all.

“Merry Christmas, Eddie,” Richie whispers against his lips, and there’s a lot Eddie wants to say back to that, but it’ll have to wait, he decides, as he pulls Richie in for another kiss.

They’ve got a lot of catching up to do.

#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #it chapter 2 #reddie fic #it 2019 #it (stephen king)#reddie hc #it stephen king #richie x eddie #i don’t even know my tags anymore #trashmouth tozier #reddie christmas fic #i know this is late but I decided it needed a part 2 lol #merry christmas y’all #happy new year #long post #sry lol

32 notes · View notes