#recorded message

There were three women looming over him. The blonde, Tara, from the bar, had exchanged her little black dress for more comfortable lounge clothes, while he was still wearing his outfit from the night before. The other two, a redhead and a brunette, he didn’t recognize.

The brunette had a gun holstered on her belt. Hale was pretty sure he could see the outline of a knife in her pocket, too.

“Yeah. Sorry, cutie.” Tara- if that was even her real name- shrugged.

Hale tried to stand up, but quickly discovered his wrist bound to the radiator by a pair of handcuffs, letting him lie down or sit but not stand.

“Don’t try to move around,” the brunette warned. “Last guy ended up getting a nasty mark on his wrist from pulling too hard.”

Hale’s heart surged with panic. Last guy. “What happened to the last guy?” he squeaked.

The redhead elbowed her, irritated. “Don’t go telling him shit like that before we’ve even explained what’s going on. You’ll scare him, and a scared victim is more likely to-”

“What’s going on?!” Hale interrupted, voice pitching higher with fear. “What are you going to do to me?”

“Relax.” the redhead ordered firmly. She seemed to be the one in charge. “We’re not gonna hurt you. If everything goes as planned, you’ll be returned home. We’re just asking for a ransom is all. Plain and simple.”

Tara’s questions about his parents made a lot more sense now. He’d been too drunk and stupid to make sense of it at the time. But who would ever assume this?

“Don’t hurt me.” Hale put his hands up in surrender, the chain of the handcuffs jingling a bit with the movement. “They’ll get you the money. I’m sure. Can I ask... how much you’re asking?”

“We won’t hurt you,” the redhead assured.

The brunette’s hand rested threateningly on the gun. “Just as long as you don’t try any shit.”

“I won’t, I won’t!” Hale’s hands started to tremble, eyes welling up with tears.

“Jo. What did I just say?” the redhead snapped.

“I don’t like you sending Tara out to do the seducing! Who knows what kind of scumbags she’s bringing back? After last time, I feel like we’d be safer gutting these guys and selling their organs on the black market.”

Hale choked on air at the suggestion, cringing back against the radiator. “D-don’t, I-”

“I have good judgment. Trust me, he’s harmless.” Tara gave him a wink, seeming a lot less cute than she did last night.

“I’m not a scumbag!” Hale offered weakly. “I was just- I was just at a bar. Please don’t hurt me.”

“Clear out,” the redhead told the other two. Jo offered some weak protest, but both ultimately left without much hassle.

Hale wasn’t sure whether he liked that or not: he was glad Jo was gone, but even though she’d drugged him, he kind of wanted Tara here. She was the only familiar one, and she’d insisted he was harmless.

The redhead crouched down to be eye-level with him. “Hey. Take some deep breaths. In for 4, hold for 7, out for 8.”

“What?” Hale asked tearfully.

“It’ll help you calm down. Come on. On with it.”

Hale did as she asked. He breathed in for 4 seconds, held it for 7 seconds, and breathed out for 8 seconds. Over and over until the woman spoke again.

“There. Feel better?” she asked, her voice gentle.

“Not really,” he admitted, anxiety tearing him apart. “You kidnapped me.”

“Technically, Tara kidnapped you,” she corrected with a smile. She sat cross-legged on the floor across from him. “My name, as far as you’re concerned, is Catherine, and I’m not going to hurt you. My associates aren’t going to hurt you either, unless you make them.”

“I’m Hale,” he offered lamely.

Catherine looked at him like he was stupid. “Yeah. I know.”

“So- so what’s going to happen?” Hale asked nervously.

She smiled again, without a hint of malice. “I’m so glad you asked. Don’t worry, we’re professionals. We’ve done this before.” Her assurance did not ease Hale’s concerns. “We’re just going to film a little video and send it to mommy and daddy, and they’re going to pay the amount we set for your release. Once we get the money, you’ll be returned, safe and sound.”

Catherine reached forward and patted him on the head. “How’s that sound, huh? Any questions?”

She was being so nice. Hale knew it was probably a front to get him to cooperate, but he was just desperate for this to work out so he could go home. “Um, I guess it could be worse. Can I ask... how much you’re asking for?”

“Just a million. Nothing that’ll break your family’s bank, right? We got lucky with you.”

She was right. Mom and Dad would pay that easily. They’d spent more on a lake house just last year, and they certainly weren’t hurting for money. Even if they were, they could just sell the lake house.

“Yeah. How, um, how long do you think it’ll be before I can go home?” he asked.

Catherine shrugged. “That depends. What’s your relationship with your parents like?”

Hale hesitated for a bit, trying to figure out the best way to word it. “Uh...”

“Kidding. But yeah, out of our hands,” she continued, as if she wasn’t the one keeping him. “You wanna talk to them and ask them to pick you up from the nightmare sleepover?”

Hale nodded. “Yes please.”

“So polite.” She took out her phone and opened up the voice recorder app, holding it just barely out of reach. She pressed the little red button to start recording.

“That’s not the phone?” Hale pointed out.

“So I can crop out anything I don’t like, and not have to worry about tracking,” Catherine explained patiently. “Go ahead. I’ll make sure it’s delivered.”

“H-hi, Mom and Dad,” Hale started awkwardly. “Um, I’m okay, I’m safe.”

Catherine shook her head. “Take two. Try to cultivate a sense of urgency,” she suggested. “I could get Jo back in here if you think it would help?”

“No!” His voice certainly took on a sense of urgency then, his tears finally falling. “Mom? Dad? I’m- I’m not okay, I’m not safe. Please just pay them so I can come home. I’m sorry.” His voice came out wobbly. “I miss you. Please come get me.”

Catherine waited a few seconds before hitting the stop button. “Very good job. I’ll have that and the payment instructions in their mailbox by tomorrow morning. I’m sure you’ll be out of here in no time.” She wiped the tears from Hale’s face. “Not a scratch. Then you can spend the rest of your little rich boy life telling everyone you survived a kidnapping. Maybe next time you could even use it to actually pick someone up at a bar. That’d be ironic, huh?”

“I think my bar pickup days are- are over,” Hale hiccupped.

Catherine shrugged. “Point is, you’ll be home. Don’t stress out about it too much.”

Easy for her to say. “Okay.”

“I’ll get you some breakfast. You like hot pockets?” she asked.

“...Will it be drugged?”

Catherine looked at him like he was stupid again. “Why would I drug you when you’re already chained to my radiator?”

Why did he feel embarrassed to be asking? “Oh. Uh, right.”

She left Hale there on the floor to wonder about where he’d gone wrong.

-

taglist (just using my oneshots taglist since this is gonna be very short):

@icyheart-and-friends​

@kira-the-whump-enthusiast​

@lilac-and-lemon-whumps​

@whuarri​

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump​

@whumpycries​

There he was.

Onscreen.

Naked.

Scarred.

Bruised.

Obviously drugged with how wide his eyes were, how splayed his limbs seemed to be.

How little control he had over himself.

And that was the point, wasn't it? Whenever he felt good,whenever he felt like he could leave them, could blow up their life together, Valerian always snatched that control away.

The camera shook but it quickly righted so he saw himself kneeling at Valerian's feet, hands gripping their thighs as he plunged his mouth into them with brutal ferocity. Spit spilled down from the corners of his mouth. His hair partially obscured his eyes, which were closed in distressed bliss.

He could only remember bits and pieces of this. The strongest memory being fear, the desire to continue making them happy, the knowledge of what would happen if he didn't.

He swallowed reflexively at the memory almost surprised when mouth turned up dry. His throat was tight as well, tingling with a warning that he was about to start crying. He swallowed again. He wouldn’t lose control now, not here, not because of this but he could feel himself spiraling outward.

He forced his attention back to the video which was playing a different image of Valerian. His position on the floor, bending down on his hands and knees didn't allow him to see much of his face or Valerian’s for that matter but he didn't need to see either of their faces to understand what was going on.

His hole was stretched wide and glistened. His back bowed sharply. His hips thrust back to meet Valerian and the sparkling neon dildo strapped around their waist.

He’d been so happy to be used that day. The loneliness, the ache of missing his partners had almost swallowed him alive. He would've done anything for a bit of warmth, for the touch he usually rejected and the intimacy of another person.

And he had. Valerian was ecstatic when he'd played the perfect, dutiful boyfriend. They’d eaten it up like he’d known they would. They’d swallowed his attention whole and he’d let them fuck him, clinging to them after everything was over.

They hadn't needed to drug him - not that time, not when he’d closed his eyes and imagined someone else behind him.

They still had.

God, it was so fucked up. He was so fucked up.

I'll make you love me, Wicky. I promise you'll love me. Please.

The third video doesn't show any faces but he'd been knelt between two people, forced to suck them off. His head bobbed back and forth between the two. One of them kept a firm grip tangled in his hair and pulled, forcing him to choke while they laughed.

The only things that came to his mind were the warring feelings of anger, that someone who was not to be making use of him, was forcing him and the feeling of gratitude that these people had chosen him.

Him and not Peyton.

You're mine, Wicky and everyone will know.

The message was clear. It was the same. They didn't have to say it out loud.

“You know I have to ask this, Wick, although looking at these videos, I think I already know.” Greg spoke into the quiet. He swallowed, seasoned voice gentle and wavering slightly. Wick sighed again. “Were you aware of the existence of these recordings? Was any of this, at any point, consensual? ”

He snapped his eyes up. His mouth was working in that way he did when his control was slipping, and he swallowed hard.

God, had it been? How many times has he been asked this question by the press? By others? He'd always said no but now.....

“I…don’t…don’t know,” he admitted honestly, “There might, might have been a few times where I said, said…said yes but….I don't remember. I don't, don't know but if I said, said yes it was only because of what they, they threatened me with.”

The younger lawyer's eyes were like drops of oil, wet and sad and boring into him, her cheeks and neck shining brighter than Rudolph's nose.

She leaned forward over her notebook, hands clasped hard around her pen. It was nice of her to feel the shame exhaustion had blunted for him. Someone should feel something about this.

He couldn't really place when it had started but somewhere in the middle of all of this, maybe when Valerian had broken in and he hadn't told the others, maybe it had been when he moved into the penthouse with them, life had started to feel like a dream. A half-pleasant, half skin-clawing nightmare. It felt like something out of a horror movie, shot with some weird high-definition lens, bright and blurry at the same time and so, so fake.

He frowned. This was real, unfortunately.

“Yes,” he said quickly, clearing his throat. “Sorry.” He sat up straighter. His back ached. “What, what, was the question again?”

She smiled faintly. It dripped with pity. “There wasn’t one., Mx. Wickham. I haven't asked it yet."

He felt the heat creeping on his neck for the first time since the video started. “Right. Sorry."

He looked out the window, feeling suddenly even more awkward in his too-big clothes, like he had as a teen trying on his dad's suits. He'd have to get everything re-tailored if he didn't want to wear the clothes Valerian had bought him. He could almost imagine how much they'd love seeing him walk to court in some gaudy piece. They’d be ecstatic.

His shoulders ached. At least he could hide how much his hands were shaking in the sleeves.

She leaned back, sighing. “I was going to say, Mx. Wickham, you don't have to show these in court but they will go a long way in discrediting Mx. Ainsworth's accusations.” A beat of silence. “Since we lost the battle to have the case closed to the media, these could get out to the general public. We'll do our best in making sure that doesn't happen but that's something you'll need to think about."

"Everyone loves a, a, a good scandal," he murmured, "Especially if there's, there's sex."

How many times has he perused a magazine with a fellow CEO's face on it and shaken his head at their "indiscretion"?

Sometimes it felt like he was just sitting here waiting for someone to call cut so he could stop acting and go home. Perhaps everything hadn't caught up with him yet. He’d gone into damage control as soon as he was well enough, issued statements he’d been told to issue. He’d moved back in with his partners. He’d gone back to therapy.

Everyone tiptoed around him but everything seemed…normal. Life moved at a normal pace and he knew, looking at Greg and what’s-her-name’s faces, that he should be more upset about this.

Did they want him to cry? He probably should, shouldn't he? He blinked but his eyes stayed dry. There was no burn behind them, no stinging in his nose.

“It’s too…“ He trailed off. Maybe he should be angry? He tried to be, looking at the screen again, at his naked body but there’s nothing there. No fury. No sadness. He looked down, leaned back in the chair, back aching, and sighed. He followed the grooves and swirls on the table with his fingers before rubbing his face and carding a hand through his hair.

He tugged at one of his curls.

Hard.

His eyes finally stung.

Oh. Okay. There it was. It was almost a relief.

He tried to breathe out but it felt like all the air in the cramped and tiny office had been sucked out. He was choking, throat closing up while his lungs shriveled up. Despite the elephant sitting on his chest, he smiled.

They hadn't said a word in the recordings but the message was clear.

I'll ruin your life, Christopher. You'll never escape it.