Whump with a dash of Yandere?

He’d thought it must have been AI at first, a bad joke with worse timing, someone fucking up in supermax and letting one of the minor Criminals lay hands on a phone.  Still, he’d called the prison just to be sure.  What they said had sent a shock of ice down his spine.  Someone who was in the visiting logs as the Reaper’s lawyer had visited late last night at shift change, the cameras had gone down, and when the system had come back online, he was gone.

“Why the hell didn’t you notify us?!” he shouted into the phone.  The guard stammered something about how he couldn’t have gone far, and they were sure they’d be able to get—

Shimura hung up on him, and pulled over, hitting redial on the number the Reaper had texted from.

“I was going to text,” the Reaper chided when he answered, and Shimura could practically hear the crazed grin.  “But then, you never could sit still and take direction.”

“If you hurt her, I swear—”

“Yes, yes," he cut Shimura off. "Threaten me when you get here. Bye now!"

The address was for an abandoned building on the edge of town. The only car in the lot was the one Rose had described fleeing the accident with Kiriko. Even without GPS, he knew he was in the right place.

He found a door with a broken chain around the handles, and pulled the chain off. It would do for a weapon. He kicked the door open, stepping cautiously into the building. The building had probably been office space, meant for rows of cubicles, the lower floor a vast single space dotted with support pillars. It was illuminated in patches by daylight coming in through the windows; the power clearly hadn't been on in some time. Some ceiling tiles were missing, scattered across the floor, and two of the windows had been busted out. Cans, bottles, and graffiti marked it as having once been a hangout for teenagers, though there was enough dust on them for the Reaper to have not been overly worried about that aspect.

"Kiriko?"

He wound one end of the chain around his right hand, cautiously moving through the space. An empty snack bag crunched under his feet. He raised his voice.

"Kiriko—?"

"Kiriko can't come to the phone right now," the Reaper drawled, stepping out from behind a pillar with a grin.

He wasn't dressed in a prisoner's jumpsuit, but that didn't surprise Shimura. He'd probably switched clothes with his "attorney" in the escape. The man had been getting away with murder since his teens; he knew better than to flee wearing obvious prison garb. That, and he was just vastly disinclined to abandon his expensive taste in clothes.

That unhinged grin broadened as he noticed the chain. "No gun for you, still?"

"No time to ask," Shimura growled. If he had, Onuki would have insisted on backup anyway—which, of course, he knew. "Where is she?"

"You'll get to see her soon enough… possibly more of her than you're used to, even."

"The hell is that supposed to mean?!"

"You'll see."

He fell back a step and ducked as Shimura charged at him, and the short length of doubled chain barely missed his head. One leg kicked out at Shimura's knees. It wasn't enough to knock him off his feet, but it broke the chain's swing as Shimura suddenly needed that concentration for balance. He grabbed a downed ceiling tile while Shimura stabilized and regained command of his weapon, holding it up in defense against the next swing. The cardboard shield snapped in two on impact, but slowed the strike enough that it was no more than a punch when it hit. Not that Shimura had ever made being punched particularly fun for him, but it was the difference between a deep bruise and a broken humerus.

Shimura swung again, and he rolled out of the way, pushing backward away from him so that the chain clipped his shoulder instead of his skull. The Reaper fell back to the next pillar, and caught the following strike at the end of the chain's arc across his side. He ducked behind it as the next blow landed, spinning away from the impact as the chain struck the pillar instead, lodging itself in the thin layer of drywall around the concrete.

Shimura didn't see him go for his right pocket; his attention was on freeing his weapon. He just felt the shallow twin puncture of a stun gun's tines at the small of his back. He dropped with a strangled noise of pain as a sharp crack of electricity lanced through him, and his legs buckled, hands tightening involuntarily on the chain for the duration of the shock. He pulled them away once it was over, palms red and stinging.

The Reaper laughed as Shimura tried to push himself to his feet and floundered. "How do you like it—our prisons' go-to inmate control device?" he asked with a sharp kick to the other man's ribs.

"Clearly not effective enough," Shimura growled, wincing, "if you're loose now."

The Reaper chuckled. "To be honest, I would say that was less a failure of the instrument than it was human error…"

Shimura got his knees under him, and he was trying to stagger to his feet when the Reaper stooped to jam the weapon into his shoulder with another shock to keep him down. He collapsed to the floor with a ragged gasp, muscles stiff and twitching painfully as he tried to catch his breath.

"It doesn't matter how good your equipment is if you stop paying attention," the Reaper said, standing over him. "It's too bad someone has to die every time I make that point. Civilians, guards…" Another kick to the ribs sent Shimura into an involuntary curl, coughing. He grinned. "…Anno."

Shimura glared up at him. "Don't you say his name," he snarled between clenched teeth, fists clenching as well. It hurt with the electrical burns, but that was a problem for later.

He pushed himself up just barely enough to make a lunge for the other man's knees. His limbs were painful and barely responsive, but if he could get the other man on the ground, he might be able to knock the stun gun out of his hand, if not turn it on him.

The Reaper sidestepped the attempted tackle, laughing. "Aw, too soon? Still haven't forgiven yourself for how you left him all alone for me to find?"

He kneed Shimura sharply on the chin as he tried again to get up, then bent to send another charge into his side. As Shimura hit the ground, wheezing, struggling to breathe through the pain and the spasms, the Reaper turned him onto his stomach with one foot. Dropping heavily onto his back, holding him down with his knees and wrenching his right arm behind him, he fished out the detective's handcuffs.

"I always wondered if your brother hid you from me out of loyalty or jealousy," he purred. She could feel his breath on her neck, and it sent a ripple of unwelcome gooseflesh down her arms. "Did you ever wonder about the reasons for his devotion to me? Did you ever suspect how intimate our connection might have been?" His fingers ran along the waistband of her jeans, one finger suggestively touching flesh, then drifted upward again. It roamed across her skin with increasing purpose, the pressure of his fingers increasing until she was sure it would bruise. Tugging her backward as he leaned forward, until his lips brushed her ear. "I could always show you…"

"Get. Off." Her voice was a shaky whisper, and she hated it.

"Oh, I could. Very easily. Over and over and over…" He gripped her right breast, thumb roughly working inside her bra to caress her skin. "I did with him. Of course, he wanted it. Used to beg for it. Hmm, will it be as gratifying to have you writhing under me… trying this hard to resist, for it to get you nowhere?"

Kiriko swallowed hard, forcing the knot in her throat down long enough for words to come out. "You talk too much," she said through gritted teeth.

"Would you prefer action then?" His thumb found her nipple, and after a few rough passes, he stopped and unbuttoned her jeans. Without further comment, he shoved his hand down her pants, gripping her between her legs with such inistent force that she became acutely and terrifyingly aware of what a thin and flimsy barrier her panties were between her flesh and anything he might decide to do.

Her breathing turned quick and shallow, and it took her a long moment to realize it, longer still to get it under control, to force herself to take normal breaths.

He laughed silently, but she could feel it against her ear, and she leaned away. His grip tightened, and she could feel the scars on his hand against her pelvic bone through the thin fabric as his thumb and little finger played with the edges. It would be nothing for him to pull it aside and thrust his fingers into her, and he wanted to make sure she knew it.

She tried for a brief half-second to shift away from the touch, but it only made things worse.

His fingers curled, the middle one starting to sink into her through the fabric, and she froze. With another soundless laugh that she could feel against her neck, he leaned in closer.

"What's this? Change your mind?" he whispered harshly. "Your brother never objected to my fingers inside him. Did you ever wonder how long he'd been my obedient pet? Would you like to know?"

She wanted to say no—never—but all that came out was an unsteady hiccup. It was something that had hung over her since she'd seen how Kirihito's face had lit up talking about his partner, how they were the ultimate pair.

She'd shoved her brother's laptop at Shimura back at the house. Get this thing away from me. Lock it up in Evidence, I don't care, just get it away from me. If I keep it, I know I'll wonder, and I'll look, and—and I don't want to know!

The changes in her brother that had led to their father stepping in and placing her in the #2 spot in the organization instead had become apparent in his early teens. Choosing to believe he'd met the Reaper much later, or at least not thinking about when they might have connected, was keeping her sane. She knew it, and it apparently wasn't lost on the Reaper, either.

Kiriko wasn't sure what would be worse, the violation of his touch or the violation of hearing it confirmed that he'd had his hooks in Kirihito from their late childhood, that he'd been the poison in her family from the start, and everything that implied. She closed her eyes and braced for whichever he chose, only hoping it wouldn't be both.

He grinned against her neck, and she shuddered through the rigid control she was trying to exert over every muscle. "But wait—I've got a better idea!" he hissed into her ear. "I've wanted to slice you up in front of Shimura ever since he got attached to you. Off the table now, obviously… but this might be better! I can't wait to see his face when he comes here and I violate every hole in you, every way I can while he watches!"

He straightened with a final menacing squeeze of his hand, and withdrew it from her jeans. Then he dragged her, chair and all, into one corner of the room by her hair and the back of her neck, bracing her against the wall with the broken leg facing the corner.

"That should keep you upright," he said, releasing her with a harsh shove. "Now be good and wait. I'll be back when the audience arrives."

Her eyes were still shut tight as he went up the stairs and out, shutting and locking the door behind him. When she opened them, the light was off again. Kiriko hurled herself backward, her weight coming down on top of her arms, still bound to the chair behind her. She heard a crack, and grimly counted it progress. Swalllowing a small noise of pain, she kicked at the leg her right ankle was bound to with her loose left foot, trying to focus on getting free and not what she'd been promised moments ago.

It was hard to aim strikes in the dark, and her heel found the side of her calf as often as it did the leg of the chair. Dueling thoughts pressed in from the edges of her consciousness. Both were equally dark. Her subconscious was reviewing every time Kirihito had been on his laptop with that strange, sadistic smile, tapping away at the keyboard. Every time she'd sidled away, refusing to make eye contact, more wary of him the longer their father leaned on her to get things done in the organization. Was there ever a point she could have caught it—caught it before it turned into—

She shoved the thought aside with a tiny noise of frustration as her heel collided with her ankle again. But when she'd forced it down, what surged up to replace it was what would happen if she didn't manage to get loose in time. Shimura would be coming for her. There was no point in hoping he would hesitate to charge into this obvious trap, or that it would somehow fall to the juniors to extract her. They'd stopped being assets to each other a long time ago. They were friends now, and she knew him well enough to be afraid of what watching that would do to him. She'd promised him when they'd met that she wouldn't die in front of him… but this might be worse.

Her stomach churned and bile stung the back of her throat. She swallowed it back, coughing. It wasn't going to happen. She wasn't going to let it. Again her heel struck her ankle, and a frustrated dry sob broke through her uneven breathing. Her stomach rebelled again, and again she had to choke back bile. Finally there was a short crack, and the other chair leg dropped free.

She tried to push it up and out of her bindings, and her heel snagged in the rope and came off. She kicked at it with her bare foot until it dropped onto the floor, then battered the other one with her now unbound heel until that leg clattered loose as well. She pulled her knees up to her chest and kicked at the seat of the chair with both feet. Her other heel came off, sent spinning into the dark as it left her foot, but she heard the backrest splinter, and the seat fell to an odd angle, only partly attached.

Every time the thought of the Reaper putting his hands on her rose up, the thought of him doing the same to her brother came with it. Every time she tried to shift her focus away from Kirihito and the guessing she was trying not to do about when he'd first connected with the murderer holding her here, it just turned to her friend—stubborn, wild, mad at the world but fiercely loyal, fiercely committed to the fight against its evils—who'd already been through so much at the Reaper's hands. How watching the same murderer assault her repeatedly could be the thing to finally break him.

That was what the Reaper was really after. He couldn't shut up about how much he treasured the look of despair fading into self-loathing on Shimura's face as he killed his partner in front of him, how fun it was, how much he couldn't wait to see it again.

If it had to happen again, she'd been determined not to be the cause of it, even when their relationship had still been transactional. But she might not have a choice. If she couldn't get out of this in time, the Reaper was going to drag her upstairs where he'd have a stage, and do everything to her that he'd done to Kirihito, since who knew when, in front of—

He shook his head, trying to chase away that thought. True as it was, it wouldn't help him. Tara didn't like when he acted scared of her.

That was the wrong thing to focus on. He needed to focus on the positives, like how she had given him this opportunity to get cleaned up by himself. He found the towel and washcloth on the floor just as she'd described.

Reth stared at the tiny shower as they tried to decide their next move. They didn't truly need a shower. Not really. His captors cleaned him up after each one of their "meetings". They liked to make a mess of him all over again the next time, not deal with the sloppy leftovers of their previous round.

(Some of them volunteered for the job, reveling in the opportunity to run their hands over every inch of him with the pretext of cleaning. Those ones disgusted him almost more than the others. If you're going to be a monster, be a monster. Don't hide behind flimsy justifications for your deeds.)

He shuddered at the memory.

That settled it. He turned the shower on and stripped out of his borrowed clothing. He would have to put it back on, after, but that would be alright. It would be worth it to wash off the worst of the memories.

The lantern Tara had left to illuminate the bathroom cast erratic shadows as he stepped into the shower. It was easier, somehow, when he didn't have to see all the marks left on him. The frigid spray of the shower meant he was more preoccupied with getting done quickly, anyway.

He gave himself a quick and perfunctory cleaning, scrubbing with Tara's pomegranate scented body wash. The chill of the water had sunk into his bones by the time he had scrubbed off the worst of the lingering feeling of unwanted hands on his skin. He shivered as he stepped out and toweled off.

Then, the part that he was most looking forward to: washing his hair. He wrapped himself in the towel as he examined the supplies Tara had left on the counter: not only shampoo, but also conditioner, as well as her hairbrush.

Washing his hair in the sink was not the most pleasant experience. The water was cold, and the awkward pose required for the task pulled at the injuries on his back. Even so, he could have cried from relief.

He was finally able to do this himself. It was his own fingers combing through his hair, his own claws scraping gently against his scalp. Every touch was expected.

Once his hair was clean, he worked the conditioner into it. The smooth texture would be for no one's benefit but his own.

He wrung all the extra moisture out of his hair with the towel and carefully dried around the base of his horns. They were still tender, especially at the base.

His hands shook as he picked up the hairbrush. It was just a tool. He was using it for one purpose, and one purpose only.

(It would be up to Tara if she wanted to use it for his discipline. He somehow doubted she had any of the more typical tools for such purposes, and he knew from experience that a hairbrush left a satisfying mark.)

He brushed his hair until it hung in a smooth, damp curtain. Eventually he couldn't justify stalling any longer. His hands were as steady as they would get, and Tara's emotions had smoothed into something like quiet concentration.

He got dressed, took a deep breath, and left the bathroom.

---

Taglist:

@badluck990 @cupcakes-and-pain @koleopteros @newbornwhumperfly @pigeonwhumps

@kim-poce @coyote-bites @whumpyourdamnpears @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @panstardalia

@bluuhhhhh @oldspruceinn @yellowcatcallshome @daggers-and-dangers

@whump-tr0pes @elfwhump @acelightningwhumper @womping-grounds @honeycollectswhump

11 - [Housekeeping]

(more chapters in progress here, as I sort through the series; order of pieces below might be changed and chapters might be adapted)

[Shower]

[Hate] - noncon

[Lesson] with Ridley and B

[Waiting]

[Office Day]

[Borrowed]

[Safe.]

[Loyalty] - noncon

Part 2: Bonding

To Ridley's dismay, Dany grows closer to her co-captive B.

[Almost]

[What would you do]

[Lights Out] written by moose

[Night Terrors]

[Gift]

[High Heels] *

[Slap]

[Alone together]

[Game of Trust]

[Hold] by moose

[Not Fair] by moose

[Clinic]

[Plushie]

Part 3: Wife

To fasten his grip on her father's business empire, Dany is forced to become Ridley's wife. It only serves to make his torture less physical - and take it out on B.

[Dressing Room]

[Smile.]

[Break Room]

[Celebration]

[Treat] *

[The Christmas Party arc] - noncon; can be read stand alone

[Boring]

Part 4: Escalation

Against Leo's advice (and maybe her own will?), Ridley wants to keep Dany alive. Her despair growing, her and Ridley are set to collide.

[Lost]

[Hold On]

[Rebellion]

[Turning Point]

Part 5: Escape

After Ridley's death, Dany has to run - and deal with an injured and grieving B.

[Not without B]

[Amends]

[Passports]

[Ben]

(not rooted in the timeline:)

* [You're Mine] - noncon

Part 6: The Fighting Ring

During their escape Dany and B fall into the hands of a band of ruthless criminals.

Whumper makes sure to always remind Whumpee that there will be no one to help them if they leave. They'll be alone again, yet now they have whumper. Whumper who holds and touches them like they love them.

Whumpee doesn't know how to leave. They could almost definitely find a way out. Hell, whumper leaves their knives out on the kitchen counter. But do they really want to be alone again?

No. They don't. They aren't whumper's caged dog, they're a show dog. They can be beautiful for whumper if they aren't alone.