#tw noncon fade to black

[ashintheairlikesnow]

The Nightingale's Song

Sigh Not So | Secrets Hid Away | Shed Tears Aplenty | Fire Down Below | Rolling Down | Won't You Go My Way? | The Seas No More | The Nightingale's Song |

CW: Dehumanizing language, use of ‘it’ as pronoun for nonhuman whumpee, sadistic whumper, creepy whumper, intimate whumper, fade-to-black noncon implied, magical whump, captivity, minor side character death

-

One year after the events of The Seas No More

Gilly, fingers itching to close around the old biddy’s skinny neck, settled for laying the cool compress over her forehead, taking pains to look like nothing so much as the devoted tenant helping his landlady through some terrible mysterious illness. 

It had been a very, very long eight months or so since he'd started this little act, feigning devotion and care for the old woman, and it was with very real relief that he finally saw the end in sight.

Mrs. Neumann’s throat bobbed as she swallowed, her little yappy dog running circles below her where she was laid out on the chaise in her less-fashionable front room. It stopped, now and then, to lick at her fingers, and then ran in circles again. 

“Water, please, Gilly,” Mrs. Neumann croaked, and he smiled solicitously as he tipped the cup to her lips, allowing her only a few sips before pulling it back away. “Thank you, you sweet young man.” Her cold bony fingers closed around his wrist and Gilly suppressed a shudder only with effort. "You have been so good to me, in these hard days..." Her eyes, when they met his, were strangely foggy, as if covered with a sort of film that stood between her and the world. “You have been such a boon to an old woman with no one to care for her. There is some infection, I should think… We must send for the doctor, mustn’t we?”

“The doctor has already come and gone,” Gilly said, leaning close and half-shouting in the hopes she could hear anything he said. Her mouth worked aimlessly, and he gave her more water, although it didn't seem to help. “Do you not remember?” Her hearing had gotten even worse since her illness had taken hold of her - or since the siren's song had convinced her that she was ill, anyway - and soon enough, he thought, all this shouting could finally cease. 

“Oh, he did?,” Mrs. Neumann quavered, eyes watering. But then she seemed to forget her emotions and looked to the side. “I suppose so… He must have. Oh, but Gilly, who is singing? The voice is so fine…”

In the corner, Gilly’s siren sang, plaintive and mournful, as he’d been ordered to. He hadn’t wanted to turn his song to Gilly's will, but with a year of careful teaching he had taught the creature to obey him without hesitation, and they were finally ready to put Gilly’s plan into motion.

It began here.

His future would start here at Mrs. Neumann’s sickbed, where beneath the notes of the lovely song were the commands being worked into the elderly widow’s malleable little mind while she burned with unchecked fever. 

The doctor came and said there is nothing to be done now but rest. Gilly Wentworth cares for you now. Leave him everything you have. He deserves all you have and more. 

He deserves everything. 

“He's a friend,” Gilly replied to her question, shouting right against her ear and getting almost no sign she was aware of him at all. Her eyes shifted, moving as if following the notes of Areyto’s beautiful song. The clouds over her irises were thickening. “He sings well indeed! It was a miracle I found him!"

“As the hart on the mountain so was my love brave,” The siren sang, powerful tenor rising and falling. Its eyes were distant, its body relaxed in a way it never was otherwise. But even Gilly could see that the siren loved the act of using its voice, not only for luring wayward sailors but simply to sing at all. “So handsome, manly and clever. So kind and sincere and he loved me so dear - oh, Edwin, thy equal was never..."

“How beautiful,” Mrs. Neumann whispered, lips barely moving. He watched the fog on her eyes overtake them entirely as the spell in the siren’s voice took hold of her. “Oh, Gilly, you have done more than anyone could ever be asked to do for me… it's a pity, what happened with your father… you should have kept your riches…"

“Yes,” Gilly whispered, leaning closer. “Yes, I should have…"

"A pity," The old woman repeated, reaching blindly for him, unable now to see anything but what the siren commanded. "Such a pity… you deserve everything…"

Gilly shivered with anticipation, breathing harder. "Yes, yes, I do…"

Even the little yappy dog had gone silent, now, head cocked with its ears up as it listened, seated on the ground. Gilly wondered idly if the dog would try to give him all its stupid little bones or something, if the siren’s magic could speak to the hearts of animals, too. 

It didn't work on animals, everyone knew that. But then it wasn't supposed to work on women, either, and here was Mrs. Neumann wholly ensorcelled by it.

He would have to go see Atabei, and tell her, after this was over.

“You have been such a good and kind gentleman…” She murmured, and he held her hand in both of his, soft papery wrinkled skin cradled between his palms. “I will leave you everything, everything you deserve…”

“Yes," Gilly repeated, more insistently this time, leaning even closer. He could smell her now, the rosewater she dabbed at her neck and wrists each day like clockwork when she rose, the sour note of her sweat beneath. It wouldn’t be long now.

As soon as she signed.

“But now he is dead and gone to death’s bed,” The siren continued, “He’s cut down like a rose in full bloom. He’s fallen asleep and left me here to weep by the sweet silver light of the moon…”

Mrs. Neumann’s mouth had fallen open, a look of serenity overtaking her features entirely but for the clouds over her eyes. Gilly left her for the moment and went over to a table near to the door, grabbing the sheaf of papers there, an inkwell and pen. He returned, settled himself back next to her, and began to speak to her in a soft voice.

She heard, somewhere, deep beneath the deafness that had come on her with age and the siren’s song. The siren commanded her to hear him, so she did.

He explained how important it was that she leave her wealth to someone who would use it wisely, that her friends and the church could not be trusted with it - only Gilly Wentworth, who cared for her so faithfully, deserved her fortune.

She nodded, and wept a little at the selfless nature of such a man, and then she took the pen.

The old woman signed every paper he gave her, her signature unmistakably her own and unwavering, even though she never looked directly at any of the words. He’d had these drawn up himself by a solicitor who had remarked, also, on the fine quality of his friend’s singing, before his own eyes had clouded.

When they had left the solicitor's office, the man had remembered no such song, only Gilly himself, and how kind he was to care so for an old woman alone in the world.

He would file the papers, once Mrs. Neumann finally kicked over the bucket and went on to the endless pile of her previous beloved yappy dogs in the sky, waiting for their mistress to greet them. Really, it wasn’t like she was doing anything with her wealth anyway. 

Gilly intended to do quite a lot with her wealth.

“Roll on, silver moon, guide the traveler’s way when the nightingale’s song is in tune,” The siren’s voice shifted, went so painfully sad that tears welled in Mrs. Neumann’s eyes, moved by the mourning the siren could mimic but, Gilly thought, not actually fully feel. “Never more with my lover shall I stray by the sweet silver light of the moon…”

She signed.

And she signed.

And she signed.

When he had all he needed, he put the sheaf of papers back, poured a glass of a scarlet liquid into a crystal cordial glass, and then set it into Mrs. Neumann’s hands, closing her fingers around it. She didn’t seem to notice, frozen in place by the strength and power of the siren’s song. 

Smiling, Gilly walked slowly towards the corner where his captive magic creature stood, lit by the strong yellow sun coming in the windows. Despite the immensity of emotion in its song, there was an emptiness in its dark eyes that sent a thrill down Gilly’s spine and pooled a greedy heat within him begging to be released. The sun touched the edges of its black curls and turned them to gold, shone warm on smooth brown skin.

Naked, it was a vision, an ancient statue brought to life by the favor - or curse - of ancient gods. Gilly came to a stop beside it, looking over its finely-formed face, the imprints of his fingers still, eternally, written clearly in purples and reds around the slim column of its neck. His eyes moved down, following the complicated swell of magical symbols that held it firmly in check, bound it without question to his will. The siren looked down and away from him, the song… shifting just a little. 

The note of wistful loss that the words called for became something stronger but far more painful to hear, a wailing plea to the heavens for help trapped within its perfect pitch. And yet no help could come.

Not for such a monster, not with the magic keeping it still for Gilly’s every touch, for as long as he commanded it to be. 

“His grave I will seek until morning appears and weep for my lover so brave…”

Gilly laid his hand against the siren’s face, palm to its cheek, and its voice wavered a little as its dark eyes closed.

“I’ll embrace cold turf and wash with my tears the flowers that bloom o’er his grave…”

With avid delight and no small amount of desire he followed the trail of a tear that ran down its other cheek and settled at the corner of its mouth. He touched his thumb to the spot and then licked the salt off it. To see the creature at its wicked work was… truly beautiful to behold. To know that it wept because it could do nothing but obey him - him, Gilly Wentworth, just a man in a world full of men and yet now one of the most powerful men alive - was… incredible.

Awe-inspiring.

And they had only just begun.

“Never again shall my bosom know joy,” The siren’s voice dipped to low, a hushed and mournful lament. “With my Edwin I hope to be soon. Lovers shall weep o’er where we both sleep by thy sweet silver light, bonny moon.”

Gilly checked back on Mrs. Neumann, and smiled. She stared off into space, her chest moving fitfully with emotion. The money, the house, the horses even… all of it would be Gilly’s very, very soon.

Really, it was like she was investing in him.

Just like everyone else was going to do.

Pity she wouldn’t see the returns.

“Have her drink what’s in the cup,” He whispered. The siren took a breath and obeyed, changing its power minutely.

“Roll on, silver moon, guide the traveler’s way when the nightingale’s song is in tune…”

Gilly watched as Mrs. Neumann, seemingly in a trance, lifted the cup to her lips and drank it all, swallow after swallow, some of the liquid running from the corners of her mouth to wet her hair and the chaise beneath her. 

He smiled.

“And never, never more with my lover I’ll stray by thy silver light, bonny moon…”

The final note hung in the air, as Mrs. Neumann’s eyes slowly closed. She relaxed back into the chaise, her hand dropping, the cup clinking onto the floor and rolling away, the last drops of poison spilling like water to evaporate and leave no trace of themselves behind.

Gilly exhaled, then walked with purpose back to the siren. 

It raised its eyes, briefly, to meet his just as he grabbed it by the arms and shoved its back against the wall. A gilded mirror hanging next to it crashed to the ground, cracking into pieces, and the little dog took to yapping again. 

It stared at him with naked, unhidden fear. 

“Good,” Gilly murmured, an inch from its false man’s face. Uneven breath on its lips, those eyes like pools of deep water locked on his. There were still red welts on its back, new ones thanks to Gilly discovering that even its pain sounded pretty, and he enjoyed the soft sound the siren made as its back was ground against the wallpaper.

He put one hand around its neck, thumb pressing just over its pulse, and felt it flutter and jump under his touch as the siren bared its neck to him, as he had taught it always to do. To defy even this touch would result in a misery the stupid sea creature could not bear. Even the dumbest animals could be trained, after all. Even the stupidest, most stubbornly beautiful man-shaped things could learn. 

Its voice was thin and airy. “M-Master-... please-"

“You did wonderfully,” He breathed. “A perfect tool for my will. Now we must find someone to take the dog - it’s irritating but I won’t leave it to starve here, will I? I’m not so heartless as all that - and then we’ll sell the house and the horses and all this nonsense and frippery she keeps… and then we’ll be on our way, won’t we?” He leaned forward, speaking against the siren’s ear just to feel the way its body shivered against his. “You and I. Now. Kneel for me.”

“Yes, master.” Its voice went dull. Its mimicry lost its shine, and everything fell flat from its mouth like heavy stone. It always spoke like that, when he commanded it to its knees. 

Gilly didn’t mind. 

Behind him, as the poison took hold, he heard Mrs. Neumann's breath go suddenly rapid and rasping, heard her fall from the chaise to the floor, arms and legs rigid, muscles spasming.

It would only last a few moments.

Then she would slip into unconsciousness and finally to her death, and Gilly would be one step closer to everything he'd ever wanted.

He let go and stepped back, watching the siren gracefully sink down onto Mrs. Neumann’s expensive woven rug.

Gilly put a hand in its hair, gripped tight enough to make it whimper with the pain when he pulled its head back. “I need to write a letter to Atabei." His other hand worked at his breeches, and his eyes took in the way the thing shuddered at the sight with greedy, rising lust. "Have to tell her it worked on a woman. I should see if it works on other women... Need to tell Beibei I finally have the coins to come see her for a visit. Be dressed in real finery, for once."

"Yes, master."

"Sssshhh. Open your mouth for me."

He closed his eyes, buried both hands in the siren’s thick hair, and gave himself over to his triumph and the perfect pleasure of the siren’s tears. 

-

Taglist: @burtlederp  @finder-of-rings  @theelvishcowgirl  @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump  @bloodinkandashes  @squishablesunbeam  @mj-or-say10 @apokolyps @wildfaewhump @shrimpwritings

Covers @whumptober prompts 13, 14, 15

#whump #whumptober 2023 #whumptober #no. 13 #cold compress #"feed me poison #writing #magical whump #magical whumpee #nonhuman whumpee #monster whump #siren whump #mind control #kind of #hypnosis? I don't know #whatever siren magic coutns as #minor character death #noncon tw #implied noncon #fade to black noncon #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #sadistic whumper #captivity #noncon touching

[mo0nfairy]

😍😍 OMG, I'm gonna be needing a part four to that Leon post stat.

(Love your writing it's amazing just like you are) ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜🤎

part 1. part 2. part 3.

tw :: re4 spoilers, obsessive!leon, yandere!leon, violence, knives, tasers, guns, explosives, framing, murder, abuse of power, death of a character, physical restrainment, noncon touching, thoughts of suicide, being knocked unconscious, shit goes down basically.

⸺ thank u, honeybaby !!!!! i've been vv busy these past few days, but this man has been HEAVY on my mind. i've also been listening to playing dangerous by our lord and savior lana del rey on repeat and it had my brain conjuring up some ideas... (also this part is long so buckle up friends)

you see, you've been praying everyday to earn back those damned memories that slipped from your mind 6 years ago. but in a attempt to do so, all you can feel is a gun against your head, an explosion against your body, and dust permeating your lungs. all before the classic cut to black welcomes you. no crying mouse-ley, no crying guard-dog. just empty darkness. through the abyss, however, you are now able to unveil memories that were buried deep within you. and whether the return of these past events is a good thing or not is up to you.

you remember a late august evening. the cool air and descending leaves would calm you, but your current circumstances prevent you from any serenity. an anonymous tip to the RPD claimed that you were in possession of illegal substances. and somehow, those said drugs had magically appeared into existence within your home. this leaves you here, being driven to the station by the officer of the month, marvin branagh. despite everything, you're grateful marvin was the one to arrest you. you happen to favor him and his basic understanding of boundaries, as opposed to a certain mutt you know far too well.

it's safe to say you've now got quite the reputation in the RPD with how much trouble you get into. and especially with how quickly the problems seem to fade away. you're being escorted through the station until another officer complains to marvin about some kids with fake ID's. he leaves you by yourself at an empty desk with one hand cuffed to the armrest. the desk right beside leon's. you look to the blonde beside you. his head is rested against his arms folded upon his desk, deep in slumber. his cheek is squished against the surface of his arm, pushing his lips out into a duck-like pout. your mugshot peeks out from beneath his sleeping form. you swear through his unintelligible murmuring, you hear a gentle whimper of your name. marvin had mentioned during the drive how he was up all night looking through your case (wouldn't be the first time), but you can't find it in yourself to feel bad for him. you don't trust him. even several years ago, something within you has always prevented you from trusting him.

you fiddle with a mr. raccoon toy as 20 minutes slowly tread by. completely overcome with boredom, you peak over leon's shoulder to see your case file beneath him. maybe you could find something useful inside, like the bastard responsible for all these false claims. using your free hand, you manage to slyly slip your case folder from under his weight. not without a quiet whine of "no, y/n/n... don't leave me..." good god, was he cuddling your mugshot? (it would be the closest he could get to you physically, after all). you ignore him entirely, thanking the heavens that this man is such a deep sleeper.

opening the file, you find standard information about your case. you read through the notes leon left behind, which causes nausea to then stir in your stomach. he jotted down his worries of your case closing and not being able to keep you in the station any longer; there was ideas of any potential loopholes in the system he could take advantage of and prove your innocence. beside his rambling, there was a long list of certain ways he can frame you for crimes to reel you back into his clutches. what in the actual fuck? and just when you thought this situation couldn't get worse, you find he used pictures of your friends at the shooting range, bullet holes piercing through their paper faces.

you read through the evidence in shock, until a sickeningly-sweet tone gasps your name and pulls you out of your trance. you look over the folder to see those familiar blue eyes peering into yours. leon lights up like a golden retriever with a bone when he wakes up and you're the first thing he sees, metaphorical tail wagging and all. to dream of you and to be the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes, it is pure heaven! only, instead of the early morning, love-drunk haze within his dreams, he is instead met with the heartbreaking look of horror on your face. his eyes trail down to see you holding his notes and his heart sinks to the pit of his stomach. no, no, no, it wasn't supposed to be like this! it was never supposed to be like this! you were supposed to fall in love with him! you are supposed to be with him forever!

you are supposed to love him! you have to!

and you thought you've seen the worst, you thought you reached the bottom of the iceberg. but you were so, so wrong. it had been 2 weeks since you learned the truth about leon. since then, you were able to find solace within an old friend, claire redfield. not only do you adore her, but the layer of protection she had given you when you complained about the clingy cop on your hip was just the cherry on top. without leon, these 14 days were the most peace you have felt in what feels like months. you didn't know how the man who acted like he needed your presence more than air felt about this sudden separation. and to be completely honest, you didn't really care.

now, with your arm hooked around claire's, you two walk home after a night out in raccoon city. you're repeating old inside jokes and clutching your chest in heaps of rib-straining laughter. everything is full of high-spirits until you notice a certain cop car sitting in the street. claire enters your estate first, guarding you protectively while you follow her footsteps. you find (you guessed it!) no other than leon kennedy rummaging through your belongings. and the look on leon's face when he sees you with someone else is nothing short of pure anguish, sheer betrayal. he is jealous — so much so that it practically suffocates the room. you've seen plenty of emotions expressed by leon and the consequences that followed, but you've never seen first-hand what jealousy may compel him to do. considering the pictures of your friends he used as target practice, you feel as though the outcome won't be any good.

claire breaks the silence, "you disgusting pig! i'm calling my brother down here and he's gonna kick your-" her roar of anger is cut off with a sharp groan.

leon stands, taser gun in hand, as the electrodes strike into claire's body. she then falls to the ground with a loud thump, her form convulsing from the electric shocks waving through her. rushing to her side, you attempt to help her. but, you then cave into yourself when leon walks over in three large strides. and you now realize he is absolutely terrifying when he is jealous. his voice drops to a low husk as he demands you tell him who the fuck this is, a major contrast to the bubbly-puppy you're grown familiar with. you are left flabbergasted and are unable to mutter even a syllable.

you aren't even granted a mere second to compose of yourself before leon pulls a knife, plunging it deep into claire's chest. a scream of pure terror erupts from your throat. you're painted red as he relentlessly stabs your best friend, curling yourself into a corner and hiding your face in your arms. through your tear-stained vision, you see the lifeless body of claire and leon standing above her, huffing with fury like some blood-thirsty creature. something in his gaze perceptibly softens when he sees you, so scared and feeble. and it shatters his heart. after all, leon would take every life on planet earth just to see your lips curl into a smile, even once more. but, nothing could have prepared you for the words that would then leave his mouth.

he turns his body cam on. "y/n l/n, you are under arrest for the murder of... whoever this was. you have the right to remain silent. anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law." you stare at leon entirely flabbergasted, but you're too exhausted to fight against him.

he bends down to you, light whispers of "you're ok, it wasn't your fault" and "i've got you, sweet angel" doing little to comfort you. with his gentle hands against you, leon proceeds to cuff you with the same softness you would use to handle a baby bird. and you let him take you away, because you are too caught up in looking at your best friend who was laughing with you just minutes ago now dead on the ground. you cry to yourself in the backseat of the cop car the whole way to the station.

by the time you get there, you are entirely in a state of shock. tears of dread stream down your cheeks, but your face is nothing short of emotionless. you are so caught up in your head, you don't even notice the whispers of other officers there. they gossip about how considering your track record, it's no wonder you'd end up here for good. a sharp glare from the man guiding you through the department is enough for them to shut their mouths. you're then brought into an interrogation room, with cameras off and no other presence besides you and this mad-man at your beck and call.

cuffed to a chair once again, leon locks the door behind him. he then drops to his knees and ties his arms around your waist, burying his head into you. it takes several seconds for reality to hit you, but you soon realize he is crying. and if you weren't restrained currently, you would've pushed him off and made him suffer a fate far worse than what claire endured. now, the two of you are sobbing together, but for entirely different reasons. you, full of grief over someone you love being murdered just moments ago. leon, full of agony over how the gleam of emotion he was so infatuated with left your eyes. all because of him.

you muster enough strength to plead to the blonde, your voice coming out through hoarse, slurred sniffles. but much to your dismay, your cries fall on deaf ears. if only leon had more morality than he did love for you.

"i'm so sorry, y/n, i just needed to hold you. even for just one last time” he picks his head up to look at you, face breaking out in a pitiful smile. “and i can't lose you. not again.” he grabs hold of your hands from behind your back and begins caressing the digits of your fingers. and the contrast between his smile and the crazed look in his eyes has you shuddering in apprehension.

"you're stuck with me to the end."

your eyes then flutter open to see a blinding white light; you begin to hear the quiet chant of a monitor beside you. where the hell am i? despite your current confusion, all you can think about is how you grieved for your best friend in the grimy cells of the RPD, how everyone turned into undead creatures just a week later, and how leon protected you from anything as small as a paper cut. you remember how several zombies overpowered him and how you took advantage of the opportunity, running like hell away and out of raccoon city. you remember the burning of your lungs, the rain on your skin, the hope of getting far, far away from this nightmare. you also remember the fear you felt when umbrella snatched you into their possession, to where you would soon forget everything that happened. including leon kennedy.

you're in the present now, as you can tell by the sheepskin jacket around your form and the hospital bed you're laid upon. it takes you too long to realize that you're safe, out of the hellhole that is los iluminados. looking down, you find a gun sitting by your hip (leon made the declaration that if you were to never wake up again, he wouldn't hesitate to end it all right then and there). you shift your train of sight to see leon at your bedside with his head in his hands while his entire body trembles with trepidation. the sight of this lovesick maniac at your side causes you to spring forward with a harsh gasp. his heartbeat skyrockets at the sudden occurrence. you're alive, and leon can't stop the tears of relief that fall from his eyes.

"hi, pretty... i'm here, you're safe now..." the smile on his face is borderline terrifying. his hands cup your face, practically clinging onto you like a lifeline.

"i remember... i remember everything..." the statement is entirely said to yourself, your gaze distant and not entirely there.

his eyebrows scrunch upwards, gaze softening (if it can even soften more than it already has). leon then pulls your face to his and molds his lips against yours aggressively, desperately. it isn't soft, sweet, or romantic in any sense. it is inexperienced, but overflowing with raw passion, need, and obsession. he only stops when the two are you are breathless and gasping for air. a dreamy sigh escapes leon's lips once he parts from you, gazing into your eyes as if you were something holy (which you are, obvi, but i digress). leon is so horrifically, irrevocably, disgustingly in love with you. and you can feel everything in his all-too overwhelming kiss.

he then engulfs you and melts into your arms like a noodle in boiling water. his light-headed, lovesick laughter fans against your neck. leon somehow pulls you impossibly closer to him, almost as if he were trying to morph the two of you together. it is too much; he is all you can feel, smell, touch. but, without a sliver of strength in your body, you are entirely vulnerable to him and his captivation.

"ashley... she didn't make it..." there’s a certain tone in leon's voice you can’t explain, but you shudder beneath it, anyway. he tells the information softly, but his voice is full of too much exhilaration to be normal. with these newfound memories, that dread returns to your stomach at the thought of what leon is capable of. what leon may have done to ashley while you were out cold.

through the abyssal darkness, your wish has been granted. you have now retrieved all lost memories.

and now, you know why you never were able to trust leon kennedy.

the end !! hehe, thanks for the fun ride babes.

HOWEVER……….. this is surely not the end of my resident evil stained brainrot. so i will not be continuing this series, but i will most certainly be pouring out everything in my RE-obsessed brain. only if u would like to see it, of course. if u do, pls send me some asks!! and thank u again !!!

#this is the end hehe #resident evil 4 #re4 #re4 remake #resident evil #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagine #yandere leon kennedy #yandere resident evil #yandere #gn reader #gender neutral reader #venus’ brain #moonfairy

[starysky1289]

Toxic!Sorority!Vanessa X Reader. College Party

TW: Noncon, toxic relationship, drug use, mentions of r@pe

You held tightly onto Vanessa arm, it was Vanessas Sorority semester finals week Party, and she had insisted you’d come. You wore a black crop top and a short Pink skirt. Vanessa wore a cropped button up and black leggings. The music blared around you, liquor bottles and Drugs littered every table in the house.

Vanessa shook you off, looking over at another group of girls, she looked at you through the corner of her eyes.

“ I’m gonna talk to my girls. You stay on the couch. “

“ a-alright..don’t take to long, ok? “

“ I’ll take as long as I need. “

She stalked over to the group, you gently sat down in the nearby couch. You watched the countless boys try and hit on every girl in the room, all of them usually failing. You looked down at your phone, before feeling something tap your head. Looking up, it was a pretty brunette, she looked high out of her mind, but her brown eyes stayed focused on you.

“ hey. Names Lily, you need a drink pretty? “

She dangled a white claw above you. You took it, cracking it open and drinking it, sighing afterwards. Lily sat next to you, pushing her whole body weight on your side.

“ mm, what’s a pretty think like you doing here all alone~? “

“ my girlfriend is talking to her friends, she’ll be back soon “

“ yeah? Who’s your girl? “

You swirled the can in your hand, hesitant to speak anymore, you figured it wouldn’t work, would it?

“ Vanessa Shelly..”

“ woah. Our sorority leader? Damn, you lucked out, to bad she’s not taking care of you..pretty girls should be watched over..”

She cooed into your ear, you felt one of her hands trail down your skirt her fingers slowly sliding in between her legs.

“ y-you seem like a lovely girl b-but no, I can’t. “

“ well, Vanessa’s not, so someone’s gotta~ “

She slowly pressed her fingers against your soaked panties, chuckling as she pushed them to the side. Everything in you was telling you to make her stop, but you wanted it, Vanessa hadn’t touched you in days..a little something would help.

You took another sip of your drink, glancing around for Vanessa, she was no where to be seen. Lily played with your folds, kissing you on your neck.

“ Vanessa dosnt take care of you, you need me so bad, you need- “

“ Lily. Fucks going on. “

You both shot up, Vanessa and a few girls stood in front of you two. Lily pulled up quickly, chuckling slightly.

“ nessa! H-hey! Just giving your girl a drink- “

“ looked like you where doing more than just giving her a drink. Cmere, you need to relax. “

Vanessa liked her pinky, dragging it through the white powder on the nearby table, grabbing lilys face. You watched lily’s eyes turn to fear, as Vanessa rubbed the powder of her finger against lily’s pink gums, she imeaditly melted into it. Vanessa let go of her, and turned to you, yanking you up by the shirt collar.

“ girls, you go have fun. I think I need to teach someone a lesson. “

Vanessa growled, and dragged you upstairs,you could hear the music fade away as she threw you into the room.

“ now, you better fucking explain why she had her fingers up your cunt, or I’ll let the girls rape you all night. “

You panted heavily, staring up at her, you struggled to say anything, you were too afraid to speak.

“ s-she. She just c-came up to me a-and just..w-wanted to..”

“ and you just let her? You couldn’t be alone for five minutes. You had to let her touch you. “

“ well y-you haven’t touched me in days! I’m sorry I’m needy-! “

You shout up at her, she froze, she was amazed you had the nerves to speak to her like that.

“ do you need to relax too? Do I need to fix that mouth of yours?? “

She reached her hand into her leggings pocket, pulling out a small baggie filled with the white powder. You struggled against her, trying to pull away, her icy blue eyes stared into you, her fingers pressed against your cheeks, small tears swelling around your eyes.

“ open. “

“ n-no! “

She held your mouth open when you spoke, keeping your jaw parted. She spit down into your mouth, and finally letting you close your mouth.

“ swallow. “

You begrudgingly swallowed her spit, you could taste the booze from it. She sit you down on her bed, just holding your face and staring at you like a peice of meat. She examined all your features, trying to figure out what to do with you, what would make you learn that your hers. Eventually, she smirked, she decided.

“ you need me so bad? Then I’ll give it to you the way I think you deserve it. “

She turned around into her cabinet, pulling out a black box. She pulled your shirt off you, and took out a piece of rope, grabbing your wrists and tieing them together, and then to the bed frame. She left your skirt on, pulling your panties down, tucking them in her pocket like they were a prize.

You hadn’t dared to talk, you were already nervous on what Vanessa was doing to you. She took out a small pink silicone toy. She slowly slid half of it into you, before pressing the top of it, as it began to vibrate.

You let out a surprised moan, Vanessa quickly covered your mouth, grabbing a bright pink ball gag, and forcing it on your mouth.

“ now arnt you pretty, you get to cum all you want. Now, I have a few things to do, so be a good girl and stay quiet for me, I’ll only be a few minutes~ “

Vanessa teased, and walked out of the room. You screamed at her, but they were muffled by the gag. The vibrator in you made it impossible to think of anything but cumming, and how how you needed it. You where pathetic, and Vanessa knew it, you where hers to use as she please, and you couldn’t do anything about it.

~*~

It had to of been a hour, atleast sense Vanessa left. You couldn’t feel your legs, and the vibrator had slowed down from it being constantly on. Your eyes were half lidded as you saw a figure enter the room, stumbling slightly over to you.

“ h-hey baby..I forgot you were up here..”

It was Vanessa, you could see was completely waisted, as she sat next to you.

“ lemme, take this out..”

She pulled the vibrator out, and chucked it across the room, and undid your gag, you quickly took gasping breaths, as you struggled against the ropes.

“ v-Vanessa I’m sorry… p-please let me go..I won’t ever do it again I promise..”

“ god your wet…I need to take care of that..”

Vanessa murmured, she didn’t hear you at all. She stripped off her leggings, digging through the draws of her vanity, as tears began to roll down your face again.

“ v-Vanessa, Vanessa please! Please I can’t take anymore! I-I’m sorry please!! “

You watched as she pulled out a strap, it was the bright pink one, it wasn’t to long, but its girth could ruin you. Pink was the way she marked you, she would always say she owned the colour pink, and that anyone who she allowed to wear it was her property. You were her property.

You watched as she clambered back onto the bed, holding your legs up and putting them over her shoulders.

“ mm..pretty girl…don’t you need to relax~? “

This time she pulled the little baggie out from her bra, she wet her pinky again and gently dipped it in the bag, you reluctantly opened your mouth, you’d given in at this point. She gently rubbed her finger along your gums, smirking afterwards, stuffing the bag back into her bra.

“ see? Just relax, let your body soak that sugar in. “

She traced up through your folds with the tip, before plunging it in, you let out a defeated moan, she’d thrust in and out of you with a wet slap every time, her pelvis hitting yours every time.

You weakly moaned, yanking even more at the ropes, you needed to get out. Your mind slowly grew fuzzy, as you melted under Her, Vanessa’s body warm against yours as she sped up.

“ I-I’m gonna cum n-nessa…”

“ yeah? Already? Cmon baby…do it for me…cum for me..”

She cooed into your ear, slamming in harder. You moaned out, wrapping your legs tightly around her shoulders, before feeling your walls clenched, you moaned out one last time, before collapsing again, panting heavily. Vanessa weakly untied you from the bed, before collapsing besides you. The music from the party had died down, you knew it wouldn’t be long before campus police showed up. You tried to roll over and hold Vanessa, but she was already getting back up, redressing herself.

“ nessa…stay the night…”

“ no..I gotta go clean the party and get rid of all the evidence before I’m caught. You’ll be fine, don’t be a baby. “

She murmured before stalking out, slamming the door on the way out. Your body felt too heavy to move, so you let yourself slip into sleep, Your gums tingling as you did.

#five nights at freddy's #vanessa shelly #Toxic!vanessa #sorority!Vanessa #tw! #tw toxic relationship #tw drugs #tw noncon #vanessa shelly x reader #vanessa shelly smut

[xobrattymoonxo]

TANAKA X READER X KIYOKO

TW: Noncon, kidnapping, unconscious, strap on, anal, please let me know if I missed anything!

An: Angels!! I'm back fully besides writing a smau, I'm here to take requests! Please send in some via Dm or Ask!! I actually don't think I've ever gotta a request, so I'd really love to get one 🤧🤧😅😅

Word count: 1.6K

The clock struck midnight finally as the young Y/n left the club entrance.

“Leaving so early, Cinderella? Not even a single shoe for me to find you, fair maiden?” The black haired man jokes.

“I am no princess sir, but I do have a curfew and it’s getting late. I must call a taxi now. It was lovely meeting you, though Tanaka.” Y/n said with a smile.

“How about I drive you?” He offered out his hand.

Y/n didn’t know if it was the whiskey talking or if she genuinely trusted him, but she reached her hand out and grabbed his.

He pulled her in closer as he pulled out his phone sending off a text. A car was quick to pull up in front of the two.

“This is us.” He said as he reached out and grabbed the door handle and let her in the SUV.

Y/n followed Tankaa into the SUV. He pulled her down on his lap. He wrapped his arms around her waist.

“What are you doing?” Y/n asked slightly nervously.

“Nothing, don’t worry about it.” He kissed her neck sensually.

“D-do you need my address?” Y/n asked.

“Nope.” He said calmly as he continued the kisses on her neck.

“Let me out of the car.” She demanded. She began to move and tried to push herself off his lap. His grip got tighter.

“Stop struggling, make this easy for me, okay?” Tanaka said.

“No! Let me out right now!” She demands.

Tanaka let out a sigh as he moved, suddenly she was below him, laying flat on her back on the seat.

“You’ll obey me, Y/n. I am your new master, you have no choice.” His voice grew dark and scary as he spoke down to her. Y/n had tears brimming her eyes as she looked in his eyes. His eyes were like a cat's.

Tanaka reached behind the one seat and pulled out a small syringe.

“Are you going to behave? Or do I have to use this?” He threatened.

Y/n began to tear up more. She shook her head no.

“No you won’t behave?” Tanaka laughed. “Okay, well it’s time to use this I guess.” He slammed the needle into her arm as she cried out in pain.

Tanaka watched as she tried to fight off the tiredness. She tried to fight off Tanaka, but she couldn't. She faded out quickly in his arms.

It was hours later when Y/n finally awoke. To her surprise, she was still in the dress she had worn out to the club earlier. It was pretty dark as she laid on a bed, surrounded by curtains, as if she was a princess. One side had light slightly peaking in and soft whispers could be heard from the other side. She moved as quietly as she could to slide the curtain over more slightly and looked out. She noticed various people wearing masks and exquisite clothing. Y/n couldn’t recognize any one.

It wasn’t long till a woman noticed and called Tanaka. He smiled, wearing the same dress shirt and pants from earlier, he approached the bed.

“Good morning sleepy.” He teased her. He reached his hand out to touch her face as she pulled back. “Don’t play hard to get now, pet. I’ve already got you.” He laughed. He began pulling open the curtains more as Y/n realized the room full of chairs. Y/n looked around the room disgusted.

“Let me go home before I call the cops!” She demanded.

“Silly little pet, no one will give you their phone. They are all here for one reason and one reason only and that's to watch me fuck you.” He gave her a sly smirk.

“Please don’t.” She gasps out.

“No, I think I will.” He forcibly grabs her by the neck and shoves her backwards.

She hears a voice say “The show is about to begin.” As people rushed to their seats.

Tanaka puts his free hand up as a woman hands him a pair of scissors. Tanaka immediately cut Y/n’s dress in one quick snip. Y/n’s eyes widen in fear but she can't do anything as she is holding his hand as he pushed harder on her throat. Tanaka laughs a dark chuckle as he continued to cut her under garments off.

Tanaka finally let go as she began coughing. She lay completely naked in front of everyone now. She turns her head to notice a woman wearing a sexy lingerie top with a puffy skirt. Tanaka gave her a look as she climbed onto the bed.

“This is Kiyoko, but you can call her mommy.” Tanaka said.

“No! No I won’t!” Y/n tried to move away as Tanaka climbed up on the bed, moving Y/n’s torso on top of his lap. He held her arms tightly in place.

“Go on kiyoko, Show our new pet what you have for her.”

Kiyoko gave a sinister smile as she lifted her dress skirt to reveal a 9 inch pink strap on. The audience clapped and cheered as Kiyoko licked two fingers, instantly slamming them into Y/n’s dry pussy. Y/n let out a holler in pain as she tried to move away from her fingers. Due to Tanaka’s grip, Y/n was unable to move. Tanaka somehow managed to rip Kiyoko’s skirt off her, leaving the strapon in plain sight.

“Shove it in dry!” Someone from the audience yelled out.

Tanaka smirked as Kiyoko removed her fingers. She was quick to slam the strap on deep inside, not even giving Y/n a second to adjust.Y/n had tears running down her face as she begged Kiyoko to stop.

“Please take it out!” Y/n screamed.

She had her eyes closed when she felt a strong burning on her right cheek. As Tanaka had slapped her hard across the face.

“Shut up and behave or it will be worse for you!” He spat. Kiyoko shoved her pussy juice coated fingers down Y/n’s throat. She showed no mercy when pounding into her pussy. Tanaka bent down, taking a nipple in his mouth and biting it hard. Y/n let out a scream. Tanaka tasted the slight bit of blood but he didn’t care as he continued to suck and bite her nipple.

Kiyoko began taking off her strap, leaving it inside Y/n to stretch her out. Kiyoko climbed up pushing Tanaka’s head out of the way as she placed the lips of her pussy above Y/n’s lips on her face.

“Pleasure me, pet” She demanded before fully placing herself down. She began to move back and forth, leaving her juices all over Y/n’s face. Kiyoko could feel her hot tears on her pussy. She grinded deeper into her face as she laughed and pulled Kuroo in for a kiss. Y/n began to lick strides up Kiyoko’s pussy as Tanaka reached down and pinched her nipple demanding her to get into it or suffer.

Y/n was sucking on Kiyoko’s bud as Kiyoko moaned into Tanaka’s lips. Kiyoko felt herself building an orgasm, but she pulled away. Kiyoko Moved back down to Y/n’s pussy where she had the strap up still shoved deep inside. Kiyoko ran her hand over Y/n’s stomach feeling the bulge of the large pink dildo. Kiyokyo shoved her face between her legs as she began slowly sucking her clit. Kiyoko slowly pulled the dildo from her pussy.

“If you cum, I will shove this up your ass. Got it?” Kiyoko said.

Y/n shook her head, terrified.

Tanaka laughed as he slowly released her upper half from his grasp. He placed her down on the bed and moved down grabbing her thigh ever so roughly.

“You are so beautiful. I think this is my favorite toy we’ve ever got.” He said to Kiyoko. She let out a small chuckle as she continued to eat out Y/n.

Y/n felt herself building up in the pit of her stomach.

“S-stop! Stop please!” She begged Kiyoko. Tanka was fast to slap her other cheek as he laughed and ushered Kiyoko to continue.

To their surprise, Y/n then squirted all over Kiyoko’s face.

“Fuck thats hot.” Tanaka moaned.

Tanaka moved Y/n on her side as he slipped in behind her. Kiyoko gabbed Y/n by the neck as she licked her juices off her face.

“She tastes amazing Ryo.”

Tanaka Moves closer to Kiyoko’s face and licked off the remaining bit.

“Fuck you’re right, babe.” He said.

Kiyoko moved herself up so the two pussies alined. Tanaka was spreading Y/n’s ass cheeks as he spit down on his hand. He used his spit as lubrication to shove it in her un prepaid asshole.

“FUUUCCCKKKK” Tanaka moaned. “She's definitely a virgin back here.”

Kiyoko giggled as Y/n cried out in pain. The two continued to move and force Y/n to submit to them.

This continued for a while, but Y/n had passed out from the pain.

The two came on Y/n as they left her unconscious body on the bed.

“Now the Vips audience may come up and do as they please to her.” Tanaka said to a small section of men and women.

Six people were quick to stand up and approach the bed.

“I want to fuck her whore throat so badly.” One man with silver and black hair said.

“Just don’t kill this one, Bo, I like her, and I want her around for a while.” Kiyoko spoke up.

Taglist: @itsmearia01

Taglist open 🥰 dm or send an ask to be added

#tw noncon #tw dark fic #haikyuu smut #yandere haikyuu #haikyuu dark content #haikyuu yandere #haikyuu noncon #tanaka x reader #kiyoko x reader

[galacticgraffiti]

☾✧ Blacklit Night ✧☽

Rating: Mature (for heavy themes) Summary: Astarion meets Sebastian. You know how this ends. Wordcount: 5k TW: angst, vampiric compulsion/Cazador's compulsion on Astarion, references to past abuse and torture, memories of past NonCon, verbal abuse.

Author's Note: This contains spoilers for Act 3 of BG3, specifically Astarion's companion quest. As always - don't like don't read. Even though there are no explicit sexual themes, I would prefer minors did not interact with this post or my blog.

Masterlist ⋆ If you prefer AO3

• :•: • :•: • ☾ ☼ ☽ • :•: • :•: •

Blacklit Night

The night is dark, and the sparse light of the stars speaks of violence, not peace.

One would think that a city like Baldur’s Gate never sleeps, but it does. There is a moment, when all the fishermen have come back from sea, when the workers have returned to their homes and their children, where the lords and ladies of the upper crust stare silently at each other from across long dinner tables. That moment is the holding of breath before the first death of the night:

The sun still shines just barely, dark creatures lurking in the safety of the darkness, not yet able to step out of the shadows. Warm lights begin to glow from windows as the sun sets, as families have their hearty meals, as the nobles retreat to quietly behold each other, to joke about the peasants or hate their rich counterparts in peace. The world breathes one last breath of golden sun, the sea turns red, and the last of the light fades.

The nightlife begins: Taverns grow loud with song and fun, drinks are poured, first one, then two, then one too many. The hardship of the day is washed away, travellers finally arrive at their destinations - slipped in at last light, we got so lucky - and dutiful students of the Society sneak out of their bedroom windows to get high on mushrooms from the Underdark and kiss beneath the pale moonlight.

The life of daylight is one Astarion barely remembers. It has not been long, a few months, maybe a year or two. Who can tell these days? It’s always dark and there is always pain. When he is not allowed to leave the palace, time passes differently. Godey tells him weeks have passed, but Godey lies. Astarion does not dare ask his siblings. He makes notches on the wall behind a rotting coffin, but the only marker to go by is hunger, and the hunger is eternal. 

Yes, it has not been so long since the life of daylight - his life, a life that belonged to him - was taken from Astarion. Even if he can’t tell exactly how long, that much he can say. On the nights he is allowed to go out - to hunt for prey - he can see that the fashions haven’t changed much. He can tell that the bartenders have not aged (not visibly at least), nor been replaced with someone younger and better looking. There is still the same elven girl behind the bar, with the blue hair and the brown eyes who always smiles at him when he orders a drink he carries around all night to look like he belongs. He never smiles back, afraid to reveal his fangs on accident, afraid he would scare her much more than he ever could by being stand-offish and rude.

Astarion misses the daylight more than he misses anything else about his old life. He misses the sun burning his skin that was pale even before death took him. He misses the warmth of it- a kind of warmth that can not be imitated by anything else, a warmth that seeps into your bones and makes you feel like soothing embers glow inside your bones. Nowadays, he is always so cold. Cold in the way a forgotten graveyard is, devoid of life and devoid of comfort.

Astarion pulls his cloak tighter. It is finely embroidered with black and silver peacocks, complimenting his own silver hair and his pale complexion - or so Leon tells him. Mirrors do not show Astarion’s image anymore. The cloak is finely woven, just good enough to make it seem like he might have a little more money than he lets on, but not so garish as to catch the attention of heaps of thieves and robbers. Attracting prey is a delicate game, and Cazador has perfected it. Not that he ever needs to do the dirty work himself, of course. 

No, it’s Astarion’s hands that will be bloody, Astarion’s lips that will feel numb, Astarion’s skin that will burn at the memory of a loving touch unwanted, and Astarion’s mind that will be burdened with the knowledge of what their face looked like in the moment of betrayal. How their eyes begged for mercy that he does not have the power to grant.

Cazador loves it when they arrive scared to death. Cazador drains the pain and the fear and the suffering from the air to swallow it whole, to gorge himself on it until he bursts. He strokes Astarion’s silver hair, he tells him that he gets better at it every time, but this one still is not good enough.

“At least you are trying to make yourself useful the only way you can,” Cazador says, as if Astarion had any choice, any say in the matter. “At least I won’t have to tell Godey to have to punish you again. It really is a shame, bruises heal so slowly on your delicate skin. Although the screams make it nearly worth it, don’t you agree? Come now, boy. Won’t you dine with us?”

The memory of Cazador’s rotten voice seeps into Astarion’s bones when he turns around a corner and nearly trips. His tongue tastes the blood of putrid rats a hundred times over, and it’s all Astarion can do not to retch. He closes his eyes for a second to breathe, stumbling for just a second.

A warm hand wraps around his upper arm before he can catch himself.

“My gods, have you been walking long? You are freezing!”

“I’m fine, I just have-” Astarion’s words die on his tongue when he looks up at the man who caught him. 

Maybe man is not the right word - still nearly a boy, with long hair and a deep voice that won’t rightly fit his delicate features. His lips are full and his eyes are dark, and the fingers wrapped around Astarion’s wiry arm have a strength to them that one would not expect. He makes Astarion wish his heart could still race just to get high off that feeling once more.

Astarion stiffens and pulls back from the stranger’s grasp, cursing his mind for being so soft and so stupid even after everything that has happened.

You are just a silly boy. This behaviour must be corrected. You will learn to obey. Obey.

“I am fine. I can handle myself.” Astarion says again, straightening his collar, his voice cold. He rips his arm from the boy’s warm grasp impatiently. If he is too nice to him, the boy will follow, the boy will ask-

“Would you like to join me for a drink? I was just about to go in.”

No.

Panic rises like bile in Astarion’s throat.

You will learn. Never let it be you inviting them. Make them think it’s their idea - lull them in safety, spin a web around them while they bask in your beauty and attention. Make them think they have caught you, not the other way around. Find me the most beautiful of them, and bring them to me. Godey will have a wonderful time breaking your bones if you don’t. Find the ones that make your heart ache and betray them. Bring them to me. Obey.

Astarion opens his mouth to decline, tries to deny the seed the Cazador’s commands have planted inside his chest. He can’t do it- he never can.

“Of course. Tell me about yourself.” A pleasant smile settles in the corners of Astarion’s mouth, plastered on by Cazador’s words. Bring me the most beautiful of them. Never decline the offer of a drink.

The stranger holds the door of the tavern open for Astarion, his frame taller and broader than Astarion’s own. His face has not the shadow of a beard and his hair shimmers in the golden light. His eyes are kind. He does not look like he comes from a noble family. There is too much excitement, too much of a need to prove himself worthy. The only thing that could have saved him- gone.

No noblemen. Never noblemen, never their children. They will bring unwanted attention.

Astarion closes his eyes for a moment. There must be something that can save him- there must be something he can do-

The stranger leads him to an empty table in a low lit corner. With the darkness gone, he looks a little older now- his features less soft, his nose stronger. And still…

“I’m passing through town,” he explains with a gentle voice. His hands lay on the table, open and inviting. “I am a jeweller, and I heard there is good trade to be made in the city proper. I had some… complications on the road. I- my name is Sebastian.”

Sebastian.

Astarion hates it when they tell him their names. He can never forget them, they carve themselves into his dead heart and burn him with the acid of his betrayal each day like snake venom dripping down his throat.

Sebastian. Each letter a drop of poison.

Press your lips together, maybe the words won’t slip out. Maybe it’s not too late to save him, maybe-

“My name’s Astarion,” says his treacherous tongue. “I’m a magistrate in the city.”

Sebastian’s eyes light up.

“Astarion… my first acquaintance in the big city, and he is named after a star. I must immortalise our meeting in a piece of my work- a necklace maybe, or a ring…” His voice drifts off when he realises that Astarion’s hand is gripping the table so tightly his knuckles are white with pain. “Oh, I- I am sorry. I have been told I can come on a little strong. All I meant was- what a lucky coincidence to have stumbled upon someone who knows the city so well! How lucky for you to have accepted my invitation!”

Astarion’s unbeating heart aches at the excitement in Sebastian’s voice.

“How lucky indeed,” he says, Cazador’s eternal smile making his lips ache. Never stop smiling. Make them feel like they are wanted- like they are the only thing you have wanted all night. “I was already on my way back home- I had given up on the night somewhat, you see. To have stumbled into such a dashing stranger- it was me who got lucky.”

His words weep the false sweetness of a lie, but Sebastian seems not to notice that Astarion’s throat burns like acid.

“You flatter me,” he mumbles. “I know I- you don’t have to be nice to me if you would rather wish to go home. I would not blame you.”

Everything in Astarion’s body screams, every muscle fighting against the inevitable command, every nerve alight with panic and hatred: Hatred against Cazador, and against his own weakness. Astarion watches with wide eyes as his own pale hand moves across the table to cover Sebastian’s. He cannot stop it, just like he cannot unhear Cazador’s whisper in the dark. Find out what they like and give it to them. No matter what it is. Most of all - make sure it is you.

“Nonsense,” say Astarion’s numb lips. “There is nowhere I would rather be than here. Why, your company is much better than the silence of my bedchamber.”

Sebastian smiles a tentative smile, his eyes lighting up at the touch of Astarion’s hand on his.

“So you have nobody… waiting for you?” His voice shakes a little even as his fingers glide across Astarion’s smooth, pale skin. He has never done this before. Astarion can tell. “Nobody to get home to?”

The question makes Astarion’s head spin. The bond won’t allow him to talk about Cazador. When they ask you where you live, where you are going - lie. Lie convincingly.

“Some of my siblings live around here,” Astarion mumbles. “I stay with them when I am in the district.”

“Ah.” Sebastian’s voice is an odd mixture of relief and disappointment. “You know, I-”

They are interrupted by a barmaid asking for their order. Astarion breathes, digging his nails into his palm until he draws blood. He can’t do it, not with this one. He is too sweet, too innocent. All he wants is a taste of the excitement of the city.

Give him that taste.

No.

Yes. He wants it. You provide.

Conversation with Sebastian is so easy. As the wine flows, his hands wander, drumming on the table, tugging at his shirtsleeves, playing with a family ring. He is never still, and Astarion is enraptured by it. Sebastian’s whole life story could probably fit on two pages, but Astarion always finds new questions to ask him.

Show interest. Make them feel wanted.

No. Astarion asks for his own sake. He begs Cazador’s command to let him care about Sebastian, this sweet stranger. To drink the wine, to joke and show interest just because he wants to. Just this once.

Sebastian does not notice. Sebastian talks and smiles and laughs, his hands in the air, on Astarion’s shoulder; then on his thigh when Astarion places them there. And Astarion finds himself not minding to be touched. Not by him. Sebastian’s touches are not one of hunger or desire, they speak of interest and intimacy in ways Astarion had forgotten.

With some time, even the compulsion of Cazador’s voice fades into the background. Astarion’s attentions are fully focused on the delicate man with the strong hands across from him. Sebastian’s voice is gentle and deep as he tells of his journey from his village through the wilderness. He passed by Moonrise - so far away from the city, where Astarion has never been! He tells tales of his family and growing up in a small village, of his childhood helping out on a farm and of the smith that took him on as an apprentice years ago. He speaks of his work with a deep reverence, and Astarion’s pretend-interest soon turns into real fascination.

The way Sebastian describes his work is almost magical. How the metals come alive beneath his hands - it’s like Astarion can see it now, the heavy swing of a hammer, the delicate touch of fine tools and strong fingers to fit precious stones and bend any material to their will.

Enchanted by the other’s presence, soon their fingers intertwine, their heads so close together they can taste each other’s breath, smelling of honeyed wine as the other patrons fade away into the background. It’s only the two of them, in their own little corner of the world, lit by candlelight and sweet attention.

“I’ve never met anyone like you,” Sebastian whispers, his breath warm on Astarion’s face. Warm in the way the sun is. How much he has missed it.

“I could say the same.” They are the first genuine words Astarion has uttered in a long time. “I have met many travellers, but none of them have been like you.”

Sebastian’s eyes darken for a moment, his fingers playing with Astarion’s paler ones.

“None of them?”

Astarion grits his teeth, pressing out a truth that terrifies him.

“None of them have made me want to protect them the way you do. I’ve barely known you one night, and I cannot bear the thought of your suffering.”

Sebastian laughs the easy giggle of someone who has never known real pain.

“Why would I suffer? I am here. And… I’ve found you. A little star among mere mortals.”

No! You didn't find me. I found you, Astarion wants to scream. Run. Run while you still can.

Cazador’s frigid voice seeps back into his skull like the cold embrace of death, and Astarion’s happiness leaks out of his heart and drains away through the creaky floorboards of the tavern when his Master’s compulsion grips him tight once more.

Give them what they want. Then bring them to me.

He doesn’t want to. He tries to shut his mouth, tries to pull his hands away, but he can’t do any of it. Sebastian smiles at him, his eyes only speaking of newly found adoration and interest. Astarion wants to shove him away, but the closest he can get is pressing out a few words, as close to the truth as he can manage, though his body barely allows those.

“Oh darling, I think it’s me that found you.” Astarion’s smile burns on his lips. “You should lea-”

The words burn in his throat like bile, and as much as Astarion tries to get them out, there is nothing in all the hells and all of this world that could overcome Cazador’s command. Astarion chokes, then clears his throat and wipes away Sebastian’s concerned hand on his face, holding the sun-warmth of his hand gently. He is so full of life.

“I’m fine, my love. Just a bit of… wine stuck in my throat. Do forgive me.”

Sebastian smiles softly, his hand settling on Astarion’s pale arm, restlessly drawing intricate patterns.

“What is there to forgive? Do you need anything? Do you want me to get you something, a cup of water perhaps? Let me help you.”

“A drink would be lovely.” Astarion is desperate. Never has his heart seized like this in the face of his prey, never has he wanted to get away from a target as much as this one. Never has he hoped to forget a name as desperately.

Please, just this once.

He would beg on his knees, he would give up the last of his dignity if he had any left at all. Not this one. Not Sebastian, with his gentle eyes and his sweet smile and his delicate hands. Not Sebastian who has never done anything wrong in his life other than come to Baldur’s Gate and try to help a stranger. Not him. Anyone else, but not him.

Astarion stares after Sebastian when he gets up from his seat. A soft touch of the shoulder and Sebastian vanishes into the crowd filling the tavern, on his mission to help Astarion. If only he could be helped. If only a glass of water could fix what is broken inside him.

Astarion tries to get up, he really does. If he can leave, maybe Sebastian won’t find him, and Cazador will never have to know. Better to be bruised and beat up and hungry for an eternity, better to be degraded and burned and starved for months than to see the look on Sebastian’s face as he realises that Astarion has betrayed him. Better to let Godey break all of his bones a hundred times over than to know that Sebastian is dead because of him.

It does not help. Astarion’s fingers prickle with hatred when he digs them into the table, trying to will himself to get back up, to leave and never return. To hope that Sebastian is gone by the time Cazador lets Astarion leave the palace again. Even to be dead and buried would be better than betrayed and drained. It’s all Astarion’s fault. He should never have let it get this far, should have run the second he saw the kindness in Sebastian’s eyes.

It’s all for naught. Astarion’s skull is pounding with Cazador’s compulsion when Sebastian returns to the table, a cup of water in his hand.

Someone who makes your heart ache. Bring me them so I can make you watch, make you scream and cry and beg for their life. You know nothing you say could ever move me to let them go, but oh, how sweet it will be to hear you sing and pray to me for their release. And pray you will, boy.

Astarion smiles at Sebastian and hates himself for it.

“What are your plans for tomorrow?” he asks, even if the venom nearly clogs his throat - knowing that tomorrow will never come, not for Sebastian. He will die tonight with Cazador’s fangs in his neck, going limp like a doll as the sunlight of his life is drained from him. And Astarion will have one more name to carve into his heart.

“I’m going to the market!” Sebastian is vibrating with excitement. His hair shimmers in the low light when he bends closer. “I brought some pieces with me, and I want to see if I can get a licence to sell them, maybe down at the market by the docks. I heard there is a forge near here, I might try to find that as well. I just… I want to see as much of the city as I can before life catches up and I have to return to work.”

Astarion digs his nails into the roughed up wood of the table, but not even that pain can keep the next words from slipping over his traitorous lips.

“To the market, hm? That’s exciting, my darling. Quite the journey from here though if you want to get there early enough to ask for a trading licence. Do you know where you will stay tonight?”

His heart shatters into a million pieces at the look on Sebastian’s face: surprise that quickly changes into tentative excitement, like he can’t fully believe what Astarion is implying. He can see the flush that creeps into Sebastian’s cheeks, smell the treat that has been forbidden to him ever since he has craved it. Not even the hunger hurts as much as the inevitable pain of losing this beautiful stranger to Cazador’s greed and bloodlust.

“I was hoping I could rent a room here. But you are right, maybe it is a little far from the market,” Sebastian says, his eyes now lingering on Astarion’s lips, on his exposed neck. His heartbeat betrays him: fast and uneven, stumbling with desire Astarion was hoping would never bloom.

Take the room, he wants to say. Take it and don’t leave it until the sun is up and creatures like me have crawled back to where we came from and can’t hurt you anymore.

What he says instead makes the tips of Sebastian’s ears go flushed and rosy.

“This place is not exactly known for its trustworthy clientele either. I know… someone in the city. I’m staying at his place - if you come with me, I promise we won’t be disturbed.”

The smile on Sebastian’s face is tinted with tentative lust, his eyes wandering where he has not let himself look. Astarion curses himself as an alluring smile appears on his own lips. All he wants is to slip out of his skin and leave behind a beautiful shell, empty and void of any trace of him. Anything not to have to feel like this anymore. Dirty and used, an instrument to another’s thirst for power.

Sebastian leans in closer, his breath mingling with Astarion’s own. He smells sweet, like honeyed wine and thyme.

“What exactly are you planning to do with me if you have to make sure we won’t be disturbed?” He sounds genuinely curious in a way that makes Astarion’s breath stutter.

Another man would ask the same question, already knowing the answer, relishing the implications, the innuendo. Another man would already have his hands on Astarion’s thigh without being invited to, would already be kissing his neck without even paying attention to the telltale scars on his throat. Another man would never have taken the time to try and get to know him, would not have invited him for a drink in the tavern but shoved him up against a wall and had his way in the dark of the alley. Another man would have let his hands wander where they don’t belong, Cazador’s words stopping Astarion from doing anything about it as unwanted fingers cling to his thighs, and unwanted lips caress his chest. Another man would have deserved death. Sebastian is not another man. He deserves better, and Astarion cannot give it to him. The moment Sebastian laid eyes on him was the moment he died.

Astarion tries to find terrible solace in that as he leads Sebastian outside, their fingers interlaced as they wander through the quiet alleys of the lower city.

“Where does this friend of yours live?” Sebastian asks, his eyes full of wonder as he takes in the view of the city in the moonlight. “I- I need to paint all this tomorrow night, it’s beautiful.”

Astarion does not answer, but his fingers squeeze Sebastian’s for a second. It’s enough to make the other man turn to him. Sebastian’s face goes soft, a smile tugging at his lips.

“It’s not only the night that is beautiful. So are you,” he whispers, stepping closer, cupping Astarion’s jaw in one large hand. “If anyone could inspire me, it would be you. How did I get so lucky- my first night in the city, and I find the most beautiful man I have ever laid eyes on. I have never… no one has ever caught my attention the way you did. Not even at home- there was never anyone-”

He is rambling now, and yet all Astarion can hear is his heartbeat, so fast and excited, so nervous as he moves closer. Astarion wishes he had the strength to stop him, but even if there was any way to resist Cazador’s compulsion, his body is weak. It always has been. It has always betrayed him.

“What I mean to say is…” Sebastian hesitates. He cocks his head, unsure of how to proceed. His heartbeat is so fast Astarion thinks he can feel it in his own chest, and his hand on Astarion’s chest is warmer than the sun. “I… I have no experience in these things. Nobody has ever- well… taken me home with them. I don’t- what I mean is- will you kiss me?”

Astarion freezes, and his whole self shatters at the sweet question that nothing could have prepared him for. Sebastian’s words are extinguished by Cazador’s cold voice in the back of Astarion’s mind.

Make sure it is you they want.

Astarion is good at what he does. Better than he wants to be. They all want him. None of them ever ask if they are what he wants as well.

Sebastian’s lips are soft when Astarion’s own meet them. He is warm, so warm he seems to glow from the inside. His hands are careful, not greedy, and if Astarion could let himself, he would shatter beneath their touch. The kiss is not much more than a gentle touch of lips, not driven by hunger or desire. Sebastian’s only desire is to be known, to be tasted. It is the only wish Astarion can fulfil before he leads him to his death.

Sebastian’s breath is staggered when Astarion pulls away from him, his hands tangled in Astarion’s silvery hair. He closes his eyes and shudders, reaching out to pull Astarion against him as his back hits the wall.

“Again. Please.”

Astarion trembles. How could he say no?

He kisses Sebastian with all the desperation of someone with everything to lose.

Notice, he begs silently. Notice that something is off- wrap your hands around my neck and feel the scars- tell me how cold my skin is, see how my eyes glow in the dark- run, and I will try to let you get away.

Sebastian makes a noise in the back of his throat and parts his lips to let Astarion in, and he is lost. Astarion closes his eyes and lets it happen. There is nothing he can do, and he is so tired of fighting the inevitable.

They are both breathing hard when they break apart, Sebastian’s hands on Astarion’s waist, Astarion’s fingers digging into his shoulders as he pulls him in when all he wants to do is push him away.

“You’re incredible,” Sebastian whispers. “Astarion-”

“Sebastian,” he breathes, and that one word holds more reverence than all his prayers ever did. “Sebastian, you have to g-”

The night air changes, and all the warmth Sebastian’s presence has brought to Astarion’s bones vanishes in an instant. The cold creeps back in like iced water, and it is the coldness only death brings.

“Astarion, who have you brought me tonight?”

Astarion closes his eyes. Not here. Not now- they were supposed to have a moment more- never outside, Cazador never comes outside. He waits in his chambers like a cat waits for the mouse. Long fingers pull at his shoulders, and he can’t do anything but limply let go of Sebastian. Sebastian, whose voice is still gentle, but also scared and confused. Sebastian, who slips away as Cazador commands Astarion to leave.

When before, all Astarion wanted to do was tell him to run, he knows now that it is too late. And he wished for the impossible: To die by Sebastian’s side.

“I- what? Astarion, what is-” Sebastian’s voice is rough with terror, and Astarion can’t look at him. Cazador’s fingers dig into his skin.

“Did you think you had found the love of your life? Did you think he would save you?” The world sinks into darkness as Astarion is dragged away. Cazador hisses the words, and there is no telling whether he is speaking to him or Sebastian. “Oh, come now, boy. You should know better than that. He is not your saviour- he is your ruin.”

The sharp hand lets go of Astarion, and suddenly, cold lips are near his ear, whispering words addressed only to him.

“Keep your eyes open. I want you to watch.”

There is a fraction of a second where Astarion can scream, but it’s too late already. Sharp fangs sink into Sebastian’s neck, and Astarion watches, wide-eyed. His throat burns with words he wishes he could have spoken before, and his cheeks are suddenly wet with tears.

“Sebastian!” Astarion does not recognise his own voice, broken and bizarre in the face of this impossibility he knew was coming. “Sebastian, I’m so-”

The last thing Astarion sees is the hatred in Sebastian’s eyes that burns like a thousand dying suns. Then, Cazador’s staff comes down and the world goes dark.

The return of Angstarion. I hope this concept consumes you all as much as it has consumed me.

@purgetrooperfox @ashotofspotchka @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @ulchabhangorm @samspenandsword @rescuethewretched @pinkiemme @baba-fett @witchklng @ladykatakuri @certified-anakinfucker @fanfiction-i-llike @voidinfernal @foxferret02 @rosieofcorona @savagemickey03 @perseny @margoisthemoon2 @shiiunn @saucyhedgehog @tonysoffice @pupshr00m @supercalifragilisticprincess @palpipeen @silly-gooseastarion @mila-bee @shit-i-say-throughout-the-day @idkwhatsgoingonwithme @aeryntheofficial @jekasha @gub @nogitsune-the @solarrexplosion @hexqueensupreme @unofficialavenger90 @frankiesghost @curtaincaramba @kimiheartblade @niqhtfell @campfull-of-weirdos

Extra special mention to @babygirljoelmiller for being so brave and finishing Cazador's palace.

#angstarion #astarion #bg3 #astarion x sebastian #sebastian bg3 #oh lord this took a toll on me fr #nsft #baldur's gate #angst

[3-2-whump]

Whumper Intro: Adjusting Well

<prev next>

Set one month after events of The Auction Floor

TW/CW: pet whump, minor whump, dehumanization, talking about a whumpee as if he's not even there, light bondage (briefly mentioned), noncon body mod (briefly mentioned), nonconsensual touching

“How’s he adjusting?”

Thomas sighed. “Fine, I guess? He’s shy, skittish, and dense as a brick. Impossible to hold a conversation with, too” he added. 

“Well, you’ve only had him for one month,” Luca, his underboss and confidante, shrugged.

“Why did I ever let you guys talk me into buying him?” Thomas griped, leaning back on the sofa as he dramatically brought a hand to his brow. “Do you have any idea how ridiculously hard keeping a person is?!”

“Yes, I have two boys at home.”

“Yeah, your sons, that’s completely different!”

The mafia boss craned his neck around from where they sat in the living room to look over the sofa, and back towards the hallway leading to the second bedroom. “Khaled, I know you’re watching us, so come out,” he said. The boy peeked out from where he was hiding, face half hidden behind the corner of the wall.

“God, he is shy.”

“There, that’s it, now, come here a second.” Thomas waved him over. Khaled hung his head as he quietly made his way to them. He was small and still rail-thin, though he wasn’t as skinny as when he bought him. His dark, expressive eyes flickered up from behind thick lashes and an unruly mess of wavy black hair, hair that Thomas made a mental note to cut. The plum-colored bruises on his dusky skin were finally fading. A faint clink with each footstep prompted a questioning glance from Luca, but Thomas shrugged him off. So, he might’ve shackled the boy’s ankles –no harm in extra precautions, right?

“This is the little escape artist that broke a window and tried to climb off the rooftop his first week?” Luca smirked. “Hey, dumbass,” he addressed the boy, using a tone of condescension usually reserved for pets, “what did you do that for, huh? Don’t you know you could’ve died?”

Predictably, Khaled did not respond, instead opting to twist his fingers in the hem of his t-shirt as he lowered his gaze to his cuffed ankles.

“You’re filling out nicely,” Luca commented, pinching and groping the boy everywhere. Khaled held still as a statue. “Bet your master is happy not to be fucking into a little bag of bones-”

“Whoa-whoa, hey!”

“What?” his friend protested. “It’s what you bought him for, right? Don’t deny it, Tom!”

“Ix-nay on the ex-talk-say!” Thomas whisper-hissed.

“Wait, so you haven’t actually –” 

“He’s a minor, Luca. He’s like, thirteen or something!”

“Um, I’m fifteen, sir. I’ll be sixteen come November,” a timid voice said.

Thomas shot him a withering scowl. The boy clamped his mouth shut, eyes widening as he realized his mistake. “What did I tell you about speaking out of turn?” Khaled hung his head, contrite. “That’s right, you don’t. Speak only when spoken to,” his master reminded him.

Luca resumed their conversation. “So what? That’s literally what you bought him for! It’s already been a month, and you still haven’t popped his cherry?!”

“I’m not a fucking pedophile!”

His underboss huffed, muttering an unconvinced, “Whatever.” Fortunately, that seemed to be the end of the argument.

Meanwhile, Khaled stood quietly beside him, tense as a bow string and awaiting orders, just as he had trained him. Thomas glanced back at him and motioned toward the floor. “Sit down for a bit,” he told him. Wordlessly, Khaled settled in front of the sofa, at his feet, knees drawn to his chest and hands folded in front of his shins.

“So, if you didn’t get him for –you know, why did you get him?”

“Oh, it’s not like that’s entirely off the table,” Thomas explained. “I’d just rather wait until he’s of legal age, that’s all. Go into it with a clearer conscience, you know?” He let out a light chuckle as he ran a hand through Khaled’s fluffy black hair. “For now, he’s just a little companion, a pet, something to talk to when I get home after a long day.” He gently scratched behind the boy’s ears, much like one would have for a dog, to emphasize his point. His fingers inadvertently brushed against the bluish-black ink of the barcode tattoo. The boy underneath him shivered. Sensitive little thing. His mind filed that away for later.

“And that’s enough, for now.” It will be enough, it had to be enough. No matter how cute this boy at his fingertips was, no matter how ridiculously easy it would be to force himself upon him, he’d make himself abstain. Thomas Jackson Costa would not rape a minor. He had standards.

“Oookayy,” Luca murmured, not entirely convinced. “Enjoy the next two and a half years of blue-balling yourself, I guess.” He leveled an appraising look at Khaled once again. “I personally wouldn’t wait if I had one of those, though.”

“I always knew you were a sick fuck at heart,” Thomas said, forcing a jovial chuckle as the hand in Khaled’s hair gathered him possessively closer.

Oh yeah, I have a tag list now: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump

#whump #whump writing #tw minor whump #tw noncon bodymod #tw noncon touching #dehumanization

[sunwarmed-ash]

🔥Sinful Sunday🔥

Silence Isn't Golden

Fandom: HP

Rating: Explicit (dark angsty content)

Tags: Forcibly mute character, eating disorder TW, inferred but not explicit noncon between Snape/Draco, Heavy Angst fic,

Sequel to Certainly Professor

No one was coming to rescue me. This was my reality now and had been for over 6 months. Would be until I died. The likelihood of Harry being dead was stronger each day. It's only a matter of time until Voldemort finds us and he tortures me instead. My days are numbered, and my days left are nothing to write home about. 

I tried to keep down the fearful anxious tears, but they don't stay down no matter how much I shove. My agony stricken eyes catch the time, It’s ten after 7. But I knew that without looking, because anxiety is a better alarm clock than even the best muggle predictive technology. 

I sigh heavily and scrub at my wet face. He’ll be coming for me soon. 

I grab the thin, black silk ribbon off my dresser and tie my hair back the way I’ve seen my father do every morning before leaving for work for almost two decades. I no longer look like him in the face. 

Well, perhaps I do. He’s been in Azkaban since, before Christmas, that’s a long time to waste away in a box. I would know. 

The bags under my eyes are so dark it looks like someone’s struck me, and the small amount of muscle mass I’d been able to gain playing Quidditch last year was gone, leaving just skin on bone in its place. The scars from Harry’s attack are still stained on my skin, and it’s a good reminder of why I’m here. All of my bad decisions have led me here. I must deserve this. Things this horrible don't happen to good people. 

The door to my room opens three minutes shy of 7:30. It doesn't matter, I’m ready for him. 

Though I keep my back turned, still staring through my hollow reflection in the mirror. 

“Am I Lucius or Draco tonight?” 

I no longer recognize my voice, it doesn't sound like me, and I’ve long forgotten what I sounded like before all this started. The things I do say, when I am allowed to talk, I block out immediately. I don’t want to remember them, It's bad enough that I have to experience them. 

“Lucius,” Snape growls.

I feel even more of my true self fade away.

#sinful sunday #tw: ed #eating disorder trigger warning #harry potter #draco malfoy #severus snape #half blood prince #silence isnt golden #certainly professor #fanfiction #find me on ao3 #ko fi support helps me pay my bills #reblogs are free ways to support me! #sunwarmed ash

[ashintheairlikesnow]

She Tells Herself

CW: Noncon fade to black (implied), intimate whumper, noncon touch, threats made about children (no children harmed), forced relationship, captivity

The Motherfucking Gallaghers masterlist

Jax belongs to @comfy-whumpee and is used with permission

For @amonthofwhump day 12: Forced to Perform

-

He tries to get away with just a cuddle, tucking his head under her chin, but Savvie isn’t having any of it tonight. 

Instead, she puts a hand up to his face and presses a kiss into his hair, slides her hands down to cup his face on either side and turn his gaze back to hers. His neck is bare of the shock collar he wears at home, but when they go on vacation, she takes it off. 

He won't run, and she knows it. Not anymore. 

Not when she makes sure any place they travel to is at least a day's worth of plane rides away from the house where their two-year-old daughter stays with Savvie's uncle while they’re gone.

She tells herself he doesn't want to run from her. Sometimes, for a few minutes at a time, she even manages to believe it. 

She pretends now that she can’t see how tense he is, how he holds himself like a tree about to snap in a strong wind when their eyes meet. She tells herself he isn’t repulsed by her. It's just that he just doesn’t know how to love very well, that's all. He feels it, of course he does. 

She tells herself he just isn't good at showing it. 

She tells herself a lot of things. 

The warm breeze blows in through the open window, ruffling the gauzy curtains pulled to each side. The stars are brilliant in the inky sky, the smooth constant rush of the ocean against the shoreline - only a few dozen yards away - a constant white noise that covers their whispered conversation from being overheard by anyone who might walk by. 

"What are you doing, sweetie? You've been avoiding this since we got here."

He came to bed after his shower in a t-shirt and thin pants, even though she'd been making the right kind of suggestive comments all night. She'd flirted with him on the beach while the two of them soaked up the sunshine, kissed him until she could feel what she told herself was arousal but really was just tension about to snap. 

She'd even rubbed her hand along the inside of his leg under the table at dinner while he gave his food order to the waiter, smiling as his voice trembled, just once, and went back to being emotionless and even just after. 

If he didn't really physically react, well, she told herself he just had good self-control in public. But here, now, he tries to break her perfect romantic delusion. 

"I'm j-just tired, Miss Savvie," He answers now, but he can see in her face that his excuses aren't going to work, not tonight, not this time. There's a flicker of a deep exhaustion that moves across his face, immediately buried. Under that, in the very core of him, loathing. 

She sees it. 

She tells herself she doesn't.

"No, you're not." She smiles, shaking her head. The vast curtain of her long, wavy brown hair settles around them, tickling his neck over the scars the shock collar has left, permanent after years of being burned slowly into him every time she's unhappy. Every time she doesn't believe her own performance, or sees the artifice in his. "You slept forever last night."

"Did I?" His tone is mild, and he doesn't lean into it when she kisses him, but he doesn't pull away, either. 

"You did. We went to bed early, and you fell asleep right away." She drops one hand to press over his heart, against his chest. The other she uses to hold his face in place so she can kiss him again. 

He lays awake at night next to her. She knows it, but that's not the story she wants to tell. 

They both know the other one is always lying, but it's Savvie who shapes the narrative, who sets the scene and frames every shiver as something other than a repression of how much he must hate her. 

He doesn't say anything the second time, but she doesn't want him to. She keeps kissing him, opening his mouth to hers. He allows it - he always does, in the end - and he allows her to pull his shirt off, too. He never volunteers a motion, only reacts, in dim subdued ways, to hers. 

He doesn't react where she wants him to, though, no matter how her hand wanders, explores. A ripple runs through his muscles, but still he stays soft, uninterested. 

Repulsed, and she knows it.

She tells herself she doesn't.

Finally, she pulls back, exhaling with a frustrated sigh. She leans her weight up on her elbow, looking down at those empty hazel eyes. "Jax. We are on a romantic trip. Do you not know what people do on romantic trips or something?"

His jaw might work, a little. His voice is low. "Sorry, M-Miss Savvie, I told you-... I'm just tired-"

"Tired or not, I want you. You are my husband. I want to make love to you."

He doesn't even try to answer. Just looks at her, eyes slightly wide, eyebrows a little furrowed together. 

He just looks at her. 

"Sweetie… listen. I booked this trip because I feel like we haven't had enough time, just the two of us, since Bella was born. You're always with her."

Now something brightens in him - not like a child shown a birthday cake, but bright in the way light flashes off a knife. "She's been an infant, Miss Savvie. She's only just started walking."

"Still." Jealousy is an ugly heat sending blood to her cheeks, rushing in her veins. "Still. You hardly even look at me these days. It's like you don't even want to."

He swallows in a way she can see in his throat. Deep down, she knows he wants to tell her to go fucking die or something, that he wants to say I don't want to look at you, I hate you, I would kill you right here if I could or whatever awful things run through his mind. 

But all he says is, "Of c-course I want to look at yo-ou, Miss Savvie."

She falls back onto her back on the soft bed, staring up at the ceiling. There's a ceiling fan spinning lazily, and she follows its slow deliberate progress. "Honestly, Jax. I just don't think I can even stand to get on a plane feeling like we're still so far apart."

He stills, beside her. "Miss Savvie…"

"I'll call Isaac tomorrow, and ask him if he can keep Bella for another couple of weeks. I just think we can't go home until I feel like we both want this marriage to work."

She delivers the threat, barely veiled, in a tone of wistful sadness, pure and perfect innocence, the ingenue afraid she is losing her true love. 

"But-... Bella-"

"Will just have to wait. I can't go back with you and take her into a broken home, Jax, I just can't. We'll just have to decide whether or not we can even keep our relationship going. Do you want to go back to England?"

She's pushing it. She knows she is, as she looks over to see his expression. It's flat and empty but his eyes - there's something burning in there, behind his control of himself, and she thinks it's her. To a crisp, just ashes and brown hair. He doesn't speak, but she can't tell if it's because he has nothing to say, or because he's afraid of what might come out if he opens his mouth. 

"I'll buy you the stupid plane ticket." She bats her eyelashes, heavy with sudden tears. She's always been good at crying on command. "I will, and Bella and I will just… we'll just have to keep going without you." She sniffs, just a cherry on top of the sundae. 

She dangles the loss of his child over his head, a guillotine blade hovering just before the rope is cut. Savvie doesn't know if she's lying or not, in the moment - only that she can sense that she has him, this way, has him so wrapped up that he can't take a step to escape. 

Or won't.

Because of Bella.

The jealousy rises again. He would run from her, but he'll stay for his daughter. His stupid whiny crying daughter. What is there in Isabella that Savvie doesn’t have? What makes Bella worth staying for?

And why can’t Savvie make him want to stay for her?

"Miss Savvie-"

"Just call me Savvie, Jax, you're my husband!" She cries out with artificial despair but secret triumph, and makes a show of turning away from him. He follows the cue and puts a hand on her to pull her back. She pauses. There might be a breath, or even a sigh, before he’s moving to climb on top of her.

The weight of him is a welcome sign that he'll do what she wants, tonight, however she wants him to. She wins, this time. 

She always wins, in the end. Mostly. Except for the nights she can't rouse him enough to pretend desire, not even in a desperate way like this.  

His mouth moves against her jaw and down her neck, focused and intense. As she tangles her fingers in his hair and hums, his kisses move lower, down her chest, over her stomach, and finally his head dips between her legs.

"Say you love me," She commands, head thrown back, eyes closed, feeling only him. His hands are on her thighs, fingers cold. She’s loud enough to carry out the window towards the ocean's rise and fall. 

For a second, he doesn't do as she tells him, and she digs her fingernails into his scalp. 

"Jax, say it now."

He lifts his chin just long enough. His eyes are so empty, of desire or love or even hate. Just empty, as if he's stepped out and let someone else handle this. "I l-love you, Savvie," He says, hoarsely, and then lowers his head again. 

She tells herself she doesn't know he's lying.

She tells herself it's real.

She tells herself a lot of things.

-

@eatyourdamnpears @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @arlinthesnep @wildfaewhump @whump-tr0pes @iaminamoodymoodtoday @orchidscript @sableflynn @pretty-face-breaker @raigash @whumptywhumpdump @boxboysandotherwhump @thefancydoughnut @mylifeisonthebookshelf @whumpinggrounds

#whump #the motherfucking gallaghers #savvie marcoset #amow winter whumperland 2022 #amow winter whumperland #jax gallagher #poor jax #implied noncon #fade to black noncon #lady whump #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #obsessive whumper #noncon touch #noncon kissing #emotional whump #emotional abuse tw #abusive parent tw

[rizzoto-whump]

@badthingshappenbingo​ - Forcibly Stripped

@whumptember​ day 9 - “I don’t want to do this anymore.“

(And this prompt by: @dainluvr​ )

TW: Nsfwhump, bruises, fade to black noncon, noncon touch, creepy and multiple whumpers

Their laughter grew louder when they realized who was coming.

"Is that, Colonel Zhang? Colonel James Zhang? Our commander?" And a bunch of drunken Captains enticed him to join them. Then proceed to give touches where they didn't need to be.

The clothes felt so skimpy and James was moving uncomfortably, he tried to keep the hand away, but another hand was about to land. Pinching, squeezing and slapping.

"I didn't know your body was this sexy, sweetie. Smile for us!"

"Colonel! Your ass is so thicc, yeah!"

"Are you tight?"

The Colonel's ears were burning hot, an irritated James pounded the table with a tray. "I don't want to do this anymore!"

He thought his voice was bold and loud, but all that came out was just a weak voice that was on the verge of crying. They laughed again, one of them giving a stupid idea.

"Let's strip him."

Ah! Of course James lost against 5 people who continued to grope and pull his clothes until they looked torn. There was no more cloth over him now, and the savage glances were really disgusting. The crying was unbearable anymore, James tried to cover his naked body.

Someone pressed him from behind while biting James' neck. Something warm sensed in his ass. "Can we use him, Ron?"

The half-drunk Ronald nodded in agreement. "But you have to pay."

#whump #whump prompt #nsfwhump #noncon tw #whump art #bad things happen bingo #forcibly stripped #whumptember2022 #I don't want to do this anymore #noncon touch #multiple whumpers #creepy whumper #whumpee #bruises #whump OC

[hold-him-down]

I posted 1,602 times in 2022

That's 804 more posts than 2021!

591 posts created (37%)

1,011 posts reblogged (63%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@hold-him-down

@peachy-panic

@ashintheairlikesnow

@squishablesunbeam

@whumpsday

I tagged 1,416 of my posts in 2022

Only 12% of my posts had no tags

#the fighter - 147 posts

#anonymous - 53 posts

#whump art - 50 posts

#not whump - 49 posts

#oc asks - 49 posts

#&lt;3 - 40 posts

#institutionalized slavery - 38 posts

#bbu - 33 posts

#med whump - 24 posts

#:) - 23 posts

Longest Tag: 137 characters

#im pretty sure i posted this right after the parker noncon got three notes in the first twelve hours but no unfollows and i was ✨ proud ✨

I sent 1 gift in 2022

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

See the full post

91 notes - Posted December 31, 2021

#4

28 Hours

TW: Institutionalized Slavery. Fade to Black Noncon (not described, but referenced). 4k+ words. References to: noncon drugging, noncon, conditioning, electrocution as punishment. References to vomit.

Notes: Exactly 6 months into contract, takes place in the 28 hour stay between contracts. Directly before ‘get out of the car’. Stay tuned over next 1-3 days for the sickfic/comfort drabble aftermath (looking at you ice chips anon)  I GOT THIS. COMFORT. GOT IT.

Table of Contents

Luke spent every waking moment for the better part of a week researching each DLS site in the state. He looked at every picture, read every review, talked to everyone he knew involved with the Department in any capacity. Leo couldn’t stomach any of it, and Luke didn’t push him to. In the end, Luke chose a site that was a five-hour-drive away. Far enough that he wouldn’t easily be able to be found and accessed. An unfamiliar staff who wasn’t in Ivan Petrov’s pocket. Leo had never been there, but didn’t allow himself to hope that it would be any different than the others.

Luke had done everything he could. Leo could hear him, in the days leading up to this, on phone call after phone call after phone call. He had pulled every string he could think to pull, but the law was specific. And it was happening.

Last night, Leo packed. He placed all of the items that Luke had bought him into a box, and set the box at the bottom of the closet. The lion, and his favorite book, were the only personal things that Leo left out. Luke came into his bedroom after the sun set, his expression slightly confused when he saw the box. He asked if he was bringing everything, just for the one day stay. Leo didn’t have the heart to tell him he wasn’t bringing any of it. He nodded, and fought back tears.

Luke crossed to his bed slowly, sat down next to him, and held his hand. He stayed with him all night, telling him stories or watching TV with him or reading with him. They got on the road well before the sun rose, so they would be at the site at opening. Luke thought the earlier the better, to get it over with. Twenty-four hours was the minimum, and they couldn’t schedule a time for pick up until after Leo was cleared by the doctor. If they pushed it toward the end of the day, they might risk a second night at the site, Luke’s lawyer had explained. His voice was full of pity, and Leo had excused himself from the room.

We’ll get there when they open, he heard Luke saying.

Now they’re in the car. Luke’s grip is tight on the steering wheel. In the end, he convinced Leo to bring one book. He brought one of his least favorites, because he didn’t think he would see it again. He didn’t tell Luke that part.

“Twenty-four hours,” Luke says, interrupting Leo’s racing thoughts. He glances toward the book. He knows now, why Leo had packed the box. It was the closest thing to anger that Leo had seen out of him, when realization hit him. Leo wasn’t packing to bring everything with him for the day. He was packing to save Luke the heartache of it later. “I’ll have you out of there, and we’ll get you home, and you’ll be fine.”

Leo doesn’t think he’s expecting a response. Luke puts on his most reassuring smile, and rests his hand on the center console. Leo swallows back everything that’s threatening to bubble over. Tears, bile, gut-wrenching anxiety. He puts his hand in Luke’s and allows him to squeeze it. This won’t be the last time. Luke cares for him, for better or worse. He wants him to be safe, and he wants him in his home. He’s going to do everything he can to make sure this goes smoothly. He won’t leave him there. He won’t leave him there. 

“I promise you, Leo,” Luke says suddenly, his eyes forward. “I promise you, you’re coming home tomorrow. I don’t…” He shakes his head. “If they try to intervene, I promise you, I will get you out.”

Don’t say that, is what Leo wants to say. He doesn’t. He nods, swallowing again. It’s out of Luke’s control, as soon as he’s past the doors that lead beyond the main office. “Okay,” Leo whispers. His voice cracks at the end.

The sun has risen, and he knows they’re close. He can feel the tension rolling off of Luke. “If they try… If they touch you, or if they hurt you, or if…” Luke’s voice is shaking as he pulls into the parking lot. He puts the car in park, far away from the building. When he looks at Leo, his eyes are red. “I need you to just survive it, okay. Report it to the social worker, or to the doctor, but just keep yourself,” his voice breaks over his words. “Keep yourself as safe as you can. Please, please just report it if they cross any lines. I’m going to… I’ll raise hell, the entire time you’re in there. I’ll be a mother fucking menace, they’ll want you out as soon as they can get you out. Just… try not to give them trouble, on small things, okay?” His hands are shaking. “Try to do what they tell you to do, and just…”

Tears roll down Luke’s cheeks and Leo closes his eyes. He can’t be crying when he walks in there. Everything will be so much worse if he’s crying. He doesn’t tell this to Luke.

“I’m sorry,” Luke says, wincing. He swallows a sip of his now-cold coffee, taking Leo’s hand in both of his. “If they touch you, report it. No matter how small it feels. If you report it, I’ll know about it, and if I know about it, I can…”

He can’t do anything. He can do absolutely nothing.

“They won’t,” Leo lies, the words falling easily off of his tongue. “They won’t touch me. Not while I have a pending contract.” He forces a smile that neither of them believes, and nods. “I’ll be okay,” he whispers. “They won’t touch me.”

✥ ✥ ✥

The handler wraps his fingers possessively around the back of Leo’s neck and Luke tenses, biting down to keep his expression as neutral as it can be. His eyes follow Leo past the double doors of the reception area, and then he’s gone.

Luke can feel himself on the brink of a panic attack; he counts his breaths in his head.

“Senator Bennett,” a woman greets him, smiling as she walks through the same set of doors that Leo disappeared behind. “I’m Julia Reed, I’ll be completing the majority of Leo’s intake.”

He follows her to her office.

“I had a chance to speak with your lawyer. Several times, actually. I understand you’re anxious to return home, and that you’re particularly anxious about an unplanned interruption in your service?”

Luke pauses momentarily as he lowers himself into the chair, before fixing his expression and finishing the movement. “Yes,” he says. “I’m concerned that there might be someone who is interested in attempting to intercept the contract, and I want to ensure that doesn’t happen.”

Julia Reed nods, her expression pure, undiluted understanding. Practiced? Maybe. But Luke wants to trust her intentions, and it’s more than he can say for anyone else in this place. His mind wanders to Leo, and he forces it to go blank. He can’t cry here. He can’t pinpoint it, but he worries that showing any real emotion will act against him. So he keeps his mind off of what is happening beyond these walls.

“It won’t be an issue,” she says. “As a current state senator, you must understand that your bid supersedes any other?”

“I do,” he responds. “But crazier things have happened, and–”

“I will personally see to it that you are updated if there are any unexpected complications. You’re welcome to call to check in on his progress, after he sees the doctor you’ll be given a call to set up his pick-up for tomorrow, as long as he’s cleared for release. Is there anything else I can help you with in the meantime?”

See the full post

117 notes - Posted January 23, 2022

#3

Hey, this is my super humble request for you to put Leo and Luke in a very bad no good misunderstanding situation. Luke does something to trigger Leo and makes him think he's just like the others. Leo thinks he needs to do whatever it is to make him happy and knows it was only a matter of time before his true colors came out. You know the vibe.

Talk to Me

TW: the age old whumpee-afraid-of-caretaker (again) trope, references to institutionalized slavery, references to noncon, mentions of nudity

Notes: early leo/luke that gave me absolute hell. takes place two months into first contract.

special thanks to @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump for pre-reading! 

✥ ✥ ✥

Luke nearly collapses into his office chair, grateful for the brief reprieve from heated meetings and tense discussions. The third committee meeting on workers’ rights has just adjourned, and while their goals are somewhat aligned, the deeper they dive into the bones of the system, the more draining the meetings have become. Luke has been met, each time, with agreement from his party, and they have collectively moved to begin listing and prioritizing and debating and debating and debating and it’s wearing everyone thin. The days in the office have grown longer, and in the back of his mind, one particular worker keeps him pressing forward.

He knows it. His constituents know it. Everyone in that room knows it, it seems.

After formally adjourning, Luke stayed back, discussing his recent interactions with the system with Senator Chris Healey, who by and large opposed the system (but notably wasn’t taking a particularly strong stance on it). His interest in the proceedings wasn’t exactly surprising, nor was it cause for alarm. Establishing themselves as a united entity would only strengthen the proposal, so Luke remained in his chair as the others filed out, cleared his throat, and reviewed everything that he had encountered so far. What was in the file he had received. What he saw at the clinic. What he suspected were widespread and egregious violations of human rights.

Now, finally in the privacy of his office, he browses his phone with one hand and strums his desk absently with the other. He hesitates over Leo’s name in his call log, hovering over it. He wonders idly what Leo is doing, how he slept, what he ate. If he ate. It’s been challenging, but he’s grateful for what little balance that they’ve found. He’s grateful that Leo eats at all, and every day when he gets home, he’s grateful that Leo seems a little more at ease. Luke closes his eyes, leaning back in his chair.

It isn’t until he’s sure that he’s back to baseline, that there’s no traceable tension in his tone, that he connects the call.

✥ ✥ ✥

“If you’re feeling up to it, a colleague from work is hoping to stop by this evening for drinks,” Luke says. Leo can feel the hesitation in his words and is careful to keep his response light.

“Of course,” he replies. He sits gingerly at the dining room table, not allowing himself to think of the things that are pushing into his thoughts. There’s a silence on the other end, one that Leo is eager to fill. He swallows back the budding anxiety. Of course Luke should have friends over. This is natural, this is part of working a contract.

“We’ve been having some heated discussions over the past few weeks and he–” Luke fumbles over his words, and Leo’s fingers absently pick at the edges of the tablecloth, waiting. “­We thought it would be good to meet outside of the office. Cut back some of the tension, you know?”

“I understand,” Leo says. “Should I make dinner? Or should I–” This part makes Luke uncomfortable, and Leo chooses his words with care. “Should I do anything in particular? Is there anything you want me to wear or… or should I clean?” Parker always chose Leo’s clothing when guests were coming. He’d expect him to be put together, calm, ready. He could be those things for Luke, too.

“No,” Luke says, after too long a pause. “You can wear whatever is comfortable. You don’t have to participate in any way that doesn’t feel right, okay? Senator Healey, um… he’d like to meet you. Only if you’re feeling up to it.”

“Me?” His voice seems small, even to him. “What… I– What should I do? I’m sorry,” he quickly adds in earnest. “I– I just want to make sure I understand the expectation. I won’t–” embarrass you, he mouths. He doesn’t say it out loud. He doesn’t say any of it out loud.

“Whatever you’re okay with.” Luke says. And then, “If you want me to call it off–”

“No,” Leo interrupts. “No, I’m… I’m good. I’m looking forward to meeting your… colleague. I just want to make sure that I don’t…” mess it up. “I just want to make sure I’m ready.”

✥ ✥ ✥

Leo decides on a black sweater and black pants and does not allow himself to think of who he’s dressing for. He showered, he cleaned himself up the best that he can. He doesn’t eat, or do anything that might make tonight harder. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he recognizes that Luke’s intentions are probably just drinks, but he won’t be caught off guard, if it turns out to be more than that. He tangles his fingers together nervously, and tries to read, but the words blur, and his imagination gets the best of him.

By the time the front door opens, he has had hours to remember his training, to remember what it’s like to play a part. Parker used to have friends over all the time, he thinks. He had always been pleased with Leo’s behavior at those events. He could do this. No problem.

“Hey,” Luke says, his expression tight. He scans Leo’s outfit, his expression unreadable, and Leo resists the I’m sorry on the tip of his tongue.

“Hi,” he says instead.

“You look different.” Luke’s voice is laced with clear concern and Leo smiles, moves to the sofa, and folds himself up. Luke likes when he relaxes, and even though he’s tense from the last few hours, it feels better, knowing Luke’s here.

“I­–” Leo shrugs, shaking his head. “I wasn’t sure what to wear, I’m not… is it okay?”

Luke nods, but his face isn’t quite right. He’s anxious, and it puts Leo on edge. He’s mis-stepped, but he isn’t sure how. “I can change if you’d prefer?”

“No,” Luke says, and Leo swallows. “No, you’re fine. I’m just… second guessing if this is a good idea. It’s been a long week. We’ll make it quick, okay?”

Leo swallows, looking down at himself as the doorbell rings. Luke takes a sharp breath before arranging his features into confident, calm Luke, and opening the door. He’ll be alright. Either way, Luke said they will be quick. Small mercies, Leo thinks. He’s grateful for them.

See the full post

128 notes - Posted March 23, 2022

#2

WIP MEME TAG THING

Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

tagged by @seasaltandcopper

WIPS (in no order and with no context):

Parker Kidnaps Leo AU

weird document

I Said Put It Down

Post Nightmare 2

Leo Hides in Closet

Leo/Luke 

Vamp Leo

b

Fifth Cry

Leo 1

Merman Spam Document

New 6

Otto and Gabriel

Leo decides to punish himself

food restrict

Jack and Grant

First One

i kept the capitalization how the document is titled because it adds pizazz.

tagging [feel absolutely free to ignore this]: @redwingedwhump @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @quietly-by-myself @whump-cravings @maracujatangerine @peachy-panic @ashintheairlikesnow @pumpkin-spice-whump 

178 notes - Posted March 9, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

just the cutest little baby i ever did see

449 notes - Posted December 5, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #lmao not the fucking bo picture that i posted two days ago being my top post #if i hadn't deleted the pic of kevin from a few months ago it would've been number two this is officially a cat account #long post

[silvercrystalwhump]

Dead on Your Feet

@whumptober Day 4 & 5

No. 4 DEAD ON YOUR FEET: Hidden Injury | Waking Up Disoriented | Can’t Pass Out

No. 5 EVERY WHUMPEE’S: NEEDSBlood Loss | Running Out of Air | Hyperthermia

Vince and Owen belong to @ashintheairlikesnow

TW: noncon touch, kidnapping, implied torture, fade-to-black noncon, tided, Owen Grant

-

Waking up with everything spinning is not the worst thing Vince’ ever woke up to, but it's certainly close. Vince’s eyes can barely focus around anything for longer than a second. The fan above him spins lazily. His eyes flick from each fan  blade slowly. The low hum puts a layer of pink highlighter over a pounding headache. His blood, viscous from the drugs Vince knowshe’s been given, sloshes through his brain. Sending rolls of painful pins and needles down to his toes. Which, now that Vince was thinking about it, is probabycurticy of the shackles on his ankles rather than the headache.

The opened boxes lay scattered across the floor, dotting the one corner in cardboard at the farest corner of his vision. He leans over slightly, praying Owen doesn’t notice he’s awake. Vince’ fairly confident the tripod situation across the room on the desk is a live feed or at least can tell when he moves. There have been at least six times that Vince could remember trying to stretch in his bonds and Owen practically flying down the stairs not even four minutes later. 

The boxes have large print on their sides. His pupils struggle to concentrate around any of the lettering on any of them. Every letter swirls as if water was splashed on them and is dragging the ink down the sides. It bubbles up like steam. The image only worsens his headache.

Vince tilts his head slightly. The weight of his head feels like having to move lead with a toothpick. He can tell he’s dehydrated and Vince certainty can remember the last time he drank something made of drinkable liquid. Nausea overwhelms him the second his cheek rests on the pillow. It’s damp with sweat. Tears that Vince doesn’t remember crying fall down next to him. 

Finally, after aggressively squinting in the direction of the boxes, he can see just long enough to make out the letters. The ink solidifies and letters stare back at him. Remembering how to read a second later, It takes another moment for it to register in the molasses of his mind. 

WRU

If it weren’t for the sludge that was his blood right now, he might have flinched at the sight. His mouth, already the Sahara, dries even more. Swallowing around a mouth of cotton, Vince slowly pulls his head back up and lets the oxygen sink into his lungs. Everything, everything feels laced with lead and copper.

He closes his eyes and tries to let the remnant of whatever drugged concoction that Owen gave him earlier take him back to darkness. Sleep, or unconsciousness, is something that tVince would give a lot to have.

Fingertips run along his shoulder. Fighting the urge to pull away, Vince holds every fiber of his body still. He’s already here.

A low chuckle rumbles from Owen’s throat. A kiss presses into a soft spot under his ear. Nibbling right into the soft spot on his throat, Owen laughs quietly, “I know you’re awake Vince.”

Vince can feel Owen sit on the bed next to him, the mattress bending under his weight. A hand rubs along Vince’s shoulder and the other tenderly holds his head. He swings his leg over Vince’s hips and rests across him, trailing kisses and murmuring sweet-nothings into his bruised flesh.

Owen presses a kiss onto Vince’s nose, holding it there longer than any of the other kisses. “Open your eyes, I have something to show you.”

Vince reluctantly opens his eyes, the alternative terrifying him almost as much as seeing what Owen plans to do with him, and meets those intense green eyes. They twitch slightly, locking onto Vince’s with an accursed passion. He kisses Vince again.

Owen’s fingertips run under Vince’s jaw and a smile blooms across the man’s face. 

“Seriously,” Owen chuckles, as if talking to a friend, and says, “This current project that the studio is working on is absolutely atrocious. The lead actress is the least workable person there.”

Vince blinks as Owen slides off him, hopping off the bed and stepping over to the pile of boxes and rummages through the boxes. “Seriously, Anastasia Teramod is a bitch to deal with, so demanding. You know, she talks about you alot.”

Blinking through a layer of fog, he pierces his lips. Vince slowly recoils from the overwhelming contact that Owen shoved into him.

“She’s one of… five people, I know that not as amicable to our story,” Owen says as he tosses another box onto the floor, “Doesn’t talk to me much. Makes working with her hell.”

Good.

Vince presses his head into the pillows and feels relief eat into his fingertips. Not everyone believes Owen Grant’s story on how horrible Vincent Shield is. How he got him on drugs and ruined the transition into an acting career. Well, how he was a horrible person before he fell off the face of the earth. 

“The media finally stopped talking about your disappearance,” Owen states like it was common knowledge, a fun fact. “That asshole you cooped up with is still talked about sometimes.” Owen tosses a second box on the floor, “The fact that you couldn’t see that he was using you for money is almost hilarious. I love you, Vince. He doesn’t.”

Vince wishes the drugs would just kick in and gain a second wind and punch him back into unconsciousness. Just to get him away from Owen’s twisted mockeries.

“Here it is!” Owen exclaims, as he grabs a small box and places it on the nightstand, “I wanna try something tonight.”

Turning his head away, Vince braces himself. He wishes that his tongue would become elastic enough to say something. He doesn’t know what he’d say, but he wishes for the chance.

Owen sits back down next to him and smiles as he slowly opens the box, “You ever roleplayed before Vince? I did it with Kauri a few times, he was halfway decent at playing you, but it just wasn’t the real thing.”

Half a dozen thoughts cross his mind at once, pushing through the sludge. That’s not how you say Kauri’s name, it sticks out almost defiantly. 

Owen pulls the content of the box out and holds it above Vince’s face, wiggling it playfully.

The collar burns holes into his retinas. The thing is bedazzled mockingly, gemstones dot the sides and a black box is sown into the spot just left of a golden d-ring. It is made of gold, tiny chains hanging from it like tassels. Vince’s eyes widen in horror. Did Kauri have to wear something like that for years?

“It’s kind like Kauri’s,” Owen reminises almost dreamily as he runs his thumb across one of the gemstones, “Except the shocks came from implants in his back. Surgeosn did a fucking stellar job on him too, barley could see any scar lines unles you got real up close and looked for them. Honestly I wish this would have been more subtle but then the voltage wouldn’t get as high.”

Vince’s throat constricts and he feels his head, barely conscious, shake no. The way he speaks of inflicting pain so lovingly scares Vince much more than anything Owen’s actually done. 

“Oh come on Vince,” Owen says, the happy-go-lucky tone beginning to recede yet the playfulness remains, “Let’s just try it!”

His head spins and he lets his mouth close around his swollen tongue. Dark spots begin to dot his vision, unconsciousness whispering sweet promises to him. He pleads with whatever is left in his system to take him from this hell. Trying desperately to pull words to his lips, Vince very quickly wishes he could beg to be drugged through his, to skip over the agony and just feel the aftermath. His lips, dried and cracked, press together but his vocal cords don’t budge.

“Vince?”

His body begins to tremble, both shakes and chill roll up his spine. Owen takes that as another no.

Owen, grabbing him by the throat, pins him down. His fingers press into Vince��s windpipe and pain spikes through the fog and stabs directly into his skull. Vince gasps, it whistles from his throat as Owen squeezes tighter. Owen shoves him up further onto the bed, which pulls as the scabs and bruises on his ankles. Warmth from Vince’s blood fills under where the metal holds him. Fury drips from his face as he picks up Vince and slams him back down into the bed. Vince can feel the blood swishing around in his skull, pain rippling through older bruises. All of the focus he had is gone. Owen keeps going. 

While Vince can’t make out all of the words, Owen screams, spit landing across his face. Vince barely catches, “Never say no to me Vince, I fucking love you.”

A large dark spot fills the center of his vision as the pounding in his ears becomes louder than Owen’s yelling. Vince tries to pull it across the rest of his vision, giving into the darkness. 

Is this it?

His pulse drowns out everything else, fluttering like a scared rabbit. His lungs burn and scream for air, even the slightest trickle. Vince lets his eyes close and, frighteningly, hopes this will just end.

Then, his hand pulls off his throat. Owen caresses his cheek and starts to kiss along Vince’s forehead. All of the fury and rage is gone as if it never happened. Teeth run across bruised skin and Owen leaves other bruise-like marks in their wake. Owen’s hands pull away and for a second Vince braces for the next thing. 

Even as the world spins and the ringing in his ears deafens him, Vince cna hear the click of the collar as it wraps around his neck. Owen grabs Vince by the chin and holds him still as he presses a kiss into Vince’s cracked lips. Owen rests his hand over the little electrical box, pressing the metal prongs into Vince’s neck. 

“You’re mine Vince,” Owen tenderly and, in his own distorted way, lovely coos to him, “Never forget that.”

Vince wishes he could just go back into the void even more as Owen’s hand starts to trail down his chest.

#whumptober #whumptober day 4 #whumptober day 5 #whumptober 2022 #whump #whump community #vincent shield #noncon touch #kidnapping #implied torture #fade-to-black noncon #tided #Owen Grant

[vertigo-kj]

Vertigo's Backstory - pt. 1

Tw: implications of noncon, murder, general talk of pornodroids

She was just a number.

TALOS model #266811 - Orange, aggressive. Being an orange model made her somewhat of a challenge, she would fight back, she had her own emotions and stuck to them. For a pornodroid, that was a very hit or miss trait. Most of the men that purchased orange models were aggressive as well, making these droids a quickly rotating commodity.

But she was still just a number.

#266811 had been purchased for 250 carbons months prior and kept in her box. Once taken out her TALOS module, her ability to remember, had remained switched off for only Destroya knows how long. Her first conscious memory was peering into dark brown eyes, a wicked smile, words she never wanted to repeat and hoped nobody else ever heard. And then pure violence. #266811 didn't like to think about it, really. The man who owned her, she wasn't ever really sure what his name was, was a horrible man. She shivered about it even thinking about it. The good times did not outweigh the bad - He had paraded her around like a commodity, taking her to dinners she couldn't physically eat, taking her to meetings she shouldn't have ever been at, showing her off like a pet. Even the sweetest of times was tinged with disgust, wicked smiles, tight reminders of her worth. 250 carbons and fading.

The only comment that could ever be interpreted as anything except wicked was something he muttered, breathy and exhausted after using her once again. Their "session" as he called it left her with an open gash in her arm, wires and oil vascular system visible underneath. She was sat up, thinking how glad she was to not feel pain, how glad she was that circuit had been damaged months before, when he chuckled. "I swear you give me vertigo," he half laughed, reaching a lazy hand out to stroke the small of her back. "Make my head spin and take my breath away." And directly after, before she could respond, he switched her off and the world went black.

She woke up some time later, being thrown into the closet. Something in the corner bumped her on switch and the soft orange backlight behind her eyes glowed once again as the door clicked shut. Her arm had been repaired, meaning it had been at least hours, maybe days, since her last memory. She shivered -she hated memory gaps. Footsteps moved away from the closet and she listened as the man who owned her went about getting ready for his day. She could hear him washing up in the bathroom - far enough across the apartment that she felt safe to look around. She had been stored standing up in the hall closet, unusual. She was usually stored in the bedroom. In a stand next to her feet was two standard issue black umbrellas, an extension cord was coiled around the base of it. She gulped. Part of an orange model's hardwiring was aggression, but it was never supposed to veer into homicidal behavior. That didn't stop her from imagining strangling the man with the electrical cord, stabbing him with the umbrella tip, throwing him off his own balcony, or any other range of ways to kill him. She stroked the handle of the umbrella gently with one finger, small smile creeping onto her face as she daydreamed.

"Hello?"

She froze. Footsteps neared the closet, she gripped the handle of the umbrella reflexively and gulped. She closed her eyes and brought her arm up to shield her face as the door opened, and heard a scream and a crash. She opened her eyes as he stumbled back, bright red line across his face from where the tip of the umbrella had slashed across as she lifted her hand, still clutching the umbrella. "Oh shit," she remembered thinking. "The umbrella."

She must have blacked out. That's the only explanation to her current situation. The stark black and white living room was stained red, electrical cord wrapped around his throat, umbrella stabbed through his chest. Her ears were ringing as she blinked slowly, taking it in damn near calmly before a spike of fear shot through her heart. She was sure to be scrapped. She was done for. She... had she killed him? She knelt down next to him to check and then decided against it. Instead, she grabbed the badge off of his shirt. She stood, walking to the entryway and pulling his coat and hat over her frame before taking one last look back and leaving the apartment. The only way to live was to get out.

#kjrp #Danger days #Vertigo backstory

[dxllfaces]

DXLLFACES ; noun -- home away from home, filled with femmes and a few toxic hommes, adorned by light (21+, gmt, she/they). independent, multi muse roleplay account, heavily ran on a queue using BETA EDITOR only. low activity, w discord avalible. all links with the exception of a few are on google docs, a new page set up will added in the next few weeks. thus blog is heavily dark with taboo themes present.

heavy triggers for this blog :: noncon, dubcon, religious themes, misogynistic &&. toxic men (it's a coping thing), stepcest, and nsfw content. you have been warned. heavy triggers will be tagged, including tw elijah<3, for mutuals/followers, please message me if you would like anything tagging ! i personally don't as i tend to forget, my own triggers include freaky clowns && heights. i will write non smut threads & fade to black for those who wish to write together, but are not comfortable.

this blog is 18+ to view, 21+ to write with. please do not use my blog as a source blog, i do not mind the occasional like/reblog for muse inpso, but i work 40 hour weeks with very little time off and like to keep an eye on my activity feed. i do not tag my smut, somewhat selective blog. i very rarely write with canon/fandom characters, please see my rules.

mun is — online | offline | working on drafts | working on starters | on disc | lurking | doing disc replies

draft count : lets not talk about it disc count : 4.

guidelines -- banned -- muses -- wanted opps -- wishlist -- the k*nk list -- about the mun -- open starters — work hours

#indie kink rp #indie rp #indie smut rp #indie bi rp #luv this photo of them

[fe4r5]

guidelines .

[  001  ]  : this blog will contain, but is not limited to, themes such as violence, murder, death, mental illness (respectfully). i will tag all triggers with the universal ‘trigger tw’. i will not write smut under any circumstances and will always prefer to fade to black.

[  002  ]  :  do not interact with me, my blog, my posts, or my muse if you’re racist, homophobic, transphobic (including terfs, exclusionists, transmeds), anti-semetic, xenophobic/islamaphobic, ableist, misogynist, pro-police. on the subject, please do not interact if your muse is a cop. i’m incredibly uncomfortable writing with law enforcement in general, and I’m not sure there will be a need for exceptions. do not interact if under the age of twenty or if we’re not mutuals. no exceptions.

please let me know if i'm writing with someone who is not a good person or who violates any of those above.

my main priority is keeping my writing partners comfortable and safe.

[  003  ]  :  i’m going to be very selective in terms of who i follow and choose to write with. i plan to keep my following list relatively according to who i’m writing with, as well. it’s no hard feelings, but if i don’t see our muses interacting or if i don’t see us writing together, i will not follow/follow back.

[  004  ]  :  i will not write against any face or character that is racist, homophobic, transphobic, etc. basically, if they fall on my do not interact section, then i will not interact with them. i will also not write with faceclaims of anyone deceased. i will never write anything related to sexual assault, dubcon, noncon, incest, etc. do not follow if you write any of those things.

[  005  ]  :  i’m currently using the beta editor and would prefer if all my writing partners used it, as well, just to keep things easier and running seamlessly. please cut your posts, don’t use super small text, and try to refrain from using gifs, unless we’ve discussed it prior. as of 4/16/23, this blog is iconless.

[  006  ]  :  i don't currently have any significant triggers, but please let me know if there's anything i can tag for you.

[  007  ]  :  dash icon, pinned post, and promo graphic were made by lyonkept.

[  008  ]  :  hi, i’m ghoul! i’m twenty5, use he/they pronouns, and reside in the eastern time zone. i enjoy watching and rewatching series and films, playing video games, watching cute videos of bats, drinking lavender vanilla lattes, and spending time with my family which includes my partner and our three fur babies.

[whump-cafe]

Birthday Dance

Inspired by @painsandconfusion 's request for whumpee-forced-to-dance-with-whumper scenes~ (not sure if this even counts as a ballroom scene but oh well) CW: creepy/intimate whumper, noncon touching, implied fade-to-black noncon at the end (kinda? not sure but putting it just to be safe), noncon neck kissing, forced proximity , drugging, lady whump (female whumpee, male whumper), humiliation, degrading language (at the end, not sure if it counts but again, just to be safe), condescending/degrading nickname “Are you alright princess? You seem rather…tense.” The question seemed almost genuine, as though Nathan was actually concerned about her well being. Someone overhearing that would have most likely missed the condescendingly mocking undertone in his voice, paired with the irony of their situation.

Of course she was tense with his body way too close to hers, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist and his hand gripping hers as if he was expecting her to run off at the first opportunity.

Not like she would get very far even if she tried…

They were surrounded by other people slowly swaying to the music, the same that caused Olivia to feel nauseous by now, and there were even more people standing on the side of the dance floor, watching and observing every minute of this ongoing humiliation.

She didn’t answer the question, giving only a faint shrug while continuing to fight off the urge to physically recoil from him. Even though her mind was screaming at her to do just that, to break free from the painfully intimate dance and run away, run until she couldn’t feel the stares anymore, run until she was surrounded by blissful silence again, run until she couldn’t feel Nathans intrusive touch, that made her want to crawl out of her own skin, anymore.

But unfortunately, that wasn’t an option. The sudden feeling of hot breath against her neck made that painfully obvious.

“Oh come on Princess, you can do better than that, hm?” She could basically hear the smug grin on his face, making it hard to suppress a disgusted shudder.

“I’m just fine, thanks…”, her voice was pressed, having to force the words out, just hoping it would be enough to satisfy him.

When he moved back again, enough so his breath wasn’t burning against her neck anymore, she almost allowed herself to have that hope.

But when he looked at her, when she saw that all too familiar darkly amused glint in his eyes, she knew that said hope was pointless. Just as it always was…

His lips curled into a small smirk, something almost alluring about it but in a way that made an icy shiver run down her spine. “Are you now? Well you certainly don’t look like it Princess…And we don’t want that here, hm? Especially not on your birthday of all days.” The words left a bitter taste in her mouth, a sudden dizziness taking over her for a brief moment. She knew it was her birthday, not like Nathan had let her forget it with all the extra ‘attention’ he’d been giving her, but still…everytime she was reminded of the fact it made her want to scream.

Not only did it remind her of just how long she had been forced into this…life but it also brought up memories of all the times she had lost. Happier times, when things like her own Birthday didn’t make her sick to her stomach.

As the dance went on, Nathan pulled her tighter, involuntarily pressing her body against his, causing her to reflexively hold onto his shoulder to keep her balance. His smirk only grew wider and at least in her eyes, more sadistic, as he watched her, brushing his thumb against her exposed back.

It took all of her strength to not flinch away.

After a moment she realized he wanted another answer from her.

Narrowing her eyes as she glared up at him, trying to ignore her quickened heartbeat and the tightness in her throat, she forced herself to speak again. “Well maybe I’m not feeling too fucking great about spending…this day with a creepy piece of-”, she was suddenly interrupted by him tightly grabbing her jaw, forcing her head up lightly. “I think that’s quite enough, hm? I’d really hate to have to hurt you on your special day Dear. Although…Well, that little tough act of yours should wear off soon enough anyways.”

His tone seemed casual but there was something about it that made her stomach drop. It didn’t sound like his usual threats before a punishment; it seemed more like a dark promise. An eerie certainty to it.

Suddenly, as if on command, she felt her legs weaken, not enough to cause her to fall but stumble, forcing her to move both of her hands to Nathan's shoulders to hold on in order to prevent an actual fall. Meanwhile he used the opportunity to move his hand from her chin down to her waist, lower than before it felt like, tightening his grip as if to steady her.

In reality it just felt like another sick excuse to keep his hands on her skin when she wanted nothing more than to rip them off of her.

She looked up at him again, the anger still clear in her eyes though it was getting more difficult to focus. All of a sudden, the music seemed far too loud, causing a ringing in her ears and the crowd of people around her seemed…suffocating.

It became awfully apparent that people were looking at her, she could practically feel their gazes burning into her as they were judging her. Seeing her as nothing more than just a piece of meat, something to be shown off at a party and handled in whichever way they pleased.

The humiliation felt like a hot burn throughout her entire body and the knot in her throat seemed to only get tighter.

As she somehow managed to focus on the man in front of her again, for just a brief moment she felt almost relieved to be able to focus on just one single thing, calming the racing of her mind.

But then she saw his sick amused expression. He was enjoying this, seeing the sudden panic and overwhelming humiliation clearly displayed on her face. Of course he was…he- he must have seen it coming but how-

When the realization hit her, Olivia was sure for a moment she was going to throw up. Her whole body went cold and another abrupt wave of dizziness washed over her.

Earlier, maybe half an hour ago? Maybe even less, she had stupidly accepted a glass he had handed her, she couldn’t even remember what was in it. But she did remember drinking it, not thinking for just one careless moment, too wrapped up in her own misery and paranoia of even being there at all. Only now she realised how stupid she had truly been.

The feeling of the drug slowly but surely taking its effect wasn’t new to her, it wasn’t the first time something similar had been used on her but somehow it felt different this time.

While she felt faint and her thoughts slowly getting harder to hold onto, she was still…aware. Aware of her surroundings, the almost gentle but firm touch on her lower back as Nathan led her off the dance floor, the increasing nausea caused by both the feeling of his hand on her skin and the only increasing dizziness.

She felt the colour drain from her face as soon as yet another terrible realization came to her. Whatever Nathan had given her wasn’t to knock her out into unconsciousness…it was only to make her too weak to fight back anymore.

No…No,no, no! I- No, I can’t..God I’m so stupid!

The thoughts were racing through her mind, overtaking anything else besides the feeling of slowly but surely slipping away, feeling her muscles give in, forcing her to lean into the burning unwanted touch. As they walked past the other people, Olivia could feel them staring at her weak and disoriented form, almost desperately grabbing and holding onto Nathan's arm. It was pathetic and they all knew it..visible in their expressions of amusement, some of it mocking some pitiful. She wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and forget all about them, better yet, slip into the safety of unconsciousness. At least then she wouldn’t have to experience what was about to come…

The only thing worse than the looks of the people around her, was the way Nathan was watching her. Like a predator, watching his helpless prey, just waiting for the right time to strike and tear it apart.

A sadistically amused hunger in his eyes, making her want to desperately shield herself even though she knew it was pointless.

No matter what she did, how hard she tried to protect herself, to keep him away…he always got to her in the end.

The sudden feeling of her back being pressed against something cold and heart made her gasp, her eyes widening with a mix of panic and surprise. As she looked up, she saw Nathan towering over her, his hand placed on the wall right next to her head, trapping her between him and the unmoving surface behind her.

Making it utterly clear how exposed and completely at his mercy she truly was.

Hot tears appeared in the corners of her eyes but she barely even registered them as she stared at the man in front of her, unable to move or even get out a single word.

“Mhm…You know I really love it when you’re like this. So helpless and vulnerable..nothing left of your usual ‘defiance’. Finally showing your true form.” His voice had a lower, almost alluring tone now and she quickly turned her head to the side, not wanting to look at him as she was forced to listen to his demeaning words.

From the corner of her eye she saw him lean closer to her, whispering in her ear as his hand found its way to her waist again, easily slipping under the open fabric at the back of the uncomfortably revealing dress he had chosen for her. “Almost makes me want to keep you like this all the time Princess…nothing but a sweet, compliant little pet. My own obedient little bitch, free for me to use whenever and however I want.”

At his words she could feel the hairs on her neck stand up, a few tears escaping and falling down her cheeks as a soft broken whimper escaped her throat.

He only chuckled in response, kissing her neck in an almost gentle way. It made her want to scream and push him away but instead she was just forced to stand there and let it happen.

Maybe he wasn’t wrong after all…maybe she was just a helpless, worthless mutt.

No…no, she knew that wasn’t true! At the back of her mind there was a voice telling her not to listen, to keep fighting! But…it was fading, getting weaker every second until there was merely an echo of it left.

As she felt Nathans hand on her thigh, slowly creeping upwards, drawing out the torturous act as long as possible, she could only hope that it was still there. Something to keep her from giving up, despite the deep hopelessness that seemed to overtake every one of her senses right now.

But if she was completely honest with herself, she had to realize that the voice had been nothing more than an echo to begin with. Taglist: @whumpkinpie, @whumpasaurus101, @mudpuddlenl (since this is a new blog and I haven't posted in a bit, i'm making a new taglist so if you'd like to be added or removed just lmk!)

#whump #whump writing #lady whump #forced to slow dance #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #tw drugging #tw noncon touching #tw noncon mention #tw noncon fade to black #tw humiliation #tw forced proximity #whump ocs #whump blog #my ocs #my writing #oc nathan #oc olivia #not my absolute fave i've ever written but I like it! #Nathan is just a very fun whumper to write with~ #i was tempted to just but him as a CW tbh alksjdh #be warned this contains ✨Nathan✨ #pet whump

[ashintheairlikesnow]

CW: Drugging, car wreck, abduction, creepy whumper, some noncon touching and implied fade to black noncon at the end, choking, beating

Death Valley National Park, 2003

Music blared in Finn Schneider's ears through his headphones as he frowned down at the map he'd unfolded, sitting in the ground so his car could shade him from the pounding heat of the sun.

Didn't do much - the ground, dry and dusty, was hot too. But it helped a little. He could feel his hat sticking to his forehead with sweat, but everything else was wicked up by the dry desert air faster than he could really begin to process it.

No sleep, no sleep til I'm done with finding the answer, the lead singer for the Rasmus croons in his ear, a plaintive note of uncertainty in his voice. Won't stop, won't stop before I find a cure for this cancer...

He'd found a few rocks, using them to lay the map out as flat as he could get it. On it, he'd drawn his route when he was in the motel room yesterday, and double-checked his printed out MapQuest directions three times.

It should have been an easy drive, but he must have done something wrong. The road looked right, but it shouldn't be taking so long to get out of the park... should it?

Maybe he just didn't think about how big the park is. Everything about America is that way - it takes twice as long to get anywhere as it seems like it should, and Finn spent more than a day just trying to drive through one single state when he went through Texas.

At least he had canisters of extra Benzin in the trunk, so he won't run out. The idea of running out of fuel in the middle of this place sent a shiver down his back. No, gasoline and bottles of water, he hasdmore of both than he thought he would need, which he hoped would just mean he had enough.

Maybe he should just get back in the car and drive.

Finn groaned, rubbing his hands up over his face, accidentally knocking his hat, a canvas bucket-shaped thing in a khaki green, to the ground. Wind ruffled his blond hair, almost platinum at the tops and a warmer honey at the roots. He picked up his mobile and flipped it open, but no, still no signal. Stubborn lack of bars, just like it had shown since he first got to the park at all.

"Scheiße," He muttered, flicking irritatedly at a rock as he snapped his mobile shut and stashed it in the lower pocket of his loose green pants. It was too hot to think, no wonder the visitor building had had stories about people going missing or dying in the heat.

They say that I must learn to kill before I can feel safe-

Finn yanked off his headphones and hit the pause button on his little round CD player, frowning as he looked down the road the way he had come.

Was that a dust cloud? Someone coming?

He reached down and shoved his hat back on his head, a smile breaking out across his tanned face. He raised his arms above his head and waved them back and forth.

The dust cloud became a truck, small and with blue and white stripes along the sides. The driver put his hazards on and Finn exhales in relief, watching him slow and then finally come to a stop alongside Finn's own parked car.

"Well, hello there," The man said, tipping his own baseball-style cap down. He looked vaguely familiar - Finn had seen him in the visitor's center, he thought, along with a couple of families and two young women Finn's own age, college students.

"Hallo!" Finn smiled, staying a safe distance back, hands open to show he wasn't trying to trick anyone. He'd scared a woman when he surprised her back in Missouri, early in his drive. He was more careful now. "I need to ask for some help, please?"

"Help?" The man looked over at Finn's car, as if analyzing it for signs of damage or defect. Then he looked back. "You break down, son?"

"Ah, no, no. Not breaking down. I have been driving so long, it feels like I should be out of the park, but somehow I still am here. Do you know how much longer to drive before I am leaving it?"

"Oh, you've got a ways still. Do you want to-" The man stopped, looking Finn over now, with the same thoughtful analyzing gaze. Something about it made Finn feel uneasy, and one hand slipped into his pocket, feeling for his phone, before he remembered - no signal.

"What if I draw you a map?" The man offered, and the odd look was gone. Maybe it was just a trick of the sun, or Finn was thinking too much.

"Well, I have the map, but..."

"But?" The man's eyebrows raised. He gestured with one hand out the window, as if to say go on.

Finn felt himself blush, hoping the shade from his hat hid the sudden heat in his face. This man was going to think he was an amateur, when he backpacked all over Europe last spring and was nearly two weeks into his American vacation now. "The places are so far apart," He said finally, reluctantly. "I am having trouble with telling how far I need to go."

"Oh, yeah. Makes sense." The man put his truck into park and opened the door, hopping down. He was lean and wiry, in a pale blue Tshirt and jeans, older and with hair starting to gray where it stuck out from under his cap. "Let me see your map, maybe I can put on there how long you need to go, so you don't have to just try and count the miles."

Finn smiled, exhaling in relieved gratitude. "That would be perfect, thank you. My map is down here."

"Well, we'll take a look. Do you have any water,? Gotta never stop with the water when you're out here, that dry heat sneaks up on you."

"Of course, yes." He had more than enough, he didn't mind opening the trunk. He pulled out a bottle and gave it to the man, who opened it and drank almost too quickly, water escaping the corners of his mouth to soak into the neck of his Tshirt.

"Great, thank you. By the way, name's Robert Weber." The man shook Finn's hand, his palm dry and scratchy, his grip a little too tight, holding on a little too long.

"Ah, Finn Schneider," Finn said, surreptitiously opening and closing his hand as he walked Weber around to the shadow side of the car. "Nice to meeting you, too. Meet you, I mean. Sorry."

"Don't worry about it, your English is great." Finn, who knew damn well his English was better than half the Americans he'd spoken to, tried not to bristle visibly. "You're German, right? You sound German."

"Yes." Finn's smile was almost shame-faced. Something about the man's interest, despite being friendly and harmless, had him on edge. Maybe the sense that he was being judged. "I am driving America, before university."

"Nice. That's a nice idea for a vacation. What brings you to Death Valley?"

"I saw a photo of a place here," He said, with a shrug. "It was beautiful. I wanted to see it in person."

"Yeah. Yeah, it definitely is. You were out at Fall Canyon earlier, right?"

Finn blinked. "What? How do you know?"

"Saw your car." Robert patted the side of it like a man patting a horse's flanks. "I have an eye for cars, I'm a mechanic by trade, have been since I was-... Well, your age."

"You were also at Fall Canyon?"

It clicked. He didn't remember the man from the visitor's center at all, but from his brief, aborted attempt to do the Fall Canyon hike, before the growing heat had sent him back to his car. Weber had been there, too, walking from the parking lot when Finn was leaving. He'd been behind a couple of women laughing. Finn had thought he was with them at the time.

He'd seen Finn leaving - and Finn had seen him.

"Sure was." Weber shrugged. "Didn't get far. Too hot for these old bones."

"You are not old."

"Older'n you, anyway. Come on, let's look over this map. Here, I'll get you some water, you're getting pretty red in the face. You just show me how far you're looking to get and I'll tell you how long it'll take."

Finn nodded, crouching by the map and picking up the sharpie marker he was using to draw out his route. "I want to get to here," He said as Weber returned, taking the bottle of water from him with a murmured thank you. He took a drink and tapped the unopened marker against a spot on the map.

"Mojave, huh?" Weber frowned, as if he didn't like that answer. "Figured a kid like you'd be camping here. Cheaper."

"Ah, no." Finn smiled, uneasily. "I only wanted to be here for today. I am more or the hike-and-go-shower type than camping."

"Hey, that's fair." The irritation was gone, but Finn had caught it, anyway. He needed to get to his car, and get some distance between he and this man. "So, you are right about here, more or less."

Weber pointed to a spot on the map. "You're on Scotty's Castle Road, but you knew that already. And you want to get to Mojave?"

"Yes, as soon as I can." Finn checked his watch, frowning as it briefly caught sunlight and sent a glare bouncing off the plastic into his eyes. When he turned back to Weber, there were white spots in his vision, slowly fading as he blinked. "Check in is very soon."

"All right, not a problem. You're about three and a half, four hours from there. Spot on the road closer to Ridgecrest is still rocky from the flash floods a couple weeks ago, you'll take it slow through... Hereabouts."

Weber took the marker and marked a spot along the route with a little star. Finn nodded, taking another drink. Weber's odd intensity seemed to fade, and he suggested a few other stops to Find for the California part of his American adventure. Finn privately resolved to visit none of them. And to call his mother from the hotel, once he got there. She hadn't wanted him to go to Death Valley to begin with - she still remembered the family that had never come home from their own American vacation, back in the 90's.

"I think that'll about do you," Weber finally said, getting to his feet and slapping his own thighs, as if in punctuation. "Safe driving, son. You ever end up going by Rancher's Rest, you let me know and I'll buy you lunch, hm?"

"Thank you, I will," said Finn.

Once he got back into his car, watching Robert Weber drive off ahead, he looked back at his map and scanned it until he found Rancher's Rest. Then he drew a heavy black X over it and wrote vermeiden, underlined twice.

Avoid.

He started up his car, double-checking that he had everything he needed, and pulled back out into the road himself. He took it slow, sipping water now and then, hoping Robert Weber would pull far, far ahead.

Maybe it was the terrain all around him, some blend of the heat and light and pale red and yellow-brown rocks and dirt, but when he blinked, his vision blurred a little, and resisted clearing. He had to shake his head and briefly open his eyes way too wide. He honestly just felt... tired, all of a sudden.

Too much sun. He'd been out in the sun all day, really, it makes sense he'd get tired as soon as he was safely in a car with air conditioning.

He shook himself a little, both hands on the wheel, and focused on at least making it to Darwin, the closest real town where he could get some fuel for his little rental car. The sun was moving across the sky, and Finn was glad he'd decided to come in spring, before the worst, most dangerous heat became commonplace.

As he drove, his eyes grew heavier, and he had to stifle a yawn.

Finally, his chin dropped. His eyes closed - just for one second. Just for a long blink.

Finn woke up off the road, his car's engine slowly ticking to idle, the smell of gasoline in the air. Everything was tinted gold and orange around him, the sun setting spectacularly.

How long had he been out?

Had he fallen asleep?

His head swung heavy, a weight he couldn't hold. His chest hurt, burned where his seatbelt was, and one of his legs throbbed, sending agony up into his hip and his side with every beat of his heart.

He had to blink, bleary and barely conscious, to realize he must have wrecked. His airbag had gone off, slowly deflating now, a white smear before his face. He groaned, shaking his head. "Was ist gerade passiert?"

His hand fumbled for the ignition, then he froze. Staring.

There were no car keys hanging there.

"Was...?"

Finn unbuckled his seatbelt and tried to sit up, grunting with the pain as his ribs protested every attempt at a deep breath. He tried feeling around the dash, even looked at the passenger's seat, his CD book a heavy black brick. No keys.

"Wo ist es hin? Oh, Gott..."

The fumes from the fuel that must be leaking out somewhere were making him dizzy and nauseous, his head spinning. He managed to get the door open, but when he tried to stand he screamed as his leg simply buckled beneath him and sent him straight down to the dirt.

He had to crawl on his belly, pulling himself with his elbows and fingers, dragging dust up. He sneezed and then whimpered. It hurt to sneeze - was his nose injured, too?

Finn looked down and saw blood on the dirt. He raised one hand to touch the skin between nose and upper lip, and his fingers came away red.

"Might want to get that looked at," A familiar voice said, and Finn flinched in sheer surprise, rolling into his side and looking up and to his left with wide eyes.

Robert Weber was standing there - maybe had been there the whole time, silently watching Finn struggle, listening to his sounds of pain.

Smiling.

He was smiling.

Behind his head, stars began to wink into view as the light stopped blocking the sight of space.

"Was... What happened?" Finn could make it to his hands and knees, but he didn't dare try to stand again.

"Did no one ever tell you to pull over when you get real tired while driving?" Robert sighed, as if he were a parent disappointed in a child, and walked towards him, step by calm and casual step. "I've had to follow your tracks for more than two miles, you just drove off into Dreamland, did you?"

"What...?" Finn looked around.

There was no road. Only dirt and creosote and the skitter of some small creature fleeing nearby. He had gone so far off the road that he couldn't see any sign of it anymore.

"How..."

"Doesn't matter." Weber walked over to him, and Finn could see now, through the blur of whatever was wrong with his eyes, that he had something in his hand. Finn's eye went wide as he saw metal glinting in the light, a loop of metal, and he tried to scramble backwards, but as soon as he tried to get up, limping and dragging his injured leg, the world spun once again and he lost his balance, crashing hard on one shoulder as he fell. His mobile fell out of his pants pocket and scraped the ground.

He grabbed for it, fumbling with sweaty fingers before he flipped it open, looking, looking-

No signal.

Zero bars.

He let out a cry as the mobile was yanked right out of his hand, Weber winding back and throwing it as hard as he could. Finn watched it disappear into the distance. He didn't even hear where it landed.

"You won't need that anymore," Weber said, cheerfully. He dropped the loop of metal around Finn's neck, choke-chain collar and leash, and yanked hard enough that the barbs dug into soft skin, the loop cut off his air. Finn gasped, hands clawing at the chain even as Weber yanked backwards, forcing him to move that direction. Spots danced along his vision, flashes of white pinpoints, his brain's dire warning that there wasn't enough air, just in case the burning of his lungs wasn't message enough.

"Nein-... N-nein, nein-" His voice was nothing more than a rasping whisper. Weber paused, letting him follow enough to get some slack, just a little air, feeling blood trickling ticklish down his neck, to take one wheezing breath-

And then he yanked on it again. They traveled that way, Finn stumbling and crawling and coughing and bleeding, Weber moving with solid, inevitable determination, dragging his captive with him. He could never get enough of a grip to yank the chain off, never had enough time to do more than manage one quick breath, then another. Everything came down to whether or not he could get one single good hit of air. The entire world narrowed to the panic when he didn't.

Then they came to a stop and Weber let the leash go slack. Finn groaned, curling over himself, tears making tracks on the dust and dirt now ground into his face. His hands went up, shaking, to finally loosen the chain and take it off.

"Hey!" He got a swat to the back of the head and then Weber grabbed one of his hands by the wrist, yanking it down and backwards until his shoulder screamed in protest and so did he. "Keep your hand off your collar or I'll cut off your fucking head!"

The nice friendly voice from earlier was gone, replaced by a blinding, vicious, single-minded rage. Finn's hands were moved quick and fast behind him, handcuffed together with metal cuffs that dug so sharply into Finn's skin he knew there was something different about them. Sharper edges. His wrists began to bleed, too.

"Nein-... No, do not do this-" Weber looked unmoved. Finn found himself babbling, terrified of the solid expression of malicious nothing on that square-jawed narrow face. "Do not, please, please what are you doing, please-"

"Come on." Weber yanked him to his feet - or foot, his leg was a shriek when he tried to put weight on it. He had to hop one-legged as Weber walked him around to the passenger side of his truck, shoving him inside.

He tried to kick out with his good leg, catching Weber under the chin.

His triumph was short lived - Weber punched him across the face in response. The world exploded in black and white. His body went limp.

He felt duct tape over his mouth, wound around and around his head. It was pressed with a palm against his lips, along the sides of his face. He grunted, muffled, shaking his head, the only protest he could manage now.

His ankles were tied together with scratchy, cheap nylon rope, knots pulled so tight they'd have to be cut off, not untied.

"I wanted those pretty girls," Weber said, conversational again. He patted Finn on the thigh, then left his hand there, heavy and hot. Weber shifted his hand down until it was along the inside, then slowly moved it upwards, tracing the inside seam. "But... you'll do. And I like your hair."

Finn whimpered, shaking his head frantically, but as Weber buckled him in with one hand and began fondling directly between his legs with the other, there was nowhere for him to go. Nothing he could do beyond squirming, and shivering at the lick of warmth and heat and disgust, the rush of nausea and loathing within him. Weber frowned, working him harder when he didn't get hard or react.

Then he pulled back and slapped his hand down hard. Finn's neck veins bulged as he screamed behind his gag, eyes wide.

"Well. You'll learn." Weber's voice was mild as he listened to Finn sobbing. "Anyway, time to go. You just wait patiently," Weber said, giving him one good squeeze right over his zipper - enough to pull another whimper out of him as pain throbbed there now, too. He even gave a vicious twist, listening to the higher-pitched cry with a grin. "Gotta clean up," He explained, like a patient teacher. "You just sit right here and wait for me. God, you're a good lookin' young man, aren't you? Well, don't worry, they'll find your car. People go missing in Death Valley every single year. They've a great system for it now, hunting down the assholes who go off-roading or just don't know what they're in for. Sad, though, that they won't find you."

Weber turned away, closing the door with a heavy, solid thunk that made Finn jump.

He watched Robert Weber grab a broom from the back of his truck, watched him sweep away his own footprints, until the dirt showed no sign of anything but Finn's desperate crawl.

Finn wondered why he bothered sweeping, when there would be tire tracks from his truck. But even that thought came slow and sluggish, working around exhaustion and the insistent ache of just about every part of his body.

Tears welled again, and he felt them run hot down his cheeks over the duct tape, and he leaned over, beginning to sob, even as his rib flared and protested with every shake of his shoulders, every shudder of panic.

Robert came back, tossing the broom back into the truck bed, following it up by packing away Finn's case of water bottles, his extra fuel canisters, even the suitcase full of his clothes, his return flight tickets, his passport... Every easy hint towards who the car was being driven by. Each thump behind him made Finn cry harder, until he could barely breathe even through his nose and his sounds from behind the duct tape had become a trapped animal's wails.

Somewhere, off in the distance, a coyote howled, a quick barking sound followed by the longer exhalation. Another answered it.

When Weber got back in the truck, he picked up the chain leash to his newest captive's new collar, then shifted into gear, easing his truck over the bumpy terrain back towards the road.

The last thing Robert Weber had taken from Finn Schneider's car was his map, neatly folded, a trophy to keep after his successful hunt.

He listened to Finn cry, smiling, as he turned the dial on his truck radio, searching for a station that carried the news.

As they drove down the highway, the desert sunset ahead and the night sky behind, Robert's hand found its way between Finn's legs again.

"Either you focus real hard and come in your pants for me," Robert Weber said, in a low voice, "Or when we get back I'll beat the ever-loving shit out of that broken leg."

Finn looked at him with wide eyes, shaking his head. He groaned when Robert started to roll his palm over his fly again, still shaking his head. Eventually, with a tug on the chain that briefly stole his breath again, he closed his eyes, breathed as deep as he could through his nose, and nodded.

His knees shifted just a little apart, tipping his hips back.

Robert Weber grinned.

He couldn't wait to welcome his newest guest home to take his place with all the others.

-

@astrobly @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @whumptywhumpdump @boxboysandotherwhump @whump-tr0pes @evermetnotforgotten @whumpiary @hackles-up @orchidscript

#whump #pet whump #box boy universe #box boy #bbu #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #sadistic whumper #noncon touching #noncon tw #fade to black but still #finn schneider #robert weber #kidnapping #abduction #drugging tw #car crash #car wreck #death valley fic