#i could've gone way creepier with this...but we'll work up to that i guess

[sableflynn]

apodyopsis

I saw this prompt on one of those “beautiful word” type prompt lists, and my brain immediately went but what if Volkan-- 

been feeling very inspired lately by the lovely creepy whumper pov snippets @justplainwhump and @whumping-newbie write, and this didn’t dig quite as deep as I would like but it was still fun!

cw: super creepy whumper pov, implied noncon, thoughts of forced stripping, brief hand whump mention. takes place between chapters 3 and 4 of out unseen.

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apodyopsis (n): the act of mentally undressing someone

The girl is nothing in his arms, head lolling to one side as he lifts her unconscious body against his own. It’s a gamble, taking her in place of what he’d originally come here for, but she’s just what he needs, and his mind is already racing with the possibilities.

He settles into the backseat of his car, letting her head fall into his lap, and his driver begins the journey without a word. He wonders if his guards will find her friend, out there in the maze of shipping crates, but he isn’t holding his breath. No matter; the boy will turn up eventually, and he has plenty to keep himself occupied in the meantime.

The glow of passing streetlamps casts soft stripes of light over her face. In sleep, her features are soft, pliant. Her lips curve downward in the slightest frown, and he can’t resist brushing his thumb over them before tucking some loose amber strands of hair behind her ear. His hand lingers there a heartbeat, before trailing further down her body.

She’s dressed like someone who thinks she’s on an important mission, and he’s almost charmed by it. The dark jacket and pants, the boots—it’s like she fancies herself some sort of spy or something. A child, playing at being something much bigger than herself. Having no idea what she’s truly getting herself into. He can’t wait to see the look on her face when that illusion shatters.

He’ll take her jacket off while she’s still out, he decides. Enough to give him the first tantalizing glimpse of her soft skin underneath, fresh and untouched and just waiting to be marked by his whip or cane or fists. Enough to unsettle her when she wakes up, while still leaving plenty more for him to unwrap later.

And once she’s awake...his fingers dance along her collarbone, tracing the neckline of her tank top as he ponders. It’s cheap fabric, and it’ll part easily under his knife when the time comes. He could have her in chains, slicing the last of her dignity away and leaving her shivering and defenseless. Or maybe he’ll throw her on a bed and rip her clothes away, tearing the fabric with one hand while he pins her down with the other.

Maybe he’ll strip her with a gun to her head, and one word: undress. Sit back and watch as shaking hands pull her shirt over her head, as she bares herself to him bit by reluctant bit. Full of hatred or terror or despair, and absolutely gorgeous, naked on her knees before him.

He takes her hand, warm and tiny and utterly fragile. Her fingers are delicate, and he can’t help but think of how easily he could snap them in his grip, let her wake up to a world of agony. But no; when she finally wakes up, he wants her lucid and unharmed, with no pain to distract her from every single thing he’s going to do to her. So he rests one hand on the curve of her hip, threads fingers of the other through her hair, and watches the flickers of lamplight passing through the window, and he waits.