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unforgivenn · 1 day

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16th HOUR #8: Flesh and Metal

Previous/ Masterlist

CW: violence, injury, trauma, severe self-harm, asphyxiation, Drug use, Emotional and psychological distress, panic, Non-con restraints and captivity, manipulation, abuse This one is gory af

Samuel’s breaths came in ragged gasps, each one feeling more desperate than the last. His heart pounded against his chest, and he could hear the loud ringing in his ears. The dim light overhead flickered weakly, casting long shadows on the cold stone walls that felt more like a prison than a room. He shuddered as he became fully conscious, his head pounding from whatever drug had been injected into him. It made his thoughts sluggish, his body heavy, every limb slow to respond. Of course the fucker had added drugs in the food..

It was working too well—his mind felt clouded, sluggish, like he was wading through thick fog. A dull metallic clinking echoed in the small space as the chain around his ankle rattled. His skin stung where the cold, unrelenting metal dug into it, sharp and cruel, biting deeper with every tiny shift he made. It felt weird. He wasn’t unconscious like all the other times. No, this one was worse—it was keeping him awake, his brain half-functional, aware enough to feel the panic creeping in but too clouded to think his way out. His limbs felt heavy, almost disconnected from the rest of his body. Each movement was like dragging his limbs through wet cement, sluggish and agonizing.

He blinked, trying to focus on the chains binding him. His vision doubled, then tripled, the room spinning like a carousel he couldn’t get off. His stomach lurched, bile rising in his throat, but he forced it down. The cold bite of the shackle around his ankle snapped him back for a moment, though the edges of his awareness frayed with each passing second. Every breath felt like it took a monumental effort, and his body swayed, barely able to keep upright.

His fingers brushed the chain at his ankle, fumbling to find some way to loosen it. The cold metal felt wrong, almost foreign, like his nerves couldn’t fully register the sensation anymore. It took a few moments before he realized the wetness on his hands wasn’t sweat—it was blood. He couldn’t feel the pain the way he should have; it was muted, distant, but there. Always there, gnawing at the edges of his senses. He tugged at the chain again, gritting his teeth as a wave of dizziness hit him hard, threatening to pull him under.

His breathing grew rapid, and he tried blinking away the tears. "No... no, no, no..." he whispered, the words tumbling from his lips like prayers to a god that wasn’t listening. His hand flew to his throat, clawing at it. Not now Oh god please not now.

Samuel forced himself to stop, pressing his hands into the cold floor beneath him. He was still alive. Well at least that was something.. is mind raced, replaying flashes of what had happened. The auction, the bidding, Marcus... Fucking Marcus.

His hands trembled as they reached for the chain at his ankle, desperate to find a weak point, something he could exploit. Somehow the chain felt as if it was choking him, as if it kept tightening every few seconds. Maybe it did. He wasn't sure.

It was like his mind was floating somewhere above his body, detached, watching himself suffer without the power to do anything about it. The chain’s tightness around his ankle felt both real and unreal, the metallic bite digging into his flesh while his senses struggled to fully process it. His ankle was throbbing, but it was like his brain couldn’t quite understand that it was his ankle, his pain. His breaths came faster, shallower, the air thick and cloying, suffocating him as his head lolled to the side.

He pulled at the chain, trying to wedge his fingers underneath to loosen it. It didn’t move. It was so tight that even the slightest pressure sent a sharp jolt of pain through his ankle. Samuel bit down hard on his lip, swallowing a groan, and tried again, his muscles straining with the effort. The drug in his system only made it harder for him to think. His breath came out in ragged gasps, the air around him thick and suffocating. Please Please Please...

The pain intensified, the metal biting into the tender flesh, but Samuel refused to stop. His fingers fumbled, slick with sweat and the beginnings of blood, as he tried to pry it off. He could feel the rough edges of the chain grinding into his skin, and a sickening crack told him something was breaking—not the chain, but something inside him. The pain increased, probably a sign that the drug was wearing off.

Samuel pressed one of his hands on his mouth, trying to drown out the noises of pain that slipped away. He pulled his hand away from the shackle trying to calm himself down, trying to repeat himself he could do this, that the pain was going to be worth it when he got out here. Silent tears streamed down his cheeks.

He took a shaky breath before closing his eyes and then yanking harder, his whole body trembling with the exertion. His ankle felt like it was on fire, the sharp, stabbing pain growing with each desperate pull. Blood trickled down his leg, warm and sticky, mixing with the dirt and grime that coated his skin. The stench of iron filled his nostrils, turning his stomach.

Samuel gritted his teeth, the copper taste of blood filling his mouth as he bit down harder on his soft lips to stifle his cries. He tugged again, harder this time, and something tore. A raw, burning sensation shot through his ankle, and he could feel the skin peeling away, layer by agonizing layer. His vision blurred with more tears sniffling to keep them in.

As much as he wanted to disagree he couldn’t stop now. He was too far in. His fingers pressed against the blood-soaked skin, trying to wedge the chain down. The more he pushed, the deeper it cut, and soon, the chain was buried in his flesh, disappearing into the bloody mess that had once been his ankle. His stomach twisted in revulsion and he gagged at the sight. He pulled his filthy shirt, twisting it and then biting down on it.

His thoughts raced, fractured and wild, as the pain tore through him. It felt like he was being split open from the inside, his flesh ripped apart by the unrelenting pressure of the chain. He wanted to scream, wanted to rip his own fucking leg off just to make it stop.

His whole body shook, his breaths coming out in strangled gasps as he yanked again, the chain slipping slightly down. A fresh wave of agony surged through him, so intense it stole his breath. His vision swam, the room spinning around him. Please lord just let it come off..

The chain slid another inch, pulling more of his skin with it, leaving a raw, oozing wound in its wake. Samuel’s body convulsed, the pain so overwhelming that he could barely think, barely breathe. His ankle was a mangled, bleeding mess, the flesh torn away to reveal the slick, gleaming bone beneath.

Biting down on the shirt wasn't helping so he bit down hard on his knuckle, his teeth sinking into the flesh to keep himself from crying out and distract him from the overwhelming pain.

Samuel pushed again, his fingers slick with blood as he worked the chain farther down. His skin peeled away in thick, wet chunks, and he could feel the warmth of the blood pooling around his foot, soaking into the cold, hard floor. His breath hitched, his whole body trembling from the exertion, from the sheer, overwhelming agony.

The chain slipped again, this time falling with a dull clink onto the floor. A wave of relief washed over him, but it was short-lived. Samuel’s ankle throbbed, blood oozing from the deep gash that circled it. His skin was shredded, barely hanging on, the bone exposed and gleaming in the dim light of the room. He looked down at the mess of his leg, nausea rising in his throat at the sight of it. Fucking move!!

His legs barely moved, his body not responding the way it should have. He wasn’t sure if it was the drugs or the pain—or maybe both—but everything felt wrong, like he was fighting through layers of molasses just to take another breath, to move another inch.

God, what did he put in me?

He dragged himself to his feet, biting back a scream as his injured ankle gave way beneath him. The world tilted dangerously, but he forced himself to stay upright, leaning heavily on the wall for support, breathing heavily. Every step was filled with agony, and his vision blurred with each jolt of pain that shot through him.

The room seemed to spin around him as he struggled towards the door, the smell of thick blood nauseatingly in the air. His whole body ached, every muscle screaming in protest, yet he pushed forward, his heart pounding in his chest. The door was so close—just a few more steps.

And then, a sound.

Footsteps. Drawing closer.

Samuel tensed up at the sudden sound, his heart racing as fear gripped him. No no no no no!!

And almost immediately, heavy tears began streaming down his cheeks with his eyes still wide open in shock. His breath hitched when the door creaked open.

Marcus stood in the doorway, his cold calculating eyes fixed onto Samuel. There was no emotion in them, no hint of sympathy or understanding. It was that same detached cruelty that daunted Samuel since Day One. A tinge of a smile curled up on the man's face as his eyes fell upon the mess his prisoner had made.

"No.."

Samuel’s heart sank, his breath choking his throat. The chain might be off, but he wasn’t free. Not yet.

And Marcus had come to remind him of that.

"Were you going somewhere, Sammy?" Marcus tilted his head, pouting as he stepped into the room, his movements slow and deliberate, as if some sort of predator closing in on his prey.

Cold sweat oozed down his face; his heart racing in his chest. He could feel the room shrink around him, the walls coming down, suffocating him. Samuel shook his head, shaking.

Marcus took a step closer, his gaze flicking down to the bloody mess that was Samuel’s ankle. A slow, cold smile spread across his lips. "Are you sure? It looks like you’ve been very busy."

Samuel jerked his body backward, his body with a loud cry as the pain flared through his ankle once again.

He was trapped.

Samuel's knees buckled and his body collapsed under him. The pain in his ankle ripped through him with the ferocity of wildfire, each nerve shrieking in protest as he tried to find his footing, but the blood-slick floor betrayed him. He hit the ground with a sickening thud, gasping for air and trying to suppress the wave of nausea rising in his throat.

“No…” His voice was barely audible, a terrified whisper as Marcus stepped back into the room, his expression unreadable. He hit his head against the cold floor, letting out a defeated sob. Samuel’s chest tightened, his breath hitching in his throat. The terror was so overwhelming it was paralyzing, his body locking up as Marcus approached.

He closed his eyes, clenching them shut so hard that it hurt, as if the act would block out the reality of where he was, of what he had become. But it didn’t. Nothing could. Not even the thick fog that was ever so slowly settling over his mind, numbing his thoughts, dulling the edges of his consciousness. The pain, though, remained sharp, ever-present.

“Still fighting, I see,” Marcus said, his voice dripping heavy with sarcasm. He crouched down, his face inches from Samuel’s, that sickening smile playing on his lips. “That’s cute.”

Samuel’s lips trembled, his breath coming in shallow, irregular gasps when Marcus’s fingers pressed into his skin. He wanted to pull away, to scream, to do anything to get away from that touch, but his body refused to comply.

Marcus’s hand slid down, his fingers curving around Samuel’s throat, just tight enough to make him feel the pressure, the promise of something far worse if he dared resist. Samuel’s pulse quickened, his chest heaving with panic surging through him.

“Do you understand why this keeps happening?” Marcus asked, voice soft and silky, as if trying to soothe a frightened child. “It’s because you don’t listen, Sam. You don’t learn. I’m trying to help you, and still you keep fighting me.”

Help? Dehumanizing someone with thoughts and feelings wasn't helping. Making someone go through pain without any reason wasn't helping. Fuck him, He wouldn't even know the meaning of "help". Samuel’s jaw clenched, his teeth digging into his bottom lip so hard that he tasted blood. He wanted to scream at Marcus, to tell him how much he hated him, how much he despised every word that came out of his mouth. But he couldn’t. The words were trapped in his throat, smothered by fear.

“You’re stubborn,” Marcus continued, his thumb brushing lightly against Samuel’s pulse. “But that’s okay. I’m not in a hurry. I can wait for you to understand.”

Samuel's breath caught as his body shook beneath Marcus' touch. He didn’t want to understand. He didn’t want to listen. All he wanted was for this to end, for the nightmare to be over. Apparently that was too much to ask in this world. Maybe in some other life he would be treated like a human with emotions and not just some doll.

The man leaned closer, hot breath against Samuel’s ear. “You’ll learn eventually,” he whispered, “One way or another.”

There was still a small part of Samuel that clung to the hope that this could end, that there was a way out, a way to escape. But that part was growing weaker with each passing day, each passing hour. And Marcus knew it.

Marcus always knew.

The man crouched down again, his eyes locking onto Samuel’s, his smile widening as he leaned in close, his breath ghosting across Samuel’s skin.

“You hate me,” Marcus whispered, his voice a low, dark murmur that sent a shiver down Samuel’s spine. “I know you do. I can see it in your eyes.”

Samuel’s throat tightened, his heart pounding against his ribcage as he stared up at Marcus, the hatred burning in his chest like a fire that refused to die.

“But that’s okay,” Marcus continued, his fingers brushing against Samuel’s cheek. “Hate is just another form of attention. As long as you’re focused on me, I don’t care what you feel.”

The words hit Samuel like a physical blow, knocking the breath from his lungs as the full weight of Marcus’s control pressed down on him. It wasn’t about love or hate. It wasn’t about what Samuel felt. It was about Marcus — always Marcus — and the way he could twist and manipulate everything around him, bending it to his will.

Marcus smiled. “You’re going to learn your place, Samuel. You’re going to learn that you don’t get to fight. You don’t get to resist. You’re mine now. And anyways you wouldn't like me to send you back to the facility would you?"

Samuel’s throat closed up, his vision swimming with tears. He wanted to scream, to fight, to tell Marcus to go to hell, but his body betrayed him. His voice was gone, swallowed by the overwhelming fear that was crushing him from the inside out.

Marcus’s grip tightened and he gritted his teeth widening the smile, his fingers digging painfully into Samuel’s skin. “You wouldn't right?”

“I—” Samuel choked on his words, his voice barely more than a whimper. As bad as Marcus was, anything would be better than returning to the facility. “I-I… No..”

“No what?”

“No… sir.”

Marcus’s smile widened, a sick, satisfied grin that made Samuel’s stomach churn with disgust and shame. His hand released him, and he stood up, looking down at him.

“Good boy,” Marcus said, his voice filled with a twisted sense of pride.

Samuel wanted to die.

---

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unforgivenn · 2 months

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16th HOUR - #6: Under Hammer

Masterlist/ Previous

CW: Violence, Dehumanisation, Slavery, Drugging, Family rejection, Non-con Handling

Samuel’s pulse raced as the curtains parted, revealing a dimly lit room filled with rows of seats. The audience sat in shadows, their faces hidden, yet he could feel their eyes on him—cold, calculating, eager. The auctioneer, a tall man with a slick appearance, stood at the front of the stage, his voice booming as he introduced the event.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to tonight’s auction!! We have a special treat for you—a handsome young man, in excellent condition! Perfect for your collection or personal use.”

Samuel’s heart pounded in his chest. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck His mind screamed in protest, but his body was paralyzed with fear. What the fuck, what the fuck, Somebody please get me out The room felt like a nightmare, the air thick with anticipation and depravity. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck Every step he took felt like a march toward doom, his chains clinking softly against the polished floor. What the fu-

“Present the item,” the auctioneer commanded.

A handler pushed Samuel forward, and he stumbled, the chains around his ankles preventing him from catching his balance. He fell to his knees, the rough wood biting into his skin. The audience murmured among themselves excitedly, some even squealing and giggling. Samuel’s face burned with humiliation, but he forced himself to stand, his legs trembling.

“Please... let me go,” he whispered, barely audible. The handler yanked him upright, ignoring his plea. Not like he expected the man to listen to him anyways.

“Head up,” the auctioneer snapped. “Show them what they’re bidding on.”

Samuel lifted his head, meeting the gaze of the audience. The best he could do right now was listen. He wanted to scream and shout as much as he could though that didn't seem like such a good idea in a place filled with strangers, and guards with guns across their chests. Especially if he wanted to avoid pain. The faces he saw were devoid of empathy, their eyes glinting with greed and curiosity. They saw him as a product, an object to be bought and sold. It made his stomach churn with revulsion.

“Look at his build, his complexion,” the auctioneer continued, walking around Samuel, gesturing at him like he was a piece of meat. “Healthy, strong, and obedient. Perfect for any household. We don't get such men much. I'd consider this a special one then.” The auctioneer winked and laughed, though Samuel felt like puking.

Obedient. The word echoed in Samuel’s mind. He wanted to scream, to fight, to break free, but he knew it was futile. The system was designed to crush any semblance of rebellion, to strip away every ounce of humanity.

The bidding started, voices rising from the darkness. Samuel’s thoughts swirled in a chaotic mix of fear, anger, and despair. How had it come to this? How had he gone from being a person with dreams and aspirations to a mere item on a stage?

“Do I hear one million? One million, thank you. One point five? Two million, excellent!!,” the auctioneer’s voice droned on, each number driving a nail deeper into Samuel’s soul.

He remembered his family, the way they looked at him when the classification results came in. The disbelief, the horror, and ultimately, the cold rejection. They couldn’t accept that their son was now livestock, a being stripped of rights and dignity. They didn't care. The memory was a knife to his heart, the pain as fresh as the day it happened.

“Three million, ladies and gentlemen. Three million for this fine specimen. Do I hear three point five?”

A wave of nausea washed over Samuel. He felt like he was drowning, suffocating under the weight of his helplessness. The air seemed to thicken, pressing in on him from all sides. He wanted to disappear, to escape this twisted reality-

“Three point five! Going once, going twice—”

“Four million.”

The voice was cold, authoritative. It sliced through the murmur of the crowd, drawing all attention. The auctioneer paused, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he regained his composure.

“Four million. Do I hear four point five?”

Silence. The room was thick with tension, the bidders hesitant. No one else dared to challenge the new bidder. The auctioneer smiled, a predatory gleam in his eyes.

“Four million, going once, going twice—sold!”

The gavel came down with a resounding thud, sealing Samuel’s fate. He felt a sickening lurch in his stomach, the finality of it crashing over him like a wave. His legs buckled, and he collapsed to the floor, his chains rattling in the oppressive silence.

“Congratulations to the winning bidder,” the auctioneer announced. “You’ve acquired a truly exceptional specimen.”

The handler hauled Samuel to his feet, dragging him off the stage. The curtains closed behind him, cutting off the view of the audience. Samuel’s mind was a whirlpool of emotions—fear, anger, despair—all mixing into a nauseating cocktail that threatened to overwhelm him.

He was led down a dim corridor, the oppressive atmosphere pressing in on him. His thoughts raced, trying to grasp onto any shred of hope, but there was none. He was a prisoner in this twisted system, a pawn in a game he didn’t understand.

The handler shoved him into a small, windowless room. The door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing in the confined space. Samuel sank to the floor, his body shaking with silent sobs. He was alone, trapped in a nightmare with no end in sight.

As the hours passed, Samuel’s mind wandered. He thought of his family, his friends, the life he had lost. He thought of the government that had condemned him, the society that had turned its back on him. He felt a burning rage, a deep-seated anger at the injustice of it all.

"Why?"

There was no answer, only the cold, unyielding silence. Samuel curled up on the floor, wrapping his arms around himself in a futile attempt to find comfort. "Why why why why why?!!" His thoughts drifted to the future, to the unknown fate that awaited him. "FUCK WHY?!" He tried to steel himself, to prepare for whatever horrors lay ahead, and to just not cry but it seemed impossible now. He was being sold. Like someone who had no life, no thoughts, no family.

The door creaked open, and a figure stepped inside. Samuel looked up, his eyes red and swollen from crying. The man was tall and impeccably dressed. He had expected some fat, old, pervert which this man was definitely not. He could still be a pervert but he wanted to cancel that situation out the most.

“Hello.” he said, his voice smooth and condescending slightly leaning down to see Samuel's face properly.

This fucker. He was talking to him like one would to a cat. Swears were burning up at his throat with tears that unfortunately only heavied when he saw the man. He wanted to punch, kick, swear, kill him but the only thing he managed out was- "G-Get away.."

The man’s gaze remained impassive, his eyes cold and calculating as he took in Samuel’s defiant posture. “Oh, come now,” he said, his tone patronizing yet unbothered by the hostility. “I’m here to finalize the details of your new life. You’ll find it’s quite different from the one you’ve left behind.”

Samuel’s heart raced faster, the blood pounding in his ears. The man’s words seemed to echo in the empty room, mingling with the remnants of Samuel’s fading hope. He could barely focus on the man’s features, his mind a tumult of panic and resignation.

The man continued, unperturbed by Samuel’s pleas. “You should be grateful. Not many get to experience such... exclusive treatment. Rather, you would've already been beaten down for not giving proper respect to your owner.” He gestured dismissively towards the door. “Now, we'll discuss the rules when we reach home.”

Grateful? How could he be grateful for being bought like an object, for having his humanity stripped away? How could anyone be grateful when being treated like this? His hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms as he tried to hold back the torrent of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

“Who... who are you?” Samuel managed to choke out, his voice trembling.

The man straightened, a smile playing on his lips. “My name is Marcus Caldwell. And you, Samuel, are now my property.”

Samuel’s stomach turned at the word. He wasn’t a person anymore, just a possession, a thing to be owned. His mind raced, desperately and he almost didn't even notice the needle now in the man's hand.

"No no no no no noo get away!" The man was on him in seconds with the needle stabbed into his arm. Samuel screeched, his back arching at the rough treatment.

"Shhh.. It's for your safety, love. Just until we reach home."

That wasn't his home. His home was- oh.. he didn't have a home.. Tears filled his eyes with black spots forming in front of them.

Just how many times was he going to be drugged in this life?

Next(soon to come)

Reblogs are appreciated

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