#tw captivity | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

skeletinmoss · 5 months

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Ruffled feathers

Ships planned: Prinxiety, Logicality, Dukeciet

Warnings: Human traficing, abuse, injuries, imprisonment, captivity and all that comes with it, restraints

Patton and Virgil are brothers in this one

Thanks @lovelivingmydreams for being my beta. It was very much needed since english is not my main language

His hands were itching from the cuffs, he was sick of them for a long time now, and moving his hands so fast made it worse. His wings ached unable to be spread, pressed together in tight restraints. Funny, like he could have escaped without them. And now his throat hurt too. Bastards. He only wanted them to stop yelling at Patton, it wasn't his fault he needed to use claws to get his point across.

He almost missed the moment smoke filled the room.

It took Virgil a couple of minutes to fully understand what just happened. His head was still a little fuzzy after the electric strike. The same guy that just knocked out their captors helped him up and lifted him in a piggy back position. The guy took him and Patton outside, where two other men in gas masks circled them, pointing their ( how was it called again?) guns at their surroundings. And next he knew they were inside the van.

" Roman, I told you to wait for the signal, " the fourth guy, who was also the driver, berated the first one. " He was using a shocker! " justified their savior as he was taking off Virgil's muzzle and the bindings off his wings along with the handcuffs. The other two helped Patton with the same. And Virgil almost relaxed in their presence, that is until Roman and the rest took off their masks, " What? I was supposed to let him hurt the poor creature? "

Humans. Taking a defensive stance, Virgil covered his brother with his wings and growled. He was ready to show them why he had that muzzle if they dared to touch Pat. Humans were the whole reason they got in this situation. He interacted with so many shitty ones he was pretty sure being assholes was their race trait. Humans took them away from their forest, locked them in a cage, fed them some garbage and drugs, and the most infuriating they cut their wings! And they had the audacity to complain about ' ruining the best part'. And now him and his brother were locked with another bunch of them. He knew better than to trust them. he saw what they can do. And so he hissed at their every movement. He wouldn't be hurt by them again.

The team looked at the unfolded wings in awe and understanding. Roman was not surprised by the sudden aggressive change in avian's behavior. They expected the victims to be hostile in such situation and trained accordingly. It was best not to touch them, that's why they took the opposite corner of the van.

No wonder the traffickers were interested in them, both seemed to have rare colorations. The older one had black as his main color, which was one of the rarest, with purple and cyan as his other colors, also a pretty rare thing to see. The younger one, who looked more concerned than scared, was more close to regular brown wings but also had a bunch of blue and white feathers instead of orange or red. The saddest things was the state of those wings, both birds had their long feathers cut, weren't groomed and had some patches of feathers missing no doubt from all the stress. They were in such a bad state the whole team was wondering if the traffickers really were planning to sell them.

The dark one was so on edge they didn't have a choice but to leave both alone so he could relax. Thankfully their enclosure had cameras so the team could check on them. The team got into the the security room and stared at the screen. And sure the second they left the avians alone both relaxed and cuddled up on the mossy floor. So cute.

Both talked, but in their native language which none of the humans knew. Judging by other clues both were making sure the other one was ok. Even cuter scene happened when they discovered the bathroom.

The bathtub was build more like a pool with warm water, both avians jumped in as soon as they saw it and started to preen each others feathers. As they were busy with cleaning up Roman took it upon himself to bring them the new clothes. He knocked on the bathroom door and got a loud hiss in return. Rude. But he calmly opened the door ( which got him another hiss), put down a box of clothes and left. He hurried back into the surveillance room to see their reactions. They were hesitant to approach the clothes at first, so they focused on finishing up the bath. The first one to make a move was the Sweetie, but his moody brother covered him quickly from the supposed danger and took it upon himself to inspect the new object. Of course there was nothing dangerous and he allowed the young one to come closer. They both studied the things they were given and judging by their faces quite liked them. Both chose a hoodie with an open back that allowed them to move their wings freely. Both also chose comfortable pants, the rest of the clothes they folded neatly and placed outside the enclosure in the same box they came in.

" They are adapting great, " commented Janus following a chuckle from Remus, who was still excited about two naked butts he saw. His boyfriend clearly didn't give him enough attention today. Logan gave a nod. This rescue mission was their most successful one, ignoring mild insubordination from Roman. Both avians were rescued without any additional injuries. He was a little disappointed with himself at the fact that he couldn't track them earlier. Now they needed intense medical care and therapy. " Look at the Stormy Night. He's acting all tough, but he's as sweet as his brother, " it seemed like Roman already got a favorite. He always did, and when as the time came to release them back into the wild he would whine at the sight of them leaving. Every single time.

Jan ran his hand through Remus' hair, who now took the place on the floor between his legs, "What do we do now? " " I would suggest taking them to Emile, but considering the state they are in it would be best to let them get used to the new environment and people, " answered Logan. " Can't we just put Sugar Tits inside the enclosure instead of throwing them inside the van again? We don't stress the bird butts and they relax after talking to a non human. Like triple win! " " Not now. Emile can't come here because of a family emergency. We will have to monitor them until he can".

During next couple of weeks Logan documented the patterns in the avians behavior.

The one they nicknamed Moody was protective, yet in front of any of the humans present he acted very cold towards his brother. As the Nerd hypothesized this was directed on making them think they weren't that close, so they would not hurt one to punish the other. Honestly the fact that he thought this was necessary infuriated Logan the most. The younger of the brothers was more open to the new people. After only two days he started openly showing interest in anything new. Logan tried to explain to the best of his ability, thinking there was a language barrier involved. Which was not actually true. Both avians could pick up on languages very well. And had learned several human tongues from their previous captors. Patton really wanted to talk with the new humans, but couldn't do so because he didn't want to disclose the same with Virgil. Virgil didn't trust them at all, and he was hoping they would spill something important in front of them if they thought they couldn't understand them.

He also grew worried around one particular human. Princey, as he started to call him, was more irritated with him out of all of the humans and V just couldn't understand what he was doing wrong. They weren't trying to run away, they did behave. Why send such disgusted looks?

He was the most terrified when he started to feel sick. " Virgil... Are you ok? " Patton asked as Virgil stared at the pill he just spat out. He took the bread from Patton's hands and threw it on the floor. Not again. No wonder he was feeling like shit! They put something in the food! As to prove his thoughts the door opened and in came the humans.

They fucked up. They really did, and for the first time Remus was the one to say " I told you so", though he wasn't happy about it either. He knew that giving the guy medicine inside his food would turn out bad for them if he found out. And wouldn't you know it, the first pill and he found it. Worst part was that he was the go-do guy in this situation. That was probably because of his kinks for biting and stuff which was absolutely fucking involved in capturing an avian and separating him from his brother. He got plenty of it as he dragged the winged man towards the van, his brother crying in the background, held by Roman.

Remus pressed Moody into the floor with his legs, while holding his wings with his hands. Jan-jan took care of the avian's legs and arms so he would be easier and safer to transport. He very much appreciated when the avian relaxed understanding his helpless situation, his hands might have gone numb otherwise. Got a wing in the face a couple of times though as they were on their way to Emile. " Relax, Snappy bird, we're taking you to the doc~" Remus purred sealing his words with a sound slap on the guy's buns, which he quickly regretted because the avian started resisting again.

They should have started with bringing birds to Emile, and now they were paying for their decisions ( mostly with Remus' flesh). " Oh my goodness, what happened? " Emile sprinted towards the van. Logan got out the driver seat and opened the back doors. Snappy started to shift again, but went completely still seeing the fawn in front of him.

" There. We're ok, aren't we? " the new figure spoke in avian's language, quickly going back on the human one to ask the reason for their visit. " He got sick and the dorks tried secretly feeding him the meds, which he found. As I told you all would happen! " declared the human on Virgil's back.

" Are you feeling bad, Sweetie?" the fawn asked motioning for the human to let go. As soon as the weight was lifted off him, Virgil crawled away in the other corner. " It's ok. Please forgive them. They were concerned about your wellbeing, " the fawn said as he approached and sat down.

" I'm Emile. Can I have your name? " " Are you with them? " the avian asked with venom on his tongue. " I am, but I'm concerned about your understanding of the situation. They don't hurt me, don't worry. We're actually good friends, and I help them heal other creatures just like you." He reached his hand forwards, " Is it ok if I touch you? "

Virgil showed his fangs, " You can try. "

Emile however wasn't impressed and just touched the avian's forehead with the back of his hand. " Yup, you're burning, " he declared and picked up the confused man, bringing him to his office. He gave the bird an antipyretic medicine and started the overall checkup.

" My goodness, your wings look awful! " the doctor gasped and got some sort of ointment from the cabinet. He generously applied it on the spots that missed any feathers and at the base of the wings. " Now, I know you have a brother. So I'm going to give you this thing, ok? You and your brother need to apply it once a day after a good bath. Can you do that, Sweetheart? " he asked.

Virgil nodded. The medication started kicking in and he suddenly felt exhausted. He almost fell asleep on his way back. He didn't purely out of spite and hissed at humans a dozen more times.

Patton was hysterical. They took Virgil! They took him away! In his frantic sobs he didn't even care if they found out about the language thing, he started pleading.

" I'm sorry! Forgive him for whatever he did. Please! Don't take him away! We're sorry! " he cried. He unsuccessfully tried to get out of the hold.

Logan took avian's hands in his own, " We're not taking him away. He needs medical care. We will bring him back. " " Promise? " the avian uttered quietly. The technician gave a firm nod.

He waited another minute for sobs to die down, while holding avian's hands.

" Now, if this is resolved, we need to talk, " he said. And Patton anxiously squeaked and hid himself behind his wings.

Not minding at all, the human continued, " First I want to apologize for our decision to hide the medicine in the food. We were hoping he wouldn't find them this quickly and would feel better without interacting with us, " he nodded for Roman to let go off the avian as now there was no need for it. Sweetie peeked curiously from behind his wings.

" Seeing as you in fact do understand me, allow me to explain ourselves a bit better. We are a special rescue team, that specializes in rehabilitation of humanoid creatures found sold on the black market, " the technician continued. " Usually we take our time to infiltrate the organization and remove the victims safely and quietly. Sometimes if that's not possible we pose as buyers, for some instances we actually pay, but usually we scam them."

Actor nodded along, " Yup! Bad people deserve no money! "

" In your case we could do neither. It is thoroughly my fault. We didn't know about you for the longest time and when I was able to find any information it was obvious that we needed to intervene as soon as possible. I need to mention that we never had any experience with such terrible treatment, " Logan looked at their new friend with pity.

" Yeah, " Roman added, " Usually those guys try to make you look pretty for the buyers. Not torture you. "

Patton didn't understand everything the humans told him, but at the end of the conversation he felt reassured, safe even. He asked them to keep this conversation a secret for now. He didn't want Virgil to get mad, it would be better if he opens up at his own pace.

He sat on the mossy floor waiting and, like humans told him, Virgil returned. He looked tired, his huge wings mopped the floor behind him and he carried a small jar in his hands. His eyes seemed dazed and focused on the jar rather than his steps and this focus was the last thing keeping him from the firm grip of the dreamscape. As soon as his bother hugged him he lost that focus and relaxed in the familiar hold fast asleep

Next chapter

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inkblot22 · 18 days

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What's Worse?

I finally finished this. This unpostable thing. It's done and even if it's bad, I do not care. In the end, it ended up being 4k words and I'm okay with this. Header by @/cafekitsune

Who is this fic for? I tried to keep this one very neutral despite the many references to body parts, so anyone who can handle it is free to read! Keep in mind that pronouns such as you and they are used to refer to the reader. The reader is human and does have hair.

TW for coercion, noncon, dubcon, allusions to a physically and emotionally abusive dynamic, captivity, everyone is at least a little bit untrustworthy in this, mentions of the smell of blood, beastman-specific oddities and anatomy, violent and morbid similes. Just in case, I'd like to say that this is DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT. A lot of the stuff is more so implied than explicitly stated, but it's still there.

The day he moved up a grade and began his “internship” is the same day he took you with him. Sure, Grim came along, but you’re often so busy, or he’s often so busy, either way. So you haven’t seen your familiar in months, and your life is filled with Leona.

You don’t know why he did this, but the first night you were there, he tapped your uvula with his fingers as he orally serviced you so feverishly that you left teeth indent bruises on his knuckles from biting down so hard as you tried not to be loud. He wore them like jewelry, and you know his brother saw them. Everyone at the table knew what happened, because, according to Leona, no matter how often you shower, the way you smell will always give you away.

That was a little over six months ago. As far as captivity goes, it’s rather cushy. You stay within the confines of the Afterglow Savannah’s palace. Sometimes Leona gets a bit aggressive and you take it, but you’re fed, clothed, and possibly pampered. It could be worse. It could be far worse. You could be in the dungeons.

You actually don’t know if this place has a dungeon, come to think of it. The last time you asked Leona, he asked you if there was an issue with the room you shared with him. When you tried to explain why you asked, he called you a “dumb herbivore” in a very fond tone of voice, then fell asleep. You didn’t try asking again.

It didn’t stop you from wandering. As it turns out, the Afterglow is mostly populated by beastmen… beastpeople? Aren’t all people beasts? Whatever, the point is, you’re basically the only person in the palace with muted senses. You often think back to Rook, wondering how he trained himself to use his senses so well. You tried to practice once, but Leona caught you hiding a ball and chucked the thing out the window, telling you to find something better to do with your “skills.” You sure used one of your senses, at least.

Unfortunately, these “muted” senses, despite them being completely sensible for your human state of being, have led to some issues. For instance, when someone approaches you, you don’t notice until they’re within your field of awareness. Beyond that, according to Leona, Farena, Cheka, and Farena’s wife, you also tend to just reek of blood.

You have no idea why, and you’ve never noticed this before. You get out of the shower, having scrubbed hard enough to rid yourself of any dirt but not enough to create micro-abrasions on your skin, and Leona still complains about it. You play fight with Cheka, gentle enough that neither of you gets harmed and he’s giggly, and he pauses his mirth and wrinkles his little nose before asking if you got hurt. Zuri, Farena’s wife, regularly would stop you whenever she saw you, her eyes wide as she asked you if everything was okay. The palace staff didn’t say anything, but they’d constantly be re-filling your first-aid kit, one that was “gifted” to you and one that the staff and Kifaji (despite him being human like you, or maybe just not obviously a beastman) insisted that you carry at all times.

But out of all of them, Farena was the worst. If you were in Cheka’s nursery, even just seconds after the kid fell asleep, Farena would pop out of nowhere. If you lingered a bit too long in the kitchen or hallways, anywhere too far from Leona’s wing, he’d approach with a smile, his arms spread wide. If you came to the dining hall without Leona’ his glowing brown eyes would find you, the intensity akin to a sudden knife wound. His persistence in being around you was all blanketed by his uncomfortable implications when he spoke to you.

Even so, you happened to somehow get lost. The hallways are sort of color-coded, but you’ve passed this same hallway several times, enough for you to be okay with admitting that you’ve been walking in a circle for the past twenty minutes. And, much like the devil, as soon as you thought that if you were there any longer, a certain lion-man would appear, Farena popped up and scooped you into a hearty hug as greeting, your feet coming off the floor.

“Leona’s partner!” He never calls you by name. It’s always just that. You are Leona’s partner, not your own person, you guess, “I knew I’d find you eventually.”

“Yes. Hello, your highness.” You wheezed as he placed you back on the floor.

“Oh, you’re so prickly, just like my baby brother. You two are a perfect match- he does like a bit of bite.”

You rarely knew how to respond to him, so you often didn’t. You just stared at him, like a total moron, but he continued talking like you aren’t giving him the most anserine of looks- a word he has used to describe you before, basically to your face.

“I’ve heard that you forgot your first aid kit. We don’t need you tripping and scratching yourself on Leona’s dresser again, and not with an inability to heal yourself.” He never gave you time to answer, “Of course, I know you aren’t magic, but those of you without it have made some wonderful inventions to make up for that.”

“Oh. Yeah, I just left for, like, two seconds so I could return something to the kitchen.”

He nodded, thoughtful, still smiling, “Well, did you hit your head? You’ve been walking in a circle, and you didn’t even stop to say hi to me.”

“No. I, uh.” You cast your gaze down the hallway closest to you, then looked back at Farena, “I am a bit lost. I guess someone else is usually with me when I’m wandering around.”

Leona is not the only person in his family with a cunning streak. You are marginally aware of this, and when Farena’s eyes narrowed, you sucked in a breath.

“Hmm. You’re right, Leona’s partner. It is rather strange not to see you by my baby brother’s side.”

It struck you multiple times in the past that the amount of times you bumped into Farena couldn’t possibly be a coincidence. He’s a king, so why was he never ruling or whatever kings did all day? It was incredibly strange, and you made the same subtle discomforted motions like clockwork. He usually pretended not to notice whatsoever.

His grin was always too bright. You did prefer Leona’s smirk, “Very well. It looks like I’ll need to escort you back to Leona’s quarters, won’t I?”

“Uh. I mean, if you’re not busy.”

“You’re such a mousy thing. Come,” He offered you his arm.

You took it, and true to his word, he led you back to Leona’s wing, then straight up to the door. He knocked, and you ducked out of his arm to cautiously open the door. Leona strolled out of the bathroom, hair and skin wet, his eyes not even skimming over you before they flashed to his brother, who strolled in as though he owned the place. Maybe he did. Who owns a palace if not the king?

“Ah, Leona! I found your partner, wandering the halls like a lost lamb.”

As soon as the words process in Leona’s mind, his green eyes are sliding to pin you down. Your limbs feel like lead, and you don’t move or emote, lest he strike. He’s like a snake when he’s like this, which is ironic. Perhaps it’s not ironic, and just comedic. Who knows?

Regardless, Farena keeps talking, “And I missed you at lunch! What a shame. They had your favorite, you know. Meat! And lots of it. Don’t you ever get hungry, being in here all the time?”

If not for everyone talking about the way your skin smells, that comment could have been written off entirely. It didn’t feel great, being indirectly told that you smell like fresh meat, and Leona wasn’t helping much.

“Mmm. No. I don’t like my meat that rare.” Leona grumbles, taking a seat on his bed and waving you over. “Hey, c’mere and braid my hair.”

What was worse? Being told you smell delicious or being told you didn’t smell delicious enough? It was one of those things. You cautiously tied off his braids, capping both of them in beads that Cheka had gifted you. His hair was wet, clinging to his skin as desperately as the water did. You caught yourself watching a drop sliding over Leona’s tattoo and hummed softly.

Farena was still talking. You didn’t hear the beginning, and you didn’t care about the end, so you completely tuned him out so you could finger detangle the rest of Leona’s wet hair. While you were ignoring Farena, you were pointedly all too aware of Leona’s sounds of pleasure. It took you a while to get used to it. You were a primate, and he was a lion. More lion than ape. He snorted and rumbled, huffed and chuffed, his face twisted in a scowl.

“Ah, what a shame. I’ll have to speak to you later, Leona. Perhaps you could talk about those plans with Zuri. I’m sure she’d love to listen.” You tuned back in as Farena turned to the door, opening it before remembering himself and waving at you, “Bye bye, Leona’s partner!”

When he was gone, almost as soon as the door was closed, Leona twisted his torso to grab you around the waist and pull you into one of his kisses. You read somewhere that the reason men kiss so… wetly is so they can mark their partner. It makes more sense if they just didn’t want to kiss with dry lips, but you’re no kissing expert. Leona is not an exception to this, you supposed. He always licked his lips before pressing them against yours, slicked with his saliva and often accompanied by a quiet, barely perceptible growl.

His kisses were dizzying. Possibly because it was difficult to breathe while kissing someone, and possibly because you were usually held in a crushing vice whenever he kissed you. Your poor ribcage had been squeezed many times.

And just as soon as it started, he dropped you unceremoniously and stood up, walking past your sprawled body on his floor, “We’ve got some big dinner to get to. Get dressed.”

You scrambled to your feet, “Big dinner?”

“Mhm. It’s some official’s birthday. I can’t be bothered to remember who.”

That made enough sense. In the time you’d been here, you’d learned pretty quickly that it wasn’t exactly worth it to go out of your way to be remembered positively by everyone, especially not since you were… with Leona. In all the time you’d been here, you’d never been sure about what the nature of your relationship with him was, either. Asking would get you some kind of snarky or irritated answer, and not asking but thinking about it made it hard to focus on anything else, so you didn’t think about it.

“Oh. You see Grim today?” You asked while getting dressed in your own green and black dashiki, like a couple’s outfit in the matching pattern of Leona’s.

Like he always did, he stared for a moment before making a few small adjustments. It was funny, he couldn’t be bothered to care about his own appearance, and yet, when it came to you…

“Yeah, He’s good. Still working on the mage stuff.”

“Mmm. Okay. Thanks.” You mumbled, lifting your arms so Leona could look you over again, “What?”

“You stink like my brother. If we had time, I’d fix that, but…”

“What does he smell like?”

“Shouldn’t you be asking what I smell like?” He snapped, and you flinched. Sometimes his irritation came with physical indications, but heavier than the physical indications was the energy around him, “Forget it. Stay close to me tonight.”

You usually did. You hated parties here, but more than the parties themselves, you hated the strangers who came up to you and just said whatever. Last time, someone approached you and asked how big Leona’s wallet was for you to stick around. You’re learning to like nobility less, not that you particularly liked them before..

You’re tucked against Leona’s back for the entirety of the evening. He’s like a ward. People see him and walk the opposite direction unless they’re drunk or stupid, and those types are in short supply at the beginning of the night. Unfortunately, by the middle of the night, amongst sips of his drinks and nibbles of various finger foods, you felt exhausted and Leona was straight up pissed.

You wondered why for a bit too long. You barely even realized when you ended up back in his room, outside on his balcony. He was stewing, pouting like a toddler. You unstuck yourself from his side and sat in one of the chairs.

“Mmm.” He grumbled. He often did this, putting a noise to his emotion, but no words to explain himself. You’d wised up and figured out early on that it was best not to approach him for this type of thing, “Hey, runt.”

Uh oh. He tended to use that nickname before he did something foul to you. You squirmed in your chair and flinched as he turned around and yanked his shirt over his head. His pants went next. Leona didn’t bother with underwear.

“C’mere. What are you hidin’ in the corner for?” He mumbles, “We’ve got time now.”

Your uh oh gets multiplied. It’s not that you aren’t attracted to Leona, or that you’re not in the mood. It’s not that you’re terrified of him, not that you’re confused by his awkward libido. It’s that you honestly don’t know what he sees in you, sprinkled with a bit of relationship insecurity. You’re here because of him, you and Grim have a home because of him, but what’s going to happen when he gets bored with you?

He looks over his shoulder at you sharply, “What the hell are you doin’? I said c’mere.”

You swallowed and took a few steps forward, stripping as you walked. The night air makes your skin tingle with goosebumps, your nipples hardening and a shiver rattling through you. It’s a very strong possibility that these feelings have beset you based only on the fact that someone could look up from Zuri’s garden and see you and Leona, both naked on his balcony.

When you’re standing in front of him, he just stares, one of his hands ever so gently stroking himself. You think it’s funny, the phrase “playing with yourself,” because that is what it is. His fingers softly paw at his heavy balls, gliding up the base of his shaft to tweak the head of his cock under his foreskin. He doesn’t break his gaze on you to look at himself. The hand that is not busy with himself reaches out to grab your waist, just above the start of your hip, and yank you closer.

He’s not gentle. Not really. You know he has the capacity to be gentle, but he doesn’t really seem to care. In the past, when you’ve pleaded with him to be gentle, he’s told you that he would treat you like glass if he thought you were made of it, but since he’s seen you suffer worse (what is worse?) he doesn’t see the point in bothering. That doesn’t change the fact that his touch often hurts. Now is not an exception, and you make your displeasure clear with a soft noise of discomfort.

“Shhh. You wanna tell me what happened earlier?” Leona mumbles, pressing his face against the skin on your stomach, taking a deep breath and letting out a sigh.

You absolutely hate it when he smells you like this, but that’s not important right now, “Wh-what?”

“With Farena. You looked freaked out.” Leona ever so lightly kisses the pit of your bellybutton, “He do anything to you?”

You’re not a fan of Leona acting like this. While it seems like he cares, you know from past experience that he’s typically, if not always, on the brink of a jealous meltdown. His jealous meltdowns almost always end with you sitting alone in the bathroom, tending to your own wounds as he sleeps like a kid who just threw a tantrum. So you decide to give a simple answer before distracting him, at least for a moment.

You scratch the nape of his neck, since he doesn’t like you touching his ears, “He was just his usual off-putting self. Nothing else.”

Leona grunts and looks up at you, so you take your chance. You lean down, sitting on your knees, and press a mock-reverent kiss to Leona’s thigh. He’s surprisingly hairless, for someone who is more lion than ape. You suppose the same could be said for yourself, as someone who is more ape than lion.

Leona’s unimpressed face slants into a smirk, and his hand that was previously fondling his genitals slides to cup your cheek, fingertips rubbing behind your ear.

Now that it’s right in front of your face, you wish that you hadn’t decided that this was the best option for distraction. You think maybe anything would be better than catching those barbs in the back of your throat. The little softly-curved nubs circling the base of the head of Leona’s cock flare out a bit, resembling one of those Elizabethan ruffs, tattered by the passage of time and reduced to the skeleton. They aren’t sharp, not truly, but they’re uncomfortable, especially when you forget that the more worked up Leona gets, the further they poke out and the harsher they feel. It’s similar to someone’s very carefully blunted fingernail and fingertip rubbing against your cheeks.

You try to suck up your carefully hidden disgust and press a soft kiss to the very tip of Leona’s dick, wetting your lips with his salty pre. Surprisingly, he doesn’t taste bad. You would think that his skin, his cum, would taste bitter and harsh, but it’s not the worst thing you’ve ever tasted. Perhaps that’s a silver lining in this wicked situation.

Regardless, a quiet grumble from him makes you snap back into the reality of where you are, and you figure you may as well get to work. You slide your lips down to his base, wincing as the spongy head of his member punches the back of your throat and his hand slides back to grip your nape.

“You trying to bore me to death, runt? You know I hate this teasing shit.”

That’s right. He absolutely loathes it. You bob your head a little more expeditiously, trying to ignore the slick mixture of drool and pre that is escaping from the corners of your lips and the ever-increasing strength of Leona’s thrusts against your face.

Despite your senses being the most dull in the palace, you can sort of hear the festivities downstairs, and Leona chuckles, standing with your head still cradled in his hand so he can actually start thrusting. It always begins with you trying to set a gentle pace and it always quickly dissolves into chaos. He’s lazy, but if he’s anything more than lazy, it’s a shameless pleasure chaser. You would think that you would have learned by now.

“You can’t hear them. They’re not at all concerned with me, they’re wondering where you went off to. But everyone knows that you belong to me, so they should know that you’re with me.” Leona mumbles.

You gag, his dickhead wetly popping against the back of your throat as the fluids in your mouth froth with the speed of his motions, gooey trails roping down to cling to your cheeks and collarbones, connecting to Leona’s shifting hips. At least he doesn’t stink today.

A bug lands on your shoulder and flits away as you choke on Leona as he shoves his cock down your throat. Maybe you should feel a bit more grateful that this is happening partially outside, and that way you can have constant reminders that you’re still alive and not in some form of purgatory, serving time for your very minor moments of humanity when you were alive.

Leona snarls, “You’re just so cute, with those lips wrapped around me. I wonder if my brother would keep flirting with you if he knew that you were like this in private.”

The implications of that statement are absolutely lost on you. You’re aware that Leona knows how you feel about your current life to a degree, but he doesn’t give a damn about your emotions. Whatever he’s talking about is absolutely just him babbling out some sex-addled nonsense. As the barbs scrape against your uvula, you gag and try to push his hips away so you can catch your breath for a second.

He doesn’t let up. Sweat is sliding over his skin, beading into crystal pearls and sliding down to flavor the skin in your mouth with their salt. If you don’t puke from his roughness, you’re going to puke from ingesting so much sodium. His smirk grows and his fingers massage the base of your head as if he isn’t pounding into your throat.

“Aw… too much? Maybe if you were a bit more active, I’d be done a bit sooner.” He coos.

You don’t fully hate Leona. He has given you somewhere to stay, food to eat, clothes to wear, for both you and Grim, but whenever he gets like this, taunting you even though he’s using you like a cheap sleeve, you feel an indescribable, hopeless anger. Regardless, you bring one of your hands up to the copious amounts of drool and pre and sweat that are covering your skin, collecting the goop on your fingers. You cup his ass with your non-gooey hand and spread that cheek, plunging a finger into his asshole and aimlessly crooking your finger.

His hips spasm, his hand fists into your hair and he lets out a low grumble, “Rrr.”

You slowly ease your other gooey finger into his ass and hope that he will cum soon so you can catch your breath. You need a shower, and he’s probably going to just go to bed after this. You’re more tired than he is, and you’re actually beginning to think that you both might be a bit tipsy. You need this to end, and you need it to end soon.

Your prayers are answered. You feel his cock bob in the back of your throat, the glans tapping that soft spot that makes you feel it in the back of your nose, and he yanks your head back, your lips releasing him with a somewhat loud pop.

His cum is hotter than it has any right being. You suppose since he runs hot, it’s not that shocking, but you’re also aware that the whole reason that the balls are not an internal thing is because the human body is way too hot for sperm to live for long periods of time inside of the body. This information is irrelevant, however, because Leona has just made the mess on your skin that much worse. You sigh as he lets go of you, flopping back into his chair and gesturing to his cock again.

“Can you clean me up before you go running off?”

You’d love to tell him no, to ask him to shove it, but you grunt your acquiescence and tongue-clean his messy skin, as if you aren’t covered in more slime than he is. Once done, you stand up and gather your clothes, placing them in the laundry bin in the bathroom and getting in the shower.

You scrub a little harder than usual, but not hard enough to break skin, not even enough to create micro-abrasions. Once out, you throw on one of Leona’s gaudy yellow tees and take a seat on the bed. He’s already curled up under the covers, but the soft tapping of his tail lets you know that he isn’t sleeping. You slide under the covers yourself and Leona rolls over, pulling your back into his chest.

“Hey.” He mumbles into your hair, “You stink like a fresh kill.”

What’s worse? Smelling like blood in a den of predators or being in the den of predators to begin with?

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theredofoctober · 9 days

Text

MANNA- CHAPTER FOURTEEN: TRIPE

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, drugging, Daddy kink, child abuse and more (check the tags)

Read after the cut

By some sense of duty, or else an undug tendril of guilt, Will volunteers himself to oversee your evening routine alone. You allow him this, being in scant possession of what slim tolerance has borne you through Hannibal’s accompaniment thus far.

Will proves himself to be far less involved than the other man would have been in his stead. He leans against a wall with the nonchalance of a prison warden as you shower blood and spend alike down the receiving drain, allows you to pad into your bedroom, towel-wrapped, to select a clean nightdress and sanitary products with his head turned nobly aside.

You cannot determine if his distance from you is through respect for your condition or some lasting dislike of you, neither of which holds entirely true.

More likely it is that he does not see you as his child, yet, nor quite with the equality of a lover.

Still, as you get into bed he cannot help but come to you, uncertain as he his of his purpose.

“Will you give me a goodnight kiss?” you ask, part in bitter jest, and part in annoyance with his indecision.

That a man can fuck and beat you in throes of black delight and still skulk about like a repentant sinner would have confounded you in the days before you became accustomed to such duality. To what end, and upon what strength the latter side subsists is now the greater puzzle, for it is this that drags its heels and restrains Will from his full devilry.

“Well?” you say, brusquely. “What are you waiting for? Dad’s permission?”

Will gives a hard laugh, one hand kneading the back of his neck.

“I admire your commitment to the part, but you don’t have to keep it up so seriously when it’s just you and me.”

“I promised I would,” you remind him. “Why can’t you? You had no issue kissing me in front of Hannibal. I don’t see why it’s a problem now.”

You see Will’s fingers go to the bridge of his nose, wanting the guard of the eyeglasses he’s neglected to wear.

“It’s not genuine,” he says, flatly. “The only reason you’re asking is to manipulate me.”

“So what?” you say. “Scared that it’ll work?”

“Not scared, no.”

“Sure you’re not.”

There is something hysterical in your tone, the cut string of a trapped and weary madness.

Will examines you, aware of the power play you’re attempting over him, intrigued by it, despite himself. Attracted, even.

His gaze is like a stone in the sun, all heat, all black, all blue.

He knows what revulsion you must push past to test him like this, still slightly high from the forced euphoria of fucking, and the drugs. You’re beyond consideration of the consequences, irrational, barely attached to the tongue and teeth that bite at the air in their ire.

Still Will hangs from your words like a pilgrim knelt before an oracle, dependent on your answer.

“Haven’t you had enough of me kissing you tonight?” he asks.

Sniffing, you turn to face his gargoyle shadow on the wall.

“So it’s a no. You’d make a really terrible father.”

“One...”

“Not my name.”

So Will says it, gently, and you roll back towards him, your heart quick and high behind a rail of bone with the thrill of his appeasement.

Your truce, the union of flesh: they’ve altered Will, for as he looks at you a second time his pupils are the chasms between worlds, wild and deep.

Kneeling up on the bed, you make a trellis of both hands through his curls and clutch him to you in an ungainly kiss. Will stumbles in the force of it, his arms spilling about your back so as not to fall upon you with all his weight.

You gasp against his lips with eagerness to take what he has taken, to fallow the rose flesh of his inner mouth, the lathe of your tongue churning. Will is too surprised to kiss you in return, but as you hitch one leg after the other upon his hips you feel the vine of him against your groin, wanting you again, as always.

You think of him fucking you now, pinning your wicked hands with the nail of his fist as he thrusts through a sheen of blood. Though you despise him still, your loins smart with interest in engineering the act rather than merely suffering it as ever before.

At last Will returns your kiss, but briefly, and with a knowing restraint before he lays you back upon the bed again.

You grasp at his face in an attempt to reclaim his lips. He pushes you lightly away.

“Hey,” he grins. “You made your point.”

“Oh?” you say, coolly. “And what is my point?”

“That I like kissing you. That I want to kiss you, whether Hannibal’s here or not.”

“Right,” you say, twisting a corner of your quilt around one finger for something to do with your hands. “But you never would have picked me. Like, if I was in one of your FBI classes. If I was your student. Would you even have noticed me?”

Will laughs again, with a startled unease, as though the notion is foreign to him.

“Starting affairs with students isn’t exactly my style. I turn up, I teach. That’s it. I don’t get personally involved. Or didn’t, till now. Letting people get close is... uncomfortable for me.”

He glances down at the bunch of quilt in your closed knuckles. Unlike the ever-tactile Dr Lecter, he makes no attempt to take it away.

“So how come you got so close to Hannibal?” you ask. “Didn’t you say you had reservations about him?”

“He saw me even when I was making an effort to turn away. He and I have commonalities I can’t ignore, and enough differences to keep me wondering who he really is. There’s a lot even I don’t know about him, and there are times I wonder what I’m doing letting him in.”

You’re on the verge of another question as Will steps sharply back from the bed.

“We can talk more tomorrow,” he says. “I’ll still be here in the morning. But if you want my thoughts about Hannibal then it’s only fair that you tell me a little about you in return. If this is going to work long-term I need to know who you are.”

Then he goes over to the light switch and closes you in behind a shutter of night.

You’re roused from the saccharine heat of your bedcovers the following morning by Will rapping on your bedroom door. His face appears in the crevice between it and the frame as though wary to trespass, the broken spell of your desperation in his eyes.

“It’s so early,” you whine, noting the bare line of sunlight beneath the curtains. “And I feel like death, thanks to you and Dad. Can’t I stay in bed?”

“Hannibal just rushed out to an emergency appointment,” says Will. “One of his patients is having some kind of crisis, so it’ll be just you and me for a while. You want coffee? I was about to make some.”

An apology, you think, something to alleviate the swaddled and perspiring misery of your comedown.

“Sure,” you say, weakly. “Black, please. Sweetener, if there is any. The low calorie version.”

Will’s brows rise.

“You think Hannibal keeps that around?”

Reflecting on the little paper sachets that had been favoured throughout high school you say, “Ha. I guess not.”

Within twenty minutes you’re sitting up against your pillows, one hand gripping a delicate, steaming cup, the other soothing your stomach through which bites the first monthly cramp.

Will takes a nearby chair, eyeing the bars on your window as though assuming your daily view through the glass.

Though you loathe him still in his unpredictable oddities, you’re keen to make closer yet the allyship you’ve struck up with him, watchful though he is of that very attempt. If he will not help you escape, then a friendship at least may fortify the sanity you fear will leave you in this quasi childhood.

Will doesn’t seek your regression quite as Hannibal does— a cantankerous teenager is as young as he perceives you, the sick girl that never grew up. This house, then, is a Neverland in reverse, a sumptuous den of brutal sex.

Closing your eyes against such thoughts, you take in your coffee, each dark mouthful a long-acquired taste. You remember forcing back cup after cup of it, trusting it over plain water in the belief that it would burn calories as you drank.

Suddenly you’re acutely nostalgic for the days spent in your childhood room, scrolling through online threads of ailing young women in a community of mutual suffering.

It occurs to you that you may never feel so entirely comprehended without judgement as you were there again. You understand Will rather more through the thought, his convergence with Hannibal a relief to so lonely a monster.

“Tell me about ‘Dad’,” you say, into the silence. “You said you would, last night. Like, who even is he? Where did he come from?”

Will blinks, stirred up from his own brooding thoughts. In the dreary daylight he has the face of a beautiful invalid, all its angles skirted in shade.

“Hannibal’s from Lithuania, originally,” he says. “He had a younger sister, Mischa. She died a long time ago. I don’t know the finer details of what happened to her. She’s the only family he’s ever talked about, and even then it’s been bare bones.”

You sit up straighter, envisioning a young girl with Hannibal’s eyes, and none of his appetite.

“Huh,” you say. “That makes a lot of sense.”

"Hannibal would disagree. He doesn’t put much stock in the past making him who he is.”

“Seems kind of a weird thing for a therapist to say. He’s always digging into mine.”

Will looks at the floor, as though distinguishing some new pattern from the grains in the carpet.

“Hannibal views himself as... separate from other people. Being that he acts outside of ethics and the law in his own profession, I’d guess that what’s between us isn’t his only secret.”

“I’ve tried to tell you,” you say, tapping your coffee cup with bitten fingertips for emphasis. “I’ve known this for so long. But since you’re going along with his games how can you even judge him for whatever horrible things he’s doing?”

“Without knowing what he has or hasn’t done,” says Will, slowly, “I can’t say that I do.”

He gets up from his seat and paces before the window, his hands gesticulating like pigeons frenzied into startled flight.

“You assume that what I’m trying to learn about Hannibal—the core of who he is—is something ugly. But that isn’t what I’m afraid of. It’s the possibility of him lying to me. I don’t know if I could forgive him for that after the bond we’ve made. After what he encouraged me start with you.”

“You shouldn’t trust him,” you say, urgently. “Don’t. You don’t need him.”

Scoffing, Will says, “Jack seems to think I do. Alana— she’s convinced I’m one nudge away from disappearing so far into a case that I kill someone without even knowing it. Hannibal's the only one that doesn’t think of me as broken.”

You consider informing him of his suspected encephalitis, that Hannibal surely withholds this truth and more so as to keep his favour.

In the end you retain your silence; better that Will discovers the manipulation alone and behold how he has been misled upon this trail of darkness.

“Enough about me,” says Will, abruptly. “I know that someone hurt you, long before Hannibal. Before me. Someone you've never forgotten.”

Alarmed by the twist in conversation, you stammer, “I— I already told him some of it. I said I didn’t remember. But I was lying about that. I just don’t know if it was only one, long night, or it happened other times. I don’t know which is worse.”

You pause, slightly breathless. Like a portent from the white lips of some phantom you know that you must tell Will the truth, adhere him to your weeping heart with empathy for you.

“I was just a little kid,” you say. “And he was an adult. Nearly family— I used to call him Uncle Lee. Hannibal probably told you that. Anyway, I got my ‘wrong’ feeling about him way before he did what he did. Like I knew it was coming. Then he came into my room alone one night and... it happened.”

You put down your coffee cup, almost knocking it from the bedside table with the shaking of your hand. Will comes away from the window at once, dragging his chair to your bedside to listen. He neither speaks nor looks into your eyes, aware that you can bear neither without faltering.

“He touched me,” you say, “and the whole time I couldn’t even face him. I don’t even remember what I felt. Maybe I didn’t feel anything at all. Just stared at the ceiling or whatever. He did stuff to me that changed me forever. I felt like a tiny old person in a kid’s body, after that, knowing about things I wasn’t supposed to know.

“And the worst of it was still having to see him after. My parents— I tried to tell them, but I couldn’t get the words out. They just thought I didn’t like him. So he came back to the house, now and then. Never saw any consequences.

“I’ve always wondered if I was the only one, or if there were others. He was a plumber, or something; he could have access to people’s daughters anytime he wanted. Just walk into their room and... you know. I think maybe he did do that, a couple of times. Who knows.”

Your restless fingers pick at the gold embroidery on your bedspread, working it loose from the velvet. One of Will’s hands folds over yours, gently holding them still.

“What I always think about is how he treated me, afterwards,” you say. “I tried avoiding him, but it didn’t always work. One day he cornered me at the top of the stairs— my parents were in the kitchen, so it was just me and him.

“I must have been maybe twelve or so. Not far off thirteen. My body was changing. I was growing up. He said, ‘you’re getting a little chubby, you know. You ought to do something about that before you look like your mother.’

“Then he smiled at me, and just walked into the bathroom like there was nothing wrong with what had just come out of his mouth, or what he’d done to me all those years ago.”

Inhaling an unsteady breath, you try, with dubious success, to smile.

“So now you get why I’m like this. And knowing it wasn’t my fault, that Leland Frost is just a predator... it doesn’t fix anything. Like, where do I go from there?”

“He injured you,” says Will, softly. “And it may never stop hurting. But you can recover. No matter what you believe, it is possible. His shallow cruelty is not your compass. You don’t have to live on the basis of an insult.”

Scowling, you pull away from Will, trapping your hands under your armpits.

“How can I change when I’m reliving what I went through every day? Why does Hannibal think this’ll heal me? Why do you? Oh, yeah. You don’t.”

“I want it to,” says Will.

You snort dismissively.

“Yeah, yeah. Not so long ago you would have punched the air to see the back of me. You don’t want to share Hannibal with anybody.”

Will leans back in his seat, arms folded; it takes a moment for you to register that he is, by some subconscious impulse, copying your posture.

“I’m not sharing Hannibal with you,” says Will. “I’m sharing you with him. And I want to do that. You knew it before I did.”

His gaze snaps to yours, more arresting than his hands on you had been.

“You’re more like me than I cared to admit. Hannibal was right about that. And though everything about you should repulse his sensibilities he finds you adorable. You clearly don’t appreciate it, but there it is.”

You yearn to deny him, to condemn this speech as sophistry, but you are silent, as much a congregant to him as he has been to you.

“Leland Frost tore you down because he saw that you were growing up and away from him,” says Will. “He knew that one day you’d have a life, and achievements, and people that really cared about you. He was going to fade out of your world, and he couldn’t stand not leaving a mark.”

“I just don’t get it,” you whisper. “He loved me. Why did he do it?”

Will shifts his chair even closer to the bed so as to lean into you, his expression tender, tragic, sombre with a father’s sympathy.

“Leland never loved you, and that’s no reflection on you or your worth. It makes him weak, that he could throw away the relationship he had with you over an urge.”

You don’t have the strength to rage against the whited sepulchre in Will, not when he speaks the truth you’ve always yearned to hear from another. Pain winds through your body, throat to gut, great, twisting pulses, as though eviscerated on a blade of past.

What advice would Will give for you to survive what he and Hannibal have done, and will do?

Nothing. Not a word. He knows that the structure of the home, even comfort from those that afflict you has changed you in so short a time. Your desperation to be gone from him he senses, too, and with it your lust to be loved.

Will holds your hand for a long time before he speaks again, on another subject quite as dreary as the last.

“When you said it’d been years since you...”

“Since I last had my period?” you ask, touching your stomach through the sheets. “Yeah. It has been.”

Your body, the betrayer, making a scarlet banner of your betterment through cruelty.

“I never wanted it to come back. Having it again means I’m not as sick anymore, and that’s like... messing up for me.”

Will's head tilts, his face carved up by the shadows thrown from your barred window into a lattice of snow.

“Failing to die is barely a failure at all,” he comments.

You shrug yourself further under your bedcovers.

“It is if what’s happening to you is something worse,”

“Is it always so bad, being here with us?”

Will’s hand rises. Doesn’t quite touch your face. You turn your head away, but not cruelly; he’s not a bad man, you decide, only contorted so utterly from the ways of his fellows that he is some creature other, or from before, the flint-armed hunter of the caves.

And like such a creature, he seeks your answering affection for want of some warmth in the dark beginning of the earth.

You allow him to kiss your forehead, clumsily, inclined towards him as though you were not both aware of the fiction that allows this contact.

He can only guess how far you’d run from this, had you your chance. How readily you’d betray him.

You’re much recovered by the time Dr Lecter returns, having been hydrated and energised by a selection of unnamed supplements Will had you take with lunch; there is a cure for every ailment in the makeshift laboratory of the kitchen, it seems.

Hannibal discovers you at your usual perch of the parlour couch, writing in your journal with a blanket tucked loosely around you against the October cool.

Will stands to greet his companion, setting aside a book you’d offered him from your shelf to peruse, its cover depicting the bloody half-brain of the sun on a desert horizon.

“I didn’t expect our charge to be in such high spirits,” says Hannibal, with unmasked surprise. “Thank you for caring for her this morning, Will. I’m aware that whatever time you can spare for us in the midst of an investigation is very precious.”

Likely aware of your eyes on him, Will says, “I’m glad I stayed. I appreciated the company. How’s the other patient?”

“Suitably quieted. I doubt that I’ll be called away again on her behalf. Still, I made the most of the journey home.”

Hannibal reaches into a shopping bag looped over one arm and produces from it a wrapped package of fresh meat, marbling the paper with blood.

Grimacing, you say, “Ew. What is that? Looks like an organ.”

“It is. I’ll be making trippa alla romana tonight. It’s an Italian dish made from cow stomach. Don’t turn your nose up till you’ve tried it. Have I served anything to you yet that you haven’t enjoyed?”

After dinner, all three of the household recline, full and talking lazily before the fire. Had your company been any other than your abusers you would almost be content, for having been allowed to leave the table after a valiant half plate you are not so guilt-soaked as you’d have been had you finished it all.

You had, in fact, disliked the meal, a first in Hannibal’s house. The thought of the organ, plucked from the rib of a butcher’s shelf, had struck bile to the back of your mouth from the first bite.

A cup of chocolate, warmed to a froth and unadorned with cream is set in your hands instead, which you drink in feline licks to make it last.

Will’s phone shrills abruptly in his pocket. Frowning, he glances at the lighted oblong of its screen and starts at a familiar name.

“It’s Jack,” he says. “I’d better take this.”

He promptly exits the room, speaking with clipped tones into the device.

Alone with Hannibal, you become acutely aware of him looking at you, not quite with suspicion, but not so far from that.

"I see that you and Will are becoming close,” he says, at last. “I’m glad to see it.”

Humming vaguely, you snatch up the journal again and weave your pen about in a pretence of writing.

Hannibal says, "Still, it saddens me that—for all your pretty words of promise—you display a lesser willingness to befriend me.”

You do not answer, pressing your pen so hard against a page that it blots through to the other side.

"Put your journal down a moment, Little One,” says Hannibal. “I’m speaking to you."

Without looking up, you answer, "I don't know what you want me to say."

"You needn't say anything at all. It's your behaviour I wish to change."

In a flounce of irritation you throw the journal upon the floor, its spine creasing.

“I do what you say, and I don't fight you anymore,” you say. “Isn't that daughterly enough?"

"For the purposes of your treatment,” says Hannibal, “it is not. You remain closed to me, parted only by narcotic aid. I'd prefer you to open to me of your own volition. With Will, you prove yourself increasingly capable of that.

“I’ve given you all you’ve asked for, and more, and yet you show little gratitude. I wouldn’t wish to remove these luxuries for you to appreciate my endeavours.”

You look at him, then, this man both jealous and performing jealousy to groom you into his concubine, and in looking see that he will deconstruct your room into the barest cell, should he not have his way.

"I do appreciate what you’ve given me," you hastily protest. "I do, Daddy. You don’t have to take anything away. But I— I just don’t know you the way I know Will.”

“But you do,” says Hannibal, rising to sit beside you, a dangerous proximity. “That’s why you are so afraid of me, is it not?”

You begin to object, trailing off at the sound of approaching footfalls as the younger of your captors returns, listing in the churning swell of stress.

“It's the investigation,” says Will. “Another doll’s been found. Savannah Belmont. It’s too soon to be the Lover’s kill. He has a cool off point between each abduction.”

Hannibal straightens in his seat, rapidly alert.

“A copycat, then.”

Will nods, his throat tightening. His eyes touch your face briefly, and you offer him a small, close-lipped smile, an extension of comfort from across the room. His shoulders drop from their rigid line, and when he speaks again the frantic note in his voice is tempered slightly.

“Definitely a copycat,” he says. “The Lover disposes of the dolls by throwing them into rivers like garbage. No attempt to lay them to rest. Savannah was put on display, placed in a chair on a dirt bank as though she was waiting to be found.

“Both killers meant to degrade their victims, but only the copycat’s is implied to understand and accept that humiliation. Savannah Belmont died aware of her inferiority in the eyes of her murderer.”

You find yourself sitting on your hands to prevent them from betraying your agitation with their unsteadiness. Your leg, however, you cannot control, the right foot gyring an inch above the floor.

Hannibal eyes it without speaking, folding your reaction into the lengthy tome of his mind.

“The victim’s stomach was missing,” says Will, turning to pluck a bottle of whiskey from a nearby cabinet like some bronze fruit. “That’s new. The Lover’s mutilations are all with the purpose of fitting the bodies of his victims inside their silicone casings. He has no surgical skills.

“This new killer obviously has expertise. Savannah’s stomach was cut precisely from her body with the clear intent of taking it as a trophy.”

“Her stomach?” you repeat.

You feel the heaviness of meat within you and are chilled by the coincidence.

Hannibal could not have known what the copycat would take to reference it, could not have known of his existence to begin with, and yet as you glance at him under your lashes you don’t quite trust the seriousness of his expression, his eyes gleaming dimly as tarmac in the rain.

“You mustn’t worry, Little One,” says Hannibal, turning to lift you up onto his lap. “The Lover can’t hurt you. We will protect you, always.”

He settles your head against his chest, which resounds with the slow beat of his heart and the machinery of organs digesting his own rich meal.

The monster knows of your renewed distrust and is unthreatened by it, declawed and tooth-filed as you are by his influence over you and all the passageways of the world you’d otherwise cross in your escape.

“Thank you for taking care of me, Daddy,” you mutter, against his shirt, and the warmth of Hannibal’s palm cups your buttocks with a tormenting friction, both threat and tease at once.

While you hate him—are in terror of him, always—your form is increasingly enamoured by his touch as though it knows that it must be so, or die.

“No need to thank me for performing my duty to you, Little One,” says Hannibal, into your ear. “For you belong to me, and to Will, and you must never forget it.”

#manna fic #hannibal fic #tw noncon #tw csa #tw abuse #tw drugs #tw captivity #dead dove do not eat #hannibal lecter x reader #will graham x reader #hannibal lecter x reader x will graham #darkfic

73 notes · View notes

toxicanonymity · 10 months

Note

Whoever said that they want raider Joel to make them his trailer park princess was soooo right. I deadass j fantasize abt him and speculate over what’s gonna happen next. I love u raider Joel ur my violent murderous teddy bear and I’ll do whatever u say🖤🖤

I'm suffering from advanced raider brain rot rn. He has super strength btw.

Me: maybe writing a little imagine will get it out of my system 🚬🤡 (narrator: it doesn't)

Raider imagine - House Meeting

raider!Joel (softdark) x f!reader, dark fluff

Imagine Joel waking up to the sound of trouble downhill at the stash house. He gives you a piggy back ride down the hill since you're still half asleep and he doesn't have anyone to watch you at his trailer at this hour. As you go down the hill, you rest your head on his shoulder and look at his beautiful profile as he walks. Especially his nose and neck veins. You give his neck a little peck and he barely snarls since he's distracted by the trouble. When you get to the house, he quickly leaves you on your cot in the private room. He doesn't have time to chain you up before he goes to the main room, but your door is in view.

Voice booming, he yells at everyone to sit down. Then he sits on his own cot facing them, thighs spread, elbows on his knees. He yells at them and they stop yelling at each other. Things cool down while they talk about what happened but then it heats up again.

You creep into the main room where they are and go straight to the cot where he's seated. He doesn't look at you, doesn't even blink. He keeps yelling, maintaining his dominance. But he sits up straight like he knows what you're about to do, and he lets you climb into his lap straddling him. The guys know better than to let their eyes move a millimeter down from his face. You hold onto him with a hug. You rest your head in the crook of his neck and close your eyes. He doesn't acknowledge you or stop yelling. All he does is hold you with one arm and hand on your back, pointing at them with his other bicep bulging along with his neck veins. Then he gently cradles your head as he continues to yell and you can feel the vibrations of his thunderous voice in your skull.

When he's done, he wordlessly stands up with you still wrapped around him. Bends his knees to adjust your weight, then as he'd walking away with you, he mutters, "what're you doin' in here, hmm?" You say you were sleepy and scared. He says, "I know, sweet pea," and gives you a kiss on the head.

Raider master list

#raider!joel miller #raider!joel miller fluff #dark fluff #joel miller x reader #dark!joel miller #dark!joel miller x reader #joel miller imagine #joel miller blurb #tw captivity #raider!joel☠️#toxicanonymity ☠️#softdark!joel miller #dark fluff ☠️#raider!joel

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surplus-of-sarcasm · 4 months

Text

31st Story

Part 2

TW: Captivity, implied past torture, blood mention, restraints, mistrust, starvation mention, defiant whumpee, corrupt system, knife

Heyyy! Long-time no see. I blame college 100% because it takes up all my time, seriously. Happy New Year tho 💙

Villain could tell himself he was already used to the cold, hard embrace of the dull rock of his cell, to the claustrophobia-inducing lack of windows, to the fact that the only times he ever got to see the light was when someone walked in to beat him senseless, a feat made incredibly easy with the help of the chains that shackled his wrists and ankles, not allowing for much movement.

He could pretend that being covered in blood and filth, dazed and starving, was nothing to him, that the maddening urge to find out what time it was wasn't gnawing at him torturously.

"In here, wishful thinking is all you are capable of," a sunken-faced, old prisoner had told him before he was thrown into his personal hellhole. He hadn't said anything, but he'd believed the old hag to be weak and hopeless, and thus so was her sentiment.

Right now, all he wondered was if he'd break even faster than that woman might have. The villain screwed his eyes shut, hoping it would stop the chain of thoughts poisoning his mind, but all that did was make him think clearer, every disturbing image he tried so desperately to expel growing clearer and more vivid by the moment.

It was bad enough handling the physical pain, where every time he so much as shifted his form slightly, the tormented muscles in his back would scream in protest. But the physical side was tolerable, compared to being left at the mercy of his mind; a cruel, sinister thing.

So consumed he was in his own reverie, he hadn't even noticed as the door to his cell was unlocked, at least not until the light skirting around the corner had him snapping his eyes open and sitting up.

"This doesn't look good on you," a silky, almost serpentine voice called out.

"Superhero?" he asked, despising the note of trepidation in his voice.

"No. Just her lacklustre twin," she scoffed.

"Vigilante," he deduced with a slight fall of his shoulders in relief. It's not that he believed Vigilante would treat him well, it's just that no one could rival Superhero in cruelty.

"Still ever the genius," she responded dryly.

"What do you want?" he asked, almost desperate. If she was here to torment him, he wanted her to get over with it. It was becoming progressively more difficult to bear the state in which he was in, the one chock-full of waiting and thinning patience, of hoping the pain would start so it could end, that this time would pass faster.

Except it never did.

"It's strange seeing someone normally so high and mighty like this," she attested, dodging his question.

The older version of him would have let out a frustrated snarl and cussed her out for annoying him, but now all he could do was bite his tongue and stare at her with his new resting face, broken and defeated.

"Well, I'm not here to hurt you," she said, folding her arms across her chest.

That was a response, albeit an indirect one. And of course, she wasn't here to hurt him. She was here to make sure he was comfortable, that he was enjoying his five-star stay in this resort in hell.

Sucks to have an army of enemies and not a single semblance of a friend.

He and Vigilante hadn't really had any direct bad blood, but he was a villain locked up in here, so by default, he was supposed to be her enemy, right? It didn't matter who walked in here or whether they knew him or not. They just loved to see him break, to see him, once so relentlessly powerful, reduced to less than nothing. Perhaps it brought them a sort of sick satisfaction, but he didn't know much about satisfaction anymore to judge.

"I'm going to get you out of here," she said casually, like promising him the impossible was some sort of small punishment, nothing to tear himself up about. Maybe she could rival her sister in cruelty.

Without warning, a hysterical laugh escaped his throat, only for him to bite his lip and stop abruptly, trying to clamp a hand over his mouth only for him to remember he was chained up.

Vigilante's face fell, and his own had silent tears streaming down it. He felt as though he couldn't breathe, as though bricks were raining down on his shoulders and crushing his bones into nothing. His whole being seemed to itch with dread.

"Villain?" Vigilante called out, looking a mixture of confused and horrified.

"Just get over with it! Torture me until the floor runs red with my blood, tell me how death is a mercy above vermin like myself, and tell me to take it with a smile. Hit me harder when I can't bring myself to do it. Hit me until I feel all the pain of death but never attain it. Remember my current words as defiance, as another crime I've committed. I think watching me be humbled to the nothing I truly am will entertain you as any show would," he spat, only for regret to colour his features just as fast.

"Damn it. Villain, I don't want to do. . .any of this to you," Vigilante started, careful, trying for a semblance of gentle, something she was never particularly good at. "Like I said, I'm going to get you out of here," she continued again, hoping the stern tone indicated she was serious and not somehow going to torture him.

She'd never particularly liked him, mainly because he'd always been ice-cold, calculated to a point he seemed inhuman at times, no emotion whatsoever showing up on his face, besides a cool smugness. And by virtue of all the terrible things he'd done, all the blood on his hands. And yet, he was far from the worst thing out there, and most definitely not the villain in her story.

"And let's pretend you're telling the truth, which is completely fine by me because any mercy I've ever had here has always been a pretence, a figment of my imagination, you know. What could you possibly gain from this?" He raised an eyebrow, bearing a small resemblance to his usual self. Well, at least there was a slight amount of fight left in him, even if he was clearly holding back tears now.

But the villain's question wasn't completely outlandish. Vigilante did want something from him, but it wasn't a favour he would ever come to hate. "I need your help. My sister may seem like the goddamn tooth fairy to those who don't know better, but we know what her regime is really doing. This isn't about fighting crime, it's about her insatiable addiction to power."

"And where do I belong here?" The villain's voice still held the same disbelieving tone, his shoulders managing to tense even further.

"You're one of the few people who challenged her, Villain. And as much as it pains me to say it, you're a good strategist," she explained, even though she knew she'd barely convinced him in the slightest.

"I can't be the only one fitting that description, but I can be the only one owing you a favour too," he answered. Even if he didn't look half as confident, half as untouchable as before, the criminal was still just as clever. But it also meant he wasn't believing her anytime soon. Still, he wasn't wrong. The villain may not have smelled like roses all the time, but he'd be loyal to make sure they were even; a man of his word.

"What's it gonna be, Villain? Come with me or stay here?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest, growing impatient.

Well, it didn't make sense for her to give him a choice if she was going to torture him, but sense no longer governed things in his mind, letting a fearful apprehension replace it, no matter how humiliating. The choice could easily be an illusion, another cruel joke in this comedy skit from the filthiest parts of hell.

But it could be a chance, and he was desperate. So desperate he'd risk feeling even further degraded when she laughed in his face and put him through whatever torment she'd have planned.

"Fine," he answered, looking up at her with trepidation in his eyes. He could already feel the regret tasting like salt on his tongue and the burn of acid at the back of his throat he recognised as shame.

So when the sound of his chains being unlocked rang in his ears, and the vigilante helped him up, the feeling of surprise was palpable.

"I just need to handcuff you while they can see us," she explained, noticing how slowly the villain nodded, mistrust still burning in his eyes.

She didn't like how weightless he seemed against her, barely able to walk. She hadn't fought him much, but she clearly remembered that while his frame was somewhat slender, the villain's build still used to be athletic. It was no surprise he'd deteriorated, but that didn't make his fate any less cruel.

"I'm moving him to the other facility," she announced, practically dragging the half-starved villain with her, the only response being curt nods from the guards.

They were lucky that no one here would dare question Superhero and by default, her sister, if they could even tell the difference between both.

And sure enough, there was an entry documented into the other facility, done with the help of a few handsomely paid workers. And while Superhero wouldn't buy into the lie for long, it would at least make sure she didn’t notice immediately that something was up.

✨️Break✨️

The drive to Vigilante's house was almost torturously long and reeking of the tension of two people who weren't used to each other. The villain ran his fingers over his wrists, now free of handcuffs, but they still hurt. All of him hurt, a constant, dull pain that he was almost used to, but that didn't mean he didn't miss the times where he could remember moments without aches all over his body.

That was only the least of it anyway.

"I think you'd want to clean up," the vigilante had suggested when they'd got to her house.

Instead of an off-hand "yeah" like he'd meant to, the first words that foolishly came tumbling out of his mouth were: "I can?"

This wasn't an option they gave him back there, and soon enough he'd stopped caring entirely.

"Oh," Vigilante had responded, giving him a solemn look. "I mean, yes, of course you can," she corrected hastily.

He nodded, quite literally shoving himself into the bathroom and swallowing down the awkward shame in his throat.

He'd grown so accustomed to pain that he'd barely even noticed the sting of the hot water on his open, practically fresh wounds, or how the shower water underneath him turned a dull pink. He was a lot more focused on how his sore muscles relaxed with the heat, how he seemed to get lighter with all the dirt off him, good sensations having become foreign to him in the time of his captivity.

He walked out to find a change of clothes (his clothes) on the bed in the room outside, catching his reflection in the mirror, bruises lining his cheekbones and jaw and heavy, dark circles underneath his eyes. The villain simply ignored the old memories of himself taking the time to style his hair and care for his skin, his mind hardwired for survival, looking around the room for anything he could use in case he had to defend himself.

Not that Vigilante was stupid enough for that.

Still, if she wished to hurt him, she could've done it faster, could've done it earlier. Maybe the villain wouldn't trust her blindly, but so far, he hated her less bitterly than he hated everyone else.

"How'd you get these?" he asked, walking out, looking down at the black zip-up hoodie and black sweats.

Vigilante shrugged. "From your place."

"You broke into my- whatever." It wasn't the strangest part about the situation now. "What are we supposed to do?"

"I think you need to rest," she suggested.

And she was entirely correct, given his exhaustion and how the shower had made him somewhat sleepy, so he nodded his head, walking into "his" room and waiting until she walked up to her room, waiting until he could walk out and check if she'd slept, and once he was sure, he walked into the kitchen, picking up a knife and bringing it to his room.

The villain knew it was scummy, but he wasn't about to risk being hurt again, and if the vigilante truly had good intentions, the knife would never be put to use. Still, the villain had managed to fall into a fitful sleep, still better than any night he spent curled up on a cold, hard floor.

Trust is never easy, especially for those who have been hurt one too many times. But people were not made to live forever encased in solitude, a safe option to the blind and foolish, but never a permanent solution. And while taking a risk in times of suffering might seem like a wretched fate, sometimes it is the lifeline you need to breathe again.

✨️Le Taglist: @larinzz @syberianjade @lateuplight @altu-interactions @enbious-prince @astr0-mj @thelazywitchphotographer @a-fucking-simp-00 @addictedsandwhichaki @justalittlecorrupted @quaggasus @theangstyclown @vernilliom @mothmancommitsarson @starssabove @kurai-hono-blog @talkingsperm @muffinrebel44 @sunnynwanda @annablogsposts @cardboardarsonist @itsmyworld23 @onlywhump @m3rakii @crotchgoblin69 @wtfevenisausername @pendarling @avloki-pal @kaiwewi @those-damn-snippets @genuinelythioehat-is-whump @ghostofnorth

Wanna be on the taglist? This'll take you there!

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phantoms-planet · 3 months

Text

(already made a post about this but it was giving me issues so I'm making a separate one)

Danny's obsession with Protection begins to take hold, changing him from a normal ghost to a godling. Unfortunately his new status catches the eyes of a twisted organization, one that wishes to use his powers for their own gains. He is captured and his friends and family killed. Danny is contained well below Amity in one of the organization's secret facilities. In order to use one of Danny's new powers, healing tears, Danny is subjected to nonstop of projections of people in peril he has no power to save.

Bruce is suspicious of just how successful this new medical company is. They popped up out of nowhere and quickly gained a reputation for being able to make medicines that could cure just about anything. As batman he investigates further and finds a research and containment laboratory hidden from the public. As "Brucie" Wayne he manages to gain the trust of the owner and CEO of Ameliorate and convinces a tour out of them.

It's easy to sneak away unnoticed for a moment, but less so to hide his surprise at a white haired, ethereal boy chained down there, sobbing uncontrollably. Bruce decides it's time to pull the Justice League in, save the boy, and shut down the company.

First | Prev | Next

Tw; Death mentions, torture, mention of drugging, inhumane treatment of Danny

-------------------

His core screamed out in agony.

A protection god forced to watch as thousands, millions died in front of him, unable to stop it.

Tears flowed down into a collection basin below.

Danny didn’t know how long he’d been there. He didn’t care. However long, it was too much. He wished his friends were there. Sam and Tucker… Their lifeless bodies flashed in his mind and prompted another huge wave of tears to splash into the basin.

Jaz would be able to quench the sorrow with her obsessive knowledge of how emotions worked. She was overbearing at times but he missed having someone care about him so much.

His mom and dad could sooth the ever-present ache with their special brand of care and he knew they wouldn’t hesitate to wreak havoc to save him.

But Maddie and Jack were gone too; shot down trying desperately to save their children. Jaz taken out weeks later while Danny and her were on the run. Danny had rushed to her and then there was a net and then-

This was all his fault; if he hadn’t gotten sloppy with using his powers, if he had kept his ghostly side hidden better.

Instead of his loved ones there was nothing but the overwhelming screens covering every inch of walls, broadcasting carnage and death 24/7. There was a person dressed in all white who came in to feed him. They didn't matter. The people who were shown on the screens mattered. In danger, scared, hurt. They were the reason Danny tried so hard to get out.

A sob jolted his frame enough the chains rattled. All he had wanted was to help people!

Escape should have been easy. He was a god: escape should have been EASY!

He thought they may have been drugging his food.

None of his powers were working as strong as they should have been, some not working at all, but he still had his wail. Danny pulled in as large a breath as he could manage as the feeder person frantically booked it out of the room. Every screen shattered under his scream, plunging him into blissful silent darkness. A soft sigh slipped out. Relief. Finally relief. Seconds later the screens rotated and brought a fresh barrage of misery.

The basin overflowed.

___

Bruce was happy with the new medical company at first. Goodness knew Gotham needed a miracle when it came to the overflowing hospitals and untreatable illnesses caused by rouges and pollution alike.

They came in and started producing serums, pills, vaccinations, creams, you name it they had it, that could cure nearly anything. Terminal disease? Taken care of. Joker gas? A breeze for their formulas. Fear Toxin? No sweat. It had taken a while for the company to gain a footing with Gotham’s mistrust but once they had it, they were selling cure all’s at a truly staggering rate.

Bruce had first heard their reputation when one of the actually tolerable moms in the PTA raved about how her daughter was taking some pills and apparently getting sick much less frequently and less aggressively. He had briefly considered trying to get something for Tim, even.

But the problem was that this new company was too good at healing things. Just because Gotham needed a miracle doesn’t mean they exist and would show up out of nowhere. No, this was just suspicious.

Tim and Barbara had begun to dig through the company’s entire digital footprint and it was as if the company truly did just suddenly exist. Bizarrely there was no crime related to them. Not that they had found yet anyway.

He didn’t like this. People were getting better, which was great, but something in his gut told him this wasn’t right. How was the Ameliorate corporation coming up with cures and treatments for every illness, disease, condition, and toxin that ever existed? It very well should have taken centuries of research and development but there wasn’t anywhere near that long of a history to justify the turn out.

“Master Bruce?” He snapped out of his thoughts to a fresh cup of tea being set beside him. Alfred was frowning at him.

Bruce grumbled out a sigh. “Thank you, Alfred. Is Tim-?”

“He is still sleeping. I assume it will be quite a time before he wakes, given how long he was up.” Alfred nodded to the batcomputer. “Is there any progress?”

Another grumbly sigh. Bruce ran his hands down his face before responding. “None. I don’t understand it, there’s no possible way this company could be doing what it’s been doing. Not enough time or research facilities.”

“Perhaps, Master Bruce, there is a facility not in their records? One they don’t wish for people to know about?” It took a moment for the words to set in but when they did Bruce lunged to the computer for another round of exhaustive research.

It took hours.

Finally, Bruce had managed to find allusions to another, much larger, much older facility. It seemed to be somewhere near Illinois, Michigan, or Wisconsin. This facility seemed to be more for containment than research however.

Strangely that’s the only thing he could find. Unfortunately, it was also time for him to go into Wayne Co for some meetings. With slight reluctance Bruce sent what he had to Barbara before stepping away from the computer and making his way from the cave.

There was another big event at the museum soon and the owner and CEO of Ameliorate would be attending. Perhaps he could lay on a thick layer of Brucie charm. It was a long shot, but he would keep it as a fallback plan just in case. No matter what, Bruce knew he had to find out what was in that containment facility.

#danny phantom #dc x dp #dp x dc #ao3 fanfic #my writing #Barred Protection #tw death mention #tw drugging #tw captivity

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the-grimm-writer · 2 years

Note

Can we get reader waking up in Dabi's place after one of their many hook ups, she gets up and ready to leave, but unfortunately Dabi has finally decided today is the day she stays with him.

Ooooh love this

It was peaceful, waking up in his bed in the early morning. Feeling sore but satisfied from the night before. The villain, still sound asleep beside you. Black bed spread a mess, blankets and clothes on the floor.

A smile made its way to your face as you turned to him. It was rare that you saw Dabi look peaceful, even with the deep purple scars and staples on his face. This was one of the only times you got to. You pushed his black hair out of his face before you got up and stretched.

You had no clothes on, which is what usually happens whenever you come to his home. Clothes dropping in a fit of lust and staying off for most of your stay until it was time to leave.

Clipping on your bra and slipping on your underwear, you were just about to grab your shirt and jumped when scarred arms wrapped around you. You stood up straight, relaxing when you realized it was just Dabi. You didn't even hear him wake up.

"You look cute like that," Dabi mumbled against your neck, making you naturally lean back against him when you felt his teeth graze against your skin. "But you still look better with nothing on. Where are you going this early?" He pulled away and looked at you, his lips narrowing to a frown.

"I have to work," you sighed, turning around and looking up at him. "You know that."

"You always have to work," he groaned, grabbing you again and pulling you close to him. "Why don't you stay for once? Then we can go another round, maybe something more," he suggested, running his hands down your skin and squeezing your hips.

Dabi had been acting like this lately. It was getting strange. The first few times he never cared, whoever woke up first was usually the one to go without saying a word. But now, he was always trying to persuade you into making you stay.

"What's getting into you?" You pulled out of his hold and took a step back.

"What do you mean?" He retaliated immediately.

It was your turn to frown. "You're acting strange. It's like you've been trying to prevent me from leaving.”

He shrugged. "There's nothing wrong with wanting my girl to stay with me for more than just a night."

"Hold on a second," you cut him off. "I am not your girl, we are not together. All this has been is hooking up, you said that yourself."

His face twisted into a sneer. "I warned you villains lie to get what they want all the time when we first met, sweetheart. It's your fault that you didn't realize that includes me too."

You paused for a second, flabbergasted at his words before scoffing. "You know what, fuck you, Dabi. I'm leaving and you're not going to stop me. Go find someone else to pull this bullshit on."

Dabi slowly followed you out. "I wouldn't try that if I were you."

You flipped him off, ignoring his comment. You didn't care that you didn't have all your clothes on, you'd leave in almost nothing if it just meant getting out of there. You paused when you got to the door.

Hold on, deadbolts? He could barely afford a regular lock, and that wasn't there last night.

You tried ignoring it, grabbing the handle, twisting and turning the knob before searching for a way to unlock the door before banging your hand against it.

"God damn it!" You yelled, growing frustrated when you couldn't find a way to open it.

"Do you like it?" Dabi stood behind you, making the back of your hairs stand up. "A friend owed me a few favors. So he gave me some locks to install, and a new security system. Top of the line, say heroes use it. There's no way around it without me knowing." He smirked, obviously proud of himself.

Tears burned in your eyes and you leaned against the door, defeated. "Why are you doing this?" You asked, voice soft.

"Because it's a horrible world out there." He pulled you away from the door. "Every time I think about some fucking hero trying to steal you away from me, or anyone for that matter, it drives me insane. And I know you only think of me as your fuck buddy, and I tried hard to get you used to this but you wouldn't cooperate. So it's come down to this."

There was that dark look in his eyes again. On the rare occasions when you'd have a conversation with him when he was extra frustrated, his bright blue eyes would always turn a shade darker.

Every atom in your body was screaming at you to run, but something was preventing you from doing so. You were on edge, cautious. It was like a switch was flipped inside you. You couldn't believe you let lust blind you so much to forget who Dabi truly was.

Your stomach churned as you began to process what you were feeling for the first time. You knew what he did for a living, but you weren't phased by it. He was always rough, but that's how you liked it as well, and he's never actually hurt you out of malice. It had always been a mutual benefit, and no one ever made you feel as good as Dabi did.

Fear, you realized. It was the first time you've ever felt it with him.

You never took what he said in bed seriously. When he'd say you belonged to him, that if anyone touches you the way he does that he'd kill them. You just thought that it was in the heat of the moment.

He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look up at him. "I've done everything to prevent you from escaping, but you ever even try to..."

You gasped when his hand ignited with his blue flames, the heat close enough to almost sear your skin.

"...You're not going to like the consequences. Do you understand?"

Shakily, you nodded your head, your heart pounding in your chest even as he let the flame die out. He grinned, and it took all your willpower not to burst into tears at the look.

"There's a good girl. Now let's finish what we started last night."

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absolute-flaming-trash · 4 months

Text

Pairing: Yandere!Chrollo x Reader

SFW

Word Count: 721

Warnings: Kidnapped reader, Captive reader, Forced relationship

Out of all the holiday seasons that came and went during the year, this one was your favourite by far.

Not for the festivities or the brash, obnoxious yet oddly endearing holiday traditions that made their way over from the Western world. Those certainly had their place, yes, but you loved it for an entirely different reason.

The lights.

Colours of every shade, limited only by imagination, were strung up on buildings all across the city - wrapped around the rails of balconies and other anchor points like luminescent vines. Trees that lined the streets were specifically decorated with white and blue, mimicking the ice and snow around them and making the scene seem just that much brighter.

It made it all seem so ethereal. How enchanting such a simple thing could make a night otherwise illuminated only by lights belonging to office buildings and private homes. It was almost enough to make you forget why you had the view you did. Who you shared it with.

You didn’t want to go back inside the hotel room yet. Even with some protection from the balcony, the cold bit at your skin making gooseflesh pepper your skin. Your toes had gone numb ages ago, but you couldn’t yet tear yourself away.

In the distance, someone was playing carols over a loudspeaker. The sound made your lips quirk up ever so slightly and you closed your eyes to take it in for a moment. While classical music was all but ruined for you by this point, there was something about the orchestral version of songs that still managed to make you feel… home. Nostalgia stirring in your chest for something that would never be the same again. A place that never existed anymore.

Such a moment was interrupted by warmth wrapping itself around you from behind, hands encircling your waist and reminding you just how thin your nightgown really was.

Your silent wish that he wouldn’t speak and simply look at the view with you was quickly crushed when you felt his hot breath right next to your ear.

“Twas noontide of summer,” Chrollo began, “and mid-time of night; and stars, in their orbits, shone pale ‘ore the night.”

“Must you always do that?” You asked, cutting his recitation off before he could complete it fully. A beat of silence followed, one long enough that the temptation to reopen your eyes to look at him pulled at your subconscious, but you pushed it back.

You felt one of his hands leave your waist in favor of your arm, the goosebumps disappearing under the warmth of his palm. Part of you wondered if he delighted in the little ways your body betrayed you when it came to him. What he provided.

“Do what, my dear?”

“Make it worse.”

There was another beat of silence as Chrollo’s fingers tightened around your bicep in a light squeeze. You opened your eyes that time, the lights coming back into view, but this time it felt different.

Tainted.

He squeezed your arm again.

“You’re cold. Come back in, there are plenty of blankets for you.”

A frown threatened to tug at your lips, but you hid it well. At least you thought you did. If there was one bright side to being the object of Chrollo’s affection, it was learning the skill of hiding what you truly felt.

Not like it mattered much, anyway.

“Do I have to?”

Another squeeze on your arm. Firmer. Non-negotiable.

“You’ll catch cold.”

A surprising reason, you thought. With how much he lingered and leered, you figured he’d delight in any occasion that would result in you depending upon and relying on him more.

Attempting to think about any other reason as to why he wouldn’t want for something like that only served to give you a headache, so you nodded once - turning your body to face his.

“Excellent.” You could hear the pleasantry in his tone hidden underneath his otherwise deadpan expression. The hand on your arm slid off to reopen the balcony door while the other moved to the small of your back, guiding you back inside.

The warmth from the room that greeted you was ironic in a way. Most defined the winter night air as biting. Harsh, even.

Yet the supposed reprieve of the indoors had never felt less welcoming.

#riri writes #Chrollo #Chrollo x Reader #HxH #Hunter x Hunter #Chrollo Lucilfer #Chrollo Lucilfer x Reader #Yandere x Reader #tw yandere #tw kidnapping #tw captivity #tw forced relationship

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serickswrites · 3 months

Text

Obey

Warnings: captivity, torture, restraints, asphyxiation

"Obey me and I won't hurt you again, Whumpee," Whumper purred in Whumpee's ear. "I'll even let you breathe as much as you want."

Whumpee's chest heaved as they gasped for air. Whumper had been strangling them for the better part of an hour. "Anything.....I'll," gasp, "do anything." Whumpee gasped again.

Whumper smiled down at Whumpee, their fingers loose around Whumpee's throat. "Say please."

"Pl-Pl-Please," Whumpee whispered. They would do anything, anything, to get Whumper to stop.

"Very good, that's right, beg me," Whumper snickered as their fingers closed tightly around Whumpee's throat.

Whumpee struggled in Whumper's grasp. Struggled to breathe, struggled to take a breath. But it was no use, Whumper's grip was too tight. They couldn't get a breath in. And as black spots peppered their vision, Whumpee let themself go limp, let their hands soften in their restraints.

Just as Whumpee felt the edge of their grip on consciousness, Whumper released their grip. Whumpee coughed, gasping desperately for air. "Y-Y-You....li-li-lied," Whumpee finally managed to say.

"You believed me. That's not my fault. Why would you believe the person who's been torturing you for the last several hours? Why would I be honest?" Whumper sneered down at Whumpee. "Face it, Whumpee, even if you obey me, your life is mine to do with as I want."

Whumpee opened their mouth to argue, but they were silenced as Whumper closed their fingers once more, cutting off all of Whumpee's air.

#serickswrites #whump #whumpblr #whump writing #whump community #tw captivity #tw restraints #tw torture #tw asphyxiation #febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #day 4 #prompt: obey #queue

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justletmereadmywhump · 6 months

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Drabble One

They cowered away from Whumper, watching in terror as Caretaker’s feathers were plucked off one by one. They couldn’t stand hearing their friend scream, tears running down their face with each sob Whumper pried from Caretaker’s throat.

“Whumper, please!” They cried. “Leave them alone! You want me, not Caretaker!”

Whumper paid them no heed, continuing to rip the plumage from Caretakers once beautiful wings. ”I’ll give you anything, Whumper! I’ll do anything, please just stop!” They sobbed. Whumper froze, a feather half way pulled off and stretched in a way that made Caretaker whine. “Is that so? You’d do anything in the world...” Whumper harshly tore the feather off, prompting a strangled gasp from Caretaker. “For this pathetic little bird?” Caretaker looked at Whumpee with pleading eyes, silently begging them not to go on.

Whumpee hesitated, seeing the look on Caretakers face. They new Whumper, they knew what Whumper would do if they were really given the chance for it. But it wasn’t worth seeing Caretaker like this.

They nodded, scared for their life. “How tempting.” Whumper chuckled. “Perhaps I’ll take you up on your... deal.” They knew that tone. They knew it too well.

#whump #whump writing #whumpblr #whumpee #Winged caretaker #nonhuman caretaker #winged whumpee #whumper #tw torture #tw captivity #cw torture #caretaker turned whumpee #manipulative whumper #Wing plucking #I hope you enjoyed! :D #I’ll be sending these out whenever I write them #Drabble tag is going to be #Justletmedrabble

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whumpberry-cookie · 10 months

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Whumpee without self-respect but WITH some severe back pain.

(Cw: captivity, humiliation, dehumanisation)

(Wr): *knocks Whumpee down and puts their boot on their face* That's where your place is. On the floor.

(W) Can I have a request tho? Could you...eh.. step on my back instead?

(Wr) Oh? Well, you asked for it. *steps and puts their whole body weight into it, expecting Whumpee to squeal in pain*

*loud cracking sound*

(W) Ahh!! Yes, that's the stuff! Now between shoulder blades, my back's killing me.

(Wr) ...? I changed my mind. I don't want you. Get in the car, I'm dropping you out.

(W) What?! NO! I'M STAYING!

(Wr) I SAID GET IN THE CAR!

(W) Wait, I can be useful! I can be your carpet! Your doormat? YOUR TRAMPOLINE!! I CAN'T AFFORD A CHIROPRACTOR!

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#my backs killing me i need a hydraulic press doing good work on my upper vertebrae #Step on me? Nah. Step on my back so it cracks juust right.#whump #whumpee #whump prompt #whump humor #whump meme #tw humiliation #tw captivity #captivity whump #whumper #obedient whumpee

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inkblot22 · 22 days

Note

(PS I don’t actually know the source material for idia I just stumbled upon one of your fics while looking at FFXIV Yandere fics so sorry if this sounds OOC)

I’m not super creative but what do you think might actually be Idia’ routine with his darling? Does he fall into any routine, does it change a lot?

Have a wonderful day (and happy late bunny day!) 🫶

I actually am of the opinion that this is a very creative thought! You should give yourself more credit. I like to idealize the day to day life, but it never occurred to me that writing it down might be a good idea. On that sentiment, I think maybe Vil or even Leona would have a better day to day routine. Dividers by @/cafekitsune

Also, wow, what a pipeline, FFXIV to twst?? You've got good taste lmao welcome to my blog.

I'll put this under the cut, and I'm also not promising that this will be very good. I use the 24 hour clock. I am constantly getting told irl that American people don't do that, but I'm evil, so I'm putting the times in 24 hour clock format.

TW for mentions of noncon, coercion, captivity, someone keeping someone else awake, a hint of Idia being an asshole

+ Idia doesn't really seem like he has much of a set schedule, but Ortho absolutely does and Ortho is lowkey kind of bossy, so...

+ Yeah uh, Idia's partner is absolutely out of luck. Idia likes night gaming a lot, and he gets loud, so good luck sleeping. Idia himself goes to bed late and wakes up whenever the heck he wakes up. He could go to bed at 0300 in the morning and wake up again at 0700.

+ As his kept partner, the schedule is a little more normal, like I said. Ortho doesn't really need to sleep from what I understand, (I haven't read all of book 6, no spoilers or else I WILL temporarily block you) but it's silly to imagine that he doesn't wake up or attempt to wake up everyone else around him as early as 0600.

+ After waking up, Idia will eat breakfast. I think it'd be delivered usually since Idia and his partner are basement dwellers, one by nature and the other by force. After breakfast begins work...

+ Or procrastination. Idia flip flops between extreme focus on what he should be doing and what he should not be doing. He manages to get his schoolwork done, but more often than not, he's asking his partner to cuddle up and watch a movie, drama, or his fingers flying across the keyboard. Idia will not ask them to cuddle if he is doing schoolwork or virtually attending classes.

+ I like to think that he smells smoky, on account of the flaming hair, and he runs hot, so prepare to SWEAT. In the case his partner doesn't really want to hang out with him, he will usually sulk and only occasionally get upset to the point of doing something about it.

+ I don't think he showers every day. I think he's an every other day type of showerer, based solely on him not being particularly active. This means that his partner doesn't have to run on his showering schedule and gets extra hot water on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.

+ By the way, in the case that Idia's darling ever gets peckish, Idia has a snack stash that he proudly pulled out and showed them as soon as they were allowed to wander a bit. I figure they get hungry some time around 1400, especially if Idia is also eating at that time.

+ I think his metabolism is fast, but also a bit odd. He is a young person, and therefore he strikes me as the type to get randomly hungry. If asked very nicely (and with the promise of physical affection in some form) he'd be incredibly willing to make his partner something to munch on when he makes his own.

+ Despite Idia's partner being literally held captive in his room, with all his suspicious items and, worst of all, himself, Idia is about as respectful as a kidnapper can be about demanding sex. He doesn't like to be physically forceful about it, and he often will just jerk off in the bathroom.

+ The reason for this is very simple: If Ortho ever saw Idia having sex with ANYONE, Idia would spontaneously combust. Well, obviously he doesn't know that for certain, but it's a theory that he is not willing to test. He won't even talk about his preferences around his little brother.

+ As far as I'm aware, most people in captive situations do not tend to ask their kidnapper to fuck them unless they're being threatened in some way, but Idia's partner isn't typically being threatened (ignore the shock collar,) so they never ask Idia to have sex.

+ This does not stop Idia from being a whiny bitch about not having sex enough as soon as Ortho is gone for a few hours. The close quarters and sudden advent of a human being who he doesn't mind touching him is a big thing for Idia.

+ Ortho goes on "walks" in a sort of unusual schedule. That is to say that he doesn't have a schedule. If something needs to be picked up, he's tired of Idia not listening to him, he has his own stuff to do, or he just feels like it, Ortho will go out, sharing his location with Idia. From there, Idia will typically calculate how long it'd take Ortho to get back paired with whatever Ortho said he was going to do before he left, and see if he can squeeze in some coerced touching.

+ So. Good luck, Idia's partner. Idia will make a big stink until he gets bored or his partner gives in. His partner usually gives in, based on fear of what he might do alone.

+ Bedtime is somewhat randomized. If Ortho was out, when he comes back and it's any time after 2000, he will very subtly try to get Idia and his partner to start winding down. If both or one ignores him, he'll start getting upset.

+ Like I said, Ortho is kinda bossy. He will nag someone, and the worst part is that he's usually got their best interest in mind.

+On the off chance that Idia decides to go to bed at a decent time, he curls up behind his partner. He runs hot and smells smoky, and at some times it's not the worst thing. Some times.

+ By the way, a lot of this flies out the window in the event that Idia decides to attend classes in person. This is rare, so don't expect it to happen often, but it's not as good as it could be. Ortho goes with him and he locks up any way to reach the outside world, so all his partner has to entertain themselves is his manga collection, or the fun pastime of destruction of property. (This is a very bad idea, and I can expand on punishments later.)

+ In Idia's partner's case, every day is much of the same but just a little different, which makes it hard to keep track of time. The fact that Idia prefers low lighting and no natural light doesn't help this whatsoever.

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