#captive cw

[writtenbyariavargas]

Day 7

Made to watch - North/Sang

If North had been the one to be in the closet with her.

captive cw, captive tw, abuse cw, abuse tw

The moment I’d heard from Nathan that Sang hadn’t answered his texts I knew something was wrong. We all did. What we didn’t know was what was happening. I checked the cameras and didn’t see her. The panic that rose in my chest gripped at my lungs, freezing them and making it hard to breathe steadily. I kept looking for a sign of her, flipping through each room’s camera. Nothing. Nothing until I heard Luke’s slightly relieved voice say “hidden hearts.” I looked over and saw that green heart. It was a message that she was there. Smart girl. She knew we’d know to look for her. Now was the plan to get her out and out safe.

We discussed what to do but it was Kota to come up with the answer, write a note about some important test and have a message in her secret code telling her we got her message, telling her to go back to the bathroom. We were going to pull her out. It was the quickest way to get her back in our care, back to safety and away from her mother.

Blackbourne was the one to ring the doorbell and speak with that woman. I could hear the sneer in her voice and the disdain for Sang. I didn’t understand it, but it infuriated me. Sang was sweet, kind, gentle, and beautiful. How could anyone feel anything negative towards her I didn’t understand. My heart ached knowing that she was somewhere in the house and was being held captive.

We waited at bated breath for her to enter the bathroom again. I clenched my fists over and over again, needing to see that she was okay. Kota had the camera feed for it up. As soon as he saw her I rushed forward, I needed to be the one to pull Sang out. I needed to see her in person, make sure she was okay. She had wrapped herself in a towel. Still so modest in an emergency. Sang looked scared, but I pointed at the window for her to open it. She did.

“Let’s go,” I told her. She shook her head, “Sang baby, we need to.”

“I can’t, she’ll call the cops,” she put her finger to her mouth.

I heard that woman call for her and made the split second decision to climb on it. I barely fit through the window but I wasn’t leaving her in there. There wasn’t any way that I would. I didn’t want to and I knew that every single one of my brothers would have done the same thing. She left the bathroom and I slipped into the closet, making sure her mother wouldn’t see me. Anger flared in me as I heard her take the towel away. She was humiliating Sang. Physically she wasn’t being harmed, but the psychological damage was probably going to be the worst of this experience.

“Get in there,” the woman snarled and shut Sang back in the closet.

“We need to go,” I whispered, frowning down at her. She was shaking, scared and probably cold.

“No, we can’t. If she sees you she’ll call the police. She’ll have you arrested.”

“Sang baby, she can’t keep you in here. We’ll call the police and have her arrested. This isn’t okay,” I murmured.

“She’s trying to get my dad to come back, wanting him to take me with him. Please let me stay until he gets here,” she pleaded with me.

I messaged back and forth with Kota, but we settled on giving him until eight in the evening. If he wasn’t back by then, then I’d be taking her out without care for recourse.

“Turn around,” I murmured and she looked a little confused, but did so.

Quickly I took off my boxer briefs and put my pants back on, then gave her that and my button down. She’d be ready to run when we needed to. While we waited, I held her in my arms, knowing how scared she must be. I wanted to let Sang know with my touch that she’d be safe. I wanted her to know that we wouldn’t let anything happen to her. Her mom continued to make calls, trying to get ahold of her dad.

The moment she started her last voicemail to him I felt her muscles go slack and saw in her face that she was lost. She’d just heard the woman that she thought was her mother say otherwise. Sang heard that she was a bastard child, a child of an affair, that her real mother killed herself. I swallowed hard. No wonder that woman could be so cruel to her. No wonder that she’d left Sang to die tied up in the shower. I ground my teeth, angry for Sang. She was slipping, tears were starting to fall down her face. I wrapped her in my arms, mouth close to her ear.

“Sang. It’s okay,” I tried and she was still shaking. I swallowed and tried again, “Sang, I need you.”

She gasped, like she had when I woke her from the first nightmare I witnessed her have. She was back, distraught but back. I hated that woman for what she did to Sang.

The time passed. It was hard just waiting for any answer. I had a quiet alarm set for eight and as soon as it went off I picked her up off the ground and held her in my arms.

“Wait, please, he could be here any moment.”

I shook my head. I was getting her out.

The sound front door opening caught me and I froze. They did find him. Good. I was going to give him a verbal lashing for this, for what he allowed to happen to his daughter. The closet door opened and he yelled at his wife for locking her up in the closet. They argued but I wasn’t paying attention to their words. I was waiting for an opening to run. The woman screamed in pain and he called for an ambulance. Thankfully Dr. Green and Blackbourne had it ready just in case. I readjusted Sang in my arms and as the doc and Blackbourne entered and put that woman on a stretcher I started out. Her dad called for me to wait but I kept going.

“Please, at least stay for Marie!” He pleaded and I turned around, eyes blazing.

“She’s not staying. That woman is a monster. She tried to kill her. She’s coming with us.”

“Wait, no, wait. Please.”

I huffed but Sang in her too kind nature tugged at my shirt and I relented.

He begged for Sang to stay for Marie. Asked who I was, asked who the others were that were joining me in a semi-circle around us and I glared at him.

“They’re my family,” Sang said with a finality in her voice. I wanted to smile but the situation was still too tense.

“I’ll be back tomorrow, I just have to go to the hospital with your, well her.”

Sang flinched but I didn’t let go.

After he left, we stayed the night in Sang’s room. We needed to make sure she felt safe. I needed her to know I cared. We weren’t going to leave her after this. She was one of us and I couldn’t bear the thought of her not knowing how much we all cared for her.

[codename-freya]

Unprompted asks // always accepting

@kakimushire said: "You have to eat, you're losing weight." Which is annoying because then he has to change the amount of drugs he gives her.

~*~ She’d barely been able to eat since taken in as his test subject. Kaisa didn’t eat much to begin with, but she’d refused food more than once. The blonde felt nauseated at the sight or scent of food. She’d grimaced and said she wasn’t hungry. Maybe she’d done that too much with the insistence from her captor that she needed to eat.

Her tired green eyes glanced over at him, surprised that he wasn’t forcing her to eat but had a feeling if he had to he would. A thought crossed her mind to tell him off, to tell him no, or to make her. She was so tempted, still frustrated that she was unable to move of her own accord. None of those options were a good idea. He wasn’t a patient man and he wasn’t gentle. Logically Kaisa knew that she would probably be hurt in some way if she had lashed out like she wanted to.

“I’m not hungry,” she finally settled on telling him. It wasn’t as defiant as her first two thoughts, but it still had some semblance of it. Kaisa probably should eat. In fact if she had been able to move she was probably too weak to do so with how little she’d been ingesting.

[ladybyakuya]

| JAZZ & JASMINE + SYLUS. 

+cw. — fem!(captive)reader, fluff, teasing, humor, sexual tension, highly suggestive.

+wc. — 0.6k 

+syn.— sylus makes an attempt to soothe you in his own way as your suffer from a nightmare.

+notes. —sorry but his flirt game is so bad that it makes me cry. thnaks to sam ( @hayatoseyepatch ) for beta reading this piece. | redirect to blog navigation.

You have been tossing and turning in bed yet Sylus made sure not to keep up the pin-drop silence you needed to rest, to get used to your surroundings. Sometimes it is amusing given how sensitive you are to him but apparently, not now. 

You wake up in a frenzy feeling the thumping of your heart inside your ears, eyes wide open like it has not slept for a while. The first thing you see is Sylus hovering above you. “Get off me,” you try to swat him away but he does not move a bit but the back of his fingers tilts his face under the influence.  “What did you do now?” You ask but all you receive is a raise of one of his eyebrows.

“Relax.” He walks around the bed. Your eyes follow him as he halts, one of his hands still tucked behind his back. Is he hiding something? He is standing at the foot of the bed, now with both of his arms neatly tucked behind his back. You scoot away towards the head side. It puts a smile on his face. There you are, as lively as ever. Not a moment passes by when you are not scared of him or resisting him. He walks around the bed stilling as he comes near the bedside table. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” Sylus finally reveals what he is holding behind his back “Here.”

Eyes embedded with ruby-like pupils grew linear as you posed a question while staring at the bouquet of Jasmine. “You got me flowers?” You lean a little closer as he holds the bouquet. No. It doesn’t smell suspicious. It smells like Jasmine indeed. 

“Why you don’t like it?” You raise your eyes at him, lips forming a pout. Your attention falls on his pecs and muscles. He is in his night robe which means either he was sleeping or working. He grows impatient as you do not take the bouquet away from his hands so he keeps it in the water-filled vase.

“Why’re you awake?”  you ask so many questions. Ever heard of, “Curiosity killed the cat.”

Sylus looks at you, inspecting, and then jocks down in a flash almost closing the gap between you and him. “You see, his fisted hands rest on the mattress of the bed creating dips, I’m a creature of the night.” Is he even wearing anything underneath that loosely tied robe?

You lean closer. “Like a vampire or something ?” You whisper lest if someone hears.

His eyes trail off to your slightly parted lips while he wets his bottom lip. “Wanna find out? I could be something deadlier. . . ” Sylus notices as you swallow. Why are you so afraid of him? What did he ever do to you, huh?

“Good God.I’m just teasing. Relax.”He moves away from you turning around and pressing the bridge of his nose. This is not going anywhere. But you beg to differ.

“You’re going to sleep?” Sylus turns his head towards you and seeing you sitting at the edge of the bed surprises him, gives him a little hope so he follows it.

“Oh, how can I when someone else has occupied my bed.” Aah! perhaps not that fast.

“Like it's my fault as you lose your sleep,” you tartly reply looking away. Apparently, you are but he will get to that later.

He lets out a chuckle and sits on the lounge chair nearby crossing his legs. You are forced to rake your eyes away because you are sure that he is not wearing anything else except that night robe. “I’m not going anywhere. Go to sleep.” He takes the book and his specs from his reading table.

Like hell, you can now.  

[gothpossums]

hostage

[toxicanonymity]

Did he leave without deadbolting the basement door? You weren't going to risk it, until the black phone rang. "Go," the voice urged you. "NOW." You dropped the phone and scrambled up the stairs. As you neared the door, you paused, heart pounding in your ears. It was cracked open. You pushed near the hinge, and the swing of it gradually revealed a shadow on the kitchen floor. Your stomach turned as the unmistakable horns took shape. Your face burned at your stupidity, and your eyes stang. "It's okay, kitty," he cooed. "C'mere." Obediently, you crawled toward the chair where he had patiently awaited your betrayal. "I'm not mad," he reassured you. "Just disappointed." You sat back on your heels to look at him. He tilted his head, then a deafening snap of leather made you jump.

[versocanibal]

⠀⠀ ▂▃ ︧$hitㅤ.. ⎯⎯مرًبا 💀🔪 ❘❙❚❙

[redd956]

Characters Holding Each Other In Whump

This is my demand to see more characters holding each other in whump, but also my opportunity to go on about characters holding each other in whump.

I need more of it, it's so warm, and great when it's characters dependent and safe to one another. Or it's creepy and harrowing when it's between whumper and anything.

I need more of

Caretaker finally reaching whumpee, and pulling them to their chest. Now that they are within each other's arms Caretaker is not letting go.

Multiple whumpees who cannot see each other directly, but hear their voices and reach their hands just far enough to feel each other's touch. Maybe they're reaching out between cell bars, perhaps there's a hole in the walls of an enclosure, or an open slot to a lab. Either way, they've found a hand to hold.

A distraught whumpee crawling over to their only friend, and waiting to be pulled into someone's lap.

When a known threat (whumper) approaches and a protective character pulls another into their grasp to shield them.

Two shivering characters latched onto each other, removing as much space between themselves as possible. After all, what if someone separates them again?

Whumper holding whumpee from behind, swaying them back and forth, listening to the subtle sounds of fright.

Two words: Bridal Carry. Whumpee nuzzling their face into caretaker's chest for bonus points. For extra bonus points, latching onto to caretaker's clothing despite being carried.

Whumpee trying to escape from a whumper they've pummeled thoroughly, only for the half-conscious whumper to grab whumpee one last time. Is it a pleading? A don't go? Or just a final act of terror?

Caretaker sitting on the bed next to a whumpee, and bringing them into their grasp as they whimper.

[whump-in-the-closet]

prompt idea: Whumpee with daddy issues accidentally calling Whumper ‘Dad’ which leads Whumper to mock them for it.

okay so this one was hard to write but here it is

cw: implied parental abuse, implied abuse of a minor, beating with a belt, manhandling, kidnapping, implied torture and some actual torture, implied forced captivity, begging, creepy/intimate whumper, failed escape attempt

The basement door swung open and a swath of light fell down the stairs.

Whumpee threw their arms up to shield their face, curling up against the wall, desperate for any semblance of protection.

Whumper's footsteps dragged down the concrete steps and stopped a few feet away from the pile of limbs and bruises that made up Whumpee.

Whumpee trembled. The cold seeped through the wall and from the floor, pulsing against their skin. Their comfortable clothes had been taken and traded for thin basketball shorts and a shirt that belonged to Whumper, and it did little to keep out the cold. They glanced through the gap in their arms at Whumper.

Whumper stood above them, arms folded, dark hair pulled back in a low-swinging braid. They frowned, their mouth cinched in a downward expression.

Whumpee recognized this look. They were far too familiar with it. A deep pit opened inside them, a threatening hole that gaped in wrenching fear.

Oh fuck.

"I'm-- I'm sorry," Whumpee started to apologize, their teeth chattering.

Whumper lifted a hand, silencing them. "Shut. Up."

Whumpee ducked their head, swallowing hard.

"You thought you could escape? Really, Whumpee? I knew you were stupid, I just didn't think you would fuck up this badly." Whumper was calm, their voice measured as if they were talking to a child. If anything they sounded disappointed.

Whumpee's hands spasmed, head suddenly spinning.

And Whumper went on, "Are you unhappy here? Is that what this is? Do you think you have it badly? I have been nothing but kind to you."

Whumpee stiffened, something flashing in their eyes. "You-- you kidnapped me! You took my clothes, you sick fuck--" Their hands flew to the metal collar around their throat and yanked on it. "What the hell-- you chained me in your basement-"

Before they could get any further, Whumper slapped them across the face. The blow left them dazed, ears ringing. Whumper grabbed their chin, forcing Whumpee to look at them. They crouched next to them to hiss, "So you do think this is bad. Ungrateful, tsk." Whumper's grip relented, only to stroke Whumpee's smarting cheek with calloused fingers.

Whumpee's skin crawled under Whumper's touch.

Still, in that soft voice, they whispered, "I guess I'll have to teach you a lesson, won't I?" Their breath was hot against Whumpee's face. "And you're going to thank me for it."

Whumpee flinched back. "No, no, no! I'm sorry, I am!"

Whumper straightened, "Yes, you will be."

A wave of nausea enveloped Whumpee, induced by spur-of-the-moment terror. They fell onto their hands and knees, shaking. Half-formed words fell out of their mouth and onto that cold concrete. "Please--"

They heard the soft clink of Whumper undoing their belt and dry-heaved, a gut reaction they had no control over. They begged, half-senseless and desperate. "Please, please, nonono-- don't-- please no--"

Whumper wrapped the soft part of the belt around their hand and snapped the buckle over Whumpee's shoulders.

"Sorry! I said sorry--"

The belt buckle cracked against their hand and they yelped, collapsing in on themself. One of their nails had been ripped loose from its bed and dangled, barely attached. Whumpee sobbed, holding it tight even as blood squeezed its way out of their hand.

Whumpee looked up at Whumper through tear-stained vision, distorted and fractured into a hundred pieces. "Please," they begged, voice cracking, "Dad, please--I'm sorry--"

Whumper exhaled a breathless laugh, pausing with their arm still in mid-air. "What?"

Whumpee shrank back.

Oh fuck.

"Aw, does this hit a little too close to home, Whumpee?"

Whumpee looked away, flushing a brilliant red. Not ashamed, not ashamed, not ashamed--

Another thwack of the belt against skin.

Whumpee bit back a scream, squeezing their eyes shut. They clenched their jaw until they tasted iron blood pooling in their mouth.

"I asked you a question."

The belt flicked through the air.

Another flinch.

"Yes," Whumpee spat out. "Yes! Happy now?" Silent tears still blurred their vision.

Whumper smiled slowly. "Very much." They wiped off the belt and put it back on with slow, exaggerated movements. They bent over Whumpee, who trembled at their touch. Whumper yanked their head up by their hair, throat exposed and vulnerable.

With their free hand, Whumper spun a small knife. They traced its tip down Whumpee's jugular, watching how their Adam's apple bobbed in apprehension.

Silver blade tickled Whumpee's throat.

Whumpee inhaled shallowly, eyes locked on the ceiling, even as Whumper smiled down at them in their canine-sharp way.

"No more escape attempts, alright?"

Whumpee swallowed, something dying inside them. The light drained from their eyes. Empty blue, aching with dilated pupils. "Yes."

"What do you say?" Whumper prodded, the blade moving in small circles up and down Whumpee's throat.

"Thank...thank you," Whumpee whispered.

[theonceandfuturequeenoftarts]

Vampirism would never be Voldemort’s preferred form of existence, but needs must.

It’s unfortunate that the Ministry seized his body for examination instead of burying him – or even putting his corpse on display, he merits at least that much. But alas, when his back-up plan finally kicks in (well, the horcruxes were his initial back-up plan, but hardly the only one. One can never be too careful when it comes to ensuring one���s continued survival), he’s on an examination table surrounded by Aurors and Unspeakables. Not ideal for making his escape, especially when he’s weak and disoriented.

He manages to latch onto the nearest mage and drink enough of their blood to mount a defence and get to the exit, but being a vampire is different enough that he’s taken down before he makes it more than two steps through the door. How humiliating.

So now, here he is, tucked somewhere in the bowels of the Ministry with guards posted just out of sight, interrogated frequently on such matters as who his Death Eaters are, the extent of his crimes, what he knows (far more than these dunderheads can comprehend), and on and on. He gives them nothing, unless it doesn’t matter anymore and will just frustrate them to know. Then he provides more detail than they would ever want. Their methods of information extraction are laughable, anyway.

They only try to starve him to death once. After he rips through the wards and bars containing him and drains one of his guards dry, they don’t try it again. Now, they bring him some kind of blood in pouches once every few days. It sustains him, but that’s about all that can be said for it. He doesn’t feel hungry, per se, but too long without blood makes a headache pound behind his eyes and worsens his already irascible nature.

He’s certain he could escape this cell if he wanted to, but it’s taking him far longer to adapt to being a vampire than he had expected. His magic functions differently, his senses are heightened and inconsistent, and he’s unsure what his reaction to sunlight will be. (Or even regular indoor lighting – it’s kept quite dim in this corridor.) He’s willing to be patient and make his move when the time is right.

(㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

It’s during one of the Minister’s occasional visits – as though he has any respect for the position and will give up his secrets more easily – that he appreciates his intensified sense of smell for the first time.

(His guards could stand to brush up on their cleaning charms. They don’t appreciate it when he shares this knowledge with them.)

It’s enticing, the fragrance, and strong enough that it almost feels visible, wafting down the corridor from the open door. He feels himself drawn to the scent, only stopping when he hits the bars. It takes a fair bit of self-control to resist pulling them apart and pursuing the delicious smell. “Who walked by just now?”

“That isn’t of any concern to you,” Shacklebolt says flatly.

One of the Aurors snaps, “We’re asking the que–”

“Bring them here,” Voldemort commands. “Or we’ll find out exactly how well these new wards will hold up against me.”

His ability to enthral the Aurors guarding him might be limited by the amulets they wear, but the fact that it still affects them at all seems to terrify them more. One looks to the Minister, hands shaking; he races off once he gets the nod.

Shacklebolt attempts to stare him down, which would be more impressive if he’d been able to do it before Voldemort had his metaphorical wings clipped. Once he realises Voldemort has no intention of engaging in a childish staring contest, the other man chats quietly with the remaining guards.

The Auror returns, looking pale and pinched. “Er, Minister Shacklebolt…”

“Who is it?”

The Auror slides his eyes over to Voldemort before returning to meet the Minister’s gaze and shaking his head.

The look is telling. He makes an educated guess and calls out, “Harry Potter.”

After a brief pause, the tense, angry silence is shattered by the thud of footsteps rapidly approaching before the boy skids to a stop before Voldemort’s cell, panting for breath and looking horrified and enraged by what he finds.

“What the hell is he doing here–”

“Harry, wait–”

“He’s alive?!”

“Let’s go talk about this–”

“Hello again, Harry Potter,” Voldemort cuts in. “So kind of you to finally visit me.”

“How in Merlin’s name did you survive?” Potter shouts, sounding a touch hysterical.

“Come closer and I’ll tell you.” A rather transparent ploy, but the scent of the boy’s blood has his head reeling. And, well, Potter has never needed a sophisticated touch to lure him in.

Shacklebolt snarls at him and quickly raises the silencing barrier that prevents him from being heard beyond the walls of his cell. What a pity.

He says, “I’ll see you soon,” ensuring his mouth moves deliberately enough for the message to get through even if it can’t be heard. Potter’s brows furrow at him, eyes aflame, before he follows the Minister down the corridor, irately demanding to know everything.

No matter. If Shacklebolt thinks Potter won’t find a way back here, he doesn’t know the boy at all.

(㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

It takes four days before Potter skulks out of the shadows around Voldemort’s cell. 

Voldemort knows from the moment he enters the corridor, even if he can’t see the boy getting closer. Wild, black hair and a lumpy jumper emerge from under an invisibility cloak directly in front of his cell, just inside the sound barrier. Clever boy.

“Come now, you’re not afraid of me, are you?” he taunts. “I’m no danger to you from in here. You can step closer.”

A vampire’s power of suggestion works just as well as the Imperius does against Potter. He’d expected it, but the boy’s mental resilience remains irritating.

“Did you seriously think that would work?” Potter says incredulously.

“I have so little entertainment, I’m not in a position to be picky,” he mockingly laments. “In any case, congratulations. You’ve exceeded my admittedly low expectations of you.”

“Tosser,” the boy mutters, before demanding, “What are you doing here?”

He raises a judgemental, nonexistent eyebrow. “Well, when the Ministry offered me room and board in perpetuity for the low cost of my freedom and privacy, how could I refuse?”

If looks could kill, Potter might actually have a chance at putting him in the ground permanently. “You know that’s not what I was asking,” he snaps. “How are you here, alive?”

Voldemort observes the boy for a moment. Deep bruises under his eyes, still too skinny – no one at home to notice if he goes missing.

“I propose a trade,” he says, moving ever so slowly closer towards the bars. “I have something you want, and you have something I want. Surely we can come to a mutually satisfying agreement.”

“What could I possibly want from you?” Potter grits. 

“Isn’t it obvious? Your curiosity, Harry Potter, would put the proverbial cat to shame. You have questions.” Voldemort reaches out and wraps a hand around one of the bars. “And I have answers, if you’re willing to barter for them.”

Potter considers this, looking torn. Voldemort is confident the boy's need to know will win out. And he's correct.

“What do you want?”

“Something that I am certain will answer at least one of your questions. Come closer and you’ll find out.”

That nets him an unimpressed look. “I’m not stupid, you know,” Potter says. 

“No, you aren’t, but you are rather gullible at times,” he replies with a grin. 

“You are such a prick,” the boy says, almost wonderingly. “Fine. How are you alive? I saw you die. I checked your pulse, even.”

“You want to know how I am alive,” he says mysteriously. “How do you know that I am?”

Potter gives him a flat look. “Well, the whole walking and talking thing kind of gave it away.”

“Animate and alive are two different things,” he corrects.

“You pedantic–” the boy begins cursing, before pausing and considering the words more closely. Voldemort smiles and ensures his fangs are visible. “You’re a vampire,” Potter concludes quietly. 

“Thirty points to Gryffindor,” Voldemort mocks.

Potter is still staring at him, and he can almost see the dots connecting in the other’s mind. “What you want is the answer… You want my blood?!”

“Oh, well done, Harry Potter. We’ll make a scholar of you yet.”

“Absolutely not,” Potter says firmly. “You really must think I’m stupid, if you think I’d let you bite me.”

“Where’s your sense of fairness? I’ve answered some of your questions, but you won’t keep up your end of the bargain?”

“You want to kill me!”

“Not anymore,” he maybe-lies. He’s fairly certain the prophecy lost its relevance once he died at Hogwarts. If so, he’s not particularly fussed about what happens to the boy now.

Potter shouts, indignantly, “Like I’d believe that!”

And, well, he can’t blame Potter for his scepticism. He has spent the better part of eighteen years repeatedly attempting to kill the boy. But that’s neither here nor there.

“You made a trade with me,” he reminds the boy. “It’s hardly my fault that you failed to clarify the terms of the deal beforehand.”

“Fucking…” Potter tugs on his hair, looking frustrated. “Fine. But you’re not allowed to kill me.”

Voldemort gives him an indulgent look. “I swear.”

“I can’t believe this…” the boy mutters. “How…?”

“Give me your hand.” He’s close; he’s so close��

Looking like he’d rather be anywhere else and giving Voldemort a warning look, Potter slowly slides his left hand between the bars. Voldemort pulls the boy’s wrist towards his mouth, ignoring the wary glare boring into the side of his head, and bites down.

Finally.

He feels like he’s been starving for years – a feeling made all the more intolerable by the complete lack of hunger he’s felt since his bodily resurrection. Slaking his thirst for the first time is revelatory – if he’ll experience this transcendent feeling each time he drinks, he finally understands why vampires accept the troublesome aspects of their nature.

He drinks deep, revelling in the euphoria coursing through his veins. On the periphery of his awareness, he can hear the boy making noise, but the wards will prevent the sounds from escaping. He feels Potter’s other hand pushing at his shoulder, his face, and wonders whether he should kill the boy here and now.

But he’s not so lost in bloodlust that he forgets how disappointing the Auror was when he’d drank from her. The taste of her blood was barely different from the blood bags they give him. Perhaps, much like the scent of his blood is rare, the intoxicating taste of Potter’s blood is equally uncommon. He can survive with the blood of others, but…

Existence is so much more enjoyable with little luxuries to break up the monotony.

So he stops before the boy’s blood levels fall dangerously low. Potter will even be able to walk out of here, if a little unsteadily. If this becomes a regular thing (and he hopes it will, until he makes his escape and can steal the boy away to feed on as he pleases), he’ll have to recommend Potter bring blood replenishers.

He floats back down to earth slowly, enjoying the warm, effervescent feeling filling his body and mind. When he opens his eyes again, he sees he’s not the only one affected.

Potter is leaning heavily against the bars, left arm limply hanging from Voldemort’s grasp, and panting like he can’t catch his breath. His face is flushed – though the unflushed sections of skin are decidedly paler than usual – and his body keeps twitching. Perhaps he’d taken too much blood. Or the boy is having an adverse reaction.

Voldemort licks the bite wound to help speed the healing – can’t have his portable meal bleeding out, after all. As his tongue slides across the boy’s wrist, Potter whimpers. Needily.

Hmm.

That recontextualizes the boy’s other physical cues.

“Why Harry, did you enjoy that?” he asks, exhaling an unnecessary breath over the damp flesh of Potter’s wrist. A low, soft moan and a glassy-eyed glare are his only response.

This could be entertaining.

He passes Potter’s hand back through the bars and watches the boy straighten up on wobbly legs. 

“May I offer some assistance–”

“No!” Potter gasps, pushing away from the bars, though his hand remains firmly gripped around one to hold himself up.

“Very well. I appear to have taken more than was fair for the questions you asked, and you’re in no state to ask any more at the moment,” Voldemort says smugly. “I’ll be sure to answer a few extra queries for you next time in exchange.”

“Next time,” Potter says, a slight rasp to his voice. From the frown on his face he means it to come out angrily, but the breathiness makes it sound more like a promise.

Voldemort reaches through the bars to take the boy’s invisibility cloak from his pocket and fasten it around his neck, pulling the hood up as he says, “Yes, next time. Until then, Harry Potter.”

Potter lingers outside his cell for a minute, likely gathering himself for the walk back, before Voldemort hears his slightly unsteady steps moving away.

He starts to think of all the avenues this opens to him – and all the fun he can have while he waits for the opportune moment to leave here.

After all, Potter will be back.

[deluxewhump]

bahkauv

cw: nonhuman whumpee, hunters of nonhumans, torture, burning as torture, fire-induced temporary blindness, mentioned digit crushing, self healing whumpee, it as a pronoun, restraints, muzzle, purchased for research

note: I've taken great liberties with this little german mythological creature. As you will see, its physical appearance is about ninety percent human in this story.

one: hunter's camp

The creature was in the worst shape Arthur had ever seen anything alive in. The fact that it looked so unnervingly human, especially from a distance, unsettled him even more.

Once they heard what it allegedly was, Stephan said it should have big paws and the short golden fur of a lion. Francis said that wasn’t right at all— it should have a human head and torso, legs like a calf with cloven hooves, and soft brown, white or black ears like a calf too… Stephan eventually elbowed Francis into silence as they approached a muddy paddock where the ill-fated things were corralled after being caught. 

It was mostly vampires in the hunter’s camp. Vampires were such a problem in the region that Arthur himself had been nearly recruited as a hunter this spring past. He’d been intrigued by the commission bonuses, the idea of travel and sleeping under the stars. He’d eyed the weapons and tools the hunters wore at their belts and tucked in their boots with admiration and envy. But he’d lost his stomach for it after seeing what he would have to do to the vampires he caught.

The Bahkauv was no exception, it seemed, despite being a rarer and much more regional phenomenon, not at all the infamous menace vampires had become. In fact, it seemed to Arthur that the thing was human as it cowered in the mud, eyes tracking the hunter that circled it. 

“How do they know it's a Bahkauv?” he asked aloud, not expecting his friends to have a response he didn't have himself. 

Meanwhile, the hunter sloshed a bucket of thick, oily substance onto the cowering creature and struck a match. 

“Oh good God,” Francis breathed beside him. All three of them were frozen in place, waiting to see if the hunter would toss the match.

He did. 

The substance now covering the Bahkauv was clearly some sort of accelerant. Pitch, maybe. Immediately, the fire spread over it and leaped three feet high so the creature appeared as a burning ball, invisible inside a wall of orange flame. Though they could not see it very well, they could hear it. Its shrieks of terror turned to screams of pain— agonized and gut wrenching. Francis was gripping Arthur’s forearm without realizing he’d done so, as if to say do you see this?His mouth was open in shock at the scene before them. Arthur glanced about. Some of the people, hunters and civilians alike, had stopped to see what this particular commotion was about, but they went back to their own business once they realized. This was not out of the ordinary. 

“We use the sun on the vamps,” said a hunter who had come up to the fence to watch. “Easy and extremely effective. But that thing doesn’t burn with the sun. They find drunken soldiers and latch onto them until they’re weak enough for them to attack. Vicious, thieving little creatures. And since there’s a lack of drunken soldiers wandering around alone here lately, who do you think we found this one leeching on?”

“A hunter?”

The hunter nodded.  “Unwise little thing, no? Sunlight doesn’t really bother it, but we found it a similar experience…” he nodded at the twisting and writhing flame in the paddock.  Whatever the substance was was finally burning off. The flames dwindled in the wet mud until they could see the creature beneath, now naked and terribly burned, but clearly alive. The screams tapered off to loud, alarming moans, separated by thin breaths drawn with great difficulty. 

“Why?” asked Arthur with an incredulity he later realized must have sounded terribly naive to a hunter. 

The hunter looked at him, deciding how to answer. In the end he just laughed, and clapped Arthur on the shoulder before wandering away toward the north side of the encampment.  

The one in the ring, dressed identically to the one Arthur had just spoken to, approached the Bahkauv. Arthur was now convinced it was not human after all, or it would not have survived that sustained heat for so long, with no oxygen to breathe. Right? Surely.

The hunter watched the thing struggling to breathe for a moment, tilted his head and toed it in the ribs with his boot. It shrieked in pain, eyes blind and white, blood and saliva dripping from its open mouth, its burned lips. The hunter seemed to consider the condition of the skin, which looked from a distance as though it was already changing from charred to red, from red to pink. 

“Is it healing?” Stephan asked in a low voice. He was not sure he wanted to know. 

“So quickly,” Francis muttered, his forehead deeply creased in distress. Even so, Francis could not help but watch. Arthur knew he was sharply observing, forming questions. His curious mind would not allow him to look away. 

Arthur, by no means a scientist or a scholar, wondered why it was he couldn’t stop looking. The hunter splashed more of the pitch-like substance onto the creature, who howled and threw up its hands protectively, uselessly, against the second lit match that was coming. 

“No,” Stephan exhaled in disbelief. “So soon?”

The flames flew to the accelerant faster than their eyes could follow, and the screams began in earnest again, filling the paddock. Arthur winced and looked away. 

“I need it,” Francis said, nodding emphatically. “Not a vampire. I need to take that to the University. Why study what everyone else is studying? Sure they’re rare, but that means my research would be rare, too. Possibly unique.”

“You don’t know what it’s capable of,” Stephan cautioned. 

“It likes to eat drunken soldiers, for God's sake," Francis argued to the backdrop of horrific wailing. “It will be tied up and muzzled, if we have to. And it's so... pathetic. Look at it."

Arthur and Stephan did. The flames had burned off again. The unfortunate creature was attempting to crawl away from the hunter, who was following it slowly. 

“It’s probably less dangerous than a vampire anyway. And it can move in the sunlight without being carried or making a scene.” Francis looked to them for support. Nearby, a shrieking vampire was being dragged into the sunlight. 

“This place is making me a bit ill,” Stephan said.

"I did warn you both." Arthur turned to Francis. “If you really think it’s a good idea, I’ll bargain for you. You’re too excited about it. They’ll realize they can rip you off.”

—

The Bahkauv was badly burned. This was nothing new, but each time was its own unending Hell. Every inch was agony as it crawled, blindly, across the paddock. The cool mud might have been a relief but for the way it sucked at the skin of its hands and knees, taking much of the ruined flesh with it as it made each slow inch of progress. It didn’t know where it was going. It only knew that staying put would mean more pain, and it could not tolerate any more pain. It was stripped to its barest instincts, and its instinct was to get away.

Dimly, it remembered the hunters didn’t like when it tried to get away from them, even just a few feet to curl up in a corner or against a fence. They’d stake it in place with one of their sharp vampire-sticks, through its hand or the tendons of its foot, grounding it in place to torment until it was mindless, incoherent and screeching like an animal.

Its melted sight began to come back, and it could see the blurry outline of men’s legs standing in front of it. It stopped crawling, paralyzed in fear. It could do nothing but lie on the ground and pant, throat and lungs burned from inhaling fire, but unable to die, just like the vampires in the sun.

A heavy collar was fitted around its neck like a yoke, and someone was yanking it roughly to a standing position. The Bahkauv shook so badly from the recent pain of burning that it collapsed once, twice. It cringed deeply as the hunter who held the leash backhanded its burnt cheek. “Up,” he hissed. “Do you want another round as a parting gift?”

“It’s fine,” said a new man's voice. “Enough. Enough. Here.”

Through slowly improving vision, it saw its leash change hands. It was not prepared to look anyone in the eye, even once it could see well enough to distinguish faces again.

It kept its eyes down, trembling violently as ropes were wrapped around its wrists and then looped through the collar so its hands had to stay crossed near its chest. A leather and iron muzzle was fitted over its head and tightened around the back of its neck. The sharp bit went to right the back of its throat, almost far enough to make it gag. The sides bit into the burnt flesh of its face. Once, it would have been ashamed of how it drooled pinkish foam in front of all these humans. Now it neither knew or remembered shame when the threat of more pain was present, which was always.

A man was picking it up. It hurt terribly, but all the Bahkauv dared to do was whimper through frantically grit teeth. Another pair of hands went under its armpits and hauled it higher, up and into the saddle of a chestnut horse. Each point of contact from the saddle was fresh pain, burnt skin and nightmarish friction. It tried to sit up on its own for as long as it could, but lacked the strength. Once the horse began walking in the direction of the road, it had no choice but to slump weakly against the chest of the man sitting directly behind it and holding the reins. 

It received no punishment, except for the way the man's rough clothes touched its skin. As the Bahkauv's sight returned to normal, it looked about to see two more men on horses of their own. Its healing skin itched and burned, but all it could do was twitch helplessly and watch the horse’s bobbing mane in front of it, or the leafy spring forest pass on either side. It shivered intermittently.

"Give it a blanket, Francis," one of the men said.

"Won't that hurt it? Its skin still shines like a burn."

"Remarkable how minor a burn it looks already though," said the man behind it in the saddle. "Considering."

The human voice, so close it could feel the vibration from it in its back, set it to trembling again.

Exhaustion from the days torture soon set in, and it fell into bouts of unconsciousness that only resembled sleep. It woke from one such period of dreamlessness with a startled flinch, unsure where it was or what was happening. The man he was riding with had his arm around its waist, anchoring it so it did not slump to either side and fall from the horse.

Dread and fear pooled in the Bahkauv’s stomach at the human contact, a large gloved hand splayed across its naked belly. Humans were cunning and cruel. They loved fire and tools, like the metal ones they used to crush its fingers and toes in the evenings when the sun was down and the screams of the vampires had quieted. 

It felt one of the others’ gaze on it and turned its foolish head, accidentally locking eyes with one of the men it was now traveling with. He was young, dressed in a jacket of dark green wool. He reminded the Bahkauv of the new recruits the hunters would bring in now and then, to see what they had the stomach for. Heart pounding, it looked away, and did not dare lift its eyes again until nightfall prompted the men to stop and make camp.

[cicada-candy]

belated tumblr-versary Danny,, i care he,,

[writtenbyariavargas]

Day 4 Rope Burns (Alt 1) - Fionn torture cw, torture tw, abuse mention cw, abuse mention tw, rope burns cw, rope burns tw, captive cw, captive tw

The use of strappado wasn’t as popular as it once had been. There were many different ways to restrain a person in this day and age. Honestly it was more than a little disturbing to see what the torture and restraint method did to someone’s shoulders and wrists. Those were obvious damage. Strappado did much worse when it came to internal injuries. I’d both seen it, and been restrained in such a way. I still had scars from the rope burns that came from being tied up and hung by my wrists. They were mostly healed but I still saw them clear as day. There were times that they still hurt, especially when I was back within those hours I’d been held. 

Undercover work wasn’t easy. It was risky and the types of people and organizations that my institution worked to dismantle were dangerous. If I’d been alone for this assignment I wouldn’t have survived. I know that and yet I struggled with allowing the Institution to give me someone to team up with. The girl was new. She’d been taken from a school we’d dismantled a few years ago. I was part of that extraction team and even with what she’d been through I knew she had promise. I’d advised that the Institution take her in and train her for the same type of work I was in. If it weren’t for her the damage to my joints would have been irreversible. 

This particular group I’d infiltrated was another school for troubled teens. It seemed like no matter how many we took down and got the students the help they needed, more cropped up. So many teens that just needed help were tossed into these jails that moonlighted as schools and because their parents didn’t care the teens were at the mercy of the administration. 

I’d gone in under the guise of being a teacher, more plausible as I was starting to look more like I was in my mid-twenties. My sandy blonde hair was cut to a shorter length than I preferred. The waves brushed the nape of my neck and instead of letting the top of my hair curl like it did, I kept it slicked back. Corrin was under the guise of a student. She was to befriend other students and gather information about the punishments they’d endured and I was to get in with the teachers and see who was moral enough to talk about the atrocities. Unfortunately I’d been found out. Luckily my teammate and sort of charge hadn’t been. 

The head mistress hadn’t taken kindly to me asking questions. I knew I locked the door to my quarters, but she either had a key or had someone pick the lock. I was drugged in my sleep and awoke to my arms tied together from my elbows to my wrists. They’d been tied behind my back with my wrists facing upwards. My toes were just barely brushing the ground and I was suspended by my wrists. It pulled at my shoulders painfully. My head lolled to the side as I slowly took in my predicament. Any movement and my shoulders would pop out of socket but my feet were free. I closed my eyes to take in what my tactile sense could process. The rope was rough, it felt like jute but I couldn’t be one hundred percent correct in my semi-drugged state. I could feel how tightly I was bound, enough so that I knew that friction of the rope would cause a burn. 

While I was taking stock of the situation the rope suspending me was pulled so fast that it pulled my shoulders hard enough to dislocate them. I cried out without chance to stifle it and felt the rope bite into my wrists. Instinctively my legs kicked out and I struggled. It was like the reptile part of my brain was trying to take over and get me free, even if it hurt me in the end. Laughter caught my attention and I stopped moving.

“Mister Cassidy. Lovely of you to wake and join me for this discussion. It looks like you should have gone to school here and maybe you wouldn’t have been in this predicament,” the headmistress stated with a chuckle, “my head teacher brought it to my attention that you were a little too curious about how we punish our students. He thought you would like to experience it yourself.”

My eyes glanced at the man next to her. He was about my height but built more like a tank. He stood around six feet in height and I assumed that was who brought me here and bound me.

“Now then, tell me who sent you and why you’re here,” she stated and her “head teacher” crossed his arms over his muscular chest, “if not we’ll make this much harder on those poor joints of yours.”

I smirked her way through a wince as my bodyweight settled and tugged at my dislocated shoulders. There was no way I would actually speak out against the Institution.

“No. You abuse children and now I have proof,” I replied, grinning at them, knowing that it would infuriate both of them.

The rope was loosened and my toes were brushing the floor once more before I was being lifted by my wrists again. The pain seared through my shoulders, to my fingertips and all the way down my body, causing it to convulse in pain. This went on over and over again for longer than I could keep track of, but they didn’t get anything out of me. I held steady, knowing that if I gave in Corrin would be in danger and I couldn’t let her get sucked back into a jail like this. 

She had figured out I was compromised and called backup. What I remember was recovering in the infirmary and being told that I underwent multiple surgeries to fix what was done to my shoulders and rotator cuffs. It was months of physical therapy after I’d healed from the surgeries. Even now I can’t help but be grateful that she was there. She proved herself to be a promising partner and after more training she would be assigned to me full time.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

i think that whenever killer is in stage 1, especially when he’s still held hostage by nightmare and color and he are working on a safe escape, that killer always makes sure to tell color that he’d understand if color left or gave up. that he wouldn’t hold it against him.

and color always firmly denies it and turns down the offer. he’d never leave or give up on him—and the danger and threat of the situation scares him enough that he knows he can’t leave killer alone with it.

[blueberrymilkcookie]

Erm

also starters oc's i made for fun

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Vampire Captures Vampire Hunter to Use as Bloodbag part 4

Warnings: blood, vampire night club, kidnapping of human, intimate vampire whump/blood drinking and violence, dominance power move

The vampire only had two goals: to sate his thirst, and to subdue and dominate the human. Show him who to cower from.

Screams of anger from the hunter turned to wails of pain instead, that rose in pitch to an almost unbearable level the more the vampire took from him.

Alex growled possessively, teeth still locked firmly in his victim's neck, and suddenly clamped a hand over his mouth, muffling the shrieks. His nails dig into the hunter's face, his grip tight enough to bruise.

The human's struggles gradually started to slow, the screaming and wailing losing power and fading weakly. His breaths came fast and ragged through his nose, small whines and whimpers the only sounds escaping him as he lost strength in all his limbs from blood loss.

Alex smiled against his toy's neck, slowly taking his fangs out and licking the wound closed. Thank goodness for the healing properties of vampire saliva. This experience wouldn't be half as fun without it. Because now he could play with his toy again, and again, and again, as long as he was careful never to drink too much in one sitting.

He let go of the hunter's hair and mouth and pulled back to look at him. The man's face was extremely pale, unfocused eyes drifting dizzily around, cloudy with pain. His whole body was trembling like a newborn fawn, whether from shock or terror he couldn't tell.

Alex ran a smooth hand over the side of the hunter's neck, wiping away a few last drops of blood. “That was… better than I expected,” he chuckled cruelly. “Not bad, for a human. Now tell me, are you going to be a problem again during the remaining duration of this drive, or will I have to come back here and shut you up again? Nod if you understand. Will you be a good and obedient little human for me?” Danger edged his voice in every word.

The hunter whimpered pitifully, trying feebly to scoot and shrink away from the vampire.

Fast as a striking snake, Alex's hand moved to wrap around his throat, pinning him back to the seat cushions without applying any real pressure. It was a warning, a power move. “Will. You. Obey?” He hissed, firmer this time.

The hunter's wide eyes met his, no trace of cockiness or stubbornness remaining, nothing but fear in his expression – exactly what the vampire was hoping for. He let out a pained moan, but managed a weak nod, eyes rolling in his skull.

“Good. No more arguing for the rest of the trip, or I'm coming back here again to shut you up.” Alex climbed out of the back, leaving the human sprawled limply across the seats, too weak to fight anymore. He got in front and started the car, speeding back up and merging into the freeway. Maybe he'd been too harsh with his new prize, after all the human had a lot to learn, and the sounds of choked sobs made Alex feel a microscopic pang of guilt. He'd terrified the little creature half to death – he hoped it would still be functional enough to talk later. It would be a pity to break him so quickly.

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @i-don't-know-sal @togzy

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222

[chaotic-orphan]

Heroic betrayal (viii)

Part one here

Continued from here

TW: Carewhump, carewhumper, broken nose, lady whump, lady whumpee

Happy 4th July to those who celebrate it!! (And those who don’t)

*~*~*~*~*

Hero lingered by the stairs, not quite meeting Flynn’s eyes as he approached her. Instead she stared at the hall Supervillain disappeared down, her heart building itself up and breaking again with every breath she took.

“Hero,” Flynn said, voice soft. Hero swallowed the lump in her throat, trying to compose herself but she was rattled… Supervillain terrified her. “Hey, Hero.”

Hero stumbled back a step, eyes flashing to Flynn’s outstretched hand, as if he was about to touch her cheek. Her eyes hardened into stone as she sharpened her gaze into a chilling glare.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” she whispered, deathly quiet. Her voice trembling out of a mix of fear and fury. Flynn had the gall to look hurt by her outburst, as if it was a shock that she would react like this after he left her alone, with Supervillain of all people. She searched his face, looking for a sign of sympathy or vulnerability, any trace of the Flynn she knew. The hero who was always her shoulder to cry on when things got hard.

“Hero,” Flynn said again, her name like a prayer from his lips. “I’m sorry. This is my family. They always have been.”

“And I’m just the job, right?”

Flynn didn’t reply and maybe that said everything. She half-turned her body to the staircase and nodded to him to go first. Mostly to try and hide her unshed tears from him.

Flynn sighed, running his hand through his hair before he started up the stairs. She followed after him, dragging her lead-like feet. Hero stopped at the top of the stairs and glanced to the left while Flynn went to the right. The stairs were in the centre of the landing, two doors to the left, three to the right, but Flynn didn’t go for one of the doors. Hero followed him so he wouldn’t get suspicious of her scoping out the lay of the house, but she almost rolled her eyes when she saw the second set of stairs.

As if sensing her disbelief, Flynn glanced at her over his shoulder and shrugged, a half hearted smile on his face. “I told Supervillain how capable you were. He took it seriously.”

Hero swallowed, the words like a knife in the chest… or more accurately the back. She blinked at him, wanting to scream and charge and hurt him, but she just stared.

Flynn nodded and started up the stairs again. These stairs were cut in half in a double L shape adding more corners; slowing Hero’s escape if she were to come barrelling down them in the middle of the night. She’d waste time having to turn three times, the only benefit was that her pursuers would also have to make the turns.

That little nugget of satisfaction crumbled when Flynn opened the door to her room, because that’s all that was on this floor: one single room. All for her.

So they’d hear her coming.

She bit her lip to keep in the helpless sob that wanted to escape her throat. She had to stay cool. Stay cool, stay cool, Hero. It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s—

“So this is your room,” Flynn said as she stepped in, gesturing to the big space that was all hers. He looked back at her to see her reaction and immediately was beside her. “Hero… you’re crying.”

Those two words broke her and she didn’t hold her emotions back any longer. She stepped away from him, trying to put space between them when her knees buckled, going like jelly beneath her and she fell heavy. Flynn caught her before she hit the ground and she hated the way she leaned into him, clinging to his shirt as shaky sobs wracked her body.

He held her tight, one hand on her hair, brushing it from her face so her tears wouldn’t wet it, lightly running his fingers through it. “I know. It’s okay. I know, you’re okay. It’s okay, Hero. Let it out. I’m here.”

There were no words that could fully encapsulate her distress so she didn’t try and speak. She hated how comforting Flynn’s cologne was, how soft his words were in her ears. Everything was so familiar and—

Fake, a nasty voice supplied. All his kindness and love was just a way to get close to you, to keep you close to him so he could betray you and get you here. Keep you here.

The salt from her tears washed into the cut in her lip from Villain and she winced. Usually, she was far more robust than tears making her flinch but she was just exhausted. It was a long night… or day. Or both? Whatever.

She sat up in Flynn’s arms and let him wipe the tears from her cheeks with his thumb and forefinger. He offered her a small, encouraging smile and she forced one onto her face. If she was going to be here for an indefinite long time then she needed at least one person on her side. Since Villain already hated her guts and Supervillain was happy to have her not causing any trouble, the only one who she could sway was Flynn.

It was Supervillain’s master plan after all, making Flynn become her partner, her best friend… even, in fleeting moments, more than that. It was her greatest mistake, trusting him, leaving an acrid taste in her mouth, or maybe that was just the dried blood. He looked down at her lips, then back to her eyes, a sad look crossing his features.

“Here,” Flynn said, taking her arm gently and pulling a magnetic key from his pocket. He pressed the magnet to the bar and the cuffs clicked open like a ring-binder, freeing her wrists. She retracted them to her chest, slowly getting to her feet. She stood still, rubbing her wrists as she took in the room.

To be fair to Supervillain, it wasn’t the cramped cell like the basement, it was spacious, it had two skylight windows high on the domed roof, high enough that she couldn’t climb out of them without a considerable effort on her part, or maybe she was just tired. A large, extremely comfortable-looking bed was directly in front of the door, pressed against the back wall with two cherry wooden bedside dressers. One had a lamp on it, the other a handful of books.

“There’s clothes in the wardrobe, but if you need anything I can grab it from your apartment or bring some stuff from mine.”

“Okay,” Hero replied. Flynn played with the cuffs in his hand like he so usually did. Always fidgeting when there was something on his mind. She didn’t prompt him to speak like she normally would. She didn’t have it in her.

“Um, if you need anything, my bedroom is the first door on the right from the stairs.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, uh, I’ll leave you then. To get settled in and stuff.”

Hero nodded, biting her lip to keep in her sob. Half of her wanted to jump at him and wrap her arms around him and ask him not to leave her alone, but the other half was stronger, prouder and so she just stayed still as he left and shut the door behind him.

Hero tentatively approached the bed, taking small, easy steps until she sat down into it. The sheets were nice, the duvet cover soft. The duvet was thick, heavy, and Hero could just imagine the warmth and comfort smothering her into unconsciousness.

There was a full length mirror in the small alcove beside the door and Hero almost started crying at her appearance. Her hair was a mess. It looked more like a bird’s nest made with dirt, leaves and twigs, probably from the scuffle in the woods with Flynn. Tear tracks streaked clean trails down their cheeks, cutting through some of the blood that was caked under her nose, and down her chin.

Crimson drops of blood were stained on Hero’s grey tunic that was visible below her thick, leather armour. She wanted nothing more than to just take it all off and burn it. If Supervillain got his way, Hero wouldn’t have a use for it ever again. She shivered at the thought and shoved it down deep inside her, locking it away until she was ready to deal with it.

Hero’s eyes zeroed in on her shoulder harness and she shot to her feet, turning and reaching behind her. Her hands found the familiar grips of her blades and she could’ve screamed. She unsheathed them with a swift, sharp click and a shink. Hero turned again to face the mirror and she smiled when she saw the usual fire in her eyes.

How stupid could Supervillain be that he—

The fire flickered in her eyes to a stupor, a sporadic smoulder, as the light dimmed and fizzled out. Her grip turned white knuckled on her blades, her hands shaking as the realisation dawned on her.

This was just another way to humiliate her. Supervillain knew she would never use them, because if she did… if she even thought about such a thing then Sidekick would die and he’d reduce her to nothing, lock her in the cellar and throwaway the key. Leave her to Villain, or her own despair, whichever killed her first.

She sheathed her daggers and undid the strap of the belt that crisscrossed over her chest and back, deflating as she went through the familiar motions. She pressed a hand to the front and lifted her dual scabbard-pauldron-hybrid over her head, laying it out carefully on a cherry wood table against a wall. Ignoring the fact that the wood in the room was all cherry, and the pang in her chest at sharing that it was her favourite with Flynn. She slipped her armour off as well, though the belts and buckles took more time to unfasten and she let her mind wander into nothingness.

The first thing she noticed when she was relieved of her armour was the stench of her; a mix of blood, sweat and fear clung to her skin. She didn’t want to have a shower, she didn’t want to interact with anyone in the house ever again, but she didn’t really have a choice in the matter.

She walked to the wardrobe and ignored the usual style of clothes she wore as a civilian, grabbing a grey tracksuit bottoms and a sweatshirt, and fresh underwear she walked to the door and opened it. Flynn’s back greeted her, and she paused, brain too slow to process that.

“Can I use the shower?” She asked, voice empty.

Flynn shot to his feet, almost startled at her voice. She blinked at him as he turned. “Uh, yeah. Yes, of course. This way.”

She didn’t talk the entire way down the stairs. Thankfully the bathroom was on the second floor, but it was on the other end of the second floor. Hero’s heart leaped into her throat as hope — that wretched, black thing — bloomed once more. She had to cross the other set of stairs to get to the bathroom. Tantalising information that she locked away in the cunning corner of her mind and continued on as if she were still hopeless and heartbroken. It wasn’t hard to fake, a lie wrapped in truth, all numbed by exhaustion.

Flynn opened the door for her. “Do you need me to show—”

“No,” she replied. “I can figure it out. Thank you.”

She passed him, and when their chests touched a pained expression crossed Flynn’s face. Hero ignored it and closed the door on him, her heart stuttering as she clicked the lock shut. She pressed her forehead against the door, letting out a breath.

How the fuck was she going to survive this?

*~*~*~*~*

Hero’s face was obscured in the mirror, which was fine by her, she didn’t want to see her face, now washed clean of dirt and grime. It still felt like it was on her, a film of filth that coated her entire body. Maybe that was Flynn’s betrayal, she didn’t know, but she felt a little better after the shower.

Now she stared at the door with a mutinous gaze. The locked door was a false blessing of security, but one she clung to with all her heart. She knew she had to leave eventually but she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to do a lot of things, swallow her pride and stay in this fucking house filled with enemies that wanted her out of the picture.

Sidekick’s battered body flashed across her eyes and she swallowed the bile that threatened to rise and spew from her mouth.

She got to her feet and stomped over to the door before she lost the nerve. She half expected to see Flynn waiting outside like before, instead she was met with two gleaming eyes.

Hero’s nostrils flared. “Villain.”

“You clean up nicely,” Villain said stepping towards her. Hero fought the urge to step back, narrowing her eyes into a glare. “Of course, your nose is all busted. Definitely broken, I think.”

“What do you want?”

“Me?” Villain asked with a smirk. “I want you dead. As a sign to the rest of your little heroes not to fuck with us.”

Hero closed the distance between them with a step, putting her face in Villain’s, despite her thrumming heart. “Too bad your family wants me alive. I guess we’ll both have to endure this misery.”

“You more so than I. After all, I’m not on house arrest. I can always go and visit sick people in the hospital—”

Hero lunged for Villain but was stopped by her name: “Hero.”

Hero’s head snapped to Supervillain, fear flashing across her features before she could school them properly. Supervillain smiled, his eyes drifting between the pair.

“I trust my child is not causing you any trouble.”

“Not at all,” Villain replied smoothly. “Just waiting for the loo.” Villain shoulder checked Hero on their way into the bathroom, shutting the door behind.

“I see you’ve settled in. I trust your room is to your liking.” Hero swallowed, a pitiful attempt to clear the ashen dryness that came to her mouth when Supervillain spoke to her.

“Flynn made sure of that,” she said, turning and walking back towards her room. She had to pass Supervillain to do that. He caught her arm before she could pass.

“You must let me treat your nose.”

“I thought it was a warning to not act out.”

Supervillain chuckled lightly. “No, sweet Hero. I don’t intend to treat you inhumanly. Besides, I think Sidekick’s life is enough of a threat to keep you in check.”

Hero yanked their arm free. “I don’t want anything from you.”

“How adorable that you think this is an offer you can refuse.” Supervillain gestured for Hero to walk down the stairs to the ground floor. She hesitated, not wanting to spend another second with Supervillain but her heart betrayed her head and she reluctantly turned on her heel, walking downstairs.

Supervillain followed behind. “To the kitchen, Hero,” he instructed. Hero turned right at the hall, passing the dining room and walking straight into what she assumed was the kitchen.

Supervillain chuckled as he followed her in. “You’re already familiar with the layout, I see.”

Hero didn’t reply. Even if she wanted to the words would’ve died on her throat seeing Flynn sitting at the island in the middle of the giant kitchen. It looked like a kitchen from downtown abbey, or the crown or something, but modernised with all new furniture and appliances.

“Hero,” Flynn said, his eyes flicking past her to Supervillain’s, and back again, harder this time. “How was your shower?”

Hero lingered awkward by the door, grabbing her wrist and rubbing her thumb over her skin. “Yeah. It was fine, thanks.”

“Sit beside Flynn, Hero.”

Hero shot him a black look at the order, but she walked towards Flynn anyways. “Why?” Flynn asked, locking his phone and putting it on the counter in front of him.

A phone. Hero tucked that information away in the back of her mind, she hadn’t even thought about phones until now.

“I’m going to re-align her nose so it heals properly.”

Flynn didn’t say anything to the explanation as Hero climbed onto the high chair beside him. She stifled a gasp when she felt Flynn’s hand snake into hers, flooding her with warmth and comfort that she hated coming from him. She hated how her body reacted to him like he was still the one person in the world that could make her feel safe and secure.

That alone she could live with. The thing that turned her stomach, and planted a deep seed of resentment inside her, was the fact that she didn’t pull away from him. She kept her hand firmly in his, his fingers intertwining with hers; that’s what would keep her up at night.

Supervillain walked over to her with a first aid kit in hand. He placed the box on the island counter and stepped in front of Hero, looking down at her with a small smile. Hero didn’t want him to touch her, to be this close to her, but she also didn’t want her nose to fuck up her breathing while she was here.

“May I?” Supervillain asked lifting his hands to her face. Flynn squeezed her fingers reassuringly. Hero swallowed her pride and nodded.

Supervillain cupped Hero’s cheek gently, his other hand going under her chin to tilt her head up as he inspected the damage with intelligent eyes.

“This will not be pleasant,” Supervillain said after a minute of silence. “Though, Flynn can tell you the amount of times I had to reset his nose as a boy. I became a pro.”

“It’s true,” Flynn said with a laugh. “And you had to do Vil’s twice.”

“Okay, Hero. I’m going to count down from three, and I’ll break it and get it over with, okay?”

“Okay.” Hero braced themselves, squeezing Flynn’s hand as hard as she could.

“Good. Three—” Hero let out a sharp cry and a curse as Supervillain grabbed her nose in his hand and re-broke it with a crunch. It sent waves of pain rocketing through her skull as she groaned, spots forming in her vision as she pulled back instinctively. Supervillain kept a hand behind her head so she couldn’t pull away as he re-aligned her nose so it would heal properly.

“There we go, I’m sorry. It’s done, that’s the hard part,” Supervillain said as shocked tears slid down Hero’s cheeks. Supervillain tilted Hero’s head up again, twisting her face left and right, eyes focused on her nose as he moved her head. “Mmm. Marvellous. It looks good to me, but I think just to be sure, we should re-align it properly with the rods.”

Hero’s eyes hardened into a glare. “No,” she said. “It’s fine. It feels fine. It will heal itself.”

“Hero, it probably is—”

She rounded on Flynn, yanking her hand from his. “Oh please! Whose side are you on?”

“I think you need to calm down, Hero,” Supervillain told her. The condescension in his tone just rubbed her the wrong way and before Hero had even realised it a sharp knife was between her fingers, one from the knife block beside the sink. It wasn’t lined the way her blades were but it would do the trick.

“Tell me to calm down again,” she spat, jumping to her feet. “See what happens.”

Flynn got to his feet the same time as Hero, cautiously looking between the two, waiting for Supervillain to give him the word before he did anything. God, how could Hero have been so stupid to trust him?!

Supervillain was the only one of the trio that looked the same before Hero summoned the knife. Actually, if anything, he looked more relaxed as he folded his arms across his chest.

“I don’t need to see what happens, Hero,” he said, fishing something from his pocket. His phone. “I just make a call and Sidekick is smothered in their sleep.”

Hero let the knife fly, the point a line on Supervillain’s throat before settling heavy against his carotid artery. “Hard to do that if you’re dead.”

Supervillain smiled and grabbed the handle of the knife. “That’s fine by me, Hero. Give Villain the satisfaction of killing Sidekick.”

Hero’s shaky resolve crumbled, and her shoulders sagged as she dropped the knife. Its weight settled firm into Supervillain’s hand. He smiled at her and said: “good. Now, sit up and tilt your head back.”

“Dad—”

Supervillain held a hand up. “No, no. She’ll do it. Watch.”

Hero obeyed wordlessly, climbing the stool and tilting her head back, squeezing her fingers into fists on her thighs. “Look at that, Flynn. A hero that can take instruction. You could learn a thing or two from her.”

Neither Flynn nor Hero responded. Something uneasy shifted under Flynn’s skin as he watched the girl he love, the usually passionate, fiery Hero, silent and subdued, waiting to do something she didn’t want to do.

Supervillain took his time, leaving Hero sitting on the chair with her head back. He first crossed the kitchen to put the knife into the dishwasher, then some extra dishes on the sink before washing and drying his hands, Hero’s eyes following him all the while. Her head grew heavy on her shoulders like she was trying to hold back a kettle bell. Her neck strained as she struggled to keep it steady, not to move a muscle because she didn’t want to give Supervillain the satisfaction of seeing her fail.

Supervillain smiled at Flynn as he approached them, and took out two familiar metal rods that he used on Flynn to fix his broken nose last year. “Hold her head for me, Flynn. You know how uncomfortable this can be.”

Flynn hesitated. He didn’t want to touch Hero without asking her after that scene, and it didn’t feel… right to just do it.

“It’s fine, Flynn,” Hero said softly as if reading his mind. Flynn swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded, more for himself than anyone else and placed his hands gently under Hero’s head while Supervillain sterilised the metal rods.

Hero closed her eyes as Flynn took the leaden weight from her shoulders, happy that she could finally let go and relax. Flynn was there, right behind her (literally) as she went through this new change in her life that was entirely Flynn’s fault. The mutinous part of herself, that she kept chained in the basement of her mind ever since his betrayal, was preening with the fact that Flynn was there, because he would always be there. The one thing he promised her when they first became partners in the Hero academy.

He would always be there, and here he was; supporting her head through this very hard time. Or maybe it was the sheer exhaustion that had turned her mind to mush, her logic left her and she was left only with this infuriating light feeling of safety in his hands.

“Okay, Hero. This will hurt.”

That was all the warning she got before Supervillain pressed the rods into her nose and she fought the instinct to jerk forward. “Fuck!”

“Try not to speak,” Flynn said softly, rubbing the coarse pads of his thumbs over her temples. Hero whined in the back of her throat as she felt the rods move against the walls of her nose, fixing the cartilage. Even the vibrations from her pained hums seemed to hurt her head.

But Flynn was there, whispering to her.

“You’re doing great.”

“It’s almost done.”

“You’re okay, Hero.”

“It’s okay.”

His encouragement mixed with his motions of her temples brought her into a weird, fugue state where her body only recognised the sensations from Flynn’s hands and voice and numbed everything else. Later on, she would realise he was probably in her head, re-arranging some of the furniture, but in that moment she just closed her eyes and sank into the feeling.

“There,” Supervillain said, pulling the rods free. Hero’s eyes opened lazily, staring up at a grinning Supervillain. “All done. You’ll be perfect in three weeks. Just in time too.”

Hero’s eyelids fluttered, the fuzzy feeling in her taking over now that the danger was passed. “Three weeks?” She heard Flynn say. “That’s too soon.”

“Not at all,” someone said, maybe Supervillain. Probably, who cares. “Three weeks and she’ll have come to see our side of things, Flynn. Just look at her in your hands, completely out of it. I could tell her my big dark secret and she wouldn’t remember, would you Hero?”

“I did that so she wouldn’t freak out—”

Hero didn’t hear the rest of the conversation. She allowed the fuzziness to consume her like a weighted blanket, and finally, mercifully, sleep took her away from the world of consciousness.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

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