#dehydration cw

[bleeding-handprints]

Day 12 - Dehydration

Filling all @juneofdoom prompts with exactly 100 word drabbles!

Gods, he felt sick. He focused on breathing past the gag, whimpering quietly. If he threw up now, he might choke on his own vomit. He would prefer to die quicker, but not like that. Not like that not like that not like that. 

It was too hot. Too bright. His head felt like it was about to explode, and it was all he could do to squeeze his eyes shut, crying quietly at the pain in his impaled hands. He tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry, his tears long dried up. Water. He needed water. 

Please.

[deluxewhump]

The Scry: Cam and Zee

Alex’s apartment. Saturday night.

CW: more unhinged cam, knife, cutting, physical altercation, gun mention, pinned/overpowered, jealousy/insecurity, suggestive remarks. “The house” here refers to the people who kept Zee captive before and used him for illegal scrying activities to make money.

-

Cameron wandered into the living room, swigging the last of the 2% milk from Alex’s fridge. “Hey. I need to ask you something.”

Zee pulled his knees up to his chest. He didn’t know how out of the ordinary this was, if he should be treating this guy like a guest or an intruder. Alex said he’d be home in just a half hour. How long ago had that been?

“How-how can I help you?”

“How can I help you?” Cameron mocked in an idiotic singsong voice. “What’re you, HR? I do want to ask you for your help with something, though.”

“I don’t know what I could possibly do for you.”

“Just a little something.” Cam dropped down beside him on Alex’s sofa. He was making himself right at home— as if he hadn’t just used a key copy Alex wasn’t aware existed to get in. Alex had said Cameron wouldn’t be back.

And the last time they’d been this close, he’d had a gun in his hand. His eyes dropped to Cam’s waistband, but he didn’t see anything.

“I need to know something for my own peace of mind. It doesn’t affect anything…. You know. With what you do.”

Zee paled. “What I do?”

Had Alex told him? He’d promised he wouldn’t say anything. He said he’d make something up to throw him off. Of course Zee knew Alex was beholden to his employer, that he couldn’t do much for him other than let him sleep in his spare room at night.

So why did the betrayal feel like he’d been hit with a truck?

“Right. I know all about that. Well, as much as I could find on the internet. I found a couple articles. The comment section is a shitshow. Alex told me some dumbass story, but I put two and two together. Don’t deny it, I can see the wheels in your head turning. Spare me.”

“Look, man. Whatever it is— I can’t help you.”

“I just wanna see one thing. One little thing in the very near future.”

“Not gonna happen. You don’t know anything about this. It’s— first of all, it’s illegal.”

“Only if one of us rats on us. Are you a rat? I’m not. And look, you do this one thing for me, and we can put that whole misunderstanding from the other night behind us.”

“Misunderstanding? You mean when you put a gun in my face?”

“You keep saying that. It wasn’t in your face. It wasn’t even loaded, by the way.”

“Oh. Thanks for telling me now,” Zee snapped. He went to stand up and Alex’s roommate pulled him back down by the back of his shirt. He grit his teeth. The fucking nerve on the guy. It was like he wanted Zee to know he didn’t think of him as a fully autonomous human being. He wanted to rub that in, in a ‘what you gonna do about it?’ kind of way, like a middle school bully.

“You must’ve been a real pleasure to have in class.” He tugged his shirt free of Cam’s grip.

“I just wanna see if Alex is gonna pay me back or not for my security deposit, like he said he would. And… if he’s sleeping with anyone. In the very near future.”

Zee turned to glare at him. “No.”

“No?”

“No. I can’t just… do you even realize the kind of trouble I could be in? Forget you. Me. I have a contract. If I break it….”

Cameron pulled a sad face and pulled a sleek knife out of his back pocket. He flicked it open with a practiced twitch of the wrist so it glinted in the soft light of the apartment.

“I’ll let you change your mind for free, this one time. But you’ve only got five seconds.”

Zee laughed at the absurdity of it. He shook his head and tried to get up again, more forcefully this time. Cam tried to grab his shirt again. It ripped as Zee twisted away, leaping over the back of the sofa. He slipped in stocking feet on the bare floor on the other side, scrambled up and ran to Alex’s bedroom, which he knew had a lock on the inside.

But Cameron was fast.

He was over the side of the sofa and right behind him. By the time Zee was trying to shut the bedroom door Cameron was shouldering into it. It caught Zee in the chin, knocking his head back so he stumbled.

Cameron ran into him like a football tackle, pinning him on his back on Alex’s bed. Before he could get his hands onto Cam’s neck to try and grapple him off, he had a sharp knee on his right bicep and the other wrist was wrestled to the bed by his head.

“Fucking— get off me!”

He thought about the way they used to treat him at the house, manhandling him into a dull submission he hated to even think about. He’d grown quiet eventually, a sullen, flinching version of himself who glared at people like a kicked dog.

He’d suffered near constant headaches from dehydration and been so preoccupied with getting food and water he would try to make them happy just to be given a reprieve from his thirst.

But he wasn’t outnumbered here. It was one to one with this one dude— though he was surprisingly strong and Zee was still weak from the poor conditions in transit.

“C’mon, princess. How’s it work? Would this help?”

Cool metal kissed the underside of his chin. He stopped struggling, terrified of a slip.

Jesus Christ. Would this guy actually kill him? Did he not know how much Zee was worth? How much Spartan Enterprises had paid for him for a year? He knew people would do worse for less when it comes to an ex-lover, especially if there was jealousy, which this guy seemed to have in spades.

“You slit my throat and you’re so fucked,” Zee whispered, chest heaving.

“Yikes. I’m not gonna slit your throat,” Cameron crooned. He dragged the knife slowly, lovingly, back to Zee’s ear, down the side of his neck. It traveled lower and then there was pressure as it sliced into his chest, an unpleasant tug before it broke skin and dragged a half an inch cut. “I’m just playing with you.”

Zee growled, scared to move. His arm was cramping under Cameron’s knee.

“How many will it take before you decide you wanna play nice with me?”

“I can’t just… see anything anytime. You really think that’s how it works? Are you that fucking stupid?”

“Tell me how it works then, cupcake.”

Zee sucked all the saliva in his mouth as best he could and spit into his freckled, smirking face. Cameron flinched and then laughed.

“Didn’t know you were into that. I guess if they gave you to Alex, it makes sense. You guys make out yet? Is that why you won’t tell me if he’s gonna sleep with anyone? Coz it’s you, you little freakshow?”

Cam cut him again and he screwed his eyes shut, more from fear and anger than pain. His heart was pounding in his chest, adrenaline making the incisions feel like papercuts.

“Stop,” Zee breathed. “Okay. Okay. Stop cutting me, please. I’ll— I’ll try to help you.”

The knife paused, the pressure lifting from the blade. “What do you need?” Cam asked, suddenly serious.

“Uhm.” It was hard to think with warm blood tickling his chest, both his hands pinned back helplessly. “Something— something you’ve both touched a lot.”

They heard the front door open and froze, Zee looking up into Cams face and Cam looking down into his.

“Zee?” Alex called urgently from the kitchen. “Is Cam here? His cars outside.”

Cameron rolled his eyes. He sat back, wiping spit from his face with his sleeve. He folded the knife and slipped it back in his pocket, walked out like nothing happened.

Zee rolled off the side of the bed onto the floor with a thud, pressing back back against Alex's box spring. The adrenaline faded with every drum of his heart, leaving his chest stinging and hands shaking.

He lifted his fingers to the cuts and they came away smeared red.

He heard rasied voiced in the other room and wondered if maybe he wouldn't be better off in the basement of Spartan in a wet sleeping bag.

Yet as soon as he thought it, he hoped Alex would not come in here and suggest the very same thing.

-

The Scry taglist

@whumpsday @distinctlywhumpthing @pumpkin-spice-whump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @tidalwhump @pigeonwhumps @interdimensional-chaos @top-hat-aye @thecyrulik @boxenby @mylifeisonthebookshelf @inpainandsuffering @heartsherps @latenightcupsofcoffee

[fletcherwilbury]

@whumptober Day 13: "I don't feel so good."

Warning for Physical combat, verbal abuse, malnutrition, dehydration, injury, illness, vomiting, misgendering

[stories-of-the-multiverse]

"You are not ascending to godhood, you're just dehydrated."

"OUTTA MY WAY, LEZZIE, I'M BOUTTA LIBERATE MY DIVINE SELF FROM THIS MORTAL SHELL!!!"

...

"... hopital..."

"On it..."

[splendidissimus]

August 2001 - Thirst

((Content warning: captivity, bondage, dehydration, neglect, degradation))

((Promptspiration: @whumptober-archive 2023: day 24: Neglect ))

Genre: whump

Romance level: none

Angst level: 4/5

Draco's headspace: focused / philosophical

((words: ~1200))

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

Aguamenti. Aguamenti. Aguamenti.

Draco focused on the spell. The sound of it. The shape of it. The feel of it. The feel of the motion of the wand, the feel of the words, the feel of the magic flowing through them both.

He needed water. More than sleep, more than food, more than freedom, he needed water. He didn't know how long he had been locked here — it felt like days, but his sense of time was famously unreliable, particularly when he wasn't sleeping. Maybe it was just a single day that felt like forever. Maybe he had lost so much time it was a week. But he did know he hadn't had anything to drink since Rowle found him. His lips were so dry and cracked they hurt. His head pounded with a slow ache that seized a band around his brow and temples and squeezed. His throat felt swollen almost shut. His mouth was hot and thick and gummy, tongue laying like a dead thing, desperate for relief. 

He would have cast the Cruciatus on someone just for a bit of cold metal. Something. Anything, just to lift this suffering.

Aguamenti. Aguamenti. Aguamenti.

He didn't have his wand, obviously… This wasn't a spell he had ever cast wandlessly, that he could remember. His mind wasn't good for remembering much right now, but he thought he would remember that cool, beautiful fountain of clear water. Even if he had, though, this wasn't the type of situation he could perform wandless magic in. Wandless magic required pure, crystalline focus, a diamond of willpower and clarity to channel the spell through. To hold the details of the spell, the shape of it, to perfectly replicate the pathways of the motion of the wand without actually performing them, a feat of visualisation and intention that could carve it out of the empty air.

Pain, fear, cold... thirst… those did not lend themselves to focus and clarity of thought. Even his desperation for water didn't help, it hindered. You couldn't just want something for magic to happen. There was more to it than that. His need for water, his preoccupation with water, they got in the way of getting the water. He could perfectly envision a tall, clear glass of pristine water, with beads of condensation on the outside teetering on the brink of falling, just on the edge of gravity's authority. He could hear the sound of a fountain if he but wished to, the bubbling gurgle and spray of fine mist that would fall out into the garden with the slightest breeze. A windowpane holding back the rain, racing drops against each other as they carved channels down the cold glass.

But those were fantasies. Those weren't magic. Those weren't the shape and form and feel and intention of the spell. They could not make water exist just by wanting it to. 

And more mundanely, but more pressing, perhaps… even when he cast magic without his wand, he still used his hands. Sometimes echoing the motion of the wand, or a shorthand of it, or else a motion that encapsulated the intention of the spell. Think Accio and reach, it came naturally. At the least, a focus and channel for his magic. He had seen Dumbledore and Snape do wandless magic, and even they, most often, still did it with their hands. And now his hands were bound behind him. 

Everything he knew said he couldn't cast the spell. The only thing that said otherwise was that he needed to.

Aguamenti. He focused not on the spell but on Occlumency techniques, compartmentalisation, taking hold of the distractions of fantasies and pain and dread and trying to put them away, out of his reach. To clear his mind so there was space for the spell, to narrow his focus so there was nothing else. 

Aguamenti. Remember, analyse, feel the shape of it. Not the word, but the way the power filled the word, poured into it and spread out to fill every sound and syllable, was contained and shaped by its borders. Not the motion of the wand, but the way it felt to move it, the flow of his arm and the power channelled by his stance into a single dancing point. The result, not the water, a mere byproduct, but the way willpower was converted from the abstract into the physical at that point, the point where magic was transmuted into creation. Assemble it all into one perfect form.

Aguamenti. 

He could feel it when it happened, willpower becoming magic becoming water, and the water itself was almost secondary to that sense of wholeness. The conjured water sprang from the centre of his palm, lacking a wand for it to emanate from as he did. It was cold and quick, soaking the seat of his pants and pooling around his bare feet. He made a strangled sobbing noise and bent over his knees, breath hitching; he might have cried if he had the tears for it.

He twisted his hands, bending desperately however he could to get his face to the water, but he could in no way get them in front of him. The water splashed uselessly against his back or down his leg, but did not come anywhere near his parched mouth. He had cast it, against all odds he had made water, it was right there, but he still couldn't have it… It would only taunt him to madness or death.

If he could catch the water… In the darkness, he had no way of checking, but what he knew said there was nothing to act as a container, and even if there were some broken bowl or dusty dish in a corner, he had no way of finding it. 

This was all that there was. The water pouring from his hand and pooling in the dirt at his feet, soaking into the dusty earthen floor of the cellar. 

He bowed his head, eyes squeezed tightly closed and chest burning with crawling shame. 

He let the water flow for as long as he could stand it, the musical splashes torture against his need, and when he was going to lose his mind or die, he clenched his hand closed and cut off the spell, his only lifeline to water which he may never be able to cast again, and shuffled over on his knees. His aching legs awoke in pain and pins and needles for the affront, and he hissed as they cramped up, but forced himself to move awkwardly anyway, before the water was gone.

He bent over and set his face cautiously to the mud, feeling around until he found a tiny puddle of water pooled in a trench dug by his foot at some point, not yet quite absorbed by the thirsty earth. And he set his lips to it, and he drank, cautiously at first and then greedily, spitting aside grit and filth and then going back for more, until it was gone.

[lazylittledragon]

mombin pt 7 <33

(1)(2)(3)(4)(5)(6)

[pocketseizure]

Hyrule Castle Sealing Grounds early concept art

[mobius-m-mobius]

LOKI APPRECIATION WEEK 2023 | for @dailyloki Day 5 : Favorite Loki's clothes : The God of Stories suit

[2mucheyeliner]

I am not immune to the triangle book

Ford - my brother in science - FIDDLEFORD WAS RIGHT THERE THE WHOLE TIME

[lynxgriffin]

Eldritchrune - Revival

1 | 2 | 3 Story Setup Eldritchrune Masterpost

After a truly miserable experience, Kris is revived back in Ralsei's castle and can take a bit of a breather. Maybe some forbidden arcane knowledge can solve their problem!

[sleepyfan-blog]

Seeing Double

Author’s Note: This is Mer-Trai’s debut! I hope that you enjoy the fic! :D Next

Tagged: @bleedingichorhearts @kit-williams @the-pure-angel @egrets-not-regrets

Warnings: mention of torture, bodily mutilation, concussion, dehydration, worship, wounds

Summary: Trai is rescued by a saintly baseline human.  

Pain and exhaustion greet him when he wakes. They are old, familiar foes, and hunger joins as he slowly blinks his way to full awareness. He finds himself where he had been the past... He's not entirely sure how long he's been here, but this too, he will survive. The aching pain in his head has not gone away, and some of the wounds that his captors gave him the last time they'd graced him with their presence had not fully healed. 

Given that he hasn't been fed for as long as he's been captured, the fact that he isn't healing as swiftly as he used to be isn't surprising. The gods grant him the patience and strength to weather this trial. His brothers will find him, he just needs to wait. 

The large gold and red mer stares into the too-bright lights, the electric buzz not helping his headache any. His breathing is measured and shallow as he closes his eyes again, trying to conserve what little energy he has, as his wounds itch and burn as they slowly heal. 

Trai deliberately does not allow himself to flinch as the door to his cell slams open. He is not a wide-eyed neophyte who startles at the sounds of his captors' trying to torment him. 

He bears his teeth - his armor having long been stripped of his body by his human captors - and hisses as a small, cool hand touches his tail, just above where one of the metal stakes had been buried through his flesh, pinning him to the metal table he'd been strapped to. 

"Oh... You're alive... Oh fuck! Hey guys! I found a live one! We're going to need a medic!" The human who had the gall to touch his tail shouted- causing his headache to spike most unpleasantly. "Oh... Oh buddy... Do you know this language? Please look at me and either say something or blink once if you do understand me."

Trai opened his eyes, sending the human - humans? He could see two of them, standing one slightly to the left of the other, mirror images of one another that moved at the -

Ah. 

Concussion. Wonderful. He opened his mouth, revealing the fact that his tongue had been cut out - and cauterized, to further slow healing of the appendage, as he had cursed his captors with some very entertaining miseries for the gall to torment him as they had been. He deliberately blinked up at the two-maybe-one human(s).

"Oh... Oh they... Okay, I'm going to use these pliers to get the... Get the... The stakes pinning you to the table out. We've arrested the people who've been running this place. Please don't attack me, though it will hurt when I pull these things out of you." The human(s) said in unison. "After that... I have some of the nutrient paste that space marines really like, and a bottle of water. Are you hungry?"

Yes, he definitely had a concussion... And was quite possibly hallucinating or dreaming. This was a nice dream, even though he'd rather his brothers be the ones rescuing him, rather than more fucking baseline humans. Trai gamely and deliberately blinked once while maintaining eye contact with the human(s). The mention of food and water was enough to get him to smile hopefully. He stayed still as the little goddess before him industriusly freed him from his bonds.

He held in his hisses of pain as best as he could, and she made worried noises as he began to bleed sluggishly from where he had been pinned to the table. With considerable effort, Trai activated his ability to swim through the air, slowly and painfully pushing himself into an upright position. He sniffed the air, her distress and determination clear to him. he could also smell the nutrient paste in his pockets and lightly tapped at the pocket with teh food with a clawed hand, careful not to piece the flimsy cloth, staring down at her pleadingly.

"Right, food." She responded, pulling out the tube of nutrient paste and holding it out to him.

Trai crooned out in wordless thanks, though his useless, trembling hands could not keep hold of the tube - then again he probably had nerve damage from the eight holes bored clear through each arm from those fucking stakes that had been drilled through his body until moments ago. He peered down at her, humiliation, desperation and hope warring for dominance on his face. He'd heard whispers that some humans were brave enough to hand-feed astartes they were comfortable with, despite many space marines having wickedly sharp teeth.

She nimbly caught the tube before it could fall to the ground. Disappointment and worry flashed across her face, before determination set in. "Okay. You don't seem to be able to hold onto the tube by yourself right now.. Uhm... If you crouch down a bit, I can feed you? If you want that? I could also squeeze some of it out onto the table, if you'd rather eat it that way?"

Trai shook his head slowly, one clawed hand going up to his head as nausea and dizziness plagued him at the motions. He opened his mouth and hunched over her, trying not to seem threatening. He was so, so hungry, and this little goddess had already helped him tremendously.

"Okay! Feeding  you it is." His lovely goddess chirped up at him. She was easily able to open the cap and remove the purity seal before squeezing a small mouthful into his waiting jaws.

Trai whined before slowly closing his mouth and swallowing. He wanted more than that little bit... But given the way his stomach cramped at that small amount of food, perhaps starting off the feeding slowly was for the best. Once the waves of nausea faded he opened his mouth again. 

This time he was rewarded by his goddess with a slightly larger mouthful of water. It was de-salinated, but he did not care as the cool liquid hydrated what was left of his tongue and soothed the worst of his ravaged throat. He didn't care that he was purring loudly, nor that he had started to lean on his little goddess as she continued to slowly feed and water him. Her kindness was boundless and her generosity endless. She was worthy of all the worship within his being. When his belly was filled as much as he could tolerate, and his thirst was quenched to the point of no longer trying to drive him to madness he closed his mouth again and did not open it, pressing his head against her cool shoulder, exhaustion and the need to allow his body to heal more fully took him over.

[alien-memes1249]

Dehydrated, Pathetic worm, goofy guy that we all love ✨

[hold-on-a-little-longer-whump]

A few days ago as I was yearning for my lunch hour to approach at work, an idea struck me. Continue reading if you want to suffer with me.

Imagine a character who doesn't need food to survive. If you want to spice things up, maybe they don't even need water. This makes it so much more convenient for their captor as they're held hostage, imprisoned, etc. Maybe there's a whole Cinderella thing going on, where their cruel guardian refuses to feed them.

But get this.

They may not need food, but they can still feel hunger. They can still lose a little weight (after all, eating not only kept the discomfort of hunger away, but it gave the character a healthy softness to their body). Their head can still ache. Their hands can still have a tiny tremor. The room can still dip and sway around them. Doing tasks is so much more difficult. Maybe, for their species, it's only this bad if they're accustomed to eating regularly. The longer they go without, the easier it'll be to deal with.

But it's not true. It can't be true. It hurts so much. It feels as if their stomach is collapsing in on itself. Their mouth is so dry that it's starting to go numb. They've sucked on their lips until they're chapped and raw. Their throat clicks with every empty swallow. Tiny white sparks swim across their vision whenever they stand. It had to have been a myth, that they could go without food or water. No living creature should have to endure this. No living creature should be able to.

(feel free to make additions - I ran out of creativity juice midway through writing this but I would love to see how you interpret it)

[hidden-havven]

SPIDERMAN Y SPIDERWOMAN

leo's is a bit older than roier's, but ive been sitting on these two drawings for a while, I wanted to post them with the batfoolish and lobo nocturno when I finish them but I don't have de energy to even start them (； T.T)),,

[pocketseizure]

There are three details in this image of Ganon that I find interesting. First, his ears are definitely round. Second, the upper portion of the shoulder ornament facing the camera bears the Gerudo crest, but the lower portion seems to be fashioned after the crest of Hyrule (the spread-winged eagle seen on the Hylian shield and Zelda’s apron in Ocarina of Time). And third... what are those awful holes in his arm?

[unforgivenn]

The Endless Nightmare - 2

Masterlist/ Previous

Caleb awoke to the sound of dripping water, each drop echoing in the hollow space of the room. His body ached with a dull and throbbing pain, the fever leaving him weak and disoriented. He felt the coldness of the floor seeping into his bones, making him shiver when he felt cool air. His eyes flickered open, adjusting to the dim light that barely illuminated the confines of his prison.

The silence was oppressive, broken only by the rhythmic drip, drip, drip of the water. Caleb forced himself to sit up, every movement a struggle against the exhaustion that threatened to pull him back into unconsciousness. His throat was parched, the mere thought of water sending a desperate longing through his mind.

He looked down to see a blanket draped on him. Atleast he has a small part of humanity. He thought bitterly.

As he tried to steady his breathing, he heard footsteps approaching. The familiar sound sent a shiver down his spine, a sickening anticipation tightening his chest. Dominic. Caleb's heart raced, each beat echoing in his ears like a drum of impending doom. Please. Please don't hurt me..

The door creaked open, and Dominic stepped into the room, his shadow stretching long and menacing against the wall. He carried a tray with a small bowl of water and a piece of stale bread. Caleb's eyes locked onto the water, his body screaming for relief.

"Good morning, kitten," Dominic said, his voice dripping with false cheer. He set the tray down in front of Caleb, the clang of the metal tray on the stone floor echoing in the silence. "Hungry?"

Caleb didn't respond, his eyes fixed on the water. Dominic's gaze followed his, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "Thirsty, are we?" he asked, picking up the bottle and holding it just out of Caleb's reach. "You'll have to earn it."

Desperation gnawed at Caleb's insides. He tried to move closer, but Dominic's foot shot out, kicking him back. Caleb fell, his head striking the floor with a sickening thud. Stars exploded behind his eyes, the pain radiating through his skull.

"Not so fast," Dominic chided, crouching down to Caleb's level. "You know the rules."

Caleb's vision blurred with tears, the throbbing in his head making it hard to focus. He forced himself to sit up again, swallowing hard against the nausea that threatened to overtake him. "P-Please," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Just a sip."

Dominic's smile widened, a predator savoring the helplessness of his prey. "Begging already? How pathetic. I think I like you better when you're like this."

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against Caleb's ear. "Isn't it soo much better than having you swearing and acting like an ungrateful brat every day. Now look at you. Completely dependant on me for survival"

It was more like he didn't have the energy nor the courage to be defiant right now. He just wanted to sleep and spend his day peacefully for once. Caleb's hands trembled as he reached for the bowl, his fingers brushing against the cool metal. Dominic pulled it away, a chuckle escaping his lips making Caleb groan slightly. "Not yet, kitten. Not yet."

He set the bowl down on the tray and stood up, his eyes never leaving Caleb's. "You have to prove yourself first."

Caleb's mind raced, trying to grasp at any shred of sanity left. What did Dominic want? What the fuck did he want?? He knew there was no winning this game, no way to satisfy Dominic's twisted desires. But the need for water, for any relief from the torment, was too strong to ignore.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked, his voice shaking.

Dominic's eyes gleamed with a sadistic glee. "Crawl to me," he commanded. "Show me how much you want it."

Humiliation burned through Caleb, a blush creeping up on his face. When he didn't move from his place Dominic hummed.

"Guess this water's gonna stay with me then."

Caleb licked his dry lips, trying to feel at least some liquid on them. Slowly, painfully, he crawled towards Dominic, each movement a reminder of his own fragility. He reached Dominic's feet, his body trembling with effort.

"Good boy," Dominic murmured, reaching down to stroke Caleb's hair. The touch was agonizing to say the least but the urge to pull away from his touch was more. "Now drink."

He handed Caleb the bottle, and Caleb's hands shook as he brought it to his lips, the cool water sliding down his throat like a lifeline. He drank greedily, every drop a brief reprieve from the hell he was in.

But as he finished, Dominic yanked the bottle away, spilling the remaining water onto the floor. Caleb let out a small cry of discomfort at this. "That's enough for now," he said, his voice cold. "You don't want to get too comfortable, do you?"

Caleb's heart sank, the fleeting comfort ripped away as quickly as it had come. He watched the water pool on the floor, feeling more broken than ever.

"I was thinking of having some fun today but I guess you aren't any better. And it's no fun having you only half aware for it." Dominic's voice suddenly changed to a fake innocence. Bipolar bitch. Caleb and Dominic almost held a staring contest before Dominic sighed.

"I'll get you some medicines then."

As the door closed behind him, the darkness enveloped Caleb once more. He slumped to the floor, his body wracked with silent sobs. The fight was slipping out of him, hope dwindling with each passing moment. How much more could he endure? How much more could he lose before he was nothing but a hollow shell?

The answer, he feared, was more than he could ever imagine.

Taglist: @anutz1234 @miireux134 @nuriiz134 @noeul-whumpppss @ash-reh

@someoneoninternettt @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @animesfortoday @noeul-whumpppssssss1234 (let me know if you want to be added or removed <3)