#TW: mention of captivity
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Actor AU story part three! WOOOOOO!!!
Au belongs to @frillsand
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Chapter 3: Dinner with a new friend
Willow followed Wally back inside to watch him and his friends record the newest episode after Eric had to concede to Wally's 'Offer'. The others were surprised Wally asked for this, but they welcomed the change nonetheless. They loved entertaining kids, and this would be like early critique before the show even aired. Willow had a lot of fun too. She was really shy and very quiet, but she loved getting to know the cast. They each noticed something a bit odd, however. Like something didn't sit right. She was sweet and kind, sure, but the level of shyness she exhibited felt less like her being shy and more like her being afraid of them. It was odd to say the least, but when the rest of the cast asked her why she was scared or told her she didn't need to be scared, she'd turn away and deny it. Not Wally, though. He never asked anything like that. Unless she spoke to him, he observed the interactions Willow had with his friends quietly, making mental notes on her behavior so he could see if something was wrong at home with her.
The day went by a bit too quickly for everyone's liking. Before anyone knew it, shooting was over and the cast started heading home. Willow gave everyone a respectful farewell before going with Wally to get dropped off. On the way, they spoke to each other.
"So?" Wally started, making Willow look at him from the seat next to him "What did we learn about the cast today?"
"Uuhhhhh…" Willow started thinking "...Well, Franky isn't nearly as grumpy as we see on TV. He's easy to tick off, but he's overall really nice. Eddie is Franky's boyfriend, which I didn't realize either of them were gay. Julie does a little flap thing when she's excited, Poppy loves humming to help her stay calm, Barnaby is definitely not acting when he plays the funny guy, Howdy is vegan…What's vegan again?"
"It means you don't eat any meat or animal products" Wally clarified
"Right. A-Anyway, Sally is a lot sweeter than on camera, almost like a cool big sister" Willow continued "...And you have a really short temper with the production crew. I noticed how they treated your friends, but…" She stopped there
It was true, she saw how badly the puppets were treated in the studio. To say it was bad would be an understatement, to say the least. She saw Howdy get pushed off the stage, only being there because he was confused about his movement and tone for his personal recording as he was the least experienced in this field with Poppy being only slightly better due to her anxiety. Wally really lost his temper and started shouting at everyone. The only reason he stopped was because Willow had run off the stage. When Wally found her again, Howdy and Sally were trying to bring her out of a massive panic attack.
“...I take it your parents shout a lot?” Wally asked gently, Willow being pulled out of the memory and back to the real world
“Y-Yeah…They do…” She said, a bit startled from being pulled back into the conversation
“How often does it happen?”
“Every day…Sometimes it lasts all day and momma sends me out of the house so I don’t have to listen” Willow explained, rubbing her arm
Wally stopped at a red light and looked over at her, his expression immediately turning to one of worry when he saw the slightly raised sleeve…and what was underneath it. There was a large, hand shaped bruise on her wrist, barely covered up by bandages. Wally could guess where it came from, but he needed to get all the facts first.
“…Willow. Look at me, please” Wally spoke gently as the little puppet looked up at her favorite star “I only get angry like that when someone mistreats my friends, and I only do that inside the studio because the people there are racist and…honestly a bunch of idiotic jerks. Your parents fighting like that is a sign that that house may not be safe for you…”
“I already know that…” Willow said as she looked down at her lap “…But my daddy made it clear that I’ll have nowhere else to go. He said I’ll die on the streets if I run away because he won’t come looking for me…So I gotta stay where I am…” Willow looked ready to cry when she finished her explanation
Wally looked ready to snap again as the light turned green. He went off course, driving away from the house as he took a breath and gently rubbed Willow’s back to soothe her. He soon pulled into a parking lot and stopped the car, making Willow look up curiously as she wiped her teary eyes. They weren’t at her house, but rather at a large restaurant painted orange and red with gray tiles for the roof. There was a large neon sign in the shape of a circle with little circles on the inside and a triangle missing from it.
“Um…Mister Darling?” Willow spoke up “Where are we? I thought I was just going home”
“Well, I saw that you hadn’t eaten anything at the studio, so I thought you might want something to have before you go home” Wally explained, though the real reason was that he thought this could keep her out of the house, and away from her toxic father, a while longer
“Bobolli’s…Pissa?” She read the sign and tilted her head “What’s that?”
“…Have you never had pizza before?” Wally asked, a little horrified as Willow shook her head “What do your parents let you eat?”
“Daddy makes me eat cold bread and milk for breakfast. Momma tries to give me granola bars and water sometimes, but she usually gets caught” Willow explained timidly
Wally had to take a few deep breaths to calm down before he got out of the car. He went around and got Willow out before taking her inside. The interior had a very rustic feeling with dark wood floors, marble counters, orange lights, black leather seats, and dark red tiles all over the walls. Many folks, both human and puppet, worked behind the counters to make pizza, but only one came out to greet Wally. This puppet was rather large in size, a human puppet roughly three fourths of Barnaby’s height. He had red hair on his head, pale orange felt skin, and a big bushy mustache. His body was rather rotund in size and he wore a typical Italian chef’s outfit. His green eyes sparkled warmly when he went over to Wally, a smile beaming underneath that mustache.
“Well, if it isn’t Wally, my best customer!” He spoke, a boisterous and deep voice speaking with a heavy Italian accent as he shook Wally’s hand
“Hey there, Ronny!” Wally greeted the chef fondly before letting go and turning to Willow “Willow, this is Ronald Babolli. He’s the owner of this restaurant. It’s honestly the best place I know of”
“Oh, I don’t think I’ve seen this one before” Ronny said as he kneeled down to take a look at Willow, though she quickly hid behind Wally “Where did you find her, Wally?”
“She’s the daughter of the studio tailors” Wally explained calmly “I’m letting her come by the studio more often if she wants. She didn’t eat anything there, so I thought I’d treat this kid to dinner”
“Well, you brought her to the right place. Please have a seat. I’ll bring a surprise” Ronny smiled and ran behind the counter
Wally chuckled and took Willow to a nice, quiet booth in the back of the restaurant. Willow sat across from Wally as she looked around at everything warily. She had clearly never been to this area of the city before. It was kinda overwhelming for her, and Wally could clearly see that in her expression.
“So…What’s it like in the suburbs?” Wally asked, trying to relieve some of this little girl’s tension as one of the workers brought some drinks. Wally got a Diet Dr. Pepper and Willow got a Sprite
“Well…It’s usually really quiet” Willow answered “Other than my momma and daddy fighting. The people there are nice enough. Miss Fritters is my favorite. She’s this old human who lives down the street with her family. Her family is really nice, but Miss Fritters tells me stories and sometimes bakes cookies. She taught me how to make some of her recipes. Sometimes I can play with her grandkids, Billy and Bobbie, but they don’t think I’m very cool”
“Kids can be like that sometimes” Wally shrugged as he sipped on his soda “I had a friend like that. Frank was actually like that before I got him to open up”
“So he used to be as grumpy as he acts on the show?”
“Yeah. Honestly, though, if you know him for long enough, you learn quickly that he’s a sweetheart. The reason you saw it today was because he has a real soft spot for kids” Wally explained as Willow sipped her drink, a smile coming to his face when he saw her eyes light up.
“…Is this your favorite place?” Willow asked
“It’s my favorite place to eat, yes. Sometimes the cast and I come here for some good old fashioned friend time” Wally answered fondly
“…You’re really easy to talk to”
“Huh?” Wally perked up at the quiet words Willow spoke “I-I’m sorry, could you say that again?”
“Y…You’re really easy to talk to, mister darling. It’s like I’ve known you my whole life even though we met today…You’re really nice” She explained with a blush
Before Wally could answer, Ronny brought over a large pizza on a tray. It was covered with cheese and pepperoni with a big, stuffed crust that was only visible because Ronny had cut it up into some nice triangles. Willow looked really surprised as she gazed at the good smelling pie in front of her, making Wally chuckle a bit as they each got a plate.
“Looks as delicious as ever, Ronny” Wally said with a smile directed at the chef
“Yes, one of my finest pizzas” Ronny said with a smile as he turned to get back to work “Let me know if you need anything”
“Thanks, Ronny!” Wally beamed at Ronny as the chef left before grabbing a couple of slices, one for him and one for Willow “There you go, kid”
“…Y…You’re letting me have this?” She asked, immediately tensing up
“Of course. Why wouldn't I?” Wally asked before taking a bite of his pizza slice
“Well…Daddy says that if I eat three meals, I’ll be fat and useless”
“Well, daddy’s not here right now. You don’t have to eat all of the slice I gave you. Just one bite. If you decide you want more, I won’t stop you, okay?” Wally said as he gave Willow a smile
Willow was, understandably, hesitant. She’d never even seen something like this before. She was nervous. She poked at the slice a bit before picking it up. She inspected it from top to bottom, which made Wally giggle on the outside, though he could feel his heart break. How sheltered was this kid? How long had Eric and, clearly begrudgingly, Jessica, been keeping this poor little girl locked away and slaving over a sewing machine? It hurt to see such a sweet little girl look so scared over a simple food item…Willow soon took her first bite, and the way her eyes seemed to gain a new spark of life in them warmed Wally’s heart. The little puppet dove in, quickly gobbling up a slice and, after confirming that she could take more, ate more of the delicious pizza. By the time both of them were full, the entire pizza was gone.
Willow looked really sleepy, her eyes fluttering as she tried to stay awake with very little success. Wally chuckled and paid Ronny for the food before carrying her back to the car. She was completely limp as she was carried and placed into her seat. She jolted awake, at least awake to the point of being aware, when Wally’s car started. He pulled out of the parking lot and put on a classical CD that Frank let him borrow. When he stopped at a red light and Noticed Willow was half awake, he smiled and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“You can go ahead and get some sleep” He said quietly, his voice soothing to the little puppet’s ears “I’ll wake you up when we get to your house, okay?”
Willow gave him a nod and closed her eyes, drifting off pretty quickly. Wally sighed and turned his eyes back to the road. She was so precious. This little girl didn’t deserve to live in such circumstances. She didn’t deserve to be treated as a slave. Not only was it illegal, but it was just morally wrong. This kid deserved to be free to play and grow like a real sapling. It pissed Wally off that Eric was keeping her from growing. He had to do something.
After a while, the car stopped at the right address, and it made Wally uncomfortable. The house was stable, but it was greasy and clearly falling apart. There was a cracked window in the front that allowed him to see inside. Greasy walls, flickering lights, old furniture that was falling apart, loose wooden floorboards. That house was unsafe for more than one reason, but Wally took a breath and kept his composure. He woke Willow up and carried her to the door, giving it a gentle knock. Her mother, thankfully, came to answer the door. Jessica took Willow in her arms and thanked Wally for taking care of her. He simply smiled and passed her a note before leaving, giving Willow one last wave goodbye before he drove off
Jessica put Willow to bed, happy when she explained what he did for her. When Willow was fast asleep, Jessica unfolded the note and read it, smiling as she did.
‘I need to know what her father has been keeping from her’
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𝑜ℎ, 𝑡𝑜 𝑝𝑢𝑡 𝑖𝑡 𝑏𝑙𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑙𝑦, 𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑒… 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 𝑓𝑢𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑑.
— pete’s place🤎
#chris evans#chris evans edit#chris evans gifs#chris evans imagine#steve rogers#steve rogers gifs#steve rogers fic#steve rogers smut#steve rogers imagine#dark steve rogers#ari levinson#ari levinson gifs#ari levinson fic#ari levinson smut#ari levinson imagine#dark verse#dark au#pete's place#— lila’s secret project🤎#tw captivity#tw kidnap mention#tw kidnapping
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Give You Something To Cry About
Yay, my time management skills continue to be straight ass. Sorry to the anon who has waited so patiently for this, and thank you so much for giving me an excuse to write this depraved ball of snot. Headers by @/cafekitsune. Also don't believe everything you see on the internet, there's no scientific proof that certain things work for your skin. I think Vil would know that, considering.
This Fic Is For: Anyone who can handle it! Once again, I tried to make it as gn as possible, considering Rook's use of Franglais, but I'm delusional and will say I did exactly that. Reader is referred to with they/them pronouns, and no real allusions to specific body parts are made for them.
TW for DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT, forced dieting, non/dubcon, mentions of death, questionable use of magic, captivity, someone has a case of dacryphilia and a strong sadist streak, won't say who, Rook Hunt because he freaks me out, unhealthy relationship dynamics, abuse, forced BDSM if you squint, I feel so bad for the reader in this one, toxic relationships, possibly OOC characters.
“I am not going to tell you again, my love.” Vil bends down to get in your face, already wearing his ceremonial robe and heels. He points a finger in your face, like you’re a small child or a dog, “If you continue to pick at your skin, I am going to let Rook punish you this time.”
You swallow and look away, and Vil pinches your cheeks between his thumb and fingers, pulling your head so you’re looking at him again. His violet eyes bore into you, and you swallow again.
He looks offended, almost, “Well? Have you forgotten basic manners? Speak.”
Your voice sounds dry and weak, “Yes, Vil. I understand.”
He seems satisfied enough with that, moving around as he continues to prepare for whatever school-wide assembly is happening today. He elegantly tucks his hair behind his ear and sighs, scrolling through some page on his phone.
You remain standing where you are, turning your head to look out the window. It’s so pretty outside, but you only get to leave this room whenever Rook is watching you or Vil sends you on an errand. It’s always spring, never too hot, never too cold, but you’re sweating anyway.
Vil approaches you again and tilts your face back so you’re looking at him with a hand on your cheek. His eyes narrow a fraction.
“Your skin doesn’t seem to like this foundation. Make sure you discard it today; I’ll get you a new one.” He bends down again, this time to press a chaste kiss to your lips. He rubs his own together after pulling away and smudges his thumb over your bottom lip, “Hmm. What lipgloss is this?”
Your voice doesn’t sound so dry, but it still doesn’t sound like you, “Uh… The dark red one with the metallic purple? ‘Electric Berry’?
He’s silent for a second, just staring down at your lips as he cups your chin, and then he sighs and turns away, “It’s sticky. I’d tell you to wash your face and reapply your makeup, but that’d be a waste. Make sure you put on lip balm next time.”
You swallow, “Yes, Vil. I understand.”
“I have to get going now. You’d better be at least halfway done with that list by the time I return.” He breezes towards the door and gives you a last, long look. He’s completely silent before he leaves, closing the door behind him.
Your palms ache. You stiltedly wander towards the list pinned in the closet, glad to see it’s not insane today. All you need to do is tidy the bathroom and skim through Vil’s mail to see if it’s anything but hate mail or advertisements. Tack on getting rid of that foundation and that’s it, at least until he returns at lunch.
You relished this time to yourself, even if it was just cleaning or whatever else. Vil always said that motion is good for you, a structure does the mind good. You didn’t care much anymore. As you sat down to search through his mail, finding nothing but the usual hate mail and what appears to be a poem from Rook (why did he even mail that? He’s not even down the hall from this room,) you catch yourself craving something sweet.
The diet Vil has you on sucks. He has assured you that your body is lovely, and he is having you eat like this to help clear your skin, but really you just want something. Anything, you’d even take a breath mint over this lack of junk food. You’re young, what young person doesn’t enjoy gratuitously unhealthy food? A basket of french fries? Ice cream?
You frown to yourself and toss the last of the mail into the recycle bin. You know he’s just going to check it over again anyway, but at least you’re moving around. That’s what he would say.
By the time you’re almost done scrubbing the tub, you hear the door open. You don’t want to go greet him, so you pretend you didn’t hear anything and keep cleaning, making sure to disinfect the non-slip mat that resembles a bunch of ugly gems glued together.
You hear him clicking towards you, and his hand rests on your shoulder, “Going above and beyond today? I have lunch, come eat.”
You school your expression and stand up, pulling off your cleaning gloves and hanging them on the rim of the tub before you follow Vil. He ensconces himself in his desk chair, leaving you to awkwardly lift the stool near his vanity. He hates it when you push the furniture.
He clucks his tongue, not even looking at you, “Lift with your knees, darling. As much as I’d love to massage your back if you pull something, I simply don’t have the time.”
You can’t help it. You shoot him the nastiest glare you can muster as you lift with your knees, right as his eyes flick up to meet yours. You nearly drop the chair as his lips curl into a cold smirk.
“Do you have something to say?”
You hastily shake your head, “No, Vil-”
“Then don’t allow me to see that expression on your face again.” He bites, “Come sit down.”
You put the stool down a little harder than you mean to and take a seat beside Vil at his desk. He passes you your nice little container containing one of several things he gets you- a pile of leafy greens and chopped veggies on a bed of quinoa, fresh fruit, and a murky green smoothie topped with chia seeds.
You don’t like chia seeds. They remind you of frog eggs- a bunch of slimy lumps, sliding down your throat. You accept the straw Vil passes to you and stir the smoothie before eating in silence.
Vil doesn’t mind if you don’t thank him for feeding you. Since he’s keeping you here, it’s pretty much the least he could do. Still, it doesn’t make up for hearing about his boring day.
“This morning’s assembly was complete and utter chaos, as usual.” He muses, sipping his own smoothie. It’s a soft purple. “It’s ridiculous. Those brutes never wear their robes correctly.”
You don’t respond. There’s two reasons: first of all, you don’t care, and secondly, there’s a knock at the door. Vil hums, as though he’s been waiting for someone, and turns to face the door.
“Who is it?”
That boisterous voice you are so used to hearing echoes past the door, “‘Tis I, Roi du Poison. I have come to join you for lunch.”
You can hear the smile in Vil’s voice, “Oh, of course. Come in.”
As Rook walks in, you feel a stab of jealousy in your chest. He takes a breezy seat on the loveseat in front of Vil’s bed and glances at you. You break eye contact and dully pick at your salad.
Vil treats Rook so nicely. He considers his feelings and opinions, although he doesn’t always listen. He speaks to him as though he’s a person. You suppose Vil’s obvious care for Rook trickles down to you in some capacity, but it hurts. Vil claims that the two of you are lovers, but really you’re more like a doll.
“Do you mind meeting me in the lab later on, Rook?”
Rook chuckles from where he is and you cast another glance at him. His eyes meet yours, again, and you look away, again.
“I can always make time for you, beautiful Vil.”
You lamely pick at the fruit, having finished the salad, before you decide to save it for last. You take a sip of your smoothie after stirring it again and openly recoil, trying not to cough. You didn’t smell it, but there must be ginger in there, because there’s a mellow burn alongside the bitterness from the kale. It makes your eyes water and settles in behind your nose.
“Mmm. Something wrong?” Vil smiles at you.
You shake your head, blinking rapidly so you don’t start crying. There’s not enough tears to fall, but taking your chances is stupid, “No, Vil. The ginger just caught me off guard.”
“Oh. My apologies, I should have warned you. I don’t want you catching a cold, and you’ve been a little irregular. The smoothie also has spinach, kale, avocado, chia seeds, and, of course, a little mango.”
You nod and force yourself to smile, taking another sip and soldiering past the rush of that aromatic pain in your sinuses. “Oh, thank you.”
“You’re very welcome, darling.” Vil turns away from you to speak to Rook again, “What else did you have planned?”
“I thought I might take a walk. It is a wonderful day, non?” There’s a slight mocking tone to Rook’s voice, “Hardly the type of day to be cooped up all day, hmm?”
Vil furrows his eyebrows as you choke down the last of the smoothie. His voice is curt, “You can say what you mean.”
“Est-ce que je peux? You are not very open to suggestion.”
Vil narrows his eyes at Rook, taking a deep sip of his smoothie before he places it on the coaster sitting upon his desk. He uncrosses his long legs and stands, walking over to sit with Rook on the loveseat. Rook watches him approach with a smile, the same pleasant one he usually wears before he shoots you a beaming grin and turns to look at Vil.
Their conversation is hushed, and you can’t really make out all of what they say. You can hear someone say your name, Vil’s tone swiftly turns vitriolic, then sweetens once more, and Rook chuckles under his breath. When their little meeting is over, Vil walks back over and finishes his smoothie before petting your head like you’re some kind of cat.
His hand strokes the crown of your head, then smooths over your cheek, he cups your jaw and thumbs over the swell of your lip, all while staring at you with a look you cannot read. And then he tilts his head, and smiles.
“Make sure you thank Rook. And you mistook a letter from my father as garbage.”
“Yes, Vil.” You reply obediently, “Sorry, Vil.”
He smiles. Your palms ache, and you have to bite back the urge to move, to peel at your cuticles or scratch the sides of your fingers.
“I’ll see you in class, Rook.” Vil says politely before he tilts your face up and pecks you on the lips.
You’re left alone with Rook. He doesn’t get up, not yet. You remain where you are, looking at your slippers. You hear Rook stand up and discard his garbage. You can feel him come up to stand behind you.
“Has today been particulièrement difficile? My poor dear… You seem so sad today.” His arms wrap around you, looping them around your shoulders so they warm your collarbones like a scarf and he can rest his cheek against the back of your head. You hear him take a deep breath in.
With Vil, you don’t even try to speak anymore. You know he won’t really listen to you, because he knows better than you… But with Rook, as long as you wait a moment to make sure he is done speaking, he welcomes and even encourages you to speak your mind.
Your breath hitches and you swallow, “Uh, I mean… I guess I’m just having a bad day. It’s really been the same as usual.”
“Hmm.” Rook hums, completely devoid of emotion. You feel him turn his face so his nose is buried in your hair. He presses a kiss against your hair and sighs, “Ah, yes, the monotony of life is très épuisant, mmm?”
You wait for a second, then deliberately don’t answer the question in favor of asking your own, “Um, he said I should thank you?”
“Perhaps you should ask why more clearly. I have convinced our very own Vil to allow me to arrange a surprise for you.” Rook removes himself from your back and turns you around to face him, “And thus, I believe I have earned a kiss from you.”
“Wait, what?” You don’t get time to really back away or tell him to explain, as Rook squishes your cheeks with one of his gloved hands until your lips part.
His grip isn’t as harsh as Vil’s, but this is still something that only happens when you’re in more trouble than usual, so you involuntarily wince and close your eyes, cowering away from Rook as he dips his tongue into your mouth and slithers it between your teeth.
It is very easy to like Rook. He is passionate, and he’s far more kind to you than your supposed lover is. He’s intelligent and has an adonis-like form, and if not for the taste of blood on his tongue from whatever he ate for lunch or the grip he has on your face, maybe you would enjoy this kiss. But the big issue is that Rook honestly frightens you a little.
It’s absolutely not his fault, not entirely. Upon first meeting him, it was hard to tell if he was being genuine. He’s difficult to read, as he is often wearing the same set of expressions and his tone is always a bit melodramatic.
His hand releases your face to clamp around the base of your head, his tongue twisting in your mouth, pressing against the crevices in your teeth.
Not only is Rook hard to read, he is also uncannily observant and will not hesitate to ask somewhat invasive questions about his observations. The fact that he dresses in a way that conceals his mass is also disconcerting, as you were unaware that he had such a build until you saw him roll up his sleeve one time. You were aware Vil could do a lot of damage, but that was the day you realized that Rook was capable of doing about as much as Vil, if not more.
He purrs into your mouth, the vibrations feeling oh-so-wrong, and his other hand clamps down on your shoulder. He sucks your tongue into his mouth. It’s not a good feeling, as he is literally stealing what little air is in your mouth. When you feel something feather light flutter against your lashes and cheek, you feel a bit confused for just a moment, not even a second, before you realize that Rook just blinked. His eyes are open.
He pulls away and sighs, almost dreamily. You suppress your distressed sputtering, holding your breath as Rook stares at you.
“Ah, enough time has passed. I will need to leave you, mon lapin. Thank you for indulging me; your kiss was divine and tasted sweeter than the finest fruits!” He presses something into your palm and adjusts his hat before he casts you a wave and shuts the door.
You stand there, your lips drying out from the saliva left on them and your cheeks feeling a little odd from the way he was holding your face. You’re processing, because, ever as always, Rook is simulated spontaneity. So many things just happened, and you don’t…
You blink a few times and look down at your aching palm stupidly. The crimson cellophane crinkles as you unclench your fist. He gave you a piece of candy.
Just looking at it makes you start crying. One second you’re staring wide-eyed at the little lump of sugar, and the next your vision is blurring and you’re crying off your makeup, plump tears cascading down your face. Your nose begins to run and you sniffle. You can’t find it in yourself to sob, because you’re mostly certain that these are happy tears.
Unfortunately, you can’t eat the candy now. If you threw the wrapper away, Vil would notice it in the garbage and you’d get in trouble for “breaking your diet plan.” So you hide it in the very back corner of the drawer of Vil’s armoire. You’ll be tidying it on your own anyway, and Vil never reaches all the way into the back of it.
Once your tears have stopped, you stand up and go back to cleaning the bathroom. It’s spotless and smells like lavender and lemons about an hour before Vil gets back, so you decide to skim one of the books on the shelves.
It’s not long before you’re bored with that as well. You carefully put the book back and wander over to the lattice window, staring out of it. The window, paired with your usual low mood, made you sort of feel like a bird in a very ornate cage.
From where you are, about three stories up, you notice a familiar figure notching an arrow before he unnotches it and takes a knee. You blandly spectate as he fiddles with the bow.
Partway through him notching the arrow again, you see his hat tilt. He’s far away enough that you can’t see his eyes, but you can feel his stare. His gloved hand bends his brim and you jerk away from the window, only to bump into someone.
You don’t get to shriek, as a hand clamps over your mouth. It’s just Vil, but you don’t relax yet as he drags you towards the bed and deposits you there.
“How many times must I tell you to stay away from the window?”
He’s never once told you to stay away from the window. Not as far as you can recall, at least. Your lips tremble and you decide it’d be more wise to keep silent.
Vil glares down at you and you feel the rest of your body start to tremble. His lips curl into a displeased sneer, “You didn’t wash your face after crying?”
“N-no, Vil-”
“We do not stutter.” Vil hisses, bending to get in your face. He stares at you for a moment before standing straight again, “Speak up.”
You swallow and clench your hands into fists, “No… Vil. I… got rid of the foundation like you, um… asked me to. I wouldn’t have been able to redo-”
“Alright. Go wash your face.” Vil interrupts you again.
You jump up and rush into the bathroom, going through your skincare routine. You can feel Vil staring at you, your skin crawling under his gaze. As you rub moisturizer into your skin, Vil finally says something.
“Did Rook do something to you, darling?” His tone is soft, tentative.
You glance at him, blinking a few times. What does he mean by ‘something’? He did do something, but it wasn’t bad, or particularly different.
“Um… Not exactly.” You say, massaging your forehead.
“I see. What did he do?”
You look down at the sink. You’re not saying anything about the candy. “Rook kissed me?”
“That should not be a question.” Vil says. You see him shake his head through your peripheral, “Would you like to change your clothes before I redo your makeup?”
You’d like to ask what he’s talking about, but instead, you look down at your clothing. You don’t have a proper Pomefiore uniform because you’re not a part of this dorm. You’re an interloper- or a caged bird.
You don’t know what to do here. You don’t want to say something wrong and unintentionally offend Vil. Your palms ache. You give him a confused look from where you are.
He doesn’t look impressed, but before he can say anything about you gaping at him, you speak up, “What… am I supposed to do?”
You’ve only seen Vil surprised a few times. He raises his eyebrows and looks at you as though you’ve grown two heads, then sighs, “Well, I suppose I’d like to see you in something else. I’ll choose your outfit.”
That’s nothing new, he always does that. You wait in the bathroom for him to return. He strolls back in with a mockery of the Pomefiore uniform. There’s a deep purple cloak and capelet, which Vil drapes on the bed before handing you the actual clothes. It’s a very ruffled dress shirt, the long, puffy sleeves cinched into more ruffles at the wrist paired with a pair of black bloomer-style shorts. The buttons are all white and gold, marbled together.
Vil leaves the bathroom and you change, neatly tucking your previous clothing away in the hamper. When you leave, as usual, Vil picks at your clothing, making sure it looks as good on you as he pleases, and then he steers you to sit down.
For however vicious he can be, Vil can be oddly gentle. For every time he grabs you roughly, his touch is feather-light ten more times. He hums a soft tune as he puts light makeup on you, just your eyes and lips, and then he drapes the cloak around your shoulders and places his hands on his hips.
“You look lovely. Go put on the pair of gold boots with the black decals.”
You do as told. He very likely wants to just take pictures of you or something so he can ask that Mira app about it.
Except when you stop in front of him, he doesn’t tell you to go sit in the loveseat or on the table near his window, no, he scoops you up and presses his forehead against your jaw.
“Oh, when did you put on this cologne? What a ravishing smell on you.” He presses a kiss on the column of your throat and breezes out of his dorm room's door.
Almost immediately, you go limp in his arms, like a doll. He never gave you explicit verbal permission to leave this room, so the curse he placed on you when he decided you should be his smashes into you like a giant wave at the beach.
Vil carries you all the way outside and looks at your face, then happily struts along the path behind the dorm. Since you can’t turn your head, you can only go off of the view of Vil’s neck and chin, the sky, and whatever you can hear.
“Ah, I am glad to see you did not change your mind, Roi du Poison. J'aurais été très déçue et triste pour notre chéri.” You hear Rook say.
You can almost feel Vil get a mite warmer, “Yes, well. Hand me the basket. Since you want to make out with them and make them cry, you get to carry them as an apology.”
Rook happily scoops you out of Vil’s arms, giving you a cloying look as he strolls along. He and Vil chat as they walk, something not really worth listening in on, just boring musings about class and “this teacher did x” or “that student did y”. An insect lands on your cheek and you are incapable of batting it away or expressing your discomfort. Its legs tickle the peach fuzz on your face and you remain still, like a corpse.
Rook slides you into a seated position, posing you like a toy before shooing the bug off of your face. Now you can see that you’re in a clearing in the woods, seated on a picnic blanket. There’s a few lanterns staked into the ground, and Rook and Vil are busy with whatever is on the floor. You can’t look down, so your best guess is that it’s a picnic.
Vil leans over and snaps in your face, smiling kindly at you, “Now. If I release you, you are not going to run. You are not going to so much as consider running. We are going to have a nice picnic with no shenanigans from you.”
You can’t nod, so you just stare at him, trying to telepathically communicate.
He looks pleased enough, “Wonderful. I give you permission to leave our room.”
Your muscles relax and you look back, finding that you’re leaned against a log. The picnic spread is very nice, as well. It looks like finger sandwiches. You’re not expecting to get to eat one, as you haven’t had bread since Vil switched up your diet. Vil passes something to you.
“Oh.” You mumble, staring at the plate Vil hands you.
It’s a sandwich. A very wonderful looking sandwich, cut into triangles and with the crusts still on. You blink at it a few times and look back up at Vil.
“Don’t expect this to be a pattern. This is a treat for good behavior.”
You look back down, “Yes, Vil.”
“There’s no need to remind them. They’re being obedient.” Rook’s voice is more firm than you expected to hear him ever speak. Usually his tone is buoyant, and you’ve never seen him outright pick a fight with Vil like this.
“Please. You give anyone an inch, they’ll take a mile.” Vil cuts back, then turns to you and pets your head like a dog or a cat again, “Eat your food, beautiful.”
You take a bite. Bread is just as good as you remember it. The air feels thick, like you’re in a bubble as Vil and Rook communicate through eye contact alone. Before you know it, your sandwich is gone and your hands are covered in crumbs. Rook, still staring at Vil with that happy little smile, wipes your hands and places a glass in your hands. Whatever is in it smells sweet. You take a tentative sip.
Were it Vil, you would have never drank whatever this is. It kind of tastes like a mellow mixed berry juice. It’s very pleasant, actually. Better than the potion Vil used to lace your food and drinks with. You smile into the cup and Vil snatches it from you.
He takes a sip and frowns, handing it back, “Mmm. I have an even better surprise.”
Rook pulls your legs into his lap and gently kneads your calves as you watch Vil rifle through the picnic basket. What is happening? You sip your juice and Vil produces a triangular container. He places a fork on top and hands it to you.
You finish the last of your juice and accept the box, looking conspiratorially at Rook. Something you can’t put your finger on dances in his eyes and he digs his thumb into your shin a little strongly. You flinch and cautiously open the box. It’s a piece of fluffy white cake, with even fluffier meringue and an uncannily perfect cherry wedged into it.
You look at Vil, expecting some kind of trick. Not that he’s ever done that before, usually he’d just take it from you or make some snide comment, things like that, but he and Rook are acting really strange today,
“I know how much you long for junk food, so I spent some time after club activities today whipping up some angel food cake. It’s got agave instead of sugar so it won’t completely break your diet and your skin won’t suffer as much.”
Yeah, this is weird. The cake is good, though, it’s fluffy and sweet. You pace your bites so that Vil won’t make a comment and you can savor this. You can feel both of their eyes on you and it makes your skin crawl.
You lower the cake box and look at Vil, who looks a bit offended for just a second. The fleeting expression is replaced by a pleased little grin, the mauve lipstick making the curve of his lips all the more sinister in the dimming light.
“Do you like it?”
“Yes, Vil.” You glance at the cake and then back at him, “I’m… I’m sorry, I’m a little confused.”
“Why?” Rook asks.
Your shoulders jerk as you turn your head to look at him. You weren’t expecting him to say anything. His chest swells in what appears to be a suppressed chuckle as he squeezes your knee. It seems his hands have climbed.
“Uh…” You swallow, “This is just… not what I’m used to.”
“The cake?” Vil looks hurt. Why does he look hurt?
You shake your head rapidly, “No! Oh- No, Vil. I… It’s just been so long since I’ve been out here…”
“Do you want to go inside, chéri?” Rook murmurs.
You do, but you also don’t really want to risk sounding ungrateful. Being outside has stressed you out more than you’d like to admit. You’re not really sure what to do because Vil has you trained like a dog, and none of what he’s hammered into you involves picnics. You’re scared.
Rooks eyes narrow as you just stare at him. Your chest hurts from how hard your heart is throbbing, and on the other side of you, Vil sighs.
“Well, I’ll start cleaning up, then. When we get back, I expect you to take a seat on the bed.”
That sounds like what happens every time you get in trouble. A terror shudders through you and your eyes water a bit as you gnaw on your lip. Your palms ache as you fight to keep from picking at your cuticles. Vil packs up everything and Rook offers you a princely hand to help you up.
You can feel the calluses on his hands through his gloves as he essentially lifts you to your feet. You keep between Rook and Vil as you walk back to the dorm.
It’s quiet, since everyone else is winding down for bed. For a moment, you think you spot Epel, but you’re not sure. It doesn’t matter anyway. None of your old friends talk to you anymore. Not since Vil started having eyes for you.
Just as you were told, after taking off your boots you take a seat on the bed and retrieve the silver ruler from the side-table’s drawer. You place it beside you as you look down at your feet. You look down at the streaky bruises on the lighter skin on your palms and try not to start crying. It’s always worse when you cry.
He adds smacks by twos. Depending on what you did, you start with four or six, and then any time you flinch or pull away or make a loud noise, he adds two more. Last time, you spilled one of his nail polishes, and after watching you clean it up, you ended up getting ten lashes.
At least Rook didn’t do it then. He tries to make it quick but that just makes it hurt more. A tear slips down your cheek.
You don’t even know what you did. You tap the tear track dry with one fingertip and Vil and Rook fully enter the room.
“Why is the ruler out?” Vil asks, and then his voice goes sharp, “Are you crying?”
“I’m… I’m sorry, Vil.” You sob.
“I don’t know why.” He grabs the ruler and shoves it away before you can raise your hands, “Go wash your face.”
You stand up and shakily do as told, returning to sit on the bed. Vil goes into the bathroom after you and Rook takes a seat next to you, his hand on your shoulder.
He smiles at you, rubbing your shoulder, “You are très précieux, chéri.”
You look at him in a state of hollow bewilderment as he brushes his cheek against yours and presses a soft kiss to the shell of your ear.
You hear the bathroom door close and a tired sigh from Vil, “Do you have no patience?”
Your head jerks to look at VIl, “Rook is…?”
“Yes, he’s joining us tonight.” Vil plucks the loop of his sleeve from his middle finger and loosens his belt. You get the feeling that the next words he says aren’t for you, “Well, go ahead.”
You feel Rook’s chuckle more than you hear it. With his lips against your neck, his hands begin to slide. The hand on your shoulder rests on the nape of your neck and his other hand slides down to your thigh, then up to your waist. You try not to cringe against his touch, but it’s difficult.
His hand slides down again as he trails his teeth against the back of your ear. His thumb hooks in your pants and starts yanking them down. You outright flinch.
“Wait-”
“Relax, darling.” Vil mumbles, hanging his clothing in the armoire.
You try. You absolutely try. Rook throws your bloomers aside and rests his hand on your lower belly for a moment. He sighs into your ear and reaches up to unclasp your buttons.
You feel stiff. You want to push him away but you can’t move. It’s as though your body is frozen. It’s not due to a curse, so the only possible solution is that you’re quite literally scared stiff.
He pulls away your shirt and glances at Vil, “Are you prepared?”
“Please.” You can hear the smile on Vil’s lips as Rook turns back and kisses you again, his hand smoothing along your collarbone and shoulders.
Your underwear is the next to go. Of course it is. You fight to keep from breathing oddly, because you’re aware that if you pass out, Vil will get annoyed.
“Mmm.” The devil’s hand glides up your back and you fight back a shudder as Rook leans you backwards into his arms. “How are you feeling, darling?”
You’re honest, “I’m scared.”
“I thought you would say that.” Vil freely manhandles you, shifting you so you’re leaned chest to chest. He slides something off of the side table and passes it behind you, then cups your cheek, “You would save a lot of time and stress if you’d just learn to trust me.”
“I…” You hate him. You hate him so much. He keeps you here like a pet, and you don’t know how he’s supposed to expect you to treat him like a lover when he treats you the way he does.
Before you can articulate an answer that pleases Vil, a wicked burn besets your sphincter and you clench your jaw.
Vil’s voice is sharp, “Rook, please.”
You hear Rook make a noise underneath the harsh sound of blood rushing in your ears and your own heavy panting. Something cool oozes around the ring of your ass and you press your face against Vil’s chest. His robe is lazily tied, which is not particularly like him, and you can see his cock poking out where the fabric separates. You let out a strangled noise and Vil shushes you, rubbing your back soothingly.
“Relax. I know, you weren’t prepared. Relax.” Vil soothes.
“I don’t mind if you remain tense, chéri. Mon plaisir n'en est que plus grand. And your little cries and whimpers sont terriblement mignons.” Rook mumbles behind you.
Rook is better than Vil in most areas, but once he gets his dick inside of you, it’s as though he forgets to be caring and kind. The tables flip, with Vil acting the part of a caring lover and Rook becoming a sadistic bully. You let out a ragged sob as Rook rolls his hips and Vil hisses something that you don’t quite catch.
It almost sounded like he was telling Rook to slow down. That very well could have been the case, as Rook eases back a bit and only shallowly thrusts.
Vil continues petting you, coaxing you so your cheek is pressed against his thigh. He is always a perfect warm. He is always perfect, so it sort of makes sense, but his skin is a pleasant temperature. He feels alive, a perfectly human temperature that tells you he’s breathing and his heart is beating. As he fingers through your hair, Rook gives a harsher than usual thrust and you cry out.
“Rook, if you’re impatient then you’re going to hurt them, and neither of us have the time to take care of them all day.” Vil chides, and then his tone softens as he rubs the space between your shoulders, “Are you ready for me as well, darling?”
“What…?” You ask, blearily. Somewhere in the back of your awareness, you know what he wants, but you can feel Rook’s thrusts growing impatient and seeing as you weren’t given any prep, you’re in a bit too much shock to think straight.
“Mmm… You’re awfully cute but I need you to be a bit more lucid.” Vil snaps in your ear and resumes his petting, “This isn’t the first time, sweetheart. I’m not going to hold your hand.”
The soft tip of his member spreads his pre like lipgloss against your lips. As you shakily open your mouth, you figure you’re lucky that Vil doesn’t have a chaotic, unhealthy diet like Leona or Ace, that he doesn’t drink coffee for fun or often like Deuce does. The taste of his skin is lightly floral and dominantly human, likely thanks to the body lotion he applies daily.
He hisses and presses against your forehead, “Ah-ah. You’re taking enough from Rook. Just the tip for me is fine.”
From behind, you hear Rook grumble under his breath, “Je n'en peux plus de cette merde…”
“Watch your- unf- watch your language, Rook.” Vil snarls, massaging the nape of your neck as you carefully lave your tongue over his glans.
Rook’s patience breaks, his hands clamping down on your waist, just above your hips. You have the sense to pull Vil’s cock out of your mouth as Rook begins battering into you.
As much as you feel okay about Rook, he is not a doting lover by nature. He’s mean and brutal, chasing his climax, and only after he cums does he bother to think about you or your needs. Your palms ache as you grab Vil’s member and gently tug on it. Vil flinches and snaps at you to get your attention.
You look to the side and for a second, as the pain ebbs, you assume you’re having an out of body experience, and then you realize that you’re staring into his vanity mirror. Rook’s hair exaggeratedly sways with his motion. He removed his hat but just haphazardly displaced the rest of his clothing. He’s not smiling, he’s making some sort of smug expression.
It’s funny. As Vil is satisfied with you weakly jerking him off, his touch gentle, Rook is wild on your other end. Every time you just barely begin to relax, he thrusts harder, which makes you tense and a spike of pain batters through you.
You endure as best you can. You endure every day, enduring through eating the same unfulfilling food, enduring through walking on eggshells around Vil, enduring getting your palms beaten to hell for the most human of errors, so what’s getting sodomized in the face of everything else you can handle?
You bite back a shriek as a harsh pinch on your bottom, followed by a smack administered by Rook. He leans down and blows in your ear, snickering as he leans back, “I thought you had given up the ghost for a second there.”
Vil sucks in a breath and you quietly mumble against his thigh.
“Hmm? I didn’t hear you, mon chou.” Rook’s voice is almost mocking, like before.
“P-please… Rook, I can’t-”
“You can. You’ll live.” He grunts, the steady clap of your ass against his body punctuating his statement.
“It hurts.” You sniffle. You’re not particularly prone to crying, but, then again, Rook and Vil usually prepare you before deciding to fuck your ass.
You sob and Rook’s grasp tightens on your waist, a ragged moan punching out of his chest. He pulls your body flush to his and jerks his hips into you, drilling a bit harder for all of four or five thrusts. And then he’s no longer on you, and you feel your body getting shifted so your head is still in Vil’s lap but you’re lying prone.
You tilt Vil’s dick down to massage the head with your tongue and something warm drips on your back. You hear a noise of disgust from Vil, capped by a quiet moan.
“Absolutely not. All three of us are getting in the tub if you don’t clean that up right now.”
Rook chuckles and coos, “Hmm, but it looks so lovely. My alabaster essence creates a wonderful contrast with their soft and supple skin.”
A flush of humiliation crawls up the back of your neck and you hide your face against Vil’s belly, using your own arm to hide the other half. Vil shudders as he pushes your head down a bit, but his voice sounds incredulous.
“That’s vile. It doesn’t have any proven health benefits, you know that.”
You felt Rook’s hands spreading his semen into the skin on your back and your palms ache as Vil cums in your mouth. He doesn’t do that often, so it hits you like a shock.
You gag but force it down and Vil shoots up, fretting over you.
“Did you just swallow that?” He bends down to look into your eyes.
“Yes, Vil.”
“You didn’t need to do that.” Vil snips, sounding much harsher than he might intend, “I’m going to run us a bath, alright, darling? I’ll make sure you can brush that icky stuff out of your mouth.”
It didn’t taste bad. Vil usually cums on your face as an incentive for you to wash your face very well after a day of wearing makeup, or he has you jerk him off until he cums, but the few other times you did taste it, it was the same as this time. It was mostly salty, not too bitter, likely from his good diet. Regardless, he breezes away and Rook gives your bottom a light tap. You stand up and glance at Rook, who is looking a bit disheveled but pretty pleased with himself.
“How are you feeling, cheri?”
“That hurt.” Your voice is quiet, and your throat is still lined with tears.
“Does it still hurt?” He smiles and tilts his head.
The sound of the tub running is thunderous even where you are. Vil would never tolerate you complaining, but Rook is amicable, “A little.”
“The bath will do you good, then. Come.”
You let Rook guide you into the bathroom, his hand on your elbow. As he undresses and joins Vil on the edge of the tub, you look down at your bruised hands and glance at the slowly closing bathroom door, then at Rook and Vil where they stand near the tub.
You can’t say you prefer either of them, really, but you don't get an opinion. Do dolls at tea parties get to ask for a different kind of tea?
#twisted wonderland#tw: dark content#tw: dark themes#disney twst#tw: yandere#yandere#twst#anon answered#anon asked#tw: emotional abuse#tw abuse#tw captivity#tw death mention#tw toxic relationship#dead dove fic#dead dove do not eat#tw dieting#tw noncon#tw dubious consent#tw dubcon#yandere rook x reader#rook hunt#twst rook#tw rook hunt#twst vil#yandere vil schoenheit#yandere vil schoenheit x reader#yandere vil x reader#gender neutral reader#tw dacryphilia
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I'm actually still brainrotting about Whumpees held at gunpoint- But!! This time in Public
Whumper hiding a gun under their coat, or in their sleeve. Pressing it to Whumpee's lower back, pressuring them to behave or else
Or! Maybe threatening Everyone Else, telling whumpee to act normal, or anyone who notices will get Shot
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(already made a post about this but it was giving me issues so I'm making a separate one)
Danny's obsession with Protection begins to take hold, changing him from a normal ghost to a godling. Unfortunately his new status catches the eyes of a twisted organization, one that wishes to use his powers for their own gains. He is captured and his friends and family killed. Danny is contained well below Amity in one of the organization's secret facilities. In order to use one of Danny's new powers, healing tears, Danny is subjected to nonstop of projections of people in peril he has no power to save.
Bruce is suspicious of just how successful this new medical company is. They popped up out of nowhere and quickly gained a reputation for being able to make medicines that could cure just about anything. As batman he investigates further and finds a research and containment laboratory hidden from the public. As "Brucie" Wayne he manages to gain the trust of the owner and CEO of Ameliorate and convinces a tour out of them.
It's easy to sneak away unnoticed for a moment, but less so to hide his surprise at a white haired, ethereal boy chained down there, sobbing uncontrollably. Bruce decides it's time to pull the Justice League in, save the boy, and shut down the company.
First | Prev | Next
Tw; Death mentions, torture, mention of drugging, inhumane treatment of Danny
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His core screamed out in agony.
A protection god forced to watch as thousands, millions died in front of him, unable to stop it.
Tears flowed down into a collection basin below.
Danny didn’t know how long he’d been there. He didn’t care. However long, it was too much. He wished his friends were there. Sam and Tucker… Their lifeless bodies flashed in his mind and prompted another huge wave of tears to splash into the basin.
Jaz would be able to quench the sorrow with her obsessive knowledge of how emotions worked. She was overbearing at times but he missed having someone care about him so much.
His mom and dad could sooth the ever-present ache with their special brand of care and he knew they wouldn’t hesitate to wreak havoc to save him.
But Maddie and Jack were gone too; shot down trying desperately to save their children. Jaz taken out weeks later while Danny and her were on the run. Danny had rushed to her and then there was a net and then-
This was all his fault; if he hadn’t gotten sloppy with using his powers, if he had kept his ghostly side hidden better.
Instead of his loved ones there was nothing but the overwhelming screens covering every inch of walls, broadcasting carnage and death 24/7. There was a person dressed in all white who came in to feed him. They didn't matter. The people who were shown on the screens mattered. In danger, scared, hurt. They were the reason Danny tried so hard to get out.
A sob jolted his frame enough the chains rattled. All he had wanted was to help people!
Escape should have been easy. He was a god: escape should have been EASY!
He thought they may have been drugging his food.
None of his powers were working as strong as they should have been, some not working at all, but he still had his wail. Danny pulled in as large a breath as he could manage as the feeder person frantically booked it out of the room. Every screen shattered under his scream, plunging him into blissful silent darkness. A soft sigh slipped out. Relief. Finally relief. Seconds later the screens rotated and brought a fresh barrage of misery.
The basin overflowed.
___
Bruce was happy with the new medical company at first. Goodness knew Gotham needed a miracle when it came to the overflowing hospitals and untreatable illnesses caused by rouges and pollution alike.
They came in and started producing serums, pills, vaccinations, creams, you name it they had it, that could cure nearly anything. Terminal disease? Taken care of. Joker gas? A breeze for their formulas. Fear Toxin? No sweat. It had taken a while for the company to gain a footing with Gotham’s mistrust but once they had it, they were selling cure all’s at a truly staggering rate.
Bruce had first heard their reputation when one of the actually tolerable moms in the PTA raved about how her daughter was taking some pills and apparently getting sick much less frequently and less aggressively. He had briefly considered trying to get something for Tim, even.
But the problem was that this new company was too good at healing things. Just because Gotham needed a miracle doesn’t mean they exist and would show up out of nowhere. No, this was just suspicious.
Tim and Barbara had begun to dig through the company’s entire digital footprint and it was as if the company truly did just suddenly exist. Bizarrely there was no crime related to them. Not that they had found yet anyway.
He didn’t like this. People were getting better, which was great, but something in his gut told him this wasn’t right. How was the Ameliorate corporation coming up with cures and treatments for every illness, disease, condition, and toxin that ever existed? It very well should have taken centuries of research and development but there wasn’t anywhere near that long of a history to justify the turn out.
“Master Bruce?” He snapped out of his thoughts to a fresh cup of tea being set beside him. Alfred was frowning at him.
Bruce grumbled out a sigh. “Thank you, Alfred. Is Tim-?”
“He is still sleeping. I assume it will be quite a time before he wakes, given how long he was up.” Alfred nodded to the batcomputer. “Is there any progress?”
Another grumbly sigh. Bruce ran his hands down his face before responding. “None. I don’t understand it, there’s no possible way this company could be doing what it’s been doing. Not enough time or research facilities.”
“Perhaps, Master Bruce, there is a facility not in their records? One they don’t wish for people to know about?” It took a moment for the words to set in but when they did Bruce lunged to the computer for another round of exhaustive research.
It took hours.
Finally, Bruce had managed to find allusions to another, much larger, much older facility. It seemed to be somewhere near Illinois, Michigan, or Wisconsin. This facility seemed to be more for containment than research however.
Strangely that’s the only thing he could find. Unfortunately, it was also time for him to go into Wayne Co for some meetings. With slight reluctance Bruce sent what he had to Barbara before stepping away from the computer and making his way from the cave.
There was another big event at the museum soon and the owner and CEO of Ameliorate would be attending. Perhaps he could lay on a thick layer of Brucie charm. It was a long shot, but he would keep it as a fallback plan just in case. No matter what, Bruce knew he had to find out what was in that containment facility.
#danny phantom#dc x dp#dp x dc#ao3 fanfic#my writing#Barred Protection#tw death mention#tw drugging#tw captivity
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My brain: make friends! Send asks! Exist in more then just your blog!
Me: but what if I'm scared of friends!?!?!
Anyway, can I request Ronan catching Issak hurting Henley?
Flowers for author. 💐💐💐💐💐
Friends!!! It's official! No being scared! <3 I am so sorry for the delay with this but I hope this ticks your boxes! :D
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“How do you sleep at night?”
Henley stirred awake, his world a blurred mess of throbbing pain. Crusted sleep clung to his lashes, he blinked fiercely to chase away the haze. He could only just about make out a hulking silhouette looming over him. When his vision finally sharpened, he instinctively clutched his scratty blanket closer to his heaving chest - his futile shield.
Cold dread flooded Henley as he saw Izaak, free of the chains that usually rattled with every twitch of a muscle. The chains that kept Henley safe and sound, out of harm's way. Far from Izaak’s reach. Izaak's fists were clenched so hard his knuckles were white, his face contorted in a feral snarl. Panic squeezed Henley’s chest like a vice. He was a rabbit trapped in a fox's den.
“Wha-?” Henley’s voice was a hoarse rasp. He’s half-convinced no sound left his lips at all.
"Oh, did I interrupt your sweet dreams, Henny?" Izaak's voice was a low growl, sending shivers trickling down Henley's spine. That nickname. The way it dripped with mocking familiarity, but years of ingrained fear hid within it. It made all the hairs on Henley’s arms stand on edge.
Izaak suddenly lunged forward. One massive hand clamped around Henley's throat, squeezing every last drop of air from his lungs. Henley's wrists burned in protest against his chains, straining as he fought for a sliver of slack, a desperate inch to reach his throat and fight Izaak off. "You," Izaak spat, barely containing his rage, "are the reason for my suffering. The cause of my anguish. Every scar on my body has your name written on it.."
Tears pressed from beneath Henley’s eyelids, and he shook his head furiously. Passionately. No. It’s not true. He’s not responsible for this. He didn’t land them here, he didn’t start all of this. This is all Izaak’s doing. This is the price he has to pay.
“So answer the question,” Izaak demanded, now nearly crushing Henley’s windpipe as he choked and wheezed, “How the hell do you sleep at night? No. Scratch that shit. Better yet. How do you live with yourself? After what you’ve done to me?”
“I-Izaak, pleas-”
Izaak’s fist came at Henley with such speed it was like a cannonball. It connected with a sickening crunch as Henley felt his nose cave in, and hot-white pain erupted. The force of the blow sent him sprawling, the floor rose up to meet him with a jarring thud. He lay helpless. Cool blood dripped from his nose and pooled on his lips, he could taste the metallic tang.
“You dare call me that again, and I’ll put you six feet under this fucking cement. Understand?” Izaak seethed through gritted teeth, with spit spraying and a vein pulsing from his temple. Izaak didn’t even give him the second to respond, Henley was still reeling and seeing stars. “I SAID, “DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!” he roared.
“Yes!” Henley wailed miserably. Tears mingled with blood and dirt. He sniffed pathetically and whimpered as new pain flared through his obviously broken nose. He stayed glued to the floor. Too afraid to move, to even dare lift his head up. Henley didn’t see Izaak reaching for his long curls of hair and wrenching them in his fist. Yanking his head back, Henley’s Adam's apple bobbed against his collar as he gasped and gulped back the fear.
“‘Yes’, what?” Izaak whispered. It was hard to miss the element of enjoyment in his voice. It sounded like old times. Must feel like it to him too.
But Henley immediately knew what he was looking for.
“Yes, sir!” Henley gasped out. There’s not a beat of hesitation. Izaak can say many things about Henley. A bad pet, he is not.
Henley’s head smacked to the ground, his forehead banging against cold, unforgiving cement as Izaak threw him out of his hand. He’s on a warpath. He paced back and forth, contemplating what to do next.
Izaak's foot then swung into Henley's gut. The air whooshed from Henley's lungs in a strangled scream that ripped free from his throat. The world lurched sideways, a wave of nausea crashing over him. Bile rose in his throat as pain lanced through his abdomen. Izaak unrolled Henley from his cocoon and straddled his hips, slamming his palm over Henley’s mouth, “Shut the fuck up! Don’t you dare make a sound.”
Henley obeyed. He forced himself to seal his lips, now sobbing silently and huffing through the pain.
“You got us into this fucking mess. You deserve everything you’ve got coming to you. I’m going to make you wish you were never born-”
“I already do-” Henley croaked.
Izaak doesn’t hold back anymore. He unleashed a flurry of punches, raining blow after blow down on Henley. Henley’s already-battered body convulsed with each hit - he twisted and flailed in a desperate bid to shield himself from the onslaught. It was no use. Darkness cornered his vision, and ringing screeched in his ears. His entire body was slowly growing limp.
Henley squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the sweet relief of unconsciousness. He waited for the next punch. And waited. But it never came. Confused, Henley cracked open a swollen and purpling eye.
Izaak was no longer looking at him, and a flicker of raw terror replaced the unhinged rage that had plagued his eyes before. Henley groaned as he lifted his pounding head, and turned to follow Izaak’s petrified stare.
A shadow shifted at the top of the stairs, a tutting sound emanating from the darkness.
“What are you doing to my boy?” Ronan asked, cool as a cucumber on the surface, but fury bubbled below. The calm facade didn’t last. Ronan flew down the stairs, and pulled that oh so familiar remote from his pocket. In the blink of an eye, Izaak was a quivering, jittering wreck as his shock collar lit up and shocked him stiff. He collapsed from Henley’s body like a tonne of bricks. His screams pierced the sound barrier - his fingers scrabbled and ripped at the collar, kicking his legs and bucking his entire body. Ronan punched the button again, and again until the screaming stopped. It’s just silent gargles, with drool dribbling down the edge of Izaak’s blue lips.
Ronan threw Henley a single, and quick look as he bolted past. It wasn't a look of reassurance, but a quick flicker up and down to acknowledge him. Reaching his locked cabinet, Ronan fumbled with the combination and finally, the cabinet swung open, and he snatched a vial and syringe, and a length of rope.
He wastes no time in racing over to where Izaak is heaving and panting on the floor, and stabbing the syringe in his neck. Izaak roared, a sound that curdled the blood, but it was cut short by a weak gasp as the muscle relaxant began to take hold.
“There, there. That should settle you down, big-un,” Ronan chuckled, patting Izaak on the chest.
“F-ffuc- fuckk y-yoou,” Izaak slurred, his eyes rolled like pinball machines in their sockets. Henley watches as all the tone in Izaak’s muscle depleted and he flopped lifelessly. Izaak lay sprawled on the floor, a pathetic mew escaping his lips as the muscle relaxant coursed through his veins. His previously violent thrashing had dissolved into a pathetic trembling, his limbs heavy and unresponsive.
Henley's cry echoed through the basement. Now that the threat was neutralised. "You didn't tie him tight enough, sir! He almost—!" His voice choked on the rising panic, his gaze locked on Izaak's slack form. “He was going to kill me.”
Ronan paid no mind to Henley, the shivering wreck that he was. Instead, he focused on yanking Izaak’s arms behind his back. With rough rope, he bound Izaak's wrists together with a vengeance, the knots pulled tight, drawing a choked gasp that did little to faze Ronan. Next, he secured Izaak's ankles with another length of rope, the slack yanked out until Izaak's legs were splayed uncomfortably wide. Finally, with a cruel twist, Ronan bound Izaak's ankles to his secured wrists, hog-tying him in a position that screamed discomfort. Izaak's gasps faded to choked moans as his body contorted in a way it wasn't meant to, forced into an arched bow.
Ronan left Izaak on the ground and approached Henley slowly. With a touch that could have been gentle or cruel, he cupped Henley's bruised and bloodied cheek. Henley flinched at the contact, a hiss escaping his lips. Ronan’s eyes flickered over the damage and he tsked, disappointed. Then his eyes met Henley’s and locked in. “Do you really think I’d let him break one of my favourite toys?”
“He - He got pretty close, master.” Henley snivelled. He flinched as Ronan’s arms moved, expecting another blow, but instead, his arms wrapped around Henley’s tiny frame in a sudden and suffocating embrace. Ronan’s grip was tight, possessive, leaving no wiggle room. Defeated, Henley sagged into the hug and rested his head on Ronan’s chest, letting his eyes flutter shut. It was always easier to give into this than brave the pain. Ronan began to stroke Henley’s hair, twirling it in his fingers. It wasn’t a gesture of genuine affection and Henley was never under the impression that it was. It was Ronan’s sense of ownership. Like Izaak’s claim was the bruises and scars. Ronan’s was more inside than out. For Henley, at least.
“Shh Shh. Come with me. I’ll get you patched up, little one”. Grunting with effort, Ronan hoisted Henley to his feet, a hand wrapped under his armpit to guide him up the creaking stairs.
Ronan turned at the very last step, leering at the sight of Izaak, bound and subdued. "That little temper tantrum of yours was cute, pet" he called down, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "But playtime's over. Now, you get to lie there, nice and quiet, and contemplate all the fun things I have planned for you when your little cocktail wears off. I want you to feel every second.”
----
Taglists!:
Henley taglist: @livelaughwhump @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @sorrowful-hyacinth
Ronan taglist: @kira-the-whump-enthusiast
Izaak taglist: @emmettland @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @sorrowful-hyacinth @whumpsoda
Drabble taglist (which I forgot existed and have recently rediscovered assdfghjkl so will be using from now on unless you would like off it <3 ): @whatwasmyprevioususername @whumpsday @sparrowsage @whumperfully @wolves-and-winters @canislycaon24 @happy-little-sadist @darkthingshappen @whumping-in-the-dark @vagabouund @turn-the-tables-on-them
#thank you for this!! <3#It was a lot of fun!#whump#whumper turned whumpee#whumperee#pet whump#whumpee#whumper#multiple whumpees#tw beating#tw blood mention#shock collar#noncon drugging#dubcon touch?#creepy whumper#whump writing#answered asks#whump community#whumpblr#whump blog#captivity#a taste of your own medicine#henley allen oc#izaak silvera oc#ronan ellis oc#ATOYOM
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I love the dynamic of a talkative whumpee and a stoic whumper. Especially a comedic/lighthearted whumpee who uses humor as a coping mechanism
Because it’s the perfect storm for Whumpee to be cracking jokes, trying to make small talk with the villain or the sidekicks, hoping someone will have mercy because come on, they’re just a little guy. And the rising panic as they realize that no one is responding. In fact, few are even looking straight at them.
All the while Whumper walks slowly and deliberately to a torture tool Whumpee hadn’t noticed until now
Whumpee’s slow gulp before they pour all their charm, all their wit, all their thirst for approval into a grin so bright it could reflect off the face of a blade. But Whumper’s face remains immovable as ever, eyes slightly crinkled at the edges with what could be disgust or mild amusement.
“Woah wait,” Whumpee stammers, trying to push away. “Wait now, now hold on, let’s talk about this.”
Whumper’s head tilts a fraction to the side as if to say there’s been enough of that.
Words pour lightning fast from Whumpee’s mouth. Sloppy one-liners, pleading babble, Later, they can’t remember what exactly they said, only that the power they once found in words was ripped from them like a scream.
#heartwhump#whump#comedic Whumpee#humor as a coping mechanism#stoic whumper#talkative Whumpee#Whumpee#whumper#torture mention#implied torture#torture tw#captive whumpee
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Whump prompt:
A captive Whumpee is told by Whumper that the Team were killed in a trap laid for them by Whumper and soon Whumpee will join them.
However, Whumper has something special planned for Whumpee: a public execution in front of the entire city.
At their execution, a dejected Whumpee awaits their fate, but is saved at the last moment by the Team, who escaped Whumper’s trap and have come to rescue their friend.
#no this is not inspired by a certain movie I rewatched#why would you think that?#whump#whump prompt#captive whumpee#tw: death mention
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Rescue: The Informant, Part Three
Because You Want to See a Conclusion on This Story, Right?
<prev
TW/CW: captive whumpee, imprisoned whumpee, torture aftermath, mention of religion (unspecified), degradation, implied noncon, not necessarily suicidal ideation but a morbid acceptance of death, uncertain fate of a character
The first thing he woke up to was the smell of smoke in the darkness. He stirred lightly on the concrete beneath him, cracking his eyes open and instantly regretting it. Smoke and heat were seeping through the crack at the bottom of the cell door, and there was already enough to sting his eyes and burn his lungs. He coughed, then wildly scrabbled his broken fingers against the collar on his neck, desperate to find a buckle or a clasp or something to unlatch it from the chain mounted above him. He heard the muffled sound of crackling flames, firing bullets, and screams beyond the door. His increasing panic made the collar and leash tighten like a noose, slowly choking him along with the smoke pouring in-
Wait, why are you fighting this? It’s over. His hands fell limply away from his neck.
It’s over. It’s finally over. This is how you die.
The closet grew hotter and stuffier with the fire encroaching and the smoke rising in, yet he was calm as he closed his eyes and positioned his sore body back-first against the wall. Never in his worst nightmares did he ever think he’d have to say the Liturgy of the Dead for himself, but a lot had transpired in merely two months, and his worst nightmares had come true.
I’m sorry, if You’re listening, he cried with his whole heart, I’m sorry I wasn’t enough. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. He opened his mouth and moved his lips reverently, his raspy voice soon following. “We gather here, Oh Great One, Divine, to mourn the passing of-”
The door broke down and interrupted his prayers. His eyes snapped open just in time to see an unfamiliar figure clad head to toe in black rush towards him. “Whumpee!”
Who?
Oh yeah, me! It had been so long since anyone had ever called him something other than ‘scum,’ ‘bastard,’ ‘fuck toy,’ ‘holes,’ etc., that he had almost forgotten his own name. The man crouching by his side pulled down his mask, showing him a familiar face he could not exactly recall. This man’s brows furrowed with concern as he brushed his tangled hair out of his eyes and cupped his face in his hands.
“You’re okay, we’re okay,” he murmured, “I’m getting you out of here.” The man’s eyes flashed towards the chain bolted to the wall above them, then to the collar on Whumpee’s throat. He turned his head and yelled outside the door. “Hey! Bring me the axe!”
Another man, Lieutenant, came in wielding a heavy, suspiciously red and wet-looking axe in both hands, pausing as he rushed to the first man’s side. “What the –Leader, what happened to him?”
Leader? Team Leader? Unbidden memories of a friendly face smiling at him and comforting arms holding him close flooded Whumpee’s mind.
“Swing at the wall where the chain is mounted,” Team Leader directed.
Another friendly face and set of comforting arms flickered across Whumpee’s mind. “W-wait, where’s Caretaker?” he murmured. “He’s one of them, but-”
Team Leader shushed him. “We know, we know. Save your strength. Let’s worry about you right now, okay?” Notably, he didn’t look Whumpee in the eye.
“But, Caretaker-”
Two well-directed swings of the axe were all it took to sever the chain from the wall. Without wasting any time at all, Team Leader scooped Whumpee into his arms. “-Is fine. He’s fine,” he insisted, hoisting him up to a standing positon. Again, he could not meet Whumpee’s eyes. “Now, can you walk?” Team Leader asked, casting a concerned look to his mangled feet.
Is this a dream? Am I dead? Is any of this really happening? This is a lot to take in.
Whumpee tiredly shook his head. Wordlessly, his captain took the axe out of the big guy’s hands and slung it over his shoulder as Lieutenant picked up Whumpee gently to carry him. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” Team Leader said. “We got who we came for.”
Against the chest of the bigger man who carried him, Whumpee let his eyes close and his body relax. Whether this was a hallucination before death, or an actual rescue, at least it meant this nightmare was over. That was enough for him right now.
Le Taglist: @whumperofworlds @whumped-by-glitter
#whump writing#captive whumpee#whump#torture mention#team whump#tw death ideation/acceptance#tw uncertain fate of a character#tw religion mention#tw implied noncon
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Whumptober Day 20: “You will regret touching them”
Aaaaand now for today’s fic
Read on Ao3
- Warriors & Time
- Summary: Time finds a wounded Warriors
CW for implied/referenced torture, captivity, nonconsensual body modification, blood and injury, and brief mention of vomit
———————————————-
If he clenches his teeth any harder, Time is certain they will break.
He stands in the middle of a cell – small, cramped, and smelling of sweat and vomit and blood – hands in fists, heart thumping an erratic beat in his ears. A blue eye stares up at him from the corner, bright in a too-pale face. The other is sealed shut with swelling and blood. The proud green tunic is sullied as well, the scarf long gone. Blonde hair so meticulously cared for lies limp and filthy. Strong hands tremble, bound together behind a hunched back.
“Captain.” It is half a whisper, half a low growl.
Warriors makes a small, muffled noise as though trying to respond through the dirty cloth tied tight between his lips. Time’s fingernails dig into his palm.
Here before him sits the hero he and his brothers have spent the last week searching for. He should feel relief. All he can feel is red-hot anger.
But there isn’t time for that. Warriors needs him. His big brother needs him.
Sheathing his sword, Time drops to his knees. Puddles of blood dot the floor, some mere splatterings, others worryingly large. He pays them no heed, reaching forward instead to tug away the gag. Warriors breathes a raspy sigh of relief as it falls.
“...bout-bout time you showed up, S-Sprite,” he teases in a voice so hoarse it’s nearly unrecognizable. His breath catches in his throat and he coughs up a mouthful of blood.
Time does his best to ignore it.
“I’m sorry that we kept you waiting,” he murmurs as he sets about undoing the ropes that bind the captain’s hands and feet. The apology tastes bitter. What good does it do now? The heroes had gone as fast as they could. And still, they had been too late.
Warriors shivers, suddenly, and Time is struck by how very small he looks.
“But don’t worry,” he says, gently, trying not to dwell on the fact that his big brother should never look that way, “I’m here now. You’re safe.”
Warriors gives him a weak smile.
A few more short moments slide by, in which Time works to untie the ropes. They are thickly knotted, but he has slipped from far tighter bonds. And soon they fall away to join the filth on the floor. Warriors lets out a sharp hiss of pain.
“S-shoulder,” he explains at Time’s concerned look. “Dislocated.”
That can’t be the only thing out of place, Time thinks, bitterly. The way he is struggling to breathe speaks to a few broken ribs at least. And as for the rest of him…well, he can only guess at the extent of the damage.
Anger flares up in him once more. He shoves it down.
“I don’t have Hyrule’s healing powers,” he says, reaching into his pouch. “But I have a fairy. Her magic should be enough to tide you over until I can get you back to camp.”
Warriors blinks dazedly. “You…you’re the only one h-here?”
A grim smile pulls at Time’s lips. “Yes. I came across this place entirely by chance. The others were taking a short rest and I saw no reason to drag them along on a search that would likely lead to another deadend. It’s alright, though. No one is here anymore…except for you.”
If they had been they would have regretted it, he thinks, bitterly.
Pushing the dark thoughts away, he lifts the bottle out of his pouch and unscrews it.
“Here, this should…”
He stops short as the fairy darts forward. The lighting in the room is decidedly dim, which he supposes is why he hadn’t seen it before. But now in the pinkish glow of the fairy’s magic it’s painfully obvious.
The word “murderer” is carved in jagged, blood-red lines into Warriors’ left arm.
Time’s vision goes crimson.
“Captain…” It’s everything he can do to keep his voice level. Suddenly, he’s a child once more, kneeling on the battlefield, begging his brother to stay alive, to stay with him. He’s a child being hurtled back through time without truly understanding what that even means. He’s a child being laughed at and thrown aside by the man he has been tasked with defeating.
He’s a child helpless and weak.
Late. Much too late.
“...did they do this to you?”
For a long moment, Warriors doesn’t reply. He merely watches the fairy do her work, gaze dull and almost detached. There are tear-streaks on his cheeks, Time realizes now, curving through the patches of blood and dirt.
“Their fa-families died in…in the war,” he murmurs at last, voice hollow and defeated. “They…they blame me.”
Time forces himself to take a breath.
Of course, they do. That is always the reason the traitors give, as though placing the blame on the hero can assuage them of their own guilt, justify their horrific deeds.
“Well, they’re wrong,” he says, firmly. “And believe me, anyone who does a thing like this was never in their right mind in the first place. You do not carry the blame of a war you didn’t even begin, but fought bravely to end. You are a hero, captain, not a murderer.”
Warriors drags his gaze up to him, something terribly vulnerable within it.
“Y-you’re really somethin else, Sprite,” he whispers, breath hitching. A small smile tugs at his lips and somehow it makes him look even more young and broken than before. “How c-come you say everything like…like you mean it?”
Time places a gentle hand on his good shoulder and he seems to melt beneath his touch.
“Because I do. I meant every word. Why hide from someone who can always tell when I’m lying?”
Warriors chuckles, slightly. It almost sounds like a sob.
The fairy finishes her dance and zips back to Time.
“I’ve done all that I can,” she whispers. “The word that they hurt him with…I lightened it as much as I could.”
“Thank you,” he murmurs, inclining his head. And with a soft jingle, she disappears. He turns his attention back to Warriors. “We’ll see if there are any spells or potions capable of stopping that from scarring. There is no reason for you to carry the false burden they have placed on you.”
The captain merely gives a small nod, eye downcast once more. His shoulders are uncharacteristically slumped and he hugs his arm to his body, as though eager to hide it. At the sight, the anger abates somewhat, replaced by the ache of his heart.
How dare they do this.
Time reaches out and draws him into his arms. Warriors slumps, bonelessly into his embrace, trembling slightly with pain and exhaustion and emotion.
“It’s alright. It’s over,” he says, softly, echoing the words Warriors had soothed him with so many times during the war. “I’ve got you.”
Carefully he rises, lifting the captain up as gently as he can. He wants nothing more than to tear this place apart, to find those who did this terrible deed and make them wish they had never been born. But his priority right now is Warriors. He needs rest and healing and for that cursed word to be wiped off of his skin. He needs safety and reassurance.
Vengeance will have to wait.
Though if he has his way it will not wait very long. The perpetrators were gone when he got here, likely cowering from the punishment even they knew they deserve. But once he finds them – and he will – he won’t hesitate to do what must be done.
No one touches his big brother without coming to regret it.
#whumptober 2023#no.20#‘you will regret touching them’#implied/referenced torture tw#blood tw#injury tw#captivity tw#nonconsensual body modification tw#mention of vomit#trin writes#lu warriors#lu time#angst#hurt/comfort#whump
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— dreaming about being lloyds little captive 🤍
#lloyd hansen#lila’s mini moodboards#tw kidnapping#tw captive kink#tw captivity#tw kidnap mention#chris evans#cevans#lloyd hansen moodboard#chris evans moodboard#lloyd hansen x reader#lloyd hansen x female reader#tw gun image
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Short Prompt #1061
CW: gore mention, captivity, human treated like pet.
“Y-You can’t be serious…” The hero muttered, looking away in embarrassment.
The villain forced them to look back up, grabbing them by the chin. The little golden bell around Hero’s neck jingled with the movement. “I warned you not to try any sneaky escape attempts. This is your punishment.”
“I… will never understand you…” The hero faced away once they were let go of, cringing as the bell sounded again. “You’ve won. You have me at your feet. And yet…”
Villain chuckled. “I could skin you alive if I wanted, little hero. But I believe having you as my pet is infinitely more entertaining.”
#hero x villain#writing#writeblr#hero#villain#prompt#short prompt#writing prompt#heroes and villains#hero x villain community#writing community#smuwfy#some messed up writing for you#tw: captivity#tw: dehumanization#tw: gore mention
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(PS I don’t actually know the source material for idia I just stumbled upon one of your fics while looking at FFXIV Yandere fics so sorry if this sounds OOC)
I’m not super creative but what do you think might actually be Idia’ routine with his darling? Does he fall into any routine, does it change a lot?
Have a wonderful day (and happy late bunny day!) 🫶
I actually am of the opinion that this is a very creative thought! You should give yourself more credit. I like to idealize the day to day life, but it never occurred to me that writing it down might be a good idea. On that sentiment, I think maybe Vil or even Leona would have a better day to day routine. Dividers by @/cafekitsune
Also, wow, what a pipeline, FFXIV to twst?? You've got good taste lmao welcome to my blog.
I'll put this under the cut, and I'm also not promising that this will be very good. I use the 24 hour clock. I am constantly getting told irl that American people don't do that, but I'm evil, so I'm putting the times in 24 hour clock format.
TW for mentions of noncon, coercion, captivity, someone keeping someone else awake, a hint of Idia being an asshole
+ Idia doesn't really seem like he has much of a set schedule, but Ortho absolutely does and Ortho is lowkey kind of bossy, so...
+ Yeah uh, Idia's partner is absolutely out of luck. Idia likes night gaming a lot, and he gets loud, so good luck sleeping. Idia himself goes to bed late and wakes up whenever the heck he wakes up. He could go to bed at 0300 in the morning and wake up again at 0700.
+ As his kept partner, the schedule is a little more normal, like I said. Ortho doesn't really need to sleep from what I understand, (I haven't read all of book 6, no spoilers or else I WILL temporarily block you) but it's silly to imagine that he doesn't wake up or attempt to wake up everyone else around him as early as 0600.
+ After waking up, Idia will eat breakfast. I think it'd be delivered usually since Idia and his partner are basement dwellers, one by nature and the other by force. After breakfast begins work...
+ Or procrastination. Idia flip flops between extreme focus on what he should be doing and what he should not be doing. He manages to get his schoolwork done, but more often than not, he's asking his partner to cuddle up and watch a movie, drama, or his fingers flying across the keyboard. Idia will not ask them to cuddle if he is doing schoolwork or virtually attending classes.
+ I like to think that he smells smoky, on account of the flaming hair, and he runs hot, so prepare to SWEAT. In the case his partner doesn't really want to hang out with him, he will usually sulk and only occasionally get upset to the point of doing something about it.
+ I don't think he showers every day. I think he's an every other day type of showerer, based solely on him not being particularly active. This means that his partner doesn't have to run on his showering schedule and gets extra hot water on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.
+ By the way, in the case that Idia's darling ever gets peckish, Idia has a snack stash that he proudly pulled out and showed them as soon as they were allowed to wander a bit. I figure they get hungry some time around 1400, especially if Idia is also eating at that time.
+ I think his metabolism is fast, but also a bit odd. He is a young person, and therefore he strikes me as the type to get randomly hungry. If asked very nicely (and with the promise of physical affection in some form) he'd be incredibly willing to make his partner something to munch on when he makes his own.
+ Despite Idia's partner being literally held captive in his room, with all his suspicious items and, worst of all, himself, Idia is about as respectful as a kidnapper can be about demanding sex. He doesn't like to be physically forceful about it, and he often will just jerk off in the bathroom.
+ The reason for this is very simple: If Ortho ever saw Idia having sex with ANYONE, Idia would spontaneously combust. Well, obviously he doesn't know that for certain, but it's a theory that he is not willing to test. He won't even talk about his preferences around his little brother.
+ As far as I'm aware, most people in captive situations do not tend to ask their kidnapper to fuck them unless they're being threatened in some way, but Idia's partner isn't typically being threatened (ignore the shock collar,) so they never ask Idia to have sex.
+ This does not stop Idia from being a whiny bitch about not having sex enough as soon as Ortho is gone for a few hours. The close quarters and sudden advent of a human being who he doesn't mind touching him is a big thing for Idia.
+ Ortho goes on "walks" in a sort of unusual schedule. That is to say that he doesn't have a schedule. If something needs to be picked up, he's tired of Idia not listening to him, he has his own stuff to do, or he just feels like it, Ortho will go out, sharing his location with Idia. From there, Idia will typically calculate how long it'd take Ortho to get back paired with whatever Ortho said he was going to do before he left, and see if he can squeeze in some coerced touching.
+ So. Good luck, Idia's partner. Idia will make a big stink until he gets bored or his partner gives in. His partner usually gives in, based on fear of what he might do alone.
+ Bedtime is somewhat randomized. If Ortho was out, when he comes back and it's any time after 2000, he will very subtly try to get Idia and his partner to start winding down. If both or one ignores him, he'll start getting upset.
+ Like I said, Ortho is kinda bossy. He will nag someone, and the worst part is that he's usually got their best interest in mind.
+On the off chance that Idia decides to go to bed at a decent time, he curls up behind his partner. He runs hot and smells smoky, and at some times it's not the worst thing. Some times.
+ By the way, a lot of this flies out the window in the event that Idia decides to attend classes in person. This is rare, so don't expect it to happen often, but it's not as good as it could be. Ortho goes with him and he locks up any way to reach the outside world, so all his partner has to entertain themselves is his manga collection, or the fun pastime of destruction of property. (This is a very bad idea, and I can expand on punishments later.)
+ In Idia's partner's case, every day is much of the same but just a little different, which makes it hard to keep track of time. The fact that Idia prefers low lighting and no natural light doesn't help this whatsoever.
#twisted wonderland#disney twst#tw: dark content#tw: dark themes#tw: yandere#yandere#twst#tw captivity#tw coercion#tw noncon mention#yandere idia shroud#yandere idia x reader#tw inability to sleep#idia shroud#twst idia#twisted wonderland idia#idia x reader#ortho shroud#anon asks#anon answered#thank you for sending an ask!!
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✧･ﾟRipe, About to Fall - Part 5 ✧･ﾟ
This is an 18+ slowish burn pet-whump story with added romance.
Title from ‘Liquid Smooth’ by Mitski
Series Description and Warnings
Masterlist, First, Previous
Chapter Summary: Ventis gets better, and Onthyes takes risks.
Chapter Content: Pretty light chapter. Suggestiveness towards the end and general mentions of abuse, exploitation, and objectification. Fingers in mouth, mentions of choking/lack of gag reflex. Mention of wanting to die.
Onthyes does not belong to me. He was created by my wonderful gf @sapphicccici and I have kidnapped him.
✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧
“I won’t do it.”
That was the conclusion that Athos reached after an hour of pacing Ventis’s bedroom, deep in thought.
“Releasing him may preserve his spirit, but he simply would not survive without me. He needs me. There must be other ways to heal his spirit, and I will find them.”
Onthyes just listened silently, pouring all of his energy into hiding his disappointment with Athos’s decision.
“Keep watching him, Onthyes. Alert me if anything changes.”
With that Athos swept out of the room, leaving Onthyes alone with Ventis.
Onthyes sat at the edge of Ventis’s bed, staring down at the genasi. He wondered how much of all this he had heard. Did he know what was killing him? Did he know that Athos was making the deliberate choice to not fix it?
“Ventis,” Onthyes whispered, watching the genasi stir at the sound of his voice. “I’d like to take you outside again.”
Ventis’s eyes cracked open, fixing Onthyes with a half-hearted glare.
“I know you didn’t like it, but… you were dying. I took you outside because I didn’t want you to spend your last moments in here. And then you got better, right before my eyes. Something about being outside fixed you.”
“It hurt,” Ventis rasped.
“I know. But it helped. You could die otherwise.”
“Then let me die.”
Onthyes’s breath hitched. He could see why someone in Ventis’s position might want to die, but he hadn’t expected him to say it so easily. “No. I can’t do that.”
Groaning, Ventis made a weak effort to sit up. Onthyes rushed to help him, placing a pillow behind his back.
“All you do is talk about how badly you want to save me,” Ventis hissed. Talking was taking a lot out of him, leaving his chest heaving for air, but he pressed on. “But you refuse to let me go. What I want doesn’t matter if it doesn’t match what you want for me.”
“Ventis.” Onthyes took his hand slowly, giving him time to pull away if he wanted. “I want you to live because I have hope for you. I believe that you can make it out of this; that you still have a chance of having your own life away from Athos.”
Ventis wouldn’t look at him. “You’re too late. It would be no different from freeing a statue.”
Onthyes could tell that he really believed that. Three years of constant drugging and conditioning had made him see himself as nothing more than an object.
“Would you let me try to prove you wrong?”
A long, painful silence.
“Alright. Do what you wish. I do not care.”
That wasn’t what Onthyes wanted to hear, but he would take it if it gave him a chance to save Ventis.
Athos returned later with a pile of books, declaring that all Ventis needed was some good old fashioned escapism. He took on the task of reading to Ventis, giving the characters voices and everything. Onthyes almost could’ve found it sweet if he wasn’t aware of every other detail of their relationship.
That night, Ventis got bad again and Onthyes picked him up as he gasped and shuddered and snuck him out to the beach again. It went similarly to the first time. First, Ventis got better, the wind and stars filling him with new energy. Then, he got bad in a different way. Every caress of the breeze against his bare skin made his breaths hitch on sobs and soon he bagan to beg quietly for Onthyes to take him inside.
Onthyes didn’t understand. It was so peaceful out here. Why was it causing so much pain?
He tried to hold out. Ventis got progressively more upset, but he also got stronger by the minute. Onthyes did his best to hold him and whisper words of comfort for as long as possible, but the constant crying got to him eventually and he carried Ventis back to his bedroom.
The next morning, Athos was overjoyed to see Ventis able to sit up and eat on his own.He had glowed with pride, going on and on to Onthyes about how his plan had worked and he might as well call himself a scholar on the ways of genasi. Onthyes and Ventis shared a knowing look, but they said nothing.
And just like that, Ventis started to get better.
Onthyes came to look forward to their little nightly escapes, especially as Ventis seemed to adapt to the pain of being outside until it seemed to be only mildly uncomfortable.
“It’s bearable now,” Ventis admits one night.
They’re sitting side by side on the sand, staring out at the waves as they kiss the shore in silver lines of foam. Ventis’s hair and scales glow brighter in the moonlight, healthier.
“It's just a reminder, I think. Of the things I’ve lost. I’d forgotten what the wind feels like. I didn’t know I missed it until it was on my skin. It’s like a physical ache. Here.” He gestures at his chest. “But it's bearable now.”
“You speak so informally when it’s just me around.”
Ventis tensed, his breath catching.
“Sorry,” Onthyes said quickly. “I didn’t mean… sorry.” He hadn’t meant to make that observation out loud. It was true though. Ventis’s speech - when he was allowed to speak - was always so formal around Athos or anyone else. But when it was just him and Onthyes he seemed to relax somewhat.
“It’s alright. I hadn’t noticed. You bring my guard down. No clue why.”
Onthyes couldn’t help but smile. “Sorry,” he said again. “I’m not doing it on purpose.”
Ventis returned his smile - toothy with a peek of fang, not anything like the sweet, demure smile he used on Athos. “Well cut it out anyway, Ventura. It’s dangerous.”
Onthyes’s heart did a strange little flip in his chest. Oh no. “I won’t hurt you. You can let your guard down with me.”
The wind carried Ventis’s laugh on it, not muting it but making it echo unnaturally. The signs of his elemental blood were nothing but visual inside the manor. But out here, underneath the vast expanse of sky, he seemed to meld with the breeze before Onthyes’s eyes.
“I know. It’s you I worry about. Athos can be… protective. And he’s already suspicious that you might be interested in me. If your father wasn’t captain of the city guard you would be out of here already I’m sure.”
“I’m not… interested in you. Not like that.” Sure, images of Ventis’s beauty kept him up at night, but he would never pursue anything. It would just feel wrong, knowing what he knows.
“Uh huh,” Ventis hums disbelievingly. “Everyone’s interested in me. It’s what I’m for.”
“No it’s not.”
Ventis’s eyes widened at the conviction behind Onthyes’s voice. “That’s very sweet of you to say, blondie. But it is my purpose. It’s undeniable. There’s a very long contract somewhere with my name at the bottom that lays it out quite clearly.”
“A contract?”
“It’s a piece of paper. A legally binding written agreement between two parties.”
Onthyes laughed, elbowing Ventis lightly. “I know what a contract is. I just didn’t realize there’s one between you and Athos.”
“What did you expect? Were you imagining some sort of violent kidnapping? I signed my own life away in exchange for drugs. This is all I am now.”
“He said he found you on the streets. You were high. You were vulnerable. He took advantage of you.”
“Please, Onthyes.” Ventis seemed to shrink into himself, pulling his knees to his chest. “Just don’t. I brought this on myself. It’s… easier to let myself believe that. It hurts less.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll drop it.”
Ventis’s fingers found the space between their bodies, pressing indents into the sand. He was quiet for a long moment before he broke the silence again. “Can we go inside now? I’ve had enough.”
“Of course. Let’s go.”
⋄✧⋄
A week later, Ventis was officially healthy again and Athos was considering publishing a book on genasi physiology. Onthyes was glad to see him feeling better, but at the same time he knew he would miss their nightly escapes. He felt like he had become privy to so many of Ventis’s secrets.
Ventis loved poetry. He’d always been naturally gifted at music and writing, but he couldn’t produce a sketch or painting to save his own life. Onthyes had made him prove it, asking him to draw a horse in the sand, and the product had left them both rolling on the ground, tearful with laughter. He used to ride, apparently. Dressage. His father hadn’t approved of such an impractical equestrian style, which was exactly why Ventis had practiced it. His horse’s name was Willow, but he had been forced to leave her back at his home kingdom and he didn’t even know if she was still alive.
Onthyes had asked him about his family. About if they knew anything of his whereabouts. Ventis’s expression had gone stormy, and he had quickly ended that line of conversation.
His eyes weren’t purple. They were a blue sky with pale pink constellations, and they blended to a plesent lilac from far away. His horns hadn’t always been so smooth and porcelain-like. Athos had had the texture filed away years ago.
Flashes of fangs accompanied by echoing laughter. Wrinkles that formed around his scales when he frowned. A scar on his arm from when he’d cut himself falling from a ladder in his family’s library as a child.
Onthyes was in trouble.
He stood at the edge of Athos’s lush courtyard, sweating in his armor on the hot day. Athos and Ventis sat nearby; Ventis at Athos’s feet like always while the man fed him fresh fruit by hand. Ventis’s lips lingered on Athos’s fingers, but Onthyes has learned to recognize the emptiness behind the look of mindless admiration he always fixed his master with.
“Come sit with us, Onthyes,” Athos called over his shoulder.
Onthyes did as he was told, taking a seat next to Athos on the couch.
“Would you like to feed him?”
Onthyes felt himself flushing under his helmet. “I’m alright, sir.”
“Oh please, I insist.” Athos held out the bowl of fruit expantly.
When Athos insists on something, there is no denying it.
Onthyes removed his glove and used a nearby pitcher of water to clean his hand off before he selected a piece of mango from the bowl. Ventis stared up at him expectantly, opening his mouth. His pupils were heavily dilated. Onthyes doubted he even knew what was going on, but that familiar emptiness was nowhere to be found as their eyes met.
Juice dribbled down his chin as Ventis took the mango and chewed with a satisfied hum. Onthyes wiped the sticky trail away with his thumb tenderly before he could stop himself.
Athos hummed, and Onthyes was unable to miss the disapproving tone. That had been a test. He hadn’t performed well.
“An interesting tidbit about air genasi for you,” Athos said as if nothing had happened. “They don’t need to breathe. It’s completely optional. And since they do not need to breathe, they also do not have an evolutionary reason to have a gag reflex. Observe.”
Athos took Ventis’s chin in one hand. Ventis opened his mouth obediently as Athos pushed two fingers between his lips until his third knuckles disappeared completely. Drool dripped from the corners of Ventis’s mouth, but otherwise he didn’t react aside from a flick of his tired eyes towards Onthyes.
Onthyes swallowed hard, pushing away a wave of discomfort from the display. “Fascinating, sir,” he said blankly.
Athos laughed, withdrawing his fingers and wiping spit on a cloth napkin. “Is that all you think? We’re friends, Onthyes. You may be honest.”
Another test. He could see that even without Ventis shaking his head ever so slightly outside of Athos’s line of sight.
Onthyes knew what he really thought. Despite his disgust with the way Ventis was treated, that information definitely invited some… images. He was only a man, after all. He hoped the redness of his face could be excused by the heat.
“I can imagine the uses of such a skill,” Onthyes admitted. “I’m sure you’re very proud to have him at your disposal.”
Athos laughed again, his teeth shining unnaturally white in the sun. “I will catch you lacking someday. Back to your post.”
Onthyes returned to his place against the wall quickly.
✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧
Part 6
Ventisposting taglist (aka a list of people who i want to bake cookies for):
@scp-1296 @sapphicccici @acer-gaysimpstuff @morning-star-whump @yeetmyskeet @rainydaywhump
#whump#oc#whump tropes#original character#whump writing#dnd ocs#whump community#whumpblr#drug whump#whump series#whump scenario#whump ideas#whumpee#nonhuman whumpee#conditioned whumpee#captivity#pet whumpee#pet whump#dehumanisation tw#food mention#onthyes and ventis#tw sui ideation#nsfwhump#ventisposting#ventis
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Hand in Hand (part eight)
@whumptober Alt. 12: Broken
cw: broken bones (didn't see that coming did you :) ), death mention, deathwish
prev ///// au masterlist ///// next
~ ~ ~
He's on the verge of sleep when he hears noise outside the room; shuffling, muted voices, the click of the lock.
It's time to act.
Dan knows nothing is optimal about the situation; he'll be outnumbered for sure, and even if he wasn't, he'd already be at a significant disadvantage from his physical condition. Surprise is the only tool he has, and once he uses it, he knows he can't hesitate. It's all or nothing. Escape now, or die trying. Better that than this unlife Swift has him trapped in.
He'll wait for them to unlock his restraints, of course. He'll probably even let them get a good distance down the hall, let them sink into the complacency of routine, then he'll make his gambit. If there's only two guards this time, he stands a fighting chance. Hell, even with three, he might just be desperate enough to pull it off. And if he fails... if he fails, he can only hope that she doesn't let Wes suffer for it for long.
Dan closes his eyes, breathing slow and quiet as the door swings open. If he feigns sleep, will they be put more at ease?
"Good afternoon, Mr. Melchior."
His eyes fly open, and he turns his head fast enough that his previously-subdued headache flares back to life, making him wince.
The guards are here, but they aren't alone. Mercury Swift is at their side, smiling down at him.
A sick feeling begins to coil in his stomach, his body sensing a wrongness before his mind can catch up. It's okay, he tells himself. Don't panic. Let her say her piece and save the plan for next time.
But what is her piece? She's never come directly to his room like this, he's always been brought to her. Is she here to make threats? Tell him how she'll be puppeting him at the next meeting?
"Is it already afternoon?" he replies, the words scraping against his throat as they leave it. He doesn't care.
"Ah, forgive me. It must be difficult to tell the time from in here."
"What do you want?" He's too tired to carry the banter for long. He just wants her to spit it out and leave him alone.
To his surprise, she doesn't chastise him for being impolite. "Straight to the point, then." Her smile widens. "I've been doing some thinking these last few days."
Dan's heartbeat is speeding up, thrumming in his chest. He tries to ignore it.
"Since your little... escape stunt, I've realized it's not possible to be too careful."
Breathe. Keep breathing.
Swift turns to one of the guards. "Alright, send him in."
The Riot King leaves, and Dan's chest tightens. Him. Wes? Is she about to force him to watch another fucking demonstration?
But when the door swings back open, it's just another guard, this one holding a heavy metal pipe. His stomach drops.
"Right leg, I think," Swift says to him, then sits back and watches Dan pull uselessly at his chains as the man and the weapon close in on him.
"No..." He needs to think, needs to find a way out of this. "Swift, please," he gulps down air, mind frantic for any words that might sway her. "You've already punished me for the escape, th-this isn't necessary--"
"It isn't a punishment, it's security," she murmurs, sounding disinterested.
"What about the meetings?" he tries. The man reaches the bed. "What will your allies think?"
"You don't need to walk to be useful to me," Swift says. "And is a broken leg really so uncommon?"
The pipe raises, and Dan isn't sure if it's the Riot King holding it that's dragging out the moment, or his own panic. Any plans he has, any hope of making it out, will shatter with the bone. Forget fighting, how will he walk? How will he carry Wes?
"Please!" he cries, jerking on the chains, causing nothing but a sharp clink. "Please, don't do this, I won't do it again, I swear--"
"It's your leg or your friend's," Swift replies. "Make your choice."
The obvious choice is Wes. If Wes can't walk, that's fine. Dan can take care of him. If Dan can't walk, they're both doomed. But even as he opens his mouth, he can't say it.
Spare me. Hurt him instead. Break his leg, make him scream and tell him it's because of me.
He can't. His body is recoiling more from the thought of that than the thought of being hurt.
He can't be responsible for any more of Wes's pain.
He inhales shakily. "No. Don't hurt him."
"That's what I thought."
Dan closes his eyes.
He hears it before he feels it. A brief whoosh as the pipe cuts the air, followed by a sharp sound that's more crunch than crack.
At first, the pain is surreal. A distant, impossible explosion, so bright it hurts his eyes. The air in his lungs freezes, the air in his throat chokes him, and for a moment he can't even scream. His leg, just below his knee, is engulfed in something jagged and inescapable, like someone is taking a cheese grater to the bone.
He barely feels himself being unchained, trying to hold as still as possible to avoid making his leg any worse, and when a hand closes around his wrist, yanking him off the bed, he doesn't even think to fight it.
His now-broken leg is the first thing to hit the ground, and Dan screams, crumpling into a heap. He bangs his head on the bedframe in his haste to take weight off the limb, but he doesn't feel it. Hands catch hold of him from either side, hoisting him back up, and even though he's careful not to let his bad leg touch the ground, the pain is almost enough to steal his consciousness.
He wishes it would.
The guards start walking, dragging him with them, and every little shift is enough to make him cry out. Every bit of strength that remains in him is devoted to keeping the bad leg off the ground, no room left for wondering where they're taking him, wondering what comes next.
Somehow, there's still room for fear. Not the overthinking, frantic planning Dan's used to, but a blind, pain-driven panic.
The movement suddenly stops, and then he's being shoved forward, into colder air, onto rough concrete. The impact with the ground goes right to the shattered bone, sending a sharp wave of nausea through him, and for a long while he can do nothing but lie as still as possible and gasp for air.
He doesn't know how long it takes for his body to get used to the worst of the pain, his consciousness finally pulling back its focus from his leg as it accepts this as his new state.
He's in the cell. Subconsciously, he already knew that, but now that he's actually aware of it, he lifts his head, eyes sweeping the dim room until they land on Wes. The other man is curled up tightly, with his back to Dan. His ribcage is heavily bruised, his skin layered with unhealed welts. Every breath must be agony, but he is still breathing. Still alive. Dan isn't sure if that's a mercy anymore.
He inches towards Wes, pulling on the concrete with his hands, pushing off with his good leg. The movement, however slow, is excruciating, grating against the fragmented bone like the teeth of a predator, but he keeps going, breathing through tightly clenched teeth, not trying to stop the tears from pouring down his face.
This might be it. This might be the last of the time he has with Wes, and he isn't about to waste it. Inch by inch, foot by foot, Dan drags himself across the cell floor, the pain in his leg building to a howl long before he reaches his friend.
But he does reach him. Shuddering, panting, crying, but he's there.
"Wes..?" He reaches out, carefully lays a trembling hand on his shoulder. There's no indication that Wes is conscious, but his bare skin is cold, so Dan shifts again, wincing through the movement, until he's tucked up behind him, chest to back, one arm draped carefully over his side. His leg is throbbing, but Dan holds as still as he can, not wanting to agitate the wounds on Wes's back, the ones he caused.
Fuck, how did things get this bad?
How could his own men hate him enough to let them both suffer like this? How could Swift be so cruel? How could he be stupid enough to let it happen, to let Wes drag himself into it, to not escape when he had the chance? How?
He's truly lost all control. The plan he'd had was a last resort brought on by desperation, but it was still his, it was still something he could've done, even if it was destined to fail.
Now there's nothing he can do. He's whatever Swift wants him to be, and if he isn't, she has no trouble breaking him apart until he's the perfect puzzle piece. He can do nothing---
He could kill Wes.
The one kindness he has the power to grant. He could kill Wes, and ensure Mercury can't drag this out any longer.
He could, but he can't, he knows he can't. He knows Wes will die either way, but he's still not strong enough to at least make it as painless as possible.
"I'm sorry," he mumbles.
"D...an?" the voice is quiet and broken and small.
"I'm here," he says, trying to keep his own voice steady. "I... I can move though, if y-you want."
"Stay. Please."
Dan doesn't need to be told twice. He inches closer still, pressing his face into Wes's neck, wanting to say I'm sorry again, because it's hard to think of anything else when everything hurts and they're both going to die here.
But he doesn't. Instead, Dan holds Wes close.
"It'll be okay," he lies. "We'll be okay."
@kira-the-whump-enthusiast @kixngiggles @shywhumpauthor @whumpsday
~ ~ ~
#whumptober2023#altprompt#broken#oc#fic#death mention tw#broken bones tw#death wish tw#riotkingsau#broken in more than just the physical sense! :D#angst#multiple whumpees#lost hope#captivity whump
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everybody who was an og captive prince fan that had to wait for updates/a new book to release is better than me bc if i had to wait to read kings rising after reading princes gambit i would have killed myself
#i literally finished princes gambit and continued right on to kings rising and finished it in a day LMFAOOO#i remember staying up all night to do it and going to class the next morning and hallucinating#‘one more chapter’ and then it’s the most eventful earth shattering souls destroying cliff hanger chapter in the world#cs pacat is a drone from the government designed to make me sleep less#captive prince#tw suicide mention
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