Nsfwhump - Tumblr Posts

a shadow over lirim story masterpost !

this is a story inspired by ‘lirim’ by virus138 on ao3. if virus138 wishes for me to take this work down, i will. this world is their intellectual property and this is, essentially, a (very dark) fanfiction that honestly has very little in common with the original.

summary: finn and alfie are kidnapped by 'alphas' - a type of human that is stronger, faster, and isn't born but rather created by biting and bonding to a human. with time running out before being bonded to their alphas and considered their legal property, will finn and alfie be able to make it out alive, despite everything their captors put them through?

characters:

whumpees: alfie (21), finn (23) caretaker: brín (27) whumpers: darius for alfie, eric for finn - both mid 30s

whump vibes:

creepy/intimate whumpers, defiant but absolutely fucking terrified whumpees, multiple whumpees, kidnapping, manhandling, restraints, fear, semi-explicit nsfwhump, non-consensual touch both sexual and non-sexual, a/b/o dynamics but also not really there will be chapter specific warnings at the start of each post, these are just the general ones.

chapter masterlist:

the kidnapping (manhandling, violence, knocked unconscious)

the first day (implied future non-con) still being written:

the first night

the first escape attempt

the first punishment

baby steps/a new normal

acting out (NSFW)

the second punishment (NSFW)

the second escape attempt

the peace offering

the soiree (NSFW)

the bonding (NSFW)

the aftermath (NSFW)

the eye of the storm

the stars of the show (NSFW)

the family dinner

the present

the final straw

the exchange

the refuge

idk man i've never posted a story on here so let me know if there's anything i'm forgetting

Back home P2

part 1

EXPLICIT NONCON (sex/kissing, etc), kidnapping, ransom, abuse, pet whump, nsfwhump, guns, caretaker × whumpee

Whumpee laid limply with their head in Whumper's lap, waves of horror sinking into them fully. The van's engine hummed noisily around the both of them, drowned out only by Whumper's words.

"I'm so happy to have you back... it's been ever so lonely without you. I've got everything prepared for you at home." Whumper hadn't stopped talking since they had dragged whumpee into the back of the vehicle with them. "My sweet pet... it's gonna be so nice to have you around again."

Whumper grabbed their chin for the tenth time, tilting it up to look into their eyes. Whumpee would've flinched away if they were able.

"Ghh-"

"Scared, huh?" Whumper fake-pouted. "Poor thing. I wish you could talk so i could hear you beg~ Oh well, I suppose we'll save that for later. Drugs should be wear off anytime." Whumper dropped whumpee's head, resituating their hands in their hair.

The van's engine quieted. They were at whumper's place. Whumpee let out a weak cry, the best they could at the moment.

"Oh, that's adorable~" Whumper gushed. They picked Whumpee up swiftly, holding them against their larger body. "You're nice and warm, arent you?"

"Nnh-" Whumpee managed, regaining some of their movement. They curled their fingers in halfway, lifting their head just an inch.

Whumper ignored their protest, walking out the back of the van as their henchmen opened the back doors. Whumper carried them all the way up the sidewalk leading to their large house.

"Nnnuh..." Whumpee slurred. "Nuh... no..."

"Babbling, hm? Cute." Whumper walked slowly through the familiar house towards the bedroom. "How long has it been since Caretaker rescued you, love? A year? Little over?"

"Agh," Whumpee huffed as Whumper brought them into the lavish bedroom, setting them on the bed. "Cae-a'er. Need Caretaker..."

"Not anymore. You have me again." Whumper said sweetly, lowering Whumpee. Whumpee realised with a jolt that they were being put in their cage.

"No," they cried, finding themself clinging to Whumper. This only made the taller laugh, standing up with whumpee still in their arms.

"You wanna stay with me?" Whumper teased, bringing them to the bed instead. They leaned over whumpee, grinning. "I suppose we'll get reacquainted then, hm?"

"No, stop-" Whumpee whimpered, now able to kick at them. "Please, no..."

Whumper only smiled wider, grabbing a collar out of their pocket- whumpee's collar. "Sit pretty for me, will you?" Whumper snapped it around their throat, tightening it just a little too much.

"Get off of me," Whumpee panted, their heart beating out of their chest. "I want Caretaker, please!"

"Are you gonna be this difficult all night? You know I can correct those behaviors with a couple of my tools, right?" Whumper ran their hand under Whumpee's shirt, their long fingers cold and uncomfortable against their torso. "Caretaker has undone so much of my hard work, haven't they? It's alright, sweet thing. Ill get your mind rewired in no time."

"Caretaker is coming to get me," Whumpee summoned their courage to retort. "They'll be here soon and beat the shit out of you and bring me home."

Whumper let out an amused laugh, smoothing whumpee's ruffled hair with one hand and pulling their shirt up further with the second. "Im sure they will, love. For now, I'll get you started with nice little treat..."

Whumpee shivered as whumper's finger ran under the waistband of their sweatpants.

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

Caretaker blinked awake, flinching when the bright light of their living room ceiling shone into their eyes. They rolled to their side with a groan and were met with the sight of the barrel of a gun.

"Goddamn-" they cried, sitting up. The gun's muzzle whacked them right in the cheekbone, knocking them back down.

A man in a dark uniform stood over them, pushing his gun against Caretaker's chest. "Stay exactly where you are, or ill put a bullet through your heart."

"Hey, hey!" Caretaker raised their palms innocently. "What's-"

All at once, memories from hours earlier flooded their mind. They looked around at their living room, spotting two uniformed women that were also armed.

"Where is whumpee?" Caretaker asked, leaning back against the couch so the gun didn't jab so violently into their chest.

"With whumper," the man told them and checked his watch, "who should've been here a while ago."

"Oh, god..." Caretaker whispered, biting their inner lip to stall the anxiety rebuilding itself in their chest. "Why's whumper coming back?"

"You'll find out when they arrive. Just stay put and nobody gets hurt." The man poked the gun at their chest again.

So caretaker slumped back against the couch, their mind racing a mile a minute.

What if whumpee's not okay? What's whumper doing? Why are they late? Are they hurting whumpee now? Why do they want to see me?

Several minutes had passed of this before footsteps came up the wooden porch. Whumper strode in, their hair slightly disheveled and wearing a different suit.

"Ah, caretaker..." Whumper sighed, signaling their henchmen out the door with a flick of their wrist. The three filed out the door without a sound, leaving Caretaker alone with Whumper.

"Whumper," Caretaker sat up, heart racing. "What do you want? Is whumpee okay."

"Yes, yes, your timid little friend is alright. More than alright actually." Whumper smirked, standing right in front of Caretaker.

"More than alright..?"

"I made whumpee feel good, caretaker. I gave them the attention they deserve." Whumper crouched lower, gripping Caretaker by the chin. "Ive given them what I assume you've been depriving the poor thing of."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Can you smell them on my breath, Caretaker? Or rather-" Whumper leaned in and kissed them forcefully, "taste them~?"

Caretaker smacked their face away with a grunt. They wiped their lips, glaring up at Whumper.

Everything came crashing down in that moment. Caretaker's blood ran ice cold.

"No." Caretaker's voice broke. "No, no, no. You didn't- you didn't-!" They jumped to their feet, but were forced back into their seat.

"I did, Caretaker. I did and it felt so fucking great. They'll never, ever forget this night. They're still in bed right now actually... feeling as great as ever."

Caretaker screeched in fury, jumping at whumper and swinging their fist in their direction. Whumper shoved them to the ground and twisted their arm behind their back, sending sparks of pain all the way up to their shoulder.

"I think I'll tack on another hour of their pleasure for them because of that silly stunt." Whumper hissed in their ear.

"No-! Don't punish them because of me, please!" Caretaker panted, trying to ignore the searing pain in their arm.

"Oh, its not a punishment at all. I promise you, they're having a fun time..."

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

Whumpee cried out in desperation for the billionth time, tears spilling past their eyelids. The buzzing between their thighs picked up in intensity, causing their back to arch.

Whumper had left them like this- and god knows how long it'd be until they came back. It had to have been at least an hour, right? Two maybe?

They checked the clock though hazy eyes.

30 minutes had passed.

"Hel~ shit- help me!" They cried, their voice breaking into a moan. "Hurts- ev'rythin' hurts-"

Nobody came.

I need Caretaker... they'd come and hold me and play with my hair. They'd kiss me and tell me it's alright. They'd make it better.

Whumpee took a moment to imagine caretaker sitting beside them, stroking their cheek and helping them through the pain.

"Shh, honey," they'd say. "It'll all be over soon. Focus on your breathing."

Whumpee squeezed their eyes shut, trying to calm their ragged pants.

In four... hold four... out four...

A small whine escaped their lips on the exhale, their knees drawing together as the buzzing droned on.

They felt pressure rising inside them again and they braced to release again, wrapping their fingers around the chains to their cuffs.

They groaned, trying their best to hold still as the stimulation became too much. They saw spots in their vision when they opened their eyes.

Whumpee cast another teary glance up at the camera in the corner. They wouldn't give Whumper the show they wanted.

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

Caretaker slumped against the wall they had been thrown against. They glared up at Whumper who, just like them, was smeared in blood.

Whumper delivered a swift kick to their torso, drawing the wind out of them.

"You know, Caretaker. You're almost as fun to beat up as my Whumpee. I'm not used to such defiance. It'd be fun to have a good couple of months with you."

Caretaker tensed at this. This is where they were supposed to be heroic and give the "take me instead" speech and beg Whumper to let them take Whumpee's place.

But they didn't. They couldn't.

Whumper scared them. They could face them now, but to be at their mercy? They wouldn't survive a day.

"Cat's got your tongue? You seem a little shaken." Whumper smiled down at them, crouching down to their level. They cupped Caretaker's cheek and rubbed up and down the side of their face.

"Get out of my house," Caretaker whispered, shaking. With rage? With fear?

"I suppose I should get back to Whumpee... they'll be missing me by now."

"As if." Caretaker spat, silently relieved when their hand left their cheek. They instantly shifted their tone as Whumper stood to tower over them. "Be gentle on them. Please."

"Oh trust me, Caretaker. It'll only get worse from here~"

The long awaited...

Back Home P3

HEED WARNINGS

Reference to noncon, nudity, kidnapping, captivity, ransom, abuse, pet whump, caretaker × whumpee, fatshaming(scrutinizing gained weight [char isnt overweight, just not to "standard"), brief mentions of cancer, animal death, and human death, force feeding, shocking, creepy/gentle Whumper, stockholm syndrome (?)

-

Whumpee had already passed out when Whumper returned. They awoke what they assumed was hours later inside their kennel. To their relief, a blanket had been thrown over them— they had been tucked in. They pulled the comforter further up their body, trying to cover their bare shoulders.

They were almost back asleep when the bedroom door clicked and careful bootsteps approached.

Whumpee kept still, trying their best to appear like they were sleeping.

"Oh, Whumpee," Whumper cooed, stalking closer. "Are you awake in there?"

Whumpee's eyes cracked open just a fraction, revealing a sliver of their anxiety-laden gaze. They could feel the weight of Whumper's gaze on them, and the unease settled in their chest like a heavy stone. Their mind raced, desperately trying to think of a way to protect themselves from whatever Whumper had planned next.

Whumper's fingers trailed over the bars of the kennel, and Whumpee tensed, their heart pounding in their ears. "I know you're awake, my dear," Whumper purred, amusement tainting their words. "No need to pretend."

Swallowing hard, Whumpee forced themselves to relax, letting their body go limp as if still in slumber.

With a sudden jolt, Whumper's hand gripped Whumpee's ankle and pulled them out from under the covers. Whumpee yipped in fear as their bare body was pulled out from under the covers. They scrambled to pull the blanket back over their waist. Whumper's eyes bore into them, excited like a kid with a new toy.

"Such a fragile thing, aren't you?" Whumper mused, pouting.

"You've had your nap. Come on." Whumper's voice was stern. Whumpee shuffled forward, sitting on their knees. The cold air of Whumper's house made their skin tingle.

"Good pet," Whumper purred, scratching Whumpee's head. Whumpee pulled away from them, goosebumps prickling along their skin.

In response, Whumper grabbed their hair, making them yelp. Their voice was more disappointed than anything. "Oh, Whumpee. Absolutely not. You'll accept the affection I give you, got it?"

Whumpee cowered beneath them, their heart thumping.

"Got it?" The hand in their hair twisted and pulled up. Whumpee had to take the weight off their hands and stretch upwards for fear of their hair being ripped out.

"I understand," they squeaked, falling back to their hands and knees as Whumper released them.

"Good, hun. Now come along, will you?" Whumper started to leave the room, and Whumpee scrambled after them on their knees.

Whumper strode confidently through the hall, the monotonous tip tap of their shoes on the hardwood floors echoing against the walls. Whumpee followed close behind, staring at the heels of Whumper's shoes.

"You hungry yet? You must've burned quite a few calories before you passed out earlier." Whumper didn't check behind them to make sure Whumpee was following. Whumpee was breathing heavily through their nose as they kept up with Whumper's swift stride.

Once in the kitchen, Whumper finally turned. Their intense eyes scanned over Whumpee, seeming to rake through them and study every imperfection.

"You're out of shape, dear," Whumper leaned down, pinching the chub of their cheek. "The hell was Caretaker feeding you?"

"I eat whatever I want," Whumpee retorted, looking up at Whumper.

"You've put on weight, love. It's a shame, really. You were in exquisite shape under my care..." Whumper rose back to their feet, snagging a finger under Whumpee's collar and dragging them forward into the kitchen. "It's okay, sweetie, it's not your fault. It's that wretched Caretaker's fault. They let you get like this. But it's okay. We'll get you back to your regimen, and you'll be back in shape in no time." They patted Whumpee's cheek affectionately.

Whumpee didn't respond, struggling to keep up as they were dragged through the tiled kitchen. They saw new installments in the house as they were pulled through.

Whumpee got a better look as they arrived. Right between the fridge and a counter, there was a fancy padded dog beg with a chain hanging from the wall that was long enough to touch the bed.

"Go on, sit." Whumper tugged them forward. "Then I'll clip you in, and you'll be nice and secure."

Whumpee crawled forward slowly, feeling their hands and knees sink into the soft bed. They heard a little click as the chain clipped to their collar and turned to see Whumper standing over them.

"Stay there and be good, kay? Dinner will be ready soon." Whumper rubbed Whumpee's chin affectionately, then pulled away.

Whumpee stayed absolutely silent, leaning back against the wall as Whumper began to pull ingredients out of the fridge, an assortment of vegetables and fish.

God, they were cold. Whumpee sat against the wall, refusing to let their guard down for a second.

Whumpee tensed up as Whumper approached them.

"Open. Try this." A fork prodded at Whumpee's lips. "I tried a new rice recipe. And yes dear, you're getting rice. I figured it'd help warm you back up to your diet."

Whumpee chewed the rice, eyes on Whumper.

Why are they being so nice?

Maybe if they stayed quiet, Whumper would get bored of them.

Where are you, Caretaker?

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

It took a lot to make Caretaker cry.

They hadn't cried when their first dog had been hit by a car. They hadn't cried like their siblings had when their grandmother was diagnosed with cancer. Hell- they barely cried when their dad kicked the bucket.

But here they were, clutching Whumpee's dirty sweater to their chest. Wrecked. That was the best word for it.

Every muscle screamed for them to go find Whumpee, to bring them home, wrap them in a hundred layers of bubble wrap and never let them go again.

They couldn't.

It took most of their energy to crawl through the house to the bedroom and dig the sweater from their hamper. Everything hurt. Their cracked rib screeched in fury every time they took a shuddering breath, their bruised cheekbones stinging against the white sheets.

Well- they had been white once. Now they were blotted with a grim, deep red where Caretaker's blood had seeped in.

You have to do something.

Caretaker went to sit up after a moment, pain shooting up their sprained wrist. They fell back to the bed, hissing.

Don't be a wuss, they scolded themself. Whumpee's in much worse pain than this. Do this for their sake.

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

Whumpee was being served a gourmet salmon filet with a plate of fresh veggies.

They stared down at the meal, picking at the stalks of celery disdainfully.

Whumper sat a few feet in front of them, enjoying the very same dish. Their eyes flicked up and met Whumpee's, and a grin split their face. "Enjoying your salmon?"

"I don't eat fish." They responded, averting their eyes and picking up a slice of cucumber with their fork.

"You eat fish all the time, silly." Whumper laughed, continuing to bore their eyes into Whumpee. "Go on, try it."

"I don't eat fish." Whumpee repeated, biting into the crisp cucumber.

Their wrist was seized, and their fork clattered across the tablecloth. Whumpee choked on their cucumber slice, quickly swallowing it down.

"You ate fish nearly every day I had you." Whumper said. Whumpee's wrist was pinned against the table. "What right do you have," Whumper hissed, "to refuse your nice, home-cooked meal?"

Now the steak knife was tracing across their palm. Whumpee's other hand gripped the table and they did their best not to whine.

Whumpee took in a deep breath. "No, please-"

Whumper ignored them, spinning the knife on Whumpee's palm. "Oh hush, now. That'll get you nowhere. I make you delicious, healthy food and I expect you to eat it. You're lucky I even let you eat at the table.

You know I don't like having to hurt you," they said. "Apologise, and we can move on, dear."

"I'll eat," Whumpee spoke quietly, unable to shake the waver in their voice.

"And?" Whumper traced the lines of their palm ever so gently, causing Whumpee's hand to twitch.

"And I'm sorry."

"Good." Whumper finally amended, releasing their wrist. "Get to eating, now. You'll need the energy."

Whumpee didn't reply, cutting into the salmon finally. They took a bite, forcing it down. It was good fish, but all Whumpee could think about was their previous time spent in captivity. The same perfectly prepared fish and veggies were given to them at lunch and dinnertime before their beatings.

"There you go," Whumper said smoothly. "You're doing so much better already. I can tell that you're remembering how things are supposed to be."

Whumpee looked up at them momentarily, then returned to their meal.

Stay quiet, stay predictable, and stay boring, they thought. Whumper will get bored of me soon enough.

After dinner, Whumpee was brought to Whumper's bedroom. They were praying that they'd be shoved back into their cage for the evening, but they weren't quite that lucky.

Whumper sat them in the middle of the room, standing before them.

"Do you remember all your commands, Whumpee?" they asked, and when given no response, they continued. "Tonight we're gonna go through them all again. And if you've forgotten, I've got a little friend here to help us jog your memory." Whumper held up a shock collar, waving it enticingly.

Whumpee looked up at them, frozen. "Y- you don't have to use that, I- I'm fine without it. I've already got my collar on." Whumpee touched their collar gently.

Whumper brushed their hand away and switched their collar out.

"Here we are. Now kneel," Whumper ordered.

Whumpee did as they were told, kneeling with their back straight and their hands on their knees. Whumper hummed, nodding.

"Bow," Whumper said next, fiddling with the settings on the remote. Whumpee slid down until their palms and elbows touched the floor. A shock ran through their body, and they cried out.

Whumper tsked. "Head in the carpet. Raise your backside higher."

Whumpee fixed themselves, shaking.

Sit. Beg. Lay. Roll over.

Like they were a dog.

They were shocked several times for being too slow, making too much noise, not showing enough emotion in their eyes, bad posture, and whatever bullshit reason Whumper could come up with to see their pet jerk and cry in pain.

Their pet.

Was that what Whumpee saw themselves as? A pet, doing tricks for Whumper's entertainment?

Maybe it would be easier that way. Submitting to their purred commands, shooting Whumper puppy eyes when they praised them, falling into positions when they were asked... it could be so, so much easier.

Whumpee looked up at Whumper, at the expression on their face. They were smiling down at Whumpee with an achingly gentle expression.

"You're doing good, Whumpee, better than I expected. Like I said, I don't like hurting you. I shouldn't really have to, honestly. Alas, you respond very well to this form of training. We'll be done with it eventually." Whumper's hand rustled and then smoothed their hair.

Whumpee bowed their head, letting Whumper card their fingers through their hair.

"Oh, Whumpee... my sweet thing. I really missed having you. It's been so lonely here without you." Whumper got down on one knee, sighing. "Those eyes... won't you look at me, hun?"

Whumpee looked up, anxiety pricking at their neck.

"There we are. That. Those beautiful, innocent eyes." Whumper smiled lovingly. "Just... exquisite. I don't think I can ever give you back. We're meant to be together, you and I."

Whumpee didn't respond.

"Dear? Can't you talk?" Something like concern etched its way into Whumper's face. "You haven't spoken much since dinner.

"... can I go to bed?" Whumpee said softly.

They were granted a pair of warm black sweatpants and were locked back in their cage. Tucking back under their blankets, Whumpee thought of Caretaker's words to them.

"Whumpee, don't let them get to you. You promised you'd stay strong for me, right?"

Whumpee bit their lip, squeezing their pillow.

I'm sorry, Caretaker. I'm sorry for failing you.

Maybe I'm just as much of a pathetic toy Whumper says I am.

-

-

-

aren't you guys excited to wait another 9 months for pt 4? >:)

This series is literally my baby though oml

The long awaited...

Back Home P3

HEED WARNINGS

Reference to noncon, nudity, kidnapping, captivity, ransom, abuse, pet whump, caretaker × whumpee, fatshaming(scrutinizing gained weight [char isnt overweight, just not to "standard"), brief mentions of cancer, animal death, and human death, force feeding, shocking, creepy/gentle Whumper, stockholm syndrome (?)

-

Whumpee had already passed out when Whumper returned. They awoke what they assumed was hours later inside their kennel. To their relief, a blanket had been thrown over them— they had been tucked in. They pulled the comforter further up their body, trying to cover their bare shoulders.

They were almost back asleep when the bedroom door clicked and careful bootsteps approached.

Whumpee kept still, trying their best to appear like they were sleeping.

"Oh, Whumpee," Whumper cooed, stalking closer. "Are you awake in there?"

Whumpee's eyes cracked open just a fraction, revealing a sliver of their anxiety-laden gaze. They could feel the weight of Whumper's gaze on them, and the unease settled in their chest like a heavy stone. Their mind raced, desperately trying to think of a way to protect themselves from whatever Whumper had planned next.

Whumper's fingers trailed over the bars of the kennel, and Whumpee tensed, their heart pounding in their ears. "I know you're awake, my dear," Whumper purred, amusement tainting their words. "No need to pretend."

Swallowing hard, Whumpee forced themselves to relax, letting their body go limp as if still in slumber.

With a sudden jolt, Whumper's hand gripped Whumpee's ankle and pulled them out from under the covers. Whumpee yipped in fear as their bare body was pulled out from under the covers. They scrambled to pull the blanket back over their waist. Whumper's eyes bore into them, excited like a kid with a new toy.

"Such a fragile thing, aren't you?" Whumper mused, pouting.

"You've had your nap. Come on." Whumper's voice was stern. Whumpee shuffled forward, sitting on their knees. The cold air of Whumper's house made their skin tingle.

"Good pet," Whumper purred, scratching Whumpee's head. Whumpee pulled away from them, goosebumps prickling along their skin.

In response, Whumper grabbed their hair, making them yelp. Their voice was more disappointed than anything. "Oh, Whumpee. Absolutely not. You'll accept the affection I give you, got it?"

Whumpee cowered beneath them, their heart thumping.

"Got it?" The hand in their hair twisted and pulled up. Whumpee had to take the weight off their hands and stretch upwards for fear of their hair being ripped out.

"I understand," they squeaked, falling back to their hands and knees as Whumper released them.

"Good, hun. Now come along, will you?" Whumper started to leave the room, and Whumpee scrambled after them on their knees.

Whumper strode confidently through the hall, the monotonous tip tap of their shoes on the hardwood floors echoing against the walls. Whumpee followed close behind, staring at the heels of Whumper's shoes.

"You hungry yet? You must've burned quite a few calories before you passed out earlier." Whumper didn't check behind them to make sure Whumpee was following. Whumpee was breathing heavily through their nose as they kept up with Whumper's swift stride.

Once in the kitchen, Whumper finally turned. Their intense eyes scanned over Whumpee, seeming to rake through them and study every imperfection.

"You're out of shape, dear," Whumper leaned down, pinching the chub of their cheek. "The hell was Caretaker feeding you?"

"I eat whatever I want," Whumpee retorted, looking up at Whumper.

"You've put on weight, love. It's a shame, really. You were in exquisite shape under my care..." Whumper rose back to their feet, snagging a finger under Whumpee's collar and dragging them forward into the kitchen. "It's okay, sweetie, it's not your fault. It's that wretched Caretaker's fault. They let you get like this. But it's okay. We'll get you back to your regimen, and you'll be back in shape in no time." They patted Whumpee's cheek affectionately.

Whumpee didn't respond, struggling to keep up as they were dragged through the tiled kitchen. They saw new installments in the house as they were pulled through.

Whumpee got a better look as they arrived. Right between the fridge and a counter, there was a fancy padded dog beg with a chain hanging from the wall that was long enough to touch the bed.

"Go on, sit." Whumper tugged them forward. "Then I'll clip you in, and you'll be nice and secure."

Whumpee crawled forward slowly, feeling their hands and knees sink into the soft bed. They heard a little click as the chain clipped to their collar and turned to see Whumper standing over them.

"Stay there and be good, kay? Dinner will be ready soon." Whumper rubbed Whumpee's chin affectionately, then pulled away.

Whumpee stayed absolutely silent, leaning back against the wall as Whumper began to pull ingredients out of the fridge, an assortment of vegetables and fish.

God, they were cold. Whumpee sat against the wall, refusing to let their guard down for a second.

Whumpee tensed up as Whumper approached them.

"Open. Try this." A fork prodded at Whumpee's lips. "I tried a new rice recipe. And yes dear, you're getting rice. I figured it'd help warm you back up to your diet."

Whumpee chewed the rice, eyes on Whumper.

Why are they being so nice?

Maybe if they stayed quiet, Whumper would get bored of them.

Where are you, Caretaker?

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

It took a lot to make Caretaker cry.

They hadn't cried when their first dog had been hit by a car. They hadn't cried like their siblings had when their grandmother was diagnosed with cancer. Hell- they barely cried when their dad kicked the bucket.

But here they were, clutching Whumpee's dirty sweater to their chest. Wrecked. That was the best word for it.

Every muscle screamed for them to go find Whumpee, to bring them home, wrap them in a hundred layers of bubble wrap and never let them go again.

They couldn't.

It took most of their energy to crawl through the house to the bedroom and dig the sweater from their hamper. Everything hurt. Their cracked rib screeched in fury every time they took a shuddering breath, their bruised cheekbones stinging against the white sheets.

Well- they had been white once. Now they were blotted with a grim, deep red where Caretaker's blood had seeped in.

You have to do something.

Caretaker went to sit up after a moment, pain shooting up their sprained wrist. They fell back to the bed, hissing.

Don't be a wuss, they scolded themself. Whumpee's in much worse pain than this. Do this for their sake.

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

Whumpee was being served a gourmet salmon filet with a plate of fresh veggies.

They stared down at the meal, picking at the stalks of celery disdainfully.

Whumper sat a few feet in front of them, enjoying the very same dish. Their eyes flicked up and met Whumpee's, and a grin split their face. "Enjoying your salmon?"

"I don't eat fish." They responded, averting their eyes and picking up a slice of cucumber with their fork.

"You eat fish all the time, silly." Whumper laughed, continuing to bore their eyes into Whumpee. "Go on, try it."

"I don't eat fish." Whumpee repeated, biting into the crisp cucumber.

Their wrist was seized, and their fork clattered across the tablecloth. Whumpee choked on their cucumber slice, quickly swallowing it down.

"You ate fish nearly every day I had you." Whumper said. Whumpee's wrist was pinned against the table. "What right do you have," Whumper hissed, "to refuse your nice, home-cooked meal?"

Now the steak knife was tracing across their palm. Whumpee's other hand gripped the table and they did their best not to whine.

Whumpee took in a deep breath. "No, please-"

Whumper ignored them, spinning the knife on Whumpee's palm. "Oh hush, now. That'll get you nowhere. I make you delicious, healthy food and I expect you to eat it. You're lucky I even let you eat at the table.

You know I don't like having to hurt you," they said. "Apologise, and we can move on, dear."

"I'll eat," Whumpee spoke quietly, unable to shake the waver in their voice.

"And?" Whumper traced the lines of their palm ever so gently, causing Whumpee's hand to twitch.

"And I'm sorry."

"Good." Whumper finally amended, releasing their wrist. "Get to eating, now. You'll need the energy."

Whumpee didn't reply, cutting into the salmon finally. They took a bite, forcing it down. It was good fish, but all Whumpee could think about was their previous time spent in captivity. The same perfectly prepared fish and veggies were given to them at lunch and dinnertime before their beatings.

"There you go," Whumper said smoothly. "You're doing so much better already. I can tell that you're remembering how things are supposed to be."

Whumpee looked up at them momentarily, then returned to their meal.

Stay quiet, stay predictable, and stay boring, they thought. Whumper will get bored of me soon enough.

After dinner, Whumpee was brought to Whumper's bedroom. They were praying that they'd be shoved back into their cage for the evening, but they weren't quite that lucky.

Whumper sat them in the middle of the room, standing before them.

"Do you remember all your commands, Whumpee?" they asked, and when given no response, they continued. "Tonight we're gonna go through them all again. And if you've forgotten, I've got a little friend here to help us jog your memory." Whumper held up a shock collar, waving it enticingly.

Whumpee looked up at them, frozen. "Y- you don't have to use that, I- I'm fine without it. I've already got my collar on." Whumpee touched their collar gently.

Whumper brushed their hand away and switched their collar out.

"Here we are. Now kneel," Whumper ordered.

Whumpee did as they were told, kneeling with their back straight and their hands on their knees. Whumper hummed, nodding.

"Bow," Whumper said next, fiddling with the settings on the remote. Whumpee slid down until their palms and elbows touched the floor. A shock ran through their body, and they cried out.

Whumper tsked. "Head in the carpet. Raise your backside higher."

Whumpee fixed themselves, shaking.

Sit. Beg. Lay. Roll over.

Like they were a dog.

They were shocked several times for being too slow, making too much noise, not showing enough emotion in their eyes, bad posture, and whatever bullshit reason Whumper could come up with to see their pet jerk and cry in pain.

Their pet.

Was that what Whumpee saw themselves as? A pet, doing tricks for Whumper's entertainment?

Maybe it would be easier that way. Submitting to their purred commands, shooting Whumper puppy eyes when they praised them, falling into positions when they were asked... it could be so, so much easier.

Whumpee looked up at Whumper, at the expression on their face. They were smiling down at Whumpee with an achingly gentle expression.

"You're doing good, Whumpee, better than I expected. Like I said, I don't like hurting you. I shouldn't really have to, honestly. Alas, you respond very well to this form of training. We'll be done with it eventually." Whumper's hand rustled and then smoothed their hair.

Whumpee bowed their head, letting Whumper card their fingers through their hair.

"Oh, Whumpee... my sweet thing. I really missed having you. It's been so lonely here without you." Whumper got down on one knee, sighing. "Those eyes... won't you look at me, hun?"

Whumpee looked up, anxiety pricking at their neck.

"There we are. That. Those beautiful, innocent eyes." Whumper smiled lovingly. "Just... exquisite. I don't think I can ever give you back. We're meant to be together, you and I."

Whumpee didn't respond.

"Dear? Can't you talk?" Something like concern etched its way into Whumper's face. "You haven't spoken much since dinner.

"... can I go to bed?" Whumpee said softly.

They were granted a pair of warm black sweatpants and were locked back in their cage. Tucking back under their blankets, Whumpee thought of Caretaker's words to them.

"Whumpee, don't let them get to you. You promised you'd stay strong for me, right?"

Whumpee bit their lip, squeezing their pillow.

I'm sorry, Caretaker. I'm sorry for failing you.

Maybe I'm just as much of a pathetic toy Whumper says I am.

-

-

-

aren't you guys excited to wait another 9 months for pt 4? >:)

This series is literally my baby though oml

Violation

Masterpost | Read on Ao3

For BTHB: Rape/Noncon.

Lord Denholm wants many things from Altair that Altair doesn't intend to give. Lord Denholm takes what he wants anyway.

Contains: Explicit noncon, vampire whumper/bloodbag whumpee, intimate whump, captivity, restraint, wing whump, begging, dissociation

~~~

Altair was so cold.

Shadows coiled around him, insubstantial yet still holding him in place. They seemed to sap the warmth from his very bones, leaving him shivering as he knelt on the floor of Elze’ith’s room. And he could swear he felt them moving, sliding along his skin and between the feathers of his new wings, making him more dizzy and breathless and nauseous by the moment.

But the restricting shadows mattered less than the fact that Elze’ith was gone. Lord Denholm had ripped them apart and dragged Elze’ith away, and though Altair had fought, Lord Denholm’s shadows easily pinned him down. Elze’ith’s screams still rang in Altair’s ears. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but it felt like hours. It was certainly long enough for Altair to feel Elze’ith’s absence, for worry and dread to weigh heavy in his mind. Their embrace when Altair’s wings had come out had been the first moment of peace Altair had felt in such a long time. Now it was gone, and so was Elze’ith, and Altair was alone again. And given Lord Denholm’s fury when he had taken Elze’ith away, Elze’ith would be paying the price for that fleeting serenity.

And he could feel… something. The faint presence in his mind swelled with something that felt like fear, before receding to the point that he could barely feel it. He didn’t know what that meant. Just that it couldn’t be good.

The door finally opened. Lord Denholm strode in, imperious as ever. The look on his face was unreadable, but his aura had calmed ever so slightly. There was still rage and power swirling in it, but not quite as much as when he had torn Elze’ith away. He came to stare down at Altair, not saying anything for a moment. Altair strained against the shadows holding him in place, but they held fast.

“What did you do to Elze’ith?”

“I needed to separate you two. He needs time alone to think, and you, little ruin, need some individual attention.” Lord Denholm’s voice was a low purr as he regarded Altair. “After all, despite your disobedience, you have made quite the breakthrough today.”

Before Altair had an opportunity to respond, the shadows engulfing him drew back, taking him with them. He cried out as he was pulled off the floor and deposited on his back on Elze’ith’s bed, wings splayed beneath him. His arms were pulled above his head and his legs were wrenched apart, making him wince at the force. Then the mass of shadows melted away, leaving only the tendrils holding his arms and legs in place.

His heartbeat picked up in his chest. He could see where this was going. He had feared this ever since Lord Denholm had captured him. Now it seemed Lord Denholm finally intended to fulfill one of his long-standing threats, and Altair wasn’t ready. Digging deep, he reached for his magic once again. Maybe now that something had changed within him, now that he had awoken to the divine power in his blood, his magic would finally answer him. But just the same as every time before, the cuffs around his wrists kept him from summoning flames to his fingertips or causing lightning to crackle in the air.

All Altair could do was struggle futilely against the shadows holding him down and watch as Lord Denholm moved about the room. Despite feeling like smoke against his skin, the shadows were utterly unyielding, barely offering any slack as Altair pulled on them. Lord Denholm seemed to pay his efforts little mind as he pulled a few things from the wardrobe. When he approached Altair, he carried a handful of the same silk strips that had been used to tie Altair to the canopy earlier that evening, as well as a small bottle that had Altair’s blood running cold.

“Bastard,” Altair snarled. “I’m going to kill you for this.”

“Hush,” Lord Denholm said softly. He placed the bottle on the table before taking one of the silks and wrapping it around Altair’s wrist. The shadow holding it retreated as Lord Denholm did so. 

Altair furrowed his brow. Why was he restraining Altair using mundane means, when he clearly could do so magically? Was he worried about running out of magic?

Not that it mattered, when his arm was being fastened to the bedpost. Though he strained, he still couldn’t get himself free. Lord Denholm’s hands were almost gentle as he took Altair’s other wrist to repeat the process. Every brush of Lord Denholm’s frigid hands against his skin made him shiver in disgust.

“Don’t touch me!” It wouldn’t do much good. He knew that. But he couldn’t just do nothing while this was happening. Even if his protests were useless, they were all he had.

But Lord Denholm seemed to take that as an invitation. He ran a hand down Altair’s bare chest, smiling when Altair tried and failed to shrink away. “You need to understand, my little ruin. You are mine. Mine to touch, mine to use, mine to mold.” 

Altair bit his lip as Lord Denholm’s hand trailed lower, tracing the outline of the scar on Altair’s hip before moving to the waistband of his pants. He lingered for a moment, almost tauntingly, before slipping his fingers around the fabric and slowly pulling down. Every inch seemed to take an eternity, and Altair grit his teeth as goosebumps broke out across his newly-exposed flesh.

“Beautiful,” Lord Denholm purred, setting Altair’s pants aside and running a finger down his leg. Altair tried desperately to kick out at him, but the shadows’ hold remained strong. The resistance merely earned a chuckle from Lord Denholm as he took more silks, securing them first to Altair’s ankles and then to the bedposts, leaving his legs spread open. 

Altair’s breath was starting to come in shorter, harsher bursts. His mind raced, his eyes darting about the room, searching for a way out. But there was no way out. He was helpless. Lord Denholm was going to rape him, and there was nothing he could do.

“Easy, little ruin.” Lord Denholm shifted forward on the bed until he was looming over Altair, a shadow blotting out the room’s low light. Altair could see the way Lord Denholm’s pants had grown tight, and the sight made him taste bile. “Breathe. I can’t have you passing out yet.”

A part of Altair almost wanted to hyperventilate until he lost consciousness. At least then he wouldn’t have to feel what was coming. But he didn’t want to give Lord Denholm the satisfaction of seeing him so afraid. Instead, he just swallowed. “You-” 

Before Altair could say anything else, Lord Denholm placed a hand on the top of Altair’s wing. The cold touch shocked Altair to his core; part of him wanted to melt into the gentle hand, while part of him could feel the ill-intent and wanted to get away. It was far more direct and intense than anything he had ever felt, and he gasped as the combination of sensation and emotion immediately threatened to overwhelm him. Lord Denholm only smiled and deliberately trailed his hand down the length of Altair’s wing. The motion drew a whine from Altair’s throat as the strange, conflicting feelings managed to grow even stronger.

“Exquisite. I knew you would be. You just needed the right push,” Lord Denholm mused. “How many people have tried and failed to unlock your true potential, my little ruin?”

Altair, shivering on the bed, didn’t intend to respond. But the words came tumbling out anyway. “I always thought they were wrong. All my life my family told me I was special, told me I had a unique spark of divinity. But their years of training amounted to nothing. Nothing changed after I left, though people kept chasing me, acting like they knew something I didn’t. I-” 

He cut himself off with a long, shuddering inhale. Why had he said that? It wasn’t as if he wanted to talk about any of this, let alone with Lord Denholm. But it was as if he hadn’t had a choice. Lord Denholm asked, and he answered.

And in response Lord Denholm’s smile grew. He worked his fingers in between Altair’s feathers to more directly touch the sensitive skin underneath. For a moment Altair’s thoughts stalled, his breath catching in his throat. 

“There was a time where you wouldn’t have even considered answering me. Have you finally realized your place, then?”

“I don’t want to answer you!” Once again it felt as though the words were being pulled from his throat. “I don’t know how you’re making me, but-” Realization rippled through him. “It’s my wings, isn’t it. Something about them is making me talk. It’s the only thing that’s changed. I- stop touching them!” He tried to twist away, but his bonds held him fast, leaving him with nowhere to go. There was just the bed beneath him, and Lord Denholm above him, with his cold, insistent hands and his widening grin.

“I already told you. You are mine. I will touch you however I please. All the better that it makes you so much more transparent. I rather like this side of you; I cannot wait to see more of it.” The ostensive gentleness of Lord Denholm’s touch abruptly vanished as he dug his nails into Altair’s wing and scraped slowly along towards the tip. The sudden pain was far more intense than it should have been, and Altair found himself arching his back with a strangled groan, eyes clenched shut as the sensation washed over him.

Then, finally, Lord Denholm drew his hand away. The sudden loss of contact left Altair gasping. He was left with an ache that took several long moments to begin to fade. He didn’t want Lord Denholm’s hand back, but part of him did. The feeling was bewildering in how utterly unfamiliar it was. It was enough to make him want to crawl out of his own skin, even if Lord Denholm wasn’t intending on assaulting him.

He heard shifting above him. Taking a few deep breaths to steady himself, he opened his eyes. Lord Denholm had taken off his pants and set them, neatly folded, to the side. Now he loomed over Altair once again, his cock erect and ready. 

Ice flooded Altair’s veins. “No,” he breathed, not even directed at Lord Denholm, just in disbelief and horror. “No, you can’t—”

“You beg so prettily, little ruin,” Lord Denholm murmured. “If only anyone would listen.”

Cold, slick fingers slipped between Altair’s legs, pressing lightly along his folds. Altair froze, his breath coming to a complete standstill, as though the lack of movement might help him hide from what was to come. Lord Denholm might have said something, but Altair couldn’t hear it over the pounding of his heart roaring in his ears. It seemed Lord Denholm wasn’t looking for a response, though, as after a moment of exploration, one finger slipped inside.

A high-pitched, terrified whimper resonated in Altair’s throat. He heard a sound that might have been Lord Denholm humming, or maybe laughing, as he slowly pushed his finger in, all the way up to the knuckle. It was too much, and his finger was so cold, and it didn’t necessarily hurt but it sure as hell didn’t feel good. Time seemed to stretch and warp as Lord Denholm moved his finger within Altair as though he were mapping out the space inside. The entire time, Altair stayed frozen, mind blank with panic.

And then Lord Denholm withdrew, just as agonizingly slowly as he had pushed his finger in. Altair let out a shuddery breath as soon as the intrusion was gone, his lungs seeming to work again as he gasped for air. The reprieve was brief, however, as Altair felt something much larger pressing against him.

Tears sprung to his eyes. If anything broke him, it would be this. 

Lord Denholm smiled down at him. “Fret not, little ruin. The first time is always the hardest.”

And then Lord Denholm sank his cock into Altair.

Altair opened his mouth in a soft, wordless cry. Lord Denholm went slowly, taking his time, as though he were giving Altair a chance to adjust, as though he wanted to enjoy it. But there was no adjusting to being violated so utterly. Now it did hurt, sparks of sharp pain shooting through him, because what little preparation Lord Denholm had given him hadn’t been nearly enough. Altair instinctively clenched, trying to keep Lord Denholm out, but that only made Lord Denholm groan in pleasure as he continued to press in, inch by tortuous inch until he fully bottomed out.

“There,” Lord Denholm purred. “You feel so good, my ruinous little angel, stretched around my cock like this. Simply perfect.”

He began to lazily roll his hips. The movements were small, but they still sent jolts of sensation through Altair’s core. It might have been gentle in any other scenario, but the mockery of intimacy only made it all the more cruel. 

“No,” Altair gasped. “No, stop, please-”

Lord Denholm brought up his hand, finger still covered in Altair’s fluid, up to stroke Altair’s wing once again. A full-body shudder of disgust rippled through Altair. “Your begging only makes you more enticing, my little ruin. By all means, please continue.”

“Please. Please, I can’t do this, just stop, you can hurt me as much as you want, just don’t do this.” The words tumbled freely from his mouth without his conscious permission. Honestly, he would have begged completely willingly if he thought it might have any chance of stopping this. But he knew all he was doing was giving Lord Denholm even more perverse satisfaction.

“Yes, that’s it, just like that,” Lord Denholm purred. He began to speed up his pace, rocking his hips into Altair more earnestly. As he did he threaded his fingers in between Altair’s feathers and tightened his grip, as if seeking purchase. And his smile, that dreadfully smug smile, never left as he stared down at Altair to take in his every reaction.

It was too much. The hand in his wing was a perpetual starburst of intense sensation and emotional turmoil, enough to leave him speechless and desperate for relief. Each movement of Lord Denholm within him was a new flare of pleasure-pain-disgust, bright and repulsive and inescapable. Combined it was utterly overwhelming, invasive in a way he never would have thought possible, like his entire being was being turned inside out just for Lord Denholm’s pleasure. He wanted to crawl out of his skin. He wanted to rip Lord Denholm apart with his bare hands and burn his remains to cinders. He wanted to keep begging and begging until it finally stopped. But he couldn’t do any of that, could barely breathe anymore as Lord Denholm just kept going.

Time smeared and blurred and bent. Altair was trapped in that ceaseless moment, as his feathers crumpled under Lord Denholm’s fingers, as Lord Denholm’s smile taunted him, as he was forced to stretch to take every thrust of Lord Denholm’s cock. At some point, he thought he might have started crying, but he honestly wasn’t sure. The wetness on his face might have just been from Lord Denholm leaning down to kiss his cheeks. All he knew was that this was the worst torture he had ever been forced to endure, this purposeful violation of Altair’s body and soul.

“You are divine like this, little ruin,” Lord Denholm said, his face suddenly next to Altair’s ear. The movement of his hips had sped up again, to the point where it was almost frantic. Altair found himself trying and failing to bite back whimpers. “So open and yielding and submissive for me. Just as you should be. Now, let me see how you come undone.”

A few more thrusts and Altair shuddered as he felt Lord Denholm climax, liquid surging to fill him in a way that had him whining in distress. Lord Denholm groaned, gently grinding down into Altair as though he were trying to wring as much pleasure from the orgasm as possible. The desperate hope that this might finally be over had barely entered Altair’s head when Lord Denholm’s fingers came down to press against Altair’s clit. The touch was the last thing he wanted, and yet it built on top of the pressure that Lord Denholm had already been forcibly building inside of Altair’s core. He whimpered in protest, but Lord Denholm was insistent in his ministrations. It didn’t take long before orgasm washed over Altair too, unwanted and revolting and yet somehow still a relief.

Suddenly there were teeth in his neck, the pain sharp and bright. Altair gasped as Lord Denholm sank in his fangs and started to drink. Being fed from was never pleasant, but somehow this was worse, with all of the conflicting sensations and emotions still roiling within him. Lord Denholm’s hand was still in his wing. His cock was still in Altair’s pussy. Altair didn’t even have the strength to try to pull away or protest or react at all as he was slowly drained of blood, on top of everything else he had just lost.

He wasn’t sure how long Lord Denholm drank. It felt longer than usual; Altair felt faint when he finally pulled away, although there were many things that might have caused that. Lord Denholm almost looked drunk when he looked down at Altair, his pupils dilated, his mouth stained red.

“Magnificent,” he said, licking his lips. A weak shiver went through Altair at the sight. “I knew that this would be just what you needed, my little ruin.”

All Altair could do was shake his head. He hated this— this was wrong— but he just didn’t have the strength to reply. He was exhausted, wrung out, physically and emotionally.

“Oh, it’s okay,” Lord Denholm said. The hand in his wing released its grip and began smoothing over his feathers in almost a soothing motion. Lord Denholm’s other hand rose to cup his cheek. “You’ll get used to it in time. This is where you belong, after all.”

Altair couldn’t hold back the sob that burst out of him. He was strong, but he didn’t think he was strong enough to handle this. Not again. He just wanted to be with Elze’ith. He just wanted to be safe, to be free.

He was starting to think he could never have that.

Finally, with a luxurious groan, Lord Denholm pulled out of Altair. Another sob wracked Altair’s body as he felt the mix of their fluids gush out of him onto the sheets beneath him. It only compounded the bone-deep feeling of disgust that had long-since settled over him. 

Lord Denholm gave one last pat to his wing before reaching for his pants, making him flinch. “I should return you to your cell,” he mused as he began to dress himself again. “You still have a lot to answer for, after all. But you have made progress, and you performed well for me. I think you’ve earned some rest here.”

Altair’s first instinct was that he didn’t want any reward that would come after something like that. A numbness had settled in next to the maelstrom of other emotions raging within him, but he still felt that loud and clear. And yet… this was his partner’s room. He turned his head weakly to the side to look at Lord Denholm as he asked, “Elze’ith…?”

Lord Denholm merely shook his head. “My light is being taken care of. Just as you are being taken care of, little ruin. If you behave well enough, I might let you see each other again. But not before.”

The flicker of hope Altair had managed to find sputtered and died. He would be sleeping in Elze’ith’s bed, but Elze’ith wouldn’t be coming. He would be all alone. All alone in the aftermath of his lowest moment.

“I hate you,” Altair muttered softly. He had to, because otherwise the despair would utterly overwhelm him.

“I know,” Lord Denholm said. His pants were back on, and he came to sit on the bed near Altair’s head. Fingers began carding through his feathers once again, and though Altair whined and pulled weakly on his bonds, there was still no escaping Lord Denholm’s touch. “I assure you, one day that’ll change.”

And that, perhaps, scared Altair more than anything.

No devil hides beneath my bed

Part 1, Part 2

AO3 CW: nsfw (minors dni), whumper pov, past noncon, promise of future noncon, pet whump, captivity, dehumanization, sexual slavery, put on display, intimate whumper, creepy whumper, multiple whumpers, cages, restraints, ring gag, forced arousal, object insertion, overstimulation, auction, noncon touching

Tonight Scarlet hosts the Lanista Society for a special dinner event. The Champion is the coveted prize, and Ivan is honored to have been the cause of it.

Champion taglist: @emmettnet , @ostensiblyfunctional

Ivan is left marveling once again at his superior's immaculate taste.

High Martinet Matar sure knew how to throw a party.

Her guests had been greeted with the finest. A banquet of gourmet Crescentine dishes and exotic delicacies. Fresh fruits and cheeses, tender meats and fish, spiced breads and decadent sweets, aged wines from the mountain vineyards. The finest money and magic could offer.

Their venue is just as grand, perhaps more so due to its creativity. A conjured demiplane Scarlet produced specially for this affair. Ivan finds it rather ingenious.

The woman was no stranger to hosting guests at her manor; he himself had been there only last week. But she limits those meetings to no more than a few people at a time. Fewer bodies are easier to keep track of. With large parties like this, comes the ever present risk of unsavory infiltrators. The Lanista Society held members with many enemies. The uninvited in disguise or potential rivals waiting for the right moment to snoop around. Larger groups made it inconvenient to keep tabs on everyone.

The demiplane removed that risk.

No need to worry about the unwanted loose in your home if you're not bringing them to your home to begin with.

And as a bonus, the spell's design was limited only by the imagination. And a wizard of Scarlet's caliber knew fine decor.

All which was fully on display for tonight's event. It was a special occasion after all.

On one end of the chamber, seated on a raised platform, was an ornate bronze cage. Round and domed at the top like one of those old-fashioned bird cages that didn't allow room for the bird to spread its wings. However this cage was far larger, for its occupant was no bird.

Scarlet found the perfect display for the Society's beloved Champion. An advantageous maneuver given he was the subject of business this evening. If Ivan had thought he looked enticing their first meeting a week ago, Scarlet had expertly ensured that the people present now would be incapable of keeping their eyes off him.

In fact, there was already a crowd forming around the cage.

Knees spread and wrists secured above him, the Champion was giving everyone a show with his trembling body. Years of fighting had toned his muscles, and the shimmering red velvet bands only accentuated them. Scarlet must have gotten the outfit custom tailored, for it turned the tiefling's form into a canvas painted with red. Velvet strips hugging his thighs and shoulders. Flowers of beaded lace climbing from hip to collar to the small of his back. Dangling garnets mimicked the appearance of dripping blood.

Absolutely exquisite.

Scarlet had elected to keep his lower region covered, draping that same black cloth around his waist that he'd worn last time. Ivan could see the sense; what was already being shown was enough of a free sample.

The guests were permitted to touch, at least to the extent they were allowed without having to pay. And the Champion’s body was a buffet getting more attention than the actual food. Fingers traced the soft velvet, then slipped in between to caress exposed skin.

“He has the best reactions if you stroke his tail,” Ivan had informed them, and they were quick to take advantage.

The touches worked well to elicit forced pleasure, though perhaps not as much as some other things.

Scarlet couldn't allow her pet to spend the whole party glaring or growling at guests, so Ivan suggested a means to keep him occupied. Just a couple simple toys, one placed inside him and the other encircling the base of his tail where he was most sensitive. Both hidden from the guests eyes with a specially crafted belt that doubled to prevent the tiefling from making a mess of himself.

From how much he was trembling, struggling to close his legs, face flushed as he moaned around the ring gag strapped around his head, the toys were doing their job. And the guests were very much appreciating the sight. Ivan could see a number of people with their hands under their pants.

He couldn't blame them. They stood before a desperate succubus, beckoning them all with pleading huffs of breath and squirming hips. Ivan himself was imagining how pretty that face would look around his cock.

He would have to wait his turn.

Ting! Ting! Ting!

The rhythmic taps of a wine glass drew the attention of the masses to the head of the table where Scarlet stands.

“Now now, everyone. I know my pet has been an exciting treat for you all, but I do hope you help yourselves to the dessert table.”

There were more than a few bouts of embarrassed laughter. Ivan included, as he too nearly forgot to go fill up his dish.

“I'm pleased to see he has garnered such interest,” she continues. “Just a quick reminder that the bidding period ends in thirty minutes. The current highest offer stands at 2,500 platinum.”

Well, not too bad a price tag for the Champion’s first official patron (Ivan's previous night with him didn't count). And if this went to a formal auction at the end of the party, if there was still an active bidding war, that amount would likely grow.

But already, he'd be returning home tomorrow with a decent payment. In a deal that spoke wonders of her generosity, Scarlet had agreed to save a percentage of the funds for him. None of this would've happened had he not raised the suggestion to her.

Lucrative business indeed. Ivan could recognize many big names at this party. Politicians, industry tycoons, nobility, all those with plentiful riches and power. He wonders if he could convince some of them to assist him in forming a similar operation in Mężnydzik. Or perhaps a connected branch.

Those were thoughts for the future. Right now, he was enjoying the view.

The first moment the cage is clear of onlookers, Ivan walks over and reaches through the bronze bars to lift up the Champion’s head to face him. With how long he'd had his mouth held open, his chin was streaked with drool, but thankfully Ivan had the foresight to wear gloves.

“Just like I said, little devil,” he purrs, gazing into eyes that struggle to focus through the mind clouding sensations. The tiefling whines in protest as Ivan lets his other hand trail up his thigh. “I knew you'd be quite popular.”

There's a moment of clarity to the Champion’s stare. A moment he's able to fight through the tears and the unwanted stimulation and-

Oh. Well isn't that a nasty look.

Reference for the outfit here.

behavior modification master list

WRU has hired renowned behaviorist Dr. Ivan Peters to refine their training protocol for Romantic acquisitions. When Jack Kenyon–the brilliant young partner of one of Ivan’s med school rivals–applies to be Dr. Peters’ research assistant, he has no idea what he’s signing on for. 

Please see individual chapters for detailed and specific content warnings. This story will contain noncon elements [*]; proceed with caution!

behavior modification pre-timeline content: organized in rough chronological order

past snippet: jack's fourteenth birthday

-/-/-

part one: jack and ivan at dinner

part two: jack and joe, before captivity

part three: jack's abduction

part four: ivan welcomes to jack to captivity

part five: worries for joe, bath time for jack

part six: jack's intake interview (part one)

part seven: jack's intake interview (part two)

part eight: past, present, and future

part nine: breakfast time

part ten: jack learns his positions

part eleven: jack's consequences*

part twelve: ivan's apology

part thirteen: jack's last chance to feel*

part fourteen: joe and his mother

part fifteen: prelude to punishment

part sixteen: jack's first treatment*

part seventeen: deprivation

part eighteen: jack loses joe

part nineteen: case notes*

part twenty: yes, sir*

drabble: statue*

drabble: bravo*

drabble: good boy, sweet boy*

-/-/-

behavior modification post-rescue content: organized in rough chronological order

first night home: joe gives jack a bath

first night home: from joe's pov

first night home: dinner and bedtime

drabble: zombie

trouble sleeping: grounding

just after: small decisions

drabble: joe sees ivan's videos

continuation of above: cut

drabble: he needs me

early recovery: bittersweet

starting over: undone

drabble: press conference blues

drabble: jack trusts joe

first time after: lightning glass

future snippet: rest now

drabble: jack's hair

drabble: it's over

future snippet: eros

baby drabble: christmas tree

baby drabble: corduroy bear

years later, with their child: lucky

kid-related drabble: lemonade stand

teenaged hallie miniseries: like father, like daughter

teenaged hallie miniseries: kids will be kids

teenaged hallie miniseries: daddy's little girl *

teenaged hallie miniseries: daddy and chief

-/-/-

role reversal alternate universe:

part one: sweetheart

part two: open *

part three: filled*

part four: initiation*

part five: better*

post-rescue drabble: mama

post-rescue drabble: the blanket is warm

post-rescue drabble: hidden shame

post-rescue drabble: nightmares

-/-/-

role reversal alternate universe on steroids:

part x: a real white knight

the kennel master list

Will and Tommy are headed on an ill-advised camping trip when they encounter some car trouble. Luckily, Doc Barker is there with a tow and some hot coffee. But when Will wakes at Doc Barker's place the next morning, he realizes that he and Tommy have far more than car trouble on their hands.

Please see individual chapters for detailed and specific content warnings. This story will be heavy on humiliation and dehumanization and may eventually contain noncon elements [*]; proceed with caution!

-/-/-

part one: on the road

part two: caged

part three: champ

part four: rise and shine

part five: good boy

part six: whipping boy

part seven: squeaky clean

part eight: red for romantic

part nine: in pieces

part ten: speak

part eleven: a perfect puppy*

part twelve: betrayal *

part thirteen: surprise*

part fourteen: in hell*

part fifteen: something like relief

part sixteen: take it like a champ*

part seventeen: a part of it

part eighteen: this is his life

part x/flash forward: room to build

-/-/-

post-rescue content

will's early recovery: tender first aid

will's early recovery: thankful

will's recovery: hope house

will's recovery: first date (a prelude)

annie's recovery: first date (a prelude)

tommy's recovery: first date (a prelude)

his wings are clipped, his feet are tied...

i was kindly given permission to write Déomas Overbridge, my absolutely beloved whumpee of @much-ado-about-whumping (go read this masterlist of his excellent story)! thank you so much, friend! ❤️❤️❤️

(also, i have combined the prompts for the second and fifth day of this challenge for this fic!)

@whumptober day 2 / day 5 • nowhere to run / every whumpee’s needs • caged / running out of air

CW: EXPLICIT NONCON, captivity, intimate whumper, asphyxiation, threats of noncon body modification, claustrophobia, starvation mention, body image mention, choking, biting, dissociation, animal death mention (just being real generous with the tags y’all)

title insp. by maya angelou’s poem “caged bird”.

~

Déomas hasn’t felt this trapped in a while, even imprisoned as he is, because there is no struggle he can make, none at all, against this…this new brand of restraint, hutched within his own goddamn ribs. 

Keep reading