Shannon 🌌 She/Her 🌌 25 🌌 Whump blog! Here to hurt my characters (then maybeee offer them comfort... depends if I'm feeling nice 😇) pls feel free to send ask/requests! 🌌 Header by the AMAZING @emmettland!!! Of Izaak & Ronan from my 'A Taste of Your Own Medicine' series!!!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
maybe they naturally caught an illness, maybe they were drugged so that they wouldn’t fight back. in any case, their body is too weak to fight back and they’re taken advantage of while they try to recover.
being raped by someone who is supposed to care for you (like a friend, doctor or nurse) while your at your most vulnerable. maybe whumpee begs them to stop because they feel like they’re about to throw up
they already feel so weak and so uncomfortable in their body. nausea and dizziness and exhaustion war with one another, aches and chills seizing their muscles and prickling their skin. whumpee feels awful. it’s a terrifying kind of vulnerability, too - they’re weak and miserable and sleeping for much of the day.
and then it happens. whumpee’s friend who was looking after them, offering to help them through the worst of their illness, climbs into the bed with them. they’re fevered and in pain, and at first it’s a relief. having someone to lean on, someone who will maybe stroke their hair and get them a cold wash cloth, sounds really nice.
it goes wrong so quickly, and everything after that seems to take an age. whumpee isn’t even sure at first if they’re having some kind of awful, fever-induced nightmare. whumper can’t really be doing this - they can’t really be forcing whumpee’s aching body onto their front, with their head awkwardly lolling off the edge of the mattress. whumper said something about how if they’re going to throw up, they want it out of the way.
whumpee’s head is swimming. they breathe in ragged gasps, their body jolted rhythmically by whumper’s movements, the way their hips are being gripped and pinned overwhelming their weak struggles. it goes on for a long time. it goes on for what feels like forever. whumpee cried and gags and tries not to be sick. by the time they survive the assault, they’re in so much pain they can only lay there where they were raped and make pathetic whimpering sounds.
it just resumes as usual after that. whumper takes care of them. they comfort and soothe whumpee’s frightened reactions, murmuring softly and touching them gently when they flinch and beg whumper not to do it again. the illness eventually passes. whumpee breaks away from the friendship, unable to stand being in the room with whumper.
(the next time they’re really sick, and a different friend offers to look after them, they can’t handle it. whumpee says no, hostile and aggressive at the suggestion. what would happen if it got too bad? if they needed the help? what if they had to call their friend and walk back the rejection, no matter how terrified they were?)
I mean, the starvation, the beatings, the stress, sleep deprivation, trauma, repeated assault on his body - it's a given ita going to happen to the poor boy! His poor body is exhausted!
Would you believe I have something like this written somewhere?! 😼 Joshy gets zero relief!
cw:/ recovery, rescue whump, trauma response, vampire caretaker, bloodbag whumpee, whumpee thinks caretaker is new whumper, reference to previous torture/abuse/captivity, paranoia, medical interventions, loss of speech, loss of autonomy, disability/immobility (please let me know if I have missed any!)
Thank you to the ever-so-brilliant @alyscat for her amazing job beta-ing this and for rallying me on! 💞
What did the sky look like?
Declan realised he had forgotten. Something so simple, so painfully mundane. An everyday certainty the rest of the world took for granted, but he starved for even a fleeting glimpse.
No matter how hard he clawed at the edges of his mind, straining until a dull throb pulsed behind his eyes, he couldn't grasp hold of it. Rotting in the darkness of Vince’s basement had truly snuffed out the light.
A wash of blue here. A blinding glare there. Colours warped, bleeding into each other like ink and water. The more Declan fought to anchor the image, the faster it sank back down into the murky depths.
Bleary eyes drifted over to the drapes, now pulled completely shut, overlapping perfectly in the centre to seal out even the strayest, thinnest thread of morning light. That was the vamp’s doing. As long as those curtains were drawn, August could walk in whenever he pleased - at any ungodly hour. The sun was the only line of defence Declan had left, and now that was taken from him too.
What he wouldn’t give to steal a peek out the window, to check that the world hadn't vanished entirely from existence - maybe it was still out there, waiting patiently for him. Arms open and ready to embrace him like a long-lost lover.
Years. He didn't know how many - not anymore. He’d lost count somewhere along the way. Years wasted breathing in damp rot and mould instead of fresh air. Years spent choking on the blood Vince didn't drain from him, but chose to beat out of his lungs instead.
Now, the outside was right there. A few meagre feet away, just hiding past the glass. A whole world close enough to touch. He longed to see the light of day. Was that too much to ask?
But still, it was denied. Perhaps the vampire knew exactly what he was doing. Keep Declan in the dark long enough, and the memories would completely dissolve. He would stop looking for a way out; would accept these four corners as his entire earth.
And he would learn to worship August as his god.
Declan’s gaze then dropped to the nightstand, where the silver bell now mocked him. How stupid did the vampire think he was? Honestly? To dare imagine he could ever have his master at his beck and call was nothing short of a fantasy. He was the one at their mercy. Entirely. He wasn't allowed to make demands; his only job was to bend to theirs.
A test. Surely, it was just another test.
White-hot fury surged in his chest - to hell with the games and never-ending demands; Declan had more than earned a mere sliver of daylight for every agony he’d endured. With a frantic but clumsy motion, he tore the covers aside.
His legs looked like sticks; skin pale and stretched tight over atrophied muscle. He tried to swing them off the bed, but they felt like they belonged to someone else. He didn't even make it to his feet. His legs buckled instantly, sending him crashing hard onto the floor; he collapsed onto the rug with a muffled thud.
He lay there in a useless heap, his face pressed flat against the carpet. He was too weak, limbs completely refusing to obey him. It was working; he was entirely bedridden. And it was all August’s fault.
All of the gruelling ‘physiotherapy’. The exhausting vocal exercises. The vampire claimed it was all to help him heal. To rebuild his broken body. Give him back the voice Vince had stolen. Declan so desperately hoped deep down that it was the god-honest truth, that this was finally the beginning of the end.
But what if it wasn't?
What if it is all just a calculated strategy to break him down further? A genius way to exhaust him under the guise of "medicine," ensuring he would never have the strength to fight back, let alone run away.
His mind spiralled. August had been gentle. August gave him the bell. August actually stepped away when Declan signalled him to stop. But surely a monster didn't nurse its prey back to health without a catch. What reason would a vampire have to show humanity?
Were the speech lessons actually for Declan's benefit? Or did August just want a polite, well-behaved pet that would speak on command? Cry out for mercy? Was the physical therapy meant to make him strong, or to keep him too fatigued ever to pose a threat?
No. It couldn’t be for him. Everything was for August's benefit. Right down to the goddamn curtains being closed.
Gritting his teeth, Declan began to crawl. It was humiliating, like he was a newborn babe before taking his first steps. He had devolved. Elbow, hip, drag. Repeat. But he had to see for himself if the world was still there, that it hadn't turned its back on him.
He had just reached the hem of the curtain, trembling, tingling fingers fumbling for the fabric, when the door creaked open.
“Declan? I brought some - Jesus!”
Lucas dropped the tray. The sound of ceramic shattering on the floor sounded like a gunshot, and Declan cowered into himself, hands shaking over his head. In the blink of an eye, Lucas was darting across the room, hands hovering over Declan in a panic.
“Declan! What are you doing?! You're going to hurt yourself, man! Let's get you up, come on, back to bed-”
Lucas reached for his arm, and Declan lost it. He thrashed, his body erupting into a violent convulsion. A broken sound tore from his throat - a wordless cry of pure frustration and grief. He wasn't going back to that bed. He couldn’t bear to rot away in it for a second longer.
What’s the point of being dragged back from the dead, if he’s not allowed to live?
He threw his hand up, palm facing outward, fingers splayed wide. Stop.
Lucas froze instantly - as though the tables had turned and Declan suddenly possessed the power of persuasion. Lucas rocked back, his hands hovering in mid-air. "Okay! I stopped! I’m not touching you. Just breathe, man. Breathe. You’re good."
“Sky-” Declan sobbed, his eyes wild as he pointed a shaking finger up to the window. “S-Sun….p-pl-ease-”
Lucas glared at the drawn curtains, then back down at the weeping man, shivering on the floor. The frantic energy drained from Lucas, replaced by a sudden clarity.
“Shit…you just want to see the sky,” Lucas whispered. “God, Dec. I’m sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn’t realise.” His voice cracked, the confession tearing out of him like shrapnel.
Lucas sank to the floor, settling cross-legged right beside Declan. The guilt radiated from him, and he wiped beads of sweat from his brow. “I see it now. Promise I do. What we’ve been doing to you by keeping you stowed away in this room. It’s not right. No wonder you’re scared out your wits…from one cage to another…is that it?”
Declan’s shaking didn't stop, and he did not answer, but his eyes searched Lucas’s face, wide and glassy. Lucas had hit the bullseye. How could he look at this bedroom and see anything but another prison cell? Still trapped in confinement, cut off from daylight, stuck with needles day in and day out, no choice but to submit to his captor’s demands.
Lucas leaned in closer. “I’m taking you out there,” he promised, determined. “Outside. Right now. No more waiting. Only thing is, Dec…” He paused; he saw the flicker of hope in Declan’s eyes war with the ingrained terror. “I - I don’t think I’m strong enough to carry you down those stairs safely on my own. If I slip or stumble, I can’t risk breaking what’s left of you. I’m gonna need August’s help to carry you down there.”
Declan’s response was immediate in its desperation. He lunged forward, frail fingers hooking into the fabric of Lucas’s shirt, his forehead pressing hard against the other man’s chest.
Please no. His mind scrambled - logic went out the window as panic took the wheel. Down. Lucas had said down, and that’s all he heard. A basement, it had to be. His ingratitude came with a price, and this was how he would settle the debt. The vampire would drag him down there kicking and screaming. He’d begged for the sun, and now they would make sure he would never see it again.
“Nonono - come on now,” Lucas consoled, “It’s just for the stairs. I promise. I’m just nowhere near as strong as he is.”
A choked whine ripped from his throat. Declan shook his head until he saw stars. “N-Not him… y-...y-ou-”
"...Okay," Lucas breathed, more to himself than anyone. "Okay, Dec. I’ve got you. I’ll give it a try. Just…Just stay still for me, yeah?"
He slid his arms beneath Declan - one behind the back, one beneath the knees - and braced for the weight. He expected resistance, the solid heft of a man.
He expected too much.
As he stood, he didn't even strain. Declan rose like he was made of feathers. Lucas could feel every ridge of Declan’s spine through the shirt, the sickening curve of ribs that felt like they would snap under even a gentle pressure. He was holding a ghost.
Lucas wasn't a violent man, but at that moment, he wanted nothing more than to find the monster that did this and burn him to ashes.
How? He thought bitterly, his jaw clenching. How do you do this to a living being? How do you erode someone’s soul? Let someone just...fade away?
"You're okay," Lucas grunted. "I've got you. Not gonna drop you."
Declan didn’t fight, but he didn’t help either. He went limp as a rag doll against Lucas’s chest, his head lolling against the man’s shoulder. He was convinced he’d misbehaved, caught red-handed. He’d squandered whatever twisted privilege he’d been given. Declan braced himself for the familiar sight of a cellar door to loom into view, to be thrown back into the dark once again.
As they stepped out of the bedroom, Declan felt the house expand around him. It was his very first time venturing beyond the four walls of his room, and he gazed about in stunned bewilderment at his surroundings, lips parted slightly, eyes shifting rapidly.
Vince’s estate had been blindingly opulent - antique, ornate windows, crystal chandeliers dripping from the ceilings, historical artwork Declan wasn’t permitted to lay his filthy eyes on, lest they ‘tarnish the canvas’. Here wasn’t anything like that. It felt smaller, simpler and deeply lived-in.
There were no massive, intimidating gold frames of artwork here - just small, slightly crooked photos of faces he didn't recognise. Near the top of the stairs, the wallpaper was peeling slightly at the seam, a tiny flaw Vince would have had a servant flayed for. Lucas’s hand shifted on a scuffed mahogany bannister that had clearly seen years of use. Outside a door just down the hall, a basket of unfolded laundry sat out in the open, and someone had left a paperback book resting face-down on a windowsill, its spine creased.
Moving past a row of closed doors, Declan’s eyes tracked each one. His chest tightened, wondering what was on the other side. Were they more bedrooms, or closets, or rooms he would never be allowed to see?
Lucas made it down the stairs and walked straight into the library, where August was sitting by the unlit fireplace, flicking through a thick medical textbook open on his knee.
August looked up, his red eyes blinking in surprise at the sight of Lucas carrying a trembling, wide-eyed Declan.
"Lucas? What has happened? Is he injured?!" August jumped to his feet immediately, the book dropping to the floor. He scanned Declan’s body for any sign of damage - Declan tucked himself further into Lucas.
"Take a look at him, August," Lucas said, his voice tight as he adjusted his grip on Declan. "He's not getting any better just sitting up there. He’s suffocating. He’s desperate for a breath of fresh air, but we’ve got him stuck up in a dark, stuffy room day in and day out, dreading the creak of the door. I found him collapsed on the floor, crawling over to the window - because he said he wants to see the sky.”
August’s expression softened into an aching empathy.
“Can you see what he sees? To him, we took him from one prison and shoved him straight into another. How can he possibly feel human again?”
“O-Of course," August muttered, looking at the frantic rhythm of Declan's chest. "I should have seen sooner. I’m sorry, Declan. I didn't mean to, quite literally, keep you in the dark. I only want to do what’s best for you.”
“Well, don’t just stand there then,” Lucas chastised, adjusting his grip on Declan’s frail frame. “Go down to the clinic and fetch that fold-out wheelchair. And wrap yourself up, or whatever you have to do. I want you out there with us too.”
August didn’t argue. He nodded once, “ I will be as swift as I can.”
Moments later, August returned, pushing the metal wheelchair, but he looked entirely different. He was a bizarre sight - wrapped in a trench coat, a wide-brimmed hat pulled low, a thick wool scarf buried over his nose and a pair of dark sunglasses. He looked ridiculous, like a child's drawing of a spy.
Declan felt the smallest bubble of laughter rise in his chest at the absurdity of it, yet he choked it back before it could bloom. He barely dared to breathe too loudly, terrified of spoiling this opportunity. He was so close, he could taste it - it might be the closest to freedom he would ever get.
August locked the chair's wheels, then stepped back to give Lucas space. Working in unison, they hoisted Declan up, carefully manoeuvring his limp body into the seat. He held his breath, every fibre of his atrophied muscle locking in sharp anticipation of the inevitable restraints - the bite of metal cuffs or coarse rope designed to pin his fragile limbs to the frame. Not that they’d need to; he can’t even hold his own body weight, let alone run for the hills.
But they didn't tie him down. Lucas tucked a woollen blanket around his useless legs.
And then, they began to move.
The threshold of the door felt like a boundary line between two worlds - between hell and earth - and for a terrifying second, Declan expected to be halted, dragged back inside, and punished.
Instead, he was outside. Finally outside.
As the front wheels hit the porch and the first real gust of wind ruffled his curls, Lucas reached down and firmly squeezed his shoulder. "Look at that, Dec," Lucas whispered, pointing. "See? Didn't we tell you? The world didn't go anywhere. It was always waiting for you."
Then the light hit him. It was blinding. His retinas felt as though they would burst into flames, so utterly unused to the intensity. Declan squeezed his eyes shut, tilting his head back to let the warmth soak into his translucent skin.
The wind whipped his hair across his face, stinging his cheeks and filling his lungs. It was beautiful.
A sob swelled in his chest. He was outside. He was under the sky. Vince would have broken his spine for even looking in the direction of a window and now here he was. He’s finally alive again. He’s finally woken up from the nightmare. Not like the day he’d surfaced with agony splintering his skull and terror lashing every muscle, but this - this moment right here.
The ink and water that had bled together in his mind for so long finally snapped into focus. The colours were stark and breathtaking. The sky was a violent, searing blue that sliced through the haze. The grass, an impossible, vivid green. And the orange? The golden sun burning high in the sky.
How could he ever bear to let them wheel him back inside that house?
Maybe it’s all a cruel dream. Of course. Another drug-fuelled dream with whatever concoction they’ve pumped his veins with this time.
August moved into his line of sight, stepping carefully into the shadow of a large oak tree to protect himself. He crouched down, meeting Declan's eye level and placed his gloved hands firmly on Declan's knees.
“Could you look at me, Declan? Please?” August said, his voice heavily muffled by the scarf. Declan obeyed instantly, forcing his watery eyes to stare into the dark lenses of the vampire's sunglasses. Even without the power of persuasion, every muscle felt compelled to obey. It was ingrained into his very nature by now.
“This isn't a one-time thing,” August said. Declan could swear he almost saw sincerity in his eyes, even behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses. “This is my promise to you. You are not a prisoner. You are a patient, and you are recovering. One day, hopefully one day soon, you won't need this chair. You won't need us.”
Whole again. Healthy. A life where these monsters were nothing but a fading memory, and he would never have the misfortune to look upon a vampire’s face for the rest of his days. It felt almost cruel to promise that. He would wish on every star for it.
“You're coming back to life, Declan. I'm just holding the door open for you…not keeping it closed.”
Declan looked away, back toward the horizon. The tears finally spilt over, hot and fast. He didn't fully believe it yet - but he was sitting there, bathed in the gold of the sun. He closed his eyes and took greedy breaths of the cold, free air. His thoughts kept snagging on things he hadn't allowed himself to touch in years. His mother’s warm arms. The sound of his sister’s voice. His dad’s laughter.
“You don't have to trust me, Declan. Not if you can't bear it. You just have to believe me. Believe me when I say that you will feel this wind on your face every day if you want it. You will walk on that grass with your own two feet. And when you are strong enough, I swear to you, you will go back to your family. Can you do that, Declan? Please…will you believe that your freedom is all yours and no one else's?”
Declan didn't look at him. He couldn't. He didn't and wouldn't trust the vampire - he knew better than to be that reckless, but a ghost of a memory surfaced, his mother’s voice echoing from a lifetime ago: Actions speak louder than words. The terrifying truth was that the vampire had done both. Every time without fail. Every gentle gesture, every step back, and every promise made had perfectly aligned.
For a long, agonising moment, time stood still.
Then, the walls came crumbling down.
A gasp tore from Declan’s throat. His hands, stiff and clawed with tension against the armrests, began to shake violently as the truth of August's words finally broke through to him. The tension holding his spine straight completely snapped. Declan slumped forward in the chair, his face burying into his own hands as a broken sob escaped him.
Positioning themselves on either side of him, August and Lucas offered their support, one placing a steadying hand on his knee and the other bringing comfort to his shoulder. Declan didn't have the strength to wholly trust them yet, and he couldn't see the road that lay ahead. But as he drew in a deep breath of the open air, Declan chose, for the very first time, to believe.
After all, what was left for him to lose?
SHATTERED TAGLIST! (Please let me know if I have forgotten you or if you would like to be added! 💗)
cw:/ recovery, rescue whump, trauma response, vampire caretaker, bloodbag whumpee, whumpee thinks caretaker is new whumper, reference to previous torture/abuse/captivity, paranoia, medical interventions, loss of speech, loss of autonomy, disability/immobility (please let me know if I have missed any!)
Thank you to the ever-so-brilliant @alyscat for her amazing job beta-ing this and for rallying me on! 💞
What did the sky look like?
Declan realised he had forgotten. Something so simple, so painfully mundane. An everyday certainty the rest of the world took for granted, but he starved for even a fleeting glimpse.
No matter how hard he clawed at the edges of his mind, straining until a dull throb pulsed behind his eyes, he couldn't grasp hold of it. Rotting in the darkness of Vince’s basement had truly snuffed out the light.
A wash of blue here. A blinding glare there. Colours warped, bleeding into each other like ink and water. The more Declan fought to anchor the image, the faster it sank back down into the murky depths.
Bleary eyes drifted over to the drapes, now pulled completely shut, overlapping perfectly in the centre to seal out even the strayest, thinnest thread of morning light. That was the vamp’s doing. As long as those curtains were drawn, August could walk in whenever he pleased - at any ungodly hour. The sun was the only line of defence Declan had left, and now that was taken from him too.
What he wouldn’t give to steal a peek out the window, to check that the world hadn't vanished entirely from existence - maybe it was still out there, waiting patiently for him. Arms open and ready to embrace him like a long-lost lover.
Years. He didn't know how many - not anymore. He’d lost count somewhere along the way. Years wasted breathing in damp rot and mould instead of fresh air. Years spent choking on the blood Vince didn't drain from him, but chose to beat out of his lungs instead.
Now, the outside was right there. A few meagre feet away, just hiding past the glass. A whole world close enough to touch. He longed to see the light of day. Was that too much to ask?
But still, it was denied. Perhaps the vampire knew exactly what he was doing. Keep Declan in the dark long enough, and the memories would completely dissolve. He would stop looking for a way out; would accept these four corners as his entire earth.
And he would learn to worship August as his god.
Declan’s gaze then dropped to the nightstand, where the silver bell now mocked him. How stupid did the vampire think he was? Honestly? To dare imagine he could ever have his master at his beck and call was nothing short of a fantasy. He was the one at their mercy. Entirely. He wasn't allowed to make demands; his only job was to bend to theirs.
A test. Surely, it was just another test.
White-hot fury surged in his chest - to hell with the games and never-ending demands; Declan had more than earned a mere sliver of daylight for every agony he’d endured. With a frantic but clumsy motion, he tore the covers aside.
His legs looked like sticks; skin pale and stretched tight over atrophied muscle. He tried to swing them off the bed, but they felt like they belonged to someone else. He didn't even make it to his feet. His legs buckled instantly, sending him crashing hard onto the floor; he collapsed onto the rug with a muffled thud.
He lay there in a useless heap, his face pressed flat against the carpet. He was too weak, limbs completely refusing to obey him. It was working; he was entirely bedridden. And it was all August’s fault.
All of the gruelling ‘physiotherapy’. The exhausting vocal exercises. The vampire claimed it was all to help him heal. To rebuild his broken body. Give him back the voice Vince had stolen. Declan so desperately hoped deep down that it was the god-honest truth, that this was finally the beginning of the end.
But what if it wasn't?
What if it is all just a calculated strategy to break him down further? A genius way to exhaust him under the guise of "medicine," ensuring he would never have the strength to fight back, let alone run away.
His mind spiralled. August had been gentle. August gave him the bell. August actually stepped away when Declan signalled him to stop. But surely a monster didn't nurse its prey back to health without a catch. What reason would a vampire have to show humanity?
Were the speech lessons actually for Declan's benefit? Or did August just want a polite, well-behaved pet that would speak on command? Cry out for mercy? Was the physical therapy meant to make him strong, or to keep him too fatigued ever to pose a threat?
No. It couldn’t be for him. Everything was for August's benefit. Right down to the goddamn curtains being closed.
Gritting his teeth, Declan began to crawl. It was humiliating, like he was a newborn babe before taking his first steps. He had devolved. Elbow, hip, drag. Repeat. But he had to see for himself if the world was still there, that it hadn't turned its back on him.
He had just reached the hem of the curtain, trembling, tingling fingers fumbling for the fabric, when the door creaked open.
“Declan? I brought some - Jesus!”
Lucas dropped the tray. The sound of ceramic shattering on the floor sounded like a gunshot, and Declan cowered into himself, hands shaking over his head. In the blink of an eye, Lucas was darting across the room, hands hovering over Declan in a panic.
“Declan! What are you doing?! You're going to hurt yourself, man! Let's get you up, come on, back to bed-”
Lucas reached for his arm, and Declan lost it. He thrashed, his body erupting into a violent convulsion. A broken sound tore from his throat - a wordless cry of pure frustration and grief. He wasn't going back to that bed. He couldn’t bear to rot away in it for a second longer.
What’s the point of being dragged back from the dead, if he’s not allowed to live?
He threw his hand up, palm facing outward, fingers splayed wide. Stop.
Lucas froze instantly - as though the tables had turned and Declan suddenly possessed the power of persuasion. Lucas rocked back, his hands hovering in mid-air. "Okay! I stopped! I’m not touching you. Just breathe, man. Breathe. You’re good."
“Sky-” Declan sobbed, his eyes wild as he pointed a shaking finger up to the window. “S-Sun….p-pl-ease-”
Lucas glared at the drawn curtains, then back down at the weeping man, shivering on the floor. The frantic energy drained from Lucas, replaced by a sudden clarity.
“Shit…you just want to see the sky,” Lucas whispered. “God, Dec. I’m sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn’t realise.” His voice cracked, the confession tearing out of him like shrapnel.
Lucas sank to the floor, settling cross-legged right beside Declan. The guilt radiated from him, and he wiped beads of sweat from his brow. “I see it now. Promise I do. What we’ve been doing to you by keeping you stowed away in this room. It’s not right. No wonder you’re scared out your wits…from one cage to another…is that it?”
Declan’s shaking didn't stop, and he did not answer, but his eyes searched Lucas’s face, wide and glassy. Lucas had hit the bullseye. How could he look at this bedroom and see anything but another prison cell? Still trapped in confinement, cut off from daylight, stuck with needles day in and day out, no choice but to submit to his captor’s demands.
Lucas leaned in closer. “I’m taking you out there,” he promised, determined. “Outside. Right now. No more waiting. Only thing is, Dec…” He paused; he saw the flicker of hope in Declan’s eyes war with the ingrained terror. “I - I don’t think I’m strong enough to carry you down those stairs safely on my own. If I slip or stumble, I can’t risk breaking what’s left of you. I’m gonna need August’s help to carry you down there.”
Declan’s response was immediate in its desperation. He lunged forward, frail fingers hooking into the fabric of Lucas’s shirt, his forehead pressing hard against the other man’s chest.
Please no. His mind scrambled - logic went out the window as panic took the wheel. Down. Lucas had said down, and that’s all he heard. A basement, it had to be. His ingratitude came with a price, and this was how he would settle the debt. The vampire would drag him down there kicking and screaming. He’d begged for the sun, and now they would make sure he would never see it again.
“Nonono - come on now,” Lucas consoled, “It’s just for the stairs. I promise. I’m just nowhere near as strong as he is.”
A choked whine ripped from his throat. Declan shook his head until he saw stars. “N-Not him… y-...y-ou-”
"...Okay," Lucas breathed, more to himself than anyone. "Okay, Dec. I’ve got you. I’ll give it a try. Just…Just stay still for me, yeah?"
He slid his arms beneath Declan - one behind the back, one beneath the knees - and braced for the weight. He expected resistance, the solid heft of a man.
He expected too much.
As he stood, he didn't even strain. Declan rose like he was made of feathers. Lucas could feel every ridge of Declan’s spine through the shirt, the sickening curve of ribs that felt like they would snap under even a gentle pressure. He was holding a ghost.
Lucas wasn't a violent man, but at that moment, he wanted nothing more than to find the monster that did this and burn him to ashes.
How? He thought bitterly, his jaw clenching. How do you do this to a living being? How do you erode someone’s soul? Let someone just...fade away?
"You're okay," Lucas grunted. "I've got you. Not gonna drop you."
Declan didn’t fight, but he didn’t help either. He went limp as a rag doll against Lucas’s chest, his head lolling against the man’s shoulder. He was convinced he’d misbehaved, caught red-handed. He’d squandered whatever twisted privilege he’d been given. Declan braced himself for the familiar sight of a cellar door to loom into view, to be thrown back into the dark once again.
As they stepped out of the bedroom, Declan felt the house expand around him. It was his very first time venturing beyond the four walls of his room, and he gazed about in stunned bewilderment at his surroundings, lips parted slightly, eyes shifting rapidly.
Vince’s estate had been blindingly opulent - antique, ornate windows, crystal chandeliers dripping from the ceilings, historical artwork Declan wasn’t permitted to lay his filthy eyes on, lest they ‘tarnish the canvas’. Here wasn’t anything like that. It felt smaller, simpler and deeply lived-in.
There were no massive, intimidating gold frames of artwork here - just small, slightly crooked photos of faces he didn't recognise. Near the top of the stairs, the wallpaper was peeling slightly at the seam, a tiny flaw Vince would have had a servant flayed for. Lucas’s hand shifted on a scuffed mahogany bannister that had clearly seen years of use. Outside a door just down the hall, a basket of unfolded laundry sat out in the open, and someone had left a paperback book resting face-down on a windowsill, its spine creased.
Moving past a row of closed doors, Declan’s eyes tracked each one. His chest tightened, wondering what was on the other side. Were they more bedrooms, or closets, or rooms he would never be allowed to see?
Lucas made it down the stairs and walked straight into the library, where August was sitting by the unlit fireplace, flicking through a thick medical textbook open on his knee.
August looked up, his red eyes blinking in surprise at the sight of Lucas carrying a trembling, wide-eyed Declan.
"Lucas? What has happened? Is he injured?!" August jumped to his feet immediately, the book dropping to the floor. He scanned Declan’s body for any sign of damage - Declan tucked himself further into Lucas.
"Take a look at him, August," Lucas said, his voice tight as he adjusted his grip on Declan. "He's not getting any better just sitting up there. He’s suffocating. He’s desperate for a breath of fresh air, but we’ve got him stuck up in a dark, stuffy room day in and day out, dreading the creak of the door. I found him collapsed on the floor, crawling over to the window - because he said he wants to see the sky.”
August’s expression softened into an aching empathy.
“Can you see what he sees? To him, we took him from one prison and shoved him straight into another. How can he possibly feel human again?”
“O-Of course," August muttered, looking at the frantic rhythm of Declan's chest. "I should have seen sooner. I’m sorry, Declan. I didn't mean to, quite literally, keep you in the dark. I only want to do what’s best for you.”
“Well, don’t just stand there then,” Lucas chastised, adjusting his grip on Declan’s frail frame. “Go down to the clinic and fetch that fold-out wheelchair. And wrap yourself up, or whatever you have to do. I want you out there with us too.”
August didn’t argue. He nodded once, “ I will be as swift as I can.”
Moments later, August returned, pushing the metal wheelchair, but he looked entirely different. He was a bizarre sight - wrapped in a trench coat, a wide-brimmed hat pulled low, a thick wool scarf buried over his nose and a pair of dark sunglasses. He looked ridiculous, like a child's drawing of a spy.
Declan felt the smallest bubble of laughter rise in his chest at the absurdity of it, yet he choked it back before it could bloom. He barely dared to breathe too loudly, terrified of spoiling this opportunity. He was so close, he could taste it - it might be the closest to freedom he would ever get.
August locked the chair's wheels, then stepped back to give Lucas space. Working in unison, they hoisted Declan up, carefully manoeuvring his limp body into the seat. He held his breath, every fibre of his atrophied muscle locking in sharp anticipation of the inevitable restraints - the bite of metal cuffs or coarse rope designed to pin his fragile limbs to the frame. Not that they’d need to; he can’t even hold his own body weight, let alone run for the hills.
But they didn't tie him down. Lucas tucked a woollen blanket around his useless legs.
And then, they began to move.
The threshold of the door felt like a boundary line between two worlds - between hell and earth - and for a terrifying second, Declan expected to be halted, dragged back inside, and punished.
Instead, he was outside. Finally outside.
As the front wheels hit the porch and the first real gust of wind ruffled his curls, Lucas reached down and firmly squeezed his shoulder. "Look at that, Dec," Lucas whispered, pointing. "See? Didn't we tell you? The world didn't go anywhere. It was always waiting for you."
Then the light hit him. It was blinding. His retinas felt as though they would burst into flames, so utterly unused to the intensity. Declan squeezed his eyes shut, tilting his head back to let the warmth soak into his translucent skin.
The wind whipped his hair across his face, stinging his cheeks and filling his lungs. It was beautiful.
A sob swelled in his chest. He was outside. He was under the sky. Vince would have broken his spine for even looking in the direction of a window, and now here he was. He’s finally alive again. He’s finally woken up from the nightmare. Not like the day he’d surfaced with agony splintering his skull and terror lashing every muscle, but this - this moment right here.
The ink and water that had bled together in his mind for so long finally snapped into focus. The colours were stark and breathtaking. The sky was a violent, searing blue that sliced through the haze. The grass, an impossible, vivid green. And the orange? The golden sun burning high in the sky.
How could he ever bear to let them wheel him back inside that house?
Maybe it’s all a cruel dream. Of course. Another drug-fuelled dream with whatever concoction they’ve pumped his veins with this time.
August moved into his line of sight, stepping carefully into the shadow of a large oak tree to protect himself. He crouched down, meeting Declan's eye level and placed his gloved hands firmly on Declan's knees.
“Could you look at me, Declan? Please?” August said, his voice heavily muffled by the scarf. Declan obeyed instantly, forcing his watery eyes to stare into the dark lenses of the vampire's sunglasses. Even without the power of persuasion, every muscle felt compelled to obey. It was ingrained into his very nature by now.
“This isn't a one-time thing,” August said. Declan could swear he almost saw sincerity in his eyes, even behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses. “This is my promise to you. You are not a prisoner. You are a patient, and you are recovering. One day, hopefully one day soon, you won't need this chair. You won't need us.”
Whole again. Healthy. A life where these monsters were nothing but a fading memory, and he would never have the misfortune to look upon a vampire’s face for the rest of his days. It felt almost cruel to promise that. He would wish on every star for it.
“You're coming back to life, Declan. I'm just holding the door open for you…not keeping it closed.”
Declan looked away, back toward the horizon. The tears finally spilt over, hot and fast. He didn't fully believe it yet - but he was sitting there, bathed in the gold of the sun. He closed his eyes and took greedy breaths of the cold, free air. His thoughts kept snagging on things he hadn't allowed himself to touch in years. His mother’s warm arms. The sound of his sister’s voice. His dad’s laughter.
“You don't have to trust me, Declan. Not if you can't bear it. You just have to believe me. Believe me when I say that you will feel this wind on your face every day if you want it. You will walk on that grass with your own two feet. And when you are strong enough, I swear to you, you will go back to your family. Can you do that, Declan? Please…will you believe that your freedom is all yours and no one else's?”
Declan didn't look at him. He couldn't. He didn't and wouldn't trust the vampire - he knew better than to be that reckless, but a ghost of a memory surfaced, his mother’s voice echoing from a lifetime ago: Actions speak louder than words. The terrifying truth was that the vampire had done both. Every time without fail. Every gentle gesture, every step back, and every promise made had perfectly aligned.
For a long, agonising moment, time stood still.
Then, the walls came crumbling down.
A gasp tore from Declan’s throat. His hands, stiff and clawed with tension against the armrests, began to shake violently as the truth of August's words finally broke through to him. The tension holding his spine straight completely snapped. Declan slumped forward in the chair, his face burying into his own hands as a broken sob escaped him.
Positioning themselves on either side of him, August and Lucas offered their support, one placing a steadying hand on his knee and the other bringing comfort to his shoulder. Declan didn't have the strength to wholly trust them yet, and he couldn't see the road that lay ahead. But as he drew in a deep breath of the open air, Declan chose, for the very first time, to believe.
After all, what was left for him to lose?
SHATTERED TAGLIST! (Please let me know if I have forgotten you or if you would like to be added! 💗)
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
cw:/ recovery, rescue whump, trauma response, vampire caretaker, bloodbag whumpee, whumpee thinks caretaker is new whumper, reference to previous torture/abuse/captivity, paranoia, medical interventions, loss of speech, loss of autonomy, disability/immobility (please let me know if I have missed any!)
Thank you to the ever-so-brilliant @alyscat for her amazing job beta-ing this and for rallying me on! 💞
What did the sky look like?
Declan realised he had forgotten. Something so simple, so painfully mundane. An everyday certainty the rest of the world took for granted, but he starved for even a fleeting glimpse.
No matter how hard he clawed at the edges of his mind, straining until a dull throb pulsed behind his eyes, he couldn't grasp hold of it. Rotting in the darkness of Vince’s basement had truly snuffed out the light.
A wash of blue here. A blinding glare there. Colours warped, bleeding into each other like ink and water. The more Declan fought to anchor the image, the faster it sank back down into the murky depths.
Bleary eyes drifted over to the drapes, now pulled completely shut, overlapping perfectly in the centre to seal out even the strayest, thinnest thread of morning light. That was the vamp’s doing. As long as those curtains were drawn, August could walk in whenever he pleased - at any ungodly hour. The sun was the only line of defence Declan had left, and now that was taken from him too.
What he wouldn’t give to steal a peek out the window, to check that the world hadn't vanished entirely from existence - maybe it was still out there, waiting patiently for him. Arms open and ready to embrace him like a long-lost lover.
Years. He didn't know how many - not anymore. He’d lost count somewhere along the way. Years wasted breathing in damp rot and mould instead of fresh air. Years spent choking on the blood Vince didn't drain from him, but chose to beat out of his lungs instead.
Now, the outside was right there. A few meagre feet away, just hiding past the glass. A whole world close enough to touch. He longed to see the light of day. Was that too much to ask?
But still, it was denied. Perhaps the vampire knew exactly what he was doing. Keep Declan in the dark long enough, and the memories would completely dissolve. He would stop looking for a way out; would accept these four corners as his entire earth.
And he would learn to worship August as his god.
Declan’s gaze then dropped to the nightstand, where the silver bell now mocked him. How stupid did the vampire think he was? Honestly? To dare imagine he could ever have his master at his beck and call was nothing short of a fantasy. He was the one at their mercy. Entirely. He wasn't allowed to make demands; his only job was to bend to theirs.
A test. Surely, it was just another test.
White-hot fury surged in his chest - to hell with the games and never-ending demands; Declan had more than earned a mere sliver of daylight for every agony he’d endured. With a frantic but clumsy motion, he tore the covers aside.
His legs looked like sticks; skin pale and stretched tight over atrophied muscle. He tried to swing them off the bed, but they felt like they belonged to someone else. He didn't even make it to his feet. His legs buckled instantly, sending him crashing hard onto the floor; he collapsed onto the rug with a muffled thud.
He lay there in a useless heap, his face pressed flat against the carpet. He was too weak, limbs completely refusing to obey him. It was working; he was entirely bedridden. And it was all August’s fault.
All of the gruelling ‘physiotherapy’. The exhausting vocal exercises. The vampire claimed it was all to help him heal. To rebuild his broken body. Give him back the voice Vince had stolen. Declan so desperately hoped deep down that it was the god-honest truth, that this was finally the beginning of the end.
But what if it wasn't?
What if it is all just a calculated strategy to break him down further? A genius way to exhaust him under the guise of "medicine," ensuring he would never have the strength to fight back, let alone run away.
His mind spiralled. August had been gentle. August gave him the bell. August actually stepped away when Declan signalled him to stop. But surely a monster didn't nurse its prey back to health without a catch. What reason would a vampire have to show humanity?
Were the speech lessons actually for Declan's benefit? Or did August just want a polite, well-behaved pet that would speak on command? Cry out for mercy? Was the physical therapy meant to make him strong, or to keep him too fatigued ever to pose a threat?
No. It couldn’t be for him. Everything was for August's benefit. Right down to the goddamn curtains being closed.
Gritting his teeth, Declan began to crawl. It was humiliating, like he was a newborn babe before taking his first steps. He had devolved. Elbow, hip, drag. Repeat. But he had to see for himself if the world was still there, that it hadn't turned its back on him.
He had just reached the hem of the curtain, trembling, tingling fingers fumbling for the fabric, when the door creaked open.
“Declan? I brought some - Jesus!”
Lucas dropped the tray. The sound of ceramic shattering on the floor sounded like a gunshot, and Declan cowered into himself, hands shaking over his head. In the blink of an eye, Lucas was darting across the room, hands hovering over Declan in a panic.
“Declan! What are you doing?! You're going to hurt yourself, man! Let's get you up, come on, back to bed-”
Lucas reached for his arm, and Declan lost it. He thrashed, his body erupting into a violent convulsion. A broken sound tore from his throat - a wordless cry of pure frustration and grief. He wasn't going back to that bed. He couldn’t bear to rot away in it for a second longer.
What’s the point of being dragged back from the dead, if he’s not allowed to live?
He threw his hand up, palm facing outward, fingers splayed wide. Stop.
Lucas froze instantly - as though the tables had turned and Declan suddenly possessed the power of persuasion. Lucas rocked back, his hands hovering in mid-air. "Okay! I stopped! I’m not touching you. Just breathe, man. Breathe. You’re good."
“Sky-” Declan sobbed, his eyes wild as he pointed a shaking finger up to the window. “S-Sun….p-pl-ease-”
Lucas glared at the drawn curtains, then back down at the weeping man, shivering on the floor. The frantic energy drained from Lucas, replaced by a sudden clarity.
“Shit…you just want to see the sky,” Lucas whispered. “God, Dec. I’m sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn’t realise.” His voice cracked, the confession tearing out of him like shrapnel.
Lucas sank to the floor, settling cross-legged right beside Declan. The guilt radiated from him, and he wiped beads of sweat from his brow. “I see it now. Promise I do. What we’ve been doing to you by keeping you stowed away in this room. It’s not right. No wonder you’re scared out your wits…from one cage to another…is that it?”
Declan’s shaking didn't stop, and he did not answer, but his eyes searched Lucas’s face, wide and glassy. Lucas had hit the bullseye. How could he look at this bedroom and see anything but another prison cell? Still trapped in confinement, cut off from daylight, stuck with needles day in and day out, no choice but to submit to his captor’s demands.
Lucas leaned in closer. “I’m taking you out there,” he promised, determined. “Outside. Right now. No more waiting. Only thing is, Dec…” He paused; he saw the flicker of hope in Declan’s eyes war with the ingrained terror. “I - I don’t think I’m strong enough to carry you down those stairs safely on my own. If I slip or stumble, I can’t risk breaking what’s left of you. I’m gonna need August’s help to carry you down there.”
Declan’s response was immediate in its desperation. He lunged forward, frail fingers hooking into the fabric of Lucas’s shirt, his forehead pressing hard against the other man’s chest.
Please no. His mind scrambled - logic went out the window as panic took the wheel. Down. Lucas had said down, and that’s all he heard. A basement, it had to be. His ingratitude came with a price, and this was how he would settle the debt. The vampire would drag him down there kicking and screaming. He’d begged for the sun, and now they would make sure he would never see it again.
“Nonono - come on now,” Lucas consoled, “It’s just for the stairs. I promise. I’m just nowhere near as strong as he is.”
A choked whine ripped from his throat. Declan shook his head until he saw stars. “N-Not him… y-...y-ou-”
"...Okay," Lucas breathed, more to himself than anyone. "Okay, Dec. I’ve got you. I’ll give it a try. Just…Just stay still for me, yeah?"
He slid his arms beneath Declan - one behind the back, one beneath the knees - and braced for the weight. He expected resistance, the solid heft of a man.
He expected too much.
As he stood, he didn't even strain. Declan rose like he was made of feathers. Lucas could feel every ridge of Declan’s spine through the shirt, the sickening curve of ribs that felt like they would snap under even a gentle pressure. He was holding a ghost.
Lucas wasn't a violent man, but at that moment, he wanted nothing more than to find the monster that did this and burn him to ashes.
How? He thought bitterly, his jaw clenching. How do you do this to a living being? How do you erode someone’s soul? Let someone just...fade away?
"You're okay," Lucas grunted. "I've got you. Not gonna drop you."
Declan didn’t fight, but he didn’t help either. He went limp as a rag doll against Lucas’s chest, his head lolling against the man’s shoulder. He was convinced he’d misbehaved, caught red-handed. He’d squandered whatever twisted privilege he’d been given. Declan braced himself for the familiar sight of a cellar door to loom into view, to be thrown back into the dark once again.
As they stepped out of the bedroom, Declan felt the house expand around him. It was his very first time venturing beyond the four walls of his room, and he gazed about in stunned bewilderment at his surroundings, lips parted slightly, eyes shifting rapidly.
Vince’s estate had been blindingly opulent - antique, ornate windows, crystal chandeliers dripping from the ceilings, historical artwork Declan wasn’t permitted to lay his filthy eyes on, lest they ‘tarnish the canvas’. Here wasn’t anything like that. It felt smaller, simpler and deeply lived-in.
There were no massive, intimidating gold frames of artwork here - just small, slightly crooked photos of faces he didn't recognise. Near the top of the stairs, the wallpaper was peeling slightly at the seam, a tiny flaw Vince would have had a servant flayed for. Lucas’s hand shifted on a scuffed mahogany bannister that had clearly seen years of use. Outside a door just down the hall, a basket of unfolded laundry sat out in the open, and someone had left a paperback book resting face-down on a windowsill, its spine creased.
Moving past a row of closed doors, Declan’s eyes tracked each one. His chest tightened, wondering what was on the other side. Were they more bedrooms, or closets, or rooms he would never be allowed to see?
Lucas made it down the stairs and walked straight into the library, where August was sitting by the unlit fireplace, flicking through a thick medical textbook open on his knee.
August looked up, his red eyes blinking in surprise at the sight of Lucas carrying a trembling, wide-eyed Declan.
"Lucas? What has happened? Is he injured?!" August jumped to his feet immediately, the book dropping to the floor. He scanned Declan’s body for any sign of damage - Declan tucked himself further into Lucas.
"Take a look at him, August," Lucas said, his voice tight as he adjusted his grip on Declan. "He's not getting any better just sitting up there. He’s suffocating. He’s desperate for a breath of fresh air, but we’ve got him stuck up in a dark, stuffy room day in and day out, dreading the creak of the door. I found him collapsed on the floor, crawling over to the window - because he said he wants to see the sky.”
August’s expression softened into an aching empathy.
“Can you see what he sees? To him, we took him from one prison and shoved him straight into another. How can he possibly feel human again?”
“O-Of course," August muttered, looking at the frantic rhythm of Declan's chest. "I should have seen sooner. I’m sorry, Declan. I didn't mean to, quite literally, keep you in the dark. I only want to do what’s best for you.”
“Well, don’t just stand there then,” Lucas chastised, adjusting his grip on Declan’s frail frame. “Go down to the clinic and fetch that fold-out wheelchair. And wrap yourself up, or whatever you have to do. I want you out there with us too.”
August didn’t argue. He nodded once, “ I will be as swift as I can.”
Moments later, August returned, pushing the metal wheelchair, but he looked entirely different. He was a bizarre sight - wrapped in a trench coat, a wide-brimmed hat pulled low, a thick wool scarf buried over his nose and a pair of dark sunglasses. He looked ridiculous, like a child's drawing of a spy.
Declan felt the smallest bubble of laughter rise in his chest at the absurdity of it, yet he choked it back before it could bloom. He barely dared to breathe too loudly, terrified of spoiling this opportunity. He was so close, he could taste it - it might be the closest to freedom he would ever get.
August locked the chair's wheels, then stepped back to give Lucas space. Working in unison, they hoisted Declan up, carefully manoeuvring his limp body into the seat. He held his breath, every fibre of his atrophied muscle locking in sharp anticipation of the inevitable restraints - the bite of metal cuffs or coarse rope designed to pin his fragile limbs to the frame. Not that they’d need to; he can’t even hold his own body weight, let alone run for the hills.
But they didn't tie him down. Lucas tucked a woollen blanket around his useless legs.
And then, they began to move.
The threshold of the door felt like a boundary line between two worlds - between hell and earth - and for a terrifying second, Declan expected to be halted, dragged back inside, and punished.
Instead, he was outside. Finally outside.
As the front wheels hit the porch and the first real gust of wind ruffled his curls, Lucas reached down and firmly squeezed his shoulder. "Look at that, Dec," Lucas whispered, pointing. "See? Didn't we tell you? The world didn't go anywhere. It was always waiting for you."
Then the light hit him. It was blinding. His retinas felt as though they would burst into flames, so utterly unused to the intensity. Declan squeezed his eyes shut, tilting his head back to let the warmth soak into his translucent skin.
The wind whipped his hair across his face, stinging his cheeks and filling his lungs. It was beautiful.
A sob swelled in his chest. He was outside. He was under the sky. Vince would have broken his spine for even looking in the direction of a window and now here he was. He’s finally alive again. He’s finally woken up from the nightmare. Not like the day he’d surfaced with agony splintering his skull and terror lashing every muscle, but this - this moment right here.
The ink and water that had bled together in his mind for so long finally snapped into focus. The colours were stark and breathtaking. The sky was a violent, searing blue that sliced through the haze. The grass, an impossible, vivid green. And the orange? The golden sun burning high in the sky.
How could he ever bear to let them wheel him back inside that house?
Maybe it’s all a cruel dream. Of course. Another drug-fuelled dream with whatever concoction they’ve pumped his veins with this time.
August moved into his line of sight, stepping carefully into the shadow of a large oak tree to protect himself. He crouched down, meeting Declan's eye level and placed his gloved hands firmly on Declan's knees.
“Could you look at me, Declan? Please?” August said, his voice heavily muffled by the scarf. Declan obeyed instantly, forcing his watery eyes to stare into the dark lenses of the vampire's sunglasses. Even without the power of persuasion, every muscle felt compelled to obey. It was ingrained into his very nature by now.
“This isn't a one-time thing,” August said. Declan could swear he almost saw sincerity in his eyes, even behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses. “This is my promise to you. You are not a prisoner. You are a patient, and you are recovering. One day, hopefully one day soon, you won't need this chair. You won't need us.”
Whole again. Healthy. A life where these monsters were nothing but a fading memory, and he would never have the misfortune to look upon a vampire’s face for the rest of his days. It felt almost cruel to promise that. He would wish on every star for it.
“You're coming back to life, Declan. I'm just holding the door open for you…not keeping it closed.”
Declan looked away, back toward the horizon. The tears finally spilt over, hot and fast. He didn't fully believe it yet - but he was sitting there, bathed in the gold of the sun. He closed his eyes and took greedy breaths of the cold, free air. His thoughts kept snagging on things he hadn't allowed himself to touch in years. His mother’s warm arms. The sound of his sister’s voice. His dad’s laughter.
“You don't have to trust me, Declan. Not if you can't bear it. You just have to believe me. Believe me when I say that you will feel this wind on your face every day if you want it. You will walk on that grass with your own two feet. And when you are strong enough, I swear to you, you will go back to your family. Can you do that, Declan? Please…will you believe that your freedom is all yours and no one else's?”
Declan didn't look at him. He couldn't. He didn't and wouldn't trust the vampire - he knew better than to be that reckless, but a ghost of a memory surfaced, his mother’s voice echoing from a lifetime ago: Actions speak louder than words. The terrifying truth was that the vampire had done both. Every time without fail. Every gentle gesture, every step back, and every promise made had perfectly aligned.
For a long, agonising moment, time stood still.
Then, the walls came crumbling down.
A gasp tore from Declan’s throat. His hands, stiff and clawed with tension against the armrests, began to shake violently as the truth of August's words finally broke through to him. The tension holding his spine straight completely snapped. Declan slumped forward in the chair, his face burying into his own hands as a broken sob escaped him.
Positioning themselves on either side of him, August and Lucas offered their support, one placing a steadying hand on his knee and the other bringing comfort to his shoulder. Declan didn't have the strength to wholly trust them yet, and he couldn't see the road that lay ahead. But as he drew in a deep breath of the open air, Declan chose, for the very first time, to believe.
After all, what was left for him to lose?
SHATTERED TAGLIST! (Please let me know if I have forgotten you or if you would like to be added! 💗)
That weekend, Agnes decided to try and fix their sleep schedule, as well as try other methods to keep a calm mind and not think of the possible stalker. Whenever they weren’t doing work, they called their friends and aunt, read some books they had forgotten they started reading, played the rare videogame… it got them pumped up enough to actually lock in on writing, being too exhausted to do anything else after and falling asleep early for the first time in forever. Which, hey, works well for them! This means that the next time they have to leave they’ll be in a better mental state, thus they’ll no longer think they’re being followed and their life will go back to their monotone normal!
At least… that’s what they thought. However, that feeling never really went away. For the first time they left the house they were chipper, going on about their merry way with nothing but their grocery list on their thoughts. As they spent more time outside, they started progressively looking around more, they felt their hands start to sweat, their chest start to hurt, their mind getting jumbled. That sensation they so dreaded was back, as they hurried out of the grocery store and rushed back home without looking behind them. They hate themselves so much. The worry they’re being stalked is back.
They called their aunt that time, just after arriving home and locking all the doors and windows. In a panic, back to the wall and in a panic, they told her everything. And what did she say?
To calm down.
To calm the fuck down and that they may be imagining things. “If it gets too bad you can come with me” That’s all?! Is Agnes really losing their mind at this point or is someone actually following them?!?!!?
They also called their friends again, who didn’t say much beyond the “man that sucks” and “maybe contact the police”. Will that even work? Will they even believe someone who right now is questioning if they’re actively going insane?!
Either way, it’s been a week since then and they’ve had to cancel everything. Agnes has not left their home, having finished all the work they could do and by this point gotten bored of doing the same three hobbies they have. They want to hang out with their friends, they want to go to events that interest them, they want to leave this damn place! But they can’t! Mr stalker may be out there to make them think they’ll get killed in the next five minutes!!
Their phone buzzes. It’s a notification from their friend group chat. They’re being invited to a group dinner to celebrate one of their friend’s graduation.
As scary as leaving at night sounds…. They can’t refuse this one, can they?
Agnes’ feet react before their brain does, standing up from their bed and heading to their closet to pick an outfit for the occasion. They text back “Sure. Will be there.” and smile. Smile at the hope they can get through this. There’s no way they actually have a stalker after so long. It really must be their imagination, as everyone’s been saying. They can’t waste their life away because of paranoia.
At least… they won’t get killed for leaving once, will they? Just for one event.
They spend the rest of the evening planning out their route, asking for their friends to take them back home after, and emotionally preparing for the extremely exhausting task of leaving their home and walking alone for thirty minutes. They can do this, there’s no way this can go wrong for them. Nothing will happen to them.
...
As the time to leave approaches, Agnes is just standing right in front of their door, garnering the courage to actually open it and walk down the stairs of their apartment. They take a deep, determined breath… and open the door.
It’s actually quite nice outside, a gentle breeze and a few people still out walking about. Agnes joins them by walking to their destination, phone out staring at their GPS to follow the route exactly. It’s a somewhat peaceful walk, especially as they start gaining more confidence at the sight of no one bothering them. Hearing passing voices from others walking by them, the rare bird or cricket, the music spilling out of department stores around them. It all keeps them distracted from their overwhelming thoughts, keeping them at bay for a long part of the trip.
However, they don’t notice the amount of people with them starting to dwindle, or how all the stores they were passing by were closed, devoid of light and sound.
As they turn the corner, they’re in complete silence. The only thing illuminating their way being the screen of their phone and the rare streetlamp.
They can’t help stopping in their tracks, looking around as their breath gets heavier and their chest starts to sting. A pain so overwhelming it takes over their being. Where are they? This isn’t the way they had planned… Did they get lost? Get too distracted and pulled into an abandoned area? Where did everyone go? All the lights and sounds that reminded them they were safe?
In their panicked state, their legs fail them, trying to back away but instead buckling under them. They fall into a kneeling position on the floor, curling up and holding their phone tight against their chest. They don’t care that their pants and shoes are being ruined, they don’t know where they are. They can’t see anyone, barely see anything. What if there’s something behind them? What if their stalker comes back? What if?
Agnes’ thoughts consumed them to the point of it being overwhelming. They close their eyes and try to steady their breathing, try to focus on themselves and not the world around them. Try to come back to reality. Luckily, something manages to take over those intense thoughts, making them calm down surprisingly quickly.
A little too quickly, as they feel everything blur together. As their body slumps forward. They’re getting… drowsy? What?
They don’t even feel the sting of the syringe just plunged into their neck. They can’t feel someone picking them up, with a slight struggle, and carrying - more like dragging - them away somewhere they can’t completely discern. Their vision fades out, and they slowly pass out.
Their stalker? Simply puts Agnes in the backseat of his car, gets in, and drives away far from the city.
Creepy whumper leading whumpee by their hand. Such an innocent show of friendship or romance becoming twisted, a shy moment of handheld touch, becoming a show force of control.
Declan, my bloodbag whumpee from my series 'Shattered'! 🩸⛓️
---
Commissioned from the AMAZING AND BEYOND SUPER TALENTED @elgrajaz ! thank you so so much for drawing my boy!!! 🥹😭 It's beautiful, I can't stop looking at him!!! AAAAAA!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
TW: Kidnapping, restraints, emotional abuse/manipulation, infantilization, religious trauma/themes, noncon dressing, escape attempt, failed escape, vampires, blood, biting, confinement, injury, blood. (I think that's all, but if I missed anything, let me know!)
Masterlist
-----------------------
Consciousness returned slowly, bit by bit. The first thing that caught Amelia’s attention was the pain in her shoulders. Then, the chafing in her wrists. A soft, feminine voice hummed nearby, accompanied by the brush of fabric on fabric. “This was her favorite gown,” the voice whispered.
Amelia felt a light touch on her arm. So brief, so featherlight, that she wondered if she imagined it. Something tugged on her waist. After a beat, Amelia realized someone was clasping buttons up her back. She pried her eyes open, feeling as if her lids were weighed down. The light stung her honey-brown eyes, though she couldn’t even lift her head. It was so… So heavy.
As she adjusted to the brightness, Amelia was stunned by what she could see of the room. It was completely unfamiliar and made up of such jarring contrasts that it had to be a fever dream. The room looked as though someone had taken an old manor house and stuffed it full of modern life. Dark wood paneling climbed the walls, interrupted every few feet by ornate gold-framed paintings and sconces that looked old enough to belong in a museum. Heavy velvet curtains pooled against polished hardwood floors. An enormous fireplace dominated one wall, its carved mantle crowded with photographs in antique silver frames.
And then there was a massive TV that hung above the fireplace, like a technological parasite invading a cathedral. Nearby sat a velvet couch with elegant clawed feet and embroidered cushions, a phone charger trailing over one arm. A Kindle lay face down on one cushion beside a pair of reading glasses and what looked suspiciously like the remains of Chinese takeout.
The coffee table looked hand-carved, all twisting vines and polished oak, the sort of thing that belonged in a castle. Someone had abandoned a half-empty iced coffee on it beside a stack of mail and a glossy beauty magazine with Seraphina smiling from the cover. Amelia's eyes snagged on a smart speaker sitting beside a brass candelabra.
An Alexa, she thought numbly.
She tried to move, tried to just lift her head again, with no luck. But she could look down at the bottom half of her body. Her jeans were gone, replaced by what appeared to be a vintage, light-blue gown. The dress was cinched at her waist and went all the way down to the floor. She couldn’t see her feet, but it felt like her sneakers were gone. What was happening? Where was she? The last thing Amelia remembered was leaving work. She stayed at the daycare late because a parent got a flat tire on their way to pick up the kid. By the time the mom got there, it was raining. Amelia planned to walk home despite the weather. It wasn’t far and wasn't worth calling an Uber. As Amelia set off down the sidewalk, a car slowed beside her with Seraphina inside.
Seraphina was super wealthy, gorgeous, and so far above spending time at a place like Sunshine Center Daycare. Heck, she was the founder and CEO of the multimillion-dollar beauty company, Forever Young! But they met six months ago, when one of Seraphina’s drivers almost ran Amelia over. The millionaire woman not only sent an entire box of luxury skin care products to Amelia’s house, she had been so involved at the daycare. Whenever they had a fundraiser, Seraphina was there, and she was always the biggest donor. She had promoted the daycare on her own platforms. Within a week of their chance meeting, Sunshine Center had enough funding to get better products for the kids. They could afford new toys and extra mats. Outdated supplies were replaced. These were little things that didn’t sound like a big deal, but to the underfunded daycare? It was a miracle, a dream come true.
When Seraphina offered to take Amelia home so she didn’t have to walk in the rain, she didn’t even hesitate before climbing into the backseat next to her. But then the driver didn’t make the correct turn out of the parking lot. Amelia had leaned forward, intending to correct him, when there was a sharp pain in her neck, and… Are you biting me?” Amelia demanded, eyes wide in shock. “Ow, what are you—that hurts!”But Seraphina didn’t stop. She grabbed the side of Amelia’s head and pulled her closer, digging her teeth into the soft flesh of Amelia’s throat. The longer she held on, the heavier Amelia felt…. Like her limbs were filled with concrete, or something…. The car didn’t stop. The driver didn’t even turn around.
When Seraphina finally pulled away, there was blood smeared across her lips. Her bared teeth—were her teeth pointed? Sharp?—were covered in a red as bright as her hair. Amelia tried to move, to scream, but couldn’t. Her vision blurred as Seraphina leaned down to press a kiss to Amelia’s forehead. “Shh… Hush now. We’ll be home soon, and I’ll explain everything, little one.”And then nothing.
Amelia’s heart raced. Had Seraphina kidnapped her? No way. No, no, Amelia was a nobody. She was a 20-year-old nothing who worked at a daycare, and couldn’t even afford to pay rent by herself! She tried to move in her bindings, tried to scream, but all she could manage was to look around wildly as her breathing turned ragged. The person behind her stirred. A telltale click-clacking of high heels announced the woman’s approach, and then a soft, cold hand was grabbing her chin.
None other than Seraphina, CEO of Forever Young, stood before her. Her mesmerizing, fiery hair was let loose today, going all the way down to her waist. Pale, flawless skin, blood-red lips, and hazel eyes accentuated by insanely long eyelashes. Already tall, Seraphina’s imposing figure was even more exaggerated by the high heels she never seemed to be without.
“Good morning, baby!” Seraphina squealed, booping Amelia’s nose with her free hand. “I was beginning to get worried. You must have been really tired, sleepyhead.” Her Cheshire-cat grin spread ear to ear, and, before Amelia’s very eyes, she saw it. Canine teeth slowly extending into razor-sharp points.
Her eyes must have widened because Seraphina gave a cheery laugh. “Oh, don’t you worry, I won’t bite! I had to last night, just so you didn’t fight. But so long as you’re a good little pet, we will be just fine.” She dropped Amelia’s chin, giving her cheek an affectionate pat.
Vampire. A vampire…. Some people talked about them, but vampires were always a rumor. A conspiracy, like aliens, or claims that man never walked on the moon. More than once, Amelia and Emily—her roommate—had talked about them. Emily was a huge conspiracy theorist; she even had a blog about her beliefs. She would sometimes share her theories with an entire slideshow presentation that Amelia would sit through, and then they’d discuss it. Most of the theories Amelia didn’t buy. Some, Emily would admit, were far-fetched, but she always thought vampires were out there.
You can doubt, but there’s no harm in being prepared. What if they ARE real, and one day, you come in contact with one? What would you do?
I think I’d admit myself to a mental institution, Emily. If I’m seeing vampires, I have bigger things to worry about than whether or not I have a wooden stake with me.
Now here she was, face to face with a vampire. No wooden stake. No silver dagger, garlic, or a crucifix to wave in the air.
She finally managed to lift her head and saw the cause of the massive ache in her shoulders. Her arms were tied above her to a ceiling fan by rope. Seraphina was humming again as she marched purposefully to a bookshelf, where she grabbed a hairbrush that looked like it should be in a museum. It was just…. Weird, seeing Seraphina in a business suit and black stilettos in this contradiction of a living room, holding that ancient-looking brush.
“You are almost done, love, I just…” The vampire walked behind her again, shaking Amelia out of her stunned thoughts. This time, the faint tugging was on her hair. Seraphina gently undid her French braid, then brushed out her wavy ebony strands. Her hair stopped just past her shoulders. Seraphina made a tsking sound. “Your hair is a little bit shorter, but I suppose times have changed, haven’t they? And with the times, so has style.”
Sighing mournfully, Seraphina arranged Amelia’s hair so that it draped over her shoulders. Her footsteps faded slightly as she hurried to the other side of the room. A heartbeat later, Seraphina had carried a full-body mirror to position right in front of Amelia.
Amelia’s eyes widened. Now that she could see the entire dress, it… It froze her. Shock and horror battling for attention at the forefront of her mind. Amelia was dolled up in a gown that looked straight out of some old-time film. Weird, puffed sleeves, and lace around the collar. A flipping brooch was clasped onto the front of the dress! Her lips parted in a silent O.
When Seraphina stepped back to look at her, she pressed a hand over her mouth. Something like a sob seemed to escape her, before she composed herself. “There you are,” she whispered. Stepping forward again, her hand trembling, Seraphina cupped Amelia’s cheek.
But Amelia could move now, at least a little. Her head and lips obeyed her. Whipping her head to the side, Amelia tried to bite Seraphina’s finger. Seraphina snapped her hand away just in time. “What are you doing? Why am I here?!” She screamed.
A flicker of pain seemed to cross the woman’s face. She bared her teeth, caught herself, and straightened. Her face settled into a mask of composure. “Those are rather big questions, and it would take some time to answer them,” she said lowly. “But we don’t have to figure everything out right now, my love.”
She took a small step forward, then traced her finger down the side of Amelia’s neck. The bound girl winced when Seraphina’s nail circled the bite mark. “You have spent all your life caring for others. I’ve seen you at that daycare; you run yourself ragged. It is your turn to be cared for now. That’s all you need to know for the time being.” Seraphina’s hand drifted down to her waist, making Amelia whimper. “Hm. You’re still spooked.” Leaning forward, her nose teased the side of Amelia’s neck, where her pulse thumped rapidly. “You are scared. Aren’t you, love?”
“Yes,” Amelia whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. Her arms twitched above her, desperate to pull away but unable to.
“Will it help if you’re untied?” Seraphina offered, eyes glinting with pleasure as Amelia nodded rapidly. Humming faintly, the vampire’s gaze drifted to the ropes. “If you promise to be a very good girl, I’ll let you down. We can get you changed into more comfortable clothes, and I have human food for you. How does that sound?”
Silence grew, tense and heavy. After a long moment, Amelia realized that Seraphina expected a verbal answer. She swallowed. “That…. That sounds good?”
"Great!" Seraphina clapped excitedly, bouncing back on her heels. "I knew you would be good; I'm so proud of you."
Amelia barely had time to process the words before Seraphina reached upward. The knot had looked impossible from below; a tangle of loops and twists that belonged on a ship. Yet the vampire slipped one finger beneath a strand of rope and tugged. Just like that, the entire thing unraveled, and Amelia dropped.
Cold hands caught her around the waist before her knees could hit the floor.
"Easy, darling,” Seraphina soothed.
Amelia jerked away from the touch on instinct. Pins and needles exploded through her arms as blood rushed back into muscles that had hung uselessly for God knew how long. Her knees buckled, and Seraphina steadied her again. "There now."
Every instinct screamed at Amelia to pull away, but disorientation made her limp. By the time feeling returned to her fingers, Seraphina had guided her onto the ancient velvet couch.
Amelia sat stiffly on the edge of the cushion, wary eyes darting around the room. The distance to the door seemed to stretch for miles, but windows… There must be windows behind those thick, dark curtains. Those were maybe ten feet away.
Seraphina bent to press a kiss to Amelia's forehead, and Amelia flinched. The vampire either failed to notice or didn’t care about Amelia’s disgust.
"I'll be right back," Seraphina said brightly, turning to walk towards the doorway. Her heels clicked along the polished wooden floor. "I have some things that will be more comfortable for you."
As her manicured fingers wrapped around the doorknob, she paused.
Amelia tensed. But all Seraphina did was say, "Stay here and wait for me, alright?"
Not a question. Amelia swallowed. "Okay."
Seraphina beamed. "Good girl." She blew a kiss, then she was gone, the door thudding softly behind her.
Silence settled over the room as Amelia stared at the doorway, her ears strained for any sound. Nothing.
No footsteps. No humming. No click of heels against hardwood.
Slowly, she stood. Her legs trembled a little beneath her, but Amelia herself couldn’t tell if it was from her former bindings, or the adrenaline rushing through her veins. She took one step. The floor creaked, and it felt like a gunshot firing in the silence.
Amelia held her breath. Froze. Waited. After five seconds, she dared to move again. Her first few steps were slow and cautious. Then she surged towards the curtains, closing the distance in two long strides. She threw the velvet aside. Concealed behind the fabric was the most glorious sight Amelia had ever seen.
The sunrise. A window that she could open. Even better, this room was on the first floor. She paused only to look along the window pane for any hint of an alarm system, but there was none that she could see.
Her heart was in her throat as she unlocked the window and lifted it up. Kicking off the vintage heels, Amelia climbed outside. The layers of skirt on the dress got caught on the window pane, but she tore it free. No time to figure out how to take off this monstrosity. She landed on the damp grass outside and took off running.
The mansion was enormous.
Gardens blurred past in streaks of green and gold. Wooden paths twisted through hedges on either side. She barely saw any of it, all Amelia cared about was the road she could see through the front gates. It was so close.
She could make it. She just had to make it. She tripped on the skirt, almost fell but regained her footing.
Amelia fisted the fabric of her absurd dress and hoisted it up, forcing her legs to move faster than she’d ever run before. The gate was close. Grass turned to pavement as she reached the driveway, and she picked up her pace. Was that a car coming down the road? Her lips parted, gasping, but she found enough air to scream, “Help! Help me!”
Did they hear her? She was flying towards the gate. They would see her, they had to. She could make it, just had to—
A mountain slammed into her from behind. Amelia crashed to the driveway, her jaw skidding against the concrete. The cry that escaped her lips was more animal than human; a desperate, keening sound that tore from her throat.
The car drove by. Amelia sobbed, thrashing beneath the figure, but her arms were twisted behind her back. Whoever tackled her held her wrists in one huge hand. “Miss Seraphina will be worried about you,” came a male voice. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.”
He hauled her to her feet. The grip on her wrists was cold, and when she turned to look at the towering figure, Amelia could see a hint of fangs. Vampire. Seraphina had vampires employed. She let her head fall forward in defeat. Blood trickled from her scraped chin, and the man just dragged her along.
It wasn’t until they reached the front door that Amelia tried to pull away. If she went back in there, would she ever walk out again? “Please,” she begged, straining to break his iron grip. “Please, just… Just say you didn’t catch me in time, please, please let me go you have to help me, please!”
“If you’re good, Miss Seraphina will take care of you,” he said simply. When she didn’t go willingly, he gave a sharp tug on her arm to force her inside. “She cares for you. You’ll have a good life here, if you just play along.”
When the front door slammed shut, the foyer was shrouded in darkness. Amelia had the eerie sense of entering a waiting predator’s mouth. Swallowed whole. She should try to pay attention to where they were going, but now that she was inside again, she was crying. The salt of her tears stung the wound on her chin. What if she never got out of here? She was surrounded by vampires, how could she escape? They were faster than her, stronger than her, could paralyze her with a single bite.
What if this had been her one chance? If Amelia had just been faster, if she didn’t wait before running… Maybe she should have hid first, waited until the coast was clear before trying to run out. Maybe she should have tried to climb the fence. A million options, a thousand different outcomes, but Amelia had failed. She might never get another opportunity.
By the time Amelia was dragged back into that living room, she was a sobbing mess. Fear and self loathing had made a wreck of her. What did she do to deserve this? Why was this happening to her? It wasn’t fair, unless…
Was this a punishment? A divine retribution for her choices these last few years?
The thought sent an icy chill down her spine, but before she could explore the possibility, Seraphina was in front of her. Amelia expected screams. Pain. But instead, the ginger pulled her into a strong embrace. “Oh, you sweet, stupid thing… I should be furious with you. This was a very foolish choice, do you have any idea what could have happened?”
Between her own revelation and the shock over Seraphina’s reaction, Amelia was frozen. She tensed in the vampire’s arms until she was pulled at arms length. Tsking, Seraphina cupped Amelia’s bloody chin. “Look at this! You’re hurt! Amelia, you’re lucky this is all that happened.” Hazel eyes flashed darkly. The look Seraphina sent Amelia was scolding, but not mad. Almost… Disappointed.
“What if you had reached the road, Amelia? You could have been hit. I told you to sit here and wait for me, but no. You had to be impatient.”
“You… You kidnapped me,” Amelia said bluntly. “Of course I tried to run.”
The vampire rolled her eyes, thumb caressing the wound on her chin. Seraphina released her grip and licked the blood from her finger. “Kidnapped? That’s a very harsh word. I just want to spoil you, love, you’ll realize that one day.” Her head tilted as she hummed thoughtfully. “It’s already stopped bleeding. You’ll be alright, but after this little excursion of yours, you need some time to cool off and think. Let’s get you changed.”
Amelia’s lips parted to protest. Time to cool off? Kidnapping is too harsh? But one sharp look from Seraphina silenced her. The vampire gripped her by the shoulders and spun her slowly. Another tsking sound filled the room. “This was one of her favorites.”
Sharp claws pricked Amelia’s shoulder until she yelped. “You really should be more careful with other people’s things,” Seraphina scolded. “We’re going to have a talk about this after you have time to cool off, but I hope you know I expect a proper apology.”
“An apology?” Amelia spat. “No! No, I’m not going to apologize for your hundred year old dress being torn up after you abducted me and dressed me up like a freaking doll! You’re in—”
Seraphina’s expression darkened a split second before she moved.
A sharp slap across her cheek. The sound echoed through the room. Amelia’s ears rang, and she crashed to the floor from the impact. Tears pricked her eyes again. Through blurry vision, she saw Seraphina kneel in front of her. That fiery hair spilled over Seraphina’s shoulder as she grabbed Amelia by the chin with a shocking tenderness. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” she warned. “I’m going to take these clothes off of you. I will dress you. Then, you are going in time out for that little escape attempt of yours. Do you understand?”
Amelia swallowed. There was so much wrong with this. So, so much wrong…. “I can get changed myself,” she whispered, her voice small.
“I know.” Seraphina stroked her cheek, almost tenderly. “But you’re going to be a good little pet and let me.”
And Amelia did. Seraphina expertly stripped the layers of fabric off of her, undid the corset and whatever else. Amelia tried not to squirm when she was left standing naked. Since she woke up in these clothes, Seraphina had already seen her. That knowledge didn’t really help.
The vampire pulled a pair of panties up Amelia’s thighs. She strapped on a bra. Lifted an oversized sweater over Amelia’s head, and guided her into a pair of stretchy leggings.
By the time she was changed, Amelia was shaking so badly, she didn’t trust her ability to walk alone. Seraphina wrapped an arm around Amelia’s waist, and she didn’t pull away.
She was scared. She wanted to run, to scream, but didn’t dare.
Her cheek burned.
The guard’s strength as he dragged her body into the house.
She was surrounded by monsters. A sheep among wolves. No, not a sheep. Sheep had shepherds.
You did this to yourself, Amelia. You ran from the flock.
You rejected the shepherd.
Seraphina led her to a closet in a dark, secluded hallway. Amelia whimpered as the door was opened. “Pl-please…”
“It’ll be alright,” Seraphina soothed, a hand combing through Amelia’s hair. “This is just time for you to calm down. You made a bad choice, and I need you to think about what you’ve done.”
A shiver ran down her spine, and she barely bit back a sob. Seraphina placed a gentle hand on her back, nudging Amelia inside. The space was small and completely bare. No shelves. Nothing on the floor. Not even a lightbulb overhead.
“I’m going to lock the door so you can’t make another stupid choice, but I promise, love, I’ll be back.” Smiling sweetly, Seraphina patted Amelia on the head. “It will all be okay.”
She blew a kiss. The door shut. There was a click, and the lock slid into place, leaving Amelia alone in the dark.
---------------------
Tag list: @yet-another-heathen, @veilofvoices, @watsonbee, @whump-slump, @3-2-whump, @oddsconvert
Declan, my bloodbag whumpee from my series 'Shattered'! 🩸⛓️
---
Commissioned from the AMAZING AND BEYOND SUPER TALENTED @elgrajaz ! thank you so so much for drawing my boy!!! 🥹😭 It's beautiful, I can't stop looking at him!!! AAAAAA!
If vampires could turn humans and August was unable to help Declan with the experimental cure, would August consider turning him to save him? Would he view it as a kinder fate than being trapped in his own body or would his own self loathing lead him to viewing it as worse?
And how would Declan handle the transformation? Would he still try to get in contact with his family? Would he try to take revenge on Vince now that he can't be persuaded?
Oh! It would depend on their progress and relationship!
If Declan was still in the comatose like state, August would not turn him - even if it were the last resort to save his life. Turning would be such a heavy burden to inflict upon Declan without knowing whether that is what he would want; to live as a monster, cast out from human territory/from his loved ones, forced to survive on human blood, immortality? Outliving all those he loves? August would almost view it as a kindness to let Declan pass on rather than be inflicted with such a curse.
But just for the sake of it, let's say August did turn Declan - idk maybe he thought he was doing the right thing by him? After all, he's a doctor - he's supposed to save his patients, not let them die, right?
Declan would NOT handle the transformation well at all. He would be inconsolable. Repulsed. He would rather have died a painful death than become what he despises and fears most. He would never try to get in contact with his family, nor would he attempt to return home. He could never forgive August - with his strength returned he would run away and never look back. Maybe he'd go on to desperately seek a cure or reversal.
But he wouldn't go after Vince. He's still beyond traumatised and petrified and even if Vince can't persuade him; he's physically stronger, wealthier, powerful - and wouldn't put it past Vince to keep Declan just as a little pet. Eternal suffering doesn't sound too appealing for him.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Whumpee is often left gagged when Whumper isn't around. After a while, they start to chew and bite it. Is it out of boredom? Anxiety? Something else? Who knows, but it drives Whumper up the wall because they're having to replace equipment every few months.
