#r-tower

Masterlist

CW: Multiple whumpees shown, multiple whumpers mentioned, whumperee, carewhumper, whumpee's perspective, mention of torture - specifically a beating, pretty short I think, no real plot just some emotional whump, whumpee forced to choose others for punishment

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Rolan tried not to make a sound as he was pushed to the ground – slaves were meant to be silent if they were not told to beg or cry – but a yelp escaped his torn lips anyway. The stone was always so hard on his bruises…He missed the soft carpet of the bedroom already, even though he knew what pain came with it.

He sniffled and pushed himself up onto his knees, deliberately keeping his eyes to the darkness of the floor. He did not look to the other prisoners for comfort, or for pity. He didn’t deserve it, and they were all looking elsewhere anyway. They were all being very still and quiet, trying as best they could to hide away from Master Oleh’s hard gaze. But he wasn’t interested in any of them in particular today. Not yet.

“Choose,” he grunted. Rolan tried in vain to swallow, but his throat was too dry. He could feel the others’ trembling from here. That voice was like a tiger in the darkness, prepared to spring and bite and claw each of them. If that tiger struck, their skin would be shredded into ribbons and their screams drowned out by his roar. Then they would be left with nothing but a faintly beating heart and agony before being dragged back to health by a touch that was anything but kind. The tiger was never allowed to finish off his prey. Maybe that’s why he was in such a bad mood.

“I-I don’t understand, Mas–”

“One of them is being beaten today. Choose who,” Master Oleh snapped down at him. Rolan flinched like the coward he was and his eyes widened. He could hear his former coworkers whimpering and shuffling backwards even more, like mice hiding in the dark of a storeroom, and he almost wished he could join them. He didn’t want to make this choice again, and it was almost always him!

But somehow worse was the completely irrational feeling of betrayal. This was a game. Master Oleh never played games! He was a soldier, a tank meant to punch and kick and fight until whatever he’d been pointed at stopped moving. He wasn’t made for cruelty or manipulation. He wasn’t Master Adrik or Master Érik.

“M-Master, I don’t understand. Y-You don’t have to d-do this,” he whispered. “You don’t need to play games to discipline us, r-right?”

He didn’t like talking back to any of his masters, but sometimes…well, sometimes it was clear he hadn’t fully learned his place.

And sometimes, his masters forgot their place.

“It was Adrik’s idea,” the monster said, arms crossed. His face seemed permanently drawn in a glare, his mouth twisted in a snarl, his eyes almost glowing with hate.

Rolan bit his lip and looked away. That was his fault, just like everything else that happened in this place. He had taught his masters hatred, and pain, and disgust for humanity. He had taught them war. How else could he have thought this would end?

Then he looked into the crowd of faces. He could name each of them if he so chose. Kirill, Boris, Sofron, Artur, Gena, Bronislav…He had chosen each of them to be sacrificed on the pyre they all once had a hand in creating. The pyre Rolan himself had lit.

Each of them looked directly at him, trying to catch his eye. He was not without a heart, unlike their creations. If they could just catch his eye, he might not choose them. He might spare them pain that day. It was a twisted form of power, one Rolan had once not thought twice about owning.

He lowered his eyes. He didn’t want to see any of their faces, the relief at not being chosen in most, and the horror in the one he chose.

“Díma, Master,” he whispered. Díma cried out, high and pleading, and the jingle of chains said he was straining to crawl even further back, but it was impossible. Their cells were small, and there were already too many of them crammed inside. The only place to truly run was out the front door…through their master.

Without delay and without a word, Master Oleh stepped through the crowd. They all scrambled away from him, and the unlucky few he stepped on cried out as bones cracked beneath his heels. Díma was crying, but it did him no good now. It never did. Master Oleh did not stop for false comfort, nor even to insult or jeer. He unlocked the chains and dragged the man into the light of outside, and soon the sound of their footsteps and cries faded into silence.

Rolan lied down and covered his face with his hands. He had not been chained, either to the wall or to the others. It was a privilege to have this amount of freedom. He should be grateful. But all he felt was despair.

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Hope y'all enjoyed this short one. If you weren't aware already, I'm taking a break on writing whump for the forseeable future. I'm focused on writing my novel, and my inspiration for seeing pretty boys has been lacking. It's been real, tho

Masterlist

CW: NONCON that turns to dubcon, NONCON as punishment/training, whumperee, conditioning, intimate whumper, semi-defiant whumpee

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“Bend over.”

Rolan obeyed, angry tears rolling down his cheeks. He was too tired, and too weak to resist Three right now, especially since he was in one of his dangerously calm moods, but that didn’t mean he had to be completely obedient. He very pointedly looked at the wall instead of watching and worrying about what the whore was going to do to him.

There had to be some way out of here. Some chance to escape or, better yet, kill these fuckers! 

It wasn’t a complete waste of work. He would make the next versions better, more subservient, with fewer mistakes in their programming! Maybe he should abandon bioengineering altogether and make them automatons. Yes, that would work. A replacement for Master Three would be impossible then, but at least they wouldn’t consider themselves people. Wait…what had he just called the creature? 

The slap was too sudden for him to bite back his cry of pain and he whipped his head back to glare at Three. That earned him another smack, and he had to bury his head in his arms to muffle a sob. 

“Enough thinking,” Three told him, pushing into him with a savage, intentionally painful thrust. Rolan bit into his arm so hard it nearly bled, trying not to scream. 

“Thinking has only ever gotten you into trouble, Rolan,” he said, fucking him in a steady rhythm, like it was just another day and not another chapter in the hell that was Rolan’s life. 

“You are better off simply listening to orders,” Three continued. “You are mine for the week, and I have come up with a few recitations for you.”

“W-What?” Rolan asked. He’d never made any of his creations do that shit. “Why?”

Another slap to his ass, hard enough to bruise his pale skin.

“M-May I ask why, Master Three?” he corrected himself, unable to keep the tremor from his voice and hating himself for it.

“To help you, of course,” Three answered, chuckling. Rolan’s derisive snort was interrupted by a hand viciously pulling his hair so harshly Rolan was forced to bend at the middle and look at his master’s sickly-sweet smile from upside down.

“It will help keep my pet out of trouble, and remind it of its place.” 

Against his better judgement, Rolan tried to grab the hand holding his hair. It was so painful– he was going to rip his hair out at this rate! But that was a mistake.

Three narrowed his eyes. Rolan was too weak to do anything but scrabble and pull uselessly at his wrist, and Three didn’t take kindly to being defied. He shoved deeper inside, aiming for the most painful spots inside his captive, and brought his left hand up to Rolan’s neck to throttle him. 

Rolan choked and gasped for air, screaming, “Stop!” but Three didn’t listen. He would never obey any of the bastard’s orders again. 

Then, at the very moment before Rolan could go limp, Three released his throat. Rolan inhaled, choked on the air, and hacked and coughed, and Three smiled, releasing his pet’s hair to let him bend back over the way his body wanted to. He leaned down over him, crooning softly in his ear.

“Poor pet,” he cooed. “Do you see now? This is why you must be reminded of where you stand. Recitations are a kindness, sweet. I am not nearly as cruel as you.” 

He turned the former researcher’s face to him and wiped away his tears. Rolan flinched, but didn’t attempt to pull away, and Three smiled calmly. 

“Good boy,” he said, the same hand that had so viciously yanked at Rolan’s hair now petting it, carding and caressing the dark mass like it was a dog’s fur. Rolan couldn’t even look at him. Very good.

“Now,” he said. “Repeat after Master. ‘I will obey Master Three.”

“I w-will obey Master Three,” Rolan said, not looking at him. He wasn’t stupid enough to give him an attitude here.

“Good. Repeat.” 

“I will obey Master Three.” This time the man moved inside him, but gently, like Rolan was his lover and not his victim. Even though it had started so brutally, it felt almost…good. Rolan bit off a whimper.

“Until I say stop, Rolan. Continue.”

With every recitation, Master Three– Three gently pushed inside and out of him, and each time felt better than the last. After so long with nothing but chill and pain as his constant companion, the warmth and pleasure Master gave him felt so good– no! Fight it, Rolan, he snapped at himself.

“Very good, pet,” Three said. Those hands were so nice on his neck, massaging the tight muscles there with just the right amount of force.

“Now, ‘punishment will make me better.’ Repeat, pet.”

“Punishment will…will make me better.” Another wave of pleasure. Master’s lips came to give him a gentle kiss on his neck. It felt…it felt horrible, he yelled internally. Of course it did! The loneliness of these years away from his father, his only living family and the only one who had ever loved him, meant nothing. He didn’t need others. He didn’t need their kindness or love, and he especially didn’t need their touch and their voice in his ear or their kisses!

“I am Master Three’s pet.”

“Master Three makes me better.”

“Only good pets deserve Master’s touch.”

“Only good pets can eat in Master’s lap.”

“Only good pets get warm baths and naps in Master’s bed.”

“I want to be good. I want to be good!”

No, he couldn’t fall for it! Just because he was being forced to say this didn’t mean he had to believe it! He was going to escape and–a-and…and return to help the war effort! He would save the children whose homes had been torn apart by bombs and the soldiers who were forced to endure cruelty day after day! 

“Rolan.” Rolan gasped, flinching away from Master Three like a naughty pet– fuck!

“You are thinking too hard again.” His dark eyes were soft and understanding. His hand was gentle on Rolan’s bruised cheek. He smelled of interesting spices and exotic oils instead of the blood and rot of the holding cells.

“What do you want, Rolan?”

“I want to be good,” he said automatically. What? He’d just– another wave of pleasure, another kiss! He wanted more, he wanted–!

“I want to be good!” he cried.

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Taglist: @turn-the-tables-on-them, @whumpdreamz

CW: fear, timeskipping through misery, punishment memories, whipping and cutting and beating memories, mind-breaking, semi-brainwashing, repetition, rationalization of pain, mention of lady whumper

Previous: I Want to Be Good

Next: Mood Swings

Masterlist: R-Tower Masterlist

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One. Two. Three.

Rolan’s life was repetition. Recitation of who he was, in a trembling voice when he was cold and filthy in his cage. A scientist. An officer. A hero who saved lives by the millions. Someone respected. Educated. Feared.

One. Two. Three.

Before the incident, he had repeated it in his mind alone. Not where it could be heard by others. He wanted to keep who he was. Who he had worked to become. All of it had to be kept inside his chest, safe and his.

He had thought he needed it back then. He hadn’t. Not like now.

Now, to the tune of a whip he promised and pleaded that he knew what his masters told him. In whispers or shouts they said it, and through tears and screams he repeated. Monster. Human. Pathetic. Evil. Weak. Afraid. He was afraid, yes, he was. Of the belt. The bed. The knife. The cold. The laughter.

One. Two. Three. He pushed wet rag against hard, chilled stone. His hands were put to something useful now.

One. Two. Three. Kneel down and ignore the ache in his knees, the trembling of his thighs and back.

One. Two. Three. Scream for the master. Yes, the one who liked his screams most. He needed his pain. He’d made this future for himself in making them.

One. Two. Three seconds of looking into those green eyes. Watch like he had watched before…Apologize. Again. Again. Again.

“Mistress…Master…My masters…”

One. Two. Three scritches around his ears and scalp and neck. He had been a good pet.

One. Two. Three cracks over his shoulders. Pain to break him, and pain to heal him. He needed it. He would become better. He would stop being a monster. He would become a good pet.

One. Two. Three.

One. Two. Three.

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Taglist: @neverthelass, @turn-the-tables-on-them, @boahamcock, @whumpdreamz, @whatwhumpcomments, @honeybees-125, @whump-on-a-log

This series is split into three parts: when the Five are Whumpees, when the Five are Whumpers, and when the Five are Caretakers. Or when Rolan is a Whumper, when Rolan is a Whumpee, and when he's a Whumpee/Caretaker.

There is a storyline, but most of these chapters can be read in any order (within a single part, that is).

CW: Frequent NSFWhump/NONCON, whumper to whumpee, whumpee to whumper, and then both eventually to caretaker for each other, pet whump, victim blaming, lab/medical whump, multiple whumpers/whumpees, emotional whump, torture, punishment, begging, crying, blood, semi-magic, mentions of war, nonhuman whumpees (they're part machine, part animal, part human - like Frankenstein's monster as a cyborg)

Part 1: Creation

Religious Mimicry

Sascha

For Just A While

Morality: A Clusterfuck of Nonsense

Part 2: Revenge

His Own Creations

I Want to Be Good

One. Two. Three.

Mood Swings

Escape Attempts Burn

He Deserved This

Ready for Round Two?

The Nights He Would Remember

A Light Punishment

Resting in Hell

Resting in Hell Pt. 2

Choose

The Taste of Kindness

The Quiet of Night

Contentment

Still A Monster

I Can’t Care Anymore

Who Are You?

Part 3: Forgiveness

Rumors of a New Future

Re-Training Begins

Allowed to Rest

He’s Changed

Yeah, I know it took a while for me to answer, but it's not my fault! The inspiration comes when it comes, alright? Enjoy.

CW: fear of/asking for noncon, fear of violence, carewhumper, whumperee, recovery, lots of internal worry/concern on both sides

Masterlist: R-Tower Masterlist

Past: Allowed to Rest

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Rolan woke without knowing where he was. This was becoming too common an occurrence to be healthy, but what could he do? Ask Mistress for help? Obviously not: he didn’t deserve her assistance in anything, no matter how sincere she sounded when he was sent to her.

He was surprised, though, to find that he’d awoken in such a comfortable place. He sat up with a grunt of effort and looked around. He lay on a soft bed with warm, thick blankets the color of the ground in winter. The room was dark, and when Rolan sat up he could feel the chill coming from the cooling system in the ceiling. It took him a few moments to remember, but when he did he wanted to laugh and cry simultaneously..

That’s right. He was due a punishment from Master Oleh, the cruel man who had become kind. Rolan lied back down and closed his eyes, knowing it was hopeless to worry. Better to conserve his energy and strength for whatever was to come.

Part of him wondered what had happened. He hadn’t seen much of Master Oleh in what he guessed was a long while, and the few times he had, the man had always looked tired. Almost…sad.

His heart clenched at the thought. He wished he knew what had caused his master to feel this way. Maybe Rolan could help fix it. Maybe Master punishing his slave would help, but if it didn’t, what was Rolan to do? He was in no position to overstep his bounds and make suggestions, not when he was already in trouble for disturbing the bioengineered man.

Whatever happened, he didn’t want his punishment to be as horrible as it could be. He really should be showing his remorse and respect for his master’s time, not lying in the man’s bed. 

He sat up again and rolled onto the ground gracelessly before gathering himself into a kneeling position. He had to apologize properly when Master came in, and to do that, he needed to show he was sorry. A few bruises were more than worth it. Maybe this time, the beating wouldn’t break any bones. That would be if he was lucky: he didn't want the mistress to be disturbed and forced to exert herself for him.

Oleh made his already heavy footsteps echo off the stone walls. He wanted to give Rolan warning of his coming, just in case the little human was coherent. He knew the human was awake – his heartrate and breathing had both changed – but how much he could comprehend his surroundings was…was a coin toss. Fuck, metaphors were the worst. Or was that an analogy?

The sudden cut-off whimper told him Rolan was indeed lucid, but still he opened his wooden door quietly, and then immediately had to hold in a sigh. Rolan had not stayed in bed like the former soldier had hoped. Instead, he was kneeling beside it, and was still naked. Oleh had left clothes for him on the bedside table. But then, someone so used to not wearing anything might not even consider them something he was meant to actually use.

Oleh walked over and sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the human. It was aggravating. He towered over scared and helpless people as an everyday activity; he shouldn’t have to do it in his own room. Especially not when the someone was Rolan who, even after everything they’d done, looked so small.

“Look at me,” he rumbled quietly, consciously using more words than normal to make his orders easier to follow. Rolan obeyed immediately, and his gray eyes were wide and frightened. Oleh slowly held out a hand, intent on petting Rolan and telling him he was good, that there was nothing to be afraid of. The human barely even looked at his massive paw, but leaned into it without hesitation, still watching him.

Oleh blinked in muted surprise. He hadn’t expected Rolan to still be so willing to touch him…Focus.

“Are you still tired?” he asked. “Or hungry?”

“Yes, Master, a…a little,” Rolan answered, sounding hoarse. He also sounded scared, though not quite panicked, and completely exhausted.

Oleh didn’t know exactly how long Rolan had been crawling around the tower, or what he duties he thought he'd been assigned considering Oleh's siblings had decided to stop giving orders, but he knew sleep deprivation when he saw it. A four-hour nap was far too little time for any real healing. For a moment, the fourth considered sending the man to Yuri for more rest, but then remembered that his brother was already looking after several humans who had caught what he called “summer colds.” Which didn't make any sense. Summers were hot. Human illnesses were insane. 

“Back to bed,” Oleh ordered, standing and gathering Rolan in his arms before depositing him back on the mattress. It couldn’t be helped. Rolan wasn’t well and Oleh was still his master; he had to take care of him.

And it would be good to gauge just how much damage they had all done to Rolan anyway. Out of every human in the R-Tower, Rolan was the one hated most by all five of them, and for the longest. His scars would run deeper than any of the others’.

“M-Master, please,” Rolan whimpered, arms covering his bare chest seemingly unconsciously. And okay, his heartrate was skyrocketing. When had he started crying? Why was he crying?

“Please, I’m sorry for sleeping in f-front of your room. I didn’t mean to! Please choose s-some other way, I…I’ll accept anything, Master, I-I just…”

Ah. Hadn’t Érik stopped doing that a few months ago?

“I’m not fucking you,” he said, pulling the warm blankets over Rolan’s naked body. The human’s body was too cold. “No punishments.” 

“W-What? But you–”

“Rolan.”

Rolan squeaked and snapped his mouth shut. While Oleh had expected that, he hadn’t expected his pet to turn onto his stomach and push his hips into the air, fighting the blankets to present both his back and his ass. He was sobbing now, and Oleh was…disturbed.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t seen this behavior from other humans before, especially if they had once tortured Érik, but few had ever presented themselves to him this way. Most were afraid that he would call his elder brother to rape them or feared that Oleh would beat them. They never assumed he would be the one to do this; he didn’t even have a dick to do it with. 

Gods, he hated thinking about sex like this. Even hearing about Érik’s treatment, or his treatment of the humans, made Oleh feel sick in a way none of their siblings’ treatment ever did. 

It was just gross!

And he hadn’t had to. All his siblings knew how to handle it whenever it came up. He regretted his failure to learn what to do in these situations now, though. 

If he called one of his siblings to deal with this, Rolan would become even more frightened, and his already mangled trust in Oleh would fall even further. He could do this. He had to do this. For himself and for Rolan. 

“…Why?” he figured was a good question to ask.

“P-Please,” Rolan gasped, voice muffled by the pillows he’d shoved his head into. “Please punish me. I won’t m-move, I swear, Master.”

“You want punishment.”

Many humans did. And…Oleh had too, at times. Though he had never given into the urge to ask for it from his trainers, he understood the desire to beg for the pain to be gotten over with quickly. Or to fix what was wrong with him.

“I-I want you to feel better, Master,” Rolan said, voice muffled. “I’ll fetch you food afterward if you want. Or run a bath. A-Anything.”

Well, that was depressing, but Oleh felt a little more grounded already. He knew how to treat humans who wanted to please him, trying make the pain and fear go away. 

The enormous man sat on the bed and carefully peeled Rolan away from the pillows, pleasantly surprised when the human actually fought him to stay there. Fighting was good. It was proof he had a will of his own, even if it was choked by fear responses and misguided instincts. It was new, though. He knew his siblings had left the man alone, so what had happened to cause Rolan to change like this? Had the other humans been bullying him?

Oleh took Rolan into his arms and held him there, pressing the man carefully into his broad chest to force him to listen to his steady heartbeat and feel his slow breathing. Rolan shook like a leaf but, as Oleh expected, slowly began to relax. Good.

He was still crying out, still begging in a muffled, strangled voice, but he wasn’t in danger of hyperventilating anymore. Very good.

This panic would only prolong his chronic exhaustion. Oleh didn’t care much for most music, but he considered calling in one of the humans who were good with instruments to calm Rolan's nerves. Only for a moment, though. It had never done Oleh any good to be humiliated in front of his siblings when he was panicking, not for anything they could do. This might be similar. Like an audience was present to witness his failure. 

When Rolan had finally calmed down, Oleh used a handkerchief to wipe away his tears and put him back in the bed before fetching a few snacks. He would call for a full meal later, once he was sure Rolan wouldn’t throw it all up again.

“You aren’t in trouble,” Master said again, handing him another cracker dwarfed by his hand. Rolan accepted it like a good pet should, but he couldn’t taste it. He nuzzled into the man’s hand, desperate to show he was sorry and that he would accept anything. Anything. But nothing happened. Maybe Master Oleh would take him in now and allow Rolan to Attend him since no one else really wanted him.

That’s what he hoped this was anyway. It had to be. Master Oleh wasn’t one to play mind games. At least, he hadn’t been before. It was clear the man had changed since Rolan had last served him. 

Before this change, Rolan would have been thrown to the floor or slammed against a wall, or completely ignored like he was nothing, not being pampered and fed little bits of crackers and grapes. What was he doing?

“W-What’s going to happ–” He shut up. He shouldn’t be questioning his betters. He knew that!

“I’m going to keep you here,” his master answered, mercifully calm. “You need rest.”

“I…I’m Attending you?” Rolan asked in a small, hopeful voice. The master nodded once before feeding him another grape, and Rolan accepted it gratefully, warmth rising in his chest. He’d been right. 

It had been so long since he had Attended this master, and Master Oleh was so strange now that it almost scared him, but this all really did make sense. Rolan’s masters were unpredictable in passing. Their moods changed their behavior drastically, from giving him small gifts in the halls for being cute to slapping him to the floor for breathing too loudly.

But in the end, Rolan was no longer a slave. He knew he was officially known to each of his masters as their pet. When they took the time to focus their attention on him for more than a few seconds, his status as the favorite both helped and hurt him. 

Using Mistress Sascha’s powers to heal him was a worthwhile endeavor, as was beating him senseless if it helped this msster. Taking care of him when he was sick was something any a good and kind master would do for a pet, and Master Oleh was well known now for caring for slaves who were injured when Master Yuri was busy.

“Sleep,” Master Oleh said suddenly. Rolan swallowed and nodded obediently. Master wanted to take care of him, and once Rolan felt better, he would Attend the man. No more wandering the halls, hoping to find someone to serve for more than a minute or two. He was so grateful that Master Oleh had changed. That he had become a kind master.

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Let it never be said that I'm not a good whump dealer. I gotchu!

CW: little bit of cleaning, whumperee and carewhumper's internal thoughts, crying, fear of punishment, a short beating, small mention of blood, multiple whumpees, one step forward - two steps back kind of trope

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Master Oleh rarely called for Rolan to Attend him. In fact, he usually didn’t “call” anyone. He went down to the dungeons and dragged someone out of the darkness if he wanted to beat them, and his methods for choosing who was a mystery to every human of the R-Tower. 

But Rolan had woken up slung over a broad, hard shoulder and being carried through the endless halls without a single word of explanation or comfort. He tensed immediately, and apologies started pouring from his mouth almost out of instinct. Obviously, he didn’t struggle. Master Oleh was never to be disobeyed, Rolan knew that.

“Quiet,” Master Oleh said. Rolan shut himself up and forced his body to fall limp. The order had been uncharacteristically…easy? Quiet? Rolan tried to remind himself of their last encounter. Master Oleh had praised him, allowed Rolan’s touch, all things the human had never dreamed might be possible before then. And Master Érik had allowed Rolan to be taken without even a warning; that meant Master Oleh wouldn’t be hurting him today, right? Rolan wanted to be hopeful. He tried to be, but mostly his stomach was just buzzing with nerves.

When they reached the man’s room – a place the former scientist recognized as one of the smaller lab stations in the lower parts of the R-Tower – he prepared to be dumped unceremoniously on the wooden floor, but to his surprise he was set down almost gently. Out of habit, he chased the scarred hands upwards as his master straightened, but instead of petting him, Master Oleh only frowned. He didn’t seem angry, though, so Rolan tried edging a little closer to nuzzle his cheek against the man’s leg.

When the master stepped back this time, it was fast, almost like he’d panicked. Rolan looked up at him, perplexed.

“Oil,” Master Oleh ordered brusquely, nodding at something behind Rolan, then turned and went to sit on the bed and fiddle with…something, Rolan couldn’t see it. Rolan stared after him, bewildered by this rapid change in routine, and tried to piece together his master’s vague orders. He looked around for what he was supposed to clean. A few bottles of different oils were laid out behind him…on the floor for some reason. And next to them were stained rags waiting to be used. And next to those were a collection of metal, steel, and iron things. Things Rolan had once understood the purpose of.

Rolan crawled over to them and picked each bottle up to examine it. They were cleaning oils, each for a different kind or piece of machinery, based on the pictures. It was odd that he’d been called here for this; Master Oleh rarely bothered with organizing the maintenance of the rooms, including his own, as he preferred to leave that up to the oldest of the Five.

But maybe…maybe this was a good thing. Rolan wanted, with all his heart, to be a good pet. Master Oleh was not like Master Érik, and perhaps how they treated their pets was different. 

Rolan picked up a metal object that could be opened and shut like a tiny hand mirror. If this was how he could show Master Oleh that Rolan was worth being cared for, he would do his absolute best. 

Oleh watched the human polish door hinges, locks, keys, pipes, bolts, forks, gears, and everything else metal he’d found around the R-Tower. He did so from far away, from the soft bed his sister had gifted him, so he didn’t get nervous again. He was still uncomfortable with how Rolan had tried to touch his leg before; it was just so weird to be touched without a purpose. 

But more than that, this had been a chance to observe. He’d been correct to believe that Rolan preferred to be on his knees – even when ordered to stand, his expressions always became tight and fearful – so it was good that Oleh had placed the cleaning things on the ground.

He was taking this time to look over Rolan’s body; the lack of bruises, the dark scars, the slowly filling out body…the brand. He looked so small down there on the floor, as opposed to when he was strung up in chains or watching Oleh train from above the auditorium.

His eyes were soft and blue and focused, but they lacked the cruelty they once held. His black hair was becoming longer now that it was no longer being hacked at by Adrik or ripped out by Érik, and because he was less stressed about receiving another of Oleh’s cruel beatings. He’d only recently began to think of them as cruel rather than as justified. Rolan was just so…weak. He was so helpless.

He was always crying or begging or falling into a terrified silence, and if his masters were kind to him, or simply not cruel for a time, he fell over himself trying to please them.

Oleh sighed – silently, so he didn’t scare Rolan – and leaned his head back onto the wall. He was confused. He didn’t like how complicated his feelings had become on the matter of Rolan, but Yuri had encouraged him to think about them before “running away” from them. Oleh didn’t run away from his feelings, nor anything else, but he’d decided to accept the advice to sit and think. He’d been doing that a lot lately anyway.

Something had changed inside Oleh since Rolan had convinced him not to beat him again after last time. In his moment of weakness, Rolan had somehow found a way into the tiny chink of his armor and had scattered and confused his thoughts. That was just like the bastard, really, but…it felt different than normal. Rolan hadn’t been so smug while doing it this time and Oleh could have stopped him if he had really and truly wanted to.

So why–?

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. He glared at it a moment, but then sighed. He needed a break from thinking anyway. He felt like he was going to overheat like a machine.

“Come,” he said. 

The human who walked through the door was one Oleh had seen many times. It was one of the almost-innocent versions, the kind who hadn’t hurt him or his family directly but had instead watched. This one was a male with blonde hair who wore a maid dress and circular glasses. He looked familiar, but Oleh didn’t dwell on it; almost every human looked the same to him anyway, unless they had somehow hurt him. Then he remembered their face perfectly.

But this human hadn’t. He was carrying a tray with some fancy meat dish Oleh couldn’t remember the name of on it, and at the sight Oleh almost smiled. He’d wanted to have food here for Rolan as well as himself. He thought, like Érik, he could learn things about Rolan by watching him and then interacting with him. Rolan liked food. He ate it from Érik’s hand directly.

Oleh beckoned the human impatiently to hurry and bring it all, ignoring the annoyance of the idiot’s knees knocking together, and turning to Rolan.

“Come, Rolan,” he said. Rolan put his cleaning things down obeyed immediately, nervous but obviously hopeful of good things, and Oleh did smile at that. It was becoming harder to see this frightened, obedient human as the one who had hurt him and his family so.

He reached a hand out to him, to do what he wasn’t sure, but a shriek and a crash made the entire room freeze. The blonde human…. Oleh looked to him, noted the waste of the food, and then the human’s terrified expression. He looked back at Rolan. He was cowering, nearly crying again already, just as terrified. All Oleh’s efforts to calm and comfort him in the ways Oleh knew how, gone, just like that. 

The man turned to the blonde and without really thinking about it slapped him hard across the face, sending the human crashing to the ground like the food. Pathetic. He hadn’t even punched him.

“Get up.”

“Th-Thank you for disciplining me, Master…i-it was an accident. I’ll go c-clean it up.”

Rolan hardly dared to open his eyes. The sound of a sharp slap had left him shaking. That quavering voice, pained and on the verge of tears, was Hans. He knew the man. He was a young trainee who’d been wrapped into this mess with the rest of them. Rolan would have pitied him, perhaps even felt some guilt at the man’s predicament, but he was too afraid for himself to worry much about someone else. If their master remembered Rolan was there, free for his use, Rolan would take the brunt of his anger.

Oleh growled.

“I say you leave?” His already short vocabulary shortened further with his fury. Hans jumped and immediately turned around, shaking. Rolan internally prayed that the old fear in Hans’ eyes wouldn’t make him fall.

“No, I-I’m sorry, Master Oleh. I ju– I thought– t-to clean and–”

The master stood, took a step towards him, and the man fell to his knees immediately. No! 

“I’m sorry, please!” Hans shrieked, backing up until his back hit the wall. “Please Master, I’m sorry! S-So sorry!”

Rolan was afraid, he wanted to be a coward and cover his ears like he always did but…he just couldn’t watch this happen. Hans was innocent! 

“Master Oleh!” he shouted, surging to his feet. One look with those furious eyes would normally have him sobbing on his knees again, but Rolan was running on adrenaline. He ran to their master, putting himself between the two of them, and begged him to show leniency just this once. 

“Master, wait!” he begged. “Please. Hurt me. H-Hurt me if you must punish someone! He was just trying to be good! Isn’t that what you trained us to be?”

The punch was expected, but Rolan’s arms could never withstand the strength of Master Oleh’s fist. Rolan was thrown backwards, hitting Hans and slamming them both to the wall. They slid to the floor in a heap, both crying, even as Rolan tried to hush the man.

“I-It’ll be okay,” he whisper-wept. “You’ll be okay. Just stay q-quiet and still. No, w-wait. Master, please!”

Oleh grabbed his new target by the hair and hauled him up by it. Rolan screamed, hands unconsciously going to his master’s wrists even though that wasn’t allowed–

“You don’t argue!” Oleh roared at him. “Not with me!”

“I-I didn’t…mean…to…!”

“Shut up!” 

Rolan didn’t even know what he hit this time, but he heard the sickening crack of breaking bones and felt hot, wet blood run down his forehead, and he knew he was in trouble. He’d expected bruises and a few fractures, not broken bones and a potential concussion. 

He stayed where he was, the pain coming slowly and horribly like wolves upon an abandoned herd of sheep. 

“Human.” The master was still after Hans? Rolan despaired. Who knew how much more punishment he was in for, and in the end it had all been for nothing.

“M-Master,” he tried again hopelessly. “He didn’t mean it. Please, l-leave him!”

The man turned and Rolan flinched, but the fist came down on the bed frame, cracking and splintering the wood while red eyes glared down at him. 

“Shut up,” Master Oleh snarled. He pointed at the bed. “Lie down.”

Rolan obeyed, still crying softly for him to forgive Hans, that he hadn’t meant it. Rolan would take his place if need be. But Master Oleh had always been focused on whichever mission he’d chosen, and he didn’t care nor appear to even hear Rolan’s pleas. He turned and left the room angrily with a sobbing Hans, and Rolan was left alone, crying into the bed as the sound of the heavy door closed behind them.

Fuck. Oleh’s fury was still as hot and all-consuming as it had been before, but now he was fighting it, wrestling it down like a rabid bear. This hadn’t been the plan. He’d just gotten so angry about the food…he looked down at the man he was dragging along and let go of his wrist. There would be a new bruise. He turned and slammed a fist into the stone walls.

“Fuck!” he roared. He just needed to get the anger out of him somehow. He’d scared Rolan– more than that, he’d hurt him. Badly. Oleh hadn’t had to truly hold back in a long time. And then he’d lost control when he saw Rolan do the same thing he’d always done; deny Oleh his freedom. He’d gotten in between the slave and Oleh with that wide-eyed expression, making Oleh feel again like a monster that real people had to be protected from. He slammed his fist into the wall again. Rolan had been right to think that, all those years ago, hadn’t he? Just look at Oleh now.

He laid his forehead on the cool parts of the stone, breathing hard. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. Why was he like this? Rolan, it was Rolan’s fault. He’d turned him into this monster. But he…he had changed. He was weak now, in the mind and body. He couldn’t hurt Oleh even if he tried, and even during the fight, he hadn’t tried. He’d done nothing but make…what were they called? Platitudes. Bargains. Because Oleh had the power to take them now. He had the power to stop everything. To make it all go away.

And he hadn’t.

“Human,” he said quietly. The blonde one was still crying at his feet but responded, albeit still terrified. That made Oleh feel…strange. It didn’t twist his insides like Rolan’s terror but…later. He would think later. He didn’t have the energy for this.

“Get Sascha to heal Rolan, and clean my room,” he ordered slowly. There was a moment where the human was clearly waiting for more, but then he jumped up, bowed, and ran like his life depended on it. Oleh squeezed his eyes shut so he couldn't be driven to run after him. For all either of them knew, it did.

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CW: Whumpee turned whumper, whumper turned whumpee, waterboarding, scalding, stabbing, torture/violence, blood loss, near death experience, monster whumper, human whumpee, recounting of all things whumperee has done wrong, punishment

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Masterlist

Rolan gasped, hacking and coughing and trying his hardest to gulp in what precious air he could before his head was forced back into the steaming basin of water. His screams just let more water flow into his open mouth, burning him inside and out. 

He wasn’t supposed to resist, he knew he wasn’t supposed to resist but his arms flailed anyway, and his feet kicked. He wasn’t trying to get out of the water, he swore he wasn’t, but it just hurt and he needed to breathe and he–

He spluttered, trying to gasp for breath while water was trying to choke him. Master Adrik had pulled him up again. The long talons around his shoulders disappeared and he crashed to the ground, thin body still wracking and convulsing on the hard floor. He had to stop, had to get into the proper position. He couldn’t give Master Adrik any more reasons to punish him!

After a few minutes of coughing, he managed a weak “I’m sorry, M-Master,” before immediately collapsing into another coughing fit. He was coughing so loudly that he didn’t hear his master’s chuckling, nor the long knife he was sharpening against his tan scales. He saw it well enough though when he was able to see again.

Even with their bleary vision, the sight of his cruelest master casually playing with a knife was enough to nearly give the human a heart attack.

“No, Master, please!” he begged, throwing himself into the proper position he should have already been in, fuck. “I’m sorry! Please, you said you would punish me lightly today!” 

“Oh, Rolan,” Adrik cooed, walking towards him. “I haven’t punished you. Not yet.”

“B-B-But…the water….”

“Oh, that was just for fun!” Adrik said, grinning widely before brandishing the knife. “And I am punishing you lightly. Oleh told me that my punishments are too complex, and I was feeling sentimental, so we’re just going to play a little tally game today. It’s called ‘How many times has Rolan made Adrik sick for an experiment?’ Doesn’t that sound fun?”

Rolan went rigid with horror. He couldn’t remember, he realized. He had no idea how many times it had happened. How many poisons had he given the master to test his vulnerability? How many times had he run him into exhaustion trying to build his stamina?

 There must have been dozens over the years. Hundreds! And anything Rolan’s former underlings had done would be added to the tally score, even if Rolan hadn’t known at the time. He was the head scientist; there was no way Master Adrik wouldn’t blame him for it all. 

There was no way he could survive this without the mistress to heal him, Rolan was certain. And if he said he didn’t know, he couldn’t remember how many times he’d fucked up his own life by doing this, master would hurt worse, and he was already grabbing his neck, placing the knife to his back–

“Master, wait!” he yelled, forcing his arms not to grab his master’s furry limbs. “Please, not– not on my back, Master Adrik. My arms! My-My legs!”

“Aw, but your back is so much easier to work with,” the master giggled. “And it makes so much more pretty blood. Do you know, your blood is incredibly beautiful. Prettier than most people I’ve seen. It’s just so…dark. Rich. Even though you’re not getting much food anymore, it’s so gorgeous…. How am I meant to see your blood if I’m just cutting your arm a little, Rolan?”

“T-The legs, then, Master, my legs! Please, you promised you’d be merciful today….”

“Ugh, fine!” He tossed Rolan like a ragdoll towards the center of the room.

The human’s shout was cut off by the impact knocking the breath out of him. His head was pounding, but he shook it off, trying to crawl to his knees before the master could grab him again.

He failed.

Master Adrik was a tall, heavy creature and he sat on Rolan’s thin back with absolutely no care for the latter’s wellbeing. Rolan felt the bones in his ribcage bend under the pressure and tried to breathe deeper. He couldn’t resist. It could always get worse, he reminded himself. Always. Just because Master Adrik stuck to his promises didn’t mean any of the other masters would if their youngest member complained that Rolan had somehow hurt him again.

“Now,” Master said, voice switching from cheerful to venomous in an instant as they set the sharp edge of the blade against Rolan’s fragile skin.

“I seem to remember fifteen times off the top of my head, Rolan. I’m feeling generous, so I’ll be extra nice. Name fifteen for me – any of them will do – and we’ll stop the tally game there. Fail…and I suppose I’ll have to keep going until I run out of memories. And Rolan…”

They let their voice drop to a snarling whisper. 

“You made me with a very good memory.”

“I-I understand, Master,” Rolan whimpered gratefully. “Thank you s-so…so much for your kindness.”

“Wonderful.” The point of the knife poked playfully at Rolan’s heel. The tendon just above the heel was sensitive. His master knew. There was no way he didn’t know. Was it a threat? He wouldn’t actually cut there on the first one, would he? The human let out a tiny sob and began wracking his brains for a memory. 

“Begin, Rolan.”

“I-I’m sorry! I, uh…the– when I gave you that deadly nightshade– AGH-ugh!” It hadn’t been on the tendon, but it was pretty damn close. Master Adrik laughed while Rolan tried to get his bearings.

“Oh, I remember that one. You had me doing stamina training for the rest of the day – even put me in solitary and raised the temperature in my room to fifty degrees Celsius to see if I could ‘handle it.’ Those hallucinations were insane.”

“Please Master, forgive me.” It was hopeless, and they both knew it.

“I suppose it’s in a human’s nature to beg. Especially someone like you. Second memory, go.”

“I-I…gave you nuts for exposure therapy even though you were aller– I’m sorry!” The next cut was vicious, driven almost to the bone.

“That one happened a lot,” the master said, nodding. Rolan could hear the glee in his voice. “Third one.”

“M-Master, I can’t…" His head was swimming, he couldn't focus, could barely even think. "Please, I….”

“Oh, okay.” The next one was not a cut. It was a stab right through the back of Rolan’s right calf. His leg exploded in pain and he screamed, but it wasn’t enough. The master slashed at his kicking legs with deadly accuracy, muttering to himself with each strike.

“Gave me raw meat…made me eat soap…exposed me to radiation for no reason…let Beatrice give an enema for fucking science…those fucking opioids…stabbed me in every organ I had to test my resilience...tried getting me addicted to heroine– why the fuck did you try to get me addicted to drugs, you asshole!? What if it had worked!?”

Rolan screamed until his throat felt raw, clawing at the ground just to end some, at least some of the pain, but it was useless. His master was larger and stronger than him. He was more than human, better than human, and he was angry. He had every right to be.

“You fucking tortured me for-for-for years! You tried to make me hurt my brothers! You don't get to fucking cry!”

“I’m sorry, Master!” Rolan sobbed. He was. He was so sorry – he could barely remember the times his master was talking about, but he knew in his heart he had done them. Why had he done it? He couldn’t think of a good reason anymore. He couldn't think of anything. His legs burned like they’d been set on fire, and sticky blood ran hot over his bare legs and onto the floor.

“Say you deserve it, you fucker! You fucking– ARGH!” The knife clanged to floor somewhere far off, but Rolan could barely hear it.

“I-I deserve it," he sobbed. “I deserve it, I deserve everything you– I'm s-sorry! I'm so...so sorry....”

When the master stopped, Rolan could hardly see or hear anything over the haze of agony. He tried to embrace the pain, like Master Oleh said he should, but he didn’t know how. All Rolan knew was that he deserved every ounce of the pain he felt now. He knew he did. 

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed again. His master wouldn’t believe him, but he deserved to hear it anyway. He was less a monster than Rolan was. It had always been that way. He deserved all of this tenfold, a hundredfold, for what he’d done to his creations. He deserved to die.

And now, maybe he would. The world was beginning to swim and his head felt woozy. He had lost too much blood, he realized. He hadn’t atoned yet – he would never be able to. But as far as he was concerned, dying at the claws of his youngest victim was a good end.

Darkness closed in at the corners of his vision and he welcomed it. 

“Shit…” The voice was quiet and distant, but sounded vaguely like Master Adrik. He closed his eyes.

“I went too far. Shit…Sascha! Help, I– Sascha! Help!”

So he wasn’t allowed to die, then…. He deserved this anyway.

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Taglist: @turn-the-tables-on-them, @whumpdreamz

Masterlist

Next: He’s Changed

CW: Fear of punishment, fear of noncon, semi-fainting, exhaustion, fed by hand, pet whump, slavery whump, comfort, begging, intimate (but not sexual) whumpee/caretaker, whumperee, carewhumper

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When he was a monster, Rolan had often been told by his coworkers that he didn’t sleep enough. He’d brushed off these comments and concerns like a fool, intent on always doing work. 

When his masters had taken on the duty of teaching him better, he’d spent days without sleep, terrified of every sigh and scream in the darkness. Only after he’d been branded did he give into exhaustion and sleep properly for the first time in weeks. 

And as time had gone on, Rolan had learned to sleep hard, and sleep fast, taking every precious minute he could to rest. His dreams were strange and easily forgotten, and he’d considered that yet another curse. How nice it would have been to escape his cruel world into the sweet land of dreams!

Ironically, now that he wasn’t being disciplined as often, Rolan found that he was dreaming more. And the dreams were never kind, gentle things to escape into. They were filled with screams, the smell of his skin burning, the gleaming reflection of artificial light off vials and syringes he used on his masters before he’d learned his place. 

He had more time to sleep now – everyone did – in beds Mistress Sascha had ordered repaired for them all. It was more kindness than any of them deserved, and Rolan couldn’t even enjoy it. He hadn’t slept well in days, and it was showing.

He’d almost fallen over twice today alone, and he was shaky, even on his knees. Master Érik had had to call his name three times before Rolan heard him, and he was more than grateful the master had seen fit to forgive him this time for it. Even if it worried him how so very kind the master had been lately….

Focus. He needed nourishment. Water, and maybe a slice of bread. As soon as he’d finished eating he would make himself presentable to the masters for work again. He couldn’t go to them in this state. His masters deserved him at his very best, always. 

As soon as he was dismissed from Attending Master Érik, he made his slow way to the kitchen. It became difficult to remember where he was going, and how to get there, but he was wary of asking the other slaves. He didn’t want them to get in trouble for associating with him any more than they wanted to. 

His head began to pound as he continued to crawl, and Rolan realized he was breathing hard. Too hard, like he’d just a run a marathon instead of crawling for a few minutes. He tried to press forward, placing his hands and knees carefully, slowly, on the final staircase to the kitchens. He realized too late that his vision had turned dark – he couldn’t see his hands anymore, or the steps!

He was too stunned with horror to even attempt catching himself as he fell. His arms came up to protect his head, and even though it didn’t take long for him to end up at the bottom of the stairs, he cried like he’d taken an hour long beating. 

His whole body hurt. He felt bruised and battered all over, and the thought of moving made him sick. He was lucky he hadn’t thrown anything up when he’d fallen, the way he was feeling now. 

No one came for him. Maybe no one had heard? He couldn’t hear any footsteps, or even any voices. That was odd for being so near the kitchens, but he didn’t question it. He didn’t want anyone to force him to move, even if they were trying to help him. He just wanted to stay here, huddling in his fetal position, until everything stopped hurting so much.

Rolan sniffled, curling in on himself even more. He would definitely need more than a few minutes of rest before he could Attend properly now. He was so worthless. Such a spoiled excuse for a slave; hadn’t his masters spent all their time and effort training him these last few years? There was no excuse for this. He needed to get it together before one of them found him being useless and rightfully punished him.

And he would. In just…just a few minutes. 

“Rolan.” The voice was deep and rough, but not angry. Rolan shot awake anyway, scrambling into a proper kneeling position while his scattered brain tried to figure out where he was. He was kneeling on a soft, deep blue carpet without patterns, and the air was chilly, despite it being summer. 

Master Oleh’s room. 

How had he gotten here? Why was he just waking up? Had he been asleep? Yes, he’d…he must have dozed off when resting before! How had he mistaken this place as the hall near the kitchens? How could he have fallen asleep here of all places?

“M-Master Oleh…” Rolan whispered, dread lodged in their throat like a stone. The tall man whose bones were made from metal, whose muscles were made from steel, and whose heart was made of stone, looked down his nose at the trembling man kneeling before him. 

He wouldn’t be forgiven for this, Rolan knew. His largest, strongest master enjoyed his solitude. He rarely spoke to anyone but a few of his favorite pets and the other masters anymore, and everyone knew not to enter his room without asking, though he never had it locked.

Eyes already filling with tears, Rolan pressed his forehead to the floor. He was in so much trouble. Maybe if he told Master how it had been an accident he could escape the worst of his punishment, though he knew he deserved whatever he got for this. Why had his confused brain thought this was the way to the kitchens?

“Why did you sleep in front of my room?” Master Oleh asked directly. In front of? Oh! Thank goodness– so he hadn’t barged in after all! That meant…that meant Master Oleh had carried him inside, so gently that Rolan hadn’t noticed until he’d been put down.

Master Oleh…he was being so kind to him. Rolan was grateful. More than grateful! He inched forward on his knees until he could bury his face in the man’s legs. It felt nice to touch him. It was so rare now that he was touched. By anyone.

He kissed both his feet in deference. Master Oleh didn’t call him good, but he didn’t step away either, and Rolan peeked up at him with shining eyes. He hadn’t seen Master Oleh in so long…and he’d become so kind….

Snap out of it, he yelled at himself internally. He needed to explain himself right now! He had to ingratiate himself to Master so that he would allow Rolan’s touch just a little longer and escape the worst of the coming discipline!

“I’ve been so tired, Master,” he said nervously, clutching his master’s legs. “M-My dreams are keeping me from getting any rest. I got confused trying to go to the kitchens. And-And then, I fell down those s-stairs and I must have fallen asleep by accident….”

His master said nothing, as usual, and Rolan inched his way up his legs so that he was nuzzling his thigh. He spoke softly, as his master liked, and tried to look sweet and cute. Master Oleh liked sweet, cute things.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep there, sir, I promise. I just needed a few moments to rest. It was an accident. Now that I’ve slept a little more, I feel much better.” 

A large, rough hand in his hair stopped him. For a moment, the memory of it being yanked, of him being dragged, sobbing, overtook him. It was gone in the next moment, leaving him shaky, and he blinked up at the black eyes watching him with new fright in his own. 

“Thank you so much for letting me rest on your soft carpet, Master,” he said, leaning into the touch he loved and feared so much. “I truly am grateful.”

“Still tired?” Master Oleh asked softly. Rolan bit his lip, pressing his stomach and chest fully against his master’s leg to protect them, just in case. He trembled as he hid his face in the man’s stomach, silently pleading for mercy. 

“Y-Yes, Master,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.” He should be serving the master drinks or providing massages, not clinging to him and making excuses for his unacceptable behavior!

He trembled, kissing his master’s stomach through the soft fabric to apologize. He hadn’t meant to trouble Master Oleh like this. He hated disrupting the carefully curated routine the man had made for himself. His poor master just wanted to be left alone and his useless pet couldn’t even do that.

He was a bad slave.

“Come.”

Master Oleh detached himself from Rolan, making the human whimper at the loss, and walked to the desk that held all his snacks and tea. Rolan followed on his knees and waited obediently at his master’s feet.

He swallowed nervously when he realized Master was heating water, but he didn’t try to beg. He just hoped it would be poured on his hands or legs rather than his face. His other masters, especially Master Yuri and Master Érik, would be angry if anything happened to his face. The scar under his eye was the only blemish they ever wanted to see there.

Rolan was so busy worrying about what his other masters would say that he didn’t notice the teacup until it was at eye level. Hesitantly, nervously, the slave looked up at the creature that was his master. Master Oleh was watching him, and though there was no anger or malice in his eyes, Rolan’s heart stuttered.

“M-Master?” he squeaked, struggling not to cower away. 

“Take.”

Rolan obeyed, holding the mug in both shaking hands, and prayed to the gods that he wouldn’t drop it.

“Drink. Slowly.”

Rolan obeyed again, realizing with some relief that it wasn’t hot enough to burn him. The tea smelled like…like something. Something familiar. What was it?

“Eat.”

A cracker, round and brown, covered with small slices of cheese and meat was given to him next. Rolan eyes widened and his stomach growled, reminding him of just how hungry he was. It smelled so good…he really needed to eat, didn’t he? A nap and then a snack…Master Oleh was being so kind to him today. Wasn't he angry?

He would be punished later, Rolan was sure, but right now Master Oleh was caring for him. That was his decision. Pets weren't meant to question their masters' motives. Rolan took the entire cracker in his mouth and chewed, swallowing it only after he’d savored the savory, salty taste. 

“Drink.”

“I’m sorry, Master,” Rolan said quickly, taking another gulp of the tea. Now that he wasn’t so afraid, he could taste the sweetness of honey on his tongue.

Rolan found himself smiling as he was fed. Master Oleh had never done this for him before. He’d heard rumors from the other pets that Master Oleh was gentle. That he was soft and careful and kinder than even Master Yuri if you were good. 

Rolan hadn’t known if he believed that, but he hadn't seen the need to worry about it. He was never called to Attend him anymore, and neither were Hans or Silvi, so it didn’t matter. 

Once the teacup was empty, Rolan considered leaving to wash it himself, but a soft growl stopped him. He hid his face as Master took back the cup, trying his best to look like the respectful, obedient pet he wanted to be while fighting the urge to yawn. 

He’d just had a nap! Why was he still so tired?

“Bed, Rolan,” Master Oleh ordered gently, and Rolan’s mind spun for a second trying to figure out exactly what that order meant. He peeked quickly, but could see nothing that needed tidying on his master’s bed, and everything looked like it had been changed recently, too. Was he being dismissed?

He tried to rise again to leave but a large hand touched the back of his neck. Rolan froze half standing, half crouching, not daring to even breathe. The hand didn’t tighten to choke or even hold him still. It just…stayed there. Letting him know Master was there.

“I-I’m sorry, Master,” he squeaked, still frozen. “Please in-instruct your slave f-further.”

The next thing he knew, Rolan was in the air, mere inches from Master’s face. He wasn’t looking down at Rolan, though. Instead, he was walking towards something. Towards…towards the bed. He was carrying Rolan towards the bed.

Rolan’s shoulders dropped and he bit his hand to muffle a sob. So this was to be the punishment. Out of habit, he then pushed his face into his master’s chest while he tried not to cry; Master Érik and Master Oleh both liked an affectionate pet. Maybe Master Oleh would be kind to him.

He’d been so gentle with Rolan today. Maybe he’d be gentle in bed, too…no. Who was he kidding? This was a punishment, one he’d never heard of this master doing before. His first time. He wouldn’t be gentle with his disobedient slave.

Rolan tried to muffle another sob in the man’s chest. It didn’t matter if he was gentle. Rolan still dreaded the idea of his master taking him now. Even if he could only use his fingers, tongue, or a toy, Rolan had just eaten! He would throw up everything and destroy Master Oleh’s bedsheets and then he would be in even more trouble! He didn't want the whip, or a beating, or a burning. He wanted to be good!

As Master placed him down in the bed, Rolan decided to gamble.

“M-Master, please, please wait for just a few hours,” he whispered, looking up at him through teary eyes. Master Oleh cocked his head to the side, grabbing the blankets.

“I-I’m not trying to escape punishment!” Rolan said, unconsciously curling up to protect his stomach. “I just…I-I’ll get sick all over the bed since I just ate. It’ll be fine in a few hours!”

Master Oleh frowned slightly, and Rolan felt his heart begin to break. Master Oleh had been so good to him today. And he'd been so kind to the others... He wouldn’t do this to his pet…would he? 

“Sleep, Rolan,” the man said, pressing a hand – a horribly gentle, kind hand – into his hair, before pulling up the covers over his shoulders, turning, and leaving the room. Leaving Rolan alone. Was…was that it? It– he– no…no, Rolan would still be punished, he was sure of it. 

Master Oleh was still being kind – it hadn’t been a trick, after all! He’d heard Rolan say he was tired, and he believed his slave when he said he felt better with rest, so he’d given him a little food and sent him to bed, leaving him alone for later.

But…to be in Master Oleh’s bed of all places…he could have just ordered Rolan back to the slaves’ quarters. No, no. He shook the thought away. It was not his place to question Master. Shame on him for even trying.

Master had told him to sleep. Rolan would not disobey him. He would thank his master for his kindness when he woke up, and accept whatever punishment he was given gratefully. For now, though…. Rolan snuggled into the sheets, breathing in the scents of massage oils and incense, the ocean and honeyed tea.

For now, he would rest.

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