Prompt: Ass Worship | Begging | Medical play | Watersports
Rape/Non-Con Elements
Chapter tags: Dark Newt Scamander, Original Percival Graves, Abduction, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Medical Kink, Experimentation, Begging, Wetting, Dehumanization, Humiliation
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Percival is drowsy when he wakes. His head is full of a dense fog, causing his thoughts to get lost on the way to their destination, tapering off into nothing before they fully form.
He feels odd. Or rather, he suspects he does. It’s hard to tell, because he can’t seem to feel his body properly. His limbs are heavy and slightly numb, requiring an enormous amount of effort to so much as twitch a muscle. That seems very unusual, but he drifts away again, exhausted, before he can decide whether or not to be concerned about it.
When he next surfaces the fatigue has cleared somewhat, but the weight on his body has not. Alarm tugs at the edge of his mind, but for some reason he can’t feel it properly. His heartbeat and breathing continue in the same slow, even rhythm.
With effort he opens his eyes, and when his vision clears he finds himself looking up the wooden beams of a cottage ceiling.
How odd.
His memories are disjointed, but he doesn’t recall being in a cottage. No, he was… he was with his team, wasn’t he? They were investigating… something. The effort to think of it makes his head pound.
He lies there a while longer, blinking at the ceiling, before it occurs to him he might like to look around the rest of the room. He rolls his head to the side, but the sight which greets him doesn’t make his situation any clearer. The room is an eclectic clutter of potion bottles, books, parchment scraps, shelves stacked full of all manner of unidentifiable supplies and tables piled with delicate looking equipment. In the middle of it all is a young man, sitting in his shirtsleeves with his red hair in a tousle as he scratches away with a quill.
Percival watches him write for a while, absently taking in his bowtie and freckled cheeks. Perhaps this man knows how he got here.
After some time he seems to finish his notes, setting down his quill and rolling up the parchment, replacing it atop a stack on his desk. He stretches, stands, and when he turns he notices Percival watching him.
“Ah! Wonderful,” he says, though he doesn’t seem to be talking to Percival. He makes a hasty grab for a notebook from his desk, flipping through pages as he approaches Percival’s beside. “That’s…” he checks a tarnished pocket watch, snapping it closed again with a click. “…three hours.” He makes a note in the book. “Let’s get a look at you.” Fingers press against his pulse point, taking the measure of him before Percival can get his wits about him to protest. “Depressed respiratory system…” Another note scribbled down. “Let’s check your pupil dilation.”
“What?” Percival manages at last. “What are you… where?”
The man pauses. “We’re quite safe. Tell me what you remember.”
Percival frowns, thinking. He’d been with his team. They’d been on an assignment, something dangerous, not the usual mission. It was urgent, he knows that. There’d been a… “Dragon?”
“A nesting mother. You shouldn’t have gone near her, Eastern Greys are endangered.” The man’s expression has darkened, and the alarm playing around Percival’s mind grows stronger.
“Too close… to the town.”
“No, the town was too close to the dragon. What’s your name?”
“Graves. Auror Percival Graves.”
“Merlin knows what you would have done if I hadn’t been there.” The man looks away again, turning to retrieve something from the bedside table.
Percival’s mind churns. Something must have gone terribly wrong with the assignment – had they even made it to the dragon? Or had this man intercepted them? He has no memory of how he got here, only a growing certainty that if he stays it’s at his own peril. He has to find a way to leave – the heaviness in his body isn’t natural.
“What’d you do to me?”
“Just this.” Between his fingers the man holds a small vial of dark purple liquid, and Percival’s stomach goes cold. “I figured out how to extract the venom, but I didn’t have a way to test it. I must say, the effects are already quite profound.” He notices Percival’s distress, and shakes his head. “It’s for the best. I can’t have aurors running around hunting dragons.”
He’s been poisoned. He’s been poisoned by a mad dragon enthusiast, oh god –
“It’s time to administer the next dose, hold still.”
“No, stop – please, don’t do this, I can’t – I – for the love of Merlin, please!”
His pleas make no difference. The man leans in, pinches his nose shut, and pours the contents of the vial down his throat while Percival is unable to lift a hand to stop him.
His vision swims, his grasp on his surroundings becoming tenuous.
“No… I didn’t – s-stop this, please…”
He hears papers shuffling, then groans at a sudden full body chill as the blanket covering him is yanked away. He notices with a detached interest that it leaves him naked.
“I’m going to examine you, please be quiet now.”
Percival has little choice but to obey. The protests he tries to voice get lost before they leave his lips, swept away by the drug.
The man inspects and documents every inch of him, checking everything from his heartbeat to whether he can raise his left arm. He can’t, it turns out – the best he can manage is a weak twitch, which is quickly noted down. His hands find Percival’s torso, palpating his abdomen, his stomach – and then pressing down sharply on his lower belly.
It takes Percival a moment to understand what the warmth between his legs means, and why his thighs feel wet. When it clicks into place he feels sickened, whimpering something that sounds like oh god, but he can’t stop. He can’t do anything but lay there as he pisses himself.
“Pronounced lack of muscle control,” the man mutters. He presses down again, and though Percival wills it not to happen with everything he has, his bladder leaks a few last drops of piss to add to the puddle in the bed. “Interesting.”
There’s nothing Percival can do but sob.
Mercurial Tenacity 