fantasticbeasts_kinkmeme | Prompt Post #2

ROUND 2

Seeing as we've reached 4,000 comments in Round 1, it's time to make a new one. Same (lack of) rules apply. Gentle reminder to everyone to refrain from posting extremely long prompts, though. While no word limit will be imposed, take note that it is very unlikely for someone to fulfill your prompt if your prompt alone is already several paragraphs long and containing a number of specifications.

ANNOUNCEMENTS:
-(01/14/2016) We now have a TRADING POST where you can exchange fills with people.
-The prompt freeze is over! You may resume posting prompts. The next freeze is scheduled on February 8, 12:00 AM (PST) or if this round reaches 4,000 comments; whichever comes first.
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RULE #1: No prompt must exceed 250 words. Any prompt that exceeds that WILL be screened.
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Because it's somewhere between 3AM and 6AM as I write this down on January 1st. Enjoy.

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Why does this place smell like shit? And why is it always so dark in here? When was the last time he'd ever felt a mattress underneath his heavy and tired body? When was the last time he'd had something neat to eat, or a decent and full meal in general? When was the last time he'd cast a spell? Or enjoyed a good old red wine while hanging on his couch at home? When was the last time he'd squint at Tina Goldstein at work? What day is it? What time is it?

None of these questions ever ended up answered and every single one of them always came back to his mind, like an endless record that played on repeat whenever the record of self-hatred wasn't playing.

His captor, god knows what his name was again - Graves seems to have forgotten long ago - didn't exactly make things better at all. The fact that, most of the time, he carried Graves' very own face just made the man in the cell throw up the empty contents of his stomach.

The wizard sat in a corner of the cell, furthest away from the door and fully convinced that these cold, stone walls seemed to give him at least some warmth. Grindelwald had stripped him from any extra layers of clothing long ago, only leaving Percival Graves in his black trousers and a white shirt that had turned all kinds of shades of dirty long ago. He'd even taken the man's shoes after Graves had tried a miserable attempt at taking his own life with their laces. He could do it again if he wanted to - or if he had the strength - by using the shirt or his pants. But he was too weak, and Grindelwald was to blame.

Grindelwald liked it like this. His prisoner, all weak and defenseless. There were less chances of him trying to escape and Graves knew this. Graves knew that if he's a "good boy", he'll get just a little more food. But only if he stays still and quiet in his cell.

Sometimes, that was a hard thing to do...

Grindelwald had been summoned to the cell area by the cries of his own prisoner. They were desperate, but perhaps also angry cries. Cries that bothered him, not because Grindelwald cares that much about Graves, but because Graves was disturbing him from his peaceful afternoon off from framing his own prisoner.

Percival hadn't moved yet. He still sat crouched in that corner, wailing to himself. He kept his arms close to his chest, trying to convince himself that this place was not as cold as it seems while he muttered some incoherent vocals that echoed through the complex underneath Grindelwald's hideout - wherever that may be...

"Why so noisy?" Grindelwald hadn't made a single sound himself as he made his way to the door of the cell. It was a barred door, so there was no struggle required to seek contact with his prisoner. Graves looked up for the first time in God knows how long. His eyes were troubled and screamed exhaustion and his lips signalised dehydration. The faint shake he carried over his entire body called for nutrition.

"Come on. Answer me."

Their eyes met briefly and Graves hated every moment about it. He was looking right at his own face, knowing in the back of his mind that this guy had a strange interest in his body. He almost seemed to appreciate it more than his own and it disgusted the prisoner.

Graves was the one to break eye contact. He couldn't look at 'himself' any longer. It hurt, because Grindlewald's Graves looked way healthier than Percival's Graves at this very moment and it ached. He was supposed to look like that. Fluffy, healthy black hair, full face, lips, eyes that displayed life and health, muscle, body. He was not the one who deserved to look like something close to a corpse with his greasy hair and his pale bony skin with his dry lips and empty eyes, shivering in a corner of a cell like a mutt and covered in some dirty rags. He deserves the warm, long black coat and that grey scarf on top of a fresh black suit with a bright white shirt! That was his preferred outfit, not Grindelwald's!

"I'm really...hungry," Graves then spoke, tears rolling down his hollowing cheeks. His voice sounded rough like cheap whiskey and it frightened him somewhere in the back of his mind. He couldn't remember his own voice being like this. "And water... Warmth..." Graves had almost begged him to let him go, but from former experiences, he knew that won't happen anytime soon.

Grindelwald hummed quietly and threw him a glare that was all too familiar. Graves no longer dared to look up at himself, too traumatized by the image of being tormented by his very own face. "What makes you think you deserve food, or water or even a blanket? Crying like a bitch? You know, Percival, that those are the reasons I keep you from those things, right?"

Another thing Percival Graves had learned from his captor was that he shouldn't talk back. That's not what prisoners do.

"But you see, it's a special day." Grindelwald stepped a final step closer to the cell door and put his left hand on one of the bars to hold it while he watched his prisoner. "It's actually the start of a new year and, since I'm still a good man somewhere, I think I can make an exception."

And thus, Percival Graves follows his healthy reflection to a warmer place. It was still a dark place, but it offered more warmth. Within moments, Graves felt much better already.

"I'll get you food and water, but there's one thing you must do for me in return," Grindelwald spoke. He stood dangerously close to Graves and even though they had the exact same body for now, one looked smaller than the other because he'd been crouched in a corner for days. The prisoner looked up and it was the second time their eyes met that day. He felt cold again, meeting those familiar and healthy looking eyes.

"You must spend this evening in my presence...naked."

It had helped his bad feelings when it came to feeling well physically, but that was about it. Nothing else about that night was fun. In the end, Grindelwald had let him sleep on the couch, his stomach still empty and roaring and his skin still exposed to the darkness of the night. The man had lied about everything and only gave him a decent place to sleep for one night before he threw him back in his cell the day after. It was a surprise for Graves when he could keep his clothes.

Perhaps, all of this had made it worse. He nearly believed that there was still good in this guy, but it felt more like he'd been lied to. As if it was a cover up, just like the face he was wearing.

The lies, the pain, the fact Percival Graves was not Percival Graves anymore, but some criminal wearing his face and no one who could see through it, the hunger, the cold, the need for water in his throat, the need for fresh air or just some light, the loneliness.

It all hurt. It hurt so much not even Percival Graves, the man who used to be under constant pressure at MACUSA every day again, could deal with it.

He cried again and this time, Grindelwald showed up. The real Grindelwald, not his prisoner's reflection. Grvaes had almost forgot how ugly he looked when he's not carrying Percival's face. This time, he didn't speak and remained stood by the bars of the cell door. Graves sat down this time and it was easier to seek contact with his captor. It was easier to look him in the eye for longer, but not too long. He still had something sinister about him.

"Didn't you say you'd stop crying?"

"You promised me food. And water," Graves replied, his voice still broken. It hurt to speak. His throat felt like a desert and his stomach groaned. He looked at Grindelwald and they remained silent. It lasted for so long, Graves was the first one to give in and look back down and regret asking for these basic needs. He rose a shaky arm, wiping off a pathetic tear. God, he's never wept as much as he's done within these walls so far before.

Grindelwald observed his prisoner, thinking. He couldn't exactly starve or dehydrate him. Neither could he hurt him by beating him up or taking advance of him like he'd done the night before. It didn't feel good to have him there all the time, naked. Grindelwald had thought it'd feel like he had a pet for the night, but it always had that little bit of discomfort too. It wasn't something he'll repeat, neither will he continue working with it. Having Graves in such a way was just not something Grindelwald could find himself doing. If he wanted to get off to this guy's person, he'd just have to steal his identity once again and sit down with his prick at hand.

It was clear. Graves couldn't end up being left without at least the very basics if Grindelwald wanted to keep using him. He'd need him for another while, so he should perhaps focus on turning him to his hand instead of leading him to his death. Perhaps, a minimum of food and hydration would do - for starters.

"But only if you stop crying..."

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You know, I find this lacking some fluff??? So I'm going for a part two?

Prompt Post #2

Happy New Year! (1/2)