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mrs-elsie-barnes · 2 months ago

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The Old Gods and The New - Chapter 20

God In Distress | Loki x Reader

Loki wakes up in an unexpected place while the court of New Asgard plans an attack.

Warnings: Kidnapping, angst, a touch of whump and reader being both scared and embracing her new position. A for angst.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics & @reveriesources

Series Masterlist | Loki Masterlist | Masterlist

Loki woke to a pounding headache thrumming behind his eyes. He cracked one lid open and promptly closed it again against the bright overhead lights. With a groan he rolled over, placing pressure on his right side and forcing the air out of his lungs from the pain. There was a smear of blood below him, but whatever injury he’d sustained had clearly been patched despite his lack of access to his healing powers.

He could barely remember what happened, he knew he’d been enjoying a night at The Dog and Bilgesnipe, ever protected from the increasing tourists with a simple illusion that caused Loki no end of joy to have been able to enact.

You had been there, his Asynja, effervescent as always in the company of his friends, old and new, chatting away with Jane and Val, drinking probably a little too much. He had been playing cards with friends, carried away by the easy camaraderie of the village as everyone settled into their routines and the easing of pressures over the holidays. He certainly did not remember starting any bar fights, that was more his brother’s realm of entertainment.

Loki cracked his eyes again, where were you? He reached a hand out but, instead of feeling the soft cotton of his master bedroom sheets, warm with your presence, he felt cold glass and metal. Stunned he opened his eyes, shielding them from the bright light with one hand on his forehead, and surveyed his surroundings.

Perhaps he should be thankful that you were not here, wherever here happened to be. A mostly circular room, more octagonal where the angles of the huge glass windows met wide bars of metal that supported a complicated ceiling structure.

Beyond the glass walls were a series of odd looking machines, blinking, making irritating buzzing noises. So crude, their electricity. And there, stamped on the side of the closest one was a huge A.

Loki swore, sagging back on his small cot bed on the floor. Not this again. The gods damned Avengers, always ruining his fun.

You had left before him at least, so he hoped you’d managed to evade whatever luck the Avengers had managed to rustle up in order to catch him inebriated and unaware. But his anger built nonetheless at the risk that you may be here too, trapped and frightened again like a spider under a glass. He would not be able to control his temper if he found out that they had ensnared you, regardless of whether you were hurt or not.

Loki reached out, sending his sedir as far as he could towards you, feeling for that playful touch of your own magic in response. But there was nothing, it recoiled as if burnt, returning to him bringing with it the agitated pacing of a caged tiger.

He tried to manifest a cleaner outfit, one not salt stained from walking through the snow. He peered down at himself, mud along his right side suggested he’d been tackled in some way and he was most displeased at being unable to clean the caking soil from his sweater. You liked this sweater and he was sure you’d be upset to see it ruined.

No matter how hard he tried to delve into that well of magic, nothing appeared in return, only a smattering of fireworks that dimmed quickly. Sighing once more, he closed his eyes and waited for the Avengers to send their first interrogator, hoping that sleep might show him your face at least.

Across the ocean you were thinking of Loki too, honing your skills with Valkyrie as she trained, sharpening her weapons and making plans in the privacy of her home.

Thor had taken it upon himself to rally as much support as he could find, returning with a huge friend called Korg who introduced himself as, “not a man, a pile of rocks, but not normal rocks, rocks that are like a man.”

You’d shaken the not rock, not man’s hand and thanked him for coming, but all the same you’d had to take a stiff drink from the secret whisky collection in Brunnhilde’s coat cupboard before you could rejoin the small group Thor had managed to gather in the King’s living room.

“Okay, that’s enough, stop raiding my supplies,” she called, once everyone had found a place in the living room. Despite her general tone it was only really Korg who was still opening and closing the doors, everyone else was settled with either a cup of some sort of tea or a large measure of liquor, smiling tightly at the room as if it was a funeral of a distant relative.

Korg squeezed himself into his seat and gave you a smile. “Sorry, I just get hungry, and there are these snacks here on Midgard that -”

“Korg!” Brunnhilde snapped again and Thor, sat closest to him, elbowed him in a way that made you think it hurt the god more.

“Thank you all for coming,” Brunnhilde took centre stage, ever the King, regardless of whether her throne was intricately carved wood or an overstuffed seersucker armchair she’d squeezed into her cosy living room.

On the sofa, Jane turned to look at you and held out her hand for you to squeeze. Her own fingers felt soft in yours, lovely and delicate but too small, and although your friends were trying their best to support you, you missed the reassuring feel of Loki’s long fingers tangled with your own.

“Last night,” Brunnhilde’s voice commanded the room, no longer just their friend, but the King. Everyone fell silent at once. “Last night, Loki was kidnapped from the harbour by Stark and his men. Thor has told me this is because the Avengers still believe Loki has to serve his time here on Midgard, in a Midgardian prison and, as you all already know, I think that’s fucking stupid. I’ve asked you all here to help Estrid, Thor and myself get him back so,” she clapped her hands together, “let’s plan.”

Jane spoke up first, bouncing forwards in her seat, “I can ask Darcy to find out where he’s being kept!”

Thor looked incredulous, “Darcy works for Stark, she is hardly likely to risk that.”

“She works for Stark, but she’s my best friend, don’t you work for Stark as well?” She turned on him, lifting a brow.

“I do not!” The god huffed.

You’d wondered why the pair had ended their relationship, but it was clear they did nothing but bicker so perhaps it was for the best.

“How about,” Thor paused, wondering if there was still space in their relationship for him to suggest things to Jane.

“- Jane will speak with Darcy, she can find out if she’s willing to help and Thor will see how far the Avengers still trust him?” Brunnhilde suggested and both parties nodded.

“I could print some pamphlets, to let the people of Asgard know their prince has been taken?” Korg offered and Thor clapped him on the shoulder.

“Good idea my friend, we should tell all of Asgard that Loki was kidnapped, for it will embarrass him greatly when he returns!” Thor laughed.

“Thor!” You snapped, it was all too much, these plans, the arguing. Your Loki was trapped in some awful prison and his own brother wasn’t even taking it seriously. “Loki could be hurt, who knows what they’re doing to him. You said yourself that Stark hates him and wants him imprisoned.” Your words caught in your throat, making them sound odd and strained.

“My apologies,” Thor looked more sombre than you’d ever seen him, “I jest only because I’m worried too. Loki may be a handful -” Brunnhilde rolled her eyes, “but he is my little brother, a Prince of Asgard and your beloved.” Thor reached a hand out and cupped your cheek, surprisingly delicate compared to the usual rough pats on the back. “We will see him returned.”

As you looked around the room at your new friends you truly believed it, Jane was sure she could secure the support of her friend Darcy, Thor and Val were fierce warriors and even Korg, who you were still getting used to, had prior experience of defending Asgard. The thrum of anxiety that had beat alongside your heart was dimming, this was not going to be like last time. Your magic was strong, powerful, and you were not alone.

“Let’s plan then.”

You talked well into the night, missing most of the Solstice celebrations, though a few villagers came by with food and drinks from the Long Hall, full of delicious spices. Your first Solstice and Loki wasn’t even here to celebrate it with you. Every now and again you snuck off to the little bathroom to cry and wipe your tears, careful to use your illusions to conjur your makeup again so no one would suspect. After all, you were a Warrior of Asgard now and should therefore not cry. You told yourself again, teeth gritted together, staring into the mirror over the sink.

Every time you returned your drink was full to the brim again, but no one mentioned your absences.

When the darkness had truly arrived and the cold started to seep through the stone walls Brunnhilde declared it was time to make her Solstice speech. She pulled out a small set of note cards and chucked them unceremoniously into the dying fire.

“I guess I won’t be needing that ‘happily ever after’ Solstice speech after all.” She huffed, shucking on her coat in the narrow hall, “I’ll improv it.”

“I look forward to it very much!” Thor smiled, tucking you under his broad arms, “come, Trouble, we will see the people and take our plans forward, my little brother will be back to torment us before we know it.”

Unsurprisingly the hall was still bustling when you arrived, the village had continued its Solstice celebrations without Loki and Thor to complete their ceremonial fighting it seemed. A lead weight of regret settled in your stomach, if you’d stayed at the pub, could you have stopped them from taking Loki? Could you have fought them off on his behalf if they really had controlled him with the rune magic?

And if you had.

If he was with you now.

Would you have appreciated his presence, his smile, the way he tucked your hand into his elbow and held you close? You’d never take his presence for granted again. You’d tell him when you saw him.

It occurred to you that this must have been how Loki had felt while you were gone and though you didn’t want him to ever suffer, you hoped that he’d felt your loss as keenly, because his absence was worse than anything you’d even had to endure, but it had also clarified your feelings so clearly. Loki really was everything to you now, there was nothing but your mischievous trickster. As you thought of him your magic roiled inside, delving into a well of power you had no idea existed.

“Are you alright?” Thor whispered while the King opened the double doors of the hall and silenced the revelry within.

“As I can be just - missing him, that’s all.” You gave Thor a tight, awkward smile.

“I know.” He dropped his arm from around your shoulders and nudged you forwards, through the path your King cut in the bustling hall, towards her throne and the centre of the court.

A day had passed since Loki had woken up. He knew only because of the changing guard and the meals that were presented to him. This was, after all, not his first time in imprisonment. Although the conditions on Asgard were considerably better.

Coffee, toast and what was apparently supposed to be porridge arrived remotely through a hatch in the plexi-glass wall that was protected by an airlock system, as if he might turn to dust and simply float away if given half a chance. The thought had occurred to him, but since he couldn’t teleport he didn’t wish to risk being sucked into a vent as a fine mist or separated from something important should Stark decide to turn a fan on.

Loki surmised that it must be sometime in the morning if there was toast and that, given the guard had changed recently, for the fourth time, it was probably around twenty-four hours since he’d arrived, or since he’d woken up at least. The Norns knew how long he’d been out from Stark’s attempt at forging magic. The man had built a crazed robot before, so he wasn't going to underestimate his ability to cause his own kind of Midgardian chaos. It was a shame, really, that the inventor was so intent on making him an enemy, when Loki could foresee a future where they'd be fine friends, creating mischief and carnage.

Loki spent most of the day plotting, his eyes closed and hands crossed behind his head, trying to remember every detail of the compound, the weakest spots, the places to hide, on the rare chance he might be granted an opportunity to escape.

He knew the outside of the glass prison was surrounded by the same runes he’d found during your own rescue, runes that controlled and suppressed magic. In themselves a strong force, channelling aeons old knowledge, but not unshakeable. Not unbreakable.

Using your shared well of natural, elemental, magic, as well as the sorcery that Frigga had so diligently taught him, you had been able to break them before and he had no doubt he’d be able to break them again. Especially if he had your help.

As he lay there he wondered if you would come for him and, though it hurt him to dwell on it, he wondered if you’d had the same sad thoughts when you’d been kidnapped. Did you wonder if he’d rescue you? Did you doubt him?

Loki brushed the thought away, you had willingly stayed with him many times now, had followed him back to Asgard, you lived together. He wouldn’t allow his fears to take him over, not when keeping a lid on his control was so important.

Perhaps that was the key, a controlled push of his magic in the right weak spot could spell freedom. But where?

Slowly Loki paced the perimeter of the prison. All the sides were an even length, eight in total, but with angles so wide the room was essentially circular inside. On one side was a door with no hinges, he presumed it must rise into the dark ceiling cavity above the prison instead or, knowing Stark, go into the ground for some ridiculous, style induced reason.

In the panel beside it was the hatch for his food, the air lock system seemed simple enough, but there was no warning of the food appearing, no clock to notice the changes in time and no noise or presence. That too appeared from either the ceiling or the floor.

His bed was an insult to both comfort and design, more of a perspex box than an item of furniture, the blacket thin and pillow almost non-existent. Try as he might, Loki was unable to conjure any finer items, more befitting of his station or his taste, and it was perhaps the greatest insult that they’d keep a Prince in such an ugly, ill furnished prison cell. At least on Asgard he’d been allowed the dignity of a few items of furniture and apparel.

Sighing in frustration, Loki turned and paced in the opposite direction, hoping that the change of scenery might prove to give him a new perspective on his predicament. But he had no such luck. Instead he sat again on his bed and allowed his mind to drift to you, to the starlit nights you’d spent together of late and the memories that resurfaced in his dreams, of a young Prince and Princess, laughing and smiling in the golden sunshine of Asgard.

“Prince Loki was taken last night.” Brunnhilde’s voice rang clearly through the silent hall, each Asgardian turned to face her, quiet, reverent. You’d never seen everyone so serious before and it took a moment for you to remember that they had once been a skilled and fierce warrior race, all quietly surveying their King now, waiting for orders. “He was taken as he left The Dog and Bilgesnipe while the rest of us slept and celebrated. A sneaky and dishonourable attack made worse by its location on the harbour at the heart of our village.” The King paused, allowing her words to filter through the crowd, ripples of murmurs drifting past as everyone processed her words.

“ - we believe he was taken by the Avengers, Tony Stark, in particular, using runic magic that he learnt during the rescue of Princess Estrid, Warrior of the Asgardian Court.” You’d never heard her be so formal either and her low tone echoed through your bones, the feeling of anger, of the might of Asgard, building like a wave. “Loki has served his time following Asgardian laws and remains under our jurisdiction as a Prince and a member of my appointed council, Stark has no right to arrest him or imprison him. We are a sovereign nation and abide by our own laws, he has taken our Prince unlawfully and we see this as tantamount to war.”

The hall roared into life, every citizen enraged by this insult. Shouts and angry declarations echoed in the small space, feet beat against the floorboards and hands waved in the air.

Brunnhilde coaxed you forwards and, with a firm hand on your back, Thor followed. Jane and Korg flanked you on either side to form a guard around the King. Her council, strong and capable before the court.

“Crown Prince Thor, Princess Estrid, The Lady Jane and Korg will continue to protect you. To protect our Midgardian neighbours we will not allow any further tourists or visitors until Prince Loki is restored to his home. And then he will once more take his place on this council.”

The hall was still a cacophony of noise, talking, shouting and the banging of fists on the long tables almost drowned her next statement.

“Though we have built ourselves a new home here, a village known for peace across the realms, this insult will not be borne and we will not be deterred from our path of sanctuary by this act of aggression. We will stand strong, together.” She raised her sword above her head and the noise rose again. You turned away, you were full of rage, uncontained and unbound, flames flickered between your fingers and you knew that you were moments away from your casual clothes being replaced by battle ready metal.

“All will be well, Trouble.” Thor’s voice was deep, cutting through the high pitched shouting. “Our King is a Valkyrie, a noble and revered warrior, I would trust no one else with my people. We will return him to you and to this court.”

Brunnhilde motioned for you to follow her, taking the emergency exit at the back of the hall rather than attempting to wade through the somehow increasing mass of people inside.

Outside the air was startlingly cold, it was rare for you to be out without Loki and his familiar presence at your side always made you feel warmer. Despite the new friends surrounding you, you felt so alone. Loki’s absence loomed larger than you’d expected, every facet of your life different without him.

There had been no warm body to snuggle closer to this morning, no kind hand to pass you breakfast, no gentlemanly arm in yours while you took a walk around the village. Even your magic missed him, it coiled and sort for his sedir, homesick for his touch and languished in the pit of your stomach a heavy weight that made you feel nauseous.

The ache of it was too much, bursting from you, it roiled in your stomach and you were sure you’d been seeing your breakfast again. There was a deep tugging sensation somewhere between your stomach and your throat, you turned, ready to be sick into the gutter. Then, it was as if you’d sneezed and the pressure was gone.

“What is that?” Brunnhilde looked at your feet, the round shaggy body of a calf looked up at her, its round eyes blinking. The calf danced to its feet, its flames melting the snow around you into puddles that leaked and settled between the cobbles. On silent feet it danced off down the street, heading for the open sea.

“Be careful!” You called on instinct, your stomach dropping as it leapt from the end of the harbour. But it didn’t fall, there was no splash, instead a ripple of silver floated off into the sky.

Loki stared blankly at the ceiling of the cell. Every moment that passed he thought of new and more complicated ways to punish the Avengers, to bring his wrath upon them. And every time he thought he’d peaked he felt your soft hands on his cheeks, your lips, the warmth of your body as it settled on his and your voice telling him to forget the wrongs of the past, to focus only on the future.

He huffed, placing his hands behind his head, if he wanted a future he needed a way out of here. He was angry beyond measure, that was true, he was not a God to be trifled with. But his anger was stoked by concern, worry for you and, for the first time in many years, true loneliness.

Loki missed the way you settled into his side every morning, the lingering kisses you gave him throughout the day and the calm that settled inside of him whenever you were around. He missed his magic, especially caked as he still was in mud and melted snow, but more than that he missed the sensation of your magic meeting his, warming him deep into the icy home of his own sedir. He knew that his frost giant form loved you too, more than the tryst you’d shared at the Golden Palace. There was a coldness to him that delighted in being warmed by you and now, without it, he felt the same sensation of isolation that he’d become accustomed to.

The lights flickered and he cracked an eye open. There, on the other side of the glass, was a calf, made entirely of flame. It looked tired, sat down with its legs splayed around it awkwardly, but happy. It’s head was cocked to the side and its short tail stuck out, thumping on the floor like a dog.

A noise on the other side of the doors made its head whip round, trailing flame behind it, and then it bounced further around the glass to sit next to Loki, its head pressed to the glass. Loki lifted a hand, his long fingers as large as the calf’s head, and it nuzzled forwards as if the glass was a simple barrier to being petted.

The noise continued and the door burst open, various agents hustling inside before Tony Stark stepped over the threshold.

When Loki looked down the calf was gone, but a trail of silver shimmered where it had been sat. He closed his eyes again, he didn’t care what Stark had to say, he knew now that you hadn’t forsaken him. He knew that you cared and that all he had to do was wait.

<<Chapter 19

Chapter 21>>

#Loki #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki/reader #Loki x Reader #Loki fanfic #Loki series #loki marvel #Loki x you #Loki/You #loki fanfiction #Loki smut #The Old Gods and the New #loki fic #loki god of mischief #loki laufesyon x reader #loki of asgard #loki of jotunheim

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ohtobeleah · 1 year ago

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Bruises // Jake Seresin

Chapter Six: [Ninety in Five]

Summary: Hours, Days, Weeks, Months. Just how long have you and Jake been enduring the horrific torture at the hands of a Rogue Nations Commander.

Series Warnings: Heavy themes of violence, sexual assault, torture. 18+ content. Minors DNI. Mature themes. Being held in captivity. Hostage style situation. Main character death! Whump, Angst. Conversations that discuss antisocial & antisemitism views.

Chapter Warning: ⚠️ This Chapter contains sexual explicit content that may be distressing to some. Reader discretion is advised for the topic of sexual abuse/ non-consensual sexual assault. ⚠️

Word Count: 5.4k

Author Note: THIS SERIES IS CONFRONTING, FICTIONAL, AND DEPICTS IMAGES OF TORTURE. DO NOT READ PAST THIS POINT IF YOU BELIEVE THAT THIS SERIES WILL BE DETRIMENTAL TO YOUR MENTAL STABILITY. CURATE YOUR OWN TIMELINE.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

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Pain comes in all forms. From the small twinges to a bit of soreness, to perhaps the random pain. Then there’s the normal pains you live with everyday.

But then there’s the kind of pain you can’t ignore. A level of pain so great that it blocks out everything else. It makes the rest of the world fade away. Until all you can think about is how much you hurt.

How you manage that pain though is up to you.

Pain. You anaesthetise it, you ride it out, you embrace it or ignore it. And for some people the best way to manage pain is to just push through it.

“You, sit.” Hours, Days, Weeks, Months. “You, over there.” Time felt like it had stopped moving but at the same time it felt as if it had sped up. Jake had come back to you just like he’d promised—but since then time felt like a torture in and of itself. Days had passed, weeks maybe?

“What did they do to you?” You could remember asking as he hugged you as tightly as you’d allowed him to. “Jake?”

“You have to trust me when I say I can’t tell you.” Jake had told you all the while he tried to hide how much pain he was in. His body was giving up the fight. And now he’d had what felt like heart surgery too. “If I tell you, they’ll do it to you as well and I can’t let them hurt you anymore.” But he had to stay alive to get you out of here.

You did as you were told by the insurgent who had been one of the three who assaulted you. Jake could see just how frightened you really were whenever he came closer to you. You’d flinch, expecting something to happen, but all the man would do was laugh to himself. Clearly chuffed at how frightened you were.

“Today we’re gonna get what we want.” The Commander announced as he walked into the room, the same room where you’d been shot, the same room where Jake had had a pacemaker inserted into his chest. “We’re done playing games, we want answers and we want them now.” Neither you nor Jake said a word, you could tell his attitude had changed. Whatever they did to him that he wouldn’t tell you about genuinely scared him.

“My patience is running thin, I have deadlines to maintain and here I am, babysitting the two of you like the ungrateful swine you are.” It was unpleasant, sure, but nothing you couldn’t handle. At this point during your captivity cruel words were just that. Words. They didn’t bring you any sort of physical pain or torture and for that you were grateful to be a swine. “Get her into some damn restraints!”

“Easy.” Jake warned through a growl so primal you hardly recognised his voice as the insurgents manhandled you down into the chair. He watched as they restrained your wrists to the arms, your torso to the back, and your ankles to the legs.

“Here’s how this is going to work, I’m going to ask you a question, you’re going to answer me and answer me promptly—“ The Commander, you didn’t even know his name after all this time, paused as he gently guided his fingers down the side or your face. “Or else I’m going to have your dear friend Jacob here pry it out of you.”

“What?” Jake couldn’t believe what he’d just heard as he took a few steps closer to where The Commander stood with you. He was held back by two insurgents, another you recognised from your attack. “You want me to do what?”

“Don’t pretend like you didn’t just hear what I said, it's insulting!!”

“I’m not touching her, don’t make me hurt her, please—“ Jake pleaded, he couldn’t hurt you ever. “Don’t make me, I won’t—not for anything.”

“Fine.” The Commander shrugged his shoulders like it was no big deal. “Nathan’s been dying to feel how tight your friend is again, so I could always ask if he and a few of the others are up for round two?” All you could do was close your eyes in hopes you’d wake up back in your cell. This was all a nightmare, this wasn’t happening again. “And she’ll be doing so much screaming she won’t even be able to tell me anything.” Jake could hear the little watch on his wrist beeping at a quickening rate as The Commander made his way over. “So I guess you could say her pain would be completely useless to me.”

“Fine.” Jake couldn’t let you go through that again, he could protect you from it this time. “I’ll do it.” He hissed through gritted teeth. Jake was hoping you’d just tell them what they wanted to hear so that he never had to lay a finger on you. God he couldn’t hurt you in the name of saving you. It was all too much.

“Marvellous.” The Commander grinned ear to ear as he turned back to face you. “Whenever you don’t answer a question, Jacob here is gonna do whatever I say, or else?” It was then Jake fell to his knees as an agonising scream left his throat. His teeth clenched together so hard you saw the veins in his neck sticking out as he couldn’t breathe. “I’ll stop his heart.”

“AAAHHHHH!” Jake's screams would forever haunt you as you watched him go down in utter agony. He was in so much pain you swore his skin was tearing off his bones. “STOP! Please!”

The Commander held up a small remote in the palm of his hand. What the hell was going on? He could see by the look on your face alone that Jake hadn’t told you what had happened, what had been put inside him. Good, he thought to himself.

“Jake!!” You called out as he fell limp to his stomach on the floor when The Commander released his finger from the button he held in his hand. Jake groaned in response, he was still alive. “Are you okay?”

“Mmhmm, just peachy.” He sighed as he rolled over to lay on his back and catch his breath. “I’m okay, nothing I can’t handle Hotshot.”

“Well then—“ The Commander clapped. “Shall we get started?”

“I’m not telling you anything.” You spat as he stepped a little closer to you as Jake took his time getting to his feet, still collecting himself. “I’d rather die than give you anything you need, spend your millions.”

“What’s the name of the other pilot you flew with?” Why would The Commander want to know about Bradley? “In the other jet who wasn’t shot down.” His voice was steady, like he knew you wouldn’t answer. There was no need to waste his energy. “If you don’t answer, I’ll get him to kill you.”

“So start digging a goddamn grave!” You shouted as The Commander looked at Jake with an all knowing smile. He held up the remote in his hand so Jake could see he wasn’t bluffing. He’d press it again.

“I’m sorry.” Jake whispered as he balled his fist. “I’m so sorry.” He never thought he’d be in this position, about to hurt the woman he loved so deeply. “I’m sorry.” Tears streamed down Jake's cheeks as the watch on his wrist beeped. He needed to calm down. But how was he supposed to do that?

“Do it.” You nodded and soon enough the force of Jake's entire fist came smashing against your nose. “Ahh! Fuck you Seresin!” It was a growl from the depths of your soul.

“Again, what’s the name of the pilot—“

“Eat shit asshole.” You chuckled as you threw your head back. “I’m not telling you anything”.

“Hit her again.”

“I can’t.” Jake pleaded as he shook his head. Tears welled in his eyes as he looked at you, the damage he’d already caused. “Please—“

“Ah Ah Ah.” The Commander held up his remote again. “I’ll send you to an early grave, and then there’s no one to protect her is there?”

“Jake.” You mumbled as Jake's eyes met yours. “Kill me.” He wasn’t expecting you to say it again, hell he still hadn’t really processed the first time you’d asked him. But now that you were saying it again Jake swore he hated himself for ever getting you into this mess in the first place. It was the first time he wished he’d died on impact. “Kill me before they get a chance to hurt me again.”

“Why were you chosen for this mission?” Jake knew why he was chosen, he knew why Rooster was too. But in all his time flying with you, he'd never stopped to question why you were chosen. He didn’t know you well enough to wonder if you were a better weapons systems officer than Robert Floyd or Mickey Garcia. He just knew that you were his WSO. “Miss Y/l/n, tell your friend why you were put on this mission.”

“Because I was expendable.” It broke Jake's heart. “I wasn’t worth saving if things went south.” That couldn’t have been it?

“Hit her again.” Jake had to, he didn’t have a choice. So he did and he did hard as a rage inside his soul boiled over at the men who tasked him with this god forsaken mission. “Again.” The Commander ordered, like a good soldier Jake obliged. He hit you over and over and over again till your eyes were swollen and your face was bloodied and bruised.

But yet you still had something to say:

“I wasn’t worth saving from the beginning, Jake.” It came out bloodied and distorted but Jake still understood. “You never should have pulled my chute.”

“Tell me who the other pilot was! Or so help me god I’ll send her to goddamn hell!!” The Commander asked just one more time.

“BRADLEY BRADSHAW!” Jake shouted at the top of his lungs, he couldn’t take it anymore. The mental torture, the physical abuse. He was going crazy. “Callsign Rooster.” He looked at you as your head slumped over and blood streamed past your lips. “There! Now why on earth is that such a vital piece of fucking information!”

All The Commander did was hold up a piece of crumpled paper that looked as if it had been lying in the dirt for days. Jake knew what it was, you could barely see it.

“Because I needed to figure out who the Rooster was.” It was rock bottom for the both of you when the body of the woman who’d given Jake the note was uncovered on the very table Jake had woken up from surgery on.

No. Not her. Jake didn’t even know who she was but she knew Bradshaw so that had to count for something.

“Someone hold him.” The Commander sighed as Jake felt himself being pulled back and away from you by two men. “I’m growing to regret ever keeping you two here.” He explained as he walked over to another table close by. It had all kinds of torturous devices on it. But The Commander picked up one in particular:

A rusted old hammer.

“You don’t seem to understand how lucky you are to be alive, Miss Y/l/n.”

“And here I was all this time believing I was already in fucking hell.” It was the last thing you chuckled out before a searing pain radiated through your wrist, your hand. It came out of nowhere like a frate train. “AAAHHHHH!”

“You son of a bitch!” Jake whaled as he struggled against the mercenaries. “Y/n!” The Commander had swung the full force of his strength down with the hammer, it surely had to have shattered everything in your wrist.

“From here on in? We won’t be playing any more games.” He hissed before turning to Nathan who was just waiting for the opportunity. “Get him back to his cell.” There was a deafening silence before the final whistle blew, after all that, after beating you senseless thinking it was saving you from a worse fate:

“No, no don’t you fucking touch her!” Jake crumbled in defeat as The Commander gave the orders. “I swear to god I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you all you mother fuckers!!”

Pain, you just have to ride it out. Hope it goes away on its own. Hope the wound that caused it heals. There are no solutions, no easy answer, you just breathe deep and wait for it to subside. Most of the time pain can be managed, but sometimes the pain gets you when you least expect it.

Or just gets worse than you could have ever imagined:

“Get her to hers, but don’t forget to have a little fun first.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~**

Jake could hear it all. He heard it for days and days and days on end. It was his torture but your personal hell.

“God she’s fucking tight—!” They would say while you begged them to stop. “I love when they fight back.”

“STOP HURTING HER!” Jake would shout at the top of his lungs at the bars of the cell. “Get of her you fucking pigs!”

“Tell him you like it baby.” It was worse than hell. You cried all the while the blonde haired blue eyed man with the ugly scar forced your head in the direction of where Jake stood. He was pinning you down, holding you still, keeping your legs apart as he took you the way he wanted to. “Go on, tell him how good I feel inside you, or I’ll shoot him in the fucking face.” The man on top of you reached for the gun he carried most of the time, he’d tuck it behind his back, and pointed it Jake's way.

Jake didn’t move a single muscle, didn’t flitch. He’d rather take a bullet than hear you say that. He’d do just about anything to get you out of here.

“SAY IT!” You gasped and cried just a little louder when the insurgent on top of you shot a bullet right past Jake's shoulder.

“I like it!” You shrilled. It was the worst lie you’d ever told. Jake couldn’t decide what was worse though, listening to you scream and beg whatever insurgent had decided he wanted to get his rocks off to stop or when you were completely silent.

When you were periodically left alone in your cell all Jake could hear was your sobs. But again, he couldn’t tell if the silence or the cries were more painful.

“Hollywood, you awake?” You spent most of your time sleeping now. Trying to conserve whatever energy you had left. “I’m still here.” Jake reminded you as he sat by the bars that kept you apart. “I’m sorry, for everything.” He’d cry with you, seeing you like this was torture. Jake had noticed that the insurgents had begun to leave him alone, but that just meant you took more of the beatings, more of the tournament, more of the pain. “Please say something hotshot, anything just to let me know you’re okay.”

“You should have killed me when you had the chance.” Was all you would say from time to time, it let Jake know you were still alive but it made him wish he was dead all at the same time. “I can’t keep going through this.”

“You are so strong you hear me?” Jake tried to remind you through the bars. “Please don’t give up now.”

“I just want to die.” Over and over and over again, you’d mumble it whenever you were conscious enough to talk. “I just want to die, I can’t live like this—“

The insurgents had stopped giving you water and food a few days ago. They’d only ever give Jake enough for himself. Whenever they did bring him things, he’d slid it across the way for you.

“Can you please come over here so you can eat something?” Jake asked as he slid some bread through the bars for you. He had been watching you for what felt like hours just lying there on your side facing the wall. “Hollywood, you need to come here so that you can eat.”

“Leave me alone Jake.” You sobbed, completely shutting Jake out was the only thing you could think of that would get him out of here alive. You were a goner at this point, a ghost of your former self. “Just leave me alone.”

“Hey.” Jake saw what you were doing, he wasn’t stupid. “Y/n, at least give me the decency and turn around, alright?” You didn’t make any attempt to move, so Jake just waited. “Please?”

When you finally sat up and faced Jake, you took in just how broken he really looked. His hair was longer, darker from the dirt of the cells you were kept in. He had a beard that looked unkempt and curly. But he was still Jake. Your Jake.

“You can’t give up on me now.” Jake reminded you as he spoke softly and smiled through the bars. “I love you too much to lose you before I even get a chance to live my life with you.” Jake had never admitted to anyone he’d loved them before, he wasn’t the kind of guy who fell in love. But here he was. “Or just live a life with you in it, hell that would be enough for me.” Oh so in love with the woman who he spent all his time running from.

“Jake you don’t have to say—“ You knew it was all lies to get you to keep fighting, you knew it was all just tactical reassurance.

“I’m not saying anything that isn’t true, I wouldn’t lie to you.” Jake pleaded with you to come closer to the bars. “Just come here, please? Please eat something.” You did, slowly. You shuffled across your cell on your knees until you were resting up against the bars right next to Jake. “There’s my girl.”

“Why didn’t you kill me?” You asked as you took only half the slice of bread Jake had given you and handed it back to him. Being careful not to use your bad hand, the one you knew was completely broken. “When you had the chance to.”

“It’s probably really selfish of me to admit it, but I couldn’t get through any of this without you.” Jake admitted the painful truth. “I needed you to stay, and I’d never be able to kill you, because like I keep saying, I love you, I can’t kill you because that would just kill me and then we’re both dead.” You listened and took in what Jake was saying, none of it made any sense to you. But trauma did weird things to people. And you were trauma bonded hard core to Jake Seresin.

“Would it be the worst thing ever if I told you I loved you too?” Gratitude, appreciation, giving thanks. No matter what words you use, it all means the same thing. Happy. People are supposed to be happy, grateful for friends, family. Happy to just be alive, whether you like it or not.

Jake reached in and around the bars to draw you as close as he possibly could. It was the first gentle touch you’d felt in what felt like days. Your body had collected a map of bruises that varied in colour, size and shape, but Jake did his best to avoid them all. He couldn’t hurt you anymore. He wouldn’t.

“That’s definitely the delusion talking Hollywood.” Maybe you and Jake weren’t supposed to be happy. Maybe the small amount of gratitude you felt in your heart when he kissed the top of your head for reassurance wasn't supposed to be a feeling you felt at all. Maybe that gratitude had nothing to do with joy. Maybe being grateful meant recognising what you have for what it is.

You could appreciate the small victories and admire the struggle it takes simply to be human. Maybe you were just thankful in the moment of quiet peace for the familiarity of Jake's warm embrace. Nothing could hurt you while you were in his arms. No one could touch you, or break your spirit.

“I just hope that whatever version of heaven or after life there is after this world—that I get to just exist on a farm somewhere in my own piece of paradise.” You mumbled as Jake listened carefully. He wouldn’t mind that, a heaven on earth with you. Maybe he’d take you back to Texas, recuse a dog and live a life where no one could hurt you ever again. “I’d like to just exist peacefully, leave the jets behind, raise some cows maybe.”

“Sounds like a pretty great version of a forever land.” And Jake was thankful for the things he’d never know or experience that he’d watched you go through. The fact that he had the fight to still be standing was all for you. He had to get you out of this hell. “But unfortunately for you you’re not gonna get to visit for many years, I’m not letting you die in here Hollywood.”

“When we get outta here you’re gonna take me on a date.” You sighed all the while you looked up at Jake through the bars of your cell while his arm stayed wrapped around your shoulders. “Because nothing in here counts for shit Seresin.” Your smile was enough reason to celebrate as Jake smiled and let out a small audible laugh. It made you grin, which soon turned into a throaty cough from the dirt you’d inhaled from lying down.

“When we get out of here I might just marry you if you’re not careful.” Jake didn’t expect you to reply, he was just thankful you were eating. But when you did reply, his watch began to beep, because you made his heart race at the speed of light.

“That doesn’t sound like the worst thing in the world.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~**

The calm didn’t last long. You should've known better to fall into a false sense of security in Jake's arms. There was only so much he could do for you from the other side of the bars.

“HEY!” But that didn’t mean he didn’t try to defend you. “CUT IT OUT!” You could barely hear Jake's voice over the roar of what you could only assume was a leaf blower as one the the many insurgents that had started to see you as their own personal sex slave kicked up enough dust to cloud your entire cell. “HEY!” It was all very heroic and all. “SHE CANT BREATHE FUCK HEAD!” But it didn’t do a damn thing.

“Kinda the whole point.” The man with blonde hair and blue eyes laughed as he shut off the blower. “You know, for what it’s worth man, your girl over here’s a really nice time.” He chuckled at the door of Jake's cell, knowing there wasn’t a damn thing Jake could do. “Especially when she screams about how much it hurts.”

“Why don’t you step in here and say that again?” Jake growled as he wrapped his fists round the bars of his cell door. “Come on, let’s fucking go a few rounds.”

“Or I could just force you to listen to your bitch here suck my dick.” Jake lunged as far forward as he could to reach for the insurgents throat. He stepped back with a maniacal smirk plastered across his face. “Oh, look at you big guy—what are you gonna do huh?”

“Jake—“ Your coughing drew Jake back to reality before he could be tainted into doing something stupid. “I can’t breathe.” You gasped as you leaned on your knees in the middle of your cell. “The dirt, can’t, breathe—“ At the sight of the dust settling around you, the insurgent went back to what he’d been sent down to do. He started the leaf blower again, kicking up a whirlwind of dust and dirt and debris around you.

It was a different kind of torture all together, not being able to see or hear or breathe. Having your senses taken away from you all the while you were trapped in a cage by yourself. Listening to Jake try to guide you through it, his voice a guiding light through the darkness that threatened to consume you entirely.

***~***~***~***~***~***~**

“MOTHERFUCKER!” Jake's screams were hard to listen to, but then again he’d been listening to you non-stop for days if not weeks on end. “AARRRGGGHHHH!!” You could smell the awful aroma of burning flesh as you stood by the bars that separated you from Jake. They had him tied to a chair in the middle of his cell.

This was different, they usually took you away for this kind of torture to a more sterile environment. Perhaps The Commander wasn’t kidding when he said they weren’t playing games anymore. Not that you ever took your situation to be one.

“Looks good on you Lieutenant.” The insurgents snickered as they admired their handwork. A brand so deep and burnt that it was surely going to get infected. “How’s his heart rate?”

“Still holding steady—“

“Maybe we should give a few to her and see how he reacts.”

“Don’t.” It was only when they threatened you did Jake's heart rate change. “Touch her.”

“But couples get matching tattoos all the time.” Nathan held the torch up to the metal branding rod he was using on Jake. “It’ll be just the cutest thing.” He teased before he tilted his chin to his colleague. “Bring her over here.”

When you didn’t struggle, when you didn’t beg for mercy, that’s when Jake knew something was wrong. When you were begging him to kill you there was still a fight left inside you. But now? Your silence was worrying, you looked—

Sick.

“She’s burning up.” The man who had gone to get you from your cell mentioned as he brought you in. “She's caught a fever or something.”

“You okay?” Jake asked as the man made you kneel between where his legs were tied to the legs of the chair. If you had any fight left you would have told him you were fine. But you couldn’t hide the fact you were exhausted, that you were ill. Your head came down to rest against Jake's knee and that’s when the blonde haired blue eyed man who’s already hurt you far too many times to count lifted your shirt and pressed the fiery hot metal into the small of your back.

“AHHHHHH!” Your painful screams ricocheted off everything they came into contact with and all Jake could do was look down at you as tears streamed down his cheeks. He was your front seater, he was meant to protect you, keep you safe. He failed you. He’d done nothing but fail you since he first met you.

You couldn’t take the pain any longer and passed out at Jake’s feet. He wanted to wrap you up in his arms and hold you close. He wanted to see if you were alive at the very least—but they left you there. They left Jake tied to the damn chair with new open wounds that matched yours.

“Y/n?” He sobbed all the while trying to bust out of his restraints. “Hollywood—you gotta wake up.” When you didn’t move, didn’t stir, didn’t groan,

Jake's heart rate began to skyrocket. His watch that monitored his pulse had never sounded so erratic. “Hollywood, baby please you gotta wake up for me you don’t get to die here, not like this.”

Again you didn’t move, you didn’t stir, you didn’t make any sounds. Jake couldn’t even see your back rising and falling with your breath; it was that shallow.

“Don’t leave me here, please?” He begged as he tried to slow his heartbeat with deep controlled breaths. “Wake up, wake up for me, please, please just wake up.” But again you didn’t move. “Oh god.” Jake looked up as he tried to blink away his tears. “Don’t you dare take her away from me.” He begged whatever god was listening, Jake Seresin wasn’t a believer—but if he made it out of this alive with you by his side he’d pray to any god for forgiveness, any goddess for remorse. Any religion that was willing to give him a heaven with you at the very least.

“Please don’t take her from me.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~**

“Ow.” Noone believes their life will turn out just kind of okay. Everyone thinks they’re going to be great. From the day you decide to become a Naval Aviator in the top one percent of pilots, you’re filled with expectations. “Oh god—“

“Easy, easy Hollywood.” Jake cooed as he watched you try to come to from being out cold at his feet for an unknown amount of time. Jake had tried to count seconds in his head but lost count with worry. “You’ve been out for a while, just take it easy.”

“Everything hurts.” Expectations of the trails you will blaze, the people you would help, the difference you could make. “My back.” Great expectations of who you will be, where you will go. And then you get there. “Fuck—“

“Can you untie my wrist?” Jake asked you softly as he watched you get up to your knees in agonising pain. “Please darlin, I just need you to untie my wrist so I can hold you.” You moved slowly, but did what Jake had asked. You untied his worst and sat back in defeat as he worked to untie the rest of the restraints around his appendages.

“I really don’t feel good.” Jake knew it had to be your wrist or your lungs. It was so broken and swollen and definitely infected from where the rusted hammer had broken skin. You’d been inhaling too much foreign bacteria too. “Jake, I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“That’s fine, you be sick.” He reassured you before he finally dropped to his knees and took you in his arms. “Oh my god I thought you were dead.”

“May as well be.” Everyone thinks they're going to be great, and you really can’t help but to feel a little bit robbed when your expectations aren’t met. “I’m in this for you, I’m in this for you Jake, and I’m in this to finish the race but if me dying means you get to live and you get out of here then so be it.” But sometimes your expectations sell you short. “You need to live Jake.”

“So do you.” Jake cooed as he held you close in his chest. He felt like all he could do was hold you until you fell asleep. “You’re gonna make it out of here.”

“I don’t think I will.” Sometimes the expected simply pales in comparison to the unexpected. “And that’s okay.” It makes you wonder why people cling to their expectations, because the expected is just what keeps you steady, standing still. “I’m expendable, remember?” The expected is just the beginning.

“No no no no, you were never expendable, not to me.” Jake pleaded with you to stay. You’d endured so much. You didn’t get to leave him now. “Just stay a little longer and I’ll get you the help you need, I promise alright?”

“Just a little while longer.” Was all you managed to murmur out before you were gone again. In and out of concussion in Jake's protective embrace.

“I’ve got you Hollywood.” Jake sobbed as he rocked with you back and forth softly. “I’ve got you.” It was only when Jake looked up to see a figure standing at the cell door, dressed in all black with not a single identifying feature on display. That was odd, all the insurgents had gotten really comfortable with their identities being paraded around. “It’s alright, you’re okay, I’m here.” Jake continued reminding you as he rocked you softly, knowing that if you were dying he wanted you to know he was with you till the very end. “It’s okay.”

The unexpected though? Is what changes your life.

“Lieutenants—“ The man spoke up finally after some time standing there at the gate. “You two have been very hard to track down.” The man chuckled to himself as gunfire began to ring out in the corridor. It didn’t seem to phase him whatsoever as Jake worked to shield you.

Help. Help was finally fucking here.

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~**

Tags 🏷️ @americaarse @blindedbythelightt @tayl0rhuynh @athenabarnes @imaginecrushes @whyareallnamesgone @mjmaximoffbarnes @amiets2 @mads-weasley @gabbyella @ephemeralninon @xoxabs88xox @pedrohoe04 @starkleila @je-suis-prest-rachel @clancycucumber230 @maisie-rebloging-blog @callsign-barbell @obiwankenobis-lap @some-lovely-day @paperbag333 @callsign-magnolia @jhiddles03 @hardballoonlove @shanimallina87 @seitmai i @abaker74 @missemrose @starset21 @kmc1989 @phoenix1388 @emma8895eb @tsofo26 @itsmytimetoodream

#bruises // jake seresin #jake hangman x reader #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman x you #jake hangman x y/n #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x y/n #jake seresin fanfiction #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fanfiction #jake seresin whump #jake seresin angst

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mowritesstuff · 6 months ago

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Trying to write a modern day MCU fanfic about Spider-Man is genuinely so exhausting. They stripped him of literally everything that made made Peter himself in the comic books and boiled him down to the point where it’s damn near impossible to give him a character ark. He has nothing to work towards; no goals to achieve. There’s no tension, problems or trials that could be translated well. Poverty? What’s that. Secret identity? Couldn’t be something that Peter mask-is-always-off Parker has to worry about. Money? Lol he doesn’t even have a job. Literally what’s left??

The only thing there is are “whump” fics where he doesn’t use common sense and always needs Ironman to pick up after him. There’s no independence in his character anymore and it’s going to be his undoing

#marvel mcu #peter parker #spiderman #marvel cinematic universe #anti mcu #tony stark #anti tony stark #Anti Mcu Peter Parker

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3-2-whump · 3 months ago

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Relapse: Crumbling Promises

Please heed the TW/CWs on this chapter. Also, thanks @generic-whumperz and @whumped-by-glitter for your input into the ending of this chapter, your feedback has been applied

TW/CW: dubcon (lots of dubcon), allusions to previous dubcon, prostitution, slave whump, degrading language, degraded whumpee (in that whumpee has to haggle their own value -idk what that’s called, but it’s pretty degrading), intimate whumper, possessive whumper, asphyxiation, emotional whump, unhealthy relationship dynamics, possessive relationship dynamics, whumper x whumpee (although pretty unbalanced)

The frenetic stimulation of his cock and the wild fragility in Khaled’s eyes continued to haunt the mob boss long after their reunion of the flesh in the parking lot a month ago. He thought about it from when he couldn’t sleep at night to the first waking moments of consciousness in the morning. He thought about it in the shower, at the gym, during meetings, and in the middle of intercourse at the brothels. It was just as Khaled had said; those girls (and occasional boys) in the whorehouses could only satisfy him for so long, and he believed he had finally run his course after his fourth threesome in a month. Now here he sat, in his desk chair, trying to compose an email he’d rather not send, with his mind far away from the zoom conference he was supposed to be a part of.

He looked over his shoulder at Khaled, who had broken away from his usual positon right behind his chair to water the potted fig tree by the window. Nothing in his composure betrayed his lapse in decorum on that fateful night, though he was moving a lot slower than usual, and his eye-bags seemed darker than his foundation could cover up. Tom studied him closely, noting Khaled had been like this for months now. Was he still sneaking out at night to see that damn cholo? He’d been meaning to do something about his slave’s newfound promiscuity, but something more important always came up, and ever since their near-death experiences, Thomas had been trying to turn over a new leaf and give Khaled a longer leash, metaphorically speaking. Although, if the boy kept dragging his feet, he might tie him onto a literal leash, too.

Some static-y goodbyes and well-wishings sounded from his monitor, signaling the end of the conference call. Tom cleared his throat and jumped in with his own farewells. “Yes, you too, happy holidays, buon natale –yeah, yeah, I’ll see you next year, Matteo. You too, Gio, happy new year! Okay, okay, bye!” He exited out of the call, minimized the screen, and swiveled his desk chair to face the young man by the windowsill. “Khaled, come here,” he called.

As soon as Khaled was within reaching distance, the boss grabbed him by the waist and slung him over his lap, trapping him between the hard edge of the desk at his back and his own body in the front.

“What are you doing?” Khaled neither squirmed or struggled in his grasp, instead opting to stare at him quizzically. “Let me off, I don’t want this-”

“Like you didn’t want it in the parking lot on the night of your birthday last month?” He grinned in triumph as his slave’s face blushed bright red from the tops of his ears down to the black band of his collar. “You do,” Tom whispered, voice low and sultry. “You want this, and you need this, Khaled.” He ran his hands from the young man’s waist up his sides, slightly untucking his shirt in the process. “I’ve seen you work yourself to the bone trying to be my executive assistant. Isn’t it exhausting, working so hard?” Khaled sat as still as a statue as his fingers raked over the front of his body. “Isn’t it tiresome, doing what free people do?” He snaked his hands down Khaled’s sides to dip under his shirt hem, feeling a familiar rush of heat below as he touched the warm skin underneath. “Don’t you just want to relax?”

The way Khaled’s body responded under his hands as he laid him over the desk was nothing like any of the whores the brothels could give him. Here, splayed back-first onto the hardwood, was his own personal fuck hole, who pleasured him exactly how he wanted. “But, this isn’t- I don’t want this,” his slave protested, lightly pushing back, “and this isn’t even what I’m being paid to do anyway-”

“Well, if it’s pay you’re after, I can pay you for this,” he snickered. “It’s called prostitution, Khaled, and if that’s how you want to earn your money, I certainly won’t get in your way.”

“But I don’t want this!”

“Not even for $100?”

Khaled’s mouth snapped shut. Thomas laughed.

“$500.” Thomas stopped laughing.

Khaled stuck his lower lip out and shot him the most pathetic pout he could give. “Am I, your own personal fuck slave, not even worth what you pay your high-class call girls?”

He scoffed incredulously. So, that’s how it’s gonna be? Alright then! “$200,” he countered, “you’re out of practice, and a little too assertive for my tastes lately.”

In an unprecedented turn of events, Khaled wrapped his legs around Thomas’ lower back and pulled him in closer by the front of his shirt. “$450,” he whispered, his soft, sweet lips mere inches from his own. “I’m not as out of practice as you may think, and I can be as meek as a lamb when I need to be.”

The mob boss did not expect this to turn him on as much as it did, and yet the ignition of arousal in his core and the hardening member in his slacks spoke for themselves. He emitted something akin to a purr or a growl. “$250,” he murmured sultrily, “take it or leave it, boy.”

“$300, and I’ll do that thing with your balls that you like.”

“You’ve got a deal!” He leaned in to kiss Khaled’s lips, pinning him further onto the desk as he unfastened the belt and pants around Khaled’s waist and peeled them off. He smiled into the kiss as Khaled yielded to him, opening his mouth so the older man could penetrate his mouth with his tongue and claim every inch inside him. He reluctantly broke off from the kiss to undo his own belt and pants. Once he had gotten himself out, he noted with satisfaction that Khaled’s knees were already hitched up to his shoulders, displaying that perfect set of three and that lovely little hole, all for Thomas J Costa. “And a merry fucking Christmas to me!” he murmured, completely satisfied. He opened the top drawer of his desk, where hiding among the paperclips and stapler refills was an innocuous little bottle of lubricant, with just enough fluid to get them through this session. “I never thought you’d be such a whore,” he teased. “Where is your self-respect?”

“Just hurry up, please,” Khaled whined, cheeks flaming red in –arousal? Shame? Not like Thomas could tell, or care.

“Oh no, whore, I’m gonna make you work for your $300 and ensure you earn every cent!”

He emptied what was left of the lube onto his hardened shaft and threw the bottle away. He gave himself a few quick pumps to spread the slippery substance from base to tip, then aligned himself between Khaled’s spread legs, pushing in without any sort of prelude or preparation. The boy groaned at the sudden intrusion. His nails bit into the wood of the desk as Thomas bottomed out inside of his tight little hole. “Oh my god, how do you still feel like you’re a virgin down there?” he grunted. He began to thrust his hips, slowly at first, then building up a nice rhythm as the lithe body underneath him slowly relaxed and opened for him. “There, that’s it,” he murmured as he leaned over Khaled. “You know how this works…” He nuzzled into the crook of Khaled’s neck, murmuring against the curve of the boy’s neck and shoulder. “Your body knows exactly what to do...” God, even the smell of Khaled’s skin was enough to stoke his arousal into a full inferno. The boss kissed hungrily against Khaled’s neck, breathing in the boy’s scent like it was air and he’d been holding his breath. The whimpers he got out of the boy as he began to use his teeth were some of the best noises he’d ever heard him make. Why on earth would he, Thomas Costa, want to give this up? Why did he ever think he could go one more day in his life without being inside this amazing little being? He sucked what he hoped would be a nice, dark hickey right over the strip of black ink across Khaled’s throat. A collar is not complete without its gemstones, right? he thought. He tongued the tattooed line thoughtfully. He licked at it as if he was trying to wipe it away with his tongue, even though he knew he couldn’t. Those permanent black bands were just another part of Khaled’s near-infinite sex appeal.

“You’re mine forever,” he whispered, lips brushing against that graceful neck with every word. “Doesn’t matter if you’re free one day, because you will always be mine.” And honestly, why would he ever have thought of freeing Khaled, when the boy made him feel this good?

“Please…” Khaled whined beneath him.

He pushed up from the crook of Khaled’s neck, placing the palms of his hands on the desk as he propped himself up. “Please what, my little slut?” he teased. “Please go faster?” Khaled screamed and moaned as Thomas picked up an enthusiastic pace inside of him. He pressed the boy between the hard desk and the weight of his heavier body as he pistoned in and out of his ass with only his own pleasure on his mind.

“What is it you want?” Khaled stared up at him, his dark brown eyes shimmering like pools of liquid ink. “Please what?” he panted huskily. “Please choke me?”

Dark brown eyes widened and his lips formed the beginnings of the word ‘no’ before Thomas wrapped both hands around Khaled’s slender neck. Instinctively, Khaled released his grip on the desk to futilely scratch and tug at his hands as he increased the pressure on his neck. Thomas released one of his hands just to slap him across the face. “Hands on the table,” he growled. A squeaky wheeze left Khaled’s lips as he still tried to pull the remaining hand away from his throat. Thomas slapped him again as he held the boy’s neck in a crushing grip. “Now!”

Khaled dropped his hands to his sides. His tears flowed over his reddening cheeks. His pulse quickened under Tom’s fingers as his trembling lips formed breathy words. “Please… please… no more… I’ve been… good... please…” he whispered hoarsely. His fingers clawed at the desk, carving long furrows into its surface as he struggled to dutifully keep his hands on it. “Mas…ter… please…” he begged.

I have your literal life in my hands, he thought, smiling down with a sadistic awe. No escorts of any economic bracket would ever let the man take it this far. Nothing could ever come close to this feeling of absolute power and control, and only his slave could make him feel this powerful. Only you, Khaled, only you, he repeated in his head as he fucked his way to climax. As Thomas emptied his balls inside Khaled’s hole, he knew he would never feel this way with anybody else. What was this feeling exactly? he wondered, finally letting go of the boy’s bruised neck. He stayed sheathed inside of Khaled’s warm, tight hole, listening to nothing but Khaled’s desperate breaths for air over the sound of his own heavy breathing. It isn’t possessiveness, it isn’t just lust. He pulled his softening length out of the boy’s fluttering hole, watching his own seed seep out with fascination and pride. So, what was that feeling, where you know nobody else can make you feel this way, and you wouldn’t want anybody else to, anyway?

Khaled turned over, leaning over the desk by bracing himself on his hands as he coughed and sputtered. Once the hacking and coughing sounds had subsided, and Khaled was nothing more than a trembling body barely keeping itself propped up against the desk, Thomas gently turned him around to face him. “You good?” he asked.

Khaled nodded. He had crushed the boy’s throat, making it difficult for him to respond in any verbal capacity. His reddened eyes blinked up at him, shining anxiously under their tear-dampened eyelashes. “Alright, down you go,” he replied softly. He pushed Khaled down to his knees, putting him face-to-face with the cock that had just been inside him. “Clean me off, and don’t forget my balls,” he ordered, murmuring a quiet “you know what I like,” at the end. He brushed a hand through Khaled’s disheveled hair, thinking about what to call that feeling he held for his dear slave. He tipped his head back and groaned as Khaled’s skilled little tongue set to work.

If it isn’t possessiveness, and it isn’t lust, his thoughts began, before he lost himself in the sensation of Khaled’s mouth.

Is it…love?

“Why didn’t you love me?!” Khaled screamed in the parking lot that night.

Love. That was a sensitive subject for Thomas. What was love, even? Between his long-absent stepfather, his sperm donor of a biological father, his neglectful mother who pissed away her inheritance into casinos, and his hard-ass grandfather who demanded nothing but perfection as he pitted brother against brother, the man was painfully aware of the lack of love in his and his brother’s childhoods. The closest thing they had to a loving adult in their formative years was Val, the nanny, but she left them too, once they were old enough.

It was no wonder his honest attempts at dating had failed so spectacularly. It culminated in self-sabotaging his wedding with Lenore on the day of, making sure that she could never break his heart like everyone else by leaving him. It seemed like a good idea at the time. It was not.

The pleasurable oral sensations had stopped down there, and Khaled now stared up at him with half-lidded eyes. “Satisfied?” he croaked. His voice was wrecked. He looked angelic.

“Yes.” Always. Forever.

Whoever said ‘if you love them, let them go’ obviously didn’t understand the pain of watching those loved ones abandon you one by one. Yet here, at Thomas’ feet, was someone who made him feel like the luckiest, most powerful man alive, who outshone everyone else as he pleasured him like no one else could, and who –if he reneged on their deal– would never leave him.

I love you, Khaled, he said in his mind, even if he wasn’t ready to say it aloud.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@defire

#whump writing #tw dubcon #graphically described #prostitution whump #slave whump #degrading language #tw asphyxiation #intimate whumper #possessive whumper #emotional whump #whumper x whumpee #but pretty unbalanced #unhealthy relationships #possessive relationship

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whumpees · 8 months ago

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My dearest (2023) whump list

Synopsis: Yu Gil Chae is a pretty, bubbly, and a bit spoiled young lady who's called the 99 tailed fox of Neunggun-ri. She is also a bit of an outcast because other young ladies are jealous of her. They seem to think she's too straightforward and her behavior is inappropriate for a young lady, while young noblemen think highly of her. Gil Chae knows how to get men to fall for her but fails to capture the heart of the person she likes. Lee Jang Hyun is a mysterious man who suddenly appears in the Neunggun-ri social scene. Nobody really knows anything about him. Young nobles don't like him, but the elderly are wrapped around his finger. He's been dating around a lot, but he becomes curious about a certain 99 tailed fox, and one day, the said fox quite literally crash lands into his arms. Once war is brewing, the pair finds themselves separated before they could even start to make sense of their feelings.

Whumpee: Lee Jang Hyun played by Namkoong Min

Episodes: 21 (divided into two parts: 10 for the first, 11 for the second)

Very whumpy show damn

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Contains spoilers

Ep1: flash forward: the show starts out with the male lead on the shore covered in blood and panting holding his sword and an army of people waiting to charge at him :: slashed in the arm, somebody wraps his wound

Ep5: everyone paying attention to their injuried love interest and rushing to help him but the male lead is standing there watching them with blood dripping from his arm but no one is paying attention to him (my baby boy 😭) :: Later female lead is arguing and screaming at him and he just leaves her but then she notices the blood on his hand and commands he sits down and wraps his wound and says it's severe and not gonna heal easily so he needs to rest for a month :: Blood through his bandage :: Someone throws something at his face & the cut drips blood on the ground

Ep6: contracts a disease but is unaware, later while waking he puts his hand on his head and sways (dizzy or a headache), coughs up blood, fighting with the enemies, slashed in the side, "from this point, nobody is getting past me" (HE'S FIGHTING WHILE SICK to protect fl), fought dozens of soldiers and when there's just one remaining he's finally getting weak and has blurry vision and gets slashed in the back

Ep7: his enemy pushed him and he falls down in pain, laying on the ground, somebody kills the enemy for him, the fl is near him but she doesn't see him!!! Fuck. he cries then passes out on the ground alone in the forest, wakes up on the ground, panting and trying to get up and is weak, walking unsteadily, waving to his friends that he's there then passes out and falls down, unconscious in bed and being tended to, woke up

Ep8: having a conversation with fl and he was reaaaally hurt by her words he started tearing up and was about to cry :: In a prison cell

Ep10: crying and hurt (he acts hurt so well)

Ep11: rememberd fl and cried (seriously i love it when this actor cries he depicts so much emotion in his face and this scene was adorable)

Ep12: sword pointed at his neck leaving a cut :: Tearing up while telling a personal story to someone

Ep13: crying in shock and absolutely heartbroken (I'm a sucker for this man's tears)

Ep14: hit on the head and knocked down, tries to move but ends up passing out, woke up startled, gets up immediately and kinda unsteady :: Tearing up :: Crying again :: On his knees begging to be punished instead of fl and saying he's ready to do anything or even be a servant for the rest of his life to let her go (bear in mind this is not like him 😳 so it means it shook his core to see fl humiliated like that) :: Shot in the back by an arrow to protect fl, passes out on top of her, unconscious in bed, tended to by his friend and fl, wakes up

Ep15: wakes up and caresses female lead's face then passes out again and his hand drops, wakes up, lifts his head and smiles and it causes him pain :: Pretends to still be passed out so fl doesn't leave :: Fl takes care of him while he's still pretending to be unconscious and she sees his scars :: Pretends to limp & collapse & be in pain :: His friend tells him to not pretend to be in pain but this time he actually is in pain

Ep16: unwrapping his bandages :: Wants to cry :: Teary eyes :: Teary eyes again

Ep17: teary eyes

Ep18: crying :: Hit over the head and collapses unconscious and his friend catches him but he also gets hit and they both fall to the ground :: Walking blindfolded and swaying (hasn't recovered from the blow to his head), in a prison cell hands tied and blood on his face :: Interrogated and kinda dazed while answering and looks weak, beaten :: Blood A LOT of blood dripping from his face, more beating, collapses, passes out :: On the ground bloody and helpless trying to reach out to the ring the fl gave him :: Put on a cart while blindfolded and unconscious and drops the ring (gosh i love when their hands are extended out when their unconscious it showed in multiple scenes in this ep), carried out of the cart and put among a pile of the dead, fl finds him and lifts the blindfold and ooff he's SOAKED in blood it looks so good, shakes him to wake up but he doesn't, half opens his eyes and reaches out to grab her clothes but doesn't have the strength to

Ep19: she helps him to walk by supporting him by his arm but is basically dragging him cuz he's unconscious, 2 ppl holding him by the arms, put to bed in fl's house, half awake briefly and back to unconscious, doc checks his pulse and gestures that he's in hopeless situation, coughs while unconscious, trying to get him out of the house cuz soldiers are looking for him and again grabbed by the arm to walk and is unconscious, ryang eum takes him on a horse and runs away, unconscious in bed, nursed, having a traumatic flashback and fighting in his sleep, woke up and doesn't remember anyone (for fuck's sake this is so unnecessary), pulse checked while asleep :: Awake and ok, fl feeds him, head pain :: Again having flashbacks in his sleep :: More flashbacks and head pain, fl feeds him (he's baffled bc of the attention he's getting from her cuz he still doesn't remember 😂) :: Fl tends his injuries, has a lot of big bruises (also he's now very shy when she touches him he screamed at her to stop 😂) :: Starts getting his memories back and flashbacks from when he was beaten and his head hurts, rememberd fl

Ep20: crying out of happiness (it's a beautiful scene) :: Knife pointed at his neck

Ep21: emotional confrontation with his dad and cries :: Cries again :: Finally back to the very first scene in ep 1 where dozens of people are trying to kill him, crying, getting up with difficulty, unsteady, blood dripping from him, collapses on one leg, status unknown but someone he's probably dead cuz he was bleeding a lot :: Flashback: It's night time and he's still walking on the beach while injured, staggering, passes out and falls on the ground, found by an old man, lost his memories again (is the author actually insane?), crying :: Crying reaally hard at the end

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Extra: not whump but the relationship between Jang Hyun and Ryang Eum is adorable 😭 In ep 9 jang hyun says that he doesn't belong on anyone's side, then ryang eum says to him while he's sleeping: "you don't belong to anyone, but i belong to you" and moves jang hyun's arm to sleep on it 😭😭😭 and in ep 11 ryang eum watches a slave being punished and looks at jang hyun with a horrified and pleading expression and without having to say a word jang hyun immediately stops them from punishing the slave just cuz his friend was hurt by it even tho he normally wouldn't give a shit 😭😭😭 that scene was so freaking adorable 😭 he always cares if the people he loves care. And in episode 15 he was crying his eyes out bc jang hyun got injured and was fighting with fl to nurse him 😂😂😂

(Ok i had my suspicions especially after ep 14 where the old man told ryang eum that jang hyun only considers him as a younger brother and "not to be greedy" but after ep 15 I'm now pretty positive it's not platonic anymore dude has feelings 😂 his jealousy was annoying it got in the way صورم انا اول مرة اشوف راجل بصورم 😒)

#my dearest 2023 whump list #namkoong min whump #whump lists #asian whump lists #very whumpy shows #whumpy dramas #nam koong min whump #nam joong min whump #nam goong min whump

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whump-mania · 5 months ago

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Alright as requested, a continuation of this! And I’ve decided, yes it is canon.

BE VERY CAREFUL! There are references to noncon in this chapter. Nothing explicit happens, but it is very much alluded to. Sequel to this will be on my NSFW blog if I write one.

TWs: implied/referenced noncon, kidnapping, beating, referenced eye whump/gore, creepy whumper, restraints

previous / next

Quinn wouldn’t talk. At all.

They had their back turned to Vincent and the elites as much as they could. They knew it was unreasonable to be distant. They did. But they would all be free if they didn’t care about them so damn much.

Damien was the first to speak up. He took a shaky breath. “Quinn…”

Quinn stayed silent. They bit the inside of their cheek to keep from crying.

“Quinn, we made this decision for a reason. We couldn’t let you just rot in here alone,” Damien continued.

“Yeah. We’re a team. We stay together, always,” Ian agreed. He and Felix were holding hands as well as they could with the ropes tied around their wrists.

Quinn finally looked at their team through their hair. At Damien and Kari with their concerned looks, at Ian and Felix holding hands and leaning against each other. Finally, their eyes landed on Vincent. He was barely recognizable. His hair was choppy and unkempt. Not to mention the horrifying empty socket where his eye used to be, a blood-soaked bandage barely covering it. All the life was drained from his expression. For the first time, Vincent actually looked hopeless.

“All of us are going to suffer now,” Quinn said bitterly. “Because you didn’t just decide to let me take it. I lived with this for years. I can f…I can f-fucking handle it.” They sniffled and wiped their tears with their shoulder. “You’re all dumb for staying with me.”

“I’m sure we can handle it, Quinn,” Kari interrupted. “It’s nothing we haven’t gone through before.”

Quinn shook their head. “N-No. No, you have no idea…w-what they’re like. You haven’t even seen Daniel yet, he…”

“They’re just Renegades, just like all the others have been,” Felix added. “We can survive this.”

“No!” Quinn cried. “You guys don’t understand!”

“Quinn’s right.”

Everyone turned to look at Vincent when he finally spoke. His gaze was trained at the floor still. “These guys are different. They hurt people with no reason. They’re sadists.” He looked up, letting everyone see the damage on his face. “They’ll find any excuse to torture us. Sometimes with no excuse at all. Not for information, not for revenge…because they want to.”

His vision shifted to Quinn.

“…But I don’t regret staying here for one second.”

Looking at Vincent’s face, into his remaining eye, it was clear that even though Hunter had tried to break him down completely, part of him was still there. He was still Vincent.

“Because we’re going to get out of here, together.”

Quinn could barely react to the information before the door to the tiny room they were kept in slammed open.

Into the room came Hunter, smug grin plastered on his face, and after him, the man Quinn dreaded to see most.

“D-Daniel, please, don’t hurt th—”

“Shut up. Everyone, on your knees. Facing me. NOW.”

Daniel’s voice cut like a knife through the musty air of the room. Despite their pride, everyone moved to obey him, even Quinn. They had their head bowed. They knew Daniel liked them like that.

Except Vincent didn’t move. He stayed faced away from Daniel, slumped on his side against the wall. Daniel slowly made his way over to the man, letting his presence loom over him for a moment. Hunter grinned at the display of intimidation. He’d learned that one from him.

Daniel gripped Vincent’s shoulder and turned him around roughly to face him. The man studied his face and his injuries. He turned his head to look over his shoulder at Hunter.

“His whole eye? Seriously? Isn’t that a bit overkill?” Daniel asked, unamused.

Hunter shrugged. “You said not to hold back with this guy.”

Daniel rolled his eyes and turned back to Vincent. He gripped the man’s chin with his hand, turning his head to observe him closer.

“As I thought. You’re just the same Conformist traitor as you always were,” Daniel spat. “Only difference is you’ve finally learned your place.”

Daniel let go of his face. The kick came faster than anyone could brace for. Vincent doubled over, unable to clutch his now possibly broken ribs as his hands were still tied behind his back.

“Daniel…s-sir, stop it, please…he didn’t do anything,” Quinn sobbed. Hunter had come around to crouch behind them. He was playing with their hair, to Quinn’s disgust, but they tried their best to ignore him. All their focus was on Vincent now.

“Still stupid, I see.” Daniel lifted Vincent onto his knees, eliciting a gasp from the other man. “You have no clue what this traitor has done to me.”

Quinn still didn’t understand. Vincent hadn’t even met Daniel before, right? What did that even mean?

When he was satisfied with Vincent on his knees, he turned around to observe the others. He went to each of the elites, sizing them up and manhandling them like they were products to be sold. When he got to Ian, he scowled.

“This one’s weak.”

Ian shrunk and averted eye contact, his face red with embarrassment.

Daniel stood up from Ian and sighed. “Hunter, you can take this one too. He won’t be any good to us.”

Ian didn’t fully know what that meant, but Quinn and Vincent did. Quinn shouted in horror and protest and tried to lunge forward, but Hunter held them back. He was giddy as he covered Quinn’s mouth with his hand, his hungry gaze now falling on Ian. Vincent lifted his head and pulled against his restraints.

“Daniel, no! Ian is an expert hacker. H-He can break into safes like nobody’s business, he’s useful,” Vincent pleaded. “We all are. Please.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow. “He speaks. Fine, then. Tell me exactly how I can work each of your cronies to the bone.”

Vincent shivered. He didn’t want to exploit his team like this, but it was better than the alternative. God, was it better than the alternative.

“Felix is a great medic, best I’ve ever had…D-Damien is really good with a gun, I’ve only seen him miss a shot twice. Kari could be a bodybuilder with how strong she is, she’s stronger than any of us.” Vincent swallowed dryly. He could praise his team for hours, but he hated that it was under these circumstances.

“You know what I can do already, I can…I can plan, I can lead…and Quinn, Quinn is—”

“No need telling me about Quinn,” Daniel interrupted, waving his hand. “I’m fully aware of what they’re capable of.” His eyes fell on Quinn, still struggling against Hunter’s grip. “But whatever you say won’t change my decision about what to do with them. I’ve already made up my mind.”

Vincent took a few shallow breaths, confused. “…W-What—”

“Quinn will still be a runner,” Daniel explained. “But they’ll fall back into their…other duties as they’ve done before.” He gave Hunter a knowing look.

That was all Quinn needed to hear. They screamed and tried to bite Hunter’s hand. They had to get out. They couldn’t do this again. Never again, Vincent had promised.

“NO!” Vincent protested, attempting to stand. “You can’t, you—you won’t touch them again! Neither of you!”

The other elites started to catch on. They began shouting out in protest too in defense of Quinn.

“ENOUGH!” Daniel shouted, shocking everyone into silence. “I have no qualms subjecting all of you to the same fate. There are plenty of members of Renegade 7 who would love their own Conformist to play with.”

The comment made Quinn feel sick. They’d never let what happened to them happen to the rest of the team. Never.

“You know, boss, you’re right,” Hunter added from where he knelt behind Quinn. “Trevor always asked me if he could share Quinn with me…and Ian over there seems like a good substitute,” he said with a grin. Ian whimpered and Felix tried to cover him with his body.

“And some of my buddies have been talking about wanting a girl, so…” Hunter smirked at Kari. “Looks like you fit that brief, don’t you?”

Quinn finally ripped their mouth away from Hunter’s hand. “STOP IT!” They cried. They shielded themselves from their team’s worried faces and focused on Daniel. “Don’t let anyone touch them, please. I-I’ll take it all, I can, you know I can.”

Daniel walked over and knelt in front of Quinn. “If they all behave and dedicate themselves to the Renegade movement, you won’t have to worry about that,” he said evenly. “But if they show me any ounce of disloyalty, I will not hesitate to put them back in their place.”

Daniel stood and addressed the entire group. “Understand?”

The elites all nodded solemnly, and Vincent stared blankly at the wall. He couldn’t believe a human being could stoop to such a level. He yelled when Daniel gripped his face again.

“Understand?” Daniel asked again, louder this time.

Blinking back tears, Vincent nodded in defeat.

Daniel stood. “Very good.” He pulled a radio out of his pocket. “Jefferson, Rhodes, Varley, help me with the prisoners.”

Soon enough, everyone got dragged out of the room one-by-one. Quinn made eye contact with each one as they left, a silent apology for putting them in this situation indirectly. When everyone in the room was taken out besides Vincent and Quinn, Daniel closed the door.

Quinn looked around in confusion. “W-Wait…aren’t we…”

“Not yet,” Daniel interrupted. He locked the door and dragged Vincent to the corner of the room. He stayed behind him, holding his tied wrists and essentially immobilizing him.

Quinn’s breathing picked up. “Daniel…w-what are you…”

“Hunter, go ahead and get started,” Daniel instructed firmly. “I want him to watch, just this once.”

tag list: @tears-and-lilies @whumpasaurus101 @whmp @freefallingup13 @sadistgalore @firewheeesky @authorofemotion @whatwhumpcomments @wingedwhump @mammonsemptycreditcard @eilarchswhump @whumblrwork @ficklefuddle @mylifeisonthebookshelf @lizzydizzyyo @whump-cravings @whumpcreations

#whump #whump blog #whump community #whump writing #whump scenario #dark leader #tw implied noncon #tw noncon #tw kidnapping #creepy whumper #tw eye whump #tw eye gore #tw restraints #tw beating

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whumpyourdamnpears · 8 months ago

Text

Fruit of the Wicked: Chapter 1

CW: lady whump, male whumper/female whumpee, poc whump (whumpee is a Black woman), age gap whump (whumper is an older man), religious whump, implied drugging, use of restraints

A huge shoutout to Marz, Gen, and Beck for beta reading this first chapter

Word Count: 2,229 || Next

When Dani woke up, she knew something was wrong.

It didn’t occur to her while she still floated in a black haze from last night. It didn’t even occur to her as the bright, offensive sunlight struck her face, pulling her from sleep. All of those things could be explained away as ordinary occurrences, the result of a long night’s rest. However, what could not be explained was the hardwood floor that rested against Dani’s cheek.

Her apartment didn’t have hardwood floors.

She awoke slowly, despite her panic. She still felt submerged in a sea of tar, and she knew that something was wrong about that, too. She was sure she hadn’t had anything to drink last night, and she hadn’t worked a long enough shift to be this tired. She couldn’t remember going to bed last night. She couldn’t even remember stepping foot in her apartment. Even if she had, she clearly wasn’t there now. When her eyes finally peeled open, she begun to see a room she didn’t recognize, and the shape of someone seated in a worn leather arm chair across from her.

She wasn’t in her apartment, and she wasn’t alone.

She tried to move, despite how heavy her limbs felt, and felt resistance as her legs attempted to kick out. She looked down at them and saw a metal cuff clamped around one of her ankles, its chain snaking down and looped to a matching, rusted ring in the floor. She stared at it, the pieces slowly coming together in her muddied mind. She was chained to the floor in a room she didn’t recognize with a person she didn’t know sitting across from her. It felt so surreal. She gave her ankle a little shake, just to be sure.

“Well, look who’s finally awake.” A voice rang through the air.

Dani knew that voice.

She remembered when she’d first heard it at the diner, its southern drawl different from the way her regulars usually spoke. He was from out-of-town, there for one reason or another, whatever reasons brought a man like him to a small town like theirs. Maybe that knowledge, the thought that she’d never have to see him again, made her particularly brave that day. To do what she had done to him.

Look how much good it’d done her now.

As she squinted her eyes to make him out through the shroud of sunlight surrounding him, she could tell that not much about him had changed. He still had that sandy blond hair, perhaps streaked with more gray than the last time they’d spoken. His square jawline was now covered in stubble. The harsh sunlight deepened the lines on his face, especially as it shifted into a grin.

The man stood, faintly groaning as his knees snapped into place, and made his way over to her, then bending into a crouch. He was so much closer to her now. Dani wanted to crawl away, far from the appraising gaze of his piercing blue eyes, but her limbs simply would not cooperate.

“It’s been a while since we’ve last spoken, hasn’t it?”

Whatever strength Dani still had went into kicking her leg out towards him. The chain pulled and stopped her short. He sighed as her foot lightly made contact with his work boots. “We’ll work on that.”

She could make out so much more of him now that he was closer. The way his Adam’s apple bobbed as his eyes made their way up and down her body. She wanted to kick him again. As if reading her thoughts, the man leaned back, out of her reach. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he chided. “I don’t think you’ll like what happens if you do.”

“What the fuck do you want?” Dani croaked, her tongue heavy.

He gave her a small smile. “Do you remember me, darlin’? What happened the last time we spoke?”

Of course she did. She almost lost her damn job over it. “I’ve got some sort of notion,” she growled, attempting to push herself away from him. It was a clumsy ordeal, but she managed.

He laughed. “I’m sure you do. I can’t imagine that went over well with your boss. Tell me, how close was he to firing you after what you’d done?”

She steeled her jaw.

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, darlin’. Let’s be civil about this. I just want to have a conversation with you.”

“Maybe I’ll consider it,” Dani said, attempting to ignore the way her head swam as she pulled herself into a sitting position. “Once I’m not chained to the floor.”

The man shook his head. “No, not yet. You haven’t earned it.”

Earned it? “Then I’m not interested in speaking to you.”

He sighed again, fiddling with the pocket of his jeans. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll realize that talking to me is a lot better alternative to what else I could be doing to you right now.”

“Like what?”

He chuckled. “Would you really like to find that out?”

No, she didn’t. But she wasn’t going to be the one to admit it.

The man pulled a wrapped up piece of thick leather from his pocket. “Do you know what this is, darlin’?” He asked, wrapping the leather around his hand. “It’s a whip switch. Now, I’m not opposed to using it on you if that’s what you really want, but I’m sure you’d prefer talking to me instead. Wouldn’t you?”

All Dani could do was nod.

“What do you mean about having to earn it?” She asked, voice wavering.

The man hummed, rocking back and forth on his feet. “I have plans for us, darlin’. Plans you aren’t gonna like. But that’s okay. You don’t gotta like them. You just have to go along with them, save yourself some trouble that way.”

“Like what?” She spat out, frustrated.

He stood up, groaning as he straightened his legs. “Now, it wouldn’t be any fun if I told you from the jump, would it?” He began to pace the room, a study of some kind. Dani could feel the wall to wall bookshelves pressed against her back. Could see the leather arm chair in the opposite corner of the room, with the side table and lamp next to it. It would’ve been charming, had Dani not been chained to the floor. “I’d say we’ll start off slow, but that wouldn’t quite be true. I like to get the dirty work out of the way first, makes it easier down the line.”

“You say that like you’ve done this before.”

He looked at her, amused. “What makes you think I haven’t?” He gestured down to the metal ring. “That’s not new, you know. It’s seen plenty of girls before it’s seen you.”

Dani’s stomach curled in on itself.

“I think we should establish some ground rules first. How does that sound?”

“Fuck you.”

The man cleared his throat. “So, rule one: you’re gonna do what I say, when I say it. No, don’t look at me like that—you’re gonna want to follow this rule. Because if you follow it, you’re gonna save us both a lot of time and energy avoiding some of the punishments that’ll happen if you don’t. Do you understand me?”

Dani bristled. “Like hell I will.”

“It’s non-negotiable. Break a rule, I break something of yours. It’s simple, really. Rule one won’t be as hard as you think it will. At least, not after a while, it won’t. You’ll catch on fast.” He fixed her with another look. “Rule two will be harder for you. You’re gonna have to watch your mouth.”

“This is bullshit,” Dani muttered to herself.

“Ah, ah. We’ve barely even gone 0ver the rules and you’re already starting to break them. Would you really prefer to have this conversation end in a punishment?” Dani shook her head. “Then watch your mouth.”

Dani looked around the room for something, anything, that she could reach. She had the books behind her, but they wouldn’t do much, not against him. You couldn’t pick a lock with a book, either. And she wouldn’t be getting very far with that damn cuff on her ankle.

“Rule three: you won’t, under any circumstance, leave this cabin without a chaperone. That will most likely be me. There are gonna be some pretty damning consequences if you do, and, quite frankly, I don’t feel like chasing you down to see where you’ve ended up.”

“How the hell am I gonna leave the cabin if I’m chained to the floor, genius?” Dani asked, chain rattling as she shook her ankle.

The man sighed. “You really are a bad listener, aren’t you? You’ll lose the chain when you’ve earned it. Which means following the rules. Which you are currently doing a piss poor job at.” He got closer to her. Dani tried to push herself into the shelf behind her, but there was nowhere left to go. “Do you know why I’m doing this? Why I’ve gone to all the trouble of doing this instead of just killing you?”

“I’m gonna guess it’s because you get off on it.”

She hoped she sounded braver than she felt.

He just shook his head. “It’s because I think you and I’ve got some unfinished business to attend to. And killing you just ain’t gonna cut it.”

Dani straightened up. “And what happens if I keep breaking the rules?” She asked. “Will you get sick of me and get it over with?”

“No,” He said slowly. “But you’re gonna wish I had.”

“Oh my God,” Dani groaned. “You’re insane.”

His eyebrows rose. “Is that right.” Dani could tell his patience for her antics was dwindling. His finger tapped against his crossed arms impatiently. “Well, I think I’ve had enough of this for the day. We’ll get started on our lessons together tomorrow.”

“Lessons?”

He ignored her and started for the glass paned double doors on the other side of her.

A thought came to Dani. “Wait,” she called out. The man turned back to her, eyebrows raised. “Do you think you’ll do it?”

He sighed, exasperated. “Do what, darlin’.”

“Whatever it is you plan on doing with me. Do you think you’ll do it?”

The man gave her a small smile. “I sure hope so.”

As he went to leave again, Dani piped up, saying, “I really need to use the rest room.”

The man stopped.

“Can I—” Dani sighed, frustrated. “Can I go to the bathroom, please?”

He considered it. “It’d probably be best to get that bit of business over with, wouldn’t it.” He made his way back over to her.

“Good to know you’re not into that as well,” Dani murmured as he began to mess with the cuff around her ankle. He yanked on her ankle as he gave her a dirty look. “Jesus, sorry.”

The man pulled at his collar, producing a necklace with a key hanging from it that he then pulled over his head and held in his hand. Dani watched reverently, noticing how the dull metal rubbed against his fingers as he brought the key to the cuff and turned it into the lock. She yanked her ankle out of the cuff as soon as the lock popped open, leaning down to rub circles into the tender skin. He didn’t wait for her to finish, instead pulling Dani up by the arm to stand.

Walking her to the door, he turned to her and said, “Don’t get any ideas.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she grumbled back.

They were instantly met with the back of a sofa once they stepped out of the study, into a room with both a living area and a dated kitchen. Dani glanced past the red knitted blanket hanging from the arm of the sofa and the end table to stare at the wooden door from across the room, sunlight peeking through the window in it. An exit. As they walked past the kitchen down to the hall, she saw a figure standing by the sink, who turned to look back at her.

Another girl.

She was young, younger than Dani was, but taller, too. Long, blonde hair hung down her shoulders, running down in rivulets that reached past her elbows. Her height had left her willowy, limbs slim enough to snap at the slightest bit of pressure. She pulled down the rolled up sleeves of her blue sweater and worried the loose threads as she stared back.

The man quickly ushered her along, not giving her any more time to watch as the other girl stared right back at her. “Who is that?” Dani asked, craning her neck to get another look.

“She’s none of your concern,” was all the man said back, pulling the second door down the hallway open to reveal a modest bathroom, tightly squeezed with older fixtures. “Make it fast, I don’t have all day.”

Dani nodded, turning to enter the room.

Then, she turned back around and swung her fist right at his jaw.

It connected with a crack, sending him careening towards the wall, gripping his face and groaning. Dani could hear a gasp from across the cabin. She didn’t waste a moment. She wrenched her arm away and backed out of his grasp.

And then, she started to run.

Tag List: @flowersarefreetherapy, @generic-whumperz, @heartinthehospital, @another-whump-sideblog

#whump #whumplr #intimate whumper #defiant whumpee #religious whump #fruit of the wicked

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revelisms · 8 months ago

Text

Antichrist Copia theory has overtaken me yall. I was not expecting to crank out a full thing on this, but, uh...if you're looking for one big indulgent braindump on Terzo trying to unpack his feelings on this while Copia gets possessed by a demon, look no further?

Quick context setting—I'm still working out these headcanons a bit, but what I'm generally tinkering with here:

Everyone tied to the Emeritus bloodline has some degree of magical abilities, which were formally "awakened" in an oath-taking ceremony at a point in the boys' childhood. This is the Sight mentioned here (i.e., whatever is up with the white eye), and each of the brothers have a slightly different angle for it: Primo can see into the minds of living things, Secondo can see into the past, Terzo can see into the future, and Copia can see into the realm that bridges life and death—and is somewhat a literal bridge, himself, between those planes of reality.

The Exaltation ceremony is a formal handoff from each Papa to the next heir, in which their Sight is tapped to its greatest potential in preparation for becoming head of the church. This typically involves a delivery of rites, a magical blessing, and an opening of the Gate between worlds (which, in this context, is technically Hell itself).

Basically: mayhem ensues.

here we lie

4k words | Rating: M | Terzo-Centric | Antichrist Copia | CWs: Ritual magic, dark imagery, near-death experience, blood, language, existentialism, doomed fate, whump, anger issues, dysfunctional family dynamics, hurt/comfort. Also on AO3

The exaltation ceremony goes wrong.

By all accounts, it shouldn't have.

As with any long-standing traditions of the church, the ritual had been perfected to the scrape of dust one was allowed to wear on their boots—and, as such, had been prepared with the expected flurry of pomp and circumstance.

The esteemed Monsignor Emeritus, firstborn, blessed with the Sight, had cleansed the air thrice with dishes of althea and frankincense and bistort: enhancements for protection and divination.

Sister Mariella, well-familiar with the customs, had laid down the sigils for the Gate flawlessly: shadowed by the slow-prowled growlings and page-turned rites of Secondo Emeritus, Archbishop of the Eternal Light.

The ceremony, as was custom, was set to be led by the head of the church: their Exalted, sheened in black from neck to toe, the points of his clawed gloves glinting in the lowlight—for whom the Sight of premonition had seemed both a blessing and a curse, and never more so than now.

He was distracted, perhaps. Dehydrated, maybe. Dreading the moment he would stand at the door to the realm beyond—a threshold of time and space untethered—that would soon devour the faceless flesh-form of a ghoul cast back to the shadow (his One, his All, his own); a door he himself, in time, would one day find himself crossing, with body and soul split, head and neck cleaved, heart and mind shattered.

From the moment he'd slopped a spoon through the breakfast his secretary had slid on his desk that morning, he'd known, instinctually, that this damned thing could turn so haywire, if only because he'd been the one shackled with it.

His jittery magic, his restless brain, and Copia—

Well.

Copia has been anything but normal, from the day Sister carted him up the chapel steps.

Terzo knew he had magic—the likes of which few could fathom, even from his sticky-fingered child days. The night the little rat had taken his oaths, the air had sung with it: a strange buzz of sensation that felt like the sun had tipped off-center.

And now—

Now, the Gate is laid open beneath Terzo's hands, the unseen ink of his spell-marks glowing a blood-lilac fuchsia, bright enough to glare violently through his clothes, and the void of Hell itself screaming in its glory—and Copia is not imbued with the Dark One's majesty, as he should be—is no man, is not living, has flames for eyes and claws for teeth and wings like the undead and is screaming—

"Close it," Secondo snarls at him, a blurred tower of shadow and piercing white—

—and Terzo knew this.

Knew this boy-man-beast-hellspawn of Christ-Shadow Beholden always was.

He'd looked him in the eye—kneeled there in the cat's cradle of a pentagram scraped in chalk, hands fidgeting at his cassock—and gave a crook of his head: murled, Ready? like a tease, though some part of him had meant it as, You'll be alright, eh?

But unblessed saints and demons below, Copia isn't.

What writhes before him now is a creature that terrifies him to the bone—one that may not abandon his brother completely, should he fail at this any farther than he already has.

"Terzo." Primo, now: an urgent hiss at his shoulder. "Close the gate—"

"I know." His magic burns at his fingertips, sears through his blood. "That—thing hasn't released him—"

A thing with claws cradling Copia's head like ceramic a hairline from shattering, spitting a pained growl through his teeth.

The sacrament in Mariella's hand shakes. "Papa, what's...?"

"I don't know." The flamelight flickers unnaturally against the domed walls: a great breath that lapses to darkness, sparks back again. "Shit, I—I don't know."

"Terzo—"

"Close the gate—"

"Hell Satan—will you all shut up?!"

There are horns in Copia's hair, slick-red-gold between his grappling fingers.

His stomach is in his head. His brain in his feet.

Mariella swallows. She's always been a strong soul—far more than him, now: level-headed in a storm, vibrant in a fog; a presence that guides as much as it grounds.

"How long can you hold it for?" she whispers, firm and calm.

He pulls dry air into his lungs. "As long as I need to."

He steps forward, spellwork singing in his veins, and lets his hands unfurl. The air whips at his vestments, wailing with the bone-deep unease of voices old as Creation straining to be heard.

Somewhere in there is Copia's own. He'll drag it out by hand, if he has to.

"You imbecile!" Secondo is shouting, muffled behind the blurred opalescence of the Veil: a wall that glows off the circle Terzo crosses, consumes him with the prickling unease of a limb losing its circulation. "You can't reason with it!"

The flames warp again. A shadow like death bends over the walls.

Terzo's no stranger to the taste. His dreams have been riddled with the stench of it, from the day the Sight was force-gifted upon him. And like he had, then—a child with battered elbows and bruised knees; a not-man with awkward limbs and disdain for the old orders of this world; a Cardinal with paint on his teeth and a straightjacket of woolen expectations—he repents.

"I call on the spirits of the Then and the Below." A twitch strings through his fingers: with it, a flare of violet light. "To the Beings of those Beyond, the Eternal, I speak now, and speak only—" The pitch of his voice mangles, ragged with the corded growl of a beast: the underbelly all their half-human souls peel clean, when drowned deep enough in this waste. "In my Blood, see my will. In my Sight, my path—"

"What is he saying?" Mariella asks, her voice muffled as though through glass.

Primo calls a sharp warning: "Don't cross it—"

The air whistles with a faint singing of metal—and splits. It grapples at his clothes, twisting his hair with a gravitational pull unseen.

He breathes in chalk dust, sighs out knives.

Beneath Copia's shivering limbs ripples the black expanse of the Gate: an aether so endless one couldn't capture its history in a millennia: a presence so indefinable that even Primo, with years of such history under his belt, can only stare through the blur, voiceless and rigid at the sight of it.

With twitching claws and lightless eyes and Hell beneath his feet, Terzo beckons.

"Bare yourself to me."

The room shivers. The walls shriek. The flames stagger, flutter, wheeze again—and snuff out, completely.

In the pitch, it is only the Eternal, and the glow within his veins, and the white of his eye, and Copia's beast-man-beast-man-fanged grin with a split lip—

A Being that takes the air of the room by the throat, and speaks in a voice that thunders.

"It is time."

Terzo feels its presence slithering up his legs. The weight of its All on his lungs.

He keeps his hands steady, his intent clear, even for the exertion that leaves his arms quivering.

"Not here," he grits back, a strange echo in the ringed light that encases them. "Not now."

A hand that is not Copia's, is scaled and rotted and red, slaps to the stones. "When?" The shriek hits his ears like a thunderstrike. A chill is crawling under his veins: a heaviness that isn't right, is this thing more than his own blood. "When?"

Primo's magic is wafting through the air—some swift-casted attempt at a ward around them, far too late now. The scent of it itches on Terzo's tongue: dragon's blood, rose-ash, frigid at his back. His own aura swats it off like a gnat, too distracted to let it in, to think.

Fuck, he needs to think.

A stage—

The Being wails.

His downfall—this one's own Ascension—

Ice knifes into his ankle.

A stage and heat and lights and purple-bleeding-black and blood on his throat—a syringe in his brother's own hands, a demon masqueraded—his Unnamed's voice gristling in his ear, Be still be still be still now—

Mariella squeezes a talisman in her palm, smoking sweetly with the taste of Secondo's own protection charm.

"Papa," she calls out: her voice a muddy, drowned thing.

His lashes flutter open, heavy as lead.

"Coward!" the Being retches. Hellfire blisters against its silhouette, a nebulic haze. "Tell them of your death. Of Our purpose. Where We were sewn. You know it—"

Mariella holds the stone out to him, guided through the surging current of Primo's ward. The air wrestles like a gale through her sleeve.

"You know it!"

His claws catch at her palm—not his gloves, but his own, thick and black as talons. The talisman burns a sunspot-bloom through his marrow, bright as a thousand stars.

"Thirteen months." His speech is one he doesn't recognize: child and entity and Bloodline infinite. "On a black dais, surrounded by your flock." The talisman melts like a balm into his skin: an unseen shield that ripples with half-lit iridescence. The chill biting into his skin flinches. "You will know it," Terzo grits on, "and now is not it."

He thinks he hears Copia's voice through the fray. He can't be sure.

"And then?" snarls the Being.

Not a being. Not a thing.

No—this is Lucifer-incarnate.

An orchestration.

"It won't be finished, then." The shell of magic around them snaps like embers in a flame, a jolt wrestling up his arm. So much time. So much weighed down—and he weighs it down, still, his breath shuddering. "You'll have years to go—"

"And then?"

Scraped nails, dead eyes, bloodied horns, Copia—

Secondo's gloved palm tears through the gleam, squeezes like a noose around his bicep. "I won't say it again, you fuck," he spits, the words warped and crackling. "You're going to get him killed—"

He can't shake him off quickly enough.

"Close it!"

Copia's eyes. Copia's soul, trapped in the All. Right there—

His magic flares like a supernova, spears through that gate and holds: a cosmic blast that shouts his throat raw, knocks Secondo nearly off his feet, leaves him lightheaded and with blood on his teeth—but he has him—

"Thirteen months' time," the Being roars, "and you'll be taken with it."

Terzo hisses, his claws scraping at his brother's skin.

"So is the Rule."

The Gate grapples at his silks.

Copia's gloved fingers shake, snatching desperately at his arms. His own voice breaks through the loom. "Terz—"

"I've got you," Terzo spats. Sweat sticks at his neck.

The fibers of his magic are fraying at the edges.

Red eyes glare up at him. "Do you accept it?"

The portal whines.

"To the day it is marked, you'll have it. As it is written." His claws slip on Copia's sleeve. "As it always was."

The Being grins. "And so it will be."

It spits his brother out.

His hold on the Gate snaps like a wire—and shatters the well of magic, with it. The howl torrents through the room with a cello's blare, and whips to a bee-winged nothingness.

With the loss of it, gravity lurches in his gut. He cracks to his knees, catches himself on the stones just enough—gloves still intact, not torn through, only clawed with gold—and heaves blood.

"Papa!"

And his brother. His damned demon brother: rubber-legged, staggering, Copia gasps like a man near-drowned.

Unscathed, somehow—Satan willing.

Primo is across the room, in an instant. "Copia. Unblessed beneath, are you alright?"

"Ye-Yes, yes, I—shit." Primo catches him, his gloves slipping at his sleeves. Unsteadily, he veers back on his feet. "What...what happened?"

It's too dark. Too quiet. Too loud.

Terzo swallows down bile; chokes on blood and phlegm. Mariella's habit swims in his vision.

"Papa," she hushes, clear as crystal now. "Papa, look at me."

Secondo, halfway between them: "Is it gone?"

Her fingers skim through the sweat-dripped mess of his paints: press cooly at his temple.

"Is it gone?"

"Yes," she breathes.

Hazily, lashes flicking, Terzo tips out of her touch. He chokes on his words, the first try; rasps them, the second. "Where's the rat?"

"He's here," Primo answers him. "He's fine."

There's a clumping of boots, a rustling of silks, Mariella scurrying from the floor.

"What in Hell's name were you thinking." Secondo's hand jerks at his sleeve, wrestles him half-blind back into his bones. "You could have doomed us all. We never—never—speak to the Unnamed without wards in place. You know that—"

"Brother," Copia croaks.

Secondo rips his head over his shoulder. "You shut your mouth. I haven't even gotten to you." With a firm grip, his hand slips under Terzo's arm, helps him slowly to his feet. "Get up," he huffs. "Come on. Are you alright?"

"I'm—fuck. Fine. I'm fine."

His elder brother scowls down at him. "Good. And you better stay that way, because I have half a goddamned mind to put a fist through your teeth—"

"Dino," Primo snarls, "This is helping nothing." Years of practice in such misguided events has left him rationed, calm: a quiet glance turned to the pale-faced attendant behind him, who stands shell-shocked, having seen unwantedly the darker veins of their Order—and ones their customs would soon have him forget. "Jean," Primo says, waiting for his eyes to drop. "We will need a medic. Say nothing to the All-Father."

Secondo scoffs. "Oh, yes—Nihil will have this one's ass, when he hears of this—"

"Saints—ignore him, young one. A medic, and Priestess Diana. Quick as you can."

The boy nods and takes off through the hall's doors, stumbling up the stairs in his haste.

In his absence, the room holds a collective breath, the eyes of the siblings still in attendance fixed like rabbits on the four men clustered in the center of the room.

"We're alright," Primo says to them all, in a tone that is more order than reassurance.

It couldn't be more of a reach.

Terzo wheezes a snarl, a laugh. "Alright." The stones sting beneath his feet: five paces that drive him out of Secondo's iron grip, steer him straight into the path of Copia's saucer-wide blinking: eyes blue and white and younger than they should ever seem, in a face that has grown so weathered, as all of them have.

And he knew.

He lifts a clawed finger, his breath too slow. "I knew."

Primo, sharp as steel: "Do not take this out on him—"

He couldn't give a shit.

He almost killed him.

The bastard wasn't living.

"What are you, mh?" Terzo licks his lips, tastes the bitter metal of blood. He lifts a shaky hand. "No, no—what did she make you?" He smears the leather against his mouth, the heat of his stare unwavering, a knife-edge sliced from shoes to frazzled fringe. "That—that Aether just within you, eh? Always that, under there?"

Copia shakes. "I didn't," he blunders.

"This is why she brought you, isn't it? Satan, of course—"

Secondo wrestles for his elbow, a steadying squeeze. "Terzo—"

"You saw it—!"

His brother's eyes simmer: one black in the lowlight, the other white as a moonbeam. "I saw you."

His bites his nails through his glove. Rattles in a breath.

"Calm down, the both of you," Primo says coldly, a hand still on Copia's shoulder. "It was reckless—but you managed. We are all still in one piece." He steps between them, pointedly, studying Terzo's face like a leech. "Your Sight will be strained for weeks, after that. You did not have the power to even attempt that on your own."

Terzo snuffs. "A good thing one of us sorry shits did."

Behind the sharp slope of Primo's shoulder, Copia shivers, eyes downturned. "I—"

"Don't." He drags a gloved hand through his hair. Shaking—still shaking? Outraged—always. Horrified, still. "You're good," he tells his brother, tells himself. "It is all good. You're alright. Okay."

Primo's eyes stare through him, see a bitten-lipped boy with a bandage on his cheek.

Terzo turns away. "Okay," he hushes again, and walks, past Secondo's stone-still glare, Mariella's worried frown, and walks, and walks, and walks—

"You are not running away, now—"

"Dino. Leave it. Copia, do not linger on that, alright? Don't listen to it. You know how he is. It is not your fault—"

"But what—what was that? What happened—?"

—up the gnarled stairwells, out the maze of lower halls, stumbling over the grasses, and sits like a stone on the side-entry's steps. Like a ghost.

Sits for an age.

He must—because, by then, the medics have come, and the stench of that room has been dragged open, and Mariella's whispers are drifting across the corridor's arches—after he's ripped off his gloves, dug his fingers through his hair, tried to breathe and not think—and he expects her.

He expects her fear, her pity.

Not Copia.

The fool's boots scuff on the stairs.

"Is it, eh..." His brother muddles over a breath. "Alright if I—?"

Terzo doesn't have the mind to fight it—not with sweat still cold at his back. He swats his palm, some attempt at allowance, kneading his other fingers over his brow.

Copia slumps down to the steps. Just stays there, in awkward, insufferable silence.

Finally: "Shit—it's chilly today, isn't it?"

Terzo leers through his fringe. "Going to talk about the birds, next?"

"I'm just saying."

"Just saying. Yes—and you'll be singing, after." He combs back the half-tamed waves of his hair, hangs his hand across his knee. "Old chamber smells like a cesspool."

Copia manages a smile, the thistles of his mustache wrinkling. "Bleh. Nasty place. I've always hated it, down there."

"All the more reason to, now, huh?" Terzo forces a sneer of his own, glaring away. He sniffs. Pits his tongue against his teeth.

For a beat, his brother says nothing. Then, his gloved fingers squeaking over each other: "I'm alright."

Terzo chuffs, furrowing his brows. "Barely."

He can feel the rat's eyes on him. It makes his skin crawl. "Primo...told me. What it—well." Copia frowns at his boots, at the graveled path beyond. "Did you mean it?" he hushes, lifting his eyes. "That you've...seen it, before?"

Terzo bites the inside of his lip. "Seen lots of things."

"But—that. It's—I've always thought...er...felt that, maybe, she'd..."

"Sister?"

"Mother, yes—"

"Your mother."

Copia's shoulders twitch.

"I—sorry," Terzo mumbles, shifting his fingers over his thumb. "I know it's not..."

His fault, his intention—his anything, right?

But it is. Isn't.

Should be.

He flexes his hand, pitters his fingertips together. Looks away. "Anyway."

A breeze rustles cooly through the shrubbery that flanks the stairs: a feathered hush along the pines that tower over the grounds.

"Anyway," Copia repeats, shifting his tongue around his mouth. "It's just...you, eh...you have seen it, before," he says again, watching the air ripple through the leaves, "haven't you?"

Terzo glances at him. Sister's sloped nose. A paintbrush-smattering of freckles. The white of his eye, fixed on the swaying branches. Lanky little thing, as he's always been. The mirror to his own placelessness, own purposelessness, own forced mantle he never asked to have thrown upon him—but craved, clawed for, claimed, nonetheless.

"Told you, little thing," he says, tipping his heel off the stones. "Seen lots of things."

"But I know. I've always...felt it, I just haven't—" Copia fumbles, lacing his fingers. "Had the words, I guess."

"Rare thing, for you."

"Shut up."

"Heh—even rarer for me, eh?"

"Ugh."

They breathe in unison, the air thick with it: hope, despair, magic, emptiness.

"When it...when that...thing took over me, did it...say anything to you?"

Terzo's mouth ticks.

Thirteen months. Poison in his neck. His body tossed through the gaping maws of the realm beyond.

He stares at the points of his boots, still speckled with his own spit and blood, and scuffs his thumb at it.

"Eh...not clearly. Hard to make out, in the muck of it."

"None of it came through?"

Terzo tilts his chin on his shoulder, fixing him with a narrowed look. "It wasn't you, Coppie," he says. "Just...forget what I said, before. Old temper of mine, rearing its shitting head again."

"But what if—"

"It wasn't." Terzo plants his palm on his brother's knee, chipped black on his nails, and squeezes. "It wasn't," he murmurs again.

Copia stutters. "Well, even if it wasn't—it—it felt like I was..."

"Delirious?" He perks one brow, fox-grinned in his usual reach for deflection, distraction. "Dead, even?"

"Whole."

The smile wanes.

For a breath, he tries to hunt for that beast beneath his brother's skin—the way he so often does in the steamed glass of his own mirrors, and so easily sees it in them: the spire-teeth, the winged limbs, the eyes half-living.

He finds only a quivery little boy, tucked in the cage of a man's body. The same one who spent years, against all odds—against his own stupid, spiteful jealousy—clinging like a barnacle to his side.

He slides his hand away. "The Sight does it to all of us, little rat. Strips away the Veil." He picks at his thumb, the gravel hazing to a fine blur, and swallows: white stone crisping to clarity, again. "Catch an Emeritus in the right light—even a clueless one can see the Fallen in them."

Copia frowns.

Maybe it's not a comfort. All the more proof that he isn't one of them, as he has so often feared.

The Other, above all else.

"But what if I am?" he says quietly. "Whatever that...thing was? Will, eh...will something happen, if that's true?"

Terzo lifts his eyes to the sky—grayish with cloud-cover, damp with the chilled humidity of a storm along the way, something to wash this whole mess clean—and lies through his teeth.

"Happen?" he snides. "What is this—Armageddon, itself? You worry worse than Nonna, Coppie." He wrinkles his brows at him, his smile thin, his paints half-smeared off his face. "And even if you were—would it be so bad? All of us are hardly human, eh? Perhaps you are just farther along the evolutionariness—the truest Creature of the Night, of us all." His eyes widen, teasingly. "I mean—psh! I will have my fangs, no? And the pincher, his wolf-pelt, and Primo will, eh...Hell, what would the old goat be?"

Copia rolls his eyes, leaning into the cradle of his elbows. "A zombie?"

"Feh—the Nihilist is the rotting corpse, surely."

His brother rolls into a snicker. "Sea creature?"

"Agh—not the lagoon man! We will insult the dear river's integrity, with such things—no, no." Terzo sniffs, feigns smearing away his paints instead of the heat itching at his eye, and smiles wryly again. "Let's be realistic, here—the old gardenia will be the enchanted plant that traps one's bones for the witches, yes?"

Copia wheezes on another laugh.

Saints, he hates that laugh. Godawful sound, a mimicry of his own: a snort and a tea kettle and a giggle all in one.

The brightest sunbeam of any.

"He has to be the, er—the witch, right?" Copia wonders, giving him a teasing glance.

Terzo flashes his teeth. "Now, if that is the category—I will rule above them all, no?"

And his brother laughs again.

Their little brother, little demon, little star. The highest heir of them all, doomed to a path he should have never been put on—as all of them are, in their own ways. Always have been; always will be.

Terzo ignores Primo's shadow in the corridor, flanked by Mariella's quiet eyes. Ignores the hawkish leer of Secondo's folded-armed scowling, waiting to deflect the plague that will no doubt burst into the halls, once news of it all has reached the ears of their Highest.

At least for this moment, he can pretend.

Flit away what is yet to come, like a bottle tossed to the sea—Nihil, Sister, this brother tressed in silks and jewels for a price he hadn't the slightest knowledge would be paid—and goad another laugh out of him, and another.

Relish in the denial that this is all that ever was. Ever could be.

Copia: blushing, teary-eyed but toothy, knocking his shoulder into his—unable to do anything but choke at the idiotic scenarios he conjures for the four of them, in all their monsterly glory. As distracted as he deserves to be, after that wretched thing. The memory of it all forgotten, if for a moment.

And that's enough, Terzo thinks, the cool tang of rain on the gales.

For now, maybe, that's enough.

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dootznbootz · 3 months ago

Note

Don't get me wrong, I hate the telegony with every FIBER of my being. HOWEVER!! I feel like there's so much yummy angst potential with Odypen.

Like?? Imagine Penelope holding Odysseus' dead body. And it reminds her so much of when he'd fall asleep in her arms, in their bed holding an infant Telemachus. Because little baby Telemachus wouldn't stop crying so he had to be held in his papa's arms :3

But he's still crying to this day,, crying in the background, sobbing, hugging his mother from behind as she's holding her dead husband. Her husband that she waited 20 YEARS for. Her husband that's literally been threw hell and BACK, yet who never gave up because he wanted to see HER and their SON!!

He could've stayed with Calypso, he could've stayed with Kirke, he could've. But he DIDN'T. And I know damn well the moment he came back, and she saw him, she SAW on his face he's been threw shit. And imagine that, imagine the pain of someone you love more than the Sun experiencing that. Imagine that, and they did all of that, to see you.

People undermine that Penelope loves Odysseus just as much as Odysseus loves Penelope. It's been 20 years. She had every right to assume he's gone or get remarried. But she didn't. She had faith the entire time.

And she waited so long, and he went threw so much, just for him to get killed by some borderline (Not fully) rapeling. That's so heart-wrenching.

And for Telemachus, who never even KNEW his father. To suddenly see him again, to see how happy his mother is, how happy he is. Just for some bastard he has to call his half-brother to kill him. Telemachus knew so little of his father, only the stories Penelope told him. And now, sadly, it'll stay that way.

Telemachus and Penelope would fucking despise Telegonus. They've been waiting so long for this man, and this man has waited and had to go threw so much. All three of them did not go threw all that just for Telegonus to kill him. I don't care if it was an 'accident'. It doesn't matter if the killer didn't want to do it, it matter's that the victim's family lost someone they FUCKING LOVED.

Penelope would NEVER marry Telegonus, and Telemachus would never marry Kirke.

But Odysseus death gives us some JUICY angst. I hate it. But good god it scratches that angst-loving part of my brain SO GOOD. 😼

Feel free not to answer since this is a rather long ask/ramble :'D And ye, take care Mad! <3

Oh, also, just so it's not ALL just angst, a few Penelope and Baby Telemachus headcanons/shenanigans? They mean the world to both Odysseus AND me 🥹

So, this is a really fun ask...But I don't think you're going to get the answer you'd like from me :')

As many folks know, I am a big lover of fluff and very soft stuff. I have angst but even then I would consider it more hurt/comfort in a way as I do plan for the "comfort" to be what's most important :) I also just think of "angst" as just the "something that makes sense storywise".

The Tele-GONE-y to me, is just blatent whump. Not really my cup of tea.

Also the Tele-GONE-y has the whole bullshit about Odysseus doing fuck all in random war, getting married and having children with a random af woman, before coming back to get killed. So that's just...ew. All of it is ew.

And I don't even like the idea of Telegonus existing in any form. At most, Telegonus would only exist in my mind as Polites' son. (not based on Epic at all. This Polites is my own special guy. He's my lil weird goober of my own design reeeeee) My dear friend thehelplessmortals is the only person who I feel explores it in a way that makes sense to me and seems canon.

As you put it into words:

"And she waited so long, and he went through so much, just for him to get killed by some borderline (Not fully) rapeling. That's so heart-wrenching."

And it's just TOO heartwrenching for me :') I can't do it. It's honestly such a horrifying scenario that I got nauseous the first time I heard about it. (that's not even getting into the gross out of character marriage circle and Odysseus fucking around away from his family)

For me, I cannot see Circe (my Circe definitely) as a mother regardless. She wasn't made for motherhood. Also Odysseus and her only have sex once in my writing in exchange for his men to be turned back into humans. (as it's only stated explicitly once in the Odyssey)

The Odyssey also says that Odysseus' line only has one son each. That's Telemachus. (OdyPen can have a daughter though! >:3 Girldad Odysseus is very tasty for me)

If you're just into the angst of Odysseus' death, I got a bit of that though :'D

Penelope being 75% Naiads will live a long life. And Odysseus, being her husband, gets the advantages of having a magic Water wifey and that affects him in how he will live a long life as well (Calypso also gave him ambrosia/nectar to keep him alive. as he was nearly dead when he washed up.)

BUT. He is mostly mortal. He lives way beyond what is normal for Mortals but still.

His hair now fully gray. His breathing raspy and slow. He's slow to move...

Penelope lives a bit afterward. Sleeping and taking comfort in their nest that cradles her as she sleeps. She feels him everywhere. She grieves him endlessly.

Their nest starts to wilt. Only when she goes too does it come alive again.

And for some random Penelope and Telemachus headcanons :P

Nereids have lined bioluminescence, while NAIADS have spots. Like the black spots on the beloved rainbow trout 🥹 (they don't have the black spots. they just have spots that glow in their own control lol)

Telemachus gets "spots" from both his mama (naiad scales/glowbit) and his papa (freckles) 🥹

It's what they use to communicate underwater. And it's nice because even if you're not full naiad and don't have as many scales, you can still communicate as it's about the flickers :3 (Odysseus can understand these to a degree)

Very rarely do they "just randomly glow" as you know, don't wanna give away your thoughts. But it's cute because Odysseus will occasionally have a lightshow when one of them is dreaming.

I know a lot of people have Penelope see Odysseus in Telemachus constantly, and while she does to a degree, she is actually one of the few people who really emphasizes that he's his own person. You don't have to be good at whittling, you make such beautiful pottery. You like green, not orange. You don't have to pick that color when it's not your favorite and because other people simply get excited about you being like your dad sometimes. That type of stuff.

You take care too, Dear Anon! :D

#Mad rambles #shot by odysseus #my headcanons #Water Wife #penelope of ithaca #tele-GONE-y #anon #ask #My Odysseus would...not be well about Telegonus to say the least. I don't want to think about that.#I already have daddy issues. Odysseus and Menelaus are two loving husbands and dads. they're my “dads” now lol #Sorry I don't mean to get heavy but oof. I'm a fluff person in a whumpy world :')#lol the mention of lightshow is really funny to me now because people will see a lil blue rave happening when she sleeps sometimes xD

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latelyanobsession · 1 year ago

Text

She's A Runner - Part Eight

summary your relationship with billy has taken its largest step by far but in the grander scheme of things, that never seems to mean much. he leaves far too quickly after your first night together leaving you questioning his intentions. and now he's got questions about yours as well. in a last-ditch effort billy brings you over to his house to iron things out, but things go awry. will things ever go well for the two of you? or are you just as star-crossed as those teens shakespeare wrote about?

warnings references to past sexual assault, chronic abuse/homelife situation, cursing, trauma response behavior, angst, relationship drama, smut, fluff, problematic parents, whump, hurt/comfort

word count 5,309

note this one has been in drafts for quite some time but i hadn't been able to get it out until now due to my schedule and the school year. hope you guys enjoy it! Inspired by Billy Squier’s She’s A Runner

Part Six / Part Seven

As always any feedback is much appreciated. Thanks for reading!

Billy didn't stay long, leaving shortly after you both had gotten dressed. He kissed you briefly before walking out the door with a fresh cigarette twirling between his fingers.

You slept poorly that night, tossing and turning before admitting defeat, your eyes glowering at the ceiling.

He left so fast... was that all he wanted? Is that all this is?

You groaned, knocking yourself thickly on the forehead with a fist. You shouldn't think like that.

"He's a man... that's all they ever want! They only ever want one thing!" Your mother's voice rang through your head.

What else are damaged goods, good for?

The thought sat bitterly at the front of your mind as you rolled to the other side of the mattress, roughly kneading the lump in your pillow.

He's gonna leave you. You're damaged. Unfixable. Used. Disgusting. ... Worthless.

When you arrived at school that morning, a lump formed in your throat when you saw Billy's car. It was stupid, really. You felt foolish but kept driving and parked by Allison Krupp's Volkswagen. How were you going to face him in class?

Entering the building, you headed to your locker hoping that Billy would be elsewhere.

"Hey," a familiar voice sounded, startling you, the book dropping from your hands. You whipped around to face him, your voice tense. "Hey... morning."

Billy looked at you suspiciously and then at the book on the floor. "You ok?" he asked, leaning down and getting it for you.

You nodded strongly, "Yeah, I'm good."

He wasn't convinced, his hand lingering over yours as he handed the book over. "You sure?" he pressed.

You took your book, placing it in your backpack, and shouldering it. "Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?" you lied, a half-hearted smile creasing your lips.

He was about to answer when the bell rang. A wave of relief rushing through your features.

"Class," you stated dumbly, pointing at the ceiling before turning on your heels and walking away quickly. Billy stood a moment in the hall watching you, his brow wrinkling in worry before he followed you into the classroom.

Settling into your seats, you could feel his eyes on you, making you shiver. You pulled out your notebook, loudly flipping through the pages, attempting to distract yourself.

The whole period he kept looking over, with you catching him turning his head out of the corner of your eye. You didn't want to look at him. Didn't want him to read you like the ridiculous open book that you were. Your face would betray you if he caught you.

And you weren't ready for that.

Today was going to end badly, you were certain of it. But you would be damned if you helped yourself to that conclusion any faster than necessary.

The period bell rang and you skittered away, ignoring his calls after you.

"Y/N, hey! Where're you going!?"

The rest of the day was no better. You had barely started eating when Billy began walking toward you in the cafeteria at lunchtime. You panicked, picked up your tray, and prematurely dumped it before running to hide in the girl's bathroom.

He's gonna do it. You're such an idiot. He's gonna leave you.

When Chemistry finally came around, he caught you, seating himself in the lab chair next to yours. You peeked over at him but said nothing. You were boxed in. He finally had you.

"Wanna tell me what's going on?" he sniffed in irritation as you looked straight ahead. "Nothing." you lied quickly.

Sarah Lindsor waved at you as she came through the door, maybe she'd save you? Grabbing your bag, you rose from your seat to join her, but a hand wrapped around your wrist, locking you in place.

You looked back at him testily, before sinking back down into your chair. He leaned in, speaking barely above a whisper. "You're jerking me around, and I'm gonna find out why," he growled low, his hand dropping its hold on you.

You shivered, pulling your hand back into your lap. "You already know why..." you muttered under your breath as Ms. Decker began taking role.

It was suddenly becoming too much for you. The inevitable was right beside you and waiting. You couldn't take it any longer and snatched up your backpack, running from the room. The other students mumbled in disbelief looking at Billy suspiciously.

"Billy, what did you say to her?" Ms. Decker chastised him. He quickly followed you out the door, ignoring the teacher's call, "Billy, get back here!"

You hastily tossed open your locker and shoved what you needed into your backpack, peering around the metal door. Billy was watching you with keen eyes as he stomped down the hall towards you.

"I don't wanna talk about it," you warned, voice fracturing. "About what?" Billy pushed, his temper beginning to surface. He was close on your heels as you slammed your locker closed and tried to break for the school exits.

You had barely squeezed yourself through the first set of doors into the breezeway before he stopped you, wrapping you up in his arms. "Y/N stop running!" he huffed aggressively, his breath starting to shorten with all the games you'd been playing.

You froze in his arms, unable to fight, your brain too slow to process.

Run you, idiot! He's gonna do it! He's gonna say it! Fucking run!

You nearly buckled, your shoulders heaving as you began to sob in his hold. Tears poured from your eyes, as the weight of the day's stress finally surged through you; the levies failing. "It's over isn't it?"

Billy tensed up, "What?"

Flipping you over in his grasp, he turned you to face him, "What the hell're you talking about?" He asked, his voice thick with annoyance.

"It's over...!" you hiccuped, "That's what's going to happen, huh?" you sobbed.

Billy searched your face, "Are you fucking serious?" You couldn't tell if he was more hurt or angry with you at that moment.

"Because you left... and that's what happens," you reasoned, "it ends..."

"Jesus...," Billy moaned, "you're such an idiot sometimes," He shook you lightly by the arms, and you immediately snapped a glare up at him.

"Am not!" you retorted, fidgeting in his grasp, "You're gonna do it!" you accused him.

Billy rolled his eyes dramatically, letting go of you. He pushed passed you, walking out the school doors toward the parking lot. Pulling the cigarette carton from his jacket breast pocket, he tapped out one cancer stick and the lighter with it. Striking up, he took a deep inhale as you followed him out.

"I wasn't..." he stated, exhaling a thick plume of smoke. "Did you want me to?" He looked over at you with what seemed to be a brief specter of hesitation before quickly looking away.

You sniffled loudly, wiping your nose against the back of your sleeve, "No... but –!"

"Then I won't," he cut you short, walking towards the rows of cars. You exhaled fragilely, calm uneasily resettling over your frame as you followed behind him. "O-ok..." you reasoned, weakly. "I kinda overreacted, huh?"

Billy ignored the question as he unlocked the camaro, he was suddenly preoccupied with clearing out the backseat. Wondering if he was going to offer you a make-up session, he cut your thoughts short. "You should come over," he stated to the open air, taking another deep inhale, the taught irritation now waning from his voice.

"Really?" you brightened, a small smile growing on your lips. Billy nodded like it was nothing, tucking the cig between his lips as he rolled back his jacket sleeve to check the time, the end-of-day bell was ringing.

"Just come home with me," he added, nodding his head toward the camaro as you both watched your classmates pour out of the building.

"Billy I gotta get Petey home first..." you motioned towards your own car.

He rolled his eyes in annoyance, flipping the cuff of his jacket back over and fastening it. "Can't that brat walk?"

"Course he can," you said, folding your arms. "But the last time I made him walk, he ratted me out. I didn't hear the end of it for two whole months," you emphasized painfully.

He chewed on the filter in thought for a moment, "I'll pick you up then."

Coming to stand beside him, you wiped your eyes, the drying saline trails on your face beginning to itch. "Are you sure you don't just want to hang at mine? That's always easy," you offered.

"No," Billy shook his head, taking a deep drag, the cigarette growing short as he held up a new one to its dwindling embers for ignition. "B'sides. You're gonna need to get familiar with my bed at some point..." He looked over at you slyly, lips upturned with delight.

Your cheeks reddened, as the comment struck you. "Christ, Billy! It hasn't even been a week!" You gave him a light shove. Billy clicked his tongue with indifference, his shoulders shrugging off your weak assault. "So?"

You didn't have a good comeback, as you sheepishly rubbed your arm and dropped your eyes to your shoes. Billy chuckled triumphantly, "You wanna?" Your answer lodged itself in your throat as you looked up at him.

Max was zipping her way down the road toward the pair of you on her skateboard. Petey was not far off behind, some sort of bulky school project in his arms. You were sure you'd hear about it in just a few minutes' time. "Won't Max be home with you?" You asked bashfully.

Billy flicked his head with an uncaring shrug, "Maybe. She's been going with those loser friends of hers to the arcade a lot lately." Sliding a hand around your waist, he drew you in as each of your siblings approached. "You can always pretend she's not there..." he drawled, dipping his head down and kissing you.

"Gross!" Max and Petey spat in unison as they arrived.

You held the kiss two beats longer than it probably should have been, your stomach fluttering as he pulled away, blue eyes closely watching yours through heavy lashes. "I'll get you in half an hour," he concluded, kissing you once more to audible protests from both of your siblings.

"Y/N come on!" "Really Billy!?"

Parting ways, you drove home with Petey groaning all the way about the scars you had caused him. "My eyes! I'll never be able to unsee it!" he whined as you pulled into your driveway. You huffed, engaging the emergency brake and turning off the engine.

"For hell's sake Petey, will you give it a rest already? Not like I won't be suffering when you're sucking some girl's face off in another two years..." You moaned, the both of you getting out of the car.

Petey whipped his head around, a blush blooming across his freckled face. "That's never gonna happen!" he promised. "Yeah... right." you mused sarcastically, as you helped him pull the monstrosity of a box he brought home from the trunk of your car. The science fair was approaching, and Petey was going big on ambition this year.

Handing Petey your keys, you let him unlock the front door as you two brought everything inside. "Petes... what is all this stuff anyways?" you huffed, unloading the box onto the table, casually fishing a random cut of PVC pipe out. Your brother looked at you warily, "It's top secret..." he stated, snatching the plastic out of your hand. "Mr. Clarke is helping me. We're going to State this year," he concluded proudly as he arranged some of the disorganized pieces together.

"Uh... huh." You said with the blandest of interest. "Just don't let Mr. Clarke do all the heavy lifting." The doorbell rang before you could make an even snider comment, saving Petey's ego.

Opening the door, you smiled. Billy was casually waiting, leaning on the doorframe, an arm raised beside his head. "You ready?" he asked, charmingly. "Yeah," You nodded happily, calling over your shoulder, "Be back later, ok?!"

"Yeah, whatever," Petey dismissed loudly. Pulling the door behind you, you poked your head in one last time, before locking it. "Oh, and don't touch the Krazy Glue until I get back. Capiche?" You pointed a knowing finger at your brother. He threw his hands up in defeat, "Sheesh, alright! Leave already!"

Heading down the front steps, you headed for the camaro, Billy opening the passenger door for you. "What's your brother up to?" he asked casually, helping you into your seat. "It's some secret nerd scheme to get him to the State competitions of this year's science fair," you replied. Billy nodded, closing your door and coming around to his own.

"His solar-powered battery wasn't good enough last year to beat some girl from Terre Haute. So now he's out for blood..." you concluded, clicking your seatbelt. Billy laughed, "Is it really that serious?" You looked at him with mockingly wide eyes, "Are you questioning the importance of bragging rights and a huge-ass ribbon?" Billy chuckled, keying the ignition. "Really? Not even a cash prize?" You shook your head, "I think they might get a restaurant voucher or something... the real money's for the high schoolers. Scholarship stuff..."

Tossing an arm behind your headrest, he turned to look and backed down the driveway. Pausing to shift, Billy leaned in and stole a kiss.

The drive was short and sweet. Billy had a cassette in, the volume cranked high, and the windows rolled down as you made the five-block ride to his house. You had the sense he didn't want to talk, his grip on the steering wheel was tight.

Pulling in front of 4819 Cherry Lane, Billy killed the engine.

His gaze was fixed on the front door as he rolled his bottom lip between his teeth, lost in thought. "Is everything alright?" you asked, watching him curiously from your seat.

He looked over at you hesitantly, "Yeah, why?" he nodded, before getting out of the car. "I dunno," you reasoned, exiting and following him from the curb to the front porch.

His hands fumbled with the keys, trying to find the correct one as he cursed under his breath. The key stuck, unbudging in the keyhole, jamming up. Rocking back and forth on your heels, you busied yourself looking out at the hushed street, not wanting to breathe down his neck.

The deadbolt clicked out of place, a relieved mumble of "finally," leaving him as Billy opened the front door. Holding it wide for you, he stood aside. "Welcome to my hacienda..." he said in a sarcastic tone.

Stepping over the threshold, you smiled politely. "Thanks." Your eyes wandered over the simple furniture in the living room as he shut the door behind you. The room contained a large, grey corduroy sofa set against the left wall. Along the house's front wall was a pair of matching pink pinstriped armchairs, an end table in between them, and a cream-pink lamp on its top. The tropical-print curtains and the green-painted brick fireplace depicted the whole room as one large, clashing, still-life picture.

"Gimme a sec," Billy said, leaving you by the door as he walked off toward what appeared to be the dining room, disappearing. Reappearing briefly, he crossed from one end of the back room to the other, looking out the window. "Billy?" You called.

"Yeah." He answered, coming back through the house to you. "What?" He was acting strangely, his shoulders tense. His eyes weren't on you. They were unfocused, flitting from one part of the house to the next every few seconds.

Rubbing his hands up the lengths of your arms, he gave you a hard-pressed smile. "You wanna take off your jacket?" he asked. You arched an eyebrow, "Billy." He looked at you awkwardly, leaning in, he kissed your jaw. Trailing his lips across your cheek, he encased your lips with his.

"Bi-mmy!" you mumbled in protest. "Mhm?" Billy asked, slyness slipping into his tone. Your mind was blanking on what you were trying to ask.

"What? What is it?" Billy asked, nipping at your lower lip goading you. You whined as he pulled away, your eyelids heavy as your gaze locked on his. "I... Are you...?" Billy chuckled as you stumbled over your words.

Licking his lips, he watched your lust-blown expression. "You got it bad... Real bad," he teased you, thumb swiping across your lip as he cupped your face in his hand. You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch.

"You want me, Baby?" He asked, stroking your cheek. You nodded, breathing deep, as a shiver ran down your spine. You wanted him. All of him, that very second. "How bad?" he asked.

You looked up at him, blue eyes staring at yours. Watching. You didn't answer, already beginning to lose yourself. Billy's hand gripped you lightly by the cheeks, shaking you. "How badly, Baby?" He laughed, watching your eyes widen in surprise and resettle as you came back down to earth.

"Reawwy bad," you puffed out between pinched cheeks. Loosening his grip, his hand lowered off your face, lingering around your collarbone, his index and forefinger tickling at your skin. He eyed you up and down, pausing before locking eyes with you again.

"Wanna fuck me?" he flirted, lips parted in anticipation. You nodded thickly as Billy cocked an eyebrow. "Say it like y-" You cut him off, lunging and kissing him roughly. He responded, shoving you against the front door with a loud thud. His grip was fixed snugly around your neck as his other hand drew you in by the waist.

Your fingers dug into him, nails tugging harshly at his cotton-clad torso, making the threads creak. Billy groaned out a loud moan of appreciation. You wanted him and he knew it. It felt damn good to be wanted as his hand pulled you by the neck deeper into the kiss.

He was rutting against you, his hips grinding in evenly-paced undulations. Rising and falling. Opposite in rhythm to the hurried breaths between wrestled kisses, driving up the desire in both your bellies. His tongue bullied its way into your mouth, tasting every proclaimed whimper you had. His deft hands crawled beneath your shirt, exposing soft skin to the open air as he continued this assault. Your jaw was beginning to tire, but you weren't about to give up when you knew this was only the beginning.

"Billy?!"

The sound of a door opening near the back of the house brought everything to a screeching halt. Billy reflexively took his hands off you, immediately taking a full step back.

"Billy, where the hell are you?! Are you deaf?" The man's voice grew louder as he entered further into the house. Gruff and demanding.

You peered around Billy's shoulder, the man's shadow beginning to form across the wood floor.

"Dammit Billy, I know you're home!"

Billy shoved you back in front of him, blocking your view. "Just a minute!" Billy shouted. His posture was rigid, stiffer than a board. You were about to speak when he cut you off, his hand over your mouth. "Outside. I'll meet you at the car," he whispered harshly.

Stepping backward with you in his hold, Billy wrenched the front door open and pushed you out. "But -!" You protested. "Wait by the car!" He urged, before walking out of sight back into the house.

You hurried out to the camaro. You didn't like this. Something about the way Billy looked seemed off. The way he had been acting since he brought you over seemed odd. You really didn't like this. But Billy told you to wait, and you didn't want to make him mad.

So you waited.

And you waited.

You swore you'd been waiting ten minutes. The front door was ajar, but Billy still wasn't coming. This didn't feel right.

Looking around at the quiet neighborhood, you weighed your options.

He said wait by the car. I know, I know, I know! But something's wrong! I can feel it!

Stamping your foot, you made your decision.

Dammit, let him be mad at me.

Approaching the house, noises hit your ears. Three thuds and the muffled sound of an argument. You froze, a cold chill running down your spine. Something was wrong.

As you crept up the steps, the man's voice leeched out onto the porch. Your heart was pounding. Thundering so strongly that your skin was rippling with each rapid beat.

"Think you run this house? Huh?!" The man demanded. "Dad, I though-" Billy pled. He let out a choked yelp, falling quiet as he hit the floor.

Peering in, you pushed the door open, tears catching at the corners of your eyes.

Billy was crouched against the wall opposite the front door. He was attempting to pull in on himself, his arms covering his face. Above him, the man stood, belt clenched in his fist.

Your eyes widened in sheer panic as the man's arm drew back, belt raised high. You crossed the threshold without thinking.

"You never think Billy, you just do. Stupid things. All the time." He spat.

The belt was coming down. Billy ducked his head, wrapping his arms around himself as best he could.

CRASH!

The belt and the man dropped to the floor in a sudden collapse.

Billy looked up, his tear-stained face meeting yours in absolute shock. The silence in the room was deafening as you stared at one another.

Breathless, your shoulders heaving, you dropped the shattered remnants of the lamp. Petal-pink ceramic shattered all over the floor.

Billy was trembling as he pushed himself to stand against the wall. "We... we gotta get the fuck outta here." His voice was trembling. You didn't answer, your gaze on the man splayed out on the floor. A large wound on his head was steadily weeping, dripping onto the floor.

Billy grabbed you roughly by the shoulder, making you wince. "Y/N?!" You looked up at him, speechless. How could you even say anything?

Billy went to grab your hand, and you grimaced, pulling back. Grabbing your hand, he looked at your right palm, a lengthy gash spanned the length of your hand. "Fucking Christ," Billy cursed, leaving the room.

Returning, he shoved a white undershirt into your grasp. "Here. We gotta go," he pressed, wrapping a hand around your wrist and pulling you out the front door.

He dragged you down the sidewalk and nearly threw you into the car as he started the engine and flew off down the street. Wrapping the shirt around your hand, you half-hazardly buckled yourself in as Billy made a sharp turn out of the neighborhood, the tires screeching burnt rubber thick in the air.

The camaro's engine revved, doubling down as it picked up speed. The world outside was blurring by too fast. "Billy," you looked over at him cautiously. His gaze was glassy and unfocused, his mouth set in a hard line, his face unreadable. He took another sharp turn. He was driving so fast you couldn't tell where you were.

"Billy, slow down, you're scaring me," your voice sounded distant and quiet. Not like yours at all. Billy's grip on the wheel tightened, his knuckles were turning white. His brows knitted together as he inhaled deeply, "Why the hell did you do that?" His voice was biting, a sharp cutting slice through the camaro's silent atmosphere. "Billy, please...," you pled as your hand gripped the door's handle, "slow down."

The camaro lurched as Billy's foot pushed the accelerator to the floor, the car straining to accommodate. "Tell me..." he warned, his voice was flat and uncaring. He wouldn't look at you, as he wrenched the steering wheel harshly. "Billy, please! You're scaring me!" His face was red, eyes tear-stained, as he sniffed back a sob and made a hairpin turn off the paved roads of Hawkins towards the Quarry. "WHY!?!" he barked. You jumped, tears were forming in your eyes.

The car veered onto the road's shoulder as he glared down on you, demanding your answer. "Jesus, Billy! Watch the road!" You begged, grabbing onto the steering wheel, and pushing it in the opposite direction. Billy swatted your hands away, swerving the car to correct, the camaro jumping as it hit a wallow in the gravel road. "–I ...." you swallowed, your heart was pounding so loudly you could hear it. "I couldn't just let him do that to you!" you concluded. Billy downshifted, missing the turnoff and sending the car into a spin. "Not your fuckin' business," he spat at you, as he overcorrected fishtailing onto the road up the Quarry bend.

You looked at him with wide eyes, "Billy he could've killed you!" Billy lolled his head over to look at you, before tossing his head back laughing maniacally. It was horrendous and obnoxious. "Billy, this is serious!" you pressed. He fixed his eyes back on the road, "Yah?" He mocked, "Well maybe he should've this time." Tears were falling from your eyes at this point. Did Billy really believe that? That just wasn't possible in your mind.

"Don't say that!" your voice was quivering in emotion. "I don't want your fucking pity Y/N," Billy ground out. You couldn't believe what your ears were hearing. Your own temper was rising. Emotions flooded through every pore of your being. "It's not pity," you bit back. "The fuck it's not," Billy replied.

"It's cuz I love you, jackass!" you yelled, your foot kicking the floorboard in frustration. "Stop the damn car! You're gonna kill us!" He slammed the brakes, both of you lurching forward and straining against your seatbelts. Crossing your arms, you turned away from him sniffling. You didn't catch the astonished look on his face. The way it melted through the tension in his body and settled deep into his chest as he looked at you. He was truly shocked.

"Take me home," you mumbled at the door after a long silence. Billy said nothing but started the engine.

The drive was wordless, only interrupted when Billy occasionally cleared his throat or you sniffed as the tears dried. Pulling up to your house, you sat up straight. Both you and Billy swore. "Shit."

Your mother was in the driveway, staring at you.

Slamming shut the passenger door to her station wagon, she pointed at you and then pointed at the ground. Her voice was muffled by the distance but her mouth made the words clear. "Get out here. Now." You and Billy looked at each other solemnly. "You should go," Billy stated. You looked at your mother's waiting face, "just give me a minute ok? Don't go anywhere?" Billy raised an eyebrow, "Why?" You squeezed his hand reassuringly. "Just, please?" He looked at your mother, and then at you before nodding. "Ok."

Getting out of the camaro, you walked up the driveway to your mother, your head dipped low. "Hey, mom." She didn't even greet you, "Y/N, what did I say about that boy?" You looked up at her from the corner of your eye, hands behind your back. "Mom... I –" She cut you off, pointing a finger at the camaro, "I told you I never wanted to see that boy at this house ever again." "Mom! I told you he's not like that!" arguing back you gestured, forgetting about your hand. Your mother noticed right away, grabbing you by the wrist and pulling your hand to eye level. The undershirt had stained through. "What is this?" your mother asked, waving your hand limply in front of your face. "Is this what he's getting you into?" "Mom it's complicated," you argued. "No, he didn't!" you pushed back, trying to pry yourself away.

She was dragging you up the driveway, "Not another word. Inside." You dug your heels into the concrete, "Mom it wasn't him!" you begged, "Please, he needs help! Someone hurt him!" Your mother stopped, looking you hard in the eyes. "I was trying to stop them, Mom! I promise it wasn't him!" your voice cracked. "Please!"

She studied your face, then looked out at the camaro. "You sure?" You nodded furiously. "He'd never hurt me, Mom, please he needs help!" Your mother gave a deep resounding sigh. "Alright, bring him inside I'll see what I can do." She let you go and walked into the house.

You quickly ran down the driveway to the camaro, Billy's hand was on the ignition as you tapped on the window. Rolling down the window he looked at you hesitantly, "I should go," he stated, avoiding your eyes. You scoffed, "Billy where the hell're you gonna go?" He shifted his shoulders in a non-committal shrug, "–'ll figure something out. Always do." You reached into the car for the keys, falling halfway inside. "What the hell're you doing?!" Billy looked at you with amused bewilderment. "Get out of the car," you grunted, propping yourself upright, "you're staying here tonight." "She's gonna let me stay?" Billy asked. You started wiggling yourself back out of the window, "I'm gonna make her let you stay," you stated with conviction. Billy snorted, "Ok." "Now get out and come inside."

Coming into the house, your mother immediately seized Billy and hauled him to the bathroom. You sat on the living room couch, fiddling with the undershirt over your injured hand while you waited. You couldn't hear what was being said upstairs, but you could definitely tell that your mother was doing most of the talking. After a while, Billy finally came downstairs and quietly sat on the couch as your mother beckoned you to come up.

Shutting the bathroom door behind you, she cornered you against the counter. "I don't like this Y/N," your mother warned you as she grabbed your injured hand and began unwrapping your makeshift bandage. You winced as she plucked the fabric free from your palm and ripped open the drying wound. You gritted your teeth as the searing cold sting of rubbing alcohol washed over your hand, clouding your head. "I'm ok, Mom," you mumbled weakly. Your mother gently placed a medicated gauze pad on your palm as she started wrapping your hand. "Y/N... you need to stop seeing this boy." You looked at your mother with watery eyes, "I can't, Mom, I love him too much." Your mother's lip quivered, shifting from a stern expression to a sympathetic pout. "Honey, he's only going to hurt you in the end," she reasoned.

You shook your head, "He won't. I know it."

"I want you to be safe." "I am, Mom. I am."

You both returned downstairs, Billy standing as you came to rest by his side. "One night," your mother stated, pointing at the pair of you, "And absolutely no funny business you hear me?" You both agreed in unison under her accusatory gaze. "School in the morning. No excuses." You nodded and gave your mother a hug, following her to the front door. Before getting in her car, she yelled, "behave!" You nodded and waved from the doorway until she drove out of sight. Shutting the door, you leaned up against it and looked at Billy.

"What did my mom say to you?" you asked. Billy tilted his head thoughtfully and answered, "She said she'd cut my dick off if I ever touched you." Your face dropped into a concerned frown as his perked into a delighted smirk. "Billy, that's not funny," you chastised him. Prowling across the space, Billy closed the gap between you, "It is." "No, it isn't!" you whined, shoving on his shoulder as he boxed you in.

Leaning in, he tucked your hair behind your ear, "So.... what're we gonna do tonight?" Your face flushed as his hot breath washed over your skin. "Uh, movie night?" you asked coyly.

Thank you for reading! If you would like to be added to my tags list for this series please interact with the separate tag post I have HERE.

Tags: @agustdeeyaa @americasass1942 @attackonnat @babysbestlife @bokutosthiccbbygorl @bxxbeaxxb @calciferthelivingfire @casca183 @ccrosey1996 @cdej6 @chocolatestudentllamabanana @clairee007 @clodding @cookies186 @ellamaianderson @febriee @froggiegurl @ellewoods1989 @bipitybopity-oof @br422ify @gaby-3 @greatalpacaa @heehooyeslol @josephquinnswife @justadisneygoth @kaymunson @kikiandbella @lilteef @literally-a-ferret @llovelyiriss @llynx7 @kyleikite-blog @honeypop27 @ladybugs12 @mayita-09 @munsonsgirll @murphyswhore @nikos-a-clown @noth1nghates-you @oh–hell–yeah @port0812 @pumpcincing @rose-is-my-name @mortallyspookyglitter @malikairose @madmidge42 @salon-de-classe @sfchangs @smiitym @sole-screws @steeldaisies @stratospherewalker @tendoirl19 @thecraziestcrayon @thegrimreaper-probably @transsexualturtle @variety-fangirl @wh0reflavoredjuulp0d @whatisitliketobeinlove @writer-in-theory @yellenabelovaa @youmakemyhearthowl @yunotines @schoolastica @wisteriawinyx @thatnerdana

#billy hargrove #inthelo #she's a runner #stranger things #billy hargrove x reader #stranger things fanfiction #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy stranger things #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove x female reader #billy hargrove smut #billy hargrove series #billy hargrove x you #stranger things series #stranger things x female reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things x fem!reader #stranger things x you #stranger things x y/n

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thlayli-ra · 1 month ago

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That list of whump prompts you’re using for the ficlet requests is so long and varied, I love it. I have so many evil thoughts swimming around in my head but the first thing that floated to the top for me was gunshot, beacause woah, that could be so interesting.

Then I tried to come up with a pairing and I immediately went to Dick Rick and Jon Moxley, HWA days you know, because god knows what they were getting up to in their spare time living together. I don’t have a preference for who is getting shot but I would prefer if it wasn’t shown or implied that they died. On all other fronts, go nuts. Do what you feel.

Good luck with the tricks and treats!!

I was SO excited to do this prompt!!! So thank you so much for sending it my way Tagz - hope you enjoy it!

(Note - I couldn't call him Dick Rick with a straight face so he's referred to as Shaun in the ficlet 😂)

Trick - 'Gunshot'

Characters - Shaun Ricker/Dick Rick, Jon Moxley

Rating - Teen and up

Warnings - Gunshot wound, threat of violence, internalised homophobia

The hour was late but the night still young. Shaun had a pleasant buzz going and a smug grin on his face. The pretty little thing at the bar he'd been working his charm on was giving him goo-goo eyes back, and who could blame her? Nobody could resist his boyish smile, his smooth-as-silk talk or, above all, the impressive pair of guns he had practically bursting out of his short shirt sleeves. So what, if he'd added a tiny sliver of baby oil to give him some extra shine? In these dingy nightclubs, he needed a little something to help his... personality shine through. In a literal sense.

'So,' the young lady tilted her head cutely to the side, sliding a finger down one of those very bulging biceps, 'you know, my place isn't far from here. You wanna come back, have a drink?' She leaned in close, may as well has sidled right into his lap. 'Get to know each other better?'

'Well, that sounds real nice, sweetheart,' Shaun placed his hand around her waist, coaxing her in, 'but I gotta warn ya. You're playing with fire but if you don't mind singeing those pretty, little fingers of yours then-'

Bzzt! Bzzt! Bzzt!

'Oh, sorry about that,' Shaun picked his phone off the bar and cancelled the call from Moxley. Shoved it quickly into his back pocket. 'Now where were we?'

'You were about to give me an answer,' she fluttered her eyelashes cutely.

'Thaaat's right, I was,' Shaun grinned. 'How's this for an answer?' His large hand cupped the back of her head and tempted her towards him, their lips meeting in the middle. Soon, she was groaning against his tongue and he quirked his brows. He knew it, she knew it, everybody knew it. He was irresistible, like he had some kind of animal magnetism, some kind of... undeniable-

Bzzt! Bzzt! Bzzt! Bzzt!

Go away, Moxley!

He let it ring out. Turned his full attention back onto the cutie linking her slender fingers in his thick ones and guiding them to her upper thigh so he could-

Bzzt! Bzzt! Bzzt! Bzzt! Bzzt! Bzzt!

Goddamit, Moxley!!!

The pretty thing pulled back abruptly. 'Uh Shane?' she said with a cocked brow. Took him a beat to realise she meant him.

'Yeah, Jess?'

'It's Carly, actually. And you're buzzing.'

Yeah, yeah, don't I know it! 'I'll be right back,' he said with an apologetic grimace. 'Don't you dare go anywhere, alright toots?'

'I'll be waiting,' she replied breathily, stroking her hand down her stunning cleavage, making Shaun groan with want as he forced himself to walk away and call his irksome room mate. Jon Moxley answered within the first ring.

'Shaun...?'

'You'd better have a damn good excuse for cock-blocking me, man,' Shaun grumbled down the phone. He was answered by a pain-filled grunt. Shaun's brow furrowed. 'Hey, you alright? What's the matter?'

'I need you to come find me.'

He glanced around the club, trying to find his fellow wrestler. The pair of them had arrived together but now there was no sign of him. 'The hell are you?'

'Outside. Alley behind the hrrk club.'

'Right, hold on, hold on. I'm comin'.'

The pretty thing at the bar was immediately forgotten about as Shaun headed down the stairs, out the front doors, past the security guards, and the line waiting to get in, and the littering of patrons who'd had far too much and were now sprawled across the sidewalk - one nearly spewed on his shoes - and around the side of the building.

The narrow gap between the two buildings was dark and eerie. 'Mox?' Shaun called out timidly into the gloom. 'Mox? You there?' Nothing. So he made his way further in, ears pricked for any clues as to his roommate's whereabouts. 'Mox?'

'Over here.'

It came from around the corner. Picking up the pace, the wrestler followed the husky voice and eventually found the subject of his search. 'Holy shit,' he cursed, running towards his roommate who was sprawled against the far wall, panting and covered in bruises. 'The hell happened to you?'

'Ok, don't freak out on me here,' Moxley warned, 'but I've kinda, sorta... been shot.'

'Wait, WHAT?'

'I said not to freak out!'

'Where?' Shaun began to search over Moxley's limp body. 'Who the hell did this to-?' It didn't take him long to find it. One slight pull on his friend's jacket lapel and he found the gruesome trail of blood staining his white undershirt from his neck all the way down to his waist.

'Oh, shit...'

The creep had approached Moxley in the men's room. First red flag was that, despite there being plenty of free urinals, he chose the one directly beside him. The second was that he addressed him mid-flow.

'Hey.' The actual fuck? 'So that guy you came in with, you two buddies or something?'

Mox grunted a reply, finding his own prick suddenly lacking inspiration, leaving him hovering there awkwardly as the guy did not take the hint and kept on speaking.

'Cause he's who I think, right? I mean... I'm right, right?'

'The hell you on about, man?' he retorted, wishing for nothing more than the guy to shut the fuck up or at least for his piss to finally come so that he could get out of there.

'You know, the smug little shit? He's Dick Rick, right?' The mere mention of his roommate's ring name and Mox started to tense up, but then the guy added, 'from that porno wrestling website?'

Now he had the sandy blonde's full attention!

'Who's askin'?' he said with a snarl in his tone.

'Just a fan,' the creep replied cryptically, then leaned right into Mox's personal space and why the fuck was his prick suddenly acting like it was empty or blocked or something? 'So I am right? What's the deal then; you two fucking or what?'

'What?' He turned to face the stranger, his expression scary enough to make him back off an inch or two.

'Oh, no offence or anything, dude. I just saw you both and put two and two together.'

'I aint some queer!'

'Ok, ok, I'm sorry.' He turned back to his own stall and Mox hoped that was the end of it. Only it wasn't! 'But he is, right?'

'Far as I could see, he was flirting with some broad the whole night,' Mox bit back, failing miserably to hide the bitter edge to his words.

Oh, come on!' the creep scoffed. 'I know a 'beard' when I see one. I also know a twink when I see one! Those tiny little panties he squeezes himself into, just so he and some dude can get all hot and sweaty with one another, grabbing each other by the-'

Jesus fuck! I'll trade you my soul for just one single drop of piss right now so I can walk out that door! 'Look, man. Plenty of straight dudes do these kind of things. It's only another wrestling gig at the end of the day and it pays the bills.' Maybe, I should take him up on his offer some time seeing as I haven't got two cents to rub together.

'Yeah, yeah, man, whatever,' the guy gave himself a shake and Mox could finally see some light at the end of the tunnel. 'But you know, sometimes all these guys need is a little nudge to step out of the closet, know what I mean?'

No, now piss off! 'Sure guy, whatever you say.'

The creep finally left. The second the door swung shut and he was alone, his dick came to life. 'The hell happened to you?' he muttered down to his anatomy as it began to flow fast and hard, 'get stage fright or something? Jesus...'

But something about that guy in the men's room didn't sit well in his gut and for the rest of the evening he watched him closely. Good thing too, because the creep barely took his eyes off of Shaun the entire time, pretty much ignored the two other guys he was sitting with other than to point across at the wrestler sitting at the bar and whisper in his friend's ear. Once or twice, he even went up to the bar, practically brushed Shaun's shoulder with his own when he ordered his drink but the dark-haired man was too engrossed in his pretty lady friend to even notice and the so-called 'fan' walked away without saying a word.

Yet, the feeling of dread kept gnawing at Mox's gut and when he saw the guy whisper one last time in his friend's ear then get up to leave, he decided to follow him out, keeping a short distance behind him to not betray his intentions. Leaning against the wall outside to light a cigarette, the sandy blonde wrestler watched the creep out the corner of his eye as he walked a few paces down the street then ducked into an alley down the side of the building.

Mox narrowed his eyes, that gnawing in his gut biting in deeper. He dropped his untouched cigarette, squashed it underfoot then headed in the opposite direction, finding to his relief a similar alley down the other side of the nightclub. Carefully, he edged his way through the narrow, shadowy gap, an old familiar tightness in his lungs. The nerves of a pending fight, before the adrenaline had time to hit his system.

Peeking around the corner, he found the guy crouched in the darkest shadows, watching the door to the club like a hawk waiting for a mouse. The anger started blaring against Mox's eardrums right before he stepped out to sneak up on the creep. If he'd only waited a moment longer he would have noticed how the guy's hand was lodged deep into the lapel of his jacket...

'Is it bad?'

Shaun chewed the inside of his cheek, nervously, making Mox fear the worst. 'Take a deep breath,'he instructed.

Mox did as he was told and inhaled deeply, but it all came back straight out again though his gritted teeth when Shaun lifted his arm and tried to thread it through the sleeve of his jacket. His face twisted with agony, his lips turning the air blue until, after a lengthy struggle, his arm was finally freed from his sleeve and his roommate could properly inspect the grisly wound.

'Well?'

Shaun answered with a rush of air whistling through his lips.

'Well?'

'Just a flesh wound,' he answered, the relief shaking in his voice. 'Bullet caught you on your shoulder. Took a decent chunk out though, you'll need to go to the hospital so they can-'

'No!'

'Mox! You've just been shot in the goddamn arm!'

'No hospital. No doctors. I'm already behind on the rent, been eating boxed macaroni for weeks. I can't afford to get slapped with a huge medical bill on top of it all.'

As much as it didn't sit well with Shaun, he could understand the man's logic. He knew Mox had been relying on his paycheck from the show that night, but then the promoter had made some pathetic excuse, saying they would all get their cheques in the mail, which, all wrestlers knew, meant they wouldn't. Or, if by some miracle they did, then they'd just bounce.

'Fine,' he acquiesced. 'Then I'll take you over to Dave's - he could probably stitch you up.' Dave was a medic they knew from the circuit who lived in town. The kind of guy who never asked questions.

'Sounds good,' Moxley said and tried to get up when a firm hand on his chest pushed him back down.

'Nah-nah,' Shaun scolded, shaking his head.

'What? What's the big-' Suddenly, Moxley's snarky comment was murdered dead in his throat, his eyes nearly popping right out of their sockets at the sight of Shaun grabbing the collar of his own shirt and yanking it up over his head.

'I aint havin' you bleeding all over my car,' he explained, bunching the shirt up in his hands and pressing it down on the bloodied crevice. Mox went deathly pale, his whole body rigid as stone. All of a sudden, the pain no longer mattered. All that mattered was that his gorgeous room mate that he'd had a schoolboy crush on for several months now was virtually rubbing his Adonis-like, half-naked torso against him and he could smell the cologne Shaun was wearing, an intoxicating scent that made his eyes flutter with lust and he could feel his breath on his face and his fingers on his shoulder and, oh god, now he was looking right at him with those massive, blue eyes of his.

'So you gonna tell me how exactly you got yourself shot?' Shaun asked, raising a brow at the sandy blonde. Moxley shuffled awkwardly, lips and eyebrows twitching the way they always did when he got a little riled up.

'Got into a fight.'

'Well duh, I figured that much out. You wanna tell me why?'

More shuffling. More twitches. No, no he couldn't tell him. How could he tell him that he'd caught some pervert who'd seen his pornos waiting for him in a dark alley with a gun! The sight still haunted Mox and he couldn't stop imagining what might have happened if he hadn't listened to his gut.

And how could he explain that the thought of anybody hurting Shaun terrified him. Terrified him more than any other horror in the world possibly could and he didn't even really understand it himself because he hadn't lied in that men's room, he wasn't some queer. He wasn't! And even if he was, what did that mean? Didn't that change... everything?

Especially if the man he maybe, sorta, kinda, possibly loved wasn't some queer either? Just some straight guy taking on another wrestling gig to get another pay check?

'Guy was an asshole,' he mumbled out, eventually.

Shaun sighed with exasperation. 'You're an asshole! Now come on, take another breath.'

Getting to his feet sent a shockwave of pain down his whole body but it didn't matter, not when Shaun's arm wound tight around his waist to pull him in close to his warm, and still very much half-naked body. 'Keep applying pressure,' he instructed Mox as they began to hobble their way down the alley.

Before leaving, Mox kicked something away with his boot. A chunk of metal clanked its way into the hidden depths of the shadows. 'What was that?' Shaun asked.

'Nothing,' Mox shot back. 'Let's go.'

Least he'd taken that fucking gun off the creep, least he'd taught him a lesson he'd never forget, even after the bullet had taken a chunk out of his shoulder. Least that bastard would never even think of trying to hurt his roommate again.

For as long as he was here, by Shaun's side, he would do whatever it took to keep him safe.

#Thlayli's Trick or Treat #Thlayli-writes #jon moxley #dick rick #shaun ricker #la knight #wresting fanfiction #fan fiction #fic request #cw internalized homophobia #cw gun violence

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whumpty-dumpty-doo · 4 months ago

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Whumpmas in July 2024 - Day 7 - Post a link to your favorite whump fic of all time!

This post is part of my participation in the 2024 @whumpmasinjuly event!

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Ah, it's hard to pick a favorite! Here are a few that I really enjoyed:

Gallery AU (Keith and Shiro from VLD fanfic) by @trytofocus - Keith is a prisoner in a secret, highly prestigious gallery where subjects are displayed in all manners of artful bondage for the entertainment of rich patrons. Shiro is one such patron. And he isn't nice. (Be warned that this fic is 18+, as it contains adult elements and themes, and is NSFW) Why I love it: God, the mental images are SO GOOD. The way that Keith is treated as a living, breathing, unwilling art piece... the emotions, the way things are described, the care and reverence taken in tying him up and putting him on display, the way that Shiro appreciates him, the attitude that Keith gives... It's so freaking good, and it gives me crazy whumperflies. I wish there was more!

Death Valley (also on AO3) by @ashintheairlikesnow - In 2003, Finn Schneider left Germany for a month-long planned trip around the United States. Somewhere around Death Valley, he disappeared. But he wasn't alone. (Be warned that this fic is 18+, as it contains noncon, murder, and is NSFW) Why I love it: This was the second whump fic that I ever read, and it was integral in getting me into the whumpsphere! I feel SO SO SO bad for Finn, what he goes through, and how he is in his future. It's one of those stories that makes me go "OH NO BB LET ME FIX IT FOR YOU ;A;" but this poor guy has seen and been through far too much. It's brutal. Even the flash forward has me on the edge of my seat and only wanting the best for him. I hope this poor man finds love, joy, and peace.

Brother's Keeper by @darkthingshappen - Ben Adkins' life changes forever when his brother Jake fails to pay what is owed to some powerful men. Will he be able to survive his harrowing experience and return to his family? (Be warned that this fic is 18+, as it contains explicit noncon and is NSFW) Why I love it: Phew, this one is intense! It's one of those fics that made me go "OH DAMN." a lot. I actually had to read this one out of order a bit because (spoilers) thereʻs a recovery arc... followed by a recapture arc. I had to save some of the recovery arc to read when things got too tough and I needed some joy for the characters, because GEEZ. Poor Ben!! Poor Jake! Poor Andrei! Volkov and his guys are sick SOBs and just merciless. Itʻs so whumpy. I had to skip a chapter or two due to some of my own personal squicks, but other than that, if youʻre looking for some guys having a super bad time, this is a great fic for that!

King of The Road by @darkthingshappen - George and Danny find themselves in the hands of a very sick and twisted trucker. What will happen to them as his newest victims? (Be warned that this is fic 18+, as it contains explicit noncon and is NSFW) Why I love it: The trucker is horrible!! An absolutely evil vile terrible sick guy!!! I have to know what happens to George and Danny! Thereʻs not much of the fic yet, but Iʻm frothing at the mouth waiting for more. The brutality is so whumperiffic, and I already desperately want to save them, so you know things are on a good track!

Secrecy by @doomeddestination - A young spy is captured by a mysterious man known only as Shepard. (Be warned that this fic is 18+, as it contains explicit noncon and is NSFW) Why I love it: Calico is such a great writer, and her dedication to her stories and characters is INSANE. This story was the first one of hers that I read, and it introduced me to Ander, who is another character that I simply wish to wrap in a blanket and give tea to and take care of forever. This poor guy just needs a break. Shepard is awful, and the suspense in the story is so great. Thereʻs a whole multitude of AUs and stories that contain these characters as well, so lots of stuff to check out! ... ... ... If Ander never gets to canonically see his mom again, I will riot in the streets. LET A GOOD THING HAPPEN TO HIM.

The Mountain Man by @darkthingshappen - A kidnapper has his sights on a hockey player and sets a plan into motion to get him into his clutches. Why I love it: Getting into the head of the whumper as he stalked and planed his capture was so cool. I loved the confusion and delirium that the hockey player showed, especially when things started to get scary. I think this story was meant to be a one-shot, but Iʻd gladly dig into more of it if it got continued!

Hazel's story by @starrywhump - A group of college students is kidnapped by a sadistic whumper who has no qualms about torturing them. Why I love it: This was the FIRST whump fic I ever found and read! I wouldnʻt be in the community now if not for this fic. I have no idea how I stumbled across it, but Iʻm so glad I did, because it introduced me to whump lingo, whump blogs, and this whole crazy world. I love the characters, the whumper is creepy and intimate, and some of what she does is just nasty and brutal. I donʻt know what happened to the author (the blog hasnʻt been updated in like three years), but I hope that theyʻre happy and doing well wherever they are. I love the fic, and would love to read more if they ever decided to continue!

There are so so so many other great fics out there, but these are just the few that come to mind off the top of my head! Any other fans of these stories out there? :O

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Tags: @whumpmasinjuly-archive

#wij24day7 #whumpmasinjuly2024 #whumpmas #whumpmas in july #deedoo original #text post #whump event #whump events #whump fics #whump stories #whump recs #whump recommendation #whump recommendations #whump community

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ohtobeleah · 1 year ago

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Bruises // Jake Seresin

Chapter Seven: [War Wounds in the Ward]

Summary: When help finally arrives, Jake believes it may be too late. The extent of both your injuries are finally revealed and the both you come face to face with the reality of just how long you’d been held in captivity for.

Word Count: 7.4k

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

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“We gotta move.” How this guy got the key to Jake’s cell he’d never know, but what was important was that he had it and he was here now. “We’ve got about ten minutes to get you both out to the medi-vac.”

You never would have guessed how quickly Jake Seresin could still move in order to put his body on the line for you. At the sight of someone coming into his cell yet again, rescuer or not—he was shielding you with everything he had. No one was touching you, not again.

Once the man was inside Jake's cell he took a knee to assess your current state. At the mere thought of anyone touching you Jake flinched and held you a little tighter. He wasn’t sure who he could trust, wasn’t sure if this was real or just some cruel joke. Another attempt to shatter any kind of hope.

“It’s okay Lieutenant, you can let her go.”

“I don’t trust you.” Jake used his body to shield you as much as he could. He was done letting people hurt you, including himself. The man in the dark mask paused, but then in order to gain Jake's trust, he took that mask off, revealing his identity to Jake as he tried to reach out to gauge your pulse. “Please don’t hurt her, she’s been through enough.”

“I’m not gonna hurt her Jacob.” The man with silver hair and a cocky half smile confirmed. “My name is Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS, I’m gonna get the two of you out of here.”

“Who was the woman, the one who gave me the note?” Jake couldn’t stop thinking about her and her lifeless body. Who was she? How did she get a note from Rooster? How did she know help was coming? There were so many unanswered questions he thought he’d never get answers to.

“CIA—deep cover agent, she had sent out a coded message around the time the two of you went missing. Descriptions matched, your friend Rooster I believe?” Gibbs was still trying to find your pulse. “Yeah he told her to write a note out, give you something to fight for.”

“Hold tight, Stay alive—“ Jake repeated to himself just under his breath, the agent who wasn’t happy with how weak your pulse was nodded too.

“Which is exactly what she’s gonna have to do, let’s get her out of here before it’s too late.”

“Gibbs!” Another man came racing down the hallway. “Gibbs we gotta move!” He was dressed in the same dark uniform as Gibbs was. “They’re angry as shit, like ants! A hive of angry ants.”

“I thought I told you to distract and disturb?”

“Yeah well, change of plans—we gotta get the hell outta dodge, now!”

Jake wasn’t all that sure who to follow or what to think. He only knew two things for sure, one being he had to get you out of here while he still had a chance too. And two? He couldn’t run. He couldn’t come with you. He was damaged goods.

“I can’t go.” Jake confessed with a deep sigh as he handed you over to the man who’s just come racing in. He ran his finger down your cheek and tried to hold it together. Was this the last time he was ever going to see you? “She’s in a really bad way, please take care of her, get her out of here.”

“Lieutenant it’s now or never—“ Gibbs made sure to remind Jake.

“They put a pacemaker inside my damn chest alright! I can’t let my heart rate get above one forty!” Jake explained as the older man helped him to his feet. “The Commander has a remote control for it too, and I gotta be honest with you, I’m not all that keen on the idea of my heart exploding inside my fucking chest.”

“The Commanders dead.” Gibbs tried his best to bluff his way through this. He had to get Jake out of here, there was no backup plan. It was now or never and never wasn’t an option. “He’s gone, ain’t got no way to press that button.” DiNozzo knew as a matter of fact that Dennis Gervais was well and truly alive, because he’d just come from the same room that he was in. “So we focus on keeping your heart rate down and get you out of here.” All Jake did was nod as he looked at you just barely breathing, barely holding on for dear life. You’d been through so much—he owed you this much, to try till his dying breath to get you out of this hell. “DiNozzo you take Y/n, I’ll guard Jake here and we’ll get ‘em on the medi-vac before shit gets too out of hand.”

“On it boss.” Tony acknowledged the plan and knew the risks involved as he bent down to pick you up and pull your nearly lifeless body across his shoulders so that he could carry you. “Okay ma’am, sorry if this hurts a little.”

“We’re heading down the hall, taking the first left and making a run for the stairs that leads up to the ground floor—it’ll take us right out to the loading bay.” Jake couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Gibbs knew it was going to be a hard pill to swallow as the group started to make their way out of the cell.

“You mean to tell me there’s been an exit door right down the hall this whole time!!” It made him sick to his stomach. Freeform was right there all along. It made things so much worse knowing it was right there.

“We’re gonna get you home Lieutenant, just keep in step and don’t look back.” Gibbs commanded as he made sure his weapon was loaded. “Let’s get these two out of here DiNozzo.”

Jake watched as DiNozzo took off running with you slung across his shoulders. His heart ached on two fronts, one being he knew you were about to be safe, about to be away from all this. The other being he hated whenever you were away from him. When you were with him you were safe in his arms. Apart? He couldn’t help you.

There were guards slain in the hall from where gunfire had recently rung out, Jake tried his best not to get too caught up but he couldn’t recognise a single soul. None of them he knew from his time trapped. They were just foot soldiers.

“Take a left DiNozzo!” Anthony corrected his direction promptly as Jake followed, he was being careful to pace himself. He didn’t want the beeping to start, not now. It couldn’t, he was relying on everything he had left inside him to keep it down. To breathe steady, In and out.

“Right! Sorry!” Gibbs was the last one up the stairs, he was protecting his people, firing the odd shot at anyone who tried to stop them four of them from getting where they needed to go.

“Jake?” It was the softest of whimpers that escaped from your lips as DiNozzo carried you up the stairs. “Jake?” You mumbled again, only this time a little louder and more confused. “What’s going on?”

“You’re okay ma’am.” Tony tried his best to calm you before you had a chance to panic. “Jakes right behind me, I’m special agent Anthony DiNozzo with the NCIS.”

“Oh.” Was all you could say as you dangled over Dinozzo's shoulders. “Oh god someone found us.” It was more like you were trying to convince yourself this was real. “Someone came.”

“We did ma’am.” DiNozzo confirmed as he opened the latch on the door that led out to the loading dock. “We’re not out of the woods yet though, so just stay with us for a little while longer okay?” When he was finally able to unlock the heavy metal door, DiNozzo was delighted to see the medi-vac choppers coming in for landing. “Over there!” He shouted back at Jake and Gibbs before he took off running with you on his shoulders.

The sunlight burned Jake's skin as he stepped out into the light. God how long had it been since he’d felt the warmth of the sun on his usually tanned skin. He’d never been this pal, this skinny, this unkempt.

“There’s someone who wants to speak with you, Lieutenant.” Gibbs smirked as he escorted Jake across the snow and over to the helicopter that would be taking him back to the carrier. He handed him a radio, one of those sat nav ones.

Jake held it up so he could talk just as five F-18 Super Hornets came racing past to pepper the building with ammunition. It was a full takedown if there ever was one. A covert operation to get you and Jake back. The signal had been given and it was go time.

“What took you so long?” Jake wasn’t sure who it was going to be, but he knew they were all up there. All cheering that he was alive, that you were alive. That the pair of you were being rescued. Hey did however have a slight inkling as to who might answer. “What the hell has the Calvary been!”

“Hey Hangman.” Rooster bellowed through the radio as he flew closer to the building just to drop a missile on the southwest corner. “You look good!” Jake couldn’t contain his laughter, this was really happening.

“I am good, Rooster.” He remembered what he’d said all those years ago. “I’m very good.” Jake sighed as he watched his colleagues and friends dismantle the building you and Jake had been held hostage in for what felt like forever. “Now get us outta here!”

“We better keep moving, Lieutenant.” Gibbs ushered Jake over to the other medi-vac helicopter, it had all gone according to plan. Jake had kept his heart rate below one twenty as his watch kept telling him. You were being loaded into the other helicopter, strapped to a medical gurney and fitted with oxygen immediately. Jake watched on as the building the four of you had just come out of went up in smoke and flames. Insurgents scurried out for their lives at any exit they could take. “Let’s get these birds in the sky!”

“Yes sir.” The pilot copied just as Jake saw the man he’d been told was dead appearing out of the smoke, surrounded by insurgents with guns who aimed right for the two medi-vac helicopters.

“Come on probie help me get her strapped in.” Tony grumbled as he fiddled with the straps around the wheels of the bed you were on. He didn’t want it to budge. “How the hell did you get the easy job anyway!”

“Easy job!! I’ve been out here for ten minutes fending off enemy fire!”

“I thought you said he was dead!?” Jake hissed as he eyed off the man who’d put you both through hell. He couldn’t help but to say as he thought about making a break from the helicopter just to get his revenge from n the man who’s done so much damage. But he couldn’t, Jake wouldn’t do that as the helicopter began to rise from the snow covered ground. He wasn’t going to, not for any amount of money, you’d told him when the pair of you were first captured to never play the hero again—but Jake was a villain. A hero would sacrifice anything for the greater good. He’d see anything ax expendable.

But Jake would walk through fire and cross the seven seas for you, he had no such desire to want to play the hero. He just wanted to be safe again, with you. So knowing you were already safe, there was no reason to go back. There was no reason to want to be a hero.

“I lied—“ Gibbs sighed as he aimed his weapon. “Get us up in the air!” Jake knew the moment he saw The Commander standing there watching him escape that he wouldn’t let him go without a fight, without causing enough damage that he might not make it out alive. As the helicopters took off you sat up just to watch the group below you get further and further away.

You were safe. Jake was safe. You were finally getting out of this hell together. And then? Everything you thought you knew came crashing down around you as you watched what appeared to be Jake's lifeless body fall out of the side of the medi-vac helicopter. No. Not now, not after everything you'd been through.

“NNOOOOO!” You cried out from behind the oxygen mask you'd been given. “JAKE!!”

Jake first fell to his knees as his hand gripped at his chest. The pain was all too real, too overpowering for him to stay steady on his feet. The Commander stood grinning ear to ear as he watched Jake fall out of the Medi-vac that was in the process of taking off. It would have been a solid hundred metres give or take a few. But it was surely enough to break Jake's jaw on impact.

“You’re not going anywhere Seresin!” The Commander growled as he and his men ascended on Jake. Two of them pulled him harshly up by his forearms as they forced Jake to look up at the very man who had caused so many people so much pain. “Your girl might get out, but you–you won't ever see the light of day ever again.

“Take us back to the carrier!” DiNozzo ordered the pilot who had carried on his way. You were in complete hysterics. You couldn't leave, not without Jake.

“WE HAVE TO GO BACK!” With all your might you were trying to get up off the bed. “WE CAN'T LEAVE HIM!” You felt like you couldn't breathe, Jake had been your rock this whole time. You'd seen the worst in people but also seen the best in him. You couldn't leave him behind, you couldn’t betray him when he never once let you give up.

“Ma’am, Ma’am you need to try and relax alright, Gibbs will figure it out.” Tony reassured you just hoping that his boss could pull something together. “We’re not going to leave him here, but we need to get you back to people who can help keep you alive.”

“I’m gonna kill you, I’m gonna kill you dead just because I can and for what it's worth? Your name will be forgotten once we are one word and one people, Jacob.” It was the worst kind of pain, a pain unparalleled to no other, the kind of pain that takes your breath away. That kind of pain that stops blood in its tracks, that shortens ligaments and tendons as you seize. “If only you’d just stayed the fuck away.” The Commander spat as he stopped Jake's heart, he fried the pacemaker in his chest past the breaking point and when his finger finally came off the little button in his hand: Jake was just thankful to have gotten to hear you say you loved him. Even if you only said it back to even the playing cards.

Jake knew you could never love him. Not after this, not after you’d gone through unspeakable agony all because of a split second decision he made.

“You’re not, you’re not going to win this.” Jake struggled out as he looked up at The Commander. “Dennis—“ That struck a raw nerve as The Commander reached for a handgun one of his men held. He wasted not a single second before peppering three rounds into Jake's gut.

“Maybe, but you won’t be around to see the outcome.”

Jake Seresin laid dying in the snow surrounded by insurgents as five F-18 Super Hornets laid waist into the building you'd both been held captive in—destroying every crevice, every brick. But ultimately it was just a little too late. You’d be okay though, you had to be. Jake had to believe that as his blood stained the China white snow he laid in.

The expected was always easier to accept than the unexpected.

“Everybody get to the evacuation points, if you see anyone you don’t trust? Kill them.” Jake could hear The Commander ordering his men before he kicked the heel of his boot into Jake's face. “Goodbye Lieutenant Seresin—you really did your country proud.” The condescending tone in The Commander’s voice really drove it home that all this had been for nothing. He was going to die, killed in action his final report would say.

The last thing Jake thought about as he laid in the snow watching as the medi-vac helicopters flew away, one of which had you finally safe on, was that he hoped you went on to live a beautiful life. Got back on your feet, healed from everything you were subjected to, went on to love and experience all the good the world had to offer. He thought about what kind of guy would be so lucky to marry you, have a life with you, raise your children, and watch you thrive. Because it wouldn’t be him. He was okay with that though because you were safe now, Jake Seresin was okay with dying so long as it meant you got the help you needed, that you deserved.

“I love you.”

Because you weren’t ever expendable. Not to him.

***~***~***~***~***~***~**

People have scars in all sorts of unexpected places. Like secret road maps of their own personal history. Diagrams of all their old wounds. Most old wounds heal, leaving nothing behind but a scar, but some of them don't. Some wounds you carry with you everywhere, and although the cuts are long gone: the pain still lingers.

“Where's Jake?” It was the only thing you could say as you fought off unconsciousness. “Where's Jake? Where is he?”

“Lieutenant Y/l/n we need to get you into medical so we can start you on IV fluids and antibiotics–” It was a voice you didn't recognise that replied to you as you were being wheeled off the medi-vac and onto the deck of the carrier. “Someone let the Swaine know we’re on route!”

“Where's Jake?” Why wasn’t anyone listening, why wasn’t anyone answering you? “Please someone tell me he’s okay, that he’s alive? Please?”

It truly was a spectacle on the deck, but in all the commotion of your big arrival no one was listening to what you were mumbling behind your oxygen mask. No one except for one sandy blonde aviator who was pushing past every person he had to in order to get to your side as they wheeled you across the runway. He’d barely shut off his F-18 before he was racing down the tarmac after you.

“Hey!” Bradley beamed as he reached your side, his hand slipped into your as he walked with the team who were in charge of getting you where you needed to go. “Hey, Hollywood, holy shit–” He couldn't believe you were alive, sure none of them had ever given up hope and from the fleeting information they had been given during your time in captivity, he hoped that CIA agent was still alive, but still he couldn't believe you were actually back. It had been so long. “You’re safe now, we’ve got you.”

“WHERES JAKE!” It came out as an agonising scream until Rooster could see your tears. “Where is he Bradshaw?” As far as Bradley was aware Jake's rescue Evac was still in the process. He’d fallen and that's all Bradley knew for sure.

“He’s right behind you, they got him Hollywood, you don't have to worry anymore.” DiNozzo, the Special Agent in charge of escorting you back to medical, looked at the aviator across the gurney from him. He knew that Jake was still yet to be evacuated. He was still on the ground the last Tony saw. “You can rest now, it's alright, Jakes right behind you.”

“Oh–” You sighed as your entire body relaxed, it was a weight you didn't realise was compressing your chest. “Oh good.” It was only then did your body allow you to go into complete rest. You fell into unconsciousness seconds after being told that Jake was okay, he was coming, that he was right behind you.

“We’re losing her, we gotta move.” One of the officers informed Bradley as he stood still, watching as you were wheeled into the carrier. Not knowing if you were actually going to make it out of this hell alive.

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Jake swore the chill of the snow would take him before his heart gave out. He couldn’t move a single muscle as he laid there on his back in the silence—only burning rubble seemed to break through the deafening silence of his last moments on earth.

He thought about you, the entire time. How your laugh would fill up the Hard Deck and how he’d roll his eyes in response. It was stupid really but Jake honestly thought if he didn’t get involved with you personally it would be easier to forget about the way you made him feel whenever you walked into a room.

“Y/n.” Your name sounded so familiar to him, so alluring and all consuming. “Y/n.” It brought him comfort in death. To whisper your name to himself as his life drained from him. “Y/n.”

“Not Y/n—“ Gibbs groaned as he pressed gauze into Jake's stomach and moved his hands to cover it. “Keep your hands on that.” He told Jake with a hushed tone, like he was trying to keep quiet. “Lift on three, one, two—three.”

“AAHHH!” Jake couldn’t help the agonising whelp that escaped his mouth as he was lifted up onto a stretcher. Had they come back for him? Surely not—at this point he was dead weight. Why on earth would they turn back for him?

“Get him on that medi-vac now!” Gibbs ordered as he stood and looked around, it seemed as though The Commander had been able to flee with a handful of insurgents. “Stop the bleeding as fast as you can.”

What's worse? New wounds which are so horribly painful or old wounds that should have healed years ago and never did? Maybe old wounds teach you something, maybe they remind you of where you've been and what you’ve overcome. They teach you lessons about what to avoid in the future.

That's what Jake liked to think. Because as he let his head rest back against the stretcher and thought about how beautiful the embers of that god awful building were, he couldn't wait for these new wounds to become valuable lessons that didn't hurt as bad as they did now.

***~***~***~***~***~***~**

Every cell in the human body regenerates on average every seven years. Like snakes, we shed our skin. Biologically, we’re brand new people. It's imperative, change that is. You might look the same, you probably feel the same, but the change isn't visible. At least not for most people.

“She’s waking up—“ You barely heard it, the husk of a familiar voice that came from beyond the darkness. “Do you want me to leave?”

When people say things like ‘People don't change’ It drives scientists crazy, because change is literally the only constant in all of science. Energy. Matter. It's always changing. Morphing. Merging. Growing. Dying. It's the way people try not to change that's unnatural.

“No kid, no—“ Again, another familiar voice echoed beyond the darkness as you were brought back into the light. A steady beeping droned in the background monitoring your vitals. “You stay, I’ll go check on how Lieutenant Seresin is doing after surgery.”

The way people cling to what things were instead of letting them be what they are. The way you cling to old memories instead of forming new ones can be just as damaging as trying not to evolve. The way people insist on believing, despite every scientific indication that anything in this lifetime is permanent.

“Okay, yeah—let me know how he is?” Bradley asked as your dad, Commander ‘Hollywood’ Neven, tapped his shoulder as he sat by your bedside. Watching over you as you recovered from what had been some of the most extensive and exhausting surgeries Rooster had ever seen.

His mother had had a few operations in her battle with Cancer—but none of which came close to what he was told you were going through.

From the complete orthopedic reconstruction on your shattered wrist to the skin graft on your lower back, to the plastic surgery repair made to damage done on your face. Some scars would remain—but your surgeon was pretty hopeful that the swelling would go down. It made Roosters heart break.

“Roo—“ It was the first thing you managed to struggle out. Your throat was so dry as you tilted your head to the side just slightly to see him better. “Hi.” The light hurt your eyes, in a way it felt good to be out of the dark.

“Hey Hollywood.” Bradley smiled as he reached out to grab your hand. “Tell you what you know how to scare us, don't you?” You couldn't help the oh so soft smile that crept across your face when you realised you were home, that you were finally safe. “How you feeling?”

“Uh–” You didn't know what to say. Your entire body ached for various different reasons all the more painful to describe than the last. You were a plethora of injuries, a thesaurus of unspeakable acts of violence. And even though there wasn't a part of you that didn’t hurt, all your mind could think about was Jake. So you lied. You lied straight through your teeth. “I'm okay.” Bradley didn't believe it, not for a second. He had seen the state you were in when they airlifted you back to the carrier. And it seemed as though your number one priority hadn’t changed. “Where's Jake? Is he okay?”

“Hangman's–” You interrupted Bradley quicker than he could explain Jake's current status.

“I asked where Jake was Rooster, Hangman isn't Jake.” The man who had done everything he could to protect you wasn't Hangman. He was simply Jake. “So please, just tell me Jakes alive?” Bradley complied with your very specific request and told you what you wanted to hear first.

“Jakes alive.” He nodded. “But he's critical, he's been in and out of surgery for a few days Y/n.” Rooster had collected a series of coffee cups on the table in your hospital room, ranging in size and kind. He must have been here with you for a while. “Your dads seeing to it that he gets the best care.”

“How long have I been out?” You asked next, everything was blurry. You could remember bits and pieces of being rescued, but not many. You could hear the sound of the helicopter blades in your head, but faces were all distorted in your memory. You could remember Jake holding you, his warmth protecting you from all harm, but then you saw him fall. He fell. Over and over in your mind you watched Jake fall and then you heard your pain filled cries of pure heartbreak. “How long has it been?”

“Since we got back here, a few days–you've been on some pretty strong painkillers and the doctors just kept telling me you'd wake up when your body was ready.” It was nice to fill in the gaps. But there was one gap you weren't sure if you wanted to fill.

“And how long were Jake and I, you know, held for?” Bradley wasn't sure if he should be the one to tell you, but then again, if you wanted anyone else to tell you, you would have waited to ask them and not him. So he told you, point blank.

“Almost Three months.”

“Oh god.” Change is constant, how you experience change, that's up to you. “No, No no no it cant have been three whole months Rooster.” It can feel like death, or it can feel like a second chance at life if you open your fingers, loosen your grip and go with it, it can feel like pure adrenaline.

“Y/n?” Bradley frowned when he heard your heart rate monitor start to beep at a faster rate than the machine was comfortable with. “Are you okay?” You felt like you couldn’t breathe as your brain tried to process the harsh reality that you and Jake had been held prisoners for three whole months. Your airways were tightening, like someone had their hands around your neck and was squeezing, holding you down, choking you. “Hey! Hey, I need someone in here! Nurse!” Bradley jumped up to his feet and hit the panic button as you began to cry, panicking as your body didn't feel like your own.

“Oh god, I can't breathe!” You cried out. “Rooster, help!” Like at any moment you can have another chance at life. Like at any moment, you can be born all over again. Or die from the pure weight of it all.

“She's having a panic attack or something.” Rooster explained to the nurses who were first into the room. “I don't know what to do.”

“It's the Asthma, sir.” One of the nurses explained. “She needs ventolin.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~**

“You gotta wake up for me.” An induced coma, that's what the doctors had told you. That's what they said Jake needed in order to heal. In their words, his injuries were extensive, critical and very much life threatening. But while you watched Jake breathe through tubes and held his hand just to let him know you were there, you had to believe that he was going to be okay. That he’d pull through and you'd get to see his smile again.

“You don't get to leave me now you son of a bitch do you hear me?” You leaned in to whisper in his ear. “I'll be so pissed if you leave me here.” You snarled right in his ear so that he could hear you. “I'll come and find you in the afterlife and when I get there? I'll rain hell down on you for all eternity.” You weren't expecting a reply, not with Jake being in an induced coma and all. The tubes alone would have stopped him from replying even if he was awake. “Please wake up soon, I really miss you.” With your good hand, you gently ran your palm up his forehead and moved the hair that had fallen across his face away. The bruises were dark and extensive, but Jake was still there under it all. Under all the swollen and bruised skin and bone. Jake was still there. Your Jake was still fighting with everything he had. “I love you, please don't leave me.”

You sat back in your chair, the one you had been in since you were able to leave your own room during the day and visit Jake. You had to take your IV pole with you though, it was a non negotiable. You had to stay hooked up to antibiotics to fight off the infection in your lungs. It hurt to breathe, so the oxygen tank came too.

“How are we doing today Kiddo?” You dad asked as he came to visit you like he did every day. He, like all the other aviators that came to visit you and Jake, had gotten used to finding you up in Jake's room up in the intensive care ward.

“My lungs are on fire but it beats the alternative.” You only took your eyes off Jake for a second to acknowledge your father, who so far, hadn’t pried too deep into finding out details of your imprisonment. You knew he'd have to take off the farther figure hat and replace it with his Commander of the pacific fleet hat soon enough. “The doctors said they’re happy with Jake's stats, said he might be able to come out of the coma soon.”

“That's good to hear sweetheart.” Your dad replied as he stood at the end of Jake's hospital bed, eyes off the man who had kept you alive from what he could tell. “I've uh, i've organised for you to speak to someone, someone who might be able to help you start to process what you went through.”

“I'm not interested.” It was as dismissive as it could be. You had no intention of leaving Jake's side for any longer than you had to. You didn't want to talk to anyone about any of it, they wouldn't understand and you certainly had no desire to explain all your trauma to a complete stranger. “With all due respect, dad, I don't have any intention of returning to active duty, so a therapist signing off on a clearance form that I’m mentally capable of returning to work, isn't needed.” You added the explanation at the end without so much as looking at your dad. You had a sinking feeling in your gut the more you thought about it. The more you were told about the people you had been tasked to take down. To dismantle.

“Baby girl.” Your dad tried to reason with you as a father and as Commander. “You are a highly skilled weapons system officer, the Navy cannot afford to lose you.”

“But yet I wasn't good enough to not be labelled as expendable huh?” The room was cold, but your heart was colder now more than ever before. It made sense but at the same time it didn't. Why? Why would the man you looked up to, respected so much–do this to you?

“What are you talking about?”

“Did you know that I was sent on this mission? Why I was chosen over Bob and Fanboy, two highly skilled, highly decorated WSO that Jake already worked with and had worked with for years?” Your dad was silent. Of course he knew, he had to have known considering the stakes of the mission. It just hadnt crossed your mind until you were sitting at that dining table with The Commander being told details you weren’t privy to prior to your file being selected.

“I–” There was nothing your dad could say to change your mind about the situation. He knew, he had betrayed you.

“I almost died, dad.” You barely spoke above a whisper all the while you kept your eyes on Jake's face. “And you signed off on this mission, knowing that we were going in blind with half a file that contained only basic information.”

“We knew you were capable.” Your dad was firm with you, like a Commander would be. “I knew you were ready for this, and I knew you were capable of understanding the risks involved—none of us banked on Seresin not knowing how to let go.” So it was true. They all believed the same thing, that if push came to shove Jake would save himself, not his WSO, not his Wingman. No one.

“You used me as collateral in case it didn't go according to plan!”

“Darling, you cannot blame me for what happened—I signed off on the mission file, the admirals were given recommendations, your name and file happened to be one of many.”

“I need you to leave!” You snapped with tears streaming down your cheeks. Now more than ever you wished Jake would just wake up. “I need you to leave and I need you to understand that I don’t have any intention of talking to any therapist or physician or anyone!” It was then you took your hand out of Jakes to pick up one of the empty coffee cups on Jakes bedside table, one of the many you had begun to collect, and threw it at your dad. “Get out!”

He did. He did what you asked without a fight, knowing the consequences of his actions along with many others would come back to bite him. You and Jake were not letting this slide, not in a million years.

“Where is it?” You mumbled to yourself as you fumbled around your pockets for your inhaler. You didn’t understand the panic induced asthma yet, but you had been told how to manage it. “Where is it?” When you finally found the little red inhaler in the pocket of your hoodie, you took a single hit of the ventolin and tried to calm down.

“Miss Y/l/n, are you staying for morning rounds?” One of the doctors who had been looking after Jake asked as he came into the room. Followed by his interns.

“Yes please—“ You sighed as you got comfortable and reached out for Jake’s hand again. “And for the love of god Doc tell me you’re gonna wake him up soon?”

All he did was smile in return before looking over to one of his interns. A young female who looked all the more surprised that she was being called upon to present.”

“Uh this is Lieutenant Jacob Seresin, sustained three gunshot wounds to the middle abdomen that resulted in severe blood loss, major cardiac trauma resulting in a heart attack that left his right aorta damaged.” It was nothing you hadn’t heard before, could probably resight it all yourself by now you’d heard it so many times. “A broken mandible as a result from falling one hundred meters and multiple other injuries ranging from minor to major abrasions, bruises and laceration that all seem to be on the mend.” Hearing it every day didn’t get any easier. Until the last part that put fresh hope in your heart. You hadn’t heard that part before today.

“Due to be slowly woken from an induced coma as of today.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~**

“Today could be the day Y/n.” The first twenty four hours after surgery are critical. Every breath you take, every fluid you make, is meticulously recorded and analysed, celebrated or mourned. But what about the next twenty four hours? “You just have to remember that both of you went through hell, his body needs time.” Phoenix had brought your flowers. A kind gesture that put a sparkle in your eye for only a few minutes. You were back at Jake's bedside, curled up under a blanket in your chair with your IV poll still at your side. “You need time.”

“I just really need him to wake up—“ But what happens when that first day turns into two, three and four and then those days turn into weeks and possibly turn into months? “I’m starting to lose my mind—the longer he sleeps the more time I have to convince myself that they won.” You explained to Phoenix who fluttered about Jake's ICU ward room. Tidying up, making sure you had company. “That they broke him, me.”

“They apparently picked the guy up on the coast of Positano—“ It wasn’t the first time you’d heard it but it still felt so surreal to hear. “And that CIA lady's body was recovered a few days after you were rescued.” You’d never met her, but Jake had. The CIA and the NCIS were working together to get this guy long before you were assigned your mission. “So was Captain Hewens.” Phoenix made sure to remind you. “I don’t think he won Hollywood—if he won I don’t think you’d be sitting here.”

“He didn’t win.” The goal of any surgery is total recovery. To come out better than you were before. But for you and Jake? There was no certainty that the two of you could ever go back to the people you were before. “Ain’t no way he won.” Jake mumbled as he stirred slightly, his hand gripped yours back for the first time since you were able to visit. “He didn’t win—this is nothing I can’t handle.”

“Oh my god Jake! You’re awake!?” You cried as you got as close to him as you possibly could. “Hi, hey I’m right here yeah? You’re gonna be okay.”

“I love you—“ Jake needed to say that. He needed you to know. “You’re okay? I’m not dead am I?”

“No, no you're not dead Jake.” You couldn’t help but to chuckle with utter relief. “You’ll know we’re dead, remember? when it’s just us, on a farm somewhere in the middle of nowhere, just the two of us.” You whispered as you pushed his hair up and away from his forehead.

“Count me in for that version of heaven.” He’d barely opened his eyes, but Jake had missed your smile oh so much. He would do anything to see it, like a damn fool head over heels in love, he’d do anything. “So we made it? We’re out?”

“We’re out, we’re home and we’re safe.” Some patients heal quickly and feel immediate relief. For others, the healing happens gradually and it's not until months or even years later that you realise that you don't hurt anymore. “You saved my life Jake Seresin—you never left me hanging.”

“I’ll leave you two alone for a little while.” Phoenix politely excused herself to go check in with the nurses station about notifying a doctor that Jake was awake. You appreciated it—because now that he was awake you weren’t leaving his side.

“Are you okay?” Jake asked as he just tried to focus on breathing. When he was finally able to open his eyes they were in you and never left. “Woah, I kinda forgot what you looked like without the dirt and grim, you’re beautiful.”

“Apparently I’ve got a pretty serious infection in my lungs that gives me asthma attacks when I get worked up but other than that I think I’m okay.” You explain knowing Jake would honestly want you to tell the truth rather than just say you were okay. “And the last thing my body was focused on was maintaining its cycle so I lost my period.” Jake knew why you were mentioning it. “Guess my body just knew what it had to do and not drop any eggs.” Jake squeezed your hand a little tighter and brought your palm up to his lips. “So no need to abort any insurgent fetuses.”

“How long?” You’d asked Rooster the same question, it ended in a panic attack. But again—if Jake wanted to know from anyone else he would have asked them and not you. “How long were we in there for?”

“Almost Three Months.” So the challenge after every surgery is to be patient. But if you can make it through the first few weeks and months? If you believe that healing is possible–then you can get your life back.

“Guess we’re gonna be pretty messed up for a while aren’t we?” Jake sighed as he fought back tears, this was hell on earth. His entire body hurt but not nearly as much as his heart ached looking at you with his head full of your screams. “But I’m so glad you’re alive.”

“I’m really thankful you’re alive too.” But that's a big if. “And I know that isnt gonna be easy, it’s gonna really hurt—and be really hard, we’re gonna have to work at this everyday.” You were trying to keep yourself together for Jake’s sake as you let your hand squeeze against his. “But I want to do that because I want you.”

“You sure about that hotshot?” Jake breathed in softly as his heart beat steady without any doubt that you were the love of his life. “I’m the one who got you into that mess in the first place.” When you nodded softly as tears fell freely down your cheeks, Jake knew one day he’d ask you to marry him.

“I want all of you, forever, you and me, everyday.” You added, but then there was the pause Jake was waiting for. He knew it was coming because he was thinking the same damn thing. “But we have to heal first, recover—I think the worst thing we could do for each other would be to go into a relationship when we’re literally being held together by glue and some staples.”

“Can we recover together? But unofficially?” Jake smiled softly as he reached out to cup your still bruised cheek. “Because I unofficially love you, and unofficially I think that I’m not going anywhere.” You let out a laugh, a laugh so pure it brought Jake back to life. He needed nothing but you, forever.

“Unofficially that sounds like a pretty good idea.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

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