#the shadow of violence fic

[viivdle]

I stand before Cardan, and he looks mortifying in his beauty. He carelessly slumps down on the sofa in his chambers, blissfully unaware of my anxiety. Or, worse, blissfully aware.

“I ought to be mad at you,” he says, and I almost flinch at the sound.

“As I said, I didn’t kill my husband, Your Majesty,” my voice shakes, and I hold onto the hope he will think I am holding back tears.

“Yes, that would be correct. Your husband is sitting in front of you, well and alive. Is he not?”

viivdle productive era??

my ~1900w jurdan fanfic heaven and hell were words to me is out now!!

i tried something different with this one, hopefully it was a good something different

this fic is for @annamatix who i have the pleasure to call my friend. i hope this is just the right amount of "romancy"

happy ramadan<33

[vilevenom]

Shadow gets captured by someone, is tested on and tortured. Sonic and gang try and rescue him. After they find him, Sonic panics because his boyfriend is near death.

Idk how to end this lol

Hello, Anon!

I'm going to assume you were the same anon from my previous prompt/ask? I sure hope so, 'cause as much as I love writing hurt Shadow, I only have one idea for this particular prompt, lol I hope you like it!~ P.S - I may have gone a little ham on the torture scenes? Uhm...not too descriptive, but enough, I think, so please be mindful of that.

Shadow groaned as he slowly came back to consciousness, his eyelids feeling heavy as he blinked groggily against the dim lighting in the room he was in. The heavy, sluggish feeling permeating his limbs was not one he was familiar with, as usually, if he was knocked out, his healing factor would kick into overdrive and fix most of what was ailing him. This time, however, something seemed to be off.

"Ah, you're awake."

With a disgruntled grunt, Shadow turned his gaze in the direction the voice had come from. An involuntary noise of surprise left him when he found Doctor Starline, of all people, stood before him.

"You were crushed to death," the disoriented hedgehog grumbled, squinting at the doctor, as if his eyes were deceiving him.

"So everyone thinks," Starline said with a shrug, wandering from the doorway he'd been stood in to stand in front of Shadow. It was then that the dark hedgehog got a proper good look at the doctor. A rather nasty looking scar ran from near his temple, down towards his jaw, while he visibly walked with a limp, and one shoulder didn't seem to sit quite right in its socket. The doctor smirked lightly at noticing Shadows scrutinizing stare, gesturing towards his injuries. "It's rather nasty, what being trapped under rubble will do to a person, isn't it?"

"Death would've suited you better," Shadow agreed, a sharp, dark grin of his own splitting his lips. For his trouble the doctor snarled, reaching forward to grab at the collar Shadow hadn't realized was secured around his neck. He choked as the doctor yanked him forward in the chair he'd only just realized he was strapped to, still a bit drowsy and unsure as to how the doctor was able to manhandle him so easily.

"Enjoy your little barbs while you can," Starline snapped, tugging the collar hard enough so Shadow visibly gagged, "I don't think you'll be so chatty once I've gotten started with you."

"And what is it you plan to do with me?" Shadow gasped once Starlin let him go and took a swift step back.

"Well," Starline hummed, suddenly sounding giddy, which set Shadow's quills on edge, "Finish the good Doctor Robotnik's work, of course."

"Ivo?" Shadow murmured, confused.

"What? No, no," Starline snorted, flipping on a few additional lights so the room was properly illuminated, "That fool doesn't have proper vision for this sort of work. He's too fixated on that damnable blue hedgehog and his robots." Starline chuckled as Shadow took in the medical equipment and monitors littered around the room. "No. Gerald Robotnik, of course."

"The professor was trying to find a cure for his granddaughter," Shadow snarled, yanking roughly against the bonds holding him down, anger spiking at the fact that they did not give way. He barred his fangs at Starline as the doctor chuckled at his struggle.

"True. But, his research has so many other applications. First, Ivo's additional notes about your Black Arms DNA sheds some fascinating light on your abilities. Add to that what Gerald was already experimenting with on the ARK, and you have so much hidden potential within you." Starline strode back over to Shadow, flicking the dark hedgehog in the nose with a smirk and simply chuckling at the low growl he received for it. "I plan to dig deep into that research and see what makes you tick."

~

"Hey, have you seen Shadow?"

Tails glanced up from his work bench with a light frown. "No. Why?"

Sonic sighed, tapping his foot in irritation. "He was supposed to come by, like, half an hour ago. We were planning on going for a run, and then maybe grabbing lunch after."

"He's late for a date?" Tails teased, earning a light blush from his older brother.

"Shut up," Sonic grumbled, rubbing at his warm cheek.

Tails simply chuckled, going back to his work. "Relax. He probably got caught up doing something with Rouge, or called away by GUN for a mission."

"Yeah, you're probably right," Sonic sighed, pulling his phone from his quills, "He just usually texts me when he can't show up to something…"

~

The scream that rang through whatever base Starline had Shadow hidden away in was loud, and riddled with pain. It wasn't a sound that Shadow let lose willingly, either. The hybrid had discovered, once he'd managed to properly wake up and become a bit more lucid, Starline had added some sort of devices to his inhibitors that nearly cut him off entirely from his natural chaos energy. He could only assume that the collar around his neck added to their potency, or was some sort of separate contraption that weakened him on its own. Either way, with his new accessories, Shadow found he was at the doctors mercy, unable to even muster enough strength to break the leather straps binding him to his seat. As such, the doctor was taking full advantage, having attached little electrodes to various spots on Shadows body to "test his electrical resistance", according to the doctor.

Shadow was fully convinced that the doctor was just having fun torturing him while he was unable to defend himself.

"Interesting," the doctor hummed, scribbling down notes while leaving the little device that controlled the electrodes running at a low voltage, watching as Shadow's muscles twitched and convulsed involuntarily, while the dark hedgehog did his best not to bite his own tongue off.

~

"Hey, Rouge!"

"Hello, Blue," Rouge replied with a smile, looking up from the magazine she was reading, "What can I do for you?" She was sat at a fancy little cafe, conveniently across the road from a jewelry store that Sonic had no doubt the bat was scoping out to rob. However, that really wasn't his concern at the moment.

"Just wondering if Shadow was called off to work on some secret GUN mission? We were supposed to go out a day or two ago, and I haven't heard from him. Normally he'd at least text me to let me know he wasn't going to be around for a few days," Sonic asked, leaning casually against the table, trying not to betray just how worried he really was.

"Hmm," Rouge hummed as she set aside her magazine. "Can't say I've heard from him, either, honestly. But, you know Shadow. Half the time when he does get called away I don't even know about it until he gets back. I'd say, give it at least a week before you start calling in the guard to find your lost boyfriend," she teased, offering Sonic a saucy little wink and chuckling at the flush that spread over Sonic's muzzle.

~

After three days (at least, Shadow thought it had been three days. There wasn't exactly a good way for him to tell time in the room he was trapped in), Starline had apparently gotten tired of Shadow's screaming and had stuffed a gag into his mouth. His mouth had long since gone dry, and his jaw ached from how it was being held open by the bit between his teeth. Starline seemed to find even that interesting, as he turned Shadow's head this way and that, scribbling down little notes and muttering to himself as he did.

Shadow became grateful for the gag as Starline finally brought out a set of scalpels and began to cut into and peel back the flesh of his arm. It gave him something to dig his teeth into as he tried to keep his mind off the way Starline dug his fingers into exposed muscle and garbled the rough screams that ripped apart his already shredded throat.

~

"Aw. Why so blue, Sonic?"

"Very funny, Knux."

The echidna chuckled as he strode over to Sonic, flopping onto the grass next to his mopey looking friend. "Couldn't not take the opportunity," Knuckled offered with a shrug, "Seriously, though. What's up? You don't normally visit on your own."

"Can't a guy want to visit his reclusive friend on his floating island without an ulterior motive?" Sonic scoffed, feigning a look of offense.

Knuckles simply raised an eyebrow at him, and Sonic immediately deflated.

"…Shadow hasn't messaged me in a few days."

"Well, damn, guess we gotta call out the troops," Knuckles snorted, grinning at the sharp glare Sonic shot him. "C'mon, you know I'm teasing. Did you talk to Rouge?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"She said to wait at least a week before I get worried."

"Well, then?"

Sonic groaned, shoving himself to his feet. "I know! Why do you think I'm here? C'mon, spar with me. I gotta get my mind off of it. I don't like you being more level headed than me."

Knuckles chuckled, rising to his own feet with a smirk. "Okay. Just remember, you asked for this ass kicking."

~

Occasionally Starline would let Shadow rest. Sleep would claim him almost immediately, once whatever painful stimulus Starline was using on him was taken away. It was weird for Shadow who very rarely, if ever, truly felt the need to sleep. He certainly enjoyed curling up in his bed at the end of a long day, but it wasn't truly a necessity the way it was for others. But here, in the dank room he'd been trapped in for who knew how long, his body craved it to the point of nearly making him pass out even in the middle of whatever torture Starline had cooked up for him that day.

Generally, when Shadow passed out, his mind went blank, floating in a sea of dark oblivion. However, once in a while he would dream. He knew he had been dreaming, because when he woke he could vaguely recall the blurry images his mind conjured to try and comfort him. Most of which consisted of the color blue in various shades.

At one point, before he could fully pass out, Starline had ripped the gag from his mouth and dumped a glass of water down his throat, which had made him sputter and gag. The doctor had tsked at him and said some asinine comment about Shadow being a mess, which the hedgehog had let drift in one ear and out the other as he coughed red tinted water onto the doctors white jacket. He grinned at the repulsed look Starline had shot him, before the gag was unceremoniously shoved back into his mouth.

Blissfully, the doctor let him pass out for what had to have been at least a few hours after that.

~

"I brought you some cupcakes, Sonic!"

Sonic offered Amy a smile, taking the little box of baked goods from his friend. "Thanks, Ams. I assume you heard through the grapevine that I've been a bit on edge."

"Tails might've mentioned to me that you've been worried about Shadow," Amy conceded, sitting at the kitchen table. "Did you want to talk about it?"

Sonic sighed, flopping into a chair across from Amy and digging into the box to pull out a bright pink cupcake. "It's dumb."

"It's not, if you're worried."

"Do I even need to be worried?" Sonic peeled away the paper wrapper on the base of the cupcake, "Shadow's a big hedgehog. He can take care of himself. I know he can handle pretty much anything, and he's gone off the radar for weeks at a time before."

"…But?" Amy prompted, watching Sonic unceremoniously shove the entire cupcake into his mouth with a slight grimace.

"But," Sonic echoed around his mouthful of cupcake, pausing to take a moment to chew and swallow before he continued, "Something about this time just feels…different. Like something is off."

"Well, speaking from experience in listening to your gut feelings, maybe something is up. I know everyone else has told you not to worry, but would it really hurt to have Tails run a quick scan to see where Shadow is? His phone has a tracker in it, doesn't it? If he's in an area you know GUN is working, then there really is nothing to worry about," Amy offered, holding a napkin out to Sonic.

"Thanks, Ams," Sonic said with a smile, taking the napkin to wipe icing off his muzzle, "You always know just what I need to hear."

~

Shadow didn't know when Starline had moved him from the chair to an examination table, but the very idea that he had been so out of it to not notice such a drastic move was worrying to him. His mind was becoming more muddled the longer he was trapped here, and he could barely feel his extremities anymore from how numb they'd become over time. Slowly, the thought that he might die in this dingy room crept into his mind.

When Starline appeared next to the examination table in a full doctors smock and facemask with a scalpel in hand, the thought slammed into the forefront of his mind like a freight train. He struggled weakly against his bonds as the doctor lowered the scalpel towards his abdomen, his mind screaming at him that he couldn't succumb to such a fate. He couldn't let this crazed asshole pull him apart and kill him in such an undignified way. Maria would be so disappointed in him. Sonic would never know what happened. He'd think Shadow had abandoned him.

"Enough of that," Starline snarled, lifting the scalpel, only to stab it viciously into Shadows bicep for his effort, the dark hedgehog letting a garbled wail of pain out around his gag. Starline left the little makeshift dagger in his arm and grabbed another, before proceeding to cut into Shadow's belly.

The pain pulled Shadow into oblivion, his tired and damaged body unable to keep his mind awake as Starline began to poke around in his guts.

~

"I…I can't find him," Tails admitted after his tracking program ran for the fifth time. Sonic growled lowly behind him, while Amy let out a distressed little noise.

"Scour every known Eggman base for any trace of him. I'm going to call Commander Tower," Sonic snapped, suddenly wishing he'd listened to his gut sooner. Or, at the very least, spoken to Amy first.

"He could be on a blackout mission," Tails offered, turning to watch as Sonic walked out of his work room.

"That's why I'm going to call the Commander," Sonic ground out, pausing in the doorway, "Please, Tails. Look at the bases. Something isn't right. I can feel it."

~

"Wake up."

Shadow groaned as he owlishly blinked open his eyes, squinting against the light that was shoved in his face. He made an inquisitive noise as Starline moved the light away, his mask tugged down to show a rather unhinged grin. Shadow frowned as much as he could around the gag in his mouth as Starline brandished something at him, the doctors hand dripping red.

It took far too long for Shadow's sluggish brain to realize Starline was holding one of the hybrids organs in his hand, still connected to the hedgehog, but only just barely. He couldn't really tell which it was with the way his vision was turning dark around the edges and his eyes were having trouble focusing. Shadow made a wounded noise as Starline squeezed it gently.

"Isn't this fascinating?" Starline asked, sounding borderline manic, "You're still alive and conscious with your organs being removed. True enough that they're still functionally attached, but the implications!" He let out a crazed little laugh, setting the organ to the side. "I can see why Doctor Robotnik thought you were the key to immortality. Your body's ability to heal and maintain functionality is incredible."

Shadow let out a weak growl at the way Starline spoke and got into his face, not in the least bit regretful as the doctor moved back to twist the scalpel he'd stabbed into his arm previously. At least Starline wasn't in his face anymore.

~

"We found him!"

"How long will it take to get a task force put together?"

"How did Starline survive?!"

"Move it!"

Sonic's quills bristled at the commotion around him, his friends and GUN agents alike running around behind him. But his focus was solely on one thing - the tiny dot on the screen telling him exactly where Shadow was.

A harsh burst of wind and a blur of blue whipped through the room as Sonic took off, ignoring the shouts called after him to wait until the others had a plan of attack.

He had a plan. Attack.

~

The next time Shadow woke, he was pleasantly surprised to find that Starline had the decency to put his organs back inside him, even if he could still tell that his torso was split open and on display to the world. He figured that the damp feeling on the table that had soaked into his fur was likely blood. He wondered idly how much longer he could survive without food or water, with the wounds he'd been sustaining, when he had barely a trickle of chaos energy flowing into his body.

Perhaps he truly would die in this room. At least he'd get to see Maria and Gerald again. That would be nice. Though, he was sorry he'd never get to explain to Sonic that he hadn't meant to abandon him. He'd actually been looking forward to their stupid little date of a race and chili dogs. That conversation seemed like so long ago, now. Sonic had been bouncing on his toes as he'd proposed his idea to Shadow, a bashful little blush on his muzzle, despite the fact that it was no different than any other time they had spent time together. Shadow had found it stupidly endearing.

He choked quietly around his gag as he felt tears build up in his eyes. For everything that Starline had done to him, he'd not cried. But, the thought of disappointing Sonic, of not getting to speak to him again, had finally brought him to tears. He tried to hold them back, not wanting to give the doctor the satisfaction of seeing him cry, but the tears dripped down his temples unbidden as he stared forlornly up at the ceiling.

The tears, however, came to an abrupt stop as an explosion sounded somewhere in the distance, but close enough that the room shook. Shadow gasped as a heart monitor near the table he was strapped to crashed to the floor, wide eyes trained on the door. There were only two things that an explosion like that could be; Starline fucking up another experiment somewhere in the hell hole Shadow was trapped in, or a rescue team. Shadow desperately hoped it was a rescue team.

The door to the room burst open not a moment later, Starline looking haggard and frenzied as he stumbled into the room. Shadow watched him in trepidation as the doctor raced around the room as quickly as his limp would let him, gathering notebooks and loose papers. Shadow could hear him muttering to himself as he stuffed everything he gathered into a bag, his gaze finally landing on Shadow as he turned to leave the room. Shadow squirmed against the bonds holding him down as Starline stalked towards him, his body still too weak and damaged to break free. His heart began to beat wildly as Starline snatched up another scalpel, his sluggish mind idly wondering if Starline could see just how quickly his heart was pumping with his chest splayed open as it was.

Shadow could tell Starline was saying something, though whether it was supposed to be directly at him or to himself he had no idea, the words fading into a buzz in his ears. His focus had zeroed in on the scalpel as Starline raised it above his head, obviously planning to stab Shadow to death with the tiny implement. The urge to shut his eyes was strong, but Shadow wanted to stare death in the eye as it came for him. He let out a low snarl as the scalpel came down towards him, only to blink in surprise as Starline disappeared from his view and a blue blur raced passed him.

Sonic.

Shadow squirmed weakly against his bonds, his ears swiveling towards the sound of something smashing in the room and the soft sound of shattered glass raining down on the floor. He could hear Sonic growling, which, even in the most dire of situations Shadow had never heard before. Starline screamed something, with only the sound of more equipment in the room being destroyed answering him. He tried to turn his head, only to wince at the pain that caused, and looked back towards the ceiling. Apparently, at some point, Starline had sliced into Shadow's neck around his collar, most likely when he'd been passed out.

His ears perked as Starline screamed again, though it was abruptly cut off, followed by the doctor flying across the room, back into Shadows line of sight, and smashing into a shelf of random equipment. He slumped to the ground, obviously knocked out from the impact. Shadow let out a vindictive little growl at the sight, pleased as punch that Sonic blatantly didn't go easy on Starline, if the smattering of red, weeping wounds on the doctor was anything to go by. He jerked as Sonic strode into view, wriggling against his bonds as an uncharacteristic whine left him, finally catching the blue hedgehogs attention.

"Shadow!" Sonic gasped, racing to the table to immediately begin working on untying Shadows bonds. "What did he do to you?! Chaos," he muttered, staunchly ignoring the fact that he could see inside his partner.

Once one of Shadows hands was free he weakly lifted it to his mouth to rip the gag away from his mouth, working his sore jaw with a low groan. "He wanted to see what made me 'tick'," Shadow finally croaked, his throat revolting against the simple sentence. It felt like Starline had stuffed it full of razorblades. Maybe he had.

"That's not funny, Shadow," Sonic growled, finishing off with freeing Shadow's feet. He dared not move the hybrid until the GUN unit finally arrived. He was fairly certain that if Shadow even sat up right now his guts would go spilling across the floor. He moved back up the table, trying his best to focus on his partners face, and not the horrific evidence of what had happened to him over the last five days. He let a shaky hand slowly card through Shadow's quills - one of the only parts of his body not soaked in blood. He heaved a heavy breath, fighting back tears as they gathered in his eyes. "I'm so sorry."

"What for?" Shadow asked, tugging idly at the collar still wrapped around his neck. He wanted to rip it off, but without knowing exactly how it was effecting his body, he dared not, given how close he believed he probably was to death at the moment.

"For not coming sooner," Sonic gasped, ducking his head as the tears forced their way down his cheeks. "When you didn't show up for our date, or even text, I thought something might be wrong. But everyone told me to wait. That it wasn't unusual for you to drop off the radar without notice. I should've listened to my gut. I should've looked for you sooner."

"Hush," Shadow murmured, hating how his hand trembled as he lifted it to brush against Sonic's face, frowning as it smeared blood across a peach cheek. "S'not your fault," he sighed, swallowing against the dryness in his throat, only to cough quietly after doing so and wincing at the pain that shot through his abdomen from the action. He wheezed and Sonic panicked, clutching at Shadow's hand with wide, teary eyes.

"The rest of the team should be here soon, then we'll get you to a hospital," Sonic reassured, "You'll be okay."

"I know," Shadow hummed, he ear swiveling towards the doorway at the tell tale sound of boots running down a hallway. GUN had arrived.

~

The path to healing was a slow one that drove Shadow insane.

He'd been taken away to a GUN facility to be patched up, and for his recovery regime. Sonic had nearly been barred from visiting, only for Rouge to point out that she or Omega would just sneak him in if GUN didn't allow him clearance. Thus, Commander Tower gave Sonic a special clearance card that would allow him to the medical wing, much to the blue hedgehogs delight. Shadow had no doubt that Sonic was going to use the card to get into much more than the medical wing while he was in recovery.

Stitches were not an experience that Shadow was especially fond of, however the GUN doctor who had patched him up had been worried that putting him under anesthesia while working on him might just finish him off, so he'd been awake during the entire ordeal of having his abdomen stitched closed. Truly, he felt like a cadaver, with the borderline y-incision stitches the doctor had done on him. Sonic had made an mindless comment about how at least Starline had cut him open underneath his chest fluff, so that was mostly undamaged. The distasteful joke had made Shadow laugh, and his laugh had eased a little bit of the stress that had made itself home on Sonic's face, much to his relief.

The inhibitor ring adjustments were the worst parts of what Starline had done to him, in Shadow's opinion. He had used Gerald and Ivo's research notes to create the little add-ons, and they had screwed with his chaos energy enough that they had to be removed one at a time over a lengthy period of time, otherwise his body may go haywire and shut down at the sheer amount of energy that normally occupied it. Luckily, however, the collar was able to be removed right away. It's only purpose appeared to be to physically weaken Shadow, since a lack of chaos energy would only slow him down.

Meanwhile, Starline had been locked up in the deepest, darkest cell that GUN unofficially had. For once, when Shadow made an off-color joke about burying Starline alive, Sonic stayed silent, instead of his usual quip about how everyone should have the opportunity to be free. He'd simply squeezed Shadow's hand gently and stared off into space. Perhaps, just this once, Sonic had changed his mind about the possibility of redemption.

And that was what was slowly, truly driving Shadow insane. Sonic had become quiet since the whole ordeal. He stuck close by Shadow's side during his physiotherapy, offering quiet little comments of encouragement, and he would tell Shadow about his day and read to him while he was trapped in the hospital bed. However, gone were his boisterous declarations of adventure and sarcastic little remarks about the people he came across during his day to day activities. It was like the light in Sonic's soul had been snuffed out while Shadow had been detained.

One day, Shadow had simply had enough.

"I'm not dead, you know."

"…what?" Sonic stopped in his explanation of the latest project Tails was working on while the two of them sat in the GUN cafeteria after one of Shadow's physio appointments.

"I'm not dead. I didn't die. You're talking to me like you would speak to a grave."

Sonic blinked in surprise, sitting back and up at the table, quickly shaking his head. "No I'm not."

"You are. You're speaking to me the way I speak to Maria about my day. You're soft and somber, and it's driving me nuts." Shadow was never really one to mince words, especially not when speaking to Sonic.

"I…I'm sorry?" Sonic looked genuinely confused, his hands falling into his lap, "I didn't realize…"

"I know what you saw was a lot. And I am sorry that you had to see it at all. But it wasn't your fault, and I survived. I need you to be boisterous, and loud, and annoying. I need you to be you, Sonic. I need you to run amok through some top secret area of the base and bring me back a pen from Commander Tower's office, just because you know it will annoy him. I need you to bring a stack of comics into my room and leave them scattered everywhere because you're too excited to finish reading an issue before you move on to the next, while trying to explain the ridiculous plot to me. Please…I feel like Starline killed you when he was trying to kill me."

"Shadow," Sonic breathed, reaching across the table to gently take the hybrids hands into his. "I'm sorry. I just…When I saw you on that table, I really thought I was going to lose you. I guess I still feel like you could slip through my fingers if I hold on too tight."

"Once the last inhibitor is fixed, you can hold on as tight as you want," Shadow soothed, brushing his thumbs across the back of Sonic's hands, "Moderate pressure can currently be handled at this time."

Sonic snorted at Shadow's deadpan joke, a short peel of laughter escaping him as the hybrid offered him a short, lopsided smile.

"There you are."

Sonic sighed and brought one of Shadow's hands up to his lips to press a soft kiss to the back of it. "Well then…I hope you're prepared for me to go full koala once you're all better."

"I don't think I'd have it any other way."

[dailysonadowfanfics]

Reading every single Sonadow Fanfic (Ao3): 159/4.705

Title: My Way

Author: Cubricot

Website: Ao3

Published: 11.03.2018

Word Count: 119.113 words

Language: English

Suited for minors? Teen and up

Warnings: Violence

Smut? No

Finished? Yes

Characters: Sonic the Hedgehog, Shadow the Hedgehog, Amy Rose, Miles Tails Prower, Knuckles the Echidna, Rouge the Bat, Silver the Hedgehog, Gadget the Wolf

Ships: Sonic/Shadow

Author Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Implied/Referenced Torture, Humor, Mental Health Issues, Angst, maybe some background Espio/Silver, "We'll be fine", Slow Burn, No Classic Sonic? Game: Sonic Forces, POV Multiple, Unleashed-style tour of the planet fighting Eggman

Author Summary: Two months after Sonic fell to Infinite, the resistance rescues him from the Death Egg and brings him to their hideout aboard the space colony ARK. But Amy’s overworked, Knuckles thinks he shouldn’t be commander, Tails is losing sleep worrying, Shadow’s lost his immortality - and when Eggman discovers where the resistance is hiding only a desperate battle in space to blow up the Death Egg before the ARK’s shields fall can save them-

Oh yeah, and Sonic has to keep fighting Infinite, of course. No big deal, right? Right. Just facing his fears, just like how he’s not thinking about anything that happened on the Death Egg, and not thinking about his feelings for Shadow.

My summary: This takes place during forces. There is a war, Sonic is still dealing with the torture he went under, Shadow becomes mortal, and he and Sonic are growing closer during all this.

You can read it here

[rd-eternity]

Whumptober Day 23: “It’s gonna get me by the end of the night.” | Shadows | Stalking | “Who’s there?” ||| ALTs: Decoy | After failure

Words: 3.2k

Summary: A new pack comes to Beacon Hills when they hear Scott's out of town, and seem to think there's no way for them to win against a full pack of werewolves without an alpha. Especially when they convince a certain chimera to join their side, or so they think. Unfortunately for them, Theo always has a plan.

“You should’ve remembered the feeling of drowning before double crossing me.”  His knee drives into the chimera’s back, weight pushing into the claw marks.  He mewls.  “Pathetic,” Winters laughs.  “All you had to do was identify werewolves for us and leave.  Was that so hard?”   He drives his knee deeper, hand coming to the back of his neck to force his forehead into the ground.  Theo wriggles underneath the weight, every inch of his skin torn and burning from the alpha’s claw marks.  His own claws drag across the ground, shaking as they tear uselessly at the wood.  Pain wraps his entire body, his focus on holding onto his heartbeat and chemosignals, shoving what Winters wants at him, flooding the alpha’s senses. It works, given the low chuckle from the wolf on top of him.  “I thought you’re supposed to be some terrifying chimera of death, but even you can’t fight an alpha.” “If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t have walked through the front door,” he groans against the wood, clenching his fists, claws digging into his palm.  “I expected you to be better than this.” Claws drive further into him, the knee on his back forcing the breath from his chest as his wounds drag across the floor.  “I’m going to kill you, and no one will miss you.  You’re a false werewolf without a pack.”   “And you’re a sad excuse for an alpha,” he bites back.  “Because you saw none of this coming.  Because I do have a pack, and you don’t.  Not anymore.”

[dkniade]

Oh Doppelgänger… What Kind of Body Is This?!

Tags: Violence, Body Horror, Stabbing, Event: Shadows Amidst Snowstorms (Genshin Impact), Blood and Violence, Snow, snowstorm

Imagine… if in Shadows Amidst Snowstorms, the Fellflower transformed from “Albedo” to its proper form, BUT IN A BODY HORROR WAY instead of just groaning and getting enveloped by ice as it burrows… And from Fellflower’s POV instead of the Traveler’s POV.

GOD I’M FEELING SO BAD FOR A PLANT/HUMAN.

I couldn’t think of a poetic title so I went with this instead

[waywardtrek]

when i tell you that that level of observing your surroundings + weaving said surroundings into maladaptive daydreaming/intrusions/delusions + controlling and willing the narrative of your body into doing things based on fundamental abject fear is me to the fucking core, and that i have (actual, diagnosed) OCD and have always suspected glennis dennis presents many classic symptoms of OCD too, what then?

[nny11writes]

Nunny! I'm sending you asks for your game.

I'm tempted to send you the entire post and just see the Nunny Rant. You might not even do She-ra. I'm thinking of She-ra sending these but go off about star wars or something else if you think it applies better to the question :D

the character everyone gets wrong (ahahhahahaaaaaaaaa)

8. common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about (im sure there is a long list)

9 and 10 - Worst part of fanon and worst part of canon (imo there is some overlap)

13. worst blorboficiation

14. that one thing you see in fics all the time

25. common fandom complaint that you're sick of hearing

lakhglkajfas, I think my rant would mostly just be keyboard smashes and crying emojis so this is the better way to go lol!

the character everyone gets wrong God, like, fucking- ALL of them. :) Buuuuuut the one that's bugging me the most recently is Mermista.

I am SO sick of post canon Mermista in c/a fics specifically. Mermista would not hold a grudge that hard that long and that violently!!! Stop having her hate Catra and actively be out to do harm to her. Mermista's response to losing her kingdom was like a bad breakup where she just cried in a tub eating ice cream. Her response to seeing HORDAK at the end of the series was just a, "So are we good with him now?" implying that she's chill to be chill.

Mermista and Catra 100% would sit at a table calling one another a bitch (begrudgingly fond and pretend to not be) back and forth. Mermista would not be out to skin Catra alive! Mermista wants to talk to Catra about her murder novels because Perfuma reads too slowly and doesn't like spoilers but she NEEDS to talk to someone about the butler who has a brain cell because Sea Hawk seemed to miss the whole first half of the book AND FURTHER MORE-

9. and 10. - Worst part of fanon and worst part of canon

Worst part of fanon is the fucking shippers. This went from one of the more open and accepting fandoms for all ships that I'd ever been in to one of the worst.

Like, straight up, one of the fics that lives rent free in my head is an explicit fic where Catra and Hordak enthusiastically consent to having sex. Like Hordak is trying to be kinda standoffish but can't stop looking at boob window tits, he was Entrapta trained I'm afraid. The number of times I think of his awkward proposing they do it more frequently followed shortly by Catra dressing and winking saying, "Seriously, great cock!" is a lot lol. It's such a porn movie style fic and there is something fantastic to be said about it.

But you even hint that Catra could be headcanonned as anything besides a lesbian and your body will be found in a few months time in several different bags. Suggesting Catra and Hordak having any romantic or sexual relationship probably gets you reported to the fucking government or something. So there's a reason it's never made a rec list from me but fuck it I'm mentioning it now.

They aren't real. If I want to occasionally have a giggle about them and make my little dolls bump uglies everyone else should politely not look while my fellow weirdly sane people who get that this is all make believe but sure we're the freaks here come poke and enjoy!

Fucking shipping wars and discourse man. I'm sick of it.

Worst part of canon for me is the censorship and uncertainty that caused various issues with the plot and prevented the show from being even stronger. You can see it in real time while watching, but man it was wild in December 2018 to see how professional media talked about the show and Catra and Adora being adoptive sisters, to AJ (I think?) getting dumped on for repeating that idea and having to apologize, to the open gayness at the end. I love SPOP, but the rocky terrain the crew-ra had to navigate really did impact the quality and created weird gaps that asshole fans hunkered down into. Like, we cannot pry some of those fuckers out.

8. common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about

I need you to understand that my immediate response when I started writing this answer out was a very strained and painful sigh through my nose as my brain returned a static white noise sound.

I am really tired of forcing this jock!Adora and slacker!Catra thing. Like, it started in modern AUs but it's gone and infected people's idea of canon as well. It falls into a bit of the "dumb adora" trope, which people just don't seem to actually understand what that means or is about. It also falls into Shadow Weaver's narrative of who Catra is which is wild. Like. Really wild.

You are telling me Catra, a cat person who grew up in a military, is actively against exercise? Yes, she would 100% sleep in a sunbeam for a nap, and then she wakes up and craves some low key chaos and violence.

You are telling me Adora, forced into a golden child and leadership position, is bad at reading and math and science because all she cares about is training? Adora 100% enjoys physical fitness and using her body, but she's got a sharp mind on her and there's no way in hell she doesn't like to work it too.

I am just exhausted with it in modern AUs, and now it has gone to infect canon interpretations. It flattens their characters out, ignores/denies parts of their abuse, and nukes their abilities from orbit. I hate it so so much.

Also if I have to see one more fic or art piece where Catra is willingly and happily wearing dresses, skirts, and heels I swear to fucking god I will KILL. :)

13. worst blorboficiation

Again, this is all of them. Everyone suffers from being blorbo'd to an insane degree, but it just shifts depending on which character is the favorite of that part of the fandom. You have talked several times about the insanity of Catra fans vs. Hordak fans, the blorboification is insane there. Same with Catra fans vs. Glimmer fans.

Like. God damn. I'm so glad the Adora vs. Catra fan fights died out real quick because this fandom is exhausting enough.

With Catra being my favorite it's extra exhausting because there is CONSTANTLY people attacking her and then total asshats trying to defend her who I do not want to be associated with. I love her. She's a fucking idiot and a bastard and a baby. Somehow, every take on her is both the worst and factually correct and then the fandom fights.

Tipsy, I. Am. Tired.

14. that one thing you see in fics all the time

OKAY

Let's fucking talk about how GLIMMER IS NOT AN EVIL BITCH. Can we talk about that? STOP TRYING TO LEAVE THIS POST AND SIT YOUR ASS DOWN WE'RE TALKING ABOUT THIS AGAIN because someone needs to hear it louder in the back.

Glimmer is the character who is probably be done the dirtiest by the fandom but for wildly different reasons throughout the whole show. Hands down.

After S1 fandom took Glimmer and made her into an entitled dumbass whiner who threw money and her titles at her problems. They made her act like a child without any complexity. And it 100% took me from not really liking her character much to detesting her which is outrageous every time I remember that I kinda hated her at that point.

This did not improve post S2. :)

Post S3 probably was the most sympathetic and understanding the fandom was to Glimmer but it came at the cost of trying to bulldoze Catra for the Portal and people making callout posts like these characters were real people. I feel like the rise of some of the G/A shippers that I really can't stand was around this time. It was catra vs. glimmer fans going bat shit and drawing lines for ships.

If they couldn't assassinate Glimmer's character, by god the fandom would assassinate both Catra and Adora's in wildly different ways instead!

Do I need to talk about post S4? The idea of dark Glimmer and Glimmer going off the rails should have been a fun thing to play with in the sandbox and instead just writing it down made me cringe. Now Glimmer has to be an evil bitch because she had a trauma response and made bad decisions, now she is irredeemable because I made up a situation where she did something she didn't in canon for reasons so OOC someone probably slapped Donut Steel on it somewhere.

There was a little lift post series, but man people are holding onto Glimmer being a spoiled brat to play off of for Catra or a cruel bitch for Catra and, again, as a Catra fan, I want to bite bite kill kill bite kill kill kill!!!

Glimmer is allowed to grow up from being a spoiled kid who had good intentions and was naive. She is allowed to be over eager, bratty, petty, silly, funny, caring, and smart too. She's allowed to make bad choices and struggle with how to recover from it.

STOP MAKING ME THE LEAVE BRITTNEY ALONE MEME FOR GLIMMER

25. common fandom complaint that you're sick of hearing

Shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs-

[twistpixel]

In my mind there does exist a fanfic and it’s a one shot and it has no point beyond like, Bruce is a bad parent to Jason. I think there’s a desire to like force that out and make it clear cut and that leads to things like Bruce being overtly abusive in some fanfics. But I have 0 tolerance for fathers so he’s already overtly abusive enough in canon for me and this between the panels fanfic in my mind is just opening that up and showing it to the reader by making it so obvious it can’t be ignored (but not by Bruce because he can ignore anything).

[acourtofladydeath]

AZRIS WEEK IS FINALLY HERE!

I will be attempting to post a fic a day for @azrisweek! I’m incredibly excited about my piece for Day 1: prologues and prequels titled “The Soft Heart and The Shadow”. This fic includes graphic depictions of torture, please be advised. Eventual HEA.

Eris makes a deal with Beron to accept all the punishments for his brothers and mother in order to protect them. Azriel just so happens to be spying and witnesses this. Anytime Beron wishes to enact punishment, it becomes Eris’ to bear. What Beron doesn’t know is that Azriel is there in the shadows every time supporting Eris.

[spiltcandycoatedpunkblood]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Adventures of Tintin (2011) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Archibald Haddock & Tintin, Milou | Snowy & Tintin Characters: Tintin (Tintin), Archibald Haddock, Milou | Snowy, Original Male Character(s) Additional Tags: Stabbing, Car Accidents, Blood and Injury, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Panic, Anger, Cold, Cold Weather, Unconsciousness, Darkness, Revenge, Attempted Murder, Rescue, Delirium, Pain, Agony, Fear, Worry, Paralysis, Blood Loss, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Whumptober, Whumptober 2023, no.22, They never saw us coming ‘til they hit the floor., Glass Shard, Vehicular Accident, no.23, It’s gonna get me by the end of the night., Shadows - Freeform, Stalking, Father-Son Relationship Series: Part 12 of Tintin Whumptober 2023 Summary: "He felt it in the pit of his stomach and in the prickle on the back of his neck. A noise behind him got louder, another crunching sound of the road underneath tires, and faster, and he barely had time to leap out of the way as he spun around to see it, eyes wide with panic like a deer in the headlights.

He didn’t feel anything until the front bumper of the car slammed into his stomach, and he realised that the car had swerved to the point of going offroad. He narrowly avoided the fate of getting pinned to a tree, falling to the ground violently and his head hit the road beneath him. He’d only been able to let out a grunt of pain as the world spun back and forth in front of him, vaguely able to see the car lose control after hitting him at high speed, and crash into the aforementioned tree itself."

[mystery-star]

Whumptober 2023  - Day 23 | “Who’s there?”

Pairing: Ben Wade x reader (gender neutral)

Warnings: burglary, violence and injuries

Words: 1129

A/N: Day 23 for Whumptober, today’s prompts: Shadows | “Who’s there?”

-

You weren’t sure if it had been the sound that woke you or if it happened after you were awake. But you instantly knew that you didn’t like it and first considered to just stay in bed and try to hide. Once you saw shadows outside that seemed to be sneaking around your house, however, you simply had to get up, hating the fact that exactly that night Ben and his gang had to leave for a robbery. Or maybe whoever was out there knew they were gone and this was why they were here. You grabbed the gun on the nightstand and put on a dressing gown, rubbing your eyes a little as you cocked the weapon and slowly tiptoed out of the bedroom, trying not to make a sound. There was a creak you knew all too well; it was when someone stepped onto one of the floorboards of the kitchen. And that also made it obvious that someone was in the house. A part of you hoped it was just Ben who had returned and didn’t want to wake you up.

“Who’s there?” you called, hating that you were shaking a little. The fact that you got no reply made it even worse because that meant it wasn’t Ben. It made you freeze because you didn’t know what to do. Perhaps you could deal with the person but what if there were more than just one? Maybe it was better if you just left and got help from the sheriff even though Ben would not really like it. Then again, he could just stay away a couple hours longer until the coast was clear. You didn’t even really need to consider it much, you had made up your mind already and instead tried to get to the door. Just when you reached it and tried to open it, you heard steps right behind you and when you turned around all you saw was how your attacker swung a long item at you – what it was you didn’t see – and it collided with your head. With a groan you stumbled back against the door, trying to find the handle again despite the piercing pain in your head but then he hit you again and you fell down, your hand coming to the spot that hurt most on your head. You could already feel the blood and let out a moan of pain. Panic rose in you because you had dropped your gun too and that took basically everything you had for your defense and were completely at his mercy. But at least he seemed to notice that and instead of hitting you again, he roughly grabbed your arm, yanking you with him to the kitchen where he used the waist tie of your dressing gown to tie your hands to the metal bar next to the stove before continuing his work. Trying to calm yourself and the pain with some deep breaths you leant your head against the stove and hoped he would simply leave after he was done and not harm you further. Once he had emptied the kitchen of its valuables, not much of course, he approached you.

“Where are the valuables?”

“Bedroom” you muttered. “in the dresser. There should also be money” in a way you didn’t care if he just took it all; you wouldn’t miss the money and you could just replace what he took. At least he left and you glanced after him before you tried to free yourself and get out of here that he could not come back to kill you. Using your teeth to undo the knot hurt a lot due to the wounds on your head but slowly, you managed to undo them and your hands were free. Since the guy had taken your weapon, you grabbed a knife from the counter that you could defend yourself if the guy noticed you were leaving and tried to stop you. But just when you reached the door, you saw the handle moving and your heart skipped a beat. Without thinking you jumped behind it and slowly the door opened before you heard someone sneak inside. Oh great, the robber had brought backup. You held your breath in fear he would discover you but it was of no use because before you could even consider to lunge at him he turned to check behind the door and at this you just leaped forward with the knife raised high. To your surprise you even seemed to catch him somewhere near the shoulder but at the same time you were hurled away and you stumbled over your feet, knocking your head against the still open door so you let out another sound of pain.

“(Y/N), fuck” only when you felt a soft hand on your arm did you realize that the alleged intruder was actually Ben.

“Oh shit” you too groaned and dug your hand into his jacket, feeling glad that he was back “Guy’s in the bedroom” you just muttered. He gave a nod and handed you the knife you had attacked (and probably also hurt) him with.

“Stay here, I’ll take care of it” you only nodded and grabbed the knife tightly. Your husband quickly walked in the direction of the bedroom and it wasn’t before long that you heard a shot and then the sounds of a fight and after about half a minute a second shot. After that it was quiet and you too held your breath, not sure what had happened or who was dead. When you saw Ben coming towards you, a little more bruised than before but still very much alive, you let out a sigh and wanted to shoot up to hug him but felt too weak “It’s over, he’s dead”

“I figured as much” you muttered with a slight smile as he knelt down and carefully picked you up to move you to the kitchen. “Sorry for hurting you”

“Don’t. I’m glad you did and proved capable to do something. I might have just killed you if I didn’t know who you were, lingering behind that door.” A shiver ran down your back and you nodded.

“So you knew someone was inside?”

“Found a guy looking like he was standing guard. Silently got rid of him and then tried to sneak in”

“Well, you did sneak in” he chuckled and sat you down on a chair, starting to examine your head

“Didn’t calculate with being attacked right there”

“You turned around to me”

“Just for precaution to see if someone was there”

“So you did calculate with it”

“Well maybe I did. But better to be safe than sorry”

I do think we’re both sorry now”

“And yet we’re both safe now”

-

Taglist: @woman-with-no-name

[goatsandgangsters]

CHAPTER 7

Additional Tags: Amnesia, Memory Loss, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Enemies to Lovers, enemies to found family, grudgingly assimilating the villain into the found family, Moral Dilemmas, Moral Ambiguity, Philosophical Discussions, Narrative foils, Complicated Relationships, complicated feelings, Mistrust, Understanding, gets meta about the power of storytelling to shape perception of events, both within the fic itself and as commentary on the original books, pre-canon the Darkling | Aleksander Morozova, Ensemble Cast, POV Alina Starkov, POV The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova, no bashing of any character, Book 3: Ruin and Rising, show characters with book lore, Canon - Grishaverse (Book & TV Combination)

In a gaggle of limbs akimbo, Nikolai scurried over the fallen tree, and offered his hands to haul Alina over in turn.

She held onto his arms for dear life as her feet scrabbled and scraped against rough bark, frantic kicking and tugging to pull her over. “Not—how I pictured—seeing you again—” she panted, oak pressing into her ribs.

Nikolai grinned as she thumped gracelessly onto the other side. “You pictured seeing me?”

“Oh Saints.”

The Darkling was caught by the neck in the snare of the mercenary’s grip. He struggled and thrashed in the crook of the arm choked across his throat.

[dailysonadowfanfics]

Reading every single Sonadow Fanfic (Ao3): 264/4.773

Title: They Have Feelings, Y'know

Author: orphan_account

Website: Ao3

Published: 17.10.2018

Word Count: 19.616 words

Language: English

Suited for minors? No

Warnings: Violence, minor dub con (touching)

Smut? No (just one inappropriate touching scene)

Finished? Yes

Characters: Sonic the Hedgehog, Shadow the Hedgehog, Amy Rose, Knuckles the Echidna, Miles Tails Prower, Doctor Eggman, Sticks the Badger

Ships: Sonic/Shadow

Author Tags: Slow Burn, incessant and copious use of the fuck word, Enemies to Lovers

Author Summary: “He would make a great addition to Team Sonic.”

Sonic convinces Shadow to give friendship a chance. Things go wrong faster than anyone could have predicted.

My summary: Set in the Boom!Verse. Sonic tries to befriend Shadow, but it isn't that easy.

You can read it here

[lovebugism]

✶ ┄ HOLY GRAIL !

part one | part two

summary: in ancient rome, where survival is determined by the whims of a mad ruler, the empire's beloved general gives you – his first and only love – to the crazed emperor to ensure your safety. (6k)

pairing: marcus acacius / fem!reader, emperor geta / fem!reader

contents: established relationship, strangers to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort cw for mentions of war and violence, mentions of sex work, swearing, smut 18+ (dubcon, m receiving oral, unprotected sex, cuckholding, exhibitionism) (this is a pretty dark fic so pls heed the warnings!!!)

Marcus Acacius was the name on the lips of a thousand fallen empires. His ledger ran a deep scarlet color, which dripped like proof from his sword. The war had destroyed the General over the years — had turned the man into an empty thing filled only by untamable ghosts. The relentless battle had wrung his boyhood from his body like a slow, merciless death. Any remaining innocence has since been replaced with violence.

Rome made a legacy of his grotesque evils, turned him into a saint. Marcus Acacius did not want to be a saint. He did not want to be angry; he did not want to be cruel. He only wanted to love and to be left alone with his tenderness. His mouth filled with blood instead.

You loved him like all doomed, grotesque things are meant to be loved. In the dark. In the shadows of war. In the depths of the soul.

“This is me,” he confesses, the great General Acacius, returning to you like a ghost to its haunt. “This is who I am.”

His golden armor is sullied from a victorious battle, tainted now with blotches of soil and dried blood that’s not his own. His dirtied, unholy fists tremble at his sides as he fights the urge to cross the threshold of your quarters to meet you. Marcus knows he doesn’t deserve to be held by you now. Not when he still wreaks of death.

He can still feel the breath of a fist on his bruised cheek, but the way his sword felt plunging through the beating heart of an enemy soldier plagues him most of all. 

“Love turned on me long ago— It is not a burden I compel you to carry.”

So, please, do not love me, he doesn’t say. I only know how to destroy you.

You smile at him, eyes soft with sympathy, and cross the threshold of longing with an admirable effortlessness. You cradle his weathered, war-torn face in your palms, willingly staining your delicate hands with the blood stained there.

“I love you despite. So I imagine I’ll carry it anyway,” you coo to him, gentle eyes locked firmly with his heavy ones. “And I’m certain you love me in return, regardless of what you think the siege has made of you.”

“There is naught I can do about it,” Marcus admits, words heavy with choked-back emotion. He melts into your touch but continues to deny himself the want to hold you back. “Not while I still oversee this campaign. Not while there is a war to be won—”

“We love each other, don’t we?” you interject, pleading eyes searching for emotion behind his dark, stoic gaze. Marcus swallows hard. His scruffy chin scrapes your palm as he nods once in response. You grin and say the unforgiving truth out loud. “So fuck the war.”

You pull him down by his face to press a kiss to his unclean lips. Marcus rests his shaking hands over your waist and lets you build cathedrals in his mouth with your tongue. The blood in his teeth turns to holy water. 

Marcus long understood that bringing you to the city would be his last act of love.

Keeping you in the heart of Rome was the only way he could ensure your safety, with the surrounding towns still under merciless siege. The people there were docile, and loyal most of all to the General who had won them a thousand wars. They would not hurt you because it was not in their kind too, and because they feared General Acacius’ wrath as much as they respected his mercy.

This was known to everyone in Rome except its Emperors.

Geta and Caracalla ruled together following their father’s untimely demise but shared not a brain between them. They were boys, after all, the oldest being hardly two-and-twenty –– it was in their nature to talk more than they listened, and to pretend as if they knew the world despite never leaving the city walls. 

They were as cruel and as stupid as anyone who wished to rule an empire would be.

But the two of them relied heavily on their General to keep the restless public at ease. It made it easier for Marcus to bring you with him, knowing he had the trust of the most powerful men in Rome. He knew Geta kept meticulous care of his most precious gifts — all Marcus had to do was get you there, really, and the Emperors would do the rest for him. 

It was simple, but it was not easy; though he imagines no war ever has been or would be. Both of you had survived, yes, but neither of you had been spared. Bringing you here was a testament to that, which you seemingly could not comprehend. You were as soft and green as the countryside he plucked you from, too naive for politics.

Marcus tells himself that this was the merciful decision, anyway, as he gives you a tour of Caracalla’s labyrinthine gardens — the place farthest from the feasting hall where the noblemen dined. Hidden behind climbing leaves, free from prying eyes.

“I can’t imagine why you would be so apprehensive in bringing me here. It’s beautiful,” you marvel aloud as you walk ahead of the man guiding you. 

Your sandals pad faintly along the cobbled trail as you skim your palm over the bed of blooming roses. The petals feel like silk against your skin. You pluck one from the soil, careful to avoid its thorns, and hold it up to your nose. You turn to face Marcus with the crimson flower resting on your cupid’s bow.

“And it smells better, too,” you quip softly, tilting your head to your shoulder as you smirk behind the budding rose.

Marcus just barely manages to bite back his own grin until you reach out for him, tapping the delicate flower against the bridge of his strong nose. He exhales hard through his nostrils in place of a laugh.

Your giggling comes carried on the breath of a warm summer breeze — a symphony of salty ocean, dainty florals, and the pretty oils you’d bathed in. The wind billows through your thin, white gown and creates music with rustling leaves. You squint one eye when the setting sun peeks through the swishing tree limbs, bathing you in a golden-hour aura. 

You’re as beautiful as sin. Sweeter than death. Smiling at him like this is the beginning of something that died the moment you entered the city walls.

Marcus clears throat and gently guides your hand away. His cautious eyes flit around the vacant garden. He’s constantly looking over his shoulder, you find, despite being the strongest man in all of Rome. You feel safest at his side, so you don’t know why he always looks so frightened.

“I know you are drunk on youth and immortality, petal, but we cannot get ahead of ourselves,” he advises, all stiff and stern, though the term of endearment spills effortlessly from his mouth. “We’re in the city now. So we must play the part. Like we discussed.”

He speaks to you with an unintentional sort of vagueness that makes you bow your head like a scolded child. Your arm falls limp at your side. A scarlet petal slips from its stem and hits the unforgiving stone.

“I know,” you murmur with a poorly hidden frown that conveys otherwise. Your sheepish gaze flits from the ground to Marcus’ unwavering stare and to the ground again. “I just thought— whenever we were alone, that we might—”

“We aren’t alone. We must behave as though the city is full of eyes. Understand?”

“I can’t,” you confess, peering up at the General from beneath your lashes. 

Marcus’ chest stings, like the fiery sun blazing his newly-fashioned armor. “What do you mean you can’t?” he bites emotionlessly.

He looks like a corrupt sort of angel in this light, unnaturally handsome and hopelessly wartorn. He was as hard as the earth below your feet — a statue made of clay, iron, and marble — cold to the touch and melting only for you. 

His heavy eyes were so brown they looked almost black, and they shone with a perpetual sort of gloom. His gaze swam with the prophetic darkness of a man who’s seen too much, though you often felt like you could drown in its void. For a man so adept at killing, he looked at you with a remarkable softness.

It wasn’t as shallow as physical desire. It was something far more cruel. You wanted Marcus Acacius the same way flesh wanted to knit itself together over a healing wound. It was simply in your nature to love him. 

“I mean, it’s impossible,” you ramble with a concerned furrow to your brow. Your grip on the flower’s papery stem tightens until the bulb rattles with the force. “How am I to be here with you but not touch you? That’s like asking the seasons not to change— It’s unnatural, and it’s cruel—”

Marcus swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. His hands begin to ache with the urge to touch you. He balls them into fists instead.

“It’s the only way I know to keep you safe!” he confesses, words sounding heavy in his mouth. His eyes flit across the garden in a paranoid search of something that isn’t there. “Emperor Geta will take care of you. I know he will. And his brother is a half-wit, but he is kind when he wishes. He’ll take a liking to you, I’m sure of it—”

You interject his anxious rambling with a stubborn shake of your head.

“I can’t be someone else’s,” you murmur, voice as wet as the tears glittering in your wide-eyed gaze. “I don’t know how.”

“You will learn,” Marcus tells you with an emotionless stare. Not because he’s sure you will, but because he knows you have to. “For me.”

Your pretty features swirl with anguish. “Marcus…” you whisper his name in a feeble whimper caught in your throat.

He does not soften at your emotion like you’re used to. He’s practiced apathy for so long that it comes naturally to him now. He bites his tongue to keep from kissing you and lets the blood stain his teeth all over again.

“If not for your own sake, then for mine. The Emperors would have my head if they understood the pretenses I brought you under.”

You flinch at his words, perhaps finally understanding the weight of the unforgiving world in which you live. The surest example of such cruelty stands before you now, in the only man you ever loved now using your purest devotion as a means to keep you pliant. But your anger for the merciless arrangement is long eclipsed by your yearning.

“Then I will,” you tell him, rigid with a glacial disposition Marcus hasn’t seen before now.

The choices here were few. Either you were slaughtered outside the city walls by soldiers and pillagers, or you were slaughtered within them — in the metaphorical sense that burns physically in your chest now. 

Being without Marcus feels like a fate worse than death, but you want him so desperately to live. So much so that you’ll fall on the sword of your longing and bleed out at his feet. Knowing that you’re under the same sky would have to be enough for you. 

You can’t tell which it is — sacrifice or self-slaughter — but Marcus knows it isn’t as poetic as all that. 

Death is death.

Emperor Geta staggers drunkenly down the spiral stone steps of the west wing of his castle. The path to his chambers is illuminated by several dwindling torches hung along the brick walls. The subtle squeaking of his leather sandals sounds much louder in the quiet — filled only by crackling flames, a distant dripping noise, and the song he slurs under his breath. 

The latter ceases suddenly when he stumbles to a stop at the sight of General Acacius. The man stands like a statue outside his bedroom door — arms crossed behind his back, old spine perfectly straight — like the obedient guard dog he is. 

The thought makes the Emperor’s lips curl into a crooked smile. “What are you doing here, dog?” he calls to the General as he approaches him, voice echoing down the soulless corridor.

“Your nameday present, your majesty—” Marcus answers and tries not to make a face when the Emperor stands before him. The bittersweet scent of wine stains his breath, overwhelmingly so. Geta was never one to practice temperance. “—I was told to see that you got it.”

The younger man hesitates. “From my uncle?” he wonders aloud.

Marcus nods wordlessly in response.

Geta pauses for a moment. His wide, glassy eyes flit over the General’s shoulder to the arched doorway behind him. His stomach swirls at the thought of what may lie inside. The last nameday present his uncle sent from overseas was a monkey his younger brother has grown much too attached to.

“Well… What is it?”

Marcus swallows hard and steps aside. “Look inside, your majesty.”

Geta takes a deep breath in and swings the creaking door open. His bedroom is lush with crimson silk and golden candlelight, familiarly fragranced with cinnamon and sweet myrrh. It’s accompanied by something foreignly floral, a feminine rosy-lavender that catches his attention before his eyes ever find you.

He steps through the threshold and finds a strange girl standing by the window, before a platter of fruit and wine — bathed half in the silver beams of a full moon, and half in flickering orange flames. 

White silk adorns your frame, so delicate it’s nearly see-through. One of your shoulders is mouthwateringly bare, and there’s a slit in the fabric that rises to your hip. You look as pure as a dove, though you’re so obviously built for sin.

The ground sways beneath Geta’s unsteady feet.

You crunch audibly into an apple before you realize anyone’s there. The juice runs down your chin before you swipe it away with the back of your hand. Only then do your eyes lock with the Emperor’s, who seems equally stunned to see you there. You tense and say nothing as you hide the bitten fruit behind your back.

“It’s a woman,” Geta observes to no one in particular, though his dark eyes have not yet wavered from yours.

Marcus stands behind him and nods — hands still clasped behind his back, heart still pounding against his ribcage. “Yes, your majesty. In plain terms.”

“Well,” the Emperor glances over his shoulder. “What does she do?”

“Whatever you want,” the General answers, though the words taste like vinegar on his tongue. He swallows the bitterness down like bile and leers at you, looking upon his lover as though she were a stranger. “You need only ask.”

Geta, satisfied by his answer, turns back to you. His initial surprise has ebbed into something more pleased, diabolically so. His pink lips curl into a sneer as he walks slowly towards you, eyeing you up and down with curious eyes — a predator stalking its prey.

“Is that true?” he asks you, voice ringing through the quiet room. “Or is he confusing you for a dutiful hound?”

“A dutiful whore, your majesty,” you correct with an acquiescent smile, following the story as Marcus intended. 

The half-truth comes easily to you. Not a lie exactly, but not the whole tale either. You’d spent many of your years working in a brothel on the outskirts of Rome. You were a young woman, unmarried, without family or viable prospects — whoring seemed the most obvious decision then, though it feels so long ago now. 

You’d waited your whole life for something, for Marcus, though you hadn’t expected it to kill you when you found it. You won’t die a saint if the crazed Emperor decides to take your head, but perhaps you could be a martyr. Perhaps that’ll be enough.

Fear beats through your body like a second heart, but your eyes never waver from the Emperor’s. It’s easiest to meet his gaze. He feels more like a human that way. 

There are flecks of gold in his dark eyes, and dark strands in his gold hair. He’s got stubble on his long neck, spots on his broad nose, and wrinkles on his forehead. Not quite as perfect as the pristine white-gold armor would let on.

His eyes flit down your form once more. Something sparks in the deep brown of them, a flicker of silent realization. He spins suddenly on the heel of his sandal to flash Marcus an accusatory glare.

“Is she your whore, General?” he lilts into the heavy silence. His brows raise when he receives no answer from the man across the room. “The question was not rhetorical, Acacius.”

“No, your majesty. She is not mine,” Marcus answers, then clears his throat when the words get stuck there. It’s like he’s plunging a knife through his own heart. He can feel the cold sting of the sharpened blade and the burn of the blood on his skin. “Though, I don’t believe whores belong to anyone.”

A boyish chuckle spills from the Emperor’s mouth. “No. They don’t,” he says with an airy giddiness. “Not before now, anyway—”

Geta spins back again, pleated skirt fanning around his pale thighs. His smile fades with an eerie swiftness. “What are you waiting for? Undress,” he commands with a wave of his ringed hand.

Your wide eyes flit instinctively past him to Marcus, who still idles in the doorway. Only then does he realize how long he’s been staring at you. He forces himself to glance off in another direction, but his gaze keeps finding yours — like a magnet, or a planet with its own gravitational pull.

Your eyes lock, and the only thing you hear is each other, though neither of you has spoken a word. This is the only way, you hear his voice in your head as clearly as your own. This is the only way to stay together. The only way to survive.

Geta mistakes your fear.

“Don’t worry about him, little dove,” he coos, and taps the bottom of your chin with his fingers — as soft and petaled as your own. He smiles when your attention turns to him again, speaking loud enough for the General to hear. “He’s only the guard dog. And good boys get scraps, don’t they, Acacius?”

Marcus’ face screws like he’s tasted something sour. He’s grateful the Emperor isn’t looking at him to see it. “They do, your majesty,” he monotones.

“So you will watch. And report to my uncle how his lovely present fared,” he calls to the older man, though his eyes remain locked with yours. You tense when his pale hand reaches suddenly for your face. He holds your cheeks in his fingers until your lips jut in a soft pout. “Let’s hope I don’t have to send him back your head, little dove.”

He says it with an absentminded effortlessness, as though it’s something he’s done before. 

Still, you manage a small smile and blink up at him with innocent eyes. “What good is a dead whore, your majesty?” you quip.

Geta’s grin widens.  “Precisely. Now undress.”

You reach for the singular sleeve of your slip with trembling fingers. Your right hand sweeps across your left shoulder, skin blazing with fear and anticipation. The fabric trails down down down your arm before falling to your feet in a puddle of milky white silk. Your bare body glows silver and gold between moonlight and flame. 

Goosebumps pebble over your skin despite the humid summer night as Geta circles you like prey. His eyes trail slowly down your form in time with his rhythmic steps. The sound of his sandals scrapping the stone floor, crackling candlelight, and subdued breathing are the only sounds in the quiet room for several long moments.

The Emperor disappears behind you, and you forget how to breathe. Your wide, wet eyes find Marcus once more — pleading, though for what, you cannot say. His face reveals nothing but wrath burns in his gaze.

Geta reappears at your right side. You smell grape wine on his breath when he nears you, breathing heavily through his mouth as he reaches out to touch you. His ringed hands smooth over your collarbone. Your breath catches in your throat. He smiles as though your fright pleases him.

“You’re skittish for a whore,” he muses, playful in a way that makes your stomach wrench. “Are you sure the General didn’t bring me a virgin?”

You swallow hard as his hand trails down your body. Over the swell of your breast, skimming his thumb over your taut nipple, before tracing the expanse of your ribs. His fingers run down your stomach and past the thatch of hair between your legs. They dip finally between your thighs. 

Geta hums a faint moan at the velvet feeling of your pussy. The way your lips part for his fingers, silky skin warm and wet to the touch. 

“I’m whatever you want me to be, your majesty,” you answer, breathing hard through your nose when he pulls his hand away — a warmth you find yourself begrudgingly grieving.

“I need only ask…” the Emperor coos, running his middle and pointer finger over your bottom lip. They shine with the honey you leak despite yourself. Your mouth parts, and he rests the pads of them on your tongue. “…Do I not?”

You nod wordlessly through the salty fingers in your mouth, trying to imagine their Marcus’.

Geta smiles when he parts from you. “Undress me,” he demands. 

You work at his tricky armor with nervous hands and bated breath. 

You unclasp his cape first. The white fabric, now free from its chain, falls heavily to the floor behind him. Your fingers have gone noticeably clammy as they struggle with the sleeves of his tunic. It takes you a beat too long to loosen the laces at his shoulders. The cloth falls finally and puddles around his feet, leaving his lean body on display before you.

His torso is lean and mostly hairless, save for splotches of chestnut on his sternum and stomach. His skin is smooth and flushed from the alcohol. His stomach is slim but noticeably full. The Emperor is well-taken care of, though his subjects outside the keep suffer from the consequences of war.

Your trembling fingers curl around the hem of his loincloth. His pale skin is warm to the touch, boiling with desire while you freeze over with fear. You crouch before him as you drag the garment down his scruffy thighs. You hear Geta sigh above you when his half-hard cock meets the cool summer night air. 

He’s paler there compared to the rest of his golden body, though the mushroom tip glows a faint strawberry-red color. A vein trails in jagged lines to the base of his heavy cock, fading as it reaches the thatch of dark blonde hair at his pubic bone. He’s not nearly as thick as Marcus, though not many people could hope to be — but he is long and thin and soft like velvet.

“How do I look?” Geta wonders as he steps out of his loincloth. He tilts his chin to his chest to peer down at you, on your knees to untie the intricate laces of his sandals. You blink up at him with wide, uncertain eyes. “Without my armor,” he adds, then repeats. “How do I look?”

You realize, then, that he wants your praise. Though you’re unsure why, you’re not in any position to deny him of it. “You’re a— a very handsome man, your majesty,” you respond cautiously, with a wavering smile.

You hear his breath catch at the compliment. The corner of his mouth flickers upward, and his nostril flares as he takes a deep breath in. 

“Well, go on, then,” he insists suddenly, nodding his head to egg you onward. “Good whores don’t keep their masters waiting, do they? You don’t want to see me impatient, little dove.”

You wrap his stiff cock in a tentative fist, averting your gaze as you give an experimental kitten lick to the bulbous, strawberry tip. Your tongue swipes away the pearlescent pre-cum beading there. The salty tang is foreign on your tongue, sweeter and thicker than you’re used to.

You imagine your lover when you take the Emperor’s cock in your mouth. A practiced form of dissociation that comes naturally to you now. 

You focus on the way the stone floor digs into your knees as you cup his balls in your hand — a desperate attempt to finish him quickly. Geta shudders when you swallow him whole, burying your nose in the coarse thatch of hair at the base of his cock. His head tips back as he groans at the ceiling.

“You are a proper whore…” the Emperor moans with a delirious smile. He tilts his flushed cheek to his freckled shoulder to sneer at Marcus, then frowns when his eyes meet the back of him. “Are you distracted, General?”

The man keeps his back turned and his eyes trained on the wall, counting the bricks there to distract his racing mind. His mouth snarls at the Emperor’s words. His hands ball into fists as he fights to keep his composure.

“Just giving you your privacy, your majesty.”

“Nonsense!” Geta laughs, loud. “You should watch! You should observe— so you know what to tell my uncle.”

Marcus can hear the mischievous lilt in the younger boy’s voice. Like it’s all just a game to him. Like you’re just a whore to be played with, and like Marcus’ only hope of companionship is warfare. Both might’ve been true once, but not since you find each other.

The general smacks his lips against his teeth. “As you wish,” he deadpans and spins on the heel of his sandal.

He’s strangely grateful to find the Emperor’s body obscuring your own. Geta’s lean, pale form towers over your kneeling one — back muscles flexing, hips thrusting, fingers knitting in your hair.

But Marcus can still hear the sounds of your mouth on the other man’s cock. The room fills with heavy breathing, wet noises, and the Emperor’s unabashed whines. Embers of envy burn in the General’s empty chest. A wildfire of want and wrath rages behind his ribcage.

You swallow with Geta’s cock in your throat and squeeze softly at his balls. You hear his breath hitch just before a lengthy moan spills from his parted mouth. Several loads of salty cum spit down your throat a second later. The man shows you little mercy as he holds you by your hair, keeping your nose pressed to his pubic bone. You take shallow breaths through your nose and try not to choke.

You pull off of him when he lets you go. A string of saliva threatens to keep you connected. You take a deep breath in and swipe at your swollen mouth with the back of your hand, staying on your knees while the Emperor tilts his head back. He exhales a breathy laugh of relief at the ceiling. You peer up at him with wide, wet eyes, still so uncertain of your fate.

“Proper whore, indeed,” Geta muses, almost to himself, as he drops his heavy head once more. 

His flushed chest sparkles with a foreign feeling at the sight of you beneath him — eyes teary and fearful, lips swollen and rosy, features flushed with sweat and sex. His cock jerks, still sensitive but threatening to harden again. He grips himself with a loose fist.

“On the bed,” he instructs suddenly, then grins madly at your shock. “You didn’t think I was done with you, surely. Not until I mount you like a mare, anyway— Treat you like the bitch in heat you are…”

Geta cups your warm cheek in his free hand. His touch is strangely gentle as he cradles you there, right before he smacks gently at your jaw to urge you upward. 

Your bare feet pad towards the bed, then. Geta swats your ass as you go and laughs when you squeak in response. You fight the urge to look at Marcus, lest you see the rage burning in his eyes — lest he see the heartbreak swimming in yours. 

Marcus watches you crawl over the silken sheets, both of you sporting similar far-off gazes. He feels a bit like a ghost now. An empty, invisible thing, doomed to watch the rest of the world go on without ever being able to live in it. It’s dreadfully symbolic of how he’s lived most of his life, and how he’s spent the years loving you. Because even if a ghost is full of love, the only thing it knows to do is haunt.

The silk pillow feels cool under your burning cheek. The mattress dips under the Emperor’s weight when he kneels behind you. His ringed fingers smooth over your ass and down the arch of your back. He treats you with an uncharacteristic sort of tenderness, as though he were molding you out of clay.

“You are a pretty thing, aren’t you?” he whispers under his breath. “And timid, too… I like that…” 

Your pussy clenches at his words despite yourself. Geta’s chest swells with pride accordingly. “You don’t have to be scared, little dove. I’m going to take such good care of you.”

Despite his words, he does not bother to ready you for his cock when he positions himself at your pulsing entrance. You hadn’t expected him to, of course — not many men were as kind as Marcus in that way, who often treated your pleasure as if it were his own. But the slick sticking to your thighs has made your pussy more than pliant. Your velvet walls swallow Geta’s cock with a pulsing vigor.

The Emperor groans as he fucks into you, savoring every inch as he buries himself to the hilt. His ringed fingers dig into the plush of your waist, as though you were a toy he didn’t want getting snatched away.

“Look at the hound!” Geta giggles boyishly to himself. “He’s itching for a feel of you— I just know it.”

Marcus remains as still and stoic as the battalion trained him to be. He reveals nothing on his face, though his skin prickles with flames of envy beneath his armor. 

Marcus Acacius was not a jealous man. His love for you was a testament to that. He visited the brothel you boarded in and spared the same coins as every man in the establishment did. But it was different now. Because the Emperor does not deserve you, and he forces Marcus to watch as if he knows it, too.

Something within him seethes, like a feral animal trapped behind his ribcage, desperately clawing its way out.

“Look at him,” Geta snaps when he sees you staring at the wall, eyes glassy and glazed over. He’s grinning all over again when your gaze snaps to Marcus’. 

The soldier’s weathered eyes burn with tears then. General Acacius has faced death a thousand times over, but it wasn’t quite as heartwrenching as this. His wrath simmers to a boil. He swallows it down like fire.

This is her salvation, he tells himself. This is how she survives.

Your features twist with the anguish of being seen as the Emperor lays himself over your back. His slick chest sits flush with your spine, pinning you to the mattress. “I bet he can taste you now. Smell you,” he murmurs in your ear, chapped mouth brushing the shell of it. “His mouth is salivating at the thought of putting his tongue on you— Isn’t it, dog?”

Marcus swallows through the emotion threatening to strangle him. He blinks away stinging tears and feigns an air of nonchalance. “It would be… impolite to talk so brashly about something that doesn’t belong to me, your majesty,” the General responds. Obedient. Loyal like a hound.

Geta grins wide. “Good answer, Acacius.”

When the Emperor finally fucks into you, it’s with a sloppy sort of precision. There is no rhythm or care to his thrusts. He is led only by his blinding pleasure, like a man who has only ever fucked playthings and his own fist. He props himself on one forearm and curls the other beneath you, holding your breast in his ringed hand.

Geta’s flushed cheek presses against your own while he slides in and out and into you again. You hear his groaning as you feel it rumbling in his chest, still laid against your back. You stare at a framed portrait on the wall across the room and wait for it to be over, even as your body refuses to dismiss its simmering orgasm.

Your swollen clit ruts against the silk sheets with each of the Emperor’s sloppy thrusts. You can feel a wet spot forming beneath you, and your stomach twists at the thought of seeing proof of your own pleasure. 

His balls smack your leaking cunt, creating a symphony of lewd noises — moaning, whimpering, clapping, smacking. Marcus thinks the sounds of war were more merciful than this.

“Do you understand what that means, little dove?” Geta croons into your ear, words choppy through his labored breaths and irregular thrusts. “You belong— to me now… So whatever you used to be— whoever’s you used to be— no longer matters.”

He thrusts once, hard, and shudders above you with a choked-back groan. You grit your teeth to swallow down your own noises of pleasure. The assault on your clit, though unintentional, is still yet relentless. You feel the distant white-hot burning feeling begin to swell in the pit of your stomach. A coil about to snap.

“Fucking me— Making me feel good—” the Emperor pants, punctuated by his hips against your ass. “—Is your only duty now. Understand?”

You nod, cheek running over the silk cushion as you grip it in your fists. “Yes, your majesty,” you gasp.

Geta presses his smile to the apple of your cheek. He can feel you leaking around him. You’re enjoying this just as much as he is, to be sure. A proper whore, indeed.

“Now… Take my spend like a good bitch, and thank me for it—”

He fucks you harder, and your face twists with a pleasure you’re too weak to fight away. 

Your gaze falls instinctively to Marcus as your orgasm threatens to swallow you whole. Your eyes squeeze shut in a feeble attempt to hide. Your mouth parts with a silent moan as you cum around the Emperor’s cock.

“Thank you, your majesty,” you whimper obediently into the pillow as you tremble beneath him. “Thank you.”

Geta buries a whine in your neck when he cums again. He gives you only two pitiful, warm loads but still possesses more stamina than your Marcus. He stills, then shudders, then rests his unforgiving bodyweight on top of you when pleasure makes a puddle of him. And of you, you assume, as a mixture of your spend leaks out of your cunt and onto the sheets.

“Write to my uncle, Acacius—” Geta slurs into your skin, heavy through labored pants. “—A thank you for my nameday present.”

Marcus forgets, until then, that he can still be seen. He felt more akin to a corpse hidden in the walls, forced to spend his afterlife in a merciless purgatory. His heart has stopped beating, frozen over, and now sits dead in his chest. He will never be as gentle as he was with you. He will be bloodied knuckles and pulsing wounds. Rough and cruel and angry.

“Yes, your majesty,” the General nods, thankful that it’s over now.

Geta rolls off of your body and onto the empty spot beside you — not shy about his nude form or yours. The sudden lack of warmth makes you shiver. 

“And tell him to send another— To keep the General’s bed warm, too,” he says, patting your ass with his palm before smoothing tenderly over the skin. “One whore’s as good as any other, I’m sure.”

Marcus flinches at the thought of being with anyone other than you. He couldn’t hide the look of disgust if he tried. It makes the Emperor laugh loudly in response.

“Oh, did you— Did you want to try this one?” Geta muses knowingly, pointing to your limp body, still trembling beside him with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“No. No, no, no— See, this one’s mine,” he corrects the General as if he were a child. “And it would be impolite to touch something that belongs to me, would it not? It would be treasonous, even.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Marcus nods, lip flickering in a mere hint of a smirk as his plan finally comes to fruition. “It would be.”

The Emperor sees you now as his property, and no one hurts what belongs to him without meeting a certain death. Marcus is comforted only by the thought that nothing can touch you now. Not even him. But perhaps that’s the price he pays for love. Perhaps, in the end, love is grief.

“So best tread lightly, Acacius,” Geta warns with a crooked smile, petting you like a dog. “I’d hate for someone to get hurt.”

[justonemorewallflower]

Whumptober fic!!

Here’s the first Whumptober fic I wrote for prompt #23:

“It’s gonna get me by the end of the night.” Shadows | Stalking | “Who’s There?”

I’m posting a few days late but oh well better late than never!

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 39: Life

Summary: Something begins to throb in your chest as you lay there. Something thrums deep within you, something you haven’t felt in weeks.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 8,194 words

Warnings: Angst, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, angst, PTSD, nightmares, POV changes, depression and anxiety, illness, language, slightly graphic imagery, very slight violence, rumination, lots of feels, and yes finally some comfort

A/N: Yes, it has finally arrived. The time has come. We are now in the comfort. This very much is a good place to end things for the next month. If you haven't seen my post then I'll say it here, I will be putting the fic on a brief hiatus for the month of October. I have Kyletober planned and trying to do CRCB at the same time will be too much. So this will be the last chapter for a couple weeks while I focus on other things and just give my brain a little break from CRCB. It's been eight months of just pumping out long chapters every week, or almost every week, so I need a little break to focus on other things. I'll still be writing and posting things here (and Ao3 of course) but there won't be another CRCB chapter posted until November.

But anyway, I hope you enjoy this one and the comfort starting and I'm super excited for what's coming next month (can't believe it's almost October)

11/30/24: **This chapter has been edited and rewritten from its original version**

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

“I need you to be brave.” Christine says, staring up at him. 

His heart thumps in his chest. How bad is it that not only did she summon him down here, but she’s asking him to be brave. He knows you’re sick, that you’ve fallen ill after your moment of anger earlier. She had informed them over dinner as she made some broth that you came down with a fever. 

They had all been worried, sharing glances at the news. John looked like a dog that had been scolded. It was his fault, after all. 

If anything happens to you, it is his fault. 

Johnny swallows the lump in his throat, nodding slowly as he stares down at Christine. “I can be brave.” 

Christine stares up at him for a long moment before nodding. She pushes the door open, leading him inside your room. The scent in the air is thick, tainted by the bitter scent of anxiety still lingering in the air, and the sour scent of illness. He misses the fresh scent of strawberries, he has missed it over the last few weeks. Your scent had taken on a bitter edge ever since the cameras were revealed to them. It’s only gotten stronger recently after the events that transpired. 

All of their scents have been off lately. 

It’s dark in the room aside from the bedside lamp. It casts a soft glow around the room, elongating the shadows in the corners. They loom threateningly, and his fingers twitch to turn on the overhead light. 

You don’t like the overhead light. It’s too bright. 

You always prefer softer light. Is it an omega thing, or is it just a you thing? He’s not quite sure. 

How little they really understand you. 

The lamp illuminates a pile of blankets on the bed, stacked one on top of each other to create a lump of soft fabric. You’re underneath that pile, he knows it. You’ve always liked blankets, always carried one with you in the barracks, eternally cold in the harsh world they existed in on base. This many blankets though? It was excessive even for you. 

He approaches the bed slowly, scared at what he might find. Images of you laying in a puddle of blood, cold and stiff fills his mind. Images of a skeletal figure reduced to nothing but skin stretched over bones has his heart racing. What will he find on the other side of that pile obscuring you from his vision? 

He swallows down his fear, reminding himself that he’s a soldier. He’s seen dead bodies before, he’s killed before. So why is he so scared now? 

This isn’t war. It’s you. 

He steps up to the side of the bed, looking down on you. You’re shivering, trembling under the blankets. Sweat beads on your forehead, skin dewy and clammy in your fever. You look more alive than the skeletal figure he had pictured in his mind, but you don’t look well. 

You look near death. 

“I’m worried about her.” Christine says, closing the door behind her. “She needs someone from her pack close. You’re making the most effort right now, and if anyone might get through to her, it’s you. She needs...someone.” Christine sighs. “Someone who can offer what I can’t.”  

“She needs a member of her pack.” Johnny says, easily putting together what Christine was saying. 

He knows what she’s asking. He’s scared. He’s not sure how you’ll react. The last people you want to see right now is your pack, including him. How will you react to having him so close? 

“Exactly.” Christine says, stepping up right next to him.

Her fingers wrap around his wrist, and he lets her guide his hand to your cheek. It’s hot and clammy against his palm, a fire blazing under your skin. You let out a shuddering breath, the air fanning weakly against his wrist. Your head turns just slightly, pressing into his hand. It’s a good sign, despite the delirium you have to be stuck in. What are you imagining is happening right now? What is your brain telling you? 

“Touch her, talk to her.” Christine says, releasing his wrist. He keeps his hand there, pressed against your cheek. “We need to try and get her back before this gets worse.” 

Before they lose you. 

She won’t say it out loud. 

She doesn’t need to. 

Johnny nods, turning his head to look at Christine over his shoulder. She looks exhausted, and not just because of the late hour. She’s done so much over the past few weeks watching you and caring for you. Maybe it is time one of them tries to step up and help her. You can’t avoid them forever, no matter how much you might feel like trying. 

He has to try. For you. 

“I know what tae do.” He says, his eyes flickering to the books stacked on your dresser, the ones Simon and John picked up. 

Christine squeezes his arm. “I’m just across the living room if you need me.” 

“I’ll try not to.” He says. 

She stares up at him for a long moment before nodding. She understands. He doesn’t have to say much else. She leaves the door cracked and he doesn’t mind, moving away from you to look through the books on the dresser. A handful of them are new, or at least ones he’s never seen you read before. A couple are ones he knows are in your collection at the barracks. He picks one of those, some fantasy novel he’s seen you read more than once. 

He looks between the bed and the chairs. He could pull one over and sit by your side. 

No, Christine said it was better to touch you. 

Instead he climbs onto the bed, sitting close enough he can feel the heat from your body. He cracks open the book, flipping through to the first page. He clears his throat, staring down at you for a moment before he begins to read. 

Rain batters the roof, coming down hard outside. The wind is blowing, whooshing past the house, rattling the shutters. The storm blew in from the sea, dumping rain by dinner and then the wind picked up by the time they were all getting ready to settle in for the night. 

It feels fitting, a storm blowing in at a time when a storm is brewing within their pack.

The storm he blew into their pack. 

He lays there in bed, listening to it rage outside. It’s quiet in the house, Simon and Johnny already settled in, and so are you downstairs. Kyle is beside him, but not asleep. He’s laying awake again as they have done since their arrival. He can feel the heat of Kyle’s body against his arm as he lays on his back, Kyle on his side facing away from him. 

“You just had to do it, didn’t you?” Kyle asks quietly, breaking the silence. “Can’t even go a week without trying to apologize knowing full well she won’t forgive you.” 

John stays silent, having expected some kind of reprimanding for his actions. He really was selfish for what he did. Kyle is right. You won’t forgive him, no matter how many times or ways he tries to say sorry. 

“You’re just making it worse.” Kyle huffs out. “You’re the last person that should try apologizing right now.”

“You’re right.” He finally says. “It was selfish of me to do that. I just wanted her to know-” 

“She knows.” Kyle snaps, cutting him off. “She’s not stupid and oblivious. She knows we’re all feeling guilty, she knows how sorry we all are. She won’t let us apologize until she’s ready. Shows just how little you actually understand her, trying to do that.” Kyle pushes himself up to sit. “She doesn’t want words. She’s had words spewed at her, her whole life telling her what to do, how to feel, how to act. She wants actions. She wants us to prove to her that we do care, that we are sorry, that we’re making an effort to make things up to her. She wants us to prove that we’re putting her first by putting her first.” 

John knows he’s right. Words won’t solve a situation like this. None of them know where to start, though. How do you try and make things up to someone when you’re not even sure that person wants you to try? 

“She’s sick now, because of what you did.” Kyle continues. “If anything happens to her...” He trails off, shaking his head. 

“I’ll let you take the first shot.” John says. “I know. I’ve been a miserable excuse of an alpha. It’s easy when you have the confines of the military to hold everything in place. When those expectations dictate your life and how to run a pack. It’s easy, when you can exist as a pack with those set routines and structures. The facade that makes everything seem like it's working.” He shakes his head. “We never would have worked outside of those confines.” 

Kyle’s head turns slightly towards him, but his gaze is still on the far wall. “No, we wouldn’t have. None of us would have chosen this in the first place.” 

“Probably not.” John agrees. “Then we got an omega added, an outsider that showed us just how weak we really were.” 

“We were crumbling long before that.” Kyle says. “We weren’t ready for an omega, we shouldn’t have ever had an omega.” 

“I should never have been head alpha.” John says. “Being an alpha is different from being a captain. It shouldn’t have been me.” 

Kyle snorts. “He would have never agreed.” 

“That delay might have saved us.” 

“Or it would have made things worse.” Kyle says. “Shepherd wanted us to bond with her right away so his control over us would strengthen if he had to use that power. If those bonds weren’t put into place when they were, they might have tried to force it.” 

“That would have only destabilized things further.” John says. Kyle isn’t wrong. Who knows what lengths they would have gone to, to ensure what they wanted would happen. “They were watching us from the start. They knew exactly how to play all of us.” 

“Simon was right all along in his suspicions.” Kyle says, laying back down on the bed. Their shoulders are touching. It feels nice, having him close again. They’ve been close for the last few days, forced together by their sleeping arrangements, but it feels different now. 

“He’ll be a better alpha than I ever could be.” John says quietly, almost speaking to himself. 

“I think she will come to forgive you eventually.” Kyle says, turning his head to look at John. “You just have to give her time. A lot of time. You have to figure out how to prove yourself worthy of that forgiveness.” 

“I want to take her to the beach.” John says. “Once she’s recovered.” 

“If she recovers.” Kyle had pieced together the worry in Christine’s voice combined with her words. They all had. 

“She will.” John says, sliding his hand across the sheets. “She’s a tough little thing. She’s not going to give up just like that.” 

“I hope you’re right.” Kyle says. He doesn’t pull away as John’s fingers brush his hand. 

“I may not have the best track record with being right currently, but I’m confident in her and her strength.” John turns his head to look at Kyle in the darkness. The storm is calming outside, the wind dying down and the rain lightening. “She’s stronger than all of us combined.” 

The corners of Kyle’s lips twitch. “You are right about that.” 

It smells good. 

There’s a rich scent in the air as you begin to wake. It smells like Christmas, like spices and citrus. Warm gingerbread and cider. Freshly squeezed orange juice on Christmas morning just like every year. It had been your favorite, though you never understood the lengths your mother went to, the early morning and the hours spent in the kitchen on Christmas slaving away to make everything perfect. Everyone got something they wanted, something they loved. You never appreciated that effort until now. 

Oranges. Spices. Warmth. 

You know that scent. 

It’s hot in the room, sweat soaking your skin as you lay on your right side. Heat surrounds you like a cocoon, just like the scent. Warm and soft and too much. You try to wiggle out from under the blankets but you can’t move, so instead you shuffle them off. Some of them hit the floor with soft plops, the others just barely hanging on the side of the bed, trapped under your body. You’re still stuck, still hot as you lay there, a comforting weight around you. The scent floods your nose, fills your body with a pleasant feeling as you lay there, breathing through your nose. Oranges, spices, warmth. 

Someone is baking a pie.

It smells good. You want to bury yourself in it, press yourself into that scent until it’s the only thing you can smell. It brings you a comfort you didn’t realize you were missing. Something fills your chest, a weight beginning to press down inside of you.

Your hair sticks to your face as you lay there, tempted to get up and see who is baking and why. There’s weight pressing down on you from the outside as well. You can’t move. You’re stuck. 

The weight around you moves. 

No, it’s not pie. 

It’s Johnny. 

That’s why you know the scent. That’s why it feels so familiar, so comforting. It’s Johnny. Johnny is pressed up against your back, his arm tossed over your waist. That’s why it’s so hot, his body putting off warmth like a heater. 

You should be angry at the breach of your clearly placed barriers. You should be upset that he would come in here and just climb in bed like this. You should be pissed that one of them would try something like this after your outburst yesterday. 

You shouldn’t be crying. 

Not out of relief. 

Oh how you missed this. 

Something begins to throb in your chest as you lay there, crying quietly in Johnny’s arms. Something begins to thrum deep within you, something you haven’t felt in weeks. Life? Hope? Happiness? 

You should be upset. 

You can’t be. 

Johnny grunts quietly behind you, his arm leaving your waist as he stretches. He’s awake now, or maybe he hadn’t been at all and had been waiting for some sign of life, some movement from you, something to try and give him a hint at what you must be feeling. He doesn’t say anything, laying still as you sniffle in the silence. No one else is up yet, despite the blue light of dawn coming in through the gap in the curtain. 

“Johnny?” You whisper, even the quiet sound hurting your sore throat. You’re thirsty, desperately so, but that’s a problem for later. 

“It’s me, kitten.” He says hesitantly, the pet name making a sob tear from your throat. 

“Johnny,” You cry, the tears falling in a cascade. You can’t stop them. You’ve lost complete control as you lay there sobbing. “Hold me.” 

He doesn’t say anything else, his arms wrapping around you and tugging you close against his chest. He locks you in his embrace, holding you tightly against his chest as you cry. It feels good. Life and energy flows through you again for the first time in weeks. That empty space in your chest begins to fill slowly, warmth blossoming in your body despite the sweat soaking you both. Johnny offers no complaints as he presses his face into your hair. 

How you missed this. 

How you need this. 

You seem more relaxed at dinner. Despite your angry outburst the day before, and your sudden illness, you look significantly less miserable than you did your first attempt at joining them for dinner. The yelling did a number on your throat, but even now it’s nothing compared to that first day. You’re having soup again, and this time there’s a side of mash and peas next to the bowl. 

You even walked to the table without the crutch. 

Simon sits beside you again, all of them taking their respective seats at the table. They’ve assigned themselves these seats, even when you don’t join them for a meal. You’re at the head of the table as you were the first time, Simon and Chrstine on either side of you. Kyle and Johnny are seated next to them, and John is across the table from you. You’ve been avoiding looking at him. You haven’t even so much as glanced up at him. 

Simon is watching you carefully out of the corner of his eye, trying not to make it obvious. If you’ve noticed, you haven’t shown any disapproval. He’s ready in case he has to act fast again, but you are far more steady than you were that first time. There’s no tremble to your hand as you bring the spoon up to your mouth. 

The others look happier than before too. Johnny has stopped crying. Not even a sniffle from him ever since this morning when he emerged from your room. None of them had said anything about it, though they have an inkling of what had happened, judging by Christine’s lack of reaction to it. Kyle looks happier too, sitting straighter like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. It probably has, with the lightening of the mood. Whatever happened with Johnny this morning, it’s made a huge change already.  

John has never been much of a religious man, but god bless Johnny for whatever magic he worked this morning. 

You don’t even look feverish as you sit there, spooning soup into your mouth. A lingering low-grade fever, Christine had informed them earlier that afternoon, but significantly less concerning than things had been yesterday.  

He’s glad to hear it. He’s always glad to hear Christine’s updates on how you’re doing, how well you’re healing, at least physically. The body heals easily. Mentally...there’s still a long way to go. Healing physically will help mentally, but with all the trauma, years and years of trauma, it’s going to take a long time to heal from that. 

The clink of your spoon in your bowl draws him from his thoughts and he glances up at you. 

“Getting full?” Christine asks as you take a sip of your water, wincing slightly as you swallow it. 

“Can I have some tea?” You ask. 

“Sure,” Christine says, going to push her chair back, but John is already standing.

“I’ll make some.” He says, not offering any room for argument as he turns his back on the table to head for the kettle. 

You’ve been drinking more tea lately, likely to soothe your throat. He never thought he’d see the day, given your determination to stand with Johnny on the side of coffee. It’s a bit late for coffee, but he does know it wouldn’t keep you awake in the slightest. You love your sleep, as most omegas do, and nothing will get in the way of it. Not even some late evening caffeine. 

He sets mugs out on a tray, deciding to make tea for everyone. At least that way it’ll make it seem less targeted at you. He’s not doing it to try and impress you or win your affections back. He just wants to help take the load off of Christine’s shoulders. She’s done so much for you, for all of them, already. 

He steeps the tea before bringing the mugs to the table along with some milk and sugar. He knows at least Simon and Kyle will drink some, and he will as well. He brings the kettle over, filling the mugs with tea. All of them sit there watching him, waiting tensely for what will happen next. Will you take the mug of tea he offers? Or will you refuse. Even if you threw it in his face, it wouldn’t make him mad. It would be horribly painful, yes, but he would deserve it. 

Perhaps him doing this was a mistake. 

He stares at the sugar and milk as he grabs one of the mugs. Do you like sugar or milk in your tea? He’s not sure. He doesn’t even know how you take your tea. He knows you like creamer in your coffee. But how do you take your tea? 

What a sad excuse of a human being he is. 

You don’t look at him as he sets the mug next to your water glass. You’re still eating your soup, your hand trembling just slightly now. Your scent is tainted still, a whiff of it filling his nose. Displeasure, a hint of burning anger. 

This was a mistake. 

He sets the milk and sugar next to you first, letting you finish making your tea. He won’t push that boundary and risk making it wrong. It would only add fuel to the fire, make it more obvious that he knows and cares so little for you. He doesn’t even know how you take your tea. 

He takes his seat again as the others help themselves to the tea, even Johnny taking a mug. Whether he’s doing it because he wants to make the moment feel less awkward, or because he genuinely wants some, John will never know. 

He made a mistake in doing that. 

Still, despite the awkwardness, it felt good to do that. 

Maybe that’s how they get closer to you. 

The little things, things that take some of the pressure off Christine. She has to be getting tired, going nonstop all day. Anything they can do to help, they should. Things seemed to go well with Johnny, so maybe the others can have some success in their attempts to gain your favor once more. 

John will have to stay away for now. Distance is what you need from him. 

That’s alright. He has other things he can do. 

He tries to hide the small grin on his face as you pick up the mug, taking a sip of the tea. 

They’re fighting. 

You stand at the back door watching them throw punches. They’re solid punches, nothing held back, no pulling them. They’re all breathing heavily, two of them watching the other two fight. 

Simon’s fist meets Kyle’s shoulder, Kyle’s fist going for Simon’s head but he’s too fast, ducking before he drives his shoulder into Kyle’s stomach. Kyle hits the grass, disappearing from your view. 

John steps forward, pulling Simon back and speaking to him, but you can’t hear from this distance. 

“Still out there?” Dr. Keller asks, stepping up beside you. 

“Yep.” You say, watching as Johnny takes Kyle’s place against Simon. 

“John did say it would be good for them.” Dr. Keller says, wincing as Johnny’s fist hits Simon’s ribs. 

“They’re gonna start a real fight.” You say, watching as Simon starts to get more aggressive. You can tell because you’ve been in that position before. You’ve seen when that switch starts to flip, when the alpha starts to take over. He was never this aggressive with you, but perhaps even his alpha could be rational given your obvious size and strength difference. 

And the fact you’re an omega. 

“Well, that’s their problem.” Dr. Keller says. “As long as they keep it out there.” 

“They might make you patch them up afterwards.” You say. 

She lets out a snort. “There’s ice packs in the freezer and a first aid kit in the bathroom.” 

You try to hide your smile as you watch John get in between Johnny and Simon, speaking to Simon again. Maybe it will be good for them to get some of that pent up energy out. They’re all used to being so active and always having something to do. Being stuck inside has to be driving them stir-crazy. Simon has been going on runs in the morning, and you know John has been going on walks every so often. 

You’re starting to feel a bit stir-crazy yourself. It’s taking you back to the days shut up in the barracks, unable to go anywhere or do anything, having to entertain yourself for hours while they were gone. At least there you had space and room to move around, even when you were being trailed, one of them constantly following you around. They might not be hovering quite as obviously here, but it still feels suffocating, like you can’t truly have a moment to yourself. 

“I want to go for a walk.” You say, shifting on your feet. The likelihood of you going very far is slim, at least right now. 

How far you’ve fallen from your running days. 

“I suppose you could go for a little walk.” Dr. Keller gives you a sideways glance. “Might be good to help get your strength back. I doubt they’d let us go without one of them, though.” 

“Probably not.” You agree, knowing they won’t even let you sit out on the porch without one of them watching. If you left the house without even telling one of them, all hell would break loose and you’d be condemned to your room once more. 

The thought makes you wince. 

You almost wish you could go out there and throw some punches at one of them. That might make you feel a bit better. Hell, line them all up and you’ll take turns beating the crap out of all of them. Maybe that might heal some of the anger and pain still stuck inside of you. 

That’s an idea for a different day, though. 

It’s oddly warm out today, or at least that’s what Ashley said. Soon the weather will turn, though, and the cold rain will come. Lots of rain. 

Your eyes flick between Ashley and Dr. Keller. The three of you are seated in a circle around a table outside, steaming mugs of tea in front of you. Neither of them are staring at you, instead focused on each other as Ashley speaks. 

Dr. Keller has a crush. 

It’s not hard to tell. Her eyes are focused on Ashley, a smile tugging at her lips. Her gaze only flicks to you when you shift and move in your seat before she’s staring at Ashley again. You can’t blame her. You can hardly bring yourself to look away from Ashely too. 

It makes you almost miss Kyle. 

They have the same soft brown eyes and the same bright smile. They’re both perfect, like they were chiseled out of marble and brought to life. They even laugh the same, a genuine chuckle coming right from the chest. 

It makes you want to laugh, even if you have no clue what was being said. 

How has Kyle been handling this? You’ve hardly paid him any mind. His connection to John puts him too close to the source of your anger and rage and pain. Johnny cries, Simon is a brick wall, John reeks of guilt and misery. Kyle...you don’t know. He’s been a blank spot, a hazy figure in the distance. 

It almost makes you feel bad. You’ve completely cut him off, isolated him. Has he cried? Has he been sulking? How miserable does he feel about everything? Does he feel guilty or miserable at all? He has to. They all do. 

Good. You think. They deserve it. 

“You do get stuck in your head, huh?” 

Your gaze snaps up, looking between Dr. Keller and Ashley. They’re both staring at you quietly, a small smile on Ashley’s face. You did get lost in your thoughts again, stuck in your ruminations as you usually do. Lately it hasn’t been a problem, as you’re alone or with Dr. Keller often. You’re supposed to be thinking and processing. It just happens at the worst times. 

Simon would hate it still. 

“Something specific on your mind?” Dr. Keller asks. 

You probably shouldn’t say anything. How would you explain how your mind went from Dr. Keller crushing on Ashley to hoping the guys feel guilty? You’re not even sure you should reveal that you know about Dr. Keller’s crush, especially if she hasn’t said anything yet. You don’t think she has. They’re not...close in the way a couple would be, a distance still between them. Does Ashley feel the same way? It’s hard to tell since you don’t know her quite as well yet. 

Maybe that can be your goal, besides healing. Something to focus on, something to distract from the constant emotions and pain. Get Ashley and Dr. Keller together. 

They’d be perfect for each other. 

“Not really.” You finally say, looking down at the book in your lap. You’re about halfway through it. It’s fine. Nothing to write home about. 

“What do you think of the book?” Ashley asks, sensing your end to that discussion. She doesn’t push. You like that about her. 

“It’s alright.” You shrug. “Kinda slow.” 

“They are spending a lot of time on character development.” Dr. Keller says. 

“We should keep a tally of how many times the phrase “his dark eyes” gets mentioned.” Ashley says, making you laugh. 

“It’s good to hear you laugh.” Dr. Keller says, smiling at you. 

“It...feels good to laugh again.” You say. “It’s nice to have something to laugh about.” 

“Well then I’m going to make that my mission.” Ashley says, taking a sip of her tea. “Get you to laugh as much as possible.” 

You don’t think you’ll mind that one bit.

“There’s something we need to talk about.” 

You don’t turn to look as Dr. Keller sinks into the seat next to you. It’s raining again, the rain pattering against the window as you sit in front of it. They won’t let you go out in the rain. 

“Something that is rather important.” She continues. “Something you should know.” She clears her throat, not waiting for a response. She knows she won’t get one. “When you told John that he left you there to be tortured...is that what Graves told you? Did he tell you they left you behind?” 

Her words have something sinking in your stomach. Your insides are squirming, your intestines tying themselves in knots. You haven’t even thought about that. You’ve been so caught up in the emotions, swept up in the anger and devastation. The memories of what happened are still blurry, still stuck in the recesses while your body heals. 

That pit in your stomach continues to drop as she stares at you, waiting for an answer. 

You don’t want to answer. 

“Hey,” She says softly, leaning to try and stay in your line of sight as your eyes begin to drop to the side. “We need to talk about this.” There’s a serious look on her face as your eyes slowly lift to stare at her again. “Do you believe they chose to leave you behind with Graves?” 

Tears prick behind your eyes as you stare at her. Of course you do. Why wouldn’t they? They’ve left you behind so many times, what’s another? They don’t care that you were being tortured. They never cared that them leaving you before was like torture. Why would they waste the chance to go after Shepherd before he found a place to hide? 

The job comes first.

“Yes.” You breathe, a tear sliding down your cheek. You want to say it, let all the thoughts rushing through your mind pour right out of your mouth but the tears choke you, keep you silent. 

The serious mask on Dr. Keller’s face melts away to a sympathetic look. It doesn’t surprise you. It’s the look she often wears when she looks at you. 

“Oh, honey.” She says, reaching out, but you withdraw yourself further away. “They didn’t leave you behind. They were doing everything they could to try and find where you were. John about blazed a path across the US to find you.” 

You don’t want to believe it. It sounds too good to be true. Her words stir the bitter pot in your stomach, the anger at them and at yourself. You let yourself believe that they would care about you, but they led you to believe they cared. They left you so easily and you never said anything to them to try and keep them with you. They left you behind when they knew it was dangerous, and you believed Phil when he told you they had abandoned you. 

Why would Phil tell you the truth? He wanted to torture you, wanted to take out his anger on you. It wasn’t your decision, nothing was your decision, but in the end the mark on your shoulder sealed your fate. You’d never belong to him. The more he could tear you and your pack down the better. The more hopeless you felt, the more you hated the members of your pack, the more satisfaction he would get. 

He wanted to drive the wedge between your pack, and you fell for it. 

Tears glide down your cheeks as you turn to face the window. They mirror the droplets of rain sliding down the glass. Your fingers curl against the fabric of the chair, your breaths starting to come in gasps as reality begins to settle in. 

“You’re okay.” Dr. Keller says, kneeling next to the chair. “I was there with them, I saw just how desperate they were. They wouldn’t leave you like that. Trust me.” 

Can you trust her? Can you trust any of them? Part of you would like to. The part of you that wants things to go back to the way they were, when things felt fine, when you still believed your pack loved you. Back when you could be delusional and believe something good could come of this entire situation. 

Now you’re stuck with a pack that never wanted you. Now you’re stuck with the trauma of the last few weeks, trauma you should have never faced in the first place. Not if your pack truly cared about you. It was always a risk, but you always believed they would take care of you, they would keep you safe. 

Now look at you. 

A sob tears from your lips as you sit there, the thoughts quickly growing to be too much. Dr. Keller reaches for you but you pull away, pushing yourself up to stand. You move towards the bed, grabbing one of the plush pillows. You bring it to your face, letting out a long, muffled scream.

The scream dies in your throat as you jolt awake in bed. The book that had been in your hands when you fell asleep drops to the floor with a quiet thud as you jerk up into a seated position. You’re breathing heavily, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as you try and calm your racing heart. It’s beating hard like it might beat right out of your chest. You’re shaking, your hands clutching at the baggy shirt you’re wearing like you’re trying to cling to some hope that it was all a dream, that you’re awake now and this is real life. 

Sweat beads on your forehead as you sit there, shaking in the darkness. You need someone. The shadows are closing in around you, your nightlight unable to keep them completely away. You need someone to fight them back. You need someone to reassure you that it was all just a dream, someone that can wipe the tears streaming down your cheeks and whisper softly to you that it’s all okay. That it’s all over. 

You need Kyle. 

Where is Kyle? How do you get to him without waking the others? You could go upstairs but what if they think you’re an intruder? You don’t even know which room Kyle is in. You wish you had a phone. You wish you could call him. You wish you could just telepathically reach out and tell him you need him and only him. 

You’ll wake them all anyway trying to find him. 

You suck a breath in, your hands still shaking as they cling to your shirt. You have to do it. It’s the only way to get them all down here, to get Kyle down here. 

You take a couple deep breaths before you scream. 

Within seconds the house is alive, footsteps racing across the living room towards your room as others thud from above. 

The overhead light stings your eyes, forcing them closed. It’s too bright, intrusive even with your eyes pinched closed. You can still see it behind your eyelids, harsh and too artificial. Just a price you have to pay to get what you need. 

Dr. Keller’s hands are soft as they peel your hands off your shirt, your fingers trembling with nothing to hold on to. They open and close, seeking out something to grip, something to give you an anchor to reality. You’re still panicking, your breaths shaky as you shit there, trembling in fear. 

“You’re alright,” She tries to soothe you, brushing your sweaty hair back. “It was just a dream.” 

You wish it was. 

“Kyle.” The name comes out as barely a whisper, stuttering out of your trembling lips. 

“What was that, sweetie?” Dr. Keller asks, leaning in closer. 

“Kyle.” You whisper louder now, the name shaky in the tense silence of the room. 

“Kyle,” Dr. Keller repeats, standing up straight. 

Quiet, hesitant footsteps approach the bed. Your eyes are still pinched closed against the harsh overhead light. You can’t bring yourself to be brave enough to open them, to face that harsh light. It might reveal the truth, that it was all just a dream, that this is still just a dream. 

It might not be Kyle approaching the bed at all.

You can’t know. You don’t want to know. You’re afraid to open your eyes. 

There’s a click as the lamp is turned on. You still can’t bring yourself to open your eyes. It’s supposed to be comforting, the soft light, but it could be used against you, giving you a false sense of hope and security. 

You flinch as the overhead light is turned on, still too afraid to open your eyes. Your hands have closed around the blanket pooled at your waist, gripping it so tightly your fingers are aching. It’s real. You’re touching it, you can feel the texture of it in your hands. It’s real. 

It’s real. 

Your breaths are shaky as you breathe in and out, trying to catch a scent. Any scent. Something to tell you that you’re really awake, that it really is Kyle standing next to the bed. 

“I’m here.” A soft voice says, something hovering in the air next to you. 

Kyle. 

You know that voice. You’d know it anywhere. 

You finally crack your eyes open, tears brimming as you turn your head to look up. Kyle is standing there awkwardly next to the bed, his hand raised as if he was reaching out to comfort you, but thought better of it. You’re glad he did. You might have spiraled into another panic if he’d touched you before you knew it was him. 

You stare at his hand for a moment before you peel one of your hands away from the blanket. Your hand is shaky as you lift it, reaching out towards his own trembling fingers. 

His fingers are warm and rough, just as you remember as they close around yours. You’re still shaking, a cold sweat forming on your skin as fear trickles down your spine. 

What if this is a dream? What if this isn’t real?

“I’m here.” He says, rubbing his thumb across your knuckles. 

You want to believe him. You really do. 

You pull his hand closer, pressing your cheek against it. His skin is warm against your cheek, and like Johnny, he makes no complaints about your sweat smearing on his skin. You’ve been that close to them before, sweat mixing together, slicking skin. How far things have fallen since then. 

Your tears drip onto his skin as you hold him there, just breathing him in for a moment. He smells like the sea, but with that soft, light scent underneath. You missed that scent, more than you realize you did. 

You let out a quiet sound as you rub your cheek against his hand, almost like you’re trying to embed his scent under your skin. 

He doesn’t say anything as you lean against his hand, tears still streaming down your face. The lamp is pushing some of the darkness away, but it’s not enough. It’s never enough. You can still feel the eyes from the dark corners of the room, the shadowy figures just out of view threatening to reach out and tear you away. 

A shudder runs down your spine, your fingers squeezing around Kyle’s in what has to be a painful grip. 

“I’m here.” He says again, pulling you from the dark thoughts plaguing your mind. He’d know if someone was here. He’d know if anything threatening was nearby. 

It’s his job. 

The job. 

The thing that’s kept you so separated from them, kept you at a distance. The thing that put your life in danger, that exposed them all as liars. The thing that’s left you an empty shell.

Maybe having him down here was a mistake. 

But the shadows...

You tug on his hand, pulling him closer to the bed. He sinks down on the edge carefully, still a bit hesitant. You don’t blame him. It’s not like you’ve been the most welcoming of them. For good reason. 

You need him right now. That need for safety and security far outweighs the conflicting emotions battling in your brain right now. 

“Stay.” You say, the word tumbling out from your trembling lips. 

“You’re sure?” He asks, his thumb still stroking your knuckles. You’re not sure if he even knows he’s doing it. 

You nod, tugging him closer as you scoot over in bed. He lets you guide him, laying on top of the covers.

You try not to think about it too much. 

It’s nice having him close. The shadows don’t seem quite as dark, the threats in them silent now that he’s here. He’ll keep you safe. He’ll protect you from the silent threats. That’s why you want him. That’s his role to play in all of this. They all have roles, they all have their places in the pack. They all have a part to play, not just for you but for each other. 

They’ve been struggling. 

They’re struggling because you’re struggling. 

The silence is loud as you lay there listening to the hum of electricity. You’re not quite sure what to say, how to break the silence. What is there to say that you haven’t already conveyed by your silence? What is there to say beyond what you’ve conveyed in your anger? They all heard your outburst, they all know the source of your anger and what they did to cause it. 

What’s left to say when you have nothing tying you together anymore except a claim and a half-broken bond? What is there to say when saying the wrong thing might fray that bond even more than it already has been? 

“I’m sorry.” Kyle says, finally breaking the tense silence. 

Of course he’d start with that. 

You let out a huff, turning on your side to face away from him. “I know you all are. You don’t have to keep saying it.” 

He lets out a sigh. He knows it. He’s not apologizing to you, for you. “Nothing can change what we did and we know that. We just...want you to know that we’ll do whatever it takes to help you and support you. We don’t want to push that boundary too far, but we’re all here if you need us.” 

You let out a hum. You already know that too. That’s why Johnny came so willingly, that’s why he stayed. That’s why they all tiptoe around you and stare at you like you’re a wild animal that may strike at any moment. 

Part of you wishes they wouldn’t. 

Part of you wants to go back to the way things were. Part of you wants to pretend that everything is normal again, that you love them and they love you just as much. You want to go back to that comfortable, seamless flow of one around the other, the way they all moved in sync, aware of each other without even needing to look. You want to insert yourself into that flow again and let them guide you along with them. You want to trust them blindly again and know they’d catch you if you fall. 

They proved they won’t though. They proved you can’t trust them to catch you. You’re on your own again, forced to catch yourself, forced to save yourself. You have to make that rope to catch yourself with. 

Yet, a deeper part of you yearns for that connection. Your omega screams for it, for your alpha, for your pack. You want them back with you, you want the bonds to heal and to be stronger than they were before. You want them to do as they said and prove to you that they’ve changed, that they're putting you first. 

The omega should be first. The omega should be the center. The omega should be the sun they gravitate towards, revolve around.

That’s what the book said. That book that’s sitting on your desk in the barracks. That book you read over and over, convincing yourself that it was true and they were a good pack like that book said. 

They’re not. 

We all make mistakes. 

They’ve never had an omega before. How are they supposed to know how to have an omega in their pack if they’ve never had one before? None of them came from big packs. John is the only one who’s ever even dated an omega before. They’re just as new at this as you are. 

You probably know more than them. 

You spent years learning how to be an omega in a pack. You read the books and wrote the essays and did the research. You read that book. 

Simon read that book too. 

Yet he did nothing. 

“Why did you want me?” Kyle asks softly, pulling you from your ruminations. 

You turn your head to look at him, staring into those soft brown eyes. Brown eyes you’ve missed. Tears trail down your cheeks as you stare at him, wetting the paths of the ones that had slowed to a stop in your rumination. 

Why did you want him and not Johnny? 

Johnny was the one that came for you, that comforted you, that got you through your fever. Johnny was the one you asked to hold you, to give you that support you’ve been so desperately clawing for. 

So why did you ask for Kyle?

You turn onto your back again so you’re laying side by side, your shoulder brushing his. He’s warm, and you just want to nuzzle into him and never let him go again. 

Another tear slides down your face as you stare at him, at that concerned look on his face. “I need you to tell me it’s going to be okay.” 

That concern morphs into understanding as he shifts slightly, reaching out for you. You let him, you let his thumb brush the tear sliding down your cheek away. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just staring at you as you lay there in the warm light of the lamp. The shadows don’t seem so close now, so threatening with him here. The things that lay in the darkness waiting for you to sleep so they can seep into your mind and stir up the horrible memories lying there in wait are at bay for now, fought off just simply by his existence in this room. 

His thumb continues to brush your cheek, your skin tingling along the path it follows. “It’s going to be okay.” He says softly, quietly. 

You’re not sure if he’s convincing you of that or himself, or perhaps both. You don’t know what he’s feeling, what he’s been feeling. You’ve been ignoring him, pushing him away out of fear that if you looked too closely, you’d break down. That bond will never break between the two of you, held tight with steel simply because of that claim your alpha and his alpha has on the both of you. No matter how much you hate John, that bond can’t be broken. It can’t be cut. It can’t go away. It can’t be denied. Not completely. 

A small smile tugs at Kyle’s lips, a reassuring smile. His words are stronger this time, spoken with more conviction and surety, like he’s speaking it into existence, manifesting it for the future when things perhaps can be different. 

When things are better. 

“It’s going to be okay.” He says, cupping your cheek, staring right into your eyes as he speaks. “We’re going to be okay.” 

NEXT ->

To be notified about new chapters, please follow HERE and turn on notifications