#this is some bone deep trauma dug out

[hushedstars]

One thing I really want is for Bison to feel bad for inflicting THAT trauma on Kant once he learns the reason for Kant's fear.

[the-californicationist]

Cali's Kinktober: Day 11

Kinktober Masterlist labor ipse voluptas - “there is pleasure in the work” Simon "Ghost" Riley x gn!reader Kinks > massage, workplace sex acts, edge play, men whimpering Full tags on AO3 - MDNI - Read at your own risk.

Simon has been your massage client for years, but when he comes in with a groin injury, your working relationship becomes much, much different.

Gender-neutral reader, no mention of pronouns or genitalia. Some references to past trauma/violence inspired by canon events.

Sometimes, when you were working your hands over the flesh and bones of Simon Riley, you closed your eyes and used your fingers to know him, pretending that your sight was gone from you, letting the scars and the knots in his muscles tell you his story. It was one you’d read before, rubbing his skin like it was a book of braille, letting each ridge and healed wound speak their lines and expound upon his violent past. 

You fanned out your fingers to touch him, wide and spread across his back, rubbing your fine oils into his body and feeling the tension loosen in him as you moved through his pain. You could trace the edges of his old tattoos, finding where the artist dug the needles too deep, black lines that healed through the old, pale cuts. 

His left shoulder told you stories about two knife wounds and a bullet that the medics hadn’t bothered to remove. His right arm had a torn extensor tendon, and for him to stretch it all the way out, you needed to coax the bicep above it, pushing and pulling the muscle like you knew he needed you to, reaching deep within him to find the pliant relief he was looking for.   

You’d been Simon’s massage therapist for almost five years, and you knew as much about him as he did about you. It was strange; you could talk to each other about the deepest parts of yourselves, the way you thought the world should be, about how far human beings could reach into the universe, about space and time, about the rights and wrongs of society, and yet you knew very little of his actual day to day life. 

You knew he was a soldier. He had to tell you that much. When you first saw him lying prone on your table, the blanket covering his ass and not much else, you had to hold your breath to keep from gasping at what you saw. People’s bodies did not disturb you. Wrinkles, acne, hair - it was all just normal humanity. No one was perfect. But, Simon’s body unsettled you. He looked like he’d been through literal hell. Like demons had pierced him with their tridents and burned him with their fire. He’d been shot, stabbed, pierced, bitten, broken, and ruined by war to a particular degree that made you wonder why he hadn’t been retired for these bodily atrocities. 

On your first day together, you’d told him point-blank,

“I’d ask if you had any prior injuries, Mr. Riley, but we only have an hour together.”

He chuckled, smiling at you from his raised position on his elbows, 

“Fair enough. And, call me Simon, if tha’s alright.”

“That’s alright, Simon. Let’s get to work.”

So, you had. In the beginning, the initial awkwardness of the act of massaging someone was the same as it always was. You got to know his body, his preferences. You knew not to press too hard on his right trapezius unless you wanted a fist to dart out and grip you around the wrist. You also knew that he was a bit vocal. Some of the noises he made for you, particularly when you treated his calves and quads, haunted your dreams in the most lurid way. 

But, everything had changed between you when he had come in last week with a sore groin muscle, inside of his right thigh. 

“What’s with the limp?” You’d asked him when he walked into the office.

“Trainin’ day gone wrong. Think you can put it right again, love?”

That Manchester accent with the pet name always stuck you right in the belly, but you pretended like it didn’t. You refused to admit you had feelings for your client. It wasn’t professional, and you were one of the best in your field. It was unethical. But, it was hard to convince yourself of that fact when you remembered how he groaned for you when you relaxed his clenched hamstring a few months ago and he’d cried into the terrycloth face pillow,

“Mngh! Tha’s good, love. Fuck, tha’s it.”

That one was on repeat in your head. 

Today, you gave him some time to get set up in the room, giving him specific instructions to lie on his back first so that you could treat the affected area. You weren’t shy about a little upper thigh, and you’d touched Simon Riley in just about every way possible by now. It’d be old hat. Right?

Wrong.

You’d started on his quad, warming up the muscle to your touch, filling your hands with oil so that they would slip across his hairy skin. But, he’d stopped you, grimacing and grunting through his teeth,

“It’s higher. Fuck me, it stings.”

“Can you point to the pain?” You watched as he moved the thin sheet up and over his hip, trying to shield his cock from you while showing you where he was injured. 

His hand was rubbing down his adductor brevis, the innermost part of his thigh, a muscle that led right to the join of where his leg became crotch. 

“I see. Can you turn your knee out?”

“No,” he growled, obviously trying to hold his pain at bay. 

“Alright,” you reassured him, “It’s okay like this. Just… tell me if I touch you where you aren’t comfortable.”

“I just need you to bloody touch me, love. I’ll take anythin’ you got at this point.”

You looked down at his leg, and then you looked at his cock and balls hidden by the sheet. Back to the leg. Back to his cock. 

Stop it! Stop. Don’t look at it. You punished yourself, but that only made you want to look at it again. 

If you didn’t start massaging him, he was going to know you were nervous, and you didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable, so you poured more oil into your hand and started at the lowest possible point before gently working your way up the muscle. 

The noise that came out of him was downright pornographic. 

“Are… are you alright, Simon?” You asked, stopping to let him recover.

He nodded, biting down on his fist to stop himself from crying out again.

You repeated the movement. Another delicious grumble came rolling out of his chest. He was breathing hard, and you could see his enormous core flexing and expanding under the stress. 

You moved your hand back and forth over the muscle, working it over and over, feeling the tension loosen under your touch. But, as he became more and more pain free, his body started to get worked up in a different sort of way. 

You’d tried to stay away from the sheet, but there was only so much room down there, and his giant prick was hanging against your wrist as you rubbed him. It wasn’t his fault. He’d covered himself. There really wasn’t anything wrong, per se. It was just a body part. But, it gave him away.

By the time he had relief in his muscle, his immense rod was standing at full attention, erect and joyful in your ministrations. He was so big that he was tugging the sheet from the other side of the table, lolling up his abdomen and reaching much higher than his navel. 

The sheet was doing very little to protect his modesty. 

“Does that feel better, Simon?” You asked, trying to hide the nervousness in your voice.

“Aye, love. Feels fuckin’ brilliant. Little higher, yeah?”

He still hadn’t opened his eyes, and if he knew he was hard, he didn’t apologize for it. If you moved your hands higher, you’d be pressing into his pubic mound, basically massaging the base of his cock. So, you moved just the smallest bit higher, trying your best to avoid his fully hard dick. 

“Mmfff-fuck. Tha’s so good.”

You couldn’t stop staring at him while you rubbed his groin. Every time you pulled the muscle, his cock would flag, and every time you pushed back up, kneading him and helping him relax, his blood would pump through his shaft, making him throb. It was intoxicating. 

Then, you noticed that he had stopped making noises. You looked up and, to your horror, he was watching you gaze longingly at his phallus, like you were a dog starving for a bone. 

You looked away, quickly finding a spot on the floor, but it was too late.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. His eyes locked onto yours and he took your hand in his gently, and slowly dragged it up the body of his cock all the way to the swollen head. Then, he put his hands back at his sides and settled in, looking just as neutral as he usually did when you prepared to massage any other part of him. 

Was he really asking you to do this? Were you seriously about to give Simon a happy ending in a professional massage office? 

He felt your hesitation, and he smiled at you,

“Go on, love. Touch me how you need to touch me.”

You rubbed more oil on your hands and turned down the sheet, tucking it away as if you were exposing an arm or leg or some other appendage, trying to be as professional as you could despite the fact that you were about to do an incredibly heinous thing. 

But, you desperately wanted to touch him, and you didn’t think you’d have another chance. He’d probably never want to make an appointment here again. So, you decided to seize the moment. 

You started at his base, massaging the pubic mound around his cock, the tendons and flesh that supported his length, and then you moved to the bottom of his shaft. Carefully, you moved your thumbs over his wide shaft, making small circles of firm pressure, feeling the tension throbbing inside of him as you began to touch him there. 

Then, his moans. But, they were softer this time. It was a side of him you never got to see, an ultimate vulnerability. He was trusting you more now than he ever had. 

You moved up his shaft in a methodical way, telegraphing your movements, making sure he knew where you were going to touch him next. No surprises. 

Finally, you made it all the way up to his cockhead. You spent plenty of time rubbing your fingertips over his sensitive frenulum, touching the crown only when you knew he was ready, smearing your oil over his foreskin and pulling it down to reveal his swollen glans. 

He hissed, so sensitive under your touch. You paused, speaking low and even, trying to make your voice sound calm,

“Everything alright, Simon?”

“Mm, fuckin’ hell, too good.”

“Remember to take long, deep breaths. It helps release any tension you might be experiencing,” you teased him with your therapy voice, trying to get a rise out of him more than you already had. 

He looked down at you, incredulous, and then cocked a grin when he saw that you were playing with him. 

You rubbed his full length, clasping both of your hands around him and stroking him from base to tip and back again. Never too fast, never too slow; you always went at the exact speed that caused him to throb, knowing that you were milking him just on the edge of pleasure. If you went faster or gripped him harder, he would come, and you weren’t ready for that yet. So, you edged him, knowing his tells, listening to the timbre of his moans. You’d had five years to listen to this man when he found physical relief, so you used it against him. 

Just when he would get close, you’d return to his base, making circles in his lower abdomen, ignoring his sensitive cock, listening to him chuff and growl in frustration. But, he didn’t ask. Never did he put his desire into words. It would make it real. It would ruin the moment. Right now, you could both still pretend that he was getting a massage. 

You made your way back up, toying with him, bringing him moaning and whimpering back to the edge before sending him away again, dragging him back down in a torrent of huffing breaths and a furrowed brow. Then, you let go of him entirely, covering him back up with the sheet and stepping away from the table.

“Love, please…” He whined aloud, his voice demonically fractured and deep, resonating in his chest, staring up at you like you’d stuck him with your own blade, an unexpected betrayal.

“I’m afraid our time is up, Simon.”

“Like hell it is,” he grunted, leaping up from the table and towering over you. 

“Your injury seems to have responded nicely to our treatment, and I can –”

Simon grabbed you around the nape of your neck, dragging your body up against his, using his other hand to fist his cock, holding it out for you to grab.

“Finish what you started, love, or I’ll finish it in you.”

His eyes were nothing but serious, and you were so turned on by his fiery passion, you grabbed his cock, knelt down on the floor and fed him into your mouth. Only the head would fit at first, but that was enough. The obscene cries that came out of his throat told you everything you needed to know about his pleasure. 

You popped his head out of your mouth and jerked him, fast and hard, smirking from your knees, 

“C’mon then. Finish it in me.”

The look of shock that painted his face was like a prize that you treasured for yourself, and as you bobbed your head back and forth, sucking him as best you could, he leaned his free hand against the wall and curled his fingers into your neck even tighter. 

“Mngh… mngh… mngh… Shit! M’gonna come, love. Gonna come… fuck!”

He tried to pull away, worried that you would not want to take him in your mouth, but you sucked him deeper, keeping his pounding head sealed inside your lips. He started to orgasm, and it filled your tongue, forcing you to swallow if you wanted to breathe. You swallowed more and more of his salty cream, lapping at his drooling head, slurping and sucking to your heart’s content. 

“Goddamnit… fuck! Fuck, holy fuck…” He was coming apart above you, his release so pure and powerful that you watched him tremble, his eyes rolling back in his head like a shark ready to bite, and you felt like you were on top of the world. 

His shaft kept throbbing, spilling more and more of his come into you, and you kept sucking him, hoping to get every last drop. 

Then, he let go of your neck and moved his hand to cup your cheek, touching you with gentle adoration,

“Bloody hell, love. What was that?”

You popped him out of your mouth once more and gave him a long lick, a cunning grin on your face,

“Injury treatment?” 

“Fuck me, I’m still injured. C’mere.”

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Pretty like the wind

Previous chapter / Next chapter

a/n the twelfth part! Would you look at that. Thank you for all the love as always. ✨🤍

warnings: kids, Illyrian camp brutality, deaths, killing, blood, trauma, knifes, I think that's all...

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Azriel dug his head into his palms as a twinge of pain shot through his eyes. The feeling wasn't foreign. Rhys had once lost control of his mental powers. Had nearly melted Azriel's brain in the process. So the spymaster knew that you were deep within his brain in some way. But then, it also felt different. A metallic smell filled his nostrils. Azriel slowly forced his eyes open, gasping at the sight in front of him.

There was no snow. No wind. No broken houses. A run-down camp. The place was full of greenery. The sun was shining. Once the ringing in his ears settled, Azriel could hear children laughing. The sound of swords clashing. You stood a couple of steps ahead of Azriel, watching, unmoving. Azriel strode forward, reaching out to you, but before he could, you pivoted to face him. "Come, I would like you to meet someone", you muttered, stepping onward.

Azriel heeded suit. Eyes darting all around the place. "How well do you know the Illyrian history?", you questioned. Azriel shrugged his shoulders. "Well, it depends on...", but he didn't get to finish the sentence before you spoke again, "While Rhysand's father ruled, not all camps belonged to him. Most lords had rights to...", "Have their laws, run their camps without high lord interference", Azriel finished, earning a nod from you.

"Ever heard of Lord Filick?", you rounded the corner swiftly, making no sound as you moved. "North camps?", Azriel questioned. If he was being honest, the political aspect of the camps was misty and unclear at that time. No direct laws were made. It was rather brutal. Power was the thing that ran them. That made men hungry. To operate a camp meant having a spot next to the high lord at the council.

You reached for the wooden door, pushing against it. "Shouldn't we knock?", Azriel called out, yet you didn't look back. The spymaster quickly had to remind himself that this all wasn't real. At least not at present. "He had a wife and a daughter", you muttered right as a tall female strolled through the back door. Her beauty seemed unmatched. It was like nothing Azriel had seen before.

"I don't understand...", Azriel breathed out right as the same door you two just walked through opened and a girl ran towards the female. Cries filled the room, but that was not the thing that had captured Azriel's attention. "The wings, they...", the spymaster muttered, stepping forward as if to get a better look. "Feathered. She was from the day court. One of Helion's angels", you said as if it were nothing. The most basic knowledge anyone could possess, Azriel was about to question it, but the sound of the girl weeping stopped him.

"They said that it's our fault... that...", the girl sobbed in what Azriel presumed was her mother's embrace. "Will they hurt us?", she muttered, yet the female only smiled down at her. "No, papa will never let anything happen to any of us". Azriel's breath hitched once again when he finally saw the girl's face. She looked awfully like you. The only difference was the dark Illyrian hair and the golden eyes. She resembled Zofie more. Only some features were more tailored to you.

"That, unfortunately, didn't last long", you mumbled, snapping your fingers, and the same house was filled with Illyrian soldiers pushing stuff over and shouting filthy insults. Azriel reached for his daggers. The instinct to protect growing stronger. But it all moved too quickly. Two males had the female pinned against the wall. One swift movement and the sound of breaking bones were the only audible sounds.

"What the fuck is this?", Azriel called out, his hand reaching for your shoulder, but the image changed once more. Azriel stumbled slightly as you brought him to that same strange cube. Just this time, Azriel could tell that it was a cell. An outside cell. That same girl sat curled up at the corner of it. People were walking by, laughing. Some even stopped to thread flowers through the bars. Azriel let out a growl. "Why is no one helping her?", his fingers moved to wrap around the metal bars, but they slipped right through them.

"She wasn't just an Illyrian. She was more like you; she had special powers", you stepped ahead, kneeling in front of the girl. Her shivering frame, flinching, "Back then, they thought it was a curse, an anomaly. Illyrian blood had to be clean, so...", you stood up, backing away, "Purified it had to be". Azriel shook his head, "What do you mean? Y/N, what is all of this?".

But the vision pivoted once more. The whole camp was gathered in a circle. People were shouting. Azriel scowled, trying to look for you. Sobs filled the place. Everyone parted as two males dragged the tied-up girl up the wooden altar. "No", Azriel breathed, but this time, as he tried to move, the bodies were blocking his way. Every inch he gained, someone would push him right back.

"Please, papa", the girl sobbed, trashing in the males' arms, but no one seemed to listen; no one seemed to hear her. "What a generous man, Lord Filick is," a loud male voice boomed. "He brought his daughter here so we could finally show you all that the only way we can rid our females of this cruel fate", he said, stepping towards the girl, grasping her chin between his fingers, "Is by leaving them wingless".

Azriel tore the bodies to the sides as he stepped forward. He had to get to her. Had to. Her eyes. Her being itself spoke to him. Called him. "No, please", the girl wept, right as the males pulled heated blades out of the fire. "Papa, tell them; tell them it's not true", she sobbed. Azriel let out a roar as he tore through the never-ending mass. But with one sharp thrust, the main boning of her wings was broken in two.

The place went static for a moment. As if all the air got sucked out. As if it had all frozen in time. And then a scream like no other shattered the silence. More powerful than the last notes of the siren's song as they drag the last bits of the sailors' souls out of their bodies. It was all followed by an eruption of light that drowned out the whole place. Azriel dipped quickly, shielding his eyes. He wasn't sure how long it had lasted. He wasn't sure of anything as the ringing continued in his ears, but he still glimpsed up. Up at the altar, his knees bucked.

There was no girl. No girl that Azriel saw beforhand. In the girl's place, kneeled you. Skin as pale as the snow, and hair is the shade of the cracked ice itself. Blood was dripping from every possible part of you. Eyes. Ears. Nose. Lips. Fingertips. Your body swayed before it hit the altar. You met the same fate as the endless sea of fallen bodies around you. Like the shattered windows. Broken roofs. Azriel wanted to crawl to you, but he couldn't bring himself to move. Couldn't climb the stairs.

"Show me how Rhys found you. Show me what he saw", he said, hoping that you could hear him. "No", you breathed out, and Azriel felt your palm on his shoulders. He reached for your wrists, dragging them towards his chest. "Show me", he said through gritted teeth.

A quiet sob fell from your lips, and within a blink of an eye, Azriel was right in front of your broken body. The snow had covered most of it, yet not even the snowflakes could hide the sea of red that drowned the place. Azriel heard the flapping of the wings first. Then there was the sound of boots hitting the fresh snow. Then curses. And then Rhysand was right on the opposite side of him. Big, purple eyes looking down at the broken girl. "Mother above", he breathed, his veins growing dark as he moved to touch her, drinking in her pain. "Help, I need help", Rhysand shouted out before he moved to brush away the snow, fingers reaching for the pulse points. "Hey, hey", the future high lord called out. "I'm Rhysand; I've got you; no one will hurt you-," but the image blurred quickly. Azriel tried to grasp the words that Rhys spoke, but it was for nothing. The cold wind nibbled at his skin once more. His vision cleared, and the same gloomy sky returned.

Azriel let out a labored breath, briskly moving on to his feat. "Y/N", he breathed out. He had to see you. Had to touch you. Had to feel your heartbeat. He looked around the run-down camp. His senses found your swaying body instantly. There was blood running down your nose. Tears were staining your cheeks. Azriel moved faster than the wind. His strong arms wrapped around your body. Your head lulled back, and Azriel carefully guided it toward his chest. "I've got you, my love", Azriel breathed, his lips pressing against your forehead. He gave the place a final look. Cursing it in all the ways he could, before he winnowed away.

The darkness that pulled you under wasn't comfortable. Cold and sticky. Suffocating and claustrophobic. And then the screaming began. Like it always did, you found yourself jerking upwards, grasping around yourself. A cold sweat dripping down your face. "You're okay", a voice from beside you called, making you jump once more as you turned your head to the side. Azriel had his arms up, making sure you could see that they were empty. "It's okay; you're safe. We're at my place", the spymaster said softly. But you didn't care as you moved forward, getting yourself free of the sheets. Not caring much that you probably looked like a manic as you crawled towards him. Hands grasping for his chest and then neck as you hugged him, your heart beating heavily.

Azriel met you halfway, arms and wings caging you instantly. "I'm so sorry", you muttered time after time, your eyes filling up with tears. "What are you sorry for, my love? You've done nothing wrong", Azriel carefully ran his hand through your hair, twirling the very ends between his fingers. The image of your black hair flashing in front of his eyes. The deep golden eyes. Yet, no matter how much he thought about it, how he hated the change at first. How angry he was that these features had been taken away from you. Azriel couldn't seem to imagine you any different than what you looked like now.

"I didn't want to think of it... I didn't want to go back", you said through the tears that Azriel no longer mangled to keep at bay. "I don't hate you for keeping this to yourself. I only hate the people who put you through it", Azriel said softly, pulling you even closer. "When I saw how you reacted after you saw Zofie's back, I...", another hiccup pierced your chest, and your hand came up to cover your mouth. Azriel's heart ached at the sight of it. Of you choosing to keep this from him for his own good.

All the doubt. The dips in trust. Withdrawals from him. All of it suddenly made sense. You were scared. Given up by a man who was meant to protect you. A man who did not deserve to be called your father. What father would do that to his child? His father did... Azriel shook his head, pushing all of those thoughts away as he slowly swayed you from side to side. "I'd handle hell itself for you, love. I'll bargain with the devil if it means that you would never have to go through anything like that again", he said firmly. You pulled back slightly. "Don't say such things", you breathed, shaking your head.

But Azriel shook his in return, reaching for your hand and placing it upon his chest. "My heart was frozen over before I met you", he muttered. "Now I finally got my warmth back and I'm more than ready to fight for it", "Oh, Azriel...", you closed your eyes as yet another wave of tears came rushing down your cheeks. "Look at me", Azriel spoke softly, tilting your head ever so slightly before brushing both of his thumbs beneath your eyes. "You'll never have to feel scared and unseen ever again; do you hear me?", the spymaster spoke in his soldier-like tone.

Azriel reached for both of your palms, pulling them both to his lips before kissing each of them. A light frown creased his brows. "Why are there still wounds on your palms?", he asked, looking at your hands worriedly. You lowered your gaze. All you wanted was to pull your hands back, but you didn't have it in you to lie anymore. "I'm scared to summon my magic, so this is my excuse". Azriel said nothing for a moment before you felt him carefully cupping your hands. "Do it now; I'll be with you", he muttered. "No, Azriel, I can't... It's...", you breathed out quickly, big eyes looking up at him. "I'm not rushing you, but I know that you can do it, and I think that you should", he said softly, searching your eyes. You blinked up at him a couple of times. Taking a deep breath before you fisted your palms, trying to pull that magic from deep within, feeling it fighting against your reach. That's when you felt Azriel's face right by your neck, his breath tickling your skin. His warmth surrounded your whole body. He slowly unclenched your palms, smiling at the smooth skin that greeted him.

"That's my girl", he muttered, brushing his lips against your cheek. "Now summon your light, love. Show me how you shine", Azriel sensed how tense your body got at the mention of it, so he quickly moved his hands up and down your arms, "I'll meet you right in the middle with my darkness", Azriel smiled down at you after gently brushing his lips over your shoulder, and no matter the pain deep within you, you found yourself smiling back.

"Who suggested you go up to the camps?", Rhys asked, fingers clasped right in front of him. "Well, Padme was the one who created the troops", you breathed out. The meeting was long overdue. The boys had been working for days over this. And you knew that Rhys counted himself responsible for what had happened. As he always did. "She stepped up right after I got taken under the mountain?", the high lord asked. Much had changed when Amarantha came about. There wasn't a part of Velaris that didn't feel it. You nodded. "The priest died suddenly. She was the only one willing to take his seat", you said in return, feeling Azriel's hand running up and down your back softly. Not that it was hard for him to touch you considering that you were sitting on his lap, even if there was a separate chair just for you.

"Tell me that you all are thinking what I'm thinking", Cassian breathed, pushing away from the wall. Rhys shook his head. "What are we thinking?", you asked softly, turning from Cassian to Azriel, who looked like he was ready to slaughter a whole village. "The books looked legit; there was not a single thing that raised suspicions", Rhys said through gritted teeth as he pointed at Azriel. The two no doubt decided to keep some part of the conversation to themselves.

"How is your and Padme's relationship like?", Cassian brought your attention back from the two males having a staring competition. "It's okay... She just... Well, there are rules", you muttered. "Bullshit", Azriel breathed, "Love, be honest with us". Azriel didn't want to push you, but it was his family that was concerned. "Axel told me that she's not happy because you kept them", Azriel muttered, making a breath hitch in your throat. You had never talked about it with anyone. This was your burden to bear. "This has nothing to do with this", you said, shaking your head, but Azriel didn't back away. "You got upset after I dropped you off at the sanctuary. What did she say to you?", and here it was, right in the bull's eye. Your eyes glassed over. Nails digging into your palms. You felt Azriel from within you, soothing and tugging at the golden thread that bonded you.

"This is not an interrogation, Y/N", Rhys said softly, "We want you and the kids safe, and right now, anyone who has ever wished you anything bad should fall under our radar". You met the high lord's eyes over the table. A man who was close to a brother. "She does want to take the kids away from me, and...", you took a deep breath in. Knowing that your next words will sway the whole room, "She called me a sacrifice lamb and that Azriel won't get to save...", but before you could finish, Azriel stood up, making you stumble as you found your footing. "Azriel...", you muttered, trying to reach for him, but he didn't spare you a second glance as he winnowed, Rhys following suit. "No", you breathed out. "Take me to him", you said, turning to Cassian, clinging to his arms. The male-only gave you an apologetic look. "Rhys will take care of him", he said softly. "Come on, let me walk you to the kids", Cassian offered you his hand, "They were painting in Feyre's gallery".

You had watched them paint. Watched Nesta chase Cassian down the corridor with a paint bucket in her hands. Watched Nyx ask Zofie to sit on the chair so he could try and paint her. You took cup after cup of tea from Feyre's hands, but nothing soothed you. Nothing felt right. The worry never died. Don't do anything stupid, please. You muttered into the bond. Please, Azriel, just come back this one time. You felt it echo. Silence. Nothing. Until a light tug from the other side, a light cares reached out for you. Ask Cassian to take you all to my place.

The smell of Azriel that lingered in his place soothed the ache in your chest. The kids looked at the place from the side of you. Curious eyes were soaking up every little detail. "Oh, wow, knives,", Axel breathed instantly, stepping to the big shelf full of weapons, but you swiftly caught him by his shoulder. "Not really baby-proof, is it?", Cassian chuckled from beside you. You shot him a smile, but it was Axel who crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at Cassian. "I ain't no baby; Az taught me how to fight with wooden swords". Cassian raised his hands defensively and said, "Shaking in my boots, an oh great soldier, don't come for an old man like me".

You felt Zofie tugging at your skirt, no doubt sensing the shift in energy around the place. "Will he be here tonight so we could all sleep together?", she rubbed her eyes, her head resting on your shoulder. "Azriel had to go somewhere with the high lord, but he will come; you won't sleep alone, darling", you brushed your hand through her hair, swaying her slightly. "I'll help you settle in", Cassian offered, and you were about to say no, but he beat you to it, "Azriel will sit me down on a wooden beam, so please".

You were glad that the spymaster's floor was covered in books, giving the kids quite an energy-consuming activity as they not only flipped through them but also organized them into piles that mostly made sense to them. You only hoped that this wouldn't cause more work for Azriel. After the second pile was completed, Zofie crawled onto your lap as sleep finally took over her tiny body, which looked even smaller now that she was wearing one of Azriel's shirts. Axel followed suit, defeated by pile number five, and dozed off on the rug, not even bothering to reach for a pillow.

And here you found yourself, thinking how much everything had changed. The moment Rhys showed up with an unconscious spymaster, you had no idea where fate would take you two. And now you cannot imagine how your life could go on without him. How the kids would go on without him. You didn't want to go on without him. Not after letting him into the deepest parts of yourself. And in the quiet living room, you let yourself wonder about how you both could watch Axel and Zofie grow up. Maybe, just maybe, you could find yourself again.

Azriel didn't listen to Rhys's demand to come back to the lake house first. He knew the conversation would have to follow suit, but it sure wasn't going to happen tonight. And if his high lord wanted to pick a fight with a man who was in desperate need of going back to his woman and kids, he sure was going to meet a monster he had never met before. Another thought struck Azriel. Never had he come back to his apartment and felt so much calmness and joy. Sure, he was pissed that Cassian hadn't demanded that you rest in bed, but the sight of you three sprawled out on his fluffy carpet was a sight Azriel could get used to. He softly pulled at the bond, not wanting to wake you up with a jolt. Too many demons had been let loose in the past couple of days.

"Azriel", you muttered softly, and the spymaster smiled at you lovingly, caressing your cheek. "Let me take her", Azriel carefully moved his hands around Zofie's frame, scooping her up in his arms. The girl stirred, her big golden eyes looking up at him. Azriel ran the tip of his finger over her nose and brows, trying to soothe her back into slumber. "Azzy", the girl murmured, grasping for him blindly. "I'm with you, little star", he said, rocking her gently as he walked towards his mattress. Zofie let out an unsatisfied sigh at the loss of a contract with Azriel once he lowered her onto the plush sheets, tiny fingers grasping at his hands. "I'll be right back; I need to carry Ax here", he breathed out, letting her lighten her grip on her own. In no way did he have the strength to pull his hand away from her by force.

"Cool knives", a sleepy voice sounded from the doorway. Axel stood there, his eyes barely open, with you right behind him, guiding the boy towards the sheets. "Thanks, bud. We can look through them tomorrow", Azriel quickly reached over to tassel the boy's hair, earning a lazy smile. "Does that sound good?", the spymaster quickly asked. Axel nodded, a satisfied sigh leaving his lips as you pulled the blanket over his body. Leaning in to kiss the boy's forehead.

Azriel watched the scene in front of him for a heartbeat. If anyone had told the scared boy in the dark, windowless cell that one day he would be happy, that his heart would be filled with nothing but love. That he would get a chance to create a family, he would never have believed it. But now, looking down at two tiny children slumbering in his bed while you sat on the other side of the bed, Azriel felt so thankful that he didn't give up back then. That he pulled through. And suddenly, the heartache felt worth it. All his mistakes seemed worth it because they led him to you.

"Come here", Azriel gently guided you towards his side of the bed, "I haven't had a chance to properly hold you yet". You reached to cup his cheek, teary eyes looking up at him. His girl. His mate. Azriel never wanted to see you cry again unless it were happy tears. "Tell me you didn't do something silly", you rested your palms against his chest, looking up at him. "Well, I was on my way to burning the place down, maybe...", "Azriel", you gasped, pulling back, but the spymaster only held onto you tighter. "I didn't; Rhys talked me out of it", Azriel breathed, but not without adding, "For now". You let out a gasp, hitting his chest playfully, earning a breathy chuckle from the shadowsinger.

"You can't do careless stuff like that; you have children now", you muttered, your eyes darting toward the bed. Azriel's eyes followed suit, "I do, don't I?" Pride filled his chest at the thought of stepping into a fatherly role for these two. Of having his family. His little world. One he had dreamed of. Begged for. Had even come to terms with never having one.

"You know", Azriel turned back to you, brushing some of the hair away from your face. "One night in the cell, after a beating my father gave me, I crawled towards the crack in the wall, my only window to the outside world", your hands gripped Azriel's leathers tighter. Heart aching at his words. The spymaster brushed his palm over your cheek, and you instantly leaned into his touch as you looked up at him, only to find Azriel's eyes glassy as well. "A light breeze hit my face. I haven't felt the touch of wind for years at that point", Azriel bit the inside of his cheek, trying to keep his tears at bay for just a bit longer. Just until he pulled these words from the depths of his heart, "So familiar that touch felt, and I knew even back then that one day my mate was going to be as pretty as the wind. Like the wind that called for me that night", the least part felt breathy, and Azriel's voice cracked ever so slightly. All doubts and fears died out. You two had chosen to stand completely bare in front of one another. Deepest wounds on the show. Pain hidden away for centuries was been bleeding out. But neither of you backed away from one another. The uglier it got, the stronger you held one another. "I'll never stop calling out for you", you muttered, stepping on your tippy toes so you could wrap your arms around Azriel's neck. "I want to try this with you. I want to see what being yours looks like", you breathed out right by Azriel's lips. The spymaster pulled you closer to him by your hips like he always did, "Then I'm more than willing to give you my forever".

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Taglist: @naturakaashi @hoemadegrace @just-m-2 @thereadinggremlin @i-am-a-lost-girl16

[trashytoastboi]

I really love your writing! Some of my favorite headcannon are the reader scared of physical intimacy due to trauma, could you do those headcannons for Ace and Sabo please??

Heyya bean! I apologise for the very, very long wait >_< I've finally gotten around to writing things again, I'm thankful you enjoy my writing and hope you enjoy~

🍞 Headcanons: Kid, Killer x S/O who is afraid of physical intimacy due to past trauma

🍞 Headcanons: Zoro, Law, Marco, Katakuri x S/O who is afraid of physical intimacy due to past trauma.

Headcanons: Ace, Sabo x S/O Who is afraid of physical intimacy due to a past trauma.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

> (Gender Neutral) <

> Warning: Implied abuse/mention of panic attacks. This includes implied trauma due to something in the past, if you think it will be triggering for you please avoid this. It is written and intended to be a comfort piece, but first and foremost take care of yourself and mental wellbeing🍀 

Portgas D. Ace

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🔥 Ace has a very physical love style, he enjoys expressing himself through touch and affection. Though it makes the situation at hand all the more difficult, he would never complain or be upset about it. He understands, he truly does. Ace just doesn’t understand how else he can fully convey his love other than affection. He believes actions weigh more than words and even though he always tells {Name} just how much he loves them, it just never felt adequate. Ace never once desired to push {Name} beyond their limitations. 

🔥It was obvious there was aversion to touch and affection. {Name} had always kept people at arm's length, Ace was a little closer than most and he treasured the trust placed in him by his partner. Ace came to learn through their mannerisms and occasional openings in their guard about how they were uncomfortable with physical touch and the idea of being intimate. Ace held off on affection, unless he felt {Name} was having a good day, he moved slowly and always checked to truly make sure they were fine. If any minute reaction showed discomfort or fear, he would leave them be and comfort them when {Name} apologized for being this way. 

🔥Ace felt there were strides of progress, regarding his relationship with {Name}. They had gotten into a comfort zone of sorts, hand holding and the occasional hug was steadily becoming more frequent and comforting, sometimes it was even {Name} to be the one to initiate. Maybe due to the constant security and comfort Ace provided, {Name} felt safe enough to divulge their very painful past. The trauma that made them this way and how that trauma made even the most gentle of touch feel like fire and fear in one fatal combination. 

🔥{Name} dug deep to pull everything up and out. They thought they would be ready to discuss everything, it proved not to be the case. The revisitation of trauma set the panic deep in their bones, they choked up. The cold feeling began to run down their shoulders, down their back as the feeling faded from their hands and feet. The tears came out uncontrollably.  Ace panicked internally, he didn’t want to show it outright in case it made {Name’s} current state worse. He comforted them, speaking in a soft voice telling them it was alright not to face it right now, not until {Name} was ready. He informed them over and over again how {Name} never had to force themselves to do anything. 

🔥They sputtered never ending apologies on repeat, alternating between words of self blame and apologies to Ace. This had sent {Name} back into the worst possible mindset, thanks to how adamantly and patiently Ace listened, comforted them and gently hushed their apologies. He deemed the apologies unnecessary, after all there was no reason for {Name} to say sorry when they were never the ones in the wrong. Maybe it was that very warmth and comfort that helped them gain a grip, something that helped to steady their uneven and shallow breath, easing the pain in their chest. The world stopped spinning and they were calming down. 

🔥Ace inwardly blamed himself, the initial happenings he knew was not his fault. He just spiraled with the concept that maybe had he just not been so eager, or forthcoming and overwhelming with his advances then {Name} might not have felt so pressured to discuss this, or put themselves in a position to relive their worst trauma. {Name} never once actually thought like this, they felt so trusting of Ace that they wanted to tell him. Ace smiled on the surface, a soft and meek smile. One designed to comfort his partner without alluding to his true thoughts of guilt and self blame. 

🔥It took a lot of communication and understanding to see where both of them were. Trying to hold these fragmented talks while suffering in their own thoughts was only hurting them. {Name} took Ace’s comfort to heart, knowing they weren’t obligated nor were they ready to talk about things and that was okay. Ace communicated his own misunderstanding and insecurities, the talk was difficult but they found a middle ground. A comfortable place in which to meet each other emotionally, taking it one step at a time.

Sabo

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🎩 Sabo noticed the hesitation, it was not outright. Hidden, disguised as if {Name} didn’t want him to know. He loves them too much not to notice how they stiffened; the anxiety that passed through their eyes and contorted their expression into fear for an instant. The nervous stumbling of their words when Sabo pulled away in surprise worried about accidentally hurting them. Given his injuries, his scars that remained Sabo related their reaction to something similar. His body had healed, on the surface. The trauma remained and it took a long time without him having to flinch away, associating touch with treatment of his injuries and the grueling pain he had to live through during his recovery. Or how he hated his scars when they first started to settle, the uneven and rough skin under his fingertips. He learned to accept them, live with them and in time liked them as it was his proof of survival, he was still alive. Sabo likened it to a deep rooted trauma, he didn’t bring it up but his actions became more reserved in nature. 

🎩 Sometimes it can take the smallest thing to fall over the edge, Sabo’s more and rarer playful side came out when he and {Name} were sharing some banter, joking around and the like. Sabo playfully grabbed their wrist in the hopes of pulling them in for a kiss, but what ensued was nothing he expected. {Name} was fine one moment, the next it looked like their world shattered. He let go, panicking and asking what happened, did he grab too hard? {Name} shook their head, dismissing it with a strained smile. The cold sweat didn’t convince him when they showed so much fear. Sabo had noticed it a while ago. He gently broached the topic, not wanting the details but he needed to know. Sabo wanted to know how he could help. How he could protect them and prevent anything that could hurt them. 

🎩Nothing really could have prepared Sabo, for what {Name} entrusted to him. A very bleak and too upsetting for words recollection of the incidents that made them this way. Sabo felt angry, towards the people who hurt his partner, towards himself for not realizing some of his actions could have triggered them. Logically, he knew it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know of the situation and couldn’t change it. He felt sad seeing how heartbroken and frightened {Name} was. Not only from recalling the vivid and horrific memories but also from their fear that Sabo might perceive or treat them differently, in a bad way. They had been on the terrible side of listening to those who blamed {Name} for what happened in the past. {Name} grew to believe what was said, that it was their fault. 

🎩 Listening to how their words laced their own blame into it. “I shouldn’t have… they wouldn’t have.. I was the one…” Sabo only grew angrier towards the people, the vicious attitude they must have had upon saying those poisonous words to {Name}. Things that led to self doubt and blame. Sabo approached them, carefully enough to see if his touch and comfort would be welcomed. He could only hold them, swallowing his own anger. He pushed it aside, to whisper the words of validation they so desperately needed. Even the simple statement “It wasn’t your fault.” Brought tears to {Name’s} eyes, his voice resonates so deeply, unearthing all of those suppressed feelings that they held back. At this point all Sabo could offer is comfort and security, away from the memories. 

🎩 He tried to take their mind off of it. Trying to calm {Name} down and offer whatever reassurance he could. From the beginning he had been undemanding. {Name} never felt things in the way of obligation, they never felt forced to do anything. Sabo had created a safe space for them truly, one where they learned the hardships of healing but healing nevertheless. He helped and supported with what he could. Giving {Name} space when they needed it, giving them comfort and support when they wanted it. Sabo knew he could not change the past, nor what happened to his partner. But he could try to help them now and in the future. The past may have been full of hurt and terror, he tries, strives to make sure that the future will never be like that. Neither for him, nor {Name}. 

[blvckentropy]

WARNING LONG RANT!

Okay so I've been sitting on Drake so called "diss track" and I still declare it as the biggest CONTRADICTING ASS track ever. Like I get die hard Drake fans gone be like he won regardless but he hasn't because he made several deep holes in his argument. Granted you probably don't give a damn and that's fine. Overall, neither do I but some of you got so blinded and hyped by his one-liners and his flow that you ain't peep what he really said did you? Ngl, had me sitting here like a was crazy for a minute. Now correct me if I'm wrong cause I also had to fact check myself, but these are the lines that got me like now wait wait....

You said, "The ones that you're gettin' your stories from, they all clowns" just to say "We plotted for a week and then we fed you the information".... which one is it? Are you calling yourself a clown or the ppl you sent the info. to? I'm perplexed.

"What about the bones we dug up in that excavation? And why isn't Whitney denyin' all of the allegations? Why is she following Dave Free and not Mr. Morale? You haven't seen the kids in six months, the distance is wild Dave leaving heart emojis underneath pics of the child"

First and for most, what is your obsession with this woman? Also are we in high school? Why we worried about someone follow count and/or who following who? She a grown ass woman like she can't have male friends. Plus, if irl she with Kendrick every day, why does she need to? And if Kendrick aint worried about, why are you? You caught up in finding out if that's her real bd but where are your evidence? If Kendrick has to, you do too. Childish.

BUT THIS IS WHERE IT GOT DISRESPECTFUL!

"This Epstein angle was the shit I expected TikTok videos you collected and dissected Instead of being on some diss-direct shit You rather fucking grab your pen and misdirect shit My mom came over today and I was like, "Mother, I—, mother, I—, mother—" Ah, wait a second, that's that one record where you say you got molested"

"This about to get so depressin' This is trauma from your own confessions This when your father leave you home alone with no protection, so neglected That's why these pedophile raps and shit you so obsessed with, it's so excessive"

"Touch My Body" by Mariah Carey play, you probably start reflectin"

This whole verse was a misinterpretation of Kendrick's song "Mother I Sober" which I had to educate myself with. Long story short, the song is about his mom SA and how she thought he was by his cousin even when he told her "no" and it forms a bigger picture to his overall family trauma as a whole and so on. So not only did you Mr. " You gotta learn to fact check things and be less impatient" if that ain't the biggest pot calling the kettle black idk what is. You got it wrong (Kendrick pretty much explained it) then double down on borderline prob over the line atp disrespecting his mother and all and every victim of SA? We victim shaming now?

I never been with no one underage, but now I understand why this the angle that you really mess with Just for clarity, I feel disgusted, I'm too respected If I was fucking young girls, I promise I'd have been arrested I'm way too famous for this shit you just suggested

*Slow claps* Congratulations you played yourself. What in the fuckery? CURRENTLY....DIDDY DOODLE BOB HAS ALLEGATIONS RIGHT NOW AND HE'S MORE FAMOUS THAN U. And don't get me started on the list....umm...you literally just named one (If you still bumping R. Kelly, you could thank the Savior)

"Only fuckin' with Whitneys, not Millie Bobby Browns, I'd never look twice at no teenager" but you'll look once? Also, someone que up the video with him on stage w/ a 17-year-old. He and I quote "Why you look like that?" "You thick. look at all this" Then kiss her all over her face🤔 Sir a kiss on the cheek or forehead would suffice but I digress.

And correct me if I'm wrong, I believe the only reason Kendrick hasn't even the touch the "beating allegations" is because he covers all that in both Mr. Morale and Mother I sober? If I'm correct, then you basically didn't tell us nothing that hasn't been said on him. Plus you also not fact checking. Where's of your proof? I would think someone with the upper hand would have laid down evidence that you mastermind...oh wait...was Kendrick right along? Now you look like the goofy on defense. Like do Kendrick even have to say anything?

Bruh, but the funniest part on it all. You acting like YOU DIDN'T ASK FOR THIS. YOU DROP A DISS first wanting him to response and now you trying to make it seem like you didn't? My guy, if your actions alone here isn't a manipulation master class. Chileeeeee

[godihatethiswebsite]

Desert Oasis

✽ Johnny "Soap" Mactavish x f!reader (The Mummy AU)

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part 10 - Intoxicating distractions

It's been a bad mixture of circumstances that made this take as long as it has. Normally it's just a matter of having to write between lengthy bouts of brain fog and fatigue, but unfortunately this summer hasn't been the best for me and I'm only now getting pseudo back in the swing of things.

I was planning on finishing up all of the Hamunaptra arc in this chapter, but I got tired of wanting perfection for the second half and the couple of you who stick around for this one deserved to not wait any longer.

So, here I am - breaking my own weird internal chapter flow rules. For the first time since May, have a healthy portion of 4.8k words~

Point of note - there's some Gaelic written in this chapter. Please don't google translate it as it gives you the wrong meaning. Just paste it into a search bar instead. It's from a very lovely song~

Shock, it seemed, was your body’s default response to trauma.

The aftermath of the chaos was a lead weight in your gut, sitting heavy and churning the already upset bile in your sensitive stomach. There wasn’t a direction you could turn that wasn’t the embodiment of wanton destruction and needless massacre. Trampled tents and belongings were either pulverized or in a state of disarray. Lifeless bodies like discarded toys amongst the rubble, flayed open and strewn across the wreckage as if tossed aside carelessly by their former masters. Charred remains smoldering in the sand, the smoke making your eyes sting almost as much as the odor, outer layer of crispy skin still bubbling long after the corpse was cooked. 

The cold distance of disassociation shifted into an unsettled queasiness at full force, giving you only moments to recognize the acidity racing up your throat before collapsing to your knees in the dirt, the bitter mess splattering between your hands unfortunately not out of place in this setting.

Maybe your reaction might have been different if you’d been forced to witness the fallout of that eerily similar night on the ferry. Maybe you wouldn’t be bent over hurling up rations behind a broken pillar that felt as collected as your emotions. But the souls of the deceased had been lost to the bottom of the Nile and you’d been spared the horrors up close. 

There was no such luck this time. 

Kyle must notice you first, calling out your name with rattled urgency as you rise on shaky legs from your hiding spot, grateful your clothes had at least been spared from your embarrassment. There was an instant relief at seeing your cousin standing before you, hands firmly grasping your shoulders keeping you at arms length while taking in your disheveled appearance for any sign of injury or impairment. At first glance, he didn’t seem any less worse for wear himself, something you were entirely grateful for.

“Jesus! You alright, dolly?” The hands on your shoulders slid to your upper arms, gentle stroking motions ironing out the lingering chill in your bones, concern evident in eyes that raked over your frame in detail.

You weren't confident with your nod, still processing the last few minutes of wanton bloodshed. Your cousin’s careful touch was a blessed balm for your struggling nerves, taking in a few deep breaths in time with his own as he worked to ground you. 

How someone could get used to this violent lifestyle you’d never know.

A startled gasp left your throat as you were promptly whirled around to face a fuming pair of cerulean orbs, blue waves turbulent as his emotions consumed him raw. You could almost be washed out to its churning Mediterranean Sea if not for the tight grip his fingers dug into your flesh, nostrils flaring, each word emphasized with a jarring shake. 

“Bloody fuckin– the hell ye doin’ out ‘ere, lass?! Huh?!”

The second time staring down the Scotsman’s wrath was no less intimidating than the first. Here you were smack dab in the middle of another hazardous situation - at first glance having apparently not learned your lesson from last time - surrounded by corpses that could’ve so easily been you. What savage fury had once been loosed upon the men responsible for this carnage was now pinpoint fixed on your trembling form. 

Lips parted like a gaping fish, opening and closing as you struggled to explain the circumstance that led you here under the riptide of his ire. He didn’t even allow you time to formulate a coherent response before he was promptly shoving your face in his chest, catching you off guard while bulky forearms wrapped around you to an almost crushing degree. Your hands braced on his sternum were the only things keeping your nose from getting smashed and giving you some minor space to breathe.

“Ye were supposed tae be safe, ya daft hen...” There was palpable anger in his tone, but also a weary frustration as he unconsciously squeezed you tighter. “Wha’ part of don’t move did ye not comprehend?”

“I’m sorry…” your voice soft, teetering on wobbly, “One of the camels–”

Johnny cut you off again with a growl. “Dunnae care about no damn beast, hen. Only you. Ah say stay, ye stay. Got it?”

There was nothing you could say to justify your actions to them. You hadn’t meant to end up in the thick of it, truly. Kyle might be your cousin, but there wasn’t an ounce of fighter in your side of the bloodline. If the adrenaline hadn’t kept you singularly focused on your goal of retrieving the runaway animal then maybe you’d have noticed its intended path earlier and could’ve turned tail, avoiding this whole fiasco.

Instead, you made yourself appear foolish, something that tugged on your chest with a bright blossom of shame.

Johnny realized himself at the sound of your unbidden quiet whimper, his stance relaxing marginally as he forced a steadying exhale from his lungs, tugging on his own reins. Hands turned from smothering to cradling, next words spoken tersely but with much more self-control.

“Ah cannae protect ye if I dunnae ken where ye are - neither of us can. Ah’m thinkin’ yer tucked away from danger when ye’ve really been right next tae me the whole time. Cannae so easily take the offensive when ah’m forced ta do the opposite. Make sense, lass?”

Humming your affirmation with another soft apology, you closed your eyes against the gruesome visions surrounding the three of you, his lessened grip allowing you to maneuver yourself more comfortably in his hold, arms reaching around his stocky build with fingers groping into the back of his shirt like a lifeline. Kyle’s tender touch joined his, knuckles stroking soothingly down the back of your arm as they each placed a chaste kiss to your crown.

His arms were still around you as the remaining members of the other expedition hesitantly approached, a pregnant pause as they shifted and looked between themselves awkwardly as if silently debating who amongst them would be the one to speak, eventually settling on Hutch.

“Whaddya fellas say to a small truce…?”

It was almost an insult when the offending camel came trotting back a short while later, as if it had merely gone for a casual midnight jaunt rather than almost costing you your life chasing after it in the first place.

What remaining tents could be salvaged were moved farther into the city towards your thankfully untouched encampment, the few remaining workers left behind to scavenge through the rubble and properly dispose of the bodies of their slain brethren. You held a slight disdain for the Americans sitting comfy on their cushions nearby, content to let the hired help do all the heavy lifting while they gloated in their sorting of their precious valuables, inspecting for any minor cracks and dents that could cost them even a fraction of a pound off their eventual asking price.

The majority of their group had just been killed in cold blood. The least they could’ve done was help pile the corpses, something even your boys had assisted with after seeing you back to your tent with pointed looks not to wander off this time. 

Besides their uncaring attitudes, it was less tense than you thought seated across the blazing fire from the others. Even Graves seemed to have been whipped into his best behavior after everything that went down, gracefully keeping his mouth shut and facial expression free of sneer. No one wanted to really converse, retreating to their own corners to try and forget the night's events.

“Bastards are like fucking cockroaches,” Roze spit out, violently ripping into a piece of jerky with her bared canines and more gusto than needed.

“Thought we taught them enough of a lesson last time,” chirped Oz with an air of self bloating. “Showed them they picked the wrong crowd to tango with.”

“They chased us off the boat, mate,” Kyle snarked as your pair returned from their labors, intent to settle down for the night. “Hate to break it to ya, but I don’t think we were the ones who made off with the upper hand there.”

Even the glowers directed towards him for contradicting their senseless beliefs didn’t stop your cousin from nicking a bottle of something strong from the Americans. 

“You mind?” Oz spoke up as Kyle brazenly yanked the dark glass from his hands, trotting over to plop down next to Johnny who’d taken up residence to your right.

“Call it a tithe for savin’ your arses and letting you stay the night over here with us.” The bottle uncorked with a coherent pop, a subtle fizz releasing into the dry air before Kyle gave it a quick swirl. Whatever contents he sniffed inside must’ve been good enough for his palate, tipping his head back to take the first swig with a satisfied groan, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

That reaction was good enough for you.

“For once, dear cousin, I find we are in agreement.” In lieu of a soothing cup of chamomile, if there was one thing you could use after the excitement of the day, it was a stiff drink to help clear out your ruminating mind. 

Leaning across the space with your arm outstretched for the bottle in question, he happily handed it over to you with an encouraging chuckle. “Good on ya, dolly.” 

Johnny merely raised an eyebrow at you in question, not having seen you as anything other than proper since your first introduction in the prison cell.

You ignored it as you inspected the label, squinting to read the smudged ink on crinkled paper, clearly water damaged from its previous dip in the river. Shiraz from a vineyard in Khollar; written out in simple scrawl. Peering inside you found a light pale liquid, a flavor profile comparable to that of an old sherry - dry and nutty. At first taste it parched your tongue, settling on the back of your soft palate, different from the sweeter aged varieties you preferred but not an unwelcome tang. 

If you could share a brandy with your cousin in your father’s old smoking room then you could certainly down a bottle of dry wine in an ancient forbidden city.

The evening progressed with not much shared conversation between the twelve or so of you still remaining, both sides opting to chatter amongst themselves despite the close proximity. It certainly wasn’t any skin off your back, losing yourself in the strong ABV as if it was a more succulent port, in a place far more rose tinted than here amongst the wafting smell of camels.

You rarely - if ever - allowed yourself to indulge, noting only a small handful of instances during the last decade you’d ventured past the point of tipsy over a game of cards with the other noble women of society. It was ‘unbecoming’ of a lady, a twilight activity best left to gentlemen's clubs where the rich white men of the ton congratulated themselves on being masters of the universe.

Whoever said men were the only ones permitted to have all the fun hadn’t been privy to the goings on behind closed parlour doors.

Still, you ended up just as sloshed as your cousin for a change, grateful for the way the warming alcohol buzzed in the back of your brain and loosened the tension from your shoulders. It was freeing having the ability to shut your brain off for a few scant hours, granting a short reprieve from the all too real worries the night sky had brought with it. You could forget all about the bloodstained granules you’d traipsed through on your way back to camp, trading coppery cabernet for nutty shiraz.

The pale waning moon hung bright in the dappled sky, nestled amongst a symphony of speckled jewel tones and painted galaxies that glistened like bioluminescent mermaid scales. A sight like no other; your wayward imagination was easily lost in the spiraling fractals of cosmology, floating above like kicked up stardust from the twirling of dancing deities. It was one of many things you’d come to appreciate outside the realm of the bright Egyptian cities. Too much of it was hidden by the industrial glow of a bustling population to be visible from the balcony of your estate. Out here with only flickering firelight to illuminate the space, the heavens were on naked display.

The rattled snoring from your cousin provided an added ambiance to an already jostled night, having curled up into a ball some minutes ago despite swearing to only resting his eyelids. Perhaps if he hadn’t needn’t to be saved only a few moments prior from a less-than-dignified face planting into the spitting firewood then you might’ve been more inclined to believe him, having yanked him backwards a hair’s breadth from the flames, his self imposed vertigo doing a better job impersonating a tilt-a-whirl than a man.

Johnny, meanwhile, hadn’t partaken despite the badgerings of your cousin. An oddity considering what you’d known of the man. Though, you supposed, someone needed to retain their sobriety should another event befall your troupe. 

Didn’t stop him from delighting in your own inebriated state, bullying your full attention now that the others had bid their goodnights.

“Yer oot yer face, lass,” he chuckled at your expense, his thumb wiping away a dribble of spilled wine from the corner of your mouth as you fought to keep in the intoxicating liquid from a previously made humorful comment. “Right mad with it, ye are.”

You watched in a hazy rapture as he brought the thick digit to his mouth, tongue swirling around the calloused pad, lips sucking off the taste with a bit more zeal than necessary and far too much eye contact for what was appropriate.

Swallowing the shiraz in your mouth, you wiped your chin with the back of your hand before addressing his remarks. “Apologies for breaking the illusion of primness and propriety.”

“It’s yer own stomach ye’ll be boakin’ up,” he shrugged with an air of teasing, still keeping an eye on you should the urge come to pass. “Haven’t ya hurled enough fer one night, lass?”

You glowered over the rim of the bottle, face struggling to remain flat and unamused despite the twitch in your lips stating the contrary. “Low blow, MacTavish…”

“Ah, so it’s MacTavish when yer cross with me, aye?” 

God, he was an insufferable bastard. Lounging there all smug with that mischievous twinkle and those prominent laugh lines. Why you just wanted to lean over and lick them clean off his stupid face–

No.

“You’ll hear me saying ‘Johnny’ again when you do something to earn the privilege back.”

“Oh, ah plan tae earn it alright.”

The subtle innuendo wasn’t at all subtle, but in your current state it was hard to distinguish between what was mere banter at this point and the fervid looks he’d been doling out since your second meeting.

You scrambled for a change of subject, hoping for a much needed distraction from the steady pulse between your thighs.

“You did something earlier that caught me by surprise. In the temple,” you prodded. “Curious for a catholic boy to worship at the altar of another god.” It was an honest question if not a bit ribbing, reflecting back to his quiet presence next to you in the inner sanctuary of Horus, head bowed in silent reverence towards a figure not affixed to a cross.

“Havnae been a good boy in a long time now, lass. War will do that ta ye.” The shrug he gave was nonchalant, as was his tone. But there was something strained to his words that spoke of deeper issues held towards his faith. “But ah see no harm in honorin’ a sacred space, ‘specially in such a desolate place like this. If the old gods wanna grant us safe passage fer a kindly visit then ah won't be sayin’ no tae a helpin’ hand.”

That hadn’t been the kind of diversion you’d been poking for, and you weren’t far gone enough in your cups to keep prying at an open wound. Somber didn’t suit him and you desired to have your playful companion back.

Instead, you set about grabbing at his weathered journal, snatching it up from its unattended spot near his bedroll in hopes to garner a more lighthearted reaction.

The leather binding was well worn, skin lightened where the natural oils of his hands rubbed off on the spots where he frequently cradled the book. There was nothing particularly remarkable about it - no engraving or even simple initials embedded on the spine marking it as his. But it was clear that it had gone with him to the edges of the world and back. Large water splotches warped the hide. Dark blood stains you couldn’t be sure were his. The curled edges of the pages crinkled and dirtied from muddy fingertips. You could even detect the faint smell of cigarette smoke and musky cologne, something similar to the fragrance currently attached to his skin.

“Gonna pry into mah deep dark secrets now, hen?” Johnny quirked a brow in intrigue, though he made no attempt to halt your endeavours.

“Well now it’s not nearly as much fun if you’re letting me do it,” you grumbled good naturedly, causing a light hearted chuckle from him before flipping to the first of many pages.

You expected to find clever writings and gossip upon turning the cover, illegible chicken scratch venting at the harshness of life abroad. Maybe a few rambles here and there at certain spectacles of particular enjoyment. What you hadn’t envisioned was a book filled with detailed illustrations and odd sketches that told the stories he'd witnessed without call for an alphabet; words made real taken shape on the page. Some were more juvenile in form - stick figures and rough outlines, half formed thoughts in a hurry - while others were artistic renderings he'd taken particular care with in their recreation. There was no need for written word when he so eloquently laid bare his inner thoughts with practiced technique of shading and highlighting.

“Not wha’ ya thought ye’d find, eh?”

The question itself was rhetorical. It was clear he’d known he would catch you off guard, possibly used to the same reaction garnered from others in the past. Could you blame them though? I mean, who would expect a stalwart soldier like him to possess such artistic skill?

But was that… that small shake in his voice when he cleared his throat… was he…?

Turning the pages, a London skyline greeted you, sketches of back home amongst civilian life, a cute critter peeking out near the bottom corner of the page you recognized as Julius from various trips to the picture palaces during sweltering English summers (you’d seen a handful of the Alice Comedies yourself, the mixture of live action and hand drawn animation enchantingly brought to life by a young artist named Walt).

There were a handful of times the journal was plucked from your fingers and turned from view, certain secrets best kept hidden as he searched for a more appropriate page to let you explore. Whether the contents were too personal for you to engage with or even something deemed too grotesque for your comparatively innocent gaze, you weren’t sure. But you didn’t push the subject when he handed the item back to you, accepting the bits of his private thoughts he offered up willingly and with a grateful smile.

The pair of you spent an unknown length of time combing through the catalogs of his adventures, continuing to sip at the dark glass bottle, though far more occupied with the details on the page to really maintain any sort of solid buzz. Some depictions required more elaboration, you pointing at different sketches with all the enthusiasm of a child being read aloud from a favored picture book, eyes bright and inviting of the stories he was all too happy to share.

The tranquility of a small farmhouse backdropped against a sea of rolling meadows particularly captured your attention. It reminded you far too much of your youth spent exploring the wilds beyond your cousin’s childhood abode. “And this one? Where was this sketched?”

Wistful pride lit him from within. “That there’s mah home, lass.”

You inspected the illustration a bit more thoroughly at the revelation, brushing careful fingertips over the smudged graphite, imagining the scene with brighter colors and a warm gentle breeze rustling the long wild grassland. A modest barn was implied towards the west end of the property, the shadows of a fence winding a perimeter. Flipping to the backside of the parchment revealed the scene in more detail, tools stacked neatly along the inside of an open swing door, highland cattle grazing amongst the feed troughs within the confines of their pen. 

A bust of the fluffy beast stared you head on with hairy concealed eyes on the accompanying page, bumpy wet nose glistening and mouth open mid chew of its sweet herby meal. You could imagine long hours spent caring for its herd, the scritches his bushy mane must’ve received.

“Grew up a country boy, huh?”

“Ah ken mah way ‘round a tractor,” came the boasted reply.

You snorted. “Well, aren't you just rich.”

Johnny patted the small leather pouch secured to his belt, bursting with coin from your early morning victory and kept safe on his person. “Ah’ve earned mah keep.”

Lingering over the page a bit longer, you unexpectedly changed course, flipping from the very back of the journal, curious to see his most recent works. “Let’s see what you’ve been making of our current adventure, shall we?”

Blank pages waiting to be filled gave way to remarkable hieroglyphics embedded in your retinas as clear as day on the page before you, given far more detail than you would have otherwise given him credit for. There was no need for going back to create charcoal rubbings of the reliefs when you had all you needed right here on the page. Skimming further uncovered lifelike renditions of various statues housed within. 

Giant obelisks outside the temple of Hathor. A bust of Amun-Ra. The remains of the boat docks. Tiny replicas of ivory treasures. Hatshepsut’s stone sarcophagus. Pharaonic headdresses. A small ceremonial altar.

When had he even had time to put pencil to paper?!

“Jesus Johnny–”

“There we go,” he interjected with a smirk at the return of his name, though you continued unimpeded.

“–do you have a photographic memory or something?! These carvings are immensely accurate for someone who can’t even read the language!”

“Not quite tha’ remarkable unfortunately,” he added. “Cannae seem tae recall the direction some of ‘em were facin’. Ah ken that’s important tae the syntax.”

“Damn near close enough…” you trailed off, muttering under your breath. It spoke volumes that you were having no trouble at all forming sentence structures from what little he had jotted down. The fact that he could remember the preserved paintings better than you… 

“All this from memory…”

“Gotta have a good eye fer detail if ye dunnae wanna get killed,” he explained. 

You hummed at his words. “Was wondering why a soldier like yourself had been taking such an interest.”

“Ah may be a brute, lass, but ah ken art when ah see it.”

You went unnaturally still halfway through flipping the page. Breath caught in your throat like a mouse in a cage, heart pounding in your ears drowning out the grumbled snorings of present company. You wondered at the drawing that took up the full span of parchment. Of all the things for him to–

A figure. 

You.

You’d seen others littered across his journal; learned their names and heard their stories. Comrades in arms, random strangers in pubs. An older woman who shared his same broad nose. 

But this was different. 

There was no mistaking the care and attention that went into creating the likeness of the moment. You recalled sitting by the fire the other night, the long winded conversation between you, sitting position reflected on the paper from his vantage point. At the time you’d assumed his pencil had been scrawling out notes - perhaps quiet confessions of the encounters that turned this expedition into something very different. Words that if spoken aloud and given life would reveal a man who regretted stepping foot outside his cell.

Who knew this admission would be the most damning of all.

“...you drew me?”

“Like ah said.” 

Ah ken art when ah see it.

Words escaped you at that. What were you supposed to say when faced with such a declaration? Thank you didn’t seem right, but making no comment at all felt even worse. 

It didn’t help that even in your inebriated condition the burn of his stare sent scorch marks flaring across your cheek like a flash grenade. Caught up in the well of emotions at the etherealness he used to portray you, you all at once became hyper aware of the scant few inches separating you and him, all but in his lap as he at some point scooted closer to peer over your shoulder.

Johnny smoothly pulled the remaining alcohol from your grasp, trading a heavy waterskin for your near-empty bottle of wine with only slight fuss from you at the loss. “C’mon, m’eudail. Let’s get ye soberin’ up so yer not dead on yer feet come mornin’.”

“That’s the third time you’ve called me that,” you remarked, handing the pouch back over after a few refreshing gulps. “May-doll. What’s it mean?”

“Means yer a right pain in the arse.”

You heavily considered calling his bluff, but on the off chance you were wrong you didn’t need to look any more stupid than the nickname implied. “To be expected from such a harsh dialect,” you countered instead.

There was that glimmer of trouble again. “Ye think mah native tongue barbaric, lass?”

“Well it’s certainly not a romance language,” you chuckled in response, rising to your feet and nearly tipping ass over tea kettle until his firm grip yanked and manhandled you right into his lap. It was on the tip of your tongue to break out in a fit of giggles at your clumsiness, but one look from him with those deep passionate eyes kept you spellbound and tongue tied in a chinese knot.

“Ye want a gent that’s soft and eloquent, or a man who kens how tae get the job done?”

The heated furnace in your belly blossomed at the suggestion in his words. While your maidenhead was still intact, by no means were you a stranger to the pleasures one could bring themselves in the secret of the night. Your fingers knew best the way your body curved and constricted around delicate digits. Those same feelings stirred like a famished beast, gulping down thick buckets of desire, your fervent gaze made bolder by shiraz darting briefly down to his lips in what you hoped was quick enough to sneak past his purview. 

The way his pupils dilated told you you'd failed. 

“How about a man who can do both? Does the art of courtship die with the fall of chivalry?”

A calloused hand stroked over your face, the rough pad of his thumb brushing over the sliver of skin beneath your bottom lip. He held your chin the way you held your breath as he leaned forward to softly graze his nose against yours. There was no way he didn’t hear your heart pounding out of your chest, the way your lungs rapidly gulped in shallow gasps of air. How you had to adjust your legs to take the edge off the burn.

His words were a mere whisper against your lips, tasting his breath as melodic phrases flowed from a silver dipped tongue. “Ged nach eil sinn fhathast pòsd’ tha mi'n dòchas gum bi. Fhad’ ’s a mhaireas mo dhà dhòrn cha bhith lòn oirnn a dhìth.”

Johnny must be one of the fae, you surmised, the way he ensnares you so easily like a siren’s call with foreign words only your heart gleans the meaning of. The vocalizations are rough - yet delicate and sensual in the enchanting lilt of his homeland. There’s witchcraft winding its way around your spirit, sent from heather covered mountains and babbling brooks; crafted by dwarves and perfected in sacred mushroom circles. It’s the only logical reason as to why eyes as soft as his have taken complete control over the lifeblood thrumming in your veins.

There’s a moment where you’re all but certain you’ll meet in the middle, where the dance the two of you have been skirting around will finally come to a head and you discover how much sweeter the shiraz is when tasted from his mouth. 

But when his lips settle on your brow, you fight not to let the disappointment show. 

“Off tae bed with ye, lass,” he murmurs softly, “dunnae want yer cousin tae skelp me fer keepin’ ye up too late.”

<< ✿ Previous ✿ <<

[the-tropes-are-hungry]

The Worm's Mother (2/3)

If I get to write this fic Leshy is both (1) the Main Character and (2) Literally A Worm Who Became God. Like he will be driving the plot, and the plot will be the Cat Takes the L and the Lamb suffers Religious Trauma. CW: rotting corpses and descriptions of Leshy eating them. I'm sorry. [Prev] / [Next]

His mother loved him. She would have told him if she didn’t.

He’d hatched into a cocoon of loam and root. His first bites, teeth still tender, had been of the sweet, sour, bitter nest around him. The darkness muted sound, but the warm pressure held his body safe sinew was wrapped in muscle, and soft carapace became chiton. He was kept patient by roots snaking through the soil for his teeth, sharper and stronger, to suckle on. In the dark, her heartbeat lulled him to sleep. When his claws were strong enough to dig, she gave against his touch.

Here, where loam touched clay.

Here, where the roots carried water.

Here, where Mother brought him blood.

The smell, the smell. The enlivened touch across his pallet, like cool water but sweeter, headier, thicker. He thought it was the roots, stupid worm, some incredible plant with red roots and black juice that ran so sweet he gobbled even the soil around the weeds.

He tunnelled up. He tunnelled out. He needed more.

He needed it until he bit into a kind of plant that would not shred (fabric, Shamura would tell him later), so he used his claws to tear into the fruit. The flesh. The flesh.

Fruit within fruit. Sweet within bitter. Tangy under salt. Textures his mind had no words for, a crunch that made all his infant eyes open for the first time, deep in the body of the great warm bloody dead plant-fruit he’d already eaten half of.

Ears, suddenly open without Mother’s embrace, wracked with sounds not from her or from him. If he wanted a fruit like this, so would others.

And if he was covered in its juice, others would eat him too.

He ripped the bones from the corpse and retreated back to mother. He dug deeper, and squirmed tighter, and never found the nest again (not that he had left much of it behind). But he did find a hollow where cold water pooled and no light came, and Mother did not warn him of anything save the swaying of the trees whose roots formed this burl in the ground.

He ate his bones. Like the fruit he’d torn them from, they were treasures wrapped in treasures. Soft meat, crunchy gristle, sharp and salty and when ground with his front teeth made his whole head vibrate before the deep dark butter within slid down his throat.

He slept after that first meal. Deeply. Safely. Mother protected him.

He went back to that grove (the battlefield, Kallamar would explain) several times, and brought bones back to the burl to eat and then sleep. The fruit was less good, less sweet, more pungent, kinda gross. He needed to dig a different path each time too, always too big after sleeping to squeeze back up the same way. Mother warned him with trembles, and sighs, and once a face-full of rancid (festering) water to stop retracing his path, to learn, and grow, and dig anew.

His legs sprouted, bringing misery. Thoroughly unexpected and unwanted, and Mother would not make the burl large enough for his new bones. It was not fair that the corpses’ bones had become his bones, no one had told him this would happen. The claws on his toes were not strong like the ones on his hands. They were not good for eating, or burrowing, or—no, scratching they were good for. Extremely good for. The scratching—oh the itching? Why itching?

His fur sprouted, bringing itching, and odor, but oh the scratching yes yes yes the scratching (the scritches someone else would say). Yes, all the time. So good. So, so, so good.

There was nowhere else to try his legs but the grove. The sun had turned the corpses putrid, and the flies had turned to maggots writhing in the last of the meat. Maggots were okay, like any other grub, but boring. No gristle, no grinding, no challenge. More bitter than meaty, and small. A snack. A boring, same-y, stupid snack.

He stood by accident, but mostly instinct. The sun was setting. There were no more fires. Fresh rain lay dewy on the trees and grass, covering the rancid smell of the blood where it was crusted under bloated corpses, no longer appetizing. He simply went from clicking his claws over strange thin loud cold stone (Kallamar would call it tempered steel with an oxidized finish. Shamura would call it shoddy.) to being taller than the corpse and the corpses around it.

Foot-claws were good for not falling, but that would take time and this time he fell and he shrieked and he kicked and now the bad-meat smell was his smell and EW. FUCK. DISGUSTING. HOLY SHIT I’VE BEEN EATING THIS?

The first time he saw birds fly was when he lay on his back in an unmentionable pile of viscera. The sky was the colour of an iris petal streaked with orange and pink. Thin white clouds like dandelion juice broke up the prism, and the black bodies of soaring corvids streaked by with open throats, echoing his own outraged trumpet.

He lay there for hours. Or maybe five minutes. He dug his claws into his mother and felt her ever-cool ever-present ever-real presence holding up his back and tail and legs and feet and arms and head, opened his mouth to the yawning expanse of new-evening stars in their crown of war-blackened treetops, and for the first time since his birth he laughed.

Two thousand years later, in a pumpkin patch and at the edge of twilight, Leshy will hear the birds and the trees and smell the green and the wet and feel the cool and present and real form of his mother beneath him, and for the first time since his fall and resurrection he will laugh.

But on that day, in the distant past, in a world he did not know and did not care to know of, the worm rolled over in the viscera to stand and gurgled as something stared back at him in the muck.

He blinked his yellow eyes at it. It blinked its green eye back.

Useless thing for a worm to have. A crown with a blinking green eye. No good for digging, or scratching, or chewing or eating.

He tried to eat it anyway.

No good.

But it felt good. And like that first mouthful of flesh, and that first glug of sweet blood, if it was good then it must be good.

So, he picked it up, and he put it on, and he walked (badly) from bloated corpse to dew-crisp grass, set his claws to digging, and vanished to show Mother.

Mother loved him. She would have warned him if she’d known.

[Prev] / [Next]

[emisprocrastinatingbywriting]

Alone and Forsaken

Chapter 8 Summary:

Joel Miller wakes with a part of himself missing and a fuzzy memory. After realizing what has happened, he meets people from your past that both comfort and shake him to his core. In a life or death situation, he forces himself into his more brutal side but finds it harder to keep himself in that mindset with thoughts of you racking his brain. All he knows is that he needs to find a way to keep you safe while stuck behind bars. Can he escape and find you? Will he leave those you once loved behind?

Warnings: Past Trauma, Joel is getting biffed around pretty hard this chapter so heavy on the injuries, Angst, Joel needs hugs but so does Jake, some friendly fluff between Joel & Jake, Paul needs to be punched ASAP.

A/N:

Hello folks! I hope the first month of your summer vacay (if you are in uni like me) is going good! We are jumping right in with Joel's perspective. This chapter is super dark as Joel goes through some pretty heavy panic at the seperation and thoughts of self harm do arise. Additionally, we get some more background to Paul and spoiler alert! He is a super creepy and violent guy. I don't go too heavy into detail into what sort of assaults he has perpetrated but reading in between the lines, you can get the jist. As always, take care of yourselves! If this is too heavy then please do not read it. If you want to keep reading but don't want to miss out, always feel free to message me and I can sparknotes it for you. Trauma is tricky and if this will trigger you, opt out babes. Choose you!

Chapter 8/20

Chapter 8: Separated Pt. 1

The first thing Joel heard was an incessant dripping noise. It pulled him from a deep sleep filled with senseless dreams about people with unfamiliar faces. He scrunched his nose at the sound in distaste, sighing at the knowledge that his day would entail patching up whatever hole that had formed on the roof. Joel knew that the frigid breeze would soon be whipping through the cabin and pulled himself from the fog. His bones ached for some inexplicable reason but it simply had to be fixed. The last thing he needed was you getting sick with no antibiotics on hand. 

You. 

The thought of kickstarted his brain as Joel’s eyes blinked open. Memories rushed back to him as he tried to place himself. The mark on his neck and the matching one on yours, the pancakes, the fight, the confessions he had made and the fire that interrupted the moment. He remembered smacking your ass before he left for the river and stooping down to fill the bucket but after that it was blank. 

Joel dug through his memories for anything else but he felt as though pieces of himself had been shredded off in his sleep. He longed for something unknown and it put him on edge. The invisible string behind his belly button that connected him inexplicitly to the only home he had in this world, to you, yanked him from his delirium. The memory he dug for remained elusive but that didn’t matter. Not when the beast within him howled at the absence of his mate.

A voice sliced through the terror that threatened to suffocate him. Joel whipped his head towards it so hard that stars formed behind his eyes. Dizzy and slightly nauseous from the abrupt movement, he dropped his head back down onto the metal with a soft thump. 

“It’s weird. If you asked me yesterday what she smelled like, I wouldn’t have been able to tell you but the second they dragged you in here I remembered. You smell like her. It’s weird but hey, congrats I guess.”

Joel’s eyes struggled to adjust to the pulsing fluorescents that hung over him. The light from them reflected off of the metal slab he was laid on and burned his retinas. Straining harder despite the pain, his eyes finally landed on a ragged looking omega locked in a cage across from his own. Alarm bells went off in Joel’s brain and he shot up off the cold surface like a bad out of hell. 

A wave of nausea knocked him backwards before he reached the door. An uncharacteristically high pitched whine tumbled from Joel’s lips as he swayed on his feet. His head felt like it had been clamped in a vice. The pressure inside of his skull made his ears ring as he swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. 

A concussion. Joel had enough to know the symptoms even before the outbreak. Not much to do for one other than to rest but after looking around, he realized that he needed to figure a way out and fast. Dried blood was caked all over his face and crept down his neck to darken his flannel. A pool of semi-congealed blood was pooled where his head had laid while the fresher blood dripped down to the floor. He watched it splatter against the cement for a second before he righted himself. 

“Hey woah there big guy, take it easy. Just take it slow. You probably have a concussion and if you puke, I swear to God I will break out of here just to slap you. I don’t care who you’re mated to,” the omega spat. 

Joel coughed and winced at the wad of bloodied spit that sourced his mouth. Swallowing it back,  he slowly eased himself down onto the bunk in his cell to take in his surroundings. The omega across from him was bruised but looked reasonably healthy. The scent of his fellow prisoner was muted but Joel picked out soft notes of citrus intertwined with a heavier aroma of cloves. This omega was mated. With no alpha in sight to protect the younger man, he winced. Joel needed to focus on getting back to his own mate who could be in the exact same situation elsewhere. 

The room that held him was small with just two cramped cages and a partly decomposed body slumped by the door. The skin of the dead sagged from the bone, the face misshapen and melting towards the floor. Rotted holes stared back at him as he watched a rat claw at its bloated abdomen. The sickly sweet scent of decay assaulted his nostrils and he turned away to keep himself from gagging. 

Metal sheets acted as beds in the tiny cells and a rickety office chair sat in the aisle between. It looked like a security office for some shitty strip mall or grocery store. There wasn’t even a toilet for the previous prisoners in the cell, just a bucket that someone had shoved in haphazardly. How nice, he thought. 

Reaching forward, Joel rattled the cage with his hand and cussed at the strength of the thin bars. He wrenched back against their hold once, twice, before he relented. As dinky as the little metal cage was, it would be impossible to tear through without the proper tools. 

“Yeah, because I haven't tried that already. I’ve just been sitting here fiddling my thumbs and waiting for them to come back all day.” 

Joel snorted and looked across at the omega who was leaned up against the side of the cage with his arms crossed. He had a full mouth and a pair of deeply set brown eyes that oozed sarcasm. His curls were dirtied but still shone in the light of the room. The strands looked as if they had been picked through for blood and filth, placed ever so carefully against his skull. Despite the horrendous circumstance and obvious injuries, the omega managed to look oddly put together. 

He wasn’t sure why, but he felt like he already knew the younger man. Joel combed his mind for a tangible connection, searching through his memories of Jackson, of the QZs, and his time on the road but he found nothing. He even pilfered through the rolodex that was buried deep in his brain of Sarah’s former friends but no, this man looked to be in his mid twenties. Sarah would have been about ten years older than him when the outbreak started. If she had lived she would be in her mid thirties, making the omega too young to fit into that part of his life. Joel’s chest ached at the thought of his pup but he shoved it away. It was not the time for that. 

It wasn’t until the omega rolled his eyes at Joel’s staring that he knew who it was. He had already seen the action a multitude of times in someone else more times than he could count. The way the corners of his mouth lifted as his face tilted towards the ceiling in an exaggerated eye roll made the identity of the omega click in his brain. 

“You’re him,” came from Joel’s mouth. 

“What? I’m who? We’ve never met. Pretty sure I’d remember if we had, big boy.” 

Joel chuckled at his cheekiness and tried to prop himself up against the bed. Sharp jolts of pain skittered from the crown of his head and burned straight down his spinal cord as he tried to get a good look at the omega he had heard stories about. The bright lights burned his retinas but after a few moments, the stars in his vision dissipated and he could see the man more clearly. He was somehow exactly how Joel imagined he would be. Defiant and saucy, yet with an undercurrent of kindness as the gaze upon Joel both analyzed his character and assessed the extent of his injuries. 

The memory of how you had glared at him and forced him down onto the couch flickered in his mind. The thought of how you had swaddled him like a baby and then cleaned his wounds curled his hands into tights fists. The bite mark on his neck stung once more but he shook himself out of despair. Joel needed to focus so that he could get back to you. Never in his life had it been so hard to focus on the task at hand but the bond demanded his attention. It was like half of his heart had been ripped from his chest and some hidden instinct inside screamed at him to slam himself against the bars until they fell open. For the sake of his damaged body, he ignored it. 

“You’re - fuck’s sake that hurts. Sorry, you’re him. You’re Jake,” he gritted out as his head pulsed with every beat in his chest. 

Jake smiled and strolled over to the edge of his cell. His bruised arms slid between the bars as he sized up the older alpha. Joel winced at the intensified scrutiny. The one good thing about the outbreak was that nobody had to meet the friends and family of whoever they were with anymore. In Joel’s case, they usually didn’t have one and he would be long gone by morning anyways if they did. But somehow, even in the brutal world he found himself in, he was forced to bear the weight of a loved one’s stare for the first time in years. 

“Hmmmm… And you know what, I always told her she would go for someone older too. I called that shit didn’t I? Miriam would be so pissed, she had her bets on that younger alpha girl that made the bread,” Jake laughed as he clapped his hands together. 

Older? Joel knew he was older. He was 56 years old for Christ’s sake but he wasn’t sure how to feel about the implication that it was a reason for your attraction to him. The humor both comforted and grated at Joel’s nerves. On one hand, it was comforting to hear your tone in Jake’s voice. On the other hand, it refocused his mind back on your absence.  

“Where is she?,” Joel pressed. 

The other man’s face darkened a bit and he sighed, looking down at his feet as he scuffed the floor. Joel’s heart clenched in his chest and the mark on his neck throbbed uncomfortably. His vision tunneled as he waited to hear the words confirming what he already knew; that he couldn’t protect you, that you were gone, that he was alone again. A deep feeling of dread bit at the lining of his stomach as he resigned himself to his fate. 

Death seemed like a small act of mercy in a world without his mate. Fuck it, he thought, at least they will probably kill me soon. If you were dead then he was more than ready to follow you to the grave. Joel couldn’t survive another loss. In fact, he refused to. It would all be so pointless, to be forced to live with the crushing weight of his own inability to perform the most basic requirements of his kind. To protect, to care, to provide, all of these things he consistently failed at. If your death had come, then he decided that he must join you and everyone else that he had been unable to keep safe. 

“I don’t know. I wish… Fuck man, I wish I could tell you where she is but I don’t know. Paul tried to bring her in but somehow that bitch got hands now, I seriously don’t know what you have been feeding her but shit. Anyways, he-”

“Wait,” he interjected, his heart stuttering in his chest from the hope that bloomed and spread warmth through his body. 

Joel swallowed, trying not to get bogged down with the brief respite from his preemptive mourning and subsequent doomsday preparations. You were alive, that was what he needed to focus on. Alive and somehow capable of taking down a fully grown alpha? He tried not to let the pride he felt get in the way. Gripping the edges of the metal to keep his hands from visibly shaking in excitement and anxiety, his mouth opened and closed like a fish as he tried to formulate coherent words. 

“She’s alive?,” he asked, voice faltering as his throat thickened with emotion. 

The nod from his prison mate lifted the pressure from his chest and Joel choked on a relieved laugh. His hand rubbed at the mark on his neck as he blinked back tears. His thoughts were consumed with you. Somehow you were alive. That was good. He could work with that. As long as you stayed away, you would be safe. Joel decided he would try his hardest to get back to you but if he died trying, the thought that you were safe from Paul was enough for him. You were young and resourceful. 

Maybe you would find one of the maps in his drawers and make it to Tommy. Most of them had Jackson marked off and Joel knew his little brother would never turn away an omega in crisis, especially one that carried his scent. He didn’t know Maria that well in comparison but he knew that Tommy loved the commanding woman for some reason, which meant she probably would welcome you too. 

A life in Jackson without him was what he had originally promised you. Despite the comfort of your safety, Joel was surprised that the thought of being stripped of time with you stung a bit. A quiet life with you shrouded in trees taken from him in the blink of an eye. He hadn’t even realized that he had made plans before they vanished, only to be replaced with the knowledge that he may never see them come to fruition. 

Skinny dipping in the river in the summer, teaching you how to hunt, cooking in the puke green kitchen and watching you enjoy his creations, strumming his guitar on the porch he built as you make distorted doodles on scraps of paper, holding you close on nights that his mind can’t escape the weight of his past, all of that was gone. As he tried to grapple with the loss of a dream, Joel was shocked to realize that all that remained was fear. He had something to lose and it terrified him. 

Jake’s voice cut into his reveries as he explained, “Paul came back a day after they dropped you off. Cooper said his face was all fucked up and he was limping pretty badly when came in. She got away but they don’t know where she went. I’m sorry but your guess is as good as mine.”  

The mannerisms that Jake displayed made Joel blink. He watched with rapt attention as the younger man’s hands moved with his words. The resemblance to you was uncanny. The only person who had ever qualified as his best friend was probably Tess, even though he had swiftly denied any attempt of attachment on his end. He wondered briefly if he ever resembled her. He wondered if parts of loved ones lingered on within every person. Maybe that was all being a human was, being made up of memories and others that were once dear.  

A questioning look from Jake was enough to snap Joel back into reality. The presence of you in the room was clear through the man in front of him but he reminded himself that your mannerisms were not you. His mate was somewhere alone, that was what Joel needed to think about. 

Rubbing at his bruised face, Joel asked, “What is this place? Where are we?” 

The omega shrugged and shuffled back to plop down on his own bed. He wrapped his arms around his knees and Joel winced at the sight of bruises darkening his golden skin. They looked worse under the harsh glow of the flickering fluorescents that flickered occasionally over his head. 

“Somewhere close to your place. Paul moved us until a couple weeks ago, a raider never came back. After that, they set up shop in this outlet mall. Pfft, so tacky. As if I would be caught dead in these,” Jake muttered bitterly as he picked at the frayed edges of his pants. 

“Are you even old enough to know what an outlet mall is?” 

Rolling his eyes, the younger man snapped, “You realize that just because the world ended and I got stuck in Josiah’s group doesn’t mean that I don’t have taste. They had an entire section for khakis in this store. KHAKIS, Joel. Be fucking for real right now.” 

A genuine laugh bubbled up from Joel’s chest and the younger man granted him a small smile. He always liked the stories you told that involved Jake but after meeting him in person, Joel liked him even more. Despite the similarities between you, the attitude reminded him of a pup with too much sass for her own good and a joke book in hand as they traversed the country. The connection caused him to sigh but he smiled through the bittersweet memory. Joel cleared his throat to ward off any more troublesome emotions that this man pulled from him. 

“How long have I been out?,” Joel asked. 

Jake hummed and deliberated for a moment before he answered, “They brought you in about two days ago. At least I think so, it’s hard to tell without windows but Cooper usually comes by to sneak me food after Paul goes to bed. He’s done that twice now, so, yeah two days.” 

Two days? Two fucking days? Joel swallowed a scream. Anything might have happened while he was out. Were you on the run? Had a bloater ripped you to bits? Did a group of raiders have you? He growled at the thought of unfamiliar hands touching his mate. Possessiveness surged from deep within his being. Nobody could have you except for him, Joel needed that drilled into the minds of anyone who would seek to harm you. Killing them if they dared to cross that line would come as a relief, he needed them to know that too. 

Baring his teeth, a low growl rumbled from his chest as his heart rate picked up. It was a purely alpha sound, something that was ripped from him involuntarily and was meant to ward off potential threats. In actuality, all it did was to bring out a worried look on Jake’s face as he watched Joel growl and spit at nothing. The threat was absent in this room but he sensed it nonetheless and it brought out the rage in him. 

“Hey,” Jake called out to him softly, “Listen, I know you’re going all Bruce Banner over there but she’s tough. Plus, Paul is obsessed and lost his shit over you claiming her. I honestly don’t know what he would do if he found her. Wherever she is, she’s better off.” 

A grunt of affirmation escaped his lips. He knew Jake was right but that didn’t stop him from worrying. This world was anything but kind to an omega. He tried to take some comfort in the knowledge that his mark might safeguard you from the worst of it. Most alphas that sought an omega to breed would hardly be able to sniff you out, just as he barely smelled the omega that sat across from him. Even if they did catch a whiff of your smell, they would likely be repelled by the notes of his scent that were intertwined with your own. 

It also helped him to think of how pissed Paul was over the bond the two of you shared. He hated that guy with a passion before a rifle had slammed into his face but now, with his face cracked open and his mate missing, your former betrothed’s days were numbered. 

Looking back across the room, Joel spied the indents of a bite mark on Jake’s neck. The omega was mated, he had forgotten that. 

“Why are you here?” Joel questioned, “She told me you were mated to his brother. Ain’t you supposed to be with him?”

Jake sighed and looked away. His eyes grew wide and watery, making Joel regret ever having asked. It wasn’t any of his business really and he wasn’t sure why he even asked. Just months ago, he probably wouldn't have. He would have kept silent and made his way out of this place without a care in the world. In all honesty, Joel would have probably left Jake to die without a second thought but your sweetness had infected him. Now he leaned in as the omega continued on with a creased brow, genuinely curious as to his mate’s whereabouts. 

“There isn’t… Paul and his guys hooked up with a different group of alphas after everything went down. They’re different from the group we were in before. They’re worse,” he said, choosing his words ever so carefully. 

Breathing in through his nose, Joel braced himself as he asked, “Worse how?” 

“Worse like that cell has had a lot of omegas in it but none of them ever come back. Neither do the betas or the alphas usually but it’s not the same.” 

Joel cocked his head at the dark haired man and waited for him to continue, though he was already pretty sure he knew where this was going. 

“The omegas get used however… However they want to use them and then they get tossed wherever. Betas and alphas go to the arena. Cooper doesn’t want me anywhere near the others or the arena, so he stuck me in here. Paul doesn’t ever really come here so… It’s better, it’s safe,” he murmured into his knees. 

Joel swallowed and prodded once more, “And the bruises?” 

“When Paul doesn’t get what he wants, he can get pretty brutal. He sent a group of guys in here to rough me up, and made Cooper watch to assert some sort of dominance over him. Typical bullshit,” Jake sighed while giving a dismissive wave of the hand.  

Typical bullshit. Again, just as it had been with some of your stories, he had no clue how to react. Joel knew cruelty, being a cruel man himself for many years. He understood the purpose of making someone watch as you tortured their loved one. He himself had used that method countless times for the simple sickening reason that it worked. But what he couldn’t understand was doing something like that to a sibling. 

Joel tried to imagine a scenario where he would ever force Tommy to watch as brutal men tortured his mate and came up blank. Even if his brother wasn’t married to one of the scariest women Joel had ever met, he still would never put his own blood through something like that. It was unthinkable. Even in his most brutal moments, he would not have been capable of that. It went against his nature. Brutality had been a means to an end for Joel. Senseless violence, in his opinion, was always messy and unnecessary. He only had to think of Salt Lake City to know that. Senseless violence against a brother was merciless. 

The screeching whine of rusted hinges halted Joel’s train of thought. The door swung open and banged against the wall. Jake jolted at the loud noise and shrunk in on himself while Joel tried not to roll his eyes at the dramatics. He had been in this position too many times to be scared by a flashy entrance. It typically meant that what was to follow would be lacking in a certain finesse. Still, when the haughty looking light haired man strolled in Joel felt the atmosphere shift as their eyes met. Just as he had with Jake, he knew who the younger alpha was in an instant. 

A bruise sagged the underside of one of his blue eyes and three bloodied scratch marks stood out against the pallid skin of his throat. Joel noticed that a clump of his blonde hair had been torn out, leaving behind a patch of raw pink skin on his scalp that gleamed from under the lights. A laugh was swallowed as Joel noticed the blood stains on the younger man’s jeans that bloomed from his upper thigh. The faint outline of bandages under denim and the slight limp to his gait gave it away. 

Did you fucking stab him? Fuck, he knew it was probably sick but the thought of you stabbing Paul made Joel fall more in love. It was definitely sick but he didn’t care. Not when pride swelled in his chest at the thought of his omega beating this piece of shit to a pulp. Joel smiled at the light haired man as he imagined your blade piercing his leg, making his captor falter for a second before he continued his approach. 

“Paul.” 

A grin stretched Paul’s thin lips over his overcrowded mouth. His blue eyes sparkled with amusement as they feasted on Joel’s rumpled form. Again, Joel bit back a laugh. Looking at Paul, he was suddenly reminded of the singing hyenas in the cartoon lion movie Sarah loved in elementary school. He half expected Paul to break out into song. 

“Very good old timer. I see the mind hasn’t gone yet,” he jeered, tapping one of his thick fingers against his temple. 

Joel didn’t answer. He refused to let this poor excuse for a man get an inch from him. Instead, he kept his face schooled as the blonde stepped closer to his cell. Crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against his bunk, Joel gave off the aura of someone who was completely unbothered. If anything, the older alpha looked bored at the childish antics. Paul’s face twitched with irritation. 

“I suppose you’re wondering why I haven’t killed you yet. I should, given the fact that you stole what was mine,” Paul hissed in contempt. 

The comment spiked his blood pressure. Joel’s jaw clicked as he mashed his teeth together to keep up the facade. He breathed in quietly through his nose to calm himself and tried to remember the matching marks the two of you shared. You were his and he was yours, nothing could change that. It didn’t matter what Paul said to get a rise out of him, in the end the bond was the ultimate truth. 

“Shame really, I was looking forward to ruining her myself. Such a tight little body but such a fucking tease. But hey, I’m sure if I tried hard enough I could wipe out any trace of you. Might take a couple hundred rounds but -” 

Joel was up in an instant, shattering his mask of indifference in an instant.  In two long strides, he was face to face with Paul and had the satisfaction of watching his eyes widen at the proximity. Before Paul had the chance to step back, Joel reached out from behind the bars and yanked the younger man against the metal hard. 

Paul grunted at the impact of his pale face slamming into the bars and twisted uselessly in his grasp. It was no use. There was no getting away from Joel when the black pit of rage inside of his soul swallowed him whole. Hot torrents of tar pumped in his veins, burning away any trace of remorse in his system and replacing it with wild fury. He needed Paul to die and he needed it to be soon. It was the only thing that could quiet the beast that beat its fists against the walls of his chest. 

“Listen to me you fucking pussy, if you so much as even look at her, I will beat you to death with my bare hands. I will fucking skin you alive and that’s not a threat boy, that’s a promise. M’gonna make it nice and slow, you’re gonna be beggin’ for me to kill ya when I’m done,” Joel spat through gritted teeth. 

After a few more harsh shoves at Joel’s thick biceps, Paul finally managed to wrangle himself out from his grasp. The younger man stumbled backwards a few steps before he caught himself against the other cell and looked up at him like a petulant child. A soft chuckle rumbled in Joel’s chest as he slunk back onto his bunk. Based on what he had heard about the alpha, he knew that Paul was an ignorant ass. What he hadn’t expected was how lame his attempt at being fearsome would be. This was downright pathetic. 

After taking a few breaths, Paul gathered himself and marched back to the front of Joel’s cell. His unblinking stare hardened under the sterile lighting. A stinking smell of rotted maple crept over from the frustrated younger alpha and tickled Joel’s nostrils. He swallowed back a retch as the stench burned the back of his throat. 

“If you survive, you get to stay here. Not many do but who knows grandpa, maybe you’ll get lucky. Most of them have been down there a while, hiding from what I can see. Maybe they’ll take it easy on the poor old man,” Paul hissed. 

As the blonde stepped forward, Joel saw a dark shadow pass over his face. He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. 

“I just wanted to tell you in person that your bond means nothing to me,” Paul laughed before he continued, “That fucking brat has been dodging me since day one but now, with you here, well I’ll have her soon enough. I don’t care about some bond, this isn't about that. This is about what is MINE.” 

Joel blanched at the statement. Since day one? He remembered you saying that Paul was about ten years older, making him about mid thirties. He would have been about twenty years old, a fully grown man, when a ten year old version of yourself waltzed into his camp. His stomach lurched at the thought of Paul lurking in the shadows, poised to snatch up an innocent child trying to survive a wretched circumstance. Disgust rolled off of Joel in waves and soured the air around him. 

“You’re a fucking sick man,” Joel growled. 

“Look who's talking, you look old enough to be her dad,” Paul snorted. 

Joel shook his head at that. It wasn’t the same. 

“Since day one? Shit, I might be into a younger woman but you man, you’re into a girl. A girl that doesn’t even exist anymore. She’s grown now and that bothers you, doesn’t it? Tears you apart that you will never have her. And you think I’m sick?” 

The words hung in the air and morphed Paul’s face. Joel saw that they had affected him. He watched as Paul went through the stages of rejection before he realized that Joel was right. Still, he knew it wouldn’t change anything about what the younger alpha had planned. Joel just needed to rattle him a bit more. 

“I will have her, one way or another. And hey, maybe if you’re still alive I’ll let you watch when I take her,” Paul sneered before he stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled. 

Three brutish looking alphas stomped into the room and pulled open the door to his cell. Meaty hands yanked Joel off the bunk and got him to his feet. A small whine came from the other side of the room, making Paul turn and growl at Jake. The omega cowered under his gaze and something clicked in Joel’s brain. 

Jake had tried to help Joel without really knowing him because of the simple fact that he was your mate. He was your family, which meant he had a duty to protect him too. Despite the excruciating pain in his shoulder, Joel swallowed the pained groan that inched its way up his throat. He threw a comforting half smile to the omega and mouthed it’s okay before one of the guards placed a black hood over his face. 

The fabric stunk of countless scents from terrified or angered souls. Joel tried breathing in through his mouth but the scent nipped at his taste buds and made his mouth fill with water. He felt himself being dragged out of the store and across the uneven pavement. In the distance, he heard the crackling of fire and the drunken laughs of some rowdy alphas. 

Joel grimaced at the sound of high pitched whimpers of pain from that same direction. He hoped desperately that it wasn’t what he thought it was, but he knew that hope was futile in groups like these. He had run into similar groups in the past. Many times with Tommy and Tess, a few times with Frank and Bill, and even once with Ellie. They all had different leaders or names, but the basis was all the same. Sick alphas on the hunt to grab anything or anyone they could, uncaring of anyone else’s wants but their own. Groups like these were lawless and unkind to anyone that didn’t exude brute strength. 

Never had Joel joined a group that took from people like how these alphas did. Sure, he robbed and killed with the best of them. Hell, he was even known for his skills as a torturer. And when times were tough, incredibly so, he bit the bullet and made do with whatever meat the group could scrounge. Even if that meat once had a name and a family waiting for them somewhere. It was better than the feeling of your own stomach caved in from hunger. 

However, even when blood and the infliction of brutality was a part of his daily life, Joel never divulged into the depravity this group held. His groups, as heartless and brutal as they were, reserved a sliver of decency. Sure they’d rob, torture, and kill anyone, but they didn’t use the same type of violence he sensed these alphas used. Granted, the small kindness wasn’t much but still. It was a small piece of humanity that he refused to part with under any circumstance. How could he? It was unthinkable. 

Joel groaned as the guards carelessly pulled him up a flight of metal stairs before they slammed him to the pavement. Pain crawled up from his bruised knees, activating a dull throb in his hips as he listened to the jingle of a set of keys unlocking a door. He coughed at the pungent stench of the building. Blood was the first thing he smelled but he couldn’t pinpoint how many people it belonged to. A lot, that’s all he knew for sure. His heart thumped hard in his chest as the guards ripped the door open and turned to drag him in. 

A burst of adrenaline tightened all of Joel’s muscles, readying his body to ward off an attack as the thick air assaulted his senses. Sweat dripped down his back and he felt himself being led to a ledge before the itchy fabric was lifted from his head. Paul’s face assaulted his retinas once more and a deep grimace formed on Joel’s bruised face. If this was the last face he saw, he was going to be pissed so he looked down. 

In the center of the store, the floor had either caved in or had been ripped open. Below him was a dark hole that dropped down two floors to the basement. He squinted, trying to study the features of the furthest floor, but it was too dim to see all the way down. Fear rolled over him again as he tried to steel himself for what was to come. If he could make it up from the basement, the ground floor looked completely empty save for some abandoned boxes of merchandise. From there, he just needed to find a way out. However, planning didn’t change how hard his heart thumped against his ribs. 

Joel took a steadying breath. He had never been a huge fan of heights. Even when he was a kid, it was always Tommy who did backflips off of the highest diving board at the local pool. Joel was the one who watched from the lap lane and tried not to wince at the sound of skin slapping against the water. Looking down at the jagged crater he was about to be launched down, he suddenly longed for the days of in ground pools and sunscreen. Jumping off the highest diving board didn’t seem so bad to him anymore. 

“I really hope you survive this round. It’ll be such a bummer if they kill you before I find her. I was looking forward to giving you a show but c’est la vie.”

Rage bled into the terror and without thinking, Joel launched a fist directly into Paul’s face. The loud crunch that he heard when it landed filled him with satisfaction. That and the involuntary tears that sprung to Paul’s eyes calmed him slightly. His tears mixed with the blood that poured from his crooked nose and dripped down his face onto his sweater. 

“Better hope I don’t make it fuckhead or I’ll be coming for ya,” Joel seethed. 

Joel’s face spoke volumes. Any sense of mercy had been shut off, replaced with nothing but a primal need that screamed at him to eliminate the threat to his mate. It didn’t matter that he was an old man. It didn’t matter that he was outnumbered. It didn’t matter that he had spent the last few weeks being softened by your touch. Nothing mattered except for the fact that Joel would find a way to kill Paul. Joel knew this and based on the poorly hidden look of alarm on his face, so did Paul. 

The fear in his captor calmed him to the point that Joel barely reacted when he was shoved off the ledge. He felt himself free fall and tried to remember how high a fall had to be to kill him. He knew that at some point he knew, being a contractor who had started out in roofing, but all the safety meetings he attended back in the day had been lost with time. Joel wanted to laugh. A contractor survives the apocalypse, only to be killed by falling through a hole in the flooring. It was too perfect. In that brief moment, pieces of Joel’s life came back to him. 

Joel thought of his parents, dead before the outbreak even started, slow dancing in the kitchen after supper to an Etta James song. He thought of teaching Tommy how to drive a stick and how his brother flooded the engine almost immediately. He thought of Sarah’s first steps and how he was so proud that he cried. He thought about the time he taught Ellie how to shoot a gun and how he had promised to teach her how to play guitar. He thought of you making him split every snack and how you had looked at him when he said he loved you. Every memory was crystal clear and filled him with peace. He resigned himself to them being his last as he neared the ground.  

Instead of dying, Joel fell two stories and landed with a oompf on solid concrete. His side smacked against the floor hard and all the air wooshed out from his lungs. The fall was agonizing but it was nothing compared to the since healed over stab wounds and bullet holes that littered his body. He ignored the way his shoulder clicked when he pulled himself up. A soft groan of pain escaped his mouth from the way the ache in his hips had doubled. Joel knew that he was too old to be thrown around like this but it didn’t matter. He had a job to do. 

Ignoring the way his joints cracked with every slight movement, Joel picked himself up to survey the area. It was a basement of one of the retailers, that much was clear with the mannequins and piled up ancient clothes on stock shelves around him. High shelves formed rows of stinking fabric on one side of the space with piles of boxes littering every corner, waiting for Joel to trip over them. 

There were a few bodies strewn across the ground at the end of his aisle and more scattered in the aisles beside him. Some of them were rotting, while others seemed days or even hours old. Looking ahead, he spied an open space with pyramids of products abandoned and spaced out by a few feet. At the end of the maze of piled products sat a set of double doors that remained unobstructed. 

Bingo. 

Joel stopped himself from sprinting towards his target. As he studied the corpses, he noticed that only some of them had clearly been slain by desperate souls like him. Others looked like they had been torn apart by something else. His pulse quickened at the sight of shredded bodies, knowing that there was no alpha or beta that could have done that. That was the work of an infected. 

A soft clicking noise to his left tensed every muscle in his body. Carefully, Joel turned to face the noise and tried not to react to the proximity. The gnarled beast reared its head back and cried out, directing all of its wretched scream at him. It was so close that he smelled its previous victim's flesh in its mouth. Weaponless and injured, he prayed silently to a God he didn’t believe in for it to walk off. It was agitated, probably from the sound of Joel’s fall, and screeched again in his face. He closed his eyes for a moment, steadying himself as much as he could as it twitched in front of him. 

The sound was slight, so much so that a runner probably would have ignored it, but the clicker turned its body immediately. His lungs burned as he smothered his labored breathing beneath his palm. Another moment passed before the scuff of someone’s shoe against the rough concrete made the clicker leap forward. The shriek of it twisted his stomach and he watched it sprint after the sound. Joel heard the stranger stumbling backwards somewhere in the dark before they broke out in a hobbled jog. The pounding of infected feet against the concrete echoed in the room and he tried to ignore the sound of the injured person trying to get away as he crept towards the end of the row. 

Joel steadied his breaths as he eased himself through the wreckage of discarded merchandise. His nose twitched, catching the bitter scent of someone hidden in an aisle nearby. It was an alpha, that much he teased out but fear cloaked the rest of their aroma in battery acid. He eyed the shelves around him, looking for anything to use against any of the beings that lurked in the shadows but all he saw was rotted clothes and useless bottles of expired perfumes. 

A human scream echoed throughout the space and he grimaced. He needed to move before it came back. Stepping carefully over a pile of discarded shoeboxes, his eye caught on something at the very end of his aisle. It felt almost too good to be true, but the yellow handle was unmistakable. Laying in a pool of sticky blood was a half opened box cutter. Whoever had handled the blade was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps it was their blood that stained the floor. Either way, it was almost too good to be true. 

With the other captives hidden and the infected focused elsewhere, Joel hastened his pace towards the end of the aisle. A crack followed by a gut wrenching squelching noise sent shivers down his spine. His distraction was almost dead. 

In three long strides, relief was washing over him as he reached for the blade. With his left ear filled with the nauseating sounds of someone’s body being torn to pieces, he paused to listen for anything on his right side. When Joel couldn’t hear anything, he kneeled down to grab it. The yellow plastic had just graced the palm of his hand when an arm snaked around his neck and wrenched him back. 

Before his airway could be closed off, Joel snaked one hand under the arm and grabbed the crook of his attacker’s elbow. He pulled the limb out from around his neck and swiftly wrenched himself from their grasp. Without thinking, he slammed them against the shelf hard. The thud was loud, much too loud in such a quiet space. Joel stopped and locked eyes with the blood soaked alpha in his grasp. He saw the panic that flashed in the woman’s eyes and the nod when he placed one finger over his mouth. With their scuffle mutually halted, the two alphas stood and strained their ears for any sign of infected. 

Screechs echoed off the walls and Joel bit back a plethora of swears at the sound of multiple sets of feet running his way. In an instant, he shoved the woman back and turned towards the open space. Ignoring her pleas for him to wait, he darted towards the exit as quickly as he could. Knowing he wouldn’t make it time, Joel ducked behind one of the stacks of goods and cringed at the four runners that sprinted past. Next, the clickers approached and he waited, counting three that shambled towards the aisle. 

The infected swarmed where he had left the woman but he continued on. Unfazed, Joel left her to die. It was everyone for themselves down here. At least now, he wouldn’t have to kill her. Behind him, a woman’s voice shrieked. A crash, accompanied by a litany of garbled swears and a flurry of useless slaps against rotted skin eased his mind momentarily. 

He continued his soft steps towards the doors but before long, he felt the presence of someone or something gaining on him. Joel didn’t react. Whether it was a human or a stalker trying to get the jump on him, he knew that he needed to act as if he was unaware of it. Slowing his pace as the infected noisily ripped the stranger apart in the aisles behind him, Joel used a particularly loud crack in their bones to whirl around. 

The man behind him was startled at the action. So much so that Joel almost felt bad when he wedged the box cutter into the hollow of his throat. Blood spurted from the gash and Joel clamped his hand over the beta’s mouth as a gurgled cry was released. Fearful eyes blinked away tears as blood loss weakened the body and slumped him towards the ground. 

Scared of the thud, Joel caught him as he fell. Carefully, he lowered the dying man onto the ground and eased the blade from the jagged hole in his trachea. Red bubbles formed around the corners of the blade, popping with each attempt to draw in breath. The beta’s coughs were muffled by the hand over his mouth as he died. 

The light slowly faded from the eyes that were trained on Joel’s face. He humored him for a second and met the gaze of the dying man. In close proximity, Joel realized that he wasn’t a man at all. The beta was no more than sixteen. No more than sixteen, and now he was choking on his own blood as a man who had lived for way too long watched on. Guilt trickled into his blood and made him itchy but he quickly shook himself out of it. Ignoring the crying teen beneath him, Joel focused on the sound of the infected still digging into the woman’s corpse. He didn’t look back down when the boy’s breathing stilled. He didn’t need to be reminded of another teen that had bled to death in his arms. 

When it was clear that his kill had gone unnoticed, Joel carefully lifted himself from his victim and stood. His back twinged uncomfortably, the pinched nerve of his buttock sent pins and needles down his left leg but he ignored it. All Joel thought of was Paul’s words. He couldn’t let any of that happen. Even with his body bruised and raw, Joel pushed through the agony and inched towards the doors. He was so close. The taste of freedom squared his shoulders and quickened his pace. It all seemed too good to be true. 

And it was. 

Joel grabbed the metal knob and twisted, only to be stopped by the lock that sealed it shut. He stepped back in awe. Why did he think it was going to be that easy? It was never that fucking easy. He turned back towards the rest of the room and weighed his options as he listened to the infected dispersing from the mangled corpse. Somewhere in the room was a key and Joel needed to find it. 

Where the fuck would these assholes hide a key? 

He thought it over for a moment before it dawned on him. Where was the one place none of them would look? Joel bit his cheek in lieu of an audible sigh as he realized the obvious answer. It was hung off of one of the neck’s of infected that patrolled the space. 

Fuck. 

Joel steadied himself and he knew what he had to do to get out. Taking a deep breath in, he focused back on the threat. He allowed the belligerent fury flow through his veins at the thought of anyone touching a singular hair on his mate’s head. The lust for blood rose from his core and tensed his muscles as he stepped forward unabashedly. He didn’t need the shadows to hide his approach, not when years of loss culminated in this moment. 

If it meant that you would live, he would cut through anyone and anything without blinking. If it meant that you would live with him, that he could selfishly have you as his own for just a bit longer, he would do it ten times over.

The next few minutes was a blur of incoherent screeches from infected and the garbled cries of other captives. This had happened before. He wasn’t sure how he did it, but it was like the ruckus of the world was shut off and all that remained was his need to destroy. He didn’t even realize that he was alone until his bloodied fist connected with solid ground and his brain turned back on. 

The body beneath him was so badly beaten that it was unrecognizable. His hands dripped with their blood as he shakily rolled himself away from the sight. He cussed and pushed himself up, tearing the box cutter out of the corpse’s side with a wet thunk as he stood. Joel looked around and all he saw was bodies. Four runners and three clickers were discarded with easy stab wounds from the blade in his hand. It was the others that laid before him that turned his stomach. One had their neck snapped, another had been stabbed in the face several times, another had their skull cracked repeatedly against the concrete, and the last one was beaten to a bloody pulp. 

At another time in his life, Joel would have felt nothing at his own brutality but you had awoken something in him. The need to fulfill his own needs would have overtaken him and he would have moved on with his life. However, since that day when Joel first smelled the delicious scent of peppermint and lavender wafting over to him from the riverbank, a sense of humanity, of mercy, reawakened in him. Thick guilt weighed down on him but he muscled through it. He knew he would do it all again for you, even if it meant that he was damned to be tormented by the memories for the rest of his life. 

Swallowing all of his guilt, Joel reached down and snatched the key that hung from the neck of one of the clickers. He shuffled over to the doors as quickly as he could with his limbs snapping and popping with every step. The key slid into the lock and he held his breath, wiggling the brass before the lock clicked open. He sighed and eased the door open to reveal two flights of stairs. 

“Oh fuck me.” 

If Joel thought the basement was tough, the stairs were an absolute nightmare. The adrenaline had completely worn off when he began his steady pace upwards, which meant that he felt every nerve in his body being grated by the movement. His head pounded steadily in time with his racing heart and he was forced to stop for air on the last few stops. Joel heaved in air while he stared at the door that led to the ground floor. 

He wasn’t sure what hid in the shadows of that room. It hadn’t looked like anything other than boxes earlier but one could never be too careful. Would guards be waiting or could he find a way out through a boarded up window? Were there more stairs to the floor he fell from? Could he escape through there? Endless possibilities raced through his mind but he knew one thing, he would not go another round unarmed at the start. 

Taking one last steadying breath, Joel closed the box cutter and locked the blade in place before he slid it into his jeans. The cool plastic rubbed against the sensitive skin in between his legs but he ignored it. As long as the blade stayed close and they didn’t strip him, everything would be fine. The door made a creaking noise when he pushed it open and Joel winced, hoping for no infected. 

Before he eased himself into the room, a figure launched itself out from the musty space and tackled him to the ground. He fought against it but a sharp jab to his thigh had him crying out in surprise. Joel wondered for a moment if he had been stabbed or bit but as his brain turned to mush, he realized what had pierced his leg. Sleep tugged at his eyelids and he groggily thought of the blade hidden in his pants as hands pulled him from the floor. 

-

Hushed whispers trickled into Joel’s brain as he existed in a state between wakefulness and sleep. He fought against his eyelids but they had been weighed down with whatever tranquilizer had been injected into him. He heard the world around him, he just couldn’t muster up the strength to thrust himself into it. Instead, he was forced to listen to the heated conversation that came from the cell across from him. 

“Well, what do you want me to do? Huh? Do you expect me to just break him out of here myself and do… What exactly? Leave her here to die? I’m trying to figure out a way to get you three out, why do I give a fuck about this guy?”

An exasperated sigh in response to the unfamiliar voice. Joel tensed at the words. Were you who they were talking about? He hoped not. 

“Obviously that isn’t what I mean but we can’t just let him die. And if you let Paul get to her Cooper, I swear to fuck-”

“I know, I know, you’ll chop my balls off and feed them to me. You’ve made that perfectly clear J. I’m doing what I can to throw them off but she’s the one making it hard. Do you know how many bodies they found? Just think, that’s half of what I have tried to hide from them,” Cooper hissed back. 

A silence filled the space and Joel’s mind reeled. Bodies? There was no way that they were from you. He refused to accept that. It had to be someone else. You had never killed anyone. Or had you? He never even thought to ask. 

“Maybe we can get her out of here and then come back for him,” Jake suggested. 

“Why is she that important to you? She’s never even been nice to you or those old ladies you hung around with. For fuck’s sake, I’ve never even seen her be nice to her own daughter and she only had the one.”

A pause followed and then Jake sighed before he answered, “I don’t know. She’s not my family but I just think that if I didn’t try, I would be a bad friend okay?”

Joel heard Cooper as he started to fight back against Jake’s words but the omega bulldozed through his protests. It reminded him of some of the conversations he’s had with you where he was cut off. 

“You let Paul do what he does because he has Allie locked away. I forgive you for it because she is our daughter and she was safe for an entire year when I thought our baby was dead. You put me in here to keep me away from the others and I agreed.” 

A pin drop could have been heard in the room after Jake’s words. They weren’t accusatory. They were plain facts that forced his mate to listen. 

“Coop, you do these things because you love Allie and me. I know that. But you do realize that it’s not enough right? We can’t keep living like this. We don’t even know if our pup is still ali-”

“Don’t you fucking dare, I won’t hear it.” 

The words were harsh and tight. They sounded like a strange mixture of a command and a desperate plea. 

“Then go fucking find our daughter and then let’s get out of here. All of us. I’m not leaving behind my bestfriend’s mate and I sure as hell am not leaving behind my bestfriend’s shitty ass mom. Unlike you, I don’t pussy out when things get tough. Man the fuck up,” Jake growled. 

Your mother was alive? Your mother was alive and here? Joel cringed at the new information. He knew that the relationship had been strained, to say the least, but he also knew you never wished harm upon her for her cruelty. Harm that was most certainly being inflicted upon her if she didn’t have anyone here to look out for her. The possibilities clenched his stomach and he fought against the urge to let the sedative take him underwater once more. It would be so much easier but he needed to hear this. 

“I’m going to find our daughter. But J, let me remind you that you were the one that ran off when she was a premature infant lying in her crib when the infected broke through. You were the one that vanished with your friends. You were the one that didn’t come back for her. I kept her alive. Me. So, don’t talk to me about keeping Allie safe,” Cooper said coolly.  

After a beat, the muffled cries of the omega reached his ears and Joel felt his heart break for both of them. A murmured apology was answered with a quiet fuck you and a sigh came from Cooper as he lifted himself from his place in the cell. The hinges whined as he closed the bars behind him and marked the end of the discussion. Joel listened as the alpha passed his sedated body and moved towards the exit. As Cooper reached the doorway, his footsteps suddenly stalled. 

“I told you what Paul did to his other omegas, what he did to our little sister, what he did to,” Cooper’s voice wobbled and he paused, clearing his throat before he continued, “... what he did to me. And now he has Allie. Don’t ask me to risk her life for anybody else because I’ll choose her.”

“Coop, I would never ask that. I’m just saying that at some point you have to fight back. WE have to fight back or he wins. If that happens, we’ll all die and you’ll be left alone with him. Is that what you want? No mate, no pup, just you and him? Please, we have to do something,” Jake begged. 

Another pause filled the room and the tension was unbearable. Without the proper context, Joel couldn’t tell which one of them was right. Maybe they both were in their own way, he wasn’t sure. He listened to Cooper’s fingers drum anxiously against the frame and Jake’s restless leg bouncing in his bunk as the two battled with their own demons. 

“Everything was so easy before wasn’t it?,” Cooper finally sighed. 

A chuckle bubbled up from his mate across the room. 

“Oh yeah, hooking up in secret back in the cult was a blast. Remember when you told me that you never wanted to be mated then I fell in love with someone else and ran away with them? Remember how they hung him and then we got forced into marriage anyways? Super light stuff,” Jake said and Joel could practically hear the eye roll. 

“Exactly. Easy peasy, just like I said,” Cooper deadpanned. 

The laughter that came from the pair lifted some of the despair that clung to the walls. The room felt wider as a crack of sunlight shone through their darkened bond. 

“Remember how I was pregnant and you got mad at me for getting caught by them?,” the omega asked with his voice darkened once more. 

Cooper stopped laughing at that and cleared his throat. He was seemingly at a loss for words. Something that Joel suspected happened quite a bit given the nervous energy the alpha exuded. Just by scent alone, Cooper seemed like he was on the verge of a breakdown constantly. 

“I-”

“You don’t have to say anything. I get it. You didn’t want a mate or kids, and then they forced you to take me. It’s… Well, it’s not fine for either of us but it is what it is.” 

“No, I wanted you J. It wasn’t you, it was him. How he is, it’s not good for anyone and I just… The thought of having a mate or a pup around him was unthinkable and when you came back I was so mad. Not at you but - fuck - I don’t know…” 

“I understand Coop, I do. I just want you to stop choosing him over us, that’s all,” the omega sighed, his voice tired and dismissive. 

“Is that what you think I’m doing?,” Cooper spat before he huffed and continued, “My brother takes what he wants from everyone. EVERYONE. Even me. Paul doesn’t give a shit about anything and I can’t - look, I’m sorry I’m not as strong as you need me to be but you don’t understand what he did to me!”

A soft whine escaped Jake’s mouth and he sensed his mate bristle at the sound, almost like it pained him to hear it but he refused to let it pull him towards the cell. 

“But I do underst-”

“NO YOU DON’T! AND I AM MAKING SURE THAT YOU FUCKING WON’T, THAT’S WHY YOU ARE IN HERE JAKE!,” Cooper exploded. 

Silence blanketed the room as the string that connected the pair fizzled with conflict. It stirred a bit of anxiety somewhere in Joel but he was too groggy to do anything other than scrunch his nose at it. 

The complexity in their relationship was palpable just from the way they existed in a space together. Jake’s energy was loud and bright, while Cooper’s moved around his mate’s. They complimented each other but in a very odd way, with the omega being the one that was almost stifling in presence and the alpha sticking to the sidelines. Joel’s brain couldn’t map out their dynamic at all but he understood it as something necessary nonetheless. Two souls trapped in circumstance who both coveted one thing, a little girl that they shared. Being a father to two girls himself, he understood that small sliver of their bond. 

“Okay Coop, I don’t understand. I’m sorry, okay? This isn’t… Fuck, this isn’t how I wanted this conversation to go. I just need you to do something, please alpha. For me?” 

The sweet tone would have made Joel chuckle if he had the ability. He knew the sugary words would work on the alpha, just as your sweetness had worked on him. Alphas were like moths to a flame, obsessed with pleasing their mate and proving themselves worthy of their bond. It didn’t matter whether Cooper knew Jake’s intention behind his choice of words, nothing could have stopped him from agreeing. 

“Fuck me. Alright fine, I’m gonna - shit - I’ll figure something out for the other alpha too alright? I’m gonna go out looking for a while when Paul’s gone tomorrow. I’ll see you after lights out, m’kay? Just keep him out of trouble please. He can’t hit Paul again or my brother will kill him,” Cooper rushed out as his instincts overpowered his previous frustrations. 

“Whatever you say baby, just go get our girl.”

The lightness of Jake’s tone made the alpha grumble under his breath as he stepped back towards the exit. All Joel picked out from Cooper’s mumbled rant was fucking unreasonable, let’s just invite everyone with us, and an extremely exasperated how the fuck does he think that I can pull that off. Nevertheless, the omega across from him buzzed with energy and chirped happily from behind the bars in response. 

Joel wondered if you knew about Allie. Surely not, as he had never heard you mention your bestfriend’s child amongst the multitude of tales that had been told about him. The girl must have been born either when you were on the run from Paul the first time or when you had been thrown in the pit by your beloved husband. Either way, her existence complicated things for him.  

Joel needed to get to you but he couldn’t leave Jake. Jake wouldn’t leave without his family or your mother. And based on what he knew, he wasn’t sure how the hell he was going to convince your mother to do anything. Plus, the bodies left behind by some unknown enemy would likely be more than enough cause for the group to be on strict lockdown. He hoped that you steered clear of whoever was taking out Paul’s men. 

As the chemicals running through his veins pulled him under once more, Joel’s thoughts were filled with half-cocked plans on how he would miraculously break out of his prison. He knew that half of them were a pipe dream but he also knew that he had to try. He wasn’t sure but he had a feeling that the couple across from him could hold the key to his escape, or at least to yours if need be. Joel didn’t care if Cooper left him here, so long as he got everyone else out. 

The soft goodbyes said between the two men were drowned out by the call of his name by a soft familiar voice. A sleepy smile stretched across his face as he drifted towards the sounds of his own family bustling around in a kitchen somewhere in Austin. Ellie and Sarah bickered at the table while you laughed at something Tommy said. Maria bounced his nephew next to him and rolled her eyes hard at her mate’s antics. It was all so perfect. 

Joel knew it was a dream sprouted from pure fantasy, but he allowed himself to sink deeper into it. Tears formed in his eyes as he felt your fingers scratch at the heart shaped patch in his beard before you kissed his cheek softly. He wanted it to be real so bad that he allowed himself to believe, just for a moment, that it was. Everyone was alive and together, like it was supposed to be. As the weight of consciousness became too heavy to bear, Joel slipped off into his dreams. 

[dykejasper]

Crooked Trajectory [SU fic]

AO3 - dykejasper

Summary: Future-era post-shattering Jasper has no choice but to be alive, to exist, to find a purpose for herself while learning how to cope with a lifetime of trauma, new physical issues from shattering, and social dynamics she's never experienced with gems she doesn't understand. Many who are really down bad for her. Starts off pretty heavy but there will be fluff and fun and love and light, I promise.

Chapter One - "Free Will" - Jasper POV A dissociative trip back to where Jasper was killed and reborn. Rating: Mature CW: Suicidal ideation, self harm ideation, PTSD, minor mention of animal death (accidental collateral via Steven)

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Jasper couldn’t remember making her way back to her cave. She couldn’t remember anything said to her after the order, “Find something better to do with your life.”

Those words tumbled around her numb mind on loop, layered over thousands of years of horror that would never go away. Her entire existence had been a waste of resources, at best. Static buzzing flooded her senses and threatened to rip her apart all over again. Her skin prickled head to toe and the weight of reality crushed her chest in. She couldn’t make her lungs expand. An all too-familiar sensation in recent years.

She stared, unseeing, at the same spot on the wall of her cave for hours while that buzzing built and built until she flung herself into the cool night air, hyperventilating, feeling like she might corrupt all over again while memories tore her apart. Her knees hit the bare earth and she dug hands into her hair, gripping those hideous, detestable horns. The panic broke into a festering hatred and a hollow laugh broke through the frantic gasping.

One of them was broken now, reduced to a stump. The other remained intact, coming to a sharp point that she pressed her thumb into until pink spikes flashed across her vision and she shuddered, wondering if she could rip it off. She never actually tried.

She gripped the foul, bone-like growth while her heart raced. Won’t fix anything. You’re trash by design. Her hand fell away and she was overwhelmingly numb again, taking deep, shuddering breaths as she looked around.

This didn’t feel like her cave anymore. She never considered this place anything special, but it had been secure, if nothing else. Her eyes lingered on the little wooden hut that didn’t belong to her and the static inside her grew loud again.

It was easy to rip apart, at least, easy to fling away into the woods with very little effort or thought. And then as if by instinct, without any real decision to do so, Jasper began tracking the damage left by the fight, retracing their steps.

The thrill of it all returned as if she was reliving it in real time, delighting in the confidence and competence with which her Diamond threw every bit of his power at her, finally. Proving, after all this time, that Diamonds were just as powerful as they’d been made to believe. It wasn’t all a lie.

Part of her felt a choking, overwhelming insanity if she thought too hard about the multiple sincere attempts she’d made at destroying the Diamond she was created to protect, between Rose Quartz and now Steven. Rage mingled with guilt and she could feel the pressure mounting once again, the buzzing growing louder.

She followed damaged trees, fallen branches, occasional small craters from missed or deflected strikes. A creature Steven once called a “deer” lay obliterated in one of the pits, a gruesome mess of wrecked limbs and insides brought out. Those pink discs did some real damage now that he knew how to use them.

And then her stomach dropped when she came to the edge of a vast crater; a half-mile wide strip of decimated organic material half-buried under a deep layer of blown-up soil, clay, and rock. Pink spikes consumed her vision and she felt the terror flood her once again, the horrible realization that she was afraid of being shattered. She never expected self-preservation to kick in at the last second.

The pain of being split apart was exquisite. It lasted only a moment, but it was like remembering every sort of pain she’d ever felt, and then feeling them all again, combined, in one final flash. Ripped and torn in every direction, physically and mentally. But not erased.

No, that was the real horror, Jasper had discovered. There was no silence after shattering. There was no freedom from existence, of course it couldn’t be that simple. She assumed there would be some sort of release, craved it, at times, but she’d been so utterly wrong.

But even so, the panic came before she learned the truth, not after. That realization puzzled her. Why did she fear her existence ending, particularly when it’d been nothing but misery?

Shattered, she existed as formless energy: semiconscious but broken, detached from the corporeal world and lost. Locked in a prison of vague feelings, shadows of memories, flashes of sensation. Everything was wrong. She needed to form. She needed to be whole. She was pure fear. She wasn’t anything at all. And then, after what felt like her entire lifetime, her energy was being redirected, pulled, fused back into place, and with a terrified gasp, she was reborn.

Fear and wonder were matched in intensity in that moment. Only a truly powerful, merciful Diamond could so easily destroy a gem and then put them back together. And to be brought back at all must mean she was needed for some greater purpose, or at least to finally serve the one she was made for.

Find something better to do.

She dropped down into the crater, trekking through the raised hills of destruction and clambering over broken trees until she found what she was looking for. Freshly ruined earth surrounding a small field of flower and grass regrowth that marked where he crawled around crying, collecting the pieces of her gem. Pathetic.

She laid down in the grass and flowers, staring up at the starry sky and feeling utterly alone.

Why would he bring her back for this?

Her skin prickled and the static in her mind amplified and she wanted to rip herself apart with own claws. She disconnected from reality and felt sheer horror pulse through her every atom, more powerful than any physical pain. Her very existence and continued survival felt like some sick cosmic joke.

To emerge during a violent raid on her defective kindergarten, during a false war, with the sole purpose to protect the same gem she was meant to fruitlessly attempt to destroy… she was created to fail and cursed to endure eternity with no viable escape. She remembered a thought she used to have, long, long ago, that her fellow kindergartners had it lucky. They were all deemed off-color and shattered the moment the war was lost, her agate loved reminding her. They got to escape before the real torture began.

Or so she assumed. Now she knew better. Now she knew exactly how her fellow kindergartners felt for thousands of years. Would their shards ever be recovered? Or were they powdered and released into space, deemed too dysfunctional even for harvesting? Her agate’s voice echoed in her mind like the crack of a whip, “Only traitorous, Earth-made trash would care about the complete waste of Yellow Diamond’s time and resources that was your kindergarten. You’re not a traitor to your Diamond, are you?”

Maybe “something better” was never resting until Yellow Diamond felt every bit of pain she’s ever inflicted, directly or through her agates. Maybe it was hunting down her old agates and smashing them to powder.

Or.., you could come to Little Homeschool!

A flash of pink spikes blotted out the dawn sky and her stomach flipped and she scrambled to her feet, her heart ready to burst. The sudden panic was quickly drowned in shame at her reaction to a memory of his voice. Coming back here was stupid. Why had she done it, without even thinking?

Why was she trembling?

As repulsive as the idea was, her only option was obeying her Diamond’s expectations by going to his stupid school. Being tortured by agates seemed more fun than learning how to befriend an agate, and she was certain plenty of gems would feel the same about her. But really, what choice did she have? Minding her own business in the forest away from everyone is how she ended up shattered.

Jasper gritted her teeth and clambered out of the canyon of blasted forest, wandering away from her grave. She was broken and ready to face whatever horrible new life she’d have to endure, miserable and alone as always.

[teenagenerdtrashcowboy]

I would like 2 know 🥺🥺........[SILLY]

Okay, gonna go on a yapping spree

Quick warning ima mention some topics like self harm, and death

So here's B one because it has a lot to it it

So like I like to believe B was born in the 2000s, now his actual bio family has a very big link to this god called stardom (I'm going to make a design for them soon but to describe them, they usually wear an outfit similar to a priest, they have stars scattered across it and they have very long curly hair. They also have traits that of deer, they have hooves, ears and antlers) now Bs mother had him and his twin sister (brother at the time) a day apart. Right so she had this almost prophecy and had to give up B and his younger sister. Now like I've Said before B is a trans guy, he used to be a girl, who was called Nicole (if you read the prologue it should link up to James' Superstition) they were taken by this very caring woman who had a rather neglectful husband. So Reagan and B (or refered to as Nicole at the time) grew up with very little affection, and not understanding why someone could possibly be nice to him :(. Now onto the part about B breaking his leg really badly, he was actually around 5 1/2 at the time and was in the basement of his house, he was playing about and knocked over a very heavy piece of metal on his leg, breaking his femur bone in 3 places, this was actually really traumatic to B obviously, this lead to B developing a feeling that he should look all around for cautions around him, sometimes leaving him a bit panicked.

When he had turned 6, a new person had suddenly come into his clas in primary school, this kid had come from Germany and didn't know much english (you'll never guess who it was/pos) so they had actually become good friends, this kid actually was James (hence James getting a superstition in the prologue that he Recognised B.) Now after all that, Bs step mother had a child, but unfortunately one day she suddenly got seriously sick, B actually has a memory of him when he was just 11 in which his mother was visibly shaking a lot and was pale as fuck. She unfortunately died a month after B turned 12. Because of Bs step dad being rather neglectful, B and Reagan spent most of their time caring for their step brother, this went on for a while, B usually convinced Reagan to let him take care of him more because he just wanted Reagan to have time to grieve the sudden lost of their step mother, this led to B missing out a lot from school. This actually one leading cause to the s/h he had actually done it once after his mother died but soon all the stress caused him to cut himself multiple times per day.

Soon his uncle had taken in B and Reagan and they had to move away, leaving James alone without B.

Now time skip to when B was 18, this is one of his major traumas, B had only just become a backrooms explorer and had some experiences with it, a group of his friends decided to bring him along because he had a lot of experience already, so they could explore a rather dangerous room. B was obviously like "fuck no don't do that you could die" but they kept on trying to convince B until he gave in. Before they knew it they were cornered, B was actually the first to get attacked an entity charged at him and dug its teeth deep into the side of Bs neck (Wilbur soot core) and thundercunted him across to the side, all the others was like "oh shit" and tried to fight but unfortunately were ripped to shreds, B had to actually lay there and watch it unfold because if he moved he could become another victim.

Obviously after he was in therapy for a while and then disappeared and soon met James again.

Now James' one, a whole lot less terrifying. James was born in Germany obviously, at the time he spoke only German, until his parents decided to move to wales, so he had to learn a but of English. Fortunately the teachers there did give him extra help with english and understanding stuff. You see James is autistic but he didn't know anything about it fully until he was about 11,he thought it was normal to not understand social cues, have really big interests in things, to stim or get panicked by loud noises. James actually would get very stressed, and often would be babied, making it worse he wanted respect. This led to a lot of stress and soon he started to develop coping mechanisms, one of the main ones being eating (a reason why he's quite chubby in my hc, he's also chubby because I am a bit too). Alongside that James gets very clingy to people if they actually are nice to him, this can be quite self destructive because if they are gone for a while he can get really upset, James actually for a while had major separation anxiety when him and B first got together, this poor guy would actually cuddle pillows. James has actually had a really big hype fixation on chemistry since he first learnt about it but unfortunately he couldn't become a chemist so he chose the next best thing. Now about why James needs that visor. James had always had problems with his sight, he actually wore glasses but soon it started to get much worse until he actually went particularly blind, he was given the visor so he could see again and they could hopefully soon find a cure for the sudden blindness. But now they really can't, because uh oh an entity got him and ripped off the visor and pulled out his eyes, fortunately B ran in and saved him, and that led James to getting a bit of trauma too.

[cheerynoir]

Pity the Children: Ch. 1

A Fragment. What do you get when you cross a grungy neo-noir sci fi with the gay agenda and a truckload of trauma? Mostly, this. Enjoy!

Jon sat in the Nite Owl diner and considered throwing himself off the wagon. His empty stomach chewed on itself, but it was a distant thing. He hadn’t been himself for a while. Stubble burned his palm when he rubbed at his chapped mouth, and his shaggy black hair hung in limp curls across his brow. His dark eyes burned from lack of sleep, and his skin—a freckled, burnished bronze on his best days—was wan and dry. He needed a hot shower, ten hours of sleep, and a fresh tub of shea butter. Even the synthetic stuff would be better than nothing. He had a bad idea and a flask. It was heavy as a dying star in his palm, cut in blue and violet from the neon sign shining out front. Anniversaries were always hard. Another one of his loomed, dragging itself closer with every hour. With it came the same old gang: dread and grief and remembrance. The cold, helpless anger that stuck in his windpipe like a knife. Guilt. Always, always guilt. Years ago, before this planet was terraformed and the many-Ringed city of Centralia and her mines were dug deep into its crust, before the scattered Generation ships touched down at all, before ice and fire swallowed the first Earth, Jon’s ancestors were Catholics in Mexico City. Santa María, Madre de Dios, ruega por nosotros pecadores, ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte. Amén. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen. Passed down from parent to child in a language people rarely spoke anymore. These days English was the new Standard. “English has always been the standard,” Jon’s Abuelita had told him once, before the air rotted her lungs and they’d had to burn her. “Al diablo con eso, nieto.” To Hell with that, she’d declared, time and again. She’d taught them Español along with God, same as her mother before her, and didn’t give a lick whether or not the government approved. Maybe that was where the guilt came from. Maybe his grandmother had planted that seed good and deep, when Jon was still young enough to sprout it. Or maybe you’ve just got a lot to be sorry for, Jonny. Do you even remember Tommy’s voice? That was Roan’s gravelled rasp in his ear making him flinch, though the man was three years dead. Dead, and the only one who’d ever called him that. Guilty and ghost-ridden, that was Jonny Wilde. With the flask still in his hand, standing at the crossroads and waiting for the devil. Three years alone, one year sober. Fourteen years a failure. Lord, anniversaries were hard. His fiancée, his best friend, and at the root of it all— He derailed that train of thought. Some graves were best left untouched. Christ, Mother Mary, turn your eyes away. I’m a sorry sight tonight. His throat was parched. Bone dry. His thumb worked at the cap of his flask with a soft metallic scraping— A mug thumped down onto the table, and coffee splashed down into it.

[sexygrass]

5. Revenge Must Be Served Cold

genre: smut, supernatural AU, soulmate au, vampires au, werewolf au, Sub/Dom dynamics, angst, mention of traumas, mention of torture, deaths of some characters, and blood, explicit language, fluff, mature content, sadism, lots of killing, and many plot twists.

Stepping out of his jeep black car, Johnny narrowed his eyes at the destroyed house. It was as if a hurricane passed by and damaged only their house. standing by the doorframe, his super hearing caught low grunts and whimpers. a gasp slipped past his lips at the scene and the splattered blood. "oh my god..."

following the source of the sound, he found Yuta in the hall with his arms and hands, thighs, and abdomen punctured with five sharp pickets; pinned to the wall, while bloodied three wooden plates were on the floor. with his free hand, Yuta was struggling to reach for the ones that were punctured into his left hand.

"I got you, I got you. I got you." Johnny kept chanting as he pulled the pickets out carefully, taking the last one, the red-haired vampire fell to the ground with a groan. "Doyoung, he's upstairs. hurry,"

whooshing upstairs, Johnny prays silently for his friend to be alive. The view of the dark-haired vampire struggling to reach the picket that was dug in the middle of his back had him stumbling. doyoung let out a pained cry when he couldn't move— as Samantha had pinned him to the ground with a picket too, "goddamn it, get out," he cussed, desperately. 

hearing footsteps nearing him, Doyoung turned around, alarmed, "It's me relax. Don't move. I'll pull it off." sucking at a breath, Doyoung clenched his jaw, "Johnny... I think there's a splinter inside and I can feel it scratch my heart," he cried out. Johnny pressed his lips and knelt behind his friend, "Don't worry. you're not dying, not like this."

Yuta stood up with a groan after stretching his sore body, hearing some of his bones crack, he sighed deeply as he rubbed his shoulder" That original bitch," he hissed under his breath. hearing a muffled buzzing, he looked around the messy room and caught the lit screen of a cell phone twinkling under the mess of the broken furniture; picking it up, he pulled it away from his ear at the loud sound.

"Johnny, where the hell are you?! go warn Taeil, hurry, he's in danger! I called five times, why didn't you pick up? hello? hello?!"  Taeyong's irritated voice for receiving no word from the other line boomed in Yuta's ears. 

"It's Yuta, Ty. Johnny is helping Doyoung right now....she already took him, Ty, she took him..." Yuta said in a dull voice and a gasp boomed from the other line. sucking at a breath, he felt the room close with tension, "We're on the way, hold on." 

heading upstairs, he saw Johnny's hand deep inside Doyoung's back, the latter keep cussing and hissing every time the American missed the wooden shred. "Okay, all done. get up now and stop acting like a bitch," Johnny fell back with a long sigh.

looking up, he catches his phone that yuta threw. "so, mind telling me what exactly happened?" leaning his head at the wall, Doyoung took a deep breath and closed his eyes. 

"Black-haired, blue-eyed, angry ex-girlfriend happened. To sum it up, Samantha Mikaelson happened."

...

hearing the brown-haired man grunt, Samantha drowned her drink and stood up. "rise and shine, my moon," snapping his neck her way, Taeil widened his eyes and stood up — well tried to stand up.

when he couldn't move, he took a second to realize what was stopping his movement. looking down at his feet, he saw them chained up to an iron table he was on. looking up, he saw his wrists also chained up above his head firmly. trashing his body in every direction, he growled.

"you won Samantha Mikaelson. you got me, would killing me now make up for the two centuries I took from you?" he taunted her with a smirk. her loud laugh sent chills down his spine, "I see," she shook her head, dark locks swaying over her shoulder, "you've gone cockier since the last time I saw you Moon Taeil." she smirked.

"let me remind you who you are and who I am, Moon Taeil," pressing her hands on his temple harshly, she entered his mind forcefully and purposely. hearing him grunt, she smiled.

few moments, she opened her eyes. "that what you were before me, sweety, a peasant, a servant at the Italian palace. a musician the king felt pity for so he took you in. Do you remember how the nobles were treating you or do you need me to remind you?" she gripped his chin harshly, making him face her.

"The insults, the mistreatment, the beating and humiliation that you endured for ten years till I found you. till I made you what you are. till I made you a man." she wrapped her hands around his neck and pulled him up, making the chains tighten around his wrists leaving a red mark on them.

"I know you did not bring me here for chatting, kill me, and let's get this over with," he said in a dull voice making her bit the inner of her cheek. shaking her head, she sighed and pushed his head back.

"you are mistaken, Moon Taeil. mistaken at many points." she looked down at him. her eyes dancing with lust for hearing his helpless screams and desire for putting him in unbearable agonization pain.

" A: it was only a century, with a couple of years, more or less. B: you're going to beg for me to kill you and put you out of the exquisite pain I have prepared for you." looking at her with an expressionless face, he everted his gaze to the door that flung open.

seeing Taemin barging in, he started trashing his body in all directions, "Taemin!... you're on her side...? I thought you were our friend!" Taeil exclaimed, disappointment lingering in his voice. Taemin scoffed and handed his master a red box.

"she's and will forever be my sole ally, friend," the blond drawled, "recognize this?" Samantha held the bone blade in front of her face with a wide smile. Taeil looked at it horrified and shook his arms aggressively. 

"Stabbing me was the last thing I expected from you, Taeil," her voice dropped by an octave, hurt, and betrayal lingering in it. even her eyes color changed into a midnight-deep blue as if pain and disappointment were swimming in them.

"at some point, I start seeing you as a family, someone I could trust. I even start caring about you, I used to like you, you were a needed fresh air in my suffocating life. I told you that before, haven't I, Moon Taeil?" She sighed and held the blade above his chest. "I think saving you that day at Tuscany was a wrong idea." his breath caught in his throat watching the deadly dark magic object that was about to pierce through his heart. "Why?" he breathed out. 

tilting her head at him, she pulled her hair off her face, "Why did you keep me around?" placing the blade down, she looked at him. "that's a wrong question but I will answer it for you. I kept you around cause your purity and positivity about life reminded me, of someone, I used to love. I needed some light in my darkness. I need life in my death. I needed someone to trust. You claimed that you loved me...but that was a lie, no one backstabs someone they love."

Taeil felt his heart sink because, despite her hardened facade, he saw a glimpse of pain and betrayal in her stormy blue eyes. at least for a second, he saw a real feeling in them, a feeling other than bloodlust and power thirst.

"hope that answers your question; however, the right one should be 'why I saved you in the first place' ". she shook her head with a smirked, "Surely, you know why, do you?" she laughed, "Tell me, Moon Taeil...." she said taking in the startled expression that decorated his pretty face, "Do you know what happened to your parents?"

Widening his eyes, a brim of tears twinkled in his doe eyes as she had made him see a memory she kept in her mind, "You....you...it was you..." He choked on his words and started coughing, catching his breath after she threw his head harshly. "yes, it was me." She grinned proudly.

"I killed them. and wanted to kill you too but I decided to reserve you for later so I'd have more fun" she laughed softly, "you know my penchant for Shakespearean vengeance. To put it simply, I hold a grudge against your family. Nothing was personal against you though." she pursed her lips.

"Later on, I saw how handsome you had become, and fair to say I have a thing for handsome faces. They're so fun to toy with, so full of their thin arrogance, thinking they have every woman wrapped up around their pretty, thin fingers. I enjoy them. you know, because of all the fun I get when I use them for my own pleasures. and you, my moon, were no exception" She shook her head, grinning smugly.

seeing a stray tear cascade down his cheek, she bite her lower lip to suppress a grin, "Aw, I made a three hundred years vampire cry. What would be my prize?" she hummed tapping her chin with the pointy sharp edge of the blade, "I guess I'll take a few centuries of torture then!" 

"I hope you rot in hell, you sadistic bitch—" his words were cut and a loud gasp echoed in the big dim room. a pained scream resonated from him, blessing Samantha's ears. Taeil gasped loudly from the excruciating pain when stabbed with Papa Tunde's blade, in the eye blink, with the power that was imbued within it, it started to dig inside his chest on its own.

in the last seconds before the dark magic that was in the blade spread into his body and renders him unconscious in a state of constant and extreme agony. Taeil took a breath and closed his eyes. he was about to turn his humanity off as his final solution to not feel the pain. he focused on his unconscious mind then he found it—his humanity's switch. flipping it off, he opened his eyes again and looked her dead in the eyes, his body no more moving.

"Oh, no no no, no turning your humanity off," she hissed and pulled him by the neck, locking her eyes on his, "Turn it On!" She screamed angrily at him, "Turn it on and never turn it off! no running away from the pain cause you're going to feel every ounce of it."

"see you in five centuries, love. that if you stayed alive for the next three days," she stayed to have one more look at his dead-like state before leaving and closing the door behind her.

"a sealing spell would suffice and everything is done." Taemin flashed a grin, "Great, You did well, Tae." taemin beamed at her praise before casting the needed spell. walking down the narrow corridor, she suddenly halted and turned back, "You know what? I'm in a great mood today. How about you join me for a drink?" the blond smirked and shrugged his shoulders, "why not?"

...

under the starry night, Samantha had her walk around the city and enjoyed the fresh air on her skin, Samantha threw her head back, letting the wind play with her hair, eyes closed as she was walking barefoot in the middle of the road. Taemin chuckled at her before pulling her back to the sidewalk; "careful, you nearly got hit by a car." he shook his head at her.

"Not like a car can kill me," she said dismissively. running a hand through her hair, she grinned "I had an amazing day today. I found werewolves—an original werewolf at that. daggered my sweet, handsome ex-boyfriend and met Lee Jeno's brother. can it get any better?" 

meow. 

halting in her tracks, Samantha looked up. Taemin followed where she looked and released a throaty laugh, "Is it me or that cat look like you?" Rolling her eyes, Samantha walked to the tree and looked up.

meow. meow. meow.

"Do you think I should save it?" Taemin shrugged. pursing her lips, she tilted her head at the trapped cat that was at the highest branch of a lone tree. throwing her hair back, she pressed her weight on her feet' soles before launching up and catching the cat.

landing down, she held the black cat in her arms securely, "Oh, he's so cute. He does look like me, blue eyes and black fur," Samantha's laugh echoed in the empty neighborhood. " a 'he'? huh," Taemin walked next to her with her heels in his other hand. "I will name it Wes," the cat meowed and licked her finger and Samantha cooed, "Hehe, cute."

Taemin watched her with a small smile before catching up to her, "I'm kinda hungry." he blurted.

"you just ate." she side-eyed him with an arched brow. Taemin rolled his eyes, "And? your point?"

shaking her head, a smile stretched on her lips"Okay, fine." 

....

"I'm home," Samantha announced once she stepped into the grand room, "Matilda, kindly prepare me a cold shower." Matilda nodded and left. throwing her heels to the side, she walked to the couch with the cat in her hand. 

"Stay here and I'll see if there's something for you to eat" She patted it head and left for the kitchen. Two minutes later, Jeno came down to see Samantha kneeling in front of the cat watching her eat. He gasped loudly, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Oh my god," he exclaimed.

"oh, evening, Lee Jeno," rolling his eyes mentally at her calling him by his full name, he sat on the couch watching them attentively. "uh. Evening. Long day, huh?" looking down at the cat, she grinned.

before leaving with Taemin, Samantha took off her jewelry and changed her garments into comfier ones; a light purple crop top with a white tennis skirt and let her hair down. "I thought you went to the founders' party?"

"Oh, I did. it's just that this day was so eventful. One thing led to another. then I found this cute thing on a tree," Seeing her excitement about the cat made his heart flutter. she looked cute and innocent. "I named it Wes, by the way. wanna pat it?"

nodding eagerly, Jeno sat next to the cat and patted its head and back, when the cat meowed, jeno chuckled. "I think he likes you," Jeno smiled, a genuine smile, his eyes turning a crescent moon when the cat climbed his shirt. 

"Oh wow..." Samantha let out under her breath.

lifting his head, he looked at her with knitted brows, "What—"

"—Do that again." she ushered her finger at his face, "With your eyes, do it again. It was adorable." clearing his throat, he felt his face heat up at the blunt confession. 

"it doesn't work like that— ah! shit, ow!" the cat bit his finger and when he tried pulling his arm back, it scratched his arm playfully. seeing and smelling his blood, Samantha's breathing faltered. 

today, she was too busy she didn't feed. her throat suddenly went dry. standing abruptly, Jeno looked up at her only to see her veins keep protruding under her eyes which were shifting from blue to red constantly.

"I think...you should leave to your room and clean yourself and patch up," her voice was low, and jeno got the hint. smirking, he squeezed his arm, making more blood ooze out.

"taunting me isn't a smart move, love," she warned before wetting her dry lips. the black-haired went as far as taking the cat and making her cut his neck. now drops of blood are running slowly down his neck. "...stop or I will dry you out. Leave!"

"Maybe I don't want to? plus, seeing you fighting not to feed on me is really heartwarming. makes me think you care about me someway," chuckling under her breath, in an eye blink, she pinned him to the couch and straddled his lap. sucking at a breath, he placed his hands on her bare waist. 

" not so brave now, aren't you?" Samantha said, ghosting her mouth over his bleeding neck. inhaling the blood's intoxicating scent, she let out a hum that vibrated against jeno's neck. feeling her hot breaths on his skin, he shivered and tightened his grip on her waist. drinking into his scared expression, she smirked when an idea popped into her head in order to distract herself from feeding on him; she ground her body on his.

Jeno's eyes shot wide open at the reflex his body made, "hm, someone is horny." she chuckled softly before lowering her head and licking the blood, sending goosebumps down his spine, "...god," he breathed out.

feeling his hard member, she looked down at him with a smug grin before clicking her tongue. pushing herself up, ready to leave him be, jeno's hand was fast to grab her soft thighs, pulling her back.

"Oh?" she looked down at him with a cocked-up brow. "you are enjoying this, aren't you?" he let a low grunt when Samantha lowered her bottom more, "Yes, you're so soft... I love it," he said, cheeks and ears red as he couldn't look anywhere else but at the playful grin she supported.

feeling him kneading her thighs when her skirt rode up a bit, she pursed her lips "You keeping me like this make me believe you don't mind me having a taste, say, am I wrong?" 

when he felt the sharp edges of her fangs running on his skin, he closed his eyes and start trembling, ready for the stinging pain. he was scared. Samantha smiled and looked back at him, "open your eyes," she demanded.

fluttering his eyes open, heat rushed into his face at the close proximity. her lips were ghosting over his, and her hands were behind his nape, smoothing his hair. 

"you're afraid of me." it came out as a statement more than a question, "You see me as a monster. You think I'm going to kill you." she clicked her tongue and shook her head. gulping nervously, jeno realized she entered his head and figured out his point of view about her. 

pulling him closer, she pushed his bangs off his dark brown eyes and made him look her in the eyes. "You're not afraid of me. you feel comfortable and safe around me. you're certain that I won't hurt you." placing the flat of her palm over his chest, a moment later, his racing heart slowed down. "I won't hurt you, eye-smile Lee Jeno. you have my word. Now go patch up your arm and put a bandage over your neck. stay in your room till tomorrow morning." standing up, she saw him leave. a minute later, Matilda appeared, "Your shower is ready, My Lady." running a hand through her hair, she stood up and left.

<- previous chapter

main list

next chapter ->

[eltriador]

------@medicbled: [ PULL ]: sender pulls receivers hair. + " fuck me like you hate me."

------THROUGH THE EMERGENCY staircase of his favorite haunt he could hear the music thrumming . feeling it was an entirely different thing , every sense tuned into the beat and the way the bass buzzed , raising the finer hairs at the nape of his neck to their very ends . it set his teeth on edge , lit his entire body on fire better than alcohol or any stimulant could . it was the closest he could get to feeling the before - shifting tension of a full moon without all of the exhaustion and irritation that followed .

what a mess they'd fallen into .

how easily she could have faded into the expanse of his memory , a cresting wave that would only prick at recognition some time a hundred years from now when the night looked just right and the air smelled like a warzone . he could have inhaled it and recalled how poisonously gentle her touch was rolling up his sleeve , tapping the syringe , setting the needle flush against wrecked skin . the way her attitude contradicted the smooth pads of her fingers , the sudden ease in the honey of her gaze - and he could forget that she was only at the edge of her teeth all the time because of that thing she injected into him . a suppressant . something to quell his nature and keep him complicit . it wasn't her fault , but by the time a century passed he'd forget the details .

but karma had her coming back into his life through happenstance . old feuds , bad blood between once - family and the life he chose to live now kept her around . he loved what he was , but lee wouldn't wish the bite on his worst enemy . he'd spent a week expecting it to kill her , then another explaining that yeah , that was bad but it'll only get worse from there .

he bore a lot of damage . a lot of trauma . but none was as bad of the emotional baggage he carried . fifty years never keeping the same company for fear he'd open his heart again , have it ripped out of his chest and crushed between harsh fingers . he could still feel the sting of the silver when the full moon crested , the days before the change beckoned the most feral part of him . it made his skin itch , the memory of the pain had his teeth gritting , jaw clenching . he wouldn't do that again .

except ...

she pulled at him like she wanted to peel his flesh from his bones . lithe hands , dexterous and deadly , slipped beneath the open sides of his shirt and scraped nails against taut muscle , uneven ridges from old wounds that prickled and bristled when touched . when she kissed him it was always with a bite , pulling at his lower lip with angry teeth , threatening to draw blood in welts each time but never quite getting there . they'd barely made it to the door with how she tugged at him ---and really , how he let his own hands explore her frame on the way . as if he wasn't complicit in it , as if he hadn't stood too close , let his breath fall on her neck like a prayer .

the song shifted , echoed in the stairwell , and lee let his body be a cage barring gloria between himself and the wall . his knee propped between her thighs , muscle nudging at her crest with only a measure of the grind it was capable of . he devoured her mouth with a hunger he'd kept close in his chest , one that coiled at his spine and stuck deep claws into each individual vertebrae . hello , old friend .

nose nudged beneath the line of her jaw , teeth pricked at the skin there and between the scratch of his beard and their journey he mused at the angry red trail that appeared in no time . her fingers dug into his shoulder , her hips rolled to push herself more into his leg and he understood that need . gods , he fucking understood it . it pulled an inhuman growl from his chest , one that stuck behind his jaws and tasted like a promise .

" léon , " black eyes fluttered up , long lashes catching against the crook of her neck from where he'd been making a trail down . her shirt was twisted impossibly , half around his wrist and tugged upward . the thin , tantalizing fabric of a bra that wasn't meant to support askew from where he'd been worrying at the hardened bud of her breast with his tongue , with teeth . but now his attention was on her face , her lips , swollen from harsh kisses and wet from the slick of her mouth where she'd run her own tongue across them moments before . fingers wound into his hair , grasped at the root and pulled hard - enough to have him groaning for the pain of it . he even panted on the exhale , something that made the corners of gloria's lips twitch upward in a way that made her look like a cruel god . and fuck , he was hard . " fuck me like you hate me . "

his exhale was a harsh shudder , large hands shifting from their assigned posts across her body to seek the tantalizing curve of her hips . he pulled himself back , shifted to push her into the railing of the landing ( to give her something to brace herself against ) , and filled the space at her back with his form . he brushed the hair from her neck , let it spill over her shoulder like honey , and worked at the exposed skin with rough bites . more red splayed against the sweet smooth flesh of her . down his focus went , next on tugging at the waistline of her shorts . he paused to unbutton them , let his fingers dip between her thighs once he'd given himself more space , and moved immediately past the waistband of her panties .

surely she could feel how hard he was , the way it insisted itself more when he felt at her . lee chuckled , a breathless husk , against the shell of her ear . " look how wet you are , cariño . "

[captianimarum]

Much had to be learned by stumbling, it seemed; it hadn't been like there had been any other option for any of them. If there was one family that would have benefitted from the guidance and teachings of the generation above them, it was theirs - and yet none of them had received it. The detrimental affects in which that absence had caused were obvious; each one of the living Sparda's had scars in which could never be healed, trauma's in which one couldn't hope to ever entirely push aside.

Nero had personally vowed to always be there for the children that had belonged to the orphanage- but that was different; they weren't crossbreeds, they weren't able to change themselves or summon things from out of sight; they were just normal kids looking for a normal life. They, thankfully, would never have to know the fear and the suffering Nero had gone through - - thinking he was cursed or corrupted.

Fortuna itself was still a rather difficult subject - and Nero wasn't entirely sure on how he felt about the whole situation. He'd always be it's protector, he'd taken a vow when he had entered the service of the Order of the Sword and despite all that having collapsed, he had always taken it to heart. He would always offer those that settled on the island protection; but whether it was simply a sense of duty, a guilt thing to do with Credo or something else entirely... The youth didn't actually know.

"Bodies are still being dug outta rubble." Though, by the point they were at in clearing such, there wasn't much left of said bodies; most naught more than bones and piles of half-rotted clothing. It had been years since the incident, after all - - and though the stench of death had finally disappeared from the streets, it still lingered around every corner, a heavy weight upon everyone. "It'll be a long time before they're all cleared, but a new cemetery has been built on the eastern side of the island and they're all being laid there." Identifying everyone was nigh impossible, thus it had seemed right to bury them all together with a memorial in the middle; marked graves without names, all under the same umbrella of lost. It made him feel sick.

"There's nothing more we can do for them, but we can try and stop it happening again in Redgrave. At least there are still people alive and fighting, there." And that was the difference; in Redgrave, they were fighting for those that yet lived, that wanted to call the city their home; Fortuna was still clearing the dead and rubble, a fair way off being entirely habitable again. One was lost entirely and being rebuilt, but the other was not yet too far gone. There was hope in Redgrave, yet. "Y' burying skills might be warranted there, if you know how to gather up those... wisps of people."

He sits in silent reflection for a few moments, his thoughts taking him away akin to a torrent in a river; there was yet so much to do, to face... and Nero wasn't certain he had the ability to face it all. Deep down, he was exhausted - he was tired of all the fighting, of all the problems, but he had taken on the mantle of protector, and he could never be rid of that. This was to be his life - to use what he had for a good reason, while being haunted by the ghosts of his past.

Finally, he finishes his coffee and straightens his back, consciousness running over whether or not there was anything they could do ere heading for the ferry - - Fortuna had a multitude of problems but, frankly, he didn't think they'd be able to tackle any of them with such short time. Much of it was clearing work - - and best left to those who knew what they were doing, he thought.

"I'll probably just buy some cake to go and drop it off at the Stonemasons near the docks. Those guys're working their asses off every day to clear the rubble n' rebuild." And appreciation showed through something as simple as cake was rather warming, he had learned. 'T was small, in the grand scheme of things, but it was the thought and meaning behind it that meant more than anything else. They knew they were appreciated, but this just solidified that.

⚔ ────▪ ❛ 𝚈𝙾𝚄'𝙳 𝙱𝙴 𝚂𝚄𝚁𝙿𝚁𝙸𝚂𝙴𝙳 𝙰𝚃 𝙷𝙾𝚆 𝙼𝚄𝙲𝙷 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙲𝙰𝙽 𝙻𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝚁𝙾𝚄𝙶𝙷 𝚂𝚃𝚄𝙼𝙱𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙶 . ❜ ⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻ Vergil laughs again, more of a light chuckle, and shrugs. He wondered how much Nero realized the two were alike. Like his son, he did not have the knowledge available—so much was learned through trial and error, so much through pain and, at least for a fleeting time, pleasure. And there was still so much more to learn. It almost made that mad scientist's research worth something. What had been his name ? Artemis ? Arthur ? Something along those lines. It was no matter ; the Goldstein girl was there now, and she was much more interesting than a man who dared to touch the Yamato with unworthy, filthy hands.

                         ❛ They will rebuild. With your protection, they will rebuild—and repopulate. ❜ He isn't sure if the words will be worth any amount of comfort to his son, but Vergil was never good with comfort. A shoulder to lay one's head upon, a strong body to lean against, perhaps. But true comfort ? An embrace, a chest to lay upon, or even a friend to confide in, Vergil was not yet. Perhaps his humanity would make a human-like pretender out of him, but that time was not now. ❛ But what remains behind is still . . . tragic. If there are graves to be dug, let me, and the Yamato, take care of such duties. It is not the first time I have had to bury a body, and it will not be the last. ❜                           He waves his son off, then, gesturing into the air. ❛ But enough of such sad topics. There is life to be lived—tasks to be completed. As for this . . . You've chosen well. This tea was delicious . . . Enough for another cup, to go, perhaps. Is there any work to be done today, on the island ? I could be of assistance, if a hand is desired. ❜                           That is a nice enough thing to do, yes ? His humanity seems to agree, at least. He, however, makes no move to get up ; perhaps it is selfishness, or desire, to remain there a moment longer. It is not often that Vergil gets to see his son this close—not often he gets to see every ounce of himself within. Not often that he is allowed the company. If cherishing this scene just a moment longer is selfishness, than Vergil is the most heartless, crude, soulless being on Earth.                           Vergil does not yet realize that what he feels is love—or perhaps admiration instead, that something so wonderful could have come from him. That incredulity will never fully disappear, and attacks him now, when he is vulnerable and receptive. How insidious, his humanity. The thought crosses his mind, again: This child is mine. I helped to make him, and he is better than I could ever be. What a wonderful thought. A little color seems to return to his world—things will be alright, at least for now, he dares to believe.

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

Bad Ending 1: Catch And Release (And Catch Again)

It really shouldn't be a competition of which was worse -- being violently tortured by a psycho or being so, so lonely -- and yet Jonas still managed to pick the worst choice.

Yaaaaay, one of the first "Bad Endings" is here!! Since there's multiple different, fun ways Jonas's ransom could potentially end, I'll be branching out into many of the options! Some may be a one and done (endings where one of them dies) whereas others might span on for one or two sequel fics.

For this ending, Jonas's ransom was paid in full and on time, meaning he has been returned back home without any fuss (:

As always, if there’s a tag I missed or anything you’d like me to specifically mark, please let me know so I can add it for future fics!

Taglist : @whumpsday @painsandconfusion @suspicious-whumping-egg @t0rture-me

--

CW: Emotional Manipulation, Mentions of Neglect, Stockholm Syndrome, Mentions of Consensual NSFW

Word Count: 3.8K

--

Stupid, stupid, stupid. This was so fucking stupid. What the hell was Jonas thinking in that traumatized little brain of his? The correct answer was that he wasn’t thinking at all or he might have realized how this could blow up in his face like a literal shotgun blast.

But he needed this. He didn’t know why he needed this, but something deep within him was telling him it was as necessary as oxygen. A longing he had never experienced, much less expected, that tugged his heart into his throat to do something before he lost what was left of his mind. This had to be a trauma response of some kind, right? A desire to reach closure during the worst chapter of his life? Something that had been broken in conjunction with his bones and spirit during his captivity that could only start to heal if he listened to his gut feeling?

Well, those were the excuses Jonas was going with in any case.

He could neither confirm nor deny how his psyche was healing due to his parents’ adamance he didn’t need therapy to cope with his ordeal. So, he chose to believe this was perfectly normal and reasonable behavior for a former victim. It wasn’t like he was being obsessive, not on the same level as Malik. He simply didn’t have anything better to do in his abundance of free time than to search up every funeral home in a two hundred mile radius. Family owned, company owned, new ones, old ones – Jonas dug through all the records and phone numbers he could get his hands on. He searched for listed associates with the surname Kelly and Kelley and Kellie and Kelee, for directors named Malick or Malik or Maleek, and every combination of the full name imaginable.

It had taken a good few days of amateur detective work, but it felt like this hit was the one. God, Jonas hoped it was. He wasn’t sure how many eighteen hour days he could spend pouring over phone books and internet results he could handle in a row. Not because he was obsessive, just because he had nothing better to do. Having gotten used to the routine of skipping meals and sleeping sporadically, it was a schedule he adapted to easily, despite the head butler urging him to leave his bedroom for fresh air after the seventh consecutive day of research. He could leave when he wanted and right now he had important matters to attend to. Important matters he could never share with another living soul unless he wanted to be institutionalized at his father’s request.

With the bedroom door locked, Jonas picked up the phone and dialed the number from the directory with shaking fingers. A part of him was hoping he’d found what he was looking for. A part of him was dreading the idea of his captor answering, instead wishing he would hit another dead end instead. He double and triple checked the bedroom door again to ensure he wouldn’t be interrupted, that prying eyes and ears couldn’t see what he was up to. It was highly unlikely his parents would come down this hall of the East wing and a housemaid had already collected his scarcely touched dinner plate. For all intents and purposes, Jonas should be completely alone. Just as he always had been.

The phone on the other end of the line rang a few times, each little buzz causing his heart to beat in matching rhythm. Stupid idea, stupid, stupid. Even if this was the man he was looking for, there was no guarantee he would pick up the call given how close it was to the end of their listed hours of operations. Jonas would never be able to leave a voicemail if that was the case. He could call back in the morning, perhaps, but would that make him look obsessive to call twice in a row? Because he wasn’t obsessive.

A soft click broke through the ringing. “Thank you for calling Kelley Funeral Home, how may I help you?”

Jonas felt like every breath that had been gearing up for full hyperventilation had been knocked right out of him. Weeks of searching had finally paid off when he heard that familiar deep voice, a southern twang on the syllables that melted the words into something smooth and rich. He found him, he found Malik. He found the man who had assisted in his kidnapping and kept him hostage in a basement for months, torturing him for sick pleasure and killing others for a grisly side business. A serial killer, a sociopath, an insane bastard who deserved to rot for all of his bloody crimes under the guise of being a small town sweetheart.

…now what?

“Hello?” Malik asked when Jonas had yet to respond to his initial question.

He hung up the phone, all but throwing the receiver onto his bed like the plastic had burned him. The air he thought he lost came back to him to suck in great gasps, heart racing and trembling from head to toe. Malik wasn’t even physically here and he could still reduce Jonas to a shaking mess with a how-do-you-do alone. Was that everything he had hoped to achieve during his wild goose chase in tracking down his previous captor? What was he honestly expecting to happen? What did he plan to do moving forward now that he had this information of Malik’s whereabouts on hand? The obvious answer seemed to be that he should take this information to the authorities.

Yet…a million different worst case scenarios ran through his head. The police might think he was in on this whole operation, there might not be any evidence for them to find if Malik knew how to cover his tracks, people might think he was obsessive for hunting down the man who tormented him for no reason. And he wasn’t obsessive!

So, he called the funeral home again once it didn’t feel as if he’d break down into a fit of hysterics.

“Thank you for calling Kelley Funeral Home, how may I help you?” He repeated.

“I…I,” Jonas felt his throat close up, unable to swallow whatever overwhelming emotion he was feeling. Fear, sadness, elation. Every hair on his body was standing on edge, the scars littering his tan skin throbbing with phantom pain as a reminder to what Malik had done. “I’m sorry, I-I just, um…”

“It’s alright, take your time,” Malik said in a wretchedly sweet tone that made Jonas want to scream. “I understand these kinds of phone calls can be tough.” He didn’t know the half of it. “Are you needing assistance with the loss of a loved one?”

“Yes.” He didn’t know why the lie came so easily. All he knew was that he wanted to keep Malik on the phone, wanted to keep him talking with that calm, soothing voice and trick him into thinking everything would be alright.

“May I ask who you’ve lost?”

Everyone, everything. Himself, Jess or Jane or whatever her name was, Carly, Todd, all the other nameless victims he was forced to watch meet their ends.

Jonas cleared his throat in the hopes of dislodging the lump trying to choke him up. “My…aunt.”

There was the sound of a few papers shuffling. “I’m terribly sorry to hear that. I’m sure she was a wonderful woman.”

“Yeah, she…sh-she was,” What was he doing, what the fuck was he doing. “I…I don’t know what to do. I need help.”

Malik hummed. “It’s good to ask for help during difficult times like these, you shouldn’t try to carry that weight by yourself.”

Fuck him. Fuck him for being so well versed in the way of condolences when he was the one inflicting unimaginable amounts of hurt onto Jonas for sick satisfaction. It was unfair in the way his honeyed words could coat the inside of his mind and silence all those nasty thoughts. A warm comfort seeped into his bones, helping to ease the vibrating of his wound up muscles before they aggravated any of his more damaged nerves. Malik was right; he shouldn’t be struggling with this burden all alone. That was the point of therapy, of family and friends to fall back on, neither of which Jonas had at his disposal. All he had was a telephone and the business number for a serial killer. Someone was better than no one.

“I…I’m trying n-not to. But I don’t know who…who else to talk to.”

“Have you been able to process your grief since the incident?”

“Um…I don’t know.”

“Well, that’s as good a place to start as any. It won’t help none to arrange a send off if you’re not able to let go yet.”

“How do I…know if I’m still holding on?”

“Seein’ as you’re not actually looking to schedule a real funeral, I’d say you’re holding on pretty damn tight.”

…huh?

“Y’know, lover,” Malik’s voice had dropped, sweet becoming sultry with a single octave. “This would have been a helluva lot more convincin’ if you had used that li’l star sixty-nine trick to hide your caller ID first.”

Jonas felt like a knife had been twisted into his gut, a sensation he was unfortunately quite familiar with. “Wh-what?”

“I saw the area code, Jonie. Ain’t no one calling from upstate for a service down in Ashton. ‘Sides the fact it came up as Robert Belmont. Is that your daddy?” He explained and oh, Jonas could hear the smirk in his voice.

“H-how…what,” No, no, no, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go! Malik wasn’t meant to know it was Jonas on the other end, he wasn’t meant to know he still had his claws sunk deep into the poor boy.

Instead, he laughed at Jonas’s fumbling. “So, what do I owe the pleasure of my favorite pretty boy calling me at work?”

Yeah, Jonas, what was the reason you had spent the better part of two and a half weeks stalking a deepweb murderer with the intent to give him a call? Was he still going to grasp at straws to preserve his psyche, repeating the lie that it was for closure or police intel or something that was for the good of future victims? Those had to be the real reasons, because the younger man sure as hell wasn’t obsessed.

“I…I don’t know…” He whispered.

“You don’t know?” Malik drawled. Jonas could imagine him reclining back in the office chair looking bored as ever. “So you just felt like wastin’ my time this fine Thursday evening?”

“Fuck you,” The words slipped out before Jonas could stop them, leaving a bitter feeling on his tongue. It felt pathetic to say a shot of anxiety spiked his heart rate at the idea of talking back to Malik in such a vulgar fashion. Before, he would have gotten a backhand to the face and the threat to split his tongue. But he was safe now. He was safe. Malik couldn’t get to him here, despite the fact Tucker and his goons had managed to smuggle him out prior.

“We’re awful brave when there’s five cities between us, aren’t we? Where was that sassmouth when I had you all to myself, or had I already bled that outta you?”

Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him! He had no control over Jonas now! The heir refused to acknowledge the way his hands were trembling again as if they were cold, instead focusing on the heat of anger bubbling in his chest. “Maybe this is a wiretap, you psycho. I could be getting all the information I need to turn you in to the FBI.”

The older man snorted. “The fact that you said any of that is enough for me not to believe you. As if your folks would keep looking into any of this after they got you back. Deal’s a deal, Jonie.”

So much rage that had been burning within him fizzled into resignation just like that. Malik was right yet again; his parents hadn’t bothered to look deeper into his kidnapping or pressing legal charges against any of the perpetrators. Doing so would mean to continue keeping a police case open, which meant having to have a record of proceedings to inform potential business partners if it was ongoing. The idea of a company being primarily involved in a lawsuit, regardless of the details, was bad for investors. Not to mention that as far as they were concerned, the transaction had been made and there was no need to go back on the agreement. Tucker got his money, Jonas got to keep his organs. Why keep digging into old wounds?

Denying him therapy meant they could deny that there was anything wrong with him as a result of the kidnapping. The poor boy was nothing short of perfect, just as every Belmont was. The dark thoughts could swirl in his repressed memories as much as they liked so long as they never exposed themselves to the public. Besides, the entire manor had been upgraded in terms of security, both technical and in manpower – a hefty price to pay to give Jonas peace of mind. Ungrateful thing, no wonder they didn’t want him in therapy, who knew what kind of things he’d blab to a nosy doctor that could be taken out of context to smear the family name. Just because he was a troubled boy doesn’t mean he gets to lash out and throw a fit to bring everyone else down.

“Listen, lover,” Malik said, interrupting the other’s brief bout of self loathing. “When you figure out why you’re so obsessed with me, you’re more than welcome to call back.”

What!? Jonas wasn’t obsessed! Malik was the one who was obsessed, Malik had made his unnatural interest in the Belmont boy very clear from the start. Soiling his skin with scars that still ached in the cold temperatures, forcing him to develop borderline anorexia that refused to let him stomach more than a few bites of any meal, slicing off bits and pieces of him as if the man was attempting to peel away the layers of his soul. But sure, yeah, Jonas was the obsessed one just because he was the one that decided to make the first move after he had been booted from the basement. So much for being Malik’s ‘favorite’ considering he had never reached out once since their separation.

Or was that because Jonas had never really been his most beloved living victim after all, he wondered with icy realization. It was quite possible he was only treasured because he was physically available to be toyed with. A convenience. Similar to how most marriages worked in his family tree, the relationships were arranged based on end goals rather than true love, though in rare cases mutual feelings had been garnered. Malik, however, was not an individual who could grow to develop deep emotions like that. Love was a foreign concept to sociopaths, at least in the traditional sense. He had never genuinely loved Jonas regardless of the bloody affection he flaunted. Obviously he didn’t, or he wouldn’t have abused and mutilated him for personal enjoyment. Jonas had always known this.

So why did it feel like Malik had succeeded in ripping his heart out of his chest once and for all?

He was aware of the tears running down his cheeks before he registered the dial tone ringing in his ear, indicating Malik had hung up some time ago. His hand slowly lowered the receiver to his side, unable to do much else while he processed everything to the best of his traumatized abilities. Tears continued to blur his vision, but green eyes were hardly looking at anything. Alone again. After so much work to track him down, after so many months of listening to him sweet talk like a real spouse, Jonas was left all alone again. The fleeting taste of human connection was a sham, just as he had always known it was during his captivity. Yet now, for some reason, the promise of being loved had felt like the greatest high of his life. Of course, the lows were brutal and unforgiving, but they were so easily brushed to the side of his mind.

Those five minutes of physical affection, those throw away lines of praise, had felt more than enough to balance out losing a couple pints of blood for. A small price to pay all things considered. Even his own parents couldn’t fake a familial bond that well.

Wait, no, hold on. No, no, no, back the fuck up. Jonas was not seriously excusing Malik’s sickening behavior as real love, was he? A couple kisses that the younger man hadn’t wanted in the first place were meant to undo the kicks to the ribs he’d endured from steel toed boots? He was no better than his own mother then, dotting her expensive concealer under her bruised eye and telling Jonas his father was in a foul mood today so don’t bother him. Malik and Robert Belmont were nothing alike, though. Malik’s kindness was much more well versed, making it all the more addictive. There was a substantial amount of distance between Jonas and the funeral home basement, meaning he never had to worry about hands squeezing around his battered throat again. And if that was the case, well…why not reap the reward of Malik’s good graces? It seemed like a solid deal, and the Belmonts were excellent businessmen after all.

The number was redialed before Jonas had finished wiping away his tears with the back of his hand.

“That was fast,” A voice answered in lieu of the same formal greeting. “Darlin’, as much as I love playing phone tag with you, I do have a jo-”

“I want to talk to you,” Jonas interrupted.

The strength in his confession surprised him, a wobble quickly returning to his voice as fresh tears clumped his lashes together. “I…I want to hear your voice,” He whispered.

“…like a phone sex thing?”

Well, there went that attempt at being emotionally vulnerable with Malik. He should have known better. The remaining tears that clung to the corners of his eyes were only dislodged as a result of his body jolting in shock at such a lewd suggestion.

“Wh-what!? No! No, I, I-I don’t even know, Christ…” Jonas could feel his cheeks burning at an uncomfortable degree, barely resisting the urge to curl in on himself to hide his embarrassment from the older man on the other end of the phone. He heard Malik laugh, clearly amused at his flustering, and the smooth baritone only made his stomach tighten further.

There was a beat of silence. “You’re kiddin’, though, right? You don’t know what phone sex is?”

Jonas hoped he sounded as incredulous as he must look right now, ignoring the dried tear tracks and flushed cheeks. “Why would I know what that is? That doesn’t sound like it would work for anything.”

“Aw, pretty boy ain’t lost his virtual virginity? That’s the saddest thing I ever did hear.” Malik teased.

“I, God, fuck me–”

“Would love to.”

“No, shut up,” He wasn’t that desperate. Yet. “I don’t want to talk about this!

There was more shifting of things on a desk and the squeak of a chair. “Well then, what are you holdin’ up my landline for? I ain’t gonna sit here doin’ pillow talk with you all night, I have shit to do.”

Then hang up, Jonas wanted to taunt. The problem with that was Malik really would hang up and had no guarantee of when he would answer his call again. As much as he wanted to believe he had grown the bravado to stand up to the killer, he wasn’t sure his fragile self esteem could take the blow of being readily ignored.

“What…do you have to do?” Jonas asked. Redirect the conversation to be about Malik, narcissists loved that. The older man should be kept plenty engaged.

“Do you really want to know?”

Scratch that. Jonas wasn’t interested in being regaled by grisly details of whatever illegal activities he’d gotten up to since his departure. Ignorance is bliss. “N-no…”

“Then I reckon this talk is done for the night,” Malik said.

“Wait, w-wait!” Not yet, not yet, please, not yet. “You’re…Malik, you’re the only one I can talk to. About anything. N-no one else gets it…”

“A cryin’ shame. Go to a therapy support group like a normal person.”

“I can’t. My parents won’t let me, they don’t even talk to me about it! And, and no one else in the house would be able to understand and everyday I feel like I’m going to fucking explode and you’re the only person I have left who will at least acknowledge what happened!” His voice cracked on the last word in a truly pitiful display.

His outburst was only met with a sigh. “Don’t mean I really care.”

“You like when I cry though,” Jonas sniffled. “You said I’m pretty when I’m in pain.”

“You are,” Malik agreed.

“Well I’m in a whole lot of fucking pain right now because of you. I can’t, I…I can’t handle it on my own. I need someone else to see it,” If he had drank more of the offered water to him during meals, he might have had enough fluid in his system to produce a few more tears. Instead, his eyes and nose merely burned. “Please…”

His pathetic pleas for Malik to take advantage of and enjoy Jonas’s post-traumatic suffering must have enticed him enough to relent, because the phone had yet to click in disconnection. How sad it was that after everything he’d been through, the hurdles he’d overcome to survive, the horrors no young man should have to see, he was begging with his tail between his legs for Malik to torment him again. Anything to have his attention back on Jonas again. Anything to trick the Belmont heir into thinking another person cared about him.

“Ten minutes,” Malik finally huffed. “That’s ‘til closing time. I suggest you don’t waste it.”

Jonas blinked. He…really wasn’t sure if all that groveling was going to work when the other man wasn’t physically here to witness his damp cheeks and trembling frame. But it had. That brief discard of dignity had earned him ten minutes of talk time with a killer who stalked his nightmares. Laid out in those terms, that hardly seemed like a prize to win at all.

“Tick tock, Jonas.”

“Um, I…,” Shit, shit, what were they supposed to talk about? What would be a topic that might entice Malik enough to answer the next time he called if this conversation was anything to go by? Something humiliating, something cathartic…

“What’s…h-how does…phone sex work…?”

[fiction-giga]

"I’ll keep you safe, I promise"

30 Day Blurb Prompt Challenge - Making them feel comfortable

blurb prompt link here

Day 2 - tucking the sheets around them when they stir during the night.

Eddie Munson x Fem!reader

Warnings - Nightmares, Survivors guilt, Somniphobia, Mentions of other characters death (Chrissy)

Word Count - 1310

GIF by robynnnhooddd

Sleeping after the rather…violent events in the Upside Down was not an easy feat. It was challenging, everyone taking home their own trauma, different from everyone else’s experience. Although one person took the brunt of the weight. And that person was Eddie.

After having to watch Chrissy die a miserable death, not being able to help or stop it in any way was the start. Then being hunted by the entire town, swimming through a portal to an unknown dimension, and then sacrificing himself. Nay, tried to sacrifice himself.

You had spoken about it to each other. Your thoughts and feelings being communicated and heard. His thoughts were darker than you could have imagined. You didn't want to think about those nasty things swimming around in his beautiful head, but it was something that could not be avoided. So every once in a while you would try to talk to him. Show that you were still up for communication, but he never shared his true feelings again after letting himself be completely vulnerable that one night many moons ago.

To sum it all up, Eddie was living with severe survivor's guilt. He expressed to you that after waking up in the comfort of your room instead of the after life had originally frustrated him. Not in an angry way, but in an, "I'm tired of this," way. He just wanted it to be over, scared that if he opened his eyes and looked around, Vecna would be the one standing over him and not you.

You had dragged his body from the Upside Down with little to no help from Dustin since his leg was practically broken in two. Waiting for Steve, Nancy, and Robin to get back wasn’t an option. So you dug your heels in the ground and drug him out of that hell yourself. Dragged him all the way to the other side of the park to your trailer. You patched him up as best as you could, and luckily for you, it worked.

Eddie though, he carried so much weight. It was something he refused to let go of, like a child with their teddy bear. It was something that he felt like he needed to live with, instead of moving on.

Everyone else had grieved, dealt with their individual pains in a somewhat healthy way. Steve, Robin, Nancy, Johnathan, and Dustin filled that grieving hole with countless hours of community service and volunteer work.

Lucas and Erica tended to stay by Max’s side in the hospital as much as they possibly could.

Mike, Joyce, Hopper, and Eleven worked on building up her powers again. Doing little training exercises deep in the forest where no one would find them. Bonding, like a real family would.

Will was casted off to do his own thing, but luckily for him, Dustin introduced him to Gareth and the other guys in Hellfire, and he fit right in.

Hell, even you have taken up some new hobbies, distracting yourself with small tasks that help you feel accomplished when complete. But Eddie? Eddie stood frozen in time.

He no longer had an interest in playing guitar, says that when he plays it he gets flashbacks to that night. He no longer wants to play D&D no matter how long the boys pester him for a new campaign, he doesn’t budge. He refuses to listen to metal, or any music for that matter. Claims that the heavy guitar riffs are too loud and can sometimes sound exactly like a Demobat screech or the drums reminding him of the sound of Chrissy’s bones snapping. Everything that made Eddie Eddie, was gone. He was just a shell of the person you once knew and loved.

You're always there to comfort him. Trying your hardest to just be patient with him. Some days are easy, others are not. But you still love him, no matter what happens.

But the worst part for Eddie, the one thing you feel sympathetic towards, is his sleeping. Or a lack thereof.

Before that night, Eddie wasn’t the best sleeper. His schedule ranged from crazy times, sometimes even staying up all night just to finish a campaign and then sleeping all through school. But now, he just doesn’t sleep.

You're beyond worried for his health. His under eyes were a dark shade of red. His eyes drooped into a new, sleepy shape. Wrinkles appeared on his face, his attention span non-existent. His mood swings worse than ever before.

He claims that every time he shuts his eyes, flashes of Vecna’s cruel face appear. His screams of agony echo through his dream state. He relives it every time his eyes shut.

Every night, without fail, he finds something to do. Something to keep his mind occupied. Something to keep him awake. You’ve pleaded and begged him to at least try, and some nights he agrees. Others are forms no’s. You even suggested some sleeping supplements or even a sleep study, but he shoots the idea down. You respect him and his wishes, sleep coming easier to you seeing as this wasn’t your first rodeo.

You had always had nightmares about the upside down, but you had time to adjust. The past three years the events have increased in size, allowing you a bit of wiggle room. But Eddie was just thrown into the violence with no time to ask questions.

However, tonight was different. The house was dead silent. Last you had spoken to Eddie, he was headed into your shared bedroom to start re-reading The Return of The King again.

Now reading may seem like a quiet activity but not when Eddie is the one behind the book. He always finds a way to make some noise, alerting you that he was in fact, still awake.

But it was deathly silent. You could hear the trailer settle, the quiet wind whistling outside, crickets croaking loudly in the night. You furrowed your eyebrows, looking from your spot on the couch down the hallway to the dimly light door frame of your bedroom. Your mind immediately went to a dark place, thinking something bad might have happened to him.

You stand up, tiptoeing down the hallway, floorboards creaked lightly beneath your feet. You made it about halfway down the narrow space before you heard…snoring? That was new.

You cut the corner and looked to your left to see Eddie sprawled out on his side on the bed. The lamp was casting a soft yellow glow onto his serene face. The paperback book was crumbled beneath his side, the old yellowing pages creased with his body weight. His hair was everywhere, his right hand curled under his pillow. He looked so unbelievably peaceful in his dreamless slumber.

You tiptoed as quietly as you could around the bed. With gentle hands, you removed the now crumbled book from his side, marking his place with the well-loved polaroid. It was a photo of the two of you dressed in your Halloween costumes from a few years back. You smiled fondly at the memory as you placed the book on his bedside table.

You grabbed a discarded blanket from a dusty chair that sat in the corner of the room and draped it across his form. He shifted under the thick blanket, snuggling further into it. You tucked it beneath his side’s loosely, hoping that it will help keep him comfortable and still. His soft snores filled the air once again, letting you know that he had fallen back into his deep slumber.

The air from the blanket falling across his frame had pushed a few of his dark curls into his face. You leaned down, and without disturbing him, you brushed the dark locks off his face. With one final kiss to his forehead, you whisper against his soft skin. “I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”