Jim thinks on how he should leave Sebastian in the aftermath of it all.
AO3: [here]
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One.
It’s the one that he finds himself thinking about the most. How it probably should end. With his lips locked up tight until the very end where everything’s spoken out loud, shout, from the barrel of a gun.
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AO3: [here]
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He wakes up in the darkness and doesn’t know why. It’s not the first time this has happened, but his mind isn’t focusing on such logic. It’s short circuiting; only attaching his thoughts to the idea of how crowded around the darkness he feels, black closing in on him slower and quicker all at once. It feels like it’s all squeezing too hard on his lungs, choking him and compressing the oxygen straight from his body until he’s gasping, trying to force the air back in.
All he can think is darkness and how completely and utterly alone he is.
It takes a whole two minutes of panic before he starts screaming. It’s all frantic, making as much noise as he possibly can with the short gasps of air that he manages to suck down. He starts to flail, arms lashing out until his fists hit the door in front of him—closest, it’s always the closest, locked and he knows that but he’s too terrified of everything to even try the knob. He hits at the wood until his fists hurt and he’s sure if there was any light he would be able to see that the skin was broken and bruised, smearing in a thin layer of red that slowly grows as more blood bubbles up from the cuts.
Richard resorts to clawing at the door when his fists hurt too much. The pattern is uneven, but on every few pulls down his nails fall into familiar grooves and dig in to splinter the wood further, the paths created from other encounters only growing deeper. The wood grain cracks under his fingers and stabs underneath his nails, making small pricks of pain explode as he pushes the wood bits further and further under his skin.
There’s a sharp blinding pain in one of his fingers which makes him scream even louder, choking on spit and panic as he realizes one of his nails cracked. Again. Richard coughs and, finally, can’t bring himself to take in another breathe to yell out for help. His voice is already hoarse and his throat is throbbing from the harsh treatment. He’s left sobbing, letting his body fall heavy to the floor and curl in on himself.
He can’t breathe anymore.
The darkness is too thick.
He’s trapped.
Alone.
“Where…where’d you go?” Richard chokes out, bringing his hands up to his face to make his own darkness to look at, thinking it might not be as horrible as the one surrounding him. His voice is pained and quiet, trying to break through the thick silence and the monster’s voices that were starting to set in soon.
“Where’d you go?” He says again, this time a little louder, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes hard enough to make black and white dots explode into his vision. “Please—!” He gasps, clenching his jaw until his teeth hurt from the pressure of grinding them together. “Please, don’t go—“
A thin splinter of light that grows and grows is suddenly filtering in through his fingers. Richard gasps and pulls his hands away from his face, not caring that he now has tears and blood streaking his features. There’s too much light that chases away the darkness, making his vision blurry. There’s a shadow in the doorway that blocks out some light and, for a split second, Richard is more terrified then he’s ever been, wishing desperately for the darkness to wrap around him once more. But—
“I’ll eat you up, I love you so.”
Richard hears the echo of a voice and chokes on his sob, pulling himself up from the closet floor he’s been laying on for who knows how long. He throws himself at his brother, burying his face into his chest and sobs, cries, lets desperation shake through his body for a long while as he clutches at his protection.
When he can breathe again, something like an even pattern that stumbles on ever fourth intake, Richard turns his head and just let’s Jim’s body heat surround him.
He can see blood on Jim’s clothes.
Smell the heavy stench of it on his body.
Feels the stickiness of crimson as Jim threads his fingers through his hair.
And all Richard does is close his eyes, blocks it all out, and breathes in the scent of his twin.
He’s safe.
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It’s when they’re both spent, covered in cooling sweat and cum and blood; when their chests stop rising so rapidly and their heart rates return to something that doesn’t echo in their ears. It’s these sorts of times that Sebastian lights up a cigarette without Jim complaining, because he’s just staring up at the ceiling with his eyes half open, dark and glazed over. Smoke clouds up the room after his third and the ashes collect between his fingers. He looks over and thinks this is what Jim must look like when he dies; so still and silent and just looking with dead eyes at nothing while still feeling like he’s gazing right into your soul to rip the very core from you.
Sebastian looks away after a minute, flopping back onto the bed and closes his own eyes so he doesn’t have to be tempted into looking at Jim. He thinks, absently, that this is how he wants to look dead, calm and limp and peaceful with his eyes closed and the world around him dark. It seems like something that fits.
When Jim’s like this, after they fuck, he doesn’t move for a while. Sebastian’s tested it before, poking him and prodding him. He’s got a soft little perfectly rounded scar right above his collar bone now, from when Sebastian decided to test the limits and press the flickering bud of his cigarette to porcelain skin to see if he could gain a reaction. The flesh blistered and burned, exposing layers of blood underneath to dribbled and pooled when Sebastian finally pulled the fag away, tapping the gray dust into the new pretty wound without so much as a wince from Jim.
It wasn’t until hours later when Sebastian was asleep did Jim repay him for it, cutting a deep hole into his side to put his finger inside and twist until Sebastian thrashed and howled. Looking back at it now, Sebastian always thought it worth it, remembering the wound fondly whenever he ran the pad of his finger over the small scar, feeling the ragged tissue that it left behind.
Sometimes, it takes hours for him to come out of the daze, sometimes less. It’s not a thing that happens often, as more times than not Jim either rolls over to sleep or gets up to shower and work without so much as a second glance thrown towards his ever loyal sniper. But, sometimes he doesn’t move for a long while and just stares until Sebastian forgets he’s there.
Sebastian never really knows what Jim thinks about when he’s like this, because that’s what he’s doing, thinking. It always ends in the same way, with Jim’s thought process finally pouring out of his mouth in a way that Sebastian’s learned to stop trying to understand; it’s better to ignore, but even so he always listens.
“I want to know what your lungs feel like expanding against my hands.” His voice drowns, eyes still unfocused as they look upwards. Sebastian says nothing in reply, only settles against the pillows and takes another drag of smoke. “Peel back tendons and ligaments from muscle and bones.” There’s a pause and Sebastian looks sideways. Black eyes flicker ever so slightly. “Watch you fall apart.”
He exhales the smoke from his lungs before turning onto his side, watching. It continues.
“See how far I can drive a nail through your skull before your eyes fade out.”
“Rip off your nails until there is just blood and count the days until they grow back.”
“I want to know what your heart tastes like.”
At this one, Jim’s eyes flicker again to turn, looking at Sebastian even though there is no other movement and he still thinks he’s looking into the gaze of a corpse. It’s unnerving, but Sebastian’s used to it, because it’s better to memorize that look then forget it; be surprised when he sees it again.
“Yeah?” He says simply, pulling the cigarette from his lips and crushed it out on the nightstand behind him without looking back. “Then tell me what it tastes like.”
He closes the distance and kisses Jim. It’s not sweet or soft, but it’s not the mess of teeth and tongue like before. It’s just a kiss, connecting Jim back up with his body again. He knows it works when Jim bites at his lip, not letting go until he tastes blood and Sebastian lets him. Lets him because he’ll let him do anything he wants; there is truth to his words. His soul is not his own anymore.
The kiss ends when Jim pulls away from it, slapping Sebastian hard across the face for the same reason as always.
“Don’t smoke in my room, Sebastian.”
It stings like a bitch and heats up half his face, but all Sebastian does is smile with it, watching as Jim throws the sheets off him and gets out of bed to clean up. Sebastian likes to watch Jim leave, the bruised imprint of his fingers still very much viewable on those sharp, white hips.
When the door slams shut, he rolls back over onto his back, hands reaching out to grab up the pack and his lighter blindly from the nightstand, firing up one more stick just because he knows Jim will come back pissed and all this will start over again.
Maybe this time around, he’ll finally end up tearing him open to see what his insides are really like.
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Anonymous whispered :
Real life pairing of your choice x Cadbury Creme Easter Eggs
His eyes were getting tired, incredibly so, seeing as he hadn’t blinked in what felt like hours. And it probably was with how long Logan had been eating that damned egg.
Oh, sorry, the correct term for it was tongue-fuck. The little asshole had been tongue-fucking that damned egg for what felt like an hour now!
And the worst part— the absolute worst fucking part— was the fact that Logan had no idea. No idea about how slow he dipped his tongue down into the creme or how he swirled it around to lick up all the edges, mixing the creme with mouth-warmed chocolate and then slurred the mixture into his mouth, licking his lips of any leftovers right afterward.
Jake still had no idea how the hell there was that much creme in one of those goddamned eggs. Maybe Logan just had a shit ton of them on his person and swapped them out with magic or something.
Either way, Jake was getting damned tired of it. His dick was getting damned tired of it. And if Logan didn’t finish the damned egg in point-five-fucking-seconds he was about to lose it and either murder or fuck him— possibly a combination of the two.
“Dude, you need to blink or your eyes are going to fall out of your head.”
Jake did blink, looking up from Logan’s damned filthy mouth to take in all of his face, seeing the amusement in his eyes and wanting to slap him for it.
“Yeah?” Jake snapped back, finding his poor mood equal to that of his sexual frustration. “And maybe you should stop treating that chocolate egg like a whore, you Cadbury Slut.”
Jake was gone before Logan had anytime at all to react, turning bright red and dropping the unfinished egg to the floor. Bastard.
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bilbo X smauglock 221b baker street
“Did you really have to make a damned cave out of all the blankets and pillows in the flat?” Bilbo hissed out, tapping his foot at the mouth of the bedding-made cave that encompassed almost the entirety of their living room.
All he got in return was a hiss and a billow of smoke in his face, making him sputter and cough, glaring ever harder at the red eyes staring back at him.
“Don’t give me that! It’s STILL your turn to get the milk, even if you are held up in a damned cave!” The hobbit growled, kicking at the pillow wall before trudging off back into the kitchen. A small smile spread across his face upon looking back to realize the whole wall fell in and the stupid git was glaring back at him as he replaced his wall. Served him right.
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Anonymous whispered :
fili x thor bedroom
“THIS HORSE IS NOT BIG ENOUGH TO RIDE!”
“WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU!? GIVE US BACK OUR PONIES!”
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Anonymous whispered :
hi. I've been feeling really down lately and I just wanted to reach out and say I'm a big fan of your writing. It's a great pick-me-up. You're awesome!
“You’re going to run yourself into the ground at this point.” Tom grumbled mostly to himself, grabbing up all the wet clothes into a bundle before throwing them into the hamper with a little huff. He didn’t want to look at Chris, knowing he would simply glare and get even more irritated.
Chris was anything but angry, however, curled up in the bed with a large comforter wrapped around his body as he shivered, attempting to warm himself up even as water still clung to his hair and skin. Even if it was a stupid thing to do, jumping out into the sea on such a shitty day as today with gray skies, cold gusts, and rain that wouldn’t stop. The waves were simply too good to pass up.
He grinned from the bed, head only poking out from the covers, watching Tom as he huffed out and muttered words and swears to himself, picking up towels and dabbing the carpet clean of water.
“You worry too much. I’m fine.” Chris said, even though he knew Tom would be able to hear his lie. His body shook and shivered from being too cold and too hot all at the same time.
“You’re sick!” Tom threw down the towels he was collecting, too caught up in being irritated and annoyed with the other’s behavior and the lack of care for his own well being.
“Hey.” Chris said, softer now as he leaned up in the bed and took hold of Tom’s wrist, squeezing it gently in his hand. “Tom.”
There was a second of hesitation, but soon enough Tom let his shoulders fall and a sigh leave his lips, turning to look down at Chris, trying to not take notice of how warm his hand felt against his skin.
“What?”
Chris only smiled, pulling Tom’s hand forward to place a chaste kiss against his palm, as a promise and an apology.
“Thanks for caring.”
Tom let out a little huff once more and rolled his eyes, not able to keep the same spark of anger inside him as before.
“Just go to sleep.” He pulled back his wrist, pushing Chris back down on the bed to tuck him in, softly kissing his forehead as he pulled back. “You’ll feel better soon.”
In other words, thank you Anon. I appreciate it and am so glad to hear my stories cheer you up, if only a little bit! C:
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For marybrandybuck who asked for (essentially) Cheiloproclitic with Chris and Tom, but got confused also with Lalochezia so, me being me, decides to write an abused lips story instead? And, as usual, all her shit is FUCKING LONGER THEN NEEDED.
Uh…I swear it makes sense. Sort of. Anyway.
Can be read in the Abused!Tom universe if you’d like or if it makes you feel better about yourself, think that Tom is just really kinky. Yeah.
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They’re nothing special. They’re thin. Pink. Totally normal in comparison to the rest of Tom’s face. But somehow that just makes it so much worse. The fact that they are so ordinary, Chris finds the need to change them. To make them just as amazing and beautiful as the rest of his body.
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At dinners, they laugh and joke and gently touch one another’s hands. They share wine and dessert. If anyone were to look, they would claim they were a couple. They acted like one without even meaning to and neither wanted to correct anyone, so they didn’t. They just smiled, shrugged, and went on their way.
Whenever they stay in, because sometimes they do, they sit on a bed wearing pajamas and snuggle under blankets to keep warm watching bad reality television. After an hour, he’s ready to kill someone and she is laughing too hard with tears in her eyes. Normally, he falls asleep before her. She kisses his forehead, tucks him in, and leaves without waking him up.
(She’ll never know that, as soon as the trailer of his door closes, he wakes up and stares. Stares for a few minutes, expecting her to come back. Wanting it. But she never does. He makes it so he’s okay with that.)
(He’ll never know that she stands for a second on the steps, breathing once in and out, calming herself, before silently taking the last few steps down and goes off to her own trailer. She never stays. She can’t.)
It’s easier when he’s not looking. It’s always with an awkward pause that they depart. After dinners. Takes. Saying goodnight.
Both pause after the words are said, just looking at each other, staring for a long while with heavy hearts wanting the other to say it. To just admit it.
But they don’t. They never will.
He lets his fingers slide out from her own, and she lets her grip loosen. They attempt smiles, but they’re always forced.
“Good night, Scarlett.”
“Night, Jeremy.”
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There was a point in his life, a point that Loki tends to forget now, when the sound of far off thunder didn’t bother him. Normally, the sound came on nights when Loki would wake shaking from nightmares. He’d gasp awake, struggling against ghostly holds, legs tangled up in heavy furs, and his tongue too tangled with his teeth to get a proper spell out. Loki would pant and tense for hours after, trying to calm his nerves only to find nothing he did helped. But when he heard it, the soft rumble far off on the horizon, even if its bringer was only just down the hall, Loki found himself at ease.
It was omething that Thor did for Loki, whether he knew it or not. Over the years, Loki grew to find comfort in the sound. Of knowing it’s there. That Thor is so close by. That his older brother is looking out for him.
And now.
Now, as Loki shoots up with wide eyes and a thin sheen of perspiration forming on his body, as he looks down to see the blue fading back to his finger tips and the images of strong hands pinning him down, blue eyes glaring, hammer held high…
The sound of thunder far off in the distance, clashing within the clouds; Loki squeezes his eyes closed and attempts to calm the tight feeling in his chest. The thunder only grows louder, rumbling through Loki’s bones, and Loki can’t help but whimper softly at the feeling.
There is no saftey anymore. He knows that the thunder signifies something completely different then comfort now. It echoes in the sky with such anger and hurt. With betrayal and a promise, deep down, that Loki never thinks about. Doesn’t admit to himself. As he claws at his skin and screams just as the thunder breaks through the skies again; dark flashes with lightening and everything is white for a second. Blinding.
Loki curls in on himself. The thunder only grows louder. And the god so wishes for the world to be quiet once more.
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