i’m twigs | lvl 40 cryptid | any pronouns | indigenous | two spirit whump writer | i live to write about mean things happening to bois m/m and t4t mostly | adults only, minors will catch a block
If you're a fan of reading about guys in distress, you've come to the right place. You'll find explicit noncon and intimate whumpers here.
I have a ton of ocs, most of them villains. A favorite pass time of mine is borrowing the ocs of other creators -- usually visual artists, but not always -- and putting them into situations 😈 Think of it as obsession my way of gushing about how much I love what they make, and giving them individualized focus that goes a bit beyond a like, comment, or repost.
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I'm indigenous, queer, disabled, and believe with every fiber of my being:
No one is free until we are all free, and
"Once we are all ill and confined to the bed, sharing our stories of therapies and comforts, forming support groups, bearing witness
to each other’s tales of trauma, prioritizing the care and love of our sick, pained, expensive, sensitive, fantastic bodies, and there is no one left to go to work, perhaps then, finally, capitalism will screech to its much-needed, long-overdue, and motherfucking glorious halt." -Johanna Hedva
If you're racist, fascist, or transphobic, see yourself out.
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Current in-progress projects I am obsessing over:
Someone's Favorite - Fell head over heels for Marcus in Beneath Gunmetal Skies, so of course I had to borrow him and express my love and adoration 😈 #m/m #noncon #abuse of power #military whump #living weapon in training #intimate whumper #torture #training
Ch 1 / Ch 2 / Ch 3 / Ch 4
Say You're Sorry - Ugh, Lucas is such a gorgeous nonhuman ✨ A pity that someone wants him dead, poor lamb. Normally, Trouble wouldn't touch someone like Lucas, but a job is a job 🔪 #t4t #noncon #living weapon #drugged #kidnapped #intimate whumper #nonhuman whumpee #bondage #interrogation #torture #bleeding #strangling #loss of limb #begging
Ch 1 / Ch 2 / Ch3 / Ch 4 / Ch 5 / Ch 6 / Ch 7 / Ch 8 / Ch 9 / Ch 10 /
Ch 11 / Ch 12 / Ch 13 / Ch 14
Uncanny - This is a Lucas and Trouble romance au. What happens when you have a mean-boy-eating cryptid fall for a nonhuman living weapon? Especially when that cryptid feeds of powerful emotions and the living weapon has an impaired ability to notice, identify, or describe feelings. And let's toss in captivity while we're at it, that's super romantic 😍 #t4t #hurt/comfort #angst #cryptid #living weapon #murder #interrogation #caught #liar #manipulation #captivity #forced compliance #collared #whumper turned whumpee #caretaker #forbidden feelings
Ch 1 / Ch 2 / Ch 3 / Ch 4 / Ch 5 / Ch 6 / Ch 7 / Ch 8 / Ch 9 / Ch 10 / Ch 11 / Ch 12 / Ch 13 / Ch 14 / Ch 15 / Ch 16 / Ch 17 / Ch 18 / Ch 19 / Ch 20 / Ch 21 / Ch 22 / Ch 23 / Ch 24
Midnight Snack - Trouble is more than willing to work for a meal. Looking presentable, buying a cutie a few drinks, flirting and eventually luring an unsuspecting guy home. Keeping him imprisoned and using his body until there's nothing left to take. A cryptid's gotta eat.
When he finds out about an exclusive, expensive club promising whatever the customer desires from willing -- allegedly -- horizontal refreshment? It sounds too good to be true, but Trouble can't help checking… 😈 #noncon #intimate whumper #manhandling #choking #bondage #forced #kidnapping #punishment #torture #begging #accidental bonding #carewhumper #hurt/comfort #fever #nightmare #protective
Ch 1 / Ch 2 / Ch 3 / Ch 4 / Ch 5 / Ch 6 / Ch 7 / Ch 8 / Ch 9 / Ch 10 / Ch 11 / Ch 12 / Ch 13 / Ch 14 / Ch 15 / Ch 16 / Ch 17 / Ch 18 / Ch 19 / Ch 20 / Ch 21 / Ch 22
(Completed and in-progress works are also on ao3.)
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Whumptober 2025 Masterpost
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Sometimes I write a shortie inspired by a prompt. Drabblings that only exist here on tumblr are linked below.
Yeah, busy week again so you get this chapter 12 hrs early -- you're welcome ;p
You can run away from a lot. Places. People. Situations. It's hard to flee a dream, though, especially when the present recreates the past well enough to conjure it up. Poor little cryptid. Fast, but not fast enough. Never fast enough.
[note: If you don't know about Trouble's first "boyfriend," you can see him here and read about what happened between them here.]
My deepest thanks, as always, to broidcanymore for letting me borrow Lucas and Alison -- they're the perfect tag team for breaking my son 😈
Read below or over on ao3. 2987 words. Enjoy 🪢
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Trouble felt fingers caressing one of his ears, and then the other. He hummed softly, relaxing under the touches. His sleeping companion’s warm chest rose and fell beneath him. He smiled, then wiggled until he could nuzzle and kiss a soft throat.
“You’re awake.”
“Nooo,” he whined, putting his arms around F’s neck, “m’not.”
“I should get up.”
“No, don’t.” Trouble opened his eyes and lifted his head. Some of F’s hair had slipped out of his ponytail while they slept. Strands fell across his face, over one of his eyes. Trouble gently smoothed the stray hair aside and stroked F’s temple.
“Stay here.”
“You should stay with me.” He smiled and kissed F gently, slowly. Whimpering softly, he worked one leg between F’s as they kissed. His heart skipped a beat when he felt F arch up against thigh. Atta boy. “Eff,” he gasped, giving them both a chance to breathe.
“I,” F panted, “I need to--”
Trouble smothered F’s words with another, more demanding kiss. This time, he gave F’s lower lip a bite as he pulled back, smiling.
“Fuck.”
“Please stay?” he begged, straddling F’s hips so he could slip a hand between their bodies.
“No.” F’s hands locked around Trouble’s biceps and squeezed.
“Eff, please,” Trouble whined. “I need you more than the human does. He won’t starve in a few hours. Stay?”
“No.” F used his grip to lean Trouble to the side and get out from under him. “You stay. Rest.” Slowly, he released Trouble’s arms and straightened.
“I’m not tired,” he snapped, catching F’s hand before he could leave. He sat up and swung his legs off the couch -- or tried to; the chain around his left ankle was too short. When did he...? “Take me with you.”
“You’re not better.” F set a hand on Trouble’s waist and pressed his thumb into the healing bullet wound on Trouble’s abdomen. “Lie down.”
“Ah!” He shied away from F’s touch, flopping sideways onto the couch as his entire left side lit up with pain. I was getting better. I was healing. Why is it hurting so much?! “Ow, Eff, stop!”
“You don’t listen.” F took Trouble’s hands by the wrists and pinned them to the touch arm above his head. “Lie still.”
“That hurt,” he whimpered, blinking back tears as he stared up at F...and noticed that pupils didn’t match. One was the usual pinprick, but the other had blown to nearly cover the entire iris. Fuck. He’s upset. I can’t let him change, not now! Trouble winced as his wound pulsed in time to his heartbeat, then forced a smile. “Okay, okay, I’ll rest.”
“I’ll MAke yOu StaY.” He closed a shackle around one of Trouble’s wrists as he held them down.
“W-Wait!” Trouble twisted to see and got to watch the second shackle snap shut. No. He yanked, but the chains were anchored in place. “Eff, no. Please. I-I’ll stay put, I will, I swear!”
“bE STill.” F moved to the foot of the couch and dropped to one knee. He raised a third shackle and clamped it shut around Trouble’s free ankle.
“I’m not moving,” he pleaded, starting to cry. But how he wanted to. I can’t make this worse. He could kill me. “You don’t have to do this, I said I’ll--”
“YOu nEver LiSTen!” F yanked on shackle chains, yanking Trouble’s legs out straight. He tugged again and jerked Trouble closer until Trouble’s arms were stretched taut, too.
“Eff, s-stop! You’re hurting me, please!” The bands of metal around his wrists and ankles were heavy and cold. There was no way he would be able to break them or struggle free. Not this time. “I’m s-sorry, I’ll be good--”
“SHuT uP!” F snarled, his bared teeth growing sharper as he loomed over Trouble.
He pressed his lips together, not moving except for his shaky, held-back sobs. Help me. Please. Someone...
F looked down at his lap, then raised it in both hands. Leather straps dangled from the muzzle.
“Please d-don’t,” he gasped, giving his head a tiny shake. No. No, please. Not again. I can’t, I can’t! This is why I left! “Eff--”
“No screamin’,” F warned, fitting the muzzle over the lower half of Trouble’s face, “or I’ll help you sleep.”
...
Lucas woke up ahead of his alarm. Barely able to open his eyes, he lifted his arm and peered at his wrist. After touching the screen to turn the alarm off so it wouldn’t shriek at him in twelve minutes, he let his eyelids slide shut again. He shifted on the bed and grimaced. His legs ached as if he’d slept in his prosthetics. He reached under the blanket with both hands and started massaging.
Some light made it through the curtains, but even then his room wasn’t as bright as it should be. He forced his eyes back open and blinked to clear them. The light was also coming from the wrong wall. And was that...breathing?”
He turned his head. Trouble.
Trouble was snoring softly, half his face hidden by his pillow.
Moving with great care, Lucas reached out to touch the fingers of Trouble’s closer hand. Warm. Good circulation. No repercussions from sleeping in the leather-lined cuffs, then. He didn’t want to risk reaching over to touch Trouble’s other hand, but he lifted his head and peered at it. The skin color looked about the same on both hands. Good. He let out a deep, soft breath.
So he was able to sleep well enough while restrained; his Mom would want to know. Alison hadn’t been keen on this experiment, but as Lucas had pointed out, she’d been trusting him to independently carry out dangerous missions on his own for years.
He looks so young, Lucas thought suddenly. It occurred to him then that he hadn’t ever asked Trouble for his age. He hadn’t asked for a legal name, either, so there was no way to find out, except to ask. He wondered if Trouble would tell him.
Lucas eased himself upright, holding in a hiss of pain. He eased back the blanket and rubbed further down legs -- part of his usual routine before putting his prosthetics back on. His gaze wandered to Trouble’s face as he massaged. It was different to see him looking so peaceful. No pinned back ears or crying, no glare or tensed shoulders, no wagging tail or smile.
Even when he’s falling asleep during a back rub, there’s a little wrinkle between his eyebrows. Lucas smiled. Maybe I can’t smell feelings, but some emotions are easier to read on him than other people. So much of his time at work was spent attempting to interpret what others meant when they did certain things -- especially when they said one thing, but did another. None of his colleagues made the guesswork easy, no matter how many times he re-explained about his disability or requested clarification.
It’s exhausting, but at least I don’t get headaches. It would be pretty hard to massage there. He finished rubbing down his right leg, then carefully scooted to the edge of the bed and grabbed the first prosthetic. He was securing the last fasteners when he heard a gasp.
Trouble’s eyes were moving under his closed lids. He whined softly.
He must be dreaming. As Lucas watched, Trouble’s fingers twitched. Or maybe he’s waking up. Lucas finished attaching his prosthetic, then reached for the second.
“No.”
Lucas glanced at Trouble. His eyes were still closed.
“S...stop.” For a moment Trouble’s brow furrowed, then smoothed.
He’d gotten the prosthetic lined up along his left leg, but before he could do up a single fastening, Trouble let out a long, high-pitched whine.
“Don’.” Trouble frowned as his breathing began to speed up. His legs twitched under the blanket. “Help.”
“Trouble?” Lucas whispered, reaching out to touch his arm.
He flinched and whimpered at Lucas’ touch. Then he gasped, eyes flying wide open as he tried to sit up, crying out, “no!”
“Wake up, Trouble.”
“Please don’t, Eff,” Trouble wailed, jerking away from Lucas so hard he would’ve fallen off the bed if the shackles hadn’t kept him in place. “I’ll be good!”
“It’s me. It’s Lucas.” He put his hand on Trouble’s back and started rubbing. “Wake up, Trouble.”
Trouble whimpered, jerking against his restraints.
“You were dreaming, but you’re in your room and you're safe, Trouble,” Lucas murmured, still stroking his back to soothe him. “You’re alright. I’m here with to you.” Though Trouble had stopped struggling, he was still breathing too quickly. “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
“...Lucas?”
“Yes. You asked me to sleep in your room with you. Do you remember that?”
Trouble hid his face in his pillow, then nodded. His shoulders shook under Lucas’ hand.
“Take some deep breaths, alright?”
He nodded again, but held his breath.
“You’re doing the opposite of taking a deep breath. Here, breathe with me. Ready?”
Trouble sobbed into his pillow.
...
“L-Lucas?” he asked. Trouble was still crying, but at least he could talk now.
“Yes?
“C-can you take the c-cuffs off me?” He sniffled. “Please?”
“I can take them off as soon as I get my other prosthetic on.”
“Please hurry?” he asked, wishing his voice didn’t sound so small.
“Of course.”
Trouble bit back a whine as Lucas’ hand vanished from his back. He turned his head, watching Lucas attach the metal framework back around his left leg.
“There.” Lucas got off the bed and smiled at Trouble before walking around the bed.
“Can you get my hands first?”
“Yes.”
“Thanks.” The instant his eyes closed, Trouble could see F’s face. He winced and opened them, turning his head to watch while Lucas leaned over him with the key to the cuffs.
“You’ll want to move slowly at first.”
The instant his first wrist was free, Trouble drew it close to his body. That wasn’t real. He can’t hurt me. He focused on the dull ache in his shoulder and the pins and needles running down his arm.
“Are you in any pain, Trouble?”
He shook his head and watched Lucas key the second cuff open. Trouble couldn’t help a sigh of relief as he was freed. He brought numb fingers to his face, rubbed tears away on his tingling palm.
“Good, I’m glad.” Lucas moved to the foot of the bed and set the empty cuffs aside. “I’m going to uncover your feet now, alright? Then I’ll get the cuffs off.”
“Thanks.” Trouble swallowed hard, ignoring the shiver that ran up his spine. It’s Lucas, not F. Lucas wouldn’t muzzle me like that. He wouldn’t.
“Did you have any difficulty remaining asleep during the night?”
“Not ‘til the end.” He gasped as the first cuff came off, but stayed still. “Thanks for staying. I’m...sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” Lucas asked.
“F-for freaking out. I,” Trouble broke off and cleared his throat, “I wouldn’t fight like that, not at you.” I let you cuff me. I had to. He looked over his shoulder at Lucas. “You know that, right?”
“Fight?” Lucas freed Trouble’s other ankle and disentangled the cuff cable from the bed slats. “You weren’t fighting. You were having a nightmare.”
“I meant...” He ducked his head, ears drooping low. “That I...struggled against the cuffs. I-I wouldn’t do that with you. I didn’t mean to.”
“I did not feel threatened. You were asleep and dreaming. From what you said in your sleep, the dream did not seem pleasant.”
“It wasn’t,” Trouble whispered, then looked away, resting his cheek back on his pillow. “So, I just, I wanted to thank you. You know, for not...punishing me. I wasn’t trying to get free to hurt you.”
“I didn’t think that you were.” Lucas stayed at the foot of the bed. “It wouldn’t be fair to muzzle or shock you for having a nightmare, Trouble. Besides, you didn’t make a single motion toward me. When I tried to wake you, you moved away from me.”
“It was just...a bad memory, that’s all.” He curled up on his side and clutched the blanket close.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Don’t...you have to get ready for work?”
“You’re crying. I can stay for fifteen minutes and talk, if you want.”
“But...your Mom, and your breakfast...”
“She’ll understand, and I can drink a smoothie on the drive to work. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I wanted to offer. Alright?”
Had to see a ghost from my ojibwe language revitalization past today. She came at me while i was at work and had the fucking nerve to ask me if i still taught language.
This older woman who i went to when i was fresh out of my undergrad to privately share that my language professor sexually abused my friend while we were students. (I didn’t have it in me to admit that his TA raped me during junior year.)
Know what she said to me when I asked her what to do?
“Well, he knows the language and the culture.” It didn’t matter that he was a predator. It didn’t matter that he was surrounded by vulnerable people, people desperate to connect with the language and culture they’d been denied.
Well fuck that. FUCK YOU HOPE FLANNAGAN. FUCK YOU DENNIS PEBAAMIBINES JONES. FUCK YOU WESLEY BALLINGER.
I was going through my art and I don't think I ever shared this. Its from an old request that ended up birthing the Sonoriels as a concept, a harpy religious organization whose goal is to re-awaken their mother goddess through song.
You know how sometimes you just can't let go of something? lol Part of me thought this story was over, with a messy, hopeful little bow. Part of it is Trouble - he can't help needing to deliver vengeance. Part of it is absolutely @doomeddestination, dangling tantalizing mermay art of vic in front of me and i just hnnnnnnghrrrrrr.
Either way, there's a new chapter for y'all ;)
Read it right here, or over on ao3. 3089 words. Enjoy ⚡
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Trouble couldn’t believe his luck when he spotted Sahota standing guard at the far end of a private dining booth. Even with the sunglasses on, his was unmistakable. Oh, I have to. Sorry Kiv.
He ran through several excuses he could give, in case Kiv somehow found out. He was unhelpfully perceptive whenever Trouble least expected him to be. That was part of the reason he’d given up hunting any prey that didn’t smell like maliciousness on two legs. Kiv seemed to be able to sense it when Trouble fed off someone who “didn’t deserve it.”
Kiv would say that you don’t deserve it, but he can’t smell you, he thought, stealing glances at Sahota over the cocktail he was sipping at the bar. And you let that place hurt Kiv over and over. Maybe he’s forgiven you, but I don’t have to.
The real issue wasn’t hiding this kill from Kiv when he went home, though. Sahota was armed, on alert, and standing in the open. Sure, it was the quieter, VIP section of the club, but that still meant tons of witnesses. That and he was certain that Sahota would recognize him, even unshifted.
Luring him away from his post would cost him the element of surprise, and he wasn’t eager for a round two face off with the formidable human. Especially since he couldn’t tell if Sahota was the only one present from Midnight. There was probably backup outside in the form of a driver, or even a second guard hidden in plainclothes among the club goers.
He chewed on the cocktail straw with his dull human teeth as he considered and discarded several implausible schemes to isolate Sahota. But Trouble froze when he saw Sahota move — standing aside to allow an older man in a suit to leave the booth. He watched the man’s lips move, clocked the possessive hand he put on Sahota’s shoulder before moving past him. Trouble wished he was close enough to catch their scents for the exchange.
Well, hello handsome. Aren’t you interesting… Trouble noted the direction the man took, exiting the vip section to cut across the room, skirting the dance floor. Trouble slammed the last of his drink and slipped off his bar stool. Happily, the bar area was much closer to the restrooms than the VIP section.
…
The bathroom stalls had floor to ceiling wooden walls and full doors for privacy. Trouble ducked into the first one to wait, pressing a sensitive, shifted ear to the door. His heart hammered against his ribs, then skipped a beat at the sound of the bathroom door swinging open and closed.
He shook out his hands, trying to stay loose while tamping down the urge to spring out of the stall. If Sahota had accompanied the man he was guarding into the bathroom, Trouble would have to act fast.
He had no way of knowing if they were both armed, so it was best to assume they were. No way to know which was the worse threat, though he suspected Sahota would be faster. He already knew firsthand that Sahota was quick, strong, and could operate extremely well despite pain and duress. Probably safest to take him out first, either way.
He felt and heard a stall door close, followed closely by the soft click of the knob lock. He smiled. Now or never. He carefully opened his own stall as quietly as possible and peered out. A mirror ran along the wall behind the row of gleaming sinks. No Sahota.
Waiting outside for your big boss man? Perfect. Looking fully human, Trouble walked to the middle sink and got out his eyeliner. He had to take slow, deep breaths while he pretended to touch up his eyes. Steady. He’ll be like any other human. I won’t give him the chance to let out a squeak for Sahota…
The muffled flush of a toilet drew his gaze to the door of the only closed stall, but he was looking at his own reflection when the stranger left the stall to join him at the sinks. Trouble made a point of scoping the man while he washed his hands. When their eyes met in the mirror, he ducked his chin and lowered his gaze.
“All by your lonesome tonight?” Trouble asked softly, glancing up through his lashes at the man, smiling. “I could help you with that,” he bit his lower lip and tucked the eyeliner back into his pocket.
“Not interested.” The man briskly washed his hands.
Your scent says different, asshole. “I usually don’t give out free samples,” he murmured, moving close enough to touch and be touched. He reached out slowly, brushing his knuckles against the man’s still dripping ones.
He gasped as the world blurred; in the span of a few racing heartbeats, Trouble found himself pinned face-first against the wall between two of the bathroom stalls, one arm twisted up behind his back.
“I never said you could touch me.”
”I-I’m sorry,” Trouble whimpered, not resisting the man’s hold. Huh. Did Sahota learn to be fast from you? “Please, I’ll go, okay? I didn’t mean to bother you.”
”I’m not.”
He gasped again as he felt fingers caress the side of his neck. “N-not what?”
”Bothered.”
”D-do you want my rates?” Trouble asked. He whined softly as the caress became a tight grip on the back of his neck. He swore under his breath as his cheek was forced against the wall.
”I don’t usually pay for this.”
”I could scream,” he whispered, shivering.
”You won’t.”
The air was thick with the scents of cloves and smoke. It figures you’d get off on hurting people. He thought of Kiv and gulped audibly, forcing his own rage down. How many times did you put your hands on him, huh? You’re worse than the johns you sold his room key to.
The man drew Trouble off the wall and shoved him into a stall.
Trouble stumbled in, one hand going to his aching shoulder. He opened his eyes wide as he stared at the man, cringing further back into the stall as he blocked the doorway.
”I’ll have that sample now.”
”Please,” he begged as his eyes teared up from not blinking.
“No one works for me without proving their worth in advance.”
The first tears spilled down his cheeks and chewed his lip for a moment. Then, he backed up another step and sank shakily to his knees. The man didn’t smile, but it was impossible not to smell the cinnamony satisfaction that quickly flooded the stall.
“Take off your shirt.” The man closed the stall door behind himself.
Trouble looked away and hugged himself, then went stiff, as if realizing he’d disobeyed. He drew a shaky breath and slowly found the man’s gaze before easing his skin-tight shirt up and over his head. He gasped and dropped it as the man nudged his knee with the toe of an expensive leather shoe.
”Knees apart,” the man ordered softly, hands at his sides while he thrust his hips forward expectantly.
Trouble did as he was told, then reached up to open the man’s fly.
“Use your mouth.”
He flinched, but lowered his arms. The hardest part of loosening the button on the man’s trousers was choking down the urge to shift. His human teeth closed on fabric, but his mouth watered at the thought of sinking his real teeth into soft meat and ripping it free. He’d barely closed his eyes to enjoy what he could of the fantasy, only just tasted the tang of metal from the zipper tab when something cracked across his face. The blow fell so hard he’d needed both hands thrown out against the wall to save his head from knocking into it.
“Eyes up here while you do it.”
I’ll kill you. Trouble shook with hate as he raised one hand, holding it poised, hovering over his throbbing cheek. He tasted blood and nearly snarled, ready to shift and taste more -- gouts and gouts of it.
“Now, or I walk away.”
He held the man’s gaze and straightened up, blinking more tears down his cheeks as he got back into position. It took two tries before he could catch the zipper tab and drag it down. He could hear how hard he was breathing. He can’t think you’ll bite. He wants someone too afraid to fight back. Trouble made his breathing shake instead of slow. It made him cry so much the man’s face was a hateful blur above him.
Fingers glanced against his ear, his temple.
Trouble nosed against the briefs peeking through the man’s open fly, then gently mouthed the firming erection trapped underneath.
“Show me what you can do.”
The man’s palm settled over his throbbing cheek, then his thumb rubbed through the wetness under Trouble’s eye, smearing eyeliner. Trouble’s eyes narrowed, but he kept his gaze up and didn’t shy from the contact. He took the elastic waist of the briefs in his teeth and drew them down. The erection that jutted free was dark and swollen. Trouble nuzzled it with his cheek, then took the tip into his mouth. He tongued precum from the slit before taking him deeper, bobbing his head.
“Sir?” The familiar voice was muffled, coming through the stall door.
Fuck. Maybe Sahota had that same unhelpful perceptiveness that Kiv did. Trouble swirled his tongue around Sahota’s boss’ cock, then sucked him in deep enough to gag. He kept his eyes on the man’s face. C’mon asshole, you know you want to finish...
“Five minutes,” the man replied after a sigh. His voice was steady. “I want the transport ready in ten.”
“Sir.”
Trouble couldn’t hear if the bathroom door opened again -- he was a little busy -- but he hoped that Sahota had gone. He could sense a hum building in his prey. Soon he would be able to tug that into himself. Once he started to feed, Trouble had the feeling that things would get interesting. That would be easier to deal with if Sahota wasn’t in the--
“Time’s wasting.” Hands cupped the back of Trouble’s head and jerked him forward.
He gagged, nose squished flat and buried in hair. His hands were instantly on the man’s hips; instinctive panic for air surged through him, chased instantly by the urge to shift. His eyes flooded with tears as he choked, heartbeat pounding in his ears. Not yet. Sahota’s close. Not yet. All it would take was one yell. The thought of being tased senseless or shot let him stay human. The hands released him, but Trouble only leaned back enough to cough and get in a gasp of air.
“Choke yourself.”
Trouble held the man’s gaze, ran both hands up the backs of his legs to his ass. He pulled the man close as he leaned in, blinking away tears as he swallowed every inch. He drew back and repeated the full swallow, not breaking eye contact, again, and again. He could taste cloves and cinnamon, the scents were so thick in the air. Enjoy it, fucker. I’m the last you’ll ever have.
Even sneaking air, he was growing lightheaded. When he tried to speed up, growing eager to feed and to breathe, a sudden cuff over his ear made him cough and gag so hard he nearly pulled off. Heat crept up his neck. His eyes flooded with tears. A hand at the back of his head pinned him to the man, choking.
“No.”
The smell of cloves made his nose and throat burn, but Trouble didn’t struggle.
“Stay.”
His body jerked with each heave. He grabbed fistfuls of the man’s slacks, anchoring himself to him.
“That’s it.”
The humming under the man’s skin had swelled to a loud buzzing, like bass music through club speakers. Trouble tugged at the sensation, drawing it into himself with all his body’s desperation for oxygen behind it.
“Fuck.”
He was only dimly aware of the curse, of the man’s painful twisting grip on his left ear. Thrumming energy surged into him as the man climaxed, swamping his senses, making his grip on the man’s clothes numb from the strength of the vibration.
“You’ll do.”
Trouble was shoved backwards. His head clipped the rim of the toilet bowl as he fell on his back. The moments stretched out before his lungs dragged in a deep, ragged breath. He coughed and gasped again, disoriented. His entire body buzzed from how much he’d taken from the man.
“...wh...what?” He heard the man crumple to the floor, his shoes squeaking and sliding against the floor tiles.
Trouble got his feet on the floor and sat up.
The man was slumped against the stall door, looking pale and shaky, arms limp at his sides, chin on his chest.
“Don’t have a heart attack, old man.” He wiped his mouth and chin off on his arm as he moved in close. “Weak and unconscious is fine, but I need you alive.” Trouble smirked when the man tried to glare at him. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Vic.”
Vic’s eyelids fluttered as he mumbled something, the fingers of his right hand twitching.
“Something you need?” Trouble asked, helping himself to Vic’s pockets. There was a cell in the right pocket, a wallet in the back pocket, and a thin, metal case in the left pocket containing three familiar looking purple cards. “Recruiting clients and victims all in one evening, huh? You must be exhausted.” He chuckled, gripped Vic by the collar of his expensive shirt, and hauled him upright. He shifted and let the man get an eyeful of his sharp, thick teeth. “You should sleep. It’s the only way to recover from what I did to you.” He leaned in and nosed Vic’s cheek, and then his throat.
All that Vic could do was tremble in Trouble’s grip.
He hummed appreciatively when he caught a whiff of cut grass. Anxious already? Ugh, this is gonna be so fucking fun. Trouble opened the stall door, turned Vic around, and shoved him to the floor.
...
“Sir? Hey, are you alright?” someone said, loud even through the bathroom door. “Sir? Oh my god!”
Sahota pushed it open. He entered slowly, body relaxed and ready. Nothing registered on his face as he took in the scene: Vic sprawled facedown on the floor, motionless, possibly unconscious.
“H-he needs help.” There was a young man, shorter and slender, dressed for a night of dancing. He had both hands over his mouth, black-lined eyes wide and tear-filled. “Oh god.”
Sahota scanned the restroom, one hand on the weapon at his hip as he moved to the far end where he could see that each open stall was empty.
“I’ll get help!” The young man scrambled out of the room.
With the room cleared, Sahota knelt at Vic’s side. He checked for a pulse, though he could see and hear that he was breathing. No blood, so what...? He gave Vic’s shoulder a shake, then rolled him over to scan for any visible injuries.
Vic groaned softly. The muscles in his jaw flexed. His eyes opened a crack, but wandered, unfocused.
“Sir?”
After a stretch of stillness, Vic’s gaze found his. Sahota watched Vic raise an arm one handspan off the floor, two handspans, watched it reach toward him, then fall limply across Vic’s chest.
Sahota tapped his earpiece, then got his arms around Vic and lifted. He wrapped one of Vic’s arms around his shoulders and put the other around his waist before a voice spoke into his ear.
“Almost to the entrance.”
“Skip the queue,” he ordered calmly. “Vic collapsed.” Sahota shouldered the door open, half-carrying, half-dragging Vic along. They were conspicuous, but there was nothing for it. Once they were out of the club, he could do a proper assessment. There were supplies for emergencies in the transport.
“What?”
“Evac, now.”
...
Trouble had no difficulty spotting the transport he needed. It was sleek and black, with windows tinted too heavily to see through. There was a valet in a uniform and name tag looking frazzled, bowed slightly and speaking heatedly with the driver. He headed over, pulling the most distraught expression he could manage.
“Hey!”
The valet straightened, frowning at the sight of Trouble rounding the car and approaching.
“It’s a m-medical emergency. Please! He collapsed in the bathroom.” Trouble reached out a hand to the valet, who backed off immediately. “Someone’s bringing him now.”
The driver’s door popped open. Trouble caught it, blocking the driver from climbing out.
“What?” The driver’s eyes were wide enough for the whites to show around his stylish oval sunglasses.
Trouble put a hand on his face and forced him back, thrusting him hard enough to send him onto the passenger’s side. He slipped in and yanked the door shut after him. In a flash, he shifted, and clamped one hand over the driver’s mouth and the other around his throat. No time for a mess, he thought with a pang of disappointment. A rough jerk snapped the driver’s neck, and Trouble looked up in time to see a pair of men exiting the club.
The pair of bouncers and the few smokers at the entrance all parted to let Sahota hustle Vic through to the transport.
Trouble hurriedly patted down the driver and found what he needed at once -- a stun baton, holstered at his hip. He grinned as he snatched it, along with a black hat that had fallen off the driver’s head onto the seat. He crammed on the hat as he scanned the dashboard screen. He tapped to unlock the doors the moment before Sahota pulled the rear door open.
Wordless, Sahota heaved Vic into the car with a grunt, then closed the door behind him.
Trouble couldn’t help smirking as he crouched on the front seat, then sprang.
...
Sahota was getting Vic settled against the backrest when his entire body locked up, every muscle firing at once as a shock coursed through him. It felt like he’d taken a bat to the back of his neck, but the blow didn’t stop. His yell was caught behind gritted teeth. He couldn’t turn his head or dodge. His hands, still on Vic, clenched tighter and tighter.
He knew instantly what was happening, though he couldn’t feel the prongs at the end of the stun baton. The pain was crushing. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. The agony went on, and on, until the world went dark.
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The things we do to lessen the pain. Hopefully Trouble won't regret what he agreed to. Lucas is worth it. He's nothing like F. This is fine. Right?!
Read here or on ao3. 2013 words. Enjoy 🪢
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Trouble used the toilet, washed his hands and face, and brushed his teeth. For once, he changed into a matching set of pajama pants and long sleeved top. Back in bed and covered up, he took slow, deep breaths, ignoring the too-fast beating of his heart. It’s okay. It’s just cuffs. I’ll be asleep. It’s fine. Lucas has to, so he can stay. I don’t care.
He squeezed his eyes shut and hugged his pillow. It’s just for one night. Lucas would take them off if I asked. I can do this. He gasped at a knock on his door.
“It’s Lucas. May I come in?”
“Yeah.” He pushed up onto his elbows as the magnetic lock clunked off, and managed a tiny smile.
“Are you ready to go to sleep?”
“Uh-huh.” Trouble nodded, staying still as Lucas approached. He looks exhausted. “Thanks for coming back.”
“I said that I would.” Lucas had a folded blanket tucked under one arm. He raised his free hand and held it palm-up, showing Trouble the pairs of cuffs he’d brought. Four metal loops lined with leather, with plastic-coated metal cables joining each pair of cuffs. “If I am going to stay with you through the night, you’ll have to wear these.”
His stomach turned over at the sight of the restraints. He swallowed hard, ears drooping against his head.
“Do you still want me to stay? It is alright to change your mind if this is too uncomfortable for--”
“I-It’s okay,” Trouble whispered, lowering his gaze so he wouldn’t have to see the cuffs. “I don’t mind.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I...I want you to feel safe, so you can stay.”
“Alright.” Lucas tossed the blanket onto the far side of the bed. “I’ll do your ankles first, when you’re ready.”
“I...” Trouble gasped in a breath and held it. He rolled face down and kicked at the covers, uncovering his feet. “I’m ready.” The words came out sounding choked. His heart pounded in his ears as he waited for Lucas to grab him. I don’t care. I don’t. I have to do this. He bit down on his pillow, holding back a whine at the touch of cool leather against his skin. He couldn’t help flinching as Lucas secured the first cuff snugly around his ankle.
“Is this too tight?”
He shook his head and gripped two fistfuls of bed sheet underneath his pillow.
“Alright. I need a bit more slack. Could you scoot closer to the foot of the bed, please?”
Trouble held his breath and obeyed, wriggling further down the mattress. His ears twitched as he listened to Lucas guide the cuff cable through the foot board slats. He jumped as Lucas touched his other ankle. Fuck. Fuck! Don’t be a baby!
“I apologize. I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you still sure--”
“Yes.” Trouble looked back over his shoulder at Lucas. “I want you to stay. I’m sure. I swear.”
Lucas smiled and nodded, then fastened the other cuff around Trouble’s free ankle. When he finished, Lucas settled the covers back over Trouble’s feet.
His exhale trembled, but he resisted the urge to yank against the cuffs. It’s fine. He’ll leave if I don’t wear them.
“Trouble?”
He jumped, flinching away from Lucas’ voice at his elbow, then whined, ears pinned flat against his head.
“Are you alright?”
Trouble shuddered and hugged his pillow tight. Say yes. Tell him you’re fine. You have to say something.
“We don’t have to do this tonight. I can take the cuffs off your ankles.”
“No.” He turned his head to look at Lucas, keeping his trembling hands under the pillow. He tried to smile. “Please, Lucas. Stay?”
“I know you don’t like being restrained. Are you sure--”
“Please just cuff me,” Trouble begged, closing his eyes to hide that he was on the verge of tears.
“If it’s what you want. I’ll be very gentle. Could you move your hands closer to the headboard, please?”
He buried his face in his pillow and slowly slid his palms along the sheet, arms stretched above his head. Trouble’s breath caught as Lucas closed the first cuff around his wrist. He clenched his teeth together and hoped that Lucas couldn’t feel him shaking.
...
“This is only a precaution,” Lucas murmured, winding the cuff cable between the headboard slats. Trouble’s breathing was shallow and quick. “Breathe, Trouble.”
Though Trouble sobbed as soon as the second cuff closed around his wrist, he didn’t make any attempt to resist.
“We’ll breathe together, alright?” He settled down on the empty side of the bed, curled on his side, and put his hand on Trouble’s back. “I’m right here with you. Take a deep breath.” Lucas let his eyes drift closed as he stroked Trouble’s back and murmured to him. “Good. Another, and hold... Let it out. Good.”
A minute into guiding Trouble’s breathing, he had to turn his face into the pillow to hide a yawn. Lucas gave himself a mental shake, then started up again, pacing breaths for both of them while he rubbed slow circles up and down Trouble’s back.
“...you can stop.”
“Hm?” Lucas opened his eyes. Trouble was looking back at him. His eyes were red, but he’d stopped crying.
“M’okay.”
“If you change your mind about this, I can always take the restraints off of y—”
“M’fine.” Trouble shook his head.
“This isn’t to punish you,” Lucas explained slowly, deliberately. “Do you understand that?”
“It’s ‘cause you’re scared I’ll hurt you, even though I never have.”
“I’m not scared, Trouble, but with how vulnerable I am without my prosthetics and how capable I know you are, it would be irresponsible not to take precautions.”
“I wouldn’t hurt you, Lucas. Never. I swear.”
“Even if you chose not to hurt me, or my Mom, you would eventually hurt others. Innocent people that don’t deserve to be harmed.”
“They weren’t innocent,” Trouble muttered, frowning down at his pillow while his ears drooped.
“If you started killing on your own again, you would be at risk of being caught.”
“I’d be careful.”
“You were lucky before we met, not careful. There’s an important difference.” Lucas sighed and stopped the back rub to run a hand down his face. My eyes are starting to burn. I really need to sleep. “If you left and law enforcement tied you to a murder, I wouldn’t be able to protect you.”
“Why care what happens to me?” Trouble buried his face in the pillow. “I’m dangerous. I’m a criminal.”
“I care because you’ve been letting me get to know you. From what you’ve told me, you haven’t had many people in your life that care about you.” He put his hand on Trouble’s upper back. “I’d like to be someone that you can trust.”
“You won’t trust me,” he said, lifting his head to stare at the cuffs around his wrists, “but I have to trust you.” Trouble gave a single tug against the cuffs, then sighed and rested his chin on his pillow.
“We haven’t even known each other for a month yet. Please, give it time -- you living here, and us building trust with each other.” Lucas started stroking Trouble’s back again. “It’s only been my Mom and I for years, but...I’m glad you’re here now. Spending time with you can be a lot of fun, and I like that you can keep up with me when we train.” He smiled. “I wasn’t expecting that.” As he watched, Trouble’s ears slowly perked back up.
“I like training with you, too, especially at that park.” Trouble chewed his lip for a moment. “I like that we can talk, and that you really listen. You don’t treat me like I’m different when we’re talking, or out running.”
“I want to be your friend. Friends listen.” His smile widened as he gently touched the tip of Trouble’s ear with the back of his fingers. “And you’re not so different, not to me.”
Trouble whined softly and leaned into Lucas’ touch, slowly nuzzling his hand.
“I truly am sorry about the restraints.” He caressed Trouble’s other ear since he seemed to like having them touched, then gently stroked down the back of his head and neck. “I know you hate wearing them.”
“It’s worth it if you’re here.” Trouble’s eyes blinked halfway open to meet his gaze. “Please don’t leave me alone while I’m cuffed?”
“I won’t,” Lucas promised. “That wouldn’t be safe for you. Are you comfortable enough? Will you be able to sleep?”
“Yeah.” He squirmed for a moment under the blanket, inching a little further onto his pillow. “Thanks for...not using handcuffs, like in the car.”
“I was worried that those would hurt you. Handcuffs like that aren’t supposed to...to...” Lucas had to stop petting Trouble to cover a huge yawn. “To be put on anyone for too long.” He smiled and rubbed at his eyes next. “Sorry. I’m very tired. We should both try to sleep. Do you mind if I take off my prosthetics now?”
Trouble shook his head.
Lucas rolled onto his back and raised his right knee, fiddling with the fasteners on his prosthetic.
“Does it hurt to take them off and put them on?”
“Not exactly.” He kept working through another yawn. “If I’m on my feet for most of the day or I push myself too much, my legs ache and the attachment points hurt.”
“That sounds hard. I’m sorry, Lucas.”
“Oh.” He smiled as he glanced at Trouble. “It’s not so bad. I’m used to my prosthetics after all these years, and I know that I’m very lucky to have ones as well made as these. I wouldn’t be able to stand without them.”
“Still.” It was Trouble’s turn to yawn. “It sucks that you got hurt at all.”
“Right after the accident, things were harder.” Lucas sighed as he worked the first prosthetic off and set it down over the side of the bed. Then he started on the second. “I used to wish that I could have my parents back. I told myself that I’d never complain about my injuries, or my prosthetics, or the pain, or anything else if I could just have them back.”
“They must’ve been good parents.”
“I loved them. They loved me.” His chest started to feel tight, even with the distraction of taking off his prosthetic. Lucas made himself take a deep breath in and out.
“I’m sorry you lost them.”
“Me, too.” He sighed again as he drew his second leg free and twisted to put the other prosthetic on the floor. “But I’ve got Mom, now, and you.”
“Me?”
“Yes.” Lucas relaxed onto the other pillow and smiled at Trouble. “I know all of the changes are still hard for you, but I’m really glad you’re here, Trouble.”
Trouble stared for a few blinks, then buried his face in the pillow.
He could see and hear Trouble’s tail wag under the blanket a few times. Lucas yawned again, then pulled up an app on his phone. “Ready for lights out?”
“Yeah. I can--” The metal cable snapped against the headboard slats as Trouble tried to rise. “Fuck.” His ears drooped before he looked over at Lucas. “Neither of us can reach the switch.”
“We don’t need to.” He twisted his wrist so Trouble could see the image on his device screen. He pressed a finger to the top of the screen and slowly drew his fingertip down to the bottom; the overhead lights dimmed with the motion. “All of the bulbs in the house can be accessed like this.”
“Get out,” Trouble breathed, eyes wide. He grinned. “That’s awesome!”
“When we get you a phone, I’ll show you how to use the app. You can set a program for the lights in your room if you want, so they’ll brighten, dim, turn on, or turn off on a schedule.”
“Promise?” he asked, tail wagging harder this time.
“Yes, of course.” He tapped the image of the light bulb and the room went dark. “Goodnight, Trouble.”
You know how sometimes you just can't let go of something? lol Part of me thought this story was over, with a messy, hopeful little bow. Part of it is Trouble - he can't help needing to deliver vengeance. Part of it is absolutely @doomeddestination, dangling tantalizing mermay art of vic in front of me and i just hnnnnnnghrrrrrr.
Either way, there's a new chapter for y'all ;)
Read it right here, or over on ao3. 3089 words. Enjoy ⚡
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Trouble couldn’t believe his luck when he spotted Sahota standing guard at the far end of a private dining booth. Even with the sunglasses on, his was unmistakable. Oh, I have to. Sorry Kiv.
He ran through several excuses he could give, in case Kiv somehow found out. He was unhelpfully perceptive whenever Trouble least expected him to be. That was part of the reason he’d given up hunting any prey that didn’t smell like maliciousness on two legs. Kiv seemed to be able to sense it when Trouble fed off someone who “didn’t deserve it.”
Kiv would say that you don’t deserve it, but he can’t smell you, he thought, stealing glances at Sahota over the cocktail he was sipping at the bar. And you let that place hurt Kiv over and over. Maybe he’s forgiven you, but I don’t have to.
The real issue wasn’t hiding this kill from Kiv when he went home, though. Sahota was armed, on alert, and standing in the open. Sure, it was the quieter, VIP section of the club, but that still meant tons of witnesses. That and he was certain that Sahota would recognize him, even unshifted.
Luring him away from his post would cost him the element of surprise, and he wasn’t eager for a round two face off with the formidable human. Especially since he couldn’t tell if Sahota was the only one present from Midnight. There was probably backup outside in the form of a driver, or even a second guard hidden in plainclothes among the club goers.
He chewed on the cocktail straw with his dull human teeth as he considered and discarded several implausible schemes to isolate Sahota. But Trouble froze when he saw Sahota move — standing aside to allow an older man in a suit to leave the booth. He watched the man’s lips move, clocked the possessive hand he put on Sahota’s shoulder before moving past him. Trouble wished he was close enough to catch their scents for the exchange.
Well, hello handsome. Aren’t you interesting… Trouble noted the direction the man took, exiting the vip section to cut across the room, skirting the dance floor. Trouble slammed the last of his drink and slipped off his bar stool. Happily, the bar area was much closer to the restrooms than the VIP section.
…
The bathroom stalls had floor to ceiling wooden walls and full doors for privacy. Trouble ducked into the first one to wait, pressing a sensitive, shifted ear to the door. His heart hammered against his ribs, then skipped a beat at the sound of the bathroom door swinging open and closed.
He shook out his hands, trying to stay loose while tamping down the urge to spring out of the stall. If Sahota had accompanied the man he was guarding into the bathroom, Trouble would have to act fast.
He had no way of knowing if they were both armed, so it was best to assume they were. No way to know which was the worse threat, though he suspected Sahota would be faster. He already knew firsthand that Sahota was quick, strong, and could operate extremely well despite pain and duress. Probably safest to take him out first, either way.
He felt and heard a stall door close, followed closely by the soft click of the knob lock. He smiled. Now or never. He carefully opened his own stall as quietly as possible and peered out. A mirror ran along the wall behind the row of gleaming sinks. No Sahota.
Waiting outside for your big boss man? Perfect. Looking fully human, Trouble walked to the middle sink and got out his eyeliner. He had to take slow, deep breaths while he pretended to touch up his eyes. Steady. He’ll be like any other human. I won’t give him the chance to let out a squeak for Sahota…
The muffled flush of a toilet drew his gaze to the door of the only closed stall, but he was looking at his own reflection when the stranger left the stall to join him at the sinks. Trouble made a point of scoping the man while he washed his hands. When their eyes met in the mirror, he ducked his chin and lowered his gaze.
“All by your lonesome tonight?” Trouble asked softly, glancing up through his lashes at the man, smiling. “I could help you with that,” he bit his lower lip and tucked the eyeliner back into his pocket.
“Not interested.” The man briskly washed his hands.
Your scent says different, asshole. “I usually don’t give out free samples,” he murmured, moving close enough to touch and be touched. He reached out slowly, brushing his knuckles against the man’s still dripping ones.
He gasped as the world blurred; in the span of a few racing heartbeats, Trouble found himself pinned face-first against the wall between two of the bathroom stalls, one arm twisted up behind his back.
“I never said you could touch me.”
”I-I’m sorry,” Trouble whimpered, not resisting the man’s hold. Huh. Did Sahota learn to be fast from you? “Please, I’ll go, okay? I didn’t mean to bother you.”
”I’m not.”
He gasped again as he felt fingers caress the side of his neck. “N-not what?”
”Bothered.”
”D-do you want my rates?” Trouble asked. He whined softly as the caress became a tight grip on the back of his neck. He swore under his breath as his cheek was forced against the wall.
”I don’t usually pay for this.”
”I could scream,” he whispered, shivering.
”You won’t.”
The air was thick with the scents of cloves and smoke. It figures you’d get off on hurting people. He thought of Kiv and gulped audibly, forcing his own rage down. How many times did you put your hands on him, huh? You’re worse than the johns you sold his room key to.
The man drew Trouble off the wall and shoved him into a stall.
Trouble stumbled in, one hand going to his aching shoulder. He opened his eyes wide as he stared at the man, cringing further back into the stall as he blocked the doorway.
”I’ll have that sample now.”
”Please,” he begged as his eyes teared up from not blinking.
“No one works for me without proving their worth in advance.”
The first tears spilled down his cheeks and chewed his lip for a moment. Then, he backed up another step and sank shakily to his knees. The man didn’t smile, but it was impossible not to smell the cinnamony satisfaction that quickly flooded the stall.
“Take off your shirt.” The man closed the stall door behind himself.
Trouble looked away and hugged himself, then went stiff, as if realizing he’d disobeyed. He drew a shaky breath and slowly found the man’s gaze before easing his skin-tight shirt up and over his head. He gasped and dropped it as the man nudged his knee with the toe of an expensive leather shoe.
”Knees apart,” the man ordered softly, hands at his sides while he thrust his hips forward expectantly.
Trouble did as he was told, then reached up to open the man’s fly.
“Use your mouth.”
He flinched, but lowered his arms. The hardest part of loosening the button on the man’s trousers was choking down the urge to shift. His human teeth closed on fabric, but his mouth watered at the thought of sinking his real teeth into soft meat and ripping it free. He’d barely closed his eyes to enjoy what he could of the fantasy, only just tasted the tang of metal from the zipper tab when something cracked across his face. The blow fell so hard he’d needed both hands thrown out against the wall to save his head from knocking into it.
“Eyes up here while you do it.”
I’ll kill you. Trouble shook with hate as he raised one hand, holding it poised, hovering over his throbbing cheek. He tasted blood and nearly snarled, ready to shift and taste more -- gouts and gouts of it.
“Now, or I walk away.”
He held the man’s gaze and straightened up, blinking more tears down his cheeks as he got back into position. It took two tries before he could catch the zipper tab and drag it down. He could hear how hard he was breathing. He can’t think you’ll bite. He wants someone too afraid to fight back. Trouble made his breathing shake instead of slow. It made him cry so much the man’s face was a hateful blur above him.
Fingers glanced against his ear, his temple.
Trouble nosed against the briefs peeking through the man’s open fly, then gently mouthed the firming erection trapped underneath.
“Show me what you can do.”
The man’s palm settled over his throbbing cheek, then his thumb rubbed through the wetness under Trouble’s eye, smearing eyeliner. Trouble’s eyes narrowed, but he kept his gaze up and didn’t shy from the contact. He took the elastic waist of the briefs in his teeth and drew them down. The erection that jutted free was dark and swollen. Trouble nuzzled it with his cheek, then took the tip into his mouth. He tongued precum from the slit before taking him deeper, bobbing his head.
“Sir?” The familiar voice was muffled, coming through the stall door.
Fuck. Maybe Sahota had that same unhelpful perceptiveness that Kiv did. Trouble swirled his tongue around Sahota’s boss’ cock, then sucked him in deep enough to gag. He kept his eyes on the man’s face. C’mon asshole, you know you want to finish...
“Five minutes,” the man replied after a sigh. His voice was steady. “I want the transport ready in ten.”
“Sir.”
Trouble couldn’t hear if the bathroom door opened again -- he was a little busy -- but he hoped that Sahota had gone. He could sense a hum building in his prey. Soon he would be able to tug that into himself. Once he started to feed, Trouble had the feeling that things would get interesting. That would be easier to deal with if Sahota wasn’t in the--
“Time’s wasting.” Hands cupped the back of Trouble’s head and jerked him forward.
He gagged, nose squished flat and buried in hair. His hands were instantly on the man’s hips; instinctive panic for air surged through him, chased instantly by the urge to shift. His eyes flooded with tears as he choked, heartbeat pounding in his ears. Not yet. Sahota’s close. Not yet. All it would take was one yell. The thought of being tased senseless or shot let him stay human. The hands released him, but Trouble only leaned back enough to cough and get in a gasp of air.
“Choke yourself.”
Trouble held the man’s gaze, ran both hands up the backs of his legs to his ass. He pulled the man close as he leaned in, blinking away tears as he swallowed every inch. He drew back and repeated the full swallow, not breaking eye contact, again, and again. He could taste cloves and cinnamon, the scents were so thick in the air. Enjoy it, fucker. I’m the last you’ll ever have.
Even sneaking air, he was growing lightheaded. When he tried to speed up, growing eager to feed and to breathe, a sudden cuff over his ear made him cough and gag so hard he nearly pulled off. Heat crept up his neck. His eyes flooded with tears. A hand at the back of his head pinned him to the man, choking.
“No.”
The smell of cloves made his nose and throat burn, but Trouble didn’t struggle.
“Stay.”
His body jerked with each heave. He grabbed fistfuls of the man’s slacks, anchoring himself to him.
“That’s it.”
The humming under the man’s skin had swelled to a loud buzzing, like bass music through club speakers. Trouble tugged at the sensation, drawing it into himself with all his body’s desperation for oxygen behind it.
“Fuck.”
He was only dimly aware of the curse, of the man’s painful twisting grip on his left ear. Thrumming energy surged into him as the man climaxed, swamping his senses, making his grip on the man’s clothes numb from the strength of the vibration.
“You’ll do.”
Trouble was shoved backwards. His head clipped the rim of the toilet bowl as he fell on his back. The moments stretched out before his lungs dragged in a deep, ragged breath. He coughed and gasped again, disoriented. His entire body buzzed from how much he’d taken from the man.
“...wh...what?” He heard the man crumple to the floor, his shoes squeaking and sliding against the floor tiles.
Trouble got his feet on the floor and sat up.
The man was slumped against the stall door, looking pale and shaky, arms limp at his sides, chin on his chest.
“Don’t have a heart attack, old man.” He wiped his mouth and chin off on his arm as he moved in close. “Weak and unconscious is fine, but I need you alive.” Trouble smirked when the man tried to glare at him. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Vic.”
Vic’s eyelids fluttered as he mumbled something, the fingers of his right hand twitching.
“Something you need?” Trouble asked, helping himself to Vic’s pockets. There was a cell in the right pocket, a wallet in the back pocket, and a thin, metal case in the left pocket containing three familiar looking purple cards. “Recruiting clients and victims all in one evening, huh? You must be exhausted.” He chuckled, gripped Vic by the collar of his expensive shirt, and hauled him upright. He shifted and let the man get an eyeful of his sharp, thick teeth. “You should sleep. It’s the only way to recover from what I did to you.” He leaned in and nosed Vic’s cheek, and then his throat.
All that Vic could do was tremble in Trouble’s grip.
He hummed appreciatively when he caught a whiff of cut grass. Anxious already? Ugh, this is gonna be so fucking fun. Trouble opened the stall door, turned Vic around, and shoved him to the floor.
...
“Sir? Hey, are you alright?” someone said, loud even through the bathroom door. “Sir? Oh my god!”
Sahota pushed it open. He entered slowly, body relaxed and ready. Nothing registered on his face as he took in the scene: Vic sprawled facedown on the floor, motionless, possibly unconscious.
“H-he needs help.” There was a young man, shorter and slender, dressed for a night of dancing. He had both hands over his mouth, black-lined eyes wide and tear-filled. “Oh god.”
Sahota scanned the restroom, one hand on the weapon at his hip as he moved to the far end where he could see that each open stall was empty.
“I’ll get help!” The young man scrambled out of the room.
With the room cleared, Sahota knelt at Vic’s side. He checked for a pulse, though he could see and hear that he was breathing. No blood, so what...? He gave Vic’s shoulder a shake, then rolled him over to scan for any visible injuries.
Vic groaned softly. The muscles in his jaw flexed. His eyes opened a crack, but wandered, unfocused.
“Sir?”
After a stretch of stillness, Vic’s gaze found his. Sahota watched Vic raise an arm one handspan off the floor, two handspans, watched it reach toward him, then fall limply across Vic’s chest.
Sahota tapped his earpiece, then got his arms around Vic and lifted. He wrapped one of Vic’s arms around his shoulders and put the other around his waist before a voice spoke into his ear.
“Almost to the entrance.”
“Skip the queue,” he ordered calmly. “Vic collapsed.” Sahota shouldered the door open, half-carrying, half-dragging Vic along. They were conspicuous, but there was nothing for it. Once they were out of the club, he could do a proper assessment. There were supplies for emergencies in the transport.
“What?”
“Evac, now.”
...
Trouble had no difficulty spotting the transport he needed. It was sleek and black, with windows tinted too heavily to see through. There was a valet in a uniform and name tag looking frazzled, bowed slightly and speaking heatedly with the driver. He headed over, pulling the most distraught expression he could manage.
“Hey!”
The valet straightened, frowning at the sight of Trouble rounding the car and approaching.
“It’s a m-medical emergency. Please! He collapsed in the bathroom.” Trouble reached out a hand to the valet, who backed off immediately. “Someone’s bringing him now.”
The driver’s door popped open. Trouble caught it, blocking the driver from climbing out.
“What?” The driver’s eyes were wide enough for the whites to show around his stylish oval sunglasses.
Trouble put a hand on his face and forced him back, thrusting him hard enough to send him onto the passenger’s side. He slipped in and yanked the door shut after him. In a flash, he shifted, and clamped one hand over the driver’s mouth and the other around his throat. No time for a mess, he thought with a pang of disappointment. A rough jerk snapped the driver’s neck, and Trouble looked up in time to see a pair of men exiting the club.
The pair of bouncers and the few smokers at the entrance all parted to let Sahota hustle Vic through to the transport.
Trouble hurriedly patted down the driver and found what he needed at once -- a stun baton, holstered at his hip. He grinned as he snatched it, along with a black hat that had fallen off the driver’s head onto the seat. He crammed on the hat as he scanned the dashboard screen. He tapped to unlock the doors the moment before Sahota pulled the rear door open.
Wordless, Sahota heaved Vic into the car with a grunt, then closed the door behind him.
Trouble couldn’t help smirking as he crouched on the front seat, then sprang.
...
Sahota was getting Vic settled against the backrest when his entire body locked up, every muscle firing at once as a shock coursed through him. It felt like he’d taken a bat to the back of his neck, but the blow didn’t stop. His yell was caught behind gritted teeth. He couldn’t turn his head or dodge. His hands, still on Vic, clenched tighter and tighter.
He knew instantly what was happening, though he couldn’t feel the prongs at the end of the stun baton. The pain was crushing. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. The agony went on, and on, until the world went dark.
Not Ready to Talk About It for @badthingshappenbingo
Requested for Jake and Marcus by anon
Red is for posted, white is for requested/planned/written
Marcus and Jake are finally safe from AMTEC - although their escape nearly cost them both their lives. Now they are free to heal and discover what they might be to each other - and they learn that AMTEC’s influence leaves not a single person in their lives untouched.
AO3
Masterlist
This is a sequel series to Beneath Gunmetal Skies. Start here, continued from here.
Contents: conditioned whumpee, PTSD, surveillance state, overprotectiveness, triggered whumpee, past noncon, past torture, guilt
~
Marcus was almost relieved when Lars got home. Or… there was some kind of release in his chest, and relief came closest to describing what it felt like. With the release, though, came the tightening of new tension, like the air was trying to push Marcus’s body into familiar shapes with the arrival of someone new into the room.
Attention.
Salute.
Hands behind his back for the cuffs.
Two months of freedom hadn’t changed that. The few years of petty resistance he’d been allowed on Aisha’s team – the slouching, the backtalk, the rolling his eyes – hadn’t changed it, either. Even though he’d done his level fucking best to claim a thousand little moments for himself during that time, he couldn’t escape the responses that felt conditioned into his every goddamn nerve. Even his metal arm seemed to want to follow that set pattern.
Attention.
Salute.
Hands behind his back.
He didn’t… have to, though. He’d never have to again, and he got the feeling that if he did, Lars would recoil like Marcus had tried to hit them instead.
He didn’t want to see the look in Jake’s eyes if he did it, either.
Instead, he just opened the door for Lars and made sure it was locked behind them. They were usually careful about that, but… if Marcus did it, he could be sure it was done right. That was the better way to do it, wasn’t it? That was the best way to keep Jake safe, and do a little something for Lars, too.
Lars gave him a tired half-smile as they passed and collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table. Jake looked at them from his seat on the couch. “Long day?” he said gently.
“No, honestly,” Lars said. “Not worse than usual. Just… tired lately. Not sure way.”
Jake huffed. “Couldn’t have anything do with the added stress of harboring two Levs in your house.” He shot Lars a soft smile. Marcus stared at him.
Lars drew a hand over their face. “Yeah, probably,” they said. “But it’s fine. The clinic is good. People are getting the shit they need, supply is good, the day job is good. Somebody tagged the clinic yesterday, but that’s… whatever. I don’t have any cameras up around the place, so I guess stuff like that is gonna happen. It’s whatever. It wasn’t even anything bad. Just annoying.”
Jake perked up. “No cameras at the clinic, huh? Like… anywhere on the property?”
“No,” Lars said. “Not in the clinic, not outside it, not in the parking lot. I didn’t want anyone to be able to access the cameras and see who was coming and going. Seems a little suicidal to me.” They glanced up at Jake. “…why do you ask?”
Marcus’s throat tightened.
Jake shrugged. “We were talking and, uh… we thought it might be nice to get out of the house and… thought the clinic might be a good place to go. At first. Maybe just for a little bit.”
Lars stared at Jake.
Please say no, whispered a little voice in the back of Marcus’s head. He knew that was stupid, and that he couldn’t hole up in this house with Jake forever, but… maybe Lars’s refusal could buy them a few more weeks. A few more days, at least, where Marcus could keep Jake entirely safe. Away from the eyes and windows and cameras of the outside world.
He found himself glancing toward the window again. There was a park at the end of the block. Marcus had seen it out the window, had seen people out walking their dogs in the open space behind it.
He doubted he would ever feel truly safe in a place like that park, but… they might be safe at the clinic.
Lars cleared their throat. “You… want to come to work with me?” They sounded like they were on the verge of laughter. They glanced at Marcus, as if waiting for the punchline.
Jake shrugged again. He set his braced forearm on the arm of the couch. “I mean… yeah. It sounds like a safe place, right? I’d like to get out, and Marcus is going stir-crazy. We could—”
“I’m… I’m not,” Marcus said. “Going stir-crazy.”
Both of them turned and raised their eyebrows in an almost identical expression of bemusement. He shut his mouth, cowed.
Instead of answering, Lars pushed themself up from the table with a groan and made their way to Jake’s side.
They can’t possibly be old enough to be making sounds like that, Marcus thought to himself. They’re… what… Jake’s age?
He’d been dealing with his aching knees and thudding headaches and twinging scars since he was barely older than eighteen – old enough to have a few years of AMTEC injuries under his belt – and he’d been dealing with them in silence.
He would’ve been whipped for complaining about them like Lars just had, and then whipped again if he complained about the whipping. Or worse. Probably worse.
He’d been bent over in closets and fucked without letting out more of a sound than Lars just had in getting up from their chair.
“Marcus?” Jake murmured. “You okay?”
Marcus flinched and sucked in a shuddering breath. His left had was pulled into a bloodless fist. Lars knelt on the carpet in front of Jake, but they were turned fully around and staring at Marcus with an expression of worry on their face.
And… and fear. There was fear there, too.
Fuck.
“Yeah,” Marcus said. “Yeah, sorry. I’m… I’m good.”
Lars chewed their lip, but they went back to taking a look at Jake. Jake’s eyes stayed on Marcus over Lars’s shoulder.
“I mean… you feel up to leaving the house, though?” Lars said, gently tugging up Jake’s sleeve to look at the sutures on his upper arm. The incision looked good – as good as Marcus’s had, when he’d been treated on the base.
Shoulder. Knife. First mission.
It was the only injury he’d ever received stitches for. The others – cigarette burns, electrode burns, cigar burn, whippings – had never warranted or deserved them.
Well. There was his other shoulder. The one he’d been shot through. But that scar was gone, along with all the damaged tissue, and all the undamaged shit, too. Even as his metal hand twitched, he remembered the feeling of the scar under his fingertips, as the skin closed and hardened but the internal mechanism of his strength never came back. How many weeks had he wasted, waiting for strength that was never going to return? How much of Jake’s pain could he have prevented, if he had just sacked the fuck up and gone back to Lars straight away – or never left to begin with?
This is why we have to stay here. I need to keep you safe, need to keep you alive, so please, please just stay with me here where I can protect you from everything out there. I’ve already proven I can’t be trusted to do the right thing when it comes to you, and you always suffer for it…
How much suffering could he have spared Jake, if he took Jake and ran when River first targeted him?
If he ran with him when they first met?
“Fuck,” he breathed, pressing his face into his hand.
“Marcus.” Jake’s voice was sharper now. Marcus’s head snapped up. Jake looked about ready to get up off the couch.
“No.” Marcus went to his side and sat down, careful not to disturb Lars as they carefully examined Jake’s broken arm. Jake leaned against his side, leaning his forehead against Marcus’s temple. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “Sorry. Brain’s all… fucked up today. Not sure why. I’m good, I promise.”
“You’re ruminating,” Jake whispered. “I can see it in your face. I think it would be… good… if we left the house, Marcus. If we had something else to do, and think about.” He gasped and winced as Lars gently turned his arm.
“Sorry,” Lars muttered.
“Y-yeah,” Marcus said flatly. “Yeah… I know it would be… good.”
“Hey.” Jake nosed against Marcus’s cheek, then leaned away. “What is it? You nervous about the clinic?”
“It’s not Fort Knox, but it’s reasonably secure,” Lars said casually. “Kinda has to be. If just any AMTEC asshole could wander in, no one would—”
“No,” Marcus said. “That’s… it’s not the clinic. I’m sure the clinic is fine, okay?”
Jake’s free hand slipped into Marcus’s. “What’s up?” he said. His head rested on Marcus’s shoulder. Lars pulled up Jake’s shirt, baring the criss-crossing mess of whip wounds there. They were healed almost to scars now.
Marcus kissed Jake’s hair and took a shuddering breath. He shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “It’s nothing. Really. It’s… I’m just being weird today.”
“Today?” Lars quipped, letting Jake’s shirt drop.
Marcus glared at them, nearly overpowered with the urge to put them in a headlock. They kept their eyes studiously on Jake.
“Let’s talk later,” Jake whispered, his breath ruffling against Marcus’s ear.
Marcus swallowed, not able to loosen his spine enough to nod. How could he… explain this all to Jake in a way that didn’t make him sound absolutely broken? How could he explain this paralyzing need he had to keep Jake away from the windows, keep him away from the world, because the world was what had dragged them apart and very well could again? How could he explain his decision to wait as long as he did to seek out Lars’s help? How could he explain his weakness? His guilt?
How could he explain how much he hated the world and everything in it, for how much he’d suffered? For how much Jake had suffered?
There was no way to explain that to Jake without sounding absolutely fucking certifiable, like muzzle-him-and-put-him-down-like-a-dog unsalvageable. He would’ve been consigned for even thinking half that shit a few months ago.
Besides. It wasn’t up to Jake to deal with Marcus’s guilt. Not after he’d been hurt for Marcus’s failures. Bearing the splash-back in silence was the least Marcus could do.
So, he just squeezed Jake’s hand and let Lars work.
“You act like my clinic is an AMTEC playground,” Lars said, sounding a little offended. “You don’t have to come. You’re the ones who suggested it.”
Jake nodded against Marcus’s shoulder. “Marcus and I will talk, but then… I think it might be good,” Jake said.
“Well, good.” Lars reached out and gently lifted Jake’s chin, inspecting the almost-faded bruises on his throat. “Because it’s a pretty nice place. I like to think so, at least.”
“It sounds like it,” Jake said warmly.
Lars just huffed, and had Jake lean forward so they could inspect his back.
If you want to be on the taglist (including for the spicy chapters,) let me know! I only tag people in 18+ chapters if I know they are adults through conversations or if their age/age range is in their bio.
poor jake - lookin out for the other members of his found fam while he's still so hurt 😭
marcus omg 😭 honey, ugh, you're so hurt, too, even if you're not wearing a sling and getting your wounds checked
😭
oh. oh, marcus, please, none of that was your fault 😭
ugh, the boys 😭
and lars, i know they're a lot, but sweet djesus...
there's nothing wrong with hating how wrong it was, how unfair it was. there's nothing wrong with needing to grieve over how much they hurt you and jake 😭 it's gonna be okay, marcus 🫂 don't give up
i love creating characters that contain polar opposites in each other. the compsci major gamer who likes to chop wood and goes hiking. the healer who kills more than they save. the indicisive character who would press the trigger in a heartbeat. sorry this got dark, anyway
