Coal

I know it was short prompts that was the whole point of this and this is pretty short. I know I have like twelve asks for Noah in my inbox which I’m so thankful for but also I’m a hoarder and I like having a lot of options so… more? Pretty please?

Cold

Takes place directly after Wait // Surveillance Masterlist

Cw: very lightly implied noncon, mention of injuries, past torture, cold whump, kind of maybe a small tiny shred of comfort?

The vent never turned off.

Noah had realized that by now. Constant, the hum so quiet he couldn’t hear unless all else was dead silent and even he strained to listen. Air colder than the water in the showers hissing through the unloveable metal grate, filling the small cell. There was nowhere to escape. The floor was cold. The bed was cold. The door was cold.

He had gotten used to being cold. The blanket didn’t help much, especially not now. He had bundled the fabric as thick as he could and shoved it in front of the duct, his hands shaking so bad as he did so that he had to fix it a few times before it was right.

It barely deterred the ice creeping through the air, the cold rooting deep in his chest and refusing to budge even as he tugged his arms inside the scrub shirt he’d been given. He hadn’t come from the showers long ago, he didn’t think. It was evening when he had been taken to the tiled room, with the dozen showers that lined the walls. The lights had turned off inside the cell not long before, the ones in the hall were still on. Somewhere between eleven and midnight.

The cold stung against his face, irritated skin flared red from where he had scrubbed the dried coffee away with the palm of his hands. Burns just bad enough to make it so he couldn’t lean his head against anything on that side. He almost missed the scalding hot sensation, searing across his face and his neck, compared to the cold that mercilessly attacked every inch of his body, muscles still aching from the stress position Declan had him in the better part of the day. He tried to focus on that. On the tingling cold in his fingers, his toes. The damp hair against his forehead and neck, the way the strands clung awkwardly against skin.

So this is my first time posting something like this that’s more than an implication. In my writing before I’ve never really written anything with the purposeful intent that this piece ends with. There is and will be nothing explicit within this series. Just read the cw. The “creepy” and “whumper” part don’t come in until the very end. Also I didn’t edit very well so if there’s typos or something please let me know

Wait

Directly following The Newest Decor

Surveillance Masterlist

Cw: aftermath of torture, implied future noncon/assault (nothing explicit is mentioned and it’s never outright stated, just intended implications, and then scene cut right after), kind of forced nudity (non-sexual, open shower setting), stress position, restraints, light manhandling, descriptions of physical abuse, mentions of mass murder/death, burns, mention of branding

Noah couldn’t move for a while after he was finally let down.

His limbs felt like the muscles had been torn to shreds, ligaments ripped free from the bones and stretched out like an elastic, no longer able to draw enough tension to move.

The guard who had cut the cable stood back by the door, which he had left cracked open on his entry, allowing Noah time to just lay there like a crumpled piece of fabric dropped in place while the blood flooded back through his extremities.

No amount of time would ever be enough, Noah thought faintly, finally able to turn his head and rest his cheek against a cool spot of the wood. The pressure hurt, pushing against the fresh scald marks that burned red against the side of his face. They were nothing like the old burn scars that speckled across his ribs and thigh, even patches that had been placed by a steady handed lighter. Those had been bad, enough to sear through the skin and leave blistering welts along the edges.

These weren’t enough to do anything more than irritate just the surface of his skin, but that was just enough to push him past the breaking point.

The coffee had long since gone cold and dried against his skin, plastering his hair to his head and making the floor around him sticky. He could feel it, tight like a film across his cheek, over his forehead, where he hadn’t been able to do anything but blink rapidly to keep it out of his eye. Even now, his arms that had been released from the restraints felt completely, achingly numb. He hadn’t dared to move yet, terrified of the world of needling fire that would stab down his body now that the circulation was somewhat released.

The guard had pushed him onto his side when he had released Noah of his bonds, a boot prodding against his ribs. At the time, he hadn’t really understood, the pressure combined with the freshly released tension in his chest enough to steal his breath for a few long moments, but now he could comprehend. His mind was clearing, slowly, the fog dissipating until only the tug of exhaustion weighed on his mind—but he could think straight, at least battle through some of the disorientation.