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lumpsbumpsandwhumps · 1 year

Note

WHAT IF WHAT IF post torture cuddling bc poor jonie is so touch starved

Everything hurt.

This was not a sensation that Jonas was unfamiliar with, but it was still far from pleasant nonetheless. Dealing with the constant ache of muscles and stiff joints and stinging open wounds had almost become something of a routine for him. By the time old bruises had faded to yellow, new ones were blooming from red to purple elsewhere. Scabs were ripped off faster than they could scar close. Headaches and stomachaches woke him hourly, only occasionally placated whenever Malik remembered that human bodies need sustenance to survive. Really, the pains that throbbed in varying intensities should be nothing new to his battered self.

But this was much worse than he had endured over the last six weeks. The coldness that drenched him was bone deep, icy water soaked in his clothes and hair and plastering them against his trembling skin. His teeth clattered painfully behind blue lips, feeling like he was chewing on ice cubes instead of his own exhales. Not even his breath could keep him warm if he tried, though it would hardly do him any good at this point. Shaking limbs couldn’t pull in to huddle at his core for warmth, instead having to seek out relief in the form of a southern serial killer with a new fascination with ice water submersion.

Though maybe it wasn’t all bad considering how much worse Malik could have made it. The heir could have been left in the drained metal basin when he was done the impromptu photoshoot, surely succumbing to hypothermia overnight as a result. Malik could have refused to give him a towel for him to clumsily dry himself off with, barely making a difference for his sorry state but still removing most of the droplets running down his face. He could have been left to fight through the cold on his own, struggling to procure any amount of body heat no matter how tightly he curled into himself on the floor.

No, rather than prolonging his suffering like the older man was prone to doing, Malik had scooped the soggy boy up and dropped him in his lap, forcing Jonas’s bound arms to loop over his neck in a strange hug. The position had him flush against his captor’s chest, his thick sweater helping to absorb more of the freezing liquid off of his person. Beneath the black material was a delicious body heat that Jonas greedily tried to steal, nestling closer to the source as if he could merge with the warmth. If his icy skin bothered Malik from the few points of contact they had, the other man didn’t show it, content with having a trembling pretty boy caged within his crossed legs. Malik’s arms circled around him, further trapping in his wonderful heat to share with his favorite victim while he idly clicked through the pictures on his camera. Fond memories of mere minutes ago.

“I like this one,” Malik said, though Jonas moreso felt the comment from the vibration against his cheek. “You look so cute with your li’l nose all scrunched up like that.”

That was because Jonas was desperately trying not to inhale anymore water when he was able to be dunked under for a fourth time. Rather than acknowledging whatever sinister photo was displayed on the viewfinder, the poor boy squeezed his eyes shut as if he was hoping to conserve warmth in his orbitals as well. He pushed closer into Malik’s sternum, shuddering when he felt a burning hand card through his wet locks, separating a few tangles now that the knots had been loosened. It felt heavenly to have another touch melting away the freezing pain that gnawed every square inch of his body right down through the tissue. A few water drops were displaced from the petting, feeling like tiny electrical shocks each time they landed down his neck, but it was a small price to pay at this point.

“We should send this one to your parents,” The hand that had been stroking Jonas’s hair trailed down to rub the back of his neck, fire hot fingers helping to create a wonderful friction of heat against the knobs of his spine.

Jonas hummed, more accurately groaned, too enthralled by the warmth beating through him. Sure, whatever Malik wanted, as long as it meant he could soak up the offered comfort for a few more minutes. Regrettably, the hand left to tap through the rest of the picture catalog, eager to pick out a few more Pulitzer Prize winners to be shown off to clients and Jonas’s family alike. Or perhaps Malik would keep them all to himself, a personal treasure trove. It didn’t matter to Jonas. Nothing mattered to Jonas right now. All he cared about was his tormentor and his unfairly high body temperature.

“What’d’ya think it’d be like if we tried boiling water next time?”

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lumpsbumpsandwhumps · 1 year

Note

dialogue prompt if you want it-

"is that a yes?"

“Is that a yes?”

Jonas gulped, the taste of adhesive still on his chapped lips. Now was his chance to speak up, to give confirmation or refusal to Malik’s request. Was refusal truly an option, though? It felt like a trap laying in wait, a sliver of bait dangling overhead that Jonas might still hold any ounce of autonomy over himself before his ankle was snared as punishment for trying. Perhaps even literally, too.

With a shuddery exhale, the Belmont heir did his best to raise his gaze and meet Malik’s dark eyes, so cold with indifference that he felt a shiver run down his aching spine. Similar to a rabbit staring down the muzzle of a lion, only able to wait for the jaws to clamp. Fitting, seeing that Malik had further concealed any minor display of nonexistent emotion behind his bandana, only showing off the row of printed teeth bared in a skeletal grin. It wouldn’t have made much difference anyways, there was hardly anything that slipped through unintentionally. If Malik wanted him to see an expression, he would pointedly mimic it.

He wished he could wring the hem of his nightshirt, anything to give a subtle outlet for his nerves. But he couldn’t, so he had to settle for visibly trembling while his captor patiently awaited for an answer. Patience only ran so thin, however, and Jonas knew better than to keep him waiting for what he wanted. Yes or no be damned, there was only one correct response to give that might help in minimizing the damage should it all go wrong.

There was blood on his tongue when the younger man licked his lips. He wasn’t sure from where, or if it was a permanent taste in his mouth by this point. “Y-yes…”

“Aw, c’mon, lover,” Malik crooned, tucking a dirty curl out of Jonas’s face and letting his fingers ghost along his clenched jaw. “At least say it like you mean it, now.”

It took a few deep breaths for Jonas to muster up the courage to string together a full sentence, each word stinging the back of his throat worse than when he had been forced to wear an open mouth gag for four days.

“Yes, I…I w-want to…have dinner with y-you…”

The corners of Malik’s eyes crinkled, a giveaway to the smile beneath his mask. An expression he wanted Jonas to see and one that made his empty stomach flip. Perhaps he had picked the wrong answer after all.

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lumpsbumpsandwhumps · 2 years

Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Word Count: 3.8K

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…now what?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“May I ask who you’ve lost?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Um…I don’t know.”

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

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

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

…huh?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I…I don’t know…” He whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…like a phone sex thing?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I, God, fuck me–”

“Would love to.”

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

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

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

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

“Do you really want to know?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are,” Malik agreed.

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

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

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

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

“Tick tock, Jonas.”

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

“What’s…h-how does…phone sex work…?”

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lumpsbumpsandwhumps · 2 years

Note

I humbly request Jonie developing Stockholm syndrome and Malik's reaction to it pretty please 🙏

If there was one thing Malik appreciated, it was obedience, and Jonas could be very obedient.

He had to be if he wanted to stay in the good graces of his parents and their peers. Quiet and out of the way so he didn’t draw any of the desperately craved attention to himself. He might as well waste space rather than time, he father had told him, a nicer way of telling him to sit down and shut up if he was so insistent to sit in on board meetings. Great quality bonding time without a single word exchanged between them indeed. At least his mother talked to him during these times. Well, she talked about him more than she directed an actual conversation his way; anything to play up how successful they were as a family unit and what a prodigal delight her darling boy was. Was he ever given these praises in private? No, but it was nice to hear them anyways, regardless if they were just for show.

Unlike his parents, Malik never shied away from showering Jonas in affection. He couldn’t care less if there was an audience or not, not like how he put on a front of being a southern sweetheart in the public eye of his small town. The Belmont heir understood the importance of general perception, a similar practice he had been raised to uphold his entire life. Exaggerate the good and downplay the bad. A person could be their true self in the privacy of their own home and boy, did Malik let his real colors show every time he walked down those basement stairs.

But that was what struck Jonas the most: that Malik didn’t need to pretend to be sweet on him or express his appreciation for the minimal things he did. There was no one to judge how the older man treated his captive, and if there was they hardly ever lasted longer than three days. Not that he cared about their two cents, of course. Malik could be as cruel as he wanted, which he was more often than not, and yet…

“Thank you kindly, Jonie,” Malik said when he handed him the hammer as instructed.

“Your hair looks pretty today,” Malik hummed, twirling one of the longer curls and letting it bounce off his finger.

“Good boy,” Malik praised when Jonas came to his side without hesitation.

“Open your mouth, please, darlin’,” Malik cooed, happy to administer another pain killer in exchange for a kiss.

“Smart li’l thing, ain’t you?” Malik grinned when Jonas correctly pointed out his flawed measurements for a homemade breaking wheel.

“Well, ain’t that a cute smile you have,” Malik said during one of the quiet moments between them on the bloodied floor.

Off handed comments that made Jonas’s stomach twist in a way he couldn’t describe. It wasn’t the same kind of cramping he had grown used to from only being fed between a handful of days. It wasn’t any lingering ache to his abdomen from when he had taken a steel toed boot, or 2x4, or blade to the gut. It felt lighter, a more tickling feeling which made his heart race and his cheeks flush. Fear, but not quite. Not unwelcome. If Jonas were to admit he (in a strange, unnatural way) actually liked receiving compliments that Malik didn’t think twice about doling out, what would that say about him? There was no way he’d find himself actively seeking out simple praises from a sociopathic serial killer of all people, no matter how starved he was for positive reinforcement. If he was so desperate for an “atta boy”, he could get it from one of the house workers whenever he finally returned to the manor.

Except those were paid employees who knew better than to potentially jeopardize their jobs by upsetting an heir with low self esteem. Empty flattery to keep him placated, nothing else. Malik meant his words, though, or he wouldn’t have said them. Jonas didn’t have to ask to be told if he was smart or useful or functional enough to justify his existence. While the physical affection still made him recoil, it would be a lie to say the verbal regards weren’t devoured on the spot and leaving the poor boy begging for more.

“Lover,” Malik said behind him, startling Jonas from his flustered thoughts. “What are you doing?”

The younger man nearly dropped the roll of gauze he had been carefully rewinding. How does one explain the stupid idea of reorganizing a filing cabinet of haphazard supplies in the hopes their captor will give them a pat on the head and a gold star? Simple, they don’t say any of that, because that’s the most pathetic thing to ever cross Jonas’s mind.

“I, I was just…” He weakly gestured to the bottles of peroxide now neatly stacked on top of each other. “It’s been a while since you changed my finger bandage so, um…I didn’t want t-to bother you.”

Malik blinked at him.

He gulped, unable to meet his dark eyes. It’s not like it was a lie! Malik hadn’t been down in the basement in what he could only assume was days. The stump of his pinky finger was black with congealed blood, the raw flesh starting to weep an off color fluid that Jonas was not in the mood to deal with. He knew where the medical supplies were kept and it technically wasn’t an area that he was forbidden from fucking around in, so there was no reason he should be in trouble, right? Then again, Malik never needed a reason to punish him if the mood struck his fancy. But he wasn’t doing anything wrong, he was being good!

“The cabinet was messy…?” Jonas tried again weakly. “I just…I thought it would be easier if everything was, you know, neat.”

The killer tilted his head. “So, you organized it?”

Oh no. Oh no, he’d done something wrong. He had done something without permission, he had touched Malik’s personal items and messed up whatever system he already had to keep track of said things. He’d fucked up, just like he always did, always trying to take charge of situations he knew nothing about. As many times as he had embarrassed his father by speaking up during meetings when he could barely follow along, he wished he would have learned his lesson to mind his own damn business. Being berated for his shortcomings stung enough when it came from his own family, but Malik’s reprimands would take on a much more literal sense. Perhaps he would break all of his fingers in warning to never touch what doesn’t belong to him again. Maybe he’d impale hooks through his wrists and string him up for three days straight until the flesh ripped.

“Hm. Okay.”

…okay?

“Okay?” Jonas hesitated.

Malik shrugged, glancing at the previously messy bins and shelves that now had a better sense of order. “Sure, whatever keeps you occupied, darlin’. One less thing I ever have to worry about.”

So…Jonas did a good thing. He had made Malik’s life a smidgen more convenient, which in turn meant he wouldn’t have to worry about his eyeballs being sucked out with a vacuum hose for the time being. Yes, that’s right, that’s exactly why he was going out of his way to earn the other’s favor. It had nothing to do with twenty-four years of neglect or the inherent need to be recognized, it was all in the name of self preservation. The better he could keep Malik’s mood, the more brownie points he had in the bank, the less likely he’d have to worry about extreme punishments. In theory, anyway. Rarely did the other man have any rhyme or reason as to why he felt the need to jam needles into people’s fingertips.

That familiar tickling feeling fluttered in his stomach again, his heart leaping to his throat when Malik gave him a pat on the hip. Because he didn’t like those deadly hands touching him, naturally, especially so close to an erogenous area. The shiver up his spine was from fear, the buzzing sensation under his skin being from aggravated bruises. Just those reasons, only those reasons.

“Looks good. Now c’mon, I wanna show you something I got for you.”

Jonas scampered behind him like the obedient puppy he was trained to be.

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lumpsbumpsandwhumps · 2 years

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Fem!Jonas please…I love her..

Letting herself be led down the basement steps of the Kelley Funeral Home had to be up there as one of the stupidest things Joanne has ever agreed to. Other entries included accepting a marriage proposal from a serial killer who was mere inches away from gutting her, acting as a fake alibi for a thieving housekeeper who went on to embezzle several thousands of dollars from her father, and promising her new husband she wouldn’t tell a soul about his nefarious occupation.

The only bright side she could manage was that rather than being guided down the back stairs in the crematorium, to a subfloor of suffering beyond belief, Malik had walked her around outside to the storm cellar door instead. She wasn’t entirely familiar with this section of the funeral home, only that it was one of the few basement rooms genuinely used for funeral purposes. It was where most of the coffins and bulk chemicals were kept until needed, nothing sinister about the storage room at all beyond its natural morbidity.

So why Malik was helping her down the stairs, still insisting her keep that blindfold over her eyes, left Joanne equal parts baffled and perturbed.

A million thoughts were already running through her head the moment he had concealed her vision. Was it not bad enough to see the dread on her face when he pulled his car up to the funeral home, the place of her many weeks of torture by his hands? But she knew better than to argue with her husband. If he wanted to drag her around to the back of the building, teasing how she clung to his arm for stability, damn near giving her a heart attack with the daunting challenge of walking downstairs blinded, then he would.

Hell, Malik didn’t even need to instill the previous fear of punishment in her for Joanne to be this obedient. What good was the Belmont heiress if nothing but a pretty little housewife to continue the legacy? Apparently nothing, seeing as she had been disowned before the full wedding announcement had been mentioned to her parents. How sad it was that deep down, where she dare not admit it, she felt grateful to Malik for giving her an escape to such a wretched lifestyle. Then again, for what she was being forced to trade it for wasn’t much better…

“Watch your step, darlin’,” Malik said, holding both of her trembling hands to help her down the last few steps.

Joanne huffed. “I could if someone hadn’t blindfolded me.”

She felt him shrug. “But then this wouldn’t be a surprise.”

God, a surprise from Malik could go in so many directions, many of them not very pleasant. Some surprises weren’t too terrible, like when he would bring home her favorite flowers while he was at the florist for a funeral wreath or when he’d take her out on a date night to some place she had mentioned wanting to go in passing. Little things that would make any lucky girl swoon to have such a caring and attentive partner. And truth be told, it was these snippets of domestic bliss that really did trick her into thinking he was a good man. A kind man, a loving man. A man who doted on her and asked for nothing in return besides a couple kisses and a request to wear that one blue dress that hugged her small curves so nicely.

Then there were the surprises that forced Joanne to crash land back into reality. His charming spell on her broke every time Malik came home in the dead of night with little flecks of red on his hands and face. Every time he gifted her with jewelry of inconsistent sizing and a sickening tarnish on the metal that never scrubbed off. Every time he stared her down with those cold, dark eyes while asking her why she did this or didn’t do that, letting her stammer out an excuse that she hoped was the right answer. Malik never raised a hand (or blade, or rope) to her anymore, but that didn’t mean he was above punishing his little wife in other ways.

And then there were surprises that left her confused, unable to decipher what his motives behind the gesture were. Offering to send holiday cards to her family, wanting to make her a legitimate business partner at the funeral home, repainting one of the unused guest rooms at home with pastels and cute animal decals in a design that looked awfully similar to a nursery. What did he have to gain by doing any of this, and when did Joanne stand to lose? It was too domestic, too normal, too not unhinged-mass-murderer-y. She didn’t trust him for a fucking second.

The fact that she couldn’t smell the permanent stench of gore and rot, nor could she hear the desperate whimpers of victims, gave Joanne the slight hope that this was in the realm of a ‘good’ surprise. Then again, she was still in the basement of Malik’s place of work, which oftentimes was a death sentence on its own. Even if this storage part was separate from his…working quarters, it was still far too close for comfort to believe she was out of it yet. She needed to stay on guard. She needed to hope he hadn’t brought her here to ask for a divorce. Who was she kidding; Malik would sooner become a widower than a divorcee.

“Right here,” Malik instructed, bringing her to a stop. Still no sounds of dripping blood or muffled screams. So far, so good. “Ready?”

“No.”

He laughed and tugged the blindfold up over her head to return her sense of sight. Thankfully, the dim light of the basement made it easy for her eyes to adjust in a few blinks, only needing to shake her displaced curls out of her face to see what fresh hell was awaiting her.

“Surprise!”

What…a surprise indeed. It was a casket proudly displayed in the center of the storage room amongst all the over boxes neatly stacked on their shelving units. To be fair, it was a beautiful work of craftsmanship – smooth, dark wood with decorative curves on the edges, brass handles for the pallbearers to carry with similar accents on the corners, a light pink satin interior that looked plush enough for the living to sleep in. By all accounts, the coffin was stunning in its own way, just like a writing desk or an armoire could be.

That wasn’t what quite caught her off guard, though. Never mind the fact her husband was presenting her with what she assumed was a personalized entombment, but the box looked like it had twice the width of what was standard for a person. It was like someone had stretched it into a double wide bed, leaving more than enough room for one corpse to fester in for all eternity. A bit wasteful, isn’t it? Joanne couldn’t begin to imagine what a hassle it would be to dig up a plot for and carry out of the service room.

“It’s…big?” Joanne said tentatively. What else was she supposed to say when she didn’t know the full implication of Malik’s gift? Any rational person could put two and two together to reach the same conclusion of oh, wonderful, he’s showing off your coffin moments before he buries you alive, how sweet! She wanted to believe that he wasn’t ready to get rid of his blushing bride yet, but with someone like him it was truly a shot in the dark.

Malik hummed, standing behind her to wrap his arms around her waist and drop his chin on her bony shoulder. “Do you like it?”

Such an impressive talent to make a yes or no question feel so loaded. Though what did it matter if her appreciation or gratefulness led her to the same ending of being thrown into a six foot deep hole? Joanne wondered if he could sense how her nervousness was steadily morphing into anxiety. Probably. That was one of his favorite pastimes: getting her all worked up over a situation he had full control over, knowing damn well her worst case scenario was never going to happen but letting her stew in her worry for a bit. Malik liked when she got jumpy, even more so when she started to cry.

Best not to make him angry. If she could sweet talk him enough, sometimes she herself was able to turn the tide on his vicious moods. Like the obedient housewife she was, she nodded, making their cheeks rub together from the movement.

“It’s, um, unique,” That was a compliment, right? “What’s it for?”

Her husband grinned, pulling back to twirl her around to face him in all of his devious glory. “For us, lover.”

“...h-huh?”

“These were more popular in the 1800’s when folks were dyin’ all the time,” he explained, curling a hand in the small of her back so that he could walk her closer to the casket. “Victorians were always so romantic, so they’d make these big ol’ custom caskets so everyone and their mother could be buried together.”

Jonas blinked as she listened to his history lesson. She supposed she never considered that as a funeral director, he would have a vast knowledge of all things related to the practice, including histories and cultures that have been lost to time. At best she knew about the idea of memento mori because her great aunt had refused to pass down her late son’s diamond cufflets to anyone, citing the same practice. Her father said it was actually because she was a greedy witch who didn’t want to hand over a family heirloom that now rightfully belonged to him.

“This way we don’t have to worry none ‘bout ‘til death do you part,” Malik continued on.

So, he wanted to be buried together as husband and wife. Not even three feet apart with a shared headstone, no, he wanted their embalmed bodies to be entangled with one another until their bones decomposed into nothingness. Joanne hated to admit it, but this was…oddly romantic. For Malik, anyhow. One look up at him, at his beaming smile of pride for his gift, solidified the idea that the man really thought this was something normal people did to show true affection for their partner. And, yeah, for some people, they would think it was the sweetest gesture to be promised an afterlife in their lover’s arms. A sting of pity bit at her heart. For all of Malik’s many, many, many irredeemable faults, this was him actually trying to do something sweet all on his own. He could flawlessly imitate how a husband was meant to act based on media depictions of a perfect relationship, but it was empty devotion when he didn’t have the emotional capacity to mean it.

Now, to the best of his sociopathic abilities, he was attempting to show Joanne a grand display of love in the only way he knew how - through death.

Or was it just another one of his manipulation tactics? A way to remind her that even in death she’ll never be able to escape him, a lingering threat that she’ll die whenever he sees fit. No, he said it himself that the custom casket was for them to be buried together, meaning Malik was envisioning his own death in this scenario, too. That only further begged the question of whether Joanne was going to have to endure sixty-some more years of matrimonial hell or if Malik was planning for a tragic demise for the young newlyweds to leave this mortal coil drenched in each other’s blood. God forbid her husband be at death’s door while she was in good health because there was no way he’d be leaving her behind.

“That’s sweet, honey, thank you,” she said. It was the only correct answer. A bit of praise, a bit of endearment.

The arm behind her snaked over her hips to pull her into Malik’s side for him to lean down and kiss her neck. A shiver ran up her spine just as it did every time to have him so close to her jugular.

“You know,” he purred in her ear, the tone already making her cheeks heat to a rosy tint, “the casket is plenty big enough t-”

“We’re not having sex in the casket, Malik.”

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lumpsbumpsandwhumps · 2 years

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I'm not sure if you're still doing drabble requests, but if you could do a scenario where Jonas gets kidnapped by a different whumper and Malik goes absolutely feral because how dare someone take his Jonie? *tears up* that would be swell

“Get in the fucking car, Jonas.”

Malik’s tone was far too dangerous to be dismissed, not unless Jonas was also looking to be on the receiving end of a tire iron to the skull. Yet somehow, despite the primal fear it instilled in him like a young lamb hearing a wolf’s growl for the first time, he couldn’t bring himself to move from his frozen position on the ground. His legs refused to listen to the demand and carry him to the passenger side door, his hands refused to wretch on the handle and buckle himself in, his eyes refused to look away from Todd’s swollen face when the tire iron came down on him two more times.

A part of Jonas wanted to be relieved that his second kidnapper had been stopped and…taken care of, so to speak. It was so easy to fall into the way of thinking that he had deserved it for being in this shady line of work anyways, for thinking he could waltz in and snatch up anything Malik deemed a prized possession regardless of what permission he has been given from Tucker. Who was to say he wouldn’t have been a worse tormentor, if such a status was even possible to reach at this point? And yet, who’s to say he wouldn’t have been better? Kinder, nicer, more willing to send Jonas home and remember a meal at least daily. That was the other part of Jonas that wanted to feel guilty, or just a touch sympathetic for the gruesome end Todd was met with.

He almost had to wonder if this was some kind of set up on Tucker’s part, not that he knew very much of the man to come up with any concrete theories to back the notion up. All Jonas knew was that Todd had been sent to the basement to ‘collect’ someone, had decided that the Belmont heir was that someone in particular, and Malik was not happy about it. There must have been some prior discussion if the brazen kidnapping occurred when Malik wasn’t around to stop it, or maybe it really was simply the result of poor planning and regretful assumptions that the killer wouldn’t mind losing his favorite toy to someone else. How vile it made Jonas feel that he was more upset over losing a chance at freedom under someone else’s cruel care than he was watching Malik snuff out the man’s life one brutal swing at a time.

When he had yet to obey Malik’s clear instructions, the older man turned around to fully face Jonas and God help him he was fucked. Malik was pissed. Malik was beyond pissed. Malik looked ready to tear anyone within a three mile radius apart with his own hands, the boy included. Naturally, the sociopath was not privy to typical emotions felt by most empathetic people. He could smile, laugh, cloud his eyes with tears, but it was never genuine. It was all for show, a way to convince people on the outside that he was certainly one of them. Even now, so full of an unbridled rage, his unmasked face conveyed something of deep annoyance rather than homicidal hatred for another person. But Jonas saw all the dangerous little differences. He saw the way Malik’s brow knit tighter, the way his jaw clenched, how his eye twitched. There was no bandana to obscure the rare emotions that managed to peak through his blank slate appearance. There was no show to put on for anyone else.

Malik was angry, and he wasn’t going to stop until he wasn’t angry. Jonas did not want to witness firsthand what methods it would take for him to calm down, nor did he want to leave himself out in the open lest the killer assume he wants to fall victim to his rage as well. His spindly legs had him clambering into the car and locking the door before Malik had a chance to tell him a second time, assuming it’d be a verbal warning over a physical one. Regardless, he was satisfied enough to carry on his beatings to what used to be his associate, well on his way to becoming more mush than man. If Jonas looked out of the side mirror, there was a clear view of the massacre happening only ten feet behind him.

He looked at the dashboard instead and did his best to mentally prepare for whenever Malik would slide himself into the driver’s seat. Would he still be angry, would it be directed at Jonas now? Would he be blamed for this? Would the older man instead be eerily calm, all of his limited emotions spent, and drive them both back to the Kelley Funeral Home in silence? God forbid, would his fury turn to lust as often was the case after particularly gruesome sessions, with poor Jonas still being forced to endure this turn of events?

Something snapped, then squished outside. He hoped Todd could cling to life a little longer so Jonas had a few extra minutes to himself.

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lumpsbumpsandwhumps · 2 years

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For the 200 words thingy (I know it's an odd request) feverish & delirious Jonas and careraker Malik (either whumper turned caretaker, or intimate whumper, or anything you see fit)?

Please don't feel pressured to write this, ignore it if you will even, and thank you for being so amazing!

It was an icy touch cupping Jonas's cheek that forced him back into the waking world; a horrid place where everything was too hot and too sticky and too bright for his overloaded senses. No sooner had his unfocused eyes tried to blink open at the insistent pats to his face was he overwhelmed with so many colors. It didn't matter how dim and muted the surroundings were, it was all painful to endure. Worst yet was the fact he was now vaguely conscious again to be subjected to the humid sweat that clung to his clothes, making his already aching body twice as uncomfortable yet knowing he'd never be able to peel enough layers off to cool down.

The hand cradling his face felt nice, though. It was hard to say whether it was actually frigid or if it only appeared that way in comparison to the burning fever that was roasting Jonas from the inside out. As colors began to merge and form basic outlines of shapes, he was able to make out the figure looming above him. Kind of. It was a person, but all their features were blended into a pure black silhouette, only little pinpricks of contracting white peeking out around their jaw. Like...teeth? Skull teeth? Was it a skeleton? No, too bulky to be nothing but bones. Ah, no, Jonas knew who this was -- his French tutor Monsieur Blanchet from when he was a teenager! An old, decrepit man who had probably taught Marie Antoinette her un deux trois when she was a toddler.

Jonas hadn't seen him in years. Jonas was surprised he was even still alive. Jonas wasn't exactly sure why his half mummified teacher was hovering above him while he was presumably trying to sweat out an illness in his bedroom.

"Pourquoi es-tu dans ma chambre?" Jonas slurred, no doubt going to receive a ruler to the back of his hands for his horrid mispronunciation.

Monsieur Blanchet snorted. "The hell? You speakin' in tongues now?"

Well...that didn't sound very French. That sounded quite American, deep southern to be precise. If his brain wasn't already in the process of being fried like an egg, Jonas might have stopped to think how illogical it was to assume his former tutor was here to play doctor. He might also have remembered he hadn't been home in weeks, that he was lying on a basement floor of a serial killer's place of business, that there was a good chance he'd never have to flex his bilingual capabilities again if his throat was slit on camera.

Instead, Jonas reached up to all but slap his clammy hand against the skull's face, sloppily trying to feel for the leathery texture of old man skin. His fingers hooked into something soft and when he gave it a tug, a new face instantly appeared like a magic trick. Was this how infants felt when someone played peekaboo? It was pretty damn impressive, honestly. Where had this face come from? What happened to Monsieur Blanchet? Who was this new fellow? Such a shame green eyes were too clouded with sickness to take in the bewildered expression at Jonas's bold unmasking.

"Can I help you?" The new stranger asked and oh, Jonas liked this man much more than he ever did his tutor. His accent was far less grating, the smooth baritone complimenting the young features of his face nicely.

The fact that Jonas could make out the sharp angles of his nose and jawline even through the fog of fever was a testament to the man's handsomeness. He wanted to know more about him. There were so many things Jonas wanted to ask him, to get a deeper understanding of the mysterious, attractive stranger.

"Are y'single?" Was what Jonas so eloquently asked for a first impression.

The man laughed. His smile was so, so, so nice. "Beg your pardon, lover?"

Lover? Oh, good, they can skip all that courting stuff then. Fine by Jonas, he didn't have the mental stamina right now to play twenty-one questions with a suitor. Strange that he was being given to a male fiancé in regards to his parents' incredibly strict upbringing of gender roles, but maybe they were just getting with the times finally.

Before Jonas could embarrass himself any further with his lovesick (and legitimate sick) ramblings, the blissfully cold hand removed itself from his face. He whined, already feeling his cheeks flush with heat again that made sweat drip from his brow. No, no, he didn't want this nice man to leave! He was so lovely and kind and the only thing that wasn't hurting Jonas's eyes at the moment. Luckily, his alleged lover was only repositioning himself to scoop two, strong arms under his skinny frame, uncaring for the sweat that was certainly rubbing off of Jonas onto him. He really was a knight in shining armor to not be put off by the current sickly appearance of the poor Belmont heir.

In sickness and in health, as they say.

"Christ, you're really burnin' up there, ain't you?" The man asked. He stood up to his full height with Jonas's drenched form held close and fuck, Jonas couldn't find it in him to care how the extra body heat and thick sweater made him feel even hotter. Just being so close to him helped ease the ache of his muscles and relieve the tension that was winding up into a headache. He felt tired again, ready to go back into a dreamless sleep after being awake for an exhausting six minutes. Maybe the nice man would still be there when he woke up again, hopefully a little less delirious, for Jonas to ask for his name and potentially his hand in marriage if that hasn't already been established.

With his eyes already slipping closed, the man's voice faded into nothingness while he carried Jonas elsewhere. "Alright Jonie, let's cool you down some 'fore you keel over. I really don't feel like listening to Tucker's bitchin' if you die without payment."

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