Thought about corruption jon again and lost my mind. I just think it'd be hot and fun if jon was the one getting trapped in his apartment hearing that song so loud and pretty and maybe he's not very good with keeping out worms and maybe he has an Unusual reaction to feeling the first of them start to burrow. Maybe him slowly getting overcome over the span of a few weeks. Maybe him all cute and soaked palming himself right outside the door so be can hear that beautiful beautiful song,,, eyes so wide and desperate and ever since he finally managed to get those works out he's been so itchy again. He didn't realize the itch was soothed. Jon all itchy and his body reacting to things it shouldn't. Maybe Jane should talk to him through the door way. Maybe he should be soaking wet slumped against the door whimpering. Maybe he should gasp out with gritted teeth why does it ITCH. Maybe. Maybe....I understand the themes I swear. I am just horny. And I am thinking about jon presenting himself to an empty room. Body responding to the strange feeling of being consumed by something that loves him in the only way that makes some sense. Just. Jon whimpering and Jane won't leave, not when she knows they're breaking him. Not when it's so clearly only a matter of time.
- skiesandcandy
@skiesandcandy I’m so normal about corruption Jon
Jon knew he had kept all the worms out, he was safe.
Only if he had kept all the worms out why did he itch? Why did the phantom feeling of something crawling inside him keep him from properly sleeping except when he simply passed out? More importantly, why did it feel good?
The song was so loud, so beautiful, calling to him, telling him he’d be safe, and loved and happy. Wouldn’t he like to have a family that wouldn’t leave him? A family that always needed him? To have them inside him, to nurture them. It pulled him forward till he was leaning against the door, to hear better to listen, he wouldn’t open it, no he just needed to hear.
He was so tired, he couldn’t sleep properly, waking up and feeling the phantom crawling after only the briefest sleep. He didn’t have any food left, it wasn’t like he ate at home much so the only thing left was food that had gone bad. He could see the mold inching its way through the bread on his counter, would that be him soon? Either the worms would get in, or he’d starve and either way something was going to be crawling through him. Tunneling through skin and muscle till only his bones were left, and then those would be broken down too till no one remembered him.
Hope had been the only thing keeping him from opening the door, hope that someone would notice, would come save him. Surely someone in his life cared? Only as the days went on and his food dwindled to nothing, no one had come. His only companion the humming and knocking from the front door.
If he pressed his ear against the door the song was so loud, enveloping him, interrupted only by the knocking, which always jarred him a bit, but the knocking was softer now. Jon found himself humming along, his own clumsy mimicking not as beautiful or as warm as the actual song, but he tried. The knocking stopped completely, but he took no notice as the song grew louder. There were words now, was Jane talking to him? She hadn’t said anything since trapping him, but the words were soft and gentle, twining with the music, telling him to open the door, to come out, to let the little ones crawl inside.
Jon felt heat curl in his gut, he wanted that, wanted it so badly. The itch inside him was lessened, replaced by something else, something he couldn’t quite name. He had thought the itch was the worms but hadn’t he always felt it? Almost unconsciously his hand slid down, sliding into his clothes to press against hismself, easy access in just joggers and an oversized shirt. He didn’t want to waste what little energy he had bothering with more professional clothing, no one was around to see him anyway.
He was soaked already, but it felt so good, it usually didn’t, not when he was alone. He could never see the point, but now, now his hand moved on its own, and soon he had two fingered inside, and oh it felt so good as the song pressed around him. Only the itch was back, it hurt, no please, it had been so soothing, the itch he had felt in his bones, no longer there tormenting him. He whined through gritted teeth, begging the voice on the other side of the door, the one that whispered soothing words to make it stop.
He stopped himself from grabbing the doorknob with his free hand only barely. His mind was screaming at him to let her in, to let himself have what he wanted for so long. His other hand didn’t stop, trying to soothe the ache, it was inside him, how else cold he?
He heard a laugh from outside, sounding wet somehow, before the voice returned. It crooned at him, little archivist, please come out, let us be your family. The words turned mocking, telling him they knew he would break, it was only a matter of time.
Jon whimpered, trying to keep his moans quiet as he pressed deeper inside himself. It was a poor copy of how deep the works would bury, would core him open. He wanted something inside, but he would have to move from the door, and the song. So instead he just kept going stretching himself open, half-presenting to the audience behind the door. When he finally managed to find the spot inside himself that made his nerves sing he was a mess, drooling and panting, little whines bubbling out his throat in time with the song.
So worked up he hadn’t noticed his movements had moved one of the washcloths he had blocked the crease in the door with. Just enough for one fat wriggling worm to slide through, the pain was sharp as it bit into his leg, vanishing inside before he could do much more than scream. He could see it eating away at his muscles, sliding deeper and deeper, the song hitting a crescendo. There was nothing he could do as more poured through the gap, he hadn’t managed to stop one, what could he do against a hundred. Still his hand didn’t leave his cunt, his whole body shaking. They were inside, each little mouth sliding through him as they nestled into his very bones, he was their home.
His other hand occupied, his free hand undid the lock on the door, it was a stretch, his legs too weak to lift him, blood pooling around him. He slumped against the wall letting it swing open, he was crying, but it didn’t hurt anymore, the only thing he could feel was pleasure, as the little bodies wiggled through him. Gentle hands riddled with holes wrapped around his wrist, shoving his fingers deeper into himself. He could feel more holes opening across his chest where the worms had eaten through from Jane into him as she held him, whispering that he was safe now, that he’d make such a good home. His last coherent feeling as he came head buried into Jane’s shoulder was the overwhelming sensation of being wanted, before his consciousness faded.
read all your stories on ao3 and was wondering if you have any thoughts on desolation! Tim with Jon? because Jon heals fast and Tim likes to burn him
Oh I have very many thoughts, please enjoy whatever this monstrosity I managed to write. Also I think Tim should get to feed on Jon and Jon should get to feed on Tim because mutual self destruction is fun. Can you make fourth degree burns sexy? Today we find out.
The first time Tim had burned him it had been an accident, growing pains with his new abilities. He had apologized, even as Jon’s skin immediately returned to its former state. Only it kept happening, little touches, nothing even close to the damage Jude had done. Burning fingertips that left little round burns, like someone was putting cigarettes out on his arm. Jon didn’t mind it much, but well he was curious, so finally he decided he had to ask Tim as he was leaving his office.
“Are you doing this on purpose?” It was meant to be lighthearted, just a joke, but too late Jon heard the static on his tongue.
“Yes,” Tim’s response was too fast to be anything but a product of compulsion. His expression morphing from horror, to anger as he continued speaking, clearly trying to fight it. “It takes the edge off the hunger, and it’s not like you’ll stop me.”
“Sorry I di-,” Jon broke off into a yelp as Tim shoved him back pinning him between his body and the desk. Jon was reminded again how much taller than him Tim was, as he practically loomed over him, eyes flickering with an unnatural glow.
“I want to do so much worse to you,” Jon could feel the heat radiating off Tim as the words continued to be pulled out. Part of Jon was terrified, the other was feasting on every word he ripped from Tim, it wasn’t exactly a statement, but the Eye still seemed pleased. “I think it would be better sometimes, at least then I’m not hurting an innocent person, and it’s not like I could do anything permanent.”
Jon couldn’t even argue that point, it was true, Jon was a monster, and better him than someone who couldn’t heal. That fact didn’t stop him from whimpering as Tim ran a burning finger down his cheek, even as he couldn’t look away. Part of him wanted to flee, to run, but instead all Jon could do was continue listening, even as his eyes watered in pain he couldn’t stop staring.
“And you would let me wouldn’t you? You’d probably like it. Sometimes I wonder if you make me angry on purpose, just so I’ll snap. ” Jon managed to hold back a yelp as he was lifted, so he was now seated on top of his desk, it didn’t correct the height disparity much. If his heart still beat Jon wondered if it would be pounding in fear, or anticipation. “I could burn you down to your bones, and you’d just keep watching.”
With that last sentence Tim snapped out of it his eyes narrowing, the unnatural glow was still there, but it seemed his pseudo statement was over. Jon resisted the urge to dig further to know more, Tim still had statements that Jon hadn’t taken yet. It was like taking a bite of a meal, then being whisked away from the table before you had even swallowed.
“What the fuck boss?” Jon flinched, apologies flooding onto his tongue, but he was almost scared to speak, worried he’d compel him. Tim didn’t let him sort through his thoughts grabbing him by his shoulders and shaking him. He looked horrified and angry again, but underneath it all Jon could now see the hunger burning beneath everything.
“You could,” Jon was careful to keep his words static free as he stared up at Tim, he wanted to help, needed to do something. But the last thing he needed was to compel him again, who knew how’d he react. Jon felt like his own words were being pulled out now, the Eye urging him on, feeding his own curiosity. “Use me for that I mean, let me help.”
“You’re insane,” Tim muttered but didn’t let go, and Jon could feel the heat spreading from Tim’s grip on his shoulders, still bearable, more like a mild sunburn. Painful, but nothing compared to most of what he had experienced recently, nothing that would fill the emptiness of Tim’s hunger was anything like his own. Jon could practically see the thoughts churning behind Tim’s eyes, not literally, the Eye didn’t seem to want to impart that information, but it was clear Tim was going to refuse, to run away, and Jon, and the Eye, couldn’t have that.
“Hurt me Tim come on,” Jon grabbed onto the front of Tim’s shirt with his burned hand, pulling him closer. He barely managed to fight back the static itching the back of his throat. “It’s not like I haven’t been burned before.”
“God you’re impossible,” Tim released his shoulders to instead take his face in his hands. The contact with bare skin was a lot more painful than his shoulders had been, though still nothing worse than a first degree. If he could see his face he wondered if it made him look like he was blushing as Tim’s thumbs lightly stroked his cheeks leaving a stripe of pain.
Jon would have responded, maybe to antagonize him more, to push him to lose his temper. He was terrified, but the feeling was almost drowned out by just how much he needed to know what would happen. Only as he opened his mouth Tim chose to lean forward sealing his lips over his. If his hands had been warm his lips were searing, it hurt, and Jon tried to pull away immediately a scream bubbling up, but he was held tightly. His scream turned to a choked off whimper into Tim’s mouth as the part of him that remembered that this was a bad idea suddenly was no longer drowned out by curiosity.
Jon could feel his skin start to blister, a second degree burn the Eye offered as tears started to flow down his cheeks, sizzling away as the water contacted Tim’s skin. That seemed to get his attention as he pulled back, releasing his face to change his grip to his waist instead, skin once more partially protected by cloth. Tim’s pupils were blown wide and Jon could see nothing but fire behind them, he could even see his reflection, the burns already healing, leaving him unharmed and panting with only the memory of pain.
“Does it hurt Boss?” Jon flinched as Tim’s hands slid beneath his shirt, bypassing the scant protection of the cloth. He didn’t seem to actually want an answer, digging his burning fingers into the smattering of worm scars in the space between his ribs and his hips. Jon not wanting to scream, not knowing if anyone would hear him in the rest of the institute immediately fastened his teeth into his hand, blocking any sound other than a muffled whimper. He could taste blood, but it was nothing compared to the feeling of fingers sliding through his skin like well, like a hot knife through butter.
The thought almost made him laugh, perhaps the pain had already made him a bit delirious. He wondered if the Eye could put back everything that was being destroyed as Tim’s hands sank deeper. He wasn’t bleeding, the heat searing any damaged vessels shut immediately. Jon had thought shaking Jude’s hand was the worst a burn could feel, but it had only hurt for a few moments until all the nerves in his hand were destroyed. Now though, now he could feel them repairing themselves as the heat passed over them, burning them away again as soon as they formed.
Jon was surprised he hadn’t passed out, but well the Eye clearly wanted to see what was happening, it wouldn’t let him close his eyes. It was a struggle for him to look down, to see just what Tim had done, but he knew he needed to see. He didn’t know what he had expected but the sight was certainly worse. His skin was blacked in places, though the rapid healing had those places sealing up again, crusting over, only to be seared again as Tim shifted his grip.
The sight of something white inside had him freezing, thoughts immediately flashing to Prentiss’s awful parasites, but no, that wasn’t larvae that had missed, that was the bone of his hip, skin peeled away like clay, as Tim’s thumb rested on the protrusion. Jon wondered if he’d have an indentation there as even the bone couldn’t stand up to the heat, his thumb sinking in, marking him. It didn’t hurt, there were no nerves there, but it still felt wrong, and that was the point the Eye seemed satisfied, no longer forcing Jon to stay conscious to watch his own pain.
Starting to lose his fight with consciousness he slumped forward into Tim, who caught him. Hands no longer buried inside him, now held his shoulders gently, the heat warm now and no longer burning. His nerves now seeing their chance started to not back together with flesh and bone, each second agony as his body erased any trace of what happened. Of course it wasn’t until he was fully healed that his eyes began to droop, making him feel every agonizing second as Tim held him close. Jon he felt a gentle hand press his sweat soaked hair out of his face, before feeling himself lifted up. He let his head rest against what he was fairly certain was Tim’s chest, no longer silent, but instead occupied by a steady heartbeat.
“Did it help?” His voice sounded cracked and painful, and if he weren’t on the edge of consciousness he would have probably asked for water. Jon flinched as he was jostled as Tim let out a short bark of laughter, before Jon felt himself being set onto something soft, probably the cot in document storage.
“Get some rest idiot,” Tim’s voice was softer than it had been since the stalking incident. Jon wanted to ask if he would stay with him, would just hold him for a bit, even if he was t getting anything out of it. But Jon bit off those words, he had no right to ask Tim for anything, especially not comfort.
“Fine,” Jon mumbled burying his face into his pillow as he finally let his consciousness fade. Tim’s footsteps as he left the room the last thing he heard before plunging into one of his victim’s nightmares,
