#knowing my followers though I feel obligated to let you know there are graphic depictions of violence and several scenes w/nudity and sex

[novafire-is-thinking]

A lot of my mutuals and ‘following’ rn: BANG BRAVE BANG BRAVERN 🔥🔥🔥

Me: BLUE EYE SAMURAI 🔥🔥🔥

[babyjakes]

forever and a day | 23. his best girl.

〈 disclaimer: this blog posts content not suitable for individuals under the age of 18. minors are strictly prohibited from viewing, sharing, or interacting with this blog. for more information on this blog's commitment to protecting minors, read our full statement here. 〉

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summary | a story in which america’s favorite captain gives a new life and family to a five-year-old girl who has suffered well beyond her years at the hands of hydra.

characters | dad!steve rogers, girl/willa rogers (original character)

warnings | AU similar enough to OU to include spoilers to many Marvel movies (Age of Ultron and beyond). action and fight scenes with violence and killing. injuries/mild gore. mature themes related to and semi-graphic depictions of the aftermath of child abuse/neglect (emaciation, wounds, scarring, etc). mentions/descriptions of past CSA and CSM. medical abuse and experimentation. ptsd/trauma symptoms in a child (developmental discrepancies, de-humanized behavior, detachment, extreme fears). medical treatment of CSM and other aftermath of abuse.somewhat evil!Tony Stark (eventually).

[Bruce]

“How are you feeling? Are you in pain? Bruce can bump up your pain meds; Bruce-” Tony turns to me mid-sentence, a look of sheer panic flashing across his face. Girl’s slumped against the bed, big tears rolling down her cheeks. I, however, am not totally convinced that they’re due to physical pain. Once Steve left the room, the child’s heart rate evened out almost immediately. I think more than anything, she’s just tired and afraid. Her life has been nothing but pure chaos for the past twelve hours or so.

“How are you feeling?” I ask, speaking as steadily as possible, in stark contrast to Tony. Girl looks down at her bandaged side, sucking in a breath. “The line of painkillers I have you on is pretty strong. Is it working?” The child nods. Tony sighs in relief, though he quite frankly seems no more relaxed at learning this.

“What happened, Girl? They shot you, at the safe-house?” Tony rushes into questioning. The little girl nods again, her head hanging low. Tony huffs, running a hand through his hair. “And you didn’t tell anyone?” When he only receives a head shake as a response, his voice turns darker as he spits, “Jesus christ- why the hell not?”

“Tony,” I interject, glaring at the man as his eyes dart up to meet mine. As I scan his face, stiff with tension, his demeanor and behavior only become more concerning to me. “Go easy on her,” I reason. “She was put in a terrible situation. She didn’t do anything wrong.”

“No, no, I reject that,” Tony retorts, his usual stubbornness shining through at the worst time possible. “She hid it when it happened, fine. But she had plenty of opportunity after to tell someone. If not Steve, then Clint. Or Sam, or Peter. She made the whole thing a million times worse for herself, worse for everyone. I mean, come on, Bruce. She could’ve gotten herself killed-”

“Tony, enough,” I cut him off, earning a glare from the man’s dark eyes. Girl shrinks back from both of us, her cheeks paling at Tony’s reckless words. Sighing, I pinch the bridge of my nose. How does he think what he’s doing is helpful right now? He’s completely terrifying the poor kid; she’s too afraid to even apologize for what he’s upset about. “Hallway. Now,” I finally demand, making my way to the door. Tony grunts, but thankfully obliges, rising to his feet and following me out.

Once I’ve made sure the door is completely closed behind us, I let out a long breath of hot air, leaning up against the door-frame. Tony crosses his arms and turns away from me, shaking his head.

“You’re being totally unfair,” I tell him. He chuckles darkly, scraping his shoe against the floor.

“And you’re being a total softie, so what’s new?” the dark-haired man retorts, turning back to face me. “Look, I know you’re probably worried about making her cry or something trivial like that, but the stunt she pulled was stupid and reckless. She could have bled out on her bathroom floor. And you don’t think we should say anything about it?” At this point, Tony is seething, and more than anything it’s just astonishing to me how off-course his line of thinking is.

“I’m not saying we shouldn’t talk with her about it,” I correct him. “But you’re going about it completely wrong. She did what she did because she was afraid. Getting angry at her and cussing her out isn’t going to help her feel any less scared.” He purses his lips into a thin line, shaking his head once again.

“We could’ve lost her, Bruce. She needs to know that she can’t hide things like that from us. It’s not my job to keep her happy all the time. It’s my job to keep her alive.”

“The more you treat her like this, the less likely it is that she’ll let you do that,” I argue quietly. Tony’s eyes darken at my words, and he takes a step towards me.

“I don’t remember asking your input on how to be a parent,” he warns through his teeth.

“You’re not being a parent, Tony,” I say with a shake of my head, sadness sinking into my chest. “You’re being a bully. And even though that usually works out for you, I can guarantee that the more you try to beat Girl down, the less likely it is that she’ll ever accept you as a parent.” My words appear to cut deep as Tony takes a step back, his gaze finally breaking from mine. He swallows hard, not saying anything. “I know that you’re coming from a place of good intentions. But you need to start learning how to soften up,” I tell him. “Otherwise, Steve might as well be raising her alone.”

For a moment, he looks like he’s going to say something, but it quickly passes, and before I know it, he’s turned back around and walked away. Heart pounding heavily in my throat, I watch him as he disappears down the hallway. I wish I could’ve found a gentler way to tell him. But sometimes the truth is hard to hear.

Turning back to the door, I rest my hand on the handle. I could go back in and try to patch up the damage that Tony caused myself, but I’m not sure that’s what needs to happen right now. Looking back all the way down the hallway, I see a single shoe sticking out from the wall that cuts off the hall from the waiting room. Just as I thought, Steve is waiting down there. And I know that Steve can provide a kind of comfort to Girl that no one else can.

[Steve]

The sound of footsteps approaching from down the hall cause me to look up from the spot I’ve been mindlessly staring at on the floor. Turning slightly, I’m expecting Bruce, but instead, it’s Tony. He walks swiftly past me, not even stopping to acknowledge my presence. Something must’ve happened. His body language gives it away. Beginning to grow worried, I rise to my feet, wondering if I should go back down the hall and see what’s going on.

Before I can move, though, I hear more footsteps heading in my direction. Before long, Bruce appears, a solemn look on his face. “Hey Cap,” he greets. I nod at him. “I think it might be time for you to head in there.”

“What’s up with Tony?” I ask.

“Well, I said some things to him that he didn’t want to hear. After you left, he-… he got angry with Girl for not telling anybody she was wounded. And while I understand where he’s coming from- I mean, kinda- he was totally out of line in how he treated Girl. At this point, I’m pretty sure he only made things worse.”

“He got angry with her?” I ask, confused.

Bruce nods. “He was upset that she put herself in more danger. I don’t think he understands how fearful she is, or how really even trauma works.”

“God, Tony,” I sigh, doing my best not to roll my eyes at the man’s insensitive behavior. “She hid it from us, out of fear that we would hurt her more, and his response was to get mad?” Shaking my head, my brain begins to hurt at even trying to comprehend what he could’ve been thinking. “When I found out, it just broke my heart.”

“You and Tony are very different people,” Bruce explains. “Which is why I think now would be a good time for you to make amends with Girl. She needs someone who will treat her gently. That’s something Tony’s going to have to work on.” I nod in agreement, shoving my frustration with my co-parenting partner aside for later. Right now, Girl needs me. I have my own mess to clean up with her. And now, I guess it looks like I’ll be picking up after Tony, too.

“Alright. I’ll head down there,” I agree. Bruce nods, and I turn, starting my way back down the hall.

When I reach the door, my hand fumbles for the knob as I pause for a second, taking in a deep breath. Soft, I remind myself, gentle. Nothing like Tony.

As carefully as I can, I open the door, stepping only a foot or so into the room. Girl is lying on the bed, her knees bent, legs tucked in close to her body. Looking at her in this moment, it really sinks in just how tiny she is.

As soon as she sees me, the child’s eyes grow wide, wild with fear. As she shrinks back into the mattress, it appears as if she wishes she could just disappear altogether. Taking a step further inside, I turn to close the door behind me before turning back to face Girl. Her hands grip the sheets tightly underneath her, causing my gaze to soften, my brow raising slightly. As gently as I can, I reassure her, “It’s alright, sweetheart. I’m not here to hurt you.” Not an ounce of apprehension drops from her face; it’s clear she’s not convinced. “Can I sit down?” I try carefully. Unblinking, the little girl doesn’t dare respond, instead she just continues to look at me, her green eyes glittering with tears. When I take a few more steps towards the bed, her grip tightens, her expression reminding me of a deer in the headlights.

A few more cautious steps land me at the side of the bed. As I rest myself down gently onto the edge of the mattress, Girl finally moves to cower, her bottom lip beginning to quiver. “Hey, shhh. It’s okay,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper. “You’re safe, Girl. It’s alright.” Unfortunately, I know my words do little to comfort her.

Remembering Bruce’s emphasis on the power of safe physical contact, I decide to reach out, placing a hand on one of the girl’s bony knees. The child flinches, a whimper catching in her throat. Though she remains silent, her eyes do all the pleading for her. Her fear and uncertainty are written all over her face; it almost makes it worse, in a way, that she won’t open her mouth and beg like usual. Not even that feels safe anymore. So she just stays quiet.

“Sweetheart,” I begin, meeting her wary gaze with my own. “I know you’re frightened. You have every right to be. What you saw in the safe-house… I didn’t ever want to scare you. I didn’t even know you were watching. I just… I got caught up in the moment. I looked in that man’s eyes and I-… I saw everyone who ever hurt you staring back at me. And I just-… I lost myself,” I admit. Girl looks up at me, eyes wide. “They were coming for you. They wanted to hurt you. And the thought of anyone ever hurting you again… I couldn’t bear it,” I shake my head. “Sometimes, when you’re a superhero like me, you have to do scary things to protect people from the bad guys. And when it’s you, when it’s my best girl… I gotta do all I can,” I finish, rubbing my thumb across her knee gently.

Girl is quiet for a moment, and I’m surprised to see that beyond the wariness shining in her eyes, there’s a tiny glimmer of something more, something that almost seems like… wonder. When she finally does open her mouth to speak, her words seem like nothing short of a miracle, and time stands still. “Best girl,” she repeats. Almost… lovingly.

“That’s right,” I blink back tears, unable to keep from smiling at her. “My best girl. And I can’t let anything happen to you.” Before I can say anything more, Girl has pushed herself up in front of me, leaning in against my chest. Enveloping my arms around her, I run a hand gently over the small girl’s hair, her tears soaking through my shirt as I struggle to choke back my own. The familiar feeling of the soft, warm body wrapped up in my embrace returns to me like a breath I’ve been waiting to take in for far too long, and it’s entirely overwhelming; it’s entirely extraordinary.

“Best girl,” the child says again, her voice muffled by the fabric. I lean down and plant a kiss on the top of her head, a feeling of homecoming washing over me like a wave of grace. “Yours.”

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[all-about-seggs]

┗ Love- Lies- Bleeding

Pairing - Geto Suguru x Virgin!reader

Word count- 4.8 K

Warnings - Gaslighting, Corruption kink, snuff (not graphically depicted) and then reincarnation, cunnilingus, fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, adding blasphemy kink just to be safe.

A/n- Geto isn't a yandere here but it's Villan! Geto we're talking about so I think his actions are pretty in line with his current canon! Personality. Though a bit delusional. This is by FAR the longest thing I've ever written.

The gray cobblestones stretching across the shrine clicked against your thick wodden sandles, the quaintness of the place only making it seem unnaturally loud. It's was a regular autumn morning, which soon turned into noon as you felt the bright sun shining right on top of your head.

Having finished your morning tasks you were returning to the main shrine where the senior priestess would give you further things to do. Just the thought of more work non stop made you sigh at your monotonous shrine maiden lifestyle but as you lamented you heard footsteps behind you, the sound of which same as that of your own.

"Hey!.....", You turned around to see your little sister huffing as she catches up to you,

" y/n! He's here again!," The implications of her words made your face heat up, sure you were still a bit green and naive, but you made sure to discreet when it came to 'looking' at that one particular man that always seem to stand out among the hoards of faceless people you saw visiting the shrine everyday.

"How many times have I told you not to phrase it like that! You'll get me in trouble with the priestess!", Scrambling to get yourself together you retort sharply.

"Oh come on! Youre the one who used to stare at him from a distance like a lovesick teenager! Atleast now you're talking to him like a normal person", In terms of liveliness the sound of your back and forth was the only thing the place had.

"Watch it! If someone hears you we'll both get scolded", gently warning her again you find yourself turning back to where she came from. The other part of the premises where the peculiar man would be standing, as usual, in all his serene beauty, on the brigde overlooking the small lake.

A man in traditional Japanese cloths that you rarely see anyone wearing these days came to your shrine everyday, without fail for the past month. Everything from his attire to his elegant long hair left you in a trance and your eyes would naturally follow him.

Something about the fact how he'd always come here but never to pray or wish striked you as odd so at first you just observed and even before completely wrapping the situation around your head you two started sharing numerous conversations of the huge world that was right outside but so far away from your reach, his words fuelled the budding curiosity in your heart, the vastness of which made your trips to the lake, the most refreshing part of your otherwise monotonous daily routine.

Even if all you did was talk, a 'supposidly' demure maiden working in a shrine, skipping on her duties and rushing to the other side of the ginormous area to see a man felt almost elicit, scary even when you consider the consequences that would come if you were to get found out. The charisma his every action held was beyond resistance and you soon found yourself enraptured by the male despite everything.

"This is so pointless" you huffed, smiling out of self pity to hide the more frustrating emotions twirling within you.

"Yet you do it everyday", with a small nudge from her elbow you made your way straight to the lake, forgetting about your obligations as a shrine maiden, the responsibilities, the restrictions and all inhibitions put upon you in the name of god.

With quick steps you soon found yourself at the base of the curved brigde,

"Good afternoon Mr. Geto", your greeting came out in a rush, trying to ignore the warmth of your face, but your attempts at hiding your flustered state didn't go unnoticed by the man in front of you.

" Seems like you've been having quite a hectic day", smiling in his usual serene way Geto gracefully turns his head in your direction.

" Not any more than usual", calming your erratic heartbeat you slowly close the distance between the two of you and stand beside him on the arch of the bridge.

" It's really nice here", He remarked, his eyes sweeping across the tiny fishes swimming near the surface of the lake. You stared at him for a little while before finally asking the one thing that drew you to him the most.

" I always wondered, why do you come here everyday if you don't even want to go to the main shrine to pray?. Surely it's not just for this scenery."

" Hmmm? Pray for what?", Not particularly moved by your question he quizzically tilt his head.

"Well.....you know, the usual, success in job, finding a significant other or maybe even something materialistic? Although I doubt you're interested in the last one", you laugh a little to take the edge off your slightly personal question.

"Dreams come true through steadily applied efforts not praying", with his sage like appearance, his words didn't came off as a shock.

"Not the best thing to say to a shrine maiden but I guess it's somewhat true", Quipping back you just looked at him with a smile, silently revelling on your familiarity with each other.

"What about you? You never look like you're having fun while working here.... As if you're the one who's not satisfied with you're job" His voice took a more serious note and asked the question you always tried to push away but for the first time, you felt safe. Safe in talking about things what most people around you would call blasphemy.

"Yeah well, I wouldn't say it's my life's calling. It's basically following the ideals that has been written by others and just blindly following them day in and day out", just as you finished your sentence you realised how shallow and sad you just sounded but the slightly widened eyes of Geto was what made you mentally kick yourself before you hastily try to smooth things over.

" But! It's not that bad! Once you get used to-", after a few lighthearted words to clear the heavy atmosphere that was building up you were cut off with one long finger hovering just above your lips.

" It's okay, you don't have to worry about being judged with me", not touching your lips he quickly retreats his hand back,

"It's only natural to question your ideals and beliefs when you actually start thinking about them, it's a proof of growing up. I can say it was the same for me as well, I had thought I'd spend my whole life sequestered in 'that' place but...." His gaze takes on a far off quality as his words fade.

"What changed then?", Without even knowing why, you urged him to continue.

"Well, I grew up and realised mine were just idealistic views, far from practical."

"Wait! How old are you now?!", Unable to ignore your budding curiosity you went on,

With a soft flick to your cheek he snorted in amusement, his low baritone made you recognise your own rudeness as you rub the non existent pain off of your face.

"It's not polite to ask strangers their age, regardless of their gender, young lady".

"I'm sorry! It's just, your answer...... Was kinda vague so...." Trailing off, the fact that he didn't owed you any explanations dawned on you making you stop. But the sudden halt in your unabashed questioning didn't go unnoticed by the long haired man so he continued, as if reading your thoughts.

"Everyone's entitled to act idiotically every once in a while but you sure are abusing your privilege", he went on, after a few words of sass.

" It took a while but, I soon discovered my true feelings about the world I lived in and how I wanted to change it", The unshakeable conviction of his voice reverberated through your ears and there seemd to be more to the hint of darkness in his downcast eyes, but further questions left your brain as you felt genuine resolve through his words.

Before you could process what's happening, Geto pulled you in close, resting his hands on either side of the brigde railings, caging you inbetween the low wall and his body.

"How about we run away to a better world together?", not waiting for you to protest he spoke. The words falling from his lips were casual enough to make you overlook the outrageousness of their meaning and your oddly intimate position did nothing to stop your brain from short circuiting.

"The decision is yours y/n but I'll be waiting anyway," his voice seems to trail a little before he bends down, his thin lips ghosting over your right ear, " you see, I hate it when even the good gets destroyed along with the bad", with that he quickly pulles his body back, letting you have your personal space again.

"I'll come back here at 8 'o' clock tonight",

After announcing that smoothly, he turns his back away and walks off to the exit, leaving you gob smacked at his confusing words.You watch him saunter off, still to awestruck to move when you finally take a note of your own unsteady breaths and face that radiated heat rivaling the sun atop.

" Who would- even go along with that crazy idea", your meek words get lost in the now empty place but the longing in your eyes to see what lied beyond your conservative lifestyle was as clear as the autumn sky hanging above.

You turn your back on the place and jog off in an effort to escape your own complicated feelings on the matter. His casually spoken words clawed at your heart, an entire different life was just one step away and it was shocking to even you how much trust you were subconsciously putting in every single word he says.

The conflicting thoughts in your head kept you busy the entire walk from the bridge to at the door of the only home you had known for so many years and never once your feet held such hesitation as you entered the building to continue the tasks you had left behind for the momentary change you craved so much.

The evening passed by in a flash, the thumping of your heart only getting louder with each passing hour. You just got out of your bath and were getting ready to help with dinner when you heard two voices coming form one of the senior priestess's room

"I saw her talking to a man, he didn't looked like a -", their words weren't clear but one thing was. Their topic of discussion was you.

"No he was wearing a hakama", it was getting harder and harder to breath with every second. If they were to tell that to your other supervisors then it would become very difficult for you to live here.

"So he could be from a neighbouring temple, maybe just asking about something general?"

"But weren't they standing too close?"

Listening in from behind the door all you could make out was that they clearly saw you and Geto, but one thing was certain. You were about to be very strictly reprimanded for just having curiosity.

Before you could even think up of some excuses to get yourself out of this mess the previous offer of his night time rendezvous flashed in your mind. It got you thinking, if you were going to be made to stay under supervision for a while anyway then the least you could do was to meet Geto one more time so as to let him know that his idea was indeed crazy and that life wasn't that easy for you to give up on everything you've done until now just on a whim.

You couldn't exactly get to a proper conclusion, sure leaving seemed like the better option but the fact that you'll be heavily dependent on Geto for everything didn't sit will with you either. It's not like you had any other skills or connections and even if he said he'd take you with him, you weren't fully ready to trust him on that. Why would you? It's not like you two were connected or related in any way.

The meeting time was approaching fast and since it's dinner time soon most of the girls would be around the dining area to help. It was the perfect opportunity to slip out unnoticed and come back after explaining things to the kind person who brought a few extra colors in your dull life.

Shakily you made you way to the back door, knowing full well you're about to commit another offense.

In a few minutes you reached the bridge, it was empty right now, indicated that your are ether early or that maybe Geto was actually just messing with you and oddly enough you felt your stomach drop at the thought of the second option.

But before you could overthink out the negative options you sense eyes on your back and whirl around to see a happy looking Geto strutting towards you.

" I take it you have decided to entrust yourself to me?", Greeting you with his self assured words he smiles amicably at you.

" Actually- I've decided to not leave", you say, with both sadness and regret in your voice.

He listenes to you in silence, his face doesn't look convinced no matter how much you explain but he never interrupts you until you're finished.

" So, Is that what you really want? To rot in a place which binds you to unnecessary obligations?", He blankly says, after you're done.

"It's only natural to lose something in order to attain greater things y/n", steping in your personal space again he peers at you face, his eyes were slited enough to hide their true intentions yet leaving just enough space for the moonlight to give them an otherworldly glow.

His beautiful face just centimetres away from yours and before you can finish he grabs you by the chin and delivers a mind blowing kiss.

This wasn't good for your heart. Your previous resolve was melting, just like the rest of you. Geto quickly slipped his hot tongue inside your mouth, exploring every nook and cranny of it.

"Why are you going so far?", You ask, still not entirely convinced.

" Because we are the same, that's why I know what you want and I can give that to you. So trust me okay?", A few seconds pass as you both stare into each other, when you finally heave a sigh of defeat.

" I do want more than just a life of modesty,", having changed you decision yet again you look up at the man in a renewed resolve.

"That's my girl!", Almost excitedly he envelopes you in a warm hug,

"Well y/n? How exactly do you want to celebrate your new found freedom? ", giving his words a suggestive tone he leaned forward to press his lips against your ear, placing light kisses up and down its lobe.

A surge of heat runs through your confounded heart, voice raspy as you reply " Ofcourse I want to do it with you", the snickering above you made you realise the innuendo your words held,

" I meant the celebration! It as in the CELEBRATION OKAY?!", Frantically, you push against his chest to break your embrace, trying to explain the simple meaning behind your previous words but even so, you'd be lying to yourself if you said that the thought of sleeping with him never crossed your mind.

The unmarried virgin criteria you had to fulfill in order to be a shrine maiden was in the past now. So you couldn't find any reason to hold back now.

" I'd be an honor," Geto's melodious voice reverberated through the entire room and you whip your head upwards to look for the confirmation you needed.

With minimal amount of words Geto took you to a near by cottage, saying he atleast wanted your first time to be in a proper place. You thought he was staying at just a room in that cottage but it turned out he had rented the entire place.

For you, it was quite a luxurious thing, while it was something you'd love to revel in, you had other, more important matters to give your attention too.

With a soft click, Geto opens the bedroom door and ushers you in, you breathing coming out irregular, and you were almost shaking in both excitement and nervousness.

What if he doesn't like how I look like naked? Would he like it better if I had shaved? Wait- I hope I'm not wearing my ugly panties today!. While you were freting the small details, the long haired man quietly made his way towards the bed, where you sat, buring his face at the crook of your neck as his arms wrap themselves around you.

"White suites you",His voice rumbled in your ears, his tone as smooth and sweet as honey when he slipped his hand inside the collar of your top, parting the neatly tucked fabric until your chest was exposed. The sudden contact with the air and his hands made your nipples perk up. He fondles them a little while kissing up your neck and shoulders.

Slowly he undos the cloth belts that tied your red hakama to place and eventually you feel them loosen up and then down to the ground, leaving you in just your open white kosode.

Being so exposed in front of a man and that too for the first time made you instinctively cover your chest and crotch, but it was pointless really, because even your hands couldn't hide the dampness of your panties from the sharp eyes that seems to look straight through your meek attempt at modesty.

"Come on, show me everything", his eyes met yours, all attention on you and it was almost disconcerting how vulnerable his eyes made you feel.

Felling a warm rush of blood to your face, you slowly loosen the grip of your hands around your body, letting Suguru pry them off until they rested limply on your sides. Slowly you lie down flat on your back, shyly looking away.

"Getting embarrassed is fine, but there's no need to hid yourself, It's only natural to want to look at your lover's body",He says it with such low, sweet, seduction that your toes curl in response, the word 'lover' ringing in your ears sent your heart in a frenzy.

Slipping the rest of your garments off of your shoulders he gently kisses your ear, licking the contours of your jaw and all the way to the hollow of your throat. His mouth nibbed at the skin beneath as his smooth tongue caressed the marks it left behind.

Soon he latched his lips onto on of your nipples, his teeth grazing the hardened tips pulled a few moans out of you, his long hair tickled your skin wherever they fell and it took everything in you to stop yourself from grabbing onto them.

Moving lower, he soon reached your pussy, already dripping with arousal. You felt his breath on your folds as spreaded them with one of his hand and gave the smooth space inbetween a long lick.

Sucking on your clit with fervor, his arms around your hips traced it's dips and curves as he delves deeper into your moistened sex. Your moans were inevitable at this point, the feeling his mouth in the most intimate part of your body was making you shiver in ecstasy but as soon as he brought his hand near your hole you felt your thighs clench.

"Don't worry I'll only use one finger at a time to get you all nice and ready for later" Gentle reassurances flowed naturally out of his mouth as he covers his fingers in your slick before spreading your pussy more.

His digits push past your folds and buries themselves deep into your throbbing pussy, the sensation of being penetrated both new and arousing. Geto slowing moves his finger in and out as his tongue latches on to your clit again.

The sensations of being licked and fingered together intermingled in your body, bringing you closer to your release in no time. Although it was a good thing you didn't wanted to end it so quickly. He was undeniably good with his hands, knowing when exactly to add another finger or when to curl or rub them inside.

Maybe it's because it was your first time but the onslaught of your orgasm leaves you shaking and moaning wildly in the most unladylike ways you have ever acted. It was embarrassing how much you ended up enjoying while Geto did all the work.

Though he pushes you to your limit you can't help but want to watch his every movement, anticipation building inside you when he raises his head and props himself on his knees to get a better look at your blissed out face. You let out a sigh of longing as he bought his glistening digits to near your face as a proof of you how good he made you feel.

" I'm glad you like it honey", his voice dangerously seductive, he licks his fingers just as erotically, making you embarrassed.

" Let's move onto the part where you cum on my cock now shall we?", His crudeness may have been shocking but right now all you cared about was the cumming part so you let him manhandle your throbbing form until he properly lines himself up against your hole.

Suguru didn't removed his cloths fully, just loosened his hakama just enough to whip his member out.

" Deep breaths now y/n", his gentle guiding eased your mind, and so you relax your body to take him in because even if it's your first time, you were pretty sure he was big enough to make anyone ache.

A warm tingling pain tears through your core which soon mealted into something more euphoric, unbearably good even, making you cry out in ecstasy. He filled you up to the brim and you wondered how bad it will ache tomorrow. As soon as he bottomed out in you, the entire aura of the person about you changed and the room felt like it dropped a few degrees in temperature.

It was not what you'd expected as your first time. Not the painfully rough speed he started with. Not the large hand around your neck that threatened to cut off your air supply. And certainly not the cold, detached look in his face.

Even when your breathing was getting shallower by the second you still writhed in pleasure. It was alarming as to how much you were willing to entrust your entire self to Suguru who was nothing if not composed, keeping his hand firmly around your neck while thrusting his member in and out of your pussy, fucking you like some sort of rag doll.

Long gone was the mild mannered person you looked up at with heart eyes, maybe he was just different in bed, that's what you wanted to tell yourself but the lack of consent and the level of his roughness kept you from doing so.

He eventually let go of your neck, only to flip you on your stomach and shoved his cock inside from an even deeper angle. He didn't let you tap out until you came twice, with your third orgasm approaching just as fast.

The sumptuous heat from his body lingers on yours for sometime even after he pulls himself out

And you felt that the longer you stayed in his embrace, the more darkness seeped into you which would surely make you go numb eventually

You wanted to ask Geto what was happening but a few broken screams were the only thing you could make out, everything was sudden, how the pain made your vision go white to then pitch black and as your consciousness left your body all you could hear was Geto's calm voice.

" Next time you wake up, well be in a better world"

The few rustling sounds of fabric brought you back to the waking world, the dark blue skies outside with flashes of gold inbetween told you it was just the crack of dawn.

You slowly prop yourself up in a sitting position to look around the unfamiliar room.

You catch your reflection in the nearby window next to your bed, you looked the same save for the few indecipherable marks here and there.

" Good morning y/n", Quickly looking at your right, you see Geto just walking out of the bath, his mascular form only covered by a thin cottan kimono.

He was behaving normally, as if the events of last night didn't happen. So normally that you were starting to think you may have hallucinated the whole thing.

Walking towards your sitting form, Geto bends down to cup your jaw and layers his mouth on yours, the scent of his shampoo tingling your senses almost made you forget about everything else.

He breaks the kiss, gazing at your downcasted eyes, the heat from your face made him chuckle.

"Quite an innocent reaction considering all the things we've done", he smirks triumphantly at you, his eyes a mix of dark but intense passion. All the things huh. You thought. Your mind was still in a haze and it was talking longer to process your words and thoughts.

"What happened last night?, I can't remember everything properly", you were expecting straight answers, that how did you passed out or where you exactly were right now but Geto seemed to go off on his own tangent.

You were just like my past self,", were, he said. As if you're something else now. The man in front of you was changing his colors faster than you could comprehend his words and it was terrifying you.

"That's why it's my duty to show you everything that life has to offer, the entire extent of it. As long as you stay by my side.", Not paying an ounce of attention to your shocked state he want on,

" The people you were staying with before were only going to confuse you further, that's why I had to take you away".

"You are the most free and safest at my side, darling. But if you still want your preistess life back then, I'll be your god and you can spend the rest of your life worshipping me instead"

Of course, he didn't saw you as an equal who could stand beside him, you weren't even his lover, just someone below him who he needed to worship the ground he walked upon in. But even so, the fear you experienced just a few minutes ago dissipated, bringing back the curiosity that was at its height whenever he was around.

"Were you lonely?",Geto's eyes trailed up and down your face which halted in their track after hearing your words which oddly resembled pity.

" What-", the previously composed and slitted eyes expanded a little before his expression abruptly shifts, turning serious, making you flinch under its sharp gaze, the animosity that surrounded him contrasted with the previous tender kisses and touch.

With his one large hand he grabbed your face from the base of your jaw, painfully lifting it up until your entire body was a few centimetres above the surface of the bed.

" Listen up y/n, I didn't brought you here to dote on you and the only reason I wiped out your silly little shrine because I can't stand hypocrites who spread false teachings written by equally hypocritical people. It was your job to worship things you couldn't see before and now you have to do the same job for someone you can see. That's. All."

"Ofcourse, leaving isn't an option.I've turned your body into a reincarnated curse. If any of the Jujutsu tech people caught you roaming around, it'll be instant exorcism for you." He lets go of your face and sits next to your form, Geto was quite for a while, giving you time to sort out your own feelings on the matter.

You knew what was happening now. Inbetween those conceited words flashes of the warm blooded man behind the god slipped out and you had to resist the overwhelming urge to comfort the person who just confessed to have burnt down the shire you were living in just until a few days ago. Maybe your thought process was altered just like the rest of you body, or maybe you were always this crazy too.

The source of your sympathy was unknown but the twisted obsession of his was provided you with more solid answers.

Your meeting, the conversations, how you eloped together. All of it made sense now. He wanted to save you from the oppressive state of the place you had spend most of your life in, ofcourse he would. He was thinking of you in ways no one ever had. He loved you in ways no one ever will, or could for that matter.

And you,

You loved him too. You had to.

[lotusthekat]

I’ve felt this way before (so insecure)

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: T

Relationships: Steven & Lars (please do not ship them)

Characters: Steven Quartz Universe, Lars Barriga

Summary: There’s something wrong with him.

Word count: 2.200

AO3

A/N: basically me venting through Steven and also to show off my very personal headcanon that he might have BPD.

Please be aware of the trigger warnings below. Take care of yourself. <3

TRIGGER WARNINGS - non-graphic depictions of self-harm and blood, trauma, panic attack, anxiety and depression.

--

It was weird when Steven received Lars’ text, suggesting their usual baking session could take place at the former’s house instead. As if Steven hadn’t just trapped Lars and all their friends in an enclosing pink dome.

Well, Lars still hasn’t decided whether he’d go to space or not, but considering everyone else was definitely leaving, then Steven didn’t take it very well. But he wasn’t anywhere mature about it, either. It embarrasses him every night when he can’t sleep.

Even then, Steven couldn’t reject the invitation. If anything, he’s quite relieved that Lars wants to hang out with him despite the scene. But deep inside…

There’s something wrong with him.

Maybe since his new powers developed, as they’ve only gotten stronger and more dangerous with each day. They synchronize with his emotions. And that’s exactly the problem.

Steven’s emotions have been staggering.

He doesn’t want to be abandoned, but he doesn’t want to hold anyone back.

He’s angry at everyone, at himself and no one. He’s so angry, he’s prone to lashing out and cracking walls and windows far too often.

He’s ashamed of his shameful clinging to everyone around him, and as a result, he’s isolated himself. Then Steven becomes sad and tired, too, which is why he dropped Little Homeschool in the first place.

But in the next moment, he’ll be smiling like nothing happened. Because maybe he should be getting his life together. Maybe he should smile and let it go.

In reality, his mind is dangerous. Domes and walls will imprison him, while he tries to protect himself from something inevitable.

(Loneliness? Death? War? Everything? Nothing?)

It’s confusing and terrifying and Steven has no idea how to get through this. However, the half-gem can’t let anyone know, because what if they actually leave him when they realize how unstable he is? What if Pearl, Garnet and Amethyst leave the house forever? What if Connie never comes back to Beach City? What if Dad also moves out? What if Lars really goes to space?

It’s especially harder to hide now, with Lars right next to him, laughing at the stories Steven is telling him. Lars is having such a good time, and Steven is trying, because his friend will leave if the dome disaster happens again.

Steven has shoved his pink fists inside his pockets, only helping when Lars needs. It’s been tough keeping it all in. Keeping the hurt, enraged pink to himself. It aches for something, something he’s not at all sure.

The younger boy doesn’t want to ruin their time. He doesn’t want to push Lars away. He might go to space and never come back. Maybe he won’t even want Steven to visit him.

Be quiet.

Think of love.

Flexibility, love and trust.

It’s okay.

It’s okay.

It’s not.

Shut up.

It’s not!

“… uh, Steven?”

The sixteen-year-old boys looks at his friend as if he were away to space again.

“Oh, hi,” Steven laughs nervously.

“You, um. You wanna take a break? You look a little—”

“T-That’d be great!” Steven blurts out. “I gotta go to the bathroom real quick, don’t disappear while I’m gone!” He laughs forcibly as he runs to the small door and locks himself inside before Lars notices.

He lets out the shakiest breath.

Why is this happening?

Why can’t he be okay?

He…

He needs to do something.

Steven inhales deeply, very deeply, trying to swallow the threatening tears. Not now. Not now.

It’s useless.

He’s useless.

…

He needs to do it.

Steven hates it,

but there’s nothing else he can do.

The boy takes a look at himself before opening the mirror cabinet. He’s crying despite telling himself no, and he’s glowing pink like never before.

This is the only way, then.

Beside the Diamond Aura bottles lie the small, subtle razor blades, now shining bright with his pink reflection.

Steven already shudders just by touching the blades, sharp in his fingers.

His hands are trembling badly, for that matter.

He hates, hates doing this.

But if the pink won’t comply, then he has no choice.

It’ll be quick, though.

He’ll be fine.

…

The moment the blades are close, his thoughts scream.

They cry like lost souls haunting him, the same ones that have stalked him for all these years.

Steven is angry.

Get out!

GET OUT!

…

Then there are crimson flames in his pink arms, burning like lava and poison.

It makes him sick.

He’s gonna puke.

The blades fall off his hands.

Steven will never be used to this.

Even if they’ll be gone with one healing tear…

The red hurts.

Steven’s arms wrap around himself, maybe as a way of comfort. Maybe so he doesn’t throw up and panic.

His own pathetic hug is all he has, soothing the painful but quiet sobs.

However, the world outside comes right back, knocking at his door.

“Steven?”

Gasping, the boy takes the stained razor blades off the floor and put them back in the cabinet.

“Just a second!” He exclaims.

“I- I heard you crying, is everything-?”

“Yep, everything’s fine!”

Lars soon sounds frustrated, “Dude, you’ve been weird all day, why won’t you talk to me?”

Oh no, no, no

“Wait, please!” Steven begs, please don’t be mad, don’t leave me, please—

He quickly kisses both of his arms, the crimson stains gone, and he cleans the remainders from his mouth.

Steven doesn’t waste time to open the door and force a smile onto his face.

“I’m right here!” He yells. “I’m completely fine!”

Lars opens his mouth, only for his eyes to go horribly wide.

“… Lars?”

“St- Steven, there’s blood all over your jacket!”

Indeed, his pink jacket is stained where he’d been hugging.

Something cracks.

(His mask? His lies?)

“It- I-It was an accident! I w-was… I…”

What sort of accident?

What could explain it?

“I…” tears form in the corner of his growing eyes, his skin glowing pink again. “I…”

Lars’ eyes pale. “Steven…”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, the younger boy laughs.

“You must think I’m crazy, right?” Steven asks, his smile fading to nothing. “Maybe I am. Nothing is making sense anymore,” he sniffs and looks away, avoiding the horrified stare. “You should probably leave, Lars. I-I don’t want to hold you back again. I’m sorry.”

The lonely silence meets him. It’s all so quiet, Lars might not even be there anymore. It’s probably for the best.

Regardless, steps come forward and Steven shivers.

Soft yet calloused hands carefully reach his arms, pulling up his sleeves.

“… are your arms okay?” The question is quiet. Too quiet. But not angry.

Steven gulps either way, nodding, “I-I healed them. It’s okay.”

“… okay.”

Thumbs rub where the crimson once was. They soon go for his shaking hands, squeezing both with care.

Lars doesn’t look angry at all.

At least not to the eye.

Steven doesn’t know if that’s a good thing, unsure what his friend is feeling.

Lars takes a deep breath – and Steven shivers again, expecting to get yelled at – only for him to give him a simple command.

“Turn around, will you?”

“Um- okay?” He does as he’s told and wonders what this is about, when…

Lars removes the jacket for him, leaving Steven with his black t-shirt exposed.

“We should probably wash this, right?” Lars suggests, not a hint of annoyance noted. “Where’s your washing machine again?”

“O-Oh, it’s…” Steven gulps, “it’s outside. We’d have to take the warp pad there.”

“Alright.”

Lars walks to the crystal platform inside the house, expecting Steven to come with. In spite of all his confusion, the half-gem takes them to the giant hand statue that holds the machine and the clothes that are yet to be dried.

Steven hasn’t been here with someone else in a long time, to be fair. He’s had good times here. But bad ones too.

Lars does all the work, even if Steven insists he shouldn’t. The older boy doesn’t complain.

The stained pink jacket is then inside the repetitive, circled movement inside, the crimson clues to be gone in minutes. Lars doesn’t actually question how the washing machine works, which is quite unlike his nature.

Steven is scared of questioning it, afraid Lars might actually be mad at him. Maybe he’s planning to leave soon. He must be doing all of this out of obligation, even though he shouldn’t.

Lars is waiting in front of the machine, arms crossed. They don’t share any words.

Steven has… so much to say, and yet…

He’s so humiliated.

He sits at the corner of the giant hand, holding his own hands.

“Lars…” Steven dares let out, “are you mad at me?”

The seconds that follow terrify him.

“No,” Lars replies simply, approaching him, “of course not.”

“Why won’t you say anything, then?” Steven insists, loud. “W-Why are you still here?” He burns pink, “I thought you wouldn’t want to see me again after everything I’ve done!”

He dries his own tears, ultimately hiding his face because it’s useless.

Lars is sitting next to him, but not too close.

“Do you want me to leave?” The older teen wonders.

Steven overthinks.

“… no.”

“I thought so.”

Steven vaguely looks at his friend. “D-Do you want to, though?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re my friend, Steven. And something has been wrong for a long time now,”—Lars looks back, sympathetic —“hasn’t it?”

The sixteen-year-old gazes at him, unable to give a verbal response.

Lars gets it.

“Have you…” he hesitates, “have you hurt yourself before?”

Steven clutches his arms.

“Yeah.”

“Does it make you feel better?”

Steven ponders in the setting, giant sun watching them from the horizon.

“I don’t know,” he mutters.

Lars quietly expects him to continue.

“I hate doing it, actually,” Steven admits, “I always feel sick every time I do it. But for some reason, I… I want to do it again, again, and again, because… it’s all I can do.”

He stares at his arm, as if it’s red still.

“I know it’s wrong, but… it’s all I have right now. It’s the only way I have of letting everything out, without hurting anyone else. I can’t let people know how much of a mess I am, or else—” he sniffs, “they’re going to leave me. They’re going to realize I’m a fraud. T-That I’m- I’m not as good as everyone thinks I am.”

Steven squeezes his arm, quite too tight.

Lars puts his hand onto his, silently asking him to stop.

He does.

“So, no one else knows about this?” Lars asks.

Steven shakes his head.

“I didn’t want you to find out.”

Lars doesn’t take his hand away. In fact, he’s rubbing Steven’s arm again. The latter doesn’t want to say it, but it’s quite comforting.

“I’m glad I do, though,” the space pirate says. “I mean, of course I’m upset you’re hurt… but I could never leave you for feeling that way, buddy.”

Steven looks up in hope. “Really?”

“Really. Steven”— Lars sighs —“you know how much you mean to me, right?”

The younger boy wants to say yes, but…

“Well, maybe I don’t show it that much,” Lars speaks, taking his silence for an answer. “Maybe I should’ve realized why you were so upset at the Graduation, and I’m sorry I didn’t. But Steven… you’ve changed my life so much that I could never thank you enough. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you. And even then, you didn’t need to prove me anything. I always knew you were amazing, as much of a prick I was back then.”

Steven is…

He’d never imagine Lars felt this way.

“What I mean is…” the taller boy’s eyes are also shining with water. “I love you, Steven. I do.” Lars is smiling with the most fondness Steven has ever seen. “And I love every part of you, even the ones you want to hide.” This time, he’s pulling Steven close with an arm wrapped around the latter’s shoulders. “I know it’ll take a while for you to remember this, but that’s okay. I’ll be here to remind you every time you need.”

“Lars…”

Steven has absolutely no idea what he could say.

I love you, too.

I’m sorry.

For what?

I don’t know.

Lars doesn’t expect him to speak, though.

He’s then squeezing Steven in a half hug.

“Can you promise me something?” Lars wonders. “Will you tell me when you want to hurt yourself again?”

Steven hesitates.

“I… I-I’ll try.”

“Please do. You don’t deserve to hurt, pal.”

Steven tries to hold in, but he buries himself in the other’s chest, like a child haunted by a nightmare. Lars retributes the hug and even rocks him a little side to side.

“I-I’m… I’m glad you’re here, Lars,” Steven sobs.

“Yeah, me too.” Lars puts a hand on the back of his head, softening his messy curls.

The now clean jacket is set to wait out in the night. The boys end up ordering pizza, pushing the baking session for another day. They resort to the champignon pizza Steven has gotten fond of as of late.

At least tonight, he sleeps at ease.

[chiefnooniensingh]

He is all and he is more (a joe/nicky one-shot)

Summary: Joe gets taken. Nicky goes after him. nicky-is-more-protective-headcanon.jpg

Inspired by @joenicky who requested something like this.

Rated: T Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, more testing

Also on: ao3

Joe sat back against the walls of his cell, schooling his expression into a relaxed, unimpressed expression. He felt blood trickle down the side of his face, even though the gash on his temple had healed nearly instantly. Within several years of the entire Merrick debacle, he was right back here again, trapped in a cage, not so much his life in danger as his sanity.

One good thing about this whole mess. Nicky hadn’t been with him for the whole affair, so at least his heart was safe. Joe could withstand anything as long as Nicky was safe.

“Mr. Al-Kaysani!” a voice echoed through his cell, and Joe looked up to see an awfully familiar face.

Joe barely let a grimace pass over his face before flashing his most charming smile. “Dr Kozak, what an unexpected surprise!”

“It’s a pleasure to see you again,” Dr Kozak smiled. She looked older than she had back then, her blonde hair a little paler, slight worry lines around her eyes. She wasn’t aging well, Joe was pettishly pleased to see.

Joe showed all his teeth, in a move that could barely be called a smile. “A pleasure to have my DNA in your possession again, you mean.”

“Well, in so many words…”

Joe looked straight into her hard, cold face, and knew that she didn’t see him as fully human. To her, he was a Nobel prize, an opportunity. A lab rat. “I can’t say it’s a pleasure to see you, on the other hand,” Joe said matter-of-factly. “The last time we met isn’t the warmest of memories, I have to admit.” He propped his arm up on his knee and looked coolly into the doctor’s face.

“We need you, Mr. Al-Kaysani. The world needs you,” Dr Kozak said, her eyes suddenly glowing maniacally. “Your DNA might hold the key to end death, and suffering.”

“Death, maybe. But trust me, whatever is in my DNA, it won’t end suffering.” Joe gestured with his shackled hands to the blood drying on his face.

Dr. Kozak had the audacity to smile, forgetting that it had been her goons who’d did that (admittedly minor) damage to his face. “That’s what we’re here to find out, Mr. Al-Kaysani. I won’t apologize for scientific progress.”

“You really should study your history more. You’d know you are on the wrong side of it.”

Dr Kozak blanched a little. “Take him,” she ordered, and immediately, Joe’s cell filled with several soldiers and with an eyeroll, Joe let himself be manhandled out of his cell. Just for his own savage pleasure, he headbutted one of the guys in the crotch. The punch he got in the stomach was a fine price to pay.

And then he was back again, in a place he loathed more than anything. A medical chair, strapped to it like a common criminal. He saw Dr. Kozak bring in several intense-looking medical devices and Joe knew it was going to be a long couple of days.

“Take a guy to dinner first, Dr. Kozak,” Joe said, his voice steady, but his flexing fingers betraying his nervousness. He kept his eyes on the instruments, as Dr. Kozak prepped a frighteningly long needle.

“Maybe after I’ve won the Nobel prize, Mr. Al-Kaysani,” Dr. Kozak murmured, right before she stuck the needle torturously slowly in his side. The pain exploded immediately, his entire body seizing up in protest, and he ground his teeth as he tried not to scream. Closing his eyes, he tried to picture Nicky’s face to drown out some of the pain. His nerves screamed as the needle kept sliding deeper into his body. The skin around the needle fought hard to close, increasing the pain. Nicky’s face flickered and faded, and as the pain reached its breaking point, he opened his mouth and screamed.

----

Nicky hadn’t told the others where he was going. He’d contacted Booker without any of their knowledge and asked him to help track down Joe. Dr. Kozak left a blazing trail to follow, and thus was easy to track. It only took Book an hour, an hour which ingratiated himself with Nicky considerably. Nicky was driving the fastest car he’d been able to jack, ignoring any and all speed limits and traffic lights. There was only one thing on his mind, and the world would bend to his will.

Nicky had always been extremely determined. Others would underestimate him for his smaller stature, his unassuming and unthreatening smile, and the fact that Joe always jumped in front of him with his bravery and violence. But harm his love and be prepared to lose everything. When it came to the people he loved, he was prepared to do anything. When it came to Joe, anything became a laughing matter.

Parking the car a street away, he jumped out and pulled out his sports bag. From anyone looking at him, he looked like an average man heading to the gym. But Nicky was heading to battle, his sword tucked underneath his jacket and his bag filled with an assortment of weaponry.

Nicky entered the building which he knew held Dr. Kozak’s new lab and approached the security desk. Without saying a word, he passed through the metal detector, which immediately blasted warnings. Two guards immediately jumped up and approached him both sides, their hands on their holsters. “Sir, put down the bag!” yelled one.

Breathing in and out once, Nicky centred himself. Then, in a flash, faster than the guards could blink, he drew his sword and with two quick swipes, dropped the first guard and pressed the second to the wall. He felt the blood spatter on the side of his face, but barely registered it as he breathed evenly while the other guard panted. “Where is Dr. Kozak?” Nicky asked quietly.

“I don’t…”

“Listen to me very carefully. I have asked a question. I will not ask it again.”

The guard must’ve noticed something in Nicky’s eyes, because he turned very white and stuttered the answer. “D-downstairs. Minus 15th floor. P-please.”

“Much obliged,” Nicky said evenly, before slicing the man’s throat. He would feel guilty about it later. Sheathing his sword, he continued to the elevator, unzipping his bag, and unloading it on the elevator floor. After the doors closed, he pressed the stop button, forced the door open and braced it with his semi-automatic. He restarted the elevator, then picked up his explosives. At ever floor he passed, he pressed two bricks on the outer doors, then pulled his semi-automatic free and shouldered his bag. The elevator dinged, he raised his gun in front of him, and ducked out of the way before the doors opened. When the world didn’t explode in gunfire, he locked the elevator doors in the open position and turned into the room beyond.

It was deserted. With methodical efficiency, Nicky moved through the floor, opening doors, and clearing rooms until he came to the very hand of the hall, where a large, armoured door stood slightly ajar. Nicky smiled a half-smile, but it vanished quickly when a nearly inhuman scream erupted from beyond the door. Nicky knew immediately it was his Joe. His hair stood on end, and his entire being seemed to erupt with hellfire. Swearing under his breath, he rushed forward, opened the door, and went in with his gun raised.

It was an eerily familiar scene. A very sterile, white lab where several medical beds were stationed. Frightening instruments were spread around the lab, and there were already several medical jars with a worrying amount of samples.

Dr. Kozak was bent over one of the medical beds, and Nicky immediately saw his Joe was strapped to it. The screams were unbearable.

“Step away, Dr. Kozak,” Nicky said, his voice scarily steady, his gun trained on the aged doctor. With a start, she jumped backwards, extracting a long device from Joe’s thigh. Without even taking the time to recover, Joe raised his head and let out a throaty laugh when he saw Nicky.

“Ti sei preso il tuo tempo, Nicolo,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

“Scuci, amore. We are short a tracker, so it took a little longer.”

“Mr. Di Genova,” Dr. Kozak said, her hands raising in the air, Joe’s blood still on her blue gloves. “I was hoping I’d see you again.”

“Nicky!” Joe yelled and Nicky immediately ducked down, narrowly avoiding getting shot in the head, instead taking one in the shoulder. Without hesitating one second, Nicky rolled onto his back and fired his gun at the soldiers storming the lab. It wasn’t a long fight at all. The soldiers hadn’t been well prepared.

“Stai bene?” Joe asked, and Nicky nodded, turning back to Dr. Kozak.

“Untie him,” he ordered. She looked slightly pale, but eyeing the gun trained straight between her eyes, she started to do what he ordered. “Who are you working for this time, doctor?”

Her fingers were shaking as she undid the straps around Joe’s legs. “Humanity,” she said. Both Joe and Nicky scoffed. “You gentlemen have a gift. You are keeping that gift from the world!” Before Joe was fully seated upright, she grabbed a scalpel and pressed it to his throat. “I can’t let you leave!”

Joe looked wholly unimpressed and Nicky loved him all the more in this moment. “For someone who is so focussed on our immortality, you forget awfully quick what immortality means.” And then he grabbed her arm, causing the scalpel to slip and slice a sizable cut into his throat. Nicky closed his eyes, after all this time still unable to watch Joe die. Dr. Kozak screamed when he dropped to the floor and Nicky immediately opened his eyes and put a bullet in her knee, causing her to crumple.

“You could’ve changed the world!” she moaned, as Nicky dropped his empty semi and pulled out his Barretta.

Nicky looked down at her as he trained the gun meticulously at her head. Remembering the big wall in Copley’s house, he smiled a half-smile. “We already do.” And then he fired, ending Dr. Kozak’s life.

Without blinking at what he’d done, he immediately went down on his knees next to Joe. “Yusuf, per favore, destarsi,” Nicky whispered, grabbing his Joe by the should and turning him. With a sigh he noticed that his neck was already healing. “Yusuf, mi amor…”

Joe’s eyes fluttered, and his hand closed around Nicky’s bicep. Nicky let out a breath. “Sono qui,” Joe said, immediately collapsing into a coughing fit. Nicky helped him sit up. They touched their foreheads briefly. “Thank you, Nicky,” Joe said, with a smile as dazzling as the rising sun. Joe was always better at poetry, but watching his face now, Nicky could wax poetic about his Joe’s face for hours. Then his watch beeped. No time.

“Joe, we need to leave. Now.” Without further ado, he pulled Joe to his feet and handed him the Barretta, while he himself yanked a semi from one of the fallen soldiers.

“What did you do?” Joe asked as they quickly and quietly made their way across the floor towards the elevator.

Nicky didn’t answer, instead choosing to drop his bag to the floor and take out one final brick of explosive. Joe burst out laughing. “Holy shit, Nicky!”

Nicky merely flashed a grin, slammed the final brick on the wall next to the elevator door, flicked the stop button and then the elevator started to rise. “We have five minutes after the elevator doors open to get the hell away from this place.”

“Is the team here?”

“No,” Nicky said simply, and he saw Joe frown. “This was between me and Dr. Kozak,” he added with a fierce look in his eye that told Joe all he needed to know. Joe pressed a kiss to Nicky’s temple, which caused Nicky to smile. The elevator neared the ground floor and Nicky checked his watch. “Get ready to run, Joe.”

“As long as you’re right there with me,” Joe said, grabbing Nicky’s hand.

Nicky rolled his eyes affectionately, just as the elevator dinged. “You’re an incurable romantic.”

“It’s why you love me,” Joe said, as the door opened and revealed the two bodies Nicky had left behind. The two of them broke into a run, passing security, causing the metal detector to set off again, but they ignored it and kept running. They didn’t let go of each other until they were at the car, at which point Nicky’s watch beeped for a final time and the ground shook as the explosives inside the building went off. And kept going off. Nicky ignored it completely as he got in the driver’s seat, but Joe looked back in complete awe.

“Joe, get in!” Nicky shouted as he started the car.

Joe got in, a disbelieving smile on his face. “You rigged every floor?”

Nicky threw the car into gear and sped off, a look of complete calm on his face. “We cannot have any of that evidence remain untouched.”

Laughing wildly, letting out the adrenaline of the past few days, he leaned in to kiss Nicky square on the mouth, not caring about traffic and safety. “God, I love you,” he exclaimed, and Nicky laughed too, because it’s all he could do after having seen the love of his life killed in front of him once again and having walked out together once again.

“Next up, explaining this shit to Andy,” Nicky said after a while, startling Joe, who had been dozing off.

Joe grabbed Nicky’s hand, and settled back into the comfortable seat. “Good luck with that, darling.”

Nicky rolled his eyes with a fond smile. “Next time I’ll leave you where you are.”

“Ma certo, Nicolo.”

[staruplatinum]

so, here it is. 4.5K words of pure smut and filth - MY GIFT TO MY FOLLOWERS!! Thank you so so much for 1000 followers (◞ꈍ∇ꈍ)◞⋆**✚⃞♡

 this was a little hard to write since there are 10 point of views - I wrote every La Squadra member in this; including Sorbet and Gelato. I hope it isn't confusing to read, and that you understand what is happening in the background.

warnings: extremely nsfw, this story includes graphic depictions of a gangbang, multiple creampies, cum eating, rough sex, degrading.

thank you as always for your support!♡

tagging some people who might be interested @lasquadrahoe @beedingtears @e-lectroma @bjnurse 

             Being the only female member in all of La Squadra was rough. You had to deal with all 9 men staring at you; constantly checking you out. Sometimes it was unwanted - like when you were just trying to do the dishes and melone would sneak up and grab your ass - but other times, you couldn’t help but blush at the feeling. It felt nice to be sought after. On top of the ogling issue; you had to deal with cleaning up most of their messes. While Risotto, Prosciutto,Gelato, Pesci and Sorbet were pretty good with cleaning up after themselves, the rest always left a mess in one way or another. Formaggio’s room was a disaster - filled with cum rags, playboy magazines, empty food boxes and clothes. Melone and illuso always left their hair and skin products on the bathroom sink, while Ghiaccio’s room was always freezing and filled with crumpled paper and books all over the place.

Despite it all, you really couldn’t complain. While you were an assassin yourself - you were also La Squadra’s personal maid. You were hired to clean for them and occasionally cook - though Risotto preferred to cook for his team instead of making you do it. If needed, they’d often ask you to come join them on missions considering your skills were quite impressive. 

The job description didn’t include that you’d be subjected to please each of the members whenever they wanted. But, again. You didn’t complain. What could be better than fucking 9 very attractive men? They always took their turns with you; and each were assigned a night to have you. Sorbet and Gelato usually took you at the same time, while the others preferred to be separate. Some days, you had sex with at least 5 different members. It made you feel dirty, but this was your life now.

When you came home one night, you noticed all the boys playing poker - drunk. The living room reeked of alcohol and cigarette smoke (courtesy of Prosciutto!) and you already dreaded having to clean this mess. Peroni bottles littered the area - some were even broken. 

“Ciao! Y/N! You’re back already?” Formaggio practically yelled, before laughing right after with Melone. 

What was so funny? You couldn’t tell. You knew it was just the fact that they were drunk. You sighed heavily, putting your purse down on the counter. You walked over to where they all were seated- the clink of your heels making noise as you crossed the hardwood floor. 

“Why don’t you come and join us Bella?” Melone asked - there was a mischievous tone in his voice. 

“I’d love to, but I have to clean this entire mess that you boys so graciously made for me” you spit back. You weren’t upset; but today had been a long day. On top of that, you hadn’t had a chance to have sex with any of them for about a week, since their last mission took rather long. Tonight they were celebrating their win. You couldn’t help but feel needy, all you really wanted to do was brush your teeth, wash your face, go masturbate in bed and then sleep. 

“Come on y/n! Join us. This mess can wait.” Melone insisted. He was always SO persistent when he wanted something, and instantly the hairs rose up on your neck. You hesitated for a moment, before thinking that maybe, just maybe, Melone wanted to fuck you. If he did, you know you’d feel satisfied tonight.  Sighing, you mumbled a faint “fine” before sitting down next to the spare spot on the couch with Melone. 

As soon as your bum reached the leather of the couch, melone wrapped his arm around you while passing you a Peroni. You stared at him for a moment raising an eyebrow before saying “fuck it” and downing the bottle in front of his eyes. 

They all stared at you in shock. 

“What? Did you think I was innocent or something?” You asked them rhetorically as faint laughter echoed through the base from them all. You didn’t want them to answer that question, since they had seen just about everything you could do in the bedroom...

An hour passed, and now you were confident with how much alcohol you had drank, along with the others. As more bottles littered the coffee table and the floor, you could hear faint conversations from all around the room. Your vision was slightly blurred, everything was hilarious to you, and you never felt more confident than you did in this moment. 

“So who’s going to fuck me tonight?” You asked. “I’m sooo needy…” you added, admitting just how desperate you were. “... and it’s been too long!!” 

There was a soft whine to your voice as you grabbed your breast through your bra sensually. 

Immediately, all men lost their train of thought as they looked at you. Formaggio stood up, offering to take you. You nodded, but before you two could get to the bedroom Ghiaccio scoffed and threw a bottle at the wall directly behind you. 

 “Tchhh! As if you can even fuck her as good as I can! I want her tonight!!” He yelled. 

You held your hand to your ear as you tried to block out his tone. Maybe it was the alcohol making you sensitive - but hearing Ghiaccio tell really pierced your ears. 

“Back off man, I got up first” Formaggio spat. You held onto his arm for protection since you really didn’t want an argument to go down right now, and because standing up was starting to make you rather dizzy.

Melone cleared his throat before suggesting something that caused an awkward silence. 

“What about if we gangbang her?” 

The awkward silence ensued for a good minute before you noticed every man in the room with a smirk - except Pesci, who was visibly sweating. You knew that he wanted this just as bad, though. 

“I think that’s a great idea.  Finally, stronzo. Your freak brain comes up with something good.” Prosciutto added as he stood up and patted melone on the shoulder. He looked over to you, and suddenly you felt 9 pairs of eyes on you - a red blush forming on your face.

Formaggio suddenly let go of you as he pushed you back over to the couch, causing you to fall on your hands and knees. You bit your lip in anticipation. 

“Who’s first?” Illuso asked, smirking down at your small form.  

“Why don’t we ask her? Who do you want y/n?” Prosciutto asked, while patting down on your head.

Your face stayed a bright red as you surveyed the room. There were so many options! If only you could have all 9 of them inside you at once - sadly that would be impossible, especially considering the size of their cocks. 

“Melone.” You said, winking at him. Sure, he could be creepy at times, but you really wanted him to take the lead - after all, he was kinkier than the rest.  

“Good choice Bella,” melone added as he lay back on the couch, pulling you up with him. The two of you began to make out, hands grazing each other’s exposed skin. Melone moaned into your mouth as you started to grind your hips into him; feeling his cock get increasingly harder with every movement. Thank god you were wearing a skirt, Melone thought to himself. He pushed your lace panties to the side, and slowly began to drag his index and middle finger along your slit. Pulling away from the kiss, he jokingly mocked you. “You really are wet, bella. How long have you been wanting this, hm?” You shook your head and closed your eyes, barely able to form words, you just wanted to be fucked. Melone chuckled and lifted up your skirt. 

“You should all come here and see this for yourself.” 

Immediately, the rest of the men in the room leaned closer as melone lifted up your skirt; exposing your pussy to the hazy room and showing how shiny it was from your wetness. 

As if on queue, they all started to palm themselves through their pants as they patiently awaited their turns.

“Melone, hurry up. We don’t have all night.” Illuso added, his cock was the most visible in his pants since he was also close to you, but who was really paying attention? All you knew was that every man in this room was going to be inside you soon enough, in one way or another. 

Fed up with their insistent bickering for him to hurry, and the grinding of your hips, he finally pulled his long cock out. As slutty as it sounds, you knew how every man in La Squadra looked “down there” and Melone wasn’t lacking in any sense - his dick was always so smoothe. Lifting your hips slowly, you lined up his head with your entrance and slowly sunk down on him, eventually bottoming out. 

“Merda!” he hissed as he felt your tight walls clench around him. He instantly began to fuck up into you fast, the sound of skin-slapping echoing in the now-silent room. 

“Pull her skirt up so we can watch man!” Formaggio yelled. Melone didn’t really care, but he obliged anyways, for a brief moment at least, until Illuso interrupted him. 

Illuso pulled your face up by squeezing your cheeks, and you stared up at him with a lustful grin. You bit your lip as you ground your hips along melone. 

“Think you can take us both bellissima?” 

Before you could even answer him, Sorbet laughs under his breath. 

“Of course she can. She takes Gelato and I all the time.” 

The other members didn’t know this, so it was quite a shock to them. But really, no one gave a shit. You nodded up at Illuso, batting your lashes as you waited for him to make a move. Suddenly, he managed to push both you and Melone downwards into the couch, and soon you were laying on top of him. You pulled your skirt back up angling the view to Illuso as you anticipated for him to join in. Illuso and the other members watched - mesmerised - as they saw Melone fuck you. But the atmosphere was starting to change, and you knew these men were getting restless.

Illuso pulled his hard cock out, giving it a few pumps before kneeling between your and Melone’s legs. He spread apart your ass cheeks, getting a close-eye view of your beautiful cunt being stretched and fucked. He smirked, spitting on Melone’s cock to add some extra lube. He didn’t even need to ask permission - You and Melone were more than okay with this. 

Surprisingly, Illuso slipped in with ease. You really were that wet. 

The two men started to fuck you, grunting as they used your tight hole to their advantage. Illuso grabbed your hips, attempting to pull you more into a “doggy style” position, while Melone tried to pull you closer to him. You felt like a ragdoll between the two.

Meanwhile, Prosciutto, Pesci and Formaggio came up to you - standing in front of your face. “You forget about us, Dolcezza?” Prosciutto asked, blowing a puff of smoke from his cigarette.

You shook your head. How could you forget about the others? This was only the beginning!

Dazed and confused for a moment, you wanted to tell them to wait their turn, until Formaggio and Prosciutto brought out their hard cocks. Prosciutto dropped his cigarette and put it out with his shiny leather shoes. His hand began to pump his hard cock, pulling his foreskin back - while his other hand grabbed your hair; bringing your face closer to him. 

“Get to work, bella. And maybe when these fools are finished, ill fuck you good.” 

You hated when Prosciutto pulled your hair, but you knew tonight wasn’t going to be easy. Not only were they drunk - they were pent up and restless too. There was bound to be some roughness involved.

You opened up your mouth, making an ‘o’ shape as your left and right hand gently began stroking Formaggio and Pesci’s shafts. Prosciutto then took matters into his own hands and gripped the side of your cheeks - beginning to fuck your face.

It had only been minutes, but it felt like an hour already. There was so much movement going on from every angle, you didn’t even know what to think. Praactically every part of your body was being used!

Ghiaccio got closer to you and started to rub his hand against the soft mound of your ass, as Illuso and Melone continued to thrust into you. You, however, couldn’t even tell who was touching you anymore. From your peripheral vision, you could see other figures looming around you and jerking themselves off - just waiting for a turn.

Ghiaccio spit on his fingers before slowly rubbing your asshole - the sensation caused you to gasp - though it was muffled from Prosciutto’s cock being lodged in your throat. You could tell it was Ghiaccio by what he was doing- he knew what buttons of yours to press. You weren't going to complain though.

“Fuck. Bella - Im close.” Illuso spoke. “Wh-where should I finish?” he was starting to lose his composure.

Prosciutto was then courteous enough to pull out from your mouth, allowing you a moment to catch your breath before you spoke up.

“Inside. I want, I want you all inside!” 

Your words alone, and everyone’s grunts and swearing was enough to make Illuso finish. He shot his seed deep inside you, and the sudden warmth and wetness caused you to clench down on both Illuso and Melones’ dicks. Melone didn’t want to end so early but the pressure was just too much. Seconds later, he finished as well, his cum mixing with Illuso’s as both men came to a stand-still. 

Slowly, Illuso pulled out first as he gave his shaft one last pump to get rid of any excess cum. Melone followed after. Both men lifted you off of them, careful not to let any cum spill out. Immediately, you lifted your ass up and remained in doggy style position.

As the two men backed up and sat back down to “cool down” from fucking you, Prosciutto then pushed Ghiaccio away and grabbed your hips tightly. He surveyed you for a moment as your hands continued to jerk off Pesci and Formaggio. 

“Pesci, you’re next - don’t cum all over her hands, you're going to fill her up too” Prosciutto snapped.

You looked up at pesci - clear worry and anxiety on his face. 

“B-but!! I'm going to cum soon…. Her hands are so soft… it feels so nice” Pesci retorded back. Prosciutto paid him no attention as he noticed a small dribble of cum slowly drip down your folds. He smirked at this, and used the head of his cock to slide both the cum and his cock into you. 

Prosciutto began to fuck you at a a rough pace, barely giving you time to adjust. Not like you needed it though, with all the cum lubricating your walls. He leaned down to pull your hair back and whisper in your ear. 

“My my.. I always knew you were a whore. Taking 3 mens cocks in one night? And letting them cum inside of you? Disgusting.” he hissed, landing a hard slap on your ass. 

You hated to admit it but everytime you and prosciutto fucked, he was always so vulgar and degrading. You loved it though. The deep tone of his voice and the smell of cigarettes that lingered in the air as he fucked you - it felt like heaven. Not being able to say much, you simply let out a whorish moan att his filthy comment.

“It's funny though, Dolcezza. Even though you’ve already taken 3 cocks, you’re still so -ngh- tight!”

You moaned again as your hands began to work Pesci andFormaggio’s cocks quicker. 

In the background, you could hear the faint laughter and conversations between the 8 men, going on about how good you are and how much of a slut you are being, but there was one voice you couldn’t hear - Risotto.

You quickly surveyed the room as best as you can, trying to find him. Meanwhile, you were letting out cute moans and grunts here and there, particularly, whenever Prosciutto hit your cervix. Finally your eyes settled on him. There he was, sitting in his black leather chair, stoic as ever - watching this all go down. Your eyes trailed to the massive girth underneath his pants which was more than noticeable. You bit your lip in anticipation just thinking of how good it would feel inside of you. It happened many times before, but taking the size of his cock was always the hardest. When prosciutto pulled your hair back, you let out an audible scream of pain and pleasure.

“You fucking Puttana.. Don't look at him! I'm the one fucking you right now!” he cursed, as he slapped your ass hard. You nodded your head as best as you can while risotto just smirked. 

Pesci pulled away from your grasp, panting

“I-if you don’t stop - ill cum all over your pretty face”Pesci whined. 

“it wouldn’t be the first time”, you thought.

While the other men laughed at him, you gave him a reassuring smile. He was always so kind to you. Prosciutto gestured for Pesci to join him, and after a few more seconds, Prosciutto came - spilling his seed inside of you and coating your walls white. He wasted no time in pulling out and pushing pesci into you, urging him to just hurry up and cum inside of you as well.

Prosciutto made his way back to your mouth, telling you to clean him up. And you did. You sucked him off clean before he tucked his flaccid dick back into his pants and walked away to sit somewhere. Pesci was so close to cumming, yet he still remained ever so gentle with you. It was a nice contrast compared to the others who were always so rough.

As you continued to jerk off formaggio, you urged pesci to cum! “You feel so Good, Pesci- you're such a good boy!” you said, hoping that would make him finish. After all, there were still 5 very needy men who wanted their turns. Seconds later, he came inside you as well, moaning louding. You already felt so full of cum - like you’d overflow at any given minute. But, there was still Formaggio, Ghiaccio, Sorbet, Gelato and of course, your Capo.

Prosciutto called Pesci over, slapping his neck enthusiastically as he congratulated him. 

Formaggio left your soft grasp and smirked, making his way behind you. “Finally, my turn!” he practically shouted. Just then, Gelato and sorbet, accompanied by Ghiaccio - came up to your face with their cocks out. You knew what that meant. 

As Formaggio began to thrust into you at a fast pace, you repeated what you were doing earlier in the night. Your hands grabbed onto whichever dick you could get between the three, while your mouth was shoved open by ghiaccio’s length.

The other men who had already finished were slowly beginning to get hard again as they watched you take 4 cocks at once. It was quite a lovely scene, and none of them could deny the fact that they missed how tight and wet your cunt felt around them.

A slap across your face from Ghiaccio seemed to knock you back to reality, and you altered your mouth movements so you could accommodate him better. It was intimidating, feeling all these eyes around you. Thank god for the alcohol, or you would have been a blushing-embarrassed mess by now.

Time seemed to be going by quicker every time, you almost didn’t even feel Formaggio cum inside you until he pulled out. You felt a small trail of it ooze out of you and immediately he used his sensitive cock head to push the dripping cum back into you.  

You were so close to overflowing. You knew you’d for sure be pregnant by the end of this. 

Ghiaccio pulled away from your mouth and pushed Formaggio aside, taking his spot. His thrusts were fast- and enough to pull you back and away from Sorbet & Gelato’s cocks. They shot Ghiaccio a look of disapproval but proceeded to wait it out.  Formaggio plopped down on the couch ; sinking into it as he shut his eyes. He always found sex to be so tiring. 

Ghiaccios thrusts were rough, and he pulled your hair back as he fucked into you like a jackhammer. Luckily for all this “lube” or you were positive that your pussy would be burning right now from his rough pace. He kept calling you a “puttana” over and over as he came inside of you. You bit down on your lip as you breathed in heavily, smiling to yourself as your pussy gratefully took in his cum, adding once again to the others. 

When he was finished, he made sure to let it be known how much of a whore you were, and how disgusted he felt with himself. However, none of the other men really paid him attention. It was Ghiaccio after all. What didn’t piss him off? 

Sorbet and Gelato took this into their own hands as soon as he was out of sight. They decided to double team you, like they always did. Sorbet slid underneath you - careful not to let you “tip” over and “spill” any cum. Meanwhile, Gelato lined himself up behind you. As if on queue - both men pushed inside of you at once, causing you to let out a gasp and a moan of pleasure. 

Whenever it was your night with them, they always loved to use you like this, though sometimes sorbet would fuck your ass while Gelato fucked your Pussy, and vice-versa. 

Both men gripped onto you tight as their thrusts increased.  When sorbet pulled out, Gelato pushed in. The contrast felt so nice as you felt the others sperm inside you make you extremely wet and slippery. 

As the two lovers came inside of you, their dicks were coated with a clear layer of cum- both from themselves and everything else.

You made sure to keep your ass in the air once again, as they exited your vicinity. 

Only one person left…

Risotto. 

Risotto was different from the others. He was quiet, and he rarely liked to engage in big group chatter. But with his team, it was different. 

He pushed you onto your back and put your legs over his shoulders - keeping you in the mating press position. It would be easier to take his full length this way anyways. As he leaned down to your face, he whispered:

“You’re such a cute little whore, Tesoro. Are you sure you’ve been stretched enough to take me? You know the others don’t compare-“ 

You held onto his cheeks and kissed him passionately. 

“You know your cock is the only one that can make me cum ~” 

You smiled at him as he pushed his length in as far as it could go. It was true what you said, risotto was the only one who could make you cum - and you felt extra attached to him for it. The way his thick cock felt inside of you was like heaven as you rubbed yourself to orgasm. 

Risotto started to thrust into you slowly. Even though he had waited all this time, and was practically straining against himself - he was still always so kind and gentle, only being rough when you begged for it. 

You could feel all the cum inside of you swishing around and mixing together. There. Was. So. Much ! 

Luckily risotto was so big, his cock acted like a plug of some sorts - keeping it all inside of you. That was, until, your orgasm approached. 

Using your slender fingers, you began to rub your clit, moaning as loud as you could to get the other men’s attention. You wanted them to know WHO was making you feel like this. Risotto just smirked as he continued to fuck you. It was a nice confidence boost, knowing he could make you moan from pleasure. 

Moments later, you screamed out your Capo’s name as you came all over his cock. The clenching of your walls sent him over the edge, and finally, he spilled his seed inside of you as well.  Some of it was even leaking out of the sides of your cunt.  As you both took a moment to catch your breath, risotto planted a chaste kiss on your forehead before holding your legs up and pulling out slowly. 

The other men got up from where they were and immediately turned their attention to you. Once again, the intense gaze of their eyes felt embarrassing, but you  couldn’t help but embrace how slutty you felt. 

The 9 men in the room looked at your cunt. Red, used, and gaping, as a small white ooze could be seen making its way out. 

You used your index and middle finger to gently rub the over-sensitive bundle of nerves, and sure enough, a gush of their cum came squirting out of you. 

All the men stared in awe as you chuckled and bit your lip. Thanks to Risotto holding your legs up and apart, it was easier to see just how much cum was inside of your small hole. 

“You’ve got to be pregnant after this Bella!” Melone shouted enthusiastically, though that was the last thing you wanted to think of right now. 

Melone walked up to you and scooped up some of the cum with his fingers, bringing it to your mouth and forcing you to suck his fingers clean.  

“Mmmm. Di molto ~” he hummed.

It took a few minutes, but as soon as you felt like most of their cum was out, Risotto let your legs go and you sat down, catching your breath.  The couch was now a mess, filled with sweat, cum and god knows what else. You were not going to have fun cleaning this tomorrow. 

Slowly as the night tapered off and the alcohol wore of, each man headed back to their rooms to get ready for bed. 

When all was said and done, you quickly showered, brushed your teeth, and plopped down in your bed - naked. Tonight was definitely satisfying. 

“I hope they all fuck me again…” you mumbled, before drifting off to sleep. Risotto, Prosciutto and all the other La Squadra members had heard this, as they stood outside of your door, watching your sleeping form. 

Maybe your wish would come true. 

[bellemorte180]

Just Good Business: Chapter One

Caroline Salvatore, married into one of New York's most brutal crime families.

Niklaus Mikaelson, a notorious mob boss who is hell bent on taking down the Salvatore brothers.

It's an affair for the ages.

Based on my drabble under the same name.

@itsnotacrimetoloveyou, this is for you

WARNING: There are depictions of graphic violence, sex, suicidal thoughts and domestic abuse. This is not a light and fluffy story.

Chapter One

Caroline looked around the ballroom, seeing the elegance and glamour that lingered from the chandleries to the champagne that flowed in their flutes. New York’s richest gathered in order to flaunt their wealth, make shady deals and cover up their crimes. The party was nothing more than various alibis for a series of crimes that were bound to happen in the early hours of the morning. She used to love these parties, but that was before she realized what these people were capable of. What she was capable of.

She picked up her own glass and drank the champagne but the taste seemed lacking to her; much like everything else in her life. To the world at large, she lived in a big mansion with a rich husband and connections that reached farther than the average person. What Caroline saw was a gilded cage and a pillow made of silk, suffocating the life out of her.

She was Caroline Salvatore; Upper East Side Socialite married to one of the richest men in the city. Friends from the richest of families that cared little for her. A life everyone dreamed about.

As she downed the rest of her drink, allowing the alcohol to fog up her senses, she saw a hand outstretch to her. She looked over and saw her husband, Stefan Salvatore. He was handsome, she supposed but then again, she found nothing redeemable about him. He cared little for her and she cried as she walked down the aisle to him. The moment their names were etched onto the marriage certificate, he locked her away in a glamorous hell that Caroline had no means of escaping. He would kill her first if she even dared tried.

“Dance with me.” Stefan demanded. Caroline placed her glass down on the table and linked her hand with his. He led her to the dance-floor. He took her into his arms and spun her around, pretending to be the devoted husband he promised her mother he would be. “You’re not smiling. We cannot have our friends thinking our marriage is in trouble.”

“Friends? You don’t have friends.” Caroline replied and Stefan’s grip grew tighter. She knew that if he didn’t let go of her soon, his fingers would leave bruise marks on her skin. It wouldn’t be the first time and there were times that Caroline wished he would cross that line; kill her and be done with it.

“Enemies then.” Stefan retorted and it took everything in Caroline not to roll her eyes at him. “We are surrounded by people who given the right opportunity, would love to strike us down. Now, I need my wife to be happy. If you’re not smiling, laughing and being the social butterfly, I was promised when we married last year, our enemies will know that this is nothing more than a sham.”

And it was. Their marriage was nothing more than a business transaction that neither of them wanted. However, her mother needed some of her less than savory dealings covered up in order to stay Chief of Police and the Salvatore brothers were more than willing to oblige…. for a price. They wanted an in with the police and who better than the Chief? Caroline was nothing more than a bargaining chip; a life long hostage handed over for safe keeping to ensure that Elizabeth Forbes stayed in line.

“No. We wouldn’t want that.” Caroline forced a smile on her face. Stefan laughed and she could see that twinkle in his eye that he used moments before he killed. The Ripper. Untouchable. Uncontrollable. A man who thrived on the kill; and that man spun her around as though she was nothing more than a rag doll. “Better?”

“Perfect.” His voice was harsh and cold but Caroline had grown us to that by now. It was the only tone he ever used with her. “Now. I have a business meeting tonight. I won’t be home till late. Don’t wait up.”

Stefan leaned in and kissed her lightly on the lips before leaving her on the dance-floor. Seconds after his eyes were off of her, Caroline felt her mask fall. She saw a waiter walk by and she grabbed another glass of champagne. She weaved her way through the crowed. Passing ‘friends’ along the way such as Aurora de Martel or Haley Marshall; two-woman Stefan approved of because neither one asked to many questions. She saw Elena and Damon, dancing, drinking and laughing. They seemed perfect together but Caroline knew more. Damon was calculating and willing to do whatever it took to protect what was his. Elena was his; but there was something false behind Elena’s smiles. She was selfish in a way that made Caroline’s head spin. Their marriage was as much as a sham as Caroline’s. The terrifying part was that Damon did not realize it.

Not wanting to see the sight of them, she made her way through and unopened door. She wondered down the hall of the Four Season until she reached a utility door with the bright red words of exit’ hanging above the door. On a whim, Caroline pushed the door open and entered the stairway. She went up and up until she couldn’t anymore. She tried the door at the very top and to her surprise it was unlocked. It was the rooftop.

Caroline took in the view of the city. Even in darkest places of her mind, she could not help but admit that New York was beautiful. There was a life to it that was vibrant and pulsing. Especially at night when the city lights illuminated the buildings and the people. Caroline drained her glass and tossed it to the side, hearing the glass shatter on the ground. She kicked off her heels, allowing her feet to touch the concrete and walked toward the edge. She looked down the fifty-two stories.

Stefan and Damon wanted to paint a picture of the perfect life for the world to see. Both brothers happily married to beautiful women. Caroline wondered what the world would think if they found Caroline’s body on the ground after jumping those fifty-two stories. It would be instantaneous; hitting the ground. It would be better than suffering the life she had now. It would also show the world that maybe something was not right with the Salvatore brothers.

Caroline, carefully, eased her way up onto the ledge and looked down. It was high up and she could feel the wind of the cool February air. She was cold but she did not care. Her gown was a held up by thin white straps. Her bodice made of white lace while her deep navy skirt with a slit up the side. She looked beautiful and for a moment she wondered if her corpse would be gorgeous once it hit the ground. She didn’t care. If it put a notch in taking down Stefan, then her death would be worth something.

“Are you sure you want to do that Sweetheart?” A voice sounded from behind her. She turned to look over her shoulder and saw a handsome man standing behind her. He was in a tux, much like the rest of the men at the party. Stefan always spent a large amount of time on his hair but this man allowed his blonde locks loose. He was looking at her with curiosity; a look that alarmed Caroline slightly.

She knew exactly who he was.

Klaus Mikaelson. Head of the Mikaelson crime family and possibly the most dangerous man in this city. She had seen him from afar and heard Damon curse him enough times to know that he was no friend to either Stefan or Damon.

“What does it matter to you?”

“A beautiful woman like yourself contemplating taking her life?” Klaus walked up to the edge and leaned against it. “I think that matters to me greatly.”

“Why? Would you rather push me yourself?”

“I could.” Caroline tensed. He would do it to. He would push her and turn around, not thinking twice. If Caroline was going to die, she wanted it to be on her terms. She refused to be a pawn in this feud any longer. “If you really want me to. If you believe that your life has no meaning. I thought about it myself once or twice over the years, truth be told. But I’ll let you in on a little secret, there is a whole world out there waiting for you. Great cities and art and music and genuine beauty. And you can have it all. All you have to do is ask.”

“Ask what?” Caroline bit back. The life he painted was one she once craved. She wanted to have the world at her fingertips, not locked away; a doll only brought out to be paraded around before being tossed aside. The fire in her tone caused Klaus to smile, dimples appearing on his cheeks that made him look far more handsome than before. He held out his hand to her.

“Dance with me.” Caroline looked at his outstretched hand and much like she had done earlier in the evening with Stefan, she placed her hand into his; Klaus helped her off the ledge. He pulled her into his arms and despite the fact that there was no music. His touch was gentle and calming. Caroline felt more at home in his arms than she did of the man she married.

“Do you know who I am?” She whispered.

“You’re Caroline Salvatore, formally Forbes. The wife of Stefan Salvatore. Married just over a year and what a happy marriage it must be if it has you up here contemplating taking your own life.”

“Instead I’m dancing on a roof top with his biggest rival.” Caroline whispered. “Why?”

“So, you have heard of me.” His smile grew wide as though he was proud at the fact that she knew he was a killer, drug lord, king pin or some other name given to those who run and operate a crime family. She knew that he had fingers in all sorts of business; such as that his brother was high up in the FBI and that his reach stretched far beyond New York. He was everything Damon wanted to be and everything he wasn’t. “I followed you up here because I think you and I have a mutual interest.”

“Oh really? And what is that?”

“We both want the Salvatore brother’s dead.” Caroline froze in his arms and her eyes shot up to his. “Come now Sweetheart. We both know it is true. You never wanted to be married to him and are looking for a way out. I’m offering you one. It may not be as instantaneous as jumping from a ledge but the outcome will be far sweeter.” Klaus stepped away and brought her hand to his lips. “Thank on it, love and I’ll see you soon.”

With that, Klaus dropped her hand and headed toward the stairway that lead back down to the party. Caroline watched after him, feeling a slight crack in her prison walls as he went. She looked over to the ledge again, debating. She turned away, bent down and slipped on her shoes. Klaus saw Caroline rejoin the party and a look passed between them; a mutual understanding.

In the wee hours of the morning, Caroline laid in bed thinking about Klaus’s offer. She wanted out of this marriage and divorce was not an option. Her mind turned with the possibility but Caroline just did not know if it was worth the risk. If she betrayed them, she was dead; her mother would be dead and the little Caroline cared for would crumble. Then there was that part of her brain that couldn’t but start the stirrings of desire. A desire to be free.

Before she was able to ponder her fate longer, she heard the bedroom door open. She sat up in bed to see Stefan looking at her. She reached over and turned on the bedside lamp. The light shined and Caroline had to withhold her scream. From head to toe, Stefan was covered in blood. He cocked his head to the side and she could see the mania behind his eyes.

“Come.” Caroline followed his instructions and pulled herself out of the bed. She walked over to him and once she reached him, Stefan placed his hands on her hips; spinning her around. He inhaled the scent of her hair before he tailed a string of kisses down her neck; and Caroline let him. She laid willing for him, as she had always done before. This time was different.

Stefan never fucked her while wearing his victims’ blood before.

In the morning, Caroline cleaned herself the best she could. As she looked at herself in the mirror, she could still feel Stefan’s hands on her and him inside of her, reliving his blood-lust. It made her stomach turn and she needed to get out of the house. She grabbed her bag and coat but when she opened the bedroom door, Stefan stood on the other side of it.

“Where are you going?” Stefan asked in his typical bored voice. In truth, he could care less what she did as long as she stayed in line. As long as she continued to be controllable.

“I don’t know. Shopping maybe. I just need to get out of the house.” Caroline replied. Stefan looked down at her as though he was searching for something; waiting for her to do something. After a moment, he nodded his head and let her pass.

“Take Enzo with you.” With that, Stefan entered their bedroom and closed the door behind him. Enzo. Her ever present bodyguard. In truth, Caroline did not mind Enzo. He was funny and genially tried to make her smile. He let slip once that he didn’t like how Stefan treated her; having found her crying one to many times or cleaned her up when Stefan got too rough. The catch was, he was on Damon’s payroll and betraying his employer was a one-way ticket to an early grave.

Caroline searched out Enzo, telling him she needed to get out of the house and that he was to accompany her. As she climbed into the back of the car, she saw Damon and Elena’s car pull into the drive. She wondered what they were doing there so early but Caroline did not care. She needed to put some distance between herself and Stefan.

“Where to Gorgeous?”

“Anywhere. I don’t care.” Enzo nodded and pulled out of the drive and into calm street of their New York suburb. He drove into the city and Caroline was so lost in her own thoughts that she did not notice that they were in a bad part of town. Enzo pulled into a back alleyway and it wasn’t until the car stopped that Caroline paused. “Where are we?” “You’ll see.” Enzo got out of the car and opened her door, holding out his hand to help her.

“Did Stefan order you to kill me?”

“Even if he did, I wouldn’t.” Enzo smiled at her and she believed him. If anything, he would warn her and let her fake her death. She almost wished Stefan ordered a hit on her and Enzo has her hit man. Caroline looked up to the old abandoned warehouse and rolled her eyes. Enzo led her to a door and opened it. “I promise you; no harm will come to you inside. I won’t let it.”

Caroline nodded and she stepped forward. It was dark inside but there were a few florescent lights that hung from the ceiling, casting enough light to create more shadows. She walked forward, listening to her heels hit the concrete flooring. Enzo walked beside her, seemingly completely at ease. Once the reached a bit further into the warehouse, a man moved out from behind a pillar.

“Klaus.” Caroline whispered.

“Thank you, Enzo, for informing me that Caroline would have a moment alone.” Klaus spoke to other man and Caroline’s eyes traveled between the two of them. She could not fathom what was happening. Enzo worked for her husband and brother-in-law but if he was having dealings with Klaus…

“What?”

“Damon and Stefan are not the only ones who pay me Gorgeous.” Enzo drawled out. He tilted his head towards Klaus. “I work for Klaus.”

“I hired Enzo specifically to infiltrate the Salvatore home. He has been my man for years and when he fed me some interesting information on the state of your marriage, it made me wonder if perhaps, you and I could come to an agreement.” Klaus replied. “I was honest with you last night Sweetheart. We want the same thing.”

“I don’t want to be a pawn in anyone’s game.” Caroline hissed out. She glared at Enzo, not believing what he was bringing into her life. He was risking his life by spying on Stefan and Damon. There was something more in it for him than money. Enzo was not foolish enough to be a double agent without leverage. She could easily turn in him and he would be dead before sunrise. She wouldn’t but the fact that she could was present in the back of her mind. “Not even yours.”

“I know.” Klaus signed. He reached inside his coat jacket and pulled out a small manila envelope. He gave her a pitying look and she could not see the reason behind it. “After the gala last night. Where did your husband go?”

“I don’t know.” Caroline replied, the memory of Stefan covered in blood focused in her mind again. Klaus gave her a sad smile and walked over to her. He handed her the envelope and with hesitant hands, she took it from him. Inside were a series of pictures; pictures of her mother. The scene was bloody and horrifying. Elizabeth Forbes’s head was completely detached from her body and blood was spattered across the room. She knew what that meant. She knew his signature. The memory of Stefan inside her mere hours earlier flashed before her. The blood he wore while he fucked her was her mother’s. “I’m going to be sick.”

She dropped the pictures and ran over to a pillar. She dry-heaved and coughed up the bile that formed in her throat. A hand came up from behind her and pulled the hair from her face. It wasn’t Enzo. The smell of the cologne was different. She turned her head slightly and saw Klaus staring at her. He wore a sympathetic look upon his feathers that Caroline wondered was genuine.

“I’m sorry, Sweetheart.”

“Why? Why did he do this?”

“From what I know, your mother went back on a deal she had with the Salvatore’s. She stepped out of the line they drew for her.” Klaus replied and Caroline closed her eyes. Her mother made her bed and now Caroline was going to face the consequences. She looked at the pictures lying on the ground, knowing that the memory of them would live with her forever. “Stefan went to her last night to…. settle things. I was not made aware of her death until after it happened.”

“And what do you want from me?”

“The same thing I said to you on that rooftop.”

“Bullshit.” Caroline hissed out and Klaus eyed her. He could see the fire behind her ice blue eyes. Enzo reported a lifeless woman who was trapped in a cage, needing to find a way out. He certainly saw her desperation when she stood on that ledge but there was more to Caroline than he realized. She had a quick mind behind that beautiful face and a fire that burned under her skin. She was far stronger than anyone gave her credit for. Klaus quickly found himself wanting to know more.

“Now, now. I’ve killed people for less than the way you just spoke to me.” Caroline’s gaze did not waiver. He could kill her right now and she honestly did not care in that moment. The one person she still cared for was dead. The fact that she did not fear death intrigued him. He had killed many people and they all begged; but it appeared that Caroline would not be one of them. That earned his respect. “My brother Kol was murdered six months ago.”

“I know.” Caroline replied. Stefan and Damon threw a party at his death; a crack in the Mikaelson family, something very hard to do. While they did not murder Kol directly, Damon hired Jeremy Gilbert to do it for them. It was a job they did not trust just anyone to carry out such an important task. No. They hired Elena’s hitman of a brother to do it instead. “The celebration they threw lasted days. I thought it was cruel.”

There was a flash in Klaus’s eyes; something fierce. She could see the monster lingering beneath his beautiful face but she could see that his rage was not directed at her. She knew what a monster looked like who hated her. She slept in his bed every night.

“I want them dead. They took my brother so I plan to take everything from them. Slowly.” Klaus gave Caroline a sinister smile. “I’ve already started. A few financial deals here. A side business there. Damon isn’t as smart as he thinks he is.”

“And where do I play into this?”

“Information.”

“I don’t know anything. As you know, Stefan and I are not on the best of terms.”

“You know more than you think. Much like Enzo, you would filter information to me when you learn it. Your job would be to observe in the only way a wife can and in return, I’ll help you get out of this marriage you despise.” Caroline looked at him and she knew she was contemplating it. “Not now. Think on it. Let me know when you’ve made a decision. But think on this Sweetheart. Wouldn’t you want to revenge on the man who murdered your mother?”

“We should go.” Enzo replied and Caroline nodded. She gave Klaus a look, searching him. She could see that this was far more personal than he was saying. This went far beyond Kol’s death. Klaus was going to rain blood down on this city and one way or another, Caroline was going to be caught in the middle of it.

“Think on it Sweetheart, but know this. While you husband was murdering your mother last night; I was committing a murder of my own.” Caroline shot him a confused look but allowed Enzo to usher her outside and into the car. As she sat in the back of the car, her mind raced.

Her mother was dead. Murdered. Tears fell down her cheeks as her grief took her over. She didn’t hear Enzo’s soothing words from the driver’s seat or see the scenery passing by. Before she realized it, they had pulled into the drive of the home she shared with Stefan; but Caroline could not move. She just continued to cry. When she was able to calm her self down, Enzo opened the door.

The scene Caroline walked into could only be described as chaos. Elena was wailing on the ground, Damon holding her close to his chest. Stefan was looking at the scene in completely fury. Caroline wondered what Stefan would give to be in Damon’s place. By the number of times Stefan whispered Elena’s name in her ear after sex, it did not take a genius to figure out that Stefan was in love with his brother’s wife.

Caroline spotted a series of photos scattered across the floor. She walked slowly over to one and Klaus’s voice rang loud and clear in her ear. While you husband was murdering your mother last night; I was committing a murder of my own. The pictures showed a mutilated body, hanging spread eagle on a giant plank in the shape of a ‘x’.

Jeremy Gilbert was dead. A giant ‘M’ carved into his chest.

She felt Stefan’s presence behind her. She turned to look at him. He saw her bloodshot eyes and her reddened face. He studied her and as always, Caroline wondered what he found when he seemingly peered into, he soul.

“You know. About Elizabeth?”

“Yes. I just heard.”

“It was unavoidable.” With no sympathy, Stefan turned from her and walked over to Elena. She was still screaming in agony, clutching at her brown hair. Damon was whispering to her. The look of compassion he gave Elena caused Caroline’s fury to increase. “This was all Klaus Mikaelson. I promise you we will take him down for this. I will hand you his head on a silver platter.”

Within the next several days, Caroline buried her mother. Elizabeth Forbes had been the Chief of Police and the manner of her death caused a media stir. Caroline found no peace and her funeral was very public. The wake that was held at her home with Stefan felt more like a media circus than a goodbye to her mother. Stefan stayed by her side the entire time, playing the loving husband the entire time. He told the concerned onlookers what a tragedy had befallen their family. He touched the small of her back or held her hand. Each touch made Caroline’s skin burn in anger.

She wanted to claw Stefan’s eyes out from his head. She wanted to hurt him in the worst way possible. Her grief was turning into anger and Caroline found that she was able to hang onto that. She plotted but kept her mask in place. She knew she needed to strike at Stefan and the only way possible to do that would be to do one thing that would hurt him the most; it was a plan that Caroline clung to.

The only relief she found was that Elena couldn’t publicly mourn Jeremy. Jeremy Gilbert was a known fugitive and as far as New York knew, he was still on the run and the siblings were on bad terms. Jeremy was the bad apple while Elena the saint. So, Elena was forced to pretend that her brother was alive but his whereabouts unknown while watching Caroline publicly mourn her loss.

Caroline received all the sympathy.

Caroline was the one who had ability to have a funeral.

Caroline was smiled upon as though she was the center of the universe for a short while.

It was petty but Caroline enjoyed watching Elena’s anger at the fact that she couldn’t show her grief for her brother. It also was tempting to smile when an arrangement of flowers, rubbing salt into Elena’s wound.

I’m sorry for your losses. K. M.

In that moment, Caroline made her decision. She knew what her answer was. Once the last person from the wake left her house and Stefan was able to drop the act of being the worried husband, Caroline could not stand looking at any of them for another second.

“I need to go.” She reached for her purse, not carrying that she was still in the tight black dress and stilettos. She looked the part of a wealthy woman of the Upper East Side who was in mourning. She looked the part and could care less if it was bad timing. She should change at the very least; shed the mourning clothes from her body. Instead she grabbed her thick black coat and slipped it on.

“Go where?” Stefan asked.

“I don’t know. I just need to think.”

“You’re staying.”

“Let her go Stefan.” Elena’s voice chimed in. Her tone had a dead ring to it. It wasn’t that Elena was looking at her cruelly, but just in annoyance. Elena and Caroline’s relationship had always been complicated. Neither one would call it friendship, although to the outside world Elena claimed to be Caroline’s best friend. They smiled and laughed together when the cameras were on them but pulled apart the moment they turned away. “She just lost her mom. She is grieving.”

“Take Enzo with you.” Stefan commanded, never being able to deny Elena anything. Enzo, who was standing in earshot appeared quickly and followed Caroline out of the house. She was moving like a bat out of hell and just needed to get away from that house. She slid into the back of the car, calming her breath as best as she could.

“Where to?”

“You know where.” Enzo nodded and drove. He drove for a good while, ensuring that they were not being followed. Damon and Stefan were distracted so it was unlikely they would put anyone else on their trail but Enzo was a professional. He was always precise so he pulled into a parking garage. They got out of the car and Enzo led Caroline to a second vehicle. This was a big SUV, different from the town cars Stefan and Damon preferred to use. More importantly; it wasn’t tracked.

Enzo drove her across town to a tall building. Much like before, he pulled into a parking garage but this time they did not switch cars. He led her to an elevator and pulled out his phone. He punched in a code that had been sent to him and the elevator lifted upward. Once at the top, the doors opened and Caroline realized where she was.

Klaus’s office.

Klaus was standing on the other side perched on the side of his desk. He was unsurprised to see her but then again, she saw Enzo texting on an unfamiliar phone. Klaus was expecting her and Caroline just strolled into his office; never removing her eyes from him.

The office was massive. Windows on one wall that stood from floor to ceiling, providing Klaus with an amazing view of the city. Caroline looked around and saw priceless works of art on the walls. The furniture was expensive and Caroline could not help but applaud the man’s taste. This was where Klaus played with people’s lives; who lived and who died. A shell company much like Stefan and Damon’s, only far older and far more powerful.

“Leave us Enzo.” Caroline commanded. Enzo looked between Klaus and Caroline, unsure if he should leave her alone. Klaus however, nodded to the other man and waited for Enzo to head back down the elevator. Klaus pushed away from the desk and walked over to a bar cart. He poured two tumblers of bourbon and handed her one. Caroline took a few sips before turning back to Klaus, who had been silent but watched her like a hawk. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

“You want to strike at Damon for ordering the hit on your brother.” She took another sip. “Because we both know it was Damon who ordered it, it’s why you’re keener on him than anyone else.”

“Damon flaunted that he was the one who hired the Gilbert boy to murder my brother. Yes.” His eyes lingered over her and she could see the desire pooling in his eyes. He found her fascinating. The entire city had eyes on Caroline since the news of Elizabeth’s murder rang through the streets. An investigation was formed but would go nowhere; they both knew that. The mystery of her death would remain unsolved. Along with the rest of the city, Klaus was watching her; gazing at the woman who could put on the best act of them all.

“And sending him Jeremy Gilbert’s body as a message had the desire effect. I can assure you that.” Klaus cocked his eyebrow at her. She knew that he was aware that using Jeremy would send the desired message to Damon. A message stating that Klaus was coming for him but the truth was far darker than Klaus realized and Caroline was going to spell it out for him. “But I don’t think you realize just how far you went in sending that message.”

“Then tell me.”

“After we met that morning at the warehouse, I went home. I was grieving over my dead mother and when I walked into my front door, I found Elena in my sitting room, wailing as though her heart was being ripped from her chest. Damon was playing the good husband and comforting her.” Caroline rolled her eyes and Klaus’s lips perked up at her annoyance. “Stefan saw it immediately. He knew that I was aware of my mother’s death. He told me it was ‘unavoidable’.”

“Go on.”

“He showed me no remorse or sympathy. He came home that night and fucked me while he still had my mother’s blood on his skin.” Klaus’s eyebrows shot up at that but said nothing. Caroline could not help but notice how his grey-blue eyes grew a hint darker. “He simply walked away from me and then bent down to comfort Elena. He promised to hand your head to her on a silver platter.”

“Interesting.” She could see the calculation behind Klaus’s eyes. What Klaus wanted from her was an understanding on what went on behind closed doors in the Salvatore home. There was only so much Enzo could give him from a business standpoint but Klaus wanted more. He wanted the most personal information on the brothers in order to strike where it hurt the hardest. “And why would Stefan be more concerned with Elena’s pain than his wife’s.”

“Because he is in love with her.” Caroline replied in a matter of fact tone. Klaus stood straighter at that and she could see the million possibilities running through his mind. This he had not known. “The key to destroying all that the Salvatore brother’s hold dear is Elena. You have both of them gunning for your head because you made her cry.”

“Well that is interesting. Perhaps I should just have her killed?”

“You could but that isn’t smart and you know it.”

“Do I?” Klaus asked, testing her; seeing how her beautiful mind worked.

“Kill Elena and all you will have is two very pissed off Salvatore brothers on your hand. They will band together in their grief and strike at you and hard. Nothing is as powerful as the feeling of revenge. Kill Elena and Damon and Stefan will become your worst nightmare.” Klaus was smiling widely at her, a hint of pride etched in his eyes. “But you knew that.”

“Then what is our plan?” Klaus asked. He was testing her, seeing how her mind worked. Typically, Caroline hated being toyed with; she got enough of that at home. However, she wanted to prove to someone that she was more than just a pretty face.

“Turn brother against brother. Use Elena.” Caroline paused. “I don’t know how yet but Elena is the key in doing so. Both love her and both want her. I don’t know if Stefan and Elena are sleeping together but I’ll find out.”

“Then we have a deal.” Klaus stepped towards her and peered down at her. He took the glass from her hand and drank the remanding amber liquid. He was gazing at her and Caroline would not look away. The woman who wanted to jump from that roof top still lingered but he saw the truth behind why she wanted to jump. It wasn’t just a death wish, she wanted to strike at Stefan and Damon in the only way she could. “And what is it that you want in return for this information, Sweetheart.”

Caroline reached up and placed her hands on his chest. She eased out a few crinkles in his crisp white shirt. She could feel his muscles behind his shirt tense at the feeling of her fingertips caress him. She peaked at him from behind her eyelashes.

“Stefan hates you with a passion right now. Cursing your name every time he looks at Elena’s sad eyes. There is a fire burning in him to see you dead.” Klaus seemed amused at that. “What I want is petty and selfish and wrong on so many levels.”

“Say it.”

“I want to go to sleep every night knowing that I’ve fucked the one man who my husband hates most in the world.” There was a crackle between them that fizzled and popped. Both understood what this was. Caroline wanted in his bed for the soul purpose of being able to look at Stefan, knowing that she fucked the one man he wanted dead. It was a sort of petty revenge she needed in order to strike back from her mother’s murder and at the moment, this was the best possible way to do that.

For Klaus, it was one in the same. What was the best leverage over a man than bedding his wife? Sure, Stefan could care less for Caroline but she was his. His toy and his property. He wouldn’t take kindly to knowing that Klaus had been inside his wife; touched his wife and even less if she enjoyed it. Klaus would ensure that she did…she would feel every inch of it, cry out his name. Then when Stefan bedded his wife, she would close her eyes and imagine that it was Klaus touching her.

“You’re playing with fire, love.”

“I don’t care.” Fire burned in Klaus’s eyes and the dam broke. He leaned down and pressed a hard kiss to Caroline’s lips. Caroline knew that this could end badly for her. Either Stefan could find out she betrayed him and kill her or Klaus betrayed her and she would meet the same end with different means. That didn’t faze her. It wasn’t enough for her to give up the fact that she would have this moment.

Caroline dug her nails into his chest, dragging them down his shirt. She pulled the shirt from his trousers and ripped it open; buttons scattering across the hardwood floor. Klaus tossed it aside and pulled his undershirt over his head. Caroline’s lips latched onto his bare skin, tasting him. Her teeth nipped at his nipple while his hands moved the zipper at the back of her dress. He pulled it down and Caroline felt her dress sage on her shoulders. She pushed the dress down and let it pool at her feet.

Klaus eyed her with anticipation. She was a beautiful woman and he would have wanted to fuck her either way. Her being Stefan’s wife was just the cherry on top a very delectable cake. Her bra and panties were a simple black but matched with her black pump and the sight sent blood rushing to his penis. She shot him a coy look, she knew that he was finding her desirable and having lacked that look from a man in so long, it was addicting.

Caroline reached behind her and unhooked her bra, allowing it to fall to the floor. Klaus, unable to help himself, palmed her breasts; his nails gracing over her erect nipple. Caroline hissed at the contact, causing Klaus to do it again.

“Heels stay on.” Klaus commanded and Caroline chuckled. She reached for his belt, slowly undoing it but Klaus stopped her. “Not this time love. Perhaps another time.”

“Cocky much? Who says this is not just a one-time thing?” Caroline teased him, her fingers running along the skin just underneath his trousers. Instead of answering her, Klaus lifted her up; causing Caroline to squeak in surprise. She wrapped her legs around his waist, arching her back and pressing her breasts against his naked chest. Klaus’s lips latched onto her and kissed her while he walked them towards his desk. He knocked the files and pictures onto the ground, neither caring about the sound of shattering glass.

“Because once I’m done with you Sweetheart, you’ll come back begging for more.” He sat her down on the desk and kissed his way down her neck. His teeth nipped and sucked at her chest and Caroline spread her legs, allowing him easier access to her body. She leaned back on her forearms and watched as his head dipped lower and lower. “Tell me, when was the last time you enjoyed sex?”

“It’s been awhile.” Klaus’s eyes peaked up at her, and cocked his eyebrow. “Stefan is not very kind in the bedroom…in more ways than one.” Klaus chuckled and Caroline could feel the vibrations against her skin. They both knew what she was not saying. Caroline hated Stefan and sleeping with him was torture. There was no arousal or pleasure in the act but she had no choice.

“And here he is, a bigger fool than I realized.” Klaus grabbed her leg and outstretched it. His lips kissed her ankle as he admired her long, toned legs and the stiletto attached to them. Klaus apparently was a leg man. His hands ran down the length of them until he reached the edges of her panties. He hooked his fingers into the crotch, gracing her clit as he went. Caroline whimpered at the slight brush and her reaction pleased him; making him brush against it a second time just to make her squirm. He pulled her panties down her legs and took them into his hand; bringing them to his nose. He inhaled her scent while his eyes devoured the sight of her naked and spread across his desk. He pocked her panties and knelt before her. “Let’s make up for lost time, shall we.”

His fingers traced the length of her slit, spreading her juices. Caroline cried out at the contact. He slipped one finger into her and then another. He pumped them in and out of her before bringing his lips to her clit. His tongue licked the length of her before he began circling her bundle of nerves.

“God! Klaus!” Caroline cried out his name, not caring who heard. No one saw her enter his office. For all his staff knew outside his office door was that Klaus was having sex with someone behind it but the who remained a mystery. She assumed that they were paid well enough not to care. She continued to watch him lick and suck her while she felt that tension build up inside her. It had been a long while since she felt any sort of relief and it snapped inside of her like glass breaking against a wall. It shattered her. She screamed and cried out illegible things that she couldn’t remember when she came to.

“Seeing you come undone…you’re beautiful.” Klaus whispered and stood up from in-between her legs. Caroline sat up and reached for his belt. Like she attempted to do before, she pulled the offending leather from Klaus’s pants loops; putting it out with a snap. She tossed the belt to the floor and unbuttoned his pants, shoving them down to his ankles. “Condom?”

“Birth control.” Caroline replied, gripping Klaus in her hand. He hissed at the contact. She began to stroke him, watching as his jaw clenched tightly. His hands gripped her hips roughly and there was a brief second, she wondered if his hands would leave a bruise. “Gentle now. Can’t leave marks, now can we?” Klaus’s hands loosed and she cupped his balls as a reward, massaging them lightly. “Stefan does not want kids so, can’t risk pregnancy. So, I get a shot in my arm every three months, so unless you have some disease that I need to be worried about? Because I’m clean. Trust me. I’ve checked.”

“Clean bill of health Sweetheart.”

“Then get inside me.” Caroline lined his penis up with her entrance and Klaus pushed inside. The feeling of him stretching her and filling her was incredible. He was bigger than Stefan so there were muscles that were stretched that she was not used to. Klaus wrapped his arms around her, pressing her to him. Slowly, he withdrew before pushing back in. The first few strokes where leisurely but as their rhythm began to build, his thrusts picked up. “Faster. Harder”

The desk under them creaked and groaned. The slapping of skin could be heard as Klaus pounded into her. Caroline’s nails dug down his back, leaving marks that that they both knew would take a few days to fade. She could feel herself building towards her peak again and Klaus could sense that she was the verge of another orgasm. He reached between them and rubbed her clit. Her walls clenched and Caroline was pushed off that cliff again. A few more pumps and Klaus followed suit.

Once their breathing calmed down, Klaus slipped out of her and Caroline whimpered at the loss. She sat there for a second and watched as Klaus bent down and pulled his trousers up his legs. Caroline held out her hand and Klaus just cocked an eyebrow at her in question.

“My panties.”

“Oh, no Sweetheart. I’m keeping those.”

“Seriously!” Caroline huffed in mock frustration causing him to chuckle. He looked her over, apprising her still naked body; seemingly way too proud for her liking. She rolled her eyes and stood from the desk. “Fine. Pull the alpha man act.”

Klaus all but doubled over in laughter as she picked up her bra, putting it on before stepping back into her black dress. She turned her back to him and pointed at the dress. Klaus stepped forward and zipped up the dress, his fingers gracing her back as he went. Despite what they had just done, the touch sent shivers down Caroline’s spine. Klaus leaned down and she felt his hot breath on her ear.

“There is no act, love. I am the alpha male.” Caroline turned to look at him and made a point to roll her eyes again. He was amused; his smile was wide and his eyes sparkled with mischief. He was content and there was something about him made Caroline want to please him again. She wanted to fuck him in order to get back at Stefan and now she realized she wanted to do it again for the sole purpose that he felt good.

Klaus pulled away from her and went to pick up his cell phone, stepping over glass that had shattered from a few of his picture frames that had been on his desk. Caroline spotted a mirror on the far wall near his office. Her hair was a mess. She scowled and pulled it from her bun. She ran her fingers through it and deciding to let it hang loose. She watched Klaus send a text message before walking over to her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and held her close as they listened to the sound of the elevator rising again.

“Until next time, Sweetheart.” Klaus kissed the side of her neck before pulling away; just in time for the elevator to ding and Enzo to step out. Enzo halted slightly, taking in the sight of the office. He was intelligent enough not to say anything but seeing the contents of Klaus’s desk on the floor and the smell of sex hanging in the hair; not the mention the fact that Klaus was shirtless, he knew exactly what had occurred.

Caroline just tossed him a cheek grin before heading to the elevator, swaying her hips ever so slightly as she went; knowing full well that Klaus was watching her. Enzo followed her inside and the moment the door closed on them; he just turned his head to look at her with a worried expression on his face.

“You’re playing a very dangerous game Gorgeous.”

“And you’re not?” Caroline retorted. Enzo just shrugged.

“I didn’t just fuck the devil.”

“Oh, shut up.” Caroline bit out. “Why are you doing this? Playing both sides, I mean? If Damon or Stefan learned that you were feeding information to Klaus or even that you brought me to see if, twice. They’d kill you. And don’t feed me some line about the money being good. I’m too smart for that.”

“It amazes me that neither Stefan nor Damon realize how smart you actually are.” Enzo muttered but refused to say more and Caroline was not going to push him. She just wanted to make a point. They walked across the parking garage and she climbed into the SUV. It wasn’t until they were sitting in traffic and Caroline was scrolling through her phone that Enzo spoke again. “Her name is Bonnie.”

“What?”

“My girl. Bonnie. She has a rare genetic disease. I couldn’t afford to get her the treatment she needs.” Caroline wilted ever so slightly. She did not know much about Enzo or the fact that he had a life apart from bloodshed and deception. “Klaus has connections. Vast connections. I provide him with whatever he needs and he ensures that Bonnie gets everything she needs to manage her condition. So yeah. It is not about the money.”

Caroline had nothing say. It made sense to her why Enzo did what he did but what amazed her was Klaus. She knew that he wasn’t providing, what Caroline assumed to be expensive medical care, out of the goodness of his heart. She could not begin to imagine what Enzo has done for Klaus to receive that kind of payment.

A second later, Caroline’s phone buzzed revealing an unknown number.

Thank you for today Sweetheart.

Caroline smiled but quickly deleted the message.

[degenerate-perturbation]

Chapters: 10/? Fandom: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Female Amell/Female Surana Characters: Female Amell, Female Surana, Anders, Velanna, Nathaniel Howe, Oghren (Dragon Age), Justice (Dragon Age), Sigrun (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Self-Harm, Blood Magic Series: Part 2 of void and light, blood and spirit Summary: Amell and Surana are out of the Circle, and are now free to build a life together. But when the prison doors fly open, what do you have in common with the one who was shackled next to you? What do you have in common, save for the chains that bound you both?

The problem, of course, was that for what felt like a long time, it was alright.

In the months that followed, Loriel threw herself into her work, driven half by guilt and half by some unknown manic energy. If before she was aloof, she was a ghost now. The few remaining Commander’s duties which she had retained gradually slid under Yvanne’s purvey. A couple of the new recruits didn’t even seem to realize that Yvanne wasn’t the actual Warden-Commander, and seemed very confused to take orders from her, given that they’d all thought the Hero of Ferelden was supposed to be an elf.

Loriel encouraged her to stop correcting them. In response to Yvanne’s protests, she simply said, “Oh, very well. You can be acting Warden-Commander instead. Does that satisfy?”

So Yvanne was acting Warden-Commander.

There was more to do now than ever, with the Ferelden Wardens still growing. To keep track of it all, Yvanne was obliged to withdraw from much of her old daily routine, and resort to delegation. She simply had no other choice. She spent more and more time at a desk taking reports, writing letters in Loriel’s name, hearing petitions. Sometimes if she ruled against somebody, they would demand to see the actual Arlessa and hear her opinion. Every time, Yvanne would dutifully fetch her, and every time, Loriel would listen to the dispute with a glazed expression, nod understandingly, and back up Yvanne’s decision, whatever it had been. Eventually, people stopped asking to see the actual Arlessa. The actual Arlessa unnerved them, anyway, with her black, black eyes, and her too-pale skin and all the grisly stories about what she had done to save Amaranthine.

It was just as well, because the departure of Anders—and Justice with him—had as good as ripped a gaping hole in the social fabric of the Vigil’s original Wardens, and left it to rapidly unravel. It wasn’t that they weren’t friends anymore, but they were no longer a group . Yvanne still tried to keep up with their lives, to the degree she still could. Were Velanna and Nathaniel together together, or just together? How were Felsi and the nugget doing? Did Sigrun need another book? But it was getting harder and harder, and it wasn’t making her happy anymore. It just reminded her of what didn't exist anymore.

They’d come together to accomplish something, and they’d accomplished it, and now they were inevitably drifting apart. Maybe that was just the way of things.

Things didn’t change all that much between her and Loriel. They still spent a great deal of time together. They ate together. They drank a restrained glass of evening red together. They went to bed together. Oh, yes, they went to bed. Back when Yvanne was a teenager and falling into a discreet closet with anybody she could get ahold of, just because it was something to get away it, she’d thought of sex as something sort of fun but mostly uncomfortable. She’d had no idea how good it could be, with someone you really loved, when you knew so much about each other, when you had all the time you wanted to explore anything you liked.

In fact, when Yvanne thought about her life now as opposed to even a few years ago, it was so good, so much better than anything she'd had any right to hope for. It wasn’t that she was never angry or afraid, but compared to the stew of constant, helpless rage and fear—this was the dream. This was the life that she had fought so hard for.

It had all been so intense before, but maybe that was just what it was to be young. Yvanne wasn’t that much older than she’d been, but she felt old, like the main part of her life was already over. She’d had her grand romance, her heroic adventure, and now the curtain had fallen. N ow she was an actor still standing on an empty stage, unaware that the play was over, and only just now beginning to feel foolish.

And month ticked after month, until another full turn of the seasons had come and gone, and still the days piled higher.

—

Yvanne woke suddenly. She didn’t jerk awake or scream, she was too used to nightmares for that. She just slowly became aware that she was safe in her bed, still human, still sane. She groped blindly in the dark for Loriel, but found her side of the bed cold and empty. Then she remembered that she’d gone to bed alone that night, as she did more and more often. But even on the nights when she got too tired or impatient to wait for Loriel, she always came to bed later. Usually if Yvane woke in the night, as she often did, there was someone there waiting for her. But not tonight.

For a while she lay in the dark feeling her sweat cool on her skin, until she was shivering. The Keep could get quite cold. Sure, she could have simply redrawn a fire sigil under the bed, but suddenly she didn’t really want to stay under the covers. With a sigh, she got out of bed and slipped into a heavy robe, feeling the cold flagstones on her bare feet.

It was a good thing that Loriel was never difficult to find.

Yvanne groped in the dark until she found the passageway to her laboratory. She felt oddly furtive going down there alone, for a reason she couldn’t pinpoint. It felt, irrationally, like a violation.

Loriel was asleep at the desk she kept down there, head on her folded arms, snoring softly. She woke right away when Yvanne touched her shoulder.

“Hm? You’re still up?” she yawned.

“Already up, more like," Yvanne said. "You never came to bed.”

Loriel rubbed her eyes. “What time is it?”

“Not too long til dawn, I think.”

“Oh, no...I’m sorry, love. I must have lost track of time, and...fallen asleep.”

“It’s alright. I only just woke up.” She eyed her. Was it the dim light of this room—the gas lamps had long since gone out, leaving only Loriel’s fading magelight wisp to illuminate it—or were the circles under her eyes deeper than before? “You should really try to sleep in a bed more often. You look tired.”

“Why were you up, anyway?” Loriel said, and Yvanne didn’t fail to notice that she hadn’t really responded to her last comment.

“Bad dreams,” Yvanne said briefly.

“Oh?”

She recognized that tone. No getting out of it. She waved a dismissive hand. “Usually I just get back to sleep, but you weren’t there. It was cold.” And I got worried.

“Darkspawn dreams?”

Yvanne considered lying. “Yes,” she said instead.

Loriel’s brow crumpled. “They’re still bad, then?”

“Not so bad,” Yvanne said vaguely. “Still not my favorite thing in the world, but better than they used to be, during the Blight and right afterward. Mostly I’m used to them. Are you coming to bed or are you going to spend the rest of the night impressing wood grain onto your cheek?”

She snorted. “I’ll come to bed. I’m clearly too tired to get anything done tonight, anyway.”

“Good,” Yvanne said, relieved. “We can sleep in tomorrow. You look like you need it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m fine.”

Yvanne rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Here, this might help a bit.” She put her hands on Loriel’s pale cheek and muttered a spell she’d known for a long time, now. A tiny wisp of a spirit came to her, and her hand glowed briefly blue against her skin.

Loriel let out a little breath. “That did help. What was it?”

“Blood-replenishing spell. Just helps along what the body does naturally.” She couldn’t help but remember. “We used to cast it on women giving birth. In Kinloch.” She shook her head, trying to dispel the memory like dusting a cobweb, but it was no good. “I used to hate doing that. Helping bring a life into this world that was just going to get sold to the Chantry. I never felt worse about being a healer.”

She trailed off. She rarely thought about Kinloch. Whenever she did, it was like she was back there, still teenaged and furious, and there was little she hated more than to feel that way.

Loriel noticed. She grabbed her hand. “Thank you for it. I do feel better. Let’s go to bed, then.”

“Right. Yeah.”

They turned to go upstairs.

Then Loriel said, “I’m going to get you out of this, you know.” She said it so low and quiet that Yvanne wasn’t sure it had even been meant for her.

“What?”

“The dreams,” Loriel said. A fey light was in her eyes. “The Blight, the Calling...all of it. I got you into this, and I’m going to get you out. I’m going to get us both out. I swear it.”

Yvanne fiddled uncomfortably with the end of one of her braids. “You don’t need to do that.”

“I do, though,” Loriel said, yawning. “I do.”

“I’ll settle for you sleeping in an actual bed with me,” Yvanne said. “Come on, let’s go. I’ll get the light.”

—

One day early in the spring a knock on her office door revealed Nathaniel. Straight-backed, proud-shouldered Nathaniel Howe, how different he was from the man she’d met (and screamed at) in the dungeons so long ago—though it hadn’t been that long, had it? Two years, going on three. Not so long at all, really, but it felt like ages.

He indulged her obvious desire for small-talk for a while, but Nathaniel Howe wasn’t a man to beat around the bush. He got right to the point—he was requesting a different posting, far from Vigil’s Keep.

“Why?” she asked, befuddled, slightly hurt, and doing a bad job of hiding it. “I mean, of course you can have whatever posting you want, but…”

He shrugged and muttered something that sounded perfectly reasonable and utterly empty, and even all her most skillful prying wasn’t enough to get anything approaching the truth out of him. All she could do was shrug and approve the transfer and sternly lecture him on the importance of regular reports, and he’d better believe that if she didn’t hear from him for too long there would be hell to pay, from her and Delilah both. Yvanne saw her more often these days. She’d left Ser Pounce-a-Lot with her months ago. It was just too damn sad to see the poor animal wandering around the Vigil without Anders there to take care of it, and she didn’t want reminders of him, anyway.

Nathaniel laughed and said he was sure there would be, and departed a few days later. It all seemed to happen so fast. Less than a week and another one of them was gone.

It was a real shame, too. Of the people Yvanne trusted most, Nathaniel was the only one with even a smidgen of leadership potential. She wanted trustworthy people in high positions of the Ferelden Warden’s command structure, and nobody else fit the bill. Velanna would have been her second choice, but the last time she'd had any authority, she’d lead her people to a grisly death. Sigrun was too much of a follower, too ready to defer and subvert herself. And Oghren was...Oghren.

Nathaniel, though—she wouldn’t have thought it when she first met him, but he would have made a fine commanding officer. She’d been hoping to make him her successor

But he was gone now.

Her first, most obvious thought was that something had happened between him and Velanna. She never had quite figured out the nature of their relationship, just that there almost definitely was some kind of relationship. Or perhaps there wasn’t, anymore. But asking Velanna was less than illuminating. Even the mention of Nathaniel in her presence was liable to send her abruptly out of the room, and the one time Yvanne risked asking her directly, she got snarled at so viciously that she didn’t feel inclined to try again.

But Velanna was going to be fine, Yvanne was pretty sure. Velanna was like the vines she used in combat—resilient, and ridiculously so. It was Sigrun that she was worried about. She couldn’t help but feel like the ex-Legionnaire was still just waiting for her chance to die.

“How are you holding up?” was Yvanne’s regular question to her.

“Oh, me? I’m fine,” Sigrun said, just as cheerful as ever. It was pretty easy to get her going. They talked about the book Sigrun was reading right now and whether it was any good (it wasn’t) and whether Yvanne should read it (she definitely should).

“But what about you?”

Yvanne stared blankly. “What about me?”

Sigrun laughed. “I mean, how are you doing? We hardly ever get to talk anymore. What with you being so busy.”

“We don’t, do we?” Yvanne sighed. “Funny how the months get away from you. I swear the whole summer passed without me noticing.”

“Haha, not me!” said Sigrun. “It’s still such a novelty to me. love watching the seasons change. My favorite is winter, when it snows.”

Yvanne remembered when summer had been a novelty. When snow was a delight, and the brilliance of autumn colors and spring flowers was a marvel unparalleled. For most of her life she had watched the seasons change from inside the tower walls.

Sigrun smiled slightly. “I really am fine, you know.”

“Wasn’t saying you weren’t,” Yvanne said, as though she hadn’t been doing a fair impression of an anxious mother hen for nearly a year now. “Just wanted to, you know. Check in.”

“Consider me checked.” And then she sighed. “I just miss them sometimes.”

A sudden, powerful wave of abject misery hit Yvanne before she could consciously stop it. She was supposed to be happy. She was supposed to have fought for this. How could she possibly be so ungrateful as not to want it anymore?

She had to talk to Loriel. She knew she did. But these days Loriel felt as remote and inaccessible as a high, locked tower.

And besides, it wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t intolerable. Mostly, she was happy. She was.

—

“Hey—is everything alright?”

Loriel’s head hit the pillow with a thump and a weak exhale. “Sorry, love, I think I’m just tired.”

Yvanne rolled off her. “No need to be sorry.” She tried not to sound petty or passive-aggressive about it, because she wasn’t. Or at least, not about this.

Loriel propped her head up, leaning on her elbow. “I can still…”

“No, it’s fine. You’re tired.”

Loriel was often tired lately. It was no wonder. She’d lost weight—a lot of weight, and she hadn’t had much to begin with. Her ribs and pelvis and collarbone all pressed thin against increasingly papery skin. And then there were the scars.

She’d started out being quite professional about it, when she’d first gotten heavily into what was essentially blood magic research with herself as the subject. Neat incisions with minimal scarring, or none at all if Yvanne was on hand. But as time went on she cared less and less about neatness. Both her thighs were covered with little marks. Her arms, too.

It was taking it out of her, the research. Yvanne had increasingly little idea of how it was going. Loriel didn’t talk about it as much as she used to. But her eyes were getting hollower, and the scars were getting sloppier, and some days Yvanne thought she looked like she might disappear altogether.

If Yvanne thought too much about it she’d start panicking. So she tried not to think too much about it. Maker knew all her attempts to talk to Loriel about it were about as useful as a square wagon wheel.

“That spell might help. The bl—”

“I know the one.” For a moment Yvanne thought to refuse. Loriel couldn’t cast it herself; blood magic interfered too much with her connection to the Fade, made spirit healing impossible for her. Maybe if Yvanne stopped helping her, if Loriel really had to feel everything she was doing to herself...

Maybe she’d stop, clear her head. Realize that what she was doing wasn’t helping anyone.

But who was she kidding? She was a born enabler. She’d never refused Loriel a thing. Wordlessly, she cast the spell.

Loriel let out a little breath of relief. Some color had returned to her cheeks, but she didn’t exactly look healthy. “Thank you. I owe so much to you.”

“Mm.”

Yvanne got under the covers, and, realizing that actually she was also pretty tired, resolved to sleep.

“Are you alright?” Loriel said.

She wished she hadn’t asked that. “I’m just worried about you,” Yvanne mumbled.

That upset her. It always did. “I’m sorry,” she said.

Yvanne groaned and buried her head under the pillow. “Stop being sorry already. It doesn’t help.”

“You’re the one who said you were worried.” Her voice wasn’t exactly petulant, but...

“You’re the one who asked.”

Loriel hmphed. “Excuse me, then, for having perfectly reasonable concern for my wife.”

Like she was falling or that old trick. “You’re excused.”

“I can get worried too, you know.”

You don’t, though. “I know.”

They lay in silence for a while.

“Are you even still attracted to me?” Loriel whispered.

Yvanne was so surprised that she took the pillow off her head and sat up. “What?”

“Am I ugly to you?”

“Andraste’s—no, you’re not. Of course you’re not.”

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” Loriel pulled the sheets tight across her shoulders. “I’ve changed. The way you look at me has changed.”

“Nothing’s changed. Not that, anyway.”

Loriel’s breath hitched. “I’m not an idiot, you know. It’s alright if you don’t want me anymore.”

“Stop it.”

“I’ll understand. Really, I will.”

“I said, stop it.”

Loriel fell silent.

“You are,” said Yvanne, “the most beautiful woman in the world. To me, you always will be.” She meant it. Even now. “But you’re really scaring the shit out of me lately.”

Loriel had given her that look before, lots of times, but never out of eyes so sunken.

“You’re not sleeping. You’re not eating. And the blood magic…”

“I’m doing this for you.”

“Yeah? I never asked for you to.”

“You did, though,” Loriel mumbled. “Not directly. But you did. You asked in a hundred little ways.”

“You never gave me any of what I really wanted,” Yvanne shot back. “And I’ve learned to live with it, haven’t I? I still love you, don’t I? So don’t—just, don’t.”

It wasn’t fair. Never was an exaggeration. But she’d already said it and there was no taking it back.

She rolled over and pretended to be asleep, marking the end of the conversation. Loriel didn’t pursue it. In fact, she got out of bed entirely. Yvanne lay awake for—she didn’t know how long. Maybe only minutes. Maybe longer. She was sure Loriel wouldn’t come back at all, that she’d gone back down to her lab, but she did. The bed creaked and there was a brief rush of cold air and there she was again. Yvanne wrapped her arms around her and didn’t even complain about her cold feet and cold hands, and Loriel buried her face in her neck. They didn’t mention the argument in the morning, and Yvanne tried not to think about how in the morning light, Loriel looked like she’d barely slept at all.

—

Yvanne spent more time around Oghren these days.

At first she told herself it was because she was going to help him get his life together. It had never sat well with her, the easy way Loriel seemed ready to give up on a person they both considered, in his own way, a friend. You can’t treat people like projects, Loriel would say, and Yvanne would sniff. What did she know? She hardly treated anyone like anything.

But after three separate failed interventions and countless falls off the wagon even Yvanne was starting to think that Loriel might have been right about this one.

But, hell, who else was she going to reminisce with? It almost seemed perverse to reminisce with Loriel. They’d been too close. The memories they shared of the Blight bent under the weight of the memories they shared of—everything else.

It was so easy, being around Oghren. He didn’t demand a damn thing, and it was so easy to laugh around him. All Yvanne would have to do was say, “Remember the poet-tree?” and they’d both be cackling for probably longer than the quality of the joke warranted.

The drink helped, but it was still funny.

Of course she drank. What else was she going to do?

Yvanne wondered sometimes what would happen, if she just disappeared. What would happen to the Keep? After the siege, she had become like an overbearing mother to this place and its people. What had happened with Anders had only strengthened the feeling. But really, did this place even need her? If she vanished one night, the next-most senior Warden would take over—it was some fellow name Tevye, who’d gotten promoted ahead of the older Wardens on the basis of basic competence and leadership ability—and between him and the robust administrative support that Yvanne had spent so long cultivating, the Keep would probably be fine. If she stayed in bed all day, probably nothing bad would happen at all.

Oh, sure, there were still plenty for her to do. Assignments to review. Letters to send. Rotations to sign off on. But it wasn’t the same. Anyone could have done it.

That was what she got, for being such a diligent leader. She had rendered herself obsolete.

It was a cold morning, the one where she realized she knew how Oghren felt.

They played cards together, and enabled. That was one nice thing, about being a spirit healer. No hangovers.

“You know some of these days I swear I’m not even needed around here,” she hiccuped.

“Y’say that like it’s a bad thing, Warden,” he said, and took another swig.

They played cards until they no longer had the dexterity to hold them.

“Oghren,” she said, throwing her head back to stare at the dancing lights above. “Oghren, I think I’m rotting.”

He just laughed as though she'd said something painfully naive. “Warden, we’re all rotting." He topped off her tankard. "Get yer kicks in while you can, and sod the rest."

--

Another night, another game. They bet drinks and played to lose.

“Why does anybody love anyone, anyway?” Yvanne said, staring at her terrible hand. “You ever think about that? You ever think about why you loved Branka, or Felsi, or the kid? Makes no damn sense, does it? Maybe you just love people because they’re there, and the love is inside of you, and it needs somewhere to go. Does that make sense?”

“No,” he said, and belched. “Y’shouldn’t’a reminded me of Branka. Now I need another drink.”

“What you need is to go soak your head.” But she poured him another drink anyway. Why the hell not? Weren’t they all dying, anyway? Weren’t they dying right this second, no matter what Loriel did or didn’t do?

“That’s what’s so funny about it all,” she said out loud. “It doesn’t matter at all that she’s killing herself over this! It doesn’t matter at all. We’re all dying. Not just us Wardens, either. All of us, every single one.” She laughed. “Maybe you were right.”

“Course I’m right, Warden.” He raised his tankard. “Say the toast. Drinks don’t count if you say a toast.”

“Get your kicks in,” Yvanne toasted. “Sod the rest.”

They drank.

“Y’know what I really like about you, Oghren?” she said. It was later. She didn’t know how much later. “I can say whatever the hell I want to you, and you’re not going to remember any of it in the morning. Anything I want! Stuff I usually won’t even think. You’re such a good goddamn friend. I’m glad we met."

Oghren made a noise halfway between a grunt and a belch.

“Too right.” She stared out over her tankard. “I just don’t understand why she’s doing this to me. I’ve told her she doesn’t need to. But it’s like arguing with the sea. She says she’s doing it for me, but I don’t want it. Why can’t she see that? Why would she do this to me?”

Why, indeed? She looked at Oghren, his meaty fist clenched around a dark red bottle. He had his vice. Yvanne was well on her way to the same one. Maybe Loriel’s was a little unusual, but was it any different?

Why would she do this to me? It was the question she’d been asking over and over again in her head. It was easier to obsess over the question, after all, than to obsess over the only reasonable answer—that what Loriel was doing had nothing to do with Yvanne at all.

“I love her so much,” she hiccupped. “But I can’t remember why ‘nymore. Maybe I’m drunk, ‘n that’s why I can’t remember. But I don’t think I can remember when I’m sober, either. But I do love her. I love her so much. You know?”

If Oghren knew he didn’t say so. He was already snoring in his chair.

Yvanne started crying. It was true. She did love her, so much. And maybe when the room stopped spinning she’d go upstairs and tell her so and maybe this time it would work.

Maybe an hour later she made it, but Loriel wasn’t there, and she fell asleep alone. She felt terrible in the morning, but not for very long.

—

One night she returned to their chambers so late that Loriel was there. That hardly ever happened anymore. Most nights Yvanne waited for her, and many nights out of those she didn’t manage to wait long enough.

“Loriel! My best friend! My wife! My beloved!” She swept her into a sloppy embraced, nearly overbalancing. She leaned on her, laying her head on her shoulder. Her hair smelled like sweat, iron, and the acrid stench of intensifying reagent. “You make me so damn sad.”

Loriel steadied her. Yvanne could feel her trembling beneath her weight, but she couldn’t seem to make herself stand up.

“You’ve been drinking,” Loriel said. It was an observation.

“So what if I have?” Yvanne snorted and drew back. “What else am I going to do?”

“You know I don’t like it when you drink.”

“Yes, well,” Yvanne said, waving a hand dismissively. “You do lots of things I don’t like, too.”

She sighed. “You should have some water.”

“Spirit healer, remember? Don’t need to bother. I’m hangover-proof!” She wiggled her fingers to demonstrate. “Anything goes wrong, I can just use magic to fix it. Isn’t that what you’re counting on?”

Loriel looked like she wanted to say something, and then thought better of it.

“Listen, Lori—I’ve been thinking,” Yvanne said. She wasn’t really all that drunk. Just enough to give her the courage to say this. “Maybe we should get out of here.”

Loriel eyed her, arms crossed across her belly. “What do you mean, get out of here?”

“Out of the Keep.”

“Like a vacation?”

“Sure, sure. Vacation,” Yvanne said vaguely. “Maybe one we don’t have to come back from.”

She watched Loriel’s face, which gave nothing away, not so much as a twitch.

“I mean, we’re not really even needed here, are we?” she barreled on, before Loriel could say anything. “Keep practically runs itself, at this point. We had a goal here, and we accomplished it, why stick around?”

For a bright moment it seemed as though Loriel were thinking about it. Or else it was just her imagination. “And where would we go, exactly?”

“I don’t know,” Yvanne said. “Does it matter? It can be anywhere.”

Loriel only looked at her. “I thought you wanted to stay here,” she said, in a voice much sharper than her expression belied.

“I did, but—”

“I thought you were growing your garden,” she said, cold.

“I was! And I did! And it’s grown now, it doesn’t need me anymore. Doesn’t need us.”

“Isn’t it funny,” Loriel said remotely, after a time, “how only one of us is ever happy at a time?”

“Oh, come on!” Yvanne burst out. “You can’t possibly expect me to believe that you’re really happy? You’re killing yourself.”

“I am happy, in my own way,” Loriel said evenly. “I have everything I need, right here. I enjoy my work.”

Yvanne meant to argue, but Loriel cut her off. “Do not fault me because my happiness doesn’t look like yours.”

“Come on, Lori,” she said, going soft, “Wouldn’t it be nice to run away together? We never got to do that, did we?”

“Always with the running away.” Loriel set her jaw. “You’re still running away. Because of course you are. When are you going to stop?”

“It was a turn of phrase,” Yvanne said defensively. “It doesn’t have to be away. It can be towards. Towards a future.” A future where Loriel didn’t need a blood-replenishing spell every few days. A future where they could actually be a part of the world. A future where they weren't rotting in here, in anticipation of a death that hadn't come yet.

Once, the world had offered itself to her imagination. She had always revolved around Loriel, but at a distance, and no more than she revolved around her in turn. But slowly that orbit had shrunk—and the worse Loriel got, the faster it narrowed, going faster and faster, until Loriel was all she could see, all she could think about in a rising panic that threatened to swallow her whole.

And Loriel, as always, stayed put.

“Towards a future,” Loriel said skeptically. “A future you’re also going to get tired of, in a couple months time?”

“That’s not—it isn’t—”

“It is, though. It is.” No sound but the two of their mingled breaths.

Loriel went on: “You told me about the dream the Sloth demon made for you, back during Uldred’s rebellion. You said we had children, in your dream.”

“I remember.” She still dreamed of it, sometimes. That dream had been full of sunlight. Not like their shadowed chambers here.

Funny, how their world had shrunk to these four walls. This room was the only one they ever saw each other in. Yvanne had every part of it committed to memory. The velvet canopy; the linen sheets; the copper bathtub in the corner; the fireplace; the woven rug. Their home, their prison. Loriel, her home, her prison.

“But how realistic was that, really?” Loriel whispered. “Would you have gotten tired of that, too?”

Yvanne struggled for the right response, choking on the unfairness of it all. Loriel could be awfully manipulative, when she wanted to be. She didn’t fault her for it. It had kept them alive in Kinloch. But she hated when she caught Loriel doing it to her, knowing that there must have been times where she didn’t catch her.

If she could have just explained—

No. That wasn’t true, was it? No matter how much she explained, Loriel wouldn’t want to hear it. Loriel would find some way to turn it around on her.

Unpleasantly, she was reminded of Wynne.

“I’m—going to take a walk,” she said. “Clear my head.”

She went out onto a parapet. She had proposed to her here. Right there, on that spot, in the moonlight much like the moonlight tonight. It had been—nearly two years ago, now.

Do not fault me because my happiness doesn’t look like yours.

This had not occurred to her. It was hitting her now, the idea that Loriel might really be happy. That, absent any looming threats or mandatory duties, she really did prefer this life above all others. That her aloneness, her work, her magic—was enough for her. That what Yvanne experienced as loneliness, stagnation, rot—Loriel simply experienced as contentment.

Now that was a sobering thought.

After all, she thought, why were they together at all? Because they loved each other. But why did they love each other? The same reason anybody loved anybody, of course. But the two of them, specifically?

Because they had been imprisoned together.

But now the prison walls were gone. They’d destroyed them, one by one. They’d been shackled beside one another, and now they weren’t. Now they were free.

Without the prison walls pressing down on them, without the shackles binding them together—why in the Maker's name would a pair of prisoners be so foolish as to flee together?

Yvanne looked at her wedding ring, a simple golden band, the least elaborate of all her rings. Wasn’t that a shackle, too?

Some days she wished she’d been a better study at shapeshifting. At the time she’d insisted that it was simply because Morrigan was such a bad teacher, and that was true, but it wasn’t why she’d failed at it. If only she’d tried a little harder, she might have at least acquired it. And then she might have turned into a bird and taken off from this parapet, wheeled in the air for as long as she liked, and maybe never returned.

But she wasn’t a bird and she wasn’t a shapeshifter. She was Yvanne Amell, and maybe she was fickle and thoughtless and everything Wynne had called her during their last meeting—but she had chosen this home, and this person. Again and again, she had chosen them.

Her head pulsed. She really did need some water. So she went back inside to live with her choices, such as they were.

[ilovemygaydad]

Friends in Dark Places [ch 17]

pairing: moxiety, logince, background eventual remile, background eventual remy/emile/deceit

WARNINGS: minor injury, food mentions, eating, nightmares, graphic depictions of injury/harm, screaming, insults, mentions of a will, mentions of abusive family members, anxiety, depression, possibly something else

tag list: @hufflepuffgirl01 @cocobearthe4th @cas-is-a-hunter@band-be-boss-blog @theunoriginaldaisy

a/n: jsyk, it’s totally okay to ask for a modified chapter if you need it or if i need to add tags! i get it, and it’s no problem for me to quick edit a chapter or whatever :) also, feel free to send requests or questions that you have!

a/n 2: this chapter kind of sucks but it’s meant to just be there for filler and to spark future plot points so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

first - previous - next - companions

consider buying me a coffee (please)

-

“Mom! Mommommommommom! Moooooom!” Patton yelled as he sprinted through the halls to the kitchen. Virgil followed at a more leisurely pace. He laughed softly when he heard the sharp thud as Pat slipped and fell in a heap.

When they had both entered the room, Mrs. Shea was already waiting for the news. “We did it!” Patton exclaimed, throwing his arms up in the air with excitement.

“No way! That’s amazing! We need to celebrate ASAP—are Roman and Logan busy tonight?” It was now obvious to Virgil where Patton had gotten his excitability and gestures from; his mother was just as much of an open book with expressions.

“Not sure. Virgil can you text them?” Patton didn’t even look back for an answer, already knowing Virgil was sending a text. They all talked for the few minutes it took to get a response, recounting their harrowing tale.

“They’ll be here in ten minutes, apparently,” Virgil said, glossing over the ridiculously long response. Who the hell even used “infinitesimal” in a text?

“Great. Is pizza good for dinner? I really don’t feel like—“ Patton and Virgil’s aggressive nods stopped Mrs. Shea in her tracks. “Alright. Pizza it is.”

Thirty minutes later, everyone was sat in the living room, which a space that Virgil had actually never been in before, with their own box of pizza. Patton sat on the floor with Virgil’s head in his lap, absently playing with his boyfriend’s hair, and Logan and Roman were cuddled on the couch. Everyone had worn comfy clothes--even Logan, who had originally claimed that sweat pants and a T-shirt were “unprofessional,” but a stern look from Roman swayed him just this once.

“I’m so glad you guys finally stopped the pining!” Mrs. Shea laughed. Logan nearly choked on his slice of pizza. “What? You guys were hopelessly in love with each other, but you both too ignorant to realize it. We all knew it.”

“Mom, a little subtlety never hurt,” Patton reprimanded, but he was laughing at Logan’s response, too.

“I’m just glad you’re all happy, hon. You boys are my kids.”

---

The curtains opened. No lights went on, no music played, and no costumes were on the actors. The booth was empty, save for Virgil in his Stage Manager chair. Although he was Sound Lead, he had other techies run the board.

Roman stepped up to the front of the stage, stopping just before the opening for the pit, and an unimpressed expression spread across his face. It was antagonistic, seeping into every one of Virgil’s bones and chilling him. He opened his mouth to speak. “This is your fault, Bad Plasmius! You didn’t do your job, and everyone else has to pay for it. Look at these disappointed audience members!” Roman gestured to the house, where hundreds of people filled the seats. Not a single one was empty.

“No! I-I made all the preparations! I’ve been making sure everything is on schedule; we should be good to start spiking the stage by Tuesday!” Virgil’s voice seemed dim to his ears, as if he were listening through water.

“That time has come and gone, Virgil. It’s your. Fault!” Roman jumped into the pit, and Virgil tried to reach out to stop him, but found himself falling backwards instead. He screamed, but no sound came out.

Then, suddenly, he was standing backstage. No—he was on the stage. The actors surrounded him, reaching out their arms and tearing at his clothing. Sharp fingernails ripped into his clothes and skin. Virgil bit back another scream as he felt blood start to ooze from his arms and legs and face.

---

“Virgil? Virgil, can you hear me?” Patton’s voice warbled in his mind, echoing in his ears.

“Wh-what happened?” Virgil hoarsely asked. He tried to sit up but was spontaneously hit by a wave of vertigo. His head hit the pillow softly as Patton continued to lean over him.

“I think you had a nightmare. I heard you screaming and came right away. God, I thought someone had broken in,” Patton mumbled. He ran a hand through his hair before standing up. “I’m going to grab you some water; don’t you dare move!”

Virgil obliged, laying completely still in his bed. It had all felt so real. Even though he knew opening night was still a few weeks away, he couldn’t help but feel panicked by his dream. Everything was riding on him. What if he messed up? What if there was a disaster opening night, and they couldn’t go on? So many “what if”s that would all be blamed on him.

He swallowed his worry as soon as Patton slipped through the door again. Virgil plastered a weak smile onto his face and graciously accepted the glass of water. He took a few tiny sips before placing the cup on the nightstand. When Pat slid into the bed, Virgil just cuddled up to his boyfriend and let go of his anxiety.

He tried to, at least.

-

The four boys ended up planning their make-up date for Friday. As soon as school was let out for the weekend, they piled into Logan’s car and drove to the diner. Emilia, perceptive as ever, was immediately able to see the newest relationship in their group.

“My, my! You boys are all just bundles of joy. I’m very proud of you.” All four at the table blushed. Emilia was one of the most genuine people any of them had ever met, and it was an honor to gain her blessing.

“Thanks, Em! So, can we get the usual?” Roman pressed. He was hungry, which was truly surprising. The kid was like an endless void that constantly needed an energy source to stop it from whining incessantly. Incessantly.

“Of course.” A silence blanketed their table as Emilia went back to the kitchen. It wasn’t necessarily awkward, but it wasn’t free of tension, either.

“So,” Virgil started. “I got an email from my dad’s secretary today…”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Logan worried, gnawing lightly at the skin of his thumb. Without hesitation, Roman grabbed his boyfriend’s hands in his own to prevent any bloody messes.

“I mean, it’s not bad per se… but, uh… Here, just read the email.” Virgil slid his phone to the center of the table.

To: vthomas@gmail.com

From: nathalieweber@thomasindustries.com

Subject: Daniel Thomas’ Will

As of May 4, 2017, upon Daniel Thomas’ death, all of his possessions will be given to his distant daughter Lily Andrews. Virgil Thomas will no longer receive anything from his father. The updates to this will have been overseen by Judge Raleigh Burns.

The three boys stared at Virgil as soon as they’d finished reading. He averted his gaze and tangled his headphones in his hands.

“I guess I have a sister. I’ve never heard of her, and, like, I don’t even know where she lives!” Virgil gestured wildly for a moment before resting his head on the table in exasperation.

“Sweetheart, I know this situation with your dad is really stressful, but we’ve just gotta take it one step at a time. How about we worry about this tomorrow morning and enjoy our date for now?” Patton ran his hand gently down his boyfriend’s back.

“Yeah, okay. Let’s just have fun.”

next

[in-arlathan]

Mythal’s Mark

Time period: Elvhenan Characters: Solas/Fen’Harel, Mythal, Elgar’nan, Andruil Chapters: 1/1, Length: 2,620 words Rating: Mature Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Self-Harm, Dealing with Self-Doubt

Summary: Mythal was murdered and chaos has begun to spread across Elvhenan. Determined to avenge his fallen mistress, a desperate Solas escapes into Arlathan Forest before the Evanuris can catch up with him. As night falls, he thinks about his plans for the future, and comes to a radical conclusion: If he wants to strike the elven gods down, he must shed his name and leave his former self behind.

A/N: This is an updated version of the fanfic I posted over @old-arlathan. Now with 50% less typos and more accurate terminology for the Elvhenan timeline. ;)

You can read this on AO3, too.

______

Cry havoc in the moonlight. Let the fire of vengeance burn. The cause is clear.

– from the inscription on the Altar of Mythal

It felt strange to leave Arlathan behind, unnatural even. For so long, the city had been a part of his life that it almost felt like it had become a part of being. His very first memory was of Arlathan, the mighty capital of Elvhenan, welcoming him to this world and showering him with its beauty. And he, a young spirit who had just taken a physical form, had marveled at it.

The city glistened in the distance with the reflections of ancient stone and starlight. With each step, the days of joy and wonder seemed farther and farther away, until nothing remained but the dread and darkness in his heart. Yet, he knew there was no way for him to go back to what was before. The only way for him to go was forward.

He sighed and turned his back to the floating city of Arlathan. Falling into a slow trot, the forest around him become denser and darker by the minute and the deep shadows gave him comfort has he made his way south, guided by slim streaks of moonlight that shone through the canopy.

The People said that the moon was Mythal’s first gift to the world. Countless songs told the tale of how she gathered particles of light and bound them to her will before she placed them as a silvery orb in the sky to brighten the nights when Elvhenan was still young.

It seemed almost impossible that a powerful mage such as the All-Mother could be killed so easily. But she was dead, gone from this world, and only the tales of her deeds lingered on.

Thinking about it brought tears to his eyes.

He’d always known that the Evanuris were vicious creatures. But to go ahead and murder Mythal outright? It was an atrocity, a crime so terrible he had no words to describe it.

For many, many years he’d though he knew the true nature of the gods. He’d watched their petty games and wicked schemes and learned everything he could about them so he might predict their course of action. But he had been too sure of himself, and in the end, the Evanuris had done the one thing he’d never believed them to be capable of: To dispose of one of their own.

They had taken Mythal’s life to prove their power before The People. In overthrowing the mother of Elvhenan, they’d struck down the last barrier that kept them in check. Finally, they were ready to ascend to true godhood.

A bitter taste spread in his mouth and he fought back the urge to spit. There was no point in that. Hate and guilt would follow him around for the rest of his life, for he had abandoned his mistress in order to safe himself. If he wanted to make it up to Mythal, he would have to crack open the skies and split the world apart.

He only hoped he could outsmart the Evanuris one more time.

The gods had always wondered how he was able to trick them, all-mighty as they believed themselves to be. Yet, they could never see what seemed so clear to him: No matter how powerful they became, the Evanuris could succumb to anger and jealously, envy and greed. Their feelings could be exploited, if one simply turned their whims and wishes against them.

All it took was the will to do so. His will.

Mythal had been the only one among the Evanuris to recognize this. That was why she had placed him under her protection, so none of the other gods might touch him.

It happened during an Hahren’al, one of the rare gatherings of the Evanuris, back when they had been nothing more than respected elders. It had not been long since he had taken a physical body and he was looking forward to the event as much as any new-born elvhen.

 When word had spread across the city of the coming Hahren’al, all of Arlathan had prepared for the event. The residents had decorated their houses with works of flowers and shimmering stones. They had painted the streets with intricate pictures of the evanuris to show their devotion and respect. And when Arlathan had finally been ready, thousands upon thousands of elvhen had entered the city to engage in the festivities in the streets that accompanied the Evanuris’ gathering.

He, on the other hand, did not join his brethren. He had been too excited by the notion to look upon the Evanuris at close range. Ever since Mythal had called out to him and the other spirits of wisdom to come into the Waking world to give guidance to the elvhen, he had wanted to see the woman whose words had enticed him to take a physical form.

So, he had signed up to work during the Hahren’al as one of the lower servants. To his surprise, he had been assigned the task of cupbearer to Elgar’nan’s entourage along with a handful of others. “Needs some quick thinking to handle his lot,” the elvhen had said to him. “But don’t worry, you’ll manage.”

Young as he was back then, he’d had only a faint idea of what was expected of him. Yet, he had been determined to do his best.

That was, until the All-Father decided to take out his anger on him.

The Evanuris had gathered in the halls of Mythal’s palace for a feast of gigantic proportions. But from the beginning, something seemed at odds. Andruil and her people were on edge, as if they were expecting an abrupt burst of violence, and it made Ghilan’nain and her entourage fidgety as well. Elgar’nan scolded his children again and again and asked for more wine to drown his bad temper in.

The servants were quick to oblige. They brought amphoras with the oldest and finest wine and filled the golden cups of Elgar’nan’s entourage. As none of the other attendants could work up the courage to serve the All-Father himself, Solas stepped up to refill Elgar’nan’s cup. The older elvhen brought the cup to his lips, tasted the wine …

… and spat it back out. Red liquid stained the silvery tablecloth and ruined the decorations. “What disgusting piss is this?” he asked and threw the cup at him.

Solas ducked and the cup sailed past him. The metal clang with which it hit the marble floor rang louder than a boom of thunder. Suddenly, the hall of Mythal’s palace went very, very still.

Terribly aware of everyone’s attention, he straightened his shoulders. He might be a servant, but he wouldn’t have the elvhen laugh at him for being humiliated.

“The cellarer assured me, it is the best wine on this hemisphere,” he said in a calm voice. “It was grown on the slopes of Mount Sela’lyn, taking in light of the moon and the stars. They say it is smooth and silky and tastes of berries and wild flowers, though I’d never dare to take a sip from such a fine wine.”

Before he knew it, he added “Or would you like something more aggressive to match your current temper?”

The All-Father stared at him as if he wished to murder him right then and there, his eyes as bright as the midday sun. “You assume you’re the smartest person in the room, don’t you, youngling?”

“That is only because… well, I am”, he’d said in such a disarmingly honest manner that it made the gathered elvhen gasp. “Unless you introduce me to someone who might match my intellect, I can come to no other conclusion.”

For a moment, he waited for the All-Father to erupt in a frenzy. Luckily, his wife intervened.

“You have to admire his audacity,” Mythal said and lay a hand on Elgar’nans arm. “Well, at least, I do. I might take him on as one of my entourage. It will amuse me to have him around. My servants surely can use someone to teach them manners.”

“You must be joking!” Andruil said from the other side of the table.

“I am not,” Mythal replied sternly. “I shall take this young man as my protégé.”

“But why?” asked Elger’nan, gesturing towards Solas. “He’s just a … puppy.”

Mythal smiled disarmingly at her husband. “Yes, but he won’t stay that way forever.”

To everyone’s surprise, Elgar’nan yielded. At least he was sensible enough to know not to enter an open fight with his own wife in front of their assembled courtiers. He would have lost face in front of his own children and given them an opportune moment to challenge his authority just as the All-Father had once challenge his own creator.

Nevertheless, Solas had felt guilty and unworthy of the All-Mother’s attention, as she was the best among the evanuris, bright and just. Even from afar, he’d seen that. He never wanted her to be in danger, especially not on his behalf.

It was much later, alone with her in Mythal’s private chambers, that he found to courage to ask her, why she had taken him as her protégé. She had summoned him so she could give him her vallaslin and he hadn’t complained as the All-Mother marked his face with her blood writing.

When she was done, he rose to his feet again. He didn’t dare to look at Mythal directly. “Why did you help me today, hahren?” he asked.

Mythal chuckled at that. “You are a powerful,” she told him. “Maybe powerful enough to become one of the Evanuris. But that is not why I gave you my mark.”

“Why then, All-Mother? What have I done to deserve such a gift?”

“It is not about your deeds, but about your mind, da’len,” she said. “It is as sharp as the edge of a sword, quicker than an arrow released from the bowstring. With time, your cunning will leave its own mark upon the world. I couldn’t let Elgar’nan end you before you had a chance to do so. But don’t worry, my mark will protect you. For as long as I live, you will be safe.” She had smiled as she added: “And I intent to live for a very, very long while.”

Solas smiled bitterly. That long while had come to an end at last.

The sky above the lush canopy of Arlathan Forest went purple, bit by bit, as he ventured further south. His body ached and urged him to sleep, but he was afraid he’d never awake again if he lay down to rest. No, he had to keep going until he reached the southern border.

The journey would have been easier, of course, if he’d traveled through an eluvian. There had been several of the magical mirrors in Mythal’s palace and he knew all of their locations and destinations by heart. With them, he would have been able to travel to the south in an instant, without breaking a sweat. But it would have been too easy for the Evanuris to follow him to the Crossroads and trace his steps. He didn’t want them to know where he went. Not yet.

Let them think I am a coward, he thought. Let them think I turned my back on my people, so their pride can be their undoing.

The morning sun rose higher in the sky, outshining the soft light of the moon. Around him, small mammals scurried in the undergrowth and flocks of birds that nested in the highest trees began their song to greet the new day.

That is when he stumbled over an old root and fell, his body shaking from exhaustion. He swore under his breaths and pushed back up to his knees. His hands were caked with mud and dry leaves.

He knew he had to rest, but not yet. First, he needed to find fresh water and, with luck, a handful of berries or mushrooms to eat.

Following the trails of animals, he looked for streams and small rivers. Thousands of them traversed Arlathan Forest. They had given life to the trees and animals around him for countless millennia. Yet, he did not find a single water course, only dry creeks that led deeper into the woods. He followed them, fighting of his fatigue, and until he finally noted the scent of sweet water in the air. His steps quickened as he made his way through the undergrowth. Sweeping aside twigs, he stepped out onto a clearing in the forest. In its middle, he found a small lake full of crystal-clear water.

He reached the shore and got to his knees. With both hands, he scooped water from the lake and drank. The water was cold as ice, but it refreshed his senses and cleared his mind. For a moment, he allowed himself to enjoy the feeling and closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, all he saw was his reflection on the water. The high cheekbones, the dimple in his chin, the bright lines of vallaslin that graced his skin. Unwillingly, his finger traced the blood writing that Mythal herself had given to him. “My mark will protect you.” He could still hear the words echo in his mind.

And the All-Mother had kept her promise. Mythal had protected him from harm until this very day. It made him feel even more ashamed for not having rescued her. Although there was nothing he could have done to save Mythal’s life.

Andruil and her hunters had taken him captive as he’d ventured to the west, conferring with spirits in the Fade. The hunters had locked him up in one of Andruil’s lodges to keep him away from his mistress. He’d had to smooth-talk his guards for the better part of a month before they believed it save to let him out of his cell.

Free at last and in the disguise of a great wolf, he’d wandered around the hunting lodge to locate Andruil’s personal eluvian. The one he was sure would bring him back to Arlathan. His heart raced while he ran through the Crossroads to get back to the ancient city. And when he did, he was already too late. The deed had been done and he had to flee the city before Andruil or Elgar’nan or any of the other Evanuris learned of his escape.

From this day on, Mythal’s mark would give him away as the loyal servant of a fallen goddess. The Evanuris would hunt him because of it.

He had to take the vallaslin away. There was no other way. It wouldn’t be easy though. The writing might be created from his own blood, but it was Mythal’s magic that had ingrained it in his skin, tying them together for eternity. If Mythal were alive, she could easily take the blood writing from him. But with the creator of his vallaslin gone, he needed to find something else that was directly connected to her power.

Looking down on his hands, he thought about the particles of light Mythal’s had gathered to create the moon. It had been the last time in all of history that someone had used Raw Magic to reshape the world. No other elvhen, not even the Evanuris, had dared to make another attempt at such a spell. They only used their power to hunt and torment, to indulge and please themselves. Maybe Mythal had known something about the primal energy of Raw Magic that she never shared with the rest of her clan?

If the light of the moon possesses powerful magic on its own, he thought, I might be able to draw on its energy and redirect its power.

He closed his eyes and tried to imagine the moonlight dancing on the surface of the lake. It was more of an educated guess than anything else, but with luck, it might work. He had to try at least. But it would be several hours before the sun would begin setting again. So, he could find some rest after all.

Wandering along the shoreline of the lake, he looked for a spot where he could set up camp. Not that he carried much around anyway. He wore an old silk tunic and died pants as well as bandages to protect his feet from injuries. There was also a small pocket on his belt that held a few herbs that helped him dream as well as a box of matches to burn them.

It was almost midday when he finally found a small nook between the roots of an ancient tree that seemed comfortable. He cleared the ground of leaves, burned some of the herbs and settled in a sleeping position. The air was heavy with the scent of smoke. He drew in a few long breaths, then let his mind drift into the Fade.

When night fell again, he awoke from restless dreams in which he heard Mythal’s scream for his help. Reluctantly, he got to his feet and rubbed the sleep of his eyes. It would be a very long time, before he would find comfort in dreaming again.

Around him, the forest had gone very still. It felt as if the earth itself was holding its breath. He inhaled deeply and looked up. High above him, the moon shone cold and bright. No clouds blocked its silvery light. For a moment, he imagined the spirit of Mythal ascending into the sky to become one with her creation. For a moment, it was as if she was there with him.

Letting out a soft sigh, he stretched out his hands before him, his palms facing upwards. Just one more gift, my mistress, he thought. That is all I need.

He opened his mind to the infinite possibilities of magic, turning himself into a vessel for its energy. Slowly, very slowly, the magic began to flow towards him and tingle his skin. His fingers twitched, but he stilled himself. He needed to concentrate if his plan was to succeed. And so, he waited for the Raw Magic to come to him and took it in until his body ached of contained energy.

In his mind, he pictured the magical power like a stream of water and how he redirected it towards his hands. A second later, soft light sparked from his fingertips and spread across his palm. The concentrated energy made his hands ache.

The glow became brighter and brighter and he squinted his eyes. When he felt that the magic was filling his body from head to toe, he brought up his hands to his face…

… and released it.

The pain that followed drew the breath from his lungs.

He gasped. Gritting his teeth, he traced the lines of the vallaslin on his face. It felt like liquid fire spreading on his skin as the light burned away Mythal’s mark. The tremor in his hands grew stronger as he worked his way from his chin and cheeks up to his forehead.

When he reached the skin above his right eyebrow, he felt a pang of intense pain, followed by a trail of warm blood streaming down his nose.

You can do it, he told himself, ignoring the blood and the pain. Just a little bit more.

He forced himself to go on, to remove what was left of the vallaslin. With the image of the curved lines in mind, he commanded the magical energy to draw the blood writing from his skin. For a moment, he thought he might collapse, unable to finish his task. But kept going by sheer power of will until it was finished.

The magic fled from his body in an instant and left him feeling drain and exhausted. Shaking from head to toe, he sank to his knees and sucked in ragged breaths. Sweat had gathered on his forehead and mingled with the blood that dripped from his nose.

Slowly, he leaned over the edge of the water to look at his face on the mirror-like surface of the lake. He held his breath as he took in his face without the vallaslin. It looked … odd … unfamiliar... Like it belonged to some else.

More blood poured from the wound above his eyebrow. The cut was deeper than he’d expected, but not a fatal. One healing spell and the wound would be gone. But when he brought his fingers up to the wound, ready to say the words, he hesitated. Something felt wrong about it, as if the healing spell would erase the evidence of his accomplishment. No, he would not heal the wound with magic. He would keep it, tend to it. And if it left a scar on his forehead, he would wear it like a badge of pride.

For that is what I am. Pride incarnate.

“It is done,” he said in a low voice.

The forest around him answered with rustling leaves and the soft hiss of the wind. He felt the cold breeze on his skin and wrapped his arms around his body. His arms and legs, no, his entire body had gone cold while he controlled the primal energy. It would take time to recover. Sadly, there was not much time left.

“They will come for me soon”, he whispered to the wind. “I must be ready.”

He pushed himself up, still shaking, and wiped his face with the sleeve of his tunic. Sweat and blood stained the fine fabric, but he didn’t care. He would trade the silks for armor soon enough. Because that was what he needed to do now – prepare for battle.

It was pure irony, really.

In all this time that he’d spend at Mythal’s side, the All-Mother had tried to prevent a civil war among the elvhen. She had negotiated peace between Elgar’nan and Falon’Din. She had fought her own daughter Andruil to cure her from the madness of the Void, instead of striking her down. Even when Elvhenan had been in danger from the Forgotten Ones, she’d made sure they were banished rather than executed. Through her actions, she had taught him compassion and mercy and righteousness.

But without the All-Mother of Elvhenan, he needed to do what she never could. He needed to fight against the Evanuris, to bring them down, to stop their madness once and for all. To honor Mythal. To safe his people.

Let them call me Fen’Harel, he thought bitterly. Soon, they will see what kind of beast they have created.

He looked up to the moon once more. Its light would guide him in the dark nights to come, for he would never forget what the Evanuris had done to his mistress.

The time had come to rebel.

[quentinsquill]

Fic: “EloQuent” (The Magicians)

EloQuent

By jagged_little_quill (Lexalicious70)

Fandom: The Magicians

Pairing: Eliot/Quentin

Rating: M for graphic depictions of sex

Summary: Eliot explores Quentin’s cacodemon tattoo as they spend some time together on the Muntjac.

A/N: Thanks to @noe-gg, who gave me the inspiration for this on Twitter. I don’t own The Magicians: if I did, season 4 would not have ended that way. This is just for fun. Comments and kudos are magic: enjoy!

Read it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18626458

EloQuent

jagged_little-quill (Lexalious70)

 “So, does it hurt?”

 Quentin glanced up from the vanity table to see Eliot’s reflection in the mirror. He leaned on the alcove frame, his figure balanced and lithe against the rocking and pitching of the Muntjac as it raced over the waves.

 “Does what hurt?” Quentin asked as he continued to hunt the vanity table’s surface for the black elastic band he’d set down earlier before bathing and washing his hair.

 “Your cacodemon tattoo. Nothing lives there anymore, or at least I assume not.” Eliot entered the room, admiring the way the room lantern’s light raced along the length of Quentin’s hair each time the ship crested an oncoming wave.

 “No, nothing lives there anymore.” Quentin picked up a hairbrush. “I forget it’s there most of the time now.”

 “I’m still a bit jealous.” Eliot approached the vanity and took the brush from Quentin’s hand. “It’s really very exotic.” He began to brush through Quentin’s hair, working out a few damp tangles and gathering the tawny tresses in one hand until they gleamed copper, dark russet, and caramel, all mixed together in a combination Eliot had never seen on anyone before. He let the fine locks fall between his fingers until they swung down just above Quentin’s shoulderblades. Quentin sighed.

 “I lost my hair tie,” he complained as he stood there in a pair of black linen drawstring pants and nothing else. Eliot shrugged.

 “So leave it loose.” He took Quentin’s hand and lead him over to the bed, where long fingers coaxed him to sit with brief touches that were full of the promise of pleasure. Quentin sat—despite the lifetime he’d spent with Eliot and how much he wanted that magic to work in this universe, Eliot’s touch and closeness still felt oddly new to him.

 “I wonder how powerful my cacodemon would have been, or if I would have let it go like Alice did. I know it’s a one-shot weapon, but it seems like something that would have come in handy.” He traced a finger along the curve of the inked Q on Quentin’s back, and Quentin swallowed a gasp as the marked skin and what surrounded it seemed to come alive at the touch. Even without magic, Eliot’s fingertips set off a fuse that burned along the ink, leaving tingling sensations in its wake. Eliot pulled his hand away as he felt Quentin twitch. While they’d both agreed that fifty years was no greater proof of concept, he’d be damned if he assumed anything regarding Quentin’s consent.

 “Q? Are you all right? I didn’t mean to startle you.”

 “No, you didn’t, I—” Quentin paused to collect himself, even though the sensations hadn’t faded much. “Just—when you touched my tattoo, it felt, uhm . . . unexpected?”

 “Unexpected how?” Eliot asked, and Quentin swallowed hard against his skin’s demand for more.

 “Like—remember that spell we discovered our second year at the mosaic? The sex spell?”

 Eliot raised a dark brow. Apparently, Quentin’s memory was as photographic as ever.

 “I remember.”

 “It—it was like that. Only we don’t have magic here so I don’t know why . . . “ Quentin trailed off with a frown. Eliot took a moment to consider the finely-inked Q and then lifted a hand.

 “May I?”

 Quentin nodded, a warm dot of affection marking his heart at the request. Eliot traced his index finger along the outer edge of the Q, following the shape without breaking the pattern, and watched Quentin’s shoulders lift and tense. A soft sound escaped him, almost like a mewl, and Eliot hesitated.

 “You still feel it, Q?” He asked, and Quentin shivered.

 “Yes . . . God El, it’s like you’re touching under my skin, like—my nerve endings—and it’s . . . ohh.” Quentin bent his head forward as he brushed his hair in front of his right shoulder. Eliot smelled vanilla: Margo had seen to it that the Muntjac was well equipped with soap and shampoo, and he silently thanked her for it now.

 “Feels good?” He asked, and Quentin rolled his shoulders in a wordless reply. Eliot placed his index finger at the highest point of the Q and pressed lightly before dragging it down the sweep of the circle, up, then back down to the tail, which he traced. By the time he reached the tail’s end, Quentin was breathing in irregular huffs, making small umm umm sounds on the exhale like he did when he was working toward orgasm and Eliot grinned, delighted. “Let’s try something,” he whispered in Quentin’s ear, eliciting another shiver from him. A few deft movements had Quentin’s pants pulled away, and Eliot shed his satin robe as well.

“El—”

 “Get up on your knees, Q,” Eliot said, and Quentin obeyed as Eliot knelt behind him. His own cock was already interested at these proceedings, nearly at full mast, the head wet. He put his hands on Quentin’s shoulders, his long fingers curling around the warm skin there, noting the slight dip on the right shoulder where the centaurs had repaired it, and slid his hard shaft between Quentin’s asscheeks. He rocked it up and down without breaching Quentin’s tight heat, until the warm folds were slick with his fluids, bent Quentin forward, and used the tip of his tongue to trace the Q tattoo, over and over. Quentin gave a quavering wail of pleasure and his shoulders jerked and tensed. Eliot dropped his left hand to Quentin’s erection and it pulsed against his fingers.

 “El please, please . . .” Quentin moaned, his nerves seeming to send up flares of pleasure that were more intense than fireworks challenged by a summer thunderstorm. Eliot obliged, reveling in the needy tone of his lover’s voice. He slid around in Quentin’s slick heat as he moved his hand in a firm rhythm, the Muntjac pitching beneath them, as if sensing their pleasure. Eliot traced the Q with the tip of his tongue and then placed his lips in its center to suck on the skin there. Quentin stuttered out Eliot’s name and shuddered, his fingers and toes clenching as his pulsing erection fountained over Eliot’s hand. Eliot thumbed the tip as he rode Quentin’s slick heat, murmuring his name as he felt that delicious coil of tension build in his lower belly.

 “My sweet Q, that’s it, let go, you’re safe with me, always safe, I love you—” the last word caught on pleasure sharper than a razor as Eliot’s muscles released their tension and he came, his hot load splattering up onto Quentin’s back. Quentin gave a helpless noise as some spattered across his tattoo and his dark eyes rolled as his cock gave another pulse and he came again, a sound like the joyous roaring of the sea in his ears. His nerves registered a near-total overload before the intensity lost its edge and began to cycle down into after spasms that twitched and fluttered through his cock. He became aware of Eliot’s weight leaving the mattress and a whispered “hang on,” before it returned and a cool, soft cloth cleaned him up with gentle strokes—ohh, bliss—before he was gathered up in Eliot’s arms. Quentin drifted, letting the Muntjac rock them as he buried his nose in Eliot’s chest hair.

 “Magic where magic isn’t,” Eliot said after a moment, one big, elegant hand stroking through Quentin’s hair. The younger magician smiled.

 “Dean Fogg told us the letters of our names are connected to who a magician is, and what he becomes. So maybe it wasn’t magic like we understand it.”

 “No?” Eliot asked, looking down to meet Quentin’s gaze. His lover shook his head.

 “I just think my Q knew its El finally came home.”

 Fin

[elenirlachlagos]

Dark Patterns in Fanfiction

Something happened to me that I felt never happened before in my fanfiction experience. I feel like I’ve been roped in by a dark pattern (for lack of a better word).

This is somewhat of a personal rant. But also, if you see this and you read or write fanfiction, please read though it, bear with me and give me your opinion? Please? And if it’s just “nah, you’re making things up”. I’d be much obliged.

So first of all - dark pattern. It’s a term from user interface design, software development, you know, internet stuffs. It’s design decisions that are meant to trick the user into something they do not want to do. Like sending out invitation mails to your whole adress book when you thought you were just checking whether anyone you know was on the network (*cough*LinkedIn*cough*). These are not just bad decisions, they’re usually very well done - from a view of the craft alone - but they use psychological knowledge to not only make things easier for you, but make you do something that might actually harm yourself (or well, your wallet) for the profit of the company. Here’s a short video about it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kxkrdLI6e6M

Of course, fiction always manipulates you, in a way. And there are techniques to make you feel suspense, etc. But to be honest, I never before felt so exploited and betrayed.

And I’m somewhat angry at myself because in a way, it was there. There’s that “graphic depictions of violence” warning. Right under the “teen and up” rating. There’s the “character death” and “suicide”. Right in the middle of all the other tags. And, you know, one character death was mentioned right in the first chapter. And I just... there should have been warning bells ringing. Or maybe I just didn’t see it.

I do not deal with violence well, I know that (I think it’s part of me being HSP), so I usually am careful, but... I allowed myself to get sucked into it anyway. And boy - I would have rated and tagged this way differently.

And I know that in theory I have full control. I didn’t pay for anything, I can just close it and stop reading. But I got pulled in. The writing is well done, the world-building is great, and parts of it were really enjoyable. And then parts of it were like this bad soap opera where they just mount one disaster on the other, more devastating, terrible things happening to one (or a few) person than whould ever happen in real life. You know, like their parents die when they were young, their village gets gassed, their child dies of illness, the love of their life in a sudden car crash, they get raped... (just as examples) - you know, what I mean? And I hate those kinds of fiction. But inbetween were those really nice parts. The slow romantic build-up. The to be excepted amounts of action, violence, drama, suspension, mystery. And then again the sickening stuff that make the tags really feel like understatements. And the comments of the author were like “I’m not sorry” or “You don’t hate me for this, you love me” - and it just turned everything sour for me. But I still kept on because I hate abandoning a story when I have read so much and there was still that confession/kiss dangling in front of me like that carrot in front of a donkey.

And I feel used. Exploited. For clicks? For statistics on AO3? I feel like this has been done on purpose by the author. And I feel somewhat pissed at that.

I finally managed to close it. At least for now. I’ve spent a lot of time over the weekend on it - and though I did that before with fanfiction, this time it really feels like wasted time.

And I had to let it out somewhere (even though that meant more time spend on writing this). I considered writing a comment on the fic. But I know that negative comments on fanfiction are frowned upon. I mean, it wouldn’t be all negative, the craft is well done. But... I was wondering whether I was wrong about this being intentional and, yeah I keep saying that there are assholes in every group and that includes fanfic writers for my favourite ship, but I also still believe that people are usually nice. And I wonder if I did comment and explain how I felt, then maybe the author would adjust the tags and maybe other readers would be warned? But also I distrust myself. Maybe I am just overreacting. Maybe I’m being extra sensitive and stress at work and a desperate need of a holiday and a day-long headache made me mis-direct my anger.

I just... I don’t know. Feel frustrated.

If you’ve read until the end: what are your experiences? Your opinion? I’d really be thankful for any comments. Even though, I know I don’t have many followers and it’s been a long text post, so probably no one will even read these lines.

[initiala]

Hook Echo (5/9)

Summary:  They’re in a rut. That’s what Deputy Emma Swan tells herself over and over again as her boyfriend, Killian Jones, grows more and more distant, and more frustrated, due to complications with his dissertation research on tornado formation. But storm season’s more than halfway over and this dry spell is doing nothing to make things easier for him–or their relationship. Will everything blow over, or is there a greater storm on the horizon?

Rating: E

Content warnings:  Graphic depictions of injury resulting from natural disasters, minor character death

Hmmm... things are starting to change up top. I wonder what that means?Thanks again to @optomisticgirl, @spartanguard, and @idoltina for all they did on this.

This is also on AO3 or FF.Net if that’s how you wanna roll.

Killian was gone by the time she woke up. And really, "woke up" was a stretch — she hadn't slept well at all the night before; in fact, Emma had still been awake when Killian came home from the bar. She'd lain there for hours, stewing, not sure who she was more upset with, but when he came to bed she immediately rolled over and clung to him. "Emma? You should be sleeping, love."

She shook her head. Killian sounded exhausted, but there was worry in his voice when he asked, "Darling, what happened? You left earlier than I thought you might, you didn't say goodbye. I didn't even see you or the girls leave. You're not really angry with me for taking your underwear, are you?"

Emma half rolled her eyes, nudging him to put his arm around her, which he obliged. He stroked her hair and it felt so nice she almost started crying all over again. "It's not the underwear," she said quietly. "Did - did Liam say anything to you?"

There had always been this unspoken agreement between her and Liam that they not mention their disagreements with each other to Killian, but she was starting to think it was a mistake. It almost felt like tattling, and she really didn't want to make him feel like he had to choose between her and his brother, but even after almost three years, it felt like Liam was still trying to put a wedge between them. And for what, because Killian was almost done with his studies? That was the same excuse he'd been using for years, and still Killian hadn't finished. It wasn't his fault, and it certainly wasn't hers.

She'd only forbade the night chases last spring, after all. And after what had happened, Liam should be thanking her for that, not scolding her.

Killian's hand stilled for a moment, then resumed his ministrations. "He mentioned something about abusing my break privileges, but that was about it. Why, what did he say to you?"

It took all of her willpower not to get up and drive over to Liam's place in that moment and rip him a new asshole the way he deserved, once and for all. It fucking figured that he would lay all the blame on her, take everything out on her, and let his brother off scot-free. Killian seemed to notice something was up because he sounded much more alert when he said, "Emma, if Liam spoke out of turn to you, I need you to tell me."

She sighed, her anger deflating just as quickly as it had built up. "It's nothing he hasn't said before," she mumbled. "Though he was a little more… crass about it this time."

He was quiet for so long she thought he'd fallen asleep. She jumped when he spoke again. "I'll talk with him about it. You'd think he'd bloody give up and accept things by now, but no, that requires someone without a pig's brain in their head."

Emma chuckled weakly, relaxing more into his embrace. She appreciated that he wasn't in denial or tried to downplay the fact that Liam and her didn't really get along. He'd have to be blind, or an idiot, to miss the fact, but she at least attempted to play nice and be polite while they were around his brother. It just bothered her that with how much she knew Killian talked about her, Liam had only found more fault with their relationship; surely he didn't just focus on the bad things, right? There were plenty of good things to talk about too.

Right?

She shook her head of those bad thoughts. "I'm a big girl, Killian; I can handle Liam."

"Aye, love, I know. Still doesn't mean I can't tell him to stuff his opinions back up his arse where they came from."

They'd fallen asleep not long after that, Emma a little more uneasily than Killian, but he could sleep through a, well, through a tornado.

(Which she knew for a fact that he could, and he'd been steaming mad about that the next morning.)

Still, she must have dropped into a deep sleep at some point because she never felt him get up or heard him pack his overnight bag and leave. After she ate, she decided to spend the day getting some prep work done on the painting they'd been putting off doing; she threw on some working clothes and spent the morning stripping the wallpaper in the hallways. The house was always weirdly quiet when Killian was gone so Emma kept the radio on, blaring a classic rock station and singing along to keep herself from going back to what had happened last night with Liam.

God, she really wanted to just punch him in the nose.

The front door opened and startled her so much that she almost fell off the stepladder. "Jesus, Mom, ever heard of knocking?" Emma said, climbing down and turning down the volume a little.

"I have, though you still haven't learned to keep your music at appropriate levels," Ingrid said, though she smiled. "I knocked three times."

Emma winced. They really needed to get the doorbell fixed - whatever the previous owner had done before moving out hadn't lasted through the winter. "Yeah, well, you did always say I could do whatever I wanted once I had my own place."

Ingrid laughed. "That is true. Anyway, I stopped over with a couple of things, mind if I put them in the kitchen?" Emma waved her on, then followed to wash the dust off her hands. "I didn't know you and Killian were doing remodeling already."

"Kind of a spur of the moment decision," Emma said over the water. "He's over in Norman and I don't have anything to do until my shift starts at six. Figured I'd get a jump on some things."

"Killian went to Norman?"

She dried her hands slowly. "Yeah," Emma said, avoiding the look Ingrid gave her. "There's some thesis stuff going on."

"Bad thesis stuff, I take it."

"That's what we're going to find out."

"Mm."

Emma never did like it much when Ingrid made that noise. It meant she knew too much, or had guessed at whatever it was Emma was hiding from her, like the fact that her high school boyfriend was actually in his twenties or how he was having her hold on to his pot for him. She watched as Ingrid pulled a pint out of the freezer and sat down with it and a couple of spoons at the table. "I was going to leave this for you to try at your leisure, but I think you need someone to talk to. Ice cream helps."

"Mom…"

"Sit. I'm experimenting with some flavors for June and I need a second opinion."

Ingrid's latest kick was trying to out-do Ben & Jerry's by taking what she called 'sub-par ingredients' and replacing them with some more local flavor. She kept it to one new flavor a month and there were running polls and commentaries on her social media pages about which ones might become permanent additions to the roster. It was a very popular scheme and Emma hadn't seen Any Given Sundae this booming in years. "You know if it's not rocky road I'm not really interested," she said, sitting across from her.

Ingrid rolled her eyes as she took the top off the container. Whatever the flavor was, it was blue. "I can't believe I raised you to be such an ice cream snob."

"You bought damaged goods, you knew this going in."

The look Ingrid gave her was hard to read, but there was never any pity or sympathy in these kinds of expressions. Just some scrutiny and a little bit of reproof. Emma tried not to squirm under her gaze. "Something's going on with you and Killian," Ingrid said finally. "You haven't been this hard on yourself or this distant in years."

She gestured with her spoon for Emma to take the first bite. More to keep herself from answering the thinly veiled accusation, Emma did - blue raspberry and there were… Swedish Fish? She winced, swallowing. "Ok, I get it, you're going for a more ocean-related Phish Food, but no Swedish Fish. Gummy stuff only tastes good on froyo."

"We do not mention the accursed in this house, Emma."

"It's my house, Mom. I can talk about froyo all I want. Froyo froyo froyo."

Ingrid rolled her eyes again and took her own spoonful. Then she made a face too. "Alright, I see your point. Maybe I'll have something for July… No, I was working on that Independence Day themed neapolitan, so maybe it'll be for August, a last hurrah of summer. Hang on, I have more. In the meantime, talk."

Emma blinked at the speed at which her mother changed both marketing tactics and conversation topics. "About what?"

"Whatever it is that has you so… you."

"Mom."

"Emma."

She sighed in disgust, stabbing at the ice cream for more of the blue raspberry - gummy fish aside, her mom did make a mean blue raspberry - and shoving it in her mouth. "It's not me and Killian," she said, ignoring Ingrid's look about talking with her mouth full. "It's me and Liam."

Ingrid's brows furrowed for a moment, then understanding dawned. She opened the new pint and Emma was relieved to see chocolate in this one. "He's still giving you a hard time."

"I don't think I'd call it that anymore. He's just... " Emma sighed. "He's just mean about it now. And I don't get it. He doesn't give Killian that hard of a time - I asked. He only lays into me about it, like I'm the only one with any say in this relationship. We bought a house, for Christ's sake. You don't buy a house with someone you're only screwing around with."

There were brownie bits and fudge swirls in this one and Emma nodded in appreciation before taking another spoonful. Ingrid looked pensive. "Have either of you tried talking with Liam about his behavior?" she asked. Emma started to respond, but Ingrid held up her hand. "I don't mean taking him to task for it, I mean asking him about the root cause of all of this. It's gone on too long for it to be jealousy or something petty."

Jealous? Liam? Of them? Emma almost laughed at the idea, and would have if she wasn't so pissed at him. "We probably have," she said. "I don't remember, but Liam doesn't listen to me. If Killian has, it hasn't gotten anywhere. He said he'd talk to him again after what happened last night."

"What happened last night?"

Her face warmed. Fumbling for the words, Emma tried to explain what had happened at the bar without going into explicit detail, though she had zero doubts that Ingrid was well aware of what she meant by 'visiting Killian' and the context in which Liam's current anger happened in. The look she gave her confirmed that. "He was on break," Emma said, the defense feeling weak.

"Well, I'd still call it impolite at best," Ingrid said, making Emma wince, "but I'm not going to sit here and lecture you. It's already done and you're a grown woman. So I can see where Liam might be a bit irritated for last night, but it's hardly the worst thing to ever happen."

Particularly when it wasn't even the first time she and Killian had had sex at the bar, but Emma wasn't about to mention that. Alluding to it at all was humiliating enough. "It just isn't fair that he went after me and then Killian gets off scot-free," she grumbled, digging into the ice cream. "It takes two to tango."

"I don't need to remind you that life isn't fair," Ingrid said. "But I can maybe see where Liam's a little blind when it comes to his brother. We tend to develop blind spots about our children."

Emma thought back to when Killian had first told her about losing his parents, how Liam had practically raised him after their father died. She supposed Ingrid had a point, but it didn't mean Liam had to be an asshole about it. She said so, and Ingrid smiled. "I didn't say it was right," she said. "But sometimes it helps to see where someone is coming from."

Just then, Emma's phone rang, and it gave her an excellent excuse to avoid figuring out how to continue that particular conversation with Ingrid. It wasn't a number she recognized, though it was local, so she answered with her professional voice in case it was one of those stupid robo calls. "Deputy Swan speaking."

"Ah, Emma. This is Nemo Bhavsar, Killian's advisor."

Her eyebrows went up. "Dr. Bhavsar, hi." She shared a confused glance with her mother. She knew Killian had listed her as one of his emergency contacts, but he'd only left a couple of hours ago. "Is everything okay? I thought Killian was meeting with you today."

"He did, we just concluded the meeting."

"That was short."

He laughed. "Indeed, but for good reason. There's a strong front coming off the Rockies and I managed to get some funding to allow Killian to take a team out to Wyoming, possibly into the Dakotas if he follows it. We've had luck there in the past and I think this is just what he needs to finish everything."

The sinking feeling of fear for him was buoyed by the small hope that he might be done soon, but Emma was still confused. "I'm glad to hear that, but I'm a little confused on why you're calling me about it?"

Dr. Bhavsar exhaled - not quite a sigh, but close. "Killian gets this look in his eye when he's focused, one where he quite forgets the proper courses of action outside of accomplishing his task. I thought it might be better to notify you now, rather than receive a phone call when he's three states away."

She frowned; he wasn't wrong, per say, but she'd also never seen Killian get that worked up that he'd completely forget to call her. "Well, you've known him longer," she said dubiously.

"It's an academics thing, I'm afraid. When one gets caught in the single-minded pursuit of knowledge, one can lose sight of what's truly important. I've seen it many times before."

She pursed her lips. She hoped he was wrong in this case, but she knew better than to bet on that. Though, she remembered one of the things Liam had implied the night before, that without her Killian could focus better and actually accomplish what he'd set out to do. That hit her like a punch in the gut. "Well. Alright, thanks for giving me a heads up."

"Not a problem, Emma. Have a good day."

"You too." After she hung up, Emma stared absently at the ice cream starting to melt along the edges of the carton, chocolatey blobs against the scooped and scraped lines dotted with fudge and brownie bits. She didn't like to think that maybe Liam was right, that maybe a few days away from her would be good for Killian's research, would be good for him in general. But the thought was there, racing around and around in her brain like a merry-go-round out of control. She glanced up at Ingrid, who looked concerned. "Well," Emma said, forcing some optimism she definitely did not feel, "looks like I might be taking care of all the painting myself over the next few days."

It did make her feel better that Killian called later that night; he and Will were still on the road with two research assistants, somewhere in Kansas. He sounded excited about the prospects ahead and Emma couldn't help but smile as she listened to him go on about the models and figures. "How long do you think you'll be gone?" she asked, tucking her legs up against her tighter.

"If the line of storms stays strong, we could be after it a week or so. Depends on what we run into."

The urge to say something sappy gripped her tongue, but she held off, not wanting to embarrass him in front of his peers. Or maybe it was the lingering thought that he'd do better without her nearby. "Okay. I guess you'll be too busy to call much?"

"Probably, but I'll try to touch base when I can, love."

God, Liam couldn't have planned this better, if he even knew about it. He'd be crowing. Asshole. Emma swallowed, her heart both very full from missing Killian already and hurting because of what his brother had said. "Stay safe, Killian. Good luck."

"As safe as possible."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

Then it was just her, her erratic work schedule, and the messy house she'd made for herself. Emma sighed, and she swore it echoed through the empty house.

When she wasn't working, she kept the TV on rather than the radio. The noise helped to drown out the lingering taunts and obsessive thoughts in her mind. But there was another bonus to it. She primed every wall in the downstairs except for the kitchen while watching more Weather Center Live and Local on the 8s segments than she could remember ever watching in her life, even living with Killian. If there were going to be any updates on the front he was going after, she wanted to know as soon as possible.

She also watched a lot of weird survival-type shows about extreme weather conditions and even something about killer bees, but that usually got interrupted by news updates.

And it was on the news updates that she finally got word of Killian.

She was painting the living room - a dusty turquoise color she liked and she hoped he didn't have any objections to - when she heard the news break sound clip. Emma paused, watching the broadcaster move in front of the green screen and showcase the severe storm they were tracking in eastern Wyoming. Her lips pursed, worry causing her heart to beat a little faster, and she went back to painting, keeping one ear on the TV and waiting to hear what happened.

"We've got a regular correspondent, storm chaser Killian Jones, on the line. Killian it's good to hear from you, can you tell us what you saw there?"

Emma whipped her head around, watching as footage was shown on the screen from what must be the aftermath, listening to Killian talk about the storm. He sounds tired, she thought. And frustrated, which meant he didn't get what he needed out of this one. The scene certainly looked like there'd been a tornado, a couple of downed trees and debris everywhere, a caved-in house and an overturned pickup. "No deaths," she heard him say, "just a few minor injuries the first responders are tending to, but my team and I will be helping where we can before following this one."

Emma turned the volume down. She'd gotten what she needed, Killian was alright and he was going to be a bear about not getting what he needed, and it was going to be a long couple of days while he chased this system across the country.

Part of her wanted to run over to the bar and snap her fingers at Liam - Emma being around didn't have any effect on how Killian's research was going. The other part felt ashamed for feeling any vindication from his failed chase.

Really, though, overall she just felt drained.

She was going to need more paint.

The next couple of days passed much the same, but as Emma moved on from the living room to the dining room (a green that looked nice with all the whitewashed trim) and then into the hallways and stairwell (a neutral caramel that went with everything), Killian seemed to pop up on every evening storm report. Even on TV she could see how frustrated he was, the way he ran his fingers through his hair and the slight clench of his jaw during a question; that was the third day of chasing this particular system, when they were close enough to a nearby affiliate for a news team to come out. The other times were all phone-ins.

She didn't watch the livestreams, if Will did any; it would only make her more anxious, and they'd started muting them, mostly due to how much swearing went on when the chases went live, so it wouldn't help her figure out what was going on anyway.

Killian didn't call at all in that time and she had absolutely no idea what to think about that. Well, she kind of did, but it was such a mess of conflicting emotions that she didn't have the strength for sorting through right now, and so she just hoped she had no idea why he hadn't called.

Still, it was surprising to come home after a late shift at work to find the TIV in the driveway. Surprising, and a little hurtful that he hadn't called to say he was coming home, but Emma was glad to see the monstrous thing in one piece, nary a scratched pirate flag in sight - and hopefully the man who captained it was in one piece as well.

She opened the front door, thankful the smell of paint had died down with all the windows being open, and noted that all the lights were off downstairs. Emma left her shoes by the door and locked up, then went upstairs quietly. The upstairs was dark, too, and she shuffled around in the bedroom to get her things, trying not to make any noise - but her own silence alerted her to the fact that she didn't hear Killian.

He wasn't one to snore, but he could breathe pretty loudly when he put his mind to it. She flicked on the bedside lamp and noted with a frown the bed in much the same state as she'd left it that morning. Where was he?

Leaving everything in a heap on the bed, she went back downstairs. The hall light illuminated enough that she could see into the living room and just make out the lump on the couch that hadn't been there earlier.

Her heart sank with every step she took. She took in the empty beer bottles on the floor, the blanket that was half on the floor at this point and exposing his tightly folded arms and his scrunched up legs, and even in the poor lighting she could see the scowl that remained on his face even in sleep. Emma wanted to wake him, to bring him up to bed and hold him and ease away his frustrations, but her pulse just hammered in her throat every time she tried to open her mouth.

She could be glad he chose to come home, but it hurt to see him balled up on the couch, clearly having drank himself to sleep, rejecting the idea of the comfort of their bed and her arms.

So she swallowed past the lump in her throat and fixed the blanket, tucking it up around him and making sure it wouldn't slip down again. She hesitated, then felt a pinch of disgust at herself for doing so; she brushed his bangs away from his forehead and pressed a kiss there, not daring to hope he was waking up when he stirred a little under her. "I love you," she whispered.

She lingered for a moment, watching him, then slowly walked back to the hall, turned off the light and went upstairs, alone.

Two years ago…

"Swan!"

The front door slammed shut, jarring Emma out of her pleasure-filled daze. The sound of feet on the stairs and Killian talking as he ran happened faster than she could react. "There's an imminent event, the instability levels are the highest I've seen in ages, we're guaranteed to get something and I know I promised you-"

He stopped at the top of the stairs, his words cut off as he took in the sight of her spread out naked on the bed with her vibrator clutched in one hand. Killian blinked, slowly, mouth dropping open a little. "Interrupting, am I?" he asked, his voice sounding strained.

She was a little strung out, her body thrumming from a peak just out of reach, and she couldn't help but laugh a little. "Well, it's hot, and I was bored."

Her lofted bedroom had been stifling when she'd woken up; Mary Margaret was off at work and Emma had slept late after getting in around three in the morning. She'd opened the little windows above her bed and turned on the fans, but it only helped so much. So then she'd figured, whatever, she was home alone, she was a grown-ass woman, she could be naked in her own apartment if she wanted to.

And well, then she'd gotten bored scrolling through her phone.

Emma sat up, wincing a little as her core throbbed in protest. "What's going on with some imminent event?" she asked.

Killian crossed the room in two strides, his hands going to her shoulders as he gently pushed her back down on the bed. "Different imminent event first," he said, dropping to his knees.

"What - are you serious?" she asked. He took hold of her legs and gently pulled her forward until her ass was just at the edge of the bed. She felt warm in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with the temperature of the room; bad enough that he'd walked in on her going to town on herself, but now he was putting aside something urgent just to- "Oh God," she cried, her head falling back as he parted her with his fingers and licked a long stripe up her center.

She was definitely sensitive, definitely ready to come, and now she definitely didn't care about anything else other than keeping her boyfriend's head between her thighs.

He tasted her with short, firm strokes, easing her legs up over his shoulders and then gripping her hips with firm hands. She couldn't catch her breath, straining under his cruel ministrations. His tongue swirled around her clit and dipped down to her entrance and Emma's fingers dug so hard into her comforter that she expected the cross-hatch marks would never go away. God, she'd been so close when he'd hurried in, lost in a fantasy where they were playing a game of pirate and kidnapped princess; she wondered how he'd take such a game, if he'd be willing to make her submit to his whims, but that was a conversation for when he wasn't doing that with his tongue inside of her.

She made a whining noise when he pulled away, but she hadn't noticed his hand leaving her hip - something firm nudged her entrance and she lifted her head, looking down at him in confusion and he grinned at her, winking when he flicked the 'on' button of her vibrator. Emma gasped, her toes curling and her legs tightening over his shoulders, and then that absolute asshole bent down and pressed down on her clit with the flat of his tongue. Her gasps quickly turned into pleading moans, his name tumbling from her lips with a few curses tossed in for good measure. She couldn't hear him over the low thrum of the vibrator, but she knew he would be chuckling because he was an asshole like that, and her hips seemed to be rutting up against his face all on their own. She scrambled for a better grip on the bed, but his other hand found hers and she gripped him tight. "Killian - oh, fuck, Killian -"

And then she was flying, bucking wildly into his face and felt so good that it almost hurt, her skin was so overly sensitive from his attentions and her earlier play with the vibrator.

Killian turned it off and gently pulled it out of her while she trembled from aftershocks; she was sure she'd never be able to unlock her fingers from his, she was holding onto him so tight, and he looked at her with a mix of smug satisfaction and gentle adoration as he stretched out on the bed next to her, bringing their clasped hands up to his mouth to kiss her fingers. "Still bored?" he asked.

Emma exhaled, then turned her head to look at him. If she wasn't so overwhelmed by the aftermath of her orgasm, she'd be overwhelmed by the amount of feeling in the look he was giving her - the amount of feeling in her chest she wanted to express. But it was like a vice gripped her tongue, and she could only reply, "No, but now I think I need a nap."

He grinned and then, with an amount of energy it would take another decade for her to muster, he bounded to his feet and went to her wardrobe, tossing a t-shirt, jeans, and a lightweight plaid shirt at her, all while talking. "No time for naps, Swan, though I suppose you can do that in the car." He went to her dresser then, looking through the drawers. "As I was saying, there's an imminent event and we need to be on the road."

A pair of her own underwear hit her in the face, then a bra. "We?" she asked, not moving; she couldn't, really, her legs felt like jelly and laying on the bed felt nice.

"Yes, love, 'we'. I did promise you I'd take you on a chase when the opportunity presented itself, didn't I?" He paused, looking into the drawer thoughtfully, then tossed a pair of socks at her as well. "It'll be muddy if we have to get out of the TIV, so boots or trainers please. Work boots, not your everyday ones."

With enormous effort, she managed to sit up, moving the clothes off of her and onto the bed next to her. "You do realize that you've effectively rendered me useless for a few hours."

"That's why you'll be in the back. Will's driving, I've got the computers. You'll be along for the ride, a third set of eyes, but you can nap in the car until things get underway."

She raised her eyebrows at him. "You really think Will's going to be okay with you bringing me along and then me just conking out in the back for most of it?"

"He'll be fine."

"And you don't get to tell him why I'm so out of it."

Killian gave her another cheeky grin and she rolled her eyes, giving in. She grabbed everything and padded down to the bathroom to put herself together. She kept in mind that they'd be in the car for most of the day, and out in the wet and the wind if they got out, and braided her hair after brushing some dry shampoo through it. When she came out, Killian was cooling his heels by the door, and Emma raised an eyebrow at him again. "Am I going to eat at all today or is this a 'grab what you can when you can' kind of day?"

"We'll stop by Granny's on the way to Will's. Come on."

In fact, it seemed like he'd called ahead before he'd even gotten to her place, because Granny had two bags of take away waiting for them at the counter. "You bring her back in one piece now, you got it?" she asked, glaring at Killian pointedly over her glasses.

"If she's not in one piece, then it's because I'm also not in one piece."

Emma, blushing a little from Granny's overprotectiveness, gave a smile of thanks as Killian paid and they hurried back to the TIV.

They ate as he drove; Will still lived in Norman, so they were going to backtrack a little before making their way west and south to meet up with the cold front Killian was pinning all of this on. This was the first time she saw the TIV's interior all set up for a chase; instead of the brackets being used for Killian's computers, Emma just set up the trays to put her food on, smiling sweetly when he gave her an exasperated look. "It's a lot lighter than two laptops and all your batteries and wifi cables and whatever," she argued, spreading her onion rings out in front of her and sorting them from smallest to biggest, just because she could.

"No respect," he said with feigned dismay.

"Nope," she said, startling a laugh out of him. "Respect is for men who don't barge into my apartment unannounced and then give me excellent orgasms."

He hummed, an amused glint in his eye. "I'll keep that in mind."

She finished her breakfast-slash-lunch just as they pulled into Will's apartment complex; it was very much a student apartment block, one on the lower-end amenities-wise, but if Will was having similar money woes as Killian, it wasn't unexpected. Killian honked twice; Emma glared at him. "We have to get out anyway, just go and knock on his door."

"It's how he knows it's me!"

"And him opening the door to your face wouldn't let him know it was you?"

"Well, then we both have to get in the TIV and this way I'm getting things situated while he gets in."

Emma rolled her eyes, shaking her head. Men. They got out and she went to sit behind the driver's seat while Killian got his computers set up; Will hurried down the stairs and practically vaulted into the TIV. "Bloody hell, it took you lot long enough," he commented, barely buckling his seatbelt before getting them back out onto the road.

"We stopped to eat," Killian said mildly. Emma hid a smirk at his phrasing; she still felt pleasantly worn out from earlier. "And yes, there's something for you, you heathen."

While Will drove, ate, and managed to cuss out half the drivers on the road all at the same time, Killian started filling them both in on their plan of attack for the day. At this point, he'd gotten everything connected and running on his laptops and he could point out the wind and temperature patterns on his charts to Emma, who by now could at least understand what he was talking about, if not make an educated guess on what his charts meant.

They'd head west and south, possibly heading into Texas if they didn't meet up with the line before then. They would get into position to launch their probes, and possibly intercept if it could be managed. More for Emma's benefit, Killian explained how they had helmets and extra harnesses in the seats to keep them as restrained and safe as possible in case something went wrong with the intercept.

She watched him as he talked, fascinated at how animated he was about the whole process, from safety measures to tiny points of data. She couldn't see his eyes too well, he was wearing sunglasses even if he wasn't always looking back at her, but the enthusiasm in his voice was more than a little infectious. Yes, she'd asked if he'd take her out with him sometime, but it didn't mean the prospect wasn't more than a little scary; only now was she realizing that scary was okay - as long as he was there with her.

At one point, she leaned forward enough so that she could play with the hair at the nape of his neck while he talked; slowly, as if he reacted without realizing it, he relaxed into her touch. She smiled when he make a noise of content, but Will's reaction wasn't so pleased. "Oi, if you two are going to be all touchy-feely for the duration, I've got no problem letting you two get out and walk to Texas from here."

"Oh, stop it," Killian admonished.

Emma eyed the back of Will's head, pursing her lips. "Hey, I'd play with your hair too, if you didn't keep it cut like you were still a cadet."

"It's more practical this way."

She hummed, lightly scratching at Killian's nape one more time before sitting back in her seat. Killian turned a little to look at her, an exaggerated pout on his lips, and her stomach did a little flip.

God, she was so fucked for this man.

Smiling, she turned away, watching the endless farmland pass by outside. It was fairly repetitive: field of crops, dilapidated barn, the occasional pasture filled with some livestock, house, repeat. Eventually, it proved to be just soporific enough to put her to sleep, the excitement of the morning catching up with her.

She didn't know how long she slept for, and when she did wake it was hard to convince herself to open her eyes; the seats were comfortable with all the extra padding - another safety measure. Also, Killian and Will seemed to be having a rather heated discussion about her.

"Mate, I just don't see why you brung her."

"She wanted to come. I promised her ages ago I'd take her out, she wants to see what I do besides stare at Excel sheets."

"She don't take you out where she works."

"She's police, Will. Why are you so bothered by this? We've had other people work with us before."

"That's the thing, innit? They work with us. She's just - a bloody tourist, like one of those groups that charge you a couple hundred and drag you around the countryside and go 'welp, looks like it was a bad day, folks, sorry, no refunds'."

"She's not dead weight. If we need an extra pair of hands, she'll be more than capable. I thought you liked her."

Will's voice was quiet and Emma knew she needed to make it known soon that she was awake, but she also really wanted to know the answer to this. She and Liam were still less than friends, and she wanted to hear if Will thought similarly. "I do like her. This isn't against her, this is... I dunno, mate. I don't like feeling like I'm just playing chauffeur or third wheel on some kind of 'impress the girl' tour."

Killian sounded like he'd had a small epiphany. "This isn't about Emma. This is about Ana."

"Don't wanna talk about that c-"

They hit a hole in the road that caused the whole back end to jolt and Emma let out a little shriek of surprise as Killian swore. "Bloody fucking lazy-ass, penny-pinching, corrupt sons of-"

Will pulled over and Killian barely waited for him to stop before getting out and going around to inspect the front tire where they'd hit. They could still hear him cursing ODOT and all the holes they hadn't patched up on the highways, and Emma let her head fall back with a sigh. "How much of that did you hear?" Will asked, surprising her.

She caught his eye in the rearview mirror. He didn't look guilty so much as he looked embarrassed that she'd overheard. "Enough," she said, "to know that I seem to have this problem with the people in Killian's life."

"I'm sorry, lass," he told her. "Shoulda waited to talk to him without you nearby."

She shook her head. "Not sorry you said it, though."

"Like that mind-reading bastard said, it's not about you."

"Ana."

He sighed. "Don't wanna get into it, but she's a right bitch of the first order. Thought she was everything, instead she took everything. Look, I do like you, not that my opinion matters 'coz I'm not the one dating you, but you're good for him." Killian continued to swear outside and Emma smiled wanly. "Ain't never seen him happier, present situation excluded, and that might be what put a bug up my arse about it. So I'm sorry - my shit getting in the way."

She pursed her lips. Yes, it stung. Could she fault him for letting his own feelings cloud his judgement? No. "Next time you have a problem, just take it up with me personally; don't go through Killian. He's got enough on his plate."

He caught her eye again and she saw the crow's feet form around his eyes as he smiled. "He does, but I dunno if I wanna go head on with you, lass - you'll knock me dick up through my teeth if I'm not careful."

Emma just smiled, not confirming or denying anything, as Killian got back in and practically ordered, "It'll hold for now, just drive."

They stopped a little while later for gas and to put a little extra air in the tire, just in case; Will was the one to get out this time, leaving Emma and Killian alone in the TIV. Killian shoved his sunglasses up on top of his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry if you heard-" he started, but she interrupted him.

"We already talked about it. He apologized, we made a sort of deal that we'll butt heads with each other about anything else in the future. He'll leave you out of it."

He looked guilty, and she unbuckled herself to lean forward and play with his hair again. "I didn't want today to go like this," he said. "Losing my temper like that, letting Will run his mouth. I wanted to share this with you, and I feel like it's just going badly."

Emma closed the space between them and kissed his cheek. "It's not your fault. I'm not even mad, I'm just… you have a lot of people who love you, and I'm a little worried about how much I have to prove to them that I - that I care about you too."

His eyes flicked up to hers, completely catching on to her stumbling over the words. They were just shy of a year of dating and they hadn't said it yet. Oh, she'd almost said it - back in April, for instance, when he'd taken her for that picnic and taught her about storms. One morning a few weeks ago when he'd surprised her at the station with hot cocoa and a bear claw, she'd covered up the urge to say it by taking far too large a bite out of her breakfast.

This morning, laying naked in her bed when he'd eaten her out and not asked for anything in return.

She knew he felt it. The way he was looking at her right now definitely said it. But he was waiting for her to make the first move, letting her set their pace, and she was just too damned scared to say it.

Even though she was almost positive she felt the same way as he did.

The door opened and Will got back in, so Emma just kissed Killian on the cheek again before sitting back in her seat.

Dark, heavy clouds sat low in the sky as they got back on the road and Emma scanned the cloud base carefully for any signs of activity. Lightning lit up the cloud interior here and there, and the occasional cloud-to-ground bolt made her start with surprise, but she reminded herself that this was what they'd come out here to chase and it would only get worse - if they were lucky.

Odd, to think that the worse the conditions, the luckier they'd be.

"Emma, love, do you mind navigating?" She looked up and saw Killian offering her the smaller laptop. "I'll give you where we need to be going and you tell Will where to turn. It gets trickier to look between both screens sometimes, especially when I have to send emails."

"Sure." She thought she'd do better with her phone, but she'd use the thing that didn't suck up her data plan out here in the middle of nowhere. "You're writing emails? Now?"

"Updates to the National Weather Service, love. Strictly business."

They stopped just on the edge of the storm and got out - Emma mostly to stretch, but Will and Killian wanted to get their anemometers and barometers and whatever-meters balanced to the area before going in. Killian took some photos too, while Will set up a GoPro on the front dash. "I can stream this on our social pages," he explained while Emma watched. "With social media, news stations can pick stuff up, let people know how bad it is, and we can get some cash from it."

Killian came up beside her, slipping his arm around her waist and tucking his hand in her pocket. She leaned into him and he pressed a kiss to her temple. "I let Will deal with Twitter and whatnot, I'm not good with the hashtags and selfies and whatever else kids are doing these days."

"You're such an old man," Will grumbled, looking down at his phone.

"Selfies are easy," Emma said, taking his camera from him. She held it in front of them and she felt his head bump into hers as they leaned in close.

Okay, selfies with an actual DSLR weren't as easy as they were with the phone, but she had to admit the photo came out nice anyway. Even if her hair was escaping from its braid, wisps of it all windblown and sticking up a little from all the static in the air.

"Now how do I put this on Twitter?" Killian asked, a teasing tone in his voice.

"First you shove it up your arse-" Will stopped, laughing as Emma reached over and smacked him on the arm.

A rumble of thunder reminded them why they were out there. "Alright, it's now or never," Killian said. "Let's get the helmets on now so we don't have to scramble if we get close to an intercept."

As they strapped in, belt and harness this time, and Emma settled her helmet on, she suddenly wondered why they hadn't seen any other chasers out, and mentioned it. "There's at least three other teams that we know of out now," Will said. "Just texted 'em. This storm's big enough to come at from a few different directions, so we coordinated a little."

"And I've been emailing with a few as well. We're all working for the same goal," Killian added. "It's not like one person gets to grab the singular prize and they win. Everyone has different reasons for chasing, so the only real reason we have to coordinate is so that if someone gets in trouble, the others can go help out. We're all looking at the same section of the storm, so you'll see another crew soon."

She had a thought; she could see their location on the map, so maybe these other crews were visible too? And there it was - if she zoomed out on the map, she saw what he was talking about; everyone's GPS location was there and she counted five other teams in the area. She went back to the original map positions as Killian started reading off probable target areas and Emma got to work figuring out how that translated to the GPS.

Rain splattered against the windshield, slowly at first with fat drops of rain, but soon increased to a torrential downpour. Killian didn't want them to get stuck in the rain too soon, so he and Emma worked together to get them towards the southern side of the storm, still east of where the hook was starting to form on the map. But the rain was persistent, even as it tapered to a more visible hindrance, and as they moved closer to their target area, hail started to pelt against the hard outer shell of the TIV. "That's good, right?" Emma called over the racket it was making.

"Hopefully!" Killian said.

"If it don't break our equipment!" Will added.

Emma saw another map come up on Killian's computer, this one mottled reds and greens. "Wind directions," he said. "We're looking for red and green close together, it signals they're in rotation and either a funnel cloud or an actual tornado."

He brought the radar and the wind map up side by side, and Emma joined Will in actually scanning the skies for signs of activity. "All the technology in the world can't make up for human senses," Will said.

She thought it was interesting how they balanced -Will could do the technologically social side of their job but preferred to use his eyes to do the actual work, Killian was helpless at social media but could run several programs at once to detect tornadic activity. Even if they were good friends otherwise, she was starting to see how they worked well as an actual team; friendship could only help so much in a working relationship.

"I think - yes, we need to go a bit northeast to get ahead of it, but there might be something," Killian said.

Emma scanned her map and told Will where to turn next. She zoomed out and saw a few other teams heading the same way. "Three others think the same," she said.

"Good. We'll get into position and deploy the probes, and then hopefully we can intercept."

"And it'll be a good day for everyone," Will added.

She looked out the window, looking towards the south and west of where they were. The rain made it a little harder to see, but she could still tell where the cloud bottoms were; wispy, low-hanging cloudlets darted along faster than the darker mass above, and she wished she knew more about what she was looking for in the churning gray clouds. For all that she'd lived most of her life in the Midwest and Tornado Alley, she'd never seen a tornado in person before, just the aftermath.

They put in another couple of miles before Killian launched the probes; it was one thing to know that it was basically like having six giant t-shirt cannons sticking out of the TIV, but it was another for all those air pressure valves to be released at once, right near Emma's head. "Sorry," Killian said, his voice dimmed by the ringing in her ears.

"What?" she asked loudly.

"I said - oh, bloody hell, you're teasing."

"Only a little." Emma looked at her map again. "Will, skip this next road and turn left on the one about a mile down the way."

"What? That'll put us way out of the way of the probes."

"Yeah, but the wind map says they'll get picked up and carried off - and the storm's turning."

She glanced up and Killian was looking back at her with sheer delight on his face. "You're learning, Swan."

She smiled, pleased that he was so pleased at how quickly she was picking everything up. The rain suddenly dropped off and Will swore. He gunned it, and all three of them looked off to their left. "I see it!" Will shouted. "Funnel cloud!"

Killian had his phone out in a second to call it in, while Emma scanned the clouds for what he was talking about. She only saw the wispy cloudlets, though, until Killian hung up and said, "Look behind the scud, it's a bit pointy -"

"The what?"

"Little wispy bits, they're called scud, look behind them for the funnel."

She looked again and saw what he was talking about: the thin funnel cloud was rotating as it slowly stretched downwards. "Can we get ahead of it?"

"Doin' me best, lass."

The engine roared as Will floored it again. He asked how many roads were available for turnoff ahead and she told him three; he took the second one, slowing down enough so that the whole TIV didn't tip over during a turn but just barely - they still leaned uncomfortably far and the tires were actually squealing a little before they got some traction and rumbled off on down the road. She wondered just how just further they'd go, watching as the funnel cloud reached the ground and a cloud of debris swirling upwards around it, when they slowed suddenly and the TIV shook as they went offroad. "Deploying," Will said, parking and pulling on a lever that dropped the lower armored flaps.

Killian had his own buttons to push, the ones that deployed the spikes deep into the ground and anchored them in place - in theory. One of these days, they might not work as well as they'd hoped, but he'd told her that in all his intercepts so far (three, in the last five years or so) the safety measures had worked without fail.

"Now what?" Emma asked.

"We wait," Killian said, his eyes on the tornado.

"If you're the praying type, I'd do that too," Will added.

Emma wasn't sure she liked the sound of that, but she swallowed hard and gripped her harness for something to do with her hands. The TIV started to shudder as the wind outside picked up. "It's not the funnel that's the problem," Killian said. "It's the wind's all outside it and what they carry. The funnel's just the middle."

He said all of this very calmly and Emma wondered if that's what she sounded like when describing a crime scene, and if people thought she was crazy for being so calm about something so dangerous, too.

Something bashed into the TIV on the passenger's side and she yelped. "See?" Killian said.

A small rain of debris started to join in beating up the TIV, along with the rain, and Emma's fight-or-flight instincts were extremely unhappy with her current situation. The wind outside roared and she squeezed her eyes shut as the shaking grew more violent. There were some serious regrets about asking to come chase sometime and she felt very much like she'd gotten into something way over her head here. She wasn't the type of person who put much stock into praying, but she thought it might not do any harm to asking whoever might be listening to get them through this in one piece.

Something touched her knee and she opened her eyes. Killian was reaching back for her, giving her a reassuring look as he twiddled his fingers at her. She took his hand and he squeezed it, just as the view outside of the windows grew dark with the amount of dirt flying through the air.

Emma didn't think she blacked out at all during the interception, but if she had to recall it later, the only thing that came to mind was how dark and loud it was, and the warmth of Killian's hand in hers. It felt like it lasted for days, and she didn't realize it was over until he tugged on her hand a little to bring her out of whatever trance she'd gotten lost in. "Come on," he said.

She blinked - surely he didn't mean what she thought he meant. But no, he did, letting go of her hand to undo his safety harness and seatbelt; Will was doing the same. She followed their lead, a few beats behind; she left the helmet on, though, she didn't want a rogue two-by-four falling out of the sky and bashing her head in.

The sky was already lighter as the storm rolled on ahead. Emma joined them on the road, watching as the tornado started to rope out in the distance. Killian was taking pictures again, Will filming with the GoPro. Emma felt the adrenaline start to wear off, and leaned back against the TIV for support, not caring how filthy her clothes were going to get. Killian turned, putting the camera on the passenger's seat. Evidently, his adrenaline was still pumping, because he pulled her up and whirled her around, a grin on his face. "That was the best intercept we've had in ages, love, you were brilliant!"

"Me?" she asked, breathless.

"You," he said. "You picked up on everything so quickly, you made that last call on where to go, and without it we wouldn't have gotten nearly so many results. We make quite the team, if you don't mind me saying."

Finally, she started to grin. She was tired - exhausted, really - and everything was sort of catching up to her all at once. "We do," she said, "and don't take this the wrong way, Killian, but as much as I love you I never want to do this again."

His face went slack. "What?"

"I never want to go chasing again. I think this was more than enough-"

"No, the part before that," he said.

Emma paused, trying to remember what she'd said. She'd gotten to see what he did, which was what all of this had started out as, and she loved him, but this had been more than-

She loved him.

She'd said it out loud.

She met his eyes, the fight-or-flight instinct coming back, and he was looking at her with such raw hope that it gave her the courage to ask, "The part where I said I love you?"

"Aye," Killian said, his voice cracking. "That's the one. You bloody maddening woman, you'll be the death of me."

He picked her up and spun them around again, meeting her lips with a quick kiss. "I love you, too," he said softly, for their ears only.

Emma grinned, bumping his forehead with hers.

Will sighed, loudly. "If you two are done bein' all twitterpated with each other? Can we go find our probes? Get back home before it gets too late and maybe start looking at the data?"

Killian hardly spared a glance to his friend. "Dunno, mate, we might not get back early enough for data mining. We've probably all earned a good rest after today, don't you think, Emma?"

She smiled coyly, hoping he was implying what she thought he was implying. "Oh, definitely. Take a look at it with fresh eyes tomorrow."

After all, she did have to repay him for this morning.

[graceverse]

like a map that traced her pain

Rating: Not Rated Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Category: F/M Fandoms: Game of Thrones (TV), A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin Relationship: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark Characters: Jon Snow, Sansa Stark, Ramsay Bolton Additional Tags: Ramsay is his own warning, post season 8-ish, Post-Canon, Sexual Content Language: English

Notes: So. I posted the Day 2 challenge even though it's already the 9th day. *peeks nervously* I hope that's ok? If not, I can always just not include it in the challenge 

Like a map that traced her pain, the aches and the sorrows of her soul, a network of intertwined lines, veins and rivers and roads that aimlessly meander across her skin, Jon follows the latticework of scars with his fingers, his skin barely grazing hers, gentle and calloused. He doesn’t say anything; he knows that he doesn’t have to. Sometimes, his breath ghosts against her skin as he shifts position, pulling her closer to him, twining their fingers together as he nuzzles his nose against the curve of her neck, lips skimming her pulse point. Sometimes, he’d let his tongue flick, as though tasting these long ago wounds that Ramsay no longer owned.

The first time she bared herself to him, she had ducked her head low, almost burrowing into Jon’s chest. She was half blinded by her tears that she was determined not to spill. She had cried enough. She wasn’t going to cry on her wedding night, not when Jon had looked at her with something akin to awe. The intensity of his gaze never wavering, always so constant, it made her feel powerful and weak at the same time.  

Sansa could feel the cool air against her skin as Jon tenderly pushed her sleeping gown off her shoulders, the whisper of silk seemed loud enough inside the impossibly quiet room. She could barely see Jon’s own chest. The dark angry scar above his heart wavered and blurred and it made her throat constrict painfully. She had let out a strangled sob, not for her, but for her once half-brother, turned cousin and now husband. She could endure her pain but not Jon’s. They had been betrayed one too many times, left lost and alone, desperate and wounded wolves howling into the night, crying for home, crying for each other.

Jon had taken her chin, his palms cradling her face, letting her tears fall and soak through his skin. His other free hand had grasped her hips; the roughened pad of his thumb delicately circling the scar Ramsay’s knife had left when he had angrily cut off her small clothes. And already, that memory was starting to fade, replaced by the warmth of Jon’s strong hand as he gripped her tighter, pulling her all the more closer towards him. He lifted her face until she was forced to stare up at him. His eyes were dark, like winter nights when clouds gathered around Winterfell and there were no stars and the light of the gray moon was swallowed up by winter storms. But his eyes, like his touch was fire and heat, the scorching breath of a dragon waking up from a deep slumber.

“Wife,” Jon’s voice was deep, solemn, a low grumble as he leaned forward to whisper her name.  “I have dreamt of calling you that. You have no idea, Sansa…” Jon let out an explosive breath, almost a snarl, remembering how long he had fought against his feelings for her. “How much I have wanted it even before, even when I knew that I shouldn’t – couldn’t – have you. Even when I had thought it was a sin.” Jon had his arm wrapped around her waist as he positioned himself between her thighs and Sansa could feel his strength, the hard planes of his muscled body.

“Husband,” Sansa answered just as fervently, and from the deepest, darkest secret place of her heart, she confessed the same sin. The same desperation she felt when she had thought that he loved someone else, that he would leave her in a home that will never truly be a home without him.

“Never.” Jon growled, hands moving from her face to the valley between her breasts, gliding lower, palms turning into knuckles as he gently, gently dragged his fist across her stomach and the crisscrossed marks of knives that had teased and then slowly cut against her skin.

Sansa remembered that night --- but Jon’s touch was turning the memory into something else, the horror and the pain fading away, replaced by the delicious wet heat of his mouth as he began kissing her skin. Sucking at the faintly puckered flesh, into the deeper groves where Ramsay’s knife had truly cut her and made her bleed. Jon laved her skin with his tongue, erasing everything that used to ache and sting.

Sansa whimpered, murmuring stringed-up words that did not make sense, that did not sound like any langue she knew, a mixture of yes-no-gods-Jon-please-please-please all coming together, her ragged breath rendering them incoherent. But Jon seemed to understand and he kissed her and kissed and kissed her until he had marked all of her scars, as though claiming them, as though he could and would kiss all the hurt away, erasing the dark memories tied to them.

He would. He could.

It was a silent promise that shone in his dark eyes that held her stare before he slowly parted her legs, kissing her where she had been so badly wounded and used, the horror of surrendering to Ramsay’s cruelty was replaced by this sudden need to have Jon inside her, truly, fully inside her. Sansa tugged at his curls, uncaring if it hurt him. She wordlessly urged him to come up and claim her now… now.

She wanted Jon to be inside her when she shatters and falls apart. She wanted to be able to surrender herself into the edge and become part of the ebb and flow of this world, to be without thought and fears, to be free of the monsters that lurked within the shadows of her mind. She wished to be reduced into nothing but the purest form of sensation. She wanted Jon to join her and bear witness at the unfolding of her skin, so he could crawl into the hidden places inside of her that had not been touched by sorrow and anger and despair. Because it's Jon. And her trust in him was so absolute, she was certain that he will always be there to gather her back up again and make her whole and strong and his.

Jon, so attuned to her, obliges. He enters, swiftly, in one stroke, his head settling on the crook of her neck. It took Sansa as second to realize that Jon was chanting her name, his voice dark and raw, filled with the same need and want that she had felt earlier.

SansaSansaSansaSansa was a never ending kiss against her pulse point. Sansa arched her back as his hand dropped to where they were joined and suddenly, she could no longer think; there was only Jon and his mouth and his fingers and the white hot heat curling and unraveling inside of her.

This was how it was to be loved and wanted and needed and breathed life into and Sansa knew that she was finally, finally starting to heal. Some scars will fade, some scars will become old, brittle skin, but it did not matter anymore. Her scars no longer ached and burned. She could look at them and remember exactly how Jon had caressed it with his calloused fingers, or kissed it with his adoring lips.

Sansa had taken her body back, it belonged only to her now. And to Jon, because she gave it to him freely and how wonderfully, utterly did he cherish it.  

End Notes:  Uhm, also this is my first ever ever fic that has sexual content. So uhm, yes... I'm oddly feeling shy. But don't mind me. I will just quietly sit in the corner and wonder how I was able to write all that down.

[scripturehomosexuality]

“Why are you peddling erotica on this website? I thought this was a Christian blog.”

For the record, this was not an actual submitted question. However, given the content of the new “Additional Links” page, I’m sure that some visitors are asking these questions. Within that page, I provide links to tumblr blogs that are sexually explicit. In fact, those links are the most explicit this blog has ever featured.

To make clear my own position about the Bible, erotica and sex, I’ll answer them right now.

As such, Hebrews 5:14 exerted a big influence on my thinking, which speaks of those “who are mature, who through training have the skill to recognize the difference between right and wrong.” (New Living Translation) In other words, the Bible cannot make rules on everything. Most things aren’t black and white. Given the many principles that the Bible teaches, Christians must use them to sharpen their judgement, to discern what is right and wrong.

As such, when we analyse how the Bible discusses sex, we quickly discover that sex cannot be judged as black (all bad) or white (all good).

For the purposes of this discussion, sex will be defined as any penetrative or non-penetrative activity that results in an orgasm.

All Sex Isn’t Bad

There are many Biblical passages that frankly depict sexual matters. A select few passages do so in titillating ways. An example is Song of Solomon 7:1 which reads, “The curves of your thighs are like jewelry, the handiwork of a master.” (Holman Standard Christian Bible). Verse 3 says further, “Your two breasts are like two fawns, twins of a gazelle.” (International Standard Version) Meanwhile, Proverbs 5:19 says the following, “Like a loving deer, a beautiful doe, let her breasts satisfy you all the time. Be constantly intoxicated by her love.” (ISV)

When the Bible uses such sensual language, these passages surely weren’t meant for dry textbook reading. They were meant to provoke a reaction. A book encouraging prudery certainly wouldn’t do that.

In fact, these passages further show what anthropologists have discovered - erotica is as old as the human race. On a basic level, this shows another dimension of human storytelling, in which we want to hear the experiences of others. This evidently includes our sexual experiences, in which we want to “show and tell” about our sexual experiences. As humans, we get sexual pleasure from seeing and hearing others’ stories of sexual pleasure.

I’m positive that the Bible writers knew this, because they were people too. Yet, they used such provocative language in their text. Evidently, expressions of sexuality aren’t wrong in themselves.

Furthermore, in certain areas the Bible is far less restrictive than people like to think. For example, no Bible passage comes close to prohibiting masturbation. Even though it was openly practiced around the Bible writers, there isn’t a peep about it anywhere in the text. Likewise, as we’ve covered many times before, the Bible doesn’t condemn all same-sex behavior and attraction. Yet, Christianity rails hard against both, and is far more restrictive than the Bible in these areas.

As you can probably tell, being a Christian is different from being a prude. Given these passages, it’s impossible to be a Christian and believe all sex is dirty, nasty, and disgusting. Instead, Christians must recognize sex as a clean, natural and beautiful expression of love and affection. Christians must be willing to freely embrace sex and sexual expression in their own lives.

All Sex Isn’t Good

At the same time, there are several instances where the Bible condemns certain types and forms of sex.

Bestiality and incest are rigorously condemned. Prostitution is never described in positive terms, and all Israelites were prohibited from serving as prostitutes. Extramarital and premarital opposite-sex contact are never allowable. As we have covered in the blog, the Bible opposes any practice of anal sex by anyone, whether same-sex or opposite-sex.

Thus, the Bible quickly shows that it is not blindly saying that all sex is good.

Yet, in the short list I just mentioned, I’m sure you noticed a running theme. All the types of sex condemned involve some incongruity, where they fit into one or more of these categories:

biological anarchy (bestiality, incest, anal play)

exploitation (prostitution, rape)

STD transmission (extramarital and premarital opposite-sex contact, anal play)

high pregnancy risk (extramarital and premarital opposite-sex contact, prostitution)

Through this, we quickly understand what exactly the Bible calls immoral sex. It basically opposes any sex where, from an objective standpoint, someone is bound to get hurt or disadvantaged. It doesn’t matter whether that someone is born or unborn.

So Christendom’s definition of immoral sex - “anything that God says you shouldn’t do” - isn’t entirely accurate. While God indeed commanded his worshippers to not do these acts, it was for a reason. He didn’t say these things just because he can, which makes him sound like a spiteful dictator. Instead, the definition of “immoral sex” connects to the general definition of “immoral”, of being reckless and unethical. Because these acts can harm someone, doing them displays a conscienceless and careless attitude, and are therefore immoral.

On a higher level, we also better understand the message described in the subheading. While the Bible recognizes sex as something clean and good, it also recognizes situations that can pervert its virtue. To protect the sanctity of sex, those particular arrangements are condemned.

The Role of the Christian Conscience

To be clear, there are things that the Bible considers always good, such as love, peace, patience, and self control. There are also things the Bible considers always bad, such as hatred, jealousy, drunkenness, and unbridled anger. On these matters, there isn’t much basis to argue that, for example, love is evil and jealousy is good.

However, there are a number of areas that aren’t entirely good or bad. In those cases, the Bible provides general principles upon which judgements must be made. As Christians, it is up to us not to view all things in black and white terms. In most parts of life, some things are good, and some things are bad. We must be willing to make distinctions between the clean and unclean, the harmless and the dangerous, and make fair judgements based on that. We cannot mindlessly paint everything with a broad brush.

As we’ve just seen, sex is one of those things. This also affects judgements on erotica, since erotica is basically depictions of sexual behavior. There are two extremes about erotica that currently exist:

Erotica that is relatively tame, which depicts behavior that is harmless and innocent (yes, sexual behavior can be innocent)

Erotica that is blatantly exploitative, dangerous and risky

As the writer of this blog, my own conscience had to find a middle ground between the two extremes, to decide how this blog would treat erotic content.

With all this in mind, I’ve made the following decision. In certain passages, the Bible uses language that is unambiguously erotic. God can’t view all sexual expression (or observation of such) as bad, or else that language wouldn’t be there. When the Bible doesn’t censor its own eroticism, I see no reason to hide or avoid explicit depictions of sex.

By extension, something else quickly becomes evident - God never wanted sex to be a compartmentalized “guilty pleasure” that humans couldn’t avoid. He never wanted it to be something that was too dirty for children to know. Instead, it’s intended to be fully integrated into everyday life, for young and old. It’s meant to be as normal and commonplace as eating, drinking, and sleeping. Since it’s a normal and natural human desire, it shouldn’t be hidden.

As proof, review the discussion of the “marital due” in 1 Corinthians, which was originally a letter to the Corinthian Christians. Even though that letter was read to audiences with young people, the Apostle Paul (its writer) didn’t mince words. Furthermore, given that same-sex eroticism was likely practiced among unmarried young Christians, they would have some knowledge of sexual pleasure. Because of Paul’s openness, and the likely sexual exploits of young Christians, this topic probably wasn’t awkward. Sex was an natural everyday activity for all ages, so there was no reason to be stiff about it.

As such, if this blog tiptoed around even innocent displays of sexuality, it would reinforce those incorrect views. By freely showing vivid depictions of sex, this blog graphically shows that sex isn’t anything that must be hidden. Instead, it should be freely and seamlessly included within one’s daily activities and pleasures, and as openly discussed as favorite dishes and recipes. As long as the sex didn’t cause any objective harm, no fuss needed to be made about it. Otherwise, discomfort with sex would signal deeper discomfort with oneself.

Along with that, this blog talks about sexual behavior that most might not know, like frot or tribbing. Written descriptions can only go so far. As a result, I feel no conflict in giving links to websites that leave little to the imagination, and display behavior that is healthier and far more pleasurable.

The same logic goes for nudity, which is why I posted nude photos in posts like these.

At the same time, I’m under obligation not to encourage sexual behavior that is dangerous, exploitative, and thus immoral. This is why in the websites I cited, the presence of anal play is virtually minimal.

I’m not going to say the sites are perfect. Posts showing anal play are very infrequent, but do occur on some of these sites. That shows the pervasiveness of the anal sex ethos in the “gay” community. In that case, I expect my readers to exercise their own intelligence and consciences, and recognize these acts as objectively disadvantageous and that I do not endorse them.

I think I take a responsible position. I do not treat sex as a dirty act that must be hidden, because it is not. At the same time, I cannot blindly say that all sex is okay, which is why certain acts have a minimal presence in the links attached.

In fact, our messy attitudes on sex exist because dualistic thinking is so prevalent. The Religious Right feels that all sex is bad. It is only tolerated (note that I didn’t say “embraced”) within opposite-sex marriage, and to them, all other situations must be severely punished. Meanwhile, the “gay” establishment feels that all sex is good, and no one should make judgement calls on danger or morality. As a result, depression and STDs plague the “gay” community, because no one wants to say that certain acts are simply detrimental and should not be done.

In other words, neither extreme benefits the common good. A moderate approach will yield the most benefit. To me, it is also the most Christian approach.

Plus, the “Additional Links” page might have an unintended effect that would be educational. The page gives links for sexual activity among men and among women. Most likely, viewers won’t stick to watching their own gender. Instead, men might drift into the links about female activity, and women might wander into the links about men. Thus, “gay” men might be aroused by female-female activity, and “lesbian” women might get turned on by male-male activity. In this way, they might finally understand one of this blog’s messages - that most people are actually bisexual.

In conclusion, this blog reaffirms that it is indeed a Christian website. In fact, because it is Christian, it feels no conflict in attaching erotica that display harmless and innocent sexual activity. Being a Christian is very different from being a prude. Being the former should help one understand humanity on a deeper level, while being the latter demonstrates a total lack of understanding.

Sex is not a “guilty pleasure” controlled by supposedly base urges, which must be segregated from other parts of life. Instead, it is something that should be embraced without guilt, and seamlessly woven into one’s life. Something that is so natural and normal doesn’t have to be hidden. This blog promotes this healthy viewpoint by freely displaying depictions of sex. In looking at those links, readers might discover new sides to their sexuality.

Don’t think being religious requires shame about one’s sexuality. In fact, by embracing sex, you can better understand how sex is a gift from God, and how much we should give that gift the appreciation it deserves.

Post Scriptum (Added on 1/25/2018)

By including these links to erotica, some visitors might think I’m contradicting some of my words. Since most of the erotica displayed is produced by “gay” porn companies, I might appear to be supporting the involvement of capitalism and neoliberalism in sex. This is a link I have strongly criticized.

That is not the case at all. To make my point, I will attach the following excerpt from a Man2Man Alliance post entitled “I'm so grateful this resource is available because it has changed my life”:

~~~

...one of our guys wrote to me recently and said, We need more Frot porn.

If there was more Frot porn, he said, there'd be more guys into Frot.

That's not correct.

In point of fact, producers of "professional porn" know about cocktocock dick2dick cockrub Frot.

It's their business to know about it.

They don't produce dick2dick porn because the market is too small -- there's no money in it.

For example, just today I got an email from a pornographer advertising a new nude fight site.

And no, I'm not going to post the name here because many of our guys are just stupid and venial enough that they'd go to the site and give the guy money.

But what the site is about is "wrestling for top."

Two guys "wrestle" and the "winner" fucks the "loser."

That's an expression of the subculture's values and views about sex.

Believe me, the producer of the porn doesn't care what happens at the end of the "bout."

He's only interested in money -- and maximizing the return on his investment.

If there were money in having the "actors" rub cocks -- that's what he'd have em do.

The pornographer is simply responding to the market.

And the market is an expression of the CULTURE.

~~~~

This excerpt contains an important point, and includes erotica showing other non-penetrative acts: non-anal erotica isn’t common because there’s simply no money in it.

This means that companies that produce only non-anal porn aren’t rich. For companies that usually produce anal porn, their non-anal videos might sell at losses. The “gay” market simply has no interest in it. Most “gay” consumers are only into porn that somehow features anal.

That’s why there are so few links featured on that page. Even as that page grows, the number of links will remain rather low. There are relatively few homoerotic Tumblr blogs that don’t prominently feature anal. For every non-anal video featured on “gay” porn sites, there are thousands more that do show anal.

Thus, attaching these links cannot be an endorsement of capitalism’s involvement in sex. Capitalism simply isn’t interested in it. Under present conditions, shunning depiction of anal is bad for business.

However, that isn’t a bad thing, as shown by another excerpt from that same page:

~~~

...by the way -- will that be a good thing, the pro's getting in there and producing Frot porn?

NO!

The world doesn't need more porn, professionally produced or otherwise.

It needs more MORALITY in sex.

That's what it needs.

~~~

Those statements don’t mean that erotica should be opposed. Just before this excerpt, Alliance founder Bill Weintraub (the person quoted) plugged a frot erotica website run by an Alliance member.

Instead, Mr. Weintraub is saying that inculcating morality into sex is much more important.

That is the aim of the “Additional Links” page - to introduce more moral ways to have sex, to show that sex can be a clean pleasure that need not be overly restricted.

That goes against endorsing capitalist elements, and in fact goes beyond them. Instead, it’s more focused on humanitarian needs, and helping all of humanity become more in tune with itself.

[ladyfogg]

Sick Like Me - Part 16/20

Sick Like Me - Part 16/20

Fic Summary: With unfinished business hanging over your head, being locked up in Arkham is holding you back. However, you have your eye on a certain red-haired maniac, who may be just the person to help you escape and realize your true potential.  Fic Song. Fic Playlist. Fic Masterpost.

Fic Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Jerome Valeska/Female Reader

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, for a complete list of warnings, visit AO3.

A/N: I almost have all the remaining chapters drafted, and I’ve got to say, this has been a fucking intense story. I didn’t think I could write something like this but I’m super proud of myself for doing it. Honestly, this chapter made me go super dark and, yeah. You've been warned. 

Eventually, the Commissioner spills everything. After the show she put on with her hard exterior and spitting at Jerome, it only takes few minutes of Jerome beating her for her to break. In the end, you don't have to lift a finger. Camera in hand, you watch as Jerome makes her scream, growing wet with every drop of blood.

“Across from Wayne Enterprise,” Essen gasps through the pain, eye swollen shut and lip split open. “There's an apartment building we use to house witnesses. She's on the third floor.”

Excited, you place the camera on the desk and come to stand by Jerome. “Security?” you demand.

“A few armed guards,” Essen sobs, tears of shame streaming down her face, mixing with blood. “It's all we could spare.”

This is better than you could have imagined. You had been sure Essen was tougher, would be harder to crack. It seems she was just as weak as all the rest

“Please—” Essen begs, but never gets to finish her sentence.

Jerome shoots her in the head. You barely register the blood splattering across your pristine blouse, too preoccupied with Jerome swooping in for a kiss.

“Happy, doll face?” he asks.

You grab his hand, wiping the blood off on your skirt before you slid it underneath, forcing him to feel the wetness between your legs. “Never better,” you growl.

Jerome grunts, two fingers spreading you open, before reluctantly withdrawing his hand. “Get the camera,” he orders, lewdly sucking the digits clean.

You raise your eyebrow defiantly and he adds, “Please.” with a sarcastic smile.

Satisfied, you pick up the camera and aim it at Jerome. “Ready when you are, puddin’,” you say.

Jerome grins. “Hellllooooo, Gotham City!” he exclaims. “We're the Maniax and I'm Jerome, the shot caller of our little gang.”

Before you can comment however, he glances past the camera at you and adds, “Well one of them anyways. Say hello, Queenie.”

He grabs the camera and maneuvers it around so you're now in the shot with him.

“Hello there, lovelies,” you smile. Jerome presses his cheek to yours, smearing his blood onto your skin. “And an extra special greeting to Detective Gordon and Dr. Thompkins. Guys, couples dinner, you and us. Call me.”

Jerome laughs. “We're here to spread the message of wisdom and hope.” His smile fades as Greenwood groans, not quite as dead as you initially thought.

Jerome withdraws his pistol and shoots Greenwood again, silencing him for good. You draw back, refocusing the camera on your lover.

“Some people have no manners,” he tuts. That dark look comes across his face and he leans in close to the camera. “You're all prisoners. What you call sanity, it's just a prison in your minds that stops you from seeing that you're just tiny little cogs in a giant absurd machine.”

He's magical. You find yourself hanging on every word he's saying, entranced.

“Wake up!” he snarls. “Why be a cog? Be free! Like us!”

He takes the camera and tugs you into frame again, eyes flaring with hunger and passion. “Just remember...smile!”

The kiss is dirty and lewd, and you follow through, moaning loudly as his tongue assaults your mouth. His tongue tastes like blood and your slick, your favorite combination of flavors. In the distance are sirens and both of you withdraw with noises of disappointment.

“Time to go,” you urge.

Jerome nods in agreement, turning back to the camera. “Don't worry, we'll be back very soon!” He slips the hat of his uniform on, smashing his lips against your cheek in a loud, smacking kiss. “Hang on to your hats folks, ‘cause you ain't seen nothing yet!”

Jerome's laughter is contagious and you find yourself joining in, even as you stop recording. You pop out the tape and Jerome whistles as he scoops a sharpie off the desk, scribbling Gordon’s name across the label.

“Let's go home,” you say. “We can't bring liberation to the masses if we get caught.”

“I concur,” Jerome states, dropping the tape on Essen’s lap. “Aaron, come help Queenie down!”

There's little time to talk after that. Between giving orders to the goons you hired and escaping the GCPD, there's too much going on. The outside is beginning to swarm with police and you barely manage to make it to the limo before the SWAT team arrives.

You expect Jerome to be all over you once free of danger, but he's not. The vehicle drives off and he throws his hat off, kicking up his heels on the wet bar and folding his hands behind his head. After a few minutes of silence, he glances your way.

“We're dropping Aaron off, I'm changing clothes, and then we have another little trip we have to take today,” he announces.

This is the first you're hearing about these plans. “What trip?” you ask.

“A special one,” Jerome answers. “One for just you and me.” He suddenly hops onto your lap. “We've been serious for a while now,” he comments.

“A couple of weeks actually,” you say, using the sleeve of your jacket to wipe away some of the dried blood from his nose. “It'll be a month since we left Arkham.”

“Well, I think it's time to introduce you to my father,” Jerome grins, batting your hand away. “The poor blind idiot rented an apartment in town when I was put away. We're going to see him.”

Giggling, you slide your hand up his back, wishing you could feel his warm skin and not fabric. “And just what are we going to do while we're there?” you ask.

Jerome's lips curl into a smile. He leans in close. “Shh, it's a surprise,” he says in a stage whisper.

---

The apartment his father rents is a dump, although, most places in Gotham are. His father isn't home, so Jerome makes himself comfortable in a chair to wait. Next to him on the floor, his bag sits open showing rope, knives, and various other fun items.

Jerome takes the rope out and begins to play with it while you wander for a bit, checking things out. It doesn't seem like it's a trap or setup, for which you are grateful.

“Queenie, come here,” Jerome demands.

You raise your eyebrow at his tone, but slink over to his side. “Yes?”

Jerome wraps the end of the rope around his hand, before patting his lap. “Sit with me.”

You oblige, straddling his legs. His hands seize your wrists and he yanks them behind you as he draws you in closer. “Once we take care of my dad and your stepmom, it'll be a message to everyone,” he determines.

The harsh brush of the rope winding around your wrists makes you suck in an excited breath. “Oh, will it?” you purr. “And what will the message say?”

“That the GCPD can't stop us,” he growls, letting your hands go. They're loosely bound, but damn do you wish they were tighter. “That no matter how hard they try to meddle and separate us, we'll always find a way.” He grabs your neck, drawing you in so that your lips brush. “You and me, doll face. Together forever.”

The kiss is interrupted by the sound of the key in the lock. You hop off Jerome's lap and shake your hands free, fingers curling around the rope to keep it from falling onto the floor. Jerome stands, eyes narrowed and grin wide. He glances at you and winks, that familiar flutter of excitement making you grin back.

When the old man walks in, you stand perfectly still, studying him curiously. This man is such a focus of hate for Jerome, you can’t help wondering why. He looks completely unassuming and you suspect Jerome would have taken him out sooner if he hadn't been caught. His father doesn't make any indication that he's aware of your presence, until he walks by you. Only then does he pause.

“Who's there?” he asks, voice raspy.

Neither of you say a word. You cast Jerome a questioningly look and he jerks his head toward his victim, giving you the go ahead.

“I know you're there!” his father says.

Before he can say another word, you wrap the rope around his neck, cutting off his air and keeping him in place. He gasps in surprise, his cane falling to floor as he reaches up to grab for the rope.

“Hiya, pops,” Jerome greets, drawing closer. “Long time, no see.” He laughs at his own joke and you chuckle with him.

The two of you maneuver his dad into a wooden chair, securing him tight enough to keep him there, but not so tight to leave bruises or marks. Jerome's smile never once falters. In fact, it only grows as he drags another kitchen chair closer, purposely letting it scrape across the floor.

Jerome collapses into it when he's finished and you move to stand by his side. “So…” he says casually. “How y’doing?”

Silence is his answer, though that's entirely because Jerome gagged the old man with a scarf.

“Ah, silent treatment,” Jerome continues. “Let me tell you a story.” He lounges back in his seat, making himself comfortable.

“You remember Kansas City, Dad. The circus went through town every spring, around my birthday.” His voice is low and gravely, a register you've barely heard him use, though you find attractive. “There was this guy. Him and my mom use to drink and fornicate and beat the crap out of me. They would make a whole night out of it.”

Anger makes your stomach churn and you find yourself balling your hands into fists to keep from punching something. The thought of people hurting Jerome will always flip a switch, no matter how much you try to contain it.

Jerome doesn't take his eyes off his father, but does reach up to lay a comforting hand on your lower back.

“There was this one time,” he goes on, slowly getting to his feet. “It was my ninth birthday. And him and my mom had just finished round one of boozing, boning, and beating up Jerome.”

His hand slips from your back as he creeps towards his father. As he does, you take the opportunity to pick up his bag and lay out its contents on the nearby table.

“Anyways, I was outside the trailer, and you were there. Annnnd you said, ‘Why are you crying, Jerome?’...” He grabs one of your knives from the pile of toys and examines it closely. “‘It's my birthday, and my mom and the snake guy are beating me!’ and then you said, ‘This world doesn't care about you or anyone else, Jerome. Better to realize that now.’”

He drops the knife and turns to smile at his dad. “And that was it.” He suddenly charges at the man, towering over him as he gets close to his face. “But you were wrong! There is someone in this world who cares about me, and I want you to meet her.”

He straightens his stance and extends his hand to you. When you slip yours into his, he pulls you to his side.

“Dad, this is my partner, Queenie,” Jerome says, nuzzling your neck. “See, she believes in me! She thinks I'm gonna be a star! She has shown me so many beautiful things. We love each other more than you could ever comprehend and we've done so many amazing things together.”

“And to each other,” you add. “Your son is the most beautiful person I've ever met.” Your tone darkens as you step toward your hostage. “What you let his mother do to him makes my blood boil. See no one hurts my puddin’!” You reach down to pinch his ass. “Except for me sometimes, and only because it gets him off.”

Jerome's dad tries to speak, but the scarf muffles his response. Jerome rolls his eyes and yanks the fabric out of his mouth.

“You don't love each other!” his dad snaps viciously. “I have heard all about what you two have been doing. All the people you’ve killed. Neither of you are capable of love.”

Jerome wraps his hand around his dad's throat, angrily bringing his face closer. “We are in love! No one loves her as much as I do. She's mine! She's all I can think about, and she's all I've ever wanted. I have killed for her and she's killed for me. If anything ever happened to her I would rain hell down on those responsible and rip them in half!”

“That's not love, that’s obsession!” his dad insists.

“Same thing,” you declare. “However you look at it, we belong to each other.”

Unable to stop yourself, you cup Jerome’s face and kiss him deeply, tongue seeking his. Jerome groans and wraps his arms around you, kissing back just as enthusiastically. But before you can get caught up in the taste of him, he withdraws.

“Focus, Queenie,” Jerome teases.

“Oh I am focused,” you grin, rubbing his cock through his fine tailored pants.

“Spare me the sounds of your mating,” Jerome's dad begs. “I’d rather die than listen to that.”

“Now, that's no way to handle your son bringing a girl home for the first time!” Jerome scolds. “Honestly, Dad, you're being rude.”

Jerome slinks to stand behind the man, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look in your direction. “Wish you could see her,” he says. “She's gorgeous. A vision,” He giggles excitedly. “And I get to fuck her without a condom, so the sex is like, ten times hotter!”

His father turns a sickly gray color. “No...no! You two aren't bringing children into this world!” he exclaims, horrified.

There's a beat where you and Jerome look at each other and then burst into hysterical laughter.

“God no!” you exclaim.

“Dad, I never knew you were such a comedian,” Jerome says. “Now I see where I get my sense of humor from. No, we won't be procreating, you can go to your grave with some glimmer of happiness. The Valeska and Cicero lines end with me. Parents. Always pushing their kids to have kids. What’s that about?”

“Beats the hell of out me,” you say. “We've got to speed things up. Being wanted criminals and all.”

“Right,” Jerome agrees, letting Cicero go to walk around him. “She's always so good at keeping me on track with things like this. Anyway, Dad. We’re here because we need your help.”

“I'll never help you!” the old man declares.

“Yeeeeeah you will,” Jerome counters. “‘cause you have no choice. Queenie needs a scapegoat and what she wants, she gets.”

“See, Papa Cicero,” you say. “I broke us out of Arkham, because I'm awesome. Unfortunately, Detective Gordon is poking around, and I can’t take care of us if he finds my secret funds, so we need someone to pin the breakout on.”

Jerome turns to a pile of papers that you had placed next to the knives, and spreads them out on the table. “That's where you come in,” he says. “Let's see, blue prints, letters to your son with secret Braille messages planning our escape, plans for Queenie's smoke grenades…”

“They'll never believe I helped you!” Cicero insists.

“You did it before,” you shrug. “And they're desperate. They'll believe anything.”

“Jerome…” Cicero pleads.

Jerome drops the bag, rounding on him. “Oh is this the part where you say how sorry you are?” he lashes out. “How you should have believed in me, how it's not too late to start again? Newsflash, Dad, it's too late!”

“You don't have to do this!” Cicero says.

“Well...yeah I do,” Jerome shrugs. “Like I said, what Queenie wants, she gets.”

He grabs the knife off the table, flipping it in the air and catching it by the handle.

“Shame, you're gonna miss my big night,” he continues. “I have a performance coming up. A real showstopper!” He grins. “You're psychic, tell me…do I kill?”

“You will be a curse upon Gotham! Children will wake from sleep screaming at the thought of you! Your legacy will be death and madness!” Cicero vows.

Jerome looks pleased with the news.

Cicero suddenly turns his blank gaze in your direction. “And you!” he growls. “You've let a monster loose on this city and you will suffer for it. Whether by his hand or his actions, he will be the death of you!”

You consider his words and slide your arm around Jerome's shoulders. “I wouldn't have it any other way,” you grin.

Jerome places the scarf back in his father's mouth as the old man starts to protest. “Bye Dad,” he says. “Say hi to Mom for me.”

The blade slices Cicero’s wrists with barely any pressure. You watch the blood flow as Jerome whistles, wiping his prints from the handle before placing it on the floor to make it look like it was dropped.

“Now, we wait until he dies, and then we untie him,” Jerome explains. “And it'll look like poor old Dad couldn't live with himself. Boo hoo.”

Cicero is too frail to struggle. He twitches and jerks, but it only makes the blood pour faster. Jerome grabs you, forcing you to look at his dying father.

“You've never seen the life drain from someone's eyes,” Jerome recalls, lips tickling your ear “Let's watch together.”

It turns out to be difficult to do. Cicero’s eyes are too milky to really show much of anything and he's dying so fucking slowly. You huff with annoyance. “I don't think that'll work in this instance,” you say.

Jerome mimics your huff. “So it would seem,” he says. “That's alright. One day you'll look a man in the eyes when he dies.”

As the blood drips down his father's wrists, Jerome spins you around. His mouth is hot and persistent, biting and tasting your lips urgently while steering you toward the lumpy sofa off to the side. Without a word he sits and pulls you down with him, shoving your skirt out of the way in the process.

Excited by the ferocity of him, you bunch your skirt up around your middle, leaving you naked from the waist down. Jerome pulls you fully onto his lap, forcing you to straddle him. His hands are quick to undo his belt and the sound sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

Fuck he's so hard. His hips surge upward, forcing himself in, impaling you with his cock. It hurts; you're not nearly warmed up enough, but that doesn't stop you from rising and falling on his lap. You're slick within mere seconds, turned on by the animalistic way he's claiming your body.

His fingers dig into your thighs as he grips you tight, setting a fast and brutal rhythm. You gasp with delight, hands falling onto the back of the couch. Shocks of electricity course through your veins, the angle of your coupling being absolutely perfect. Between his cock hitting the spot that makes you sees stars, and your clit grinding against the fabric of his pants, you’re in heaven. He's practically snarling as you bend your head for more kisses.

Fingers are shoved into your mouth instead and you suck on the digits, while Jerome stares up at you with mischievous eyes. After a few seconds, he yanks his hand away and then you feel his soaked fingers circling your pucker. A brief wag of his eyebrows is all the warning you receive before he pushes a finger past the tight ring of muscle.

Immediately your body seizes against the intrusion, clamping down. Jerome pauses with a delighted laugh. It's been a long time since anyone dared to touch you there, mostly because your thoughts on the matter usually scare them off.

Not Jerome it seems.

“This mean I get to fuck you too?” you gasp, grinding against his lap.

Jerome’s smile is wide and his hips thrust up. “You'll get yours when I get mine,” he reminds you.

“Good thing there's lube in my pocket, huh?”

Jerome stills, seizing your hip with his free hand to stop your movements. You whine at the loss of friction. “Don't tease me, Queenie,” he orders in a sharp voice. “Not today.”

Smirking, you pull the small bottle out of your coat. You had taken to carrying it around just in case, considering you can never tell when Jerome is going to want sex. Jerome's panting becomes heavier and he reaches up to take it from you. His finger slips out, making you wince with discomfort. For once, he seems at a loss for words.

A thought strikes and you regard him curiously. “Jerome, who was before me?” you ask.

His eyebrows knit together with confusion as he tears his gaze from the bottle. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re so enthusiastic about anal,” you clarify. “You've done it before, right?”

Jerome drops the bottle and grabs your ass, thrusting upward so suddenly you have to grab the back of the chair to steady yourself. “Never had the pleasure,” he says.

“Then let me teach you how it's done,” you purr, picking up the forgotten bottle.

Jerome watches transfixed as you pop open the cap and coat your fingers in lubricant. Slowly you start to grind against his lap again, his cock still filling you so deliciously. It's a wonderful distraction from what's to come. Reaching back, you slide two lube coated digits between your cheeks.

Jerome's curious hand finds yours and you guide him forward, spreading the lube in small circles around your hole. Closing your eyes, you relax into the touch. Jerome's face is close enough for his breath to ghost across your lips. The feeling sends a stab of desire through your heart and you smash your mouth against his.

This time when he presses his finger in, it’s smoother than before. You resist the urge to clench and instead focus on riding his cock, taking control so he can enjoy fingering you. Like everything else he does, his movements are rough and quick.

“Nice and easy,” you pant in between kisses. He listens, slowing down enough for you to relax further. “That’s it, puddin’.”

Hand around his wrist, you direct his movements, feeling yourself loosen little by little. However, as much as you want to spend the day riding Jerome while he fingers your ass, time isn't on your side.

Forcing yourself to remain relaxed, you slide your finger in next to his, stretching yourself even more, pausing every now and then to readjust to the sensation. Jerome's head falls back against the couch, watching your face through hooded eyes. The way he’s studying you could almost be described as calculating, as though he’s trying to figure something out. You? Your reasoning for letting him do this now? There’s no ulterior motive, other than he’s had a really fucking amazing day and you know this will make it perfect. He's also unusually quiet, whether because he's too distracted or lacking a joke for once, you're not sure. You smirk and wink, earning a large grin in return.

When you arch up against his hand, Jerome's cock slips out of you, glistening as it hits his stomach. Studying it for a moment, you withdraw your finger and force Jerome to do the same.

He quirks an eyebrow questioningly, until you grab the lube bottle and coat three of his fingers. Then he understands.

Spurred on by his own excitement, Jerome slips an arm around your waist and crushes you to his chest, before reaching down once more. He eases two fingers in with little resistance and you can't help but moan as the burning sensation starts to subside.

Jerome latches his mouth onto your neck, unable to restrain himself any longer. He thrusts his fingers in and out of you roughly again, his cock throbbing persistently between your rocking bodies.

When a third finger wiggles in to join the other two, you shudder violently. Wave after wave of heat washes over your body and you find you're sweating profusely. You're also incredibly wet, nearly dripping as you leave trails of arousal along Jerome's cock with each roll of your hips.

“More,” you gasp, cupping his face to kiss him.

Jerome shoves his tongue into your mouth. His fingers give one more thrust before they're gone, and you're whining at the loss.

The sinking disappointment doesn't last long. Jerome flips you onto your stomach, leaving you half-hanging over the armrest of the couch, ass in the air. Your body is shaking from the stimulation, cunt throbbing with need.

Jerome presses the blunt head of his cock to your stretched pucker, causing you glance back at him over your shoulder

“More lube,” you order.

Jerome is obviously annoyed at being stopped. Regardless, he feels around for the bottle and you face forward again, watching the slow rise and fall of his father’s chest. He's still barely alive. Won’t be long now.

You're attention is dragged back when cold lube is dripped between your spread cheeks. “Asshole!” you swear over your shoulder.

Jerome laughs at the insult. “Damn right,” he teases and then pushes the head of his lubed cock into you.

Despite the preparation, it still burns. Though, not enough to force you to stop. Jerome does pause for a moment, waiting for you to relax again. It's like millions of new nerve endings come alive and your folds ache for the same feeling. Jerome places a hand on your lower back and the touch makes you release the tension, letting him slide in further.

“Fuck!” Jerome swears, overwhelmed. He stops moving again. “Queenie…” His groan is the most obscene sound you've ever heard. “You're so tight.”

He withdraws and gives a shallow thrust, making you cry out, both from pleasure and pain. His cock is almost too much for you to handle, but the next thrust makes you see stars and you change your mind.

It's perfect and he's perfect.

Jerome can't hold himself back anymore and starts to fuck you steadily, burying himself further with each thrust, until his lap slaps the backs of your thighs. The armrest is digging into your chest and you cling to it like it's the only thing tethering you to this world.

You drag your eyes open in time to see Cicero's chest stop moving. His hands twitch slightly, and then he's still. Jerome must notice as well, because he laughs breathlessly, fucking you harder.

He drapes himself over your back, panting in your ear. “I'm going to come inside you,” he grunts. “Would you like that, Queenie? Me coming in your ass?”

Your response is muffled as you bend your head, too overwhelmed and blissed out to hold it up. Jerome tugs your hair, pulling your head back with a snarl.

“Say it louder,” he demands.

“Yes, yes, Jerome,” you moan. “I want you to come inside my ass!”

Jerome giggles gleefully, pushing himself up and grabbing your wrists. He yanks your arms behind your back, locking you in place. With one hand holding you tight, he slips his other and in between your legs. You gasp at how unbelievably wet you are.

Jerome swears and moans louder than you've ever heard. With each thrust he buries himself to the base, as you writhe underneath against the sofa. You try your best to keep up, though there's barely any room to move. So you stop trying, body convulsing with exhaustion.

The lube is drying and Jerome is too far gone to reapply, but the burn only fuels your arousal and your orgasm sneaks up on you unexpectedly. There’s no buildup, no warning. Just a Jerome rubbing your nub hard and a sudden explosion of ecstasy, forcing you to clench around his cock.

“Shit, doll face!” Jerome exclaims. “So, so good! I'm coming!”

His body seizes, his hips thrusting forward one more time, pulling your arms so hard your joints protest. You feel the rush of warmth as he comes, withdrawing at the last second to coat your aching lower back.

Jerome slumps against the back of the couch, finally letting your wrists go. You collapse fully on the armrest, body wracked with shakes as you try to catch your breath. Sore doesn't even begin to cover it. You're in actual pain, and it takes you a full minute to even try to sit up.

Jerome wraps his arms around you from behind, lips brushing your ear. “You always make the waits worth it,” he giggles.

You smirk, lightly elbowing him to put some space between you. Too much. Too close.

“I know,” you say. “Come on, we should go. My ass hurts and this lube is getting tacky.”

Jerome laughs and smooths your skirt down, forcing the fabric to stick to the remains of his orgasm. After, he gently pats your bottom, earning a harder elbow to the ribs, which only makes him laugh more.