#my oc: volkan

[sableflynn]

Out unseen - ch. 14

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Felicia learns more of her captivity.

contents: explicit noncon, oral, object insertion, stripping, glorified frat bros. if you read chapter 13 and thought "this is nice, but Felicia should take a few more cocks," this one's for you.

Read on Ao3

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For days following the conversation with Elyse, Volkan rarely let Felicia out of his sight.

He pulled her into his own bed for the first time that night, restraining her just enough that she wouldn’t be able to leave without waking him, keeping the bindings loose enough that he could still move her body around as he pleased. He fucked her languorously, then slept with an arm draped over her; in the morning, he slid inside her again and then left her to lie there with his come drying on her thighs while he got dressed. He took his meals with her; he kept her under his desk while he worked; he brought her down to the basement in the afternoon and then spent the evening reading on the couch with her.

She was never allowed a moment’s peace, and the memory of those final moments with Elyse were a weight in her chest. Elyse’s voice, the briefest hope, extinguished before it could fully form. Elyse’s eyes begging for her forgiveness, and she didn’t have the space to decide if she would have given it or not.

She couldn’t process it, not with Volkan watching her, waiting for her grief or anger or despair to finally break through. He wanted to see her shatter, and she refused to show it, and if that meant she had to numb herself to even the thought of Elyse, so be it.

A week or so passed in the monotony of sleeping with him, eating with him, being hurt and healed by him, mindlessly repetitive days that blurred and ran together as one. Then one morning, Volkan pulled out of her after their morning fuck and said, “You’re going to get a break tonight.”

She was immediately suspicious, because he had that stupid fucking smile that was never, ever good news for her. “What sort of…break?” she asked, unconsciously shifting away from him, reclaiming the smallest bit of space.

He shifted closer in turn, reaching out to brush back her long hair, reveal her body to him. “We’re having some guests visit this evening.”

Guests. Exhaustion and adrenaline warred in her body at that word. “How many?” she pressed. “Who are they?”

“You’d like to know who they are, wouldn’t you?” He was still smiling, but his expression sharpened to a darker edge. “I’m hosting a business partner, and he’s bringing a few of his men along.”

The words a few sank in, and she paled. “That’s not a break,” she whispered.

“Relax, they won’t be fucking you.” Felicia winced; Volkan continued. “They’re not that important. You’ll just be making them feel important while my partner and I have our discussion.” His hand trailed idly down her body like poison, tracing the dip and curve of her stomach, her hips. “Look pretty and keep their drinks full. Smile while they feel you up, strip for them if they start getting restless.” Her skin shivered with goosebumps where he’d touched her. “It’ll be simple enough to keep them entertained. Like I said, a break.”

She hated him deeply for pretending that her getting paraded around and groped would be a break, and she hated herself even more for agreeing with him. But something else he had said pulled at her mind. “You and your…business partner won’t be there?” she asked. “Don’t you usually want me sucking his cock or something to sweeten up whatever deal you’re making?”

It was half a bitter joke, and she forced it out with a straight face, but she couldn’t help but be curious. Volkan had never been coy about bartering with her body to deepen his business connections. What were they discussing that he wanted to keep hidden from her, when he’d never bothered before?

His smile revealed nothing, and when he tousled her hair, it was almost affectionate. “As I said, you’ll be entertaining the others tonight.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I’m sure he’ll want to sleep with you later, after we’ve reached an agreement. For now, enjoy the change of pace.”

So Volkan wouldn’t be with her tonight. Her chest ached at the thought of freedom, the slightest chance for her to escape, he’d be distracted and maybe if she got these men drunk enough she’d be able to slip out—but the memory of her last escape attempt was an ache in her body, the way he’d punished her for it, the gun…and to be at the center of attention of so many cruel men, even if they ostensibly weren’t allowed to actually have sex with her…

She suppressed a shiver and gripped the sheets with a tight fist. “And what if I don’t do it?”

He held her gaze. “Then it will be time for me to find out if Elyse would be better at this job than you are.”

Her breath froze in her chest. This was it, then. He knew exactly where Elyse was, where all her friends were, and he would use that against her to get her to to act exactly how he wanted, and it would work every time, because she wasn’t willing to call his bluff.

He kissed her deeply, then pulled back, lingering, face inches from hers. His eyes were unreadable; she hoped hers were, too.

Then he rolled out of bed, and she could breathe again. “They’ll be here in a few hours,” he said. “Try to look presentable.”

***

When Felicia entered the lounge hours later, Volkan's guests were already settled in club chairs, chatting idly, the air thick with cigarette smoke. Their shapes were outlined in the bright burn of the fireplace in the opposite wall: three of them. Her pulse quickened at the unknown threat; at times, she could convince herself Volkan was predictable, but she had no clue where to begin with these men, what direction the night would take, what she needed to do to not look like prey.

They were already drinking, she realized, the clink of ice in glasses mixing with the rumble of their conversation. Something of that unnerved her, but she pushed the feeling down with nails digging hard into her palms. They hadn’t noticed her yet. She knew better than to think she could stay hidden all night, but she allowed herself a precious moment of stillness—one last breath to herself, where her thoughts and feelings and body were hers and no one else’s.

As her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, she took in the room around her. Like every room in Volkan’s mansion, it was designed with what he probably considered tasteful luxury—dark wood, muted colors, understated artwork arranged like a museum. A grand piano sat in one corner, and she couldn’t imagine Volkan had ever touched it. The bar was directly to her right, a few opened bottles of liquor already strewn across it—they had to be drunk already, and that was fine, it was fine, maybe she’d just give them a little more alcohol and they’d all fall asleep and she could spend the night sitting in silence by the fire, untouched and alone.

Then she took a step, and the click of her heel on the hardwood was a gunshot, and the conversation halted and three faces turned to look at her. She could barely make them out in the dim lighting, but their eyes on her were paralyzing.

The moment hung frozen in time, and then one of them said, “Took you fucking long enough. Bring us some drinks.”

His voice spurred her to movement, driven not by fear but by some latent professionalism. She dealt with drunk and belligerent patients all the time. This was no different. This was something she understood. She used it to ground herself as she pulled together some clean glasses, added ice, poured liquor, ignored their eyes on her back. The clink as she set the glasses on the tray was oddly loud in the now-silent room; each step of her heels echoed against the walls.

The guests were in chairs with small tables between each of them. She set a glass on each table from behind, still clinging to the hope that she could pass the night mostly unnoticed despite the silence and the eyes on her. Setting down the final glass, she tried to slip away with a murmured don’t let me interrupt your conversation, but her gait was unsteady in the heels, and then a hand wrapped around her wrist in an iron grip.

“What’s the hurry?” She braced herself and turned; one of the men had grabbed her arm and was watching her with steely eyes. “Come around front and let us get a look at you.” He punctuated the command with a quick tug at her wrist, and she just managed to keep her balance. Defeated, she untangled herself from his grip and moved to the front of the room.

The heat of the fireplace was burning the backs of her bare legs, and a flush crept up her neck as their eyes explored her body. Volkan had dressed her to toe the line of tasteful and tantalizing; the strappy heels taller, the crisp skirt shorter, the button-up tighter than anything she would have chosen for herself. Her hair was piled high on her head in a ponytail to allow for an unobstructed view of her clavicle beneath the top few undone buttons. She was fully clothed, but she felt more on display than ever before.

She stood slouched, tray held loosely at her side. As they studied her, she studied them in turn. Three men—and her heart raced at the implications, the danger—ranking high enough to come along for this trip, but not important enough to be in the room where Volkan and his guest made their true plans. They looked young, closer in age to Felicia than to Volkan, and she was struck with the absurd thought that she should seduce them for information. Maybe if she got them drunk enough and batted her eyelashes and asked an innocent question or two…but no, it was ridiculous. That had never been her way. Better to weather their attentions, fade into the background when she could, and listen carefully.

Then the man in the middle chair took a sloppy swig of his drink. “Fuck. Fucking Volkan. He’s showing off.” He took another gulp and slammed the glass down. “Fancy mansion in Marbleton, this cute thing pouring his drinks, and…come closer.” He jerked his chin at Felicia. “You can’t expect to just stand there all night.”

Her skin prickled, Marbleton echoing in her mind as she tried to place it on her mental map, and then she forced herself to move just within arms’ reach. He leered up at her, and she held the tray like a futile shield in front of her. Even with him sitting and her standing, she felt small. Then the prickling of her skin became a burn as he placed one large hand on her thigh and ran it up her leg, under her skirt.

Her breath hitched. She was still as a statue. They were all watching her reaction as his hand cupped her roughly, and she didn’t know what they were looking for; she couldn’t anticipate what sort of reaction would make them lose interest, or what would get their blood up and make things worse. Then abruptly, he jerked her into his lap, spinning her around to face out.

She stumbled into him, heels making her clumsy, squeaking out a protest as he positioned her where he wanted her. One hand still explored up her skirt while the other picked up his drink. He took a sip.

“This drink you made is shit,” he muttered in her ear, pressing the glass to her lips. She jerked her head away but her was persistent, forcing her to swallow the liquor or choke. It burned going down her throat; she coughed, and a bit spilled out onto her blouse, and the men laughed.

Then the conversation picked back up as if she’d never interrupted. The words washed over her as the drink and the fingers between her legs warmed her. They discussed the weather and their jobs, and the man’s fingers toyed with her, brushing and teasing without fully penetrating. She breathed through it, forcing herself to remain just present enough to take in what they were saying, and through their conversation she assembled a vague sense of who they were, attached names to the faces of the men who would assault her: Scott, whose fingers between her legs were rough and artless and persistent; Miles, to their left, who had smiled sweetly at her as if they were strangers meeting in a bar; Victor, to the right, whose hard hand and steely eyes had forced her to the front of the room.

They spoke easily and comfortably, laughing and drinking and smoking, and Scott’s hand playing with her was an idle afterthought. Not enough to get her wet—thank fuck—but enough to keep her unsteady, draw a flush to her skin and a hitch to her breath that she couldn’t hide. She couldn’t bear to see how she was being looked at by the men around her, so she stared straight into the fire until her eyes watered. They continued speaking; his fingers danced around her; she listened, and almost convinced herself she could handle it.

Then all at once, Scott shoved her from his lap. She hit the hardwood on hands and knees and gingerly picked herself up, bracing subconsciously for a blow.

“Make us more drinks,” he snapped instead. “And don’t fuck it up this time.”

“You don’t have to talk to her like that.” Miles smiled at her in a way he must’ve imagined was charming, as if she hadn’t seen the way his eyes gleamed while she was getting fingered. “Why don’t you just bring over a few bottles and some fresh glasses, sweetheart?”

Perversely grateful for the chance to step away, she stumbled back, ignoring the throbbing between her legs. Miles and Scott sniped at each other—isn’t that what she’s here for? To do whatever we tell her?—and as she made her way around the chairs, Victor took her hand and gave a quick, silent squeeze. It wasn’t a comfort.

She was already lightheaded from the drink. She hadn’t had a proper meal today, and the smoke made the room hazy, and her heels were impossible, and the simple walk from the seating area to the bar felt like an eternity. She gathered a few clean glasses and some bottles, set them on the increasingly-crowded tables near the men.

Miles and Scott were still half-arguing as they poured themselves new drinks. Victor poured one for himself, then made a second glass and handed it to Felicia with a smile as cold as his eyes. She took the glass without a word but didn’t drink. His fingers lingered on hers for a heartbeat, and then slid to trace the thin bracelet encircling her wrist. “What are these for?”

She couldn’t bring herself to speak. She was hardly aware of the shackles anymore. They’d started to feel like a part of her, and she hated that more than anything, hated how his control of her had become so ordinary. She hated that she no longer felt the absence of her magic. How long had she been living like this?

“That’s how he fucks with her mind.” Scott was definitely drunk by now, leering at her with an uneven gaze. “That’s what he keeps her around for, right? He’s doing some shit to her brain?”

Something in his words made her skin prickle. Thoughts running slow from the alcohol, she opened her mouth to respond, but Miles cut her off: “Sweetheart, be quiet and finish your drink.”

Fuck you, she didn’t say, but she lifted her chin and put the glass down without taking a sip.

Miles laughed at that; Scott was sullen. Something about the things they said pressed at her brain, something she needed to understand, but her head was spinning from the drink she’d had earlier and she couldn’t put the pieces together. Then Victor took her wrist again, and handed her the drink.

“Finish your drink,” he said, “and then take off your clothes.”

His voice was quiet, but caught the attention of the others. Their eyes burned into her like a spotlight. “Fuck that,” she muttered. “I’m here to make you drinks, not—”

“Volkan said you were here to entertain us.” He still spoke quietly, but now she heard the danger in it. “But if you’d rather deal with whatever consequences he has for you, feel free.”

Elyse. There was no way these men could know about her, but it didn’t matter. One word from these entitled assholes, and it would be Elyse who suffered for it. Felicia’s life wasn’t the only one on the line anymore.

The inevitability settled over her like a fog of ice. She swallowed the drink in a single gulp that made her cough and shudder. There was a ripple of laughter from the men at that, but she barely heard it over her pulse pounding in her ears. The drink warmed her with false heat, set the room glowing, and she took a few paces back until she was facing all three of them.

“Put on a show for us,” Scott said with a laugh, already palming himself through his pants. Miles leaned forward, eyes bright with interest. Victor studied her with steely eyes behind the glow of a cigarette tip.

She had no clue how to put on a show for them—but no, that wasn’t true. She knew exactly what they wanted, and every atom of her being rebelled against it. She stood hunched and began unbuttoning her shirt as if she didn’t have an audience, as if she was undressing at the end of a long day—but the very act of undoing the buttons one by one eroticized her, morphing her undressing into something tantalizing as she was forced to reveal herself bit by bit.

She wondered if Volkan had considered that when dressing her. He must’ve known she was going to strip for them tonight; the lingerie he’d put her in spoke to that.

The alcohol worked its way through her and gave the room a warm glow as she took her shirt off and dropped it unceremoniously on the ground. Beneath, Volkan had arranged her lingerie artfully; delicate dark lace crept across her body, twining, lifting, holding, revealing. Her breasts were framed, lace wrapped like vines around her torso and trailing down to vanish beneath her skirt.

Maybe she could stop there. They were quiet, and her skin was burning, and the eyes on her held her fast, and maybe she could be a pretty half-naked statue for them for the night. Then Miles eyed her up and down and nodded—a nod of encouragement, like she just had some stage fright—and she knew she had to finish what she’d started.

The skirt was faster to take off. She unzipped it and let it fall to a puddle at her feet. With that, she was done, standing only in the too-tall heels and the ridiculous lingerie Volkan had dressed her in. Their eyes traced her body, and she almost would’ve preferred to be naked—better that than her body framed and displayed like a piece of art for them. She was frozen, willing herself to move, knowing that the next step she took would be heightened in its sensuality, hating that even something as simple as taking a step would be part of the show for them.

“See, he doesn’t need to do anything to her brain.” Victor’s voice broke the silence. “No need to go to all that effort when a few words keep her in her place.”

There was something in what he said that she needed to understand, like an inside joke she was being left out of, but the drinks left her struggling to keep up. She finally willed herself to take a step and immediately stumbled. Their laughter rang in her ears. She felt like a baby deer as she stepped towards them, clumsy and soft; then Scott beckoned her with a crooked finger and she moved towards him, and she felt like a dog.

His hand was on her at once, tracing the lines of the lingerie over her breasts, down her hips, between her thighs. She swayed on her feet; she closed her eyes to stop the room from spinning, but the darkness made his touch electric.

“Go take a breather, sweetheart,” Miles said gently. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Scott tightened his grip on her thigh. “She’s here for us. She doesn’t need a breather.”

“She won’t be able to do much for us if she passes out.” Miles’s tone was light, utterly lacking in any concern for her well-being. He nodded to Felicia. “Go on, get us some fresh glasses, clear up some of this clutter,” he said, then he added to Scott: “Relax. You’ll have all night to feel up her tits, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Scott snapped back, “Fuck you, don’t tell me—” and Felicia took the moment to untangle herself from his grip, step away. She made her wobbling way to the bar, and Victor watched the involuntary sway of her hips with a curve to his lips.

“Careful,” he murmured. “You’re drunk.”

Her breathing was loud in her ears as she finally made it to the bar and grasped it like a life preserver. Fuck, she was drunk, and after what, two drinks? Had they slipped her something? Her throat was dry as she swallowed, trying to steady herself. She carefully loaded the tray with clean glasses and a fresh bottle of liquor, her complete focus on keeping the tray balanced. Then she turned back to the group, and realized Scott and Miles were both on their feet, arguing loudly.

Fuck. That wasn’t her problem. Maybe they’d focus on each other and leave her alone. Their voices washed over her, words she didn’t care to distinguish, as she set a clean glass on the side table near Victor, poured fresh whiskey, added the used glasses to her tray. Tray balanced in her hands, she maneuvered unsteadily to the other table.

Deep breath. She set clean glasses on the table. From the corner of her eye, she could see Miles and Scott, two would-be alphas getting in each others’ faces and swearing. The aggression made her shoulders creep up towards her ears; she took another deep breath and forced them down. It wasn’t her problem. She refilled the glasses, willing her hands not to tremble as she picked up the used glasses and added them to her tray. Balancing the tray felt impossible. She blinked; the world spun. She adjusted her grip, took another breath, shifted, and then one of the glasses slipped from her tray and shattered.

The immediate silence was louder than anything. At once, three sets of eyes were on her, and she was a deer in the headlights. She looked at Miles and Scott, stopped midargument to stare at her as if seeing her for the first time.

“I—” She wasn’t even sure what she planned to say, but Scott had already grabbed her arm and jerked her forward. She tripped over the table, dropping the tray. Glasses shattered across the floor; an empty bottle of liquor rolled among the shards.

“You useless whore.” Scott dragged her forward and slapped her hard enough to make her ears ring. She stumbled into Miles, who caught her and held her in place with hands hard enough to bruise. She struggled to break free, but he was a brick wall, and broken glass crunched under their feet as Scott crowded her from behind, forcing fingers between her legs again, but roughly this time, not even a pretense of caring about her, and—

“Wait.” The quiet authority in Victor’s voice froze them all. He watched, still from behind his lit cigarette, eyes thoughtful.

“So she dropped a few glasses,” he said. “Is that worth beating her for?”

The fingers were mercifully withdrawn, but the hands were still on her skin. Scott sounded almost petulant as he spoke. “She—”

“Come here.” Victor nodded to Felicia. It was surreal and she couldn’t trust it, and she untangled herself from the others all the same and floated over to him. He spoke in a soothing tone, and his eyes were a predator’s. “Don’t worry. You’ve been a lovely hostess all evening. Come closer, no—” He maneuvered her body, drawing her closer. “Not like that. On your knees. Good girl.”

It always came to this, in the end. Her knees hit the hardwood as dread settled in her bones—but no, her thoughts were sluggish and disjointed, but they were there, and didn’t Volkan say something about this, weren’t they supposed to—her mouth felt full of cotton as she struggled to get the words out. “You can’t—Volkan—”

He silenced her with a finger to the lips. The clink of his belt being undone sent an unconscious tremor through her. “I’m not doing anything,” he said as he unzipped his trousers and drew out his cock. “You’re just going to apologize for the mess you’ve made.”

Holding her ponytail like a leash, he guided her head over his cock but did nothing more to force her. Her stomach was churning; she wondered if she was going to throw up. He was hard as a rock, and she was an idiot for thinking this could end any other way. Reluctantly, she opened her mouth and took him in.

“Fuck,” Scott muttered. “How’d you get her to do that?” Faintly, Felicia heard the crunching of glass as he walked around behind her to get a closer look.

“You talk too much.” Victor caressed her hair, still not forcing her. The cock in her mouth twitched. “She’ll get to you both in a moment.”

She closed her eyes and gave herself over to it. It was fine. This wasn’t the worse thing she’d had to do. The cock was heavy and salty in her mouth, like any other she’d had to suck before. She’d do it and be done. She couldn’t let herself think about that fact that when she was done, she’d have to do it twice over.

Victor truly wasn’t doing anything to her. She opened her eyes and flicked her gaze briefly up at him; he leaned back in his chair, relaxed through the haze of cigarette smoke, his free hand gently stroking her hair as he let her do all the work. She ran her tongue along the length of him, bringing up a hand to grasp him at the base as she sucked him. She didn’t take him deep, but he let out a soft groan above her all the same. She wished they’d get back to their conversation, play some music, anything to cover his sounds of pleasure, and the wet sounds of her mouth on him.

When he finally finished, he grabbed her head, holding her down and forcing her to swallow his come—apparently his promise to not do anything only extended so far. He spent himself down her throat and then pulled her off slowly, tilting her head back with the same hand on her ponytail. His other hand cupped her cheek, brushing aside a few tears she hadn’t realized she’d shed. Then he took his glass and poured the rest of his drink into her open mouth.

She sputtered at the sudden burn of the alcohol and tried to jerk back, but he held her in place and forced her to swallow. It did nothing to wash away the taste of him in her mouth. When he let go of her, she fell back on her heels, coughing and gasping. She was trembling, and her skin was damp with a sheen of sweat. She took a few shuddering breaths, swallowing against the taste of liquor and come in her mouth, and stood on shaking legs. He watched her lazily. She breathed, and spat at his feet.

He was on his feet in a flash and slapped her before she could even process, sending her crashing to her knees in the broken glass. As he towered over her, some deep part of her felt grim satisfaction at getting him to drop his shitty faux-gentle act. The rest of her knew that act was the only thing reining in the group’s unfiltered cruelty.

Victor stalked around her. “Looks like I was wrong. You’re just an ungrateful whore after all.”

She was on her hands and knees in the broken glass, shards digging into her palms, ears roaring from the slap. She spat; it was tinged with red. “Fuck you—”

A cruel hand dragged her by the ponytail and pulled her up to another cock. “You still have a job to do,” Scott growled above her. She grabbed at his wrist and tried to pull away and he slapped her. Her mouth opened in an involuntary gasp, and he pulled her onto his cock.

He wasn’t gentle. He took her head in both hands, jerking her back and forth on him like a toy. He hit the back of her throat and she gagged, pushing against his legs, swallowing the urge to throw up. He allowed her a bare second of a breath before pulling her back on.

When he reached his climax, he pulled out just enough to shoot a streak of come across her face. As she gasped for air, he pushed her onto her back in the broken glass, pressing a shoe into her collarbone. He ground her body into the shards; when she cried out, he leaned over and spat in her mouth.

“Hey, hey, come on.” Miles’s voice, a thousand miles away. “I want a turn with her.” She blinked and found him still sitting in his chair, cock already in his hand. Scott’s foot released her and she forced herself up, blood dripping from her back. There was nowhere for her to move without more glass digging into her.

She crawled her careful way over to Miles, and he ruffled her mussed hair not without affection. When he held his drink to her lips and told her it would make things easier, she swallowed, half-believing him. When he cheerfully told her to lick him up and down, she obliged, her tongue following the thick pulsing veins like lines on a map. When he reached down to grope her breasts, she allowed it, giving herself over to the inevitable and taking his cock fully in her mouth.

“Get that—no, the one there—” Victor’s voice behind her almost jolted her from her trance, but she forced herself not to care. His hands were on her from behind, running along her hips, and the crunching of glass behind her told her Scott was circling around. The cock was heavy in her mouth. She’d survived worse. More hands maneuvered her, pulling her legs further apart, Miles watching with a gleam in his eyes, and she took him deeper, desperate to be done—

Something pressed between her legs, cold and hard and unyielding.

She jumped at the shock of it, pulling off Miles and twisting around to see the lip of the empty liquor bottle breaching her. Before she could get a word out, Scott was shoving her back onto Miles, growling for her to keep working.

The bottle nudged further inside her, hesitant at first, then a battering ram at her entrance. Behind her, Victor braced her with one hand splayed across her shoulderblades, and with the other he twisted and shoved.

The pain of it choked her, blinded her, and at her scream Miles came with a groan. She barely felt it over the all-consuming agony between her legs as the bottle was forced deeper into her.

“Stop—” she croaked out as Scott pulled her awkwardly onto all fours, cock hard again. Victor stroked her hip almost soothingly as he continued working the bottle in her; Miles made himself another drink from the bar and dropped himself into a chair, leaning forward to watch. Scott took her mouth again and she hardly felt it. All she knew was the agony of the bottle inside her. She must’ve been split open. She must’ve been dying. They poured more liquor down her throat, and the world spun further.

She lost all sense of time and place. They each took her mouth a few more times, each time blurrier than the last. Their laughter was loud, the smoke of their cigarettes burning her eyes, the bottle hard and cruel inside of her.

Then Felicia came back to herself, piece by cautious piece. She was alone. Her awareness seeped back into her, sluggish, starting small. Her mouth was dry, disgusting with alcohol and sex. Her face was damp with sweat and liquor and their come. She was on her back in the scattered remnants of glass. She shifted minutely, and the pain between her legs throbbed anew.

Forcing herself to look, she saw the bottle lodged deep inside of her. She reached forward, a few shards of glass sticking into her back as it lifted from the ground, and grasped the base of the bottle. She worked it out slowly, shaking from the pain; when it slid free, it was streaked with blood. Depleted, she fell onto her back with a gasp.

Her mind was fragments. Somewhere, beneath the alcohol and pain and degradation, there had been names, places, things she needed to know. She needed to know, and she couldn’t even begin to allow herself to think. Her body ached, and her stomach churned, and she was dimly aware she should turn on her side so she wouldn’t drown in her own vomit. Half-hearted, she turned her head, and that was when she saw Volkan’s shoes.

She forced herself to trail her gaze up his legs to him sitting in one of the chairs, looking down on her. The firelight cast deep shadows in the lines of his face.

“Volkan—” She was weak, slower than she’d ever been with him. She needed—what did she need? Healing? Sleep? “They—you said—”

“Tell me everything.”

“They—” Talking was hard; everything hurt. “They hurt me—you said they weren’t going to—to touch me like that—”

“Tell me everything.” He leaned forward, and she realized it was hunger in his voice, fascination in his eyes. “From the beginning.”

“Volkan—” She couldn’t remember. She didn’t want to remember.

It didn’t matter.

She began talking, halting, hesitant. Her mind had already fragmented the memories, and she sifted through them with no finesse, no ability to filter or think through the best angle. All she could do was talk and tell. He sat there, and his cock was in his hand and he drew out his pleasure in long, slow strokes as she told him about the turns they’d taken using her mouth. It occurred to her that she was speaking more now than she had the entire night.

When her shaky narrative reached the moment they’d used the bottle, she hesitated a bare second—and he knew. He slid off the chair in one fluid movement to crouch at her side, cock still in his hand. His other hand slipped between her legs to feel where they had violated her, and she choked.

“Volkan, please—”

“Felicia.” His eyes trailed down her body over to the discarded bottle, still slick with her blood. He stroked himself.

He finished just as her story reached its jumbled end, adding his come to what was already streaked across her face and in her hair. She lay still and silent. She had never felt so empty. He leaned over her and studied her face, and she let her eyes drift shut. When he scooped her in his arms and carried her from the room, she hardly stirred.

[sableflynn]

omg look at this 👀👀🥺😭👀 poor girl! how terrible!

Hi!! You're so kind to do artwork for people! No pressure, but I would love if you drew my sweet girl Felicia, cute gal with red hair and bangs and tons of freckles :) in 4E if that's ok! feel free to beat her up, and to take artistic license with the outfit to show off her bruising more 🥰 thank you!

(she looks like this but with 10x more freckles)

Felicia in 4E from [this outfit meme] and thank you, i like to draw for people when i can 🦎

[shootingstarsundertale]

voltcher ship pic!

fletcher is owned by my amigo, ConfuzzledComet

[sjru]

A bunch of Dragons

A bunch of Dragons! 🐉 Commission for @BudCharles999 of his various Spyro's OC. Art by me.

Posted using PostyBirb

[hellbinism]

my genshin oc, volkan..............we need some playable beefcakes tbh c’mon mihoyo 😔

[starstruck-dragon]

Who are the Eight?

Wait, where'd you read about that? I need to change that--I changed the group term to the Zenith! Anyway, they're essentially my main eight OCs, from what I'm sort of setting up to be kind of like my magnum opus, ContraDiction! The OCs are basically as follows: Blaze Molterok, a confident and intense Volkan fighter Coal "Atlas" Omega, a loyal Goolite guard Thunderbolt, a quirky and energetic Cyvan genius Faun Hartwood, a quiet Halfling exile Lixue Auraki, a brooding and severe Glacian blademaster Aquis Luminore, a polite and thoughtful runaway Merfolk heir Hecate Potenci, a scheming Fae witch Skye Roccet, a nonchalant Loftish Stormguard turned artist Despite them being my main OCs, I haven't made any posts on them in years, because something I'm realizing is that I'm still changing up all these little details about the world they come from, and can't really produce their story yet. Posts about them will probably be scattered and all over the place for now, because if I try to construct that tower now, so to speak, it'll definitely collapse.

For instance, have some scattered sketches of them! Each panel features a different facet of their personality, as well as a different concept of them I've created between 2017 and 2022, middle right being the earliest and top right being the latest design!

(Fun fact--The middle left panels are Draligon versions of the Zenith from @dvzakathepeepolordnwarchief's StoryTale... AKA not actually official designs. -w-') TLDR--The Eight are my main OCs, and their story is so intensive, personal, and important to me that I'm not even ready to fully make it yet!

[eyesofwater]

 post TEN characters you’d like to roleplay as, have roleplayed as, or might bring back, then tag ten people to do the same. ( If you can’t think of ten characters, just write down however many you can. )

PLEASE REPOST INSTEAD OF REBLOGGING!

CURRENTLY PLAYING:

sayuri nitta

an affiliated magic oc

diplomat oc (discord)

mc from mysme (mainly on discord)

eun bong-hee (working on her blog again when i have time)

HAVE PLAYED:

Nanami Momozono

Sunako Nakahara

Hiroshi Inaba 

Ukiyo

Eugene Aleksandr de Volkan

Claude Faustus

Nina Fortner (Anna Liebert)

Howl Pendragon

The Count (anime)

Saint Young Men characters

Yubaba

personification of the night oc

Joseph Cooper

Hae-soo / Go Ha Jin 

Ha No-ra

eun bong-hee

two murder doctor oc’s

MIGHT COMEBACK:

hae-soo

howl pendragon

ha no ra

eun bong-hee

J O S E P H C O O P E R (i miss you my space son.)

WOULD LIKE TO PLAY:

chae young-shin

shim cheong

aji3 / jo ji ah

salvador dali (from midnight in paris)

my emperor oc

my iranian spectre oc (representative of iranian diaspora and disconnect with religion)

tagged by: @wonwars​

tagging: @mammaterasu​, @nottingale​, @hameya​, @wiltingwinds​, @willbeshot​, @variforme​, @gardenof​, @sumibol, @warprofit

[shootingstarsundertale]

Volkan is my oc!

I love this ship! And my amigos art!!

Fletcher: Stay still and d-don't say a word-

Volkan: Hm?

Volkan: Person you like the most, huh~?

Fletcher: s-shut it, jerk

Voloan belongs to my friend on Amino so no asks for him lol

As for the others-

Vim would have hugged Fletcher but he was busy with Volkan who by some logic appeared for ship purposes owo

Tinnie hugged Cot

Splotch hugged Pulsar and they let Twine join them cause why not u ^u

Ember hugged Callie cause she didn't want to be left out and neither of them had someone

Also I want to get back into some of my normal posts--

There's might be a possible longer breaks in between answers cause I don't wanna overwhelm myself~ I'll still get to everything eventually, just at my own pace

That's just if I stay digital though(which I may not cause I absolutely suck at it--), if I go traditionally instead I may be able to manage things better ^^""

[sableflynn]

all stilled

Felicia tries to slip out in the night.

(non-explicit noncon warning)

---

She slept in his bed for a week before she dared to make a move.

Rain lashed the windows, ran down in rivulets. She could almost convince herself that the sound of it would mask her movements, muffle her sounds as she crept out of the room and fled this miserable house.

In sleep, his grip around her had loosened to a single arm tossed over her side, not quite brushing her bare breasts. She shifted minutely, holding her breath as he breathed evenly beside her. Each rustle of the sheets spiked through her, and she was sure it would wake him—but then she was out of his grip, and her feet were on the hardwood as she sat at the edge of the bed, and he slept on.

She was in his room. Not her own prison cell of a room, not the basement with its chains and knives, but his bedroom, and she was untethered, and he was asleep, and as she carefully lifted herself off the bed she swore she’d find something here to make it worthwhile.

She stood frozen, counting her heartbeats as she watched him. He didn’t stir. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness and her gaze settled across the room, on the door.

Her steps were silent as she crossed the room, and he still slept. She considered the bedroom door, the ornate handle, and threw another look over her shoulder at the bed. He still slept.

The metal of the door handle was cool under her palm, and—locked. There was no mechanism she could see, no keyhole or deadbolt, but the door wouldn’t open—

He was watching her.

She knew it without turning to look, in the way that all prey is acutely aware of a predator’s presence. She didn’t need to look at him to know that his eyes were gleaming in the dark, and his lips were curving into a smile. She felt him looking, and some part of her already knew she had lost.

But she was untethered, and she was somewhere new and there had to be something in his room she could use, so she forced herself to ignore him and continued her slow circle around the room.

The door was locked, useless, but maybe something in his desk, maybe the balcony door—

“Tomorrow, I’m going to bring you to the basement and whip you.”

She flicked a glance at him; he was already half-hard.

“Twenty times,” he continued as she made her way across the room. “I’m going to keep adding more until you get back into bed.”

She pressed against the unyielding balcony door, dread and frustration wrestling in her mind. She wasn’t getting out. There was no point in delaying the inevitable, making things worse for herself.

“Twenty five.”

But every atom of her being rebelled against it; she could no more bring herself back to that bed than she could grow wings and fly from this place.

His desk. It was a small thing, not like the behemoth in his office, but still, there had to be something—

“Thirty.”

Locked. The drawers were locked, and her frustration grew into silent rage and she clawed at the table, flinging frantic arms across it and sending pens and trinkets skittering across the hardwood floor—

“Thirty five.”

—and as soon as the rage had flared, it was extinguished. She wasn’t leaving. She’d have screamed, if she had a voice that mattered.

She dragged herself back to the bed and stood naked just beyond his reach. Shadows shifted across his face as his eyes trailed up and down her body.

“Forty,” he said.

She fell back onto the bed. The sheets were still warm where she’d been lying; the whole thing couldn’t have taken more than five minutes.

He cupped her cheek and traced his thumb along her cheekbone. “If you get me off now,” he said, hand sliding to the back of her head and exerting the slightest pressure, “I’ll let you choose what I whip you with tomorrow.”

He was all shadows now, and that made it easier for her to shut him out. She ducked out from under his grasp and rolled over to sleep, her back curled from him. There was a huff of a sound from him that might have been a laugh, and then he lay beside her. His arms were a vice around her, his arousal a knife in her back. Somehow, she slept.

[b-radley66]

Favorite Writings: Anakin Skywalker, As Seen By OCs,Part Three

The Balith Understanding here.

The immediate aftermath of shenanigans. Had to split it into two parts.

Croft, Dani, Drop, Jana Sloane, and Anakin: Recovery and More Understanding

Taliesin Croft’s head completes its explosion. He comes awake, jumping up. A warm hand rests on his chest.

His eyes gradually focus. He realizes that the lights in the somewhat familiar surroundings are dim. The low light helps his twice-its-normal size head’s throbbing subside a bit.

Croft closes his eyes again. When he opens them again, his head has returned to its normal, Corellian-Mandalorian size. Which is to say, still larger than most. A pair of dark eyes, their concern belied by the broad smile on the owner’s dark features are locked on his. He smiles as he remembers more intimate moments of staring into those knowing, sarcastic windows.

He reaches up and pulls the face to his. Her lips are soft as his tongue gently pushes its way to touch hers.

An ‘ahem’ is heard from behind. He looks over and sees Anakin Skywalker and Drop looking at he and his nurse. Anakin’s eyes are wide.

Drop’s are narrowed, a sarcastic rejoinder on his lips. He stifles it when the nurse looks at him. Lieutenant Commander Jana Sloane’s eyes flash at him. “Didn’t think you had anything to add, heartbreaker.” She turns her fire on the other Jedi, who is suddenly contemplating the overhead.

Croft realizes he is in the captain’s cabin of Republic Light Frigate 667, a place that had formed him as much as any other. A Commando Assault Frigate known to its passengers as the Bucket. A ship in honorable retirement as a tender for its former Captain’s new ship, as well as a Republic Gunnery School.

Maybe not as retired as they thought, if I am here, he thinks.

He suddenly rises again. “Dani! Phygus!”

“Shh, Tal. They’re safe aboard General Secura’s ship. They got the data,” Jana says.

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be on the Venator, holding your captain’s hand?”

“Somebody who knew you had to come in and save your shebs, again,” she says. He smiles at the Mando. A word most probably picked up from a force of commandos and their half-Mando General. “I used the Bucket to escape the attack on the destroyer, while the fighters and gunships kept them busy. Turns out we didn’t need to because we’re barely on the surface before Volkan tells me that the Sep ship had gone dead. Droids, controls, everything.”

“Did Volkan wet himself without you?”

“Not quite. But I do have some news on that front. He’s being relieved. Should have a new captain in a ten-day.”

“Great. Who’s the winner we will be getting in the crapshoot?”

“Don’t know, but we’re at least getting an XO with rank enough for the job to counteract the winner. Not just an acting one.”

His face falls. “So who’s getting your slot?” he asks quietly.

“She’s currently holding your hand, right now.”

Anakin and Drop are treated to the bright expression of surprise and joy on the young knight’s face. His eyes promise a different celebration to the newly promoted full Commander.

“Guess Command got tired of a certain Jedi whining about the series of, in his words, ‘losers’ who have captained his ship and decided to counterbalance him a bit,” she says.

He turns to Anakin. “Sorry I missed all the fun. What happened?” He watches Anakin and Drop look at one another and simultaneously roll their eyes.

“If you had a little harder head, you wouldn’t have missed anything,” Drop says.

Anakin laughs. “Yeah, but it was your hard head that caused him to go down, Drop,” he says.

Tal waits patiently.

“A Seppie sniper fired a slugthrower as we were coming out. I think he was trying to hit your slicer,” Skywalker says.

Drop takes over. “Max came through for us. Dropped the ledge under the sniper with that fancy stick of his. Caused the sniper to drop her aim.” He rubs his forehead ruefully. Croft can see the bruise fading in is bronze skin. “Hit me in the bucket, ricocheted off the wall and lost enough momentum to only ring your bell when it hit you.”

At that, Jana runs her fingers through the thick hair on the right side of the head. His eyebrows raise as her hand skirts over a lump in the hair. “Good thing you have all this hair and beard,” she says gently.

“Her?” he asks.

“Yeah. Max said it was a yellow-green skinned female. With bright red hair,” Drop replies

Croft nods. Mirialan. “Where’s Max?”

“Last I saw, zhed was standing on a hill bellowing at Drop, raising the staves in triumph,” Anakin says.

Croft looks at Anakin. “So what’s next?” he asks.

“Well, your boo-boo is going to heal, if,” he looks at Sloane sideways, “the recovery process isn’t slowed by strenuous activity on the part of your caretakers.” They are all treated to a flush from both. “In the meantime, we are leaving the Third and your commandos here to make sure the Seps stay away, at least until Aayla and her Corps gets back here for a month or two of stability.”

Croft nods. “What about you, Anakin?”

The younger Jedi smirks. “Well, I just got word that my Padawan has specifically disobeyed my instructions to stay out of trouble and gotten involved in thwarting an assassination plot against the Senator from Naboo.” He holds his hand up at the worried expression. “She’s okay, Tal. I think she was slightly wounded, but she should be alright.”

Croft knows that Drop and Jana both see the shared look of concern and commiseration between the two young Jedi. The shared look of pride, as well. Anakin holds out his hand. “Take care Tal. See you around.”

Taliesin takes his hand. He looks down. “If it comes up, and you think it is appropriate, please tell Ahsoka that….” He struggles. “Tell her that I will see her when I see her. Tell her that I am proud of her and to keep the reverse grip alive.”

Anakin rolls his eyes at the last, but nods. “I will. Force keep you safe, Tal.” He nods at Sloane and Drop, who stand at attention. Drop salutes. “Sergeant-Major. It was good to work with you. I am glad that Rex doesn’t have as much personality as you. But you’re a damned good trooper. Take care of your General.” He holds his hand out to Drop, as well.

“Thank you. General. It’s a full-time job.”

The three of them watch the young Jedi leave the cabin. Drop makes to leave as well. “Gotta run, General. I’ll check on your two lost souls before I get to implementing the patrol schedule.”

“Where are Dani and Phygus?”

“Don’t know about Tiny. Dani, is most probably, examining a certain General’s lekku markings right now. They said something about celebrating your knighthood without you. Or comparing notes.”

They probably weren’t comparing notes on me, he thinks.

Drop turns and leaves at Sloane’s thunderous expression.

[sableflynn]

Out unseen - ch. 13

first | previous | next

Elyse and Volkan have a conversation. Anna goes deeper undercover.

contents: beatings, referenced noncon, and the one and only ✨forced to watch✨

Read on Ao3

---

Elyse had never wanted to be a leader.

Strictly speaking, she wasn’t—they weren’t any sort of formal team or anything with a hierarchy, they were a group of friends sharing an apartment and trying to fix some of the wrongs in the world. But stakes grew higher, and decisions had to be made, and one day Elyse realized everyone was turning to her for the last word. Trusting her to make the right call.

She took it on, because she had to. But now Felicia was gone, and the note from Volkan sat on her desk and burned a hole in her mind, and she wished more than anything that someone else could tell her what to do.

1 pm. To discuss the enclosed. Come alone. It was 12:55.

She’d attached the calling charm to her mirror, locked everyone else out of the room, and now all she could do was count the seconds in her beating heart. Autumn rain lashed the window outside, ripping bright leaves from trees in sodden clumps, darkening the room even in midday. The shadows stretched long across the hardwood floor, leeching the color from everything they touched.

Elyse barely spent time in the bedroom anymore. Everything that had once been a comfort was now a sharp pain, a pick in her chest, a reminder she couldn’t ignore. By daylight she found herself anywhere but there, keeping herself busy, convincing herself she was making progress. When night fell and exhaustion finally dragged her to her cold, empty bed, she lay alone, images of Felicia burned into her mind, Felicia tortured, raped—

Elyse drew in a shuddering breath and forced herself to stare into the mirror.

12:56. Felicia’s hairbrush sat on the table, coppery strands still wound in the bristles. A hair elastic was wrapped around the handle.

12:57. A soft green skirt lay on the ground where she’d slid out of it before slipping into bed. Elyse couldn’t bring herself to put it away. It would feel like giving up.

12:58. 12:59.

She blinked, and Volkan was there.

It was like looking through a window into another room a world away. He was in what must be his office, relaxed in a leather chair, framed by the bookshelves lining the wall behind him. As she took him in, took in his room, she realized he was looking not at her but past her, taking in her own room in turn. She knew what he saw: the unmade bed, Felicia’s clothes left on the ground, absence filling the space like a ghost. Elyse twitched with the suppressed desire to block his view of the room.

The faintest smile ghosted his face; she wanted to break through the glass and slap it off of him.

“Elyse.” He inclined his head at her in greeting. “It’s a delight to meet you at last.”

“Let me see her.” She wanted the words to be firm, cold, authoritative, but she sounded like nothing so much as a petulant child.

“Are you sure you want her here for this conversation?” He leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “It could be—”

“Let me see her.”

Volkan held her gaze, and then his smile broadened, and he stood. “One moment.” He walked out of her line of vision, and he was gone.

Her nerves were tingling. She gripped the edge of the desk, leaning close to the mirror, and then a few seconds or hours later, Volkan returned with Felicia.

She was Felicia, the Felicia who Elyse loved, the Felicia of the photos, the Felicia of Elyse’s nightmares. Warm red hair gone lank and dull, freckled skin a marbled canvas of white and black and blue, arms crossed across her chest in a futile protective gesture.

The worst of it all were the tiny details Elyse’s nightmares couldn’t capture. It wasn’t just the exhaustion in her eyes, the slip of a dress that did nothing to hide the bruising covering her body. It was the way she hunched into herself, barely perceptible but always present. It was the casual ownership in Volkan’s touch, the way he moved her body around like nothing. It was the way something in her faded every time Volkan’s hands touched her skin. Elyse had never seen Felicia make herself small before.

“Felicia,” she said, her throat dry, swallowing against the tremor in her voice. Felicia’s gaze bored into her, gripping her heart with its intensity, and her mouth silently formed Elyse. Behind her, Volkan settled his hands on her bare shoulders, and she flinched but held her gaze.

This is a game for him, Elyse thought—and it had been obvious from the start, but she felt it more starkly now than ever, as his greedy gaze drank up her every flicker of reaction. Even now, able to see Felicia for the first time in a month, her reaction was nothing but a performance for him, her grief another layer of entertainment.

She needed to cut to the chase, to ask him what he wanted, why he had arranged this meeting, but all she could do was take in Felicia, scared and strong, chest rising with shallow breaths, bruises darkening her cheekbone, Felicia—

“She’s been a great help with my research,” Volkan said, his large hands rubbing circles into Felicia’s shoulders. “Felicia, tell Elyse about what we’ve been doing together.”

Felicia swallowed and stepped away from Volkan’s touch. “He…we…”

It was the first time Elyse had heard Felicia’s voice since she’d been taken and it was a shard in her heart. Felicia glanced back towards Volkan, and when she turned to look at Elyse again, there was something of fire in her eyes. She began to speak very quickly.

“We’re somewhere up north. The trees—there’s woods, and a town nearby, and I can see mountains—”

Volkan moved faster than her eyes could track, and the sound of the slap rang out before she could process what Felicia had said. She stumbled from the slap, her steps making distance between them, her hand to her cheek and the fire still in her eyes. Volkan, more amused than anything, opened his mouth to speak, but Felicia cut him off.

“He’s working with Gabriel Davids, from the university—”

The amusement was gone from Volkan’s expression, and when he hit her, it wasn’t a slap, but a punch to the jaw. Elyse gasped, and Felicia fell back, and Volkan hit her a second, third time.

It was the photos come to life, and it was worse than Elyse could’ve imagined. She breathed out, “Stop,” and hated herself for the distance between them, and with another blow Felicia collapsed to the ground. Volkan studied her fallen form, gave a final kick to her ribs, and the smile that returned to his face had a darker edge to it.

“You’d think she would’ve learned what her mouth is for by now,” he said conversationally, nudging her curled form with his shoe.

Elyse’s fists were curled, nails digging hard enough to draw blood. She bit down the half-dozen retorts—she couldn’t afford to antagonize him, not with Felicia at his feet, unmoving—and tried to keep her voice steady as she asked, “What do you want?”

“For her?” He glanced down at Felicia, then smiled back up at Elyse. “You tell me. What are you willing to offer to get her back?”

She studied him, his self-assured smile, the easy confidence. He had to have an angle. He hadn’t bothered to arrange this meeting for nothing. “You aren’t looking for money…” she began cautiously.

He held her gaze a heartbeat longer, daring her to continue, and then dipped his head in acknowledgement. “You need to stay out of my business.”

It wasn’t completely unexpected, but she watched him warily. He stepped over Felicia as if she weren’t there, walking closer to Elyse—no, closer to the mirror.

“I’ll admit, it was charming at first, watching you and your friends make your attempts on my operations. Darya and Kailo, always sticking their noses in my trade deals. You and Marcus, staking out my home like you’re going to make a difference. You’ve assembled quite a little crew.”

(He didn’t mention Anna, she realized, his intel isn’t flawless—and then she halted that train of thought before her expression betrayed her.)

“But it ends now.” Despite his affected air of casualness, his eyes were hard. “You call off your friends, you stop interfering with my operations, and you end your ridiculous attempt at investigating matters that don’t involve you.”

So somewhere, the work they’d been doing struck a nerve. But she’d give it up a million times to get Felicia back. “We do that,” she said, scared to believe it was that easy, “and you’ll let her go?”

“No.” The word was a knife. “You do that, and I won’t strangle her and send her back to you in pieces.”

The heat rose in her voice. “You’re already going to kill her either way—”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going to kill her for no reason.” Behind him, Felicia had pulled herself up to sitting, but made no move to stand. Her face was blank. “Once we finish our work together, I’ll sell her off to someone else. You can pester them if you still want her back.”

She opened her mouth to protest, to argue, but he cut her off. “This isn’t a business meeting. I’m not offering you a deal.” He was close now, and his eyes were cold. “I’m giving you a warning.”

Her breath caught in her chest. He was watching her, tracing her reaction, and her mind was buzzing. She looked past him to Felicia, who was still sitting with her legs curled beneath her, whose lip was bleeding and whose eyes were a thousand miles away.

If Volkan ended the conversation, Elyse would never see Felicia again. The door was quickly closing, and she needed to force it back open.

She locked eyes with Volkan and said, “Then let’s make this a business meeting.”

He raised an eyebrow at that and looked almost impressed—fuck him, she wasn’t trying to impress him, she didn’t want his approval—and he nodded. “Go ahead.”

Keep him talking. She needed more information, and she couldn’t ask any more of Felicia. He had the upper hand, and he knew it, but the more he spoke, the more likely he’d let something useful drop.

Hating herself for playing along with him, hating the question, hating the answer she anticipated, she said, “You never did tell me what it is you’re doing together.”

His smile made her stomach churn. He let the question hang in the air a heartbeat, then said, “We’re conducting research together.”

Research. He had mentioned that earlier. She held his gaze, tried to keep her expression neutral, wondered if he would elaborate or if he’d force her to ask question after question—

“We’re researching magical healing techniques, its effects and applications. Ways that a healer can turn that power on themself, heal their own burns or bruises or broken bones.” The image flashed in Elyse’s mind, the photo of Felicia’s arm snapped like a twig. “It’s such a complex field, and some avenues have been woefully underexplored. But Felicia’s been capable of some remarkable things when I push her.” He glanced back at Felicia then, almost affectionate. “She’s been an invaluable asset.”

Elyse grit her teeth and refused to dwell on the implications. Behind Volkan, Felicia sat still, staring at nothing in particular, blood dripping from her lip to the ground. She’s not an asset, Elyse thought, she’s a person. But what she said was, “Don’t try to dress this up as some legitimate research venture. It’s kidnapping and torture.”

He actually laughed at that, and it pissed her off. “Don’t be so self-righteous, Elyse,” he said. “We are making important discoveries here.” We, we, as if Felicia were a willing participant in this. “And when the time comes, I have ways of turning my findings legitimate.”

Gabriel Davids, from the university. How many other contacts at the university did he have? How many avenues of influence across the city? And how the fuck could she possibly negotiate to get Felicia back, when he had everything and there was nothing she could offer him, and—

“I can tell you’re really upset about all this.” His cloyingly faux-sympathetic tone was almost enough to push her over the edge, but she bit her tongue and forced herself to lock eyes with him. “You have to understand, I have my own obligations and interests to think of. But I’m not entirely unreasonable.” He paused to consider, almost theatrical. “She’s a good enough healer, but she’s not irreplaceable. If you find me another decent healer who can take whatever I do to them, I’d be happy to make a switch.”

Elyse’s mind was blank, wrapping around what he was saying. “Find another—”

“You live near the university.” It wasn’t a question. “It wouldn’t be too hard to find another healer to take her place.”

And for a bright, horrible moment, Elyse considered it. People came from all over the world to work and study in Trisgate. People starting over in the big city, no friends, no family. It would be easy enough to find someone that nobody would miss. Just one stranger’s life, and then she’d have Felicia back and this nightmare would be over.

And they’d be condemning another to torture. And they’d never be able to untangle themselves from Volkan’s evil and the part they’d played in it.

“No,” Elyse said, forcing the thoughts from her head. “You’re insane. We’re not bringing anyone else into this.”

Volkan shrugged. “This is the best offer I can make you. Take it or leave it.”

“We’re not bartering lives with you.” As she spoke, she looked not at Volkan but at Felicia, not knowing what she wanted to see—forgiveness? Understanding? But Felicia’s eyes were empty and her mind was a thousand miles away. Even anger would’ve been better. It was as if Felicia wasn’t even there.

“Then there’s no point in continuing this conversation.” The finality in Volkan’s tone froze her heart.

“Wait—”

“I made you an offer, and you aren’t interested.” He was moving closer to the mirror, fuck, he was going to end it all— “And remember, you’re going to stop interfering with my work. That’s not negotiable.”

“Volkan, wait—” Her mind was racing, but there was nothing she could say, and he was going to end the conversation, and Felicia sat still as a statue behind him. “Felicia—”

At the sound of her name, Felicia looked up, and locked eyes with Elyse with a burning intensity.

And then she was gone and Elyse was staring into her own eyes in the mirror.

“Fuck,” she breathed, and she started to sob.

She was alone in her room, the walls closing in on her, storm still raging outside, and her mirror was just a mirror, and Felicia was gone, and now they were even worse off than when they’d started—

No. Felicia had given her information, and paid dearly for it. Elyse couldn’t let that go to waste.

She took a deep, shuddering breath, wiped the tears from her face, and took one last look at her reddened eyes in the mirror.

The others were waiting for her. She needed to be a leader and tell them what she had learned.

***

The tension in the living room was a physical thing, choking Elyse as she stepped into the room and everyone’s gaze immediately turned on her. Marcus sat in an armchair, fingers drumming the worn armrest; Darya paced, more restless than she’d ever been; Kailo was on the couch, still, his energy drawn inward. The moment balanced on a knife’s edge; she had made a choice, and they knew nothing, and they were waiting, and she realized she had no idea what to say.

Marcus opened his mouth to ask something and, suddenly desperate to control the situation, Elyse blurted out, “She’s alive.”

Something of a collective breath of relief settled over the room, taking the edge off the tension. Elyse sank onto the couch next to Kailo, her mind sifting through everything of the conversation, trying to untangle a thread she could lead them with. She’s alive. He’ll kill her if we move against him. Gabriel Davids, from the university. Volkan’s fist cracking against Felicia’s jaw.

Start at the beginning. “They’re up north,” she said.

“Did he tell you that?” Marcus leaned forward in his chair, heightened, suspicious. “Why should we believe anything he says?”

Elyse looked him in the eye. “She said that.”

“How was she?” Kailo’s voice was small; as she turned to him, he flushed, as if he regretted the question but couldn’t stop himself.

Felicia curled on the ground, Volkan delivering a final harsh kick to her ribs. The urge to reassure Kailo competed with the need to tell the truth, and Elyse didn’t have a way to answer that question without bursting into tears.

“He’s working with Gabriel Davids,” she said instead. “He’s from the university. One of the most well-respected healers in the city.” She’d heard the name before, in passing; his connection to Volkan caught her completely off-guard.

“He wasn’t on our radar at all.” Darya leaned over the back of an unoccupied chair, brow furrowed. “If we—”

“We can’t.” Elyse was terrified to let Darya even finish that thought, terrified of what would happen to Felicia, what was happening to her at this very moment. “This whole call—it was a warning. We were getting too close to—to something, I don’t know, and if we keep going, he’ll kill her.”

The finality of the words hung heavy in the stunned silence. Elyse’s heart was pounding so hard, she was sure they could all hear it.

Marcus finally spoke. “We were so close…if we could just—”

“We can’t. It doesn’t matter how close we get, he has everything.” He has Felicia. “He knows all of us somehow, he said your names—”

And then she caught herself, because no, he didn’t have everything.

Kailo picked up on her hesitation. “But?”

“He doesn’t know about Anna.”

It had been weeks since Anna had slipped away to work her way into Becker’s crew, to follow his tenuous connection to Volkan and find a way to get Felicia out of there. It was the closest thing they had to a lead, and if Volkan hadn’t mentioned her name, if he didn’t know who she was and her cover was still secure…

“I haven’t heard from her in a bit, but—that means she’s close. It has to,” Elyse continued, half-trying to convince herself. “She’s finding a way in, and they don’t know her, and…”

Marcus flared up at that. “So we’re just gonna sit around and wait for Anna to figure something out,” he snapped. “And meanwhile, Felicia’s with that creep, getting beaten or—”

“Marcus.” Darya’s voice was sharp, laced with anger covering fear, and her cheeks were damp with tears.

She’s the only one besides me who saw the photos, Elyse realized. The only other one who had a real idea of what condition Felicia was in at that moment. She wanted to grab Darya’s hand in comfort, but instead she turned back to Marcus. “Do you have a better idea?”

He was silent at that, but the space yawned with what she wasn’t telling them: the offer she hadn’t accepted, the one chance they had and she’d refused it. It must’ve been written plain across her face; she couldn’t believe no one was pushing her on it. Felicia wasn’t coming home, and it was because of the choice Elyse had made, and she was paralyzed with it.

“So we know she’s alive, and we have some information about where she is…” Kailo began, gently, and Elyse could’ve hugged him for how easily he broke the tension. “Can you get that information to Anna?”

“I don’t have a way to contact her,” she said. “I’ve just been waiting for her to call when she’s able. But she’s getting in deeper with them; she hasn’t been able to call as much lately.” Her hands trembled in her lap; she clasped them to still them. “But it’s something.”

Their eyes were all on her: Kailo, next to her on the couch; Darya, moving restlessly from the window to the couch and back again; Marcus, still and searching. It was something, she kept saying, but they needed more. She stood, trying to set herself as solid and determined, knowing she was scared and useless.

“We can’t make a move yet,” she continued. “But we have more information. We can look at maps, cross-reference with what she—” Her voice wavered, and she fought to keep it still. “What she told us. It has to mean something.”

Her breath was coming shorter and shorter, and she couldn’t hide the trembling in her hands no matter how hard she clasped. The emotions were too much, too close to spilling over. It’s done, she told herself. There isn’t anything else we can do right now. And if she spent another minute in that room with everyone watching her and waiting, she would break.

She left the conversation and made her way to the kitchen. The storm had finally blown over, and feeble sunlight broke through the lingering clouds to bathe the countertops in a warm glow. She grabbed a mug from the shelf and poured herself some stale coffee; she wasn’t going to sleep that night either way, she might as well self-sabotage.

It was 1:40. The conversation with Volkan and the follow-up with everyone else had barely taken more than a half hour. The entire rest of the day stretched before her, an endless expanse for her to fill with nothing but her thoughts, until she crawled into her empty bed and didn’t sleep and turned all night with the same thoughts in a spiraling cycle that only captured a fragment of whatever Felicia was facing.

She should’ve taken Volkan’s deal. She stood up there with her false confidence, acting like she was some sort of leader, but she’d dropped the only chance they had. What the fuck was wrong with her, she should’ve at least pretended to go along with it, buy them some time, make an opening for Volkan to slip up—

Marcus entered the kitchen; perhaps he was trying to be quiet, but his presence was too loud. Elyse extricated herself from the slow spiral of her thoughts, poured him a mug of coffee and handed it to him without a word. He took it and cupped it in his hands, resting his elbows on the island counter. In the slanting sunlight, his skin took on a warm glow. He breathed deeply, his eyes half-shut, and finally: “You didn’t actually tell us how she was.”

All at once, Elyse was exhausted. “How do you think she was?”

“It’s just—you saw her.” His eyes were open now, and locked on her across the island. “All this time, I’ve been terrified she was dead.” His voice caught on the word, but he stumbled on. “I couldn’t even imagine—what did it look like?”

The question caught her off-guard. “What?”

“His house—the room. Wherever he’s keeping her.” He leaned forward across the island, and it hit her: he was grasping for details, needing more than what she’d given them. Terrified of the unknown.

But she was empty, and had nothing left to give. “I don’t know, Marcus. It was an office. A nice chair and some bookshelves.” And gleaming hardwood floors, when Felicia had sprawled at Volkan’s feet.

“That’s it? An office?”

“What do you want from me, Marcus?”

His face told her he wanted exactly what she wanted: Felicia home, safe. He set the mug down and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I just—there needs to be more.”

Her blood ran cold. There was more, a deal she should’ve taken, a slim but extant chance to bring Felicia home. “More what?”

“More…something. This is the closest we’ve gotten since she—” He cut himself off, looked down at his clenched hands, then continued. “It didn’t get us shit. I thought you’d have something…real for us.”

Her blood turned from ice to fire at that, his blame and her own guilt kindling into slowly-growing anger. “Felicia gave us something,” she reminded him. “She told us where they are, gave us names, and Anna—”

“Fuck that,” he snapped. “Maybe you’re fine with waiting around for Anna to solve things, but I’m not. Sometimes it feels like I’m the only one who actually gives a shit about Felicia.”

It was a slap in the face. She wanted to slap him in turn, but her hands had never been her weapon.

“Remind me, Marcus,” she said slowly, coldly, “how did she end up with Volkan in the first place?”

He looked as if she had slapped him. Hypocrite. “How can you even—”

“I’m telling you that if we make one wrong move, he’s going to kill her.” Marcus would’ve taken the deal in a heartbeat. The thought hit her, and she brushed it aside like cobwebs. “So we can’t—”

“We can’t, do you ever—”

“Let me talk, Marcus. Just because you hate yourself for leaving Felicia to die—” It was cruel and she couldn’t care; she barreled on. “—it doesn’t mean I’ll let you risk her life again now. He said he’d—” Kill her and send her back to you in pieces. “He—” Felicia crumpling as his fist smashed across her face, curling on the ground, blood dripping from her nose—

She couldn’t breathe. What was happening to Felicia, right now, while they stood here and argued about it? How many more ways could he hurt her? She rubbed furiously at her eyes to scrub away the images; her fists came away wet with tears.

She couldn’t look at Marcus, but she felt his eyes on her. “Elyse…”

“When Felicia gave me that information,” she began, voice shaking, “he beat her so badly she could barely move.” She stared at the cooling mug of coffee in her hands, the dusk of the setting sun fading from the countertop. “He beat her, and it just kept going, and I couldn’t do a thing, and I just had to stand there and watch it—” She swallowed back the tears and looked at Marcus’s face then. The anger and frustration were still simmering beneath the surface, but something more tender was beginning to break through.

She took a breath. “I don’t know what we can do.”

It was painful to admit to her helplessness; it was worse to know that there was something she could do, and she had refused it. There were no good choices, and she’d still made the wrong one.

Marcus, at last, was silent, his face pale as a ghost. He opened his mouth as if to speak, and she couldn’t imagine how anything he said could help—and then he blew out a weary exhale, shifting to lean against the counter and look out the window, the lingering autumn twilight smoothing the shadows of his face. The mug of coffee was cold in her hands.

***

People got into the dark underworld of Trisgate one of two ways: either they had the skills and inclination to take everything they wanted, or they got in too deep and owed someone higher up more than they could ever give. Anna couldn't afford to become the second one if she were to have any hope of finding Felicia.

Insinuating herself with Becker’s gang had been easy enough; she lingered, she let them get used to her face, and when the chance arose for her to be useful, she took it. It wasn’t long before she was running jobs with them, working her way deeper into the organization. The weeks passed, and she gained their trust and pretended that the information she passed along for them wouldn’t be used to hurt anyone, that the weapons and drugs she smuggled wouldn’t be used to kidnap and torture and kill people just like Felicia.

Somewhere among all the subterfuge, she’d made enough of a positive impression on Becker to get brought along with his inner circle to that night’s gathering: a cocktail party, an intimate gathering hosted by some magnate with his fingers in all the city’s magical materials trade, a rumored business contact of Volkan’s. Another in for Anna, a chance to listen and learn.

She mingled that night, a glass of wine dangling from her fingers, drink untouched but a prop in the part she was playing. Her ears were attuned for any mention of Volkan’s name, but the conversations around her layered and tangled, names and companies and places, so many facets to this dark underworld that were impossible for her to tease apart.

The host. Fuck, what was his name? Emmett, Evanson? If she could meet him—or if she could linger in his vicinity while others chatted him up—he was a tenuous connection to Volkan, but it could be enough. She scanned the room, but he’d introduced himself and welcomed everyone at the start of the party, and she hadn’t seen him since. Her gaze trailed past the buffet, the dance floor, and there: the courtyard doors were open, but few guests had ventured out after the storm that tore through earlier that day. Maybe Elmer or whatever his name was had stepped out for some air—or for a private conversation.

Her short heels clicked on the stone steps as she made her way outside, breathing in the sweet scent of rain. The earlier storm had given way to an unseasonable warmth, tree branches shaking off water droplets with each shift in the breeze. The courtyard was expansive; winding paths snaked through neatly trimmed hedges, trees headed towards winter dormancy, hidden nooks with stone benches invited clandestine conversations.

Anna made her way among the shrubbery, hoping she’d find the night’s host, but with each step carrying her further from the party, she realized how much she needed the air and the space and the stillness. Even alone, she couldn’t fully let her guard down—she could run into someone at any time—but it was a step removed from the constant performance that her life had become those past months, the agonizing balancing act of ingratiating herself with cruelty without doing more than she could ever take back.

The courtyard was still and quiet in the way of dusk following a storm. A cool breeze brushed the trees, a fountain gurgled, and the murmur of the party sounded a thousand miles away. She was alone, and as much as she craved it, it wasn’t where she needed to be. She took a few breaths and braced herself to put the mask fully back on, and then she heard distinct rustling from the bushes.

She acted on instinct, tracking the darker shadow among the shadows, grabbing a body and forcing it against the stone wall surrounding the courtyard. A knife flashed in the dark, and she grabbed the wrist and pinned it against the wall and the knife fell, and she was finally able to take a look at who she was holding.

The man was young—more of a boy, really, likely not yet out of his teens. Disarmed, he looked harmless, but for the hot anger simmering in his eyes like coals.

“Who are you?” she hissed, pressing him into the wall.

“Let me go,” he growled, jerking against her with sudden force.

She held firm. “Who are you?” She threw a quick glance behind her, but there was still no one else around. She knew that from inside the light of the party, the courtyard was dark and impenetrable, but the murmur of the fountain would mask any approaching footsteps, and if someone found them—the boy shoved against her again and she almost buckled, but planted her feet and held him in place.

“If you’re nobody, and they find you,” she continued, forcing herself to look into his eyes, “they’re going to kill you.”

It would be nothing to incapacitate him, skinny scrap of a kid that he was, and if she brought him to the others and announced she’d found him skulking around the garden, she’d rise even higher. He could be a gift for Volkan. She could climb to Felicia’s rescue over this boy’s dead body.

“I’m not afraid of you.” The waver in his voice betrayed him. His defiance was a cheap bravado that couldn’t fully cover the scared kid he was underneath.

“I’m serious.” She threw another glance over her shoulders; no one was there. “I don’t know who you are or who you came here to kill, but if you go in there, you will die. And then you’ll never get the revenge or whatever it is you’re after.”

Her words got through to him, and he softened. “Help me,” he whispered.

“I am.”

“No, I mean, help me fight them. We could take them down together—”

“No. It doesn’t work like that. You aren’t going to sneak in there and bring down the systematic corruption in this city with your shitty butter knife.” Hadn’t they all thought that, just a few weeks ago? This boy may as well have been Marcus, brash and angry and ready to solve the world’s problems. He may as well have been Felicia, who’d tried and was being repaid tenfold.

Anna pulled back a bit to look the boy in the eye, looking for resignation, maybe, surrender. She saw only the same fire smoldering. “You lost tonight,” she said. “Don’t be stupid. Go home.”

She released him and stepped back, watching. The boy kept his eyes locked on her as he crouched down, fumbled in the dirt for the knife he’d dropped. Found it, slipped it back in its sheath. Then he backed along the wall, away from the party, eyes still on her, until he turned and ran.

She watched him until she could no longer make out his shape in the darkness. Her skin prickled, and she spun around, sure that someone was watching her. The courtyard was still empty. In the distance, the party glowed and murmured. Anna took a breath, ran her hands through her curls, and steeled herself to play her part.

[sableflynn]

Out unseen - ch. 12

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Volkan sends a message.

contents: noncon, beatings, forced orgasm, amateur photography

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It was important, in some abstract, distant part of her mind, for her to listen. These visits were the sort of business Volkan would only conduct in total seclusion, and these visitors were prominent members of society. She needed names, titles, anything to bring back with her if—when—she escaped. Volkan always made introductions, allowed her to linger as ornamentation while they made small talk, and then sent her to be restrained in the basement or a bedroom before true conversation began. It comforted her in some cold way, the thought that he still felt compelled to keep her from the dealings of his underworld. She could almost convince herself that he still saw her as a threat on some level. He still had reason to be cautious. She wasn’t lost forever. 

Read the full chapter on Ao3

[sableflynn]

haircut

In which Volkan cuts Felicia's bangs for her.

contents: references to/implications of noncon and torture

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He was drunk when he cut her bangs.

No, not drunk, he would insist: Volkan would never concede to such a flawed human state as inebriation. He prized his control of himself and others above all else; he did not lose that control to alcohol the way weaker men did. Regardless, he was several drinks in when he pulled Felicia into his lap and brushed aside her curtain of bangs.

“These are getting too long,” he murmured as the bangs fell to cover her eyes.

He wasn’t wrong. They’d grown long enough to obstruct her vision, longer than she’d ever let them grow. And that was what she was steadfastly refusing to acknowledge: she couldn’t allow herself to recognize that she’d been here long enough for her bangs to grow out so much. Her hair was a physical marker of the passage of time, a reminder that this wasn’t normal and she wasn’t safe.

“Your hair still looks good, at least.” He demonstrated his point by winding his hand through the long tangles of her hair, punctuating with a jerk of her head that forced her to arch back and grab his arms to stabilize herself. “I like this. But these bangs,” and his free hand brushed them again in vain before they fell back into place. “They cover half your face. You shouldn’t be able to hide your eyes like that.”

Her body tensed in unconscious recognition of his fucked-up sort of foreplay, the precursor to pain or to sex, which was just another sort of pain. He hadn’t hurt her yet, really—he wasn’t even hard—but every molecule of her being was attuned to him, and the animal part of her picked up on the cues of his pleasure at her discomfort, and the logical part of her knew this sort of attention always ended the same way.

He shifted, forcing her to grip his biceps tighter, and pulled a knife from his pocket. The lamplight glinted off the sharp blade as he flicked it open.

She tried to ignore the way her stomach dropped at the sight of it. “You’re going to cut my hair with a knife like that?”

“I can’t exactly bring you to a salon, can I?”

She hated him in these moments in particular, when he teased and joked with her like they were a normal couple, almost pretending that he saw her as a person. She hated herself even more for playing along with it, for almost yearning for it, because she was desperate for anything but the monotony of torture and degredation.

“Hold still.” The command was redundant when his knife was inches from her face. She held her breath as he gathered her bangs in his hand and sliced with deceptive gentleness. His face was close enough that she could smell the lingering mix of liquor and cigar smoke that clung to him like a perfume, could feel his hot breath on her skin as he cut away her bangs as easily as he’d cut away her strength, her self-worth, her sense of being. The past few weeks fell away in tufts of soft red hair that littered the hardwood floor.

When he was done, he took her face in both hands, pulling her back to examine his work. “Much better,” he said, thumbs pressing into her cheekbones a touch harder than necessary. She didn’t need to see her reflection to know she looked like shit. She could feel it like the absence of a limb: the cool air hitting her face, bangs irritating the very top of her forehead, cut higher than she’d ever choose to have them. Her eyes uncovered, unprotected from the lingering veil of her hair. Nothing to shield her as Volkan studied her. Nowhere for her to hide as his manner took the turn she’d known was coming, and he pushed her onto her back on the couch and climbed on top of her, the knife in his hand once again.

[sableflynn]

V-Volkan shopping at Costco o.o

Volkan approached Costco as he approached all matters in life: methodically and with full confidence in his control of the situation. There was an order to this, as to all things. He didn't dawdle, but moved with purpose from aisle to aisle, the running list in his mind all he needed to guide his journey. And it truly was a journey.

He always began with the household supplies: bleach, disinfectant, endless mops and brooms and sponges for the endless mess that was his basement. After a moment's consideration, he added a bulk set of crisp white button-up shirts for himself, and a bulk set of plain but stylish underwear for the girl, something he could tear off at a moment's notice without it costing him a fortune. He'd splurge on the nicer sets, of course, but for the day-to-day he wanted something he wouldn't be afraid to ruin.

Even Volkan couldn't deny the allure of bulk savings when buying nonperishables. He grabbed a massive box of nutrient shakes, something that could keep the girl going for weeks in the basement. Then there was the macaroni and cheese for Pete—Kraft, always, and Volkan didn't think much of his tastes, but he grabbed a set of spirals anyway, because Pete deserved a little whimsy in his life. It would be delicious with the rotisserie chicken.

Most important of all, there was the matter of liquor. Volkan prided himself on being a generous host, as free with liquor as he was with the girl. Some may have considered him dishonest for decanting the relatively inexpensive Costco wine and liquor into much nicer bottles. As if anyone could tell the difference. As if they weren't tripping over themselves to compliment his brandy or scotch or whatever he chose to serve along with his full-bodied red. He knew better than anyone that you didn't climb to the top without cutting a few corners, and if secret penny-pinching was his biggest vice, then Costco was the devil on his shoulder.

[sableflynn]

Out unseen - ch. 10

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Felicia continues to adapt to her ever-evolving captivity.

contents: explicit noncon, mild hand gore, some minor throat-slitting

Note: The dinner scene in this chapter was heavily inspired by a similar scene in Ragnatela by Quieta (aka @raindrop-on-a-spiderweb). Qui is one of the sweetest people I've ever met and a huge inspiration to me, and Ragnatela truly sets the bar for dark origfic on ao3. If you enjoy dark, complex stories with flawed and compelling female leads, I highly highly recommend Ragnatela and all her other works! (But do note the tags first; Ragnatela makes Out Unseen look like the sweetest domestic fluff fic lmao)

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She crawled into the bed and curled up, but her heart was pounding and her skin was crawling and she couldn’t rest. She got up and paced the room, itching with a need to act, paralyzed by her position, dreading what was to come. The minutes crawled and coalesced into hours as the sun made its way across the gray sky. Not knowing was the worst of all. With every heartbeat she expected the door to swing open, for them to drag her out and hurt her. Her anticipation spiked and fell and spiked again and again, draining her. It wasn’t sustainable. Her body could only take so much adrenaline before her terror was dampened with weary resignation.

When someone finally came to get her for dinner, she was sitting at the foot of the bed in silence, drifting between dread and exhaustion and landing on brittle numbness. When he motioned for her to come with him without a word, she left the shoes in the corner and followed barefoot, not wanting to make herself even more helpless before them. She walked the hallway in a strange echo of the previous night, dressed in clothes Volkan had given her and joining him and his guest for dinner. But this time she knew who they were, and none of them had to pretend otherwise, and she didn’t have any misguided hope about how the night would go.

Read the full chapter on Ao3

[sableflynn]

when ivy was gone

Felicia is stuck in her mind while Ivy's getting tortured. Part of the Felivy AU with @whumpopology and as always thank you for gracing me with my number one girl Ivy ♥ contents: brief references to noncon

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The waiting was different, when Ivy was gone.

Before, when Felicia had been the only one, the moments stretched and distorted, weighed down by the numb dread of monotony. Her world was Volkan’s house, and she had almost convinced herself that it didn’t hurt anymore. But Ivy was a pin popping the bubble, letting the rest of the world in to crack her facade, and now she couldn’t stop herself from caring. She couldn’t numb herself to the pain, because it wasn’t only her pain, and any time she had to herself was sharp and cutting with the knowledge that Ivy was with him, that it was her turn.

She tried to read into Volkan’s reasoning. She couldn’t help herself. If there were some pattern she could recognize, some way of predicting if it would be Felicia, or Ivy, or both, or neither—Volkan had been the center of Felicia’s life for the past month, she understood him, in his sick, twisted ways, and it was always a game to him—yet sometimes the reasoning was no deeper than, he wanted Ivy because she was small and fought back, or he wanted Felicia because she was weak and submitted to him. He chose a girl like he chose a drink for the night.

She heard a scream. She thought she did, anyway; the piercing shriek might’ve been an auditory memory echoing from a dozen identical nights. It was unusual for Volkan to keep her upstairs, with its veneer of civility, yet hurt her badly enough to make her scream—especially Ivy, who never screamed, who bit through her lip till it bled before she gave him the satisfaction. Then she heard another scream, and it was real, and her fingers curled in the thin blanket of the bed she sat on.

She pushed herself off the bed abruptly and paced across the room to stare out the window. What if she killed him? Ivy, brave and fierce, with a shard of glass or a rope or her own anger, ending it for all of them. Freeing herself, and freeing Felicia in the process. Outside, the moon was a sliver in the velvet sky; inside, Felicia’s eyes were dim in the reflection in the mirror.

What if she killed him? Her feet carried her to the bedroom door and she tried the handle. It was locked, like it always was, triple-locked with a deadbolt and layers of magic she couldn’t even begin to untangle. She let her mind continue on regardless: down the hall, slipping between shadows into the kitchen to grab a knife, the knife, the one that she’d carry to his bedroom and stab straight into his carotid mid-coitus. He’d bleed out and she’d pull him off of Ivy, and the details didn’t matter after that, they’d end up home and safe and free.

The house was silent, now; the looming silence of whispered cruelty and faces shoved into pillows and an endless night. Felicia returned to the bed and lay staring up at the ceiling, waiting for Volkan, waiting for Ivy, waiting for what came next.