#put me out of my misery and bring me the monster cock

[bunnions]

so sick and eepy. the fever dreams are wild tho - lots of monsterfucking in the main brain

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Drown In My Desire

also on ao3

written for the Monster March prompt list prompt: siren pls see ao3 for the full list of tags, this is... something edit: some formatting got fucked up and I had to make some adjustments, sorry if there are any wonky bits now 😅

Geralt is barely off the boat back from Skellige when he hears about the contract. There's a lone Siren causing trouble along one of the trading routes; drawing the ships closer until they wreck on the jagged rocks of the bay. The fishermen complain loudly about it as he disembarks and as soon as his feet hit dry land, Geralt makes straight for them. It's basic Siren behaviour, likely to be an easy job and then back on his way.

The men are offloading barrels and Geralt keeps out of the way as he approaches the one giving orders.

"Heard you've got a Siren problem," he says and the man straightens up to look him over.

"Aye, we do. You're a Witcher, right? You'll take care of it for us?"

"What are you offering?"

"Godsdamn anything at this point. Things wrecked six shops, we've lost 11 good men, countless hours of labour... Name your price, Witcher, we'll pay it."

"Five hundred," Geralt suggests.

"Fine by me. Bring back proof of the kill and you'll get your coin."

"Agreed." Normally, Geralt would request half in advance, but he's dealt with Novigradian merchants before and they're reputable and trustworthy most of the time. Plus, this is a simple contract, probably not even worth the 500 he asked for.

He stays to get the rest of the details from the merchant, then heads into town to rent a room at the Kingfisher. He won't be in town long, but he may as well have somewhere comfortable to sleep when he inevitably comes back cold and wet.

Geralt bribes a local fisherman to take him out to the bay or as close to it as possible - no one will go right in any longer. They moor on the far side and Geralt disembarks, thanking the man and paying him a generous fee for his service. He didn't have to bring him out here, and many other men wouldn't dare go this far.

He hears the song immediately and it makes him pause. Geralt has heard the Siren song before, has even fallen under its spell in the past, and this is not it. This is a Siren, for sure, and he is singing, but his song is... sad. Geralt frowns as he makes his way over the swell of the hill, the beach sprawling out before him in a wide arc.

It's sandy, devoid of rocks and debris but the tide is down and large, jagged rocks break the surface of the water. Waves roll up gently onto the shore and Geralt scans the shoreline, looking for any sign of the Siren. The song is coming from the far side of the small bay, but he sees nothing.

Readjusting the belts across his chest, he makes his way down to the beach and across the sand.

He spots him shortly, tucked under a shelf of rock out of the sun, curled around himself. Geralt thinks at first, that he may be injured, hence the despair in his song, but as he approaches he recognizes a sense of desperation in the tune. Approaching further, he catches the creature's interest and he looks up at him, his confusion a mixture of desperation and fear and resignation. Geralt looks him over as he approaches, not trusting the Siren not to jump out and attack. He knows well enough they're crafty and wouldn't stop short of setting a trap in dire situations.

But when Geralt is within a few feet, the Siren still makes no sign of wanting to hurt him. If anything, he looks miserable to have been discovered and Geralt does a quick once-over for injuries. There are none visible, but as the Siren unfurls himself, stretching out to his full length, Geralt pauses.

He doesn't know a lot about Siren anatomy past what a sorcerer will pay for what, but he's seen enough pricks in his life to know one when he sees it.

Jaskier whines internally and shuts up as soon as he sees the figure approaching. He was trying to attract... well, not him. Not a Witcher. He needs someone to solve his problem, not to be killed as the solution to someone else’s. But maybe that would be better than going through this every five years out here alone. Maybe the Witcher will be kind and put him out of his misery and then- well, at least he wouldn't be stuck here on his own like this.

But the man approaches and doesn't do anything. He just looks, walking closer until Jaskier could nearly reach out and touch him. Slowly, as non-threateningly as he can, he uncoils himself to prove he's not a threat. His cock aches and he's reminded of the fact that it's very blatantly on display, but that's the least of his problems now.

"You're the one who's been wrecking ships?" the Witcher asks and well, yes, Jaskier assumes that's his fault.

He's seen the wreckage washing up on shore, seen the men floating lifeless amongst the waves. He tries to help, but in this state, it's impossible to do much before the burning need overtakes him again and he's rendered useless.

"I didn't-" he starts, but he doesn't think a Witcher will care whether he meant to or not. He just wants a companion, wants someone to help ease this ache as his own attempts aren't helping any longer, he didn't mean for the humans to get in the way.

"Didn't what?"

"Didn't mean for them to get hurt." Jaskier doesn't look at him, but the Witcher is quiet for some time and then,

"It’s... a mating song?" he guesses and something in Jaskier’s stomach twists uncomfortably that he could figure it out so quickly. Jaskier avoids his eyes looking instead at the way the sand coats the toes of his boots.

"Why don't you tell me what happened?"

Jaskier's head snaps up at that and he looks the Witcher dead in the eye. He's never heard of a monster being given a chance to tell their side of the story, to redeem themself. The Witcher drops to the sand, crossing his legs and resting his elbows on his thighs.

"I-" Jaskier starts, unsure if this is some sort of twisted game. "I just- I was hoping someone might be nearby to hear-" he feels pathetic, his only consolation the fact that the Witcher doesn't know that he came here willingly, he left his family willingly to go out and explore the vast oceans and now he’s miserable.

"How long have you been here?" the Witcher asks, "you've never caused problems before now."

"Before now I wasn't-" he rolls his eyes in frustration at himself, slapping his tail against the sand. "Sirens," he starts again, "go through cycles. I'm in heat and I'm alone and every attempt I've made to reach out has only ended in ruin." Jaskier scowls at his own confession.

"I tried to help," he adds solemnly, "I just... I can't focus, I don't have the strength to pull them to the surface- I tried," he persists, "but I'm not much use like this." His cock aches and he groans at the timing. "I hardly think that deserves a death sentence." He wraps his tail protectively around himself, hiding the evidence of his situation.

"Not here to hurt you," the Witcher explains, "just here to keep people from dying. I could... help?"

Jaskier starts at the offer, his wings snapping tight against his back. "What do you mean, help?"

The Witcher huffs a light laugh and Jaskier tries not to be too hopeful. He's never strayed beyond his race, though he knows many who have and if he were to, well, the Witcher isn't awful to look at. In fact, Jaskier thinks, taking in his shining golden eyes and shock-white hair tied back in a loose bun, he’s quite lovely.

"Now, I know you're not stupid," the Witcher says, almost sounding amused. "The offer’s there. I'll help if you stop with the singing."

Maybe it's the need coursing through him, or maybe it's the fact that no one has ever been so kind to him before, or maybe there's just something about this man's smile that makes him weak. Jaskier agrees.

"Not here," he says. "Can you swim?" The Witcher cocks an eyebrow at him. "I'd prefer not to have to do this out in the open where anyone could just wander upon us. I do have some sense of decorum."

"Where are we going?"

"Home," Jaskier says simply. "It's not far." He shifts in the sand, sitting up and gesturing out toward the sea. "A human could make the swim, surely a Witcher can as well."

"Fair enough. I'm Geralt, by the way. And I can swim."

"Jaskier."

He squirms in the sand, trying to force his cock to withdraw, but it's no use. Geralt rises, kicking off his boots and removing his gear, tucking it away into a crevice in the rock. He bends down, scooping Jaskier into his arms. It's a shock and Jaskier is helpless to do anything but wind his arms around Geralt's neck and hold on, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the way his cock juts out obscenely, betraying him.

Geralt walks into the waves, releasing Jaskier as soon as the water is up to his waist. He holds his breath, lets Jaskier take his hand, and follows him down beneath the surf. Jaskier feels marginally better out of the sun and sand, in the cool water, but not much. He swims quickly, eager to return home and get on with... whatever Geralt has in mind to help.

He ducks into the narrow tunnel, dropping Geralt's hand and gesturing for him to follow behind. He does, and Jaskier leads the way back to an underwater cave. Glowing coral grows near the ledge of rock, where the water gives way to open air again. It gives off a little light, but Jaskier can see perfectly well and he knows Witchers have night vision.

He slips up onto the stony cave floor and offers a webbed hand to Geralt as he breaks the surface. To Geralt's credit, he only seems a little out of breath as he's hauled up out of the water.

Jaskier flops back on his side, watching the way Geralt rises to his feet, tugging his soaked shirt off and wringing the water from it. His trousers remain in place and Jaskier finds himself disappointed, curious to see what's hidden beneath. But this isn't a fun romp for the sake of it; this is an agreement, Geralt is simply doing him a favour.

When he seems pleased with the state of his shirt, Geralt lays it out and lies down next to him, lining his body up with Jaskier's. He's... stunning up close and it takes more of his effort than it should not to simply reach out and touch him just for the sake of it. He remembers fucking other Sirens, the touching, the press of bodies - he misses it, and he finds himself wishing this was something more than a simple favour. But that's selfish; Geralt is already offering him so much, for so little in return and nothing, even, for himself.

"You'll have to walk me through it," Geralt says with a smile, "I've never fucked a Siren before."

"Oh. You can just... touch me?" Jaskier says and Geralt reaches out tentatively, slipping a hand over the swell of his hip.

"Like this?"

Jaskier nods. It's not exactly what he wants, but it does feel nice and he's not about to try and direct. Geralt's hesitation is short-lived and he slides his hand up Jaskier's chest, brushing his thumb over a nipple and Jaskier's breath catches. He watches the movement of Geralt's hand as his fingers press into his skin, warm, despite the swim through cool water.

He shifts slightly, leaning up on one arm and pressing back down, over the swell of Jaskier's hip and he tugs him forward before abruptly before dragging his fingers up the length of Jaskier's swollen cock. He's slow, but delicate like he's learning his way around, but it feels incredible and it's hard for Jaskier not to just thrust up into the touch and take the pleasure from his hands.

Geralt's fingers slip over the ridge at the base of him, curling around him beneath it and squeezing as he pulls up over it.

"What is this?" he asks. He sounds intrigued, curious, and Jaskier can't help but indulge him.

"'S hard to fuck underwater," he hums, moaning as Geralt's fingers reach the tip of his cock. One dips into the slit, pressing against it, and Jaskier whimpers. "Keeps me from... slipping out." The noise Geralt makes in response is hard to determine, but it sounds interested. He moves his hand back down to squeeze around the ring.

His fingers slip over the swell of skin, pressing against it and running his thumb along the edge. He likes it, Jaskier realizes. It prods at something inside him and he presses his hips forward encouragingly.

"Does that feel good?" Geralt asks and Jaskier nods, pressing his forehead against his arm to keep from moaning out loud. He wants to show his appreciation, wants Geralt to know he can do as he pleases with him, but he doesn't want to push too hard.

Geralt’s light touches grow bolder, pressing more firmly, jerking him quickly and firmly and as Jaskier whines and squirms beneath him, Geralt grows more confident. His fingers slip down, pressing between the folds of his sheath, pressing right down to the base of his cock and within. No one has touched him like this before, the sharp jab of a Siren's claws not conducive to pressing inside.

Something warm spreads through his chest and he finds himself pulling away, embarrassed by how vulnerable he suddenly feels letting a stranger touch him this way, a Witcher no less. Immediately, Geralt withdraws his hands and the look on his face implies worry.

"Sorry," he blurts, then softer, "tell me if it's too much."

"No, I just. No one's ever-"

"I'll stop."

"No," Jaskier says again, a little too abruptly. "No, it was good, it just... caught me off guard." Geralt doesn't wait to be told twice, but his fingers move more slowly as they slip back into place at the base of his cock. Jaskier gives a little thrust on encouragement and Geralt presses his palm against him, giving him something to rut against while he explores.

Jaskier rocks against him, burying his face in his arm as the need takes over. Given an inch, he's no longer able to control himself, so needy for it that he's invited a perfect stranger into his home to fuck him. But Geralt doesn't seem to mind his desperation, doesn't mention it. He picks up quickly on Jaskier's most sensitive spots, going back to rub over them, pressing his thumb beneath the swollen ring and Jaskier's mind goes blank with the pleasure of it.

He's never noticed how sensitive it is there; the use of hands in Siren coupling is rare and limited to squeezing and jerking, not prodding and rubbing like Geralt does so easily. It's hardly Jaskier's fault that he can't contain himself in the face of this new, wonderful sensation.

The swell of his climax creeps up on him slowly, his mind too preoccupied with where Geralt's fingers are and what they're doing. It's not until Geralt wraps around the base of him, pushing as far into his sheath as his fingers with reach, that Jaskier realizes how close he is. His hips jerk hard and Geralt's other hand shoots out to steady him, holding him close as Jaskier writhes against him.

There's not much else he can do like this, just squirm and try to press as much of his cock against Geralt's palm as he can. Otherwise, he's under Geralt's control, letting him do what he wants, take him apart as he will. Geralt's thumb presses along the underside of his cock, pressing up toward the tip and Jaskier jerks hard as his orgasm washes over him, spilling over Geralt's hand and up his arm.

His hips twitch, cocking slipping easily against Geralt's arm with his own spend to slick the way. He'd be embarrassed, coming so quickly with so little stimulation to anything but his cock, but Geralt hums, sounding very pleased.

He continues touching him, fingers slipping through his spend and using it as slick, rubbing down the full length of him and rubbing against the slit at the tip.

"Good?" he asks and Jaskier can only nod and whimper, still struggling to catch his breath.

Geralt leans in, pressing his nose into Jaskier's neck abruptly and Jaskier shifts onto his back to allow him better access. He likes the warmth of Geralt's breath on his neck, the soft press of his lips and the occasional flick of his tongue against his skin. Geralt says nothing as his kisses become firmer, pressing down the column of his throat and down his chest.

His hand remains on Jaskier's cock, stroking slowly as he kisses down the length of his body, not even pausing as pale skin gives way to shimmering scales. He seems unbothered by it and Jaskier likes the feeling of his lips on his tail. Geralt doesn't release his cock until he's moved fully down the length of Jaskier's body, straddling the end of his tail.

Geralt kisses around the base of his cock, not touching it but for the barest brush of his cheek as he passes. Jaskier holds his breath in anticipation, arching off the bed with each kiss that gets closer to where he wants it. When Geralt's lips finally press against him, he lets out a strangled groan and arches off the ground, hands immediately and automatically groping for Geralt's shoulder.

Geralt kisses up the length of him, teasing the tip with his tongue before moving back down again. Jaskier wants his mouth, wants to feel that wet heat around him, so different than the cool touch of one of his own kind. It wouldn't be the first time he's had a mouth around his cock, but he's used to sharp teeth, to slow and cautious strokes. When Geralt gets his mouth around him, he's anything but.

The moment Geralt's lips wrap around him, quick and eager, sliding his tongue over him and pressing his lips in close, holding him tight as he sinks right to the base. His tongue presses in where his fingers had been and Jaskier knows now that he likes exploring, likes discovering what makes Jaskier squirm and taking advantage of it. And he's incredibly good at it.

His fingers that had, up until now, been happily settled on his hips, push up to brush against his skin. One hand remains, seeking out the smallest part of his waist and settling in the dip as the other moves down again. Jaskier's foggy mind suggests that he intends to wrap around the base of his cock, but Geralt gets distracted somewhere between. His fingers pass over Jaskier’s slit and he pauses. Slowly, Gerlt lifts his head, licking up the length of Jaskier's cock and looking at the opening beneath his fingers.

"Can I?" he asks and Jaskier nods.

This is... new. He knows for women it can be pleasurable to be touched this way, but he's never had anyone do it to him. As a child, they told stories about men who fucked each other like this, the way they fuck women, but Jaskier had been young and naive and passed them off as nothing but stories. He'd never found anyone who wanted to touch him that way and had assumed, like most things children talk about, it was a rumour.

But Geralt's fingers tease the opening and sparks rush over his skin. Jaskier's cock throbs and he pushes himself up to watch. Geralt catches his eyes for a brief moment, before dropping back to his work and pushing inside.

"Oh," he breathes, "you're wet." Jaskier squirms, as his body gives way to Geralt's finger, quickly joined by a second.

As with everything, he moves slowly at first, pushing deep and rubbing into him. It feels good, much better than Jaskier could have expected and then Geralt bumps against something inside him and Jaskier cries out, digging his claws into Geralt's shoulder.

When he realizes what he's done, he releases him quickly, but Geralt seems unfazed and he's smiling when he meets Jaskier's eyes again.

"You like that?" he asks and Jaskier lets out a breathy, yes. Geralt grins at him and ducks down to wrap his lips around the tip of Jaskier's cock.

Geralt's fingers work in time with his mouth, picking up speed as Jaskier's groans become more frequent, less controlled. It doesn't take him long like this, with his cock slipping down Geralt's throat and Geralt's fingers constantly pressing against whatever that is inside him that feels so fucking good.

He comes with a gasp as Geralt thrusts up into him again and Geralt makes no attempt to keep him from pushing his cock deeper into his throat. If anything, he seems glad for it, and when Jaskier slumps back against the ground again, Geralt pulls off his cock with slow precision, careful to wrap his lips tightly around the head. Jaskier's eyes drop shut and his chest heaves, but he's aware of Geraly lying back down next to him.

"That felt... good."

"No one has ever touched you like this?" Geralt asks lightly. Jaskier waves a clawed hand at him in response. "Mmm, understandable. But you liked it?" Jaskier huffs a tired laugh and turns to face him.

"Very much."

"Can I?" Geralt asks, already sliding slick fingers along his waist.

"Please."

Geralt rises to his knees, straddling Jaskier's hips for a moment before dropping to the ground on the other side of him. He presses right up against him, slipping an arm under his neck and holding him close as his other hand presses flat against Jaskier's stomach, sliding downward. He crooks two fingers, pushing inside him and seeking out that same spot again.

He finds it with ease and when Jaskier jerks hard, Geralt pulls him in against his chest. He drops his forehead to Jaskier's, breathing hard against him and Jaskier shuts his eyes, letting the pleasure wash over him. Geralt thrusts into him, quick and precise, then slows to tease at the opening, fingers slipping slowly in and out, and Jaskier can't decide which he likes more.

When he's quick, it punches the breath out of him, leaves him mindless and aching for more, but then he slows, gently caresses and rubs into him and it's like a slow fire burning within him, gradually burning brighter. His mind goes blank, foggy with lust, and he wraps himself around Geralt's shoulders, drawing him close. Even with Jaskier wrapped around him, he never falters and before long Jaskier is writhing again, his tail slapping hard against the floor as pleasure courses through him.

He's overwhelmed, so entirely encompassed by pleasure that he can't do more than cling to Geralt and whimper until, at last, he comes, his cock untouched where it spurts over his hip.

Slick drips from his slit, mixing with his come and Geralt pulls out slowly, swiping his fingers through it and sliding them around Jaskier's cock. He cries out at the first touch, oversensitive from multiple consecutive orgasms, but it still feels good underneath the sensitivity and he can't bring himself to tell Geralt to stop.

When Geralt finally lets him go, Jaskier flops onto his back and stares up at him. Geralt is watching him, his eyes dark but bright, and he smiles. Unthinking, Jaskier reaches up, wrapping one hand around Geralt's cheek and tugging him down toward him. At the last second, he realizes what he's doing and hesitates, but Geralt closes the distance, pressing their lips together in a gentle kiss.

It doesn't last long and Jaskier has to keep himself from nipping at his lips when they part. Geralt presses up close and for the first time, he feels the hard line of Geralt's cock beneath his trousers and it makes his breath catch. For a moment, he just stares at him, enthralled by the idea that Geralt is turned on by this.

"You're... aroused?" he asks and Geralt huffs a soft laugh.

"I'm fine."

"Could I touch you?"

"Mmm, if you like."

Jaskier grins, shifting onto his side and pushes Geralt over. He laughs and goes easily, watching as Jaskier spreads a hand over his chest. He maps out the planes of his chest, pushing clawed fingers through soft chest hair before dragging them lightly down toward the hem of his trousers.

He rakes his eyes over the jut of Geralt's cock, but doesn't touch, afraid of pushing too far. A favour, he reminds himself, Geralt is doing him a favour here. So he slips his hand back up to his stomach, mimicking the way Geralt touched him at first, exploring the little dips and rises in his skin, careful not to catch his claws.

And when he looks up to him again, Geralt is watching him. Something in the way he looks at him makes Jaskier's chest tight and he dips down again, catching Geralt's lips in a kiss. Geralt kisses back with enthusiasm, wrapping an arm around so he can pull Jaskier on top of him.

Both hands move down, cupping the swell of Jaskier's tail and rocking him slowly forward. Jaskier's cock, still sensitive, presses against Geralt's through the rough fabric of his trousers. He hisses at the drag, but Geralt moans at the friction and the sound goes straight through him. This time, Jaskier does it on purpose.

They find an easy rhythm between the two of them and even with Geralt's trousers in the way, the sensitivity soon gives way to pleasure and Jaskier ruts against him, kissing him hard despite the lingering fear that he'll bite too hard. Geralt however, seems unconcerned. He's got one hand buried in Jaskier's hair, the other pressing between them, fumbling with the buttons on his trousers. It takes him a moment, but he gets them undone, finally pulling his cock free and Jaskier groans as he ruts against him.

Geralt is hot, his cock even more so, and Jaskier basks in the warmth, pressing himself closer, even with Geralt’s hand still between them. He's sure he could come just like this, happy to rut against him, but then Geralt's fingers are pressing against his slit again. His fingers come away slick and he winds his hand around Jaskier's cock, stroking him slowly.

"What do you need?" he asks and Jaskier whimpers.

"What you did before," he breathes, "could you... do that again?" In an instant, Geralt flips him onto his back again, dragging his fingers up to his slit, but Jaskier stops him. "Could you... with your cock?"

"Oh. Fuck, yeah."

Geralt shifts, pushing his trousers down and kicking them off before pressing up close again. He pulls Jaskier into a deep kiss, his hand sliding away to bring his hips closer. He ruts against him, pushing through the slick and come and when he catches on Jaskier's slit, Jaskier lets out a little gasp and grasps at Geralt's shoulders.

Geralt pushes forward pressing into him and Jaskier holds his breath as he stretches open on his cock. Geralt's eyelids flutter as he settles and then he rocks forward, slowly at first, just short little thrusts that leave Jaskier aching, pushing himself onto him, wanting more.

And Geralt gives it to him. He sinks deep, hooking a knee over Jaskier's hip to hold him close as he ruts, his cock pressed firmly against that spot that makes him wild. Jaskier bucks and whines, his own cock slipping against Geralt's with every thrust. He delights in the feeling of Gerslt inside him, of his warmth and the stretch of his cock, sliding into him and filling him wholly.

He's surprised to find Geralt as breathless as he is when he looks up at him and he can't help but tip forward and nip at his lower lip. Geralt groans and kisses him hard. He pushes him onto his back so he's straddling his hips and when he sits back, Jaskier's cock presses between his cheeks.

He rocks his hips, suddenly overwhelmed by the heat around his cock and Geralt shudders as he pushes back against him. His eyes flick up to Jaskier's and he licks his lips.

"Can I try something?" he asks and Jask nods enthusiastically.

Geralt withdraws immediately, pressing his fingers into Jaskier's slit. When he withdraws, he reaches behind himself, and Jaskier burns to know what he's doing, but the slick fingers wrap around his cock, and Geralt sits back on him. Jaskier groans low as Geralt's body engulfs him, heat seeping into every inch where they touch and he reaches out, fingers digging into his thighs, so careful not to leave scratches.

Geralt rocks back onto him, taking the full length of Jaskier's cock and grinding back against him. He rolls his hips and squeezes around him, pulling right up to the tip before dropping back down the length on him. Jaskier is breathless, helpless to do anything but squeeze Geralt's thighs and bite his own lip.

Tentatively, he wraps one hand around Geralt's cock, slipping webbed fingers over the head of his cock. Geralt moans softly, sliding one hand over Jaskier's and guiding it down. Jaskier nearly stops breathing as the head of Geralt's cock nudges against his slit and then he's sliding in again, filling him up even as he squeezes around Jaskier's cock.

It's so much. Jaskier's body sings with the twin pleasures of being filled so wholly and sinking into Geralt himself as he shifts his hips up.

"Fuck" he groans and Geralt drapes himself over his chest, kissing the moan from his lips.

He finds a rhythm, a careful balance that keeps them joined in both places and Jaskier has never felt such overwhelming pleasure in his life. He meets Geralt's thrusts, thrusting in deep as Geralt sinks into him and it's hardly surprising when he finds himself creeping close to the edge. Geralt's thighs shake around him and he wants to hold out, to make Geralt comes first, but Geralt reaches up, nipping at the sensitive skin over his throat and the pleasure that zips through him is too much.

His hips snap up hard and Geralt kisses him through it, deep and hard, his whole body arching against him. He follows shortly, burying himself deep in Jaskier's body and rutting into him urgently. The moans and pleas that drop from his lips do nothing to ease Jaskier's persistent erection, but as Geralt slumps against him, Jaskier feels the exhaustion creeping in.

Geralt, too, seems tired and Jaskier withdraws reluctantly, mourning the loss of Geralt's body around him. His cock remains stubbornly hard, still unsheathed, but the aching desperation wore off some time ago and he flings himself into the water, quickly rubbing himself down to prevent waking up sticky and uncomfortable. A moment later there's a splash as Geralt rolls off the ledge next to him.

He swims closer enough for Jaskier to reach him and he makes a point of wiping Geralt down first before wrapping a hand around his cock and sliding slowly. Geralt's eyes drop shut and he winds his arms around Jaskier's neck with a soft, shuddering moan.

"How long does this usually last?" he asks and Jaskier shrugs.

"Anywhere from a week to six."

Geralt gawks at him. "Six weeks?"

"On and off," Jaskier huffs, amused. "I don't swim around with an exposed prick for six weeks. And besides. It's usually two, though it is much more in much more... concentrated bursts."

"Meaning I should stick around?"

Jaskier's heart thuds heavily at the suggestion which is, realistically, ridiculous. He's known Geralt for all of a few hours and under normal circumstances, the man would have just killed him. But the idea of keeping him close spreads warmth through his chest.

"You don't have to," he says anyway. "You kept up your end of the deal. I'll be quiet."

"Mmm," Geralt agrees, nosing at his neck, "but it'll get bad again. What would you do with no one here to get you through it."

"Are you..." Jaskier starts, hesitant. "Are you saying you want to stay?"

"Maybe not exactly here," Geralt shrugs, "I'd appreciate being warm and dry part of the time. But I don't intend to go far. Maybe I'll camp out on the beach."

"Will you stay for now?" Jaskier asks hopefully.

"Yes."

Jaskier doesn’t acknowledge the way his heart clenches a little. He shouldn’t want Geralt to stay, shouldn’t care what he does with himself now that he’s fulfilled his end of the bargain, but as they finish cleaning up, he seems happy to be there.

Once they're both clean and Geralt has managed to pull another orgasm from him, they settle on the ground, Jaskier curled up around him. His cock rests perfectly against the cleft of Geralt's ass and he has to be careful not to move too much, lest he work himself up again. He spreads one wing out over Geralt, using it as well as he can to keep him warm.

“You should go back,” Geralt says quietly and if Jaskier didn’t know better, he’d say he sounded almost disappointed, “leave here and find more of your kind so you don’t have to suffer alone next time.”

“I’ve thought about it,” Jaskier admits, “but I like it here.”

“Mm,” Geralt hums sleepily, “guess I’ll just have to come back then, hm?”

Five years later…

The need returns, just as it always does, creeping up slowly and then hitting him all at once, but this time it's worse. This time he has the memory of his Witcher, soft and sweet touching him and kissing him and working him through it. And the memory only serves to make the need stronger.

But he made a promise.

So Jaskier holes himself up in his cave and deals with it as well as he can on his own and when that quits working on the first day, Jaskier swims to the surface in the hopes of coming across some other passer-by who might be willing to risk their life to fuck a Siren.

But when he breaches the surface of the water, there's a figure on the beach, moving oddly. He keeps low in the water, just his head breaking the surface and when he gets closer he realizes it's a man taking off his boots. It takes a couple of seconds to register as the man strips completely naked, but as he gets closer, as Jaskier swims further, he recognizes him. There's a swell of something warm and pleasant that settles in his chest and his heart beats just a fraction too quickly.

Geralt came back for him.

[lemonadearchived]

🍋     m/f nsfw meme .   accepting

@mythsex​  sent:         3b elain (as a fairy) x for any of your monsters/monster verses

“That’s it Little Fairy — rut against my cock like the sweet little slut you are.” His gravelly words are husked in a drawn out growl, devilish face contorted with the concentration of a depraved man only just managing to hold his ravenous desires at bay and a monstrous beast eager to ravage the glowing creature grinding atop his lap. Clawed fingers dig none too gently into her plush, creamy thighs as he guides her along his engorged prick, amber eyes darkened with lust for flesh and blood alike. Her blood is as rich in the air as the sweet nectar free-flowing from her plush cunt, fine as any ambrosia and thrice as intoxicating. Nic’s calloused grip shifts to the fleshy mounds of her ass, chiseled hips thrusting to bring her harder - more flush - again his own cold body. There are things he longs to do with this dainty little thing with her pretty little wings - things that he will do - but certain things must come first. 

“You’re so alive, cara mia.” Such is the nature of fairies, he supposes. The vampire is covetous of her warmth and vitality, her flush face and beating heart. “And you’re so fucking wet for the damned. Shall I put you out of your misery, then? Cry for me — beg me to fuck you as only a true beast can.”

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: A King’s Wrath.

Word Count: 1.8k 

Pairing: Yandere!Overblot!Leona/Reader

Synopsis: Last time Leona lost control, you had help. Back-up isn’t a privilege he seemed intent to give you, this time around.

TW: Graphic Violence, Blood and Delusional Mindsets.

Overblot was a terrible thing.

You should know, you’d been around it enough to see the signs, to recognize just how depraved it could make the people you thought you knew. It was messy, it was desperate, it was an affliction you couldn’t fight off until it’d already ravaged your peers and hurt your friends. It was a curse, in every sense of the word. You were almost glad you hadn’t been born with magic, somedays, when you got a chance to see what it could do if it got out of hand.

Leona, in particular, was not a man to be underestimated. Even before you really knew him, when you were still confused and lost in a world you barely understood, you hadn’t been able to recognize the monster he turned into at the slightest hints of imbalance. You could barely stand to watch, the sight bringing tears to your eyes as surely as the sandstorm he’d summoned, but you’d figured that would be a one-time offense. It was over, and his childhood strife was behind him. He’d grown from it, and you’d helped him. You were proud of him, even if you’d never dare to say that outloud. He didn’t need the ego boost, and you didn’t need to deal with another cocky, self-satisfied lecture on the vastness of his superiority. 

Well... you thought he’d gotten better, at least.

You were starting to think you’d gotten your hopes up too soon.

You could feel it. The electricity in the air, the searing warmth mingling with a distinct, sudden chill, neither feeling managing to completely block out the other. You were sweating, but you were shivering. You were scrambling backward, searching for ground that wouldn’t fall out from under your feet, but you were frozen in place, rooted to the soil that wanted so badly to push you away. It’d been instantaneous. One moment, he was guiding you into the forest surrounding the academy, your hand in his and a whine playing on your tongue about his bone-crushing grip or his unmatchable pace, and the next, you were like this, his expression fallen and his confident confession crushed and discarded by your awkward, rushed rejection. It’d been too blunt. It’d been too harsh.

It’d been honest, and you could never be honest with Leona.

You weren’t dumb enough to try to talk him down or take him on. You were alone, painfully, stupidly alone, out of the reach of the Headmaster or Malleus or someone who could help you, not that you had the right to be picky, at the moment. You wished you’d insisted on taking Grimm with you, or Ace or Deuce or anyone you could’ve convinced Leona to bring along, but you didn’t. Your only chance was to flee, to push yourself to your feet and run for it, even if you doubted you’d be able to make it. Still, it wasn’t much of a choice. Cramping lungs and sore legs were far preferable to the creature you’d left behind you.

Leona wasn’t one to be neglected, though. Already, you could hear him catching up to you, recovering from his blind rage and falling into a targetted, pointed wrath, putting your suffering above the destruction of trees and flowers that’d only witnessed his humiliation. Dust hung in the open air, fragrant and overwhelming, your eyes stinging and your throat going dry, although you couldn’t be sure whether that was Leona’s magic or your own suffocating fear. Each crushed leaf made it worse, every noise sending a jolt through your chest, giving you a new reason to run faster, to scream louder. Somewhere in the distance, Leona laughed, the noise throaty, threatening. Easily drowning out your voice.

But, he could laugh all he wanted. You could see a soft glow, the lights of a dormitory, although you couldn’t guess which it was. It didn’t matter, though. Soon, you’d have help. You’d be safe--

Without warning, the ground underneath you fell away, turning to something malleable and pliant. You slipped before you put a name to it, falling into the shallow pit of sand that’d formed between you and a kneeling Leona, a single palm carelessly pressed to the ground. You tried to get up, but even like this, Leona was faster than you, moving like a predator seeking out its prey, his fist closing around your wrist and wrenching you to your feet before you could stand on your own. The pain was immediate, burning. As if your body was trying to tear itself apart, and you just had to stand back, watching as defined trails carved themselves into your skin. There was blood, but it disappeared as it washed over his hand, mixing with the blank ink that already stained his fingertips. You wondered if it would leave a mark, when he turned back.

If he turned back.

A low, wordless groan forced its way from your grit teeth, and Leona pushed his shoulders back, taking on the air of a victorious warlord as if you’d already admitted defeat. You supposed you had. “Does it hurt?” He asked, a cruel lilt heavy in his voice. You didn’t think before nodding, hoping for the smallest hint of mercy, but Leona only cocked his head to the side, the gesture unnaturally angular, drawing attention to the lopsided smirk pulling at one corner of his mouth. Rigid and symbolic, not unlike his touch. “Good. I’m not wasting my time, then.”

Claws found their way into your skin, and it dawned on you that he might want a response. You didn’t have much of a choice than to give one to him. “Leona,” You forced out, his name half a gasp and half a mumble. “This isn’t who you are, you’re… You’re in danger. If you don’t snap yourself out of this, your body’s not going to be able to--”

“I think this is exactly who I am,” He growled, cutting you off with little more than a snarl and a narrow-eyed glance. “I tried to be nice. I tried to be your friend and play your little, oblivious game and be patient. Do you know how long I spent sitting back and waiting for you to come around?” It was a question that didn’t warrant an answer, a single talon driving itself into your flesh, nearly cutting to the bone. You screamed, and he rose his voice to speak over you. “I spent so long acting like your friend, you don’t have the right to--” He interrupted himself with a hitched breath, his mouth closing and his jaw locking into place. And yet, he wasn't any more rational when he decided to continue. “It was pointless. You denied me, and you made it pointless.”

“I-I’m sorry.” An apology felt right, albeit manufactured. He’d told how he felt, and you hadn’t shared his sentiment. He’d said he loved you in that lackadaisical, noncommittal way of his, and you hadn’t known to take him seriously. There was nothing to be sorry for, not from your perspective. Leona was just a brat who’d never been turned down, not by someone he considered so far below himself. Still, you were the one who needed a reason, an excuse that would calm him. A selection blended together on your lips, forming something more incoherent than soothing. “I didn’t know you were… I don’t know what I was saying, I want to be with you. We can be together, but first, you have to stop, alright?” You did your best to sound sympathetic, letting your words draw out into something tender. Something compassionate, despite the pain slowly spreading to your shoulder. “You have to let me help you.”

“You’re the only one that needs help, herbivore.” You were used to the pet name, the playful jab at his place on the food chain, but it didn’t sound like a buy for your annoyance, not when he was standing behind you, his brute force only outmatched by the sweltering heat that surrounded him like an aura. It was a warning, now, a reminder that he had fangs and strength and magic and you didn’t. “If anything, I should’ve done this months ago. It’s so fucking easy.” You can practically hear his sneer. It wasn’t like he made an effort to hide it. “It’s not like you would’ve been much of a challenge, even without the extra blot.”

At that, Leona let you go, more out of disgust than concern. Automatically, you reeled back, bringing your injured arm to your chest as you moved to run, but your freedom was short-lived. As soon as you managed to turn around, his heel made contact with the back of your knee, sending you crashing to the ground with a new ache forming in your calf. In the blink of an eye, his fingers were entangled in your hair, his magic thankfully, thankfully neutralized but his grip so tight, you almost wished he’d just put you out of your misery.

Unfortunately, Leona had never been kind.

You couldn't speak, but he didn’t seem to mind. Rather, he was content to jeer and grin and laugh as you writhed, your hands clamped around overgrown grass in an effort not to lash out and anger him further. But, not fighting back was a double-sided blade, one that gave Leona the authority to assume he’d won. “It’s my fault,” He admitted, abruptly, his faux-empathy layered on so thickly, you didn’t have to wonder if he was trying to be honest. “I should’ve known someone like you would be too dense to understand. You’d never give me what I want, not unless I force it out of you.”

You stiffened. You felt him pull back, letting go of you entirely, but you didn’t dare try to get away. “I don’t… What do you want?”

“I can’t have a throne, can I? I can’t have your heart, and I doubt you’re going to hand it over now.” He sighed, the sound a wistful thing. One that left you more unnerved than his threats ever could. His hand came down again, petting over your hair so gently, you were tempted to melt into it for a brief, fleeting second. “But…”

He was gentle, then he wasn’t, his foot pressing into the small of your back, shoving you to forward without a chance to prepare yourself. Involuntarily, you glanced over your shoulder before yiu could hit the ground , taking in the shadows that danced around him for the first time. The brightness in his eyes, golden and unfamiliar, the shape of something primal and animalistic looming behind him. The cruel, possessive smile on his lips, a smile that only broadened when you failed to look away.

“You can still bow.”

[dastardlydandelion]

Billy having the bust appendix episode?

so i combined these into one thingy??

also the latter, uh, it's. like?? i played w ur prompt, dude, chose to focus more on the concept of "not lasting" w susan and max tho bc if i write neil for too long it'll inevitably turn into another murder fic.

ao3 link

content warnings: referenced/discussed abuse, brief suicidal ideation

“Day four of fever, fella. That’s no fun.” Susan sets the thermometer aside with a frown and brushes the back of her hand over his cheek.

Billy blinks slowly at the touch. It wasn’t that long ago that he would’ve pushed her away. He hasn’t exactly enjoyed having the Stomach Flu From Hell for the better half of the week, but he supposes if there was ever a time to get sick, it’s now. Because these past few days have been the last few days he’s ever going to get with Susan and Max. He can use being sick as an excuse to let them get close like this. He can let himself let them close without feeling defensive or embarrassed because after tonight, he’ll never see them again.

“I feel better,” he mumbles as she brushes his fringe back, pad of her thumb gingerly lingering over the nick in his brow. “Really, Sue, s’not as bad today.”

And it’s not. Today’s Wednesday and he’s been feeling shitty since Sunday night, sluggish and nauseous with a nagging stomachache. He managed not to puke up Sunday dinner until Monday morning, although he didn’t actually make it to the bathroom. Susan scrubbed it out of his bedroom carpet even though Billy told her to leave it. Max stayed home from school to keep him company, which really…genuinely meant a lot to Billy, considering skipping school meant sacrificing some of the little time remaining with her friends. And she did it to just to hang out with his sweaty, grouchy, probably contagious and definitely less sociable self.

His stomachache got worse throughout the day but he hadn’t said anything about it to anyone. Didn’t say anything on Tuesday either, even though by evening it hurt so fucking bad it was like there was an invisible knife carving into his guts, blade twisting so terribly the only thing that helped at all was curling into a fetal position. Billy was almost frightened, actually. He doesn’t believe he’s ever felt worse than the torture he went through Tuesday, not even at his father’s hands.

But he couldn’t say anything. Not with everything going on. He wouldn’t do anything to possibly compromise the plan. Couldn’t let himself do anything that could delay their escape. So he sucked it up and kept his mouth screwed shut, endured in silence.

The relentless agony of nonexistent knives twisting through his guts kept him up all night. Then very early this morning, just as the sunrise’s first rays began to lighten the sky, the pain subsided. Billy still feels uncomfortable and he’d probably hurl again if he got a whiff of goat cheese or canned sardines, but it doesn’t compare to the misery of last night.

“How about I put the kettle on? Ginger tea is good for stomach bugs.”

“Nah.”

“What about chamomile?”

“No.”

“Peppermint?”

“Stop, Sue. I don’t want tea.”

“Please. You’ve barely kept anything down all week and you’re sweating like a turkey at Christmas. You’ll feel even worse if you get dehydrated, Billy.”

Susan retracts her hand with a fretful noise in her throat and turns to the door. With a sudden spike of panic that she’s— she’s leaving —he frees an arm from the blanket and grabs her wrist. Susan jumps as though she’s touched a hot stove. Billy immediately lets go. He wasn’t thinking.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Susan, I just…”

Chewing her lip, she nods down at him. She carefully sits on the edge of his bed, one leg folding on the mattress, opposite foot still on the floor. She takes his face in her chilly hands and Billy heaves out a sigh.

“I wish things were different,” she murmurs. “If the, uh…if the p-place Max and I are going accepted boys your age, you’d be coming with us. I promise I’d take you with us if I could.”

The shelter doesn’t allow male children over age twelve, Susan had informed Billy the night she told him they were leaving. She’d said it apologetically, eyes sorrowful like the look she’s giving him right now. She’s said it like it scraped her throat on the way out, tragic and grave as though she were reading him his own obituary.

It was the oddest thing Billy couldn’t begin to comprehend. He wouldn’t go with them even if going with them was an option. And never had he ever expected it to be an option. He doesn’t understand why Susan is looking at him like that.

“I just grabbed you. I shouldn’t have grabbed you.”

Susan’s face twitches like he’s the one being weird, like it isn’t she who’s looking at him with all these things he never wanted from her.

“You didn’t hurt me, Billy, just startled me a bit. I’m as skittish as a doe and of course today is…it’s a big day.”

“…what time?”

Susan spares a glance to his door. Still shut. Neil’s getting ready for work and he wouldn’t dare enter Billy’s room right now anyway. Wouldn’t risk catching whatever Billy has. He’d sent Susan in the bathroom Monday after Billy had barely stumbled out, wan from the latest round of purging, in drill sergeant mode and demanding that Susan bleach every contaminated tile.

“Noon. I want to drive in the daylight. Max is staying home from school. I told your father she caught your bug.”

Billy raises a brow.

“She didn’t,” Susan clarifies. “But he didn’t question the excuse. She’s sleeping in, I think it’s best to let her sleep in. It’s a big day.”

“Big day,” Billy repeats quietly.

Susan’s hands are still on his face, gentle and cool. Billy feels hot. The past few days he’s felt too cold or too hot, no in between. He’s either burrowing under the blankets to ward off the icy chills or laying on the bathroom tile to ease the sensation of roasting in his skin.

“I’m going to make you some tea, okay? You don’t have to drink it, but I’d appreciate it if you did. Fluids are important, Billy.”

Susan slides her hands off and Billy wonders if perhaps that’s the last time she’ll ever touch him. She leaves his room. Quietly closes the door behind her. Billy rolls onto his side and wraps his arm around his stomach, wondering if he should’ve let her closer before. If he should’ve let Max closer too.

Maybe it’s better he didn’t. Maybe losing them would hurt more if he did. And it does hurt. Even when the minutes tick down to the time they will exchange their final goodbyes, he’ll never say it out loud, but it hurts. It’s going to gut him when they go.

But it’s good that they’re going. And it’s good that he’s not. Billy ensured early on that Susan knew never to act like his mother. And Susan never seemed particularly passionate about trying, maybe there was even some relief for her that Billy had shut down every feeble attempt, that she never had to claim him. Billy never asked for Max either. The responsibility of a little sister. The pressure of having to set a good example for her, more reasons for Neil to be pissed at him whenever he inexorably failed. Max thought he was cool when they were younger, then there was that really rough patch after the move, and now things are better.

Things are probably the best they’ve ever been between him and Susan, between him and Max, and he’s going to miss them. Billy wants them to leave. Billy wants to be left. But the separation, the severing, the knowledge that he will never see them again pounds his heart like brass knuckles. He’s never going to watch Susan take another spider outside in a tissue, humming her weird little singsong. He’s never going to have to groan and roll his eyes over being Max’s designated chauffeur to the arcade, the park, the monster movie matinee.

He’s going to be alone with Neil.

Susan brings Billy a ceramic mug of steaming tea. She feels his forehead and probes at the sides of his neck, humming in concern. He would never let her fawn over him without a fight on a normal day. He’s only receptive now because he knows they aren’t going to be in each other’s lives anymore. He doesn’t know what to do with the fact that he kind of likes the fawning, but maybe he wouldn’t— maybe he wouldn’t like it at all if she wasn’t leaving, maybe the leaving makes it special. Or maybe it’s easier to think of it that way than to wonder if it would’ve been better to have this kind of relationship all along.

Billy watches the steam rise from the mug. He doesn’t touch the tea. He’s exhausted and he finds himself drifting, dozing off…

When Billy blinks his eyes back open, he’s dismayed to find his stomach hurting again. It might actually be the stomachache that wakes him up. Either the stomachache or Max in the doorway, hand on the knob.

“Are you awake?”

“I am now.” Billy begins to push himself up on his elbows, pauses when his gut lurches.

So much for that plan.

He settles back, and rolls onto his side, tucking his knees up to his chest under the blanket. Some of the pain abates. This position is still the winner.

“Are you okay?” Max rests her hand on the mattress, cocking her head to the side. “Do you need the trash can again?”

“Nah.”

“Okay…My mom’s loading up the car.”

“Yeah?” Billy really hopes she isn’t here to ask him to help. If she does, he will, but just the idea of rolling out of bed sounds like a grandiose effort.

“Yeah. Can I hang out for a little bit?”

Something thick rises in his throat. “Sure thing, shitbird.”

Max climbs onto the bed and over Billy, jostling him enough to make him queasy. She sits at his back. He can’t see her but he feels her hand settle on his shoulder.

“Your room smells like gym socks and barf,” she remarks, scowl audible in her voice.

“When you catch this from me, your room’s gonna smell the same way,” he mutters. Only after the words have left his lips, does Billy really realize what he’s said.

Max’s bedroom here on Cherry Lane isn’t really her bedroom anymore. Susan’s putting her belongings in the car. The next time Max gets sick, maybe it won’t be in a bedroom of her own at all. Or it will be her bedroom in a house far away from here. It’ll be a room Billy will never go in and he’ll never have the opportunity to tease her.

“I’m kinda nervous about the shelter, Billy,” she admits, voice quiet and unsure. “I was nervous when we first moved to Hawkins too. But this is a different kind of nervous.”

“Don’t be nervous,” Billy mutters. “You’re gonna be safer there than you are here.”

“Supposedly,” Max huffs. “You know Neil’s going to be pissed when he finds out. What if he comes after us?”

“I won’t let him,” Billy declares, meaning every word.

“Could you really stop him?”

Billy curls a little tighter in an effort to ease the pain spreading through his stomach. It’s beginning to be more than a nuisance but he’s doing his best not to be distracted. Max needs him right now. This is the last time he’ll ever be an older brother. That’s more important, that’s the thing he needs to devote his attention to. He never asked for the job and he hasn’t been exceptional at it, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t at least try to soothe his soon to be ex-sister’s worries with her small hand shaking ever so slightly on his shoulder.

He cranes his neck back to meet her eye and flashes a winning grin he hopes looks less forced than it feels.

”Let’s put it this way, he’d have to kill me to get to you.”

Instead of being reassured, Max looks spooked.

“I really thought he was going to, you know. That night.”

Ah, that night. Billy knows which. He was feeling pretty ballsy, feeling strong and bold after a good workout and a couple of beers. When Neil got in his shit that night, for the very first time, Billy threw a punch.

He remembers thinking that things would go in his favor if he could just get Neil to the ground. That’s the last thing he remembers, actually. Thinking that. And maybe it really would’ve gone in his favor if he’d gotten Neil down. But he didn’t.

Billy doesn’t actually remember what happened. But it definitely wasn’t that.

“He wouldn’t really go that far, Max. Neil talks a big game, but I’m all he’s got and he knows it.”

Max doesn’t seem convinced in the least.

“I think that’s what made Mom decide we had to go,” she says quietly. “That night.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Billy says, tone sharp.

Max glowers, clearly disagreeing. Billy matches her stare.

“…I wonder if there will be other kids my age,” Max murmurs eventually, changing the subject.

Evidently neither of them want to argue their remaining time together away.

If there are kids her age, they’ll be girls, like Neil always wanted. No boys over twelve permitted stay. Billy shifts his head back, eyes sliding from Max and off to the wall. He’s starting to feel Tuesday night’s painful sort of nausea. Like his guts are going through a meat grinder.

“It’ll suck if I’m just surrounded by adults the whole time. However long that’s gonna be…Mom wouldn’t say.”

“Maybe she doesn’t know yet, Max.”

“Maybe not. She’s trying to keep her cool but I can tell she’s nervous. Even more than me and I can’t let on that I’m nervous at all, not to Mom, because then she’ll really flip her lid. She tried so hard to convince me everything will be okay at the shelter. She’ll feel like a failure if she knows I’m scared and Neil’s already made her feel a failure over and over. I won’t do it too.”

This is the last conversation they’re ever going to have. This is the last time they’re ever going to talk to each other. Max is on the precipice of another massive move to somewhere new. All the secrecy and uncertainties surrounding it make it all the more of a transition and Billy’s last job as her older brother is this conversation. He’s trying to focus on it, on her, but the pain in his stomach is growing more insistent.

“Billy?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think we’ll ever see each other again?”

Billy curls his fingers in the bedsheets and silently begs for it not to get any worse. Not now. Max is leaving, Susan is leaving, fuck it— his fucking family is leaving and he can’t do this right now.

“…uh…yeah. I’m gonna get out of this Hawkins dump as soon as I can. And I bet you and your mom will find somewhere for yourselves better than this dump too, without Neil steering the wheel…how about, five years from now, we meet up in Cali? At least you and me, Sue can come too if she wants.”

Billy doesn’t think she would. Things have been better between him and his stepmother, yeah, but. He knows what he is. And Max— Max too, really. She thinks she’ll want to see him again now. Things have been better and maybe there’s even a part of her that still thinks of him as her cool big brother, but when she gets some distance, she’ll get some perspective and neither of them will want anything to do with him anymore. By then he’ll just be one more ugly part of an ugly life, the wayward offspring of the enemy.

By then he’ll be nothing but a reminder and no one wants reminders.

Max hums thoughtfully. “Yeah. We could do that, right? I always wanted to go back to San Diego…”

She squeezes his shoulder and Billy shuts his eyes. It’s getting harder to ignore how awful he feels. His whole body sagging with the overall illness laying him low. The torrent of nausea washing over him even though he’s pretty sure he doesn’t have anything left to puke up. The vengeful reprisal of the invisible knife, carving into his guts with a silent wrath.

“…does that sound good? …Billy?”

“What?” He blinks rapidly.

“The zoo, sick brain.” She huffs a little and gives his shoulder another squeeze. “In five years, let’s meet up at the zoo. In the gift shop where you stole the lion keychain.”

“Hey, you remember that.”

“You stole a gag giraffe toy for me too, the squishy one. When you squeeze it, the eyes pop out.”

“Pfft, yeah…I said, ‘look, it’s your mom’ and slipped it in your backpack.”

“I still have that giraffe, Billy,” she continues, voice determined. “I’m bringing it with me. I’ll look at it every day so I don’t forget our meeting place.”

Billy doesn’t really feel like talking anymore. He just wants to shove his head under the pillow and sleep it off, sleep it out. Wake up when his stomach isn’t being stabbed and his heart isn’t being strangled.

It’s a shining fantasy, that’s all. A fuzzy, glowing thing that will never happen. He’s just playing along for Max’s sake.

“What day, Max?”

“I was thinking the Fourth of July. You dad always made sure the fourth was the biggest Hargrove household holiday.” Billy can hear her roll her eyes. “Neither of us will ever forget that date, not even in five years.”

“Okay,” he agrees. “Sounds good. We’ll meet again at the San Diego Zoo gift shop in five years, on the fourth.”

“Pinky swear?”

Moving makes the pain worse. Any movements, even small ones.

“Nah. My hands are all sweaty and contagious, you don’t wanna touch ‘em.”

“It’s fine.”

“I’m not getting you sick, Max,” Billy states firmly. “You’ve got enough going on.”

There is a pregnant pause.

“I really do,” she says eventually, her tone wary. “I hate Neil. But leaving him means leaving you and my friends, and going somewhere with a bunch of total strangers who have their own Neils who might come after us.”

“That’s not gonna happen.”

“It could! Stranger things have happened! Stranger things happen all the time!”

Max smacks her hands together and does something with her arms that shifts her weight and in turn, shifts the mattress. The minute movement multiplies the knives and the stabs, and Billy agonizes, grinding his molars against a hiss as those knives in his gut twist so hard he’s already seeing fireworks.

“What’s wrong?”

It hurts so bad. This isn’t the flu. Billy doesn’t know what it is, but it’s definitely not the flu.

“Billy?”

Christ, is he dying?

“Hey.” The back of Max’s hand rests against his cheek, smaller and warmer than her mother’s was, fabric bandaid under her knuckles now protecting that scab she wouldn’t stop picking at. “Geez, you’re burning up. Are you dying?”

He’d gibe back at her if he wasn’t seriously evaluating this possibility. He momentarily considers telling her that he is, that it’s so fucking bad it’s like knives. Then he blinks and Susan’s here, half-in-half-out, one foot over the threshold of his bedroom, the other still in the hallway.

“Time to go, Max.”

Max inhales sharply above his ear. Billy composes himself. He clears his throat and does his best to keep his voice steady.

“You heard her,” he mutters. “Get your ass outta here, lemme sleep this off.”

Abruptly, Max’s weight flops over his torso, arms squeezing. She’s hugging him. She’s hugging him and the pain is so bad it’s blinding. Billy traps a scream between his teeth, burns with shame as the tears spring to his eyes. He can’t bring himself to uncurl enough to push her off. He can’t bring himself to uncurl enough to hug her back.

“Germs,” he manages to grate out, hoping it’s enough.

Max’s arms unlatch and she climbs down from his bed. Billy’s head spins with reeling pain and nausea as she trots across his floor for the final time. She stands at her mother’s side, no longer his responsibility.

“Bye, Billy.” Max’s lips twitch in a sad smile, her hand raised in a halfhearted wave.

Susan steps aside to let her through and lingers for a heartbeat, frowning at him.

“I hope you feel better, Billy…”

“Your tea was bitter,” he gripes even though he hasn’t taken a single sip.

Susan’s eyes sharpen. She sees something, Billy isn’t sure what. Her lips part but he speaks first.

“Please get out.”

So he can cry. So he can scream. It hurts, he hurts. His stomach, his heart. It’s horrible, he’s horrible.

Susan bobs her head and obliges, making herself scarce. Billy hangs onto the sound of steps getting further away. He doesn’t let the tears fall until he hears the door close and then he’s smashing his face into his pillow to smother his sobs in cotton stuffing. Forces himself to stop because crying’s making it worse, much worse, his shoulders are hitching and moving is anguish.

Something is so very wrong.

Billy can’t even think around its wrongness. Last night the pain was sharpest in his side but right now it feels like his whole stomach is burning. He shifts even slightly and his stomach burns with white-hot pain but he’s so cold everywhere else.

Billy lies still and curled and quiet, impatiently waiting for it to get better. If he doesn’t move, it should get better. Curling like this helped last night and then this morning, the pain went away.

Will it go away again if he just keeps waiting?

He’s already waited so long.

Will it come back even worse?

Could it get worse?

That’s a stupid question, everything can get worse. If there is anything Billy has learned in his life, it’s that there’s no real rock bottom. It can always get worse.

That shove will turn into a slap. That slap will turn into a punch. That punch will multiply into many punches. The opposite arm will lock around your throat so those punches can keep pummeling the breath right out of you and the night you think you’re gonna punch back—

No such thing as bad as bad gets, no limits, maybe if he really is dying, it’s for the best. Maybe dying is the best goddamn thing that can happen to you in a world where invisible knives slicing into you and screams shriveling like dead leaves—

(everyone leaves, doesn’t matter if it’s autumn)

—behind your chattering teeth could very well be the least of your suffering. It hurts so bad he can barely breathe.

Billy forces himself out of bed anyway. He always gets up even when he doesn’t want to, but today he’s outstandingly bad at it. His organs must be pureed from all the silent stabs and his legs buckle under him. His hands fly out when he falters, ceramic mug knocked off his nightstand.

When the tea spills on him, it’s cold and Billy’s confused because it’s supposed to be hot tea. Then he’s confused at his own confusion because no fucking shit it’s cold now, it’s been out for hours.

How many hours?

When did Susan put the kettle on?

How long has Susan been gone, Max in tow?

It feels like an eternity but Neil isn’t home yet, so Billy knows that’s not true. He has no idea what time it is, but he knows he’d know if Neil was home. Neil makes his presence known. Neil doesn’t set foot in this house without immediately staking claim to everyone’s attention.

Everyone?

There is no everyone anymore. Just Billy and Neil now. Billy got out of bed with the intention of finding his keys. Driving himself to the hospital. Because it’s been hours, how many he isn’t sure, but enough of them to mean he needs to go to the hospital. Go to the zoo?

No, he— he can’t go to the hospital.

He could make himself get up. Demons slice their claws through his stomach with every chill that wracks his frame and garble their guttural taunts right into his ears but he could get up. He could but he won’t, he knows better.

If Billy goes to the hospital, they’re going to call Neil. It’s a small town. Someone will know who he is even if he pretends to be too out of it to say. Someone will know he belongs to Neil and then Neil will be called. Then Neil will find out even sooner that he’s been left, and he’ll get mad, and Billy doesn’t know what he’ll do with the anger but it won’t be good.

Max and Sue need as much time as they can get, as much distance between him and his dad as possible before he finds out. He’s going to find out but they got a head-start and Billy won’t sabotage that. It’s better for him too, in case Neil decides to turn the rage his way. Neil takes responsibility for jack shit, he might even decide it’s Billy’s fault they're gone, because he got left behind to blame.

Billy could make himself get up but he won’t. He just pulls the comforter off the bed and over himself on the floor. It’s so bad he could writhe but that too, would make it worse. He’s waiting to watch a demon claw its way out of his stomach, like that scene in that one movie he watched with Max.

It wasn’t the last movie he watched with Max. Billy doesn’t remember the last movie he watched with Max, the last movie he’ll ever watch with Max. He’s never going to see her again. If he dies here on the carpet, he supposes he’ll never see anyone again.

Crying about it won’t help. Crying doesn’t solve anything.

Something is making a horrible yowling sound. There’s a stray cat in the neighborhood, it must be right outside his bedroom window. Or else it got inside somehow, it sounds so close. Its cries sound so wretchedly human.

Billy isn’t a brother anymore, he has demons twisting their pitchforks in his stomach, he’s too cold to catch his breath, and his cheeks are very wet. He doesn’t have any time or energy to chase around a stray cat, to stop it from making a mess.

Billy does not die on the floor. When his father comes home at first his yells are angry and then his yells are fearful. He calls an ambulance and cradles Billy close until it comes.

Billy loses himself in the whirlwind of activity that follows. He gets poked and prodded and jabbed, and someone blessedly takes his pain away but Billy doesn’t know who because everyone’s faces blur until they all look the same. He has too many white blood cells and not enough hydration.

Dehydration, that’s deja vu. But it’s not Susan talking about dehydration this time even though he wishes it was. He wishes it was?

Yes. No. She needed to get out. Max needed to get out. Billy has too many white blood cells and not enough hydration, and his fever’s so high they might as well bake cookies on him and— and if his mother were here, she would like that one, yeah, he definitely got his dry wit from her. Sardonic snark is right up Mom’s alley. But she had to get out too, everyone has to get out.

Except Billy. He’s fine. Well, he’s not fine, apparently he needs surgery, but he doesn’t need to escape. One day he will, but he doesn’t need to. It’s not a necessity. No matter what Max saw That Night he doesn’t remember, Neil would never kill him.

Neil would never, ever kill him. Billy is his only legacy. Piss poor legacy from Neil’s standpoint, sure, he’ll never let him forget it. But nonetheless, it’s the only one he’s got. Billy may blow his brains out when he gets bored of his twenties (if he even makes it that far) just to spite the bastard because he doesn’t want to be his good-for-nothing piece of shit legacy, he never asked for that.

But now is not the time to begrudge all he didn’t ask for, now is the time to count backwards.

“Dad?” Billy calls into the quiet nighttime of the room, blinking fuzzily at the figure slumped in the chair beside his bed. His throat feels like sandpaper, he swallows with an effort and tries again. “Dad?”

Neil stirs this time, eyes brightening, alert on Billy. “I’m here. Do you need something?”

Billy pauses. “M’sick, right?”

“Sure as shit you’re sick,” Neil huffs, eyes narrowing. “Almost lost all three of you in the same day.”

The words bounce around Billy’s skull.

“Susan left me,” Neil continues slowly, anger shimmering like hot coals underneath the veil of weariness. “All her stuff is gone, she took Max too. I don’t expect you knew anything about that?”

“No, sir,” Billy denies. “I thought they went shopping.”

“No. They certainly didn’t go shopping. They cleared out and left us behind. No explanation, no letter, not even a note.”

So it’s ‘us’ now, huh?

Billy widens his eyes, does his best to seem surprised as he attempts to sit up. Then he really is surprised, first at how awful of an idea that is, and then at realizing the blanket covering his hospital bed is one from home. One of Neil’s, fleecy and worn.

“Grabbed a few things from home. Needed something to do to keep my mind busy. You were on the operating table twice as long as they told me you were gonna be, Bill. Scared the hell out of me.”

“…why?”

“I’m told your appendix ruptured before they opened you up and that complicated things…you’re gonna be here for a little while, bud.” Neil gently rubs his shoulder. “Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

He answered the wrong question. Billy wasn’t asking why it took longer, he was asking why Neil was scared. But he doesn’t correct him. He swallows and hopes Max and Susan are safe. He wonders just what time they got to wherever they were going. Susan never shared the location or ever alluded to the distance from Hawkins. He hopes there were no mishaps along the way, no flat tires or fender-benders, or murderous traffic in backed up lanes.

“Not a baby,” he mutters. “Not gonna bitch about a stupid stomachache.”

At that, his father raises a brow. He gives a shake of the head and his hand leaves Billy’s shoulder. He makes a low noise in his throat that almost sounds like approval and covers Billy’s forehead with his hand. The heel of his palm is calloused and Billy knows he’s been hitting the bottle when the unmistakable scent of warm beer wafts over his nostrils.

“Well, it’s just us now, tough guy. You need to speak up if something’s really wrong, capeesh?”

He said it again. Us. They’re an us once more. Billy tiredly lifts his hand, bracing his elbow on the mattress to give his father’s forearm a squeeze.

“Yes, sir.”

[sleekervae]

The Neighbour [0.2]

Masterlist

Eva clung especially tightly to Pluto as she followed Remington back to the front gate, her cheeks burning red hot with humiliation. It didn't help either that this kid happened to be wickedly handsome and sans shirt all the while.

Remington wasn't so bothered by the incident, worse case scenario he could convince the guys to order a pizza like he was craving. Nonetheless, he didn't blame Eva; he tried to put that across by keeping the friendly smile on his face and putting her at ease.

"You know, it's not a big deal -- with the food and everything," he assured her, "We'll just order a pizza or something,"

Eva shrugged, "I know. It's just -- you know, I guess this isn't how I expected everything was going to go," she said, "Moving is tough enough with everything going on, and now it seems I got to get a play cage for this little monster,"

Remington patted the top of Pluto's head, "He's not so bad, just a little hungry. Cute little guy, aren't ya?" The pale tabby closed his eyes and rubbed his scruffy head against his palm.

Eva smiled a little, "He likes you. You should be honored, he doesn't warm up to strangers so easily,"

"Well of course he likes me. We have the same hair colour," Remington grinned, subconsciously running a hand through his black and blonde hair.

"You could be twins," Eva chuckled sardonically.

Remington opened the gate for her, "So... do you like the neighbourhood?" he asked.

"It's nice so far," Eva nodded, "I'm still unpacking all my boxes and shit so I haven't really had the opportunity to explore. And given the circumstances and... I -- I forgot my face mask too, fuck,"

Remington shrugged, swallowing the ball of nerves creeping up his throat, "You look pretty healthy to me," he said.

Eva smiled politely, hoping she could attribute the flush in her cheeks to the heat. There was something about him, he was familiar to her. She didn't come right out and say it, perhaps he just had one of those faces one sees and recognizes from somewhere else.

"Well, I should get going. And tell those guys I'm sorry again," she said, walking backwards to the sidewalk.

Remington simply shook his head, "Honestly, don't even give a second thought. Welcome to the neighbourhood, Eva"

"Thank you, Remington,"

There was something about the way his name rolled off of her tongue that sounded so sweet to him. He continued to stand at the gate and watched the pretty young girl cross the street and back into the apartment courtyard. Eva turned and took one last fleeting glance, a zing of electricity zipping down her spine when she saw Remington was still standing there.

Slamming the door to her apartment, she placed Pluto back on the floor, washed her hands thoroughly, and went back to her kitchen to continue with her baking exploits. She tied an apron around her waist, pulled out her ingredients and tried to find a good recipe on her phone. She also made sure to close the window.

She was unbothered when Pluto jumped onto the counter and took a seat, staring at his owner curiously. Eva stared at him just as intently, having half the mind to shoo him off the countertop. He seemed to almost be smiling at her.

"And what are you looking at, sausage thief?"

Some days passed; days filled with doing absolutely nothing. If everything was normal, Palaye Royale would have been smack in the middle of their European tour. Instead, Remington was sitting in his room, bored out of his mind as he continued to press the buttons on his xbox controller. He had played this game so many times, it was too easy. The challenge was gone.

Today was Friday, another Friday that was filled with perpetual boredom and misery. Riding around on his scooter wasn't fun, video games weren't fun, even trying to annoy Emerson wasn't as fun. There was little drive for him to do the bare minimum; it was just an achievement alone that he forced himself to shower this morning.

Lying back on his bed, he stared up at the empty ceiling, closing his eyes and trying to go back to sleep. Maybe the time would go faster if he slept more, like a hibernating bear? However, the notion of sleep was swiftly yanked away when he heard the doorbell ring.

He groaned audibly and turned over, his dark brown eyes still shut tight, "Emerson! Someone's at the door!" he called. There was no response, not even the shuffling echo of feet. Was Emerson even home? Maybe he'd ordered something off Amazon again and conveniently forgot to tell Remington while he was out.

If it was a package and he'd missed it, he didn't want to hear Emerson going off about having to drag himself down to the post office to sign for it -- in a pandemic no less. A month in and this pandemic was already getting to be old news.

Nevertheless, Remington pulled himself out of bed and jogged downstairs, hoping the Amazon guy hadn't left yet. He didn't take into account that he was only in his indigo dotted shorts and nothing else, throwing open the door without a care. However, he was surprised to see a plastic bag at his feet, at the gate was Eva.

Eva had just pulled back the latch to the gate when she heard the door open, and she was no doubt taken aback to see Remington standing there... again without a shirt. He looked weary and tired, the complete opposite to Eva's glowing face and yellow summer dress.

"You're not the Amazon guy," Remington spoke candidly.

Eva cocked her head, "Uh, no. Afraid not," she shrugged, "You expecting a package?"

"No," Reming shook his head, "I mean, my brother might be, but he's not home and I have no... um, nevermind. What brings you over here?" he leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms, trying to collect himself a bit more.

Eva pointed to the bag at his feet, "I made some bread. The recipe made three loaves and I don't need that many carbs," she chuckled awkwardly, "I thought maybe you guys might like one?"

"Oh," Remington picked up the bag and pulled back the plastic, finding a round, crisp loaf of bread inside, probably a bit bigger than Mishka, "That's very nice of you,"

"I just felt bad about the other day --"

"I told you, it's no big deal,"

"I know," Eva nodded, scratching at the skin behind her ear, "I ... jeez. Just being neighbourly, I guess?"

"I'm the one who should be fucking neighbourly," Remington grinned, "You want to come in for a drink or something? ... Or maybe we should sit on the lawn instead? That's social distancing, right?"

Eva smiled sheepishly but shook her head, "I actually have to stop by my storage unit and pick up the rest of my things. I'm just looking for a Waive,"

"You don't have a car?" he asked.

"Well, it was either the apartment or the car, and I figure I can survive off public transit for the next little while," she replied.

It was then a truly incredible idea entered Remington's head, "... I can drive you over, if you want," he said.

Eva smiled graciously, "Oh no, that's okay. There's one up four blocks from here, and I don't want to be a bother," she replied.

"It's no bother at all," Remington grinned, "As long as I'm back in time for my set schedule of nothing, followed by nothing, and then more nothing," hey, it was at least a reason for him to get out of the house.

Eva crossed her left leg behind her right, clearly a little unsure. It wasn't advisable to get into a car with a stranger when circumstances were normal, and now couldn't have been an exception.

"I don't know, Remington,"

He could see the apprehension spread over her delicate face, and he didn't blame her for being on the edge. He wasn't even sure if she should've even been in his backyard the other day. Then again, he knew he was being safe, and as far as he saw Eva never went anywhere, or had anybody over.

"I get it if you're uncomfortable," he told her, "But I don't go anywhere. And the only people I ever really see are the people you met the other day. That's it. I just... I wanna' do everything right so we can go back to normal as soon as we can. And you seem like a nice girl and I would hate to know you're having to suck up quarantine by yourself,"

Eva took a minute to think it over. She glanced down the street, maybe thinking she could catch sight of the shared car her map was telling her was within a four-block radius. Then again, she wasn't all that comfortable having to use a car-sharing service since the pandemic started, but she couldn't take her stuff on the bus and she couldn't afford Uber rates. Besides, Remington was only one guy...

"... If you don't mind," she said finally, "Maybe we can just leave the windows down and have our masks on?

Remington tried to hold back the big grin that wanted to explode over his lips, "It's seventy-five degrees out, you bet your ass I'm gonna' have the windows down," he said, "I'll just go throw on a shirt,"

"Do you have a habit of going without a shirt?" she asked.

Remington smirked, "Only on Wednesdays... and when beautiful women happen to be around,"

Eva rolled her eyes, but she was smiling nonetheless. She actually found him to be quite charming, "Well, it's not Wednesday," she took a brief look around, "And there are no pretty girls here,"

"Oh, come on, don't sell yourself short, Eva," he winked coyly as he rewrapped the bread in the plastic, "Just outta' curiosity, is this --?"

"Sourdough," Eva nodded shyly.

"What is up with this sourdough fad?" he asked.

"I don't know," she threw her arms out, "I just wanted to fit in and be cool, I guess,"

"You named your cat after an Edgar Allan Poe book, you're already cool,"

Eva waited patiently outside as Remington dashed into his room. However, he stopped short when he found a post-it note was stuck to his door. He must've blown past it when he went to answer downstairs. It was notably written in Emerson's chicken scratch and he read it to himself.

"Remington, I'm off with Shy to the beach. Text me if you want to cook or do take out, unless of course I come home before you open your door... and you won't find this note," he glowered at the dark blue ink, "Seriously?"

About an hour later, having collected the rest of her boxes from storage, Remington followed Eva up three flights of stairs to her little corner apartment. Eva had a bit of a rough time trying to put the key in the lock without dropping her box, but she was finally able to get the door open and push her way inside. Pluto was in his bed, none too bothered by his owner's presence. It was only when he smelled the unfamiliar scent of men's soap and hair product that he turned his head to Remington.

He was quick to leap up and come trotting over, nearly scaring Remington out of his skin when he started rubbing up against his leg, "What the --? Oh, hi Pluto," he grinned at the pale and black-striped tabby.

Eva huffed at her cat, setting down her box and going to scoop him up, "Pluto! Let him in before you start whoring," He gave a yrowl of protest before he was dropped back into his bed.

"Sorry about that," she said.

"It's no problem," Remington wasn't shy about having a few glances around her small studio space. It was cozy, yet not fully furnished as the walls were still bare and her shelves were empty. On the right hand side, two perpendicular walls separated the kitchen space from the bedroom (it was more like a bed cubby), and on the other side she had a small couch with a glass coffee table, and beside that a desk that prescribed the definition of 'messy'. Looking out through a sliding door, Eva had a small balcony with two chairs and small dining table -- where she had a perfect view of his house.

"Please forgive the mess, too. I'm shit at organizing," Eva said, having now pulled down her blue medical mask so it rested under her chin. Remington did the same.

"It's definitely a lot cleaner than my place," he said, still gripping tightly the cardboard box, "Where would you like this?"

Eva set down her box on the kitchen counter, took a glance at the writing at the side before directing him, "Just down by the bookcase, is fine," and she started pulling apart her own box.

Remington set down his box and opened it as well, astonished and impressed to see rows of vinyls lined up and packed tightly. She had music that ranged from Billie Holiday to Harry Styles; some sleeves more worn down than others. Unable to help himself, Remington had a flip through her music, you could always best judge somebody by what they threw on the turntable. Remington's smile grew when he found his own record, Boom Boom Room Side A.

"You have good taste," he said, turning and holding up the vinyl.

Eva turned from her box full of novels, a tinge of red spreading over her cheeks when she saw him crouched over her music and holding a record. But when she realized the worn down sleeve was for Palaye Royale, it suddenly clicked in her mind where she'd seen Remington from. A small warmth flooded through her gut.

"I knew you looked familiar," she blushed, "Your hair's different, that's why I didn't recognize you,"

"I take it this is your only record of ours?" he smirked.

Eva shrugged, "It was a birthday present. I liked a lot of what I heard, though," she ruffled a hand through her short hair, "There was one song I heard and I just fucking loved it. It went something like... oh my gosh, like um..." she started humming the chorus to something that sounded like Mr. Doctor Man.

The melody was instantly recognizable to Remington, but he let her carry on longer than necessary to watch her, the giggle she let out while she hummed simply delicious. He could never sing that song the same way again after hearing that.

"I think that's supposed to be Mr. Doctor Man," he chuckled once she had stopped giggling.

Eva pointed a finger at him, "That's it! I loved it because it sounded like The Killers!" Eva couldn't believe she just hummed that song to Remington fucking Leith. She wasn't sure why she had let Palaye Royale fall off her radar, having remembered how much fun she had jamming to that vinyl in her old place. And the voice on Remington was so sexy, she couldn't help but be so enthralled by those raspy high and low notes he would hit.

"That's probably one of the best comparisons I've had, yet," he told her, "They also happen to originate from Vegas,"

Her cheeks were still burning but she lifted her eyes slowly back to his and gave a tentative smile, "What is it with all you cool rock bands coming out of Las Vegas?"

"Like they say; Vegas is built on hopes, dreams, and crazy people," he gave her a wide, toothy grin just to make his point.

"Who said that?" Eva asked.

"I don't know, but it makes a fuck ton of a sense," Remington replied, "Would you like me to put these in the shelf?" he pointed to the bookcase.

Eva shook her head, "No, you don't have to do that. You didn't even have to help me haul all this shit upstairs," she said.

"And leave a lovely lady to break her back on her own? My own mother would be so ashamed of me," he scoffed back, waving his hand at her, "And besides, as your new friend I insist on helping you out,"

Eva cocked her head, "So, you and I went from acquaintances to friends all within an hour and some?"

"Well, if you had hummed my song earlier, we would've been friends before Pluto even stole the sausage," Remington grinned, then glancing at the tabby, "No hard feelings, Pluto," The cat simply stared back at him.

He glanced back at Eva, "... Why does he keep staring at me?" he whispered.

Eva smirked, "He's a very personable cat. Either that, or he wants your shoes,"

"So, if I leave my sneakers on the stairs of my house, he'll come over and actually make a meal out of them?" he asked.

"I've lost so many shoes to this cat, I swear I have to keep them locked up in my closet," she replied.

Remington glanced at the cat again, narrowing his eyes as though to mockingly challenge the feline, whispering menacingly "I got my eye on you, bitch,"

[laceymorganwrites]

The Story of the sad chapter 15

Word Count: 2,367

Pairing: Ban x reader

Warnings: cursing

Summary: The Rescue Mission continues

Taglist; @lysawayne​

“Okay, lovely reunions aside, we gotta go save the princess now” you hated to be the one who destroyed this precious moment, but someone had to do it.

It wouldn´t be good if you stayed here any longer than you needed to.

“You should´ve said that at the beginning, dear” Merlin smirked and forced Elizabeth´s location out of Vivian.

As soon as she uttered the words, Merlin teleported you in front of the king´s room, something was holding her back though, it was the perfect cube, a demonic barrier.

Not that that was a problem for Merlin, who immediately canceled the magic, making you able to enter the room.

Elizabeth headed straight for Meliodas to hug him, it was bittersweet. She didn´t remember him yet and still her feelings were prevalent.

You wondered if you would ever be able to harbor such a strong love for another person and if they would for you.

Before you could sink into your thoughts any more, Dreyfus entered the room and had all of you on guard.

However instead of fighting you, he broke down on the floor in shame, admitting to the crime of killing his own brother, the very reason you had to flee in the first place. Before you wasn´t a holy knight, he was merely a broken man eaten alive by his guilt now.

He also informed you that Hendrickson´s plan was to bring forth another holy war.

After hearing that his son was alive, he obliged and obediently walked himself into the dungeon to await his trial.

Merlin took a look at the king´s health and stated that he needed to be treated immediately, however this would only be possible in Camelot where she had all of her supplies.

“I´m coming with you!” you said.

Merlin only raised an eyebrow but then chuckled.

“I suppose you would, after all it´s where your weapon lies… however it got there, I cannot remember” she smirked.

She teleported you, Arthur and the king to Camelot´s castle where she treated him.

“Arthur, show (Y/N) where her sword is” she smiled mischievously.

“You mean the one you told me to guard?” he asked and you cocked an eyebrow, why would he have to guard your sword? It´s not like it would wither and nobody was able to steal it.

He showed you around the castle and then stepped through a secret hallway leading into a big room plastered with all kinds of weapons and armor of the goddess clan.

It felt like a twisted version of home.

“What the hell...where did she get all of this? Well, I suppose if anyone would be able to, it´d be Merlin. But still...” you looked around the room in wonder, subconsciously remembering your old days as a soldier, as the head of the holy army.

It was sick but it filled you with pride, you were good at it, very much so and even better at strategy.

But still, there had to be a reason why you remembered so much of your past recently.

“Merlin said you could take anything you want, she also told me to tell you to view this room as your personal closet” he awkwardly smiled at you.

You had to chuckle, that was so typical of her.

“Well, thanks a bunch for all of this, but I have to go back now” you said as you went back to say goodbye to Merlin, sword in hand.

“If you ever need anything else, just give me a call” Merlin smiled at you before she teleported you back to the capital.

You landed right amidst the action, it seemed.

“Holy shit, what the fuck is going on?” you asked, looking around you saw only ruins of the castle, two holy knights wincing in pain and your friends, boyfriend and another holy knight.

“Hell if I know, whatever it is we have to make it stop” Diane said.

“Babe!” Ban came up to you and hugged you tight, kissing your cheek.

“I missed you...” he nuzzled your neck.

Warmth spread through your body as you let yourself fall into his touch for an instance, this, whatever this was, whether it was true or not, it felt right.

Yes, Gowther did spread some doubt in your mind about the reason you got into this relationship, but you wouldn´t let that hinder you.

You were always better at fighting when you had something to protect, even if that something was immortal and handsome.

“(Y/N)! You got your sword back!” Elaine exclaimed, clapping her hands and cheering for you.

“Finally joined the party, eh?” Meliodas joined you, teasing you.

But before any more casual conversation could be held, Jericho transformed into the same monster that Meliodas, Ban and King fought a while ago.

Apparently it was a malfunction on holy knights who have been given demon blood.

The thought that Hendrickson did that still made you sick to your stomach.

He suddenly appeared in front of you, clad in a demonic aura as the new generation of holy knights all transformed into beasts.

“Okay so, how the fuck do we go about this? Mel, you told me that those beasts could only be defeated once you killed the person inside, right? There has to be another way!” you called out to him.

There was too much chaos to get a clear head or overview, everything happened too quickly.

Meliodas and Gilthunder tried to take on Hendrickson, however he ordered Vivian to take Margaret and Elizabeth as hostages, making the men startle for a second.

A second he used to slice them down.

Elizabeth did something very brave and stupid at that moment, she offered to go with Hendrickson in return for Meliodas´ and Gilthunder´s life.

She always thought about others before herself, which made her so strong.

“Mel, I know what you´re thinking, but we need to think this through. We need a rescue Elizabeth team and one that deals with those fuckers” you pointed at the beasts that were once holy knights.

All he gave you was a pained expression.

“I´ll heal your wounds, give me a sec” you knelt down at his side and applied your magic.

“Okay, we need to contain those monsters before we know what to do with them that doesn´t kill the person inside. I can´t afford them to wreak any more havoc. Somebody needs to get the citizens into a safe space. So that´ll be two teams. And then the last one is the rescue team. King, Diane, Gil and Howzer, you go defeat the beasts. Gowther, Hawk and Elaine, get the people to safety. Ban, Mel and I will rescue the princess.” you knew it wasn´t your place but someone had to put order and clear instructions into the heads of the scared, otherwise nothing could be done.

Nothing could be achieved by being frozen in fear.

Meliodas nodded, getting back up on his feet.

You ran into the direction where Hendrickson´s magic was coming from, apparently Dreyfus fought him as of right now.

Dreyfus was on your side, but even if you arrived in time to save the princess you doubted that the four of you could take Hendrickson on.

You might have been able to if you had had the opportunity to train with your sword longer, it should come to you easily, but maybe ten years was just too long. Not to mention Meliodas was exhausted, even though you healed his wounds.

And while Ban couldn´t take any longterm damage from Hendrickson, you doubted he could deliver any to him.

It was hopeless. And yet you couldn´t just stand around and continued moving forward.

When you arrived you saw only the remains of Dreyfus´ armor and a bleeding Elizabeth.

You hoped Ban and Meliodas would be able to distract Hendrickson long enough for you to heal her and get her to safety.

Without thinking you flew past him, grabbed Elizabeth and healed her in the process of leaving her in the care of Elaine and Hawk who alongside Diane and the others came into your direction to help.

You told Elaine and Hawk to get to safety before you joined the fight again.

“Mel, if we´re lucky he won´t be able to take the demonic magic any longer, so let´s hit him with everything we got. Make it count” you husked, a determined look in your eyes as you swung your sword as the first attack against Hendrickson.

Ban watched in awe as your blade stroke his skin, making him wince in pain. It´s been while since he´s seen you go all out on someone and damn were you a sight to behold.

So graceful, so elegant, so utterly beautiful. He had to watch out not to get distracted too much by you.

“Yes babe! Get him!” he cheered for you and the others followed your example, fiercefully attacking Hendrickson.

As the battle commenced it was revealed that Hendrickson hid a red demon corpse in a hidden cave which he claimed to be the source of it all.

It enraged you beyond belief, how he said that without any remorse, without any tone change in his voice, he even sounded proud of it, of himself.

“You disgust me...” you balled your fists, shaking as tears streamed down your face.

“How the fuck could you make them drink that?! Aren´t you ashamed of yourself, you piece of shit? I´m gonna fucking obliterate you and you bet your ass I´m gonna make it hurt” you lashed out at him, your wings subconsciously raised you higher as you started an attack from above, slashing at his shoulder with all force.

“Ashamed? Why should I? Just look at all the success I´ve had with this… I´m invincible” he sardonically smirked.

“If only Mael didn´t steal my place as one of the four archangels and I had his sword, I would´ve killed you back when we first found out about you, but now this´ll have to do!” you kicked him in the guts and held him down, about to give him the final stab when he grabbed onto your wings and broke them.

You saw red as the pain emitted into your body like hot lava, almost making it burst. Your wings hung loosely down your back and you couldn´t move them, they were now a mere burden to you.

“You fucking bastard!” Ban rushed to your side and got you out of harm´s way, only refusing to hit Hendrickson when Meliodas actively held him back.

“Ban.” Elaine stated coldly, there was so much anger inside of her small body she couldn´t contain it, she would have her revenge.

“Let´s end this. Once and for all, we did it once, we can do it again. It´s time for vengeance, for the forest, for (Y/N), for all the misery this thing caused” she grit her teeth, collecting all of her magic in the palm of her hands and pointing it at Hendrickson, making him fall down the hole that was created when the demon was revealed.

“Fucking hell, this hurts like a bitch...” you twisted your arms behind your back to reach your wings to heal them, but it seemed like you had exhausted your healing magic for the day.

“Don´t force yourself, (Y/N). We´re gonna take him down, no matter what” Meliodas told you, carrying you to the side of the battlefield with a dark look in his eyes.

“Diane, you stay back with (Y/N). Watch that nothing happens” Meliodas ordered as the rest went down the hole into the cave.

“We´ll be right back, darling...” Ban held your face in his hands, caressing your cheek.  “Just stay put, okay? Diane, make sure she´s not into too much pain. Please watch out for her for me” he pleaded with a worried look on his face before he kissed your forehead one last time and joined the others.

“You can count on me!” Diane nodded determined and sat down beside you.

“Poor (Y/N)...is there anything I can do to help?” she hated being tall, especially in moments like this she felt useless. A dear friend was hurting and she couldn´t do anything but sit by and watch.

“No...I´ll have to wait until my magic is restored, I think with enough stretching I can heal myself. But it hurts like a bitch...” you forced a smile.

“Maybe we can talk to distract you from the pain? Hey, let´s talk about Ban! That´s sure to brighten up your mood” she smiled at you.

“Yeah, it sure is...” you returned the smile.

“I don´t know what I did to deserve him, but I feel like if I question it too much all the happiness will just go away and I don´t want that. But if I don´t question it then I´ll never be sure...” you rested your chin on your legs.

“Sure of what?” Diane tilted her head.

“Whether I truly love him...whether I´d be able to recognize the feeling even if it hit me in the face or if I´m even capable of such a wonderful thing...” you shared your thoughts with her, watching her frown.

“Well, with your past it´s only natural that you´d feel this way. I can´t tell you how to feel but I can tell you the things I noticed that changed about you when you and Ban got together. You´re happier, it shows, you´re so free and light all the time, it´s contagious, it´s like your smile and happiness washes over to the rest of us. And you´re much more relaxed too, it´s like a burden has been lifted off you. I like seeing you happy like this, I never liked it when you were so depressed over things long past and unchangeable… and (Y/N)? I can see the same changes in him too. He´s so soft and gentle around you, I´m envious of what you have, it´s just so beautiful” she played with her fingers.

“You think so? I didn´t notice any of that...” you felt silly, how could you not even recognize your own happiness let alone the one of others anymore? It was pathetic.

“It´s because you´re always in your head” Diane giggled.

[rinusagitora]

The love, lead, and the undead.

Fandom: Monster Prom

Characters: Vicky Schmidt, Damien LaVey, Brian Yu, Oz, Zoe, Vera Oberlin, Polly Geist, Amira Rashid, Kale

Pairings: BriDamiVicky, OzZoe, AmiVera

Words: 2.9k

Summary: Canon divergent. Chapter 10/?. WARNINGS- PTSD symptoms, drug use, fanart drawn by @spookyhugsandkisses​;  Everyone is home, and is processing the events that have so far unfolded.

AO3

It was one of those nights Oz just wasn't able to focus. Even snuggled against Zoe and watching a goofy, uplifting anime, he couldn't ease the pit in his gut.

Zoe's thumb rubbed his brow. It was nice stimulation, at least. She was sweet in every way.

It was just a bad couple of days, Oz reasoned. He lived through millions. The birth of predator and prey, the fall of civilizations.

Zoe asked, "Do you remember your very first day?"

"Maybe long ago," he replied. "My first memory is in the dark, just beyond an orange light…. I think. There are so many now, it's hard to sort through them."

"Me too."

"What brings this up?" Oz asked.

"This, that, the other," she said. "I'm trying to remember a time before now that I've worked to keep people alive."

He frowned. "We're not very good at it.'

"No," Zoe agreed.

"We try to save people, but… they just end up dying. Or someone does."

She said, "They're all too eager to. Vera happily forked over her soul."

"And they adore destruction…. I hate demons for that reason. The Aquino, the LaVey, gungho for ruination and bloodshed before diplomacy."

"We wouldn't be here without it," Zoe said.

"Don't you tire of it?"

"I never said it didn't."

Oz hummed. His vision was blurry. Phobias kissed Zoe's hand, hugged her knee. He barely understood what Sergeant Frog was saying.

But that was the least of his worries.

"All of this now… what we're doing… is it helping, or is it retribution?"

"That depends on our intentions," she said. "Neutral good and lawful evil can approach a problem the same way and the only thing that puts them apart is their intentions."

Oz sat up. His Phobias whined for her skin like grumpy children. "Do we avenge Vicky?"

"Is she our friend?"

"... she's not innocent in all this."

"No, but that's irrelevant at this point."

He cocked an eyebrow. "How so?"

"We walk among mortals for so long and they rub off on us." Zoe cupped his cheek. Oz's eyes fluttered shut as she pet his cheekbone. "You more than I."

"Are you saying we mingle in these partisan affairs?"

"We already mingle, love," she said. "We've gone this far for them. I don't mind going further."

Oz's Phobias smiled with him. "I love you, Zoe."

---

Vicky felt like she hadn't been home in years.

It was stale, but just as she left it.

Vicky lingered in the doorway as her boyfriends made a beeline for the bedroom, Damien stripping to his boxers en route and littering his clothes on the floor.

She wasn't sure how she felt about being back. Vicky felt foreign, different, displaced. She stood in the entrance, shoes and jacket still on, and tried to piece it together with a puzzled furrow in her brow.

How many times had Vicky died? Once… twice… thrice? What counted as death and undeath?

Philosophy made her head fuzzy. She pushed off her shoes, not even caring to toss them into the shoe rack inches away, and made for the kitchenette in search of moldy dishes and rotten food. She'd need laundry done too.

"Babe, chores can wait."

Vicky didn't even bother to check if that was Brian or Damien. She said, "I want my place to be clean. Plus, I need clothes for class tomorrow."

"I thought we should skip," Damien said.

"Been through enough to warrant a break," Brian agreed.

She huffed. "I want to see my friends. Liam and Blobert don't know I'm back yet. It's not fair to keep them in the dark."

"Yes," Brian said, sitting on the floor with Vicky, "so we'll call them. Or meet them after school. But Vicky… you're still in fight or flight mode. We need to get out of that."

She laughed wryly. "What, like Hugh isn't at large?"

"There are three of us, and one of him. If he does invade your home, I think we got him," Damien snorted. Brian glared at him over his shoulder.

"Not helpful," he said.

"What? It's true."

Vicky sighed and continued to gather her outfit for tomorrow. She got together something presentable and went to her closet for the wire so she could hang them up in the bathroom. She shook Brian's hand off her pant leg but was caught by Damien a second later.

"Yeah, we're going to bed and sleeping in."

"No," Vicky argued. "I want to go to school."

"Baby, he's right. I'm so tired I'm gonna pass out when I hit the pillow," Damien said.

"Like you don't already?" Vicky snapped. "Dami, let me go. I have to get ready for school."

"We're going to bed," he said, firmly, golden eyes boring into her own.

Her nostrils flared irritably. Vicky adored her boyfriends but everything, the second the door closed, once she was relieved of the worries of her loved ones’ livelihood, she was imprisoned in a maelstrom of conflicted emotions. Fear, grief, rage. Shame that she was annoyed that Brian and Damien breathed over her shoulder. They just missed her. Vicky knew she would have behaved exactly like them if she watched either Brian or Damien die.

But sometimes, Vicky felt like her loved ones forgot she had a threshold. In less than a quarter of a century, Vicky was routinely sexually abused, experimented on by someone even more horrendous than herself as a bank robber, killed someone, and finally, she had died twice.

Vicky felt like she had every right to a night where she didn’t have birds chirping in her ear.

“Move,” Vicky said. “I’m just doing laundry.”

“No. We’re gonna relax tonight.” Damien's voice was rising, he was getting angry. Brian gawked at the scene unfolding from the corner of Vicky's eye.

“I want to go to school. I want to see my friends, and I don’t want to smell like stale laundry when I do!” she insisted, her voice quickly reaching a shrill crescendo in her frustration.

“What is your fucking problem, Vicky?” Damien barked.

“Nothing! I just don’t want to smell like stale laundry when I go to school.”

“It’s safe to say we’re not winning this fight,” Brian grumbled. He tried to grab Vicky’s laundry, and she pulled them away. He scowled and swiped again. “Babe, please give it to me.”

“No.”

“Am I seriously the only one here who’s exhausted?” Damien said, storming into the living room and tearing at his hair. “It hasn’t even been a fucking week since you died. We’ve been through a lot. We deserve some fucking sleep!”

Vicky whipped to him and screamed, “Like I fucking don’t? Like I fucking didn’t?” Her hair bristled with static. “You can’t fucking begin to comprehend the pain I’ve been through, asshole. I’ll cope however I fucking please.”

“I just watched you and my dad die! Don’t guilt-trip me.”

“Guys,” Brian said as stepped between them, “let’s not get into this. I’ll do the laundry. You two can go to bed.”

Vicky shoved past Brian. “Guilt trip?” she squawked. “You want a fucking guilt trip, Damien? I’ll show you a fucking guilt trip. You could’ve fucking saved me! You knew who took me, but you waited days to get me. Do you know how badly I was hurting? How isolated and confused I was?” She jabbed her finger into his chest. “You’re selfish and… and dictatorial! You got to grow up in a sweet little princely bubble where everything’s fucking rosy, but I was tortured, and killed, and raped, you son of a bitch, and when you guys had the opportunity to help, it you fucking days!”

Brian replied, “What the fuck is wrong with you, Vicky?”

Tearfully, she screamed, “Shut the fuck up, Brian!” She turned back to Damien. He was tearful. Irate. “What the fuck do you have to say for yourself?”

Damien bent over her and said, “I was in so much pain without you, Vicky. I wanted to get you every day. But if we stormed without a plan, they would have killed you.”

“They already killed me!” Every inch of her mortal skin felt hot from her anger. “All I want to do is something mundane to keep my mind of this bullshit, but you guys are breathing down my fucking neck. You don’t have to fucking help me, but I need some room to breathe.”

“You were just fucking murdered and had to fight for your fucking life just a couple of hours ago. Vicky, you can’t work yourself to the bone! I was worried about you and you jumped down my fucking throat!”

Brian pushed the pair apart. “We need to calm down before the cops get called,” he reasoned.

She slapped away Brian’s hand. “Don’t defend him,” she said, “you’re as insufferable as he is!”

“Vicky,” Brian said as he wrapped her fists around her’s, “we weren’t trying to breathe down your neck. We know you’re in pain, and we just wanted to help you feel okay.”

“I don’t get to be okay! I just get to be miserable and hurting!” Vicky slipped away and wept. She combed her fingers through her hair and blubbered noisily. “I’ve wanted so badly to just die so all my pain would end. I’m even in pain when I sleep. But when I die, there’s just more of it. I’m in Hell if I’m not on my way.” Her lip wobbled. “And I drag everyone down with me.”

“You’re not dragging us down,” Brian reassured her.

“Scott,” she argued. “He may as well be dead. He was just a good friend and now he’s a vegetable because of me.” While she cried, she sunk to the floor. “I have to live with all this pain. The second something good happens to me, it’s ruined. I was better off exploited.”

Vicky cried into the carpet. Brian and Damien laid down with her. She clung to them, she blubbered apologies for everything under the sun and cursed her suffering.

Damien stroked her hair, holding her so tightly her back popped. It was so hot between them. She wanted to writhe in pain, in misery, but they caged her. Made her remember her company and her family.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed, "I'm sorry."

Damien hushed her. "It's fine. It's okay."

"I love you all so much."

Brian pressed a kiss to her. Again, again, again, until she was short of breath.

She sat up. Damien laid his head on her lap.

"I'm thirsty," she said, raspy and tired. "I'm going to make tea."

Damien and Brian followed Vicky into the commons. Damien took a seat, and while Vicky prepared water in the kettle, Brian hugged her from behind. Kissed her scalp.

"I missed you," he said. "I love you so much."

"I love you too." Vicky swayed. Her eyes watered again. She hated how much she cried. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Everything."

Brian hummed. His cheek laid in her head. "Water under the bridge, and all. Most of it isn't even you." She felt his frown. "Given the chance, I'd light your uncle on fire."

"Fuuuuck," Damien groaned. "If my dad and Hugo are fucking brothers, that means Dahlia is my fucking cousin."

Vicky frowned. "That may become… problematic," she said.

He scratched his ear. "I don't wanna worry about it now…"

"Mood," Brian agreed.

The kettle whistled. Vicky poured it over a tea bag and then took a seat between her boyfriends. They leaned against her, eyes glued to the television screen.

She sipped her tea. Brian and Damien drifted off. They were exhausted, truly. She didn't blame them. It was a long week.

But could she find a reprise? Never.

---

Something was exhausting about trading with eldritch creatures. Like her chest was scraped with a curette. Painkillers weren’t helping, and Vera was debating whether or not to undergo local anesthesia.

But she was so tired. With Vicky passing, Scott in a coma, and then Vicky returning, she was exhausted. That was the first day in years she hadn’t even checked her phone to work.

She missed Scott so much.

His machines beeped rhythmically. It should've been a peaceful sound. Like white noise. But the context almost put Vera in a fugue state. Catatonic with… with feelings she didn't quite understand.

Amira shook her shoulder. Morning light cast a shadow over the building. It was still dark in their room due to western exposure.

He said, "Baby, you look so… tired. Have you slept?"

"No. I don't think so, at least." Vera only then managed to pull her attention away from Scott. "I need to call in my absence."

"I took care of it," Amira said.

Vera hummed. Her chest still hurt.

"I want to stay here for the day," she told Amira. He nodded.

"Agreed." Amira pulled up a seat and crossed his legs. "He's got some color in his cheeks, though. The witches here are doing a damn good job."

"Nothing can fix everything." Not science, or magic, or what have you. But Amira squeezed her hand.

He said, "I know. But I'm optimistic."

"Aren't you always?" Vera looked back to Scott. He was intubated. Made to breathe. His heart was pumped by machines. Everything mechanical. Vera didn't have high hopes for his survival.

And it broke her heart. Scott could be obnoxious, but he was ultimately harmless! A victim in all this, the truest of them all.

Vera hated the Aquino family for victimizing someone whose inner light brightened the world like the sun. She'd be certain to rain terror on them from on high. To ruin them in every way she could.

Amira seemed to pick up on Vera's vitriol. He said, squeezing her hand again, "Do you want something to eat? Drink?"

"... just some water," she replied quietly.

Amira walked out. Polly floated in a second later.

Vera wasn't in the mood for conversation, but wasn't about to kick out a grieving friend, either. She wordlessly nodded to Polly. Polly smiled. She looked like she, too, was crying.

"I miss you," Polly croaked. "The hardest part of you being gone is that those of us left behind had so much to tell you, so much we wanted to experience with you, and now… now you're gone." She wiped her face. "I'd do anything to make you better, man."

Vera bowed her head, crying too. God, she missed him so much.

---

That morning, Vicky sent a text to Blobert and Liam to meet them. Of course, she was spammed with messages, but after proving it was her, and telling them she'd explain everything after school, they relented.

They waited in the parking lot hours later. Vicky smoked, and it reminded Brian that he could go for some weed. Everything was so uncertain. So tense. He needed something to ease his nerves.

The bell rang and students began to file out. Kale walked by, oblivious as he played what Brian was sure to be PokeMans.

He elbowed Damien. Both he and his girlfriend turned to him. "I'm gonna talk to Kale if that's cool."

"Go ahead." Vicky smiled a smile that made Brian swoon without fail.

Damien pecked Brian on the lips. "We'll hold down the fort, babe."

"Thanks."

Brian strode to catch up to Kale, before saying, "Hey, man! It's been a minute."

Kale turned around, bark crunching, and smiled. "Hey there. Glad to see you back." He pulled his headphones around his neck. "I heard Vicky's back too."

"Yeah. It's…"

"A long story?"

"You have no idea."

"As fun as the details prolly are, I'm sure you'd rather wind down."

"You read my mind." Brian pulled a baggie out of his coat pocket. "You got a minute?"

"Sure."

Brian and Kale found a secluded bench where the air smelled fresh and the only sounds were birds chirping. Traffic was completely absorbed by tall hedges.

They made their joints and then leaned back to enjoy them. It lingered in his lungs, making him buzz pleasantly. He could feel his stiff, rotten muscles easing.

"The fuck even happened?" Kale asked. Brian hummed dumbly. "With Vicky, I mean."

"Oh." Brian frowned as he ruminated. "She got into some trouble during a job. Some people didn't like it, and so they took her out." That was the simplest explanation, without the messy politics of Hell, and without a long story that was sure to just make Brian miserable.

"She's back now, at least."

"Equally as complicated," Brian told him.

"I bet." Kale took a puff. They sat in silence for a good minute. "It's fucked up, though. Are you sure you're cut out for this shit?"

Brian was a little hurt by that like Kale was suggesting it was somehow Vicky and Damien's vault she was murdered. It was a power grab. That's all.

But Kale was just trying to be a good friend, Brian reminded himself. He said, "Yeah. All this bullshit just reassured me how much I love them, y'know?"

"I'll take your word for it. I dunno much about that love bullshit, but if you're happy, man…" Kale trailed off and shrugged.

"Thanks."

Again, silence as they smoked. That was something he liked about Kale. How laid back he was. As fun as the insanity as Spooky High was, it was much nicer when insanity was a fraction of his day. Brian preferred sleeping like the dead or getting as close to it as possible.

Kale then asked, "What're you gonna do after all this?"

Brian pondered for only a second before he pictured Vicky and Damien in wedding garb from his home country.

"I want to get married."

[goodfortune-au]

Good Fortune (Soulmate AU) Chapter 18: Face It

He pulls back from her.

“What’s wrong my sweet?”

She is nothing in that moment but inconsolable, the static shock of something she can’t control gripping her in a crushingly electric vice. She flinches away from his touch and snivels into shaking hands, able to do little else but hiccup in sheer misery as it all comes flooding back to her. Suddenly she’s reliving that afternoon down in the archives, but it’s not the pleasant euphoria of being kissed for the first time; it's the mortal terror, it’s the sick, wrenching feeling in her stomach as she watched something primal and savage at its core, something raw and animalistic, the sight of a boy being consumed alive by a monster. The snapping and crunching of bones in her memory makes her cringe. She’s bawling into her palms now, sniffling and sucking in greedy breaths of air between pauses. He shifts from the top of her to her side, shushing her, stroking her hair.

“Angel, sweetheart, you must tell me what’s wrong. Pennywise is worried…”

He knew. Oh, he most definitely knew. He’d been waiting for this moment in something of a stirring anticipation, for weeks, months, eons. It had come now, the moment of truth, where she would finally confront the revelation of who he was and come to terms with it. She may not come to terms with it immediately, but she would eventually. For now, the time had come for him to be entirely truthful with her. He would stand firm, he would answer her questions, he would offer her a willing shoulder to cry on should she desire it. He hoped more than anything that she would not reject him, that she would not run from him completely. He didn’t want to have to do things the hard way.

She doesn’t even know where to begin, she’s simply blindsided by the sobriety of the realization, that not even the exhilaration of kissing something she held so dear could keep her from confronting what she had been so ardently avoiding. She’s silent, processing her thoughts as much as she’s able to, but they’re a roiling, stampeding mess inside her head, chaos simply reigning free in the recesses of her suffering mind. She finds that dwelling on it just makes her start crying again, she’s wailing even harder now as he strokes a gentle hand down her back. She simply keeps crying, recoiling into herself, crumpling into a heap as she sits up and she refuses to look, refuses to make the association, the final nail in the coffin. An eternity seems to pass as she simply bawls into her hands. Pennywise gives her the space she needs to process her thoughts, to speak in her own time as she gains the will and courage to do so, and then slowly but surely those sobs taper into silence. Hiding there, she finally whispers to him.

“Y-You… You killed them, Pennywise.”

He’s silent too, and then he speaks. He does not patronize her. He does not pretend not to know of what she talks about. He is simply honest.

“...Yes, I did.”

She sucks in a hitching breath and sniffles. She’s quiet again, letting him rub her back, succumbing to his gentle touch in such a desperate time of need. It comes into her head like a resonant gust of wind, overpowering all other intelligent inquiries in its fury.

“...Why?”

Such a simple question. It’s posed so brokenly, there’s mourning in her tone. He is not unsure of how to answer; he had been having this conversation in his head for centuries, after all. He observes the way her face is red, no longer from the thrill of their romantic rendezvous of before but rather from her own pitiful, disconsolate weeping, observes her posture, hunched over and shoulders slouched in her grieving. Her hands have sunk to her legs now but they’re clenched; she avoids eye contact with him and her stare is rooted to her feet. Her breathing is still choppy but she’s taking long, deep breaths now. They shudder up through her chest and make their way out through her trembling lips. He looks at her sadly and continues soothing strokes down the small of her back. His voice is gentle.

“...Because they hurt you, Angel.”

Her eyes would have widened at that if she’d had any of the energy, but all she can summon is another hiccuping sob. She’s plainly miserable at such an explanation, it does nothing but bring a torrent of guilt crashing down over her. It leaves her soaked to the bone, wretched and shivering, huddling inward for warmth that didn’t exist now. Because… Because they hurt her. How could she possibly contend with such culpability? So much pain, so much misery, so many people hurt, and all because they had made the fatal mistake of crossing her. That was the reality of it all, and she hated it. She wanted to hide away from it, from him, from the town, from all the pain and suffering but still she faces it, knowing that the time to run had long since passed.

“On Halloween.” She croaks, her voice small and fragile. “I...T-Took the kids out trick or treating. We got harassed by some boys, one of them beat me up and threw me off the Kissing Bridge. I… I heard something attack him, and the next day he was missing.” She sniffles again and pauses, almost as though she’s afraid to pose the question. “Was… Was that you?”

He stares at her, unblinking. “Yes. It was.”

She swallows and continues. “...On New Year's Day, I tried to buy a doll- that doll- from Secondhand Rose,” She says, gesturing weakly to Pepper on the shelf. “The owner got mad at me and threatened to call the cops. I was thrown out, and the next day he was missing too. Was that you?”

“Yes.”

“ Why? ” There’s a hint of anger in her voice. Anger and hurt.

His voice is stony and uncompromising, like a towering brick wall resistant to wind and sleet and rain. “Because he was no different, Angel. They all had one thing in common, my dear, and that was threatening you. I can’t abide that. I will not tolerate any threats to my mate.”

His… Mate. Had it been any other time, her stomach would have fluttered at the word, but now, despite it all, it only churns with disgust. He can see the way the emotions shift on her face, and his hand moves from her back to stroke the slope of her jaw.

“Angel-”

“Pennywise, no! ” She cries, jerking away from his touch. Tears are welling up in her eyes again. “I can’t… I can’t…! ”

His hand catches hers as she makes to get up off the bed. He stares up into her, his eyes a furious red-rimmed gold, but his tone is as even and soothing as ever.

“...You can, Angel. I know you can. Listen to me.” He pulls her back down, slowly, gently, and she obeys his direction, ever submissive, ever docile even in her exacerbated emotional state. He’s firm. “I didn’t want to have to take them, but they offered me no choice. They hurt you.”

She starts to sob again, but it's angry sobbing now, no longer sad or pitiful. “But did you have to kill them? God, Pennywise, I… I didn’t want this, I… I wanted your protection but I… D-Didn’t want them dead. ” She hides her face in her free hand and weeps. “That’s too far, this is too far. ”

“What would you rather I do? This is who I am, Angel. I need to eat just like anyone else, and they needed to be taken care of. This was the only way to solve both problems.”

This is necessary. This is the only way.

And just like that, she’s quiet. It starts to come up in her head like looming storm clouds with the promise of rain following shortly behind. It’s something she cannot ignore, cannot put off any longer. It’s been building up in her mind all year, ever since that fateful September day, every time the town grew quiet, every time another disappearance cropped up on the news or in the paper or by word of mouth or through those dreadful missing posters. All she had wanted was to know, all she wanted was to ask-

“W-Why? Why him?”

Pennywise is silent too. He favors her with a look of wistful remorse.

“I didn’t… Mean to take him, my love. He was… The first one I found, when I woke up.”

That much was true, Pennywise hadn’t meant to take him at all. Had he known, had he the slightest inkling of what that boy meant to Angel and those brat children, he would have taken someone else. He would have sated his hunger on the next unfortunate child to cross his path. But there was no going back on it now. It was the luck of the draw, he supposed. But it had the potential to be the greatest test of her loyalty, for after all, if she lacked the moral fortitude to hold him truly accountable for the death of Georgie, what was to stop Pennywise from getting away with greater misdeeds in the future? Nothing, that’s what.

“When you… W-Woke up…?” She asks, puzzled amid her heartbreak. He takes her other hand, and squeezes them both as he looks into her eyes.

“Yes, my dear...” He sighs. “I live in cycles.”

“L-Like… Like a cicada..?”

“Almost. I spend many years, dormant, in hibernation. I sleep, I think, I dream, and then I wake. I feed, I return from whence I came, and then the process starts all over again.”

“...Twenty-seven years.”

He pauses, and cocks his head. His perfectly coiffed hair bounces lightly about his face. “Yes. Sometimes twenty-seven, sometimes more.”

“I… Read about that. In that book I lost.” She says numbly. “I… I didn’t know it was… I didn’t know that you…” Tears streak down her face.

His grip on her hands is firm and comforting, and as she’s held captive by his stare, those eyes dissolve from red-rimmed gold into passionate blue.

“...Time has never meant much to a thing like me.” He admits, brushing a gloved thumb over hers. “I see more in one year than one of your kind sees in a lifetime, and it… Doesn’t strike me as all that remarkable. But…” He says, and he brushes a lock of hair behind her ear. He cups her cheek and smiles. “The second I knew you were coming, the moment I knew I wouldn’t have to be alone anymore, I felt… Different. Like everything I’d ever known was put in a whole new light. Have you ever felt like that, Angel?”

She doesn’t answer him, but she doesn’t take her eyes off him either. She doesn’t avoid his stare, she doesn’t recoil from his touch, she doesn’t lose her temper. She just listens.

“...I spent so much time sleeping and feeding, my love. I spent so much time doing the only thing I was ever good at, and sometimes it grew tiring, but no matter how sick of it I got, I kept going, because I knew that you were coming, that one day you’d be by my side. I waited so long for you, darling. You were the thing that kept me going...”

There it was, the butterflies again. It starts small, like flickering embers from a long-dead fire, but it’s enough to ignite sparks of a new flame, and she feels that wonderful warmth starting to course through her veins again. But no. No. He’s… He’s a monster. He’s… The thing haunting Derry. He’s the reason for all the misery and despair in the town, he’s the scourge, the pestilence on the land. He’s… He’s the reason all the innocent children... He’s the reason that Georgie…

“...You were meant for me, Angel. Don’t you understand? The stars have aligned just for our union. Your soul was brought into existence just so we could be together. I love and embrace you just as you are... Can you do the same for me? Can you accept me for who I am?”

That wasn’t fair, it wasn’t even remotely the same thing. Angel hadn’t done anything wrong, she was simply the victim of rumors and vitriol from her peers for reasons she had no control over. But Pennywise... Pennywise eats people.

....But Pennywise needs to eat too.

Stop it. Stop it. It’s not an excuse. He could eat animals, or vegetables, or anything other than people. It’s not an excuse.

But what makes people any different? What makes them special?

What makes you special?

Fresh tears well in her eyes. She’s so conflicted she has no idea what to think. She loves him, she’s loved him practically since the moment she laid eyes on him. And he loves her. She’s spent the better part of a year utterly consumed in him, she had so badly wanted to feel his touch for so long, so long that it was painful. The gifts had meant so much to her, his presence had meant so much to her, his protection had meant so much to her. Knowing that she wasn’t alone in such a place, when she had nothing in the world to keep her company other than a cat and a handful of kids, it had made her feel safe. It made her feel safe to know that she was somehow impervious to whatever was threatening everyone, when she herself had grown up feeling threatened her entire life. It was a feeling unlike anything she had ever felt before, it... Made her feel special. But now, all she feels is cheated. What of her fairytale, what of her perfect happy ending? Whatever happened to that, her dashing prince to whisk her off her feet? Did that dashing prince even exist anymore? He was right there in front of her, favoring her with a dreamy blue gaze, the same blue gaze she had fallen in love with, but all she can think about is the way those same eyes had looked at her down in the archives when she had found him, the way his horrific mouth closed ever so slightly to reveal them, hidden within unsightly wrinkles on his face. And what of the fate he so often spoke of? Was she simply damned to spend the rest of her life with a monster? Is that truly the best she could do? Was she so utterly repugnant that nothing else would settle for her?

“No.” He says darkly, and she startles herself out of thought. When she comes out of that haze she notices his eyes are amber again, and they glint in the darkness of the room. Almost dangerously, but... No. Never around her. That wasn’t the right word. Fierce? Protective? Defensive?

“Don’t you ever think you’re anything less than perfection.” He says, and he squeezes her hands again. “You are radiant, Angel. You are the sunspot in my world, and a truly beautiful compliment to everything that I am. You were meant, made to be my counterpart, the light to my dark, the yin to my yang, and I will not have you disparage yourself in such a way when you were made so flawlessly just for me.”

Her mouth is almost agape as he speaks, all she can think about in that moment is how she can see the passion in his eyes, the flavor of the words he speaks, something fiery and bold. All she can think about is the way it makes her feel despite all the horror and revulsion. Warm and secure and... Happy. It’s all there in her mind, the picture-perfect aspects of their relationship; the first gift he had ever given her, the second, the third, all the times he’d been there to comfort her in her grief and every single compliment, every much-needed boost to her self esteem that came straight from his lips. The nights he spent holding her and consoling her, making her feel desirable, making her feel wanted when nothing else ever had. The love and affection he had given her when she felt so low, reciprocating such passionate feelings so as to nurture and grow their flourishing bond. The vow of protection he had given her from that very first offering, how he had given his word to keep her safe, keep her and the...

“W-What about... Your promise...?” She asks weakly. For all she knew he might have forgotten about it completely, or had chosen to disregard it. She didn’t know what to think or believe anymore.

He scoots in closer to her on the bed and cups her cheek again. Their legs are touching and he’s so warm. The look in his eyes is real and genuine, it touches her very soul.

“...I promised. You are safe. Pennywise swears it.”

But… What about...

She tries to blink back the tears but they fall down her face anyway, the sight of him fading to little more than blurred lines in her misty eyes. She can still see the sadness in his face, his brows are furrowed ever so slightly as he looks into her, and she almost wants to look away but she can’t. She can’t. All she can do is hold his stare, exist with him in this timeless moment. How conflicted she is, but as time goes on she’s seeing less and less of the bad until all that’s there is the love, the devotion, the urge to be with him overpowering everything else. Angel knew she wasn’t hypnotized anymore; that had long since worn off, but in its place had come a slight shift in judgment, a desire to rationalize. The will to understand. It was all so horrifying to her, what he’d done, and he’d even lied to her in a fashion, but some reprehensible part of her didn’t care. That part of her wanted so badly for things to go back to normal, for her to be able to keep what she had, to ignore this, all of this. And as time went on, that part of her was starting to slowly monopolize her consciousness, make it the only thing that mattered. How selfish, how utterly repugnant of her, to not only condone the actions of a monster, but actively want to stay with him despite those actions. What kind of person did that make her? She didn’t even want to know at this point. But despite the dissent in her mind that train of thought is starting to take precedence; the longer she sits there looking into his eyes, the longer she reflects on his words and his promise, the more at ease she feels at the thought of keeping his company. It ignites some kind of passion, a fire within her, a desperate, helpless desire and without another thought in her head she moves toward him.

She lands on his lips again as she burrows her body into his chest, taking immediate comfort and security in the way he embraces her without hesitation. He’s kissing back, he’s chasing her every breath and she loses herself to it, loses herself in his scent and the sound of him, the rolling growls that shudder through her like an earthquake. Her lips tremble as she clings to him, her eyes are squeezed shut as she follows through on this earnest and spontaneous display of passion. Pennywise is all too eager to reciprocate, deepening it as he takes her head in his hands and pulls them back onto the bed again. Every kiss is met by another in quick succession and they keep feeding into one another until the world around them is dizzy and delirious. It almost seems as though she is helpless, cornered prey being swallowed whole by a vicious predator but there is an equal give-and-take between them, minutes ticking by quickly as they offer themselves up to the capricious pursuit of absolute pleasure. She’s pushing it all away, she’s choosing not to think about any of it as she flees toward the protection of her guardian angel, toward the sublime sensation of warm, wet lips against hers and the promise of more delights to come. For better or for worse, she’s trying to create her own bubble now, a replacement for what had been so tragically lost, convinced in her own frantic mind that the only possible way to cope with what had been done is to simply pretend that it wasn’t there. Disregard it, brush it aside, ignore it. Ignore it just like everything else. She is merely a passenger on a raging river of denial, letting the current of the rapids carry her safely over jagged truth and reality. She coasts along smoothly, opening her eyes to a lush blue sky and feeling the wind flit through her outstretched fingers, but then her raft hits a snag. It jarrs her, throws her off course, and the momentum almost tosses her mercilessly to the crags but she clings to the security of what’s familiar, the security of what’s comfortable and reassuring. She almost thinks she’s in the clear until that massive realization capsizes her again, and she comes up from the water sobbing, choking and coughing as she shivers on the beached remains of her shelter. And there is the sun, bright and inviting as always, to offer her warmth in her most desperate time of need. Pennywise does not attempt to try and preserve the moment. He does not try to talk her out of her own emotions. He just takes her into the breadth of his arms, simply shushes her gently.

“...I juh-just w-want.. All this, to g-go away...” She weeps quietly into the silk. “I just... I juh-just want...”

“Shhhhhh.... Shhhh, my poor, sweet girl... It will all be okay...”

There in his arms she falls asleep, feverish sobs ebbing away into sniffling silence with time as he croons her softly to sleep. She tries to believe him. She tries so hard to believe him.

~~~~

The first thing she realizes when she wakes up that next morning is that her head hurts. The second her eyes flutter open and she’s brought back into the waking world, it's the throbbing, dull ache in her temples, that ever-present pain that’s not enough to be excruciating but just enough to be a constant nuisance. She’s not perplexed as to the onset of this pain; she remembers last night. She remembers how she felt, how she spent the better part of an hour crying herself to sleep in his arms in the hopes that if she tired herself out she might feel better about it in the morning, might be able to deal with the horrible news and just move on from it. No such luck so far. She nuzzles into the plush softness of her bed with a groan. Pennywise is gone as always, but he’s left Pepper and a mound of pillows in his place, and as she looks down at the doll’s vacant, felt-detailed expression she can almost feel him looking back into her. Studying, calculating, examining her tear-stained face and blood-shot eyes. She doesn’t know how she feels about it, so she places the doll back on her shelf, pops a couple ibuprofen, and tries to forget about it.

Sunday was a day Angel spent trying to forget across the board. It was all there now, out in the open, and she couldn’t ignore it any longer. Pennywise... Pennywise eats people. He’s the one responsible for all the missing children. He’s responsible for Patrick, he’s responsible for Georgie. And... He’s also the thing Angel has spent the better part of a year loving and idolizing. Her protector, her guardian, her almost sole source of happiness. The thing that brought her out of one of her worst depression funks by far. He’s spent so much time showering her in affection and gifts, building her up, enriching her life. He’s given her reason to hold her head up higher everyday instead of cowering in the safety of the shadows. He’s given her fulfillment in an area she’s felt painfully inadequate in her entire life, nursed wounds that she thought terminally untreatable. And he seemed to do all of this out of nothing more than love and passion for... For his mate.

I will not tolerate any threats to my mate.

As she thinks about it, a low, churning nausea settles in over her stomach to compliment her headache. Pennywise had... Pennywise had killed for her. She... She was the reason behind a handful of the disappearances. The thought made her positively sick. She hadn’t asked him to, it hadn’t even occurred to her that... That he... She’s shaking like a leaf as she watches TV, trying so desperately to put it out of her mind that she’ll settle for anything. The channels offer her no solace, it’s simply news and static. She doesn’t even touch Channel 27, knowing that she simply couldn’t bear to see his face, not right now. She didn’t want to see him, she didn’t want to feel him, she didn’t want to hear his voice. She knew if she did all her thoughts would suddenly become real again, and she couldn’t cope with that. Not right now.

She tried to pass the time in other ways but found that everything she tried, she was reminded of him. She’d sat down at the dining room table to draw with her favorite Edward Gorey book (Amphigorey Too), but found that the illustrations contained within struck up too much of a resemblance to Pennywise’s shapeshifted forms in her mind. So, finding her appetite for art soured, she turned to cooking next to sate another, but realized far too late that, in her absentminded haze, she’d started making shortbread, the very first thing she’d ever given to him to sample. She then abandoned the dough to the fridge for the time being, and took up a pencil with an old legal pad to do some writing, but all the words that would come to mind conjured images of him, images of his tall, imposing stature, images of his fiery red hair and remarkably striking golden eyes,

(images of razor-sharp teeth and a long, gapingly huge maw snapping up the lifeless carcass of an innocent boy)

She’d shaken her head, shuddered, and simply put the pad away. She couldn’t even, for the life of her, take her trumpet out, because it had been him that inspired her to take up playing again after so much time in the first place. He was the reason she had the confidence to finally improvise again after letting the sword rust for so long in its scabbard, he was all the encouragement and the only audience she needed to come back out from hiding. But not now. Now he was a deterrent to all these things. Now, against all odds, he was the antithesis of all that had coaxed her out of her shell. This revelation made her want to hide again, and this could not bring her greater displeasure.

She had eventually given up on all creative endeavors for the day, choosing instead to take to the grocery for some shopping in an effort to take her mind off of things. When she’d gotten dressed, she avoided anything that reminded her of him, wouldn’t even look at the chocolate box that housed all his dozens of offerings, would instead keep her eyes mostly rooted to the floor while she was getting ready. She’d left behind her pearl heart and black silk sweater, even her bell necklace and had closed her closet door so as to avoid the judgment of all the clowns on her shelf, staring at her with eyes much more critical in her mind than ever before. In the past she’d liked to pretend that Pennywise could see her through the eyes of those figurines, keeping a protective watch over her from far away, but now the thought simply made her queasy. She doesn’t look at herself in the mirror before she leaves; she couldn’t afford the inevitable self hatred that would come at even the sight of her own face now. She simply moves on, shutting her bedroom door behind her. Mayor Jello meows at her melodramatically when she strides into the living room but she doesn’t pay him much mind. He could be rather attention-seeking sometimes, and right now she didn’t have any attention to spare.

The grocery turned out to be no more comforting than the walls of her house, as it would seem no mere change in scenery could assuage the racing thoughts in her head. Angel perused the shelves in a way that could only be described as tense and strained, half-expecting his voice to invade her head, an arm to pop out from behind a shelf to wave at her, phantom hands stroking down the curves of her body as they had so often done before. But no such occurrences. It was actually rather quiet and undisturbed at the store today; usually there was a crying child or a stingy customer making a scene at the registers, but by all accounts it was actually rather tranquil and still. This turned out to be a curse rather than a blessing for her, as with all the lack of noise, Angel was rather confined to the disquiet inside her head, no immediate distractions to demand her focus and take her away from the pressing moral dilemmas plaguing her consciousness. She tried so earnestly to forget it, counting the tiles on the floor in front of her, humming along to a tune of her own imagining so as to occupy her mind with something else. It actually seemed to be working so far; she felt it all melt away from her thoughts for the time being, and she had kept it up even as the people around her scrutinized her with muted disdain. One thing could definitely be said for all of Pennywise’s encouragement and praise, and that was that, slowly but surely, Angel had moderately regained her ability to shrug off the condescension of those around her. So she kept her head up, humming still along the way, but her humming tapered into self-conscious silence when she realized what her melody had transitioned into without her notice.

Oranges and lemons

Say the bells of St. Clements...

She clears her throat and falls into the unsettled quiet once more, reaching for a bag of chips off a shelf. When she places them into her cart the plastic crinkles against the metal lattice, but in her mind she almost thinks she hears those familiar bells jingle along with it. She looks around, almost paranoid, but there’s nothing. No one. As she finishes packing her groceries into her backpack, she totes the cargo home, trying to use the fresh air to her advantage in yet another ill-fated effort to relax. She’s still conflicted, torn to the bone, as even with all her efforts to banish him from her conscience a part of her is still pining for him. She wants his lilting, lullaby voice, his gentle, soothing touch, she wants him to come back to her. As much as her rational mind was glad for the absence, there was that pesky, emotional side of her mind that wanted more than anything for him to return and bring with him that warmth, that comfort that had brought her back from utter despair and misery. She tries so hard to quell it, push it down, knowing that now wasn’t the time to be emotional. Now wasn’t the time to be rash or illogical, she needed to think about this, all of this, carefully. It hadn’t even been a day, for Christ’s sake.

But she couldn’t deny the oddity of his lack of presence, couldn’t deny that it certainly was strange of him to be so quiet. He’d gone positively radio silent on her. For the better part of half a year, he hadn’t let her know a moment’s peace in such delightful ways. He had been lavishing her in love and attention ever since that epochal Valentine’s Day eve, had progressively increased his presence in her life until he was with her everyday practically from start to finish. He had almost insisted on it, even as Angel would bashfully ask if she was getting in the way of anything else he had to do. He had always insisted. Why then, was he so worryingly nonexistent now, even as one day turned into another, and another after that? He hadn’t come back the following Monday, or the Tuesday after that. He hadn’t been holding her hand on the way to work or whispering to her whimsically through her shifts, hadn't been visiting her in the evenings or singing her to sleep in his arms. She tried to tell herself that she didn’t want him to come see her, she didn’t want him to show his face after what he had done, but there was that frustrating little part of her again, crying out for the comfort of his embrace. As she lay in bed at night she would try so hard to cozy up to her pillows and forget it all, but she’d wind up tossing and turning all night long. And all the while she would be waiting for that moment to strike, when he would come back to her and she’d be faced with that moral dilemma once more, the one she’d so cravenly chosen to shirk that Saturday night in his arms. She truly didn’t know whether or not she would run to him if she did see him; she didn’t know how she felt, even after it had been all she’d been thinking about for days on end.

She knew how she wanted to feel. She wanted so badly to feel the anger, the righteous fury at having been lied to. She wanted to let it well within her and bubble over the surface; she wanted to explode. He had courted her for so long, garnered so much of her trust and dependence, and he had left out the one crucial little detail that might give her pause. As far as she was concerned, she was well within her rights to be angry. But she couldn’t be. Despite this, despite all of this, Angel wasn’t that kind of person. It didn’t make her any better or any worse than anyone else, but it definitely wasn’t an advantage either. Angel rather hated herself for this quality, for… Not being able to stand up for herself and her feelings. It made her feel spineless, it made her feel weak. But at the end of it all, it was something she couldn’t help any more than she could help herself breathing. She had been hurt, and she wanted to return that hurt, but she couldn’t. No… Pennywise had hurt her, and he had hurt so many others, but she couldn’t bring herself to hurt him. It was something ingrained that she couldn’t rightly explain.

She kept telling herself she needed to get a grip, that she needed to move on from him. As the days progressed and his absence persisted, she would tell herself this with increasing desperation, that she was better off without him and that she didn’t need him to live a fulfilling life. She had wanted it all to go away, hadn’t she? Maybe he’d listened to her, maybe he’d given her what she asked for. He had helped get her back up on her feet, and she had enjoyed the brief time they’d spent together, but now the time had come for her to find something else to help ease the pain of living. It was an agonizing thought, sure, but perhaps it was the stark reality of the situation. It had been all she could think about for days as she continued her routine; as she ate, slept, and went to work it was the only thing on her mind. While at first she had started out paranoid of finding him following that… Unfortunate revelation, she was growing increasingly unnerved by his disappearance, and now more than ever that emotional part of her was starting to weigh heavily on her conscience. She… She wanted to see him.

As time went on, something else curious had made itself apparent. The disappearances had stopped. Angel had been wary at first; the first week of his absence she had chalked up the downward trend to timing, knowing full-well that occurrences in the past seemed to crop up anywhere from within a few days of each other to more than a week at times. The longest gap amounted to a little less than a month with no missing children to speak of. There was no conceivable pattern to it, it almost seemed erratic at times. Angel hadn’t known what to make of it back when she didn’t know the truth of the situation, and now she could only surmise that Pennywise’s hunger must fluctuate depending on his mood. Come to think of it, there seemed to have been far less disappearances when Angel was in an especially bad way. Things seemed to stagnate during those weeks, and would almost appear to tick back up again once she found herself in better spirits. What made things different now, however, was the feeling of it all. It was something in her gut insisting to her that none of it was the same as before, that something had changed. She could only liken it to those weeks leading up to Valentine’s Day, when she’d been so utterly scared and isolated and cold that she had cried for him. This was like that, but the absence of warmth was getting to be that much more soul-crushing. The lack of disappearances seemed to communicate to Angel one thing, and that was that Pennywise wasn’t here. Pennywise was gone.

Maybe he was dead.

No, she can’t even let herself think that. Despite it all, despite what he’s done and what it’s done to her, she still can’t wish such a thing on him. It’s so frustrating that she wants to scream. Reasonably, Pennywise is a thing that deserves to die. He causes death and pain and suffering; he’s a blight, a plague to Derry. He lied to her through omission about who he was, so he must surely know that his actions are despicable, right?

...Well, no.

Despite her own mental resistance she starts to entertain a different train of thought. Pennywise has lived for an amount of time she can’t rightly account for, he’s seen an incalculable number of lifetimes and experienced more than she could ever possibly comprehend. He has… The properties of something otherworldly, something… Possibly alien. He’s… Not even close to human. Why then, is she trying to hold him accountable to human standards, human behavior? What gives her any sort of right? Pennywise is... Something different. He’s clearly some kind of apex predator, something higher on the food chain. She wouldn’t disparage a tiger for eating a rabbit so, in the same vein, how could she disparage him for feeding in his own way? Maybe he didn’t tell her who he was out of fear, fear that she wouldn’t understand. Maybe his intentions really were good.

No. No. He eats people. He’s a monster.

But he needs to eat too. That’s all she keeps telling herself. This is necessary. This is the only way. Humans are no more special than any other animal on the food chain, and this is what he eats to survive. She needed to make peace with that or it would drive her insane. So what if a few children, a couple adults here and there went missing? It’s not as though he’s picking off the entire population. Most of the kids in Derry were little shits anyway.

But do they really deserve to die for that? Did those kids in the library deserve to die for what they did?

She didn’t know, she didn’t know the answer. She didn’t know as she continued her shifts everyday, didn’t know as she did prep work in the kitchen alone or watched TV or as she laid in bed contemplating all the various angles of her situation. She couldn’t stop thinking about it, couldn’t stop thinking about him. What he’d done, what it had meant, if he would come back. She didn’t know. And it was starting to hurt her. She’d shrugged it off before, or tried to. When Pennywise had gone silent, she’d first interpreted it as him giving her space, breathing room to process what she had discovered. She’d thought he was giving her a break from it all, but as each day passed and his absence became more prominent she started to fear that may not be the case. She feared that her reaction might have put him off, that it made him want to leave. That, in a sick, twisted way, he was giving her what she had asked for. She would try so hard not to cry when she thought about it. What if she had scared him off? What if she was too hysterical to deal with and he’d simply gotten sick of her? It sure as hell wouldn’t be the first time she’d been abandoned over such things. What if he really didn’t love her? What if he never had?

It was sick and wrong, but as days turned into weeks the atrocity she bore witness to was slowly de-escalating itself in her mind. It was as though the seriousness of the situation grew more and more dull the further away it got from her mind’s eye, and now all that was left were the bits and pieces she could vividly remember. She remembers it, the creaking in the steps as she walked down to the archives, the old, dusty smell of the room pervading her senses, the way she had froze in place when she laid eyes on it for the first time. But she also remembers the sweet words, the gentle, soothing touches, and his eyes. The way he’d looked down at her and how she felt so warm, the way she couldn’t breathe when he’d said those three perfect words to her for the first time. Now more than ever she could remember those things, comfortable memories in such a desperate time of need that soothe her in her unbearable loneliness. Memories of what they had been together ever since that first bouquet of sunflowers, ever since she had first laid eyes on him on that silly little television show and fallen in love with him. She clung to it all and let the rest fade away.

As the month of June progressed, Angel had abandoned any notion of trying to ignore his gifts and inversely began to hold on to them with increasing desperation. She thought of them as her last lingering connection to him, and out of desolation insisted on keeping at least one of them on her person at all times. Again had come the aura of unease, the feeling of some kind of vague and imminent danger, and she needed the illusion of safety to keep her from insanity. So she’d brandished her belief in these so-called good luck charms, the good fortune imbued in all these little offerings, and used them to make herself feel secure. Without the explicit protection of Pennywise to keep her out of harm’s way, she had to be her own guardian angel now, and that meant holding herself up straight regardless of everything that might try to beat her into the ground. She held on to her bell necklace in a vice grip and wore it just about everyday at this point, starting to hope that Pennywise’s intentions in this gift might hold true, that he was there with her regardless of her absence simply because she wore it, that she thought of him as she did and kept him in her heart. She wore her silk sweater every evening when she came home from work, would imagine his hands trailing over her form as the cool fabric clung to her curves.

She took Pepper with her everywhere she went. The doll had admittedly become something of a comfort object for her in the same vein as Pennywise, who had been a comfort character for her in the throes of a deep depression in the past, back when his only concrete existence was through the syndication of the Derry Children’s Hour. The doll brought her a sense of tranquil ease. Every time she looked into its whimsical googly eyes she would feel warm inside; it wasn’t the same warmth as what she would feel with the otherworldly presence of Pennywise, but it was an acceptable substitute for the time being. It certainly helped her to feel more at home in some uncertain and unfamiliar terrain, and even instilled in her something of a strange maternal feeling, an instinct she couldn’t put words to. She wanted to look out for the doll and make sure nothing happened to it; it had, after all, been a dear gift from Pennywise, it could even be argued that it was something of a surrogate child of some kind, something he had given to her to better emphasize her role as a possible... Mother to his children. Despite the hopelessness of the current situation she allows herself some small amount of contentment at the prospect, finding that she rather liked the idea of possibly starting a family with him. It was a happy thought that kept her dread at bay, kept the residual thoughts of the revelation of his true identity in the back of her mind where it belonged. But it was not without its own share of melancholy, as it only seemed to accentuate his current absence and make her further in tune to her own feelings on the matter.

As the days wore on she was progressively starting to become consumed with thoughts of him at every waking moment of the day. It was starting to get to her, truth be told. She was far past the horror of finding out who he really was, had even started to let go of the anger she wished she could feel and the betrayal of having been lied to. It had all been replaced with worry, with concern for his absence, with longing for what had been lost in the process. She wanted to feel his touch once more, wanted to find him waiting for her when she walked in the front door after a long day at work. She wanted to hear his voice and sway with him in his arms, talk with him, laugh with him. She wanted the old days back of laying with him in bed, cuddling until the exhaustion of the long hours finally overtook her and she fell asleep in his hold. She wanted to kiss him and feel his lips against hers, wanted to drink in the sublime sensation as she demonstrated her purest love and devotion to him. The nostalgia alone was enough to erase all the negativity from her mind and brainwash her all over again, except this time it was all of her own doing rather than the pull of his cosmic influence. As awful and wrong as it was, she wanted him back. She sometimes ruminated on the state of her own personal morality for such desire, knowing who he was and what he had done, but in her loneliness she didn’t care anymore. It made her irrational. It made her blind to everything else. She even thought it romantic now, the prospect that Pennywise had protected her from those boys, from Patrick and the shopkeeper, and found that she rather liked the idea of being impervious from the danger of all that would threaten Derry. It only made her yearn for his presence even more.

It was getting bad now. She worried for him, she feared for him. Where had he gone? Where had he gone? There was nothing but silence in Derry now, the disappearances had stopped, she heard nothing from the Losers, she was all on her own. Though the peril of the beast had become nonexistent, she felt ill at ease nonetheless as she carried out her business from day to day. While she was concerned for Pennywise she was just as concerned for her own wellbeing, knowing that if anything happened to her now she would likely be helpless to stop it, would be left at the mercy of anything that wished to attack her, another Patrick or more of the same ilk as those nasty boys. She missed him terribly, so terribly in fact that she was beginning to talk to him now, often out loud or in her mind as she carried out her tasks or as she watched TV at home. She would ask him where he was, how he was doing, if he was safe. It was a compulsion she couldn’t rightly control, it was an impulse, an instinct. She knows she has no reason to worry for him; Pennywise seemed to be a relatively powerful creature, so some part of her doubted that he was dead, but she mourned his absence all the same, sick with distress at the thought that he could be hurt. She wanted to be with him, she wanted to look after him, she wanted to keep him safe. It’s been weeks, June is winding to a close, and she could not feel more isolated, more powerless. It’s starting to wear on her mental health and she’s getting worse again. She kept talking to herself, kept neglecting her health. She was begging him to come back to her, but still she hears nothing. It seems as though he might have abandoned her completely.

It’s on the precipice of July now, and Angel could not be more miserable. It’s worse than it was just before Valentine’s Day, exponentially worse. She’s feeling abandoned, she’s feeling lost and worried sick. She can’t bear to reach out to the Losers, she doesn’t want to bother them. Besides, what could she honestly say? How would she even begin to explain herself and her situation? She was all alone in this, she knew that. All she could do was try to cope, but that was getting harder by the day. Work was grueling, being at home was even worse, as she had very little to do that didn’t remind her of him. When she wasn’t talking out loud to him, beseeching him to come back, deluding herself that he was somehow listening she spent her time sleeping, trying to waste away the hours in an attempt to pass the time painlessly. But it was getting bad, oh yes it was. She was so plainly wretched now, so battered and beaten by his disappearance that she could do little else but pine for him. She cried for him every night now, as she laid in bed she would start to sob into her pillows, hug them tight to her chest and heave shuddering little whimpers in through her nose and out through her mouth. She was starting to get an urge again, a nasty one, a terrible, dreadful, awful one, one she hadn’t had in ages, and it was taking everything she had not to succumb to it. But the days grew harder and harder still, and on the 2nd of July, a Sunday, she truly couldn’t take it any longer.

She’d come home from errands that day positively exhausted from having put on a face during the duration of the outing; she lets the facade collapse and mutters brokenly to herself as she walks dejectedly through the front door once more. She kicks off her Doc Martens and sets down her bag, and just like that the tears well in her eyes again. It seemed like all she was doing was crying lately, and she felt weak for it but she couldn’t stop nonetheless. She berates herself for it, she hates herself for it, she wants to do something nasty and abominable to herself for being so weak and spineless. No, she wouldn’t kill herself. She was much too cowardly for such a thing. It was much too permanent an action, and Angel feared the permanent. So she reaches for something else, something in the form of a sharp little cutting tool stashed away in the depths of her bedside table drawer, something she often used for making patches, but something she used more often still for a deed she never spoke of aloud. Something horrid and appalling, something disgusting and vile that was best kept hidden. She felt she deserved it, felt she deserved the pain and the shame. She wanted to feel the catharsis of it, wanted to feel the stinging of it, an action so disgraceful that she would drown in the self-hatred. As she sits in the living room, trembling and anticipating the feeling of what’s to come, she lets the silence of the room turn to static in her ears as she hikes up the front of her shirt and brandishes the instrument close and with intent against her stomach. A single tear drops from her face onto her thigh and she’s about to make the first cut, but then there’s a knock on her front door. She stops, puzzled. Who could that possibly be? Numb, she stashes the tool underneath one of the cushions on her couch and pauses at the door, then takes a deep breath and opens it. The Losers are there, all six of them, and they look serious and grim on her front stoop.

“C-can we come in?”

She doesn’t know what to say.

[bellemorte180]

If I Die Before I Wake: Final Chapter

Vengeance is defined as punishment or retribution for a wrong committed against another. A single curse could derail and weaken the most powerful being in the world. A single massacre could take the entire world in one go; but it could centuries to execute the perfect vengeance.

Chapter Six

Mystic Falls

April 2010

“Nik.” Klaus froze, his crushing grip on Bonnie's neck loosened. His eyes snapped towards Caroline and saw that she was still lying on the table but her hand was raised and pressed to her head as though she was trying to massage away a fierce migraine. All eyes were trained on her, none of them believing what they were seeing. Caroline was awake. “Niklaus.”

In an instant, Klaus was by her side. Elena ran to Bonnie and knelt on the ground with her gasping friend. Yet, no one paid them mind for they all watched Klaus and Caroline. He placed his hands on her cheeks and gazed into her eyes. Her wide open eyes; for the first time in one hundred and forty six years he saw the pale blue of her pupils and it caused the dam inside of him to break. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks. Caroline reached up and ran her fingers through his hair.

“You cut your hair.” Klaus gave a humorless laugh and pulled Caroline to him; holding her tightly against his chest. He marveled in the feel of her in his arms. The feel of her alive and welcoming was Valhalla; a phrase he had not thought of in nearly a millennia. Caroline placed her hands on his shoulders and her nails dug into his skin slightly. Her face was pressed against his neck and Klaus could feel her hot breath. “I'm thirsty. So thirsty.”

Suddenly, there was a frenzy of movement. Rebekah launched herself from one side of the room to the other and grabbed the frozen boy, compelling him with the freedom to move. She dragged him towards Klaus and Caroline, shoving the boy at their feet. Klaus shifted and placed Caroline on his lap as she reached down and grabbed the boy. Black veins appeared under her eyes in the same moment that her fangs dropped down. The boy screamed and fought, almost pushing her away because her strength was still weak. Marcel snapped into action, pulling himself from his knelt position and held the boy still. Klaus pet Caroline's hair, whispering sweet words as she drained the boy.

The rest just watched. Stefan standing still, his sorrowful eyes taking in the scene around them and the smell of human blood threatening his monster to come and play. Elena and Bonnie still on the ground, the cries of the teenaged boy, one that seemed familiar, haunted them. Kol watched on with a smile, sharing a look with Rebekah-both thinking that their family was complete. Elijah remained motionless, whispering to Freya; making plans. Damon's body, whose neck hadn't completely repaired itself, remained motionless.

“Who was it? Who is she draining?” Bonnie asked in a hushed whisper, she didn't see who it was that Rebekah dragged in, too focused on the task she was about to complete. Her voice was hoarse from Klaus's grip. Blood ran from her nose and she wiped it away. She always bled when she did a spell that was too strong for her. Freya's magic helped but it still took a toll out of Bonnie and she knew that she was going to be down for awhile.

“Tyler Lockwood.” Once Caroline was done with Tyler's blood, she dropped his dead body to the ground with a harsh thud. His eyes were still open and Caroline licked the blood off her fingers. Klaus kissed the top of her head, not even sparing a glance at the boy. Marcel dragged the body to the side and stood beside Rebekah, both with wide grins on their lips. Caroline slid from table and the rest took in her appearance. She was still wearing the white pantaloons that she had the night she succumbed to the curse. The corset was still tight around her waist. Her hair was a mess and blood ran down her chin, staining the white fabric of her clothing; yet Klaus looked at her as though he had never seen anything so beautiful in the millennia he had been alive. Caroline took a few steps and stumbled slightly. Klaus caught her easily and Marcel was by her side in an instant. Neither willing to let her go just yet.

“My son.” Caroline placed her hands on Marcel's cheeks and leaned in to kiss his forehead. She smiled at him, giving him a warm gaze. Her eyes flickered upwards to see Rebekah vibrating with happiness and tears streaming down her eyes. Caroline held out her arms and Rebekah flashed into them, hugging her close. Both Elijah and Kol were by them in an instant, with Freya trailing slowly behind. Once she broke away from Rebekah, Kol scooped her up and spun her.

“Kol!” Klaus hissed as the younger brother put Caroline back on the floor. Caroline laughed and it echoed around them; a laugh that was joyful and warm, a laugh that brought the entire room to ease. Once her feet touched the hard wood floor again, her legs gave out slightly for a second time but Klaus caught her easily. It would be some time before Caroline would be able to gain her full strength back. Feeling his arms around her, Caroline melted at his touch. She looked at him and gave him a small smile. Klaus pulled her tighter and they all knew that Klaus would not let her out of his sight again.

“Welcome home Caroline.” Elijah stepped closed and kissed the top of her head. Klaus gave a small rumble in his chest, growling at his brother. Caroline laughed again. The growling ceased and Klaus's shoulders relaxed slightly. Elijah held out his arm to Freya who stepped closer. “May I introduce our sister Freya.”

Caroline took in the other woman, who she quickly realized was a witch, with a confused look. She cocked her head towards Klaus and he nodded. If her husband accepted the woman then Caroline knew that this Freya was fine but it was all confusing to her. Esther had once told her a story of Freya, the eldest of the Mikaelson children, and how she had died long ago.

“Freya was the one who discovered the ins and out of the spell that put you under and how to break it.” Kol smiled and put his arms around Freya, who in return rolled her eyes. Caroline saw and couldn't help but smile at her. “And I for one will take credit for it because I'm the one that discovered she was still alive and brought her into the family fold.”

“Still humble I see.”

“Always Darling.”

“Kol.” Klaus hissed. He always found it irritating how Kol spoke to his wife. However, Caroline just laughed and patted his cheek patiently. Settling into Klaus's arms, her eyes darted around and look in the scene of destruction in the room. Her head cocked and she stepped away slightly. Klaus didn't let her go far and Caroline just laced her fingers with his, pulling him behind her. For the first time she realized how different everything was. Her eyes fell upon the two girls on the ground. Caroline flashed to them and bent down. Her eyes focused upon Elena and she could hear the human heart beat in her chest.

“Another one?” Caroline took her in and for a moment, she could see Tatia peering through those brown eyes. The black veins appeared under her eyes and both Elena and Bonnie slowly began to back away. Caroline was always one for control and she mastered the urge to rip Elena's throat out quickly. She saw that both girls were dressed in what would be considered men's clothing. Once again, everything was different. “What year is it?” Neither of the girls answered and Klaus placed a hand on her shoulder. “Answer me!”

“2010.” Bonnie whispered and Caroline could feel Klaus's grip tighten. She stood and turned in her husband's arms. She placed her hands on his face. Her thumbs traced his cheek bones and her eyes pouring her entire soul into his. She pressed her lips to his and kissed him softly. Klaus's eyes fluttered shut and he basked in having her in his arms. There were a thousand emotions that flashed across Klaus's face; love, bliss, happiness, pain, misery and fury all at once. Caroline saw them all and the rest stilled at the change in the atmosphere.

“A hundred and forty six years, you've been alone.” Caroline and Klaus held their hands together, placing them just above his heart. Klaus rested his forehead against hers and kissed her knuckles. “We were dancing. There was no music but I heard it. I always did with you. But then there was so much pain. I thought I was dying, that I was fading away. I remember your tears and how you begged me to stay.” Fresh tears began to fall from Klaus's eyes. The walls and pain he held inside soon came crashing down. Caroline kissed him again, tasting the salt on his lips. “I wanted you to know how much I loved you. Still do. I didn't want to leave.”

“You didn't leave Love, you were taken. Never again. I'll never loose you again.” It was a vow. A vow that Caroline knew he would never break. Much like the vows he promised her a thousand years ago, he held them true. He was a liar and a murderer, except with her. She was the one person who saw behind that pain and the destruction. She held his heart in the palm of her hands and she knew that he would never betray her.

“Who?”

“Katerina.”

“Where is she?” The words came out as a hiss.

“Imprisoned for now. Magic.” Klaus replied and Caroline nodded. He could see her mind turning and plotting. He missed that look. He missed the calculations and cruelty that she could show towards those she deemed her enemy. The Caroline he married was sweet and innocent, if not a bit neurotic and controlling. Over time she lost that innocence, as they all did and she grew bitter towards anyone who was not family; but she was always a master when it came to the game. It was a glorious sight to behold. He loved her then and he loved her now.

“Bring me Nadia. Find her.” It was a command; one that no one was willing to disobey. Elijah was whispering to Freya and Kol; already putting Caroline's plan into action. Both Elena and Bonnie already knew that Klaus was terrifying and capable of heinous things. He was at the very top of the food chain but it was Caroline who controlled him; she was the heart of them all.

And she was angry.

*

It had been a week of silence. Not a single sound came from the Original family. In truth, Elena and Bonnie didn't leave Elena's house for a week. Bonnie's father had been out of town and knew nothing of the events that transpired. Jenna, who was still blissfully ignorant of the supernatural world around her, thought Elena had spent her time at Stefan's. Jeremy and Alaric were the only ones who were suspicious; mainly because Damon had filled Alaric in on the details when the two fixed the Boarding House's living room.

Bonnie was weak and tired. If it hadn't been for Freya acting as the anchor, Bonnie knew that this spell would have killed her. She had no desire to try magic again for awhile nor to be alone. They spun the story that Bonnie was coming down from a nasty bought of the flu and with her father out of town, Jenna decided it would be best if she stayed with them. The two best friends just wanted to know that the other was safe.

And to wonder what would happen next.

Not a single word has been heard from any of the vampires who came to town and turned their lives upside down. Damon would come by the house often and he stated that he spotted Elijah here or saw Freya there. Yet, not a single one sought out contact with them and Damon didn't think they would but he was more than willing to be prepared if they did. It didn't help that Stefan had gone missing as well. The moment Klaus flashed away with Caroline in his arms, Stefan followed suit and no one had seen him since.

“I wonder where they are now, Klaus and Caroline.” Elena said as she handed Bonnie a hot cup of tea. The other girl thanked her and shrugged. While Damon said that he saw Elijah strolling down the street with a cell phone pressed to his ear and Freya carrying what appeared to be shopping bags, neither Klaus or Caroline made an appearance in town. “Didn't you say she would be weak for a time.”

“Yes. A couple weeks if not a few months after she woke up.” Bonnie took a sip of her tea and curled up on the sofa while Elena who sat beside her. “Freya said that she had gone so long without blood but the spell prevented her from desiccating. She would have to feed more often and I'm surprised we haven't heard about bodies or any strange deaths. Other than Tyler's memorial, its been quiet.”

“I know.” Elena looked down at her hands. “Mrs. Lockwood isn't doing well. She just lost her husband and now Tyler? I should look in on Matt too. Tyler was his best friend.” Elena had known Tyler well enough when she dated Matt the year before and wasn't the biggest fan of him. He was a crude and treated whatever girl he was involved with poorly but he didn't deserve to die in such a cruel manner.

“Yeah, and after Vicki-” Bonnie paused when a knock sounded on the door. Elena and Bonnie looked at one another. “Are you expecting someone?” Elena shook her head and stood from the sofa. Bonnie followed silently behind her. Elena opened the door to see Caroline standing on the other side of it. Elena quickly rushed to shut the door but Caroline placed her hand up and both girls paused.

“I'm not here to hurt you. I just want to talk.” Neither Elena nor Bonnie replied. “You do not have to invite me in. You can stand on the other side of the barrier and just listen. But, you do have such a lovely porch swing. May I?” Caroline's smile was genuine and kind. Elena nodded and watched as the old vampire moved towards the swing and sat down. Bonnie linked her fingers through Elena's and they stepped out onto the porch. They looked at Caroline who was seated on the swing and her legs crossed at her ankles.

They looked at her in depth for the first time since she had been awake. Her long blond hair was down and hung around her waist. She was in a light blue long sleeved shirt that showed off her shoulders. She wore black skinny jeans and ankle boots with a small heel. She looked like anyone they would have gone to school with and it struck them how young she appeared. The week before she looked as though she stepped out of a historical horror movie but now, she appeared normal; peaceful even. There was a light about her that neither girl could explain.

“Why are you here?” Bonnie asked and her eyes flickered to the street. A black SUV was parked across the street and she was startled when she saw Klaus leaning against it. He appeared calm and almost amused. He wore dark sunglasses but Bonnie could see a smirk playing on his lips. “Why is he here?”

“I am here to thank you and Nik isn't going to let me out of his sight for a very long time. Don't mind him. ” Caroline's eyes flicked to her husband and she smiled at him. “Ms. Bennett, I wanted to thank you for everything you have done for my family. Freya spoke highly of you and she admires you. I may not know her well yet but I can tell that she doesn't impress easily.”

“That all could have been sent through a text message.” Bonnie said and looked confused for a second. “Do you know what a text message is?” That made Caroline laugh.

“I have been getting a rather large history lesson this week.” She smiled and both girls could see why the Originals wanted her back so desperately. “Yes. I know what a text message is and it is far more convenient than writing letters. However, some things need to be said in person. Nik fought with me, wanting me to stay in bed and rest for a tiny bit longer but I'm stubborn. I wanted out and I wanted to do this in person. You deserve that Bonnie. You deserve that respect.”

“Your husband didn't see it that way when he threatened to murder my family, keep me prisoner and kidnapped Elena.”

“That is true. Nik does have a flare for the dramatics. I may be behind on the times but I believe the term is drama queen?” Elena nodded at Caroline's assessment. “I cannot say that I would have stopped him. I might have even helped him. It wouldn't be the first nor the last bloodbath I've been apart of. But, it didn't come down to that, did it? You're both here, safe and fine. You did our family a huge service and we are now in your debt.” Caroline stood from the swing and walked over to Bonnie. She pulled a small slip of paper from her pocket and handed it to her. “This is my number. Elijah got my one of those small devices you call a cell phone. If you need anything, a vampire problem that needs solving, a cure from werewolf bite, just dial. We are in your debt.”

“So thats it. You drain me of my magic for a time, kill Tyler Lockwood and skip town, all the while saying you owe me a favor?” Bonnie asked. It didn't seem real. She had thought that if anything Caroline and Klaus would try and kill her. After everything Freya and Kol had told her about the Originals, that they were in fact the very first vampires in creation, Bonnie assumed they would sign her death warrant.

“This is how supernatural alliances are made. Trust me, you do not want us as your enemy Bonnie.” Caroline gave her a hard look. “And we are not leaving town, at least not for awhile. I need time to get my strength back.” Caroline looked out at the street. “It has changed so much but this had been my home once, Mystic Falls. I was born here. I married here. I thought I would raise my children here and grow old beside Nik. Strange how things change.”

“What do you mean? You didn't choose this?” Elena asked and Caroline really acknowledged her for the first time. Elena got the impression that Caroline didn't like her very much or any of the doppelgangers. After what Katherine had done, Elena supposed she could understand why, but Elena was not Katherine. “You're the first of the vampires, I had thought you all picked this life or something. Made some deal with devil.”

“No.” Caroline gave a sad smile. “No. I love being a vampire, do not get me wrong. I love being strong and young and powerful, but it wasn't the life I had pictured for myself. I was seventeen and in love when I was made what I am. I was newly married and adjusting to that life when my father-in-law murdered me along with his children.” The two other girls just stared at her. “I wanted nothing more than to bear Nik's children, to care for his home and love him. If I was faced with a choice then, I would not have chosen this path but if I had to choose now, to be vampire or human, I would stay as I am.”

“I'm sorry.” Elena whispered. Caroline looked at her in amazement. She had never thought that she would hear those words from that face. While she knew that this was not Tatia or even Katherine, it was hard to accept such an apology.

“I have known three other woman who looked exactly like you.” Caroline mentioned and it took Elena by surprise. She knew of Katherine and the one who they used to break the curse, but who else had they crossed paths with that looked like her. “They all had one thing in common. They all were selfish. They played men against each other for their own gain. Sometimes they didn't even realize they did it.” Elena paused and felt as though Caroline saw right through her. “You have the chance to change Elena. Stefan may make his choice soon and I don't know if you would like the outcome.” Caroline turned to leave but stopped.

“Wait!” Elena called to her and the blonde turned, cocking her head in question. “You know where Stefan is?”

“Yes.” Caroline replied and she could tell that Elena needed more. “Freya lifted the cloaking spell on our manor to allow Stefan entrance. He wanted to speak with Nik. A few words were exchanged, a few punches thrown and a vase that I had just had ordered was broken.” Caroline smirked and they all could hear Klaus's chuckle from the car. “He then spoke with Rebekah. He said he needed a few days to clear his head and then left town.” Caroline turned to Bonnie, shutting down anymore questions from Elena. “Think on what I said Ms. Bennett. I promise you, my word is good.” With that, Caroline sped off the porch and into the arms of her husband.

*

The Mikaelson Manner was all but complete. For the past week, Caroline and Rebekah have been working on furnishing the home. The girls and Klaus introduced Caroline to the joys of the internet and Caroline couldn't be more in love with it. In brought out the desire to control, design and conquer. Not only that, it was almost instantaneous and seeing that patience was never one of Caroline's virtues, the internet was a blessing.

Klaus let her have her way, of course. Since the moment he built that hut for her and she took over, Klaus knew that while he may provide and protect their family, she was the one who controlled their domain. Even now when the world had changed from the early days of their marriage, Caroline was the one who made everything a home. So, he just stood back while his wife and Rebekah, Freya staying out of the decorating, discussed paint colors and the difference between sofas and daybeds. He only stepped in when Caroline began to feel fatigued, making her to take a rest in their bed.

Only to rest. The reason they stayed in Mystic Falls was for Caroline to regain her strength. It would be easier to do that in a small town compared to one of the many cities his wife loved; especially New Orleans. The issue became that Klaus yearned for her. He hadn't felt her in his arms for so long but he wanted her strong. For her, it had been a week but for him it had been a life time.

“Do you think it wise to give the Bennett witch such a valuable gift?” Klaus asked as Caroline kicked her boots off of her feet and pressed them to the hardwood floor. He smiled at the scene, remembering how she always preferred to be barefoot. Unable to help himself, Klaus wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed the top of her head. “She could ask for anything.”

“I asked Freya about her. What she was like.” Caroline turned and wrapped her arms around his neck. She stood on her tip-toes and kissed his lips lightly. “She won't harm us; she is too smart for that. I think she knows that we will not harm her now, despite your threats made out of anger.”

“I won't apologize for them.”

“And I wouldn't want you too.” She gave him another peck for making her way towards the sofa and sitting in front of the unlit fireplace. She stretched out and Klaus sat at the end of the sofa, placing her feet in his lap. “I never would ask you to apologize for anything in your quest to protect our family. If I had not awoken when I did, I know you would have made good on those threats.”

“I would have burned this world to the ground just to hear your voice again.”

“Is that why you let yourself desiccate is Cleveland?” In a second, Caroline was in his lap, straddling his hips. “Marcel told me.” Klaus cursed and looked at her with fragile eyes. It was the same eyes who looked at her when Mikael beat him or when she was in his arms dying. She kissed him lightly. “Never do that again. No matter what happens to me, never let yourself fall into that state again.”

“Nothin will happen to you. I will never allow myself to loose you again.” Caroline didn't say anything, instead she just pressed her forehead against his and closed her eyes. Klaus kissed each of her eyelids before pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek. “I thought we were discussing the Bennett witch.”

“We were.” Caroline replied opening her eyes. “She lost her mother, or her mother walked out on her I mean. I gave her the opportunity, the opportunity to find her.” Caroline smiled lightly and Klaus saw the calculation in her eyes. “If we find Abby Bennett, at her request, it would make us even. Therefore, no need for retaliation.”

“Always cleaning up my messes, Love?”

“It was written in my vows.” Caroline chuckled and Klaus rolled his eyes at her. “Beside, I think Ms. Bennett respects Freya more than she is willing to admit. Although, I don't blame her for that. I rather adore my new sister.”

“A century she searches by my side to break your curse but one week with you and she likes you more than me.”

“Nik, everyone likes me more than you.” If it came from anyone else, those words would have hurt him deeply but he knew Caroline; and she was the exception to his every rule. He just attacked her sides with his fingers and caused her cry out in laughter. “Nik!” In a flash he had her pinned to the sofa and withering beneath his fingers. “Stop! Please!” As she requested, Klaus stopped his fingers and just smirked at her. He saw her chest heave and her breath catch.

“Are you alright?” He thought, perhaps, he tired her out and that she over exerted herself. Instead, Caroline just smiled and placed her fingers on his hair line, pushing some dirty blonde curls to the side. Klaus could see the love shine in her eyes and he couldn't help himself, he had to kiss her. He didn't shut his eyes because he couldn't look away from hers.

“I'm perfect.” With that, she wrapped her arms around him and crashed her lips to his. The kiss was passionate and forceful. They felt the past century of loss and pain. Caroline opened her legs and Klaus settled between them comfortably. He couldn't help but grind himself into her clothes core, moaning as he did. Her fingers went into his hair and her nails dug into his scalp. He tore his his lips away from hers and hissed. He thrusted his hips again. “Niklaus.”

“We shouldn't.”

“Why? We're alone. You're my husband and I love you.”

“You're still weak.”

“I'm strong enough for this.” Any resolve he had broke. His lips descended upon hers again. This kiss was possessive and demanding. He completely devoured Caroline and she pressed herself as close to him as she could. Klaus's fingers played with the end up Caroline's shirt and quickly ripped it from her body. His lips moved from hers and trailed down to her collarbone. His tongue licked her skin and Klaus moaned at the taste of her.

“I've missed you. So much.” He kissed the valley between her breasts. Caroline moaned as his teeth nipped at her skin. He knew that his venom would cause her to weaken so he made sure that he didn't bite her hard or break her skin. His eyes took in the black lace bra that she wore and he swore that he never saw anything more beautiful than that sight. He kissed his way down her flat stomach and to the top of her jeans.

He pulled himself off of her and stood. He held out his hand and Caroline weaved their fingers together. He pulled her to him and Caroline jumped, wrapping her legs around his waist. They flashed towards the bedroom he crafted just for her. He tossed her lightly on the fourposter bed and watched as her long hair created a halo around her head. She laughed and pushed herself up on her forearms.

“Off.” She pointed at his clothes. Klaus smirked at her and pulled his Henley over his head; allowing the silver necklace to rest on his chest. He pulled the button from the top of his jeans and pushed them down to the floor. Klaus took one of her feet and kissed the top of it; a wicked smile appear on his lips. His hands trailed up the sides of her legs until he reached the fasten on her jeans. Caroline raised her hips and allowed him to pull them down her legs. She laid on the bed in nothing more than a black lace bra and matching panties. Klaus took in her appearance and a mixture of lust and love appeared on his face.

“The sight of a Valkyrie appearing from Valhalla lies before me.” Klaus whispered in a breathy tone. His eyes ranking her in. He looked starved and lost but finding home all at once. Caroline moved to sit on her knees and placed her palms on his chest. She kissed the skin that covered his still heart and Klaus just closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of her.

“You said that to me on our wedding night.”

“And it is still true. Everyday.”

“I would have taken a simple 'you're beautiful'”

“You English women lack poetry. So prim and proper, even back then.”

“You vikings are all ruff and tumble but really just as soft on the inside.” Klaus laughed joyously. He missed her teasing. He missed the light she gave him. Her fingertips traced the birds that he had tattooed on his chest. He got them a decade prior when he wondered if he would ever hold Caroline again. “My viking. Only mine.”

“Yours. Only yours.”

“Love me Nik.” Caroline gripped the chain and pulled him roughly to her. Their lips crashed together and their tongues fought for dominance. They tumbled backwards and Caroline molded her body to his. Klaus's hands traveled over her body and slipped his hand into her panties. His fingers traced her slick heat and pressed his thumb against her nub. “Niklaus!”

“I won't last long.” He whispered into her lips before kissing down the side of her neck. He listened to Caroline's whimpers and hushed breathes. He slipped two fingers inside of her and began to thrust them in and out, curling them as he hit that special spot inside of her. She arched her back and tossed her head back. He could feel her walls tighten around his fingers and she screamed out his name. He kissed his way down her body as she came down from her high. Caroline laced her fingers through his dirty blonde hair and pulled him up towards her lips.

“There will be time for that later.” She quickly pushed on his shoulder and flipped them over so Klaus was on his back. She straddled his waist and reached behind her. She hadn't mastered the hooks of a bra yet so she just tore it from her chest and allowed her breasts to come free. Klaus sat up and kissed them greedily. He reached for her panties and tore them away as well. They held each others naked body in their arms.

Klaus aligned himself with her center and pressed his forehead against hers. Slowly, Caroline sank down onto him. They both groaned and hissed at the contact. She allowed her body to get used to the feel of him. She gazed upon his face and there was wonder there. He knew her body better than she did but she had to remind herself that he had been without it for so long.

Caroline placed her hands on his chest and pushed him down. Klaus allowed himself to fall against the mattress and just took in the sight of her on top of him. She raised herself up and then back down. Her pace was slow and tortuous. Klaus put his hands on her hips and helped dictate her movements. He wanted nothing more than to pound himself inside of her but he let her loose herself in him.

He hissed when he hit a sharp spot inside of her. Caroline's head tossed back and Klaus could see the black veins appear under her eyes. He sat up, changing the angle and causing them both to moan. He kissed her lips, his tongue grazing the tips of her fangs; cutting slightly. A small amount of blood made its way into Caroline's mouth and she moaned. The monster under skin came to the surface; clawing for more.

“Take it. Take it all. Take me.” Klaus whispered and Caroline bit down hard onto his neck. The fangs pierced his skin and the blood flowed into her mouth. His hips rutted into her and he flipped them. As she drank from him, Caroline spread her legs wider, allowing him more access to her. Klaus pounded harder into her. She pulled from his neck in order to scream his name. He lost himself completely and spilled himself inside of her. Their eyes locked, bodies intertwined mixed with blood and sweat. “Home. I'm home.”

*

Ancient Mystic Falls

Spring 1001

Caroline was cold. A soft breeze from the spring air flowed through the window of their hut. Her lower body was covered in furs. She laid on her stomach and her back bare to the chill of the morning air. She could say it was the chill that woke her but that would be a lie. Soft lips trailed kisses down her spine, calloused hands touched her hip and the memories of the night before flashed before her eyes. The wedding, the dancing, his hands on her and him inside of her. Caroline smiled, turning in the bed to see the eyes of her new husband peering down at her, his long sandy blond hair untied and hanging loose in his face.

She leaned up and kissed him. She wanted to feel him again, as she had several times through the night but the sun was up and they knew that their rest wouldn't always be excused. No matter how much Caroline wanted to lie in this straw bed with her husband, they had responsibilities. Yet, today she just wanted to kiss him on last time before she faced the world for the first time as married woman.

“We can not stay here forever.” She whispered.

“Yes we can.”

“No, they will send someone to look for us. They will want to know if we consummated our marriage.” Caroline giggled as Klaus's kissed made their way down her neck and he growled. His hands wondering and it still took some getting used to allowing another to have such access; even though she enjoyed it.

“Let them come.”

“They will send Kol. You know they will.” That got Klaus's attention and peered down at her. His face was alight with happiness and joy. Innocent would not be a word she used in these circumstances, for everything they shared the night before was anything but innocent, however she had never seen such freedom etched on his face as she did now. She mentally vowed to make him feel that way as often as she could.

“Never mention my brother's name when you're naked in my arms again.” This made Caroline laugh freely and Klaus's smile grew wide.

“Done.” She leaned up and kissed him one last time before he forced himself from the bed. He was completely naked and Caroline laid back down, enjoying the view. His back was lean and muscled. She could see the scars on his back from the many times Mikael has taken a whip to him. She was thankful that Klaus no longer lived in his home and hadn't for several weeks.

She watched as he tied his hair back and quickly dressed. He laced up his leather boots and grabbed some water from the jug by the window. As he drank, he made his way to the bed and sat down, smiling at his new wife. He kissed her gently on the lips before kissing her forehead.

“I need to see to the cattle. I would hate to give Mikael a reason to change his mind on sharing resources for the time being.” It had taken some convincing on his, Esther's and her mother's part but they finally agreed to share as long as Klaus continued his part of the upkeep, which he always had. “I also promised Henrik that I would teach him how to handle a sword.”

“It would be a shame for you to break that promise.” She smiled and kissed him again. She placed her hand on his cheek and stroked his cheekbones. She smiled at him and looked into his eyes. “You're going to be such a good father. One day.”

“One day. Hopefully soon.” With that Klaus pulled away and made his way to the front door. Caroline sat up and stood from the bed. She grabbed her shift and pulled a muslin gown from the trunk her father brought into the hut the day before. “Caroline.” She turned to look at Klaus who was standing in the doorway. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Always and forever.”

But that was the beginning of another story.

[breezeinmonochromenight]

I was challenged to rewrite this prompt into something a little more serious/fleshed out with a few inputs from a friend:

Note 1: Why am I still here? Just to [make myself] suffer?

Note 2: This was supposed to go up the day before yesterday, but every time I get Metal Gear asks I just [vibrates uncontrollably and writes an essay]. So, sorry ‘bout that to the anon asking.

Note 3: Higgs is unapologetically on his full creep shit in this. So. Consider that fair warning.

—

Of course she’d get caught wandering through Homo Demens’ territory on her way to deliver a fucking pizza. That alone was bad enough luck for a lifetime. But, in an even more unfortunate turn of events, of course one of those terrorists just had to be the same guy that just couldn’t leave her alone on these god-forsaken deliveries to the middle of nowhere. 

The Man in the Gold Mask that she’d had multiple run ins with wasn’t just ‘one of them’, either. Oh, no. She could never be that lucky. Of course he just had to be the leader of the fucking pack, to boot. The entire situation would have made her laugh hysterically, the cosmic irony of it all proving too much for her already fraying sanity, had the business end of a rifle not currently been digging into her temple with the slightest shift in movement. 

Unsurprisingly, the ter — she couldn’t bring herself to even think the word, because thinking it confirmed that she’d been fraternizing with a monster — Higgs liked to bloviate in front of his lackeys just as much as he did around her. She could only count the seconds passing by; could practically feel her delivery getting colder through its packaging. She hadn’t been paid for this delivery, and yet,  she could feel it being snatched from her hands with each lost moment. Her thoughts inadvertently had her jaw clenching, brows furrowing into a glare at no one in particular. The anger at her current situation and grief over the unfortunate nature of Higgs’ real identity caused a roiling her gut so intense, so immediate and all-consuming, that she found herself half tempted to nudge her guard and see if she couldn’t take an early exit out of the situation.

No pay meant no resources, and no resources meant, well... she refused to be in a ‘no resources’ situation ever again.

She wasn’t the same dirty, starving little lost girl any more. Wouldn’t be. Couldn’t be.

(And though she’d never admit it, she’d grown accustomed to his sudden appearances and self-insertion into her life. He was a random variable that interrupted the stagnancy of her days.)

(He was almost delicate with her when the rest of the world had not been.)

(He was a... friend, reluctant as she was to admit it, and now that had been taken away.)

(She was so tired of things always being taken away from her.)

—

“...Darlin’, I don’t much care for the look you’re giving me or my... associates.” Higgs’ drawl was lazy, almost bored in tone as he came to a stop in front of her.

Hearing that pet name finally interrupted her brooding.

She blinked, fully snapping back to reality when she felt sting of the the rifle muzzle pointed at her digging its way into her temple a little more. Wincing at the resulting thin line of blood trickling down the side of her face from the new cut and the gravel digging into her knees, she flicked her eyes up to meet his expectant gaze as lowered himself to a crouch, their eye contact never breaking.

Well, shit. This was bad.

Had Higgs been speaking to her directly?

Whoops.

“Whatever.”* It was entirely dismissive in tone, but she was spiraling quickly, and couldn’t bring herself to care. If this was how she was going to die, she might as well show some backbone and die with a little dignity. Go ahead and get it over with. “Maybe I really don’t like assholes like you holding me up.” 

Was it a stupid thing to say in her position? Absolutely. But what else was there to do? Apologize for wallowing in her own misery and zoning out? Beg for her life? 

Yeah, no.

Fuck that.

Her life really wasn’t worth much, anyway.

—

Higgs sneered through his masks at her, hidden face beginning to lose its composure at a rapid rate. It was taking everything in his power to maintain his even facade toward her before removing the physical masks he hid himself behind, especially when he’d noticed in the porter’s eyes that she’d drifted off to a place very far from her current reality. 

It felt like a dismissal. Made him feel powerless, like he had for so many nights with his da— when he was a child. And that had infuriated him, especially coming from the one person he couldn’t take his mind off of; that he kept finding his way back to.

Why this reckless little porter got under his skin so easily, he didn’t quite know.

But she did, whether she meant to or not. And the hold she had on him was powerful — so much so, that he could often physically feel her emotions as she was experiencing them. Rarely were they positive, but they served as an easy guide back to her, wherever she may be.

That was why, not long ago, when an incredibly pleasant, persistent tingle down his spine had nearly doubled him over with arousal, this so-called ‘connection’ of theirs had gotten infinitely more irritating to him.

Investigation led him to her private room at Mountain Knot City and, more importantly, to the sight of her being far less mouthy than she’d ever been with him toward some fucking no-name porter... One that she was currently riding late into the night, so desperate in chasing her release that she didn’t notice — or perhaps, worse, didn’t care — that he’d decided to pay her a visit.

Heh. Higgs supposed, in retrospect, that he shouldn’t go there. It was rude to speak ill of the dead, after all. That, and the poor fuck’s corpse had effectively wiped out Bridges Corpse Disposal. So, realistically, he shouldn’t be too angry.

(Except he was. He was still absolutely fucking seething.)

(If only she hadn’t looked so goddamned enticing with her skin glistening from a thin sheen of sweat in the low lights; hair partially shielding her face and biting her lip to hold back the noises of pleasure-pain and her pleas to a god he was sure she didn’t believe in.)

(If only the way she looked with her toes curled and back arched skyward hadn’t effectively rooted him to the spot, unable to look away from the sight of her strong thighs trembling and parting just enough that he could see a tiny, heart-shaped birthmark sitting high on the inside of one of them.) 

(If only the thought of claiming that little heart with his teeth before he buried his face in-between her thighs hadn’t left him so painfully, achingly hard that he’d had to bite down on a gloved knuckle to keep from howling as he spilled into his hand later that night. An ultimately useless act, given the perfect visual he now had of how she’d look riding his cock, controlling the pace of her hips until he was finally ready to let her tip over the edge — an image that had him rutting into his hand again in record time.)

(If only, if only, if only. If not for so many if only’s, he’d have killed her ‘acquaintance’ in the act that night.)

Logically, he should have killed her, used her body for a voidout long before now. Forgotten her name and everything about her. She knew his face now, after all, and the last thing he needed were witnesses.

But he couldn’t. There was something about her he couldn’t let go of. Something that made him want to completely devour her, mind, body, and soul. Something about her defiance toward everyone and everything despite being dealt a shit hand that made him see a bit of himself in her.

Still, even though he had no intentions of killing her, he couldn’t let mouthing off go completely in front of his men.

“A word of advice, darlin’?” Higgs gripped her chin hard as he spoke, forcing her to look him in the eye as he ran a gloved thumb over her full bottom lip.

She refused to say anything or to shy away as Higgs tugged his masks off with his free hand, dark eyes catching his blue ones and staring him down fiercely. He kept their little contest going for an extended moment, amused, before leaning in close to her ear, positively delighted at the small shiver he sent through her body.

“Trigger fingers can slip. So might want to work on on keeping that mouth of yours shut, quickly,” Higgs growled out, casual drawl giving way to something much darker, before jerking her head away from him. He was pleased at the further surprised widening of her eyes in response. Flicking his tongue out, he dragged it down a in wide stripe on her cheek, the coppery tang of her blood welcome on his tongue. “...because I’d just hate to see this gentleman put a bullet in that pretty little head of yours.”

He lingered for a few seconds longer, too close to her graceful neck and that remarkably smooth looking skin of hers. She smelled good, sweet, even— faintly of soap and something else he couldn’t identify.

Funny, given her sour personality. 

Still, despite his efforts at unnerving the porter, nothing even close to fear was registering on her face — only a look of shock and revulsion, maybe even annoyance with him. “What the f— Look, man, I’m not interested in your business. I just wanted to pass through to deliver a fucking pizza. But I’ll shoot myself it’ll make you just stop. fucking. talking.”

He barked out a genuine, surprised laugh at the unexpected, honest response. He certainly could do that, but given the look in her eyes and the way jaw was set, he knew it wasn’t an act — she’d actually do it.

And that’d be no fun for either of them. She was even more feisty than he’d originally thought. Confusing. Interesting.

And he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t curious to see more.

“Bring her back to my tent and let her get cleaned up, but don’t let her leave,” he ordered her guard her guard before turning his attention back to her. “The pizza girl here and yours truly are going to have a nice n’ friendly little chat about everything that’s happened here today.” He smirked at her near-instant change of expression from completely stone-faced to puffing out lightly freckled cheeks in anger, ready to hurl expletives at him.

Yeah.

Yeah, she was definitely a keeper.

(He was internally mourning the loss of a perfectly good pizza the whole time, of course, but its delivery girl was just too appetizing in her own right not to entertain for a little while.)

(He’d just have to make another order and make it more than worth her while to deliver it. An offer she couldn’t refuse, if he recalled the quote from the old pre-Stranding movie correctly.)

(Cold pizza was for the dogs, after all.)

[kakarmasobessioncorner]

Hope your Holiday has been swell my Truce target @lexiepiper ! Here I have written you a lil something for your gift, if you have an A03 I’d love to know the username so I can properly link the fic to you on the site when I upload it. ^^  I hope you like it. <3

                Can we Bridge this Divide Born of Lies?

  Warnings: Alcohol use (just minor thing)   Characters: Vlad Masters, Danny Phantom/Fenton

It was a chilly Friday evening in Winconsin, the perfect temperature for Danny. If he was out flying for any other reason than what he was he’d likely be in a good mood, however even the whisperings of the approaching winter in the air couldn’t distract him from the worry of what awaited him.

What he was doing was probably a really bad idea. Disastrously bad. Almost stepping into a questionable portal that wasn’t working for reasons unknown bad. 

He was off to visit Vlad. Of his own free will.

Sam and Tucker had tried to convince him to at least wait so they could come as backup in case things went south, but he had a nagging feeling in the back of his head that this was an issue better dealt with sooner than later.

“Hey Fruitloop! You home?” 

He didn’t bother to knock as he just flew right in through the door, carefully going room to room, wary of setting off any alarms as he looked for the other. Calling out as he went.

“Fruuuuuitloop! I’m not here to fight, I gotta talk to you about something!”

‘Okay maybe calling him a name he hates isn’t a good idea for a peaceful visit...’

The thought only paused him for a moment before he continued his search calling out for the other. It took him ten minutes of going from room to room to find the elder halfa. Surprised to see him with several empty bottles of something that looked like it may have been alcohol scattered around his feet and several more still full on the table next to him.

The charged Ectoshot on the other hand, wasn’t so surprising. “Daniel, what are you doing here.” He looked thoroughly unimpressed. “More importantly, what do I have to do to make you leave.” 

“Now there’s no need to start shooting Plasmius, and I could be asking you the same thing. That doesn’t look healthy.” He knew that Vlad had been acting off the last few months but he wasn’t expecting this. “Are you okay?”

The look he got was concerningly lacking the normal fire.

“Daniel just tell me why you’re here. As you can see I’m clearly busy, and I know you don’t really care beyond your ‘hero complex’.” 

Slowly Danny drifted to the ground, he and Vlad may be enemies but the scene in front of him was just screaming to his obsession. It felt so wrong to see his confident and powerful nemesis looking so empty and run down. He had seen that he’d been less and less into their fights, getting the feeling almost like they were just running through a script at this point. Still, he didn’t suspect it was this bad. “That’s not true.”

The elder scoffed, going to take another swig from the bottle in his hand. “Please, your hatred of me is pretty clear, and even I can admit, warranted-”

“I never hated you!” The interruption stunned him into silence, a shocked look on his face and bottle still halfway to his mouth. 

“I never hated you, I hated what you did and how you acted, but I could never bring myself to hate you.” This wasn’t why he came here, yet he couldn’t seem to stop himself. What felt like a pull from his very core was pulling this confession out of him. It had been a long time coming and at last it seemed the final straw was found.  “How could I? You made everything look easy while I struggled! The only other one like me was so cool and made fights look like you barely winded when I was putting my all into it.”

He took a deep breath, collecting himself from the sudden outburst flopping down in a seat across from the other. 

“I didn’t come here to fight Vlad, and I didn’t come here because of some ‘hero complex’ that I do not have.” A small pause before he added in a voice barely above a whisper. “I’m tired of fighting. Will you just, hear me out? And stop trying to drink yourself into a stupor while I do so?” 

It was a few tense moments of silence before he got his reply.

“Very well little badger. You have my undivided attention, and I was never going to get that drunk. Our ghost side makes it so alcohol has a much harder time affecting us, and I always had a high tolerance even before that. This is nothing.”

“Good, tha- wait hold on what? Really?”

“Yes Daniel. Our advanced healing also fights it off faster than a normal human, but less then a full ghost who would be unable to get drunk off of human drinks at all. Rather useful at times and assures you’ll never have a hangover.”

“Oh that’s going to be so fun to abuse in college if I get that far...”

Vlad cocked an eyebrow. “Didn’t you have something you wanted to say?”

“Right! Right, just uhh,” Danny sat up after a moment of hesitation, pulling his backpack he’d been wearing to sit in front of him.  “This may poke at some old wounds… but it’s for a good reason, you just have to hold out!”

“That’s not exactly the most promising start, but fine, go ahead. I'll try to resist shooting you.”

“Gee thanks.” But he didn’t press the matter, just taking a moment to collect his thoughts, “Okay, well, you said that after your accident Mom and Dad never even tried to visit you right?”

He got a dirty glare at that question. “Yes, how could I ever forget Daniel?”

“Sorry, but that didn’t line up with their side of the story!” He opened his bag and pulled out a folder, rifling through the surprising number of pages in it. “See, they were going through some old albums a few days ago and found some old pictures from college. I was being held hostage as they reminisced, but noticed as they were talking Dad got sad mentioning how they tried to visit but the nurse turned them away saying for the first while that they couldn’t visit, and later that you didn’t want visitors.”

“Well your father is an idiot-”

“Shut up, I’m not done.” The teen interrupted. “I questioned that, and Mom confirmed it. So I did some digging with some help and…”

He pulled a memory stick out of the bag and held it out.

“We found the security footage someone attempted to delete, and it confirms it.”

“You… hacked into the hospital records…”

“Well no… I didn’t… but that’s not important.” Danny again interrupted, ignoring the dirty look. “You can get mad at me for the invasion of your privacy when I’m done talking okay? Okay.” He waited for any other comments, and when none came nodded to himself. “Okay, but yeah we checked and thought it was weird. If they were telling the truth that they visited, and you were telling the truth that they seemingly abandoned you, why would some random nurse stop clearly concerned friends from seeing their friend? Then I saw her name.” He pulled a couple pages out of the file and handed them over. Inside on the first sheet was a bunch of information on a woman named Celesta Peneppor, with bright red hair and striking green eyes she almost seemed to be smirking in her photo.

“I swear I’d seen her somewhere before and turns out I was right. She didn’t bother to disguise herself and her name was a freaking anagram!”

The next page was surprisingly professional looking despite been clearly made by the trio of teens, full of information on a ghost by the name of Penelope Spectra. “She’s a monster who feeds on misery, and mentioned in one fight I had with her that ‘Halfas have such potent feelings’ and I didn’t question it at the time, but this does make that make more sense.”

The teen folded his hands in his lap as he watched Vlad look though the sheets he was given, waiting for a reply.

“Why did you come tell me this Daniel.” 

The room was silent long enough that Vlad was going to talk again, to tell him to just leave, when Danny beat him to it and spoke back up. 

“You looked so happy.” He was quiet, looking down at his folded hands. “In the pictures. I found out your hate was directed at the wrong person, and I can’t blame you for some of how you’ve been before since I know that if I was in your place, losing those I cared about in a painful sudden way, I would be a mess too… or worse…”

Vlad looked for a moment like he was going to interrupt, but Danny just kept on talking. Looking up from his hands and locking eyes with him. The teen's eyes looking far too mature for someone his age, eyes that knew more than most.

“Betrayal and loss can make even the most morally just person into a monster, but they didn’t betray you. They thought you hated them for what happened and that’s why you apparently had the nurse turn them away, and yet they still kept trying to keep in contact because they cared despite Spectra’s keeping them away. They were, especially Dad, so happy when you came back into contact. But now you know who’s really at fault, and you can direct your anger at the right person who deserves it.”

His voice had turned almost desperately hopeful at the end, eyes so heavy and tired.

"It's not that simple, little badger." 

"Why not? Can't you at least try? What do you have to lose? Your pride? I beat that into the dust in our fights all the time!" His core ached in a desperation he hadn’t been expecting, the pull from it making him feel like he had to make sure Vlad at least tried.  "All you have is things to gain from it. Like your friends back...and..."

He stood up, walking up to Vlad with his head held high and hand held out, as unwavering as the determined look in his eyes.

"A truce? Or hopefully even an alliance?"

It was silent for a few moments as if the elder wasn’t going to reply, so he added softly.

"Please. Just try."

He put down the drink, and for a moment Danny thought he was going to shoot at him to make him leave, but instead both his hands came out to grasp his outstretched one. 

"You're not the only one tired of fighting my dear boy."

                                                     “I’ll try.”

                                                ~~~~~~~~~~~

When Danny eventually left after a while of them talking about the best way to go about his ‘trying’ to reconnect with his old friends, something the boy seemed to have put considerable thought into and was dead serious about supporting, Vlad slumped. Running his hand through his hair.

That had not been what he was expecting when he felt the other's signature entering his mansion. He’d thought the younger Halfa had been coming to blame him for something that was going wrong back in Amity Park.  Not...whatever that was.

“I hope you're not expecting anything immediate. My own long held grudges aside, they don’t think anything was wrong. Your bumbling idio-” A glare from Danny had him stop to correct himself. “Jack, may not notice if I try to act more civil around him, but Maddie certainly would notice and likely get suspicious.”  

The teen chuckled. “I mean she definitely noticed that you were acting like a creep-tastic fruitloop before, so that would be a big change.”

“Precisely, and I’d rather avoid being accused of being overshadowed. Their weapons do hurt after all.”

“Yeah you don’t have to remind me…” Of course he didn’t. Danny was shot at far more often than he was, more often then he really wanted to consider. “But there’s a simple solution.”

“Do tell.”

The teen took a seat, not even bothering to go back to sit in the seat, just letting himself float up cross-legged.

“Have you ever seen any cheesy reality shows?”

“Of course not.” Vlad Scoffed, looking downright insulted. 

“Guess even you aren’t that evil… but yeah so Jazz likes to watch it to analyze the characters and even to me it’s really obvious what the problem is.” Something was off, and he had a feeling there was more to it than that. “Just, tell them. Tell them the truth.”

Danny very quickly got a look that told him what the other thought of that idea, namely how stupid he thought it was.

“I thought the goal was to not get shot.”

“I don’t mean the whole half-ghost thing! I mean the ‘I thought you abandoned me so was a bit of a dick’. Just apologize for being off around them and admit you want to try again if they do still want to be friends. They’ll freak out thinking you hated them, act confused, and all is good!”

He leaned back doing a little flip in the air with a quiet ‘Tada!’.

It was an admittedly decent idea all things considered once it was talked out and it was worded better...mostly considering who it was from, but it would be hard to push aside his pride enough to try.

However after the teen had left, Vlad noticed something odd.

For years he was bothered by the little nagging feeling, a feeling that he instinctively knew once his core had developed was from his obsession begging to be indulged. He had learnt that as a Halfa he wasn’t as strongly driven by his obsession as full ghosts, and even less than Daniel he’d later noticed. He could ignore it, but it was like an itch you can't scratch that only got worse the longer he ignored it.

It was when it reached a simply maddening level that he decided to try and go after his revenge at last. The beginnings of planning finally, finally, seemed to scratch the itch. He was working towards his obsession and that alone was enough to help lessen the pull, but it was also like a drug. He wanted more, and so worked harder and became more focused. He knew that…

It took him awhile to realize though. 

A while of causing harm and driving away the only other of his kind in an obsession driven case of tunnel vision he only broke free of when it stopped helping his obsession. Stopped feeding that drive and just leaving him tired, and alone.

Alone. Alone.

It hurt, and the need to feed his obsession eventually snapped him out of his craze and made him realize he was alone and that he was in no way making progress to the family he so wanted to love.

He was tired.

Still he continued in his ways, trapped in a routine that no longer helped him and just put him further and further from any chance to be happy. Only getting the smallest spark of joy from his fights with Danny though the bantering, and even that was utterly eviscerated once it was over, only to be replaced with a pain from acting against his obsession. 

This was different though, for the first time in ages it faded almost completely. Just from talking with the other halfa peacefully he felt amazing, even more so than when he first started working to take Maddie as his own. 

Daniel actually cared. He didn’t hate him and wanted to be allies.

All he had to do was let go of the hate he’d been harboring for years… hate that was apparently misplaced. It would just take him putting aside his pride for a little to do so, but ghosts were naturally prideful things and that was a ghostly trait he had picked up, be it from his contamination or just his rise to power. It was a strong part of him and he was loathe to go through with the blow this would land on it.

However his core screamed to follow through with this chance for fulfillment at last. 

He had two weeks to decide if he would go through with Danny’s plan.

Two very long weeks to argue with himself he wasn’t looking forward to.

Only time would tell.

[artificialqueens]

Needles Family Values, Ch. 1 - pureCAMP & Citrus

Summary: They’re creepy and they’re kooky, mysterious and spooky, they’re altogether ooky, the Needles family! Missing sisters, lying psychiatrists, passionate sex and the imminent threats of fraud and death… just another day in the Needles household. Welcome to the Addams Family AU you never knew you needed.

pureCAMP’s a/n: hi!!! i love citrus and i love these movies and this franchise so here’s our secret surprise we’ve been hinting at for ages!!!! love u and hope u love this!!!

Citrus’s a/n: if you know me at all, you know that the Addams Family is my favorite film franchise of all time, and arguably my favorite pop culture franchise overall. i’m absolutely ELATED to be finally bringing this fic into the light after working so long and hard on it with one of my favorite people in the entire world! this really is a labor of love, and i hope you enjoy it!

-

“Violet, darling, put that cleaver down.”

The children skidded to a halt at the sound of their mother’s voice, soft yet firm, and Violet handed over the offending object that she had been using to chase her younger brother around the house. Sharon replaced it with an axe, pressing the weapon into her daughter’s hands. There were many dangers around their home, little nooks and crannies of chaos for the children to run into, and it was the very least she could do to try and protect them. A cleaver would be of no use at all.

“Don’t ever let me catch you doing that again. Your brother is much too old for just a little cleaver, now, isn’t he?”

Alaska looked over from the sofa, a smile spreading across her face. “Has Gio really outgrown the meat cleaver? Oh, Sharon, they’re growing up so fast…” She regarded her wife lovingly as the children took off once more, Violet brandishing the new axe proudly. “Do you remember when Gio was born, darling?”

The ghost of a smile flickered on Sharon’s lips at the memory. “Of course I do,” she said wistfully. “I was in labour for twenty-seven hours. It was agony.” She paused. “It was bliss.” Alaska shivered.

“Your screams… I’ll never forget them, cara mia. They were so tortured, so chilling, so utterly beautiful.” Sharon glowed at her wife’s words, closing the book she’d been skimming through and laying it on her lap. Alaska’s gaze landed on the novel curiously before she looked back up at Sharon. “What are you reading, bella?”

“Raising the Dead: Caring for Your Little Monster,” she replied with the hint of a smile. “Ages infant to three.”

Alaska cocked her head to the side, puzzled. “Infant to three? But Sharon, our children…” her eyes widened suddenly, and she stared at her wife, mouth agape. “Sharon. Is it true?” Sharon’s smile didn’t waver as she nodded in affirmation, one hand resting on her abdomen. Alaska jumped to her feet, pulling her wife into a tight embrace. “Cara mia… Such dreadful news, and today of all days…”

Sharon leaned into Alaska’s embrace, lips brushing against her cheek. “Darling… It was inevitable… I simply can’t keep my hands off you…” Alaska held back a low moan as Sharon ran her hands over her curves, emphasized by the exquisite tailoring of her dark suit. Her words were true; she’d never met a single soul who possessed the beauty that Alaska had, and she truly loved her wife - several times a day, at least. While Alaska preferred to express her adoration for Sharon with flowery words and chivalry and gifts, Sharon’s way of proclaiming her affection was much more… physical. She was incredibly lucky, therefore, that she’d met a woman with a near-insatiable sexual appetite to match her own, and married her.

Sharon remembered it like it had happened merely yesterday, and not the ten years their unbreakable vow had boasted. A dear friend of hers had passed away - the delightfully disgusting Sasha, after losing a long and honourable battle with her own health - and she had arrived at the funeral resplendent in black, the same situation during which her friend, when alive, had introduced her to the very pair of eyes watching her whilst everybody else was enamoured with her cadaver. She, too, found herself drawn to the piercing stare of her lover. Had she been a different kind of woman, she may have even blushed.

The “mystery woman” introduced herself immediately, kneeling slightly and pressing a lingering kiss to Sharon’s outstretched hand. “My, my… The devil should be so lucky as to receive you as a gift, bella.”

Her poisonous green eyes met Sharon’s as she straightened, allowing her to appreciate the woman before her. “Alaska Needles. Why, it’s… disenchanting to meet you. I had expected that her darling corpse would be the prettiest thing I saw today. It appears I was wrong.”

“Sharon, Sharon Coady. You’re quite the sight to behold, Alaska.”

Alaska blinked slowly, her gaze unwavering as her eyelashes fluttered. “I can see you’ve lived a thousand torturous lifetimes, cara mia. A woman like you deserves a name to go with it.”

Biting her lip, Sharon pulled Alaska closer, delighted by their playacting. “Is that so? What would you suggest?”

With a tenderness unlike anything Sharon had felt before, Alaska took both her hands within her own and held them close to her chest. It was as if Sharon could feel the fire beneath her skin, relishing in the flames that devoured the pit of her stomach. Her lover was a woman like no other.

“I say I take you away. Tonight, cara mia, the witching hour. I’ll give you my name, and all of the pain and misery you could possibly withstand.”

Sharon let out a low gasp. “Take me, darling. Let us never look back.”

That very night, in the midst of the very graveyard their relatives were decaying in, they had made the ultimate sacrifice. Sharon relinquished her name, happy to accept Alaska’s in the wake of their seemingly sudden, sweeping romance. When they kissed, the moonlight above them as their witness, Sharon swore that life and death, pain and pleasure, distress and tranquility each had merged, coming together into one.

Before long, she was a fully-fledged member of the extensive Needles clan, accepted and beloved by each and every oddity that kissed her hand and wished them well. Sharon learned of Alaska’s sister, older and lonelier, who had disappeared the very night they married, never to be seen again. The two sisters had been driven apart, and Sharon knew just how deeply Alaska wished she could see her once more and reunite their family.

“Katya always loved the little ones, how I wish she could be here to meet our children,” Alaska sighed. “She would adore them so.”

“The time of the seance is nearing, ma chère,” Sharon answered, “Perhaps tonight, Katya Needles will show herself. We all miss her dearly.”

“Everyone to the seance room, we must begin the preparations!” The voice of Alaska’s mother brought them out of their trance, reminding the two they were not alone. They made their way to the seance room arm-in-arm, and though the urge to steal away and lose themselves in pain and pleasure was strong, the urge to reunite their family was, as it so often is, much stronger.

“Violet, Gio, darlings- come and join us,” Sharon called out softly, the children seemingly materializing out of nowhere and scampering into the room. Violet was still wielding the axe, and Gio had retaliated with spiked mace that he was swinging above his head. Holding out one hand, Alaska stopped them both in their tracks and watched as they skidded to a halt.

“Now, now, no weapons are to be taken into the seance room. You know this.” She scolded gently, ignoring their sulky expressions as she took the weapons and put them aside. “We need to prepare for tonight, and I know you’ve been looking forward to it so very much. Come along, now.”

Rarely used but well-loved, the seance room was one of the many dusty jewels tucked away in their home. It was well stocked with books, thick with knowledge of any kind of pain and torture known or unknown to man. In the centre, beneath one of many crystalline chandeliers, stood their grand oak table. Many an execution warrant had been written upon its smooth surface back in its origin. It was rich with history, which they were hoping would serve them well in their search for Katya.

“Oh, Alaska… It seems such a shame to remove all these beautiful cobwebs….” Sharon held the duster close to her chest.

Alaska pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead. “I know, mia bella. They’re exquisite.”

Sharon sighed, sweeping through them half-heartedly. “I’m sorry, poor spiders. It’ll only be for a couple of days. Then you can move right back in and begin spinning some beautiful new webs.”

There wasn’t much else to be done, save for removing the dust and setting out the candles, so it didn’t take the family too long to prepare. It had been almost a decade of searching fruitlessly, desperate for Katya’s return. They had to hope that this year would finally yield the results they dreamed of.

A gentle tap on the door revealed a visitor - the eccentric disembodied hand, who was standing near Alaska’s feet. It was clear by the frantic gesturing that it had a message.

“Ah! Evening, Vanjie.”

The hand went still.

Alaska coughed. “Sorry, sorry. Miss Vanjie.”

Satisfied, Vanjie continued with its odd method of communicating, gesticulating oddly in a manner that seemed completely untranslatable. Somehow, Alaska nodded, understanding it all.

“Right, right. Sharon, darling, Detox and Roxxxy are here. Vanjie says they’re expecting you.”

Sharon let out an airy gasp. “Of course. I’d completely forgotten. Detox will want to speak with you, I expect.” She turned to face the rest of the family. “My darlings, Grandmama’s in charge. We have other matters to attend to.”

-

“The Katya Needles Offshore Retirement Fund?” Alaska read off the sheet of paper on her desk. She looked up at Detox. “What would it do?”

Detox put a hand on her hip. “What wouldn’t it do?”

Alaska sighed, already lost in a memory. “Katya… You know, some called her ‘the visual depiction of untreated mental illness.’”

“No,” Detox gasped. Alaska shook her head, smiling proudly.

“Only our parents. I called her ‘sister.’”

“And her memory must live on forever,” Detox insisted. “Through money,” she added. “I’ll deposit the money under my name, for tax purposes you know.”

“How inspired!” Alaska praised, looking over the papers in her hands.

“She would’ve wanted it that way,” Detox said. “One million dollars should be the perfect amount. For darling Katya’s memory, of course.”

Alaska leapt up from her seat and onto her desk. “It’s brilliant!” she exclaimed joyfully, fencing foil raised high. Then she paused, turning to look down at Detox. “But it’s not old business, Detox, and you know the rules.”

“Couldn’t we- couldn’t we make an exception?” the businesswoman faltered. Alaska hopped off the desk, shaking her head.

“Old business is old business, and new business is new business. And we do not discuss new business until…” she turned her back and flipped through her desk calendar at an inhuman speed, “Next quarter.”

“Next quarter,” Detox repeated under her breath, outraged. While Alaska’s back was still turned, she grabbed her abandoned foil from their earlier joust and made a thrust in Alaska’s direction with her whole body. Unfortunately, Alaska moved at the very last second, sending Detox tumbling over the desk and onto the floor.

“Fine lunge, but your riposte…” Alaska tsked, looking down at her. “A tad rusty. You’d do well to practice more, Detox.” She tossed her foil to Vanjie, who sheathed it, and made her way to the doorway. “Make yourself comfortable while I fetch the money for the monthly expenses.”

-

“A charity auction,” Jinkx muttered as she searched through the storage room, “It’s ridiculous.”

They had already searched most of the room, including opening an old bureau that was found to only contain the summer and winter wardrobes of Alaska’s uncle, as well as the body of the man himself. No luck there.

At that moment, Vanjie caught Sharon’s attention by snapping its fingers and pointing to a nearby shelf. Sharon let out a small exclamation of delight and retrieved the object they’d been searching for, gliding over to Roxxxy with a smile.

“Just what we’ve been searching for. Thank you, Vanjie.”

“It’s beautiful,” Roxxxy breathed. “Er, what is it?”

Sharon smiled. “A finger trap from the court of Emperor Ru,” she explained, turning the device over in her hands.

“This must be worth a fortune… Oh, Sharon!” Roxxxy squealed in delight, overcome by her kindness. “It’s too extravagant… Maybe even for the auction…”

“Let’s keep it,” Jinkx suggested gleefully. Sharon looked at her with surprise.

“Hush, Mama,” she chided, “It’s for charity. Widows and orphans.” She turned to Roxxxy with an expression of utmost sympathy. “We need more of them.” Then she frowned, looking troubled. “Roxxxy, about the seance tonight… I wish you’d come. It’s Alaska, I’m… I’m terribly worried about her,” she admitted. “She won’t eat, she can’t sleep, she keeps coughing up blood…”

Roxxxy looked up from the finger trap, which had now closed around her index fingers while she had been fiddling with it. “She coughs up blood?” she echoed, sounding horrified. Sharon sighed deeply, her voice thick with emotion.

“Not like she used to…”

-

“There you are!” Alaska proclaimed, heaping the last of a stack of shimmering gold coins onto the scale. “The monthly expenses. It was good to see you, Detox, you really should visit more often.” Sliding the doubloons into Detox’s briefcase, she handed it off, bidding the defeated woman adieu.

Mood soured, Detox grunted in response. “Thanks.” She replied curtly, lugging the much-heavier briefcase with her. “Roxxxy? Come on, we’re leaving!”

Roxxxy joined her just as they headed out of the door, Alaska and Sharon waving them off. Her face was pinched uncomfortably, her finger still caught in the unusual trap, and she looked put-out by something. Such was a side-effect of visiting the Needles mansion - though they were rich, the estate was filled with horrors other than the children, that would disturb anyone of sound mind.

“This stupid trap!” She shrieked, finally undone by the madness. “Detox, look at this stupid thing!”

She was just about to open the gate, ready to reassure her wife, when she realized something - or someone - was blocking the way. The Needles’ eldest child, a young girl named Violet, was stood in front of them.

“You - but - you -” Detox faltered, sure she had seen the child just moments ago, at the top of the staircase. Violet remained expressionless.

“It’s not stupid.” She stated plainly. “It’s very simple, and very valuable.” With one click, she freed Roxxxy’s fingers, now red and swollen, from the trap. “There’s a trick to it. Maybe Mother will teach it to you tonight, at the seance.”

Without another word, she began to walk back towards her home, looming eerily black against the bright blue sky. In the meantime, wrenching the gate open, Detox glared at Roxxxy.

“You agreed to go to a seance?! With the Needles?!”

Roxxxy shrugged helplessly. “Do you expect me to argue with Sharon?” She replied, her voice shrill. “She’s a lovely woman, but she’s too intimidating!”

“And filthy fucking rich - that she is.” Detox sighed, conceding. “That she fucking is.”

-

With an almighty thud, Detox slammed the briefcase that Alaska had filled onto her desk and sank into her worn leather chair, facing the wall. She was in dire straits, and she knew it. That fake retirement fund for the long missing Katya Needles had been her last attempt at a fraudulent scheme, and she had come up empty-handed yet again. If she couldn’t convince the Needles to squander some of their unending wealth soon, she would be a goner.

“Detox? Good to see you. Sit down.” A familiar voice commanded. Detox let out a long, low groan.

“I’m already sitting down.”

“Sit down here.” The voice insisted. Turning, Detox saw the one face that she cared to see less than Alaska or Sharon Needles - Phi Phi O’Hara. Her dark eyes were boring into Detox’s expectantly, and she knew that her benefactor was waiting for money that she just didn’t have.

“Pay up, Detox.” She began sternly, as she sullenly took a seat opposite Phi Phi on the floral couch. “I’ve lent you many thousands of dollars by now. I expect to see some payback.”

Sweating, Detox sank down further. “Look, O’Hara, I don’t have it. I’ve got nothing for you, I’ve got nothing for myself. I need more time-”

“And I need results, Detox. I need them now. I trust you haven’t met my sister yet?”

Detox’s first thought was that there was no way this… creature could be Phi Phi’s sister. Unlike her boss, who was short in stature and golden skinned, her sister was tall, pale and muscular. Around her head, a birds nest of black hair obscured most of her face, so that all that could be seen was one sharp cheekbone and a pair of blood red lips. However, at the sight of her somewhat-menacing stance, Detox decided not to question her birth.

“She’s trained.” Phi Phi warned her. “I wouldn’t try to cross us, Detox.

The dark-haired woman cracked her knuckles.

She frowned. “Trained in what?”

Phi Phi shrugged. “Don’t try to find out. Just give us our money and we won’t have to hurt you.”

“I’m trying!” Detox insisted, jumping to her feet. “Honestly, they’re drowning in money. Just today I heard Alaska’s wife talking about how they made it onto Forbes richest - multiple times! They have some sort of secret vault or something, but no one knows where it is!” Phi Phi’s terrifying sister stepped closer to her, a menacing glare in her eyes as she reached out and suddenly pushed Detox against the wall by her neck.

“I think she’s lying, Phi Phi,” she said with a leering grin.

“I- I swear I’m not!” Detox choked out, struggling to breathe. “I was gonna look during- during their seance tonight!”

“Seance?” Phi Phi questioned. Detox nodded as best she could while attempting to free herself from the woman’s grasp.

“They have one every year, to- to summon their long-lost sister. K-Katya.”

“Petra, let her down,” Phi Phi commanded. Her sister relinquished her hold on Detox with a slight frown, stepping back. “Now, Detox… Tell me about this seance.”

By the time Detox had explained everything, there was a wicked glimmer in Phi Phi’s eye.

“This could work,” she mused, “We could pull it off.”

“Pull what off?”

Phi Phi rolled her eyes. “Jesus, Detox, keep up. We’re gonna disguise Petra as Katya Needles, and I’ll pretend to be a psychiatrist who found her washed up somewhere with amnesia. Once the Needles accept her into their family again, she can tell us where their vault is, and you can finally pay us what you owe.”

Detox considered Phi Phi’s plan, her gaze shifting to Petra. She did look startlingly similar to the portrait of Katya that hung in the Needles estate. With a haircut and some cleaning up, she could easily pass for the long-lost Needles sibling. Phi Phi was already convinced, a pair of fake glasses in hand to add to her psychiatrist illusion. Petra was on board with the scheme, seemingly willing to do whatever her sister suggested. Reluctantly, Detox pulled out her phone.

“I’ll call Roxxxy. She likes Mrs Needles, but she hates the weird shit they get up to. She’s not gonna like this at all.”

For the entire drive back to the Needles mansion, Roxxxy was sullen and silent; it was a drastic but not unwelcome change from her hysterical yelling that had nearly burst Detox’s eardrums through the phone. She kept her arms crossed and her eyes in her lap, doing her best to ignore the two passengers conversing in the backseat. As expected, she hadn’t taken the news well, but Detox had the upper hand. No matter how they did it, they needed money fast. Petra - or Katya - was their only hope.

“Ugh, this place freaks me out.” Roxxxy sniffed, smoothing her dark green skirt and gazing at the ornate iron gates. “Do you think I look dark enough for them?”

Irritated with her attitude, Detox rolled her eyes, before plastering a fake smile onto her face. “Aww, for the Needleses?”

She placed a gentle hand on Roxxxy’s arm, to reassure her.

“No.” Detox finished abruptly, letting her hand fall. “Nothing is dark enough for them. Come on, they’ll be waiting. You two wait here and listen.” The last comment was directed at Phi Phi and Petra-Katya.

All but dragging Roxxxy up the path, Detox affixed a wide grin to her face and pressed the doorbell, hoping it wouldn’t snap and try to chomp on her finger as it had done once before. Thankfully, the feral button remained still, leaving Detox’s hands untouched and her smile unbroken.

“Darling, at least try to look like you want to be here.” She hissed. “They’re our last hope.”

The door swung open, revealing the Needles’ manservant, the tall and handsome Max. He seldom spoke, but Detox had seen him a few times around the home. Behind him, Sharon was watching them intently. At her serious expression, Detox let the smile fall from her face. Like any Needles family member, Sharon rarely smiled, save for the seductive, tight-lipped smirk she reserved only for her wife.

“Detox, Roxxxy, do come in. I can’t thank you enough for coming. Alaska will be delighted.”

Roxxxy simpered. “Oh, it was our pleasure.” She told her, sounding saccharine-sweet.

Sharon raised one eyebrow. “Oh, really? It was ours too.”

Leaving a puzzled Roxxxy no time to respond, Sharon turned on her heel. “Max, darling, will you help escort our guests to the seance room? You know Mama, she’s simply itching to begin.”

The tall butler first took their coats before leading them to the seance room. Both Detox and Roxxxy immediately wished they had kept them on, as the house grew colder the closer they got, but they pinned the smiles to their faces anyway.

As they entered, feeling slightly out of place, the Needles family (and guests) gathered around a large oak table, sitting in high-backed chairs as candles flickered on the walls.

“Gio, I see that axe,” Sharon chided softly, holding out her hand. Gio and Violet shared a look, and the boy handed the weapon to his mother with a sweet, innocent smile. “Now… Shall we begin?”

The participants joined hands– all except for Max, who had been tasked with providing the mood music for the night, and was fulfilling that duty by playing sonatas on an organ. The weather outside was perfect for a seance, stormy and dark, with rolling thunder and the occasional flash of lightning. Other than the thunderclaps and Max’s organ-playing, the room was very quiet, and Jinkx started the seance with an old incantation.

“Sing, all ye spirits… Harken all souls…”

Her gravelly voice was chilling. As she spoke, Detox and Roxxxy found themselves watching the two Mrs Needles interacting. Despite the sinister setting, their unending romance seemed unperturbed by the darkness. Alaska was gazing into Sharon’s eyes as though she intended to ravish her right then and there. With a sniff, Roxxxy tried to recall the last time she had been looked at with such all-consuming lust.

Alaska gently stroked her wife’s hand, continuing. “Every year on this date, we offer a clarion call to Katya Needles. May she reveal herself at last.”

“From generation to generation, our beacon to the beyond.” Sharon smiled softly as she placed a lit candle in the centre of the table.

“Everyone close your eyes and join hands!” Jinkx instructed. Once again, Roxxxy found herself uncomfortable - though she considered herself friends with Sharon, her mother-in-law Jinkx had always seemed odd, and her daughter Violet was unnerving, to say the least. Still, she reassured herself, despite their outward appearances, they were just an elderly grandmother and a harmless young child. Nothing to fear.

“Oh, what a grip!” Jinkx exclaimed as Roxxxy took her hand, with a grasp no firmer than usual. “Ooh! Oh, my hand!”

Her frizzy, greying red hair was stood on end like the fur of a hissing cat. Looking down, she didn’t realize the source of the old woman’s yelping until she realized the hand that she was holding was no longer attached to Jinkx’s arm. Horrified, she screamed and stumbled backwards.

“The - it - how - I- hand!” She babbled, pointing in terror at the disembodied limb. Jinkx and the children fell about laughing, prompting Alaska to shake her head at their antics before cracking a smile of her own. Even Sharon had an amused smirk toying at her lips.

“Vanjie, you’re more of a handful than the children, sometimes,” she scolded. “And Mama, you know better than to scare our dear guest like that.”

Jinkx shrugged, reconnecting their hands to continue the seance. “Violet?”

The little girl nodded, more serious and still than a child had ever been. “Let us ransom you from the power of the grave. Tonight, oh Death, let us be your plague.”

A whispered, “Well done, dear,” from Sharon followed her incantation before Jinkx took over once more, chanting in an unfamiliar tongue. The room grew colder as she spoke, the darkness becoming heavier around them as though a veil shrouded the room. Goosebumps ran along any exposed flesh. Then, in an instant, all of the candles blew out in a gust of inexplicable wind.

“I sense that she’s near!”

Everybody’s eyes snapped open. There was no sign of the missing Needles sister in the room, but Alaska’s eyes were wide with hope, presumably conveying a message to Sharon, at whom she was staring at with a fiery intensity.

“Katya Needles, gather your strength!” Jinkx commanded. “Knock three times!”

The rest of the participants closed their eyes again, except for Detox. Roxxxy was about to scold her for not taking part when she noticed she was looking out of the window across the Needles estate. Somewhere in the distance, a car door shut, and Detox turned her attention back to the seance. With bated breath, the family waited to find out if this was the night that Katya Needles would finally reappear.  

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

Alaska almost looked as though she were in pain - her body jolted with each knock, and her face was screwed up in desperation. She couldn’t bear to get her hopes up about her sister’s return if she was not truly going to appear.

“Did you hear that? Ask again, quickly!” she demanded, her eyes sparkling. “Ask again!”

Jinkx cleared her throat. “Katya Needles! Long have you been missing, soon will you be reunited. I demand that you knock again, three times!”

Once more, Alaska gritted her teeth, her brow furrowed as she listened out between the cracking of thunder.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

At the final knock, she sprung from her chair, knocking a nearby candle and setting a piece of cloth alight. “My sister! She’s here, at our door!” Ignoring the fire, which Max was startlingly quick to put out, she all but bounded out of the room with Sharon on her tail, followed in turn by their children.

Flinging the heavy door open like it weighed nothing, Alaska was immediately confronted by two figures: a petite brunette woman wearing a raincoat, and a taller woman with a mess of black hair rivaling only her own. Sharon let out a soft gasp at her side, and when the raven-haired woman flashed an awkward smile, Alaska was sweeping her up in a bone-crushing embrace.

“It’s you,” she whispered, on the verge of tears. “Katya.”

[5amfries]

Kakyoin lives in a quiet house. Not a lot of sound passes through when a majority of your pastimes involve self reflection and hyper focus on the environment around you.

It helps that his husband isn't one to say much in a daily setting, relying on body language and subtle facial expressions to get his point across most of the time.

Even their baby girl wasn't that much of a screamer, opting for twinkling laughter and tiny coos that only make their home feel more alive.

So, it strikes Kakyoin as odd when he's awakens to the buzz of low grumbles and the soft springs of his bed as a weight dips upon the mattress.

It's not out of the ordinary for Jotaro to come to bed late, but something's off, Kakyoin can feel it.

... He can hear it too. How could he not? The rageful roar of an irritated monster rings loud within his ears, resonates to his core.

Lying still, he takes in the motions Jotaro goes through to prop himself into their bed, wondering if his husband may be the initiator of those sounds.

It's not too long of a wait for an answer, as a deep groan that leads into a high pitched gurgle emits definitely from Jotaro.

The jostling of the bigger man ceases and it piques Kakyoin's curiosity even more.

Especially as the long sounding gurgle bubbles up Jotaro's throat, a warning for the expulsion that was soon to come.

"... urrrrrRP-UURRRRP!"

The sudden blare of Jotaro's belch almost makes Kakyoin jump. His eyes widened, now completely awake as he listened to Jotaro sigh with what sounded like relief, only to follow it up with an annoyed, "Tch!"

Kakyoin could only assume this was the beginning, the noisy burbling of Jotaro's stomach seemingly getting louder and more furious with each passing second.

With a roll of his eyes, Kakyoin continued to fake sleep, listening in on Jotaro's failed attempts of trying to calm his rumbling belly.

Strained and jarring burps were starting to become more frequent and Kakyoin could feel Jotaro's frustration rising with it... As well as a flush of tingling heat on his own part.

He waits, silently reveling in Jotaro's gastral misery as his husband curses dejectedly under his breath and his stomach loudly establishes its presence.

This wasn't the first time Kakyoin's witnessed this vulnerable state of Jotaro's.

He knows whenever Jotaro becomes overwhelmed with his research and studying, he falls into the habit of binging snacks in an effort to keep awake and subconsciously busy.

Being the size that he is, it takes a lot to keep his concentration going. Kakyoin assumes he must go through whole boxes and bags of sugar filled sweets and calorie loaded munchies.

Though, by the time he wakes up, he has no evidence of the theory since the pantry is seemingly restocked.

And he, unfortunately, has never caught Jotaro in the act of his stuffing, but he has caught the aftermath.

There's just never been an appropriate time to admit his attraction towards it to his husband.

Jotaro must be really tired, being so bold as to come in their shared room as release all of that pent up gas, as he would usually hide out of disappointment and, what Kakyoin guesses to be, embarrassment.

But the sound off of wailing groans and thick bubbling gurgles is obviously not going to let the marine biologist slumber anytime soon.

Hell, even if Kakyoin was completely asleep, the deep, resonating eructations Jotaro lets out into the room would have most definitely jolted him awake.

A muted, yet bassy belch rang within Jotaro's closed mouth, making Kakyoin's heart skip a beat as he tried to keep his breath regulated as he secretly indulged the sound.

It took everything in the redhead's power to hold back a moan when Jotaro opened his mouth, the same burp still going on, but apparently refusing to be help back.

"UUUUURRRRRRRAAAAAAPPPPPP!! Ugh, fuck me... BWOOUURRP!"

There was Kakyoin break. Now it's way too hot for him to keep character, even as he bites his lip in a futile effort. He feels Hierophant's tentacles spill out of his back.

They creep their way over to Jotaro, crawling up the other's limbs with gentle precision, lapping up his skin.

They descend upon Jotaro's stomach quickly, pulsating over and releasing a light and cooling gel onto his heated flesh.

Kakyoin can't help but smirk when he hears Jotaro's breath hitch from his unexpected touch.

"... Noriaki..." Jotaro says through grated teeth.

"Hm?"

"What are you doing? Why are you awake?"

Deadpanned, Kakyoin responds, "I thought there was a dragon in my room."

There's a huff on Jotaro's part, which Kakyoin translates to "I would say shut up but I'm embarrassed and in too much pain to do so."

Kakyoin chuckles at the unspoken retort, Hierophant's tentacles continuing their ascent up Jotaro's middle. His stomach is rounded than he expected, feeling as if he should have reached its peak a while ago. It's hard under his extensions, its heat contrasting drastically to the chilly surface of his Hierophant.

It's safe to assume Jotaro's gone overboard this time. If he remembers correctly, his husband was working on an article for a significant marine magazine, one that could take his career to the next level. There's probably no more leftovers...

Kakyoin feels Jotaro's stomach concave slightly, as much as it could under the seemingly unmovable mass, as well as a rush of pressure that's quick to shake through Jotaro's throat.

Jotaro manages to catch it, bringing a fist to his lips and letting the gas rumble deeply within the confines of his mouth.

The soft mash of his thighs and small hip thrust forward goes unnoticed by Kakyoin but he does bite back a chuckle and ignores the deep pounding in his heart.

"Turns out my husband was just having pregnancy pains." Kakyoin continues, his hold on Jotaro becoming a little tighter.

"Sh-HicuuUUURRRAAAAP! ...up. Shut up." Jotaro manages to snark, only to come under another attack of throat rattling belches. Kakyoin begins to wonder how he hadn't managed to wake Jolyne up yet.

Kakyoin sighs, sits up and turns on his side, facing his cacophonous husband. He finds his favorite spot in the crook of Jotaro's neck, affectionately nuzzling there and wrapping a leg around Jotaro's waist, careful not to bump his bloated, aching belly.

Jotaro unleashes another roar of a belch that trails of into a low rumble.

"Fuck..."

The smile Kakyoin had tried so hard to hide, breaks through. It's a pleased thing... A hungry thing, ironically, and it has him burying even more into Jotaro's neck. Despite it, Kakyoin risks his ability to get through a reassuring response.

"Shhhhh... I have you, Jojo... I'll make you feel better, okay?"

He almost keens at the angry grumbles that toil within his husband's middle. Hierophant's tentacles press and caress, kneading out discovered gas bubbles that has Jotaro showing just how loud he can get.

"Did you have too much at dinner?" Kakyoin asks lowly. It's a challenge, trying to give sympathy while also hiding his building arousal.

Jotaro takes his time to answer, lets out a short, wet sounding burp, then, "... Yeah."

Kakyoin presses on, disregarding Jotaro's tone of finality.

"Did you have some leftovers?"

"Yes."

The image of Jotaro compulsively munching on the large dinner he had created. It was meant to last the family at least two to three days. Now it lies stirring within him, angrily putting up fight and letting itself to be known.

"Was that all?" Kakyoin inquires innocently, placing a hand on Jotaro's cheek and gently petting him. He already knows it not all, but he wants an admission. His rising excitement demanded it.

"... No."

It had to be at least three in the morning, which lets Kakyoin know that Jotaro probably didn't even stop there. There's no way Jotaro can keep this secret now.

Not only is the human brick wall known as Jotaro Kujo revealing his discretion, but the confirmation of Kakyoin's fantasy has him reeling.

"You like this, don't you?" Jotaro states with such conviction it has Kakyoin stopping all thoughts and movements in an instant.

"W-what? Yo-"

"BRRRAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRP!"

As if to prove a point, Jotaro interrupts with a deep belch that he didn't try to hold back. Kakyoin falls for it, breath hitching and hips rocking toward against Jotaro's own.

"You're hard, Nori."

The rush of heat that fills Kakyoin's face burns them both. Jotaro wasn't the only one with secrets exposed.

"How long have you known?"

The switch of interrogation makes Kakyoin squirm, but... it also adds fuel to his fire. He slowly grinds his cock against Jotaro's hip.

"A couple of weeks." He replies breathily, pressing closer to his husband, planting searing kisses to Jotaro's neck.

The bigger man gives another huff, this time Kakyoin knows it's a display of amusement and smugness.

"So you decided to play voyeur instead of stopping me or letting me know." Jotaro lets his loll to the side, planting a loving kiss to Kakyoin's forehead.

"Is it really worse than stuffing yourself into a belching stupor when you get too stressed out?" Kakyoin murmurs, lifting his head as to connect his lips to Jotaro's.

They kiss, a sensual performance that disguises the desperate flicks of tongue, bites of lips and aborted moans of lust, until Jotaro suddenly breaks it, swiftly averting his head and releasing another rattling burp.

He coughs afterwards, eyes pinched in pain. "Shit. That actually hurt." Jotaro places a hand over Hierophant's tendrils that still cradle his stomach, doing his own rubbing at his skin.

"Might've went overboard this time. Hic-UURRRRP! Ugh. But I guess it was worth it to get you like this."

Yet another wave of embarrassment washes over Kakyoin, from Jotaro's eruptions or his approval of his falling control in his arousal. Probably both.

Regardless, Kakyoin presses harder to him, letting the tentacles drift low. They rub the underside of Jotaro's belly before slithering beneath his pajama bottoms.

Kakyoin's a little surprised to feel how hard Jotaro is, not expecting him to take pleasure in this odd kink play they have going on, but he decides to not to question it, choosing to indulge in it instead.

He wills these divergent appendages to warm up as opposed to the ones that caress Jotaro's stomach, and tenderly wraps around his large shaft, stroking Jotaro in time with his increasing thrusts.

Kakyoin feels Jotaro's cheek flush beneath his palm and almost misses the near silent hitch of his breath.

"... Nori..." Jotaro sighs, before Kakyoin pushes his face towards his and they re-engage in their previous lip lock.

They pull apart at the alarming sound of Jotaro's stomach grumbling and said owner gives his extended middle an annoyed frown.

"You said it wasn't all." Kakyoin says suddenly, kissing his way up his husband's jaw.

"What?"

"That wasn't all you've had... You didn't even need to admit that, I can see as much. But tell what else there was. Please."

Kakyoin needed more. He needed that perfect visual of Jotaro's gluttony so he could reach that ever swelling peak of pleasure.

When Jotaro didn't answer right away, he whimpered, tightening his hold Jotaro's dick and stomach.

Jotaro hissed, hiccupped then let out a short belch.

"... I ate all of it. The leftovers are gone, Noriaki." He finally confesses and Kakyoin loosens his grip, but seems to pick up his speed.

"I ate pretty much everything in the pantry too. We need to go shopping tomorrow unless you want to have Jolyne's baby food for dinner."

There's a break in Kakyoin's hazed over brain and he laughs.

A soft smile blooms on Jotaro's lips, unknown to him, and he taps his forehead to Kakyoin's.

They kiss through their grins, until a certain stroke makes Jotaro groan and bite gently into Kakyoin's bottom lip.

The redhead echoes the sound, looking down, wanting to watch his Hierophant work, but he can only see tips and flicks of green over the extended hill of Jotaro's belly.

The image still turns him on, if not excites him even more.

Jotaro huffs. "... urrp... close..."

Kakyoin nods in agreement, speeds up the movements of his tentacles and his hips.

"Promise you'll let me know the next time you do this?" He pants, eyes closing as he begins to imagine that next time.

He'd love nothing more than to feed his husband himself, push Jotaro to his limits, give him the praise he deserved for it.

Watch him... Let loose...

It's enough to make Kakyoin squeeze Jotaro once more as he reaches his climax.

A deep, foreboding grumble rings out over their moans as Kakyoin accidentally dislodges a massive pocket of gas within Jotaro.

The bigger man tries to turn his head, move away from his husband in any way possible as he feels the monster rush of air pushing up to his throat. He understands Kakyoin's getting off to... whatever this is, but he'd rather not have him be in the crossfire of this one.

Kakyoin, however, has no intention of letting Jotaro go, pressing, if possible, closer to him.

"Agh... Nori-"

"I'm so close, Jojo, please...!"

Jotaro can no longer hold it back, taking a breath and unloading the behemoth out of his body.

"BWWOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAPPPPP!!!!!"

The sound is something that could only be compared to a bomb. The initial burst makes Kakyoin jump, eyes shooting open in shock, body tensed.

But he comes as well, quick to process the sound and letting it tip him over the edge.

It's probably the best orgasm he's ever had, feeling as though his mind had been shoved in a numbing goo. He can feel the ridiculous amount of cum soaking through his briefs, maybe even through his pants.

It's not something he'd admit, but he might have blacked out for a moment.

It takes Kakyoin some deep breaths before his senses come back online.

When he does, he becomes aware of Jotaro, still somehow belching up a storm.

It's ridiculous how he can feel his dick twitch from it.

Kakyoin also notices that Hierophant had dissolved from the physical world and he feels bad that he hadn't managed to get Jotaro off before that happened.

He wills his stand back out, its shimmering tendrils slithering back to Jotaro, only to find him covered in his own cum.

With more force than thought required, Kakyoin turned his head, finding Jotaro staring back at him, eyes a void of darkness that contrasts the pretty flush of pink that dusts over his cheeks.

"You...?" Kakyoin breathes, but can't finish from his heart feeling like it was about to break out of his chest.

"Yeah." Jotaro answers after a loll in his burping fit. "After seeing you lose your mind, how could I not?"

If he could, Kakyoin would punch him, but he can't move currently, so he glares instead.

"... And... Yeah."

Kakyoin's scowl morphs into one of confusion.

"What?"

"You said to promise to let you in the next time I binge... I got another paper due soon, so."

Jotaro lifts a fist to his mouth out of habit, belches into it.

Kakyoin's surprised to see his husband so sheepish, speaking so demure. It warms him greatly and excites him that Jotaro trusts him with such a vulnerable thing.

Lazily raising a hand, he caresses Jotaro's face and presses a loving kiss to his lips.

"Thank you."

Jotaro nods, eyes cutting away in his way of showing bashfulness. After a few silent seconds, he rises up, another large burp slipping through from the sudden movement, and walks towards their bathroom.

"Gonna get cleaned up..."

Kakyoin waved him off, feeling the aftereffects of exhaustion hitting him hard. "Okay."

"Oh, and Noriaki." Jotaro calls, stopping at the door.

Kakyoin lifts his head. "Hm?"

"You're fucking weird."

Jotaro just barely misses getting hit by a pillow.

[forhelvede]

Where the Storm Meets the Ground Ch. 1

Where the Storm Meets the Ground

A Stranger Things fanfic where SOMEBODY isn’t going to die because omg how mean! Just a weird idea about Alexei and the gang I had in my head. I like writing about Lady Agents.

Chapter 1- Tired of Waiting

She had been busy on a case in downtown St. Louis when her superior called in. Allegedly, an actual Russian scientist was at Murray Bauman’s house.

That paranoid idiot had an actual Russian at his house.

She couldn’t believe it.

Laurie Miller had spent the past fourteen years in the FBI working undercover at various points in Russian organizations. One of her aunt’s had married a Russian man at the height of the Red Scare and before he got arrested and deported for no reason other than he was an intelligent Russian man, Laurie had learned enough Russian from him to know she wanted to learn more. She studied on her own and then took Russian all through University.

So when she joined the FBI at 22 with her International Relations and Russian Majors, they took her straight away and put her undercover whenever they could. She mostly worked translating communications.

And now here she was, on the way to the house of one of the most paranoid people she had had the misfortune to come across. She and Murray had met a couple of times before and each time was a misery for her. Laurie just couldn’t stand paranoid people.

They sucked all of the fun out of everything.

The drive from St. Louis to Sesser was annoying long and although Laurie knew she wasn’t going to like was at the end of this trip, she was sort of looking forward to it. She had only six more years before she could retire and if she could get at least one more promotion, she would be set up fairly nicely in her retirement. Getting her hands on a legit Russian scientist would almost certainly guarantee her a promotion.

And maybe this would finally get Murray off her radar.

It was after lunch by the time Laurie finally pulled into Murray’s “driveway”. She had never been to his home/bunker, but unbeknownst to him, she, and the FBI, had always known where he lived.

But Murray was a headache, not an actual problem.

Laurie put her car in park and turned it off. She sat there for a moment, the air turning off and feeling the heat penetrate into the car. Her job was fairly quiet; Laurie never saw much action and she preferred it that way. She sighed, grabbed her suit jacket off the passenger’s seat, and got out of the car. She gave herself a minute to put the jacket on and straighten herself up before walking up to the metal door. Nothing like pretending like she wasn’t sweating to a disgusting degree.

Laurie banged loudly on the door and waited, the sun beating down on her.

“Uhh…is that-is that you, Miller?” Murray said a minute later, clearly annoyed and surprised by her presence.

“Open the fucking door Murray; it’s hot as fuck out here. My hairspray will only hold for so long.”

Nothing happened.

“MURRAY!” she yelled. The drive from St. Louis had clearly annoyed her more than she expected. Her jaw clenched as the anger and annoyance rolled through her.

A moment of hesitation and then a buzzing sound and the door began to open. Laurie let herself in.

“Special Agent Miller, was it?” Murray said, stopping her just inside the doorway. He was stalling her. She tried not to grimace at the ugly jean shorts he was wearing and the white tank top, but she was certain she made some sort of face.

“Very good, Murray. You remember me. It’s been what, two years? Look at you, still paranoid as fuck.” Laurie smiled sweetly.

“Um, so...um, you know where I live?” he asked, genuinely confused and she could hear the paranoia coming out.

“Wait…Laurie?” a deep voice called from another room.

Laurie turned, remembering that voice, but trying to recall from the depths of her memory of who the voice belonged to.

Her heart dropped when she recognized the man coming out from a room in the depths of Murray’s bunker.

“Fucking hell...Jim?” Her heart began to beat quickly in her chest. It just couldn’t be?

“Uh, wait, you two know each other?” Murray said, standing too closely to Laurie.

She groaned and smacked him in his chest with the palm of her hand, not even looking at him. She heard what sounded like him hitting the ground and Jim frowned at her, disappointed, but Laurie didn’t care.

“Laurie,” he admonished her.

Jim Hopper. The asshole had been her brother-in-law for about eight years, in what seemed like another lifetime. The last time she had seen him was sometime in ’78 before Jim and her sister had divorced. Not long after their daughter died.

“Fucking hell, Jim, what are you doing at fucking Murray Bauman’s house?”

He gulped somewhat nervously, putting his hands on his hips over a ridiculously ugly floral shirt. “Well, what are you doing at fucking Murray Bauman’s house?” he shot back at her.

Laurie narrowed her eyes at him angrily. “I’m fucking FBI, Jim. I’m doing my job. What are you doing here?”

“Still in the FBI, huh, Laurie? That’s good. That’s great! How long has it been?”

“JIM!” she yelled. What was it with men today?

He jumped slightly and shrugged. “It’s a long story, Laurie.”

She sighed, her shoulders dropping. “Jim, for fuck’s sake man. It’s been a long day for me. Where’s the Russian?” she asked, skipping to the point.

He looked slightly surprised. “Rus-russian? What Russian? Murray speaks Russian.”

Laurie sighed loudly and threw herself into the nearest chair. “I’m so fucking tired, Jim. I know there was a Russian here at some point.” She slammed her eyes shut, squeezing them tightly to try and block out everything. “Just please, somebody tell me what’s going on.”

“Uh, well, there maybe was a Russian here, but not anymore,” Murray said, almost convincingly.

“Then why is Jim still here?”

“Just…talking.”

“You know Murray, I’m pretty sure I could shoot you and get away with it.”

Silence hung in the air for a moment. “I need you to promise to listen first,” Jim said, apparently walking further into the room.

Laurie thought about threatening him too, but a vision of his daughter, her niece, bald and dying in the hospital, crossed her mind. So Laurie sat up in the chair and opened her eyes. “Alright Jim, tell me what’s going on. I promise not to shoot Murray until after you tell me what’s going on.”

She waited as Jim took a seat on the couch in front of her and began to talk. Laurie listened to this complicated tale about Russians and a gate and a mall and on and on. She tried to keep her face neutral as her ex-brother-in-law spoke. The Red Scare had long been trumped up. Yes, there was a problem, but the problem was two-sided. Laurie had seen this plenty in her time in the FBI. America was not an innocent bystander in this.

But a gate that led to another dimension? Monsters? It was too much.

“…and that’s why we took Smirnoff…”

“ALEXEI!” a woman shouted from another room. Laurie startled at the sound. She knew there was a Russian here, but another woman too?

“And I can tell you don’t believe me,” Jim finished, slapping his hands on his legs.

Laurie smiled softly. “I do believe you,” she said, lying. “Especially because you have this Russian here and I think I know you.” Truth was, Laurie wanted to believe him. But the last time she had seen Jim, he had been depressed and knee deep in a drinking problem. “So, Jim, let’s go ahead and bring the Russian out and I’ll see what he has to say. Okay?”

Jim hesitated.

“I need you to trust me, Jim. Please.”

After another moment of hesitation, Jim nodded. “Joyce,” he called out, presumably to the woman who had yelled at him.

Laurie turned to watch as a young man in a dirty white shirt walked out of a room with an older woman. The guy looked fairly young with big gold glasses and curly hair. His clothes seemed slightly big for him, making her wonder if he had lost weight working hard or if the Russians just hadn’t tried to give him good clothes? Laurie tried to keep her face neutral.

Murray and Jim didn’t know that Laurie spoke Russian. A side-effect of working for the FBI meant she tried to keep as much possible close to the chest. One run-in with Murray had her completely pretend to not understand Russian, so today was going to be interesting.

The Russian walked through the room timidly, not meeting Laurie’s eyes. He sat next to Murray on one of the couches, avoiding Jim. The woman, Joyce, sat next to Jim.

Laurie smiled at Joyce. “Hi, I’m Laurie.”

“I’m Joyce. Hop and I went to high school together,” she said, volunteering information that Laurie hadn’t asked for.

Laurie looked at Jim, smirking. “Of course.”

“Our kids are friends,” he added and seemed to immediately regret that.

“Kid? Oh?” She cocked her head.

“This probably isn’t the time,” he said softly, wanting to avoid the topic, particularly, Laurie was sure, with her.

“No, probably not,” Laurie agreed, shaking her head. She leaned forward slightly on her knees. “But we’re going to talk, Jim.” She turned her attention to the Russian scientist, trying to relax her body language and she smiled softly at the young man. “Hi.”

He smiled timidly at her, looking at Jim first.

“Alexei, is it?”

He nodded silently.

“Well, introduce me, Murray.”

Murray turned to Alexei and began speaking in Russian. “This is Special Agent Laurie Miller with the FBI. She can be trusted, I’m pretty sure. Apparently, she and Hopper know each other.”

Alexei looked over at her when he mentioned the FBI in concern, but then looked back at Murray. “Can she help me defect?”

Murray shrugged. “Probably.” He looked at Laurie. “If he helps us stop this disaster, can you help him defect?”

Laurie considered it. If this thing was actually happening, if there really was some crazy plot with the Russians and some gate, then his help would be quite beneficial. “I’m sure something can be worked out.”

“If this is real, you mean,” Jim interrupted.

She tried not to roll her eyes. “Jim,” Laurie said quietly, looking over at her former brother-in-law. “I told you I believe you.”

“And yet,” he said, “I know that tone of voice.”

“Oh, do you?” she snapped. Laurie stood up from the couch, towering over Jim, fully knowing if he stood up he would tower far over her. She leaned over slightly, glaring at him. “I’ll fucking shoot you,” she whispered in menacing voice, fully meaning her threat. She hadn’t forgotten how Jim had lost it after Sara’s death, how he had left Diane alone in her grief. Laurie hadn’t forgotten any of it. “The FBI won’t care.”

Laurie wasn’t usually this angry, but the combination of a long drive, the Red Scare, Murray, and running into Jim had combined to make her utterly miserable and irritable.

Jim regarded her carefully for a minute before nodding. “That I believe.”

“Good, then shut your fucking mouth,” she snapped again. She waited as Jim’s eyes went wide and then he leaned back in the couch. Behind her, Murray had been translating for Alexei, adding a little bit of exaggeration, she noticed.

“Uh, I’m guessing there’s some back story here?” Joyce said, looking between Laurie and Jim.

“A little,” Laurie admitted as she sat back down. She looked back at Alexei. The man was regarding her cautiously, but she could also see the telltale sign of respect. Laurie had a feeling, based on Jim calling him Smirnoff instead of his name, that Jim hadn’t been very nice to Alexei. She wanted to talk to him in Russian, to try to tell him she was, if he was being sincere, on his side. “Alexei, tell me what’s going on.” She gazed over at Murray. “And be sure to translate correctly. I want his side of the story, not yours.”

Murray nodded and spoke to Alexei. Alexei took a deep breath and began his story, of working on the key in Russia before coming to America to work on the key in Hawkins. Laurie listened carefully, tuning out Murray’s pointless translations, while also trying to pretend she needed his translations. The kid at least did a better job of convincing Laurie that this stuff was actually happening.

Or maybe her hatred of Jim was clouding her biases.

“I can help them turn it off. I will help them turn it off,” Alexei finished.

Laurie waited for Murray to finish his translation and then she smiled and nodded. Laurie sat back in her chair and closed her eyes, arms crossed across her chest.

First things first, should she punch Jim in the face?

Maybe, if an appropriate situation came up.

Second, did she believe this?

Well, it was kind of easy to believe that the Russians were plotting something in America, but a gate to another dimension? That seemed a little farfetched.

But was it really like Jim to believe in something so insane?

It had been seven years since her niece Sara Hopper had died from cancer. Her death had destroyed Jim and Laurie’s sister Diane, unsurprisingly. Laurie was able to get transferred to New York to be close to her sister and give Diane any support she could in Sara’s last months. Even before Sara died, Jim had begun drinking. He was good enough to not drink before going to the hospital to see Sara, but at night, Laurie noticed him drinking a lot.

It got worse after her death and it took about a year for Diane to decide to leave Jim, something that had been difficult for her to do.

In the almost ten years that Laurie knew Jim, she had never known him to believe in crazy things. He believed in what he could see.

So the fact that he was peddling this to her did make her pause.

But what if Jim had changed? What if his alcoholism led to him believing crazy stories?

Third, what could she do about the Russian?

If she believed this story, then she had to ask herself if Alexei actually wanted to help.

And if he wanted to help, then she had to ask herself if she could help him defect. She had done that for three other Russians over the past ten years. It wasn’t beyond the realm of what she could do as an FBI Agent.

“Um-” Joyce started to say, but somebody shushed her.

Laurie took another deep breath and let it out slowly. She had to make a choice, here and now.

She opened her eyes and sat back up and looked at Alexei, really looking at him. It was usually impossible to judge a person based on a first interaction, but he seemed sincere. He was a dangerous man, but perhaps he also seemed like he did want to help.

So she’d let him help.

“Let’s do this, then.”

[acourtofhopeanddreams]

Capturing the Devil

Written for day 7 of @jonsadreamofspring to fill the "Free Day"

Jon Snow and his wife Sansa Stark are famous serial killers, but they're still on the loose and free, going after those who had it coming and only have themselves to blame. People like Ramsay Bolton.

serial killer AU // TW: Violence and sexual assault

Some say that every serial killer wants to be caught at some point. Some say that the chase and all the officials slowly catching up with them is part of the thrill. Some say that without the constant treat of being caught dangling above their heads, serial killers wouldn’t feel the same satisfaction they did when they’ve managed to outsmart everyone once more.

In some cases those people were absolutely and totally wrong.

Jon had seen the change in her ever since she had killed Joffrey Baratheon in cold blood. Her back was straighter when she walked through the streets of London and the smile on her face was brighter when she greeted strangers and friends and foes whenever she passed them. She was no longer a little girl determined to prove society that she was capable of far more than they were willing to give her credits for. She was no longer a victim and she was no longer afraid of what lurked in the dark.

He had started killing because he had truly believed that science could bring back the mother he had lost. He had sought out women who wouldn’t be missed and lived horrible lives anyway and had freed them from their misery to take their organs. He had wanted to be caught, deep down knowing that what he did was wrong and that someone had to stop him.

But for her killing was like freeing herself from all the shackles she had worn for way too long. For the first time ever she was in control of her life. And finally she could judge and execute the monsters who could have done whatever they wanted with whomever they wanted for way too long already.

And even though he still needed to kill to satisfy his own hunger and needs, he also found satisfaction in watching her wield her weapons and murder men and boys who deserved it. He had already loved her long before death had buried its claws in her back, but with every kill and every dark night that passed he loved her more and more.

Her bright red hair seemed even redder when she was covered in the blood of her enemies and victims. Her bright blue eyes glimmered whenever she drank in the life of her victim fading away. And the blush on her cheeks and pearls of sweat covering her skin made it almost impossible for him not to touch her.

“Do you know why I am here tonight?” She wore a spotless white dress barely reaching her knees and she straddled the monster beneath her who had no idea what was really coming for him.

Ramsay Bolton still wore that stupid wide grin on his face and he stretched out his hand to touch her cheeks. “I always knew that one day you would change your mind and return to me begging for more.” He pushed himself up and his tongue licked her neck. His hands grabbed her shoulders and his thumbs bruised her pale, but perfect, skin. “They all come back eventually, you know?”

Sansa raised her eyebrows and Jon pressed himself against the wall to hide in the comfortable shadows. She didn’t need his help. She was not a damsel in distress needing rescuing from her husband. She was a femme fatale and the men she played with only realised they were nothing but useless and unneeded toys before it was already too late.

“I assume it is because there is a certain pleasure in pain.” Ramsay grabbed her hair and pulled her closer towards him. “When I twisted your hard nipples between my fingers you screamed, but even you couldn't tell if it was because it hurt or because you enjoyed it so much.” To prove his point he grabbed her breast and squeezed it firmly. “Shall I do it again, Sansa Snow-Stark?” He spoke softly and yet Jon could still hear him loud and clear. “It can be our little secret. No need for your husband to ever find out.”

Jon tensed all his muscles. He clenched his jaw and his fists and yet he still didn’t interfere. He knew what was coming for Ramsay Bolton. He knew what fate was waiting for the man who thought he was invincible and immortal. If Ramsay Bolton wouldn’t have been one of the many monsters scarring his beautiful bride, Jon even would have felt sorry for him. Now the moment couldn’t come soon enough, but he knew that Sansa liked to take her time.

Sansa shook her head. Her ponytail danced on top of her head and her hands tenderly wandered down Ramsay’s arms. “You are wearing too many clothes still, my lord.” She smiled when she tightened the rope, attached to the bed, around his wrist. “And Jon has taught me a few tricks I want to share with you too.” Quickly she attached his other wrist to the bedframe too. “I’m sure you can appreciate them.”

It was only when she stood up and tied his ankles to the bed too that Ramsay Bolton seemed to understand that something was off, that something was entirely wrong. The grin on his face faded and panic clouded his eyes. “What are you doing, lady Sansa?” His voice sounded a few tones higher than usual and Sansa crossed her arms over her chest while she put a dirty cloth in his mouth. Ramsay Bolton was at her mercy now. But there wouldn’t be any mercy today. Not for him.

“Jon?” Sansa held out her hand. “My knife, please.”

He stepped out of the comforting shadows and he saw Ramsay’s eyes widen when he placed the cold and sharp knife in Sansa’s hand.

“Any wishes concerning what I shall remove first?” Sansa walked back to the bed and once more she straddled the now completely powerless Ramsay Bolton. “I propose we start with the clothes.” Carelessly she started cutting the fabric. The sharp tip of her knife pierced Ramsay’s skin more than once and drops of blood rolled over his skin and stained the sheets.

“Oops…” Sansa smiled when eventually Ramsay Bolton lied entirely naked and bloodied under her. “I’m quite certain your servants have experience with bloodied sheets, right?” She cocked her head and then she looked over her shoulder.

Jon locked his glance with hers and he nodded. Even though he had killed to bring his mother back alive. And even though she killed to deal with the devils haunting her nightmares. In the end they killed for the exact same reason. To fill a void.

“Do you know what Jon likes for dinner most?” Sansa hissed between her teeth and then she curled her fingers around Ramsay’s dick. “Sausages.” She let the knife circle around the base. “And Theon told us about your secret recipe.” She cut deeper and for the first time ever tears rolled down Ramsay’s cheeks. “We however miss the key ingredient. But you are totally willing to help us with that, aren’t you?”

Ramsay shook his head, but nothing Ramsay did could change anything.

Jon knew exactly what Sansa would do. He had listened to her dreaming about it for months now. And each time her revenge grew more cruel and violent. A good husband maybe would have stopped her, would have told her to go for the easy kill. But he was not a good husband. He hadn’t been ever since he had invited death to claim his soul and had awakened the monster longing for blood in his own body.

With her tongue between her slightly parted lips she wielded her knife and a few minutes later she dangled Ramsay’s dick above his own head. “Want a taste of your own meat, my Lord?” Her hand moved to the gag, but at the very last moment she pulled her hand back. “I am afraid there is already too little for both me and Jon. I don’t want to waste anything on you.”

Jon chuckled and with his arms crossed he leaned against the wall. Sometimes there was a part of him feeling guilty about dragging her along with him, about bringing the darkness into her home and into her head and into her heart. But when he saw her like this that regret disappeared immediately. He felt the adrenaline rushing through his own veins when he watched her cut off Ramsay's nipples, one by one and agonisingly slow.

Then she moved on to Ramsay’s toes, to his fingers, to his ears and his lips. And all the while she kept talking to him. She reminded him of all the people he had killed, hurt or left scarred. She made him pay for every crime he had committed. And just when there was barely any life left in him because he had lost way too much blood and way too many body parts she pressed the cold knife to his throat.

“I should actually leave you here to bleed out slowly.” Her voice was hoarse from all the talking. “Because you don’t deserve a quick death.” She put some more pressure on the knife and it was hard to say if the blood dripping down his neck was from a new wound or from an old one. “But I am not you, Ramsay Bolton.” All of a sudden she slashed his throat. “In the end, I do have mercy.”

For a moment she just sat there motionless, then Jon walked towards her and sat down behind her. While Sansa dropped the knife he pressed her warm and bloodied body to his chest and his lips kissed her hair. “Whoever thinks they need to be afraid of me, hasn’t met you yet.” He felt her leaning back and he embraced her even tighter. “I'm afraid we will also have to kill the staff and Miranda. After all, they do know that you have been here.”

“They are all yours, Jon.” Sansa closed her eyes and she wrapped an arm around his neck. “I am satisfied.” She smiled. “For now.”