#tumbler love me please I don’t want to fell a cold emptiness show me your chaotic embrace

[guarddogteeth]

Hell yeah it’s time to play porn Pokémon! How many porn bot can I get to follow me in my first week here 😎

[artistic-writer]

The Paradox of Light :: CS AU : Rated E :: part 2

Title: The Paradox of Light by @artistic-writer​ Summary: Imagine having one person, one constant, one love in your life that holds your head when you go under the surface. They will be there forever, holding your hand through everything life can throw at the pair of you, but what happens when a crack forms? What happens when it grows into something neither of you can control? What happens when the one person who was there to guide you becomes an obstacle and rather than hold you up, they pull you down? How do you find your way out of the darkness without your light? Rating: E Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, alcoholism/alcohol abuse, sexual addiction, domestic violence, fighting, choking, erotic asphyxiation (use in a non-informed manner), depression, death of Liam Jones, panic attacks, PTSD, attempted rape/non-con/dub-con, stab wounds, bar fights, rehab/AA meetings

- but there is a happy ending to this story, i promise.

Author’s Note: I missed this ficversary because of everything that is going on in the world right now, but its been in the plan to re-release it as a multichapter for some time.  It’s A LOT otherwise and whilst I initially always intended this to be a one shot, because I wrote it in one go, its not logical to expect people to stop and read so many words in one go.  The lovely fanart by @itsfabianadocarmo​ features in all chapters, so go show her some love!

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS!!  This fic has a lot of them for a reason.  If you want to ask about any, please don’t be afraid to message me.

Part Two [ below the cut ]

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Five months ago

“Hi, Emma, it’s Will.”

“Is he…?”

“Yeah, I’m afraid so, lass.”

“I’m on my way. Don’t let him leave.”

Like so many phone calls before, Emma knew exactly what it meant when Will called her. He was a good friend of theirs, a military buddy of Killian’s and the manager of the local bar that just happened to be where Killian went night after night to poison himself into a stupor. Will could not turn him away whilst sober, despite knowing exactly what he was trying to achieve by drinking more than his weight in spirits, but even Will had a limit to how far he would go to help his friend.

And by Will’s tone, Emma knew Killian had reached his brand new threshold. Steadily he had become immune to the effects of prolonging drinking, becoming even more depressed as he had remained sober for longer, and to make matters even worse, Emma had let him. She felt awful, watching the man that she loved crumble each and every night he returned home in a mess of bitter tasting kisses and sloppy groping.

But she had made a choice, as selfish as it seemed, to ignore the rancid taste on Killian’s tongue night after night in favour of her own high that lie on the other side of her orgasm. They had fallen into a routine of him drinking himself stupid, his emotions getting the better of him when it was never enough, and then the both of them falling into bed and into each other to numb what they were feeling. It was wrong, and it was selfish, but Emma never wanted it to end.

What lay just beyond their grief was their hope, a guiding beacon of deliverance, and the only thing in their way was the pleasure of getting there, each losing themselves in the other and falling asleep in each other's arms. It had been enough and they had managed to function, neither saying a word of what they required because the other always knew. Except now they had become addicted to each other, with no sense of moderation, and that was why Emma found herself driving out to Will’s bar at midnight to retrieve her next fix.

Killian always drank in the same booth because that corner of the bar was dimly lit and he could hide his tears after each glass. When Emma approached it didn’t escape her notice that the table was full of empty tumblers, none with a single drop of alcohol left in the bottom, and that there were more than usual covering the wooden surface. He was slumped back in the soft, dark green leather seat, his chin on his chest and his fingers wrapped around what she assumed was his last drink, even though the glass looked as dry as a bone.

“Will cut me off,” he grumbled against his chest, not looking up to meet her gaze. Emma sighed pitifully.

“Come on, Killian, let’s get you home,” she coaxed gently as she moved some of the glasses away from the edge of the table. If he stumbled she didn’t need him breaking a glass or worse.

“I’m not…” he began, quickly blowing out his cheeks and swallowing the rise of burning bile that had crept up his throat.

“I think you’re done drinking,” Emma offered. She stepped forward and ran her hand through his hair as he lifted his head to look at her, a genuine smile that she had not seen for months plastered across his face, but as quickly as it appeared, it faded and Killian wrenched his head away from her touch.

“I’m not done drinking,” he spat, unable to stop himself when he fell sideways and out of the booth. Killian barely stopped his face colliding with the floor and quickly pushed himself to his knees. “That...That bastard said I’ve had enough!” He waved an accusing finger towards the bar, his eyes squinting at Will who simply watched with a solemn expression.

Emma gave Will a quick apologetic smile before turning back to Killian and crouching down beside him. “I think you’ve had enough,” Emma said seriously, her jaw clenching and her arms straining as she hooked her arm into his elbow and yanked Killian to his feet.

Killian shook his head from side to side, sucking on his bottom lip and closing his eyes just long enough to stop the world spinning. “I know I’ve got room for more,” he laughed maniacally, falling against Emma who struggled to hold him aloft by herself. Luckily, Will had seen the display, on more than one occasion, and was on hand to help instantly.

“Yeah? And why is that, mate?” Will lifted Killian’s arm and ducked under it, holding him with Emma who mirrored his actions on the opposite side. They shuffled towards the back door, that exit closest to Emma’s car, Killian still giggling like he had just outsmarted his biggest nemesis. They stopped briefly when Killian plastered his hand to the side of Will’s head, turning his face to his as his eyes peeled open and he looked him dead in the eye.

“Because I can still feel,” Killian said softly, his voice wavering on the last word. Will paused, the bleakness behind Killian’s eyes something he had never noticed before now. They were dull, the spark of blue he once saw from both Jones brothers now gone, replaced with a blackness that had turned them grey. Killian’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed a lump of tears down his throat and his lips twitched into a weak smile as he patted Will’s cheek and pressed his forehead against his. “It still hurts.”

“I’m sorry, mate,” Will almost whispered, grabbing the back of Killian’s head and holding him steady. “I wish I could take it away, you know that.”

“You can,” Killian whimpered. “Just one more…”

“No, Killian,” Emma interrupted gently and Killian looked away from his friend and back to the woman he loved with a slight sway. Will caught him and stopped him from falling backwards. “Let’s just go home.”

Her words were code, Emma knew it and Killian knew it too. Home wasn’t where they lived, parked their cars at night and watched their television. No, home was more than that. It was the place of peace they found inside of each other, the place they went to when they needed each other the most because the guilt of living was too much to bear. And above all else, home was where they could forget about the world and where the weight of misery was lifted from their shoulders.

They barely spoke on the way home, the cold night air whistling through Killian’s tousled hair as he rested his head against the doorframe, the window of the truck rolled all the way down. He sang to himself, songs from his tours of duty, songs that reminded him of his brother’s both familial and adoptive. The words were gut wrenching and Emma had no idea he even knew he was saying them aloud, but she simply drove and listened, the now familiar lump once again forming in her throat as he sobbed through each verse beside her.

“Emma?” Killian coughed her name roughly, a burn tearing through his lungs that was most likely from the cold and the alcohol. He had found the couch, his body too intoxicated to find its way to anywhere else in the house and he had collapsed back into the softness of the cushions as if they had beckoned him.

“Right here,” Emma murmured softly, tossing her car keys onto the kitchen island and moving into the lounge. “Here, drink this,” Emma commanded gently, lifting Killian’s hand and guiding it to the tall glass of water in her hand. He fumbled, barely gripping the slippery glass, so she helped him lift it to his lips and he sipped the ice cold liquid with disgust.

“Water?” Killian grimaced, turning his face away from it like a child. “Where is the rum?”

“No more rum,” Emma chastised, placing the glass on the table in front of them and settling beside him on the couch. She laid her hand down over his knee, feeling how cold he was through the fabric of his jeans.

“It’s not enough,” Killian scoffed, his words quickly turning into a sorrowful sob as they left his mouth. Emma knew what he meant and gave his knee a squeeze. The alcohol was not enough to take away the pain anymore and Emma wished she could ease his burden and carry some of his despair.

“Killian, I…” she began gently.

“You love me, right?” he blurted suddenly. Emma frowned a little as she took in his expression. It was soft, desperate and child like and his lip quivered. Killian’s cheeks flushed red and the tears in his eyes came back, the redness around his eyes reappearing as she saw the fresh wave that threatened to fall.

“Of course,” Emma slid closer to him and flattened her palm to his cheek. Killian leaned into her touch and held her hand to his face as he inhaled her scent. “I will always love you.”

“I want…” he stuttered, searching her eyes for a sign that she could understand what he wanted without him having to force the rest of the words from his mouth. Killian pulled Emma’s hand a little until she had no choice but to move with her arm and so she did, straddling his lap as he had intended.

“I know,” Emma whispered, leaning her forehead against his and cupping his face in her hands. Killian’s scruff tickled her palms but she ignored it as his tears soaked her fingers. “I want it too,” she gulped hard, her fingers sliding up and down the sides of his face, threading through his sideburns and tracing the outline of his elfen ears.

With a hefty sigh of relief, Killian’s dam broke and his audible cry of anguish rumbled from deep in his chest. “I know we shouldn’t,” he sobbed, his breath hitching in his throat and his hands finding the hem of Emma’s sweater. “But I just want to…”

“Feel free?” Emma sighed softly. Killian nodded against her and Emma pulled her face from his and moved off of his lap. He was hit with the very real panic of never letting the stabbing sensation in his chest be replaced with anything else until Emma grabbed the back of her sweater and pulled it over her head. She tossed it aside, made short work of her jeans and bra and left him stunned to silence when she stood before him as gloriously naked as the day she was born.

She was an angel, of that he was sure. She was a celestial being sent to guide him through the path of shadows and light his way to freedom. Only, Killian knew as much as Emma did, that if that was true, she was about to become one of the fallen, an angel tempted by the sins of man and never to be redeemed.

“Me too,” Emma rasped, sitting astride his lap once more and frantically tugging at the belt of his jeans. Helpless to aid her because of the heaviness of his limbs, Killian simply watched her nimble fingers work on the button of his jeans, tugging the sides apart and sending a shock wave of arousal coursing right through him.

This time was about her need, Killian knew that. She was quick, barely allowing herself to become aroused before sinking down onto him, wincing at the stretch and burn he knew she would undoubtedly feel from his girth. And there was a hurriedness in her actions, a hunter like instinct to find her own quarry that scared him a little until she found a rhythm that made her shudder and leaned forward to taste his lips.

“Make me come, Killian,” Emma gasped between bounces, planting her lips against his only long enough to feel them on her skin and not taste the sourness of rum on his breath. “Take me there.”

Killian wrapped his arms around her naked form, planting his hands firmly against her back until he felt the bumps of her spine beneath the tips of his fingers. Emma’s soft, downy body hair sprang to attention and she arched her back willingly when Killian curved her body away from his and loomed forward to capture a nipple between his lips. They were dry and cracked against her skin but Emma didn’t mind the texture. It was like a trigger, her external pain amplifying her internal struggle for release that only Killian could give her.

Nails clawed over her skin and teeth bit down on the peaks of her breasts and Emma screamed out, her orgasm ripping through her body like an exorcism, leaving its mark in the form of weak shudders and soft whimpers as the demon of desolation left her body once more. Killian followed shortly afterwards, his hips jutting into her throbbing core only a few more times before he found his own salvation and went deaf from it, the beacon of light shining through him once more.

There was a moment after they had both peaked that they felt free. They were free from pain, free to let hands roam over gentle curves and through messed up side parted hair, but it never lasted. They both knew they would wake up the next day, the high of their bliss having subsided and the demons of despair making their inevitable return, but for now all they had was this moment, and in this moment, they were alive.

Four months ago

Emma knew this day would come. Killian had left for work as normal, kissing her goodbye and acting as normal as any other person in the world. His breath was fresh and minty, a tiny remnant of toothpaste caught in the corner of his mouth that Emma had wiped away with a wet thumb pad. And there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes, one that Emma had not seen for months, a smile of genuine glee on his face and a sparkle in his eyes as he let the door close behind him and waved goodbye.

It wasn’t long after home time, when she had received no messages like she usually did, that panic set in and Emma realised that what Killian had been experiencing in the morning was simply mania. Depression was an evil thing, worming itself into the lives of unsuspecting people, creeping up on them without remorse. Every once in a while, there would be a peak of happiness that professionals would call mania, the manic side of being so low that you can’t physically take it anymore.

Killian had always texted Emma to tell her he was at Will’s bar, but not tonight, and after Will had texted her to say he had confiscated Killian’s keys, she had resigned herself to the fact that he was probably not coming home for the first time since Liam had died. She felt empty and was unable to drink the cinnamon topped hot chocolate she had prepared shortly before bed, simply leaving the milky drink to go cold and lumps of melted cream to float around the surface.

Emma knew she hadn’t been asleep long when she heard the rattle of keys struggling to find the lock on the front door. There was barely even the disorientation of sleep clouding her mind or the fuzz of sleep covering the inside of her mouth before she heard the cursing coming from the kitchen and the breaking of ceramic against the floor. The cold chocolate had met its demise against the slate tiles and Killian hadn’t even lowered his voice as he swore about the mess.

“Swan!” He called out groggily, his voice booming through the silent house. A light chuckle followed his shout but Emma did not move, her limbs heavy and her mind exhausted from her worry that had now been abated. She knew he would find his way to bed, he always had before, but the tingle in her joints and the increase of her heart beat told her that her body was not as annoyed as she should be.

The bedroom door opened with a thud as it hit the wall behind, the indent from the doorknob leaving a mark in the plaster of ever increasing depth. It was fruitless trying to cover it up now because if it wasn’t one addiction making the door fly open in a sloppy maneuver, it was the desperation of the other sending the cold, round handle into the wall night after night as they tore each other’s clothes off seeking their high.

“Swan?” Killian whispered all too loudly as he stumbled over his boots midway through kicking them off. “Are you awake?” He made it to the edge of the bed, falling forward and only just stopping himself with two flat palms to the mattress.

“I am now,” Emma lied, rolling over to face him. He was merry, not doubt about it, his rosy cheeks and red tipped ears telling her exactly his poison of choice. Rum always made him blush in random places.

“I tried to be quiet,” Killian slurred, swaying side to side as he lifted his knee onto the bed in an ungainly manner. He lost his balance instantly and slammed his foot back to the floor before he toppled over. “Did you make the bed higher?” He mumbled, inspecting the edge of the mattress with a frown.

“No, Killian,” Emma sighed, sitting up and flicking her hair behind her shoulders. She never went to bed with her hair tied up anymore, not since meeting Killian, but it had been months since he had absently run his fingers through it in his sleep and inhaled the soft vanilla scent from her shampoo.

“I like your hair,” Killian grinned at her, eyelids heavy and a boyish smirk plastered across his face. Emma rolled her eyes and raised an eyebrow at him, shaking her head a little. “It’s so…” He paused, trying to find the words, poking his tongue out and sucking behind his teeth until he made a squeaking noise. “...yellow.”

“Yellow?” Emma asked incredulously.

“Aye, like the bug,” Killian smiled at her and it was real, a soft curve of his lips that were slightly parted and told her that he was happy, if only for this moment. He attempted to mount the bed once again, this time victoriously, and shuffled onto his side once he had taken a good two minutes to free his arms from the confines of his leather jacket. He tossed it across the room with little effort and when he ran his hand through his hair, Emma noticed the dried blood adorning his knuckles in the light of the moon.

“You’ve cut your hand,” She said quickly, pulling his hand closer so she could inspect it. The skin on his knuckles had burst open leaving a jagged edged wound in its wake, the fresh, bright red blood still trying to escape through the dried, dark brown crust. Emma leaned over and pulled the toggle switch on one of their bedside lamps, the room erupting in a dim orange glow as soon as the clicking sound filled their ears.

“I’m fine,” Killian shrugged dismissively.

Emma looked up from his hand to meet his gaze and her eyes went wide, the light flooding into her pupils and making her eyes sting. “Killian! You’re hurt!” She shrieked, moving closer, the feather duvet ruffling around her as she did, her eyes roaming over his face. He was beat, there were no bones about that, a purple swell under his right eye keeping his eyelids together and a dried line of blood that had trickled down the side of his face.

“You should see the other guy,” Killian said joyously, giving her a wink. Emma tutted, mostly at herself because as her hand hovered over a freshly reopened wound on his right cheek, she felt a surge of want that scared her. She was fascinated by the patterns of splattered blood on his shirt collar, turning the blue material into a dark maroon colour under ear spot, and she felt a blush creep up the back of her neck.

“Killian, I’m serious,” Emma chastised, enjoying the weight of his hand in hers, even if she shouldn’t under the circumstances. Her mind wandered briefly when he turned their hands over, brushing his thumb over the backside of her knuckles in a move so gentle her heart skipped in her chest and she had to swallow hard.

“So am I,” he said softly, his good eye fluttering closed when Emma’s featherlight fingertips brushed over the split skin next to his hairline.

“Is this all your blood?” Emma asked nervously as her eyes flickered over his face more urgently. Her gaze roamed lower and took in his shirt, top buttons tore off most likely from an opponent who had grabbed at the material. He had some dark red fingerprint type smudges across his neck, half shaped moon bruises there from fingernails and his chest hair glistened with a wet look.

“I’m sure it is not all mine,” Killian announced proudly. “I gave as good as I got, love, trust me.”

Emma flattened her hands out over his shirt, dread setting into her heart when she felt the warm, wet sensation under her fingers and realised that the wet look to his chest hair was in fact blood, his blood, from a wound that had been newly inflicted or was struggling to stem itself under the friction of his shirt. Emma tore at the remainder of his buttons, ripping the edges of his shirt apart in haste.

“Oh my god,” She exclaimed breathlessly, her face turning alabaster and heat prickling her skin when she saw the damage. “Fuck, Killian, you’ve been stabbed!”

“What?” Killian laughed nervously, craning his neck to look down at where Emma was looking. Sure enough, even through blurred vision, Killian could see the irregular circular shape punched into his pec, the flaps of skin around the edges the faintest shade of white under the layer of caked on blood. He lifted his head again, the colour draining from his face in shock. “Well, bugger.”

The hospital was more than understanding and why wouldn’t they believe the word of the local sheriff when she told them her boyfriend was accidentally injured in a bar fight? It probably wasn’t a million miles from the truth, but Killian could not remember how it had happened. A quick call to Will confirmed that there had been an altercation in the bar that, but nothing more than a few pickled slurs and insults that had fizzled out towards closing time. It seemed whoever Killian had ticked off had followed him out back because Will had found a broken bottle by the dumpster, the bottom shattered, bloody fingerprints around the neck and the sharp, pointed edges covered in dried blood.

“You are lucky,” Emma snapped, tossing her purse onto the kitchen counter.

“I’m alright, love,” Killian said with a wince as he shrugged out of his blood stained jacket whilst being mindful of his injury.

“That’s not the point,” Emma bit out, unable to look in his direction. “Not only did you not come home when Will’s closed, but when you did finally fall through the door you were stabbed, Killian! Stabbed!”

“I’m sorry, Swan,” Killian gulped, the last few hours having sobered him up enough that he could see the pain in her posture and the hurt in her voice as it switched between anger and fear. He moved towards her, his bootless feet falling silent on the tile, sidestepping the congealed chocolate he had spilled a few hours ago.

Emma leaned forward, trembling hands clinging to the edge of the marble as the emotion of the whole evening hit her like a freight train. Killian’s hands were on her as soon as the flood gates opened, drawing slow circles over the curve of her shoulder joints with his thumbs as she cried. Emma shook, her whole body wracked with sobs she had been holding in since the moment she discovered the gaping hole in his chest.

“Damn it, Killian!” She cried, slamming a flat palm into the cold, stone surface in front of her.

“I know,” he soothed sympathetically.

“They said you were lucky!” She screeched, turning to face him. He didn’t step back and ignored the pain that shot through his wound with the twist of his arm.

“I know…,” he agreed.

“Half an inch to the right and that bottle would have pierced your heart!” Emma bellowed, her eyes falling to where the dried blood had turned his shirt a dark shade of brown. The hospital had cleaned away most of the blood that had stuck to his chest hair and he had left his shirt open on the way home, so Emma reached out and pressed her fingers against the steady beat of his heart, the skin warm and supple under her touch. She raked her nails over the patch of hair above his heart, millimeters from the tape of the bandage covering the hole in his pec and couldn’t stop the quiver in her lip as the tears tumbled from her eyes. “I could have lost you,” she whimpered, lifting her head to finally face him, the expression of a broken man staring back at her. “I can’t lose you.”

Killian fought the ache in his chest and lifted his arms, pulling her into his embrace, the bandage on his chest quickly soaked by Emma’s tears. “I know,” he sighed sadly, tucking her head under his chin and rubbing his hands up and down her back.

There were no words that he could say that would make her feel better. Emma had been stronger than he could have ever been but finally her integrity had shattered into a thousand pieces, all of which he held in his hands, a charge he neither felt qualified or strong enough to uphold. Emma’s fingers clutched at the edges of his shirt as she cried, holding him to her with distress in her wails that he would never forget.

She lifted her head and real fear flashed through her eyes, turning the honey hues into a murky hazel. Killian met her gaze, the silence between them saying everything that they needed to. He recognised the look in her eyes, he had seen it before when Liam had died and she had thought she would lose him to the sharp edge of a razor blade or in a bottle of prescription painkillers. It was primal, urgent and miserable want of the highest degree.

And he felt it too.

“What are we doing to each other?” Killian rasped, his voice catching in his throat as his eyes flickered between hers and her lips.

“Shut up and kiss me,” Emma commanded on a heaving breath, her fingers curling around the crusty edges of his shirt.

“Emma, I…” Killian began, his sobriety giving him a moment of clarity in this toxic part of their relationship he hadn’t experienced until now. Emma’s hands were on the back of his neck before any more words could escape his mouth, his body ignoring his brain’s objections as soon as their lips met. The kiss was feverish, burning them up from the inside out and making them gasp for oxygen between tastes of tongues, clashes of teeth and the biting of lips.

They had sex differently now. It wasn’t making love so much as fucking, diving into each other until they were drowning in the sounds of pleasure and the smell of their sweat sheened skin invaded their senses. It was hurried, like a race into wretchedness with no winner, a sprint for the finish line that left them elated but never sated.

Killian wanted her, and Emma wanted him. That was all they knew.

When Emma tangled her fingers into his hair, pulling in frustration, Killian growled and it set a switch off inside of Emma. Gone were her tears, gone was her worry that she might never have him again, instead the vacancy in her core replaced with desire, deep and sultry that had her tugging again at the dark locks and biting his bottom lip a little harder than he was used to. He cried out again and tore his lips from hers, dabbing his stinging bottom lip with a fingertip and inspecting it for blood. Killian looked up at her again, confused and aroused, Emma was looking up at him through her eyelashes, her body arching into his and her teeth troubling her bottom lip salaciously. He grinned, the intense throb in his jeans hurting that little bit more than before.

“There’s my pirate,” Emma cooed his nickname, wrapping her fingers around the chain that Killian wore around his neck. He never took it off because it held one of his most prized possessions, Liam’s ring, and she slid her hand down the cool metal links until she had it in her palm.

Killian surged forward, ignoring the sting of pain as he hoisted her into his arms and she wrapped her legs around his waist. She could feel his length through his jeans pressing into the thin material of the pajamas she had neglected to change out of in her panic to get him to the hospital before and it made her groan, snaking her hands around his neck and pulling his already open mouth to hers.

Their kisses were messy, wet and rushed, tongues diving deeper than they ever had before. Emma noticed the distinctly faded taste of a different brand of rum on Killian’s tongue and wondered if he had drunk through Will’s supply already that week, but it was short lived when Killian swiped an extended arm over the kitchen table, ridding it of a few magazines and candles, and them slammed her down on the hard, wooden surface with a grunt. He stood back, a dark hollowness to his stare as he grabbed the waistband of her pants and underwear at the same time and pulled them off in one motion.

“Hurry,” Emma begged wantonly, writhing on the table and watching his hands fumble with the button of his jeans. “I need you,” She purred as she traced circles over her clit, slicking her nectar from her fluttering core and using it as lubrication over the pulsating bundle of nerves. Killian was free in no time, roughly grabbing Emma’s knees as he stepped up to the edge of the table and pulling her to him, his tip stretching her entrance in just the most torturous way.

“I need you too,” Killian said firmly, his entire body shaking from holding himself back. Emma hooked her legs around his back, digging her heels into his spine and pulled him closer, impaling herself with a raging satisfaction.

“So, take me,” She challenged and it was all Killian needed to begin a rhythm with his hips that left her inner walls screaming for more and her body boneless.

He was relentless, gasping for breath and holding her to him as he thrust into her, barely leaving the comfort of her fiery centre for fear he might never find his way back. Emma yelped when he pulled her a little too harshly, hooking his hands behind her knees, his fingernails digging into her flesh so hard she was sure she would have bruises the next day. They would be a reminder, proof of their devotion and a visual description of the actions of their addiction to each other, hidden from friends but they would know they were there.

They would always know they were there.

As with any dependency, their trysts had become stale and they needed more each time in order to find the shining light within each other and feel the relief of a climax as it washed over them. Killian stopped his pounding thrusts when Emma screamed his name in such a way that meant she was close, cruelty he knew, but he wasn’t done with taking her to heaven just yet. Emma whined with a frown, but it was short lived because ignoring the searing pain from the stitches pulling against his freshly torn skin on his chest, Killian pulled her up off the table and into his arms, spinning them and stumbled into the side of the refrigerator.

“Yes,” Emma whispered, clutching the sides of his face and clawing at his cheeks. “More,” she panted, biting his chin and stiffening as he rolled his hips in that perfect way again and again.

“You’ll never lose me,” Killian panted between thrusts, his hands grabbing the globes of her naked ass as he leaned his entire weight against the buzzing appliance to hold Emma up. “Never,” he affirmed with a deep, core clenching plunge into her that made Emma bury her face in his neck and squeal with her impending orgasm.

“I’m there,” Emma sighed and she felt Killian grab the top of the refrigerator, pulling himself into her even harder to prolong her pleasure. “Come with me,” she begged, her voice almost as if she was crying, ready to explode on the inside, the approaching light inside of her numbing her senses and taking away her breath as well as her pain. Killian crowed, his legs buckling and giving out from underneath him, the pair of them tumbling to the floor and rolling into the remnants of the hot chocolate long forgotten.

Their bliss wouldn’t last, they both knew that, for tomorrow they would wake up still broken and damaged.

[rickstexaschick]

Rick’s Texas Chick: Chapter 19

Originally published on AO3 at:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15183545/chapters/35527206#workskin

After she and Harley left the pub together, Rick portalled back, directly into her house.  Even though it was his idea, it had taken more effort than he’d expected to let her leave with Harley.  Watching them disappear into the night gave him a hollow feeling.  Somehow going back to her empty house was better than being alone in his room.

He poured himself a large tumbler full of whiskey, then taking the bottle he went and sat on the couch in the dark and turned on the tv. Her black cat, her favorite, jumped up next to him, purring and rubbing itself against Rick’s hand where it rested on his leg holding the whiskey.  This one seemed to like him more than the other cats, had kind of adopted him pretty much from the beginning.  It always showed up when he was over.

He moved the glass to his other hand, then absentmindedly began stroking the cat lightly.  Purring loudly, it curled up next to him and went to sleep.  Rick changed the channel to some stupid crap and muted the tv, then sat there and slowly got drunk, petting the cat.  Tried not to think about her in Harley’s arms and failing.  He didn’t think he could stand this, wondered why he had even thought this was a good plan.  

If she wasn’t going to talk to him about the abuse she suffered at the hands of her husband, then why the hell would she tell a total stranger?

Because Harley wasn’t, really.  That was the whole point.

Sighing, he drained his whiskey and put the empty glass down on the coffee table with a clunk, making the cat jump off the couch with a startled hiss.  He grabbed the whiskey bottle by the neck and climbed the stairs to her room.  He peeled off his clothes in the bathroom then took the bottle with him into the shower and drank deeply while hot water cascaded down his shoulders and back.  He set the bottle on the shelf and reached for her bar of soap, then slowly began to lather himself.  The rich citrus scent filled the air, filling his brain with images of her, memories of making love to her, fucking her.  

He wrapped his fingers around his huge cock and stroked himself slowly.  He played through his memories like a film.  He watched each one while running his hand up and down, pulling his palm across his sensitive head over and over.  Rubbing along the sensitive frenulum with his thumb, he reached down with his other hand and cupped his balls, fondling them.  His mind took him to tonight, watching her with Harley, and he began to stroke faster, more urgently.  His moans filled the shower, echoing off the tiles and he braced himself against the wall with one hand.  His head hung down in concentration as his other hand pumped faster, almost painfully so.  He imagined the two of them together, could hear her cries as she came.  His hips jerked and he came hard with a hoarse, angry shout.

“FUCK!”  His cum shot out in long, ropey spurts, hitting the tile wall.  He continued to stroke, pumping himself dry.  Shaking, head down, he held himself up against the wall with both hands and watched bleary eyed as his cum slowly slid down the tile.  The water grew cold as it continued striking his back and ass and he turned around and slapped it off.  Drunk and still dripping, he collapsed naked in her bed and pulled her pillow up against his face.  He took a deep breath, inhaling her familiar scent, then fell asleep, snoring deeply.  

Her black cat jumped up onto the bed and curled up next to him silently, a sentry in the night.

******

Before sun-up the next morning she awoke from a deep sleep to the sound of dogs barking, and her eyes popped open.  Suddenly she remembered where she was, and with whom, and she stiffened, half expecting her Rick to come bursting angrily into the room.  Strong arms tightened protectively around her as Harley held her against his chest.

Sleepily, he murmured into her ear, “S’just the paper, honey...Not Rick…”  His warm breath tickled and she shivered, snuggling closer to him for warmth.

He reached for the down comforter and retrieved it from where it had slithered half off her side of the bed, pulling it back up over them.  Trailing his hand under the covers, he caressed her breasts, feeling her nipples tightening, before holding her comfortably across her stomach.  He slid one long leg up between both of hers until his muscular thigh pressed against her pussy, still wet with his cum and her juices, then gently bumped her with it a few times.

“Go back t’sleep or I’ll fuck you s’more,” he whispered gruffly in her ear.

She giggled, then she closed her eyes and fell back to sleep in his arms.

*******

Several hours later, the smell of fresh-brewed coffee and frying bacon drifted into his subconsciousness.  Stirring, he rolled over and opened his eyes.  The bedroom was fully lit with sunshine.  It was well past the time he normally woke up.  Sighing, he sat up and dropped his legs over the side of the bed and sat with his feet resting on the floor.  The day would’ve probably been a wash as far as him getting any work done, anyway.  Yawning loudly, he rubbed his eyes then stood up, pulling on his jeans.  He went and took a leak and brushed his teeth.  He felt pleasantly tired from a night of lots of fucking and little sleep.  Barefoot and shirtless, with his jeans zipped but unbuttoned, he wandered out into the kitchen to see what she was up to.  Apart from making breakfast.

She was standing in front of the cabinet by the stove, reaching high above her head and trying unsuccessfully to get to a large bowl on an upper shelf.  Her back was to him and she was wearing his shirt from the night before, her black lace panties exposed by the raised hem of the shirt.

Walking silently up behind her, he slapped her lightly on the ass then gently squeezed it, simultaneously reaching over her head to get the bowl and hand it down to her.  She yelled in surprise, nearly dropping the bowl.

“Sucks being short, don’t it?”  He grinned down at her.  He helped himself to a piece of fried bacon from a plateful on the back of the stove and munched into it before leaning down and kissing her on the cheek.

“Hmmm.  Mornin’.”  He went to the coffee maker and poured himself a cup.

“I tried to find the sugar---” she began.

“Don’t need it.”

“---or some milk----”

“Don’t want any.”

“---so, then I found some arsenic and used that instead,” she finished, sounding pleased with herself.

He choked mid-sip, looking sharply at her and coughing.  She winked at him.  “Next time let me finish my sentence.”

“Damn, woman,” he said, still coughing.  “Y-Y-You like to start the day off hard on a man, don’t you?  Come on, I-I’m old.  Don’t do me like that.”  He went and collapsed into a kitchen chair, still coughing and laughing.  “Come over here, doll,” he finally managed.

“Hey, I’m the one who just got snuck up on and hit on the ass, and you’re talking about me giving you a hard start to your day?”  She walked over and he pulled her onto his lap and kissed her soundly on the lips.  “How do you like your eggs?” she asked him.

“However you want to make them, doll,” he answered promptly, grinning at her.

-----

They’d finished breakfast and were lying on opposite ends of the couch, sharing the light blanket across their legs.  He was reading the paper and she was dozing with one arm bent across her face covering eyes, her lips parted.  With one foot on the ground, the other leg he had stretched out on the couch under the blanket and was absentmindedly rubbing his foot lightly against her side, gently squeezing her with his toes.  She mumbled in her sleep and shifted slightly, her muscles tensing as echoes of a disturbing dream mirrored on her face.  Quietly, he set the paper down and reached under the blanket and began lightly rubbing her foot, watching her while she slept.  She relaxed, sighing.

Last night was not as spontaneous as she thought.  It had culminated after several weeks of discussion, if no real planning on his own part.  Her Rick had approached him, met him several times at the pub, like they usually did.  They were old friends, to be sure, had fucked around together, including Polo and with some other Ricks, but they’d never really shared a woman.  This is the first time Rick had ever actually proposed something like this to him.

Well, it was the first time Rick, any of them, had seen her in their lives.  When she’d told Rick that her parents had chosen to have her instead of following the doctor’s advice and getting an abortion, and that she’d unexpectedly been born without any medical or mental problems… Well, like Rick had told Harley, it explained so much.  Because, otherwise, she just didn’t seem to exist anywhere else, not in this condition, at least.

However, Rick still hadn’t told her that yet; didn’t want her to know yet.  He had only recently introduced her to portalling.  And this was her first time to be around other Ricks.  She wasn’t aware that there were other dimensions where she did, or as the case usually was, didn’t exist.  No, better to not let her know about any of that, yet.

Instead, Rick was still trying to get her to face what had happened to her during her marriage with the other Rick.  Ricardo.  He wanted her to get it out, talk about it, instead of carrying it around locked inside forever.  He could see how it was tearing her apart inside.  She had nightmares, tossing and turning in her sleep, mumbling, crying out, saying her ex’s name, sweating the sheets up with fear.  Rick would hold her, soothing her with soft kisses until the dream passed and she relaxed in his arms.  She never mentioned the dreams, apparently didn’t even realize she was having them.  

But he could never get her to tell him the things Ricardo had done to her that still haunted her.  Even after that evening when she lay beneath him on the couch and spilled most of her guts, this other part of her history she still stubbornly kept to herself.  He’d wondered if it was an unconscious part of the psychological trauma or was she too afraid, or ashamed, to talk about it?  The few times Rick had asked her about the scars on her back and elsewhere she’d stiffened up, literally, saying, “He did that,” but refused to elaborate.

And to top it off, Rick himself had screwed up.  He’d leave, take off and do his own thing without telling anyone, like always.  But she didn’t know him well enough, didn’t know that this was how he was, who he was, that he always came back, would come back to her.  She had no idea, of course, that he’d gone looking for her in other dimensions.  Wondering why he hadn’t heard of her with any other Ricks.

After she told him about her ex he left to go looking for the asshole. Tracked him down, then sent him portalling back to his own dimension with no way to leave it, get back to her.  He could see that after each “disappearance” she’d withdrawn from him a little bit more.  Still happy for his company at her place, having incrediblly hot sex.  But he didn’t know if he could ever regain her full trust again to talk to him, like she had before.

Then, when she mentioned the idea of multiple partners, literally saying she wanted multiple Ricks without even realizing at the time that it was possible…  It presented a solution for him.  For them both.

Rick knew her, understood her better than she did herself.  He could read her like a book, from the moment they met.  He knew that she would be attracted to Harley's easy-going nature.  Rick was confident that she would accept him, maybe even trust him enough to talk about what happened.  Thus, he’d reached out to Harley with a proposal.  Meet for drinks, a few rounds of pool.  If she was interested in him, then Harley was welcome to take her out and show her a good time.  If it led to anything more, then he had Rick’s blessing, such as it was, as difficult as that was to do.  So, Harley had agreed to meet her, sight unseen, a blind date as it were.

Most Ricks were notorious lotharios, and if that weren’t bad enough, since most of them were assholes, they would screw each other’s sister out of spite if they only had one, or better yet their mother, if she were still alive.  Rick reaching out to Harley over this had shown uncharacteristic trust for a Rick, and faith in their friendship and in each other’s character.  One never knew where something like this might lead, even with the best of intentions.

But Rick had forgotten about all the hearts involved.  Forgot that he still had one himself.

Now, here Harley was, stretched out on the couch with Rick’s woman after an incredible night of fucking.  And it still wasn’t over yet, unless she decided it was.

tbc

[imgoldielikehawn]

Once Mine Always Mine  Part 8

Rating/ Mature (Smut, Death, Violence, Mental Illness, Abuse)

Pairing/ Jared Letos Joker X WOC 

Word Count/ 1,868

Master List  and Part 7

AN/ Well I know its been absloutley forever I hope you enjoy this! its one of my off the wall projects but I love a rotten love story.. what can I say? LOL feedback is appreciated! 

Forever Tag List: @sparklemichele​ @readsalot73​ @oddsnendsfanfics​ @titty-teetee​ @lupy22​ @kenzieam​ @harleycativy​ @laketaj24​ @beltz2016​ @beltzboys2015-blog​ @galaxygimger1234​ @asadmelon​ @wilddrabble @captstefanbrandt @yessscolbybrock​ @oneday-i-will-fight-luke17​ @jdroman5432​ 

Joker Tags: @harleycativy​ @ariwolff14​

PAST

  Pulling up to the club I left strict instructions for the girls on how to proceed for the night and then got back in my car. The drive to my warehouse wasn’t far and I knew I would need a few things before I left.

My heels clicked as they hit the concreate ground on the way to the door. First things first I thought as the guard let me through the metal door. “Time to do away with this hair color.”

 “Did you bring what I asked?” I turned to Misha.

 “Yeah boss. Its in the kitchen.” She gestured to the room down the hall and I followed her down to the large open kitchen. It was empty except for the basic kitchen amenities and a few chairs. I dropped down into the one closest to the sink. The whole time Misha was bleaching my hair I watched in awe as my hair went from black to almost white to green. She took her time coming and blow drying my hair as she finished up.

 When I  myself in the mirror she held up for me I was shocked and pleased with the drastic change. I grabbed my weapons and keys and then I remembered that this hair changed called for an outfit change too. I decided on a purple leather dress and knee high boots.

 “Misha bring the car around.” I said grinning. I looked in the mirror one last time before applying my MAC Lipstick and heading out the door.

 We pulled up to an enormous house and Misha parked out front, it didn’t take long for my door to be opened and I followed the valet up to the large house where he escorted me into the siting room just inside the door. I hugged my green fur close to my body to combat the chill. The man led me to an office where he showed me to a seat and brought me a small glass of brandy.

 “The Master will be with you shortly.” He said before bowing out of the room. In a few moments a second door opened and the Mayor of this shit town walked in to the room.

 “Audrey, its been a long time since I’ve seen you, how are things?” He asked before pouring himself a glass and going to stand by the window.

 “Things are the same father, thank you for asking.” I took a swing of my drink and set it down onto the glass table.

 My father and I had never quite gotten along but he did love all the money my club brought in. We’d always had a sour relationship because we were exactly the same. When I was two years old my mother was killed in the crossfire of one of my fathers business meetings and I had never quite forgiven him for it. He’s since then remarried to an awful woman and we hardly had contact after I turned 18.

 “I really didn’t come here to chat father, I came on business. As you know I've had some uncomfortable dealings with the Joker these last few months.” I stood from my seat.

 “Ah, yes I had heard that. Has everything been settled. I cant stand unwanted chaos and as long as that clown is kept at bay my life remains unaffected.” He shook his head and frowned.

 The thought that my father allowed all the bad in the city to happen as long as his pockets remained full disgusted me. I knew my criminal genes came from somewhere but he was a monster all his own.

 “He made me an offer I could not refuse daddy, so I sold him the club.” I said this casually knowing just how much this news would rattle my father. It wasn’t true but he need not know that. I watched as he sputtered and chocked on his brandy. He turned several shades of red as he coughed and before he could catch his breath I reached for the gun tucked into my fur coat.

  “You know its your fault mother died, then you married that awful woman and hardly batted an eye at mothers death. So I propose a toast.” I bent down and used my free hand to grab my glass from the table and raised it to eye level.

 “Audrey… what-t are you..” My father stammered with wide eyes as I raised the pistol to my temple.

 “I SAID I PROPOSE A FUCKING TOAST!” I yelled a grin spread across my face as I watched my father shakily raised his glass while stammering and pleading with me to put the gun down.

 “To my mother, the woman I loved and the woman you killed!” I laughed and tossed back the drink. I pulled back the hammer and took a few steps closer to my father

So I could get a closer look as he fell apart.

 “Goodnight Father..” I licked my lips and moved my finger to the trigger.

 “NO NO NO NO AUDREY PLESE DON’T DO THIS! WHAT CAN I DO TO MAKE IT UP!” He screamed hysterically.

 “I thought you’d never ask” I frowned.

 “BANG!” The shot rang out and my fathers blood splattered my face and chest.

        PRESENT

   We got out of the tumbler and took the elevator to the main level of the house. I had a few scrapes and bruises from where The Jokers hands had dug in and the glass had cut my skin. My first instinct was to turn to Bruce but he was already gone. I sighed and sought solace in a nice warm shower. The water ran over my shoulders and sore skin, I could feel myself relaxing and the weight of the day seemed to melt from my shoulders; however, that meant my thoughts were swimming with the scenes between me and Mistah J and it didn’t take long for the voices to speak up as well.

  “We told you he was looking for you, worried sick he was! You stupid girl!” They snapped.

  “No, he didn’t want us I was sure of it. Stop talking!” I whined back.

 “Look what you’ve done! Gone and told Mistah J that we loved someone else!” Their voices curled around my brain like a noose.

 “I do love someone else! I wanna be with Bruce I don’t wanna be crazy for Mistah J anymore I want to be normal! Just go away!” I sobbed desperately

 “You know the rulessssss once Property of Mistah J, Always Property of Mistah J!” The voices in my head laughed in unison as I sobbed outwardly.

 After my shower I crawled into bed and lie still looking at the ceiling thoughtfully. Was this to be my life? Forever trapped in between who I want to be and who I am. Would there ever come a day when I spent more moment living in the present than fretting over the past?

Would the voices ever quiet? And my least favorite question; would I return to The Joker?……….

   PAST

  I didn’t go looking for The Joker after I killed my father but it did not take long for him to find me.

 I was standing in the bathroom at my penthouse washing the blood off my face when I heard a commotion coming from the living room. So I rushed to see what was going on snatching my gun from the sink.

  ”WELL WELL WELL! If it isn't the insane AUDREY COLT!” The Joker exclaimed.

 “What are you doing here Mistah J?” I said firmly and maintaining my distance.

 “IM here for you of course Doll! You did it! I cant believe you killed the Mayor of Gotham and all for little ol ME ME ME!” He stepped forward and flung out his gold coattails.

 “Step right up and claim your prize!” He held his pale tattooed hand out towards me and I watched his icy eyes glisten with malice.

 “Mistah J.” I said in a tone barely above a whisper.

 “Come here Doll, NOW!” He snapped whilst reaching forward and snatching my hand. I lifted my gun and he grinned wildly.

 “You gonna shoot daddy? Deja Vu!!!!” He laughed tossing my gun away.

 I was frozen. I didn’t know what to do or more importantly what he would do next.

 “You’re so good…” He pulled me against him and then stared at me closely. His cold hands roamed my body as though he was assessing merchandise instead of holding a human being. “Why’d you dye your hair! I hate it!” He sneered before running his hands gently through my green curls.

 “EVERYONE GET OUT!” He yelled and let off a single shot causing his henchmen and mine to scatter.

 When the room was empty besides us two he reached behind me and lowered the zipper to my purple leather dress and my skin responded to his cool touch. He turned me around slowly and continued to lower the zipper until it reached the end. I swear I could hear him gasp at my black Lace Bra and thong. My pooled around my feet and I felt his pistol in my back beckoning me to step forward and out of it.

 “Mistah J..” I said into the quiet room. He turned me back around and cupped my chin like he used to.

 “Don’t be scared Doll, Daddys not going to hurt you. I'm going to make you feel good.” He was so close to my face that I could smell his intoxicating cologne and minty breath. He placed a rough and possessive kiss against my lips and ran his tongue against my bottom lip. I parted my lips and moaned as he explored my mouth.

 His cool fingertips circled my nipple until it became a hardened bud. He pulled out a small knife with a green and purple blade and my eyes met his as he slid the blade under the center of my bra and sliced in easily in half. My breasts exposed causing my face and neck to flush with warmth. He sheathed the knife and slipped his hands in between my thighs.

 “You’re soooo wet for me doll… After I fuck you… you’ll belong to me.” He whispered deeply as he began to work my throbbing clit.

 “I already am…” I breathed. My mind was gone and there was no turning back.

 “Oh Audrey… you haven't seen a fucking thing yet……” He chuckled.