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crazyyanderefangirlfan · 3 years

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Bring on the Mania! Pt 4

After escaping from the mermafia, they managed to make it to professor Crewel. But ever after since encountering the twins, Amane was surprisingly well behaved, sure he would flirt with a student from time to time. But when they left the classroom, he would look behind his shoulder every so often.

"Uhhh, are you okay? You've been acting paranoid ever since we ran into Azul and the twins." Concern etched her features. It grew when she watched him flinched at the mention of the latter.

"Ha-hahaha! What are you talking about, Sugar tits? I'm just peachy!" His smile didn't convince her. She could see the corners of his mouth twitched. She glanced at Grim and Lisha; the former furrowed his brows in suspicion, while the latter had a worried look in her eyes.

School ended for the day. Valerie and Amane made it to the entrance of the school where the rest of her first-year squad was. Tomorrow was the weekend, and she texted them for a sleepover, and they all agreed. Though they were still wary of him, they were able to hold a conversation with him better.

"Wait." Ace started. "You guys ran into Azul and the twins."

"And he's been jumpy ever since?" Deuce ended, glancing at the man, who was busy chatting with Epel about Lisha, the said strix nestled herself on Epel's fluffy head.

"Yeah, I don't know what they said to him, but whatever those two said really did a number on him." Valerie carefully cradled a sleeping Grim in her arms.

"I wouldn't be surprised if they have blackmail on him, considering that his family has a strong influence on Twisted Wonderland, and Azul will use that for his benefit." Jack added, huffing at the thought of it.

"But, they just met him. How could they obtain that information in less than a day?" Deuce thought.

"With how he paraded himself, it wouldn't be hard for him to the object of discussion for the whole school, even more so his family name." Sebek nodded.

The sound of music and praise filled the air when they neared the sports field. Valerie paused to see the commotion; the others did too, curious about what took the girl's attention.

There was a crowd of people, and they all surrounded whoever they were cheering for. Deciding to go nearer, Valerie politely excused herself from her friends, much to their confusion, and carefully waded her way through the crowd.

"Excuse me. Sorry, coming through." She repeatedly apologized before finally made her way to the source.

In the center of it all were Jamil and another student in the middle of a heated breakdance competition. By the look of it, no one was sure who was winning. She spotted Kalim in the far corner, holding a large 'Go Jamil!' sign over his sign.

"You're doing amazing, Jamil!" The garnet-eyed male cheered with a brilliant smile on his face.

Valerie felt her friend's presence. Hearing some of them catch their breaths confirms it.

"Damn it, Princess, and you said me and Deuce give you a headache." She heard Ace complain. She felt him lean to her side, his hand resting on her head.

"Do you think Jamil is winning?" Deuce asked as he watched in awe as the two students kept on pulling advance moves.

"I sure hope so." She replied, having full faith in her senior's abilities.

Amane stood behind her, pursing his, and folded his arms over his chest. He had a contemplative look on his face as he watched them dance. A loud cheer caught his attention, he glanced in the direction of it, and a flash of realization came to his fate when he saw Kalim.

Jamil delivered the finishing move that ended the battle and claimed his victory. The crowd cheered for his win, congratulated him, even his opponent, who wasn't even phased by his defeat, and admitted that he was the better dancer. Kalim happily ran over and tackled him for a hug. Jamil staggered from the impact but recovered quickly and tried to get him off.

"Oi! Get off!" Jamil demanded, trying to push his dorm leader away.

"Jamil, I'm so happy for you! You were incredible!" The energetic male praised. Jamil stopped when it appeared that he wasn't going to move from his position and reluctantly let Kalim hug him. Around them, the students had already dispersed and went back to the dorms. Well almost...

"Jamil, you were on fire." A feminine voice complimented. The Scarabia duo turned their heads and saw the school's only girl in front of them, as well as her friends.

"Hello, Valerie!" Kalim cheerfully greeted, Jamil just gave a nod of acknowledgment. An idea popped into Kalim's head.

"Hey Jamil, maybe you can teach Valerie that dance just now. She already proved herself to be a fast learner under your tutelage." Kalim suggested. Jamil hummed at the thought.

"That may be so, but it's still advance for her." He reasoned. Jamil jumped a bit when he found her face so close to his, he fought down the blush rising on his cheeks.

"I promise to put all my effort into it! I won't disappoint you!" She affirmed, the sincerity evident in her voice, and her determined face was too adorable for him.

"I-If that's how you feel, then fine. I won't go easy on you." The dark-haired male declared with a smirk. The girl just happily grinned up at him.

"Sup, Al-Asim." Amane casually greeted. He strolled up to the group with his arms behind his head.

"Mm, oh hey, Amane." Kalim waved at the man.

It that time, Grim woke up. The monster blinked blearily and let out a large yawn. He looked around and saw everyone's surprised faces; he turned his head to Amane and Kalim in the middle of a pleasant conversation. The first years blinked, watching in silence as Kalim and Amane converse like old friends.

"Do you know each other?" Epel queried.

"Oh yeah, I met this ball of sunshine when I was ten. His father brought him over so we can get acquainted; for future business relations." Amane waved his hand dismissively.

"Our meetings became less frequent as time went on, and then we stopped seeing each other." Kalim admitted. Though there was an underlying sadness in his tone, he covered it up with a bright smile.

"But I heard rumors that a man was hanging around with Valerie. I didn't expect it was you."

"Amane, you already graduated. What are you doing here?" Jamil questioned. He narrowed his eyes towards the older male.

"I decided to hang with this girl for two days." The hetero eye male replied, wrapping one arm around Valerie for emphasis.

"Since we made the blood pact, I wanted to get to know her better and check out this school more." He added.

"You could have just visited her during the weekend." Jamil countered, crossing his arms.

"Oh, snake daddy, do you have any idea how hectic my schedule is? It's probably worse than yours." Amane remarked, using the girl as an armrest.

"Anyway, we got someplace to be. Catch you two later." He removed his arm, walking ahead from the rest of them.

"Oh, bye, Amane!" Kalim smiled at the back of his friend's retreating form.

"He could have at least wait, how rude." Sebek cast a disapproving look at Amane.

"Might as well catch up with him. See you, guys." Valerie waved at the Scarabia duo; before jogging after Amane. The rest of the first years followed.

"It's good to see Amane again, huh, Jamil?" There was a fond look in his eyes as he watched the first years catching up with the demon.

"It is surprising to see him here and making a pact with Valerie no less." Jamil commented.

"I hope we can re-connect, considering what father told me what happened to him." He turned to Jamil with downcast eyes; his smile lacked the joy he had earlier.

"Let's head back too. I'm sure some of the residents need something from us." Kalim went ahead, acting like nothing was wrong. Jamil stood there, watching Kalim's figure before catching up with him.

____________________________

The sun was already setting, and everyone was currently in the living room, having already eaten dinner made by the ghosts. The boys were already in their pajamas, so they were just waiting for Valerie to come down.

"Wait. You're friends with Lorelei Arachne?" Deuce asked incredulously. He wore a simple white shirt and dark blue pajama shorts. He was lying on his sleeping bag with the rest of the first years.

"Childhood friends, to be exact, honey." Amane corrected. He wore silk maroon pajamas with gold accents, lying on his side, taking most of the space on the couch.

"Pfft, now way. You expect us to believe that crap." Ace scoffed. Like Deuce, he wore a white shirt and red pajama shorts. "Probably a ploy to get in our pants."

Amane reached to the coffee table and grabbed his phone. He swiped it a few times before showing them a picture.

It was him, and his arm was wrapped around a young woman. She had an alluring heart-shaped face, long wavy blood-red hair that reaches to her thighs. Her eyes had black sclera, amber iris and black slits , and porcelain skin. Both were smiling and dressed in winter clothes, and what seemed to be a resort in the background.

"So hot stuff, you believe me now?" Amane smirked smugly on watching the first year's gawk at the photo.

"I-I-I..." Ace had no words for what he was seeing.

"I can't believe what I'm seeing." Jack muttered, scratching the back of his neck. He wore a white tank top and black pajama pants.

"That's amazing, Amane!" Deuce exclaimed as he stared at the picture.

"Where are you?" Sebek questioned. He wore a dark green pajama set with white accents.

"It's in the northern part of the land of pyroxene. She wanted to take a break from idol life, so I suggested this place; it wasn't that popular, but it had potential. I'm glad I did; it was like she got a few years of her life back." He took back his phone to stare at it; a small smile formed on his face as he recalled the memory.

"Is her life that hard?" Epel asked. He wore a black shirt with purple flannel pattern pajamas.

"Hell yeah, it is." He started to count each one with his fingers.

"Following a strict regime. A special diet to maintain her figure. Always acting happy in front of the camera. Walking around with weights on her body to make her dancing more fluid. Constantly performing and going to meet-n-greets no matter how tired she is. No love life. Ohh, and don't get me started with those bitchy fans of hers."

Amane seethed at the last one; he curled his lips with icy contempt and held his phone so tight, cracks were forming. His eyes flashed, not only in anger but something else. His eyes glowed dangerously bright as if a wildfire lit up, ready to burn down everything on its path.

But what concerned them the most is what was happening to his body. Like a technical glitch, they could see horns and a pair of wings on his back, flickering in and out of existence.

The first years' froze from their spot on the floor. Unaccustomed to seeing this side of him, they glanced at each other, unable to say that might trigger the hetero-eyed male. Fear tingled their backs as Amane's eyes glow brighter and becoming more demonic.

When Amane finally looked up, he found the frightened and wary faces of Valerie's friends staring at him. Their bodies were tense; they were either ready to run from him or pin him to the ground. Confused, he glanced at the dark screen of his phone and understood their caution. Amane closed his eyes and took a deep breath, counting up to twenty in his head, and let it all out. He looked at his phone; no glowing eyes or horns and wings.

He turned back to the first-year squad. They were still on high alert, albeit calm themselves considerably; there was an awkward silence in the air, with neither party saying a word. In the end, Amane spoke up.

"So, is Sugar tits done yet?"

"I'm right here, Amane." Her voice rang out.

She came into the room wearing a pink shirt that exposed her midriff and matching shorts. Grim was lying on her head, with Lisha on top of his. In her arms were various board games. Valerie's cheerful smile was replaced by a concerned frown; the tension in the air was thick, and from her friends' body language, they were on the verge of tackling him.

"Is everything alright?" She asked worriedly, sitting down and placing the boxes on the coffee table.

"Yeah, we-" Deuce started before Ace abruptly cut him off.

"THIS GUY NEARLY WENT DEMON MODE ON US!" Ace screamed, pointing accusingly at the midnight haired male. Valerie blinked and turned to Amane, who bowed his head.

"Uhh, w-what happened?"

"Amane was just telling us he was friends with Lorelei Arachne." Jack answered. "But Ace didn't believe him, so he showed us a picture of them on his phone. Amane began to list off how hard her life was, to the point of angering him."

I-I didn't mean to lose control." The incubi tried to defend. "It's just the way they treat her makes my blood boil."

Amane bit his lower lip. Eyes darting everywhere, unwilling to look at them. Simmering in silent rage.

"But, at least she had you, didn't she?" Grim, surprisingly offered. Amane stopped biting his lip and loosen his muscles.

"Yeah, that bitch and I had each other backs ever since I could remember. Whenever the world decided to throw shit at us, we always managed to come on top."

A small smile etched his face, his eyes grew soft and nostalgic. Valerie placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. The hetero-eyed gave her a thankful smile.

"So, what do you have in store, Sugar tits?"

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cryysiswritesthings · 3 years

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Beneath the Darkness in My Bones || Chapter Five

Fandom: Inuyasha Rating: Mature/NC-17 Warnings: Horror, Psychological Torture, Trauma, Implied/Referenced Torture, Rape, Parent/Child Incest, Obsession, Drugged Sex, Sexual Assault, Abuse, Non-Consensual Somnophilia Status: In Progress Pairing(s): KogKag (main), BanKag, Oni(gumo)Kag Summary: Horror is all she knows. Darkness is in his blood. She is the other half of his soul, and his calls for her echo long into the night.

Find it On: Tumblr | AO3

***NOMINATED FOR THE BEST DARK FICTION CATEGORY FOR FEUDAL CONNECTION’S 2021 1ST QUARTERLY ANNUAL AWARD!!***

Thank you so much to my amazing readers! You guys rock!

Series: Flowers Grown in Darkness Desecrate You

Chapters on Tumblr: Prologue || Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 ||

Tumblr Tags: #kogkag #bankag #onikag #inuyasha #beneath the darkness #btd chapter #flowers desecrate series

As each day came, Kagome spent more and more time in the hidden dungeon with her new companion. Inuyasha told her stories of the land in the West, the forest and meadows he called home. He told her of his elder half brother, a cold man who ruled his father’s lands. Of his Uncle, who had always treated him kindly, and was the undisputed leader of the Western armies.

He told her of his mother, the human woman his father had fallen in love with. Of their passing nearly two decades prior, and the battle that had claimed their lives. And he told her of Kikyo, as he’d known her before Onigumo’s presence in her life.

Those stories were the hardest to believe, though she did her best to not let him know that. Or, she supposed it was not that they were hard to believe. More so that she could not reconcile the woman he spoke of with the negligent one who’d raised her.

When it was her turn, she told him only small things of her life. How she was meant to be married soon, though she did not know to whom. That her father’s guard was disturbingly obsessed with her. And when she displeased her lord father, he raised his hand against his only daughter.

That fact had been met with Inuyasha’s own anger, and he’d restlessly paced his cell for nearly an hour after. It hurt him that the man who’d killed his friend now abused her child. But trapped as he was, there was nothing he could do about it.

It comforted her that he was so upset on her behalf. That someone aside from Bankotsu might care for her well being was a balm to a long forgotten wound. But when he asked her why she didn’t, couldn’t, do more to stop the beatings, she worried he wouldn’t understand.

Kagome was surprised to learn she’d been wrong. If anything, Inuyasha had understood her meaning perfectly. The duality of fear and heart ache, the terror of worse punishments and the desperate need to be loved by someone incapable of such an emotion.

They’d sat in silence the rest of the day, hands clinging to each other through the bars.

It was the middle of the day now, flecks of light shining through holes in the stone walls. The remains of their breakfast sat in the basket she’d found on the first day, gnats flitting wildly over the forgotten food.

Actually, now that she thought on it, there had been a distinct increase of the annoying pests over the last few days. And not just over their food either; she could hear true flies buzzing from inside Inuyasha’s cell.

Her silver haired friend was currently lying on his back in front of her, allowing her the special privilege of playing with his hair. She’d wanted to wash it for him, even bring a bucket and rag he could use to wipe himself off and feel clean. But he’d refused her offer, worried about what Jakotsu’s reaction would be if there had been any signs of someone taking care of him while he was gone.

All things considered, it was a valid concern. But if that was the case, she would need to bring a bucket of water by anyway. That way he could clear his cell of what would be known as an ‘unusual’ amount of excrement for a man who shouldn’t be eating. If the smell was getting to her after just a few hours, she couldn’t imagine what it would be like living with it everyday.

That was when the idea came to her.

“Inuyasha? Could you do something for me?”

Twin ears flicked back in her direction, an amber orb opening. “Not really sure what I could do from in here.”

Kagome shifted to her knees, scooting closer to the bars. “I need you to use your claws to cut something for me.”

“You want me to cut something?” Thoroughly confused, he moved anyway, setting himself closer to her. He looked wary. “And what am I cutting, exactly?”

Kagome held up a lock of her hair, smiling brightly. “This right here.”

He blinked once. Twice. “Why?”

“Just trust me!” Biting her lip, her grip on her hair loosened a bit. “Please? I promise its for a good reason.”

He scowled. “If you say so…” The chains rattled as he reached through the bars. He adjusted her grip, and with a quick slice, the strands were cut. “There, happy?”

“Yes!” Looking down at her dress, she dug through the fabric until she found her slip. This fabric she could tear on her own, and no one would notice the minor alteration.

Inuyasha watched, curious about her actions. Kagome tore off a small part of her undergarment and knotted it tightly around one end of the hair he’d cut for her. She then tugged his fingers close to the bars and made him hold the knot for her.

Slim fingers split the hair into three even parts, and Inuyasha starred in some surprise as she worked the strands into a braid. When she was near the end, she tore more of her dress to tie off the other end.

“Woman, what are you doing?”

Her smile was full of mischief, and she held out the braided lock for him. “It’s a present. It can’t smell good in here, so I thought this would give your nose a break when I’m not here.”

Inuyasha paled.

“Kagome, you can’t give me this. You can’t give me this.”

“Why not?” Glancing behind him, she nodded to the cell walls. “I’m sure you could pull one of those bricks out and hide it behind there. Jakotsu won’t see it that way.”

“That’s not the problem.” Swallowing hard, he tried to give it back to her even as his fingers tightened around the gift possessively. “I can’t accept this.”

“Yes you can. And you will. I won’t take no for an answer. And tomorrow I’ll bring something for you to wrap it in so it won’t get dirty.” Her friend still seemed to be struggling, so reached out to cover his hand with both of hers. “Please Inuyasha? I know it isn’t much, but it’s something I can give you. That way…” she looked away from him then, her eyes going to the floor. “Just in case.”

The other studied her, searching his mind for her motives. It occurred to him then--if her marriage ended up anything like her mother’s, he’d lose Kagome too.

Biting his tongue, he pulled his hand from her grip, cradling her gift to his chest. There was no way for her to know what such a thing meant to someone like him. What it would mean to her Other, if she ever escaped from this place.

If this princess ever managed to find them, and her Other found out about the gift, he’d be hunted down and killed. There was no questioning that.

But it was a comfort nonetheless. So he would return her gift of friendship with one of his own.

Inuyasha carefully set the braid to the side. One quick tug, and he pulled three hairs of his own.

Kagome watched him, a nervous excitement flickering to life in her chest. “Inuyasha, what are you…”

“Hush. I need to concentrate.” She didn’t speak again, so he went back to his task. His hair was made of stronger stuff, and so he had no need of other tools to tie it off. He tied off a small knot at the end and twirled the strands around his finger. As he let them slide free, the three hairs shifted, blending into one.

Kagome’s eyes were wide with awe. When he finished, he held it up for her to take.

“Here. It’s long enough that you can use it as a necklace, or as a tie around something you want to keep safe. And it’ll never break or tear on you.“

Biting her lip, she took his gift in return, inspecting the silver strand carefully. Tugging it between her hands gave credence to its strength, but even so it felt like a ribbon of silk.

Blinking back tears, she gave him a small, tremulous smile. “Thank you, Inuyasha. I’ll treasure it always.”

Hours had passed since then. The princess had gone to collect more food and water for them to share, each time taking longer to return. Her fears of being stopped had worsened the more time she spent away from the castle’s watchful eyes; as they were, there was nothing Inuyasha could do to help calm her.

This time, her delay had come from another stop. In her rooms had been a small deck of playing cards, which she and her companion now used for entertainment. She’d taught him simpler card games at first, but then they’d turned to balancing the cards in order to make shapes.

The sun had started to set, the last of its rays disappearing as the moon rose. A sudden, unexpected gust of wind made her shudder, but it was the call that made her heart stop.

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh… Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh…

Swallowing hard, she tried to block out the sound, focusing harder on the half-made pyramid in front of her. But it was not to be ignored.

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh… Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh…

She looked from the male behind the bars to the only sliver of light in the stone. It had been days since she’d heard that sound. She’d thought she was doing better.

Inuyasha followed her gaze for a moment before he turned back to her. Her eyes were half lidded, head tilted to the side. Like she was listening to something far away, something only she could hear.

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh… Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh…

“What is it?”

She hummed lightly. “Nothing. You wouldn’t believe me.”

“Tell me anyway.”

It was a moment before she answered. “Howling. Always howling.”

“The wind?”

“The wind, the trees, the mountains… it’s inhuman.”

“Where is it coming from?”

“East. From the woods.” She blinked, coming back to herself. She was suspicious. “Why are you asking?”

He turned thoughtful, a white ear flicking atop his head. “I wondered what you were hearing, since I couldn’t.”

She seemed curious. “Is your hearing so acute?”

“All of my senses are. Hearing, sight, smell…” He bit his tongue, looking nervous. “You said it was inhuman. Does that bother you?”

She shook her head, shifting against the bars. “No. It…” she flushed lightly. “It sounds silly, but I feel better when I hear it. It’s… it’s as if whatever is howling is looking for me. It wants me to come to it, to find it…” her next words were soft. “So it can protect me.”

He seemed to relax, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smile. “Good. I’m glad.”

Something sparked in her chest, a question and answer all at once. “You… you know what it is, don’t you?”

“I know what it is.” He sighed, eyes drawn to the claws tipping his fingers. “Is… you said it was coming from the east. Are you sure? Not west?”

“It’s in the east. That’s where it wants me to go.” One of her hands circled the bars, teeth sinking into her lip. “Please, if you know anything…”

“If it’s from the east, it can only be a wolf.”

The statement drew her up short. “A…wolf?”

“Mm. You’ve probably seen him a few times, but you might not remember.”

She looked skeptical. “I think I would remember having seen a wolf, Inuyasha.”

“Not in person, doofus.” He grinned when she huffed at the playful insult. “In dreams. You’d have seen him then, like Kikyo did my Uncle.”

A beast of magnificent size, her hand tangled in coarse, dark fur.

She’d never touched him before.

Strength lined every tense muscle; she knew his urge to sweep her from the earth.

“Kagome?”

A muzzle as large as she was small, a chuff of warm breath and the squeal of a child’s delight. Her lady mother’s horrified screams, and a growl so loud she could feel it vibrating in her chest.

“Kagome?”

She shook her head, blinking her way back to reality. “You…”

Inuyasha’s smile was small, understanding. But there was a bitterness behind his eyes she couldn’t explain. “You’ve seen him.”

“He’s… he’s huge. Enormous. Wolves never get that big.”

“Lemme guess. When he walks next to you, his head comes up to what, your shoulder? Maybe sits a bit higher?”

“Bigger.”

He blinked in surprise, chains scraping the floor as he sat forward. “How much?”

“What?”

“How much bigger?”

“He…” She closed her eyes, trying to think. Trying to remember. “He towers over me. Twice the size of my father’s best horses.”

He stared at her in shock, which very quickly turned to worry. “You’re not afraid of him?”

“No, he’s… No.” She couldn’t understand where her surety came from, only that she knew without doubt that what she said was true. “He would never hurt me.”

Her friend relaxed. “Good. That’s good.” Curious, he questioned her further. “What does he look like? Do you know?”

Kagome shook her head. “No. I… I’ve only ever seen him in fragments.”

Inuyasha frowned. “That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

The half-dog hummed, elbows coming to rest on his knees. He stared at their tower, marginally aware of the princess’s eyes on him. “Can I ask you something?”

She blinked in surprise. “Of course.”

Inuyasha picked up a card, twirling it in his fingers. “Why did you think I wouldn’t believe you? I mean…” meeting her eyes, he pointed at his ears with the card. “It’d be a bit hard of me to say otherwise, considering.”

Flushing red, the princess reached through the bars and flicked a card out of place. Her friend’s indignant cry bought her a few minutes to try and find a way to answer him.

While Inuyasha grumbled, Kagome finally spoke. “You might think it’s silly.” Amber eyes flicked up to meet hers before looking back at their fallen tower. His way of telling her he was listening. “It’s just… I’ve never told anyone before. And even when I think about it sometimes, I wonder if maybe I’m really going crazy. Or if I’m turning into my lady mother, closed off and afraid.”

He winced, concerned. “Kagome…”

“I know she was different when you knew her,” she said quickly, cutting off his interruption. “But you have to understand, the person you and everyone else have been describing isn’t the woman I knew. She was… she was cold. Uncaring. She...” The confession was quite, almost impossible to hear. “She barely touched me unless she had too. Never gave me a kind word. She wandered the halls like a ghost, always searching for something. I don’t want that to happen to me.”

“It won’t happen to you. I promise.” The chains screeched across metal when he reached through the bars to cover her hands. “There’s so much you don’t know… so much I can’t tell you.” He sighed when she looked at him with confusion. “It’s part of our history. The more I tell you, the more danger you could be in. Kikyo… I think I told her more than I should have. And that’s why things went the way they did.”

Kagome shook her head insistently. “Inuyasha, my lord father is responsible for what happened. Not you.”

“But see, that’s just it.” Frustrated, he leaned against the bars, ears drooping. “I want to explain, but I’m afraid of what could happen if I do.”

Hesitant, but wanting to comfort him, Kagome reached through the bars and cupped the top of his head. “I think… I think I understand. At least a little.”

He sighed. “I don’t mean to keep secrets. I hate it when it’s done to me, so I don’t like doing it to other people.”

“It’s alright.” Her fingers scratched behind a delicate ear, unthinking. The appendage twitched, but aside from an exasperated huff, he did nothing to stop her. “Can I ask for something? If it’s not too much?” He hummed in answer, shoulders sinking as the tension in his muscles slowly ebbed. “When the time is right, will you promise to tell me as much as you can?”

“I promise.”

The alpha’s lips pulled back, baring fangs at one who couldn’t see them.

So. One born of the West was in the castle.

It wouldn’t matter. The Other would know not to encroach on his territory. Humans couldn’t see it, but all of the mates were marked with symbols of belonging. It was how they knew to keep safe those who were destined for them.

But just because the humans couldn’t see them didn’t mean they were unaware of the symbols all together. Those marks would draw others to them, humans of great strength, of cunning, of passion. They could not see, but they would sense the difference in the chosen nonetheless, even if they couldn’t understand what it was.

In the days of old, when human and Other would join for all to know, they had built communities and kingdoms of unparalleled renown. But such strength was not without weakness. And in those weaknesses, devastation would follow.

Soon, the lord and his guard would return. The pack had tracked their crossing. And after that…

The call of her soul was getting stronger. As was his. She would leave the castle and come to him. He knew it, even if instinct demanded he answer her summons.

All he had to do was wait.

#kogkag #bankag #onikag #inuyasha #beneath the darkness #btd chapter #flowers desecrate series

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dirthavarens · 4 years

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Birthday Variables [Bookerbeth]

Fandom: Bioshock Infinite Characters: Booker Dewitt, Elizabeth Comstock Relationship: Booker/Elizabeth Rating: Explicit Warnings: SMUT AHOY. Word Count: 5,499 Notes: This started as an Anonymous ask for the “send me a ship and a prompt” and I got a LITTLE carried away. It’s the night before Elizabeth’s birthday and she finally get what she wants

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New York City, October, 1912;;

It had been months since they discovered the truth of their connection, since his death, and his revival. The Lutece twins may have been able to take her away from Booker, but they could not take Booker away from her. Not again.

Not ever again.

With infinite wisdom and foresight came a price, one that she would pay time and again if it meant her first and only friend was still planted at her side, protecting her. She knew when tears would appear, when she would close them, what would happen in them, and yet she still held a sense of wonder and adventure very close to her heart. He brought a unique perspective into her life and made decisions entirely of his own volition since she brought him back on the shore of his betwixt.

The weather in New York was far different from that of Columbia, even more so was the filth that lined the streets, but Elizabeth paid no mind. They only stopped by his rundown one-bedroom every so often to pay the bills enough to keep the lights on and occasionally sleep off whatever adventure they had gone on. Though, Elizabeth had brought in a personal flair to breathe life into the dust covered hazy room.

A love seat, a dresser, some of her personal art, and some of the more prominent necessities, were all brought into through the tears she created. Of course, she had access to libraries aplenty, but she kept those in her tears, bringing through whatever book she wished and devouring it before Booker could even begin his. Not one for the books, that man.

The first week they were in New York, Booker insisted on sleeping on the floor or passed out at his desk, cigarette often still in-hand. He had been working non-stop to put the pieces together, to track down any signs of the Lutece twins, specifically Rosalind, and her connection to a debt collection agency. Although, at the time, with Annabelle gone, he had been too far into the bottle to remember much of anything, let alone care.

They maintained more than a comfortable friendship and Elizabeth found herself aching for him to be at her side in the middle of the night. She would lay awake and silently watch him nurse a glass of bourbon as he read the newspaper. Her fingers would ache and her heart would pound at her ear. She knew nothing terrible would come of it, there was no fear of rejection, but a barrier needed crossing.

And one night she crossed it. A nightmare had her screaming into the air and she scrambled to sit upright in bed. Booker reacted before she managed to get up, his hand cannon in one hand, her wrist in the other, ready to pull her behind him. When she admitted it had just been a nightmare, he offered her a drink and it was enough to loosen her tongue. She spilled more truth than she had wanted. That she loved him, that she felt too far from him when he slept ten feet from her, that he was her only friend.

From that night on, she fell asleep cradled in Booker’s arms, tucked squarely against his interminable warmth. She had loathed it in Paris, the late August sun bearing down on them as they stood atop the Eiffel Tower and her own excitement kept her warm enough, but Booker was still there at night to hold her close to him. Though, his warmth had proven itself useful as of late as she learned the first snowfall came terribly early and it was to be an unbearably cold winter.

They had shared their first kiss atop the Tower, in a cliche moment of romance, and Elizabeth could nearly feel herself plummet to the ground while soaring on the wind. From then, she sought to steal a kiss whenever she could. She adored the way his unchecked stubble felt against her cheeks and always pulled from him with a smile.

Kisses were nice, but she could see something more in his eyes. More than that, even. She saw her own desires reflected plainly, but neither took the initiative to make the first move, to take their relationship to that point. For all intents and purposes, they were a couple. The fact of their relation lost to them as they had never known the other as father or daughter, but as friend and something approaching lover.

She could feel his arousal from time to time, as she would sit in his lap, panting between pairs of parted lips. In their shared breath, he would mutter profanities before he put his hands at her hips and gently rocked her against him until she picked up the motion on her own. Elizabeth was far from naive. She knew of his desires and could hear him in the bathtub, her name falling from his lips in a voice she wished to hear at her ear. Oftentimes, her hand would wander between her thighs and stroke at the sensitive bundle of nerves before sinking into her entrance. She felt a voyeur, a sinner, but if she could not have him physically, she would at least find pleasure in knowing she is the focal point of his arousal.

“Hey, thought you’d be in bed by now.” Booker’s voice broke through her thoughts as he walked into the apartment. Elizabeth noticed him carrying a small parcel bag in one hand and a bottle of bourbon in another. His drinking had slowed significantly since they had started traveling and not running for their lives. But when Booker found some time, he’d sniff out a bottle.

“I have too much on my mind and can't sleep,” she explained with an experimental tone. Perhaps tonight she could talk him out of his clothes and into their bed. After all, Booker didn’t seem the prudent type.

He gave a knowing hum and nodded his head, grabbing at two glasses from atop the icebox after setting the bag down where she could no longer see it. With her curiosity piqued, Elizabeth wanted to use her omnipotence to peer inside. However, gestures such as these, she knew, were uncommon coming from him. He preferred his sentimentality to come from protecting her and doing what he could physically to please her.

Well, almost physically.

He waved her over to his desk with but two fingers and she crawled from the sheets. Her nightgown was from another time in the future, shorter and thinner than any she had seen in any store in 1912. The ivory silk-like material floated over her form, but complemented her shape, giving credit where credit was due.

She caught sight of Booker eyeing her up from the corner of his eye while she cleared a space for her to sit on his desk. His jade eyes trailed her form as though he was looking at meal and she awarded herself a small, satisfied smirk that she withheld from his gaze. Not that he was looking anyway, his sights homed in the points of her nipples against the fabric of her sleepwear.

“Same stuff as before?” Elizabeth asked, amusement edging her voice, as she sat atop his desk, legs crossed.

“Nah, I was gettin’ tired of Jim Beam and decided to go with Old Crow. A bit smoother, but not by much. Might help you sleep,” he returned roughly, like a man caught in the middle of a drink.

Good.

When he regained his composure, Booker poured each of them a drink, Elizabeth’s considerably lesser than his own. She slowly inched closer to him and brushed against his leg with her own as he took a slow sip. She had grown tired of dancing around the subject. And tonight was as good as any because tomorrow they would be off to Paris as the tower was being built and then from there, it was her choice. Her twenty-first birthday would be the first she spent as a free woman.

She grabbed the glass he offered her and took a sip, the alcohol immediately making her recoil until she remembered how he showed her how to drink it. Open her throat and let it slide back, the burn wouldn’t be so bad that way. Just like drinking medicine.

They sat in silence for a moment before Booker’s curious green eyes looked up at her.

“You know what you’re wearing is lingerie? Might be from another time, but I know lingerie when I see it.” His words were plain, matter-of-fact, but she saw behind the apathetic veneer was an interest she wanted nothing more than to expand on. He leaned forward and rested his forearms on the desk, the chair creaking as he shifted his weight towards her.

“I saw it in a store and thought it was worth buying. Do you like it?” She slid closer to him, her foot resting along the inside of his leg.

He glanced down at her foot then back to her and took a drink. Subtlety was gone from her mind. “Yeah, I do. Why?”

They met in July, formed an inseparable bond by August, fell in love shortly after. She knew marriage was the first step, but in their precarious situation, such things could not happen on paper. She didn’t care if she’d be marked as a harlot or a heathen for the rest of her days. Not when she had Booker.

She took another sip from her glass and cleared her throat when the burn settled in her stomach. Warmth spread through her body as the alcohol quickly went to work.

“Booker, why haven’t we made love?” she asked abruptly.

He raised a brow at her, eyes wide as he set a pack of cigarettes back down on his desk, and cleared his throat. Elizabeth felt the air around them grow dense with tension, but she needed to know without having to use her gifts. Booker collected himself and took another sip before he stood, positioning himself between her legs.

“I didn’t think you’d be interested,” he replied and left his glass to the other side of the desk. Her breath hitched when he placed his hands on either side of her. “But if that’s what you want for your birthday...”

“How’d you kn--” she began then remembered. “Oh.”

“Hard to forget dates like that. They stay with you no matter how much time passes.”

There was a forgotten emotion that flitted in his gaze but it disappeared before Elizabeth could place it. In its breadth came a much more germane state, one that she welcomed with open arms.

“What brought this on?” he asked after a moment of silence.

“Nothing. It’s something I’ve wanted for months. Ever since that day. Ever since I watched you come back to life.” Her confession was honest and said with her eyes bounding between him and the amber liquid in her glass. “I figured that if I don’t initiate it, then it will never happen and I’ll never...”

He leaned in and stole a slow kiss that tasted of alcohol and cigarettes on her tongue as she opened her mouth to his. The first time he kissed her, Elizabeth hated the sense of burnt tobacco in her mouth and carried mints on her to erase the taste. But as was in many cases, she adapted with ease and found the taste to be enjoyable at times. It was befitting of him, as rugged and weathered as his palms.

“I know you’re interested, Booker,” she started again when he pulled his lips from hers. His breath played against her mouth and she had to keep herself from leaning back in. “I know you want this, and now you know that I do, too.”

He placed his hands on her hips and pulled her against him, barely giving her enough time to set her drink down. She prepared herself for a kiss but was left empty as his lips found her neck. “All you had to do was ask.”

Nervous giddiness built within her and she held to his shoulder and wound a hand into the short hairs on the back of his head. Booker had explored her with similar kisses before, but none ever had such prominent intent. They had been lackadaisical and playful. His teeth raked against her jugular, drawing a gasp from her and sending warmth to pool in the pit of her belly as her excitement grew.

“Aren’t you all-knowing?” he asked against her skin and pulled a strap of her nightdress over her shoulder. “Why did you wait?”

Elizabeth pressed into him as he ran his mouth over her clavicle, a mixture of tongue, teeth, and lip as he explored the expanse of her chest. A low moan served as response when the hand at her hip scooped her up. Her legs wrapped around his broad form as he easily carried her over to the bed. She shrugged the other shoulder strap off and the silken fabric hung loosely from her nipples as he held her above the mattress.

“I don’t use my omnipotence for my own sexual gain, Booker.” Her lips found his, her hands at either side of his face, and showed him that she was in the mood to talk no longer.

With the message having been received, Booker deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against hers while a low groan sounded in his throat. He lowered her to the mattress and positioned himself above her. Elizabeth’s breath hitched when he ran a hand down her torso, over the swell of each breast, and down to her abdomen before bringing it up to rest at her cheek.

There was a familiar pressure at her core. It was the same sensation she got while she pleasured herself to hearing his moans and pants when he thought she slept. Though, it felt urgent and she felt a slickness start to ease its way from between her folds.

Her hands moved to his belt and slipped it through each loop with ease after unbuckling it. She threw the leather to the floor and grabbed at his button-up. For a moment, Elizabeth considered tearing it off of him, leaving the buttons to land where they would. But Booker beat her to the punch.

He leaned back on his knees and unfastened each button with intentional slowness. His chest was not something she hadn’t seen before. In fact, she had seen in so many times she knew the exact number of scars he had, but that information was not prudent as he pressed his knee against her core.

The contact sent a zip through her that crackled with more electricity than Shock Jockey ever could, and she shuddered. Her eyelids fluttered as he shifted his knee, working on the last couple of buttons quicker than he had the first three. She reached up, pushed the fabric out of her way, and placed her fingers into the band of his slacks.

The forming mass within his pants had not escaped her when she unclasped the button. With an eagerness that she never experienced, she pressed her palm against his erection. Elizabeth glanced up to see Booker looking down at her with approval, his hips swaying into her touch. Admittedly, he was larger than she had expected, though she wasn’t sure why she was surprised.

He dwarfed her when it came to size. Booker stood just over six feet and she came in an entire foot shorter. Not to mention he was broad and muscled, while she was sleek and slender. The two couldn’t be more opposite.

Elizabeth shook the thought from her mind, not wanting to intimidate herself too much. She was intent on enjoying her first time having sex, especially with Booker. Her safety and comfort were not in question on his part. He always moved at her pace, but was leaping the second she said jump.

She ran her hand along the length of his erection and gently squeezed when she reached the top. The sensation was unlike anything she had ever felt before. Hard but pliant, though not by much.

Booker rocked into her touch as he shrugged his shirt off and tossed it across the room. Her fingers hesitated for a moment at his zipper, noticing that he wore no undergarments. The tuft of sand-colored curls that lined down to his pelvis was left uninterrupted and Elizabeth ran her fingers along the straight patch. In response, Booker took it upon himself to pry her legs open further and place his hand where his knee had taken residence.

Another hitched breath escaped her mouth when his thumb lightly traced over her clit through her underwear. He teased her nub enough to make her hand falter for a moment longer before she regained composure. Her grip was quick at his zipper and she pulled it down to reveal the flushed tip of his cock. His pinstripe pants hung loosely at his hips for but a moment because he was leaning forward over her and kicking them off.

Elizabeth caught his lips in a kiss and found herself moaning at the sensation of his erection bouncing against her. Booker smiled against her mouth and tugged at the hem of her clothing, a silent demand for her to remove it.

Without hesitation, she adjusted herself and peeled the silk from her body. There was nothing but her underwear now, and Booker’s hand was working its way between her skin and the fabric. His middle finger slipped between her folds and both of them shuddered in time when he was met with an abundance of her juices.

“Fuck, Liz...”

The nickname rang at her ears as he sank the digit into her core. So far was the feeling of his finger inside of her as opposed to her own, Elizabeth thought it was something entirely different. She let out a breath as she adjusted to the girth of his finger. Again, she thought of how she was going to fit his erection within her body, but this time with desire instead of fear.

“God, you’re so...” he breathed and leaned down to take her breast into his mouth. She lifted into his mouth and rocked against his finger, her body writhing in opposing directions as she let out a string of breathy moans. “I’m afraid I might break you.”

Her hands moved to her underwear and she peeled them off. Admittedly she did not care that they were essentially ruined for the night as she heard them fall against the floor. His finger continued to work in and out of her, prodding and curling within her. Her thoughts clouded and Elizabeth was abuzz with crashing waves of warmth and shocks of something she had only experienced in privacy.

Though, Booker had been the cause of most--if not all--of her orgasms since they escaped Columbia.

His lips moved from her breast, touched her chin, then left her entirely. The loss of contact caused her eyes to shoot open and search for where he had gone. She saw him hovering over her abdomen and thought she might go mad at the sight.

His dusty blond hair was mussed and there was a glint in his gaze as he met her eyes that left her dizzy and full of need. Elizabeth held back a moan as his lips returned to her skin, his kiss at her hip rougher than any kiss before. It sent her reeling, her head falling back to the pillow as she released a strangled gasp.

“Oh, if you’re enjoying this, darling, just you wait,” he chuckled and she glanced down to see the look of a predator in his eye. Booker gave her wink before crawling from the bed and knelt on the floor. “Put your legs on my shoulders.”

Her thoughts too cloudy to question, Elizabeth obeyed and positioned herself squarely in front of him, knees bent over his shoulders. She caught sight of his hand slowly working his shaft and shivered at the soft glistening coming from his cockhead. He removed his hand from himself after she was situated and pulled her to him until her thighs rested against his collarbone and his mouth was directly at her core.

“Relax, Elizabeth. I have to get you as ready as I can. I don’t wanna hurt you if I can avoid it.” Booker’s reassurance touched a soft spot within her and she pushed herself up on her elbows to watch.

Without another word, he experimentally traced up between her folds with his tongue and rounded her clit. Elizabeth nearly collapsed from the electric pleasure that shot to and fro in her spine before it crashed directly into her core. Her eyes stayed fixed on him as best they could at the combination of sensation and focus as he swept his tongue over her again.

When Booker met her eyes and flicked her clit with the tip of her tongue once, twice, one more...

Elizabeth groaned, her head falling back against the mattress and reached for his hair. She squirmed beneath him, relishing the heat between her legs as he lapped and sucked at her core, his stubble scratching and tickling between her thighs.

He was driving her closer to the edge of cliff she never knew could be so high. Her hips jutted and rolled against his mouth, lifting into the air, but Booker only held tight to her, letting her writhe against him as his tongue focused entirely on her clit, striking the nerves just right...so incredibly right...her world plummeted into darkness and reemerged with bursts of blinding light.

“Booker!” His name split into the air, loud enough to ring through to the neighbors above, beside, and below, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t care when Booker’s tongue was working such magic on her. And when he pulled back, Elizabeth caught sight of him licking his lips with his jaw glistening with her juices.

“This might be uncomfortable at first.” Booker pressed a gentle kiss to her inner thigh before he sank and worked his forefinger into her. What? What could possibly be--

She watched as his middle finger squeezed beside the other and ease into her. The sensation of being stretched by him, his fingers working in tandem to prime her, was unlike anything she could imagine. He took his time with his preparation. On occasion, he would hit a spot that made her moan or curse and every time, he would chuckle, his eyes never leaving her face.

“Boo--” she panted, voice hoarse and heady with arousal. “Booker, please.”

He removed his fingers from her and crept over her, his lips meeting hers in a kiss so desperate Elizabeth thought she might cry. She tasted her own release on his mouth, thinking the flavor strange. However, the permanent taste of bourbon and tobacco backed the taste enough for it to heighten the ecstasy driving her. Her body was shaking as he led her up until her head was back at the pillows, her form crying out with overwhelming desire.

“I’ll go slow, alright? I don’t wanna hurt you,” he ushered against her lips as his hand grabbed at his cock to align it with her entrance. “Try to stay relaxed.”

Elizabeth tried to follow instructions, but he was running his dripping erection against her entrance and it had her shivering and rocking her hips against him. Instead of stopping her, he moved in synchronicity with her, meeting her peaks and nearly dipping into her when she ground her hips down.

“Elizabeth.” Booker whispered her name with such reverence, she thought it might be a prayer. He bent over her, his forehead pressed to hers as he prodded her entrance with his cockhead. “I’m going to start now.”

She nodded and locked her attention on his features. Slowly, he pushed into her and Elizabeth did her best not to wince, but tears pricked at the edges of her eyes all the same. He was hard and pulsing and too snug inside of her and she clung to his back, digging her nails into the already scarred expanse.

“God, Booker...” she cried, burying her face into the sweat-coated nape of his neck. He had prepared her, but she had not anticipated such a different feeling. “It hurts...”

He brought a hand to the back of her head and carded his fingers through her hair. “I know. Give yourself time to adjust. I want you, but if you want to stop, we can.”

The thought of stopping snapped something in her and she pulled back, shaking her head wildly in disapproval. Booker was inside of her, ready to make love to her and she wasn’t going to stop because of a pain she was slowly growing accustomed to. “No. I want to keep going. It’s like you said, right? I just have to give myself some time to adjust.”

There was a smile forming on his lips that gave her some reassurance and the finger that came up to wipe at the tear at the edge of her eye settled some of her nerves. She gave a breath and scrambled for something that might help.

Distractions always aided in pain. Her rage had blinded her to the hole in her back, too many bullets whizzing by her had kept her focused on Booker. A distraction was what she needed.

“Booker,” she began softly, swallowing the pain, “...kiss me. Kiss me and keep going.”

He obeyed. He met her mouth with abandon and the world returned to the haze it had been before. Elizabeth groaned into the kiss when Booker sank further inside of her and slowly filled her an inch at a time, withdrawing slowly before sinking deeper.

A groan escaped from him and she drank it in with fervor as the pain began to subside. She still felt too-full, but the pressure released a ravenous hunger in her for him to take her, and she wanted him to know. She pushed down on him as he rolled into her and sent his cock deeper into her, pressing against something within her that caused another cry to split into the air.

“More,” was all she managed to say between the steady thrusts of his hips. And he happily gave her more by sinking into her until she could feel his skin against her own.

“Tell me if I hurt you,” he muttered against her mouth and grabbed at her hips. Before Elizabeth realized what he meant, Booker had her in a steady hold and drove himself into her, faster and more forcefully than before.

An instance of pain dissolved into a fire that resided deep inside of her, burning up and making way for the pleasure that seized her. He met her lips in sloppy, haphazard kisses as he repeated the motion again and again. They held a steady tempo, each thrust brushing somewhere deep in Elizabeth that had her breathless, her mouth dry, and crying out for more.

Pressure built with every motion, her lower half trying to escape his hold, but each movement brought her walls clenching around his cock. And every time she constricted around him, a near feral grunt would sound in his throat. With every noise he made, the pressure built higher, her pleasure increasing with his own.

Then something changed, he lifted her hips and pushed her legs back until her knees were level with her face, his dick falling from her for a moment. The sudden loss of him inside of her left her aching painfully with need. She had been so close...

But Booker kissed her forehead, realigned himself, and thrust into her without the tenderness of the start. Elizabeth muffled another cry as he filled her completely, their skin slapping together.

“Elizabeth, don’t hold back. Let it out. I want to hear you come for me,” he urged with a strained growl, his pace erratic but hitting something inside of her and beyond that made her unable to hold out. She twisted and writhed against him, seeking purchase anywhere she could with her lips, her teeth, any part of him.

In the midst of blissful chaos, Booker wiped her hair from her face, and Elizabeth looked up at him through blurred vision. Despite her body nearly thrown from a mountaintop and the ache deep within her, she felt tender warmth spread throughout her. “I...love y-you...Booker DeWitt...”

“I love you,” he returned, his words nearly drowned by the sound of their sex.

Each point of contact was met with a cry from her lips until her head was numb and the pressure was too much to take. She reached her peak in stunned silence at first, her eyes opening wide before her entire body clenched in around him, legs shifting to find purchase, nails digging into him, her walls trapping him inside of her.

With a deep groan, Booker’s hips jutted against her; and as she felt his seed spill into her, Elizabeth’s final note was a strangled cry, tears pricking at her eyes. Every nerve of her body was overloaded with too much stimuli as she collapsed back onto the mattress.

Her chest heaved, her lungs burned, her mouth was terribly dry, her every muscle ached, but she had never felt so satisfied in her life. She wiped at the tears falling from her eyes before Booker could get a negative impression, if that was even possible.

She felt his spent cock pulsing and softening inside of her while he collected his faculties. His exhaustion brought a pleased grin to her lips and Elizabeth sighed contentedly when he pulled out of her with a wet pop.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead and then to her lips before he fell to the bed beside her. She laughed as he stretched out like a satisfied cat, his body covered in a sheen of sweat, and cheeks flushed from exertion.

Elizabeth felt like she was made of batter, nearly too exhausted to move, but she forced herself to roll over and set her forearms on Booker’s torso. Her grin was permanent as she kissed his jaw.

Booker glanced at the wristwatch he left on the end table beside the bed.

12:05 AM.

“Hope that was a good enough start to your birthday,” he hummed with a breath of laughter.

“It was...” Elizabeth paused as she searched for the words. In all of her infinite knowledge, she found herself scrambling. “It was incredible. Does it always feel so good?”

Booker thought for a moment, as though unsure of what to say. “Depends on the person. If you’re compatible, it’s usually something like this.”

“But not exactly?”

“No,” Booker returned and leaned forward to kiss her. “That’s the difference between fucking and making love. Sex is usually great, but there’s more to it when you love the person.”

The sentiment was strange coming from his mouth, but Elizabeth found herself beaming and curled up beside him. They laid there for a few moments, both content with the silence surrounding them.

Booker was the first to rise from the bed, pulling his pants up and moving to lean against his desk. He grabbed his cigarettes and lit one with his vigor, taking a hard enough drag for Elizabeth to hear the crackle of the tobacco burning. He exhaled with an air of satisfaction she hadn’t seen from him before and her inquisitive nature must have been reflected in her expression because Booker was already preparing an answer.

“A smoke’s always tasted great after sex. Don’t know why, but it does,” he explained as he grabbed her glass and went to the bathroom. She heard him rinsing and filling the glass, and when he came out, Booker handed it to her.

“Thanks,” she started as she sat up to take a drink.

Something slid out from between her legs and Elizabeth immediately clenched them together, her eyes wide as she looked to Booker, who was biting back a smirk.

“That’s normal,” he said as he put out the cigarette and offered her a hand. “C’mon, we’ll get you cleaned up.”

She slipped her free hand into his and finished her glass in one gulp before setting it on the nightstand.

Elizabeth watched--no, marveled--at the sight of Booker being so caring and dare she say it, domestic. The man who killed with his bare hands and had a body count higher than she ever needed to know, was showing her a tenderness that she could never fathom, but knew to be true.

She thought then of everything that she would have deprived herself, deprived him, had she left him drowned in that river.

There’s always a man. There’s always a lighthouse. There’s always a city.

But that didn’t mean it had to end the same way each time.

#my writing #bookerbeth #booker x elizabeth #elizabook #lizabook #dewincest #i am a SAP for them #hyperfocus came in clutch for this one kiddos #bookerbeth fic

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chelseaheskett · 5 years

Text

She was only thirteen weeks into this pregnancy and it was already shaping up to be harder than the last. One baby, this time, at least. A boy! They only got the blood test results back last week. And God, it’d been a hectic week. Upon hearing the news of yet another baby, Chelsea’s mom, Donna, made the decision to pack up her life and move out to California. Sold Chelsea’s childhood home two days ago--something she’d cried about multiple times already. She was slated to move into a new place, about a ten minute drive away from their South Pasadena home, in a couple of weeks. It was a smart decision, something Chelsea appreciated. Donna was always in California, anyway, using up her flight points to travel back and forth. Jenny was in her second week of a new school year! And Elliot had his meeting with the State Bar of California coming up on Monday. Tomorrow, Chelsea had a job interview.

The job was designing a new high school in the next district over. Chelsea hadn’t done something this big league in at least five years. Definitely before Jack, sometime after college. She’d be on a team, it’d be collaborative, if she got the job, but the details were a little scarce. And Chelsea was scared out of her mind.

It wasn’t the best night for her to prepare. Elliot and Chelsea took bedtime with the kids in turns. Rotating rosters. Tonight, Chelsea had the twins and Elliot had tucking in Jenny and bathing and reading Jack to sleep. Isaac was relatively easy--something she never thought she’d say--and went down like a champ. Hadn’t napped at all during the day, which seemed to work in her favour now, even if it hadn’t earlier. Vanessa was always easy. She’d been sleeping solid through the night since she was six weeks old. They’d always gotten lucky with her. Not tonight! Of all nights! When an hour had passed and she hadn’t fallen asleep yet, constantly crying to be held, Chelsea took Vanessa out of her crib, out of her share room with Isaac--’cause that’s the very last thing she needed, for him to wake up--and into the master bedroom.

Vanessa seemed happier sitting on the bed. Still fussed. Babbled nonsense. Called for her Momma when Chelsea went into the closet to grab her interview clothes. She laid them out on the edge of the bed. Grabbed her portfolio off the side table. She just had to check it again before morning came. Elliot must’ve still been busy with Jack or Jenny, because he was nowhere to be found. Vanessa kicked off her socks and started crying crocodile tears. Chelsea stopped mid-page and jumped onto the bed to console her daughter. “What’s wrong, honey?” Chelsea asked, smoothing out her hair from the back. Sat her in her lap, resting on the bed with crossed legs. Cradled her. Chelsea checked her forehead. She was running a little hot, but that might’ve been from all the crying. “Look, what does Mommy have?” Chelsea pulled her folio from the bottom of the bed to show Vanessa, momentarily distract her. “Do you like Mommy’s drawings?” Stuff like this always seemed to work with Isaac. Vanessa just buried her face in Chelsea’s chest and continued to cry.

“Are you hungry?” Chelsea asked. Couldn’t figure out what type of cry it was. She didn’t do it much. “No.” Vanessa said, shaking her head against Chelsea. No was Isaac’s favourite word. Chelsea continued to comb her fingers through Vanessa’s hair. “Are you tired, baby?” But it was met with another “no!” Before Chelsea could ask if the little girl felt sick, Vanessa was pulling back to spew up all over her pyjama top. And then all over the blankets, all over Chelsea’s tomorrow clothes. And then all over Chelsea’s design portfolio. It took everything she had in her not to join in--the morning sickness still frequent and surprising. Chelsea scooped Vanessa up and practically ran them into the adjoining bathroom.

“Oh, my gorgeous little girl.” Chelsea cooed, with a crease in her forehead. Sat Vanessa up on the counter, where she threw up again--this time into the sink. She quickly stripped them off and hopped in the shower. Vanessa’s crying had calmed down. It must’ve been good to get it out of her system. Chelsea could relate to that, at least. When they got out and Chelsea dried them off, she went back to the closet and grabbed the first thing she could find--a dark silk slip--and threw it over her head. Isaac was still sleeping soundly when Chelsea entered the nursery to change Vanessa into a clean set of PJs. One good thing, at least.

Once they were both clean and dressed, Chelsea brought Vanessa back into the master bedroom. It was time to tackle that mess. Sat Vanessa down on the floor so she could strip the sheets on the bed. Tried not to focus too much on the ruin of her folio, or her interview clothes--right now she just needed to get everything cleaned up. Vanessa shouting “Dadda!” alerted Chelsea to Elliot’s arrival. The door to the bedroom clicked shut. Chelsea had thrown her folio and her clothes into a heap on the floor and was starting to ball up the sheets when she turned to face him. Vanessa had slowly pulled herself off the ground, butt in the air, to toddle over to Elliot. Held her hands up so he could hold her and whined when he didn’t immediately comply.

“She wouldn’t sleep and she kept crying and then she just vomited everywhere. Everywhere! I--I don’t know if she’s got the stomach flu, or her dinner didn’t agree with her, or what--” If it was the stomach flu, they’d probably all get it. Four sick children, right now, this week, would kill her. And she was trying not to panic! She was just trying to clean up. And out of nowhere, to no one’s surprise, Chelsea started to cry. “I think I should cancel this interview tomorrow. I’m gonna call in the morning and cancel. It’s fine.” Clearly, she was not fine. Put her hands on her hips, abandoning the bed sheets, and paced back and forth. “I mean, I wasn’t gonna get it anyway! Let’s be honest! Who would hire me when I’m pregnant, let alone... Let alone hire me anyway. And my folio! She improved it!” The crying ceased for a moment, so she could half-heartedly laugh. Waved with a hand to the pages of the portfolio on the floor, covered in spit-up. “Yeah, I’m gonna cancel. I can’t do this! I can’t believe I thought I could do this! What a joke! I am a joke.”

#elliot #elliot 13 #interaction

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tarithenurse · 5 years

Text

On my mind, in my soul - 18

Prompt: This will be the last chapter and is based on a prompt by @liesje86: “Uhm. “Simple man” the cover with Jensen Ackles, a white sandy beach on Hawaaï or something, and two identical daggers.” Pairing: Loki x Burglar!reader. Content: Swearing as usual, angst, mention of god and bad parenting, hints of loss, nervousness, fluff, lemons, anger. All sorts of good stuff. A/N: This is the last chapter! o.O Thank you all for the lovely prompts, it won’t be the last time I’ll work like that. I hope this ending is all you guys could wish for...except the spelling etc because I just REALLY wanted to share it, so I’ve not proof read it, meh. Please, reblog etc. if you did enjoy <3

Satisfied

… Loki’s PoV …

There are moments in a child’s life when they look upon their parents and wonder “what if”. What if the parents had never met? What if they never had decided to have children? Then the kid wouldn’t be in the world or maybe they’d be an only child or…

Thinking back, Loki’s thoughts had often been related more to the question of “why”, as in “why did his parents love each other” or at the very least why the love between them was so different and apparently impossible to spill over onto the youngest prince. No, that wouldn’t be fair to say, because Frigga did love her son and she did her best to make sure he knew that. Just like she would comfort him when he was sad or guide him when he felt lost. Frigga, queen and mother, was the one person Loki could come to for support or philosophical discussions. She was the one that saw his future as something bright and blessed, and she would spin tales rivalling the best penmanship to instill a longing within the heart of the young prince for all that was to come.

Mama told me when I was young: Come sit beside me, my only son

… Reader’s PoV …

This. Is. Quality. Stretching towards the cloudless sky above you, it’s all you can do not to spontaneously start giggling at the feel of the ocean lapping over your feet and caressing your ankles. Cool on your hot skin but not too cold that a swim would be anything else than heavenly tomorrow…today’s too late because the jet only touched down an hour before earlier and now the sun is setting across the endless ocean.

For more than a year now, Loki has been escaping with you to the most wonderful places on earth (so far) between working on missions with the Avengers. It’s not a life you expected even with the Asgardian as your partner in crime. Crime. Yeah, not a whole lot of action’s been going on on that front, obviously, and still somehow…you’ve got more than enough challenges to keep your mind occupied. Heists have been replaced by rescue operations; artifacts replaced with weapons. At least the way of working is still relatively the same in terms of intel and planning.

Cool hands snake around your waist, pulling you backwards against the hard planes of muscle of a similar low temperature, making goosebumps spread across your skin.

“I should have known you’d abandon me with the unpacking in favour of this,” Loki mumbles into you hair.

You turn partially in his arms, wanting to be able to kiss him but not wanting to give up the scenery beyond the glittering sea. “Can you blame me? Look at that view!”

Leaning back from the embrace, the god’s attention isn’t on the sunset. “Breathtaking.”

Then he holds you close, preventing you from saying anything until the sun finally disappears beneath the horizon in a display of orange and purples and anything in between. Breathtaking, yes.

… Loki’s PoV …

Unpacking had, in truth, been a simple task for the god who simply had left the butler with that responsibility (with the exception of one specific piece of luggage) and as the chef was already preparing the lavish dinner, Loki had found himself pacing. Restless. Nervous.

That very same insecurity still hunts the pale man all through dinner. He dotes on [Y/N], feeds her bites from the ridiculous amount of tiny dishes that have been prepared and offers her cool wines. But Loki can barely swallow a morsel himself.

His gaze is locked on the softly coloured lips that send him a shy smile. They are small talking, and it’s a challenge to stay focused on the subject when joy sparkles in the [Y/E/C] of the perfect woman’s eyes. Nimble fingers fidget with glass or delve into the silken hair that by now has become messy from the travelling. Messy, but oh so right, bringing attention to the wildness that bubbles just below the surface of her.

That’s who she is. His wild kitten. Intelligent, fierce, approaching any challenge with a calculative silence until she succeeds and lets go of the inhibitions for a while. Morals? [Y/N] never claims to be an angel, yet she has managed to show the god a different way – the way Frigga spoke of hundreds of years ago when Loki was a child in need of comfort and hope. Life had indeed turned out slightly different than what his mother had predicted because there is no Asgard and royal life (even as nothing more than a prince) and no plans of ruling or being distinguished beyond the scope of mortal man. It is…simpler.

“Hon?” [Y/N] manages to get through the fog of thoughts.

Her furrowed brows don’t relax until he has promised that everything is fine. “I was merely thinking…of you, in fact.”

“Oh?” A coy smile dances on her mouth. “Am I in trouble?”

“When are you not?” Loki can’t help but laugh. “You could be the Goddess of Mischief. Do not feign innocence when we both know it was you that swapped out everyone’s underwear.”

[Y/N] disguises a grin behind the wineglass, and when she moves the glass from her lips a seriousness has returned. “But what were you thinking? I know it was something serious…”

Boy, don't you worry, you'll find yourself Follow your heart and nothing else

… Reader’s PoV …

You watch with both wonder and concern as the god they call Silver Tongue struggles with his words, opening and closing his mouth several times as a faint red sheen crawls into his eyes where the pupils are blown. That bad? Reaching for his hand, you’re afraid he’ll pull away, but he doesn’t. Cold and slightly damp against your palm…and trembling.

”Please, Loki…” you begin softly, stroking his knuckles with your thumb.

The cold spikes and he pulls away, breaking a piece off your heart. ”Excuse me.”

He doesn’t even stop to pick up the chair after he topples it over in his eager to get away from you. Why? A cold, his cold, has gripped your chest so hard you have to struggle to breathe. What did I do wrong?

You’ve wanted to deny the signs, but this can’t be unseen. For weeks now, he’s become increasingly withdrawn, preferring solitude or simply losing focus, and it’s been getting worse even with a short respite after he and Thor had been away to some other realm or planet or whatever. For a few days things had seemed normal, then it started all over. This is the worst yet.

Bit by bit, lessons you’ve let from your new co-workers (especially Natasha) start to surface, diluting the self-deprecation with a healthy amount of anger and determination. Trucker turd! Your own chair screeches across the marble floor. I’ll be damn if I let him make me feel crappy on a vacation like this! And with that in mind, you march off the way Loki had gone.

You find him in the bedroom, crouched by his suitcase with the back to the door.

“Okay, listen up, mister!”

Hands on your hips and a solid footing, you plant yourself a few steps behind him. Gorgeous bedroom. The thought zips through your mind unwanted and you push it aside for now, ignoring the probably gorgeous view from the huge windows and balcony beyond…and the grand bed to your left which you’d been hoping to “break in” tonight rather than scold a god. But that’s life sometimes.

“I know, [Y/N],” Loki admits quietly, the tenderness in his voice catching you by surprise, “I’ve been…absentminded and distanced lately.” His back is still toward you, but you know the sort of pain showing in his eyes anyways. “You deserve more than that, I know, because you are…you have changed my life and me for the better.”

“Darling…”

The distance isn’t even reduced by a single step before he motions for you to stop. To wait. His shoulders rise and fall before he finally straightens his back and swirls around to face you. Still on his knees. Oh… Turquoise eyes root you to the spot. Big hands holds a footlong box.

“I wish could tell you all the reasons I love you…but there’s not enough time in the universe for it.” A dextrous tongue swipes his bottom lip. “Lady [Y/N] [Y/L/N], will you allow me to be your husband?”

With those words, he flips the box open to show the contents, but the world is becoming a blur to you, spinning the room slowly. Oh. Oh no. Not…how…

“But Loki…I’ll die from you!” You can hear it yourself, how broken your voice is.

As the first tear falls and your vision clears a bit, you see the man you love put the box aside and stand. His strong arms encircle you, holding you tightly against his chest. A part of you wants to push away, to save him from the real pain later by leaving him now because after all: it had been your plan to leave him eventually, so he didn’t have to see you grow old and die.

“My dear, I know your reasoning,” he whispers in your ear, soft kissing landing on your cheeks and lips, “I would not want to miss out on even a second of your life, I’ll be by your side forever because nothing can change what I feel. Please let me…if you truly love me.”

Pulling back as much as his embrace allows, you frown at him indignantly. “I do love you!”

“Then please…” He guides you to sit on the foot end of the bed before retrieving the box once more and kneeling again. “Please let me be yours.” The dark wood is padded on the inside with golden silk, cradling two nearly identical daggers perfectly. “I know of the Midgardian customs with the rings…however I thought you would appreciate the tradition from Vanaheim where the betrothed couple each carries a twin dagger, bound by magic and echoing the heartbeat of the person that carries the twin…”

“I’d always be able to sense you…”

He nods, proffering the box. And they’re gorgeous too. Of course he’s right in thinking you’d prefer this over a ring. The handles appear to be frosted glass with smoky tendrils of Jotun-blue at the centre and a bead at the very end while the blade itself is silvered and perforated by runes.

Those spell out Loki which means the other dagger has your name on it. Lifting the Loki-blade, you recognise the quality of the craftmanship.

“That would be the one you would carry…if you choose to…” the god trails off.

Carefully, you return the weapon to its place. Then you close the lid and set the box aside before sliding onto the floor.

“I hate the idea of breaking your heart…but I hate the idea of being without you too. If one day you realize you can’t watch me grow old, then promise me we say goodbye as friends.”

“You mean…that –”

“– is a yes.”

Mouths clash cold yet passionate, the fervour growing with each stroke of tongue tips or nibble at the other’s lips and soon Loki’s pushing the straps of your dress aside gently. Every inch of skin is lavished with kisses that make goosebumps break out and you nipples harden against the lace (which is all that remains as cover). Once the soft cotton hangs from your hips, the god’s roaming hands come to rest at your waist. You know what he’s about to do, but it amazes you regardless. It always does. Lifting you to your feet as though you weigh nothing at all and standing you on the bed. Loki’s nose presses against the skin of your belly or, if he stretches a bit, the cleavage where he can inhale your scent while his hands bring the dress the rest of the way down. Probably holding it back rather than letting it fall for the simple purpose of enjoying the slow reveal of your body.

“My love.” Kisses are peppered onto your hips. “My queen.” Hands roam the back of your thighs. “My fiancée.” A long arm reaches up along your back to release the hooks on the bra. “Mine.”

You vaguely hear where the lacy clothing lands, but not really because Loki’s mouth and hands are at your breasts, the Silver Tongue of his working the kind of magic that’s reserved for you only. Moans fill the room as the god slides down your panties to allow access to a hand, fingers skimming through the folds and teasing you in just the right way by adding pressure with the hell of the hand whenever possible.

Even with your fingers entwined with Loki’s black hair, it’s hard to keep balance on the soft bed and you’re grateful by the time he lays you down and positions himself to continue the work between your legs. Languidly. Broad licks supplemented by pressure administered by a thumb to your clit to have you pussy aching and clenching helplessly around nothing. You on the verge of cumming when his lips close around the little bundle of nerves.

“Please, Loki.”

“Hmmmm?” The sound sends vibrations into you, but he detaches before it sets off a climax. “Not yet, my love.”

Fuck! It wouldn’t be smart to say that out loud. The man thrives on teasing to the point that it nearly becomes torture, so you adopt a different tactic and suggest with a purr that he be the one to be treated.

Obviously, he can’t resist to see your lips wrapped around his cock and soon, Loki’s the one to groan and beg for release either in your mouth or deep within the needing cunt. Oh, the delicious revenge is sweet. Now you’re the one to move slowly, crawling up his body and trailing kisses (and bites) along the way until your straddling him with his erection sliding between the slick folds in a manner that stimulates your clit just perfectly. Fingers digging into your thighs, he lies and watches as you succumb to an orgasm, juices dripping onto his balls and the throbbing shaft.

“Please…” he nearly whines as you start to come down.

A nod is all he needs before he’s flipped you both around and sheathed himself fully in you, setting off a new wave of ecstasy which he somehow manages to wait out, still as a statue. But you see his struggle. You see it in his eyes that are turning crimson, and you feel it on his body temperature which is dropping.

“Let me see you,” you whisper hoarsely, “the real you.”

Loki knows how attractive you find the Jotun form and happily complies with your request. Each body part enlarges – some parts more than others, thank goodness, but you still feel the swell of his cock within you, stretching your walls a bit more.

“God, yes!”

Rolling his hips, the partner in crime pulls out almost completely before thrusting back forcefully, making you scoot up the bed until you can reach and stem against on the headboard, and each stroke Loki gives is met by a tilt of your hips. Teeth find the crook of your throat, latching on hard enough that it will bruise tomorrow and softly enough for the pain not to be too much.

… Loki’s PoV …

He sees [Y/N]’s eyelashes flutter as she arches against his blue body. Heat against cold. The walls of her cunt clench and pulsate, sending tremors through her perfect shape and breaking the cry that falls from her lips. And Loki is right at the precipice with the woman, toppling over the edge and into a sea of bliss. It is all he can do to keep himself from collapsing onto [Y/N], rolling off instead to lie panting next to her.

She is still shivering, when the god regains his strength enough to focus his seiðr to care for her before finally pulling the light of his live into his arms.

“I love you,” she smiles drowsily, “all the time.” She doesn’t bother to stifle a yawn,

Her temple is hot against his lips. “I love you too. Always.”

There is no answer save for the gentle breathing.

Always.

Baby be a simple kind of man Oh, won't you do this for me, son, if you can

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radioactivepeasant · 5 years

Text

Fic Prompts: Star Wars Wednesday

(Sorry it's late, the day after Christmas threw me off)

Owen almost closed the door in the man's face out of reflex.

Just what in the name of storms and sand were people with clothes like that doing out here? Even the families who owned multiple farms, like the Darklighters, didn't wear silks or colors like those. Which suggested to him that they were offworlders.

"Owen, what is it? Who's at the door?" Beru asked, coming in from the courtyard.

"Um," he said eloquently, and squinted at the dark haired woman. "I don't know, but they've got kids."

A lot of kids. Owen and Beru stared wide-eyed at two small girls and two red-faced infants.

He could have sworn he'd seen a familiar face behind the two at the door a moment ago, but dismissed it. Surely if it had been him, he'd have come straight to the door to greet them instead of sending strangers first.

No sooner had this thought crossed his mind than a familiar voice came floating up from the left of the stretch of sand that passed for a yard.

"Threepio, you know how to walk on sand! I can't levitate you the whole time, you can do this." Anakin marched into view looking a little exasperated and towing a golden protocol droid behind him. Walking behind him with an amused expression was the lady Owen remembered Anakin bringing to the farm the last time he'd visited.

"Sorry about that," Anakin sighed and reached over to take one of the babies from the other man. "Threepio almost went right over a dune. This is what happens when Artoo isn't there to supervise him, apparently?"

"He's been a little out of sorts, with the new babies and everything," Padme added sympathetically. "He just needs some time to adjust."

As Owen appeared to have temporarily lost the power of speech, Beru took it upon herself to find out just what in blazes was going on.

"It's...good to see you again, Anakin," she said, "We heard in town about the peace talks. It's probably too much to hope that the Republic will agree to find common ground with the Separatists, but at least the fighting's stopped in the Core, right?"

Anakin grimaced and bounced the baby girl in his arms. "The Core, sure, but what about all the chaos everywhere else? There's a lot of things that need to be fixed."

Owen snorted. "Yeah that's about as likely to happen as overthrowing the Hutts and becoming Senator of Tatooine."

Anakin looked a little too interested in that idea.

Owen stepped back and Beru invited them all inside to get out of the sun. After a brief, awkward silence, introductions were made.

"You remember Padme?" Anakin smiled softly at the woman in question. "We got married not too long after meeting you."

"So did we," Beru beamed at them. "I'm glad there was some happiness to follow the circumstances we met under."

Padme had taken the second baby from the other woman by now, and held him up towards Beru. "We wanted you to meet our children! This is Luke, and that's Leia."

Anakin took the other baby's hand and made her "wave". Neither infant looked particularly impressed.

"Good heavens, twins?" Beru gasped. "May I-? I mean, is it alright if-?"

Padme shuffled closer. "Well, we'll try it, anyway! Leia's a bit more cautious, but Luke is our little extrovert."

Soon enough, Beru was cradling the tiny boy, who waved his arms and made happy growling noises. Padme turned back to gesture to the other couple and the little girls.

"This is my sister, Sola, and her husband, Darred," she said, "And these are our nieces, Ryoo and Pooja!"

Anakin nodded. "We wanted you all to meet each other so that you'd have someone to contact in case of emergency."

Owen pondered that, then nodded. "Family takes care of family," he said gruffly.

Darred made an approving expression, and after some awkward attempts at beginning conversation, the ice began to melt, so to speak.

Anakin would later admit that his tinkering habit plus his stepbrother's ideas for improving machinery plus his brother-in-law's architectural skills did make for some potential chaos. However, he did not admit that until after the chaos had already been unleashed.

#star wars wednesday #star wars au #everybody lives au #expanded skywalker-naberrie-lars family reunion #ryoo discovers she likes to sit and listen to beru's stories #pooja 'helps' her dad and uncles test equipment and mayhem ensues #padme may or may not be considering aiding local attempts to overthrow jabba #fic prompts #writing prompts #padme naberrie #anakin skywalker #owen lars #beru whitesun lars #sola naberrie #ryoo and pooja #baby skywalker twins

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inflagranteinnuendo · 6 years

Note

Hi, I'm slowly dying over my senior thesis paper (that's due in like 2 days and I'm ready to scream) and I started thinking: how would each of the boys help (or "help" because they're wonderful sexy, smug distractions) with a S/O who was hella stressed over a school or work assignment?

THREESOME THREESOME THREESOME!!!

hi as a christine on a friday i feel this in my soul so much that it bled all over into my dreams last night. tbh i blame @adacarisi for all her talks of pillars (of criminal justice) and good lays (chips) anyways so here we go

It was 7pm on a friday, and you were being bent over and fucked in every possible way on the dining table,

by a massive, massive column of accumulated homework, but you were too busy highlighting another passage of your textbook to voice a complain.

It was your fault for not having done your readings all week; you had to read, and so you read, on a friday fucking night, every word a stab in the eye and a stab at the storage bin of your patience.

Across the dining table, Rafael was quietly humming as he wrote notes on the margin of his notes to summarize his summaries, and Sonny was quiet and still at his side, his nose in a massive tome.

“… via connections of the tractus solitarius to the nucleus ambiguus and … to the caudal ventrolateral medulla… and from –to the rostral ventrolateral medulla… what the actual hell.”

Both of their heads shot up at your hysterical pronouncement, and you almost laughed at the twin frowns that marred their faces. But your laugh took a sharp left at the back of your throat and turned into a dry, strangled sob.

Mortified by the sound you had just made in frustration, you dropped your highlighter like a hot potato and pressed the heels of your hands into your eyeballs, muttering a small apology for disturbing their work. Alarmed, Rafael shot up and rounded the table, pen still between his fingers. Half-rising from his seat hesitatingly, Sonny watched him approach you with sharp eyes.

“You ok?” Rafael asked, gently sweeping back the curtain of your hair so to take in the state of you before he leaned over with hands on your shoulders. “You’ve been at it since before I came back. You can probably use a break.”

Your shoulders heaved under the weight of his hands. “Fuck me,” you whined, throwing your head back toward the ceiling.

A pause,

Rafael’s hands tightened on your shoulders, bunching up the back of your thin dress.

Oh, fuck.

Realizing what you had just said, the way you had just said it, and where you were, you froze.

Oh, fuck.

Rafael Barba had made it clear to you early on in your relationship that he did not tolerate swearing inside su casa, for whatever reason –you and Sonny never questioned him about it and abided by his cardinal rule strictly, unwilling to test his hot cuban temper, even on lazy weekends.

Fuck. Fuck.

Sonny’s eyes met yours, and you silently begged him to say something to break the silence you instigated with your faux-pas, but instead, his eyes were full of laughter, with a pinch of you brought this upon yourself and five whole ounces of i ain’t helping you out of this one. Thank you, Sonny, for your support.

“What did you just say?” Rafael breathed lowly, calmly, his face so close to yours that you felt the soft brush of his lips against your temple, and the hot brush of his exhale against your cheekbone.

You shivered, closing your eyes in a mix of dread, in anticipation of his chastisement for the sin you’ve just committed under his roof– and embarrassment, for the sudden flash of heat that had coursed through you at the sound of his voice.

And both men had seen your little flush of arousal.

You caught them exchange a charged glance, and then within a fraction of a second, the atmosphere of the room shifted.

“I asked you a question.” Rafael held your hair back with one hand and held the back of your neck with the other, gently tilting your head up toward him. You met his green eyes with no small amount of trepidation.

In your peripheral vision, Sonny slowly stood, undoing his dress shirt’s cuffs as he started rounding the table, his eyes intently on you.

So was this how it was going to be? Two on one, because you had let it slip just the once? “I said,” you drawl, pushing your textbook away from you carelessly and leaning back against your chair, “Fuck me.”

Sonny leaned a hip against the edge of the table, right by your shoulder, and leaned into your headspace to look down at you critically. “No apologies? Don’t think that Rafael here doesn’t appreciate those dirty words on your pretty lips, doll. But we both know he made it crystal clear that those words don’t leave the bedroom.”

You swung your eyes back toward Rafael defiantly. “You want an apology?”

He, too, leaned in, crowding you. Was this what perpetrators felt in the interrogation room as they sat at the table, while a seasoned ADA and a Manhattan detective played bad lawyer & bad cop in a game of barely lawful intimidation?

It was thrilling.

But maybe you only felt so because you have had both of these men inside you, and a pussy full of the cum Sonny had fucked into you earlier, before Rafael came back home.

As you docilely sat there, at the dinner table Rafael owned, on the chair Rafael owned, you involuntarily clenched down on Sonny’s leftovers, eagerly waiting on Rafael’s answer.

“I want a retraction and a statement of remorse.” Ah, Rafael. Forever the lawyer.

“Or else what?” You snickered. “You’re gonna prosecute me to the full extend of the law?”

At your words, his pupils dilated.

You watched as Rafael looked to Sonny for a beat. “Do it,” he said lowly, undoing his tie with deft fingers before handing it to his partner.

Before you could ask what was going on, Sonny tugged you out of your seat by the elbow. “Stand up, please.”

Narrowing your eyes at both of them, you slowly complied, heart accelerating, breath shortening, disbelief rising. Then, exhilaration gained ground when you felt him finger the zip of your dress.

You knew what was coming next. Explicitly stated affirmative consent was a mandatory prelude to your little games: appropriate, given the sort of crimes that two-third of this threesome saw on a daily basis.

“Do you consent?” Sonny asked.

“Yes, I do.” You did, and you wanted the both of them, at once, together. As soon as the words left your mouth, your dress pooled at your feet, and there you stood, clad only in a tiny thong, previously soiled by Sonny.

With savage pleasure, you heard Rafael make a short, aborted sound in the back of his throat at the sight of your tits, and the contrasting smears of white against the black lace of your underwear. Coyly, you glanced up: it was fitting that you were standing by the dining table, for Rafael looked famished.

Suddenly, your self-satisfaction was cut short by a thick strap of silk around your wrists– Rafael’s tie of the day, a crimson number, warmed by the time it had spent around his throat, and by Sonny’s fingers. You had reeled Rafael in with this exact same tie for a lingering kiss this morning, before tying it in a Grantchester knot.

“I believe I have the right to an attorney,” you announced insolently as Sonny dragged you down the hallway toward the master bedroom.

“You also have the right to remain silent,” Rafael offered, smiling at the glare you threw him in response. Did he just tell you to shut up?

“Make me,” you sneered, wholly invested in your recalcitrant role.

“Oh, believe me,” Sonny promised, hungry once again. “We will.”

Without further ado, he shoved you face down on Rafael’s bed. Down you went, willingly, the loose knot around your wrists exaggerating the arch of your back. Sonny released his grip on you to round the bed, unzipping his trousers as he went. Unable to help yourself, you peered up at his cock, now level with your head and dripping, then at his face, with his hooded eyes and bitten lip.

“Waiting on your gag order, detective?” You taunted, eyeing the first drop of clear precum bead and drool.

“You think I need a court order to shut you up?” Sonny grunted, smearing the tip of his cock over your lips to paint them glossy before pushing in, one hand steadying the base of his cock, and one hand on the back of your neck, helping you take him. The smell and the taste of him was heady, with a hint of yourself from your earlier round, and you moan around the head of him, relaxing your jaw to beg for more of him. And in he went, willingly, letting go of his cock to cradle the front of your throat, where he could feel the bulge of himself distending your flesh. He squeezed a little harder, and pushed in a little further, groaning at the sight of your lips stretched around the base of his cock, and the feel of his balls hitting your chin.

You closed your eyes. Sonny pulled back, then began fucking your face at fast and hard, drawing small whimpers out of you. You relished the total control that he had over you, surrendering all of your vital functions to him –your breathing, your thoughts, your voice– in the most momentous show of trust you could gift him. And by the set of his face, Sonny couldn’t get enough of you.

“Does she feel as good as it looks?” You heard Rafael’s voice ask somewhere behind you, slightly to your right. Even with your eyes closed, you could see him: still dressed, but trousers half undone, cock out, a tight fist around it –and the slick sounds of his cock as it slid through his grip confirmed your suspicions.

“Better than,” Sonny replied, voice breaking on the last syllable.

The mattress dipped beside you as Rafael kneeled on it. He roughly parted your thighs with a trouser-clad knee and you shivered. In your mind’s eye, you saw how debauched a picture you must make: naked, save for a thong full of cum, surrounded by two fully dressed men, on the receiving end of a thorough face fuck.

Rafael looped his cock under the lacy T at the back of your soaked thong, and fucked himself against your ass, denying you the pleasure of friction. But you couldn’t stop yet another flare of wet heat from flooding down your thighs. You whined in frustration, clenching your fists, and Rafael chuckled darkly, dropping down on one hand to drape himself over you, his weight pressing you further into the mattress. You grunt around a mouthful of Sonny, your breath knocked out by the exquisite drag of his dress shirt against your naked back. Rafael sneaked his free hand around to squeeze your tits, blowing a breath against the back of your shoulder.

That was when you realized that Rafael was watching Sonny’s cock defile your mouth up close.

Your eyes shot open, a hot flush of embarrassment rising to your cheeks, spreading downwards.

“Beautiful,” Rafael growled, and to your utmost arousal, let go of your tits to tangle his fingers with Sonny’s at the front of your throat.

Then, he tugged your thong aside and fucked the outside of your slick, cum-soaked slit, parting your sticky lips and striking your clit with each pass. He had you both panting –and you, breathing small moans around Sonny. It was absolutely filthy, that he was using Sonny’s spend to do what he was doing, even more so that he unselfconsciously enjoyed it without a care for the state of his thousand dollar trousers.

Finally, finally, Rafael fucked into you, his forward glide unimpeded, and you reflexively clenched around him, welcoming him home. He groaned and bit your shoulder, his fingers tightening on your throat. And then, as he backed up and thrust back in, propelling you onto Sonny’s cock, it occurred to you that Rafael had a hand on your throat to feel just how well Sonny was fucking your throat, as he himself was, inside you.

Does she feel as good as it looks? He had asked earlier.

Now, he had his answer.

Together, the three of you rocked, pushed, and pulled –Rafael against your back, a perverse witness to Sonny in your face, and Sonny looking down at Rafael’s ass as it clenched and relaxed in synch with each drive of his cock into you.

You came violently by Rafael’s 9th thrust, shuddering, almost gagging around Sonny as you sobbed, legs flailing, pulling against your restraints.

As you made swallowing motions to clear your airways, Sonny jerked, pulling back to slot the head of his cock against the inside of your cheek, then came with his head thrown back and a flush down his chest, sounding wrecked by the volume of his jagged moans.

Rafael’s hand massaged your neck, encouraging you to swallow whatever Sonny generously gave to you, so you did, mouthful by mouthful, sip by sip, lapping at the length of him until he was clean and you were building up again on Rafael’s cock.

“Good girl.”

Sonny laid down beside your head and kissed you deep, and wet, and hard, tongue tangling with yours languidly, till a hard thrust by Rafael’s unrelenting hips against your ass broke the kiss. You cried out, but Rafael made good on Sonny’s promise to keep you quiet –his hand drifted up from your neck to your mouth, effectively muffling your whines. He began pounding away at you, and you panted against his hot palm, unable to draw enough breath to sustain you.

“You did so well,” Sonny praised, brushing your hair out of your face. “Come for us one more time, baby, just one more time. Come on, let go.”

You were nothing if not obedient when you were on the brink of your climax, so you did as he said, screaming into Rafael’s hand. You vaguely registered your toes curling against some very expensive wool trousers.

Rafael grounded his hips into you, stilling momentarily to both enjoy your flutters and to flood your pussy full again. You blacked out completely as you came, again and again, triggered by the sheer heat of Rafael’s climax.

Oh, fuck me, you thought, as you lost your grasp on consciousness, what a way to take a study break.

(img credit x)

#rafael barba #sonny carisi #Law and Order: Special Victims Unit #once more unto the blog

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dragon-fics · 4 years

Text

S&H: Ch. 27 The End Of the Beginning.

Chapter summary: Molten and Zion wake up, expecting to be by each others side; but they’re not.

Notes, Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6, Ch. 7, Ch. 8, Ch. 9, Ch. 10, Ch. 11, Ch. 12, Ch. 13, Ch. 14, Ch. 15, Ch. 16, Ch. 17, Ch. 18, Ch. 19, Ch. 20, Ch. 21, Ch. 22, Ch. 23, Ch. 24, Ch. 25, Ch. 26, Ch. 27

Zion woke up slowly. He felt like he had slept for a week; his head was light, and he felt more refreshed than ever before as a breeze blew on his face through the open balcony door. He raised a hand over his face and cracked open his eyes as the mid-morning sun shone in through the transparent net curtain in front of the glass doors. He blinked twice, confused.

He was in his room in the Askal Castle. But he did not understand how he got there. He propped himself up on his elbows, looking around, before looking at who lay in his bed; one of his ‘bed buddies’. A bay Pegasus lay beside him, laying on his stomach, snoozing quietly.

“What the fuck?” Zion muttered, holding his hand to his forehead. He sat on the edge of the bed, his silk sheets still covering his bare legs as he rubbed his face.

Molten.

That was all that was going through his mind. He had felt like he had lived a lifetime with the drake... But where was he? He remembered nothing about coming to the castle. He reached across to his bedside table, picking up his silver, latest model phone from its wireless charging station. He pressed the ‘on/off’ button. His lock screen showed his usual background of the Roanian flag. And then he saw the date; 26 June. He briefly remembered looking at his calendar the day of his and Molten’s wedding, and according to his phone, that year was three years.

Zion felt his head get even lighter, he felt dizzy. He unlocked his phone and scrolled through his contacts; no Molten and none of Molten’s family were in his contacts list. He put his phone down again and looked at his hands. No rings. No pale sapphire engagement ring, no silver and gold wedding ring. He breathed out through closed lips.

He thought hard. Long and hard. Trying to figure it all out. He felt like he had lost part of himself by not waking up to have the drake by his side.

And then it hit him.

“It was a dream.”

*-*-*-*

Molten groaned to himself as sunlight shone into his eyes. His head was throbbing from a hangover as he prolonged opening his eyes. Eventually, the heat of the sun irritated him enough to open his eyes. He stretched as he looked around. He was in his old bedroom; in the cottage he was supposed to have moved out of a few years ago. He rubbed his eyes and pinched the scales on his bare forearm; he was awake.

He forced himself up. He winced, thinking was hard with his hangover clouding his mind so he was pretty fucking confused. He sat on the edge of his bed, leaning on his knees. Immediately he saw there was no ring on his finger. He felt his horns; they were bare. He drew in a slow breath through his nose, trying to smell the air. There was no scent of a newborn lingering in the air.

Zion.

Where was he?

Molten reached for his phone. He pressed the ‘on/off’ button only to realise the battery was flat. He plugged his phone in quickly and waited for his lock screen to flash on. It felt like the longest minute of his life.

He saw the date on his phone. “Three years?” He questioned. “How?” He unlocked his phone as a dragoness with taffy scales and small wings entered the room. She was about Molten’s age, with smudged make-up and dressed in a cyan party dress.

“Hey, Bethany,” Molten said wearily, pushing aside the Zion ‘thing’ for now. Bethany looked at the ground, swayed from side-to-side.

“Moltie? Can I have some cash to get a cab home?” She asked, playing with her finger. Molten picked up his jeans from the night before and grabbed a twenty credit note from his wallet.

“That should be enough, right?” He asked, handing it the blue paper note. Bethany nodded, took the money and grabbed her high-heeled shoes on the way out. Molten Ross to his feet as she left, he walked into his bathroom at looked straight at himself, trying to remember everything he could as she searched through his phone.

“It wasn’t real?” He looked around the room. “It was a dream.”

*-*-*-*

As soon as his ‘bed buddy’ woke, Zion rushed him out the door. And not long after, he left the room, dressed in a crisp shirt and jeans. According to his dream, he had had an argument with sire before meeting Molten. Yes, he had never come out to his sire, but he didn’t want that to happen, not in this reality.

He motioned down the hallway. With any luck, he might have Mona accompany him to talk with their sire.

“Zion,” came his sire’s voice. He turned around.

“Father,” he greeted, pushing aside his thoughts. Arryn put a hand on Zion’s shoulder.

“Come with me,” he said. He brought Zion down to the library, which was now the games room of the castle, which was on the ground floor. Zion hadn’t been down here for years, alone anyway. Especially since most of his memories here were with his dam—she was an avid reader and loved the stars.

She used to keep her favourite books in one corner, way down the back, behind the once tall oak bookshelves. Zion put all his favourite books there too. It was the only part of the library that remained. Arryn brought Zion to that corner. There were two large chairs in that corner, a rocking chair and a solid oak chair. Zion remembered when his dam would sit in the rocking chair, cradling Kate or Sarabi as she read one of her books.

He swallowed hard. “Father, why have you brought me here?” He looked at the ground.

“You remind me so much of her, Zion,” Arryn replied. He motioned back towards the more modern part of the room, towards the red velvet couch and theatre screen. “So much.” He sat on the couch before gesturing Zion to sit with him. Zion did so.

“So, what have you been meaning to tell me?” Arryn said, getting straight to the point. Zion drew in a breath; this was so much harder than coming out to his sisters.

“I think I met my soulmate in my dreams,” he blurted. He held his head in his hands.

Arryn cocked a brow. “No one has experienced that in quite some time,” he noted. “Are you sure?”

“I lived so much of my life last night. Besides, why else would I dream about falling in love with a dragon?”

*-*-*-*

Molten strode through the forest. But this time there had been no argument at home, nor was he wandering as he had in his dream. His family was about twenty paces behind him, well most of them—someone had to stay with Ember and Blaze didn’t believe what Molten said.

He had gone through his tale in great detail, so it was convincing. He had heard of people dreaming for their soulmates, but it had only ever been about their first meeting or their wedding or something like that. He settled that if today was the day he met his chosen one, his soulmate, he wanted his family to be there to make sure it wasn’t a dream this time.

He could see something ahead, some white, thin figure. He moved closer, fixing his hoodie a little as he strode forward.

***

Zion heard someone comes closer. He saw Mona, his twin, give him two thumbs up. She was as excited as he was, giggling and smiling as they trespassed into Wyrmia. She was a sucker for romantic stories.

Zion smiled. His sire had insisted on all of them to come. This could be a historic moment for Wyrmia and Roania, so why miss it?

Zion relaxed with a deep breath and turned around. His icy blue eyes met Molten’s sky-blue eyes, rendering them both motionless. They felt like they had known each other their entire lives as they stared at each other. Their hearts raced as they wondered what to say.

Finally, Molten spoke. “Zion?”

“Molten,” Zion answered, his lips lifting into a smile. They didn’t realise it, but they were getting slowly closer, until Molten wrapped his arms and Zion, sweeping him closer to him. Zion held him back, burying his face in his hoodie. Molten drew in Zion’s sweet scent as he held him, rubbing the back of his hoodie. They separated gently until Molten saw Zion’s sisters.

“Mine also came along,” Molten whispered to Zion. He looked behind Molten.

“No, Ember?” He asked. Molten was a little taken aback, but it was a shared dream. He shook his head. Molten took Zion’s hands in his and ran his thumbs over the soft fur of his hands. Zion smiled at him and pecked him on the lips, Molten kissed him back for a longer-lasting kiss.

“I don’t suppose we could trade hoodies? Just until we meet again,” Zion suggested after they broke away, already trying to lift Molten’s off. Molten raised a brow but took off the hoodie. Zion held the hoodie in a bundle in his arms. He handed his own to Molten and slipped on his. It was quite a few sizes too big, but he expected it with the size difference between the two. Sleeves flopped passed his hands, and it ended near his knees—he loved it.

He smiled brightly and started back towards his family before turning back around to Molten, who led his small hoodie in his hands, feeling how soft it was. Zion jumped into his arms. Molten held him easily as he straddled him and they shared a sweet, long passionate kiss. Zion broke away and strode off, leaving Molten in the clearing. They smiled to themselves.

This is where it all begins.

#Scales and Hooves

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blooblooded · 5 years

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Dana Vs Evil

Helplessness is really one of the big themes huh. Anyway. Dana would be 3 steps away from uncovering Yancey if she wasn’t hobbled by her depression and alcoholism. Oh, I know Ben was the one who killed Dr. Bellamy in previous versions, but I’m thinking Yancey is the one to do that now A) bc he wants to get to Quentin B) I don’t think Ben is a killer. I need to get better at writing Silas.

In Eden, rights were granted by the state and were thus subordinate to the state. Sure, in theory the Colony was a democratic republic, but in practice it was a totalitarian police state. It was like East Germany, if East Germany was controlled by out of control capitalists rather than workers and if the Stasi agents were teenagers with superpowers. Not much evidence was needed to make an arrest or to root through private property, which was great if you were a cop, but terrible if you were a normal citizen.

So when Police Commissioner Dana Nguyen heard a loud crash from the inside of the Spartan 2-story Bellamy ancestral home, she had all she needed in order to let herself in without permission. The crash, combined with the message asking for help that Quentin Bellamy sent her 15 minutes before, lead her to believe that she was finally going to have confirmation of her nearly two decades old suspicions.

It was 1:00 in the morning and the Residential Upper Levels were completely empty. If Dana had wanted to, she could have kicked in the door. Maybe. She was 52 years old now and if she lifted her leg up like that, she might not pull something, but she would be sore later. Luckily, she did not need to entertain that option for long, since she still had a key-card to the house; a remnant of when all the kids were little and she would have to cart Esther and the twins back home. It was doubtful that the locks had been changed since then-- why would they have been? Nobody in their right mind would break into a place like this.

Banishing the thoughts of Esther from her mind, since they came inevitably hand in hand with her own lost children, Dana swiped the key across the lock, shoved the heavy metal front door open, and stepped purposefully inside.

It had been a long time since she had been inside this house. It was just as she remembered it: pristine metal and white marble. It was beautiful but it did not look lived in. It looked like a tomb.

The house’s staircase was right in front of the door. It quickly became clear what had made the crashing sound: Quentin was at the bottom of the stairs with his left arm at an unnatural angle. He was in his pajamas, did not have his glasses on, and upon Dana’s entrance into his home, he looked up at her like she was a terrible stranger. Halfway up the stairs stood Dr. Bellamy, clad only in fancy underwear and a silky black robe.

Dana swallowed a rush of anger that threatened to do something stupid. Immediately, she crouched down next to Quentin, close so that he could see who she was. “I got your message,” she said. “I’m here.”

“Dana,” said Quentin, in a voice like a little boy’s. He tried to hug her but when he moved his left arm, his soft face screwed up in pain. Dana was not a natural hugger, nor did she think she had time for hugs, but she put her hand on one of his shoulders and hoped that he would find some comfort from that.

“What are you doing in my home, Commissioner?” asked Dr. Bellamy coldly. She fastened her robe and did not come down the stairs.

“Your husband messaged me,” replied Dana, as calmly as she could, even though her heart was beating fast and her blood was flowing hot. “He said something was wrong.” She felt Quentin flinch beneath her touch and instantly regretted revealing that much information. Stupid. She was so stupid, of course this woman didn’t allow him to use his own comm. She probably kept it locked in a drawer or something. But it was too late for tippy-toeing around the issue now. It was too late to play these little games.

She had been playing this game, after all, for 20 years. It was what she always had to do, because nothing was ever overtly wrong, was there? It was only ever Dana’s suspicions and fears. You can’t arrest a person off of a suspicion, even a valid one. You need evidence. And here was evidence.

This was finally her chance to actually do her job, to actually bring some justice to this family. There had been so many times she had the chance to do something, but she always looked away. She had looked away when it came to Quentin and she had looked away when it came to the miserable children, and she hated herself for that. She could finally stop being a coward. She could finally drag this woman to jail and set the bond so high that it would actually be a punishment.

Dana tried to swallow that thought as well. What was she thinking. These days, her leash was shorter than it ever had been. Silas would lose her mind if she arrested such a prominent member of the intelligentsia. The punishment would be severe.

The thought that came next bordered on suicidal: do you care what Silas does to you? What else could she possibly do?

Dr. Bellamy took a single step down. She was still made-up, despite the late hour. Her lipstick was slightly smeared, which was unusual for someone generally so put together. “There is nothing wrong here,” she said. “You can leave.”

It was the same tone of voice she always used when talking to Dana. She had used it when they first met and she thought Dana was there to clean her home and she had used it ever since.

“What happened?” she asked Quentin.

He did not look at her. “I fell down the stairs.”

That was the kind of shit she hated to hear. Fell down the stairs. Everyone in the room knew exactly what had happened, but nobody would dare use the word ‘pushed’.

“OK,” said Dana, still ever so calm because the second she stopped being calm, she would lose all semblance of control. Over the years of grief, loss, and humiliation, she had perfected her mask. She got to her feet. She did not look at the other woman because she knew she would fly into a rage. “Come on. Your arm is broken. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

Dr. Bellamy descended another step. “I can take care of my own husband.”

Dana ignored her. She helped Quentin up, doing her best not to hurt him but failing. His eyes were wet and looking around anxiously since he was so nearsighted. His glasses were most likely still up in the bedroom. He gripped her hand with his own and that wordless show of emotional need made her heart clench. It had been a long time since anyone had held her hand, years probably. She squeezed his hand hard.

“Did you hear me?” asked Dr. Bellamy, who was growing angry. It was hard to tell with someone like that, someone who was carved from marble. It showed in the way she drew herself up taller, to appear more threatening despite her fragility. “Get out of my house, Nguyen.”

And there it was. The complete disrespect. Dana stopped swallowing her anger. She was not going to let some woman who had just broken her own husband’s arm treat her like a dog. The only person she let do that was Silas, and this woman was only a mere shade of Silas.

She was going to burn her to the ground.

Dana let go of Quentin’s hand. She made eye-contact with Dr. Bellamy. “You know what this means?” she asked, pointing at the badge she wore on a chain around her neck. “You understand how rank works?”

“Commissioner Nguyen.”

“That’s right.” Dana studied Dr. Bellamy’s smeared lipstick and the silk robe, both indications of a fun sexy night. As far as she knew, Quentin did not engage in such behaviors; apparently it had been an ordeal to conceive the children even though they were Artificials and all that would have been needed was a little semen. “Is there somebody else in this house?”

Dr. Bellamy’s face began to color. It started at her ears and then spread down until it reached her neck and chest. The color of blood.

Out of nowhere, Dana realized that there was another man standing at the top of the steps. She had not noticed him before, which seemed impossible since the lights were all on and there were no shadows in which he could have hidden in. He could not have been standing there the whole time, could he? He simply appeared out of nowhere. Dark haired, white, and unremarkable, he looked to be in his mid 30’s. He only wore a pair of black boxers.

“Er, hello,” said the alleged newcomer.

“I see,” said Dana shortly. “Sir, do you mind coming down?”

The young man obliged. He did not appear nervous or embarrassed and he stopped a step above Dr. Bellamy. He was relaxed and polite. Quentin’s body language grew more uncomfortable, he stared down at his feet and cradled his arm. And of course he was uncomfortable. It appeared that this guy had been sleeping with his wife and he got pushed down the stairs because of it. He was a complete stranger but Dana hated looking at him-- it does not say good things about a person’s character when they are willing to sleep with a married woman who is 20 years older than them.

But she only needed to know one thing.

“What happened here?” she asked him.

“My husband fell down the stairs,” Dr. Bellamy repeated firmly, as if reading from the same script that all people who are like her read from.

The young man raised his dark eyebrows in what appeared to be concern for Quentin, which was an obvious act. If he truly felt concern, then he would not have been lurking in the background for the past 5 minutes. Dana felt another surge of fury and had to wrestle back the animal thoughts that she kept chained in the back of her skull. “Well,” he said slowly. “It all happened so fast. There was a bit of an argument, over, well, I’m sure you can figure it out. Quentin said he was going to leave, then Lily shoved him. I tried to stop it.”

“Yancey!” said Dr. Bellamy shrilly, turning to face him. Her contained, elegant face was filled with hideous shock. Yancey gave a little shrug.

Dana felt a smile pulling at her lips. She could not help it. It was not the kind of smile one makes when they are happy. It was a shark’s smile and there was blood in the water. She could see her prey and she could see the path that she needed to take.

She had had a long time to hate this woman. She’d hated her for the way she always used to act like Kassidy was dirty when she came over. She’d hated her for the way she would insinuate Kip was violent. She’d hated her for the way she would drug and hospitalize Esther every time the child was defiant. She’d hated her for the way she made the twins feel bad about themselves and overworked them. But all those things were in the past and could be disregarded for the reason that Dana hated Lillian Bellamy in that moment: she hated her for hurting a person as vulnerable and kind as Quentin.

Beside her, he blinked in his confused way and looked down at the floor. Dana knew that he did not want to leave. Well, he wanted to leave. But he knew nothing else. He had nothing else. No job, no other family. She could not just leave him there, she could not just take him to the hospital and then let him go back.

Dana’s own fantasies of violence had formulated into something tangible, even years ago. In her mind there was a distinct and justifiable end for every person who had ever caused her or her loved ones harm. For the past 20 years she had been powerless to engage in these fantasies, but now...Now. Her children were gone and she was beyond saving, but here was a person who she could actually help. And a person she could actually punish.

There were handcuffs at her belt.

Dana took a deep breath, filled with a terrible desire for action. The dog was off its leash at last and ready to snap. She did not care about Silas, she did not care about consequences. Only action. Only finally doing something that mattered in a city that had beaten everyone in it down for so long. She was done with being helpless and done with the helplessness of others, at least for one night.

For one night, she could be better than her true nature.

Blood roared in her ears. “Lillian Bellamy,” she said. Her voice caught creakily in her throat but was loud enough for everyone to hear. “I’m taking you down to the station. You’re under arrest.”

Now Dr. Bellamy’s face was completely red. “What?!” Behind her, Yancey’s eyes widened and for half a second he smiled before remembering exactly where he was. “You can’t do that, you know who I am. You can’t do that.”

“I can do whatever I want.” Dana bared her teeth. “You know who I am and you know who backs me up. I don’t have to have a reason for doing shit, I can do whatever I want to anybody I want. I should have called social services on you for child neglect 15 years ago, I have always fuckin’ regretted not doing that. But now? You pushed your husband down the stairs and broke his arm in front of a witness. That’s domestic violence, do you really think I’m just going to ignore that because you’re rich and smart and close to Silas? No, you’re going to jail and then you’re going to court.”

For a long second, the sterile white house went completely quiet. Quentin made a noise like a little gasp. Dana was not looking at him because she knew that he would try to protest her decision. In another life, before she had lost everything, she might have let him.

Love was a horrible thing and the kind of love that Quentin had for his wife revolted her. He was trapped like a dog just like she was but unlike her, he did not understand the nature of the leash. It was helplessness and brainwashing. He could not see that but she would help him see it even if it meant hurting him tonight. Was that not justifiable? Some people had to be forced into accepting their own autonomy.

Barb would say that she was being stupid and harmful. Barb would say that people had to learn how to make their own choices.

But Barb was not there.

“If you do this, Nguyen, I will end you.” For the first time, Dr. Bellamy looked frightened.

“Yeah, yeah.” Dana advanced up the stairs, propelled by the arrow of her anger. No time for second guessing herself. Dr. Bellamy was over half a foot taller than she was but as fragile as a bag of sticks. She grabbed her by the arm and dragged her down the stairs, ignoring the weak struggling and torrent of verbal threats. At that point, Dana’s mind was far away, so focused was she on her purpose. It was easy to manhandle Bellamy’s arms behind her back and handcuff her. She made the handcuffs tighter than they needed to be. When Bellamy tried to pull away Dana yanked down hard on the handcuffs to hurt her. “You don’t want to be fighting me, I would fucking love to tase you.”

She had been treated like shit for so long, surely it was within reason for her to act out with a little cruelty.

“I’m not wearing any clothes!” Bellamy protested. Her lingerie was opening up at the front again due to her struggles.

“Hm,” said Dana, who didn’t care. This cold proud woman deserved a little humiliation after all the times she had humiliated her children and her husband over the years. She was upset about getting marched down to the station in her robe, for everyone to ogle? Tough shit, it was just deserts for all the times Dana had seen her unfortunate children reduced to tears because of her treatment. “I wouldn’t worry. The jumpsuits in the Prison District are quite modest.”

“You can’t do this to me. Yancey, say something!”

Dana yanked down on the handcuffs again so that she shut up.

Up on the steps, Yancey was smiling. It was not a nice smile. His mouth was too wide for his face, his lips almost sensual, and it gave him a hungry look. Dana did not have time to parse out his role in all of this. He was a witness and that was all.

She needed someone to send her a shuttle to pick them up so she did not have to use public transportation to take Bellamy down, as well as a medical shuttle for Quentin. Still, there were few at the station she could trust not to go behind her back before she even got there. Vega did not work nights, but luckily Sashi Mahajan was the 3rd Shift Lieutenant. Lieutenant Mahajan may have been deep in the pockets of Romeo Prospas, but she was married to one of the day shift Captains, Kelsey Mahajan, who was one of the few who were completely loyal to Dana. Because of this, she knew that Sashi would not betray her.

She paged her on her communication device. “Lieutenant? I need a shuttle at the Residential Upper Levels ASAP.”

“Why are you still awake Dana?” Sashi usually called her by her first name, since Kelsey did due to their closeness. Usually that was fine, but not in this company.

Dana ignored the question and sent her coordinates. “That’s Commissioner to you, Sashi. I need a medical shuttle for a civilian as well.”

“On it, Commissioner...” She could practically hear the eye-rolling.

“I could take Quentin to the hospital,” Yancey said eagerly, descending a step. He was completely comfortable and unashamed despite only wearing his boxers. “I work there sometimes.”

There was something too enthusiastic in the way he said that. There was something greedy that Dana could not see past, something that craved harm. The way he said it made her believe that his intentions were bad and that he was not simply part of cuckolding Quentin Bellamy. When she tried to look closer at him to understand him through his expression, his body language, she found it hard to focus. It hurt her eyes to look at him, like she was looking through glasses that were the wrong prescription.

There was no time for wondering about that.

“No,” said Dana. “Thank you. Come down to the station in the morning and I’ll take your statement.”

“You sure?” Yancey’s hungry smile did not reveal his teeth. His eyes were black and empty.

She did not answer him. Beside her, Quentin was still frightened and had frozen in shock and pain, cradling his broken arm. He needed comfort but Dana did not know how to do that. She could not even comfort herself. She was bad with emotions, bad with being kind. Her true nature was angry and chaotic but the decades of mistreatment and loss kept her from even understanding that. She struggled with love because she had lost the people she was supposed to love the most: her wife, her children. Her...friends ...Cihad, Barbara Church, and even that complete bastard West were so good with people and so good at being compassionate and empathetic. What would they do in this situation?

They would tell him that everything was going to be OK. They would make him believe that everything was going to be OK.

Instead of choosing to comfort Quentin and making him feel better by assuring him that his frigid abusive wife would be OK, she had to take the more difficult path. She had to remove her from his life so that he could be happy and safe. Maybe that was not the kind thing to do in this moment, but it was the right thing.

It had to be the right thing.

Dana did the only thing she could do: she stared grimly ahead and thought about her next steps.

###

It was 2:00 in the morning when Dana got the notification that Quentin was at the ER. By that time she was hiding in her office, waiting for Lieutenant Sashi Mahajan to come in and let her know that Bellamy was done being processed and was safely in the jail section of the Prison District. She’d be allowed a phone call then, and would call someone to bail her out. Dana herself had set the bail at 50,000 credits, twice the usual rate for domestic violence cases in Eden.

It occurred to her that she needed to call the children before long. They would be the ones called to bail their mother out, as well as the ones called to pick up their father-- since protective orders were automatically granted by law in Eden, he would not be able to return to his home. It was the right thing to do to notify them but she did not want to.

Dana opened the bottom drawer of her desk, where she kept a bottle of rot-gut whiskey. These days she went through a handle twice a week, which wasn’t so bad. Things had been worse. She could not even remember the 6 months after B-Day, after they took Kip away from her and put all the blame on him. Kassidy had moved out during that time too, and the only things the black-outs had not taken from her were the screaming fights. So two handles a week was not bad. She knew she had a problem, but what else was she supposed to do? Deal with her hellish situation? Process her misery?

She steeled herself and pulled up Evangeline Bellamy’s contact information on her comm. She was the likeliest one to wake up at this hour since her twin brother had always slept like he was in a coma. As the device rang, Dana poured a generous amount of liquor into her coffee mug. It burned going down and instantly numbed her feelings of fear and helplessness, pushed down the animal desire to hurt others.

Why had she wrenched down on Bellamy’s arms like that? Lashing out. Transferring her rage onto someone else. It was Silas’s fault.

Evangeline picked up on the 5th ring. Her pale pointed face appeared on the screen of Dana’s comm. She was in bed, limp orange hair sticking up at odd places. The twins had moved out of their home as soon as they were able, and lived in the dorms of the Education District. “Ms. Nguyen?” she said, blinking away sleep. They both called her that, even though she had acted as a 2nd mother to them since toddlerhood. “What’s wrong?”

There was no good way to say it. “I’m sorry,” began Dana, and immediately regretted it because Evangeline sat straight up in terror. It had been less than a year since Esther had been lost. Poor Esther. Not everyone was as practiced at losing people as Dana was. “Nobody’s dead, but you need to wake up your brother and get down to the hospital. Your dad needs you right now.”

“What happened?” The most dynamic and energetic of the three Bellamy children, Evangeline was already getting out of bed and pulling a sweater on over the t-shirt she slept in. “His TBI? Another stroke?”

“No. He--” Dana didn’t have the words. She took another drink, then tightened her lips. “Your mom got mad at him so he messaged me. When I got to your house, he’d fallen down the stairs and broken his arm. So he’s at the hospital now. He needs you two, I couldn’t stay.”

There was a long pause. Evangeline was 22 now and not an idiot. She had been raised in that household. Her cough-syrup green eyes looked right through Dana, already growing glassy in preparation for the inevitable emotional blow. A sacrificial lamb. “And Mother?”

“One of you will be getting a call soon. To-- you know. For bail.”

Evangeline’s lower lip trembled in what was either anger or sadness. She put one hand over her face.

“I’m sorry,” continued Dana, hating herself. She was bad at being a person. She was bad at everything. Barb was right, she needed therapy. Her choice, her desire for vengeance qua justice was going to cause people she cared about pain. It was going to cause Quentin pain, and harm the twins. Again she was taken by self-doubt and fear. There was no way around it. “I’ll meet up with you two as soon as I can. I have some things to do here.”

“Are Dad and Mother going to get a d-divorce?”

Dana did not know what to say to that either. Here was a young woman who needed simple comfort that she was not capable to give. “Probably. I don’t know.”

She watched the video of Evangeline’s face change as she composed herself. How could people just do that? Even though it had been 10 years since she lost Kip, she was still a wreck, she could barely function. She could barely shower. It was all she could do was keep the snarling beast that lived in the back of her mind on its chain every day so she didn’t snap and do something stupid.

Which Dana realized that she had failed at.

“One of us will go be with Dad, the other will wait for Mother’s call.” said Evangeline. She sniffed, swallowed. “I’ll call you back in a little bit, Ms. Nguyen. There’s too much to think about right now.”

“I love you,” Dana said awkwardly. Those words never sounded right coming out of her mouth. Even when she said it to her kids, it had always sounded stilted. There was something wrong with her. Why was she like that. She could not express herself in the right way because she did not feel her feelings in the right way.

Evangeline just nodded in response and turned off her communicator without saying goodbye.

To dull the sadness, Dana poured herself another drink. Would it really be that bad if she got drunk? It was the middle of the night and she sort of deserved it. What reason did she have not to? In the morning she was supposed to have breakfast with Barb, who had the uncanny ability of always knowing when she had been drinking. And Barb would be disappointed.

Why did she care so much about what some Church woman thought of her anyway?

Instead of ruminating on this any longer, Dana leaned back in her chair so that she could stare at the ceiling. There was an interesting stain on the ceiling that resembled a cupcake if she squinted the right way. God, she hated her office. She hated how much time she spent there. But it was better than going back to her empty home.

She did not know how much time passed before her door swung open, but it made Dana jump out of her skin and nearly fall out of her chair. The person who walked inside was supposed to be Sashi Mahajan, but it was not. It was Silas.

Silas! The woman was just so plain and normal, there was nothing about her appearance that betrayed her true malevolence. This was the person who had Eden under her thumb, the person who had murdered her wife, the person who had taken Kip away, the person who had covered up Kassidy’s disappearance, the person who had tortured Dana for two decades. Somebody like that was supposed to look impressive. Silas wore frumpy sweatpants and thick square glasses. Her calm, high-cheekboned face was framed by long unstyled hair. She was as unchanging and cold as petrified wood. There was nothing frightening about her.

Behind her was the hyperactive secret police boy she liked so much. The teleporting one. Dana only knew him because Silas allowed him to take his helmet off in front of her. The rest of them could be...anybody.

Those thoughts were treacherous. Dana did not allow herself to linger on them often. She did not allow herself to hold onto hope when it could be snatched away from her again so easily.

“You’re up late,” said Dana, who knew that she was in serious trouble if Silas was here to harass her at 2 in the morning. She did not get up out of her chair. “Were you watching me again?”

“I was informed that you arrested and humiliated one of my best contractors in the middle of the night,” said Silas, ignoring the comment about watching her. It would not have surprised Dana if she had cameras installed in her home and in her office; she knew that Silas liked to watch people. In particular, she knew that Silas liked to watch her. She was one of those weird people, the kind that like to look and never touch. What do you call those kind of people? Voyeurs. “What do you think you were doing?”

“My job.” Dana drank another mouthful from her mug and wondered if it looked like she was drinking coffee. Then again, why did she care? Silas knew everything about her and chronic alcoholism isn’t exactly easy to hide.“The job that you make me do. That job.”

Years ago, she had figured out that the many public figures appointed secretly by Silas were incompetant. It was another method by which she maintained control over the Colony. If they were incompetant, it was easier for her to pull their strings. It was why that idiot Jay Malena was Mayor. It was why Cihad was head nurse. It was why Oksana Hax (FIGURE OUT HAX’S NAME) was the Warden of the Prison District. It was why she was Police Commissioner. Who knew how many other underqualified morons were on the loose because of her.

Silas advanced into Dana’s office. She stood on the other side of the desk, towering over Dana, who leaned back in her chair to maintain some kind of distance between them.“So doing your job suddenly means arresting someone whose research is vital to the scientific development of our Colony? Not only that, but doing it in the middle of the night? And letting her be paraded down to the Prison District without proper clothes on? Is that the job you’re talking about, Dana?”

Being stressed, liqoured up, and exhausted gave Dana courage that she didn’t usually have. “Bellamy broke her husband’s arm in front of a witness,” she snapped. “What do you want me to do, look the other way when it comes to domestic violence?” Her own upbringing hadn’t exactly been gentle, it wasn’t until she married Harry that she fully understood that people aren’t supposed to smack their family members; this was a sore topic for her to talk about out loud.

“Of course not,” said Silas. She put her hands on Dana’s desk so that she could lean ever so slightly. “That is terrible. That is very upsetting to hear. But you can’t snap and do impulsive things like that. You have to go through me first when a situation involves somebody who is essential to making Eden a better place.”

Geneticists did not make Eden a better place. Geneticists only created pretty babies for the ultra rich. Blood pounded in Dana’s head and the alcohol burned in her stomach. Helpless. Helpless. Was she really so helpless? Was she really just Silas’s dog, just like the secret police teleporter was? The animal part of her urged her to do something, to say anything, but it was like she was stuck to her chair.

Again the thought came to her: what else could Silas possibly do to her?

“You’re going to have to answer to the press in the morning,” Silas continued. Behind her thick glasses, her eyes were unlined. When Dana first met her, she looked like she was 40, and now 20 years later, she still looked like she was 40. Somehow she did not age. Either she was a monster or she was involved with the same sort of blood magic Cihad was. At this point, Dana figured she was just a monster walking around in human skin. “They’re going to rip you apart. Worse than usual.”

“I don’t think I’ll talk to the press tomorrow,” Dana replied. She sat up a little straighter in her chair and relished the confused look on her enemy’s face. “I’m tired of getting publicly gangbanged by them. I don’t think I’m going to do that anymore, if I talk to the media I’m not just gonna sit there and take it. I’m not apologizing for doing the right thing.”

Behind Silas, the loyal teleporting agent furrowed his eyebrows like he couldn’t stand to hear his master being talked to like that.

It felt like the office got chillier. Dana swiveled her chair back and forth. It was not a power move, she was just tipsy. For some reason she did not feel afraid like she normally did. Her adrenaline wasn’t pumping. It was easy for her to stand up for herself when it came to blowhards like West or self-righteous freaks like Cihad, so why had she thought that Silas would be any different? This felt normal. This felt good. This felt like breaking free.

Then, Silas smiled at her. It wasn’t a natural smile, just the slightest turning at the corners of the mouth. The kind of smile an adult wears when they are indulging a child. “You’re drunk.”

“Not yet.”

“Do you think you’ll regret talking this way in the morning?”

Always with the fucking questions. “I really don’t.”

Silas looked down at the messy contents of Dana’s desk. The empty coffee mugs. The cracked tablet. The crumbs. She looked back up and didn’t say anything. The smallest of lines appeared between her dark eyebrows as if she was contemplating something.

And Dana kept swiveling the chair. She cocked her head so that she could look at the secret police boy and caught him concealing a yawn. God, she hated what Silas was doing to those kids.

“I see what’s going on,” Silas said at length. “You spend too much time with Cihad and you’re picking up on his defiance. It is not a good trait for you to latch on to, it’s just going to make you more miserable. Before you started associating with him in your free time-- not to mention that rabble-rouser Agapama-- you listened to me more. You never fought me on things. You and I had a better professional relationship.”

“So you have been watching me.”

“I always watch you.”

Shivers ran up Dana’s back when she heard her admit that. She stopped swiveling her chair.

Silas continued. “I think you need to put an end to your little meetings with Cihad, with West Agapama, with the woman from the Church. It might seem harmless to you right now, but it’s putting subversive thoughts in your head. I want to find you trustworthy.”

Subversive. Subversive, not traitorous. Despite everything, she still did not know the extent of what they all thought about her, what they all wanted to do to her. If she did, she would have already put an end to it. All of their doors would have already been kicked in if Silas knew how badly they all wanted to harm her.

It still didn’t matter. Dana shrugged. She raised her eyebrows and looked her enemy in the eyes. “What are you gonna do if I go ahead and ignore that?”

“Excuse me?”

“If I completely fucking ignore you.” Dana had to keep crazed laughter from rising in her throat. She kept herself rooted in reality by staring into Silas’s eyes, through the barrier of the glasses that shielded them. Her eyes were heavily lidded, long-lashed, dark brown with flecks of black. Maybe she was drunk. “What are you gonna do? Pay me less than you already do? I’m sorry, you have nothing over me any more. What-- what are you gonna do, kill me? I don’t care. There’s nothing you can take away from me now. This isn’t like the old days where you could just threaten my kids so I’d do everything you told me to. I’m gonna go ahead and keep doing what I want to. I’m gonna do my job the way I want to and if you don’t like it, you can just do whatever you want to me.”

The words hung in the air between them. The secret police boy behind Silas had his mouth open; he did not seem very smart.

Dana realized how hard she was breathing but she did not want to look away. She did not want to be the first one to show weakness.

A flush rose to Silas’s smooth, tan face. Bullies don’t like it when you stand up to them. She took a little step back from Dana’s desk. “Nothing I can take away…” she said slowly, and took her big square glasses off so that she could wipe the lenses on her shirt. “Is that honestly what you think?”

There was no way in hell that Dana was going to answer any more of her fucking questions.

She realized that she was smiling, which made her look insane. Dana did not have a pretty smile, it was always so forced and tight-lipped. Being forced to wear lipstick so that she looked feminine and presentable on television didn’t exactly help. But she could not stop smiling at Silas.

Sometimes she fantasized about hurting her. About violently killing her. This was one of those times.

“Take the picture of your son out of your desk drawer,” Silas said unexpectedly. “I know you hide one in there.”

That made the smile drop from Dana’s face. She froze. There was a picture of Kip in her desk. Nobody was supposed to know that, not even Vega. God, so had Silas been going through her desk now too? It was the last picture she had of Kip from before...before Silas had him shot. His senior prom. Kip had rented a suit and was so happy, so excited, but when Dana looked at it she always wanted to cry. He had been unbelievably sick during those last months and she had failed to see it. It showed in the deep circles underneath his eyes and the manic way he held himself.

It was too late to feel guilty over not catching that he had stopped taking his meds, it was too late to feel guilty over not realizing the kind of people he was hanging out with at the end of his life. All Dana could do was look at his pictures.

“Take it out now,” said Silas. “You’ll get it back.”

Hesitantly, Dana opened her top desk drawer and removed the picture of Kip then handed it over. Silas looked at it for a second and something about her face hardened. She showed it to the secret police boy.

He flinched back and his gaze flitted towards Dana. There was guilt all over his face. Like he felt sorry for her.

“Do you know who this is, BG?” she asked him softly.

BG (and what kind of stupid name was that?) nodded. “Yeah. That’s Smiles.”

Dana’s stomach flipped. Her suspicions had blossomed when Silas would not let her see her son’s body, much less have a funeral for him. She knew what the secret police were, as an agency just like she knew that Kip had abilities that would put a target on his back for recruitment. Even though she had seen the execution video, even though she had nightmares about hearing the gunshot, she had all these fucking doubts. It was just one more thing. And now...now….

She realized that she was standing up and she couldn’t remember doing it.

“When was the last time you saw him?” asked Silas. She kept holding the picture of Kip.

“Yesterday, when he bubbled Echo and threw them into a wall for no reason. I had to threaten his psychic to make him stop.”

The intimate knowledge of Kip’s ability to create spherical force fields revealed that the young man was not lying or being prompted. Dana’s knees began to shake.

“Let me see him,” she said in a pitiful voice that made her hate herself. Did it take that little to make her weak? “Let me see him. I want to see him.”

“No,” said Silas, so cold and with-holding, who put the picture back of the desk, facedown. “BG, you may go back to bed now. I’ll be alright here. ”

The young man with the prosthetic arm gave Dana another guilty look that made her uncomfortable and suspicious. Then he disappeared. What an ability to have. What she wouldn’t give to be able to disappear.

Now Dana’s whole body was shaking. There was nothing worse she could imagine for her son; it would almost be kinder if he was dead. She tried to swallow but her mouth was so dry she could not. “So you’ve had him the whole time. I always thought...I always had the feeling you did. I know what you do to them, Cihad told me what you make them do. So what is this, you’re still blackmailing me? You take my kid away 10 years ago only to tell me you’ll give him back to me if I do whatever you want me to do?” The animal part of her brain kept telling her to shoot Silas with the firearm at her hip. It would be so easy. Just get it over with. Her fingers itched.

She walked out from behind the protection of her desk to stand in front of Silas, as if being close to her might make her have mercy. Mercy. Silas was not merciful. Dana looked up at her, feeling small and old and weak and powerless.

In her mind, she pictured Kip when he was a child, before Harry’s death. All 4 of them had been so happy back then. She could see the way that his hair stood up from his head and the way that his whole face lit up when he laughed. The way that he would always get into trouble. He had been the most loving and sensitive kid she ever met. What kind of man had he grown into?

“I want him back,” she said, still completely pathetic. Where was that fire she had mere hours ago. “You got me. You win. OK? You win, Silas. I’ll stop talking to Cihad and West. I won’t fight anymore. I’ll do whatever you want.”

Silas’s glasses hid her eyes. She raised one hand and hesitantly put it on Dana’s shoulder so that her thumb and part of her palm were touching the bare skin of her neck; the first physical contact they had made in 20 years. Her hand was clammy from sweat, there was dirt under her short fingernails. At no point was this threatening; she did not press down, she barely let their skin touch. The touch was gentle and awkward and filled with unspoken desire.

Dana recoiled from the touch like somebody had hit her. The corners of Silas’s mouth turned down.

It wasn’t as if Dana was not aware of this particularly unsettling facet of Silas’s motivation. But again, she did not enjoy the confirmation of her suspicions. This woman had ordered the murder of her wife two decades ago-- not because of Dana of course, since at that time she did not even know she existed-- and on that fact alone, she reviled her.

Wasn’t watching her on her cameras all the time enough?

The spell was broken. Silas drew away from her and any sign of vulnerability fell away from her once again. “You’re never going to get him back,” she said. “Your cooperation has nothing to do with it. I’m not bribing you. I’m punishing you. I’ve always been punishing you. Do you understand that?”

Dana’s hand twitched towards her firearm and half-pulled it from its holster before she froze again. The animal part of her brain was screaming at her to shoot. It was out of her control. Silas watched this movement and then looked into her face.

Helpless. Why was she so fucking helpless? She could end it right now if she wanted to. She could have ended it 10 years ago. The natural solution was violence, that was the only way she would ever be able to get away. One of them was going to die and that was how this drawn out dance was going to end. But just as some invisible, horrific force prevented Quentin from hating his wife, Dana was prevented from any meaningful action against Silas.

She couldn’t do it. In the end she was still a dog on a leash.

“Right,” said Silas, her eyes on the gun. “I really do appreciate these displays.”

“Please,” said Dana.

“Do you really hate me that badly? Do you want me dead?”

Her mouth was dry. It was pointless to say anything other than the truth. “Yes.”

It was shocking just to admit to it. There was no relief. All of a sudden Dana was empty on the inside. What did this matter? All Silas wanted to do was hurt her; why was she allowing her to have more control by dangling Kip in front of her because she needed more leverage? What did she think that was going to accomplish? Taking him away a second time? It was like she wanted her to drink herself to death.

Then Silas sighed and twisted the proverbial knife in a little further. “I’ll keep that in consideration as I decide what to do with Christopher in the morning. You know, he is nearing 30, he’s lucky. Usually I don’t let them live past 21.”

The emptiness engulfed Dana. It was all so much larger than she was. “You’re the devil.”

Silas gave her that small smile that she hated so much. That little ‘I’m more clever than you’ smile. “You and I both know there’s no such thing. Both of us are just people who have jobs to do. Drink some water, Dana. I don’t want you to have a headache tomorrow. Take care of yourself.” And she turned and left as quietly as she had entered.

For a while, Dana kept perfectly still, her mind blank. She could not let herself think. If she thought, she might feel something and that would be the end of it. Instead she let her body carry her back to her chair, back to her desk, and she slumped down there. The chair seemed bigger than it had been, or maybe she seemed smaller.

Her mug of liquor was still there. She took a big gulp and turned over the picture of Kip, feeling nothing. She looked at his face and his smile. The thoughts of how badly she had failed him were driven from her mind in her desolation. The thoughts of how she had lost everyone she had ever loved were a nonentity.

This was just another method of torture. Why was it so drawn out? Who could stand something like this for twenty years? How could Silas do this to her? Didn’t she know she could torture herself just as well?

She didn’t know how much time passed, but Dana went ahead and got drunk. The right thing to do would be to go to the hospital. Quentin needed her. Quentin needed her support. But she knew that he was going to be mad at her and she wouldn’t be able to stand that. How can you go about hurting a gentle person by trying to keep them safe and help them? Dana was good at messing things up like that.

It didn’t matter what Silas was going to do. It didn’t matter, none of it mattered. Kip was already dead. Kassidy was gone, probably dead. Her wife was dead, long dead. There was only Dana left and the only thing left for her to do, the only way forward, was to keep fighting. Or if not fighting, moving forward.

But it was such a terrible thing to be alone.

Soon her communicator buzzed as the hospital called her. Quentin. Dana let it ring because she was too ashamed to answer it and speak to him. When it kept buzzing, she stuffed it into one of her pockets. What was wrong with her. Quentin was probably scared and upset out of his mind, his arm broken and without his family. That creepy Yancey guy who had been so ‘concerned’ about him would probably show up like he had insinuated. She had been so gung-ho over saving him only a few hours ago. Now she knew that she had just made things worse. She always made things worse.

She hated herself and wished that she could just let herself roll over and die. That’s what she wanted, wasn’t it? What was the point of this, of any of this if she didn’t have anything to keep fighting for?

In this daze, she pulled out her communicator again and lingered over her contacts list. West. Cihad. There was only one person who wouldn’t judge her or make her feel shitty about her failures. Dana pressed her name.

After a few rings, Barbara Church picked up. She was already awake, her hair damp from a shower. How strange it was to see her in an old T-shirt instead of her uniform, how intimate it was to see her with her hair uncovered. Dana did not know if she should look away or not, but Barb was the one who had chosen to answer her call.

“Dana?” she said. “It’s 4 in the morning. What’s going on, are you OK?”

There was a lump in her throat. Dana shook her head. She couldn’t talk. If she talked, everything would come pouring out. If she talked, she might start crying.

Barb must have known that she had been drinking, that she was a mess, but her expression never turned into that nosy and judgemental one that Cihad’s always did. It wasn’t a smug ‘let me help because I'm better than you’ look like West’s always was. Her face, lined and freckled from a life of painfully difficult work, was just...understanding. Compassionate. “What can I do?”

This tiny scrap of kindness was too much to bear. Dana’s eyes stung. She felt like she was going to throw up. “Babs,” she said.

“You can talk to me, Dana.”

“Can-- can you just stay on the other line for a while?” Dana asked. She was painfully aware that she was slurring her speech. Even asking for something as small as that made her feel ashamed. “I just need-- I need--” She couldn’t bring herself to say ‘I need support’.

Barbara Church wrung out her long wavy hair with a towel. She must have been in her bedroom, which Dana had never seen before. It was lit with warm light and there was a picture of some guy with a halo on the wall behind her. Her posture was comfortable, open. “Are you safe?” she asked.

Nobody had ever asked Dana something like that. She shrugged.

“Did something happen?”

“I-- I just don’t want to be alone right now.”

“Talk to me about what happened.” Barb propped her communicator up on her desk so that she could use both her hands to rub moisturizer onto her face. Here was a person who knew how to take care of herself, every day, because she actually liked herself. How did someone who had to wake up at 4 in the morning every day make time to take care of herself? “You look-- I’ve never seen you look like this. You’ve never called me about anything other than-- well, you know-- which makes me very worried about you right now. So before we move past this, I want you to tell me if you’re safe or not right now.”

Dana hesitated for a second that felt like a decade. “No. I don’t know. I mean, how, how can I be? Everything I do, I can’t get away. All I tried to do tonight was help there for someone who needed my help and I just made everything worse. For him. For me. I feel so fucking helpless, Babs. She won’t let me go. I can’t get away. I thought, tonight, I thought I wanted to shoot her just so I could make it all stop and she just stood and watched me because she knows I could never do it. I want this to stop. I can’t make it stop.”

Barb wrapped a rectangle of black and white fabric over her hair and knotted it in the back. Her constant calm movement seemed to be a strategy to keep her from betraying Dana by appearing to be sorry for her or judging her. “Who won’t let you get away?”

Again, Dana thought about Quentin and his wife. She thought about the invisible binds. Even though Barb was there, watching her, she took another drink because she couldn’t handle the realization that it was all the same. “You know who.”

“I’m coming over to you,” said Barb. “I think you need someone to be with right now.”

“Why are you like this?” Dana asked, miserable. “How do you have the energy when things are like...this?”

And Barb smiled at her. It was not full of pity and it wasn’t mocking. It was just a smile, a little tired, but completely genuine. “Oh. Well that’s the only thing I have the power to do, you know? The world is hard enough already, I can at least be kind. I used to think I could change everything by doing things that were on the macro-level, but it’s the little acts of kindness that actually add up. I can’t bust down doors and save people, but I can come over and have a cup of coffee with you, you know? You’re not as helpless as you think you are.”

Upon hearing that, Dana did not begin to cry. But she wanted to.

#writing

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