Fanfiction || Agony of Lover’s Despair || Jane/Maura
Title: Agony of Lover’s Despair
Author: Sapphire Smoke cuzimastripper
Beta(s): tamswitter
Fandom: Rizzoli & Isles
Rating: R
Pairing: Jane/Maura
Completed Length: 1,493 words
Timeline: Post season one finale, though AU: Frankie dies.
Summary: Jane Rizzoli didn't know love anymore. She only knew pain.
Prompt: "Penance/Punishment" for KinkBingo ( my card )
Warnings: This is dark. Like dark. Fucked up. Painful. No happy ending. Don't shun me from the fandom, please.
A/N: So it was either "Penance/Punishment" or "Watersports" left for me to finish my bingo. I wasn't quite in the mood to have them pee on each other, lol, so this is what happened. Don't know if this is any better though. Probably not.
“Say it!”
Crack. A scream echoes through the walls of the house. Dark; the darkness comes after the blinding pain that streaks across Jane’s abdomen as she closes her eyes, leaving a red welt over the scar she had come to loath because of what it represents. She sucks in a breath of air, trying to fill her lungs and gather enough strength to lay down flat once more. She can take more of this; she knows she can. She has to; she deserves it.
“SAY IT!”
Maura Isles’ voice was demanding, angry, desperate. She’s on the verge of tears already and they’ve barely even begun. She hates doing this, Jane knows it. She knows every time Maura hurts her, another piece of her soul dies. Yet her shaking hand raises the bull whip and with another crack Jane is screaming agony. Maura screams in frustration, hating when Jane prolongs it.
“For God’s sake, just say it, Jane!”
“No.”
Jane’s voice is shaking, barely audible as she gasps. She curls her knees into herself, trying to stop the throbbing pain for a second so she can prepare herself for more. She’s not done. She’ll never be done. No matter how much it hurts, it’ll never be enough.
Maura looks down at her, tears already welling up in her eyes. Jane knows she’s reaching the breaking point, but she can’t have her stop. Maura’s grip tightens on the whip like she’s trying to squeeze the life out of it. Jane takes a breath, groaning in agony as she tries to situate herself back to lying down on her back so Maura can continue. She feels wetness on her stomach and she knows from Maura’s gasp that she’s bleeding.
Good.
“Jane, please,” Maura begs. “This isn’t going to bring Frankie back.”
“Just do it, Maura!” Jane screams, bracing herself for another lashing. She keeps her hands gripped on the headboard and closes her eyes and after she hears a sob escape from Maura’s lips there’s another crack and all she can feel is mind-numbing, torturous pain. A sound escapes her mouth that doesn’t even resemble human.
They used to be happy, Maura and her. They used to have a normal, stable relationship. That all changed the day Frankie died. Jane blamed herself, but so did Maura. Maura believed it was her fault she couldn’t save him; that she should have done more. So Jane used that guilt to have Maura punish her in the way she felt she deserved. Part of Jane believes that Maura thinks she’s punishing her by making her do this.
Maybe she is.
But that’s why Maura does it. She’s breaking though now, Jane can tell. She used to just whip her until she said it, now she’s saying things and crying like she’s the one being tortured. But this isn’t about her. This was about Jane. This was about the pain she felt about not being able to save her brother, and needing that pain to become physical.
Jane struggles to take another breath, but before she can the whip has left another long, disgusting line over her abdomen. She can’t think it hurts so badly and as she feels the wetness pool and Maura choke back another sob, she knows she has to stop this soon. There’s always tomorrow.
“It’s my…” she tries, but coughs and curls into a ball, just trying to make the pain dull just a little, enough to get the sentence out.
“It’s your what, Jane?” Maura asks, voice hitched with desperation through her tears. “Say it!” She needs her to say it so she can stop. That was the deal.
“It’s my…” Jane tries again. She grimaces in pain as one move makes it feel like her stomach is tearing in half. “It’s my fault,” she gasps out. It’s so blinding. God, she’s probably about to pass out.
Maura drops the whip and is instantly by her side, surveying the damage. “Oh god,” she whispers, like she’s going to be sick. “Oh god, Jane, don’t move,” she tells her as she gets up, running into the other room.
Jane couldn’t move even if she tried. The old wounds were reopened and new ones were formed on top; symbolizing the many layers of guilt, pain, and disgust she had with herself. She didn’t care that she was bleeding, though she knew it was probably traumatizing the woman she loved. Not that she could even feel what love felt like anymore. Everything she felt was just pain.
Maura’s by her side again and as disinfectant is poured on her wounds Jane screams again. “Shh,” Maura tries, but it’s not very soothing seeing as she’s crying herself. A few tears sneak past Jane’s eyes and she tries to open them, but Maura starts tending to the area and every touch feels like a thousand burning daggers. All she can hear is herself screaming and Maura crying and as fucked up as it is, it’s about the only thing that actually is soothing to hear. It’s starting to become familiar.
“I hate you for this.”
It’s barely audible, but Jane could hear it. She could hear the distress in Maura’s voice, the loathing and the agony and she wishes she had the strength to just go back to normal and give Maura what she deserves, but she can’t. Instead she’s wrapped her up in this sick world she’s created and she doesn’t want to let her go. She needs her; needs her to hurt her. She needs the woman she loves to beat her down because that’s what she deserves after what she did.
When Maura’s finished cleaning the area she drops the cloth and collapses on the bed next to her, but as far away from her as she can manage. She curls herself into a ball, back facing Jane, and she cries. Her sobs shake the bed, sending sharp, stabbing pains all through Jane’s body, but she deals with it. She looks over at her lover, hating herself more because of what she’s doing to her.
“Maura?” she asks, voice coming out hoarse from all the screaming.
“Don’t,” Maura chokes, not looking at her. Her fingers tangle in the bed sheets and she grasps them like her life depends on it. “Don’t talk to me. I don’t ever want to talk to you again. I can’t do this anymore.”
Jane didn’t think she had a heart left in her anymore, but that proved it wrong when it felt like it got torn in half. “Maura, please,” she begs softly. She wishes she could touch her, sit up and talk to her, maybe apologize, but she knows that it probably wouldn’t be genuine. Maybe this is what she was doing the whole time subconsciously; fucking Maura up so badly that even she doesn’t want to be near her anymore.
She should be alone anyway. She doesn’t deserve someone to love her. She killed her brother. It was her fault he died. She should have been there.
“No, Jane,” Maura says, voice shaking. She still doesn’t look at her. “You’re sick and you need help. I can’t watch you do this to yourself anymore. I can’t be a part of this anymore.” She cries for a moment, trying to take breathes to gather her last statement, “I don’t want there to be an ‘us’ anymore.”
Jane tries to reach out and touch her, but the second her fingertips touch Maura’s shoulder she flinches, quickly getting up off the bed like she’d been burned. She wraps her arms around herself, like she needs to protect herself from the woman that should have been her savior. Instead she is an empty shell. She turns to look at Jane, tears staining her cheeks.
“Maura, please don’t leave,” Jane tries. She struggles to sit up, but the pain is too much and she gasps in agony as she clutches the bandages on her stomach. She opens her eyes to look at her, hoping to display love in there. But it wasn’t love; it was desperation. Not because of losing the woman she loves, but because of losing her punisher. “I love you,” she tries, but it sounds so fake and foreign coming out of her mouth.
Jane Rizzoli didn’t know how to love anymore.
“No, you don’t,” Maura tells her, voice cracking in despair. She holds herself tighter, trying to find some sense of comfort that seemed to never come. “You love the pain.”
Maura leaves, just like that. Not another word is spoken between them and Jane closes her eyes, wishing that time could run backwards and they could go back to before. Back when they were happy, when Frankie was alive, when she knew love and embraced it and felt lucky to have it.
But time can’t run backwards, and Jane didn’t know if she’d ever feel anything else besides pain again.
THE END
Author: Sapphire Smoke cuzimastripper
Beta(s): tamswitter
Fandom: Rizzoli & Isles
Rating: R
Pairing: Jane/Maura
Completed Length: 1,493 words
Timeline: Post season one finale, though AU: Frankie dies.
Summary: Jane Rizzoli didn't know love anymore. She only knew pain.
Prompt: "Penance/Punishment" for KinkBingo ( my card )
Warnings: This is dark. Like dark. Fucked up. Painful. No happy ending. Don't shun me from the fandom, please.
A/N: So it was either "Penance/Punishment" or "Watersports" left for me to finish my bingo. I wasn't quite in the mood to have them pee on each other, lol, so this is what happened. Don't know if this is any better though. Probably not.
“Say it!”
Crack. A scream echoes through the walls of the house. Dark; the darkness comes after the blinding pain that streaks across Jane’s abdomen as she closes her eyes, leaving a red welt over the scar she had come to loath because of what it represents. She sucks in a breath of air, trying to fill her lungs and gather enough strength to lay down flat once more. She can take more of this; she knows she can. She has to; she deserves it.
“SAY IT!”
Maura Isles’ voice was demanding, angry, desperate. She’s on the verge of tears already and they’ve barely even begun. She hates doing this, Jane knows it. She knows every time Maura hurts her, another piece of her soul dies. Yet her shaking hand raises the bull whip and with another crack Jane is screaming agony. Maura screams in frustration, hating when Jane prolongs it.
“For God’s sake, just say it, Jane!”
“No.”
Jane’s voice is shaking, barely audible as she gasps. She curls her knees into herself, trying to stop the throbbing pain for a second so she can prepare herself for more. She’s not done. She’ll never be done. No matter how much it hurts, it’ll never be enough.
Maura looks down at her, tears already welling up in her eyes. Jane knows she’s reaching the breaking point, but she can’t have her stop. Maura’s grip tightens on the whip like she’s trying to squeeze the life out of it. Jane takes a breath, groaning in agony as she tries to situate herself back to lying down on her back so Maura can continue. She feels wetness on her stomach and she knows from Maura’s gasp that she’s bleeding.
Good.
“Jane, please,” Maura begs. “This isn’t going to bring Frankie back.”
“Just do it, Maura!” Jane screams, bracing herself for another lashing. She keeps her hands gripped on the headboard and closes her eyes and after she hears a sob escape from Maura’s lips there’s another crack and all she can feel is mind-numbing, torturous pain. A sound escapes her mouth that doesn’t even resemble human.
They used to be happy, Maura and her. They used to have a normal, stable relationship. That all changed the day Frankie died. Jane blamed herself, but so did Maura. Maura believed it was her fault she couldn’t save him; that she should have done more. So Jane used that guilt to have Maura punish her in the way she felt she deserved. Part of Jane believes that Maura thinks she’s punishing her by making her do this.
Maybe she is.
But that’s why Maura does it. She’s breaking though now, Jane can tell. She used to just whip her until she said it, now she’s saying things and crying like she’s the one being tortured. But this isn’t about her. This was about Jane. This was about the pain she felt about not being able to save her brother, and needing that pain to become physical.
Jane struggles to take another breath, but before she can the whip has left another long, disgusting line over her abdomen. She can’t think it hurts so badly and as she feels the wetness pool and Maura choke back another sob, she knows she has to stop this soon. There’s always tomorrow.
“It’s my…” she tries, but coughs and curls into a ball, just trying to make the pain dull just a little, enough to get the sentence out.
“It’s your what, Jane?” Maura asks, voice hitched with desperation through her tears. “Say it!” She needs her to say it so she can stop. That was the deal.
“It’s my…” Jane tries again. She grimaces in pain as one move makes it feel like her stomach is tearing in half. “It’s my fault,” she gasps out. It’s so blinding. God, she’s probably about to pass out.
Maura drops the whip and is instantly by her side, surveying the damage. “Oh god,” she whispers, like she’s going to be sick. “Oh god, Jane, don’t move,” she tells her as she gets up, running into the other room.
Jane couldn’t move even if she tried. The old wounds were reopened and new ones were formed on top; symbolizing the many layers of guilt, pain, and disgust she had with herself. She didn’t care that she was bleeding, though she knew it was probably traumatizing the woman she loved. Not that she could even feel what love felt like anymore. Everything she felt was just pain.
Maura’s by her side again and as disinfectant is poured on her wounds Jane screams again. “Shh,” Maura tries, but it’s not very soothing seeing as she’s crying herself. A few tears sneak past Jane’s eyes and she tries to open them, but Maura starts tending to the area and every touch feels like a thousand burning daggers. All she can hear is herself screaming and Maura crying and as fucked up as it is, it’s about the only thing that actually is soothing to hear. It’s starting to become familiar.
“I hate you for this.”
It’s barely audible, but Jane could hear it. She could hear the distress in Maura’s voice, the loathing and the agony and she wishes she had the strength to just go back to normal and give Maura what she deserves, but she can’t. Instead she’s wrapped her up in this sick world she’s created and she doesn’t want to let her go. She needs her; needs her to hurt her. She needs the woman she loves to beat her down because that’s what she deserves after what she did.
When Maura’s finished cleaning the area she drops the cloth and collapses on the bed next to her, but as far away from her as she can manage. She curls herself into a ball, back facing Jane, and she cries. Her sobs shake the bed, sending sharp, stabbing pains all through Jane’s body, but she deals with it. She looks over at her lover, hating herself more because of what she’s doing to her.
“Maura?” she asks, voice coming out hoarse from all the screaming.
“Don’t,” Maura chokes, not looking at her. Her fingers tangle in the bed sheets and she grasps them like her life depends on it. “Don’t talk to me. I don’t ever want to talk to you again. I can’t do this anymore.”
Jane didn’t think she had a heart left in her anymore, but that proved it wrong when it felt like it got torn in half. “Maura, please,” she begs softly. She wishes she could touch her, sit up and talk to her, maybe apologize, but she knows that it probably wouldn’t be genuine. Maybe this is what she was doing the whole time subconsciously; fucking Maura up so badly that even she doesn’t want to be near her anymore.
She should be alone anyway. She doesn’t deserve someone to love her. She killed her brother. It was her fault he died. She should have been there.
“No, Jane,” Maura says, voice shaking. She still doesn’t look at her. “You’re sick and you need help. I can’t watch you do this to yourself anymore. I can’t be a part of this anymore.” She cries for a moment, trying to take breathes to gather her last statement, “I don’t want there to be an ‘us’ anymore.”
Jane tries to reach out and touch her, but the second her fingertips touch Maura’s shoulder she flinches, quickly getting up off the bed like she’d been burned. She wraps her arms around herself, like she needs to protect herself from the woman that should have been her savior. Instead she is an empty shell. She turns to look at Jane, tears staining her cheeks.
“Maura, please don’t leave,” Jane tries. She struggles to sit up, but the pain is too much and she gasps in agony as she clutches the bandages on her stomach. She opens her eyes to look at her, hoping to display love in there. But it wasn’t love; it was desperation. Not because of losing the woman she loves, but because of losing her punisher. “I love you,” she tries, but it sounds so fake and foreign coming out of her mouth.
Jane Rizzoli didn’t know how to love anymore.
“No, you don’t,” Maura tells her, voice cracking in despair. She holds herself tighter, trying to find some sense of comfort that seemed to never come. “You love the pain.”
Maura leaves, just like that. Not another word is spoken between them and Jane closes her eyes, wishing that time could run backwards and they could go back to before. Back when they were happy, when Frankie was alive, when she knew love and embraced it and felt lucky to have it.
But time can’t run backwards, and Jane didn’t know if she’d ever feel anything else besides pain again.
THE END