#tiny deceit

[badlydrawnbeastcookies]

"Make sure to get your tickets for the show now!"

[ask-gt-roceit]

Tiny!Snake!Janus: *coils around Roman's finger*

Roman: Now I have you around my finger, does it mean you'll do as I say?

Tiny!Snake!Janus: *nips*

Roman: Rude!

-

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[notmyneighbor]

Back Alley - Doppelgänger Francis Mosses x Female Reader

Word Count 5k

Rating Explicit

CW - minor blood/injury, fluff and smut

Also available on AO3

The end of your shift. The quiet part of the evening.

Nestled downtown in the oldest part of the city, the diner you’re employed at as a waitress caters to DDD members and civilians alike. The final patrons have already filed out the front entrance, a pair of glass front doors with shiny chrome handles. You begin the process of closing the establishment for the evening, starting with a final wipe down of all the surfaces in the dining area while the young man that washes dishes works his way through the last batch of soiled utensils and plates and cups. You count the money in the register and gather the receipts, placing everything on the owner’s desk in the tiny office in back of the restaurant.

The adolescent has finished the washing in the kitchen and finds you putting leftover food scraps onto a plate, a snack for the stray cats that dwell in the alley behind the diner. He rocks on his heels, the apron he’d been wearing already removed and now anxiously wrung between his hands. “Did you want me to wait, or…”

You smile softly. “No, that’s alright. I’m just going to set this out and bring out the trash and I’ll be locking up. Go on home. Be safe.”

Needing no further encouragement, the youth darts from the kitchen. You shake your head ruefully, gathering the ends of the plastic bag in the kitchen’s rubbish bin together and knotting them. Balancing trash in one hand and the plate in the other, you manage to open the heavy steel door at the rear of the diner that leads to the alley.

Normally there are several strays to greet you as soon as you open the door, accustomed as they are to this nightly routine.

Tonight it takes you several moments to locate one solitary form after you’ve lobbed the bag into the dumpster and closed the lid, retrieving the plate you’d set by the back door.

You spy one of your usual clients hovering near the stockade fence further down the narrow passageway, a raggedy looking gray tabby with a torn ear that’s normally the friendliest of the bunch.

“Hey there. What’s wrong, you’re not hungry?” You walk forward a couple of steps, crouching down and holding out your empty hand, making little affectionate sounds to lure the animal closer.

In the distance you hear voices shouting. Not uncommon in the city, but you’re still wary as you straighten, leaving the plate on the ground.

The cat, still hunched by the fence, issues a warning growl.

You turn and see a shape moving from the opposite end of the alley where it divides into the main road, the hair on your bare forearms rising, the skin goose pimpling.

You whirl around, already making for the open door at your back, that slice of light inside a beacon that’s frustratingly so close and yet so far.

You don’t quite make it.

A hand reaches the door before you do, slamming it shut. It becomes a wall at your back as you shrink against it, recoiling from whatever just closed it.

No, not whatever. The strays knew what it was. Now you know, too.

A doppelgänger.

This one dressed in the uniform of a milkman, though his outfit had seen better days. Spattered with blood, you cannot find a single patch of the white shirt that doesn’t bear some trace of scarlet droplets. Shouting again in the distance, though this time it sounds closer.

You open your mouth to yell for help and a hand instantly clamps down over it. The doppel is breathing heavily. It must be the DDD pursuing him. Without the light of the diner’s interior, you can’t see much of the creature’s replicated features in the night shrouded alley. You wonder why he hasn’t killed you yet, your heart hammering like mad.

“I’m not going to hurt you. If you help me, I’ll do something for you in return.”

He was trying to bargain? Bad idea. Doppelgängers were notorious liars. By definition of their very existence they had to be masters of deceit. He must have been desperate if he was making this offer. Definitely being chased by the disposal team officers, the likely source of the shouting you’ve been hearing, the details of the situation coming together in your mind.

You can’t imagine a single thing the invader could offer you that you’d desire.

“I’m going to remove my hand. We’re going to go inside. You’re not going to make a sound. Agreed? Nod if you understand me.”

Wide eyed, nostrils flaring, you move your head, signaling your acceptance of his terms. What choice did you have?

The barrier over your mouth lifts and you’re pushed aside, firmly but without malice, the heavy door wrenched open. You’re shoved inside and the door is quickly shut again.

“Is the front door locked? Lights off?”

You nod, swallowing past a panicked lump in your throat as you take a couple of steps back away from the intruder.

The male copycat sighs, shoulders visibly sagging with relief.

He’s still hiding.

Still wearing the visage of the human he’d duplicated, a tired looking brunette male probably in his early thirties with tousled chestnut hair, shadowed under eyes, a long nose with the slightest bump along the bridge—an old injury that had never healed quite right, perhaps—set above thin lips.

The arm that’s been tucked tightly against his side the entire time, never once in use to restrain you or open the door, you realize, now lifts, exposing a gash across his lower abdomen, rent right through the fabric and severing the flesh beneath.

You’d incorrectly assumed the blood had been from a struggle with the original milkman he’d replicated, not from the alien himself. You suck in a deep breath, wincing as your eyes linger on the injury. “What happened?”

“Got cut jumping the fence.”

“That’s going to need stitches,” you observe as he drags the shirt’s hem free of his belted pants, hurriedly thumbing the buttons open and shrugging out of the garment, thrusting it into the garbage bin you hurriedly point to. The undershirt is similarly stained, but this he leaves in place, merely lifting the edge to better expose the wound.

His eyes meet yours. “Can you do it?”

“I mean, I’m not a physician. All I have is the sewing kit I keep in my purse to mend tears in an emergency. You need to see a doctor, go to the hospital…” Your voice trails off. Of course he couldn’t. He’d be killed instantly.

“Get it.”

You hesitate. Were you really going to risk helping this foreigner?

“Please,” he adds through gritted teeth. Perspiration beads his forehead. You wonder if he hasn’t already been exposed to something that would prove infectious later on. Not really your concern, though. You just needed to survive until you could get away from him. Somehow.

“Alright.” You don’t spare any more time debating about what the right course of action is. You grab one of the clean dish rags from under the kitchen sink and your purse stashed in the bottom desk drawer in the office.

The doppelgänger’s eyes remained fixed on your every movement, watching as you soak the wash cloth in warm water and pull the sewing kit from your purse, the fingers threading the needle shaking. You drag one of the chairs from the dining room for him to sit on, kneeling on the linoleum beside his seated form.

You hesitate again. You really didn’t have the appropriate kind of materials for this. Should you have heated the needle to try to sterilize it first? Was there even time for that? Would it be easier just to attempt to cauterize the area? Somehow you don’t think the invader would be keen on the idea of getting burned, even if the intention was to aid and not harm. “I don’t know that this is going to work, but I’ll do my best. This is going to hurt,” you caution.

“Worse than being cut open?” He asks bitterly.

“No, I suppose not.” You begin washing around the cut, scrubbing at the dried blood, trying to clean the edges of the laceration. It’s still weeping blood but the flow has slowed, the body’s natural clotting process coming into effect. The milkman he’s replicated is on the leaner side, with little softness in the abdomen you’re cleansing. “Why can’t you just replicate the skin again? Make it intact?”

“It doesn’t work like that. It’s penetrated through the outer layer. You humans are so fragile. It doesn’t take much to tear through…” He lets that thought remain unfinished.

You shiver, thinking of how, were circumstances different, he would’ve torn you to shreds without a second thought, murdering you at best, devouring you at worst. You can’t help but wonder if the doppel will turn on you once you finished patching him up.

“Okay, I’m going to try to start sewing.” Your heart is still thudding rapidly. Your eyes narrow in concentration as you pierce the skin, hurriedly seeking the adjacent flesh to sling the thread between, then drawing it taut. You’re feeling a little nauseous and lightheaded. You tell yourself you’re not piecing a person back together. Urging yourself to pretend it was something else. Mending a torn shirt. A ripped stuffed animal. Anything but the gruesome sight before you.

At last the task is completed, the pale skin sutured together. You sit back on your heels, heaving a raspy sigh, your hands clasped tightly together in your lap, willing them to stop trembling.

“You’re skilled,” the doppelgänger murmurs, looking over your handiwork, probing the closed incision gingerly. It is a rather impressive job if you’re being honest, a neat line of even stitches despite your shaking hands.

“You’ll need to keep this clean so it doesn’t get infected. And you can’t move around too much. I don’t know how well that thread will hold.” You gently push his questing digits away, applying gauze and tape from the first aid kit in the office to cover the wound and he eases the ripped undershirt back down.

“Thank you.”

Your eyes meet his. You’ve never heard of an invader asking a human for help. Being grateful. You don’t know what to make of it.

“I won’t forget this.”

You rise, tossing the used wash cloth in the trash and returning your sewing kit to the depths of your handbag. You return the chair to the dining room once he’s slid from it, watching as you settle your purse strap on your shoulder, keys to the diner in hand. The replicant opens the back door a crack, peeking outside, head cocked slightly, listening. No shouting. The DDD had passed through the area. He glances back at you a final time before slipping through the gap.

You lock the door behind him, then sag against it, exhaling a shuddering breath. He’d let you live, as promised. A doppelgänger that kept his word.

What did it mean?

***

He’s in the alley again.

You tell yourself you weren’t looking for the milkman’s clone every night for the last three shifts, merely taking out the garbage and feeding the strays per usual.

Your stomach does a little somersault as he approaches. His skin color is better, no longer so ghostly pale. The milkman uniform he’s wearing looks clean and crisp and starched. Where had he gotten it? Was he keeping a low profile, pretending to be the human he’s dressed as? There certainly seemed to be some transfer of knowledge that occurred when the replicants adopted a human form, intelligence information that surpasses beyond what could be obtained through just casual observation. The doppels knew so much about humans, and humans still knew so little about the invaders, what should have been a home field advantage hampered by the persistence of these alien visitors.

“How are you?” You greet him cautiously.

“Healing well. You did a fine job.”

What should you say to that? You’re glad you helped the enemy? You shudder to think what would happen if anyone ever found that out.

The doppelgänger steps closer. “Are you going to invite me inside?”

As if he was a vampire, seeking permission to grant entrance. You can’t imagine what he wants from you now.

Still, you push the door open wider. He eases past you, his body lightly brushing yours.

“What do you have to eat?”

“Um…” As far as you knew, the invaders only ate human flesh. “What…what did you want? I haven’t cleared out the displays yet. There’s pie, donuts from the morning, though those are probably stale by now. I can make you a sandwich, or…”

He follows you into the dining room as you list the possible offerings, reaching for one of the chocolate iced pastries tucked under the nearest glass dome. He takes an experimental bite and his mouth turns down in disgust at the flavor.

“I warned you they’d be stale.”

“It’s not that. It’s the sweetness. Overwhelming. We’re primarily carnivores.”

“Is turkey okay? Or maybe ham? I don’t know what to offer you.”

He tips his head to one side, considering. “Cow?”

“Yes, we have ground beef.”

“That would be preferable.”

“You just want it…raw?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” There are a couple of defrosted packages in the fridge. You resolve to put some of your tip money towards the meal. You don’t like the idea of stealing from the restaurant.

It feels weird just handing him the styrofoam tray, but also silly to dump the mass of pink pulverized meat onto a plate. You refuse to watch him eat, studying one of the laminated menus resting on the counter intently, unfortunately catching a glimpse of him licking the traces of blood lingering at the bottom of the package when you dare to glance over at him.

“I’m aware this adds to the debt I owe you,” he says.

You discard the tray and fold your arms across your chest, trying to exude more confidence than you felt. “I’ll put it on your tab.”

A slight frown appears as the creature processes the phrase.

“It means adding it to the list of things you already owe that you intend to repay.”

“Ah. Yes, that.” He watches you finish cleaning up after his grim repast, wiping the counter down a final time before accompanying you to the front door and waiting as you lock the entrance from the outside, tugging on the chrome handles to make sure they’ve been secured properly. “Do you live nearby?”

“Yes,” you answer, suddenly wary.

“This is not a very safe part of town for humans,” he muses.

Is anywhere safe anymore?

“Is your living space guarded by the DDD?”

“Not internally. There’s just the street patrol.”

“I’ll accompany you as far as your destination, then.”

“You don’t have to.”

The doppelgänger insists, now walking beside you. It feels unwise to allow the invader to see where you live, but then again, had he done anything to harm you thus far? Surely there had been opportunity if that was his main goal. What was his main goal? What did he want, if not to consume, to take over control of the planet like his brethren?

“You’re not like the others,” you murmur your thoughts out loud, feeling the mimic’s eyes flick in your direction.

“Do you know many doppels?” He sounds bemused.

“No,” you reply, stepping over a broken bottle littering the pavement.

“Is every human the same?”

“Of course not.”

“So why should we be any different?”

“I guess you’re right,” you concede.

You’ve reach the end of the street you’re traveling on and take a right, leading the invader onward into another back alley. You’ve barely taken a few paces before the sound of heavy footsteps alerts you to someone else’s presence.

“Disposal team.” You hear the disgust and fear in your companion’s tone as he tenses, jerking to a halt. The sounds are getting louder as the guards draw closer. “Play along. They won’t be suspicious if they see a couple.”

Suddenly you’re pushed against the wall, so abruptly the air leaves your lungs, your next desperate intake of oxygen interrupted when the doppel’s mouth covers yours.

You feel you stomach do that little somersault motion again. His tongue finds the inside of your mouth. He tastes slightly metallic. The movements are inexperienced, clumsy. Imitating something he’s seen. The teeth that nip your bottom lip are sharp.

“Hey! You there! What’s going…” The DDD officer halts, the beam of the flashlight illuminating what appears as your lover pinning you against the wall, caught up in a moment of passion. You don’t even have to fake the look of embarrassment as your eyes shyly meet the guard’s, the doppel’s mouth sliding from yours.

“Sorry, sir. Just picked my girl up from work and I couldn’t wait.” He offers a sheepish grin that looks extremely convincing.

The DDD member’s partner draws even with his cohort, the gun in his hand lowering, looking over the pastel yellow dress you’re wearing.

“I know you. You work over at the diner.”

You nod frantically.

“You should get on home. It isn’t safe out here. Even with your man with you. Especially not down the side streets.”

“Sorry, that was my idea. My feet are killing me and I just wanted to get home faster.” You pause, reaching for your purse still slung over your shoulder. “Did you want to see our IDs?”

“Nah, that’s alright. Imagine a doppel making out with a human. Right?” He elbows his companion, grinning.

“Get home safe, now. No more dallying,” the older of the pair cautions before abandoning you, resuming patrol with the more inexperienced member who’s still wearing a smirk as he trails slightly behind, darting one more glance in your direction as if hoping to catch you in the act again.

The copycat heaves a sigh of relief when they’ve both finally departed, the booted steps receding in the distance. His eyes lock with yours, and you see his nostrils flare slightly, a slight frown wrinkling the bridge of his nose, then his eyelids lift, whatever mystery he’s been puzzling over solved.

“You liked that.”

“What?” It’s your turn to be confused.

“You liked what we just did.”

Oh. Your cheeks flush again. “No, I…I was just playing along, like you said. You caught me off guard.”

“You did a good job. Thinking on your feet. Admirable, really. How deep in debt I’m getting,” the doppel hums beside your cheek. He hasn’t shifted much since your discovery, one hand still braced on the wall at your back, his body leaning close to yours. “You smell good. Good enough to eat.”

You shiver and gasp. “You promised me you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“No, no. Not what I had in mind at all,” he hurriedly reassures you. The clone of the milkman plants a kiss on the side of your neck. Gentle. Not rushed, not under the guise of something to trick the guards. Repeating the process, getting accustomed to using the human body he’s replicated for this new task. He kisses your lips again, and you know you should be repulsed.

You’re not.

Your mouth parts for his, inviting him inside. He’s already growing more skilled, the tongue against yours slick, deft, curling and stroking, the fire he’d begun stoking in your core flaring anew.

You’re French kissing a doppelgänger, and you like it.

You feel a hand caressing down your body, pausing to drag the purse off your shoulder, then kneading one breast before sliding down to your hip, moving neatly around to grope the curve of one buttocks cheek. The fingers curl, dragging up the fabric of your dress.

“I can smell your arousal. Your body wants to mate.” It’s crass, vulgar, sheer filth the alien should be slapped for uttering, but there’s nothing derogatory in the way he mentions it, the words of observation that he spreads before your lips lilted with a kind of wonder, fascination, curiosity. He’s finally reached the hem of the skirt portion of your work uniform, shifting quickly to the waistband of the panties you’re wearing, dipping underneath and nudging at the fork of your body.

To be doing this, with a doppelgänger, in public…

Your legs are already shifting, your stance broadening slightly to grant him better access. A little grunt of satisfaction, and then his fingers glide through your slickened folds, searching for the source of that dampness.

You moan softly, disappointed when the fingers do not linger, instead brought up to the invader’s lips, his thumb rolling the slick of your sex over the pads of his index and middle fingers curiously before he thrusts them into his mouth, a fresh flood leaking from your canal as you watch his eyes slide closed, a sound of some rapturous enjoyment hummed around those digits.

He kneels down, the movement swift and smooth, your eyes darting nervously to the lit street so close and yet so far, the last of the street lamp glow’s reach ending just beyond the shadows you’re standing in. The doppel looks up at you and you bury a hand in the thick mane of chestnut hair, a tender gesture of permission, pleading. You don’t know if he’d stop even if you’d declined the offer, that ravenous look in his eyes intense as he impatiently shifts the hem of your dress again, dragging away the flimsy undergarment that clothes your sex, this last barrier discarded carelessly on the pavement nearby.

Your low heeled pumps scrape against the dirty gravel of the alley as you adjust your position, the alien’s face instantly at your pussy, nose digging into your mound, tongue laving the rosy sensitive flesh. He groans and you echo the sound, your legs already trembling as his tongue delves deeper, dragging fluid back, the inadvertent flick of the tip of the curled muscle against your bud making you gasp and moan, your head rocking back against the brick and mortar.

His attention focuses on that sensitive bundle of nerve endings, mouth clamping over it and sucking, slurping, nursing at it until you see spots in front your eyes. You know you’re being loud, your only saving grace being that the building at your back is a long abandoned shirt factory with no one to hear your lewd sounds of pleasure.

His fingers are at your entrance again, paired to penetrate into that opening. The milkman he’s imitating has long fingers that reach deep, curling and twisting inside, scooping out more of your arousal for him to lap at before he sups at your pussy, drinking straight from the source.

You bite your bottom lip until it bleeds when you climax, shuddering against that incessant mouth worshipping your cunt, your fingers knotting restlessly in his tresses. You cum like a freight train, hard and fast, an unstoppable force driving you right through into bliss.

He’s still lapping, enjoying the taste of you, this new creamier substance that emerges from deep within after your release. You can’t tolerate it any longer, now shoving gently at his shoulders, pleading you’re too sensitive, it’s too much, you feel as if you might faint if not for the strong building exterior supporting your spine.

The doppelgänger rises, face wet with your juices smeared across his mouth and chin and cheeks, a distinct shine visible even in this dim illumination. “Delicious,” he growls softly, dragging his fingers over his dampened features and then nursing them clean.

His gaze focuses on the smear of crimson on your lower lip and he licks at that spot, sucking the wedge into his mouth, tasting that little copper tinged leakage of your lifeforce. You whimper and keen, feeling his hand guide one of yours to his crotch, pressing it against the erection straining there.

You squeeze gently and he huffs in pleasure, dragging your hand up and down. Needing no further guidance, you begin struggling with the belt buckle and button closure and zipper keeping you from your goal, dragging his cock through the opening flap of his briefs, smearing precum over the tip and eliciting another deep growl, the mouth nuzzling your throat vibrating in pleasure.

“Want to fuck you,” he gasps, and you find yourself nodding, no longer caring about the exposed location or what you’re about to let invade your body. You want it, the brief satiety you’d just enjoyed already dissipating, leaving you hungry for more.

His hands loop around the back of your thighs, his body crouching slightly then lifting you up, your dress scraping along the bricks. He fucks up into you and your legs wrap around him, your wrists draped over his shoulders as you’re thrust into and back against the building.

The milkman’s copycat prick is large, long and thick, stretching you as he fills you when his hips snap forward. Your unprotected buttocks suffers abrasions each time you’re impaled but you couldn’t care less. The pain is lost amidst the pleasure you’re experiencing as he buries himself deeply, withdrawing just slightly before driving forward again. Your mouths seek one another’s but it’s difficult with all the jostling, a sloppy collision of wet lips and wetter tongue, trails of saliva linking your panting openings.

“Your stitches…the strain, you shouldn’t…you’re bleeding,” you gasp, the hand that snakes down finding his shirt sticky with blood.

“Don’t care…fix it later…”

Your breasts are tender from the repeated battering of his chest against yours. You’re being pummeled mercilessly now, the invader pushing so hard it’s as if he’s trying to merge completely with you. You almost think you can see, just for a moment, a shift in the facial features, a glimpse of the doppelgänger’s true form lurking beneath the false human surface, but then it’s gone and it’s just those soft tired eyes and that slack, generous mouth as his cock pounds into your cunt until your body finally surrenders to another release, your muscles clenching, sucking at his member. He chases his own climax, moaning against your mouth, pumping streams of hot seed inside of you.

You realize then you’re both sweating, both drenched in perspiration and saliva, blood from his reopened wound and cum that leaks out of you and coats the erection he withdraws from your body as he slowly lowers you back to the ground, your stockinged feet touching the dirty road, your shoes lying nearby where they’d tumbled during the rough intercourse with the alien creature.

The doppel retrieves your panties and you hastily shove them into the purse he hands you. There’s no way you’ll be putting those back on after being in the dirty alley, almost laughing aloud at the idea when you’ve just been soiled by something you should consider disgusting. The amusement fades as you watch him brush the sole of each nylon clad foot clean before assisting them back into your pumps, the gesture almost oddly tender and thoughtful.

The doppelgänger straightens, his fingers reflexively reaching for the bloodied area staining his shirt, then moving to refasten his pants. His eyes meet yours again, waiting to see what you’ll do next. Wondering if there is regret, perhaps. Or if this is the start of…something.

“I…I live two streets over. We’re nearly there.” As if you hadn’t been interrupted on your journey home. You don’t know what to say, just wanting to fill the sudden silence.

He nods and you begin walking in slow, measured steps. Your limbs are still tingling, the aftershocks of your most recent orgasm still firing through them.

You and your companion reach your destination. The building looms up between two shuttered shops. Five stories. No elevator. You resided on the top floor. A lot of stairs to tackle on a good night when you’d merely worked a shift at the diner. Now, after this…

“It’s a long trek. I’m on the fifth floor. Will you be okay walking that much? I don’t know where else to stitch you back up again. I need to wash it, I need a good light source, I…” You’re inviting him inside your apartment. The realization suddenly dawns on you.

“Yes, I’ll manage.” He pauses. “Thank you,” he says softly.

“For what?”

“Helping me avoid the DDD earlier. This. Letting me into your home.”

You nod, your hand resting on the rusted railing that borders a flight of cement steps leading inside the building. The nearby street lamp flickers, a bulb that was long overdue for a change, the filaments within struggling.

“Of course. People should help each other.” You ascend the stairs, holding open the door for him.

He nods gratefully. “I’m not human, though. I’m the enemy.”

“Are you?” Your voice sounds wary at this reminder and you pause at the top of the first landing.

“I won’t hurt you,” he promises, following you up the next flight of stairs.

“Until the debt is repaid?”

“You don’t trust me.” It’s a statement, not a query.

“I don’t know how I feel.” You’ve reached the third floor. Despite his bravado earlier, you see him wincing slightly, his breathing ragged as he keeps one hand pressed to the injury. You wait for him to recover but he waves his other hand, indicating you should continue your journey.

“Did you enjoy it?”

The words make you halt abruptly and he nearly collides with you. You hurry up to the next landing and clear your throat before you give voice to your admission. “Yes, I enjoyed it,” you say when he reaches your side.

“Will we do that again?”

“Now?”

His solemn features break out into a smile. Handsome. The milkman whose appearance he’d copied was attractive, especially like this. You like the curve of that mouth, the flash of his teeth. “No, not now. I’m hardly in any condition to…I meant later,” he adds for clarification. “Another time.”

“Oh. Yes.” A sudden thought occurs to you. “Will you be safe from the patrol? On the way back, to wherever…”

“I’ll manage. Don’t worry.” He steps closer to you. “Are you that anxious to be rid of me?”

“No, I only meant…” You shake your head, feeling flustered.

“Were you looking for me tonight? When you were behind the diner. Hoping I’d be there, maybe?”

“Why would I…I hardly know you.”

“You know me a little better now though, right?” He crowds you back against the wall of the stairwell. You’re thinking maybe injury or not, he still wants you. You can feel the desire radiating from his eyes, his lips hovering close to yours. “You’re really something special, aren’t you? Out of all the humans to run into, and I find the only one who’s willing to take a chance on me, risk…” His voice trails off before he kisses your mouth. It seems impossible there would be any passion left inside of you to respond but you find your lips melting against his, one hand curling around the nape of his neck, holding the doppelgänger close.

[youryanderedaddy]

Summary: You're a princess locked in a tower and guarded by a big, scary dragon. But is he as scary as it seems? tw: female reader, deceit, manipulation, murder (not reader), stockholm syndrome(?) My ko - fi <3

As the youngest princess, you'd always known you would end up like this. In some far off land with little to your name other than some jewels, stuck in a tower just like your mother had been before she got married to a foreign lord, and finally allowed to re-join society. It was such a cliche it was funny at first, but now you just felt like screaming at the top of your lungs from boredom.

At first you didn't feel the unknown presence. The tall man was lurking in the shadows, as if part of the ancient building. You could smell the herbs in the air around him - the minthy fragrance trailing long after he had retired to his chambers. Then little by little you started to recognise him - in certain shades of sunlight, in the back of mirrors, in the tiny lizards crawling at the corners of the stone walls. But nothing could prepare you for that first morning when you saw him - really saw him.

You had woken up early, startled by noise reminiscent of that a bird makes during flight - but multiplied tenfold. You had looked through the window with a weak, fluttering heart. And then you saw his true form - massive yellow wings covered in what looked like pure gold burning brightly in the sky. Long, hard body made of sun - kissed flakes; so sharp they could be used as arrows. And a thin, curled tail drawing circles around your tower.

One of his empty moonlit eyes turned towards you, and it was all over. He immediately dissapeared into thin air, the only evidence of his existence being miles of thick gray smoke. But you weren't going to let the only living creature around run away so easily.

"I saw you!" You screamed long before you could even begin thinking of proper etiquette. Ladylike behavior be damned, you were dying of loneliness in this stupid tower. "Please..." You begged, voice hoarse and desperate from weeks of forced silence. "Come here." You continued ruefully, playing with your hair, chest riddled with anxiety - after all you hadn't spoken to a human being in so long.

You heard a long, almost pained sigh, which made you turn around. You were greeted by a tall brooding figure. It wore the face of a man, but its long golden hair and broad, muscular shoulders pointed to something a lot less human and a lot more devine. He must have been twice your size - trully intimating in all his shining glory. Even in his human form his skin seemed to glow just like his sharp almond - shaped black orbs, constricted in his yellow pupils.

"I'm always here, Your Highness." You remember his exact words simply because you were taken aback by how soft his voice was - just like fine silk. It wasn't the voice of a dragon, but the voice of an angel. "You just never see me." He added with what you then assumed was a hint of playfulness, but now recognised as annoyance. With that he leaned against the wall, crossing his hands together.

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

Many months passed since that fateful day. You slowly got to know your new companion - or perhaps, guardian. You learnt that many called him Cain after the fallen son* - once a strong soldier of the Lohemian Kingdom, his injuries had made it impossible to keep fighting. That's how your father found him - abandoned by his brothers, lying in a mudded puddle of his own blood. The rest was history.

He didn't speak very much - but he never left your questions unanswered.

"Cain..." You'd call out with practised uncertainty. Even so far removed from your peers, you still couldn't escape the twisted societal ideals of propriety. You could never be too eager to speak to a man - even if he wasn't fully human. "Is that your real name?" You wondered, genuinely curious. You slowly looked away from the book you were holding and towards your friend, the book long forgotten. The dragon was sitting in the other corner of the room. Despite all the time you had spent together so far, he was still hesitant to come near you. There was a certain stiffness in his strong shoulders - as well as his jaw.

"Princess..." The man mumbled softly, your heart aching by the sheer tenderness of the term. Usually you'd pay it no mind as it was your right from birth, your title - but titles didn't matter here. There was no place for status or riches between those four intimate walls that always felt small despite the spacious squares. "Don't you know curiousity got the cat's tongue?" He responded with a crooked smile that didn't quite reach his eyes - even his smiles were serious and stoic.

"You have it all wrong." You huffed, standing up from your comfortable chair just to make a big, dramatic gesture with your hands. "It's curiosity killed the cat." You stated confidently, waving your finger at the dragon. He let out a soundless chuckle and averted his gaze away from you. He still couldn't get over the fact that you weren't afraid of him.

"Whatever my Princess says, goes." Cain teased, eyes narrowing further - now they looked like two pitch black slits. He tuck one disobedient lock of gold behind his pointy ear, making the glass beads of his earring jingle in tone. "Just don't say I didn't warn you." He whispered with slight condescension, toying with the dancing little crystals. "My name is Kaajin, if you must know. I doubt you can spell it. It's in Lohemian." He suddenly stared at you as if in a challenge. "Does this change anything? Anything at all."

You shook your head - of course no. There was little your protector could do to make your feelings change; not when you had been so terribly alone without him. Not when he looked at you as if you were precious - breakable, yet precious.

************************************************************************

The days went by slowly. There was nothing there to help pass the time - just your voice and his voice blending together in the echo of the tower. Again and again and again.

"Entertain me." You asked authoritatively, looking at your friend from down below while you were sitting on the ground. You were bored - so very bored. "I don't remember ever signing up to be your personal jester, my Princess." Cain, no, Kaajin replied succinctly, showing off two pointy fangs - and you couldn't help recalling the story of the Sleeping Beauty and the spindle that sent her into deep, eternal slubmer. You wondered how his teeth would feel against your finger - and your throat. Whether they'd tire you or save you with the kiss of true love.

"Please?" You asked sweetly, just the way he liked - just like you had done that cold winter day in December when you first met face to face. It seemed to work, because soon after that you could feel him move through the room with a tired step - ever so dramatic, closing in on you. "Sure." The dragon breathed in your ear, enjoying the way the flesh quickly reddened with emotion. He reached behind the sensitive shell and slowly waved his fingers just short of your nose. In his hand just milimeters from you was hanging a thin silver chain with a little red rose dangling down. "Here. Have fun." He let it slip past his slender fingers and you swiftly reached to catch it before it could break in thousand pieces.

"What am I supposed to do with it?" You asked, puzzled - still looking at the delicate bracelet and the way it seemed to come alive under direct sunlight. "I am not a child." You suddenly puffed, stuffing it into the pocket of your long skirts. Kaajin only clicked his tongue, gently tugging at your wrist until you took it out of your pocket. "Don't be so ungrateful." His strict yet plush voice took you out of your little outburst, and you finally looked up. His eyes were measuring you up, scanning for any hidden movement - any secret emotion. "I am a dragon, remember? We tend to be awfuly protective of our things."

Your eyes filled with curiosity once again. "You mean your jewels?" He nodded rhytmically, trying to keep his composure at the mention of his old, forgotten customs. "I've read some stories about dragon kings stealing piles of golden coins and locking them away for all eternity. "You chuckled to yourself. "Like they could ever use them." Even after all those years you still found the thought amusing. Humans spent their youth slaving away so they could waste the money gained once they were old and wise. Dragons, on the other hand, were satisfied with holding onto wealth and jewels and all those shiny human things - with little understanding of the subejctive value they held in the human world.

"Yes. It's true indeed. Dragons-" Your guard nodded yet again, now somewhat uneasy. "We take good care of our..." He averted his eyes far away from you. "treasures." He finished stiffly, gaze basically burning the ground. "So you shouldn't take my gift lightly. You should wear it with pride. And perhaps in time you'd find another use for it, too." The man explained, a slight blush spreading across his usually high, cold cheeks.

You smiled gingerly, kissing your fingers around the chain before pressing it to your chest - close to your heart.

"I shall cherish it forever, then." You exclaimed, feeling warm inside. You were uncertain as to why, but your stomach was spinning wildly, as if filled with bubbles. "But you still owe me some fun." You giggled, running to start the old phonograph in the corner of the room. It was your favourite thing in the whole world - which didn't mean a lot up here, but it was enough to make your legs move on their own.

As you danced to Vaarlen's famous spring waltz, the air seemed lighter and the cramped hall just slightly more grandiose. It was easier to breathe. You extended your hand towards your dragon, asking him to join.

"You know I don't dance, princess." He grunted, his mood souring. He never told you why he hated it so much, but the man was never too fond of music. Still, you decided to try again. "Oh, come on. Just this once." He didn't seem convinced. "Let me teach you as a thank you gift. I'm serious." You tapped your chest playfully. The man rolled his eyes, then gently took your hand in his. You almost broke into a giddy giggle - for the first time since your family locked you up in the rotten tower you felt happy.

And he always gave into you.

So you two danced, both lost to the music and your own racing thoughts. Kaajin kept his distance, but his hold was strong onto your wrist - unrelenting, like he never wanted to let go. Your body twisted and turned, perfectly synced to the chords, blind to the pass of time. You only realized it had become evening once your back hit the window - it was dark outside. Yet another day gone. Yet another day lost.

"Kaajin..." You could feel the tears burning at your wet lashes before you could stop yourself. You had promised yourself not to think about it anymore - not today, or ever for that matter, but it was impossible once you were faced with the Creator of All. The Master of everything, of everyone - time. How could you ever pretend otherwise?

"Do you think-" You bit the inside of your cheek, your hands fighting the guilt as you let go of his. "Do you think my father would ever let me go into the outside world?"

The guard gulped dry, taking a step back to give you space.

"I-" He took a deep breath, gaining the courage to look at you. "I don't know. The war is still going. Your kingdom has lost many brave men and women. Even the strongest soldiers are starting to capitulate." He couldn't bear to look at your pretty face all messed up by the pain and sorrow, but it was for the best.

"I understand." You muttered, turning your back to him - curling back into yourself. You felt his arms wrap around you, and you remained quiet - neither fighting it, nor embracing it. "Don't cry, my princess." The man whispered. "No matter what happens, I will always be by your side." He meant it. You knew it by now, and that only made it all the more tragic. "I swear on my life." You believed him, you had no reason not to - he was the only one you had left.

As for your father, he couldn't really give a proper order now, Kaajin thought. After all, dead men tell no tales.

[delirious-donna]

Demon In The Mirror [Sebastian Michaelis]

an: this is a rework of an old fic for a different character/fandom. I liked this fic idea and lovely Sebby really fit it, or at least I think so! I've been hyperfixated on the world's best butler so this scratched an itch for me.

pairing: Sebastian Michaelis x female reader

warnings: canon Sebastian, mirror sex, rough touching, praise, light degradation, biting, mark marking, dirty talk, pussy fingering, overstimulation, unprotected sex, mentions of blood (tiny)

Masterlist

A mirror–polished and unassuming as it stood in the corner of the room. It never lied, never hid the truth behind a veil of deceit. All it could do was reflect what it hungrily absorbed.

Truth laid bare for all who peered into its depths. The reflection of not only your physical reactions–the jerk of your limbs, soft quiver of your stomach–but your emotions poured into the surface and were somehow magnified back. Magic, perhaps?

On its own, the mirror was a beautiful thing, decoratively ornate and standing on claw feet. You gazed into it every morning to peruse your outfit and ensure your hair was coiffed exactly as intended. However, when you added what was showing on the calm surface at this moment, the mirror became a truly magnificent beast.

Two bodies entwined in a lover’s embrace.

Every detail was laid bare in exquisite detail, and this outcome was entirely your doing. Slender fingers with midnight nails flexed deliberately into your jaw, testing the strength you had long known against the delicate frame of your mortal body. The angle forced you to stare straight ahead, to witness what was happening to you in such clarity it stole the little air remaining from your lungs.

“You wanted this, did you not?” He lilted with an air of amusement that curled your toes. “I believe you were rather forthright with your desires this evening, at least you were once I coaxed them out of you.”

Sebastian Michaelis, the head butler and right-hand man to your father was a demon. As the eldest daughter in the family and well into your twenties, you were an anomaly to your father. He would have married you off years ago if it weren’t for your ability to chase away every suitor that called. The only person who had been able to get close to you was Sebastian if you could even call him a person. Except, you liked that he wasn’t human—humans were boring.

You cared not for whatever mysterious and demonic bond had been formed between him and your father. All that mattered was that he saw the real you beneath the prickly exterior you presented to the world. It had taken many months of flirtatious glances, heated whispers promising you all manner of carnal pleasure and touches that only grew in intimacy, but you considered Sebastian to be your lover for close to half a year now.

The only problem… he treated you with kid gloves.

“Sebastian… You know, it would be okay if you held me a bit tighter. If you wish to, that is.”

That was what had started it all, the words that led to this path of twisted pleasure. 

You recalled the delicate touch of white-gloved fingers, how they curled around your biceps to draw you into his lap. His carefully fastened tie and top buttons were messily undone by your hasty fingers and his midnight hair was just the tiniest bit dishevelled from where you had brushed through it.

The demon gently pawing at you was more than capable of tearing people apart with his hands, the white of his gloves rarely soiled by the crimson remnants of the deaths he bestowed, and yet he held you as if you were fine china. Didn’t he know that the times you bore witness to his feats of strength had resulted in ruined undergarments beneath your gown? He was a sight to behold, tall and lithe with a presence that demanded respect despite being a servant by occupation. What you wouldn’t give for him to direct some of that power and strength towards you, on those intimate late-night visits to your quarters.

“But, my dear, you are so soft. I wouldn’t wish to hurt you.” The sentiment was huffed into the sweet crook of your neck, his warm breath fanning across your skin whilst he smeared lazy, wet kisses to your jaw and the pulse hammering beneath the surface. It sounded almost bemused, and that irritated you.

You were no porcelain doll only to be taken out when it suited and arranged delicately upon pristine sheets. You were no silly girl. You were a woman, goddammit, and you wished above all else to be treated as such. Apparently, your expression gave away your frustration, either that or Sebastion was simply well-tuned to the emotions swirling in your complex mind.

“Have I said something wrong, darling girl?”

With today’s gown laid neatly atop your dresser, the petticoats beneath bunched around your thighs and hips, you sat back on your haunches to glower at him. His finger idled with the lace fastens of your bodice, doing little to stop you from moving away from his embrace.

A petulant huff passed your lips, arms folded across your chest, and his easy smile dimmed in response. It should have been your first warning, but ire had a way of dulling your senses to danger. 

“I will remind you that I am not made of glass, nor will I break if you…” The remaining words of your tirade seemed to become stuck in the back of your throat as your gaze met with Sebastian’s. The subtle carmine of his irises caught fire, glowing coals of ember that spoke of something… unknown? Worryingly unknown.

Maybe you had misspoken, your tone a little more harsh than you intended but it was too late to remedy. Your shoulders sagged, your body deflating rapidly from the hot air that filled you only moments ago. 

The room charged with electricity, you could feel it press atop your head like a physical manifestation of a weight trying to crush you against your bedspread. Something was most assuredly wrong and it wouldn’t be long before you found out the consequences of your little outburst.

“If I what?” he hissed from between gritted teeth, white and gleaming.

Your eyes snapped to his face, and the stark lines of displeasure traced his cheekbones and brow. No longer were you gazing into the face of Sebastian, your lover, this was the demon that lurked beneath. The one you longed for and were going to suffer his wrath no matter if you tried to back peddle or not.

He sat up straight with a start, forcing you further back and almost tumbling you right out of his lap. A palm anchored around your wrist, tightening against the fragile tendons until they nearly popped and wrenching you forward until you were nose to nose. His breathing was harsh, your own picking up pace to match it perfectly. For a moment you thought he would speak but after many moments of staring back and forth, he pushed back and looked towards the periphery. 

With a precision no man or demon should have, he caught the fingertip of his virginal white gloves between his teeth and slowly pulled each one free in turn. You squirmed watching him reveal his hands, the intricate design that you always did your best to ignore caught your attention but it was quickly stolen away.

That same hand shot forward to wrap around your hair, yanking on the length in one swift motion until your roots tugged painfully and your throat bared in front of his eyes. The breathless whine you expressed sounded truly pathetic, only matched by the arousal pooling in your underwear.

“Hm, so you won’t break if I do this?”

Sebastian reared back and bit around the slender column of your throat, not enough to break the skin but it hurt—it hurt bad enough to spark tears in your eyes. The sweep of his hot, wet tongue licked across the mark he made, tracing the indents his teeth had created along with a low grunt that sounded from the depths of his chest.

Cool, nimble fingers reached into the front of your bodice, teasing against your heated flesh before rending the garment clean in two. The noise of expensive fabric ripping thundered in the room and you gasped at the sudden chill covering your naked breasts. 

It was hard to navigate the sudden flip in his demeanour, although you had all but asked for it. You braced your trembling hands over the lapels of his double-breasted jacket in an attempt to find grounding and solace, but there was none to be found. It appeared that your demon lover was bowing to your whims, you should be pleased, and yet there was a beat of trepidation in your heart. What had you let yourself in for?

As if sensing your wayward conviction, Sebastian moved with alarming ease to the edge of the bed. It was evident that your added weight meant nothing to him, and that alone made you moan into the shell of his ear.

He placed you down in a puffy cloud of your petticoats and stood to shrug out of his jacket and waistcoat but annoyingly left his shirt in place. It didn’t stop you from ogling him openly, knowing what lay beneath even if it was rare to spend the night with him completely nude.

A finger and thumb pinched into the fat of your cheeks, lifting your gaze from the blatant lust-filled staring to meet his eyes that had mellowed to a sparkling fuschia. He was so pretty, so devastatingly pretty that you clung to his wrist, blinking up at him with heat-filled cheeks.

“You will direct your eyes up here, and wherever I instruct, is that clear?”

Only when he was satisfied he had captured your attention and you had given your clear understanding did he release the grip of his fingers, settling beside you. He patted his lap in invitation and you were crawling before he could even raise a sleek black eyebrow.

Smooth palms decorated your sides, pausing to grope your breasts. Sebastian exhaled a laugh when the excess spill from your breasts squished between his splayed fingers, pebbled nipples grazing the hearts of his palms. You whined and rocked against the bulge beneath his tailored trousers, only feeding the frenzy of his wandering hands and how roughly he was exploring your smooth skin. It was a perfect storm of demonic lust and ardent excitement, the result of which resided in the pit of your stomach. You were drooling between your thighs, flushed by the thought of it and you knew he’d tease you when he discovered how wet you were.

“A needy little thing, aren’t you? Darling, surely you aren’t this desperate for my cock?” His hand was beneath the plumes of petticoats, zeroing in on your soaked panties before you could blink. Sebastian tsked whilst his finger stroked the sizeable wet stain that traced the length of your slit. “Deary me, you’re already soaked. One might think that this side of me excites you.”

Without warning, he bounced you from his knee, your feet found the plush rug by your bed but your balance was not to be trusted and you were thankful for the firm hands at your waist keeping you steady. That was until those ruthless hands were twisted in your petticoats and tugging them down your legs to pool around your twisting feet, followed by the sudden removal of the final piece of clothing.

You tried to shield your modesty–an arm slung across your breasts and a hand cupping your sex whilst stepping out of your panties when suddenly you were dwarfed by Sebastian’s taller frame. He appeared even taller than usual, though you weren’t sure if it was an illusion aided by the long shadows cast by the candles on your bedside.

A mere flick of his wrist and your hand dislodged from protecting your decency. He stepped right into your personal space to force his hand exactly where yours had once been and began to dig deeper. Your nails scrambled against the stiff white starch of his shirt, blinking up at him much too fast whilst he took no care to spread you apart with his fingers.

“A-ah, Sebastian!”

Again, he tsked you and clicked his tongue against his teeth in admonishment when a slick covered finger rose into your vision, sparking a fresh wave of heat in every inch of your body.

“Clean it off like a good girl,” he cooed, his voice dripping in honeyed sweetness that you did not trust.

This was not something you had participated in before, but you were determined to meet the challenge in his eyes and earn a sliver of praise that would bow your spine. The taste was surprisingly sweet, a little heavy on your tastebuds but you sucked the long digit between your lips and twirled your tongue around and around to better understand why Sebastian so loved to lay between your thighs and indulge.

He patted your head affectionately, lowering his hand to caress your cheek and smirked when you turned your face to press a kiss to his palm. Unknown to you his attention had snared on the standing mirror in the far corner of your bedroom, eyeing it with first curiosity and then wicked amusement.

You were uncertain why he was interested in the mirror, leaving you by the bed naked and vulnerable, to examine the gold-gilded frame and moving it with ease towards you. What on Earth..?

“What are you–?”

Sebastian cut you off, turning you roughly and sitting with you on full display for the mirror. It made you uncomfortable to see yourself this exposed, you barely looked at yourself in this state whilst bathing or dressing so to see the thick strands of lust hanging from your parted lips was jarring. A sensation writhed in your chest, a mixture of embarrassment mingling with a little pride. Your demon that stared from over your shoulder was here of his own free will, no contract or binding bid him to your side and that was an empowering thought.

He chuckled, pressing a chaste kiss to your flushed cheek. “I am merely doing what you asked of me. You wished me to hold you tighter and be used like a pretty whore for the night, so I am doing just that.”

“I didn’t say that!”

“Ah, but you may as well have, my darling. Your body speaks far more readily than your mouth and I can hear it loud and clear.”

Before he had finished speaking, his thumb found your eager little pearl, stroking around and around in maddening circles without touching it directly. Sebastian shuffled beneath you and you felt the blunt tip of his cock trace along your cunt for the first time that night. 

A thread of power pulled through the length of your spine, straightening it and you knew deep down that it was his doing. Your eyes flickered to his blazing ones, biting your lip enough to cause blood to bead. A heated kiss cleaned the offending crimson from your plump bottom lip. The scene was like nothing you could ever dream of. No book or play could conjure such images. It was enough for sweat to roll from your temples and he hadn’t even slipped inside yet.

“Can you see what I see?” He cooed, stroking the curve of your jaw with his thumb.

You weren’t sure you did. Sure, you were a carnal feast for the eyes but wouldn’t any woman be in this position? Evidently, he disliked your silent uncertainty.

“A strong woman who stood against her family and chose to take a demon as a lover instead of marrying into dazzling wealth.”

Your chin rose as the words hit home, the cool ferocity of his tone enough to make you clench around nothing but air and the promise of what was to come.

“You are mine. No one else could hope to take you from me. I speak these words now and I will die by them. Mine. Do you understand?”

Nodding weakly, you watched his features twist in the reflection of the mirror. The desperate hunger and possession stoked the fires of the demon. It was at that moment that he pushed the bulging tip into your leaking cunt, pushing deeper past the tight ring of muscles with an exalted sigh of triumph. Sebastian held you still, fingers gripping the meat at your waist to prevent you from trying to run from the stretch you were sure to be experiencing.

It only took one forceful rut of his hips to sheath himself halfway, forcing your silken walls apart, to accept him as you always did. The remaining air from your lungs expired from the sudden pressure and overwhelming feeling of fullness.

Steady hands braced on the inside of your knees to prevent you from closing your thighs and it only made your whimpers sound all the more desperate. You were met with a warning growl directed into your ear, fiery pain following from the sharp teeth that tore at your shoulder until the marks were clear in the watery image in the mirror.

You blinked through tears, struggling in the clutches of a beast you had never mated with before. This was different, and you knew that when he stroked himself to the hilt in your cunt, he felt bigger, wider even, and the tip of his cock knocked painfully at your cervix.

It was near impossible to keep your eyes open, not when they were filled with unspilled tears and your head and heart were pounding from the lack of movement. Scrunching your eyes closed was natural when all you wanted to do was roll your hips and surrender to the build of friction but you couldn’t.

“Watch.” He demanded, wetting two fingers in his mouth and smacking them against your jumping clit as punishment for daring to close your eyes. “This is what you wanted and you’ll see just how rough I can be.”

Here you were. Nude and being used for pleasure. Wrapped in a strong embrace that forced you to witness what you had brought about. Expert fingers pinched at your tender nipples and rolled the taut buds between finger and thumb whilst the other hand abused your puffy clit.

Your body trembled as another orgasm neared–you had no idea what number this one was and it certainly wasn’t the first.

“Oh. Oh, fuck.”

The words tumbled out in velvet tones, eliciting a dark chuckle from Sebastian. He delighted when you cussed, knowing that your usual etiquette was entirely lost and your decency stolen away by how he fucked your pliant body.

With every new wave of pleasure, you understood more and more about the monster holding you tight and you didn’t believe you could love him any more than you did right now. He could destroy you without so much as breaking a sweat and yet he chose to hold you like this. Yes, it was rougher than ever before but you knew there was still a gentleness to his ministrations.

This demon had found a mortal interesting enough that for the first time in his long existence, he had no desire to ever see his contract fulfilled. 

His pistoning hips stopped; twitching cockhead buried against your cervix and the pulsing veins that ran the length of his thick shaft throbbed for release. He had assaulted the softy tissue buried behind your clit for long enough, it was time for him to find release too.

You were witnessing the birth of a million stars–a fucking cosmos--behind your eyelids as Sebastian massaged your insides in slow, deliberate circles. Every time you found the reflection in the mirror and met his potent stare, it made you whimper and rut even harder against him.

He was close, you could feel it with every laboured breath at the nape of your marked neck.

“What a picture you make, my dear, one I would love to hang in my room. You are all blissed out and ready for me to spill. Should I cum inside or paint your pretty stomach?”

Your head fell to his shoulder, and for the first time, he let you take your eyes off the show in front of you. Instead, he narrated it to you and that was almost worse. The seductive silky smooth tone of his words heated your blood beyond the boiling point.

“Oh my... look at this thick creamy ring around my cock… I could watch your pretty pussy drool over me all day.”

With a final shove of his hips, jets of heat coated your walls and you were spared from the embarrassment of begging for him to cum inside you. Sebastian grunted into your neck, the sensation of his hot mouth on your skin and the continued lazy pumps deep in your cunt tripped you over the cliff edge and into freefall.

Boneless, panting and mind blank except for the pleasure, your dazed eyes lifted to stare at the mirror.

Hair as black as a starless sky fell over your shoulder, strong arms clinging to your midriff and a mixture of viscous arousal dripped from between your trembling thighs.

Flushed and shivering, you bit your lip at the sight—your demon in the mirror.

[dark-and-kawaii]

༺ 𝐿𝑜𝓈𝓈 𝒪𝒻 𝒜𝓃 𝐻𝑒𝒾𝓇 ༻

Raphael

Summary: Raphael returns to his boudoir only to discover that you’ve lost his child, and it wasn’t from natural causes. His rage spirals when he finds it was due to a fellow follower of his…

Notes: I suck at summaries But I loved how this turned out so I hope you do as well!!!

Pairings: Raphael × f!Tav/Reader

• Hurt I Angst I Miscarriage | Ascended Raphael | Raphael Gets His Revenge

Ao3

As Raphael returned to his domain, an unsettling sight awaited him in the heart of his boudoir. There, amidst the opulence, was Haarlep, his personal incubus, cradling you in their arms within the large bath. Raphael's eyes scanned the water, a macabre blend of red and clear, tainted by the presence of blood. His gaze then shifted to his beloved little mouse, your hair clinging to your face, your skin glistening with sweat, and your breath laborious as your eyes remained closed.

But it was the sight of the tiny wrapped figure beside you on the bath’s edge, drenched in blood, that sent Raphael's rage spiraling to new heights. He didn't need to uncover it; he knew within his very core that his heir, his precious child, had been stolen away. With such a great loss, for the first time in centuries, his heart felt heavy.

"What happened?!" Raphael's voice seethed with malice, his clenched fist emphasizing his anger. Haarlep, usually insolent but now treading carefully, moved away from you and gently positioned you against the steps of the bath, ensuring some comfort. Approaching Raphael, Haarlep’s concealed their voice in a whisper so that you couldn’t hear, "It would seem that your dear tav has gone and lost your little pup-," Haarlep began, only to be interrupted by a warning glare from Raphael, “The lady of the house has miscarried," The incubus finally confessed.

Raphael's rage intensified, his words laced with venom, "I see that, you insolent creature! How did this come to pass?!" Aware of the consequences should they misstep, Haarlep treaded carefully, knowing their fate might just mirror Hope's in the basement.

In a snap, Haarlep summoned a cup, presenting it to Raphael. "Korilla brought this to my attention. A glass of deceit, a venom ever so sweet. It's tainted with juniper." Seizing the cup, Raphael brought it to his nose, confirming the presence of the insidious poison. It dawned on him that an intruder had violated his sanctuary, contaminating his precious little mouse, with this abhorrent act. Even as a devil, he recoiled at the thought of snuffing out the life within a mother's womb. This transgressor would pay a heavy price, both their soul and flesh, as Raphael vowed to exact a merciless retribution upon them.

It only took a couple of hours, but Raphael manages to track down the culprit, Korilla, once a cherished follower, always by his side. Yet, for reasons unknown, she had chosen to betray him in the most vile of ways… As Korilla returned to his domain, Raphael awaited her, leaning casually against a pillar, his arms crossed in a display of controlled dominance. His face, seemingly normal, concealed the depths of his wrath. When she finally approached, he began to circle her like a predator sizing up its prey, his gaze never wavering.

“Tell me, dear Korilla, how was your day?”

Her voice was filled with falsehoods, twisting a tale to make it seem as if though she were gathering clients for him.

"Ah, ah," Raphael interjected, his tone laced with a sadistic delight. "The truth is far greater than that feeble lie of yours." His features twisted with a mix of disgust and fury, his nose scrunching in disdain. And in a snap of his fingers, the very cup from which you had sipped appeared before them.

"Justify this to me! Why I stumbled upon what is undeniably my possession, nestled within the grasp of Haarlep, grieving for the loss of my own flesh and blood? The stillbirth, wrapped in a cloth stained with the taint of blood!” He condemned her for the atrocious deed, declaring, "You invaded my sanctuary, forcefully snatching away my child from the very womb that belongs to me!”

Korilla stood her ground, her calm demeanor unwavering. "I did this for your own sake," she asserted. "That mortal was tainting your path to becoming the next ruler of the Nine Hells. I'm sorry, but it needed to be done."

“You thought you were acting in my best interest, did you?" Raphael's scowl shifts to a smile, "Your feeble attempt to protect me has only sealed your fate."

Korilla trembled, her once defiant spirit now reduced to a mere flicker of fear. She had underestimated the power and ferocity of Raphael's love for you, and now she would pay the price for her treachery. But even in the face of imminent punishment, a spark of hope ignited within her, "Raphael, you cannot blame me for this," Korilla pleaded, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and desperation. "I did what I believed was necessary to protect you, to protect House Hope.

Flames consumed him, "Your time has come to an end, Korilla,” Raphael growled, his voice resonating with a deep, otherworldly tone. "But fear not, for your sister shall keep you company as I flay you and adorn my abode with your entrails.”

As his true form emerged. He transformed into a monstrous fiend with wings unfurling from his back, a tail lashing behind him, and a wild mane of fire cascading around his head. His once simple horns morphed into a complex crown of infernal bone, framing his snouted face. Two additional faces erupted from his cheekbones, giving him a total of four menacing, orange eyes. His entire being radiated with the glow of infernal flame, and fearsome tusks jutted forth from each of his mouths.

Raphael approached, his towering figure casting a haunting shadow over Korilla. His claws extended, glinting ominously in the flickering light. He reached out, his talons grazing her trembling skin, causing her to shudder in fear and anticipation. With each touch, a searing pain coursed through her body, a mere taste of the agony that awaited her.

[shegatsby]

Not sure exactly what you’re okay/not okay with as far as requests go, but I’d like to request a Hannibal x AFAB reader (or gn if you prefer) where the reader has a crush on Hannibal and discovers that he’s a serial killer and tells him she’s more attracted to him because of it. I’d prefer it ends up in the bedroom (wink wink) but it’s up to you :)

A/N; Hello love, thank you for this request I certainly enjoyed writing it. Enjoy!

Warnings; Hannibal killing a man, a little smut

First time you saw him was something else. You almost became a victim of a serial killer but thankfully a team of FBI agents and Dr. Hannibal Lecter saved you. Turns out this killer was on the loose for months and you dropping your phone in his car made them catch him, you were forever grateful. Dr. Lecter was a psychiatrist who was helping the FBI with their serial killer cases and he was also collecting data for a research of serial killers and he offered free therapy sessions in exchange of information. Seemed like a good deal.

It had been few months since you started the therapy and it was going smoothly for him but for you, you had to keep pressing your thighs together every time he played with his pen or grabbed something. Over the weeks you saw and observed tiny changes in his behavior. He started to loose his tie around his neck, rolled up his sleeves, gave your lingering looks. You also had minor changes, such as; wearing clothes that fit your body perfectly and showing your womanly figure, curves and all. You knew that revealing clothes won’t make him come to you so you started to dress elegantly, just like him.

One time you mentioned how much you like baking and he asked you to bake something for him and you did.   The next week you brought chocolate chipped cookies and he opened a bottle of wine.

He surprised you by having a cabinet in his office dedicated to all kinds of wine and you surprised him by fulfilling your promise of baking something for him. Hannibal Lecter never relied on anyone ever since he was a child, he never believed promises of people, even the ones he who are close to him because life thought him that people are deceitful animals. However, you managed to surprise him, it felt like a date but neither of you said anything about it.

Weeks went by and you kept surprising him with small things. One day, you baked a cake, it was the anniversary of you meeting him. You went to his office without telling him, it was suppose to be a surprise. Before you knocked on the door you heard some noises, a man coughing and things falling to the ground so you quickly opened the door to see the scenario.

Dr. Hannibal Lecter was on top of a man who was equally tall and strong as him and Hannibal’s big hands wrapped around that man’s throat, you halted in your steps. Your hands which were holding the container of the cake were shaking, your fight or flight response was triggered. You didn’t know what to do, in that moment you could feel everything and see, hear everything that was happening such as your soaked panties sticking to your core. You could feel your cheeks heat up, your heartbeat rising, Dr. Hannibal Lecter was murdering someone right in front of you and all you could think about or fantasies about how would you feel if his hands were wrapped around you, on his table..

When the man stopped breathing and struggling Hannibal bolted to his feet and turned to face you. His maroon eyes were startled at first but you could see his dilated pupils roaming on your body.

He didn’t  say anything, his chest heaving up and down, he closed the door and locked it, he came to you and held your shaking hands, put the container aside, ‘’Shh, I’m here, calm down.’’ Now that he was close you could see the bruises on his face, dry blood on his plump lips, blackened left eye, scratches here and there. His fingers went to put a strand of hair behind your ear, even under this strange circumstances, his eyes were soft as they addressed you.

He guided you to the couch. He sat next to you, his eyes never leaving yours. ‘’Now,’’ he breathed, ‘’What shall I do with you, little dove?’’

You didn’t respond, you were a deer caught in the lights. ‘’He attacked me, you saw what happened. I was defending myself.’’ He was so calm a sudden thought crossed your mind;

‘’This isn’t his first time.’’

Your body shivered, you knew what he wanted. He wanted you to tell Jack Crawford and others what you saw but an altered version of it, all you could do was to nod and let things happen.

It had been few weeks since that incident and you avoided your sessions with him. You made up excuses, one week you pretended like you had the cold, the other week you said you were out of town etc.

Every week he sent you a present, the week you were supposedly cold he sent you soup and warm bread, it was handmade. There was also a note; ‘’Get well soon, dove.’’

Your knees went weak with that note and gesture, the other week he sent you flowers, elegant and pure white bouquet of peony. Last week you’ve made up a lame excuse of not being in the mood and he called you on the phone.

‘’Hello Dr. Lecter?’’ you answered in a calm manner, ‘’Hello dove, I was wondering-‘’ he paused for a second ‘’why are you avoiding me. Well, I know the reason but I want to hear it from you.’’ You felt your heart go faster, subconsciously your thighs were pressing hard, ‘’It is best that I don’t join the sessions anymore Dr. Lecter.’’ You said out of breath, hearing his voice after a long time did something to you. He let out a devastatingly long sigh, you felt it in your core. ‘’I was hoping it doesn’t come to this.’’ He sounded tired and defeated.

You imagined him sitting in his office, sleeves rolled up, playing with his pen while talking to you. You wanted to rush to his aid, he was a busy man with a hectic schedule, you wanted to give him something to come home to. The thought of it made you get wet.

‘’Thank you for testifying on my behalf.’’ He sounded genuine.

At first he thought you would tell the truth but when you told everyone exactly what he told you he was impressed. There was something about you that he couldn’t put his finger on. He sometimes had this urge to pull your brain out and study it because you fascinated him profoundly, but then the thought of physically hurting you made him feel disgusted, which was rare in his case.

‘’You saved me,’’ you said remembering the night, he was the one who wrapped you in a blanket and carried you to the ambulance, he was the one who sat and waited by your side in the hospital.

‘’and I saved you, the debt is paid.’’ Your free hand slowly went to the waistband of your pjs, sid in and found your aching core, he cannot possibly realize can he?

‘’My little dove, hearing you say this breaks my heart, your life is not a burden.’’ He knew how you feel about yourself, a freak, a burden..

You loved the way he said ‘’dove’’ his accent thick, you wondered what else is thick about him. You wanted him to keep talking to you.

‘’Where are you right now? And be honest.’’ His tone had a warning, such dominance.. ‘’H- home.’’

Hannibal wasn’t a stupid man, he admired your boldness, talking to your therapist while touching yourself.

‘’Good girl.’’ He loved your honesty, maybe you were the only person who was honest to him from the start ‘’What are you doing?’’ he asked, even though he knew it.

Your panties were soaked, ‘’Laying on my couch.’’ You managed to say, his hand went to stroke his clothed member, he swallowed, ‘’I was asking as in.. action wise.’’ He teased. You were rubbing your wet cunt slowly, you let out a sigh. A pornographic one to be exact. ‘’Nothing-‘’

He didn’t let you continue, ‘’Tell me, do you always dream  of me when you touch yourself? His question shocked you, at first you thought you heard him wrong, but the silence continued. Cat was out of the bag, he caught you. ‘’Yes.’’ You said. Hannibal could feel himself getting harder. He stood up, locked his office door, you heard it. He sat back and unzipped his pants, he never thought he would be doing this in his office, well, he also never thought he would kill someone in his office but here we were.

‘’What are you wearing?’’ he asked, feeling like a school boy but it excited him. ‘’Nothing.’’

It was right, the second you heard him lock the door you took off your clothes, ‘’Clever girl. I assume you’re dripping wet, I have neglected you for so long, keep touching yourself.’’

Hannibal leaned back, stroking himself, his tip leaking, ‘’How do you dream of me?’’

One hand in your core the other touching your boob –he was on speakers- you spoke, ‘’Sometimes on the table, sometimes on the couch or in your bed. Pushing me down and taking me..’’

You remembered the scene, he was on the ground on top of a man and choking him. It made you moan. Your soft whimpers and divine voice made him stroke himself faster, ‘’Put two fingers inside sweet thing.’’

You could feel the shift in his voice. You moaned louder than before as you inserted your fingers, you were so wet he could hear it clearly. ‘’Every time I come from your office I touch myself.’’ You confessed, which made him growl, he was regretting that he didn’t take you before. He knew that you were interested in him from the beginning, he thought it was because you were in shock –due to your unique condition which is almost being murdered- and you were seeking shelter. He assumed over the weeks your fascination with him would disappear but he was wrong.

He was about to lose his mind because of the sounds you were making ‘’Stop!’’ he ordered and you followed. ‘’Wait for me.’’ And he hung up.

Never in a million years he would think of sleeping with a patient but you changed his mind, he got into his car and drove.

[ghostofskywalker]

Hi how are you? Well, I hope. I wanted to request:

"Should I stop talking?" || "Don't, your voice is very soothing" with Peeta Mellark please.

Thank you!

i'm doing well, thank you!! i absolutely loved this prompt, thank you for giving me a chance to write some hunger games fic!

words: 822

summary: You and Peeta spend time in a cave, attempting to fall asleep in the arena.

Belief in Love Can Outweigh All Odds

note: in this fic the reader is taking katniss' position as the female tribute from district 12 in the 74th hunger games. no specific combat specialty or other description is noted.

peeta mellark masterlist

It was cold, damp, and dark in the cave, and you knew that there was no way you were going to find sleep anytime soon. The amount of adrenaline currently flowing through your body was making sure of that, along with the sharp pain that still emanated from the sizable wound on your arm. But as bad as you felt right now, Peeta was looking a lot worse. He shivered and twitched in his sleep, the medicine you had almost paid for with your life working much too slowly for your liking. 

You didn’t necessarily believe the Head Gamemaker’s voice in the sky, that the Games could have two victors if they came here from the same district, but you also didn’t want to give up on the tiny flicker of hope that had taken hold in your heart, the hope that you would be able to go home without having to kill a boy you had grown up with. 

You cared for Peeta, and that alone was worth the pain of betrayal you might feel down the line. All of this had started as a ruse to get sponsors, the way you felt about each other, and so far it had worked. But what you didn’t really want to admit to yourself just yet was that those feelings were very quickly becoming real. It was a side effect of the games, you tried to tell yourself, the way that your emotions heightened by the hour, but you knew it to be false. The Capitol would never knowingly facilitate the growth of emotions like love or kindness in this arena, they laughed and cheered at the appearance of tributes’ animalistic tendencies, taking a perverse comfort in the way human beings would do anything if it meant they would get to walk away alive. 

And speaking of your fellow District 12 tribute, you watched as he began to stir awake. “Are you okay?” he whispered, immediately turning his attention to you. 

“Yeah,” was your slightly shaky response. “No one is going to find us here.” 

“How’s your arm? Does it still hurt?” 

You shook your head. “I’m fine. And you know, I should be the one asking you how you’re doing, not the other way around.”

“I told you not to risk yourself for me and you still did,” he said, a smile flickering over his face as he registered your weak attempt at a joke. “I don’t think I will ever be able to repay you for that.” 

“You don’t have to repay me.” 

“I can’t-” 

But you cut him off before he could finish speaking. “Peeta, I mean it. We’re in this thing together until the end, and right now just being alive is enough for me.” 

His hand reached out to rest on your cheek, and the look in his eyes was something you never wanted to forget. He certainly was able to act the part of the lovesick teenager better than you were, and part of you almost believed that this moment was real. 

And of course, it only became more believable when he leaned in and kissed you. 

You had shared a chaste kiss with him once before on the tour, as a way to ward off any rumors of deceit or trickery, but this was much more passionate. Both of you were covered in dirt and grime at this point, but you didn’t care one bit as you kissed back. The little voice at the back of your mind informed you that the entirety of Panem was probably watching you right now, but even that didn’t really matter. Right now, you just wanted to enjoy this moment. 

When you finally pulled away, there was a smile on your face that you would never be able to hide, no matter how hard you tried. “We’re going to be okay,” you said softly as you settled next to him, your head gently resting on Peeta’s chest. “We’ll win the Games, and then we can return home together. We can-” 

But he cut you off by reaching down to take your hand, getting you to turn and look up at him. “We should get some rest,” he said. “We’re not out of here just yet.” 

You weren’t sure you could truly get yourself to sleep, especially after what just happened between you two, but you nodded. “So what you’re saying is that I should stop talking?” 

“Maybe,” he said, a small laugh escaping his mouth. “Don’t actually, your voice is very soothing.”

You smiled before continuing to speak, telling Peeta random bits of information about the forest and stories from your family back home in District 12. You could tell when he finally fell asleep, his breathing slow and steady as you listed to his heartbeat, and all you could do was desperately hope that the two of you would actually be able to make it out of here alive. 

- the end -

i no longer have a taglist! if you're interested in being notified when i post, you can follow my library blog @ghostofskywalker-library and turn on notifications!

[let-roman-bite-someone]

alright now here are the sanders sides bloopers quotes that live rent-free in my head:

“I'd like to call my next witness to the stand. VIRGIIIIIIILLLL~”

“Your most extreme reaction is an eyebrow raise— is an OYbrow raise.” “OY LOGAN-”

“I'm a pretty pretty bird!”

“What the fuh?”

“Oh my gosh, Deceit, is this yours?” *casually flips Janus off*

“One. Singular Sensation.”

“I know nothing!” *falls out of chair like the baby lawyer he is*

“Look, ma. I'm on TV.”

*in Voldemort voice* “Do you ever feel~ like a tiny baby corpse~?”

“Where are your kids, Patton? WHERE ARE YOUR KIDS??”

“I'm waiting for the others to show up so I can scare them right out of my pants.”

tell me yours!

[ask-gt-roceit]

I can't believe it's been a while since I've done something with those two.

I don't exactly have excuses besides life and motivation ig...

-

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🔄 Reblog

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[morallyinept]

Adrift With You - A Frankie Morales Series - Chapter 3

Summary: Heading away on a work re-location, Frankie embarks on a flight, but unbeknownst to him, his life is about to change forever. For starters, he will need to fight for it; harder than he's ever fought for anything else before.

Marooned on an isolated island in the middle of the ocean, still recovering from an addiction, his chances of survival are bleak; but he’s not alone on the island, and soon he’s running towards a different kind of life - a life with fellow survivor, Jude, fighting right beside him every step of the way.

And if they can both survive the island together, they can survive anything, right?

Pairing: Frankie Morales x OFC Jude

Chapter word count: 4.9k

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

☝🏻See Series Masterlist for full smut warnings & triggers in this story. Chapters that contain smut or triggers will be highlighted in the chapter notes below. 👇🏻

Chapter notes: Frankie and Jude both step onto the plane not knowing what awaits them. Descriptions of injury, blood, death and a plane crash.

Enjoy! 🖤

Chapter 2

Present Day...

Overhead storage on a plane is a pointless endeavour. 

They say your bag has to be a certain height and width, and you go through that whole rule abiding rigmarole of sticking to a tiny bag - despite not being able to fucking pack anything of use actually in it - and the sucker still doesn’t fit in there just to spite you. 

Jude shoves it with her fist, practically punching the bag in whilst having a mild breakdown in the process until she’s composed herself and slumps into the window seat and buckles in, tasting wisps of her hair in her mouth. 

She’s seated at the very back of the plane; the last row that backs onto the emergency exit in coach, and will give off the subtle feculent stench of the toilets right behind her throughout the flight.

The faint cries of a grumpy toddler down the front somewhere can already be heard droning, even over the hum of the engine as the plane is loaded up with bleating passengers ready for the eighteen hour long flight. 

It was an easy decision to make; an unconscious autopilot. Jude had some savings and decided to quit life for a time out and take a break from the aftermath of Nate's continuous infidelity. The destination was purely left to the spin of her old, antique globe on her desk, having racked up nearly forty-nine countries already in her career, and wherever her finger landed, that’s where she’d go.

It landed on Madagascar and that was it, decision made. Ideal opportunity for some relaxation, to forget that shit-stain Nate, and maybe take some photographs whilst she was at it. Or maybe she would just mellow out on a hammock on the beach for two weeks, forgetting the world and plying herself with strong drinks until she forgot her own name. She'd carefully packed minimal camera gear into her carry on regardless - old habits die hard and her camera was like a limb, essential.

She checks her phone one last time before switching it into flight mode. The constant barrage of calls from Nate has died off somewhat since her stark warning in the café, but he’s still haranguing her by text message, or Whatsapp, or via any other social media platform he can try and reach her on to just ‘talk to me’ or ‘give me another chance, please babe.’

But holding strong only works if she is strong. And that's questionable right about now.

The temptation to listen to him to explain his deceitfulness all over again has been there swilling around the sides of her bandaged heart and rational thinking, and rather than risk the fallout of letting the scumbag wheedle his way back in with his Machiavellian falsehoods - like he usually does knowing Jude's backbone is already at breaking point - it’s best to scarper and seek some clarity in a foreign sunny land and have some much needed alone time to regroup and plan the next course of her life, without Nate. 

Plan B always sucks, but you definitely have to have one, right? 

She scrolls through her Instagram feed; her thumb hovering over Nate’s profile, hesitating and then clicking on the unfollow button, followed by the block button. If there had been a button to Taser in the balls, she’d have clicked on that one too.

Jude's seat is moderately comfortable, with just enough legroom for her to sit cramped up without developing DVT. She glances around and observes fellow passengers stowing their carry-on luggage in the overhead compartments, some enduring the same frustrating battles as she did, and settling into their seats.

The air inside the cabin carries a distinct blend of aeroplane air - a mix of recycled ventilation and a hint of the disinfectant used to clean the aircraft. The subtle scent of lemons fills her nose.

She hears the gentle murmur of the flight attendants as they go through their pre-flight routine, checking the cabin, demonstrating safety procedures, and preparing for take-off. The occasional announcements over the intercom remind passengers to fasten their seatbelts, stow their tray tables, and turn off electronic devices.

The empty seat beside Jude is soon filled with a middle-aged woman embracing a plethora of gossip magazines to keep her entertained during the flight, to which she's thankful for; polite, strained conversation with a stranger that has absolutely nothing in common with you, and an unhealthy penchant for dried cheese crackers, is never an entertaining feat at thirty-odd thousand feet.

Jude simply puts in her ear buds and sets her phone’s Spotify playlist to uber loud, waiting for the classic rock tunes to fill her ears and block out anything else, and sits back in the seat shutting her eyes and grinding on her teeth. 

Further down the plane in business class, Frankie drops his worn backpack at his feet whilst he fishes out the contents of his jeans pockets, glancing down at the oversized seat he’s to be glued into for the next eighteen hours or so. 

Plenty of legroom is waiting for him and it’s a surprise, and a relief, that he won’t be cramped up in economy. Dustin had done him a real solid. 

He zips up his pack after depositing his iPhone - which flashes up a number of unchecked voice messages from Eddie - his wallet and all manner of random things guys feel the need to carry in their denim pockets, such as crumpled bar receipts from months ago; a night out with Benny and Will and a few games of darts, and ultimately the last time he had seen Will.

Frankie’s mind casts back to them talking about how things were different now that Tom was no longer around to hold them all together. How there were less of them now to have bar nights with now that Santi was shacked up comfortably in Australia with his lady and her millions, and how Frankie had also inadvertently exchanged more of those nights out with the Miller brothers for nights alone in his Pickup with bags of powder as his only company.

As Will scratched away at the layers, trying to push his way in, conversations had turned sour about how different Frankie had seemed as his addiction metastasized; Will regarded him with a concerned look in his frosty blue eyes. 

I’m worried about you, Fish. This ain’t like you. 

It’s just a rough patch. I’ll get through it. I’m fine. 

You’re not fine.

I’m handling it. It’s none of your business- 

It is my business. I care about you. We all do. Does Carla know what's going on?

I'm dealing with stuff. It's my problem.

It stops being just your problem when it starts affecting everyone around you. We care about you, Fish. I care about you. But I can't stand by and watch you self-destruct like this.

Then fuckin' don’t! Frankie had simply snapped at him.

It followed a heated argument, a threat of spilling over into the physical when Benny warned Frankie to leave, and held his brother back as Frankie cussed him out for interfering. He usually wouldn't talk to a friend like that, the way he so belittles himself at times, and he knows that Will meant well, somewhere in the recesses of his befuddled mind.

But that’s the cost of addiction, in the end you end up with nothing and no-one. 

In the aftermath of Will's expression of concern, an uncomfortable gap settled between them. It was a silence charged with the weight of unspoken truths, an acknowledgment of the growing distance that addiction was creating between Frankie and his friends. And Frankie left the bar that night to retreat into the safe confines of his own slow destruction.

In the depths of Frankie's life, an insidious force had taken root, spreading its tendrils like an unseen cancer. Addiction, the silent invader, had established its presence in the once quiet corners of his existence. It had started subtly, unnoticed - a small, hidden malignancy that grew and thrived beneath the surface.

The root of origin unknown, but the talking therapy he was forced to endure had convinced him that things had all finally gone to shit when Tom had died on that damned mission. The cherry on top of a mountainous cake of years and years of unresolved trauma carried over from his time in Delta Force.

Leaving behind the regimented world of Special Operations felt like stepping into an uncharted wilderness, once a bastion of discipline, had unfolded as a chapter of his life marked by growing solitude and abhorrent self-discovery. The decision to leave the elite forces wasn't an easy one, but it was one they all had embarked on together. Shit just got too dark. 

The camaraderie that had defined his military experience became a distant echo, replaced by the isolating silence of civilian life. The transition was akin to leaving the tight confines of his cockpit and soaring into the open sky, uncertain of the turbulence that awaited.

As Frankie navigated the challenging terrain of civilian life after leaving Special Ops, his reliance on the Veterans Affairs system for support became a crucial aspect of his journey. However, what he encountered was a bureaucratic landscape that often left him feeling more stranded than supported.

The VA proved to be nothing but a labyrinth of paperwork, long wait times, and un-clippable red tape. Despite his sincere efforts to seek help, Frankie found himself grappling with a system that seemed ill-equipped to address the complexities of his post-military challenges.

He couldn't help but lean into the bitterness at how easy Will and Benny seemed to have found the transition. On the outside, their lives seemed far more rosy compared to his. They had each other to lean on, after all.

The system that was supposed to provide a safety net for veterans transitioning back to civvy life became a stumbling block, adding an extra layer of complexity to Frankie's journey. In facing the inadequacies of the VA, Frankie discovered an unexpected coping mechanism of his own which seemed to work far better - cocaine. 

But it was one that spiralled out of control when he came back from Santi’s stupid mission that left him even more lost. In something he once dabbled in for a fun high now and again, albeit causing him to lose his license when he was caught smuggling it in for some extra bucks, soon became a daily habit that chipped away more pieces of him.

The bond that Frankie had sorely missed since leaving Special Ops seemed to rekindle in his connection with his sponsor Eddie for a while. Their alliance wasn't forged in the crucible of combat but in the shared struggles of recovery. The Special Ops ethos of "leave no-one behind" found new meaning in the context of addiction, and Eddie became the embodiment of that commitment.

But as Frankie delved deeper into the challenging journey of recovery, a subtle shift occurred in his relationship with Eddie. The once unwavering connection began to fray as Frankie found himself instinctively starting to avoid the very person who had been a crucial anchor in his battle.

The avoidance didn't happen overnight. It began with subtle excuses - a missed call here, an unattended meeting there. An extra shift in the workshop that soon piled on top of his already weakened shoulders. Frankie soon learned that if he kept busy, kept tinkering, kept his mind on something else other than the constant yammering thoughts about coke, then he wouldn't be tempted to give in.

Thus finding his own solution to his addiction, which was akin to slapping on a flimsy plaster over a deep gunshot wound - it would only be a matter of time before it fell off. 

I care about you. But I can't stand by and watch you self-destruct like this...

Will's words linger in Frankie's memory like an indelible mark besmirching all the memories that he'd filed away as once good. He shakes his head despondently as he recalls the concern that seems to have faded into ignorance now.

It feels like a long time since Frankie's heard Will’s voice or seen his face. He bites down on the inside of his cheek.

He finds loose change, a shit ton of lint, and his sobriety coin in his pocket too. A small but potent talisman, speaking volumes about the milestones he's conquered on his journey toward recovery, even if it feels like a lead weight in his pocket most of the time.

It nestles comfortably in the palm of his hand, a tangible reminder of the strength he’s summoned to break free from the chains of addiction, even if he doesn't know where that strength has come from. Frankie knows without a shadow of a doubt that he isn't strong. Never has been.

The coin, worn smooth by the constant touch of Frankie's fingers, bears the tactile evidence of countless reflections and countless moments of considering just throwing the towel in. It doesn't seem worth it in the quiet masochistic tendrils of his thoughts.

He squeezes it in his palm tightly, feeling the indents of it bore into his skin. Six months and what does he have to show for it? 

He runs his hand over the sparse layer of fluffy stubble covering his tired face, a physical manifestation of the days when self-care took a backseat to the relentless pursuit of an unyielding high, and he's just let it grow out now.

His jaw sets firm before shoving the coin back down into the trenches of his pockets and placing his bag in the spacious compartment above his head. 

Frankie sits back in his seat buckling up, and a peppy stewardess, doused in way too much perfume that makes the insides of his nostrils sting and itch as he inhales, approaches him and enquires about what he would like to drink immediately after take-off.

He orders a beer and a bottle of water and sits back staring down the aisle from his single, plush seat, people watching as the other passenger’s faff around with their laptops and briefcases as they fill up the cabin, which makes Frankie feel even more like he doesn’t belong, in his scuffed jeans and faded salmon shirt and worn in cap. 

As the plane begins to taxi, he looks out the window, watching the terminal and other aircraft pass by. The distant sound of luggage being loaded onto the conveyor belts and the low hum of the engines create a sense of morbid anticipation; a feeling that causes his fingers to shake as he balls them into a fist and takes a calming breath. 

The cabin lights dim slightly as the plane approaches the runway, and Frankie settles in, ready for the long, arduous journey ahead.

Hours later into the flight, Jude stirs in her seat with the heavy feeling swelling in her bladder again, and excuses herself to her fellow passenger, who is crunching loudly on the unbuttered crackers, so she can get up to pee.

Well aware that this is the fourth such instance and that she’s probably annoying the fuck out of the woman, but when you gotta go, you gotta go. 

The plane judders slightly as she makes her way towards the tiny cubicle that smells of stagnant piss. The mirrored panel above the sink reflects a condensed version of Jude’s image. She catches a glimpse of herself - perhaps a bit dishevelled from the hustle of the day's travels thus far - but something else lingers in her worn features. 

Her reflection is sleepy in the small mirror and the heat of her cheeks paramount as she’s been overheating in her sweater whilst snoozing. She removes it, leaving her in a flimsy t-shirt, and sits down on the toilet staring at her battered Chuck Taylors and thinking idly that it’s probably time for a new pair soon.

Washing up, she glances at her reflection again, revealing the innate vulnerability she’s been trying to hide that hits her. It’s been a minute, since the break-up, that she really stopped to take herself in.

Pronounced tears well up in her eyes. She leans against the cold, metal interior of the cubicle, her breath shaky and uneven. The subtle vibrations from the plane match the tremors of her own emotional upheaval as it pours out of her, seemingly from nowhere.

Vile images of her and Nate in happier times plague her thoughts like sharpshooters as it all crumbles away. It was all bullshit wrapped up in pretty crepe paper bows. 

The metallic surfaces seem to close in around her, mirroring the claustrophobic ache shoved in her chest where a heart once beat. Tears stream down her face, leaving streaks of mascara like war paint on her cheeks. The mirror, once a reflection of ordinary moments, now bears witness to the shattered remnants of her composure.

Jude’s hands tremble as she clutches at the sink, knuckles turning white with the force of her grip to stop her from collapsing onto the floor and screaming unrestrained like the toddler down the front of the cabin. 

Her body convulses with the force of her sobs as she throws her arm over her mouth to muffle them, fingers clenching into fists, nails biting into the palms of her hand. It's a gut-wrenching, primal expression of heartache, the kind that leaves no room for pretence or restraint.

The slow, tumultuous purging of that asswipe out of her blood. Or at least the start of it anyway. It pulses through her veins like poison. Disbelief, heartbreak, and the indignant rage that comes with the sting of betrayal flood through her limbs; a future paradise shattered into a million fragments as she envisions punching the mirror in - she can’t bear looking at her face anymore. 

The restroom seems to close in around her, mirroring the suffocation she felt when confronted with the undeniable truth fucking into another woman in their bed. A truth she had always known, but perhaps ignorance really was bliss for a while. 

And where has that got you?

With shaky determination, she wipes away the evidence of her breakdown, acutely aware that the scars of betrayal will linger long after the tears have dried, a harsh velocity of time she’ll have to endure and navigate through. 

Once back in her seat, her sweater stuffed in the overhead with her crushed bag, Jude glances out the window at the billowy dark gray clouds that are passing underneath the plane mirroring her own self-contempt. 

She sees lightning flashes pulse like a camera now and again and rolls her eyes with a deep lacerating sigh. The plane rumbles once more.

It better be fucking hot when we land...

She asks for a bottle of still water from the passing flight attendant to refresh her cottonmouth, but they return with sparkling instead. Before she can ask for another, the attendant disappears off, hurrying down the aisle out of sight, and she’s left to make do with a tight frown. 

Sparkling water tastes like licking TV static; such a pointless endeavour, but Jude drinks it anyway, the woman sitting next to her eyeing her oddly as she makes disgusted noises whilst swallowing it down.

Frankie sips at his third beer quietly as he watches a lame comedy film, that doesn’t even make him snicker once, on the screen to the right of his seat; his headphones plugged into it so only he can hear the sound.

He watches without any real enthusiasm, trying to pass the inevitable boredom that accompanies most of the commercial flights he’s endured in his life. 

He’s still feeling jangled and all manner of anxiousness swills around him about being somewhere hot and isolated sooner rather than later, so he can throw himself into some work with helicopters - which admittedly has been something he’s looked forward to since Dustin mentioned it - and to forget his troubles and woes for a short time. A rest and recharge of those Morales batteries that have been running on empty for a long time. 

His mind does that ominous thing of wandering into territories it shouldn't just to mess with him, and he realises he hasn’t heard from Carla at all since she’d left. He wonders if she had indeed been back to his apartment and cleared it of all her belongings; erasing herself from his life as though she was never there to begin with. 

He’d arranged with Benny to be there, albeit through short, clipped texts, to ensure she didn’t cut up his clothes or destroy his shit like some warped revenge fantasy that women harbour when they feel they’re slighted.

It seems weird to think of her now as merely an ex too. At one point Carla was his better half, he’s sure of it. The half of him that propped him up. Frankie engages in unspoken conversations with the ghosts of his past love. Imaginary dialogues played out in the confines of his mind, expressions of sentiments left unsaid.

And it still seems odd to put it together and work out where things had gone so drastically wrong between them to the point they had ended up so far off course.

But he knows why. Knows it’s him. It's all his fault. All she did was have the audacity to love and care for him, and that makes it all the worse somehow. 

He finishes his beer a little later, feeling slightly gassy as the bubbles rumble under his sternum, and it's soon cleared away by the pretty steward who offers him another, but he declines reaching for the bottle of water instead and holding in a fizzy belch inside his cheeks until she leaves. 

The plane jolts again; this time a little heavier and the steward grips the back of the seat in front of him to stay upright. The smile on her face reassures him it’s just normal turbulence and she then continues on her way with his empty beer bottle back down the aisle; his eyes drop to her ass absentmindedly, tightly bound in her skirt.

Frankie's just swallowed another mouthful of water when the plane judders harshly again and this time his stomach goes with it completely. The seat belt sign flashes on and he looks up at it and its faint yellowing light seems like it’s burning slowly into his retinas.

While Frankie maintains an outward appearance of relaxation, a mild concern lingers in the background. The rhythmic bumps of turbulence become a reminder of the unpredictable nature of the skies; a reality he’s intimately acquainted with from his days in the cockpit himself.

But his eyes, scanning the cabin for the reactions of fellow passengers, reflect a nuanced awareness of the situation. The subtle tightening of his grip on the armrest betrays the reflex of a seasoned aviator attuned to the gradations of flight, even when occupying a passenger's seat.

The plane shakes harshly again and the heavy, grating sound cuts through all rational thinking.

It takes him a moment to register the sounds of screaming, and the sensation that the plane is now descending - and descending real fast. 

Frankie looks down the aisle and sees the pretty steward with the ass on the floor in a heap before he’s blinded by the oxygen mask falling into his face. 

The seat belt sign flashes on and although Jude’s already buckled in tight, the passenger beside her stands up and heads off towards the toilet, she can only assume. There’s always one, isn’t there?

Sighing, she rests her head back against the headrest and shuts her eyes, letting the loud guitar riffs fill her ears. 

The unexpected jolting and commotion as though the plane is dipping forwards a mere few seconds later causes Jude to yank her ear buds out of her ears, one of them rolling out of her grip onto the floor, to be met with the sounds of screaming and hysteria. 

The heavy resonances of the turbines and engines whirring seem to shriek behind her at a deafening pitch, and the smell of aviation fuel and burning wafts into her nose sharply.

Jude pushes against the seat in front of her with both hands for support as the plane takes a nose-dive forward on a dangerous slant; a wayward drinks trolley shifts past her sight down the aisle, clattering and making a hell of a racket as it goes. 

The oxygen mask flaps in front of Jude’s face and she’s not sure how long it’s been there. She scrambles for it, panicking and fastening the elastic around the back of her head. Her fellow cracker addict is still nowhere to be seen. 

Jude glances quickly out the tiny window again and the sight of the ocean coming up fast is the last thing she sees before it all goes black. 

When a plane hits a body of water, it invariably breaks apart.

The fuselage splits, the wings crack, practically disintegrating for all intents and purposes, and the tail often breaks off completely. Essentially, it shatters fully on impact and often the fuel tanks will explode. 

When a plane hits water, an incompressible fluid, the water hits back at it and causes the aircraft to decelerate. That's all fine and dandy for the plane, but your body is still "flying" at the same speed as the plane was before it hit water, and well... objects inside the fuselage becoming embroiled in a kinetic tornado, are about to make you decelerate too, in a very violent way.

Let’s do the maths, shall we? The equation F=maF=ma simply means that for constant mass, FF is proportional to aa, and so a bigger aa also means a bigger FF. A bigger FF doesn't sound too good, does it?

Did you get that? No, me neither. Basically, you’re up shit creek without a paddle. 

Most passengers on the plane will die from blunt head trauma. If they’re lucky it will be quick. A quick bop and you’re gone bye-bye so to speak. Some will be fortunate enough to pass out before their inevitable death through sheer terror alone - lucky bastards. 

If you haven’t died before or after impact, your chances of survival then become bleaker as time wears on. Head trauma is the most common fatal blunt injury in a plane crash, followed by injuries to the chest and the abdomen.

Thirty-six per cent of head injuries, and twenty-seven per cent of chest injuries will have associated cervical and thoracic spine fractures, respectively. A slow, painful death would await you as you suffer from internal bleeding. And that’s before you drown. 

Remember, you’ve just crashed into the ocean, bub. 

It’s all very doom and gloom isn’t it? But Frankie’s flight is currently in pieces, some aflame, and he’s swimming against the current, equally difficult because the impact has created a swirling whirlpool that keeps trying to pull him under within the vicinity of the main body of the plane.

His long arms are striding away and he splutters and coughs as he’s pulled under constantly despite being an adept swimmer. 

His skin is burning around his neck; he can see a slick, shimmering gloop mixing in the water’s surface all around him and the stench of aviation fuel and barbecued skin fills his nostrils. 

He turns back to see the water literally on fire, and is convinced he can hear some distant screams for help, before he dives under and swims away from the fires before he burns up with them. 

His ears are ringing, his sight is blinded continually by water splashing over his face whenever he surfaces for air, and as he swims away to a safe distance, that’s when the shock bites into his body and begins the slow onslaught of trying to drown him. 

The freezing stab of the water is what rouses Jude awake and she’s still fastened in her seat; the water pooling at her ankles, soaking into her battered Converse and rising.

She’s unaware at first that blood is blinding her right eye, as she rips off the oxygen mask and claws at her seat belt to unbuckle it frantically. 

Oh God! Oh God! Oh Shit!

Jude glances across the aisle and half of the cabin is missing; she gasps out as she can see a couple of the passengers slumped over in their seats, but the rest of them are gone.

She can no longer hear the screaming toddler piercing her ears.

The water is rising fast and is covering her thighs now. She stands up on jellified legs and rushes to the passenger opposite and tries shaking him awake, but he’s unresponsive. 

She tries another, but it’s fruitless. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knows they’re already gone, but it takes her body a moment to catch up. She wipes at her face and the slick, ruby red that coats her palm panics her further as she observes her trembling hand that now looks like she’s wearing a scarlet coloured latex glove. 

But there’s no time to dwell on the root of that blood loss now; the water is already up to her hips.

She wades towards the side of the fuselage in big, quick strides, climbing over seats with limp bodies strapped into them, and takes a deep breath before she jumps into the water on the other side of the gaping tear in the cabin. 

Jude cries out as she feels something sharp rip at the back of her calf as she plops ungracefully into the water and begins to swim away, grunting and gasping with sheer terror. 

Swim! Swim, come on!

She can smell burning and turns back momentarily to see flames on the water in the distance making the horizon wobbly and opaque through the smoke. She tries to call out for help, but she’s certain no-one is alive to hear her; her mouth keeps filling with rancid sea water as she splashes about frantically.

Jude bobs around on the ocean’s surface, her arms and legs kicking and keeping her afloat and calling out again for help. She shouts as loudly as she can, but is met with no response. 

Whimpering, she latches onto a nearby piece of scorched debris and clings onto it for dear life. She wipes her face again and more blood rinses off in her hand. She feels all around her head and the searing pain makes itself known at the top side of her right temple in her hair line, just above her ear. 

Shit!

Bewildered and panicking further in the process, Jude tries to scan the horizon behind her to see if there is anything, anyone; a hint of land perhaps that she can swim towards.

The thought of barely floating here on the ocean’s surface holding onto a small piece of rubble to keep her suspended births all sorts of nightmarish outcomes that her brain processes in a quick blur; the most notable being a shiver of sharks circling her below because they can smell her blood from miles away.

Her body is buffeted by the currents, causing her to grip onto the makeshift float desperately until she can't feel her fingers anymore, but the numbness doesn’t register.

Her heart races, pounding against her chest. In the midst of the chaos, a primal instinct for survival kicks in. She scans the vast ocean, searching for signs of rescue, grappling with the overwhelming uncertainty of her situation.

The taste of salt on her lips, the sting of the wind against her face, and the weight of her own mortality converge in a disorienting mix of sensations that render her still, frozen in her own paralysis of fear.

There’s nothing as far as the eye can see; absolutely nothing at all except for the burning plane wreckage that makes Jude’s wide eyes glow in terror.

To be continued...

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[elryuse]

yandere ceo minji x secretary y/n ft. hanni???

A CEO Stole my Boyfriend

YANDERE CEO MINJI X MALE READER X HANNI

The jasmine first appeared subtly, a fleeting whiff that brushed past my nose as Y/n leaned in for a kiss. It was a foreign scent, not the familiar citrus and vanilla of my own perfume, but a heady, floral aroma that lingered long after he pulled away.

"What's that smell?" I asked, wrinkling my nose playfully.

Y/n, usually unflappable, stumbled over his words. "Uh, I, uh... must've walked by a new air freshener at the office."

His cheeks flushed a tell-tale pink, and a tiny seed of doubt sprouted in my gut. It was a flimsy excuse, but I chose to believe him. After all, Minji, our CEO, was notorious for pushing her employees to handle her eccentric demands. Extra-long hours and experimental air fresheners seemed par for the course.

But the scent persisted, clinging to Y/n's clothes like a secret memory. It coincided with the creeping changes in his behavior. Long hours at the office morphed into disappearing weekends, punctuated by terse phone calls and hurried excuses. The man known for his boundless energy and infectious smile seemed perpetually drained, a dark circle blossoming under his usually bright eyes.

"Work stress, huh?" I said one evening, trying to sound casual as I traced a finger along his furrowed brow.

Y/n flinched, his smile strained. "Yeah, just a rough patch. Minji's got us all jumping through hoops lately."

"Well, tell her to take it easy on you," I said, my voice tight with a growing unease I couldn't quite place. "You deserve a break."

He offered a weak smile. "I will. Maybe we can finally take that Napa Valley trip after all."

The anticipation crackled between us, a promise whispered under stolen kisses and shared dreams. Then, the announcement. Minji, her perfectly manicured nails tapping a staccato rhythm on the conference table, declared a "critical business trip" to LA. Y/n was needed, she proclaimed, urgency lacing her voice.

The air in the room went cold. "But what about our trip?" I blurted out, unable to contain the tremor in my voice.

Minji's eyes, usually calculating, flickered with something akin to amusement. "Oh, the Napa trip? I'm sure you two can reschedule. This, however," she said, her gaze lingering possessively on Y/n, "can't wait."

That night, as Y/n packed a meager overnight bag, the jasmine scent overwhelmed me. It clung to his clothes, a tangible reminder of the secret life he seemed to be leading. My voice, usually brimming with love, faltered as I asked, "Something's wrong, Y/n. Tell me."

He met my gaze, the usual warmth replaced by a flicker of panic. "It's just work, Hanni. Nothing to worry about."

"Is it, though?" I pressed, my voice barely above a whisper. "Because lately, it feels like there's a whole lot you're not telling me."

Y/n sighed, running a hand through his already ruffled hair. "It's complicated, okay? Just trust me, this trip is important."

But trust, that fragile thread that bound us together, began to fray at the edges. The following weeks were an agonizing ballet of deceit. Calls became scarce, filled with awkward silences and fabricated stories about "unexpected board meetings" that stretched late into the night. The Napa Valley trip became a painful memory, a cruel promise unfulfilled.

One evening, as Y/n hurried off to another "late-night meeting," my suspicions reached a boiling point. "Where are you really going, Y/n?" I demanded, my voice laced with a newfound steel.

He hesitated, the jasmine scent swirling around him like a poisonous fog. "It's... work, Hanni. You wouldn't understand."

"Try me," I said, my voice trembling with a mixture of anger and hurt.

Just then, Minji's voice, dripping with saccharine sweetness, echoed from the doorway. "Don't worry, Hanni. Y/n's just helping me with a little... late-night brainstorming session." Her eyes, cold and calculating, met mine for a fleeting moment before flickering back to Y/n. "We wouldn't want the company to suffer because of a little weekend getaway, would we now, darling?"

Y/n flinched at the pet name, a flicker of something akin to disgust crossing his face before it was quickly masked by forced compliance. "Of course not, Minji," he mumbled, his voice devoid of its usual warmth.

Minji's smile widened, the tips of her perfectly manicured nails glinting under the harsh office lights. It was a smile that promised both reward and punishment, depending on who she was addressing. Her gaze, previously cold, softened slightly as it landed on Y/n. "Excellent. Now, shall we get going, darling?" she purred, her voice dripping with a possessiveness that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

Y/n offered a weak nod and mumbled a goodbye as he scurried past me, the jasmine scent clinging to him like a shroud. The air grew thick with a suffocating silence as the door clicked shut behind him. Minji's smile, once playful, morphed into a predatory smirk as she turned her icy gaze towards me.

"So," she drawled, her voice taking on a mocking tone, "worried your little weekend getaway plans got foiled?"

My throat tightened, the words catching in my chest. Fear, cold and primal, coiled in my stomach. Minji wasn't just our CEO; she was a force of nature, a hurricane with a designer wardrobe. Witnessing her manipulate Y/n with such ease sent shivers down my spine.

"It's not a 'little' getaway," I managed to force out, my voice barely above a whisper.

Minji scoffed, the sound sharp and dismissive. "Oh please, darling. Don't tell me you and Y/n actually have anything exciting planned. Movie night and takeout for the hundredth time? Sounds thrilling." Her words were laced with a cruel amusement, each syllable designed to tear down the fragile image of our relationship.

Tears pricked at my eyes, blurring the already distorted image of Minji reflected in the glass wall behind her. Maybe she was right. Our relationship, while comfortable, lacked the spark she seemed to be dangling in front of Y/n. But to expose our vulnerabilities in front of this woman, this predator, felt like signing a death warrant.

Before I could muster a retort, Minji glided closer, her smile morphing into something sinister. Her perfectly manicured nails tapped a haunting rhythm on the glass wall beside me. "You see, Hanni," she hissed, her voice low and dangerous, "Y/n craves excitement. He craves a challenge. Does takeout and Netflix offer that?"

I flinched at the venom in her voice, the way she spoke of Y/n as if he were a prize she'd already claimed. "We have a connection you wouldn't understand," I choked out, a desperate attempt to reclaim some semblance of power.

Minji threw her head back and laughed, a cold, hollow sound that echoed in the empty office. "Oh, honey," she cooed, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "The connection you have is about as exciting as watching paint dry. Trust me, Y/n deserves more. He deserves someone who can match his brilliance, someone who thrives on the same energy he does."

"And who might that be?" I whispered, my voice barely audible.

The smile on Minji's face widened, revealing a glimpse of something sharp and predatory beneath the veneer. "Why, me, of course," she purred, leaning in so close that I could smell the cloying sweetness of her jasmine perfume. "Y/n and I," she continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "we understand each other. We push each other. We're a perfect storm, darling. And let me tell you," she added, her eyes glinting with a chilling possessiveness, "he much prefers the view from here."

A strangled sob escaped my lips, tears streaming down my face. Her words were a brutal assault, stripping away the years of shared laughter, quiet nights in, and whispered dreams. In her warped reality, the comfortable love we shared was nothing compared to the thrilling chaos she offered.

Minji, seemingly satisfied with the devastation she'd wrought, straightened her designer blouse and adjusted her diamond necklace. "Well, this has been delightful," she purred, her voice saccharine once more. "But duty calls. Enjoy your… quiet evening, Hanni."

As she turned to leave, she paused for a moment, her gaze lingering on me with a malicious glint. "Oh, and one more thing," she said, her voice dropping to a chilling whisper. "Don't even think about trying to get in my way. Y/n belongs to me now."

With that, she swept past me, leaving behind a trail of toxic sweetness and a suffocating silence.I collapsed into the nearest chair, the sobs racking my body morphing into a broken, tearful mess. The woman I loved, the man I thought I knew, both seemed to be slipping through my fingers, stolen by a predator who thrived on manipulation and control. The future I'd envisioned, a future filled with shared dreams and laughter, lay shattered at my feet, replaced by a chilling uncertainty that promised nothing but heartache.

Hours bled into one another, the silence of the apartment deafening. Every creak of the floorboard sent a jolt of fear through me, every rustle of leaves outside my window sounded like approaching footsteps. Finally, the sound of the key turning in the lock shattered the silence.

Y/n stumbled in, his face etched with exhaustion. The jasmine scent, once overwhelming, was now faint, barely clinging to him. Relief, a sweet and unexpected sensation, flooded my chest. But before I could speak, he sank onto the couch, burying his face in his hands.

"Y/n" I whispered, my voice hoarse from crying.

He looked up, his eyes red-rimmed and weary. "Hey," he croaked, his voice strained. "Sorry I'm late. Minji kept me swamped with work."

My heart hammered against my ribs. "Work, huh?" The word tasted like ash in my mouth.

He sighed, a deep, weary sound. "Look, Hanni, about the trip…"

"Forget the trip," I whispered, cutting him off. "What's going on, Y/n? Who is she?"

He hesitated, his gaze flickering around the room before settling on me. "It's complicated," he began, then stopped, running a hand through his already ruffled hair. "She... she needs me, Hanni. For the company, I mean."

The lie, flimsy and transparent, hung heavy in the air. "Needs you how?" I pressed, my voice trembling.

Y/n winced, as if the truth pained him. "Look," he said, his voice low, "there's a big deal in the works, and Minji... she wants a public image boost. Apparently, being seen with a successful, 'happily engaged' partner is part of the strategy."

My stomach lurched. Engaged? The word echoed in the room, a cruel mockery of our crumbling relationship.

"Engaged?" I choked out, the word a foreign sound on my tongue.

"It's fake, Hanni," he said hurriedly, reaching for my hand. "Just a show for a month, to close the deal. Then everything goes back to normal. I promise."

His touch, usually a source of comfort, felt foreign now. Doubt gnawed at me, a persistent, unwelcome guest. "A month?" I echoed, my voice barely above a whisper. "A month of pretending to be in love with her, while I sit here alone, wondering if you'll even come home at night?"

Tears welled up in his eyes, mirroring the ones staining my cheeks. "Hanni, please. You have to trust me. This is about our future, ours. If I lose this deal, we both lose our jobs. You know how ruthless Minji can be."

His words held a chilling truth. Minji wasn't above playing dirty, and the thought of losing everything, our relationship and our careers, sent a fresh wave of terror through me.

Y/n cupped my face, his touch gentle but his eyes filled with a desperation that mirrored my own. "This is just temporary, Hanni. I love you. You know that, don't you?"

I searched his eyes, desperately seeking the truth. "Yes," I whispered, my voice thick with tears. "But what if this 'temporary' situation changes something? What if..."

"There are no ifs, Hanni," he insisted, his voice firm despite the tremor in his hand. "We'll get through this. Together."

His words offered a fragile comfort, a lifeline in a storm of uncertainty. But as I looked into his exhausted eyes, a flicker of doubt remained. Could our love survive a month-long performance of fake love with a manipulative predator? The answer, like the future itself, remained shrouded in a chilling uncertainty.

Tears streamed down my face, blurring the image of Y/n cupping my cheeks. His voice, raw with emotion, echoed in my ears. "This is just temporary, Hanni. I love you. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes," I whispered, clinging to his words like a lifeline. The terror of losing him, of losing everything, receded replaced by a fragile trust. "We'll get through this. Together."

He pulled me into a tight embrace, his body trembling against mine. In that moment, our love felt like a shield against the encroaching darkness. But unbeknownst to me, the darkness had already taken root.

Across town, in a luxurious hotel suite overlooking the city, Minji watched the news report with a triumphant smile. Y/n, his face pale and drawn, stood beside her, a hand awkwardly resting on her waist as they announced their "engagement" to the world. The image was perfect – the epitome of power couple success.

But behind the carefully crafted facade, a different story unfolded. Moments before the cameras rolled, Minji's demeanor had shifted from playful CEO to a cold, calculating predator. A glint of madness flickered in her eyes as she brandished a small, silver pistol, the weight of it chilling in Y/n's hand.

"See, darling," she purred, her voice laced with a dangerous sweetness, "sometimes a little incentive goes a long way. After all, I wouldn't want anything to happen to your precious Hanni, would we?"

The world spun around Y/n. The image of Hanni's tear-streaked face, filled with a love that knew nothing of the storm brewing around them, flashed in his mind. The gun felt foreign in his hand, a grotesque symbol of the twisted game he was forced to play.

Terror choked him, a cold, metallic taste in his mouth. He knew then, with a chilling certainty, that Minji wasn't bluffing. This wasn't just about a business deal or a public image boost; this was about possession, about claiming him as her own twisted trophy.

Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring the image of the predator before him. "You can't do this," he choked out, his voice barely a whisper.

Minji's smile widened, devoid of warmth. "Oh, but darling," she cooed, leaning in close, the scent of her jasmine perfume thick and cloying, "I already have."

With a cruel laugh that echoed in the opulent room, Minji shoved the gun back into his hand. "Now come along, fiancé," she purred, her voice dripping with a venomous possessiveness, "the world awaits its new power couple."

Y/n, his heart a lead weight in his chest, allowed himself to be led, a puppet on the strings of a madman's twisted game. As they stepped out into the blinding glare of the cameras, his smile felt like a lie, a mask hiding the terror that gnawed at his soul. He was trapped, a pawn in a deadly game, forced to play along for the sake of the woman he loved, oblivious to the darkness that now hung over their future.

As Y/n and Minji entered the office hand-in-hand, a wave of unexpected chaos greeted them. Gone was the usual quiet hum of productivity; instead, the air crackled with a manic energy. Cheers erupted from cubicles, confetti rained down from the ceiling, and streamers, a tacky explosion of colors, adorned the walls. Managers, usually stoic figures of authority, popped champagne bottles, their faces flushed with something more potent than bubbly.

Hanni, who had been anxiously waiting by the entrance, felt a cold dread seep into her bones. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the cacophony of celebration. She watched, paralyzed by a horrifying realization, as her co-workers, oblivious to the truth, showered congratulations on the "happy couple."

Minji, her smile stretched wide and predatory, reveled in the attention. Y/n, on the other hand, seemed like a ghost amidst the pandemonium. His face was pale and drawn, his eyes filled with a haunted emptiness.

One of the managers, a normally reserved woman named Sarah, approached them, a bottle of champagne clutched in her hand. "Congratulations, you two! We're all so thrilled!" she gushed, spraying them both with a liberal dose of bubbly.

Y/n offered a weak smile, the clinking of the glass against his shaking hand the only sound he managed. Minji, however, took center stage. She draped her arm possessively around Y/n's waist, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness.

"Thank you, Sarah! We're so happy to share our news with everyone." Her gaze, sharp and calculating, flickered towards Hanni who stood frozen by the door. A cruel smile played on her lips as she leaned in close to Y/n, her voice barely a whisper.

"Now," she purred, her eyes gleaming with malicious intent, "how about you seal the deal with a kiss for your fiancee?"

Y/n flinched, his body recoiling at the touch of her lips. But trapped in his web of lies, he had no choice. He turned towards Hanni, his eyes filled with a silent apology, and leaned in. The kiss, devoid of any passion, was a grotesque parody of intimacy played out for a cheering audience.

Hanni's world shattered. The man she loved, the future they had planned, all felt like a cruel illusion. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring the scene before her. The cheers, the congratulations, the celebratory atmosphere – it all felt like a twisted nightmare.

Through the haze of her heartbreak, she saw Minji's triumphant smirk. It was a victory dance on the ruins of her love, a chilling reminder of the predator who had snatched away her happiness.

Grief and a cold fury warred within her. She wouldn't let Minji win. She had to find a way to expose the truth, to save Y/n from the monster he was now entangled with. But how? In the midst of the celebratory chaos, a desperate plan began to form in her mind. She had to act fast, before it was too late.

Hanni stumbled back as the cheers died down, the taste of champagne metallic on her tongue. The office, once a familiar space, now felt like a gilded cage, the air thick with the stench of Minji's victory. Y/n stood beside her, his face an emotionless mask, a heartbreaking reflection of the love they once shared.

"Congratulations are in order, wouldn't you agree, Hanni?" Minji purred, her voice dripping with false sympathy. Her perfectly manicured nails tapped a cruel rhythm against a champagne flute.

Tears welled up in Hanni's eyes, blurring the image of the celebrating crowd. Defeat was a bitter pill to swallow, but the thought of losing Y/n altogether was an unbearable prospect. She had to play along.

"Y-yes," Hanni stammered, forcing a watery smile. "Congratulations to you both."

Y/n's gaze flickered towards her, a flicker of pain crossing his features before being quickly masked by a practiced smile. "It's for the best, Hanni. You understand, don't you?"

Her heart ached, but a new resolve hardened her voice. "Yes, Y/n," she said, her voice surprisingly steady. "If this is what makes you happy, then I… I support you."

A slow smile spread across Minji's face. This was the reaction she'd craved, the sweet surrender of a rival. "Oh, Hanni, darling," she cooed, leaning in close. The jasmine perfume was almost intoxicating, a heady mix of power and danger.

"There's always room for one more in this little game," Minji continued, her voice laced with a hint of amusement. "Perhaps you could be Our devoted… Pet. A loyal friend, always by Our side, wouldn't that be delightful?"

The suggestion was repugnant, a twisted mockery of their love. But the thought of being near Y/n, even under these humiliating circumstances, was a lifeline in a storm of despair.

Swallowing her pride, Hanni offered a weak nod. "Yes, Minji. I would… I would love to be your P-pet."

A triumphant glint sparked in Minji's eyes. "Excellent!" she declared, clapping her hands together. "Then this calls for a toast! To new beginnings, and a very happy… unconventional family!"

The champagne flute felt heavy in Hanni's hand as she clinked it against Minji's. This wasn't the future she'd envisioned, but it was the only way she could see Y/n again. She had become a pawn in a twisted game, a pet to appease a predator. But within the confines of this gilded cage, a spark of defiance flickered. She would bide her time, gather evidence of Minji's threats and manipulations. One day, she would expose the truth and reclaim her love, even if it meant playing the part of the devoted companion for a while longer. The game had just begun, and Hanni, though forced to her knees, was far from broken.

[hivemindscape]

It's @sundial-at-night's (@tiny-cacti-magnet's) birthday today- September 24th

Sun is gone, but her soul lives on in the stories she created with such deep love. Lets appreciate them, dear fandom

Happy borth, Sunshine I miss you

New Deceit's an Old Design and subsequent pieces in the series were of great importance to Sun. She processed her scarring experiences and emotions through them. The adoration for the two brothers, and recognition from the fandom, helped her through unbelievably complicated times.

I would be beyond grateful if you gave any other of Sun's works a read. And if you have in the past, and showed support- thank you. Thank you for being with her on this journey. I know from her own words all of us made those last 3 years happier, easier.

Her chosen name was Rayna. She was a wonderful, strong, absolutely awe-inspiring person.

Keep her in your heart, if you can. And never ever forget about the impact your lives have on others'.

If you want to make a birthday gift of your own, or anything to commemorate her memory unrelated to today, please tag me, I'll cry tears of joy

[writeforfandoms]

Waking Lions 22

Find the series masterlist

Here we are folks! Three more chapters after this. I will be posting one chapter a week until this is done.

Hopefully that's enough incentive to keep y'all from mobbing me. Hee hee.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, stressful situations, threats of violence, deceitful practices and language, swearing, injury.

Word count: 1.3k

John parked in front of the building, which looked as nondescript as ever. But it felt like it had been much longer since you’d last been here, longer than the hours that had actually passed.

Less than a day. Less than one full day you’d been gone, and your world had tipped sharply. 

Thinking about it made you nauseous, so you shunted the thought aside. Kate. You were here for Kate. Everything else would wait. 

“Stay behind us,” John insisted, handing you the gun again. He held your gaze, waiting until you nodded to release the gun to you. 

You followed the two of them up the stairs, for once itching not to run away from something, but towards it. You needed to make sure Kate was okay, get her away from Gray and home safely to her wife.

Anything else, you could handle. But not losing Kate. 

John slowed as the three of you approached the top floor. He shot you one single look, a very clear reminder to stay behind him. 

You didn't need reminding. You had no intention of acquiring more bullet holes any time soon. 

John and Roach went first, pushing open the door to the top floor and sweeping the space. You moved a little more slowly after them, swallowing hard. 

Find Kate and leave. That's all you cared about. 

The door to the conference room shattered with a gunshot from inside. John and Roach both moved, and you ended up being pushed into the wall by Roach. The second shot hit the wall harmlessly. 

The fire alarm went off, likely pulled by someone on a lower floor. You grimaced at the loud siren, the extra noise doing nothing to help the situation. But Roach just motioned you to stay put. 

What remained of the door opened with a crash. The mercenary had barely stepped out of the room before John shot him, the body falling in front of the door. 

“I see you are still alive,” Gray called through the open door. “A pity my men did not do their job.” 

“And they still won't.” John kept his fury leashed, voice cold. “Give up now and I might let you live.” 

Gray laughed, sending goosebumps up your spine. “Such bravado! I am not surprised. But you see, you are outnumbered. I have something you want, whereas you… have nothing.” 

Roach pushed you back harder into the wall, which was good because you had just opened your mouth to protest. Instead you made a tiny wheezing noise as half the air in your lungs was forced out by the soldier in front of you. 

Fucking rude. 

“That so?” John remained calm, staying out of sight of the open door. 

“Price,” Kate said from inside the room. 

You clenched your hands as tight as you could around the gun. Fuck. She sounded okay, but… 

“Laswell.” John, somehow, was still not audibly responding. 

“You see? Something you want.” Gray sounded far too smug. 

John was silent for a few long moments, shifting his position just enough to be able to look at you and Roach. He lifted one finger to his lips, holding your gaze, and waited until you nodded to look away. 

“I do have something you want,” John pointed out, calm but cold. He had a plan, clearly. 

At least, you hoped he had a plan. If he didn't, he was faking it very well. 

“You?” Gray laughed. “What could you have that I want?” Derision dripped from every word, his amusement clearly mocking. 

John didn't seem to care. “Ace. And a way out of this building alive.” 

“You think I won't kill you too?” Gray hissed, the still-screeching fire alarm only making him sound more unhinged. 

“You're welcome to try,” John ground out, voice lowering to an absolutely threatening growl. 

Silence from the meeting room for several long moments. If you had to guess, Gray was debating his options. Debating the best way forward to get what he wanted. 

You fidgeted behind Roach, swallowing back nerves as best you could. It was not in your nature to stand by and listen to people haggling over your life. 

Roach reached back and tapped you twice on the side. You weren't sure if that was supposed to be reassurance or a reminder to stay quiet. Either way, you drew in a deep breath. 

“What is it you're proposing?” Gray asked finally. 

John was quiet for a moment, and you could see his gaze flick to you. “An exchange,” he finally offered. 

If you trusted him any less, you would have been outraged. As it was, Roach's tap to your side was unnecessary. You weren't going to jeopardize John. 

“Intriguing,” Gray said, curious. “I do appreciate a man who can weigh the worth of two lives and choose one.” 

Your jaw clenched tight at that, a memory slamming into you, of Gray standing before you father. Something about the weight of lives… But it was gone again, shoved back deep where you'd buried it. You needed to focus. Not fall apart. 

“Then come out,” John goaded. “Get this over with before more people get involved.” 

As if to emphasize his words, the fire alarm screeched once more and went quiet. The sudden silence was almost worse than the constant noise. Almost. 

The silence stretched. Five seconds. Ten. Too long, much too long. Gray was planning something, he always was, John had to know–

Gunshots broke the silence, and Roach pushed you harder back into cover, obstructing your view as he did. But you could hear the gunfire continue, then a masculine shout. Two more shots, a little different sounding than the earlier ones. The sounds of a struggle - grunts and thuds. 

Then three more shots, so close together you almost couldn't hear the difference. 

“Do not shoot,” Kate barked.

You perked up, straining to try to see around Roach. He didn't move, keeping you covered for now. 

There was a brief choking noise, spluttering, another thud. The steady beat of boots against the floor. 

“Need help?” John asked, further away now. Glass crunched under boots. 

“Move,” you hissed at Roach. “Let me see–” You pushed past him with a little bit of a struggle, half-running past the bodies on the floor without a second glance at them. 

There were exactly two people you cared to see right now. The bodies weren't either of them. 

You skidded to a halt outside the shattered glass door, peering into the room. Two more bodies on the floor, blood slowly seeping into the thin carpet. John, standing over Kate and Gray, where Kate had Gray pinned face-down in what looked like a truly agonizing hold. 

Blood smeared from Kate's temple into her mussed hair and down her cheek. 

The floor next to Gray's head caved in under the bullet, bits of carpeting flying away from the impact. Gray shouted something indistinguishable, thrashing a little under Kate. 

“Ace,” John soothed, turning to face you. “We've got him. Give me the gun.” 

You didn't give him the gun, gaze trained on Gray. On the man who'd haunted your nightmares for years. 

“Ace,” John repeated. “Give me the gun.” One hand stretched out slowly towards you, careful not to spook you. 

He needn't have worried. You would never shoot him. 

Kate said your birth name softly, and your gaze snapped to her instead. She watched you, holding Gray down with little effort. The pain he was in likely helped with that. “I've got him,” she told you, steady and calm. “Steady.”

You blinked once, looking back down to Gray. He was no longer moving, breathing hard against the carpet. You hadn't seen him last time, when Kate had captured him that first time. You didn't know if this was quite the same. 

But you did know that this time, you weren't a scared little girl. 

“I'm sorry, Kate,” you said sincerely. “But you had him last time, too.” 

You pulled the trigger.

[green-eyedfirework]

After hours of searching, he finally gets a trace of Dick’s scent.  It’s clear and sharp and not tainted by wolfsbane.  It smells like blood.

The wolf runs.

Traitor, his mind hisses, Dick betrayed him, betrayed them all, Dick is the reason his son still hasn’t woken up, and if it weren’t for the babe inside of him, Slade would’ve gutted him and left his corpse in the woods.  Good if he’s injured.  If he dies, Slade will just cut the baby out of him.  Their pack has great healers.

The smell of blood gets stronger.  It’s all Slade can scent, just blood blood blood, and there’s a twisting inside of him that is tight with worry.  That…is too much blood.  A part of his mind whispers that it’s a trap, another one of Dick’s nasty little tricks, how deceitful all humans are, and he doesn’t know which makes him run faster.

The scent leads him to a narrow ravine.  The way down is jagged—easy on four feet, but treacherous for two, and the smell of blood is so much sharper.  Slade is cautious, but there is only one scent.  Only Dick’s blood.  Nearly overpowering.

Slade stumbles upon his mate at the bottom of the ravine.

Dick is only a few paces away from the bottom of the trail, leaning against the cliff wall, sitting awkwardly with legs spread.  He doesn’t look up at Slade’s approach even though Slade is making no attempt to be quiet.  His focus remains on his arms.  No, on what’s in his arms, the folds of a shirt containing a small, wriggling bundle.

Slade registers the new scent, barely detectable under the blood, and shifts back before he makes the conscious decision to.  Dick does look up at that, craning his neck to see Slade looming over him.  He doesn’t quite meet Slade’s gaze, eyes fixed in the vicinity of Slade’s shoulder, hazy and distant.

“I just—just wanted to see her once,” Dick slurs, voice a hoarse rasp.  “My baby.”

Slade has to take another glance to fully comprehend the situation.  Dick is sitting in a puddle of blood.  His legs are splayed wide, one knee up, his leggings ripped down the middle.  The other leg lies limp and twisted, ankle swollen.  Dick’s skin is tacky with sweat and his eyes aren’t focusing and that is a lot of blood.

Slade crouches without meaning to, and Dick extends his arms.  His expression is soft, almost dream-like, and he doesn’t try to stop Slade taking the baby from him.  His cheeks are wet and as Slade watches, a few more tears trickle out.

“Bye-bye, Mari,” Dick whispers.  “I’m sorry.  Mama loves you.”

The baby shifts a tiny, closed fist and makes a quiet, plaintive sound.

It’s like the world rips down the middle.

Slade falls to one knee, arms tightening around the baby—around his daughter, around their daughter, and he can’t breathe because his mate is in front of him, barely conscious and bleeding out, and memories and emotions are twisting and warping and his mind is suddenly clear for the first time in eight months.

“No,” Slade breathes out, starkly horrified.  What has he done?  The emotions carve through him—rage and terror and guilt and confusion and Slade throws his head back and howls.

The sound splinters through the air, grief and warning and threat all in one, and it doesn’t die until Slade runs out of breath.  Slade howls again, desperate to get out the storm brewing inside of him, but the baby—Mari, Dick called her Mari, their daughter, their precious baby girl—starts crying and Slade breaks off to press his face to hers.

She smells like Dick, like Dick’s blood, but underneath that is the clear scent of a pup, is the hint of Slade, and Slade doesn’t realize he’s crying until he sees the tears splatter against his daughter’s skin.  He takes a ragged breath, head spinning, before turning back to Dick.

Dick, whose eyes have closed.

No.  “No!” Slade says sharply, shifting his grip on baby Mari to grab Dick’s shoulder, to shake his mate.  “No, Dick, little bird, please, you have to wake up, get up!”  The shaking wins him a low moan and Slade redoubles his efforts.  “Dick, my love, please!”

Dick’s eyes flutter open, blue eyes glassy and unfocused.  “You need to stay awake,” Slade tries to order.  “Do you hear me?  Dick?  Stay awake.”

“Can’t,” Dick whispers, indistinct.  “‘M sorry.”

“No,” Slade’s voice cracks.  “No, little bird, I’m the one who’s sorry, no, please, Dick!”  He shakes his mate again when Dick’s eyes close, but he’s growing alarmingly limp.  “Dick!”

“Take care of her,” Dick mumbles.  “Our pup.”  He slides sideways at Slade’s pull, and collapses against the stone.  His face is gray and his breathing is slowing.

“Dick!”

Slade, desperate, throws his head back and howls again, this time a call for help.  It feels like too long before he gets a distant, answering howl, seconds stretching against each other, seconds he spends patting Dick’s cheek or watching his pulse, absently rocking Mari with one arm to quiet her fussing.

“Dick, please, please don’t leave me, I’m so sorry,” Slade’s voice is choked and his throat is tight.  “Little bird, please, I’m sorry, I’m so very sorry, please come back.”

Dick doesn’t respond.

Slade’s face is wet with tears by the time his pack comes, racing into the ravine in a flurry of paws.  There’s a healer among them and they grimly take charge as Slade’s led away, as he listens to the healer barking orders to try and keep Dick alive, to try and save the mate Slade all but threw away.

Hive.  This is the Hive pack’s fault.  His turbulent emotions seize upon the dark thread of vengeance and grow stronger, stabilizing with a clear goal for him to take.  He will go after the Hive pack and raze it to the fucking bones if it’s the last thing he does.

For his mate.  For his pup, who might grow up without a mother.  For the aching wound in Slade’s heart.

Revenge will be his.

[amarynthian-chronicles]

Y/N, crashing their tiny ship into a space crime den: sorry, is this the intergalactic gas station?

Sun, Moon and Eclipse, still holding their poker cards, half the room demolished and dust settling around them:....no

Y/N, groaning in disappointment as they get out of their ship: damn it, I hate this navigation system. Do you have cold water bottles?

Sun, eye twitching and smile widening to a disturbing degree: sweetling, I believe you do not understand the concept of cause and consequence.

Y/N, casually looking around the room: Particle blasters, beam guns, atomic disintegrators, whiskey, an unconscious man in the corner. Not a single water bottle. I will just try that place a few light years away from here. Well, gentlemen, I shall be taking my leave.

Moon, grasping Y/N's wrist and pulling them close: Banish all thoughts of freedom to the realm of deceitful dreams, my destructive supernova. Your sins warrant a thousand punishments and I shall gladly orchestrate each and every one of them. A fine start for the damage you caused.

Y/N: Goodness gracious, relax, my insurance will cover it.

Sun, cackling as he got up and approached them: do you hear that, brothers? Their insurance will cover it! No, no, that will not do, not after what you had seen here. Something needs to keep that pretty mouth of yours covered, as well, elsewise you may sing where you are not supposed to.

Y/N: listen, I am very simple person, you can buy my silence with a full gas tank. And maybe some food. I am lowkey craving cream puffs.

Eclipse, placing his cards on the table and humming: or we could just keep you and avoid any risks altogether. Besides, someone needs to clean up all of this mess. Your delicate hands look as if they are only accustomed to touching the softest velvet, perhaps some real work could teach you humility and respect.

Y/N: Rude.

Eclipse: If you behave, we may reach a mutually beneficial arrangement down the line.

Moon, in a sultry whisper: if you clean up, I will make the punishments pleasant for the both of us.

Sun, playing with a lock of Y/N's hair: also, we do have cream puffs. What will it be, love?

Y/N:....those better be some really good cream puffs.