#‘it’s silver. this blade is silver.’ the little face did not flinch…

[sena-seastar]

Burning Desire

Aemond x Older!sister Reader

Summary: You rush off to confront your brother Aemond after discovering he hurt your sister, only to find him crying. You are angry at him for what he has done, but you cannot stand to see your little brother suffer.

Warnings:  Angst, Smut, Sibling incest

A/N: This was supposed to be an angsty comfort fic, but it very quickly got out of hand. All dialogue in italics means that the characters are speaking in High Valyrian. I was just too lazy to attempt to translate it. No beta, so I apologize for any grammar and spelling mistakes. (Gif is not mine!)

You stormed through the castle halls, ignoring the maids and knights who quickly stepped out of your way. Usually, you would give them some sign of acknowledgment, but tonight, you couldn’t— not when your anger was boiling over. Your hands trembled with repressed rage, and your fingers curled into fists as you tried desperately to refrain from lashing out. There was only one person who was deserving of your wrath, and you were headed to find him now. 

When you arrived at his door, you entered the room, not bothering to knock. The loud sound of the wooden door slamming close behind you echoed in the air. The room was dark; only a few candles were lit, though they were burning dangerously low. You squint your eyes, searching until you find the silver-haired man hunched over in his chair. Your robe made a slight whooshing sound as you stormed over to his side. 

“How dare you!” Your voice cut through the air like a sharpened blade, every word dripping with venom and contempt.

Aemond says nothing. His head is lowered, and his long silver tresses conceal his face.

“You dare to lay a hand on our sister?! Has she not suffered enough?! And now you wish to send her into battle?!” Your chest is heaving wildly as you lose what little composure remains to you.

Once again, you are met with a deafening silence that angers you even more.

“Have you nothing to say?!” you yell, each word cracking like a whip. Your brows furrow and your lips curl into a snarl.

Yet once again, your words go unanswered. You open your lips, prepared to berate him even more until quiet sobs reach your ears. Your blood runs cold, and you freeze. Aemond’s body jerked with every gasp that escaped his throat. 

“I am alone,” he whispers . “As I always have been.”

His words move you to tears. 

“Aemond,” you whisper, stepping closer.

You reach out a hand to touch his shoulder but pull it away just before reaching him. Your mind is suddenly conflicted. Your rage is quickly converting into sadness with every second that passes. The two of you rarely saw eye to eye these past few weeks. His actions above Shipbreaker Bay had left you horrified. The abhorrent murder of your nephew, Jaehaerys, happened not long after. You blamed Aemond for that and did not bother trying to hide it from him.

Then, Aegon returned from Rook’s Rest, burned and broken beyond repair. Your mother came to you shortly after, sharing her thoughts about what had happened. She believed Aemond to be responsible, but you could not bring yourself to believe it at the time. But as the days passed, you found yourself becoming increasingly unsure. Especially after today, when the horrific details of his actions at Sharp Point reached you. Most days, you could hardly even recognize him—this strange man who shares the face of your sweet little brother.

You take a deep breath before reaching out. Your hand trembles as you place it on his shoulder, but he does not flinch from your touch. He leans into it. Aemond raises his head just enough to look you in the eyes. His face is stained with tears, and his eye is red and gleaming with tears, ready to fall. His silver hair is unusually messy and unkempt. The leather eyepatch is gone, exposing the beautiful sapphire embedded into his eyesocket. It is a sight he has entrusted very few to see.

“I am sorry,” he cried. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“I know,” you whisper, pulling him close.

He buries his face into your stomach. His large hands gripped tightly at your sides, and you did your best not to wince. You lift a hand, brushing down his unkempt hair. You were angry at him. You had come here to yell at him, maybe even hit him, but you couldn’t. Not when it filled your heart with great sorrow to see your brother in so much pain. Your little brother. The boy you had always tried so hard to shield from the cruelty of this world. The boy who had always run to you for comfort after being humiliated by Aegon time and time again.

Aemond continued to sob. His tears made the thin fabric of your nightdress stick to your skin, and the cold wetness sent a chill down your spine. You gasp as you feel him pull you down, sitting you on his lap. He held you close, burying his face into the curve of your neck. Your hands rested against the warm, bare skin of his back as you held him. He must have been preparing for bed not long before you arrived as he was only dressed in a pair of black lambswool breeches.

“You are not alone,” you reassure him, gently kissing the scar that marred his brow. “I am here, as I always have been.”

There is a slight chill in the air, but the heat radiating from his skin keeps you warm. Aemond sniffles but says nothing. You can feel his tears sliding down your neck. You move a hand up to his head, toying with his hair. He nuzzles his nose into your neck, seemingly inhaling your scent. Aemond shifts in his seat, spreading his legs a little wider, making the position more comfortable for you. A quiet gasp escapes your throat as you feel the taut muscle of his thigh pressing into the most intimate part of your body.

The feeling sends a rush of heat through your veins. Your breath quickens as you try to push the sensation aside. Your face burns as shame begins to overwhelm you. He just wanted to be close to you, searching for comfort in your arms as he had done many times before. But your body is turning it into something perverse.

Aemond bounced his knee ever so slightly, almost like a tremble. You squirmed, trying to press your thighs closer together in hopes of stopping the heat growing in your stomach. One of Aemond’s large hands rests firmly against the small of your back. The other moves to grip the outside of your thigh.

“Aemond,” you gasp as you feel his lips grazing against our collarbones.

“What?” He asks, his voice so nonchalant.

“I think I should go,” you replied, trying to stand up.

But his hands hold onto you tight, refusing to let you go. 

“Please stay,” he begged, burying his face into the curve of your neck once more.

“Alright,” you whisper, trying to calm him.

His hair tickles your nose. You lift your head a bit, resting your chin on the top of his head. You trail the tips of your fingers against the muscles of his back. Aemond nuzzles his face against your neck. He bounces his knee a bit harder. You wonder if he is doing this on purpose.

“Aemond, stop it,” you mumble, trying to ignore the fire sparking in the pit of your stomach.

“Stop what?” He asked, ghosting his lips over your jaw. 

“You know what,” you whine.

He ignores you; his lips press soft kisses against your jaw. Aemond bunches the skirt of your dress into the hand that grips your thigh. He steadily inches it up higher. The cold air touching your now bare legs makes the hair on your body stand up. Suddenly coming to your senses, you gasp, slapping a hand over his as the skirt of your dress reaches just above your knees. He tries to continue, but you use all the strength you can muster to keep his hand still. 

“We must stop,” you command, trying to stop yourself from giving in to him completely.

This was wrong. You were both betrothed to other people—him to some Baratheon girl and you to the Lord of the Arbor. They were political matches, as most marriages are. You held no love for Lord Redwyne, but you would do your duty as was expected of you.

Aemond easily pushed past your hand, slipping his hand between your thighs. You gasped, trying to squeeze them together to keep him at bay. Your stomach flutters as his thumb rubs across the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. Your fingernails dig into his forearm. You pull back, and he lifts his head to look you in the eyes. 

He removes his hand from between your thighs, moving it up to your face. You find yourself melting into the warmth of his palm. The pad of his thumb ghosts over your lips, but his eye never leaves yours.

“You were supposed to be mine,”   he says in the gentlest tone.

“Aemond,” you whine, trying to push him away.

But he refuses to let you go. The hand on your back kept you from standing. His fingertips trail down the side of your neck down to the neckline of your nightdress. His touch on your skin leaves you feeling almost delirious. The fire in your stomach is fully ablaze now. You squirm in his lap as his fingers graze over the tops of your breasts. You cursed yourself for this, as the feeling of his tense muscles sends waves of heat straight to your cunt. The hairs on the back of your neck raise. Your eyes close, and you bite your lip to stop crying out. 

“Look at me.”  

It is a command that you are unable to ignore. Aemond is the prince regent. In this moment, he speaks with the king’s voice. His absolute authority leaves you fearful and painfully aroused. Once again, your eyes meet his. He says nothing, simply watching you like a predator stalking its prey as his hand moves over your nightdress, cupping your breast. You gasp, slapping a hand over his. You know you should push him away, but you don’t. 

A chill runs down your spine. Under his gaze, you feel completely exposed, almost powerless—a feeling you usually dislike greatly. You were a princess of the realm and a dragon rider. You were anything but helpless. Yet you find yourself wanting nothing more than to surrender yourself to him, to escape from your worries and sorrows, to be free from all the tiring expectations that have been placed upon you since your birth.

“Am I so hard to love?” 

His voice trembled, as he struggled to hold back tears. The authority is gone, replaced with something much more vulnerable. The sight broke your heart in two. You had always worried about Aemond, your sweet, sensitive little brother. Since he had come of age, he had changed. He was colder and more distant, not just from you but from everyone, even your mother, whom you know he cared for greatly. It was like he believed he had to be this... pillar of strength, or all would crumble.

You remove your hand from his, moving it up to cup the scarred side of his face. You lean down, pressing a gentle kiss on his brow. You have done this so many times over the years, yet it has never felt as intimate as it did now. Aemond closed his eye, leaning into your touch. A sharp pain stabs at your heart as you watch how desperate he is for your comfort.

The hand on your breast slid back down to your thigh. Aemond’s fingers toyed with the hem of your skirt. Your thumb traced down the deep scar that marked his cheek. You lean down, peppering kisses from his cheek to his jaw, where the scar stops. He turns his head slightly, so that your lips hover above his, almost touching. You rest your head against his. His violet eye stared into your own.

“What of Floris? She is to be your wife.” You say, hoping he may come to his senses, as yours have fled from you completely.

“You will be my wife... for tonight.” A single tear drops from his eye as the words leave his lips.

It is such a beautiful, harrowing sight. One that leads you to shedding tears of your own. Aemond’s hands grip you by the waist, hoisting you up just enough for you to straddle him. Your knees rest on both sides of his legs, trapping him between your thighs. A wave of heat runs through your veins as your bare cunt presses against his clothed bulge. He leans forward, capturing your gasp with his mouth. One of your hands cups his face while the other pushes his hair away from his face. 

The two of you shared passionate, frantic kisses. You had not been prepared from when Aemond’s tongue slid into your mouth. You whine, caught off guard, but do your best to follow along with him. You had no experience with such things. The only kisses you had ever experienced came from tall, handsome knights in your dreams. But even then, those kisses were nothing like this. They were short and sweet. A quick peck on the cheek or lips, but this was much different. Aemond kissed you with such urgency, such deep burning desire.

Aemond lifts his hips, pressing himself against you. The feeling of his hard cock pressing against your aching cunt makes you cry out, though your noises are muffled against his lips. The feeling is so foreign, yet exciting, that you can’t stop yourself from reaching down to palm him through his trousers. His hardened cock is thick and throbbing beneath your touch. A newfound confidence blooms in your chest.

A sound rumbled in his chest; his large hands gripped your ample hips. Your hands moved to grip his shoulders as you rocked yourself back and forth, your bare cunt grinding against his clothed bulge. He hissed, knitting his brows together. You watch as his face contorts into one of pleasure. Your own burning desire is growing too much. Your desperate, heavy breaths fill the air as you grind yourself against him even faster, desperate to reach your peak. He looked up at you; his mouth hung open slightly as he watched you use him for your own selfish gratification.

It’s exhilarating- him watching you- seeing you in a way no other ever has, touching you in a way no other ever has.

“You’re doing so good,” he praises.

His praise sends another wave of pleasure coursing through your veins. The room suddenly feels unbearably hot. You’re so close; you can feel it. The pressure building up in your stomach is eager to be released. You roll your hips even faster, harder. But it is not enough. The throbbing in your cunt is almost painful. You are nearly sobbing at this point.

“I want more,” you whine. “I need more. Please, brother.”

“I am at your mercy, sister,” he smirks. “Take what you want.”

You reach down, huffing as you struggle to untie the laces of his trousers. You can feel his chest vibrate against you as he chuckles.

“Don’t laugh at me,” you grumble.

“My apologizes-” he shudders as your hand wraps around his thick cock. Finally freeing him from the confines of his trousers.

A triumphant smile crosses your face. You give his cock a few strokes, admiring the way it stands so prettily for you, so thick and full. Suddenly, you begin to fear the thought of having to fit it inside of you. Aemond seems to sense your worry. His hand cups the back of your neck, making you look at him.

“Take it slow,” he warns.

You nod, lifting yourself on your knees a bit. Your wetness coats your fingers and his cock as you press the tip into your aching cunt. You whine as the head breaches your walls, and you clamp tightly around him. The stretch is a bit uncomfortable but not painful. You may be a maiden, but you still had desires. Many nights, you have had to satiate your hunger with your fingers.

You lower yourself on him slowly. Thankfully, your wetness makes it easier to take him. You take a deep breath as you take him to the hilt. It takes you a moment to adjust to his size. 

“Are you okay?” Aemond asked, his voice filled with genuine concern.

“Yes, I just ... need a moment,” you breathlessly laugh as he lifts a hand to trail his fingers against your jaw.

He nods, raising his chin to kiss gently against the corner of your mouth. You turn your head, pressing your lips to his. A soft tongue gently licks at the swell of your bottom lip, and you grant him entry. The gentleness comes to an end. He licks into you with a fervor that steals your breath away. Your thoughts fade, and you melt into his arms. 

Aemond kisses you like he wants to devour you, and you want nothing more. You lift your hips before lowering yourself. Aemond finally breaks the kiss, and his hands move to your waist.

“Ah-h,” he whines against the corner of your lips.

You begin to move slowly, easing yourself into up and down on his cock. Your eyes never leave him, watching as he presses his head to the back of the chair. His chest moves with his deep breaths, his eye is closed, and his mouth is partially open. He shudders, and a desperate, eager moan emits from his throat. It is a sight to behold.

He lifts his hips, pressing deeper into you, making you cry out.

“Aemond!” You whimper, fingernails digging into his shoulder blades.

His eye fluttered open as he watched you struggle to find the right pace. He gripped your waist tighter, his fingers digging into your fleshy sides. He guided you, raising you up and down on him. The newfound pace made you mewl pathetically, but you were too desperate to reach your peak to care. He called out your name. It sounded almost sinful coming from his lips. 

You drop your head, resting it against his. Your mouth hangs open as you gasp and moan. The faint scent of pine and smoke fills your nose. It’s him, his scent. The smell is almost intoxicating. Your mind is swimming, dizzy from the pleasure of him bucking up into you.

You feel one of his palms cup the back of your neck, pulling you closer. He lifts his chin, closing the small distance between you pressing his lips to yours. You try your best to follow the frantic rhythm he sets. He swallows every sound you make as he holds the back of your neck, refusing to let you pull away—not that you want to. 

Aemond plants his feet on the ground for leverage as he pumps into you. His thrusts are more erratic now as he approaches his end. The air in your lungs is incinerated, and a shameful, high-pitched moan escapes from your lips. You move your hips, rocking against him, dangerously close to finally reaching your peak. 

He doesn’t stop, bucking into you with a force that would be strong enough to toss you off of him if not for the hand holding onto your waist. Your hot cunt clenched around him, the muscles in your legs burned from remaining in this position for so long. 

It’s not fair- how good he is at this- how good he is making you feel. It’s all too much. Your poor wet cunt is overwhelmed with pleasure. The hand on your neck moves down, and the pad of his thumb rubs circles around that sensitive button between your legs. 

“That's it,” he coaxed, his hot breath fans on your mouth. “Let go, give it to me.”

You don’t stand a chance. Not when his cock makes you feel so full, reaching that one spot that makes you throw your head back. One of your hands tangles in his hair, tugging. Your chests’ are flushed against each other as you both rock against each other. You clench around his cock as you finally reach your release, hard and blinding. The world around you seems to disappear. It’s only you and him who matter.

“Ha-ah ... ah,” he sputtered, becoming more desperate.

You cry out as you fill his hot mouth, which latches into one of your breasts. He suckles at your breast like a starving babe. His tongue lashes back and forth around your hardened nipple. The sensation is strange but has you clenching around him even tighter. 

His teeth graze against your nipple. Every grunt and moan that leaves him vibrates against your breast. You can feel his thrusts becoming sloppy and uncoordinated. His cock pulses inside of you, it feels too good. Aemond releases your nipple, resting his forehead on your breast. Choked gasps and grunts slip past his lips as he reaches his peak, releasing inside of you, filling you with his seed.

The two of you stay pressed against each other as you come down for your highs. Aemond’s hips relax, his body melting into the chair. Your body sinks into him, boneless and spent. You lay your head on his shoulder, resting your chin on his collarbone. His fingertips trail over the curve of your back. Your eyes feel heavy as you struggle to keep them open.

“I am sorry for what I’ve done,” he apologized.

“I know,” you reply weakly.

You can feel his warm breath against your ear. His scent, mixed with his sweat, fills your nose, bringing you comfort.

“Our sister has too much of our mother in her. I see that now.”

You frown but say nothing, letting him continue. His lips press against your ear. He nudges your face with his shoulder, making you pull away. He grasps your chin between his thumb and index fingers. Your eyes flicker between the sapphire and his violet iris. You lift a hand to trail your fingers along his sharp jaw.

“But you and I,” he says, rubbing his thumb over your bottom lip. “We are two flames kindled from the same fire. We were always meant to burn as one.”

“Aemond,” you sigh.

“I am afraid,” he admits, rendering you speechless. “I cannot fight this war alone, sister.”

“You are not alone,” you argued. “You have Daeron.”

“Tsk,” he turns his head. “He is still young, as is his dragon.”

“Young or not, Tessarion is still a dragon.”

Aemond says nothing. His eye stared at the plain stone wall of his bedchamber. You watch him silently, trying to read him.

“Come with me,” he asked, turning his head back to you. 

“What?” You gasp.

“Mount your dragon and go with me to Harrenhal.”

“Mother would never allow it,” you shake your head.

“Our mother has made it clear that she does not hold our best interest at heart.”

“She means well,” you protested, trying to defend your mother, no matter how true his words seemed.

“If we do not fight, we will die. Rhaenyra may spare you and Helaena, but she will not be so merciful to the rest of us. She will have to take Aegon’s head, mine, and Daerons's as well. So long as our father has a living son, she will never be able to rule in peace.”

“You don’t know that-”

“I do,” he insisted. “Is that not what our mother has told us our entire lives?”

You blink, and memories of your childhood flood your mind. He was right. Over the years, your mother had repeatedly stressed the dangers that would follow should your sister ascend to the throne.

“Come with me,” he whispered.

Your eyes flickered from his trembling lips to his tear-filled eye. It was not an order but a plea. He was afraid and desperate for aid. You were afraid as well—you had been since Ser Criston placed that crown upon Aegon’s head. It has only been a few weeks, and already, your life has been turned completely upside down. 

You had no desire to fight this war. Many times, you have had to stop yourself from climbing on your dragon and leaving. But you could not abandon your family, just as you could not abandon Aemond now.

You nod your head. He smiled, a look of relief crossing his face. One of his hands finds yours, lacing your fingers together before bringing his lips to yours, giving you one last sweet and adoring kiss. Once he pulls away, you lay your head back down on his shoulder.

“Can I go to sleep now?” You mumble against his skin.

“Yes,” he lets out a breathy laugh. “You can sleep now.”

[hoonven]

❛❛in another life, i would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you.❞

2.6K ⸺ in another life, you and jaeyun are the lovers who made it, but not in this one

‎PAIRING! singer!sim jaeyun x model!female reader

GENRES! fluff, angst, lovers to exes trope, a little comedy to lighten the mood? everything everywhere all at once au

WARNINGS! mention of a cigarette but no smoking, and a brief mention of food

The rooftop of an exclusive SoHo venue buzzed with subdued chaos. Neon lights flickered in the distance, the city sprawling out like an endless circuit board of dreams and despair. The East River shimmered, black and silver, winding its way through the arteries of the city, holding the secrets of its inhabitants.

You stood near the edge, cigarette in hand. You didn’t smoke��it was more of a prop, something to hold onto when your hands trembled. You gazed over the city, your reflection caught in the mirrored panels of the building behind you. You were radiant, of course. A goddess in Dior, the tabloids had called you earlier that evening. The faint hum of house music from the party below barely registered in your ears.

“Did you ever think you’d make it here?” a voice breaks through the haze, quiet but unmistakable.

You turned, and your heart felt like it stopped—like it was too ashamed to beat in his presence.

Jaeyun.

He looked just as you remembered, only a little older now. His physique had grown taller and more lean, wearing a sleek black suit. His jet-black hair is styled neatly, with strands softly framing his face, the kind of face that made people believe in angels. There was a melancholic look in his eyes that you don’t remember him carrying before, like he was grieving a love he would never have.

“Jaeyun,” you said, his name catching in your throat like a foreign word.

“It’s been a while,” he said, stepping closer. The faint scent of his cologne mingled with the cool night air. “But you’re still as pretty as I remember.”

You tear your eyes away from him, gazing back out into the glittering city to shield the sudden rush of emotion flooding your chest. “Thanks, I get paid for it.”

Jaeyun laughed softly, the sound as bittersweet as the night. “Still as cold too.”

You flinched but masked it with a sharp inhale. “You look like you’re doing well for yourself.” You gestured vaguely at him, the world-famous singer, the headliner of a sold-out tour, standing before you as if you were still the same two teens who once shared takeout on a dingy apartment floor.

“I am,” Jaeyun said. “And so are you. Look at you, Y/N. You're everything you said you’d be.”

You swallowed hard. “It wasn’t easy.”

“Nah,” Jaeyun said with a shake of his head, his voice dipping low. “But you made it look like it was.”

You both stood in silence for a moment, the city filling the gaps between. The hum of distant sirens. A honk from a cab far below. The ghosts of memories neither of you dared to say aloud.

“You seem happy,” you said, finally breaking the tension.

“I sing songs about heartbreak for a living,” Jaeyun replied, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “It’s lucrative.”

“Jaeyun…”

“Was it worth it?” he interrupted, his voice cutting through you like a blade.

You looked up sharply, meeting his gaze. The question echoing in the void of your chest—there was no heart inside there.

There was no kindness or gentleness inside you to offer Jaeyun, because you’re mean, and awful, and selfish. But that’s the only way you know how to survive. Poor you, the girl who spent her life surviving.

“I don’t know,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. But for a moment you wondered, and you imagine that in another life you had a better answer.

In another life, in a cozy bookstore on a rainy afternoon, Jaeyun crouched on the floor, flipping through an old songbook. You were perched on a ladder nearby, your fingers trailing over the spines of novels.

“Jaeyun,” you said suddenly, holding up a book with a faded red cover, “this one’s about us. A rockstar and a model who run away to start a goat farm.”

Jaeyun smirked, tilting his head to look at you. “How does it end?”

“Tragically,” you teased.

“Well, good thing we’re writing our own story,” he replied, grinning as he reached up to pull you into his lap.

In another life, you stood at a train station, your suitcase at your feet. Jaeyun was on the other side of the glass, his hand pressed against it, a futile barrier between you.

“I’ll call you,” you mouthed, tears streaming down your face.

“You won’t,” he mouthed back, his expression breaking.

The train’s whistle screamed, and you stepped back. The glass fogged with your breath as you whispered, “I’m sorry.”

In another life, on a sunny afternoon at the park. You lay on a picnic blanket, your head in Jaeyun’s lap. He strummed his guitar lazily, singing a melody just for you.

“Write that down,” you said, pointing at his notepad.

“Why?”

“Because it’s the best thing you’ve ever written.”

Jaeyun smirked, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “That’s because it’s about you.”

In another life, at sunset, you stood on a beach, toes buried in the cool sand. You leaned into Jaeyun, his arm draped around your shoulders as you watched the waves crash.

Neither of you spoke, but the silence was filled with a peaceful understanding. The world was vast, and yet you had found each other.

In another life, Jaeyun sped down a dirt trail on a tandem bike, with you laughing uncontrollably behind him.

“Jaeyun!” you screamed, clutching his waist.

“Never back down, never what?!” he yelled back, pedaling harder.

“Never give up!”

The bike hit a bump, sending you both flying into a pile of leaves. You sat up, covered in twigs, and burst into laughter.

In another life, in a cramped one-bedroom apartment, you both sat on the floor surrounded by stacks of unpaid bills. Jaeyun’s hands tugged through his hair as you nervously chewed on your lip.

“We can’t keep doing this,” you said, voice shaking.

“I know,” Jaeyun replied, his voice heavy with frustration. “I’ll figure it out. I promise.”

You reached for his hand, squeezing it tightly. “We’ll figure it out.”

In another life, on a rooftop in Paris, Jaeyun pulled out a small velvet box and knelt in front of you. Your breath hitched as he opened it to reveal a ring.

“Marry me,” he said, his voice trembling but his eyes steady.

Your hands flew to your mouth as tears spilled over. “Yes,” you whispered, and when he slid the ring onto your finger, he kissed you like the world was ending.

In another life, the cramped kitchen smelled of garlic and tomato sauce as you stirred the pot, humming along to the music blaring from the tiny speaker. Jaeyun stood next to you, dramatically rapping Eminem’s verse, waving a wooden spoon like a mic.

“His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy—”

“—There’s vomit on his sweater already, mom’s spaghetti!” you chimed in, voice cracking from laughter.

Jaeyun struck a pose, pretending to look “calm and ready,” while you dissolved into giggles, nearly spilling the sauce.

“Careful, or our spaghetti’s gonna end up on the floor,” Jaeyun teased, stealing a quick kiss on your cheek before turning back to the pasta.

“Focus, Slim Shady,” you shot back, grinning as you twirled noodles onto a plate.

In another life, under an arch of twinkling lights, you and Jaeyun stood hand in hand, surrounded by family and friends.

“You may now kiss the bride,” the officiant announced.

Jaeyun dipped you dramatically, eliciting cheers and laughter from the crowd, before kissing you like you were the only two people in the world. When you broke apart, you whispered, “I love you.”

Jaeyun smiled. “I love you more.”

In another life, Jaeyun squatted in front of the washing machine, phone in hand, while you leaned over his shoulder, scrolling through a YouTube tutorial.

“Wait, so we’re not supposed to mix whites and colors?” Jaeyun asked, glancing at the rainbow heap he’d already shoved in.

You frowned. “Apparently not… and why is there, like, five kinds of detergent? Which one do we even use?”

The video continued to play, but neither of you seemed to understand a word. Jaeyun sighed, tossing the phone onto the counter. “Let’s just wing it.”

You crossed your arms. “That’s how we turned your white shirt pink last time.”

“Only Riki and Hoon would crash out over that,” Jaeyun said with a shrug, pressing the start button anyway.

In another life, the dining table was covered in papers, receipts, and a laptop that was dangerously close to overheating. You sat with your head in your hands, glaring at a spreadsheet that refused to balance. Jaeyun was on the other side of the table, furiously tapping on a calculator.

“This makes no sense,” you groaned, shoving a pile of receipts toward him. “How do I owe this much when I’ve already paid so much in quarterly taxes?”

Jaeyun glanced up, his hair sticking out in all directions from running his hands through it. “I don’t know, Y/N. I’m not an accountant. I’m just a guy who thought splitting fries was complicated.”

You let out a frustrated laugh. “Whoever came up with taxes was just a hater.”

“Aren’t you a self-proclaimed hater, though?” Jaeyun raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, but I'm just a girl.” you deadpanned, gesturing to yourself.

Jaeyun snorted, then sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Okay, new plan. We take a break, grab some coffee, and call an accountant tomorrow. We clearly have no idea what we’re doing.”

You nodded, rubbing your temples. “Fine. But if we get audited, you’re the one explaining why our expense report has coffee runs listed as ‘essential creative fuel.’”

Jaeyun grinned despite the mess. “Deal.”

In another life, the apartment was suffocating with tension. Jaeyun stood by the window, his hands clenched at his sides, while you stood across the living room.

You were both shouting, your words overlapping in a chaotic mess.

“—You never see my perspective—”

“—You always think you’re right—”

“—Stop talking over me—”

“—You’re talking over me too—”

The room buzzed with both voices, neither willing to stop, neither willing to hear.

Finally, your voice cut through. “You know what? Fuck this! I'm done!”

You grabbed your coat, your movements quick and jerky as you stormed to the door.

“I can’t do this right now,” you said, voice cold and distant.

“Y/N—” Jaeyun started, his voice softening, but you didn’t turn back.

The door slammed behind you, the sound echoing through the apartment. Jaeyun sank into the couch, his head falling into his hands as the weight of the argument crashed over him. For a long time, he didn’t move, the quiet of the empty room pressing down on him like a storm cloud.

In another life, in a brightly lit hospital room, Jaeyun cradled your newborn daughter against his chest, his eyes glassy with tears.

“She has your nose,” he said softly, sitting beside you, who was propped up on the hospital bed, exhausted but glowing.

“And your eyes,” you replied with a tired laugh.

Jaeyun leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

Each moment captured a glimpse of your love across universes, a kaleidoscope of experiences that are as fleeting as they are eternal.

Jaeyun nodded, as if he'd been expecting that answer. “Yeah, I get it. Can't be too vulnerable right?” he said, his voice soft but steady. “But I’m not like you. You always said I was too nice for my own good. That I’d let the world eat me alive if you weren’t there to save me.”

Your throat tightened. You looked away, unable to hold his gaze.

“But my kindness,” Jaeyun continued, “doesn't make me weak. It's how I fight. In a world this cruel, it’s the only way I know how to survive. And I knew, even then, that I could’ve been the one to leave. Could’ve been the one to hurt you first. But I didn’t want that.” He took a step closer, his voice quieter now. “I wanted to make sure I was the one who got hurt. So you could keep fighting in your own way.”

You closed your eyes, but the tears still pricked at the edges. The weight of his words, of your shared past, of everything unsaid—it was unbearable.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice gentler now, “You’re not a bad person. You're just trying to protect yourself.”

You opened your eyes, and for a moment, it felt like the city fell away. Just the two of you, suspended in the quiet ache of what could’ve been.

“You know,” Jaeyun said, a faint, longing smile curling his lips, “in another life, I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you.”

The words struck you like a blow, a montage of moments in this life—of what could've been in this universe, flashing before your eyes—walking hand in hand down quiet streets, mornings spent tangled in sheets, laughing over burnt toast, folding laundry in the dim light of a shared apartment.

And then Jaeyun stepped back. The moment shattered like glass.

He smiled at you one last time, a quiet, knowing smile, and then turned, walking away into the neon haze of the party below.

You stood frozen, your heart aching as you watched him disappear. The city continued to hum around you, oblivious to the pieces of your heart scattering like ash into the night.

You were heartless now, just like you always wanted.

In the reflection of the glass, you saw yourself—the goddess in Dior—and felt the crushing weight of everything you had fought for.

It wasn’t enough.

In another life, you and Jaeyun are in a dimly lit laundromat, late at night. The hum of the washing machines fills the air, punctuated by the occasional beep of a dryer finishing its cycle. You sit side by side on a cracked plastic bench, both staring at the spinning drum of a washer in front of you. A basket of unfolded clothes sits between you.

You break the silence.

“I always thought my life would be bigger than this.”

Jaeyun glances at you, but you keep your gaze fixed on the washing machine. “Bigger than doing laundry?”

You let out a dry laugh, finally turning to look at him. “Yeah. You know, I wanted the world. Lights, stages, all eyes on me.”

Jaeyun nods, he’s heard you say this before, but this time, there’s something heavier in your voice. “You could still have it.”

You lean back against the cold wall, tilting your head toward him. “Could I? I feel like I've spent so much time running toward something I don't even recognize anymore. And now I'm here. Folding clothes and splitting bills. With you.”

Jaeyun looks down at his hands, fiddling with a loose thread on his sleeve. He takes a deep breath, the words hanging heavy in his chest. “Y/N, do you ever think… maybe this is enough? That maybe this—” he gestures to the laundromat, the mundane surroundings “—isn’t just some filler episode of our lives?”

You raise an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “Laundry and taxes? That’s your big dream?”

Jaeyun's lips twitch into a sad smile. “Not just laundry and taxes. Laundry and taxes with you.”

The weight of his words sink in, softening your teasing smile. Your eyes search his face for a moment, as if seeing him for the first time. “Jaeyun, I—“

“I know. You’re not ready to stop running, and I’ll never stop cheering for you. But if there’s a version of us out there, in another life, where we don’t need the lights and the noise—where we’re just… us—I think I’d like that.”

The washer buzzes, startling you both. You blink rapidly, caught between the spinning thoughts in your mind and the sudden, jarring noise. You swallow, picking up a shirt from the basket and holding it in your lap. “In another life, huh?”

Jaeyun nods, leaning back against the wall with a wistful smile. “In every life.”

You don’t say anything, but your hand brushes against his as you both sit in silence, and the hum of the machines continues.

© 2024 hoonven, all rights reserved. i do not give permission to modify, repost, translate, or plagiarize my works on any platform. NETWORK! @kstrucknet

[missuswalker]

i love your interactions between reader and quickie soooo much omg. would you be able to write something where either quickie or reader are being super needy and the other is just like amused by it/teasing/making fun of them for it idrk im bad at requests ahh

𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 || 𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

༄ summary: you do your best to subtly hint towards what you want to do with peter, but he knows you too well and catches on fast (he thinks he’s the funniest man on the planet

༄ warnings: smut, teasing, piv, fingering, oral (fem receiving), lack of protection 🤡(great way to come back after a month)

༄ notes: WHAT ILY AND THIS (has anyone picked up to the fact that the notes are literally just me interacting with the anons) (also i missed you guys 😘)

peter never really could sit still, it was something you’d quite literally never seen. even in his sleep, he would roll around, kick you, sit up abruptly, or just mumble. that was why you weren’t surprised that he payed you little attention, though he’d been the one to invite you over. he stood in front of his (awfully loud) pac-man machine, eyes fixed on the screen, hands moving quickly to keep himself from losing. to be completely honest, when he called, you’d expected to get dicked down as soon as you stepped foot in the basement.

yeah, that hadn’t happened.

while it was sweet that he just wanted to be in your presence, you wished that he would, at the least, pull himself away from the game that kept his attention longer than you did. you knew it wasn’t anything against you, he just wasn’t typically a ‘sit down and hang out’ kind of guy. while that could be the case on occasion, he preferred to hop around his room like he’d never been in it before.

standing from your place on his couch, you make your way behind him, wrapping your arms loosely around his waist. he doesn’t even flinch, eyes flickering across the paths of the pink and blue ghosts. “hey,” you say, resting your head in between his shoulder blades, the skin of his back bare warm, shirt having been discarded hours ago. “hi,” he responds, letting one hand come back for a split second to gently brush against your arm.

you sigh, giving a quick eye roll. you weren’t annoyed with peter, more annoyed at the fact that he hadn’t picked up on any of the hints you’d dropped. except he absolutely did. he knew exactly what you wanted, but he was playing a game. he wanted to see how long it would take for you to just say that you wanted to have sex. he always thought it was funny how you’d beat around the bush until he gave in, but this time, he wasn’t going to just hand it to you on a silver platter.

pun intended.

“will you be done soon,” you ask, tone sickly sweet. he did his best not to snicker at your desperate attempt to gain his attention, keeping his face forward. “if you want me to be,” he answers, purposefully losing the game. he turns around and wraps you up in his arms, kissing the side of your head. after a few seconds of silence, he pulls away, hopping over the back of the couch and landing in a laying position, turning on the tv. you follow, crawling into the tight space between your idiot boyfriend and the couch.

“what do you wanna do,” he hums, flipping through channels of shitty tv shows. “i dunno,” you shrug, trailing your fingers down the side of his arm. he cranes his neck to look at you, eyebrows raised. “you can’t think of anything?” you could hear his smirk in his tone of voice, it dawning on you that he definitely knew every move you’d been making. you scoff, smacking him upside the head. “you asshole,” you laugh, shaking your head. “what? i didn’t do anything!” he defends, a silly smile on his face as he covers his head.

when you’d finally figured out that this had all been some sort of game to him, you could feel yourself growing a little bit embarrassed. “peter,” you groan, nudging him. “what?” he asks, the smirk from before still there. you simply blink at him, pursing your lips. he was really starting to piss you off, but at the same time, it made you need him even more. “if you don’t want to do anything, i’m gonna take a nap,” he says, getting more comfortable.

you throw your head back and internally screaming at him. “peter, stop being a dick. just… please,” you huff, shaking him as if he’d already fallen asleep. “please what? please have sex with me because you’re so sexy, funny, and strong? is that what you were going to say?” he teases, turning around to face you now, that shit eating grin you were so used to making its way onto his sneaky face. “no, i would never say those things about you,” you say, deadpanning.

“oh, okay. goodnight, then,” he says, shutting his eyes and dramatically pretending to snore. “no, no, no, peter,” you whine, smacking his chest. “just admit it and i’ll wake up. i know you want me, you don’t have to be so stubborn, it’s not like i blame you. i am pretty damn sexy,” he says, not moving an inch. “oh my god, i hate you.”

you had expected him to just give up, open his eyes and let you have it, but he didn’t, adding to your frustration and the dull ache in your core. he was being mean, purposefully, and it was getting you riled up, despite how much it pissed you off. “fine, i want you, peter, please, i need you,” you sigh, voice monotone. he keeps his eyes shut, though his eyebrows raise as if to say, “try again.”

“okay, you win, i need you, just fuck me.”

his eyes fly open, smile never wavering. “wasn’t so hard, was it?” he snorts, sitting up. you were now in his spot, peter hovering over you, a hand by each side of your head. he peppers your face with kisses, a hand coming up to push your hair out of your face, lips finally landing on yours. “can we speed this up a little bit? you’re supposed to be super fast, aren’t you,” you say, silently begging him to just slam into you. “little desperate, but if that’s what you want,” he jokes, grinning against your cheek as he reaches under your (his) long shirt, fingers hooking in the waistline of your panties and sliding them down your legs, holding them up like a prize.

“very cute, have i ever told you how much i like pink?” he hums, stalling just to aggravate you. upon seeing your unamused face, he stuffs the underwear into the pocket of his sweatpants. spreading your legs open to get a better look, laughing at the sight before him. “you’re already wet? i haven’t even touched you, yet.”

if this man didn’t just move on already.

like he could sense your thoughts, he wasted no more time, sliding a long finger into your near-dripping cunt, finally giving you a sense of relief. with you letting out a heavy breath, his eyes find yours again. “all this just from thinking about me?” he asks, sliding another finger in, slowly dipping his head under your tshirt, lips connecting with your attention deprived clit. “you’re an asshole,” you grunt, hand finding his silver locks. he chuckles against you, the cool breath from his nose tickling your warm skin.

“you’re gonna be the death of me, baby,” he groans, pulling his hand away and sucking the slick off of his fingers. his hard dick pushed at the fabric of his sweats, wanting so badly to escape its confines. “i might just need you more than you need me,” he huffs, sitting back against your shins, untying the strings of his pants and pushing them down his thighs, briefs following. once they’re down his legs, he strokes himself, the sight of you looking so pretty making him twitch.

“peter, please.”

you’d lost count of how many times you’d said that in the last few minutes, but you didn’t have time to count when you were so close to getting exactly what you wanted. “i know, i know,” he nods, pushing your shirt up and moving your hand to tell you to hold it. he tugs at your bra a bit, just enough to let your tits spill out. he leans down, placing a sweet kiss to your stomach, looking up and giving you a wink, before gently pulling your hips up. “turn around for me,” he instructs, turning you around. hands still on your hips, he pulls them upwards, your ass in the air.

scooting up behind you on his knees, he places one kiss to your ass, pumping himself, and lining up, head of his cock pushing into the folds of your pretty pussy. once he’s all the way in, he thrusts in and out slowly, one hand on your hip, the other on your asscheek. “faster,” you mumble, face pushed against the couch cushion. “you sure?” he teases, but listens, picking up his pace.

his room felt humid, the slapping sounds of your skin meeting filling your ears. he practically rams into you, your loud moans making his hips stutter. “shit,” he whispers, reaching down to rub at your clit with rough fingers. “oh my god, peter,” you whimper, reaching back for the hand that was on your ass, squeezing his fingers. the tight squeeze of your cunt when you came made him lose his steady rhythm, burying his cock deep inside of you. his release fills you up, his fingers finally intertwining with yours, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into the back of your hand.

“didn’t know you needed me that much.”

“do you ever shut up?”

“not that i know of.”

i’m back hello 😻💋 feel free to continue to request, i’ll be writing again 🎀 try not to be so vague yall i have one that quite literally only says “smut pls” 😞

[penkura]

last forever [4/13]

Summary: Zoro only offered to marry you to keep you out of an arranged marriage with a man much older than you. You agreed with the caveat of ending it via annulment once you received word from your parents regarding the original engagement, despite your growing feelings for your close friend.

Pairing: Zoro x Fem!reader, mentioned Sanami later (like epilogue later so chill)

Warnings: Marriage of Convenience, Fake Marriage, referenced sex (waaaaaay later on), mutual pining, Zoro is bad at feelings but what's new there, eventual romance I promise, mention of past attempted assault (I'll warn in that chapter), creepy older dude later on

Note: I DID IT, IT'S DONE IN TIME FOR MONDAY POSTING. This has been waiting to be finished for MONTHS. I feel so bad about that. uuuh but I'm setting up a little bit, introducing Reader's older brother, a few other things for later down the line. Hope you enjoy it.

[Ch. 1] ● [Ch. 2] ● [Ch. 3]

Arriving in Loguetown felt almost like a dream come true, finally being able to get off the ship and stretch your legs. You'd not seen such a busy, bustling town in years. It put even Shells Town to shame with how many people were going about. The stalls of food and trinkets, you were excited to go around and look at everything before you'd all board the Merry again and be on your way to whatever was next. Nami immediately took you to shop for clothes, but you ended up distracted by some of the trinkets at the shop while she got an employee to look at everything she tried on.

The main thing to catch your eye was a sword on the wall, wondering if you should go find Zoro to bring in to see it.

“Oh,” one of the shop clerks smiles seeing you looking at the blade, “That’s from Wano, allegedly! Dad says he brought it back from a trip, but he’s not gonna sell it. It’s just decoration at this point.”

Your jaw clenches and you flinch the tiniest bit hearing Wano, but the clerk doesn’t say anything if she notices. Quickly you turn it into a smile, thanking her for the information and simply stating your friend would like to see it, you’ll try to bring him by, slipping out of the shop before Nami sees you leaving.

You take a deep breath and try to shake off the dread you feel hearing Wano, pushing out thoughts of your higher up fianc�� who had every intention of taking you from your family there after the marriage was finalized. You’ve done your best to keep it a secret, it’s not like you’d all end up there anytime soon, if ever, so there’s no need to worry your crewmates about something and someone so far away, right?

Right.

So no need to say anything.

You try to convince yourself of that while looking over the trinkets at a stall you’ve found, not like you really need any of the items you see, but there’s something about the box you’ve been taking glances at constantly that leads the owner to pick it up and bring it over to you.

“It’s a set of wedding bands,” the older woman opens the box, showing you the two silver bands that are obviously meant for a man and a woman, a husband and wife, “Bought them from a jeweler in the South Blue years ago, no one has taken a shine to them yet. Are you in a relationship?”

Blinking, you feel your face grow warm as you smile nervously and shake you head.

“W-Well, I wouldn’t call it a relationship but…I…I have someone I like…”

“Oh I see! What’s this person like then? Must be special if they have your heart.”

“Um, well,” scratching the back of your neck, you don’t really have to think too hard, but it does feel a little weird telling this stranger about Zoro, “He’s really strong, an amazing swordsman, he taught me a good bit of what I know now. He's loyal to all of us, he fought to protect our friend and he…he saved me, I suppose is the biggest thing…”

The older woman smiles as you speak, seeing a shine to your eyes she wasn’t fully expecting. Whoever you’re talking about seems to have more of a hold on your heart than even you realize, she believes. Almost reminds her of herself when she was younger. She doesn’t ask anything else, instead waving you over with her as she starts to package up the ring box and hands it to you in a small bag.

“I won’t charge you for these, I’ve had them so long. Please, give the one to the man you’re so smitten with, maybe some good will come of it.”

She all but forces the bag into your hands, refusing to take no for an answer, even as you offer to at least pay for the bag or buy something else. She makes the excuse that she’s closed now and won’t accept even one berri from you, turning you around herself and sending you off. You felt bad that she just gave them to you, but she was so persistent, you think Nami will believe you haggled with the woman until she gave them to you for free.

Once you’re far enough away from the stall, you stop to take another look at the rings that were essentially forced on you. You don’t know why you wanted to check the box so badly before the woman brought them over to you, maybe some strange sense of what the box was, some weird hopeful part of you just somehow knew what it was.

They were pretty rings at least. Plain silver bands, the thinner one having a small clear jewel on it, you wonder how no one had ever bought them before when the woman said she’d had them for years. Part of you wonders what it would be like to wear the ring and actually be happy about it, and not feel like tearing it off and throwing it in the sea.

Not like it matters, it’s not a real marriage.

Sighing, you close the box and slip it into your pocket, starting to walk back towards the Merry before you hear someone say your name, shouting it a few times with excitement in their voice.

Wait. Wait, I know that voice.

You quickly turn around and have to will yourself not to cry when you see the person calling for you.

+!+

Once Zoro finally has three swords again, his next plan is to find a tavern before you all take off from Loguetown. He’s passed several places that he assumed some of you would be at, but just ducking his head in and looking around briefly showed no signs of any of you.

Mostly he’s been looking for you, to make sure you haven’t gotten yourself into any trouble. Since the day you’d met, Zoro knew you had the ability to put yourself in less than ideal situations, your home life did very little to make you skeptical of strangers, likely almost having it beat into you that you should be ready and willing to help anyone who asked for it. The one and only time it took to get it into your head not help anyone without asking questions was when you’d nearly been kidnapped, if Zoro hadn’t shown up in time and dragged you away. You sure got an earful from him later that night, with the threat that maybe he’ll just let a human trafficker take you next time if you’re that stupid again.

Zoro does realize that’s probably why you stay by his side, clinging to him like glue, but when it was just the two of you, it was the best way to make sure you didn’t get left behind or taken from him.

Part of him wonders how well that actually stuck, now that he sees you on the other side of the road, looking like you’re near tears as some guy talks to you with a bright smile on his face. He looks older, definitely taller than you but still shorter than Zoro, but not by much. He’s almost as blond as Sanji, and seems like he knows you very well. The angle he’s at doesn’t let Zoro know if you’re happy or upset, just that you’re wiping at your eyes with your sleeve, and he feels the need to hurry over to you, especially once this new person pulls you in for a hug that you can’t seem to return.

This guy.

He isn’t your alleged fiancé…right?

No, he’s too young.

“I’m so glad you’re doing well, who are you with right now?”

You sniffle a bit and give a smile before responding.

“I’m with—”

“She’s with me.”

Zoro surprises you by speaking and putting his arm around your shoulders, making you look up at him.

“Oh, Zoro, where did you—”

“Zoro?? So this is him?!”

If it weren’t for his previous status as the pirate hunter, Zoro would be questioning how this guy knows his name. He doesn’t even look at this other person, looking down at you to make sure you’re okay, even when you smile at him.

“Zoro, this is—”

“Hey, nice to meet you finally,” the blond holds his out for Zoro to take, but your swordsman is still wary of him, setting his free hand on his swords to maybe scare him off if he’s upsetting you, “Thanks for taking care of my little sister, man.”

“…little sister?”

Nodding, you move from Zoro to beside your brother, still smiling.

“Zoro, this is Elias, my older brother. He’s the one who helped me runaway and gave me his sword. Elias, this is—”

“Your husband!” Elias gives you such a bright grin that he doesn’t notice how you turn red and start trying to correct him. “I know already, mom and dad were pissed when your letter came. They’re still not sure what to do, you know.”

While he laughs, you sigh a bit, figuring that was why you hadn’t heard anything from them. Your parents must still be expecting you to come home, to say you’ve ended your marriage and they were right the whole time, you’ll just marry the man they chose for you.

It's not going to happen, but you think that’s probably what they want from you. To be a good daughter and do as your told.

It makes you want to throw up, remembering how they treated you.

“You’d think they’d be glad you and I both found people we love, but, you know mom and dad.”

“Since you married Amaya, I thought they’d leave me out of it all but, mom and dad of course.”

You keep up conversation with Elias for several minutes, Zoro barely listening as he just wants to make sure you’re really okay. You’ve never had a bad thing to say about your brother, he knows this, and truthfully, Zoro is happy to see you at least had someone from your hometown who cared about you. He does make note of how you aren’t trying to correct Elias regarding your relationship with him, but it’s likely so he keeps thinking you’ve found someone to keep you safe and away from your parents, even though you’re whole crew has promised that at this point.

Eventually Elias notices Zoro still staring at you both, looking like he’s getting antsy and wanting to leave, and your brother grins just a bit.

“I should get going. Amaya and our parents are expecting me back home in two days.”

“Oh,” your happiness suddenly drops, but you still nod, even when Elias hugs you again and you’re able to return it this time, “It…I was happy to see you, Eli.”

“I was even happier to see you doing well, princess,” Elias ignores you protesting him calling you that, while he turns to Zoro after releasing you, sticking his hand out again, “It was good to meet you too, Zoro. Thanks for taking care of my sister. I’m happy to know she found you.”

For a second you wonder if Zoro’s even going to bother shaking your brother’s hand, until he finally does you feel relieved.

“Yeah, no problem.”

You wave Elias off until he shouts something about you two having a child one day and letting him know immediately, causing both of you to blush fiercely as he laughs until he’s gone, and you look back to Zoro.

“S-So…where do you wanna go now?”

“Let’s…let’s find everyone else. Or at least Luffy.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Zoro turns and starts walking away from you, until you grab his wrist and start dragging him back the other way.

“No, this way.”

“…I knew that.”

He really didn’t, he fully believed that the best way would be back towards the docks, but when you giggle at him and start heading back into town, Zoro tries his hardest not to look at you too closely. Not to dwell on what your brother said, he was just messing with you both, since he doesn’t know the reality of your marriage.

So the fact Zoro’s suddenly wondering what your kids might look like makes him avoid eye contact, ignore the fact you’re still holding onto his wrist as you look for your crewmates. He’s so tired of this, of having people believe your marriage is real, and the thoughts that come with it every time someone brings it up.

Your annulment can’t come soon enough.

+!+

For all the time you’ve spent traveling and the people you’ve met, the strangers from Whiskey Peak were the weirdest ones. You should’ve expected something was up with how accepting they were of pirates, anything except them being Baroque Works members, so it was a shock when you found out that’s exactly what they were. You’ve only heard of the group once or twice from Zoro in the past, normally when you’d lost a bounty target by mere minutes due to their quick work.

So once you found that’s all that inhabited this place, you weren’t surprised to hear Zoro had already taken all of them down by the time you woken up from your nap on the Merry. You’d chosen to stay behind and watch your ship, your home, while the rest of your crew went to the island. You’d been woken up by their sudden return and new members on the ship in the form of Vivi and Karoo, who you’ve taken a quick liking to as you all make your way towards a place called Little Garden.

Although, you have noticed Sanji treating you differently from your other female crewmates.  While he openly flirts and falls over himself for the two, when it comes to you, he’s much more subdued and less extravagant, still treating you with respect but in less of a romantic way, it’s more friendly than anything.

But you still feel nervous when you bring it up to him, hoping you haven’t done something to make him like you less since you really do want to be his friend.

“Hey, Sanji, can I talk to you?”

“Of course!” Sanji gives you a grin while you sit at the table, smiling back, as he dries his hands and comes over to stand in front of you. “How can I help the lovely lady today?”

“Why do you flirt with Nami and Vivi but not me?”

You almost instantly shut your mouth when you finish speaking, biting your tongue before groaning over how you just blurted your question out. Sanji doesn’t respond right away, tilting his head as he thinks about it, and you continue to fight the embarrassment you now feel over even bothering to ask. It was a stupid question, Sanji could flirt with whoever he wanted, it didn’t mean anything. It didn’t mean you weren’t wanted, he just didn’t feel anything romantic towards you, that’s all, you reason.

It still hurts to think that though, you’re just making yourself more upset as you wait for Sanji to say anything.

“Well,” he scratches the back of his neck, trying to figure out how to word it in a way that won’t offend you, “I can’t rightfully flirt with a woman who’s heart is taken, can I?”

“…huh?”

That isn’t what you expected from Sanji, of all people. You expected him to apologize that you felt left out, fall at your feet because that’s what he does, groveling and begging tour forgiveness for not showing you the same attention as the other girls.

But this makes you feel better about it, really. You think it’s a testament to Sanji’s character, that he won’t go after someone who has feelings for another, even if you’ve yet to confirm to any of your other crewmates the feelings you have for Zoro.

“I’ve seen how you look at that mosshead of ours. I know you guys said your marriage isn’t meant to last forever, but you really like him,  right?”

Nodding slightly, you smile a bit as Sanji continues to grin at you.

“He might piss me off, but if you like him, there’s something good there.”

“I could tell you how we met one day.”

“Sure, might help me understand why you like that shitty swordsman so much.”

Sanji’s constant nicknames for Zoro actually make you laugh, and he keeps up conversing with you as he does the dishes, allowing you to help him bring drinks around to everyone a few minutes later. You two talk and laugh on your way out of the kitchen, you don’t even notice how it’s caused Zoro to watch you again, or how his jaw clenches after you bring a drink to him with a smile, before following Sanji back into the kitchen.

Now seeing you with the damn cook was making chest ache, what the hell is happening?

All of this needs to stop already.

[bipanicoverthegravessiblings]

Can we have Andrew and Reader transforming into half demon?

You can do it with Ashley together with Reader (separately) if you want.

Reader would have been with the Graves family since episode 1, as she was an exchange student but ended up being abandoned along with her Graves siblings.

She would be a cold, relaxed, indifferent person, a little sociopathic, a little temperamental but kind when they meet.

Reader would have been injured in the Hitman confrontation when she went to save Andrew (let's be honest, this kid would never be able to shoot the Hitman the first time with him being all nervous).

So to treat her injuries correctly they decided to use the demon to heal her, the demon doesn't like the idea of healing someone but he decides to heal her but still angry with this 'disrespect' the demon turns her into a half demon (similar to Jennifer Body the film).

That if she wants to stay alive she has to eat human flesh or drink blood.

If I had a nickel for every time I was requested to write a reader who’s an exchange student staying with the Graves Family- I’d have 4 nickels. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it’s happened 4 times already

Andrew Graves x Half Demon!Reader

Andrew’s head was pounding

His eyes were wide with terror as he stared down at you in his arms

The events kept playing in his head, over and over like a broken record

He had found the hitman in Ashley’s spontaneously stupid game of hide-and-seek

Although, what was she expecting?

It was an amateur with a gun against a skilled killer with a knife

Of course he wasn’t going to do well!

So, you did the only thing you could think of to save him

Save the boy who you’ve lived alongside since high school

Who’s been nothing but kind and patient to you..

Push him away as the hitman lunged

So, here you lay..

Barely breathing in his arms

While the hitman laid dead nearby

Andrew, in a blind rage finally fired the gun. Draining it dry of any bullets in there in hopes of killing him

And, he achieved his goal

The hitman was dead

And it didn’t look like long til you’d be you…

“Well- you’ve successfully wasted all of our ammo.” Ashley grumbled, picking up her discarded gun. She wiped off any grass blades or dirt that stuck to the pristine silver of it.

If Andrew wasn’t still in shock, he would yell at her. Yell at her for having the audacity to worry more about her gun’s ammo than their dead friend! Yell at her for foolishly trusting him to kill the hitman and then running off! If you hadn’t jumped in, he would be dead…

He should be dead.

Andrew furrowed his brow, tears forming much to his dismay. As he shut his eyes, they fell in twin streams. His hands shook, gripping on to your body as it slowly lost its warmth. He quietly sobbed, trying his best to not make them too loud or pathetic. If he had been better with the gun…if he didn’t hesitate…you would still be…

“Andy!” He felt something cold tap the back of his head, breaking him from his mellow dramatic moment. Ashley stared down at him with frustration, “Come on! Let’s ditch the bodies, someone was bound to hear your bitch crying by now..”

“Are you serious?!” Andrew stood up, still holding you in his arms. He thrusted his arms forward, pushing Ashley back with your dead weight, “Look at her! She’s dying!” He was emotional. Erratic. But he didn’t care.

“I can see that!” His sister pushed his arms back, and Andrew held you close to his chest, “Now put her down before anyone comes by!”

“…no.”

He wasn’t yelling anymore, just staring down at you. Ashley’s eyes widened, before her face became a scowl.

“No?”

“No!”

Ashley, pinched the bridge of her nose, “Okay- yeah- ssuuurreeee! Let’s just carry a dead body around! Want me to stick my hand up her ass and sit her on my lap like a puppet so you can pretend you’re talking with her?” She roughly poked Andrew’s forehead, “Are you out of your fucking mind?!”

“Well I’m not leaving her!” Andrew snapped back, making Ashley flinch ever so slightly. He didn’t seem to care though as he turned his attention back down to you.

Both were quiet for a while, probably longer than they should have because people would be coming by soon to see the commotion. Ashley could see the thoughts running behind her brother’s eyes, clearly thinking of something to fix this…to fix you.

She didn’t understand what the fuss was about though. You were just dead weight before, and now you are literally. Plus, she never liked the looks her brother gave you. You were better off dead in her eyes, and if anyone was going to kick the bucket, it would’ve been you…

But Andrew didn’t want to leave you behind. Sentimental bastard. What was he expecting? You to just- snap out of being dead? It wasn’t that easy!

….or….was it?

Ashley’s hand drifted over the front pocket of her shorts, the imprint of the demon trinket visible. Andrew saw her subconscious motions out of the corner of his eye and perked up. Where hope formed on his face, Ashley scowled.

“No!”

“Give it here!”

Andrew set your body down, lunging for his sister for the trinket. The pair fell to the ground, wrestling one another for the trinket.

“Let! Go!”

“No! It’s mine!”

In the end, Ashley didn’t win. Andrew, for as gangly as he is, was still stronger than her and managed to get the trinket away. He cupped it in his hands, standing up and observing it quizzically. There was an ominous aura to this dream catch esc thing, but he didn’t care.

“The demon..”

“Andrew, no!”

“Let’s take Y/N to the cultists lair—“

“Andrew!”

“Summon the demon—“

“You asshole- are you even listening?!”

“And get her back!”

Andrew grinned from ear to ear, his arms held out at the genius of his plan.

So- this is what it felt like to be Andrew, Ashley lamented. She got why he was such a stick in the mud all the time now.

Before she could object, Andrew was already picking up your body.

“Come on! Let’s go! Everyone should be gone by now!”

Despite Ashley’s insistence that it wouldn’t work and they should cut their losses, Andrew persisted

Eventually the two snuck you into the cultists’ meeting room

Shockingly, everything was still set up from when Andrew had previously visited.

It made for a quick and easy ritual

Ashley’s demon friend was less than happy to be bothered though….

“tAr SoUl….wHaT iS tHiS?”

The dark, red eyed blob stared angrily up at Ashley- who gestured to your dead corpse like a game show assistant would show off a car.

“A body?…”

“I rEqUiRe FrEsH sOuLs..” the demon skittered around the body, prodding it with its tendrils, “tHiS iS aLrEaDy DeAd!”

“I know but-“ Ashley groaned, pointing to Andrew with her thumb, “My dumbass brother draws the line at necrophilia and wants her back.”

“I��m sorry- WHAT?!”

Andrew objected, completely disregarding the fact that they were in the presence of a demon, “Do you REALLY think the only reason I want to bring her back is so I can have sex with her?!”

“Well?” Ashley looked at him blankly, “Isn’t it?”

“…..” Andrew adverted his eyes to the ground, “It’s…partly true…”

“I fucking knew it.” Ashley sighed, completely exasperated by her brother’s idiocy, “I can’t believe you’re using MY demon connections so you can get your dick wet without feeling like a bad person! News flash Annnddyyyyy~” she gave him that shit eating grin she knew he despised, “You’ve done much worse.”

“Shut your whore mouth!”

“Make me pussy!”

“EnOuGh!”

The siblings stopped their bickering, Andrew pausing as he had grabbed the collar of Ashley’s shirt. They stared at the demon, looking more like their parent just scolded them than a demon yelling at them to stop their bickering.

The demon floated very close to Andrew’s face, causing him to release his sister and step back, “yOu WiSh To UsE mY pOwErS tO rEvIvE tHe MoRtAl?”

Andrew nodded.

“tHeN wHaT iS iT yOu OfFeR?..”

Andrew’s face contorted as he tried to think, “Uhhhh…”

Ashley stood behind the demon, smugly smiling at her cornered brother, “Haha! Bet ya didn’t think this far, didya?”

“Shut up woman!—“

Andrew immediately regretted raising his voice, as the demon’s red eyes glowed menacingly- almost staring holes into his retinas. He gulped, wishing he could tell Ashley to call off her guard demon- but that would only make things worse for him. Here he was, with no souls to offer a demon- and the demon already didn’t like him for his foolish request and yelling at his ‘tar soul’.

“wElL?…” the demon broke the silence that wafted through the air.

Andrew’s eyes widened, “O-Okay! Ummm..” he searched his brain for anything, any idea on how to revive you when he blurted out the first thing he landed on, “Souls! I can get you two souls for bringing back Y/N’s!”

“aNd WhErE aRe ThEsE sOuLs?”

“Well, I don’t have them now-“ The demon growled and Andrew tensed, “But! But! I can get them to you very soon! Yeah! How’s that sound?”

The red eyed blob stared at Andrew for a few moments, clearly considering his deal before it turned around and made its way to your corpse, “VeRy WeLl…BuT yOuR fAiLuRe FoR pAyMeNt UpFrOnT wIlL cOmE wItH cOnSeQuEnCeS..”

With those words, the room went pitch black. By the time the fluorescent lights returned, the demon was gone. Andrew lunged for your body, kneeling down beside you.

“Y/N?…” he shook you a little, “Y/N?��

His face faltered for a moment, fear coursing through him before he felt your body move. Your breathing was slow…but you were breathing! He cupped your face in his hands, waiting anxiously for you to open your eyes.

And you did.

And then you spoke.

“..A-….Andrew?”

And like that- you were back!

Sore, with some blood gone

But back nonetheless!

You felt….strange though

Upon coming down from his high of overwhelming joy, Andrew noticed just how cold you were

You didn’t feel chilly at all

But you felt cold to the touch

Along with that, you couldn’t get the taste of blood out of your mouth

It was hard to decipher which was the result of having been a corpse for half an hour…

…or what was from being brought back by a demon

But, Andrew had a debt to pay

So that can be worked out later

Returning to the motel parking lot, the hitman’s car was still there

And no one was around yet

So you took that and set off

You slept most of the ride

It was a rough night of…ya know

Dying

So you deserved to sleep

Though your dreams were…strange

Images of red

Blood spewing as you bit into the neck of a screaming person

You didn’t get a good look at them until their body was a mangled mess of torn limbs with bits of flesh taken out of them

Your face stained with blood

The delicious sensation filling your mouth

At first you chalked this up to a guilt dream

You feeling bad for eating that cultist a while back

But…no

This wasn’t a guilt dream

You never feasted on that man like an animal

You never went back for seconds, depraved of the taste

And in those dreams you never felt what you were feeling in that moment

…desire for more

Your concerning dream was interrupted by a sudden sensation of pain as a projectile was thrown at your head.

“Ow!” You sat up, your hand shooting to the assaulted spot on your head, “What the?..”

“I told you to wake her!” Andrew hissed.

“I did!” Ashley objected, “My shoe woke her up!”

“You little..”

Andrew’s grumbling trailed off, turning to look at you from the driver’s seat. You gave him a reassuring nod to let him know you were okay. He sighed in slight relief. How that the- initial pain in your head was gone, you looked out the window to see just where you three were. The backseat passenger window showed you a parking with cars lining the spots as far as you could see.

“Where…are we?” You asked, turning back to look at the siblings, “And what are we doing here?”

“Cheapskate here says it’s free parking.” Ashley replied bluntly, not even giving Andrew’s annoyed look a glance.

You looked between them, “Don’t we- need to pay that demon back? How’s free parking going to get us two souls?”

“Go on Annnndddd—“ Ashley paused as Andrew gave her a look, “…drew. Andrew. Tell Y/N your brilliant plan!”

Andrew sighed, resting his hands on the wheel as he tried to explain the plan, “Alright, so…we need two souls for that demon. We- are also running low on money. So…we’re going to kill two birds with one stone.”

You nodded, though his and Ashley’s drastically different expressions told you there was more. So- you prodded.

“And those birds arreee?”

“…our parents.”

The rational thing was to claim that they couldn’t do such a thing! Their parents took you in after all!

…although you’d be lying

Mrs Graves really only agreed because she’d get a cut of the exchange student program funds

Other than provide you a roof, she ignored you like she did her other children

Same goes for her husband, who didn’t do much of anything beside give you awkward hellos before he went to work

So you weren’t really against robbing and killing them

The events played as normal, pretending the fire that “killed everyone” was sensational news coverage and you all were fine!

You’re “politely” told to go to bed early, bunking with Ashley in the basement while Andrew took the couch.

Though, being honest…

You didn’t trust yourself around Ashley alone

Ever since you’ve been alive you’d had this…animalistic urge to tear into someone like a carnivorous animal

To hold them to the ground and watch the light leave their fear filled eyes as you tore out their throat

And Ashley was defenseless

Sleeping just inches from you in the spare bed

Her gun was empty, you knew this

So she wouldn’t shoot you

So you did the both of you a favor, and got out of there

Your eyes lingered on the basement stairs, the bed and Ashley’s sleeping form still very in much in your view. You had to tear your eyes away to avoid running back down there and giving in to the voice in your head telling- no, demanding you devour her.

Your relationship with her was complicated enough, and you knew with enough convincing you would. She was always cold with you, trying to tear a wedge between you and Andrew as you both got closer. But she also was the closest thing you had to a sister or any actual familial connection. You don’t think you could bear that guilt.

You drew your eyes to the couch, Andrew fast asleep on it. You could trust yourself around him, you know you could. The voice had nothing against Andrew. So you crossed over to the couch, kneeling down beside it.

Andrew’s unconscious state was fragile, stirring almost immediately as he felt a presence join him. His eyes opened with some strain, his voice littered with tiredness.

“Y/N?…” he sat up, rubbing his eyes, “Did Ashley kick you out?..”

“No.” You responded. You debated telling him why you were here if Ashley hadn’t kicked you out, but what could you tell him? ‘Hey I wanted to eat your sister’? You couldn’t do that. So instead you asked, “Can I sleep with you tonight?”

A small blush painted Andrew’s cheeks, as he nodded slightly. He pulled the covers aside, scooting closer to the back of the couch so you’d have room. You climbed onto the couch with him, your arms wrapping around his torso. You felt him shiver from the closeness, almost forgetting how cold you were. You didn’t care though. You craved the closeness more than you craved tearing into Andrew’s flesh and eating his heart in front of him.

You furrowed your brow, pushing those thoughts down as Andrew slowly covered you two up.

“You…alright?” Andrew tentatively asked. Obviously you weren’t alright, by this time last night you were dead.

You racked your mind about what to say, nuzzling into his sweater for comfort as you spoke, “I’m- fine….just ever since I….”

“Died?”

“Yeah, that….I’ve had….urges.”

“Like- what?”

“…like devouring someone like an animal.”

He went quiet after that. You can’t exactly say what you expected reaction wise. Disgust? Fear? Silence felt appropriate to be fair. You weren’t anticipating his next words when he processed the information…

“…three birds with one stone then.”

The plan went as the siblings had- semi planned.

Scaring the parents with an unloaded gun into the basement

Removing the limit from Mrs Graves credit card so they’d have some cash

Handing their souls to the demon

And Andrew leaving you to enjoy your meal

You felt like an animal. A hungry, ravenous animal.

Your breath was shaky, eyes wide with horror at what you’d done. You and the basement were bloodied mess, and your host parents were mangled beyond recognition.

It didn’t help that you were on your hands and knees, chin drenched with blood as what you had done replayed in your mind. The sounds of the basement stairs creaking broke you out of your trance. You cowered momentarily before realizing it was Andrew.

“Wow- you..” he paused, covering his mouth as he gagged from the smell of blood, “Really did a number on them..”

Hot tears welled in your eyes as you stared up at him. You trembled, falling further to the ground than you already were. Your forehead met the basement floor as you sobbed.

“I’m sorry!” You wailed, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—“

It was all you could say. What else could you? You shook and sobbed like the wounded animal you were as Andrew slowly approached you. He fell to his knees in front of you, and pulled you into a hug. His parents’ blood stained his sweater, but he didn’t care. He’ll wash it later.

You trembled in his arms as he rubbed gentle circles into your back, soft shushes filling your ears as he comforted you. You buried your face into his shoulder, shaking and crying from what you’d done. This was different than when you ate the cultist back at the apartment, then you didn’t feel so….dehumanized.

He was prepared like a dish. Not bitten into like a wolf delivering the killing blow to a deer. He was eaten for survival. They were eaten to satiate this desire you had.

Though to Andrew, this downside was worth it, so long as he could hold you again.

[stories-and-chaos]

Shrike pt 2

[Hazbin Hotel reader insert as Alastor’s “darling life and death partner” I did my best for an ace x ace relationship, based on personal experience. Both parties are moderately sex favorable since writing from my own experience is easiest, so I’m not sure if this counts as QPR. Written mostly in spite over all the Alastor smut. And overly innocent reader inserts. I don’t mind some smut but c’mon people.]

[Part 2/2 Word count 6520/12026]

[cw: blood, gore, violence, attempted sexual assault, fluff]

———————

You woke up. Had it been just a nightmare? You reached for Alastor next to you but your hand hit stone. Not even the sheets on your bed; stone. You bolted upright, eyes snapping open. You saw a vibrant red sky and a myriad of unfamiliar buildings. All the architecture had spikes or teeth or eyes incorporated. A sign nearby proclaimed Welcome to Hell! It’s terrible here!

Not a nightmare. You were dead, shot moments after Alastor. At least you took out the bastard that killed him. You hadn’t been a religious person but tracked you would end up here. If there was any mercy in the afterlife, you would find your husband nearby.

Of course he wouldn’t be. You were in Hell and it’s terrible here. You did see a number of…creatures around. Mostly humanoid but with additional features. Fur, feathers, tails, extra eyes, tentacles, scales, gears, wires, horns, flames. All that and more. Were these devils?

As you stood up you caught a glimpse of your own arm. Your taloned hands were red, before abruptly changing to a pale white on your upper arms. From what you could see of your shoulders they were covered in black feathers. Your legs were similar, red at the heeled feet that changed to white above the knee. You couldn’t tell what your torso looked like; you were wearing a silver dress with vermilion threads woven along the length. It looked like your favorite show outfit, just in a different color.

You steadied yourself, already missing Alastor’s presence. You felt a rustling sensation on your back; did you have something stuck there? Reaching back you found feathers. As you tried to brush them away, the odd sensation of something touching your hair made you jump.

Were those… your feathers? You walked along the street and got a look at yourself in a shop window. Sprouting from your back were wings, mostly black feathers with a white patch. Your face now had an avian look but was still recognizable as yours. It was mostly bright white with with a black mask over your eyes. Your hair was now a gleaming grey, with a red hat pinned on. To complete the look, you had a feathered tail sprouting above your buttocks.

You recognized the bird you resembled. The loggerhead shrike, the butcher-bird.

“Well lookie here, we got us a brand new little birdie.” A shark-like man slinked up to you. “A cute one too. Why don’t you come with us like a good birdie, we’ll treat you real nice.” He grinned, showing serrated teeth. Other creatures joined him with equally sadistic expressions.

Of course you had scum like this to deal with. You were in Hell and it’s terrible here. “Out of my way, lowlife. I don’t have time to deal with you.” You pushed him away with the back of your hand to walk past.

“It wasn’t a question bitch. You’re coming with us.” A clammy hand grabbed your wrist. Before you could even really think about it, you were swinging your other arm at him. You were suddenly holding a stiletto blade which you jabbed into his forearm. Black blood spurted out when you removed your blade.

You spun away as the shark shrieked. Now you had a stiletto in each hand. Your feathers were bristling, your wings spreading behind you. “Back OFF!” Your high pitched voice, louder than it ever was when you were alive, made all of them flinch. On instinct you hopped a bit and a flap of your wings slammed the hapless creatures into buildings from the downdraft.

It propelled you to the rooftops. Not ready to take full flight yet, you landed. The demons below were writhing in agony. You took another look at your hands, this time with almost delicate looking blades in your palms. “Ah, mais oui, a gal can get used to this.”

————

It took you five years to find Alastor. As it happened Hell, even just the Pride Ring where Sinners like yourself could be, was a very big place. But if you were here, able to survive, your husband had to be as well. You made a living (ha!) the same as before, singing for your supper. You had no interest in being an Overlord, but you did get a reputation for swift retribution to those that crossed you. Demons who tried to violate your boundaries quickly found out your stilettos were unending, razor sharp, and accurate. Whether they were alive to tell the tale depending on if they were smart enough to back away.

You got the nickname of “Singing Shrike” in Pentagram City. It suited you fine. Especially since you hoped Alastor would recognize it.

You survived the annual exterminations and steadily worked your way through the city. There were so many different districts and the population was ever changing. At least one area you didn’t have to explore was the Red Light District. You doubted death would change Alastor’s indifference to those activities.

When the radios started broadcasting tormented screams, you were surprised as any other demon. Not disturbed though, it was Hell and you’d heard similar ones in life. But the fact they went out over the radio made you wonder…

The broadcasts continued on as Overlords disappeared throughout the city. Then one day: “Salutations Sinners and welcome to the broadcast! I’m Alastor the Radio Demon, I’m so glad you’re all tuning in. I’d like to thank you all for listening to the previews of this broadcast’s main segment, ‘Overlords Overthrown.’ Without further ado, I’d like to present our newest participant!”

You almost couldn’t believe your ears. But there was no mistaking that voice or that demeanor. Of course your Alastor would be the “Radio Demon.” Now that you knew he was active in Hell, you just had to find him.

He would be at a broadcast tower right now. With a few strong flaps you launched into the red sky. There were multiple possibilities but if you had to guess, it would be the tallest one. It was near Cannibal Town, an area you hadn’t been to before. It was on the other side of the city and even with wings you took awhile to get there.

As you got close, you saw a tall lean demon exiting the station. He was a vibrant red from the tips of his ears to the hems of his well tailored suit. From above, you couldn’t see his face but his gait was all too familiar. It had to be him.

And to clinch it, another demon emerged from a nearby café. As blonde and as curvy as she had been in real life, Mimzy. You didn’t realize she was in Hell too. “Alastor, a fabulous show as usual, you never disappoint, doll face.”

He gave his theatrical laugh. “Ha ha! As you know, anything worth doing is worth doing well!” His voice sounded like it was still coming over a radio.

You landed a few yards in front of them, finally getting a good look at the male demon’s face. The features were sharper and his grin was filled with pointed teeth but that was your husband. His hairstyle was vastly different from life and he had tiny antlers peeking out from the red mop.

“Y/N? Cher?” The radio crackle on his voice disappeared for a moment.

“Alastor,” you breathed, but unable to get out more than that. In an instant he was sweeping you into his arms in a bridal carry, spinning joyfully.

“Ma cher, I never thought I’d see you again. The worst part of Hell has been knowing I left you alone.”

You couldn’t help but tear up. “Alastor, I’m so sorry about that night. If I hadn’t distracted you… maybe we’d still be alive.”

“Maybe, maybe not. I never blamed you Y/N. But this isn’t the proper place for a reunion between husband and wife.” To your surprise, green edged black energy enveloped you both. You could still feel Alastor’s arms around you but the rest of your senses disappeared. “Just a moment my dear, we’ll be home soon,” his voice echoed around you.

The darkness fell away, revealing a room inspired by your home in life. One jarring difference was a missing wall that instead led into a bayou. He kept you in his arms as he settled onto a couch. The familiar surroundings and relief at finding him proved to be too much. Face buried in his red jacket, you collapsed into tears.

Alastor held you as he had many times before. He knew the best thing was for you to let it all out and to be ready with a handkerchief when you needed it. Which he was, holding his out when you finally raised your head. You dabbed at your eyes carefully. He chuckled, “Well my dear, at least you don’t have to worry about ruining your makeup with your new look.”

You laughed despite yourself. “That is a relief. One less thing to worry about.” You leaned back into his embrace, unconsciously wrapping your wings around you both. His head whipped back and forth, taking in this new development.

“Sorry ma cher, should I put them down?”

“Hmm, I believe they’re fine. It was simply unexpected. It’s…actually pleasant for you to be wrapped around me for once.”

“It can’t be any more unexpected than being whisked away in shadows. Any other gal would have jumped out of her skin cher. Or feathers for that matter.”

That was enough to get the two of you talking about the last five years. You learned about how he started taking out Overlords for the pure challenge and entertainment of it. The result was he was becoming an Overlord, specifically of the area next to Cannibal Town. He demonstrated some of what his shadows could do for you.

For your part you told him the rest of what happened that final night. When he learned you killed the man who shot him within moments, his gleeful smile nearly split his face in two. “That’s my darling wife,” he praised you. Your exploration of the city and the reputation you had garnered seemed to pale in comparison to what Alastor had been up to. Nonetheless he listened in fascination. Evidently the perspective of the city you brought him was something he could use in his upcoming plans. You showed him what you had learned of the wind you controlled and the stilettos you produced from nothingness.

Soon the two of you were preparing dinner together. Jambalaya, it really was a favorite of his. He assured you the meat hadn’t come from Cannibal Town; while he indulged he wasn’t about to make you eat it as well.

You didn’t have any nightclothes with you, but this was your husband. He’d seen you in all states of dress and cleanliness. So you undressed, keeping just the dress slip on. Alastor stripped off his suit down to his drawers. The bed was a replica of what you had shared in life and you settled into it with him as naturally as before. The main differences were his claws brushing your feathers and your wing covering you both.

Sighing deeply, Alastor pressed his lips against against your hair. “Thank you for finding me, cher.” You couldn’t help but smile at how his words matched your wedding night. Relaxing into sleep, you murmured “I’ll always find you cher.”

Mimzy was the only demon you encountered that had known you both in life. Those familiar with Alastor or yourself in Hell were flabbergasted seeing you stroll together. Since you once again moved into his home most of the gawkers had experience with your husband.

Seeing a strange demon on his arm turned heads; first that the untouchable Radio Demon had a girl, second that she was happy holding her own with the Radio Demon. When you ventured to your old haunts the reaction were similar. The Singing Shrike was allowing anyone to touch her without ending up impaled and that the Shrike had a beau.

One of few that wasn’t terribly surprised was Rosie, the cheerful Overlord of Cannibal Town. Alastor brought you around to her Emporium, introducing you as his “darling life and death partner, Y/N.” Her blank black eyes widened in realization as her toothy smile grew.

You got along fabulously with Rosie, much better than your acquaintances when you were alive. Maybe because you felt freer in Hell, maybe because she never once questioned your relationship with Alastor. According to the residents in her district she was very perceptive about matters of the heart. Whatever the reason, you enjoyed relaxing and performing in Cannibal Town. It turned out you were fond of pinkie fingers; many times you’d be listening to Alastor’s broadcast while enjoying a cup of tea and your gruesome snack.

Power plays in the city came and went. You avoided the annual exterminations together. Not that they mattered much, there was always more Sinners dying. Some tried and succeeded in gaining a foothold and eventually a base of power in the city. Others…well they tried.

You still weren’t interested in being an Overlord yourself. Alastor wasn’t really either truth be told. It just sort of happened, with the deal making and killing various powerful demons. You both built alliances and rivalries over time, with the two states changing within moments on occasion.

One demon in particular became a pain in both your sides. Vox arrived in Hell a few decades after you and Alastor. The television headed demon was originally cordial with Alastor and charming to you. Alastor, despite not caring for technology developed after his death, recognized Vox’s ability and had a measure of respect for him. You found him amusing, so long as he understood your relationship with Alastor was non negotiable. As time passed, Alastor and Vox’s opinions of each other shifted. What started as friendly banter turned into hostile bickering and then outright violence. The first time they tussled, they both backed down when they realized how even the match was.

You of course helped your husband retreat. A newly dead creature, Valentino, assisted Vox. You hated him on sight; both of you were defending your counterparts when he started flirting with you, so blatantly that even you realized it. The scum blew a cloud of red smoke in your direction. A flicker of couple feathers summoned a harsh gust, destroying the smoke and tearing the hat and tinted glasses off his bug head. You followed up with a stiletto flying through the air, aimed to graze his coat directly over his groin. It tore a chunk of the fur lining off as it whizzed past, impaling the ground next to Vox’s head.

After that, hostilities between the four of you only increased. Valentino never approached you alone; maybe he found out what shrikes did to the bugs they killed. Vox, on the other hand, started making passes at you whenever he could. He knew very well how long lasting your relationship with Alastor was. He also knew how disinterested you were in anything approaching sex. It seemed he was trying to seduce you purely to make Alastor retaliate.

Your husband, although he seethed in private, never did. He didn’t have to after all. The day you had enough, you grabbed Vox’s tie with a smile. Thrilled that he finally wore you down, Vox didn’t notice you setting your feet. He towered over you and like so many others didn’t realize how strong you were. So when you spun and flipped him into the ground, he was surprised enough that his screen went blank. By the time his face returned, a dozen of your blades materialized to pin his clothes to the ground. You used the hilt of another to crack his screen.

“If you ever try that again, I’ll fill you with so many holes that every demon in the city will be able to use you as a power outlet.” You pressed a toe against his neck. “Do I make myself clear?” He couldn’t actually move his head but Vox made his face bob up and down on the screen. “Lovely.”

There was an uneasy stalemate for years. It wasn’t until after the turn of the century that Alastor and Vox clashed again. Maybe it was the influence of that aggressive new girl Velvette that prompted it, but Vox started going after your husband again. A fight as big as their first major match erupted one day. Predictably, the two were equally wounded. Unpredictably, you couldn’t locate Alastor after he retreated into his shadows.

You knew he wasn’t double dead. The two of you had created charms for each other that would let you know if the other died. With how uncertain the afterlife could be, it was one source of comfort. So the music note finial on your hat pin imbued with a bit of his shadows gave you that good news at least.

But you couldn’t find him. What could possibly have happened? Days stretched into months and years with no clue. The Vees (the trio called themselves now) were happy to flaunt Alastor’s absence, both to Hell and you in particular. You found yourself checking on that bit of shadow often, just as reassurance.

Seven years later, you had stepped up as Overlord in Alastor’s loose territory. The broadcast station became a recording studio under you, Songbird Studios. That was when you caught a glimpse of one of Vox’s shows. You were heading back after finishing a deal with a promising new voice when you heard “So the Radio Demon is back in town, why’s he hanging around, what does that mean for your family?” You glared at the screen. He was at Charlie Morningstar’s new venture, the Hazbin Hotel.

Furiously, leapt to the sky. Demons were knocked to the ground in your wake but you had more important things on your mind. The hotel itself was just outside the city proper. As you approached it, all the lights in Pentagram City blinked out. The hotel was unaffected and you could see a small broadcast tower with an ON AIR sign attached to the building. You could have burst into his studio. But the downside of being an Overlord is you had people to look after now. At least I know where you are cher, you thought, changing course for home.

It took a few weeks to get everything set up. You didn’t want everything to fall apart in what could be an extended absence. So you ensured both the studio and your territory would be fine with minimal input for at least a couple months.

Then you couldn’t wait any longer. But even as a demon you were a lady. Decorum then. So you entered through the front door. The slightly dilapidated building was contrasted by the sunny voice saying “Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel!”

From the opposite direction you heard a familiar world weary voice. “Y/N! The fuck are you doing here?” Husk yelled upon seeing you. “Oh, do you know each other?” The chipper young woman introduced herself as Charlie Morningstar, the hotel owner.

“Wonderful to meet you Charlie. My name is Y/N and yes, Husk and I have known each other for a long time.”

“Oh, it’s so nice to meet one of your friends, Husk!”

“Ah, actually Charlie-“ he started to say but you hopped up on a barstool and gave the former Overlord a broad smile. “Husk dear, I feel parched. I don’t suppose you have some good whiskey here?” The poor man took the hint and shut his mouth. He poured you a drink while Charlie bounced away, saying she’d let you two catch up.

“Soooo, listened to any good radio shows lately?” Husk’s ears twitched in agitation at your question.

“Just the one,” he replied while wiping down glasses. “Look, Y/N, you’re not gonna…” he trailed off, not even sure how to continue. Despite having made a deal with Alastor and interacting with you both regularly, he’d never seen you two fight.

“Alors pas! I’m not here to make any trouble bon ami. But after seven years I deserve a little fun, yes?” Any response he would have made was cut off by Alastor himself coming downstairs. He froze at the bottom as he saw who was at the bar.

One of the demons in the parlor popped up. “Something wrong smiles? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Or some tits,” the white spidery demon said suggestively. You finished your drink before hopping down.

“Alastor, ma cher! I’ve been so worried!” Another demon, a black snake also perked up and the two men looked back and forth between you two.

“Actually, she’s Alastor’s wife,” Husk informed everyone present as you trotted up to him. Predictably, the unfamiliar demons in earshot all yelled, “His WIFE?”

The last few feet you used your breezes to give you a foothold off the ground. Alastor had been taller than you in life and his elongated demonic form towered over you. With practice you’d figured this technique out. It was useful not only in a fight but to put yourself at eye level with others.

His smile never faded but you could tell he was nervous. “Y/N, cher…I…” he fell silent as you hooked a talon under his chin. “Seven years you’ve been gone darling. And nothing when you got back? Ma cher, you are in trouble.”

His ears flicked nervously as you propelled yourself slightly higher than him. You kept your talon in place. “Shall we discuss this elsewhere Alastor?” His hand shook slightly as he took yours. “Of course my dear, let's go somewhere with less of an audience.”

You hand in his arm, he led you to his suite. In the foyer you could hear “awww, they’re so cute! how the fuck is tall dark and spooky married? well…likely one proposssed and the other sssaid yesss-, not what I meant buddy, hey don’t look at me I ain’t their chaperone.”

Once in his room (which had the same house/bayou motif as your home) you hugged him tightly around the waist. His arms were frozen in surprise above you; it wasn’t in your nature to be this forward and spontaneous with physical touch. “Cher, I-“

“Shut up Alastor.” You dug your talons in just enough to give a bite to your words. “I’m angry with you and I missed you and I’ve been so worried and the only reason I knew you were here was because of that pissing contest you got into the other day. So shut up until I’m ready cher.” One of his hands lowered to your shoulder and patted a silent yes.

It was a few moments before you spoke again. “Take me to the couch and start explaining darling.” You could feel the amusement and relief from his posture as he scooped you up.

“Where should I start cher?”

“That fight seven years ago. You and Vox got into a fight, you went into your shadow, then nothing. I knew you were alive but I couldn’t find you. I said I’d always find you.”

“You did find me my dear. As to what occurred…” he explained how a third party had interfered with the fight, injuring both him and Vox. How that third party had followed his weakened shadow, cornering him. How he’d been forced into a deal with that third party. Who that party was and what little of the deal he could tell you.

“Well shit. And your being here has something to do with the deal?” He nodded. “Why didn’t you come home though?! Even after the deal was struck, at least I could have been there for you!”

“Y/N, I’d just been trapped like I’d done to so many others. They played me and I danced right along. How could I bear to face you then?”

“Mais la, cher! I wouldn’t have cared.” You sighed and leaned back to look at him. “C’est la mort. We’re together again now and I’m not letting you go it alone again.” He blinked in surprise, clearly not expecting that. “I haven’t just been pining all this time you know. Someone had to take over your territory and I wasn’t about to let one of those bratty Vees have it.”

He brought your hand to his cheek and nuzzled it affectionately. “My dear shrike, you never disappoint.”

“I’m sure the young Miss Morningstar would welcome some more protection for the hotel. And it seems the place is lacking in entertainment.”

“Right you are on both counts my dear!” He sounded back to his old chipper self. “Shall we introduce you to this delightful collection of misfits and reassure them you haven’t flayed me alive?”

“One more thing.” He cocked an eyebrow in question. “May I kiss you first?” His smile softened as he nodded. You kissed him deeper than usual, stroking his hair as you did so. Alastor’s long arms wrapped around your back as he accepted the kiss. “Much better,” you said as you pulled back.

“I’d rather not go seven years between kisses my dear, but that was a nice reintroduction.” With that he escorted you back downstairs. You hadn’t been gone long and even if you had, Alastor’s unknown wife showing up to berate him was too good to miss.

Once again he introduced you as “darling life and death partner, Y/N.” Charlie, ever the bubbly hostess immediately shook your hand before introducing the residents. To no surprise Alastor had brought Niffty here to do the housekeeping. “Y/N!” She shrieked in a pure moment of Niffty mania and dashing around you. “I’ve missed you too ma petite!”

“So uhhhhh, how long you two been together?” The lanky spider called Angel Dust asked as Alastor helped you to a seat.

“Hmmm… how long has it been cher?” Alastor mused aloud.

“We did stop counting after the first fifty years or so but I believe it’s been nearly a century since the wedding.” Jaws dropped at your statement. Alastor kissed your knuckles gently. “And my dear husband is just as charming and gallant as ever.”

“Wow, that’s incredible! It’s so sweet you’ve been a couple for this long! How did the two of you meet anyway?” Charlie, in all her sweetness, asked innocently.

“It’s a tad embarrassing, but we killed a man together.” You could almost hear something pop in Charlie’s brain. Her girlfriend, Vaggie, looked thrilled.

“Yes indeedy! Some ne’er-do-well attacked her on her walk home. When I arrived to assist, the lout was distracted enough that Y/N was able to stab him in the eye. Why, I’d never seen anything quite so beautiful as such a lovely little thing jamming her hat pin into her assailant! I quickly finished dispatching the man before escorting her the rest of the way home.”

You looked at him with affection. “That led to him walking with me in the evening and one thing led to another until here we are!” Vaggie’s eye was shining, Charlie was frozen, the rest of the group could only blink in shock. “Husk, why are you so surprised, I thought we’d told you before!”

“About the attack, yeah, not that you killed him.”

“I would have thought that was implied, my good man,” your husband said dryly.

“Okay okay, murder as a date night activity aside,” Angel said, gesturing with his top set of arms. “Back to the important things. Ain’t Al…do ya…have ya ever…” not quite able to find the words he formed a circle with one hand. He inserted the pointer finger of another into it, making a back and forth motion. Both you and Alastor tilted your heads in confusion, not recognizing the gesture. “Aw geez there’s two a’ him and they’re married. D’you two fuck?”

“Ooooh! Is that what that means?” You experimented making the same gesture. “Now I get it! This finger is the penis and this is the vagina!”

“Hmm,” Alastor inspected your hands. “Shouldn’t this hand make more of an oval shape then?” He squished your hand slightly to elongate the shape. “I think it’s easier to just make a circle darling. And I suppose it could be other orifices.”

“But do you two have sssex?” Sir Pentious interjected, bringing things back to the original question.

“Of course we do!” Alastor chirped. Angel looked equally horrified and amused, Charlie was still frozen, the rest just looked stunned. “How?!” Angel finally asked, fighting back laughter.

“Infrequently and with great vigor,” you replied in a cheerful, succinct manner. Husk pulled his ears down groaning, “I don’t need to hear this, this is like hearing my parents behind the door.”

“Okay, I think that’s enough about Alastor and Y/N’s sex life!” Vaggie halted anything else you and your husband might have said. “Are you going to move in too Y/N?”

“That was the idea if you’ll have me. It seems like this place could use some entertainment and more security.”

“And my dear Y/N is a dab hand at both! She isn’t called the Singing Shrike for nothing.”

“Of course we’ll have you!” Charlie finally snapped out of her daze at the thought of a new resident. “Everyone’s welcome at the Hazbin Hotel!”

Moving into Alastor’s hotel suite was fairly simple. You grabbed a few items from home and made sure your subordinates knew how to reach you in an emergency. It would have felt like a bit of a vacation with the lack of Overlord responsibilities. But the updated extermination schedule did cast a pall over things.

After Charlie’s disastrous audience with Heaven, you and Alastor decided on your plans. He would work with Charlie to get support in exchange for a deal with him. Meanwhile you would head to your territory.

Fortunately everything looked in order when you arrived. Proper delegation had its perks. You requested everyone’s presence at one of the theaters. Most of the Sinners that followed you were some sort of forest creature; birds, rabbits, foxes, lizards, and the occasional deer. The majority were musicians or actors, performers of a multitude of genres. They were fiercely defensive, hurt one and the rest would destroy the offender.

Explaining the situation, you asked for volunteers. This wasn’t a turf war over home ground and you weren’t about to order anyone. Surprisingly, almost all you followers were ready to go. Maybe it wasn’t so surprising, almost everyone in Hell had beef with angels.

You appointed two of the strongest to stay back, along with half of the volunteers. If something happened to you or Alastor, you wouldn’t put it past those brats from the Vees to attempt a takeover. All of the demons you brought had flight abilities, which meant your songbirds could handle the aerial combat. Your contingent arrived just after the cannibals and Carmine’s weapon delivery.

“Ah there’s my darling and her flock!” You landed next to Alastor and Rosie, giving your friend a hug as you did. “Y/N! I was surprised you weren’t with your hubby but I see you’ve been busy too!”

“We have a lot to do and less time to do it, we can be attached at the hip after the fight,” you said as Alastor took your hand.

“Well I’m glad to see my favorite pair of aces back together. Let’s get all these fine demons settled, hm?” With your territories being neighbors, there was familiarity and even a few friends between the cannibals and your songbirds.

—————

Extermination Day. It didn’t matter how ready the defenders of Hell were, it was time. Almost everyone was in battle gear. You had traded in your sparkly flapper dress for a more practical A-line that reached your knees. You’d attempted a suit but the trousers just felt wrong. So a silvery grey dress with vibrant red pinstripes. The hem had long black points all along it, evocative of your blades. Since your summoned weaponry wouldn’t hurt an angel you had a rapier and half a dozen stilettos that would.

Alastor had requested a custom piece from Carmilla, a hat pin made of angelic steel. The finial had a spray of red feathers and he’d imbued it with a fragment of shadow. In return, you’d given him cufflinks shaped like vibrant red eyes. Of course they had a touch of your winds, not only to let him know you were okay but for you to track him if need be.

All too soon, the sky opened up and the exorcists spewed into Hell. At Vaggie’s war cry you and your followers took to the air. You looked for Alastor and saw him atop the hotel. No changes to his outfit, he looked impeccable as ever. His maniacal laugh echoed in the air as his shield formed an orb around the battle.

You and your flock were tasked with knocking angels out of the sky. Some did this by stooping like hawks, others used the angels own weapons to injure their wings. Your wind magick sent them tumbling into each other. Any that got too close to you were impaled or found you making the most of your momentum to fling them to the ground, mimicking how shrikes gave their prey whiplash.

A loud crack, golden light spreading through the black orb, and Alastor’s shield fell. He’d suspected that might happen and was ready to take Adam on. You didn’t concern yourself about their fight, even when your husband’s form grew. What did concern you was the slice of angelic power that dispersed it. Another swipe from Adam had Alastor flying across the rooftop.

“ALASTOR!” If all of Hell didn’t hear you then clearly they weren’t listening. No no no no not again I won’t lose him again. You stabbed the angel you were fighting in the throat and propelled yourself to his side. You landed protectively over his curled body. For the first time in decades you let your true form show.

Your wings turned metallic, silver and gold, and grew twice their size. They gained an art deco appearance but were as functional as ever. Your face became more avian. You had a hooked beak and your red limbs glowed as your talons sharpened. Dozens of your blades danced in the air around you and your husband.

“Back OFF!” You screeched at the angel’s leader. Wind kicked up by your voice tore at his clothes and wings.

“The fuck are you supposed to be crazy bitch?!” He launched a bolt of light at you; you parried it with stilettos but it was a near thing and it took out a third of what you had summoned.

“Y/N. His wife, you limp dicked bastard.” You launched the rest of your blades at him; they formed a rope like column that battered at him. You knew they wouldn’t be able to hurt him but you were looking for an opening with your rapier.

He fired wildly, yelling “fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fucking bitch!” You moved to strike when three stray bolts peppered you. Two hit a wing, one your shoulder. With a screech you missed the opportunity and fell next to Alastor.

Suddenly your husband grabbed your arm. “Have to disagree with you there!” He said in a singsong. He made sure his grip on you was secure. “Radio’s not dead, but it is ending this broadcast.” His shadows wrapped around you both. As you were swept away you heard Adam say “Bye bitches!”

A tiny part of you felt bad, leaving everyone like that. The majority was grateful you and Alastor were alive. You were used to traveling in his shadow by now, so the sensory deprivation didn’t bother you like it once had.

But the loss of direction was unusual. “Alastor…?”

A moment passed. “I’m here cher.” He sounded in pain.

“Where are we going?” you managed to ask. You weren’t in great shape either honestly.

Another long moment. “I don’t know.” A shudder from the darkness around you. “I just had to get us away.” As much as you wanted to know what was happening beyond the shadow, you didn’t try to get out. You weren’t sure you’d be able to right now. Even if you did, you might just damage Alastor more.

Then a gold light showed even through the magick shadow. Immediately you were falling, still wrapped in darkness. You could feel Alastor’s desperation as the shadows stretched, trying to find…something! Some purchase or anchor to stop the fall. He managed to latch on a couple of times but couldn’t get a good enough grip. The last desperate grasp broke you both out of the darkness.

You found yourself falling down a chasm, pieces of the hotel falling with you. Alastor’s arms wrapped around you, his eyes shut tight as he braced for impact. Fuck! You struggled to flap your wings. The injured one didn’t work right. The other strained to support you both, unable to manage more than slowing the fall.

Wind! Come on come on! You focused, creating a cushion of swirling air around you. Just in time, it dampened the impact, turning a fatal fall into a bruising one.

The two of you landed in a parody of your sleeping positions. “Ow,” you said once you had enough air in your lungs.

Alastor couldn’t respond for a moment. “Ow indeed cher.” He winced as he sat up. “You saved us though my dear.” He helped you sit up slowly.

“Third time’s the charm.” At his quizzical look you clarified, “I couldn’t save you when you were shot or in that fight with Vox. But I managed it finally.”

“Saving it for when it counts cher.” The two of you could hear echoes from the battle above. A voice roaring “GO HOME” was followed by the specks of retreating angels and the portal to heaven closing.

“That sounded like Lucifer,” you mused.

“Ugh, the pipsqueak couldn’t be on time to defend his own realm?” He struggled up to his feet and held a hand out to help you. You used his support to steady yourself but mostly got up on your own power.

It took some effort but he located his broadcast tower crumpled in the bottom of the chasm. One emotional crisis later, while you examined the wreckage, he was a bit more composed. You found the last aid box and the pair of you patched each other up.

“We’ll get you out of the deal ma cher. And the one who holds your strings will find out what happens to those who come between us.”

Alastor’s smile turned vicious. “I’m not dying for anyone but you darling.” He grasped your chin to keep your gazes locked. “And don’t you dare think of doing otherwise.”

Your own lips stretched into a crazed grin. “That’s the spirit cher.” Laughing, he kissed your knuckles before pulling you both into his shadows to inform the rest of your survival.

A/N: This is all the main story for this fic I have until Season 2. I have a few one shots in mind, since there’s a century of potential content along with inserts into some episodes. I really hope this was validating for my fellow acespec Alastor fans. It definitely was for me. I know people are welcome to ship and be thirsty for characters as they like. But we seldomly get an asexual character, much less one that isn’t an emotionless robot.

In any case, thanks for reading! I’ve got a Helluva Boss AU that’s 27k words and counting if anyone needs more of my rambling stories. Smut content is clearly labeled and will be in contained portions as much as possible to limit the squick.

@edgyboi10000 @clearly-awkward @badatpunz @deafsignifcantother @whitewolfsoldat @ch3sire-blu3

Part 1

[sk3tch404]

Yandere Jack Thoughts!!

A/n: Sometimes I try to go to sleep bc ik I have smth to do the next day but.... Knifes.... Blades.... Yandere..

Its been a hot minute for IDV content huh

CW: Slut shaming(?) Name calling only really, reader gets a bit slashed up but doesn't die (womp womp), and basically creepy man yandere so 🙃

Jack looming over your shivering and worn out body; lungs desperately trying to keep up oxygen intake as the sporadic beating of your heart threatens to pop right out of your chest. Silver locks of hair hides the eyes drinking up the sight that beholds him. Spreading his digits apart, the shape of the sharp thin blades make their appearance through the fog that always somehow follow wherever he goes.

A saccharine smile is cut onto his face. The chase had his heart pumping almost as fast as yours. The only other thing keeping the rate in this position was the pure adrenaline coursing through his veins.

Jack presses his palm firmly on your chest while his fingers land oh-so cautiously as to not slice into you too soon. Being able to hurt you so up and close rather than from a distance felt so intimate. He most definitely won't be the same after this. He needs more.

"It's no fun if you keep squirming." Jack leans down, closing into your pitiful state. He looks as if he were drooling just at the sight, "Or has this been your way of teasing me? You're not the same as those previous harlots, are you?" Of course you were. You're a dirty, tainted little thing, but that's what he loved about you. You were already ruined, but somehow stayed sweet enough to tempt him into biting.

And sink his teeth in he did.

As much as he's itched to leave deep jagged claw marks on your precious skin, Jack decides to enjoy the moment for what it's worth. Hand flexing, the slightest bits of pressure is applied as he slowly drags his blades down from just above your collar bones to your mid-section past your ribcage.

Your dopamine-inducing screams and kicks sends him teetering over the edge. Breathing labored as his own lower body trembles in the ecstasy; you were perfect. Dirty, dirty little fucking whore, it's a vile thought. Slaughtering anyone else was messy murder, but digging into you? Tearing you to shreds? Why, that's paradise.

He wants to see inside of you.

Jack wastes no time in slashing you once more- horizontally across your stomach. Fortunately, your guts didn't come spilling out, much to his slightest dismay. Shredded clothes really do suit you once the blood as soaked into it.

How long till the baron finds this unamusing? Time can only tell. Until then, he shall allow you to indulge in one thing.

Jack's lips hover above the shell of your ear uncomfortably close. He wants to be close, closer. Chest to chest, the fact your blood is fusing into the fabric of his suit takes ahold of him in endorphins.

"No matter where you go," he dances the flat side of his blades across your wounds, making you flinch at instinct, "I'll be there with you. You belong to me, blood, sweat, and tears."

[enjoythesilentworld]

Wilmon + Wille means to pull away his hand, but Simon grips it more tightly 👀💜

heyyyy so... this went somewhere i was not anticipating? i hope you enjoy it all the same. (cw: knives, threatened violence) Simon is not what he seems 🩸🦇

Wille means to pull away his hand, but Simon grips it more tightly, keeping the small blade in Wille’s hand pressed flush against Simon’s neck. 

“Don’t go soft on me now,” Simon whispers mockingly, blinking up at Wille from where he’s knelt on the hardwood floor before him. “You were being so brave, love.”

All the anger and fight from before has dissipated. All Wille feels is terror and shame and confusion. But— Simon lied to him, lied to him for so long, put Wille at risk, put Wille’s life at risk. 

Simon tilts his head slightly, exposing more of his neck, forcing Wille to look at how the silver presses into his flesh. There is no fear in his eyes, only lust and hunger and something that might be pride.  

Wille doesn’t know what to believe any more. Was any of it real? Did he ever really feel anything for Simon, or was it all a trick of the mind? Did Simon ever love him, or was he simply stringing him along, waiting for the perfect moment to attack?

“Go on.” Simon nods, fingers tight around Wille’s wrist. “What did you learn?”

“I…” 

He hesitates, gaze flickering between the knife and Simon’s eyes. Simon is a monster. He is dangerous and Wille should be terrified, should be running away, not holding this silly little weapon which he knows isn’t even close to enough to protect himself. Simon could have him dead and bleeding on the floor before he even flinched. And yet…

And yet, he is still Simon. He is still Wille’s Simon, and he is beautiful, and maybe there is no reason to fear him. Maybe all the hysteria in town is over nothing, over misinformation, because none of them have known Simon like Wille has, have loved him, and been loved by him, like Wille has. 

“You…” Wille starts again, and he lifts his other hand to cup the other side of Simon’s face, so gently swiping a finger over his cheekbone, such a stark difference to the knife in his other hand. “I know… What you are.” 

The slow, proud grin grows on Simon’s face. His eyes go impossibly dark, small lines of red skitter out from the sockets across smooth skin, and his lips— his perfect, beautiful lips spread to reveal those terrible, terrible sharpened fangs.

[llondonfog]

I saw the injury prompt list. If you're taking prompts, could you do "...Who did this to you?" "Let it go (Name), it doesn't matter-" "Yes, it does. Who did this to you?" With Lilia and Silver, Silver being the one injured?

anon, you spoke right to my heart with this prompt <3 apologies for the wait, i hope you enjoy it!

"Who did this to you?"

His father's voice could curdle the blood of battle-hardened men, flat as a blade and twice as deadly. Silver swallows the guilty flinch that tremors through his exposed spine with the same devastation of a small earthquake (would it be cruel to hope that Lilia's aging eyesight might have missed such a reaction in the dim light?), and curses himself for leaving the bedroom door unlocked— granted, with the vast majority of the student body celebrating the dismissal of final exams in the aftermath of Malleus-sama's overblot ("A very generous decision of mine, indeed!"), he hadn't anticipated that anyone would linger in the dorm during the festivities.

Even after everything they've been through, the old man was still as unpredictable as ever.

He needn't to look up to begin to imagine the expression on Lilia's face, the fury and concern melded as one on the fae's delicate features. After all, he was still Silver's father— was there any other appropriate reaction upon seeing the angry scars metered out in deliberate strokes against the smooth skin of his back, as if something had raked vicious claws across him with cruel intent?

"I'm fine, Father," Silver is quick to reassure the fae all but vibrating with incandescent rage in the doorway, a side of his father that he is still getting used to— Crewel had cautioned them all about navigating the effects of Malleus-sama's overblot, especially on his father's own recovering mental state. Having spent so much time, even if in a dream, recessing back into his frame of mind during the great human and fae wars only to be violently thrown back to reality . . . it was little wonder as to why Lilia's emotions were so vulnerable and raw, spiking freshly up to the surface when it came to members of his precious family.

"It hardly matters now. Professor Crewel already examined me thoroughly, and he gave me potions that he personally brewed to ensure that they were healing well—"

"You did not answer me—"

His father rarely breaks into Silver's responses. His patient, encouraging father who waits for his considerate thoughts to coalesce and emerge as if they were precious pearls worth their time. His father, who has crossed the room to where Silver sits on the bed, frozen, in quick strides and firmly raises his chin to meet their eyes; blazing crimson into strained aurora.

"Silver, who did this to you?"

His lips move on their own, traitors to the way his heart is screaming for them to be silent. He is a spectator removed from his body, watching as Lilia's face turns ashen, sick with a horror as he stares with disbelief at the clawed hand cupped around Silver's face as if it could not belong to him.

" . . . Father, you— you could not have known—"

After all, it had only happened once upon a dream.

[yunxi-11085]

"recklessness leads to reckless situations."

˚ · . pairs ¡ platonic(?) blade x gn!reader, platonic kafka x gn!reader, platonic silver wolf x gn!reader

˚ · . sypnosis ¡ "You are a stellaron hunter currently on a mission when you— somehow being the curious cat you are, opened a box and something sprayed in your face. and your previous experiences were a great reminder that you shouldn't randomly open shady boxes that look like treasure chests.

now here you are, being dragged away with a burning sensation in your face and a not-so-pleased blade. he was glaring at your back the entire time that you felt like he could drill holes through you by now.

TLDR; you turned into a cat, now you have 3— 4(?) caretakers. “

₊˚ପ⊹ tw ¡¿ : (none) just fluff and you turn into a cat (no use of y/n or name)

·˚ ༘ tags //

@ send me an ask if you want to be tagged in my stories!! (please also specify if you want only the continuation of the series or all!)

You are a stellaron hunter currently on a mission when you— somehow being the curious cat you are, opened a box and something sprayed in your face. and your previous experiences were a great reminder that you shouldn't randomly open shady boxes that look like treasure chests.

now here you are, being dragged away with a burning sensation in your face and a not-so-pleased blade. he was glaring at your back the entire time that you felt like he could drill holes through you by now.

and then you go poof!, it seems the effect of whatever sprayed in your face started working.

now you feel like you've gotten reallllllyyy small, and theres a long heavy thing you feel just right below your back. it moves on its own?!!

you stare up, and a pair of red frowning eyes looked back at you.

"maybe i should've let kafka or silverwolf go on this mission..." you frown but it just looks like you are trying to sleep, to him it seems. he grabs you by your neck rude and as you see familiar doors he immediately drops you on the couch and leaves.

rude!!!!!!

you wanted to scream at him but all that comes out was just a loud meow.

huh?

"myao?"

you go dumbfounded.

you walk, with four legs because you felt like you couldnt raise your 2 legs up. you almost fainted when you saw yourself

you are.... now a cat.

you stare blankly at the tall mirror, a white cat stares back at you. you tilt your head, it does the same.

whaaat??

"mraoww???"

the door creaked and you flinch at the sound, maybe because you were now a grimalkin your ears became really sensitive.

"oh my, i wonder why blade left such an adorable animal here.." its kafka! your instincts moved you and you almost tackled the lady, on the legs of course. "it seems so excited to see me?"

"that must be your weird thoughts, it looks like it is trying to tell you something" silver wolf said, looking at you with knowing and judging eyes. it seems she saw you transform through the cameras.

the cheeky hacker she is.

"hm~ then i wonder what it is trying to say" kafka knelt down and started rubbing your head.

"meowww" you leaned into the touch and stared at her magenta eyes.

"so adorable, it reminds me of them. dont you think? silver wolf?" silver wolf didnt give any answer and pressed something on her phone. a ding! sound came up and she showed kafka something.

"oh my~ it seems like it really is our little darling~" kakfa looked at you and smiled, though it sent shivers down your spine once you interpreted her expression. she picked you up and held you with both arms, “what did I tell you about going through suspicious boxes and chests?” she poked your nose and continued, “if you wanted treasures so much, we could give you everything you know?”

you avoided her eyes and looked at silver wolf with pleading eyes, she who just stared back at you with an expression that asked ‘are you stupid?’

i mean!! that treasure chest looking thingy was glowing! you couldn’t help but give in to your deep desires y’know?

you pouted, but as a cat it looked like you were puffing your chubby cheeks. which leads to the lady holding you to pinch your chubby cheeks and smile at you.

“it’s fine though~ this cutie over here can do as many mischiefs as they want” she rubbed at your ears and started giving you belly rubs. the cat body you were in reacted immediately and started purring

well you have to admit, being a cat has its perks too.

kafka gave you a plate of tuna which you reluctantly ate because you were a cat, and when she whipped out a cat toy. you didn’t know how, when, or why but your body moved in instinct.

after a long, tiring afternoon of playing. you slump down on the couch ready to sleep. you feel someone sitting next to you and you snuggle closer, wanting more of the warmth.

the person flinched but slowly put their hands on your back and started patting you. you give a light purr and fall deep asleep.

well all you know is that you woke up back in your normal body, head laying comfortably on— blade’s lap?! you jump up and you hear click!

you look at the source of the sound to see kafka and silver wolf holding their phones out and taking pictures of you and blade next to each other.

blade slowly wakes up and frowns at the bright light to see a red faced you, and two people pointing cameras at you.

sigh…

end note ¡ welcome to my second hsr fic!! i originally planned to write blade x reader smut but i just wanted to write fluff today y'know??? so cat reader it is. i really wanted to add more but i think i would make it cringy to read so i went against it lmfaooo

just imagine bladie warming up to reader and they actually start interacting now lol

i wanna write dan heng or jing yuan w/ cat reader so bad!!!

crossposted on AO3 ¡ here

[bucknastysbabe]

Rating: Mature

Tags: Whole thing a trigger warning, abuse is heavily alluded to and there is behaviors, anyways women are never truly free esp in this context, Criston’s delusional plans meanwhile white knight but evil

Criston hated the Mallister fucker since he came to court. His corkscrew curls and rosy cheeks, a green boy who’d whet his blade in tourneys. He traded his fineries of Seagard to don the gold cloak of the city watch. The small council had made him commander. Alicent seemed pleased with the match, Otto more so. They’d secured a good political move with the third-born daughter

They wanted a stake in the Riverlands and the good-natured princess seemed all too happy to marry such a ‘handsome and chivalrous knight.’ Not to mention their prestige and coin. Alicent had chided Criston for being standoffish. He couldn’t help it at the time— he did not trust the man. A pretty face and silver tongue meant nothing but trouble.

Criston oft was daydreaming about putting little Mallister in his place, sending him back to Seagard with a broken jaw and some bloodied bits. Alas, he didn’t wish to make the lovely thing cry. It made his chest tighten uncomfortably to think of her suffering in any way. Why, Alicent was the Mother, the girl was the Maiden reborn, soft and sweet and gentle.

He took the maiden’s cloak for the ceremony, per her request. He hated the smug look Mallister gave him, blue eyes triumphant. She’s mine, seemed to be the message he was giving. Criston stood in a corner seething in the aftermath, Aemond appearing to calm him when the bedding ceremony began.

“She shouldn’t be exposed like that, he made a bold choice to strip a Targaryen princess like a common whore. I’ll geld him, I will,” he snarled. Aemond merely leveled him with a look, humming, “It shall pass, she’s all in love.”

Love. Criston could have spat at that.

Especially now. The princess oft was missing from events, showing up in court with thick sleeves and a high ruff. She was snug under Mallister’s arm, looking small. Looking not as a dragon, but perhaps a bird that had been caged. Criston blinked, watching the young couple’s body language. The other knight gripped her close by, talking over the princess, prodding her when he deemed it necessary to speak.

He had seen bruises and heard rumors. Oh, the pretty boy’s nasty temper with a sweet thing like her. Criston watched him yank at her ruff, hissing about keeping coverage. Good gods, Criston saw red for the rest of the session of court. He stewed and bristled, he was going to speak.

Criston Cole was a sworn protector— he would no longer ignore the girl’s silent pain.

He strode over when Otto closed the session, clearing his throat. The Knigsguard knew he looked mad— he was glaring daggers at Mallister while he spoke to the princess. Criston tore his eyes away, softening as he met her dulled violet orbs.

“Princess, may I speak to you in private?”

She looked at her husband nervously. Criston furrowed his brows, hands on the pommel. The riverman scoffed, “Lady Mallister can speak for a moment.” He gripped her arm once more, letting Criston lead her off.

The brunette looked down at her, noticing faded and covered marks this close. They turned into an alcove, the princess urging him along.

“Yes, Ser Cole, you needed something?”

Criston frowned, tilting her chin up with his hand, gruffly stating, “He hurts you.”

Fear laced across her features as she rambled off some lies extolling her husband. Criston cleared his throat, the poor thing flinching. Fuck. The knight dropped his hand from her, sighing, “You don’t have to let him do this, you know. It’s not what the sanctity of marriage entails.”

Her tired eyes flared with something, whispering angrily, “It’s fine, Ser Criston, there’s nothing to worry about.”

He pressed further, feeling his irritations rise.

“Then why are you black and blue and the man won’t let you speak?”

She stilled, blinking. The princess wiped at her eye, clearly upset. Criston felt as if she gave off a bone-deep weariness. He rubbed his nose, cautiously reaching out to touch her shoulder. She sniffled, apologizing. For what, he didn’t know, but it broke his heart.

Criston looked at her, rubbing at the bone of her shoulder. He murmured, “You do not have to do this anymore. It’s going to kill you and it will kill me. Say the word and I shall relieve you of it.”

She looked around, getting on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, a little hand on Cole’s rapidly beating heart. The princess sighed, “Perhaps soon. I’ll be okay Ser Criston. Don’t worry, please.” She gave him a soft look, reminiscent of an angel to him. Too soft, too lovely to be caged like a pretty bird with clipped wings.

“You’re a dragon,” he whispered, dumbstruck.

Cole’s dark eyes and his chest ached, watching her walk back into that beast’s arms. He huffed, turning about. There was a tourney coming soon and what would a misplaced lance to the gorget truly hurt? He’d be dead and she would be free, he’d mop up the pieces. The princess deserved better, even if she thought differently.

[cypressvs]

PAPER RINGS

pairing: blade/gn!reader

cw: reader is a stellaron hunter, vague blade lore, possibly ooc

wc: 0.7k | join the taglist

“What’s this.”

The unenthusiastic tone that had transformed an innocent question into a scalding statement made you smile sheepishly, tangling your fingers with your partner friend ally. At the face of his unchanging expression, uncertainty swelled under your ribs—a silent whisper that surely such childish activities would be unappreciated by someone who’s always so stretched thin by uncountable and inexplicable concerns. It was what lead you to peering into those devilish eyes, seeking something, anything that can quell the brewing storm of embarrassment from under your skin. Whether it was a product of your imagination (as delusional as that sounds) or a fickle tolerance you managed to instill in him (again, another delusional statement), the tiny beginnings of curiosity and maybe amusement bedazzles his ruby glare.

“It’s a paper ring,” you reply as soon as you muster enough audacity to flash him a cheerful, deceivingly innocent smile.

“For what?”

You press your lips; a small popping sound escaping as you fall into thought. “Dunno… A good luck gift, maybe.”

Blade makes a noncommittal sound before leaving you to your devices. With nothing now to distract you from your pessimism, you think that this conversation too, despite your efforts, would fall into the category of unremarkable memories that did little to bridge the gap between you and the not-so-stranger strange stranger.

01:46:40 System Time.

A weathered sword swipes through the mara-struck, dispersing the air with a sharp whoosh that accompanied practiced movements. The wielder does not do so much as flinch as he evades an incoming attack. He just swings and thrusts and pierces through armor and wood, ignoring the scent of undying death being emitted from both his and his enemies’ skin. It dampens his mood, somewhat, and the brief opportunity casted by his sudden somberness makes his breath hitch almost imperceptibly.

“Hey.” He seethes before falling into a long period of unnerving silence where no tangible thing dared to step close to him—not the mara-struck, not the wind, not the faint rays of the moonlight from high above. He drops his gaze to the ground, to the sheet laid untangled from the meticulous folds it once remembered; to the white that has now become a crimson as blood seeped into its every nook and cranny. For this, he rages.

“Where do you think you’re cutting?”

His skin fizzles as the open wound on his knuckles stitched itself together. He glowers under the shadows of the night before everything falls into the permanence of nothing.

10:21:38 System Time.

You groan into your sheets as you untangle yourself from the claws of sleep. It was rare for you to be granted the opportunity to wake up relatively late when your group of rag tag criminals are fewer in number compared to the intergalactic crimes that needed to be committed. With a sigh, you move to scrub away the remnants of sleep from your eyes. However, you end up freezing as you eye the little something on your ring finger that you were dead certain wasn’t there when you fell asleep. It was a simple silver band, nothing too special save for the pretty red gemstone embedded in it. 

“You’re awake.”

You stifle a scream as you glance at your doorway where Blade, as disinterested as ever, stood with his arm folded over the other.

“W-what are you doing here?”

“That.” He motions to your hand��or rather the ring.

What does ‘that’ mean? Did he give it? Did he mean to take it back? Was he waiting for gratitude or any other reaction from you? What does ‘that’ mean?! 

At your continuing non-reply, Blade sighs. Out of pity, you surmised hours later, he breaks the off-putting silence. “I was under the impression that you have to pay back what you are given.”

“Pay back?” You repeat before tilting your head. “For what?”

He thinks of the paper ring—of what it symbolized—the sincere well-wishes, the silent promises, the warm concern, and all of the tender affection you had naïvely but so very sweetly offered him. He thinks of the sheer anger that filled his being as he allowed hell to dampen the earth as that cretin tore it before he can ponder over it or store it or preserve it or love it behind the safety of his room. Blade thinks of many things but he voices none of it, only flashing you one of his near-crazed and far-from-decipherable smirks before departing from your bedroom, ignoring your baffled cries and appalled confusion.

TAGLIST:

@yevene @haiitsley1603

© 2023 CYPRESSVS. all rights reserved. do not copy, claim, repost or translate in any platforms.

[doodle-pops]

Hold Me Tight, I'm Fine

Gwindor x reader

A/N: My first Gwindor fic and it's angsty. I really am the worse. This is a fic which is based on these Gwindor headcanons I wrote a while ago.

Warnings: touch starved Gwindor, descriptions of his scars and brandings, hair cutting, mild angst/comfort

Words: 1.8k

Synopsis: No longer able to bear the shame of the floating memories from his traumatic days, Gwindor makes one request that only you can do for him. An act that defines your bond.

You could feel the air shifting deliberately the faster your feet paced to approach his room. The air was foul and musky, thick and foggy. It was nearly impossible to cut through and weave your way to his chambers. What was habitual became a burden…to him. You understood that he wished for no assistance, however, when he chose to stay out of the moving world, time was of the essence.

A simple gesture that held no animosity but rather sympathy, to him, all he saw was pity and felt helplessness. Pushing everyone away was the best intention to avoid the sorrowful eyes of the court and everyone else singing their heart at him. It wasn’t difficult to see that he wished to be left alone and wallow in shame; there was nothing left for him to achieve.

The last person he chose to push away was always the first person he humbled himself to reach out to. His eyes never met yours, wanting nothing more than to hide the ugly scars he attained and his no-longer beautiful eyes you once adored, as he requested your help. You offered to be at his side, but his response was silence. Now, here you were chasing towards his chambers after he reluctantly summoned you.

After three raps to his door, you were greeted with the sight of Gwindor hunched before his vanity. His grey hair scattered around his body like a snowy waterfall of silvery ice, and all he wore was his trousers. To the left of him was a discarded cream shirt and his robes and tunic thrown haphazardly across his bed. As much as his hair covered his back, it did little to hide the disfigured scars and brandings on his skin. All the marks of the Iron Fortress were etched into his fair skin and left him unpleasant. No amount of elvish medicine was able to remove all his scars, leaving the brandings tattooed.

Facing the vanity with his face buried in his hands, he was heaving laboriously. You weren’t sure if he acknowledged your presence since his senses were fluctuating, one minute he was aware and the other, he was unconscious to be alerted of anything.

Sliding across the thick carpeted floor, you made quick observation of the fireplace being out and the curtains down, blocking out all ounces of Anor’s rays. Ever since he returned with the loss of his sight, the glare had always been an issue, but this idea of coping with the strain was only making matters worse. It didn’t matter how many times you broke it to him; he would ignore it and continue.

“Gwindor? I’m here,” you called softly, standing no more than a foot apart.

His body froze and his breathing ceased. Lifting his head out of his hands, you noticed in the faintness of what little light invaded the room, he gave you a side eye before turning afront to stare at the mirror. This was the first time you saw him lock eyes with his reflection for more than five seconds without flinching in sheer and utter abhorrence. His right hand reached out to knock about the vanity and cause a series of clatters with different objects knocking into each other until he found his item. The glint of silver along the blades showed the tiniest reflection of his silvery murky eye and the revulsion he was feeling. Holding the pair of metal blades above his head while it hung, his broken voice echoed louder in the shrouded darkness.

“Cut it…please. I can’t stand it anymore.”

Exhaling silently, your eyes became saucers at his unforeseen request. There were so many things you had prepared yourself to hear from him, but this was an icebreaker. You weren’t sure if he was silently asking you to talk him out of his suggestion or go through and commit to his demand. Nonetheless, you approached and inaudibly removed the scissors from his hands and held them to your chest. Standing behind him and staring at his silvery strands that appeared brittle, even in the faintest of the light, tears were eyes prickling the corners of your eyes the more you gaped.

“Gwindor, are you s—”

“Yes, I’m sure. Please, just cut,” he begged. His voice choked on the last syllable, fearful of the newfound change he was about the make. While everyone else who suffered like him came out of most of their traumatised state, he had no one. Doomed to be alone and his heart clenched.

Reassuring yourself that this wasn’t drastic or life-changing, with shaky hands you lifted the first portion beside his chin and brought the scissors down to clip away at the long strands. The dryness of his hair felt as though the scissors would have broken. All the life had been sucked out his fёa and it reflected with the physical. The buzz in the room grew substantially as you hovered like a bee to a flower. The loud snips of the pair of metal blades against his dull hair sounded like nails on a board. You assumed halfway through the process; he would shoot out of his seat and halt your actions. At least snatch the scissors out of your hand and awake from his maddened nightmare, but he sat like an obedient child sparing no glances at you in the mirror.

The more you cut, the more his skin revealed and the angry fading red zig-zag lines across his skin became pronounced. The brandings of Angband on his left shoulder and the centre of his back became visible. It glowed red with its black hue; one was grotesquely carved and the other was stamped. You still remembered the first time you saw them; you spent weeks crying over them whenever you needed to dress his wounds.

“Is this suitable for you?” you asked sorrowfully. It was impossible to hide the tears in your voice and he heard them.

Still standing behind him with the blades in hand, you noticed his eyes slithering like the curtains were being peeled off his eyes to reveal the task he assigned you. You saw the winces when his eyes fell on his reflection before they opened wider. His nerves riddled his entire body shaking like a leaf endlessly as he raised a hand to touch the shoulder-length hair. “…It…looks better,” he confirmed.

“Gwindor, why did you want me to cut your hair?” the question never left your tongue when the corners of his lips raised. Instead, you smiled with him in return and placed the delicate instrument down to brush his hair out of the way. The serenity he experienced at that moment as your fingers tenderly curled into his hair and massaged his scalp, he visibly sagged deeper into the seat. Lips parted and soft groans escaped.

“Do you want to skip the meeting today and stay indoors? I’ll keep you company,” you suggested with the slight hope that you weren’t overstepping your boundary. It was a hot and cold game with him where his mood was concerned.

For the entire week and more, Gwindor was slipping in and out of his tranquil display and you had reason to believe that it was due to the approaching anniversary of his captivity. Missing a few meetings this week was irrelevant when his health was on the line; you only hoped that he saw the situation the same way you did.

Turning his body away from the vanity and sitting perpendicularly to it, he stared at your longingly at your flowing robes; the small gold embellishments on the teal-coloured material. While his vision fell on the fabric, his line of focus shifted and his mind glided past space and time until he ended up in the void. He buffered before your eyes and it wasn’t the first time, you knew and understood that it was done with overwhelming volumes of emotions attempting to be displayed but was too much for him to handle. While they occurred frequently, they were short-lived.

“Gwindor,” you called and fumbled to place your hand upon his naked skin, knowing the ickiness he suffered.

Snapping his head upwards, his mismatching eyes fell on your concerned face. “You…You would neglect your duties to care for me?”

It did not matter how many times he repeatedly threw the question; you would answer it with the same vigour and genuine affection would always feel towards him. An unconditional love that journeyed beyond the heavens and the earth. Love that could fill the void and melt its coldness enriching it with life and warmth. Continuously providing eternal peace and being his serendipity; fulfilling the undying and unspoken promise of a lifetime. “I will do my very best to always care for you Gwindor…my love.”

You saw it. The world saw it. The heavens and all above and beyond saw it.

The shivers.

Forcing himself to stand from his seat, he easily stood at a height comfortable to prevent the craning of your vertebrate. Actions that were foreign upon his return and filled without warmth were reciprocated. Perhaps it was too forced and hurried, lacking care and gentleness but its symbolisation was the important factor. A squeeze that ignored his strength and your fragility but encompassed you with contentment and the unspoken ‘thank you’, prompted you to return the said action. Your hands fumbled, any touch could shock him out of his tranquil state and send him into trepidation. But you were reassured when he liquefied against your body. 

“My love…I haven’t heard you call me that in a long time. Felt nice.”

Resting his chin in the crook of your neck, you fragilely lifted your hands to stroke his hair and cooed into his ear, “I’ll always call you my love, my dear sweet Gwindor. I’ll always be here for you, please don’t push me away.”

“I’m sorry Y/N, but you don’t deserve me like…this,” he breathed, “you should love someone else.”

You felt anger and ache as he spilt his words. They were his contemplative thoughts, but it was agonising to hear them. “W-…Would you be happy if I loved another?”

There was a pending silence as he fought falsehood but caved into his honesty. “No. I’ll be heartbroken if you left me, but—”

“Then I’m not departing Gwindor. I’m here to stay at your side. Before, after and until the end.”

The buzzing increased once silence fell between you both. His breathing evened out so did his grip around your waist, yet his body did not disjoint from yours. This was the most physical contact aside from healers probing his body. This was the first time he experienced physical contact from the one who loved him the most since his return. He forgot what it felt like to be physically loved and cherished. The touch-starvation was clawing from within to never let you go, to bask and relish in the affection.

“…Yes, my love.”

Masterlist | Underrated Character Event Masterlist |

Taglist: @eunoiaastralwings @noldorinpainter @ranhanabi777 @lilmelily @mysticmoomin @aconstructofamind @singleteapot @rain-on-my-umbrella @asianbutnotjapanese @justellie17 @justjane @stormchaser819 @wisheduponastar @floragardeniahope @batsyforyou

[whumpwillow]

Demon’s Haven 9

I’m also working on Hazeshift I prommy but I’m just feeling this series again, though I’m a little rusty and tryna get back into these characters, so sorry if the writing or interactions feel a little stilted 

—  

masterlist

warnings: blood, past torture, description of wounds, basically just more comf but they are both sad and awkward about it 

—  

The demon seemed relieved when Haven finally finished washing the wounds on his chest, but it was a short-lived comfort. She moved behind him to start cleaning the blood from the wreckage of his back and knew the worst was yet to come. The demon had been doing well so far, wincing only slightly without uttering a whimper of pain as Haven had dabbed at the cuts and burns on his chest. Looking at his back, such a thing seemed unavoidable now.

She cringed at the sight. Sitting down in the chair behind him, Haven took stock of the damage. There was almost too much blood for her to even see where the wounds were. She couldn’t tell where one injury began and one ended, as if they all melded into his flesh so that there wasn’t a speck of unbroken skin. Long, ropy scars dragged from the tops of his shoulders and down his body, ending at the small of his back, crisscrossed over one another.

Haven sighed. This was not going to be pleasant. For either of them. 

The demon’s head turned slightly to the side, as if he meant to catch a glimpse of her, but his hair had fallen into his eyes so it was likely not a clear picture.

“Are you alright?” Haven asked.

She knew he wasn’t, but what else was she supposed to say? How did she comfort someone who had been through something as horrific as this?

The demon nodded lightly, ignoring what Haven could not. Red stripes gouged his back, stretching from his shoulders and moving downwards. Ropes of bloodied wounds overlayed on top of each other, some healed more than not, others fresh and weeping. A grotesque sight that made Haven want to gag, though she swallowed and contained herself.

She wanted to look away. She wanted to run from the room and forget this had ever happened. That this was something that could happen to someone.

But she was done with fearing for nothing—the demon had been hurt already, and there was nothing to undo that fact. Only to cleanse the wounds and bandage them would they disappear from her view.

“This might sting.”

It would do a whole lot more than that. The wounds that littered his skin…Haven didn’t want to believe they could be from a whip, but she didn’t know how else to describe them than as lashes.

The demon nodded again.

Haven touched the wet cloth to the back of the demon’s shoulder and instantly he flinched, drawing out a hiss. Haven drew her hand back.

“Sorry,” the both of them said at the same time.

A beat. Neither of them spoke, neither of them moved. The demon clenched and unclenched a fist.

“Silver,” he said.

Haven waited for him to explain, but as the seconds passed and turned into minutes, she realized he wasn’t going to. She touched the cloth to his shoulder again and ignored the flinch this time, as there was no way to avoid it. She brushed the cloth along a long red gash, trailing in between his shoulder blades and down to the small of his back. Again. And again.

“It’s the silver,” the demon said. “The angel liked the silver-lined whip because it leaves scars.”

Haven paused. Lifted her hand away from his skin. Blinked. She had no idea how to even respond to such a thing.

“That’s horrible.”

The only words she could manage, the only consolation to a man now forever marked by what had happened to him that no healing powers would ever be able to fix. The demon seemed to feel this knowledge as keenly as she did, for he trembled under her fingertips. His skin jumped as tiny tremors ran through him, muscles taut and unyielding.

Haven set her cloth in the bowl of water, already pink with blood. She moved from behind the demon and sat in the chair facing him, and saw that he was crying. Silent tears rolled down his cheeks and his breaths hitched, but he bit his tongue to keep himself from crying out.

“You don’t have to do that,” Haven said.

The demon tilted his face up to look at her, a few more tears escaping from those viridian eyes. He blinked at her. Droplets of water caught in his lashes like morning dew.

“Keep quiet, I mean,” Haven clarified. “Cry all you want. Scream, if you must. I don’t mind.”

The demon blinked a few times, his face pinched in confusion. “You would…like me to scream?”

Haven’s eyes widened. “No, no, that’s not what I meant!”

“I can, if you’d like me to. The angel said it was a pleasing sound, though she was rather more vicious than you.”

Haven exhaled, seconds away from pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation. “I meant, you don’t have to be quiet! You’ve been hurt, terribly and irrevocably, so you can react to it however you want to, and you needn’t feel ashamed or that you must soften your grief in front of me.”

“Oh.”

The only word that fell from the demon’s lips, plainly and without intonation. He stared at her, watching her again as if she were the only thing he had to keep him from falling into an endless abyss. Haven leaned in and wrapped her arms around him, making sure not to startle him as she enveloped him in a hug. She felt the demon lean into her and nuzzle his face into the crook of her neck, just as he’d done when she’d helped him from the cave she’d summoned him to. Some of the tension in his body dissolved, and while he still shook either with fear or with pain, Haven took it as an improvement that he could find some modicum of comfort with her.

After releasing each other, Haven found her hands red with blood. The demon opened his mouth, no doubt to apologize, but Haven shushed him before he could. She washed her hands with her cleaning cloth before dropping it back in the bowl of water.

“I could draw you a bath, if you’d like? It’d help you get clean faster than this, and it’d probably feel better too.”

The demon drew back from her as if she’d just told him she was going to waterboard him. The thought occurred to her that, given what had already happened to him, that wasn’t too far out of the realm of possibility for him to believe.

Haven held her hands up, palms out, to reassure him she meant no harm. “Just a bath. Nothing to hurt. No holy water. Just cleaning.”

The demon hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “And you won’t…try to drown me?”

Haven really hated that her suspicions were correct.

“Of course not,” she said, offering him a tight smile.

She held out a hand to him, which he took shakily in his own. Haven wrapped his arm around her shoulders so that he could lean on her and they made their way up the stairs. It was a slow procession due to his broken ribs, and that every time he whimpered, Haven wanted to stop, but knew they had to keep going since it would do neither of them any good being stranded halfway up the stairwell.

Haven pushed open the door to her bedroom and wished she’d had the foresight to pick her things up off the floor beforehand. The demon didn’t seem to mind. His eyes had glazed over, hazy with pain and exhaustion. The night had been tough on him with the journey here. Being thrown from the front door by her protection ward she’d foolishly forgotten about and then being made to sit while Haven fruitlessly tried to scrub the blood off him with damp cloths from the kitchen had likely exhausted him beyond what he could reasonably stand.

“I’m sorry,” Haven found herself saying.

She wished she could convey just how sorry she was in those words, but didn’t know how else to say it. I’m sorry you were tortured. I’m sorry you were hurt so terribly. I’m sorry I didn’t help you when I first saw you, that I doubted you, that I don’t know how to help you, that you’ll have to live with these scars for the rest of your life and all the comfort you have is me when you deserve so much more—

The demon shook his head. “The cell I was held in was far dirtier than this, so pay it no mind.”

Haven found her cheeks reddening. She’d meant to apologize for not letting him rest as she’d wanted to get his wounds cleaned first, but huh. It seemed he had noticed the mess of her room after all.

Turning her gaze away from the wreck of her floor, she lead the demon into her bathroom en-suite. Sat him down on a little round stool she had by the door. Fetched some water for the bath and a few towels. Busied herself with getting everything ready, trying not to think about what she was doing and how she was likely breaking so many rules of what a good witch should not do.

Making a contract with a demon? Check. Letting a demon out of the summoning circle? Check. Bringing said demon not only into her home, but into her bedroom? Double check.

Oh well. She’d never particularly considered herself a stickler for the rules.

A quick spell, and the water was heated, good and steaming. Haven plucked a bottle from the windowsill next to the tub and dripped a bit of floral oil into the water, hoping the scent of lavender would soothe the demon enough that he wouldn’t panic at the thought of being left alone for however long it took for him to wash.

Haven looked back at him and saw his head lolled to the side, resting on the wall next to where he sat. His shoulders had lost their tension and his hands no longer fidgeted restlessly. No more tremors wracked his body, fraught with pain and terror. Haven stood motionless, not wanting to disturb him when he was clearly so exhausted, but it was as if he sensed the lack of energy where there previously had been an abundance of, and his eyes flickered open.

Blearily, his gaze found hers. He lifted his head from the wall and Haven made her way over to him with a towel.

“Here, for when you’re done,” she said, then placed it to the side of the stool he sat on.

The demon looked at it, then to her, then to the bath. Haven moved to help him up, then drew back when she was sure he wouldn’t fall without her support.

“Well, I’ll be waiting outside if you need me.”

Haven made to leave. She’d barely touched the doorknob when she heard the demon voice a single word, small and fearful.

“Stay.”

Haven whirled around. “I’m not going far.”

The demon squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his hands into fists. “Please,” he said, forcing the word from his lips like it pained him to do so. “Please just…” He opened his eyes and fixed them on hers. “I don’t want to be alone.”

He stood there, body rigid, barely holding himself upright without her help. Bruises painted his skin like he were abstract art and the holy water that had been drawn on him trailed lines across his chest and shoulders and even around his neck. Scars—thick bands around both of his wrists—were inflamed and red. Even more Haven couldn’t see lined his back, a permanent reminder.

Haven nodded. she could do at least that much.

“Okay. I’ll stay.”

—  

next

(taglist in reblogs)

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Watcher and Apprentice, Part 2

(The Watcher and the Thief, Chapter 1 Scene 2)

WoW Birthday Whump Day 15: "I'm Sorry."

Whumpril Day 14 (Urgent Care)(kind of), Day 19 ("I need you")

WoW Birthday Whump Event Prompts List

Whumpril Prompts List

Tales from Valaria Masterpost

part 1

TW: stitches mention, wounds mention, blood mention, anger

Context: Hector has gotten Luc back to the blockade. Now he waits outside the medical tent, wondering if his apprentice will survive.

Aaaaand that's a wrap for this whump event! Thank you so much to @whumperofworlds for all the prompts! I will continue to participate in Whumpril, so stay tuned for more of that.

-----

“You’re going to kill the grass if you keep pacing like that.”

Hector paused mid-step and glared at the nearby elf, who sat cross-legged outside the medical tent, polishing his silver daggers. “By the depths, de Silv, he just got attacked by a magician, of all things!”

“True,” the elf replied. His hands were busied with the daggers, but his eyes, sharp as the blades, were fixed on Hector. “And I’m as concerned about that as you are concerned about your apprentice.”

“Then excuse me if I’m a little restless!” Hector snapped. He began pacing again, hands clasped firmly together behind his back. They'd gotten back to the blockade in record time. Luc’s heart was still beating when he’d set the boy on the table inside the medical tent. Unfortunately, the healers, Silas and Ven, immediately kicked Hector out so they could treat him in peace.

Assholes.

Octavian sighed, sliding his daggers into their sheathes. “From what I had glimpsed of your apprentice’s injuries, I am certain that, despite the blood loss, he should make a full recovery.”

“I’ll be sure to keep your professional opinion in mind.”

A series of shrill whistles echoed throughout the camp. One short whistle, one long whistle, pause. Two long whistles, one short whistle. Hector froze, mentally translating the code. A-G. It wasn’t the alert for a sang attack, three short whistles in quick succession. So what did A-G mean?

Octavian rose to his feet, the ghost of a smile on his face. “My presence is requested. I wish your apprentice a swift recovery.” The elf bowed his head to Hector and departed.

Ah. Ag was the alchemical abbreviation for silver. De Silv. It was a clever, if strange, bit of code. Why did de Silv have a signal to himself?

Before Hector could dwell on it further, one of the healers, Ven, emerged from the medical tent. “Watcher, you may enter. We have something we must discuss.”

Hector raised an eyebrow but did what he was told, following Ven inside. He breathed an audible sigh of relief when he saw Luc conscious, sitting on the table as Silas finished wrapping bandages around his torso. The healer nodded to Hector as he entered. “Watcher.”

“Silas. You need to talk?”

Both healers glanced at each other for a brief second. Silas gave a slight nod, and Ven turned back to Hector, her expression grim. “His injuries are superficial. We should have been able to close them without stitches. But even with stitches, the skin refuses to heal itself. The blood won’t even clot. We’ve never seen anything like it, even from runes.”

Hector gritted his teeth, eyes on his apprentice. Luc’s face still hadn’t regained its color, but he seemed alert enough. “What are you saying?”

“The wound is cursed,” Silas said softly, “the runes make it so his body can’t heal itself.” He pointed to a bandage wrapped around Luc’s arm. “And it’s not just the runes she carved into his skin that won’t close.”

“Our methods accelerate the body’s natural healing process,” Ven clarified, eyes downcast, “but we can’t do anything if the blood won’t clot. I’m sorry, Watcher.”

Hector stared at them for a long moment as he tried to process their words. His wounds won’t heal? A rune could do that? The full implications hit him like an arrow fired at full draw, and he swore vehemently, slamming his fist into the table.

The healers flinched back at his outburst. “It… it is possible that the rune is only slowing his healing,” Silas ventured, “given time, he might recover.”

“Might? Might?!” Hector barked a harsh laugh, trying to stomp his rising fury before he lashed out further. “You just told me he’s going to slowly bleed out! If infection doesn’t get him first!” He ran his hands through his hair. “Luc, your mother is going to kill me when she finds out about… about how….”

He trailed off. No need to say the last part of that sentence.

“May we speak alone, please?” Luc asked softly. Ven and Silas glanced at each other before quickly leaving the tent. Hector and Luc were left in silence for several moments.

“It’s not your fault,” Luc said. Hector opened his mouth, but Luc held up a hand. “No. You couldn’t have known this would happen. No one could.”

Hector sighed. Unfortunately, he was right. “I just… is there really nothing more they can do for you? Are we just supposed to wait and see if your wounds close on their own?”

“I don’t plan on it. They’re planning on sending me back to Caenum to recover. Apparently they’re sending a messenger to the Draigo, to get someone to track down the magician.”

“Good,” Hector muttered, “she deserves to be brought to justice. Shame I couldn’t do it myself.” As he finished speaking, the first part of Luc’s response registered. “Wait, what do you mean ‘you don’t plan on it’?”

His apprentice inhaled slowly, steeling himself for what he was about to say. That was never a good sign, coming from Luc. He only did that when he was about to suggest something completely—

“I’m going to find a magician to reverse the curse.”

There it was.

Hector took a few deep breaths and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I want you to repeat that, except this time actually pay attention to what comes out of your mouth.”

“It’s not going to be the same magician!” Luc retorted as if that made the idea any better. “One of the wandering magicians from around Zariya or Valdove, one who we know for a fact isn’t a sang-hunting serial killer.”

“Do I have to spell out for you just how bad of an idea this is?” Hector started pacing the length of the tent. His apprentice was already responsible for several gray hairs on his head and seemed intent on giving him more. “No. Absolutely not. We’re going back to Caenum—”

“Where I can slowly bleed out? Or let my wounds get infected?”

Hector paused and glared at Luc, but the boy continued talking. “If we go back to Caenum, I will die. We haven’t seen a magician there in years! But if we seek out someone like… I don’t know… Qila Scoria? She might be able to undo the runes.”

“You’re insane.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

Hector sighed. “No.”

“So it’s viable?”

Hector fixed his apprentice with a flat stare. “It’s viable… but if your wounds get worse, we’re going back to Caenum. Are we clear?”

Luc grinned. “Clear as glass.”

@fourwingedsnake @whumpril @pigeonwhumps

[thethistlegirlwrites]

Trapped

To her credit, Joey isn’t panicking. Yet. There are dried tear tracks on her face, but she’s not screaming or yelling.

Maybe it’s just practical. Nico had sure as hell screamed when that silver trap snapped shut on his leg, and no one came running. Maybe she’s already figured that out.

Joey is never one to waste her energy on a lost cause.

But Nico doesn’t know when to give up. 

He lunges at the vamp beside her, trying to draw attention away from Joey and onto himself. He’s pretty sure she’s been bound to the dual I-beam support pole that’s one of the few parts still standing in this old factory, but if he can give her half a chance to get away, he’ll take it.

All he succeeds in doing is hitting the end of the chain that is apparently welded to one of the floor beams that’s now buried under a dense tangle of rank grass and decaying weeds. Which is also how he missed seeing the trap waiting for him.

That, and he was paying a little too much attention to Joey, and the monster holding a silver-bladed kukri to her throat, to watch where he was stepping.

He can’t pry the trap off his leg. Every surface is coated in silver. Touching it burns his hands. The kind of grip he’d need to pry it off would leave him in so much pain he’d never be strong enough to manage it.

He can feel the trap’s teeth sinking deeper into his leg with every move he makes, but still straining to reach the flat piece of rusting steel he can see beneath another tangle of brownish leaves. If he doesn’t have to touch the trap…

The vamp steps forward, glances down at the exact piece of metal Nico’s fingers are inches from, then catches it with his boot, sending it flying, clattering, to the far end of the crumbling room.

Nico bellows something between a scream and a roar, lunging at the vamp but nowhere near close to touching him. He falls back to the floor, leg burning as the trap’s teeth dig in even further. The more he struggles, the worse it will be.

He’s not sure exactly how this day went so badly wrong, but he does know when it did. 

He’d thought it was taking Joey a long time to finish up on the third floor. But after he’d walked through every room calling for her, he’d found her mop bucket next to smashed glass with a note taped to the mop handle.

An address, and a warning. To come alone or get his mentee back in a coffin for good.

“What do you want from me?”

“I want my fledgling back.” The vamp snarls. “And you made sure I couldn’t take him.”

Nico’s first mentee was a mother of three, Roxie Conover. His second was Javier Avila. The third is Joey.

They’d never been able to determine who Javy Avila’s sire was. 

Well, they know now.

Not that Nico has a name to put with the face.

A face staring down at him while holding a blade to the neck of his mentee.

“You took something of mine,” the vamp hisses. “Now, I’m going to take something of yours.”

“Don’t you touch her. You can do whatever you want to me, just let her go.”

“Oh, no, that just wouldn’t do. I want you to know that you are powerless to stop me. Nothing you can do but watch.” He steps back slightly and swings the blade with a practiced arc, and Joey flinches back from it. “Trapped, just like I was in one of the hunters’ cages, while you took away what was mine.”

It’s starting to make a certain amount of sense. Javy was bitten in Nevada. Nevada is quite literally the wild west of hunting. There’s one official agency operating in Las Vegas, but the rest of the state is more or less patrolled by vigilantes with all sorts of fringe attitudes toward vampires, who are hard to find, harder to shut down in any legal or effective manner. A group who likes holding onto their captures and experimenting with potential cures must have had this guy.

Nico can’t say he’ll be too sorry if this vamp left a trail of destruction in the wake of his escape, but nothing excuses what he’s doing right now. 

He wouldn’t be surprised if both the knife and the trap are some of those vigilantes’ gear that this vamp decided to bring along; they’re not even close to common usage among vamps, but they’re exactly the kind of thing hunters who skirt the edges of legality are known to use. He’s not sure what group it is that favors this combination of weapons, traps, and long term captivity, but Sierra Stoker and her team probably know. 

If he lasts long enough to pass that information along, he imagines they’ll be more than willing to at least find out if this guy left anyone standing.

But at the moment, it’s not his survival he's most concerned about.

“Listen to me. She’s not my fledgling. She’s not mine.”

“But you care about all these like they are. See, that’s the problem. You traitors are ruining the natural order. Sire and fledgling. How it’s meant to be. You step in, on the side of the humans that hunt our kind down like animals, and you separate us from our children. Weaken our bonds. Make it easier for the humans to pick us off, one by one.”

“Then you don’t wanna kill her. She’s one o’ us.”

“Don’t you get it yet? She’s not one of mine.” The vamp snarls. “Which means killing her is doing my fledglings a favor.”

The knife moves away from Joey’s neck, but Nico knows that’s not a good thing. Staking is the preferred method of killing vampires, since it’s far easier to conceal stakes than a knife big enough to do the job right, but decapitation will do the trick as long as you impale the heart after. It’s a more complicated, but flashier method, and enough Sunrisers favored it that Nico knows the basics. Like the fact that to get a quick, clean cut, you need the arc of a wide swing. Trying to cut with the blade close to the body is time consuming and messy.

He knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that he is about to watch Joey die. 

This time, the metal pinning him down is wrapped around his ankle instead of stabbed through his thigh, and this time the terrified face of the person he promised to protect but can’t is Joey, not Vin, but the past and the present are blurring around him, and he can’t quite tell if he’s in a warehouse in New York or a derelict factory in LA. 

All he knows is, he’s going to have another person’s death on his conscience for the rest of his unnatural life.

Then Nico hears a footstep behind him.

“Put down the knife.”

He’s got to be hallucinating from the silver in his blood, because there’s no way Maira Lawson just happened to appear exactly when he needs backup.

The vamp moves in a flash, putting himself behind Joey and holding the knife to her throat, pressed tightly again, so much so that Nico can see and smell a bead of blood welling up and sliding down the blade.

“I think maybe you should put your weapons down.”

“Last chance.” Lawson’s voice is even. She’s a negotiator, a highly skilled diplomat. She knows when to push and when to back off.

Nico has to remind himself that Joey’s life is in the hands of the best possible person for the job.

The knife presses a little deeper, and a drop of blood splashes onto the cracked cement just as the crack of gunfire echoes through the space.

The vamp drops the knife and drops like a stone, howling.

Several figures move at once, feet shuffling while snapping repeated warnings of “don’t step in another one of those traps” with “you watch your own step” as the reply. 

Someone kneels next to him, hands working around the trap’s springs and jaws. He’s dimly aware that it’s Kira Burke, who he’s passingly familiar with from the agency, but he’s paying the most attention to Joey. She’s slumped against whatever cable was holding her to the support beam, almost unmoving as two more of the hunters free her. Someone cuffs the vamp, then drags him away, but it’s hard to see anything right now with the lights the humans need in order to see cutting back and forth across the area, occasionally swinging to hit him directly in the eyes.

He just needs to see that Joey’s okay. 

“I’ve got it. Pull your leg out, now.” Burke’s voice is strained, she’s got the jaws of the trap pried apart but he knows she won’t be able to hold it forever. He yanks his leg free and struggles to stand, shifting weight off his bad leg. He has to get to Joey.

He takes one step before he stumbles.

“She’s alright. Sit down before you fall down,” Lawson orders, stepping in front of him. 

He does, mostly because if he fell, he’d fall on her, and no one would ever let him live that down.

She’s brought the cavalry, looks like. John and Sierra Stoker, and parts of both their teams. Burke from John’s, as well as Barrett from Sierra’s. John’s wrestling the vamp into cooperation, while Sierra and Barrett work on freeing Joey. Actually, it looks like Sierra’s doing most of the work getting her loose, and Barrett is keeping her calm. Of all of them aside from Nico, he’s the one she knows best. 

He hasn’t actually realized Jemison is here as well until he catches a glimpse of the guy climbing down from a crumbling section of wall, slinging a well-worn rifle, without a scope, across his shoulder.

“Don’t you wear glasses?” Nico asks as the kid walks up. Not that he’s not grateful, but the slightest missed shot could have put that bullet through Joey’s skull. 

“For reading. I’m farsighted.” Jemison replies. “I was barking squirrels with my dad since I was old enough to hold the rifle steady.”

Nico doesn’t want to even ask what that means. 

He’s just glad that today, it means Joey is alive.

“Heard you were having a little trouble.” Lawson bends down beside him, inspecting the damage done by the silver-toothed trap with a grimace. “After he tried to get into the Avilas’ house, I got a call from Javy. He said his sire had shown up and tried to make Javy let him in, but thankfully Javy was able to refuse and block him out. We sent a team to his house as soon as we heard. Everyone’s okay, just shaken up. Unfortunately, given Javy’s one of the people who drives his work van home, I guess this vamp saw it in the driveway. The team found one of the windows punched out, and the clipboard with staff schedules that Javy said he always kept in the glove box was gone.” She frowns. “I tried to call you and warn you someone would probably be coming after you, but never could get hold of you.”

Probably because he left his phone behind at the last job in a rush when he realized Joey was missing. 

“H-how’d you find us?”

“Nico. When you were getting your business started, who gave you vans?”

“You guys. You were replacin’ half the motor pool and…” He trails off. “You never pulled the trackers. You sneaky…”

“Don’t say what I think you’re going to say,” Lawson replies. “It was in the agreements you signed when you leased the fleet.”

Damn. He really needs to start paying more attention to fine print.

Although in this case, it probably saved him and Joey. 

The vamp is hauled out past them, snarling and snapping at Nico until John Stoker wrestles him into the back of a holding van that’s just pulled up to what used to be a loading bay door. 

“He won’t be a problem much longer. Once we match his venom to Javy’s kit, he’ll get the stake.”

Honestly, after what this vamp has been through, that might be a mercy. 

Quick footsteps clatter across the open space, and then Joey is collapsing onto the floor beside Nico, a hand finding his and wrapping cold fingers through his own. 

“What’s a vamp doing running around with gear from the Hawthorne Hedge?” Sierra Stoker asks, holding the knife up and tilting it as the light in Lawson’s hand catches the blade, running her fingers over a pair of branching, entangled H’s stamped into the metal near the hilt. 

Knew she’d recognize the handiwork.

“Same with the trap,” Jemison answers, flipping it over and pointing out the stamp on the bottom of the plate. “Maybe he was a vigilante who got turned?”

“From what I could tell,” Nico manages, trying to sit up and wincing when it jars his leg, “he was one of their captives, managed to break himself out. There might not be anything left of that group, depending on how thorough he was.”

“Looks like we’re going to be heading to Nevada to check it out. Again.” Stoker grins. “And it’s gonna be my turn as road trip DJ.”

Jemison and Barrett both groan, but the Stokers just high-five as John returns from the van. 

Sierra’s team move off in a cluster, discussing their next move, and Burke walks up with two small packs of blood in her hand. 

“You’re both injured. No arguments.” She places a pack in each of their hands, then backs off, along with the others, to let the two of them feed in peace.

Nico ignores the blood in favor of putting an arm around Joey’s shoulder. She’s probably in some sort of shock, and while the blood will take care of the physical damage from tonight, there are deeper wounds he’s worried about.

“Hey. You okay?”

“No. I will be, but…not right now.” She’s shaking, the tension bleeding out of her. “You?”

It’s probably not wise to lie to her if she’s been honest with him. “Not really.” He pulls her in against him, running a hand over her hair the way he’s seen her do with Olivia. “I’m sorry.” It’s his fault. It’s all his fault. This vamp took her because of him. Because of what he’s done. “This is my fault.”

“For helping someone else just like me?” Joey’s voice is muffled in his sweatshirt. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He doesn’t have anything to say in response to that. Just sits there and holds her and wishes doing the right thing didn’t have so many consequences.

(You can read this story and more from this universe on my WorldAnvil here!)

@catwingsathena @nade2308 @the-one-and-only-valkyrie @telltaleclerk @ettawritesnstudies  @writeouswriter @whump-place @the-lovely-wren