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impale-me-radio-daddy · 6 months ago

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The Lookalike (Part 9)

☒ Summary: The first thing you remembered after your death was an argument. “No, this isn’t one of my fucking sluts.” The man behind you exhaled, frustrated. “This is a present for you. Something to help you work through your Alastor fixation.” You awaken in Hell as the near-spitting image of a certain infamous radio host. Unfortunately for you, you immediately fall into the clutches of his nemesis, then into the arms of the Radio Demon himself. The final instalment in the Lookalike series (well, maybe there's room for a little epilogue as a treat)- I hope you guys have enjoyed the ride!

☒ Warnings: hermaphrodite!reader, deer!reader, crying!reader, they/them pronouns used, explicit sexual content, Alastor X reader, Vox x reader, Alastor x Vox, threesome reader is in Hell for a reason, canon typical scenarios.

☒ Series Links: Part I Part2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 6 BONUS SCENE Part 7 Part 8 Epilogue

Who am I? The question chewed at the edge of Vox’s psyche through his ride back to the tower, and through his day. Yeah, who were you? Who the fuck turned up in Hell looking like a freshly minted Radio Demon? Who were you that Alastor was willing to put his signature red tailcoat on your back? Vox swore to himself as he returned to the covert footage of you. Not for the sex, no. But the audio. Sweet nothings on your lips behind closed doors, your unguarded words intended for Alastor’s ears only.

“Oh? You were an antiquarian?”

“Close. I used to curate a museum.”

Vox grinned to himself. It wasn’t much of a clue to your identity, sure, but he also knew the date of your death pretty much to the day. That narrowed it down a lot. One of Voxtek’s most lucrative activities was keeping track of the dead- through obituaries and missing person reports from the living world. More people than not ended up in Hell, and there was always money to be made tracking down a new arrival. Vox put a search out for museum curators dead or missing in the last month, and, on a hunch, narrowed it to the US.

There were a handful of candidates, but running an eye over the list, there was only one person you could be, realistically speaking. Only one museum that you could have run.

“Welcome, welcome, one and all,” you spoke to yourself under your breath, words buzzing behind your teeth in practiced harmony as you walked, the phrasing coming to you without thinking after years of practice, to help you slide into the transatlantic accent. “To the Louisiana Historical Radio Museum.”

The territory that Kennedy claimed as overlord wasn’t far from the hotel, so you walked it, the smell of burning plastic cooling on the evening air. You had a smile on your lips as you strolled, humming an old jazz standard. Sinners cringed, backing into dark alleys and doorways to avoid being in your path, and you twirled your cane. Your resemblance to Alastor was more a hindrance than a benefit here, in that it curtailed several possible avenues of approach. Difficult to form a friendly connection, or talk your way into someone’s home, when you wore an outfit synonymous with the word monster. But that was probably just as well- you were hungry for a kill, and desperation was a quality that people could smell a mile off. Besides, your new body did afford some advantages, ones you had spent your weeks at the hotel honing.

Stepping into one of the back alleys and letting the shadows shroud your form, you pressed your talons to the wall. Sharp and strong, they found purchase, and you scaled the side of the building within a few seconds, crawling up and onto the roof. That was a feat that you would have struggled to replicate with your human body, but here you were a different creature, all sharp edges and horrid, grinning points.

The first thing Vox did after finding your name was to check for it on the Voxtek systems.

There were certainly a lot of people down here who wanted to find you. Most names popped up with half a dozen requests, tops- usually immediate family, a lover. You had… huh, that was a lot. And over how many years? Vox felt his screen lag slightly as he scanned the names. None of them relations. Older than you, or close in age. Unless you were the world’s greatest Lothario and all these guys were queuing up for a post mortem hook-up, there was only one kind of person who got this kind of ask list before they died.

“Jesus tittyfucking Christ,” said Vox, mostly to himself. What the fuck had Val been thinking, dumping you on his bedroom floor without so much as a background check? No wonder Alastor liked you so much.

Years of practice had taught you that killing was more art than science; that the most thorough of preparations could be derailed in an instant and that opportunities would present themselves, if you just allowed them. The universe opened itself to those who were generous, and if you left yourself flexible to the how, the act itself was often simply a matter of having the guts to do what the moment needed. This didn’t mean that the task before you didn’t fill you with trepidation, however- quite the contrary. Kennedy was bigger than you physically, an overlord when you were not, and you had little understanding of how or why physical capabilities varied from sinner to sinner. Niffty, for example, was deceptively strong despite her small size- you had seen her do things like break the lock on the cabinet behind the bar in search of bugs to kill.

You had overpowered Alastor, briefly, but that was with angelic wire and the element of surprise, Alastor with a wound across his chest. Relying solely on physical superiority wasn’t smart, and neither was picking a situation where Kennedy could fight back.

Alastor clearly thought you were up to the task. He’d given you his red tailcoat to wear, and you could tell how precious it was to him, from the way he fretted over the way it hung, the ragged edges on the tails. He wouldn’t have let you wear it if he thought you would fail. But his confidence in you was no reason to be foolhardy.

You stalked from roof to roof across the overlord’s territory, noting the deployment of the soldiers in Kennedy’s livery. They loitered, undisciplined, at street corners and food stands, harassing passing sinners, but they were out in force.

“Ugh, there you are.” It took you a second to realize the billboard was talking to you, another to realize it had Vox’s face, scowling at you from an ad for Vox brand soda. “Why the fuck don’t you have a phone yet?

“Maybe because I don’t want people knowing where I am at all times? Not that that seems to be working.” You walked to the edge of the roof, gauging the distance with your eyes, and leapt the width of the narrow alleyway to the next building, landing with a bark of laughter, a giddy feeling in your chest. In your previous life, parkour hadn’t been so much a hobby as an occasional necessity, but your new body took to it with aplomb, your feet finding their place with a flex of your new ankles and knees.

“Seems like yesterday that you could barely walk, now look at you.” Vox leered at you from a second billboard as you walked the roof, long shadows and sharp angles. On top of your head your antlers thrummed, branching in the darkness.

You glanced up. “You helped me find my feet. I’m grateful,” you said, and felt your smile grow wider as a blush, an actual, honest-to-god blush bloomed on Vox’s wide, rectangular face before you turned away, leaping a second alley. Oh, you were graceful now.

“Hey! Can you stand still for one fuckin�� second? I wanna talk to you.” Vox was on the billboard on top of this building now, his face taking the place of the chef in an ad for Voxtek brand ovens.

You relented, squatting down by the frame that supported the billboard, checking out the layout of the streets below and hooking your cane across the back of your shoulders. “Can it wait? I have plans tonight.”

“Oh, fuck my life.” Vox shook his head and you watched with interest as the giant chef on the billboard crouched down to the bottom on the frame. “Of course you’re going after fucking Kennedy.” It was curious, how his demeanor had changed since the overlord’s meeting- there, he’d been keen to scare you, telling you at length about Kennedy’s powers and deeds- but now he seemed resigned to your hunt. What had changed? Had he actually talked to Alastor?

Your plan for tonight had been to scope out his living arrangement, maybe a little stalking, but Vox didn’t need to know that. Instead, you asked a question. “Are you going to stop me?”

Vox raised an eyebrow, the virtual plate of venison behind him steaming. “The fuck would I stop you, baby deer? Hell’s most wanted making their spectacular debut?”

Hell’s most wanted? You felt your ears flatten to your skull, a shiver in your gut. What the fuck did Vox know? “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Now, now.” Vox grinned, a glint in his eye. “If you wanna pretend to be Alastor, you’ve gotta smile at least,” he said, and you reached to your face, finding your mouth a single, serious line. You corrected it as Vox continued. “Yeah, there’s a few south americans with a longer list of victims than yours, but I think I’m entitled to some fucking creative license on this, ya know.”

He knew. He had your identity, somehow. And likely the names of the people you had killed who had ended up in Hell. Which would be all of them, if there was any justice in the universe. You breathed out, slow and even, careful to keep your smile in place this time. “Alright. What do you want?”

“Why didn’t you kill me in my sleep?” Vox asked. You thought he was joking at first, but the expression in his eyes told you otherwise. You thought of the nights you’d spent with him, body curled round his, your cheek against the lower edge of his screen. He had been completely unguarded in those moments, and you had been his prisoner.

You gave Vox a puzzled smile. “You were giving me orgasms and food, why the fuck would I kill you?”

“Oh.” If anything, Vox seemed taken aback by your response. Was that more pink and red on his screen? “I, uh- I could do that again.”

“Was that all? You’re not going to threaten me?” You stood, spinning your cane around your wrist. “Like I said, I do have things to do tonight.”

“Now, wait! Wait just one goddamn second, baby deer.” Vox followed you across the billboard as you walked. “I can help.”

That did make you pause. In the mortal world you would have refused without a second thought- an accomplice was a witness and a liability. But here? In Hell, there was no law enforcement save what the overlords dispensed. You would never have asked Vox for a favor, but if he was going to offer his services? For free? Alastor would probably be sniffy about it, but who could blame you for making use of all the resources at your disposal? You looked up at him again. “Can you edit camera footage in real time?”

“Uh, sure.” Vox grinned. “You want me to edit you out of it, yeah?”

“Mhm.” You nodded. “And you’re doing this gratis, right?” This bit was important- you didn’t want to end up owing your soul for something like this.

“Relax, baby deer, trust me,” said Vox, eyes half-lidded, and his voice might have sounded seductive if you weren’t thinking about bloodshed. “No charge, just helping a friend out.”

It took most sinners years to get to the point where they could allow their bodies to shift beyond human norms. Even then, most people made it as far as some horns, some claws, a bit of size before their mental preconceptions, or whatever most people had, stopped them dead. But here you were, full fucking cryptid, crawling the fucking walls. Yeah, you didn’t have Alastor’s freaky shadow powers, and you were still pretty much the same size as you had been, but it barely mattered in this context, with the dark covering you. You were still a monster with glowing dials for eyes.

Vox might have assumed Alastor had done something to you to make you this way if he hadn’t known your history.

Vox might have remembered to be scared if he wasn’t rock hard in his pants just from watching you.

It was almost a shame that you resembled Alastor so strongly. A newly fledged sinner taking down an overlord would be big news, enough to fill the channels with speculation and talking heads for half a cycle at least, but someone who looked like Alastor doing it was just Radio Demon bites man, an item for a slow news day.

Editing you out of footage in real time wasn’t difficult for Vox. You were eerily good at finding the blind spots on the security feeds as you made your approach to Kennedy’s building, only lingering in exposed sections when the alternative would see you in a sinner’s line of sight. Sometimes you would look up at a camera, a tilt of your grinning head to acknowledge his presence as a viewer.

The whole thing was kind of fun, if Vox was honest with himself, the only thing missing from the whole caper being an earpiece to let him annoy your with commentary. It reminded him of accompanying Alastor on his errands, back in the old days, when Alastor would display his full demonic form and then give a small, backwards glance to Vox, to check he was being properly admired.

You hummed the opening bars of the saints as you scaled the wall of Kennedy’s building, ascending to the penthouse. Security cameras were trained on the outer walls to prevent exactly this sort of egress, but you trusted Vox enough that you paid only minimal attention to them, keeping to the blind spots where you could, crawling in shadows where you couldn’t.

You’d been through longer dry spells than this one in your lifetime. A six month stint here, a year there; all of them spent in a state of tension, a spring wound tightly enough that the metal threatened stress fractures. In the few weeks you’d spent in Hell you’d had sex and entertainment aplenty, that ought to have been enough to take the edge from your need. Why then, did this feel worse? You could feel the anticipation running through you, taste it like blood in your mouth. You wanted violence. You wanted pain. You wanted control.

Perhaps that was why you felt like this, so needy that your fingernails ached, that your teeth grew long and pointed in your grin. When you’d held yourself back before it had been of your own accord, lying low to avoid scrutiny, from the police or from your quarry, but here you had been a prisoner of circumstance, first a literal prisoner and then constrained by your own nascent body. You hauled yourself over the ledge and onto the external sill of the penthouse windows, briefly confronted by the reddish glow of your own eyes in the reflection. The glass was single glazed, not shatterproof, the latches easy enough to manipulate from the outside. You could get inside any time you wanted.

You crept round the penthouse from the outside of the building, looking into each room in turn. A lounge area, a kitchen with a breakfast bar, open plan. A bathroom, a jacuzzi tub pressed up against the window for a questionable view of Pentagram City’s skyline.

Finally, the bedroom. Kennedy, asleep. But the effects strewn around the floor of the room belonged to more than one person. You remained still, listening, and sure enough there was a sob from behind the closed door of the ensuite bathroom. Partner? Whore? Probably the latter, given the man had killed his last three partners. Either way, it didn’t matter- it was still someone who would scream if they saw you.

You paused. You didn’t really want collateral, but having a witness was bad too. Not as bad as it would be topside, but Alastor wanted the killing to reflect on the reputation of the Radio Demon, which was easier if no-one saw.

You sucked your lip, thinking. Fuck it. You were unlikely to get a cleaner opportunity than this, and even if it went completely to shit, you still had avenues of escape available. It wasn’t like there was a police force in Hell, anyway.

With a well-placed percussive strike to the frame, you damaged the latch enough to slide open the window and stepped into the room, tucking your cane under one arm as you dropped to the floor.

Opening the bathroom door brought you face to face with a pig sinner with running mascara. You clamped a hand over their mouth to stop them crying out in surprise, then lifted a dramatic finger to your own smiling lips. They nodded once, in understanding, and you released their face before gesturing to the bedroom door. Go. Now.

They obeyed, an expression of terror in their panda-ringed eyes, and you turned to the bed, your quarry’s sleeping form, a surge of ardor coursing through your body. The fleeing pig sinner was likely to alert someone, but you stopped to soak in the moment anyway, the air in your lungs feeling briefly like fire, your pulse resounding through your tongue and through your loins. Here you were. Here was your true self. Glimpsed in the mirror of the walk-in wardrobe, your antlers looked like the tops of dead trees before a yellow moon, like old bones emerging from the bayou in a season of drought, and your breath was the noise of rain on powerlines, an ominous, crackling hum.

There wasn’t a struggle. Only release, sweet and wet and bloody.

What the fuck was taking you so long? For some reason that Vox didn’t understand, Kennedy had neglected to install cameras in his penthouse suite, and he cycled impatiently through the feeds outside. There was certainly something happening inside, a few of Kennedy’s goons milling around the doors. But no sign of you. Vox waited.

He was fairly sure you weren’t in trouble, but what if you were? You were a new sinner, after all, even if you were a murderer, no souls to your name, and no-one knew how exactly how the strength of someone’s soul was determined.

Finally, he phoned Kennedy’s number.

You looked up from the mess of blood on the bed at the glowing blue rectangle of the phone on the dresser. Vox, the screen read.

Oh, your hands were so slick with blood. It took you a couple tries to activate the touch screen, your fingertips leaving red-brown smears that made the screen trip out.

“Vox!” You felt so good now; it made you want to sing. There was blood on your tongue and on your face. “I got a phone!”

“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, you fucking ate him, didn’t you.” Vox’s irritation seeped through the surface of the phone, and he sighed. “Listen carefully, baby deer- you need to get the fuck out of there.”

“What? Why?”

“Because Kennedy’s goons think the Radio Demon is in there. Look, baby, you’re dangerous, I get that. I respect it. But you’re nowhere near Al’s level. You’re not gonna hold your own against twenty guys with machine guns. Get the fuck out of that building.”

Somewhere between the swearing and the threats, you started to feel a little more like your normal self. You glanced back at the bed- the remnants of Kennedy didn’t look like anything other than random, discarded meat- he wasn’t coming back, and hopefully that would be good enough for Alastor. “Got it,” you said, and after a couple of failed bloody finger swipes, managed to hang up on Vox.

Popping Kennedy’s phone into your pocket, you headed out.

The path to the hotel ought to have been clear. It had been, when you had headed out. But on your return you found the final intersection before the hotel populated by gangsters, guns trained in all dimensions. They looked nervous. You caught a whisper on the air. Radio Demon.

Of course. You had been seen.

Of course. They were waiting for you. For Alastor.

You stared at the line of goons guarding the intersection, the hotel just beyond them. You tried to take a step forward, but something stopped you, the rattle of a chain, and a pressure on your ankle. Of course. No bringing trouble to the hotel. That had been one of the conditions of your original contract with Alastor, and it was coming into play now. No going through. And chances were that Kennedy’s people had surrounded the hotel in the hopes of catching Alastor. What were your options? You could stay on the streets for the night, bloodstained and dangerous, and hope that you didn’t get caught in any acid rain.

Or you could take your second option. Gingerly, you reached into your pocket and pulled out Kennedy’s phone. His contacts list was sadly devoid of people you knew, so you phoned Vox again.

“Yeah?” He picked up before you had the phone to your ear, and you grinned at the thought that he was waiting for a call back.

“Can I crash at yours tonight? Some guys have barricaded the road to the hotel.” You paused a beat. “No funny stuff.”

There was, of course, another reason you wanted to see Vox. The list of your quarry who were still in Hell was a temptation and a half. Even now, when you were full and sated, with Kennedy’s blood still drying on your skin, you could feel the appeal of it, the symmetry- to hunt the bad men that you had hunted before.

Vox sighed as he grabbed a pair of tumblers and a bottle of yamazaki single malt from his liquor cabinet. This would be so easy, if only he could hypnotize you. And it wasn’t like he couldn’t- he could feel the give of your mind with each little push- you were strong willed but that was all. He had taken stronger minds than yours. He had taken Alastor, for fuck’s sake, had made his eyes glaze over and his slight body go limp under his influence. He had pushed Alastor’s mind, and he’d told himself it had been worth it, up until the point when Alastor had found his abuse, and those red eyes had turned from hard-earned trust to betrayal.

So no, he wouldn’t hypnotize you, even if you had just walked straight into his personal quarters looking like you just walked out of an abattoir and asked to use his sound system.

He’d been right about his impression of you over the phone- you were euphoric and reckless, probably as a side-effect of eating Pentagram’s newest overlord. VNN already had reporters on the scene and there was barely a scrap of Kennedy left, with at least two witnesses now claiming to have seen the Radio Demon.

You were sat about a foot from the speakers, cross-legged, sit bones on the floor, your right hoof resting on your left knee as you basked in the music. Vox crouched beside you, pressing a tumbler into your hand, and, as he was close, pressed his face to the back of your head and breathed in your scent. Fuck, you even smelled like Alastor now; the same mix of musk, formaldehyde and blood that Vox remembered.

Gently, you grabbed the edge of his screen and moved him away. “Stop that.”

“Why should I stop?” Vox asked, his voice coaxing. “You’re worried Alastor’s gonna be mad?”

“No, I think he’d be upset. And I don’t think you want him to be upset either.” You raised an eyebrow at him, and Vox felt a chill run down his spine. “Do you, Vox?”

Fuck. Vox pulled a face. “Am I that easy to read?”

“Maybe.” Your smile was small, and your ears twitched at some unheard thing. “You’re going to need another glass.”

Vox frowned. “For you?”

Your smile grew wider. “For Alastor.”

“Alastor?” Vox repeated.

“Speak of the devil,” said Alastor, his elocution crisp as he manifested from the shadow. “And he shall appear.”

One of the most basic workings in Vodou, the one that Alastor’s mother had warned him to avoid being trapped by, was the exchange of fluids. If a man consumed the menses of a woman, it was trivially easy for her to control him, track him, whatever she wanted. The same was true with men and their seed, and it behooved any practitioner to be careful who they accepted food from. A mutual consumption was a stronger link still, a little of the practitioner in the target and a little of the target in the practitioner.

Though you were neither male nor female, his own personal blasphemous sacred twin, there had certainly been enough exchange of fluids between you. Alastor could feel the power latent in the link; an ancient, primal sort of magic. It wasn’t the sort of thing he usually dabbled in, and if his microphone had been intact he wouldn’t have even considered it, but in his current state it was a comfort. He tuned out the banal late night chatter at the hotel bar in favor of the link to you, the smile on his face automatic. He felt you as you moved across the city, to your intended location, and then your return path to the hotel.

And then, your failure to return.

“Sir?” Niffty asked, a small hand on his knee. Something must have showed in his eyes, because both Angel and Husk were looking at him too. “Is something wrong?”

Alastor gave a terse smile. “Never better,” he said, rising from his seat. “I have merely remembered an errand I must run.”

And run was the operative word, as yet again the conditions of his deal with you compelled him. He would keep you free of being Vox’s prisoner. He had promised.

He had slid across the city and through the tower, a shadow, depleting precious reserves of power, his compass to you unerring, and his heart had lurched when he had found you in Vox’s personal quarters, sat in front of the sound system. When Vox had knelt to smell your hair, Alastor had felt his antlers creak as they grew, fierce and territorial.

Vox’s voice was wheedling, the same tone that had always worked on him somehow. “You’re worried Alastor’s gonna be mad?”

“No,” came your voice, a touch more forceful than you usually were. “I just think he’d be upset. And I don’t think you want him to be upset either. Do you, Vox?”

“Am I that easy to read?” Vox’s face was pathetic, and Alastor’s heart lurched again, with something like pity this time, or perhaps regret. They had been friends once, great friends.

“Al-” Vox breathed, eyes wide.

Alastor stepped past him, to you. His smile was wan. “Darling, you smell like bloodshed,” he said, proffering a red-taloned hand and helping you to your feet. “We should go.”

“Vox was just pouring us drinks,” you said, not wanting the evening to end particularly. Vox still had your list of victims, and the sound system was just as sublime as you thought it would be.

Vox gave you a grateful look, and waggled his expensive bottle of single malt. Alastor looked between the two of you, and sighed. “I suppose we can stay for a round or two,” he said, spreading his fingers. “But at least put some decent music on.”

That was how you had ended up on the couch in Vox’s private quarters, half sitting on Alastor’s lap, a glass of whiskey in your hand, listening to the musical stylings of Papa Celestin on Vox’s frankly impressive sound system as Alastor, now down to shirtsleeves, told stories about some of the band members- who had played with who and who had cheated at cards. It seemed like every time you had nearly finished your drink Vox was there with the bottle again, not just for you but for Alastor. A few drinks later, the playlist had moved on to Johnny Hodges ballads and Alastor was handsy, his talons tracing lines over your antlers, your neck, your back, and down over your hips.

“And then his brother formed a band with Scrapper Blackwell’s bassist,” said Alastor, fingers pressing over your tail. “Mimzy was dating their percussionist for a while.”

“Wait a damn minute Al, you’ve told me this one before.” Vox was temptingly close on the couch next to you, but he made no overtures, apparently content to watch Alastor run his hands over you. “I thought you said it was the pianist?”

Alastor hummed, one claw hooking its way into your already loosened bow tie and pulling it open. “Maybe it was both. That would explain why the rhythm section was so lively.”

You relaxed into his touch, your earlier violence rendering you satiated and languorous; content to go where he led you. You smiled up at Alastor, baring your neck to him as he undid the top button of your shirt.

Vox made a noise in his throat. “Al? Are you-”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Alastor’s grin was lopsided as his attention flicked to Vox. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, after all.”

To make a point, Alastor dipped his head to kiss you. It was messier than he usually was, Alastor’s breath reeking of alcohol, and his tongue caressed your lips and cheeks, tasting the blood that stained them.

“Fuck,” Alastor breathed, his pupils wide as he broke the kiss. “Darling, you taste like dead overlord.”

“You would know, Al,” Vox shot, and Alastor grinned.

“Vox,” he called, like a man trying to coax a pet dog. “You really should have a taste.”

You sat up and watched with amusement as Vox feigned insouciance, shuffling closer to you on the couch as Alastor held you, one arm possessive around your waist. You wondered for a second if he would take the coward’s way out, and press his tongue to your forehead or your cheek, but Vox, with an expression close to awe, pushed a little of your blood-matted hair back from your cheek, his talontips under your jaw, and kissed you.

Vox’s lips were the tingle of static, his tongue shivering hot as it twined against yours, pressing up against your teeth and your gums, and you groaned into the kiss. Alastor’s grip on your waist tightened, and you felt him grow turgid, cock pressing up against your ass as Vox kissed you.

When Vox broke the kiss his eyes held something akin to despair, fingers trailing on your jaw as Alastor pulled you to him, a fierce, possessive look on his face. You rolled your hips back, grinding against Alastor’s erection through layers of fabric, and enjoyed the shiver he gave; the way his cock grew hard and hot, his face pressing into your neck, points of his teeth grazing your skin with lines of hot sensation that you would probably regret in the morning.

Vox hesitated, wary of Alastor’s jealousy, and you caught him by the collar, pulling him in for a second kiss. His chest pressed against yours, sandwiching you between him and Alastor, Alastor’s tongue tracing hot lines against the sensitive skin of your neck as Vox’s tangled in your mouth, the heartfelt groan that Vox gave resonating through the three of you.

“Thank you,” gasped Vox, his eyes closed, though you weren’t sure if it was directed at you, Alastor, or God. It didn’t matter. You traced the hard lines of his square face with your fingers, feeling Alastor’s hands on your hips, pulling you firmly against him, as if to remind you whose bed you slept in. You turned your head to kiss Alastor, the kiss breathless and full of urgency, his teeth nipping bloody at your lips, and Vox’s hands were at the buttons of your shirt, peeling back the fabric that stuck to your skin with half-dry overlord blood.

Vox’s talented lips kissed over your chest, then your stomach, the static from his screen making your skin prickle as your hairs stood on end.

“You want the television demon to blow you, darling?” Alastor murmured, his lips brushing the fur on your ears, the tips of your antlers, and his words went straight to your cock, stirring you to half-mast. “You want his mouth on you?”

“Yes,” you murmured, and that was all it took for Vox to have your pants off, Alastor releasing your hips for long enough that Vox could maneuver you into a position where Vox could blow you. The upper edge of his rectangular head was level with your diaphragm as he took you in, his tongue gentle as he coaxed you to hardness. The inside of his mouth was warm, his tongue almost buzzing against your cock as he wound it round in a spiral, and you shivered as he did, resisting the urge to grab him by the edges of his face and fuck into him. A whine escaped your throat, low and needy.

Alastor kissed your neck, his eyes curious as he watched Vox take you to the hilt in his mouth. “But where does it go?” he asked, his gaze on the back of Vox’s extremely flat head, red eyes narrowed.

You closed your eyes, still basking in the sensation of Vox’s tongue around your shaft, the soft flesh at the back of his mouth. “The Head Dimension, of course,” you said, and you felt Vox nearly gag with laughter; not an entirely unpleasant feeling, except that he pulled his mouth from your cock almost immediately.

“Jesus, Bambi, don’t make me laugh like that!” Vox gaped at you, wiping a digital tear from his face. “Fuck!”

Alastor tittered, the noise silvery, his narrow chest shaking with mirth as he leaned into your shoulder. “He’s just pissy that he didn’t think of that first,” he said. “Wordplay was never his strong point.”

“I’ll show you my strong point,” muttered Vox, peeling off his own shirt as he did.

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll get to that eventually,” said Alastor, and you remembered how his cock had twitched inside you each time he had teased Vox in the armchair. “In the meantime-” he continued, hooking a clawed hand around your hip and pulling you to him once more, turning you to face him in his lap. “We have more important things to deal with.”

“The fuck did you do to their back, Al?” complained Vox, his hands warm on the furrows that Alastor’s claws had carved across your shoulders the night previous, but Alastor ignored him, kissing you lightly as he guided your hand to his fly, the fabric there taut with his arousal. You touched him, through the fabric first and then unfastening his fly and easing him out, a surge of sympathetic lust through your core as you held his cock in your hand, palm curling round his hardness. The noise he gave was a soft one, an exhalation of breath through his nose accompanied by a beat of deeper than appliance pitch humming.

You palmed Alastor’s cock, and his fingers went to your antlers, dancing lightly across the tines, each touch of his a musical note that resonated through your skull, your spine and down to your core, making you tremble, aching with want as you watched Alastor’s antlers expand in turn. Vox didn’t touch them, but you could feel him watching keenly, his own electrical powers a fuzzy interference at the periphery of your senses as you pumped Alastor’s cock with your hand.

“Inside me?” you asked Alastor, not least because having his cock in your palm made you ache with desire, and Alastor nodded, leaning back a little to let you straddle him. You guided him with your hand as you lowered yourself onto him, watching the delicious way he smiled as you did so; the way he bit his lip, his eyes fluttering half closed.

“Fuck,” Alastor spoke the word like a prayer rather than a curse as you sank onto him, Vox’s hands on your shoulders, then your waist, Alastor spreading his knees to let Vox between them.

“You look so fucking pretty like that,” said Vox, his voice full of gravel as he reached around you, hand finding your cock and folding around it, but his eyes were on Alastor, as well as you, as he spoke.

Vox’s grip was as firm as it had been when he had crawled into bed with you on your first night in Hell, and no less effective, pumping in time as you rode Alastor, your thighs working to lift and lower you. At first it seemed like Alastor would be content to be ridden, his face flushed and his hips staying in place as he made soft groans of appreciation, but when he kissed you and a squeeze of Vox’s hand made you whimper against his lips, Alastor’s hand joined Vox’s around your cock, talons curling around the back of Vox’s hand and forcing him to tighten his grip.

There was a moment of electricity then, Vox’s breath stilling in his throat, his bare chest pressed flush against your back.

“What’s the matter?” Alastor asked Vox, his expression sly and teasing as he forced Vox’s hand to grip you, started it moving again at a steady, sublime cadence. “You’ve never objected to a guiding hand before.”

Vox’s audio glitched before he spoke, accompanied by a myclonic jerk that you felt through his chest against your back, his hand involuntary squeezing around your shaft. “A-Alastor,” he stuttered, his audio still clipping, for all the world as if their hands were clasped around Vox’s cock rather than yours. “Oh, god.”

Alastor smirked against your neck, pretending careless superiority, but he couldn’t hide the pleasant twitch of arousal his cock gave inside your cunt when Vox moaned his name. Vox was right, though; Alastor did look beautiful, color on his cheeks that could have been the drink or arousal or both, his lips parted, as he panted through his jagged teeth, still smiling, always smiling, as his hair fell in strands across his face, his antlers handsomely tall.

When had you become so fond of him, you wondered, as he guided Vox’s hand in a pattern that had you aching for release, a pulse through your core as precum beaded at your tip. You stilled your hips as the sensation of their hands together on your cock threatened to overwhelm you, sinking down fully onto Alastor’s cock and pressing your face into his shirt with a whimper.

“What’s this?” Alastor turned his teasing smile on you now, rather than Vox. “So close already?” He nipped at the edge of your ear, not hard enough to do damage, but enough that you could feel the fine points of his teeth, and you gasped. “You know, of course, that it won’t save you? That we will keep going until we’ve had our fill of you?”

“We?” Vox repeated, his voice uncharacteristically quiet and hoarse, and your stomach swooped as you caught the implication too. “That mean what I think it means, Al?”

“My delightful friend here has two holes, after all,” said Alastor, pressing his cheek to your antler. “It seems a waste to use only one of them.”

You half expected Vox to run off and get a toy, but instead he fetched a bottle of lubricant from a compartment under the couch, and kissed his way down your back, over your shoulders and the claw marks that Alastor had made, his screen warm against the small of your back, making the fur on your tail stand on end.

“You’re gonna love this, baby deer,” said Vox, one hand on your back pushing you forward over Alastor. “Trust me,” he added wryly, when you gave a doubtful backwards glance.

“With your tongue?” Alastor’s tone was both scandalized and fascinated as he peered over your shoulder at Vox.

Vox didn’t bother answering him, simply spread your ass apart a little with his hands and set to work. His tongue was like white noise on your skin as he lapped at your entrance, wet and hot as he dragged it over sensitive flesh. You felt exposed; even like this, with Alastor’s cock to the hilt inside your cunt, you felt exposed. You cried out as Vox’s tongue made egress, the narrow tip pushing past your tight ring of muscle and then inside.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, your face in Alastor’s collar again, and Alastor must have noticed how Vox’s tongue pressed against your walls, against his cock inside you, because he looked sharply at Vox.

“Keep doing that,” he said, a sharp note of desire in his voice, and you felt Vox’s groan as he pushed his tongue a little further in, the sensation all slickness and pressure as his tongue stroked Alastor’s cock through the thin layer of your flesh.

Alastor found your cock with his hand again, his smile cruel as he caressed your shaft. “You’re going to come, aren’t you, darling? You’re going to spend yourself with Vox’s tongue up your ass.”

It wasn’t fair. You could barely think straight, let alone give any answer other than an obscene, whorish whimper, not with both of them working your insides and Alastor’s knowing hand on your cock. The first time you’d met, he’d shown you how he knew your body better than you did yourself, and that was still true now, the strength of his grip and his tempo nothing other than perfection as he ground his hips up into you, rutting into you and rutting against Vox’s tongue, each movement one of blinding ecstasy, sensation so strong that it seemed to bleed into senses other than touch. You had no chance to catch your breath, no surcease from the assault, and no choice other than to feel yourself fall, your whole body seeming to seize in orgasm, the cry in your throat free of static as your cunt and cock pulsed in time, painting a white line up Alastor’s red shirt and spattering his cheek.

“See? What did I tell you?” Vox’s grin was triumphant as he pulled his tongue from you, his claws caressing your tail. Your body was still sensitive from the aftershocks, and his simple touch brought another one on, an involuntary animal cry in your throat. Vox scoffed and squeezed again, threading his talons through your fur, the sensation alone enough to make your stomach flutter, and through the corner of your eye you saw him take one of the discarded whiskey glasses and drain it, swilling it around his mouth before he swallowed.

“Oh, oh, sweetheart,” Alastor wiped your cum from his cheek and brought his fingers to your mouth, slipping his talons between your lips for you to suck clean. His voice was a croon, his breath hitching with each spasm that wracked you. “You fit me just perfectly, don’t you?”

You hummed around his fingers in response. It was an act of trust, just as much as the sex was- your teeth were every bit as sharp as his- and his fingers felt good in your mouth, like a gift. You closed your eyes, tracing the delicate lines of his fingers with your tongue, and felt as Vox lined himself up behind you, the warm tip of his cock resting first against your tail, then sliding down, the tip leaving a trail of wetness as he lined up with your entrance, the tip brushing against the flesh he had lapped with his tongue a few moments before.

Vox breathed out heavily, talons cradling your hips. “Are you sure about this, Al?”

“I think it’s customary,” said Alastor, a little snippily. “To ask that to the person you are about to fuck.”

“Shit.” You felt the tension in Vox’s body at Alastor’s rebuke. “You, uh, doin’ okay there, baby deer?”

You released Alastor’s fingers from your mouth, and turned your head to Vox, as far as you could twist with Alastor still inside you. Vox leaned in to accommodate, and you caught his lips with yours, hooking your forearm round his screen to keep him close as you kissed him, Alastor pressing his lips to your neck as you did. Taking the kiss as assent, Vox pushed into you, slowly.

Your inebriation and your orgasm helped make you loose, and Vox had been liberal with the lubricant on his tongue, but with Alastor inside you as well the fit was a tight one. Alastor tensed when he felt Vox push his way into your ass, his hips stilling and the soft hiss of static escaping his lips.

“God,” mumbled Vox as he bottomed out, his claws on your hips tight enough to mark you. “Fucking god. Al.”

Alastor didn’t bother with words, but the strangled noise in his throat might as well have been agreement.

Both of their eyes fluttered closed, and you felt a tremble in Vox’s arms. They could feel each other. They could feel each other inside you, both of them together stuffing you to the brim.

“I- I’m gonna move now,” said Vox, a pleading edge to his voice. He swallowed, edge of his screen knocking briefly against your antlers. “Tell me if it hurts.”

“It doesn’t hurt,” you managed, briefly getting yourself to a state where you could form actual words rather than animalistic whimpering. “Just full.”

“If he hurts you,” said Alastor, into your collarbone. “I will eviscerate him.”

“Fuck me.” Vox exhaled again, sounding more like himself. “I have never seen him this fucking protective. Of anyone. But sure thing Al, I'll go gentle.”

True to his word, Vox went slowly as he fucked you, fucked both of you. Post orgasmic and still sensitive, the sensation of it filled your awareness; at the apex you were so full that everything pressed together, Vox’s cock pressing into Alastor’s through your thin divider of flesh, Alastor’s cock pushed almost by default into the sensitive spongy tissue that he would usually need to angle his hips to find. There was no escape, not for you nor for Alastor- Vox’s cock stroking his as much as it was fucking you, and you found yourself crying out in tandem with him, the same sweet noises from both your throats, the sound so close that it made strange beats and harmonies around you. Vox kissed you, sensuous and open mouthed, then Alastor kissed you, fierce and possessive, then Vox again, lapping up the blood that Alastor had drawn from your lips, your head swimming as two sets of claws held you in place.

You grew hard again, your body responding to being pressed between the two of them and fucked, and Vox took your cock in his hand, a victorious growl from his throat.

“You wanna cum round Al’s cock again, don't you, baby deer,” Vox’s voice was thick with desire, his hand firm as he handled your already overstimulated cock. Even a gentle stroke would have been too much, and his manipulation was more than that.

“I can't-” you managed between gasps of air. With both of them in you, you were stuffed to the brim, each roll of Vox’s hips bringing tears to your eyes. “Too much. Please.”

“You want him to feel you twitching around him, though, don't you?” Vox’s voice was coaxing, the hand that wasn't stroking your cock hooking round your waist, the heel of his hand pressing into your stomach, below your navel, pressing everything together inside you. “You want him to feel good, don't you?” said Vox, his breath hot on the back of your neck, and you stared into Alastor's lust-blown eyes, feeling the way Alastor trembled each time Vox ploughed into you, only your inner wall separating them.

“Yes,” you whimpered, but it was Alastor who cried out, drawing blood from his own lip, his hands tight on your hips. Alastor came a second before you did, his seed inside you a wave of heat as your cunt pulsed around him, your cock twitching weakly in Vox’s hand.

“Fuck-” Vox breathed, clinging to you tightly, the edge of his screen digging hard into the tops of your shoulders as the feeling of you and Alastor coming dragged him over the edge, his composure lost, and you made a noise in your throat as you felt him shoot his load in you, into your already overstuffed hole.

For a moment, the two of them inside you filled the entirety of your awareness, the pulsing warmth that filled your stomach, the tight grip that both Alastor and Vox had on you. Then you sank forward onto Alastor’s shoulder, and the grips became slow caresses, claws gentle against your bruised skin. Both of them praising you, neither man quite ready to look the other in the eye. They pulled out of you, and it occurred to you that you needed a shower, but you had barely enough energy left in you to lay back on Vox’s couch, your forearm over your eyes.

The last thing you remembered before you blacked out was Vox pouring another finger of obscenely expensive Japanese whiskey, some Ella Fitzgerald playing as the two of them admired how pretty you looked with their cum leaking out of you.

If this was Hell, then what the fuck went on in Heaven?

#alastor x reader #vox x reader #alastor x vox #alastor x reader x vox #radiostatic x reader #alastor x you #alastor x y/n #hazbin x reader #antlerplay #vox x y/n #vox x you #vox x alastor #radiostatic x you #radiostatic x y/n #radio demon x reader

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steam-beasts · 4 days ago

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This is not my body - short story

- Thomas -

Thomas never asked for this. He never wanted this. The day he got infected by that damn coal, he just wanted it to be a normal illness

Dear Lady above, why did it have to be like this??

As he rested in the Ffarqhuarr sheds, in his humanoid form, he curled up tighter and whimpered. He didn't blame the controller for this, he couldn't ever have known. He didn't blame Lady for this. He didn't really blame anyone for this. But he sometimes just hated it in secret. As he dug his nails into his biceps, still to this day, it felt unfamiliar.

No matter what, he was still a locomotive. A sentient machine, way down inside. But lingering, way down inside, this didn't feel like his body.

- Edward -

Edward was fine with this body.

He didn't mind it, really. When he first got it, he was admittedly quite stressed out about it. The itchy fur, the heavy cumbersome limbs. It was a nightmare. He had seen a lot of things through the years; engines being sent for scrap heap, intense, almost fatal crashes, and having to watch as humans he knew grow old and weak, and he would always outlive them.

It was mostly quite sad. But Edward learned to get over it. He had been humbled through his years, gaining wisdom and passing it down to the younger engines. He was always calm about it, calm and collected.

But the infection did something to him. Not just mentally, but physically.

Instead of sky blue wheels that rolled along the rails, he had thundering, monsterous paws. Claws that can tear through flesh with utter ease, and sharp teeth that can sink into prey. He, like the others, couldn't control himself.

He hurt people. Killed people. Ate people. Was he calm and collected after that? No. Admittedly, the fact he did and can do such things, the bloodlust, it made him a little bit looney. Edward found himself more pulled towards the horror genres. An effect of being a blood-hungry beast, the old engine had to guess. Edward was a machine deep inside. A product of Lady and mankind. Even with these new feelings, that's what he'd always be, no matter how much this damned curse warped his body.

Did he hate it? No.

...he just didn't like it.

- James -

James stared in the small window. He admired himself, with horror, fascination and a bit of sadness. He looked splendid! As splendid as ever! His fur was fluffy and perfect, his claws were lovely, perfectly sharpened and red. He was splendid...he HAD to be. Right?

It took a lot of work to get here: he had to get painfully sick and puke his boiler pipes out nearly every night, then came the horrid, agonising sensation of his chassis peeling off. Beautiful, beautiful red blood smothered the place around him. Yes, he was screaming to the high heavens, screaming his breath away as the rails were painted in many shades of red. But it was of happiness, totally happiness. He was even more amazing than ever.

At first, he absolutely hated it, when he came to his senses after a while, he would rip out the grey fur that covered most his body. He'd whine, he'd hurt himself, he'd cry and sob. He felt like a giant, ugly rat, parading as a steam engine. As he sat there, staring into the window, his eye shadow was running. He didn't even notice he was silently crying. He was splendid. He was a splendid engine.

But deep down inside, he knew he was a freak. He grew more obsessed with his looks, in order to not be seen as a freak, James would pamper himself, make himself as splendid as possible.

James wanted to love it. But way down inside...he hated it.

#thomas and friends #thomas the tank engine #monster engines #ttte thomas #ttte edward #ttte james #james the red engine #edward the blue engine #angst #body dysmorphia

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wingedhallows · 10 months ago

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i won't make it, love ; marauders

pairing: marauders (sirius idk ) x reader | 0.6k words plot: betrayel has consequences, in most cases, death. prompt: "i won't make it, love." authors note: a little something i wrote after a shitty day, hope u like it

navigation | happy ending

“It’s somewhere here, see.” Atreus held the parchment for you to see, his long dark hair whipping around in the cold winter wind. You nodded and gave him a small smile which he returned.

"Firewhiskey’s on me after this darn miss-”Crucio!” Without as much as a second to take a breath you slumped to the moist ground as a horrid howl escaped your wringing form. The pain shot through you like lightning as Atreus tried to fend off whatever caught you off guard.

The pain left you, slowly but surely as cold air rushed through your lungs, your eyes adjusted to dark once more as you scrambled to your feet, your wand tightly wrapped in your hand. Atreus was fighting against what seemed to be a death eater and- and.. Peter?

“Peter?” Your voice caught him off guard as his wide eyes found yours. Without a noise Atreus crumbled to the ground, eyes wide and dead.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you stared at Peter, your breathing speeding up. “Y/N, oh, you have to understand, there was no other way!” He tried but you cocked your head to the side, tears gathered in your eyes as you tried to keep yourself from sobbing.

The betrayal flushed through your veins like ice. “But, Peter.” He shook his head and pointed his wand towards you.

“Stupefy” Peter spoke and without warning you’re launched back, your wand still tightly in your palm as you pushed yourself to your feet.

A small chuckle left your lips as the tears spilled, you weren’t going to see Sirius or Remus again, you’ll die in this alleyway and neither James or Lily will know what happened to you.

You couldn’t let that happen. Peter had started crying and the Death Eater became impatient, his want pointed towards you as well.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” he spoke as you got ready to apparate. “Sectumsempra” Peter yelled. Just as your body warped and bent through the portal you could feel it. The burning white pain shot through you as you crashed into concrete, your head pounded in despair.

“Incendio” you whispered as a flame shot out of your wand towards the window of their house. They knew about your mission, they must all be there.

You could hear some noise, the blood slowly crept up your throat having you choke out. The blood pooled out from underneath you, your hands now covered in crimson.

The door snapped open and the yelling began. “Oh my god-”Y/N-”Remus, make way-”Get out the way.” James had his hands under your armpits, Sirius had your ankles as they dragged you inside.

“Lily!” Remus yelled, some hands pushed down on your chest as more blood made its way up your throat. “Love!” Sirius held your face, eyes spiked with tears as you tried to give him a smile. “Sir-Sirius.” You choked out, as James went for your hand.

“What-What happened?” Sirius whispered as he brushed some dirty hair from your face. “Peter.” You whispered. His eyebrows furrowed as Lily pushed past him, clothes in hand. “Sirius, please.” She pushed him. “James, call a healer, now!” She yelled and James followed suit. “Peter is a Death Eater.” You choked once again, you could feel it, the life leaving your body.

“I won’t make it, love.”

He shook his head as he sobbed out, hands on your face again. “Don’t-Don’t say that.”

“I love you.” Your feet felt like ice, your hands went numb and slowly but surely your brain gave up, it just sent you straight to sleep.

“No, baby, please!” Sirius yelled, hand pressed on his eyes as he sobbed, Lily stilled to let out a breath.

“Please, please, open your eyes, y-you-you can’t d-do this, fuck!”

You were dead and there was no point in calling a healer, James tucked his wand away.

#harrypotter #hp fanfic #marauders era #marauders imagine #the marauders #sirius black #sirius black x reader #harry potter fanfic #sirius black angst #harry potter angst #the marauders angst #marauders angst

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livesworthlivingau · 5 months ago

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Lives Worth Living Chapter 18

ISAT/Two Hats Spoilers below. CW: Suicidal Ideation/Mention, Intrusive Self-Depricating Thoughts, Verbal Abuse, Hacking up blood, just very emotionally painful themes and tones.

(The lightless void... You're back here... You kneel and hold yourself close, shaking. Tears streak down the right side of your face again. No no no no no no! Not here! Not now!! You have to get out, you have to wake up, you have to get away! You look around frantically, trying desperately to find an exit, some sign of difference, anything but- oh no...)

(You spot it in the distance, the dark cloaked and hatted figure, approaching with silent footsteps. The dark reflection of yourself, here to replace the bright one you had lost.)

(You stumble back, staring in absolute horror as it keeps growing closer. Nonononono... Not you, not again... You shut your eye tight and turn the other way, starting to run as fast as you can manage. It can't get you if you can't see it, right? It's not real, just ignore it!)

(You run in the lightless void, even darker with your eye closed, just sprinting in whatever direction you faced. You can't manage to keep up the pace for long, but you think hopefully you lost it somehow. Just as you begin to slow to a stop you feel a hand suddenly grip your shoulder, clenching down like a vice as you cry out in shocked pain.)

["Stardust..."]

(Your eye shoots open at that voice, immediately getting blurry from more tears forming.)

"Loop..." (You whisper out, unable to stop yourself from turning to face it. You're met face to face with that horrid sadness. Its wide, unblinking eye staring deep into your very soul, darkless and lightless in all the wrong places. It opens its mouth as loop's voice flows out of it.)

["Stardust... You only needed to help me with one simple thing. Get us out of the loops. That's all I wanted from you. And you couldn't even manage that~."]

(Their voice tears into your heart like the knife that once entered it. You choke out a few sobs before falling to your knees, collapsing against the figure and hugging its lower half.)

"Loop... Loop I'm so sorry..."

["I did it because of you, you know! You drove me to it, teehee~. I could barely stand a two day loop with you, how could I bear thirty years? You're terrible, terrible, terrible, stardust~! Imagine having to be stuck watching you crawl your way through the decades, just to watch you repeat a cycle..."]

-"Of erasing my change."- (Mira...)

<"Of never letting me grow up."> (Bonbon...)

|"Of breaking my heart."| (Isa...)

="Of letting me die."= (Odile...)

["Honestly, Stardust, it's a wonder I made it as long as I did~."]

(The tears flow down your face and soak into the figures cloak, just shaking and sobbing.)

"I-I'm so sorry I couldn't help you..."

[""Oh, stardust... You already have. Don't you see? It's your fault I'm gone. There's no longer a Loop in this universe, and I couldn't be happier about it! All you had to do was love me, and accommodate me, and include me in your lurid little life until I wanted to kill myself~."]

"N-No... No that's not true!" (You cry out, pulling away, starting to stand and walk back away from it.)

["Of course it is~! You were so gracious too, ready to hand me the Fighter's heart without so much as asking him. Aren't you the worst, Stardust~? Only one loop in and you're already back to treating your family like playthings, teehee~!"]

"NO! NO I WASN'T! THAT'S A LIE!!"

<"You'd know, Frin... You lie all the time!!! You lied about our super duper wish promise!!! You said you wouldn't make yourself loop and you CRABBING LIED!!!">

(The cold sensation in your body grows even colder at that.)

"B-Bonnie... N-No, I-I didn't! I-I couldn't, I swear!"

["It wouldn't be the first promise you broke, stardust. Remember when you promised not to tell anyone about our past? And then you went right to the Researcher and spilled your withered little heart out~."]

"SHUT UP!! SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!!" (You scream, making a scissors sign and swiping frantically at it. It doesn't react in the slightest as a flash of craft slices through it.)

="I'm glad you would trust me with those kinds of secrets, Siffrin. Researching your predicament is going to be the only thing I enjoy about your company for the next thirty years."=

-"When can we move on, Siffrin? You're not going to put our lives on hold just so you can figure out these new loops, are you?"-

"I CAN'T- I-I- IT'S NOT MY FAULT! I-I'M SORRY!" (You scream, gripping your hair and pulling on it, falling to your knees again as you feel the tears continue to pour down the right side of your face.)

["Oh, but it is, stardust! You made that wish, after all! You wished to stay with them! You wished to trap them together with you until they had no choice but to love you and stay with you!"]

"SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!!" (You cry out, slashing out with your scissor sign again and again and again, the most you manage is to blow their cloak around the slightest bit...)

|"You keep playing with my heart, Sif. You had your dagger ready, why didn't you use it? Were you just waiting for me to come through the door? So you could make me pity you more than I already do?"|

"SHUT IT YOU BLINDING MONSTER!!!!" (You have to get out of here, you have to escape! YOU HAVE TO GET FREE! You look around for something, anything, there has to be a way out of here! You turn around and start running again, just hoping for some time to think.)

(You feel around for your dagger, you can't find it anywhere. Isa took it from you. He took your way out. He trapped you in here because he cared about you. You run yet again, but everywhere you turn, you see it again, slowly getting closer each time you double back.)

(With one last turn, it's hand lurches forward, gripping your throat again as you choke out, struggling and kicking. You're quickly slammed to the ground, knocking the wind out of you, gasping violently to try and recover.)

["Maybe us Siffrins should stick together, stardust. Why don't you join me?"]

(You fall limp under it... Maybe it was right... maybe you should just put an end to all of this...)

"L-Loop..." (You let out in a pained whisper.)

["It's better being dead, Stardust. Take it from Loop, helpful Loop~ The life of Siffrin isn't worth living. Your little family will be better off without you taking up so much space in their lives~."]

(... It's true... you've consumed so much of their lives in the past 30 years, and this time it's only going to get worse... Maybe they would be better off...)

["Isn't that so much easier? To just accept you'll never truly be worth loving~. I don't know why that silly Fighter of yours bothers so much. You must have done quite a number on that poor man to make him so obsessed with you~."]

(... Isa... You grip at its wrist as its hand remains around your throat. The figure tilts its head some at this.)

["Awww, is my little Stardust getting a second wind? You're so pathetic~."]

(It grips your throat tighter. You choke out, struggling and squirming in it's grasp. You have to get out of here, you have to find a way, you have to make it back... You have to make it, for Isa, for all of them...)

["You were soooo close~. Just one little wish away, so why fight it now? You're so much cuter with that sad, defeated look plastered across your face~."]

(It remarks, lifting you up and slamming you back to the ground again, hacking up some blood. You wheeze and choke for air, kicking about frantically. Get out get out get out get out get out!!! Your mind races, digging for something, anything to help you get out of here... and then you remember it, that visceral shade. The one that lit up the sky on that last loop, the one that flashed in your mind when you said it's name...)

["You better get comfortable Stardust, because I'm going to enjoy killing you over and over and over again! No escape this time~!"]

(Before it can manage to lift you up again, you shout the name of your home. Everything goes to that color as it fills your mind and vision. Once it fades you can hear your own screams, hacking up the same shade across the floor, looking up to see the figure stumbling back in a daze. It's working... it hurts like hell but it's working.)

(You shout it again with another flash. Your senses slowly return again, shaking violently, hacking up more of that bright blood. You weakly look towards the figure as it had fallen to it's knees, the air around it like static, buzzing and glitching, like the house reacted on your last loop. One more time... that has to do it...)

"---------!!!" (Your senses fade again, for much longer this time. When they finally return to you, you're screaming out, on your hands and knees on your bed. You hack up more, staining the sheets with the horrible tint.)

"SIF?!" (You turn to see Isa practically having kicked the door down. You weakly reach your hand out for them, gasping and choking for air, still hacking up more and more of that horrid shade.)

"S-Siffrin!" (Mira shouts as she rushes in as well, Odile is standing at the door still, holding back a struggling Bonnie.)

"Let me see Frin!!"

"Not now Boniface, let them help first."

"FRIIIIN! IT'S OKAY WE'RE HERE!!" (Odile shuts the door behind her as she exits the room. Isa is tightly gripping your hand in his, Mirabelle is pumping as much healing craft as she can into you. You did it... you made it out... you escaped, thanks to the love they have for you...)

"Isa... Mira..." (Is all you can manage to choke out, laying somewhat limp against him.)

"Shhh, shhh, save your strength buddy. We're here, we're here for you..." (You let him hold you gently, just enjoying his warm embrace again. You slowly close your eyes to rest once more, feeling safe from the sadness locked within you, at least for now.)

Huge thanks to @tactical-shrubbery for helping me with the dialogue for MDP, she is SIMPLY TOO GOOD AT IT! I actually had to change the ending because Sif would have literally give up if she kept going ^^;

#lives worth living au #lwlau #isat au #isat spoilers #isat fanfic #isat #in stars and time fanfic #two hat spoilers #in stars and time spoilers #isat two hats

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cheianimatez · 5 months ago

Text

Please Don't Cry, Little One

Warnings: Child abuse, violence

You have horrible parents. They treated both you and your older sibling horribly. But your sibling loves you. They swore they will never leave your side and maybe soon, when you two are old enough, you can finally escape this hellhole.

One day, they saw you crying, covered in bruises, so they decided to let you play on their phone. While your parents went out to get drunk, your sibling cooks you dinner. Meanwhile, while you're using their phone, you found a game called "Genshin Impact". You asked your sibling about this and asked for their permission if they can play it. Your sibling said yes.

You played the game and you're amazed from the graphics and the world. It looks like a fairy tale. Your sibling told you some basic knowledge on how to play the game and about the story.

You saw a character named Venti in the team, and when you tried his gameplay, you loved it.

When your sibling saw you happy and when they looked at their phone, they were surprised you used their main.

Everyday, when you have a chance, you played Genshin on your sibling's phone just to play as Venti. The bard is very fun to play with, your sibling can see that.

Until one day, tragedy struck.

Your sibling got beaten to death. Your father is now trying to find you, holding a bloody bat on his hand, while you're hiding in a closet somewhere in your room. You held your sibling's phone, the game still on but the sound volume is low so that the horrid man won't hear it.

[Meanwhile]

Venti is wondering why is his guide no longer responded. He then looked through the screen; on the sky, there is a barrier between two dimensions: His world, and his Traveler's world. He gained sentience the moment he met the main character. He realized the Traveler he usually talked to is not the real one. And he's probably the only one who can see the translucent barrier.

And oh boy, when he looked through, his eyes widened in horror.

A child crying.

He could here their mumbles "My sibling's dead. I'm so sorry, Venti"

Wait, his Traveler is now dead?! The child is their sibling?

He could here faint shouts of another voice.

And it sounded angry.

"Come out, you little sh(#)!"

No!

He won't linger here and watch helplessly!

He must do something!

Then he did what he shouldn't do in Teyvat, let alone in his nation...

He turned to his god form and flew fast towards the barrier.

Your father found you and is now holding you tight by the neck.

"Your sibling won't help you now, helpless creature!"

He's about to throw you to a wall when he suddenly got thrown away by a strong gust of wind, letting his grip on you go.

"Mortal fool, you think you're powerful by hurting a child?"

The man immediately scrambled backwards as his eyes widened to the god. The costume is not even a costume, it's legit.

"You should have taken care of your young. Instead, you and your wife abandoned them. Now, your punishment will be death!"

"The God of Freedom ensures everyone has freedom. But you, it seems you take it for granted..."

"So I have no choice but to take away your freedom. Your freedom to live"

Venti, or should I say, Barbatos, summoned his bow, and aimed the arrow infused with Anemo energy, and released it, hitting at the man's heart. You were behind Barbatos's wings, so you can't see what happened to your cruel father, all you heard are his screams of agony.

When the screams are no longer heard, Barbatos turned around, still not letting you see what happened to your father, but all you know is that you're finally safe. When you looked up, he looked familiar to your sibling's main

"Venti?"

"Yes, little one?" -Venti, feeling glad the child, his Traveler's sibling, remembering his human form.

You then hugged him as you let out your quiet sobs, making Venti sad.

"Hush... It's alright, you're safe now" -Venti, hugging you back

"Please don't cry, Little One..."

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #sagau #platonic #child!reader #venti #barbatos #venti x reader #just a normal self-aware au #no religious/cult themes 😃✨

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milequaritchsslut · 2 years ago

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Neteyam x Dead Reader Part 2

Warnings: crying, tainted reality, mental illness, suicide, pregnancy. blood, death, depression

Summary: after your death, Neteyam doesn’t know what to do without his mate

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4

…

“Neteyam, for your own sake go and talk to your family they miss you” you begged your mate, who was connected to the tree of souls to talk to you. The night before he had slept here, and tonight would be no different. “But it is better here with you yawne” he protested, too deep in his sorrows to listen to your demands. You didn’t want to disconnect from him but you knew it was the only way he would listen to you.

“If you will not listen to me Teyam, I will disconnect” warning him, his expression soon changed from a warm smile to teary eyed. “No please yawne, please don’t disconnect I don’t know what I will do without you!” Falling to his knees as he wrapped himself around you. Tears welled in his eyes at the thought of being without you. He refused to face this reality, the reality that you were dead. The reality that he was alone once again, with no mate by his side. He had not cleaned himself in days, he reeked of rotting food and horrid body odor. He refused to leave your side at the tree of souls. He hadn’t disconnected in days and it was effecting his physical body. He had become weak, from postponing his training for months now. His arms were small and scrawny, and his legs weak. Due to him never eating it was hard for him to walk sometimes. You were the only thing he thought of, the only thing he really longed for.

In his eyes you were still here, still alive and breathing. You were just taking a break from life for a little while, of course you’d come back! You didn’t die, everyone was just confused. He was the only one who knew you’d come back, the only one who knew the truth. But one day he would have to wake up from this reality he had created with you. This false reality, his tainted mind had formed. And you were the one who would do that, you couldn’t bare seeing your mate like this. The boy you once walked with every night, had turned into a leech. Never leaving you alone, always by your side. It pained you to do this to him but you knew it was for the best. “I love you Neteyam, please take my advice” you finally spoke, disconnecting he was brought back to reality. Sitting down on the mossy floor, alone once again. His eyesight turned blurry, the tears coming down with no sign of stopping. Shielding himself from the outside world, he rocked himself back and forth. His head in between his knees, as he wailed for your touch once again.

“What will i do without you yawne?” He asked, as if you were sitting there with him. This was routine for him, talking to himself all night. Acting like you were there, your physical body still being in his grasp as he reached out for something that would never be there. It had seemed that Ewya had turned her back on him. Letting his mind go to mush without you here. Letting his body rot away when he wasn’t talking to you. Though the clan prayed for him to heal, the healing never started. It would never start, as long as you were still in his memory. He would never heal, not without you by him.

Maybe he didn’t need to heal, what if he could be with you forever? He had never thought of it up until now. He yearned for you, for your voice to fill his ears up once again. Why couldn’t he? Wiping his tears from his glossy sockets, he closed his eyes. Letting the image of your body flood through his mind. Remembering the feeling of your soft hair in his grasp, the feeling that surged through his body when he would feel your touch, the plans you two had made for the future. He remembered the day you had told him you were pregnant, the feeling that rose throughout his body was unimaginable. He took you into his warm embrace as tears of joy ran down his face at the thought of a little copy of him running around. His biggest wish was having a family with you, he had prayed to Ewya that she would bless you with child. And his prayers had been answered, he planted kisses all around your womb.

That seemed so long ago now, the reality of having you bear his child was impossible now. You were dead and so was his unborn child, this pain was too much for him. He needed it to stop, he needed a way out. This was the only way he could truly be happy, by joining you with Ewya. Bringing himself to the present, he quickly reached for his hunting knife in his holster. The shiny object glistening in the bioluminescent lights surrounding him, gave him hope of a better future with you. Without a second thought he angled the object towards him. Cutting through his own skin, the end of the knife had hit his heart. Looking down at the cut, he watched as the blood gushed out of his body. This was his way out, the only way he could feel happiness again. The pain was nothing compared to the agony he felt without you.

But soon his eyelids turned heavy, too weak to keep them open he slowly let them shut. The last thing on his mind was seeing you again, his only goal in this life was to see you. What felt like seconds later he opened his eyes, being awakened by a familiar voice. His eyelids opening, he was met with your face hovering over him begging him to wake up. “Y-y/n?” He asked, laying on the grassy ground.

“Neteyam!”

taglist: @iwanttogohomeandtakeanap @dyingofcookies

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thebelladonnaofbuffoonery · 1 year ago

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❀ BANDAGES ❀

i HATE reading angst but oh lord do i LOVE writing it -especially for dazai.

CONTENT: one shot, dazai x reader, 902 words, hurt-comfort, canon relevant self harm, insecurity about said sh, real men cry, slightly ooc

you’d never spent much time wondering what dazai looked like without his bandages. admittedly, earlier on in your acquaintanceship, you had thought about it but quickly felt ashamed at how intrigued you were about something so personal to him -about someone you barely knew.

though you didn’t “barely know” him anymore, your intrigue had not resurfaced, but a desire for him to understand that you still cared about him grew daily. he shied away from your touch if the bandages were loose, had anyone but you dress his wounds after a fight, ran you countless baths but always sat on the cold hard floor beside it… you were starting to worry he might never trust you enough to relax completely around you.

“dazai,” you asked softly, one day as you’re laying against his chest while he’s tracing your palm.

“hm?”

“you know you can trust me, right?”

he chuckled and nuzzled his face into your neck, “why, i trust you with my life, my darling! honestly, i’m offended you need reassurance.”

you smiled, a warmth growing in your chest, “it’s just, i want you to know… well i feel like you don’t, sometimes. not with everything.”

he sighed, his patterns on your skin slowing to a halt, “is this about my bandages?”

“well, yes, but i don’t want you to think i’m saying this because i need you to take them off in front of me–”

“no, i understand that,” he said, returning to drawing in your palm with his slender finger. “in truth, i am a horrid beast underneath it all, i might turn you to stone if you saw my true form.”

you huffed, but couldn’t fight the smile he brought to your face, “dazai.”

“no it’s true!” he insisted.

“nothing about you could be so horrid,” you reasoned.

“you’d be surprised.”

it fell into a comfortable silence once more between you before you finally suggested what you’d been yearning to ask for months.

“let’s have a shower.”

“...together?”

“yeah.”

“i didn’t know my mere presence turned you on that much.”

“not like that,” you clarified, rolling your eyes at his playful nature, “just… come on.”

and he let you. he let you get off of him and pull him to stand, your gentle force guiding him to the bathroom.

“you don’t have to do this, if you really don’t want to,” you said, meeting his eyes as you shily took off your shirt. they softened under your gaze. he brought his large hand to the back of your head and pushed your forehead to his lips.

“i must warn you,” he said, drawing back and beginning to unbutton his shirt, “i’m a ghastly looking bastard.”

you merely rolled your eyes and helped him finish unbuttoning, meeting him halfway and allowing the garment to fall away. his bandages ran from his palms all the way to his chest and up his neck, held together at various points by elastic clips.

you took a step back, allowing him to undress them himself, one by one placing the little metal hooks on the bench and loosening the bandages.

he met your eyes only once, a shaky glace before the white fabric began to slip away.

underneath it all was nothing you hadn’t already expected; various types of burns, cut scars and marred skin. the amount of damage littered across his skin did surprise you a little, knowing dazai as someone without a tolerance for pain.

“hideous i know. most are from a time where i cared little for my comfort,” he said softly. you didn’t know how to respond, what else could be said that was not either glaringly obvious or out of touch at best? instead, you just continued to undress, taking garment after garment which soon dazai followed with.

wordlessly, you turned on the water and gently pulled him in with you until your back was pressed against the tiles and you could see him, all of him, in front of you.

“you’re handsome, dazai,” you told him softly, letting go of one of his hands to push his dampening hair from his eyes.

“i know,” he said deflective with his charming smile.

“you’re handsome,” you repeated.

“i know,” he said again.

“all of you,” you said.

he looked down at you, watching your eyes rake over him and sighed. he leaned into your touch, arching to rest his head on top of yours as your hands made their way up his back, fingers gently dragging over his damp skin.

you turned your cheek to place delicate little kisses over whatever skin you could in your position, his chest, his collarbone, his neck… painting his skin in a layer of affection. his hands squeezed your shoulders tighter and his body shuddered as you continued to place kisses against him, until finally he relaxed under your touch, and his arms dropped to wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

his body shuddered again and you realised, much to your dismay, he was crying. you tried to pull back but he just clung to you tighter. so instead of questioning it, you welcomed his hold, your hands continuing their motion across his back, running over his skin in soothing movements as he silently cried into you. the two of you stood in each other's arms for what felt like forever until dazai muttered in a deep, quiet voice,

“thank you.”

a/n: i was so worried this would turn saviour-complexy so i really hope it didn’t come off that way. i just tried to think about how i would respond if someone did what the reader did, hopefully that was sensitive enough.

#bungo stray dogs #dazai x reader #bsd dazai #dazai x you #dazai x y/n

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captain039 · 1 year ago

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PART 2 The predator grounds (Halsin)

Alpha!Halsin x omega!reader

Warnings: prey/predator, forced heats and ruts, sexual, smut, light angst, age gap, claiming., feels tadpoles make you honry 🤣

Previous part <-

When the sun rose you awoke with a jolt, not knowing where you were before your memories came back. You groaned softly the rock uncomfortable, your heat making the rock too hot now. You rolled onto a colder part with a huff, the sound of the waterfall was inviting. You smelt alpha also and jolted eyes opening, the alpha that followed you was leaning against the rock, head hung forward and eyes closed. You shuffled away from him more and glanced to the waterfall, cursing these clothes. They were sticky with sweat and your pants were ruined by slickness. You shuffled quietly towards the waterfall and sighed in relief as the cold water hit your skin. You glanced to the alpha seeing him wide awake, eyes plastered on you. You froze at the hungry gaze before he blinked with a gentle shake of his head. Your mind pulsated something taking over as you whined loudly, the alpha was on you instantly, panting loudly eyed golden. He groaned shaking his head violently as the spell broke.

“Gods what the hell?” You whined as the alpha above you panted.

“I think the intruders in our head are trying to enforce something” he groaned not moving off you. He had you pinned to the ground, a large body covering yours.

“Get off me” You weakly punched his chest, gods his scent. You closed your eyes trying not to bask in his presence, you didn’t need him you kept repeating to yourself. Gods you wanted him. You felt like crying, these clothes you wore were too restricting, a perfect alpha above you, something in your head. You let out a broken sigh as tears rolled down your face. You smelt his calming scent and cursed him.

“I don’t need you,” you said pushing him away and he allowed you to.

“Have you so much hate against nature's way?” He asked and you stared at him eyebrow raised. You wiped your eyes wanting to punch him again.

“This is not nature's way, this is torture you big idiot!” You snapped.

“It may be so easy for you, you’re an alpha! Take and take whatever you please without thought for a single omega! You’re-“ you groaned frustrated.

“Every lover I’ve taken has been in my utmost care, they are my priority and their well-being is my number one concern” he defended.

“Good for you, you’re such a good guy,” you said sarcastically.

“Who hurt you to have such views and anger?”

He asked and you froze mind reeling back.

The alphas in your life were nothing but horrible creatures, your mother for one. She forced you into the streets, trying to sell your body at a young age, as soon as you presented she practically sold you to a brothel. You didn’t stay long, you tore a man’s ear off as soon as his hand touched you. You fought ever since fighting for your life and survival till you settled down in a small cottage away from the horrid city. You only headed in there when you needed supplies.

“Like that’s your business” you hissed and he growled making you tense.

“I’m having a very hard time as well” he said his eyes flashing golden again making you frown.

“Then go away!” You yelled.

“I don’t want you here, there’s no way in hell I’ll mate with someone like you!” You pushed and he growled loudly body pulsing with magic and suddenly a bear stood in his place. You froze quickly shutting your mouth as the bear groaned and stared at you, he was a shapeshifter. His eyes glowed again and golden magic flowed over his body, his human form back. He panted harshly, head against the rocks, fist tight on his leg, he truly was struggling.

“I’m sorry-“ you said looking away ashamed, maybe he truly was a good person.

“I am a first Druid at a grove, I lead a life guided by the oak father,” he said fist unclenching but shaking.

“I’ve never used my status as a gain or bonus, I work for things, I help people in need” he groaned quietly eyes closing tightly before opening again.

“I would never force a lover to be with me, mate with me, me biting your neck before was to protect you from a less kind fate, I never intended to harm you or claim you without consent, as much as I’d like too” he sighed shaking his head and you shrank. You sat back against the rock wall, bringing your legs to your chest, you’d been cruel without reason.

“I’m sorry” you repeated avoiding his eyes.

“I promise you I won’t lay a hand on you unless you ask, even if this thing is forcing us” he gestured to his head.

“I’ll keep fighting it back, if I can’t, then you can punch me again” he chuckled lightly and your stomach churned.

“My magic is blocked here, though if riled up I seem to change” he added sighing as he relaxed as best he could. You only nodded mind reeling different thoughts. You were hugging your knees, what sort of game was this? What were these things in your head? Why did they force you into heats and ruts? Too many questions and little answers. Too much want with little thought. Ever since you got here and felt his teeth in your neck you’ve been fighting the urge to beg for him to claim you, you didn’t even know his name.

“I haven’t told you my name, it’s Halsin,” he said like he read your mind. You told him your name in a quiet voice.

“It’s good to meet you, though I wish it were in better circumstances, perhaps your first thought wouldn’t have been to punch me” he joked softly and you cracked a smile.

“Maybe” you replied softly.

Next part ->

#Halsin x reader #the predator grounds #alpha Halsin #x reader #aob

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entitled-fangirl · 4 months ago

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Warrior.

Cregan Stark x wife!reader

Summary: Cregan and the reader spend the day with their children.

A/n: based on an ask! Also, the next wip is Luck P3! My goal is to get it out by late tonight!

Masterlist

........................................................

She rested a hand on her swollen stomach as she moved down the hall.

An unusual crease in her brow.

"Where is my husband?" She asked a servant as they passed.

"Outdoors, my lady. The courtyard was the last place I saw him."

She nodded, moving further down the corridor.

…

He was indeed where the servant had said.

He stood with a wooden sword in hand, easily blocking the blows from the children who dared to swing their own swords at him.

Their two babes.

Rickon and Alys.

She smiled as she neared them, watching as they tried their hardest to best their father.

Cregan turned his head at the sound of her nearing, lowering his sword with a smile.

Rickon swung his sword into Cregan's shin, making him let out a small growl.

That anger vanished as quickly as it had come.

"You're training warriors out here, my love?" She asked.

He brought her into his arms, kissing the top of her head, "Ah, yes. I do believe we'll have the strongest swordsmen in the realm at this rate."

Rickon ran to her, hugging her leg.

"I swear, Stark, you'd start training them out of the womb if you could."

He grinned, "Perhaps I'll try with this next one."

She moved to bend down to Rickon, but Cregan quickly scooped the boy up to keep her from exerting herself.

"Only three and you're already a better swordsman that I am, isn't that right, my boy?"

Rickon nodded with a grin at his father.

She leaned forward, placing a kiss to the boy's cheek. He grimaced and wiped it off.

Cregan grinned, "Don't wipe that off. That's something to treasure."

Rickon looked between his two parents unsure.

Cregan continued, "A lady's kiss is good luck. It's a blessing of sorts. You don't want to wipe it off, boy." He turned to his wife, "I'll show you."

She smiled and leaned to her husband, holding his face with one hand and kissing his cheek on the other side. Cregan closed his eyes at the feeling.

He looked back at his son, "Now, I'll win every battle I come across as long as I have it."

Rickon gawked, "Really?"

He grinned, "Truly. Now," he set the boy to the ground, "Perhaps you should go best your sister."

The boy ran off to his sister who swung at a practice dummy.

Cregan turned back to his wife, bringing her to him once again, this time landing a soft kiss to her lips.

"You're giving him false hope by doing that," she stated.

"How so?"

"He'll truly believe it."

Cregan placed a hand over her swollen stomach. "Oh, no. He'll believe he should respect women and fight for them on the battlefield!" He gave her a mocking smile, "How horrid am I of a father?"

"Cregan!" She laughed, "I mean it!"

"Starks are strong wolves. He'll manage, I'm sure."

She sighed and leaned into him, "Fine, but I won't be comforting him when he loses."

He laughed, "Yes, you will."

"I know I will."

About then, a small cry came from the two children.

Alys sat in the dirt, her wooden sword long forgotten as she held her arm.

Rickon ran to the pair, "You're right! I did it! I did it!"

The two parents looked at one another silently before moving to their stations.

Y/n knelt down to Rickon, "You've won?"

He nodded, "I bested her with your blessing!"

She pulled the sword from the boy's hand, "Rickon, tell me. Which do you believe would win a spar? Your papa or your mama?"

He answered almost immediately, "You would."

She grinned, "And why do you think that is?"

"Papa wouldn't fight you. He doesn't want to hurt you."

She nodded, "Exactly. So now tell me, do you believe you did right by beating your sister?"

Cregan moved to the girl, kneeling down and scooping her to him, "Does it hurt?"

Alys nodded.

"Let me see then."

A nasty bruise was beginning to form on her bicep.

Cregan let out a breath, "A worthy hurt, I'd wager."

"It's not fair!" She cried, "He didn't fight like a gentleman. He was breaking the rules!"

Cregan smiled, "He is only three, Alys. You're almost six now."

"But he just swings it about until it hits something!"

"I know, my girl. It'll hurt for a few days, but it'll pass. Like all injuries do."

Alys frowned, "You don't get hurt. Do you, Papa?"

Cregan let out a small sigh, "I do. Quite often. Injuries only happen to the best warriors, you know."

"Really?"

"Oh yes." He grinned with his next words, "And the best part? The best warriors also get up and dust themselves off when they wish to give up the most."

She scoffed, "Why would they do that?"

Cregan shrugged, "I dunno. Why do you think they do that?"

She thought for a while, "Because they fight for a reason?"

He smiled and kissed her forehead, "Smart girl. Now," he pulled her up to stand. "We're warriors, aren't we?"

She nodded.

"Then let's get up now, dust ourselves off, yeah?"

Y/n watched with Rickon in her arms as Alys hugged her father.

…

"Are they sleeping well?" He asked as she entered their chambers.

"Like the dead," she sighed.

He grinned, "Then we've done well, my love. C'mere."

He pulled her into a sweet kiss.

"I've been thinking," she started.

He pulled away with a furrowed brow.

"What if the next one does not wish to be a warrior?"

Cregan leaned away from her in thought before answering, "I suppose we need writers and priests and artists all the same."

"But it's not the Stark way," she argued.

He grinned and grabbed her by the arms, "I do not care if our children end up as the king's fools. One will take Winterfell, and the rest are free to explore the world as they see fit."

"And what of the one that takes Winterfell?"

"We'll know when they get older. One of them will treasure it, I'm sure. And I will name them my heir. I have a feeling it'll be Alys."

"And what if Alys wishes to retire her sword at age six and be a proper lady?"

He let out a light laugh, "Then she shall be a most formidable lady, but I will respect it nonetheless."

She hugged him as well as she could with her swollen stomach.

"The Stark way isn't given as is, it's created by generation. Our grandchildren could change the Stark name entirely for all we know."

She grimaced, "I hope they don't."

"No?" He grinned.

"I hope it stays firm. Colder than the Wall."

He chuckled, "Then you must let me train this next one from the womb."

She playfully hit his chest with a laugh.

"I'll have them winning tournaments at eight, I promise you!"

She shook her head with a smile, "You have them winning tournaments, and I'll have your head."

He grins, "Whatever my lady wishes."

She rolls her eyes, "Take me to bed, Stark."

He kisses her cheek, "With pleasure."

............................................................

Cregan Stark taglist: @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @callsignwidow, @8812-342, @nyxbranwenn

#cregan x reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark imagine #cregan stark #cregan stark x you #cregan fanfiction #cregan stark x y/n #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon fanfic #game of thrones x y/n #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones

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istoleyoursk1n · 11 months ago

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•❅───────────✧❅✦❅✧───────────❅•

A Wretched Love

A Gn!Durge X Gortash short fic.

Featuring Angst 💀

An alternative outcome to the Gortash boss fight.

The first fic I’ve done in years so let's see how this goes :)!

•❅───────────✧❅✦❅✧───────────❅•

Bloodied and heavy is all this cursed body of yours felt as you clambered your way up another flight of steps, steps that felt…oddly familiar. Trailing behind you were your exhausted companions who had ever so generously lent their strength to aid you in every way they saw fit. They meant everything to you, such precious souls that you've fought to keep alive, not just from the enemies that dare stand in your path… but from this profound urge that leaves you ever so restless.

You've done so much just to get to this pivotal point, you've slaughtered his men, his noble warriors, and his onslaught of soldiers, all to get to Lord Enver Gortash. Strange how such a name fills a sweetness in your bitter tongue, a sweetness you can't help but wince at. Regardless, you shook the familiarity and strangeness aside, rushing forth to the final flight of steps. You're so close to victory, a victory that could put an end to the Absolute and the chaos it had wrecked in its path. Enraged and pumped to the bones with a blissful rush of sweet sweet adrenaline, you were ready to slice this man into pieces and revel in his blood.

And there he was.

Standing a few feet away from your bloodied hands.

For a moment your eyes widened, a strange pull tugging at your darkened heart that was enough to make you hurl if it weren't for the sheer stubborn will you carry. You froze as you gazed upon him, a tired visage you can't help but feel utterly fixated by. You've seen this face before… somewhere lost in the sea of forgotten memories, you've met those same tired eyes dozens of times. Still, you pressed on. You were this city's last hope were you not? This is what everything you've done has led, right?

“Gortash! Step forth and face me so! Allow my blade to pierce through your godforsaken body, let these walls be coated with the color of your damned crimson blood!” Your words were violent, a rumbling growl of malice directed toward the man before you, and yet in you stirred a barrage of emotions you couldn't possibly understand. You were angered, frustrated, hurt, and perhaps even confused. But he sensed it too. No, he did not confront you with a scowl or a prepared speech over breaking your shortly-formed alliance, the man was smiling. A horrid smile you wish you could just tear off his face.

“Ah. It’s been far too long since I've seen that fiery look in your eyes… that darkened urge to maul whoever was unlucky enough to meet your striking gaze. Oh, how I miss it.” He uttered ever so sweetly, his phrases akin to a soothing remedy that only seemed to cause you to choke on your own words. How dare he say such things? How dare he leave you so clueless, so lost, helpless to the loss of a forgotten past… a past that certainly involved him. You tried to still your frustrations, and your confusion, stepping closer with an unsheathed blade.

“Whatever I was to you. Whatever we were. It means nothing to me now! I will be put an end to this, I will do what I know must be right!” your words of conviction sounded more like a plea than anything else, a desperate cry that longs to put aside all these familiar feelings this man had placed upon you. No, you can't recall what you two had done or were… but everything about him sent you into a craze. You wanted to rip him apart, to curse him for all that he’s done to the city and your dearest friends but... Your hands, bloodied as they are they long to touch him. Still, you shake those cursed feelings rush through you, snarling at the sensation.

“Tell yourself whatever you wish, my dearest assassin. Lie to yourself. Blind yourself, try your hardest to claw your way out but we have shared far too much for you to truly forget… for your body to forget.” His whispers were sickening, sickening in ways that bewitched your entire being. Out of desperation, you lunged at him, slicing a cut through his luxurious robes, though he managed to save his own skin by missing just in time. His guards were all too ready to attack, moving to their master's aid and yet, he signaled for them all to halt.

Still, you were persistent, refusing to falter now. You've come too far to fall at the hands of a man whose tyranny couid have ruined this entire city. You drew your sword against him again, attempting to slice and tear pieces of his flesh just as you always do to your every foe and yet you couldn't hit him. It was as if he memorized your every move, exactly how you fought, exactly how your body would strike. It was a glorious dance of death. Your companions were left to stand back as they attempted to attack the guards who circled around their tyrannical Lord, allowing you and Gortash to focus on one another in a rather familiar proximity.

“Just as I remembered. Just as how I dreamed. You are as dreadful as the day I first met you. Just how many have you slain without me? Don’t tell me you've replaced me now.” He chimed, even laughing as he fought against you. A low growl found its way out of your lips, followed by the swing of your blade which Gortash could have so easily avoided yet again… but he did not. Blood began to drip down his chest as you finally were able to cut through his skin, his blood being the most beautiful kind you've ever seen. You shook at the thought of finding his blood beautiful, of finding him beautiful.

“Stop! Whatever it is you’re pouring into my mind! Stop this madness! I’ll cut your throat and dine on your bones like the worthless thing you are.” the words roared out your throat like a violent threat, enough to make anyone cower, anyone but Gortash himself. Instead, his smile only seemed to widen, his eyes brightening in ways you couldn't understand. That wasn't a look of hatred, that was a look of admiration, of enhancement, of desperate longing. Pure unrivaled longing. You couldn't stand it, you couldn't stand feeling so helpless around a man you swore to kill. With another swing of your blade, you continued to cut through his skin, your composure shattering bit by bit as cry after cry left your lips.

“And that would be the most magnificent thing you could ever give me. To have such an ethereal monstrosity such as you rip through my very heart once more…if I could only have you once more, if only you could cry out for me once more..” His words… so soft, words that were meant for you. He was smitten by your every move even if each strike was meant to hurt him. He was drawn to those bloodshot eyes and the trembling little growls that would leave your lips as if by nature. You felt as if you wanted to scream, to cry out, to pull out these confusing sensations you feel for the man who’s been happily bleeding out for you. It almost feels as if you've done this before as if you've made him bleed a dozen times and more…

For a moment, your eyes darted all about, finally taking in the massive room you and your companions stood within as you all fought and bled. A room that felt all too familiar to you. These stone walls and these blood-stained carpets… stained by your hands somehow if only you could remember. Those disgusting paintings you could have sworn you've passed by many times before and in the corner of your eye a soft bed whose bed frame is etched with deep claw marks of… are those yours?

All too suddenly, you were shoved up against those stoned walls by clawed fingers, snarling at the man who dared do such a thing to you. Writhing and clawing beneath his hands, you struggled to push him away from you. He was bleeding, bruised, and bloodied from your onslaught of attacks, and yet his smile never once disappeared. He was getting closer... Close enough to make your skin crawl. His scent was enough to drive you mad, an all too familiar scent that made you want to skin him in hopes of keeping such a precious scent to yourself.

“Oh, love. My wretched love. We could have been so good together. We could have moved mountains, we could have ruled this world, we could have been… us.” As charming as his words were you could feel a deep pain stir within him. He was smirking and yet pain was nestled within those dark eyes. He knew all too well that you wouldn't recall a thing, that all memories you may have had with this man were long gone, and yet… you could feel it. Like a cold haunting whisper that caressed your skin, your body, and perhaps even your heart could remember just how much this man meant to you, how much he once completed you. And the way he calls you his… the way that once upon a time perhaps you two were beyond mere allies or enemies.

You opened your lips to protest, to bark out every threat and insult that you could muster but they were silenced by a sudden tug of your hair and sharpened claws against your throat leaving nothing but a growl to rumble out your mouth. “We were unstoppable! We were a team! Through the hells and back we were by each other’s side. We were magnificent! We were above it all! Two Kings atop a golden throne! We waltzed through foul piles of rotting flesh and built towers out of our sheer brilliance! We were everything we could ever…” and for a brief moment, he hesitated to continue, not when both of your Gods looked down upon their chosen with weary eyes. He couldn't say such a thing… yet still, he pressed himself closer, clawing deep sweet cuts at your skin which only caused you to shriek. Even so, it all felt too good, such a wonderous feeling of chaotic bliss that you hadn't felt in so long. Both of you bleeding together, your breaths so close together. Somewhere deep within your heart no matter how much you deny it, you've been through this before. You’ve basked in each other’s unholy blood before.

“Enver. What was I to you?” You choked out through heavy sighs, the name rolling out the tip of your tongue like a forbidden pleasure. You've said this name a hundred times or even more, a name that even now despite all the memories you lack, leaves your body shuddering head to toe. Your blade was still pressed against his skin like a warning, a warning that if he came closer, close enough to reach your bloodied lips, he’d die. You couldn't let him get that close no matter how much you seemed to ache for it.

“You were mine. As I was yours.”

A sudden shiver ran up your spine at his confession, a confession so sweet it made you sick. You've come so far, and done so much to get here and it was taking everything within you to not drop your blade and fall into the arms of a man from your dreaded forgotten past. There was no denying it, both of you were pained beyond belief, lost in a flurry of sensations that left both of you breathless. Perhaps, in another life, things could have been better… perhaps you two could have been rulers of a rotting world, but not this one. Not anymore. The struggles you’ve gone through to resist The Dark Urge you felt coursing through your wicked blood were nothing compared to how insanely difficult it was to resist the treacherous embrace of Gortash. Your Enver.

In a final moment of sheer desperation, you finally mustered up the strength to pierce your blade through his body, heaving at the realization that you had just taken a life that at a certain point meant everything to you. His blood felt glorious against your skin, the life from his eyes slowly flickering as he gazed upon you with nothing but utter awe. Even in his final moments, hatred was something he never could have felt for you. You shook in fear for the first time in decades, grasping onto the man whose roughened hand gently began to graze the skin of your cheek. You did what had to be done… and yet you could not help but feel utterly broken. Shattered by the fact that even now, you’ll never understand just why your heart beats so intensely for him.

A sharp angered cry left you the moment the fondness buried deep within his eyes began to drain, a loss you couldn't possibly comprehend. All the people you've slaughtered and tormented throughout your life but why is it he that you cry for? All you wish to do now is claw at your own flesh and curse yourself for once again bloodying those sinful hands of yours with a sweet visage that long ago you used to long for. This battle was doomed from the start, you may have come one step closer to saving the world but would it ever be enough to fill the sudden void in your heart?

Gods above all, what has this man done to you?

•❅───────────✧❅✦❅✧───────────❅•

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 x reader #durge #gortash #enver gortash #gortash x durge #durge x gortash #durgetash

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sheonlywanted · 4 months ago

Text

I’m Cold - Suna Rintaro

summary: Since the brutal murder of her older sister, the only family she had left, Reader is plunged into a world of cold and raw need for revenge. She takes over the work her sister left behind and begins to realize the world is far more dangerous than she could have ever imagined. When she crosses paths with a brooding, mysterious vampire, her body and mind are torn between her grief and desire. Caught in a web of secrets and heartbreak, which one will tear her apart first ?

content/warnings: dark themes, heavy angst, profanity, explicit smut, gore, and triggering content ( murder, sexual harassment, blood )

chapter summary: Reader returns home one night to find that her life has changed in a matter of hours. The cruel image of her sister’s battered body tattoos her brain, permanently burying itself into her conscious. With the last of her family being taken from her, she vows to avenge her sister by hunting down the one responsible. No matter what.

6.5k words

a.n- in a world where cigarettes aren’t gross as fuck.

chapter 1 - digest

Drip, drip, drip.

The constant noise does nothing to dull the incessant ringing in my ears. No other sound disturbs the heavy presence in the air, stealing all remnants of warmth, if there was any to begin with.

My breath stills as I try to focus, something akin to fear chains my feet to the ground where I stand. Preventing me from moving.

Dread wraps around my spine when I call her name and get no answer.

My hand trembles as I nudge the parted door even further. The edges are beaten and dented as if someone forced their way in, and it’s quiet, too quiet. Cold sweat trickles down my back as my breathing hitches, the smell is horrid.

The closer I walk the more my lunch threatens reappear, and I have to put a gloved hand to my nose to keep from retching. An unnecessary amount of blood is splattered along the wall and floor, trailing along the mattress in the center of the room.

I turn and kick the bathroom door so hard I can hear the distinct ‘crunch’ of the wall behind it caving in. ensuring that I- we are alone. A pit forms low in my stomach, my brain trying to keep from disassociating as it takes an excruciating amount of time to turn back and face her.

At the edge of the bed, the body of my poor, beautiful sister lays a few feet away from me. Her lifeless eyes bore into my soul, taking hold of my heart and squeezing. Blood covers a large portion of her pale, drained skin. Her arms are bent at an unnatural angle, and I can see the ropes tearing into her wrists from where stand.

Her hair is in a disarray and stuck to her face. The gaping wounds on her neck and breasts are covered in a horrifying amount of body fluid and crimson, still dripping onto the floor in a slow drip, drip, drip taunt.

Her wide, dull eyes stare at me. Forcing me to come to terms with what I’m seeing. She’s been maliciously violated and butchered, left to rot like a fucking animal.

A guttural cry rips from my throat as my lungs struggle to refill with oxygen. My entire body seizing with pure, cold, denial that my sister is dead.

I drag my feet to her broken, beaten frame, softly lifting her head into my lap like I would a delicate doll. Tears blur my vision as her cool skin rests against my rigid hands. Who would do something like this? Something this vile and cruel? Something so fucking evil?

I peel the sticky hair from her face and take my time really looking at her, because I know it’ll be the last.

Her defined cheekbones, the fading tint in her thick eyebrows and lashes, her once unblemished skin is now decorated with bruises and cuts that match the purple nail polish she always wore. I trace my shaking fingertips over the gash just above her right eye, down the bruised slope of her broken nose, and finally, over her large, vacant eyes.

My entire body racks and tremors with the sobs I refuse to let out. I hug her close to me as I gently rock us back and forth, her tied arms falling limp behind her. I hold her so tight her bones threaten to crush under the pressure, but at this point there’s not much left to break. Her unmoving body feels heavier and heavier as I brace myself.

“You know what you have to do,” A voice whispers in my ear, and a mental lock clicks in place.

I startle back, whipping my head in the direction I think the voice came from. But when I look, there’s no one there. My eyes glaze over as thoughts race in my mind. My breathing stutters as I come to a clear realization of what that voice- my mind is telling me.

Rage slowly creeps into my vision, replacing my sorrow in a hurried rush until it’s all I can feel, all I can taste. All traces of what could have been disappear in the blink of an eye, and a stranger slips into my body like a wolf in sheep’s skin.

Numbness coats my body in a different form of torture. As if holding my abused sister in my arms isn’t enough.

When my senses finally come back to me, I rush to turn around as everything I ate during the day forces its way out of my body. My mouth salivates as I jerk uncontrollably, and I have to put a hand to my stomach to ease the painful clench of my abs. When I’m done, I grab a shirt to wipe my mouth before crawling back towards the body.

Ripping the ropes around her wrists loose, my hands aren’t mine as I position her into a sleeping position and start preparing. I nearly stumble over broken glass as I abruptly come to a full stand, haphazardly trying to get myself together. And just barely escaping a panic attack.

Emotional unavailability for the fucking win.

The sharp sting of winter flows into the room, providing a chilling difference to my body temperature. I take a long, shaken deep breath and catch myself in the small mirror that is somehow still hanging above her smashed desk.

Dried blood streaks across my face and leather jacket from where I was clutching my sisters dead body, my hair is mussed and frizzy, and a sheen of sweat sticks to every inch of my body.

I’m disoriented as fuck. Considering tonight’s events, I can’t really blame myself for looking like a train wreck. But then again… my eyes trail back to her. I violently shutter.

The moonlight reflecting off of a shiny surface catches my eye, distracting me from wherever that was going. I squint, trying to get a closer look at the pointy tip of a blade that glints back at me. Covered in blood all the way down to its hilt, with a small soaked piece of fabric wrapped around the handle.

I carefully lift the heavy blade and peel back the drenched cloth. My head tilts as I try to read the red-stained initials embroidered on the handkerchief. ‘R.S.’

What the hell?

The terrifying weapon is heavy and lethal in the palm of my hand. Words are dutifully carved near the base of the hilt in a language I don’t understand. I quickly wipe off the blood and sheath it beneath one of the pockets in my jacket, along with the handkerchief.

I grab and load up everything I need to survive on my own, checking her work desk for anything valuable and packing it. I’m going to need all of the information I can get if this is going to work.

I won’t stand idly by and let my sister be murdered without consequence. She was the only person I had in this world and I’ll be damned if she dies in vain.

They left her here for me to find, and if a reaction is what they wanted, a reaction they will have.

With one last look at our life, I stand in the doorway of what we called home. Memory of her smile brings tears to my eyes as I hold a lit match in front of me, staring into the flame like it will give me all of the answers I need. I let it fall from my fingers and turn away without watching the raging flames consume the one person that held my life together.

And whoever constructed, committed this unforgivable crime will fucking burn with her.

****

“There’s another job tomorrow if you want it.” Hiwaki says from behind his desk.

My knife flings into into the center of the target directly above his head as he ducks into his drawer to collect my pay.

“No.” I don’t work tomorrow. He knows this.

He drops the small duffel bag onto the table, putting a hand on top as I go to reach for it. My eyebrow lifts and I step back, giving him the go to speak his mind.

“I think you should go, Q. The man you’ll be in charge of knew your sister.” He looks deep into my eyes, searching for something I don’t care to give him.

Hiwaki is an older man with salt and pepper hair, he’s my boss and the middle man of the ‘company’ I work for. He’s also the only person besides myself that knows about my sister, and how I found her that night.

He was her boss at one point, and he’s my boss now. So he knows my name isn’t real, but doesn’t question me about it.

Since that night six months ago, I’ve been tracing my sister’s steps back from the beginning, and this is where she started. Killing for Tony Hiwaki, in the roguish city of Wovren, the city with no rules— literally.

The law enforcement here is dog shit. The participation in illegal activities is basically an average workday. It’s why I keep my knives on me at all times, and have little to no trouble killing my assignments on a day-to day basis.

That aside, it wasn’t difficult to get to this point, she trained me in combat from the time I had enough strength to lift a knife at the age of eight, to the night I found her bloodied and beat on her bedroom floor.

I nod and reach over him, pulling my blade from the target and snatching the duffel bag before turning to walk out. “Send me the details.”

Just as I reach the parking lot at the back of the warehouse, I toss a look over my shoulder as someone calls my name. Here we fucking go.

“Q, there you are,” Cole, one of Hiwaki’s body guards catch up to me as I start up my motorcycle, ready to go the fuck home. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

His tan hand rests on one of the handles, like he’s scared i’m gonna flee at any minute. A valid fear.

“Busy.” I drawl, my voice dripping with boredom.

Cole knows I have no interest in him, I have no interest in anything other than ripping the throat of my sister’s killer from their body. Plus, he’s always been a little too touchy touchy, but he would die before he ever got the chance. Hopefully he knows that.

And I think he sees the threat in my eyes, because he raises his hands by his head in a surrender and takes two steps back.

“Well, me and some of the guys will be at a bar tomorrow night if you want to join us.” His eyes look hopeful, and I can’t help but to want to crush all those hopes underneath my leather boot. Terrible I know.

“No, thanks. I have a job tomorrow.” I put my helmet on and kick the metal rod into place, ending the conversation.

“Yeah, okay. Good talk!” He shouts over the revving engine as I turn and speed off into the night.

***

The punching bag groans as I land a swift kick to its tough leather exterior, the impact causing the smallest amount of movement.

I slump down in exhaustion, out of breath from the amount of hours I’ve been training. I’ll admit, my height and size put me at a disadvantage for hand to hand combat, but they also give me the upper hand when I need to move quicker or stay hidden. Besides, my knife skills do more than make up for what my body can’t give me, so I don’t complain.

I move to the duffel bag I brought with me and collect all of my knives to sharpen so I can start target practice next.

I’m in one of the personal gyms on the third floor of Hiwaki’s warehouse. He granted me unlimited access to it when I first came to work for him, his reasoning being that my sister used the same one when she was under him.

Having checked for any secret cameras or mics and coming up empty, I couldn’t find any ulterior motive he might’ve had, so I accepted it. I needed a place to keep my body sharp anyways.

‘Always be ready. No one should ever have the ability to catch you off guard.’

Her voice appears in my mind and my thoughts trail off to the first time she said those words to me. I was twelve years old and easily distracted, as most twelve year olds are, and happen to catch the gaze of a cute boy walking on the other side of the window of a gym we were sparring in.

All she needed was that sliver of an opening before she swung a leg under my feet, successfully making me land flat on my ass. It hurt like hell, and she did eventually help me up… after she’d had her fill of laughing right in my face.

“You’ll have plenty of time for that,” She said, eyeing the boy who was now walking away. “But right now you need to focus.”

Focus.

My head snaps to the to the sliding door just as Hiwaki reveals himself. He strides into the room and sits in a chair with the posture of a father trying to hang out with his son, but I know better than to take his visit as anything other than some sort of ploy.

I continue sharpening my knives as he finds his words, the sound of metal against metal fill the silence. It’s always something with this man, especially since he knew my sister. And I can’t find it in me to stop my brewing irritation every time he speaks.

Nonetheless, I patiently wait, standing to line up at the red mark several feet away from the human-sized wooden target.

“Q.”

“Hiwaki.”

“I don’t know how many times I’ve told you to call me Tony.” He says, his eyes following the blur of metal that lands in the middle of my target’s chest. “Your sister called me Tony.” He adds when I stay silent.

He always says weird shit like that, it’s starting make me uncomfortable as fuck. It makes me wonder if he was more than just her boss, the possibility gives me a headache.

“I’m not my sister, Hiwaki.” I drone, hoping he gets the message. “What did you need?”

He sighs with exasperation, “I came to warn you about the man you’re dealing with tonight.”

“What about him?”

“As I mentioned before, he knew your sister-” He pauses when my next knife splits the wood at the head.

“You did.” I respond.

“He’s a drunk asshole that may not come off as dangerous at first,” He walks in front of me, making sure he has my full attention. A dangerous move might I add.

“-And he’s not. But he has dangerous friends, so keep it clean and quiet.” His serious tone makes me consider his words for a second, he almost sounds nervous.

I always knew my sister was involved with dangerous people, it wasn’t exactly a secret. If training me to kill a man at the age I was wasn’t the revealing hint, then I don’t know what was.

“Who are these dangerous friends I should be worried about?” I question, noting the way he looks at his shoes before looking back at me.

“Don’t worry about that for now,” He attempts to smile and put a hand on my shoulder, both ultimately failing when I step out of arms reach.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would say you had a specific goal when you came to this room.” I state, side-stepping him to hurl another knife.

“I-“

“And surely you wouldn’t have come here to ‘warn’ me about these dangerous people if there was nothing to worry about.” His jaw clenches as I turn back to him.“But I could be wrong, hm?”

He chuckles, taking his time before stepping closer to me, his shoes just barely touching mine as he looms over me. “Clever girl, aren’t you?”

He’s so close I can see his freshly trimmed mustache and smell the scent of burning wood off of his clothes.

His eyes trail over my covered collar bone, up the expanse of my neck, and finally, back to my eyes as his crinkled ones crease with every movement of his face.

The action causes my hands to ball into fists to keep from breaking his nose where he stands. One second he’s caring and pitying, and the next he’s acting like a two-faced bitch with secrets.

I’m suspicious of everyone around me, have been since that night. But people like him make my fucking skin crawl, like I’m missing something that’s right in front of me.

He studies me for a moment longer, before leaning back to rock on his heels. The look on his face vanishes, a sweet smile taking its place. “Just stay on your toes, Q. Your sister should have taught you that, hm?”

I watch as he heads back the way he came. Anger thrums through my veins like electricity as my fist collides with the mirror behind me, the contact splitting the skin on my knuckles.

Though he’s given me no reason to kill him yet, I have a feeling one of my knives will be the reason he ends up six feet under.

—

The rest of the day goes by in the same blur as all the others. I train, I gather information bit by bit, and attempt push out every grieving thought that comes my way. Being able to keep food down or sleep for more than thirty minutes is a luxury. If the dark circles under my eyes give any indication.

One thing I did find after getting settled into my new place near the outskirts of the city, was that the words carved onto the knife I found are in japanese. They translate to the phrase, ‘When one takes an eye, you take their head.’

I couldn’t agree more.

I also discovered that the entirety of the blade is custom made. No blade smiths in the city had ever seen such intricate material tailored onto a knife, and I met a lot of them, even threw a few empty threats in to see if they were covering for someone. Still, nothing.

So the person that had it made is either dead or nonexistent— neither of which I’m willing to except.

The handkerchief is lost on me too. I can’t find any popular family names or establishments that have the initials ‘R.S.’ I even asked Hiwaki if he had any knowledge on the subject, even he came up clueless. Or so it seems.

And yes, I am aware that using his ‘sympathy’ or whatever you want to call it to get the information I need is messed up, and I really don’t give a fuck.

Everyday I look at the stained cloth as a reminder of what I’ve lost, and sometimes it feels like I’m going insane. Searching for someone I know nothing about, blindly trudging through an unknown water I don’t know the depth of with an endless need of making it to the other side.

A certain hunger consumes me, a ruthless craving that won’t detach its self until I take the life of the one who stole my sister’s. Hell, I can’t even say her name without having the sick urge to run around killing everyone around me. I might have to get that checked once this is all over with.

But that all goes over my head as the warm body beneath me temporarily relieves my current troubles.

His rough hands grip my waist as I grind down on him, a long groan escaping his lips as I get myself off. My hands are flat on his chest for balance as I leisurely roll my hips over his, his toned muscle rippling beneath my fingers as he struggles for air.

I lean down, capturing his mouth in a heated kiss, our tongues fighting for dominance. The cool metal of our piercings bump against each other when his teeth scrape along my bottom lip, causing a loud moan to rip from my throat.

“Fuck, baby.” He moans against my mouth, his long fingers sliding down to rub tight circles on my aching clit. Oh fuck.

I hide my face in the crook of his neck as the pleasure threatens to snap that tightening coil in my lower abdomen. I lick and bite the skin of his neck, letting my nails carry bright red lines down his heaving stomach. The vivid marks match the vibrant color of his hair, and my hands itch to pull on the strands, so I do.

When my legs begin to buckle, he flips us over so quick I don’t have time to react, before he’s sliding in and out of me at a brutal pace. The sounds of skin against skin fill up the small space around us, and It hurts so good.

“Holy shit,” I moan, clutching the strands of his fire-like hair even harder. His mouth forming an ‘o’ when my nails scratch his scalp.

His right hand clasps my upper thigh and throws it over his shoulder so that I’m taking him even deeper. Oh my god. We’re so close I can hear the tiny whimpers that slip from his mouth.

I might’ve told a little white lie when I said I wasn’t interested in Cole for obvious reasons, but I’m just not into Cole.

He can’t give me the much needed distractions like the man above me can, can’t make my back arch like the man above me can, and sure as hell can’t make me wet like the man above me can. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

Speaking of-

“Mmm~” His heavy breathing clouds my senses once again as we tip over the edge together. His large hands hold my ass with a bruising grip I know will be visible tomorrow.

“Ughh,” I loop my arms around his neck to ground myself.

His hips deliver a few more slow strokes before he slouches on top of me, his thumb rubbing small shapes into my skin as we both come down from our high.

Once he’s calm and collected, he moves off the bed to grab his clothes. I was so busy ripping them off when he first walked through the door that I hadn’t had the chance to see what he was wearing. How does the simple combination of black on black look so sexy?

I lay there, watching him get dressed with a satisfied grin on my face, he looks just as good as he fucks. It’s a rare duo.

He catches me staring, and his eyes travel down my exposed body before crawling back onto the bed towards me and settling in between my bare thighs. His seductive gaze almost makes me want to go another round.

When our noses are just inches apart, he closes the gap and kisses me long and hard. His tongue slips into my mouth in a gut twisting motion, stealing my breath before he pulls away, both of us breathing hard by the end of it.

“That was good, Q.” His mumbles, his eyes flickering down to my bruised lips.

“Yeah, it was.” I breathe, my mouth softly brushing against his, and I’m tempted to bite him again. “I trust you can let yourself out?”

“Of course, call me when you need me.” He winks, and I fight the roll of my eyes as he heads to my front door.

He has to be the only decent thing in my life at the moment. Both of us want the physical relationship with out the labels or commitment, and it’s perfect.

I needed something to take the edge off without all of the extra shit, and he checks all of the boxes.

After I’m done reminiscing about our amazing sex, I head to the shower to get ready for tonight’s mission. The gears in my mind immediately shifting into a weapon.

—

Nighttime rolls around in a timely fashion as I dress in my usual black leathers. All of my blades are sheathed and concealed from sight as I head out of the building to meet my client for tonight.

I don’t like using guns, they’re too loud and too noticeable. Having the ability to catch someone by surprise right before I watch the light leave their eyes gives me the stealth and reputation of a fox. It’s probably the another reason Hiwaki treats me so well, I’m one of his best assassins.

If not the best.

The intel stated that the man would be at an exclusive bar in the heart of Wovren. It’s the weekend so it’ll be busy, but easier to get him alone. He apparently also has a weakness for any woman he lies eyes on— like most of the men I’ve dealt with— soo bingo.

When I walk in, the bass and volume of the music threaten to bust my ear drums. I scan over the crowds of people filling the two story club, specifically searching the two main bars for bright blonde hair. There are people everywhere, ranging from naked strippers to drunk birthday girls and suspicious looking business men.

Booths in every corner are filled up with people who seem to be having a good time, a really good time. My eyes squint as I notice the glazed over look in their eyes. And yet the waitresses don’t break a sweat getting the alcohol from table to table. It’s like walking through a circus.

As I continue to observe what’s around me, a sudden chill dances down my spine. I have the urge to look behind me but choose to ignore it when I think i’ve found who I’m looking for.

Surely enough, across the room on the second floor, a buff, middle aged man with hair the color of his skin sits alone at the bar. The pink tint on his cheeks let me know this won’t take long as I start up the stairs in his direction.

I slide smoothly into the stool beside him and order a glass of whiskey, neat. I pretend to mind my business, paying him no mind when I feel his eyes on my side profile, taking a long, slow sip before gently setting the glass on the counter and chancing a glance in his direction.

I must say he looks good for his age. I’m not one for older men but there’s no concerning amount of wrinkles or yellow teeth —I’m almost impressed. He’ll be easy to seduce, which makes my job a hell of a lot easier.

He continues admiring my figure so openly that I can tell he’s undressing me with his eyes, and I might just puke. I’m sitting right fucking here. What a pervert, the audacity that men have will forever astound me.

“Are you going to keep staring at me like a piece of meat or actually attempt to flirt?” I question, draining the rest of my glass and waving the server over for another, turning my smooth gaze on him.

A drunken smile creeps onto his face before he turns to drain the last of what’s in his glass too. “A bit under dressed for such a place hm?” He replies, lifting a pale brow at my choice of outfit.

There’s a slight slur to his words, I should get him out of here before I have to carry his ass out myself. I do a once over of his white button up and grey slacks, faking interest as I take my time responding.

“I could ask you the same,” I say, looking to the side and biting my lip before looking back at him. “But I take it you’re not one to talk much.”

I think i’ve always been one for dramatics. Just a little. I will say my flirting could use some work, but these things never last long enough for me to actually practice. Which I don’t particularly mind-

Everyone in here is either drunk or on some kind of substance. Not to mention the couples’ in the booth across from us have forgotten they are in a public place. My nose scrunches in disgust. I’ve barely been here an hour and would already like to leave.

“-From the way you’re looking at me, I could say the same.” He sets his glass down and stands— well, tries to.

I’m happy he’s already done me a favor and gotten drunk enough that killing him will take me barely lifting a finger, especially with how big he is. But how exactly am I supposed to get answers out of him if he’s already stumbling over his own feet?

He sways a little before taking off toward the back exit of the building, he waves a hand over his shoulder indicating for me to follow him. So I do.

As soon as we step into the cold air I take a deep breath, my lungs taking advantage of the fresh air.

The moment is short-lived when he roughly pins me against the brick wall of the alleyway, the harsh surface digging into my back as his heavy body presses into me. I look towards both entrances of the alleyway to be sure that we’re alone, and my fingers itch to grab hold of my knives as he gets himself off.

So much for foreplay.

“Kinda’ glad you came,” He breathes, rutting his hips into mine. His big, meaty hands hold my waist still like I might suddenly take off. Another valid fear.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” I don’t even attempt to hide the disdain in my voice or try to sound breathless underneath him. He wouldn’t notice even if I did.

It goes on like this for a while as I allow him to get comfortable. He slurs some more sentences that I don’t understand, nor do I try to. His breath reeks of alcohol and cigar smoke, the strong smell making this interaction damn near unbearable.

Slipping my right hand into my breast pocket, I pull out the small photo I carry everywhere with me.

Shoving it into his face, I knee him right in the balls —hard. Almost smiling at the pathetic mewl that escapes his lips as he crumbles onto the wet concrete.

‘Yeah, thats enough buddy,’ I think to myself as I dust off my jacket.

I crouch down to his level, fighting the laugh that bubbles through my lips at his twisted face. Get it together man.

“Do you know this girl?” I grip his hair with my free hand and yank his head back so he can see it clearly.

When he doesn’t answer, instead choosing to spit on my leather boots, my very expensive leather boots, I lift him up even higher and ram the same knee right into his nose, listening for the distinct crack.

“-Fuck!” He shouts, grabbing his crooked nose with both hands. “You broke my fucking nose!”

For such a large man, I fear Hiwaki was right about him being a weakling. It’s unfortunate, really.

“Yes, that was the point.” I respond, grabbing him once more to show the photo of my dead fucking sister.

“Do. You. Know this girl?” I repeat, venom lacing every word.

His eyes widen as he actually looks at the picture this time, his brows furrowing in contemplation. “Who are you?” He utters, blood pouring down his face as he talks.

I sigh like he’s my biggest problem in the world and unsheathe one of my knives, flipping it up in the air before trailing it down the front of his slacks, tapping it right on his most prized possession.

He gulps before opening his mouth to speak again.

“-Choose your words carefully.” I warn, catching the way his eyes light up for a split second. He recognizes her.

“Yeah I know her. Used to see her all the time over at Blood Moon.” He says, his tone hushed like that’s all he’s gonna say.

I wait for a beat, then two. Then look around us before looking back at him. He’s about to pull some bullshit I know it.

“Great, thanks-”

“Fucked that bitch like the whore she was-“ I shove my knife into his left eye, effectively cutting him off.

Like I said, the audacity.

His screams are melodies to my ears. I grab him by the collar of his jacket and haul him up just enough to see my face clearly. Well, as clearly as he can with one eye and get real close to his gushing face, so close I only have to whisper for him to hear me.

“You see what happens when you don’t listen ?” I ask, tilting my head in a pitiful manner. “Hiwaki sends his regards.”

His good eye widens one last time before I push my blade further into his socket through his skull, letting it touch the back of his brain, and then ripping it out and letting his body fall to the ground with a satisfying thud.

“Shithead.” I mutter, reaching down to wipe his blood off my blade, sheathing it on the outside of my thigh this time.

So much for keeping it clean and quiet.

I neatly tuck the photo back into my breast pocket as I come to a full stand. Blood Moon. He said he’d seen her at Blood Moon. Is that a club? A bar? I never knew her workplaces, she’d always insisted it was too dangerous for me to know anything. So dangerous it got her killed. And what did he mean by ‘was’? Did he know she was murdered? Did he know who murdered her? Fuck, maybe I killed him too early, but if I can find out what and where this ‘Blood Moon’ place is, then-

My body freezes. The hairs on the back of my neck stand at an alarming rate, and my hand hovers over the knife I just used to kill a man. My spine straightens on its own accord and I can feel sweat beading along my hairline. This alleyway was empty just a moment ago, but I don’t give myself time to think about that as I slowly turn around.

A tall figure leans against the end of the wall opposite of me, watching me with what looks like curiosity. He’s dressed in black from head to toe, the material revealing a striking contrast to his unnaturally pale skin. His short, charcoal hair comes to rest just beneath his ears, framing his piercing gaze perfectly. His lips form a thin line, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly as he taps the excess ash off his cigarette.

He doesn’t seem disconcerted by what i’m positive he just watched me do, he might’ve even enjoyed the little show, considering the small smirk on his face.

My head spins as I struggle to figure out my next move. I could go back in the way I came, or simply walk past him, but something keeps me from moving. It’s like his presence has stolen my free will.

“A little gruesome, don’t you think?” His keen eyes are back on mine, and I realize i’ve been blatantly staring at him.

I blink a few times before looking back down at the body that slumps at my feet. I tilt my head, searching for an answer.

“I think I would’ve preferred a little more blood, actually.” I state, slowly walking towards the end of the alleyway where he stands. “His tongue was too loose.”

For some reason the closer I get the more my body no longer deems him a threat, even though I was scared shitless two minutes ago, it’s my mind that makes sure I maintain my distance.

Something in his energy tangles with mine, drawing me closer as my common sense screams for me to stop, or run the opposite direction, anything to keep me from doing something stupid.

I come to a stop in front of him just as he takes another drag, a dark eyebrow lifting at me as he extends the cig to me.

As if i’ve known this man all my life, my fingers skim against his as I take the burning joint to my lips. The cool wave of nicotine works against the adrenaline I’ve built as I stare at the intriguing stranger, his eyes trailing my every move like a cat with a ball of yarn.

With the few feet of space in between us I get a waft of his cologne, and he smells divine. An intoxicating mix of vanilla and sage invade my nostrils, and I swear to all there is my knees almost give out when the wind blows it in my direction.

I can also see the distinct features of his face more closely, my eyes memorizing every prominent slope and line that is his face. He’s the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen, the moonlight does nothing to stop him from looking unreal.

“M’, too bad you didn’t let him live long enough for such entertainment,” He drawls, his bored tone shifting into a teasing one.

His words snap my attention back to reality.

“But it is like you said,” He takes one large step towards me, plucking the bud from my lips and tossing it behind him. “I did enjoy the ‘little’ show.” He whispers, leaning into my space.

My mind is completely blank, and my words abandon me as I peer up at him through my lashes. My body heats at his close proximity, and I have to press myself into the wall to keep from doing something I’ll regret.

His observant eyes take me in once more, as if he can see all my darkest secrets like words in a book, before wordlessly turning and walking away.

It takes me a full ten minutes to recollect myself before my self dignity finally comes back to me. Then something that he said hits me. ‘I did enjoy the little show.’

I don’t remember saying that out loud.

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