#his barely contained bloodlust

[daydreamerwonderkid]

Current WIP status: Obsessed with his murder eyes >:3c

[marthawrites]

Bloodlust

Aemond Targaryen x wife reader

Word count: 2.6k+

About: Aemond, unable to leave you behind in King's Landing on his way to Rook's Rest, returns to you after a successful scouting mission.

Includes: Contains future Fire and Blood spoilers (prelude to battle at rook's rest and a couple of the events leading up to it - mentioned, but not heavily described), and SMUT. Featuring murder (no descriptions of it), blood, Aemond's slightly (?) unhinged, blood eating (this is a fantasy in a work of fiction - please do not do this irl), reader is hot for Aemond's gloves, blowjob, rough Aemond, minor praise, unprotected vaginal sex, brief degradation, creampie, and reader and Aemond say 'i love you' at the end. Whew! Apologies if I missed anything!

Note: Hello lovely reader! This is pure filth. Sorry for the grainy header photo. This specific gif is still driving me insane and was the whole inspiration for this fic! As always, reader is non-descript and I hope you enjoy it! ♥

With Lucerys’ death, the war of ravens came to an end, and the war of fire and blood began.

Prince Aemond Targaryen, your lord husband, barely allowed you from his side much less from his sight. 

Kinslayer everyone called him. In fear, in awe, as a curse. 

After the murder of the King’s princeling son, Jaehaerys Targaryen, King Aegon II would no longer fight this war with quills and ink. He meant to win it with swords and blood. An eye for an eye. A son for a son. King Aegon dehanded his grandsire, Otto Hightower, as Hand of the King and gave the pin to Crison Cole instead. Criston was ravenous for it and immediately began planning an attack against the Blacks.

Duskendale would likely stand little chance against the Greens who were three-thousand men strong. If by some miracle they were able to defend their city, Aemond upon Vhagar and Aegon upon Sunfyre would overwhelm them from above.

Despite the odds being in your husband’s favor, anxiety still gnawed at you from the inside. The hour was late and sleep evaded you at every chance inside your martial tent. War was hardly the place for a woman, but Aemond refused to let you stay behind at the Red Keep while he marched to battle. He trusted your safety to no one except for himself. He deemed there wasn’t a safer place in all of Westeros than with him. You believed him.

You weren’t the only woman traveling with their army. There were other lady wives in similar positions to your own, a few cooks as well, and medics. Judging by some things you’d heard along the way, you weren’t too sure if there wasn’t a gaggle of whores somewhere too. 

The company of other women made you feel significantly better–whether they were whores or healers alike.

No one was allowed in yours and Aemond’s tent, however, and everyone knew that. Regardless if you and Aemond were inside or not, a pair of guards stood watch outside at all times. Tonight, a third armored man joined.

Criston, Aemond, and a small group of soldiers scouted ahead to gather what information they could on Duskendale’s defense. Hours had passed since they left. Ideas, scenarios, and other horrible images filled your brain on what might be happening. The entire scouting party was extremely skilled; the rational part of your brain knew they’d be able to handle anything that crossed their path. Yet… what if Duskendale housed monsters like the Targaryens housed dragons?

There wasn’t any room for a fire inside the tent. Nor was it safe. An oil lamp sat atop a makeshift desk and a few scattered candles lit the darkest corners of the space. Laying on your side, you watched all of the little flames and prayed for your husband’s safe return. 

Perhaps you dozed off, or went into a sort of prayer-induced trance, or simply lost track of time, but a clattering commotion outside seized your attention. Fight, flight, freeze: the instincts of any animal. Leaning up you grabbed a dagger from the makeshift nightstand. You held it in front of you, ready to defend yourself if need be. Fight. You would go down fighting. 

Aemond’s soft voice whooshed inside on a rush of cold night air. “Ābrazȳrys.” wife

“My love!” You said with an exhalation. You laid the dagger back down and stood, stepping to him with hurried strides. “Blessed Seven you returned! I’ve been so worried.”

He walked towards you as you came to him, long steps slow and sure. If he had taken note of the dagger in your hand he made no mention of it. His silence was almost as unnerving as the glint of his dilated eye in the low light.

You meant to throw your arms around his neck and squeeze him against you so you knew him to be real and true, right here and now, rather than a ghost summoned by your worst nightmare. But, something stopped you. You stared up at him, doe-eyed.

The blood splattered across his alabaster face spoke more words than he could vocalize. The smell of him–metallic and heavy–sent your own blood rushing. Even his hair was matted by thick streaks of dark blood. “What happened?”

A serpentine grin slid across his chiseled face and his seeing eye lit with deranged lust. His gloved hands gripped around your forearms, squeezing. “They’re dead.”

“W-who?”

“Duskendale scouts. We found them, questioned them, and killed them,” he answered with  soft-spoken intensity, gripping your arms tighter. “Cole’s speaking with Aegon now. We attack tomorrow. Duskendale will fall, and Rook’s Rest after. We will cripple my half-sister and uncle’s strategy before they gain it.”

Your pulse hammered against your chest. Behind your ears. You weren’t sure if Aemond realized how harshly he held your arms. It hurt. “Th-that’s wonderful news,” you stammered, looking up at him with a mixture of awe and creeping fright. “Are you hurt?”

He shook his head and let go of your arms. Then, he held your face as he crashed his mouth down to yours, kissing you with victory that smelled, and tasted, of copper. “My brother will have his throne,” he rasped against your mouth. “My whore of a sister and her bastard horde will never claim what is Aegon’s by right.”

You whimpered against his mouth, against his words, melting into him as he wrapped his arms around your waist and hip. Lifting your hands to grip onto the front of his dark green doublet, your breath caught in your throat. Blood stained the white of your chemise where he had squeezed your forearms. It looked nearly black in the tent’s candlelight. Leaning back half a step, you looked down your body and saw the front of you stained as well. Not only was his face and hair speckled with blood, but his new military garb was covered in it. “Aemond…!”

“Shh, my sweet wife,” he said against your neck, nipping the sensitive flesh.

Confusion, elation, and lust roared through your body, all of them trying to outdo each other. None of the emotions won. They only succeeded in tightening the muscles of your belly and making your entire nervous system quiver. Why were you like this? Why did your prince husband covered in other people’s blood make you yearn with dark desire? Goosebumps rose on your skin as Aemond nipped, kissed, and sucked all along your neck and shoulder. On instinct, you began to work open the buttons on his overcoat; you’d only seen him in this garb a few times, and your fingers fumbled with inexperience over them.

“I’d do it all again,” he said by your ear. “I will do it again. All across the Seven Kingdoms.”

You understood his meaning. You heard what he left unsaid. Pulling back, you peered up into his seeing eye. A hundred emotions lay bare for you to see: rage, satisfaction, confidence, hunger. “Who are you doing it for?” You asked softly.

“For my brother. For my hatred of my half-sister. For you.”

Aemond’s leather glove was warm when you grabbed his hand–the blood on it slightly sticky to your bare touch–and you nuzzled your face into it. “My sweet, dark prince,” you cooed, kissing his palm. His fingers. Languid. Dizzy on the intoxicating aura radiating off him. You bit the tip of one finger, sly; blood that certainly wasn’t your husbands smeared your mouth.

Witnessing your reverence had Aemond groaning in low inaudible High Valyrian. His soft raspy voice praised you in words you didn’t know. With his free hand he pulled you against him, his hard cock pressing firmly against the soft span of your belly.

You moaned behind his hand. “You will win this war for your brother,” you said adoringly. “Not Crison, not Rosby, or Stokeworth, or anyone else. You and Vhagar.” The feeling of him against your belly had embers searing your senses. Without allowing yourself to think twice about it, you licked one of his gloved fingers. The leather was smooth beneath your tongue, and your tastebuds exploded with the coppery taste of some man’s blood.

Aemond fucking groaned. 

You did it again.

Tension sparked down your spine like lightning and that delicate space between your thighs clenched around nothing. Despite the barriers of clothing between you two you swore you felt him throb. “You are the only weapon Aegon needs.”

He watched in fascination as you shamelessly licked the bloodshed from his glove. He nearly spent in his pants as you took his thumb into your mouth, sucking. “My filthy wife,” he hissed, pulling you further into him. He kissed you again and this time he tasted blood. He licked into your mouth, seeking it deeper. 

Each little moan his passion coaxed from you, he swallowed whole. Once again you began fumbling with the front of his attire, working the buttons open until you were able to push it off his shoulders. Beneath he wore a simple linen shirt, and you helped tug that off, too. With one final nip to his bottom lip you began to sink down to your knees before him.

Aemond watched you hungerly. 

You could unbuckle his belt behind your back by now–it stood no chance as you deftly slid it open. The front of his pants didn’t fight you as his tunic did. You pulled them down enough to free his cock, and you wasted no time in pressing deliberate, hot, open-mouthed kisses along it. You didn’t care that he was unwashed. If anything, the scent of leather, sweat, and battle on him made your desire boil over. Saliva instinctively collected in your mouth, and your eager kisses soon had your tongue sliding along him. By the time you wrapped your soft, lovely mouth around him it was lewd, and wet, and slow. You looked up at him, watching him unravel as you made a sensuous show of swallowing as much of him as you could.

Aemond’s eye hooded as he watched you. He would never fucking tire of watching you take him whole–your mouth or your cunt. Blood still streaked your exquisite features. It made the whole thing obscene. Blood from men he killed to protect his brother. To keep the throne for him. To protect you. “Fucking hells–,” he hissed. “There… yeah, oh yeah, hold my cock in that little throat of yours.”

Tears brimmed your eyes as you held, drool already threatening to dribble down the swell of your lip onto your chin. You knew your husband liked it slow and messy like this. You knew he’d have the muscles of your throat flex around him until your head became dizzy from lack of air. You loved it–and he knew that. You held onto his thighs for support, cunt soaked and throbbing between your legs.

He pulled back slightly, before pushing forward, giving your slobbering mouth deep shallow thrusts. “I love how you sound gagging,” he praised, threading his gloved hand into your hair.

You nodded, tears still threatening to leave your eyes, moaning deep in your throat to his lecherous praise.

With a handful of your hair your prince husband bobbed your head along his cock for his pleasure, fucking into your mouth with perfect timing. He tipped his head back. He could never get enough of this.

His strokes were getting longer and quicker, now, a sure sign that he was getting close to finishing. You held on all the while, savoring the rough treatment as much, or perhaps more, than he was.

Finally, he stopped. Looking down at you again he said, out of breath, “I want to fill your cunny tonight, not your mouth.” Then, he clicked his tongue and said, “up.” He helped you stand, and before he could stop himself he was kissing you again, wild and voracious, licking away any trace of blood he had left on your face from earlier. He walked you backwards to the bed all the while and only stopped when the backs of your legs bumped into the cot. Smirking, he helped you out of your shift. He pushed you back onto it before finally stepping out of his pants and boots. 

Below him, you didn’t even care that his Targaryen hair was clumped with dried bits of blood. No, all you cared about was the weight of his cock as he settled it against you. Hot, heavy, smooth. He was perfect. All of him was perfect.

He squeezed your breasts in his hands–he was still wearing those fucking gloves! Of course he took everything off except for those!–rumbling his appreciation at the softness of them. His cock lined up with you effortlessly. With a push of his hips, he sunk into you. 

The stretch of him, the fullness of him, the sensation of being as close to him as you ever could be, had your eyes rolling closed and mouth parting open. In that same effortless manner, your legs wrapped around his trim waist. You were so wet that your body immediately yielded to him. You bit back a moan, not wanting to draw attention from anyone who might be in earshot of your tent.

Above you, Aemond smiled a dark smile. Shadows danced across his features and made the angular lines of his face sharper. “How does it feel to be right where you belong? Under me, full of me, wet as a maiden and hungry as a whore?”

Your legs flexed around him tighter. Heat bloomed beneath your face. “S-so fucking good..!”

He could see you holding back your sounds of pleasure. “Let them hear you,” he said, thrusting into you harder. Deeper. “Open that pretty mouth and let them hear.” Fingers pinched your nipples as he plunged into you again and again, filling you to your body’s end.

Even if he wanted you to stay quiet there was no way you could. Your sounds of pleasure spilled from your mouth as he nearly fucked you through the cot. It was as divine as it was harsh. Rough as it was loving. You weren't going to last long. Aemond wouldn’t either. “God–! Aemond..!” His name left your mouth in a wanton gasp, back arching.

With your mouth hanging open, he pushed two fingers inside to muffle some of those beautiful noises. “My pretty wife overwhelmed with bloodlust,” he crooned, tilting his head as he watched your fucked-out expressions.  “Come with me,” he rasped, cock swelling impossibly harder. “Come with me.”

You did. The tension in your belly snapped, and any restraint you were holding vanished. Your thighs quivered around him. The emotion and sensation that overcame you was intense and all consuming. Aemond, Aemond, Aemond. You’d give him a babe tonight. You knew you would.

He throbbed inside your flexing and relaxing walls, his seed filling you past the brim of your cunt. It dribbled out of you while his thrusts slowed. His breath came heavy and labored, face finally softening in the orange glow of the tent. “Vok. perfect You are so perfect,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours as you both came down from the heights of shared orgasm.

Your legs loosened around him until they lay open, allowing him to slip out from the cradle of your body. “Duskendale will fall tomorrow,” you said to him, kissing him gently. “You will be the victor.”

He laid beside you, then, and pulled you against him so you were laying on your sides face to face. “Anyone who dare face me will fall. The entire realm will fall before me,” he answered with the softest utmost confidence.

Nodding, you smiled and kissed him again. “The world is yours, my prince. With fire and blood.”

“With fire and blood,” he proclaimed, hooking your leg over his waist. Then, he whispered, “I love you.”

And you said it back, meaning it wholly.

-

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider a follow, and/or reblog, and/or letting me know as it all makes me vvvery happy! ♥

Masterlist

See comment section for my main taglist and Aemond taglist! To be added or removed from either, please hit me up!

[sparkknightella]

Why Cryo Visions are Given: A Theory

expert consult provided by @crows-of-buckets

ALT + some additional info below the cut

Cryo Vision Users

given for: being walking contradictions

[a chart with two columns and 14 rows. The first column as the name of playable cryo characters in Genshin Impact, the other is the reasoning behind them being a “walking contradiction.]

Kaeya : Obligation to Khanri’ah & to Mondstadt

Qiqi : Dead but alive

Chongyun : Exorcist that’s never seen a ghost

Diona : Hates alcohol, blessed to only make delicious drinks

Eula : “Betrayed” her high blood family to join the Knights of Favonius

Ganyu : Torn between the human & adeptal world

Rosaria : A nun that doesn’t know the name of her God. Raised by bandits, left to be a member of the church.

Ayaka : Incredibly popular among her people but is truly lonely

Shenhe : Adeptal bloodlust trapped in a human vessel, just barely contained

Mika : Nerdy cartographer that still makes a competent knight. He’s strong enough to be a member of the Front Lines

Layla : Timid and paranoid when she’s awake, determined and productive when she’s asleep

Charlotte : Dedicated to the truth but works in a career known for dishonesty

Freminet : Deadly enough to be used as a weapon but stuck in his own daydreams

Wriothesley : A jailbird that became the jail warden

[cloud-hymn]

Xie Lian nearly losing a handle on his barely contained bloodlust every time Qi Rong breathes has been my favorite part of volume 3 so far

[milliesfishes]

꣑ৎ౨ৎMillennium꣑ৎ౨ৎ

[fem reader] contains: descriptions of blood pairing: billy the kid x fem reader summary: billy helps you when your hunt is unsuccessful author's note: hii!! this was originally going to be for flufftober but I decided to publish it now! consider it a little taste of what's coming!! Mwah Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

The way you held his name between your lips was bloodlust.

Billy was unsure of the state of his soul, but if he ever found out exactly how filthy it was, he'd strain to unbind it from yours, rip and the seam until the frayed threads of love were waving at him from your side. You didn't deserve to have the burden of loving a man so sinful.

Your unbridled, uncontrollable thirst for blood did little to sway him from you. If anything it only heightened his awe until it was level with the sun. Despite your body's immortal need for what ran through human veins, you were achingly sweet, so darling and curious about the world around you. The wonder of your being captivated him wholly.

As the door creaked open, Billy looked up from where he'd been cleaning his gun, the heat of the fire warming the barrel. Sheathing it back into its place in his discarded belt, he turned as your soft footsteps punctured the previously silent atmosphere.

You looked tired, exhausted, even. In the dim glow casting shadows across your body, he could see the dirt on your dress, on your feet. Many a time, he'd begged you to wear shoes to protect you from the forest elements, but you insisted you didn't need them.

Getting to his feet, Billy met you halfway, drawing you into his arms immediately. "Hi baby...was it a good hunt? You okay?" He thumbed away some of the blood on your chin and you winced.

"Mhm. It was fine," you murmured, voice as delicate as a butterfly's wing. His brow creased in concern. Despite the fact that you'd just eaten, you still seemed weak, weaker than you should be.

He brushed a strand away from your cheek, cupping your face. "Honey, what'd you end up eatin'?"

Your eyes fell to the ground, a tinge of shame in them. "A...a deer."

Billy sighed, his hand sliding to the crown of your head and pressing you into his shoulder. "Baby..."

"I know, I know," you whispered, immune to his concerns. Though animal blood would do the trick in a pinch, you were only supposed to use it in just that. He'd told you a thousand times, every time you went out to hunt that it wasn't healthy, that you needed something better. You were practically skin and bones in his arms at this point, not having fed on human blood for nearly two months. He was worried about you withering away, like a dried leaf in autumn.

Clenching his jaw, he rubbed his hand up and down your back, a fruitless attempt to warm you. Your skin remained cold as snow no matter what he did. Despite that, you adored the warmth, soaking up the sun whenever you got the chance, sitting by the fireplace wrapped in both blankets and his arms most evenings. He led you there now, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt after you were both sat.

He pulled you between his legs, bracing you against his chest with both arms. Sliding one closer over your collarbone, he watched as his scent overwhelmed you just like he wanted it to.

For a moment you were still, leaning back and closing your eyes. The centers of them were enhanced due to your lack of blood, he knew, shiny like a lake at midnight. Your hands came up to hold his bare forearms as your back curved to fit the contours of his chest, the warmth emanating from the fireplace practically melting you into his arms.

Waiting a moment before he asked, Billy nuzzled his cheek into your hair, nosing a kiss there. "Could you take some of mine?"

Stiffening, you shifted to face him, and he could see a no forming on your tongue. "I-"

Billy's gaze cut you off, and he caressed your cheek. "Darlin'...you need it. More than I do."

"Billy," you began helplessly, starting to shake your head. "I don't...I can't do that..."

He busied himself, shifting you as you mumbled reasons why you didn't want to take his blood. Pulling you to sit up straighter against his chest, he secured you to him, holding up one arm close to your mouth, pearly fangs hidden by a pretty mouth. In soft words, you called yourself a burden. He disagreed.

"C'mon," he coaxed, rubbing your side with his free hand. "Ain't gonna hurt me, sweet girl. Just have some."

You slackened, turning away from his arm and hiding your face in his chest. "Not from there."

His shoulders slumped. "Sweetheart. Please-"

"-too sensitive there," you finished, looking up into his eyes. His face softened, and you nodded, letting your hand fall to his side, just above his hip. "Here."

Billy pursed his lips, nodding. He let go of you, letting you lean against him as he unbuttoned his shirt, trying to be quick about it. You helped him slide it over his shoulders, and he tossed it aside, away from the fire.

Positioning you between his legs, Billy helped you lie on your stomach, unhooking his pants to push them down just slightly. You leaned down, and he braced you under your arm and across your back, holding you in place as you settled your chin on his thigh.

Soft as morning's first breath, you kissed his hip, shifting your head slightly to the side before leaning in and letting your teeth pierce his skin. He stifled a grunt, instead choosing to stroke your hair with his free hand, eyes glued to you as you fed from him.

What struck him was how careful you were being, as if when you removed your teeth you'd find cracks in his skin like porcelain. He couldn't help the tiniest smile- in the few seconds since you'd bitten down, he could practically feel your strength coming back.

"There you go," he mumbled, thumbing through your hair. "That's it. Atta girl. Get it in, get what you need."

His hand stayed on your head the entire time, thumb stroking you there. Once or twice, you tried to pull away, but he shook his head, nudging you back to the spot. "You ain't had enough. Go on."

Billy could have sat there an eternity, until his body was drained dry, nothing but bones and organs left in his body. He'd look up at you with one final touch and die happy knowing you were full. He wasn't a man who had much in this life, but all that he possessed was yours. His spirit, his life, his soul. He wrapped it all up and presented it to you proudly, a gift that was still too little.

You lifted your head after what he deemed a satisfactory amount of time, licking the crimson from your lips and bracing a hand over the wound. He smiled, smoothing your hair back. "Feel better?"

Drawing in a little gasp, your lower lip trembled, and his face fell. "Oh, honey...baby, sweetheart, c'mere. C'mere, it's okay. Whatsa matter, my love?" Billy drew you up into his arms, legs on either side of his thighs. He held you close to him, burying his face in your hair and moving his body back and forth, trying to rock you into being soothed. "'re you still not feeling well, sweet girl? Belly hurtin'?"

"I took your blood," you choked, voice hitching every other syllable. "I took it-"

His heart dropped. "I wanted you to. You needed it, pretty, needed it bad." Billy splayed his hand over your back, rubbing up and down. "Shh, don't cry. It's okay."

You sniffled, body relaxing under his touch. Where your breaths had once been crisp, they were now soft. As he murmured sweet nothings into your head, holding you tight to the shelter of his chest, you began to calm and he breathed a sigh of relief. His girl wasn't going to feel bad for keeping herself alive, not on his watch.

"It's okay?" you breathed, lifting teary eyes to look into his. He was relieved to see they were back to normal, his blood having placated the insatiable thirst inside you. That alone made whatever else would come worth it.

He nodded, tracing a heart into your cheek. "'s okay. More 'n okay."

You squeezed your eyes shut, nodding and hiding your face in his stomach. Billy breathed gently, letting you lie there as long as you wanted. He was relieved that you found comfort in him, that he was the one you trusted.

He'd fight tooth and nail to keep you safe, kill a thousand men for you to drink their blood. Day and night, fighting wind on horseback, Billy breathed for you. The sight of you drinking his blood was more than enough motivation to keep himself alive, and he thrived on it. On your love, the love that quenched his need the same way blood did yours.

Now as he held you, your stomach full, the color returning to your face, he revisited every vow he had made for you, as solemn as the grave, as real as if you'd walked down the aisle toward him to stand at the altar. If it killed him, he'd love you, as raw and real as anything he'd ever done.

Until his blood ran dry, until his heart was staunched by the mark of your fangs.

[songsofadelaide]

As a child of one of the Kingdom's noble families, you were subject to your family's many plans to maintain its standing in society. At every tail end of the Lone Moon since you turned six, when winter wraps Faerghus in its tightest and most frigid embrace, you would find yourself in the Dukedom of Fraldarius, under the watchful but caring gaze of Uncle Rodrigue, or that was what he encouraged you to call him. He said his eldest son already had a match, his betrothed a lady of a noble house too. Rodrigue wished Felix to forge the same warm friendship and companionship that Glenn and Ingrid already had... with someone. Someone he would come to love in the future. Rodrigue silently hoped that it would be you.

"...a love match," the older man said, his voice fading in the background as Felix, a boy dressed in the distinct Fraldarius blue, stepped out from behind his mother's skirts at her gentle urging.

"Say hello, cub," the lady of the house said in a tone so dulcet that it made the heat rise to your face. The boy's shy brown eyes met yours and somehow your young heart figured that you two could make things work. From what you remember, your parents were a love match— an extraordinary one, the kind many thought wouldn't work out but eventually did.

"Hello," you broke the silence with a single greeting and a smile that told him, let's work things out. "Shall we make our New Year's resolutions together?"

And every year, by the fireplace, next to his parents' blanketed feet, you and Felix whispered your resolutions for the new year in each other's ears, both of you looking forward to the fresh set of pages in a storybook that was yours to fill out and create.

"I want my swordsmanship to improve..." "I want to read more books..." "I want to get taller still..." "I want to get better at casting magic..."

In 1177, Felix stopped making resolutions, which wasn't all surprising.

Felix had no idea where to put this grief. You coaxed him out of his room at his mother's behest, but he had no words for you. When you held him in your arms as best you could, he barely moved himself.

You were present with House Fraldarius when they held a memorial for Glenn, a true knight of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, or so Rodrigue said, and not even your soothing touch could quell Felix's fist, his entire body seizing in a tempered rage he tried his best to contain. He was not the only one who lost a loved one, after all. And yet, he couldn't stomach how his father glazed over his eldest son's death. No words of embellishment will take away the fact that Glenn was killed horrifically in the Tragedy of Duscur. Felix would resent his father for that.

In 1178, when Prince Dimitri unlocked a certain bloodlust whilst suppressing an insurrection in west Faerghus, you were half-certain Felix might have developed the same grisly instinct, but you were relieved to find out that he was blatantly disgusted by the boar's unhinged behaviour.

In 1180, you entered the Officers Academy along with the other scions of the Kingdom's noble houses. As Felix grew into a swordsman of exceptional skill, he also kept you at an arm's length away, but again, that did not surprise you at all. You were a distraction to him, more or less, and he would appreciate you more if you showed yourself less to him. It was then you realised that he always sought you out at his own pace, that he desired your presence still, but only on his call.

"It's fine. It doesn't have to be me, as long as you're happy, Felix." "No," he hastily grabbed your hand. "It has to be you."

Felix brought you home with him when the Officers Academy closed its doors due to the internal strife simultaneously occurring in Faerghus, Adrestia and Leicester. It was then he became Duke Fraldarius, the Shield of Faerghus, and you, the lady of his house. When the war gong was struck, you stood by your husband rather than shying away from the fighting. Being Felix's assigned healer during your short stay at the Officers Academy granted you certain synchronicity with him. The two of you worked seamlessly beside each other, and he moved in complete confidence that you would have his back if no one else did. 

The war against Adrestia raged on for months, until it converged to a year, and it felt like you were the only one keeping tabs on the days that passed. The calluses in your hands thickened like the snow that usually blanketed Fraldarius this time of the year.

This time of the year...

"What are you doing?"

Your reverie was broken by your husband's query. It was still so odd to think that you two were married now, even though that was exactly what Rodrigue— your father-in-law— wanted from the start.

"Almost lost track of time because of how long this war's been dragging," you shrugged at him. "Happy New Year. Or not. We'll probably be asleep at the turning of the new moon."

Felix caught the quick twinkle in your eyes, his lips softening to a small smile that caught you off-guard. He stepped into your space and slipped his gloved hand in yours, pulling you further into the privacy of his quarters and straight into his arms.

"Felix?..."

"I want to be a better husband to you."

His voice was hushed to a whisper, and you could only blink to yourself as he held you much tighter. His breath was warm against your neck and it was there you noticed just how fast his heart was beating.

"I..." You started, only for a gentle laugh to leave your lips. "I want to be a better lady of the house."

He chuckled in relief when you returned his embrace, his hair coming undone from its ribbon just in time as you pressed a tender kiss to his cheek.

"Happy New Year, Duke Fraldarius."

Felix returned your gesture in kind, his lips stealing the warmth of your breath not long after. He still can't believe he played right into his father's hands the moment the old man introduced you to him— one of the very few things he is truly thankful for. Now he gets to call you his, he gets to protect you as part of his home, and he is yours, too.

"Happy New Year, my wife."

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

Love In Chains (Lion El'Jonson, Angron)

Summary: Your presence calms the bestial and bloodthirsty nature of the two primarchs. Unfortunately they have a completely different ways of obtain you.

Lion El'Jonson/fem!Reader, Angron/fem!Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, kidnapping

Word count: 1116

Song: Tiamat - Love In Chains

Honestly, I don't know if it turned out well. Was I able to convey at least a little the characters of the primarchs in love? And who did it best? These two are a complete mystery to me.

This feeling was like a sea breeze. Cool gentle wind. The rustling of leaves and the scent of a thousand flowers... Angron had never experienced any of these while he was a slave. But his brothers and sisters often used such expressions to describe something beautiful. And serene. Calm.

It was you.

One of the many serfs who were brought to Ullanor. Small and fragile compared to the primarch, you did not cause irritation. You didn’t interfere, no, he was glad to have fleeting meetings with you. For in the first years after the nails he experienced relief.

For the first time, he could not strain all his muscles, concentrate his mind to cope with the pain. A disgusting pain that consumed his entire soul. Until he entered into battle, saluting his real and dead brothers and sisters screaming their name and speel blood of his enemies.

But you awakened in Angron something forgotten that had been with him since birth. What the slave owners of Nuceria took from him. What the Emperor and his primarchs perverted and humiliated. What his Legion did not expect from him. Something that was buried deep inside him under rage and bloodlust. Empathy. Humanity. The desire to take care of someone. Protect and value.

To love.

He can barely restrain himself when he dares to approach you. He is afraid of. Afraid that he will hurt you. That he can't contain his rage. Because of the pain running throughout the body due to nails. But you calm him down just by your presence and the primarch pulls himself together.

“Clean my armor” - no, he should not order. He doesn't want to see you scared. You were a serf, but you are not a slave. - "I need help."

You noticeably relax and a wave of peace rolls over Angron, almost making him want to moan. He had so few moments of peace in his life. Only with brothers and sisters, when they licked each other's wounds. When they applied signs to each other. When they clung to each other in the mountains, intoxicated by the long-awaited freedom.

You were not a warrior. But that's fine. He treated all the slaves from Nuceria well. Besides, why feel rage towards the original weaklings? Only weak and cowardly warriors deserve his wrath. But not you. You helped. You healed.

It's complicated. Try to start a conversation and win over. Angron showed concern for the weak even now in this state. But almost no one saw it. And these were such rare moments. Now he wants to repay you in full with the kindness of your presence.

And you open up to him. Not immediately, gradually. But this is enough for the primarch. And when you agree to his offer to serve him personally on the Conqueror... in that brief moment, he barely feels the nails.

Sheer bliss.

Which smoothly turned into uncontrollable rage when the World Eater learned that you had been taken. You've been kidnapped. They took you away without asking your opinion or Angron’s. They took it away like a thing.

And when the frightened serf admits that it was Lion El'Jonson, something in Angron breaks. He did not want to kill the unfortunate servant. But he couldn't contain his rage at losing you.

He had never been in so much pain.

***

When Lion saw you, he immediately knew that he wanted you. And he will get you. It doesn’t matter what your background was, your opinion and what others think. He sees, he takes. Although the fact that you turned out to be a serf turned out to be a pleasant bonus.

You should have known by now to obey. It's not like El'Jonson would have any more trouble if you resisted. He might even like it. Or not. It doesn’t matter, because the result will be the same. You're in his bed.

He imagined you shrinking from his massive figure and squeaking like a mouse while he loved you. No meaningless and useless words that people used. Simple and understandable copulating. The best way to show affection.

And Lion really liked you.

All so pretty. A funny girl. You followed the instructions immediately and absolutely perfectly. How the primarch loved. It's like you were made for him. Suitable to him. Like your neck, rounded hips, seductive waist. Fragile and delicate compared to him, you would have perished in the forests of Caliban in a matter of seconds.

But he wouldn't let that happen. He would protect you. He would bring you food and cover you with wool. He would share shelter with you and bring you gifts. Intricate pine cones, beautiful flowers, monsters heads. He would shed so much blood, kill so many animals so that you would see his power. And realized that he is the best defender. He is your knight.

Perhaps someday the primarch will show you his home, but first the primarch had to fulfill his duty to the Emperor. Set off to conquer new worlds in a Crusade. One order and his servants are already taking you away despite your pathetic attempts to explain to them that you must serve the World Eaters.

Are you stupid?

Although you are a serf. Probably yes.

Well, it’s fine, Lion will love you just like that. You’re even cute while you’re crying and begging him to let you go to Angron. Silly and cute mouse. One day the Emperor told the primarch a story about a lion and a mouse. El'Jonson didn't like it. And now he doesn't like it either. But now, remembering the work of the ancient Terran writer, he cannot help but frown.

You cringe even more and ask him to stop tearing your clothes. No, well, you're definitely in trouble. Just like that, you beg him to make you his. With these eyes, these lips. Why do all animals have beautiful males, but human females are so much more seductive than men? This is stupid.

And Lion is stupid.

He has given up. Because of your look, your voice. That incredible feeling of calm that comes from you. You reek of peace. Stink of serenity. Something he could never experience in the forests of Caliban. Could never get one in the Crusade. But now he has you.

The little mouse is already sobbing quietly while the lion presses her in the bed. The primarch cannot stop squeezing you in his arms, consuming your body with his heat. Inhaling the smell of your hair and listening to your breath. Merging with you like an animal hugs its prey. Which is what you are. Only Lion will leave you alive.

He had never been so calm.

[guardkeywolf]

Okay hear me out! 7 foot tall reader that's like usually an airhead but then becomes an absolute monster on the field(or just fighting/sparring) with König? Reader's german and speaks it to curse at other people and to express frustration

König X German!Male Reader

Hello Anon!

I'm SO SO SO SORRY FOR TAKING ON LONG WITH THIS REQUEST BUT ITS HERE NOW!

So I hope you like it!

Also I want to give a special thanks to @itsagrimm for the German translations!

So please enjoy!

°

°

°

When Y/n joined the 141, it was easy for most to be intimidated by the man.

Laswell had sent them a German that stood with a bolstering 7 foot vertical, stealth that should be considered illegal, eyes that just pierced fear into the hearts of their enemies, and in the field, a goddamn beast that craved the bloodlust of those that weren't his teammates: who could blame them for feeling such a way?

Even König, a man who was a giant himself that stood at 6'10, was even in awe by Y/n's mere size over him.

When König had first heard Y/n was German and would be joining the 141, he couldn't help but be overjoyed to meet the man. By the time your helo landed, the man could barely contain his excitement to meet you. As you got out and grabbed your bags, from a distance you didn't look like much to König until you finally came face to chest with the man.

It was the first time König actually had to look up to another man rather than looking down. The Austrian felt the mans cold (e/c) eyes hover over his figure slowly, a predator that towered over his prey. König shook off the unsettling feeling before extending a hand to Y/n to greet him.

"Guten Tag, mein Name ist König." - Good day, my name is König.

Y/n stayed silent for a while until letting out a small giggle and extending out his hand to shake König's.

"Hallo, ich bin, Y/n." - Hello, I'm xyz./ you can call me Y/n.

König couldn't help but smile underneath his sniper mask as he began to show the man around the base.

Slowly but surely, the two would even up being around each other 24/7 no matter where it was.

On the field, in the base, in each other's rooms, just in close proximity to each other. Then feelings began to transpire and soon enough, the two became a couple.

As König spent more time with the man, he noticed the change in his body language as well.

While Y/n became a monster taking out enemies sometimes with your bare hands, at the base, he were a complete airhead.

Well, a complete airhead that König had loved with all his heart.

At times, Y/n couldn't help but make König laugh at some of the things he managed to do. He got lost in the base one time just trying to find König's room, and this was after one of the recruits gave him the same directions FOUR TIMES.

When Y/n got to König's room, the Austrian asked why he was so late and Y/n explained in great detail and blamed the walls for all looking the exact same.

While he was sometimes clueless then, when he and König sparred against each other or recruits, it was a different story.

"Komm schon, Y/n!" - "Come on Y/n!" König bellow as he dodged Y/n's swift punches.

König should have evaluated the man more because he was on his ass in seconds, not that he didn't mind it but still...

König looked up at Y/n in shock as the man extended a hand to him to lift him off his ass.

Y/n didn't say anything expect getting ready for another round and König joined him.

Well that was the case until a random recurit managed to kill the lovely vibe the two were having.

"L-Lieutenant Y/n?" The man stuttered nervously.

He must have been new because everyone in the 141 base knew to never, EVER, interrupt the Lieutenant's training session, especially when it was with König. He valued their time together immensely, and considering their line of work, König couldn't blame his lover.

He prayed that Y/n would tone it down slightly and thankfully his prayers were answered when Y/n turned the man.

He sent him a simple death glare before speaking.

"Kannst du nicht sehen, dass ich beschäftigt bin, Kollege? Unterbrich mich noch ein mal und du wirst nicht genug Atem für haben vom Strafrunden laufen." - "Can't you see I'm busy, dude? Interrupt me just once more and you won'T have enough breath for it from running punishment laps."

The man got the message, quickly informing the man before turning to leave.

König was going to consider asking what it was but decided against it.

He sent Y/n a look if he wanted to go again but the German simply shook his head and cocked his head towards the showers with a smirk.

König found himself walking alongside him, smiling underneath his sniper mask again, as he walked with his lover hand in hand.

°

Please REBLOG with TAGS if you plan on doing so

It helps others navigate your Tumblr page easier

-Guards

[chikaras-garden]

Patience

Your boyfriend finds out that you’re secretly working for a rival mafia family. It’s only right that he teaches you a lesson for spying on him.

Pairing: mafia!Kuroo x fem!reader

Words: 2.4k

Contains: dubcon, mafia!Kuroo, dom!Kuroo, mean!Kuroo, brat!reader, fingering, piv sex, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, sex as punishment, roughness, manhandling, desk sex, K calls R “kitten,” “little girl,” and “naughty girl”

Notes: 18+ or you’ll be blocked, also on ao3

“You’re lucky I’m patient.”

Tetsuro stands in the doorway of the office—his office. You’re not sure how long he’s been there, but you’re certain he just caught you digging through papers on his desk, on top of the fact that you’re not even supposed to be in here at all. Ever. That was rule number one of being with him, not that you ever had any intention of following it. 

You involuntarily gasp, stuffing the papers in your hands behind your back. His eyes lazily glance between your hidden arms and your face; somewhere between the quirk of his eyebrow and downturn of his lips, you know you’re caught.

Closing your eyes, you expect to be yelled at. Thrown out of the room. Locked away. Worse. That’s what other men you’ve dealt with—done this to—would have done to you, anyway.

But, Tetsuro’s voice is even, only clouded by the shadow of disappointment.

Suddenly, that voice is right next to the shell of your ear. What he says sends electricity down your spine, sends the papers falling to the floor, sends your fingers reaching for his chest. “I wasn’t told you were going to misbehave.”

You feel his arms cage you in, one hand on either side of your hips, fingers drumming on the solid wood of his desk. He doesn’t touch you. He won’t do it, he never has, and that stirs something in between frustration and need in your stomach.

“Look at me.”

His hazel eyes are dark and analytical, tinted by the shroud of catching the one woman he’s let into his life in the act of betraying him. Your lips part, trembling, and it isn’t his rage, sadness, or bloodlust that channels fear into you.

It’s his complete lack of them.

“So you steal information from me, pass it off to…” when you don’t answer, he sighs, the first sign of his real annoyance at you, as if you’re no more bothersome than a delayed train. “...whoever you’re working for, not that the list of people who’d want to screw me over is short.”

Tetsuro tilts his head, and his voice follows to the shell of your other ear, his breath grazing your cheekbone. He speaks quietly, every syllable so perfectly measured to show you that he’s in control. It’s eerie, and you swallow hard at the realization.

“Then what, kitten? Did you think you were smart enough that I’d never find out?”

You let out a shuddering breath while your eyes slip closed again. This close, you smell his cologne: it’s cold, but still burns your nose—peppermint and sage. You tilt your head back, baring your neck to him like an offer: Does he dare to take it?

“Fuck,” he whispers, realizing what you’re thinking as soon as it crosses your mind. “You just wanted my attention, didn’t you?”

Caught both in the act and with your true intentions, you nod.

He starts laughing.

It starts with a chuckle that fights its way out of his chest, but it swiftly melts into real laughter more genuine than you’ve ever heard from him. Your eyes fly open, and you spot a mean, self-satisfied grin. But, behind that, you see eyes ablaze with an echo of the need swirling in your stomach.

Your toes curl. Every layer of clothing you’re wearing is starting to feel hot, like it’s burning. You reach a hand back, fingers extending behind you until they touch skin: his skin, which burns as hot as yours.

He stares at you with an intensity that would scare anyone else, but you’ve grown accustomed to his nuances. “Gonna have to make you regret this, you know.” 

Oh, you know. And you’re hoping he makes good on that threat in ways that surprise the very excitable imagination you’ve been developing since the moment you met him. So, you egg him on. “Are you sure you’re the right man for the job? I mean, I did get this far…”

Before you can finish, he grabs you by the hips and hoists you on top of his desk, paperwork be damned. You’re stunned threefold: first by his strength, second by his speed, and third by his lips capturing yours while your mouth is still open, ready to accept his tongue.

This kiss is more intoxicating than anything you’ve ever felt before. Your head swims, and you reach for him to tether yourself to this Earth before the feeling of him sends you straight to the moon. Your fingers wind into his hair, and you tug without thinking. Just that little action, so innocent compared to all the ways you’ve thought about him, makes him moan into your mouth.

His fingers, long and roughed up by who knows what, make quick work of your clothes. Shirt, up and over your head. Bra, tossed across the room. Skirt, pooled on the floor. Panties, dangling from your ankle. You thought removing clothes would make you feel better, cool you off, keep your head on straight, but the air in Tetsuro’s office burns hot with your need for more, more, more.

You need him to give you what you want. He needs you to make him do so, evidently.

“Tetsuro,” you whine, fighting against the kisses he places to the corner of your mouth. “Tetsuro, please, please.”

His hands massage into the soft skin of your thighs, spreading you wide so he can fit easily in between them. There’s an unforgiving gap between your pussy and his still-clothed dick; though it must only be as wide as your fist, it feels like it’s a whole ocean across, like you can’t just reach out and bring him to you.

“Naughty girls don’t get what they want.” Although he’s teasing you, his chest rises and falls with heavy panting. It’s a struggle to keep up with what his body wants to do to you, what your body demands of him. He kisses down your throat, your collarbone, the top of your chest—and you whine in response to his snail’s pace.

“I can earn it.” Your beg is heard by interested ears; you can practically see him perk up at the suggestion, glancing up at you through dark eyelashes. “I’ll do anything.”

For several beats, he ignores you. You watch him fight against his own willpower, and you realize—while his eyes dart from your lips to your hands to between your legs—that you don’t need to hear him say it to know that you’ve won. He hides his concession in another ravenous kiss; this time, his hands find your breasts and mercilessly squeeze, making you mewl and invite his tongue back into your mouth.

His hands feel like fire consuming your skin, making you shake from head to toes. You’ve never been with him like this, but you’ve imagined it, and you know you want it. And, in fact, your imagination doesn’t come close to the real deal.

He grips one of your thighs, holds your leg around his waist, angling you so he can get a view of your folds that makes him sigh. It’s a breathy sound unlike anything you’ve ever heard from him before; when you try to lean into him, try to give him a kiss of your own, his free hand presses against your chest.

“Stay still, would you?” He tuts, feigning annoyance that’s softened by the smirk on his lips. Then, he whispers a betrayal of the act he’s been putting on. “Don’t wanna hurt you.”

Then, he reaches for your folds, wasting no time in thumbing at your clit. You bite your lip; though he doesn’t physically hold you back anymore, you stay where he put you, telling yourself that it’s just because this angle makes the shapes he’s tracing on your clit feel even better. Indignantly, you ignore the voice in your head that’s whispering about being good for him. Proving yourself. Earning what you want.

“Oh,” he groans while your pussy swallows two of his fingers all the way to the third knuckle; he’s not even trying. “This is exactly what you wanted, isn’t it?”

Hips twitching, trying to brush your clit against the palm of his hand, you nod. Tetsuro leans his forehead against yours and chuckles, a sound that makes you shiver from how close it is; he still isn’t looking at you, not really. He’s looking down, captivated by the way his fingers sink into you.

Testing your balance, you lift one hand to grip his shoulder. He doesn’t move, not even to acknowledge your touch, so you dance your fingers across his collarbone, down his chest, all while your own breathing grows heavier and heavier. You’re certain you’re a mess, and you think it’s wildly unfair that you’re the only one.

So, your trembling hands make clumsy work of his shirt buttons. The thin white fabric feels like silk under your hands, soft and supple, something you’d love to rub your face all over if it wasn’t currently in your way. Every button undone, you get a glimpse of the sculpted chest underneath; you end up so distracted, eyeing him hungrily, that you miss the fact that his fingers have stilled inside you.

Until they pull almost all the way out, making you gasp, and plunge all the way back in, curling upward in a way that makes you cry out. With an almost-literal snap of his fingers, you’re on the edge of a high you weren’t sure he’d let you have.

A sudden fear crosses your mind. With wide eyes, you look up at him, only to find him looking back with a wild, starving gaze. 

“T-Tetsuro,” you keen, “wanna come.”

“Wanna come?” he mocks, curling his fingers in the same way again. You start to slump forward, wiggling your hips, but he grasps your shoulder to keep you an arm’s length away, in perfect view for him. “Think you deserve it?”

“Please!” you beg. You don’t care what you have to do or say to get it. Tetsuro’s fingers feel so good, and you’ll be damned if you let him ruin this orgasm for you.

You think you hear a mutter of “alright, girl, alright,” not unlike he’s talking to a stray cat mewling at him for scraps of food. The metaphor isn’t lost on you: you do, in fact, feel something like a starving animal while his fingers pick up the pace. He fucks you into his palm until release crashes over you, feeling like the best, biggest, finest meal you’ve eaten in months.

Shuddering, you breathe something that sort of resembles his name, incomplete syllables tumbling out of your lips while you wrap yourself around him. His fingers linger inside of you, and you feel his eyes on you, watching, waiting. For what? You don’t know—you don’t care. With his free arm, he holds you against his chest, and you welcome the comforting sear of his bare skin against your cheek.

Seconds pass, and then you hear, “Alright. That was one.”

Your eyes flutter open. Delirious, you murmur, “One?”

He doesn’t entertain you with a response. Instead, he pulls his fingers away from you to shrug his shirt all the way off and, before you can complain about the absolute void between your legs, you hear the soft clink of metal on leather.

Trousers slide down his thighs. He steps out of them, closer to you, and leans over you; he’s tall, so tall that it’s too easy for him to collect your wrists in one hand while he lays you back on his desk.

Ironically, the papers you were trying to steal are right underneath your cheek.

He holds your wrists loosely in one hand, presses them against the tabletop above your head. His grip is loose, like a warning: just try fighting, and see what happens. You catalog the idea for another day.

He angles his hips in a way that has the tip of his cock brushing against your wet, puffy folds. He hisses—or maybe you do, or maybe you both do. There’s a brief moment of eye contact where you notice need and selfishness in his gaze. Lowly, he says, “Remember, kitten, this is supposed to be your punishment.”

And then, he sheaths himself inside you. He’s neither fast, nor slow; he moves at the pace he wants, ignoring the wriggling of your hips and strangled little noises coming out of your throat. He’s as big as you imagined, big enough to stuff you fuller than your fingers or toys ever could. Your eyes fall closed as you resign yourself to enjoying the stretch, the lude sounds of cock plunging into leftover come, and the rhythmic roll of his hips driving into you.

You moan his name as soon as you feel another high mounting within you; it’s shameful how quick it rushes in, sneaking up on you. 

He bends forward and presses sloppy kisses to the sides of your chest. The more you strain, heavy breaths struggling against the weight of him, the harder he kisses. In short order, lips turn to teeth, and he’s biting, bruising your breasts while his cock pounds into you. He marks you as his, claims you, brands you like a punishment for “forgetting” who you belong to.

Tetsuro’s cock buried deep inside you, his lips attached to your chest, you’re not sure when one orgasm ends and the next begins. All you know is he has you coming again and again until the room spins around you. You’re dizzy, blissed, panting, whimpering, and writhing underneath his iron grip on your wrists.

You twist your hips, searching for a moment of reprieve, just a second to catch your breath, but he responds with a grunt and an upward thrust that makes you cry out. “Don’t be difficult, kitten. You wanted to be taught a lesson? Here it is.”

“Said you’d do anything,” he mumbles, but it’s so quiet that it’s almost drowned out by the sound of skin slapping skin. He’s deep, so deep, too deep. You can’t focus, can’t think, can barely feel anything except his cock plunging into you, kissing your cervix with every thrust. 

“Tetsuro,” you whimper. “I-it…’s too much, please…”

“Patience, little girl,” he warns through gritted teeth. “I’m making you…regret trying to betray me…remember?”

You find it in you to put up a little bit of a fight. Heart pounding, head light and fuzzy, you squeeze his hips with your thighs, trying to put a few inches of distance in between you. Slow down, your mind chants; slow down. You want him. You want a break. Your stomach begins to coil again, and you let out a pitiful, broken moan.

Tetsuro laughs breathlessly, then picks up the pace, making you cry out with another orgasm. “Good—Good girl. I’m done with you when I say so.”

[tokoyamisstuff]

Vocem Virtutis

Lat. "voice of virtue"

Prequel to Incursio Infernalis, but can be read as standalone story.

18+ | 5k. words | Alexander Anderson x f! Reader | slow burn

Summary: Unbeknownst to you, the only thing standing between Anderson and his madness is the bond you formed.

Warnings: Mental illness, violent thoughts, masturbation, slight voice kink, injury, blood, fabricated backstory, they're both so in denial it is aggravating

Heretics. All of them.

It was far past midnight when the Paladin walked aimlessly around the estate, low growls deteriorating into manic laughter.

Anderson always knew he was just as much of a monster as those he had sworn to exterminate.

Born in sin by vile excuses of human beings, doomed to suffer unspeakable from his very first breath. That was probably the reason why he is so adamant to help children in need, and also why seeing people indulge in impure habits makes him see red.

Much to his luck however he was always a force of nature, massive in size and muscle even before the genetic enhancement - resilient despite the circumstances and at some point able to fend for himself.

When the time came that he was surrendered to the orphanage, there was nothing left but a sociopath with an unquenchable thirst for violence.

Not able to escape his past, he carried a darkness inside of him that was almost impossible to contain. A bloodlust that, if not contained, could be catastrophal for people in his vincinity.

But he did not want to hurt innocents the way it was done to him.

Anderson found solace in his faith. Discipline and self-restraint were obligatory, attributes he desperately needed to contain this wicked part of his soul.

The nuns at the orphanage drilled their ideals and ways into his head from a very young age, channeling his wrath into a direction that was beneficial - thus effectively turning him into the Vatican's bloodhound.

They convinced him that god doesn't make mistakes, that his creation is always flawless, and that everyone - including himself - exists for a reason. The thought was a consolation for the young lad he once was.

Yes, he is a necessary evil, his unholy purpose to fight evil even worse than mankind. And so he found an outlet for this erratic need to destroy.

But that doesnt change what he was, and during peaceful nights like this was one, his patience grew dangerously thin.

It has been weeks since he's last been on a mission, and controlling this overwhelming power becoming more and more of an impossible task. His whole body was burning like a witch on the pyre, muscles aching for the thrill to tear something apart.

Subconsciously, he is already searching for a victim. The slightest mistake, the most trivial overstepping would be punished severely...

...and then he found you.

Faint moonlight illuminated the hallways as you cradled an infant in your arms, quietly lulling it back to sleep. It was a sight to behold, accentuated with your balmy voice managing to calm his erratic nerves.

Without being aware of it, you spared someone an unnecessary gruesome demise.

You gasped when you notice something shuffle in the shadows, not expecting anyone to be up at this hour. But your expression visibly relaxed when you recognized the face of the Paladin.

"Apologies, dear. I did not mean to startle you." He was quick to put on the harmless facade, hands crossed behind his back as he greeted you. "What a wonderful song that was. You should join the choir at our mass."

"O-oh. Good evening, Father" you stutter as his imposing figure towers over you, nervous under his scrutiny. "I hope I did not disturb your rest?"

"Not at all." The man gifted you a polite smile and your lips mirror his. "I barely need sleep. Just making my rounds to assure everything is safe."

You chant in acknowledgement before tending to the baby again, softly patting it's back as it let out a whine. "Who's that lil' fella? A new addition to the flock?"

"It's a boy" you explain, "Doesn't have a name yet. I think he's colicky, but I am new to...well...this."

If only Maxwell had someone so nurturing care for him back in the day, then the boy wouldn't be half as miserable.

Well, he's one to talk...

The assassin made a gesture with his hand, signalizing you to hand the child over to him. You hesitate, not wanting to give up on the task already, but surrender for the baby's sake.

"You're humble, that is good" he preaches, "But the nuns told me you are doing splendid. You're a great help and the children love you very much already."

You watch as he coos sweet affirmations towards the infant, easily settling it stomach first onto his forearm. "One of the perks of being tall" he jokes and you chuckle along. It's an adorable sight, a behemoth like him handling a newborn with so much care. "Remember this technique, it's very helpful."

"Thank you very much, Father" you cheer, practically beaming up at him as you both watch the child drift into a sweet slumber.

As he hands you the child back, you could've sworn his hands linger on yours for a little longer than necessary. "Well then, lass, I bid you a good night-"

"Wait!" you exclaim, lowering your voice as you remembered that everyone else was sleeping. "I just...I'll tuck the baby in, and...maybe we share some tea?"

Anderson quirks a brow at the unexpected suggestion. He could've sworn you avoided him like the pest ever since he freed you from that Vampire's lair two months ago. Got the sentiment, though. He was a frightening person in general, and seeing him so unhinged was certainly not a very good first impression.

But knowing that rest is unlikely for him he chooses your company over his humble bedroom any time. "Aye, then we meet at the library. I'll prepare the rest."

Only ten minutes later you sit in the huge armchairs across each other, the fireplace heated and tea served. Even some sweet treats laid out on the table for you.

"You didn't have to go out of your way..." you murmur, hesistantly reaching for a bisquit.

"Well, it's not everyday that I get an invitation like this" he laughs in that deep tone of his, the cup comically small in his large hands. "So tell me, how have you adjusted?"

"Everyone is very kind" you note happily, "But it's a lot to learn." Truth be told, you were catholic only on paper. So you had to start gaining knowledge from ground zero.

"We all worked hard to fit into our role" he answers with wisdom, "And struggle is part of growth." He sees you clutch the cup harder, shuffle uncomfortably tense in your seat. "So...what did you really want to talk to me about?"

"I-I guess I never got the chance to thank you." Well that went in a completely different direction than he anticipated. "For saving me back then, and especially for offering me to stay. I don't know how I can ever repay you..."

Anderson sighed as he put down the cup. "God has saved you, lamb. I'm just his humble tool. And knowing you're thriving is all reward I need, really." He then looks down to your hands, worried as he saw them shaking ever so slightly. "If my presence makes you uncomfortable-"

"N-No! Of course not!" you cut him off immediately, saddened that your reaction caused a misunderstanding. "I'm just a lil' jittery still, because...seeing you, it just...brings back memories of that night."

"Take all the time you need to heal." He briefly puts a reassuring hand on your shoulder before retracting it and you're glad that he is so understanding. "But remember, the Vatican is one of the safest places in the entire world. And...you're part of my flock now, lamb. You're always protected."

"I know that, Father" you respond, "And I'm very grateful." Stirring the spoon in the empty cup, you timidly add "Say, if you're an insomniac like me, we could make this a habit? It was very helpful talking to you."

There was a long pause between your question and his answer.

For a moment he was contemplating to preach at you for even voicing this preposition, concerned for your intentions. But in the end, why not? This was a public space, and as long as it limits to innocent socializing, there was nothing forbidden about it.

This might be a routine worth implementing. A lesser evil surely, if it means keeping him from doing the things he's normally capable of when bored.

"I enjoyed myself as well" he admits, "Let's hope you get some sleep rather, but I'd be glad to see you again."

That aggreement soon evolved into a wonderful friendship, meeting up at the library whenever the two of you were unable to find rest. Which was quite often, mind you.

And the more you got to know about the unusual Paladin, the more he positively surprised you.

Anderson singlehandedly funded this entire orphanage, not keeping a single coin of his earnings to himself. He officially adopted every orphan himself, though it pained you to hear that some chosen individuals would be trained to join Iscariot if they come of age.

He knew everything about each child, spending basically his whole scarce free time caring for them. So even during the day you spend a lot of time together through teaching, everyday tasks, or taking them on trips.

Except for you, the children are the only ones that actively seek his presence. He admires that their spirits are still free of judgement, he once admitted. It seems like his opinion about himself was rather sombre as well, yet he kept any details to himself no matter how relentlessly you pried.

The nights you spent learning from him, oftentimes getting into arguments about how one interprets certain passages of the bible. Or going on strolls through the garden, starting to feel safe again even in the midst of the night.

It was especially enjoyable to listen to the astonishing stories about his everlasting battle against the supernatural. You'd always wait for him to return from each mission, no matter how late, and he figures this must be what it feels like to have a wife to come home to.

At least it's the closest he can get.

As hard to explain as it was, but Anderson actually felt a lot more human in your vincinity.

However it did not go unnoticed how close the two of you had gotten, apparent in how his gaze lingered on you during mass or the way you were drawn to each other, touching 'by accident' conspicuously often.

Were you even aware of this yourselves?

Though for a long time, no one dared to speak up or address the topic. Most were equal parts respecting and fearing the Judas Priest, the infamous Regenerator, God's Assassin. Others, like Maxwell for example, were too corrupt themselves to care whatever Anderson does during his free time as long as he fulfill his job.

If anything, he's glad not to have to hide any bodies anymore.

So you were absolutely flabbergasted when the Reverend Mother inquisitioned about your affilliations with the Paladin, to say the least. To her defenses, she knew him ever since childhood, and during her time at the order she witnessed countless fools starting to harbor indecent feelings for each other.

The two of you were an open book to her, one could say.

And even after assuring that the Priesr was on his best behavior, her warning left a carve in your relationship. "Anderson is a well-respected member of the order, and an exceptional warrior for our faith. I know he can be quite charming, but don't be fooled" she said, emphasizing every word. "Behind the mask there lies a deeply troubled individual, and I am worried for your safety."

Eventually, her words would soon be confirmed to be true when one night, he returned from a mission like so many times before - but this time, his demeanour had changed completely.

It was surely not the first time you saw him covered in red, always scolding him that the children might wake and see him this way.

Apprehension crept on you when you saw his broad shoulders having with every breath, and much to your horror you realized it was his own blood this time, pouring out from a gaping wound that reached from his chest to his stomach.

"Anderson!" you exclaimed as if you could physically feel his pain, a mystery to you how he could even stand upright right now. "Shit, what happened?"

"Language" he scolded you and if the situation wasn't so severe, you certainly would've laughed about his priorities. "We need to get you to the infirmary" you order, slipping your head under his arm to support him.

"This needs to be stitched. I already called for a doctor. Lay down." Anderson was amazed how you could keep a clear head all while tending to his wounds with such great skill, but he wasn't complaining.

"How's that even possible?" you utter under your breath, having offered the man a hand while you disinfected the cut. "Certain beings have unique abilities" he grids, flexing his fists in anger. "That bloody cunt...next time I'll make her choke on her own guts..."

You've never heard him talk like that before, but there wasn't much time to process his words since the pressure on your hand increases to a painful degree. And even while temporarily rendered powerless, he was still strong, inhumanly so. "Anderson, it hurts...Anderson!"

Luckily he snaps out of it before breaking your wirst like a twig, shocked with himself as he heard your pained whimpers. Both of you didn't even register the knock on the door, interrupting this moment much to your relief. "Y/N? The doctor you requested is he- uh, is everything alright?"

"Yes, yes, thank you" you urge the nun, "Send him in and go back to sleep." She didn't need to be told twice, glad to not be the subject of his wrath.

The medic didn't even have the chance to start his work, a bayonett pointed towards his throat as soon as he had entered the room. "Did I just catch you staring improper at this woman, you imbecile?!"

You want to protest, barely even having explained the situation to the doctor, but the Paladin continues his threats. "I'm sick and tired of this half-assed pretense you people call practicing our faith. I can turn you inside out anytime, so I wouldn't look at her again if you want to keep your head."

Anderson's expression was sinister, fists still balled so tightly that his gloves almost tear. He relentlessly cites bible verses to silence his head, but to no avail. Despite the possible danger, you softly grab his hand holding the blade, looking at him all doe-eyed until he'd surrender the weapon to you.

"Sing for me, would ya'" he asks out of the blue, and you immediately understand that he needs it to remain calm. You choose a religious song, of course, to remind him of his duties.

"Amazing grace, how sweet the sound

That saved a wrench like me

I once was lost, but now I found

Was blind, but now I see."

The poor doctor was sweating heavily during the whole process, the fact that you never left his side making it even more complicated for him. Anderson had closed his eyes, trying to focus on the sound of your voice instead of the raging anger inside of him. He wouldn't even flinch as his flesh got poked again and again, and you wondered how much pain a person had to endure to reach this level of unresponsiveness.

"You should leave as long as he can still suppress his bloodlust" you tell the man contradictionary cheerful, "I'll wrap him up. Thank you very much." He flees the scene as fast as possible, leaving the two of you alone once again.

"That was unnecessary and cruel" you scold him as you apply several compresses. He just scoffs bitterly, stubbornly. "Oh please, I know an infidel when I see one" He mentally adds "...and that man was staring you down like a piece of meat." Probably more projection that anything.

"Is that so?" You refuse to look him in the eyes, instead busying yourself with the wound. "Would you have killed me too if you knew I wasn't practicing the religion back then?"

Your accusation send a pang of guilt straight to his chest. Just to imagine harming you makes him feel sick.

"...that's- you're different" he lies, knowing it was absolutely in his range of possibility. You internally groan at his ignorance and hypocrysy. He's such a blockhead sometimes, incorrigible in his ways.

"You're so filled with hatred that you forget the Lord's preachings about forgiveness and love" you state and he narrows his eyes at you. How dare you act like you know the holy script better than a literal priest, the one that teached you no less? "You better shut your mouth now, woman."

Unimpressed by his empty threat, you cross your arms in frustration. "Or else what, you're gonna stab me too?"

"Of...of course not" he mutters, hiding behind the reflection of his glasses as he turns his head away. But you cup his cheek with your hand, gently forcing him to look you into those damn enticing eyes of yours.

"M'sorry" Anderson finally said, unaware that he's leaning into your touch, the stubble of his beard tickling your palm. "I did not mean to scare ya'."

Placing one hand over his heart as you help him sit up, you claim "You could never."

Now that he finally became level-headed again, a tidal wave of shame washed over the Paladin. You were clearly a mess, unable to keep it together any longer now that he's out of danger. Seeing him like this made the flashbacks of your captivity re-emerge, eyes beginning to water as you blink back tears.

Anderson knew how people behaved around him after having seen behind the act. He expected you to flee, to never speak to him again unless necessary, maybe even asking to be relocated...

...but instead you wrap your arms around Anderson's bandaged thorso, sobbing heavily as you listen to his ragged heartbeat.

He's human after all. He does have a heart.

Just needed to make sure.

Both phsyically and mentally exhausted, Anderson put his head atop of yours, huffing quite irritated with himself. You were so small and fragile compared to him, so pure and precious. He cannot bear the possibility of getting you in harm's way. He needs to better himself.

For the Lord, for the orphanage, for you.

"Why did you stay?" he finds himself asking, practically having to tear himself away from your warmth. Shouldn't indulge into the feeling too much.

"Because I care for you, Father" you retort instantly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You're working hard to protect us, and I'm thankful for that. I can't even imagine what sacrifices you had to make to turn out like this. But I'm sure you'll never hurt me...at least not intentionally."

He looks down to your wrist, already bruising in several colors, and tenderly lets his thumb ghost over it. "Still, that must've been frightening."

"Did you forget how we meet?" you snort way too carefree, "You basically slaughtered your way through ghouls while laughing like a madman. I always knew what you are, Anderson."

"...you got a kind heart, lamb." He resisted to press a kiss atop of your head, still hearing your feeble snivels. You got a different kind of strenght, one that makes you continue no matter the circumstances. He always admired this about you. "Thanks for leading me through these trying times."

"Just like you did for me." Anderson looks at you for a while longer, and he can't help but think your smile is one of god's greatest miracles.

From this day onwards, the bond you two shared grew even tighter.

Anderson was pleasantly surprised that your courage wasn't just pretend, since the way you acted towards him didn't change in the slightest - even after peeking behind his civilized mask.

What bothers him however is the fact that he cannot seem to stop thinking about you, even when you're far away. Each time he saw you his heart would hammer like a drum in his chest, and suddenly he would lose the ability to form any coherent words.

He must be sick, he thinks. But that was literally impossible. Cursed, maybe? Also no.

Actually, he knew exactly what was going on. He was celibate, usually not prone to affections. But then again, you were special - for better or worse.

So a challenge from god to test his resolve, it is.

You on the other hand were blissfuly unaware of the effect you had on him, though sometimes he felt like you're teasing him on purpose. He'd snap at your friendliness out of nowhere, but quickly apologizes as he can't bear to be the reason for your sadness.

"Hey, big guy" you tug on his coat and he finally looks down, looming over you while scowling. "Are you there?"

"Oi" he murmurs, "You're getting a lil' too comfortable, don'tcha think? I'm still an authorative figure."

You half-pout at his harsh tone, but he's probably right. At least in the public you should treat him with the respect a man of his rank deserves. "I'm sorry, Father..."

"It's fine." The Paladin pats your head to reassure you, yet his gaze always wanders back down to your lips, wondering if they're as soft as they look like-

No. Never. He can't.

"I am needed elsewhere" he frantically shakes his head, hurrying without looking back. "Take care, lamb."

Yes, you're but an innocent lamb for he is a dangerous predator. His soul is already doomed to limbo, but he needs to stay away for your own sake.

"What is his deal lately?" you wonder as you look after him, "Did I do something wrong?"

He behaves even stranger than usual. Barely talks, always buried in thought. Winces whenever you touch, as if he just burned himself on a stove - no, like he was just about to put his hand into hellfire itself.

Noticing the bruise that was currently healing stick out from your sleeve, you figure he must still feel bad about what happened. Ever since that night he seemed so distant, but it was obvious that something was eating him away.

Maybe he just needs more time to understand you accept him with all of his facets.

Anything but acknowledging what turmoil was going on in both your hearts, huh?

It wasn't until a few weeks later, after a particulary bad day, that Anderson would give in to his wish to see you. Another mission had gone south, and talking about it was probably a better way to vent than sticking his bayonett into some poor half-wit.

When he entered the library however, the room was dark and empty. Can't blame you after how he treated you formerly.

He opted to accept your offer to just knock at your door whenever he's in need - something a man of faith like himself would usually say to his believers. It was nice to be at the receiving end for a change, knowing a gentle soul like you wouldn't deny him your help even after he wronged you.

Only when he stood in front of your room he noticed the time - 1am already, middle of the might. You're probably asleep, he shouldn't bother you-

Shuffling from the inside, almost inaudible but not to his keen senses. So you're awake. Good. But just when he was about to knock, the sound of muffled moans reached his ears.

Oh.

Ohhh.

Well, you aren't at fault here. You were raised by heathens, never teached properly. He should leave - no, kick in your door and tell you that this is unacceptable. Or should he tell the nuns to have a talk between women? But then he'd have to explain why he was there in the first place.

"An-der-son...mhh...plea-ah!"

Your voice was barely above a whisper, but it felt like a hammer right to his forehead. He fled the scene in an instant, already feeling guilty for eavesdropping, but the sound of your voice moaning his name continued to echo in his head.

"Fuck" he groaned, cupping his erection through his pants as he laid stiffly on his bed. It's been three cold showers but he was still rock hard, and slowly bur steadily his rationality made space for something more primal. He grips the sheets tight, feverishly trying to keep himself from committing a grave mistake.

There certainly wouldn't be a way back once he gave in to those urges.

The church had ingrained to him that lust was something wrong and dirty. He remembers like it was yesterday that the nuns would regulary check whether his and the other children's hands stayed above their blankets all night.

It's been decades without this sinful deed and while yes, he is not immune to temptations, his will had always been stronger than his flesh.

Until now.

None of it was important to him at that moment. He was aching to be touched, no matter how.

With a shuddered breath he freed his cock from it's confines, a whimper he didn't even know he could vocalize escaping his throat. He fiercely grabs the shaft, the angry tip already red and leaking precum.

Anderson is rough with himself, a mixture of inexperience and shame rushing him to make things quick. His mind wanders back to the way you practically begged for him to fuck you, and he'd be lying if the said it was the first time he had entertained such thoughts.

As he strokes himself, his fantasies wander back and forth between sheer worship and concerning punishment, making path for another kind of obsession that would be even harder to overcome than his bloodlust.

He wants to kiss you. He wants to choke you.

He wants to explore every inch of your body. He wants to cover it in whips and bruises.

He wants to make you feel good. He wants to make you repent.

He wants to hear you moan. He wants to hear you scream and beg for forgiveness.

He wants you to never leave his side. He wants to kill you for doing this to him.

He wants to you to be his in every way possible.

He wants-

Anderson utters vile curses as he came, hips bucking into his flexed hand as he covered his fingers, thighs, stomach up to his chest in his spent.

After the waves of his intense orgasm ebbed down however, there is nothing left but emptiness.

He is exasperated, feeling a million things at once: Anger, confusion, shame, loneliness. He should be more worried to have betrayed his oath, but all he could think of is how painfully he misses your warmth.

He hugs his pillow as he mutely weeps himself to sleep.

Several months later, a few days before christmas eve, Anderson was called to an emergency as a demonic entity was causing mayhem at a nearby town.

Why did it have to be an Incubus of all godforsaken things?!

With everything that has been happening as of late, he was rather vulnerable to the fiend's powers. But he'd be damned to refuse an opportunity like that - especially since his mind couldn't conjure any believable excuse that wouldn't at least partially reveal his dirty little secret.

Cutting you out of his life had felt like removing a tumor, slowly corrupting him from the inside but still being a part of himself.

And it grew back even stronger.

The only times he allowed himself to be around you these days was when the orphans were present. He was civil but reserved towards you, and while you never quite understood what you did to deserve such treatment, you never dared asking either.

Deep inside you had a feeling what this was about, but there was nothing you could do or say to return things to how they have been between you.

There's lines one simply shouldn't cross.

Not that you ever intended to, you were happy as things were. But you both had stepped foot into dangerous territory, gradually overstepping the limits that were acceptable.

And truth be told, Anderson still did.

The fact that you were still so sweet and caring towards him despite all of his shortcomings, all the pain he had caused you, it was eating him alive.

And made it impossible for him to stay away.

At least from afar he would seek out your presence, lingering in the shadows or keeping watch over you from the security of his own room. Though he told himself it was just to assure your safety, he felt guilty each time certain urges would overcome him as he spied, becoming more and more depraved in his attempts to feel close to you.

Anderson rubs his temple as he prays the undignified thoughts away, grabbing the small worn-out bagpack he'd always take to missions with him. He sighs in selfy-pity, finding a box with christmas cookies inside. There's a post-it with your handwriting attached to it, something about how it's a present from the children rather than yourself.

What a convenient lie, he thinks.

He takes one out and treats himself, mentally preparing - rather about having to spend the holidays with you than the upcoming fight. But then the loud beeping on his cellphone tears him away from his thoughts, and he freezes as he sees the name on the display.

It was you. A video-call even. Bloody hell.

Now he was glad that you had showed him how to use this fancy new device, instantly shutting off his own camera to not let his guard down.

"Hello? Anderson?" The screen freezes due to bad connection, but eventually it works. You were wearing a santa-hat, one of the infants on your lap waving at him. He can't help but smile at the endearing sight. "Yes, I'm here" he says in a nonetheless harsh tone, "Take that ridiculous thing off of your head. It's blasphemic."

"Well..." quite timid, you rub the back of your head as you point to the baby. "He just has a hard time sleeping, that's all." It sounds like some cheap excuse to call, but he knows you're being genuine. "Calls out for his 'dada' all the time" you chuckle to cover up your hurt pride. After all, you're with the children 24/7 and yet they're way more attached to their beloved Paladin. "Thought seeing-" you stare at the black screen kind of disappointed, "...or hearing you might help him settle."

You overexaggeratedly roll your eyes at the man. "Oh c'mon, don't be such a kill-joy. It's for the kids!" Oh he's had it with you and your flowery nonsense. Last time you almost made him feel bad for some damn protestants, that's how good you were at defending your naivety. "And what'r ya' doing up this late?"

"I hope I didn't disturb you?" Your eyes widen in bewilderment for a fraction, lips forming an O. "Ye' weren't."

"He'll get used to it over time" Anderson states objectively, "You should've seen Maxwell when he was that age. Was carrying that lil' lad for years, clingy one he was."

"Seriously?" You smirk mischievously, having found something to tease your annoying superior with. "I will never let him live this down."

You surrender your phone to the young boy, smiling dreamily as you hear Anderson half-chant to him in that gruff voice of his until it stopped being entertaining for the child. "I'll try bringing him to bed now, but are you free after?"

Anderson pauses for a while. "You should really go to sleep, lamb. You're overworking yourself."

"Just a few minutes, I promise. I don't want to rob you off your well-deserved sleep either" you wink, not knowing he'd rather stay awake than to be haunted by you in his dreams. It takes you longer than anticipated, though, but Anderson was rooted on spot until you called once again. A mere voice-call this time. That's better, easier if he doesn't have to look at you.

"Thanks for waiting" you greet him, but he brushes it off. "Enough chitchat. What do you want?"

There's a crack in your voice at the sharpness of his words, at the edge with which he chooses to speak. "I...figured after all this time, I deserve an answer to why we've drifted apart."

Anderson lets out a short, ragged breath. "Are- are you alright?" you ask, and it somehow enrages him even more. Why are you continuing to make it so hard for him to do the right thing?! He huffs, voice gravely. "Ya neednt worry 'bouta wrench like me."

"And yet I do" you insist, voice a lot smaller when you ask "So, what did I do wrong?"

"I don't think you could ever do something wrong" he admits softer now, insides churning at the saddened crack in your voice. "Even if you wanted to."

"Then why-" Stopping yourself from saying something unwise, you bite your bottom lip. "I miss you, Father. That's all."

It takes everything in him not to whine at the statement, to break down and confess that you're actually the most important person in his entire life. "I miss you too, ya' know?"

He hears you choke on a sob and clutches the phone tighter, clearing his throat in hopes you don't notice how his own voice is wavering. "Really, dear, you did nothing wrong" he repeats, the nickname leaving his lips faster than his mind can catch up on. "I haven't been myself lately" the priest admits an almost-truth, "Thought you were better of without me burdening you."

"When you offered me to stay at the orphanage back in the day, you said the choice was mine. And now I choose you again." You're fully aware how wrong this sounds, but couldn't care less. "You don't have to go through everything alone, Anderson. Let me be at your side."

"I'm a complicated person, Y/N" he argues, dreading that this won't be the last time he'd deliberately hurt you. "Oh, I know that. That's why I like you, after all. You're authentic, and passionate, and have a kind heart. Isn't that all that counts?"

"...I will be done with my work soon, if everything goes as planned. Back home around midnight." You internally jubilate at his subtle compliance. "And I will be here waiting for you, of course."

Anderson's lips tug into a hopeful smile, shoving all concerns into a dark corner of his mind. Oh, how he's missed your voice, your benevolence, your everything. "Yeah, that would be great."

It's alright - the two of you would rather have each other platonic than not at all.

What could possibly go wrong?

[a-killer-obsession]

🔞 Minors DNI 🔞

A search for a rumored Vegapunk weapon leads the Kid Pirates to an unexpected new crewmate, with a bloodlust that rivals their own and an incredible power.

CW: Please check AO3 for all current warnings, but general warning for smut, slow burn, serious gore, and really dark themes. AFAB reader, she/her pronouns.

Masterlist || AO3 || Chapter 1

Chapter 51 - Udon, Again

Stupid ass Kid. Time for Plan B.

Word Count: ~3k

You felt like absolute fucking trash when you finally woke up. Between your injury from Kid, sleeping on the floor, and hours of sobbing yesterday leaving you dehydrated, you felt like you'd been hit by a meteor, rolled up like a carpet and tossed into the sea. Waking up alone was hard, harder that it had been in weeks. For the first time in your life you were truly independent, and it was hard to accept that right now you didn't even have a crew. It was just you, by yourself, just hoping like hell that you could find a way to get to Heat before it was too late, if he was even still alive.

You lifted your shirt to examine your stomach, frowning at the deep purple bruise that was already forming, in the perfect shape of Kid's fist. Well, at least he'd used his flesh arm. You'd never have imagined he would lay hands on you - you understood it was a high stress situation, but that didn't make it okay. You weren't sure you'd ever forgive him for that, and you had a feeling if Killer came to his senses and saw the injury that it wouldn't bode well for Kid. Even Heat might turn to violence if he saw the bruise. The two of them were possessive of you, but the question was if they were possessive enough to go against their captain. You had no doubt Heat at least would leave the crew for you, but whether he'd physically fight Kid was another thing altogether. Kid was stronger than him though, so you hoped he wouldn't fight on your behalf.

Below your bruise was the fading scar of your hysterectomy, and your heart hurt thinking about Dawn, so far away. You hoped she was doing okay, and that she was too small to truly miss you. Above all you hoped you'd see her again soon, you missed her greatly, and you were getting really sick of making your hands hurt by expressing milk with the manual pump. You felt awful for leaving her, but you had to remind yourself that it wasn't forever, and it was for the best. You had to bring at least one dad home, or you didn't know how you could keep going on your own. You weren't suited to being a single mother, you didn't feel strong enough, not after everything you'd been through.

You let yourself lay back down, curling into a tight ball with a whimper, thinking about Killer and Heat and Dawn and missing them all greatly. It didn't matter that you technically saw Killer yesterday. That wasn't him, that was some other guy who had taken his body without permission, you just had to kick him out. You just wished there was something, anything, you could do to know whether Heat was alive. Not knowing was ripping you apart, every time you thought about it you felt like you couldn't breathe. You could at least hold faith that if he was dead, maybe you would have seen his ghost by now, because surely he would be searching for you. You saw many ghosts in Wano, those who had died suffering under Kaido's rule, but thankfully none you recognised.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, trying to soothe your searing headache. Rummaging through your duffle there was barely anything left, just a single bottle of water and a few apples. You could go without tomorrow, as long as you got the information you needed out of Killer, and once you got back to the capital you could steal more. You chugged the water greedily, hoping it would help your headache, and ate both apples before dealing with your heavy breasts. You drank that too, there was no point wasting it and you needed all the carbs you could get until you got back to the capital. At least your bag was light now, only containing the manual pump, a small med kit, and a map. You slung it over your shoulder and put your mask in place on your head, giving the shack one last look to ensure you didn't forget anything before making your way to Udon.

Your plan was just to cloak yourself and find Killer. Nobody would see you, but he would know you were there because of his haki, and you hoped you could get information out of him before he gave you away. All you needed was a location for where the rest of the crew were being kept, then you could be gone. You just hoped you wouldn't need to use pain to get the information out of him. There were things your devil fruit could do if you needed it, to inflict pain that would bring any man to their knees until he gave up the intel. It was a horrible thought, but you were desperate to get Heat back, and at this point Killer felt like a lost cause. You couldn't convince him to come back to himself last time, and if Kid couldn't either then who could? If he ever did come back to himself, he would forgive you for doing what you needed to do to get the rest of the crew back.

Udon was in chaos as you arrived. You scaled the walls as you had before, perching at the top of the innermost wall to take stock of the situation. Some sort of samurai match was taking place between Luffy and an absolute circle of a man you would find out later was named Queen, one of Kaido's top men. Kid and Killer were being hung upside down over a large pool of water, and you could hear Kid yelling at Killer, who ignored him and merely laughing maniacally in return. No, not Killer - Kamazo. It was clear he wasn't himself, and gave no heed to Kid's desperate yelling for him to remember who he was. This was no good, there was no way for you to get the information you needed out of him like this, when they were so exposed out in the open. Weirdest of all though was that you swore you saw Big Mom at the gate on your way here. Surely you were mistaken, though there had been that article in the newspaper about Big Mom and Kaido that you hadn't been able to read, right before arriving in Wano. Maybe it was something to do with that?

You swore to yourself as Kid and Kamazo were lowered head first into the water. You really didn't want to help Kid right now, but you couldn't just let him die, right? As for Kamazo, whether or not he had stolen Killer's body, you needed him alive for information. God fucking dammit. It took significant concentration, given the distance, but you were able to form a small circular barrier around each of their heads, ensuring they had at least some oxygen. It wouldn't last them forever, but it was better than nothing, especially as the water weakened both of them. There wasn't much else you could do right now, but it didn't matter, because other things were already at work here.

Big Mom broke down the outermost gate, and you saw the mangled metal soar through the air as she threw it. All hell broke loose as the guards within Udon focused their attention on the invader, Kid and Kamazo entirely forgotten. You had a feeling the guards didn't realise who they were dealing with, as a loudspeaker sang out over the prison, “The intruder has broken through the second gate! Now approaching the third gate!”

She broke through the innermost gate to the courtyard you could see best, screaming about red bean soup. Queen turned into some sort of long-necked dinosaur and began fighting back to no avail, Big Mom easily grappling his head and slamming it down. He slapped his tail against the ground in anger, jumping into the air and diving down at great speed to make his attack. Big Mom countered, grabbing him by his long neck, swinging him in circles until every bystander was dizzy from watching, and throwing him at one of Udon's great walls with a deafening crack, the tower he hit tilting and threatening to collapse. You understood well why she was an emperor, Queen was one of Kaido's top men, and yet she'd taken him down without even using her devil fruit. You shivered to think how strong Kaido must be as well.

The tank of water containing Kid and Kamazo broke apart, the scaffolding that held their chains breaking with it and dumping them on the ground with a gush of water. Luffy and Big Mom began fighting as the Beast Pirates scurried to evacuate, and an explosion blew out from the fight, prompting you to form a shield of air pressure to protect Kid and Kamazo, on instinct alone, making you grumble in annoyance as you registered what you'd done. Still invisible, Kamazo sensed you were there, laughing as he stared right at you from your perch on top of the wall, making you unsettled, while Kid was too distracted right now to focus his haki, his head moving every which way trying to figure out where the fuck you were. It was clear you were somewhere, he just couldn't figure it out, and he looked pissed.

A short man with a large head threw the pair a set of keys, and you realised at that point that you were no longer needed here. As soon as Kid could get his seastone off, he could escape with Kamazo on his own, if he didn't kill Kid first. Exasperated and annoyed that you'd protected Kid, you left. You didn't want to be around when he got out, because frankly you didn't want to talk to him. Angry that your plan to get information had failed, you fled back towards the rundown shack. You'd have to find a new way to get that information. Surely Kid would drag Kamazo somewhere, likely nearby since he knew of the area. You could wait till he left Kamazo unattended, or eavesdrop as he got the information out of Kamazo himself, then go to free Heat before Kid even had a chance to get there. You had to get to him first, because you had no doubt Kid would sprout lies to Heat about the nature of your leaving, and you might never see him again. He may even go after Dawn, being that you'd shown Kid on the map where she was being kept. You'd told him as a backup, in case something happened to you, but now you regretted that choice. Then again, you never thought Kid would hurt you like he had.

You stood at the entrance to the ruined building, deciding instead that it would be better to find a different place to hide, since Kid knew this spot. It was the only shelter he knew of, so he would no doubt come here. It took a while, but eventually you were able to find another half destroyed building with a single intact room to shelter in. You slumped down in the corner, exhausted, exasperated and frustrated, with nothing to do except wait for Kid to get to the town and drop his guard so you could interrogate Kamazo. If Kid even managed to get him here at all. You had your doubts, you knew you were capable of disabling him, but Kid and Killer had always been equal in strength, and while Kamazo was a sloppier fighter, he had the edge of wearing Kid's best friend's face - you didn't know if Kid had it in him to truly fight him if it came to it.

You couldn't care less right now if Kamazo won the fight, you'd just had to accept Killer was gone if it came to that. You could probably capture him on your own, long enough to get information, but you wouldn't be able to keep him. Another encounter with Kamazo would no doubt end in one of your deaths, and it couldn't be yours, Dawn still needed you. Killer would understand. However, if Kid won, well that was an issue. Kamazo was your only lead to finding Heat, and he was stupid enough to destroy that lead without thinking if he got into a serious fight with the assassin.

Elsewhere, Kid made his way in the general direction where he remembered the abandoned town to be, followed closely by an eerily quiet Killer. The fog in the blonde's mind from the last several weeks was finally clearing, and he felt ashamed of himself. Not to mention that now that he was in his right mind, he was overly aware of his exposed smile, and the uncontrollable laughter that came whenever he spoke. There wasn't much he could say anyway, he felt deeply embarrassed that he'd lost himself, that he'd been out of prison and yet had done nothing to help his crew, that he hadn't recognised his best friend, that he'd attacked you. There was tension in the air as he walked behind Kid. He wished the captain would just turn around and yell at him already, punish him for his insubordination, so he could at least feel a little like he'd gotten what he deserved. Kid hadn't spoken to him since leaving Udon, and he wondered if his betrayal was so great that the redhead would never forgive him.

The two remained silent as they walked through the streets of the ruined village, the only sounds being that of dirt crunching underfoot, and the various wildlife that had reclaimed the area. Kid grumbled to himself as he tried to remember exactly where the shack you'd taken him to was, since there was a significant lack of buildings still standing enough to serve as shelter. After circling several blocks, he finally found it, sitting down with a huff inside, watching Killer warily as the first mate entered behind him and sat a little ways away. A rogue bout of laughter escaped him from the stress of the tense situation, and he failed to muffle it with his hand. Defeated, Killer pulled his knees to his chest and let his head fall against them with a groan, his kimono falling open either side of his legs.

“Yin um… said about the SMILE fruit shit,” Kid finally broke the silence, “you… you okay?”

“Not really,” Killer laughed. He was so anxious that the laugh may have been real, he couldn't really tell.

“Right,” Kid replied, emphasising the ‘t’ with a pop, “of course you're not okay. Sorry.”

“It's not your fault,” Killer sighed, trying his best to look at Kid, but unable to keep eye contact when he felt so exposed.

“It kinda is though,” Kid grumbled, “it's my alliance bullshit that got us here.”

“It was Scratchmen that got us here,” Killer corrected, “and fucking Kaido.” Killer paused, looking around the small room with a realisation. “Where's Yin?”

“Scared her off,” Kid mumbled under his breath. Killer's heart hurt, remembering how he'd attacked you.

“I don't blame her,” Killer sighed, burying his face in his knees again, “I must have fucked her up pretty bad when I attacked her, fa-fa-fa-fa-fa.”

“She's not scared of you,” Kid huffed, “she knew you weren't yourself. It's me she's scared of.” Killer's head perked up, looking discerningly at the captain who reeked of guilt.

“Kid,” Killer said sternly, “what did you do?”

“You really don't know?” Kid replied, “you were there.”

“My memory is patchy,” Killer sighed, “what did you do to piss her off? I know she was at Udon, so why is she not here?”

“Look, I was angry, okay?” Kid tried to justify himself, “I didn't mean to!”

“Kid.” Killer snapped. Kid shivered, it was the same tone Killer used when they were young and Kid was in trouble.

“I may or may not have yelled at her when she tried to stop me from inevitably getting shot and captured,” Kid wouldn't look Killer in the eye, not knowing how he would react to the next part, “and then… I may have punched her in the gut. And she may have told me to go fuck myself and quit the crew. Wait, no, that was before I punched her.”

“Kid!!” Killer shouted, “What the hell is wrong with you! It took months to get her to trust you and you just go and throw that all away? What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“I fucked up okay?!” Kid yelled back, “you know what I'm like when I'm stressed!”

“That's no excuse for punching a woman!” Killer yelled back, “especially not when that woman is your best friend's girl! You're fucking lucky I don't have the energy right now to beat the shit out of you.”

“I'll take a raincheck,” Kid sighed, “it's the least I deserve.”

“Do you know where she would go?” Killer asked as he stood. It was clear you needed him right now more than Kid did, he had to find you, make sure you were okay, and make sure you knew he was sorry for hurting you.

“There's not many places she could get to without resting first,” Kid grumbled, “she's probably nearby. In another house or some shit. Where are you going?”

“To find her, dumbass,” Killer snapped, before choking on a string of laughter. He shook his head as he composed himself, “Stay here, I'll find her and come back tomorrow so we can all go find our crew, together. And for fucksake don't draw attention to yourself, in fact don't fucking leave this room.”

“Fine, whatever,” Kid grumbled as Killer left to find you. He curled in on himself as soon as Killer was out of sight. You were right, things had changed; if Killer had to pick between the two of you, Kid was no longer his first choice.

[NEXT CHAPTER]

HIATUS NOTICE - Wavelengths will be on hiatus for at most a couple of months while I deal with irl chaos. There's only a few chapters left so my plan is to release them all at once over a week, I hope you all look forward it ❤️

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Taglist: @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth @iggy5055 @eyes-ofhell @luvnisstuff

[yanderes-galore]

Not requested but on this blog I want to indulge so that is what I will do! Dirk is in progress, I'm almost done Act 5 so soon I will start Act 6. For now, I give you this to test the waters and because I really want to write for the Trolls. (Been awhile since I've written for the sake of just me so I hope you enjoy me pouring my pent up thoughts about this series- I'll accept feedback) Barely proofread, we die like men.

Alphabet Used Here

Spoiler Warning for both sub-acts of Act 5 probably. This also contains triggering themes so read the warnings before reading.

Yandere Alphabet - Gamzee Makara ♑️

Pairing: Matesprit ❤️(Romantic)

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Murder, Sadism, Clingy behavior, Obsession, Manipulation, Worshipping, Violence, Grotesque descriptions, Unhinged Gamzee (What's New?), Kidnapping, Dubious into Forced relationship, Blood, Delusional behavior mentioned, Mentions of keeping a corpse, Stalking implied, Decapitation, Implied nercrophillia but I don't go into it for obvious reasons, Death, Breaking of bones.

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

For the most part Gamzee is just so caring. He's good-natured and very dedicated to the friendships he has. When it comes to his darling he'd listen to them for the most part, even consulting them about their emotional problems.

He'd be incredibly affectionate towards you as his Matesprit. He seems touch starved due to his upbringing and would cling to you at every chance he gets. Before his breakdown he's a fine yandere to be around, often just trying to lay with you for cuddles and maybe lazy kisses. He's docile... easy to deal with.

AFTER his breakdown, it's a living hell. He goes from being one of the easiest Homestuck yanderes to deal with to one of the hardest.

He's more likely to kill and torment those around him, including his darling in this state.

Just listen to him... don't provoke him... and you may just be alright-

Maybe....

Long story short, he can get intense either way.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Pre-Breakdown! Gamzee wouldn't really get messy. Don't get me wrong, he's CAPABLE of it, but the bloodlust isn't there.

That is until he realizes his Matesprit may just be in danger. The gloves are off then.

Before his breakdown, Gamzee needs a motive to get messy.

Post-Breakdown! Gamzee will just get messy for the fun of it. He loves to see blood fly like a pretty rainbow.

He would club people's heads in just to see their skulls crack. If they were involved with his Matesprit or not doesn't matter. Afterwards he'll approach you, blood cascading from him in all sorts of colors.

He'll giggle at you, honking at unpredictable volumes before wrapping himself around you...

His Matesprit.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Gamzee normally treats you well. He wouldn't mock you, he loves you too much for that. He wants to hold you and never let you go. He likes how warm you feel against him.

In captivity he'd treat you the same as usual. He holds you close and often presses kisses to you in various spaces. He's lazy with his affection but not in the form of neglecting you it, he likes it slow.

After his breakdown, it's horrible. His "affection" is rough and forced. He's feral in this state almost. After his breakdown he'd definitely mock you and tease you. He's a Purple Blood, he deserves your respect.

He's sadistic after he kidnaps you, dragging you to a secluded spot to keep you after smashing your head with a club. He knows you're his Matesprit still he's just twisted about it.

He becomes strangely obsessive about obedience in this state. The longer you're around this Gamzee, the more you miss the old one.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Before his breakdown, no. Gamzee wants you to keep your free will! He loves you, while he gets jealous sometimes he tries to allow you to do your own thing.

Afterwards, yes. He does pretty much everything against your will after his breakdown.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Before his breakdown I'd say a lot. Even after his breakdown he still does... just completely insane.

Gamzee is very attached to you as a Matesprit. He wants to give you everything he can before his breakdown. He wants to be there for you and you to be there for him.

After his breakdown it's either less or extremely deluded. He still wants to do things for you... but he mostly wants you to do things for him.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Normally Gamzee wouldn't understand it. Why are you so upset? It's that or he just takes it as some sort of game and plays along. He doesn't entirely take it seriously.

After his breakdown Gamzee tolerance for this is at an all time low. He'll say it's cute but then try to force you back under his control. If you don't kneel... he'll make you kneel by breaking your bones.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

Gamzee likes games but his red feelings for you are no game! He doesn't understand why you try to escape and tries to calm you the best he can. Like a Matesprit should!

After his breakdown Gamzee may indulge in the chase and hunt, then drag you back and punish you for trying that.

Running from your Matesprit... just what were you thinking?

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

When he eventually has his breakdown. What's worse than Gamzee running around and slaughtering all your friends then hunting you covered in their blood?

Maybe it's when he breaks your bones and makes you bleed for disobeying him?

That, or the high probability of your own death.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Gamzee in general just wants to pursue Matespritship with you. Be you human or troll, he doesn't mind. All he knows is he loves you.

He considers starting a life with you off his sopor slime addiction. Honestly you may be the only one who can tame the rage in his genes. Thinking of the future with you is a bit difficult...

But he's fine as long as he has you.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Gamzee is normally really chill. If he did get jealous he could probably cope. You're destined to be Matesprits anyways, that's what his Mirthful Messiahs promised him!

If someone was trying to express red feelings for you too, however...

Gamzee doesn't mind talking to them... maybe even a little threat with one of his juggling clubs.

After his breakdown, he no longer copes. He's going to decapitate someone or just bash them in with his weapon.

It's disrespectful to take his Matesprit, isn't it?

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Affectionate. Normally Gamzee clings to you when he sees you and acts really relaxed. Around you he is less inclined to take sopor slime and feels really happy. He doesn't mind PDA and just wants to show his Matesprit he loves them!

If you need to talk to him about something, he's all ears. He loves to try and help you and is even a bit silly at times. He's just... a lovable Matesprit.

After his breakdown Gamzee is just intimidating with his darling. He isn't as openly caring. He cares way more about killing those around you than anything else. He doesn't even mind being a threat to you himself as he gets so deranged.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

Gamzee becomes friends with you at first. He doesn't mind placing you in the pale quadrant for now until he starts developing red feelings.

Gamzee will begin to realize he has red feelings for you the more he interacts with you. Be it through a chatting program or beside each other... Gamzee realizes he likes your attention.

He loves the idea of just... chilling with you.

You must be made for him! It's a MIRACLE you've met!

You are destined to be Matesprits, aren't you?

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Well... with Gamzee it's hard to say.

After his breakdown, obviously.

Before it... not really anything too noticeable.

Other than the obsessive need to know about you and ask for you to be his Matesprit/the affection I suppose.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Normally, Gamzee wouldn't punish you.

Breakdown! Gamzee would. Which would include a great amount of pain, or possibly death by clubbing.

How much did you piss him off?

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

Normal Gamzee, none.

Breakdown! Gamzee, nearly everything.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

He's patient normally until his breakdown, then his patience is thin.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

Normal Gamzee, not really. You may just push him more into his slime addiction if you left before he tried to find you. He may just REACH his breakdown if you left.

If you died, Gamzee grieves heavily. Suddenly... he wonders why he was given such a cruel outcome.

Breakdown! Gamzee won't tolerate you leaving. Either way you'd be dead. He doesn't grieve, either. No... he carries on.

You're still his Matesprit! Even as a beheaded corpse! Really, what will change?

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

Gamzee may feel bad at first but wouldn't let you go. It is what it is, right? You're Matesprits now.

Breakdown! Gamzee doesn't care. He would still not let you go and does not feel bad in the slightest.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

His Lusus was never really home and he was essentially just left to raise himself. He's always been alone. So... that could cause the obsessive need for a Matesprit possibly.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Gamzee would try to console you. He actually likes to mediate emotional issues for friends, like Karkat.

How could he not help his Matesprit out emotionally? He wants to help you the best he can!

Breakdown! Gamzee probably takes some sort of pleasure from it. He'd lick your tears or something, probably.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

He's likely kill his darling and keep their corpse after his breakdown. We've all seen what that leads to... unfortunately.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

It's easy to get space from normal Gamzee. He loves you and wants you to have freedoms. So... nothing much.

Breakdown! Gamzee... no chance.

Maybe extreme affection?

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Normally, no, never.

Post-breakdown? Yes. To the point of death.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

He's worship you like a religious gift. He is a worship yandere at times and would go to great lengths to keep you in general.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

He could pine for awhile... not too long, though.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Normally, no, never.

Post-breakdown? In every way possible and maybe even more

[snailsgoingdowntown]

Red Stained Relationship

Prologue i

Slight yandere! Blade x fem! Reader

Warnings: Implied past child and domestic abuse, twisted sense of ‘love,’ toxic relationship(s), blood, character death.

Blade didn’t abuse the reader btw. He just sucks at anything that is healthy.

Blog contains dark content/dead dove don’t eat.

You'll see why I added "slight yandere' as the series goes on.

Minors/blank blogs dni.

Word count: 684

===

“To kill something is to love it, and to love something is to kill it.”

It was your parents’ favorite saying; behind the jaded eyes and sloppy love they would give. And, of course, you never understood it. Never wanted to, even as a young child, simply nodding your head away whenever they would tuck you into bed at night, kissing your forehead before repeating these words to each other the moment they closed your door.

While you were curious, you never bothered to understand them. They felt alien. You felt alien, an outsider looking in. You couldn’t return your parents’ love as is – your love language was different. Less violent. Less confusing. And more gentle, as gentle as a child could get.

The foundation of your very family was unsteady at best and broken at worse. Even your brother would agree, comforting you on nights that were just a little too noisy. And you would return the favor, perhaps in a less effective way, but all the same. And the cycle would repeat, some days noisier than the others, a mess to be cleaned up. And on others, it almost felt normal.

Almost.

But now, as the dying man rests his head on your lap, you think you get the gest of their oh so favorite saying.

Even so, you still don’t want to hurt him. His blood was staining your dress, and you feel the warmness of it. His breaths were labored, chest slowly moving up and down. There’s blood running down his face, with stab wounds decorating his entire body. But he doesn’t let out any painful whines, barely lets out a grunt.

His wounds weren’t healing. As gruesome as they could be, the wounds stay open. You could attempt to put pressure on them. Especially the gaping one on his chest. You rake your fingers through his hair instead. A small comfort, and maybe even a small celebration. He was the only one happy about it, though.

“You should rest. Close your eyes and everything will be over.” You’re surprised at how steady your voice is. Like you weren’t breaking apart from the inside, cracking like glass. You feel like crying, but nothing comes out. Not even a sob.

“I… I’ve been waiting for this day,” Blade coughs out, wheezing after it. Shakily, one of his arms raises, knuckles grazing your cheek. His vision must be hazy, for when you move his hair out of his face, his eyes are dazed. Unfocused.

“It must be a good day for you then.”

“It… it is. But – fuck – a horrible one for you.” Another coughing fit, but he doesn’t retreat his hand.

“You shouldn’t talk too much. I know it hurts. So, rest.” Blade doesn’t say anything but struggles to keep his hand in the air. His glove prevents him from feeling your skin. And in his mind, it’s probably better this way. Otherwise, he might have second thoughts.

And it’s too late for that.

“… I know that I shouldn’t love you, and that you were a horrible person. I shouldn’t have gotten involved with you, actually. But even so…,” your eyes start to water the more you take everything in. He’s really going to die.

“Yeah… I was… horrible to you. I… I wanted to treat you… nicely. Gently. But I’m no longer… capable of that.” He wheezes out, taking gulps of air. “I’m surprised you stayed…,” he trails off, death knocking at the door louder than before.

He wishes he treated you better. That the bloodlust he had towards you didn’t exist. Maybe then, you could have been happier. No. he should have left the moment he felt something deeper, addicting developed for you.

You close your eyes before covering his own with your hand. Any more of this and you really might cry. Or call for help, something he wouldn’t want. Should you kill him, or let him die on his own?

Even as horrible as he is, you still loved him. Common sense had long gone away the moment you accepted him as is.

“Goodnight, Yingxing.”

[divine-misfortune]

TW for gore and ghoul cannibalism...murder ghouls my beloved.

What if in order to inherit an element, the new ghoul has to kill the previous owner in order to take it?

Feral things taken from the pits of hell and left with the one they're supposed to replace, the element contained inside their fragile mortal vessels. I'm sure there's some sort of...natural draw to the element, like a hunger of sorts. Ravenous creatures with only a bit of skin and viscera between them and what their body aches for. The ghoul before them is just a casualty to their desire.

Swiss and sunny were lucky, there was no element for them to inherit. Though as multi ghouls there might come a time they're made to take one on. It was a bridge they might one day have to cross, but an afterthought for the moment.

Mountain tore into Ivy without an ounce of hesitation.

Ivy fought back decently, from what little Mountain can remember. He doesn’t know if his brain just purposefully tucked the memory away, or if he was truly blinded by bloodlust. They were both fairly matched in size but Ivy was older...tired.

At a certain point it almost felt like he'd accepted what was to come, his struggling died down, his cries became feeble warbled sounds…Or maybe it was Mountain desperately cracking into his rib cage like Persephone did the pomegranate. His blood tasted sweet like honeysuckle, and Mountain licked every drop from his claws.

To this day he remembers, and shamefully yearns for another taste.

Mist was...A problem, to say the least.

She fought Dew with the same ferocity even when her wounds delved past being fatal. Mist fought him with everything she had up until her body gave. He wasn’t much bigger than her, but he was certainly faster. Dew ran circles around her, it was almost like he was playing with his food.

He tore into her throat mercilessly, he ripped her apart. Mist was well past mangled by the time he was finished. He was so covered in her blood, her cool toned skin caught in his teeth, one could have thought he’d been the victim of such brutality.

Dew can still feel the way her viscera left his skin sticky, the showers and ceaseless scrubbing have never managed to rid him of the phantom sensation.

Poor Zephyr.

They realized from the moment they were shoved into that small concrete room they stood no chance. They were already old and broken in more ways than they could count. It was a pitiful sight to watch them sink to their knees and hang their head.

Zephyr squeezed their eyes shut and waited. Waited to be torn apart just like they’d done to the previous air ghoul, he was the reason they were like this now, frail and unable to fight back. Perhaps he’d planned it that way, revenge for their cruelty.

The girls made it quick at least, some compassion in them even in this feral state. Cirrus had cradled their face in both hands and studied the lines creasing their face for a minute before abruptly twisting. Snapping their neck in one fluid motion, the sound was stomach turning.

There was no kind way to take the heart from their chest, but at least their expression remained almost peaceful even as Cumulus and Cirrus picked them clean like roadkill.

And then there was Omega…

Omega had felt it coming, had long since made peace with it. He was tired, an exhaustion that ran bone deep. Quintessence wore on his vessel over the years, though it was nothing compared to the sharp sting of grief that had pained his body. He truly felt his age these days.

He didn’t scream or bare his teeth when Aether circled him with wild hungry eyes. All he did was sigh as he sat himself on the concrete floors, wondering who would clean up the clergy’s mess when he was gone.

While Omega was almost relieved to let it happen, even his blissful acceptance could not spare him from the agony of Aether and his savagery. Aether tore nearly everything, and then some, from his chest cavity in order to satiate his appetite.

He’s never let go of the guilt, and prays that when it’s his turn whatever demon he’s trapped with will offer him the kindness he did not spare his predecessor.

But the issue…Well, the issue comes with Dew and Rain.

Dew was set to die, it had long since been decided that he was supposed to feed the beast Rain was to become. He was smaller and weaker than Rain, the fight was short lived. He was a cornered animal in a very tiny cage. Rain was elegant and lethal in the way he sunk his claws into him, and Dew’s never been able to shake the image of him poised above him. Half delirious from blood loss and high on the adrenaline trying to keep him fighting, the single light bulb haloing the feral creature above him, Rain was ethereal. In such a state, he nearly confused him for some divine and holy being, even when Rain sought to rip through his skin.

And as Dew laid there bleeding out, Rain having retreated with the spoils of victory, Ifrit found him. He’d never seen the fire ghoul so scared. Ifrit had tried in vain to stop the bleeding, the wounds far too grave for such simple solutions.

He begged for Dew’s forgiveness as the red continued to seep through the gaps in his fingers, and he continued his pleading when he ripped the fire from his vessel, practically ripped the heart from his chest, and poured whatever magic he had into the little ghoul’s dying body.

Ifrit would have never made Dew fight him, if things had been different and it was the two of them locked in this room. He’d have willingly offered himself up as the tinder to the beautiful fire he knew Dew could become.

It was the last act of love Ifrit could offer Dewdrop, the very thing that coursed through his veins, just to breathe life back into him. Ifrit burned himself to ash and bone just to see the spark of his element make a new home in Dew’s eyes.

[wisecura]

The wind and the leaf

Sanemi x Tsuguko-f!reader

summary: You are the Tsuguko to Sanemi, the formidable Wind Hashira famed for his abrasive and harsh demeanor. Yet, your cool and calm presence in his live has him reeling. He just cant figure you out.

an: man i just gotta thing for mean dudes with bad personalities. not sure the direction for this fic, but I want it short and sweet.

warning: this story may contain yandere-esque features. The later chapters may be unsuitable for all readers. Proceed with this in mind....I mean...the dude literally stabbed a lil girl to prove a point so...

p.2

swoosh swoosh

Sanemi Shinazugawa, the infamous Wind Hashira, was a force to be reckoned with.

Adorned with battle scars like badges of honor, he exuded a raw intensity that sent tremors through the hearts of many demons. Fiery and aggressive, his bloodlust towards those grotesque creatures simmered just beneath the surface.

He was the embodiment of a warrior consumed by his purpose.

And then there was you.

His Tsuguko.

You were a stark contrast to Sanemi's volatile nature.

Serene and calm, moving through life with an ethereal grace. Soft where he was hard. Smooth where he was rough. Kind where he was brash. The most beautiful person he's ever seen, flowing with grace and poise. Dedicated, hardworking, and oh so admirable. It hadn't been a difficult decision to take you on as his student. If he were to fault you on anything though...

Emotions were not your strong suit.

He could watch you tear down demon after demon for hours, but you'd never seem to crack in your stoic facade. You eyes were lifeless and damn near indifferent. Could he even call it a facade now if it was the face you'd kept since the day he met you?

Perhaps it was your unwavering focus on perfecting your swordsmanship that left little room for the complexities of the heart. Or maybe, just maybe, you were simply too good at hiding those thoughts and feelings. Whatever it was, it irritated the hell out of Sanemi.

You had been in each other's company for a little over a year now and had yet to engage in any real conversation. Let alone betray even a flicker of emotion towards him.

He could spar with you till you were worn to the bone, yet you barely said a word. He'd rather you complain even a little bit. It was as if you were an enigma wrapped in a riddle, baffling the very core of Sanemi's being. How could a person be so...cold. Yet so warm.

He could barely stand it.

Then it happened. One fateful, fucking day, that changed his whole perception of you and himself. Sanemi's eyes fell upon you, engaged in a conversation with Rengoku, his fellow flame Hashira.

He struggled to make sense of it. Impossible to explain it, really, but it was as if a sword pierced straight through his chest. Jealousy, a sensation he was scarcely familiar with, gnawed at his insides, stoking a surprising fire of resentment towards the two of you. And he working tirelessly, his mind running circles, to come up with the root behind this feeling.

It wasn't that you were just talking to the Flame Hashira, it was the slight smile you shared with him—a rarity you had never bestowed upon Sanemi himself.

Sanemi's little bird mind resorted to the only explanation it could comprehend: irritation. Irritation at your lack of dedication to her swordsmanship. That had to be it. The feeling must have been a byproduct of his strict training regime, a testament to his commitment to the Demon Slayer Corps.

And he working tirelessly to come up with the reasoning behind this feeling.

It wasn't that you were merely talking to the Flame Hashira, but the fact that you were slightly smiling at him. Frustrated and unable to understand his own reactions, Sanemi’s little bird mind resorted to the only rationale his mind could accept: irritation.

Irritation, he convinced himself, at your lack of dedication towards your swordsmanship.

That had to be it.

The feeling must have been a byproduct of his strict training regime, a testament to his commitment to the Demon Slayer Corps. He couldn't fathom anything else.

You just didn't take this seriously enough.

And shame on you to be slacking on your training, spending your limited time with someone else. You weren’t Rengoku’s Tsuguko—you were his. So why didn’t you act like it, huh?

But surely Rengoku was only stopping by for a minute. Just to drop something off, right? This nasty irritation would definitely go away soon.

Yet,

As the days passed, Sanemi found himself growing more and more vexed. Rengoku’s visits became almost a daily occurrence. It grated on him, seeing you constantly engaged in light conversation with the Flame Hashira, seemingly neglecting the rigorous training schedule he had laid out for you.

Did Rengoku have nothing better to do than to distract you? He was a damn Hashira, after all. Surely, he had more pressing responsibilities than to idle away his time chatting.

This constant interactions between you two wasn't just a thorn in his side. It was becoming an unbearable aggravation, challenging his patience and his command as your mentor. He had said anything yet, but he was so tempted.

It was as if a shadow settled over his estate, darkening his mood constantly. Initially, he hadn't minded the Flame Hashira, but now he couldn't stand him. He could go as far as to say he hated him.

Yet, he remained steadfast in his silence, unable to voice his concerns to you. After all, how could he begin to explain something he himself couldn't fathom?

But that didn’t stop him from expressing his unspoken words through his actions. Your training sessions grew more rigorous. Then again, they should have been intensifying already—how were you supposed to grow if he didn’t push you?

But now, his training took on a meaner edge, driven more by his swirling emotions than by the usual disciplined approach.

It only grew worse when he realized you might actually be growing attached to the Flame Hashira.

Your interactions, though always subtle and calm, began to reveal a depth of affection that bothered Sanemi deeply. You never openly showed preference or attachment, keeping your emotions concealed beneath a tranquil surface.

But, it started with small smiles, and now, you were inquiring about Rengoku’s brother and his garden. You seemed to know intimate details about the Flame Hashira, details that were trivial yet so fucking telling.

Did you really not see the issue with having Rengoku visit so often at his manor? To Sanemi, these were not mere friendly exchanges, rather, they were breaches in the exclusivity he felt over your mentorship and training.

The situation gnawed at him, the silent question burning in his mind: Why did Rengoku, of all people, need to be so involved in your life?Each encounter, each shared smile between you and the Flame Hashira, seemed like a small betrayal to Sanemi.

His frustration grew with each passing interaction. Why couldn't he be the one to elicit a reaction? You never smiled at him the way you did with Rengoku. You never engaged him in light conversation or inquired about his likes and dislikes. Why was it always Rengoku who managed to coax those rare glimpses of emotion from your otherwise impassive demeanor? Was it the Flame Hashira’s charismatic charm or perhaps something deeper, something more that drew you to him?

He was supposed to be your mentor, the one you looked up to and sought guidance from, yet here he was, feeling sidelined in his own estate. The complexity of these emotions was so unfamiliar to Sanemi, a man more accustomed to straightforward battles and clear enemies. How could he fight this unseen foe that seemed to be stealing away your attention and, possibly, your affection respect?

Lost in his own sea of turmoil, Sanemi wrestled with feelings that defied his comprehension. He had spent his life honing his instincts as a demon slayer, yet when it came to matters of the heart, he was as clueless as a beginner. It was a battle he never expected to face, and it threatened to consume him whole. Why were you causing him to feel this way?

why.

Why?

WHY?

WHY.

In the midst of your training sessions with him, Sanemi found himself studying you intently.

Your stoic facade remained as unyielding as ever, but he couldn’t shake the flutter in his stomach every time you fixed him with your gaze. His heart rate would pick up just that much more and he would have to look away. What were you thinking, staring at him like that?

His training as a Hashira had taught him how to mask his emotions—after all, a rapid heartbeat was normal in the heat of battle. But how long could he keep the flush from his face hidden? He desperately wanted to see a different expression on yours, something that broke through that serene exterior.

If you noticed his discomposure, you never mentioned it. It was as if you were oblivious to the turmoil you stirred within him, or perhaps, you were simply choosing to ignore it.

Sanemi found it increasingly difficult to find common ground, to find the right words that could foster a meaningful conversation between you. Each attempt felt more strained than the last, widening the chasm he felt in your interactions.

Driven by a mix of desperation and determination, he decided to shift his approach.

If words would not bridge the gap, maybe actions would speak the volume he needed. He began to observe you more closely, paying attention to the small details—the way you organized your training gear, the slight pause before executing a particular move, or your preferences for certain foods during breaks.

He quietly started to take care of smaller tasks for you, adjusting your gear before training, ensuring there were extra rations of your favorite snacks available, and subtly modifying training routines to include elements you showed interest in.

Each act was a silent plea for your recognition, a hope that these small gestures would catch your eye and perhaps elicit a response, any response, that might indicate you saw him as more than just your mentor.

After training sessions, Sanemi would discreetly place new hair accessories or small trinkets beside your belongings—items he had thoughtfully selected from the local shops. Each one was chosen not only for their aesthetic appeal but also for their subtle reflections of himself: a pristine white hair clip, or a patterned haori that mimicked his own.

Yet, nothing seemed to elicit much of a response from you other than a polite "thank you." Your calm acknowledgment, devoid of the warmth or interest he hoped for, was starting to drive him seriously mad. It felt like banging his head against a wall, trying to reach you, to see a flicker of something more beneath your composed exterior.

However, you did eat the snacks he brought you, and to his surprise—and his tinged ears—you wore the items he had picked out for you. Each day you adorned yourself with these, you became a walking symbol of him.

A constant reminder of who you shared most of your time with. Who you staying with.

He couldn't figure it out. Couldn't figure you out.

p.2

come home

[mavia-anon]

Pandora's Key

Tommy had been having a good day.

For once, in his fucking miserable life things had been going well.

He should have known it wouldn't last but never, not in his wildest dreams, could he have imagined it would go to shit this badly.

The fucking Blade bares down at him, all fucking six feet whatever of pure bloodlust and barely contained rage with a shimmering sword at his throat. Red eyes glowing behind a skull mask stare into his soul and he's saying something, Tommy thinks. Asking him questions or hissing threats, Tommy doesn't know. He cant-- he can't hear him over the sound of his blood pounding in his ears.

The sword at his throat digs in a little deeper, a sharp burning pain that makes Tommy full body flinch and that only makes the pain worse and there's blood on his skin and those red eyes narrow, just slightly and--

Tommy doesn't know how long has passed, but when he finally comes to, he's still in his apartment. The Blade standing a healthy distance from him with his sword sheathed at his side.

Not that he needs it to be able to kill Tommy in a hundred painful ways, but it settles his nerves, if just a little.

His hands are tied behind him, is the next thing Tommy becomes aware of, a dull ache in his shoulders as the bindings wrap tight from his wrists to his elbows. He's completely fucking helpless, not that he would have been able to fight before but at least he could move, could run could--

"Well then," The Blade starts as he sees Tommy blinking blearily up at him. "Where were we?"

When Tommy doesn't answer, the Blade crosses his arms over his chest. He can't see the villains face, but he can imagine the withering glare he must be giving him.

"The blueprints." The Blade demands.

For a moment, Tommy is confused. He doesn't have any damn blueprints, he works customer service at a restaurant, he's not a damn architect or engineer or anything that could be considered important.

And then he realises.

Tommy doesn't like to think about his life during his time with Dream. And even if he wanted to, he can't even remember half of it.

He knows that Dream loved him, a long time ago. In his own way. They were not quite brothers but- had things been different, if Dream wasn't a hero, they might have been. He knows if he thinks about it too long, his head gets fuzzy and reality feels like a distant concept and--

And there's one memory that sticks with him, as vivid as the moment it happened. Dream, with a resigned look in his eyes and a knife in his hand. Dream, who pinned Tommy to the ground and brought the knife down on his back.

Dream, who spent weeks making sure the scars stayed. Healed in jagged lines and burned edges.

Tommy swallows thickly, desperately trying to keep the sick feeling in his stomach under control. He'd never been able to look at what Dream had done to him. At what hours of torture had left him with. He could barely stand to think about it most days, even when after hours of working left his skin tender and the pain became bone deep, he could never bare to behold what lay there.

It would break him all over again, he thinks. To know what Dream valued more than him. Someone he used to claim he would burn the world for.

But with wide, horrified eyes, Tommy suspects he finally has an answer for all his unasked questions.

There are no blueprints, no carefully kept and cleverly hidden sheets of paper Tommy can fork over and then continue on with his life.

There is only Tommy, and the mottled expanse of scars on his back. Blueprints-- a map of Pandora's Vault. The prison in which Dream is currently rotting in. Where he should have stayed, forever.

And Tommy is the key that will let the beast free.