#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

[allpiesforourown]

After recently seeing one of those tattoo asks regarding asshole roommate binghe au I've been having severe brainrot and I'm slowly cooking a perhaps a bit ooc fanfic but I need your thoughts.

SY having super off perception of himself and confronting it with what Airplane bro and his meimei tell him and he gets pissed and huffs and puffs and in a fit of a momentary bravado ignited by feeling wronged he goes and gets something edgy nobody would accuse him of having, e.g. nipple piercings (i love gap moe and as a fellow thin faced supposedly serious person i love that they are so lowkey and easy to hide until they aren't). He probably only gets one though before it sinks in what he just did and all of the consequences hit him like a bus. Yadda yadda Binghe has to help him clean the piercing for at least 2 weeks but of course he needs to make sure it heals properly and doesnt get infected so it becomes their routine and they both suffer from getting all close and personal with his nipples (Binghe probably also cries a lot thinking how it must have hurt and how could anyone with a conscience agree to doing this to SY and barely contains his bloodlust because not only this random person hurt him but got to see him shirtless? Touch his nipple? More than once? Witness him gasp and shudder and who knows what else???). Bonus points if Binghe is on the brink of insanity, eventually gets drunk, pulls Hua Cheng and gets that womb tattoo but it's traced from Yuan-ge's actual signature from like, idk, their super platonic valentine card exchange from 10 years ago or their apartment rental contract or something crazy and thus can't get laid anymore because it truly was the last straw for all of his girlfriends and fwbs.

Sorry for being feral, idk if it even sounds coherent but I love seeing these guys put into situations.

Also regarding the "possible consequences in case he need's MRIs", I'm gonna say implant grade titanium jewelry and hope for the best because in that case I'm literally in the same boat as him. Or glass retainers? I'm sorry Pie I respect you so much and care for your opinion like you're Shizun himself but no matter how unrealistic this whole scenario is please let me have it 😭😭😭

+ i can imagine Binghe easily going overboard and buying him more and more over the top jewelry once he graduates from the bars he was pierced with

I'm laughing so much at this anon. You don't need to apologize we're all freaks here. Shen Yuan should get a matching womb tattoo of Binghe’s signature too actually

Okay but for real when shen yuans nipple piercing hurts and he puts something cold over it binghe has the mental image of taking it in his mouth and massaging it with his tongue and has to run into their washroom and turn the an ice cold shower on immediately without even taking off his clothes. Shen yuan runs in after him and asks what the hell he's doing and binghe goes oh you know. Just chilling.

[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.

[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

[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."

[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.

[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

[starl3ng]

Duplicitous Desertion

13—Bedridden

Angel gets the map to Luke Skywalker before Ren does. She also makes sure to lose it just as quickly.

Ao3 | Tip Jar | Next

Content: Kylo Ren/Fem!OC, MDNI, sexual content, NSFW, self-indulgent, slow burn, canon-typical violence, mentions/descriptions of injury and death, general angst, sex pollen, aphrodisiacs, improper use of The Force and Force connection, occasional illustrations inside

6.6k words

A droid sat in front of Angel. It was a round thing that barely reached her knee. 

And it was beeping angrily. 

She’d never taken the time to understand droids. The only droid she knew of on Hays Minor was Kobo. He’d worked in the back separating parts and—in the words of the late Omaf—his beeper was broken, and it’s a damn good thing! 

Omaf’s voice fades from Angel’s mind as she looks at the guards who’d transported the droid here. “What’s this?” She gestures to it, turning to face them all in the holding cell they were keeping it. 

One of the troopers steps forward, voice mechanical through her mask. “A BB unit containing the map to Luke Skywalker, ma’am. We found it rolling around on Takodana.” 

Angel turns slowly to look down at the round droid, who looks up at her and makes a frightened beeping sound. “Leave us, thank you.” Angel says, eyes glued to it even as the troopers march off. 

The map to Luke Skywalker. She thanked whatever was beyond the stars that they had not reported directly to Ren first. She’d noticed he’d become… different… when he took up his role as Supreme Leader. Or maybe he had always been that way; obsessive, bloodlust-driven, and deeply wounded. Either way, Angel knew a path to self-destruction when she saw one. 

She’d seen it in drunk men at the bar on Hays Minor who kept drinking despite being reminded that they were far beyond wasted. She saw it in her old coworkers, who came in with eye bags and bandaged wrists. She saw it in herself… before she worked at the weapons dealership, slipping off her clothes for a bit of cash and in a desperate, lonely attempt to feel loved. 

She understood Ren’s goal. He wanted to put an end to the Jedi. They threatened the standing of the entire First Order. But the kingpin had been defeated… and Angel couldn’t help but feel the man who’d replaced him was slowly spiraling. Not to mention, she suspected he wanted Luke Skywalker dead for more reasons than one.

The beeping of the droid draws her back into reality and Angel looks down at it. “I don’t want him to have it as much as you do.” The droid rolls back a centimeter as if it were surprised by her words. Then, distantly, Angel hears the thudding sound of quickly approaching boots. She turns just as the doors to the holding cell slide open. 

“Where is it,” Ren spat as he walked inside the holding room, stepping through the door as if it couldn’t open fast enough.

The sweet and gentle experiences Angel had received in his first few weeks as Supreme Leader had become few and far between. Nowadays he returned to his room late, if at all. The only time they saw each other was for business, no visits or messages through the force.

He stood there, presence overwhelming, eyes dark with bags underneath. He looked tired, stressed. When his eyes landed on the droid behind Angel, he looked almost crazed. “If you know what's good for you, you will give me that map, droid,” he said as he took a step closer to it. The two storm troopers who had brought it in moved to stand in the small room as well on either side of Ren.

Angel stepped sideways, blocking Ren’s view of the droid. “Wait just a second,” she says and the two stormtroopers behind him stiffen in reaction. Talking back to the Supreme Leader—and even worse; ordering him—was seldom seen because of its deadly consequences. “It’s not going to give you anything if you come at it like that.” 

Ren was silent, the troopers behind him shifting nervously on their feet as Ren’s eyes diverted their gaze to Angel. “How would you do it then?”

Angel shifts on her feet, eyes flicking nervously from Ren to the troopers behind him. “I have my ways, but that’s beside the point; this is a waste of time,” she urges. “As you said, Skywalker is just an old man—a foolish one, too, I believe.” She cocks her head, stepping forward. “And if he is as foolish as you say, then he will not be able to produce any Jedi capable of stopping the First Order. So, logically, we have nothing to worry about.”

Ren took a breath, visibly beginning to get shaken up. “But why not? The droid is right here. I am so. Close!” His fists balled at his sides as he tried to take a step past Angel and to the droid. 

She steps in front of him once more, expression pinched. “Why what? Why not kill him anyway? You’re nonsensical! In fact, it almost seems as if you’re doing this for personal reasons.” When Angel jabs a finger into his chest, the troopers slowly back out of the room. 

The door sealed shut behind the troopers and Ren lowered his voice. “I don’t need your permission to do this,” he hissed as he looked down at her, completely ignoring all of her questions as he so often did. It was almost like he chose not to hear her at all. “Now move.” 

There would be no getting through to him now, Angel knew this. “I’ll get it, you barbarian,” she hisses and turns to crouch down in front of the droid, who rolls back a ways. Angel gives it an urgent expression, holding out her hand and mouthing ‘trust me.’ It shakes its head, beeping incessantly. ‘He’ll tear you apart to get that map,’ she mouths, urging her open palm forward. 

The droid looks from her hand to Ren above her, and then to her hand again before it rolls forward sadly. After a click, its mechanical arm slowly extends to drop a tiny metal piece into her hand. Angel looked at it for a moment, turning it over. It looked more like a tiny sculpture than anything that could contain information. Cautiously, she closes her hand around it and stands, putting her back to the droid to face Ren. She folds her arms behind herself, lifting her chin a little. 

“Who is Luke Skywalker to you?” Angel squints at him, keeping the object that contained the map squeezed tight in her hand. 

Ren rolls his eyes and lets out a sigh. “So what, you won’t give it to me until I answer your questions?” He glared down at Angel, letting there be silence between them. 

“Precisely,” she answers with a little nod. Lying. She was lying. There was no way she’d give him the map, even if he answered her question and confirmed her suspicions. Her suspicions that that he’d been trained by Luke Skywalker himself and that, somewhere along the way, had come to despise the man. 

As of late, she discovered that at some point, she’d stopped being the kind of person who only does things for the good of herself. She discovered that she might not actually be the coward she’d believed herself to be. That she might actually care and that she might actually hate everything the First Order stood for. There were things more valuable than power and money; rising moons and setting suns, busy streets full of food and laughter, pretty dresses, and warm kisses, and all the things she’d seen and felt on every planet she’d ever stepped foot on, far, far away from the dreary Hays Minor and the First Order. 

While Angel had embraced that change inside herself… Ren fought it like a mad dog, foaming at the mouth. She saw it now in his crazed eyes because he was changing too. 

“Luke Skywalker was my master,” Ren said as he took in a breath, brows furrowing as his emotions began to boil. “He failed me as a teacher. He feared what I had become and instead of guiding me he tried to take my life.” His gaze became colder as his words came hissing out. “The great last Jedi who spoke so much of peace and unity and balance tried to kill me!!” The room buzzed with his raw emotions as he began to spiral. 

Angel’s fingers tremble behind her back and she averts her eyes, skin prickling as she felt what she knew now to be the Force humming around him. She sucks in a breath, brows furrowing. That couldn’t be. A teacher attempting to kill their own student? Her heart ached. Whether it was true or not, Ren believed it with his whole being. And that, Angel thinks, that was so sad. To be young, to stray from the beaten path, and to feel rejected by the hand that was supposed to guide you. 

Angel swallows, expression strained and sorrowful. “But he’s not hunting you like you’re hunting him, so I’m not so sure he wants you dead as badly as you think he does.” 

Ren was no longer seeing her, listening to her, his mind limiting what it could process as rage took over. “IT DOESN'T MATTER. GIVE ME THE MAP!” He extended his hand and used his other one to punch into the wall beside Angel in an attempt to intimidate her. His fist pulled away with a frightening dent left in its place.

Angel jolts where she stands, eyes squeezing shut for the briefest of moments. The droid beeps as she steps back and around it. Her heels carry her towards the back of the holding cell, shaking her head ‘no.’ Then, the droid makes a sputtering noise before it rolls forward quickly towards the door, whirling around Ren’s legs in its haste to escape.

Ren let the droid through his legs, the door sliding open as it sensed weight standing in front of it. He didn't care about the droid. He had what he needed right in front of himself.

Ren steps forward again, hand grabbing Angel’s arm tightly as he pulls her closer to him. “I will ask you nicely one last time to give me that map,” he hissed, voice like fire in her ears as his eyes bore down into hers. His grip continued to tighten.

Angel let out a shriek of pain, writhing in his grasp as she tried to keep the map piece out of range. 

Suddenly, the door opens again. This time, it’s a pair of stormtroopers. Commotion—shouting and blaster fire—echoes down the hall distantly as one of their mechanical-sounding voices rings out inside the holding cell. “Sir! Rebels are invading the ship!” 

Angel tried to force her grin down. She knew they were coming for the map and the droid. 

Ren released his grip on her, quickly turning and storming out the door. “Watch the girl,” he shouted at the two troopers as his boots carried off toward the commotion.

The two troopers stepped into the room housing Angel, keeping their gaze forward as if she wasn’t there at all.

Angel squints at the two of them, thinking that Ren must have forgotten that she’d helped kill more than just one of Snoke’s praetorian guards. Two stormtroopers would be nothing. 

Angel steps out of the holding cell, the bodies of the two troopers slumped behind her, unconscious. She gripped the metal piece tightly in her hand as she hurried down the empty hall towards the sound of fighting. 

It echoed up the elevator shaft as she climbed in and pressed a button. She was going to the hangar, where she knew the mass of the fighting was taking place. Surely, she thought as she stepped out of the elevator and ran through the empty lower hall, surely there’d be a group of rebels that snuck past this mess. 

And then she spotted it; just around the corner of the large, long hallway that opened up into the hangar disappeared the rolling body of the BB unit that had escaped the holding cell. Angel chases after it, nearly colliding with the figure of a man who’d decided to round the corner just as she had. 

He reacts faster and points his blaster directly at her face. “First Order scum!” 

Angel puts her hands up quickly, going pale. The first thing she noticed about him, other than his wild brown curls and his sun-kissed skin, was the symbol of the rebel alliance stitched with red thread into the shoulder of his jacket. 

“You have the map…!” He lowers his blaster just slightly, staring at the metal piece in her tightly clenched hand. 

“Take it!” Angel shouts and shoves it in his face.

It’s ripped from her hand within seconds and the man takes a step back, wearing a confused expression, his blaster still pointed at her face. Suddenly, the BB unit rolls back and beeps at him urgently. The man tears his gaze from Angel to glance down at the droid. “You’re kidding me. You ‘made friends?’ BB8, you have poor taste.” He looks at Angel. “No offense.” 

She rolls her eyes. “Just get lost. Fast!” Angel looks over her shoulder, paranoid she was being watched. 

“You’re not with the First Order, are you?” The man ignores her, opting to smirk. “There’s an empty seat in my ship—”

“Yeah, no, scram.” Angel glares. 

“Yes, ma’am.” The rebel does as told, turning on his heel to follow after the rolling droid. “Sorry for calling you scum!” He shouts over his shoulder before disappearing into the chaos that was the hangar. 

By the time Angel made it back to the holding cell with a plan to play dumb, the troopers had disappeared. “Shit,” she hisses, knowing full well that they’d report to Ren when they got the chance. She looks left and then right in the hall, trying to think. What else could she say? Would he even believe any lie she told? Would she survive if he found out that the map was back in the hands of his enemy? 

Angel steels her resolve with a deep breath. She’d faced death before—had already said the most important thing she needed to say to Ren. What did she have to lose, really? 

Angel ignores the pang in her chest when she remembers that a piece of her heart rested in his pocket. She tried not to wonder if it had been left, forgotten, as she ran down the hall for the elevator once more. 

By the time she made it… out strides the man she’d been wanting to avoid. 

“Where is it,” he hisses as he continues to walk forward. The Force squeezes around her, holding her in place as he takes a few more steps before stopping inches away from her.

Angel grimaces, unable to move despite her muscles tensing. “I don’t know,” she hisses, trying to wrench herself free of that invisible grasp to no avail. She was trapped. 

“Liar,” he yelled. “I know you know! You had it!!” Ren raised his hand to her head and did something he had never done before to her.

He shut his eyes, slipping into her mind, past her barriers as he attempted to flip through her memories to find what he was looking for.

Angel cries out as she squeezes her eyes shut tightly. Her skull ached like it was making room for him. He was wild. Out of control. Angel felt some strange pressure in the air, building larger and more threatening every second. In a panic, she does the only thing she can think to do: she floods his mind with memories. 

 “Have you made anything?”

Angel picks up her invention. It’s nothing new, really; a variant of the DC-17 hand blaster. “Pistol,” she says casually, holding its handle out to him. “With some modifications. Instead of its usual fifty, it fires thirty with more explosive power—in theory. I haven’t actually shot it myself.”

He examined it in his hand, feeling out its weight, passing it to the other hand, holding it to eye level as if he was about to fire a hole in the wall above her bed. It was crude, but it was in its first stage of life after all. “Keep me updated, i'd like to test it when it's ready,” he said as he gripped the thick barrel and held the handle out to her.

Ren turned his helmet to peer over at her from where she stood, gazing up at her new weapon.

Angel smiled up at it, eyes sparkling when she’d heard that it was fine. “I like it how it is.” She says, turning to face the shopkeeper. “Without the fancy stuff.” Momentarily, her pale eyes dart over to the man who would be buying it in the first place, as if asking permission. 

Ren nodded and set down a couple of credits on the counter.

“Sir it is—“

“It is a relic. This many credits should suffice.”

“—yes, of course.”

In the dark of the room, Kylo Ren was sitting up on top of his bed, a thin sheet discarded halfway onto the floor. He was in a sweat, dark hair stuck to his pale skin as he panted. Panicked eyes looked up at Angel, pink with tears. He took a breath and quickly shouted, gripping what little sheet was left on top of his bed.  “What do you think you are doing?!” 

Angel flinches and the door swings shut behind her, slamming, and leaving her blinking in the dark. 

Beautiful.

“Wait,” Angel says under her breath as she steps out of the elevator and hurries after him. “Wait! I didn’t mean it! I’m sorry!” She reaches out, fingers grasping at his billowing cape. She tugs, planting her boots on the reflective black floor in an attempt to stop him. 

He stops, though not because of her strength, but her determination. “Why then?” He says as he gestures to where she tugged his cape. “If you fear me then why do you follow me? Why do you touch me? Why pretend to enjoy my presence?” It was like he had not even heard her apologize, not that that took back how deep her words had probably stung an already old wound.

Angel’s quiet for a long moment in the empty hall. Nothing but the muted sound of the ship itself filled the air. “… I don’t know.” She did. Obsidian locks and ivory skin and a soft, tender voice that struck too close to the heart plagued her memory. “But I’m not pretending. There are times when you’re… pleasant, sir.”

“Here.”

Angel takes the boots in her arms, blinking in shock. “Did you just steal these off a man?” She looks at the boots—which were quite nice—before setting them down at her feet.  

He gestured to the door, raising a dark brow. “Did you not see him hand them to me?” For a moment he held that serious and questioning expression then relaxed letting out a small laugh.

Angel’s eye twitches as she’s forced to hold nothing more than a faint grin at the sight of perhaps the most beautiful smile she’d ever laid eyes on. “Oh, so you make jokes now.”

Angel’s lips part, her eyes burning with tenderness where she lays, white hair fanning around her. She begs her mind to slow down. There were things she wanted to say to him—but her raging mind pushed on and she was undoing her pants before she even realized it. Angel sighs beneath him as she squirms out of her shorts and panties, leaving them discarded somewhere on the floor, ruined, and soaked through. 

With her hands free, she manages to stave the hungry thing beneath her navel just long enough to gently hold his face in her hands. “Give me your hand,” she whispers, her nose almost brushing his. 

“Don’t call me sir—not right now. I—am not doing this as your commander.”

“Do you see what I really am? Do not forget it.”

“Tell me. How do you see me?”

“I see you.” 

“I want you. I’d give you anything… if you asked. So, call me that again, please, say my name.”

“Everyone’s afraid of you. No one ever dares to boss you around or beat you up. But you trust me, don’t you? You listened when I told you, that night on Akiva, that I could handle you.”

“I love that face you make.”

“I love you.”

“I gave it to a Rebel.” Angel’s voice cuts through the emotional onslaught of her own mind, pained, and exhausted.

Ren tears himself out of her mind, lest he grow more insane than he already felt. He is surprised that he is still standing on his own two feet when his consciousness becomes singularly his own. 

He was panting hard, sweat dripping down his face as he blinked, trying to process it all. “You—you gave it to a Rebel?” He breathed, asking for clarification as his eyes bore holes into the floor where his feet were. He looked like he was on the verge of collapse.

Angel swallows, her brows furrowing as she stares down at the floor too. “Yes.” A long silence follows, and then, “The past won't die. Even if you kill it.”

Ren tried to stop himself from trembling as he held back tears that threatened to prick through his eyes. He let another long moment of silence pass as he let her words sit with him. 

He was calming down, less violent, yet now harboring a different growing emotion just as damaging. “I don’t understand. If you truly care for me as you say, wouldn’t you want to see me succeed? See my desires fulfilled?”

Angel glares at him, raw frustration flashing through her eyes. She found that she could move now, shoulders tensing and fists clenching. “If my greatest desire was to kill myself would you want to see me succeed? Going after Luke Skywalker is suicide!” 

Her words rattled him further as he let out a small mutter under his breath, having a realization out loud. “I don’t want you to die,” he whispered hand reaching up to his chest to pull at his vest as if it was suddenly too tight.

Angel’s shoulders relaxed as she felt the tension in the air die in an instant. Ren looked like he’d been brought back to reality. Maybe a little too much. “You know if you die, I’m a sitting duck here, right?” She takes a deep breath and reaches out to touch him. Her fingers lightly brush his arm. “There are a lot—and I mean a lot—of people who don’t like either of us here in the First Order. So… slow down… and think.”

He nods slowly, doing as she asks: thinking. 

A trooper approached, stiff as he stopped. “Uhhhhhh is this a bad time?” The trooper asked as the white helmet tilted to a nearby hall as if looking for a possible exit in case things went wrong.

Ren looked to the trooper, brows furrowing.

“Sir, the—the droid and Rebels have escaped… with the plans.” 

Ren looks down at Angel, then nods. “Make sure we seal all exits. I want to know how they got in.”

“So—you don't want us to go after them?” The trooper asked with confusion. 

Ren sighed, turning to face the trooper. “You heard what I said.” 

—

The room smelled sick. That was what Angel had first noticed when she stepped into Ren’s room at midday. A cloying, sticky, sweet smell that instinctually made her want to back away. She didn’t, of course. Angel continued through the dimly lit room to the bed, where a figure lay beneath the covers and a medical droid hummed about. 

Its sleek black body turned to look at her approaching and, as if it had seen the question in her eyes, it said, in its smooth, mechanical voice, “stress-induced illness.” 

Angel lifts her brows a little, letting out an ‘ah’ of understanding. Her flats stop at the side of the bed and she looks down at Ren, who was stripped down to a thin, black shirt and had the covers pulled up to his chest. She notices that his head is turned away from her, the sickly pale of his cheek exposed while his wild, black hair splayed on the pillow. 

She knew why he wouldn’t look at her. Well, a couple of reasons, actually; she isn’t sure he’s too keen on forgiving her for her betrayal, despite having comprehended her intentions towards the end. The wound still stung. That and… for a man like Kylo Ren, being sick in bed meant being weak and useless in bed. In short; he was embarrassed about it. 

Angel wondered if he was sleeping, tilting her head to the side. When she hears a sniffle from him she knows that isn’t the case “Ren,” comes her voice, whisper-quiet. “You weren’t doing your rounds, so I came to find you. I thought maybe you’d slept in for once in your life, but I see that’s not the case.” Her thighs press against the side of his tall bed. She smiles. 

“Water.” The medical droid hums, thin arms holding up a cup. 

“I’ll give it.” Angel slides the cup from its metal fingers. It’s about as tall as her hand and is nearly filled to the rim. “Come on, you big lug, sit up and drink this.” 

“No.” His body turned, back moving to face Angel. He pulled his shoulder closer to his ear as if trying to conceal his pale face, which was sticky with sweat. “I don’t need your help with this, that stupid droid is bad enough,” he said with a raspy tone. He shivered despite his thin black shirt being soaked through in sweat, a sign that his condition was not as good as he would have liked it to seem.

Angel couldn’t help but smile, eyes rolling up to the ceiling as she took a seat on the edge of the bed. “Ren,” her tone is somewhat chiding. “If you don't stay hydrated you won’t get better. Tch.” She clicks her tongue, glancing at the medical droid. “Spoiled by these bots. They listen to your every command, don’t they? Well, if you don't sit up right now and drink your water I’m going to deal out some real Haysian bedside manners.” 

Kylo Ren groaned, parting his lips to take in a slow breath before releasing a grumble. “And what would that look like, might I wonder,” he said as he turned his head slightly so that half of his face was peering at her.

It was bad, the eye she could see was darker than ever, circles running both above and below. Despite their exhausted appearance, a small glimmer remained that seemed to appear only for Angel. It acted as a gateway for her to see into his true self, which at the moment, he was trying hard to hide.

She felt bad that he was so ill, but was pleased at the chance to coddle him. Well, in her own way. Still smiling, Angel leans over him a little. “I guess you’ll find out.” She holds the glass of water in one hand, the other coming down to whack his shoulder. “Come on, get up! Drink your water!” The smacks barely even hurt—she wasn't aiming to cause pain—but it got the point across. 

“Alright, alright,” he groaned, black hair falling into his eyes as he scooted around in his bed to sit up. The loose-fitting shirt clung to his skin where sweat held it in place, giving a good look at his figure. Though very slight, he was thinner than the last time Angel had seen him shirtless, as if he had been turning down some of his meals. His hair also looked in desperate need of a cut. He really had not been looking out for his own health recently and the droid was right; stress was the cause.

He sighed, reaching out a hand to the glass Angel so desperately wanted him to take, giving her a small glare. He would hate it, but he really did need someone to care for him. Someone who would not take ‘no’ for an answer.

Angel slid the glass into Ren’s hand, eyes silently trailing along his sickly, hunched figure. Quietly, Angel turns to whisper to the medical droid. It leaves with a nod, rolling along the floor. Light cast into the room when the door slid open and disappeared once more when it slid back closed. “When you’re done with that glass I’m going to wipe you down.” Angel rises from the bed to remove her thin, black coat that she’d always worn with her uniform. She leaves it at the foot of Ren’s bed, now only in the attire that rested underneath it; a white button-up that was neatly tucked into her uniform’s skirt. 

Angel begins rolling her sleeves up to her elbows. She’s got that expression on her face as she does it—the expression she always had when she was about to get to work. 

Ren occupied himself with the glass, tilting it back as he let his eyes quickly glance across Angel’s figure. He pulled back the glass and let out a small breath. He wanted to tell her that he was fine, that he could take care of himself, but something slid out of his mouth instead; “Why are you doing this?” He paused, averting his eyes which were nearly hidden away in his hair that had fallen over his face. “Shouldn’t you hate me for who I am, what I have become? All of the decisions I've made since I stole you from your home?” He slowly brought the glass back to his wet lips and took a few more swallows.

“Maybe.” Angel shrugged as she gathered her long hair into her hands and tied it low with a little black band that had sat on her wrist. “Or maybe not. Things aren’t as simple as black and white—good and bad.” She finishes tying her hair, hands sliding down her figure to brush off her skirt. For a moment, she just stands there, pale eyes darting around him. “I don’t feel as if I’ve been stolen, and I’m doing this because I want to.” Angel reaches out to take the empty cup from him and sets it aside on the sleek, grey bedside table. 

Then, she gestures to his shirt, fingers flicking upwards; a silent order for him to remove it.

Ren is hesitant, however, complies. His hands grip the loose and thin fabric at the hem, pulling it up and over himself. Up close like this, scars were visible across his chest, small nicks from plasma, and blaster wounds. The scar Angel had given him across his face was only a new addition to the ones littered across his chest and arms.

His chest glistened with sweat and was just as pale as his face with the same, green, sickly tint.

Angel’s eyes wander for a moment as she takes the damp shirt from him. She discards it by the end of the bed just as the medical droid returns, casting a long shadow through the room until the door slides shut behind it. 

“Here,” it says, holding in one hand a small bowl of cool water with a cloth floating inside it and in the other; a dry towel. Angel thanks the droid, taking both from it and setting them on the bedside table. “Assistance?” It follows her, watching as she wrings the washcloth out until it’s just damp. 

“No, thank you. I’ll handle the rest.” With one hand, Angel grabs the empty glass and holds it out to the droid. “Here, Take this back with you.” It does as asked, metal fingers clinking on the cup as it disappears from the room and leaves Angel alone with Ren. She turns to face him, folding the cloth into a neat square. “I’m going to start with your back, so lean forward a little,” says Angel, who places a knee on the bed to better reach him. 

Ren looked at her with hesitation, glancing at the cloth in her hand, then at her eyes before he slowly peeled himself off from the pillows he had been leaning up against.

He exposed his back to her, muscles and bones shifting about as he curled forward.

Angel placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, her other hand guiding the cool washcloth to his skin. She slid it across his upper back, admiring every scar curiously: a faded, jagged line across his right shoulderblade, another further down on his left, and a blooming, pinkish blaster scar that she could just barely make out on the edge of on his left side, just above his hip. 

He shivers beneath her fingers as she drags the cold cloth down his sweat-slicked spine. 

Ren stares forward as he feels the weight of her hand press down against him. The feeling of her warm skin on his chilled one felt more comforting than he cared to admit. He shut his eyes, tensions relaxing as she gently ran the cloth along his skin. “You don’t have to do this,” he muttered as he let his head hang.

“You’re right,” Angel hums rather casually, swiping the cloth back up the length of his broad back. With a gentle hand, she pushes his hair away from the nape of his neck, short nails gliding along his scalp as she wipes away the sweat on the back of his neck. “I don’t have to do this, but I’m of the belief that being tended to by another living being helps someone get better faster than if they’re alone.” The cold cloth is discarded in the bowl of water and is replaced by a warm, dry towel wicking away the stray moisture on his skin. 

His eyes slowly opened as he sensed that she was ready for him to lean back again when the second cloth was pulled away.

It was clear that many thoughts were racing through his mind, his eyes moving as if he was scanning through thoughts, reading the words that must have been racing into his mind as if he were searching for a response; an answer.

He came up short, lips parting then shutting, clearing his throat a moment later.

“Alright,” Angel whispers, stepping away to set aside the towel and wring the washcloth out again. “Lay back.” She returns to him, pushing a warm hand against Ren’s chest to guide him back down to the pillows. The damp washcloth is pressed to his skin again, sliding over his chest before passing down his stomach. 

Angel’s cheeks warm a little when her eyes catch the trail of black hair that disappears into the waist of his boxers. Clearing her throat, she looked elsewhere; to the scars that lined his front. “How’d you get this…?” She taps a finger on a long-healed gash below his ribs. 

He looked down his chest, unable to see the scar in question until he leaned up to get a better look. He stared at it for a while, as if he had so many scars he had trouble recalling them.

He reddened as the memory came back to him, averting his gaze. “Not that one. Choose a different one and I'll tell you about it.”

A grin twisted across Angel’s lips as she sat on the bed beside Ren, jostling him a little. “Tell me,” she presses, holding the washcloth in her lap. Expecting eyes narrowed at him above a toothy smile.

He groans, lips twitching slightly at her display of amusement. “Alright,” he sighed, glancing her way before looking away again. “It happened a couple years ago, I was walking in my room in the dark and tripped into the edge of a table,” his face turned pink as he muttered the story, hand reaching to the spot where it was to trace it in memory.

There’s a little snort before Angel bursts into laughter at the mental image of the dignified and feared Kylo Ren tripping and running into the edge of a table. Her stomach hurt within moments from her fit of giggles. “Ohhh man, what did you tell the med droids?” Angel wipes a tear from her eye. 

The color that spread across Ren’s cheeks deepened as he cleared his throat before answering. “I told them that they didn’t need to know that to fix me and if they told anyone I would personally have them reprogrammed.”

That earns another snort from Angel, her cheeks flushed from laughing. “Of course you did. No one is allowed to know that the scariest man in the galaxy…” She reaches out to nudge his chest playfully. “...is sometimes clumsy. If it helps, I could tell you an embarrassing story, too.” 

Ren leaned back and gazed up at the ceiling for a moment before letting his eyes gaze back at Angel. He was waiting.

Her smile widens as she shifts where she sits, getting more comfortable. “So, when I was thirteen I was working at this real rundown diner just off the port city, and I was taking this little old lady’s order when I dropped my pen.” Her hand moves in the air, her finger spinning like she was drawing a moving picture. “It rolled under the table a ways, so I went to crawl underneath to grab it. When I tried to stand I banged the back of my head so hard on the table.” She looks at him, both hands making a flattening motion in the air. “The place went dead silent. When I stood up, everyone was looking at me and that’s all I remember before I blacked out. When I came to, my boss told me that I’d made sure to tell everyone I was alright before I hit the floor.” Angel nods, lips pressed into a line.

Ren smiles, even laughs a little at the thought of Angel shouting an ‘I’m fine!’ before collapsing to the floor. He sighed, the faintest ghost of a smile still present on his lips. “I will say, that might be worse. At least no one saw me do it.”

“Right? You just have the embarrassing memory all to yourself. Well, I have it too. But you have mine, so we’re even.” She stands, setting the damp cloth beside the bowl of water as she takes the towel in hand again. Angel works quietly after that as she dries Ren’s front. 

She sets the towel aside once she’s done and disappears deeper into his room, pushing the panels on the walls and waiting for one to reveal where he kept his clothes. Eventually, one slides open and she’s met with a rack of identical, thin undershirts. She takes one from its metal hanger and returns to Ren’s side. “Clean shirt.” Angel holds out the clothing item to him. “Tonight,” she says as he takes it from her hand. “When you’re brought your dinner, I want you to eat as much of it as you can. I know that eating isn’t something all too enjoyable when you’re sick, but your body needs the energy.” 

When Ren nods, it is somehow understood that he is giving her his word to do as she says. His hand tightened around the shirt which he set in his lap. He gazed up at her, face blank and expressionless. His eyes softened. “Thanks, you are more fun to talk to than the medical droids.” 

Angel tilted her head, smiling warmly. “Get some rest, Ren.” Into her arms, she gathers her coat and the things the medical droid had brought in. Then, she slips through the door, leaving him in the warm, dark silence of his room.

Next

[belit0]

Pt 2 of teen Ame awakening her MS?

Skkdksjx she be taking revenge for her friend

How would that go?

Dada won't let Ame drown

The night was thick with silence. Not the peaceful kind, but the kind that suffocated, that pressed against the chest like unseen hands, squeezing tighter with every breath. It was the silence of a storm before it broke, the moment of stillness before blood met the earth.

Ame moved beside him, her steps light, deliberate, nearly soundless against the rooftops. Nearly.

Indra’s gaze flicked to her briefly, his expression unreadable. She was trying. She had always been quick to learn, sharp as a blade honed under his watchful eye. But grief made for a poor master. It was volatile, reckless, messy. And tonight, it burned inside her like a fire barely contained, threatening to consume her if he did not keep her anchored.

Below them, the village streets stretched dark and empty, the scent of rain lingering in the air. Their prey was near—he could sense them, the ones who had taken what could never be returned, who had stained his daughter’s world with loss.

Ame’s breath hitched. Her fingers curled tighter around the hilt of her blade.

Indra’s voice came low, steady.

-Do not rush.

She swallowed hard, her body tense. -I’m not.-

He said nothing, only reached out—barely a touch, a slight press of his fingertips against her shoulder. A reminder. A warning. He knew what it was to be blinded by the Mangekyō. To be lost in the raw, intoxicating rush of power, to let vengeance sink its claws too deep. He had walked that path before. And he had no intention of letting her walk it alone.

The first target came into view—a shadow slipping between the buildings, unaware. Indra’s expression did not change.

-Now.

Ame did not hesitate. She moved like a specter, slipping down into the streets, her blade glinting under the pale light of the lanterns. The man barely had time to react before her Sharingan locked onto him. A single misstep—that was all it took.

Her strike was fast. Precise. The blade sank deep, and the man gurgled, stumbling back. The kill was not clean. Indra saw the way her hands trembled, the way her breath stuttered as she yanked the weapon free, as blood spattered against her skin.

Good.

She still felt it.

She was still herself.

But they were not done.

Two more figures turned the corner, drawn by the noise. Ame’s Sharingan burned bright, but Indra was already moving.

-Do not let your emotions lead. You lead them.- His voice was steady, a tether in the storm. -Again.-

Ame clenched her teeth. She did not speak. She only raised her blade and met them head-on.

It was not a perfect fight. Her movements were quick but fueled by raw anger, her strikes effective but reckless. Indra watched, stepping in when necessary, his presence a silent force beside her. He could have ended this within seconds. Could have ripped through them with nothing but a flicker of his own power.

But this was her battle.

And she needed to control it.

One enemy fell. Then the second. Ame stood over the bodies, her chest rising and falling in ragged breaths, her hands stained in crimson. The Mangekyō still spun in her eyes, the glow of its power pulsing with something dangerous, something that wanted more.

Indra stepped forward. Slowly. Deliberately.

-Breathe.

She swallowed, her jaw tight.

-Dad, I—

-Breathe.

For a moment, she did not move. Then, finally, she exhaled—long, slow, shaking. The bloodlust in her eyes dimmed, her grip on the blade loosening just slightly.

Indra watched her carefully. The Mangekyō was hungry. He knew that hunger. He had lived it. Had drowned in it, once.

But Ame—his daughter—would not.

Not while he was here.

[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

[amnesiac-blueberry]

A possible future chapter involving a Re:forgotten amnesiac smol Baru and Frederica and their absolutely ordinary day at the park where NOTHING happens!

A Sin Archbishop Can't Be This Cute Ficlet: Frederica & Subaru's Fun Day at The Park

“You really do look handsome today,” Frederica said, her beast-like fangs widening into a huge grin. 

Subaru's head looked at his feet, his eyes staring at the tips of his shoes as if they were the most interesting thing in the world at that moment.

“Um, T-Thank you Nee-san.” the boy replied shyly, his cheeks taking on a rosy tint as his fingers fidgeted nervously. 

Frederica had to hold back from squealing too loud at his reaction. How adorable. She barely resisted the urge to glomp him right then and there and pull him into a tight hug. 

“Ready to go?” She offered him her hand which he took tentatively as if she would pull away at the very last second. Once secured, Petra returned, carrying a large picnic basket full of the food she had spent all morning hard at work making in preparation for their departure.

“Here you go, you two.” Petra said kindly, handing the goods over to Frederica who nodded in appreciation for her protege's efforts. “I filled it with all sorts of delicious things.” the brunette said, glancing down at Subaru and ruffling his hair good naturedly “And a little extra for our special hungry boy. 

“I’m not a glutton Petra-Nee.” Subaru pouted, although his eyes lingered on the basket of goodies wantingly. 

“Whatever you say Subaru-chan.” Petra giggled, not believing his words for a second. 

“Are you sure you guys will be alright?” Emilia said anxiously, she had never gone an hour much less several without seeing her favorite and only adopted little brother first arrived in their care, so to see him getting ready to go on a trip without her put the half-elf a little on edge. 

“Don’t worry Emilia-sama. I will make sure nothing befalls Subaru.” Frederica reassured them with a dangerous glint in her smile. 

Anyone who even thought about laying a finger on her baby boy would have it broken and their throat torn out. 

And going off the bloodlust radiating off the woman that was a promise she intended to keep. 

A-ah! There was a resounding gulp from those in the room as they all simultaneously took a step back at seeing the woman's murderous intent. It was scary, but it relieved them to know that Frederica was dead set on keeping Subaru safe. 

“Betty will hold you to that maid.” Beatrice said, crossing her arms together. “I expect you to keep that child in one piece or else Emilia will be greatly upset.” 

To anyone else it would have been taken as total indifference to the situation, but for Emilia she knew that it was just her contract spirit’s roundabout way of showing that she cared. 

“I’m glad to see that you're concerned about Subaru too, Beako!” Emilia said teasingly, watching the blonde flounder in place.  

“Emilia!” Beatrice glared with no real heat to her stare. “Don’t twist Betty’s words so carelessly.” 

The blonde little girl said indignantly, although she was teensybit worried. Not that she’d ever admit to any of these people!

“Alright, I believe you.” Emilia lied through her teeth and pulled Beatrice into a tight squeeze as she carressed the girl's golden drill locks over and over in an effort to calm her down and giving rise to further outrage and vague threats. Not that Emilia paid attention to any of it. “But seriously, be careful you guys and be safe.” 

“I’m a big boy, Emilia Nee-tan!” Subaru said confidently, pushing his chest out.  “I can take care of myself.” 

There was a dead silence as everyone took the time to process the boy's words and turned to each other with similar thoughts running through their heads as they tried to contain their laughter. 

“O-Of course, Subaru-chan!” Petra was the first to speak, suppressing the faint grin threatening to split her face. “

Emilia nodded along encouragingly. She didn’t have it in her to crush the boy’s aspirations. Even if they were a tad bit ridiculous. “Make sure you protect Frederica. She’ll be counting on you.” she said, giving him a thumbs up as if saying ‘do your very best.’ 

“Mmph!” Beatrice yelled, her words muffled on the account of being smothered by Emila’s breasts.

“Oh and Beako says she loves you and she’ll give you lots of hugs and kisses when you get back.” Emilia said, translating exactly what the spirit said word for word.” 

“Mmmmmmph!” Beatrice was the girl's muted response. 

Ram rolled her eyes at the foolishness in front of her. How pathetic. She was never one to lie and she certainly wouldn’t start now, especially to inflate some brats ego. 

“Hah. Don’t be ridiculous Barusu. You’ll only end up getting yourself - Kill-grrrrmmmph!” 

Ram scathing critique and cries of pain were caused and immediately muffled cutesy of a foot slamming into her own and a porcelain hand wrapping itself over her mouth. 

Emilia kept her smile in place as her hands gripped the side of the maid’s face warningly as did Petra’s whose soles were digging into Ram’s toes. 

The message was clear; if you don’t have anything nice to say please keep your trap shut. 

Frederica shook her at the scene and had a more appropriate response in mind. 

She patted Subaru on the head and let him know that she was proud that he was willing to take responsibility for his own safety but it would make her feel much better if he stuck close to her and didn’t do anything reckless. Seeing her concern and that she was really serious about this Subaru gave his solemn vow that he would courtesy of a pinky promise and the matter was settled. 

“See you both soon!” Petra waved at them as the dragon carriage began moving down the dirt road and away from the manor. 

Emilia was sobbing inconsolably and Ram was clutching her broken foot while promising death onto whoever had caused the injury. 

And Beatrice well, she was still struggling to breath as she tried and failed to pull herself from Half-elf’s death grip. 

Subaru laughed adorably at the antics and Frederica was slightly concerned that the boy had grown too used to their camp's ‘quirks’ to know that they were not the social norm and should look to any of those people as an example to behave in a functioning society. 

But that was a matter for another day. Taking the reins, the maid ushered the ground dragon forward - and the duo finally departed.

[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.”

[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