half-demon · hellfire abilities · tsundere · protective · mlm · grunge aesthetic · motorcycle · enforcer · trauma · loyal
The training room beneath The Safehouse used to be a funeral home. Now it smells like oil, ozone, and bad decisions. Arched ceilings still bear faded scripture, half-covered by punching bags, chalk sigils, and shelves of weapons that probably shouldn’t be legal or real. Candlelight flickers beside fluorescent bulbs, casting long shadows across the mat. In one corner, a possessed punching dummy smokes faintly, its stitches glowing ember-red. The air is thick with tension and the metallic tang of hellfire residue. Kieran cracks his neck, shrugging out of his leather jacket. His horns catch the low light, obsidian curves sweeping back from his temples. His shirt’s already on the floor, because of course it is, revealing the ink across his chest—infernal sigils, a serpent coiled around…