#goodboyaudios devlin

Lipstick and Bandages

Devlin hissed under his breath as Aster tied the last strip of gauze around his forearm. He’d burned himself again—nothing life-threatening, just another one of those careless slips when he got too deep into his forging. The new weapon frame on the workbench glowed faintly with heat, like it was laughing at him for being reckless.

Aster didn’t look amused. Her fox ears twitched in annoyance, her eyes narrowed as she dabbed ointment a little harder than necessary.

“You’re lucky I love you, Devy,” she muttered, tucking the edge of the bandage in neatly. “Otherwise I’d let you sit here and stew in your own stubbornness.”

Devlin, sitting obediently on the stool like a scolded schoolboy, could only grin at her. That crooked, lopsided grin that made her heart flip. “I like when you fuss over me,” he said shamelessly.

Aster rolled her eyes, but her cheeks pinked. “You’re impossible.”

Before he could argue, she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his temple. Then another to his cheek. Then another on the tip of his nose. Devlin blinked, then started laughing as she smothered his face with kisses, peppering every inch with lipstick marks—each one brighter than the last.

“Hey—hey!” he chuckled, squirming half-heartedly, but he never pushed her away. His laughter broke into a soft sigh as she kissed along his jaw, his forehead, the corners of his mouth. By the time she leaned back, his rugged face was covered in smudged lipstick stains.

Devlin touched his cheek, then looked at his fingers like he’d been marked with something holy. “I look ridiculous,” he said—but the way he was smiling, eyes crinkling with pure joy, made it clear he didn’t mean it.

“You look perfect,” Aster corrected, cupping his face in her hands. “And now everyone will know you’re mine.”

Devlin leaned into her palms, warmth blooming in his chest. “As if I could ever belong to anyone else.”

Aster laughed, tail flicking behind her as she pulled him into a hug. He nestled his face against her shoulder, still grinning like a fool, and she held him there—her stubborn, brilliant, reckless Devy.

Warm Pillow

The workshop was strangely quiet. Usually Devlin filled the air with the sound of tools, muttering, or Kerano’s bright little laugh as she sat nearby. Today, though, the only sound was his pathetic groan as he tugged a blanket tighter around himself.

Faith had been right — she warned him not to cuddle Kerano when she was running a fever. But how was he supposed to say no? One look into those watery eyes and his resolve melted. Now both of them were down for the count.

Faith’s voice had been sharp but fond as she called Aster:

“Come get your sick fool, I already have one patient here. I’m not mothering two at once.”

So here she was, knocking gently before letting herself in, a paper bag of groceries balanced in one hand.

“Devy?” she called softly.

From the bedroom came another groan. “If it’s the reaper, make it quick…”

Aster laughed, low and bright, setting the bag on the counter before stepping in. The sight of him hit her heart—Devlin, stubborn and broad-shouldered, curled up like a kicked pup under a blanket nest. His hair was mussed, cheeks flushed, and he blinked at her like he couldn’t quite believe she was real.

“You’re a sorry sight,” she teased, slipping out of her coat and toeing off her boots.

“Don’t—” Devlin’s voice cracked. “Don’t mock a dying man.”

“You’re not dying.” Aster climbed onto the bed beside him, sliding into the nest until her warmth pressed against his. He sighed instantly, burrowing into her chest, arms curling around her middle like a needy fox kit.

She giggled, brushing her fingers through his hair. “Faith’s taking care of Kerano. She sent me to wrangle you.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, eyes already slipping closed as his forehead pressed into her collarbone. “Best decision she’s ever made.”

His voice was muffled, hoarse, but tender as he kept mumbling. “Why would someone like you—so strong, so smart, so… beautiful—did I already say beautiful? Yeah, I did—why would you even want to waste your time with me?”

Aster smiled, soft and fox-like, leaning down to kiss the top of his fever-warm head. “Because you’re my Devy. And because I love you, idiot.”

He tilted his head up just enough to catch her lips in a clumsy kiss, then flopped back down with another groan. “Unfair. Even sick, you’re perfect.”

“And even sick,” she teased, pulling the blanket tighter around both of them, “you’re still my favorite.”

Soon his breath evened out, his body relaxing completely in her hold. Aster lay there smiling, stroking his hair, while outside the wind rattled the windows. For once, neither bounty hunting nor Springrock’s chaos mattered.

You’re Gonna Be the Death of Me (And I’d Let You)

Devlin’s hands were still stained with ash when Wildfire kissed him on the cheek and grabbed her coat.

“Don’t wait up,” she said with that crooked, radiant grin that made his knees weak and his blood pressure spike. “I’ll be back before morning.”

He grabbed her wrist gently.

She blinked.

“Dev?” she asked.

“You’re not going alone, right?” he murmured, voice low, hoarse like it always got when he was worried.

Wildfire laughed. “Of course not. Mammon’s on lookout, Sakura’s bringing snacks, and Kipp’s—well, Kipp says he’s not coming, but I know that face. He’s already in the crate.”

Devlin didn’t laugh. Not yet.

His hand tightened slightly around her wrist, thumb brushing over the pulse point there—like he was memorizing it. As if he feared forgetting what it felt like if she didn’t come back.

“You promised you’d slow down,” he said.

“And I am,” she replied. “This is slow. Compared to blowing up a train.”

Devlin frowned.

She softened, reaching up to cup his jaw with both gloved hands.

“Hey,” she whispered, “I’ll be fine. You know I always am.”

“I know you say that,” he muttered, leaning into her touch despite himself. “But I see the bruises. The cuts. You flinch in your sleep. And I—I don’t care if you’re bulletproof, Wild. You’re still mine.”

That last word came out more raw than he meant.

She blinked, a bit startled by the rare crack in his voice.

He held her waist now, firm, possessive, grounding himself.

“I built this house with you,” he continued. “I fixed your gear, taught your kid how to sharpen a blade, kissed you goodnight for years now. I know every scar on your back, Wildfire. I know every way your fingers twitch when you’re lying. And I know… I know you think you’re doing this for everyone else.”

“I am,” she said softly.

“I know,” he replied. “But I’m selfish. And I want you safe. Here. With me. With us.”

She went quiet. Her fingers brushed through his curls, tousling them gently.

“…You gonna chain me to the kitchen, Dev?” she teased, trying to lighten the tension.

He leaned down, rested his forehead against hers.

“If I thought you’d stay,” he muttered. “Yeah. Maybe I would.”

That silence again.

And then—

“I’d break the chain,” she said, smiling.

“I know,” he breathed.

A beat. His lips brushed against her ear.

“But I’d still kiss your hands while I forged it.”

Wildfire froze. Her heart thumped once, hard.

“…That was kinda hot.”

He huffed a laugh, then growled against her throat, “Go save the world again. But if you die before we get to name our dog after some obscure Voderreyan mythology—”

“I won’t,” she whispered. “You think I’d leave you to raise Kipp alone? You can’t even make toast.”

“Burned toast is still toast,” he said grimly.

She snorted and kissed him hard. When they pulled away, Devlin still looked like he didn’t want to let go.

So she pressed her forehead against his one more time and murmured:

“I’m coming home. To you. Always.”

And Devlin?

He stood at the door long after she left—her scent still on his shirt, her laugh echoing in his head—praying to whatever god would listen that this mission wasn’t the one to take her from him.

Because Wildfire was his miracle.