#so they had to make sure to split them up and pit them against each other

[its-tea-time-darling]

i cANNOT stop thinking about thomesa, esp. bookverse

[heartzfromel]

Rio x fem!reader (fluff and/or hurt comfort plz)

not good enough || rio vidal x fem!reader

summary; you meet your love again after one hundred years

warnings; agatha all along ep 7 spoilers, canon character death, reader has a small injury, kissing, pining, reader and rio are both kinda idiots, rio and reader are both touchy w each other, main story set after first witches road trial, rio and agatha are not romantically involved

rio vidal had been the only constant friend you’d had in your whole life, but your situation was quite complicated. you were a centuries old witch and, whist technically she was too, she was also death personified, meaning she had a lot of work to do. your friend wasn’t around much, leaving you alone a lot. sometimes you wouldn’t see her for sixty or seventy years at a time. this time, it had been a lot longer than that. that fact tended to leave a pit in your stomach, especially considering your last interaction.

1924

you were sitting in your cabin, your best friend lying next to you, the pair of you giggling into the night, until you were both facing each other. it was very clear that the energy had shifted from lighthearted fun, to something else entirely. in all honesty, it sort of made you feel uneasy, but then again everything rio ever did brought up that feeling. it made most people withdraw from her company, but it only intrigued you more.

currently, her eyes were fixed on yours. you held her gaze. it was clear she was fighting with herself internally to keep her eyes off of your lips, but after a few moments of tension-filled silence, she gave in, her eyes darting to your cherry red lips for only a split second, before you licked them and her eyes darted back up to meet yours once again. it was now that you had realised the position that you had been laying in, your hand lazily on her waist whilst hers rested on top wearily. you moved your hand up, with an uncertain energy, as if one wrong move would ruin what was happening. you moved your hand up to her neck, rubbing it gently, and then up to her face as you caressed it gently. her hand has moved more confidently on to your waist, as she squeezed it lightly. you had hoped she hadn’t caught your breath hitch, but the ghost of a smirk on her face told you that she absolutely had. you could feel her breath, hot and shaky on your face. your hand moved to play with her hair, and with a final burst of confidence, you leaned in to kiss her. just as your lips met hers, you were apart again. she moved her hands from you quickly and jolted to sit up in bed. you looked at her again, but the expression on her face was not one you were familiar with.

“rio, i’m sorry-“ you began. what had you just done?

“i have to go.” she whispered, and just like that it was almost as if she were never there.

2026

it was today that your lovely acquaintance, agatha harkness, had decided to make herself your problem as she practically forced you down the witches road. you didn’t really know why you’d shown up, considering the last time you walked the road together she almost you you slashed into a million pieces, but you went along anyway. when you arrived at her extremely un-agatha like house, you were met with a ragtag group of witches and one random lady that you were sure that the rest of the coven had also noticed. unfortunately the woman had passed away during your first trial, and you were left angrier at agatha than you were before, because she could’ve got you all killed by not drinking that wine. you were ready to force it down her throat at one point.

one of the witches, a tall woman dressed head to toe in pink, had suggested summoning a green witch to the road, since they didn’t actually have one. none of you seemed against the idea, and so that’s exactly what you did. had you known what was going to happen mere moments later, you’d have an entirely different opinion.

agatha’s coven all stood still anticipating the arrival of the new green witch, you were a bit less interested, just wanting to leave, and so were not fully paying attention until a single hand shot up from under the ground. a hand that, embarrassingly, you still recognised. the pit that formed in your stomach was one you’d never felt, and it got so much worse when her full figure came into view. she hadn’t aged a day, well she had, she’s aged over a hundred years, but she still looked exactly the same as she did that night in the cabin. as she introduced herself, you hid yourself from view behind the lady dressed in pink, jen, who you’d decided was the only tolerable one here, but it was no use. she had seen you.

“y/n…” she smirked. this earned looks from the whole coven, considering her dramatic entrance.

“i have to go.”

you felt ill as you turned your heel and walked swiftly in the other direction. “maybe this is my trial?” you thought hopefully, praying that you’d turn around and the coven would all be dressed in hideous outfits that the road had picked out for them, but no, when you turned around, you were met by the hypnotic gaze of rio.

“y/n…” she began, “been a while.”

“don’t.” you snapped, “don’t even try.”

“what’s the problem?” she asked, feigning innocence.

“what’s the problem? rio its been over a hundred years.” you spat, malice dripping from your tone. she seemed to enjoy it.

“i’ve been… busy.” she replied playfully.

you didn’t respond.

carefully, she waded over to you, placing a hand on your lower back and using the other to grab your face to look at her.

not breaking eye contact, she brought her hand down to your collarbone, dragging her fingertips along a gash that you’d received from broken glass in the trial. you shuddered at the coldness of her touch. it brought you back to that night, because the only time you’d ever felt her heat up, was when your hand was on her face in the cabin.

her eyes met yours once again and she smiled gently, the same smile she’d smiled all those years ago, before leaning into you.

“rio.” you mumbled, stopping her. you looked up at her with conflicted eyes.

“come on,” she whispered, “look me in the eyes and tell me you feel nothing for me.”

“well clearly that’s not the case, rio, is it?” you spat, fighting the tears that were threatening to spill.

“so what’s the problem?” she asked, both hands now on your face.

“you shut me down the last time, remember?” you spoke, trying your best to drill into her head what she had done to you. “and then you think if you show up here a hundred years later and give me a kiss it’s all gonna be okay?”

“do you know why i left that night?” she whispered, dragging a cold hand into your hair, your eyes threatening to close at her action.

“oh, please, lady death, enlighten me! why did you leave me for a hundred years?” you asked, sarcasm lacing your tone. you caught her slight demeanor change at the use of her title, but it faded quickly.

“i was scared.”

and you couldn’t help but let yourself laugh humourlessly in her face.

“of what, rio, tell me what you were so scared of.”

“that i was’t good enough for you.” she replied, talking to the floor.

“don’t, you’ll set me off again.” wiping tears of laughter from your flushed cheeks.

she didn’t say anything.

“oh.” was all you could muster, “you’re serious?”

she could only nod.

subconsciously your hands wrapped around her waist, before they traveled up to her face.

“well you’re wrong.” you whispered, as she leaned into your touch.

“am i?” she asked, being more serious than you’d ever saw her.

“please, trust me, you’re the only one good enough for me, rio.” you replied, eyes never leaving hers.

“is that right?” she smirked, her confident demeanour reappearing.

“would i have said it if it wasn’t?” you smiled.

“so are you gonna let me kiss you now, or…” rio smirked, one hand grabbing at your waist, the other fidgeting with a strand of your hair.

“come here, you idiot.” you giggled, as you pulled her closer to you, and she grabbed your face to close the gap between you. kissing rio was a difficult feeling to describe, the best way you could would be to say that it’d be the same feeling you’d experience if you set foot in antarctica with no jacket, but it didn’t bother you, as long as you could do this again.

[lynnlovesthestars]

Home- Lucanis Dellamorte

AN: Smut ahead.. pt 2 of Failures

"I thought I'd never see you again" He cracked like a vase in the kiln , and then words were futile.

Lips were meeting in the middle, slow, tentative, carrying a fear that the other would be gone before their eyes.

His hands trembled as they fumbled the buttons of the blouse, as they traced the lines of Rook's warm chest, as he made sure to commit them to his memory. "Rook. Ours" Spite chanted as Lucanis reached for Rook's hips, spreading those legs and setting himself between them, allowing himself to feel the skin pressed against his, to forget for one single moment.

All was muffled, by the sounds of their chest rising and falling, the ragged breaths between the longing kisses, there was just Rook, Lucanis and Spite in that moment, and no one else mattered, cause he lost them once, he was not doing it again.

"I.. never.." Rook whispered under his breath.

"Me neither" Lucanis admitted as he leaned forward, placing a single kiss on their chin.

It was slow, a reminder of the little experience they had together as their hands gravitated towards each other, grasping for dear life to anything as they shut off their brain for a moment.

It was so slack yet so passionate as their hands found their way towards his hair, their fingers getting lost between his long locks, as it was so natural for them to tug them, earning a groan full of pleasure. The tugging felt just so good that it made his breath hitch, his body twitch in need, waking up his lust; Rook could feel it in the way his hands held them, in the way his body was drawn closer to theirs, in the way his hands gripped harsher for a split second before melting again.

Fuck Thedas, it could wait one more night as he made sure to selfishly steal away a moment for himself.

“Rook..” He murmured as his lips traced their jaw tenderly, while his fingers held them in place, goosebumps spreading down their spine to the pit of their stomach.

His lips descended down their neck to their shoulder, peppering every inch with open mouthed kisses and gentle bites, claiming them over and over.

"Smells like desire" Spite hummed. Lucanis could smell it too, in the desaturated air of the lighthouse, lingering on his lips as if he had a taste already.

“My precious Rook” He whispered as he finally rose again, his hands quickly getting rid of their blouse along with his doublet- too tight for his own comfort, just like his pants quickly growing tighter around his cock.

He took his time admiring the view, the way their chest rose and fell, the battlescars that covered their skin, the little details that made them, while his fingers reached for their thighs, sinking his nails in the soft flesh and holding them close as if they could escape his hold.

“You make me feel alive” He murmured as he lowered again, carelessly pressing his erection against their aching core, as he stole another kiss along with a moan.

He was glad he didn't wear a belt as he let his pants fall down and unclasped the buttons of his shirt, exposing his chest.

He didn’t care, too focused on yearning for Rook to undress completely. To be fair he didn’t even realize he had slipped in them for a moment, so tight around him he felt like he was going to pass out.

"Rook's warm, Rook's safe" Spite moaned.

Words were abandoned once more as all that echoed in the room was the sound of their skin colliding and the breathy moans they let out.

His arms abandoned their hips to catch them in his grasp again, holding them close to him as his lips chased their every sound.

So many times his hands had reached for his cock in the past, imagining to be sinking in Rook, yet nothing compared to this moment as he rolled his hips to make Rook his.

Nothing mattered in that moment but the way their bodies melted against each other, the way they fit like a jigsaw piece, and the rising feeling in their guts..

"You are mine, you understand?" Lucanis murmured as he looked down, his eyes soft, tears pooling at the corners. So many feelings in his chest to even compile them. "And I'm yours" He held them to his chest as he tried to find a rhythm, as he tried to not be too shallow or too rough, as he tried to let Rook know how much he cared.

"Rook. Home."

[ashrayus]

PLSSSS MORE FANFIC RECOMMENDATIONS OF JASON TODDDD!

DUDEE!!!! really happy u asked but also omg this got long agaiN who would have thought (!) i added summaries this time tho :)

here is part one of my fic recs XD

andd heres the new ones!! pls give them some love if u read them :D

Dick and Jason:

how lonely to be something that nothing wants to kill by sunlitlemonade

There were blood drops dripping down his fingers to the ground. The puddle was big enough for it to have spread around more than half the tub. His breaths shuddered, they were shallow and waning. But he was breathing and Dick’s world centered around that.

starting strong with Angst go read all of sun’s fics i always die and get revived <333 pls mind the tags on this one

cast on/cast off by hellsreluctantheir

“This is surprisingly non-destructive for Jason,” Dick comments, lightly. In the parking lot, Jason pulls a grenade out of one of his pockets, yanks the pin, and tosses it through the roller door and out of sight, before tearing out of the parking lot in chase of the truck. “Well, for a minute there,” Dick amends. He takes a step back towards the alley the batmobile is parked in, giving Bruce a quick glance. “We following? “No,” Bruce says, as the grenade goes off. “He’s cleared the warehouse. We can get into the office.” Dick sighs again. But Jason knows he can call in if he needs help.

time loop!!! read most of this writer's fics and fell in love with them all,, go read fr

bloodstained by hellsreluctantheir

“I know where the clinic is, asshole,” Jason said. The wad of gauze he was using to keep pressure kept slipping against his shoulder. The knife had caught the space between two panels, split to allow movement. Lucky shot. “Ok, let me make sure you get there without passing out from blood loss,” Dick said, a deliberate evenness to his tone, like he was doing his best to accomodate someone who was being completely unreasonable. Shithead. “I’m not going to pass out,” Jason said, ignoring the fact that he was actually feeling pretty unsteady on his feet. He caught himself with his good shoulder on the entry to the bathroom, took a deep breath. “What would Daddy Bats think if he knew you were here, trying to help me?” “I assume something like, ‘Wow, Dick, you’re such a good brother, trying so hard to make sure Jason is ok even when he’s being a complete idiot about it,’” Dick sniped.

heres another one from them. jasons scars and dick. andd another one next

brothers in arms by hellsreluctantheir

It wasn’t like none of them went undercover. Jason practically lived there. And he’d punch anyone who tried to make it a sob story for him, to cluck over the times he’d been alone in a pit of vipers, act like it was some tragedy. But given half a minute to think about it, Dick somewhere completely cut off from everyone but Bruce, no allies on hand, surrounded by enemies. Angry as he was at the lie, there was something about that he just fucking hated. or Thinking your brother is dead and then finding out he's been alive the whole time really has a way of making you rethink the relationship.

Shelter by Ptelea

Two safe houses, two nights dealing with the aftermath of fear toxin, multiple conversations, several meals. Written for Sholio's September 2020 Comfort Fest for a prompt from Musesfool. Warning-wise, there's nothing graphic here but there are definitely references to past canon trauma for both the characters.

the way they are written here <33

Rotten Fruits by couldyoublameme

“I’m fine,” Dick assured gently, sitting up slightly. “Just a bad night, is all.” It’s a familiar phrase he has used so often. Whenever the addiction crawls back into his mind, a parasite he can never truly get rid of. The family knows what it means. Knows what the ‘bad’ is. Knows what to do. “Oh,” Jason says. “Why?”

absolutely murdered me. pls do mind the tags

You Can Do Better Than That by AlexaAffect

All Jason could hear was his own ragged breathing. He desperately gasped for air, each breath more exhausting than the last and his lungs and throat burned with the effort. In. And, he needed a second longer with every breath he took, out. His arms had been suspended for the last… 15? minutes? Jason had quit keeping track of the time, he’d been too preoccupied trying to hold himself upright, trying to ease his position, switch it up, anything to prolong the guaranteed death. “Red Hood?” That was Dick’s voice. Huh. So they had found him fast enough. Or alternatively; Dick finds a kidnapped Jason shortly before he asphyxiates.

this fic is just oddly comforting to me idk. very precious

Equivalent Exchange by Lysical

Apparently favors don't expire on death. --"What do you want, Dick?" "For you to be happy, Jay." Dick leaned over and pinched his cheek. Jason reached up and swiped at him, scowling. "And world peace."

ADORABLE and fun

Just for Now by Lysical

Jason was back in Gotham and the timing couldn't be worse for him to need assistance on a case. He didn't want to see any of the Bats and he was sure the feeling was mutual. Nightwing was the worst option for Oracle to pick to help him out.

To Reconcile by CasualDanger

“Babs slapped me at your funeral.” Jason goes to laugh, but it’s just a cough and his mouth barely even twitches up. “She hated me in that moment. I mean, really, really hated me, like I did Talia after I found out Damian had died. And I wondered,” his voice cracks, eyes glassy now, “did you hate anyone when I was gone? Because I was gone?”

he ain't heavy, he's my brother by someplacewarm

Dick's been putting off meeting with Jason for a while now, but when a distress call comes through, he has no choice but to answer. Or the one where Dick and Jason talk, fight, get high and cuddle. In that order.

making gold out of it by vmkhoney

Dick talks himself back down on the bathroom floor, clinical and detached. (For someone whose primary skill is manipulating his body, it’s not very often that he feels connected to it.) - Or, five years after Blockbuster, Dick begins teetering on the ledge of processing what Catalina did to him.

a wonderful dick grayson fic, and jason is there being a good brother. mind the tags

What Hurts You by blueyeti

Dick comes to Jason's aid when he's injured in a fight, or at least he thinks he has.

jason has no scars!! and thats also sad

at me, too, someone is looking by bacondoughnut

Dick Grayson knows he's got problems when the Red Hood's busted leg somehow becomes his concern. aka; How Dick Grayson finds out Jason Todd is alive. A story about healing.

a rather long one for my standards XD (very short attention span) but this made me sit down and read. very fun jason

Bruce and Jason:

Saltwater and Desperation by bacondoughnut

Jason's not sure how he even manages to get himself out of the harbor. He's just glad Bruce is there when he does. Not that he'll ever, ever admit as much out loud.

same writer, love this jason (and bruce) so much

Insomnolence by navree

It's not like he slept much as a kid anyway; this is just a return to the status quo. He's not overly tired, and even if he's been sleeping less than his already limited amount throughout April, that's still not any of her business. Bad memories are already bad enough even before they spend the next few years in the aftermath becoming nightmares.

navree being The bruce and jason writer for me all of their fics are so o(- (

Ash Into The Wind by navree

This is his dad in there, the first man he ever called Dad, at any rate, and even after everything, booze and jail and Bruce and death and then death again, there's never going to be a part of Jason that isn't gutted that he's dead. One night, a wraith in a red helmet slips onto the grounds of Blackgate Penitentiary to steal one specific thing.

another one from them

Trapped by lurkinglurkerwholurks

BatFam Week 2018, Day Two. Prompt: Trapped Yes, the prompt is "trapped" and it's a Jason fic. I'm so, so sorry. (Not really, though.) Please see tags for potential triggers.

binge read this writers fics recently they write them so nice

Overcoming Our Antecedents by Batbirdies

Bruce swallows, closing his eyes for a brief moment before he takes another, steadying breath and presses both hands to his face. He just needs a moment. Needs to remember where he is, what year it is, that Jason is not actually fifteen, he only looks like he is. This is temporary. This is just a temporary problem that needs to be contained until they can change Jason back. This is not a repeat of events already passed. This is not a second chance.

Jason and Batfam:

Names and Neapolitan by Muddell

“Goddamnnit Robin,” Hood is there, pulling him into his arms. Robin sees that helmet, he sees the green eyes, the dark hair, he sees open, gray, Gotham sky, and hears tires squealing, and then he sees stone. He sees the cave. Bruce is there. Alfred is there. Dick is there. And Hood is there. Robin rolls in and out of consciousness. He reaches out, snatches the smell of copper and the touch of leather, and he holds Hood’s hand and he does not let go. He’s allowed to say it now. “Jason,” he says. “Don’t leave.” Or, following Dick telling Tim about his older brother, to Tim actually knowing him.

read a couple fics from this writer all so good!!!

Six Ways to Sunday by Muddell

Jason catches Duke hiding a headache and says, is anyone going to deal with that?

same writer!! really love their jason

Settle Down and Sleep by OberonBronze

A series of vignettes about seeking comfort. Damian tries his hand at being a comfort animal; Tim shows up at Jason’s place for an impromptu sleepover; Jason bonds with his older brother after a damaging fear toxin trip; Dick and Bruce have a long-overdue conversation.

really liked jason and dick in this :)

Tuck Me In by OberonBronze

Bruce Wayne and his long-standing habit of tucking his kids into bed.

think how great it is to fall asleep (and how terrible it is to wake up) by mikkal

Jason was fifteen, barely five foot, and underweight for his age when he died. When he came back to his body, suddenly he was too tall, too scarred, too much, too different. And he just... never got used to it. (Or: 5 times a Bat noticed/discovered his body dysphoria post resurrection)

Stranger Danger by alchemistsarego, whumpinaheartbeat (alchemistsarego)

There was never one particular moment that Damian registered that he was losing consciousness. Everything simply flashed from one thing to the next, even though some part of him understood that time had been passing in between. He had been sitting upright, rolling his eyes at something someone had said, then he was on the ground being pinned by some unknowable weight. All at once the weight was gone again, replaced instead by something not only lighter, but much warmer too. A blanket? No, a jacket.

jason and others:

Past Experience by Rookblonkorules

He thinks he might be dying. Again.

clark and jason :)

Bats in the Belfry by endlessnepenthe

Hal idly wonders how long he has before he's found. Probably not very. The Bat's freaky like that. (Or, Hal goes to Gotham and discovers that Batman's brand of freaky isn't exactly one of a kind.)

jason and hal jordan??! and slade? and magic.

[kingkatsuki]

You know when people try and sell their concert tickets online cause they can no longer go? Imagine you were supposed to be going to a concert for your favourite artist with your boyfriend, but you end up splitting up just before you get to go.

And you’re thinking about just selling both tickets, because you’re already feeling low after the breakup and you don’t really want to go to the show on your own.

But you convince yourself that you deserve that happiness, and you decide that you’re going to go and see them anyway. Even if you just stand at the side and dance with a drink in hand it’s better than being at home alone wallowing in your misery another weekend.

So you list the spare ticket online, and you get a message off a cute guy that’s interested in buying it. And you’re arranging to meet outside the venue before the show to do the exchange, saving his contact in your phone as ‘Bakugou’ just in case you need to call him to try and find him when you’re waiting outside.

Bakugou[7.47PM]: Here.

It’s the only text you get from him as you look around to see if you can spot him. You’d seen enough of his pictures on social media to know what he looked like (not that you’d spent the rest of the evening stalking him or anything), but you’d managed to spot him through the sea of people making their way inside the venue as you waved him down. And as he came closer to you, you’d noticed that he was alone too.

But he’s gorgeous, far more attractive than the photographs on his socials (if that were even possible) and definitely way out of your league. So you just hand him over the ticket as he gives you the money for it as you tell each other to enjoy the show and you make your way inside.

It’s only after the first support artist that you feel someone nudge your shoulder and you turn to see the same guy standing beside you and offering a beer out to you, which you take with a confused expression on your face.

“For not being one of those assholes trying to sell tickets to this for triple face value.” He rasped.

“Oh, I’d never,” You shook your head, “I had to pay double the price for them last time, I made sure I didn’t have to do it again. Thank you though.”

You motioned to the beer, smiling as you took a step towards him to avoid a group of girls exiting the pit behind you.

“Didn’t know you came to this alone either.” He nodded, taking a sip of his own beer as the crowd bustled inside the venue.

“Oh yeah, I was meant to be here with—” You felt your throat tighten at the reminder that you were supposed to be here with your now ex-boyfriend, “My ex.”

“That why you had the spare ticket?”

“Yeah,” You took your own sip of beer as you tried to ease the tightness in your chest, “I wasn’t gonna come at all.”

“Fuck him,” The guy scoffed, “Ain’t no reason you shouldn’t enjoy this because he’s a fuckin’ idiot.”

“What about you?” You murmur, “Didn’t you have anyone to come with?”

“My friends ain’t into this type of music,” He shrugs, “And the one that is is workin’ tonight. But they’re my favourite band, I couldn’t miss ‘em. I was about to pay triple the price for a ticket until I saw your post.”

“You were lucky, I guess.”

His crimson eyes meet yours and you can feel your heart pounding against your ribcage as you feel your cheeks burning.

“Yeah, I’m real fuckin’ lucky.”

[daceydeath]

The Fighter

Pairing: Boxer Changbin x reader Word Count: 2.1K Genre: Smut Central 🔞 Warnings: 18+, MDNI, Swearing, Explicit Activities, Mentions of Injuries, Blood

Doing a favor for your friend Wooyoung to be the ring girl for one of his underground fights has some very good perks and it is not just the money.

Damn Wooyoung, this was entirely his fault. It’s just one fight. I just need you to hold up the round numbers for me he said, it won't be hard just wear your tightest dress and heels it’s an easy $300 cash with no questions asked. You couldn’t fault him that it was easy the only thing you actually needed to know was how to count but you hadn’t signed up for the amount of sleazy dickhead who were going to try to grope you every time you grabbed a card or moved around the outside of the makeshift ring.

Woo had been “promoting” these underground fights for years; he and a few of his friends each had their own fighters who they pitted against each other with way overblown odds and then split the profits between the fighters in each bout and their ‘managers’. It was shady as hell but it wasn’t your problem if someone figured them out. Tonight was not different to the normal fights Wooyoung crowing about San and how tough a fighter he was, Hyunjin ranting on about Changbin’s stellar win records it was hard not to get swept up in the the theatrics of it all, the other half dozen guys that were listed on the bill you had never met or heard of but that didn’t stop you agreeing on the fast and easy cash.

“Well you looked insanely hot” Wooyoung grinned, his voice more on the suggestive side as you walked into the changing rooms post fight to look over San’s injuries. You knew he had already showered if his slightly damp fluffy hair was anything to go by your hands hovering over his split lip. “You made the crowd bet more looking like you were a potential prize”.

“Well I’m glad I could help you out, I just wish your clientele were just way less disgusting” you rolled your eyes taking the gauze that he already held in his hand and wetting it with cold water to wipe the drying blood away.

“You don’t have to” San started tilting his head so he could look up at you, even half dressed he was as sweet as ever to you..

“I know Sannie, but let me” You smiled softly “You’re too pretty to get a scar”. San tried to smile in return only to wince as he tugged the tear in his plump lower lip. After dabbing and putting on ointment you left the two of them to go change into jeans and an oversize shirt so that you could go more unnoticed in the testosterone filled gym.

“Are you going to take care of Binnie too?” Hyunjin called teasingly from a few benches away in the large changing room. Making you flush slightly, you had known Hyunjin for quite a while but you had only met Changbin once before the implication that laced his tone was hard to miss.

“Hyunjin, are you really admitting you’re as useless as Woo?” you smirked looking over at him as Wooyoung made an indignant noise and San laughed richly.

“Fuck off, just thought if you’re so worried about pretty boys you would be worried about Binnie too” he theatrically waved his arms gesturing towards Changbin’s bruised cheek and swelling eye “But if it’s just certain pretty boys then that’s my bad” he chuckled cheekily seeing your flustered expression. You didn’t give him a response you just finished cleaning up San’s knuckles in silence, disinfecting the scrapes and checking for swelling before he went and finished cleaning himself up. Leaving you in the changing room with just Changbin who had also showered by the look of it since he was towel drying his hair while Woo and Hyunjin left talking about the cuts for the night.

“Did you actually need any help Changbin?” You asked quietly, feeling awkward.

“If you wouldn’t mind? I can’t see that well with only one eye” He smiled almost shyly even though you were alone.

“Oh, um… sure” you smiled nervously in return making your way over to him. Each fighter had their own med kits because each of them fought in different ways San often fought in bare knuckle fights, either boxing or more MMA styled but Changbin always boxed in gloves so he was far more bruised and less cut up than San had been. Wetting some gauze you dabbed around his eye to remove the dried blood from a graze on his cheek bone trying hard not to press too hard on the bruised flesh before you snapped a cooling gel patch and held it to his face.

“Can you hold this here while I poke around that bruise on your side?” you whispered waiting for him to answer but he just moved his calloused hand to almost cover yours as he took over from you. The contact made you feel hot all over.

“I can do my ribs if you want to get back to Wooyoung and Hyunjin” he swallowed thickly, tilting his head to look you in the eye.

“I already agreed to help, didn't I?” you smiled softly noticing how pretty his eyes were, well one was the other was under the cold pack. Pressing your fingers against his ribs he didn’t hiss or grunt in pain which you took as a good sign that nothing was broken after running your hand across the entire of the ribs on that side of his torso.

“Fuck you are so beautiful” Changbin breathed so quietly you nearly missed it but when you stepped back from him the feel of his hot skin under your palm making your palm begin to tingle now that his skin was no longer under his touch he was looking at your with an unreadable expression. “Tell me to stop and I will”.

Before you could ask him what you meant he pulled you harshly into his lap and kissed you roughly, his plump lips gliding across yours as you gasped, his tongue slipping between your teeth to tangle with yours. You instinctively wrapped your hands around the back of his neck, one tangling into the hair at the back of his head tugging at it gently making a low rumbling groan leaving his chest. Changbin’s hands held your hips in a bruising grip his hands under your large shirt, his touch making goosebumps erupt across your body.

“Tell me to stop” he growled darkly his voice hoarse.

“I don’t want to” you gasped again his lips pressing against your neck messily his tongue tracing your skin.

“If you don’t stop me I’m going to fuck you right here and I dont care who sees” he mumbled against you neck his teeth grazing your flesh before he left a soft bite on your flesh.

“Stop” you whimpered “I don’t want people to see me like that”.

“So I can fuck you just not in public” Changbin smirked pulling your lips back to his to give you another searing kiss “Good to know baby”. 

You squeaked as he lifted you easily his chiseled pecs flexing against you while he moved you towards the back of the change room where one of the storage rooms were kicking the door closed behind him he pressed you against the cool wood, his lips moving to reattach to yours in a much deeper kiss, his tongue taking its time exploring your mouth as he pressed his wide frame against you keeping you firmly in place. Changbin was gentle as his hands mapped your upper body, his hands lightly squeezing your arse before he ran them up the sides of your body to cradle your face in his palms. You could hear commotion out in the change room as two more fighters entered with their managers, one arguing with Wooyoung about money making to stiffen in Changbin’s grasp.

“They won’t see us, they might hear us but that's not the point” Changbin smirked against your lips before he lowered you to the ground moving to tug your t-shirt over your head as he moved the pair of you backwards towards a stack of safety mats. “Even if they come in they won’t see you”. 

You let him take control pressing you against a shelf beside the mats as he moved to kiss his way down your body, sucking and marking his way down the valley of your breast before stopping to tease your nipples through your mesh bra. Sucking one through the fabric you tried to hold back your moan when his teeth scraped against the pebbling nub his fingers tweaking and pulling on the other. He continued down your body unzipping your jean and helping your shimmying them down your legs and off kneeling before you and putting your leg over his shoulder. 

“Fuck bet you taste sweet too” he grinned cheekily pressing his fingers against the damp fabric that still covered you.

“Please don’t tease me” you whimpered jolts of pleasure already coursing through you from the slow drag of his fingers against your cloth covered clit.

“Such a good baby using her manners” Changbin murmured as he let forward tracing his tongue over the fabric and making you whine in the back of your throat. Sliding the fabric aside with his thick fingers he gave you one slow lick through your folds before sucking your clit between his lips making you yelp. 

“Oh my god” you breathed letting your head fall back against the shelf while Changbin started eating you out in earnest, his tongue circling and flicking at your clit before pushing inside you to lick your velvet walls. Whimpers fell from your lips as you began grinding yourself on his face, his nose rubbing so perfectly against your nub everytime his tongue entered you made you see stars and it took an embarrassingly short time for you to begin tugging at his hair and quietly mewling.

“Shit you taste good” he groaned happily continuing his assault on your folds slurping and sucking at your core to drink every drop of your arousal that he could.

“I’m so close” you wailed, forgetting to be quiet and that someone could hear you. Changbin pulled his face away from you, licking his lips to remove the last of your essence as you putted and whined only to turn you around and bend you over the stack of mats. His sweatpants falling around his ankles he spread your folds with the tip of his cock smearing himself with your dripping juices before slowly pushing into your waiting hole. Your mouth fell open with a silent cry as his thick cock stretched you open slowly splitting you in half in the most pleasurable way before bottoming out against your cervix.

“So tight, so god damn tight” Changbin muttered panting slightly as you felt your walls begin to flutter around him slightly “you’re perfect, so fucking perfect” he continued to praise you until you were about to beg him to start fucking you. Changbin’s hips started rolling carefully letting you adjust to him before he started snapping his hips harder and faster each time making your thighs jiggle with every smack of his hips against your arse. 

“Please Chagbin please” you moaned, not sure what you were asking him for but needing to chase the pleasure that was beginning to burn in your veins.

“I got you baby” he grunted, his voice strained, pushing you down with his hand between your shoulder blades to change his angle and making you sob in pleasure. You could feel him even deeper inside you hitting the spot that made your legs shake with each thrust.

“Fuck… Changbin” you cried your eyes rolling back in your head as you got closer and closer to your orgasm.

“I know baby, cum on my cock yeah? Let me feel how much you love my cock” he panted through clenched teeth hissing every time your walls tightened around him.

“Changbin” You keened as your walls fluttered around him tightly and your vision went white hearing him growl gutterelly as he filled you with his warm seed his breathing heavy as he leant forward over you to kiss your shoulders as he continued thrusting shallowly to prolong both of your orgasms. You swallowed hard feeling him slowly pull himself from you and pull your underwear back into place keeping his cum safe inside you.

“So um…” he started a little unsure as he pulled his pants back up and bent down to grab your jeans. “Can I take you out?”.

“On a date?” you blinked slowly at him unsure why you now felt a little awkward.

“Yeah, I mean I’d love to take you out to grab something to eat now too if you want. To thank you for the patch up” he smiled brilliantly, taking your hand in his and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

“You know I would love that too” you grinned trying not to giggle before a banging on the door interrupted you and Hyunjin started yelling at Wooyoung to leave you alone making you hide your face in your hands and Changbin flush pink.

a/n: Thank you for reading as always my lovelies your likes, reblogs, comments and questions keep he well fed xx

Taglist (open): @christopher-bangnaldoskzz @armystay89 @damnyouficc @roamingpolar

@tara-skyhold @bakedlilgoonie @krishastumblernow @mrsseals16 @fawnpeaks

@leeknowinggg @tanzen-ist-gold @uno7 @ocean-dreamer-sky-chaser

[fanwarriorfictions]

Not Again - Part Eleven

Summary: The morning after leaves Y/n and Azriel wanting more, but that will have to wait.

Warnings: a little spicy, no smut but it’s close, and she is Angstyyyyy

Series Masterlist

-Part Eleven-

She woke, surrounded by a familiar warmth and scent, home, she was home. The sun was shining behind her eyelids, she was hesitant to open them, to completely wake from the deepest and most peaceful slumber she had ever had in her life. When she finally forced her eyes open, it had taken a moment for her to register exactly where she was, not her bedroom in the palace of Orynth, but her room in the house of wind, and the scent of a male beside her, one that smelled of the libraries she’d spent most of her life in.

Azriel’s arms were around her, holding her close to his chest, Y/n still completely bare against him, Azriel still only half dressed, his wings splayed out across the bed on either side of him, one wrapping around them like a blanket.

He was awake, scarred hand lazily tracing shapes across her back. He halted when she lifted her head to look at him. His eyes were so beautiful in the morning sunlight, so beautiful she wondered why he spent so much time in the dark, when he could look like this. His hair a mess from sleep, from her hands pulling on the strands. His skin washed in the golden light, displaying each of those slightly red lines across his chest and shoulders that matched the shape of her nails.

“Have you been staring at me all morning?”

His answering smile turns the pit of her stomach molten, “Good morning, Princess.”

“Morning, shadowsinger.” She raises a hand to his face, thumb lightly ghosting over the small split on his bottom lip. “I’m sorry.”

Azriel nips lightly at her thumb, “Don’t be. You’re a vicious little thing but I can handle it.”

She grins, “You love it, don’t lie.”

His head tilts in that predator like motion, something in her likes the feeling of being his prey. Azriel’s hand continues to draw those small shapes across her back, his fingers trailing across her skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. It reminds her that she’s completely naked, half laying on top of him. And she had a score to settle from the night before, a glorious score at that. She had never felt that in her life, the intensity of it, the passion, she had felt completely boneless afterwards, like her body was trying to process the sheer amount of pleasure it felt.

Her hand drifts lazily down his chest, over those raised scratches, over the dark black tattoos, down the hard muscles of his stomach. Only for her wrist to be caught between his large fingers.

She glares up at him, “Don’t ruin my fun.”

“Later, Princess.” There’s a dark haze to his eyes like he wanted nothing more than to say, now, now, now. “I promise you can have your fun, later. When did you last eat?”

She bristles at the concern in his voice, “I-“

“I know you can take care of yourself,” he interrupts, “Your stomach was growling in your sleep.”

She rips her hand free and smacks his chest, glaring at the way he laughs at her, “No it wasn’t.”

“You were drooling to,” he grins, “Dreaming of a roast dinner I’m sure.”

“You-“

He catches her hand before she can hit him again, lifting her wrist to his mouth to press a kiss to the inside, right abover her pulse. It flutters beneath his smirking lips and she wishes he’d press them to her own instead.

“Breakfast,” Azriel says, placing her hand directly above his beating heart, “You can tell me all about your little adventures from the past few days. And then you can have your fun, and I can have mine.”

The way his voice drops, that gravely sound that makes her clench around nothing. By the way he smirks, Y/n is sure he can scent the arousal pooling between her legs, she doesn’t give him the satisfaction of trying to hide it, despite how she desperately wants to press her thighs together.

“Fine,” she says, pushing off of his chest to sit up, “Breakfast and a story, and then I have my way with you, shadowsinger.”

She doesn’t miss the way his eyes fall to her breasts, to the purple marks littering all over her chest, she’d repay him for those too. His hand slides down her back, resting just above her ass, fingers pressing firmly into her skin to hold her in place.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, like a prayer only meant for her to hear.

“Still thinking about breakfast,” she taunts.

He answers without hesitation, “Yes.”

By the way his gaze travels down her body, whiskey eyes turning to the deepest amber she’d ever seen, Y/n is sure he’s thinking about another feast. Gods she wanted him to devour her again, to feel that tongue between her legs, those fingers stretching her, preparing her for the impressive size of him that she’d felt beneath his leathers.

“Breakfast first,” he groans, throwing his head back on the pillows, “Breakfast first.”

Y/n laughs at the image, “You ruin your own fun, shadowsinger.”

“It’s what I’m good at,” he says darkly, not looking at her, “Get dressed, Princess.”

Y/n rolls her eyes at the command, “What? You don’t enjoy the view?”

The hand on her back slides down, gripping the soft flesh of her ass almost painfully. Y/n nearly moans at the sensation, sitting back into his palm.

“Get dressed,” he orders again, squeezing her even harder, “You’re distracting.”

“Poor, shadowsinger,” she coos, pushing his hand off so she can climb off the bed, “Sees a pair of tits and loses all functionality.”

Azriel chuckles darkly, eyeing her chest, “Must you make everything more difficult than necessary?”

She turns towards her dresser, feeling the weight of his gaze drift down to her backside. There’s a set of night court style clothes, in her colors, green and silver laying out on the dresser for her. Y/n takes her time, bending over to step into the tiny little scrap of lace the house deemed as undergarments, slowly pulling it up her legs, over her ass. Azriel’s eyes burn into her, watching each deliberate motion as she dresses.

“Are you planning to eat breakfast half dressed,” she throws a raised brow over her shoulder, catching the hungry look in his eye, “I won’t complain.”

A plain black shirt appears in his lap, one he looks keen on ignoring, “It would seem the house would.”

“Insufferable busybody.” She lifts her own shirt above her head, making sure to turn just enough to let him see all of her, “Put your shirt on, shadowsinger. I’m hungry.”

“I can hear that from here.” He laughs at her glare, throwing his shirt over his head, deft fingers quickly buttoning the backs beneath his wings. “Lead the way, Princess.”

Azriel marked it as a testament of his will, to walk behind her, to have her lingering arousal in his nose, to watch those hips sway, to see that beautiful bruise on her neck and not press her against the closest wall and take her from behind. He’d spent enough time the night before admiring her front, he’d neglected the view from this angle, and what a view it was. He had many plans to rectify that.

She sends him a wicked smile over her shoulder, like she knew exactly where his thoughts had drifted off to, like he’d shouted them down the bond between them.

He hadn’t, the moment he’d woken this morning he’d taken that shadow that connected them and smothered it in his chest, locking away his raging need to scream that she was his mate, to beg her to stay with him, to accept him for all his faults and scars. He shoved it all in a box in the corner of his mind, locked behind chains and walls. When she’d woken, and she’d looked up at him with those eyes full of wonder, it almost broke him. That was a testament to his strength, to hold back the words, my mate, you’re my mate.

There was a feast prepared in the dining room. Pastries and fruits and meats and cheeses, several kinds of juices and teas and coffees to choose from. The house was a busybody indeed, he could hear Y/n grumbling under her breath at it. He wasn’t the only one that knew she was hungry, had she even eaten when she’d been gone? Had she even stopped to rest? The need to know where she’d been, what she’d done, overrode his need to fuck her against the table, barely, but it did.

Azriel carefully watches her fill her plate, noting the way she piles it high with the sweet pastries, little bits of fruit scattered throughout, like it would balance out the sheer amount of sugar. Once she sat, making a cup of black tea, the only thing not filled with enough sugar to send him into a coma, Azriel fills his own plate, balanced and protein filled like he always took his breakfast. He could almost hear Cassian chiding him for the single raspberry tart he adds to the mix.

Y/n bites into one of her own tarts, blueberry by the smell of it, and lets out a deliberate little moan. Every instinct in him zeroes in on the sound, but he forces it away, she wanted a reaction out him, she wouldn’t get one.

“Are you ready to tell me where you went?”

The sigh she lets out shows just how disappointed she is about her little preformance not working on him. He almost smiles, almost concedes that inch.

“I flew north,” she says, sipping on her tea, “I didn’t know where I was going, I just-“

She cuts herself off, and any lust fades from them both as she looks down at the table. Working through whatever it was she was thinking, whatever she was feeling. It was his fault, the things he’d said to her that night, lashing out at her because he was so scared of himself, of his own problems.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “About what I said, you’re not-“

“I am,” she interrupts, looking up at him with hazy eyes, “I am a coward, you were right.”

The resignation almost breaks him. Behind the thick walls of his mind he could feel her breaking on the other side, he hated it, hated himself for causing it.

“No I wasn’t-“

“Yes, yes you were.” She looks past him, out the windows beyond, “I flew north, as far as I could into the snow capped mountains, hoping if I flew far enough I would find Terrasen, that I could go home, go back to my perfect life, where I was safe and loved and had never felt the hardships that so many have been through before me.”

She laughs without any humor, “My mother was raised by an abusive monster after seeing her parents dead in their bed. She was a slave, she was tortured, beaten, forced to give everything she was to save the world. My father found the woman he thought was his mate, was to have a child with her, only to have her die while he was fighting for the queen who’d fucked with his mind. And then there’s me, the spoiled little princess who falls apart because she’s lost.”

Those silent tears fall down her cheeks, her breathing is steady, no sobs, just this quiet breaking. It shatters his heart.

“And I’m such a coward, that instead of facing my own bullshit, of pulling myself together,” she continues, “I try to force myself on you, try to force you to fix the broken parts of me. I don’t blame you for not wanting that, for calling me out on it. I ran away because you were right, and I couldn’t handle it. I ran because I couldn’t face the truth that, that I am nothing, my family is filled with hero’s, of stories, and I am nothing but a coward who failed her own.”

“No-“

“Yes,” she takes a deep breath, “I failed so spectacularly that I almost got myself and you-“

Her voice breaks for the first time and Azriel wants to hold her in his arms, to hold the shattering pieces of her together, but there’s the cursed table between them, holding him back yet again from her. He rests his hand on the table, scarred palm up in offering, for her to take it, for him to hold them both together, she takes it.

“I almost got us killed,” she breathes, voice so soft and broken, “and that scared me so much, and that scared me even more, the fear of losing you, of being the reason of it-“

“You’re not going to lose me, Princess.” He squeezes her hand tightly in his own, “We will figure this out, we will get you home, I promise.”

He hates himself for the selfish though that crosses his mind, the hope, that they wouldn’t figure it out, and if they did, maybe she would chose to stay with him. He knew she wouldn’t.

“Together,” she says, “No more fighting, we’ll do this together, shadowsinger.”

And he nods, ignoring the cracks in his heart, “Together, Princess.”

Y/n felt so tired, so raw after that conversation, after baring her heart and soul to Azriel. Any lingering heat in her from the night before, from that morning, had disappeared with every broken word that came from her lips. Azriel seemed to understand that without her having to tell him, like he always did. If she didn’t have that protection engraved into her brow, she’d assume he was a daemati, as Rhys had called his power, able to reach into her mind and read her thoughts and emotions.

Instead of dragging him back to her room, like she had originally planned during their walk to the dining room, she asked him to fly with her. And he said yes without hesitation.

The wind felt marvelous on her wings, the early morning spring chill still lingering. Velaris was beautiful in the morning light, though she knew it truly shone at night beneath the stars. There were fae roaming through the streets, some brave enough to look up and wave at the shadowsinger as he passed. Y/n almost laughed when he awkwardly waved back.

She dove down towards a bustling market, the palace of salt and bone if the delicious scents of fresh bread and spices drifting through her nose were any indication. With a flash she was in her fae form again, walking through a crowd of fae who starred at her and her winged companion who lands directly behind her.

“Trying to give someone a heart attack?” He asks, rolling his eyes at the grin she sends over her shoulder.

Azriel falls in step beside her and she notes the lack of his usual shadows. It reminds her of their first encounter, when she hadn’t been able to understand him, scared and hurt. He’d sent them away to not frighten her anymore than she already was. The people of Velaris were well aware of who and what he was, and by the gleam in most eyes they passed, she was sure none of them would be truly scared of the shadowsinger.

“The markets in Orynth are a lot like this,” Y/n says, admiring a baker’s stand, “My mother and I go once a month to buy as many sweets as our hands can carry.”

“I assume you inherited your sweet tooth from her?” Azriel picks up a decorated cookie and pulls a few coins from his pocket for the high fae female behind the stand. “Here.”

Y/n grins and takes the cookie from his outstretched hand, “My father swears he doesn’t have one but I’ve seen him sneaking through our hauls. And he always has a chocolate cake for his birthday. My mother once made him one, he told me it was the worst thing he’d ever eaten but he ate every single bite.”

Azriel chuckles, “If she’s anything like you I’d say he’s a smart male.”

“What’s that supposed to mean,” she glares, fighting back a grin.

Azriel smirks, “nothing, Princess.”

“Careful, shadowsinger.” She lets a small ice cold breeze push through his hair, over his wings, noting the shiver that runs down his spine, “Oh? Are those sensitive?”

And something she never thought she would see happens. A flush covers the shadowsinger’s cheeks, faint and barely visible on his deep tanned skin. But she sees it and her smile turns feline.

“I can see the idea forming in your head,” Azriel says, forcing that calm mask over his features to hide the blush, “don’t start something you don’t want to finish.”

“Oh I definitely want to finish,” Y/n says, letting another breeze cross directly over the sharp talon at the tip of his wing, “I have a score to settle, remember?”

Azriel takes a step closer to her, looking down at her with delightful intensity, “Careful, Princess.”

“Or what?” She lifts her hand, lightly dragging a finger over his forearm, “Big sensitive male, can’t handle a little teasing?”

“Careful,” Azriel says lowly, so no one passing can hear, only for her, “Or I take you into the shadows, and we’ll see who’s more sensitive.”

Her toes curl, the pit of her stomach turning molten, “Scandalous, shadowsinger.”

The hand on his arm gently reaches back, dragging over the soft membrane of a single wing. Azriel doesn’t let her dig her claws into him, he wraps those scarred fingers around her forearm and she’s engulfed in shadows. The familiar feeling of transporting falls over her, like stepping through a door into another part of the world. Her uncle had the ability, one of the rare few in her world, he’d taken her on many adventures using the ability, she was used to the disorienting feeling.

She doesn’t have the chance to see where they are, the world still covered in shadow, before her back is pressed to a wall, her hands held firmly above her head. Azriel’s mouth collides with her’s in a burning kiss. No gentleness, only fiery passion. Each stroke of his tongue sends a shock of need through her, all the way down to her core.

“You test my patience,” he grounds out against her mouth, nipping at her already swollen bottom lip, “Is this what you want, to be fucked against a back alley wall?”

He doesn’t let her respond, only takes her mouth again in that claiming kiss. She wants to touch him, to run her hands over those wings and see just how sensitive they really are, but he keeps her hands trapped against the wall above them, both wrists held in just one of his scarred palms. His other hand trails down her body, ghosting over the places she really wants him to stop and take his time.

She tries and fails to arch into his touch, his body pining her to the wall, one of his legs shoved between her own, thigh pressed to her aching center. Her hips writhe, seeking the friction she desperately needs.

Azriel laughs against her lips, “What? Can’t handle a little teasing?”

He mocks her words from the street and she’s almost to lost in the intensity of everything to be annoyed by it, almost. Y/n nips at his lip like he’d done to her, catching that already spilt bottom lip with her canine.

Azriel winces, just enough for her to be satisfied, “Vicous little creature.”

His hand grips her hip, almost painfully, coaxing her to move against his thigh. The motion makes her dizzy, her head falling back against the wall. Azriel takes the opportunity to attack her neck, almost instantly finding that spot that makes her see stars, giving her a matching bruise on the other side of her neck.

“Az,” she gasps, “Gods please.”

She can feel him smirk against her neck, and she almost sobs when he backs away.

Her hands fall to her sides as she gapes up at the smirking male, “What are you-“

“The first time I take you,” he says wickedly, that insufferable smirk growing wider, “will not be a quick fix in an alleyway, where anyone could walk by and catch us. I plan to take my time with you, Princess, to make you scream without a potential audience.”

She glares up at him, “You bast-“

“You can curse at me all you want,” Azriel says, “when we get back home, Princess.”

Home, for the first time since she’d been here, the word didn’t send a shock of pain through her. Azriel gives her a look, like he knew what she was thinking, like he was asking her if she was alright. Surprisingly, she was.

“Lead the way, shadowsinger.”

Azriel holds out a hand to her, pulling her close to his chest when she grabs it. Shadows wrap around them and they step through that invisible doorway. It’s bright when they emerge, and they’re falling, towards the house of wind far far below them. Azriel’s arms wrapped tightly around her, wings flaring to catch the wind, it feels strange to fly not in her hawk form, to rely solely on another’s wings to keep her from plummeting to the ground below them. But Azriel hold firm, and they gently drift to the balcony. Y/n is itching to get on the ground, to drag him to her room.

They land, Azriel gently setting her feet on the floor, arms still wrapped around her, pressing her close to his body, shadows dancing around them. She can feel them whispering against her skin, she can’t understand them, but Azriel’s eyes shine with an emotion she can’t read.

“What are they-“

Footsteps, thundering down the hall beyond the open archway behind her. Her head snaps towards the sound, Azriel holding her tighter to him. His shadows press closely to her like they would shield her from whoever was running towards them, whatever danger they’d bring with them.

“Wrap it up lovebirds,” Cassian’s booming voice, he rounds the corner, wings flared wide in a fighting stance, “Something’s wrong with the gate.”

Y/n’s heart stops dead in her chest, she barely feels the way Azriel’s arms loosen in shock around her. She could feel it suddenly, that ancient and wicked presence, distant but growing stronger, pay the price.

She rips away from Azriel, wincing at that voice growing stronger, louder in her mind, it felt like claws tearing into her brain, gods killer, pay the price, pay her price.

“Rhys and Feyre are containing it as best they can, neither of them could reach you,” Cassian says, the voice of a general, “Nes is on standby with the trove.”

Y/n barely registers the words, what the trove was she didn’t care, just prayed that whatever it was could help them. She’s running for the hallway, only to be stopped by a strong hand wrapped around her bicep.

“You’re not just going to run in there,” Azriel says, voice as hard as the hand on her arm, “That thing wants you, I can feel it chanting your name. It’ll kill you.”

She could too, could hear it in her head, Y/n, Y/n, pay the price of the gods killer, pay it Y/n, pay it.

“I’m not going to sit here and let it kill all of you instead,” Y/n snaps, tugging at his iron grip. “Let me go, Azriel.”

His harden gaze breaks just enough, showing the fear behind the rage, “Y/n, don’t do this, we’ll figure this out together, I can’t, I-“

“Let me go, Az,” she repeats, more gently than before, yet still demanding, “Let me go.”

Cassian steps forward, a hand on his brother’s shoulder, “We’ve got to go, Az. They can’t hold it back forever.”

His whole face shutters, and Y/n feels the echo of his pain, it hurts her heart, her soul. She stands tall on her toes, tilting her head to capture his lips on her own, this kiss is the opposite of any they’d shared before, no heat, no passion, just the soft broken promise of whatever ties them together, whatever could have been between them.

“Let me go,” she whispers against him, and this time when she pulls her arm away, he lets her.

Come to me, Y/n, pay your mother’s price.

She’s running towards that voice, to that promise of death, she had no idea what she would face, no idea if her death would be painful, if there would be anything left of her soul or if she would be left with nothing.

Cassian and Azriel run after her, their footfalls like the ticking hands of a clock, marking the dwindling seconds left of her life. She’s half tempted to shift, to fly through the halls as fast as she can, to leave Azriel far enough behind so he wouldn’t have to witness the carnage.

They round the final corner, the green light of the gate flooding the hallway through the open door. Y/n charges inside, ignoring the shouts of warning from the males behind her.

Rhys is holding Feyre close to his side, both High Lady and Lord intensely focused on the shield they forged around the open gate. The black depths in the center reveal nothing of the world it resides in or creature beyond, but she can feel its presence, it’s anger.

“It’s waiting,” Nesta calls from the other side of Feyre, a glowing steel sword poised to strike in her hands, another is strapped to her back, the hilt as black as night, “It hasn’t moved since we got here.”

Cassian runs to his mate’s side, “Where’s the trove?”

“Ready,” Nesta replies, “In case this all goes to shit.”

Shadows wrap around Y/n’s wrists, gently caressing the skin and winding up her arms. Azriel stands by her side, the mask of deathly calm firmly in place, the only mark of his fear, his hand that firmly grips her own. She holds him just as tightly, he has to feel the way her hands shake.

There she is, finally. The voice shifts, female, ancient but somehow young. Your mother’s pride and joy, her precious Mala’s fire burning in your veins.

Y/n’s fire stirs in response, that deep well of it in the pit of her stomach waking up like the goddess had called for it, like it recognized the name of the other goddess it had come from. She has to dampen it with her own ice kissed wind. Keep it contained.

“Should I talk to a void,” Y/n says, using that bravado, hiding her fear, “Or are you to vicious sight to behold.”

The black hole ripples and a glowing pale hand reaches through. They all shift, drawing weapons, raising them towards the creature that crawls through the portal, the shield that Feyre and Rhys hold is reinforced by Y/n’s wind, and a red light from the siphons on Cassian’s armor. A blue light surrounds Y/n, and she doesn’t have to look to know it’s from Azriel’s own siphons.

The female that emerges from the inky black is beautiful, glowing skin, dark black hair that flows over her turned down face and across her body, a simple white gown covering her, long slits at the sides revealing sleek long legs, feet clad in golden sandals. Beautiful. Yet when she looks up, when her hair parts, Y/n feels like she’s going to be sick.

Turquoise eyes, ringed with silver, stare at her from a face so scarred that the rest of her features are barely discernible. Her mouth moves in what Y/n assumes is a grin.

“Beautiful,” the goddess says, “am I not?”

She’d survived the creatures her mother had subjected the gods to, somehow she’d managed to live, barely, but she’d survived.

“Who are you,” Nesta says, that blade pointed directly at the goddess’s throat.

Those eyes narrow at Nesta, and pass right through her towards the High Lady behind her. The attention draws a warning growl from her mate’s throat, one from Nesta as well, the goddess ignores them both.

“A huntress,” she coos at Feyre, “I’d recognize one of my own anywhere.”

Huntress. Y/n’s body locks up, and Azriel at her side takes a casual step in front of her, like he could sense exactly what dots she was connecting. The shadows wrap around her, that blue shield settling over her like armor.

The motion draws the goddess’s attention to them, her head tilting in a predator like motion, “Well this is interesting.”

“Deanna,” Y/n breathes, “You’re Deanna.”

The goddess chuckles, “So she didn’t erase us completely. Do the mortals in your realm still worship us faithfully? Or do they worship Aelin Galathynius, their glorious savior?”

Deanna practically spits her mother’s name, and that well of power inside of Y/n rumbles. Azriel, squeezes her hand once, twice, calm down, he seems to tell her, like he could feel the fire beneath her skin, warming their joined hands. He doesn’t flinch from the heat, doesn’t shy away from her, only holds her tighter, not afraid.

“Did she raise her precious daughter to hide behind pretty males?” Deanna laughs, “She didn’t want to share the spotlight I’m sure.”

“What do you want?” Azriel says, cutting straight to the point, “Why are you here?”

Deanna tuts at him, “You males have no manners. Someone aught to train you.”

To fast, she moved to fast. Y/n didn’t see her arm raise, didn’t see that bow materialize in her hands, didn’t see her draw back that string, all she saw was that golden arrow, flying through the air faster than it possibly could, propelled by that ancient magic of Deanna’s. It splits through every shield, through the wall of shadows, directly into Azriel’s chest.

She felt it in her own, that sharp searing pain, his and her own. The scream tears through her, ripping her throat to shreds, bleeding through her lips. Azriel falls, the grip on her hand falling with him, his shadows disappear, scattering into the corners of the room, leaving their master below her, bleeding, dying.

Dead, dead, she killed him, gone, dead. There’s this string tied to her heart, twisting and pulling, reaching for him, a tether between that she yanks on, begging him to stay. She’s screaming and screaming and lunging through those shields, Azriel’s own dagger in her hands, she doesn’t remember grabbing it.

Deanna is smiling beneath those scars, laughing, “Finally.”

Fire, burning through her, Mala’s fire, so hot it burns blue. It imbues into the dagger, the black blade spitting those blue flames as Y/n takes it to the goddess’ throat. Deanna doesn’t move, doesn’t fire an arrow, doesn’t burn her with that moon fire.

She simply sighs, “Pay the price, Y/n, finish what your mother started, let me finally rest with my kin.”

Y/n gives her exactly what she wants, what she gave Azriel, death. His dagger finds home in her throat, fire burning through the goddess, turning her to ash from the inside out. Time seems to completely stop, seconds turning to hours, to days, to years, Deanna burns and burns for a millennium, till there’s nothing left but that ancient bow and the golden arrow in Azriel’s chest.

Time shifts, moves faster and faster. The inner court is screaming around her, screaming for a healer, for Azriel, for her. She doesn’t hear them, doesn’t even know who or where she is, she simply collapses, throwing up a shield of hard air around her and Azriel. And she lays her head on her mate’s chest and screams.

Tag list

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[hotgirlbedtimescenarios]

Blurb ideas for joel/dieter + reader— sharing a joint/go out dancing and fucking in the bathroom/going front row in the ga pit to a concert/going on a walk at night to enjoy the stars/staying in a forested cabin with massive windows- fucking at night while it rains HARD (maybe eventually going outside to continue in the rain)/getting finger fucked discretely in public bc joel/dieter just can’t wait

(Feel free to skip/squick out on all these!!)

Thank you for your request! I kind of ran with the blunt sharing and rain idea .... this is what it turned into. I hope you like it 🫶🏻😚

Smoke and Storms

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x reader

Words: >1k

Vibes: sexual tension & smut

Warnings: PinV, smoking, teeny bit of choking/spitting/degradation

———

The sound of the engine purring kept you company as you cruised down the empty streets, the night air cool against your skin. Dieter Bravo sat beside you, his long fingers drumming rhythmically against his thigh, with the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips.

You didn’t speak much at first. Neither of you needed to. The hum of the car, the occasional flicker of the streetlights as you passed them, there was something almost hypnotic about the whole atmosphere. Beyond that was a low rumble of thunder as storm clouds rolled in, further darkening the sky.

"Where to?" you asked.

"I dunno," he said, his voice low and gravelly. "Somewhere quiet." His eyes met yours, flicking to your lips for a split second before he looked back out the window.

"Quiet, huh?" you murmured, your heart suddenly picking up speed. When he’d texted just past midnight for a late-night drive and smoke session, you hadn’t been prepared for the tension in the air to feel so thick. The two of you had been dancing around each other since you met, and tonight, it seems he’s finally making his move.

A few minutes later, he pulled into an abandoned parking lot, the kind of place that smelled faintly of gasoline and old asphalt, completely deserted except for the occasional stray cat or reckless juveniles looking for a place to loiter.

Dieter didn’t hesitate as he parked, rolling down the windows for fresh air then reaching into the glove compartment to pull out a joint and a lighter.

You settled into your seat and watched as he lit the blunt, taking a lazy inhale between his lips then exhaling before passing it to you. You mirrored him, inhaling deeply, eager for the warm calm to wash over you and settle your nerves. Tipping your head back you blew the smoke out between your lips and basked in the warmth blooming under your skin.

Rain began falling lightly at first, misting the windshield, but now it was pouring, the sound of droplets hitting the roof of the car loud enough to drown out any other noise. The world felt closed in, just you and him, the storm raging around you, the occasional flash of distant lightning illuminating his face in sharp, fleeting detail.

"Fuck, it’s coming down hard," you said, after another drag.

Dieter rolled up the windows to shield the interior from the onslaught of rain. His gaze focused on the way the rain was streaking down the windshield. The glow from the dashboard lights softened the sharp angles of his face, giving him a kind of ethereal look—one that made him seem distractingly gorgeous and impossibly close. His eyes flicked to you, dark with a kind of quiet intensity, like he could read your thoughts.

"Yeah," he said, his voice husky, as he took the joint and inhaled deeply, his lips curling around it with a sort of careless elegance. “The rain’s... nice.”

You nodded, not sure whether he meant the rain or something else entirely. The tension in the air was thickening with each passing second, the closeness of the car, the intimacy of the night, the way his body shifted ever so slightly toward yours. You could almost feel the heat radiating off him, even through the humid and smoke filled air.

For a moment, it felt like time slowed. The storm raged on around you, but in that small space between you, it was quiet, expectant, like the calm before something inevitable. Your heart began pounding in your ears as he leaned toward you, closing the distance.

“You ever think about… what it would be like?” he asked suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper, the words hanging in the wet air between you.

You didn’t need him to finish. You knew exactly what he meant. The sexual tension, thick as the storm clouds above, had been there from the very beginning.

“I think about it all the time,” you whispered back, your breath catching as you looked up at him.

Dieter’s eyes darkened, his lips slightly parted as if he were about to speak, but he didn’t. Instead he stamped out the butt of the blunt on the tiny ash tray in his cup holder. Then, he finally came for you.

He leaned across the center console and reached for you, his hand cupping the back of your head and tangling in your hair as the other found your waist. His lips hovered near yours, his breath mingling with yours, before he whispered, “I’ve wanted to taste these pretty little lips for so fuckin’ long,” he growls.

And then, just as his mouth crashed into yours, the rain hit harder, pelting down in sheets, lightning flashed and thunder rumble but the two of you barely noticed.

His hands roamed to your back, pulling you even closer, and you whimpered into his open mouth, making space for his tongue to slip in and tangle with yours.

The rain kept coming down in torrents, so loud now that it felt like you were trapped in your own little world, everything else washed away. His hands slid to your waist, then lower, kneading against your flesh as he slipped his hands beneath your shirt.

Everything about him, his, breath, his scent—smoke and something deeper—surrounding you as you lost yourself in the kiss, in the moment, in the storm, and in him.

Before long the two of you scramble into the back seat, desperate to finally give in to your body’s desires.

Your clothes fly off quickly, his hand expertly unhooking your bra and tossing it away as you fumble to untie his sweatpants, eager to free the huge bulge you can see from its confines.

“Fuckin hell” he swears, “knew those tits would be perfect for me.” Beneath his hungry gaze and exposed to the night, your nipples peak with anticipation.

His mouth finds them, sucking one into his warmth between his lips and swirls around it with his tongue as he tweaks the other one gently between his fingers.

A gasp of pleasure escapes your mouth.

As he kisses up and down your body you admire and explore his naked body as well. You reach for his already dripping cock, wrapping your hands around it and pumping it eagerly.

Both of you high on lust make quick time of lying back against the seats, with him on top of you. Dieter slides his cock between your folds, rocking back and forth, slipping his length across you, bumping into your bundle of nerves at the top and covering himself in your slick.

“Now” you beg, “please.”

“Please what” he tuts, slapping the head of his cock against your entrance, sending a jolt through your body.

“Fuck” you groan, and rake your nails down his back, sending shivers down his spine. “fill me up already goddmanit.”

Dieter growls, he doesn’t need to be told twice. He plunges into your wet heat, all the way to the hilt in the first go.

He sets a steady, brutal pace, shaking the car back and forth as he pounds into you. Your bodies slicken with sweat and the heat radiating off of them and the warmth of your breaths fog the windows of the car.

“Open up” he commands with a hand around your throat, caressing your jaw with his thumb.

Grateful for the cover of night and curtain of rain shielding the world of your depravity, you open your mouth, and he spits onto your tongue.

You swallow it gladly.

“Atta girl”, he praises.

Lost in the haze of your high and between each other’s bodies you aren’t sure how long it’s been before pleasure builds to a crescendo. Your legs begin to shake and muscles pull taught as Dieter slips a thumb between you, rubbing at your clit as he thrusts.

“Let me have it baby” he grunts, “come on, cum all over my cock.”

Ecstasy explodes, your body convulses around his as you cum, pulling him into his own orgasm. He pulls out quickly, his chest heaving with staggered breath as he pumps his spend onto your stomach.

After you both come down from the moment and catch your breath, you settle beside each other, sprawled out in the backseat. Through the windows you see the rain begin to thin, now sprinkling lightly against the car and pavement outside before quitting completely. Dieter cracks the windows, allowing a cool breeze to flutter through, cooling your sweat soaked skin and airing out the car.

You snuggle into the crook of his arm, content with the world, and the two of you ride out your high together, watching as the skies clear and stars twinkle in the night sky.

[mvltisstuff]

Would you maybe write an Eddie Diaz x reader fic where she is cooking dinner and burns or cuts herself. Enough that they have to go to the ER and then just fluffy him helping her out after they get home...

night changes - e.d

summary: above :)

eddie diaz x reader

the fierce odor of the onions and smell of spices were overwhelming y/n’s nose, making her eyes water. she was chopping away at the onion, preparing a nice dinner for eddie, christopher, and herself. eddie was assisting, along with christopher who was sprinkling in some more flavoring into the pan. night like these were casual, but perfect. spending time with her two favorite people was the highlight of her days.

her relationship with eddie had its ups and downs, like any relationship might, but they were thriving now. both of them had steady jobs and were spending so much time together. they’d gotten extremely close over the years, and y/n spoke so gently to him and his son in ways that melted his big heart.

eddie adored her since the moment he met her, and after shannon died and dealing with the grief of that, y/n saved him. he saved her too, with her own experiences and feelings. they pulled each other out of the deep pits they were in.

eddie glanced over at y/n, with a wide smile as she spoke with christopher. her eyes were glossy, but the pure happiness across her face was very noticeable. her laugh was contagious, making the corners of eddie’s mouth rise up.

eddie’s phone rings, and looks at the name flashing across the screen. his friend, buck, had of course called and eddie handed the phone to christopher. “hi, buck!” he said into the phone, excitedly and wandered off to speak to him.

“i swear that kid loves him more than me,” eddie jokes.

��it’s the buck effect,” she replies. “makes everyone love him.”

“well i sure hope not you…” eddie says. he walks over to y/n, planting a kiss on her cheeks. she giggles lightly before demanding him to get back to whatever he was cooking before.

“oh, cmon, you know i love you the most,” and now it was her turn to move over and give him his own kiss. they didn’t have a fear of PDA in front of chris, but eddie was definitely more comfortable when he wasn’t around to see. christopher loves y/n, being the closet person he has to having a mother. she treated him like his own from the moment they were introduced.

y/n shuffles back to her own cutting board with her slippery hands from the wet veggies. she picks up the freshly sharpened knife to continue before she feels a massive slash on her hand. the knife had slipped out of her hand, landing directly on the other leaving a deep gash on the center of her palm. “ow, shit!” she yells out making eddie’s head turn like an owl.

he spots the deep cut on her hand, rapidly dripping out dark blood onto the cutting board and on her fingers. as an reflex, he grabs as many towels as he can and presses it against her hand. “woah, easy,” he calmly says under the pressure. “you alright?” he asks, placing his free hand on her cheek, swiping away a tear.

“i think so? i mean i just split my own hand open.”

eddie notices the blood sinking deep into the towels, almost completely covering the whiteness of the cloths. he pulls them off to examine the cut. the gash was incredibly deep, and unfortunately not something that could just be fixed by a bandaid. she hisses as he touches it lightly. “sorry, you’re alright,” eddie says softly, yet again. “i think we might need a trip to the ER, amor.”

“but i haven’t finished cooki-“

“you’re worried about cooking? you have a severe laceration to your hand!”

“mm, i love when you go all paramedic on me,” y/n smiles, and eddie shakes his head, concealing his own grin.

“chris! can you bring the phone in?” eddie yells to the other room. christopher comes walking in, handing the phone to eddie. “hey, man. wanna come hang out with chris? yeah, y/n cut her hand and we’re just gonna stop at the ER. she’ll be ok, i just don’t have anyone to watch him, also, make him dinner and don’t burn the house down, please!”

buck comes speeding over to be with chris, and y/n and eddie climb into his truck. “maybe i should get lights and a siren on this thing,” he says.

“eddie, i am not dying! at this rate you’ll get pulled over and i’ll bleed out in your nice truck.”

eddie rolls his eyes and pulls into the parking lot, then leading y/n in who is clutching her gushing hand. they’re guided into a section, as an intern comes over to sew up her hand.

she examines the stitches on her hand and holds it up to eddie, who hasn’t left her side for anything. he’s sitting next to her on the bed in the ER, his arm wrapped around her shoulder. “does it look cool?” she asks.

“sure, very cool,” he smiles and kisses her as the doctor cleans up, wrapping her hand up in gauze and sending them on their way.

the next few days, eddie was a complete clinger. he stayed by her side for anything she might need, because she was down a hand.

“eddie, i’m literally pouring cereal,” she says, sighing as he tried to take the box from her.

“he’s my own son, i can do it,” he smiles at her and leads her out of the way. he wanted to do everything for her because she does the same when he is hurt. it might be hypocritical, but he couldn’t care less. he wants to be with her when she does anything, incase something bad happens again and he isn’t there. she leads him out of the kitchen and onto the couch.

“babe, look at me,” she places her fingers under his chin and guides his face to look at her. “i am fine. it is just stitches, i didn’t break my arms. you don’t need to worry!”

“i know, i just want to help you. i feel bad, that’s all.”

“why do you feel bad? it’s not your fault my hand slipped.”

“i don’t know, i just didn’t like seeing you bleeding that much out of your own hands. it looked like a murder scene.”

“well, if you’re so desperate to help,” she smirks. “you can get in that kitchen and cook.”

eddie laughs and looks at her amusingly. the way she made the best out of a bad situation, and joked as she did it was the greatest gift he could’ve asked for. “fine, but it’s not my fault if it turns out awfully.”

“oh, don’t pity yourself. practice makes perfect,” y/n concludes and they head back into the kitchen together.

[kassandrasdisciple]

BatFam X VtM

Time to combine another of my 2 hyperfixations of the month. I'm gonna match each Batfam member with what vsmpire the masquerade clan i think they would be and my reasonings. Some have multiple clans they could be so I've tried to narrow it down to 1 and reason why I didn't go with another. If this was an actual AU it would probably make more sense for them all to mainly be the same clan as Bruce but this menagerie of a coterie is more interesting and fits each character, so without further ado.

Bruce Wayne

Ventrue

The blue bloods, known for their honour and pride, they rule from up above, embracing CEOs and modern aristocrats alike. For the prince of Gotham, chairman of Wayne Enterprises, I don't think there's a more perfect fit. Bruce at his best and worse embodies the values the clan of kings holds. He's a ruler through lineage, ruling his subject from up high, but the clan compulsion of arrogance and belief of knowing best make him come across as stubborn and apathetic to others concerns if he's ruled on a matter already.

The only other clans I could maybe see for bruce would be Lasombra or Toreador, with the former being know for their obtenebration and the latter for their ability to play the games of socialites. However those aspects are more masks Bruce wears when playing either brucie wayne or batman, not truly who he is.

Dick grayson

Ravnos

This isn't because he's Romani in some iterations but it's a nice extra. No, Dick is a Ravnos because he's a perfect fit. The Ravnos are the daredevils of the vampire world, their blood literally compels them to tempt fate, they also can't sleep in the same place for more than a couple of nights; what clan would fit our ex-travelling circus acrobat than them?

Truly I think Ravnos is the best fit for Dick, however some versions of him are more well known for being a seducer, and have become part of his Fannon; because of that the argument could be made for Toreador.

Jason Todd

Banu Haqim

The Assamites, judged by western kindred as frothing diablerists when really they're guardians, warriors and judges of the corrupt. Really, it was when I got to Jason that I knew I had to write all these matches down. This is the perfect fit to the point that I'm sure others must've headcannoned it. Their compulsion is judgement, forcing them to punish anyone who breaks their moral code, they also chafe against their fellow vampires; falling to a bloodlist if they taste the vitae of another kindred.

If you were writing Jason with the Fannon pit madness I could see the argument for Malkavian, and if your specifically talking about when Jason was Robin I'd say he fits more closely to Brujah; being a spitfire. But as the Red Hood? Jason is a child of Haqim.

Tim drake

Tremere

Just as choosing Jason's sealed my need to write this post, trying to choose Tim's nearly made me give up. Tim is my least read character and as such it's harder to split Fannon from Cannon, so please bare with me. The Tremere are the second youngest clan, they're also know as the Usurpers. They weren't chosen by vampirism but rather they chose it. The Tremere are hated by several clans for this transgression, including the Banu Haqim, who see their blood magic as a knock-off of their own. The Tremere are perfectionists, constantly seeking new rituals and knowledge; isolating themselves in chantries until they've got their newest project just right. Is this not Tim Drake?

I do love the flavor text this creates, being the second youngest and having beef with Jason from the get go. But on a deeper level, choosing to be Robin, being a perfectionist and also being insecure in their status as a hero/vampire? I think this is a perfect match.

Other clans I could see for Tim would be Nosferatu, being secret keepers and traders alike, or another Ventrue like Bruce, since they both come from money. However I have a better fit for the Nossies and I want to avoid repeating clans if i can.

Damien Wayne-Al Ghul

Lasombra

Like the Ventrue the Lasombra are born rulers, however, unlike the bluebloods, for the Lasombra might makes right. You're embraced into the clan when you're put through a gauntlet that systematically destroys your life; if you get back up your embraced, if not? You're left to die. The night clan coat themselves in shadows, manipulating and striking from them. They have a penchant for religion, ruling over the masses, however their bane of callousness means that they have a hard time relating to humans, sometimes even other kindred, letting more and more of their humanity slip.

If this doesn't describe the heir of the demon, who grows up in a religious, assassin cult, where he has to kill or be killed then I dont know what clan will. He's literally from the league of shadows. I also think it would irk a Ventrue Bruce for his child to be more adept with shadows than himself.

I could see Damian as a Ventrue like his father, as his behavior can be read as arrogance rather than callousness, it would also be in line with his "true heir" hang up. Also, Nanda Parbat seems to just be a copy-paste of Alamut so, along with the Banu Haqim being assassins, I could also see the argument for them claiming Damien aswell, that would also feed my favorite trope of Damien and Jason having the best brotherly bond.

Barbara Gordon

Nosferatu

Second disclaimer of the post, this choice isn't due to her disability. The Nossies are the information brokers of kindred society. Living in abandoned places, yet lying in plan sight (like a massive clocktower) the clan of the hidden employ animalism to make spy's out of rat's and city birds, if there was ever a clan who embraced the modern world it's the nosferatu. Because of this The vagrants are the most tech savvy of the clans, creating Shrek net, the dark web for vampires.

Because of this I think our information queen would be at home with the Nossies. I think Barbara is the most single-clan character but maybe also Banu Haqim? They do embrace from law enforcement after all.

Stephanie Brown

Brujah

The rebels without a cause, they always want a cause to get behind, jumping from one to the other once one no longer fits. I think for Steph, who got into the vigilante game to spite her father (very much giving Troile the younger vibes), the clan of rebels would be the perfect home. She's also bounced between the most code names: spoiler, Robin, batgirl. She's always seeking the next goal. Furthermore she's not from money, she's a punk kid from Gotham who decided to fight back. Because of this Brujah is an easy choice.

If you wanted to go with the more feral™ energy she has in Fannon I could also see the argument for Gangrel, her being the wild child, but I think she's more the wild of rebellion rather than of the woods.

Cassandra Cain

Salubri

Hear me out. Not one of the 13 however I really do think it fits, the Salubri are constantly hunted, they're one of a kind and, in a society of killers, they suffer from affective empathy, making them want to resolve the hurts of others. Just kidding, I just described cass' upbringing, actually I described both. The unicorns also have access to the widest range of disciplines naturally, suiting our skilled assassin. Also the Salubri let their childe diablerize them, giving them the best headstart in life in the most bloody way possible, similar to how Lady Shiva has a very odd way of trying to make Cass stronger.

This is the one of the most out there ones. like alot of the BatFam, Cass could also be Banu Haqim but I do think her inherent character trait of renouncing her violent nature makes her a kindred (pun intended) spirit to the Salubri.

Duke Thomas

Kiasyd

Okay so this is fully a bloodline, but stay with me. The Kiasyd are a bloodline of the Lasombra with some Faery blood mixed in, this parallels Duke's metapowers causing him to stand apart from the rest of the family, just as faery blood causes the Kiasyds to stand apart from vampire society as a whole. They're also known for their magic using Mytherceria and Obtenebration, which together I think replicate Duke's meta abilities. Lastly the Kiasyd are oddballs, they act peculiar even for vampires, much like a crime-fighting vigilante being the only one to fight villains during the day.

This could be seen as a reach, but I think my justifications are valid. Really any clan that has magic could be a fair match, a fun alternative could also be Gargoyles, as they're the only clan that can naturally stay outside during the day.

And that finishes all the BatFam members I know well enough to assign clans to. If you have any ideas for Jaro, Bluebird, Kate Cane, or even the ones I covered but disagree with let me know! I'd like to have a member to cover each clan so we're missing Gangrel, Hecata/Giovanni, Malkavian, Set/Ministry, Toreador and Tzimisce. If you made it this far thank you so much and I hope you enjoyed.

[emeritusemeritus]

Hi! First of all I love your work ❤️ and I hope you have an awesome spring 🌱 ☀️

My request is both twins being competitive to gain the reader's affection (smut and fluff and a bit angst).

Thank you so much for opening requests.

Thank you so much!! I cannot believe we are spring already, this year is flying by! This has been an absolute pleasure to write, I hope you enjoy🖤

Warnings: smut, mentions of piv, oral fm receiving, fingering, fluff, angst. I’m sorry about the ending.

Words: 1.8k

Self Preservation.

Fred and George went together like rhubarb and custard; always complementary and very rarely ever seen without their counterpart. They’d grown up together, literally from the second their cells had split in the womb and formed two identical replicas of one another. They’d shared a bedroom, a blossoming business, most classes and the title of beater on the quidditch team, but they had never shared girls.

That was, until you came along.

Fred talked about you first, telling both George and Lee about this gorgeous, funny girl he’d apparently fallen for, something completely out of character for Fred Weasley. Unbeknownst to Fred, George had actually spotted you a few weeks earlier and had been harbouring a crush since that moment.

The twins were naturally competitive but up until this point it had very rarely been with each other, usually as a team and not pitted against one another. This was completely new territory. To make matters worse, you weren’t sure who you liked more. You’d admitted that you’d liked them both, and had made it very clear that you could tell them apart and it wasn’t because you saw them as the same person, but still you absolutely could not choose.

Though they were still on talking terms, the tension between them was palpable. Fred seemed to enjoy stealing you away from his sibling, putting on a display whereas George was quieter about it, ignoring his brother’s show.

“Evening love,” Fred grinned as you approached the twins on the sofa in the common room, tired from the long day and feeling very sleepy. George greeted you with a sweet smile and began to budge up to make room between the two brothers but Fred pulled you unceremoniously into his lap, locking his arms around you. You knew it was a power play in front of his brother but you were too tired to care, choosing instead to curl up into his lap, enjoying the warmth Fred seemed to naturally radiate. Your hand found George’s, not wanting him to feel left out and you entwined your fingers with a smile, feeling your eyes shutting.

When you wake, there’s no sound except the fire slowly crackling and the sound of someone breathing. You turn slightly and see that you’d fallen asleep on Fred, cuddled into his side with his arm around you. Someone must have strewn a blanket over the both of you as Fred had clearly also fallen asleep, but your movement seemed to rouse him, his leg twitching underneath you and some sort of groan slipping from his lips. When you looked up to his face you couldn’t help but laugh, seeing that a piece of parchment had been taped to his forehead. He frowns as you delicately peel it off, his eyes opening slowly, a smile forming on his lips as he looks at you so closely to him before he grows again, seeing the parchment.

‘Gone to bed sleepyheads, G’

You smile, showing Fred the note as he brings his hand up to run at his forehead where the tape had been.

“Just you and me then princess,” he smirks, pulling you back down onto him, quickly looking around to see that you were both alone in the common room.

You make a sort of pleased hum as you rest you head back onto his shoulder, bathing in the warm he radiated. When he shifts, trying to get comfy again there’s something noticeable underneath you, poking you right in the thigh.

“Fred,” you say, adjusting your head to look up at him from under your lashes, slightly shocked. He looks largely unfazed, smirking down at you with his eyes still shut.

“Beautiful girl in my lap wiggling about, what did you think would happen sweetheart?” You nudge him gently and hear his little breathy laugh, making you bounce slightly as you learn against his chest.

You nudge him playfully, making him inadvertently move against you and you suddenly hear the most beautiful breathy moan from him as your arse moves across his erection. It’s like a fire has been lit under your skin, the noise propelling you into arousal even though you’re tired and your eyes want to close, your body is most definitely focused on Fred.

You lean up to kiss him, surprising him slightly before he leans forward and accepts the kiss, his lips moving against yours. He takes control quickly, sensing the urgency and arousal in the kiss and scoops you up with his hands, adjusting you on the sofa until you’re underneath him. He’s beautiful in the light of the fire, his red hair looking like it’s own flames, face illuminated to showcase his best features. His hands paw at you whilst yours wrap into his hair and underneath the collar of his T-shirt, the mood and playfulness of the conversation disappearing quickly.

“Let me touch you baby, please,” he says against your lips, fingers dancing across your hip until he cups the globe of your bum, squeezing gently.

“Please Freddie,” you say, not wanting to break the kiss, your hips moving on their own accord. He smirks and begins to slip his hand into your trousers, toying with the thin strip of underwear at the side before his fingers trace further down.

You bite your lip to stop moaning out when his fingers finally make contact with your pussy, his deep groan muffled against your lips.

His fingers are perfect, long and thin but with the dexterity that could outshine seasoned wandmakers. When his fingers slip inside you, first one and then another you feel like you’re in heaven. He kisses you gently, allowing you pauses when he feels you pull away to quietly moan, knowing he was hitting every single one of your spots. It’s so dirty, to be out in the open like this, Fred on top of you with his hand so clearly down your trousers. You’re cumming in no time at all, his name falling from your lips as you hold him close.

“Fucking beautiful,” he says, pulling away from you slightly as you come down from your high, a smile on both of your faces.

Once you recovered, your hands slipped down across his chest towards the obvious tent in his trousers but he stopped you, making you frown.

“Rules princess,” he says, fighting his own intrusive thoughts.

There was only one rule that existed between the twins and their little competition with you; you could be pleasured in any way you wanted but nothing could happen with either of them until you’d chosen.

“Self-preservation,” George had put it.

“Torture,” Fred had retorted. But he’d relented, agreeing that if you were going to pick one, he didn’t want to know that you’d slept with his brother too. You agreed, understanding, but right now you weren’t so certain.

“But,” you argued, feeling guilty that he was still hard and without any resolution. You can see his mind whirling, weighing up his options as he looks at your flushed face and pleading eyes, his lip pulled between his teeth in worry. He sighs, shaking his head slightly.

“Rules is rules sweetheart- and that’s coming from me.”

You kissed him goodnight, still feeling guilty as he tries to hide the obvious erection from you and trotted off to bed to think. You’d come very, very close to breaking the pact, did that mean you wanted Fred? Or where you just horny and carried away?

The next morning at breakfast, George was the one to pull you down beside him, his hand already linking with yours under the table.

“Meet me at the prefect bathroom later?” He says quietly, whispering into your ear and making goosebumps rise up on your skin at the proximity of his lips. You don’t look at him directly but instead bite your lip and give a little nod, eyes glazed over with a mixture of mischief and arousal. It seemed your little moment with Fred last night had awakened something in you that wasn’t completely fulfilled.

Arriving at the bathroom, you paused to take in just how gorgeous George looked in his T-shirt and cord trousers as he turns and notices you stood there, a sweet smile pulling at his face. You were already aroused, the feeling never leaving you all day, remembering his lips so close to your ear at breakfast.

The kiss is passionate and needy, which he recognises instantly and matches your energy. His hands are everywhere, on your neck, your breasts and on your hip to hold you close to him. It’s greedy and you can’t help but rub yourself against him, trying to get any friction you can to give you the relief you need.

“I’ve got you Angel,” he says, “you want this?”

When he drops to his knees in front of you, you feel like you’re done for. You nod feverishly, feeling a little gush of excitement and arousal as he begins to pull at your jeans, slipping them down your leg and off, along with your panties before he reaches out to hook your leg over his shoulder.

He starts to kiss around your lips, your inner thighs and you let out a whine so loud that you’re worried someone will have heard. His tongue pokes out and slowly draws a line right from your little aching hole to your throbbing clit, patting your folds with the tip of his tongue as you gasp and moan, clutching his hair tightly between your fingers.

He teases for a little while before he suddenly begins feasting on your cunt, licking up your arousal and sucking on your sensitive flesh. His tongue flicks quickly over your clit, sucking and slurping at the little bud until you’re crying out his name, hips moving as you climax riding his face.

“George,” you say, the only thing you’re able to say. “Want you, please.”

You’re so desperate to be filled, so painfully aroused that you almost lose it. You know the consequences, as does George but you don’t care at all, too concerned with your need.

George barely even hesitates, slipping open his brown woven belt and pulling down his cords and boxers until his cock, long, hard and perfect is released. You’re seconds away from joining until you jump apart, scrambling for your clothes having been spooked by a noise of the door opening.

The colour drains from your face when you see the intruder starting between you and George, both naked from the waist down though trying to cover yourselves the best you can.

Fred.

[ingravinoveritas]

So what ur thoughts on the bafias nominations David been nomination for best comedy actor while Michael hasn't been nominated for anything and the fan on twitter can't understand why now I personally think after Al aggressive behaviour on a post when they got his name wrong on his favourite radio station and how her stories on ig recently just werid behaviour do u think Al may had sabotaged his chances of getting a nomination for anything

What ur thoughts

Hi there! So I am once again on the road and attending a conference in Las Vegas that just wrapped up, and now I finally have a chance to comment on today's exciting news.

I'm sure everyone has seen by now, but congrats to our lovely David on his first (main) BAFTA nom for Male Performance in a Comedy!

It seems almost surreal that David has never been nominated for a (main) BAFTA before now, and given the breadth of his other recent TV performances (Des, Litvinenko) nominating him for Good Omens season 2 is certainly a choice...especially in the absence of a nomination for Michael. Looking at the list of nominations, it appears that Best Interests was nominated for Limited Drama, as was Sharon Horgan for Leading Actress...but no nomination for Michael for Leading Actor, either. So very quickly, this starts to look like a visible and intentional snub.

In terms of why Michael would be snubbed, I think there are a few possible reasons, but none of them have anything to do with AL. Readers of my blog know that I am never hesitant to call Anna out when it is merited, but in all likelihood the BAFTA nominations were decided long before now, and in my opinion she would not have any influence on whether Michael is nominated regardless of when her social media posts were made. So it does not make sense to place blame on her in this instance.

My feeling is that the reasons for Michael's lack of a nomination (and really, David's nomination specifically for GO) are likely twofold. One is that I'm guessing Amazon/whoever submitted David for consideration didn't want to pit Michael and David against each other. If they were both competing in the same category, it could split the votes, so only nominating one of them seems the best way of avoiding that. The second reason (again, in my opinion) seems to be political.

I was surprised to recently learn that Prince William is the president of BAFTA--British followers, help me out here, because this is very, very weird to a confused American--and as we know, Michael has spoken out on a number of hot button issues over the last few months: Opening a conversation about Welsh independence. The question of the devolution of the crown estate to Wales. And of course, abolishing the title of Prince of Wales. Not to mention all of the backlash incurred by the release of The Way, which was roundly savaged in the press and accused of promoting anti-English sentiments.

Granted, there have been politically active nominees and winners at the BAFTAs in the past, but it really feels like the combination of all these things is somehow working against Michael. Let's also not forget this epic picture from the BAFTA film awards last month, with Michael giving Wills the side-eyest of Welsh side-eyes:

All this said, it is difficult (if not impossible) to think of Michael and David's performances in GO as separate things, because they are so inextricably intertwined. The reason that we got David's incredible performance as Crowley is because Michael was there as Aziraphale, and vice-versa. I think David and Michael themselves would be the first ones to say it, as well as to be in awe and so supportive of each other's acting. The response of fans to this nomination news--saying Michael is a better actor, Michael deserved to be nominated instead, etc.--is so perplexing to me, because I think he was probably the first one in line to congratulate David, and would chew out anybody who put down David's acting for any reason.

I also think that if the lack of a nomination is due to the above-mentioned political reasons, then Michael is probably wearing it like a fucking badge of honor. I think he is also happier for David than anyone else on the planet right now (because that's his boyfriend, damn it), and I truly hope the stars align and give us Michael presenting David with an award again like at the NTAs in 2021. (Michael subsequently carrying David off the stage bridal style would be the cherry on top of the already extremely homoerotic cake.)

I also feel that there is no question David is as taken aback by his nomination/Michael's lack of a nomination for GO as much as the rest of us are. While I have no idea what David's chances of winning truly are, I think he would wholeheartedly and enthusiastically share that award with Michael. And I think he will share that night with Michael no matter what, regardless of what happens on the broadcast.

So many possibilities come to mind, really. I can imagine David and Michael re-enacting Every (without the heartbreaking bits, of course) on stage. I've seen people making references to the infamous Slow Show fic/how it parallels to real life, and while I've only read part of it (haven't gotten to finish), the thought of any kiss between Michael and David is beyond gorgeous to contemplate. Not for the sake of "content" or as a joke, of course (because I don't think they would be willing to kiss as a joke, because if they were, they would've done it by now), but because we would see a facet to Michael and David's relationship that's always been there in private become public. And it would be their choice to share it with us.

Those are my reactions to the BAFTAs announcement today. I'd love to hear from my followers as well with your thoughts and comments. Thanks for writing in! x

[sequinsmile-x]

Salience

/ˈseɪlɪəns/ Noun

the quality of being particularly noticeable or important; prominence.

She’s immediately back there. The concrete floor cold and damp as it presses through her pants, the material of it sticking to her skin with what she knows isn’t her blood, yet, but the memory is confused. Everything happening all at once as she hears Ian’s laugh and smells the burning of her skin.

-x-

Hi friends <3 this is a fic for the lovely @ssa-sparks who deserves the entire world and who I love very dearly.

Hope you all like this, and let me know what you think <3

-x-

Words: 2.7k

Warnings: burns, panic attack/flashback

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

She felt anxious. 

Not in the way she was used to these days, but in a way she hadn’t felt since she was a teenager, all long limbs and insecurity about who she was as she tried to get the attention of the boy she liked. It was odd feeling this way as a grown woman. She knew who she was, a sense of self she’d clawed out of the grave that had once borne her name, the new her built out of the ashes of who she used to be. The fluttering in her stomach, the pleasant nerves thrumming under her skin as she stood on the brink of something new was enjoyable, entirely different to the pit she’d had there for months, the heavy weight that had settled low in her gut ever since she found out Ian had escaped from prison, and it was all because of one man.

Part of her wondered if Aaron would ever actually ask her out. They’d skirted around it for months, both of them a little shy because of everything they’d been through, and for a while, she wondered if they’d ever take that leap. If they’d ever jump over the line that they’d walked like a tightrope for years, ready to hold each other’s hand on the way down. She was just days away from asking him out, from breaking the pact she’d made with herself that she’d let him make the first move because it would be important to him, when he did it. His smile soft as he passed her a glass of wine and asked if she wanted to go for dinner, as if that wasn’t exactly what they were doing at the time, Chinese food containers spread out on his coffee table as Jack slept just down the hall. 

She thinks she said yes before he’d even finished asking the question, her answer prepared for much longer than she’d care to admit to even herself. She kissed him at his front door when she left that night, a gentle thing against his lips, an answer to a question she’d had for years about what he’d taste like. It had been three days since then and their date was tonight. Aaron had assured her that they wouldn’t end up having to go away on a case, something she was sure Penelope had something to do with, and she’d caught him looking at her all morning. His eyes fixed on her and his smile soft whenever she tried to sneak a look at him. 

She knows coffee could tip her over the edge, that it would make her anxiety shift from strangely pleasant to overwhelming. As she waits for the tea kettle to boil she digs through the cupboards for some chamomile tea.

“So,” JJ says, appearing out of nowhere, smirking when Emily jumps for a split second before glaring at her, “You and Hotch are making eyes at each other so much I’m surprised either of you are getting any work done.” 

Emily huffs out a breath and dumps a tea bag into a mug, “JJ-”

“Em, I’m just teasing you,” she says, leaning her hip against the counter, “Although, if you guys are this intense now I dread to think what you’ll be like after you’ve seen each other naked,” her smile gets wider when Emily rolls her eyes, “I’m happy for you both. We all are.” 

Emily hums, “So everyone knows?” 

“Hotch asked Penelope to make sure we didn’t get a case this weekend,” JJ says, her arms crossed loosely over her chest, “Plus, we’d be awful at our jobs if we didn’t see how the two of you are around each other.” 

She suppresses a smile at that, warmth blooming in her chest, flowers of hope and something she refused to call love crowding her lungs, “Thats…” she drifts off, not sure what to say, still so used to hiding everything from everyone, even those she loved, that she struggled to share even when she wanted to, “Thank you.” 

She lifts the tea kettle as it comes to a boil and starts to pour it into her mug. She’s distracted by the sound of familiar footsteps, by the smell of his cologne that was a calling card that let her know he was near, and she looks up for a split second.

“Em, careful-”

JJ’s warning is cut off as Emily’s hand moves just enough that the stream of boiling water slips over the edge of the mug and onto the hand holding it steady. She gasps, the pain burns through her and she drops the kettle down, a hiss of pain forcing itself past her lips. 

“Fuck.” 

JJ and Aaron spring into action simultaneously. JJ ensures the kettle is on the counter correctly, not wanting any more boiling water to spill on the floor. Aaron reaches out for Emily, his hand at her elbow as he starts to usher her towards the sink, saying something about needing to get her hand under cold water that she barely hears. Everything fades, even the pain. The edges of it fuzzy as she desperately tries to suck in a deep breath, her lungs aching as the smell of burning flesh overwhelms her, forcing her back into a memory she had tried her best to move forward from. 

She’s immediately back there. The concrete floor cold and damp as it presses through her pants, the material of it sticking to her skin with what she knows isn’t her blood, yet, but the memory is confused. Everything happening all at once as she hears Ian’s laugh, a cruel callback to a sound she’d once found strange enjoyment in, the ability to make him laugh something she’d prided herself on when she lived under a different name. She can hear him taunting her, claiming her as his own as he leans over her, the scent of cigar smoke and whiskey on his breath mixing in with the smell of her skin burning. 

Her chest feels like it’s on fire. Her skin melts as her lungs burn with the need for oxygen, and she can’t feel or see anything. Anything other than the smell of her burning skin out of reach as she desperately tries to scramble for it. 

Everything comes flooding back in a moment, the shock of cold water on her hand bringing her back to herself as she sucks in a shallow breath. She looks around, desperate to pull her hand from whoever was holding it, their grip on her wrist the next thing she’s aware of as her senses return. 

“Em,” Aaron says, his eyes soft and kind as she looks at him, “Em, it’s just me.” 

“Wha…what happened?” She chokes out, her eyes wild as she looks around them and realises they are now in the accessible bathroom. She has no idea how they got here, and has visions of him leading her through the bullpen, his hands on her back as he guided her through their concerned colleagues, “When did we get here?” 

“Don’t worry,” he says, smiling at her, his gaze flicking to her bright red hand under the cold water, “I didn’t carry you.” 

She chokes on a laugh, the sound raw and painful as it forces itself from her still aching lungs, “Thank fuck for that,” she says, wiping her cheeks with her spare hand, grateful that he hasn’t acknowledged that she’s crying, “Being clumsy enough to pour boiling water over myself and having a panic attack in the same minute is embarrassing enough,” she says, her smile fading as she tries to fake it, the corners if it never quite catching in place, “Last thing I needed was my boss carrying me like I’m some damsel in distress.” 

He smiles, reaching out with the hand not holding hers under the running water to tuck some hair behind her ear, the action so achingly gentle she has to stop herself from shying away from it on instinct, “You’re never a damsel in distress, Em,” he says, letting his knuckles linger on her cheek before he pulls back, not wanting to cross any lines, “You’re always the hero in my book.” 

She laughs bitterly, not sure how that could be true given everything that had happened over the last year, “I already agreed to date you, Aaron,” she offers him a half smile, “You can stop wooing me.” 

“Never.” 

“Never?” She asks incredulously, furrowing her brows and he shakes his head, his smile turning shy in a way that makes him look young, making her wonder if this was the version of him that had asked once Haley out. 

“We could be married 50 years and I’d still woo you,” he says, his eyes going wide as he realises what he’s said, and he clears his throat, his gaze once again fixed on her hand, “How does it feel?” 

“Cold,” she says, smiling when he looks at her, a look of mild disbelief in his eyes, “It stings a little.” 

“We have to keep it under here for 20 minutes. Then I’ll dress it for you. Good thing this is where we keep the first aid kit,” he smiles reassuringly in the way she’s seen him do with Jack when he presses Batman bandaids to his skinned knees and she wonders if he’ll kiss her injury better for her too. “What happened?”

She tenses, not wanting to get into it yet, the edges of her vision still blurry from her panic attack, “What?” 

“How did you miss the mug?” He asks, “I’ve watched you hit the bullseye when playing darts and at the shooting range. Didn’t take you for the clumsy type.”

She rolls her eyes at herself, focusing on the burn in her cheeks rather than her hand and the phantom burn in her chest, and she looks down at the ground between them, “I…was distracted by you.” 

He clears his throat, something that draws her attention up to him, and she watches him fight a smile, “Really?” 

“Please don’t gloat whilst my skin is still blistering.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, winking at her, and she can’t help but smile, entirely unsure when he started to have this effect on her. When he managed to sneak under her defences, leaving them intact to everyone but him, and make her smile just minutes after she was thrown back into one of the worst moments of her life.

She hums, biting the inside of her cheek as she continues to try to centre herself, “Everyone saw me freak out?” 

“JJ did. Derek came over when he heard you scream-”

“I screamed?” She asks, spitting it out, her cheeks warm with embarrassment drawn out of her by his naked honesty, his inability, and lack of willingness, to bullshit her as disarming as it was charming.

“You did just pour boiling water on your hand, Em,” he says, raising his eyebrow at her, “I think even you are allowed to react to that,” he quips and she huffs out a breath but nods, “They distracted everyone else and I brought you in here and locked the door,” he pulls her hand out of the stream of water for a moment to look at it before he returns it, the fresh sting of the coldness of it making her hiss, “I figured you wouldn’t want an audience.” 

She smiles at that, the butterflies in her stomach briefly starting up again, their wings singed by the panic attack, the flutters not as strong as they had been all day, “Thank you.” 

He smiles and nods, shrugging as if it was nothing, as if it wasn’t everything that he knew her well enough to get her somewhere no one else could see her, “You don’t have to thank me, sweetheart.” 

The nickname makes her want to confess her love for him there and then just so she can hear it for the rest of her life. The way it catches on his voice, how it sounds as he wraps his tongue around the syllables, but she stops herself. She knows she loves him, and she knows he loves her too, but she never wants to associate it with this. Her last ever first I love you in the air still tinged with the smell of her burning skin and a phantom ache on her chest. She wanted it to just be about them, not about the man who’d done his best to make sure she never had anything like this. 

Aaron keeps her hand under the water for exactly 20 minutes, an alarm on his watch that he stops from chiming the moment before it’s due. He guides her over to the toilet and closes the lid, encouraging her to sit down before he kneels in front of her, the first aid kit in hand. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks, his focus briefly on the kit as he looks for the bandages he needs. She’s grateful that he’s given her time, that he didn’t ask the second she could breathe again. She knows if she says no, that if she wants to keep it to herself, he won’t push. He won’t force her to talk until she is ready. It makes her want to tell him, her desire to keep it to herself nowhere to be found. 

“It…” she clears her throat, unsure when she’d placed her good hand on her chest, her thumb rubbing back and forth over the brand covered by her shirt, the edges of it as familiar as the rest of her, “It was the smell.” 

He read the report about what happened to her. She already knew that, but that the way he looks up at her, his eyes briefly lingering over where she’s rubbing soothing circles on a phantom ache, only confirms it. He nods, returning his focus to her hand, his touch soft as he wraps the bandage around it. 

“For me, it was the sound.” He says, and she furrows her brow. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting him to say, not really, but it certainly hadn’t been that. He smiles softly when he looks up at her for a moment, “Of the knife,” he clarifies, “Every time I heard a knife against the air I just…froze,” he sighs as he’s visited by the memory, a spectre of his past sitting on his shoulder, “I couldn’t cook or prepare food for a long time. I lived off of frozen meals and takeout.” 

She presses her lips together, love for him bubbling in her chest, “How did you…get past it?”

He blows out a slow breath and tucks the edge of the bandage in under itself, testing it was loose enough not to hurt but secure enough to stay in place, “One day I did it without thinking,” he says, closing the first aid kit and looking up at her, “I went to the knife block and pulled one out of it and made Jack dinner. I didn’t even realise what I’d done until after he was in bed.”

She nods and stands at the same time he does, reaching out for him with her uninjured hand to link her fingers through his, “Thank you for telling me that.” 

“Of course,” he says, using his free hand to cup her chin to make her look up at him, “It will get better, Em. This doesn’t undo anything or make you weak.” 

She presses her lips together and chases his hand as he cups her cheek, stamping a kiss against his palm before she smiles at him, “Are you sure you still want to go on a date with me after seeing all of that?” 

He leans forward and kisses her, the action lost to a smile before he pulls back, “Nothing could make me change my mind,” he says, looking down at her injured hand, “Want to reschedule?” 

She shakes her head, “No, not at all,” she scrunches her nose up, “You may have to cut my steak up for me though.” 

He chuckles, “I’ll happily do that for you in 50 years too when you have dentures and can’t chew anymore.” 

She scoffs, narrowing her eyes as she shakes her head at him, “I’ll have you know I take excellent care of my teeth.” 

[coffeeghoulie]

Mushy May Day 29: Girls' Night

Cumulus, Aurora, and Cirrus take a night to unwind in the middle of touring.

Thank you so much to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together, and to @ghuleh-recs for making us the dividers <3

We're in the home stretch!

Above them, the fluorescents buzz, just faintly flickering like one of the bulbs needs to be changed soon. Aurora leans heavily into Cirrus's side as they wander down the aisles of some local drugstore she can't quite remember the name of, and she wraps her arm around the littlest ghoulette's shoulders. She doesn't need to be quintessence to feel just how tired Aurora is. She knows the feeling intimately, the exhaustion sunk deep into the hollows of her bones.

They're picking up toiletries, Aurora's just about to run out of deoderant, Cirrus out of glasses wipes (she doesn't wear glasses, but she keeps them on hand for her mate because Lucifer knows Cumulus can never find them when her glasses are smudged)

"You doing alright, Borealis?" Cirrus asks, leaning to press the words to the crown of Aurora's head. Her hand rubs soft circles on Aurora's shoulder.

"Mhm," she hums, leaning further into Cirrus's side, fingers curled around the handle of their shopping basket.

Cumulus turns into the aisle they're in, hands full of bright colored foil packets, a bright look in her eye. When they had parted ways as they stepped into the store, she had looked just as tired as the two of them. Cirrus chirps curiously, quiet enough that none of the human shoppers can hear her.

"They've got face masks, and they sell liquor here, should we sneak a bottle of wine onto the bus and have a girls' night when we get to the hotel?" Cumulus asks, slipping the foil packets into the shopping basket without waiting for an answer.

Cirrus's posture eases, pulling Aurora tighter against her side as Cumulus gently takes the basket from her. "That sounds fucking wonderful, songbird. Rory, how about you?"

She shifts, tucked under Cirrus's arm. "Sounds fun, I mean, I don't think I'm up for drinking tonight. But I'll do everything else."

"Then we can skip the wine," Cumulus kisses her cheek, smoothing back bubblegum pink hair. "Though I did see, when I was getting the masks, there's a sale on nail polish. Maybe we redo those pretty claws of yours."

It's Aurora's turn to light up, and the three of them head back to the cosmetics aisle, picking a few bottles of bright, fun colors. Before they head up to the register, they make a quick pit stop in the snacks aisle, tossing a few boxes of assorted chocolates in the basket as well as a few salty snacks.

They smuggle their haul onto the bus, careful to make sure that the boys don't see what they're up to. Though, Cirrus thinks, it must be totally obvious that something's up. They're all much lighter on their feet, a little brighter eyed than they were fifteen minutes ago.

When they get to the hotel, the pack splits into their usual pairs. The girls slip into their room, flicking the deadbolt and tossing their duffle bags onto the far bed, the one that will go unused as the three of them curl up into their roost for the night.

Aurora takes one of the drugstore bags to the bathroom, setting out the face masks, not wanting to get them on the white hotel bedding, while Cirrus and Cumulus set out the snacks. "Who calls dibs on the shower?" Aurora asks as she comes back into the main room, moving to her bag to find a clean set of pajamas.

"How about you, borealis?" Cirrus hums, nudging her back towards the bathroom. She chirps in thanks, glamour fading away as the peach-colored gills on her throat flutter. They each quickly shower, scrubbing the grime from travel from their skin and hair, before settling at the bathroom vanity, looking at the various masks they'd picked up from the drugstore. Aurora pulls her phone out, turning on a playlist the three of them had curated on a low volume.

Cirrus sits on the closed toilel, eyes shut as Cumulus hums, carefully smoothing on undereye masks while Aurora braids her hair back. She passes packets of peel off mask to Cirrus and Cumulus, and Cirrus smooths the mask over Cumulus's face, caressing her mate's cheek.

It's quiet, save the music playing from the phone speakers. Cumulus turns, paints Aurora's mask onto her skin, and the little ghoulette leans into the touch, her feather-tipped tail wagging happily, thudding against the vanity. The bottles of nail polish sit on the counter, pinks and purples and blues, and the energy's lighter than it's been in the last week of Rituals and travel.

There are snacks waiting for them, and maybe the bed's not as familiar as the three of them would really like. But it's there, ready for them to cuddle up, feeding each other chocolates and salted nuts and dried fruit, talking about everything and nothing at all until they fall asleep, refreshed for another round of Rituals.

[that-one-random-writer]

That's My Kind Of Night Chapter 2 |Complete|

He spent this whole chapter shirtless. You're welcome! Word count: 1,365

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x (Southern!F)Reader

Summary: Jake takes leave and goes back to Texas. His friend is now married with a woman. This woman's friend gets under his skin and he loves it.

Warnings: cussin', flirtin', heavy banter, mentions of a lot of southern recreations in this series, Sexual tension. Mature

SOUTHERN CHRONICLES | CHAPTER 1

You had dropped off Jake back at his truck. He pulled down to the lake. His parents had sent him with a truck bed full of brush to add to the growing bonfire. He backed up his truck to the pit. He pulled his shirt up and tossed it into the passenger seat. The heat was weighing heavy as he stepped out of his truck. He climbed up the bed of his truck and threw the bigger branches into the pile. Each muscle flexing with each lift and turn.

You pulled up next to him on the four-wheeler and sat comfortably on the seat. You leaned back. Biting your lip at the incredibly handsome aviator. "Am I naked yet?" He smirked down at you, assuming you're undressing him in your mind with how intently you're staring.

"I'm just making sure you know what you're doing." You watched as his muscles gleamed, throwing the last of the wood branches into the pile. "The view is just a perk."

Jake rubbed his hand together, getting the wood debree off his palms. "You're making sure I toss wood into a pit?" He smirked and raised his brows. "I think I can manage." He called her on her bullshit excuses. He flexed his upper body, the sunlight kissing his skin, giving you a gun show. Your tongue danced around your lips, pulling the bottom into a bite. You leaned forward and grabbed the handles, breaking yourself from the trance he was attempting to put you in.

Your brain was running a battle. He was so fine. Carved in all the right places, his bantering was so inviting. Most men couldn't keep up with you.

You had a rough time with dating. Vanny and Blake had seen it first hand. The men were either too clingy and so sweet that it felt like you would break them or just uninteresting with the personality of unflavored oatmeal. You wanted to seize the opportunity to enjoy one night with this impressive man, but at what cost of your moral. You were not the kind of woman who just slept around. No judgment for other women. It just wasn't your style. Which accounts for why the tension was climbing so high for you. It had been a year since your last sexual experience. If you just get through this party, everything will be fine, and your morals will stay intact.

"Alright, big guns. Let's get back to the house. We need a few more things before people start showing up. Im driving." He jumped off the truck and mounted the four-wheeler behind you. "No, you're not." His bare skin pressed against your body. His chest was warm and firm against your back. His hands engulfed yours over the handles. He hit the gas, and once again, he was taking control.

You both got up to the house and held the door for you. You found Vanny wiggling her brows seeing the two of you walk in, especially with his attire, or lack thereof. She looked over to Blake, smirking. Blake looked back and saw Jake walk in behind you. He smiled back at his wife. They both made eyes knowing what the other was thinking.

"Honeybee!" She walked happily towards you. "Jake honey, will you be a dear and grab some firewood and help Blake split it for tonight after the party. This cabin gets cold at night." You knew something was up. She gave you a look, and you had known her for far too long. That look had gotten you into trouble before. Jake was clueless to the brewing of Vanny's antics. He followed Blake out. Blake had tossed his shirt on the couch as he walked out. 

"I know that look, Van." You scoffed. "Blake's out there inviting him to stay with us tonight, isn't he."

"Nooo. Not exactly." Vanny bit her cheeks.

You raised an eyebrow. "Then what is it?" You crossed your arms.

"You know, this cabin is just so small with only two beds." She looked towards the hall. "The campsite is going to be filled up with the people that are drinking too much to get home. They've already messaged us and made their sleeping arrangements."

"So, he is staying up here?" You stopped her before she could continue.

"In your room, actually," she said it so fast it was barely audible. "He doesn't have to ask him to stay in the cabin. That was decided a while ago."  She then spoke under her breath. "We just didn't tell you that... or him, " she trailed.

"You are such a bitch." You rolled your eyes words spewing like venom.

"You'll thank me later." She raised two glasses of soda. "Now that I gave you a heads up. Why don't we sit, drink some coke, and discuss some politics. The debate is on right now." Her eyes danced towards the window. She sat on the love seat that had a perfect view of the two men.

You both had used discussing politics as a code for ogling over men. It had extended into your adulthood.

Jake bent down to grab the wood on the stack. His toned back glowing in the sun. He placed the wood on the block. It was like slow motion the way his shredded body moved. The dog tags he wore spoke power into your mind. His body was a trap that ensnared your every thought.

"You know Blake told me, Jake just bought a beach house in San Diego. Its a four bed and four and a half bath." You look back at her.

"Van! You're disrupting the visual here." You look back in the direction of Jake.

"You got that look Honey bee." She smirked looking back at her husband. Admiring his physique.

"What look is that?" Jake met your eyes through the window pane. You smiled softly, trying your best to hide it.

"The same one I had when I first saw Blake. You're into him, more then just physically. If you play your cards right maybe Blake and I can come visit you in a four bedroom house. We will be adding a guest though..." she trailed.

You looked back at her quizzically then caught sight of her hand on her belly. "You're pregnant..." you whispered softly as your breathing hitched. Your lungs expanded suddenly letting out a gasp. "No fucking w-!" You yelled. She clapped her hand over your mouth.

"Shhhh... Blake doesn't know yet. I'm only six weeks." You looked back at the two. They hadn't noticed your outburst. "God leave it to you to tell me I'm gonna be an aunt during politics. That explains no wine" You took a sip of your coke. You giggled. "So that's why you're suddenly into my love life."

She rolled her eyes. "First of all this is your God child, but Yeah, I guess I was bit by a love bug." She placed a hand softly on her belly. "I just want the same for you. I know it seems selfish, but it's meant with a good heart. I know you've wanted this life too. Jake called Blake letting him know he was coming back home for a while. We talked about him and I pointed out the similarities. We knew instantly, we had to set this up at least to try. Humor me, Honey Bee. Just give him a shot. Blake says he's a down to earth man, comes from money so he can take care of you, has a stable career, has an incredible body too. He's a little rough around the edges, but that's exactly why we set you up. Your my little stinging Honeybee."

This is the side of Vanny that only those close to her saw, the genuine side. She was the yin to your yang. She brought out the best in you. You matched her energy best you could.

"Okay, Van" You agreed huffing out. "I can try, but only because you are carrying my God child and I don't want to upset them."

She smiled, hugging you gently. "Aren't you excited?" She questioned, and the conversation turned to her new bundle of joy.

CHAPTER 3 MATURE!SMUT!

I'm trying this again since tumblr ate this post, too.

No permissions to share the story as your own. Do not repost to any site. Don't steal from aspiring authors that makes you a 'C U Next Tuesday'!

[whataboutsimple]

Groundhog Day expect It's 8 whole years and lots of pain.

In other words, it's Gabriel The Warrior angst. Who knew that little medallion will drag you into pit of repeating hell? He called it "races".. race to survive.

!!TW: serious injures, blood, suicide themes!!

Please, if you don't feel safe or good, ask for help, there are always someone who will hear you!

He felt tired.

So tired, so tired.

Want to sleep.

Body does not obey.

The Warrior slowly trudged through the back streets with his Bodyguard, Reuben his name was? Who was trying to "avoid crowd of fanatics." He seemed to be saying something, but Gabriel wasn't listening. He felt like he was about to fall down and never get up again. He didn't have any strength. Everything seemed to be just a white noise, an insignificant squeak against the background of the approaching storm.

Oh, yes, The Storm.

Today he meets Ivor for the last time, before Potion Master creates this terrible monster.

But he was tired.

He doesn't have the strength to talk to him.

The Warrior wants to sleep, he wants to sleep so much. There was nothing but white veil before his eyes, it seemed like he didn't see where he was going at all. Perhaps he's just mechanically following the same route as usual.

Interesting, if he falls asleep, his body will continue to act according to the script? Oops, here he is, bumped into Bodyguard, because he noticed suspicious crowd of fanatics. Here, blond guy tells him to wait while he checks everything and makes sure it's safe to go.

Here he is, alone again.

At some point, it seemed to him that his skull would simply burst, splitting in two from the headache that he had been feeling lately.

His body didn't obey him at all, he felt numb. It was as if the Warrior was just a puppet, a puppet in someone's hands. Or is it a white, blind pain still haunting him after the last "race" as he dubbed them?

The Wither Storm caught him, dragging through the whole city and collecting every building along the way. Gabriel didn't knew, what he had died from. Perhaps the broken ribs had dug into his lungs, tearing them to shreds and causing him to choke on his own blood. Perhaps the impact of his head on one of the buildings was strong enough to shatter his skull into pieces. Perhaps that pillar that went straight into his stomach tore apart all his internal organs, forcing him to spit out the remains of his liver or kidneys. Or perhaps all those numerous fractures and open wounds caused the brain to pass out from shock and he died in WitherStorm.

The Warrior really doesn't know, but he sincerely sympathizes with the one who found his mutilated body.

He saw only a veil and heard only noise, not caring about anything. Brunette has experienced this moment so many times, seen that exact street, he probably knows every crack on it. Gabriel stopped trying to count the number of his "returns" back a long time ago, stopped trying to help everyone, to save them.

The closest thing Warrior has ever had to "good" ending are both alive Magnus and Ellegaard and not missing Soren.

But even in that scenario they abandoned him.

Everyone just went to their cities and homes. They left without even trying to ask how he was feeling. They didn't care. It was the moment Warrior felt broken for the first time. Trampled into the mud, absolutely crushed.

Since then, his blank expression has been almost the only emotion you could notice. Of course, he continued to pretend in public, to pretend that everything was fine. But everything was not fine. Nothing was fine. His eyes had not shone with the kindness, care and determination they used to for a long time. He went out inside, burned to the ground and left behind only ashes, which are now trying to move and live.

Gabriel could almost clearly draw an analogy with himself and the phoenix. Only in his case, each rebirth was accompanied by a deteriorating condition. Almost all of the scars received during these "races" remained on his body, even when he returned to the very first day. They made it very difficult for him to live. To exist. Every time he looked at them, they remind him what he had been through. Notch, his body were barely recognizable under the armor. Seemed like he was the main target of Griefers from BoomTown.

Sometimes it hurts. Every inch of his body in agony, so intense that his voice cuts off from screaming faster than it stops.

Sometimes he doesn't feel anything. Like now. He is only aware of where he is, what he is doing. But he doesn't control it at all. He's just.. just there, somewhere deep down. Exists, but doesn't seem to exist at all. An empty, empty cold gaze and nothing more. He had never looked so broken.

The nasty clatter of the stone on an iron block suddenly made him a bit awake. Here's Ivor.

To be honest, the Warrior didn't really care, he continued to stare at the same wall he had been looking at before. Ivor will notice him now, start ranting about how he needs to stop lying to people, then, without achieving the result he needs, will get angry and advise him to be careful tomorrow. Nothing new.

God, he was so tired.

He hadn't slept well in so long.

Unbearable, constant nightmares haunted him in every "race". It's safe to say that the Warrior has completely forgotten what a "normal sleep" is. He wakes up with a heart-rending scream of fear almost every twenty minutes, and the scenes of blood and violence that his brain projects are still in front of his eyes.

He had seen it all live and more than once. Saw and felt it. Felt and saw.

All those accidents when someone from the Order accidentally killed him. Ivor won the battle at Soren's temple. Magnus blew up TNT incorrectly. Ellegaard's machine went horribly wrong. These deaths were the most painful for him. They constantly haunt him in nightmares, always, always one of his own.. former friends are trying to kill him.

Disgusting, horrible nightmares that have been a reality many times.

He tried to run away from it, he really tried. He went far, far away, made new friends, even a family. But no matter what he did, those 8 fucking years were always repeating themselves. He could freely start killing everyone, knowing that if he was killed, then 8 years would begin anew.

But there was no point in such actions. None of this would have helped him get rid of the terrible curse that had overtaken him anyway.

The tips of the Warrior's fingers began to twitch, wanting to pick up a sword. After all, he felt the approach of someone behind him. Ivor. The tirade is about to begin.

He wants to sleep.

The Warrior had no patience left at all. He had been watching all this for so long, had endured this torture for so long, this sneering tone of the Potions Master, the way his eyes glittered with malice, how he did it.. He enjoyed his position. Is the simple disclosure of the truth so dear to him? Does he really just want to humiliate them?

The Warrior didn't know the answers to these questions, and did not really want to. His nerves were on edge. He couldn't take it anymore.

With one swift movement of his hand, the Warrior pulled out his diamond sword, immediately pushing the Potion Maker against the nearest wall and plunging the sword up to the hilt into the stone next to Ivor's head.

«Can you just fucking stop threatening me every time? Just shut the fuck up, shut up!» — The Warrior's eyes glittered with fierce rage, such, such intense rage. He had never been so angry at anyone before. Gabriel almost felt like he was going to slit his old friend's throat... Just let him shut up, please, keep him quiet, shut up, shut up, don't talk, don't get in the way, it hurts too much, it's scary, I don't want to hear anything.

The warrior clutched his head with his free hand, suddenly feeling a strong stab of pain, as if someone had hit it with a sword. He was so angry, so angry. Leave him alone, please.

«Why do you.. always.. come to me? Why are you trying to beat the truth out of me? Why not one of the others? An Engineer? A Rogue? Why not them, why the fuck me?!» — the Warrior almost shouted last words, taking a few steps away from Potion Master, still clutching tightly to his curly hair. Want to sleep.

Shaking his head several times, Gabriel tried to calm down. What's the point of asking anything at all? Do something? Anyway, everything will start over one way or another.

The dull headache continued to throb somewhere in the back of his mind. Why does it hurt so much?

Why was he so tired? Tired, tired, tired. Help.

Uncontrollable trembling, like a bucket of cold water, overcame the brunette. What's wrong with him? Why is he shaking so much? Why is he afraid? Want to sleep.

Something nasty got stuck on the walls of his throat. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, stop it!

The hero literally hit the nearest wall, unable to stay on his feet. Throat hurt, lungs burned, and head was spinning. The attempt to stand up and pull himself together not only failed, but also turned out to be a fatal mistake. Suddenly, the Warrior coughed, unable to stop the flow of tears that burst from his eyes. Why does it hurt so much? It seemed as if he was trying to spit out his lungs.

As soon as the coughing fit was over, the man slowly removed his hand from the mouth, realizing the cause of pain. Blood. He just coughed up blood.

So tired.

A new fit of rage seized the Hero's body, from which he instantly hit the nearest wall with terrible force, destroying one block and leaving cracks on the rest. Breathing heavily, the Warrior slowly turned to face the Potion Master, looking even worse than before. Trickles of blood slowly trickled down his chin, dripping onto the blue armor.

«The truth.. you just want to tell the truth?! You're a liar like the rest of us, Ivor! You're not a bit better than the others! You were there during the battle. You were there when we were all arguing, swearing and shouting at each other, and you were there, and you AGREED, just like the rest of us, to keep quiet! You promised you won't tell anyone the truth any more than we did! And now what?! Are you trying to get me to talk?! While you stay white and innocent?!» — Gabriel was literally at the limit, his head was throbbing violently and it seemed to him that he would simply fall and never get up again. He will die so stupidly.. Which time? 785 race. Maybe 823. He stopped counting after the 600th.

The Warrior's furious gaze could scare anyone away, making them think that he was crazy. Maybe it's true.

He doesn't know. He was tired.

This nightmarish, nightmarish headache made the man shed a couple of tears. Let it end, please, please, please.

For a split second, it seemed to him that he was right inside the Storm again. When Jesse saved Petra, not him. He wandered and wandered there, feeling his memories slipping right out of his hands. And then the pain came. Headache. Such a strong, throbbing, dull, disgusting pain. And it was, and was, and was there, tormenting him, making him want to die in the end. At one point, he didn't even remember who he was, how he got there. He just felt the pain. He was breaking down, breaking down with great speed. And no one tried to save him.

After particularly bad races, he was seeing a lot of things. Hallucinations. The doctors said it was schizophrenia, but after the race all the symptoms disappeared. He've just.. seen some things.

Sometimes it seemed to him that his former friends were nearby. That they're there. An Architect, a Rogue, an Engineer and a Potion Master. They were there, they really were. They were silent, they watched, but they were there. Although as soon as he tried to get closer, they left. They disappeared. Even his hallucinations didn't care about him.

For the first time, he was delighted. He was so, so happy, but he also broke down quickly. The Warrior thought they had come for him. That they had finally remembered him! They will help, they will calm him down. Then he thought about it. Why do they always leave? Don't they want to see him? Then he assumed. They're making fun of him. They mock him and his weakness. That he was alone and completely helpless. And then he realized. They are not there. It's not them. It's someone else. They don't exist.

That day, the Warrior began to doubt his own adequacy. Had he really gone mad? Maybe it's all just his nonsense? Or maybe it's hell? Then where are cauldrons of boiling water and Herobrine on the throne? Why is there no one else here? Is he alone? Did he really do something so bad that no one had ever done before, and for that he fell into this endless circle of agony?

He didn't know the answer. He didn't want to know. He wanted it all to stop. It doesn't matter which way.

He have been killing himself so many times. but still came back to the very first day. When he found this stupid medallion. He tried to break it, and there was absolutely no point in it, he just did everything he could, but these 8 years kept repeating themselves. Maybe he really deserved it all.

«Do you really have the nerve to ask if everything is okay with me?» — The Warrior slowly raised his gaze from the floor to the Potion Master — «You abandoned me, you all.» — he again became as empty as before. Once bright blue eyes, shining with joy, and resembling the sky, now seemed to be one continuous emptiness of the opera.

Lifeless.

«You left me alone to die. You, Engineer, Architect, Rogue. And never remembered again. Architect had his little meetings with Engineer. And you're with Rogue. I know you saw each other in Nether. I know you've been talking. But none of you ever thought to find out if I was okay. Even people began to worry. But not you. You didn't care then. You don't care now.» — the Warrior mechanically went for his sword, no longer looking at his former friend and loved one.

He was tired.

He wants to sleep.

Slowly pulling the sword out of the wall, he pointed it at himself.

Maybe he'll get some sleep.