#built in bookshelves around fireplace

[rolandsbeanies]

Library Enclosed in Philadelphia

Family room library idea: large traditional enclosed room with medium-tone wood flooring and brown walls, a traditional fireplace, no television, and a stone fireplace.

[hibernas]

Library Enclosed Family room library - mid-sized mid-century modern enclosed light wood floor and brown floor family room library idea with beige walls, a standard fireplace, a stone fireplace and a wall-mounted tv

[killthemwithyourawesome]

Enclosed - Family Room

Photo of a medium-sized, elegantly enclosed family room with a stone fireplace, beige walls, and a dark wood floor and brown floor.

[scofieldshumway]

Enclosed Family Room

Example of a mid-sized classic enclosed dark wood floor and brown floor family room design with beige walls, a standard fireplace, a stone fireplace and a wall-mounted tv

[marzipanandminutiae]

you learn so much living in a place with old housing stock, as an American, I think

thing is, we don't have many places like that anymore, on the whole. and I mean OLD for the US, like 19th-early 20th century. and it's a great antidote to some assumptions we have about Victorian/Edwardian people

"only rich people had fancy details in their houses!" yeah those fancy details were manufactured in large quantities and sold by carpentry/plasterwork/hardware companies ready-made. for some of the 1880s-1910s ones, you can find the pattern names, prices, and the firms that made them. I have seen figural-painted tiles in houses with COMICALLY small amounts of living space, to the modern eye that associates House Prettiness with Extreme Wealth. and ceiling medallions. and elaborate fireplaces

"only rich people had servants!" genuinely sometimes the "servants' quarters" are nearly the same size as, and only a bit less fancy than, the family's space. I lived briefly in a co-op after the fire- 1890s house -where the upstairs was half family space, half staff space

sometimes they didn't bother with pretty architectural details in bedrooms, because Company Will Never See It. I currently live in a house from 1895 where only one (1) of the three bedrooms on the "family floor" had any detail: a relatively plain fireplace with equally unadorned built-in bookshelves around it. and this couple had their wedding written up in the paper, including the bride's diamond jewelry set

I get sad and think "oh, someone stripped out the nice details in the bedrooms!" but genuinely some places just. never had any to begin with. they doubtless had lovely wallpaper and furniture! just. not any elaborate woodwork or plasterwork

it was a very class-stratified society, but that doesn't mean class and class indicators always worked as we expect them to, looking back

...also seriously modern people should revolt because even normal middle-class- and some working-class! -houses used to have more beautiful details. Beauty Was For the Rich Only is a dirty dirty lie used to make you accept less of it in modern housing

[joemama-2]

a dead end | chap. 4

༺♰༻ gojo x fem reader

𓉸♱𓉸 synopsis: you were a star under stadium lights, gojo satoru a savior in sterile halls. now, the world rots, and survival is your only stage. amid the relentless dead and the horrors of the living, an unsteady bond forms—but trust is as fragile as life itself. in the shadows of ruin, love and death walk hand in hand. which will claim you first?

༺♰༻ wc: 7.8k

༺♰༻ tags/warnings: death, angst, violence, smut, cannibalism, murder, blood, gore, zombie apocalypse, crazy people, reader is a little bitchy at first, character development, torture, guns, weapons, alcohol, drugs, medical talk here and there, research talk, mentions of a leaked sextape, bullying, betrayal, lying, love, surgeon! satoru, cheerleader! reader, small age gap

༺♰༻ series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

The drive to his place was nothing short of insufferable. Not only did you practically scream at him to avoid the bodies littering the pavement of what once was a road. And not only did you have to remind him to drive slowly and vigilantly, but also to stay on the lookout for those things. He listened—sort of. 

Chatting your ear off about the most mundane, irrelevant things. You would’ve thought he’s just an insane man who finds normalcy in a now fucked up world. However, the way sweat subtly trickled down from his hairline to his eyebrows before being wiped off, the way his Adam’s apple bobs with what you can only assume is feigned nervousness, and the rhythmic tapping of his finger on the steering wheel told you otherwise. You didn’t voice any of this aloud. Why would you? You barely even know this man. 

His residence isn’t very far from this hospital, probably due to his occupation and the need to be on call and ready for any unforeseen emergencies. It’s a nice place—nicer than yours at least. You keep your saltiness to yourself—a two-story house that blends beautifully with a traditional style Japanese home, but also hints of modernity. 

The exterior is a perfect blend of old and new—dark wooden panels, clean white walls, and a gently sloped roof that gives it an almost temple-like serenity. A stone pathway leads up to the entrance, lined with carefully placed lanterns that would’ve looked beautiful at night—if the world wasn’t falling apart. The front yard is surprisingly well-kept, though some fallen leaves scatter across the stone tiles, a sign that he hasn’t been home for at least a day or two. Gojo parks in the driveway, killing the engine before leaning back with a dramatic sigh. “Ah, home sweet home,” he drawls, stretching his arms over his head. “Did you enjoy our little road trip?”

You unbuckle your seatbelt, unimpressed. “No.”

He grins, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Brutal.”

Stepping out of the car, you take in the finer details of his home. The four-panel, glass front doors at the entrance slide rather than swing, framed by sleek black trim that complements the modern glass windows scattered across the façade. A small porch extends from the front, complete with a wooden bench and a wind chime that barely moves in the dead air. It’s the kind of house that exudes both quiet luxury and warmth—something you wouldn’t have expected from someone like him. You assumed big, loud—something that screams ‘I’m rich! Look at me!’. Well, maybe that all went to his personality. 

You follow as Gojo unlocks the door and steps inside, flipping on the lights. “Welcome to Casa de Gojo,” he announces, kicking off his shoes.

The interior is just as polished as the exterior. Wide, open spaces with natural wood flooring and soft lighting. The living room is spacious, with a sunken seating area around a low, dark wood table. A modern sectional, black leather couch sits nearby, facing a flat-screen TV mounted above a fireplace that looks untouched. Built-in bookshelves line the walls, filled with a mix of medical texts, philosophy books, and an absurd number of manga volumes. Your eyes sweep across the space. The decor is minimal but intentional—warm-toned wood, neutral colors, and the occasional pop of blue that likely reflects his personal taste. There’s a quiet elegance to it all, but the subtle mess—an unfinished cup of coffee on the table, a jacket draped over the couch, a pair of house slippers kicked haphazardly near the entrance—suggests that while the house is expensive, Gojo himself isn’t overly meticulous.

He gestures grandly. “Make yourself at home. Just don’t go snooping in my room unless you wanna see something scandalous.”

You give him a flat look. “I doubt there’s anything in there worth seeing.”

Gojo gasps, clutching his chest as if you just stabbed him. “Ouch. Right in my fragile heart.”

You roll your eyes, stepping further inside. The house is nice—far nicer than yours—but right now, all you care about is whether it’s safe. The doors are locked, the windows are shut, and for now, it seems like you have a moment to breathe. But you both know that moment won’t last long. “Sliding front doors don’t seem very stable,” you comment.

“Stable enough, I’m still alive, right? No break-ins or bloody murders happening.”

Or maybe because you’re in a gated community. You sigh and run a hand through your hair. “What are you looking for again?”

“Gonna change, maybe shower and cook up a nice dinner.”

You whip your head to him. “No, we need to go to my place too.”

“We can,” he shrugs, walking to the kitchen. You’re right on his tail, annoyance slowly rising. Further inside, the kitchen is pristine—almost too pristine, as if it’s rarely used. Stainless steel appliances line the walls, a stark contrast to the wooden cabinets and open shelves that hold an impressive collection of tea sets and expensive liquor that looks like it’s just there for decoration. Another lone coffee mug sits by the sink, an abandoned stirrer inside, suggesting he hadn’t had the chance to finish it before everything went to hell. “Tomorrow morning.”

“No,” you’re quick to rebuttal, speeding up to stand in front of him, fixing him with a steely gaze. “I did not sign up for that. You said you’d do whatever you’d need to here, then we go to mine and then a gas station for your damn snacks. That was the plan, not you lounging around without a care in the world.”

Gojo tilts his head, lips curling into an easy smile. “I didn’t realize we had an itinerary. And technically? I never said when we’d leave for your place. Just that we would.”

Your fingers twitch at your sides, torn between wanting to smack that smirk off his face and wanting to drag him out the door yourself. “Don’t play semantics with me. You think it’s safe to just wait around here? The longer we stay, the worse things can get out there.”

He exhales through his nose, running a hand through his hair. It’s slightly damp, strands clinging to his forehead from sweat. “Look, we just drove through what was essentially hell on earth. You’re on edge, I’m on edge, and neither of us knows what the hell is happening. So, we rest, get our shit together, and then we go. If you want to run off now, be my guest, but you won’t get far without a car, and I’m not giving you mine.”

Your jaw tightens. He has a point, and that pisses you off even more.

Gojo watches you, waiting for your response with that infuriatingly calm expression. It’s not that he doesn’t take the situation seriously—you saw the tension in his grip on the steering wheel earlier, the way his eyes constantly flicked to the mirrors, scanning for threats. But unlike you, he refuses to let the weight of it crush him.

You release a strained breath. “That’s not the point. My place has supplies I need. We don’t have time for you to play house.”

He exhales through his nose. “Relax, sweetheart. The sun will begin to go down in an hour and a half, give or take. And then what? Run around at night with no plan? Not exactly the best survival tactic.” He gestures vaguely toward the dimly lit window. “We stay here, get some rest, leave at sunrise. That way, neither of us end up dead before we even get there.”

You hate that he makes sense. You really, really do. But you also hate staying in an unfamiliar place, in a house that feels too open, too exposed, with a man you barely know. He reads the conflict on your face before you can mask it. “Tell you what,” he continues, crossing his arms. “We barricade the doors, make sure everything’s locked down. I stay far away from you when it’s time to hit the hay, and you do the same. If anything happens, we leave immediately. Deal?”

You exhale sharply through your nostrils, resisting the urge to curse him out. “...Fine,” you grumble. “But don’t get comfortable.”

Gojo grins, clapping his hands together. “Great! Now, dinner. Any dietary restrictions I should know about? Or do you just survive off anger and spite?”

You glare at him. He chuckles.

Yeah, this was going to be a long night.

Indeed it was. Hearing his grating voice sing in the shower was ruining your patience. You were this close to yelling at him to shut the hell up, but you held your tongue. Sitting stiffly on his couch, hands curled in your lap. Your eyes kept flickering to the doors that are now barricaded with a few chairs, a table from his study, and a piece of the sofa. He was in there for about twenty minutes already and you were starting to get restless. In order to keep your head, you stand up, deciding to get a good layout of the place you’ll unfortunately be camping out for the night. It’s good—you’ll know where the exits are in case something does happen. 

The house is deceptively spacious, its traditional-meets-modern design making it feel both airy and structured. The polished wooden floors don’t creak under your weight as you move, a small mercy given the situation. You start with the first floor, sweeping through the open living room, past the neatly arranged bookshelves and minimalist furniture. A framed picture of Gojo with a few other people—colleagues, maybe?—sits on one of the shelves, but you don’t linger on it.

The kitchen, you’ve already seen, is borderline unused. A dining area extends beyond it, the sleek wooden table looking like it’s only been touched when necessary. The house doesn’t feel particularly lived-in. More like a place of convenience rather than a home. Must be the life of a surgeon. You move toward the hallway, finding a guest bathroom, his study, and what seems to be a spare bedroom, but the door is slightly ajar, and from what you can tell, it’s practically empty aside from a neatly made bed and a desk with a shut laptop. No personal touches, no real signs of frequent use. Then, there’s a staircase leading up to the second floor. You hesitate, ears straining. Gojo is still singing, oblivious to your slow exploration of his home. Rolling your eyes, you take the steps carefully, mapping out each one in your head. 

The second floor is quieter, save for the sound of running water from the master bedroom’s en-suite bathroom. You glance down the hall—two more doors. One leads to what you assume is another office room, considering the slightly ajar door reveals stacked paperwork, books, and a white coat slung over the chair. The other…

You push it open slightly, peeking inside. A bedroom, obviously his. Larger than the guest room, but still frustratingly neat. The bed is king-sized, sheets dark and crisp, not a single wrinkle out of place. A dresser sits across from it, and to the side, a walk-in closet, the door left open just enough for you to see neatly arranged clothing—mostly work attire, some casual wear, and a few pairs of shoes lined up at the bottom.

Nothing about this place screams Gojo Satoru, the insufferable, obnoxious man currently singing off-key in the shower. It’s all calculated, controlled, sterile, even.

You don’t know why that unsettles you.

With a final glance around, you step back, deciding you’ve seen enough. Now all that’s left is waiting for Gojo to finish whatever the hell he’s doing so you can finally get some rest. However, just as you’re turning on your heel to walk back downstairs, something—or someone catches your eye. 

A framed picture, all by its lonesome—rested atop his nightstand. 

Your eyes squint and you pad closer. Satoru stands to the right, he looks younger. Wearing a cap and gown with a youthful smile. His arm is wrapped around the shoulders of a girl. You blink. She looks almost exactly like him. From the albino hair to the crystalline orbs, and even to the way both of their eyes crinkle when they smile. She seems younger—shorter. Your fingers hover over the frame, but you don’t touch it. There’s something oddly intimate about the way the photo sits there—deliberate, not thrown together like a forgotten memory. It stands alone, unlike the other, which was grouped with his colleagues.

A sister? You assume as much. The resemblance is uncanny. But there’s something about the way she’s smiling—so full of light, unburdened. It’s different from Gojo’s usual smirks, the ones laced with amusement, arrogance, or mischief. This is pure. Unfiltered happiness. There’s a warmth in the way Gojo’s arm is wrapped around her, in the way they’re both looking at the camera, like they’re sharing some private joke just between the two of them. The background of the picture is a blur of other graduates and family members, but your focus remains on them. It’s… unexpected. You’ve known him for less than a day, and yet the thought of him having a family, of having someone important to him, is strange. You never considered the possibility.

You can’t help but begin to wonder where this girl is now. Is he worried about her safety? What about the rest of his family?

You glance around the nightstand, noticing that this is the only framed photo in his bedroom. No others litter the dresser, no scattered images of friends, no sign of parents or anyone else. Just this one. Your stomach twists slightly. You don’t know why.

A sudden shift in the air—maybe the water shutting off—snaps you out of your daze. You blink, as if breaking out of some spell, and quickly step away from the picture. You shouldn’t be snooping. You shouldn’t care.

You can hear him shuffling around in there and you’re suddenly reminded of the fact that you’re in his room. “Shit,” you mutter to yourself, gaining your bearings and quickly turning around to leave. But just as you do so, your toe collides right into the damned protruding, sharp corner of his wall. "Ah, damn it!" you curse under your breath, clutching your foot. The sharp pain shoots up your leg, and you hop a little, trying to regain balance. But that only makes it worse as you stumble back and bump into the dresser. A few items clatter to the floor, and you freeze, suddenly feeling the weight of your situation. Of course, this would happen.

A brief silence follows and you feel like slapping yourself. 

The silence stretches on, each second feeling like an eternity. You wince, still holding your foot, and glance around the room in a slight panic. The last thing you want is for him to hear you making a fool of yourself, but it's too late now. You can hear him shuffling closer, the sound of his steps growing louder with each passing moment. Panic bubbles in your chest, and you quickly drop to your knees, trying to pick up the fallen items off the floor before he gets there. But with the way your foot throbs, it’s a slow, clumsy process. You curse under your breath again, wishing you could just disappear. Just as you're about to give up and admit defeat, the door creaks open behind you.

"Uhhh…everything okay in here?" His voice is light, like he's expecting something completely mundane.

You freeze for a moment, embarrassment creeping up your spine. "Yeah, just—" You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. "Just tripped. Foot’s fine. Nothing to worry about." You can hear your own voice crack as you say it.

Satoru steps into the room, pausing when he sees you crouched by the dresser, items scattered around you. His expression shifts for a brief moment, eyes narrowing slightly before he lets out a quiet sigh. "Careful there, you're gonna hurt yourself."

You glare back at him from your position on the floor, biting back a sharp retort and the urge to linger your eyes on certain areas that are concealed by a mere towel wrapped around his waist—broad, glistening, sexy chest on display. “You really need to renovate around here. It’s a hazard.”

He raises a brow, leaning against the doorframe, arms casually crossed. “Maybe you should stop snooping around my stuff and focus on not hurting yourself.”

His tone only irritates you further. “I wasn’t snooping,” you mutter, standing up slowly, trying not to favor your injured foot. “I was just—looking around.”

Satoru nods, clearly unconvinced. “Uh-huh. Well, looking around doesn’t usually lead to this,” he gestures to the scattered items, his voice now tinged with exasperation. “Anyway, I’m sure you’ll survive. But next time, watch your step. Don’t want you getting all hurt before we even get out of here.”

You shoot him a glare, but decide it’s best to let it go. For now. The last thing you want is for him to think you’re making a bigger deal of this than it is. “Are you done now? I’d like to wash up too, if you don’t mind.”

He hums lightly, pushing off from the doorframe. "Yeah, yeah. Go ahead, I’m almost done here anyway." His eyes flicker down to your foot a hint of concern crossing his features. It’s brief—barely noticeable—but you catch it, and for a moment, you almost feel like you might not be completely annoying him.

Almost.

"Take it easy on that foot," he adds casually, shrugging his shoulders. "Wouldn't want to carry you to the hospital, would I?"

You snort, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. "I’ll be fine. Not everyone needs a knight in shining armor." The words escape before you can stop them, and you feel a slight tinge of regret immediately after.

Gojo walks over to his dresser, passing you in the process. It takes everything in you not to sniff at the air like a dog at the scent of his…really good soap. "You sure about that? Because I'm really good at playing hero."

“Just…give me a towel, please? And some clothes, if you have it.”

“Towel, yes. Downstairs, a door next to the guest bathroom. However, clothes? I’m afraid I can only interest you in things left from my previous rendezvouses.” 

You can’t help but scoff. “...you want me to wear clothes left behind by your hook-ups?” 

The muscles in his back flex, arms lifting over his head as he puts on a basic, black tee. 

He chuckles at your incredulity, the sound of fabric stretching as he pulls the shirt over his head, perfectly at ease. “Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” he teases, turning to face you with a playful glint in his eye. “Some of them have pretty good taste. You might get lucky.”

You purse your lips, trying not to let his cockiness get under your skin. “I’ll pass, thanks.”

He shrugs nonchalantly, clearly unbothered by your rejection. “Your loss.” His gaze lingers on you for a moment, eyes flickering down to your foot before snapping back up. "Alright, alright. Don’t worry, I’ll hook you up with something more... appropriate."

He starts rummaging through the drawers of his dresser, pulling out a pair of dark sweatpants and a plain hoodie, and tossing them to you. “These should fit. No promises on style, but they’re clean. Unless, of course, you want to try the hook-up clothes after all,” he adds with a smirk, tossing the clothes onto the bed.

You hesitate for a moment. There’s something almost absurd about the whole situation. Here you are, stuck in a post-apocalyptic mess, and you’re being offered clothes from his past lovers. “Keep your exes’ clothes, I’ll take these,” you mutter, gripping them closer with a small huff, still trying to shake off the awkwardness.

Satoru grins and pats you on the shoulder. “Suit yourself. But hey, if you ever change your mind, just let me know. I’m a man of... many connections.”

You can feel your eye twitch at his insistent teasing, but you bite back your frustration. The last thing you need is to lose your temper again. You just want to shower, change, and get some rest, not get wrapped up in his ridiculous antics. Turning on your heel, you head out of the room, back downstairs toward the bathroom, muttering under your breath. “You’re impossible, you know that?” 

His laughter rings out behind you as you descend the steps, making your way into his guest bathroom and closing the door with a soft click. You exhale, finally feeling a sense of relief that you're alone, if only for a moment.

That night, dinner is nothing short of an awkward, silent meet-up between two strangers. You sit on the opposite end of the table, Satoru facing you from his end. He talks here and there, but he’s much more invested in chowing down the stir-fry. You’re grateful for that. And when you two do to sleep, you ignore his dramatic farewell about sleeping well and not letting the bedbugs bite. Barcading yourself in the guest bedroom, in fear of not just him probably coming in during the middle of the night because you still haven’t gaged if he’s a weirdo perv, or just…unlikeable. But also for the fact that there’s still chaos reaping the world just outside the confines of his home. 

You get hardly any sleep.

As soon as the sun is shining, you change out of the clothes he gave you and back into the ones from yesterday. Satoru wakes up about thirty minutes later, coming downstairs with a long-sleeve on, paired with dark wash jeans that if you look closely enough, hug his ass quite well. He’s wearing his thin-rimmed glasses once more, but this time with a simple black baseball cap, the symbol of the Yomiuri Giants taunting you. There’s a backpack slung over his shoulder as he grabs his keys.

 “What’s in there?” you ask him, ignoring the way the ‘G’ twists at your stomach.

"Essentials," he replies nonchalantly, adjusting the strap over his shoulder. "Food, first aid, a few weapons—y'know, the usual end-of-the-world starter pack."

You arch a brow. "Weapons?"

He smirks, tossing his keys in the air and catching them with an effortless flick of his wrist. "A knife and a gun. Nothing too crazy."

Your eyes widen. “You…have a gun? How do you even have a license? It’s strict as hell.”

Satoru laughs, clearly reveling in your disbelief. "Who said anything about a license?" He winks, tucking the keys into his pocket before slinging the backpack over both shoulders.

You stare at him, unimpressed. "Great. So not only are you annoying, but you're also illegally armed."

He sighs playfully, shaking his head as he heads toward the front door. "Relax, sweetheart. It's not like I’m running around committing crimes. Just a little... precaution. You never know when you'll need protection these days."

You cross your arms, not entirely convinced. "You do realize that if you get caught with that, it won’t just be the zombies we have to worry about, right?"

Satoru waves a dismissive hand. "Oh, please. The world's gone to hell. The last thing on the government's mind is some guy with an unregistered gun." He gives you a look, one that almost feels too knowing. "Besides, it's not my first time handling one."

Something about the casual way he says it makes you uneasy. Part of you wants to question why a health care worker has illegal possession of a firearm, but you have bigger fish to fry. "Right," you mumble, shifting your weight onto your good foot. "You ready to go, or do you need another five minutes to admire yourself in the mirror?"

Satoru tilts his head. “Oh, you’re implying I take too long to get ready? This,” he swipes his hand up and down his body vaguely. “Effortless.” 

You roll your eyes, already regretting asking. "Let’s just go."

He grins one last time and motions for you to follow him out the door. "After you, my dear reluctant partner-in-crime."

You don’t dignify that with a response. Instead, you step outside, squinting against the morning light. The world beyond the safety of his house is eerily quiet, too still. A constant reminder that whatever life used to be, it’s long gone now. Satoru locks up behind you. You follow him to the BMW parked out front, getting into the passenger’s side. Once he’s seated behind the wheel, he does a quick look around of the interior, then outside, before he’s reversing. One hand placed to your headrest, his left palm guiding the car back and to the left. “Where do you live?” 

You hesitate for a moment, debating whether or not you should even tell him. Does it really matter? Your apartment, your belongings—hell, even your bed—none of it means much in a world that’s already fallen apart. Still, old habits die hard, and there’s a part of you that clings to the remnants of what once was. You glance at him, noting the way his sharp profile remains focused on the road as he expertly maneuvers the car onto the empty streets. There’s something oddly reassuring about the way he drives, confident but not reckless. “The high-rise apartments in Shibuya,” you finally answer, shifting slightly in your seat. “Near the station.”

Satoru lets out a low whistle. “Damn, you really like to live dangerously, huh?”

You furrow your brows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He taps his fingers against the steering wheel. “Shibuya must’ve been hit hard, it’s a big metropolitan area, those places are always first to go. If you think we’re just gonna waltz in there and grab your stuff, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Your stomach sinks. You already knew it was bad—hell, you saw the state of things with your own eyes before finding temporary shelter—but hearing him say it out loud makes it feel more… final. “I have to at least try,” you say, voice quieter now. “There are things I need.”

Satoru hums in thought before making a sudden turn onto a different road. “Alright,” he says, as if he’s already made up his mind. “We’ll check it out. But the second things get dicey, we’re out. No hero shit.”

You roll your eyes but nod. “Fine.”

For a brief moment, neither of you speak, the low hum of the car’s engine filling the silence. Your eyes are glued on the window, watching the decimated pieces of what used to be normality wizz past the car. Buildings stand in eerie stillness, some with shattered windows, others marked with the dark streaks of smoke and fire. Cars sit abandoned on the road, doors left wide open as if their owners had fled in a hurry. The further you drive, the more the devastation sinks in—the world you knew is truly gone. You wonder how many people survived the night, how many people didn’t. 

Satoru drums his fingers on the steering wheel, gaze flickering between the road and the rearview mirror. His expression is unreadable, but you don’t miss the way his jaw tenses when he spots something in the distance.

“What is it?” you ask, already tensing up in your seat, looking back over your shoulder.

He doesn’t answer immediately, instead making a sharp right into a side street, one that looks a little less exposed. “Nothing,” he finally says, though you don’t believe him for a second. “Just being cautious.”

You press your lips into a thin line, but let it go. If something was truly wrong, he’d say it… right?

Minutes pass, stretching into what feels like hours as the car winds through the remnants of civilization. You glance at him again, watching as he adjusts his cap, his glasses slipping slightly down his nose. He looks far too composed for someone driving through the apocalypse. “You’ve done this before,” you muse, turning back to the window. It’s not a question.

Satoru chuckles, the sound low and knowing. “What, drive?”

You shoot him a look. “You know what I mean.”

There’s a pause, long enough that you almost think he won’t answer. But then—

“I’ve been in bad situations before, of course.” His voice is lighter than it should be, as if he’s trying to downplay something much heavier. “This? It’s just another shitty day in a long list of shitty days.”

Something about the way he says it makes your stomach twist. You don’t push for more, but you file it away, another mystery to add to the growing list of questions surrounding him. The car slows as you near Shibuya, the once-bustling city now nothing more than a graveyard of collapsed buildings and burned-out cars. Your fingers tighten into your palm.

Satoru exhales sharply, shifting the car into park. “Alright,” he says, stretching an arm over the back of your seat as he turns to face you. “Tell me exactly what we’re looking for.”

You look over. “I just need some stuff. Change, some clothes, weapons, I guess. Whatever will help me.”

He nods, eyes flickering to the windshield. Your apartment building still stands tall amongst the chaos. He juts his chin in the direction of them. “This it?”

“Yep.” 

“What floor?”

“The highest one.”

“Damn,” he shakes his head, lifting his cap to push his hair back before setting it back down. 

“What?” you grunt. 

“You live on the top floor of one of the most expensive places to live. Impressive, what do you do?”

“Not up for discussion right now,” your fingers reach to open the door, but his hand on your other arm stops you. Slowly, you look back over at him and his features have settled into a serious expression. 

“Listen,” he leans closer. “Game plan: stay quiet and close, we move quick. Like I said, if things turn awry, we’re out. At least I am.”

Your brows furrow, eyes narrowing at his emphasis on the word ‘I’. “Not exactly reassuring.”

Satoru merely smirks, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m just being honest. No use making empty promises in a world like this.”

You study him for a moment, searching for any sign of deceit, but all you find is that same self-assured confidence that’s been there since you met him. He’s not lying—if things go south, he will leave. Whether or not he’ll leave you behind is another question entirely. With a slow exhale, you nod. “Fine. Got it.”

He releases your arm, and you step out of the car quietly, the weight of the city’s silence settling over you like a thick fog. The air is stagnant, carrying the faint scent of smoke and decay. Shibuya had always been loud, a place of endless movement and life, but now… now, it feels hollow, like the ghost of something that once thrived. Satoru joins you, shutting his door with a quiet click before adjusting the strap of his backpack. “Let’s move,” he murmurs, voice softer now, as if speaking too loudly might awaken something lurking in the ruins.

You weave through the wreckage together, careful to step over broken glass and twisted metal. The further you go, the more the damage becomes apparent—collapsed storefronts, overturned cars, belongings strewn across the pavement like remnants of a life abruptly abandoned. Some buildings are burned out husks, their insides blackened and exposed. Others remain eerily intact, but you know better than to assume they’re empty. Your apartment building looms ahead, standing tall amongst the destruction, its pristine facade marred only by a few shattered windows and scorch marks near the base. A miracle, considering the state of the rest of the city.

Satoru sighs lowly, tilting his head back to take it all in. “Damn. Guess even the apocalypse couldn’t knock this place down.”

You don’t respond, already stepping toward the entrance. The glass doors are cracked but still intact, and with a bit of force, you manage to push them open. Inside, the lobby is a mess—furniture overturned, decorative plants wilting, papers scattered across the marble floor. The scent of mildew lingers, mixed with something more acrid, something you don’t want to think too hard about.

Satoru steps in beside you, adjusting his glasses as he takes in the scene. “Cozy.”

You roll your eyes and make a beeline for the elevator, only to be met with an unlit panel and unresponsive buttons. Of course. Power’s out. “Stairs it is,” you mutter, turning toward the emergency exit.

Satoru groans dramatically behind you. “Top floor, huh? You couldn’t have lived on, like, the third floor? Maybe even the tenth? Something reasonable?”

You shoot him a glare over your shoulder. “Feel free to stay down here if you’d rather not make the trip.”

He gives you a shake his head as he follows you to the stairwell. “And leave you to get eaten by whatever’s lurking up there? What kind of man would that make me?”

You scoff, pushing the door open. “A smart one.”

The stairwell is dimly lit by the weak morning light filtering through a few narrow windows. The air is thick, stale, carrying a heaviness that sets your nerves on edge. You grip the railing tightly as you begin your ascent, ears straining for any sound beyond the echo of your own footsteps. Satoru trails behind, his presence an oddly steadying force despite his usual antics. He’s quiet now, focused, movements careful but purposeful. It’s a reminder that beneath all his smug remarks and easygoing attitude, there’s someone who knows how to survive. Floor after floor, the silence persists, save for the occasional distant creak of settling debris. Your legs burn by the time you reach the highest level, breath slightly uneven. Satoru, of course, doesn’t look winded in the slightest.

“Not bad,” he muses, peering down the empty hallway. “You kept up.”

If you could, you’d give him another death glare. Insetad, stepping past him out the door and down the familiar hall, toward your apartment door. It’s a sharp right and a few hundred feet away. The number staring back at you, familiar yet foreign—like something out of a past life. With a steadying breath, you reach for the doorknob—only to find it slightly ajar.

Your stomach drops.

Satoru notices immediately, his posture shifting, hand moving to the knife at his belt. His voice is lower now, serious. “That how you left it?”

You shake your head, pulse quickening.

Someone’s been here. Maybe still is.

And you have no idea what you’re about to walk into.

Satoru steadily positions himself in front of you, carefully opening your door and being the first to step inside. You follow, holding your breath like you’re waiting for someone to pop out—human or not. As you both slowly enter, you’re looking around. However much your dismay, things look exactly how you left them yesterday morning. That feels almost more alarming than finding your place askew. Satoru’s eyes dart around the room, scanning for any signs of movement or disturbance. His posture remains poised, like a predator stalking its prey. He’s already in full survival mode, but there’s an odd tension about him. The room is eerily quiet, and as your gaze sweeps over the familiar space, the silence grows louder.

You take a step forward, heart racing as you absorb every detail. Your apartment, for all its remnants of normalcy, feels strangely hollow now. The sunlight filtering through the blinds feels too bright, too exposed, and every creak of the floorboards beneath your feet sounds amplified. The once-comforting space is now just another shell of what it used to be.

Satoru motions for you to stay back as he moves deeper into the living room. His steps are slow, measured, and almost soundless despite the creaking wood beneath him. He pauses for a moment by the kitchen area, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the state of your belongings. Everything seems untouched—your furniture, your personal items—everything as it was, but the feeling in the air is different. "Nothing's been disturbed," Satoru mutters, his voice low and almost to himself. He turns to face you, the serious look in his eyes replaced with something unreadable. "You sure you didn’t leave the door like that?"

You shake your head quickly, a chill running down your spine. "I locked it when I left, I always do." The words feel flimsy, even to you. They don't sound like they carry much weight anymore.

His eyes flicker to the hallway, then to the bedroom door, which stands slightly ajar, though just enough to seem unnatural. His hand moves to the small gun at his side, fingers brushing the handle as he starts toward it with slow, deliberate steps. “Stay close, hurry and get your stuff.” he mutters.

With a quick nod, you make your way to your bedroom with him right behind you. A small look around and you deem it okay to breathe normally for a bit. “Don’t touch anything.” 

Satoru doesn’t say anything in response, but you can feel his eyes on you as you rummage through your closet. His presence is imposing, as if he's waiting for something to go wrong, and it only adds to the heaviness in the air. The subtle rustle of clothing is the only sound that fills the room as you work quickly, pulling down one of the black backpacks you use for hiking trips. It’s sturdy, and practical—just what you need right now. You swing the bag over your shoulder, quickly scanning your closet for what you need. A few changes of clothes, nothing too fancy—just some comfortable jeans, shirts, a few pairs of underwear and socks, and a spare jacket you can throw on if things get worse. You shove them into the backpack, careful to make sure you don’t take too much, just the essentials.

You urge him to turn around, changing out of the filthy clothes from yesterday and into a nice, clean set. A simple t-shirt, one you used regularly for the gym or practices, a thin, but offering enough jacket. Finally, your running shoes and comfortable yoga pants. If you’re truly in the apocalypse now, you’d be damned if you’re caught dead wearing something that doesn’t hug your ass right. You walk back into the main room and into the en-suite bathroom, rummaging around for products you know you’ll need. Feminine care products, a hair brush, a couple hair ties, some wet wipes, a new travel-sized toothbrush with paste, along with travel-sized shampoo and conditioner. You’ve never been more grateful to be an avid traveler than you are now.

“Hey,” he calls out, causing you to turn your head over your shoulder. His back is turned to you, but when he faces you, your eyes practically bulge out of your skull. “Is this yours?”

You quickly stomp over and snatch the pink vibrator out of his hand. “What did I say?! No snooping!” 

“What?” he shrugs nonchalantly, watching you hide your stash back into the not-so-secret drawer anymore. 

“I said to not touch anything, you pervert!” Your hand makes connection with his arm, giving it a good few whacks. 

Satoru raises an eyebrow, unfazed by your outburst, and shifts his weight back slightly, clearly amused. His expression is almost too casual, but there’s a glimmer of mischief behind those sharp eyes. “Hey, I didn’t know you were into toys.” His smirk deepens as he watches you practically shove everything back into the drawer with the kind of force that could make even the most nonchalant person flinch.

You glare at him, cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and cross your arms tightly across your chest. “I told you not to touch anything. Is that really so hard to understand?” Your voice comes out sharper than you intended, but the irritation bubbling up in your chest refuses to be contained. It’s the last thing you want to deal with right now—Satoru playing the role of the curious, annoying asshole.

“Look, no need to get all defensive.” He raises his hands in mock surrender, the teasing smile never leaving his face. “I was just checking if you were fully prepared for the end of the world, that’s all.” His gaze flickers to the bathroom counter where you’ve left a few items, eyes darting over the travel-sized toiletries. He walks over, brushing past you with a little too much proximity for comfort. “You’ve got everything packed up, but don’t forget about the essentials.”

Your eyes narrow, watching as he picks up the small bottle of hand sanitizer you’d almost missed. His fingers are carelessly grazing over the edge of the bottle, clearly ignoring the growing discomfort in the air.

“Essentials?” you ask, crossing your arms even tighter. " If you’re implying I need to carry more weapons—"

"No," he cuts you off, his voice smooth and disarmingly calm. "I mean things like this." His hand flips the sanitizer bottle between his fingers, inspecting it before setting it into his pocket. "Hygiene is important, even if we’re fighting to survive." You blink, momentarily thrown off guard by his sudden seriousness. His eyes meet yours, no longer teasing, but steady. “You’ll need to keep your wits about you,” he says, “and hygiene matters. You’ll want to be able to think clearly. So don’t let anything slide.”

You don’t say anything at first. You’re not sure if it’s because of his bluntness or the strange sincerity in his voice, but for a split second, the world outside his apartment—the wreckage, the violence—feels distant. Almost like a dream. You don’t have much time to contemplate it, though, before Satoru turns to face you with that same playful glint in his eyes. “Alright, I think we’re all set then. But I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting you to have… this kind of ‘emergency kit’.” He gestures vaguely.

Your face burns again. “That’s none of your business and I won’t ever forget or forgive you for being a perverted snoop,” you snap. He’s already back to being a nuisance, and you can’t help but let out an exasperated sigh.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, tapping his finger against the counter. “So, what’s next? You wanna grab your weapons, or are we heading out with just your stylish gear?”

You roll your eyes. “I think I’ll keep the weapons to myself for now,” you mutter, feeling the weight of your bag on your shoulder and the growing tension of needing to leave. There’s no room to play around. No time to be embarrassed. “Let’s just get moving before things get any worse.”

“After you, princess,” Satoru teases, stepping aside and giving you space to pass.

Finding your way back into the kitchen, you grab the only weapon that could be found in your home, unlike others—a simple kitchen knife. You keep it’s guard on as you lodge it into the thigh pocket of your pants, where cellphones would usually go. 

“You know,” his annoying voice perks up again. You groan and are ready to hurdle a ‘shut the hell up’ at him when you realize what he’s staring at. A team picture of you and all the girls hung up on your wall near the TV. For a moment, you feel yourself stiffen, fingers clenching by your sides. The face of Yui and Sayo feels like a cold smack to the face. “I knew I recognized you from somewhere, explains how you can afford to live here.” He turns back to you, eyebrows raised. There’s a silence few seconds, like he’s waiting for you to speak or confirm everything.

You don’t.

And he sighs dramatically. “Right, you’re probably humble.” The sarcasm doesn’t stream past you. “I’ve heard a loooot about you, I guess yesterday I just didn’t really have the time to connect the dots. My junior, Ino, he’s—” he cuts himself off, blinking like he has a sudden epiphany. It confuses you, but you allow him to reign in on whatever the fuck is going through his mind right now. A shaky exhale leaves his lips, an attempt at what must be a chuckle, lifting his cap off his head and repeating the same antsy actions you’ve already picked up on. “Anywho, you’re…yeah. Seems fitting.”

Instantly, your lips downturn into a scowl, jaw clenching so hard you can hear your teeth creak. “He told me he wasn’t mar—”

“Not that,” he smoothly cuts you off, waving his hand and walking leisurely to the front door. 

You bite back the impulse to snap at him, fingers twitching towards the handle of your knife. He’s baiting you, prodding at your past, and you refuse to let him get any satisfaction. But the urge to respond is there, burning beneath the surface, tangled with the memory of friends' faces, the weight of the team, and everything you’ve lost so quickly. The silence stretches, thick and uncomfortable, hanging between you both. You could ask him what he’s really getting at, could demand answers, but the room feels smaller with every passing second. You just want to get out of here. You just want to leave this place, put the past behind you for once.

Satoru notices your discomfort, his expression shifting just enough for you to see it. A flicker of understanding, or maybe just amusement, passes across his face. Then, he turns back toward the door, breaking the tension with the simple act of opening it. “Don’t worry,” he says, his voice softening just a little. “We’re wasting daylight. Got a lot to do, right?”

You don’t respond, but you’re aware of the tiny crack in his facade, the hint of something unspoken between you both. It’s not sympathy, it’s not pity—it’s something else. Something too complex to put into words. Instead, you focus on the door, taking a deep breath, pushing the overwhelming emotions aside. You can’t afford to be distracted now. Not by him. Not by your past. The world outside is still waiting, and you don’t have time for whatever games he’s playing. You don’t have time for anything except survival. With one final look back at your home, your solitude, you life, everything you hold close and dear to your heart, you follow him outside and back into the stillness of the hallway. 

Without a word, you two make your way back to the stairs. It feels slightly more awkward now, maybe even tense. You’re used to people recognizing your face and name, but now that  he has, you feel a sick, twisted bundle of emotions rise in your gut. And the all point back to the main eruptor: infuriation. He doesn’t look it, but he’s not doubt judging you in his head, they always do now. He’s probably regretting the fact that he saved you yesterday, because you’re probably the last person who deserves it. 

That fucking asshole.

You linger behind him, burning holes into the back of his head. You take another step. And another, then another, and another. You two are just about to make it back to the stairwell when—

“Y/N?”

a/n: jk, out today instead of Wednesday :p

(if i forgot to tag you, pls let me know) taglist: @sukuxna0 @heartsteelkaynconsumer @myahfig4 @kirachuyuu @sypnasis

@ducky1232 @oromanticism @2late4breakfast @beabamboo @dickktektive

@sleepyyammy @tbzzluvr @beabamboo @lovely-maryj @n1vi

@ojdubije @reixtsu @istha5 @ritsatoru @sadmonke

@zoeyflower @topmeyelena @sourairi @jlandersen01 @vamppirez

@ac27dj @aquariusscollection @itzkawaiix

[hometoursandotherstuff]

What a fine historic home. It's not my style, but I have to appreciate the craftsmanship and how, over the course of 20 yrs., they meticulously restored the Gambrel Colonial. It's now a museum quality reproduction crafted by master carpenters and architectural woodworkers that used authentic old world techniques. The 1900 home in Charlemont, MA has 6bds, 5ba, 4,473 sq ft, $2.1m.

The entrance hall has wide-plank knotty pine floors, wainscoting and wood paneling. The new woods give it a much lighter look.

If you're going to renovate an historic home, this is the way to do it.

Can you picture how they cooked in this hearth? Look at the oven on the left.

Love that they didn't use tile or quartz on the counter and backsplash. Originally, they would've been made of wood. Look at the beautiful large beam. Simple metal pots and pans would've hung on the wall just like these.

I've never seen stairs like this, actually inside a brick wall.

The dining room has a fireplace with a deep firebox and a wall of built-in storage.

This room has lovely carved columns around the windows, plus window seats and crown molding. The feature wall also has lovely carved features as well as beautifully arched recessed shelving.

The chandelier looks like it's not electrified. Just authentic pewter and candles. I can't get over how they reproduced all of this. Typically, pine was used on the floors and these are knotty pine. For the walls, etc., they used white pine, oak, and maple.

Some of the wood looks like it may have been restored. I can't be sure, but it looks like white pine.

Such exquisite work.

Deep window seats and working shutters.

In the living room, you can see the discolored wood above the fireplace is definitely restored and original.

And, look at the deep closets with inset bookshelves.

Look at the pitch of the stair well. There's even a small niche in the wall. No hand rails, though. Yikes.

This bedroom is huge.

The bathroom is also large and has wonderful built-in storage furniture.

I'm disappointed in the choice of tub, though. They do have beautifully authentic reproduction plumbing fixtures.

This secondary bd. is also very large. Cute utilitarian fireplace.

I like the way they recessed the sink in the brick wall.

This brick structure in the basement is wonderful. It's like a tunnel.

They did a slate and brick floor down here.

The home is in a lovely green setting.

53.63 acres of land. That's a lot of land!

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/24-W-Oxbow-Rd-Charlemont-MA-01339/56976309_zpid/

[eviesaurusrex]

Habits | B. Sorrengail

Brennan Sorrengail x Riorson!Reader

summary: Habits rarely die, so even after years, YN still needs to find Brennan to get him off his books and down to dinner.

word count: 2.3k

warnings: none, pure fluff, Brennan loves petnames, sibling banter, not entirely proofread, domestic!Brennan

author’s note: I have unlocked my Brennan era, so here is more domestic!Brennan for your enjoyment! Dividers are made by @enchanthings-a!

The dinner table was filled with all the faces she loved the most in this dark and haunted but still beautiful world; everyone chatted animatedly while the plates filled with all the food Mira, Bodhi, and YN had prepared throughout the afternoon were passed around, and drinks were poured. Laughter echoed through the dining room, a fire crackled in the hearth, and her heart had never felt fuller.

Who would have thought that Riorson House would one day be filled with such laughter, joy, and love?

Her eyes settled onto the empty chair right next to hers, and a soft sigh escaped the eldest Riorson. “Should we wait for him?” Xaden had watched his sister from across the table with dark eyes and a soft expression, one of his arms lazily slung around the back of Violet’s chair and his fingers dancing over her shoulder. A smile graced her lips, seeing her stoic brother almost carefree and happy, and YN softly shook her head, already in the process of getting off her chair.

The chatter died down as soon as she stood. “No, please. Eat while it’s still hot. I’ll be right back.” Violet looked up at her, cocking her head slightly to one side, a smile playing across her lips. “I can get him,” she offered, but YN was quick to push the bowl of mashed potatoes in front of her. “Eat, Vi. He will probably listen more when I threaten him.” A snicker escaped the younger woman at that, and the Riorson was quick to round the table, squeezing her brother’s shoulder in passing before entering the hallway and starting to track down the missing Sorrengail.

It wasn’t hard to find him; it was fairly easy and an insult to her tracking skills. Hours ago, she had left the man in the same room and position she now found him in when opening one of the wooden double doors leading into the library.

The long, dimly lit corridor with high-towering bookshelves on both sides led to the workspace built in the middle of it all, another hearth at the wall where a fire crackled happily. Long wooden desks dominated the space, a set of armchairs facing the fireplace where she had spent most of her early childhood, hiding behind the high backrests with a book in her lap. But other than in the distant past, there now was a man sitting slumped over a stack of books and papers, candlelight flickering across his handsome features, making his copper hair gleam a burning shade of red—and who made her heart beat faster.

It was almost laughable how easily YN had fallen for the eldest Sorrengail, back when she had waited her turn to cross the parapet on Conscription Day. He had already been a man back then, still holding some of those boyish features that he had outgrown ever since, but his teasing smile was still the same when she first had seen it mere moments before she had started her possible death walk. Brennan had been right behind her, shouting silly comments that almost made her laugh and nearly lose her footing. When they had both made it to the other side, she had been at his throat, a dagger strategically placed right under his chin in serious warning, thinking he had done it on purpose because she was a Riorson and he was a Sorrengail.

The memories pushed a smile on her lips while YN crossed the wooden floor on quiet feet, knowing after years of hiding in here which creaky plank to avoid.

Stepping up to his side, her fingers reached out for the even shorter hair at the nape of his neck just as the first words fell off her lips. “Dinner is ready, love.” It was softly spoken, just as her touch was, carding through his curling hair and the pad of her thumb gently pressing into the strained muscle at the junction of his shoulder and neck from the hours slumped over his papers.

The man blinked up at her then, eyes slowly focusing and mind returning to the here and now. “Did you say something, sunshine?” A flustered huff escaped her at that—he always caught her off-guard with those silly nicknames of his which always tended to make her face heat up. She was anything but sunshine embodied—quite the opposite. No one would doubt she was the older sister of Xaden Riorson, not with how she behaved.

And still, Brennan continued to choose the softest and brightest nicknames known to mankind. It had annoyed her during their first weeks in Basgiath together, so much so that YN openly challenged the man during sparring training and handed him his own ass.

The nicknames had grown more relentless after that, of course.

“I said, dinner is ready, love,” the Riorson repeated herself with another smile and nudged his arms open to settle onto his lap sideways, her arms finding their familiar spot around his neck. Brennan sighed deeply and leaned back into the chair, the wood slightly creaking under their combined weight, pulling her with him as his arms instinctively settled around her waist, one hand splaying across her upper thigh and the other over the small of her back. “I could have sworn you left only minutes ago when you headed down with the others.”

He always sounded so surprised when she tracked him down to get him either to eat something or go to bed with her. YN loved doing that for him—reminding him of his human needs in times when he wanted to solve something so badly he forgot everything around him. And yet, she had never felt secondary to his work. She knew she always had a place within his mind.

Kissing the corner of his mouth, YN took in his tired eyes and strained forehead, her heart clenching at the sight. “Well, that’s why I’m here now, love. You need to eat and rest for a while.” YN didn’t ask. She never asked because Brennan would only say he’d come down later and wouldn’t hear another word. And even if he would disagree with her now, the Riorson had ways to make him trail behind her.

Brennan pulled her in closer and kissed her tenderly, his hand at her back lovingly wandering up and down over the tunic she had thrown over after her morning patrol. “Head down without me, sunflower. I need to finish this protocol and have to go over some maneuvers and strategies before the council meeting tomorrow. Don’t wait for me.” He kissed her again as if she would budge an inch now that she knew of his intentions. Those words were Brennan-code for I will work through the night and topple over on my way to the council—and YN wouldn’t have any of it. So, instead of leaving the man to his destructive tendencies, she slipped off his lap and leaned against the table with her hip, arms crossed over her chest.

The copper-haired giant of a man already tried to grasp for the pen he had abandoned for her sake.

“You know…,” YN began, head tipping up to stare at the masterfully crafted ceiling. “I actually enjoy your company in my bed.” Brennan’s head immediately snapped in her direction—she could feel his amber-colored eyes staring up at her. “What do you mean, sweetheart?” And there it was. A teasing smile crept onto her features, eyes still marveling at the wood carvings living right above them. “What I intend to say, my darling love, is that I cannot allow you into my bed any longer if you’re not coming down with me now, leave work behind, nurture yourself, and go to bed with me at a decent hour for once this week.”

The sound of a book closing made YN let her gaze trail down again, watching him while his hands worked to get some order onto the desk, his eyes remaining on her, the amber burning bright against the candlelight. “You are evil, my sweet,” Brennan almost growled when he stood, work resting in his back, forgotten for the night. A soft laugh escaped YN at that, and she held one hand out for him to take, immediately lacing their fingers together. “Oh, I know.” The retort came with a sweet smile thrown his way, and the Sorrengail chuckled softly under his breath, pulling the woman close to his side on their way down.

“I think my eyes are shitting me right now,” were Mira’s first words when the couple entered the dining room, making Brennan roll his eyes. “I am not that bad.” The following chorus of “Yes, you are” made the Sorrengail huff out a breath, one hand rubbing his neck while his other pulled YN closer to him. “Well, I am here now, aren’t I? So this has to count for something.”

YN guided him around the table with an eye roll herself. “We are all very proud of you for taking care of your human needs, love,” the woman teased when he pulled back her chair and settled onto his right next to hers. “This praise coming from you means so much, sunshine,” the tease was returned right back at her. Sometimes, she wasn’t any better than the Sorrengail sitting at her side.

Cupping his chin speckled with soft stubbles after so many hours, the Riorson tucked him closer and kissed his lips softly, smiling at the sound of his content hum. “Shut up and eat, my love,” she whispered, lips still touching and her smile grew when Brennan returned the kiss in languid movements as if he had no care whatsoever in this world. “Uhm… Could you please consider those poor, unfortunate souls at this table who still are tragically single?” Ridoc’s words pushed the couple only toward another kiss, and YN chuckled when the man groaned at the sight.

They parted eventually, and while Brennan accepted the plates wandering to him, YN winked at Ridoc across the table. “We will find you a pretty lass, I promise. Look what marvelous work I did with these two.” Pointing with her fork to her brother and Violet, the older sibling grinned almost wickedly when the man threw her a warning glare. “What do you mean?” Violet seemed as interested as Ridoc was, both leaning forward in anticipation. “Well, has he ever told you about those letters I sent hi—…” Suddenly, Xaden lunged forward and stuffed a piece of bread between her lips, onyx eyes trying to force her to keep her mouth shut—but all YN did was swallow the bite and continue. “He was a mess and in desperate need of his older sister’s advice, was he not?”

She blinked at Xaden charmingly, a sweet smile placed on her lips, the same wicked expression still resting in her eyes. Brennan next to her laughed deeply, a glass filled with wine in his hand while he watched the spectacle unfold, knowing there wouldn’t be bloodshed. Not with these two.

YN and Xaden loved each other too much for there to be bad blood.

With a single groan, Xaden let himself fall back into his chair, a hand running across his face. “Remind me again to see to these renovations of the cottage,” he grumbled, dark eyes trying to burn her on the spot, while Violet patted his arm lovingly. “Oh, don’t be a grump about it. I think it is rather sweet,” she smiled at him, and YN could see how her brother melted into her touch and under her gaze.

And when her brother turned his attention to the woman next to him, YN smiled gently, eyes still trained on them, still not quite grasping how their lives had turned for the better.

“You are staring, my sweet,” Brennan whispered when he pressed a kiss to her shoulder, and YN turned, watching the man next to her smile, his arm lazily thrown across the backrest of the chair, his fingers dancing across her upper arm. “I’m just happy for him—he deserves nothing less.” Her voice was quiet, and her eyes fell shut with a flutter when the man next to her kissed her cheek softly and coaxed her lips back to his. “Just as you deserve nothing but happiness,” Brennan mumbled, his amber eyes with the tiniest specks of gold and green taking in her face, searching for something. Without thought, one of her hands cupped his strong jawline, and a thumb caressed his cheek with tender movements. “I was never happier in my life, Brennan.”

And she meant it. Despite being with him for so long—minus the time when she thought she had lost him forever—this now was the happiest she had ever been. She finally had her brother back after being separated for years, and with him came friends who had turned into her family as well. There was war and battles to be fought, yes, and still, YN felt peace settling within her every time she returned to this house and heard laughter and joy echoing through the once-haunted halls. And then, there was Brennan—always smiling, always loving her, always cherishing her. It was unconditional with him; she didn’t need to be the YN Riorson—best rider in the quadrant, wingleader, best graduate, a marvelous flyer with a signet few people could measure up to, the daughter of Fen.

She could just be YN.

“Yeah?” Brennan’s smile warmed her entire being. “Yeah,” she nodded and laughed softly when their foreheads touched. He kissed her again, pulling her chair closer and right into his side. They both enjoyed each other’s company, laughing along the antics of the others around the table, and YN entirely missed the way Xaden looked over at them, watching them with relief and love in his gaze.

Thank you so much for reading. As usual, please consider leaving a like, a reblog, and a comment! It would mean the world to me :3

[seaweedbumblebee]

Nightcap

Edited on May 5 because I wasn’t happy with the way it was written.

Word count: 2,850

Cross posted on my AO3

Nightcap

It had been a long day. A long and agonizing day. The most recent development towards the evolution of Hextech had been proven successful. It was more than a breakthrough, it was a display to years of hard work, errors that seemed never ending, arguments over what materials to use and what designs to apply, and moments of collaboration that made the results worth every second. The lab had thrived with the kind of excitement that was hard to replicate. Hextech latest innovation will be launched the following week now that it has been completed. But now… for now in the privacy of Viktor’s home, all of that could be set aside, only for a little while.

Viktor wasn’t the type of man who spent a lot of free time relaxing. Relaxing to him was staying busy, moving his hands meticulously over any project, any scrap of metal he could manipulate into a useful product. However, after the months of working through the night, when she had proposed the trio celebrate with an aged bottle of whiskey, it was hard to say no.

He had offered his modest apartment since she still lived in Academy housing. His apartment was tucked away on the outskirts of Piltover where people wouldn’t complain over the sound of hammering and soldering. Its charm lies in everything that is Viktor. Clutter scattered in and around bookshelves but not in a messy way and the little trinkets that he has built over the years displayed. Little toys, contraptions that move repetitively, even a rusty toy boat displayed in the center. When he was getting classes from his kitchen, she had browsed his collection with a soft smile. Something about the work driven man arranging the little things he was proud of if only to himself, melted her heart. She had been in his apartment many times, mostly to go over projects that couldn’t wait for the lab, but she had never had the time to just exist naturally in his space.

Now that the two of them had relaxed, the only light in the small living room is the soft glow of the fireplace casting shadows on the walls, highlighting the edges of everything an orange glow making the shadows appear much darker. They sat on his plush couch in the center of the room enjoying the heat from the fire and their drinks as well as the company of each other.

She tries to keep her gaze on everything but the beautiful man next to her. She tries to ignore his uncharacteristically casual posture making her cheeks heat, thankful for their drinks as an excuse. Viktor sat with one leg stretched out, the other bent at the knee and angled outward. The way his lean torso was relaxed back into the back of the sofa accentuated the contour of his waist, his hips, and his arm that rested over one of his thighs. Her eyes whipped back to the flicker of the flames in front of her, hoping that he wouldn’t notice the flush in her cheeks.

Viktor had lost his vest, loosened his collar and settled comfortably next to her with his cane resting against the side of the couch. The amber liquid swirled in the glass held on his knee. Beside him, Mara, his partner in Hextech, his colleague, his best friend, shifted slightly. Her knees tucked to the side underneath her as she held her own glass with a soft smile at the relief of another project completed.

It was the perfect kind of moment, the kind they both found themselves relishing in these rare quiet instances. A moment that feels impossible, slightly irresponsible, of truly having nothing to worry about. It deserved to be celebrated and so, they were here together. Jayce was supposed to accompany them as they work in a trio but he said he had to share the news with Mel first… but they both knew he wasn’t just talking.

At first the conversation had been about work. About new ideas that are constantly swirling around in their minds to make Hextech better. About improving the lives of Piltover and Zaun. As the full bottle of alcohol gradually emptied, the weight of worry and responsibilities also dissolved, shifting the conversation into a softness. She allowed herself to laugh at his witty remarks while he let out the occasional chuckle. She made no effort to hide the way her heart soared at the sight of the corners of his lips quirking up every time she said something he found funny.

Viktor’s gaze lingered on her for a moment. Her eyes, so sharp and clever, always had this way of seeing through him, seeing things no one else did. Jayce was a wonderful partner but they didn’t always see eye to eye. Jayce was more driven on power and moving forward in the political world of Piltover where she had remained true to her aspirations since the day he met her. Like him, she wanted to make people’s lives easier. She wanted the Undercity to live without the physical stress of working in the mines, children running with healthy lungs, and safe areas to live in. He sighed softly turning his face to the crackling logs in front of him. He wouldn’t tell her that the ember light of the fire is making the planes of her face irresistible. He desperately wants to brush his fingers over her cheekbones so in the meantime, he takes another sip. He feels a rush of adrenaline for every stolen glance at her profile and not getting caught.

He leaned back slightly, lowering his glass down to the arm of the couch, swirling it around in thought, a contemplative look crossing his face. She felt her throat tighten at the sight of his exposed neck, Adam’s apple bobbing while he swallowed the contents of his glass. He took a deep breath and she was grateful for his impending words, so she could look at him openly.

“It’s been years of working together now.” He pursed his lips before continuing, “Jayce tells me about working with some… unpleasant people on the council. Heimerdinger has also mentioned troubles with his colleagues but you… have been here all this time.” His voice was barely a whisper. “You’re the only one who makes it so easy to exist.”

Her eyebrows twitch at the sentiment. She takes small glances up into his golden eyes, trying to keep her gaze averted. Her cheeks would be flaming if the alcohol in her body wasn’t giving her an aura of ease, “I could say the same for you, Viktor. You’re everything to me.” She mutters but quickly adds with a nod, “You and Jayce.”

He chuckled, setting his glass down on the armrest of the couch looking at her more intently now, “Something like that.”

There was a comfortable silence between them, one they had grown used to. It was the kind of silence that didn’t need to be filled with words. Jayce is always the talkative one bouncing off the walls with energy and ideas but she is fine with letting this peaceful silence linger between them. Viktor often finds himself appreciative of this understanding. If she had told him she could read his mind, he might believe it in the way she always seems to know what he is thinking, wants, and needs. When he is working and needs a tool, she always manages to hand the exact one he needs to him before he can ask, or when he is thinking about taking a break, she suddenly places a warm mug of sweet milk next to him. Yet, there was an underlying predicament between them, one neither of them had dared to acknowledge outright. The moments of quiet laughter, the lingering glances, the subtle touches were there and if one of them were to take a step forward, the boundaries would shift. Their partnership would change, their friendship would most definitely change so neither had yet taken that step.

She shifted on her side of the couch, settling into it as the weight of the alcohol started to make her feel lighter and more carefree. She tilted her head back against the cushion, closing her eyes for a moment, the warmth of the evening sinking in, expelling the frigidity of the snowfall outside. The rich scent of liquor filled the air, along with Viktor’s natural aroma of rosemary and something slightly sweet that fits him adding to the feeling of being wrapped in comfort, in the familiarity of his presence.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement from Viktor. She turned her head slightly to look at him and almost immediately, his eyes met hers. The flickering light of the fire making his eyes almost glow. There was something in them that was more than just the usual calculation or focus.

He mirrored her position, letting his head rest against the back of the cushion, his body still angled forward but his head leaned back facing her, relaxed in a way that made her heart stutter in her chest. She wasn’t sure why it felt so different this time, but the shift in their dynamic was so heavy that she could feel it floating in the air around them. The tension and unspoken things between them suddenly felt more real than ever. Like she could reach out and tug the string of their relationship that’s pulled taught and make it snap.

For a moment, the room seemed to shrink. The noise of the city, the weight of the day, all of it faded into the background. It was just the two of them, yet something felt different now. Her heart beat a little faster, a little louder in the silence that stretched. If she hadn’t been drinking, she was sure she would hear her heart hammering in her ears, warning her not to fuck up a perfect friendship.

She couldn’t help herself though. Her hand, almost as if it had a mind of its own, reached out. It hovered for a moment, but then, gently, she placed two fingers just below his right eye, where the small beauty mark rested and softly pressed it. Her eyes became tender at the feeling of his soft skin under her fingertips.

Viktor’s breath hitched slightly, and for a brief moment, their eyes locked. His were half lidded and were trained intently on her. She slowly trailed her fingers, grazing over the curve of his top lip, before she softly let them fall to the beauty mark on the opposite side of his mouth.

His eyes flickered across her face and she saw the shift in him. There brief, almost imperceptible change. His eyes dropped to her lips, and her heart fluttered in her chest.

“I think you’re beautiful,” she whispered, her voice low, barely audible. The words were a confession, something she had kept buried for so long.

His eyes widened for only a second. Viktor was quiet, his gaze still on her lips. The air between them was charged, electric with the weight of her words. He shifted slightly, almost imperceptibly, but it was enough. Enough to make the space between them feel impossibly small.

His voice, when it came, was hushed, she might not have heard it if it weren’t for the dwindling space in between them.

“I think you’ve had too much to drink,” he said slowly, though his tone was gentler than she expected. The smooth deepness of his accented voice made her eyes flutter. He huffs a laugh, chest puffing once just slightly but there was no smile on his lips.

She gave a soft stare, her gaze never leaving his. “Drunk enough to say it out loud, but I’m sober enough to mean it.”

The words hung in the air. Neither of them moved, both caught in a moment neither had expected. The tension that had been building over the years suddenly felt like it was about to break, it could explode and years worth of friendship and trust would crumble around them. She was suddenly very grateful for the alcohol shielding her from the panic she would have felt were she completely sober.

Her warm breath was soft as it escaped her lips. Her heart thudded slow and steady, as she realized just how close they were. Their faces are too close. Definitely not the type of close two work partners should be. Certainly not the close two friends should be. The space between them, once comfortable and familiar, was now thrumming with something entirely new. He stared at her and she stared right back at him.

Viktor’s hand, almost unconsciously, twitched, and his breath, though slow, was coming just a little faster than before. Her fingers remained resting on his face, her touch light but steady. As if realizing that she let her touch linger, she slowly let her hand drop to the sliver of space on the middle cushion. He blinks slowly through half lidded eyes, cheeks flushed from alcohol. Surely it’s just the alcohol, she reasons to herself. His larger hand slowly moves from his thigh to gently wrap around her fingers.

They are so close now. She can feel the heat of his breath fanning over her lips in short puffs matching the quick rise and fall of his chest, she can see the way his lips parted ever so slightly as if he too is waiting for something to happen.

When had they moved across the sofa together? When they initially got to his apartment, she tucked herself into one corner of the couch while he took the other but now the space was reduced to a fragment. She wonders if he thinks she is hopeless for invading his space not knowing that his side of the couch is now almost completely empty.

Viktor tilted his head with a slight twitch from the nerves just enough for their noses to brush. It was soft and fleeting, but it was enough to make her stomach flip. Her eyes met his in a brief glance of longing to see him staring at her with so much emotion that all the air feels like it has been sucked from her lungs. He openly looks down at her mouth and forgets the drink in his hand to let it rest on her jaw, his thumb brushing the smoothness of her cheek.

And then, just as they fluttered their eyes closed leaned in further, just as the moment felt like it might shatter everything between them, his lips grazed hers. Viktor pulls back slightly and then with parted lips softly presses them against hers.

In an ideal world, their kiss would last all night. She thought the alcohol was nice but this was addicting. If she could, she would drink his breath and taste his tongue until sleep claimed her… but as fate would have it, their kiss only lasted long enough for her to process that she was actually kissing Viktor before Jayce decided that the time was nigh to make his appearance.

“Sorry I’m late!” Jayce’s loud voice broke through the tension, and he froze at the sight before him. His eyes flickered between them, the way they both instantly snapped back into their original positions on the couch.

Viktor‘s face was suddenly a mask of professional composure, the quick rise and fall of his chest betraying his expression. Mara with cheeks flushed, looked anywhere but at Viktor, she glued her knees to her chest, her hands tucked firmly in between her calves and thighs to hide the tremble in her fingers. Her mind racing and screaming and her heart pounding in her chest.

Jayce, whose shock gave way to a proud smirk, clearly amused, gave them both a knowing look. “Woah, was I... interrupting something?”

Neither of them could say a word, the awkwardness of the situation thick in the air. Viktor’s voice came out almost strangled as he cleared his throat, “No.”

With her heart still racing, she muttered a, “No,” but it was anything but convincing as it was said with a soft tone as if asking the smallest question.

Jayce’s smirk deepened as he lingered in the doorway, eyes gleaming with the unspoken knowledge of what had transpired. Neither Viktor nor Mara knew how to look at each other anymore. Both of them were lost in the aftermath of their moment. Jayce’s eyes glanced at Viktor who showed an admirable amount of interest in the design of his glass to Mara who decided it was of utmost importance to analyze the (absence of) split ends in the tips of her hair.

Now Jayce was good with science and engineering. However, he was truly bad at reading people but it was taking everything in him not to burst at the seams laughing at how obvious his two friends were being at this very moment.

And so, the night continued, now filled with the energetic chatter of Jayce who sat in between them knowing fully well what happened.

[mariasont]

omg do you like spencelle

yes so much so that in my mind (cm: evolution doesn't exist to me sorry, MATTER OF FACT cm after hotch leaves barely exists) spencer and elle are happily married with three kids — two girls and one boy.

they live in like a weird, cozy house filled with cluttered bookshelves, unsanctioned pets (yes, mhm, plural), half-finished science projects, and black and white photos of every single vacation on their brick fireplace mantel.

spencer accidentally built them a greenhouse (ha, get it? greenaway? greenhou — *gunshots* ) bc he wanted a small herb garden but now it's basically an entire jungle growing through their back porch. elle runs a local community program on the weekends to keep from getting bored (she has not been bored since 2007, but whatever, let her have it).

elle teaches the kids how to throw a punch before spencer teaches them long division. priorities !!!!! they have movie nights every friday and it usually involves an overly complicated snack chart that spencer makes and elle ignores.

one of the girls for sureeee is already trying to become a lawyer at 10 yrs old purely to win every argument (guess who she got this from !!!).

also also ??? every once in a while when the kids aren't around, spencer will bring up the fact that elle definitely maybe totally murdered william lee (elle defender til i die) before she left the bau and elle will just shrug and be like, guess we'll never know, huh? and then distract him with sex.

the end.

[03jyh23]

༘⋆mon's 500 followers special.ᐟ.ᐟ 500-word prompt roulette⟢

🍒┆cherry-red memories

kang yeosang x gn! reader

│synopsis: the one that means nothing

│genre: angst, break-up au

│trigger warnings: break-up, crying

│ prompt 20 + yeosang + cafe

The coffee shop was tranquil this late evening. Around the room, individuals were deeply absorbed in their own worlds - some sipping steaming cups of coffee while reading books, others methodically working through their study materials. The cafe had a cozy, magical feeling tonight, illuminated primarily by the warm glow of a crackling fireplace. The dancing flames cast gentle orange lights that played across the beige walls, highlighting the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that lined the space and the collection of photographs carefully arranged between them.

Yeosang looked at you from between his outgrown, cherry-red fringe, his hand on his mouth. The coffee you've ordered had gone cold a while ago.

"We have to break up," Yeosang said quietly, his trembling fingers drumming an unsteady rhythm against the cold ceramic of his untouched coffee cup, the gentle tapping echoing in the intimate space between you.

You stared at him, feeling the world tilt sideways as the devastating words sank in, your vision blurring at the edges. "Why are you doing this?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper, the words catching painfully in your throat.

"It's better this way," Yeosang replied, still not meeting your eyes, his gaze fixed somewhere on the table between you. "We both know it can't work. The timing, the circumstances... everything is against us."

"Can't work? Or won't work?" The words came out sharper than intended, making him flinch visibly. "There's a difference, and you know it."

"Please don't make this harder than it already is. I'm barely holding it together as it is."

"You're the one making it hard. You're the one giving up without even trying to fight for us".

He shook his head slowly, cherry-red strands falling into his eyes. "I'm being realistic. Sometimes that looks like giving up, but sometimes it's the only way to protect what little we have left of ourselves."

"Realistic about what? About us?" Your voice wavered dangerously. "About everything we've built together? Everything we've meant to each other?"

"Look at me," you demanded softly, your heart hammering against your ribcage. When he didn't move, frozen like a statue in his seat, you repeated with quiet desperation, "Yeosang, look at me."

Finally, he raised his eyes to meet yours, and the raw pain you saw there made your breath catch in your throat. His eyes were windows to a storm of emotions - regret, sadness, and something that looked terrifyingly like goodbye.

"This means nothing." Yeosang's breath was unsteady as he faced away from you, looking through the window onto the rainy pathway where people with umbrellas rushed to get to their destinations. You let yourself admire Yeosang's birthmark under his eye, realizing it must be one of the last chances you'll get to do so. You breathed out shakily, looking at who was about to become your ex-boyfriend. Yeosang, too, let out an uneven breath, his trembling hand running through his hair.

"Then why are you shaking?" you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pitter-patter of rain against the window.

Yeosang's eyes finally met yours, glassy with unshed tears that reflected the warm light of the fireplace. His fingers curled into fists on the wooden table, knuckles white with tension, as if physically restraining himself from reaching across the distance between you.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air between you. You watched as a single tear finally escaped, trailing down his cheek and catching the light like a diamond before disappearing into the collar of his white turtleneck. The sight made your heart clench painfully in your chest, knowing that despite his words, this meant everything.

"Before you go..." you started hesitantly, your voice catching in your throat. The words felt heavy on your tongue, refusing to flow freely. Yeosang was stilled, the firelight caught in his hair, turning the cherry-red strands into flickering flames. "I..." you trailed off, suddenly unsure of what you even wanted to say. What could you say, really, that would make any of this easier? Would that make it hurt less?

"I want you to know," you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion as you reached across the mahogany table to touch his hand, fingers hovering uncertainly in the space between you before stopping halfway. Yeosang's eyes widened slightly, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out. The sound of rain seemed to grow louder in the silence, each droplet against the window pane marking another second that slipped away between you. His fingers twitched almost imperceptibly on the table's surface, as if fighting the urge to bridge the gap you couldn't.

"Don't," he finally managed, his voice rough with suppressed emotion, each word seeming to cost him dearly. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be. Please. I can't... I can't bear to hear those words right now."

"Is that what you want?" you asked, slowly pulling your hand back to your lap, where you twisted your fingers together to keep them from shaking. "For this to be easy? For us to pretend that none of this matters?"

He laughed, a hollow sound that didn't reach his eyes, the sound catching painfully in his throat. "Nothing about this is easy. Nothing about loving you has ever been easy."

"Then maybe we shouldn't—"

"We have to," Yeosang cut you off, more firmly this time, though his voice cracked slightly on the words. "You know we have to. Sometimes love isn't enough, and we both know that."

You nodded slowly, gathering your belongings with trembling hands. As you stood, you noticed his hands were still shaking, fingers pressed flat against the table as if to steady themselves. "Goodbye," you said softly, turning away before he could see your own tears fall, each step toward the door feeling like an impossible distance.

Behind you, so quiet you almost missed it over the steady drumming of rain and the sudden rushing in your ears, came his whispered response: "Goodbye."

♡│if you enjoy my writing please consider supporting me by tagging and reblogging│

♡│please join my 500 followers special!│

[burntsecrets]

Sweet Chaos

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader Word Count: 1784 Summary: While staying in a cozy inn during a case, Sam surprises you with a gingerbread house kit he picked up at the local store. Warnings: Fluff, playful banter, NSFW, explicit sexual content, consensual intimacy A/N: This is for @moosekateer13 I'm your secret Santa for @spnfanficpond's Secret Santa 2024. I'm using the prompt for the @fluff-cember challenge, day 6: gingerbread house. I hope you like it!

The sound of the wind whistling outside the inn’s window pairs perfectly with the crackling of the small fireplace across the room. The case has been quiet so far—too quiet—but for tonight, you’ve managed to carve out a rare moment of peace. You’re curled up on the couch, flipping idly through an old book you picked up at the local thrift store when the sound of Sam clearing his throat pulls your attention. He stands in the doorway, his tall frame slightly hunched to accommodate the low ceiling. In his hands, he holds a brightly colored box, his dimples deepening as he grins at you.

“What’s that?” you ask, sitting up and tucking the blanket around your legs. Sam steps closer, holding up the box—a gingerbread house kit. It’s kitschy, with cartoon snowmen and candy canes decorating the front, but something about the gesture warms your chest. “Seriously? You bought that?”

Sam chuckles, setting the box on the coffee table in front of you. “I figured we could use a break. And hey, it’s festive.” You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. “Alright, Winchester. Let’s do this.”

The table is soon transformed into a sugary battleground. The kit includes walls, a roof, frosting in a plastic bag, and an assortment of candies that look slightly questionable but smell undeniably sweet. Sam carefully arranges everything with the precision of someone who has built a thousand IKEA bookshelves while you eye the frosting like a hawk–already scheming. “Okay, we start with the base,” Sam says, his brow furrowed in concentration as he pipes a line of frosting along the edge of the cookie walls. His big hands are surprisingly steady, and you can’t help but admire his focus.

“That’s cute,” you tease, picking up your own piping bag. “But my side is going to blow yours out of the water.”

“Oh, we’re making this a competition now?” Sam raises an eyebrow, his grin growing. “I thought this was supposed to be a team effort.”

“Teamwork is overrated,” you reply, nudging his elbow just enough to make his line of frosting wobble.

“Hey!” he protests, laughing. “You’re going to regret that.”

It starts innocently enough. You’re both diligently working on your respective sides of the gingerbread house, each stealing glances at the other’s progress. Sam’s side is neat, with perfectly aligned gumdrops and a roof that could be in a magazine. Yours… well, it has personality. “Why do you have all the gumdrops?” you ask, narrowing your eyes as Sam sneaks yet another piece of candy onto his side.

“Because I got here first,” he says, popping one into his mouth for good measure.

“That’s cheating,” you declare, grabbing the frosting bag and aiming it at him. Without thinking, you swipe a dollop of frosting across the bridge of his nose. The look of pure shock on his face makes you burst out laughing.

“Oh, you’re gonna pay for that,” Sam warns, his voice low and teasing. Before you can react, he dips his finger into the frosting and smears it across your cheek. You gasp, feigning outrage as you grab a handful of flour from the nearby bowl and toss it at him. It’s chaos after that—frosting, flour, and candy flying in every direction. Sam’s laugh is loud and carefree, the kind of sound you don’t hear often enough from him, and it fills the small room like sunlight.

By the time the battle subsides, the table is a disaster. Flour dusts the air, and bits of candy stick to your fingers. The gingerbread house stands in the center, a wobbly, candy-laden masterpiece that looks like it barely survived a storm. You’re both out of breath, sitting side by side on the couch and surveying the mess. “Well,” you say, brushing a streak of frosting from your arm. “It’s not winning any awards, but it’s ours.”

Sam leans forward, inspecting the lopsided roof with a critical eye. “It’s got character,” he agrees, his voice soft. You glance at him, your heart skipping a beat, when you notice the frosting still smeared on his nose. Without thinking, you reach out and wipe it away with your thumb. His green eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the room feels impossibly quiet.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. Before you can respond, he leans in, closing the space between you. His lips are warm and soft against yours, the kiss slow and sweet, like the moment itself. When he pulls back, his hand lingers on your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray bit of flour.

The air between you shifts, charged with something deeper, something you’ve both been skirting around for weeks. His eyes darken, flicking down to your lips before meeting your gaze again. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he admits, his voice husky.

Your breath hitches, and before you can think, you’re tugging him closer, kissing him with a fervor that surprises even you. His hands find your waist, pulling you onto his lap as the kiss deepens, his tongue brushing against yours in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. Your fingers tangle in his hair, and he groans softly against your mouth, the sound making your pulse race.

Sam’s hands slide under your sweater, his touch warm against your skin as he trails his fingers up your back. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his lips moving to your neck, kissing and nibbling along your jawline until you’re squirming in his lap.

You tug at his flannel shirt, pushing it off his shoulders to reveal the toned muscles underneath. He’s breathtaking, all broad shoulders and lean strength, and the way he’s looking at you makes your knees weak. “Sam,” you whisper, your voice barely audible as he shifts, laying you down on the couch and settling between your thighs.

He pauses, his hand cupping your cheek as he searches your eyes. “Are you sure?” he asks, his voice gentle despite the tension in his body.

“Yes,” you breathe, pulling him down for another kiss.

Sam’s lips trail fire down your neck as his hands caress your sides, the warmth of his touch chasing away every thought but him. He shifts his weight, pressing his body against yours, and the heat of him sears through your clothes. Your hands slide over the planes of his shoulders, gripping him as his mouth moves lower, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone.

The soft glow of the fire bathes the room in flickering light, casting shadows across Sam’s face as he pulls back to look at you. His hair falls slightly into his eyes, his lips swollen, and his chest heaving. “You’re incredible,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. “I don’t think I can take my time with you.”

Your fingers skim over his jaw, your thumb tracing the edge of his lips. “Who says I want you to?” you tease, your voice breathy. The words light a spark in him, and he leans down, claiming your lips with renewed intensity.

In one fluid motion, he sits back, lifting you into his arms as though you weigh nothing. You let out a soft laugh of surprise, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carries you to the bed. He lays you down gently, his eyes never leaving yours as he settles over you. The tension between you hums like a live wire, the weight of his body grounding you in the moment.

His hands are sure as they slide beneath your sweater, pushing it up and over your head. You shiver as the cool air brushes your skin, but Sam’s touch is quick to warm you. He leans down, his lips brushing across your shoulder, then lower, kissing along the curve of your breast. Your back arches as his hands explore, every touch sending sparks skittering down your spine.

You tug at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours. He obliges, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. Your hands roam over his chest, marveling at the heat and strength of him, the way his muscles flex beneath your touch. Sam groans softly as your fingers trace the lines of his abdomen, his hips pressing against yours in response.

“God, you drive me crazy,” he murmurs, his lips finding yours again. His kiss is fierce, all-consuming, and you lose yourself in the sensation of him. His hands trail down your sides, hooking into the waistband of your pants and tugging them down. You help him, shimmying out of them as he follows with his own, leaving you both bare and vulnerable in the firelight.

Sam pauses, his gaze raking over you as though committing every detail to memory. “You’re perfect,” he whispers, his voice reverent. His words make your heart flutter, but there’s no time to dwell on them as he leans down, his lips brushing over your ear. “Let me show you.”

What follows is a blur of sensation—his lips and hands exploring every inch of you, the way he whispers your name like a prayer, the way his body moves with yours in perfect rhythm. The fire crackles in the hearth, the snow falls softly outside, and the world narrows to the heat between you, the way he makes you feel like you’re the only thing that matters.

Time seems to stand still as you reach the peak together, his name spilling from your lips as he groans yours into your neck. He holds you close, his body trembling slightly as the moment washes over you both. The room is silent except for the sound of your breathing, the fire casting a warm glow over the two of you.

Sam rolls onto his side, pulling you into his arms. His hand brushes your hair back from your face, his lips pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I think we make a damn good team,” he murmurs, his voice low and content.

You smile, resting your head against his chest. “Only when you don’t steal all the gumdrops,” you reply, your tone teasing but affectionate.

He chuckles, his laugh rumbling against your cheek. “Fair enough. Next time, I’ll share.” His arms tighten around you, and you let yourself relax into his embrace, the warmth of him and the fire lulling you into a blissful haze.

The snow continues to fall outside, blanketing the world in quiet, but inside the inn, the earlier chaos has given way to something softer, deeper, and undeniably real. For now, the case and the danger can wait. Tonight, it’s just you and Sam, and that’s more than enough.

[thesunloveschips]

Eye of the Storm - Chapter 8: Conflict

Summary: In the wake of Rhysand’s ascension as High Lord, the Bone Carver gifts a prophecy. More than five hundred years later, Azriel continues to wait for the one who is finally reborn as his High Lady’s sister. All it takes a dip in the Cauldron for things to start falling into place.

Chapter Summary: Powers. The fight between the newborn fae. Elain's first prophecy.

Click here to access the Masterlist of the Eye of the Storm

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Nyra looked around. The room she had been given had crimson walls and her bed was a very large one—large enough that all four of the sisters could sleep and they’d still have space. Wooden nightstands stood on either sides of the bed and the large ceiling to floor window towards the left. The entrance to the room was at the farthest left hand corner of the wall to her right.

Empty bookshelves stood tall and proud on the wall facing her, flanking a fireplace with two armchairs for a casual evening. There was also a table with bare minimum stationary and a chair. She did not recognise the decorations hanging on the walls. Two of them on each wall.

Nyra removed herself from the bed and found a door leading to a very luxurious and spacious bathing chamber. She also discovered that the wall to her right was not actually a wall but had a sliding door. She opened the sliding door and found neatly folded clothes and gowns. She headed to the windows which had a handle opening to an unnecessarily spacious balcony with a few plants.

She walked towards the edge and found that the building she was currently in was at a great height. And down on the earth below, a city sprawled with structures of different colours with streets snaking between them. There were open spaces and she could actually see the fountains, street lights, shops and people as clear as though she was right there. She could even read the names of the shops and the contents of their display boards. Far beyond, she saw the sea.

“Lady Nyra.” At the sound of her name, she flinched and took a step back. Nyra looked back and saw Nuala.

“What is it?” Nyra asked, not knowing what to do now. Should she be afraid? Should she ask this lady something? But what should she ask? She didn’t even know the first thing about this place to be having doubts. But this lady had just told her that she was in Velaris and Feyre ruled the Night Court with Rhysand. Feyre was High Lady.

“Is that Velaris?” Nyra asked quickly. The fae smiled and joined her near the railing.

“It is, indeed.”

“Will you tell me something about it?”

“A city of dreamers built ages ago—for dreamers, built by a dreamer. There are different parts of the city where the arts are promoted but the most prominent is the Rainbow. The High Lady would probably give you a tour if you asked.”

Nyra remained quiet and then she looked at the fae. “You’re not Nuala, are you?”

The fae’s eyes widened just a bit before she composed herself. “My name is Cerridwen. Nuala is my twin. She stepped back for some work.”

“And what about my twin?” Cerridwen tilted her head in confusion. “Nesta Archeron, my twin. And Elain Archeron, my younger sister.”

“Your twin and the High Lady are waiting for you outside. Lady Elain is in her room right now.”

“Thank you.” Nyra turned and headed inside. As she marched towards the door, it opened from the outside to reveal Feyre. The youngest dashed towards her sister and hugged her but Nyra couldn’t find it in her to reciprocate. She felt her sister tremble and eventually start crying but Nyra felt far too empty to care for Feyre.

“Where are the others?” Nyra asked plainly. Feyre released her from the hug partially, horrified at the similarity between Nyra and Elain. Nyra repeated her question again and Nesta emerged at the door. Something sparked in her eyes as she saw her twin. “You…”

Nyra removed herself from Feyre’s arms and headed towards Nesta. She took her face in her hands and inspected her. The pointed ears, the sharper face. Nesta had become devastatingly beautiful. It reminded Nyra of the days when Nesta dolled herself up for parties just so she could enjoy the music and dancing. Once upon a time, Nesta was steel and now, she had been forged into a blade. And Nyra released her face.

“You’re fae.” Nyra's voice held her disbelief. She released Nesta's face, not understanding why her twin felt so unfamiliar. She did not know this person. With Nesta's appearance and amplified beauty, Nyra felt like she had lost her twin.

“So are you.” Nyra froze at that. Nesta panicked, not understanding what was happening. For the first time, Nyra seemed to be losing something personal.

“Why?” Nyra whispered. She had already started feeling like Nesta was another person. Like she had lost her twin to some strange world. And now, she was also there in that strange world. Nyra felt something come alive within her. Something that had never been there before but it felt like it had always belonged within her. And like a beast waking up after almost an eternity, it rumbled within her. The tears welled up in her eyes. Why are we in yet another place where we don’t belong?

Nesta gathered her in her arms and held her tightly. Nyra cried and the twins descended to the ground. They remained unbothered by the spectators, most of whom had retreated silently.

Nyra felt so exhausted. Everything was a mess. She had never belonged in the life she was born into. Never understood why she was born in a world where woman was limited to matrimony and breeding and child rearing.

And she did not even understand the world she was now forced into. She did not even want to understand but she would have to. To learn the way of life here. But she did not want that. She felt too tired for all of it. She did not even agree to this.

And the bloody Cauldron. It took something from her and gave her something else. It violated her. The woman in there gave her too much of everything she never wanted. She felt like she’d been in there for ages and maybe that was true. Nyra looked at her hand and summoned a bit of power. Lightning thrummed at her fingertips, exactly as much as she had summoned. She had been taught how to control the power by that strange woman in some strange way.

Nesta saw the lightning on Nyra’s fingers. “You have power?”

Nyra looked up at Nesta and then at her hand. She summoned the lightning again and raised her hand.

“I didn’t get this power. It got me.” Nyra spoke and stopped manifesting it. She then stood up, offering a hand to Nesta to help her up. “I want to know what you saw.” Nyra began. Nesta stepped back, removing her hand. “Please.” Nesta did not ignore her plea. She could never ignore Nyra. And so, she held out her hand and Nyra grabbed it.

There was so much. She felt so much. Like a thousand knives stabbing her and tearing her flesh apart. Like a fire burning her soul to extinction. But Nesta did not burn easily. She clawed at whatever force that had pushed her down. Her nails found something and she struck it hard. The flame subsided and Nesta loomed over that force, grabbed it by the throat and took a bite. She relished in the resulting scream, the taste of cold liquid in her mouth.

But then another scream pierced at her. Nesta looked around, thinking it was another prey to hunt. But it was something else. Someone else. Was that her? A body with long golden brown hair and that pale skin floating. Was that her? That person’s eyes were shut tightly as though she was in agony. The woman screamed again.

Nesta watched a figure rip the girl’s chest with her bare hands and a light was released. Upon closer inspection, the figure had an expression of cruel enjoyment. But the light that appeared out of the girl’s chest material into another figure—a woman of pure light. The girl struck into the one who tore her apart and ripped its head off and threw it away.

More figures materialised. The woman readied her stance like a warrior, preparing for a battle. A spear of some sort materialised in her hand and she used it for her first attack. Nesta watched as the figure eliminate everything and everyone and bathed in the black blood of her foes. Once she was done, the woman looked at her and came near. It was Nyra. Her twin's eyes were closed and she wore no clothes but the light her skin emitted ensured her nakedness was not all that visible. And that wasn't even light. It was just a faint glow with lightning crackling all around her. Nesta recognised her sister in awe and anger. Nyra gently raised her hand and placed it on her chest, pushing her down some abyss.

The next thing Nesta remembered was rising from the Cauldron. Threatening the King, pushing away Lucien, taking Elain, looking for Nyra and losing consciousness at some point after arriving at another location.

“That’s what I remember.” Nesta spoke once they had exited her memories.

Why was it so natural for her to use these powers? To control them was one thing but to use them was completely different. When she had lived her entire life as a powerless mortal with death looming far too close then why was power so real? As if it was inherent? The beast within her rumbled again.

"What was that?" Nesta asked. Before Nyra could say anything, Nesta had touched her bare hand. And she was suddenly transported to another place.

It was completely dark. Nesta looked around for a source of light. And two blue orbs lit up at the same time. Appearing as though they had been unveiled. The blue light blinked once and a deep growl echoed all around. Nesta looked at the orbs and silver glowed in her eyes. The roar of a beast made everything tremble. Nesta felt the smooth embrace of something like a blanket. It wrapped itself around her waist and tugged her back.

"What was that?" Nesta was now breathing heavily. Her eyes were still silver but she was back in the House of Wind. Nyra was in front of her, her blue eyes glowing. Nesta had the horrifying realisation that the blue orbs she had just seen were Nyra's eyes and the growl was hers. But what terrified her to the core was when she recognised the roar of the beast as her own.

"You know what it was." Nyra replied. The twins now sat on the ground properly.

Nyra had recognised the beast Nesta was the moment she saw the silver eyes. Gods, they were beasts now and not just fae. She didn't even know if there were any fae who were just fae. She sighed. "What the hell did we get dragged into?"

"I'm sorry." Feyre's voice reached them. That was when the twins remembered that she was still there. "This is all my fault."

"Where is Elain?" Nyra asked. "Is she like us?"

"Yes. I'll take you to her room. Before that..."

Nyra looked at her, waiting for her to continue. Nesta spoke. "You're wearing a nightgown. Take a bath and dress up. We'll meet Elain soon. She's fine. Physically, at least."

Nyra frowned but she made no move to oppose. She stood up and entered her room. Nesta followed her in.

"I can't use that." Nyra whispered. She remembered how she pulled herself up to rise from the Cauldron. The Cauldron's liquid felt like acid on her skin, tiring her before she could even step out. Something had helped her get out. But before she could care for how she got out of the Cauldron, she was consumed by the thoughts of how she did not want to enter the bath tub. The image of it filled with water made her flinch.

"I know. There are buckets and mugs." Nesta headed towards the taps where the buckets and mugs were. While she waited for the warm water to fill the buckets, she watched Nyra look at her reflection in the mirror with the fascination of a child.

"I look young." Nyra poked her cheeks and grabbed them before letting go. She touched her arms and turned to see her hair. "My hair looks better." She grabbed them in her hands and admired how soft they had become. Her hair was a cascade of rich golden brown the Archeron sisters shared. Each strand seemed to catch the light and hold it for a moment, before releasing it in a warm, inviting gleam.

"You're healthy." Nesta spoke. "The healer said your body is completely fine. No illnesses. Everything is perfect. That's the only thing good about this situation." Her voice was soft as if she couldn't believe her own words. "My gods, you're okay." Nesta wiped her eyes before the tears could escape.

"I... I'm.. healthy." Nyra looked at her reflection. For so long, she had seen a sick face look back at her. How many years had passed since she had seen a healthy Nyra reflect in the mirror? She touched her cheek and held her hair. "I'm okay."

Nesta beheld Nyra as a fae. Her sister had become divine, glowing with health and power. Her eyes spoke of ancient mysteries and Nesta felt like Nyra's transition had been something different from what she and Elain had gone through. And she felt like she could not speak, not because her sister had rendered her speechless but because Nyra had become overwhelming in every aspect.

Nyra undressed and proceeded to bathe. Nesta sat at a distance now, handing her the bottles of liquids and gels for her skin and hair. Her twin had truly come into her element. She wore her beauty like a customised dress, measure to fit only her. Nesta had believed Nyra could truly attract suitors had her health permitted it. But now that they were fae, not only was she in good health but she looked ethereal. Once Nyra was done bathing, Nesta went to the shelf opposite to the bathroom mirror and took a towel and bathing robe.

"Dry yourself. I'll get a dress for you." But Nesta knew that Nyra was not that good at toweling her hair and that she'd have to do it herself.

She walked over to the sliding doors of the wardrobe filled with clothes for Nyra. Rhysand had provided Nesta and Elain with a similar room. She looked at the gowns and found a grey silk gown with leaves and flowers threaded in a darker shade towards the bottom. The skirts were not as wide as their gowns from the other side of the wall. It was a gown not too fancy but not too plain.

Both Nesta and Nyra looked at Nyra in that gown. She looked very different when she wore it. Like she was meant to be immortal. And then they looked at each other. "You look good."

"I wish I felt good." Nesta took her by the arm and made her sit on a stool before the mirror. She dried her hair and began brushing it gently.

The twins exited the room where Feyre and Cassian were waiting for them. They were talking to each other and leaning against the wall facing the door when they saw them. The pair immediately stood straight and ceased their whispers. Feyre moved forward. "Come with me."

And the four of them headed towards Elain's room. It was only two doors away. Feyre watched with bated breath as Nyra and Nesta entered the room. Elain sat on an armchair near the window, looking outside.

"Elain." At the sound of Nyra's voice, she turned to look at her immediately. Brown eyes widened and Elain stood up and walked over.

"When can we go home?" Elain asked hurriedly. "I have to get married." Her eyes glossed with tears. "I have to go home."

Nyra watched her sister cry in front of her and yet she couldn't find it in herself to hug her. Her own tears silently ran down her cheeks. Elain sobbed too loudly, too heavily, too much that she had started hyperventilating. Nyra did not process as Nesta took Elain's hands into her own and made her sit on the armchair. She was barely aware of Nesta leading her somewhere in the room and helping her sit.

Feyre and Cassian had been kicked out of the room and Nesta locked the door, walked over to Elain. Nyra was now looking outside the window, not caring about how Elain cried over getting married and wanting to go home.

"Do we even have a home left?" Nyra whispered, but her sisters heard it.

"What do you mean?" Elain cried out in agony.

"Fae and humans don't coexist. Even if we go back home, will we be welcome?"

They knew the answer to that. They had discussed that when Feyre had become fae. "Feyre had a home even when she had become fae."

"Feyre had us. Who do we have now that we're like this?"

"Father. Graysen. Lord Nolan. I'm sure they will understand." Elain sounded desparate.

"Father might. Graysen and Lord Nolan will not." Nesta shot back, logic taking over after her remembering her own analysis of these three persons.

"Why do you keep saying such things?" Elain had now raised her voice. "Neither of you want to go back. Why would you? You had nothing on the other side."

"We have nothing here!" Nyra shouted back. "What do we have here? Do we have anyone we can trust here?"

"We have Feyre." Elain retorted.

"They took us because they wanted to get to her. They took us because we hosted those meetings with the queens." Nesta snapped.

"At least, we're not dead!"

"Is this better than death?" Nyra asked coldly. She did not like Elain at the moment. She did not like anyone. "Is being tossed into that gods damned bathtub better than death?"

Nesta and Elain did not answer. They did clench their fists. Nyra watched them, wishing she could feel pity but she felt nothing. She compared their own situation with Feyre and realised that their younger sister had people and a future in Prythian to look forward to before she even became fae. Nyra looked at the moon in her palm. The three of them had no friend, no future, no home at the moment. And it slapped her in the face too many times for her liking.

"I don't know what either of you saw in there but I remember exactly what I saw. And I would've rather died than go through that." Nyra's voice had lowered. She had started spiralling into the whirlpool of her memories from inside the Cauldron.

"Of course, you'd rather die." Elain muttered, looking outside the window. The sea she could see remained tranquil unlike what was happening inside the room.

"Elain!" Nesta snapped. Nyra looked at Elain, waiting for her to continue. Challenging her to continue. She felt a tremor on her nerves, readying her for a verbal spat. The thrill of it shot down her spine and she watched her sister, like a predator poised to kill.

"Of course, you'd rather die." Elain repeated, louder and unafraid. "You were waiting for death ever since you fell ill." This was not enough. Elain only had to say more for Nyra to get the opportune moment.

"And why wouldn't I? With those disgusting medicines and chest pains and spitting blood at any given moment. Why wouldn't I choose death over all that?"

"You're a bloody coward." More. Nyra was waiting for more as she gave another answer, inviting Elain's words. Her words were still not sharp enough.

"Of course, I'm a coward. If I had any more nerve, I would've slit my own throat the moment I found out I'd probably never recover." Nyra knew that both of them were being selfish. And just a bit more and Elain would lash out.

"Enough!" Nesta shouted. Nyra glared at her for her interruption. Nesta knew exactly what she was doing. She was baiting Elain. Nesta was the one who struck first. Nyra was the one who waited for the right time. Both of them were different types of predators, but predators regardless. And Nesta knew that and felt this had to stop. "This is not what we need right now."

"I'll tell you what I need right now. I need to go back."

"To a place where you'll be hunted for being fae?" Nesta questioned, hoping Elain would see the reason she saw.

"To the place where I had a chance at a future."

"Graysen and his father are going to kill you." Nyra warned, not because she was worried about it. She would wield whatever power that her body housed against anyone who hurt her sisters but Elain had been sheltered far too long. She had to learn even if it was through the hard way. How much of a hypocrite was she at this moment?

"You don't know that. He wanted to marry me. I..."

"His affections for you are insignificant compared to his hatred for the fae." Nesta immediately began lashing out the moment she figured what Elain was going to say. About how she had given herself to her fiancé. Nesta paused and breathed. She wanted to stop but she didn't know how. The only thing she knew was to continue. "He wanted to marry you because you were the most convenient option. A face pretty enough for him to be smitten and the money from your dowry. Money to be used for Lord Nolan's fae-hunting quests."

Nesta only stopped speaking once the killing blow had been landed. She looked at Nyra, hoping that her twin would reprimand her like she had always done. Nyra did not and sat down looking at the skies.

"Say something." Nesta spoke.

Nyra looked up and met her gaze. "What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know. Anything!" Nesta wanted to be reprimanded. That was the only punishment for the sin she'd just committed.

"How about the fact that we don't have anything or anywhere to go, hm? All because we have pointed ears, meaninglessly amplified beauty and powers with no purpose and glowing eyes."

"No, no, no, no, no, no..." Elain kept on repeating that one word.

"We don't have a place to return to. We don't have a home. Is that what you wanted me to say?" Nyra attacked again.

The sound of the door being banged reached them. "Nesta! Nyra! Elain!" Feyre screamed. "Open the door! Please!"

"Go away, Feyre!" Nesta shouted back.

"Please! We can talk about this!" Feyre yelled desparately. Nesta marched over to the door, determined to give her youngest a piece of her mind. She opened the door to find a crying Feyre. Rhysand stood behind her solemnly and Nesta was quick to glare at him.

"Why are you here?" Nesta coldly asked Feyre.

"Nesta! Please! I'm so sorry about this. All of it. I-" Nesta raised a hand to command silence. Feyre stopped speaking.

"Why are you sorry?" Nesta asked.

"This is my fault. I am the reason why you were kidnapped and Made."

"We're not idiots, Feyre." Nyra spoke. Nesta moved to the side to reveal her twin. "We know you're not at fault for this mess." But Nyra did not sound kind. She sounded distant as she walked over to the door. "But we don't want to be here."

"You cannot be human again, girl." Another voice spoke. Nesta and Nyra stepped forward to see who it was. The twins noted Azriel, Cassian and Morrigan standing against the wall and Amren taking a step towards them. "We are the same. What is inside you is now trapped in this body, forever."

"Don't lump us in with the likes of you." Nesta snapped. "You can be released from your body. We can't."

Nyra's blue eyes shone with the power she now possessed and Amren took a step back. "The fact that we can see that your real form means that you can be released and regain it. On the other hand, we were thrown inside the world's most disgusting bathtub and our real forms were altered. Do you understand the difference? Your skin, the one that we see, is like a wrapping paper over your real skin. Our skin was ripped apart and remade."

Nyra felt rage, ready to take over, lightning crackling on her fingertips. What she did not notice were the shadows that had reached for her hand, dancing with the lightning, ready to strike wherever she commanded.

Azriel, despite his best attempts, could not completely control his shadows. Why the fuck was he even trying to control them when he felt every part of him wanting to accept her rage and hold her hand through it? To let her wield his shadows and strike anywhere and everywhere. Was that what she wanted? How easy it would be to hold her hand and raise it? To watch her lightning and his shadows dance. And why should it be restricted to their hands when every inch of their bodies could indulge in it?

Would lightning strike whenever she felt the mating bond? Would it strike if she were to ever accept it and offer him food? Would it strike during their first kiss? He would peel off her clothes and take his time before entering her. Would lightning strike him when he gave her an orgasm? The anticipation of it definitely struck him like lightning. His chest tightened. The leathers now felt stuffy. He had to loosen it before he ripped them off and grabbed his pretty little mate.

Meanwhile, inside her own head, Elain felt herself drawn into a black hole. She crumbled under the storm that had started. And under the gust of the winds and the thunder that rumbled all over, she found light and tried to walk over. She felt her hair and skirts be blown by the wind, fighting to be attached to her scalp and her dress respectively. But the closer she felt to the light, the more she felt warm.

Nesta and Nyra looked over to Elain who was now next to them. Their younger sister's eyes were now completely white as she spoke. Nyra was startled to see this for the first time while Nesta took a cautious step closer to Elain.

"Stars and night."

"Flames and steel."

"Lightning and shadows."

"Greens and fire."

"Elain!" Their sister's eyes fluttered and closed before her body dropped from where she stood.

****

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[tsuma-senju]

Castle of love - Kita Shinsuke

Pairing Kita Shinsuke x Reader.wife - Relationship established

Summary Kita and his wife being cute and showing their love

The sun was already hiding behind the horizon when you leaned on the wooden fence, looking out over the golden fields that stretched as far as the eye could see. The gentle breeze brought the smell of wet earth and the memory of everything you and Kita had built together. Your house, simple but cozy, was more than a home - it was a castle built with love, patience and the effort of each day.

You smiled to yourself, remembering when it all began. Kita always had a firm manner, but her heart was generous. When he decided he wanted to build a life with you, he spared no effort to make every dream come true. He wasn't rich in assets, but he was a man of his word, and every promise he made was kept with his own hard-working hands.

The first few years weren't easy. You shared a small wooden hut, which creaked with every gust of wind. On rainy days, you had to mop up drips, and the winter cold seemed harsher without the comfort of a decent fireplace. But between muffled laughter under the blankets and hot coffees at dawn, you were weaving a story that no luxury could replace.

It was almost night when you heard the familiar sound of Kita's boots crunching on the gravel of the path. He was coming in from the field, his cotton shirt folded up to his elbows and his straw hat shading his sun-scorched face. When he saw you, a discreet smile played on his lips.

"Thinking of running away?" he joked, leaning against the fence next to you.

"If I ran away, where would I go? I belong here." You replied, feeling the warmth of his body spread over yours as he slipped an arm around your shoulders.

"Good." Kita sighed, squeezing your shoulder lightly. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

You stared at him, your eyes reflecting the golden sunset. You knew his words were true. It was by your side that he found rest after a long day; it was for you that he woke up every morning ready to start again. Every piece of that home, from the bookshelves he made himself to the garden you tended together, was proof of a love that didn't need ostentation to be great.

"Remember when you told me you were going to build a castle?" you asked, your voice carrying a sweet tone of teasing.

Kita laughed softly, shaking her head.

"I said I was going to give you the best I could." He looked around, observing the house, the corral and the land that stretched out under the orange-tinted sky. "It may not be a queen's castle, but it's ours. And I'd do it all over again."

Your heart squeezed in your chest when you heard those words. You moved closer to him, letting your head rest against his broad shoulder. You felt safe there, as if nothing could shake you as long as he was by your side.

"I wouldn't trade this castle for anything in the world." His voice came out in a sincere whisper, and you noticed how Kita's eyes shone, filled with something that even words couldn't describe.

The night came slowly, and you stood there, enjoying the simplicity of what you had built together. It wasn't the walls or the fields that made that place special - it was love, cultivated with patience and care, like the most precious of crops. And under the stars that began to light up the sky, you knew that no golden palace could replace the castle of love that you had built with your own hands.

[thestarlitmidnight]

🌙A Court Under the Mountain🌙

Summary: Long before the events of the Court of Thorns and Roses, there was a lot happening in Prythian and the Continent. This is my humble take on trying to play with the idea of Amarantha's oppression of Prythian and her dystopian take on being the queen Under the Mountain. Kaela, a heiress to the throne of Ufalme Kingdoms located far away in the desert of the Continent was sent to warn Prythian of Amarantha's intentions. The next thing she knows is that she wakes up Under the Mountain, bargained to be part of a concubine program with memories missing. Fandom: ACOTAr Pairing: RhysandXOC Warnings: This story is dealing with very a heavy themes, I suggest you to do not read this story, if you are easily triggered. Imagine the worst things Amarantha would do and add some more and there you are, it is in this story... So please, really, 16+ at least! Word Count: 220 927 Chapters: 55 Master List Previous Chapter

Chapter Six

"Kaela! Kaela!" Cry of joy echoed through the air as I walked through a hallway of a house that felt like a home into a sitting room with a black marble fireplace, lots of comfortable, elegant,  worn furniture, and bookshelves built into every wall that were full of books.  

Soon after I entered, two bodies crushed me in a bear hug, limiting my breathing abilities for a moment.  

"You both are acting like I was away a whole year," I laughed at the in shadows and darkness hidden faces, but those two were more visible.  

One was a female, tall, gorgeous female with a warm, welcoming smile.  

The other who was crushing me in the bear hug was a male with a bright, cheeky smile and large, enormous even, hands.  

"It was over two months, Kaela," another voice joined the reunion and when I turned my eyes, there were two other shadowed figures standing, coming into the room from what I assume was a kitchen.  

The one who spoke, a male, he was covered in different kinds of shadows and piercing eyes were watching me with a warm, gentle look.  

"Really? You know, time flies quickly when you are enjoying your journey," I grinned cheekily at him and it was me who came and crushed him in a bear hug, thankful to be back with them.  

"You are a terrible liar girl," the other figure, slender female, commented and patted me on my back while I was still hugging the male and she walked towards the sofa, sitting down nonchalantly.  

"Believe whatever you want, I don't care," I gave her a cheeky smile as well and winked at her, letting go of the male and I looked around, searching for another person who was supposed to be there already.  

"He is on his way, don't worry, now, tell us the news!" The taller female, the one with a warm smile, gestured for me to sit down as well.  

Indeed I sat and sighed. I truly wished to see him again. I hoped he would be there when I got back.  

"Nothing what I didn't expect," I raised my feet up on the coffee table in front of me and my eyes kept moving towards the door. "They don't want to be publicly connected to this mess and wish for me to aid you in a quiet and settled way that cannot be traced back to us."  

"Assassins through and through huh?" A male wiggled with his eyebrows and smiled brightly.  

"Don't worry, we will handle this," the slender female gave me a reassuring look and I nodded sharply, not pleased with the way things turned out.  

"Not gonna lie, it would be nice to have a whole butch of those like you, but we will be just fine even if it would be only you who will aid us," the male followed the lead of the slender female and I rolled my eyes at his comment.  

"A whole bunch of assassins that would kick your ass?" The other male with piercing eyes mused from his place by the fireplace.  

I bursted into laughter and soon the room began shaking with roaring laughter at the memories of how I beat his ass in the training ring a few months ago and how big of a fuss he was making about it.  

"So the reason why I'm building a temple for the Mother is back? Shall I order the workers to start working again now that you are back?" A voice of the stranger I was longing to see finally echoed through the air and I jumped back on my feet immediately.  

When I set my eyes on him, a large smile landed on my lips and I ran right into his open arms, hiding there from the whole world.  

"You shouldn't have ordered them to stop! That brings bad omens!" I squeezed him even more and he laughed, placing a gentle kiss into my hair.  

"I thought you prefer bad omens?" He chuckled and I raised my face to look at him, my heart melting over the love and affection in his bewitching eyes. 

"I missed your ugly face," I mumbled and he charmed a heartbreaking smile and leaned down, placing a loving kiss on my lips. 

"I missed you too darling," he whispered against my lips and then deepened the kiss, making me laugh a little when he sneaked his arms down my body and picked me up.  

"Gross!" The male loudly complained. 

"Mom and dad are being disgusting!" The taller female joined the male in the teasing, forcing both me and the stranger to burst into laughter at their comments. 

"Get a fucking room," the slender female commented practically. 

"That we will do," the stranger winked at them and just like that darkness wrapped around us, winnowing us away.  

Yet it didn't winnow me nowhere, only back into the all consuming darkness, that threatened to consume me whole how intense it was.  

I started to panic as the feeling of missing something important crashed in full force back on me and breathing was becoming impossible as the darkness started to close around me.  

I tried to fight, to push back the chilling void, but it won like any other time and kicked me through the void into endless fall.  

I woke up with a desperate need for air. I was trying to catch my breath and unwrap the sweat soaked sheets from my body that wrapped around me as I was tossing in my sleep. 

Ever since the two females took their lives, waking up from those nightmares was more intense and difficult. 

It was like my mind tried to get me to see something, tried to fight against that consuming darkness that clouded all of my memories and made me remember. 

Was I losing my mind? With  everything that was going on, I think that I was losing my mind. 

Those dreams, they were just work of my wild imagination that was trying to get me through this situation. It was probably working on scenarios to help me understand this mess and get me something to think about so I wouldn't think all the damn time about the hell I was living in. 

But that was just a damn good excuse I was using to explain what was happening. 

In reality I was confused and disoriented of what was happening. 

Why was my mind showing me those pictures? Was it my power? Did they come somehow back in weakened form and now they were tormenting my sleep with glimpses of future? 

Or were they really my true memories? Then why would they be clouded in darkness? Was this the thing Amarantha did with my mind to forget how I ended up there? Did she use some spell to cloud my memories? 

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

I was walking next to Rhysand to the throne room, where another ball was in full swing. 

We got rid of the duty rather quickly in the sterile, professional manner as always so both of us would be able to compose ourselves and be ready to face this another nightmare. 

One would see that with time it would get easier, yet it never did. Having him take my body, even when he tried to be respectful, it was always difficult and not just for me. 

He was always looking ready to throw up right after me, his shoulders shrinking and his eyes were always full of despair and pain. 

Instead of this getting easier, it only seemed like it was getting more difficult. 

And I was not sure what to blame. 

Was it the length of how long this was going on and both of us were just tired?

Or was it the fact that even when both of us very successfully ignored this fact, there was something more between us. 

He felt familiar, sounded familiar, smelled familiar yet I couldn't place my hand on why. Was it because those years were spent together as we were trying to survive this hellhole in a joint alliance? Did I just connect with him with a sense of some kind of familiarity? 

We probably spend way too much time together and he simply grew on me. 

All those years in each other's presence just somehow pooled together and instead of a stranger, who was my supposed tormentor he became someone I learned to trust? 

Either way, it was getting worse and worse for us. 

The throne room was filled with offbeat music and High Fae dancing around dressed in their best clothes, drinking their evening away. 

It was madness to think that this lifestyle was lasting for over six years.  Every other day was a ball, where they all got drunk, danced and mingled together, playing at the elite of this world. 

There was no normality in this. No proper life led by anyone. Only partying and then recovering from it. Was this Amarantha's tactic to keep them all in a dazed state to avoid any kind of resilience from anyone who might be bold enough to do so? 

"Do they enjoy this?" I whispered to Rhysand who had his hand around my waist and led me through the throne room.

"I would say so, most of them do," he looked down at me with those bewitching eyes for a moment before he turned his eyes back in front of himself. 

People were watching us. They always do when we join them there. Most of them are looking at us with amusement and openly judging me without even trying to cover it. It was nothing that could bother me, over the years of this kind of show it's easy to get used to their endless stream of attention. 

On the court Under the Mountain is not many things that could entertain you, something you can enjoy so even someone else's suffering can be their greatest pleasure to entertain themselves.

And Rhysand made sure we delivered a thrust worthy show for them all, so Amarantha would be out of our hair and not breathe on our necks. 

He would touch me in improper fashion all over my body, give me a sly looks and smirks, he would comment on my looks and when someone walked very close to us, he would comment of his impatience for this ball to end so he can fuck me again. 

Yeah, it was safe to say that everyone turned to trust that both me and him submitted to our fate and both of us support in some ways Amarantha and her stupid project. 

"Rhysand!" Amarantha called him when we stood by the table with drinks and I rolled my eyes as I stood with my back to her. 

"Be back in a minute, stay here and don't move," he winked at me and leaned down to place a soft kiss on my cheek, which left me feeling baffled and he left.

Sometimes it's impossible to tell if he does those things for a show or out of his own mind. Times like those, the way he looks at me, the way he gently brushes his lips over my cheek, it leaves me feeling all confused how much he can affect me. How my heart skips a beat and my cheeks cover in soft blush. 

"Kaela," a whisper of my name echoed through the air and when I turned my head to find the source of it, I noticed two females standing near me, each of them looking at me with urgency. 

Sen who was with the High Lord of the Dawn Court and Lanette who was with the High Lord of the Day Court.

I looked to the throne where Rhysand was now standing and talking with Amarantha in hushed voices and unease washed over me. What can she want from him? Is everything alright? 

"What is it?" I whispered back and walked to the section of where small sweets were plated, pretending I'm choosing what to eat and not that I'm talking with them.

If anyone would notice this banned conversation, then we were in for a problem, yet after what happened with Asia and Brucie, I cannot ignore them. What if they need my help? 

"There is a way out," Sen whispered back and dread ran down my spine at those cursed words. 

"You don't know how it ended last time someone tried to run away?" I gritted through my teeth, doing my best to look like I didn't react at all, taking one small piece of sweet treat and making it look like I was tasting it. 

"Helion and Thesan would help us," Lanette mumbled slowly and kept her eyes on the room, but her fingers were trembling slightly, she was nervous. 

"We closed a bargain, if we put any obstacles between her and the deed we are sworn to fulfill, we would die just like Asia and Brucie did," it came out of me like a harsh whisper, picking another sweet, pretending the last one was terrible and I washed it down with some juice. 

"Helion and Thesan are working on untangling the bargain magic, they can get us out Kaela. Don't you want to go away? Back home? Away from Rhysand? You can't be truly so alright with what is happening like you are pretending to be," Sen walked a little closer, her eyes roaming across the room as she spoke behind her glass of red wine. 

I froze for a moment, my hand in the middle of picking another sweet treat, but I quickly pulled myself back together and raised the sweet pastry closer to my face, studying it. 

"I don't know what made you believe there is a safe way out, but I cannot risk to endanger my life, my kingdom counts on my return and I cannot afford to die in some foolish act of rebellion," I gritted through my teeth and then took a bite of the pastry, flinching at the sharp taste of lemon in it and I quickly took a tissue, discarding of the bite there. 

Of course I wanted to get out! Who wouldn't? If I would get out now, there would be no baggage that would tie me to this place. No unwanted child that redhead bitch would take away from me and raise it like her loyal soldier. 

I wanted to get away from those forced evenings with Rhysand, where both of us suffered. I wanted to take him away with me. 

Wait-

I wanted to take him away with me? Since when?

"It will be safe, I swear!" Lanette insisted and I felt two pairs of eyes on me and when I followed my instincts, I noticed Thesan and Helion watching us. 

"Does Rhysand know? Did the other High Lords tell him?" I demanded, picking up another sweet treat, this time a small piece of cake. 

"Of course not. He is the right hand of hers Kaela, we cannot risk her finding out," Sen turned her eyes my way, watching me with disbelief. 

"I'm not going to leave him behind in this hellhole," I returned her sharp look and took another bite of the cake. 

He was in the same position as the rest of us. The fact he knew how to play his cards better than the rest of us was not reason to leave him to this kind of fate. He did everything in his power to prevent anything from happening to me, he was playing at Amarantha's loyal pawn, just like I did, to prevent any unnecessary damage from us. 

It would be unfair to just run away and leave him to deal with his mess on his own.

"Are you serious Kaela? Did you lose your mind? You need to get away! Listen, you are spending a lot of time in the library right? Tomorrow morning I will find you there. You are going with us," Sen whispered with urgency in her voice and her green eyes were pleading with me to not be stupid. 

I gave her a glimpse, my eyes harsh and unforgiving for that slip of a second before I turned around and left the place where sweets were. I spent way too much of my time there and it was a miracle nobody noticed. 

It was a foolish hope they had. Foolish hope that would get them killed. Just like Asia and Brucie. I'm sure they as well were full of hope and determination to run away. Who knows how long they were planning their escape and it didn't work out for them in the end. 

Yet now there are two High Lords who are willing to help the girls to escape. Is it a sign that this time it could work? Sena was speaking of the bargain magic being untangled? Is that even possible? 

If it would work out, then soon I would be out of there, free and able to return back home, where Amarantha and anyone from Prythian would not be able to reach me. 

I could already see the picture in my head. Dad hugged me, crying with joy to have me back home. The kingdom would celebrate for a whole week, welcoming me back home and I would be able to finally begin to heal from this trauma we all were living through. 

Yet what would become of Rhysand? The male who was kind to me, a male who was making sure that I was safe and far away from any wimps of Amarantha. A male who was there for me anytime I broke down and held me through my tears, whispering words of comfort? A male who didn't enjoy hurting me and suffered just as much as I did the whole time? 

A stranger, who was supposed to be someone who would be hurting me, turned out to be someone who was important to me. Someone who I could count on when times were rough. 

"You alright?" In a midnight comfort covered voice echoed next to my head and soon a hand wrapped around my waist. 

"Yes, why?" I turned to look at him, looking for any signs that Amarantha was planning something that would involve him, yet he looked completely composed and polished.

"You look troubled," he replied and his violet eyes were searching my face for any giveaway of what was happening. 

"I worried about what she wanted with you, is everything alright?" I turned the tables and chose to be the one who would be asking questions. The reasons behind my troubled look were not for this room to be discussed in. 

"Nothing to worry about that pretty head of yours," he smiled down at me and I needed to bite my cheeks to not grin or to not shoot back some nasty remark, knowing very well why he chose to brush it away.

I looked at him once again, taking in his appearance and even though he tried to hide it, there was a tense in his body. 

"There are troubles brewing," I leaned closer to his ear and whispered, playing it out as if I raised my hand to brush one stray lock of his hair swaying from his head. 

"You have no idea," he smiled brightly at me, pretending that we talked about something else and he led me to the dancing floor. 

I felt another wave of dread washing over me at his confirmation and let him lead our dance, ignoring his hand that was way too low to be considered polite. 

"This dance and we can get lost?" He gave me a wink as he his whisper was little louder so the Attor that was walking across the dance floor could heart us and thought we were impatient to fuck again. 

I nodded and tried to enjoy this dance. He was an exceptionally good dancer and with the court training I had myself, we both glided across the dance floor with elegance and proper manners worthy of those of our titles. 

I felt Amarantha's eyes on us, watching us dance with a satisfied gleam over her cruel eyes. That was a good sign. Whatever troubles Rhysand was talking about, they didn't included directly the two of us. 

It was easy to make sure that she was satisfied with us. All it took was to play loyal puppies who answered her calls without questioning her authority and she was happy to leave us more space to breathe then the rest of the pairs, who were still causing unnecessary drama most of the time. 

Just a mere public complaint was mostly enough to reach her ears and she was very unhappy with them. I noticed times when the other concubines or High Lords were missing for a few days and I don't want to know what was happening in those times when Amarantha was being moody. 

And that's why I'm so skeptical about their little plan. 

I'm in somehow good position right now. Yes I'm still in the program of her little concubines, but considering everything around, I could be way worse than I am right now. Against all odds, it turned out that even in the pairing I won and was being paired with a High Lord, who is not that bad in the end. I could have ended with Autumn or Summer High Lord and that would be a nightmare, I am so sure of that. 

I cannot risk my standing right now, it would be my end if it wouldn't work. 

And I wouldn't endanger only myself, but even Rhysand as well and I cannot force myself to put him into bad situations just because it will serve my own purpose. 

And so we danced and pretended that we are not Under the Mountain, we are not being forced to be pawns on Amarantha's chessboard. I pretended that I was in the cabin and he was there with me and we were dancing the evening away in a slow, steady rhythm. 

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

We were in my room, he was sitting on his regular place on the sofa with his feet up on the coffee table and I decided to take place beside him instead of sitting on the chair behind my table. 

"Is it possible to untangle the bargain magic?" I finally spoke up and looked up at him. 

"If anyone would be able to come near enough to manage something like this, it would be Helion," he nodded and shiver ran down my spine. 

"Even if he was robbed of his powers?" I leaned back onto the sofa and made myself comfortable. 

The violet eyes, now curious, were looking at me, trying to see deeper into my mind, to understand the reason behind my questions. 

"It would take him years to manage that with the scraps of magic she left us to play with, but eventually, with consistency, he would be able to untangle it," he nodded again and I bit my lips, deep in thought. 

So it's possible, even if it would take time, it is not impossible to free us from the bargain magic and help us escape. 

Yet what would it solve? There would be other females brought to replace us. Just like with Asia and Brucie, who were replaced very soon afterwards. If we run away, we would sentence other females to suffer the same fate as we are facing now. 

Would I be able to live with myself if I knew that while I was free and living once again happily in my lands, there would be another female who would replace me and she would suffer so I could be free? 

And I'm not speaking of Rhysand. He cannot escape. Amarantha would destroy the Night Court, she would punish him for running away and destroy the very same thing he swore to protect. 

I was so torn. 

"What did Amarantha want?" I decided to ignore the whole escape thing for now and focus on other important things on our hands. 

"She was informed about the underground market of contraceptive tonics that is operating there," he sighed and his eyes turned to look across the room, purposefully ignoring the area where my bed was. 

"Oh? And why does that matter?" I raised my eyebrows, not getting what was the problem there with this. 

"Because, Kaela darling, I'm a regular customer there," he said and his eyes turned to look at me. "How else do you think it's possible that you didn't fall pregnant yet?" 

All color run away from my face at his words. The amount of importance weighed down on me. 

I was not aware he found another loophole in how to avoid the feared outcome of this whole program. Why didn't I think about it sooner? Did he risk her finding out about his actions to make sure he would be able to push the issue as far away as possible? 

"She shut it down and banned all the ingredients from Under the Mountain," he added and his eyes turned apologetic as he kept watching me. 

I was not sure what to say. I was speechless. Just staring back into those bewitching eyes. 

"And if I would be you, I would skip the little date in the library tomorrow Kaela, there is planned check up of the whole court and if someone would find you and Sena alone there, it would cause unnecessary trouble," he added and I was not even surprised that he was aware for the conversation that happened with the other concubines. 

"Thank you," I finally managed to say something. 

I don't know for what I was thanking him, if for the heads up about tomorrow or the fact that he was finding all possible ways how to avoid the worst outcome of this whole concubine program for me. Maybe for both. 

"Don't stay behind on my behalf, if it would be a safe way out, then go and don't look back," he reached for my hand and squeezed it in a reassuring manner. 

"It's not fair towards you," I whispered, unable to avert my eyes away from his. 

"That's not your concern," he squeezed my hand once again and offered me a gentle smile. "I want you as far away from here as possible Kaela." 

I needed to blink away the tears that came to my eyes as he spoke. 

"I want you to come as well," I said with a gravely sincere voice, the need to not leave him behind was almost as crushing as the need to take this opportunity and run away. 

"I know I would, without any second guessing I would, but I can't," his eyebrows crushed together and all over his handsome face showed the weariness of his soul. How much he himself was fighting to not let this hell crush him. 

"Then why don't we focus on how to kill that bitch instead of escaping?" I leaned forward and placed my free hand over his, my eyes full of determination. 

"I'm trying to find out a way to weaken her enough to get through her defenses, yet so far any possible solution I managed to find didn't work," he sighed and his thumb caressed the skin of my hand. 

"Then let me help you, let's kill that bitch so the both of us would be able to leave?" I pressed on the idea, feeling more hope than for the damn escape plan. 

"I'm touched by your care Kaela, truly I am, but you need to get away from here, especially now with the contraceptive tonics banned, I will speak with Helion, see how far they are with their plans and make sure that it's safe way out for you," he insisted and I felt my heart breaking for this selfless male. 

"What would my escape fix Rhysand? She would put another female into your bed instead of me, I would sentence another female to this fate and I will be on a run away from her for gods know how long till she will be defeated, if she will be. I cannot be sure that I will make it across the continent to reach my kingdom before they catch me. This way we will fix this whole mess, get rid of her and both of us would be able to walk away with our honor restored," I rambled and rambled, not wishing to agree to that damned plan of leaving him behind. 

"What it would fix is that you will be far away from here. That's all that needs to be fixed right now. You were not supposed to be there in the first place, so please Kaela, stop thinking about others for once and think about yourself. You would not be returning to your kingdom for a while after your escape, I will secure a safe place for you to hide, a place where she wouldn't be able to reach you," his voice was covered in desperate need to protect that it knocked air out of my lungs.

What does he mean that I was not supposed to be there in the first place? 

"You yourself said that it would take him years to untangle the bargain magic, we can make a compromise," I replied in a similar tone in my voice and fought the need to cry at the helpless feelings that were consuming my body. 

"Should I be afraid?" He raised his eyebrows at my proposal and I needed to hit his hand to get some emotions out of my system. 

"There will be enough time for us to work on how to take Amarantha down, the time where Helion would work on untangling the bargain magic, we would spend on planning her fall, promise me, that you would try to make sure to walk away with me once the time will be right, we both deserve it," I insisted and pleaded him with my eyes to agree, to don't argue and just for once think about himself as well. 

"Alright, but you need to promise me, that when the time comes and we wouldn't be anywhere close to defeat her, you will go, no question asked, you will escape and don't look back," he shared his own demands for closing the compromise and I wanted to slap him across his handsome face for being this damn good with closing deals. 

"Alright, even though it's not fair," I mumbled and leaned forward, wrapping my arms around his neck. 

I needed to hug him, not sure why, maybe with everything that was going on, I just felt the urge to hug him and so I did. He didn't hesitate and returned my hug back with all affection, keeping me away from this cursed place for a small moment.

Chapter Seven

[fallenasleepyetagain]

Competing - Blue/Nightmare Fic

Media: UTMV/UTAU

Genres: Human AU, normal multiverse, homoerotic chess game, flirting or threats? who knows!

Characters: King Nightmare, Blue, Dream (mentioned), Ink (mentioned)

Pairing(s): Nightmare/Blue

CW/TW: Threats, Nightmare vaguely taking about his Evil Plans™️

Word Count: 1434

Read it on ao3!

"Have a seat."

Nightmare sat on the opposite side of the large living room from the main entrance. The room was large, and if Blue was there for any other reason, it would've felt homey.

The living room contained a multitude of different activities scattered around the place. There was a large fireplace on the far wall, large and ornate, no fire burning in it at the moment. The floor was a dark wood, but there was a variety of teal and black carpets around the room, specifically around the couches and chairs.

The walls were filled to the brim with tall, wooden bookshelves. On most of them, there were rows and rows of books, as to be expected. Large books with damaged spines and withering covers were located at the top, out of reach, and out of danger. On the lower shelves were magazines and books clearly deemed less important by Nightmare.

On others were rows and rows of video game cartridges, as well as music CDs and cassettes. If Blue had to guess, there were also VHS tapes and recordings of TV shows and movies, but he wasn't close enough to see the exact filmography Nightmare had.

Wherever there weren't book shelves, there were small tables with unfinished projects and board games on them. There were some whittling projects scattered about, as well as a board game with an obvious loser who wasn't willing to throw in the towel.

All of that pales in comparison to, truly, what was the star of the show. On the left side of the room was a beautiful and ornate chess table, built from a dark marble with silver accents.

The pieces were likely hand carved, no two pawns looked the same despite the similar shaping to them. One side was made from a dark metal of some kind, decorated with teal and blue gemstones, the other set being a light silver with orange and white gems.

"Pretty, isn't it?" Nightmare said as Blue stared down at the chess set.

For a moment, Blue forgot where he was, what the stakes were. He nodded, fidgeting with his scarf.

"Shall we play, then?"

"What?"

Nightmare gestured for Blue to sit on the opposing side of the chess table: the side with the silver pieces. He obliged, although his body tensing as he sits down, the bottom half of his face hidden in his scarf.

"Have you ever played chess before, Blue?"

There was some hesitation; Blue's eyes darted to the board, the beautiful chess pieces, before back up at Nightmare. "...Yes. Not recently, but I have. I know the rules."

"Oh wonderful, I was worried that I'd have to teach you. That'd be a lot less fun," Nightmare hummed as he ran his thumb across his nails. "I get to skip to why you're here, which is preferable."

"I'm here to negotiate Dream and Ink's freedom." Blue said, his teeth grinding together. He knew a diplomatic conversation was the only way to succeed. Fighting Nightmare and his gang on his own was out of the question, and he couldn't rely on stealth to free his friends.

Not when Nightmare could hear the quickening of his heartbeat.

"But that's so boring, don't you think?" Nightmare fidgeted with the rook on the far left of the chess board. "We could have an intellectual back and forth, and with you I always do adore it, but this will just be a whole lot more fun."

"I- I mean...I guess so."

"So glad we're on the same page. Now, let me tell you about the stakes of the little game we are about to play."

Fidgeting with his rook, Nightmare allowed the suspense to build for a moment. "It's simple, really. We're playing for Dream and Ink's freedom.

"You win, and you all get to go home! No fights, no stakes, you just get to leave this castle untouched." He sat back in his chair, a sly smile on his face. "We end in a draw, and you take their place. Dream and Ink will be forced out of this universe, and you stay with me."

Nightmare leaned against the table, getting as close to Blue as physics allowed him. "If I win, on the other hand, then you'll never see them again."

"What? What do you mean?" Blue's hand gripped the arms of the chair, his fingers twitching, ready to summon his sword. "You'll kill me?"

"Oh, no no no, you misunderstand. I have uses, for the both of them, you see. And they cannot fulfill those roles until I've got all of you in the palm of my hand."

"And what about me?"

"What about you?"

"They have..." Blue ground his teeth, "uses. I don't?"

"No." Nightmare answered simply, smiling at him. "You're incredibly handsome though and that alone makes me want to keep you."

A shiver of discomfort shot through Blue's spine.

"So, shall we play then? I'll let you make the first move."

"Okay."

Blue looked down at the pieces, there were only a few options for what he could choose as a first move. All of the pawns; he could start with a queen's gambit, and the two knights.

What was Nightmare expecting him to do? Do something classic? Something unexpected? Was something truly unexpected if someone was expecting that was what you're going to do?

"Take as much time as you need."

The knight on the left side of the board reached his hand and he placed it down in front of his pawns.

"Oh, I knew you would make this fun."

Each and every turn was agony. Barely any actual words were spoken, just small hums and the occasional curse word. Blue's heart was pounding the entire time, trying desperately to get into Nightmare's head, and to play unpredictable enough that Nightmare couldn't get into his.

Nightmare's poker face never changed, even as Blue would capture his pieces. Just the softest, saccharine smile on his lips.

"Checkmate."

With ringing in his ears and his heart threatening to leap right out of his chest, Blue glanced down at the board. His throat was dry and he gripped down on his thighs.

"What?" Nightmare looked genuinely shocked. His eyes widened slightly as he scanned the chess board, working through each and every possible move with the remaining pieces on the board. "...Would you look at that. It appears that you've mated me. Congratulations."

Suddenly, Blue felt like his life was on the line. Nightmare stood up, slowly walking to the other side of the board. His nails tapping against the edge of the board.

A shutter left Blue's body as Nightmare got closer, his eyes squeezing shut. He was expecting pain, a fight, something, but it never came. Instead, Nightmare placed a small, shiny key in his hands, his lips close to Blue's ear.

"This was fun. We should do it again sometime." Nightmare said softly, his hand gently caressing Blue's reddening cheeks. He paused after taking a few steps. "Go get your friends. No one will stop you."

"Wait-!" Blue staggered to his feet, clutching the key to his chest. "You were going easy on me, weren't you?"

"Was I?" Nightmare glanced back, a smirk on his face. "Come to me again some time. We'll play again, and maybe you'll know."

Blue watched as Nightmare sauntered away, heart fluttering in his chest. As terrifying as it was, knowing Dream and Ink, and his own livelihood were on the line, it was thrilling.

Thrilling. Exhilarating. No one had ever looked at him the way Nightmare had during their game. Even though Nightmare often referred to him as "mortal," Blue felt as if they were on equal footing.

Is this what Sherlock felt like when he came across foes who could keep up with him?

Nightmare's thought process was a mystery to him, and something deep within Blue's mind wanted to solve it. Nightmare had such power, such control over his magic, his abilities. Blue was almost jealous.

To know Nightmare's mind, every square inch of how his brain works, every part of Nightmare's body-

With a shake of his head, Blue turned on his heel and sprinted to the dungeon. He couldn't be thinking about Nightmare, not when Dream was his best friend.

But...perhaps...in the middle of the night, when Ink and Dream were fast asleep, he could escape to the castle, and play once more. Challenge Nightmare's wits with his own.

As his hands placed the key into the lock of the cell, he knew that he had to come back.

Shit.