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alyrasturnz · 3 months

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‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎TOLERATE IT

❐ summary » matt and y/n find themselves in a heated argument due to matt's frequent absences. feeling neglected and overwhelmed, y/n confronts him about his perpetual absence. matt, realizing the depth of her loneliness and frustration, makes a heartfelt attempt to reconcile and mend their strained relationship.

❐ pairings » dad!matt x fem!reader

❐ warnings » lowkey toxic!matt, argument (resolved)

❐ a/n && w/c » i didnt realize i hit 300 😭 thank u guys smmm • 3.20k

you sit at the dining table, the remnants of dinner barely touched, each morsel a testament to the lingering void. the weight of motherhood envelops you like an oppressive cloak, suffocating and unrelenting in matt's absence. the silence in the room is a deafening symphony, punctuated only by the sporadic clink of cutlery against porcelain, each sound a stark reminder of the solitude that has become your unwelcome companion.

you drop your utensils onto your plate with a jarring clatter, the sound echoing through the silence like a cry for attention. your gaze, heavy with unspoken words, shifts away from matt, who remains ensconced in his own world, seemingly unperturbed by the storm brewing within you.

he sat at the table, the soft glow of his phone casting shadows on his face. his fingers moved methodically over the screen, eyes fixed with a steely detachment. each swipe seemed to deepen the chasm between you, a silent testament to the growing distance.

as he mechanically brought the fork to his lips, his expression remained cold and unyielding, the warmth of shared moments now a distant memory.

“matt, we need to talk," you begin, your voice quivering like a fragile leaf caught in a tempest, each word a struggle against the torrent of emotions threatening to break free.

matt looks up from his phone, a flicker of irritation dancing in his eyes. "what is it now, y/n? i've had a long day."

"every day is a long day for me too," you reply, your voice gaining strength as you rise from your seat, hands trembling with pent-up frustration. "but unlike you, i don't have the luxury of escaping to an office. i'm here, day in and day out, dealing with everything alone." your eyes bore into his, a mixture of pain and determination, as you take a step closer, your breath uneven with the weight of unspoken words.

"you're exaggerating," matt says, dismissively, his tone laced with condescension. "i work hard to provide for this family. you should be grateful for that." his words hang in the air, a cold barrier that refuses to acknowledge the depth of your struggles.

"grateful?" you echo, incredulity coloring your tone as you take a step back, your hands balling into fists. "grateful for what? for feeling like a single parent while you're off at work? for the endless nights spent alone, wondering if you even care about us anymore?" your voice cracks, the raw emotion spilling over as your eyes glisten with unshed tears, each word a dagger aimed at the heart of the chasm between you.

matt's face hardens, the lines around his eyes deepening with a mix of frustration and hurt. "that's not fair, y/n. you know my job is demanding. i'm doing this for us, for our future." his voice carries a steely edge, each word a plea for understanding masked by the armor of duty and sacrifice.

"and what about our present, matt?" you counter, tears threatening to spill over as your voice trembles. "what about the here and now? i feel so isolated, so overwhelmed. i need you, not just as a provider, but as a partner. i need your support, your presence." your words hang heavy in the air, each one a desperate plea for the connection that seems to be slipping through your fingers.

matt sighs, rubbing his temples as if trying to massage away the weight of the world. "i don't know what you want from me. i'm doing the best i can." his voice is weary, a fragile thread of exasperation and helplessness woven through his words, as if he's grappling with an invisible burden that words alone cannot lift.

"i want you to see me," you say, your voice breaking as the dam of your emotions begins to crack. "to understand that i'm struggling. i can't do this alone. i need you to be here, to help shoulder the responsibilities of our family. we need to find a balance, matt, or we're going to lose each other." your plea hangs in the air, a poignant reminder of the fragile threads that bind your lives together, threatening to unravel if not carefully tended.

matt's eyes narrow, frustration bubbling to the surface like a volcano on the brink of eruption. "maybe if you appreciated what i do, you wouldn't feel so alone." his words are sharp, tinged with a bitterness that cuts through the air, revealing the deep chasm of misunderstanding and unmet expectations that lies between you.

your heart sinks at his words, the final blow to an already battered spirit. tears well up in your eyes, blurring the sight of matt as he turns away, his attention already drifting back to his phone. your chest tightens, the weight of his indifference pressing down on you, each tear a silent testament to the growing distance between you.

the room falls into a heavy silence, the chasm between you widening with each passing second. the air grows thick with unspoken words and unresolved pain, each heartbeat echoing the vast emptiness that now separates your souls.

"i remember when we used to dream together," you whisper, more to yourself than to him. "we promised each other a life of shared joys and burdens. but now, it feels like i'm the only one carrying the weight." your words hang in the air, a poignant echo of a past filled with hope and unity, now overshadowed by the solitary struggle that defines your present.

matt's shoulders tense, but he doesn't respond. the silence grows heavier, pressing down on you like an oppressive fog. the weight of his unspoken thoughts and the invisible wall between you becomes almost tangible, each second stretching into an eternity.

"i miss you," you continue, your voice barely audible. "i miss the man who used to hold my hand and tell me everything would be okay. i miss the laughter and the love we shared. where did it all go, matt?" your words tremble, laden with the weight of lost moments and fading memories, each syllable a desperate plea to reclaim what once was.

he finally looks up, his expression unreadable. "i don't know," he admits quietly. "maybe we just grew apart." his words, though simple, carry the weight of a thousand unspoken emotions, each one a fragment of the distance that has slowly and silently crept between you.

"or maybe you stopped trying," you reply, the bitterness in your voice undeniable. "maybe you decided that your career was more important than your family. i can't do this anymore, matt. i can't keep pretending that everything is fine when it's not." your voice quivers, each word a sharp blade cutting through the fragile remnants of your shared life, exposing the raw truth that has been festering beneath the surface.

matt stands up abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "i need some air," he mutters, walking towards the door. his movements are sudden, almost violent, as if trying to escape the suffocating tension that has filled the room, leaving behind a trail of unresolved anguish.

as he leaves, you feel the tears spill over, hot and unrelenting. the weight of your loneliness crashes down on you, leaving you gasping for breath. you sit there, tears welling in your eyes, the realization sinking in that the man you once loved is now a stranger.

the future you dreamed of feels like a distant memory, replaced by a stark and painful reality. your heart aches with the profound sense of loss, each tear a testament to the love that once was, now shattered and scattered like fragments of a forgotten dream.

you feel the tears spill over as you stand up, the legs of the chair scraping against the hardwood floor. each tear is a silent scream, echoing the pain that words cannot capture, while the sound of the chair's movement seems to underscore the finality of the moment, a harsh reminder of the emotional chasm that now separates you.

you quickly run to your shared bedroom, collapsing onto the bed as you desperately cry into your pillow, mascara staining your cheeks. the sobs wrack your body, each one a visceral manifestation of the heartache that grips you, while the dark streaks of mascara on your cheeks serve as a poignant reminder of the facade you've been forced to maintain, now crumbling under the weight of your sorrow.

»--•--«

you wake up, your eyes swollen and feeling horrible. the remnants of last night's tears leave your face tender, and an overwhelming sense of desolation weighs heavily on your spirit. each breath feels labored, as if the very air around you has thickened with the residue of your sorrow, making every moment a struggle to endure.

you turn your head to matt’s side of the bed, only to find it empty, as always. the absence is like a gaping void, a stark reminder of the growing chasm between you. the cold, untouched sheets seem to mock your yearning for connection, amplifying the loneliness that has taken root in your heart.

you roll your eyes, sitting up as you rub your eyes. the gesture is both reflexive and laden with fatigue, a silent testament to the weariness that has settled into your bones. each movement feels heavy, as if the weight of your emotions has seeped into your very muscles, making even the simplest actions a laborious endeavor.

you turn to the clock on the bedside table. the soft glow of its digits pierces the dimness of the room, marking the passage of time that feels both swift and interminable.

7:38 AM

matt should be at work by now. the thought crosses your mind, a stark reminder of the routine that has become your reality. his absence is predictable, yet it deepens the void within you, emphasizing the growing distance that time and obligations have carved between you.

your feet touch the cold hardwood floor, sending chills through your body as you stand up. you grab your blanket and wrap it around you, crossing your arms in front of your chest. the chill seeps into your bones, a physical manifestation of the emotional coldness that has settled into your life. the blanket offers scant comfort, a fragile barrier against the pervasive sense of isolation that clings to you like a shadow.

you walk outside of your bedroom and towards your daughter’s room to wake her up for school. each step echoes softly in the quiet hallway, a prelude to the day’s responsibilities. the door to her room stands as a threshold between the innocence of her dreams and the reality awaiting outside, and as you reach for the handle, the weight of your own burdens seems to momentarily lift, replaced by the tender duty of rousing her from slumber.

you open the door and stop in your tracks. her bed is made and empty, a stark contrast to the usual disarray of her morning routine. the room feels eerily still, the absence of her presence amplifying the silence. she is nowhere to be found, and a sense of unease begins to coil around your heart, tightening with each passing second.

"aniella?" you call out, your voice still raspy from sleep as you step into her room. the name hangs in the air, unanswered, and the silence that follows feels heavy, laden with an unspoken tension. each step forward is tentative, as if you are wading through the thick fog of uncertainty, seeking the warmth of her presence in the cold, empty space.

your eyebrows furrow, a deep line forming between them as the realization dawns that she wasn't there. the room, usually brimming with her energy, now feels like a hollow shell, echoing the absence that gnaws at your consciousness. you stand there, grappling with the unsettling quiet, your mind racing to piece together the fragments of the morning's mystery.

your mind races with thousands of thoughts, each one more frantic than the last, as you quickly rush out of her room and into the living room. the urgency in your steps mirrors the chaos in your mind, a whirlwind of worry and confusion. the living room, usually a sanctuary of familial warmth, now feels like an arena of unanswered questions, each corner holding the potential for discovery or despair.

you stop in your tracks, your brows furrowing as your gaze locks onto the figure seated on the couch. matt. the sight of him there, in the midst of your turmoil, adds another layer to the tangled web of emotions. his presence, usually a source of comfort, now feels like an enigma, stirring a storm of questions and unresolved tensions within you.

his face was buried in his hands, his hair disheveled, a testament to the inner turmoil he was experiencing. you hear him muttering some inaudible things, the words slipping through his fingers like sand, lost to the vast ocean of his despair. each whispered syllable seems to carry the weight of a thousand unsaid apologies, adding to the heavy atmosphere that envelops the room.

you rub your eyes, the disbelief palpable as you try to reconcile the sight before you with reality. was he actually there? your gaze returns to him, the figure on the couch, as if the act of looking again might somehow make the surreal scene vanish. yet, he remains, a living contradiction to your expectations, and the room seems to hold its breath, waiting for the next beat in this unfolding drama.

“matt?” you say softly, your voice barely a whisper, as if afraid that speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile reality before you. in response, matt quickly removes his head from his hands, the sudden motion revealing a face etched with lines of worry and exhaustion. the air between you feels charged, every second stretching into an eternity as the weight of unspoken words hangs heavily in the silence.

his eyes met yours, and in that fleeting connection, you saw the depth of his anguish. they were puffy, dark, and red, like the storm-tossed sea after a relentless tempest. each glance was a silent testament to sleepless nights and unspoken sorrows, a mirror reflecting the turmoil that lay just beneath the surface.

“have you seen aniella?” you inquire softly, your voice a delicate whisper that barely disturbs the heavy silence. the name hangs in the air, laden with unspoken worry and the weight of countless memories. each syllable seems to tremble with the fragility of hope, as if the very act of asking might unravel the tenuous threads of your composure.

“i, uh,” he began, his voice faltering as he stood up, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. “i drove her to school,” he continued, his gaze dropping to the couch where his hands fumbled to pick up a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates. each movement seemed laden with unspoken apologies and the remnants of a love that had been left unattended for too long.

you furrowed your eyebrows, a storm of confusion and apprehension brewing in your expression, as he approached you. each step he took seemed to magnify the tension in the air, the distance between you shrinking yet feeling more immense with every passing second.

“um—you didn’t have to do that,” you whisper, your voice barely audible as you instinctively step back, creating a gulf between you. the words, though simple, carry the weight of unspoken emotions, and you can almost see the pang of sadness slash through his heart, leaving an invisible wound that deepens the chasm of misunderstanding.

"y/n," he begins, his voice trembling slightly, each word a fragile confession. "i know i’ve messed up. last night made me realize just how much i’ve been neglecting you and our relationship. you mean everything to me, and i'm ready to show it. i want to make things right." his eyes, filled with a desperate sincerity, search yours, hoping to bridge the chasm that has grown between you.

tears well up in your eyes as his heartfelt words wash over you, each syllable a poignant reminder of the pain you've endured. you take a deep breath, trying to steady the tumultuous storm of emotions within. "matt, i’ve felt so alone and unappreciated. i need you to understand how much that hurt," you say, your voice trembling with the weight of unspoken sorrow and longing.

matt steps closer, his eyes brimming with regret, each step a silent plea for forgiveness. "i do understand now. i’m so sorry for making you feel that way. i’ve been so caught up in everything else that i forgot to cherish what’s most important – you. i promise to be better, to be the partner you deserve. i love you, y/n, and i don’t want to lose you," he says, his voice laden with a profound sincerity that reverberates through the air, seeking to mend the fractures in your heart.

you look at the flowers and chocolates, then back at matt, your gaze unwavering. "i need to see that you mean it, matt. actions speak louder than words," you say, your voice steady yet tinged with the echoes of past disappointments, a silent challenge for him to prove his sincerity through deeds, not just declarations.

he nods earnestly, the weight of his resolve evident in his eyes. "i’ll prove it to you, every day. just give me the chance. i’ve already started making changes. i’ve rearranged my work schedule so i can spend more time with you and our daughter. i want to be there for you, to support you, and to show you how much i care," he says, each word a solemn vow, a promise etched in the air between you, seeking to mend the fractures with tangible efforts and unwavering commitment.

your tears spill over, but you nod, feeling a glimmer of hope amidst the storm of emotions. "okay, matt. let’s try to fix this together," you whisper, your voice a fragile thread of optimism, weaving through the tapestry of your shared pain and longing for a renewed connection.

matt reaches out and gently takes your hand, his touch a tentative bridge to your heart. "thank you for giving me another chance. i promise i won’t let you down. i’ve also planned a special date for us tonight. just you and me, so we can reconnect and start rebuilding what we’ve lost," he says, his voice a solemn pledge, each word a step toward mending the fragile bonds of your relationship.

you squeeze his hand, your heart softening under the weight of his sincerity. "i’d like that, matt. i want to believe in us again," you murmur, your voice a quiet testament to the flickering hope that still resides within, yearning to see the dawn after the darkest of nights.

you share a tender embrace, both feeling the weight of your words and the promise of a better future. the road ahead might be long, but with love and determination, you are ready to face it together. in that moment, the world seems to hold its breath, granting you a fragile, yet profound, sense of unity and purpose, as if the universe itself conspires to give your love a second chance.

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rejectedbytheempty · 5 months

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Hey could you write something about older Ghost with a younger curvy wife, and potentially having sons together (only if you’re comfortable with that). Rn I’m obsessed with dilf Simon living his domestic best life lol

okay, so i have no clue why this took me so long. anyways, forgive me, i’ve never written for ghost before so most definitely will be ooc. also kind of a newer writing style for me, let me know if it sucks balls or not !!

When you first met Simon, it was at a bar. Your eye had been drawn to the big, hulking man with a skull mask nursing a glass of whiskey. It surprised you that when you went up to talk to him, he was a blushing and stuttering mess. He stumbled over his words, accidentally spilling his drink all over you when he went to shake your hand. He apologized profusely and immediately went to take off his shirt so you didn’t have to wear a bourbon stained top. It was only after you blushed and turned away that he realized just what he did. He looks back on that memory with a grimace but you love telling it because you knew you found the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.

After a few weeks of dating you, his team had noticed a difference in his demeanor, he was.. happy? It took constant jabs from Johnny and Gaz’s puppy dog eyes for him to finally come clean. Pulling out a picture of you made all of their jaws drop. Johnny immediately asked “What’s that bonnie little thing doing with you?” But after a slap to the head by Price, Soap shut up. Simon pretended like it didn’t bother him, like he hadn’t already thought that himself. A couple of days later, he tried to break up with you. For your own good, he had too much baggage, and he was older than you. He would ruin your life, he decided. Too bad you didn’t agree, practically slapping him upside the head like Price did to Soap. That was when Ghost well and truly fell in love with you.

A year later, he proposed. You had said yes, of course. The hardest part had been pretending to be surprised. It wasn’t hard to figure it out when he was shaking like a leaf all throughout your fancy dinner. Then, on your wedding day, he was the same nervous ball of energy. It took a talk from Price to get him to calm down. It was a small ceremony, but you both preferred it that way, it was more intimate. By the time you both got to your vows, both of you were crying, choking on your words to the point where you just moved on to the kiss. After the ceremony, Simon swept you up into a bridal carry. He was able to pick you up with ease, which you never got over, even after all this time. As he carried you down the aisle, he was only looking at you, his brown eyes glinting with tears through his balaclava.

Simon was gone for long periods of time on deployment, but when he came back to you, he was all over you. Constantly at your back, grabbing at your curves and burying his face into your neck. He loved spoiling you, constantly buying you things, whether you liked it or not. Even if you mention something in passing, it’ll be on the dining table with breakfast the next morning. When Simon is away for his missions, you guys send letters back and forth. Sometimes you include little pictures of yourself, some more raunchy than others. One time while Gaz was looking for Ghost, he found those letters sitting out on a desk, including the pictures. Gaz turned beet red when Simon walked in, muttering apologies in a squeaky voice before running out of the room.

It had been about six months since your wedding when you found yourself bent over the toilet. One positive pregnancy test later and Simon was pacing around the room. He hadn’t expected it to happen this quick, he wasn’t sure if he was ready. Panic seized him, images of his father flashed in his mind. It took you coaxing him to the bed and rubbing soothing circles on his back for him to calm down. You had reassured him that he wasn’t his father, that he was an amazing husband and would be an amazing father. Simon sat there for a moment and then put his hand to your stomach, leaning down to touch his forehead to yours. You were right, as always, and he would be there every step of the way, for you, and for your child.

#older bf simon riley #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x you #ghost x reader #plus size!reader #ghost x plus size!reader #ps!reader

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ferigrieving · 3 months

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born a weapon.

⊹ ࣪ i know there’s better brothers / but you’re the only one thats mine.

a.n sorry it’s short i wrote this on my phone 😓

⤷ masterlist ; requests open ; i. goodnight moon ; iii. orpheus and eurydice ; 1.8k words

shadows flickered and danced, casting eerie shapes across the faded wallpaper. thunder rumbled like a beast awakened, shaking the walls of their dingy old apartment. a storm was brewing outside, one dark and angry, threatening to consume anything in its path.

shouto huddled in the corner of the bed, clutching his blanket to his chest. his wide eyes mirrored the lightning outside, every crash of thunder eliciting a whimper. the windows were rattling, and shouto felt like the walls were caving in, threatening to eat him alive.

sitting at the kitchen table, you couldn't help but flinch as a crack of thunder tore through the skies, lighting up the dreary apartment for a second too long. your fingers shook as you wrote a grocery list, kanji blending into each other and forming an unreadable conglomeration.

touya was across from you, fidgeting with a pocket knife he had stolen from the lawson’s down the street. he had picked up where you left off last night in cleaning the kitchen, and was now lounging on the rackety old dining chair you had picked up on the side of the road. if he noticed your hands shaking, he didn't say anything.

like a gust of wind, you heard shouto cry out, voice a small, terrified echo in the vast expanse of the night, and in an instant, he was across the room, appearing at the foot of the bed like an apparition.

shouto’s eyes darted to touya’s, searching for something, anything. another boom, and he flinched, tears spilling over. you crawled onto the bed, arms wrapping around shouto, pulling him into a protective embrace.

the storm raged on outside, a relentless force of nature against the fragile apartment. the windows rattled, a sharp, rhythmic clatter against the backdrop of thunder's roar. shouto's trembling form was pressed against yours, seeking solace in your presence. touya stood silently, a figure in black, a contrast to the terror etched on his younger brother's face. he was never the best at comforting, more of a practical person than an emotional person.

"it's just a storm, shou’," touya muttered, voice steady despite the chaotic atmosphere. his fingers danced over the edge of his pocket knife out of habit. "just the weather bein’ dramatic."

shouto didn't respond, just burrowed deeper into your embrace, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps. the room was a tableau of shadows and light, every flicker of lightning casting an eerie glow over the scene. touya's eyes were fixated on the window, watching the dance of the rain against the glass, an ever-present rhythm of drops hitting the cracked pane.

shouto's eyes widened, the lightning illuminating his tear-stained face as he looked up at touya. the thunder roared again, making him flinch. he buried his face into your shoulder, his body shaking.

"its… loud," he whimpered, voice wavering. touya's lips twitched in a brief smirk.

"yeah, storms are like that," he shrugged, leaning against the doorframe. "just noise and bluster. a whole lot of nothing."

shouto peeked out from your embrace, his small frame trembling like a leaf in a hurricane.

"but what if… storm is angry?" he asked, voice trembling. "what if it wanna hurt us?"

touya chuckled softly, but it was a humourless sound. "storms don't have feelings, kiddo," he replied, a dismissive tone in his voice. “it’ll pass.”

and as if god himself was watching, all the lights in the apartment went out in an instant.

the sudden loss of light sent a wave of panic through shouto. his scream pierced the air, echoing through the apartment. you tightened your grip around him, while touya froze in place for a brief moment.

"it's just a power outage." touya said, his voice surprisingly steady despite the darkness. he glanced around, eyes adjusting to the dim moonlight filtering through the curtains. you internally cursed him for his inability to empathise with people, but you couldn't blame him for the way he was raised.

the sudden, brief illumination of the lightning made it seem as if the shadows themselves were dancing, a grotesque puppet show against the walls. shouto shuddered in your arms, eyes wide with fear as he watched the shadows move.

and the silence was deafening, a sharp contrast to the earlier commotion. shouto's breathing was ragged, his small frame trembling against you.

touya pushed off the wall, his silhouette cutting through the darkness. he moved with a deliberate precision, making his way towards the table where the grocery list lay.

without warning, another clap of thunder struck, causing shouto to jump. his grip on you tightened until you could feel his nails digging into your skin.

touya reached the table and began feeling around in the darkness, his hands brushing against stray objects. reaching into the junk drawer, his fingers closed around the dented matchbox, and with a small flick of the wrist, the dining room was illuminated in an instant. from where you and shouto sat in the bedroom, touya looked like he was bathing in the flames, and you couldnt help but feel a pang of fear.

the small flame cast long shadows across the walls, giving the room an eerie, almost otherworldly ambiance. despite the situation, touya seemed unfazed, his voice steady and detached.

"we’re almost out of rice," he said, his voice low, as he grabbed the grocery list from the table. “and eggs.”

“touya, not now.” you hissed, rocking shouto back and forth in attempt to soothe him. you could feel his tears seeping through your thin shirt, dousing the whole thing in liquid fear.

touya raised an eyebrow, the flicker of the lighter's flame casting harsh shadows on his face.

"what? it's true," he retorted, setting the list back on the table. the light flickered out, plunging the room back into darkness.

shouto clung to you, eyes wide and glossy with tears. another bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, accompanied by an earth-shattering crash of thunder. shouto cried out, his small frame shaking violently. you held him tightly, your own heart pounding in your chest. you weren’t the best with loud noises, especially that of thunder, but you couldn’t let shoto know that. not now, and maybe not ever.

touya paused, the lighter flickering in his fingers. he looked at shouto, his expression unreadable. touya's gaze softened for a moment, but it was gone so quickly that you almost didn't catch it.

he made his way to the window, the dancing shadows on the wall seeming more sinister with the flicker of light. putting down the list on the bed, he pulled back the curtains, revealing the storm outside. touya muttered a curse under his breath as he spotted the water seeping in through the edges of the window.

shouto flinched at the sounds, burying his face even deeper into your chest. his hands came up to clutch at your shirt, almost desperate.

lightning flashed again, bathing the room in a brief moment of illumination. through the window, touya could see the storm in all its feral glory. rain lashed against the window, water trickling in through the edges.

he crouched down closer to the window, his gaze fixed on the tempest outside, the roar of the storm a sharp contrast to shouto's soft sobs against your chest.

shouto's little hands clenched onto your shirt, his grip desperate, seeking comfort in the midst of his fear.

you stroked his hair gently, trying to offer as much reassurance as you could. the storm outside seemed relentless, the rain a constant drumming against the window, and the thunder like an angry god's wrath against the earth.

touya turned away from the window, the lighter's flame flickering in the darkness. he sat back on the edge of the bed, the grocery list now forgotten. "it's just a storm, shouto," he echoed, his voice softer now.

lightning flashed again, this time followed by a particularly loud thunderclap, and shouto cried out in fright, burying his face against your chest.

as the room was bathed in the harsh flash of light, you could see touya's expression soften just a bit more. he looked at shouto's trembling form, his lips pursed in a slight frown.

"it won't hurt you," he reassured, his voice less sarcastic than usual. "it's just noise. don't let it scare you. you’re big and strong like your brother."

touya perched himself beside you on the bed, his form silhouetted by the pale light filtering through the windows. he was unnaturally still, watching shouto's tear-stained face with an almost tender expression.

it was rare to see touya like this, soft around the edges, devoid of his usual snark and sarcasm. he gently reached out, his long fingers hovering over shouto's trembling hand.

shoto flinched slightly when touya's hand found his, but he didn't pull away. his teary eyes peeked out from behind your shoulder, looking up at touya with a mixture of fear and surprise.

"it's just a storm," touya repeated, his touch gentle as he rubbed small, comforting circles on shoto's hand. "nothing to be scared of. it won't hurt you."

shifting slightly, you beckoned him into bed with you two, opening the blanket for just one more.

touya hesitated for a moment, his expression unreadable as his eyes flicked between you and shoto. blowing out the match and placing it on top of the window sill, he reluctantly climbed into bed, the old mattress creaking under his weight.

he arranged himself on the edge, keeping a small buffer between himself and the two of you. shoto, perhaps feeling a bit safer with his brother nearby, inched closer to touya, seeking the extra layer of comfort.

the storm continued outside, rain and thunder creating a symphony of natural chaos. inside the small apartment, you, touya and shouto huddled together in the dim light, seeking refuge from the storm.

shouto’s trembles had lessened, although he was still pressed firmly against you. touya sat silently, his gaze fixed on the rain-streaked window. his fingers were twitching, itching his pocket knife or a cigarette or anything to keep his hands busy.

another crash of thunder split the air, making shoto flinch. touya's hand twitched, as if he was about to reach out and comfort his brother, but he quickly restrained himself.

there was a moment of tense silence before touya cleared his throat. "hey, shouto," he said softly. shoto looked up at him, eyes still watery but now filled with curiosity. “do you want to count?”

he sniffled, peering up at touya with wide, hopeful eyes. "count…what?" he asked, his voice still shaky.

touya gave a dry chuckle, his fingers continuing to make small, circular motions on shoto's hand. "the seconds between thunder and lightning," he hummed. "it gives you something to focus on instead of the noise. and it tells ya’ how far away the lighting is."

shouto’s eyes widened at that, his fear momentarily replaced by curiosity. he looked up at touya, a hint of excitement on his face.

"really?" he asked, his voice slightly tinged with wonder. touya chuckled softly. "yeah, kid," he confirmed. "count the seconds, and you can tell how far away the storm is. the longer the time, the further away it is from hurting us."

as if on cue, another bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, followed by a boom of thunder a few seconds later. shoto glanced at the window, then back at touya.

"one, two, three..." he whispered, as if he was afraid the storm would hear him . touya smiled, his fingers still tracing gentle circles on shouto's hand. you shifted so you could rest your free hand on touya, thumbing the smooth, cold metal of his hip piercings.

as they continued to count, shoto slowly calmed down. the storm no longer seemed as ominous, replaced instead with an odd sense of curiosity.

the rain continued to pour outside, a steady rhythm against the window sill. shoto's counting was becoming slower, his eyes growing heavy with fatigue and the late hour. touya glanced at him, a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

“how far away is the storm, shouto?” you murmured into his hair, inhaling the sweet smell of his shampoo.

shoto's eyes fluttered open, trying to focus on the window. he struggled for a moment, still half asleep.

"four… four aways," he mumbled, his words slurring with exhaustion. touya chuckled again, his hand still gently rubbing shoutos.

"far enough that it won't hurt us," he reassured. "let's get some more counting in before you go night-night, yeah?"

shoto nodded sleepily, his eyes half-lidded. he counted slowly, but each number was a little more lucid than the last.

after a few more seconds, shoto's counting trailed off, replaced by a soft, steady breathing. it seemed the storm and the counting had done their job - shoto had finally drifted off to sleep in the safety of your and touya's arms.

as shoto slept, touya's gaze softened. he looked down at the younger boy, a mixture of protectiveness and something else flickering in his eyes.

your head rested gently on his shoulder, exhaustion weighing down on both of you. the apartment was quiet now, save for the steady rhythm of rain against the window.

"he’s out," touya murmured, breaking the silence. "guess that was enough counting for one night."

he shifted slightly, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you even closer.

touya's eyes flicked from the sleeping child to the storm outside, the harsh and chaotic flashes of lightning cutting across his face like sharpened knives. the rain slapped against the window in a relentless rhythm, beating like the wings of a desperate bird trying to gain entrance into the house.

he released a heavy sigh, his breath hitching in his throat as he tried to suppress the lump that was slowly forming in his chest. gently, his fingers continued to ghost along shouto's skin, tracing patterns only he could understand. you could see the conflict in his eyes, a battle between responsibility and emotion.

the storm seemed to amplify the silence inside the apartment. the only sounds were the steady rise and fall of shoto's breathing, the tapping of rain on glass, and the occasional creak of the building.

touya's hands lingered on shoto's skin, his touch almost reverent. he seemed torn, his eyes darting between the storm outside and the child sleeping peacefully in his lap.

you watched him closely, noticing the slight tremor in his fingers, the furrow in his brow. it was clear he was struggling to contain something, some deep and complex emotion that threatened to spill over.

“let’s count.”

touya's eyes narrowed as he looked at you, skepticism written all over his face. but you could see the slightest flicker of resignation in his gaze as well.

he knew you weren't going to let him go until he at least tried to sleep. “count what?” he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest in a defensive gesture.

“‘the seconds between thunder and lightning’” you echoed his previous words, leaning on him slightly as shouto was nestled in your arms.

touya's arms fell to his sides, and he rolled his eyes, though the gesture was half-hearted.

“seriously? that’s kid stuff,” he muttered, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

he looked down at shouto, his expression softening slightly. then he sighed, resigning himself to the task.

"fine, fine. let's count, then," he said, his voice resigned yet tinged with a hint of amusement.

as you began to count together, the room seemed to shrink around you. the rain and thunder were distant now, almost insignificant in the face of this small, intimate act.

touya, despite his protests, was getting drowsy. his eyelids drooped as he counted, the numbers spilling from his lips like a prayer.

he stole glances at you, each time his gaze a little softer than before. the tension in his shoulders slowly melted away, replaced with a weary kind of peace.

“one, two, three.”

the counting continued, the numbers blending into a soft, soothing cadence. every time a flash of lightning illuminated the room, touya would glance at the window, as if to make sure the storm was still as safe a distance away as it ever was.

but his eyes always returned to you, lingering a little longer each time.

“five, six, seven,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. the exhaustion was beginning to catch up with him, each word a little slower than the last.

touya's voice was getting slower, the words slurring together in a way that showed just how tired he really was.

he tried to stay awake, to keep his eyes open, but it was a losing battle. his head would droop, his chin almost touching his chest, and then suddenly he'd jerk back up as if jolted awake by a sudden burst of energy.

the rain continued to beat against the window, its steady rhythm now a strange kind of lullaby.

“eight, nine…”

despite his best efforts to stay awake, touya's body began to betray him. fatigue tugged at his eyelids, weighing down his limbs and making even the simple act of speaking feel like a herculean task.

the numbers he was whispering grew softer and more difficult to decipher, his voice heavy with sleep. his eyes would flutter shut for a few seconds before he'd jerk awake, blinking rapidly as if trying to dispel the exhaustion.

touya's voice faded off, replaced by a heavy sigh as his head lolled backwards. he was fighting a losing battle against sleep, his body no longer able to keep up the act.

he blinked owlishly at the ceiling, his eyes drifting shut again almost immediately. the only sounds in the room were the soft, even breaths from both you and shouto, the steady drumming of the rain, and…

the soft, nearly inaudible sound of a snore escaping touya's parted lips.

“ten.”

#⊹ ࣪ ˖ greywrites #⊹ ࣪ ˖ born a weapon #bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #dabi #dabi mha #dabi x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #mha dabi #bnha dabi #shoto todoroki #shoto torodoki

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hometoursandotherstuff · 10 months

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This is a bargain. I have never seen even a 1 bd. 1ba. home in New Orleans, Louisiana this cheap. It's $290K and comes with most of the furnishings! (But, there's a $441mo. HOA)

The description says that you can sit on the porch and watch the Mardi Gras parade.

The large living room has a beautiful fireplace and they have a dining table in here, too, b/c there isn't an eat-in kitchen.

There's a small counter and some kitchen cabinets in the hall. I would put 2 stools by the counter and a drop leaf table in the corner on the left.

Down further is the kitchen.

Kitchen's small, but at least they painted over the dated cabinets and the counters look like granite.

Cute window over the sink.

The bedroom's a nice size, has an original fireplace and a large closet.

And, there's a small 3pc. bath.

In the back hall is a closet with a washer/dryer.

If there's a yard, they don't show it, but there is assigned parking, which is good.

#NOLA home #old house dreams #houses #house tours #home tour

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martassimsbookcc · 1 year

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UPDATED SETS June-July 2023 | The complete list.

Hi! ♥ I took a break from converting new stuff to focus on updating old cc :) here's the complete list if you wanna take a look ^-^ Now that this job is done I can finally go back to my converting schedule yay ✨ Going through these old sets was really a pain in the ass, but it made me realise how much I improved. So proud of myself right now!

Sims-KKB - Food Set Novvvas - Loft Life Set 13pumpkin - Attic Ceiling Deco Fallout Dining Set Chicklet/SIMthing New - California Dreaming Set Simmerberlin - Fake Stuff Set Simsinatra - Body Pots SG5150 - Car Wash Set Sims-KKB - Cyberpunk Room Meinkatz - Serif TV Heurrs - Ethnicraft Set Meinkatz - Drop Leaf HM6 Simenapule - Bayla Set Novvvas - Potted Herb Garden Simsinatra - Moravian Set Novvvas - Random Bedroom Set Sims-KKB - One Room Set 6 Simenapule - Modular Sofa Set Slox - Rongmae Pt. 1 MamanGateau - Sacre Charlemagne Old Classroom Set MXIMS - Random Objects Set Sims-KKB - Korean Style Goods Set SG5150 - Jeep Grand Cherokee SG5150 - Lincoln Continental Dscombobulate - Rosa Set Sundays x Raventons - Dunes Set NynaeveDesign - Avis Candle The Sims 4 Laundry Day - Planted Angularity The Sims 4 Laundry Day - Succulent Succulents Leosims - Side Table Leosims - Boddhi Console The Sims 4 Laundry Day - Clean Sweep The Sims 4 Cats & Dogs - You’re Home! You’re Home! You’re Home! Entryway Shelf The Sims 4 - The Source The Sims 4 Romantic Garden - Where The Sunshine Goes The Sims 4 Parenthood - Rack of the Wood of the Dishes 3dhaupt - Indoor Pot Plant

#updatesmasterpost #s3cc #4to3

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locallixie · 2 years

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little red — heeseung

> summary. don't wander too far from the path, there's a wolf roaming the place.

> genre. dark fantasy, light horror, smut, wolf hybrid!heeseung, masc!reader, technically little red riding hood but i kind of fucked it up.

> warnings. non-con, minor gore, vulgar language, oral receiving, overstimulation, dacryphillia, sadism

Mother sent you out again, and everytime she would say the same thing. "Don't stray away from the path, my dear, there could be a wolf roaming around."

You were all too familiar at this point, she must be bluffing for all you know. You have never seen anything close to a predator in the woods, you even barely seen a squirrel. There was no such thing.

Why should she be worrying so much? You were already grown, it would be your twentieth birthday soon. She has nothing to stress, you would not take long to grandma's house. You'd be back before she could blink!

You heard from mother that grandma wasn't feeling so well, she made a gift basket to hopefully cheer her up. She, herself, couldn't go. That was why she sent you, grandma missed you very much and would love to see you.

Filled with curiosity as you were, even though you thought you've seen it all, the woods still fascinate you every once in a while. There were flowers of many kinds which bloomed oh-so nicely this spring season, birds which chirped their pleasant tune, the bright atmosphere from the sunlight seeping through every leaf. It was such a wonderful day outside.

"Where are you going, little one?" One of the townfolk appeared out of nowhere, a simple farmer he was.

"Gosh, I'm not that little, Heeseung." He wouldn't stop with his endless teasing whenever you crossed paths. He was fairly tall, and had a bulkier built than you. You swore, he always seem a bit taller everytime you see him. "Just to my grandma's, she's quite ill at the moment."

He placed on of his newly picked apples into your basket, "Here, this is for your grandma. I grew them myself." It was a vibrant red like every other apple, and like every places in this small town, most were also home-grown. But there was something about his apple that stood out, the outer skin felt particularly weird under your fingertips, it was unsettlingly soft. It felt like human skin.

Your face held uncertainty in a smile, "Thanks, I'm sure she'll like it." Maybe you were overthinking things, it was only an apple, he probably grew them a different way. There were many farmers in your town, there certainly would be some rivalry between some of them. You heard many say that produces from Heeseung were the freshest and best of them all.

You bid goodbye to the farmer and continued your journey to grandma's house. He, too, reminded you to stay on the path. That there was danger lurking when you least expected.

She was bed-ridden, was falling in and out of consciousness when you came. You left the basket on her dining table, putting the bouquet of flowers your mother provided into one of the many glass vases she had in her home. Such a shame that she lived alone and has no one to look after her, it was a luck that you came to check up on her just in case something did happen.

You washed and placed fruits on a dish for her to eat, there were grapes, and oranges, and pears. You were choping them into smaller pieces to make it easier for her to chew on.

The apple that Heeseung gave you were a bit too easy to cut through, the knife almost slide into it as if there was no core. You dropped the knife, it hit the floor a few inches away from severing your toes. Blood and guts poured out from inside the apple, you saw bits of intestine mixed in with scarelet substance.

There was a single finger, a finger that had a ring wrapped around it fell out from the fruit. This was paint, paint on human skin. "Grandma!" You screamed, running up the stairs to her. You pulled the blanket off of her, witnessing a scene which would traumatize you for life. Your grandma laid in bed with blood soiled sheets, her stomach hanging out from her torso.

In utter terror, you fled. Your feet kept running, mindlessly running throughout the deep woods. You didn't even notice that you strayed from the original path mother told you to stay on.

Heart pacing faster each step, lungs burning like there was a inferno inside of you. These shoes mother have put you in would twist your ankles, they ached as you continued to run. She refused to buy you new shoes, a pair that would fit you since you have out grown it. It was such a pretty pair yet it pained to walk in.

You let out a devasted yelp, hitting a stone on the earth ground. Luckily, before you hit the floor, someone caught you. "What's the rush, little red?"

Seeing him brought such relief, so happy that you never noticed how he simply showed up out of the blue every single time. One hand, his strength was overqualified for a plain farmer. The other hid behind his back, he too, was caught up in some business before bumping into you once more.

"Heeseung—! Oh, thank God! Call the hunter, I think a wolf got my grand—" You stopped aburptly, the realization finally hitting your dense head. He was the one who gave you that specific apple, he was the one people praised and ignored at the same time, he was the wolf.

"I— I—" Stumbling on your words as you stared at him in a slow burn fear.

"Hmm? A wolf, you say? Interesting." The corners of his lips curved, a unsettling smile he wore on his face. A smile paired with blank eyes, his sharp fangs reflecting off the sun as much as his eyes did. His furry tail wagged from side to side, taunting you. He knew what he was doing, calculated it all for some time.

You yanked yourself away, trying to get out of his firm grip. Catching him off guard, you threw one of your shoes at him. Lost, not a sense of direction, the sunlight blinding your sight. Nevermind it, you kept running, in hopes that you'd come out alive.

A breath knocked out of you, the blood stained axe flew and cutting deep into the tree in front of you. "Why are you running away? You don't trust lil' old me no more?" His tone of voice, of how sadistic it sounded, joking with your fear.

Your red hood fell from your head, pulled back, which choked you by the coat collar. You saw your feet dangling above the earth, helpless, and devastated. If only you were a little faster, if only these stupid fucking shoes didn't hurt every time you take a step. A bunny like you would quickly be devoured by the big, scary wolf.

Another prey, you were. You should've seen the blood that stained his pretty hands, should've seen the madness that glared in his eyes. You should've forseen it all! A wolf in sheep's clothing, hiding the darkness under a friendly exterior.

Free to kick and scream all you want, he already got you in submission. "Hmm, aren't you cute little thing," He sniffed your neck, licking the thin skin of yours, "And smells enticing too."

Tears filled your eyes, crying and begging him to let you go. His grip tightened every word of pleading that fell out of your lips, the more you sobbed and screamed at him, it filled him up with insanity. No one could save you now, he got you wrapped up around his claws that could easily ripped you apart. You were his prey, belong to solely him to toy with and feast on.

He dropped you, falling to the ground as you winced in pain from the impact. Coughing and trying to get every inch of oxygen into your lungs. The rough soil scraped your knees from the fall, the skin was broken and began to bleed.

Before you could even rise your head, pushed back onto the grass as he trapped you between his arms. Claws only mere inches away from tearing you into tiny pieces.

"What a nice coat, did your mother sown it herself? She sure is a nifty lady, is she?" He laughed, ripping away your layers until you were laid before him completely bare like a piece of raw meat, waiting to be eaten.

You couldn't bare having his hands all over you, staining your purity with his fingertips. Slowly sliding through every single rib, making his way to your waist. Your soft, warm skin under his hands, he could not resist nor restrain himself from wanting to do bad things to you. His sharp claws could cut you, gliding on the surface just to taunt you more.

As he breathed over your naked body, his warm breath which teased the senses on your skin. Sending shivers, and a guilty pleasure. It felt nice, your overly sensitive body was giving up underneath him bit by bit as he kept touching you in places that you, yourself, haven't went to.

His wet and long tongue dragged on your half-erect cock, exciting you just a little more. Heeseung kept his gaze on you, intense and utterly wild. He was going to eat you, but not in the way you think. He'd savor you like you were meant to, take you apart slowly until you fully submit to him.

Your breath hitched, gripping his gentle curls. You should stop him before you find yourself lost in the ecstacy. His teeth ghosting on the skin, his fangs caged your cock with threats.

"If you scream, I'll fucking bite it off." He growled. Pretty plump and pink lips wrapped around your shaft, the inside of his mouth was wet and warm. Flicking his tongue over the head everytime he got to the tip. Oh, it was absolutely driving insane!

Saliva dripping down his chin as he dived deeper, almost having you all the way down his throat. You gripped his broad shoulders, trying your best to push him off as you sensed something rising from the inside. You could not let him have the satisfaction of seeing you break down under his tongue. He was strong, as if he got a bit bigger than a few moments before.

You came into his mouth, the thick fluid spilling out the corners of his lips. But he didn't stop, kept bobbing his head by the same pace, keeping your stimulated cock in his mouth.

Your chest rising and falling, it felt hot, burningly hot. Your breathing was even worse than when he was chasing you down with his axe, you could not even take a breath without being rudely interrupted.

Then you came again, and again without one break. He was giving absolutely no room to breath, continuously sucking you off that pleasure soon turned into torture. He spat all your sweet juice out on the grass, even on your body which he disresepected.

You cried, "That's enough! I—can't—!" Face flushed, tears falling off your glossy eyes nonstop. He definitely got off to this, a wonderful sight of you embarassing yourself like this. So fucked, crying and moaning like the little bitch you were.

He flipped you over, the grass rubbing against your perked nipples, making you released a breath. Let him have his fun, get it over with and hopefully he'd leave you alone. That was what you were praying for, but putting into consideration, he might just not have that kind of mercy.

Heeseung lived in the same secluded town as you, and people adored him, who would believe you? Especially with a bold claim that stated he was a wolf in human disguise. They would gaslight you into thinking you were losing your marbles. Mother wouldn't believe you either, there was no such things as shape-shifters nor magic. Made up, no proof.

Pushing it inside of your backside, the more it streched, the more pain you felt. That big of a jump could hurt you, but that was the least of his concerns.

"Little red, should've listen to your mother. Got caught up in such an embarrasing situation, you wouldn't want her to find out, now would you? To see her little boy taking my cock so well, a natural born slut he is." His ears twitching and tail wagging as he spoke, the tone that toyed with your fucked up state, your eyes rolling back into your skull as his big size digged into you from behind.

You tried to fight the feeling, only to find yourself zoning out as the painfully nice sensation seeping all over you. He leaned down to your level, licking and pressing his razor-edged teeth against the shell of your ears.

"I'll break into your house, eat all your food, and then fuck you until you will only think of me every time you step foot into these woods." He told, slamming his cock into you. Destroying you bits by bits with his deep and hard thrusts. Holding both your wrists in his big hand behind your back, not giving you a single chance to fight. You didn't have the strength or mental stability to fight back anyways.

He groaned, your fleshy inside hugging his cock so tight. Your guts felt all jumbled up, with his seeds filling you up full, even dripping out to the ground. Your entire body twitched, having a small episode to finally cool down after having Heeseung play with your body as he wished.

You held your red coat that mother made for you, he was nice enough to keep it in on piece unlike the rest of your clothing. Covering your bare figure as you stared at the big bad wolf in front of your very eyes.

He grinned in a devious way, having intentions scattered on his inhuman expression. "Don't let me find you again, I won't so nice like this time. Run along now."

You held your coat together as tight as your weak and scratched hands could, putting your legs through pain once more. You see him in the corners of your eyes, silently admiring you from a distant, slowly fading away from your sight.

You should start listening to mother more, she warned you, didn't she? How would you explained to her when you get back? The wolf already got close enough, and he'd only get much closer if you let yourself wander next time.

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smartbuyfurniture · 1 year

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#Nordik dining table #nordik drop leaf table NZ #zurich dining chair

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johannestevans · 9 months

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Smaller drop-leaf dining table before I get a proper dining table, so at least I have places to eat meals and play games

Aaand the wardrobe waiting to go upstairs!

#musings #johannes house

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sephirthoughts · 2 months

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I wish you would write a fic where...

too embarrassed to ask so i went anon you mentioned you like tseng x aerith as a ship would you possibly be down to write a little something for them? 🫣

Hello lovely anonnie! i adore any excuse to write about ships that i like but never get around to writing, so you're the real hero. thank you for the ask and the excuse for self-indulgence!! 🖤

tags: tseng, aerith, tseng/aerith, elmyra gainsborough, ms. folia, cute, short, unresolved pining, inconvenient interruption trope

rating: general audiences

warnings: aerith-typical violence, very very minor blood

note: yes i gave tseng a first name don't @ me i have no time for cowards

think sephiroth with masamune is scary? wait till you see my girl with a folding chair

“Tseng!” Aerith exclaimed, dropping the folding chair, with a resounding clatter. “You scared the shit out of me! What are you doing sneaking up on people, like that!”

Tseng pushed himself up to a seated position, on the dirty floor, gingerly touching the large bump that was already forming, on the side of his head. “I apologize for startling you. I’ve certainly learned my lesson.”

“I’m so sorry,” Aerith winced, as she held out her hands to help him up. “I really didn’t know it was you. I just heard a noise and, to be honest, I’ve been pretty high-strung, all day.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Mm, nothing I can put my finger on. It’s like…the energy in the air is all tensed up, or something.”

Tseng stopped dusting off his trousers and frowned. “That doesn’t sound like anything good.”

“Never is, these days. Oh—your head is bleeding. It looks pretty bad. You better come back to my house. I’ll clean it up and heal it for you.”

“No, thank you. I doubt your mother would appreciate my intrusion, at this hour.”

“She’s not there. She went over to the Leaf House to work on the layout for the new garden. They’re pulling an all-nighter.”

“Even more reason for me not to go. You shouldn’t be alone in your house, with a man.”

“What is this, the 50s?” Aerith laughed. “You think I’m gonna ruin my reputation and never be able to get a husband?”

“Of course not,” Tseng said patiently. “I only meant that it isn’t safe for you to be by yourself with a man, in that isolated house.”

Aerith rolled her eyes. “So, now you think I’m stupid? I wouldn’t just invite some man to my house. It’s ok, because it’s you.”

“I see. I…wasn’t aware we’d become so familiar.”

“We’ve seen each other at least twice a week for fifteen years, Tseng. How much more familiar do you want to get, before you let me treat your bleeding head injury?”

“An injury you inflicted. With a folding chair.”

By way of reply, she raised her eyebrows and pointed at the door.

Aerith had a specific mood in which she simply would not be contradicted, and so the stone-faced, professional killer found himself obediently following a little pink-clad girl, out of the church and up the dirt road, toward the town center.

He attracted many glares, as they passed people on the narrow streets of the bustling little slum, but that was the worst of it. Everyone knew the long-haired Turk was a friend of Aerith’s, and no one was eager to incur her wrath.

The atmosphere had been stuffy and stale, as usual, on the walk back from the church, but the evening air was crisp and refreshing, in the hidden grotto where her little fairy-cottage lay, surrounded by lush and gorgeous greenery, that could be found literally nowhere else, within a several-miles radius of Midgar.

Inside the small, tidy house, that Tseng knew as well as his own, Aerith commanded him to sit, at the dining table, then went off to do something in the kitchen. He heard rummaging and water running. He felt a tickle on his cheek and brushed at it, thinking it was a stray hair, but his gloved fingertips came away wet and sticky.

It was only then that he realized the blood had run down his face, and dripped onto his white shirt. His head was throbbing pretty badly, too. Just how hard did she hit him? He was more inclined to be impressed, than anything.

“Don’t touch!” Aerith scolded, as she came back bearing a tray, loaded with clean towels and a steaming kettle. She poured the water into a ceramic bowl, into which she dipped one of the towels. “Sorry about your shirt. I could try to get the stain out, but I don’t have anything for you to wear, in the mean time.”

“That’s not necessary. You’ve—tss!” he hissed, as she pressed down on the wound, with the towel.

“Too hard?” she said, pulling it away.

“Hot. It’s too hot. You have to let the boiling water cool for a minute, before you slosh it all over someone.”

“Oops. Sorry, I’ve never done this before. I always hear people say to boil water and get clean towels, when someone’s hurt, so that’s what I did.”

“I think you’re thinking of childbirth.”

“Am I? Oh, you’re right. That’s funny. Why would I confuse the two?”

She grabbed his chin to turn his head to the side, before she applied the wet towel again, and he employed himself in looking studiously at anything but her. Because while she was dabbing at his head, chatting away like they were old friends, she was also leaning extremely close, and her gauzy sundress wasn’t exactly cut conservatively, at the neckline. Her knee kept bumping into his thigh, too, which was profoundly distracting.

“Alright, that’s as clean as I can get it, before we get the bleeding stopped,” she announced, after a several long minutes of what seemed to be needlessly assiduous labor. “I’m gonna cast a healing spell, but I’ve never used it, so. You know. No guarantees on how well it’ll work.”

“I’m sure it’ll be—wait, you’ve never used it?”

“Nope. It just sort of…came to me, today. I haven’t had a chance to test it out, yet.” She smiled sunnily. “I guess that makes you my guinea pig.”

Tseng balked. “Maybe we should just use one you already know works.”

“Maybe if we were cowards. We are pioneers, Tseng! Now, sit still. This might sting a little.”

For a second or two, he felt nothing. Then there was a swell of intense, golden light, and his head felt like she’d pressed a branding iron to it. He gave a start and pulled away, but it was already over.

“Wow, did you see the light?” Aerith breathed. “I’ve never had one do that before. Your wound healed so fast, too. I didn’t even have time to blink and it was just gone. It’s all healed, already!”

“It is?”

“Mm-hm. Go ahead. Feel.”

He reached up and gingerly prodded the area with his fingertips. Sure enough, the swollen, throbbing lump on the side of his head had vanished. Not only that, there was no pain at all. Not even the lingering tenderness and tingling, which he regularly experienced in wounds that had been treated with cure materia.

He gave a stiff nod. “Impressive. Your skills are developing.”

“Maybe not,” she said, laying a hand on her brow. “I think…I think I’m gonna—”

Mid sentence, her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed, like a puppet with cut strings.

Tseng caught her and cradled her in one arm, patting her face and shaking her gently. “Aerith? Aerith, are you alright?”

“Mm…” she murmured faintly.

He leaned closer. “What was that?”

“Mmmm…my hero!” Aerith burst out, with a peal of laughter. “What a knight in shining armor! A big, strong man, taking such tender care of a fainting damsel. You caught me and everything! If I’d dragged it out a little longer, would you have princess-carried me?”

Tseng let her go and stepped away, pursing his lips. “I’m glad you’ve amused yourself. I didn’t find that funny, at all.”

“What, because you can’t deliver damaged goods to Shinra?”

“Because I care what happens to you, Aerith!” he said, with sudden heat. “If I thought you’d harmed yourself, helping me, I would be very displeased.”

Aerith’s green eyes went as wide as saucers. “You care about me?”

“Of course I do.”

“But care about me, how?” He wouldn’t look at her, so she leaned around, into his eyeline. “You mean, as a valuable research subject, that your bosses would be furious about you losing…right?”

Tseng gave a cold laugh. “I dislike that you think that about me, but I suppose it was inevitable, given the nature of my employment. Whether you believe me or not, is immaterial. I have never seen you as a subject, or a target. Not ever.”

“Oh, really? If you don’t see me that way, then why are you always trying to make me go back to Shinra?”

He narrowed his dark-brown eyes. “I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic, or not. If not, then it can only be willful blindness.”

“What do you mean by that?” she demanded, putting her hands on her hips. “Stop insulting me through the side-door, and just say it, outright.”

The tall, black haired and black-suited man stepped closer, looming over her, suddenly appearing very different, to how he normally seemed. Sharp and dangerous. Like an unsheathed blade. “I have the power to destroy nations, with a snap of my fingers, Aerith. Do you truly believe that if I ever intended to deliver you to Shinra, you would still be free?”

Her lower lip trembled and she faltered back a step. “I never thought about it. I guess, I…I never thought of you as such a scary person.”

“No—I wasn’t trying to scare you,” he said, with a sigh of frustration. “I only wanted you to understand me. To know where I stand. After all this time, you should…know.”

“You mean, you stand…between me and Shinra.” A tear escaped her emerald eye and slid down her cheek. “I see, now. You’ve been protecting me from them, all along. But why? Why would you do that for me? Why would you spend fifteen years watching over me and holding them off, at your own risk?”

Tseng turned away. “Everyone has their reasons. Let’s leave it at that. It’s getting late. I should go.”

Aerith caught him by the sleeve of his jacket, stopping him in his tracks. “But…what if you didn’t?”

“If I didn’t?” he asked, glancing down at her white fingertips, just pinching the edge of the black cuff.

“You should stay,” she blurted out, then blushed and lowered her eyes bashfully. “I mean…I want you to stay.”

He let himself be tugged back, away from the door and escape. Toward her. As if he could have resisted. It was like the pull of gravity; gentle, ceaseless, inescapable. Unconsciously, his hand turned over, to cradle the one grasping his sleeve. Ever so lightly, so that she could easily have pretended not to notice, and drawn away. She didn’t. She let go of the sleeve and let her hand rest in his. Her palm on his palm and her tiny wrist between his fore and middle fingers.

Her head was tilted down, and her eyes were still fixed on the floor. He could feel her trembling, as if she were afraid. But he had never seen her afraid of anything, in her life. So, was it fear, or something else?

“Tseng…” she murmured.

“Jiang.”

“What?”

“Tseng is my surname. My given name is Jiang. Since we’ve become so familiar.”

“Jiang,” she repeated slowly, rolling the unfamiliar word around on her tongue. “It feels strange, calling you a different name, after all this time. But it suits you. What does it mean?”

“It means descendant of the god of water, but the meaning has no special significance, in relation to me. My mother chose it because she liked how it sounded. That’s all.”

“Oh,” Aerith smiled. “Mine means something between earth and flower, because the Cetra spelling included both word elements, but there’s no special significance in relation to me, either. My mother probably chose it for the same reason your mother chose yours.”

“She chose well.”

“I guess they both did.”

Her hand was still resting in his hand. All this time they had been edging imperceptibly closer together, till they reached the event horizon. All it needed now, was for one of them to poke a hole in the window paper. Then there would be no going back to the way things were.

“Zack,” he said.

Aerith stiffened perceptibly. “Um. What about Zack?”

“Zack was…my friend,” he explained, haltingly. “I promised him I’d take care of you.”

She lowered her eyes, then looked up at him again. “Then you should take care of me.”

His other hand slipped around her slender waist. Her body felt impossibly fragile and delicate, compared to his (particularly for a girl who had whacked him over the head with a folding chair, not an hour ago). She leaned into him and he bent down.

The sound of footsteps and voices, on the walk outside pushed them hastily apart, again. A moment or two later, the door opened, and Elmyra entered, with one of the women from the village. Aerith was at the table, gathering up the towels and teapot, and Tseng was standing a professional distance away, with his arms crossed.

“Mr. Tseng,” Elmyra frowned, looking back and forth between her daughter and the Turk. “What’s going on, Aerith? What is he doing here?”

“Hello, mother. Ms. Folia,” Aerith said breezily. “Nothing to worry about. He had a little injury and I treated it for him. What about you? I thought you were going to be at Leaf House all night.”

Elmyra’s gaze flickered down to the blood on Tseng’s shirt, then back up to his face, before she turned to Aerith. “Well, I forgot my notebook, with everyone’s ideas from the last meeting, so we came to pick it up. How exactly did Mr. Tseng get injured?”

Aerith looked sheepish. “Well, he—”

“I wasn’t paying attention, and I hit my head on a stray piece of furniture. Aerith was kind enough to tend to it. Thank you, for your hospitality. I’ll be going.” Without waiting for a reply, he gave a clipped bow and departed, quickly vanishing into the night, outside.

“Good goddess,” Ms. Folia remarked, after he’d gone. “I’ve heard people mention the long-haired guy in the suit, but he is something else. I’ve never even seen a man that good-looking, before.”

Elmyra glanced toward the door, the way he’d gone, then back at Aerith, who was carrying the tray into the kitchen. She had a lot of reasons to hold that Turk in deep distrust, and be wary of his presence, but this specific one had never even occurred to her.

Not that she thought of her daughter as some kind of vestal virgin (she was well aware of the extent of her intimate relationship with Zack), it was only that she hadn’t considered the man who had spent all this time circling overhead, like a hawk above a rabbit’s den, might be a different kind of threat, altogether.

“Aerith, if those Turks hurt themselves while they’re poking around and spying, it’s their own problem. I don’t think it’s a good idea to invite them into the house, too often.”

“Huh?” Aerith said, looking perplexed, as she came back from the kitchen. “But we invite them in, all the time. You and Rude have tea together, every Wednesday. Or…oh. You mean Tseng, specifically. I understand why you’d worry, but the thing is, I kind of had to help him. He was lying about how he got hurt.”

“Oh, goddess, what did you do?”

“Well. He startled me, at the church, and I may have…hit him over the head with a folding chair.”

Ms. Folia burst out laughing, and Elmyra couldn’t suppress a little chuckle, even as she shook her head disapprovingly.

“You know what? Nevermind,” she said, squeezing her daughter’s hand. “You can clearly take care of yourself. Here’s that notebook, Ms. Folia. We’d better get back, before they send a search party.”

“Bye, have a good time!” Aerith called after them, waving cheerfully, as they went away down the walk.

When the two ladies were out of sight, she shut the door and leaned on it, letting out a deep breath, as if she’d been holding it in. Absently rubbing her palm, where it had rested in Tseng’s hand, she gazed into the middle-distance, with a troubled expression clouding her brow.

#asks #inbox games #aerith gainsborough #tseng of the turks #elmyra gainsborough #tserith #tseng x aerith #general audiences #final fantasy 7 #ff7 #ff7 remake #tseng ff7 #ff7 aerith #aerith ff7 #fluffy #silliness #for funsies

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water-writings · 4 months

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ways to say i love you + as an apology + hana!

I loved this one so much! Thank you, Leaf, I hope you like it! I'm starting to love Hana and Law so much. This is my first piece I've ever written for them. Enjoy!

Heart sinking, Hana stared at the pieces of paper on Law’s desk. The white sheets slowly turned brown as the coffee seeped into the material. Wide eyes slowly turned up to look at her boyfriend and she held back a squeak when she saw the look on his face.

Law was staring down at the papers and books on his desk, a vein throbbing in his forehead. He was silent as his hand clenched around the pen he was holding, his knuckles turning white. He didn’t move, only sat there staring at the ruined items.

The atmosphere in the room was tense, almost to the point it was hard to breathe. Hana was holding her breath, shaking as her brain ran a mile a minute. She couldn’t figure out what to do. Should she say something? Clean up the mess? Leave? Run? She was afraid to speak. The look on Law’s face and the fact that he hadn’t moved or uttered a word terrified her. She couldn’t figure out how to help her boyfriend and with her clumsy nature she knew she’d only make it worse. She shouldn’t have brought the coffee to him.

Slowly and with shaky hands she started to pick up the coffee mug. A piece of sopping paper clung to the ceramic and the pink haired woman poked at it, trying to knock it off. Her eyes kept shifting from the mug to Law, back and forth, back and forth.

She finally opened her mouth. “I um-” “Just leave it,” Law said quietly, still not looking at her. “I-I-I’m sorry, Law, I ju-” “I said just leave it!” he snapped. His eyes snapped over to look at her. His grey eyes were sharp and angry as he glared at his girlfriend. A loud squeak came from Hana and she nearly dropped the mug. “I-I’m sorry. I d-didn’t mea-” “Get out! Now!” the captain shouted. Tears welled up in Hana’s eyes. Law had never shouted at her before. Only ever to give her orders along with the crew, but never like this. Her cheeks turned pink and she clutched the mug to her chest, lips trembling as she tried to find her voice. “I-I-I’m so-s-sorry,” she whispered. Quickly she ran out of Law’s room, tears streaming down her face. She didn’t mean to anger her boyfriend. She didn’t mean to ruin his research. She just wanted to bring him a cup of coffee because she knew it was late and he’d been in his room the majority of the day. All she wanted to do was help and show him she was thinking of him. Slamming a fist on the desk, Law cursed under his breath. His research was ruined. He’d have to start his notes all over and he’d been working on them all week. He had just finished them! Brow furrowed deeply, he snatched up the documents, crumpling them up in his fists before practically slamming them into the metal waste bucket next to his chair. He brushed the remaining coffee off the table with the back of his hand before grabbing a rag from the small wardrobe he had in the corner. After the spilt coffee was wiped up, he sighed as he rubbed his fingers over his tired eyes. It would be another all nighter just to redo all the work. ooOOoo

By the time Law had completed redoing his notes he could hear the tell tale signs of his crew moving around. The sound of their voices echoed off the Polar Tang’s walls. Laughter and shouting could be heard as they all gathered to get breakfast. It was morning. Groaning, Law ran a hand down his face. It was definitely an all nighter. Trudging out of his room, Law followed the noise of the crew to the dining hall. As he walked into the room he was greeted with the entirety of his crew. Some were shouting over at each other. Others looked exhausted and grabbed cups of coffee and food as they took their seats at a table. Glancing over at the far end, Law could see Penguin, Shachi, and Ikkaku arguing about something or another. Grumbling, Law went to grab his own breakfast, choosing to grab a cup of coffee and a muffin. “Captain!” came the gleeful voice of Bepo. “Good morning!” “Mornin’,” Law grumbled as he sipped his drink. Bepo looked around, smiling at some of the crew before his brow furrowed. He did another take of the room, eyes scanning over each head. “Um…Captain?” he said slowly. “Hm?” came the grunted reply from the dark haired doctor. “Have you seen Hana?” the Mink asked, looking worried. “She’s normally one of the first one’s here and I don’t see her.” Law’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about, she’s right…” He trailed off as his eyes didn’t see the familiar head of pink hair. His first mate was right. Hana was nowhere to be seen in the dining hall. The herbalist was usually smiling and talking with the others as she drank her tea or hot chocolate, but she wasn’t there. It was odd behavior for the woman.

“Do you think she’s sick?” Bepo asked, breaking the captain’s thoughts. “No, she was fine last nig-” Law trailed off again as memories of last night popped in his head. The image of Hana’s tearfilled face flashed in his vision reminding him of what happened. “Fuck…” he cursed as he ran a hand over his face. Without a word, he grabbed a plate of fruit and a mug before exiting the dining hall. Ignoring the calls from the crew he made his way through the halls once more, heading back the way he came. The whole way he was berating himself in his head. His brow furrowed deeply. He forgot about last night, and he hated himself for it. He couldn’t believe that he had yelled at her like that. He blamed his sleep deprivation and the headache that had been growing before Hana had visited him. He’d never yelled at her the way he did last night and he was angry with himself for it. Standing outside the metal door that was decorated with a few hanging dried herbs and flowers, he stood there thinking over his words. With a sigh, the man raised a tattooed hand to the door and knocked. Through the other side he could hear a little squeak followed by a soft thud. Hana could be heard giving a sad “oh no…” and Law knew that she had dropped whatever it was that she was working on. Most likely a new batch of medicine.

“H-hello?” Hana called out. “It’s me,” Law replied. Shuffling on his feet awkwardly. As he glanced at her could just picture Hana curled up on her bed and hugging one of her stuffed animals to her. Another squeak could be heard from his girlfriend. Law waited a moment, but when he didn’t hear any movement or see the door open he let out another sigh. She was hiding. “Hana,” he called out. Silence. Gritting his teeth, Law balanced the plate of food and mug in one hand as he opened the door. Figures it wasn’t locked. Hana never locked anyone out of her room. She always enjoyed the company of anyone from the crew over being alone. Pushing the door open, Law was greeted with a mess of leaves and flowers surrounding a spilt bowl of medicine on the floor. His eyes trailed up from the mess to Hana’s bed where he saw a lump under the floral sheets surrounded by her usual pile of stuffed animals. Sighing, the doctor walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge. Placing the plate and mug on the nightstand, he sat there in silence with his hidden girlfriend. He looked at the lump and raised an eyebrow before gently grabbing the blanket and pulling it off of her. Hana squeaked, as she looked up at Law. Her eyes were wide and her face was starting to turn red. “H-h-hello, L-Law…” she greeted. “You weren’t at breakfast,” the captain pointed out. He jerked his head to the nightstand. “I grabbed you some fruit before the others ate it all.” Slowly, Hana sat up and looked to where the breakfast was. Her eyes shifted from it to meet Law’s gaze once more. Her hands were shaking as she fiddled with them before reaching over and grabbing the plate. Her boyfriend shot out a hand when he saw her nearly drop it. “Careful,” he said firmly. “S-s-sorry!” she stuttered out, her cheeks turning even redder. With yet another sigh, the man looked at her, watching her turn her head away from him as she started eating the fruit. He had an unreadable expression on his face which was only making Hana squirm where she sat. It was tense and quiet, not helping the woman in any way feel comfortable. Without a word, Law placed a hand on the back of her head and pulled her close to his side. They sat like that for a while in silence, the only sound coming from Hana chewing on the fruit and the distant sound of the crew in the dining hall. Hana sat there, staring at the plate, as she felt her heart pound against her chest. She didn’t like the silence. She normally did when she was with Law. It was always peaceful. But not this. She could feel how tense Law was as she sat against him and she was waiting for him to scold her for last night. Seconds turned into minutes before the pink haired herbalist had the mug shoved in her face. Blinking, she looked at it and gasped. It was hot chocolate. Turning her gaze from the drink, she looked up at her boyfriend to see him staring off in a different direction. Taking the drink, she blushed and smiled lightly to herself before sipping it. A kiss was pressed to the top of her head and words were mumbled into her hair. Blushing even more, Hana looked back at Law once again. There was a hint of pink on his cheeks as he looked down at her. “H-huh?” she said, eyes going wide. Law sighed, and closed his eyes before meeting her green eyed stare. “I’m sorry,” he said. Her breath hitched as she was pulled into a tighter hug from her boyfriend. He didn’t say anything else. She knew he’d eventually say something, but right now she just leaned into his embrace. A smile danced on her face as she enjoyed the moment with him.

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viewfromgumlog · 11 days

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Blog 4 - Chinese Medicine & Mindful Eating

As I enter my fourth week on this journey into Chinese medicine and food, I am facing more challenges. First, I discovered I can no longer eat eggs. After having another bout of gastritis, I traced it back to eggs. At this rate, I will end up not having much I can eat! I have ordered a book on allergies and retraining the brain, but that is another topic for another day.

Anyway, another area of Chinese medicine that I need to incorporate in my life revolves around how I eat. Chinese medicine practitioners stress mindful eating. I tend to do distracted eating in front of the television, except for our main meal that I usually eat at the dining table with my husband. From the Chinese medicine perspective, distracted eating contributes to my digestive problems.

I do not enjoy eating at a table, unless I am eating in a restaurant.

As a kid, my parents, my brother, and I sat down to eat supper at a drop-leaf table in our narrow kitchen. My father reigned from one narrow side of the table while my mother sat opposite from him. My brother and I sat together on the long edge. Tension was served along with the food. My father’s anger often permeated the atmosphere like a low-hanging gray cloud. Sitting next to my brother, the first bully in my life, increased the tension.

Despite my past relationship with eating and sitting at a kitchen table, I am willing to start to eat mindfully. Katy Tapper from the Department of Psychology at the University of London authored an extensive article called “Mindful eating: what we know so far.”[1] She points out that studies on mindful eating and its health benefits prove to inconclusive (Tapper 173). Measuring mindful eating has proven to be confusing. My conclusion—it cannot hurt!

I am trying to eat our main meal mindfully. However, my husband does not. He still gobbles down his food. Life seems to offer so many opportunities to stay true to ourselves despite the choices others make!

Maybe I need to learn some lessons from the deer eating in our front yard . . . .

Works Cited

Tapper, Katy. “Mindful Eating: What We Know so Far.” Nutrition Bulletin, vol. 47, no. 2, June 2022, pp. 168–85. EBSCOhost, https://doi.org/10.1111/nbu.12559.

#mindfulness #chinese medicine

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whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk · 2 years

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Begged & Borrowed Time (xiv, ao3)

(Chapter fourteen: The human queens arrive at last, and Cassian tries his hardest to make Nesta blush.) (Prologue // previous chapter // next chapter)

The Archeron dining room had turned into a war tent, breakfast a meeting of commanders. Papers lay scattered across the cherrywood table, plans of the estate interspersed with all their gathered intelligence on the queens, notes made in Azriel’s near-indecipherable hand.

As the clock struck nine, Cassian sat in the same low-backed chair he’d occupied the night before and watched as Rhys frowned. A leaf of parchment dropped from the High Lord’s fingers, fluttering to the table as he massaged the centre of his forehead with his fingers.

“The only thing they don’t have is the measurements of the damned door handles,” Azriel said darkly, pushing away a sheath of papers and taking up his teacup instead. A single shadow glided along the edge of the teaspoon, following the curve of the saucer as a crease formed on it’s master’s brow. “Why do they need the layout of the sitting room? The position of every chair and side table? It doesn’t make any sense.”

Cassian only leaned back in in his chair, his wings stretching around the low back as a hand dropped to the dagger strapped to his thigh, finding comfort in its steady weight. The mantle of Night Court General settled easily around his shoulders, its shape and feel so familiar. It was like slipping back into a summer jacket after a long winter, feeling his muscles stretch and strain as, for the first time since Amarantha’s curse, he prepared himself for war.

“I don’t like this,” Azriel continued. Another of his shadows skirted a patch of sunlight as he tapped his fingers against the side of his teacup, siphons gleaming brilliant and azure as that frown grew deeper. “There’s too much we don’t know, too much they’ve kept back. We don’t even know how they’re planning to arrive.”

“You don’t trust them,” Rhys surmised, curling his fingers into a fist beneath his chin.

“No.”

Cassian snorted. “You don’t trust anybody.”

Azriel shot him a withering look, one of sufferance, as he sipped from his tea. Beside him, Rhys shook his head. His sable hair seemed to swallow the sunlight as the Lord of Night looked up, his eyes roaming the ceiling as if looking beyond the plaster and the moulding to the rooms above.

“Even if they try to wrong foot us, we’ll be prepared,” Cassian continued easily, tapping the hilt of his blade. His voice was effortless, but it was undercut by a savage kind of purpose, a lethal kind of determination as he added, firmly, “I’m not letting a thing happen to anybody under this roof.”

Not while she’s here, he didn’t need to add. Not while my mate is in the room.

Azriel’s face softened and, looking at the empty seats around that table, Cassian wondered if there was anything in the world more perilous to diplomacy than mated males, because if a single one of those queens so much as sneered in Nesta’s direction…

He curled his hand into a fist.

Her presence made things alarmingly simple, startlingly straight forward. If the queens or their guards dared to make a move, he’d kill them with his bare hands.

Simple.

He looked for her now, glancing over his shoulder towards the door.

He had hoped to have seen her already that morning, but the only Archeron to cross his path so far had been Elain, bringing in the teapot before departing swiftly, calling over her shoulder that if they needed anything, she’d be in the kitchen with Nesta preparing breakfast. Cassian had glanced after her and wished he could follow but— he couldn’t. Instead, he had swallowed his disappointment, thanked her for the tea, and taken the papers that Azriel had pushed towards him. Profiles of the queens, descriptions. Names, territories, lists of connections.

Glancing at the clock against the wall, watching the minute hand tick like a metronome, Cassian forced himself to focus.

“What time do they arrive?” he asked, willing his mind to remain fixed on the impending arrival.

“Eleven,” Rhys supplied. “On the dot.”

Cassian nodded. He drummed his fingers on the table, watching the steam rise lazily from the spout of the teapot set in the middle. As though this were a pitched battle, he began to form the lines in his mind, to map out their best strategy.

“Az and I will take up spots by the doors,” he began, an air of command seeping into his tone, giving it weight and authority. “Rhys, you and Feyre should—”

“Hasn’t anybody ever told you it’s not polite to bring arms to the table?”

The dining room door opened, and Cassian’s words died in his throat— overtaken, replaced by silence and a searching gaze as he caught the sound of familiar footsteps and a scent that reached out, called to him. He turned in his seat, muscles shifting and wings stretching as he sought the source of that voice, chastising him already.

Nesta.

Bearing a tray of scrambled eggs and an expression of hauteur that made him wild, Nesta’s eyes found him, caught and captured his attention, and as she breezed into that dining room, Cassian was the most willing prisoner alive, reluctant to ever be free of her. Elain followed behind, a tray of bacon in her hands, and he swore he saw her roll her eyes as she sidestepped Nesta entirely, setting the bacon down on the table with a flourish.

He barely even noticed.

“Well,” he shrugged, his eyes fixed on his mate as she approached the table. He plucked up one of the silver knives. “You wouldn’t do much damage with this, would you sweetheart?”

“And are we in such mortal peril, even at breakfast?”

She raised an eyebrow tartly, a perfect arc that had a grin splitting his lips. Her face was impassive, carefully blank, but her gaze turned languid as she took in each and every one of the blades that adorned him. The daggers buckled at his hip and thigh and forearm, all seven siphons. A sheathed Illyrian sword rested against his chair, its point buried in the thick fibres of the rug.

“You never know princess,” Cassian said, his voice practically dropping to a purr. Insanity— it was insanity, to flirt with her so brazenly, so openly. Rhys’ brows furrowed with disapproval, but Azriel only snorted into his tea, and Elain became suddenly fixated with spreading butter on her toast. “All sorts of danger could befall you. You might take one look at my handsome face and faint, for example.”

Nesta hummed as she sank into the chair beside him. “In that case, the sword might be useful after all. I may throw myself upon it to escape your vanity.”

He shrugged, feeling his skin grow tight as she gave him a sideways glance. His fingers drifted to the hilt of his sword, a smirk borne of menace and mischief curving his lips.

“Go ahead,” he drawled. “It would certainly do the job. The blade is a… considerable length.”

Her cheeks reddened. Nesta Archeron - infallible, unflappable Nesta Archeron - blushed as he recited the line he’d read aloud the night before. It was delectable, exquisite, the way her eyes sparked, the way her lips parted. She’d broken him off with a kiss last night, before he could read any more about that considerable length— and it had bruised him, that kiss. Marked him, made his soul tremble with want as a lethal kind of desire took him over. He felt his smirk grow wild as he watched the flush spread across her neck now, dipping below the neckline of her dress, and he knew that she was thinking of that kiss too.

Azriel cleared his throat, shifting in his seat to kick Cassian’s ankle beneath the table.

He let his smirk soften, let it slip into something gentler. Nesta’s blush eased, faded, and when she reached for the teapot, her hands were steady— elegant and graceful as she tilted the pot to fill Elain’s cup first. He felt the bond stretch - pleasant and content - between them, a comforting kind of warmth as he thought of how those fingers had been in his hair last night, tangling and twisting as he kissed her senseless. He thought of how undone she had been, how raw he had felt as his palms caressed her skin, following the dip of her waist and the curve of her hips, so maddening he didn’t think he’d ever find sanity again—

It earned him a second kick in the ankle from Azriel.

Cassian coughed, shot Az a wry look that was both apologetic and grateful. Rhys gave him a look of warning, disapproval flickering in star-flecked violet, and Cassian almost laughed, almost fell apart. Rhys still thought Nesta was happily married. The High Lord had watched her blush and still thought Cassian didn’t have a shot with her, even as she sat there with his kisses causing her scent to shift, to merge with his own as the both of them thought of that kiss, that desk, the touches they had exchanged and the ones they hadn’t.

No wonder Rhys still hadn’t noticed that Feyre was just as enamoured with him as he was with her. Given how oblivious he was lately, Cassian rather thought the stars could align and spell out the words Feyre loves you, you prick and Rhys still wouldn’t get it.

Azriel cleared his throat again.

“So the queens arrive at eleven,” he said firmly, like a rudder, steering the conversation back to where it had been before Nesta and Elain had entered— before Cassian had all but forgotten about the queens entirely, too committed to making his mate blush. “Despite our reservations, I don’t think we should be openly defensive.”

Cassian hummed in agreement— and just like that, the breakfast table was a meeting of strategy once more. Where to hide the blades they couldn’t conceal beneath their leathers, where to stand and who would sit— a dance of diplomacy that skirted far too close to preparations for battle. Feyre and Mor joined them at last - both resplendent in jewels and fine clothes - but the planning didn’t pause, the plotting didn’t waver.

And throughout it all, Cassian felt the press of Nesta’s attention. She didn’t turn to look at him again, but he felt the keen edge of her focus taking in his every word. He caught each sideways glance, every half-turn of her head, and only when the clock began to inch towards half past ten did he feel her concentration shift.

As the planning lulled, Nesta rose smoothly to her feet. Elain glanced up, brow raised in silent enquiry.

“Someone should make sure everything in the sitting room is prepared,” she explained, brushing down her skirts with a firm hand. Elain nodded, and Nesta didn’t bother to wait for somebody to stop her or question her. She turned on her heel and walked away, and Cassian watched her go, feeling the air grow cold by his side, the sudden emptiness jarring.

Thirty seconds.

He made himself wait thirty seconds before pushing up from his own chair.

At the table, Mor’s lips pursed, pressed together with disaffection— but Cassian simply didn’t care enough to unpick it, to cater to her displeasure as inside his head, Rhys gave an exasperated sigh.

Try not to be so obvious, brother.

“I want to make sure we have enough blades hidden in case things go south,” he announced casually, shrugging innocently as he checked the dagger at his thigh. With the eyes of the entire table upon him, he let a guileless smile flitter across his lips.

Feyre frowned. “I thought they asked for no weapons?”

“They did,” Cassian said breezily.

The furrow in the Cursebreaker’s brow deepened as he winked.

He plucked up his sword - wondering whether it would fit behind the sofa cushions, or if he’d be better off stashing it behind the curtains - as Feyre opened her mouth to protest. But Cassian only shot her a devilish grin and stole from that dining room before she - or anyone else - could stop him.

***

Nesta was plumping the cushions when Cassian peered around the doorframe.

For a moment, he simply watched her. Studied how the sunlight danced across her cheekbones, played along her jaw, brought out the grey in those devastating eyes. He could have stood there for hours, watching her from a distance, but—

“Are you going to stand there all day or are you going to help?”

Cassian stilled, watching as Nesta’s eyes flicked to the door, pinning him in place as his fingers flexed around the hilt of his sword.

“You want me to… fluff cushions?”

Nesta shrugged. “Those muscles must be good for something.”

He watched as her eyes tracked a path over his arms, his chest, lingering on his hands. A cocky, arrogant sort of grin spread across his face, splitting his lips as his blood grew heated beneath her watchful gaze, kilned in his veins.

“They’re good for plenty, sweetheart,” he said, his voice thick, brought low with suggestion. He stepped purposefully into the sitting room, strides even as he drew close enough to his mate to reach out and touch her. “How about I show you?”

There was no blush now— no flush of delightful colour staining Nesta’s cheeks. Nonplussed, she merely folded her arms firmly over her chest and raised a single imperious eyebrow. Cassian might have bought it, her little display of nonchalance, had he not heard the quickening of her heart.

“Please,” she answered, indifferent. A passive blink accompanied a waved hand, an almost bored tilt of her head towards the circle of chairs set equidistant in the middle of that sitting room. “Do.”

Gods.

He was alight— her apparent apathy setting him aflame like a match to kindling. Every nerve he possessed was suddenly more alert, trembling with recognition as he prowled forwards, and though he knew this was a game, he couldn’t for the life of him tell who was hunting who— who was the cat, and who was the mouse.

It was almost intoxicating, a heady mixture of desire and teasing, coaxing him towards some kind of edge, crossing the line of propriety. He huffed a dry laugh as he set down his sword, his gaze unflinching as he cracked his knuckles, his muscles growing tight beneath his cotton shirt as he flexed his arms. Shameless— it was an utterly shameless display, but Nesta’s eyes widened, darkened as he stretched his wings behind him and rolled his shoulders.

He knew exactly what flickered in her eyes— felt the sharp edge of desire, of hunger, tightening and coiling in his own chest, mirrored on her face as she watched him. He hummed, low and sultry, as his wings flared and the siphons on his hands glimmered. Taking a strip of leather from his pocket, Cassian slowly - slowly - tied back his hair, watching with triumph as Nesta’s throat bobbed, her eyes taking in the deft movement of his fingers, the slope of his neck. When he had fashioned it into a rough, messy sort of bun, he shifted his shoulders again, letting his muscles strain against the thin fabric of his shirt. With a dark smile, he took the first cushion in hand, battering it between his palms as he noticed, with a great degree of satisfaction, that a hint of beautiful colour touched her cheeks at last.

I win, princess.

Nesta tore her eyes away, turned her attention to another cushion, another chair. Cassian might have left it, might have considered the game done, but he was dancing along the edge of exhilaration and he didn’t want this to end, not yet. He felt another smile pulling at his lips, rakish and daring as he dropped the cushion roughly into the chair and plucked up another.

“Did you sleep well?” he began lightly. Nesta’s eyes narrowed in suspicion as his smirk turned manic. “Or did you lie awake all night thinking of me?”

Nesta snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself.” A pause, one in which she pointedly drove her fist into a cushion. “I started my new book instead.”

“I trust it’s as good as the first?” he asked, but a moment later hummed, pausing his ministrations on his cushion. “Even if it is a poor substitute for me.”

“It’s a miracle you can even lift your head with an ego that size,” Nesta muttered. Cassian grinned, about to make her blush in earnest by mentioning other sizeable parts of him, but she tilted her head before he could, turning to face him with an expression of curiosity that gave him pause.

“There was something I didn’t understand,” she began. “The characters in it— it said they were bonded, but I’ve never heard that before. What does it mean?”

Like an arrow knocked off course by a sudden wind, Cassian’s fist missed its mark.

His knuckles connected instead with the back of the chair, missing the centre of the cushion entirely. He lifted his head to meet her eye, but his tongue suddenly felt unwieldy and difficult, almost too heavy for speech.

“You’ve never heard of a mating bond?”

Nesta shook her head. “Should I have?”

Well, fuck.

Cassian had spent the past few days agonising over how to tell her about the bond, but he hadn’t considered that she might not know what a bond was in the first place and— fuck, fuck, fuck.

She was waiting for an answer, and not for the first time in her presence, Cassian found himself speechless. The arrogance was gone, dried on his tongue like ash, leaving behind a sour taste and a heaviness in his gut. He cleared his throat, ran a hand through his hair as he grappled for the words, searching in vain for something to say.

“It’s… difficult to describe,” he began after a long pause. He kept it careful, considered, detached— as though this were hypothetical, theoretical. As though he weren’t searching for the words inside his own fucking chest, giving name and shape and form to the emotions he felt every time he looked at her.

“Most of us above the wall believe that each of us are born with a mate, like a soul split between two bodies. It is a gift from the Cauldron, and if we are lucky…” He paused, his voice growing sombre. “If we are lucky we find them, that other half. The bond is what links them together, what binds them. A union of equals, evenly matched in every way.”

“Like a marriage?”

Cassian shook his head. “Stronger,” he said firmly, his voice weighted by something heavy, a fervour he could hardly breathe around. “Far stronger. Deeper. A mated male would sooner see the world burn than have any harm come to his mate.”

Nesta’s eyes dropped to her hands, to the silver band on her third finger. Cassian wanted to cast that ridiculous wedding ring into the sea, but Nesta’s face turned contemplative, turned pensive as she let out a soft oh.

“I think I know what you mean,” she said, in a voice that was quiet and hushed yet still had the power to bring Cassian to his knees.

He couldn’t think— could barely even keep himself standing as he watched her twist the ring on her finger. He forgot about the cushions, forgot that they were standing in her father’s sitting room, that they were short on time and that the queens would be arriving soon. All of that was inconsequential, meaningless.

“You do?” he asked, his question little more than a breathless whisper as he took a step nearer, his heart pounding in his chest so hard it hurt.

Nesta nodded. “Are Feyre and Rhysand…?”

A pause.

A beat.

A moment - a single moment - where Cassian released the breath that trembled in his lungs, grasping for the strength he needed to speak, to blink, to look at her and not drown in the wave of disappointment that threatened to bury him.

“Yeah,” he said, when he remembered how to use his tongue.

Nesta frowned. “And he expects her to give herself over to him, just like that? Just because some magic cooking pot deems it so?”

“It’s not like that. She could reject it, if she wanted,” Cassian countered. He took a step back, letting the distance between them stretch even though it strained and pulled behind his ribs. His heart began to beat an unsteady rhythm, off-kilter and uneven. “You don’t think it’s a good thing then? A bond?”

Nesta shrugged.

“I don’t know,” she said uneasily.

Cassian kept his face blank, his lips tightly closed. It shouldn’t surprise him, some logical part of him whispered. After all, she hadn’t even known what a bond was until right now, so how could he blame her for her trepidation? How could he fault her for not falling headlong into it, for not knowing already what he was? What they were?

After a moment, Nesta’s eyes shifted to the sitting room door.

“He’ll keep her safe?” she asked softly.

“To his dying day,” Cassian answered, but he wasn’t talking about Rhys, not thinking about Feyre.

Something inside him shifted, morphed. He watched as Nesta pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, watched her eyelashes flutter across silver-blue eyes as she dropped her gaze to her hands again, to the ring on her finger. He felt resolve harden in his gut, purposeful and strong. He would say nothing— not yet. Not until the bond was no longer something so foreign to her, not until she was ready.

He had already waited five centuries for her. He could wait a little longer.

A moment of silence followed, and Cassian sighed as he drifted closer to her again, as though pulled by some invisible length of rope. Nesta smiled a little, a candid curve to her lips that Cassian knew she hid often and hid well, and he couldn’t for the life of him see why. It was the most beautiful thing in the world, the most precious, to see that wry, soft smile on her lips as the sunlight kissed her face.

The only sound was the ticking of the clock, the gentle swing of the pendulum. After a minute, Nesta blinked and gave a single shake of her head. Her shoulders straightened, the set of them dignified and proud and utterly proper as she turned from the cushions and clasped her hands before her, perfectly prim.

“The book I gave you,” she said. “There’s a thank you note inside.”

Cassian tilted his head, welcoming the change in subject like the first rain after a drought. “Who for?”

“Whoever you keep getting these books from,” Nesta said dryly.

“Her name is Emerie,” he answered. “You’d like her.”

“Well then,” Nesta said briskly. “Will you give her the letter? Or is it only Rhysand you play messenger pigeon for?”

Cassian smirked, stepped forward as he felt familiar ground beneath his feet. Teasing— taunting. Flirting. This— he could do this, as easy as breathing. He closed the distance between them, feeling a hum start low in his chest, vibrating in his throat.

“Pigeon,” he repeated with a scoff. “One day, princess, you’ll come up with some better insults.”

She raised an eyebrow, as if preparing to upbraid him, but she didn’t stop him as he dared to reach out and rest a hand on her hip, his thumb brushing the bottom of her ribcage.

“One day,” she shrugged, leaning in to his touch.

He was about to shift closer, about to close the distance entirely and kiss her swiftly whilst he had the chance— but before he could so much as blink, there was a sharp rap on the door. He felt his hand drop from her waist as she pulled back, his fingers mourning the loss of her as Elain stuck her head around the door.

“It’s almost eleven,” she said pointedly, opening the door wider. “Are we ready?”

***

At five minutes past eleven, Nesta watched in silence as the ere-noon sun drifted easily through the wide windows, the warm light shining on the golden furnishings and glinting off of the jewels that adorned each queen, diamonds sparkling like fallen tears.

You will wear a crown one day. One crafted of gold, laden with diamonds— without price, beyond value.

Her mother’s words, carried back to her now across a decade of grief and sorrow and loss, emptier than ever. You will be a queen child, Mama had promised, and yet Nesta stood with her back to the window, the only piece of jewellery her misbegotten wedding ring.

But as she looked at those queens, unease snaking down her spine as they ignored her entirely to focus their attention on Rhysand, standing by the hearth in a crown of darkened silver, Nesta wondered whether her mother had been wrong. Mistaken, all along.

Distantly, she heard Rhysand give the queens a polite “Well met,” his voice smooth and elegant despite its rumbling depth, but she was barely listening, recalling her mother’s promise as she looked at each queen in turn, trying to count the jewels.

Five queens— but it was the crown on the youngest that caught Nesta’s attention.

Diamonds of pure white shone stark against her bright golden hair, held fast in a crown that arced upwards in elegant swathes of silver. Studded with diamonds and rubies and a single large opal - its heart aflame with colour - Nesta wondered if that was what her mother had wanted, all opulence and nobility and finery.

And yet it meant little— was worthless when Nesta’s eyes slid past that gleaming crown and settled on red siphons shining against the opposite wall, more beautiful to her than any of those rubies in any of those crowns.

Mama had promised her a prince, but perhaps that wasn’t what Nesta wanted.

Perhaps she wanted the bastard-born general, standing with his arms folded, watching intently as Mor invited the queens to sit.

Menacing— he looked menacing, his gaze dark and calculating as he watched the meeting unfold. His face was stern, lips pressed together, and the sheer size of him, muscles straining against his leathers, was enough to make one of the human guards balk— even though the guard had a sword and Cassian was, ostensibly, entirely unarmed. Nesta knew better. Knew that he’d donned a leather jacket to hide the blades strapped to his arms and had tucked the one at his thigh inside one of his boots.

When the guard’s eyes dropped to Cassian’s hands, strong enough to kill a man, Nesta bit back a smile.

She had memorised every callous on those hands by now, mapped every inch from the tip of his fingers to the base of his wrist. Powerful and deadly— and yet soft enough to make her sigh, to urge her closer whenever he kissed her.

She still wasn’t listening.

Distracted, she watched as another guard took up a spot by the window, only a handful of feet from where she and Elain stood.

Cassian’s eyes turned brutally sharp, lifting to study the space between Nesta and that guard. His hazel gaze met hers briefly, but Cassian didn’t smile. The glare he gave the guard at her side should have been enough to chill her bones, to terrify her, and yet as she watched him in command, intelligent eyes scanning that room, all trace of mockery and jest gone…

He was fearsome.

Deadly.

And gods help her, it was the most attractive thing she’d ever seen.

As if sensing it, Cassian caught her eye again and this time— this time his lips quirked, pulled up at one corner. Just the barest of smiles, and yet Nesta had to shift her gaze to keep from returning it.

“We know war is coming,” the oldest queen said as Nesta dragged her attention back to that circle of chairs, suddenly remembering why they were gathered. “We have been preparing for it for many years.” Her voice cracked, like embers in a grate, but her eyes were sharp and cold as she lifted her chin high.

Feyre sat forward, the crown she wore the golden twin to Rhysand’s. “We have seen no signs of such preparation.”

The golden queen waved her wrist, shook her head.

“This territory is a slip of land compared to the vastness of the continent. It is not in our interests to defend it. It would be a waste of resources.”

Silence— for a heartbeat, there was nothing but silence, stunned and heavy and breathless.

And then Feyre’s lips parted as her eyes widened, and for a moment Nesta wondered if it was a joke, some jest made in poor taste. Then the queen shrugged, a blasé rise and fall of her shoulders, and Nesta’s ears began to ring, a high-pitched sound as though she had been standing too close to a firework when it exploded.

And she understood, then.

The ringing was their death knell.

“Surely the loss of even one innocent life would be abhorrent,” Rhysand said flatly.

No— no. no. no.

The eldest queen began to answer, but Nesta could hear nothing but that godsdamned ringing, muting all else as though her head were submerged in water, as though she were drowning. She blinked, thinking she must have misheard, misunderstood…

“…always a horror, but war is war. If we must sacrifice this tiny territory to save the majority, then we shall do it.”

No, there was no misunderstanding.

Each word was a blow— a wound, and Nesta felt herself bleeding around each barb, felt them tear into her chest and steal her breath—

“There are good people here,” Feyre said, her voice raw and pained, as though she were bleeding, too.

“Then let the high fae of Pythian defend them.”

The world snapped into focus with a jolt, the queen’s words brutal and harrowing as Nesta broke through the surface of her fury. The ringing in her head silenced, the breath sawed from her throat, and without thinking, she lurched forwards, hands curling into fists as the golden queen shrugged once more.

“We have servants here,” she hissed. “With families. There are children in these lands, and you mean to abandon us?”

Beside her, the guard closest reached for his sword, the steel singing as he pulled it free an inch.

Across the room, Cassian’s face darkened with an unholy fury.

The eldest queen looked at Nesta with something like pity, her hands crossed demurely in her lap. “It is no easy choice, girl—”

“It is the choice of cowards—”

“Please,” Feyre interrupted sharply. Nesta’s head whipped to her sister, only to find Feyre’s hands held out, palms up in supplication. “Please. I was turned into this because one of the commanders from Hybern killed me. Now their king plans to shatter the wall and destroy all of you. Please give us the other half of the book.”

Rhysand’s eyes shuttered, glimmered briefly with pain, and Nesta felt her breath catch, her anger sharp enough to shred her heart.

It had all gone so drastically wrong, and she didn’t know how or why or when, didn’t know how to claw it back, how to fix it. She was drowning, grasping, sinking and sinking and sinking—

Lost, she glanced across the room.

And when she found Cassian watching her - not Feyre, not the queens, her - she felt the world slow, felt it tremble like the first breath drawn after a heavy rain. His hand hovered by his side, ready to unsheathe a hidden blade, and though her anger was still hot enough to scald… His eyes met hers across that expanse of staggering wealth, glittering crowns upholding desolation, and she felt her aching soul settle, like he was the rock she could to cling to in a storm-tossed sea.

Slowly, he blinked.

Didn’t tear his eyes away, not for a second, and Nesta felt her breathing turn less ragged, more even, eased by those hazel eyes.

“Give us proof,” the eldest queen said sharply, pulling Nesta’s spiralling attention back. The queen looked at Rhysand, challenge in her eyes. “If you are, as you say, a male of peace… Give us proof.”

“Proof,” Rhysand echoed flatly. The queen nodded, and Rhysand considered it for a moment before his eyes turned dark, like a moonless night in the depths of winter. “Very well,” he said. “I will get you your proof.”

Feyre twisted her head, the gold of her tiara glinting as her eyes went wide. In a whisper that seemed to strain against her throat she asked, “Velaris?”

The Lord nodded tightly.

Velaris. Nesta had heard the name before— when Cassian had dropped off Rhysand’s second letter, the day she finally broke and told him the truth about her marriage to Tomas. I’ll kill him, he’d said. I’ll take you to Velaris.

She didn’t know where it was, or why Feyre seemed so distraught, but her sister’s unease was evidently shared by the rest of the fae in that sitting room, because as Nesta looked to Azriel, she saw even his stoic mask crack. He directed a sharp look at Rhysand, his jaw growing tight as his shadows slunk further against the wall, as though hiding behind their master’s bulk.

But Rhysand ignored them— only straightened the lapels of his jacket and said,

“We will summon you when we have it.”

The golden queen scoffed. “We will not be summoned.”

He exhaled, dark eyes growing somehow darker.

“Then come at your leisure,” he countered, the words slipping easily from his lips as though pleasant and polite, but there was enough bite beneath, enough of a snap, that the guards by the wall stepped forward.

Nesta blinked, let her eyes remain closed for a heartbeat, and when she opened them, the queens were rising, pushing up from their chairs in whispers of silk and chiffon. Diamonds glittered as they smoothed their skirts and prepared to leave, and before she could think, before she could speak—

They were gone.

Folded into nothing, as though they had never been at all, and in the tense, thick silence that followed, Nesta understood that they had failed.

That whatever peace this meeting was supposed to procure, whatever alliance it was meant to foster… It had failed.

***

The queens gone, Cassian watched Nesta dart from the sitting room.

We need tea after that, Elain had said, stepping away from her spot by the bay window. She had batted away Rhys’ insistence that they leave for Velaris immediately, promising that tea would fix everything, make it all seem a little less bleak. She had smiled, and Rhys had looked to Feyre, who looked pale and drawn out, nodding almost numbly as she sank back down into her chair.

So— they were staying for tea, it was decided. Cassian had taken a single step forwards, about to cross the floor and take his place by Nesta’s side, but his mate didn’t miss a beat. She was hurrying from that room and fleeing for the kitchen before he could so much as blink, instructing Elain to stay put.

I’ve got it, she said as she departed, her face blank and stony.

And now Cassian stood there, listening to Rhys and Mor and Feyre deconstruct whatever the hell had just happened with the queens— trying to figure out where it had gone wrong, how it had gone wrong. Az sat grimly on a low sofa, wings settled over the back, and though there was space for Cassian too on that sofa… he remained standing. Warring with indecision.

Did they notice, Cassian wondered. Did they realise?

Rhys, her sisters, the queens— did any of them see just how much Nesta cared?

It had stolen his breath during that damned meeting. Entranced him, the way she had risen to protect those she had never met. A fire burned beneath her cool exterior, and though Cassian had once thought her selfish and heartless, he understood now that she had never been either of those things.

And when the queens had turned their gaze on her, acerbic and sour, Cassian had felt his power tremble, quake. Even muffled as it was beneath the wall, he felt the vastness of the power he’d been blessed with suddenly yawn, stretching like an endless chasm, delving to new depths as if she brought out something new in him, some new, untapped well of strength.

He’d have torn that manor apart, reduced them all to ash, if that guard had drawn his blade just an inch more from its sheath.

Rhys raised an eyebrow. “Sit,” he said, waving a hand at the space at Azriel’s side.

Cassian only looked to the door.

Shook his head.

“I need a minute,” he said, not caring enough to come up with some excuse about where he was going and why. He moved before he’d even finished speaking, not looking back as he left, letting the door close firmly behind him.

He didn’t bother to mask the sound of his footsteps either. He let his boots ring out on the marble as he headed for the kitchen, thinking with each footfall of the fury in Nesta’s eyes, the way her skin had paled as the queens had left.

The bond was pulling hard behind his ribs, growing anxious and unsettled as it thrummed with unease. He just needed to see the spark in her eyes, needed to know the queens hadn’t snuffed it out. He’d watched her stiffen as they turned their backs, watched something like fear alight on her face, and he needed to make sure she knew, now, that he’d let the world crumble, let each and every one of those queens die, before she suffered.

That he’d watch it all burn— all of it, if it kept her safe.

He found his way to the kitchen, following the sound of a kettle whistling on the stove, and when he entered, Nesta’s hands were curled tight around the edge of the counter, her grip tight enough to whiten her knuckles. Her head was bowed, her eyes closed.

“Hey,” he said gentle, voice brittle with concern as she looked up, opened her eyes. “Are you alright?”

She nodded briskly, her hand dropping from the counter. “Yes.”

“Liar,” Cassian answered, loosing a sigh as he drifted to her side, the bond pulling so damned hard it was difficult to breathe.

She looked… tired. Weary and worn to the bone, as though the meeting with the queens had sapped her of something vital, and it made him heartsick. She blinked, not even bothering to taunt him, to tease him, to chide him for daring to call her a liar, and he’d never thought the absence of an insult could hurt but gods, it did.

It really fucking did.

“We’ll figure this out,” he promised. “Whatever it takes, whatever we have to do. We won’t abandon you or these lands.”

“How can they be so willing to let us die?” Nesta demanded, her gaze snapping to his like lightning, a blistering frankness roiling beneath like thunder. “They’re going to do nothing, and just leave us like we don’t matter—”

“It’s not your burden to bear, Nes,” Cassian pointed out softly.

“But it is,” Nesta bit out. “My sister made it so. Your lord made it so.”

And Cassian could do nothing but shake his head mournfully because… she had a point, didn’t she? They had laid this burden at her feet, dragged her into it when they’d used her as courier for Rhys’ letters, and now war was coming and his mate was here, beneath the wall, entirely defenceless.

“Leave,” he breathed, even though his heart cracked around the words. “Take Elain and get on the next ship. Get as far away from here as you can.”

“I can’t do that. You know I can’t.”

“If you’re worried about your husband—”

“No.” Nesta cut him off with a wave of her hand. “If he happens to die in the battles to come, I don’t think even his mother would mourn him.” She paused, met his eye and refused to look away, her gaze unflinching. Raw. “How could I get on a ship and leave the rest of mankind to the mercy of this fae king? How would I ever sleep again?”

She searched his face, and Cassian swore her eyes asked a third question, one she didn’t voice. How could I leave you?

And damn him— how could he blame her? How could he expect her to leave, when he wouldn’t dream of it either? When leaving her felt like the most potent pain in the world?

He had no answer, and so Cassian did the only thing he could— he took her in his arms and held her tight, not caring who might find them. He only pulled her to his chest, wrapped his arms around her and pressed a kiss to her hair.

“I’ll find a way to keep you safe,” he murmured. “I swear it.”

“Why?” she asked, her words muffled as she buried her face in his leathers. “Why bother?”

He let out an aching laugh, a bitter huff. “Because you’re…”

My mate.

You’re my mate.

“Everything,” he finished softly, settling for words close to what he wanted to say, yet not nearly close enough. “You are everything the world should be.”

He wanted to tell her— so badly he could taste it, could feel the words forcing their way up his throat. And yet—

Not yet.

He smoothed a hand down her braids, his palm cradling the nape of her neck, wrapping her more tightly in his embrace. Keeping her there, as if he could keep her safe, keep the world outside from touching her if they just stayed right here, like this.

She curled her fingers into his jacket, nails digging into the leather.

“Tell me,” she breathed, tilting her head up, still pressed against his chest. “Tell me about the proof they wanted. The place they mentioned. What’s it like?”

“Velaris,” Cassian whispered. “The Night Court’s most closely guarded secret.”

Nesta pulled back, a groove between her brows as she blinked. “You’ve mentioned it to me before. Doesn’t seem like that much of a secret.”

He tugged her back against his chest, let his cheek drop against her hair as a rueful smile pulled at his mouth. “Evidently I have incredibly poor judgement when it comes to you.” He shrugged. “It’s supposed to be a secret. Not a soul outside of the Night Court knows of its existence. Save for you.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s a place of light and beauty. Safety. The High Lord that founded the city wanted to let it flourish before the world discovered it, and over the centuries it just… remained secret.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she said softly, and Cassian huffed, breathing her in as his arms tightened around her middle.

“I know,” he said lightly, shrugging as he skirted her question, sidestepped it. She pulled her head back, fixing him with a questioning stare— but how could he answer? How could he explain that he’d told her about the secret city because even back then, back before he knew what she was to him, he hadn’t been able to hold anything back. Hadn’t been able to hide anything from her.

He shook his head.

“It almost terrified me, the first time I set foot there,” he said instead, his voice idle as he dragged a palm down her spine. “I’d grown up in the wilds of Illyria, so when Rhys’ mother brought us to the city for the first time… I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t stop marvelling at the size and the noise. Windhaven suddenly felt so small in comparison, so removed.”

He paused, smiled fondly. He felt Nesta’s hand round his waist, fingers flattening on his back beneath his wings. She relaxed as his arms engulfed her, as if hearing him speak was the distraction she needed.

“There’s a house carved right into the mountains that surround the city,” he continued, his hand still running a path up and down her spine, soothing and steady. “High— high above. It’s extravagant and palatial and yet… I didn’t sleep a wink all night. I couldn’t get comfortable in the bed.”

He shrugged. Swallowed as he felt a piece of himself grow raw. Bared in a way it never had been before.

“The sheets were too soft, you see,” he said in a whisper. “Far softer than any we’d had in Windhaven, and I’d only just gotten used to those. I’d spent so long sleeping on the ground that even the feel of a mattress and a blanket was strange to me, and there I was— lying on a bed grander than anything in Rhys’ mother’s cabin, in sheets a thousand times softer.”

There was a pause, one where Nesta said nothing, only studied his face with something like understanding— one soul raised in poverty recognising another. At length, Cassian hummed.

“That’s what Velaris is like. Comfortable. Vibrant. Alive.”

More silence, and when she rested her cheek over his heart once more, Cassian tilted his head back and closed his eyes. He let his fingers delve into her braids, holding her close.

“One day,” he promised. “One day I’ll show you.”

“One day,” Nesta echoed, but it was numbed, her words muted as though she didn’t quite believe it. A dream that was slipping through her fingers like mist, evaporating and dissolving now that the queens had proven themselves so unwilling to help them fight this war.

It had Cassian pulling back, lifting a hand to curl a finger beneath her chin and tilt her face up to the light. His eyes searched her face, lamenting every line of grief that he found, every strand of worry. He longed to take it all away, to go back to that morning, when his greatest concern had been how next to make her blush.

“I swear,” he said again. “I swear I’ll keep you safe.”

It echoed in his bones like a vow he couldn’t break, something fundamental and cardinal that he was powerless against. I’ll keep you safe, like it was his sole purpose— a basic fact that everything else merely revolved around. It had him dropping a hand to his waist, finding the dagger hidden beneath his jacket.

He slipped the blade free, watching the blade shine in the weak light as he flipped it in hand and held it out, hilt first. Nesta glanced at it, but made no move to take it. Cassian pressed it into her palm and curled her fingers tight around it, willing her to grip it as tightly as she’d gripped him.

“Use it, Nes. If ever you need to.”

“Use it on who?” she asked dryly, her eyes fixed on the way his dagger fit in her palm.

Her fingers slipped into the imprints left behind in the leather, shaped by his grip. It was his oldest weapon, forged for him not long after he earned his siphons, and one that he had taken meticulous care of over the centuries, sharpening it and oiling it until it shone, every night, like new. His favourite, balanced so perfectly in her hand.

“On whoever you need to,” he answered, keeping her fingers pressed tight around the hilt with his own hand. “Whoever tries to hurt you. No matter who they are.”

Nesta blinked, and he wondered if she recognised it. If she realised that it was the same blade she’d reached for that day on the road, oh, a lifetime ago now. If she did, she said nothing, only took the blade and tucked it in a pocket hidden in her skirts.

Cassian nodded with approval, something in him calming with the knowledge that she had something at least. That if he couldn’t be always at her side to defend her, then at least he’d given her the means to defend herself.

“Use the sharp end,” he said dryly.

That earned him a little smile, a slight roll of silver-blue eyes as she stepped away and took a deep, steadying breath. She shook her head once, sharp and brisk, before drawing away from him entirely.

Cassian watched as she reached for the steaming kettle, filling the teapot with water as she brought herself round, pulling herself together. Within a breath, her mask was back in place. Perfect, inscrutable, not a trace of vulnerability left. With a sharp look, she nodded to the tray of porcelain cups and saucers and Cassian understood that whatever moment they’d just had, it was over.

“Make yourself useful, General. Take the tray in, will you?”

***

Night had fallen by the time they had returned to Velaris.

When they had filled Amren in on the details of the meeting, when Mor had gone home and Feyre to bed… Darkness cloaked the city, and Rhys was sitting on the townhouse patio, a glass of whiskey in hand. Azriel had poured three generous measures, and they ended the day just as they had started it— the three of them, sitting around a table, trying to work out their next move.

Rhys looked out at the Velaris skyline. “We’ll go to the Hewn City soon,” he said, voice tired and weary. He dragged his fingers through his hair. “I just want a few days off before I have to deal with Kier.”

Cassian snorted, drinking deep. “I think we all do,” he muttered darkly, cradling his glass in his palm as he crossed an ankle over his knee. He flicked his eyes to the house, to Feyre’s bedroom window, in darkness as she slept.

“You think she’s ready for it?” he asked quietly. “Who we are there.”

Bastions of cruelty and malice, pillars of arrogance and unforgiving, unwavering wrath— that’s what they were. The masks they would have to don. It was a marked contrast to the prince of starlight and benevolence that Feyre had come to know in Velaris.

Rhys looked at him flatly before draining his glass, deigning not to answer. He shook his head, and looked pointedly at the empty space on Cassian’s hip, where his dagger had been buckled that morning. He didn’t need to ask where it was or why it was missing now, and in the silence, Cassian sighed.

He looked again to that darkened bedroom window.

“When did you know?” Cassian asked curiously. “About Feyre. About the bond.”

A soft hiss slipped between Rhys’ lips, as if fearful Feyre would overhear. “Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

Rhys shook his head slowly, reluctantly. “I knew after the curse was broken,” he said lowly. “Under the mountain.”

“And Tamlin—”

Rhys shook his head again, more sharply this time, cutting Cassian off with a look. His violet eyes narrowed, the stars suspended there all but winking out entirely as he leaned forwards, elbows braced on his knees.

“You shouldn’t have been so obvious today,” he said, his voice thick with something that seemed like a warning.

Cassian only laughed dryly as he tipped his glass back, drained it. “And why’s that?”

“Because it’s stupid,” Rhys countered evenly. “Reckless.”

“I don’t care,” Cassian shrugged. He set his glass down, frowning. “War is coming Rhys. That meeting might have been our last hope, and it might have just been snuffed out entirely. We could all be dead in a matter of weeks if this war goes poorly.”

It was all he’d thought on the way home.

With every beat of his wings, every leaden breath he drew into his lungs, he thought of how the time that had once stretched on before him might suddenly have grown short, grown limited, and Rhys might have had a point, because it did make him reckless, made him stop thinking of anything but how he refused to die without having spent as much time with her as he could, treasuring every single second.

Away from her, his bruised heart was wild in his chest, yearning to be back at her side, to feel her hand in his own, and if his chances were few now… If his days were numbered…

Suddenly, without even really thinking, he was rising from his chair.

“I’m sick of waiting, sick of being careful. I want to see her.”

Azriel frowned, looking up as Cassian stretched his wings as if readying for flight. One of his shadows crept forwards, brushing the edge of Cassian’s boots as if curious.

“Now?” Az asked, as that shadow went slinking back to its master, twining around his wrist.

Cassian nodded. “Can you winnow me to the wall?”

Rhys sighed heavily, rubbing his temples with a thumb and forefinger. “Cass, calm down.”

“Calm down?” Cassian repeated with a scoff as he straightened his jacket. “No.”

“She’s married.”

Cassian bristled, thought of that ring on her finger as his lip curled. A deep, primal sort of growl escaped him as he shook his head sharply, his patience snapping like an age-worn thread.

“She’s mine,” he countered, thinking of how he had been the one to hold her in his arms, to kiss her until neither of them could breathe. Thought of how it had been his voice to soothe her in that kitchen, that it had been him she had clung to.

Not her pitiable excuse for a husband, the boy who dared to think he could leash her with a feeble silver ring.

Rhys shook his head. “No, she’s not.”

“You don’t understand,” Cassian huffed.

“Don’t I?” Rhys snarled. “Don’t I? Feyre was going to marry Tamlin and I was going to sit back and let it happen, because if she chose him then it was up to me to make my peace with it—”

“Nesta didn’t choose him,” Cassian cut in darkly. “She isn’t happy.”

He felt a flicker of guilt, a fragment of regret for sharing her secret but— he couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t stand there and listen to how Rhys thought he knew better, when he knew nothing at all.

And for once in his life, Rhys was silent.

He blinked, but said nothing. Lost for words, he looked almost chastened, almost apologetic, as he met Cassian’s eye and sighed again, softer this time— resigned. Cassian only turned away and faced Azriel, the shadowsinger still seated in his chair.

Azriel let out a sigh of his own, wry as he rose to his feet. His shadows skittered, but his siphons were bright and his eyes were soft, the smile on his face almost indulgent as he extended his arm.

“You’re sure?” he asked. “She might kill you for turning up unannounced.”

Cassian grinned. “That’s part of her charm.”

Azriel smirked as he summoned his shadows.

“Well,” he trilled. “Let’s go, then.”

Taglist: @hiimheresworld @highladyofillyria @wannawriteyouabook @infiremetotakeachonce @melphss @hereforthenessian @c-e-d-dreamer @lady-winter-sunrise @the-lost-changeling

#nessian #nessian fic #begged & borrowed time #in the interests of sticking close to canon most of the meeting stuff was taken word for word from the books #though some of it has been slightly changed

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