#ive been feeling pretty lonely so this has definitely ticked something in me

[nefoe-dd]

SO SMT AU AM I RIGHT GAMERS

I mentioned this in the tags of another post and joked about it in Discord but my brain went brrrr during my last class of the day and now I lowkey have a full plot starting to form lol.

Keep in mind the only Shin Megami Tensei game I’ve played myself is the Nocturne remake, plus I only really remember bits of the plot of 4 and whatever we’ve been given so far of 5 so I’m not super well versed in the series.

Also I’ll add this to the tags too but DSMP Spoilers specifically for the contents of Techno’s Will exist in this post, because that is where the idea for this came from. A lot of other JRPGs have similar plotlines but I specifically thought of SMT because its kind of a meme specifically for that at this point how the plot always seems to have the same type ending bosses. 

Also some spoilers for Shin Megami Tensei IV

ANYWAYS

Now Presenting: An AU where Techno’s Limbo is an SMT Game lol

(Under a ‘Read More’ because it got way ahead of me)

An Introduction to Relevant SMT terminology:

Demons: Makes up a large majority of the characters in the game. They are the enemies that you face in combat, and its possible to recruit them to your team through various means. Some demons exist in the overworld though, and can be talked to normally, they’re chill most of the time, unless you do something to tick them off. ‘Demon’ is not taken literally by the Christian definition, they are based off of various figures in folklore and religion around the world, some are even based on Gods and Angels.

Law vs Chaos: Many SMT games have multiple endings based on these two alignments, along with the neutral alignment. It is usually decided by some important decisions the player makes throughout the game. I’m most aware of the SMT 4 ending, in which the route you are on decides the final dungeon, the character you team with for the ending, and the final boss (its either Satan or the in-game version of God). It’s based off of the traditional interpretation of these two, where Law represents the importance of authority, and Chaos represents the importance of freedom. 

Another note is that a lot of SMT games take place in a post-apocalyptic world of some kind, which, spoiler, is the case here.

General Plot Details and Worldbuilding:

- Techno dies in the prison. The stasis chamber fails and Quackity succeeds in killing him. Permanently. 

- Despite dying, he wakes up again in the main prison cell, but things are different. The lava isn’t blocking the entrance anymore, (in fact there isn’t any lava at all), and he’s alone. Upon peering outside the main cell, he notices a bit of sky peeking through the prison ceiling, like it had been broken into. 

- The drop down to the bottom floor is long, but he’s dead, so he just shrugs and jumps down so he can see what’s going on. Turns out there are several holes in this part of the prison, in fact there are multiple on the ground, likely where the lava had escaped from. (Obviously Minecraft lava specifically doesn’t work like that, I’m pretty sure in the DreamSMP the bottom is all source blocks, but just ignore that bit). 

- He exits from the back wall of the prison, and everything there so far looks normal, except for the fact that there appears to be less trees than normal. Of the trees that are still there, many of them were cut down and never collected, and some appear to have fallen over due to some damage.

- Techno goes around the prison to the front, and that’s when he notices some things that are very wrong. Various parts of the prison, not just the main cell, are also sitting destroyed. Many cracks, scuff marks and full-on chunks are missing on the walls. The usual entrance which houses the nether portal is hardly still standing, and he can see straight into the main lobby where the portal would lead into once you were let through. 

- The surrounding areas are not much better. Tommy’s outpost is toppled over in the distance, only the base and bottom floor are left standing. The tents near the beach are collapsed and destroyed, the only remnants of one of them is a small piece of fabric ripped from the main bit and laying on the ground. Skeppy and Badboyhalo’s mansion is crumbling where it stands, half of the back wall and ceiling are gone. And that’s only what’s visible from here. 

- The rest of the server is also in various states of destruction, the spawn walls are hardly left standing, the main nether portal area is covered in potholes, none of the portals are active. The prime path is rotted and broken in most areas, the buildings along it are not faring much better than the ones he’d seen before. And the further he gets away from the prison, the more the plants themselves appear to be dead or dying. 

- L’manburg’s crater looks much the same as it once did right after its destruction, albeit with more debris at the bottom which had fallen from the sides as they slowly eroded. The flag at the bottom is torn up and discoloured, honestly its hardly recognizable. The nature that had finally begun to reclaim the land has slowly been dying instead over time, and the bridge overtop has completely collapsed. The only thing still standing, is the ever present obsidian grid that looms over it in the sky. He supposes that whatever disaster had caused this wasn’t able to reach that high up, or that it was at least in part done by someone that liked the way it looked. Not that there seems to be a need for the reminder anymore. 

- Something something, he finds out DreamXD is here, and that he might have had something to do with how this world looks. And as much as it shouldn’t matter in the afterlife, he did promise Phil he would be killing God sooooo he goes on a mission to do just that. He can do pretty much anything now that he really doesn’t have to worry about dying, so why not. He has no reason to care about some God, especially when they’re the only ones left.

- Some DSMP people hang around the world and are represented by certain demons, the mostly chill ones that kinda just hang around in the apocalyptic scenery. They don’t recognize him, it isn’t really the people he knows after all, but they are willing to talk to him since they can tell he isn’t human either. He learns little bits of what happened through them, and learns where DreamXD resides, that being one of the strongholds that’s a bit further out. 

- Unfortunately, due to the portals being inactive, and his inability to break anything efficiently, or even at all, he has to travel using the overworld. Along the way he manages to speak to some others, this allows him to better locate where the God is, although it doesn’t seem to be hiding out. He even sees it sometimes flying around, which he uses to follow where its hiding. 

- Some of the random demons he runs into recognize that he’s not supposed to be here (according to them at least), so he has to fight his way through them. Luckily, many of the friendly demons that he talks to end up tagging along in order to help, thus making up a team he can use to get through them instead.

 - There’s probably a demon that seems to resemble Phil somewhere, living alone (alone for so so long) away from everyone in an arctic house perhaps. If I wanted to really up the angst, the demon takes a liking to Techno right away, which is partly how Techno is able to tell its him so quickly. The more they talk, the more Techno realizes how lonely the Phil he knows must be without him there, how upset he’d be once he reads the will and finds out what happened to him. Thus he’s more motivated to, you know, fight God, in an attempt to figure out what the hell happened. (DXD is the only entity existing here that also exists where he’s from, he can guess pretty easily that maybe, just maybe, they are one and the same). Thus, he is given a choice that he knows he will have to make in the future. 

- Eventually he manages to find the stronghold and comes face to face with DreamXD himself. DreamXD is just kinda chillin there, they fight, through DreamXD doesn’t seem to be putting in too much effort, almost like it does not want to win. 

- Techno wins (duh), and he is left with a choice, a choice to finish the job, or spare the god and allow it to go free. And, well, he feels that he doesn’t really have the right to decide whether it lives or dies, and while its possible that DreamXD caused whatever disaster created the current state of the world, but he doesn’t know that for sure. DreamXD has done nothing this whole time he’s been here, and its done nothing to him or his companions.

- He chooses to leave it alone, and DreamXD seems to know that it was always going to end that way. 

- DreamXD disappears, and Techno wakes up in the cell again post-revival, the prison and the world around it is the same as he remembers

(I don’t remember the exact real-world to limbo time difference but I imagine that it felt like, a day, maybe half that, while irl it was only a few minutes to an hour.)

Some other notes/details:

- The other possible ending would have resulted in Techno killing DreamXD and being given ANOTHER choice to take its power over the world, or just leave and stay there forever. Basically DreamXD’s existence is vital to the power of the revival book, and it’s death would have resulted in Dream not being successful in his revival attempts. Obviously we have no idea how the powers actually work yet, but I just came up with an explanation because I thought it would be interesting. You can decide on your own which of these endings fall into Law, Chaos or Neutral because uh, its complicated given the scenario. You can also decide if letting DreamXD live even fits into his character! Idk! But its not like DreamXD’s being oppressive by any means, not that there’s anyone to oppress here anyways. That’s my logic anyways.

- I don’t know what demons would represent specific people, I’d like to use one of the Angels for Phil but the Demons based on Angels usually have an important role in the plot that is in line with the Law alignment and like, protecting god or whatever, so no. There are a couple bird ones but idk if they fit the vibe, idk it could work, I’d have to look at a list if I want to go into this further.

- I kinda want Eret to be an Inugami because it’s body does that thing that ferret’s do when they’re all stretched out :) The only reason I’m hesitant is because Inugami is a dog, and Goose deserves representation.

- The reason I imagined for why Techno can’t break anything is because the mining fatigue lasted throughout this because he died with it, it’d get in the way of fighting too but at least it isn’t weakness, and he’s not alone either.

Uhhhhh that’s it for now I think!

(will potentially add to this if I figure something else out in the future)

[celosiaa]

steady, love (chapter 7)

Summary:

Martin is not doing well.

Jon is there with him through every step.

(because I became obsessed ™ with the idea of Martin dealing with the physical and emotional aftermath of leaving the Lonely)

Chapters 1-7 are up on ao3 under the same username!

(The EYE speaks in glitched text.  Jon’s thoughts are italicized.)

WARNINGS: illness, hospitals, medical talk, addiction mention

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

P̘ͮnͯͧ͋̏e͓̳̭͗ͩu͔̲ͥ̽̿ͯ̾m̲̑̉̿̏̅ͨ̿̔o̭͚͗̏̉̂̌ͪ̿͗n̪̟̫̩͉̍̓ͤ̈̿̂i͙̥͕̱̯̿ͮ͋̄ͣ̄̀a͎͔̮̻͗͊ͣ̓ͯ̄͛͒͑ ̝͇͍̯̫̺̋ͫͯ̍́ͤ̄ͤS̹͍͓̪̠̙̯̟̥̔ͬ̑̋ͪ̚e̻͉̳͈͕͔̟͍̲̖ͭ̈́̎̿ͦv͈͓̼̲̭͍̖̲͐̒̿͊ͬ̉ͭͅe̻̫̞̬̬̤̯̹ͨ̃ͤͩͤ̉ͦ̈r̪͚̙͖̩͉͓͙ͤ͐̆̽̑̊͒̚i̼̘̖̼͕̫̦̻̩̙̬͐̓ͣ̇̚t̤̙̹͉̭ͭ̄̔ͭ͊̍̓͛͋̚ẙ̼͙̩̻͈͙̈́́̒ͣ̿̋ͣ̚ ͙̺̱̣̪̒ͩ̋͑ͫͤͭ̓̌Î̺̼͓͇̖͖͋͒ͥ̓͋̇ṇ͇͎̓̿̄͛̐̂̽̿̓d͚̤̩̹ͤ̍̈ͭ͐̄͗e̫̺͓̺̤̺͋̒͋̂x̖̟̦͊͂͂̾̓ ͈ͨ̈̾ͣ̿̅Ŝ̗̗̈́̇c͓ͪͧ̓o̭̜re:

aͦ ̀c̤̏l̠ͪi̻͍n͉̿̋i͖ͨ̉c̘ͬͬa̗̖ͅl̹͊͂̈ ͉̊̉̔ẗ̗̥̣ö̻̳̓̄o͒͛̋̈́̚l̘̳͂̃͒ ͎̋͌ͪ͋f̙̖͑ͥ̒̍ọ̼̭ͭ̈̃r͎̥̪̓̏̇ ͖̞͍̐ͫ̀m̱̣̖̤̎ͯͩe̮̫̙ͯ͐̚ͅȧ͉̥ͨ̂ͧͣs̮̟̗͇ͧ͒̅u̥̥͕͔͕̔̾r͙͍̘ͨ̈́͗̂ḯ̠͙̹̘͒̍n̗̐̌̎̋́ͭ̊g͚̝̜̳̬̈́ͦ̂ ̘̗̗̓͂ͭ͊͑t͓͙̯̩͒͌̾͌h̲̳̝͓̊̓̆̚ẻ̥͚͉͙̑͒̑ ̫̤͊ͦͥ͊̄̈́l̮̦̯̏̎̽̈́ͥỉ̟̖̲ͯ̿̓̊k̜̬̮̙ͬ̑͂̂ḛ̭͕̽͊̄ͦͅl͇̺̼̤̿ͦ͒̚ï̠̙̮̪̠̓̎h̯̱͔͖ͭ͗̉ọ͖̝̘̔̊ͮo̳̬̬̩ͧͩ͋d̲̦̩̰̿̍͒ ̲ͨ̀̾͋͋ͩo̤͖̤͋ͨͭ̚f͌ͥ̈͂̄̅̈́ ̞ͨͭͬͭ̚m̮̪̄̆͋̔o̬̰̺̤ͥ̈́r̘̳̈́̔̐ͅt͕̳͇̎̉a͓̤̫͕ͪl̤͍̰͋ͮì̫̠̂͒t͙̥ͧͥẙ̤ͦ̓ ͓͇̺̻f̤́͂r̼͑̏o̦̱̘m͐̓ ̲ͮp̙̀ṉėu͉monia.

A̮ ̞s̬ͨc̥͈ǒ͆r͈͂e̪ͤ̚ ̼ͬͯiͭ̾̑s͙͗̌̓ ̮̪̝͙g̻̿̊͛i̹͛̒ͬv̯̄̿͊ͦe͚̺ͣͨͦn̙̹͂ͤͩ ̠͙̝̊͒b͊̇̔̆̉a̝̰ͧ́ͨs͕͖̝͗̌ḛ̣̥̄ͣḓ̥͌̄ͩ ͚̙͈͊ͯu̘ͪ̋̊̂p͕̥ͫͫ̚ȯ͖̙̒ͬn̗̓ͮ̎̿ ̘̽̈́̊͂t͙̞̻̯̏ḫ͉̰͕͚e̼̫̳̩̤ ͇̐͆͆̅f̓ͭ̄͛ő̜̯̫l̹̉ͪ̂l̩̘̻ͦo͔͕̊w̯̞̃i̇̍̈́n̞̾ͩg͙͒ ̻̊f̻̚a̽c̰t̄ors:

God, shut UP.

Jon buries his face in his hands, the familiar hunger-driven brain fog beginning to settle in.  It’s been nearly thirty minutes since Martin had his x-ray, and he’s been dozing ever since.  Left with nothing but the silence for company, Jon’s head has been spinning with information that he doesn’t want, he doesn’t need, he doesn’t understand.

He rubs at his eyes.

Christ, I am exhausted.

Before he can sink further into his misery, there is a sharp rapping on the door, and Jon is forced to pick up his head and push wearily forward.  Martin’s eyes flutter open along with the door, which reveals Aaron, cheery as ever.

“Hi again, how are we doing in here?” he says, flashing a wide smile in Martin’s direction.

Eyes still half-lidded with sleep, Martin gives yet another thumbs up in response.  At this, Jon cannot help but roll his eyes and sigh, sharing a sidelong look with the doctor.  Aaron returns the look, nodding at Jon in acknowledgment before he continues.

“That good, eh?  Well, the results are in, and—drumroll please…”

With a flourish, he slides Martin’s x-ray in front of the lightboard and points at dense-looking white spots on Martin’s lungs.

“You’ve got a pretty significantly sized infection in your left lung, with a small spot of infection in your right.  Which means that it’s a double pneumonia, and a pretty nasty one at that.  But you knew that already, I’d wager.”

Martin lets out a faint sigh, and nods.  Seeming to sense his growing fatigue, Aaron lowers himself to sitting on a rolling stool, and turns to address both Martin and Jon in a softer voice.

“What happens next is this: we need to get that fever down a bit and get you some antibiotics.  So we’re going to keep you here for a few hours while we get you those, as well as an IV to get you some liquids, and see what happens from there.  If you seem to be doing better, we’ll send you home with oral antibiotics and oxygen, in case you need it.  If not, we’re going to have to send you to the hospital in Aberdeen for treatment tonight, since I can’t keep anyone overnight here.  Does that all make sense?”

Sending a glance towards Martin, Jon squeezes his hand to elicit some sort of response, but he merely continues to stare at the doctor, blinking owlishly.  Jon clears his throat.

“Err, yes—that makes perfect sense, thank you,” Jon replies for him, certain that Martin had not taken in anything that had just been said.

“Happy to help,” Aaron replies, shooting Jon a lopsided grin. “Anything else I can do for you in the meantime?”

Jon takes a moment to think, watching as Martin’s eyes droop closed once again.

Basira.  She’ll want to know.

“Actually, yes—is there a phone I can use here?”

“’Course, just take a right down the hall.  Can’t miss it.”

“Thanks.”

Aaron stands from his stool then, clapping a hand on Jon’s shoulder.

“No trouble!  Isla—Martin’s nurse—will be around to get all that stuff to you.  I’m just a shout away if you need me, alright?”

“Right.  Thank you, Aaron.”

He dims the lights as he exits, closing the door behind him.  Turning his attention back to Martin, still drifting into fever-induced slumber, Jon takes up his left hand again, holding it in both of his own.  Slowly, nervously, he begins working his fingers over Martin’s palm, clumsily imitating Martin’s well-practiced massage technique.  He looks down at his own hands, scowling at the scars peppered across them, faded and pale against the dark of his skin.

My hands are too rough, this is foolish.

He is proven definitively wrong when Martin lets out a soft sigh of contentment, fogging up the mask instantly.

Jon grins from ear to ear and keeps going.

(13:37)

His left knee aches as he walks unevenly toward the hall phone, old injury pulling at him in the wake of half-carrying Martin to the car that morning.

Should have brought my brace.

Martin has been sleeping on and off for the past few hours, rousing only to cough or smile pleasantly at Isla when she comes by to tend to him.  He’s been set up with IV fluids and fever reducers since noon, and his first dose of antibiotics went down with little issue.  Left only with the prospect of waiting to see what happens, Jon finally feels comfortable enough to leave a sleeping Martin in the room for a while to call Basira, grab some coffee, find a bite to eat, and—

No, you will NOT smoke today.  Not an option.

Reaching the phone, Jon hesitates for a moment, mulling over what to say before finally dialing Basira’s number.  She lets it ring out a few times before picking up brusquely.

“Hussain speaking.”

“Basira?  It’s Jon.”

“Jon?  I don’t recognize this number.  Where are you?  What’s going on?” she asks rapidly, voice ticking up in concern.

“I’m calling from the village clinic.  You said to call if Martin got worse, and…well, he has.”

“Shit.  What happened?  Is he alright?”

Jon sighs exhaustedly, running a hand through his hair.  He can’t quite keep his voice from shaking.

“I’m…not sure, yet.  They’re keeping him under observation for the rest of the day to see if he needs to go to the hospital.”

“Jesus.”

“He was running a fever of nearly 40 this morning and sounded like…well, like he couldn’t breathe, so I took him here for help.  Apparently he’s got pneumonia.  He’s fallen asleep, so…I thought I’d call to let you know.”

“Oh, Jesus.”

“Y…yeah.”

Jon’s voice breaks roughly.

“How are you holding up?” she asks, in what might be the gentlest tone Jon has ever heard from her.

A lump forms immediately in his throat, making his eyes sting and his vision swim at the edges.

Pull it together, come on.

Tipping his head back for a moment, he blinks away the tears and takes a damp, shuddering breath that must have been audible on the other end.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” she soothes, her voice nearly a whisper.

Jon clutches at the receiver, as if it will somehow bring her closer.

“I-I’m fine, Basira.  Just…just tired.  And worried,” he says, voice thick.

“And hungry?”

“…yes.”

She sighs at this, pulling her phone away from her face for a moment.  Jon braces for her tone to be harsh upon her return, but to his relief, it remains decidedly softened— understanding, even.

“The statements should be there by tomorrow.  So there’s something good, at least.”

“R-right.  Something good.”

Silence falls for a moment before Basira continues, her voice returning to her usual matter-of-fact register.

“He’s going to be alright, Jon.  Even if he does have to go to the hospital.  He’ll recover, and then you can get back to your usual hopeless pining.”

At this, Jon can’t resist huffing out a laugh.

“Well…it’s not so hopeless anymore, actually.”

She gasps in shock.

“You’re joking!  You actually went for it, then?”

“Not-not exactly, it just sort of…happened.  I don’t know exactly how, but—yeah.  It’s…good.  Really good, actually,” he stammers, unable to keep his smile from bleeding into his tone.

“God, listen to you.  You’re like an enamored schoolboy,” she replies fondly.

Jon sputters in mock-indignation, pulling a hearty laugh from Basira.

“Well, I’m happy for you both.  You deserve something lovely, for once.”

“So do you, Basira,” Jon replies softly.

“…thanks.”

They allow the silence hang for a moment.  Basira then exhales sharply before continuing.

“Well, enough of the mushy shit.  Let me know what the doctors say, alright?  And tell Martin I hope he feels better soon.”

“I will.  Call you later, then.”

“You’d better.”

She hangs up on him, as always.

(14:43)

Half-empty coffee and a bagel in hand, Jon walks back to Martin’s room from where he had been standing outside, fiddling with an unlit cigarette for the better part of an hour.  It had taken everything in him, but he had managed not to light it, instead walking back through the clinic doors and deciding to snag some food on the way back to the room.  He cannot help the guilt welling up inside—for his struggle, for the way his hands are shaking, for bringing the cigarettes with him in the first place—

He opens the door to see Martin smiling back at him, and it all fades away.

Cheeks flushed and face pale, Martin is half-sitting in up in bed now, the heat no longer rolling off him with such vicious intensity as before.  His oxygen mask has now been replaced with a nasal cannula, allowing Jon a clear picture of the sunny smile Martin offers so freely.

Something warm tugs at Jon’s heart, and a wide grin spreads across his face.

“Well, well, look who’s got an upgrade,” he says lightly, stepping toward the bedside.

Martin’s own smile widens at this, and he reaches out for Jon’s hand as he sets his coffee and bagel on a nearby table.  Scooting his chair closer before sitting, Jon gently takes Martin’s hand in both of his own, closing his eyes and lowering his lips to the back of Martin’s palm.

3̙̩8͖̓͊.̘̹̎7͖̏.͙

At last.

Jon smiles against Martin’s hand for a moment before looking back up.

“Your temperature’s down,” he says, trying not to sound as dizzy with relief as he feels.

Martin nods quickly before clearing his throat, causing something to catch in his chest.  Turning away at once, he presses his face into his elbow as heavy-sounding coughing erupts from him, causing Jon’s brows to knit closer together in worry with every moment that passes.  Mercifully, the coughs fade away after about fifteen seconds.  Martin flops back gracelessly against the pillows, panting and exhausted.

And still smiling.

“Lucky to have you,” he rasps, lifting a hand to Jon’s cheek.

Jon leans closer, expression lightening, and brings up a hand to press against Martin’s palm where it rests.

“Lucky to have you,” he whispers, gazing intensely into the warm hazel of Martin’s eyes.

They remain like this for several seconds, neither wanting to violate the sanctity of this moment.  Martin then inhales sharply, mouth open to say something—before snapping it shut again, looking suddenly nervous.  Jon’s brows furrow instinctively.

“What is it, darling?” he asks, head tilting to the side of Martin’s palm.

The corners of Martin’s mouth curl up at the term of endearment, pulling a deep flush to his cheeks and ears.  Looking up again, he determinedly matches the intensity of Jon’s gaze.

“I…I love, you, Jon.”

He inhales more confidence.

“I love you.  Just…so much.”

Every nerve in Jon’s body is on fire.  Vacantly, he knows that his mouth is hanging open, his eyes wide, his face flushing with heat—but for a moment, he cannot move, nor breathe, nor speak.

Martin LOVES me.

Martin loves ME.

At last, he regains some measure of control, managing to keep hold of Martin’s left hand while shifting his weight to sit on the edge of his bed.  Reaching out his other toward his face, he cups Martin’s cheek with a still-shaking hand.  Their faces are just inches apart now, hovering, begging to be pressed together.

“I love you too, Martin Blackwood.  More than…more than I know how to say.”

Martin smiles then, wide and charming, before craning his neck up to brush his lips against Jon’s, questioning.

“Say it like this, then?” he whispers.

“Gladly.”

Their lips meet in a gentle blush of a thing, hesitant and brief, before deepening into a warm, unhurried kiss.  Martin’s hands move into Jon’s hair as they find the perfect rhythm, gentle and passionate and utterly their own.  When he manages to pull small noises of pleasure from Martin, Jon grins against his lips in pride before pulling him back in for more.

After nearly a minute, Martin urgently pushes back against Jon’s chest.  Immediately breaking contact, Jon pushes himself away frantically, careful not to touch him, panicked at the thought that he’d done something wrong.

“M-Martin, I’m so sorry, what ha—”

He is cut off as Martin pitches forward violently, coughing deeper than Jon has ever heard—as thick grey fog pours from his mouth, his eyes, his nostrils.

“God, Martin, here, here—”

Jon braces him by the shoulders as he leans forward, chest rumbling in desperation to clear the way for oxygen.  Guilt floods Jon as he feels the force of Martin’s convulsions beneath his hands.

Why did you kiss him?  Damn it damn it damn it

Dense fog is filling the room now, and Jon is struck with terror at the thought of anyone entering the room to see this.  The tendrils have nearly reached the door, could snake beneath it at any moment—

Tͮ̀h̥ͫ̎̂ë̗̹̯̜y̬͔͖̝̅̇ͧ ̯͙͈͖͙̈́͛̚w̮̺̻̜̔̈́ͬͩͮi̙̠̙͍̤̒ͩ̂̽l̺̣̣͕̩̥̟̈́̔ͨl̯̺̩̳̰͂̍̉̈́͌ ̼̼̬̟̞̘̏̈́̌͑ñ̩̞̲̯̤̅̉ͮo͓̝̠͌ͤ͊͗̿ͤṭ̯͂̈ͥͧ̂͆ ̳̦̣̃ͬ͒c͓ͥ̍͛̃o̔ͪ̈́m̓ͮe.

Jon pays for this knowledge with pain, every Mark on his body throbbing furiously.

Breathe it in, and let it go.

Breathe, let go.

Focus.

At long last, Martin’s hacking subsides, leaving him utterly spent and hunched forward on the bed.  Jon begins rubbing slow circles on his back with aching hands, calming him as he finally manages to regain his breath.  After a few moments, Jon gently guides him to lie back against the pillows.  Tears leak out of the corners of Martin’s eyes as he does so, and Jon’s heart clenches briefly with sympathy before Martin begins to laugh, a toothy grin spreading across his face.

“Wh…what is it, Martin?” he asks, confused.

“I think…I think that was the last of it, Jon,” he says, voice wobbling.

Jon inhales sharply, taking Martin’s hand.

“What? Really?”

“Y-yeah, really.  I can feel it, I…I think it’s really gone.  I’m not…I’m not Lonely, anymore.”

More tears spill over Martin’s cheeks as he resumes his weak laughter.  His own eyes brimming, threatening to cascade over a growing smile, Jon cups Martin’s face in his hands, wiping gently at his tears with his thumbs.  He then moves upwards, stroking a hand through Martin’s soft curls, watching as the last remaining bits of the fog dissipate forever.

A few minutes later, Martin smiles up at him, playfully swatting at his forearm.

“Let’s not do that again until I can breathe properly, though.”

At this, Jon laughs in earnest, before pressing his lips tenderly against Martin’s forehead.

I love him I love him I love him I love him

And he loves me.

He loves me.

[thotantics]

hi can i ask for a prompt with yoongi? B12 and D13 please💌

⚤   pairing — reader + Min Yoongi

✎ word count — 2,591

✦ genre — smut, pwp

✗ warnings  — graphic description of sex, masturbation, fingering, oral sex (female receiving), squirting

prompt(s) — B12: Heavy eye contact + D13: Squirting

[A/N] hhhngn i hope this came out ok! writing it was a little touch and go as i’ve been anxious the last couple of days again but ive been reading some amazing things and trying to keep myself inspired and happy, and im pretty satisfied with this. also!! happy belated birthday to @gotmetalkinginmysleep 💖💖💖

You knew exactly what to do to get him fired up. Even though Yoongi had spent the evening watching you from afar and sulking, you were pleased with yourself. He deserved it.

He’d promised you a romantic candle lit dinner the night before after countless nights of eating alone while he worked late, but when you showed up at his apartment, he was passed out asleep on the couch. Impossible to wake up once he was that deeply asleep, you hadn’t even bothered to try and had gone to sleep in his bed by yourself after a lonely dinner that was definitely lacking in the romance that you had been so looking forward to.

What was worse is he hadn’t even bothered to apologize. He slid under the covers with you just before dawn, groaning softly into the crook of your neck and prodding at the middle of your back with an erection, and though you had been wide awake, you pretended you were still asleep until he dozed back off, curled up behind you.

The following day you were, perhaps childishly so, hellbent on pissing him off. Yoongi, as complex as he could be at times when he tried to hide his feelings and act much tougher than he truly was, could be played like a fiddle under the right circumstances. Lord knows that you knew all the right buttons to press after a lengthy relationship. You knew all the ins and outs of this man by now. His hopes, his fears, his insecurities, his strengths, but most importantly, you knew what made him tick.

Using Jimin for your agenda was easy - the younger man was a born flirt and it oozed out of every pore regardless of who he spoke to. So when you stuck to his side that evening, giggling and playful, he was all too easy to use to get the right kind of attention from your negligent boyfriend.

Yoongi bought it so fast, too. Hook, line, and sinker. The moment you touched Jimin’s arm for a little bit too long, you could practically feel his eyes on you. But you didn’t let him know that you knew he was watching, not yet. Not until he came to you, voice low while you sat on the counter top with Jimin at your side, drunk and a little too friendly.

“Let’s go to bed.” Yoongi practically growled the words at you, his mouth at your ear and his hand squeezing just a little too tight around your wrist.

You agreed, lips curving into a knowing smile as you hopped down off the counter and gave Jimin a lingering hug goodnight before Yoongi all but drug you away from him.

You knew you had him exactly where you wanted him long before he kicked shut his bedroom door and barked out a command for you to strip and lay down on his bed. If you couldn’t have the romantic night he had promised you, at least you could have him like this. Possessive, needy, wild.

His eyes were flashing, mouth drown down in a tight lipped frown that made your heart flutter. He’s cute when he’s pissy, you think to yourself. You smile up at him, innocently, adoringly, and he whips off his belt and chucks it to the floor with a snap.

“What are you smiling about?” He asks you.

“How cute you are.” You reply.

“Oh? Not about how cute Jiminie is?”

At this, you let yourself giggle. He was truly so, so easy. Excitement rippling in your veins, you lay back on the bed, fully naked, like he told you to.

Yoongi hasn’t broken eye contact with you yet, not until the shirt he lifts over his head interrupts it as he asks, “What are you laughing about?”

“I just love you.” You tell him. And you mean it. As much as the previous night had disappointed you, finding him curled up asleep when he had promised you something, you knew in the back of your mind that you could have come to him in tears the next day and he would have rectified his wrong doing. But it was much more fun for both of you, this way.

He huffs a little, but doesn’t reply to your sentiment, instead telling you in a clipped tone, “Spread yourself for me.”

You do, parting your thighs and pressing your fingers to your sex to splay yourself open for him. He likes you best like this when he’s in a sulky mood, open and vulnerable and all for him. And god, do you like it, too, when he takes control and most of all, when he takes you. You’re entirely his, anyway, but it doesn’t mean that you don’t want him to claim you over and over and over again, for the rest of your lives.

Yoongi is quiet when he starts. He jerks himself off while sitting on his knees, his balls nestled between your spread lower lips, teasing you with the jerking motion of his hand on his cock, his eyes locked on yours and daring you to ask him for more. But you don’t. You know he’ll give it to you in due time, especially if you’re patient. He masturbates in such a quick, rough motion that you wonder briefly how it doesn’t hurt but then again, you know that he likes it when it does. His fingers are tight around his shaft, the head of his dick red from being squeezed so tight repeatedly. Eventually the slick sounds of precum coating his hand is coupled with the ragged breaths from him, lording above you.

You writhe, needing friction, but just before it gets too unbearable, just before he can spill his cum across your belly and waste it, he stops and pulls back away from you. A glance down where your hands still spread yourself open show him that watching him jerk himself off has made you wet, and he gives you a haughty little smirk before he lays down flat between your open thighs.

You desperately want his mouth on you, but he busies himself with exploring you with his fingers first, like always. You steel yourself in preparation, eyes shutting tight. You know if you ask for it, he’ll just make you wait even longer. He’s meticulous, practiced, far too good at pressing all of your buttons same as you can his. It’s exciting and makes you both vulnerable, but you like it that way.

His fingers avoid your clit, stroking over your labia and pressing gingerly into your entrance, then he pulls back, pressing the slick digit into his mouth and just observing you while he sucks it clean, watching as you get wetter with anticipation.

“Did Park Jimin do this to you?” He asks you quietly, and you know that he knows better. He’s confident in your relationship, he knows you’re loyal and he knows you belong to him, mind, body, and soul. But you humor him anyway. 

“No, Yoongi. You did.”

His eyes lift from your sex and meet your own, lips curving briefly into a smile, but he wipes it away from his face as quickly as it appeared, ducking his head down to finally let you have his mouth. His eyes don’t leave yours when he tastes you, tongue flat and stroking from your clenching hole up to your clit. He leaves it there, flexing the wet muscle on your most sensitive spot, eyes on yours and silently daring you to look away. You wouldn’t. He’s hypnotizing and beautiful there, licking expertly between your thighs.

Yoongi hums, a low tone that sends shocks of pleasure straight to your core, legs jerking briefly around his head. His eyes narrow briefly, a silent warning for you to hold still and let him do what he wants to do, then his hands pin your thighs open wide and he nuzzles his mouth into you further, pushing your hands out of the way. He licks deeply and sucks, latching onto your clit with an obscene sound that makes you moan and gasp all at once.

You hold still the best you can, hands threading through his hair, breathing steady to keep yourself in check but he’s fully consuming you and it’s hard to be as still as you know he wants you to be. You want to rut your hips up against his mouth, to tug and pull on his hair to get him in the spot you want him in so you can get yourself off as quick as possible, but Yoongi keeps his eyes trained on you and you don’t dare.

If he wasn’t in this specific mood, to possess you and own you, you wouldn’t care at all to take what you want from him but like this? You take what he gives you and nothing more.

After all, you wanted him like this. You made him like this, mad with his need to consume you entirely and claim you as his. He nuzzles his nose against your clit, tongue fucking shallowly at your entrance and you murmur his name, thighs twitching with the effort to stay wide open for him.

“Yes, baby?” He pulls a breath away and his eyes are tender, even as he licks the remains of your wetness from his lips, “Tell me how I can please you.”

Not expecting him to want to cater to you like this, you scramble for a moment, mind reeling with possibilities but the truth hits you like a truck when his fingers dig into the meat of your inner thigh, and you tell him, “I want your fingers.”

“Where?” He encourages you, eyes flickering briefly down as he presses a kiss to your swollen clit, then he looks back up at you patiently. It’s a complete switch that’s been flicked, your submissive side out in full force, overwhelmed by him, by the need he’s been building in you.

“I-in my pussy.” You whimper, “Fuck me with your fingers…a-and, fuck!… keep licking me. Please.”

Yoongi was already granting your every wish before you could finish asking for it, his long digits pressing inside of you and curling up, making you curse. When his tongue goes back to work, he shuts his eyes briefly and savors the taste of you, wet and warm against his lips. He pumps his fingers into you, being sure to press shallowly into you with his fingers curved right up against the texture of your inner wall where he knows your g spot is.

His tongue feels like heaven, slipping between your folds expertly and flattening against the sensitive bundle of your clit, alternating between flicks from the point of his tongue at the perfect speed to lavishing you there with his lips wrapping around and sucking sinfully. You can’t stop your thighs twitching and your hips lifting, craving more and more though he happily gives it to you each time.

He looks up at your face only to see you watching his mouth carefully, entranced by the sight of his tongue. You expected him to tease you endlessly, to deny to orgasm until his cock was in you, but you lock eyes with him and whisper in warning, “I-I’m coming..”

He nods against you, giving you permission before pressing his fingers into your cunt harder and faster, his tongue flat and rubbing fully against your swollen clit while you rock your hips up against face. Yoongi groans, pressing a third finger inside of you, stretching you with the briefest twinge of pain before your walls accommodate to the addition. He uses the strength in his whole arm, fucking up against your g spot rough and harsh while his tongue keeps licking, sweet and slow. You feel yourself about to bust entirely, all while staring into his eyes and you shut your lids peacefully, letting go.

Yoongi fucks you three fingers deep, and the obscene squelching that emits from your sex sends a blush from your cheeks straight down your chest. You don’t expect the tidal wave that follows, but the moment you feel it, you open your eyes to look down at him in utter shock.

It feels almost wrong for half a second. Are you pissing yourself?? But the look of sheer desire that crosses Yoongi’s face, his brows lifted in surprise wipes away any negative feelings and you don’t even try to hold back. You’ve never done this before, never gushed so fully, never cum with this much intensity.

Writhing under him, legs desperately trying to shut around his arm as he pulls back to watch, you buck and groan and completely soak the sheets, soak your boyfriend’s arm, his tongue licking lasciviously across his lips to capture the taste of your cum.

“Oh my god,” You chant, “Oh god, Yoongi, Yoongi!”

“It’s ok, baby.” He murmurs, and he places one hand flat on your tummy and he keeps fucking you with his hand, deeper this time, pressing tight at your lower stomach like he’s trying to milk more of it out of you, his mouth hungry and his tone low as he groans desperately against your throbbing, oversensitive clit. “Fuck, you’re such a good girl,” He mewls against you, tongue and lips as desperate as his fingers to work another orgasm from you, just as wet as the first. “One more,” He begs, “Give it to me… please.”

You cum again just seconds after the first time, and the gush is significantly less but with his insistent fingers fucking you and his tongue on your clit, he gets what he was after. He withdraws in a hurry, palm rubbing sloppy and hurried at your clit as his mouth latches onto your core and he sucks and swallows every drop he can down, groaning and massaging your left thigh appreciatively.

He’s made you cum twice in a row countless times in the past, fucking you senseless after making you cum once on his fingers only to immediately hammer you into another orgasm but this time was different. With the sheets below you soaked and the evidence of your orgasm dripping from his chin, Yoongi pushes himself up from your pussy, gripping his cock and sliding it home inside of you. You whine and wrap yourself around him, completely fucked out of your mind and body trembling with the exertion.

It takes everything in you to keep your weary legs open so he can jackhammer his hips into yours, his mouth wet as he kisses across your neck and your lips. You taste yourself on his tongue and moan into his mouth, weak and used, but you give yourself over to the pleasure of feeling him rutting away inside of you, desperate to find his release. When he cums, he grunts into your neck and buries himself deeply inside of you, panting and shaking all over.

“Fuck,” Yoongi hisses, “That was so hot, baby.” He pulls back away from you and looks down at you in awe for a moment before he pulls out of you. Your legs fall weary, flat to the mattress and Yoongi stands over you, chest heaving, and looks at the mess the two of you had just made. You’re half dead, unable to lift a muscle, breath coming out ragged and head lolling uselessly to the side, completely and utterly fucked out of your mind, your insides still tingling from the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“You’ve never looked more sexy,” He declares, “Do you know that?”

[illyriantremors]

Beneath the Stars Chapter 7

Chapter: I II III IV V VI

AO3 Linkage

Summary: In an effort to help her dad out with the mounting stack of bills, Feyre gets a job at a local art gallery. Her first day is going well enough when Feyre finds herself caught between texts with Rhys and Tamlin on her lunch break that force her to choose how she'll spend the rest of her afternoon. Things only get more complicated when she finally arrives home to a less than pleasant surprise.

Chapter 7

“So that’s the post-modern gallery,” a crisp, professional voice stated as we stepped down the suspended staircase back to the first floor. “The main showroom is here taking up pretty much the entirety of the bottom floor. We run five different exhibits at a time with one showcase per month - speaking of which, the next one’s in two weeks and you’ll be expected to be present for it. That okay?”

I nodded eagerly. “Absolutely.”

The city’s local art gallery was going to be a tiny bit of a commute two days a week after school and once on weekends, but it was worth it. I was hired on only as a receptionist, but it paid well for a starting gig considering I was still in high school and woefully inexperienced.

Mrs. Weaver had given me the glowing recommendation I’d needed to get the green light. She overheard me mentioning to Amren that I was trying to find some kind of work and pulled me aside after class to say one of her friends from college was running the gallery and needed someone on the phones and emails.

Two weeks later I was in.

I was under a two month probationary period, but it hardly mattered. The gallery was my personal definition of divinity - art at every corner from all different styles and artists with a huge lush terrace off the back that housed a chintzy outdoor cafe restaurant. And the best part was that the gallery also housed a real working in-house studio and once my probationary status was cleared, I was allowed to use it.

I was going to kick so much ass on my AP Studio Art final because of this - as soon as I figured out what in the world I was doing for my project.

Self-portraiture still alluded me. The inspiration just wasn’t there and the clock was starting to tick. Soon I’d be stuck with more than one piece to complete every month and knowing how clean and up to scratch my portfolio would have to be, the pressure felt insurmountable at times.

But the gallery was a breathe of fresh air, the same one I felt every afternoon I spent in class with Amren painting away on our easels. Mrs. Weaver still assigned us projects for her own class and that made the challenge of the exam even greater, but at least it got me painting again and that’s what counted.

Because while I hadn’t told anyone, I really hadn’t painted much over summer. It was too wonderful to taint with the drain I constantly felt pulling at me.

But now - I could feel the juices flowing again a little bit.

I spent most of my first morning learning the computer systems and the overall way the gallery functioned. Being a Saturday, we were fairly busy, but it made time go faster.

Which was good because my phone had buzzed in my pocket about once every five minutes since I clocked in for my shift. Not wanting to make a bad impression on my first day, I refrained from so much as looking at the lock screen until my break, which I filled by drinking one of the cafe smoothies in the garden out back.

When I glanced at my phone, I found about a dozen different text messages from Tamlin.

Fey, I know you’re working, but please call me when you have a minute.

It’s really important.

Please call me, Feyre.

You’re not picking up. I have a Newspaper meeting in twenty. Please call me before if you can, I need to talk to you!

Out of the meeting. Ianthe made final decisions on co-editors. Can we talk?

FEYRE???

And on and on it went. I felt drained just scrolling through it, nevermind replying.

There was a lone text in the middle of all the madness, though, that brought some of the color back to my cheeks.

Good luck today. Knowing you, you’ll knock ‘em dead.

Short. Simple. And the first piece of encouragement I’d received all day. Not even dad had said anything when I jetted out the door exclaiming about first day jitters. I sent a reply text straight away.

And yet somehow, you’re still alive and well.

I shot the text off and received Rhys’s reply not a heartbeat later.

What can I say? I’m hard to get rid of and I like a challenge.

So I’m a challenge, eh?

You’re a lot of things, Feyre, including challenging. And smart. And beautiful. But mostly challenging, particularly when you give me the death glare. I haven’t seen anything quite so terrifying since Cassian cried watching Titanic.

Oh ha-ha, as if you’re so tough. I’ll be sure to throw something at you next time to make my point clear.

As long as it’s not a shoe. Morrigan tells me they’re pointy and painful, or is that only when you wear them?

Care to find out? I’ve got a few pairs I could loan you. Personally I think you’d look ravishing in a set of red leather pumps.

I’d like to point out that you’ve just admitted to me without any prompting of my own that you have a pair of red leather high heels. And I think I’d much rather like to see them on you, Feyre darling.

I snickered aloud and glanced up from my phone to see if anyone could notice the red blooming on my cheeks.

Now who’s scared of a challenge?

Before I could let my phone ping another one of Rhys’s replies at me, I tapped over to my unanswered conversation with Tamlin and let him know I was still alive.

I sipped on my smoothie - a deep purple from the blueberries that were masking the strawberry and banana - and waited, but he didn’t text back. I sent a casual question mark just in case he hadn’t heard the initial message come through on his end and still nothing. Rhysand, however, was relentless.

I’m scared of a great many things, Feyre and you are not one of them. Come over today and I’ll prove it.

My heart slammed into my chest. The little pricks of guilt I’d felt fluttering in the back of my mind whenever I let the flirtation go too far jumped to life inside me with wild enthusiasm. I was debating how best to turn him down when he sent a second message.

Morrigan and I would like to request a recounting of your first day on the job.

I exhaled a deep sigh of relief. Mor would be there and it was just to hang out. Casual. Friends.

I had friends now. Huh.

But… Tamlin still hadn’t texted back and he said it was urgent. One glance at the clock on my phone told me my break was up. Time to decide.

I sent two texts, one to Tamlin apologizing for missing his messages and that I would call him when work was over and a second one to Rhys to say I’d play it by ear, but what was his address - just in case I needed it of course.

Don’t worry about it, I’ll come pick you up.

I’m already driving. Just tell me, unless you’re so scared of the heels in my trunk, you’ve changed your mind?

His address was his immediate reply.

Rhys’s house was another city monstrosity, but it was older and had more charm to it than the more modern constructions I was used to seeing hanging out around Tamlin and Lucien. Just the simple fact alone that he didn’t have a huge golden gate guarding the driveway or that the driveway was in fact just that - a short paved driveway you didn’t have to hike a mile up to climb - were comforting features.

I rang the door and admired the ivy vines scaling the brick facade of the front entryway - bright greens and rich, muddy red colliding in the warm afternoon sun. And then Rhys opened the door in a crisp burnt orange to match. The dark overhang of the patio cast him in a bit of shadow, but he looked lovely, almost enough to paint.

He looked me over and clicked his tongue. “I don’t see any heals, Feyre darling. Color me disappointed.”

“Disappointed?” My eyes flew wide, but I smirked and stepped forward. “Patience is a virtue. Now are you going to let me inside or not?”

“After you, milady,” and he stepped aside so I could pass into the most normal looking house I could have imagined.

For being contained within walls of luxury and certainly size that boasted money to match, Rhys’s house was noticeably cozy. The furniture looked comfortable enough to sink into and put your feet up on, and no single cabinet nor stand screamed You break it, you buy it! at me.

It was lived in - a home.

Rhys led me towards the kitchen to grab us both a drink and I spied Mor sitting one room over at a large oak dining table - and she wasn’t alone.

Azriel’s delicate face sat next to Mor maintaining at least a full seat’s worth of space between them, but I could have sworn by the way their heads leaned toward each other that they were intertwined. Maybe I was just imagining things between them, but…

“So what’ll it be?” Rhys asked opening the fridge while I listened to Az say something long and complicated to Mor. “I’ve got iced tea, coke, water, milk…”

“Iced tea is fine. Are they studying Calculus?”

Rhys nodded, grabbing the pitcher of iced tea from the fridge and two glasses from the cabinet along with some ice.

“I didn’t know Mor was tutoring. That’s nice of her.”

Rhys paused as he poured our drinks to peer up at me from under his eyelashes. “Az is the one tutoring Mor.”

I narrowed my eyes questioning what I’d heard. “But I see Mor in Calculus every week and she’s-”

“Just getting a little extra help. We all need it now and then,” and he handed me my glass, “don’t we?”

“I suppose so,” I said with a little understanding thrown behind it. “And exactly how long has Azriel been tutoring her?”

“Two years,” Rhys said brisk and cool before glancing slyly at me. “And not a word about it from you.” He flicked me on the nose and strode off. “Come on, I’ll give you the tour.”

“Feyre? Feyre!”

Mor pounced on me as she realized I was there. Azriel gave me his usual hello nod and started shuffling papers on the table to put them away.

“I didn’t know you were coming over today, but oh - this is perfect! You can help me with the signs.”

“Signs?”

Rhys chuckled, lowering himself into a chair with a muttered, “Here we go.”

“Of course, signs for the dance, silly!” Mor started explaining all about the initial adverts she wanted to do to promote Starfall (somehow my name had miraculously stuck) to get people more interested in the dance. “The signs the SBC made last year were downright awful and I’m convinced it’s the reason hardly anyone showed up.”

“You’re just a weirdo who likes dancing until three in the morning,” Rhys chimed in. “Most parents prefer their kids home before midnight so it’s no wonder you danced alone last time.”

“I wasn’t alone!” Mor blushed the moment she said it. “Whatever. The point is I want this dance to be special this year. We’re seniors! We deserve to have some fun with it and,” she took my hand and smiled sweetly at me, “you’re a really, really good artist.”

I scoffed.”You haven’t seen my work.”

“But I’d like to! You can show me some time and it’ll be great.”

I didn’t get a chance to reply because the doorbell rang and Cassian came sweeping into the room.

“Holy mother above, Cassian,” Mor stammered. “What is the point of ringing the doorbell if you’re just going to waltz right in? I’ve asked you so many times not to do that.”

“Calm your tits, Morrigan. It’s not like it’s your bedroom I’m walking in to. Last time I visited that particular door, I was quite happy to walk out.”

Mor’s face flushed right as Azriel rounded the corner. Cassian went still as my eyes darted between them and I thought maybe there was something there for a moment, but then Cassian looked at the binders in Az’s hand, made a crack about how boring math was, and grabbed a can of coke from the fridge.

“Come on, let’s get going,” Cassian said as he popped the lid on his can. “I don’t want to waste my entire afternoon at Target staring at scrapbook paper.”

“It’s posterboard we need and that can be found at Staples. You can stare at the multi-color Sharpies while you wait.”

“Ooh, Sharpies…”

Mor rolled her eyes, but even Az had to concede a small tug up of his lips at that one. “Are you coming with us?” he looked at me and asked nervously.

“Oh, well I, um -”

“We’re staying here,” Rhys said sensing my uncertainty, “to get everything else ready for when you get back.”

Cassian looked skeptical. “But we’re the ones getting everything.”

“Food,” Mor said, stepping in front of him with dry humor. “He means, food.”

“Oh right. Medium rare, man.” He and Rhys did a little head nod maneuver and then Cass moved to clap Az on the shoulder as they walked out, Mor hot on their heels. “I’ll see you when we get back!” she sang at me before gliding out the door.

Leaving Rhys and I behind.

In his house.

Alone.

...

“Want the tour?”

“Sure.”

I think it was really just an excuse to talk and fill the air because after he’d shown me the first floor, we ended up in the back yard on the patio and stayed there. I leaned against the railing and sipped more of my tea, enjoying how cool it was against the heat outside.

“So do Mor and Az, like - do they come over for ‘tutoring’ or whatever often?”

“Az tutors, or whatever it is they’re doing, with her twice a week, but Mor lives here, so she’s around all the time. I can’t get rid of her. She’s surprisingly hard to shake off for being so compact.”

“She lives here?”

“Mhm.” Rhys took a long sip of his drink and stared off the railing. His backyard was large, but save for a swimming pool off the deck, there wasn’t much done with it. Elain could have really spruced it up given the chance. “Mor’s family is… a bit of a mess.”

“Your family, then. If she’s your cousin.”

“Heh,” he scoffed. “Yes, well. My family is a mess all around. My aunt and uncle are severely strict and Mor being Mor as you’ve certainly seen is a bit of a free spirit. Her parents live out of state and wanted her to stay home after she graduated - get married, pop babies out and let her new husband continue the cycle. Morrigan had other plans, of course.”

“What happened?”

“She ran away.” He shrugged like it was as normal as buttering toast for breakfast.

“What - just like that? And from out of state?”

He nodded slowly staring darkly into his drink and I wondered just how bad it was, what he wasn’t telling me. “She turned up on our doorstep about two years ago with a suitcase on one arm and a nasty bruise on the other and it was everything I could do to convince dad not to go talk to her parents personally, he was in such a rage about it. I wouldn’t have had such a hard time with him if it hadn’t been for - well,” he paused, swirling the ice around the inside of his glass pensively. “That’s a story for another time.”

He looked up and his lips stretched into a tight rigid smile that I didn’t recognize on him. It was trying too hard and falling far too short.

I hunched my shoulders and offered, “At least with a house this big you don’t have to share a bathroom. Can you imagine waiting on her in the morning just so you could brush your teeth? Though I imagine your bathroom would be cleaner than it probably is.”

Rhys snorted and flipped around to lean against the railing so that we were facing. “Morrigan is definitely not the clean one. I take that title.”

“High Lord of everything, are we?”

“Precisely when did I lose the presidency in exchange for this ‘High Lord’ business?”

I feigned offence, hand on my chest and jaw agape. “Don’t tell me you can dish it out with the nicknames, but can’t take it thrown back at you.” I ticked off on my fingers, “Darling… Milady… Madame Secretary… Arts Chair… I’ve lost count.”

Rhys’s eyes twinkled. A light breeze ran between us rustling the little curls of his hair. He looked so young standing in the wind like that - simple and happy. I hadn’t realized how much older, how serious amid the banter he’d seemed to me until just then.

“Thank you,” I said suddenly.

“For what?”

“I never thanked you properly for coming over and helping my dad and I move. It meant a lot that you came. That someone did. So… thank you.”

He put his violet eyes on me, perplexed. “Of course. I just wanted to help.”

“Well I appreciate it. I… ah, after my sister got home and Tamlin bailed, I -”

My neck tensed sharply, my eyes going wide. Rhysand looked suddenly alarmed. “What happened? Feyre?”

“I’m such an idiot.” The words were a dead, dejected weight coming out of me. My hand flew to my pocket, but my phone wasn’t there. Of course I’d left it in my purse which was sitting inside Rhys’s house on one of the hooks where I’d first walked in. I darted back inside and started rifling through my stuff to find my phone.

“Feyre, what’s wrong?” Rhys said behind me.

“Nothing, nothing - I just forgot. I was supposed to call Tamlin.”

“Then why are you shaking?”

Was I shaking? I didn’t stop long enough to look or decide why.

I found my phone and illuminated the lockscreen, but there weren’t any new notifications from my boyfriend. Since I was the one who was supposed to call him, I didn’t know if this was a good thing or a bad thing. Knowing Tamlin lately, it could be either.

Rhys came to stand next to me and took the phone from me, replacing it with his hand. His skin felt warm and soft. “Are you always this anxious about receiving phone calls? You should have told me. I can go in the other room and call you if you need to get your fix.”

I shoved him playfully and we broke apart. He handed back my phone. “I’m sorry. I told Tamlin I would call him after I ignored about a million and one text messages from him today and then I completely forgot. It’s been forever since I said I’d call.” I shook my head sighing in frustration with myself. “He’s probably going nuts.”

“But you were working and then you were busy obliging my silly cousin so patiently with her art whims. He’ll understand.”

“I’ve hardly done that much, but it’s fine. It’ll be fine. I should go anyway. Dad was a little… interesting when I left this morning and I should check on him.”

“Feyre, is he-”

“Oh he’s fine!” I blurted.

Rhys’s eyes sort of went hazy as they searched me looking for the truth. “You keep saying that word - fine. Are you sure?”

“Yes, absolutely,” and I took his hand, running my thumb over his palm to reassure him. “Thank you for having me over and listening to me babble and for helping me move and the tea - especially the tea. Iced tea is my favorite.”

He chuckled, but not enough to make his eyes twinkle again. Everything about his body language seemed to tighten. “Come on, I’ll walk you out.”

Rhys opened the car door for me and when I got inside, I rolled my window down so I could say goodbye.

“Will you tell Mor I’m sorry and that I had to get home? I don’t want her to think I don’t care.”

“She knows you care, Feyre. I’ll tell her,” and finally he gave me that smile leaning down against my door - the cool feline one I hadn’t seen yet that was equal parts arrogant and self-righteous, “but you’ll have to make it up to me for my trouble. She’s going to give me an earful about letting you go when she and Cass and Az get back.”

“Isn’t being your Arts Chair or whatever I am good enough?”

“You are always good enough, Feyre darling. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“You’re a filthy scheming prick,” I said, dishing back the smugness in my stare. “Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.”

Rhys grinned, obviously pleased with my retort and said, “So we’re back to prick again, eh? And here I thought we were making such progress with ‘High Lord.’”

“What can I say? I call it like I see it.”

“Drive safe, Feyre darling.”

“See you tomorrow, prick.”

Rhys pulled back from the car and I took off feeling very at odds with the day. Work had been a successful first attempt and it was nice to have a niche in my life to call my own. Plus, it would help dad out with the house. It wouldn’t be much - but it was something.

And there was this odd quality to being around Rhys and Mor and their whole brood that I found unsettling in the best possible way. I just couldn’t pinpoint what that was. The more time I spent with them, the more I liked it - liked who I was when I was with them.

It was only Tamlin that had me on edge, my fingernails scratching against the fabric on my thigh as I drove. He hadn’t called, hadn’t replied to any of my messages. I’d said I would call. Sometimes when I didn’t call, he thought I didn’t care, didn’t give him enough attention, and he’d get mad at me. Maybe if I offered to come over again tonight, he’d loosen up and talk to me again.

My head ached just thinking about how much I didn’t want to do it.

A familiar vehicle was sitting in my driveway when I got home that immediately amplified the amount of sweat coming off me. I looked at the front window of the house and saw two figures talking. They weren’t shouting since I couldn’t hear them, but they were definitely having a heated discussion because the hand gestures were flying everywhere. The scratching on my thigh increased.

The car really was there which meant she was too. I opened the front door and found her eyes searing into me as I surveyed the scene taking up my living room. The one she apparently was causing that set my teeth on edge.

Only her.

Nesta.

xx