summary: you never thought that yuta, of all people, would be willing to help you with your salient project. though, one study session turned into two, three, and that was enough for you to get down on your knees, ready to thank him in a special way
❀ note: A sarcastic, submissive nerd yuta is such a concept ftw, enjoy~ ^~^
University had always been stressful.
Students would bustle to and fro from classes to dense libraries, or even coop themselves up in the claustrophobic comfort of their dorm room to crank in some study time. Free days were rare; you would infrequently see other students lounging for hours on end around campus. The only true breaks present would be lunch or last minute plans created after what felt like eons of being studious.
Or perhaps that was just your institute.
Prestigious as it was, that was the life behind the scene of your school. Studying appeared to be the only facet that everyone knew—that each student shared. And since it was crunch week for one of your classes, everything was amplified. There was a grand project that was assigned at the second week of class, and it would take part in a substantial amount of one’s grade. It was an individual project of a plethora of research and proper essays down to the core. There were the students at your school who had started the second they were made aware of the paramount project, and then there was people like you—the certain ones that believed procrastinating was the better option.
So there you were, situated at your desk during class with your jaw dropped to the floor. It was not hanging open from the lack of understanding towards your professor’s words, but because moments ago he said, nonchalant at best, “The project is due a week from today—it wouldn’t fit in with our class schedule if I made it due any later. I’m assuming you all started and some even finished.”
You wanted to clout yourself; how could you had been so off guard? Of course he was going to pull that move—he did it with the other large assignments, but what made you believe otherwise? Your eyes scanned the perimeter to catch the aghast expressions of your surrounding classmates, but each one of them appeared calm and collected—like this was a card they were well aware that the professor was going to play.
You sighed and dug your face into your palms, allowing the weight of the world to sink down on your shoulders. “You’re kidding me,” you mumbled.
And so for the rest of the lecture you were drowning in stress, unable to pay attention to your professor’s informative words until the end.
The second the professor dismissed the class you bolted out of the room and started to rush to the library—then, you became like every other student at your campus. You entered the library hastily like a veritable tornado, sending several loose papers that rested on the surface of the front desk flying like baby birds. Stress was igniting the flame within you, fueling your being to get lost in the labyrinthine of a library and search for every single book in regards to your chosen topic that would aid your project. It took a while of a desperate search, but you finally found the treasure that was the informative tome.
Now, all you had to do was find an empty place to study. Amidst the quietude your angry steps was the only sound that was audible to each person; it boomed throughout the sections you were in and traveled along your side like a penumbra. Your bag was hiked over your shoulder, arms full with notebooks and the books, and you grew tired with every step. You started to trudge after the excursion for information and, like you had seen an oasis in the middle of a parched desert, you found an open seat. You kicked up your pace and bolted for the vacancy; soon, you reached it and occupied the area with your belongings.
The frantic rustles of papers and slams of notebooks over one another caught the student’s, who was situated next to you, attention. He lifted his nose from his book at batted his lashes your way, scrutinizing you with curious eyes. You were too caught up in organizing your belongings to notice the belittling way he was gawking at you; it was not until he cleared his throat for you to come down from your clouds of thought.
“Yes?” you asked him.
The boy looked at you, his expression niche. “Is all that for Professor Sung’s psychology class?”
You blinked twice and tilted your head, wondering how he knew the reason behind your scamper. “Um,” you looked at your open notebooks and took a pen in hand, “yes, why?”
The boy nodded and turned to the next page of the novel he was reading. “It’s an easy project,” he told you. “It will only take a good three days to finish, to be honest.”
You rolled your eyes and took notice of his study area. His notebooks were closed and in a superlative condition, each stacked perfectly upon one another. He was reading a new novel from the fiction section; a sore stand out compared to the other students who were at the library to study, or catch up on the work they pushed off like you.
“How would you know?” you asked him with a sigh. “He assigned this at the beginning of the class, there’s no way. And are you even in his class?”
The boy licked his lips and hesitated. He raised an eyebrow at you, tossing out a look of disbelief.
“What?” you asked again.
“I am in your class, (y/n),” he told you straightforwardly.
“What?!” you repeated, that time with more surprise. There was more raw shock in your tone than interest, and you attempted to recall every detail in your psychology class. You thought you knew everyone’s face in the lecture room, but apparently not. “Are you serious?”
“Yes,” he responded, a little irked by your ignorance, “I’m Nakamoto Yuta.”
summary : really soft, caring, simplelove between you and peter parker through the four seasons, insp. by northern wind by city and colour
( as requested - lovely song by the way wow i’m in love )
word count : 1.8k
There’s a harsh but lovingly embraced breeze blowing in from the north on this day in late September, though the cold weather that had descended suddenly upon New York without much of a warning other than the changing of the months from August to September is not an unwelcome time in your life, or in Peter’s. The two of you have a tendency to prefer the colder months to the ones of a warmer temperature, neither of you quite sure as to why or how this preference had developed. It was just there one day, when before it had not been. School has only been in session for a little over two weeks and while some may consider the restart of classes a downside to the changing of the seasons, for you it simply means that you get to see Peter more often than you had in the summer, and there’s no way you could possibly carp on about seeing that sweetheart who was simply just goodness personified.
You’re sitting with him again after school, boots crunching against the leaves that had fluttered to the ground overnight. The city had practically shifted overnight as well. One moment you had been surrounded by the green of the trees that swept over New York and the next you were watching their colors turn to jeweled shades of red, sunlight yellows, brilliant shades of orange before they crumpled to the ground in dark browns that made your steps so much louder than need be. He had already situated his gray sweatshirt over your shoulders determinedly- “I have another sweater on babe, no worries”- and was taking such joy in the fact that he could hold your hand and run his thumb across the back of your palm without the incessant feeling of sweat and how sweaty he might be plaguing his thought as he tried to let a simple moment with you wash over him. Everything was better in the autumn.
Even just sitting on an abnormally large boulder in a somewhat secluded area of the vast Central Park was nicer in September. Gentle breeze, sipping hot coffee and looking out at the rest of Manhattan, your head against his shoulder and his arm around your waist. Simpler, sweeter. Peter Parker’s eyes, like fallen leaves in your favorite season and the coffee that had gone cold in its cup sitting in your hands, swept across the side of your face carefully. You took another sip of your drink before catching his gaze, a little smile crossing your face. “What’re you doing?” You nudge him slightly with the toe of your brown boot. He shrugs, eyes glancing up toward the cloud filled sky that was darkening with the passing of time. You’d both have to get going soon.
“Nothing, my love,” he says, smiling back. He kept smiling even when your lips were pressed against his, rather cold hands against his face and playing with the ends of his hair as you kissed him. With a joyous sigh, after you’ve pulled away, he whispers, “You’ve got no idea what you do to me, do you?” There are shivers rolling down his spine as you raise your eyebrows, but they’re not from the cold that grows considerably as day smooths over into night. Not in the slightest.
December came, too, and with it was a swept in storm of snow that left noses a bitter red and nipped at the exposed faces titled up in wonder at the flurries cascading down upon them, settling on the roofs of the buildings that were plentiful in New York. With this newfound frigid weather came the early arriving yet long lasting nights that meant you had to be home before five thirty in the evening, leaving less time than usual for you to stay wrapped in the comforting warmth of one of Peter’s hugs; the boy was a hugger, and he couldn’t help it nor fight it, it was just one of those things that was engrained into his personality and shone through when he found himself in your presence. He had a habit of practically attaching himself to your hip, clingy as a boyfriend could be but utterly lovable all the same. Now that you had to be on the train immediately after school let out, he wasn’t able to be with you for hours on end the way he desired to be, so he made do with the options available to him.
“I put you on speaker so I can still hear you even when the phone isn’t right by my ear,” Peter speaks so softly, you’re almost sure he’s half asleep. He’s got that raspy, bedtime voice that boys slip into and it’s adorable and hot and lovely to hear all at once. He’s still shuffling around the room, though, most likely hiding his suit after just coming in through his bedroom window and getting himself ready for the school day tomorrow.
You twist the hem of your shirt around your finger, placing your phone on your bedside table. “I know how speaker phone works, my love. You have a coat for tomorrow, right? It’s brutal out,” you peer out your window, the glow of the lamplight making it difficult to see out into the darkened night properly, but sure enough you see the large clumps of snow falling onto the ledge of your fire escape. “And I know you’ll forget, like two days ago.”
“I was distracted,” he mumbles, and you can picture his face pressed against his pillow with his cheek smushed slightly. If you were there, next to him, you would’ve squished his cheeks together in that invasive way that made him want to hide his face forever. He makes sure to leave a jacket beside his newest backpack, where he’s sure to remember to grab it.
You laugh. “By what? Thinking ‘bout your lover Tony Stark?” He makes a disgusted groan that’s so loud you have to cover the speaker of your phone so your parents don’t hear you up late talking to him on a school night.
Peter rubs a hand over his face. “That’s so gross, Y/N. I just died inside.” He closes his eyes again, pulling the covers up to his chin and snuggling into them, grinning at the muffled giggles he can hear. “Anyways, I was so distracted by your beauty that I forgot to bring a jacket, obviously.”
Rolling over onto your back, you fold your arms over you and hug yourself tightly because Peter, your huggable mush of a boyfriend, isn’t here to do so himself. You’re smiling so hard it’s hard to get the words out. “You don’t know what you do to me, Peter.”
It’s thundering outside toward the end of April, pouring pouring pouring rain and Peter Parker is so, so tired. The rain makes his suit sticky and he’s practically dripping sweat by the time he reaches outside your apartment. He knows if he swings up to your floor, your window, he’ll pass out the moment he hits solid ground, but he does it anyway because he’s not supposed to be visiting this late and there’s no other way to get to you. There’s an hour or two until the rise of the sun and you’re up way too early to be considered normal, but Peter had sent you a text without realizing how sad he sounded in it until he was halfway to your apartment and reading your reply. He sounded so needy and weak and upset and he was all of those things in this moment, yeah, but he didn’t want you to see him like this. He stood on shaking legs as he crouched by your window, a soft light reflecting against your white curtains to show him that you were awake and waiting. Peter left a few soft taps on the window, yanking the mask off him and letting the rain soak through his curling hair and dampen his eyelashes. You open your window when you hear the tap and yank him inside, gently so he doesn’t wake anyone with thunderous footsteps. You already have a towel waiting for him.
His cheek slides against your shoulder as droplets of rain roll off him and onto your sweatshirt. He slumps against you miserably, so you’re the one holding him protectively this time, staring down at your boy and rubbing his hair with the towel to dry it. Your touch is so gentle he could fall asleep. “I’m so tired,” his voice breaks and his chest heaves. Peter shuts his eyes. He hates crying in front of people. “Not even out here,” he gestures toward his body with his eyes still closed. Then, his body shuddering against yours again, he taps the side of his head. “In here. Mentally. I’m so tired. Please, Y/N,” he sniffs in, gripping your waist and finally looking up at you beneath eyelashes clung together by what he wants you to believe is rain. “I just want- I don’t-” He sucks in a breath. “Tell me something good. Other than yourself.” Even in his darkest moments, he is sweet as he can be.
Your finger traces down his cheek and presses gently against his lips. He quiets his ragged breathing, his head falling into your lap. “You’ll be okay, Peter. Everything’s gonna be okay.” You keep running your hands through the wet strands of hair. “I’m here for you, and you’ll be okay. Sleep, baby. Just rest.” He curls up against you. He sleeps. Spring is a time of rebirth, and in the morning the flower will bloom again stronger than it was before it had wilt. Peter Parker is strong. He wouldn’t be him if he wasn’t.
Summer is pleasant enough for Peter, not because of the sudden warmth that blankets the city or the bubbly laughter of the children excited to finally be leaving their classes behind, but because in the summer, he’s with you from the moment he wakes up until nearly nine o’clock at night. Summer rules for summer nights, your mother says as she determines your curfew for going places that require a ride on the train after eight. He’s never been so happy and his smile is one that rivals the beaming light of the sun that beats down on you as you order a pretzel from a stand on the corner. You two are always in the city because there’s hardly anything to do in Queens if you’re not stopping a robbery by masked Avenger wannabes, and Peter has already hurriedly explained that you can’t come on patrol with him for fear of you getting harmed in the process. Your palms are sweaty when you hold hands but no one really wants to let go. He keeps stealing pieces from your pretzel as you get distracted taking photographs of buildings and pigeons and random graffiti that you fancy when your eyes settle on it. It is summer; everything is good, blissful, perfectly serene. But then again, maybe it’s not just because of summer, it’s only a season after all, and Peter loves every season now that he thinks about it. So, maybe it’s just because of you.
Either way, sooner or later the northern wind will settle in again, and Peter is ready to weather the next changing of the seasons with you by his side the way it is and always has been meant to be.
The undertale fandom is dying ........ does that mean your creations equal?
There are new/better things that will appear in the future, the same happened years ago before Undertale was released. People is free to find new things and follow them, but it doesn’t mean something they liked it will be forgotten forever.
Fortunately I can say my creations won’t die until I reach the end of the story,
I’m not saturating everyone with my content every day, every hour or second. Here are many artists making new and interesting content about Undertale. My work is not the only one that keeps the fandom working.
A fandom never dies when it made such a big impact on so many people after all.
★ Hey everyone! I hit 500 followers recently, well, the day ‘Serendipity’ was released, this is why I made this gif for this first follow forever (tbh we were blessed by this beautiful song and video, so I had to)! Anyway, it may not seem much but just think what it would be to have over 500 people around you in a room…for me this is pretty big 💙 I’m so pleasantly grateful and surprised that so many people follow me since I really started this sideblog a little month ago!
I know that I’m not a big talker (I’M SO SHY and sometimes i’m on anon to spread all my love
😘💙💞 + i’m super expressive in my tags tho lmao), but just a small talk with any of you makes me happy, really. And I’m super thankful for all those who make my experience here worthwhile!
Thank you so much to everyone who follows me, I love you all, the sweetest followers ever. And also to all those I follow who keep my tumblr filled with great content, and who are lovely as well. My dash is radiant thanks to you, really, thank you for brightening up my dash every day 💙
★ So, below are all blogs that I really enjoy following. note: this is somewhat alphabetical
★ I’m saying it again but, to the blogs I follow, thank you for blessing my dashboard with awesome content and your amazing soul. Keep going, and I wish you all the best in your life. And I’m extremely thankful to those who reblogged or liked my gifs, and some of my graphics I do from time to time, for all the kind messages, and I’m thankful to have people even following me, thank you. I am proud to be a part of this amazing big family and to stan seven angels who deserve all the love that world can give, like all of you, thank you, thank you with all my heart ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡
Hi it’s ur local gay boy!! I hit 1K a few days ago so I thought it’d be the perfect time to make my first ever follow forever! I’ve had this blog for a little more than 2 years now and only recently got into BTS but I’ve already made so many wonderful and lovely mutuals and this post is for them. Thank you for putting up with me and somehow not unfollowing?? Anyways, let’s get this started before I get mushy
i made this blog almost two years ago (october 12, 2015), and i had no clue that i was bound to meet so many kind, talented, and amazing people. this fandom is full of so many great people, some of which im glad to follow, and some of which im glad to call my mutuals. i hit one thousand followers a few days ago, so i thought, why not make a follow forever? here’s a list of all of my great mutuals, i really appreciate you all sososo much. (the people who are highlighted are the people im glad to consider my friends or who i’ve spoken to a lot on this website)
I needed to test if my old copics are still alive and yes they are!
On another positive note. I checked for the lulz if James Cameron finally decided to do something about making Gunnm a movie and holy shit yes there will ba a movie FINALLY almost exactly next year and I’m so so so so so excited about it!!!!!!!
Hey everyone! I briefly joked and screamed about this on Twitter, but I’m going to be a little more serious here.
All four of these pieces are my work. The drawings on the left are pieces I found in my old sketchbook, from around 2011 when I was about 13 years old. They’re actually my very first drawings of Rin, Len, and Miku. On the right are pieces I’ve only made a few days ago.
6 years ago I was your typical deviantArt young teenager. I was the type of artist I see people sometimes make fun of now. There were plenty of times in my art journey where I received some rather harsh criticism, and on top of that I have always lived in the shadow of my older brother, who’s an amazing comic book artist. I figured my art would remain looking the same forever. But I really just tried to have fun with it, because despite all the metaphorical rocks thrown at me it was something that I really enjoyed doing. Though it was hard sometimes, I kept drawing. Only because it was fun. Looking at those old pieces now, I can easily point out all the things wrong with them. But I vividly remember, sitting in my room at age 13, adoring these pieces that I made, showing them off to my parents, and to the point where I actually saved them in a drawer (to be discovered by me yet again now lol).
There’s been some rough spots. There were times where I’d cry and kick myself and swear “I’ll never draw again!” It’s really not easy, being an artist. You can ask me why I didn’t stop now and the only answer I can really give is “Well, making art is just fun”. That’s the most important thing art should be to any artist, no matter how many years of experience, in my own opinion. When I started, I wasn’t expecting to get as far in my art as I did. I wasn’t expecting to get so devoted to it. I wasn’t expecting to meet so many other talented artists and make friends through this medium. It was all for fun. Sometimes I would focus hard and look for ways I could improve. Other times it would just seem to hit me one day and I didn’t even realize it until later. Making art is a journey. I don’t think there’s such a thing as a “bad artist”. Every artist is constantly making progress and we’re all only ever improving.
Again, yes, it can be hard. But look at this. 6 years between the times of these two pieces. All this effort – all the walls I’ve hit, all the holes I’ve been stuck in, all the proud and cheerful moments I’ve had – they’ve all came to this, 6 years later. I love drawing. I can’t wait to see what my art will look like in another 6 years.
sit on the couch, idly watching the basketball game. It’s not really a
great game if you’re being honest, but it’s the only thing on TV during a
slow night. You go to take another sip of your beer and finish the can,
crumpling it up and placing it next to you on the couch.
the garage door open as your wife comes inside huffing and puffing. She
slowly made her to the kitchen and you hear her put the groceries on
the counter. “Hey, can you help me bring the rest of the bags in?” she
says as she waddles into the living room. Her maternity top is stretched
tightly around her eight-months-pregnant belly and she’s already
“Ahhh, give me like ten minutes babe. The game just got
really good!” you reply. It hadn’t, to be honest, but you really didn’t
want to move at the moment. She gives you a death glare and waddles back
to the garage in a huff. “And get me another beer!” you call.
gone for longer than usual, but comes back in and hands you a cold can.
“Here,” she mutters before heading back to the kitchen. You go to take a
sip- she already cracked it for you! What a great wife. The cold liquid
sweetly flows down your throat. You look at the can incredulously. This
tasted incredible… certainly nothing like the normal swill! You eagerly
gulp down the rest of the beer and set it next to you on the couch.
few moments later, you start to feel funny. Your eyes begin to droop
and your vision blurs as the TV starts to change colors. “Woah…what
the…” you murmur. The world begins to spin as your eyes grow heavier and
heavier. You pass out on the couch, slipping into unconsciousness.
don’t really know how much time passes- it could have been seconds, or
weeks, or years. You start to groggily awaken, your vision slowly coming
back as you regain clarity. “Ughhh,” you groan softly. Your body feels
heavy and cumbersome and your head is pounding.
“Hi honey,” you hear your wife’s voice say sweetly. You try to focus on her form as she stands in front of you.
just happened?” you ask, rubbing your eyes. Your body is still heavy
and you feel pinned down to the couch. You blink rapidly as you gaze
upon your wife. She’s standing in front of with a smirk, her hands on
her skinny hips. Wait a moment… she wasn’t pregnant! Her midsection was
flat and toned like it used to be.
“Woah! You’re-what happened to
the baby?” you cry, trying to stand up. You manage to get up by about
two inches before falling back to the couch. You look down to your lower
half. Sitting in your lap is perfectly round, swollen belly and two
perky breasts are perched on top.
“Aw, what’s the matter, sweetie?
Can’t get up?” your wife asks. You look down at your body
incredulously, placing both hands atop your swollen mound. No, this
couldn’t be real… there was no way this was happening. Yet your skin
responds to your touch and it feels so lifelike as it sits heavily on
top of your legs. You feel a flutter inside you at the same moment a
lump appears on your skin. Your eyes go wide.
“Ah, yes, kicks are
wonderful the first time you feel them! Just wait until she kicks you
right in the rib,” your wife says, placing a hand on your belly and
rubbing softly. You can’t speak, still trying to process what just
“What…how…what the hell?!” you cry. No, this couldn’t be
happening! You’re a man! And your wife is pregnant, not you! How the
hell could this even happen? You had to be dreaming.
laughs and takes a seat beside you on the couch, putting her hand back
on your baby bump. “Well you see, honey, do you remember all those times
you blew me off these past eight months? When you never vacuumed, or
cleaned, or cooked, or even offered to help me as our child grew inside
me? You are such an asshole. I was suffering and you couldn’t even be
bothered to stop watching a stupid basketball game to get up and help
me. Were you even going to do anything when the baby finally got here?!”
she cried, her face growing angrier and angrier with each passing word.
She took a deep breath and calmed herself, but her eyes still stared
daggers through you.
“When we got married, I debated whether or
not I should tell you that I was a witch. Then I got pregnant and you
became totally useless. So I started working on a potion about three
months ago. It took forever to make, and I’m honestly surprised I could
even figure it out. So many variables to consider…” she trailed off,
clicking her tongue. “Anyway, I finally finished it two days ago and was
debating whether I could actually go through with it. Then you made me
carry in all those groceries by myself, and I knew it was the right
decision. So, long story short, you’re 36 weeks pregnant, I’m not, the
baby is in you now, and you’re going to give birth in a month,” she
Your head spun as you tried to process this. You were
still convinced this was a joke. There was no way this could actually be
happening. A sharp pain suddenly manifested in your ribs. You hissed
and doubled over, both hands involuntarily clutching your belly. That
felt so real…
“This is real, sweetie,” your wife said with a
chuckle. “I know what you’re thinking. This is not a dream. Come with
me, I think I can help you figure this out,” she said, pinching your
popped out belly button as she hopped up. She pulled you off the couch
and you wobbled as you tried to stand. Your belly was so heavy as it
hung off your midsection. It felt like a dead weight just sitting there.
Your breasts sat perky and full on your chest and jiggled slightly as
you tried to find your balance.
“Follow me. And take your time- we
don’t want you falling and hurting your precious cargo,” your wife said
with a smile as she walked to the door. You tried to follow her and
found you were forced into a slow waddle. A hand immediately went to
back as it already started to ache.
“Now, like I said, I made a
very complex potion that required a TON of rare ingredients and lots of
careful planning. I’d say it was my finest accomplishment as a witch.
So, just to make sure you really would learn your lesson, I made a
few…changes… to our living situation,” she said as she opened the door.
She stepped out onto the porch and you followed her outside.
world around you looked the same. Everything was the right color and the
air felt warm. Your neighborhood looked exactly the same, and the car
parked in your driveway still had a scratch on the side.
Keller!” your wife called. You look across the street to your neighbor’s
house. Mr. Keller stood outside. His brown hair looked the same from
here, but he sported a perfectly round belly, just like you. He idly
rubbed the mass as he watered the flowers. He was wearing a flowing
green maternity dress, big and loose enough to comfortably accommodate
his growing passenger.
“Hey you two! Great weather today!” he called back. Your eyes widened again and your felt sick.
honey, in this world, men are the ones who get pregnant. Matter of
fact, they’ve always been the ones who got pregnant! Nobody here has
ever heard of a woman having a baby. It’s just silly. And, since I
created this reality, I wanted to make sure I could really make this as
great for me as possible. Husbands here don’t work- when they get
married, they stay at home and take care of the house. Most men get
pregnant as soon as possible, or at least when their wife gets a good
job.” she explained happily. You had no words and had to stumble back
inside, leaning against the wall as you tried to process this. The baby
kicked again and settled in a new position. You suddenly had to pee.
of course, there has to be a way for a baby to get in and out of there,
you know?” your wife says as she comes back through the door and pats
your rounded belly. “So there’s some, ah, changes to your equipment,”
she smirks, reaching down to your crotch. She brushes her hand between
your thighs and you realize that there’s nothing down there. No cock, no
balls, nothing- just an interesting feeling between your legs. You
realize what this means and you start to cry. This was too much.
honey, it’s okay…” your wife says, taking your hand and rubbing your
bump. “…I’ll make sure you have fun tonight.” She guides your hand to
her own nether regions and you feel the unmistakable outline of a huge
dick. Tears roll down your face as the baby gave another kick. You were
(Hi all, this is my first submission here! Might continue this if people generally want to see another installment)
This is my second fic for Feysand Week, and the prompt is ‘I could have lost you.’
I had said that I had needed time, so that’s what I’d
And I couldn’t help but regret my decision.
The bond had been silent all week, and I had decided to not
stay at our home in Velaris, but instead at the cabin. A mistake, on my part,
as I hadn’t considered just how many memories being here would bring up… But I
suppose it was comforting, really. Yes, I was mad at him, but I could reflect
on the happier times together. And being here had made me realise that there
were a lot.
The first day I hadn’t been able to see past my annoyance
and had refused to look at the paintings on the walls I had done all those
years ago. And at the ones I had added over the years, the paintings of us, of
our family, of our lives. Perfect moments forever captured on walls for us to
remember and cherish for the many, many years we had left.
I was still irritated on the second day of being here, but
some of it had ebbed away and – as much as I hadn’t wanted to admit it then – I
missed Rhys. It had only been a few
days, and yet I missed his laugh, his smile, his teasing. Him.
But I was stubborn, and still needed a little more time.
That is what I had asked from him. Time to think. Time to
process our fight, time to calm down from it. Just time.
And now I was bored, and lonely, and hopelessly missing my
mate and my friend.
I had been here for a week now, a week spent doing nothing
but taking endless baths, reading and painting. But even doing those simple
things hadn’t cheered me up. And I knew that it was my decision to come here,
and I could have stayed at the townhouse if I really wanted to, but still.
What if Rhys was angry with me?
It wouldn’t surprise me if he was, to be honest. I had
stormed out after our fight, and not even given him time to explain. But I had
told him where I was going and how long I’d be gone for. Well, I technically
told him that I would be gone for a while, so I didn’t know how long he thought
And a week in fae terms was no more than a few hours for humans.
I sighed, closing the book I had been attempting to read. No
point in trying anymore, not when I was so distracted by my thoughts. And by
the hollowness, the coldness, of the bond, which was still as soundless as it
was a week ago.
But then I felt pain wash through me, pain too great to hide
from the bond.
I didn’t even think before I winnowed, sensing where he was
through the bond.
The first thing I registered was the cold, and I realised
that we were in the Illyrian Steppes, where Rhys had once trained me all those
The second thing I registered was my mate, lying on the
ground, an ash arrow in his side.
I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see past my
anger and horror and fear. Unadulterated, blinding fear.
Who had done this?
And whoever it was would face a slow, painful death.
I dropped to my knees beside him, hands shaking, my whole
body trembling. Not again. I had lost
him once before, and the pain and nothingness had been the worst kind of
torture, the most agonizing thing in the whole entire world.
“Rhys.” My voice
was both a whisper and a sob as I checked his wound, my vision blurry with
tears. Belatedly, I realised that I needed help, that I couldn’t do this alone,
so I sent word with my daemati powers to Cassian, to Azriel, to anyone.
attention was back on Rhys, though it hadn’t really ever left him.
“What happened? Who did this? No, that doesn’t matter right
now?” My voice was frantic, though it was nothing compared to what I was feeling
“Feyre. I’m… sorry.” Each word was laboured.
“Don’t… don’t talk right now. Okay?”
Rhys let out a groan, and I was sure my heart plummeted in
response. I needed to get that arrow out of him now. But how? I wasn’t a healer, and I didn’t know how much damage
pulling it out would make. But it was better that than for the ash to still be travelling
through his veins.
Distantly, through the pounding in my head, I heard a
Cassian and Azriel arrive, their brute power roiling off them. They could find
the person who did this, or help me, or…
It seemed they already knew, for Cassian was off again in a
second, Illyrian blades in his hands, sharp, unrelenting things that would kill
a person quicker than they could scream. He also knew not to kill whoever did
this, and just to damage them enough before they made a visit to the Court of
Azriel was beside me in an instant, and I remembered that he
had knowledge of how to treat injures like this, that most who trained to be a
warrior had a basic understanding of it. And I was too out of it to be any real
But as Azriel removed the arrow, using the power from his
siphons to shield his hands, all I could do was hold Rhys’s hand and use my
power to render him unconscious, to shield him from the pain.
But I could not shield myself from it, and every groan that
escaped him or every wince I could feel, as if we were one and the same.
Rhys had been asleep all day.
I had not left his side once, deflecting all of Mor’s
attempts to get me out of the room for a bit. But I wanted to be there when he
woke up, and would hate myself if I wasn’t.
So I had been sat on the chair next to our bed, not even
being able to read I was so worried about him. And I knew that he would wake up, that Azriel had gotten
the ash out safety, but that didn’t stop the panic that still ran through me,
though it had subdued a little. And Cassian had found the fae responsible, a
Hybern sympathiser who was still bitter over the war that they had lost. He had
tracked Rhys to the Steppes. The fae was currently being held in the Court of
Nightmares, with Azriel and Cassian keeping him… company.
My head snapped up, and I had never felt more relieved than I
did when I saw Rhys awake, though it
was clear that he was still in pain judging by the way his brows scrunched when
he made an attempt to move.
“How are you feeling?” My words were still laced with worry,
and my voice sounded tight.
“Better. Thank you.” He added quietly, his hands patting the
empty space next to him on the bed. I was lay next to in an instant, and he
held my hand, his thumb tracing the whorls of my tattoo.
“It was Azriel who did most of it.” I replied, my eyes never
“But you still came…”
I sat up a little more at that. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Is forgotten about. It was a stupid fight, and I shouldn’t have
stormed out. And I’m sorry for that.”
“You have no reason to apologise. I was being a dick.”
“Well, yes.” I relented. “But still. We should talk these
things over instead of fighting.”
“The only reason I got hit today was because I was thinking
of you, and our fight. I had gone to the Illyrian Steppes was to clear my head.”
“Let’s just forget the fight ever happened. Because fighting
with you, Feyre darling… I don’t want to do that again, not a fight like this
one. I missed you too much.”
I nodded, smiling at him. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Burying my head in his shoulder, careful not to touch his
side, I murmured, “I could have lost you.”
Rhys kissed my forehead. “I know. But you didn’t.”
HAPPY DELENA DAY !! ❤ its been 8 years ago but we wouldn’t change a thing, to the OTP that made me believe that you can find “A Love That Consumes You, Passion And Adventure And Even A Little Danger” (3x22)