#how do i know where i’ll stabilize?? when do i buy new clothes??? what if i start regaining!

[magnus-and-the-dragon]

I’m 5 lbs away from being under 200 lbs for the first time in my adult life, and I’m not sure how I feel about it.

[cloud9in]

Promises (Poppy x MC) Part (2/?)

Read Part ONE (summary for fic is there)

ITS BEEN A MINUTE. @iamsimpforpoppy I hope you’re still around to read :P I love this story lol. Hope you guys do too!!!

Word Count (2.8k)

Bea and Poppy’s relationship became official a month after their initial meeting. One would say they moved quickly, too quickly. But every love story is different. This one in particular seemed to have little to none flaws, if you ignored the fact that Bea was promoted to Carter’s right hand woman in the Southside Spades.

 They did end up having that conversation after all.

 “…Are you sure Carter? I mean this is a huge deal and a special role-“

 “If I didn’t think you were capable you wouldn’t be here right now Goldilocks.”

 Carter winked and clinked his half empty beer bottle against Bea’s, who surprisingly had a nearly full bottle. He took note of the abnormality. 

 The blonde instinctively rolled her eyes at the nickname, “Okay but that name has to go. We need codenames……ooooh how about bimbo and himbo.” 

 “I’m guessing…..no, hoping I’m the himbo?!” Carter comments as he promptly tries to stop the laugh escaping from his lips.

 “Mmmmmmm, I’ll get back to you on that.”

 They share a laugh and Bea feels Carter’s gaze latch onto her in her peripherals. She could sense the shift of energy in the space between them, it almost felt uncomfortable, and that was something she never felt with Carter. “I never asked you if you were okay with such a role. If you aren't, I understand completely, I just want the best for you.”

 The blonde eyes soften at his comment and she looks at him, “never doubted that, where is this going though because you never express your feelings like a normal human being.”

 He pulls on the strings of her hoodie until it completely caves around her face, burying her whole.

 “Hey asshole!” 

 “That’s for talking too much.”

 Bea yanks her hoodie open and sticks her tongue out in a mock expression. “Oh boohoo. Poppy literally says the same thing, I don’t get it. I talk, it’s a problem. I don’t talk, it’s an even BIGGER problem. Damn a girl can’t ever exist in peace.”

 Carter places his bottle flat on the table and studies the blonde’s face. 

 She kept rambling on about her new girlfriend and the gang leader didn’t know it was possible to feel happy yet anxious at the same time. He was aware of when they entered the talking stage, went on their first date, and finally became official, because Bea told him everything. As much as the experience of being in a real relationship was new to her, Bea looked up to him and somehow she knew Carter would give her the best guidance possible. 

 It didn’t stop him from worrying. Like an older brother would. He feared the two would mix, and everyone knows that love and crime will eventually combust. He is no stranger to it.  

 “Bea.”

 “Did you know she stole one of my hoodies and actually won’t give it back?? What am I supposed to do, just take it? No she’d murder me.”

 “Jackson.”

 Her voice slowly dies down after sensing the seriousness in his tone. She takes a sip of her beer to ease the silence that sat in the air, and Carter responds shortly after.

 “You know I trust you with my life right? You’re very important to me, kid.” 

 “I know.”

 Guilt was a feeling he chose to lock away in an unbreakable box and bury six feet deep. There couldn’t be guilt in a lifestyle like this. But Bea was his only exception. And she was slowly bringing that box back up to the surface. 

 “I need you to promise me that you won’t let these two worlds collide.”

 “Carter….”

 “One of you will get hurt. And I won’t forgive myself if it’s you.”

 He leaves Bea at the table, the remnants of his comment still replaying in her head. She pulls out her phone and sees a text from Poppy on her lockscreen. 

 Other Half 💗❤️‍🔥- Can’t wait to see you tomorrow 😘 

 The blonde smiles unconsciously and opens the message to respond.

 I’m missing you like crazy. I have a special surprise for you.

 Other Half 💗❤️‍🔥- You know I highly dislike surprises, just tell me. 

 And ruin the surprise? You must be crazier than I thought. 

 Other Half 💗❤️‍🔥- Jackson.

 Patience babe…tomorrow it is. 

 Bea clicks her phone shut and slips it back into her pocket before downing the rest of the beer. 

***

“You know your hand on my ass only makes them stare even more Jackson?”

 Bea bites her lips and gropes the blonde’s plump backside shamelessly while slowly whispering into her ear.

 “That’s the point, princess.”

 Poppy shivers almost instantly at the boldness. “Is this the surprise you were talking about?” Bea doesn’t answer, instead trailing her hand up Poppy’s skirt. This was definitely not the time and place for such behavior but she was clearly still learning everything about her girlfriend. 

 And it definitely felt good to call her that.

 “Since when did you get so brazen? You know you’re exactly the type of person my daddy told me to stay away from.”

 Bea laughs at that statement and wraps her arm around the blonde’s waist, “yeah? And why’s that?”

 “Well I can’t ask him now, he might rough you up and that’s my job.” 

 Poppy could feel the stares of everyone burning into them, but she could only focus on the blonde cuddled up against her. The shorter girl wouldn’t call herself an attention whore, but she sure loved the PDA that Bea projected without a care. It felt nice to be genuinely admired in public rather than putting on a mask everyday. 

 But it’s safe to say that Poppy preferred all the handsy stuff to happen in private. 

 “Do you want to grab dinner with me tonight Pops?”

 “Am I picking the place?”

 “…Yes.”

 “Then yes.”

 Bea rolls her eyes at the blonde’s downright shady self but smiles nevertheless. 

 “Now don’t cancel on me out of the blue. I will not be thrilled about it.”

 “Shouldn’t I be telling you this? Your dad always has something going on in his business that somehow has to involve you too.”

 Poppy sighs and glances over at Bea, “well you know I’ll have to take over eventually. Especially since I’m legally allowed to handle deals now.”

 “I hate that word. Legal. Ugh.” 

 The shorter girl scoffs and plants her hands on her hips, “yeah I bet you do.”

***

Bea dragged open her closet in search of clothes for dinner tonight but the dinging noise of a text distracts her. 

 C-Dog🖤- Need you tonight. Something came up, meet us at the garage.

Bea wanted to thank the gods up above that she didn’t promise Poppy that she’d show up for dinner. But that wasn’t going to save her from the fury of the blonde. Good thing it can’t get worse than that, right….?

Only it was. And Poppy will probably beat her up herself, if she wasn’t dead by the next day. 

Bea’s mind and heart races as she digs her brain for a proper excuse to tell her girlfriend, but is very unsuccessful. She’s good at drug dealing though. 

 Going with the good ole truth never really hurt right?

 Baby I’m so sorry I won’t be able to make it tonight. Got held up with the gang. I know I’m an asshole, I’ll keep in touch I swear. 

 Other Half 💗❤️‍🔥- What else could I expect from my gang banger girlfriend 🙄 please stay safe..

 You know I always do.

 Other Half 💗❤️‍🔥- Do I? We need to talk about this tomorrow.

 Of course Pops.

 Other Half 💗❤️‍🔥- Call me every chance you get or I swear I’ll track you and trust me you do not want me to do that.

 Yeah she definitely doesn’t. Especially since Carter sounded frantic over the phone. The last thing Bea needed was a paranoid girlfriend, so she played it cool like always. 

 Just simple stuff baby girl, talk soon.

 ***

“…What do you mean it’s gone?! So where is it? Do you know what this means Carter??”

 The gang leader sighs frustratingly, rubbing his eyes in efforts to gain some stability. “The product was here, and now it is not. Which can only mean it was stolen. And when I find out which son of a bitch did it, they’re dead.”

 “In the meantime, we are dead”, Bea emphasizes wildly. “This is the Red Raven gang we’re talking about. If they get any inclination that we lost their drugs, they’ll kill and replace us. No mercy. None.”

The blonde paces back and forth trying not to think about buying a plane ticket to Timbuktu. 

Carter approaches Bea and plants his hands on her shoulder, “breathe Jackson. You are my partner. The leader of this gang. So get it out of your system and start being rational.”

 The blonde lets her shoulders sag as she inhales and exhales in place for a while. The minute she’s grounded she catches Carter’s gaze and her eyes light up. “List. I need a list of whoever went in the room with all of the product. We need to narrow it down.”

***

“Jackson you’re a fucking genius.”

 “It’s called having common sense but I’ll take the praise. It’s the only one I’m getting from you anyways.”

 Carter resisted the urge to pick a fight with the younger girl, because finding stolen drugs and not getting killed seemed like a much better idea. 

 Bea figured out that Henry, one of the newly recruited members of SS was a thief, or maybe just a crackhead. Same thing. He was the last to be in that room so all eyes were on him, and guns.

 “Heyyy buddy. Henry right?”

 The shorter man trembled at the sight of a gun lodged right into his mouth. “Mmmm!”

 “Oh I’m sorry, did you want to say something? Here let me just”, Bea clicks the gun which only causes the thief to panic even more. It was almost pitiful. 

 “Alright lay off the poor sucker.” 

 Bea pulls the gun out of his mouth and sits down on a stool in front of Henry with a grin. “So…where is the stash darling?” 

 He points almost immediately to a built in storage locker with a shaky finger. 

 “Ohhh well that was so easy Henry! Glad you could comply. You should tell your friends to be more like you. But…between me and you, they might already be dead”, Bea whispers that last part slowly, smirking when Henry’s lip quivers violently. 

 “Please just do it already! Why are you guys waiting?”

 Bea raised an eyebrow in surprise and glanced over at Carter who scanned the man’s face intensely. “I guess he wants to die? Talk about kinks I mean come on”

 “No.”

 Carter reaches his arm out towards Bea but never takes his eyes off Henry. The blonde watches in confusion until she realizes the thief is looking behind her, and so is Carter.

 “It’s a setup Bea, duck!”

 She dived for the ground quicker than lightning as a bullet flies through the air, leaving a trail of dust behind. Carter ducks for cover as well and starts firing rounds towards the men who snuck up on them. He managed to hit three of them but one grabs Bea by the leg and drags her against the rough concrete. 

 “Son of a- get your dirty hands off of my Dr. Martens. My girlfriend bought me these!”

 A swift kick to the face shut the blonde up real quick but she manages to recoil and send the man sprawling backwards into a row of barrels. 

 Carter guns him down and Bea finds her footing, pistol in hand and a thirst for revenge. But they never stopped coming. 

 Her and Carter were left battered and bruised, but alive. Their product was gone again though. But atleast they were alive. Carter told her that it was a theft mission primarily and neither of them were meant to die. But it only made Bea wonder who those people were.

 And why were they kept alive?

***

“Beatriz Naomi Jackson what the actual fuck?!”

 “Oh not the middle name…”

 Bea tries to avoid Poppy’s killer gaze as she surveys the damage that had been done to her girlfriend’s torso, legs, and face. 

 The strawberry blonde could barely mutter a word. Her mouth opened and closed in brief shock before collapsing next to the injured girl. 

 Bea could see the tears flowing down her rosy cheeks, which contrasted her porcelain skin. “Poppy…are you crying? I..please don’t..”

 “What do you expect me to do Bea? It kills me to see you hurt like this. Who did it? Tell me!” The blonde chokes on her own words as her hands hovers cautiously over Bea’s wounds, afraid to make her feel pain.

 “No I can’t tell you. I mean…I didn’t expect this to happen. It was a setup and we were outnumbered-“

 “We need to get you to a hospital Bea oh my god.”

 The blonde knew that she couldn’t go there. Not with the cops on the scene of the shootout, and actively looking for the people involved. Aka her and Carter. He told her to lay low and heal up, but she didn’t expect Poppy to be sitting on her bed waiting for her when she got home. The initial look on her face made Bea regret ever choosing this life. 

 She regrets it ever since being with Poppy. But it’s like a drug, once you start it’s hard to stop. 

 “I’ll call my father, he has the best doctors available and we’re gonna get your the right treatment and-“ 

 Poppy immediately cuts off, her eyebrows scrunching up until she realizes something. “Wait…what do you mean you were outnumbered Bea?” 

 Bea swallows heavily, praying that this conversation couldn’t escalate further, but that isn’t the case. 

 “Bea, answer me”

 “It..it was just me and Carter. We didn’t think there would be an ambush. We had just gone there to get goods we lost.”

 “And where is Carter? Does he know you’re like this right now? Did he leave you, I swear to god Bea if he left you…” Poppy’s voice cracks as her whole body shivers in violent waves. 

 Bea pulls her girlfriend in for a hug even though it causes every inch of her body to sting harshly. It was the comfort that she needed though. Watching Poppy breakdown over the sight of her was too much, and she began to contemplate everything. 

 “Pops listen to me, I cannot go to the hospital right now. There are cops looking for us.” The strawberry blonde stares at her until she understands the velocity of Bea’s words. 

 “Fine. But there will be a doctor that will come to treat you at my house. And you’re coming, I don’t want to hear it.” 

 Bea knew not to protest that. It was quite obvious this whole incident has left both parties distraught and she didn’t want to try and tell Poppy how to feel. 

 “Just tell me something. Are you in immediate danger? Is someone trying to harm you right now.”

 The blonde chose her words carefully. Because even after coming home beaten to a pulp, she still couldn’t tell the love of her life the full truth. 

 “No Poppy, they just wanted the drugs. They got what they wanted. I’m not in danger.”

 For now.

 “I will be okay.”

 I hope.

 “Don’t lie to me Jackson. I can’t do this if you lie. You promised me you wouldn’t get to the point where you’d have to choose between me and the gang.”

 “I know Poppy…I-“

 “You promised.”

 “And I’m going to keep that promise-“

 “Yeah the hell you are. And you’re going to promise me that you won’t ever come home like this again. You’re going to get yourself killed before we even start our life together. Our future.”

 Bea sucks in a breath which punctures her chest. She couldn’t tell if the injuries or Poppy’s words had caused that terrible ache. “Our…Wait I..”

 “I love you Jackson. I…don’t care if you think it’s too early to say that. I don’t care if I sound too cheesy for a mean girl. I love kissing you and feeling the laughter run through your body when we hug. I love being the reason you smile. I love you. And you don’t have to say it back. I just..I needed you to know-“

 “I love you too. Probably maybe from the moment I met you.”

 Poppy’s eyes seemed to glisten once again and this time there was no sadness etched into the shape. She smiled a pure smile and wrapped her arms around Bea in a tight hug. 

 She captures her lips in a searing kiss that leads to a trail of kisses down the strawberry blonde’s neck, dip of her collarbone, and chest. Bea kisses her until her chest gives out from exhaustion and pain.

 “Then you have to promise that this won’t happen again.” 

 “I promise.”

 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

NOTES: They’re gonna be fineeeee, right guys??? Graduation next chapter woooo.

Tags: @samanthadalton @somewillwin @clowneryme  @baexpoppy @poppysmc @doey-eyes8 @veenast @straightlikewetspaghetti @phoennixxsblog

[systlinsideblog]

Part 7

The fall of the great walled city of Turia came on a day shimmering with heat, but with storm clouds building on the horizion, looming heavy as they built into great mounds over the prairies. The air smelled of the promise of rain; that was good, Systlin thought. A good heavy rain later would wash the blood off the streets.

Turia’s towers glittered white in the sun. The walls were high and proud and in excellent repair; the warriors manning the top of it were said to be skilled. Everyone she’d spoken to had told her the same; Turia was home to a million and a half people. Turia was the jewel of the prairies, the Ar of the South. Turia was home to marvelous markets and one could find any luxury one wished there. The people of Turia were grand and wealthy and proud, and though they loved luxury their fighting men were excellent.

Its walls were high and thick. Its wells were deep and never ran dry. There were food stores to outlast the greatest of sieges. The nine gates were thick and strong and guarded zealously; while attackers died at the walls, the people of Turia would relax in their bath houses and dine on delicacies and laugh.

Turia was splendid. Turia was rich. Turia had been sieged many times, but never once had Turia fallen.

Systlin rolled her neck and shoulders, cracking any tension out.

She remembered Myr. Turia reminded her strongly of it. Myr too had been rich, and strong, and undefeated. Myr as well had thought itself safe behind tall, thick walls and strong gates, guarded by skilled fighters. Myr as well had laughed at the army camped on the plains before it. The walls of Myr had famously been bound in Power, power laid so deeply and thickly by generation after generation of Myrish earth witches that there had been more power than stone to the walls. Breakers before her, born to the desert, had tested those walls. Breakers before her had exhausted themselves against them and failed and died.

She had tried herself against them anyway. She had not failed. There was a hundred foot gap in the walls of Myr now, named for her. “The Mitraka’s Gate,” they called it. The legend of how she’d brought down the famously unbreakable walls of Myr had spread north to the Skyfire reaches and south to Sielauk before she’d even left the deserts.

Turia’s walls were not as high or thick as Myr’s, and they were not spelled for protection. Against a Breaker of the least power they’d be useless, and Systlin was the strongest Breaker ever to live. She eyed the warriors on top of them, still out of bowshot, and for a moment felt a flash of pity for them.

It was gone quickly. She wondered how many of those proud men had women chained to their beds. A million and a half people, but that number did not, she knew, count slaves. Counting slaves, it was said that the number was at least twice that, and likely higher.

Foicatch was watching her. He had not been at Myr when it fell, but he had been there since. He’d ridden through the Mitraka’s Gate. He knew, of course, that she was remembering.

“Been a bit,” He said at last, as they waited for Myr to send out its famous tharlarion cavalry, and honestly though she found herself growing fond of the kaiila the Wagon Peoples rode and could admit that the vicious reptilian tharlarion were impressive, she wished she had a good, normal horse. “Since we had a real battle before us.”

“Hmmm.” She agreed. The last time, indeed, they’d been fighting a mad god and his creatures. She’d killed a god, in that battle. Killed one god and threatened another. “Do try not to die. I’d hate to have to find a new royal consort.”

A snort. “I’ve no intention of dying today. I want to see you on the throne of that city.” A pause. “I’ve always had rather a fantasy, actually, of you on the throne of freshly conquered city, and me on my knees…”

Oh. Well. That did sound interesting. She gave him an appraising look. “Have you? You could have said something.”

“Well. It’s always been so busy when we’re breaching a stronghold, and things were all happening so fast at the time. You were so intent; I wasn’t sure you’d take it well.” A shrug. “Early days of us and all. By the time I knew better, you had the North in line again, and when we fought the Fallen One there weren’t many strongholds to breach or thrones to make use of.”

That was fair. “I’m going to hold you to that.” She said thoughtfully, even as the great gates ground slowly open and ranks of fighting men on those two-legged sharp-toothed reptilian beasts began to file out. She eyed the gleaming lances they carried disapprovingly; those were, of course, going to be the first thing she did away with once things got going.

Using her power in pitched battles was risky; she did not like doing it to kill. Not more than needed. But shattering some lances was no issue at all.

He grinned, that familiar and beloved flash of white teeth against that dark beard. “Oh, excellent.” He shot the enemy cavalry a look, and then looked back at her and raised an eyebrow. She nodded once. He leaned over, and she leaned to meet him; they exchanged a kiss, brief but sweet, and he peeled his kaiila away and headed to take command of the left flank.

She looked back over the prairie. There were several thousand riders now, forming ranks. A few men wearing particularly gleaming armor with extra gold leaf seemed to be conferring in a huddle; she waited.

“Ubara?” Dina said softly, from her side. “Ubara, should we…” There was nervousness in her voice.

“Not yet.” Systlin was the veteran of many battles of this scale; Myr was much larger than Turia, and that had been only the first city she’d taken. Dina was not. Even in a seasoned warrior, nerves before battle were normal, but Dina had taken up a spear only a year and a half past. She’d fought and killed, but the other tribes and towns and cities they’d taken were nothing on the scale of Turia. “They’ll send someone to talk, like all the others have. I’ll either kill him or send him back, like all the other times. I’ll break their lances; that will be the signal to charge.”

She looked to her side. Dina’s face was drawn tight. Systlin remembered that Dina, before slave chains, had once been a free woman, and had been born in Turia.

“You have a father, don’t you?” Systlin said, more softly.

“I do.” She whispered. “He never took a slave. He loved my mother, a Free Companion, and never took a slave; he has mourned her since her death. He is of the baker’s caste, as was my mother. He makes sweet rolls and gives them to children, and the best bread and pastries. I do not brag; he was famous in the city, and rich women and men came to buy from us. He and my brothers and I worked hard and were proud of our work.” She paused a moment. “I do not know if my brothers have taken slaves. And if they have…” Another, longer pause, and she looked away. “If they have, I will not beg mercy for them, but I will mourn what they might have been had their minds not been poisoned.”

Systlin thought of her own brother, dead so young. Of laughing and competing and playing with him, of the friendly fighting between close siblings. Of his smile and his laugh, and his sharp wit. She wondered, if her place and Dina’s had been switched, if she could have watched him killed for slaving and rape.

She probably could have. She knew it in the deepest place in her heart, where she worried sometimes at her own coldness. She probably would have done it with her own hands, at that. She’d executed her uncle and aunt with her own hands, in that battle to bring the warring lords tearing the North to bloody scraps to heel. But she was a famously hard and coldhearted bitch when it came to matters of justice, as any noble in the North of Ellinon would tell. “The Iron Bitch”, she knew they called her behind her back. “The Iron Bitch with the frozen heart.”

She’d have done it, yes. But she’d have mourned intensely after, for what might have been.

Dina was loyal and dear to her, a good friend. But if her brothers were rapists and slavers, Systlin knew that even if Dina begged, she would not grant mercy unless the offended girls asked it. It ran counter to everything in her to do so.

Goddess of Justice. The Lady’s voice whispered in her head.

Fuck off, she thought in return. I’ve shit to do.

“We can hope,” she said. “That they take after your father. And we’re not here to loot; if your father is in his shop and not with the fighting men, he’s quite safe.”

That seemed to ease Dina slightly. The woman was still used to the Gorean idea of war, where taking a city meant sacking it utterly, looting and burning and slaving. No army under Systlin’s command would ever fight so, though. She’d kill the soldiers responsible with her bare hands.

“Baker’s caste,” Dina said. “Do not fight, not unless they must. They will not be on the walls. Those on the walls and on the field here are warrior caste.”

Systlin would have to investigate this caste system more thoroughly. She did not like the idea on principle, but it seemed a force of social stability that most Goreans were very attached to. From what she’d gathered there were provisions for moving through castes if one wished. However, she’d heard that some, such as weavers and spinners, were considered ‘low caste’.

Systlin had attempted such tasks before; her mother was fond of spinning and weaving, though she was Queen Mother and needed never touch a spindle if she didn’t wish. After fifteen minutes spent at it, Systlin had come to the conclusion that the work that went into cloth was absurdly complicated and skilled, and had never touched a spindle since. She did, however, have a reputation for never haggling when it came to buying cloth or paying her seamstresses.

Low caste her arse. The idea of any of the most essential tasks…potters, farmers, fishermen, herders…being lower than any others raised her hackles. Perhaps the idea of low or high caste could go…

Across the grassland, a small party of men, led by one of the men in gleaming gold-chased armor began to ride towards them. Systlin put aside other concerns and nodded once to Dina, who nodded back and went to lead the right flank.

Her kaiila could sense that battle was coming, and shifted under her, tossing her head in eagerness. Systlin held her steady, and waited.

They headed, of course, for Foicatch. Systlin sighed and rolled her eyes, and nudged her kaiila forward. The creature sprang forward in that long, loping predator stride, and she headed them off in moments. They glared at her, all hostile intent. She regarded them in what was probably a dismissive manner, but so far as she was concerned these men were already dead. They were nothing that she had not seen on this world already, in the smaller towns that lay outside Turia. She’d killed a thousand like them since coming here.

“You know full well that I lead this army.” She said bluntly. “You’ve heard the stories.” She sighed. “It makes me curious…”

“Stories of trickery and nonsense about sorcery.” The man with the glittering armor said loftily. “A few villages might fall to some unnatural woman, but this is Turia. We will not be afraid of a tribe of women who think themselves the equals of men.”

“…As I was saying,” Systlin raised her voice slightly. “It makes me curious as to the full degree which you, meaning men on this world, are capable of deluding yourselves. I’ve been halfway through conquering towns and tribes and the men would still be telling me that I couldn’t hope to carry through, because I was but a woman.” She shook her head. “Almost sad, really. I’ve an army of  twenty five thousand camped before your gates. I know you have heard the stories of how I’ve conquered cities across the prairies and brought all the tribes of the Wagon People under my rule. I am Ubara-Sana of the plains, by my own hand, and I’ve crushed every force sent against me. And yet here you are, still claiming the same old tired thing.”

She looked him in the eyes. “This is the part where, if you are smart, you will confer with your people and you will open the gates, lay down your arms, and have a chance to survive this.”

He scoffed. Entirely predictably. “This is Turia, woman. The plainsfolk may not have been able to humble you, but Turia will. We’ve ten thousand cavalry, and that is not counting the fighting men on foot. You and your slave girls with swords can batter yourselves to ribbons against us, and we’ll put collars on those of you not killed.” A slow, lewd smile, because apparently he felt he hadn’t dug his own grave deep enough. “Maybe I’ll put mine on you, woman, and teach you to obey a master’s word.”

“Well.” Systlin shrugged. “I did give you a chance.”

She’d learned knife throwing from Stellead, but the Arms Master of the Bloodguard had been dubious of its effectiveness and the instruction had only been basic. It was at the Iron Mountain, under the tutelage of the master assassins of the Master of Knives, that she’d learned how to properly throw a knife.

She’d killed the Master of Knives, of course. He’d taken the contract on her father, and sent out one of his Shadow Hands to kill a king. She’d killed the Brother of Shadow who’d wielded the knife, as well, and many others besides. The Iron Mountain stood empty now, the bones of those she’d killed gathering dust in the halls.

Her knife took the golden-armored warrior through the eye. He looked quite shocked as he slid from the saddle and fell. His men started in rage, and went for their lances.

Systlin smiled at them. Her power rose, a cold sweep through her bones, tingling under her skin. She raised her hand, and flicked her fingers negligently at them, mostly for show.

Their lances shattered into splinters. So did at least five thousand other lances of the leading ranks of the famed thalarion cavalry of Turia.

A great confused sound went up, and thalarion shied at the strange scent of Power in the air, sharp as ozone. And as fighting men scrambled for their secondary weapons, Systlin’s forces charged.

Ice took the first man before her just under the chin. She didn’t quite behead him as her coal-black kaiila shot past, but slashed the big artery on his neck open. Blood pumped, and the sound he made as he fell was a terrible gurgle.

She wheeled her mount and ducked the frantic sweep of a sword. The riders were startled, off balance, and that was death when facing a warrior of her caliber. Her kaiila darted in and took the throat of one of the slower High Thalarions, tearing it open. The beast went down, and its rider with it. Systlin kneed the sides of her kaiila and it leapt; the final warrior managed to parry her first blow, a slicing cut at his neck.

She twisted her wrist, reversed the grip on Ice’s hilt with a little twist and clever movement of her fingers that Stellead had made her practice ten thousand times, and drove it into his chest under his ribs. Drew it back with a sharp jerk as she wheeled her kaiila again, and flipped it back around in her hand. She did not have to think about the motion; she had not missed the catch on the twist since she had been a child training under Arms Master Stellead.

Then her kaiila was running, and she pushed it hard for a few paces until she regained her place leading the center. Lances glittered to either side of her, and she felt a fierce pride in the women she’d trained.

She eyed the gates of Turia, behind the regrouping lines of thalarion cavalry. Arrows arched from behind, as her mounted archers began picking off the front ranks of the Turian forces as they came into range.

Arrows returned, from on top of the walls, and one bounced off of her wraithen-scale armor. She lashed out with her power, still simmering under her skin, and five hundred bows shattered. Cries of dismay went up a second time.

She eyed the great gates of Turia, even as her kaiila gathered itself to leap and the first of her lance-fighters neared the front lines of the Turian cavalry. She eyed them for a half a second before she hit the front lines of the Turians, and she Broke them.

The great gates of Turia, and fifty feet of the wall to either side, crumbled into splinters and sand. There was a great cry of horror and dismay from the city, and cries of “UBARA! UBARA!” from her own warriors, delighted.

And then her front line was smashing into the Turian cavalry, and there was no more time for thought.

The Turians were skilled, but they were off balance, had lost the advantage of their long lances, and had not truly been expecting a proper fight. Systlin and her best lancers hit them like a hammer, and pierced deep into the ranks before the Turians quite knew it was happening. The Turians were down to swords now, and only a few of the rear ranks still had lances. Systlin’s riders had long lances with reach, and their kaiila were faster and more nimble than the high thalarion the Turians rode.

And, of course, they had her.

Systlin was no stranger to mounted combat. She’d ridden with the tribes of the desert at Sura’s side for years, and was as deft a hand at mounted combat as any Rider. She’d never have been accepted, otherwise.

It felt, she had to admit, as she turned a sword aside with Ice and flicked the sword around, down, and up, taking off the man’s sword hand at the wrist, very good to be at it again. The man screamed, but she was past him. A lance glanced off of her armor, and she wheeled her kaiila. The beast snapped, catching a leg, and tore the man off of his mount. His thalarion turned and went for her mount, but her kaiila shook its head and was leaping away before it could do any damage.

Systlin fought with all the skill and speed and cunning she had. She fought viciously, the whole time willing that her army would not fail now, would not quail because this battle was larger and closer-fought than any before. She willed it, imagining that she could throw wide her arms and take under her shadow all of her proud free mounted warriors, and through sheer will alone keep them fighting.

And she did what she had always done, in battle. She led on the front line, and fought like nothing the Turians had ever seen before. Men rose before her and men fell; she was past Power now, and killed with pure hard-won skill and naked steel. She cut faces, necks, torsos, limbs. Ice’s blue-tinged blade was purple with blood, and blood spattered her all over. She killed, and killed, with all the skill of those long hours of training and decades more of fighting for her life. She fought, and killed, her blood sang with it.

You were never made for peace. The Lady’s words. It was true; she knew it was true. She loved battle, though she knew it spoke of her basically coldhearted and vicious nature that she did. She was a warrior born and trained and blooded, and she was at home on the killing field.

She’d fought three wars, leading from the front. She’d won each, and the sight of her at the forefront of her warriors, in her element, bloody and screaming and bringing death with her, was absolute horror to the men of Gor.

The sight that horrified the men of Turia stiffened the spines of her warriors, and to the endless horror of the men of Turia, the former slave girls, now screaming warriors with lances and swords, cut into them with a fury they’d never seen.

With her at their front, her mounted warriors smashed the Turian lines apart, just as the left flank led by Foicatch drove hard at the gap left at the rear, pushing the cavalry of Turia away from the broken gates and cutting them off from retreat into the city. Foicatch himself set himself in the middle of the smashed gate, and Systlin caught glimpses of him engaged in fierce close fighting now and then as foot soldiers pressed forward from the city to try and relieve the cavalry she was driving like a herd of sheep across the prairies before Turia.

But the fighting men of Turia were skilled, and proud, and they began to regroup. Men were shouting orders, and the remaining lances managed to form up defensive lines. The fighting grew vicious, even after Systlin Broke more lances, and their advance ground to a crawl. Their armies were nearly matched; Systlin’s warrior women had better armor and better reach, but the Turian fighting men had more experience, and it began to show as they got their feet under them. Systlin’s troops fought like mad wildcats, and she was so proud; they were still winning forward, inch by inch, but she was not about to spend more lives than she had to.

The Turians began to press back, and her advance ground to a halt. Systlin smiled, because she heard the galloping of the kaiila, and knew.

Dina’s mounted archers swept past, and the women turned on their kaiilas with those short but powerful recurve bows of wood and bosk horn. Strings slid from thumb rings, and three thousand arrows hammered home through that light leather armor that the men of this world favored. The kaiilas wheeled, and the women turned again, as they’d practiced a thousand times, sitting backwards on their mounts. Strings sang again, and arrows flew as thick as rain.

Turians died. Systlin yelled and plunged forward again, and to shouts of “UBARA! UBARA! WHIP-BURNER! CHAIN-STRIKER!” her warriors followed.

The Turians had nowhere to retreat from Dina’s archers, except back onto the lances of Systlin’s mounted spear-women. No rescue came from Turia; Foicatch was stacking the bodies of fighting men four deep in the ruin of the shattered gates.

The fighting outside the city drug out a big longer; it took time to slaughter ten thousand cavalry and their mounts. But caught between Dina’s wheeling mounted archers and their storm of arrows and the lances of Systlin’s cavalry and Systlin’s own sword, they were cut to bits.

It was then that Systlin regrouped her lancers and led them to the shattered gates, where the foot soldiers of Turia were approaching more cautiously than before. The shattered gates themselves were a charnel house; fighting men and women both lay dead alongside wounded and dead and shrieking kaiila, and blood was red over the stones of the road and the rubble of the gates and walls. Foicatch and his warriors held, and the fighting men of Turia seemed reluctant to approach within reach of Foicatch’s sword.

They parted to let Systlin through, and her lancers flowed around to guard the sides of the ranks of warriors.

Systlin joined Foicatch at the front lines. She must look a terrible sight; she was head to toe blood and mud, the colors of her wraithen armor dulled under the coating. Foicatch’s own set of wraithen scale armor was similarly filthy. There was a cut high on his temple, a glancing blow that was not serious but bleeding freely. Even as she joined him she felt a trickle of Power as he flicked droplets of blood away from his eyes.

A lull in the fighting; the soldiers of Turia drew back, appalled at the sight. Foicatch eyed her, gaze flicking head to toe to check her for injuries. She gave him a slight reassuring shake of her head, doing the same to him. The cut on his temple seemed to be the worst of it. She turned to eye the soldiers before them.

“Your cavalry,” Systlin informed the fighting men before them. “Are dead. My throat slitters are making short work of any survivors this very moment. You did not hear the offer I made before, I think, so I will make it one more time. Lay your weapons down now, and you may find mercy. I will not give you another chance.”

Not one fighting man moved, save for the one who yelled in defiance, pulled a knife from his boot, and hurled it at her head.

It was a good throw, she thought, as she twisted her head to the side even as his hand swept up with the blade. It was a good throw. Had she not been taught by Stellead and the Shadow Hands of the Iron Mountain, it might have struck home. As it was, it simply scraped her cheekbone in passing; a shallow cut that would heal quickly and cleanly.

Answer enough, she supposed. Foicatch was already moving, and fell on the knife-thrower with a single-minded viciousness that was poetry to see. Systlin was moving almost as quickly, and that was where the battle in the city began.

It was nasty work. Street by street, driving the fighting men before them. Many of the freed slaves in Systlin’s forces had been from Turia, and as planned they now took the lead. As Systlin had suspected, their knowledge of the city was invaluable; meeting places and baths where warriors gathered were found out. Attacks from small alleys were anticipated. Cobbles went slick with blood. A nasty dagger opened a long cut into Systlin’s left forearm, and some of the slick blood under their boots and the kaiila’s paws was her own. She bound it with a strip torn from her own shirt, cinching the knot tight with her teeth, and pressed on.

Turia was a city of millions; it took hours to work their way through, even with the size of her army. It was late afternoon when at last she realized that any warriors found out were fleeing rather than fighting, and being quickly ridden down by archers. Systlin stopped, at last, sitting high on her kaiila, and knew that she was Ubara of Turia, and by extension all of the plains in truth, by right of conquest.

Dina was staying close now, guiding them through the streets. She saw the same realization dawn on Dina’s face; Foicatch was already smiling that grim satisfied smile she remembered well.

“Take me to the throne of Turia.” Systlin said, and Dina did.

The first drops of the storm hit the bloody dust and thunder growled low when the reached the great palace of Turia. It was in a vast central building, half law chambers and half a throne hall. It was all in the same white stone that the city seemed to favor, with a great dome over the hall where the Thrones of Turia sat. They were very fine; there was, Systlin was sure, wood somewhere under the silver and inlaid semiprecious stones, but it was difficult to make out. She left footprints of blood and mud across the spotless tiled floors.

She’d made instructions clear before the first spear was lifted; her warriors knew what to do. One part of being a leader, her father had said long ago. Is finding competent people that you trust, and then trusting them to do their jobs without your having to hang over their shoulder.

He’d been right. Her people were competent, and she did trust them. So while she waited for her warriors to ferret out the various guild and caste leaders and other important persons, Systlin ascended the nine steps to the dais…it was gorgeously carpeted, and inlaid with ivory and gold…and sat herself down in the larger throne, the throne of the Ubar of Turia.

Foicatch eyed her. There was an answering warm pulse that went down her spine and pooled insistently between her legs; there was nothing like battle to get the blood up. But…She raised her eyebrows back at him. “Not yet.” She said, somewhat reluctantly, and motioned with her chin at the smaller throne, the throne where traditionally the Ubara sat. “Not quite yet. It’s not properly conquered until I explain things to the important people, is it?”

“I suppose not.” But his eyes were lingering on her lips, and slid down over the length of her legs and the curve of her hip even so. She could feel the heat of it, and dearly wished to answer it.

But it was about at that point that people…some of them bedraggled, some begging and pleading, some silent and apparently numbly shocked into silence, all led by her fierce and triumphant warrior women, began to file into the great throne chamber. All were drenched; Systlin could hear rain rattling against the roof now, and thunder rumbling quite often.

They stared. Systlin knew what she must look like. She sat, and waited. Her shoulder ached; she’d been slammed into a wall at one point, and probably had a spectacular bruise. Her arm where she’d been cut stung. Her muscles burned from exertion; she’d been fighting on and off for hours. The cut on her cheek had scabbed, and pulled when she moved or spoke.

None of it mattered. Victory was pounding in her veins along the adrenaline. Even now, she knew, her warriors were removing chains from slaves; she could taste it on the air, and it was as sweet as honeyed wine.  

Goddess of justice and war.

She ignored the voice of the Lady whispering.

Dina was conferring with the other women native to Turia. They looked fearsome; all were armored and armed and bloody. Most of the blood, to Systlin’s immense pride, was not their own. They had wounds, true, but most were not serious, and every warrior will earn scars. They were standing and moving and speaking with a new edge of confidence that had not been there even this morning, and Systlin knew why.

Stories would be told of this, she knew. Stories would be told, and the warriors who’d fought with her to take Turia would be legend in their own right. And they knew it as well; had proved something to themselves that could never be taken away.

Yes, these warrior women would say, years from now. Yes, of course I know of the Fall of Turia. I was there. I fought at the Ubara’s side. There would be looks then, as awed as any Systlin herself had ever received, and she knew in her bones how the legends would be told in decades to come.

Dina of Turia, who led the Ubara’s archers and broke the Turian cavalry with the Ubara.

Sabra of Turia, the first of all who had her chains struck off, who rode with her lance at the Ubara’s side, in her honor guard, and who fought so fiercely that none could stand before her. Never in the battle for the city did she leave the Ubara’s side, and she walked through blood ankle-deep that day.

Hula of Turia, Doreen of Turia, Hireena of the Tuchuks. Tamra of Ar…

The list went on and on, and pride was a bright warmth in her chest.

Dina said something to Sabra, who nodded and turned to cross the hall and climb the steps. Systlin remembered that first day; Sabra clutching, terrified, at her sleeve. There was little trace of the frightened and beaten slave girl now; Sabra was one of her best with a spear, and she wore thick bosk-hide armor sewn with metal plates. Her arms and shoulders were strong, and her blonde hair braided tightly back. There was blood and mud crusted in it, and a vicious bruise showing around one eye. Her nose had been broken at some point, and hastily reset,. The dried blood from it was still on her chin. She was smiling a smile of victory.

“Ubara sana.” She said. “The guild leaders, councilors, and other important leaders of the city are assembled.”

“Thank you, Sabra.” Systlin smiled back, just as fierce. “And well fought. Fierce as a she-panther.”

The grin widened. “Thank you, Ubara-sana!”

“I told you,” Systlin said, still smiling. “You doubted me, but here you stand. When I secure the treasury, you are to take as much as you can carry, as a mark of my esteem. I name you now to my personal guard, for as long as you desire the post, but you must promise to tell me if you ever wish to leave. You were the first to have her chains thrown off, and I’ve no wish to ever bind you with others.”

Sabra blinked rapidly, and Systlin realized that she was blinking back tears. “I will, Ubara sana.” She said. “But I do not think that day will come.”

“Well. If it does, let me know. And I’ve another duty for you; you were the first to take up weapons, even before Dina. If you will, once things settle more in a few days, go among the women of Turia and tell them your story. And if any of them wish it, bring them to me, and help me train them as warriors, as you trained yourself.”

A light like fever lit in Sabra’s eyes. “Ubara sana,” she whispered. “You honor me, and I will do this.”

“You won your honor yourself, with your own hands and by your own actions.” Systlin said. “I merely handed you the tools to do so. Bring them all forward, then.”

Foicatch, she realized, was staring at her with an intensity that was scorching.

“You will never have any idea,” he breathed, very quietly, as her warriors herded the frightened rich and powerful of the city to the base of the raised dais the thrones sat upon, “the effect you have on people. What it’s like to see, from the outside.”

“Hush.” She murmured back, just as softly. “You’re biased.”

“I am. But I’m also right. Every woman in your forces would have followed you to the death this morning, but after this they’d follow you past it as well.”

“Hmm.” She allowed, but it was a pleased sound. “I try only to be what they deserve.”

“Yes.” He said. “Yes, and that’s why.”

She eyed the small crowd at the foot of the dais. They were frightened and soaked from the storm, bedraggled and sullen.

“Foicatch, darling.” She said. “Our guests appear to be soaked. Could you give them a hand?”

He made an agreeable sound and lifted a hand. She tasted Power on the back of her tounge, ozone and burnt cinnamon.

There were gasps and screams as the water streamed and spiraled off of the huddled leaders of Turia. Foicatch pulled it into a hovering globe above his hand, and then rather negligently flicked it aside. It splashed to the tiles, leaving the people in the crowd quite dry.

Dina clicked her tounge against her teeth. “Are you all sorcerers, on your world?” A year and a half of following Systlin, one of the strongest fire witches and the strongest Breaker ever to live, had rubbed the novelty off of seeing Power worked.

“Not all of us.” Systlin lifted a shoulder. “But a good many.”

“My mother’s a stronger water witch than me,” Foicatch said absently. “I’ve only half her gift.”

“Wait until you see him really angry,” Systlin said. “And see him tear the water from a man’s blood.”

“I have.” That was Hireena, herding the Turians forward. Her voice was low, and she looked at Foicatch with deep respect. “At the gates, as we fought.”

“Did you?” She said, with interest. Systlin had seen it done before. It had been….compelling. Hmmmm.

Later. Later. More important things first.

“Turia.” She said, her voice clear. “I greet you.”

Furious, frightened faces looked up at her. Mutters went around. Systlin remembered well what she’d been told.

“I greet you,” she said. “As Ubara Sana of the plains, won by my own hand. But of course, you are Turian, and the power in Turia lies with the merchants.”

“It is so.” One veiled woman said. She was looking up curiously; her robes were of exquisitely fine silks, and embroidered with gold. Pearls hung from the edges of her sleeves, and crystal beads glittered across her gown.

“That,” said Systlin. “May change. I understand, of course, that you’ve already well established trade routes, and I’ve no wish to interfere with them. But I am Ubara Sana now, and the old laws will change. You may have heard that, on the plains, slave chains have been outlawed, and all slaves freed. It is true, and as of this moment by my decree every slave in Turia is freed.”

There was a roar of arguments and shouting and disapproving noises.

“…cannot simply…”

“…My business is slaves! How am I to…”

“…an outrage!...”

Systlin waited them out, patient. As she did, another of the Turian women jogged in through the great door; the rain had washed away most of the mud and blood, but she was limping, a strip of cloth bound around one thigh. She murmured something to Dina, who nodded once and took the nine steps up to the dais two at a time.

“There is a problem.” Dina said. “Saphrar, a wealthy merchant, one of the leaders of the Merchant’s Caste in the city. He’s a fortified compound, and has walled himself up with his mercenary forces.”

“Tell everyone to pull back.” Systlin said at once. “Keep an eye on the compound; let no one escape. After I finish here, I’ll come and tend to his gates myself.”

Dina smiled thinly, and went back down, murmured this to the other woman. The other woman grinned like a wolf, and hurried out, swift despite her wounded leg.

“Have you all finished?” Systlin raised her voice above the crowd.

“I will contract with the Guild of Assassins for this!” A man with thick dark hair and wearing gold and white robes said furiously. He had a hand raised and was shaking a finger at the sky. “I’ll have your head in my vault. I swear it on the Priest-Kings! “

“I take it that you deal in slaves,” Systlin said dryly.

“I do! It is an honorable trade, and I have been dealing in slave meat for…”

Systlin nodded at Dina, who moved quickly. Her knife gleamed, and the man’s throat opened ear to ear. A gurgle, and a red rush of blood, and utter shocked silence.

“Slavery,” Systlin said mildly. “Is one of the greatest crimes, and slavers are condemned to death. Those who procure and deal in slaves for their own wealth are doubly damned. Throw his body to the kaiila; they must be hungry after the fight. What was his name?”

Silence.

“I asked,” Systlin said, voice going cold. “For his name. I expect an answer.”

Another moment of silence dragged out, and then…“Kazrak.” The veiled woman who’d spoken before said. “Kazrak of the Merchant Caste. His mansion is next to mine, and his warehouse is in the low streets, near the slave market.”

“Did he have a Free Companion, any children?”

“Both.”

“Then half of his estate shall go to them, and they shall maintain their home. The other half of his assets are forfeit, and will be redistributed between his slaves, who are now free.” Systlin raised an eyebrow. “Might I have your name?”

“Aphris.” Said the woman. “Of the Merchant Caste. I deal in silks and wine, not people.” She shot a somewhat vicious look at the dead Kazrak, as he was dragged off, leaving a smear of red on the tiles. “And he was cruel, and it does my heart good to see justice done him. I take it then that we, the free women of Turia, are not to be put in slave chains?”

“Bloody pits, no.” Systlin said, repulsed.

“I did not think so.” Aphris said, cool and collected, a point of calm in the angry and terrified crowd. “But many freewomen feared the worst. It is, after all, how war has been done on Gor for a very long time. You can understand the worry.”

It was a reasonable worry, Systlin supposed. “Of course. But have no fear, no hand will be raised against you. You are free, and will remain free. Aside from that, by my laws it will be punishable by death if anyone, from anywhere, ever attempted to enslave you, and I would hunt that man down and kill him for daring to put chains on one of my subjects.”

There were many free women in the crowd, and at the words there was sort of a sigh that ran through them, and a sense of some great tension lifted. The men looked startled. Systlin gestured, taking in the concealing robes all of the free women wore.

“It is no longer required,” she continued. “That you wear full Robes of Concealment in public. A free woman may dress as she likes and go where she likes. If you feel more comfortable in your robes, of course, then you are welcome to wear them, but it is not required. If you choose to set them aside and experience difficulty from anyone, you may make a formal complaint and the matter will be dealt with. I will make people and resources available to deal with such matters.”

A murmur. More looks of outrage from the men.

“Many,” Aphris said. “Will welcome this. But for myself, Ubara, I think I will choose to wear the robes, at least for some time longer.”

“Of course.” Systlin inclined her head. “And I am afraid, of course, that Turia will be judged.”

“Judged?” One man snapped. “Like you judged Kazrak?”

“Yes. Precisely how I judged Kazrak.” Systlin smiled unpleasantly. “There are three great crimes; the murder of an innocent who has done no harm, the rape of another, and enslaving another. The penalty for all three is death.”

Silence. Dead, horrified silence. And then,

“You cannot mean,” another man said, carefully. “That every man who held a slave will be killed.”

“No.” Systlin shook her head. Sighs of relief, but she continued. “Because some slaves, for whatever reason, beg mercy for those who held them. It will be up to any slaves you hold what your fate is. But,” and she grinned again, more horribly. “If a single slave you’ve held and raped chooses death for you, I will put a knife in her hand and hold you down myself for the sentence.”

“What.”

“You cannot mean…”

“Not all…”

“All.” Systlin said, merciless. “Every man in Turia. If a freewoman held male slaves…I’m told it happens…then her life is forfeit as well. I will not abide it. Have no fear; I will establish many courts to see to it. It will take us months to work through the city, but it will be done. And those of you who are guilty, I will hang your bones from the white walls as a warning.”

“You,” Said one man, who had until then been silent, staring angry daggers at her from the front of the crowd. His robes, she noted, were the finest in the room, and edged in purple. “Are mad.”

“Not the first time I’ve been called that.” Systlin said easily. She looked him over, matching up features with descriptions. “Phanius Turmus, I presume?”

“Ubar of Turia.” He confirmed, chin high. “You are defiling my throne, woman.”

“You were.” She shook her head. “But you lost. You’re simply Phanius now, and you’ll be judged with the rest.”

“I think that perhaps I shall contract with the Assassin’s Caste for your head.” He didn’t flinch or break eye contact. “Your head would look well in my vaults, I agree with Kazrak.”

“Oh, please do. I ought to make their acquaintance. It’s been some time since I trained with the assassins of my own world, and tore their master’s throat out with my knife. So yes please, do. It would be an exciting challenge.”

Foicatch sighed resignedly. “Really, love?”

Phanius was giving her a stare of pure and utter horror. “What are you?” He almost whispered. “What terrible hell did you crawl from, to plague us? Have you no respect for those of high caste?”

“My mother would be terribly offended by calling her a ‘terrible hell’.” She made steady eye contact with each person in her horrified and enraptured audience. “The terrible hell is her sister, who taught me to fight. And no. Every caste. From low to high. All will be judged the same. If any have offended in these ways, I will see justice done upon them. No one is exempt.”

“You’ll kill thousands!” One man cried. “Tens of thousands!”

“Oh,” Systlin said, cold as steel in winter. “Hundreds of thousands, I expect.”

“You cannot…”

“Poor choice of words.” Foicatch sighed again. “I could have warned you; there’s no better way to get her to do something than to tell her, earnestly, that she can’t.”

Systlin stood, and let Power rise. Not the terrible cold of Breaking, but her other gift, hot and furious and wild. Fire bloomed around her for a moment, and was gone too quickly to set fire to her clothes. But it had the desired effect. Silence fell. Horrified silence.

“I am not bargaining with you.” She said softly. “I am not suggesting. I am not your old Ubar. I stand here by right of conquest. I breached your walls and killed my way to this throne, and I am going to kill a great deal many more before I am through. The merchants and caste-masters are not ruling Turia any longer; I am.”

She moved a step down, drawing closer to them. “To put this in terms you understand, which I gathered from women you had kidnapped from a world not yours and forced into slavery; you had best get used to this new way, or you will die. I am telling you how things now are. You can flee the city, if you wish, but I will not stop here and I will find you. Be it when I take Ar, or Ko-Ro-Ba, or any other city, I will come. I am going to end slavery on this world, and I fully expect to do it at the point of a sword. I am Ubara Sana of the plains. I rule this city now. These are the great crimes that will be punished, and how they will be punished. This matter is not open for negotiation. If you dislike these words, you are free to take them up with any of the twenty thousand of my soldiers in your city. They’ll be thrilled to discuss them, I am sure.” She descended another step. “Until the courts are established and judging begins, no one is to leave the city. I control the entirety of the plains and other bands of my warriors have seized trade routes. I have the wealth of Turia at my disposal; you will not go hungry. And now, you are free to return to your homes; I have things yet to do tonight. One of you has decided to fight tooth and nail; I’m off to crack him out of his nutshell. Dismissed.”

She swept past, not looking back, and felt their eyes on her back as she went.

[oumaheroes]

If you're still doing hcs, #13 for France and #22 for England please :)

I'm sorry this is so late Cake my love orz <3

13: What is your muse’s favorite candy?

I don't see France as having that much of a sweet tooth. He's more of food guy, rather than a snacker or someone who eyes up sweets to eat on the side (*cough*England*cough*)

France likes meals. He likes food with refined elegance that may be small but will pack a powerful punch, something well planned, well cooked, and that will leave him smacking his lips and be contented. And that's the thing, he strives to be fulfilled- if he feels the need to snack or is hungry later then it wasn't a very good meal now, was it?

Afters, appetisers, the main course- the entire dining experience is something he enjoys and happily indulges in the whole shebang without restraint.

This lack of peckishness may also have something to do with the sheer amount of coffee this man drinks. If he were mortal, he might be feeling some not so positive side effects after all these decades of consuming continuous mugfuls of strong black coffee, but as an almost immortal being he's able to live the tortured artist's caffeinated dream.

That being said, he does still enjoy the odd sweet from time to time, but is partial to more traditional forms: sugared fruits, marzipan, and nougat.

22: What is your muse most thankful for?

Ooooohh, this one is difficult to answer.

it really depends on who's asking and because they're so vastly different, I'll tell you both.

If a friend or family member were to ask him, he’d say something snarky like, ‘being left alone’ or ‘watching you drive away.’ Maybe he’d say ‘my own good common sense’ or ‘my incredible ability to put up with your bullshit’, depending on who the asker is. This is obviously not a real answer and whomever he’s talking to knows this, but it’s England’s way of trying to slyly deflect away from something that might surface emotions and he can never have that.

If pushed, he might give a more practical answer, like ‘running water’ or ‘central heating’- both of which are very boring answers but also genuine ones. Practically all of the nations aside from those under 200 or so will relate to this strongly- the ability to just turn on a tapinside your home and have clean, safe water to drink?? And it comes in different temperatures??? Witchcraft.

England’s spent about 90% of his life without these luxuries and he is being genuine when he says that both are something he is thankful for, the same as having regular food to eat or a bed to sleep on, or more than one set of clothes. These in particular are more felt by the older nations than the relatively newer ex-colonies, an appreciation grown from a childhood where these were not guaranteed and there was no one to look after him but himself.

England is still careful with food. He will save leftovers rather than waste them and will use every part of an animal when he buys meat. He will eat things past the ‘best before’ date and will fix any leaking tap the second he notices that water is dripping from it, will repair and mend his clothes rather than throw them away. These are not things he stresses about anymore and he enjoys being able to chose to do this. If he doesn’t mend his worn clothes, he can very easily buy new ones, but also? He likes this jacket. Loves that coat. Prefers how that particular pair of boots fit around his heel. He’s eaten worse, far, far worse, and a tin of soup a year past its best before date won’t kill him, nor will it be inedible.

But this is still not the truest answer he could give. To himself, England will admit that he’s most thankful for stability. To be able to go to bed at night mostly sure of what he will wake up to. To be sure that there is medicine in his hospitals, money in his banks. That the people who called themselves his leaders today were the same ones as yesterday. That boats of food will come in for his people to eat and trade will go out for them to sell. That he can be sure that he will endure and keep on going without worry of invasion, war, famine, or plague.

This isn’t guaranteed; he knows this. But it’s the most guaranteed it’s ever been and this is what he is the most thankful for.

[mxpseudonym]

Just Good Business

Pairing: Tommy x Reader 

Reader Gender Expression: She/Her pronouns, feminine clothing descriptions

Summary: You are forced to marry Tommy Shelby, but that doesn’t mean you have to make things easy for him. 

Length: 1671 words (allegedly)

Warnings: Mentions of forced marriage. Otherwise Bad bitch, chaotic energy and some justified (non violent) rage. 

A/N: This was very fun to write! 

Also there’s going to be a NSFW part II because the tension? The sheer sexual tension?? Yeah, it needs to happen. 

Part II

--

Being a bit impossible to pin down is what you're known for, and you liked that. It was your grandmother who taught you how to be difficult. 

When they try to smooth your edges, rip the sandpaper. 

You didn't have a natural place in polite society, your family knew this. But your father wasn't going to let you into the family business, either. So he took your brother, your imbecile of a brother, and let him lead instead. Two years later, you're sitting at a dinner table in a fancy restaurant with your parents, your brother who can't look you in the eye, and two gangsters from Birmingham. You could tell they were gangsters because they smelled like new money, and had guns under their blazers. One was an older woman Polly Shelby, and the other was her nephew, Thomas Shelby. 

You thought it was any other business meeting, but your brother was fidgeting the way he did when you were younger, and he stole your necklace and broke it but didn't want to tell you. He was hiding something big. Luckily for him and unluckily for you, it quickly became abundantly clear. 

"Let's get right to it, we'll settle the debt, put in an accountant who will manage to unfuck you, and take 45% of the resulting profit," Tommy Shelby laid the cards on the table. Your face contorted in confusion. What debt? 

"Alright, it's done," your father said, a quiver in his voice along with relief. 

"What? That's a terrible bargain," you scoffed. The way your mother turned away, her eyes tearing up, and your brother practically quivering beside you. You met the eyes of Polly Shelby, and something about them told you to brace yourself. 

"Is your daughter still upholding the marriage to our dear Thomas?" Polly asked. For a moment, you thought you blacked out. For a moment, you thought you'd forgotten you had a sister. For a moment, you assumed it wasn't the 1920's but the 17-fucking-40's where you may have come with some livestock as well. 

"So this is it, huh? This is why you let me go to Paris with my friends last week, Mum? And why Dad said he'd buy me a car? And why Graham won't stop fucking fidgeting?" You asked, looking to your brother who just grimaced at you. There was no out, and you knew it. 

"Don't make a scene, y/n," your father told you, tired already as if he'd put up some great fight. 

"Well? Are we on?" Polly got us back on track. "I'll need to hear it from her." You looked down at your handbag until you saw the emerald color and not a blinding red.

"You'll take 10% of the resulting profits," you finally said. If you were getting given away, it was going to be at least a good deal. 

"40," the deep, Brummie voice of Thomas Shelby came to the party. Your eyes flicked up to meet his icy blue ones. 

"12."

"35."

"15."

"33%, and you can go to Paris as much as you'd like," he said his final offer with a smirk. If you weren't so fueled by anger, you'd appreciate it.

"18%, I go to Paris as much as I want, and I won't make your life a living hell. Maybe I'll even kiss you goodbye in the morning, my love," you said in the most charming voice you could muster, which wasn't very. He'd never tell you that's when he knew he liked you, but he didn't have to. You landed on an even 25%. You could go to Paris, he'd get his morning goodbye kiss and some peace from time to time, and you'd get a car that was better than anything your father had planned. You shook on it yourself. 

"Welcome to the Shelby's," Polly said when she grasped your hand. You grabbed your bag and turned to Tommy.

"If the car's not a Hispano-Suiza, 2% of that profit comes directly to me," you warned him before walking away.

You should've fucking known that it would be at least partially an adventure. At first, you were mad. You allowed yourself to be easily swayed in the wedding planning, saying yes to the most frivolous things.

"500 bloody pounds for a dress you'll wear once?!" Tommy all but shouted and threw down the receipt on the desk of his office. You sat unnerved in the seat in front of him.

"Once, on the most important day of my life," you said, giving a brief pout and nothing else. Tommy rubbed his chin as he went to refill his glass of whiskey.

"Stubborn, reckless, outlandish even. Sure, you're all of those things. But spoiled? That's a surprise," he said, almost disappointed. You rolled your eyes at his little act. 

"Come off it, Shelby. I have very little in this world, least of all a family I can trust. Everything I do have is about to belong to you because I'm a woman with nothing but familial debt. So don't stand there and lecture me about the rights and wrongs of acting out, Thomas. You and my father only listen to money." You stood and were halfway to the door when Tommy blocked your way. 

"You've threatened to run away if you had to live with your parents, so we've put you in a grand apartment in London. You have your parties there with all your friends. You spend all the money you'd like and more. When will it end?" He asked. You wondered if he actually cared about the stability of your coping mechanisms, or about you. His hand came up to brush your waist. It was all you needed to come back to your senses.  You took a breath and looked up at him.

"Until I'm satisfied," You decided. 

Polly was something between annoyed and amused at you. You were loud, as subtle as a cannon, and possibly more stubborn than her nephew. There wasn't a week that went by where Tommy wasn't talking about something you'd done. 

"Tommy, have you tried going along with something she says?" Polly suggested one day when you'd called not finding a proper wedding venue an "emergency." Tommy leaned back in thought, then picked up the phone. Perhaps his aunt was right... like usual.

"If this is kidnap, it's very ironic," you said as you stumbled along the gravel. Your ridiculous fiancé had taken you to an undisclosed location. Now, the only thing guiding you was Tommy, whose hand was over your eyes. 

"It's not a kidnapping. On the contrary, I've come to take you home," Tommy said before his hand lifted. You blinked the blur away to see a large house. Well, let's call a spade a spade. It was a mansion if you'd ever seen one. 

"Holy hell," you breathed.

"This is Arrow House, Ms. y/l/n. It's got everything you could need and hopefully what you want. Here's a map." He pulled a thick piece of paper from his coat pocket. "Let me know if I've missed anything."

Crying wasn't in your repertoire. Even the events of the past few months hadn't done you in. But, you made an exception and allowed a few to leak while you looked around. You could feel your betrothed’s eyes watching you take it all in, but it didn't matter when the home was breathtaking. When you came back to the foyer, you couldn't help but tweak an eyebrow at Tommy. 

"Have you got a crush on me, Shelby?" You asked, or accused rather. He just chuckled and grabbed your hand, leading you towards the door.

"Let's go see the stables."

The wedding was grander than was even sensible. Tommy didn't know how you forged the guest list or who most of these people were, but you told him if he helped you hang drapes, you'd explain your itemized list. Now that was a sight to see. You could only stand it for a bit and did what you usually did at parties. You found quiet place on a balcony overlooking the wedding reception turned memorable party that spilled into the large venue's gardens. 

"Well, we've done it, Mrs. Shelby," Tommy said, walking up from behind you with two champagne glasses. You took one with a broad smile. 

"Thank you, Mr. Shelby. I'd have to agree."

"Are you having a good time?"

"Sure, are you? This is your wedding gift," you said, motioning to the crowds.

"And how is that?" He looked over the railing with you. You started pointing people out.

"Over there is the Commissioner and his wife's sister. London police chief over there with his mistress. Lady Catherine Wilcox, one of the most influential socialites in the country, is by the fountain. She's been eyeing Arthur all night too. And so on." You nodded triumphantly. "At those parties I was having in London, I only said good things about you, which is annoying to admit but here we are. Thomas Shelby, your wedding is your introduction to the upper echelon society." He turned and leaned against the railing, and you followed his lead. 

"I guess I owe you a thank you," he said. 

"I’d say so. You’re on several guest lists and incredibly important customer lists now.”��You cupped your ear and leaned closer. “Let's hear it.”

"Thank you, y/n." He rolled his eyes, then looked at you with a sigh. "Are you happy, then?" He asked.

"Better, I'm satisfied."

With a clink of your glasses, your relationship could begin. And when Tommy leaned in to kiss you, you didn't pull away. 

"This seems like a crush," were your first words when you parted.

"You're the one who made us late to the ceremony," he pointed out.

"No one even noticed."

"I think they did," he begged to differ. 

"You weren't supposed to come to find me before the wedding. It's bad luck," you tsked Tommy, taking another sip of the bubbling drink, which did nothing to help the heat creeping up your neck. 

"Just had to make sure you didn't run off." He shrugged but moved closer to whisper in your ear. "And I believe, Mrs. Shelby, the dress wasn't even on yet."

"Don't get your hopes up, it meant nothing." You waved it away, not convinced or convincing. Tommy nodded then kissed you again. 

"Right, right. It's just good business." 

--

Tommy Tag List: @soleil-dor

[boymeetsweevil]

SS6 - MYG, FLUFF, 2900w

For @bangtancentricsblogsmain​ because i wanted her to suffer :)

At 3pm, on a Thursday, there’s a knock on Yoongi’s bedroom door. He had come through that very same door not an hour earlier to lock himself away from the world after a particularly draining day. After dropping his bag somewhere on the ground, he showered, removed his contacts, and pushed the laundry waiting to be folded over to the other half of his bed in record time.

Normally he would have joined his roommate and their mutual friend circle who were seated on the couch in the communal living room, eating snacks and watching a game. But this time he begged out with a quiet mumble about needing rest.

When Hoseok knocks, Yoongi makes a feeble sound to signal he’s still, unfortunately, awake.

“What,” Yoongi grumbles. 

He attempts to sit up on one pale elbow and then decides against it. Hoseok’s lips twitch up at how cranky Yoongi is pre-nap before sinking back down as his expression darkens into a pitying and somber mix.

“She’s here. And, uh, she’s asking for you.” Hoseok’s eyes dart back to some unseen spot in the living room.

“Tell her I’m asleep.”

“I know you’re not asleep, Yoongi!” Your voice rings from outside the bedroom and Hoseok cringes sympathetically.

“I’ll just leave,” Hoseok says when you shove your torso through the crack in the doorway.

You wait to start speaking until the bedroom door is shut and the noises from the TV outside wash away.

“Why haven’t you been answering my texts?”

“Sorry, I’ve been busy,” is all you get.

The backpack you carry drops unceremoniously to the ground with a thud and any dregs of sleep cloying to Yoongi’s brain vanish with the sound. It’s with a valiant effort that he shoves his face deeper into his pillow. You cock your head to look at your best friend and snort at him.

Yoongi’s glasses are skewed across his face. There are thin pink lines marring the left side of his face from lying pressed to the wrinkled sheets with glasses on. The platinum blond waves of his hair, normally coiffed styled, are squashed flat against his forehead. Rarely ever does he look this rumpled and it’s hilarious.

“That’s okay, I’ll just tell you what I wrote in the texts,” you say as you make your way further into Yoongi’s small room. 

A look down at your feet shows him that you’ve shoved your feet into the pair of bunny slippers he got for guests you when he and Hoseok first moved in almost a year ago.

“Basically,” you continue. “There’s good news and there’s bad news. Pick one.” You help yourself to his desk chair and swivel it so it faces him.

“Bad news first,” Yoongi says after some deliberation. He pulls the covers up to his chin more securely.

“Smart choice,” you nod sagely. “The bad news is I’m gonna have to paint your face.”

“What the hell,” Yoongi barks.

“But the good news is that I have a new job as a face painter at the kids’ section of the farmer’s market this season!”

“How is that good news for me?”

“It means I’ll be slightly less broke and I can stop asking you to buy me breakfast before our 9am.”

Yoongi doesn’t really know whether to laugh or to cry. Firstly, there’s no way in hell he’s letting you paint his face. You’ve always been shit at drawing and letting you showcase that on his skin doesn’t do him any favors. Secondly, he’s in his twenties and he doesn’t even go to the farmer’s market. There’s no reason for him to set foot on the town commons during sunny Saturdays for local produce, much less to get his face painted next to a pen full of smelly goats and screaming kids. He’s just not seeing the connection between you getting this job and him getting his face painted. He stares at you with the hope that you’ll back off but he finds that you’re just blinking back at him with a huge, proud pretty grin.

For a moment Yoongi wants to smile back like things are normal. He wants to put on a groan and act like he’s annoyed that he’s been “forced” to order you sugary coffee drinks and muffins using his own money for longer than he can remember. He wants to gently muss your hair to see you make that cute shocked face you always make. But he can’t. 

Because if he does all that, he might slip up again like he did last weekend. 

At 10:24pm, Friday of last week, Yoongi told you he loved you while one small bottle of liquid courage was sloshing away in his stomach. After seconds of silence ticked by like the bangs of a gong, you replied. A sing-songy ‘Aww. I love you too, Yoongi’ and a light pat on the arm. Your words were basically the mirror image of his, but somehow also starkly different. Disappointment walked him home early that night and embarrassment laid him low the following week.

But it was just a week, he’d reasoned with himself, you’d hardly notice anyway...

“Yoongi? You okay?”

“No,” he hisses and shakes his head gently to dislodge memories of that pathetic weekend.

“Are you sure?”

“Why do you need to paint my face?”

“For practice! The market doesn’t open for another month but I need to get good. Jungkook said that if I do it really well the parents will leave bigger tips.”

“So Jungkook is behind all this.”

“Yeah,” you chirp. “He’s been really helpful in the last week. Usually I’d vent to you about how broke I am but since you were so busy, I ended up hanging out with Kook. He’s honestly really resourceful and he got me the job really fast.”

The hairs on the back of Yoongi’s neck bristle at the mention of the younger “peer”. Jungkook was a constant presence at group hangouts for a long while but Yoongi could only ever think of him as a friend of a friend. There was something smarmy about the guy’s smile that he didn’t like. And the way he was always draping himself over you, teasing you, buying you food that was all his job. He can’t put his finger on what it is exactly, but something about Jungkook always put Yoongi in a shit mood.

Yoongi curses under his breath. “Why couldn’t he get you a job at the cotton candy station or managing the photo booth or something?”

“What’s up with you lately? Do you really hate the idea of helping me that much?”

“It’s just annoying,” Yoongi huffs childishly from under the blanket.

“Fine, I’ll just ask Jungkook, then.”

“No! Wait!” Your eyes flash with hope. “I’ll do it. Just—don’t bother him. Since he already gave you the job, I mean.”

“Oh, thank god. I felt really bad about asking him for even more help.”

You turn around and pull out a face painting kit from thin air and begin scooting the desk chair towards the bed. When you’re close enough, you frown.

“What?” Yoongi sniffs at his sheets for good measure. All clean.

“Nothing. It’s just...” You look down at the ground and then the chair and then at Yoongi before looking at the chair again. “I usually practice on shorter surfaces so I can get used to working with the kids.”

“Oh, just pull the little lever underneath the chair. Raising and lowering the chair is Hoseok’s favorite thing to do when he comes in here, I swear.”

You reach under the seat like Yoongi instructed, find the little lever, and tug. There’s a low hissing sound before the seat suddenly drops 5 inches. You let out a yelp while Yoongi tries to stifle a laugh at your terrified expression.

“I guess—I guess Hoseok pulled the lever too much,” Yoongi’s voice creaks with laughter. Even when you flick him in the forehead he keeps laughing.

“Yoongi, this isn’t funny. I need to practice.”

“Just so you know there’s no way I’m getting on the floor. I’ve changed my clothes and I’m actually in the bed.”

He knows he’s being a bit of a dick at the moment, but he’s only trying to rile you up. He’s not expecting you to start to get up on the bed after flipping him off. The laundry he placed on his bed that morning to force himself to fold now laughs at him from its position shoved against the wall.

“W-what are you doing?”

“I need to be higher than you to paint your face. And you’re not getting up, right?”

“Well, no. But—”

“So this is where I’m gonna work.”

You shrug like it’s not a big deal that you’re straddling him. Like it’s not a big fucking deal that your soft thighs now rest on either side of his torso, that you casually rest a hand on his ribcage while setting up the painting kit along his sternum. He hopes your hand stays further south only to prevent the rapid beating of his heart from being discovered under your palm.

“What design do you want,” your voice is quiet now that you’re closer. 

Makes sense. No need to yell. But it still drives Yoongi crazy that you’re basically whispering in his ear as you lean over him to grab at the unused cup of water behind the bed frame. You revive your paints with the water while he tries to keep his breathing in check, lest he cause your paints to tumble off his torso and stain his sheets in a pastel rainbow.

“Uhh, how about an old style tiger?”

“Really,” you deadpan, “I tell you I’m just starting to learn to paint and you ask for a tiger?”

“Fine. Stars, then.” He gulps when you look right at him, face flushing to create the perfect pink canvas.

“Oh, I can do that. No reference needed.”

It seems deadly quiet in Yoongi’s room. The sounds of the living room long since died down when a crowd favorite started playing and captured everyone’s attention. Now there’s only yours and his intermingled breathing and the sound of your brush tinkling against glass.

You lean down from your perch to focus on carving out a swatch of night sky to blanket Yoongi’s stars. Your breath softly puffs low against his left cheek at the same moment the wet tip of the paintbrush hits his skin. His breath hitches a little and he’s not sure which is the culprit.

“Hold still, okay?” Your words come out in a whisper. 

“Okay,” he whispers back.

Minutes pass and two shaky stars are born on Yoongi’s cheekbone. You shift around on his chest to stabilize yourself and in your movement you lose your footing a little, your right leg slipping off the edge of the mattress.

“Ah—”

“I got you,” Yoongi grunts a little as his hands fly to your hips.

He easily stops your momentum and your paints, clutched desperately in your hands, remain safe from the ground. The pads of his fingers are still dug lightly into the meat of your hips and waist. In that moment you remember just how big Yoongi’s hands are.

“T-thanks.”

“No problem.” 

A slow grin spreads on Yoongi’s face when he notices that suddenly you can’t make eye contact like you were just a few moments prior.

You do your best to continue, but your gaze keeps flitting to his, only to find that he’s already looking at you. It sets something hot aflutter in your chest. The points of the stars that you thought you had a handle on turn soft and wobbly once more. 

“Look up,” you ask when you’re out of other options and keep having to paint over your work.

Yoongi has to bite his tongue to keep from chuckling at how jittery you seem. It feels good to know that the effects of this proximity are mutual, that you’re feeling just as lightheaded from sitting in his lap as he is from having you sit in it.

“You almost done?” He drawls. He’s been counting the small irregularities in the paint on his ceiling to keep entertained.

“Uh, yeah, almost.”

He feels the cold kiss of the brush tip once, twice more before it returns to its makeshift home of the water glass with a clink.

“Do you...wanna see what it looks like,” you sit up then. 

There’s a small hand mirror across the room that you’re eyeing. But he stops you with a squeeze to your hips, reminding you that his hands have been resting there this whole time.

“Just use my phone,” he nods to the device lying abandoned in the sheets. “Take a picture.”

“Okay.”

For some reason, your hands are shaking even with the paintbrush gone and the need for focus lifted. Mechanically you wake Yoongi’s phone from sleep and access the camera app to take a photo, shifting your weight to your knees to get above him and snap a pic. Curiosity makes you open the photo album app to see the photo you just took instead of showing it to him first. The result takes your breath away. 

Yoongi looks blissfully content, almost smugly so, as he gazes up at the camera. The stars under his eyes and on the bridge of his nose look like glowing yellow freckles amidst the banner of deep navy and rich purples you used to craft the sky across his cheekbones. The paint looks good and it’s probably even your best job yet, but you can’t help yourself from looking elsewhere.

Yoongi’s tousled bed head, soft sleep shirt, and dreamy eyes bring a cloud of butterflies to your stomach. The final killer touch of the photo is the fact that your knees just barely enter the bottom of the photo. Yoongi’s hands rest on each one like they belong there.

“Yoongi.” You breathe his name like a sigh and that’s when he surges up, as if to catch his name on your lips.

The kiss takes you by surprise and you tumble down to him in a soft pile of limbs. He hums a long, pleased sound when your weight settles on top of him. The hands he had on your knees suddenly grow restless and they amble up your thighs, up your waist, around your back. His hands are ever busy gliding over as much of you as they can in the moments that you let your lips press firmly against his.

Idly you pick out the details you notice with your eyes drifting closed. Yoongi’s breath leaves his nose in puffs against your face and his sighs echo quiet in your ears. His hair is soft between your fingers and so is the collar of the worn shirt that he’s wearing. The sheets that have raised around you like makeshift linen mountains smell just like Yoongi’s sweet soap, warmed with sleep.

“Shouldn’t we—”, he plants a kiss on your mouth, “shouldn’t we talk about this,” you mumble against his lips.

Yoongi’s hands stop in their tracks along the midpoint of your spine. The sigh he lets out is long suffering.

“Sorry. I just—I got carried away.”

“I mean, you don’t have to apologize for it. I just...thought you saw me as a friend.”

“Do friends confess their love for each other? That’s new.”

“L-love?” Your eyes turn wide and starry. “When have either of us ever confessed our love?”

“Well, I did. At the bar. Or did you have to block that memory out?”

Your brow furrows at the self-deprecating turn his smile takes and you clasp one of his still-wandering hands.

“You mean—Yoongi, I thought you were just being mushy. I thought you meant, like, ‘I love that we’re all here together as friends right now’. If I had known that was a real confession,” you trail off.

“You what?” 

Yoongi’s mood elevates once more, enjoying the sudden turn your rambling is taking. Teasingly he bucks his hips under you, startling you out of your bashful silence and forcing you to press two hands to his chest for balance. A cute little sound leaves your lips and he’s tempted to do it again.

“You were saying,” he grins up at you and his hands start to wander once again.

“I would have—”

“Baby, speak up.” He’s all coos but there’s a little venom in his voice. He likes how embarrassed you are.

“I would have left with you that night. If I had known.”

His shirt wrinkles up where your fingers twist anxiously. Normally you trample through Yoongi’s space, no shame or hesitation in the way you leave him on his toes. It had always been a fun game for you to see how close you could get before he’d have to draw a line, before his besotted smile would become too hard to hide. But now you’re not so sure you can handle it directed at you in all its glory.

“That’s a nice idea,” he says. 

In one moment he looks like he’s really weighing the idea, serious in his appraisal. The next moment he’s tugging you down when you least expect it, bringing a corner of the blanket to envelope you both. Under the cover of weak darkness, he threads a hand through the hair at the base of your neck. 

“Why don’t you tell me about it?”

[breadoffoxy]

Breaking Point

Summary: Jimin and Taehyung fulfill their promise of breaking your chair. Don’t worry, they’ll buy you a new one.

Pairing: Jimin x f. Reader x Taehyung

Genre: Smut, NSFW

Warnings: NSFW, Smut, Threesome, FMM, unsafe sex, chair sex, be smart and don’t break furniture via sex, oral sex, language, dirty talk, vaginal sex, mirror sex, exhibitionism, fingering, Jimin has his tattoo

Word Count: 3,086

A/N: Got a hot steamy vmin sandwich for you @bangtanloverboys​ and @tipsydipsydo​, hope it feeds yall well. It’s crazy to me that people are excited for this so I hope it meets yall’s expectations.

<- prev     next ->

"Umph." You grunt as you are unceremoniously pushed into your uncomfortable desk chair.

The desk chair was a standard cheap leather one you picked up on clearance back at a store's go back to school sale. It is meant to be a cheap college student's go to, making it perfect for your budget. It also had everything you required in a desk chair: a tall back, arm rests, and wheels.  

Jimin and Taehyung stand above you, examining your naked form. They are debating on how to destroy you and the chair in two completely different ways.  

Suddenly, Jimin snaps his fingers and exclaims. "I got it."  

Jimin turns towards Taehyung and leans into him so his chest presses into his friend’s side. Jimin’s hands come up to wrap around Tae’s waist almost lazily. He doesn’t take his eyes off you as he whispers something in Taehyung’s ear. There is a glint in his eyes that screams of dirty promises. You know it is trouble as soon as you see Tae's grin grow wolfish. You watch Taehyung move around your chair, planning to keep your eyes on him.

"You know, the bed is literally right there." You point across the room to your bed nestled in a corner, but something catches you completely off guard.  

The movement of black cloth attracts your gaze and you are met with Jimin removing his shirt. Your eyes roam his torso hungrily, the black Nevermind tattoo contrasting with his skin, and Jimin preens under your gaze.

"Like what you see, y/n?" Jimin asks with a tilt of his head. His hands move down his body, slowly and teasingly.  

Before you can see any other revealed skin, you are suddenly spun around with the chair. You yelp, gripping the arm rests as Taehyung wheels you a little forward.  

"Oh, I know I do." Taehyung purrs as you now come face to face with your floor length mirror that is leaning up against the wall.  

The person in front of you is one you barely recognize. You are a disheveled mess, practically drooling at the sight of your hot friend shirtless. Your hair is tousled and unkempt, perky chest bobbing with each breath, erect nipples protruding painfully, and a darkening stain on the chair between your legs that shows how you still desire more. You cross your legs, hoping to hide yourself, but large hands on your thighs stop you.

"No need to be shy Princess." Taehyung insists as he walks to one side of you.

Gingerly, Taehyung slips a hand under one of your knees and kneads into the soft flesh of your calf. He lifts your leg and stretches it up and over the adjacent arm rest. He walks back around to the other side of the chair and does the same thing for your other leg. You are now completely exposed, glistening core reflecting back at you from the mirror.

You try to turn your head, but Taehyung, who has walked back behind you now, uses one hand to grab your chin and direct your gaze back to the mirror. His other hand travels down your collar bone, to greedily grope at your breast. You feel arousal build up at each squeeze and pull, and at the sight of your juices leaking out of your center.

"Look at how needy you are." Taehyung's lips brush over your ears as he whispers to you. "What else do you desire, Princess?"  

The hand holding your chin leaves, and your gaze is enraptured at seeing it slide between your legs. Long fingers trace around your pussy, kindering a fluttering arousal, but avoiding where you desire most. The memory of those fingers fucking into you has your hips bucking up. In retaliation, he cups your center with his large hand, pushing you back and not allowing you to move your hips. His other hand pinches and twists at your sensitive nipple.

"Nnngh Tae..." you whine pitifully.  

"I thought you were told to use your words, hmmm?" Taehyung hums into your ear, sounding way too pleased with himself.  

"Tae please- nnnngh" It's hard for you to talk when Taehyung starts rubbing your cunt with the palm of his hand and rolling your nipple under his thumb. "I want t-to see your fingers- nnngh ahhh fuck, I want to see them fuck me."

You both groan at the feeling and the sight displayed in the mirror of three of Taehyung's fingers easily slipping into your wet pussy. They slide in and out of you at a slow pace, a squelching sound filling the air at each movement. A different need fills you once Jimin steps into view. His eyes meet yours in the mirror as he gives his girthy cock a few pumps.  

All of a sudden, Taehyung's hands leave your body and the chair is turned swiftly 90 degrees. The sudden movement disorients you, but you are quickly aware of the chiseled abs and hard dick straining in front of you.

"May I?" You ask, voice soft and quiet.

Jimin gulps at your pleading look. "Of course, Princess."

Your fingers are instantly on Jimin's muscular body, trailing up his thick thighs, tracing along his abs, and then sliding a hand over his hot, thick cock.

"Shit." Jimin grunts as you copy his pumping motions from earlier. His hands find purchase on your hips and drags your ass towards the end of the chair.  

With your vagina now in dick range, you line up Jimin's cock with your entrance, ready to plunge it into you. However, a large hand wraps around your form from behind to rest over your own to guide your movements instead. You watch as Taehyung moves your hand, thus Jimin's dick to slide teasingly up and down your folds. Jimin and you hiss from the action, and his hips stutter forward as he feels your wet heat against his cock. Jimin has enough teasing when his dick is rubbed against your clit, making you mewl.

"Fuck, Taehyung, I need to be inside y/n so bad." Jimin moans. His desperation, along with your own, sends a gush of arousal to wet his dick.

"Fuck." Taehyung mirrors.  

His hand pulls yours away from Jimin's cock to rest it upon your breast that was not occupied by his talented hand. He encourages you to follow his movements, which you quickly pick up on. He repeats the same with your other hand, you now fondling yourself hungrily. Looping his arms under yours he curves his back away from the chair. One of his legs props up behind one of the wheeled legs, ready to brace the incoming wreckage.

"You ready, y/n?" Jimin asks, now lining up his cock with your entrance once again.

"Yes, Jimin I need you so bad. I'm so fucking horny." You cry desperately.

"Don't worry, we can help with that." Jimin smiles down at you, his angelic expression contrasting the sinful scene.

"He's got quite the magical dick too, you know." Taehyung confirms.

You don't have much time to ponder about the meaning behind those words until the proclaimed magical dick thrusts into your greedy, little hole. Jimin's hips swivel into yours before he nearly slides out, before slamming into you again. The pace is quick and ruthless, and with the angle you are at you can't do too much besides take all he is giving you.

"Ohhhhh, Jimin, yes!" You howl.  

The movements of your hands become messy as your groping turns wilder. Your breasts are bouncing heavily with each thrust making them nearly jump out of your desperate grip. Head falling to the side, you suddenly remember the mirror. Your gaze shoots to it and you clench tightly around Jimin as you watch his profile fuck you. His muscles are straining and shining with sweat as he focuses on pounding into you. The look you see Taehyung giving the two of you makes the pressure in your center increase.

Looking up at Taehyung, his blown-out eyes stare into your own. His tongue traces his lips as he watches the pleasure writhe across your face.

"Mmmnngh ooooh yes, feel so good." you whine, voice high and needy.  

The chair underneath you is rocking heavily as well. Taehyung supporting your upper body with his arms and stabilizing the wheels with his foot seems to do very little for the old chair. A loud snap cuts through the sounds of Jimin's balls smacking your ass, and your lusty moans turns into a surprised yelp as you fall backwards. The arms around you tighten and keeps you from falling on your ass and hurting your back. However, it doesn't stop the bottom of the chair from rolling forward and smacking Jimin's legs hard, and the back slamming into Taehyung.

"Oomph." Taehyung is winded from the fall but is somehow able to keep a hold of you.  

With your weak legs and stretched out position, it was hard for you to move on your own. Jimin quickly rights himself from his stumble and helps you get your legs off the rolled-out bottom half of the chair. He swoops you into his arms, allowing Taehyung to finally stagger back, making the back of the chair crash to the floor.  

"You ok?" Jimin's voice is filled with concern as he looks you over worriedly.  

"Yeah, you and Tae saved me." You eye his bruise with a wince. "What about you?"

"Ah, this?" Jimin looks down at his leg, shaking it for good measure, before smiling at you reassuringly. "This is nothing." He looks over his shoulder towards his partner in crime. "Tae?"

"I'll be fine." Taehyung huff out, a hand poking at his chest experimentally with a wince.

"This was such an awful idea." You stomp over to Taehyung and lift up his shirt.

"Woah, there. If you wanted my shirt off all you had to do was ask." Taehyung winks at you.

He lifts his shirt up carefully the rest of the way before shucking it off, revealing his toned torso. He isn't as built as Jimin, but his muscles twitch appreciatively as your hands carefully ghost over his skin. He winces again as your fingers trace around the bruise blossoming on his chest.

"Shit, we should take you to the doctor." You say worriedly.

Taehyung grabs your hand in his and squeezes it reassuringly. "I'm fine y/n." He looks over your shoulder to look Jimin straight in the eye. "Honest."

Jimin clenches his jaw, huffing as he makes steps closer to you two. The worry radiates off of him in waves. "I am so sorry, this is-"

Taehyung lifts a finger to Jimin's lips, silencing him. "Seriously, I'm fine you don't - owwww stop that." Taehyung squeaks as Jimin prods harshly at the bruise.

"Do not shush me." Jimin grunts, smacking Taehyung's hand away from his face, his worry making him angry. He continues to prod at Taehyung's chest and gauges Taehyung's reactions.

"You're right, it just feels like a bruise." Jimin sighs with relief. "I'm getting you some fucking ice though."  

Sighing, Taehyung sits on the broken chair as Jimin storms off to grab some ice. The concern in your eyes makes him frown. "Aww, come on y/n. How many times do I need to say it?" He whines, motioning you over.  

You follow his command and find yourself kneeling in front of him.  

"I'm supposed to be the one taking care of you." He grumbles. His fingers trailing a path down the curve of your breast.

"And you have." You respond reassuringly.  

Your hands trail up his thighs to give a gentle squeeze, and that is when you notice the boner hiding in his pants. He simply shrugs at the raised eyebrow you give him.  

"Maybe I can return the favor?" You question with a tilt of your head.  

Taehyung swallows heavily and nods. This only makes you shake your head.

"I thought we were supposed to use our words TaeTae?" You repeat salaciously.

"That's right Princess." Taehyung's eyes turn dark at your challenge. "I want you to suck on my cock. Make me cum in your mouth just as I made you cum in mine." He smirks at the sight of you rubbing your wet thighs together. "Think you can do that for me y/n?"

You nearly growl as you pull at his pants. He laughs as he stands up to help you rip them off of him. Free of any clothes now he sits back down on the broken chair and plants his feet firmly on the ground so it doesn't wheel around.  

Scooting between his legs, you place your hands on his thighs to spread them out a little more. You stare at his dick completely mesmerized. It was a nice cock, beautifully long and fat.

You lick your lips in anticipation. Excitement filled you but also a tiny bit of worry. You weren't sure if you could get that monster all the way down your tight throat. Hell, it would probably even rip your pussy apart.

As if sensing your hesitation, large hands come to run through your tresses, to grip the back of your head reassuringly. “Don’t worry y/n.” Taehyung’s hands pull your face closer to his cock. “Just open up, and I’ll guide you through it.”

A whine escapes you as you do what he says. You stick your tongue out, ready to take him whole.

“Fuck, you are so good for me princess.” Taehyung hums, slowly sliding his cock on your tongue and into your wanting mouth. He uses the grip he has on your head to slowly bob you up and down his length.  

The tip of his dick hits the back of your throat, making you gag around his thick cock. With him busy guiding your head, you move a hand in-between your legs. You never did come earlier, and your pussy is still clenching with want.

A growl escapes Taehyung as you look up at him with wide, teary eyes. The site of your mouth choking on his dick, and your hand rubbing vigorously at your clit has Taehyung increasing the pace. Drool escapes your stuffed mouth along with your hungry moans. Your sounds mix in beautifully with the deep grunts escaping Taehyung’s parted mouth.

“Well, you two waste no time.” Jimin huffs, stepping up behind Taehyung. Taehyung and you were so occupied, you didn’t even notice when he entered the room. Jimin wraps his arms around Taehyung’s chest and holds the towel wrapped ice pack to the bruised skin.

“Ahh, her mouth is so good, Jimin.” Taehyung moans, his hands tightening around your head.

Putting one of his hands on Taehyung’s chin, Jimin leans over Taehyung and tilts his friend’s head up to kiss him on the mouth, slowly and passionately. Tugging at his upper lip in the upside-down kiss, Jimin pulls away to ask, “How’s my mouth, hmm?”

“Mmngh, love it.” Taehyung moans against Jimin’s lips. He gives him a quick peck before adding, “but y/n’s is on my cock- nnnng.” He trails off with a moan as you suck, hallowing out your cheeks. “So I may just- ahhhh fuck, maybe a little biased right now.”

Jimin looks down at Taehyung’s cock thrusting into you and hums appreciatevely. “And you’re doing such a good job stuffing her. I guess I need to finish off the job I started too.” He finishes with a short kiss.  

Taehyung holds a hand to the icepack on his chest, allowing Jimin to trail away and out of your line of vision. You whine in appreciation as you feel something hard and familiar slide against your cunt. Your core clenches, trying to take him in once again. It doesn’t take long until your wish is granted when Jimin’s cock spears into you. The vibrations from your wanton moans send vibrations along Taehyung’s cock, making him quiver inside of you.

Blearily through teary eyes, you see from the corner of your vision the reflection from the mirror. The sight of you spit roasted between your two best friends has you gushing and clenching around Jimin, who is kneeled behind you. Your hips thrust back into his, the site and rhythm bringing close to your edge.

The mewls coming from you are loud and unending despite Taehyung’s cock as you feel the pressure building up inside your core once again. Being left hanging earlier makes feel the oncoming of your orgasm so much quicker. You’ve never felt this good, this full, or this hungry for cock ever before. It only takes a few more snaps from Jimin’s powerful hips and you are screaming around Taehyung’s cock and creaming Jimin’s.

Your orgasm causes a chain reaction. The tightening of your pussy around his cock and the gushing, hot release coating him makes Jimin moan as he shoots his own release into you. The sight of both Jimin’s and your’s quivering, orgasmic bodies sends Taehyung over the edge as well. He fulfills his promise from earlier and comes into your mouth. His hot seed trails down your throat and you dutifully milk him dry and swallow like the good girl you are.

With a pop, you slide your mouth off Taehyung’s dick, a string of saliva stretched thing between you two. When Jimin pulls out of you, you collapse on the ground with a moan, and your tattooed friend nearly falls on top of you. You snuggle into his open arms with a satisfied smile on your lips. A warm body lies behind you, and Taehyung wraps his arms around the two of you, effectively putting you in a very cuddly, sexy sandwich on the ground.

“You two-“ You start, until Jimin interrupts you with quick kisses, “better- buy me- mmmh Jimin- a nice chair.”

“We’ll take care of it.” Jimin mumbles against your lips.

You feel a needy hand snake up your body to lovingly fondle your sensitive breasts.

“Hey, y/n, do you think it’s time for a new bed too?” Taehyung asks before tugging on your lobe playfully with his teeth.

“Taehyung, no.” You try to say firmly but the thoughts of them fucking you into your bed until it breaks has your thighs rubbing together again. Giggling, you slap his arm playfully.

The three of you stay on the ground for a while, basking in the post orgasmic glow. Eventually you all get up to stretch your limbs and clean up. They treat you like a princess during the process, making your heart wonder what comes next.

[writing-in-april]

The 5 Stages of Grief

Stage three: Bargaining (3/5)

Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader (Spencer’s POV)

Summary: Spencer going through each of the stages of grief after the death of the reader. Stage three is bargaining.

A/N: Here’s chapter 3 everyone! I think this might be the chapter I’m most proud of in terms of writing. Idk I just really like how this chapter came together even though it’s obviously extremely sad. It also kinda got away from me in terms of length lmao 😂 this chapter puts the overall word count for the series at 5k which is the most I’ve ever written before 🥳 I wonder- does anyone have any guesses as to where the story is going next? If you’ve got any ideas drop them in the comments or my inbox- I’m curious! Also- I’ve got a special surprise coming!!Requests are open!

Warnings ⚠️ (warnings for the whole series are on the series Masterlist): Death, Funeral, Craving drugs, Using drugs, Suicide references, Suicidal thoughts, Religion references, Obsessive thoughts, Spencer’s all over the place, Spencer gets mad collectively at the team again, Spencer contradicts himself a few times, Unreliable narrator

Main Masterlist | 5 Stages of Grief Masterlist

Word count: 2.1k

Earth often symbolized stability; I had never felt more unstable then I did now, when I was without the person that grounded me. I wished the earth would just swallow me whole as the water and fire had done. I wish I was buried underneath all the dirt, right beside them and with a headstone to match.

A constant loop of the same thoughts kept running through my head that all had one goal in mind. A small logical part of my brain spoke to me telling me that obsessing over different variations of, “If only” weren’t healthy for me. But, I couldn’t stop thinking of every possible outcome of that night, how it might have gone different or how I could have done differently. The questions that had once filled my head were now filled with absolutes. Absolutes that caused me to sink further into my mind. I wish the absolutes would have buried me alive. At least then I’d be laid beside them and I would no longer have to cry.

I’d rather the earth crush me than accept that they’re gone.

If only I had run faster.

If only I had drawn my gun faster.

If only I had taken the hit.

If only they were here.

If only.

When the non-denominational preacher spoke as their casket was lowered back into the earth I blocked out his words of what some would perceive as wisdom. The wisdom was hollow, it was all a folly. I had never understood how people could just accept the grief that was dealt to them. Why should I have to accept the horrible fact of what had befallen the person closest to my heart?

Death was a fact of life, I knew. But, my heart still couldn’t bear to accept that fact. I couldn’t be objective anymore, my grief had crushed any accepted meaning to anyone or anything.

“Do you need anything Spence?” JJ’s words broke me out of my swirling thoughts for a moment as I walked into the foyer of the apartment I could barely bear to step foot in. I focused enough that her words just made me laugh bitterly internally. What do I need? What I needed she couldn’t give me. No one could give me what I wanted, unless I started to buy in and believe in what the priest had been preaching.

“What I need you can’t give me.” I gazed around the small living room, lingering on the green walls of my apartment that had once been a happy spot for me. I remembered the joy I had with them the day we had decided to freshen up the walls with a new color of paint. I should paint them black now, to match my clothes and the gaping hole that sat within my chest.

“Maybe I could try?” JJ was smart, but her naivety was astounding to me at times. The fact that she could not read the meaning behind my words made me question if she knew anything about me at all. She claimed to me my best friend, but the real person who held that spot was now buried in a cemetery.

“Can you bring them back JJ?” Silence was the only response I got to my words.

I wonder if JJ suspected what I wanted to do when she shut the door, the door to an apartment I used to share with someone. I didn't want to turn to it, but I couldn’t find a less extreme option for me. The only other option was to resort to the drug that had ruled my life before I had met them. Addiction used to ensnare me in its vice like grip, which was the time in my life when I had first met them. They had freed me from its wicked vines that had trapped me for so long, they were the only one to listen to my cries for help then. So, who would listen now?

Would JJ be the one to hear my silent cries?

Or would I be abandoned like I had been before?

If she knew what I was about to do would she have let me? Or would she not even bother to help? She was already planning on leaving me tonight to be all alone, just like everyone else always did. So, why would she care if I indulged in the vials that sat in my pocket?

When she did leave for the night, the emptiness of our apartment- my apartment was apparent. What had once been filled with happiness was now soiled with the overwhelming presence of grief. I wished the team would stop giving me food and platitudes about life after death. I wished they cared enough to truly help me instead of giving me their blasé condolences with casseroles. I wished they had done so many things differently that day. I wished they did something different now. Where were they now? Why couldn’t we deal with our grief together? They lost a co-worker, but I lost a partner. They were selfish when they left me time and time again, first the dilaudid, then many other grievances, and now this. Why did they always leave me so alone? Why couldn’t they stay to help ground me? Why did I have to be alone? Why did everyone always leave me?

Why did they have to leave me?

I need to again stop asking questions that I know I’ll never have the answer to, I know now that the world only deals in absolutes.

If only the team had connected the dots faster.

If only they had gotten there faster.

If only they had drawn their guns faster.

If only someone else had taken the hit.

If only they were here.

If only.

I sat at the small kitchen table that used to be occupied by a pair of chairs, but after I had broken the chair that they used to use, there was only one. It had reminded me too much of the sight of their empty chair at the round table, except the one at the BAU I knew would one day have another occupant. The chair that used to sit across from me during the rare meals we had at home and not on a case would never be occupied by another. There was no way I could ever move on from them, the grief was too much and I had no doubt that their death would forever leave a hole in my chest, never to be filled again. I was broken without them and even more so than their old chair, I was fractured without them, I wasn’t me without them. I knew I’d never be the same again. I would never be happy again.

The gaping hole in my chest that begged to be filled by a presence no longer there made me ache for any sort of relief. The glass vials in my pocket clinked together loudly as if they were mocking me and telling me that there was no escape from their addictive presence. I wished someone had been there to stop me from ever paying my old dealer who had greeted me like an old friend. The sight of him sickened me, I knew I was desecrating their memory by giving into the addiction that they had pulled me away from. But, my shaking fingers couldn’t resist paying the man that held the glass vials that held the clear liquid I desperately wanted injected in my veins. It felt like I had made a deal with death when I had handed the man the money. It allowed me reprieve from the ever reaching depths of death’s power over my life, but death was an inescapable fact. No one can win when a deal with death is struck because death would always be an old friend to us all. But, I didn’t mind, if death took me it would at least let me be with them again.

I couldn’t ground myself without them, they had helped tether me to the earth rather than letting myself float away into the abyss. They were the whole reason I stopped in the first place. The ground had been pulled out from under me when I just wished it would bury me alongside them. This feeling of falling with no reprieve, with no ground to stabilize me made me want to cling to my past coping mechanisms. I wish death would just take me.

I had lost my rock and that dilaudid I had picked up before the funeral felt like pebbles in my pocket that could possibly save me. They’d never compare to the feeling of having the ground underfoot, keeping me rooted in all life had to offer.

My rock was gone and the dilaudid was the biggest pebble I had to keep me clinging to what once was.

If only there was some less extreme option.

If only something had been different.

If only I had done something different.

If only they were here.

If only.

I was slipping away, I needed something to ground me, to hold me down. I only had the pebbles in my pocket now. I was trapped in my mind and trapped in my grief, the one thing I needed to save me was impossible to reach.

My mind was racing with possibilities in an attempt to distract myself from the clinking of the glass vials in my pocket. I was trying to ignore the memories of that blissfully weightless feeling I got when I used to stick the hypodermic needle in my arm to flood my veins with what could only be described as euphoria. I needed someone to save me. I needed them, I needed my rock. Who or what could bring that weight back? Who or what could bring the person back who gave my life its meaning? Who or what could I plead to? And who would bother to hear the pleas of a broken man on his knees?

“I won’t relapse if you bring them back.” I fell down on my knees as I pleaded out loud to whoever may care. The tears that spilled down my cheeks barely registered in my mind, they seemed like a constant in my life now, always there to drip down and stain every part of my life. I would never escape this grief. The grief left me feeling heavy and weightless at the same time, heavy with regret and weightless because I had no purpose now. Death was cruel to take away the only thing I had to weigh me down. My last possible reprieve before resorting to something I promised to never touch again was to plead.

I used one last plea, one last plea until I picked the pebbles out of my pocket. One last plea to something I didn’t even fully believe existed. One last plea in hopes of bringing my rock back to bring me back down to earth. One last plea that was perhaps was in vain, but I was still trying to cling to the ground that had been pulled out from under me. Maybe the entity some knew as God would answer my plea, even though we had only spoken a handful of times. I wasn’t even confident that God was real. There were so many other possibilities.

I’d just instead use my plea to beg any entity that may be out there. Whatever the origin and whatever the cost, I did not care. The only thing I cared about is if my rock was there.

If my plea was not answered by the someone or something I was praying to, the ground that had been pulled out from under me would never return. If my plea was not answered and my rock did not return to weigh my feet back down to keep me from floating in the air, I wouldn’t be sure what my options were anymore.

Without my rock, I’d float with only a meager few pebbles to try and bring me back down. If my rock did not return maybe after trying a few of the pebbles maybe I’d just let myself get swallowed by a different type of earth, soil. Soil that would cover me so I would at least be able to be laid down beside the person I had once thought would one day be my spouse.

But, the door never opened.

And, the earth did not swallow me to allow me to join them.

Though, I sincerely wished it had.

Maybe, I’d still resort to that.

Maybe, death would cash in it’s side of the deal.

If only my plea had worked.

I’d be with my rock again.

I guess I would settle with my pebbles.

—-

Tag list (message me if you want to be added):

All works:

@shotarosleftpinky @oreogutz

Spencer Reid/CM:

@calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss

5 stages of grief:

@joonie-centric @tatesimper @half-blood-dork @mcntsee @illuxions-x @rainsong01 @nomajdetective @loveheathens @day-n-night-dreamer @reidbuck

[talkfastromance4]

5. Trigger--Ashton Irwin ‘Lovers in a Song’ series

a/n: The final installment is here! I’m so sorry for the delay but I kept bouncing back concepts on how I wanted it to end. This is a rollercoaster. You’re probably going to hate me then love me, then hate me again. Thank you all for reading. I’d love to hear your thoughts!

Word count: 11.5k

warnings: mentions of drug cartel/lords/paraphernalia, angst, heartbreak, sexual situations

Masterlist

LIAS masterlist

***

Cressida is awoken by two things, a loud peal of thunder and a combination of Ashton’s warm hands and mouth on her skin. For a moment she forgets that this is their last morning together. Ashton’s large hands lift up her nightgown and he curves his body to mold with hers as his lips kiss below her breast. His fingers rub at her skin in a tantalizing way, her body is humming. Then she hears him sniff and her eyes flash open. His cheeks are wet while he continues to kiss along her ribcage.

“Ashton?” she touches his hair and her heart shatters at the look on his face.

He’s pained. His cheeks are covered in tears, his pretty hazel eyes are bloodshot and his lower lip trembles. Cressida gathers his head against her chest, wrapping her arms and legs around his body so he’s crushing her, so that there’s no spaces between them. If she held him tight enough maybe they’d mold together and would never have to be apart.

His body shakes against hers, hot tears sting at her own eyes as he releases what he’s been holding in. The thought of losing her has finally come to life and it’s breaking him from the inside out.

“I’m trying to…get as much of you as I can,” he whines pressing his tear-stained lips to her neck. “I’m not ready to let go.” He chokes on the words as he tries to kiss her again.

She closes her eyes wishing it didn’t have to be this way. His lips on her skin are burned to her memory and after today that’s all it will ever be, a memory. She feeds into his desperation and sadness, their lips finding each other’s and Ashton presses into her.

Her cries turn to moans, her tears fall free, and Ashton’s movements are frenzied yet controlled. He wants this to last for as long as possible. She stabilizes his cheeks until he’s looking at her, his handsome face twisted.

“It’s okay,” she whispers tracing his brows, his nose, his lips. “It’s okay.”

He nods and slows his movements to a more controlled roll. Their kisses are bittersweet each time, a terrible reminder that their time is up. The storm has arrived. The axe has been swung.

“I love you,” he whispers on her neck lacing their fingers beside her head.

“I love you.”

They prolong the moment for as long as they can, one last thing they can do together, one last thing they’re in control of, but all good things must come to an end. And they arrived at that end together, sighing each other’s names. Soft caresses over shoulders and down hips are touches committing to memory.

“How did you find out?” she asks afterwards while petting his hair. Their legs are tangled, every part of him is touching every part of her.

The bad news he’s been dreading ever since Gavin and Cressida have been ‘together’ is coming into the light. Ashton and Cressida’s relationship has always had an expiration date but now that it’s finally here…it’s a lot worse.

“My assistant Phil and your assistant Chloe are yoga buddies and she told him you and Gavin will be announcing the engagement today,” Ashton responds sadly. His voice tickles her collarbone, and he nestles in closer to her, holding her tighter. “Did he actually buy a ring or is it a prop from your parents?”

“He bought it…I um…have it with me because after this I need to meet him at the Italian restaurant where we had our first ‘date.’” Cressida’s voice is oddly calm, but it doesn’t sound like her, it’s more robotic, monotone. “Paparazzi were tipped off we’d be there and that will be the first look.”

“Can I see it?” Ashton asks after a moment of shared sad silence.

“Ash, I don’t think that’s—”

“Please, Cressida,” he lifts his head, hair falling in front of his tired hazel eyes. “I need to see it.”

Cressida searches his face then finally nods and slips out from underneath him. She shifts through her coat that’s been on the floor since she dropped it there and pulls out a red ring box. Her hands are shaking as she hands him the box. They’re both naked, open and vulnerable to each other like they always have been but for the first time in their five-year long relationship, Cressida feels ashamed as he opens the box.

Ashton stares at the gaudiness of it. it’s a cushion cut diamond; the band covered in tiny diamonds. It’s much too large, so large that it looks like costume jewelry and although Cressida is a larger-than-life woman, she loves the softer things. She doesn’t need or want gaudy; this ring isn’t her at all.

“Hideous, isn’t it?” she tries to joke.

“It’s…” Ashton snaps the box shut, lifts his eyes to hers. Her hair is all mussed and her body is covered in love bites from him, his initials are still present on her belly. “We need to shower before you go.”

He leaves the ring on the center of their bed then grabs her hand leading her into the bathroom. Cressida’s arm loops around his naked waist as he turns the shower on, and they hug each other as the water warms up. The hot water stings their skin as they stand underneath it, she loves the steady stream on her head and the way Ashton’s fingers massage the shampoo into her scalp. She can’t keep her eyes off him as he rubs it out of her hair.

The water droplets roll down his cheeks and nose then disappear onto his lips. When her hair is rinsed out, Cressida grips his face and presses her lips to his. Ashton’s hesitant at first.

“We shouldn’t, angel, you might be late…”

“I won’t be,” she whispers dipping one hand in between them. She strokes him gently and he lets out a soft groan. “Please, Ash, I need you.”

“Fuck,” he moans then pushes her against the wall, his tongue stroking over hers.

Ashton lifts her in the air hiking her legs around his waist. She helps him enter her, biting his lip hard in the process by being filled again. He cups the back of her neck with a secure grip so when he starts to thrust her head won’t knock against the wall harshly. Her nails dig into the meat of his shoulders, his strong shoulders that embrace her so well.

Their breath is shared in heavy pants, lips knocking haphazardly as he thrusts, and she welcomes each one. Cressida whimpers as Ashton grunts, her toes curling in pleasure. Ashton’s tired of keeping his hand on the trigger of their love, so after she orgasms, he releases into her once more. When he pulls out and Cressida drops her feet to the shower floor, he can’t help but stare between her legs as his release drips out of her.

He knocks his forehead against hers. “That isn’t the ring I would have chosen for you.”

Her heart clenches at his words and closes her eyes. Does she dare ask what kind of ring he’d buy her? It would only twist the white-hot knife in her heart more.

“What kind would you buy me?” Apparently she wants to feel the pain.

“It’d be rose gold, a thin band with a round diamond. Not too big, not too small, but perfectly perfect, just like you.” He kisses her nose. “And I would have taken you back to that dive bar where we met and asked you to be the love of my life forever.”

Cressida opens her eyes to see Ashton already staring at her.

“You’ll always be the love of my life.”

*

The real goodbye is even harder as she tries one last attempt to fix the fall of their star-crossed affair. Her clothes are changed and she’s smeared make-up over the markings on her neck.

“What if I tell them I won’t marry Gavin?” she asks standing in the doorway. “He already knows about us and he doesn’t want this any more than we do.”

“If you don’t marry him, what will your parent’s do?” Ashton’s voice sounds tired because this is a conversation they’ve had many times over the last five years.

“I’ll be relinquished of my duties and cut off, but I don’t need the company or the money. I want you, Ashton. The truth is all I really want is somebody who wants me and that’s you. I want you.”

She touches his cheek, but all Ashton feels is the icy weight of her engagement ring on his skin. She put it on for the first time since the news will be broken to the world, but now its curtain call on their own love. The real show is to begin. It brands him in torture.

“I won’t have you throw away your future because of me, Cressida. This is how it’s supposed to be,” he replies sadly. “How it should have been, us making it linger only makes this worse.”

“We can change it! Please, Ashton,” she begs with tears welling in her eyes.

They stare eat each other, eyes having a silent conversation. She is screaming while he is silent in defeat and acceptance of their reality.

“You should go,” he kisses her palm then removes her hand from his face. “You’re the most valuable, the most precious, and the most beautiful gold in the world, Cressida. I’ll never stop loving you.”

Cressida breaks down burying her face in his chest. Her heart is breaking and even with Ashton’s arms around her, she isn’t getting fixed. Nothing can fix her now.

Six Months After Breakup—Cressida

Cressida’s walking along the aisles of flowers in the large nursery where she and Gavin are picking out flowers for their wedding. Their parents decided the wedding would be in the first weekend of May which fatefully falls on the anniversary of her and Ashton’s first meeting. It’s a cruel twist of fortune. She touches the smooth petals of a white calla lily, her engagement ring sparkling in the afternoon sun.

Cressida’s parents and Gavin’s parents are discussing a flower arch with the florist and Cressida decided to wander off. Her mind is on Ashton but when isn’t it? She’s always wondering what he’s doing, how he’s doing. Is she on his mind as well? She read in a fashion magazine that Lucinda broke up with him and is now dating some minor league baseball player claiming, ‘she’s never been happier.’ Cressida wanted to reach out and ask what happened to their planned marriage, but she decided not to.

Why add salt to a still open wound?

“I think these would look lovely in a bouquet,” Gavin says from behind her.

Cressida turns to see him holding up three marigolds, all of them a brilliant golden yellow. The plumes are lush and full, and the smell reminds her of summer. Cressida looks up to Gavin, his dark brown curls and even darker brown eyes. It’s taken them a long time but they’re finally friends. When Ashton told him to get sober, Gavin tried to but his footprint in the drug dealing world was too vast. She flashes back to that time three months ago.

After Cressida left The Golden Lion to meet with Gavin at the restaurant for their engagement appearance, his eyes were bloodshot, and his pupils made his eyes look like black holes. They made the photo opportunity short as possible, Cressida made sure to show off the engagement ring that felt like a weighted brick anytime she waved her hand around.

By the time they made it to her house, they were trending all over the world.

“I thought you were sober?” she asks throwing her bags on the floor.

“I’m trying,” he grumbles opening the fridge to take out a bottle of water. “Next time you see Irwin, I’ll be out of the ring.”

“I won’t be seeing him,” she mumbles pulling out her favorite bottle of wine from her wine cabinet. Her voice was back to the monotone.

“What do you mean?”

“You and I are getting married. It’s done. We’re done,” she pops the cork and walks outside to her deck by the pool.

Gavin disappeared for the next three days and at first Cressida didn’t care because then she could mourn over her and Ashton’s relationship in peace. Well, not really peace because she sobbed so loud in bed, in her pillow, in the shower.

It wasn’t until her mother called asking for her and Gavin to come over for brunch on Sunday to celebrate the joining of their families that Cressida started to worry. Both of his phones went straight to voicemail and it wasn’t until she got in contact with his best friend Jack that she discovered that’s where he was.

Cressida arrives at Jack’s place to find Gavin beaten up horrendously and lying on Jack’s couch. There’s so much dried blood and swelling on his face she barely recognized him. It took a few shakes and shouting his name before he opened his eyes, but even then they were tiny slits.

“What the hell happened?” Cressida asks in shock as her eyes roam over his body. His Armani shirt is torn and bloody, a very large red stain on the side of his stomach that is oozing onto the couch.

“Left the ring and they uh said this…” Gavin winces as he tries to sit up straighter, “was my farewell.”

“You need to go to the hospital, Gavin, you’re bleeding out.”

“No! I can’t let anyone know I was involved in—”

“You have enough money to keep this on the down low. I’m calling an ambulance,” she shakes her head and pulls out her phone.

While Gavin recovered for a week in the hospital, Cressida stayed with him. The cover story was that he got jumped outside of a hotel, nothing was stolen because he didn’t have anything of value, so they beat him up more for it. Everyone believed it.

The doctors wanted to give him morphine to help with the pain, but he refused because it would offset the other drugs that were still in his system. Cressida’s surprised and impressed that he actually means he’s going to be sober now. With the pain and the start of his withdrawals, he didn’t sleep very well through the night.  

On the fourth night he woke up gasping for breath, his body covered in sweat.

“Gavin! What is it? What’s wrong?” Cressida asks turning on the light to see his pillow wet from his sweat. His eyes are large as saucers.

“I’m…fine!” he grits through his teeth staring at the ceiling. “With—withdrawals that’s…. all…”

Cressida sat next to him on his bed and held his hand. His eyes shifted to hers and he grimaces.

“I don’t deserve your help…after what I did to you…”

“Shh, let’s not talk about that now,” she shakes her head. “Let’s get you through this.”

After that, she helped him each time he went through a bad spell. It helped distract her from thinking of Ashton, even though he was always on the back of her mind anyway. She went to meetings with him and helped him with other coping skills. After a month most of his wounds and bruises were healing and there was a new light about him.

When she came home from the office, the house smelled amazing, and he was in the kitchen cooking. His red wine sat at the center of the table and Cressida tried to force the memory of Ashton and that exact wine out of her mind.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“I am officially sixty days sober today,” Gavin grins, “and I wanted to make you dinner as a thank you for helping me. I made some appetizers, come taste.”

She stands next to him and eats the appetizer he made, some kind of meatball with a sweet sauce. It’s very delicious. While she accompanied him to his meetings they shared a lot of heart to hearts and became closer than before.

“I also wanted to apologize for how I treated you,” he says pouring her a glass of wine. “And for what happened at The Golden Lion. It sounds like a poor excuse, but I never, ever meant to hit you. I’m so sorry that I did, I think about it all the time and hate myself for it.”

“I know you didn’t mean to and if anyone should be apologizing it should be me. I didn’t treat you very fairly either, Gavin. I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry for…cheating on you.”

“It’s not cheating when our relationship was never legitimate. I wasn’t faithful either,” he gives her an impish smile.

“I still feel bad about it. I was so wrapped up in….it should have stopped when we started this fake relationship anyway,” she shakes her head and takes a drink of his wine. Her mind swirls and her stomach gets butterflies as memories of Ashton invade her.

“I know it hurts you to talk about him,” Gavin says placing his hand on her shoulder. “I knew this would never be real to you. I know it’s arranged and…I wouldn’t be upset if you’d still want to see him.”

“That’s not fair to you, Gavin, and besides, Ashton and I are over, remember?” she swallows a big gulp of the red wine. It tastes different, it’s not as sweet as it was that night with Ashton. “I won’t be unfaithful to you in our marriage.”

“Let’s start as friends then,” he holds out his hand for her to take.

��Friends after three years of dating,” she giggles shaking his hand.

“We never really got to know each other. We were always so busy and when we were together, it was forced and publicized.”

“Very true,” she purses her lips then lifts up her wine glass. “To a new friendship.”

Their glasses clink and they share a wonderful evening over good food and to finally getting to know each other. He didn’t ask about Ashton and she didn’t offer it up. A clean slate is a clean slate, even though she’s still branded.

*

“Cress?” Gavin asks pulling her from her quick reverie. He’s holding the golden flowers in front of her.

“They are lovely,” she smiles dipping her nose into the multitude of petals. “And wouldn’t look too bad in the lapel of your jacket.”

“I can make any flower pop,” he grins handing her the small bouquet.

“Gavin! Cressida! Over here!” Cressida’s mother, Maria calls from the front of the nursery.

“We’re being summoned,” Gavin reaches for her hand then pauses, his brown eyes looking up at her. “May I?”

Cressida smiles and takes his hand in hers; her ring twists a little on her finger as she squeezes his hand. “You know you don’t have to ask.”

“I know, but every time I do you get a little flustered,” he smiles.

The rest of the afternoon is spent by going over more wedding plans; the guest list that is always being revised, the food menu that is always being altered, but the one thing that remains is Cressida’s stress and worry. When she worries she twists her ring and only stops when Gavin places his hand over hers gently. She looks up at him and he nods as if in understanding.

“I think my bride-to-be is a bit overwhelmed,” he announces to their parents who are bickering about the silverware. “Can we continue this some other time?”

“Oh, yes of course! We can’t have you wrinkling my dear,” Maria, Cressida’s mother smiles.

“Why don’t you two head on over to Rouge and tell them I’ve sent you, so you’ll only get the best of the best,” her father, Mark beams at his daughter.

“Thank you sir,” Gavin rises from his chair and Cressida kisses her father’s cheek.

“Thank you, Dad.”

“Enjoy yourself, darling. No need to stress.”

Gavin and Cressida do enjoy themselves as they drink and eat at the jazz restaurant. They even get up and dance when they’re called out by the band leader who spots them. Cressida is impressed by Gavin’s fancy footwork; he even lifts her up and spins her around which has them both laughing.

“Wow, I didn’t know you could dance,” she says breathlessly.

“I didn’t either, you brought it out of me.”

His eyes flicker to her lips and Cressida feels her stomach tighten. His hand on her lower back bunches up the fabric of her dress, his fingers squeezing her closer to his body. They’ve never been this close before and it makes her heart pound harshly against her chest. Gavin’s breath slows as he moves forward, his lips ebbing closer. She’s not sure if it’s butterflies or fear at the thought of possibly kissing someone other than Ashton so she pulls away.

“I need to um, use the ladies’ room,” she excuses herself and runs.

More moments like that have happened as they both become a bit more comfortable being close together. Their acting of intimacy doesn’t feel so forced anymore when they’re with their parents. When Cressida tenses at the mention of the ever-growing guest list (she lost count when it surpassed 1,500) Gavin rubs at her neck in assurance. When they’re overlooking options for dining ware, Cressida doesn’t hesitate to place her fingers on his lower back to peer over his shoulder.

That’s as far as their physical relationship has gone, innocent touches that leave a large impact and her mind swimming in many conflicting thoughts and emotions. It keeps her up at night and when she dreams she sees memories of Ashton morphing into Gavin.

It leaves her in even more confusion.

**

There’s laughter and chatter from her mother and friends sitting outside the dressing room of the bridal boutique. It’s her last fitting before the big day. The big day that has been looming over her head for years. Cressida hasn’t seen what the dress looks like, she’s only been sized and measured multiple times and asked questions about different designs of dresses that she liked.

“It fits you like a glove, Miss James,” the consultant Wendy gushes and fastens the last button. “Are you excited to see it?”

“Yes,” Cressida smiles at her warmly but inside she’s screaming.

“I’ll go out and make a grand entrance for you, just step onto the platform and you’ll see yourself in your wedding dress!”

Cressida took the split ten seconds to mentally prepare herself for the big reveal, to her entourage and to herself. Wendy opened the door and everyone on the white couch gasp as Cressida steps out. The fabric is cool between her fingers as she lifts it up to step onto the platform, keeping her eyes on the floor and not on the mirror yet. Wendy poofs out the bottom of the dress.

“You look divine, darling!” her mother says dotting at her eyes delicately with her fingers. “Do you love it?”

Cressida takes another deep breath then slowly lifts her gaze and gasps. The dress is absolutely beautiful and fits her figure wonderfully, she’s never felt more beautiful in a dress before. It’s perfect. The design is to her taste and with the veil attached to her head, she’s the perfect bride.

“Gavin is going to lose it when he sees you!”

“He won’t be able to keep his eyes off you.”

“Or his hands!”

More giggles ensue and they continue with their banter as reality sets in with Cressida the more she stares at herself. The dress is exquisite, a perfect dream, but while her entourage were gushing about Gavin, Cressida was picturing Ashton.

Ashton waiting for her at the end of the aisle. Ashton holding her hand as the pastor spoke. Ashton slipping the wedding band on her finger. Ashton telling her the vows he wrote and spoke with conviction. Ashton kissing her.

Ashton Ashton Ashton Ashton Ashton

!!!!!!

His name repeats like a haunted hymn trying to keep time with her rapid breaths. She feels hot. Too hot. She feels like she’s suffocating, and although the dress doesn’t have a high collar it’s as if she’s being choked. She needs to get out of it.

In a few short months she’ll be standing in front of Gavin. There’s a high-pitched ringing in her ears, the voices of her mother and friends are muffled, the light is too bright.

It isn’t until Chloe, her saving grace, catches her right before she’s about to fall off the platform. The other women are crowding around her, but Cressida can’t breathe, she needs air, she needs to get out of this dress.

“She’s fine, she’s fine, she started this new juice cleanse. I guess celery isn’t the one for her,” Chloe laughs off the quick excuse but helps her stand up. “Plus, with pre-wedding jitters and all. Let’s get you out of this for now, hm?”

Chloe drags her back into the dressing room where Cressida is gasping for air and waving her arms trying to unbutton the dress.

“I got it, I got it, hang on…” Chloe works quickly to undo the back of the dress.

Cressida lets out a loud gasp when she feels the dress pull away from her skin, she pulls off the cold shoulder sleeves quickly and carefully as possible. When she’s finally free she collapses to the floor in the heap of her dress, her vision is splotchy, and she sees stars. Chloe drapes the bridal robe over her shoulders and hugs her tightly.

“It’s okay, you’re okay. Breathe…easy, easy,” Chloe takes deep inhales and exhales with Cressida.

“I’m sorry, I-I-I…it all came real so fast, and I was picturing—”

“Ashton?” Chloe asks quietly and Cressida nods. Chloe hugs her until her heart has slowed, all the broken pieces of it.

Later that evening, Gavin found out she had a panic attack at the dress fitting. He became worried instantly and held onto her shoulders searching her eyes as if he could see the replay in them.

“How are you now? Do you need anything?” he asks concerned.

“I’m all right, it all hit me so fast when I saw me in the dress, that’s all,” she tries to smile then looks down and away from him.

“Hey,” Gavin ticks his finger under her chin, so she looks up at him, “We’re in this together. I promise I will take care of you and be your friend and confidant throughout all this. We can do this, Cress.” He pulls her into his arms, his embrace is tight, and it makes her feel better, she feels put together for a moment. “Why don’t you go take a bath and go to bed early?”

“That sounds like a good idea,” she sighs.

“I’ll get it ready for you,” he kisses the top of her head, gives her one more squeeze, then heads upstairs.

Cressida feels herself walking upstairs into her bathroom but it’s as if she’s on autopilot or watching herself from a distance. Gavin’s reading the back of one of her bath salts when she enters, and she looks at him. Really looks at him. He’s tall and handsome, that’s a fact, but she never noticed before how the symbol tattooed on his back peeks out on his neck under his collar. Or how his hair curls into smooth waves at the back of his head, and how broad his shoulders are.

He’s speaking to her about bubbles or oils, she’s not really listening as she starts to undress in front of him. In her dissociative mind, she wants to experiment with something. The small seed of feelings for him keep nudging at her, if she waters it will it bloom into something greater? When she steps closer that’s when Gavin notices her half nakedness.

“Does the salt stick to—” his eyes take her in slowly, watching her movements carefully as she shimmies out of her pants and then her panties. He swallows audibly, the bottle of bath salts slips from his fingers and falls into the tub with a shallow bump. “What— “he clears his throat when she steps closer, “what are you doing?”

“Can we try something?” she asks reaching for his arms. She grips his forearms, feels the taut muscles underneath his skin.

She knows he can definitely hear how loud her heart is beating. He nods as she lifts to her toes, her hands moving to his neck. Hesitantly, and oh so slowly, she moves closer to him. So close that she can feel his breath on her lips, he smells like a spicy musk, which is very inviting and then her lips are on his. Gavin remains still, letting her go at her own pace.

His lips are soft but are definitely different from the pair she’s used to. His cologne keeps her in check that this is Gavin and not—

“We don’t have to do this,” Gavin pulls back, and she feels a little empty from it. “I know this is so much for you.”

“Can we try?” she whispers, her eyes begging him to say yes.

“Are you sure?” he asks cupping her cheek. His thumb traces her bottom lip, his warm brown eyes meeting hers.

“I’m sure,” she nods.

Gavin crushes his lips to hers and his other hand grips her bare waist, pulling her to him in a tastefully forceful way. He sits on the edge of the tub and she presses herself to him, her hands yanking up his shirt. His hair gets messed up and then she admires the tattoos on his torso, her fingers tracing the designs and lines.

“I didn’t know you had any of these.”

“They’re all a part of my life story.”

“You’ll have to tell me about them sometime,” her gaze is steady on his as she unbuttons his pants. He shuts off the water of the tub standing up.

“I’d be glad to,” he smiles then lifts her into his arms carrying her to her bedroom.

Gavin takes his time kissing her from her lips all the way down to the very epicenter of her. Cressida closes her eyes so she can enjoy the feeling she’s experiencing and not to compare his touch with another’s. Gavin is gentle, touching her like she’s going to disappear into thin air.

She’s exploring him just as much as he is, she likes tracing the large tattoo on his back that goes up both shoulder blades. When they finally connect, she gasps, both in pleasure and at the vast difference. He’s making her feel good, her body is humming and tries to move with his. This is new for the both of them, this is their first time together after all.

At one point, she’s transported to another bed with another man and her nails creating large red arches into his back, they almost look like angel wings. She’s flashing back and forth from memory to present. When her release nears, all she sees is white space behind her eyelids. Then it’s over and they hold each other, both of them lost in their own thoughts.

“Is that what you wanted to try?” Gavin lifts his head from her neck, and she nods. “Dare I ask what the…conjecture is?”

“It was…” she searches his eyes trying to find the right words that hold truth in them, “it was really good.”

Gavin smiles slowly and nods. “I’m glad to hear that, I thought so, too. Do you still want your bath?”

“I can go do it,” she nods brushing away a curl from his forehead then presses her palm to his cheek. “How about you go pick us up some ice cream? We can watch a movie before bed.”

“Mint chip, right?” he grins leaning down to give her a kiss.

“Right,” she laughs kissing him again.

Gavin slides off the bed and hops back into his pants.

“I’ll grab your favorite wine, too. Maybe I’ll join you in the bath,” he winks pulling on his shirt then exits the room.

Cressida feels herself moving again, going through the motions of turning on the water and adding the salts and bubbles. She closes the door and dims the lights, making sure her rotary phone is next to the bath. When she climbs in, the hot water burns the soles of her feet and her hands, but it feels good.

She feels different.

It’s been a very long and very emotional day and Ashton invades her mind yet again. Moving on their own discord, her fingers reach for the phone and dials the number she’s had memorized for almost six years. It rings and rings and rings until the automated voicemail lady comes on. Cressida pushes the disconnect tab in the center and dials again. There’s a click.

“Cressida?”

Her breath hitches at the sound of his voice, then she slams the phone back in its cradle. She sinks below the water level, her head submerging into the vapid silence of the water. How did hearing Ashton’s voice hurt worse than the silence of him not picking up? There’s a purpose for all of this pain, but what is it? She’s falling, but she doesn’t know if she’s falling in or out of love.

Ten Months After Breakup—Ashton

Ashton has been a loaded gun ever since he and Cressida ended. He’s quick to anger and frustration, snapping at people over the simplest of questions. A lot has changed since that last weekend with Cressida and yet it feels like everything is the same.

He’s flipping through his calendar on his desk for upcoming appointments he’s jotted down and pauses on the first weekend of May which is two months away.

In the past, he would already be preparing the secret weekend getaway with Cressida. He’d be confirming with The Golden Lion that his room and floor were reserved for him. He’d make sure the room is stocked with their favorite food and drink and that Cressida’s robe was firmly pressed. Now, that weekend is wide open, staring him in the face with its blankness.

For the first time in six years, the white squares are empty. The Golden Lion isn’t scrawled in his gold fountainhead pen, as if it’s been erased completely but the memories are still burned into his mind. She’s left her mark in him so deep.

Ashton had a very slow incline from the very deep valley of his heartache. His phone beeps and he presses the button with the flashing red light.

“Yes?” he asks through the intercom.

“Mr. Hemmings is here to see you, Mr. Irwin,” his assistant Phil announces.

“Send him in.”

“A package was delivered for you as well; shall I send it with Mr. Hemmings?”

“That’s fine, Phil. Thanks,” Ashton sighs. He leans back in his chair, his calendar still opened to his schedule in May.

Luke was the one who helped Ashton out of his deep ravine.

**

He watches Cressida walk down the hall and disappear into the elevator. She didn’t turn around once. He shuffles back inside and makes his way to the large windows overlooking the street down below. Cressida is easy to spot, she’s using his red umbrella then disappears into the backseat of her car and drives off. Leaving him behind.

The dark cloud has been hovering over them this whole weekend and he used everything in his power to keep it at bay, out of sight, out of mind. But now Cressida is out of his sight and he’s about to lose his mind, so he pours himself a double of his whisky. Before he knew it, the bottle was empty, and he called room service to send up some more.

He thought of the consumption as a form of poetic justice, or something along those lines. He wasn’t sure, Cressida would know. She always knows things like that.

Ashton stayed in the hotel room for a whole week until there was a loud pounding on his door. When he opens it, he sees Luke in his crisp Armani suit, his golden hair slicked back in a suave style. The smell of his aftershave was fresh. Luke wrinkles his nose in disgust.

“You look like shit, man.”

“Nice to see you, too,” Ashton mumbles using the door handle as a brace to stay standing.

“It smells like your distillery in here and it reeks off you. Have you been here this whole time?”

“Yeah, so what?

Luke glances behind him then asks carefully, “have you been drunk this whole time?”

“Nope. For the first couple of days, I was because I finished my whisky, but now I’m sober and angry.” He turns inside the room and pulls out a bottle of water, Luke follows him carefully by making sure not to step on dirty clothes. “Do you need anything?”

“Yeah, you. You need to get back to work. I’ve been calling and calling but your phone doesn’t even ring. Did you lose it?”

“It’s been in that drawer since about a week and a half ago,” Ashton nods to the dresser. His phone is right where he left it when he arrived for his weekend with Cressida.

“Fantastic. Pack it up and let’s get you clean shaven.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?” Luke shoves his hands in his pockets, a golden brow arched upward. “Why not?”

“Because Luke,” Ashton sighs and stares at him with disdain and a far off look in his eyes. “The love of my life is no longer in my life and I’m trying to grab a handle on that.”

“I didn’t know you and Lucinda broke up.”

“Luc--? No! Not Lucinda. Cressida. She’s gone but if I stay in this room… it’s like she’s still here, like she’ll come back.”

“Hold on,” Luke holds up a hand. “Cressida James? How are you in love with her? Aren’t your families cursed or something?”

“No, we aren’t cursed,” Ashton scoffs, “we’re sworn enemies.”

“Ah, because that’s really a big difference,” Luke mutters.

“We’ve been seeing each other in secret for five years, coming to this room every first weekend in May.”

Luke’s eyes widen. “Five years? Okay, I need to be filled in on this but before I am, you need to shower and then we’ll get lunch.”

Ashton explained everything about his and Cressida’s relationship all the way from the beginning. Their first meeting on graduation eve, their months spent in Europe, the highs and lows, their secret discussions of work that made sales skyrocket, secret glances, everything.

“So, let me see if I got this right,” Luke wipes the corners of his mouth with his napkin then sets it on the table. He uses his hands as he speaks. “You and Lucinda aren’t really dating, Cressida and Gavin aren’t really dating, but you and Cressida have kind-of-sort-of been ‘dating’ for the last five years.”

“Correct.”

“But now, because somehow an arranged marriage is still a thing, she’s marrying Gavin and you two had to split up.”

“Yes.”

Luke stares at Ashton like he has three heads and Ashton stares right back, his face passive. He takes a drink of his water then raises his eyebrows.

“You look like you have more to say.”

“Ash, this is insane. You and Cressida are clearly meant to be together, for as long as I’ve known you, you have never been in a serious relationship. Hell, I’ve never seen you go out with someone until Lucinda came around.”

“It’s always been Cressida.”

“It can still always be Cressida! Ash,” Luke laughs dryly, “you need to stop this wedding. Confess your love and runaway with her!”

“Luke, this isn’t some romance movie, this is real life.”

“Real life where arranged marriages still exist?” Luke challenges. “This situation is fucked but you can get her back.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because she’d be disowned and lose the company. I won’t be responsible for that.”

“There’s no way she’d be free of the company. She’s the best CEO James Brandy has had in years, inflation and sales have been astronomical since she took over. Her family and your family are holding an old grudge that could have easily been a big miscommunication.”

Ashton sighs, he really appreciates his friend’s attempt at trying to solve his woes. Woes he’s brought upon himself, but he and Cressida will never be together, that’s just how it goes.

**

Ashton went back to work after speaking with Luke. He found it helped him not think about Cressida so much while he was in his office or walking among the floors of his distillery. He made sure Phil had him booked from dusk to dawn and when his mind started to wander to Cressida, he’d find another task to occupy himself.

Each day it got better; each week it became slightly easier. Although Ashton shut himself away, he had Gavin under a very confidential and watchful eye. When Ashton heard he still was involved in the drug cartel with a ton of debt, he decided to step in.

He went to Brazil where the drug lord resides; Ashton was welcomed warmly because they know how wealthy he is. Ashton discovered Gavin has been trying to get out of it, but he owes $1.2 billion dollars. He thought back to Cressida’s cheek and his mind is set.

“I’ll pay his debt in full. Expect the money to be wired tomorrow no later than four,” Ashton says then makes his way towards the door. No one questions him on the money because Ashton is known to being true to his word.

“What is he to you that you are willing to pay off his debt?”

“He owes me something as well, something way more valuable than money.”

“Hmm,” Homer strokes his mustache thoughtfully, “I see. We’ll need to kick him out like we would with the rest of them, debt paid and all. It will be painful.”

“I did my part, who am I to tell you how to do yours?” Ashton shrugs and then he’s gone.

**

While Ashton waits for Luke to come into his office, he peruses through his news app and sees Lucinda and her new boyfriend as they’re walking along the beach with their new puppy. When Ashton returned from Brazil on his little errand, that’s when he learned of his breakup. Lucinda was there at his house waiting for him. She said she couldn’t keep doing this and if it ruins her career then so be it, she didn’t want to lose Stephen.

Ashton was more than understanding and told her he wishes her the best, and he meant it. After she kissed his cheek on her way out, Ashton wondered if his and Cressida’s decision made them weak or strong. He didn’t want to dwell on it for too long and let a second woman walk out of his life.

Luke waltzes in Ashton’s office in a grandeur fashion and waves a rectangular box in the air.

“Delivery for Mr. Ashton Irwin, I accept tips in the form of largely written checks,” he grins tossing the box on Ashton’s desk.

“Watch it, what if that was fragile and you just broke it?” Ashton shakes his head as Luke drops himself on the blue suede chair.

“I didn’t hear anything break. Let’s go on a trip, Canada sounds nice and welcoming, doesn’t it?”

“Why do you want to go on a trip?” Ashton puts the box in his desk drawer and gathers his wallet and two phones.

“Trips are fun, trips have class and culture. Aren’t you going to open that?”

“I will on Monday. I’ve been getting smaller bottle designs from a vendor that won’t take no for an answer. Who would want a small bottle of my whisky?”

They continue their chatter to the elevator in front of Phil’s desk.

“Mr. Irwin, did you receive the package?”

“I did. We’ll have to send something back. Can you do that for me, Phil?”

“Yeah!” Phil’s eyes widen as if in excitement, Luke and Ashton exchange a look. “I can absolutely send something. What would you like me to say?”

“Um, you can come up with the message. I’m sure you’d make it sound better than mine. Have a good weekend.”

Phil scrambles to his phone and quickly dials some number. Ashton thought he heard him faintly say a name that sounded like Chloe. Chloe is Cressida’s assistant. He shakes his head, he definitely heard him wrong and tunes back into Luke who’s talking about Canadian syrup. Ashton feels a picking at his brain, he can’t quite put his finger on what it is. It felt like he was forgetting something.

One Month Until Wedding

Cressida and Gavin are driving back from his property on the lake. They spent a long weekend laying in the sun, cruising on the water in the early dawn on his boat, and cooking meals together. On the mornings where they didn’t wake up early to go on the boat, the time was spent getting to know each other.

Cressida always feels like she’s in an odd déjà vu every moment she shares with him because it reminds her of some other time. She’s constantly having to only see Gavin in front of her and not a ghost of her past. They’ve continued to get closer and closer; a close friendship has formed completely.

Gavin knew this was the first weekend she wouldn’t be seeing Ashton, so he wanted to help get her mind off of it. She notices that whenever they’re holding hands, his thumb will be circling around the ring on her finger. She catches him staring at her from time to time and while it gives her butterflies, it’s also warning signs. Warning signs that Ashton is slipping away, and she doesn’t want that to happen.

“Can we get serious for a hot second?” he asks when he parks in her driveway.

“Yeah, what’s up?” she gathers up her purse, phone, water bottle, and sunglasses.

“I’m all in on this with you, Cress.”

Cressida stops her movements; she feels her cheeks warm up then looks at him nervously. He’s getting really good at reading her.

“I’ve…I’ve grown attached to you and those feelings are growing. I know you aren’t there yet, or maybe you never will be, or someday maybe? I don’t know. But I’m in this for you,” he stares her down, his eyes full of nothing but honesty. “And any way you’ll have me, I’ll take it. okay?”

“Okay,” she nods then touches his cheek, rubs at his skin. He places his hand over hers, his thumb rubbing over her engagement ring and he kisses the inside of her palm. “I’m sorry I have all of this…weight on me and it’s dragging you down.”

“You could never drag me down, you lifted me up in the first place,” he smiles.

Her heart tugs at his words. She hates herself for not knowing if it’s from flattery or an ache for another. She hates herself even more for being caught in the middle of her own feelings.

“Okay, serious talk over until some other time. Let’s set the bags in and freshen up before meeting your parents for Sunday dinner.” He gives her fingers one more kiss then exits the car.

“There you are! How was it, how did it go? Did you get the brace—OH!”

“Chloe?” Cressida’s in shock upon seeing her in her house. Not that it’s abnormal for her to be here but she didn’t have anything planned for her until Monday.

“Hi! What uh, what are you guys doing here?”

“We went to Gavin’s lake house for the weekend. I thought I ran that by you…” Cressida shakes her head. “What are you doing here?”

“Umm…I uh, there was a package for you but it…it’s the wrong thing. My mistake. I will return it,” she responds awkwardly and tries to scurry out the door.

“Oh, was it my shampoo? Let me take a look, I can see if I want to try it anyway,” Cressida drops her bags on the counter.

“You know what, I actually left it at the office. I’ll return it for you first thing tomorrow morning. I’ll see you Monday, bye!”

Gavin watches her leave the house in confusion; he turns to Cressida slowly.

“That was strange, wasn’t it?” Gavin points in her direction.

“Yeah… she was acting weird all week,” Cressida frowns. “I wonder if she’s going through a tough time or something…I’ll have to ask her tomorrow.”

“I’ll check on the plants and water them, then we can shower and head out?” he asks kissing her forehead.

“What do you mean by shower?” she cracks a smile, and he laughs.

“I didn’t mean it that way, I swear. But I’m open to it, always am,” he winks then heads out to her patio where her plants are.

Cressida chuckles watching him get the hose. Chloe had been acting giddy everyday last week, asking her indirect questions about her weekend plans, asking if she’s nervous. She made it seem like she knew where Cressida was going, so why was she surprised to see her home now?

The Big Day

Ashton already predicted this day would be horrible, but he didn’t imagine it happening right when he woke up. His coffee machine broke so he couldn’t have his first cup before stopping at his favorite coffee shop. Turns out that was also closed for renovations, so he messaged Phil to please pick up a new coffee machine and bring two coffees with him.

When Ashton arrived at his office building the computer systems were down which was just fantastic considering he’d be doing a video conference call with Japan at ten. He already wanted today to be over before he stepped in the elevator that seemed to take longer than normal to fly up to his office.

He had a migraine, and it was barely nine o’clock in the morning. Normally he’d be calling the hotel confirming everything. He hated today.

Phil comes rushing in with three coffees in a carrying tray and a box containing Ashton’s new coffeemaker.

“You’re a lifesaver, Phil, truly,” Ashton commends taking a drink of the first coffee. He already feels his headache subsiding. “Can we go over my meetings for today?”

“Yes, let me just…pull it up on my tablet here. Okay, so…”

Ashton listens to Phil rattle off times and names of who he will be dealing with today. While Phil talks, Ashton fixes his desk then opens his drawer and sees that rectangular box. The company hasn’t sent anything back so maybe they finally got the message, but now he wants to see what this bottle looks like.

He cuts it open, humming along to Phil, then sees another box. It’s maroon with a gold band running along the sides. It’s thin and that intrigues him, so he lifts the lid. Nestled inside is not a whisky bottle but the bracelet he bought Cressida three Valentine’s Days ago. Beneath it was a folded note that read, ‘meet me at our special place Friday. It’s important. I don’t think I can go through with it.”

“Phil, what the hell is this?” Ashton holds up the bracelet that is now looped around his fingers. Phil’s mouth is open like a fish out of water. “Phil?”

“I—you—didn’t you open that a few months ago?”

“No, I thought this was the whisky bottle from that company who keeps trying to partner with me. I told you to send them a message I wasn’t interested, but this is clearly not a whisky bottle. So…why is this in my possession?”

“You didn’t open it until now? I thought you did! That’s why I sent—oh no,” he groans and slumps into the chair in front of Ashton’s desk.

“Phil, what the hell is going on?” Ashton drops Cressida’s bracelet onto his desk, it clanks on the glass top.

“Chloe sent this from Miss James because she said Miss James was having reservations about the wedding. That she still loves you and…and you were supposed to meet at The Golden Lion, and you told me to send something back, so I sent your gold ring with a note saying you’ll be there. And oh my God, I thought you went last month but it didn’t end well so you were still angry this whole time,” Phil explains.

“But Cressida herself didn’t send this?”

“No, it was Chloe because she knows Miss James keeps the bracelet on all the time,” Phil pinches the bridge of his nose. “It was supposed to bring you back together and by me sending your gold ring…it was a sign you wanted her back, too.”

Ashton stares at Phil in complete surprise. He could have met up with Cressida a month ago and made up and they would probably be together right now.

“Did she go? Was she there? What did Chloe say?”

“I don’t—she didn’t go. Chloe said she went to some lake house with Gavin and now…she probably didn’t even get your ring…”

“What ring are you talking about?”

“Your gold one, with the ruby inside.”

Ashton’s mind is racing. His heart is about to combust. He’s connecting the dots and finding new ones that didn’t add up but make complete sense now. Why Phil seemed so excited that Ashton wanted to send a reply back. How he thought he misplaced his ring at the hotel but never got around to calling about it when really, it was delivered to Cressida but if she didn’t go to the hotel either…

“She never got the ring,” Ashton concludes and Phil wipes at the sweat on his brow.

“What?”

“You’re one hundred percent certain that Cressida received my ring?”

“I wouldn’t say one hundred—”

“Call Chloe now and find out.”

Phil scrambles for his phone, dropping it on the floor twice before pressing it to his ear. Ashton touches the bracelet before him, images of Cressida flashes in his eyes.

“Okay, thank you Chlo, yes I’ll tell him…yes…yes…well, it’s too late now. All right…yep…okay bye,” Phil ends the call then smiles at Ashton in relief. “She never got it. There’s still time to stop this wedding, sir.”

“If she went on a weekend trip with Gavin then she has to be over—”

“No! no, she’s not over you and you’re not over her!” Phil suddenly shouts jumping from his chair. “I’m sorry sir, if this gets me fired then so be it, but Chloe and I hated seeing you two act like you did. Your company will survive if you both were disowned but I highly doubt that would happen. We’ve seen you two together for six years. We couldn’t let you throw this away for some stupid arranged marriage.”

“Phil—”

“You have to stop this wedding. Two people who should be together and aren’t…that’s the worst kind of love story ever. I know your families are arch nemesis but that was how many years ago? And it’s not even your fight to begin with. Chloe and I think you should be together and it’s our faults that our plan failed but you can stop it today. Right now. I can—”

“Phil!” Ashton shouts causing Phil to shut up. “You aren’t fired. And this was very kind of you and Chloe to do but if Cressida didn’t personally—”

“She’s been on the fence about this wedding for the whole year! You have to go to her, sir, you just have to.”

Ashton sighs and plays with the bracelet. He thinks of the past year, how it wasn’t the best by any means because Cressida wasn’t in his life. She’s always said from the beginning that she didn’t care if she was disowned, that she’s only wanted him, and Ashton’s only wanted her. She’s the love of his entire life. Luke has told him to crash the wedding and he might just do that.

“Where is the wedding?”

**

Cressida is pacing in the bridal suite of the church. Her hair and makeup are finished, her dress is fastened to the very last button, and her heart has been in her stomach since she woke up this morning. Her hands feel clammy and she’s trying to focus on her breathing by taking deep shallow breaths. Her bridesmaids are drinking mimosas and enjoying themselves while the guests arrive in the large church.

The bridesmaids are discussing the honeymoon and placing friendly bets on if she’ll be pregnant upon the return. Cressida mentions she needs some air and moves into the hallway to continue her pacing. The door opens and expecting her mother, she starts defending herself.

“I’m fine, mother, I just need a minute to collect myself.”

“It’s me,” Chloe says, frowning at her boss and close friend. Cressida relaxes and steps in front of her, smoothing the skirt of her dress, her hands are shaking. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yes, it’s just jitters. But I…I keep thinking of Ashton,” she whispers his name. It’s been so long since she spoke it out loud.

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out at The Golden Lion, but you seemed so happy when you came home with Gavin I thought you were actually happy with him now.”

“What do you mean you’re sorry it didn’t work out at The Golden Lion?”

“I…what?” Chloe shakes her head in confusion. “You were supposed to meet Ashton at the hotel last month, he sent his gold ring and a note to go along with the one I sent him…with your bracelet.”

“My bracelet? Chloe, I didn’t get a ring. What is going on?”

“I placed the box on your desk and when you left for the weekend you seemed so happy, so I thought you were going to The Golden Lion to make up or runaway with him. I came by that Sunday to see how it went but you were with Gavin, so I thought you’d made your decision.”

“But I didn’t send him anything,” Cressida shakes her head slowly.

“That’s because I did,” Chloe fixes her fingers together in nerves. “I came up with the idea and Phil agreed to do it as well, we hated seeing you both so upset. We tried to fix it.”

“If I would have gotten his ring I wouldn’t have left with Gavin,” Cressida’s shoulders fall in sadness.

She starts pacing again, thinking of the good thing Chloe and Phil tried to do but fate seemed to have other plans. Did Ashton show up at the hotel? Was his heart broken even more when she didn’t show up even though she never got his ring and note?

“It’s almost time,” the wedding coordinator announces bustling down the hallway. She opens the door to the suite and orders the girls to get out and into line. “Follow me Miss James and I will make you a Missus.”

Cressida gulps but follows her. Chloe reaches out and grabs her hand, gives her a gentle squeeze. Cressida relaxes a little knowing that Chloe is with her through this as well. Gavin is a great guy; he’s been a good and patient friend with her through the wedding planning. She’ll grow to love him as time goes on, right?

Suddenly she’s in front of the doors and it’s almost her turn to walk down the aisle. How did the other girls go so fast? How does she not remember seeing them?

“You can do this,” Chloe assures her, but Cressida is very doubtful.

The music changes and she stops Chloe from walking down. Chloe looks at her in alarm.

“I need to speak with Gavin, please. Can you bring him to me?”

Chloe nods. “Yes, yes of course. I’ll be right back.”

Chloe opens the doors then slips inside running along the sides of the pews. The guests watch her run her way up to the alter where Gavin is waiting in a crisp suit, his hair perfectly styled, and a large marigold fastened to his lapel. When he sees Chloe running, he knows what that means.

“Is she all right?” Gavin asks when Chloe reaches him.

“I don’t know, I’m not sure. She wants to speak with you, I’m sorry but that’s all I know.”

“It’s okay, I’ll speak with her,” he nods then turns to the pastor. “It’ll be just a few more moments. The bride wishes to speak with me, I’m sure everything’s fine. I’ll be right back.”

The pastor stares after him in bewilderment as Gavin follows Chloe back down the aisle. He smiles and nods at the guests trying to look reassuring. He knows what this looks like, but his mind is focused on Cressida. When he spots her, she’s grasping onto a table, her knuckles white.

“Cress?” he touches her shoulder carefully so as not to scare her. She flinches anyway then turns to Gavin, her face pale and eyes glossy. “Talk to me.”

“I can’t do this, Gavin, I’m so sorry,” Cressida sniffles. She takes Gavin’s hands, and he feels the ring fall into his palm. “You’ve been so kind and patient with me, and you’re a wonderful man but I don’t love you and I don’t think I ever would love you how you properly should be. You deserve more than a woman who’s hung up on another man. You deserve to be loved the right way. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Shh, shh,” he swipes the tears from her face and forces a smile. “I know. It’s all right.”

“It is?”

“I have grown feelings for you, and I know you’ve been trying to find some for me and to be honest, I hate seeing you try so hard. You’re meant to be with Ashton, not me. Go to him.”

“I should tell everyone inside—”

“I’ll worry about them,” he shakes his head, “and I’ll tell our parents. I’ll take care of everything.”

“I’m a horrible person,” she cries, “this is all because of me.”

“Loving someone doesn’t make you horrible. I’ll be fine Cressida, I’d rather have you as a friend than nothing at all.”

“Thank you,” she whispers then flings herself into his arms. He hugs her tightly, breathing in her hair and holds her as tight as he can. She pulls away to look up at him. “I will be a little bit jealous who you end up with. She’ll need my approval.”

“That’s nice to know,” he laughs then kisses her forehead. “Go find Irwin.”

Cressida takes a deep breath, stretches on her toes to kiss his cheek then lifts up her skirt and runs to the main entrance of the church where Chloe is already waiting with her bag and phone.

“How did you--?”

“I had a feeling,” Chloe shrugs. “The car is coming around.”

“Thank you, you’re the best assistant and friend I could have ever asked for.”

Cressida bustles her dress as best she can in the back of her car, her driver is a little bewildered but then slams on the gas to get to The Golden Lion. Her heart is thundering in her chest, her left hand feels weightless without the ring, and she hopes Ashton is there. Should she call him? Just then her phone buzzes and it’s a text from Chloe.

‘He was on his way to the church, but I contacted Phil and diverted his course. You should get there around the same time. Good luck :)’

Cressida lets out a shaky breath and suddenly she’s very nervous again. The hotel is twenty minutes away from the church. What will she say? What will he say? Will he take her back? She’s trying to stay hopeful but what if he sees her and decides it’s better they’re not together?

It’s a very long drive where she has time to recollect their time together. Meeting that night before graduation, the endless mornings and evenings in Europe, secret glances and very well constructed touches at parties they both needed to attend, Bora Bora, each weekend at The Golden Lion. She’s loved him completely forever and she can only hope he’ll want her the same way.

She’s approaching the hotel, the building shines in the golden afternoon, the mane of the lion sparkling. She struggles getting out of the car with her dress and makes her way up the steps and sees the back of Ashton. He’s peering into one of the rooms where they’ve shared many parties together. His hair is longer in the back and he looks broader in the shoulders.

Cressida can’t speak so she walks towards him. Just as she’s about to open her mouth, he turns around and she forgets to breathe. His scruff has turned into a full-grown beard and it’s very well kept, it makes him look even more handsome. Standing in front of him she feels more at peace than she has in months. She feels whole and complete.

“Hi,” he breathes, his hazel eyes scanning over her in her dress. “You’re…you’re an absolute vision, angel.”

“Did you really send me your ring? Because I never got it, but I swear, I would have been here last month. I’ve never stopped loving you and I never will. I called it off. The whole thing. And if I get kicked out of the business then I’ll start my own and we can build our own partnership. It’s always been you—”

Not being able to stand it anymore, Ashton gathers her in is arms and kisses her deeply. His arms wrap around the home he’s been missing for 365 days. His lips are kissing the lips he’ll never get tired of kissing. Cressida’s fingers twist into his hair kissing him back with just as much enthusiasm. It’s like she can finally breathe. Their love is bursting at the seams.

“I’ll never stop loving you either, Cressida,” he mumbles rubbing his nose against hers lovingly. He stares into her eyes. “I don’t care about the ring or the bracelet or our bad timing, what matters is that we’re both here now. And I’m never letting you walk out the doors unless I’m right next to you.”

“I love you,” she smiles and strokes his beard, it’s soft under her fingers. “I’ve wanted to call so many times. You look different, I love this beard.”

“Yeah? I was thinking of shaving it,” he grins.

“Don’t,” she shakes her head, “not yet.”

“Although I’m glad to see you, what about your wedding?”

“Gavin’s taking care of it, he’s a really good man, Ashton. And he’s going to tell our parents the wedding is off, but I want to tell them about you and me. I don’t want to love you behind closed doors anymore.”

“And I’ll be right by your side. Luke made a very good point about our ‘disownment’ and we won’t be losing our companies.”

“It’s settled then,” she sighs but pulls away from him. Ashton looks forlorn from the sudden distance. “There’s only one thing left to do.”

“What’s that?” he asks trailing his fingers down her arm so he can latch onto her own. He’s not letting her go.

Her eyes dance, the gold in them sparkling. “Help me out of my dress?”

They kiss freely in the elevator as they ascend to their floor, to their room. But it feels different because of their decision to finally come clean about their relationship. Ashton’s hands are frantic as he pulls her from her dress, her lips never leave his skin as they fall onto their bed.

Murmured words of love are pressed to skin, their fingers grasp and lock together as they reconnect. This feels different too, it’s not a secret anymore and they never will be again. Whatever happens after they leave this room, they’ll handle it together.

In a rush they come together but they’re nowhere near done. Ashton kisses all over her chest, her neck, her throat, and her hands roam over the dips and valleys of his body. She finds the maps only she knows; touches the freckles she’s discovered time and time again.

“My love for you is pure gold,” he sighs before slipping his tongue in her mouth. “Beautiful, rare…”

“And precious,” she smiles rolling him over onto his back. “It’s me and you, baby.”

They fall and crash together, the golden sun setting on their love. It’s a promise for a golden morning, a new beginning and the start of their life being shared into the light. No more secrets, just Ashton and Cressida loving each other beautifully, gently, passionately. A golden love for the ages.

Taglist: @calpalirwin​​ @myloverboyash​​ @loveroflrh​​ @cxddlyash​​ @princesslrh​​ @spicylftv​​ @notinthesameguey​​ @itjustkindahappenedreally​​ @calumance​​ @thew0rldneedsmcreycghurt​​ @sarcastically-defensive17​​ @another-lonely-heart​​ @devilatmydoor​​ @thatscooibaby​​ @suchalonelysunflower​​ @dead-and-golden​​ @mymindwide​​ @blackbutterfliescal​​ @redrattlers​​ @karajaynetoday​​ @quasighost​​ @i-like-5sos​​ @creampiecashton​​ @calpops​​ @littledrummeraussie​​ @sexgodashton​​ @f-mu​​ @mystic-232

[niall-is-my-dream]

Something Beautiful - Epilogue

So, this was something that I started writing ages ago and has been on hiatus. I've had this epilogue sitting in my drafts for a year! I was going to write a chapter to go before this but it hasn't happened so I've decided to post this and end the fic.

I hope you like it! Catch up on the link below.

https://niall-is-my-dream.tumblr.com/post/615170836129808384/something-beautiful-masterlist

Thanks

Em x

8 years later

Standing at the kitchen island you chopped away at the ingredients you needed for dinner later. You were having a bbq so you prepped all the salad and got the meat marinating in the fridge. It was early afternoon and the sun was blazing in through the patio doors that were open and welcoming in the warmth of the summer.

From here you could see Monty hiding from the sun under the patio table and chairs where it was shady and cool. He was getting on a bit now, just turned ten years old, still lively like he was as a pup but lazy like an old man to.

From this position you could also see your greatest achievement, your six year old twins Jack and Izzy. You may have carried them for 34 weeks before they were born early, but they were the spitting image of their father. Izzy in particular had eyes that were identical to Niall's, her book obsession however she got from you.

Both were obviously musical like their father, but Jack had excelled in football and you'd spent the morning watching him run around the local football pitch.

Wiping your hands on a cloth you made your way out to the garden, Jack was at the end of the garden practicing some kick ups and Izzy was busy bouncing around on the trampoline.

"Hey you two, shall we take Monty out in a bit when the weather has cooled down?"

"Yeah, when is Dad back with Grandad and Aoife?" Jack called back to you.

 "Not sure, game won't finish for maybe another hour and it depends on if they can get through the crowds quickly, and if your Dad chooses to stop and talk to everyone he knows!" You replied smiling.

Niall had gone to watch Derby play at Chelsea today with his Dad Bobby and his partner Aoife. Checking your watch you saw that the game would probably just be starting the second half so you had plenty of time to walk Monty and be back to start cooking.

Just over an hour later and you were all walking towards Wandsworth Common. When you and Niall had first starting discussing buying your first house together there had been no doubt that you wanted to stay close to where both your flats were. With easy access to the tube and shops you had also decided you didn't want to be far from the Common.

It was there on a cold February day that you had tripped over Monty's lead and Niall had spoken to you for the first time. Sadly the pub you first laid eyes on each other in was closed now and was going to be turned into a hairdressers of all things.

But the Common held a special place in both your hearts.

It was where you would go in the early stages of your relationship, where you would spend ages walking around together with Monty getting to know everything you could about one another.

It was where you'd come with Monty that beautiful spring day when you'd found out you were pregnant while Niall was away touring his third album. You'd gone there to gather your thoughts about how to break the news to him that after almost a year of trying you had finally got a positive pregnancy test. It was also the place you'd both gone together to digest the information that it was twins.

And just last year it was the place that you had both taught Jack and Izzy to ride their bikes without stabilizers, while Monty chased the stupid ducks by the pond.

It was your special place and somewhere you came everyday when you were in the UK. When the twins were younger and before they started school you would spend a good amount of time in the U.S. at the L.A. home, but now Niall only went over there when he needed to and would only spend leisure time there if you were all with him.

He hates being apart from you all and it had devastated him at first when he toured last year and the twins had been at school for a lot of it. But Niall had gained what he had always hoped for, a long successful career with dedicated fans who had embraced you, Monty and the children.

You stood watching the twins scooter around the path with Monty bounding beside them, but then you had an overwhelming feeling that you were being watched. You had come to learn this feeling well in the first few years of your relationship. Knowing that Niall was a public figure and you were in a relationship meant you were also of interest. People took your photo without permission quite often, particularly here on the Common.

Looking behind you cautiously you saw Niall walking across the bridge with his Dad Bobby and his partner Aoife walking behind him. He still gave you butterflies in your tummy even after nine years together. He smiled and gave you a wave as they made their way over to you. Monty was next to spot him and he gave up on aggravating the ducks to race over to him. Jack was next, followed by Izzy and they sped over calling out to their Dad and Grandad.

"Hey stalker." You said to Niall as he came over to kiss you.

"Not stalking, you text me to tell me you were going to be here!" He smirked.

You looked over to see Izzy in deep conversation with Aoife. "And I did my writing homework but I left my school book as I wanted to read it with you."

"I'm sure we can look at that together, just make sure we help out with dinner and stuff for your Mum first though, ok?" Aoife replied.

As Bobby and Aoife finally reached you after being practically mauled by the twins they greeted you with a hug and a kiss each.

"I've prepped most of dinner while you were out, just need Pops to start up the bbq when we get back." You said looking at Bobby.

"I think I can manage that." He said rubbing his hands together. "I'm in a good mood after our win, think I'll have a couple of beers to celebrate. Speaking of football how did you do this morning Jack?"

"Really good and I scored a goal!" Jack said with a massive smile on his face.

He hadn't been happy about missing the game with Niall, but you'd only just managed to get him a slot on the football team after being on the waiting list for months. Niall had insisted that there would be other games he could take him to in the future that didn't clash with his practice. 

"The Common always looks amazing on a summer afternoon doesn't it?" Aoife said as she leant down to give Monty some attention.

"It does, this place has always been something beautiful." Niall replied smiling as he looked at you, taking your hand in his.

[ieattaperecorders]

Trapdoor

Inb4 we get a good description of the post-apocalyptic world, wrote a little monster encounter for these boys. It’s also here on Ao3.

- - -

“Where are you going?”

Martin turned to Jon who stood a few paces back, looking quizzical. “Towards the hills? You just said it would be safer there.”

“I absolutely did not say that.” Jon replied. “I said we ought to go this way,” he gestured in the direction he’d been turning. “Stick to the lower places, where there’s less room for things to sneak up.”

The rolling, rocky countryside had been suspiciously innocuous lately. Unsettlingly normal. For the last few kilometers, nothing had leaped out at them or tried to lure them towards apparent safety. No part of the world had suddenly twisted or inverted around them. In fact, for some time the terrain they’d been walking across had done an impressive job of resembling ordinary Scottish land on a gray and drizzly morning. It was leaving both of them tense, anxious, waiting for the hammer to fall.

“. . .I’m pretty sure I heard you.” Martin looked back at the hills. “And it feels safer to go that way? I dunno, higher ground? Doesn’t that seem right?”

“Martin.” Jon put his hands on Martin’s arms, speaking slowly and carefully. “You might want to consider the possibility that something is making you feel that way.”

“That doesn’t sound ri - - ah.” Martin caught himself. “Maybe. Er,” he lifted his arms. “Have I got any spiders on me?”

Jon peered over him nervously. “I mean. I don’t see any, but it’s not likely going to be that simple.”

“How do we know which way is safe, then?” Martin asked. “If we’re possibly dealing with mind control, it could be tricking you as well.”

“It’s wise to be skeptical where these things are concerned.” Jon said, “But I was able to see in the Unknowing, and I think this may be similar. Besides that, you seem a little . . . dazed, to me?”

“Yeah. . .” Now that he was focusing on it, he had to admit that his head felt off somehow. “I guess I am feeling a little . . . dazed.”

“I think that my connection to the Eye is the only thing keeping keep me safe. We ought to move as quickly as we can.” Jon looked at him intently. “If this place is affecting your mind, you might not be able to trust everything you see and hear. So stay close to me, try to ignore anything strange. I’ll guide you.”

There was something moving in Martin’s peripheral vision. Tiny ripples formed in the dirt, as if something was shifting underground. He swore he could hear a muffled noise, like a shuffling or hissing, coming from nearby.

“Don’t focus on it.” Jon’s hand came up to tilt Martin’s face towards his own. “Whatever you’re seeing, I’m pretty sure looking at it is a mistake. Just look at me. Focus on my voice. You can trust me.”

“Right.” That noise was getting louder, and Martin tried to ignore it. “Looking is probably a mistake. . . .”

Even out of the corner of his eye, though, Martin could tell that thing was moving closer. He was relieved when Jon turned, hand clasping his, and started leading him away from it.

“This way,” Jon said, pulling gently but quickly at him. “Try to keep your eyes on me.”

But it was really hard not to look down when the mud started to swirl around at their heels. The sound coming from below was just loud enough for Martin to make out a word.

Stop--

And he was pretty sure he did not want to listen to the ground telling him to stop moving, so he decided to quicken his pace a little. But he hadn't gotten far before the soil opened up behind him and a hand, black with mud, reached out and gripped his ankle.

Martin yelped and pulled away, but the hand’s grip was tight, and he only succeeded in yanking half an arm out of the ground with it.

“Don’t look down!” Jon’s voice came from behind him, hand still gripping his. “That’s how it pulls you in. Just keep moving!”

And Martin would have done as he said, except at that moment the soil shifted and a pair of shoulders joined the arm, as did the rough shape of a human head. There were more arms surrounding it, bent and twisted ones with joints like the legs of an insect and long, grasping hands. They reached out and wrapped around the muddy figure to pull it back down, but it was quickly struggling free. Choking, gasping and spitting mud, Jon’s face emerged from below.

“S-stop--” he gasped, looking wild-eyed at Martin “Stop listening to it!”

“Oh my God . . . Jon!?” Martin stared at the half-buried figure.

“Let him go!” Jon’s voice growled from behind him, directed at the muddy silhouette. “He’s not for you!”

The Jon that was covered in mud coughed and spat out a gobbet of earth, its hand still gripping Martin’s leg . He was pulling him towards the mud, he realized, and the grasping hands. Or, no, was he pulling himself out? Or was he just pulling Martin towards himself, away from the one who was holding him?

The one who was - - there was still a hand gripping his hand. Whose...whose hand was on him . . . .?

“Martin. Look at it.” The Jon clinging to his ankle fixed a penetrating gaze on him. Martin felt something . . . a painful moment of light piercing the haze in his mind. “Look at what you’ve been talking to.”

Martin looked back at the thing holding his hand. It was definitely not Jon. It had too many limbs, and not enough eyes, and when it smiled there was a hissing sound like that of a chittering insect.

He screamed, pulling his hand back and trying back away. Unfortunately the real Jon still held his ankle, so he didn’t back away so much as stumble and fall flat onto the ground. The monster loomed. It no longer looked like Jon, but it retained just enough detail - his scarred right hand, the color of his shirt, the lower half of his face now split with a too wide grin - to make everything else seem worse.

“Get away - -” Jon’s voice was hoarse, rough with the soil he’d been trapped in, but there was fire in it. “Get - - away from him.”

The creature froze in place as Jon pulled himself up beside Martin. Martin assumed that Jon’s gaze was keeping it still, but he wasn’t going to rely on the Watcher if he could help it. He took the moment of distraction as a chance to sweep the creature’s legs. Having a dozen, spindly, twisting limbs might be good for frightening people who wander into your terrible pit trap. But they didn’t provide much in terms of stability. The creature went down, landing half on top of Martin.

In a panic, he kicked it towards the hole that Jon had crawled out of. A new arm shot out of the ground just as the monster began to rise. A hand wrapped around one if its gangly legs, and was joined by another. Then another, and another, and many more, until it was looked more like a tangle of chitinous wire than anything remotely humanoid.

Martin and Jon scrabbled back from the pits’ edge as the thing was dragged down and swallowed, screaming inhumanly. The ground went quiet again, and the two of them stopped and breathed.

“Are you all right?” Jon asked.

Martin nodded. “I think so. What about you?”

“I think so.” Jon cleared his throat, voice still raw. “I wasn’t down there long. If, ah, if suffocation were lethal here I’d probably be in more trouble.”

“Here, hang on. . . .” Martin shrugged off his backpack. He was glad he’d had the foresight to bring some bottles of water, despite neither of them feeling thirst anymore. He’d known they’d have some practical use -- or, if he was being honest with himself, tea-related use. But this seemed the more immediate concern.

Jon took the water gratefully, swishing his mouth out and spitting a few times, then attempted to clean himself off. His clothes weren’t going to be pristine again, that was for certain, but he managed to get from ‘dirt monster’ to ‘man who’s been tramping through the muddy woods.’ Which wasn't far from where they’d both been to begin with, and would have to do.

“Stepped in the wrong spot.” Jon muttered as he scrubbed at his hair. “I was underground in an instant.”

“I didn’t even see. I’m sorry.” Martin said.

“It’s not your fault.” Jon replied. “That thing was toying with your mind. I could see it even from down there, but I couldn’t reach you. . . .”

“We should get moving again.” Martin said, getting to his feet. “That thing might be able to crawl out too.”

“Yes. You’re right.” Jon pulled himself up, brushing off what remaining soil he could, and took Martin’s hand. “Towards the hills?”

Martin nodded, slinging the bag back over his shoulder.

“Jon. . .” a startlingly familiar voice came from behind them. “What’s going on?”

Martin turned and found himself facing a figure that looked only vaguely like him. Actually, it would be more right to say it looked exactly like he would look if a number of long, twisted monster arms burst from his back and wrapped themselves around his head and body. It was covered in black mud and one of those long hands obscured the top corner of its face. It stood a few meters away, but Martin could still make out its expression, which was a mocking mimicry of concern.

The Martin-thing held out a hand. “Jon, listen, that’s not me,” it said. Its voice sounded off, though that much might just be because Martin was used to hearing his own voice resonate in his head. “I don’t know what it is, but that isn’t me.”

If the image hadn’t been so unsettling, Martin might have laughed at it. “Nice try? But I don't think he's going to buy it.”

Martin looked over at Jon, who was staring in shock at the Martin-thing. He turned back to Martin and his eyes narrowed with suspicion and concern. Martin groaned inwardly.

“Seriously?” He said. “You’re not really fooled by that thing, are you? It’s covered in weird spider-arms and dripping with mud.”

“Is that what you see?” Jon asked, brow knit.

“I mean, yes?”

“Because he looks entirely normal to me. And--” Jon tensed and Martin felt static at the edges of his perception. A quiet, pained grunt came from between Jon’s teeth. “He looks. . .authentic. Real,” he glanced back at Martin, looking intently at him. “So do you, incidentally.”

“Well thanks very much.” Martin said.

“I, ah.” Jon frowned. “I’m not sure. . .what to do with this?”

There was silence for a while as the three of them stared at each other, not moving. Jon was still holding Martin’s arm, but his grip had tightened a little. Martin suddenly wasn’t sure if Jon was clinging to him, or keeping him in place.

“Okaaay.” The Other Martin said. “So, uh. . . Jon, when you were still working in research, I picked your name for the yearly White Elephant. I barely knew you at that point, so I made the mistake of asking Tim what he thought you’d want. I probably should have realized the ‘it’s wine o’clock somewhere’ t-shirt wasn’t actually your style, but I thought maybe you and Tim had a similar sense of humor and you dressed differently when you weren’t at work.”

“Oh, we’re doing that, are we?” Martin said, annoyed. “Fine. I didn’t let you eat lunch alone for two weeks after you were stabbed. You didn’t want to talk about any of the things you were obsessed with at the time, so I started chatting about anything I could think of to fill the silence. Somehow I got onto cartoons we grew up with and that’s how I found out you’ve never played a Pokemon game but you know a really suspicious amount about the anime.”

The Martin-Thing? Other Martin? Martin was just going to think of it as the other one. It frowned through the tangle of its limbs at Martin’s response.

“The first time you told me that you loved me was on the train to Scotland,” it said, and hearing it talk about that made Martin’s teeth clench. “I was so startled to hear it that I froze and didn’t respond at all, and you started apologizing, worrying you’d made a mistake.”

“Our first night in the safehouse--” Martin said. “You were stroking my hair because you thought I was asleep. I thought you might stop if I opened my eyes, so I just kept pretending. I didn’t tell you about it for a week.”

“Two weeks after we met--” the other one began.

“Stop, stop!” Jon shouted, waved his free hand in the air. “None of that proves anything. There are creatures in this world quite capable of stealing memories, of replacing or re-writing them. You should both know that,” he added with a glare, “regardless of whether you’re real or not.”

The other one frowned. “Jon, it’s me . . . .”

The thing took a step closer and Martin started to back away. Jon kept his grip on him, though that only meant he was pulled along a step or two before he dug his heels into the soft earth.

“Don’t!” he snapped, and Martin stopped moving. Jon released his arm, pose tense, his gaze shooting wildly between them. “Don’t move. Just- - both of you stay where I can see you.”

“Okay. Okay . . .” Martin held up his hands. He could see Jon was starting to panic, and tried to sound calm. “I’m not moving.”

The other one mirrored Martin's pose and Jon nodded, frowning. He backed a step or two away, positioning himself more evenly between the two Martins. His arms were a little out from his sides, as if making ready to grab or push away either one.

“Maybe don’t get too close to it, though?” Martin said, an edge of worry in his voice. “Just in case? Okay?”

“Yeah,” the other one shot back, audibly offended. “Don’t get too close to it, Jon.”

Jon pressed a hand to his forehead, sighing. “Just - just let me think, all right?”

“Right. Take all the time you need.” the other one said, its tone unpleasantly familiar.

Jon paced back and forth with agitation, always keeping his eyes on one of them. Martin watched the other one, in case it made a move for Jon or for him. He couldn’t help but notice It was looking back at him with what he assumed was an identical, watchful expression. Mimics were absolutely the worst.

“Either somehow both of you are really Martin,” Jon muttered, still pacing “or my perception’s being altered in a way I can’t break through. But if it’s the latter I don’t know how we’d proceed. If they both look real, maybe it means neither of them is? But if that’s the case the real Martin could be anywhere, and how am I supposed to find him if I can’t trust what I see. . . .”

“I mean - -” Martin couldn’t help but feel a little hurt hearing Jon talk about him as if he was both not there and in fact, not real. It wasn’t his fault, but it did sting a bit. “How could we both be real?”

“Does that seem impossible at this point?” Jon threw his arms in the air. “That something could split a person in two? Or double them? That would feed into something, surely. The -- the existential fear of it all. Not to mention the fear of being deceived, of unreality, paranoia. . . .”

Martin considered this. “Well. . . that’s fair. But we both saw that other Jon. After that, it seems more likely that one of us is a trick,” he sighed, glaring at the other one. “And I mean. I know which one’s real, but I don’t know how I can prove it to you.”

“You didn’t say you were real.” The other one said triumphantly. “You said ‘I know which one,’ that’s probably a tell, Jon.”

“I meant me, I’m real, I was just trying not to be rude.”

“All right, all right. If nothing else either one of you could be a . . . a replacement.” Jon sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “But unless I know, I can’t take the risk of leaving the real Martin behind. So I think we’re all just going to have to stick together until one of you tries to, I don’t know, enslave my will or turn me inside out or something.”

“That’s a bad plan, Jon.” The other one said.

“Yeah, I kind of have to agree with the other one?” Martin said. “I mean, you’re talking about definitely letting an evil doppleganger tag along, I can’t see that ending well.”

“Well unless one of you wants to tear off a Martin skin and get this over with, I don’t see any other options!” Jon snapped, frustrated.

There was a pause, then the other one spoke up.

“What if you asked us who we are?” it suggested. “I mean. . .nothing’s been able to lie to you so far, right?”

Jon considered. He looked at Martin for permission, and he nodded.

“Yeah, all right.” he said. “Do it.”

“Who are you?” Jon’s voice reverberated, reaching into him. The words came out with no resistance.

“I’m Martin Blackwood,” he said.

Jon looked guarded but a measure of relief showed in him, and Martin smiled at that.

“And who are you?” Jon asked the other.

“I’m Martin Blackwood,” it said, “I'm someone who loves you.”

“I mean, I love you too.” Martin said, frowning. Hearing that thing say those words in particular made his stomach twist a little. “I just didn’t think that was what you were asking.”

Jon was quiet for a moment, considering, then he looked at the other one. “Who were you an hour ago?”

“I was Martin Blackwood,” it said. “I’ve always been.”

“And you?” Jon turned back to Martin. “Who were you an hour ago?”

“I was mud.” Martin said. “Eternally grasping, flowing ever downwards. I was hands, many and needful, aching to grip and wrench and pull. I was the thought of hands, hands that grip the mind. Ones you cannot pull away from without ripping out the most vulnerable parts of yourself. And now, I am Martin Blackwood.”

Martin blinked, hand halfway to his throat. The words had poured out of him, he hadn’t even needed to think. Where had they come from?

“I. . .I don’t. I don’t know why I said that?” He laughed nervously. “Why would I say that?”

Jon’s eyes were wide with fear and he backed towards the other one, arm out as if to separate Martin from it. And that wasn’t fair. Why was he trusting that thing over him? It didn’t even look like him.

“Keep away from it.” Jon said.

“Yeah, I got that.” The thing behind him replied.

“Wait- I, I know how this must sound,” Martin tried to explain, “but it’s got to be some kind of trick. I don’t know where those words came from. It’s me. It’s the real me, I promise.”

“I very much doubt that.” Jon said, his voice cold. He was looking at Martin with such hatred, and it stirred something raw and panicky in him.

“Ask me again!” Martin pleaded, voice trembling. “I’ll get it right this time, just ask again!”

“The answer will be the same.” Jon said firmly.

“Jon.” The thing standing behind him put a hand on Jon’s shoulder, speaking softly. “We should probably run. It feels like this is going to get worse really, really soon.”

“Don’t!” Martin resisted the urge to step closer, afraid that if he did Jon would just do as the other one said and start running. “I’m me. I’m Martin Blackwood. You heard me say it, you know it’s true. I’m Martin.”

“But you’re also a trap.” Jon said. When he opened his mouth again, his voice pierced through Martin’s entire being. “Aren’t you?”

This time he did resist, tried to close his mouth as he the words welled up in him. But it was no use.

“Yes,” tears gathered in Martin’s eyes as the truth forced its way through his lips. “A trap for you.”

“No different than the other half of it.” Jon nodded solemnly. “Just a little bit crueler.”

Martin was dizzy. Everything felt like it was falling away. His own words reverberated in his head, taunting him, and he wanted to scream. Then Jon turned and began to walk away, and Martin did panic.

“Wait! Please, just let me come with you,” he begged. “I’m not - I won’t cause trouble. I won’t even complain about the other one, I promise. I - -” he swallowed. “I don’t want to be alone.”

He saw Jon hesitate, gripping the other one a little more tightly, and it held him tightly back. It hurt. That thing didn’t look or feel remotely right, but it was holding Jon. Holding and being held by him while Martin was left outside. Only a few meters away, but it may as well have been the full length of the earth.

“I feel like myself. I feel like . . .like him,” admitting to being something other than Martin was almost physically painful, but he pressed on. “Like Martin. Maybe I didn’t used to be, but I am now.”

“A hand that can conceive of itself,” Jon said darkly. “Clenched by an unseen mind.”

Fairchild’s words now echoed by Jon rang in his memory. The old man had been right. It was horrid. Martin didn’t want to think about any of it. He just wanted to run to Jon, pull him into his arms, hold him close and be held. Couldn’t he just have that? Couldn’t it be that simple?

“I love you.” Martin said. “You can ask me, I’ll say it a thousand times, because it’s true.”

“. . . But you’ll still hurt him,” the other one said. Its voice was as gentle as its words were cruel. “Even if you don’t want to, it’s what you were made to do. The trap is going to close eventually.”

Martin shook his head violently. It wasn’t true. Whatever he might be, he wouldn’t hurt Jon. He just wanted to stay with him. He wanted to wrap his arms around Jon and never let go. He wanted to bury Jon’s face in his chest and hold him close and promise he was safe with him and be believed. Even if they weren’t his, he had memories of a thousand loving embraces. A thousand more gentle touches, kisses, tender looks. They felt no less real than this moment did.

At the same time, he knew Jon would never hold him again. Not willingly. Not anymore.

Something was moving under the earth, snaking closer to the three of them. Something that also wanted to hold them very, very close. Based on the uneasy way they were starting to look at the ground, Martin suspected they felt it rumbling.

“If you love him,” the other one spoke quickly, his voice wavering as the soil shook. “If you’re really me enough to love him, then I think you want him to be safe. And I’m sorry, but he’s not going to be safe with you.”

The heaviness of his words settled on Martin like the weight of all creation. He felt a thousand grasping hands reach out, fingers just breaking the surface of the soil. The two men holding tightly to one another jumped as the earth shifted around them. Then all at once the hands lost their will, and dissolved back into mud.

Martin sat on the ground. He held himself and looked down at the dirt, which was where he truly belonged. He’d keep his gaze fixed there until he heard them leave, then he’d look up and he’d be alone. A hand that could conceive of itself, with nothing to hold.

“. . . Martin?”

Jon’s voice was soft, and Martin assumed he was talking to the other one, the real one, the one who deserved him. But he repeated the name closer this time, and Martin looked up.

Jon stood just a little more than an arm’s length away. The other one was behind him, a hand held protectively on his shoulder. Jon leaned forward, face soft and sad, and Martin took a shallow breath.

“Maybe. . .” Jon said, gently “you should go back to being mud. I think it would be easier than being human. It wouldn’t . . . hurt as much.”

Slowly, Martin nodded. He didn’t remember being mud, but he was pretty damn sure it hurt a lot less than this.

“I don’t know if I can, though,” he said, an ache in his voice. “I don’t. . . I don’t know how to stop being Martin.”

“I can help you, I think.” Jon said. “If you’d let me.”

“But what if. . .” Martin frowned. “If- if I’m mud again. I won’t . . . I mean. . .what if I try to--”

“Then we’ll run.” Jon sounded confident, calm. “We’ve gotten away from worse before. You remember, don’t you?”

He did remember, in fact. Dozens of panicked escapes since the day they left the cabin. Memories of fear, of adrenaline, and of the fierce, mad victory of knowing you’ve reached the other side. They had dealt with worse. He looked questioningly at the other one, who nodded.

“Y-yes.” Martin said softly. “Yes. I’d . . . I’d like to be mud again. Please.”

He felt a vast and painful awareness reach into him, and it pulled out the story of a kind, nervous man who was always underestimated.

The mud slid away from the curves and angles of Martin Blackwood. Details fell back one by one - a quiet night working late, a hand gripping desperately at another, a sweater worn threadbare. For a moment, the mud felt the softest sensation of loss. Then a comfortable hunger returned to it and that feeling dissolved. Filled with relief and clarity once more it reached eagerly, gratefully, to grasp its nearby prey.

The two men staggered back, making the sounds that creatures make when they’re afraid, and their short clumsy limbs scrabbled around them. More of the mud came to join it. Dozens upon dozens of limbs, eternally grasping with an ache to wrench and pull, slid up from the ground to encircle the pair.

But this prey was quick. It was armed, and though the simple weapons could not do the mud any real damage, they were enough to knock limbs aside and open gaps in the tangle, clearing a path for escape. The mud stretched so many limbs to their limit, but its prey reached higher ground and soon it could not follow. Instead it watched eyelessly as they ran towards the hills where the ground would be too dry and too solid for mud to form.

There were countless dangers ahead of them, but this one, they’d escaped. They would not be wrapped in a thousand clutching arms, would not feel the grasping fingers twist in their hearts, would not be pulled into the endless down.

As the tangle of its limbs swirled in frustrated hunger, the mud laughed. It laughed, and laughed, in joy and in relief, as the two figures vanished into the distance.

[candychronicles]

stuck with me // h. nejire

A/N: My take on the bnharem summer collab! Decided to write for sweet baby Nejire, as she doesn’t get enough love!

CHARACTER PAIRING: Nejire Hado x Reader

WORD COUNT: 1,724

WARNINGS: sweet baby fluff

SYNOPSIS: A girls day out leads to so much more!

Want to read more summertime fun? Click here !

the soft sunlight dappled over the crystal clear water, creating a dance of sparkles. a soft swooshing sound was all that could be heard as you helped paddle the little wooden boat over the serene lake. for once, Nejire Hado was quiet, serene almost, as she sat across from you, hands folded in her lap and head turned to the side to watch the scenery slowly float by.

the day hadn’t started off calm. in fact, it started off in typical Nejire fashion: happy chaos.

“wake up sleepy head! we’ve got a whole day of fun, so i can’t have you being lazy on me!”

you harshly blinked, snapped back into reality by the loud sounds of your best friend, before smiling at her, continuing to walk, but this time, with an extra pep in your step.

your first stop was shopping, of course. no real girls day could occur without trying on various clothes, binging on greasy mall food and giggling at all the funny gadgets you found throughout the day.

“come on, lets go in here! we’ll need some new bathing suits for the beach today!”

you had insisted that what you were wearing was fine, but she would not listen, dragging you along despite your protests. it was only when you were shoved into a changing room with a simple black two piece that your heart started racing.

you emerged from the cubicle a few minutes later, head hung low as you looked into the mirror, pinching and prodding at your body, trying to make the bathing suit look good on you. however, when you had almost given up and resigned to going back, Nejire emerged, smiling from ear to ear.

“what are you frowning about?” she chided, strutting over to you with purpose, “you look amazing. i’m jealous! here, let’s take some selfies. i need to show off my hot best friend!”

though the words, you thought, were just meant to cheer you up as a friend, a rosy blush found its way to your cheeks nonetheless as you allowed yourself to imagine Nejire truly finding you attractive. after that little incident, you decided to buy the bikini, spurred on by the simple words she spoke.

the next stop of the day, after dropping off your bags at your house, was to find somewhere to actually eat, instead of continuing to binge on greasy fast foods. you had decided on your favorite cafe, a place where you two often went to unwind after a stressful day at school, or work as you got older. 

when you had arrived, Nejire shooed you to find a table, insisting on paying for the food. she knew your order by heart, and though it shouldn’t of made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, you couldn’t help it. she knew every little thing about you, big or small, and you felt so utterly bare around her, yet safer than anywhere else.

your friendship started off odd. you weren’t a particularly popular student, tending to hangout with the same small group of friends, but you weren’t necessarily shy either. after an impressive fight at your first year sports festival, Nejire had approached you with awe, insisting that you become friends so that you could learn from each other. at the time, you weren’t sure of her upbeat, forward personality, so you said yes automatically, just trying to process what had happened.

for awhile, you had assumed that the little interaction would lead to nowhere, but Nejire proved you wrong time and time again, bothering you for help with homework, gossiping about others in your class, making you help her with beauty pageants and campaigns, all which led to late nights at your little cafe together.

you were once again brought back to the present when Nejire delicately placed the food and drink down on the table, balancing it all with grace and years of practice. you two dug in, chatting about everything and nothing, falling into your old routine of just being together. there was never a time where you two didn’t feel comfortable with one another, and only continued to get closer as the days went on.

after a long chat in the cafe, Nejire insisted on a walk in the park, wanting to stretch and enjoy the sunshine after all the food you two had consumed. the walk on the way there was filled with the same mindless chatter as before, her mouth moving before her brain could process the words half the time, but you constantly found that endearing.

a loud scream came from your right, and without thinking, you jumped, grabbing her hand and squeezing tightly, before letting out a laugh when you realized it was just an angry kid. 

“don’t worry, i’ll protect you (y/n)!”

she let out a little giggle at your irate expression, before tugging you along, never letting go of your hand, even when you were all alone on the park path. your heart threatened to leap out of your chest, but you maintained your cool, laughing and babbling nonsense back and forth, making jokes, pointing out pretty cloud formations and cooing at the cute ducks at the edge of the pond.

when Nejire had spotted little rowboats for rent, you knew it was all over. she would not take no for an answer, and you’d be going for a long and chatty boat ride whether you wanted to or not.

things didn’t turn out quite as planned though. the boat ride started off with you two arguing over who was going to push, you winning the argument as you picked up the paddles and gently propelled yourselves off the shore of the lake. you had attempted a few jokes, but Nejire was unusually silent, watching the small ripples created from the boat splitting the water.

you were about to open your mouth to ask her what was wrong, setting down the paddles, when she spoke up, voice quiet and gentle.

“we’re best friends yeah? and nothing’s going to happen to change that, right? even though we’re busy being heroes, even though things are dangerous sometimes, you’re not going to leave my side?”

“no matter what happens Nejire, i will always be by your side,” you reassured automatically, reaching forward to grab her hands in your own.

“even if i do this?”

before you had a chance to ask her what she was talking about, she leaned forward, pressing her lips against yours in a gentle embrace, squeezing your hands. your body froze for only a second before you reacted, moving against her in tandem, taking your hands out of hers and placing one on the side of her face, the other cupping the back of her head to deepen the kiss. 

you pulled away, breathless. your eyes searched her own, wide and unsure, but full of so much love.

“oh my gosh, i’m so sorry! that was so random, huh? i was just admiring the view and then realized nothing here was as pretty as you and just wanted to kiss you, so i did!” she admitted, wringing her hands together, the only telltale sign that she was worried.

you took only a few moments before replying, “i didn’t mind. i-i liked it actually, a lot.”

that peachy blush you had been trying so hard to avoid all day came back in full force, creeping up your neck and into your cheeks, setting your face aflame.

“really? oh that’s so great. i’ve liked you for so long but i didn’t know if you felt the same. i just wanted to make sure that you’d still be friends with me even if you didn’t feel the same way, but now that i know that you like me back, i’d like to be more than that, if you want? like, be my girlfriend?” she babbled out, talking animatedly with her hands.

you were only able to nod in response, a smile slowly creeping on your face as she continued to talk, so enamored by every movement and every syllable that left her mouth. 

“i’d love to be your girlfriend Hado. more than anything,” you admitted, smile threatening to split your face with how wide it was. 

she responded by leaning forward to kiss you again, but just as your lips were about to connect, the boat rocked dangerously from her surging forward, and as she grabbed you to stabilize herself, she fell into the water, tipping the boat and pulling you down with her.

when you both resurfaced, thoroughly soaked, your laughter pealed out of your mouth before you had a chance to even process what had just happened. she joined you swimming over to hug you from the side, pressing a wet kiss to your cheek.

after a few minutes, you two managed to flip the boat and climb back in, using your one single paddle that didn’t disappear to float back to the shore, apologizing and bowing deeply to the annoyed gentleman who rented the boat to you. 

with smiles on your face and giggles under your breath, you two collected your belongings, stripped out of your wet clothes into your bikinis and made your way to the beach, setting up a large blanket and laid down, bodies side by side.

as the creamy yellow yolk slowly slid down the sky, streaked with lilacs and blushy hues, you watched Nejire, admiring the way her face glowed in the dewy sinking light. she turned to you, eyes sparkling with love and something you couldn’t quite place, but before you had a chance to decipher what it was, her lips were on yours, successfully getting you to close your eyes and relax into her touch. 

she pulled away with a satisfying pop, her blue hair silky in your hand as you absentmindedly ran your fingers through it. 

“you’re stuck with me forever, yeah?” she asked, and you had finally realized what her eyes were trying to tell you earlier.

“yeah, and you’re stuck with me. hope you don’t get annoyed,” you teased, booping her nose with the tip of your finger.

she returned your gesture with a giggle, before laying back down.

as you continued to watch the sun sink into the night, you realized that this sight would never compare to her, your own personal sunset.

Taglist: @jojosmilktea​​ @redbeanteax​ @softforshigi​ @katsuki-bakugous-lady​ @ttamaki​ @secondhand-trash​ @freiyalight​ @crystal-lilac​

Want to be a part of my taglist? Message me!

[crybabyjam]

objective truth

my first bnha fic (reposted on my new tumblr weeee)

super long post ahead! 

ship: bakudeku

rating: t

summary: izuku gets hit with a truth quirk. 

available on ao3 here

---

Kacchan is pretty.

It's something Izuku thinks often. About how Kacchan looks, or if he's in the mood for Izuku to be around, or how he feels about their friendship. But, it was never something he'd ever say out loud— not unless he wanted to survive to become the Number One Hero.

Everyone had begun filing out of the dorms for homeroom, and Izuku had caught just a glimpse of platinum hair as Kacchan turned down the sidewalk.

Izuku mumbles under his breath, "Kacchan is beautiful today."

"Hm? Did you say something, Deku?"

Izuku startles as Uraraka taps him on the shoulder, a bright smile on her face as Iida continues to wave his hands around just one step ahead of them both.

"Ah, nothing! I was just thinking about, uh, you know! Ahaha…" Izuku laughs it off quickly, face bright red.

(read more)

---

Fire and blood. It's something Katsuki had gotten all too familiar with at UA. Even before UA.

Sweat stings its way through a cut on his cheek as he stands, and he angrily smears it further into the wound with the back of his hand. His gauntlet was gone, torn off by the quirk of the villain in front of them.

Their quirk was something like glass shattering. Whatever they touched, the item became brittle and broke upon any impact.

Katsuki knew, though, that it only worked on inanimate objects. Not that he had known when Deku got grabbed, right on his dumbass face, by the shitty villain. When he got flung down onto the train tracks they were battling on, Katsuki was pretty sure he popped all the blood vessels in his brain from the stress.

But he hadn't shattered on impact— rather bounced like a little ball until he rolled himself onto his front.

"Fucking idiot— DEKU. GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER."

Katsuki shoots himself over to Deku's curled form, wrist aching without the stabilization from his gear. "Get the fuck up."

Deku's already on his knees, though, watching the villain as he scrubs at where the fingers had clutched him. "I'm okay. Let's finish this quickly."

Behind them laid half a shattered train. The people inside were trapped— nowhere to go unless they jumped off the bridge.

"Don't tell me what to do," Katsuki growls, yanking Deku up the rest of the way.

Despite the fact that the villain couldn't shatter them directly, they had full control over the things they could. The little shards of metal shot towards them in waves, and Deku shot a blast of air to blow most of it to the side.

"I'll keep him distracted, Kacchan." Deku takes a step back, forming a strong, protective barrier in front of the civilians behind them. "If you get him from the back, or to turn around away from the train, I can— "

Katsuki socks him on the shoulder, just in time for them to dodge another shot of projectiles. "What the fuck did I just say, fucking asshole!"

Still, Katsuki uses the plumes of smoke between them and the villain to blast his way underneath the bridge.

Something explodes above him— not fire but more glass, and it cuts across his arms as he flies high above the villain.

Deku rushes forward, keeping the villain's eyes on him with a swift kick to the chest and a blast of air to make them stumble backwards.

Before the villain goes down, those glass pieces reunite in a group behind Deku's back. Katsuki isn't fast enough to stop it— but is in the perfect position to aim a full blast right in the villain's back.

So he does.

-----

Izuku has multiple lacerations across his back from the glass and mild burns on his arms from Kacchan. There were only two injured civilians and Kacchan got off with a broken wrist and a cut on his face that would heal without scarring.

"Good job, Midoriya!" Iida congratulates him, on a personal mission to bring notes for the classes Izuku had missed.

Although the burns were mild, the cuts needed to be watched closely by Recovery Girl before she could repair them. He didn't want to have glass stuck beneath fully healed skin, after all.

Laying on his stomach, Izuku can only nod helplessly and grin. "Thanks, Iida. I'll study right away."

"Maybe next time you can defeat a villain without getting injured, dumbass."

Kacchan appears behind Iida, startling the latter something fierce, but Izuku only grins wider.

"You got hurt, too, Kacchan."

"Shut the fuck up." A water bottle, metal and shiny, is shoved against his cheek and Izuku hisses at the sudden chill. As he juggles it and the notebook Iida had brought, Kacchan watches him critically. Then, once Izuku reaches to place the bottle on his side table, Kacchan snatches the book from his bed.

"Bakugo—!" Iida starts, but Kacchan has exploded it before he'd finished the first syllable. "My notes!"

Izuku chokes on air as Kacchan stabs a finger in the back of his neck, still warm from his Quirk. "You're getting outta here at lunch, yeah? You'd better be at my room once I'm back from classes, shithole."

Then, he shoves past Iida and skirts around Recovery Girl before he leaves just as quickly as he appeared.

Izuku half-heartedly comforts Iida as he mourns the loss of his carefully crafted notes, but he can't stop the way his mouth curls at the corners. Reading between the lines, it was obvious that Kacchan wanted them to study together.

When Iida has gone, speedwalking (not running!) so that he isn't late for the next class, Izuku buries his head in his pillow and lets his smile grow wider.

'ill be there!! ヽ(o＾▽＾o)ノ' He texts to Kacchan.

'Fucking better, nerd.' He gets in response.

-----

All Might visits him, just before lunch.

Recovery Girl had just finished healing him, though his back only partially so because of his low energy, and he and All Might almost bumped into each other when he opened the door to leave.

Which is how they found themselves walking along the forest line, shielding their eyes from the sun.

"And you're sure you're feeling alright, Young Midoriya?"

"Feeling great! I could probably use 100% right now!" As if to prove it, Izuku begins to bounce from one foot to the other.

When All Might begins to stutter and wave his hands frantically to stop him, Izuku grins wide. "Just kidding."

The two find a bench near the middle of the forest, overlooking the rest of the city. A pond gently flows in front of them, and a few ducks peck at his red shoes before they move on to swim away.

Izuku's back still burns, if he's being honest. Not as much as it did, but there was a faint ache where each piece of glass had dug in and dragged down.

"If it still hurts in the morning," she had began, glancing down at her notes. "Come back and I should be able to heal you fully."

Now, All Might places a gentle hand across the nape of his neck, as if sensing the pain lingering there. It grows silent between them until All Might pulls away to show off his lunchbag.

"Hungry, Young Midoriya?"

Their lunch consisted of a sandwich and juice boxes— and candies from Present Mic. Each bite was quickly scarfed down as the ducks wandered between their legs, pecking at the crumbs. Izuku feels bad not sharing any fuller bites with them— but he also clearly remembers the time Aizawa-sensei had scolded him about their diets so…

He shoos them away with the back of his hand and a promise, to himself, to bring lettuce or peas next time.

When they finish, All Might pats around his pockets before producing a handful of wrapped treats, each one a pale pink or bright red. The candies nearly overflow All Might's palms and Izuku is quick to catch them before the ducks get there first.

"I never really liked strawberry flavored things," All Might confesses, as if it were the greatest sin. "But Hizashi— ah… Present Mic, I mean. He loves to share them."

Izuku pockets two of the little lollipops and promises not to tell anyone the secret.

-----

They part ways well after lunch had concluded for the rest of the UA students.

"I think… I'm gonna go for a run in town," Izuku says as they start circling back through the forest. "I probably should buy Iida a thank-you gift for his notes." Not that he'd be able to use them but…

All Might sends him a thumbs-up. "Be careful, young man. You'll send me to an early heart attack if you get attacked again so soon."

"I'll try my best!" Izuku says, and runs off with a teasing laugh before he can specify what, exactly, he'd be trying his best to do (or not do).

Although the sun had just reached its peak in the sky, the air was a bit cold as Izuku jogged down the mountain. It reminded him of the water bottle Kacchan had given him, and Izuku tried to remind himself to bring it to their study session, to return.

The town is quiet as he jogs through, pausing at an intersection to wipe sweat from his brow. Makes sense, being early afternoon on a weekday.

He and Kacchan had gotten attacked the day prior (on their way back to UA from what had basically been a mini-field trip), but already the rhythm of their town had gone back to relaxed.

Izuku waves hello to some resting construction workers, watching as they go about fixing the cracks in the bridge of the train.

On his way back to UA, he begins to eat one of the lollipops All Might had given him. It's super sweet, covered in a fine powder from where it had been smushed in his pocket. Completely and artificially strawberry, but it satisfied a craving somewhere in his stomach anyway.

As he crunches down on the hardened sugar, he doesn't hear the snap of branches as footsteps dart behind him. Not until pain explodes on his already aching back.

He goes down, silent. Minutes later, if one were to pass, all that would be left of him was the cute, pink wrapper of his candy.

-----

Izuku wakes up to a broken wrist, a black eye, and a cloth gag being unwrapped from around his head.

Voices circle around his head, and a hand keeps his shoulder pressed to the ground— not painfully but firm.

All Might's sad smile comes into view as Izuku groans and tries to roll over onto his stomach. The hands touching him move away and are replaced by All Might helping him sit up.

"Young Midoriya," He begins, but Izuku misses the rest when police sirens go off behind him, sending his head into a spiral of pain and bright lights.

He's pretty sure he faints because when he wakes up next, his wrist is healed and blood rests on his tongue, replacing the taste of old cotton.

-----

He isn't allowed to leave the infirmary until two days later. Not even allowed visitors the entire time. Not that he'd been awake if there were any visitors.

When he did wake up, though, it'd been maddeningly silent. Recovery Girl doesn't even lecture him for being hurt, but All Might does come to assure him that he hadn't died of a heart attack as he'd predicted.

"From now on, you'll have to be accompanied by an escort, young man."

Izuku readily agreed with a soft, hoarse, "Please."

-----

It isn't until the next day that he remembers the study session he'd missed with Kacchan.

-----

"You were hit with a quirk," Aizawa-sensei tells him. "We don't have all the details yet, but... by making a person ingest a piece of themself, the villain makes it so that their victim can't control what they say."

When Izuku's brows quirk and he turns green around the edges, Aizawa pats him on the head. "I'll spare you the details, but you aren't a cannibal, if that's what you're worried about."

Izuku scribbles down on the whiteboard placed in his lap and holds it up to be read.

'Is that why I'm wearing a gag?' He asks. A knotted cloth rests just behind his teeth, heavily soaked with his saliva. Gross.

Aizawa nods. "Mm, we aren't sure how long it'll take to get out of your system. Even while you were unconscious, the quirk made you speak. For the sake of your own secrets— and my own sanity—" and boy does Aizawa put stress on the word, "— we found it better to muffle it rather than find a way to stop it."

Izuku hums, but he does feel words forming on his lips around the gag even as he tries to stop it.

"If you're able to stop yourself by tomorrow morning, we'll see about classes. For now, Recovery Girl suggests letting you sleep in your own room for the night."

Aizawa-sensei is surprisingly gentle when Izuku flinches away from his hands as they reach to untie the gag.

His teacher moves to instead pat him on the head, moving sweaty hair from his eyes. "Just change it out when you get to your room," Aizawa concedes.

-----

When he stumbles back to the dorms, half dragged by the arm across Aizawa-sensei's shoulder, his classmates understandably freak.

"Is he…"

"Deku, we missed you!"

"What's with the…" Kaminari motions to the almost soaked through gag. Even without Aizawa-sensei talking directly to him, Izuku spoke everything that came to mind on the short walk from UA to the dorms.

"He's still recovering," is all Aizawa-sensei says. "Do not take it off of him. Even if he's sleeping."

At the serious tone, the class quickly parts to let them head towards Izuku's room.

"If he's still sick, why not leave him to rot in the damn granny's office?" Kacchan grumbles from the kitchen as they pass, locking eyes with him.

Izuku grins as best he can around the gag. Aizawa only grunts, but Izuku is pretty sure Kacchan gets the gist of the motion by the way he rolls his eyes and angrily downs an overfilled glass of water.

It isn't until he's been tucked in bed and given a plethora of cloths to use as a gag for the next few days that he notices the time: thirty minutes past midnight.

He sends a quick text off to Kacchan.

'sorry for worrying u! Get some rest (－ω－) zzZ'

Kacchan responds almost immediately with a quick, 'Fuck off.'

Just before Izuku turns over to place his phone back on the charger, he gets another text which reads a simple, 'You too.'

-----

Izuku is, in fact, allowed to go to classes the next day.

Aizawa-sensei walks him to Recovery Girl early in the morning.

"Given that you've missed half the week, we decided it was best to let you come back instead of make-up classes."

Izuku nods, words coming forward before he can stop them. "I'd rather not do those. They're harder than actual classes."

Aizawa rolls his eyes, but it's half-hearted at best. "When I came to wake you, you weren't mumbling in your sleep. As long as you bring your gag, you should be fine."

Then, half under his breath, "Maybe I should gag the rest of the class. Finally get some peace and quiet."

Izuku laughs, tugging an embroidered cloth out of his pocket. It was designed with a stitched thumbs up on one side and a messy side profile of Golden Age All Might, and Izuku has a feeling a certain mentor of his is the one who made it.

He and Aizawa-sensei make it to class much earlier than the rest of the class— almost 45 minutes earlier.

"What about the person who used their quirk on me?" Izuku had asked on the way to UA.

His teacher stayed troublingly silent for a long while, after that. Izuku's nervous, constant stream of thought filled the spaces in between them.

"It's being handled," Aizawa had said, finally. "The campus is under lockdown, and no one is allowed off-site."

And Izuku had left it at that.

-----

His back still hurts. He'd forgotten to bring it up with Recovery Girl, which is surprising to him considering the nature of the quirk that hit him. With as many times as he'd interrupted Aizawa-sensei with segways that had nothing to do with their conversation both walking to and from the infirmary, he's sure his teacher would be surprised to hear it, too.

He'd go before lunch break, then.

Izuku sighs softly, muttering to himself as he goes over the texts Uraraka had sent him the few days he'd been absent. Just major notes about what they'd gone over in classes she knew he had trouble with. She'd mentioned something about Iida wanting to give him another notebook, but (to none of their surprise) decided to hold off giving it to him until Kacchan wasn't around.

The gag sits soundly in his lap as he half-studies, half looks out the window.

As his class begins to shuffle in, keeping their distance but still sending happy greetings his way, he fingers the frayed edges of it.

When his friends come in, Uraraka two steps behind Iida, Izuku shouts out a sharp, excited, "Hey!"

Everyone startles at the sudden, loud sound of his voice, and he sheepishly waves them over. Aizawa-sensei narrows his eyes at him as he leaves to get notes before the beginning of homeroom, and Izuku sends him a quick, apologetic shrug.

"Dekuuu, we missed you!" Uraraka throws a quick hug across his shoulders. "We weren't even allowed to visit!"

"Ahaha, well— " Izuku begins, quickly parsing through his thoughts. "I guess I just had to be observed for a while longer."

"Oh?"

"Mm. The quirk I got hit with, uh…" Izuku flinches. Maybe he shouldn't have said that part? Ah, well. "Well, Recovery Girl still had to monitor me— plus I was still injured from the train incident— and maybe it could've been contagious, so— !"

"Ah, that makes sense. It would be inefficient to have half the class out of commission, after all." Iida nods to himself.

"Mm," Izuku smiles, kicking his legs out to turn towards the two of them. So far, it seemed the quirk was fading faster and faster with time. Even as the back of his mind panicked to talk about the classes he missed, he was able to ignore it in favor of small talk before class started. It helped when his friends smiled at him, especially helped when the worried squint of their eyes faded to something more relaxed.

Maybe he wouldn't even have to use the gag. Seeing as it was hand-stitched by All Might himself, it already earned a place on the highest shelf of his hero collection.

But then, Kacchan comes in.

Well, Ashido and Kaminari do, first. She has her arm around his neck and seems to be trying to hop on his back so he can carry her to his desk and he, rightly, is struggling.

Kirishima comes in third, knocking shoulders with Sero as they play rock-paper-scissors. Kirishima loses when he plays rock, and lets out a loud yelp when Sero pinches his side as part of the punishment.

Kacchan is right behind them, laughing meanly as Kirishima rubs his gut. His bag has slipped from his shoulder to his forearm, caught there with his hand in his pocket. Although it was morning and the air outside was chilly, he had a faint line of sweat dripping from his brow.

Kacchan had always been quick to sweating— probably because of his Quirk. His palms had always been sweaty when they were younger, always warm, too. He wonders if they still are after all these years— rough and soft at the same time.

Izuku melts as Kacchan swipes at his hairline with a handkerchief. When he moves to yell at Kirishima and Sero for trying to pounce on him to join their game, his eyes sparkle and shine happily even if his tone doesn't match.

As he closes the door behind them all, sunlight filters through the window and illuminates the shine of his teeth and the glimpse of bare midriff as Sero dodges between Kacchan's legs to crawls to his seat before Kacchan can retaliate.

Iida and Uraraka have turned to him, waiting for a response to the conversation he hadn't been paying attention to.

Instead of the apology he was expecting to spew, he instead says,

"Kacchan is beautiful, today."

His friends freeze, and even Todoroki glances up from his half-asleep staring contest with a bird in a nearby tree.

"Eh?"

"I mean— what I meant to say, Kacchan is always beautiful, and— " The words spill out easily even when his horrified fingers cling to his lips and desperately try to force them closed. It was as if the carefully crafted dam that had been being repaired all morning had gotten slammed through and demolished like glass under a hammer.

His muffled voice— "Kacchan is…. Kacchan is…" slip out of his grasp, literally slip between his fingers, and all eyes turn to the startled blond boy still standing at the classroom door.

By the way his eyebrows shoot down, a scowl on his lips replacing the carefree smirk he had just moments prior, Kacchan is livid.

---

chapter 2 and the rest of the fic available here 

[shimeiro]

1- Jean Jacket (Maxwell Lord x Fem!Reader

- Part 1 -  Maxwell Lord x Fem!Reader

┃Next Part┃- ┃Masterlist┃

( a / n : I don't know if it's my love for clothes in vintage thrift stores that made me create this story or just my love for that asshole Maxwell but ... Yeah, we'll all see how it goes I guess? (Alistair does not exist in this story so no Father Max sorryyyy) )

Warnings : None ? 

 Words : 2275

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Your life was rather quiet and pleasant, you like your job as a saleswoman in a big and quite famous second-hand store in the neighborhood, the vintage clothes are in good condition and the stock is renewed every day so new pieces from the 60's to the 90's make their appearance on the shelves and the hangers of the store full of clothes, Shoes, accessories... Your status as a saleswoman gives you the right to be one step ahead of the store's regulars to choose clothes you like for half the price and that alone makes your job so nice. Just yesterday you managed to find a real denim jacket from the 80's, and as everyone in this store knows: each piece is unique and when you manage to find something you like it becomes a bit of a treasure just for you because no one will find exactly the same thing in the whole store.

Today you decided to come to work with your new jacket, it's a little big for you but the oversize side is very fashionable at the moment, your work doesn't require a proper outfit and the boss himself wears very extravagant and colorful outfits, this man is adorable and full of life which makes the atmosphere at work great. So, your outfit of the day consisting of a black strapless crop top in fabric that holds your breasts does not leave much to the imagination because you are not wearing a bra underneath - necessarily a bustier. - but more and more women do not wear a bra and you're lucky that you don't have boobs that don't necessarily require a bra so you take advantage. 

But for some people it seems vulgar even though it's summer and the sun is scorching outside and yes women can wear crop tops and no bra, but with your jacket and your high waist jeans that hide your belly button make the outfit modern and vintage at the same time with your wedge ankle boots found a month ago at the bottom of a cardboard box in the store's reserve. But if this is really neccesary you can close your jacket if you feel that some men will become too... agressive in front of a bar when you come home tonight. Women life...

You feel especially pretty today thanks to your new jacket, the new clothes have the power to make you happy the first time you wear them so you walk confidently towards work while the soft air of the sunny summer morning makes a few strands of your hair twirl to the rhythm of your steps while the music in your headphones makes the street atmosphere you taking every day almost magical.

A strange feeling has been gripping your heart since you left home, it feels like some kind of strange nostalgia and you can't really understand why you suddenly feel this way for no apparent reason, maybe it's because when you left home and put your hand in the pocket of your new jacket you found a small piece of paper yellowed by the years, you immediately found it strange because normally when the clothes arrive at the store they are cleaned because most of the clothes come from people who give them to the store to resell them because they used to clutter up their parents' or grandparents' attics or garages sometimes. So finding a paper in a pocket of your jacket is surprising but not impossible.

But when you carefully unfold the little piece of paper it is the sentence written on it that stirred something in you, it's just a few words written with a black pen:

« Can't Take My Eyes off You. » It's the lyrics of an old song but you felt something strange while reading the paper, maybe it's because of your small - big - hypersensitivity and your romantic side but since reading this old paper - which was clearly meant for the former owner of the denim jacket - you feel this strange feeling. You get out of your thoughts when the music you are listening to ends and another one randomly launches from the playlist in your phone but the earphones start to sizzle in an unusual way, you sigh with annoyance because you bought them no more than two weeks ago, and having music while walking alone outside has become almost more of a necessity than a habit, Having music in your ears almost makes you feel like you're in another world when you're walking and it makes you forget your slight discomfort when you find yourself in crowded streets or a bus full of strangers invading your personal space.

Suddenly you feel a violent vertigo that forces you to stop walking and your earphones sizzle even louder so you have to quickly remove them from your ears before they pierce your eardrums or something like that.  You open your eyes gently and don't even notice that you closed them first, your head spins a little and you feel a little nauseous for a few more seconds and then the world stabilizes again and you look around you with incomprehension, you don't know at all the street you're on right now.

You look frantically from left to right hoping to find something familiar, a store, a café, a sign, anything that would help you find your way, but you find yourself in a big, completely unknown avenue that doesn't even look like an avenue that the city where you live might have. You feel your body warmth rise a notch when panic starts to creep into your mind when you realize that absolutely everything seems unknown, the cars are all old American cars, the people walking down the street all seem to be going out in old fashion stores from the 80's, even their hairstyles. 

You feel like you're in a movie.

Your brain rushes to try to rationalize the situation you're in to try to prevent you from having a panic attack in the middle of a street crowded with people looking at you weirdly, if only you had your headphones and relaxing music to make you think about something else ... But yes your phone! A wave of relief comes over you when you take your phone out of the back pocket of your jeans, just having it in your hands right now makes you want to cry with joy, you quickly retreat until your back is against the wall of a building and you are no longer in the passage of the street crowded with people who look at you as if you had a second head. You don't even look at the building you're leaning against and you quickly press the button on your phone to turn it on, but once the screen lights up he flashes frantically it's impossible to unlock it and call someone. 

« What the hell ... Please ..! » You whisper in a trembling voice as you feel your breath accelerating, the stupid phone has absolutely no mercy for you even though you desperately try to make it work properly by turning it on and off, You have a glimmer of hope when the image on your wallpaper - an adorable picture of Mando with his green baby from The Mandalorian series - stabilizes enough for you to unlock it and access your contacts, you were going to text your position to your colleague and friend Daisy to beg her to come and pick you up in car but suddenly the screen goes completely off and you can't turn it back on.

« No no no no no no no… » You swear that you can feel your heart stop beating for a few moments because of the black screen of your only hope in this nightmare. Yes nightmare, you must certainly be in full dream and you will wake up nice and warm in your bed and Roucky your long-haired red cat will come and purr in your ear for you to wake up and give him food and then ...  You are startled when you hear someone clearing their throat insistently right in front of you, it must have been a little while that person has been trying to get your attention and you hadn't even noticed their presence. You raise your head gently with a little smile on your lips to try to hide your internal panic, a salesperson reflex when you are lost in your thoughts while a customer wanted to attract your attention. But your smile fades when you finally see the person right in front of you with his arms crossed over a large chest dressed in a three-piece sky-blue suit, a smirk on his lips and an eyebrow raised in a questioning manner. Maxwell Lord.

Wait...

Maxwell Lord?!

What the fuck ?! 

He is literally a fictional character who is played by your favorite actor Pedro Pascal, and he is there in front of you and his deep brown eyes are staring at you with a kind of fun and curiosity not hidden, you it looks strongly like a dream but everything seems far too realistic in a same time, you can smell his masculine perfume and certainly the smell of his aftershave if he was even closer, you hear the noise of the passers-by behind him. Yeah It's really much too realistic. 

Instinctively you look down on the hand that is not holding your phone to observe the palm of your hand and your fingers, usually when you have a doubt in a dream about the reality of the situation you are in and if you are in a dream your hand will be anything but normal, a finger in addition or something else and after that you know that you are in a dream what leads you to make a lucid dream and thus to be able to control more or less the continuation of your dream, it is besides often amusing but there your hand is completely normal even if you fix it for a long time.

 « Mmh, it's the first time a woman has ignored me like this. »

You quickly raise your head and open your eyes, and Pedr-Maxwell still looks at you, but this time his hands are in his pants pockets.

« Oh- I'm sorry I'm... I'm... in need of sugar! So- I almost fainted so uh... I'm slowly coming to my senses? So... I'm gonna go buy a sugary drink and... I'll feel better. » 

You're aware your voice shakes at times when you tell your half lie to the beautiful man in front of you, you almost fainted when you... landed here. But you weren't going to tell him that you were technically from the future, were you? But this world doesn't really exist because it's from a movie but... Yeah...?

   You probably had to convince him with your lost and panicked look and his brown eyes seem to soften slightly he looks at you from top to bottom - maybe lingering too much on your black top - then he looks on your phone that you still hold in your right hand, he looks at it curiously but he doesn't say anything and then his eyes go back to your face, it's really weird to see her in front of you after the fanfictions you read about him when you haven't even seen the movie Wonder Woman 1984, in fact the whole situation is weird, you always laughed and said to yourself that if you were in the world of one of the characters you love and you met him you might try to be enterprising and enjoy the moment but right now you're just completely lost and scared.

« Need sugar huh? My assistant was going to get me a coffee, » He takes his left hand out of his pocket and makes a lazy wave with his hand, the gold rings on his fingers shine with the sun's rays, barely he make his gesture a beautiful blonde woman with curves worthy of the muse of an expensive lingerie brand appear next to him.

« Yes Mr. Lord? »

 « Usual coffee and something with sugar. »

Her assistant seems slightly irritated when she looks in your direction but she picks herself up when she looks at her boss again.

« What kind of sweet thing Mr. Lord? »

Her tone leaves a kind of innuendo, and you can imagine that as in some fanfictions you read Maxwell must fuck his assistants out of ease, and this beautiful woman with perfect breasts must surely be one of them, Maxwell doesn't pick up the innuendo and doesn't even look at her.

« You bring it back to my office in 5 minutes. »

She stutters a little: "Yes Mr. Lord" while throwing you a murderous look as if it was your fault that her boss was like that, but you are not irritated or hurt by the look of this assistant you are just still in the fog, maybe you really have something sweet finally to clear your mind a bit.

You feel knuckles brushing against your cheek, Maxwell freezes when you look up at his face and his eyes darken for a split second and then he clears his throat and quickly removes the hand that just brushed against your face.

« Follow me, I wouldn't want a young woman to pass out in front of the Lord Industry building. »

You hadn't even paid attention to the building right behind you in your panic to try to get out of this situation but now you've drawn Maxwell Lord's attention and you don't know if it's a good thing in the supernatural situation you're in.

[ververa]

Broken like me

A/N: There’s gonna be a 2nd part probably - if I manage to pull myslef together and write it. But I’m doing my best. 

 Hope you enjoy it <3

Cordelia Goode x fem!reader

Words: 2,200

You had always known that you’re the one who needed to make it through life on your own. There was nobody who could help you or who was willing to help you at least. You’re fine for most of the time though. That’s what you kept telling yourself everyday looking in the mirror.

You didn’t want your life to be just a dreadful misfortune that befell you. Your teacher taught you that everything happens for a reason and life is a gift. So, you treated it that way. But no matter how hard you tried, you’re slowly turning colder and colder as more bad things kept happening to you. Before you knew you became numb and went into bad company.

Parties, alcohol, drugs… You’re using them as an escape from your problems, but they’re actually leading you to even bigger troubles.

“You’re fine Y/N. You can do it. You’ve got it!” you kept telling yourself every morning feeling that you’re falling apart

You would most likely break down if a woman from social service and a police officer hadn’t knocked at the door of your apartment. They’re there with your younger sister. They didn’t need to say anything, because you already knew something bad had happened. And you’re right - your parents had had a car accident.

“Miss Y/N… I’m really sorry”

You said nothing. You couldn’t speak at that moment. You only looked  at your little sister - Ava and smiled trying to stop the tears. You knew she still didn’t really get what’s going on. She was barely 5 after all. And that’s when your life changed forever. Since then you’re not on your own anymore. You had a little child that you’re supposed to provide for.

It’s really hard to get everything done. Your college was hell and at the club, where you had got a job, you weren’t paid enough to support both you and your sister. 

You’re devastated and furious, simply because you’re not able to get everything done. You needed to pay for the apartment, buy food, clothes and pay for your sister’s school. You’re a nervous wreck. That’s when your so called friend helped you with finding another job - a better one, as she said.

“Look, there is that agency… They need young, pretty girls such as yourself… You just go out with rich people…”

You knew exactly what your friend was doing and you didn’t really like it. That’s not what you wanted to do in your life, so you’re hesitant.

“I know you don’t like being close with people, but you don’t always have to have sex with them… Think about your sister Y/N. She deserves to have a good life, doesn’t she?”

Of course she did deserve a good life and you wanted your sister to have a better and happier life than you did. That’s probably the only reason why you opted for that job.

It wasn’t easy. Especially at the beginning. Actually you hated it, but you couldn’t deny that thanks to that job your life changed and became a bit easier. At least when it came to your finance. You had whatever you wanted and could buy anything your sister wished for.

You're pretty and your job taught you how to use it. And so you did. You rarely had to do more than going out with some rich people and keeping them company. Usually you met with someone new every week, until one man appeared. He didn't want you or your body. He was gay, but had to pretend he's straight and you're supposed to "play" his girlfriend.

Roman was a gentleman. He got to know you pretty well, as he became your only client for a long time.

"Y/N you don't need to do anything. All I need from you is to look pretty and not meet with anyone else"

"I mean yes, but that's what I'm supposed to do to earn money…"

"I'll pay for everything. Don't worry about the money"

So, you stayed at home and focused on your studies. You liked it at first, but soon you realized you miss all the attention you're getting. All the compliments, praises, presents. You didn't complain though. Roman took care of everything and you even became friends. Thanks to him you met the first person you ever loved.

You met her at a party. You're there with Roman. You had to be by his side almost all the time, which was not only tiring, but also kind of boring. That's why you got quite excited knowing that the blonde woman was watching you.

After 3 or so hours of pretending you're done. You needed a break, so you went to the toilet and lit a cigarette.

"Isn't he too old for you?" you heard a female voice

You turned back and saw the woman who's looking at you for the whole night.

"He could be your father…." she stated

"He's a good friend. I'm helping him and he's helping me" you shrugged 

"By sleeping with him? I mean I don't judge. I understand that some girls are looking for stability…"

"No. Some girls need money, because there's no one they can count on" you snarled

"I'm sorry" the woman sat down on a windowsill next to you "I didn't mean to offend you" she placed her hand on yours

You looked at her. Normally you'd be annoyed when someone touched you, but it's different with her. Something about her made you calm.

"Wouldn't you prefer to find someone younger, who would try to be there for you?"

"I'm not sure if that's possible"

"Why?"

"It's complicated"

"Explain then?"

"I… I just do what has to be done, because we need money"

Cordelia frowned trying to read your unreadable face expression. After a moment she offered you her hand.

"I'm…" she wanted to introduce herself, but you already knew her

"Cordelia Goode, the Supreme, yes I know"

She smiled still holding your hand.

"What's your name then?"

"I'm Y/N"

"Y/N what?"

"Just Y/N" you said standing up "It's nice to meet you Mrs Goode" you smiled and moved to the door 

"It's Cordelia"

"Of course" you said and left

You had been to a lot of different parties with Roman, but you had never met Cordelia before. You had no idea they’re friends actually and you definitely didn’t expect that it would affect you in any way. Yet it did.

After his brother’s death Roman was taking care of his niece. You knew that, because the two of you befriended, but you didn’t know the girl was a witch and was at the academy, where Cordelia was in charge.

You had no idea Cordelia was interested in you as well. You stopped noticing such things when you began working at the agency. That job totally changed your way of perceiving love.

Cordelia on the other hand felt more powerful than ever. She was the Supreme after all. She was capable of having whatever she wanted - and she wanted you. She couldn’t really explain it, but something about you was attracting her and there was nothing to do about it, but get you. Yet despite her power Cordelia still was a caring and empathetic woman. She didn’t want to use you and hurting you was the last thing on her mind. So, when Roman told her he’s going to leave and that you’d have to go back to working just like the rest of the young women in the agency Cordelia decided to take matters into her own hands. They talked it over and made a deal, but nobody told you about the changes.

You did feel like something  was not quite okay on your way to the hotel. Roman had never made you go to any hotel before. You had always met at his place or he just picked you up, so that you could go to some party together. But there you were - at the door of the hotel room. You knocked and waited for Roman to open. But instead of him the door was opened by Cordelia. You stood there a bit shocked and confused.

"I… Is Roman here?"

Cordelia smiled "No, he's not"

"Oh… umm okay. I guess I misunderstood something…"

"No, honey, you didn't. Come in"

'Honey'? That took you by surprise.

You came in and looked around. The room was huge and really fancy, but you knew immediately that it wasn't Roman who had chose that place.

"So, where is he?"

"That's a long story. Would you like some wine?"

You looked at her once again. She was dressed up and looked even better than at the party where you met. That's when you got it…

"Sit down Y/N" she said approaching you with two glasses of wine

You did as you're told and then you were handed one of the glasses. You looked at her anticipating what could come next. But Cordelia didn't say a single word. 

For some reason her confidence disappeared when she saw you. You're so young and beautiful.

You knew that look that she had in her eyes. You knew what she wanted and that made you feel weird. Obviously you wanted attention and adoration and from the moment you met her you wanted her to want you, but at the same time you didn't want her to be like everyone else.

So, you say there in silence - looking at each other from time to time.

"So…" you started "I assume that I'm your toy now and Roman won't come, will be?"

"Roman had to leave and we didn't want you to…" she paused "We just decided I could take his place" she said nervously

" 'we'?" you repeated "And you didn't think that maybe I should know about it?"

"Y/N… we just didn't want you to feel… bad or uncomfortable"

You rolled your eyes and stood up. You placed your glasses on a table and began to unzip your dress.

"What are you doing?"

"Undressing. Let's get this over with. That's why I'm here for, right?"

"Actually, I was hoping that you'll have a dinner with me"

You stopped in your tracks.

"Dinner… with you?"

"Yes" she said standing up and approaching you "I thought we could get to know each other better" Cordelia took a long coat and held it for you to put on. You said nothing. Your brain stopped at the words 'get to know each other better', because no one had wanted that before. That's quite unexpected, but you didn't protest.

Cordelia took you to a restaurant downstairs at the hotel. You sat at the table far from the other people and ordered.

"Tell me something about yourself" she asked

"About myself?"

"Yes" she smiled "Because for now I only know your name"

"Well, there's nothing much to say. My life isn't interesting at all"

"Well, you seem to be a very interesting person"

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything"

"Umm… I don't really like talking about myself. I mean no one really cares" you shrugged

"I do"

"No you don't"

"I do"

"Mrs Goode…"

"It's Cordelia" she corrected you

"You don't... You don't know me and you don't want to know me. You don't need to pretend... I don't expect you to care. It's fine"

“I really do. Honestly, Y/N, I want to get to know you better” Cordelia said carefully taking your hand “But only if you’re okay with telling me”

The sudden touch took you by surprise. No one had held your hand like that - so gently - for a very long time.

“I…” you hesitated “I don’t talk about myself, because people don’t like it. Every time I let someone close to me… they leave. And with every person that leaves I lose a part of myself. It’s not even that I don’t want to tell you. It’s that you’ll leave too Cordelia and there’s not much left of real me and I just can’t lose that part, because if I do… then who will I become?”

The Supreme smiled sadly and gently squeezed your hand.

“I’m sorry” you said not looking at her

“You don’t need to be sorry, sweetheart. You haven’t done anything wrong, okay? You don’t need to tell me anything if you don’t want to.”

You looked at her and saw her beautiful smile. You nodded and tried to smile back, but you knew very well you failed to do so.

“I know you probably think I won’t understand” she continued “But trust me, I’ve been through a lot myself, so if you ever change your mind, just know I’ll listen” 

You dared to raise your eyes, simply because you wanted to know that she meant it. And one look was enough for you to be sure she did. You always believed that all the truth was in people’s eyes, that eyes were the door to a person’s soul. But you’re quite sure you had never seen more beautiful eyes - in which you could see nothing, but honesty, understanding and care. That’s when you couldn’t help it and thought to yourself - “You’re broken like me…”

Also I’m gonna make a new tag list, so let me know  if you’d like to be tagged :)

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #423

“i won’t think about you when i’m older  /  ‘cuz we never really had our closure”

Are you better at cooking dinners or making cakes/biscuits/sweets? Neither. Have you ever cut someone else’s hair? No. Who was the last guest in your house and what were they staying for? My late grandmother's husband stayed overnight when he was driving from New York to Florida or the other way around, idr. How many long term relationships have you been in? Two. Do you sleep with all the lights out, or do you leave a lamp or even the television on? My snake's heat lamp stays on. Who is one person you have forgiven, but still have not “forgotten” what they have done? My dad. Are you a fan of Lana Del Rey? I don't think I've even heard one of her songs. Do you know your blood type? A-. Do you know your mother’s birthday? Yes. Have you got your period at the moment? I haven't had my period since I started TMS. It's honestly so fucking frustrating that it obviously had an effect on my body, but not my depression. I've officially finished TMS as of a few days ago and now I just feel so void of hope. Have you ever been pregnant? No. How old were you when you first went on a plane? Idr, I was a little kid. Have you ever had to take out a loan for anything? Not me personally, but my parents have for my education that I threw away. Are both of your blood parents still in your life? Yes. I don't see my dad a lot, but he's still in my life regardless. When was the last time you went apple picking? I’ve never been. Someone asked you what you wanted, what would you say? Happiness. Have you ever been drunk at school or work? I have not. How many bedrooms are in your house? Three. Are you smart about computers? Not really, no. Have you ever played Just Dance for Wii? Yes. My sister loved them, so we have a few. Do you own a Xbox 360? No. I'm a PlayStation girl. Would you ever do a sex tape for a million dollars? No. I'd be mortified. So, do you need a nap? I really should take one. I slept like... maybe three hours last night. I was up most of the night having a fucking life crisis. What would you rather be doing? Something fun. What sport are you the best at? I haven't touched any sort of sport since I was a teenager. Do you have a little sister? What’s her name? Yeah, Nicole. Do you complain a lot? Kind of, but I generally try to keep it in surveys nowadays. I'm just tired of shit. Would you rather go to an authentic haunted house or an ancient temple? Ohhh, tough pick, but I've gotta say the ancient temple. Do you like fruity or minty gum? Both, really. Are you looking forward to any day of this month? Well July is practically over, so I'll answer for August. I'm looking forward to my nephew's birthday. Have you ever gotten detention? A few times for getting too many morning tardies in high school. Is there a traumatic event that you’ve experienced that’s changed your life? Definitely. Do you buy a majority of your clothes from a certain store, or do you just pick out items of clothing you could see yourself wearing, not caring about the store it came from? The latter. Have any of the artists you’re fond of released new albums recently? Powerwolf did recently. Would you ever keep your favorite animal as a pet? I could write a college-length essay on why meerkats do not make good pets whatsoever. Do fucking not get one. I can barely fathom how it's legal in some countries. Ever cried so much you threw up? No, but I've gagged. Who is your best guy friend? Girt. What do you two do when you hang out? Mostly just watch TV and play board games. What is a movie that you thought you would hate but you ended up loving? I dunno, really. Do you even like horror movies? I love horror movies. Do you live in the country? I wish I still did. :/ Me and Mom hate hate hate living in these suburbs. What is your favorite accent? British. Have you ever had a boyfriend your parents didn’t like? No. Do you drink Pepsi or Coke? Coke. Pepsi is gross. What do you plan to do on your 21st birthday? I was literally in the psych hospital for my 21st birthday lmao. It's kind of a painful memory, but I also won't forget the love and kindness people showed me. I especially remember the friend I made there getting the lunch lady to literally go and buy me a slice of cake. Everyone also sang happy birthday to me and gaaaah I'm getting emotional. Do you have any person in your family with an addiction to beer? That was my dad's drink of choice when he drank. Do you take a lot of pictures? Unless I have my camera and am somewhere pretty, no. What kind of face wash do you use? Water, lol. Does drama always seem to follow you? Nah. Does anybody in your family race? No. Are you closer to your mom or dad? My mom. How much money did you used to get from the ”tooth fairy?” Uhhh... I want to say $2 or something? I might be way off, idr. How long do you want to live with your parents? I WISH I could have moved out with an s/o already, but that's just not how life's worked out. Do you have a laptop or desktop? I have a laptop. Do you like your parents? I love them. Do you secretly like someone? It's not a secret, no. Would you ever date your best male friend? Tried that once and it didn't work out. I liked him more as like a brother. What are you currently listening to? "Better Than Me" by Hinder. I really need to turn it off, but I can't make myself. Do you want to be single? I really wish I had a partner to love and motivate me to strive to do better, but I know it's better I'm single right now. I'd just relive the Jason situation, I'm sure. I'd just drag the person down and lose them. Did you go out or stay in last night? I'm almost always at my fucking house not doing shit, so. Have you pretended to like someone? No, that sounds pretty stupid... How is your heart lately? Hurting. A lot. Are you wearing socks? I hate wearing socks and I'm in bed anyway, so no. What do people call you? Britt, mostly. Do you get stressed out easily? VERY. Have you ever been taken to the emergency room in an ambulance? No. What is wrong with you right now? Where the hell to begin. Do you own something from Hot Topic? A lot. Would you rather sleep with someone else or alone? With someone, so long as the bed is big enough to comfortably fit two of us. Do you still talk to the person you last made out with? No. I'm certain he wants nothing to do with me. Have you ever seen your best friend cry? Sadly. Did you get any compliments today? Definitely not. I look and feel like a wreck right about now. There's nothing to praise me about. Have you ever gone to a beach? Many times. What would you say if someone asked you to get high right now? Unless it was an edible, no. I'd do almost anything to try and make me feel better right now, even if just for a little while, but I'm unwilling to smoke anything. Do you believe that everything happens for a reason? HELL no. Have you ever done volunteer work just because you wanted to? Honestly, no. Do you have long nails? No; I never do because I have an awful habit of picking at them. Do you like the gender you are? I don't like or dislike it, honestly. I'm just neutral. Do you generally look nice in photos? HA. Have you ever had a stick insect as a pet? No. What colour are your father’s eyes? They're dark brown. If I handed you a concert ticket right now, who would you want to be the performer? Ozzy, duh. Name three facts about your family? We're very, very spread out geographically, some of us (in other words, me) are emotionally distant, and uh... idk. Would you ever get into a long distance relationship? Only if it was a certain person, our lives were more on track, and we were making plans for either of us to move soon. What’s the most thoughtful present you’ve ever received? Probably this really long letter my mom wrote for me on my bday a couple years ago. What’s your favorite hot beverage? Hot chocolate. Did you ever play an instrument? If so what? I played the flute for many years, all through middle school and through much of high school. Would you rather carve pumpkins or wrap presents? Carve pumpkins, for sure. Do you think you’re important? I don't fucking know. Probably not. What’s the best compliment you’ve ever received? Idk. Have you been diagnosed with any mental disorders? *hands over thick book* Have you ever moved to another state or country? If so, how did it feel to be new? No. Do you know how to properly eat food with chopsticks? No. My hands are way, way too shaky to ever accomplish that. Are you more of a leader or a follower? Definitely a follower, but I can step up in certain situations. What was the first thing you ate today? Well, I was seriously depression-eating last night, way past midnight, and had a peanut butter sandwich. If you could spend the day, doing absolutely anything, with anyone, anywhere, what would it be like? LET'S NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT RIGHT NOW. If I were to ask you how you are doing, and you were only able to answer completely honestly, what would come out? "Falling apart." I've lost direction, motivation, strength, hope, just everything. What is the one thing that you have been avoiding that you should do? I need a fucking shower so bad that it's embarrassing. I just can't move. I have no energy, emotionally or physically. I just can't make myself do it. Is there anything that you wish you could take back? So, so badly. What, in your mind, could make you truly happy? Actually reaching goals. Losing weight. Healing my legs. Knowing with certainty that I wasn't emotionally abusive to Jason. Moving out of this town and back into the country. Financial stability. A job I thoroughly enjoy. I could go on, but let's not. If you could change one conversation in your life, what would you say differently? Would it have REALLY made any difference? God, let me take back shit I said in that fucking letter to you-know-who. It's so hard to believe I once thought it perfectly justified and realistic. When is the next time you’ll change your hairstyle? Will you color it? I don't have any plans of changing the style in the foreseeable future. I want to color it BADLY. To just SOMETHING. Do people normally say you’re a fast typist, or are you rather slow? I'm like, a lightning-fast typist. Have you ever been considered the ‘smartest person in school?’ No; my best friend in HS was, though. Her GPA was fucking insane. I was in the top percentile, though, so I was up there. What the hell happened to that girl. How many drugs are in your system? If we're including prescriptions, a whole hell of a lot. What’s on your schedule for tomorrow? Jack shit. Like usual. Do you currently have any bite marks/hickeys on your body? No. Do you call anyone baby? Excluding my pets, no. What’s your current mood? lol if you've gotten this far reading, you can make an educated guess. Do you think you are a good person? Bro I just don't know. What were you doing before filling out this survey? I was playing WoW. How late did you stay up last night? Like, 4:30 or so. When was the last time you cried really hard? I wanna say like a week ago? Is your hair longer than your shoulders? No. It still badly needs a trim, though.