#it was the worst thing I’ve had to go through

[eothemagnificent]

Ditto on the getting spooked off by the fearmongering, it literally took multiple years (and a lot of patience on his part) for me to figure out how to have a conversation with Odin without getting too intimidated by His Reputation to hear him over my own anxiety—this despite the fact that in retrospect, I had felt a draw to a lot of Odin-adjacent things ever since I was a kid. And even once I did start taking to him, many of our interactions have had the feeling of someone trying to socialize a feral cat (though that’s also due in part to some personal trauma I was trying to work through at the time).

But despite everything I’d heard, he’s never done anything like make things harder for me on purpose, let alone as some sort of test. We had One fight a few years back, after he’d crossed what I hadn’t actually *said* was a boundary (partly because I didn’t realize it would even come up)—and once I made that boundary explicit, he’s fully respected it ever since. Other than that one (1) time, most of my experiences with him have just been… him offering support and guidance, as I’ve been going through Some Shit. Even when he’s taken me to task on some of my more self-destructive tendencies, he’s never been needlessly harsh or combative.

I definitely won’t say that he Never tests people—largely because I just don’t want to speak for anyone else, but also because he *is* a teacher, and sometimes the most effective way to get a difficult lesson across is to let the student fuck up in a controlled setting. But not everyone needs to be taught that kind of lesson, or would respond well to it, so why do it when it isn’t helpful or necessary?

Idk, I’m kinda just rambling here. I just don’t get how someone would look at the same Old Man who's talked me down from panic attacks and sat with me through the worst parts of med withdrawals… and somehow come to the conclusion that he's someone who must be Approached With Caution Lest He Ruin Your Life. It just doesn’t make sense to me. Like, yeah he Could fuck up someone’s life, but… why would he bother? Why would he Want to? Why is the default assumption that *the allfather* doesn’t give a shit about you or your well-being?

I love the most recent ask on vikings-til-valhalla’s account. I’m telling my impressions separately because they’re rather about the ask than the response, which is quite personal. I quite like this person’s ask, and I agree wholeheartedly with their point. I’ve never been a fan of the idea that Óðinn is a hard-loving deity who will throw hardships at you just to “test” you. My experience has never showed anything remotely similar. Hardships happen but they’re most likely not the doing of a deity, they’re simply a part of life. And I’ve experienced Óðinn as a deity who is loving and gentle, pretty much like a wise grandfather. While I know deities manifest themselves in different ways to different people, I feel like selling insistingly the idea that Óðinn will for some reason bombard you with tests to beat you down or whatever is not only far from reality, but it can also deter someone who is interested in working with him.

[bullet-prooflove]

Broken Glass: Travis Wheatley x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @trublu2u @yousigned-upforthis @gatefleet @pansexualhailstorm

Companion piece to:

Texas - Travis and you make a realisation about your relationship.

Broken - Travis recieves a phone call from Rip regarding you and Malcom Beck.

Maui - Travis adds some extra security measures to your new place.

Colt 45 - Travis doesn't mess around when it comes to your saftey.

Ride - Travis lifts your mood by taking you for a ride.

Wet - You and Travis discuss something you've been avoiding.

Travis’s secret comes out in the worst way possible, during a fight about him fucking another woman.

You’ve been quiet over the last few days, more withdrawn than usual. Sleeping on the couch instead of coming to bed. He thinks it’s because of the counselling session you’d had earlier in the week. You’re confronting a lot of tough stuff through EDMR therapy and it can throw you off a little.

“I gotta shoot out for my physio appointment.” He tells you, picking up the keys to his truck from the side table in the living room and that’s when he hears you say.

“We both know you don’t have a physio appointment.”

He freezes in that moment, his entire body shifting to look to you. There’s a fire in your eyes he’s not seen in a long time as you stand over by the bookshelf with his things on,  your fingertips trail over the glass trophy from his latest competition. You flick it forward and it hurtles off the shelf smashing onto the hardwood floor sending glass skittering in every direction. The dog barks from outside but you ignore it, your gaze fixed on him.

“You have five more of these fucking things Travis.” You say tipping over the next one and the crash reverberates through the house. “And lot more shit that I can break, so why don’t you tell me who she is?”

“Gina honey, I promise you…”

And down goes the next one, exploding into a million pieces.

“You’re a liar.” You tell him with a ferocity he feels in the very depths of his bones. “I called your physio to pass on a message last week but they said you haven’t been going for months. So I’ll ask you again who the fuck is she?”

You reach for the crystal decanter then, the one that’s been in his family for five generations and that’s when he snaps.

“I’ve been seeing a counsellor.” He shouts with an edge of franticness to his voice because your hand is already wrapped around the heirloom, your arm slung back ready to hurl it at his head. “It’s not another woman, it’s a counsellor!”

“What?” You respond, lowering the decanter, the amber liquid sloshing around inside. “But you said…”

“I know I said that cowboys don’t do therapy but I was having some anxiety about leaving you alone with the new season coming up.” He confesses as he approaches you slowly with open palms as if you were a skittish horse. “I didn’t tell you about it because I didn’t want to exacerbate the shit you’re already dealing with.” His hand clasps your wrist lightly, guiding it down so the decanter comes to rest safely back on the silver tray.

“When you say anxiety…” You begin and Travis releases you, rubs his palm over the nape of his neck.

“Panic attacks.” He tells you as he meets your gaze. “Whenever I think about leaving you, I get this tightness in my chest, my heart starts to palpitate and it feels like I can’t breathe.”

“Do you know…”

“Yea.” He tells you, his hands coming to rest on your hips, thumbs tracing soothing circles over as he swallows hard against the well of emotion in his chest. “I can’t get over what Malcolm Beck did to you, what I allowed him to do to you.”

You frown at his words and he purses his lips into a grim expression.

“The night you were attacked I was supposed to be there.” He reminds you, his voice rough. “But I wasn’t, I was in Texas licking my wounds because you decided to stay in Montana and I…” He trails off then forcing down the sob that threatens to erupt from his chest. “That choice, it haunts me because if I had stopped being such a prick there’s a chance that none of this would have happened.”

“Travis.” You whisper, cradling his face between your hands. “This would have happened whether you were here or not. Malcolm wasn’t the kind of man who can let his ex-wife be happy, it wasn’t in his nature.”

“But…”

“No buts. What happened to me is no more your fault than it is mine.” You tell, wrapping your arms around him, drawing him into your proximity. “And as for leaving me alone when you’re off showing the horses, that’s something we can work on, together. There’s steps we can take to make you feel more comfortable with it.”

Travis sighs, burying his face into the curve of your throat.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be comfortable with it.” He mumbles against your skin, cradling you close.

“We’ll work on it.” You reassure him, your fingers carding lightly through his hair. “I promise you, we will.”

Love Travis? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[jsmelodies]

Cassian thought it was supposed to be simple. 

Find the witch in the woods.

Convince said witch to give him Ataraxia.

Rescue the princess from the dragon guarding her tower, with said sword, from said witch.

If only the damned witch stopped getting in his way.

Read here on ao3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

And she's done, folks! Thank you to everyone who's read this/interacted with it in any way. It feels so strange to say goodbye (for now), but I had to finish a multi chapter one of these days.

**Slightly nsfw chapter**

Chapter 4

Being wrapped in Cassian’s arms was her favorite thing, she decided.

He held her close, not letting her out of his grasp as they slept, his breath tickling her where it hit the crown of her head. He was all muscle beside her, his chest slightly hairy and soft to the touch, and she nestled closer, tucking her head beneath the crook of his chin.

She wasn’t used to cuddling after sex. Not in this capacity, anyway. At most, she’d stay for an hour or two, just until both parties came down and their heart rates settled, but her pride always forced her to leave.

She didn’t want to leave Cassian’s arms.

When they’d finished, and Cassian finally separated himself from her, he cleaned her up with such care that she’d almost teared up. Then they’d settled together under the blankets, his arm over her waist while their legs tangled together. Her chest pressed against his, and they’d fallen asleep that way.

Peaceful. That was the right word for it. The slow movements of his fingers on her back, and feeling his heavy breathing beside her—it was everything she didn’t know she needed until she had it.

She felt the moment he woke, when he shifted and let out a long, deep sigh.

“Nes,” he said, with a voice hoarse from sleep, his hand playing with the ends of her hair.

She tilted her face back to look at him, and his eyes blinked open, with the adoration she’d quickly become used to directed at her, mouth curving as he remembered where he was.

“Hey,” she said softly, running her thumb over his cheek.

Cassian’s stubble was rough on the pads of her fingers. In a split second, she decided this was how she wanted to wake up every morning from here on out: across from Cassian’s lazy grin, the warmth of his arm seeping through her as he reached over the crook of her waist. 

She didn’t stop him from leaning down, connecting his lips with hers. He swallowed her whimper with his kiss, and delved his hand into her hair. His tongue lingered on her lips, and she opened for him.

He groaned against her mouth, the sound reverberating through her bones, and his knee slid between her legs. Parted them.

The movement of her hips, as she aimed to get closer, had him pausing. He forced himself away. Forced himself to look, without giving into that raw, physical need.

“We need to talk about it,” he said, resigned. “Before we go again.”

“Do we?”

“Yes, princess.”

She had to admit he was right. Cassian deserved the truth—all of it. “What do you want to know?”

His mouth opened, and closed, as if he wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to say. Eventually, he settled on, “Why?”

Why.

Why do any of it? She knew that was what he was really asking. “Because I tend to be very, very overprotective of my sister.”

Cassian lifted an eyebrow. “And that’s all?”

Her pulse fluttered. Not out of nervousness to tell the truth, exactly, but because she’d grown used to not sharing her secrets. Secrets that, as her betrothed, Cassian should know. “A lot of people pass through here,” she explained. “I’ve become quite skilled at determining who is good at heart, and who isn’t.”

He waited silently. Patiently. Letting her tell the truth of it at her own pace, face filled with understanding.

“These woods can bring out the worst in a man. More often than not, that’s what I see.” She stroked his cheek tenderly. Fondly. “But in rare cases, it can bring out the best in one, too.”

He clutched that hand in his own, bunching it and bringing it to his mouth for a kiss. “Which category do I fall in?” he asked, the lines of his face crinkled in amusement.

“What do you think?” she said, chuckling. “I have seen your heart, Cassian, and I know that it’s good. And perhaps, selfishly, I kept it for myself.”

She watched it all soften, the look on Cassian’s face. “I’m glad that you’re the one to hold it,” he whispered. “And I think that you are allowed to be selfish, when it comes to love.”

She’d guard it fiercely. And from the look that Cassian gave her, he knew that truth as well.

“Why did you leave?” he asked. “All those years ago. People speculate, and I suppose the witchcraft has something to do with it. But…why?”

“Because my mother deemed me dangerous.,” she said, looking away and drawing circles on his arm. “There was another witch here, once. I apprenticed under her for a time, until she passed away. It’s just been me ever since.”

“How long?” 

“Five years.” Right before she met Tomas. But she wasn’t quite ready to talk about that yet.

“You could have come back,” he said.

Nesta shrugged. “Enough people called my kind monsters,” she said. “And there is a kingdom’s worth of knights who would see any kind of monster killed. So why would I?”

He took her chin, tilting it back up to meet his gaze. She saw guilt, of all things, flash across his eyes. “It must have been lonely,” he said quietly.

“You have no idea,” she said.  “I love it out here. It’s my home. But sometimes, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to life than this.” She opened her mouth to continue. “I…”

She tried to find the words, but they didn’t come to her. Instead, water blurred in her eyes, a tear escaping onto her cheek.

“Hey,” he said, wiping away that stray tear. “You don’t need to tell me all of it today. You know that, right?” he said. “We have a lifetime ahead of us. When you’re ready, I’ll listen to whatever you need. You can throw whatever you need at me; I won’t break.”

For that, she was grateful. 

He got close again, chest going flush against hers. “And I don’t ever want to make you cry, Nesta,” he said against her lips.

She closed the distance, kissing him again. He had no qualms about doing it back, and he peppered them across her cheek, her nose, her forehead.

He traced her curves with his hand, from her breasts down to the small of her waist. “I’ve wanted to touch you like this for days,” he admitted. “From the moment I saw you, I wanted you in my bed. Is that so bad?”

A part of her softened at that. “You can have me whenever you want.”

He chuckled. “No. I didn’t mean that. Well, yes that. But I meant…this.” 

He established what he meant by resuming his earlier attentions. He kissed the crook of her neck, and slid his hand over her back.

“Getting to know what your skin feels like, when it’s been a long day, or week, or month, and to be able to just be with you.” He kissed a freckle on her shoulder. “You are everything to me, Nesta.”

“Cassian,” she said. Perhaps it was a bit desperate.

His voice was guttural as he said, “Come here.” He parted her mouth with a press of his lips, tilting her head up and holding it steady with his hand. 

He lifted up onto his elbow as he kissed her relentlessly, moving to pin her beneath him on the mattress.

But that wouldn’t do. Her promise to herself from earlier came to mind, of what she wanted to do to him, and she halted him with a hand to his chest.

Then, she retreated from the bed. Stood at the foot of it. He watched her hungrily, eyes silently questioning why she wasn’t beside him.

“Come here,” she said, crooking a finger.

Cassian crawled. He made his way towards her, lifting himself onto his knees when he made it to the bottom of the bed right before her. 

“Come back to bed,” he whispered. 

“I will,” she promised. She traced her finger down the side of his face, over his strong chin. “Sit down for me.”

He leaned away, the skepticism clear on his face, but he did as she asked anyway. He swung his knees out from beneath him and sat on the bed.

His face was as hard as stone as he looked down. Up. Over the peaks of her breasts, which he took in his hands, to her hips, and all the way back to her eyes.

His hands slid down, moving to cup the bottom of her thighs. To pull her onto his lap, which she couldn’t find it in herself to stop.

She was unable to tear her gaze away from his cock that had gone hard again, jutting upwards between their stomachs. She wrapped her hand around it, tightening her grip until his head fell back with a groan.

“Nesta,” he rasped, letting her do as she wanted with him. His throat bobbed, and she leaned in to kiss it, relishing in his muscles tightening beneath her.

It wasn’t enough. She leaned forward and kissed him once on the lips before releasing him and kneeling on the ground before him.

His eyebrow raised in amusement. “What do you think you’re doing, Nes?”

“I’d think that’s rather obvious,” she replied, leaning down until her lips were right over the head of his cock. 

Her hands ran up the inside of his thighs until her right one gripped his base, giving it a gentle squeeze. She nearly got her tongue on him before his hand was wrapped in her hair at the base of her skull, pulling her head away from him with a simple tug.

“Oh, no you don’t,” he said, snarling slightly. “Princesses don’t get on their knees.”

Cassian pulled her up to his level, likely assessing what, exactly, he wanted to do with her.

“I should return the favor, shouldn’t I?” she asked, her tone light. “You’re making me think you don’t want my mouth on you.”

His gaze intensified. “I never said that.”

“That’s too bad for you then, isn’t it?” she teased. “Poor Cassian, not getting what he wants–”

He silenced her with another tug to her hair, fingers tightening until the feeling bordered on pain. His hazel eyes glinted as she saw him formulating his plan.

“Such a brat,” he muttered. “Fine, sweetheart. You want to suck my cock so bad? You’ll do it from your throne.”

She was about to ask him what he meant by that until he dragged them both back across the bed. Cassian laid on his back, pulling her thighs over him so they rested on either side of his face. 

“Sit.”

He used his demanding tone that she rarely heard, the one that sent shivers down her spine, and forced her down so that she hovered right over his face.

Holding her leg steady with one hand, he used the other to push her down so her mouth was right in front of his cock, his instructions clear. 

The last thing he said before pulling her onto his face completely was, “I assume you know what to do.”

***

He had her one more time on that bed before they pulled themselves off of each other. After she took him in her mouth, she’d laid down on his chest until she felt him pressing against her once more.

All it took was one amused glance, one twinkle of her eye, for Cassian to flip them over, snarling as he held her hands over her head.

And the rest…Well. She supposed if they had a lifetime together, she could grow used to wasting hours in bed, feeling Cassian move in her.

If she had to.

The sun was fading, flickering through the leaves of the forest when they finally cleaned themselves off and managed to get their clothes back on.

“We should go back,” she said. “I imagine my father will want to have a ceremony in the next few days.”

And she wanted it, too. Even if she hadn’t just brought him to her bed, she’d want him at her side sooner rather than later anyway. Permanently.

She’d fought her feelings towards him since she met him, and she was tired of it. She wanted the entire world to know that this was the man she had chosen, that he was the man she loved.

“It’ll be strange going home,” she said, looking out the window to the field outside the cottage. 

A part of her would always love it here. It was her home when nowhere else seemed to be, and for that, she would always be grateful.

But everything didn’t always have to stay the same.

“I can see why,” Cassian said, agreeing. “It’s nice here, though. We don’t have to stay at the castle, not if you don’t want to.”

“I like it here, too,” she said, looking back at him. “Maybe we could come back here, some of the time.”

“We will.” Cassian extended a hand, waiting for her to take it. “Ready?” he asked.

With one last glance around the cottage, she slid her hand into his. The smile he gave her was warm, bright, as her fingers wrapped around his, and he guided her towards the door.

Something pulled at her. Not at her heart, but the source of her power—

Nesta stopped, and put her other hand to his chest. “Wait.”

Someone was here. The magic of her wards alerted her to their presence. The sensation was neither glowing and warm like with Cassian, or chipped and cold like Kallon and the others. It was…perfectly neutral. 

“We need to start heading back, sweetheart,” he murmured. “It’s going to get dark soon.”

“No, I know. But someone’s here.”

She moved to the window, looking to see who had ventured in. At the very perimeter of the fence were two knights, donned in leather armor that allowed them to move freely.

The wards let them through, and they tackled each other to the ground just as they got beyond the fence.

“I got here first, asshole,” the dark haired one said, climbing on top of the other red haired knight.

“I don’t think that makes much of a difference,” the one on the bottom said with a sneer.

“Do you know them?” she asked over her shoulder.

“That’s Sir Azriel,” he said, pointing at the dark haired one. “And the other is Sir Lucien.”

“And? Tell me of them.”

She looked back, to where his eyebrows had bunched on his forehead. “They’re both good,” he seemed to settle on. “I’m partial to Az because he’s like a brother, but they’d both be good to her. And they’re both fond of her, I know.”

With any other man, she would not have believed the words so easily. But he was Cassian, and she found that she trusted his input, and valued the truths that he spoke. So she turned on her heel, grabbing Ataraxia as she made her way outside.

They were too consumed in their brawl to notice her approach. “You want to marry Elain?” she asked.

Both of the men straightened up in her presence, as if they were two boys caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

The one with red hair—Sir Lucien—cleared his throat, and said, “Yes, my lady.”

She was silent for a few moments, giving the pretense that she was deliberating. Then, she threw Ataraxia onto the grass.

“Figure it out amongst yourselves,” she said. “I have somewhere to be.”

***

It didn’t take long for the two knights to scramble off, dashing back into the forest. When she could no longer see them, Cassian joined her outside, and they once again prepared to depart.

Nesta patted Ruby’s nose as Cassian tacked her up. She admired the way he bent over, how a few stray curls made their way free from how he had it haphazardly tied behind his head.

Ruby pushed into her hand, looking for treats. “She likes me better,” Nesta said.

“She does not.” Cassian ducked under her neck, fixing the saddle on the other side. “Speaking of pets, what’s Bryaxis going to do while we’re gone?”

“Oh, I don’t feed him,” Nesta said. “There’s nothing I can catch that he’d be that interested in, anyway.”

Cassian visibly shuddered, looking up from where he tightened one of the leather straps. “Your cat freaks me out.”

“Again, not a cat.”

“Yes. He’s made that perfectly clear, thanks.”

She chuckled. “He likes you, at least. If he didn’t, he would’ve torn you up ages ago.”

“Reassuring.” Cassian stepped back, patting Ruby’s neck as he joined her. “I’m not going to ask how you came into the possession of a beast that takes the form of a common house cat, because I have a feeling it’s a long story.” He kissed her cheek. “And one that you’ll tell me eventually.”

She thought of the story—of how she’d tracked down the beast in the darkest parts of the forest. Offered him the hearts of the cowardly men who trespassed and overstayed their welcome, and a warm roof over his head, in exchange for the protection that came with his fangs and claws.

A symbiotic relationship, if she had to put a word to it.

“You would be right.”

Cassian merely waved it off, and motioned for her to step to the horse’s side.

He placed her on the saddle, leading the two of them through the forest by the reins. He kept his hand at his sword, as if expecting some threat to appear. She wondered if he was always this way when he ventured through the trees, or if it was different, now that she sat on Ruby’s back.

His more than occasional glance over his shoulder confirmed there may have been some merit to the latter.

When the forest cleared, he joined her in the saddle. She felt the warmth almost immediately as Cassian pressed up against her back, drawing her closer to him with an arm around her waist. Her body relaxed into his, letting him steer Ruby closer to the castle gates. Towards home.

Ruby ran through the grass, and Cassian kept his grip firmly around her, not willing to let her go. And all too soon, they passed underneath the first of the gates, towards the edges of the city.

Knowing he was behind her gave her the confidence to bring down her hood, letting the fabric down to her shoulders.

The sun streamed down, a delicate warmth in the setting light as they walked the cobblestone streets. There were women unclipping the last of their laundry from the lines and putting them into baskets, and the children in the streets paused in their playing, peering at her while Cassian clicked his tongue, urging Ruby along.

Some of the kids ran off, returning with their friends, their mothers, their fathers.

Slowly, the pool of people became larger, thicker, as they emerged from their homes to see who Cassian brought home.

They loved him, she realized. The children watched him with awe, at the show of strength he displayed. They looked up to him.

There was no one better suited for it.

“Nervous?” he asked, tightening his arm slightly around her.

She scowled. “No.”

Even though he couldn’t see her do it, he chuckled at the tone of her voice anyways. “They’re excited to see you.” He leaned in even closer. “Their princess, the woman I am to marry.”

A moment later, “The woman that I love.”

Something about how he said it in her ear, the low gravel, the assurance, had her taking in a sharp breath. Only he could say things like that, could take her apart with just a simple statement.

She wasn’t used to a man being so…steady. Immovable as her insecurities crashed, unyielding in his affection.

It was everything she loved about him.

They spent the rest of the ride in a comfortable silence, and Nesta even dared to smile at some of the folks they passed on their way, giving polite dips of her chin to those that waved. Those looks of shock turned to fondness—that Cassian had found happiness. 

Fondness that was extended to her, even though they barely knew her.

Cassian guided Ruby into the castle courtyard, where the sound of clashing steel echoed over the stone. He dismounted first, his thighs flexing as he landed in the dirt. Then he brought his hands to her waist, lifting her from the saddle with ease. 

He placed her down right in front of him.

“I can get off of a horse myself,” she said.

“Can you?” he whispered. His hands lingered on her waist a few seconds longer than he needed to, though Nesta couldn’t say that she minded. “I wouldn’t want you to fall, sweetheart.”

Maybe he just liked having her close. He’d been that way with her all day, not letting her out of arm’s reach for more than a few minutes. 

With heated cheeks, she realized the rest of the knights were watching. Despite pretending they were busy training, or talking with each other, she knew they were watching every single moment of this interaction.

He cleared his throat. With a flourish, he bowed and brought her hand to his lips.

His eyes flickered up, hazel dancing through his dark eyelashes, and all she could think about was how those eyes met hers in the same way only that morning, his lips on a decidedly less honorable place.

He seemed to remember it too, the corner of his mouth rising into a smirk.

“My lady,” he murmured against her skin.

She fought her blush with everything she had, but she still felt it painting her cheeks. “Don’t call me that.”

Cassian’s grin was a feral thing. “My apologies,” he drawled, “princess.”

Oh, mother.

Princess. The word echoed around the courtyard, whispered from one person to the next. It didn’t surprise her. She hadn’t been seen here in any formal capacity for years, after all. It was too much to ask for her return to be…quiet.

No one dared to approach, though, only looking in with shock, frozen in her peripheral.

Rhys found them first, arching a singular brow when he saw Nesta on Cassian’s arm. 

She’d met the arrogant asshole years ago, when she’d knocked him down a peg in front of his father. He hadn’t seemed to like that.

He seemed to recognize her as well, his gaze hardening as he approached.

He bowed his head, offering deference. “Princess Nesta.”

“Sir Rhysand.”

“Come, now. Only my enemies call me that.” 

Her brow lifted. “And you have many of those?”

His teeth glinted as he gave her a cruel looking smile. “Some things never change, I see.”

Cassian threw his arm around Nesta almost immediately, stroking his fingers against her as he held her in his steady grip.

“Rhys,” he said, a cautious edge to his voice that she wasn’t familiar with. “I’d like to introduce you to my future wife.”

She looked up at him, noticed the set of his jaw in a firm expression. Cassian had his brow raised at Rhys, almost as if daring him to say something.

Drawing his line in the sand. 

Rhys blinked. He paused, his mind thinking, before nodding slowly. “Congratulations to you both. I suppose I’ll be your brother in law soon in more ways than one.”

Cassian noticeably relaxed, the arm around her shifting more towards a touch of affection, rather than a protective one. As if Rhys would be able to harm her, anyway. Even though she didn’t technically need it, the gesture was nice, regardless.

It took a couple of seconds for the words to register. “Feyre?” she asked.

“Yes. We’re to be wed.”

“How the hell did you get her to agree?” Cassian asked. “Last you told me, things were…” he grimaced beside her. “Rocky, if I recall.”

Of all things, Rhys looked away and blushed. “A story for another time.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes. If the red mark on his neck was anything to go by, there was more to the situation than he let on. She’d be talking to Feyre later, to get the details. Although, she didn’t have too much room to judge given the way she had let Cassian have her just that morning.

“Nesta!” Feyre dashed down the palace steps, running towards her.

She slammed into her, hugging her as if she hadn’t seen her in years. Maybe…maybe she’d spent too much time away from this place.

Nesta hugged her back. “Hi, Feyre.”

Feyre leaned back, and beamed. “Welcome home.”

***

Nesta’s father smiled broadly when he saw that she’d chosen Cassian. She’d noticed him fidgeting and trying to hide the nervousness from his smiles ever since he broke apart from his conversation with Rhys, and part of her knew that he was terrified of the judgment her father would give.

He’d told her of the insecurities he faced, of being looked down on in the knighthood for his lower status. She hadn’t cared one bit, even though her mother had insisted once that only a duke or a prince would ever suit her. But the woman was dead, and couldn’t input her opinions anymore.

And quite frankly, Nesta hadn’t paid any mind to her words after her mother sent her away. 

Her father welcomed him with open arms, though, saying he was glad to have Cassian as a son. She could have sworn Cassian froze as the man hugged him, eyes comically wide, before returning the gesture. 

Then her father proclaimed they would be wed the following night.

That evening, they ate and they drank as they celebrated the upcoming union. And when Nesta’s mind started to go blurry, Cassian guided her from her seat, gently holding her wrists and saying she’d had enough.

They were set up in different rooms the night before. It was tradition, and as far as everyone knew, Nesta was still virtuous. 

So while the hall was rowdy and chatter made its way through the halls, Cassian led her to her room and paused in the doorway. His was right across from her—so they wouldn’t truly be too far apart, but it felt like it regardless.

He drew her close and placed a kiss on her forehead. “This’ll be our last night apart, princess. I promise,” he said.

She grabbed his wrist, trying to pull him inside. But he stopped her with an easy flex of his muscles, not letting himself be persuaded otherwise.

“You’re drunk,” he said, chuckling. “We’ll play all you want later. Get some rest, you’re going to need it tomorrow.”

They shared one last kiss before he broke away, Cassian pressing his forehead to hers, and Nesta longed for the following night. When she could drag him into her room, and no one would blink an eye.

She watched his retreating form reach his door before she closed her own. And when the world had gone quiet, and she made her way into her bed, she shut her eyes.

***

Nesta ran her hands over the smooth fabric of her gown. For the wedding being this last minute, it was perfect—a satin gown of deep red that she knew Cassian would nearly weep over.

Two ladies from the palace pinned small braids atop her head into an updo that weaved across itself. While she typically favored her coronet, this seemed to suit the occasion. 

They were twins, from the look of it. They chattered as they worked, and Nesta was content to let them gossip the morning away. 

She had years of gossip to catch up on, after all.

“Could you give us a minute?”

Feyre’s voice was the last thing she expected to hear. In the mirror, she could see her sister standing in the doorway, paused by a slight hesitation and an unsure smile.

“Feyre.”

The ladies left the room silently, bowing their heads as they passed her sister. Feyre took a seat on the settee in the corner.

“You look beautiful,” Feyre said.  “Cassian’s a very lucky man.”

Nesta snorted. “It depends on how you look at it, I suppose.” 

“I think we’ll have to disagree on that,” she said lightly. Feyre stalled for a minute. “Elain arrived back today.”

“Did she?” Nesta’s mouth curved up. “With a suitor in hand?”

“With two.” She heard Feyre shifting in her seat. “It’s caused quite a scandal. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Nesta hummed. “I might have been a little distracted.”

“With a certain hulking knight?” Nesta lifted her eyebrows, meeting her sister’s inquisitive look through the mirror. But her sister waved it off. “I’m the last person to judge. Those three can be…persuasive,” she clarified. 

Nesta just stared for a moment, unused to the openness between them. The familiarity in the words. But she couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her. “That’s one way to describe it.” Her eyes crinkled with it, and she said, “I’ve missed you, Feyre.”

Feyre’s expression turned hopeful. “Does this mean you’re going to come back home?”

“Can I say that I haven’t decided yet?” Nesta asked. Her shoulders tensed slightly, waiting for her sister’s response. Not that she thought Feyre would cast her off, but…

She’d seen the look of disappointment on Feyre’s face too many times to count, on the days where her little sister begged her to stay instead of returning to the forest. She’d always hated being the cause of it.

But Feyre merely smiled. “You’d make a wonderful queen,” she offered. “If you want a reason to stay.”

“I always thought you would,” Nesta rebutted. “You’ve always been brave, when I never was.”

“Well, that’s not true in the slightest,” Feyre said. “You were always my big sister. Nothing could scare you. Plus,” Feyre added, “You have no trouble keeping all those knights in line. I think you could manage to rule a kingdom.”

“I’m not certain I wish to,” Nesta admitted. “Listen, Feyre. I’m sorry that I wasn’t here, that I didn’t—”

“Don’t,” Feyre said, cutting her off. “I get it, Nesta, I do. It sucked, but I understand why you stayed away.” Her sister stood, joining her in front of the mirror. The next thing she knew, Feyre had wrapped her in a hug, holding her tightly against herself. “I just hope it doesn’t always have to be that way.”

They broke apart, and as Feyre held her hand, her smile still on her face, Nesta couldn’t help but agree.

***

Their wedding took place that evening. 

The first thing that Nesta thought when she saw Cassian standing at the altar was that for once, he was polished. She knew he was nobility, that he was the son of a lord, but this was the first time that he truly looked the part.

He’d always been beautiful in the rugged way, like he was carved from stone. Like the gods themselves had crafted him in their hands. It was the sort of beauty that was wild, that was not meant to be kept behind palace gates.

Today, though, that wild hair was contained behind his head. Instead of armor, he donned his court finery: nice pants and a black tunic with silver embroidered on the edges. Over top, he wore a dark red jacket. Simple, but elegant.

His mouth broke into a wide grin when he saw her at the door. And she found her heart filled with hope, with every step that she took towards him.

It went faster than what she wanted. A priestess named Gwyn tied their hands together with a white ribbon. His palm was beneath hers as she promised her undying devotion, and he squeezed her hand as he did the same. 

His voice wavered as he repeated the words, sparing no attention for the crowd that had formed beyond them, curious to see their princess again. No, it was fully on her. His eyes locked on her own, tears swimming with the hazel, swearing off all others and tying his life to hers. 

She watched as those tears formed fully, streaming down his face as he finished the words, and the priestess started her speech.

And before she knew it, Nesta was declared his wife.

He smiled into their kiss. Chaste, and merely a promise of what was to come later, when she had him alone.

The last few days had been a whirlwind, but Cassian’s hands kept her steady, gentle as they held each other in silent embrace where they stood. The guests began to filter out, but Cassian took the moment to hold her there with him, only separating from her to cup her face in his hands.

“You look beautiful today,” he murmured.

“You don’t look too bad yourself.” She reached up to wipe those tears away. “Let’s go make an appearance, husband.”

***

The mid summer breeze was cool when they stepped outside of the temple. There were cheers as they walked through the courtyard and into the great hall, which was bedecked for the celebration.

Despite the short turnaround, Nesta’s father went all out: there was a feast that could feed hundreds, with a roasted pig and barrels of mulled wine that filled goblet after goblet along the walls.

Cassian didn’t hesitate to spin her around and around on the dance floor, and when the guests were distracted he pulled her into an empty alcove where only the echoes of the music could find them.

She half expected him to kiss her right then and there. He hadn’t touched her in over a day, and he was probably as restless as she was. 

He offered her his hand instead, leading her into him gently as the orchestra began another tune. She raised a questioning eyebrow.

“One dance, just the two of us. With no one watching,” he explained.

Her heart melted a bit at that. He pulled her in closer, humming softly to the music that played while they swayed together. 

And although knowing the little things would come over following months, and years, she felt at home in his arms. She knew him. Her soul knew his, connected on some level that she couldn’t explain. Maybe it didn’t need an explanation.

Nesta wasn’t afraid of what she saw. And neither was he.

People she hadn’t seen in years came up to congratulate them as the night went on. With each interaction, her back tensed up tighter and tighter, until Cassian finally took notice and drew her away.

“Should we turn in for the night?”

She blushed slightly, imagining what the guests might say about their early departure. But she found she didn’t care about it in the slightest. She nodded, and his hand slid to the small of her back as he led them to their quarters for the night.

Once he shut the door, Cassian kissed her once, twice before slowly turning her around so she faced away from him.

He started undoing the buttons down her back, his large fingers struggling to separate the tiny things from the fabric that held them together.

“Who designed this?” he asked, curiosity lacing his tone. “The enemy of husbands everywhere.”

She stifled her laugh, trying to stay as still as possible. “It’s part of the wedding night experience, struggling to get your bride’s dress off her.”

“I think you’d be disappointed, sweetheart, if I struggled too much to get it off.”

She was just glad he hadn’t gone the route of ripping it off her body. Though, to be fair, he’d nearly done it the morning before. He was more in control today, content to enjoy the moments of the day as they happened.

And she liked this dress. She was glad it wouldn’t become a pile of shredded fabric, destroyed by a man with no taste.

Once he got it to a point where he could, Cassian pushed the dress off of her shoulders, but there were still buttons going all the way down to her waist.

“At this rate, it'll take all night,” she muttered.

“It’s ok, Nes. I’m a patient man.” His breath was right there, hitting the ridge of her ear. “I’ll have you in that bed soon enough.”

“Something tells me you’re not patient at all.”

“You’re in a mood today, aren’t you?” Cassian bent over then, picking up the bottom hem of the gown and bunching it around her waist. “Since I’m apparently so impatient, maybe I should just fuck you in this.”

She whimpered softly, letting her head fall back to rest on his shoulder. Which he took advantage of. He hummed, leaning in to press his lips into the side of her neck. Her cheek. Her ear. 

“Is that how you want it, Nes? Rough and uncontrolled?” 

“I—” Nesta could barely speak.

Even though she couldn’t see it, she could feel the smirk that graced his lips. “Where do you want me to take you, then? The desk? The wall?” He nipped at the bottom of her ear. “The floor?”

“That’ll destroy your knees.”

“So be it.”

Before he could begin his plan, though, Nesta turned in his hold. She took his chin in her hand, pressed between firm fingers, holding him right where she wanted. His smile only grew.

“Maybe I wish to take you.”

“I don’t think you could manage it,” he teased.

She hummed, considering, then gave a gentle tug with her hand. She watched intently as he bent over, amused as the large, hulky knight that was her husband allowed himself to be pulled without complaint. 

“I’m going to be on top,” she said.

One slow hand ran down her back. “Are you?”

The flecks of green in his eyes sparkled in the candlelight, like tiny stars that were only hers to look at. They roved over her. “In the dress, I hope?”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes, despite knowing she didn’t want to go through the process of taking it off, either.

“Lie down, husband, so I can have my way with you.”

She caught the hitch of his breath, the indication that he was just as excited about the prospect as she was.

He took off his jacket first.

Then, with a fluid motion, he tugged his shirt over his head, revealing the prominent lines of muscles on his abdomen. Which he made sure to flex as he dragged the shirt from his shoulders.

Her mouth parted, struck by the beauty of her husband. Everything from his tanned skin, to the stunning hazel of his eyes, to the jawline that could forge steel. 

He undid his hair, and it fell into its normal waves. All of the heat she normally felt when she looked at him intensified, and he smirked.

He took a step back towards the bed. “Whatever you command, wife.”

***

She didn’t know if she would ever get used to how sweet he could be after they came together.

He kissed her softly, worshiping her like a goddess, and asking if she needed any water, or food, or blankets. Even though she had been the one to ride him until he couldn’t think straight, holding his release with an unrelenting grip until he begged her for it, somehow he was still taking care of her.

She’d collapsed next to him, stray hair from her updo sticking to the sides of her face from sweat. He’d brushed them away, his soothing hands running over her skin, lingering at the dress still bunched at her torso. “Let’s get this off of you, yeah? I wouldn’t want it to be ruined.”

He carefully undid the last of her buttons so that it could slide down past her hips. Then she was bare, and she realized as he held it out to her that he’d brought over a shirt for her to change into, one of his. She blinked away tears as large hands found each of the pins in her hair, removing them and letting it cascade down her back. He ran his fingers through it, combing out the tangles that had gathered over the course of the day, with a heartbreaking tenderness.

“Are you feeling okay?” he asked, once he’d hung the dress on the chair in the corner, returning to the bed with her. “I know that was intense.”

She was still tingling with the aftershocks of pleasure, but Nesta found she was completely relaxed. “I’m perfect,” she said. “Come to bed with me, Cassian.”

She grabbed his hand, pulling him beside her, and they made their way under the covers.

“No one else,” he said. “For either of us.”

“No one else,” she replied. With one more kiss before she settled, Nesta said, “Cassian. I love you.”

Her brave knight hummed, and his steady arms were around her once again. This was right where she belonged. The thought came to her as her eyes drifted closed, as she burrowed deeper into the warmth of his body.

“I love you too, Nesta,” he whispered, as she teetered on the edge of being asleep.

It was the last thing she recalled, before she dipped into unconsciousness. And while she safely slept in Cassian’s arms, she couldn’t deny the pure contentment that flowed through her.

[dakota1435]

Moonlight – Vampire!Sylus X Reader ✩₊˚.☪︎ ⁺₊✧

word count: 2K (short)

tags: mention of violence

previous fics here! x

Chapter 8

You don’t dare to draw a single breath. Those who were originally looking now turned away, knowing this was Sylus’ business now. For a second, it felt like time was frozen. Nobody moves, even Sylus. Caleb was going to get himself killed, all because he came to ‘save’ you. You still didn’t understand how he knew you’d be here, with Sylus. How he even knew somebody like Sylus in the first place. You exhale shakily, trying to calm your nerves. Your lips part, about to speak, before Caleb inserts himself. Not good!

“What have you done to her?” There’s emphasis on each word, through gritted teeth. Never in your life have you seen this side of Caleb. Despite Sylus’ overwhelming presence, Caleb doesn’t back down on his death glare.

“To think someone like you came all the way here…You must have quite the confidence to take what’s mine?” Sylus said, his voice calm and collected. You could feel the pressure of his hand on you tighten a bit. Internally, he must be seething. 

“She’s not yours!” Caleb yelled back, uncaring for the situation unfolding. You had to say something, you had to get him out of here. Out of every possible outcome, it would be the best course of action. Caleb looks at you, hesitant. 

“Um…Caleb…Please. You should leave,” you beckoned, your hands shaking by your side. Your voice doesn’t feel as strong as theirs. Clearing your throat, you speak again. “Caleb. I’ve been safe. I promise.” You hope he takes you seriously. He looks at you, astonished, before returning to the same angered expression. 

“He’s brainwashed you! He’s bit you, hasn't he? After all these years of protecting you, I am not going to give up. He’s been trying to find you this whole time.” Caleb doesn’t give you a chance to react before he speaks again. “He’s a monster. He’s trying to turn you into a monster, too. Listen, there’s so much you don’t know. So much I haven’t told you. But trust me when I say–”

“You have a lot of nerve to stand in front of me. The only reason you’re still breathing is because of her. I suggest you leave, now, before I do something about it,” Sylus warned Caleb, his grasp feeling tighter on you. Oh, he was definitely angry now. Caleb’s words ring in your head, making you question too many things. But no matter how it made you dizzy, you had to do damage control now before there was bloodshed. Seeing how Caleb is now, you knew he wouldn’t hesitate to fight Sylus. Worst of all, you knew Sylus would win against a human within the blink of an eye. 

“Stop!” You called out, the first thing you could think of. You turn to look back at Sylus. His eyes glared and his expression troubled. “Let’s leave,” you muttered to him. Your face pleaded you didn’t want to experience another moment of this. Even if it meant leaving Caleb, again. Forever, this time you’re sure. It broke your heart, but there was nothing else that could be done. Caleb heard your words, his mouth open with shock. He doesn’t say anything. Sylus calms himself at your words, removing his hand on you. 

“Very well,” he said, his voice rather curt. He leans down close to your ear, his eyes still burning onto Caleb. “Hold tight.” He wraps his hand around your waist. You spare Caleb another look before Sylus takes you, vanishing within a second. 

For a moment, you thought you saw Caleb reach out. It was too late. 

As quick as disappearing, you and Sylus arrive back at his estate with ease. But the event, the entirety of tonight, made you feel sick. You hunch over, for fear of actually getting sick. Your mind and everything around you spins uncontrollably. How? Why? Why?

“Sylus…” You began speaking. A part of you was afraid to meet his eyes. Was he angry? Did he think you knew about Caleb coming? Your mind suddenly recalled Caleb’s words; he’s been looking for you. 

He rests his heavy hand onto your back. It felt…supportive. “It seems I can’t let this kitten out of my sight,” he said, his tone amused. You were relieved he didn’t sound angry anymore, but it still didn’t put you at ease. Your dress was uncomfortable now, your jewelry feeling heavy. The choker around your neck felt suffocating. When you didn't respond immediately, Sylus spoke again. “Are you hurt?” 

“No…I just…I don’t understand anything right now,” you said quietly. Your face flushes with heat and suddenly you feel like you could cry. You couldn’t recognize your own emotions and it made you feel like a foreigner in your own body. You still don’t look at Sylus, hesitant to show him such raw emotion. You begin to walk away, expecting Sylus to stop you. But he doesn’t, instead he watches you go to your room. You change, the weight of tonight’s clothes bearing the turmoil of what happened. Slipping into something more loose and comfortable, you decide you will ask Sylus your questions. You leave the room and expect Sylus to be in his dining room. As you walk, you try to gather the questions in your head. You won’t let him be vague this time, because there’s something definitely going on. 

You push open the heavy doors of the room, finding Sylus gazing out of his massive window. He couldn’t be more beautiful in the moonlight, but he doesn’t turn at your arrival.

“We need to talk,” you said with newfound confidence. You needed answers. Your heart raced, never speaking to Sylus in this way before. 

“Oh? What about?” He still stared at the window. You figured he was still irritated over Caleb. You sigh, walking over to him as he sits in his large leather chair. He glances up at you, something playful in his face flickers for a moment. He liked seeing you stand before him. 

“I need answers. Caleb said you have been looking for me forever. I asked you if you were the reason I was put up at auction and you said no!” Your voice raises, frustration bubbling inside of you. Whatever feelings you had that you buried were now coming alive. You didn’t like it, you didn’t feel like yourself. Sylus cocks an eyebrow, surprised at your energy. 

“I don’t lie like mortals do,” he sneered, “I have been looking for you, yes. I only found you because of the auction. I had no part in any of it.” He still stares at you from his chair, watching you unfold. That familiar feeling of pressure forms in your face again, tears urging in your eyes. It was almost equally embarrassing and frustrating. 

“How does Caleb know you?” You clenched your fists, trying to control your emotions. 

“I don’t know him personally. I know he’s been with you since you were a child. My name is everywhere, though. It does not surprise me,” he said, matter-of-fact. He was starting to be vague again, the one thing you were not going to let him do. He notices your hand tightly closed and gently touches your hand with the back of his fingers. You started to question everything, you backed away from his touch. He didn’t like that. “I was going to ease you into things, but it looks like that man ruined it,” he said, sounding disgusted. He waits for your reaction for a second, then grabs your wrist. “Sit. You will want to sit for this.” You don’t protest as he pulls you into his lap. You adjust, sitting comfortably. He strokes your cheek, tenderly, as if to prepare for what’s to come. 

“He is right; I have been looking for you. He’s done a very good job at hiding you, until recently.” Sylus hold on you is possessive. He speaks slowly, letting each word sink into your mind. “That man was against your former profession, wasn’t he? He could no longer keep you away. You’ve wanted to know the unknown, haven’t you?” Sylus was right. Caleb was like your brother, but easily overbearing. When you took on your new job, going on missions, he was unsupportive. Little did you know that Caleb knew Sylus would get 

you. 

“Why…” is all you could mutter out. Your life from the start felt like a lie, and you weren’t sure what to believe. Your eyes said it all. 

Sylus wears a troubled expression. “I don’t expect you to believe me. Trust me when I say I do not lie.” He takes a breath, making you nervous. “Long ago, there was an experimental research factory. They discovered aether cores and used human subjects, as young as five.” 

          He pauses, his words slow and concise. Your stomach churns, as your brain tries to fill in the gaps.

        “I was one of their subjects. They were cruel, and inhumane. They wanted to create a human with power, strength. Countless humans died and I happened to be the one to survive. I came out, exceeding their expectations. They made me an artificial vampire, whether that was their only goal or not, I survived.” The silence after his words were heavy, almost deafening. You continued to listen as hearing Sylus speak of himself was rare. “I was unstable, uncontrollable. I escaped, leaving myself to the horrors of the new world. The organization of vampires knew about these experiments—them being heavily against it. They found me and made me who I am today.”

“What about the research facility?” You questioned. Your mind thought about all of the possible pain and torture Sylus went through, at such a young age too. 

“Nobody, including myself, would predict my capabilities. I was stronger than a human, yes, but found myself to be more powerful than a pureblooded vampire. I took that power and ascended. I returned to the facility, knowing they still continued with their research. I single handedly killed every member of that facility and burned their notes.” Sylus stares at his fingertips, as if reminiscing the blood stains. “There were only a few human subjects this time. Two of them were beyond saving, but there was one human left; you.” He gently touches your side, his comfort minimal but it kept you in reality. 

Upon hearing this, you couldn’t believe it but deep down in your gut you knew Sylus was telling the truth. If you were standing, your knees would’ve fallen weak. You run your hands through your face and hair, making sure you are still real. That, all of your entire life, was real. When Sylus stopped speaking, you could hear your heartbeat drum in your ears. You could tell Sylus was still trying to ease you into it all, trying not to overwhelm you, but you were already at that point. 

“…Tell me everything,” you said, voice muffled as you lay your face in your hands. 

“You were the youngest subject they ever had; you were born with an aethor core inside of you. You grew up in the lab healthy, alive. It seemed that you weren’t displaying any change but before I did anything, the lab was raided by government officials. I withdrew, immediately knowing you would be taken somewhere better,” he explained. He clenches his jaw as his eyes burn into yours. 

Your world was cracking around you and you felt heavy with confusion. Your brain tried remembering a shred of anything, any form of memory or feeling of being at a lab. You were raised by your grandmother until she passed, and your older childhood friend Caleb was around after that. How could it be possible? The same thing that created Sylus was buried in you, somewhere. The same thing that made him desire blood and crush anything in his way. The thought of all of it made you tremble out of fear and anxiety. 

“...You have been monitored by government officials your whole life. They feared I would come back to finish you off, but I have been searching for you because we are the same. I want to show you the potential you have, not those selfish fools.” Sylus strokes his hand down your hair tenderly and his actions ground you to reality.

Everything is falling out from your feet, your brain scattered with anxious thoughts– answers you’ll never know. It’s too much, too much, too much.

We are the same.

[daydreamtofiction]

The Feature XXIII // Benedict Cumberbatch x Reader

Series Overview | Previous Part | First Part

Chapter Summary: (Female Reader) Ben and Quinn's relationship continues to flourish, but an unexpected encounter threatens to throw a spanner in the works.

Chapter Word Count: 6.3K

Chapter Warnings: Morally-grey reader, strong language, adult and sexual themes. Readers must be 18+

Join the Tag List Here*

The sun sat low behind the skyline, making the clouds blush, drenching everything in a gleaming golden hue. You sat with your legs crossed under the long table, laptop open in front of you as the conference room slowly filled with people, the murmur of conversation and scent of coffee drifting in with them. 

The chair beside you creaked and a hand quickly reached over to mash on your keyboard, forming a line of gibberish across the blank word document. You rolled your eyes, smacking the top of Nick’s hand before turning to him with an unamused glare. 

He smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Not like you to be the first one at a meeting.” 

“Mm, well I’ve been coming into the office to write. Been here all day,” you replied, sighing as you glanced back to the empty page on the screen. “Can’t focus at home. Too many distractions.”

“Tall, rich, handsome distractions…” 

“No,” you said bluntly, though there was a part of you that secretly agreed with him. “I just… If I try to write at home I just end up watching TV or falling asleep or… suddenly realising I haven’t seen my passport in a year and turning the place upside down to look for it.” 

“How’s it going?” 

“I found it, it was in an old makeup bag in my bathroom cabinet.” 

“Not the passport, dick head, the writing.” 

“Oh.” You sighed. “Well I had a few edits I needed to do for the gala article, then I wrote a listicle about moisturisers. Thrilling stuff.” 

He nodded. “You’re still fuming about your op ed, aren’t you.” 

“Yep.” 

Julia stepped into the room, closing the door behind her and making her way to the large windows. You watched as she lowered the blinds, shielding the room from the bright evening sun as she began to speak. 

“Hello everyone,” she began, her tone cheerful yet commanding. “Thank you all for coming in. Just a quick one today to delegate some coverage pieces.” 

You placed your fingers on the keys of your laptop, eyes fixed on her as she moved to the head of the table, Leo McGrath’s advice still ringing in your ears. 

“Let’s see,” she said, licking her thumb and flicking through a folder in front of her. “I need someone to cover an exhibition at the London Fashion and Textile museum this Friday-”

“I’ll do it,” you said. 

She arched her brow sceptically, before shaking it away and scrawling your name down with her pen. “Okay great. Then we also have a launch party for Roe - some influencer’s new makeup brand apparently-”

“I’ll do that too,” you said. 

A few of the other writers glanced at you in confusion, your willingness to volunteer so surprising that they couldn’t help but stare. 

“Okay…” said Julia suspiciously. “And Draft’s been invited to a Q&A for-”

“I’ll do it.” 

“Quinn, you haven’t even heard what it is yet,” she said, holding back the urge to snap at you. 

You heard Nick chuckling quietly to himself. You ignored it and gave a shrug. 

“Just… feel like taking on more work, that’s all,” you said. 

“Right, well the beauty launch and the Q&A are on the same night,” she replied. “One in Chelsea and one in Mayfair. So are you planning to teleport between them?” 

A murmur of reserved laughter rippled around the table. 

“Fine, well someone else can do the Q&A,” you said. “Or, y’know, I’ll figure out the teleportation thing.” 

Julia rolled her eyes, turning her attention to someone else. 

“You’re going to send her into early retirement,” Nick whispered to you. 

You breathed out a laugh. “I’m an editorial assistant’s worst nightmare.” 

You returned to your desk after the meeting, scrolling through pages of reviews to figure out which moisturiser would take the number one spot on your listicle. It was mind numbing, pointless, filling you with the temptation to find the worst rated cream and give it a glowing write up, just to mess with readers, see how many complaints you could rack up.

Your phone buzzed on the desk. You rubbed your eyes, blinking away the glare of the computer screen before looking down at it, your mood immediately shifting to something less weary. 

Are you still in work? It read.

I am, you replied, catching a smile before it spread across your face. 

Are you almost done? 

I can be done whenever I want. Why?  

I’m outside the building.

Your heartbeat quickened, and you grimaced to yourself in embarrassment. Yet still you packed up quickly, shoving everything into your bag and rushing to the stairs, too impatient to wait for the lift.  

You stepped out onto the street, the air cold as it brushed across your skin, despite the glorious sky. You wrapped your arms around yourself as you glanced up and down the busy street, brow furrowed as you searched for him amongst the sea of pedestrians. 

A familiar black car sat idled further up the road, wheels bumped up on the kerb, tinted windows shrouding the driver in darkness. You made your way over to it, peering down as the passenger window lowered, just enough to reveal Ben smiling at you from the driver’s seat. 

“What’s this about?” you asked.

“I fly out tomorrow morning, wanted to see you before I go,” he replied. 

You felt your cheeks warm as you stepped closer to the car, glancing around at the bustling street. “This was risky of you.” 

“Only if you don’t hurry up and get in.”

You slipped into the car and closed the door quickly, throwing your bag into the backseat as he began to drive. 

“I didn’t think you were leaving until Wednesday,” you said. 

He shook his head. “I got my days mixed up, it’s tomorrow.” 

Your lips curled into a pout, like a disappointed child. He glanced over at you and gave a soft laugh, reaching over to place a hand on your thigh. 

“You know, there’s still time for you to change your mind and come with me,” he said. 

You exhaled a cynical laugh through your nose. “Yeah, I’ll just drop everything to follow you on your press tour.” 

He gave your thigh a gentle squeeze. “It would be nice to have you with me. Think about it; fancy hotels, big beds, deep bathtubs, me, completely at your disposal…” 

“Hm, tempting. But I have to work. Not all of us can just jet off whenever we feel like it.” 

He let out an exaggerated puff of air. “Who needs work? You don’t need to work. I’ll take care of you.” 

“Shut up.” You scoffed, giving him a playful shove. “You don’t mean that.”

He chuckled. “I know I don’t. But in all seriousness though, it would be nice to have you with me. You could write on the plane.” 

“Stop it,” you laughed. “I’m not coming.” 

He pulled into the carpark of a hotel you’d always admired but never been inside. It was breathtaking, a blend of grand architecture and modern details; glass and stone, steel and marble. It was a place celebrities went for drinks or a private brunch without having to worry about mere mortals and prying eyes, a threshold you’d never held the status to cross. 

It felt bizarre to walk with him so openly, to stroll through the foyer side by side without fear of being spotted; no flashing cameras, no screaming fans, no nosy reporters. An employee led you into a lift, and you couldn’t help but flash a suspicious glare at Ben as you passed each floor, wondering how long he’d had all of this planned. 

You stepped out on the top floor, following behind Ben as he made polite smalltalk with the employee on the way to your room. You found yourself fixing your hair and straightening your clothes as you went, as though the building itself was judging you; offended that you could walk its carpets in a pair of trainers, grace its corridors in some well-worn jeans and an old cardigan. 

When Ben opened the door to the suite, you felt your breath still for a moment. It was bigger than your entire flat; bedrooms, bathrooms, a kitchenette and large, open living area. Beyond a set of glass doors was a private terrace. You stepped out into the fresh, cool air, taking in the London skyline as it wrapped around the entire balcony. 

The terrace was framed with warm, glowing lights and draping greenery, the city like a glittering tapestry as the sun began to disappear below the horizon. A table stood in the centre, a bottle of champagne resting inside an ice bucket beside it. 

You turned to Ben. “This is… subtle.” 

He smirked, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over the back of one of the chairs. "You like it."

“Says who?” you teased, brushing past him to lean your elbows on the railing, taking in the view. 

He followed, his hands finding your waist and pulling you gently back against him. “Me.”

Your mouth twitched with a smile. “If this is all a ploy to make me say it back…”

“You think I brought you here to trick you into saying you love me?” he asked, his tone soft yet playful, lips brushing against your ear. “I don’t need to hear it, Quinn, I already know you do.” 

The words made your stomach flutter, but you refused to let it show. “Bullshit.” 

He chuckled, spinning you around to face him. “You’re a terrible liar.”

You found yourself staring up at him in awe. He was so confident, so certain. It had been a week since he’d said those words, yet he didn’t seem to care that you still hadn’t said it back; his ego unbruised, like he knew you too well, understood you better than anyone ever had. 

Your protest died in your throat when his lips grazed your temple, lingering there as he pressed his body against yours, hands sliding down to your backside.

“This isn’t fair,” you murmured, your fingers dancing over the buttons of his shirt.

“What’s not fair?” he asked, lips trailing down to your cheek, your jaw, before pressing a soft kiss to the side of your neck. 

“You. Being so… smug.”

“I’m not smug,” he said, though the glint in his eye contradicted him. “Can’t a man treat his girlfriend to a nice evening without being accused of ulterior motives?” 

You shook your head, suppressing a laugh. “There you go again, saying we’re a couple.” 

“Because we are.” His grip on you tightened, his voice deepening. “If I asked you outright, you’d make me beg. And I’m not above begging, but I’d rather save that for… other things.”

You felt yourself growing hot as his lips found yours, forcing yourself to break away to mutter. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, here you are,” he countered softly, tilting your chin up with his finger and kissing you again. “If you weren’t mine, you wouldn’t keep coming back to me.”

He deepened the kiss, wrapping an arm around your waist, the other gripping the railing behind you. You slid your hands up to his face, feeling yourself melting into him, excitement and anticipation rippling in your core. 

For a man who’d been so strict in his abstinence, the past week had completely unravelled him. He was insatiable, his touch lingering even in the most innocent moments, his kisses turning deeper and hungrier with little provocation. He’d taken every opportunity to make up for the time you’d lost, and you’d welcomed it gladly, savouring the ache that would follow you in the aftermath. 

He broke away, pressing his forehead to yours. “Dinner will be here soon,” he whispered.

You exhaled a laugh. “You ordered for me?” 

“I know what you like.” 

You slipped away to one of several bathrooms, taking off your cardigan and zhuzhing your hair until it sat just right. It was easy sometimes to forget who he was; the money he had, the power he wielded, the status he held that didn’t just surpass yours, but eclipsed it altogether. Whenever it hit you, it would make you feel uneasy; the imbalance throwing you off kilter, making you wonder what he saw in you, why a man who had the world at his fingertips would let himself fall for a single grain of sand. 

When you returned to the terrace, you found him sitting at the table as a waiter lay out a spread of food in front of him; steaming plates and pretty side dishes, a basket of your favourite bread and the dessert you’d been craving for weeks. The smell drifted through the air towards you, making your stomach rumble, your mouth water with hunger. 

You hovered in the doorway as the waiter placed down the last few plates, tucking a tray under his arm when he was done and pushing a large trolley back towards the suite. You stepped aside to let him pass, allowing yourself a moment to take in his face, the name on his badge. Perhaps it was cynical of you to assume he’d go running to the papers, narcissistic even, to think he’d care to.

Ben stood up as you made your way over to him, pulling out your chair for you with a charming smile. 

“This looks amazing,” you said as you sat down, admiring the food in front of you.

He kissed the side of your head and returned to his seat. “Champagne?” 

“Sure.” 

“So,” he began, popping the cork in his fist. “Guess what happened today…” 

You narrowed your eyes, cocking your head slightly. 

“I am officially divorced,” he said, almost beaming at you as he filled your glass. “I got the final order this afternoon. Decree Absolute. It’s done.” 

“Oh wow, congratulations.” 

“Congratulations?” he replied, jokingly mocking your voice. “I’m free, Quinn. No more contractual obligations, no more interviews pretending my marriage was anything other than a glorified business transaction. I can finally move forward. With you.” 

You stifled a smile, instead tapping your finger against your lips with a contemplative hum. “I don’t know. Now that you’re a single man, the excitement’s sort of gone.“

“Oh is that so?” 

“Mhm. I mean, where’s the thrill in sneaking around if it’s not with a married man?” 

He smirked, his eyes flitting to your mouth as you took a sip of champagne. “You need the thrill, hm?” 

You nodded. 

“Well you know what would be thrilling?” 

“What?” 

“Coming to America with me tomorrow.” 

You threw your head back and let out an exaggerated groan, making him chuckle as he began to eat. 

“Was worth a try,” he mumbled.

You talked and ate until the sun went down, until the cold puckered the flesh of your bare arms and numbed the tip of your nose. You sat with your legs outstretched beneath the table, resting comfortably between Ben’s as you listened to him speak - not about work, or divorce, or the two of you - but about his family, his childhood, the things that made him happy and the last time he laughed so hard he couldn’t breathe. 

In the moments you were reminded of his fame, it was easy to feel starcrossed; like there was an entire ocean between you and no way to common ground. But then the moment would pass, giving way to a warm laugh or a tender touch, and suddenly in that ocean would be an island, where you both resided as equals; your own private paradise. 

His hand had found yours across the table, his thumb gently stroking your knuckles as he continued a sweet anecdote about his mother. You’d never been very tactile, finding the hand-holding and arms around shoulders completely embarrassing, the chaste kisses and legs brushing under tables far too soppy. But here you were, chin resting on your fist, the other hand in his, gazing at him as he spoke, without a speck of desire to pull away. 

You laughed softly as you watched him bring a glass to his lips, somehow missing his mouth and spilling champagne down his shirt.

“I’m not drunk, I swear,” he laughed, releasing your hand to pick up a napkin and dab at his chest. 

“What’s that, like a tenner’s worth of champagne you just spilled?” you teased. 

He laughed again, picking up the bottle and looking at it with a hum. “About… forty quid?” 

Your smile dropped. “Tell me you’re joking.” 

“What?” He shrugged. 

“You’re saying we’ve been drinking a £2000 bottle of champagne?” 

“I think it’s closer to three,” he said casually.

“Oh my god! Wh- I- Well then how fucking expensive was all of this!?” you gestured to the terrace, the food, the suite beyond the doors. “Jesus this is like the watch fiasco all over again.” 

“Which I notice you still haven’t worn…” 

You glared at him. 

“Quinn, it’s fine,” he said softly, taking your hand in his again. “I wouldn’t spend it if I didn’t want to.” 

“But why on earth-”

“Why do you feel like you’re not worth it? Like money spent on you is somehow a waste?” 

“Because…” You settled back slightly in your chair, eyes flitting around in thought. “Because it is.” 

His smile faded, his eyes creasing at the corners as he gazed across the table at you. “Do you really believe that?” 

You shrugged, a defensive edge sharpening your posture. “I do.” 

“Well you’re wrong,” he countered bluntly. 

You opened your mouth to argue, but he continued quickly. 

“I know this imbalance between us bothers you. I know you’re independent, and you don’t want to feel like I’m trying to buy you or show off or make you feel indebted to me. But that's not what this is." He gestured to your surroundings, the city lights twinkling in the distance. "If anything, this is me showing you that you’re not a waste - not of my money, or my time, or my affection - none of it’s wasted on you.” 

His sincerity was disarming, how quickly the evening had gone from joking and banter to complete seriousness. You tried to remain neutral, but your eyes betrayed you with a vulnerable glaze, making his face soften, his hand squeezing yours more firmly.

“You are so deeply rooted in my life now that I don’t see any of this as frivolous,” he said. “I just see it as… being with you. No different than sitting on the couch in front of the TV.”

You sighed. 

“What?” he asked quietly.

“I just… I don’t think I can get away with denying this is a relationship anymore, can I.”  

He laughed. “No. No, you can’t.”  

You laughed too, rolling your eyes when you saw a smile creeping across his face. 

“This- us-” he said. “It’s far beyond the secrets and the sneaking around and worrying what strangers might say about me in the fucking papers. I’m not saying I’m ready to go dragging you down red carpets with me, but I like to think that you see it… getting there, maybe, one day…” 

You drew in a deep, cleansing breath through your nose, trying to soothe the nerves creeping into your chest.

“I love you,” he said. “Whether you say it back or not, it doesn’t make it any less true. I love you, Quinn.”

You gazed across at him for a moment, at the warmth in his expression, the vulnerability in his voice. You swallowed past a lump in your throat. “That’s… unfortunate for you,” you said. 

He dropped his head with a deep, throaty chuckle. “I don’t know,” he replied, eyes meeting yours again. “I feel quite fortunate… Most of the time.” 

You scoffed, taking a sip of your - extremely expensive - champagne. 

He gestured with his head for you to come to him. You stood up and walked around the table, settling in his lap and draping an arm around his shoulders. He held you close with a hand on the small of your back, the other reaching up to brush a stray hair from your face as you leaned down to him, lips meeting in a deep, slow kiss. 

“You’re cold,” he whispered, running his hand up and down your bare arm. 

“I’m fine,” you replied.

He shook his head. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

You stood in the living area, staring up at a painting on the wall, head cocked to one side as you wondered if anyone would notice if you stole it. You shook the thought away as the sound of voices and rattling dishes emerged from the terrace, glancing over your shoulder to see the waiter from earlier wheeling away the remnants of your dinner.

Ben thanked him as he left, shutting the door behind him and sliding the chain lock in place. He spun on his heels to look at you from across the vast suite, though his large strides carried him over to you in moments. 

You ran your fingers over the pale yellow stain on his shirt as he wrapped his arms around your waist, and you wondered if you’d ever tire of his embrace, if he would ever tire of embracing you. You hoped not. 

“I have the suite for the night,” he said. “But if you’d rather go home, I can take you. I know you don’t have anything with you so I understand if you wouldn’t want to stay.”

“Hm, my tiny, messy flat or this stunning hotel with you,” you replied, pretending to deliberate with yourself. “What a difficult decision.” 

He laughed, kissing you on the cheek before stepping past you.

“Where are you going?” you asked. 

“Bed,” he replied simply. “Are you coming?” 

“Bed? It’s only half nine…” 

He raised an eyebrow as he backed up slowly towards the master bedroom, waiting for the penny to drop. 

“Oh,” you finally said.

“Yeah,” he replied, reaching out his hand in a gesture for you to join him. 

The car idled quietly on the road outside your flat building, the blue morning sky clear and bright, promising a warm day. You knew you had to leave, to climb out and get ready for work, but every time your hand so much as brushed the door handle, Ben’s lips found yours again. 

Your laugh came breathlessly as you finally pulled back, lips blushed and swollen from his endless kisses. “You’re going to miss your flight.” 

His smile was lazy and unapologetic as he yielded, dropping his head slightly with a gentle sigh. “Can I call you when I get to my hotel?” 

“Yeah, I suppose I’ll allow it.” 

He leaned in, and you couldn’t help but kiss him again, feeling his smile against your lips.

“Don’t miss me too much,” he muttered, his hand sliding through your hair. 

You laughed softly. “I’m sure I’ll manage. I took on a ton of work to keep myself busy.” 

He chuckled, but you quickly swallowed the sound with another kiss, leaning into him with more fervour. 

His hand dropped to the side of your face, the other firmly gripping your thigh; his touch making your stomach coil, the orgasms he’d given you last night still echoing in your core. So many orgasms you were sure you’d still be reeling for the next few days. 

You forced yourself to break away again, shaking away the fluster warming your cheeks. “Okay, you really are going to miss your flight if you don’t go.” 

He leaned back in the driver’s seat, reaching out to brush a stray hair from your face. His touch lingered, stroking your temple before trailing down to your jaw.

“Last chance,” he said. “You sure you don’t want to come with me?”

You hesitated as you looked at him. There had been no pressure in his voice, no coercion in his expression, only a gentle invitation, and you could see in his eyes that he already knew your answer.

“Not this time,” you said, the corner of your mouth curving into a small smile.

He gave a smile that matched yours, like the subtle shift in your answer hadn’t gone unnoticed. No longer a flat refusal or a guarded deflection, but something warmer, an unspoken ‘someday’. 

“Okay,” he said, leaning in for one last kiss. “I’m going to miss you.”

You smiled faintly, your usual sarcasm faltering as you replied. “I’m going to miss you too.”

“Two weeks,” he reassured, though you were uncertain which one of you needed it more. “Just two weeks and I’ll be back.” 

“Yeah, for three days,” you countered. “Before you have to go again.” 

“Well, we better be sure to make the most of those three days.”

You nodded, finally reaching for your bag and opening the door.  

You climbed out and closed it behind you, turning around to lean down and meet his gaze through the open window. 

There was a mournfulness to his expression as he looked at you, like it was physically paining him to let you go. And you understood, because you felt it too; already longing for his return before he’d even left. 

The back of your tongue felt heavy with the words you’d refused to utter, almost like they belonged there, ready to pour out of you like an impulse, as natural as a ‘goodbye’. But something made you swallow them, forcing them back down your throat with a sad smile. 

“Have a safe flight,” you said.  

His fingers drummed lightly on the steering wheel, his eyes never leaving yours. “Bye, darling,” he said, his voice carrying the same forlorn weight as yours.

“Bye.”

You stood on the pavement as he pulled away, watching the car until it disappeared down the street. Only then did you suck in a deep breath, letting it out in a long, slow sigh. You remained there a moment longer, staring at the quiet, empty road before finally turning to go inside.

You stared up at the distinctive orange building of the London Fashion and Textiles museum, accents of bright blue, vivid yellow and hot pink decorating its exterior. You pulled out your phone to snap a picture of the large poster hanging near the entrance - Ornamented: The Art of Embellishment in Fashion - as a healthy crowd filtered inside.

You meandered leisurely through the opening of the exhibition, taking pictures and scrawling quick notes in your book, the extra weight on your wrist catching you off guard whenever you raised your pen to the paper. 

The watch face gleamed beneath the soft lights of the museum, the gold bracelet strap shimmering every time you moved. It had sat safely in its box, tucked away in your underwear drawer since Christmas. Every now and again you would take it out just to look at it, perhaps even put it on, but you would always stow it away soon after, like a child secretly trying on her mother’s expensive clothes.

But you were Ben’s girlfriend now. A fact that made your stomach turn with fear and excitement whenever you thought about it for too long. And as his girlfriend, it somehow felt right to wear a piece of him when he wasn’t with you. 

You walked up to a display encased inside a large glass cabinet; an array of intricately beaded flapper dresses from the 1920’s. Time had discoloured some of them, loosened some seams and lost their sparkle. But still, you found yourself almost pressing your nose to the glass, admiring the meticulous patterns and letting your mind wander to the women who might have worn them. 

You crouched down to the ground, resting on your haunches to steady your notebook on your knee as you scribbled your thoughts. You were making a note of the designer’s name from a nearby placard when footsteps approached you, heels clicking on the concrete floor and stopping at your side. 

“Quinn, isn’t it?” 

You glanced up to find Faye Dennehy glaring down at you, her tall stature even more imposing from your hunched position below her. You felt your lungs empty, your heart thumping in a hollow chest as you rose to your feet, blinking at her a few times before snapping out of your stupor. 

“Yes, it is. And you’re… Faye, right?” you replied. 

It was clear that you both very much knew the other’s name. But if she was going to pretend otherwise, then so were you.

“It’s nice to see you with your clothes on this time,” she said, her light, airy tone masking the sharpness of her words. 

She didn’t know you could be mean. Extremely mean. Brutally, mercilessly, remorselessly cruel. She also didn’t know that you were currently pressing your lips together as a courtesy to her, holding back the venom trying to force its way out. 

You gave a weak, obviously fake chuckle. “Yeah that was… quite the morning, for all of us.” 

She nodded with a wry smile before turning her attention to the dresses. You let your eyes trail the length of her; the long a-line skirt and perfectly tailored blouse, the pointed toe heels and long, bouncy blonde hair. You couldn’t deny how chic she looked. She always looked chic. 

Bitch.

You shook the thought away and looked down at your notebook. 

“So you’re here for your magazine?” she asked. 

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, instead looking back up at her and clearing your throat. “Yep.”

“Mm. Well I’m sure you’ll give the exhibition a glowing review. You seem very good at painting things in a favourable light.” 

You smiled. “Ben already told me you didn’t like the feature I wrote about him.” 

“Oh he did?” She nodded, peering through the glass at one of the dresses as she spoke. “I wouldn’t say I didn’t like it. It just came across a bit… disingenuous.” 

“Disingenuous. Sort of like… PR relationships…” 

You noticed the muscles in her neck flex, but she remained calm, returning her gaze to you. “Sort of like that, yeah.” 

You closed your notebook and hugged it to your chest before moving towards the next exhibit. 

“Is that a Jaeger-LeCoultre?” Faye asked as you stepped around her. 

You spun on your heels to look at her, a blank expression on your face.

“The watch,” she said. 

“Oh.” You glanced down at your wrist, then back to her. “Yeah, it is.” 

She allowed a slight smile, letting out a short, contemptuous hum. “Expensive.” 

You feigned a clueless expression, doe-eyed and innocent as you shrugged at her. “Is it? I wouldn’t know, it was a gift.” 

“How thoughtful of him,” she replied bluntly, emotionlessly. 

“I never said who it was from…”

“Well,” she laughed. “I doubt anyone else you know could afford something like that.” 

You found yourself holding back again, biting the inside of your bottom lip until it tasted of iron. “Enjoy the exhibition,” you said, feigning kindness as you gestured around you. “I’m sure this theme’s right up your street. We both know how much you love embellishments.” 

You walked away without waiting for a response, blowing out a puff of hot breath and fanning yourself with your book until you reached the next display. On a small platform stood a row of mannequins, each one draped in a stunning jewelled sari. You squinted to read the placard beside them; the history, the significance, the craftsmanship that went into them. 

But you were soon disturbed again, letting out a huff before turning to Faye again. 

“Are you following me?” you asked, a teasing glint in your eye.

“I don’t know what you think you know about my marriage,” she began, speaking quietly, her tone curt. “But when he inevitably gets bored of messing around with you, I hope you have enough integrity to keep it to yourself.” 

“I have no intention of ever exposing you, Faye.” You shook your head. “But I’ll be sure to let Ben know you think our relationship is doomed to fail.” 

“Relationship,” she giggled.

You narrowed your eyes at her. 

“Is that what you’re calling it? A relationship?” she scoffed. 

“What else would it be?”

“You’re the fun, Quinn. The wild oats he sews before he decides he’s ready to settle down.” She gestured to your watch. “You’re the one he spoils, keeps sweet, flies out to whatever country he’s in because he feels like a quick fuck.” 

Her voice was so quiet, so soft, but the words were bitter and torturous. It made the back of your neck tingle, your ears burn, stomach twist.

“And I don’t blame you,” she shrugged. “He’s a celebrity. Who’s going to turn down the opportunity to have a fling with a handsome, charming actor? But what happens when that novelty wears off? When you realise how… wrong for him you are?” 

People were passing back and forth around the exhibition, buzzing with conversation, brushing shoulders, gathering at displays and moving on to the next. But the place might as well have been silent, bare, just the two of you in an empty room. 

You gave a clipped laugh, though no smile accompanied it. “How on earth would you know if I’m right or wrong for him? You don’t know me.“

“No but I know him,” she countered assuredly. “I know that he wants children, and he wants them soon. That’s one of the main reasons our marriage ended. Are you willing to give him that?” 

“Well actually, I’m three months pregnant right now, we’re very excited,” you replied dryly.

She narrowed her eyes. “No you’re not.” 

“Of course I’m fucking not,” you said quietly, rolling your eyes.

“And when he wants you to be, what then? When he comes to you a year from now and says ‘Quinn, I really want to be a father, and I’m not getting any younger’. Is that going to fill you with excitement, or dread?” 

You kept your face expressionless, but your heart was beginning to race, her words travelling right to the place where they stung the most. 

“He wants to live equally between here and America, did he tell you that?” she continued. “Are you willing to pack up your whole life and follow him back and forth? Give up your career? Live in houses you have no equity in? Drive around in a nice car you didn’t pay for?” 

She straightened her posture, chin raised with indignation. “Quinn the kept woman,” she taunted. “The trophy wife that the media never actually cares to learn the name of because she’s unimportant, insignificant when compared to him.”

You swallowed past a lump in your throat, though you couldn’t tell if it was made of sadness or pure rage. But still, you found a way to compose yourself, checking over your shoulders before stepping closer to her. 

“I know it must hurt,” you eventually said. “To be in love with someone who doesn’t love you back. To be married to him, to convince yourself that ‘maybe with time he’ll see we’re meant to be’.” You lowered your voice, leaning in to speak slowly. “Yet still, after two years, the only time he’d willingly touch you was when there was a camera there to catch it.” 

Her face hardened, her eyes never leaving yours. 

“And I don’t blame you either, Faye. If I were you, I’d want to hurt the woman he actually loves too.” 

She forced a smile, blinking away what seemed to be tears forming in her waterline. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m warning you.” 

She turned away, beginning to walk off before stopping and looking back at you. 

“I may not have liked what you wrote in that feature,” she said. “But the way you wrote it wasn’t half bad. I just think it’d be a shame, for someone with so much potential to end up known only as the one that came after me.” 

You held her gaze until she finally turned around, disappearing into the crowd with a flick of her hair. 

You stood there for a moment, frozen, staring down at the spot where Faye had stood. The buzz of the exhibition faded back in, a cacophony of excited voices, camera shutters and footsteps. But it was still muffled, like there was a bubble around you, separating you from the rest of the world. Faye’s words echoed in your mind, breaking through the armour you’d built around yourself and burrowing down to the quietest corners of your soul, the places you didn’t like to visit. 

Quinn the kept woman. The one that came after me.

You wondered if she was right, if you could ever be satisfied living a life that always had to bend to the shape of Ben’s. He had never denied the pitfalls of his fame, never sugar coated the demand of his work or hidden his desire for a family, for children. Were you really holding him back from finding someone to share all of that with?

You took a shaky breath, closing your eyes to soothe the itch behind your lids, and with trembling hands, you opened your notebook and forced yourself to carry on to the next display. A collection of gowns embroidered with floral motifs, their petals moulded from delicate beads and sequins that seemed to bloom beneath the soft light. You traced the edges of one with your eyes, jotting down notes with uneven, messy handwriting.

Your watch caught the light again, the gold surface glinting like a mocking wink. You almost wanted to take it off, but instead you fiddled with it for a moment, recentering the face in the middle of your wrist.

By the time you finished your tour of the exhibition, your notebook was full, but you could barely remember anything you’d written in it. You slipped it into your bag, hoisting it over your shoulder as you walked toward the exit and out into the late evening air. 

The sun was still shining, but there was a bite to the breeze that made you shudder. You pulled a cardigan from your bag and shrugged it on before taking off down the street towards your car. You pulled your phone from your trouser pocket, looking up Ben’s name, thumb hovering over the call button as you walked. But you never pressed it, unsure what you would even say, where you would start.

*Tag List: @blondekel77 @evelynrosestuff @bakerstreethound @annesthaeticc @aephereal @sharp-cheekbones-locked @sherlux @veryladyqueen @graciebear47 @allurenia @jamerlynn @cottagecore-cat @aysamuka @thegardenerofeden @cumbercatchmebaby @inspirationalandrandom @turkisherlockian @swds @weepingdreamerpanda @elzabethann @childofgod215 @briecantopme @lovecleastrange @jaspearl31 @paola-carter @greatburger @azu21 @xourownsidee @hunterofshadows04 @asgardianprincess1050 @teddycrimson @sherlocksgirl91 @oliveoilthoughts @hai-kbai @shjl15 @bloodyxsaint @charleighsblog @stephenstrangeaddictions @omgstarks @sleutherclaw @bisciwri @theevilsupreme @druggedbyfiction @gwoods123 @classickook @coffee-d0t @strangeobsessed @januarycolor @strangeions @lonadane @downtownshabby @diabaroxa @stllbrln @thealleydog @cakesandtom @irisbutterfly @coffeebeing @lexlexigogh @mun7on @svntnpldis @belan-the-dilf-hunter @blxckdragonfly @detective-sherlocked @xdelulu @nicoletk @filmlock @bensherstrange @midnightramyeoncravings @coldnique @dearwatson @scailedandisolated @aphroditesdilemma @bergararyans @txylorrvelasco @classicrebound @hthrevr @happybunnyclumsyduck @c00letha @j3mj3rrica @ironstrange1991 @vi0letdaze @theothersideofthescreen @alessandra-cumberbatch @indiefilmfatale

[gothamite-rambler]

The Outlaws helping out Harley

Harley spent the last hour and a half recounting to the Outlaws the harrowing experiences Joker had put her through—his manipulation, the various forms of abuse, how he let her come perilously close to death numerous times, and how he always twisted things to make her feel like it was her fault.

Harley (concluding her story): After finally escapin' and acceptin' that Joker never truly loved me, I thought maybe this whole redemption thing could work. And, well, it has. That’s probably all I want to say about it.

She sighed contentedly, leaning back in her chair. The reaction from the Outlaws was stunned silence mixed with horror. Artemis even covered her mouth, struggling to find the right words.

Roy (speaking first): He threw you out of a window because you explained a joke?

Harley (coolly): Yeah. Fucked up, I know.

Bizarro (disgusted): He didn’t leave you in a vat of acid and not escape? He is good man!

Harley: Tell me about it. He’s dead to me now, stuck up at Arkham and always schemin' his next escape. I heard Slade gave him a serious beatin' a few weeks back. Caramel, I’d say.

Jason (checking his gun’s ammo): You mean karma.

Harley: Oh, right. Sorry. I said that a lot with Joker, too, for the smallest things.

Artemis (struggling to restrain her anger): Yeah, you mentioned the ice cream cake incident. Hey, Harley, we appreciate you opening up. It takes a lot of courage, and I’m glad you feel comfortable here with us.

Harley: No problem! When I started this group therapy, I wanted it to be a safe space for everyone to share what’s been botherin' 'em. I trust all of you. So, who's next?

Artemis sent a quick message to Jason, Roy, and Bizarro, receiving a thumbs-up in reply.

Artemis: We need to put a pause on this. There's something urgent we have to handle—someone awful we’ve dealt with before. We're going to pay him a visit.

Harley (crossing her legs, intrigued): Kill or no kill? I want you to be honest; that’s how my street therapy works.

Roy (checking his phone for the right response): No kill. That would be way too easy. He needs to live and suffer. While we’re gone, can you watch Lian?

Harley (perking up): I can watch her? Yes! We’re goin' to have so much fun together! Sorry for bein' so energetic; I’ve always loved kids. You guys do ya thing, and I’ll hang out with Lian. Then we can get… whatever you want. My treat!

Jason sighed and covered his face at her over enthusiastic response.

Jason (in his head): Oh my God, she's so hurt.

Artemis (nodding in agreement with Jason's reaction): Yeah, I get it.

Bizarro (sincere): Harley? You're... not our friend. I don’t want you to know that. Okay?

Harley (smiling, understanding what he meant): I needed to hear that. Thanks, pals.

Wiping her eyes, Harley got up and headed to Lian’s room to let her know they were going to spend the day together. Meanwhile, Roy prepared for their trip to Arkham.

Roy: We can be there in about thirty minutes.

Artemis: Jason, just checking—are you okay with this?

Jason: I’ll probably stay outside and keep watch because I will kill him if I see him. I want you to shoot him though, the leg at least. I had no idea he did... that much awful shit to her. He just keeps getting worse.

Artemis: It’s like the worst of Zeus mixed with Apollo. Let’s hurry before she catches on—she is not paying for our food either! Hera, I’m going to snap his penis like a twig.

Roy: Fair enough... Not sure how you're going to pull that off, but fair.

Artemis (cracking her knuckles): Oh, I’ll find a way.

The group moved quickly, just as Harley was leaving Lian's room, holding her hand and leading her to the living room.

Harley: So, it’s about dogs in Australia?

Lian: Yeah! It’s really cute, but heads up—Bluey and Bandit are sisters, not brothers. It’ll make sense when we start watching it.

Harley shrugged and sat down on the couch with Lian, pulling up Disney Plus on the television.

[crimson-constellations]

One of the things I’ve been thinking about since I finished arcane was Jayce’s last speech to Viktor bfr the ending.

When Jayce said his imperfections are not weakness but instead beautiful and made him the man he was today and it worked , it kinda downed on me just how perfectly crafted the timing had been, and how It just wouldn’t have worked any other time. Don’t get me wrong it would have a lot of impact on Viktor, but it wouldn’t have been nearly as groundbreaking as it was in the moment of that last scene. in s1 before he began using the hexcore on himself for example, he’s definitely feel somewhat better about himself but not enough to give up on trying to change everything. Maybe he’s think about it further but I don’t personally think anything would go differently. After he died and absorbed the hexcore though, it really wouldn’t have changed a thing, no explanation needed.

But when he came back as machine herald we could see how the idealization of the glorious evolution evolved to a different level of obsession, the perfectionism all tied up to the emotions that formed him, that self hatred that came with his incapability of getting rid of his illness and disability, it reflected directly onto what drove machine herald’s ambition.

And then comes Jayce, fresh out his worst nightmare of loosing everyone he loves along with the entire fucking planet. Days of walking around injured absorbing the reality of what the world will turn into if he doesn’t end the life of his partner. Then the cave happens, and he suddenly has to endure everything that happened to Viktor in a fucked up, symbolic and faster paced way. (There’s a lot of parallels in there tho I’m not covering them I’m sure someone else already did that)

then he got out, shot Viktor, following the wishes of the Viktor he met in the other realm. After this he got an insight on what Viktor went through all his life, and that, along with what he told him about the perfectionism of the glorious evolution, he had time to fucking think about it and I’m sure he spent some nights awake with that on his mind.

So when Jayce got his last chance to try and convince Viktor he knew just how to crack him. I don’t think he thought of it strategically at all though. He said it not only because he meant it but because when face to face with him his emotions got the best of him (again) and the wish to just get Viktor back that’s what he thought Viktor needed to hear. After what he went through in the arcane, they were connected again and that moment was the only one he could have reached Viktor. His emotions were so strong they were inhuman already, the sole source of his motivation. That recognition from jayce in his most fragile state ( into the hive mind )

It’s the words he needed to hear the most all his life from the person who understood, the one that brought him back.

[many-but-one]

As someone who does not identify as anti-endo, I do have something to say about this.

Sometimes people are genuinely not in their right mind to make decisions about their care. That is why medical/psychiatric directives and executors exist. Sometimes people are not in their right physical or mental state to make the right decisions about their care. I know it can feel gross to override someone’s autonomy about their own care and that the system is sometimes abused by bad people, but more often than not, this is not the case. These sorts of things are for people who get into such deep psychosis that they cannot make decisions for themselves, who may cause serious harm to themselves or others. This is for people who are extremely suicidal who need to get medical and psychiatric care or they will die. This is for people with eating disorders who are so starved of nutrients that their brains aren’t functioning clearly and they need medical intervention. 5150s are actually a lot more difficult to obtain for someone than you think and they are denied more often than they are granted because the medical/psych system doesn’t want to deprive people of their autonomy unless they are a serious risk to themselves or others. My ex brother in law was in deep religious psychosis and was a possibly a danger to himself and others and we still were not granted a 5150 for him because he could still be lucid at times and still had some ability to make choices for himself. This is meant for people who are in active suicide, full blown psychosis or mania, or active homicidal ideation. While yes, sometimes this order is used incorrectly and sometimes it doesn’t need to be used, the most common usages are where people literally cannot make the correct decision for themselves to keep themselves and others around them safe.

I would be dead if my high school administrator hadn’t (basically) 5150’d me when I was 17 and extremely suicidal. That psych stay was one of the worst experiences of my mental health journey and I hated every second of it, but it kept me alive. Which is what matters most, here. Forced psychiatric intervention can be traumatic for those going through it, and it really sucks to be in that situation, but sometimes that is the only way to keep someone alive. I would rather have to work through the trauma of a shitty psych intervention than be dead.

Some may disagree, that they would rather be dead than deal with a shitty psych intervention, and I would have agreed with them when I was 17-21 years old. However I am 26, nearly 27 years old now with a decade of mental health work behind me and I can say that now that I’ve healed to the point I have, I am so fucking glad I am not dead. I have a major distrust in the psychiatric system that I’m still working through, but I would rather work through that than be dead.

It is not evil to advocate for forced psych intervention. What would be better is to advocate for improving the system at the roots so that these forced interventions are less traumatic rather than doing away with them altogether.

anti endos are just evil villains dude wtf is this

[marijuana-barbie]

Things I find myself saying these days that I never said during the 10+ years I had severe depression:

- I love my life

- my life is fun and exciting

- it’s a great time to be alive

I honestly never thought I’d be here. I never thought I’d be free. But I’m so grateful I survived.

[lokimobius]

is my wip wednesday post repressed on the dash or is it just kinda awful?

[butnotbubblegum]

using the tags to vent my current emotional state into the void bc ig story feels like a bad plan for this, read at your own risk.

[theno1joelhater]

oh, sweet religion. the potential of a cgcu heaven and a cgcu hell. like 90% of the characters are being sent to the realm of fire and brimstone, including wayne.

i have little to no thoughts on the afterlife itself. i don’t know what happens after you die. but heaven and hell? i can work with that. wayne isn’t making past the pearly gates.

so in those brief moments between his death and rebirths (plural is crazy) (like was jesus even resurrected that many times? idk i’ve never read the bible) he’d experience hell. the worst torture known to mankind. not dissimilar to what he put cam through, for “i like torturing my favs” crowd (it’s us we’re the crowd).

for the first time ever, wayne was scared. even though his visit was brief, it still terrified him. he experienced real torture for the first time, raw fear and pain and nothing else. when he was brought back, he was relieved. so fucking relieved. he took a brief break, bc yk. just got back from being resurrected. needs time. but maybe, cam wants him to keep pranking. and he does, just less on cam and more on the other characters. he can’t risk going back to hell.

but when he goes off and pranks justin (top ten biggest mistakes in history and it isn’t 2-10!), he’s scared again. he doesn’t want to go to hell. even though he’ll probably get resurrected again he still doesn’t want to risk it. he can’t go through it all again. he can’t.

riffing off your ideas, i don’t truly believe wayne thought his situation was that serious. maybe, deep down, he understood. but he tried to make light of his situation. he didn’t treat it seriously, as he does with most things. so he tried to escape. sure, justin was prepared for everything, but wayne didn’t think so. he underestimated justin. he knew that there was a chance he could get caught and he was a bit scared of what could happen if justin found him, but his confidence took over. he tried to get out, but he was too reckless. justin found him and forced him to watch a cloning process. safe to say that was a huge wake up call for wayne. again, wayne felt true fear. what would happen after he’s taken over by the microchip? would he be sent back to hell? that thought terrified him.

the showing of the cloning process, i think justin would be selective on that. if they tried to escape, and if justin thought it would ruin their morale, he would. otherwise he’d just do some other method of making them stay. what that method is idk go ask justin.

and the gap between his second death and second revival had to have been longer, right? jctm1 takes like 1 day but we don’t know how long it takes for robin and max to figure out richard has god on speed dial. they probably took a small break or something to digest the justin stuff too. either way, it’s the longest wayne had been dead. and he’s more fearful then ever. you think at some point he might become desensitized to all the pain, and maybe that’s true. maybe he gets used to it, but physical isn’t the only form of torture out there. his mind keeps him occupied. he thinks of everything he’s done. he thinks of how he’s hurt everyone he knows and that this is all deserved. all these feelings he hid deep down, for the first time, surface. they all bubble to the top, and it’s all wayne can think about. his mind is torturing him.

i think i’ve said this before but cameron doesn’t like wayne at all, he only keeps him around for views n stuff. he doesn’t kill him because he doesn’t have a valid reason to other than “he’s annoying”. he came up with the perfect excuse to do so, but he brought wayne back. and wayne died again. and he was brought back again. it’s a cycle of wayne going tufar, getting killed, and being brought back. if that isn’t suffering i don’t know what is.

AAAAAAAAA JUSTIN CASE UPDATE??? WHAT THE FUCK WHY DID HE JUST POST RHE SPOILERS TO THE NEXT INSTALLEMENT OF THE STROY RIGHT THERE INSREA DOF BEING LIKE YEAH IM DOING IT IM KILLING CAM RN FUCK ME (ron intended)

anywayssssss

nathaniel is dead, not very skibidi sigma of him at all but i’m not too surprised, cam’s been trying to get rid of ol’ nathan for a WHILE (besides, look at his last name. it was inevitable)

cam added a mary sue self insert oc that’s basically a god into the cgcu who’s summoned by racism and sexual jokes. damn.

i get the ending and it’s alright, but also seems anticlimactic. like cam shows up and tells justin “dude you’re a fictional made up character on the internet you’re already immortal 💀” and justin’s like “oh fr then ig i’ll stop” which isn’t that satisfying at all. i don’t like that ending the discord’s ending (ask me for an invite link if ur interested in the server, we’re all very cool) is much better since yk. it has actual character development.

personally? i don’t like this ending much and i am unsatisfied. it might be better if he actually posts it but i still don’t like it much. if only…….i finished the goddamn animation……..ughhh

also……….max? whipping it out? right there? cam you better film this part or else /hj

[pixlmonkeys]

with no exaggeration being hyper empathetic is one of the worst things to happen to me

[rosesradio]

i think my university fucking bit me wtf

[is-the-owl-video-cute]

Could you link me to some posts about the UK environment/animal treatment/ecosystem issues? My fam always needs outright sources to trust my word

It may be better to ask someone from the UK to be honest. I don’t know much about formal papers regarding this.

I’m also going to be honest, this is not a good blog to ask for citations from because most of what I know is from personal experience in this field but I can’t really say “source: just trust me bro” because, well, I don’t list my qualifications in specific so that’s hard to expect others to trust from me. Besides that, most papers I would link you to would be behind a paywall that’s honestly too steep to justify paying if you aren’t using said papers for a formal write up somewhere. If you’re in college, most institutions have some means to access various research papers as it’s included with tuition, so whether you’re a current student or not i would advise you seek help at a library if you want actual academic citations to prove these points. I’m really just here to put the information in an easier to digest way with no paywall blocking you from seeing this sort of information. Since I am not being compensated for my work here and my time is limited due to real life, I don’t have a way to justify finding and reading through papers for your personal use.

Best of luck in your search, and if anyone happens to have anything handy feel free to link papers in the reblogs.

[danielnelsen]

always fun to remind myself of the side effects of my thyroid meds