#meant to post this a bit sooner but sleep and anxiety have been very bad lately :( -not related to this stuff lol

[babacontainsmultitudes]

As some of you already know, I am disheartened- though certainly not surprised- by the recent backlash against one Sparrow Oak Garcia for his recent transgression of *checks notes* having a mixed-to-negative opinion on zoos.

Part of me honestly feels a bit silly responding to any of this, but what are any of us here to do if not have opinions on fictional podcast characters. Anyways, I will get to the more important stuff, as obviously (if you've seen any of the criticisms I'm talking about) this ties back to Hero at the end of the day, but seeing as the first wave of hate I saw after the episode was largely to the effect of: "what the fuck does Sparrow have against zoos?", I would like to start by addressing that point briefly (and only briefly, as it's really not the sort of topic I care to discuss online), by saying that zoos and animal captivity more generally have a long history of being contested and criticized by animal rights activists, and that instances of animal abuse and neglect within zoos and other animal-based theme parks are anything but obscure. Furthermore, it feels worth noting that as of present less than 10% of zoos in the US are AZA-accredited. I say absolutely none of this with the intention of making any definitive statements on the nature of zoos, nor to judge people who do enjoy zoos, nor even to provide my own feelings on the matter. Rather, I offer this information only to explain that someone like Sparrow taking issue with something like zoos really isn't strange at all? And whether you agree with such a stance or not, it undoubtedly comes from a place of empathy. Moreover, I don't think we can honestly divorce Sparrow's take and compulsion to voice it from the metacontext that Sparrow is a character being played by Anthony Burch, you know, a vegan, who probably has his own views on the matter that may or may not differ from yours and mine.

Okay, on to more important matters. At the forefront of things I suppose is the assertion that Sparrow's behavior regarding Normal and the zoo and all that is hypocritical and perhaps even nonsensical in light of what Hero was going through at the time with her training. "He wouldn't take Normal to the zoo but he forced Hero to kill a deer with her bare hands?" Certainly the sort of statement that will elicit a strong emotive reaction from the fandom, but one that ultimately relies on a pretty major assumption, namely, that Sparrow acted as the primary organizer and perpetrator of Hero's training, one who supposedly felt no internal conflict towards the situation whatsoever, rather than instead serving as an enabler of it, who ultimately intervened but only after far too much damage was already done. Neither is a great thing to be, but there is absolutely a difference between both of these roles, and I think that Lark and Sparrow's respective behaviors over the course of the season point almost unanimously towards Sparrow being the latter and Lark the former.

(The above being a non-exhaustive list, of course)

The funny part about the whole zoo thing is that it only further corroborates the notion that Sparrow is someone who is sensitive to the suffering of others, and by extension only serves as more evidence that he most likely was not the one actively making Hero undergo the worst of what she had to do. Does this make him guiltless in the matter? Absolutely not, but it does point to Sparrow having issues that are fundamentally different from Lark's, and means that the instance with the zoo is not only consistent with Sparrow's characterization, but frankly not actually all that hypocritical if you look at it for more than a second. That is, there is a very important but simple difference between the situation with Normal and the zoo and that of Hero and the deer that accounts for the variances in Sparrow's behavior between both cases: Lark. Sparrow isn't okay with either situation, based on all the evidence we have so far of who he is as a person there is absolutely no reason to think that Hero's training is not something that deeply upset him- I mean for fuck's sake everything about how Sparrow raised Normal down to his name stems from not wanting his kids to have to live that kind of life. So why doesn't he put a stop to things sooner? Why does he let any of Hero's training happen at all? Again, very simply, because Sparrow cannot say no to his brother. I mean, he does eventually, given Hero's current status, and that change is an important and still ongoing facet of Sparrow's growth and his arc, but at the start of things it is something he struggles with even more than he does now, to his own suffering and detriment and of course even more so to Hero's. But did Sparrow himself "force Hero to kill a deer with her bare hands"? Almost certainly not, and I have to admit that I find it quite frustrating how quickly Lark vanishes from the collective conscious of the fandom when the time comes to assign accountability for matters concerning Hero. But then, who is Sparrow if not someone who takes the fall for his brother, apparently even in the fandom-space.

[Not that there isn't any nuance to Lark's utilitarianism, either. In general I feel as though discussion of the twins' biggest mistakes too often omits the acknowledgement of the fact that all of it has been to stop an eldritch horror responsible for the death and torture of millions of people, but anyways. Not what this post is about.]

I think that's mostly it lol. Got some thoughts on the family's policy on pets (and how it relates to the Hero thing but also to Beanie actually), as well as some remarks on Rebecca and how we really shouldn't be leaving her out of this discussion (I say, leaving her out of this discussion) but eeehhhhhhh y'all I'm especially low energy as of late eheh and mostly just wanted to speak my peace on a couple major things so let's cut it here for now I think :b

#dndads #meant to post this a bit sooner but sleep and anxiety have been very bad lately :( -not related to this stuff lol #dungeons and daddies #sparrow oak #sparrow oak garcia #also posting this at an awful time as I am one to do but eh what can you do #long post #dndads s2 ep 41 #baba babbles #<- remember when I said I would start using that talking tag then didn't???? #hero oak #hero oak swallows garcia #normal oak #normal oak swallows garcia #names lmao gosh #lark oak #lark oak garcia #ask to tag #<- just in case given certain topics

[leclsrc]

Hiii, could i request a charles angst drabble like just very angsty and sort of an ambiguous ending too? maybe theyre in a secret relationship and theres infidelity involved. sorry if this is too specific, thank you thoughh :)) <3

forever ago – cl16

genre: angst, drabble

auds here... as thanks for 500 :) this a bit long for a drabble sry! some lines are borrowed frm a drabble i posted on my last blog. title from “for emma” by bon iver—a bloody good song imo. hope this does ur req justice, anon!

Your heart twists with something unfamiliar. “I don’t know what it is,” you say, frustrated. “He hasn’t talked to me.”

Over the phone, your friend’s voice is slow and reassuring. “It’s probably nothing. The last race didn’t go too well for him, so he might just be shutting himself out.”

You nod, half-convinced, still staring at Charles across the paddock. You’re dubious, because if it was anything ordinary—if it was a bad race, a DNF, a crash—he’d shield the both of you from the rest of the world. He’s engaged in conversation with Pierre and Carlos, arms crossed over his torso, eyes crinkled with a smile. You try to persuade yourself into believing your friend, but deep down, you know it’s wishful thinking. Something’s wrong, you’re sure.

You purse your lips, swallowing the lump in your throat that doesn’t leave. You feel like the rest of the world.

He’s been ignoring you for a few days, limiting communication to intermittent texts that only come if you message first. You’ve exhausted every possible reason, but nothing works. You’re left to your own devices of wondering aimlessly for excuses. 

Nobody said pursuing a secret relationship would be easy, sure. But you and Charles had managed to pull it off for four years. And it wasn’t like anything was ever spoonfed to either of you—it was insanely difficult maintaining a professional journalist/driver relationship beside an intimate one. While some knew, it was still a secret from a good part of the paddock, let alone the public.

It meant sacrificing the better things of a relationship: sleeping in together, going on dates together, even holding hands. You resort to fleeting taps, lingering touches that look friendly. But you’re content. He’s yours, even in those moments. 

You blink, and you wake up cold in Silverstone, even under four layers of duvet.

You scramble to find Charles, and in the mess of the sheets, it takes longer than you anticipated. You kick your legs, but they only tangle. You even lift your head up, but find the duvet has totally engulfed you. You’re half-awake now, spent with the effort it takes to find him. You need to find him, even now, even when the sky is pale blue outside and you need to leave before anyone knocks.

Like always, he finds you first. A hand takes yours, pulls, and his strength causes the obstructions to clear.

You stare into his lidded eyes. “Je te tiens,” he says, voice deep, slurred, but reassuring. You nod, heaving a sigh, almost amused by your previous bout of anxiety. Why did you ever doubt yourself? It’s Charles, you think. He’s got you. 

You blink, and he’s far away again, across the paddock, distracted like he’s been so often lately. You rub the bridge of your nose, in a futile attempt to rid yourself of the dry pangs of pain there. You have a race to report. You can think of him later.

Turns out, the thoughts come sooner—just under an hour later, when you’re beside Will and using your phony reporter voice, reading off the fluorescent teleprompter text. “We’ll be inviting a few people to ask some questions on the live Formula One feed,” you say with a smile. “And our Ferrari drivers over here will get to answer some lucky fans!”

You gesture and turn to the screen beside you, still smiling. You’ll smile until your jaw aches. A fan comes on the air, a middle-aged man by the looks of it; his Texan accent permeates through the speaker and goes, “Hey Carlos and Charles, huge fan! Jus’ wanna ask, what is your favorite track this year?”

Blink, and your headache’s gone. You’re with Charles in his Monaco flat, legs swinging over the counter. He’s shirtless and cooking a grilled cheese. “I’m finally getting promoted next year,” you say, a fact you’ve reiterated about a million times tonight.

“Dunno why you’re surprised,” Charles says. “With your skill, ’twas just a matter of time, no?”

“Oh, ha ha,” you joke. “Don’t flatter me, it’s getting to my head.”

He sets the plate beside you, wedges himself in between your legs. You lean forward to rest your chin against his shoulder. “I love you,” he says into your neck. “I love you so much.”

And you blink, you’re holding your mic, Carlos is talking again, about how his favorite circuit has just got to be this and that, then the Texan fan is off the screen. It’s a few moments before the next fan fades into view, an excited and hyper teenager rattling off oh my god I love yous faster than you can count. 

“So this isn’t really related to racing,” she says, her accent distinctly Californian. “I just wanted to ask if it’s true that Charles has a girlfriend? ‘Cause, well, everyone saw him with somebody last night, and…”

The world spins slowly then, when you’re staring at the screen, listening to her voice. You try to blink and distract yourself but it doesn’t work. You keep smiling. You blink. It doesn’t work. You wonder why it doesn’t work. You wonder why you have to face this on air. You wonder why you can’t blink and be gone, if just for a minute.

Above all, you wonder who he was with while you were working late last night.

You swivel in your chair and reduce your smile to a tight-lipped one. “How interesting!” You chirp.

Years of practice have done your voice justice; even if you want to scream, your voice is level, enthusiastic. Your eyes flit over to Carlos, who’s already looking at you. His brows are furrowed, mouth half-open in clear confusion. You can hear Will stuttering beside you. “Oh, I—um, how in—how splendid.”

It’s not splendid. It’s not interesting. But Charles gulps and says still, “Yes, I’m seeing someone.”

The words cut through you like shrapnel. You feel yourself fall apart, right there, trying desperately to put yourself back together. Four years, and they’re gone, on the air. You exhale, try to subtly signal for the segment to be ended early. The rest is a blur—Will carries the rest of the interview with standoffish, fake interjections and additional questions. You just smile.

How could you have been so stupid, really. To think a secret relationship would survive. If anything, it made it easier for him to do what he did. You steal a glance and his eyes are cast low, dark. He’s so far away. Is this it, you think. Everything you’d ever worked for, loved for, fought for, hidden, celebrated—is this it? For another girl? You can’t help but wonder who she is. If she was that much better, that much more alluring, that Charles thought it a good choice to throw away four years under the bus.

The feed ends before your thoughts run out, and you drop your mic onto the surface of the table, leaving the pen immediately. Will says something but you can’t decipher it. Charles follows, even if you can hear Carlos holding him back. Leave her alone, he says, and Charles says, no, I need to talk to her.

He circles a hand around your wrist, wrapping just underneath the Cartier bracelet you’d gotten to match his. The reminder makes your chest ache with a totally wrenching pain, throbbing through you as he pulls you into an empty space in between motorhomes.

“I’m sorry,” he says. He sounds desperate, solemn.

“Do you love me?” You ask weakly. And when he laces your fingers together and nods: “Then why do make me look like a fool?”

He shakes his head. “It meant nothing, cherie. I promise.”

“You’ve no right to tell me that,” you heave. Your chest is so heavy you legitimately feel like drowning. “And for me to find out on the job? I thought this whole time that I did something to you. Turns out you’re just busy fucking someone else to be kind to me. I thought you were mine, Charles. How could… how could you hurt me like this?” You don’t mean to sound so broken, but you can’t even blame yourself.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen this way.”

“But it still did,” you say simply. “I thought—I thought it was gonna be us. I thought you were the one—the one person who would never hurt me.”

You’re crying, you realize, tears running down your cheeks and onto your jaw. When his silence persists, you purse your lips, wipe the tears out of your eyes before they stream again. You can feel people staring, you can hear hushed voices, make out your friends trying to find you. “Charles,” you say wetly. “All I ever did was love you. You said you would do the same.”

This time, when you blink, you manage to picture the past clearly.

You��re in Monza, your first day on the job, a balmy day with a sea of red fans. The paddock is intimidating, crawling with people,  and you’re having trouble looking for your boss. The crowd is unbelievably noisy, vibrating through the entire area. Vaguely Italian cheers erupt through the place.

You’d circled the area a couple of times but still, you haven’t placed where you need to be. You turn several times to pinpoint the landmarks, the hospitalities, the logos, but to no avail. You’re lost.

“You okay?” Someone says, with an accent just as European as everybody else’s. 

“Yeah, uh—well, lost, to be honest. I need to find the media pen, ‘cause it’s my first day.”

“Right over there,” he says, smiling. His eyes crinkle, almost disappear with how big he beams. He stretches a hand out to shake yours and you take it, introducing yourself quickly. He lets his hand linger, and you smile back. You have a feeling this isn’t the last time you’ll see him.

Your heart twists with something unfamiliar. “I’m Charles.”

#f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc angst #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc x reader #f1 x reader #charles leclerc imagine

[xpeachesncream]

off the grid | six

summary: it was as simple as swapping places with a stranger from across the world to get away from everything back home. that is - until you meet Jimin. things become more complicated as he unfolds a new chapter in your life that you were initially trying to avoid.

pairing: reader x pjm

genre: post-college au, christmas/holiday au | angst, fluff, smut (to come)

words: 3.7k

chapter warnings: smut chapter! unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, fingering, oral (f. receiving), slight dirty talk, cussing, possible inaccurate depiction of transportation, events and whereabouts in South Korea since i only did my research thru the internet, fluff

notes: will be wrapping this up in the next few chapters!

> series masterlist <

Jimin was going to be busy for majority of the day with his parents, which left you feeling a little sad. But, you knew he had to do what he had to do and he had offered to come by and spend time with you tonight. As you were about to head out and explore on your own with the tips he had given you, a call from an unknown number popped up on your screen.

"Hello?"

"Y/N!" Jungkook's voice came through on the other line. "I hope you don't mind, I asked Jimin for your number not too long ago."

"No, you're good." You chuckled. "What's up?"

"Wanna hang out with me and Tae? We're gonna head to Common Ground."

"Sure!"

"Sick!" He exclaims. "I'll send you our address. Do you think you'll be okay heading over?"

"Yeah, I got it." You responded, remembering Jimin's directions to his place in the event you ever needed anything.

"Okay, just let me know if you get lost and I'll come find you." You chuckled before responding with a simple 'okay' to end the call. You were confident in your memory of the directions, which led you to their place in a matter of minutes. They didn't live too far from Yana, and you remember Jimin saying so since Yana doesn't drive and would simply take public transportation to and from places.

Upon your arrival at their apartment, Taehyung was cleaning up in the kitchen while Jungkook was throwing on a jacket. Jungkook gave you a little tour of their apartment, which was surprisingly clean and smelled of vanilla birchwood. Sooner or later, the three of you were off into town to visit Common Ground, which was considered Korea's first cultural space that was made out of shipping containers. The view and the entirety of it was pretty neat, and you kind of wished Jimin was here, but Jungkook and Taehyung were just as great of travel buddies. They talked a lot about their hometowns and what it was like moving to Seoul, plus how they truly value Korea and it's culture. You were coming to learn what a truly spectacular and beautiful place it was, and it was even more refreshing to hear from the boys themselves how much they loved being from Korea.

After navigating through the crowds and having spent more money on souvenirs and clothes, the three of you decided to eat up and grab some grub. For a minute, you lost Jungkook because he ran into some people he knew, leaving you and Taehyung to eat together.

"This place is neat isn't it?"

"Yeah, it's really cool. Thanks for taking me along." He nodded as his lips poked out while eating his food. You thought it was the most adorable thing.

"You know, Jimin's been really happy since you guys started spending a lot of time together."

"Oh yeah?" You giggled. Yes, Taehyung. Expose him.

"It's actually really nice to see." He chuckled. You knew him and Taehyung had known each other the longest out of their group, but he still held a very tight relationship with Jungkook, Hoseok and Jin. "He's always been the one to take care of people. I just wanna see him happy. He does a lot for the people he cares about."

"I know, he's really the sweetest person I've ever met. He's an angel."

"He was really destroyed over his ex." You continued to listen. "He loved her, a lot. He did everything for her and sacrificed a lot to keep her happy. But she couldn't reciprocate it 100% and that killed him time and time again."

"How long ago was that?"

"About a year ago? Even then, he tried not to have any bad blood with her after she had mistreated him. He has a good heart and mind. He deserves someone good who can take care of him." Your stomach fluttered with the countless butterflies, but most of the happiness you felt, also turned into anxiety. The days were counting down and you wouldn't be here for much longer. "He really, really likes you Y/N."

"I-I do, too. But-" Taehyung looked over at you, concerned. "I'm not going to be here for much longer." You shrugged. "It really sucks."

"Why don't you stay for a little more?"

"Work. My life is back in LA." He nodded. As much as it hurt you to say that, it was true. You wished it was easy to pick up your things and move around the world, but part of you felt silly for even thinking that over a holiday-solo-vacation love story.

"It's gonna be hard, but I honestly don't think Jimin cares. I think he'd make this work with you."

"But is that fair to him? Our time difference and-and, who knows when I'll get to physically see him again? Hearing what he went through.. what if I can't give him what he deserves?"

"I know all of it sounds like a mess and like it would never work, but don't you think you two meant for a reason?" He wasn't trying to be Jimin's right-hand at the moment, he was doing this because he truly could see how the both of you genuinely felt for each other. He hadn't seen Jimin have this glow, this type of genuine happiness to him in a long, long time.

"I don't know, I guess I'm just scared, and I would never want to put Jimin through anything he doesn't deserve."

"I get you." He replies. "But I do hope you know how much he cares about you. Like, I'm really not doing this because he's my bestfriend and all." He laughed. "But because I want to see the both of you happy."

"Thank you." You smiled at him toothlessly, the thoughts now flooding your head. All you wanted to do at this point was run into Jimin's arms and never let go. It would be your new safe haven. All you wanted was Jimin.

The rest of the day with Taehyung and (finally, again) Jungkook was chill, as you grabbed some desserts and played around at a nearby park before heading home to rest. You felt a sudden wave of exhaustion hit you, so you took a quick shower, threw on an oversized tee and shorts before retreating to the bed for a nice, late afternoon nap. You quickly texted Jimin that you'd leave the door unlocked so he could just walk in case you were deadass knocked out and couldn't hear the knocks or phone ringing.

Jimin had been helping his parents do a ton of revamping at their café, while also holding down the fort and doing what he can to help during peak hours. He was exhausted, nonetheless, but was excited to see you. He jetted off to the loft with food from the café to for some dinner, all while chuckling at the text you sent, wondering what the hell Jungkook and Taehyung had put you through today to knock you the hell out.

"Y/N?" He calls out softly. No response. He gently shuts the door and chucks his shoes to the side befofe laying the food out on the kitchen counter. It's peacefully quiet, even as Jimin climbs up the steps to the bedroom area. He smiles to himself as he sees you deep into the duvet covers, sleeping deeply like a baby longing for their afternoon nap. He sits on the edge of the bed, his fingers brushing through your hair, thumb softly caressing your cheek. You slowly open your eyes and smile, immediately sitting up to throw your arms around him. He laughs into your hug, pulling you in closer and running his hands down your back.

"Miss me?"

"I did."

"Aw." He chuckled. "Come here." He cups your cheeks and places a kiss on your lips.

"What a nice way to wake up."

"Yeah? What did TaeTae and Kookie do to you today?"

"Nothing, we just walked around Common Ground." He nodded.

"That's it?"

"We may have played around at a nearby park before going home."

"There it is." He laughed. "Are you hungry?"

"Starving, actually." You stretched.

"I brought some food from the café. Mom said I better feed you well." You chuckled.

"She's the sweetest." He had quickly brought you over to the café the other day, his mom and dad being the sweetest, and most loving people you have ever come across. You could immediately tell where Yana and Jimin got their mannerisms from. His mom couldn't stop holding onto you and telling Jimin how pretty you were, almost like she was telepathically communicating with her son and telling him to stop fucking around and get with it. You couldn't help but giggle at the look on her face.

"Come on." He nodded for you to follow him downstairs. He had paninis laid out, freshly toasted, with chips and more dessert. You pushed the coffee table in the living room forward a bit so that you both could sit on the floor and enjoy a good movie while eating the food. He had asked you more about your day and if Taehyung or Jungkookie had talked shit about him while you guys were out. You couldn't help but chuckle, remembering the serious conversation you and Tae had.

"Mm, actually," You finished up your sandwich and quickly washed your hands before heading back to the living room area. "Me and Taehyung had a pretty serious talk."

"About?"

"You, what else?"

"God, what did he say?"

"Nothing." You laughed, seeing his facial expression change.

"You can't say that you had a serious talk then not talk about it."

"Aw, is someone upset?" He pouted.

"Yeah, cause I'd like to know and I thought you cared about me." He dramatically responded. "I see that you don't, since you'd rather keep me hanging on a string like this."

"You're so dramatic, Park." You pinched his side, making him laugh. His laugh was certainly becoming a weakness for you. "He just told me that you've been really happy since we've been spending time together." He nodded.

"I mean, he isn't wrong."

"He also said that you really cared about me." You looked at him blankly, trying to read his expression and body language. He smiled at you, his cheeks getting hot and rosy.

"He also isn't wrong there."

"Taehyung really knows you, then."

"Since high school." He shrugs.

"That's about it, though." You spared him the rest of the details being that you really didn't wanna spoil the evening with such sad and negative thoughts about how your time was coming to an end here. Frankly though, you knew you had to deal with it sooner or later. That talk was coming either way.

"Hm." He says, pushing the coffee table up more towards the tv and throwing a blanket over both of your legs. He silently swung his arm over your shoulder and kept watching the movie on the tv. It was awhile before he broke the silence again with a sigh, his eyes still glued ahead of him. "I really like you, Y/N. I like you a lot. It's a little scary, but you don't know how much you drive me crazy with everything you do."

You held onto his hand that was hanging loosely from your shoulder and looked over at him. "I really like you too." At this point, you feel his eyes on you. They linger from your eyes, down to your lips and back up to your eyes.

"Then will you let me take care of you?" All self-control had gone out the window after seeing the look in his eyes. It was full of passion and lust, but nothing dark. He just wanted to be close to you and make you happy. He cared, and he wanted you to see that.

"Yes." You say breathily as his face edged closer to yours. He cupped your face with his free hand, instantly pressing a kiss onto your lips. The kiss began to deepen quickly, with Jimin tracing your bottom lip with his tongue, asking for entrance. You gladly let him proceed as your hand rests against his jawline. You took the initiative to pull yourself onto his lap and straddle him, your breathing slightly hitching when you feel his hardened member through his grey sweats. Your tongues are beautifully dancing around as he holds you tightly while you grind your hips against his.

"Hey, wait. Are you sure about this?" He pulls away, knowing the moment is intensifying by the minute. "You know I wanna do right by you, Y/N. I don't wanna do anything you aren't comfortable with."

"I'm sure. I want this. I want you." You respond almost at a whisper, your lips slightly grazing his. He simply nods and brings you back with a kiss. You gently palm his member, making him hiss and groan slightly at your touch. You continue to grind your hips onto him, slowly humping him into insanity.

"Fuck Y/N, honestly, you're going to make me cum if you keep moving like that." You chuckled.

"Don't." You plant kisses along his jaw line, watching as he shuts his eyes and tilts his head back. "I'd want you to do it inside me." You whisper in his ear.

"Y-You can't say things like that." He moaned.

"Or what?"

"You're an instigator, you know that? A really cute one." He says as he chuckles and gently lays you back down onto the ground. He whips your shirt and shorts off, quickly unhooking your bra and tossing it aside. His eyes widen at the sight of your exposed breasts. "So fucking pretty." He curses under his breath as he lightly sucks on your neck and around your breasts, before grabbing a nipple in his mouth and toying around with it with his tongue. You grip onto his hair as you slightly arch your back in pleasure. He bites onto his bottom lip before placing a trail of kisses down your stomach and down to your inner thighs before rubbing your covered clit through your soaked panties. He gently presses his lips onto your covered clit, making you yearn for more. "You're so wet."

"J-Jimin." You weakly call out. "Please."

"I got you, baby." He slips down your panties and inserts a digit into your throbbing pussy. You let out a small moan as he pumps his digit in and out of you, before inserting another two, with his thumb circling your clit.

"Ohhhh, fuck!" You squeal as you continue to feel his fingers stretching you out. You feel your wetness dripping out with every pump and covering areas of your inner thighs before Jimin releases his fingers and has you lick them clean. He lets out a small grunt watching your tongue circle and suck onto his fingers. He then latches onto your clit with his mouth. You feel his tongue swipe down your folds, teasing you with an in and out motion. You jut your hips upward but Jimin does a hell of a job preventing you from moving up any higher. You squirm in his grip, feeling your high coming close. "Jimin, fuck! You're gonna make me cum." You see his eyes look up at you, this time, full of lust. He simply nods as he continues to let his tongue suck you dry and explore the insides of you - the sight being enough to tip you over and make you climax. "Jimin!" You yell his name as your body twitches from underneath his grip. He gives your pussy one last lick, causing you to tremble at the sensitivity.

"You're so fucking pretty when you call my name." He says almost at a whisper. "How else can I make you feel good, baby?" He places soft kisses along your neck and jaw. You tug on his pants, causing him to chuckle and toss his shirt and pants off to the side.

"Please."

"Please, what? Use your words, beautiful."

"I want you deep inside of me. I wanna feel you." He bites onto his bottom lip and smirks. You run your hands down his chiseled abs and his V-line, completely in awe of how beautiful this man truly was. He was driving you crazy, everything about him. His eyes, his soft hair, his scent, his body. Good god.

He removes his boxers, making his hardened cock spring out. It was the most beautiful thing you've ever seen - perfectly long and thick, with veins running upward in various places. You pump him a few times, causing him to let out small moans, before placing your thumb on his reddened head to spread the pre-cum around his tip. He lowers his body back down onto you, his member teasing your entrance and gently grazing your folds. He kisses you passionately before you watch him grab his cock and place the head at your entrance. He inches in, lowering his body back down and bringing the blanket over your bodies while watching your eyes roll to the back of your head.

"You okay?"

"Mhm." You let out, your nails already digging onto his back. He kept a steady pace and slowly eased you into it. Your moans became breathy as he picked up the pace, his hands now keeping your legs opened wider for him. "Mmmmff, Jimin." You pleaded. "Just like that."

"Fuck, babygirl. The way you call my name." He quickly tilts his head back before ramming his body into yours as he became a little rough with it. Your thighs were folded up near your stomach as he held it there and continued to thrust in and out of you. With him picking up the pace, you felt yourself about to reach your climax and cum again.

"God, I'm gonna cum." You continued to moan loudly, until you were gripping onto the blankets and your eyes were rolling back once again. He greatly slowed down his pace, letting you ride out your high once more while placing kisses along your breasts and your lips. He wraps his arms around you and brings the blanket over while he sits back against the couch and lets you straddle him once more. The blanket comfortably sits below your waist, your eyes locked with his. He simply smiles at you, tucking a strand behind your ear and caresses your cheek. You gently and slowly ride him as you lean into his hand and place a kiss on his palm. His hands drop down to your waist, gripping onto them as you kept a steady pace while resting your hands on the couch behind him. You pick up your pace as you watch him squirm underneath you. He begins to call out your name, his hisses and groans accompanying the sound of your wet pussy riding him into the sunset.

"Y/N, fuck. Y-You're gonna make me cum." He tilted his head back, his hands losing grip around your hips as you rode his cock faster. "L-like that." He stutters. "Ugh, god." He hisses. You can tell he's about to let go with the way he's holding back his moans.

"J-Jimin, hmmmmph." You tilt your head back as you feel yourself about to cum for the third time tonight. "Please cum with me." You plead as your moans get louder.

"Oh shit, I'm gonna cum." He spits out as his fingers deep into your hips. You feel him fill you up completely as you ride out the rest of your high, Jimin's head now resting against your chest as you hold him close. You both stay in the position for awhile to catch your breath. After a moment, he looks up to meet your eyes and smiles, kissing you on the lips before helping you off his lap. He helps clean you up a bit before cleaning himself up and throwing his shirt and sweats back on. You fix the blanket onto the floor and drag some pillows down from the couch so you could lay on your stomach somewhat comfortably on the floor.

"You don't wanna get up to the bed?" Jimin laughed as he kneeled and rubbed your back.

"No, I'm too comfortable now."

"That good, huh?"

"Shut up, Jimin. Leave me alone." He laughed louder.

"I'll go grab another blanket." He says, going into the storage closet to grab another thick blanket to drape over your bodies. He lays next to you, his back resting against the couch as he propped his elbow up and rested his head on his hand. He continued to rub your back as you both looked over at the TV, the movie now nearing the end.

"I have to rewind the movie." You pouted, making Jimin chuckle.

"Go ahead." He watched as you flipped the remote up and brought the movie back to the last place you remembered seeing. You sunk your body into Jimin's, his lips lightly pressing on your head. Not even 5 minutes back into the movie, you felt your eyes getting heavy.

"Ah, I'm getting so sleepy though."

"You took a nap earlier. What do you mean?"

"I worked out a lot today." He laughed and lightly tickled you, making you hit his hand away.

"I see that. Go to sleep."

"Are you going to stay?" You mumbled.

"Only if you want me to."

"Of course I do." He smiled. "But what are you going to do?"

"Watch anime or whatever is on Netflix. Don't worry about me."

"Mmkay."

"Goodnight, baby." He whispers in your ear before kissing your cheek. The word baby made the butterflies come back (and the pussy throb, yet again, but you shoved that in the back of your mind because you definitely didn't have energy to go another round, as much as you wanted to).

Jimin watches as you quickly fall asleep, smiling to himself while he continues to play with your hair. He was happy. So happy. More than he's ever felt before and he wasn't sure how you were doing it. He was caught in your spell and he didn't even see it coming. You had him so undone. All he wanted to do was make this work with you and he was willing to, more than you knew. He didn't care about the time difference, he didn't care about your life being back in LA, he just didn't care about anything you've worried about because he believed you were worth it and he was going to put in this effort. You could figure everything else out later, but he just wanted this to be.

Alexa, play: Vibez x Zayn

#bts #bts fanfiction #jimin fanfiction #jimin #park jimin #pjm series #pjm x reader #jimin x reader #jimin fluff #jimin smut #bts smut #park jimin smut #off the grid #otg #writing

[syms-things-5]

Clear The Area - Chapter Seventeen

Previous Chapter Here

Warnings: Strong language and an air of discomfort.

Notes: I hope this reads OK as it’s quite dialogue-heavy.

Tags: @kelbabyblue @jennmurawski13

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 

The night shifts weren’t all bad. From time to time, they were even as good as “pretty straight forward”. They proved especially useful when trying to finish patient notes and random admin that always got left to the very end of the shift. Perhaps they’d endure a tidy-out of the stock cupboards if the crew was feeling generous. Since O’Brien had taken up his post at the hospital years earlier, he had insisted upon mandatory training updates for the ER units every three to four months (the national average was about once a year) so the team were regularly reminded not to set fire to their computers and not to leave boxes in places people could trip over. You’d be surprised how often both those things happened in an emerging crisis. 

“I swear he thinks we’re idiots half the time.” Complained Jack, his head now glued to the palm of his hand. Jack was hurtling towards an early retirement thanks to an ever-increasing distrust of the corporate environment ER departments found themselves in. We trained to save lives, he’d say, not file stat reports. He was so right, it hurt. 

The crew was sat round the reception desk. The ER was empty except for a local homeless man the team allowed in from time to time to sleep off his latest drunken adventures. 

“Who doesn’t know how to bend their knees when lifting something heavy?” Jack asked again. 

“Ryan for one.” Sarah joked, pointing her cold cup of tea towards the fellow nurse in question. Ryan was a tall and skinny guy, not dissimilar to Alexander Skarsgard in the right light but with less charm although he had left a few of the interns swooning of late. Shanna quite liked him, too. 

“One time, Sarah. One time and I suffered for it greatly.” Ryan remarked, spinning a full 360 in his swivel chair. “Did you tick ‘agree’ or ‘strongly agree’ for question eleven?” 

“Oh, if you don’t tick ‘strongly agree’ even if you only ‘agree’, they mark you down a couple of percentage points.” Entered Audrey, slamming down a pile of files on the desk beside Sarah. Their nightly routine just got more interesting. “Just get it over with. It’s not worth the effort. It’s just O’Brien being obsessed with stats again. He turns everything into a competition. I swear it’s unhealthy.”

Ryan looked momentarily confused before returning to face his computer screen. He re-read the question for the fifth time and rubbed his eyes in resignation. Something about 3am made this far too complicated. 

“When did you even find time to do this, Aud?” Jack asked, turning back to Sarah and Audrey in time to witness their shared look self-satisfaction. “I’ve been sat here for half an hour and am still only part way through the first section.” 

“I logged in at home earlier.” she responded before catching Sarah’s quizzical look. “Well, Michael did most of it for me.” 

“Fucking hell!” exclaimed Jack, chucking his pen on the table, giving up. “Got no chance then, have I? Michael’s a bloody genius. Hey, how much for him to do mine?” 

“Normally I’d say $100 but he’s pretty cheap these days.” shrugged Audrey. “Probably a fancy cigar would do.” 

“He still grumpy about the you-know-what?” whispered Sarah to her friend when the guys started joshing between themselves. 

Audrey leaned back on the desk beside her and took the mug from Sarah’s hands to take a sip, grimacing slightly at the sweetness. For some reason, Sarah had to have at least three sugars in her tea if she was drinking it post-midnight. It helped to keep her more alert apparently. She didn’t drink it like that at any other time of the day. “No more than usual. Seems like we’re both unlucky in that department at the moment.” 

Sarah smiled at her in acknowledgement, lips thin before biting the inside of her cheek. 

Following their last meet-up, Chris had been decidedly quiet. Too quiet almost. It was weird. He hadn’t messaged her. He hadn’t called or visited their apartment except to collect a parcel he had left. Sarah has been out for a run at the time and had felt silently glad to have missed him. He hadn’t updated his twitter and there had been multiple sports events occurring that would have guaranteed a humblebrag or five. Shanna had pledged to buy rib-eye steaks for a Saturday night meal during a Celtics game and he had cancelled at the last minute citing an interview he had conveniently forgotten. Even Audrey thought it was weird. If anything was guaranteed to get his attention and bring him out of whatever funk he was in, it was the promise of sports and a ‘Grade A’ barbeque. 

Shanna merely put it down to his laziness or him having something better turn up. Scott had started replacing Chris around their apartment, wanting to get some of his own distance from the tricky Zach situation and it helped her feel better knowing he was at least in touch with him if Shanna wasn’t. He was evidently still alive. 

Sarah decided to swap a couple of daytime stints to partner up with Audrey for the nights. She needed the comfort of working with a good friend to calm her down from whatever ledge her anxiety had placed her on. 

“You know that he’ll come back, right?” Audrey interrupted her thoughts. Maybe Sarah spoke too soon. “Haven’t you got that birthday thing for Lisa coming up?” 

That trip was a couple of weeks away yet. She was trying to bank some reasonable excuses but everything sounded lame in the cold light of day and Lisa was never going to accept her not coming as well. Surely things would have smoothed themselves out by then? 

“This won’t just fix itself, hun, you’ll need to speak to him eventually. And the sooner the better.” 

It was like Audrey had a hotline straight into Sarah’s psyche. It was unnerving at the best of times. Sarah knew she was right of course. It’s just, a little bit of distance would be a good thing, right? Even Chris himself had offered that advice from time to time, and stressing herself out at this point almost seemed counterintuitive. 

“I reckon you could go in an hour or so if you wanted.” Audrey offered, nudging her friend with her elbow to bring her back into the room. “It’s dead out there.”

“I hope not.” Sarah joked, trying to lighten the mood. “We’d be shit at our jobs if that was the case.” 

Audrey laughed for the first time since Sarah could remember that day. It was moments like this that reminded her of why she enjoyed working alongside her so much, and why she didn’t mind if it resulted in overtime. 

“You wanna take patient referrals while I take the EPRs?” 

“How can I refuse an offer like that?” Sarah picked up the dozen or so documents sat in front of her and grabbed the nearest chair. Audrey told her she’d put the kettle on and nudged the guys still glued to their screens. Ryan had pretty much given up logical thinking and was now ticking random boxes. Jack was cursing under his breath. O’Brien was going to be in for a real treat when he could finally tabulate the responses. 

It was nearing 6.20am when Sarah and Audrey finally packed up to go. Matt and Stephanie had just arrived to take over for the morning, bringing a fresh perspective for the day. There wasn’t much for them to catch up on so it should be a smooth few hours at least. Sarah even ran a mop through the staff locker room as an added gift – Steph was a notorious clean freak – nearly tripping Greg up in the process. 

He’d been on leave for the past fortnight and his hair was a little longer than she remembered. A five o’clock shadow graced the lower part of his face and it suited him more than she thought it would. He had kept up with the informal tie-less attire and he seemed to be, dare she it, enjoying himself. 

“God, I’m so sorry.” She held her hands up in a mock mea culpa. “I was just gonna put it away before heading out. It was a stupid place to leave it.” 

“Did you not take the Health and Safety refresher?” he joked, rebalancing himself and trying to play down the redness creeping into his cheeks from the embarrassment of temporarily losing his footing in front of her. 

“You gonna rat me out to O’Brien? ‘Cos you know as well as I do that he doesn’t need yet another reason to know he’s right.” She shifted the mop and bucket and placed them back in the supply closet before reaching for her bag again. 

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” He moved passed her before turning to face her again. “Tell you the truth, I ghosted the last couple of tabs myself. Who knew there were so many ways to ask questions about standing in elevators?” 

Sarah rolled her eyes in acknowledgement. “Yeh. I can’t wait to have the team meeting when he realises we’ve all pretty much done the same thing. That’s gonna be fun. I might finally take some of my holiday.” 

“Yeh, good plan. Hey listen,” His words stopped her in her tracks, feet from the exit. “Um, I know it’s been a while but I was wondering if you might want to reschedule that tennis match some time? Or if not, we could get some dinner or something? There’s that new sushi place on Reagan Street. It’s meant to be really good if you fancy it?” 

She was indeed familiar with that very restaurant thanks to the glowing reviews she had been unable to avoid since it opened. Audrey had only mentioned it a mere thousand times in her presence. Word was that bookings were now months in advance so she wasn’t sure how Greg was hoping to find a table unless he wanted to make plans with her in November. Given the number of commitments he always appeared to have going on, it wouldn’t be completely outside the realm of possibility. 

“Wow, I thought that place was fully booked?” 

“Yeh, it is, but I went to college with one of the investors and he’s promised me a one-off.” 

Of course he did. Sarah bit her bottom lip to stop herself from chuckling out loud, imagining Audrey’s face when she would inevitably find out. To be honest, she was genuinely surprised he was still showing a minor interest in her. When she finally made eye contact with him, his earnestness was practically shining. Had he always had perfect skin?  

“Um…” That was a good start, she thought. 

“Honestly, it’s not a big deal if you’d rather not.” He helpfully pre-empted her awkward rejection but she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing. “I’ve been meaning to go is all and I knew you liked sushi and figured it might be fun? They have live Jazz on Sunday nights.” 

When did he find out she liked sushi? And live Jazz? Just how much had Audrey told him about her? 

Realising she probably looked perplexed, she shuffled her shoulder strap back up onto her shoulder and tried to relax the awkwardness setting in between them. It was still quiet and no one was within earshot that she could figure out of her peripheral vision. 

“It’s not you, Greg, I promise. It’s just, I’m not really looking to get into anything right now. With anyone. Plus, we work together and…I’m sorry. I hope that’s OK?” 

“Hey, look, I promise it won’t be awkward. There’s absolutely no expectations from me and if you change your mind, just let me know, yeh? I literally know no one else who likes Sashimi so I can’t waste my only chance to get a table.” He chuckled and she felt more at ease. 

“If it’s any consolation, I’m a pretty crap date.” She smiled at him as she edged herself down the hall, putting space between them both literally and figuratively. “You wouldn’t be missing out.” 

“Oh, I doubt that somehow.” He returned her smile. “I’m serious, though. Just let me know. Anytime. No expiration date.” 

And with that, she had been left dumbfounded by two men in the space of a single week. 

* 

It would have been easier to get the early morning bus home at this time, as tired as she was starting to feel. She hadn’t slept well in the last few days and she had a creeping nausea from the lack of proper rest. The walk and crisp, fresh air might do her some good. It was practically full daylight even at this hour, and it was sometimes fun to watch people on their own way to work, huffing along, trying not to drop their coffees. 

The out-of-town school bus passed her a few minutes out from her apartment and as she rounded the corner, she got this weird sense that someone was watching her. Another corner turned and she could see her building in the near distance. Still, she couldn’t shake it. She stopped, pretending to fumble for her phone in her pocket and turned around swiftly to see a sweaty Chris stop a few steps behind her. 

It took her a moment to register it was in fact him, his beard fuller and a Red Sox cap pulled down low over his eyes. He had sweats and sneakers on and looked like he was on a run. Honestly, if someone else had spotted him from this distance, they would have worried he was going to attack her. 

“Hey,” she said, turning to fully face him. “What are you doing out at this time?” 

He didn’t respond at first. He shuffled from one foot to the other before grounding himself and taking a couple of steps towards her. Again, he shuffled back a step like he was rethinking his move. She didn’t appreciate seeing him like this, so unsure of himself. 

“Five months out from filming some pre-shoots so figured I’d make a start.” He finally spoke. Not a really a smile but he at least sounded OK. 

“Cool.” She said, nodding back at him. “Um, I’m not sure if Shanna is awake yet but do you want to come inside for some water or coffee?” 

“Yeh, that’d be great. Thanks.” 

She turned to continue walking on. For a few long moments, he stayed walking slightly behind her. A couple more strides and he had decided to catch up. The last time it had taken this long to walk this same street, she had been so drunk she had narrowly avoided falling into her neighbour’s front garden. 

“Five months? You’re not that out of shape.” She tried to make a joke. It was the only thing she could think of. Audrey would be eye-rolling like a champ if she could see them now. 

Chris knew she was trying to make small talk now so he decided to indulge her. It was a fair response, he thought - he was doing OK - as he followed her up the stairs deliberately keeping two or three behind her in an effort to keep it casual. 

“Oh, y’know. I fluctuate pretty easily. A few pizzas here and there and it’s game over.” 

They walked into her kitchen and she had been right in assuming Shanna was still asleep. Unless she had awoken really early but that was highly unlikely, unless there was a sale at Ted Baker she didn’t know about. 

He lingered in the doorway while she searched the fridge for a bottle of water. Grabbing one from the back, she turned to hand it to him expecting him to be within an arm’s reach from her but he had been distracted by something down the hall before turning back to her. Gratefully, he accepted it and walked into the kitchen to take up his usual spot leaning against the counter. 

“Sorry, did you say you wanted a coffee?” She offered. 

“Nah, I’m good. Can’t really take caffeine until this afternoon.” 

“Sorry. I always forget how strict it is.” She apologised, offering him a sympathetic smile. 

He took a long swig from the bottle, not breaking eye contact from her. “No need to apologise. You OK? Night shift?” 

“Yeh. Pretty quiet, thankfully.” 

“I’ve always meant to ask but what is it like, a night shift? I can’t work out if it would be worse or not.” 

She understood what he meant and laughed. “It can go either way to be honest but it’s been quiet the last few nights. Nothing crazy. I caught up with some paperwork, so…” She shrugged again, acutely aware of how boring she must sound. 

He nodded at her. “Aren’t people supposed to be crazier in the summertime?” 

“Well, kids are around more and families tend to spend more time together, so…” 

The apartment was unnervingly quiet now which was weird. She could hear the uptake in traffic outside which provided some relief that perhaps he couldn’t hear her heart beating out of her chest. She could make out some small sweat patches on his hoodie and it did something to her that she wasn’t expecting. Shaking the thought from her head, she turned to switch the kettle off. 

“What?” He asked. 

She jerked her head back around to face him. “Huh?” 

“You were thinking of something. Your neck just went red.” He smiled, tilting his head at her and relishing the look of surprise making its way over her features, knowing he’d caught her out. 

That was news to her. She knew she had “tells” but a red neck was not usually one of them. How come no one had ever told her about this? 

“I can’t tell if you’re joking with me or not.” She inquired, playfully narrowing her eyes at him in an effort to lighten the mood. 

He shrugged a shoulder at her, a smirk starting to cross his fine features. Joshing with her was good. She’d take that. A small step in the right direction. 

“Sometimes, it’s really obvious. You get it when you’re embarrassed about something, or when you try to lie. I’d never really noticed it before, but...” He paused. His expression started to turn more thoughtful and she wished he’d just continue to make fun of her instead. 

“Guess I won’t be playing poker anytime soon.” She finished the thought for him. 

“Yeh, no, you’d be rubbish at that. Just terrible.” He took another swig from his bottle and waited for her to throw something at him. 

“Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

The room went quiet again. She stirred her mug of coffee and offered him another chance at one which he politely refused although his discipline was waning slightly now he could smell it. 

“So this is fine.” He said after a couple of minutes, nodding in a slightly exaggerated manner. He looked out of the kitchen window. “We can do this, right? No awkwardness. No embarrassment. Just normal, everyday conversation.” 

“’Course,” she nodded in agreement. 

“Start as we mean to go on, right?” 

She nodded again. This felt like a trap and she couldn’t put her finger on why. Chris had a knack for saying and doing two different things at the same time, an intimidating ability that often put people on edge if he thought it would serve his purpose, whatever that may be. Probably the actor in him. When you called him out, he would aggressively defend himself which only served to prove the point you were making in the first place. 

Scott was the only one, truly, who knew when it was happening. It had taken Sarah years to get to a similar position but now, she wasn’t sure she was remotely close to it. 

“It’s as good a starting point as any, I guess.” She shrugged again, sipping from her cup. 

“So there’s no need to ignore me then.”  

“I haven’t been ignoring you, have I?” 

“You tell me. I’m just pre-empting it is all. I’m just saying we can still interact, you and me, if we need to. Like, it doesn’t always have to be in social settings with other people around.” He took a final drink from his bottle and turned to locate the recycling pot stashed away in the corner. Even with a mundane task, he always looked cool doing it. 

“So don’t worry about it.” 

“Alright then. That’s good to know.” She shot him a raised eyebrow which he caught and returned with a sly smirk. “I’m just trying to be sensible. We have to get this right or else there’s no point.” 

“I know, I get that, too.” If he wasn’t attempting to be serious before, he was now. He had a hand on his hip and seemed to have grown a few inches in height. “What do you think I’m trying to say?” 

“I…think I’m on the backfoot again and it’s weird.” She held a hand up in defence. 

“Hey, I’m just doing what we agreed, OK? I’m just following your rules.” 

“They’re not rules.” She struggled to regulate the volume in her voice in case she disturbed Shanna. “And you’re making it sound like I’m controlling the situation when I’m not. We both agreed on this. There’s no point being difficult about it.” 

Was he being difficult? Yes. Obviously, he was. He wasn’t happy. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling but happy definitely wasn’t it. Things were out of sorts and he hadn’t been able to eat carbs or sugar for four days so the withdrawal symptoms certainly weren’t helping. He should go easier on her. She was doing the thinking for the both of them. He should learn to be more grateful for that. 

He scratched the back of his head and let out an audible sigh in frustration. “I’ll try harder, I promise. We’ve got that cabin thing coming up with Mom, so…I promise I’ll be good.” 

He imitated the scout salute and she smiled at him, a smile not quite reaching her eyes. 

* 

Another night shift and Audrey and was starting to get suspicious. No one willingly switched for a night shift. For one thing, there was a disproportionate amount of recovery time. A couple of night shifts often took in excess of a week to recover from; a week that a nurse definitely did not have to spare. 

“He been buggin’ you?” she asked, finally growing tired of the silence. 

“Who?” Sarah looked up from the cabinet. “No, not really. We haven’t really spoken.” 

“So why are you ignoring him?” 

“I’m not ignoring him! Why does everyone think that?” 

“Who’s everyone?” 

Crap. Audrey had her there. Sarah open and closed her mouth without a sound coming out. She took a breath. “He’s not bugging me. He’s not. I’m just trying to limit the times we’re in the same place at the same time.” 

“Huh, you’d think he would at least allow you to have peace in your own home.”  

“Well, to be fair, he hasn’t been around all that much, but…at least I don’t have to worry about him showing up unannounced. It’s stupid but I feel way more awkward about him than I thought I would. It’s like I can’t even stand to be under his gaze.” 

Audrey glanced at her friend, wishing she could offer some words of comfort. Even for someone as verbose as she normally was, she was finding it a struggle. Sarah wasn’t much looking for words of comfort at the given time either. She was all too aware of the predicament she was in and how much responsibility laid at her feet. In her mind, waiting it out was the only logical solution she could come up with. The only logical solution that didn’t require more conversations with someone who could feasibly run rings around her “theory” that if they just stayed apart for a little while, they would suddenly and magically forget about the past couple of months. 

They stayed filing documents in silence again, the air seemingly getting thicker. 

“You ever spoken with someone and it’s like they’re thinking the complete opposite of what’s coming out of their mouth?” Sarah huffed while shoving the cabinet drawer closed. 

“Not really. That person’s usually me.” 

“But why?” she asked. “Why can’t you just be normal?”  

“I mean, it’s not my go-to response of course. It’s normally reserved for occasions when I am trying to indulge someone because I know they’re talking bullshit. Like, when I know Mike has been gambling but he tries to deny it? It’s just easier to figure him out that way.” 

Sarah froze to the spot, looking at her friend. She breathed a heavy sigh and turned to lean back on the table behind her and crossed her arms. She stared at her shoes for a second. 

“Chris is a smart guy. I’ll give him that.” Audrey muttered loudly so she was sure Sarah could hear. 

“Give me something! I’m your friend here.” She implored her before chuckling to herself at Audrey’s face and her own apparent lack of self-awareness. 

“You know what I think? You’ve probably got withdrawal symptoms from the all the amazing sex you’ve had and now you’re sulking. I think you should get back on that horse and let him fuck you again. That’s what this is.” 

Sarah eyed her friend again. For once, she would love to hear someone tell her that she was right. “That’s really not helping, y’know.” 

“And this is?!” Audrey’s shriller tone cut through the dry air, smacking Sarah right in the face. “Honey, this isn’t healthy. You hiding out in the hospital and treating it like your own solace is not healthy at all. I love you but you are your own worst enemy.” 

“Alright, thank you. Thank you very much. Thank you for your unswerving efforts to be honest with me at all times and not, like a normal pal, be comforting in any way.” Sarah comically bowed to her friend before considering leaving the office. She would have followed through with the idea as well if it wasn’t for the cosy warmth of O’Brien’s office versus the coldness of the ER department thanks to a leaking pipe. “It’s difficult. I’m sorry. I don’t wanna fall out with you, Audrey.” 

Audrey just smiled at her. “I don’t know why you think you have to be the beacon of morality all the time, Sarah. Take a look around. No one else is. We all out here just trying to live our lives as best we can and a part of that is taking advantage of moments of happiness when we find them.” 

Something about what Audrey was saying did resonate with her but comparing two months of happiness with Chris to ten years with Shanna was not something she could in good conscience do. Shanna was her security blanket. She provided a comfort of living with someone with shared life experience, of knowing how little you thought about yourself because you were given up as a baby. Honestly, from the very first day they had met, Sarah felt lucky to know her. 

Yes, Shanna could be immature at times. Maybe a little selfish. She would often get carried away with trivial things and wasn’t the most reliable person, but what Sarah got in return was worth that and more. Her family enjoyed highlighting the maternal care Sarah would have to provide to someone who was seven months older than she was, but honestly it didn’t matter. 

Maybe this was one of the rare occasions where Audrey was wrong. 

Chris was a fling at best, Sarah told herself, when she was lying in bed struggling to fall asleep. When she was cold and missing his arms around her. They were both having shitty times and they both got something out of it. That was what Chris had said himself at the very beginning. 

Chris 08.15am: You home? Shanna said you were working late again 

It was like he knew she would be thinking about him. 

Chris 08.17am: I really dont want u ignoring me all the time. This is hard for me right now as well 

Fuck. 

Sarah 08.21am: I kno. I’m so sorry I made you feel like that :(

He didn’t respond. She thought she saw the tell-tale three dots of him writing something but nothing appeared. Giving up on sleep, she got up and headed into the kitchen. Shanna had left her some bacon in the fridge and a fresh bread bun on the side so she turned on the grill and set about making some coffee. 

She felt strangely awake for this time and the apartment was nice and warm from the bright sunshine streaming in from all corners. Maybe a run would help. Or a cold shower.  

Chris 08.44am: I wanna be honest with u but I dont think u want that 

Chris 08.45am: so what do i do?? 

Fuck knows. 

Chris 08.51am: Can I come over? 

Sarah 08.54am: that’s not a good idea 

Chris 08.55am: cos you know what will happen? 

Chris 08.56am: what does that tell you?? 

She was sure he was nursing some kind of hangover or, quite possibly, he was still a little bit drunk. There were two responses she could give, she figured. The first would be her usual denial and perhaps an excuse that she was busy or working later than planned. The second, and ultimately the one she opted for, was to agree with him. 

Sarah 09.05am: I know what it tells me. That’s why I’m saying you shouldn’t come over 

Another three dots followed. There was only so many times they could go around and around in circles and as much as Audrey’s words made sense to her, it felt like she had to make the effort to regain some normality. 

He didn’t respond. She stared at her phone for an age but nothing came through. Maybe he got the message? Maybe he had fallen asleep. She was both relieved and suspicious; Chris wasn’t someone who backed down from an argument when he thought he was right. He had said as much himself. 

She turned the grill off, having lost her appetite. A run might make more sense and could help clear her head. 

She couldn’t sit around waiting for Chris to make his next move. 

*

#Chris evans #chris evans fic #evans fic #fanfiction #clear the area #sarah bernette #chris evans x original female character

[jalapeno-princess]

Until We Meet Again

Mark Tuan X Reader

Genre: Angst

Warning: Mentions of death, depression, a very sad Mark (I’m so sorry) suicide (and the reader has cancer) so please don’t read if you’re easily triggered

Word Count: 11.4K

Summary: After getting the news that you had stage four brain cancer, your boyfriend Mark makes it his responsibility to make sure your last days on earth are some of the best days of your life.

A/N: I had an idea about writing an imagine based on the movie “A Walk to Remember” I highly recommend it if you haven’t seen it it’s one of my favorite movies but make sure you have a box of tissues ready because it’s a tear jerker. I actually started tearing up while writing this because I can picture how sad Mark would be if he lost his significant other. I debated for a while on whether or not I should post this but I decided to do so, read at your own risk. I also listened to “XO” by Beyonce when writing this so feel free to listen to that while reading.

Your love is bright as ever Even in the shadows Baby kiss me Before they turn the lights out Your heart is glowing And I'm crashing into you Baby kiss me Before they turn the lights out Before they turn the lights out Baby love me lights outIn the darkest night hour (in the darkest night hour) I'll search through the crowd (I'll search through the crowd) Your face is all that I see I'll give you everything Baby love me lights out Baby love me lights out You can turn my lights out

“She has stage 4 brain cancer. I’m so sorry, but there’s nothing we can do. Y/n only has 6 months left to live, if she’s lucky. We’ve done all there is we could do Mr.Tuan. You just have to make the most of her time left.”

Have you ever been in a situation where you physically felt your heart sink to your stomach? That’s exactly how Mark was feeling when your doctor brought him in to his office to give him the bad news. Just a few hours ago, you had passed out at work and were rushed to the hospital. Your coworkers felt as if it could have been from exhaustion or malnutrition since you were currently working on a business deal that had taken up all your time and energy. However, a few of the EMTs felt like there was something else, unfortunately something worse that was going on but they didn’t want to assume anything until an actual doctor examined you.

While you were sleeping, the resident doctor had the nurses run an x-ray and some other tests on you. It was then that they found a tumor in your brain the size of a quarter. Since he was your emergency contact, your boyfriend didn’t hesitate in leaving his job and practically sprinted towards the hospital to be with you.

You weren’t one to ever get sick. Sure, you had a few colds here and there; and there was one time you had the stomach flu, but that was it. You were one of the healthiest people Mark knew. Not only did you exercise on a daily basis, but you tried to watch what you’d eat and drank. After practically escaping two speeding tickets, he parked in the hospital’s parking lot and stormed in to the emergency room. He was so in shock; Mark wasn’t physically able to form coherent words as the receptionist asked him what he was doing there. Luckily your name fell from his lips on instinct and he was sure he probably looked like a mad man with his body frozen and eyes wide opened but he didn’t care. He was so worried for your health and your safety, nothing else mattered to him in that moment.

The receptionist gave him your room number and he murmured a quick thank you before storming his way down the hall. Mark hated hospitals; they were extremely eerie and creepy. Other than pregnancies, nothing good ever came from hospitals. Your boyfriend was completely aware of your hatred of having to stay in the hospital, so his mind wouldn’t stop wandering to you and how you were doing.

Once he made his way in to your room and saw you sleeping peacefully on the bed with a bunch of wires and tubes hooked on to your body, he released a breath of relief. However, he felt himself tense up at the sight of you looking so exhausted and so small. The bags under your eyes were prominent and your face was so pale; he was sure the image of you looking so fragile would be etched in to his mind for a long time.

He hurriedly made his way toward you and sank to his knees, reaching for your hands and leaving soft kisses on the back of them. He then began to run his fingers through your hair while whispering sweet nothings in your ear. When he realized there wasn’t a chance of you waking up any time soon, he decided to call your mom and let her know what happened.

You and Mark have been dating for almost 6 years and you’ve known each other for over 10. Other than your family, Mark was one of the only people you genuinely loved and trusted with your entire life. He was your best friend, your soulmate, your safe haven and you meant equally and if not more to him as he did to you. From the beginning of your friendship up until now, he had a close relationship with your family to the point where sometimes you felt they loved him just a little bit more than they did you. With that being said, it was only natural for him to want to inform your mom of your current well-being and the fact that you were in the hospital after fainting.

Mark wasn’t one who could just sit around and do nothing, especially when the love of his life was currently in the hospital; so he began pacing back and forth around the room waiting for your parent’s arrival. When the door opened, he was quick to turn around expecting to see your mom walk in, but he felt his anxiety levels rise when a doctor entered the room.

“Hello, I’m Dr.Phillip. Are you a relative of the patient?” Mark shook his head in disagreement before motioning to you.

“I’m her boyfriend.” Your doctor released a long sigh, one that Mark picked up on as a negative sign.

“Could you follow me for a moment? There’s something I need to tell you about y/n.” As much as he didn’t want to leave you alone, with the way the doctor was acting, he had a feeling it had to be serious. Something didn’t feel right, he knew there had to be a bigger problem other than fatigue and stress going on with you. His assumptions were soon proven true once the first few words fell from the older man’s mouth.

“We found a tumor in her brain. Unfortunately, we found it a little too late. I’m surprised it took so long for her body to react to it, but sometimes the cancer spreads slowly without her body having any side effects.”

Once Mark heard the word cancer, he felt as if his whole world collapsed. There was no way you of all people could have cancer. He couldn’t think; couldn’t breathe. Everything the doctor said went through one ear and out the other. His entire chest felt as if it was about to combust.

“There’s no way—the tests have to be wrong—y/n can’t have cancer—she’s so healthy—she takes such amazing care of herself—you have to do the cat scan again doc there’s no way—“ When Mark began to sob and sink to his knees, your doctor walked over to him and tried his best in comforting him. This had to be a nightmare. The thought of losing you was one he couldn’t bare to accept. He had to be dreaming. All he had to do was wake up and you’d be right there next to him, smiling at him adoringly like nothing was wrong. But deep down he knew this was real, and he’s never experienced this type of pain before.

“What—what can we do for her? Chemo? Is there any drugs she can take? Surgery? You guys can remove it can’t you? That’s your job! You’re supposed to save lives—please—please save my girlfriend—I’m begging you. She’s too young to die—I—I can’t live without her.”

The blank expression on the doctor’s face answered Mark’s question for him and soon he was practically screaming. He didn’t care if he was over reacting or if they’d bring security to kick him out; he was just told that his girlfriend, his best friend, the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with had terminal cancer. There was no way he could act civil and calm in a situation like this—he wanted to die.

“I’m so sorry son, but there’s nothing we can do. The tumor is too big for us to take out and even if we could, this is her brain we’re talking about. One wrong move and you could lose her even sooner—“

“Please don’t say that. I’m sure there’s so much more you assholes can do this is a person’s life we’re talking about. My person! The only person who means anything to me! If it was you, if it was your child, your wife, your mother, your sister, someone you cared deeply about, I’m sure you’d be acting the exact same way as I am right now.”

Your boyfriend was extremely stubborn. Sure, he was very polite, kind-hearted, soft-spoken and generous; but whenever it came to something he was genuinely passionate about, he wasn’t afraid to speak up and fight for what he felt was right. No matter who he was speaking up against. Mark was aware of how disrespectful he was acting toward your doctor, and he was trying so hard to understand the fact that the older man was doing his best in helping you, but it wasn’t enough for him. He did the unthinkable and sank to his knees.

“Please, do whatever you can to keep my girlfriend alive. I’ll do anything.” Dr.Phillip gave your boyfriend a few minutes to calm down before motioning for him to stand up.

“If she does chemo, it’ll prolong her life for a few more months. She has stage 4 brain cancer. I’m so sorry, but there’s nothing we can do. Y/n only has 6 months left to live, if she’s lucky. We’ve done all there is we could do Mr.Tuan. You just have to make the most of her time left.”

Mark let out a scoff before storming out of his office and making his way back to you. His tears were hot against his cheeks as they fell and he practically broke the door as he opened it, not wanting to be away from you any longer. As soon as his eyes landed on your mom as she held your hands in hers, his tears began to overflow as his sons grew louder.

Your boyfriend wanted to be strong, especially because he had a huge feeling things were going to go downhill once he gave your parents the news. Out of all your siblings, you and your mom had the closest relationship. Mark knew just how much you meant to one another and he knew the only person who loved you as much as he did was her. So he was confident her world would come crumbling down just as his did once he heard about your condition.

“Mark sweetie, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” He took no time in pulling her against his chest and continued to sob in to her hair. His grip was tight on her shoulders and countless apologies fell from his lips only worrying your mother even more than she already was.

“Y/n—y/n—she—she um—stage four cancer—brain tumor—6 months to live—“ he couldn’t even finish explaining to her what the doctor told him before she sank to the ground in hysterics. Hearing her cries fill the room was all too much for Mark to handle. It was a slap in the face by reality that this was really happening and he was going to lose you.

The two of them stayed like that on the floor for what felt like hours to Mark just holding one another while crying uncontrollably. Nurses came in and out of the room to change your iv and to see how you were doing, but it was overwhelming even for them to see Mark and your mom breaking down. After a few moments, your parents wanted to speak to the doctor themselves, leaving Mark all alone with you and the negative thoughts that were taking up his entire mind.

6 months. He had approximately only 6 months with you. How was he supposed accept this information? 6 months was nothing, not when he believed he was going to spend the rest of his life with you. What was he going to do? Two days went by and Mark did not leave your side once. At all. He informed his family and a few of his close friends about what happened and the love and support he was receiving from everyone was nice, but it wasn’t enough to fill the hole that was now in his heart.

He couldn’t eat nor has he gotten any sleep since he heard about you getting administered in to the hospital and everyone started to worry for him but they knew not to get involved. You were all Mark knew and wanted to know. From the time he woke up to the time he went to sleep, you were all he ever thought about. How much he loved you, how much you meant to him, what your future together was going to look like; he couldn’t get you off of his mind not that he ever wanted to.

To his dismay, both your parents and his parents forced him to go home and get some rest, telling him that you wouldn’t be happy if you knew how he was acting towards this entire situation. Everyone was hurting for him. Anybody who knew the two of you were completely aware that if soulmates existed, you and Mark were each other’s. Wherever you went, Mark followed. Whatever you did, Mark did too. The two of you were like magnets; peas in a pod. It was completely understandable for him to be acting like this. Your boyfriend felt like a stranger in his own body. He felt lifeless. Even when he went home, your absence was taunting him. All your clothes, pictures, makeup, your little trinkets; they were driving him insane.

One day, this was all going to be memorabilia. Things that you’ve owned; it would only remind him of your untimely death and he wanted nothing more than to punch a wall out of frustration. The only thing he did once he walked through your shared apartment was take a shower. Showering felt like such a chore to him. What normally took him fifteen to twenty minutes almost took an hour because he just stood there crying.

If he was already acting like this while you were in a coma, Mark was afraid of what life would be life if you were to actually leave. Almost two days later, Mark got a call from your mom telling him that you were awake and that you knew everything. He found himself asking Jinyoung to take him to the hospital because God knows he wouldn’t have been able to drive there himself. Jinyoung had to calm him down as they waited for the elevators and it seemed as if his patience was at an all time low.

Right as he was about to make his way to the stairs, the doors opened and he fumbled with pressing the buttons to your floor. Your entire family was waiting outside of your room and he felt a pang of hurt hit his chest with every sympathetic look he was receiving. He felt selfish for wanting to be alone with you, but once he walked in to the room and saw that you were awake, he practically threw himself at you and wrapped his arms around you.

“I’m so glad you’re awake, fuck—shit I’m sorry baby—I’ve missed you so much.” He stole a kiss from the corner of your mouth and didn’t even hold himself back from crying. His choked back sobs made your heart ache and you found yourself erupting in tears also. Your parents quietly made their way outside to give you both some space as the two of you held each other and cried. He began leaving chaste kisses all around your face and cupped your cheeks with his hands before roughly connecting your lips together. His lips were salty from the tears and you knew he hasn’t been taking care of himself with how chapped they felt, but you missed the feeling of his warm lips on yours and you wanted him to kiss you as much as he desired to. To his dismay, you pulled away to catch your breath and placed your forehead against his.

“Mark.” He hummed softly in curiosity as you made room for him on the bed. “Hold me?” He gave you a sad smile and joined you on the bed, all but gently wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you on top of his lap.

When your mother informed you about your cancer, you couldn’t believe a word she was saying. You’ve always read stories and watched videos about other people getting diagnosed with cancer and you always felt so sad for the patients; especially with everything they had to go through. You just never thought that it would happen to you. Nobody thinks something bad will happen to them until it does. You cried with your mom; the idea of leaving this earth before really getting to experience your life felt unreal. You didn’t want to be without your family, your friends—Mark.

When she gave you the bad news, your mind immediately drifted off to your boyfriend. Did he know? Of course he had to, you faintly remember your mom mentioning how he got in to an argument with your doctor, held her as she cried and how he always stayed with you for the last few days. You knew Mark would take your diagnosis the worst. Seeing him so pale, so emaciated brought tears to your cheeks. He was always so sensitive and so emotional which was one of the many things you loved about him. But with the way he pampered you, took such amazing care of you and needed to be with you as much as he could only worried you. You were afraid of what he was going to do once it was your time to go.

“You haven’t been eating have you, you’re already so skinny. You need to eat—“ his brows furrowed as he tightened his grip on your waist.

“How am I supposed to do anything at a time like this y/n?” You frowned although you knew where he was coming from. You brought your fingers up to his face and playfully attempted to lift up his lips in to a smile but he wasn’t having it.

“Smile for me baby, please? I’ve missed seeing your award winning smile. I’ve missed you. I didn’t even realize how long I’ve been gone for.” He looked at you in disbelief; as if you grew another head.

“How are you being so positive right now? I feel pathetic. Like I’m failing as a boyfriend. I’m supposed to be strong for you, hell, I’m not even the one going through this but I can’t seem to stop crying. What is wrong with me?”

You ran your fingers through his soft, brown locks and sent him a broken smile. “You’re human my love. It’s okay for you to be frustrated and upset. I was when the doctor talked to me. I almost didn’t believe him at first—I mean I didn’t want to believe him. Who wants to die? I’m only twenty-four years old. There’s so many things I want to do and now my life is being put to an end before it can even start. It isn’t fair, but I’m trying to stay positive about it because I don’t want to remember wasting my last few months here on earth being depressed about something that I have no control over. If it’s my time, then it’s my time. I know God has a plan for me and that he’ll take good care of me; so we just have to take this one day at a time.”

Mark’s chest began to heave against your back and you turned yourself around in order to hover on top of his lap. You brought your hand up to cup his face and wiped away a few of his tears.

“Y/n, I hope you know, that I love you with every fiber of my being and I’m going to spend every single day with you to the point where you’ll probably get tired of me but it doesn’t matter. You’re not going to suffer through this alone, you hear me? I’m going to be by your side every step of the way. Please tell me if there’s anything I can do for you to make this situation a little more easier. I’ll do anything for you.”

You beamed up at him and playfully stole a few sloppy kisses while toying with his fingers. “Why don’t you make a bucket list? I want you to come up with anything you want to do and I promise I’ll do my best to make sure we do it.”

No matter how upset and heartbroken you were over your diagnosis, your heart felt so warm with the way Mark was treating you. Even before the two of you started dating, your boyfriend was always so kind and gentle whenever it came to you and he always put you first in every single situation. Looking at him hurt. Knowing that you would no longer get to feel the warmth of his embrace; kissing his pretty, pink lips; hearing that beautiful contagious laughter of his sent a painful sensation to your stomach. The love you had for one another was indescribable.

He was like your lifeline and you knew he was suffering with retaining this information. If it was the other way around and he was the one who was sick, you would probably die of heartbreak. You never wanted to be without him and it was the same for him.

“Oh like anal?” He looked at you in disbelief before his choked up laughter filled the room.

“I mean—if that’s what you want baby—don’t make me laugh y/n. God, what am I going to do without you?” You shook your head and hid your face in the crook of his neck.

“Can you do something for me Mark?” He quickly nodded in agreement knowing he would do anything you asked of him in a heartbeat. “Let’s pretend as if nothing is wrong with me? Okay? I don’t want you to look at me as your sick girlfriend. I don’t want to be treated like a cancer patient. I want to live what’s left of my life freely. I know it’ll be hard, but I don’t want us to be sad.”

He took in a deep breath and nodded softly in agreement. The two of you stayed like that for a couple of moments, just basking in the other’s presence. Some of your family members and a few nurses came in and out of your room every so often but neither of you really paid them any mind. You were too focused on each other. Just a few days later, you were released from the hospital and were given the okay to return back to work with the responsibility of not overworking yourself. You were also given medication along with a meal plan to help with prolonging your health.

The doctor who helped you throughout your entire stay recommended chemotherapy and even waved your entire hospital fee. Mark knew it had a lot to do with their conversation a few days prior and even if he was an asshole to the older man, he was very grateful for all that he tried to do for you in the short amount of time you were administered.

Mark wasn’t lying when he said he was never going to leave your side. Wherever you went, your boyfriend trailed right behind you. He attended every single doctor’s appointment, went with you grocery shopping; he even went with you to the bathroom and patiently sat on the floor. As much as you hated being a burden, you knew he was adamant on spending as much time with you as possible. When you were released from the hospital, you began to plan out your entire bucket list together. You tried to make it as realistic as you could; but you threw in a few things that were extremely out of the box.

“You want to skydive? But you hate heights.” You shrugged indifferently.

“I know you used to hate whenever BamBam and Yugyeom would say this, but yolo. I also want to go skiing in Colorado and bungee jumping in Hawaii. You gotta keep up with me Tuan.”

He grinned at your sarcasm before continuing to look over your ideas. “Wait—you were serious about the kinky shit? Bdsm y/n? I mean—don’t get me wrong baby I’m all for it but—“ you rolled your eyes and playfully shoved his shoulder.

“Can’t have sex in the afterlife so might as well make the most of it while I still can. By the way, I mean it on you. I’ve always wanted to use a blindfold on you and tie you to the bed.”

“How are you going to explain all of this to God when he asks about your sinful decisions?”

“YOLO.”

The more time you and Mark spent together, the more he’d forget about your sickness and short amount of time left on earth. If he didn’t think about it, he would enjoy his time with you. But the more he’d listen to you laugh at something cheesy he said or the way you’d hold on to him while the two of you lounged around on your days off made his heart hurt.

He knew it was the moments like these that he was going to miss the most. When it was just the two of you having fun, enjoying the other’s presence. Mark would never show you that he was extremely miserable because he didn’t want you feeling worried or upset; so he found himself crying in the shower and sometimes in the middle of the night while you slept peacefully. You were so strong during the entire process and Mark was so proud of you for fighting so hard.

Only two weeks after your stay in the hospital, you decided to quit your job in order to focus on your boyfriend, your friends and your family and to spend your days doing things you loved without having anything to stress over. One by one, you and Mark began to cross things off your bucket list. As much as you wanted to travel around the world, you knew that there was more important things you actually had to spend your money on; but what you didn’t know was that your family secretly purchased both your’s and Mark’s tickets and even paid for your hotel rooms so that you and your boyfriend could experience your dream adventure together.

The two of you took a tour throughout Europe; you have always dreamt about going to Greece and Italy from the time you were a little girl and you had thought that one day you’d be able to do so with Mark. Your trip was everything you could have ever wanted and more. You got to visit every monument and scenic point that was on your itinerary, ate till your stomachs were full and took pictures practically everywhere. Everything was so exciting to you that you failed to notice your boyfriend taking hundreds of photos and countless videos of you.

On his downtime, he began to make a album in his phone dedicated to you with thousands of both pictures and videos of you from the time you started dating up until now. He even printed out numerous about of photos and started a photo book that he could look back on whenever he missed you but deep down, Mark already knew he would never be able to look at any picture or photo of you without crying a river. When the two of you returned back, he gave you no time to unpack your things and surprised you with tickets to Hawaii.

Besides Europe, Hawaii was in your top three places you wanted to travel to because of how beautiful it looked in photos and because of the love you had for the beach. Mark even booked a skydiving appointment on your initial first day and although a huge part of you was scared out of your mind to fall out of a plane that was 20,000 feet in the air, you felt like you could do anything with Mark by your side. It was such an amazing experience; you felt so free, so powerful. Seeing how far you were from the ground was intimidating, but the comforting caress against your wrist made it all worth your while.

You both spent every second doing something adventurous; rock climbing, atv cruising, zip lining and horseback riding. He also took you to a couple of beaches and the two of you would just cuddle up on the sand and watch the waves crash up on to the shore. It all seemed too good to be true; you had no responsibilities, no worries, no regrets and you were traveling the world with the love of your life. You couldn’t have been more happier.

However, everything seemed to come crashing down the minute you started chemotherapy. Your doctor explained that chemotherapy helped with extending your life and you took any chance you were given. When you and Mark arrived back home from your trip, you went straight to your doctor’s office and began scheduling your chemotherapy sessions. You’ve read countless horror stories about the negative effects of chemotherapy and it was in those moments, hearing about how lethargic and exhausted you’d get, the loss of appetite and how quickly your hair would fall out made it all the more real that this was actually happening.

Your hair began to fall out during the first session and you decided to shave your head bald before it could actually fall out completely. When you took a look in the mirror, you cried for what felt like hours. You felt so ugly; especially when your eyebrows started falling out. This caused you to lash out on Mark every so often; you grew extremely unhappy and felt so insecure no matter how many times Mark reassured you that you were still and would always be the most beautiful girl he’s ever laid his eyes on. Your boyfriend hated seeing you so bothered with the way you looked knowing that there was nothing you could do about it.

As much as he despised hearing you talk so negatively about yourself, he knew it was only natural for you to act this way. To your surprise and your delight, you woke up that next morning to the sound of a buzzer and when you got up out of bed to find the source of the buzzing noise, it was then that you saw Mark shaving both his hair and his eyebrows off. Your heart felt so warm and you were sure it was about to combust with all the love you felt for the devastatingly handsome man in front of you. You didn’t know what you did to deserve Mark; he was nothing but patient with you no matter how harsh you could treat him some days.

He knew you didn’t mean it, anger and hostility was a side effect of the chemo and the only thing he could do in order to help you was support you and be there for you no matter how rude you were treating him. “I hate how good you look with no hair, it’s unfair. Thank you for doing this for me by the way—you don’t understand how much it means to me—how much you mean to me. You mean so much to me Mark—you mean everything—I love you more than I can put in to words.”

He giggled softly before kissing away the tears that were coming down your cheeks. “I guess you haven’t seen yourself these days. You look breathtakingly beautiful baby. I’m so sorry you have to go through this; I know I say it every single day but it’s the truth. It’s so hard for me watching you suffer and not being able to help carry this burden with you no matter how badly I want to. I want you to know that you’re so fucking beautiful y/n. With and without hair, with and without make up, with and without eyebrows. With and without clothes—ow! I’m being serious stop being abusive. Don’t you dare for one minute think you’re ugly, you hear me? I told you I wasn’t going to let you go through this alone didn’t I? Come on my beautiful cry baby, let’s go take some pictures of our adorable matching bald heads. Honestly, I think we look ten times better, who needs hair?”

A wise man once said, time flies when you’re having fun. As the days continued to go by, you only grew weaker and you had to slow down with your movements. Most of your time was spent in your apartment, but it didn’t matter. You loved every single minute spent cuddled in to Mark’s chest. Mark was constantly reminded of the little time you had left as he watched your frame only get smaller and it was driving him insane. Life wasn’t fair. Your boyfriend didn’t think he was a bad guy.

He was religious for the most part; attended church every so often but prayed every single day. He never smoked nor did any drugs and only drank on occasion. His grades were impeccable; he strived for A’s and B’s and never accepted any lower grade; so why was he being punished? Why was the only good thing that’s ever happened to him, the only thing that has ever meant anything to him being taken away from him so soon? And you; you were such a bright, happy-go-lucky, golden-hearted person; why did you have to suffer and go through so much pain?

Your boyfriend decided to give you something that you’ve always wanted after talking to his friends about the idea. He was going to ask you to marry him. There were so many times where the two of you talked about your future; where you wanted to have your wedding at, how many kids you’ve dreamt of having, where you wanted to settle down—he couldn’t believe he was never going to be able to experience any of these milestones with you, which is why he found himself sneaking away while you were asleep to ask your parents for their blessing.

Your mom smiled softly at him when he brought up the idea of marrying you; it was the biggest smile he’s seen on her since you found out about the cancer and your dad was extremely supportive about the whole thing. In fact, your parents offered to pay for the entire wedding. Whatever you desired, they were willing to give you. Before he could leave, your mom pulled him in to a hug and comfortingly ran her hand along his back.

“I’ve never seen someone love another person as much as you and y/n love each other. From the minute the two of you began dating, I knew you guys were meant to be. You make her very happy Mark. I’m so sorry this had to happen. But thank you for taking such amazing care of my baby girl. Just know that you are the reason why she’s still alive. She’s going to fight to stay alive till her final breath and it’s all because of you. You’re her angel Mark and she is yours. She’ll always be.”

He wanted to be strong in front of your parents, but he couldn’t prevent the tears from falling at your mother’s words. Your mom held him and allowed him to cry for a couple of minutes before she told him to head back over to you. As soon as he left your parent’s house, he met up with Jackson and BamBam to look for the ideal engagement ring. You deserved nothing but the best and your boyfriend was going to make sure that’s what you received. He had Youngjae and Jinyoung stay with you while the three of them went shopping because he hated the idea of you being alone. You were still mobile, but it took you longer to get around and he didn’t want you moving a finger if you didn’t have to.

Bringing Jackson and BamBam was a mistake; not only were they extremely picky, but they couldn’t agree on a ring. If BamBam liked a ring, Jackson would find something wrong with it and vice versa. Either the diamond was too small or too big; the baby was too thick or too wide. There wasn’t a ring that caught their eye. Mark however, couldn’t stop over-choosing to the point where he had selected at least eight different rings. The three men stayed longer than your boyfriend had hoped. He wanted to hurry up and propose to you so that the two of you could get married and spend the rest of your days as a newlywed couple.

After almost an hour, the jeweler pulled Mark to the side and had him explain his love for you, describe your personality, your likes, your personal style and what he’d think you’d want in a wedding ring. He then brought out the prettiest diamond ring Mark has ever seen. It was simple, but yet extremely elegant and eye catching; just like you. It was a gold band with a nicely sized diamond with two smaller diamonds on either side.

Your boyfriend didn’t care what the other two thought; he felt it was perfect and deep down, he knew you’d love it. After purchasing the ring, he picked up a bouquet of your favorite flowers, a couple balloons, a cake and some food on his way home. His mind was filled with worry and he was growing distressed and he didn’t know why. But Jackson and BamBam tried their best to calm him down.

The two younger guys knew you were going to say yes; even if Mark were to propose with a ring pop you’d still be over the moon. When he arrived home, he smiled at the image of you smashed in between Youngjae and Jinyoung while watching something on Netflix. He was also quick to notice Yugyeom and Jaebum sitting on the ground, wanting to be as close to you as possible. You giggled at something you saw and Mark found himself smiling at how adorable you were. He took a look at his friends and he felt embarrassed as the tears built up seeing how much they loved and cared about you.

To say they were devastated when they heard of the news was an understatement. In fact, that was the first time Mark has ever seen Jinyoung and Yugyeom cry. You’ve been in their lives for as long as you’ve been in Mark’s, so it was only natural for them to have grown attached to you and you treated them all like they were your older brothers. The three younger boys took it the hardest; there was a point after your first chemo session that BamBam had to stay away because seeing you so broken and not your usual excited and outgoing self was heartbreaking and too much for him to handle. However, after a talk from Jaebum and Jackson about how they needed to spend as much time with you as possible, he visited you whenever Mark allowed them to come over. When you noticed your boyfriend and your two friends make their way in to the apartment, you attempted to stand up and walk over to greet them, but the right grip on your biceps ultimately prevented you from doing so.

“Woah, woah, woah, slow down fast and the furious, he’s coming y/n. Don’t you dare move a pretty little finger.” You released a frustrated sigh and pouted adorably up at Jinyoung. It was like this the entire day; whenever you wanted to do something, eat, or go to use the bathroom, the guys were quick to do whatever you needed for you. Although you were grateful for their kindness and generosity, there were times that you’ve missed being able to do even the most simplest tasks such as your laundry and doing the dishes on your own. Mark briskly walked over to you and placed a sweet kiss on your lips before cupping your cheek.

“Did the guys take good care of you today?” Your laughter erupted through the room when you heard both Youngjae and Yugyeom scoff at your boyfriend’s question before nodding.

“They didn’t let me do anything at all. Jaebum carried me to the bathroom three times. Jinyoung doesn’t even let me touch the remote.” He giggled at your frustration before politely thanking his friends.

“Can you guys help me bring her to the room?” They all began giving each other knowing looks and grinned widely when they realized what was going to happen. You on the other hand looked at your boyfriend in confusion but decided to let it go. Mark picked you up bridal style but had the guys help him to make sure you didn’t hit the wall or anything along the way. Once you all made it to your room, he placed you down gently on the bed and handed you the flowers. The guys slowly left the room but not before wishing Mark good luck and sending you a few winks. You thanked him before reaching out to run a hand through his hair.

“Everything okay my love?” He nodded slowly before making his way to your side of the bed and you gasped as he got down on one knee. You couldn’t process entirely what was happening, but your heart felt so full. Mark was going to propose to you; when you were first told about your condition, you gave up any idea of getting married because you knew you wouldn’t live long enough to walk down the aisle. Your boyfriend always had tricks up his sleeve and he didn’t even get to say anything yet; you were already crying.

“Baby.”

You looked down at him with so much love and admiration and allowed him to continue. “These last few years have been the best years of my entire life and I owe it all to you. You’ve shown me so much love, compassion, support and kindness throughout our relationship. Only a few months after we started dating, I knew you were the one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. You’re my best friend y/n. My soulmate. My safe haven. My happy place. You make me the happiest man alive and there’s nothing I would love more than for you to say yes to being my wife. I love you y/n, more than I can fathom in to words. You mean everything to me. I know you didn’t write it down on the list, but we’ve been together long enough for me to know you like the back of my hand baby. You’ve been talking about marriage even before we started dating. I wanted to be able to grant this wish for you. I have the wedding already planned out, all that’s needed is for you to say yes. Y/n, will you marry me?”

You took no time in connecting your lips together and smiled widely in to the kiss as your way of saying yes. The tears were hot against your cheeks; the beautiful man in front of you was truly an angel sent to you from heaven to take care of you and it was an indescribable feeling.

“Yes, yes, yes! I love you so much Mark—I can’t wait to marry you. The ring is perfect baby. Thank you so much. You’re extraordinary.” He jumped on the bed with you and pulled you on top of his chest while roughly connecting your lips together. Your hands made their way around his neck as his gripped tightly on your waist. The two of you were so invested in kissing one another that Mark failed to remember the six other guys waiting patiently outside the door to hear the good news.

“I’ll be right back my love. I’m gonna go kick the guys out so I can show you just how excited I am to marry you.” He placed a chaste kiss on your forehead before making his way out in to the living room. Your fiancé left the door ajar, so you could hear the entire conversation with him and your friends and it made you blush.

“She said yes! We’re getting married guys! Thank you for everything you’ve done for us so far. I can’t wait to see her walk down the aisle.” The room filled with cheers and laughter and soon Mark was being pulled in to multiple embraces.

“Congratulations bro! Shall we celebrate now? Bring out the cake Yugyeom—“ Mark scratched the back of his neck shyly before speaking up.

“Um, about that—my fiancée and I would like to celebrate alone if that’s alright. You guys can all come back later if you’d want to.” He earned himself a few cheeky smiles and a couple of snide comments, but it was all in good fun. Luckily the guys were extremely understanding and left your apartment to let you and Mark relinquish in your love for one another.

We don't have forever Ooh, baby daylight's wasting You better kiss me Before our time has run out Mmm yeah Nobody sees what we see They're just hopelessly gazing, oh Oh, baby take me, me Before they turn the lights out Before our time has run out Baby love me lights out

After a passionate afternoon of intense and steamy love making, you and Mark ordered some pizza and watched a couple of movies before you both called it a night. Over the course of two weeks, you and Mark began your wedding planning and what was normally an exhausting experience for most brides, went very smoothly for you. You knew it’s because Mark did most of the contacting and the planning in general; he bribed his friends with some beer and fried chicken to help with writing and sending out the invitations. All you had to do was find your dream dress and pick out the kind of cake and food you wanted. Everything else, Mark took care of.

As much as you had dreamt of getting married at a beach, he wanted to have the wedding somewhere that would be easy for you to be pushed around in a wheelchair. Seeing you so dependent and incapable of even walking especially since you were always so independent made him feel bad. He was aware of how much it bothered you having to ask for help when you were always the one helping others. Your fiancé wanted you to be comfortable throughout the entire ceremony and to enjoy every second of it without being in any pain or discomfort. It seemed as if everything went by so fast and before you knew it, the day of your wedding finally came.

You went over to your parent’s house to get ready; you had voiced your opinion about whether or not you should wear a wig because you felt extremely insecure but Mark was very outspoken about how exceptionally beautiful you were and never let you feel negative about yourself. He felt useless every time you cried over how skinny and frail your body was becoming on top of no longer having hair. As much as he reassured you that you’d always be so ethereal in his eyes, it was only natural for you to depreciate yourself.

Mark ordered dozens of sunflowers and they were currently filling up the entire church that the two of you grew up in. He didn’t care how much everything was going to cost; your happiness and any memory made with you was priceless. All of both your’s and Mark’s friends and families sat on either side; waiting for both you and your soon to be husband to enter. When Mark walked in alongside six of his best friends and his younger brother, looking at everyone who was there to celebrate the two of you becoming one made him smile like an idiot. He was dying to see you; throughout the entire time the two of you were getting ready, he kept texting you asking you for photos to which you politely kept shutting him down.

Mark knew he had to be patient and that seeing the bride before the wedding was bad luck, but he was just so excited. Jackson, BamBam and Yugyeom began teasing him every so often while they waited for your arrival. If it was during any other situation, he would’ve been annoyed with them for messing around with him but their jokes helped calm his nerves. Before he knew it, the music grew louder and everyone stood up. As soon as his eyes landed on you, tears built up at the corner of his eyes and he allowed them to fall. He didn’t care if he was crying in front of all your family and friends.

You looked so beautiful; so perfect. You were a sight for sore eyes. Mark didn’t think it was possible for you to look even more beautiful than you already were, but like you always did; you proved him wrong. Your dad was currently pushing you in a wheelchair down the aisle and you smiled softly at everyone who came in to view. Seeing Mark practically bawl his eyes out made you tear up; he was always so sensitive and it was something you admired about him. Your dad pulled Mark in to a hug before handing you over to him.

“Congratulations again, take care of my princess.”

“I will.” Mark released a sigh of awe, he couldn’t believe you were real and that he was actually getting married to the love of his life.

“Can you stand baby?” You nodded slowly and he intertwined your fingers before lifting you up.

“Lean on me if you need to okay? You look extremely beautiful by the way—so so so beautiful. I can’t stop looking at you.” You beamed up at him.

“And you look very handsome.” The two of you were so busy in your own little worlds that you didn’t notice all your guests looking at the two of you with so much adoration. The pastor began the ceremony and you couldn’t help to stifle a laugh watching your fiancé make faces at you during the entire speech. His grip was tight against your hands and you could feel him shaking, but it was cute and so was he.

“Shall we start the vows?” Mark nodded before pulling out a piece of folder paper. He gave you a knowing look when he heard a giggle fall from your lips; Mark was quite the procrastinator and he was never really one to be professional unless he had to. Seeing the crumpled piece of folder paper proved that he was extremely laid back and didn’t care to be proper.

“Over ten years ago, I fell in love with the most amazing, wonderful, kind-hearted, hard-working, generous and breathtakingly beautiful girl to exist. You and I started off as friends, but I knew early on that you’d be someone special to me. There aren’t enough words in the dictionary to describe the love I have for you. You make me the happiest person alive just by existing. No matter how hard life gets, the mere thought of you is what keeps me going. I thank God every single day for allowing me to be the lucky man who gets to love you. Your smile can light up an entire room and your laugh—don’t get me started on your laugh. It’s the cutest sound in the entire world and I could probably listen to you laugh for hours. These last few months have been rough for us, but you never fail to impress me with your strength, your faith and your selflessness. You’re my biggest role model y/n. Everything I do, I do it with you in mind. I want to make you proud, I want to give you the world you deserve and more. God y/n, you deserve everything. I’m going to do whatever I can to make sure that beautiful smile of yours stays on your face. You’re my forever baby, I love you with everything I have and I’m always going to love you.”

Once he was done, you playfully punched his chest causing everyone in the chapel to erupt in laughter. “You asshole, I knew I should’ve worn waterproof mascara. I know I won’t be able to top that—well here it goes. The term soulmates was always a foreign word to me. Out of the millions of people in the world, there is no way two people are destined to be together. But my opinion changed the moment we started dating. If soulmates exist, you are mine and I am yours. The word love isn’t even enough to describe the feelings I have for you. You’re the reason for my existence Mark. You make me so happy. Thank you, for everything. For all the sacrifices you’ve made for me, for all the meals you’ve cooked, all the times you stayed up and watched friends with me because you know how obsessed I am with the show, helping me with every shower, coming with me to every single appointment, for making me laugh and smile during such a hard time. I never felt alone once through this entire experience. You’re out of this world you know that? I could never thank you enough for all the love you’ve given me. You give me strength Mark; you’ve given me so much hope and never fail to remind me how beautiful you think I am and how much I mean to you every single day. Thank you for doing whatever you possibly could in these last few months to be able to make sure I got to do everything I’ve wanted to do while I still could. There was no time for me to even think about my condition, I was too focused on the overflowing love you’ve been giving me. And thank you, for showing me what love is. For giving me the best love I could have ever asked for in this lifetime. I can do anything with you by my side. You are my home Mark Tuan. I love you.”

You giggled as the tears continued to flow down his cheeks and brought your thumb up to his face to wipe them away.

“Do you y/n, take Mark Tuan—“

“I do.”

“And do you Mark Tuan—“

“I do.”

The priest laughed softly as you put your wedding bands on both of your fingers. “With the power vested in me, I pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.”

Mark took no time lifting up your chin and smashing his lips against yours. Your heart fluttered with how passionate he was kissing you and when he smiled in to the kiss, you returned the ministration. The rest of the wedding went off without a hitch and it was honestly the best day of your entire life. Mark took the time to feed you against your complaints and your cheeks were in pain from how much you’ve been laughing throughout the entire night. Every time you looked at Mark, your heart rate would increase. No matter how many times he’s told you that he loves you, he never failed to show you through his actions just how much you meant to him.

Once the wedding was over, Mark brought you to a hotel and the two of you spent your first night as a married couple underneath the sheets with your bodies intertwined and lips practically fighting each other for dominance.

Unfortunately, only three weeks after your wedding; God decided it was time for you to return home. As much as nobody wanted to accept it, they all knew it was coming. You were rushed to the hospital after passing out while you and Mark were watching some random movie on Netflix. Although nobody had said anything, your husband knew it was time.

You were surrounded with all your friends and family. The room you were in and even the hallway outside were filled with heartbreaking sobs and mumbled screams; mainly from the love of your life. His grip was tight on your arm as he began to pray that you stayed just a little while more but he knew it was too much for him to ask for.

“M—Mark.” He looked up at you and quickly got up while bringing your face in to his hands.

“Yes baby?” You gave him a sad smile.

“Thank you—for everything. I can die happy knowing I lived such an amazing life—and I have you to thank. I love you more than anything Mark. I can’t wait to meet with you again. I’ll be waiting—“ when you took your last breath, your husband sank to his knees and let out the most gut wrenching cry. Jackson went over to pull him in to his chest, but Jinyoung prevented him from doing so. The older man needed his space. Everyone in the room were already crying, but seeing Mark so broken, so distressed was such a terrible sight to see. He knew it was coming, but he was never prepared to lose you. He found the strength to get up from off the ground and gently sat on the bed with you and pulled your lifeless body in to his embrace. “Come back to me—please. I can’t do this without you.”

The first few weeks after your death were some of the worst moments of Mark’s entire life. Coming to terms with your death and learning to live without you was something he knew he’d never get used to; he never wanted to. It all felt surreal to him. You were there just a few days ago, smiling, laughing, kissing him, holding him and whispering countless love confessions in his ear. He wanted to die. There was no way he’d be able to learn to live without you.

Mark found himself contemplating his life; he couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep and he hated having to interact with people. Although he was extremely thankful for all the outpour of sympathy he’s been receiving, he was tired of hearing it. It was a constant reminder that you were no longer around. Jinyoung forced Mark to move in with him because he knew it would be torture for him to continue living in your shared apartment.

As much as he wanted to continue wallowing in his self pity, he knew your mother must’ve been taking it very hard. It felt like it was just yesterday that he called her to tell her about you being in the ER. Now you were in the clouds, hopefully smiling down on him and watching over him. Your friends were afraid of losing Mark completely; they were afraid of what he was capable of doing in order to be with you again. If he wasn’t to commit suicide, he would probably die of a broken heart, they were sure of it.

Waking up every morning without you there felt like a chore and he no longer wanted to do it. There was one day in particular that he was ready to just give it all up and end his life. He felt like there was nothing worth living for anymore. As he began thinking about what he would do, it was then that he heard a little voice in his head leading him back to your apartment. He knew it was you, it had to be. The voice gave him directions to go in your closet and to take out the blue box hiding in your vanity. It took every bone in his body to even return back to your apartment, let alone touch something of yours. He never moved anything since your death.

The cup that you last drank from sat on the coffee table and it was still full of the caramel macchiato you failed to finish. He didn’t have to courage to dump it out nor could he even look at your side of the bed without screaming. He felt as if he was living his worst nightmare and it was a reoccurring thing every morning he woke up. When he opened the box, he took a seat on the ground and found a letter addressed to him. Why didn’t you tell him about this letter earlier? Or why didn’t you give it to him before you passed? How was he supposed to find it without knowing about it or where it was? He ran his finger over your handwriting and bit his lip to prevent the choked sob that was building up at the back of his throat from coming out. As soon as he opened the card, he was a mess. He couldn’t even get past his name before the tears began to pour.

“To: the love of my life,

My Mark. My sweet Yi-En. If you’re reading this, then I’m no longer here. I hope you know, that I miss you so much. God, I was so afraid to die because I didn’t want to be without you. I know I told you God has a plan for me and I know he has a plan for you too. Please baby, find the strength to move on. Don’t worry about me okay? I’m fine. I’m no longer in pain anymore and just know I’m watching over you and counting down the days until we get to meet each other again. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me Mark. I know it’s going to be hard, but promise me you’ll live your life to the fullest. You own my heart baby, always have and always will. Don’t forget to eat your meals and take your vitamins. We all know how sensitive your body is so you better take good care of yourself since I can no longer do so. If you die Mark Tuan, I will kill you. Please don’t beat yourself up about my death. None of this is your fault okay? It’s just a part of life. We will never understand why it was my time, but I meant what I said in my vows. You’re the reason I stayed around for so long. The doctor predicted that I only had six months left and I lived for almost an entire year. You’re the reason my love. You never failed to care for me and gave me your undying love and attention. You’re an angel Mark. My sweet angel. I give you permission to look for love when you’re ready. I’ll make sure to let you know whether or not I approve of her. Whatever will make you happy again Mark, don’t hesitate to do it. Unless it’s drugs, then I’ll really kill you. You’re forever in my mind, my heart, my thoughts and my prayers. Thank you for being my person. I’ll be waiting for you baby. I love you forever, Love, y/n.”

10 years later

“Daddy, where are we going?”

Mark looked at his beautiful three-year-old daughter in his rear view mirror and hummed contently. “We’re gonna go visit grandma and grandpa Faith.”

The little girl looked at him in confusion. “Didn’t we just see them yesterday?” He laughed at how smart she was and his heart began to warm at the sight of the all too familiar road.

It’s been a while since he’s been here and he can still see himself walking up to the door and hiding his hands in his pockets at the idea of taking you out on your first date. After reading your letter, Mark decided that he would learn to live for you. He moved away almost immediately and found himself traveling amongst the many different places the two of you visited together. He’d call your mom every so often to see how she was doing, but it was still too real to him no matter how many years have gone by.

He took Faith out of her car seat and carried her up to the door. When he rang the doorbell, he heard your mom call out that she was coming and he couldn’t help the smile that rose on his face when she finally opened the door.

“Mark, sweetheart look at you! You still look so handsome. It’s been so long. And who is this?” The little girl waved at your mom and smiled politely.

“I’m Faith. Nice to meet you grandma.” Your mom beamed at the little girl before pulling the two of them in to her embrace.

“Come inside, let me get you something to drink. What brings you here Mark? It’s been a while dear, how have you been?��

He took in your parent’s living room and his heart began to sink. Nothing changed. There were so many photos of you scattered amongst the shelves and on the walls; your wedding photo hung right above the fireplace.

“I um—we visited my parents yesterday and my mom brought you up. I wanted to come see you. It’s—her ten year anniversary in two weeks. I can’t believe it’s been so long.” Your mom handed him a cup of coffee and gave Faith a cup of orange juice.

“I know. I think about her and miss her all the time. Sometimes I daydream about what life would be like if she were still here. Your mom tells me you and Jinyoung started up a charity organization together. That’s amazing sweetheart. Y/n would’ve been so proud of you.”

He smiled softly at the sound of your name. Has it really been ten years since he’s last heard your contagious laugh and felt your soft lips against his? It’s been so long that sometimes he had a hard time believing you once existed and that you weren’t a figment of his imagination.

“Your daughter is so beautiful and such a smart girl. Your mother didn’t mention anything about you getting remarried, but I’m glad to hear that you are moving on—“ to your mom’s surprise, he shook his head in disagreement and motioned over to where Faith was watching television.

“I adopted her from an orphanage in Taiwan almost two years ago. Her parents gave her away right after she was born. I don’t know—but something told me to adopt her. She’s such a wonderful little girl and she helps fill the void. Y/n took a huge part of me with her when she left. I wanted to give up on it all so that I could be with her again—but she made me promise her that I would continue to live life and attempt to look for happiness again. That little girl is my happiness.”

Your mom wiped away a stray tear before reaching out to squeeze his hand. “That’s so kind of you Mark. You’ve always been such a generous and kind-hearted human being. Your parents raised you well. But it’s been ten years. Y/n would’ve wanted you to start looking for a companion—“

“Y/n was the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Where do I go when I’ve already had the best? Y/n is always going to own this silly heart of mine. I actually renamed her Faith in memory of y/n. We talked about our future children’s names on multiple occasions and Faith was at the top of her list. I was also inspired in how much faith and trust she had in God during her journey. I’m going to be okay mom. Don’t worry about me. My main focus now is that adorable little toddler, my job and the organization. I had my chance at love and was the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

Your mom and your husband talked for a few hours and most of that time was spent reminiscing on your memory and how life was so much better when you were still around. When Faith fell asleep on the couch, Mark decided it was time for the two of them to make their leave. He hugged your mom and promised to come visit her whenever he was in town. After he said his goodbyes, he brought the little girl in to the car and buckled her up slowly in attempts to not wake her. However, her soft voice caught his attention as he began to pull out of the driveway.

“Where we going now daddy?”

Mark knew there was one more place he wanted to visit before making the drive back to his parent’s house.

“We’re gonna go see mommy.”

I love you like XO You love me like XO You kill me boy XO You love me like XO All that I see Give me everything Baby love me lights out Baby love me lights out You can turn my lights outIn the darkest night hour (in the darkest night hour) I'll search through the crowd (I'll search through the crowd) Your face is all that I see I'll give you everything Baby love me lights out Baby love me lights out You can turn my lights out

#got7 imagines #mark tuan #got7 mark #got7 angst #mark tuan imagines #mark tuan angst

[winterisakillerwrites]

Wanderlust

Title: Wanderlust

One Shot: 1/1

Character: Tom Hiddleston/Callie Williams (OFC)

Genre: romance/angst

Rating: Mature

Summary: He’d known since the beginning she had never wanted the things his life brought, and it had played a very crucial role into why things had fallen apart. Since then he’d taken it as gospel that her opinions hadn’t changed. She’d never said, never hinted at wanting more…But now…Now he found himself wondering if maybe she had done so and he’d simply been too wrapped in himself to see.

Authors Notes/Warnings: This is a follow-up/sequel to Old Flames. I started this shortly after I posted the original story and it took awhile to get these idiots to tell me just what was going to happen. And this is the end result. Thanks to @redfoxwritesstuff for letting me continually throw ideas off and at you. I still can’t fathom why you put up with it, but I am eternally grateful you do.

She is truly stunning. The thought stole its way across Tom’s mind as he watched her sleep beside him; peaceful and content. There was something about her that had captured him right from the beginning. He’d known she’d felt it too; he’d seen it in her eyes, felt it in the way she touched him, in every glance. And even now, years later, he couldn’t deny that she still held such sway over him.

It didn’t matter how much time had passed or how infrequently they saw one another; Callie was always in his thoughts. He thought of her whenever something made him laugh and he knew it would amuse her as well. She was the first person he wanted to call when he found a role that challenged him or when he gotten whatever part he’d been dying for. She was also the first one he wanted to talk to when something had gone terribly wrong and he needed a friendly voice. Callie was the one person whose voice he longed to hear on good days and especially on bad. But something had always stayed his hand; always made him hold back. He could barely begin to count the number of times he’d started to dial her number only to hang up at the last moment.  

It was hopeless, really. Tom had known it from the start. They had always been in such different places in their lives, had lived to very different worlds. He lived for his work; for the ability to travel, to try on new characters and challenges and to push himself as far as he dared. Sitting in one place for too long brought on an anxiety he couldn’t quite put into words. There was so much to see, so much to do, and so very, very little time in which to do so. How could he risk turning down a role when there was no guarantee he would get the chance to try it again? How could he say no to a promotional tour or meeting when the opportunity may not ever reoccur?

Callie, on the other hand, had loved the consistency and steadfastness of her life. She’d worked hard to get where she was; worked harder still to keep herself the best she could possibly be and, as such, enjoyed the comfort and security of knowing who and what she was and just what she’d wanted out of her life. Callie valued her own time and to simply just be. She was content to sit for hours reading in her worn leather chair by the window in her cozy living room and had done so as often as possible. She didn’t need the glitz and the glamour Tom had always seemed so at home in. His world didn’t make sense to her; it had never held any appeal for her.

It was one of the many things he cherished about her. He was simply Tom with her. No demands, no mask, just himself. And he’d loved that. Loved her. Not just in the physical sense, though he could not deny that the physicality between them had always been electric, but all of her. Her smile, her laugh, the way she cared about those who mattered to her and those she barely knew. The quiet strength and resolve she possessed no matter the challenges she faced. She never ceased to amaze him for simply being who she was.

And if he were to be honest with himself, he could admit she was everything he’d ever really wanted. They clicked in a way he’d had with anyone before or after. But they were too different; lived in two vastly different worlds. Their lives hadn’t and would never mesh in any way which would work. He knew it. And he knew she did too. But that didn’t stop him from wanting it to. And he did. Desperately.

That was one of the many reasons he’d found himself here, again, tangled up in his bed with her. Why he let himself open to her when he knew there was very little chance of an actual future between then. It always happened. He’d fought it at first, knowing that giving in would only make the hurt worse in the end. But it had all been in vain. He couldn’t fight the electricity nor the bond between them. And, in all honesty, he hadn’t wanted to. He couldn’t have her, not in the way he’d longed for; he knew it all too well. So this, these stolen moments, would have to do. But they wouldn’t last. They couldn’t. Eventually, and he feared it would be sooner rather than later, they would have to part. For good. And that hurt more than he let himself think on. The idea of never again holding her in his arms, of never seeing her smile or hearing her laugh, burnt him to the core. But he couldn’t seem to see any other way.

Callie turned in her sleep, the sheet that had been pulled over her shoulder slipped revealing a full, round breast and the smooth curve of her shoulder. She snuggled closer against Tom’s side, the warmth of her skin against his sent shivers down his spine. She looked so beautiful, so peaceful, in sleep and he was torn between wanting to simply watch her do so and the desire to wake her and have her at least once more before reality pulled them apart again.  

It had barely been a month since he’d seen her in the club, her head thrown back and eyes closed as she moved in time with the pulsing music. Seeing here there, just a handful of feet away from him, had thrown Tom; though, in all honesty, it shouldn’t have. London was only so big and he’d always known that seeing her was inevitable. But still, he hadn’t been able to believe his eyes at first. It had been so long; with his work and travel it had been months since he’d been in one place longer than a few days that wasn’t strictly for work. And even longer since he’d been home for any set length of time. Yet, there she was. He hadn’t let himself think about the consequences of his actions then; he’d simply gone to her. He’d needed her in a way he hadn’t needed anyone else.

And it had been wonderful; the feel of her skin against his, her breathy moans in his ear, the weight of her against him, above him. He’d woken the morning after in her bed, watching her as she watched him from the doorway. He’d wanted to tell her then how beautiful she was to him; just how much he had missed her, how badly he wanted her in his life, in his bed, always. But that would shatter the fragile thing between them. It would break the unspoken rule of whatever this was they were doing. So he’d said nothing and let himself walk out of her life once again. It was funny, really, how he was the one who always seemed to walk away. He’d never let himself think on it; wouldn’t let himself acknowledge it. But it didn’t make it any less true. He hadn’t been able to stay away though, had sought her after; needing to be near her, to pretend just for a little while longer that this could work. That she’d wanted it to work just as badly as he did. Just for a little while

Tom shifted in the bed, running a hand over the rough stubble on his chin. He hadn’t shaved in several days and it clearly showed. Callie stirred beside him, rolling tighter against him, her leg slipping between his and her head resting against his bare chest. He could feel the stiff peak of her nipple against his skin and bit back a groan at the sensation.

He wanted her; he’d always wanted her. That had never been the problem. Or, well, he mused, maybe it is. They had clicked so perfectly in the physical sense; she’d caught his eye from the moment he’d first seen her and he’d wanted her then more than he’d thought possible. But that had only been the start of it. Now…now it was so much more. And he knew deep in the marrow of himself that it wouldn’t be enough. The wanting her. The loving her. Not when she hadn’t wanted the spotlight that being with him would place on her.

His life, the demands it placed on him, it left little if any time for something real. And dragging Callie into it only to hurt her…He wasn’t sure he could live with it. Wasn’t sure he wanted her to live with it. With knowing he would be gone more often than not; knowing that she couldn’t be his biggest priority. Knowing there would be times when he would have to choose between time with her and his career and that his career would most likely need to win. And then the lack of privacy. He knew his fan base, had seen them tear into the lives of women he dated in the past…And ones he’d barely known, just for the simple fact he was seen with them. It was something he wanted to save her from if he could. Knowing it wasn’t what she had wanted. Knowing that he couldn’t walk away from his life, not when he’d worked so hard for all he’d achieved, not when he would end up resenting her for it if he did. And she would resent him for dragging her into it all. She’d been clear that the idea of a spotlight on her life scared her; that she wasn’t sure it was something she could handle, that she wanted to handle.

And knowing that meant there was only one option left and the thought of it crushed him. He would have to leave…for good this time. No turning back, no second thoughts. Pulling her back into his life, even this private part of it, would be the height of cruelty for them both. Not when he couldn’t give her what they both wanted; a life together; safe and private and theirs. But the very thought of walking away made his blood run cold. He was a coward of the worst sort and he knew it. Putting this off, pretending this wasn’t just a temporary respite in the chaos of his life. That this didn’t have to end. He wished he were stronger. Wished he could keep her, keep this. And knowing all the same he couldn’t.

“Stop thinking so hard,” her sleep laced voice grumbled from against his side. “Your making my head hurt.”

Tom laughed despite himself. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, reaching down to brush her hair from her eyes. “How did you sleep?” He tried to keep his voice light and airy but he could see his efforts fell woefully short. He could see the knowledge of it in her eyes. Callie always seems to be able to see straight through him. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

“You don’t have to do this, Tom.” Her voice was quiet and far too even. He watched as she pushed herself up and away from him, clutching the sheet to her chest. Covering herself from his gaze just as she distanced herself from him emotionally.

He wanted to scream, to beg her not to walk away. It was stupid and selfish, he knew it. But the desire was overwhelming all the same. “No, please…” Without conscious thought, his hand reached out to grasp at hers, holding her still. “I don’t….Callie…”

She let out a soft, resigned sigh, “We both know how this ends, Tom. You trying to sugar coat the fact you’re leaving and not coming back doesn’t make it any better. For once just fucking be honest with me. With yourself.”

The words, though calmly spoken, cut him deeply. He was a coward, he’d known that. But to have that thrown, however matter of fact, in his face stung. “Callie...This is...What are we doing?”

Her dark eyes locked on his, “I used to hope....” She trailed off, pulling her hand out of his grasp and climbed fully off of the bed. “I know what I want Tom. And I think you do as well. But I don’t think you know what you want and until you do...I don’t think I can do this,” she gesticulated wildly between them, “anymore.”

She was dressed and out the door before he could force himself to utter another word.

Tom sat dumbfounded on the bed, trying desperately to figure out just what had happened. He let out a string of curses, hitting his balled fist on the mattress. He should have run after her. Why hadn’t he just run after her? He should never have let her leave in the first place. Not with things so uncertain between them. Not when her words hinted that maybe, just maybe he’d read the situation all wrong. But it was too late now. She was gone.

He rested his head in is upturned hands and let out a sigh. God, he was a fucking idiot. How had he let things get so far out of hand? He cursed again, knowing it wouldn’t help. A small part of him, one he fought steadfast to ignore, wondered if maybe it wasn’t better this way. Simply letting her go and letting things end. Doing nothing. But the larger part of him screamed that if he let himself just do nothing then he would be nothing more than the coward she’d called him in all but name.

“Shit. Shit. Shit,” he cursed under his breath, rubbing his free hand over his face. “Tom, you utter, utter wanker.”

Callie had made a very good point; he’d allowed himself to be drawn into whatever it was between them without considering what he truly wanted…Or, well, without allowing himself to either accept the hard work involved in what he wanted or to acknowledge he wasn’t ready and simply walk away. Instead he kept letting the same thing happen, refusing to see the toll it was taking on them both. But knowing that internally and then having it spoken aloud were two vastly different things and he wasn’t sure how to handle it. Wasn’t sure just what to do.

He groaned as he pushed himself to his feet and pulled on a pair of jogging bottoms he’d left hanging on the back of his chair near the window the night before. He checked the impulse to call her and beg her to come back. That would surely cause more problems that it would solve. He needed to get himself straight before he risked making things worse between him and Callie. Though I’m not sure how much worse it could be, he thought with wryly. And he hadn’t wanted to find out.

As it stood, Callie probably had little desire to see him again let alone speak with him. And he couldn’t really blame her. What he had done was the height of selfishness, even if it hadn’t ever been his intention to be so. If he approached her without really knowing if it was because he wanted to rather than because he felt he should…Tom was well aware he could so easily lose her for good. That was something he wasn’t sure he was prepared for.

Coffee, he decided with a cool certainty, I need coffee. Coffee and a fucking miracle. While it brewed he would have time to think, really think, and then be able to come to what he feared, and knew with a grim certainty, would be quite difficult decisions. His footsteps echoed softly on the stairs as he made his way down to the lower level and towards the kitchen.

Sunlight poured in from the front windows, bathing the hallway and kitchen in bright, warm light. He pattered towards the cupboard above the sink, pulling a tin of ground dark roast coffee from the uppermost shelf and placing it onto the counter before the coffee press his younger sister had given him as a house warming gift years ago. Turning, he grabbed a mug from a nearby cabinet, a light blue one he’d had for ages with a chip on one side of its rim, and set it beside the tin of coffee. He made quick work of setting water to boil in a kettle by the stove and placing several scoops of coffee into the bottom of the press, allowing his mind to wander as he did so.

One thing he knew with certainty was Callie had become infinitely important to him. These moments he had with her were little life lines in the chaos his life inherently was. And he’d used it, selfishly, knowing but not really allowing himself to think on the fact there were more than just his feelings involved. It was equally clear to him that Callie cared about him, that she had for a long while now. He’d known since the beginning she had never wanted the things his life brought, and it had played a very crucial role into why things had fallen apart.

Since then he’d taken it as gospel that her opinions hadn’t changed. She’d never said, never hinted at wanting more…But now…Now he found himself wondering if maybe she had done so and he’d simply been too wrapped in himself to see. That thought pulled him up short. Judging from her reaction, he feared that might very well have been the case. Had he really been so blind? So wrapped up in what he wanted, that he missed the change in her? A bitter laugh fell from his lips. No wonder she’d been so cold, so defeated.

Tom rubbed his face with his hands once again. God, this was a mess. He’d been so certain before she’d woken, so damn certain that walking away was the only real path left for them. That his flitting in and out of her life, sharing her bed for these brief sojourns, was only causing them both unnecessary and avoidable pain. But now…Now when it was abundantly clear that she herself intended to sever their tenuis connection if he couldn’t make up his mind about what he wanted between them, the idea filled him with dread. The reality of never seeing her again, never holding her, never being able being able to just simply be with her again, shook him to his core.

The faint whistle of the kettle pulled Tom reluctantly back into reality. Tea towel in hand, he removed the kettle and poured the steaming water into the opened press. Tom stood, watching as the coffee steeped, his mind replaying the look on her face just before she’d grabbed her clothing and gone. It was a knife to the heart; her resigned heartache. The pained and weary acceptance that sat in her eyes, had been painted across her face. And he hadn’t stopped her. Hadn’t done all in his power to get her to stay and talk. He really was a coward after all.

Once satisfied with the strength, Tom worked the plunger with the smooth fluidity of years of practice and soon the strong scent of hot, fresh coffee filled the small, brightly lit kitchen. He poured himself a cup and, once it was doctored to his liking, headed into the living room. He let himself settle on the couch, propping his feet on the edge of the wooden coffee table.

The house was unnaturally quiet. It was something he used to revel in. Things in his life were so rarely quiet these days and he’d learned to take his solace in whatever silence could be found. But now…Now it felt oppressive. He shook his head and took a sip of his steaming coffee. He hissed as it burned his tongue. It was still too hot for consumption but he desperately needed the caffeine. Tom forced another sip before placing the mug onto the side table. He scrubbed his face with his opened hand before leaning his head back. This was a mess, pure and simple.

No matter what he chose, it would be an uphill battle. Between wanting to protect her privacy and his own, being with her would provide complication…And truly walking away and never coming back, that was unbearable. No matter what he chose, it would hurt them both. But staying and trying to fight to make something work between them…He knew with startling clarity that he’d wanted it more than he could find words for. It wouldn’t be easy but then again nothing in life worth having ever really was. And, truthfully, he’d never been one for the easier path. If he was mistaken though…If they tried this and she couldn’t handle it…Didn’t want to handle it…

He took a deep breath and forced himself to calm. If they tried and she couldn’t or didn’t want to handle what his life would entail…Then he would do his best to carry on. Things in life were never guaranteed, Tom knew that better than most. He’d had plenty of relationships fall apart, lost people he’d believed would always be there. It had hurt but he’d survived it. And logically, he knew if things between him and Callie fell apart he would desperately hurt but his world would not end. But understanding did little to stifle the feeling of panic. God, he was overthinking this.

Tom reached for his coffee mug and took another sip, cringing as the cold coffee poured into his mouth. How long had he been sitting there? Annoyed, he pushed himself to his feet and padded back into the kitchen and placed the mug in the microwave. Forty seconds would do the trick. As he watched the mug spin lazily around, Tom once again allowed his mind to wander.

What he wanted was simple. He wanted her. Wanted her in his life, not just his bed. Wanted to know she would be waiting for him when he came back from his travels. Wanted her to come with him whenever she could. But what she wanted, he wasn’t completely certain. He thought he’d known before and he’d apparently been completely mistaken. And if it was mistaken again…

They would need to talk, really talk. And then he would have to take whatever came of such a conversation, be it good or ill, and make the best of it. But would she be willing to talk with him? If she wouldn’t…He took another deep breath and pushed himself to his feet. There was only one way to find out.

Tom took the stairs two at a time, quickly making his way into the bedroom. His mobile was sitting on the bedside table, connected to its charging cord. He unplugged and unlocked it in short order, scrolling through his contact list until he found her name. No time like the present…

He hit ‘dial’ and held his breath as the phone rang.

And rang.

Tom fought to ignore the knot in his stomach. She might not be home yet (though if his watch was to be believed it was nearing eleven. When she’d left it had been going on eight and she hadn’t lived too far). Or she’s choosing to ignore you, his mind helpfully chimed in.

He very nearly dropped the phone when the line finally clicked and Callie’s voice echoed in his ear. “What, Tom?”

He swallowed thickly before forcing himself to speak. And once he did the words came tumbling out. “I know I’m probably the last person you want to talk to and I understand that. But we do need to talk, Callie. I need to tell you things and I think there are things you need to tell me.”

The line was quiet and for a moment Tom feared she’d simply hung up on him. “I don’t…” She paused and he heard her take a deep breath. “Somewhere neutral. If we do this, we need to go somewhere neutral for both of us.”

“Yes,” he answered, understanding the logic of her request. Both his place and hers held far too many memories which would make this so much harder than it needed to be. “Um…There is a coffee shop a few streets over. They are pretty quiet and out of the way….We shouldn’t be bothered there.” Tom cursed the circumstances of his life for what felt like the hundredth time that morning. If he were just any other bloke they wouldn’t have to worry about being overheard and having their conversation splashed across the front page of a tabloid as ‘entertainment’. They could meet and be free to honestly talk this out….And if he’d been just any other bloke then most likely none of this would be happening.

Tom ran a hand through his hair as he awaited her response; feeling the knots in his stomach tighten with alarming force.

“Okay,” she finally whispered. “Give me the address.”

Twenty minutes later found Tom sitting in one of the high backed booths in the back corner of the shop. His double espresso steamed gently before him, mostly untouched, and he found himself fighting the urge to jump and stare every time the front door bell chimed the entrance of another customer. Part of him feared she wouldn’t show. That she had decided to wash her hands of him once and for all. The idea stung but he knew she had every right to do just such a thing. To simply walk away…  

His attention snapped back to the present as the door chimed again. Callie had changed and showered since he’d seen her last, her hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun and she now wore an oversized green jumper and dark leggings. She looked comfortable but wary. Her smile was small and did not quite reach her eyes. “Hiya,” she greeted him before sliding into the other side of the booth.

“Would you care for…?” Tom gestured vaguely at his own cup.

Callie shook her head. “I’m good, thank you.” She folded her hands and placed them before her on the table. “You wanted to talk.” It was a statement, not question, and Tom found himself taken off guard by it.

He nodded, masking his unease with a sip of his espresso. “You were right.” Her eyes snapped up to his face, their brown depths echoing confusion and concern in equal measure. “This…What we are doing…It’s not working.”

Callie forced a nod. “It’s not.”

Tom started to reach for her hand, caught himself, and placed his own hands on the table. “You told me that you don’t believe that I know what I want and that it’s not fair to either of us…And in a way you were right.” He paused and took another sip. “I want you…And not just for a night or two…I want this…Us, to be something, but I thought…With what being with me entails…I believed you didn’t want any part of that…So I was selfish and I took what I could get…And I am sorry.”

She leaned back against the padded cushion of the booth. “And?” He could read the caution and doubt painted across her features as clearly as if she’d spoken them aloud.

Her doubt and uncertainty shouldn’t have surprised him. After all he’d not been the most forthright person in this endeavor. And she’d been left waiting and wanting far too many times to take his words at face value. But it stung all the same. “I made the mistake of assuming I knew what you wanted…That you wouldn’t want more because of who I am and what that would mean. And that was wrong of me. I should have asked you outright instead of believing that you hadn’t changed your mind. And that is on me.” He took a deep breath. “But all the same I wish you had said something. Told me explicitly what you wanted. I can’t read your mind, Callie. I can’t know what you’re thinking. I’m sorry I’ve caused you pain, but I didn’t know…Not really.”

Callie bristled slightly but nodded. “I should have and I own that. But to be completely honest I wasn’t sure how…Or if it was something you would have been willing to hear.”

It was Tom’s turn to bristle though he could not blame her for thinking as she had. He’d flitted in and out of her life without so much as a promise. How could she think anything but that? “Fair enough,” he murmured. He covered his unease once again with sip of his espresso. “We haven’t been clear with each other and that’s led us here.” He paused again, raising his head to hers. “But we can do better than this. I want us to be better. This…You and me, I want us to be more than just a few stolen nights. I want you in my life in a permanent way. I want us to be truly together.”

“So do I.”

The smile that spread across Tom’s face was exquisite. This was going far better than he’d dared hope it would. She wanted this, wanted him too. “Then let’s do this. Really do this, you and I.” He reached across the table, taking her hands in his own and squeezing them gently. His smile fell as he caught the look of hopeful doubt in her eyes.

“They are wonderful words, Tom. And I want to believe them.” Callie offered a small, sad smile, pulling her hands back from his. “But how do I know that once we leave here and you go back to your life that you won’t just disappear again?”

“Because I won’t. I can’t.” Tom leaned across the table and took her hand again, imploring her to believe him. “Not again. I cannot let you walk out of my life simply because I chose the coward’s way out. I want this,” he squeezed her hand, “with you. I want to…take you to the cinema. To the theatre. I want to walk hand in hand with you in the park. And all those silly, small things people take for granted. I want that…All of it, with you.”

“I want that too, Tom. Believe me I do…I just…I need more than words. Can you understand that? This…If I do this…If we do this, I need to know for sure that you are in this. Really in this. I can’t…I can’t open myself up like this without knowing there is something solid…Something real there. I need more than words.”

Tom nodded, squeezing her hand. He hated her doubt, her lack of faith in his word. But he could understand it. “You need to be certain that I am substance, not air.” Callie nodded. He smiled softly, “I can understand that….I…” He paused, looking down briefly in thought before raising his eyes back to Callie’s dark brown ones. “There is a premiere I’ve been invited to…In Leicester Square next week…Would you come with me? As my date?”

Callie shot him an incredulous look. “Tom…I…I’ve never...” Her hands gesticulated wildly, both disbelief and uncertainty coloring her tone. “I don’t have a dress…”

Tom shook his head, raising his hand to place a finger over her lips to cease her rambling. “Please. I want you to come with me….I’ll handle everything; dress, make-up, hair, transport…Just say yes. Please.”

He watched the indecision play across her face and hoped with all he had she would say yes. She would give him this chance to prove that he meant it. That he wanted this. Wanted her in his life and that he wasn’t ashamed of it. He was aware too, that he was putting her very clearly on the spot, potentially throwing her metaphorically to the wolves. And that was the last thing he wanted. He had just opened his mouth to take it back, to tell her she didn’t have to do this, if she didn’t truly want to when she spoke.

“I…” Callie started, her attention turned briefly down to her hands on the table. “Alright.” The word came out softly and for a moment Tom was certain he’d not heard her correctly. And then she spoke again. “I’ll go.”

Tom smiled brightly, taking her hands in his and squeezing them. He could see it in her face, in her eyes that she still was uncertain. Still held doubt. But she’d agreed and that was something. He could work on the rest. He could show her he meant it. And he would.

Luke hadn’t been best pleased at the work Tom had thrown his way and had told him so, often and loudly. “It’s not that I’m against you bringing someone; you have every right to do so, you great bloody git as I’ve told you for years now. It’s the fact you tell me less than six days before the damned premiere, expecting me to handle the details; a dress, make-up, hair…Dear god, man. I can do many things, Tom, but this is cutting it a bit fine don’t you think?”

Tom had apologized profusely but insisted nonetheless. Callie deserved it. If he was doing it, he was going to do it right. And Luke had come through, confirming the details with Callie and with Tom. It would be cutting it fine, but it had been doable, he’d assured them both. She would have a styling team and a decent selection of dresses sent to hers the day of the premiere and she and Tom would travel to the theater from hers (it would be a simple enough matter to have the car Luke had hired for Tom pick him up as originally planned and then swing by for her). The process had probably hastened the arrival of Luke’s grey hair and Tom knew he’d owe the man a very nice bonus for his troubles. And probably a very long, restful holiday.

He’d gotten the text from Luke stating that the team he’d arranged would be arriving at Callie’s in the late morning of the day of the premiere. And the morning of, had texted him to let him know they’d arrived. Tom let out a small sigh of relief, at least things were going to plan so far. His own final fitting wasn’t scheduled until later than afternoon and he found himself with the better part of the morning to kill. A run seemed immensely appealing just then. A chance to clear his head and focus his mind on something other than impending nerves. So he had made quick work changing into his usual running attire and headed out the door.

He was panting and drenched in sweat by the time he returned, but much calmer in mind and spirit. A quick glance at his watch told him he had enough time to shower before his own team would arrive. He wasted little time climbing the stairs and stripping off his running gear; leaving them in a pile by the bedroom door.

The hot water felt amazing on his sore muscles and, had it been any other day, Tom would have easily stayed in the shower until he’d resembled a prune. The temptation was a strong one. But he hadn’t the luxury, not today; the coming evening was far too important for him to risk jeopardizing it. And certainly not for something so trivial. He made quick work of washing his hair and body, wrapping himself in the large, navy blue towel hanging behind the bathroom door. He padded back into his bedroom and grabbed the clean t-shirt and jogging bottoms he’d laid out.

He’d just finished rubbing his hair as dry as he could when the bell by the front gate rang. Upon confirming it was indeed his team, Tom buzzed them in and gave way to the chaos. Once he was suited and his hair had been coifed he’d found himself pacing around the living room, his earlier nerves bubbling back towards the surface. The car Luke had arranged was set to arrive at just after four, giving them plenty of time to make it to Callie’s flat and then to the theater. But four came and went.

Tom had tried very hard not to panic and had given it a good ten minutes before texting both Luke and the driving company for updates. Traffic, he’d been informed. There had been an accident shutting down several main roads and the car had been forced to detour. They should be no more than half an hour late. Tom had been as gracious as he could be with the news, though on the inside he was a seething mess of frustrated anxiety. Every call he’d made to Callie’s phone had gone to voicemail and she wasn’t answering any of the texts he’d sent either. He could only imagine what would be running through her head when the car hadn’t shown when expected.

At quarter past four the car pulled to a stop before Tom’s and he’d rushed out nearly as soon as he’d heard the bell. It was another fifteen minutes before the car pulled in front of Callie’s building. Tom had jumped from the car and taken the stairs to her flat two at a time, arriving at her door slightly out of breath. She opened it on his second knock and the apology that had been on the tip of his tongue vanished.

Simply put she was stunning. Her long, dark hair had been curled and hung loosely over one shoulder. Her dark eyes had been lined in kohl, her lips painted a stunning dark shade of red, only a few tones lighter than the dark burgundy of her dress. The dress left one shoulder bare and clung to her curves in the most sinful way, falling just past her knee. The heels she wore brought her to nearly his own height and the thought of what they could do in them flashed boldly through his mind.

“You look absolutely…Enchanting.” Tom breathed once words and sense had returned to him. He held his hand out to her, hoping she wouldn’t note it’s slightly tremble. If he had thought Callie breathtaking before it was nothing…Nothing compared to the way she overwhelmed him now.

She took his hand, murmuring a brief and quiet ‘thank you’ but said nothing else as they made their way down the stairs and into the car. The ride to the theater was, thankfully, uneventful. Whatever nightmare the traffic had been earlier had cleared enough in spite of their later start they would still most likely make it to the theater on time. The idea should have filled Tom with relief but the silence radiating from Callie tempered it significantly.

“Callie, are you alright?” It was a stupid question and he’d known it the second it had left his lips. The set of her shoulders and the way she carefully did not look in his direction as they road spoke volumes.

“I’m fine,” she answered, briefly turning her head in his direction.

Tom let his gaze fall over her, uncertainty gnawing at him. He’d pushed for her to come, to do this with him. What if…What if this wasn’t what she’d wanted? Had he forced her, however unintentionally, into going along with this? That wasn’t what he’d wanted. He couldn’t, wouldn’t make her do this just for his sake. He reached for her hands, taking them in his own. “Callie, we don’t have to do this.”

Her eyes snapped to his and Tom could clearly see the resignation and hurt in them though she was plainly trying in vain to hide it. “Oh…” She paused and swallowed thickly. “If…Alright then. I understand.”

It hit him then, what he’d said, how he’d phrased it, had been exactly the wrong thing. She thought he didn’t want her there…With him. And that was the absolute farthest thing from the truth. “No…No. No. No, Callie. That isn’t what…”

The car pulled to a stop and the dull roar from the crowd gathered around the theater echoed through the closed doors of the car. When the passenger door opened a few moments later the dull roar erupted into a wall of sound. Tom sat for a moment, indecision playing on his features, before taking a deep breath and slowly climbing from the car. He turned then, facing the opened door, waiting. But Callie hadn’t moved.

Tom smiled softly and held out his hand towards her, “Come on. It will be alright.”

Confusion played across her face. “Tom what are you…?” It was clear she had assumed he hadn’t wanted her to accompany him on the carpet. And he couldn’t have that.

“I’m waiting for my date,” he answered, pausing to wave periodically at the crowd. “Come on, love, I’ve got you.” Tentatively, she took his proffered hand, and slid slowly out of the car. Tom could feel her trembling beside him and pulled her tightly to his side. This caused an explosion of noise and Tom did his level best to ignore the unending barrage of blinding flashes. “It’s alright.” He murmured into her hair and felt her nod against him.

With his arm locked firmly around her waist, he began to lead her away from the car and towards the start of the press line. He could feel her anxiety and uncertainty and did not lessen his hold. “Tom…”

“I know,” he reassured her. “I know. It’s a lot. But I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.” He pulled back just enough to look directly into her anxious eyes. Ceased by an impulse he refused to check, Tom leaned in and kissed her; firmly and with feeling. He felt her gasp in surprise and took his chance to deepen the kiss before pulling back and smiling down at her. The eruption of noise behind them, the shouts of his name and the click and flash of hundreds of cameras, barely registered for him. He inclined his head towards the waiting press line. “Shall we?”

She nodded silently and let him lead the way. He saw Luke standing at the start of the line, a look of resigned annoyance in his eyes; Tom knew there would be a reckoning later but couldn’t seem to bring himself to care. As they neared the first set of reporters and cameras, Callie pulled back and began to move towards Luke but Tom took her hand and held it firmly in his.

“Please,” he whispered. “You don’t need to say anything if you don’t want to. But please, stay with me?”

Callie looked at him, hesitation painted clearly on her features, for several moments before nodding and moving back to stand by his side. The grin splitting his face was nearly as blinding as the flashes exploding around them.

“Shall we?” he asked. Callie smiled, nodding her head and, hand in hand, they walked towards the press line.

#Tom Hiddleston #Tom Hiddleston RPF #Tom Hiddleston x oc #Tom Hiddleston x ofc #Tom Hiddleston x original character #tom hiddleston x original female character #Tom & Callie

[ladyfogg]

Cold is the Night - 14/20

Cold is the Night - 14/20

Fic Summary: You and Pat have known each other for years but this summer, everything will change. As the two of you start to grow close, your matching tempers threaten the foundation of your rocky friendship and prevent both of you from realizing your true feelings. Cold is the Night Masterpost. 

A/N: Hey hey, guys. I’m just dropping in to let you know that I’ll be taking some time between updates and teasers. In the past, I’ve posted a teaser every other day and the chapter to follow. I probably won’t follow that schedule for these remaining six chapters. We’ll see. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Fic Song: Cold is the Night by The Oh Hellos. Fic playlist can be found here. 

Pairing: Pat Murray/Female Reader

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Language, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Multiple Chapters

Gif by @mrbenhardys

When Pat explained about the fight with his dad, your own anger flared and you had to stop yourself from getting back into your car and driving over there. 

"I can't fucking believe him!" you exclaimed. "Who the hell does he think he is?"

Your parents weren't saints by any means, and you're sure deep down Brian meant well, but it was still a shitty thing to say to your kid. 

"I just want to forget about it," Pat said. "I know it's a lot to ask but do you mind if I stay here for a bit? If you're not comfortable with that I'm sure I can ask Maz."

"You're staying here," you told him. "And before you ask, yes I'm sure."

His shoulders relaxed and he gave you a small smile. "Thanks."

He looked exhausted and you could tell he hadn't had a chance to clean up after moving stuff all day. "Why don't you take a shower and I'll get you something to eat?"

"What about work?" he asked. "You still have a few hours of your shift."

"I told them I had a family emergency," you said. "I'm not going back tonight. Unless you need space…"

"I don't want space. I want you."

You stroked his cheek before giving him a soft kiss. "Go clean up. I'll get you something."

Pat took a deep breath and nodded before getting up. You watched him go into the bathroom, still furious with his father. 

Regardless, you pushed the anger away in favor of taking care of your boyfriend. While he showered, you ordered a pizza and some lava cakes because the situation definitely called for it. You waited in the living room so he could sit with you among the flowers he bought, most of which were still alive and well.

Pat came out a few minutes later wearing sweatpants and a white undershirt. He sat next to you on the couch, tucking himself against your side. 

You hugged him. "Do you want to talk more about it?"

"No."

"What can I do to help?"

"Just this."

You nodded, kissing his forehead. "Okay."

Silence washed over you both as you held each other.

"It's funny," Pat muttered after a few minutes.

"What is?"

"There I was, locked in my room, beyond angry. And all I wanted was to come here to be with you. I couldn't stay in that room another minute."

Your heart fluttered and your stomach dropped. The significance that he didn't want to be isolated was not lost on you.

With a soft smile, you placed kisses across his face. When you got to his lips, he leaned in all the way, sealing his mouth over yours. 

The moment was interrupted when there was a knock on the door.

"Pizza's here," you said, drawing back.

Pat grinned. "You got me a pizza?"

"And lava cakes."

"I don't deserve you."

"Shut up. Yes, you do."

Pat ended up staying with you for two days. 

As much as you were angry with what he went through, it was really nice having him there. With your work schedules, you were like two ships passing in the night. But at least when you got home he was there to cuddle you to sleep, exhausted from his own long day plus waiting up for you.

On the morning of the third day, he came into the kitchen while you were making breakfast. He had to go to work early but you liked to make sure he ate something before he did. 

“My dad left me a message last night,” he said. 

"Did he beg for your forgiveness?"

“Not exactly. He wants me to come home so we can talk things out.”

He hadn't mentioned the fight since the night it happened and you gave him a worried look.

"Is that what you want?"

Pat sighed, arms crossed over his chest. "I should at least hear what he has to say. He sounded sincere. I can tell he feels bad."

You weren't going to argue with him or give unsolicited advice so you only nodded. “Do you want me to come with you?”

Your protective side was on high alert, especially after seeing how emotional Pat had been after the last time he spoke to his dad. 

Pat smiled and gave you a kiss. “Do you think you could come over for dinner? I know you don’t work tonight. Knowing I’ll be seeing you later will really help get me through this fucking day.”

“Of course, whatever you need,” you said. “I will warn you though if he says anything I cannot be held responsible for my response.”

“As long as you don’t throw a punch, I think I can handle that.”

“Boo, you’re no fun.”

“I beg to differ.”

Smirking, you pulled him into another kiss. With everything going on, you hadn’t had a chance to fool around since the night of Vinnie’s party. Not that it was on your mind. You were more concerned with making sure Pat was okay. And he was far from being in the mood. But now that he seemed better, and his arms circled your waist, your body responded with interest. 

You were suddenly very aware of his hard body pressed against yours. “You coming back here after dinner?” you asked suggestively. 

Sadly, Pat shook his head. “No, I should probably stay home. I’ve got laundry to do. Plus my next few shifts are going to be at the ass crack of dawn.”

“Fuck, I was really hoping for some fun times.”

Pat’s eyes grew hooded and he pressed himself against you until your back hit the counter. “Soon. I promise.”

"I really liked having you here the last few days."

"You did?"

You nodded. "Just wish we could have enjoyed it more."

"Sure it wasn't because I did the dishes?"

That had been a pleasant surprise: coming home to things being picked up or cleaned. 

"Surprisingly, no," you laughed. "Believe it or not, I like your company, Murray."

"I believe it."

You kissed again, before reluctantly pulling away. “Made you an egg wrap to go. And coffee.” You handed him the foiled covered food and travel mug.

“You’re the best.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

Pat studied you for a moment and it almost looked like he was going to say something. But he stopped himself, smiling instead. Before you could ask what was up, he kissed you a final time and drew back. “I’ll text you when I have a time for dinner.”

“Okay,” you said, already missing the warmth of him. “Let me know if you want me to bring anything.”

“Just your charming personality.”

“Well, obviously. I never leave home without it.”

As you watched him leave, you were worried about what the evening had in store. You spent the day anxiety cleaning, refreshing the water for some of the remaining bouquets, doing laundry, cleaning the bathroom, and any other chore you could think of.

When the afternoon rolled around, Pat texted you. Dinner is at five. Heading home now. Wish me luck.

Call me if you need me there sooner.

Time dragged on. When no calls or texts came, you assumed things were going well. You dressed in something you knew Pat would like and then headed over to the Murray household.

Pat answered the door before you even had a chance to knock. He looked tired but not angry.

"Everything okay?" you asked in a low voice.

He nodded. "Yeah, I think so. We talked it out. He apologized. I'm so glad you're here."

You smiled with relief and gave him a quick kiss, which he happily returned. "You gonna invite me in or what, Murray?"

Pat smirked, his arm around your waist as he pulled you into the house. You could sense there was still tension in the air which made your anxiety spike. He led you through the living room and into the kitchen where Brian was setting the table.

He greeted you with a large smile. "It's nice to see you again!"

"You too, Mr. Murray."

"Please, call me Brian."

You and Pat sat next to each other while Brian stepped onto the porch to check on the grill.

"Should I be here?" you asked Pat in a hushed tone. "I feel like things are still tense."

Pat took your hand. "Just having you here is helping me. But if you're really uncomfortable, you don't have to stay."

"I'm not leaving you."

He smiled and kissed your knuckles just as Brian stepped into the room. If he noticed the exchange, he didn't say anything. 

"Alright we got hamburgers and hot dogs!" he said, placing a large serving plate in the middle of the table. "Dig in."

The three of you started the meal in silence. You weren't sure what to say or if you even wanted to start the conversation. Pat and Brian didn't seem to mind the silence and you got the feeling they didn't talk much.

Eventually, Brian cleared his throat and addressed you. "What are you studying?" he asked.

"I'm not in school."

"Oh." Brian seemed surprised. "What do you do then?"

Here we go...you thought.

"I bartend, full-time," you answered, on guard. "I really enjoy it."

"Bartending is great," Brian said, sounding a little too enthusiastic. "It's a good skill to have. Think you'll do it for a while?"

Next to you, Pat tensed. You knew he was worried about his dad's line of questioning, especially after their fight, but you weren't worried. Under the table, you gave Pat's knee a comforting squeeze. 

"I think so," you said. "I'm always open to learning new things. Haven't quite figured out what I want to do long term but I'm young. What's the rush?"

Pat hid his smile behind his glass as he took a drink of water. Brian seemed to catch on to your subtle jab.

"It's true. You are young. But it never hurts to think ahead."

"Dad…" Pat said warningly.

"I'm just saying--"

"I know what you're saying," you cut in. "And it's nothing I haven't been told before. When it comes down to it, as long as I'm happy, I don't care what I do. Because my happiness doesn't revolve around work." You smiled sweetly and reached over to squeeze Pat's cheeks. "As long as I get to see this face every day, I'm good."

Pat blushed and batted your hands away. "Stop it."

When you looked back at Brian, he was smiling. "That's a great outlook to have."

"I think so too."

Things were less tense after your little speech. Brian asked how your parents were doing, and if a date had been set for Vinnie and Nellie's wedding. Eventually, the conversation steered to baseball and Pat took over, giving you a chance to finally relax. 

After dinner, Brian excused himself for a prior commitment, leaving you and Pat alone. 

Your boyfriend led you to his bedroom, closing the door behind you.

"That wasn't so bad," you said. 

He pulled you close, kissing you deeply. It took you by surprise but you returned it all the same. 

"What was that for?"

"You're amazing, you know that?" Pat asked.

"Yeah. What's your point?"

He laughed, hugging you tightly. "Thanks for having my back."

"Always."

He kissed you again, this time his hands traveling down to cup your ass, bringing you flush against him. You hummed in appreciation, tangling your fingers into his hair. 

"What's your plan here, Murray?" you purred.

"No idea," he said huskily. "We don't have much time before he gets back so whatever we're gonna do, it has to be quick."

You thought about the emotional hell he had been through the last few days and knew exactly how to make it up to him. You pushed him backward until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed, forcing him to sit.

Pat stared at you questioningly, until you dropped to your knees in front of him.

"I'm going to blow you now," you declared.

His eyes widened and his mouth fell open in surprise. He quickly closed it and swallowed thickly. "Uh, okay, yeah. Sure. Yeah, that's...yeah."

"You're so articulate."

Pat blushed and glared. "Shut up. You took me by surprise!"

Laughing, you reached for the button of his jeans. "You shut up and help me get these off."

He didn't need to be told twice. Quickly, he fumbled with the button, then the zipper, lifting his hips to help you pull them down around his ankles. Pat leaned down to kiss you, cupping your face just as your hand slipped into his boxers.

You wrapped your hand around him and gave him a teasing tug, causing Pat to pull away with a gasp. "Fuck! Warn a guy first."

"My hand is in your boxers. What did you expect would happen?"

"I didn't think you'd just—ohh, fuck!"

His voice broke into a moan as you slipped the head of his cock between your lips. It twitched in response, rapidly swelling against your tongue. The musky heady scent of him invaded your senses, spurring you on. 

You sucked softly, tongue flicking across the head before taking him fully into your mouth. Slowly, you moved up and down, taking more of him in each time.

Pat's breathing picked up, his hands fisting the sheets. You gave him a smoldering look, head bobbing up and down as your hand followed your movements. His cheeks were red, eyes wide as he stared at you in awe. It was a look you'd always remember.

With a gasp, you pulled off, finally looking at his swollen member. He was long and thick, with a large vein running along the side. 

"Shit, Murray."

He tried to respond but you traced your lips with the head of his cock and whatever words he tried to make were lost. Eagerly, you sucked him back into your mouth, your hand jerking what couldn't fit.

His knuckles were white and his thighs trembled. You could tell he was trying to control himself, to let you set the pace. 

With your free hand, you pried his from the bed and placed it on your head. Pat ran his hands through your hair experimentally, gently gripping the strands. He carefully lifted his hips, burying himself further into your throat. 

He moaned your name. It sounded so fucking beautiful, you wanted him to do it again. You swirled your tongue around his tip before taking him as far in as you could stand.

"Fucking hell!"

You lost yourself in the rhythm of sucking him off, his hands gripping your hair as his hips kept meeting your mouth. 

Time dragged on and before you knew it he gave you a sharp tug in warning. "Babe, I'm gonna come."

You doubled your efforts, humming enough so the vibrations went straight to his cock. Pat swore and his cock grew impossibly hard before he came, body hunched over as his hips jerked upward.

Swallowing around him, you kept going until he fell back onto the bed. Pleased with yourself, you let him slide out of your mouth. 

You wiped your lips on his blanket before crawling up to lean over him. "You alright there?"

Panting, Pat pushed his sweaty hair out of his face. "You're amazing. Truly fucking amazing."

"I'm also wet." You took his hand, kissing his fingers before pushing his hand toward your jeans. "Wanna help?"

Eyes glinting with excitement, Pat sat up, hooking his finger through your belt loop to draw you on top of him. "I think I can handle that."

#undrafted #pat murray x reader #pat murray x you #pat murray #joe mazzello

[crqstalite]

SHADOW OF THE SITH, Ch. 11

i have no excuse for not posting this earlier other than being lazy and trying to fine-tune it. _

KHAAK._DROMOUND_KAAS.

Kaas City was the place to be. Really, it was.

Well, with a certain someone in it.

Mrs. Khaak Beniko would be the first person to admit that over Coruscant, she enjoyed it more. Raining constantly, yes, but it has a certain elegance that can't be found anywhere else. The sleek silver buildings, the gorgeous evenings on the balcony, just the entire style of the place...she was a lucky woman to even live here among the blue bloods of Sith society. Had Lana not invited her to accompany her to such a home three years ago, she'd surely still be living on the Clarity, eating gutter trash and chasing it down with cheap whiskey, watching unsavory videos in the privacy of her bedroom. Half dressed and waiting for death to claim her.

And the Clarity most definitely didn't have silk sheets. Up until five or so years ago, it also didn't have the woman of her dreams next to her in bed. Wasn't nearly as clean either, so Khaak counts it as a win. She didn't think it could ever escape it's perpetual junky state after she'd built it from scraps as a child, but her wife had managed it some how. Lifting her hand into her vision, the glint of a silver band against her deep pink skin makes her warm on the inside. Really, how had she gone from meeting pirates every other day to bumping elbows with some of most influential Sith in the history of Sith, she supposed?

Hell, how'd she even go from getting herself off on her own hand to sleeping with and subsequently marrying one of the most powerful in the Sith hierarchy? It really was a miracle, some star had shined down upon her that fateful night and had gotten her to meet one of the most extraordinary women in the galaxy.

One she probably didn't deserve, and had only happened on accident the first time they'd met anyways.

Figuring she has to get up at some time or the other today instead of internalizing the jump in hierarchy status, she groans and stretches her arms over her head, smacking the back of her hands against the headboard of the bed. Hissing out a quiet curse as not to wake her wife, she blinks a few times and pushes herself up into a sitting position. She yawns, taking note that it's still raining, just as it was the night before. Though, it has lightened up a bit compared to how it had been, which means she might actually be able to go out today and not catch a debilitating cold. She tended to run warmer than the Sith she shared the apartment with, which was the only downside of living on the cursed jungle turned city planet. It meant Lana would pay some extra attention to her nearly freezing lekku though, which also stole her away from any important work for a few hours. Wasn't all bad, in that matter.

Rubbing the offending hand over her eyes, she uses the other to gently nudge the woman awake. It takes a few tries, but eventually the Sith groans and rolls over to face her. Khaak cheekily grins as one eye opens, and then the other. Another offended grunt once she realizes who it is, and she pulls a sheet back up around her shoulders, promptly rolling back over. Snickering, Khaak gently brushes a strand of blonde hair from the woman's face. One golden iris looks back up at her, a grimace on her face. Noting the dark circles under her eyes, she lays a hand against her cool cheek, "Lana, babe, we gotta get up at some time or another."

"Surely the Emperor will wait another few hours for us to deal with him." Lana whispers almost incoherently, finally deciding to move onto her back and look at her properly with a tired look in her eyes. It'd been this way for a while, she'd been less and less easily awoken from her sleep, and was more sluggish than usual. Odd, but Khaak tries not to dwell on the behavior, "What was it you said, you ran on Rishi time?"

"Rishi time only applies to times when you're not needed elsewhere, 'ana." Khaak responds, laying back down against her will. Gently pushing Lana back onto her side and then flush against her, she kisses her softly. An almost pained grin crosses the pale woman's face, leaning into the welcome touch, "Haven't you got places to be?"

"I suppose." She answers, still not exactly either awake or responsive. A visible shiver runs through her body, and she buries her head into the crook of Khaak's neck. Inconspicously, she lifts the strap of her tank top, feeling the brushes of exhaustion against her consciouness. Lana was not going to lull her to sleep again, but there were other things that they could get up to in bed if that's where she wanted to stay. Khaak didn't have anywhere important to be, and the way she was acting, nor did her wife, "They can be taken care of another day."

But after a few moments, when Lana still doesn't elaborate upon her answer, Khaak is actually rather curious -- and concerned. Yes, she was typically quiet anyways (she preferred actions over words, something that took Khaak a while to get used to) but her long undercover mission to Rishi and subsequently to Yavin left Khaak nervous about the Sith's mental state right then. Yes, she was jittery person by nature, but she'd deeply missed her wife and the anxiety that went along with never knowing if she was alive until a few months prior. The Kaasian apartment was too empty without her presence, and there'd been at least three times officials had come to the door asking where her 'Master' was.

She'd shot one of them in the leg for that comment alone. Another almost kicked her out of her own home for being a slave without a Master in one of the most expensive apartments in the City. The next, nearly lost an eye for assuming she had broken in and entered. As soon as he'd drawn his pitiful holdout blaster, Khaak had shot him in the arm and sent him crying back to his mother, surely.

Damn Imperials were stupid and weak. At least the meager, civilian police force in the Black Sun sector had more backbone than the Captains in the force here. Lana hadn't been happy about it when someone at the fucking Sith Sanctum had told her about the infractions shortly before Khaak had managed to skirt the issue for a week or two. It wasn't the first time people had commented on her race, but it was the first time without Lana that she wouldn't hold her tongue.

Spending every moment she had with her now meant everything to her, yet she'd been so withdrawn since she'd returned. Khaak had been filled in about the high profile allies that their little coalition had acquired while watching her do her dark magic healing routine, though she was still absolutely pissed that to 'keep her out of harm's way' Lana had decided to keep her in the dark until they landed on Yavin, and then kept her off the mission entirely by her request. (She'd even attempted to land at the space station, and had been denied access by an esteemed 'Lord Beniko'. She considered shooting the operator through the holo, but resigned to sit at home like a child in timeout as not to 'bother' Lana any further) She most literally could not help being terrified for Lana's safety the entire time without a word for so long (two damn years), and even if they both went down (stars help her if someone killed the love of her life) one, Khaak would want to go down in a blaze of glory against some ancient evil, and two, with her Sith Lord by her side. Not waiting in atmo to hear whether she was dead from some stupid SIS agent, or worse, a pansy of a Jedi.

Stupid Theron Shan got to be by her side for two years, but as soon as Khaak offered to go anywhere it was 'too dangerous' and 'a horribly stupid decision to make' and 'self-destructive'. When Theron did it, it 'brave' and 'self-sacrificing'. All said through gritted teeth, as if considering if he even really deserved the compliment, but it was apparently well-deserved and earned from the tone of voice. Khaak did pout about it for a long while, yes, but Lana made a good argument about not pitting herself against an agent. A Republic one at that.

Khaak didn't have anyone on Dromound Kaas other than Lana.

Khaak didn't have anyone in her immediate life other than Lana.

Her life was Lana.

What she would do without her, she isn't sure. Drift aimlessly back into the cosmos, surely. Probably drink herself into a coma within the first three years, tops. Where the Clarity would go after she was gone, she's unsure. The Sith was her anchor, as much as she didn't want to believe it. As much as she was Miss Independent, she was Mrs. Beniko first. She'd gotten attached, and she'd though this was finally it. Finally where she sat down somewhere. Somewhere she at least felt safe, felt she could let her guard down for good this time.

Why couldn't she have come back sooner?

Why couldn't she have brought her along?

Why was a blasted mission more important than her?

"Lana..." Khaak fake whines, pushing down her growing apprehension in favor of admiring the other woman, "I've got upgrades to do on the Clarity today. It'd be a lot more fun to do with you by my side." That was only a partial lie, her small freighter ship didn't need any fixing up at the time being, but having Lana on the ship to lift the things she wasn't able to was always a good help, and at times, a fun distraction. It was never just 'a few upgrades' or 'a few things' to fix. It was their way of indiscreetly letting the other know they wanted time alone to bond with each other, "We could be on Nar Shaddaa within the hour, be back by the week starts. Get up to things I haven't done since I got off that slimeball."

"No thank you, love. Maybe another day." Lana answers darkly, rolling back over. It's an attempt to get Khaak off her case (she should know the tone, she's done it to quite a few other handsy Imperials in her day), and Khaak tries not to make her distaste at the decision known rather unsuccessfully. The other woman is apologetic at the very least once she sees her wife's reaction, a regretful smile on her face, "I apologize if I come off as lethargic or apathetic, I promise I'll make up for it sometime or the other."

"You've been over working yourself since you got back, 'ana. We don't even have to land on any planet, we could just fly around for a few hours." Khaak responds, gently rubbing a hand over the small of her back as Lana looks up at her with mild annoyance. Ignoring it, she continues on anyway, "You like flying with me, don't you? It'd get your mind off this mess for a while, you'll feel better that way."

"I have work to get done later. I just need a few hours more and we can go over to the Sanctum together later if you wish." Lana answers. Khaak shivers at the thought, she had a special hatred for the Sith headquarters. An indescribable cold was always invading her bones, and no matter how many layers she threw on it would always be there. At least on the Clarity she and Lana would be alone, talking about sweet nothings, nowhere to be and no one to bother them. In her office there was always the chance they'd be interrupted by someone, a well-hidden disgusted look if they were holding hands. Khaak stopped the little touches here and there within the year she'd arrived on Dromound Kaas, it made her self-conscious. Typically from the Council, trying to figure what to do with Arkous' old affairs, but often these little trips turned into little more than excursions where Khaak would have to entertain herself as if she were Lana's child instead of a partner. No one treated her as much more than a decorative object, some would ask her name if they were so curious. One of the Amarillis' (there were six of them, the Wrath, her parents and then her three siblings of varying ages), she thinks the oldest brother often came by and worked extensively on reports based upon Yavin.

She was continually shoved to a corner for hours at a time, and even the fanciful dates out on the City didn't ever fix that. Lana was trying, she knew that. Before her, she wasn't sure Lana had even dated anyone before, so it was a learning process for both of them. Khaak had to slow down the progression of their relationship, and that was okay. But after so long, she would've thought Lana would've caught on she didn't enjoy being treated like this, "We could eat at that restaurant you like afterwards if you're so inclined."

"Right." It comes off colder than it should as a recoil, and Lana's concern is written all over her face after she says it. She knows that she shouldn't be angry, Lana came back in one piece. It's more than she could've ever asked for, especially with the odd details of the mission. But it's been this way for months since she came back from Yavin, and her heart feels emptier than it did when she was gone. Yes, now she saw her everyday physically instead of over the holo, but it felt like she wanted to be even less known that she was while she was undercover. Working long hours at the Sanctum, rarely ever interested in running off anywhere like she was when they were first married. Khaak doesn't even bother going up to her office on her own anymore. She can accept that she's Sith and he's busy, but she did at least think Lana would leave time for them. To keep them as an us, not just a Lana and a Khaak.

It was impossible to know what she was walking into on the best of days. A Lana who needed her, or a Lana who could get by without her.

Khaak hated there was even an option.

Hated there was even a chance Lana might say she didn't need her anymore. Yes, she was gutter trash, alien trash by Kaasian standards, but she could always rely on Lana being by her side and never giving into the stereotypes.

But here she was, trusting someone she'd known for maybe two years over Khaak. Willing to go into hiding for years with him. She regrets even the thought, but she can't help but wonder if more happened between Shan and her. Wondered if there was some stupid fling between them that Lana was willing to throw everything away for.

She wishes these thoughts would just stop for two seconds. That she could be like every other Sith spouse and just accept things the way they happened. But that wasn't how Khaak was no matter how much she wished it. Neither of them blindly just trusted people, and she's afraid that it might put a real wrench into things.

Sliding off the bed, she yanks the tank top off with more force than is really necessary. It pulls up on her lekku painfully, and she grits her teeth in pain, a growl building in her throat, "I can do it all on my own."

A moment passes, Lana sighs frustratedly from behind her, maybe observing her actions. This wasn't going to end well, but Khaak doesn't care now. She's just as frustrated, maybe more, and Khaak deserves to be able to go through her own emotions without being yelled at for it-- right? If Lana doesn't care, then why should she?

"Now you're beginning to sound like Theron." The bed shifts and creaks under Lana's weight as she says it, chastisting her for her out of place actions. Khaak moves further away to the dresser that held most of her clothes. She roughly pulls it open at the mention of the name. Khaak doesn't even want to be compared to the stupid agent, and then slides an undershirt on, yanking her lekku out from under the shirt. A light, tight leatheris flight shirt over it, "There's no reason to be sarcastic or withdrawn."

"No reason at all." Khaak mirrors her, though she says it as a growl without even realizing it. Why is she even getting this upset about all of it? Most of this wasn't her situation anyways, she wasn't Sith, she didn't know Marr and had only known Arkous in passing. She was just a free trader from a dirty sector on Nar Shaddaa who'd gotten unbelievably lucky by marrying into a powerful society. She'd always struggled, never having enough credits, never being pretty enough or smart enough or strong enough. Now she was struggling to keep her own wife from self-destructive actions, and trying to keep her marriage firmly out of the hands of her self-doubt.

She almost has her trousers on, moving over to the bedroom door to slide on her boots when she can hear Lana moving towards her. Khaak tries to calm her racing heart, tries to convince herself that Lana's ineptness at even concerning herself with the possible fact that someone did care, that someone was at home waiting for her, that someone wanted her back as soon as possible, that someone did need her, hadn't flown out the viewport.

There are too many parallels to her own family. Too many parallels to the people that tried to take the Clarity from her. They tried to keep her safe, tried to keep her locked in a poorly built cell of security, tried to keep her a child forever. Now it's someone trying to make her independent in the worst way possible. Forcing her to come to terms with her demons, that have unfortunately learned how to swim through the worst of storms.

She's understandably pissed.

Right?

"Khaak...please. There are things I simply can not do for you right now, there are things beyond your understanding I can't even decipher myself." Lana pauses, leaning against her back for support, "I know I've been gone for a long time, and I apologize for that."

"Do you?" It comes out as a rough whisper, Khaak turns her head over her shoulder, still careful enough that she doesn't accidentally hit her with her lekku, "Are you really sorry, Lana? For putting me through all of that?"

"I-" She starts, but Khaak doesn't let her finish. Won't let her finish. Can't let her finish. If she just bows down and rolls over again, this conversation will be closed off again. And if it's closed off, she can forget about ever getting her wife back.

"Lana I waited for two years for even a word from you. I trusted your life in the hands of a man from the opposite faction, trusted that you'd come back to me whole, and you brushed me off as soon as I wanted to come down and help you! Those two years were a living hell for me, it was like being all alone on the Clarity again, but instead all I had were memories of you. All I had were old holos, your clothes, everywhere you used to be! All in favor of what, some stupid fucking SIS agent?!" Khaak whips around fast, a grimace on her lips as her lekku smack the blast door anyways. If she did have hair, she would've been yanking on it by now, "Now you're back and trying to act like nothing has changed, but you were the one who changed!"

"You don't need to yell, Khaak." Lana answers, her gaze darkening as her tone hardens. She's still terribly intimidating in her dark colored sleep clothing, and her hair mussed. But for now Khaak doesn't have a reign on her emotions, she couldn't care less if she was magically the damned Emperor staring her down with lightning at her fingertips, she would not be quieted again. It's all tumbling out, and screw if Lana wanted to hear it or not, "If you had an issue-"

"'I should've just told you'. Do you know just how well that worked out on this front, Lana? Do you know how many times you told me to go home and wait? How many times I did? How many times I had to chase away people who wanted to take me away because I was an alien in one of the most expensive apartments in Kaas City?" She balls a fist, not entirely sure she even wants to hear the rest of Lana's argument. Khaak doesn't want to hurt Lana, and she's not going to, but it would be a firm lie if she said she wasn't going to punch something once she got out of here. She's already heard most of it time and time again, and she isn't going to be shut down again, no matter how childish she seems, "How many times I was terrified you were dead, or worse?!"

"Don't throw yourself into a tantrum, Khaak. I had a mission to complete, and at the risk of seeming apathetic, you had my approval to stay here through my absence. Whatever they did was illegal." She answers, raising her voice to meet Khaak's tone. It wasn't unusual, but she flinches at the change in volume anyways, possibly instinctively, "The Empire was under attack, and I was going to fight for it. I had access to Arkous' files long before they did, I had to fight Revan before he killed us all."

"What about us!? Were you going to fight for us too? Or was this mission and your damned faction more important than what we have?!" She barked. Khaak wasn't stupid, she knew the Empire always came first because Lana was Sith first and foremost. She had grown up a drifter, never tied to one faction or the other. She traded with the highest bidder, not the most morally close to her own actions. She always tried her best to understand the nationalism that most on Dromound Kaas and Lana felt. But she can't help feeling hurt because of it, fuck her original faction and what they asked of her. She couldn't just dedicate her life to her and then turn away as soon as a mission got tough, "Your damned Empire was worth keeping me away from you when you knew I needed you?"

"I wasn't going to let you run out there and risk your life like you always do! That's what I was aiming to do before you tried to shove yourself into a literal conspiracy!" Lana contended back, "This wasn't your war to fight, it was mine!"

"I wanted to fight! I wanted to fight by your side, I wanted to be with you and you denied me at every turn! Your so-called protection was going to get you killed. Sure you came back alive, but that doesn't mean you can just forget about the fact that you left me here! You left me alone, knowing I needed you, knowing that I love you, and yet you turned your back on me, just like you do everyone else!" Khaak can feel herself cracking again, can feel her true colors shining through again. There were many Lana often turned her back on, and while Khaak felt bad about it most of time, she could understand. This, she couldn't and wouldn't. "Lana, what the hell do I mean to you, if not a partner next to you in battle, and in life?"

"You're blowing this out of proportion, Khaak." Lana claims stoically, crossing her arms, "It was one mission. And I'm back now. I'm here for you."

"You're more distracted than you've ever been. You work and work and work and you throw credits at me as if that'll fix the problem! You look at me as if I'm an inconvience, as if I'm nothing but a friend rather than your wife!" Her voice cracks on the last word, and if she didn't know better, she'd say she were about to start crying. But she's not, she's about to fight someone, and thank the stars she didn't have the Force or something would've broken as she tries not to scream in frustration, "I'm not throwing a tantrum, Lord Beniko, I'm letting you know how I feel about the shit you've pulled with me and I'm not standing for it anymore!" Khaak snaps, a shrill yell escaping her.

Lana's dumbfounded for a moment, taken completely aback as her eyes widen. She's visibly surprised, shocked with her reaction. But her fixed gaze doesn't waver, and she sets her lips in a thin line before responding, "Please. Continue berating me for protecting you. Continue telling me I didn't have your best interests in mind. Continue blaming me for putting your life first. As if I didn't want you alive to come home to, because apparently I don't know any better, Captain." Lana exaggerated, clearly frustrated. Khaak winces at the title, Lana hadn't called her Captain in that connotation in years.

"I-Lana I wanted to help! I wanted to be there for you, and you shoved me away. You let the Wrath and Nox fight by your side, but not me. Not the one who knows you best, but instead your fuckin' Sith friends. Is that how much I mean to you?!" Nox, Marr and the Wrath got to fight by her side, and what for? Why did they get that privelege, and not her? There were always going to be lingering thoughts of self-doubt when she compared herself to the force-sensitives that were around her, but this was just beginning to prove the worst of her fears. She wasn't good enough for a lot of things for a multitude of reasons, but not being some eternally powerful warrior wasn't one of them, "Sorry I can't lift a box two times my own weight with some power I'm not pre-disposed to, but it doesn't mean I can't protect you!"

"Khaak, I couldn't care less if you wielded the Force as I did. I didn't give myself up to you because you were force blind, I gave myself up to you because I care for you! If Revan took you from me, if the Emperor took you from me, I don't know what I would do without you." Lana quiets, unable to meet her eyes.

"What was I supposed to do without you?!" Khaak finishes, throwing her hands up in exasperation, "If we go down, we go down together Lana. It's in sickness and in health and 'till death does us part. It's not until you get tired of working with me, it's not until you decide you're too good to be working with me, and it's sure as hell not until you find some Sith partner that's better than me!"

"There isn't anyone better than you! Revan nearly killed the Wrath, one of the strongest Sith amongst us, and left us all with scars we'll never get rid of. If you'd been the one lying in a medbay bed, I don't know what I would've done. If I'd see you sprawled out in the jungle, eyes lolled back into your head and your own blood pooling out around you, you don't even understand the lengths I would go to enact revenge on your death!" Khaak doesn't think she's ever moved Lana to tears in the years that they've known each other, but the way her voice is wavering she's afraid she may have finally done it. And not in a good way either, "I could not risk your life for something I signed up for, Khaak, and I never will. Be angry if you will, but Theron had nothing to do with this! I doubt he even knows you exist!"

For a moment, she's offended. Heavily. By the fact Lana hadn't even bothered telling her apparent confidant she was married. That she hadn't seen her as important enough to tell him about her, that she was happy with her wife. But then, she stops, pausing to look at her broken form. Her wife is exhausted, and she hasn't slept properly since she's been back, tossing and turning and mumbling in her sleep. Lana has just been through maybe the two worst years of her life, hiding her true identity and living on Rishi of all places. Most of what she'd encountered was still a mystery to Khaak, lots of things simply hadn't been disclosed just yet. That worries her, maybe there was something Lana had seen that she wasn't able to get out of her head. Something the Emperor had done to her that Khaak wouldn't ever even begin to imagine.Maybe Khaak is being unfair, maybe her emotions have been invalidated again. Maybe she's overreacting unnecessarily. Something about Theron still bothers her, but he did his job and didn't get her wife killed while she was with him. That was all she could've asked for, especially for someone related to two higher-ups in the Republic.

"You're not invulnerable, Lana. I know that against all the odds, Sith can die just as much as us force blind can." Khaak whispers, staring at a fixed point in the distance. Their lived-in bedroom, that has seen many quiet nights with soft holos playing, loud nights where neither of them want to do anything even close to sleeping, bad days where they can't be bothered to get out of bed, good days where they stay in each other's embrace as long as their responsibilities allow them, stormy days where they yell at each other and can barely look at the other person.

Like today.

The rain is always in the background, the pittering and pattering of the raindrops against the transparisteel as she tries to formulate words to describe how she's feeling, "Maybe it isn't as easy to understand from your point of view, strong as hell, but some wild blaster shot could take any of us, including you. Someday your fancy force healing isn't going to be able to bring you back like it did now. No one is taking you from me again, not even Marr himself."

Lana is quiet, possibly pondering upon her response, and Khaak takes it as a pass to continue, "Yeah, I am sorry for yelling at you. That wasn't fair of me. But I'm not just going to roll over and--I don't know just let you keep risking your life like this and say nothing, pretend everything is okay." Khaak lifts her head again, but closes the distance between them and gently lifts Lana's head to look at her, "I'm not asking for you to give all of this up, I know the promotion to Minister wasn't given lightly. I'm proud of you for it, and I hope you continue earning what you deserve. But I'm asking you to never forget about me like this again. You'll always have me, and I don't want you to forget that."

"I'd never forget you." Lana whispers, eyes rimmed a light pink, "I thought I was protecting you by keeping you here. There were forces at work that I barely understood, much less wanted to put you through. It was never any ploy to rid myself of you, love. For that, I am sorry. Everything with the Emperor, and then the Revanites...I suppose I was trying to do it all myself again. I thought I could do it all myself."

"You tend to do that." Khaak softly chuckles, scratching the back of her neck. In a way, she isn't wrong, Lana tended to take everything on by herself even when it wasn't necessary. That was just how she was, and no argument would get her to stand down immediately, "Lana, I'd go to the ends of the galaxy and back for you, hell I'd stare the Emperor down and flip him off if that's what it took to keep you alive."

Lana raises an eyebrow, possibly amused with the image and thought, before a gentle smile takes the place of the small frown that had been on her lips, "I do hope it never comes to that, because I would never doubt that you would do such a thing."

"For you? Nothing is impossible." She hugs the shorter woman, laying her head on her shoulder. Possibly it's a little tighter than it needs to be, but Khaak needs her, needs to know she's here, that she's back again. "I'm sorry I was angry, I said things I shouldn't have said. It wasn't fair of me to get frustrated like that, especially at you. Everything you do to keep me here, I appreciate more than you know."

"It was partially my own fault. I left you in the dark for so long without considering how you'd feel about it. I shouldn't have assumed everything was okay here," Lana answers, hugging her back, "It wasn't fair of me to think you'd simply be okay with me being gone for so long."

"I'm not asking to be part of every little Sith thing you do, but maybe let me in on some things? I want to help as much as I can, even if I don't entirely understand. Hell, I'd make a shitty Imperial agent, but I'm sure I could learn." Khaak pulls away from her, still with an arm wrapped around her waist, "I don't want you as stressed as you are now. It isn't all work and no play, 'ana."

"I-" Lana pauses, seeming as if she wants to continue but can't figure how to, "The Emperor isn't dead. Not like how we assumed he was. He's alive, and surely planning something horrid for the rest of the galaxy. The Sith are on high alert, the higher-ups in Council are getting antsy and much too quiet. That includes me. We don't know what's coming next, so we have to stay on top of it all. Especially with me as Minister of Intelligence now, taking a day off isn't exactly something I can do, love. Not with the current state of the galaxy."

Shit, Khaak didn't know that part. She's beginning to think any happiness she had before was all a cover up for what was really happening behind the scenes with this new job of her's.

"Yeah...um, can't Lord Amarillis help you with that?" Khaak questions, pulling a few memories out. She wants this fixed, and now, "He screws around with Intelligence from time to time, right? Couldn't he take the mantle for a few days?"

"Not in the way you're thinking. I could surely use his help, but he has his own problems to deal with, especially with his estate the way it is." Lana looks thoughtful for a moment, considering before flickering her glance back up to Khaak, "I have a few other assets I could acquire for this investigation, surely it will get solved soon enough." With a raise of her eyebrow, Lana smiles gently, "And I promise that this time, you can help, love."

"Good, no running off to fight ancient evils without me again, okay?" Khaak asks, pressing a kiss to her lips that Lana leans into, "Two heads are always better than one."

Possibly unnecessarily, both women are still uneasy after this argument. It isn't obvious at first glance, even they've convinced themselves that all is well again. As if nothing has happened. Lana remains at their small apartment more often than not, Khaak is less ready to immediately run off and fight for something she doesn't fully understand. But Lana still hides quite a bit from Khaak, she can tell. Khaak continues to try and push down her true emotions, if only to conform to the mold she's accidentally made for herself to keep Lana around. It has only been the eye of the storm passing overhead, and another is brewing just off the coast. Neither wants to admit they've simply put a bandage over something that has been bleeding for years.

When they do eventually get the call that something horrible is going down on Ziost early one morning, there's a look in Lana's eyes that Khaak won't ever forget. There's another moment when they're flying back over the Sith Intelligence headquarters that Khaak considers that Lana may throw herself back into this and forget about her for real this time. That is mission may be the end all be all if Khaak doesn't do something about it. Firmly, she argues with the 'Keeper' (there isn't a single person in Intelligence who answers to a real name, and that's annoying as it is) and her wife to at least fly her down to the surface and stay on the space station in case she needs her. If Lana doesn't want her on-planet, then at the very least she will stay where her wife can always reach her.

Where her wife can't forget about her.

-

KHAAK._ZIOST.

"So your name is just Cipher Nine?" Khaak questions, turning away from the viewport of the shuttle for a moment. The woman that was accompanying them down to the surface was a piece of work that they'd met at Intelligence at Lana and Keeper's request. Blonde and deep brown skinned with hair in a tight ponytail and in a clean, crisp Imperial uniform. There are a few cybernetics here and there, and Khaak is undoubtedly impressed with just how high-tech they are. She can make a few assumptions on what each one does, but figures she might be wrong. She would've considered her pretty, should she not have been so horribly uptight. Not even a laugh at a few of jokes she cracked, simply standing at a perpetual attention nearby. Any question about Intelligence, answered indirectly, effectively skirting the entire question and returning to absolute silence. Even the little that Lana had told her about the agent was confusing and lead her around in circles. The fact she'd withstood being brainwashed and going undercover for months at a time, it was impressive but also made Khaak very happy that she never went into Sith Intelligence to follow after Lana. The addition of the modded rifle made her a bit nervous, according to Lana she was one of the most talented Cipher agents of her generation (Khaak didn't know what that meant, nor did she really care), though she posed no immediate danger to either of them. Khaak would buy that as soon as she stopped catching her golden-tinged glare every time she turned around. She felt like she was being analyzed from head to toe, or their was a file being made on her, "No nickname like...I don't know, Cara?"

Not even a snicker or a chuckle at the joke, "My designation is Cipher Nine. That is who I am, Captain." She answers, the Imperial accent thick and her expression unwavering from pissed off or possibly apathy. Nine it was then. Maybe Snips if she was feeling particularily annoyed with her.

"I have a name, y'know." Khaak deadpans back, clicking a few buttons to get them ready to land on-planet, then swiveling around in the chair and crossing one leg over the other, "You could address me that way if you're so inclined."

"Don't tease her, Khaak. That's how all Intelligence agents are." Lana responds, stepping closer to the nav controls and adjusting the belt on her armor. She holds back a low whistle in their current company, even going into battle her wife was a certain type of gorgeous that she couldn't put a name on, "I'm sure she has a name that she doesn't wish to disclose with us." Turning from her, she hands Nine a datapad, "Things are getting desperate on the surface, and while we're far from where I'd like us to be, we're safest further from the population centers."

"What about this Wrath of yours? Didn't you contact her before we got down here? Why can't she just slash a path through here for us?" Khaak asks, skirting the fact about the population centers (she'd been on Kaon during the outbreak and had just barely made it out by the skin of her teeth -- insane infections like this terrified her). When she thought of this Sith and her apparently galaxy-shattering abilities, she figured a few Emperor-controlled soldiers wouldn't be too much of a problem for her. Gritting her teeth, she makes the mental note that if the Wrath comes out of here alive but not her Sith,  she might just commit an unsolicited murder.

"The Wrath is powerful, but I'm afraid the Emperor might target her first due to her inclusion in the mission on Yavin and relation to him as his currently designated Wrath. He may see her as a adversary. Her landing out here is the safest place for us to meet her and regroup our efforts to push through and finish Vitiate for good." Lana answers, as Khaak turns back around to land them properly. A look out the viewport, and Khaak hisses in a breath through her teeth at what she sees.

Khaak had been to Ziost before, had even lived here for a period of time with her old crew in tow, but it had never been destroyed like this before. Never. The buildings were crumbling, and there were so many people running about, some stationary though. No ships were taking off, no speeders that she could see. The People's Tower loomed in the distance, New Adasta was dark from what she could see. The Landing Zone was in terrible shape, speeders and transports alike crashed. As they grew closer, Khaak was surprised no one had begun shooting. It was eerie, as if they didn't belong here. As if there was always something waiting in the shadows, and something is beginning to grow the pit in her stomach. Flickering her gaze to Lana, she isn't so sure she wants to leave her alone down here with only two agents and the Wrath behind her, prior fears be damned.

"I will scout the surrounding areas, Minister. Should I run into trouble or find the Wrath, I will alert you immediately," Nine says as they land, pulling the rifle off her back and clicking the safety off. For some reason, Khaak is quick to believe that the trouble will not be Emperor-made, instead the trouble with be Nine herself. Any help would be good help, she supposes and resigns to trust Lana's life in her hands, "Agent Kovach should meet us soon, yes?"

Khaak quietly grumbles under her breath about having an actual name, and Lana lightly slaps her arm in a mock punishment that Khaak pouts at, "Yes, Cipher. You know the coordinates."

A solitary nod from the agent as the door slides open, and she's gone in the cool air, falling into nothingness with only the buzz of a stealth generator ever letting them know she was here. Pushing yet another button to close it again behind her to wait for her return, Lana lets out a shaky sigh once the blastdoors have closed, and Khaak puts a hand on her shoulder that Lana leans into, "Already I've received more reports from concerned officials and worried civillians than I can count. The Emperor is causing chaos left and right, and I'm not even entirely sure why yet. Everyone needs me all at once, as if I haven't been putting out fires as soon as they're set. Evacuation shuttles are being delayed because of attacks, more and more civillians are being turned faster than we can contain those who haven't. Stars, this really is the end of a world, and no one knows what to do about it."

"Hey, we're going to save as many as we can." She says, trying to reassure the other woman and pulling Lana closer to her and pressing a kiss to her lips, knowing that this might just be the last time she sees Lana again. Lowering her voice, she leans her forehead against her wife's, her eyes going cross-eyed for just a moment before focusing again. She's warm, and with the way her eyes narrow in thought, Khaak has got to get this off her chest before Lana does something stupid. Not that she would, Lana remains one of smartest people she knows, but self-sacrificing actions were considered stupid in her book. Any action that could lead to unnecessary injury on her part was stupid, "It sounds bad, but just this once, put your life first."

"Khaak..." Lana says warningly, a skeptical look in her eyes as she leans her weight against her, "I have a job to do. Whether you like it or not,being the Minister means I protect all the Imperial lives that I can."

"That includes yours, 'ana." Khaak answers firmly, leaving no room for any more discussion on the topic, "Protect whoever the hell we're here to protect, but your's still matters most. Don't forget that, got it?"

They kiss again, and Khaak tries to imprint her taste, her smell back onto her. This mission wouldn't drag out nearly as long as Yavin did, but it doesn't mean her concern will wane. It could be as short as a few moments if as soon as she steps out of the shuttle that the Emperor takes aim for her, "I love you, Lana."

"I love you too, Khaak." Her holocom rings, breaking their eye contact as Lana pulls it off her belt, though her hand lingers in Khaak's for a moment longer, "That's Nine. I'm assuming the Wrath has made her presence known once more. I should collect her before the Emperor decides to first."

"If she's the reason you die, she'll have a lot more than just the Emperor to worry about." Khaak is less that ecstatic to see her go, and is beginning to consider that offer to go and scout for Theron herself, if not to have an excuse to still be on planet against Lana's will, "Look, I'll scout around for Theron's ship best I can, and I'll circle back for you if you need me, okay?"

"Are you sure? I know how you are with these situations, love." Lana says, stepping outside the shuttle, lightsaber hilt in hand. A concerned look fills her features instead of one of stress, possibly considering this offer. But, she resigns herself to a nervous smile, "Do not do anything that will jeopardize your survival, love."

"Huh, feel like I just had this conversation with someone I know very well. She didn't listen at first, but thankfully because I love her, I'll listen to her concerns." Lana rolls her eyes good-naturedly at the sarcastic comment, but the incessant ringing of her holocom again spurs her on to kiss her for a final time before igniting her lightsaber and disappearing into the landing zone in a flash of red, black and green. A certain sense of dread fills Khaak to the brim as she closes the blast doors and lifts off again. Essentially, she's leaving Lana on her own, to fend for herself amongst those who have already been controlled. Hell, she couldn't care less if Nine died (Khaak had half a mind to think all her responses were automated or taken straight out of some agent handbook or the other), Kovach could get himself killed and she wouldn't bat an eye. If the Emperor even touched a hair on Lana's head though, Khaak would find someway to fight the ancient Imperial entity. And shoot him.

Switching gears, she refocuses on the mission at hand. Intelligence doesn't exactly have exact information on where Theron is, but he was still on-planet, and would serve as a good distraction from the current situation. She can't stop giving lingering glances to to the landing zone where she'd left Lana, but turns away anyways. The additional Sixth Line was his idea apparently, according to the file Lana had given her, and she rolls her eyes at the mere idea of the action. If Saresh had approved it, it was no wonder the entire mission was going to shit.

Khaak hated Leontyne Saresh. She hated a lot of people, but Saresh topped that list time and time again. Restriction after restriction on trading outside of Republic entities, and even within it once Khaak had applied for Republic citizenship. She very quickly didn't end up renewing it, and probably lost out on hundreds of thousands of credits because of the Chancellor. She didn't do trade in the core worlds that were under her jurisdiction anymore, at least not legally. At the very least with this fascist government, she could trade as she saw fit. Hell, she was pretty sure the Republic was suffering at her hands, but unlike Imperial worlds, they didn't rebel for some reason.

Considering this, she finds that it's smooth sailing for the time being over the rest of the Landing Zone and into the city district of Ziost, much too quiet, which is an an oddity in itself, typically she'd have to dodge speeder after speeder at this time of day. It isn't as if the Imperial shuttle handles oddly either. She considers what she'd even say to Theron should she see him, or even find him. A small part of her hopes he's dead or gone, just so they all can go home and let the Empire deal with it all, like they always do.

She's beginning to near New Adasta when she can feel the pit in her stomach only growing. A glance around what she can see in front of the viewport leads her to believe she's only being paranoid, and takes a shaky breath in to continue on her mission. But a look into the holocamera recording from behind her is too slow to see the aerial guns slowly turning to take aim for the small shuttle. There isn't enough time for her to speed up or even use any defensive manuevers, because the first shot hits one of the main thrusters, thrusting her in the opposite direction, and the next takes out the other. Spiraling into a free fall and losing control over the shuttle entirely, alarms are blaring, red lights are filling her vision and Khaak is panicking. The safeties weren't exactly explained before they took off, and if there is anything to protect her from dying at the hands of a blasted transport shuttle, she doesn't know. Wide-eyed and nearly ready to jump from the ship anyways, she holds onto the straps tightly. It isn't the first time she's ever crashed a ship, hell the Clarity wouldn't fly properly the first few times and she gathered quite a few infractions the first few flights it had. But, this might end up being the last if she can't get out of this. The shuttle hits something hard, probably a building, throwing her off course and smacking her head against the nav dash.

Seeing stars, all she can do now is pray that the steering still works. Flicking her hands back to it, she finds that it does, but she isn't able to pull up properly to avoid a nosedive into the ground, that much is obvious. Lights flash by the viewport in a dizzying array, screaming is growing louder and louder and louder outside the shuttle as the ground grows closer. So this was how it ended, not in a blaze of glory with her wife at her side, but instead alone, in a shuttle she couldn't even figure out how to pilot in the end, trying to find the one person she hoped to never see in person.

A throw of the controls to the left just as she's about to hit the ground allows her two seconds more of consciousness, watching through wide eyes as she and the shuttle roll and the duracrete beneath her spinning before her. Her lekku are yanked painfully different directions as the safety straps snap entirely, throwing her forwar and another hit to the ground breaks the transparisteel, shattering it into pieces and sending her through the viewport onto the ground. Something snaps in her arm as she falls and skids to a stop on the snow covered ground.

She cries out in pain as it registers that her arm has broken in quite a few places after she tries to move. Her ankle is twisted at a despicable angle, and her head is buzzing like the static in a holcom. A string of obscenities escape her as she tries to push herself up into a sitting position, and she falls back to the ground, laying in one of the most painful positions she's ever been in. A quick stock check leaves her knowing she hasn't lost any of the offending limbs just yet. The shuttle is in horrible shape, looming over her and pieces of it scattered about nearby. With her uninjured arm, she fishes her holocom out of one of her pockets (not before biting back an animalistic scream of pain). Flicking one of the switches on the bottom, it begins to beep quietly as she slides it back to sit next to her head. Not even fifteen minutes after leaving Lana, she would need to call upon her for assistance. Chuckling, she wheezes out a laugh, oh the irony.

Glancing about, she can see why Ziost was in such desperate need of Imperial assistance. Alarms sounded everywhere, though she couldn't see anyone in her immediate vincinity. Khaak didn't know what exactly the Emperor was doing, or why, other than that he was controlling average citizens. A bout of panic fills her as her breathing quickens, wondering if he would try to control her. She hadn't seen much evidence of it just yet, but she's worried he's already in her head, trying to take her over. Trying to get her killed. Trying to kill her.

Where does she go from here, until Lana can send assistance or someone to help her? She can't move, she's essentially paralyzed. The ship is clearly non-functional, electricity dangerously close to swinging at her should she grow any closer to the now death trap. Even if she were able to get up on her own, there'd be quite a while before anyone would come for her.

Apparently, she doesn't have to wait long for her saving grace.

"Oi! This ain't a time to die." A voice shouts from somewhere nearby, clearly feminine in tone. Scrambling up from her prone position, her ankle snaps and she slides right back down to the ground, this time smacking the back of her head against the duracrete. Pain shoots up in every direction, and if she wasn't unmovable before, she is now.

Great going, Khaak.

At least she can clearly see who it is now, a woman bundled up in clothing that she would easily mistake for a pirate. A black market electrostaff is on her back, and is quickly sliding down from a line hooked many levels above them. Landing delicately on one boot and then the other, through her fuzzy vision Khaak can see that she's rather short, but blonde curls tumbling down her head. Her jaw and mouth are covered by a tan scarf that is the same color as the rest of her light armor, and she slowly walks up to Khaak. Using her uninjured arm to point one of her blasters at the woman as she tries to pick up the holocom that she had just dropped, the woman stops for a moment, holding her hands up in the universal 'don't shoot' position, "Hey, I don't mean any harm."

An Imperial citizen then, the accent isn't pristine Kaasian, but instead very much one of the Imperial conquered worlds, as Khaak had learned, "Step away...from the holocom."

"Gotcha there." The woman answers, whistling at the ship, "You definitely had one hell of ride into Adasta, huh?"

"You could say that." Khaak coughs, shaking her entire body as she tries to wheeze in another gasp of air. Great, she might've punctured a lung, or broken a rib. With how today was going, she wouldn't put it past fate to be doing so.

"Ships have been crashing for the last couple of days. Don't know what jurisdiction is up to, maybe trying to keep us all contained down here." The woman pulls out a kolto patch, but quirks an eyebrow up, maybe considering even what to do with it, "Jedi and Sith alike milling about everywhere. Wouldn't recommend the scenic tour if you're new here."

"Wonderful, just wonderful." Khaak rolls her eyes, as the woman grows closer.

"I could try to get you back to my apartment. I've been locked up tight since this whole mess started, it'd be nice to have someone else around 'till I die or everything else goes to shit. Or it blows over, who knows?" The woman bend down a knee to be at eye level with Khaak, showing her a grappling gun and then snapping it back to her belt, "How's that sound?"

Khaak considers for a moment, her vision flickering back to the beeping holocom, her only connection to Lana right now, before considering the woman before her. She's an older woman, crinkles around her silver eyes and scars galore marring what she can see. Sighing, she nods solemnly, "You got a name?"

"Do you?" The woman asks back, making a move to help her up. Khaak bites her bottom lip as her ankle drags on the ground and the woman presses down a bit too hard on the injured arm. But she's up, and that's better than she had been a few moments ago. The world spins for a few minutes as she tries to get her bearings back, and nausea is beginning to creep into her senses. A concussion, probably.

"Asked you first." Khaak responds, as they experimentally try a few steps in one direction, and then the other. The woman is much smaller than she is, so it takes a bit to get used to the weight difference, but they are able to walk a few feet to where the woman had just landed only a few minutes ago.

"Asked you second." The woman says teasingly, sliding the grappling gun back out from her belt and taking aim for much higher than they are now. Odd, but Khaak doesn't immediately question their destination. Taking a bit more of her armor in, she can see that the woman isn't underprepared for this excursions, because other than the electrostaff she also has two Czerka blasters on her hips, plus a blaster rifle alongside the staff. She was packing some insane firepower.

"Fine then. Captain Beniko." She answers, knowing this kind of woman, and that chances are she wouldn't be getting the free ride up and promise of rest if she didn't disclose her title at the very least. The woman readjusts her grip on her waist at the answer, the line shooting upwards and clanging to the side of a building. The woman gently tugs on the gun, testing the strength of the line. When it doesn't snap under their weight immediately, Khaak realizes that her apartment must've been higher up in the tiers of New Adasta. Clever, very cleve, "You, mysterious stranger?"

The woman laughs loud and long as they begin their slow ascent upwards, "Mysterious Stranger? Might add that to my list of titles, put that on my gravestone when I die." Her eyes are smiling, the silver turning a sterling grey in the changing lighting. She looks back down at her, "Call me Cadera."

"Alright then, Cadera." Khaak answers, playing with the syllables for a moment before looking out over the horizon. The view from up here would be beautiful if she didn't have to keep blinking her vision back as it swam before her. Ziost was being destroyed, and Adasta was going with it. So many people would lose their homes in this senseless destruction. Cadera is quiet the rest of the way up, maybe considering what to do next. This must've been her home, considering how well-adjusted she seemed to the chaos and her accent. Poor woman.

Once they reach the top, Khaak is pushed up first onto a balcony of sorts, slipping through a doorway and crashing to the ground. Thankfully, nothing of value is broken, and Cadera climbs over the balcony railing and closes the door behind her. Deadbolts are put back into place, and she closes the meager curtains. The low lights of the room come on, and they're in some sort of lounge.

"Nice place you've got here." Khaak comments, taking in the slightly junky room. Cadera chuckles darkly, removing the scarf from around her face. Scars mar her lips in every which of way, and she smirks.

"Welcome to the end of a world, kid."

#swtor #star wars the old republic #swtor oc #oc #original character #fanfiction #khaak beniko #khaak sayare #captain khaak beniko #lana beniko #female smuggler #female smuggler/lana beniko #swtor fanfiction #ziost

[winterisakiller]

Wanderlust

Title: Wanderlust

One Shot: 1/1

Character: Tom Hiddleston/Callie Williams (OFC)

Genre: romance/angst

Rating: Mature

Summary: He’d known since the beginning she had never wanted the things his life brought, and it had played a very crucial role into why things had fallen apart. Since then he’d taken it as gospel that her opinions hadn’t changed. She’d never said, never hinted at wanting more…But now…Now he found himself wondering if maybe she had done so and he’d simply been too wrapped in himself to see.

Authors Notes/Warnings: This is a follow-up/sequel to Old Flames. I started this shortly after I posted the original story and it took awhile to get these idiots to tell me just what was going to happen. And this is the end result. Thanks to @redfoxwritesstuff for letting me continually throw ideas off and at you. I still can’t fathom why you put up with it, but I am eternally grateful you do.

Tag list: @tinchentitri @noplacelikehome77 @theheartofpenelope @nonsensicalobsessions @blacksuitofdoom @messy-insomniac-bookgirl

As always if you want on the tag list for any of my stories, please let me know. I won’t bite...Unless you ask very nicely ;)

She is truly stunning. The thought stole its way across Tom’s mind as he watched her sleep beside him; peaceful and content. There was something about her that had captured him right from the beginning. He’d known she’d felt it too; he’d seen it in her eyes, felt it in the way she touched him, in every glance. And even now, years later, he couldn’t deny that she still held such sway over him.

 It didn’t matter how much time had passed or how infrequently they saw one another; Callie was always in his thoughts. He thought of her whenever something made him laugh and he knew it would amuse her as well. She was the first person he wanted to call when he found a role that challenged him or when he gotten whatever part he’d been dying for. She was also the first one he wanted to talk to when something had gone terribly wrong and he needed a friendly voice. Callie was the one person whose voice he longed to hear on good days and especially on bad. But something had always stayed his hand; always made him hold back. He could barely begin to count the number of times he’d started to dial her number only to hang up at the last moment.  

 It was hopeless, really. Tom had known it from the start. They had always been in such different places in their lives, had lived to very different worlds. He lived for his work; for the ability to travel, to try on new characters and challenges and to push himself as far as he dared. Sitting in one place for too long brought on an anxiety he couldn’t quite put into words. There was so much to see, so much to do, and so very, very little time in which to do so. How could he risk turning down a role when there was no guarantee he would get the chance to try it again? How could he say no to a promotional tour or meeting when the opportunity may not ever reoccur?

 Callie, on the other hand, had loved the consistency and steadfastness of her life. She’d worked hard to get where she was; worked harder still to keep herself the best she could possibly be and, as such, enjoyed the comfort and security of knowing who and what she was and just what she’d wanted out of her life. Callie valued her own time and to simply just be. She was content to sit for hours reading in her worn leather chair by the window in her cozy living room and had done so as often as possible. She didn’t need the glitz and the glamour Tom had always seemed so at home in. His world didn’t make sense to her; it had never held any appeal for her.

 It was one of the many things he cherished about her. He was simply Tom with her. No demands, no mask, just himself. And he’d loved that. Loved her. Not just in the physical sense, though he could not deny that the physicality between them had always been electric, but all of her. Her smile, her laugh, the way she cared about those who mattered to her and those she barely knew. The quiet strength and resolve she possessed no matter the challenges she faced. She never ceased to amaze him for simply being who she was.

 And if he were to be honest with himself, he could admit she was everything he’d ever really wanted. They clicked in a way he’d had with anyone before or after. But they were too different; lived in two vastly different worlds. Their lives hadn’t and would never mesh in any way which would work. He knew it. And he knew she did too. But that didn’t stop him from wanting it to. And he did. Desperately.

 That was one of the many reasons he’d found himself here, again, tangled up in his bed with her. Why he let himself open to her when he knew there was very little chance of an actual future between then. It always happened. He’d fought it at first, knowing that giving in would only make the hurt worse in the end. But it had all been in vain. He couldn’t fight the electricity nor the bond between them. And, in all honesty, he hadn’t wanted to. He couldn’t have her, not in the way he’d longed for; he knew it all too well. So this, these stolen moments, would have to do. But they wouldn’t last. They couldn’t. Eventually, and he feared it would be sooner rather than later, they would have to part. For good. And that hurt more than he let himself think on. The idea of never again holding her in his arms, of never seeing her smile or hearing her laugh, burnt him to the core. But he couldn’t seem to see any other way.

 Callie turned in her sleep, the sheet that had been pulled over her shoulder slipped revealing a full, round breast and the smooth curve of her shoulder. She snuggled closer against Tom’s side, the warmth of her skin against his sent shivers down his spine. She looked so beautiful, so peaceful, in sleep and he was torn between wanting to simply watch her do so and the desire to wake her and have her at least once more before reality pulled them apart again.  

 It had barely been a month since he’d seen her in the club, her head thrown back and eyes closed as she moved in time with the pulsing music. Seeing here there, just a handful of feet away from him, had thrown Tom; though, in all honesty, it shouldn’t have. London was only so big and he’d always known that seeing her was inevitable. But still, he hadn’t been able to believe his eyes at first. It had been so long; with his work and travel it had been months since he’d been in one place longer than a few days that wasn’t strictly for work. And even longer since he’d been home for any set length of time. Yet, there she was. He hadn’t let himself think about the consequences of his actions then; he’d simply gone to her. He’d needed her in a way he hadn’t needed anyone else.

 And it had been wonderful; the feel of her skin against his, her breathy moans in his ear, the weight of her against him, above him. He’d woken the morning after in her bed, watching her as she watched him from the doorway. He’d wanted to tell her then how beautiful she was to him; just how much he had missed her, how badly he wanted her in his life, in his bed, always. But that would shatter the fragile thing between them. It would break the unspoken rule of whatever this was they were doing. So he’d said nothing and let himself walk out of her life once again. It was funny, really, how he was the one who always seemed to walk away. He’d never let himself think on it; wouldn’t let himself acknowledge it. But it didn’t make it any less true. He hadn’t been able to stay away though, had sought her after; needing to be near her, to pretend just for a little while longer that this could work. That she’d wanted it to work just as badly as he did. Just for a little while

 Tom shifted in the bed, running a hand over the rough stubble on his chin. He hadn’t shaved in several days and it clearly showed. Callie stirred beside him, rolling tighter against him, her leg slipping between his and her head resting against his bare chest. He could feel the stiff peak of her nipple against his skin and bit back a groan at the sensation.

 He wanted her; he’d always wanted her. That had never been the problem. Or, well, he mused, maybe it is. They had clicked so perfectly in the physical sense; she’d caught his eye from the moment he’d first seen her and he’d wanted her then more than he’d thought possible. But that had only been the start of it. Now…now it was so much more. And he knew deep in the marrow of himself that it wouldn’t be enough. The wanting her. The loving her. Not when she hadn’t wanted the spotlight that being with him would place on her.

 His life, the demands it placed on him, it left little if any time for something real. And dragging Callie into it only to hurt her…He wasn’t sure he could live with it. Wasn’t sure he wanted her to live with it. With knowing he would be gone more often than not; knowing that she couldn’t be his biggest priority. Knowing there would be times when he would have to choose between time with her and his career and that his career would most likely need to win. And then the lack of privacy. He knew his fan base, had seen them tear into the lives of women he dated in the past…And ones he’d barely known, just for the simple fact he was seen with them. It was something he wanted to save her from if he could. Knowing it wasn’t what she had wanted. Knowing that he couldn’t walk away from his life, not when he’d worked so hard for all he’d achieved, not when he would end up resenting her for it if he did. And she would resent him for dragging her into it all. She’d been clear that the idea of a spotlight on her life scared her; that she wasn’t sure it was something she could handle, that she wanted to handle.

 And knowing that meant there was only one option left and the thought of it crushed him. He would have to leave…for good this time. No turning back, no second thoughts. Pulling her back into his life, even this private part of it, would be the height of cruelty for them both. Not when he couldn’t give her what they both wanted; a life together; safe and private and theirs. But the very thought of walking away made his blood run cold. He was a coward of the worst sort and he knew it. Putting this off, pretending this wasn’t just a temporary respite in the chaos of his life. That this didn’t have to end. He wished he were stronger. Wished he could keep her, keep this. And knowing all the same he couldn’t.

 “Stop thinking so hard,” her sleep laced voice grumbled from against his side. “Your making my head hurt.”

 Tom laughed despite himself. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, reaching down to brush her hair from her eyes. “How did you sleep?” He tried to keep his voice light and airy but he could see his efforts fell woefully short. He could see the knowledge of it in her eyes. Callie always seems to be able to see straight through him. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

 “You don’t have to do this, Tom.” Her voice was quiet and far too even. He watched as she pushed herself up and away from him, clutching the sheet to her chest. Covering herself from his gaze just as she distanced herself from him emotionally.

 He wanted to scream, to beg her not to walk away. It was stupid and selfish, he knew it. But the desire was overwhelming all the same. “No, please…” Without conscious thought, his hand reached out to grasp at hers, holding her still. “I don’t….Callie…”

 She let out a soft, resigned sigh, “We both know how this ends, Tom. You trying to sugar coat the fact you’re leaving and not coming back doesn’t make it any better. For once just fucking be honest with me. With yourself.”

 The words, though calmly spoken, cut him deeply. He was a coward, he’d known that. But to have that thrown, however matter of fact, in his face stung. “Callie...This is...What are we doing?”

 Her dark eyes locked on his, “I used to hope....” She trailed off, pulling her hand out of his grasp and climbed fully off of the bed. “I know what I want Tom. And I think you do as well. But I don’t think you know what you want and until you do...I don’t think I can do this,” she gesticulated wildly between them, “anymore.”

 She was dressed and out the door before he could force himself to utter another word.

 Tom sat dumbfounded on the bed, trying desperately to figure out just what had happened. He let out a string of curses, hitting his balled fist on the mattress. He should have run after her. Why hadn’t he just run after her? He should never have let her leave in the first place. Not with things so uncertain between them. Not when her words hinted that maybe, just maybe he’d read the situation all wrong. But it was too late now. She was gone.

 He rested his head in is upturned hands and let out a sigh. God, he was a fucking idiot. How had he let things get so far out of hand? He cursed again, knowing it wouldn’t help. A small part of him, one he fought steadfast to ignore, wondered if maybe it wasn’t better this way. Simply letting her go and letting things end. Doing nothing. But the larger part of him screamed that if he let himself just do nothing then he would be nothing more than the coward she’d called him in all but name.

 “Shit. Shit. Shit,” he cursed under his breath, rubbing his free hand over his face. “Tom, you utter, utter wanker.”

 Callie had made a very good point; he’d allowed himself to be drawn into whatever it was between them without considering what he truly wanted…Or, well, without allowing himself to either accept the hard work involved in what he wanted or to acknowledge he wasn’t ready and simply walk away. Instead he kept letting the same thing happen, refusing to see the toll it was taking on them both. But knowing that internally and then having it spoken aloud were two vastly different things and he wasn’t sure how to handle it. Wasn’t sure just what to do.

 He groaned as he pushed himself to his feet and pulled on a pair of jogging bottoms he’d left hanging on the back of his chair near the window the night before. He checked the impulse to call her and beg her to come back. That would surely cause more problems that it would solve. He needed to get himself straight before he risked making things worse between him and Callie. Though I’m not sure how much worse it could be, he thought with wryly. And he hadn’t wanted to find out.

 As it stood, Callie probably had little desire to see him again let alone speak with him. And he couldn’t really blame her. What he had done was the height of selfishness, even if it hadn’t ever been his intention to be so. If he approached her without really knowing if it was because he wanted to rather than because he felt he should…Tom was well aware he could so easily lose her for good. That was something he wasn’t sure he was prepared for.

 Coffee, he decided with a cool certainty, I need coffee. Coffee and a fucking miracle. While it brewed he would have time to think, really think, and then be able to come to what he feared, and knew with a grim certainty, would be quite difficult decisions. His footsteps echoed softly on the stairs as he made his way down to the lower level and towards the kitchen.

 Sunlight poured in from the front windows, bathing the hallway and kitchen in bright, warm light. He pattered towards the cupboard above the sink, pulling a tin of ground dark roast coffee from the uppermost shelf and placing it onto the counter before the coffee press his younger sister had given him as a house warming gift years ago. Turning, he grabbed a mug from a nearby cabinet, a light blue one he’d had for ages with a chip on one side of its rim, and set it beside the tin of coffee. He made quick work of setting water to boil in a kettle by the stove and placing several scoops of coffee into the bottom of the press, allowing his mind to wander as he did so.

 One thing he knew with certainty was Callie had become infinitely important to him. These moments he had with her were little life lines in the chaos his life inherently was. And he’d used it, selfishly, knowing but not really allowing himself to think on the fact there were more than just his feelings involved. It was equally clear to him that Callie cared about him, that she had for a long while now. He’d known since the beginning she had never wanted the things his life brought, and it had played a very crucial role into why things had fallen apart.

 Since then he’d taken it as gospel that her opinions hadn’t changed. She’d never said, never hinted at wanting more…But now…Now he found himself wondering if maybe she had done so and he’d simply been too wrapped in himself to see. That thought pulled him up short. Judging from her reaction, he feared that might very well have been the case. Had he really been so blind? So wrapped up in what he wanted, that he missed the change in her? A bitter laugh fell from his lips. No wonder she’d been so cold, so defeated.

 Tom rubbed his face with his hands once again. God, this was a mess. He’d been so certain before she’d woken, so damn certain that walking away was the only real path left for them. That his flitting in and out of her life, sharing her bed for these brief sojourns, was only causing them both unnecessary and avoidable pain. But now…Now when it was abundantly clear that she herself intended to sever their tenuis connection if he couldn’t make up his mind about what he wanted between them, the idea filled him with dread. The reality of never seeing her again, never holding her, never being able being able to just simply be with her again, shook him to his core.

 The faint whistle of the kettle pulled Tom reluctantly back into reality. Tea towel in hand, he removed the kettle and poured the steaming water into the opened press. Tom stood, watching as the coffee steeped, his mind replaying the look on her face just before she’d grabbed her clothing and gone. It was a knife to the heart; her resigned heartache. The pained and weary acceptance that sat in her eyes, had been painted across her face. And he hadn’t stopped her. Hadn’t done all in his power to get her to stay and talk. He really was a coward after all.

 Once satisfied with the strength, Tom worked the plunger with the smooth fluidity of years of practice and soon the strong scent of hot, fresh coffee filled the small, brightly lit kitchen. He poured himself a cup and, once it was doctored to his liking, headed into the living room. He let himself settle on the couch, propping his feet on the edge of the wooden coffee table.

 The house was unnaturally quiet. It was something he used to revel in. Things in his life were so rarely quiet these days and he’d learned to take his solace in whatever silence could be found. But now…Now it felt oppressive. He shook his head and took a sip of his steaming coffee. He hissed as it burned his tongue. It was still too hot for consumption but he desperately needed the caffeine. Tom forced another sip before placing the mug onto the side table. He scrubbed his face with his opened hand before leaning his head back. This was a mess, pure and simple.

 No matter what he chose, it would be an uphill battle. Between wanting to protect her privacy and his own, being with her would provide complication…And truly walking away and never coming back, that was unbearable. No matter what he chose, it would hurt them both. But staying and trying to fight to make something work between them…He knew with startling clarity that he’d wanted it more than he could find words for. It wouldn’t be easy but then again nothing in life worth having ever really was. And, truthfully, he’d never been one for the easier path. If he was mistaken though…If they tried this and she couldn’t handle it…Didn’t want to handle it…

 He took a deep breath and forced himself to calm. If they tried and she couldn’t or didn’t want to handle what his life would entail…Then he would do his best to carry on. Things in life were never guaranteed, Tom knew that better than most. He’d had plenty of relationships fall apart, lost people he’d believed would always be there. It had hurt but he’d survived it. And logically, he knew if things between him and Callie fell apart he would desperately hurt but his world would not end. But understanding did little to stifle the feeling of panic. God, he was overthinking this.

 Tom reached for his coffee mug and took another sip, cringing as the cold coffee poured into his mouth. How long had he been sitting there? Annoyed, he pushed himself to his feet and padded back into the kitchen and placed the mug in the microwave. Forty seconds would do the trick. As he watched the mug spin lazily around, Tom once again allowed his mind to wander.

 What he wanted was simple. He wanted her. Wanted her in his life, not just his bed. Wanted to know she would be waiting for him when he came back from his travels. Wanted her to come with him whenever she could. But what she wanted, he wasn’t completely certain. He thought he’d known before and he’d apparently been completely mistaken. And if it was mistaken again…

 They would need to talk, really talk. And then he would have to take whatever came of such a conversation, be it good or ill, and make the best of it. But would she be willing to talk with him? If she wouldn’t…He took another deep breath and pushed himself to his feet. There was only one way to find out.

 Tom took the stairs two at a time, quickly making his way into the bedroom. His mobile was sitting on the bedside table, connected to its charging cord. He unplugged and unlocked it in short order, scrolling through his contact list until he found her name. No time like the present…

 He hit ‘dial’ and held his breath as the phone rang.

 And rang.

 Tom fought to ignore the knot in his stomach. She might not be home yet (though if his watch was to be believed it was nearing eleven. When she’d left it had been going on eight and she hadn’t lived too far). Or she’s choosing to ignore you, his mind helpfully chimed in.

 He very nearly dropped the phone when the line finally clicked and Callie’s voice echoed in his ear. “What, Tom?”

 He swallowed thickly before forcing himself to speak. And once he did the words came tumbling out. “I know I’m probably the last person you want to talk to and I understand that. But we do need to talk, Callie. I need to tell you things and I think there are things you need to tell me.”

 The line was quiet and for a moment Tom feared she’d simply hung up on him. “I don’t…” She paused and he heard her take a deep breath. “Somewhere neutral. If we do this, we need to go somewhere neutral for both of us.”

 “Yes,” he answered, understanding the logic of her request. Both his place and hers held far too many memories which would make this so much harder than it needed to be. “Um…There is a coffee shop a few streets over. They are pretty quiet and out of the way….We shouldn’t be bothered there.” Tom cursed the circumstances of his life for what felt like the hundredth time that morning. If he were just any other bloke they wouldn’t have to worry about being overheard and having their conversation splashed across the front page of a tabloid as ‘entertainment’. They could meet and be free to honestly talk this out….And if he’d been just any other bloke then most likely none of this would be happening.

 Tom ran a hand through his hair as he awaited her response; feeling the knots in his stomach tighten with alarming force.

 “Okay,” she finally whispered. “Give me the address.”

  Twenty minutes later found Tom sitting in one of the high backed booths in the back corner of the shop. His double espresso steamed gently before him, mostly untouched, and he found himself fighting the urge to jump and stare every time the front door bell chimed the entrance of another customer. Part of him feared she wouldn’t show. That she had decided to wash her hands of him once and for all. The idea stung but he knew she had every right to do just such a thing. To simply walk away…  

 His attention snapped back to the present as the door chimed again. Callie had changed and showered since he’d seen her last, her hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun and she now wore an oversized green jumper and dark leggings. She looked comfortable but wary. Her smile was small and did not quite reach her eyes. “Hiya,” she greeted him before sliding into the other side of the booth.

 “Would you care for…?” Tom gestured vaguely at his own cup.

 Callie shook her head. “I’m good, thank you.” She folded her hands and placed them before her on the table. “You wanted to talk.” It was a statement, not question, and Tom found himself taken off guard by it.

 He nodded, masking his unease with a sip of his espresso. “You were right.” Her eyes snapped up to his face, their brown depths echoing confusion and concern in equal measure. “This…What we are doing…It’s not working.”

 Callie forced a nod. “It’s not.”

 Tom started to reach for her hand, caught himself, and placed his own hands on the table. “You told me that you don’t believe that I know what I want and that it’s not fair to either of us…And in a way you were right.” He paused and took another sip. “I want you…And not just for a night or two…I want this…Us, to be something, but I thought…With what being with me entails…I believed you didn’t want any part of that…So I was selfish and I took what I could get…And I am sorry.”

 She leaned back against the padded cushion of the booth. “And?” He could read the caution and doubt painted across her features as clearly as if she’d spoken them aloud.

 Her doubt and uncertainty shouldn’t have surprised him. After all he’d not been the most forthright person in this endeavor. And she’d been left waiting and wanting far too many times to take his words at face value. But it stung all the same. “I made the mistake of assuming I knew what you wanted…That you wouldn’t want more because of who I am and what that would mean. And that was wrong of me. I should have asked you outright instead of believing that you hadn’t changed your mind. And that is on me.” He took a deep breath. “But all the same I wish you had said something. Told me explicitly what you wanted. I can’t read your mind, Callie. I can’t know what you’re thinking. I’m sorry I’ve caused you pain, but I didn’t know…Not really.”

 Callie bristled slightly but nodded. “I should have and I own that. But to be completely honest I wasn’t sure how…Or if it was something you would have been willing to hear.”

 It was Tom’s turn to bristle though he could not blame her for thinking as she had. He’d flitted in and out of her life without so much as a promise. How could she think anything but that? “Fair enough,” he murmured. He covered his unease once again with sip of his espresso. “We haven’t been clear with each other and that’s led us here.” He paused again, raising his head to hers. “But we can do better than this. I want us to be better. This…You and me, I want us to be more than just a few stolen nights. I want you in my life in a permanent way. I want us to be truly together.”

 “So do I.”

 The smile that spread across Tom’s face was exquisite. This was going far better than he’d dared hope it would. She wanted this, wanted him too. “Then let’s do this. Really do this, you and I.” He reached across the table, taking her hands in his own and squeezing them gently. His smile fell as he caught the look of hopeful doubt in her eyes.

 “They are wonderful words, Tom. And I want to believe them.” Callie offered a small, sad smile, pulling her hands back from his. “But how do I know that once we leave here and you go back to your life that you won’t just disappear again?”

 “Because I won’t. I can’t.” Tom leaned across the table and took her hand again, imploring her to believe him. “Not again. I cannot let you walk out of my life simply because I chose the coward’s way out. I want this,” he squeezed her hand, “with you. I want to…take you to the cinema. To the theatre. I want to walk hand in hand with you in the park. And all those silly, small things people take for granted. I want that…All of it, with you.”

 “I want that too, Tom. Believe me I do…I just…I need more than words. Can you understand that? This…If I do this…If we do this, I need to know for sure that you are in this. Really in this. I can’t…I can’t open myself up like this without knowing there is something solid…Something real there. I need more than words.”

 Tom nodded, squeezing her hand. He hated her doubt, her lack of faith in his word. But he could understand it. “You need to be certain that I am substance, not air.” Callie nodded. He smiled softly, “I can understand that….I…” He paused, looking down briefly in thought before raising his eyes back to Callie’s dark brown ones. “There is a premiere I’ve been invited to…In Leicester Square next week…Would you come with me? As my date?”

 Callie shot him an incredulous look. “Tom…I…I’ve never...” Her hands gesticulated wildly, both disbelief and uncertainty coloring her tone. “I don’t have a dress…”

 Tom shook his head, raising his hand to place a finger over her lips to cease her rambling. “Please. I want you to come with me….I’ll handle everything; dress, make-up, hair, transport…Just say yes. Please.”

 He watched the indecision play across her face and hoped with all he had she would say yes. She would give him this chance to prove that he meant it. That he wanted this. Wanted her in his life and that he wasn’t ashamed of it. He was aware too, that he was putting her very clearly on the spot, potentially throwing her metaphorically to the wolves. And that was the last thing he wanted. He had just opened his mouth to take it back, to tell her she didn’t have to do this, if she didn’t truly want to when she spoke.

 “I…” Callie started, her attention turned briefly down to her hands on the table. “Alright.” The word came out softly and for a moment Tom was certain he’d not heard her correctly. And then she spoke again. “I’ll go.”

 Tom smiled brightly, taking her hands in his and squeezing them. He could see it in her face, in her eyes that she still was uncertain. Still held doubt. But she’d agreed and that was something. He could work on the rest. He could show her he meant it. And he would.

  Luke hadn’t been best pleased at the work Tom had thrown his way and had told him so, often and loudly. “It’s not that I’m against you bringing someone; you have every right to do so, you great bloody git as I’ve told you for years now. It’s the fact you tell me less than six days before the damned premiere, expecting me to handle the details; a dress, make-up, hair…Dear god, man. I can do many things, Tom, but this is cutting it a bit fine don’t you think?”

 Tom had apologized profusely but insisted nonetheless. Callie deserved it. If he was doing it, he was going to do it right. And Luke had come through, confirming the details with Callie and with Tom. It would be cutting it fine, but it had been doable, he’d assured them both. She would have a styling team and a decent selection of dresses sent to hers the day of the premiere and she and Tom would travel to the theater from hers (it would be a simple enough matter to have the car Luke had hired for Tom pick him up as originally planned and then swing by for her). The process had probably hastened the arrival of Luke’s grey hair and Tom knew he’d owe the man a very nice bonus for his troubles. And probably a very long, restful holiday.

 He’d gotten the text from Luke stating that the team he’d arranged would be arriving at Callie’s in the late morning of the day of the premiere. And the morning of, had texted him to let him know they’d arrived. Tom let out a small sigh of relief, at least things were going to plan so far. His own final fitting wasn’t scheduled until later than afternoon and he found himself with the better part of the morning to kill. A run seemed immensely appealing just then. A chance to clear his head and focus his mind on something other than impending nerves. So he had made quick work changing into his usual running attire and headed out the door.

 He was panting and drenched in sweat by the time he returned, but much calmer in mind and spirit. A quick glance at his watch told him he had enough time to shower before his own team would arrive. He wasted little time climbing the stairs and stripping off his running gear; leaving them in a pile by the bedroom door.

 The hot water felt amazing on his sore muscles and, had it been any other day, Tom would have easily stayed in the shower until he’d resembled a prune. The temptation was a strong one. But he hadn’t the luxury, not today; the coming evening was far too important for him to risk jeopardizing it. And certainly not for something so trivial. He made quick work of washing his hair and body, wrapping himself in the large, navy blue towel hanging behind the bathroom door. He padded back into his bedroom and grabbed the clean t-shirt and jogging bottoms he’d laid out.

 He’d just finished rubbing his hair as dry as he could when the bell by the front gate rang. Upon confirming it was indeed his team, Tom buzzed them in and gave way to the chaos. Once he was suited and his hair had been coifed he’d found himself pacing around the living room, his earlier nerves bubbling back towards the surface. The car Luke had arranged was set to arrive at just after four, giving them plenty of time to make it to Callie’s flat and then to the theater. But four came and went.

 Tom had tried very hard not to panic and had given it a good ten minutes before texting both Luke and the driving company for updates. Traffic, he’d been informed. There had been an accident shutting down several main roads and the car had been forced to detour. They should be no more than half an hour late. Tom had been as gracious as he could be with the news, though on the inside he was a seething mess of frustrated anxiety. Every call he’d made to Callie’s phone had gone to voicemail and she wasn’t answering any of the texts he’d sent either. He could only imagine what would be running through her head when the car hadn’t shown when expected.

 At quarter past four the car pulled to a stop before Tom’s and he’d rushed out nearly as soon as he’d heard the bell. It was another fifteen minutes before the car pulled in front of Callie’s building. Tom had jumped from the car and taken the stairs to her flat two at a time, arriving at her door slightly out of breath. She opened it on his second knock and the apology that had been on the tip of his tongue vanished.

  Simply put she was stunning. Her long, dark hair had been curled and hung loosely over one shoulder. Her dark eyes had been lined in kohl, her lips painted a stunning dark shade of red, only a few tones lighter than the dark burgundy of her dress. The dress left one shoulder bare and clung to her curves in the most sinful way, falling just past her knee. The heels she wore brought her to nearly his own height and the thought of what they could do in them flashed boldly through his mind.

 “You look absolutely…Enchanting.” Tom breathed once words and sense had returned to him. He held his hand out to her, hoping she wouldn’t note it’s slightly tremble. If he had thought Callie breathtaking before it was nothing…Nothing compared to the way she overwhelmed him now.

 She took his hand, murmuring a brief and quiet ‘thank you’ but said nothing else as they made their way down the stairs and into the car. The ride to the theater was, thankfully, uneventful. Whatever nightmare the traffic had been earlier had cleared enough in spite of their later start they would still most likely make it to the theater on time. The idea should have filled Tom with relief but the silence radiating from Callie tempered it significantly.

 “Callie, are you alright?” It was a stupid question and he’d known it the second it had left his lips. The set of her shoulders and the way she carefully did not look in his direction as they road spoke volumes.

 “I’m fine,” she answered, briefly turning her head in his direction.

 Tom let his gaze fall over her, uncertainty gnawing at him. He’d pushed for her to come, to do this with him. What if…What if this wasn’t what she’d wanted? Had he forced her, however unintentionally, into going along with this? That wasn’t what he’d wanted. He couldn’t, wouldn’t make her do this just for his sake. He reached for her hands, taking them in his own. “Callie, we don’t have to do this.”

 Her eyes snapped to his and Tom could clearly see the resignation and hurt in them though she was plainly trying in vain to hide it. “Oh…” She paused and swallowed thickly. “If…Alright then. I understand.”

 It hit him then, what he’d said, how he’d phrased it, had been exactly the wrong thing. She thought he didn’t want her there…With him. And that was the absolute farthest thing from the truth. “No…No. No. No, Callie. That isn’t what…”

 The car pulled to a stop and the dull roar from the crowd gathered around the theater echoed through the closed doors of the car. When the passenger door opened a few moments later the dull roar erupted into a wall of sound. Tom sat for a moment, indecision playing on his features, before taking a deep breath and slowly climbing from the car. He turned then, facing the opened door, waiting. But Callie hadn’t moved.

 Tom smiled softly and held out his hand towards her, “Come on. It will be alright.”

 Confusion played across her face. “Tom what are you…?” It was clear she had assumed he hadn’t wanted her to accompany him on the carpet. And he couldn’t have that.

 “I’m waiting for my date,” he answered, pausing to wave periodically at the crowd. “Come on, love, I’ve got you.” Tentatively, she took his proffered hand, and slid slowly out of the car. Tom could feel her trembling beside him and pulled her tightly to his side. This caused an explosion of noise and Tom did his level best to ignore the unending barrage of blinding flashes. “It’s alright.” He murmured into her hair and felt her nod against him.

 With his arm locked firmly around her waist, he began to lead her away from the car and towards the start of the press line. He could feel her anxiety and uncertainty and did not lessen his hold. “Tom…”

 “I know,” he reassured her. “I know. It’s a lot. But I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.” He pulled back just enough to look directly into her anxious eyes. Ceased by an impulse he refused to check, Tom leaned in and kissed her; firmly and with feeling. He felt her gasp in surprise and took his chance to deepen the kiss before pulling back and smiling down at her. The eruption of noise behind them, the shouts of his name and the click and flash of hundreds of cameras, barely registered for him. He inclined his head towards the waiting press line. “Shall we?”

 She nodded silently and let him lead the way. He saw Luke standing at the start of the line, a look of resigned annoyance in his eyes; Tom knew there would be a reckoning later but couldn’t seem to bring himself to care. As they neared the first set of reporters and cameras, Callie pulled back and began to move towards Luke but Tom took her hand and held it firmly in his.

 “Please,” he whispered. “You don’t need to say anything if you don’t want to. But please, stay with me?”

 Callie looked at him, hesitation painted clearly on her features, for several moments before nodding and moving back to stand by his side. The grin splitting his face was nearly as blinding as the flashes exploding around them.

 “Shall we?” he asked. Callie smiled, nodding her head and, hand in hand, they walked towards the press line.

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston rpf #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston x oc #tom hiddleston x original female character #tom hiddleston x orignal character #tom and callie

[curlyshyy]

New Apartment and the same anxious energy with a while lotta guilt and regret :) (A short story by me)

I love that when I’m too lazy and sad to pull out a journal I can come on here cuz no one looks at this shit. Why do I event still have a tumblr?

The last two nights have been rough for me, as I think new happy events trigger my brain into being sad and hating myself? Of course it’s nights where I’ve had to open the bar at 9 AM the next morning. I suppose that’s the first reason I hadn’t been able to sleep. I hate my job low-key. I once loved Alamo Drafthouse. Adored it even. Then moved to this shit hole in Norrh Richland Hills which is the furthest from the Alamo way, and I’m not valued. I feel like a fuck up everyday. In a lot of ways I am. I’m functioning with severe anxiety and most people don’t know or understand. I do stupid things when I’m having a panic attack, and these managers judge me hard. But here’s the thing I know in my heart, even when I hate myself, I’m a good worker, I’m kind, and will do anything for my coworkers and will eventually get really good at this job.im dedicated to say the least. I think that’s what matters most but for now they just see me as a fuck up, slow learner. I work my ass off though and they don’t see it. If I could work every second of everyday. Ifthis shit hole wasn’t trying to cut everyone’s hours cuz they’re not making any money, i’d work myself into physical exhaustion, like I’m so good at doing. Thats the only thing I can feel. It’s my only escape and I hate being there. This is a little dramatic. My life has been improving, and yes I know I need therapy. We been knew. My ass was anxious at 5 years old. Anxiety is truly hell, I wish I’d just force myself to hurry up and get help, and I wish I wasn’t poor. I wish my mom had saw how fucked I was and made me get help as a kid, but she did the best she could. Could blame the bitch but like, she has a hard enough time accepting and coping with her own mental illness. She hardly acknowledges it. That must be hard to lie to yourself everyday, and say that you just have to choose happiness.

The reason the last two nights have been shit is cuz I stayed up dreading going to work and being there all day and I hate the fuck out of mornings and waking up before noon. Which is why I like closing and usually have night shifts. Since the fucks cut my hours I gotta take what I can get though. I need a constant distraction at night cuz my brain is literally scary as fuck. I can’t even tell anyone about 95% of it. It’s so terrifying. So I usually distract myself with my phone. But I was like “hey, brain I know we’re anxious af and sad, but can we go to sleep?” To which my brain replied : “Remember this event from two years ago? Haha you’re a terrible person.” Then my body physically stiffend, I felt physically ill and my head ached and all I could do was think about past mistakes and everything that makes me a failure and bad person. Typical manageable anxiety for me at this fucking point, I’m just not gonna be able to sleep and I know it. Then I remember an old friend, I used to work with at Chili’s. Javi. Literally one of the very slim parts of the things that I don’t block out and cringe hard about when it comes to chili’s, are our times together. I block that shit hard. I mean just thinking about me in this time frame is enough to make me believe I’m terrible. I wasn’t right. I regret literally everything about chili’s. That place is a nightmare and probably what hell is going to look like when I arrive. anyways god damn. Javi is this sweet kind angel. We were all struggling at this mother fucking chili’s let me tell you. My dumb ass had just come back from vid con (2017) How did I afford that? I spent my rent money. Also I couldn’t afford to eat for like a week. But YouTube was and still is the only thing in this world that makes my brain feel calm. It’s a safe place for me. And I was dumb as shit. Anyway my dumb ass was already starving before Vidcon and could barely afford rent. :) cuz chili’s doesn’t pay well. So I was real fucked when rent came up and literally considered myself lucky when I found a packet of cheezits lying around, cuz that was a good meal to me at the time. I guess I’m telling my coworkers this and busting my ass all night bussing peoples tables and helping out as a hostess which of course paid jack shit. And I know I’m about to go home fucked another night, and Javi, pulls out the $165 dollars he made that night, and hands it to me. The boy had bills, and worked all night too. Who would ever be so kind-hearted to do such a thing. I of course refused, cuz what the fuck. He insisted. I said I was going to cry and he said “aw don’t cry Sheyenne, or I’ll cry too.” And hugged me. I was also super numb and depressed and wanted to be with Hannah so much, and honestly I don’t feel like I was my best self. I look at that person and I don’t feel like it was me. But I used it to pay rent. Still wasn’t eating and he even bought me food one day. Literal angel. I don’t know or remember if I expressed enough gratefulness. I don’t know if I was capable of expressing it. A couple months later he’s about to move to Idaho, and we have a goodbye dinner, and I figure this is a good time to repay him. I give him $100 which is all I could really do at the time, and try to tell him I think he’s one of the best people I’ve ever met. He leaves, and I think we only ever talked one time after that, and I offered to buy him pizZa but never did for some reason? We never really talked again. I alwyas momentarily remember him, but I really have chili’s and the person I was in 2017 so far blocked that I really can’t remember that shit. It’s so hazy. There isn’t a full day I can remember. Just tiny bits and pieces. For some reason two nights ago I remembered him vividly. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I felt panic and guilty as fuck. Paralyizying guilt. I felt like I should never deserve to enjoy anything ever again in my entire life. I felt terrible. I felt like if he ever struggled to make it or eat, then I should’ve been there for him. I stalked his fb, cuz I needed to know he was okay.

He doesn’t use social media too much. His mom however posts about him a lot. Which confused me because I know they have a strained relationship, and he could have a lot of help from his mom, but I think he resented the help, because they didn’t always get along? I don’t know how fucked she was to him though. What fb told me was she paid for him to come every few months. He has a new girlfriend that he seems very happy with, he seems happy in general. He’s smiling in pics. But that’s social media. At best pictures his moms posting. I felt like I needed to know or I was going to have a breakdown. I don’t have his phone number for some reason, so I snapped him a long message. Usually I’d feel crazy to reach out especially when we Weren’t that close but I just needed to. I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t sleep. Then opened at work. The shake machine of course was fucked and I had to put it back together correctly only after shake mix poured everywhere. That’s just my life. Me doing something out of panic, and then having to redo it after looking like a dumb bitch. I truly learn from fucking up. I’m wired so fucking wrong. He finally responds once I’m off work. I read it. It’s not what I need to hear but it’s decent, and proves he doesn’t hate me. He tells me he’s good, but working at Taco Bell, and I know he’s still struggling which makes me sad, but I guess I’ve been struggling to, so I shouldn’t hold myself accountable for not reaching out. I’ve been so poor, and me and Hannah are just now catching up, and taking a breather after 2 years of struggling. I let my mind rest though because he’s alive and he’s eating and has a girlfriend and family who are looking out for him. Until the next night when I should be exhausted from no sleep. The guilt starts eating away at me again. I feel like I shoukdve sent him more money,but after a while I stopped thinking about it because of all that I was going through and that made me feel selfish. I felt that I owed him for my entire life. Maybe I blocked out how much he and his kinda gesture meant to me because anything regarding chili’s, is so far removed, and maybe that super vivid memory, is what I needed to remind me. I’ve also been struggling heavily with my mental health and off and on numb most of the time, so it is possible that I wasn’t as grateful as I could’ve been or at least didn’t properly show gratefulness. So I once again reached out and also sent $20. I really went for it this time. I said I literally need to know you’re okay and happy, and for you to know how special you are and sorry if this sounds crazy dog. Like I must’ve seemed fucking insane but I needed him to know. I don’t know why it was physically paining me so much. Maybe because of all the roommates and so called friends who disappeared without paying rent and left me fucked with no second thought of how I’d eat tomorrow. I just couldn’t bare to think that, He was out there roughing it, maybe Skiping a meal, (like Hannah and I’ve had to so so many times thanks to people who literally could give a fuck less.) After he was there when I needed help. He ended up telling me he didn’t need money, and that he did what he did because he was my fiend, and he even apologized that I didn’t have any friends at the time that would’ve helped me the way he did. He apologized. He told me that I deserved it. That really calmed me. I guess I forgot the good that I did because I just remember the bad. I guess I didn’t think about the positive effects I had on him. That I must’ve done something right for someone to care so deeply that they just handed me that kind of money, after a long shift. He saw that, and maybe he felt he owed me in a weird way. I still feel like I owe him. I wish I’d talked to him sooner. Genuinely good people are hard to find. Who tf would do what he did? Seriously. I am so glad I reached out though.

It worries me though. How small past events can trigger me so hard. It’s a snowball effect. Anxious about work, life, who I am, past mistakes, and it’s paralyzing and hurts my entire body and keeps me from sleep and makes me feel undeserving of a good life or any enjoyment. I really need to get help because it’s getting to an unmanageable point, like it was after I graduated 3 years ago. It scares me that so many past memories are blocked expect for bad ones and bits and pieces. It scares me that, there has never been a completely care free 100% happy period of my life, that lasted longer than a couple days, and now as an adult it’s an even shorter amount of time. Genuine happiness is rare and make men feel pointless. I’m empty most of the time and want things and have the capacity to work hard and achieve them but also feel that I don’t deserve them. I am capable of happiness and some days, I do feel genuinely happy even if it doesn’t last the whole day. My family and Hannah still have a lasting impact on me and even when I’m an unfeeling zombie, I still know love, and numbness makes it hard to feel but somehow not entirely impossible. Little bits of light get through the cracks, and in some ways I’ve gotten better at managing my brain, and I truly don’t want to die or think I deserve to like I once did. The guilt attacks and fears of being bad, and some how accidentally hurting someone emotionally or physically, still fuck my head up because I could never hurt anyone intentionally and feel guilt for any small pains caused alwyas. I wish I could take back many wrong words and hurtful actions done and said to loved ones, but I can’t but it’s okay because they forgive me, so I can forgive myself too. I have to let go of the past.

This really creeped in again because I started to feel excited about a fresh start and our apartment. My brain tries to tell me I don’t deserve it. I deserve to decorate with Hannah, and to allow myself happiness so that I can be happy and enjoy life and be a better girlfriend. I also need to get a new job that doesn’t make me feel like the scum of the earth.

A part from that all I’m feeling a lot better. I’m off tomorrow. I watched Phil’s new video and it made me feel hopeful, proud and nostalgic. YouTube and the youtubers that have been the stand ins for the lack of friends, have comforted me, inspired me, and put my brain to rest, and assured me I’m not as weird and alone as I think I am. That’s why I want to do YouTube. It’s a tough though. Editing takes a lot of time and I want to make things I’m proud of. I want to make music even though I’m bit a musician, I want to keep writing and actually read again like free 12 year old me did. I read and wrote so much then. I want to be that me again. I want to reach other people and help them feel less alone, I want to make a difference and I want to not feel like a failure. I just need to get past all of this guilt and I really think this is the start of that, and my journey to creating.

[chicksung]

Red and White Roses- PJM Hanahaki Disease AU Chapter 1

Genre: Hanahaki AU, a little bit of fluff, quite a bit of angst

Pairing: Hanahaki Park Jimin x Hanahaki Reader

Warnings: Mentions of anxiety, mentions of Bipolar Disorder, description of verbal fighting

Summary: Everything in your life is spiraling out of control, your parents are getting divorced, 2 of your siblings are moving in with your father, you have to find an apartment and continue your English major at college and panic attacks are becoming a frequent thing, but what puts the cherry on top of your anxiety built cake? The name engraved into your right hand and the flowers growing in your stomach.

Post Date: 2/2/19

Word Count: 2,126 words, 11,510 characters 

A/N: Hi, this is my first fan fiction on Tumblr and I’m not very familiar with writing these things, but please leave your opinions and critiques in the comments/ notes??? Enjoy!!!

Chapter One II Chapter Two II Chapter Three II Chapter Four

You woke up with a sigh and a heavy heart. You can hear the echo of your parents’ voices from last night, the memories of it flashing in your mind like a feature film.

This was a normal night in the Lee household. The night had started off normal enough, having takeout for dinner, watching the movie your siblings, Lisa (7), Jackson (13), Jisoo (14) and you, Y/N (19) had picked out that afternoon. Your father came home at 8:00pm that night, clearly tired shown by the dark circles under his eyes. He smiled at his children spending time together. You had come home from Busan to Daegu for Winter Break, the stress of college being washed away the second you set foot in your childhood home. You turned your gaze to your father, smiling at him before clambering off the couch and into his arms. “Appa! You’re home! I’ve missed you.” You say, sounding like Lisa, a hearty chuckle erupting from his throat. 

“I missed you too, little one.” He responded, using the name he always called since you were 2 years old. Your siblings jumped up from the couch, greeting their father as well. Soon after, the mood died down when your mother entered the room, clad in a fuzzy nightgown. 

“You’re home late, jagi.” She grumbled, her voice sounding suspicious of his whereabouts this late at night.

“ You know how it is, signature after signature. It was just a lot of paperwork.” He said in his sweet tone. Your mother threw him a look before turning to exit the room. 

9:00PM rolled around and your in your room, covering Lisa’s ears and cuddling Jisoo and Jackson close. Your parents are fighting...again. This was never an irregular occurrence. Your parents had been struggling to keep their marriage together for about 18 months now. It all started when your father was seen with another woman he insisted was a co-worker. Your mother didn’t believe him..at all. This time, they were fighting about them, the children. You had always been a second mother to them, as your mother was ‘busy’ but when you moved into your college dorm, the first night, Jisoo had called you to tell you that your mother was screaming at Jackson for no apparent reason. The older ones knew it was because of your mother’s severe case of Bipolar Disorder. Lisa was sobbing and shaking with fear, Jackson was curled up into your arm and Jisoo was hugging her knees to her chest. After about an hour or so, the shouting and screaming died down and now there was only the soft hiccups coming from Lisa filling the room. Another hour passed when there was a knock on your door. You got up from your bed opened the door. Your father stood there, tears staining his cheeks, his tall and slim build towering over you. He told you to bring your siblings into the living room. Anxiety shot up your spine, afraid about what was going to happen. The last time they had had a family meeting, Jackson had snuck out of the house to go to a party hosted by his friends and gotten drunk off his face. 

You, Jisoo, Jackson and little Lisa walked to the living room, the looks and aura both your parents gave off already gave you a bad feeling, but looking at your siblings made you even more scared. To say they were all scared would be an understatement. Your parents looked around at everything except each other and their children. Your mother finally cleared her throat and looked straight at you. “Kids, you know that your father and I love you all very much, but we have made the decision to get a d-divorce.” Your mother choked out the last word, her eyes brimming with tears. You had always knew this would come sooner or later, but you didn’t expect it to hit that hard. Jackson was the first to cry, then Jisoo, then yourself and finally the baby of the family, Lisa. While you cried, your father explained that when Winter Break ends, Jackson and Jisoo would move in with him on the other side of Daegu so they were closer to their school, Lisa would stay with your mother and you would go back to Busan and live in your dorm until the end of the year, then you would buy an apartment. The information sunk in with everyone, but Jisoo didn’t want to leave Lisa all by herself. Jisoo knew she had no choice, she knew she couldn’t win this fight but still tried. With that said, you all trudged off into your seperate rooms (except Jisoo and Lisa who shared one) all in an emotional wreck.

You finally gathered up the courage to flip the blankets back and get ready for the day. Normally, you would be working at the small cafe run by your best friend/ boss, Nancy. However, you had called her last night before you went to bed, telling her you couldn’t make it to work. When she asked why, you broke down into tears, spilling everything to her, letting her listen to your family problems. She consoled you, telling you that she understands and that’s she’s there if you need her. You smiled as you realized she used the same words that you did when her parents got divorced and the times she was dumped by her 2 previous boyfriends before finding Namjoon, the only boyfriend you approved of. You walked into your bathroom, looking at your (disgusting might you add) reflection. Your hair was disheveled from the little sleep you got last night, your eyes are red and puffy from crying, yesterday’s mascara and eyeliner (the only the makeup you really wore on the daily) left smudges on your cheeks, reminding you of the tsunami of tears you spilled last night. You sighed once more before disrobing and having a warm shower, calming your tense and depressed mindset. The warm water hit your skin like thousands of bullets, hoping to wash away your pain. Even though you knew it couldn’t, it was a nice pain numbing treatment. You change into a pair of grey sweats, a plain white bra underneath a twilight (as in the color, not the movie/book series) purple shirt. You stepped out of your room, which was actually the guest room, dull and white, and into the kitchen. There you meet Jisoo who is in the same state as you, staring at hot cup of peppermint tea in front of her. “Hey, sis. Hope you got at least some sleep last night.” You chimed at her, breaking her gaze away from the tea. She smiled weakly and halfheartedly. She sighed before getting up from the table, walking towards you before she rested her head on your chest. You wrapped your arms around her. You two stayed like that until Jackson walked, looking even worse than the both of you put together. His hair was sticking up in all directions, dark rings circled his under eyes, his eyeballs red and his sockets puffy from crying. He looked like a shell of his usual bubbly and annoyingly loud personality. You unwrapped one of your arms from around Jisoo and scooped him into your hug. You held the two of them close to your chest, squeezing your eyes shut to stop the tears. You loved your siblings more than anything, they meant the world to you and to see them so quiet and sad shattered your heart into a million pieces. You released your younger siblings from your ‘big sis bear hug’ as they liked to call it. You carded your fingers through their hair with the kind look in your eye you saved for only the people you cared for the most. 

“Hey, how about I make pancakes, bacon and eggs for breakfast. My treat.” You whispered to them, a wide smile spreading across your face. Jackson and Jisoo smiled weakly as you busy yourself finding pans to cook breakfast with.

A few weeks had gone by since your parents had revealed they were getting getting divorced and you were now helping Jisoo pack up here belongings into the last of the boxes in her room. It was last time you would get to see her before going back in less than three hours, as your train to Busan (anyone get my reference) left soon. You placed her trophies from talent shows and dancing competitions in bubble wrap before placing them in a cardboard box labelled ‘Fragile’. You looked into Jisoo’s dark eyes as she signed for the umpteenth time that morning. “Ji, what’s wrong? You keep sighing, what’s going on?” You asked her in your caring yet motherly tone, placing the last of her trophies in the box. She sighed once more while holding a photo frame in her hands loosely. 

“It’s just...I’m not gonna see Lisa for what feels like forever. She’s so important to me, and now that I can’t protect her or cuddle and calm her when she has nightmares, it scares me. What if she gets bullied at school for not having a father figure in her life? What if she gets bullied and I’m not there to protect her? What if sh-” You cut Jisoo off, placing one of your hands on her shoulder. 

“Jisoo, I said the exact same thing about you to Mom when I moved to Busan. I was so anxious and upset and angry with myself that I wasn’t gonna be able to watch you grow up into a woman and everyone else would. Don’t worry about it, you have your whole life to worry, but right now, focus on yourself. I am always a phone call away if you get worried.” She smiles at you when you give her the same kind eyes you had always shown her. 

“Hey, Y/N?”

“Yes, lil sis?”

“Thank you.” 

“Anything for you, sis.”

As your mom pulled into the train station with all of your siblings in the backseat, you exhaled deeply. You opened the door and pulled yourself out of the passenger side, rounding to the trunk. You opened it and pulled out your suitcase, pulling up the handle and rolling it to the left side of the car. Your siblings are stood there, looking at you with sad puppy eyes. You smiled at your siblings’ hilarious attempts to get you to stay.

“Aish, guys, I don’t want to go back either, I want to stay with you guys too. But school is important and I want to graduate. Come here.” You rushed towards them, scooping them into one of your ‘Big Sis Bear Hugs’. You held them close to you, wishing you didn’t have to part ways with your family. You sighed as you pulled away and placed a kiss on each of their foreheads. You grabbed your suitcase once more, you turn to the Daegu Train Station. You pulled out of your pocket and placed in your earphones before turning on your heel to wave to your siblings, who have all squashed their faces against their windows as they waved back. You chuckled to yourself and walked into the train station. You bought your ticket and scanned it on the gate to the station. The train didn’t take as long as you’d expected it to take. You walked onto the train with a mob of strangers, which would normally freak you out and cause your anxiety to trigger, but with your favorite artist playing in your ears, you felt as if you had nothing to worry about or lose. Your heart still ached with the thoughts from last night of course, but music always helped you feel at least a tiny bit better.

Your dorm mate and best friend, Jimin said he’d pick you up from the train station in Busan. This normally wouldn’t be a problem but having him as your dorm mate for the second year in row, you had developed a huge slight crush on him. However, he wasn’t like the rest of your high school crushes. You had never been this close nor shy about a crush like you had with Jimin. He was somewhat different. When you saw him at the train station, you called out his name, making him look up from his phone. He smiled and rushed over to you, pulling you into a friendly hug. You felt the tips of your ears and cheeks flush pink at the very least. When he pulled away, he took your suitcase and gave you his sweet eye smile. The first time he spoke these words was when you felt the slight itch on your right hand.

“Welcome back, Y/N”

Chapter/ Part 1 Finish.

A/N: Hey, Kookie all the way down here, I know this was really long but I enjoy long parts. It just gives me something to look forward to. So let me know I did. Like I said at the start of the chapter, I would really appreciate it if you left some tips and critiques about it and if you would like to see more and don’t be afraid to send me requests, I am so ready for whatever you have for me!!! Love you my Taecups 

#park jimin #hanahaki #hanahaki disease #hanahaki disease au #hanahaki diesease fanfic hanahaki disease fanfics #bts #btsau #bangtan boys #bangtan book club

[thisselflovecamebacktome]

My personal connection with Taylor’s discography, part six: Long Story Short

Basically this is just a series I’m doing where I write down my feelings on what each of the Taylor songs means to me personally on a line to line basis both for my own sake to have it somewhere and for anyone who wants to know anything further about me. 

Before we start though, I will give a trigger warning that there will be mentions of death, suicide, rape, abuse, drug use and inappropriate (non-sexual/romantic) relationships as part of this post.

So with that in mind, let’s get started.

Long Story Short

A song that’s not about my family at all? What a shocker. As a whole, this song is very reminiscent of how the trauma I faced in my mid teens led me to re-evaluate my whole life and make better choices not only in regards to that, but areas I hadn’t previously comprehended as unhealthy.

Fatefully, I tried to pick my battles ‘til the battle picked me

I’ve mentioned before that as a kid, I hated causing any type of conflict. I was also the kind of person who didn’t stick up for myself when I was bullied or felt uncomfortable because I saw it as a thing of if these people were that stupid/insecure to do that, that’s on them not me. But actions build up and I learned that the hard way when my brother’s friends who had been sexually harassing me for years raped me, leading me to be thrown into a court fight. In the same year, I was also fighting with my mental state while dealing with the death of two friends (one from a suicide I witnessed and one from a brain tumor) and harassment from people who thought I was responsible for the suicide, including his parents. Things only went from bad to worse when I became friends with someone who later went on to abuse me in every way.

Misery, like the war of words I shouted in my sleep

PTSD really just do be like that. Like there’s not much else to say, the chronic nightmares, anxiety and depression I felt at the time alongside my anger was at its worst. It really did feel like ‘the world moves on another drama drama, but not for me, not for me, all I think about is karma’ actualised.

And you passed right by. I was in the alley surrounded on all sides

At the time all of this was happening, I didn’t try to reach out for help. As a result, it felt like my loved ones just left me and walked away when in reality they were unaware of what was going on. Likewise, I like this line as a bit of a nod to the friends I hadn’t met yet. We all lived in the same city and likely could have met beforehand, but given my mental state, the timing wasn’t there and to be honest, that was for the best.

The knife cuts both ways

A lot of the actions I took at the time was meant to get back at these people that hurt me, but ultimately it did just as much if not more damage to myself. And even in the actions that were meant to be nice/help me forgive myself like becoming friends with the person who later abused me because he ‘needed’ me and I ‘needed’ to redeem myself and show I could stick with someone after the suicide, I knew it was harmful yet kept going with it.

If the shoe fits, walk in it ‘til your high heels break

As I’ve implied, while this was happening, I was pretending to be fine. I figured if I could fake it for long enough, I’d go back to who I was before and life would go on how it was ‘meant’ to be. But refusing to feel emotions or work on your issues only gets you so far, and when you fall, you fall harder than you otherwise would have.

And I fell from the pedestal right down the rabbit hole. Long story short, it was a bad time

Before any of this stuff happened, I really did feel like I had everything. I was a top student with acceptance letters to some of the most exclusive colleges (year 11 and 12 here) already handed to me, had a large group of friends, I was getting along with my family and despite us not being together, my ex and I ‘knew’ we were going to get back together at some point. After the suicide, my ex blamed me out of projected anger (although he came back and believed me straight off when the rape happened), I distanced myself from nearly everyone else to not be a pain and within two years I went from being the top student to failing out of school and started using drugs, alcohol and other unhealthy methods to cope.

Pushed from the precipice

Despite my other issues predating it, I really feel like the abusive friendship was the moment I was pushed from the precipice so to speak. Like without that, I think I eventually would have picked myself up much sooner and sought out help. But when someone is out there convincing you that your friends hate you and vice versa alongside drugging, sexually and physically abusing you and otherwise convincing you that your unhealthy habits are for the best while convincing your parents that he’s a sweet, intelligent guy who ‘admittedly has issues with emotions due to my autism’ to the point they think you dropping him is ablest, well yeah, there’s not much chance of you getting back up.

Clung to the nearest lips. Long story short, it was the wrong guy

Though most adults didn’t take my situation seriously and I was too scared to take help from most of the rest, there was one man who was able to convince me to open up and safely leave the abusive friendship. And as someone just trying to escape everything, I was willing to take that escape in whatever form it came in. I’d spend all my class times and breaks with him, had his number to call and address to visit if I needed it and really just relied on him for everything. And while I doubt he ever meant to be malicious and nothing was ever sexual or romantic between us, it shouldn’t have been him. He was twice my age and my teacher. And the older I get, the more I realise that.

Now I'm all about you

Since then, and especially in the last two years, I’ve reached a point where I have solid and healthy friendships with all my loved ones and they rightfully get all of my effort and attention.

Actually, I always felt I must look better in the rear view. Missing me at the golden gates they once held the keys to

This is still a mood to be honest. Like I still look at how I was at 19 and feel like that was my peak at times. But at the point of my life that this song as a whole reminds me of, every part of my life and personality changed. And despite now realising that that was for the better, there are still days where I question what would have happened if none of that did and wish that I still had certain traits I did back then (confidence, intelligence etc).

When I dropped my sword, I threw it in the bushes and knocked on your door, and we live in peace. 

This process also made me realise what is important in life and led to me reconnecting with people from my past and choosing to reach out for help and live in as much peace as possible rather than fighting over every little thing.

But if someone comes at us this time I'm ready

In saying that, I never lost my ‘mum friend’ trait and will still cut a bitch if someone comes after someone I love.

No more keeping score, now I just keep you warm. No more tug of war now I just know there's more

Like I said, this experience and 2018 are the two times in my life where I realised that in healthy relationships you don’t bring up things the other person did to “win” fights or expect to have to fight at every step if things aren’t going to your liking. Moreover, on/off relationships and friendships aren’t a sign of dedication or passion or love, especially when it’s over the same shit. Sometimes, it’s about seeing the big picture and having each other’s backs and talking shit through even when you’re upset with them.

And my waves meet your shore ever and evermore

As mentioned, I’m in a spot now where all my friendships and found family are much healthier and because of that, it doesn’t matter how far out I go, I know I will end up back with them and we’ll be part of each other’s lives in some manner for as long as possible.

Past me, I wanna tell you not to get lost in these petty things

While most people wouldn’t call what I went through petty, they’re definitely things I got lost in and genuinely thought would determine and stick with me my entire life. And while obviously my PTSD didn’t just go away, it really doesn’t define me anymore. Like there are months at a time where I just do not think about these events anymore and outside of the really bad days, they’re just memories. I went on to do bigger and better stuff than I ever dreamt of. And really my only regret is that I spent years wrapping myself up in nothing but these events.

Your nemeses will defeat themselves before you get the chance to swing

The truth of the matter is I really don’t know if most of my nemeses ‘defeated themselves’. I know one out of six of my rapists died in prison and another one was unable to live his dream of being a cop because I have a restraining order against him (unfortunately seeing as I mostly know from him breaking said restraining order or getting his friends to ask me to stop it), and I know that my ex and brother stopped being friends with my rapists. But that’s it. I don’t know anything about that abusive friend anymore, I don’t know how the friend who committed suicide’s family is doing and I don’t know anything else about my rapists. All I know is that despite spending years thinking about how I’d get back at them and how that would regain my sanity, I never did. Instead, I built a world without them where I am at peace with myself and everything that happened most days. Like genuinely I do not care how they’re doing whether it be good or bad. And quite frankly, that’s the best conclusion I could have asked for.

And he's passing by rare as the glimmer of a comet in the sky and he feels like home

Again, this just reminds me of my found family. Every time I have tea with my best friend and his daughter or I stay the night at my partner’s place or whatever else, I feel like I’ve found the people I was meant to be with. For a girl who lost her home and everything about her, what I’ve found is rare and many in life don’t get to get that. And I’ll never forget that.

If the shoe fits, walk in it everywhere you go

Despite having times where I wish I could go back, I’m more comfortable with myself now than I ever was. My personality is more based on important things like my connections and interests rather than being what others wanted me to be and I’m not so strung up and anxious over what the future holds. And while that may not be as ‘impressive’ as what I may have turned into had trauma not knocked on my door, it’s more maintainable and realistic and I couldn’t ask for anything more.

Climbed right back up the cliff. Long story short, I survived

Though my life isn’t going to plan at the moment, I must say, it’s going pretty well for someone who really thought she was going to end her own life before turning 18 yet is somehow making it to 25 1/2 next Tuesday. So ultimately, while I know I never should have had to go through any of this, because I did, I know that I will be able to go through anything that comes my way in the future. And something about that brings me more tranquility than I will ever be able to vocalise.

#taylor swift #long story short #evermore album #about me

[somekindofseizure]

When the Ink Dries VI (ch 13-16)

Rated: Explicit

Thank you: @icedteainthebag for brilliant feedback and guidance

Warning:  This story contains many potentially sensitive topics, too many to separately mention.  Read cautiously or have a friend vet it for you if you’re sensitive to something in particular.

Apology:  for it taking so long.  I recommend a refresher, if you can stand it, of at least the most recent chapters.

Read the previous chapters here

*****

Chapter 13

 Mulder was on the porch when he got the phone call, the shrill landline ringer pricking the post-midnight air from behind the screen door like a chorus of crickets.  Out here in the middle of nowhere, it seemed a new species of bug came into existence once a week.  They used to refer to the place where he was sitting as Scully’s spot - now, like it or not, all the spots were his.  He’d been watching the driveway like a Golden Retriever every night since she moved out, faithfully expecting his vigilance to bring her back sooner, full of self-pity and priding himself in his loyalty.  The past couple of years, it seemed like he was busy anytime she was sitting out there.  But the tasks on his to-do list which were once so important only held his attention so long as the smell of her shampoo still hung in the doorway over her empty coat hook.  Once that was gone, there was nothing left to do.

 In the rush and hush of it all, Stella’s smooth, silvery voice sounded even more illicit than it did any other time - so much so that at the beginning, he’d had a moment of panic where he wondered how he’d wound up on the phone with a nine-hundred-number.  

It was a very brief conversation.  She said she was calling so he wouldn’t worry.  He wasn’t worried, he told her.  Not mentioned was the fact that he wasn’t worried because he didn’t know Scully was gone in the first place -  that’s how little they’d spoken.  And “speaking” had really only consisted of text messages.

 Where’s the dustbuster?, he’d type unceremoniously.  And she:  Under the kitchen sink, are you okay?

 - or -

 Are there working batteries anywhere in this house or do we just keep circulating them from appliance to appliance to see which can operate with the least juice?  

 In the fridge, are you okay?  

 Her question marks ended every conversation and he let them. He’d stare at them for long minutes, aching as he studied their upper curves.  He’d picture her face, the one he’d watched puzzle over mysteries of the universe for so many years, and think with sorrow and nostalgia of how stoically she coped with never getting any conclusions.  No, he wanted to say to these question marks, he was not okay, he couldn’t fucking find anything and he felt dead inside, and at least one of those two things was her fault.  But that was not a conversation to have in text messages.  So he’d just go get the dust buster or the batteries and feel satisfied that somewhere, she was feeling guilty, and guilty that that satisfied him.

 When Stella hung up abruptly, he stared at the arched plastic back of their archaic telephone and thought of the few other times he’d spoken to her on the phone.  Most of the time, it was because he’d answered and was saying hello before he passed her off to Scully.  Or because Scully had handed it to him to explain his own latest confounding endeavor. Most of the time.

 *

 He’s holding her right hand with both of his and his legs press against the side of the hospital cot.  His palms have gone clammy and the pleats of his trousers have been smoothed at the knees from hours on a plane, hours in a taxi, hours in this chair.  He ignores his buzzing cell phone for the eleventh time and bends to kiss the top of her head - it seems to be the only bit of the building that smells unruined, unbroken, in need of no fixing.  She closes her eyes frequently as she speaks, as though she needs to rest them, or as though she feels put out by this whole affair, but he knows she’s really just making sure she doesn’t start crying.

 “It sounds like he was able to somehow die in your place.”

 “Mulder, that’s…” And here her eyes open as she prepares to scold him, and then close again.  “I don’t know.”

 “It’s not a sad story, Scully.  For once.”  Jesus, this woman doesn’t know how to take a win.  “He got what he wanted and you’re still here.”

 She shakes her head, swallows and he realizes, as he often does, even now, even six years into their partnership, that he’s missing the point, that he’s many steps behind her.  Someday, he daydreams, he’ll give her a ring and promise to be one step ahead or one step behind, but no further.  He knows this with some amount of certainty and zero anxiety.

 “What if… I’m…”

 And then he sees it swirling in her eyes, the blue softening helplessly, rims filling like violet bulbs in the rain to match the little spots on her hospital gown.  He knows what she’s thinking about and he has to work to subdue the automatic glee he feels whenever she’s been forced to consider fake things becoming real.  She needs reassurance now, not gloating.

 “What if you’re immortal?” he assists.

 “Like that psychic said.  I mean, I always thought he was being sweet and never gave it much thought but then… Felig made it sound so awful.  And then he shot me and I’m still here.”

 Mulder doesn’t know what to say.  It’s possible.  Anything is. But he knows, in this moment, she doesn’t want that to be the case, so he reaches for what he thinks she would say to him instead of what he wants to say to her.  The cell phone buzzes against his hip again.

 “You’re not immortal, Scully.”

 She nods quickly, four times, but then licks her lips.  And if you were, Mulder wants to tell her, you wouldn’t be like Felig.  You’d just keep finding people to love you, over and over and over again.  You would never be lonely, you would never be bitter, and the world would have done one thing that made sense.  But he decides to stay on-message.

 “No one is.”

 “Then what was going on with Felig?” she asks.

 “I don’t know,” he says and smiles, priming to tease again. It’s the only way out he can think of. “You’ll have to ask your new partner.”

 She blinks and passes a corrupted laugh through her teeth.

 “I hope you weren’t too hard on him.”

 “I would’ve killed him if anything had happened to you,” he says more seriously and she bites her lower lip, twitchy.  Though she likes - maybe is even addicted - to his passion, the reliability of it, she also doesn’t like to be reminded of how thoroughly he can lose himself or his mind.  It scares her more than it scares him, scares her more than maybe all the other stuff does.  “Luckily, he’s a bad shot.  Or you’re immortal.  Or whatever.”

 “Don’t you want to get to the bottom of it?”

 “No, Scully.  I really don’t give a fuck.   You’re okay.”

 She cocks her head, a coy little smile at the corner of her lips and it’s the first time he’s really convinced she’s okay.  

 “You might actually be experiencing growth, Mulder.”

 And suddenly, the cell phone’s buzz seems louder, or maybe it’s just that they’re both ready to hear it.

 “That’s Kersh, isn’t it?”

 “I’m sure.  My supervisor’s probably complained by now.  Backgrounds aren’t going to check themselves.”

 He’s been doing a requisite amount of sulking at his desk since his life’s work has been taken from him.  He’s been professionally frustrated and permanently aggravated, but it’s also the happiest he’s ever been.  Whatever inane questions he’s forced to ask all day, however miserable the hours between nine and five, they’re preceded and followed by Dana Scully’s warm, de-suited body (and he is making an effort to think of her as Dana) pressed and sometimes writhing and sometimes, when the stars align in his favor, slamming against him. She makes up for everything.  She is everything.  

 Which is exactly the kind of thing that unnerves her to hear. He needs balance, she tells him.  

 “You can’t piss him off if we’re ever going to get our work back.”

 He doesn’t know whether she cares more about the X-Files than she ever meant to, or that she cares on his behalf, but either way he’s moved by it.  He knows there’s a part of Scully that would be happy to do what they’re doing right now for a while.  He has never met anyone else who is perpetually tempted by boredom but always returns to adventure, instead of the other way around.

 “I know,” he says, though he feels like grumbling.  This part is their fault, not Kersh’s.  They can’t seem to bring themselves to address what’s going on between them, and for that, they suffer.  This is a good love, by far the best he’s ever had, better probably than he deserves, but it’s also a fucked up love, a weird love, a love that seems to function on its own terms like one of those sushi restaurants that doesn’t have a menu, closes for hours at whim.  He follows a long kiss on the mouth with an ear to her chest - th-thump, th-thump, yes okay.

 “Still alive?” she quips and he wishes he could squeeze her, pull her into his lap.

 “Far as I can tell,” he says and grips her hand tighter, settling for it in place of a full body tackle.

 He really only has Stella’s number for emergencies, he doesn’t ever call her himself, doesn’t dare tip the scales in any way.  But his finger finds her name as soon as he steps out of the elevator, the revolving doors whipping him like a frisbee into the city that never sleeps.  It chugs caffeine out of blue and white paper cups, churns raw meat into magic meals, spins pretzels in squalor and spotlights, makes him feel alive in the way the hospital interior made him feel dead.  How nice it would be to stay here with Scully, get her out of there and spend a few days recovering in some beautiful hotel they can’t really afford.   Watch barges pass under periwinkle bridges at twilight, go shopping.  

 This is why Stella is doing it, he knows, to be there for Scully, not as a favor to him.  But it doesn’t matter.  Three thousand miles away, someone is dismounting some poor schmuck with a hard-on and packing a bag, dropping everything for the same person he would drop anything for.  That, he thinks, has to be its own kind of love.  

    Chapter 14

  Scully sat up with her hand pressed into the cleft of the sofa as she gathered her bearings.  She felt like she’d slept with one eye open, cupped gently around Stella at the edge of the couch like a human seatbelt, worried she’d crush Stella if she really let her mind rest.  Now the cushion was cool already, almost as though Stella had never been there, as though Scully had imagined the warm wounded body inhaling and exhaling its tacit trust, as though she’d drunk-dreamed the scene on the carpet. She knew she could not blame the drinking.  She’d only had one glass of red wine and a finger of Scotch.  The finger itself had done all the damage.

 The youthful thrill of a rebellious night ran up her spine as she looked herself over:  blue sweater split down the middle over her bra, the skin on her lips raw under the pads of her fingers, and bottom half bare but for a mauve mouth-shaped welt on her inner thigh (so much daintier, more delicate than the ones she was used to.) But Scully had never been very good at breaking the rules, and in her stomach was the past-curfew pleated-skirt emotional hangover that promised consequences for her actions.  How many years they’d tiptoed around the invisible boundary set up shortly after their first encounter to protect their friendship as much as to protect Mulder… and last night they’d tripped it like an electric fence, taking the hard jolt it gave off again and again like adrenaline junkies, proving how flimsy it had really been all along.  

 She could not lose her.

 Scully took a deep breath and dragged the fluffy white robe folded affectionately over the back of the couch, sash tied like a welcome ribbon around its front.  She shimmied out of her clothes, blushing a bit at the ripe cocktail of sex and sweat the fabric gave off, and replaced it with the bright Fairy brand detergent scent of the bathrobe.  Somewhere upstairs, Scully knew, was a collection of these things in silk and lace - colors so faint they feigned nudity, cashmere so rich you’d be afraid to drink your morning coffee.  This had to be the most innocent of them and Scully was half-offended, half-flattered that Stella picked it for her.

 “Stella?” she called softly, hopefully, as she rose to her feet with her back to the kitchen, robe wrapped tight.  There was the sound of a teaspoon twinkling like a wind chime as she turned, a faucet whispering like an intermittent breeze and suddenly her anxiety seemed ludicrous.  Stella was leaning belly-first against the sink, looking out the window, her back to Scully as she watched her city slowly stretch itself awake.

 It was a treat to see Stella here amongst her things - her shiny, voluptuous espresso machine and her svelte heavyweight silverware.  Watching Stella perform her morning routine was like going to church, setting things on the altar, spacing them accordingly, sipping with reverence.  A room full of people who’d seen it a hundred, a thousand times, would do it one more time;  she was certain she could watch Stella drink her first cup of tea and butter her toast one bite at a time every Sunday til the end of time.  This is the body, this is the blood, and this, well this is my new religion: Stella Gibson, poured into a charcoal grey sweater dress, bare legs balanced on possibly the highest black heels ever made.  

 “I didn’t realize we were dressing for tea this morning,” Scully said, but she felt the smart-aleck go right out of her as Stella turned to face her, placed a backward-fisted hand on her hip so that her shoulder jutted forward. The dress was quite tight, covered skin from neck to knee -- appeared to be wearing her rather than the other way around.  Scully stepped a little closer and found herself under a jungle canopy of musky jasmine perfume.  She knew Stella only wore it when she went out.

 What am I, chopped liver? Scully had teased once or twice from her double bed as she flicked the remote at the TV.

 Unless you intend to put your name in my little black book, yes.  

 A tiny, ridiculous, starved-adolescent piece of her wanted to think Stella was wearing it for her this time, that she was preening and posing for her.  But she knew even before Stella told her that that was not what all of this was about.

 “I’m going to go into the office for a bit today.”  

 “Were you on the phone?  I thought I heard you...”

 “There’s been a homicide and I don’t want to be terribly out of the loop when I return.”

 Scully cleared her throat.  This was not going to be easy.

 “And how are you this morning?” Stella asked with a hint of impatience, as though observing a quaint Victorian social grace she didn’t personally adhere to.  “Any rug burn?”

 “I’m fine.  Stella--”

 “It won’t be the whole day,” Stella said, returning her cadence to its bright clip, honing the edges of her accent into slender cliffsides, fresh-ready for a tumble or a jump.

 “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Scully said.

 The sweater dress twisted, wringing itself at the tiny black belt banded around Stella’s waist.  She pushed her hip deeper into her hand, waiting out Scully’s censure like an aggravating little rain shower on a summer day.  Scully pressed on, stepping forward, snaking an arm around Stella like a second skinny belt.  Various beauty product scents lapped at Stella’s neck like spring’s first bloom, nauseatingly sweet but sublime.

 “Wouldn’t you rather stay and play house with me?”

 Stella granted her a tiny kiss on the neck and then:

 “No.”

 The chill of it whipped Scully off her feet and took her all the way back to a dingy hotel in Philadelphia where they’d spent their first night alone together.  The kettle of tea might well have been a sticky, lukewarm plate of pancakes, the neat brow bone sutures a spate of scars up Stella’s thigh, and Scully was as light-headed about the former as the latter.  (A student had since asked whether she’d ever gone weak about slicing up a human body.  Once, she’d said.  But I wasn’t even there when it happened.)  

What she’d done - what they’d both done - that time in Philadelphia was panic and Scully was determined not to do it again.  She poured and sipped her tea.  Ankle deep in silence, she waded toward a bulletin board that reminded her of a police station, gave her the eerie impression that Stella was running her kitchen like an open homicide.  Amidst pilates class schedules and receipts was a twenty-pound note, neat black-markered writing across it.  He that loves not abides in death.  It was from the Bible, Scully was pretty sure, John maybe.  She listened to Stella tapping the neck of her teaspoon against her glass and she took the piece of money down.

 “What’s this?”  

 It seemed like safe-enough territory.  After all, the things saved up here were the things Stella was willing to put on display.  And the thought of Stella quoting and framing Bible quotes was too curious to ignore, like finding out your math teacher had a hobby - tennis, jazz music, archery - when all you could picture them caring about was prime numbers.

 “I found it.  Outside the psychiatric hospital where they were holding Paul Spector.”

 The detective in Scully stirred and she couldn’t help herself.

 “And you kept it?”

 “Mm.”

 “Brought it all the way home from Belfast?”

 “Yes,” Stella snapped.  

 “Little sentimental for a multiple homicide case, don’t you think?”

 “Is this an inquisition?”

 “It just doesn’t sound like you.”

 Stella turned and placed her cup in the sink, ran the water hard enough to wash Scully’s voice down the drain.

 “Perhaps you don’t know me as well as you think,” Stella said.

 A blind shot over the shoulder, but a bullseye nonetheless. Scully looked at the floor and then quickly forced her eyes back up, though Stella was not facing her anyway.

 “Don’t do this,” Scully said bravely, or foolishly.  “I’m sorry I crossed the line.  Don’t disappear on me.  I’ve had more of that than I can handle.”

 Stella’s shoulder blades rose and fell on either side of the teardrop shaped hole that buttoned the dress at the nape of her neck, her bones slithering into place beneath the snug wool weave - sometimes it was easier to see her softening than to hear it in her voice.  It still sometimes bothered Scully that Stella had to work so hard to trust her.  But it was not news that she had a weak spot for people who made her feel worth the effort.

 “I picked it up and kept it without much thought at first, and then after, it seemed too meaningful to get rid of it.”

 Scully could tell by her tone of voice that she had permission now to ask.

 “Why would you want to be reminded of him?”

 Stella turned on one hand, replaced the other one on the counter at her side.  She was like a ballerina in a jewelry box, pinned and spinning in a fixed spot as Scully wound her up.  She held her chin high, eyes bright as diamond studs.

 “Do you know what he did to me?”

 Scully had of course drawn her own conclusions based on what she could see, based on the way Stella moved and responded to touch, but she knew this wasn’t a test of her forensic savvy.  She shook her head no and locked her jaw as she braced herself.

 “He hit me, close-fisted.  Here,” Stella said and brushed her fingers along her temple.   “There was a table, here.  I felt it dig into my hip.  That’s the last specific moment I remember, but there’s video of the rest because it took place in an interview room -  interrogation room.”

 Scully looked down so as not to provoke Stella with the elevation of her eyebrows, the jutting of her chin.  What the fuck, why the fuck would she...

 “So you watched the tape.”

 “Yes.  I’m sure most of the team did.  Dani. All of them.  Wouldn’t you?”

 Scully scrubbed the discomfort from her lips, took a breath out of the room that she intended to keep.  Stella continued.

 “And it was quite a show.  There were several more punches.  Here… here… here, I think… and I fell to the floor.  It was cold, concrete, I remember that part, the shock of it after the heat of the blood bursting at my cheekbone.”

 The evenness of Stella’s voice, the poise, was unnerving, like listening to one of her own autopsy recordings, the sound of her own voice discussing death with such indifference.

 “He kicked me.  I was caught between him and the wall.  I was trembling when the other officer came to me.  Like a little dog.”

 “Stella,” Scully begged, but there was no room for her sympathy here.

 “It was the worst physical pain I’ve ever felt, and do you know what I thought when I was lying there?”  Scully shook her heavy head as gravity tugged at her whole body.  Any minute, her knees would buckle, but she had to finish listening.  “This is nothing compared to what he did to them.  Nothing.”

 Scully crossed her arms over the robe in a self-embrace and swallowed, digging her nails into the fabric to feel the pile under her fingernails, root herself in something tangible and present and good.

 “And do you know what I thought when he killed himself?”

 Yes, Scully thought, she did.  The two people she knew best were similar this way - the darkness, the self-loathing, the ability to take responsibility for things that had nothing to do with them, and the tendency not to take responsibility for those that did. The pattern on the kitchen floor blurred as all her concentration flowed toward the goal of not becoming hysterical.

 “I thought, I deserve this.  I told him exactly how to beat the system, how to beat me.”

 Scully allowed a breath, bit her lip and blotted her face quickly with the inside her wrist.  She had one responsibility here, had come to London for one purpose, she reminded herself - Stella’s recovery.  None of that stuff last night mattered, nothing she’d been worried about this morning.

 “It’s awful.  All of it. But it’s not going to avenge anything to refuse yourself the time to heal.”

 She turned to re-clip the stupid banknote to the board, though she wanted to tear it up and burn it.

“Do you think I’m capable of love?” Stella asked as Scully turned back to face her, placed both hands on the island in front of her.

“Sure,” Scully replied.  “I almost got you to love me once.”

“I don’t think I almost loved you,” Stella said.

 “Oh no?”

 Scully kept looking her in the eye to show that she could take it. She walked round to the other side of the island so that she and Stella faced one another over the moat of kitchen tile.  Her bare toes, polish uncharacteristically chipped, met the smart points of Stella’s shoes. The whole morning had been wild, flooded with emotion and Scully was comforted now by the idea of Stella’s characteristic grit drying it up.

 “No,” Stella reiterated.  “I think I did love you.  I still do.”

Scully blinked several times, her breath caught somewhere at the bottom of her throat.  

 “Why are you looking at me like that?”  Stella asked.

 The day Stella visited before taking her plane back to England, her knees rubbing the kitchen floor, Mulder’s arrival weeks later in the rain.  All of these years...

 “I don’t understand.”

 Stella licked her top lip, cocked her head as though considering a gallery portrait.  She hadn’t expected this to be a surprise.

 “I couldn’t do it the way he could.  I didn’t think it was what you’d need.”

 Scully gulped, trying to control the tears welling up at the corners of her eyes.  She could feel the tip of her nose turning red.

 “But occasionally, like when I look at that thing,” Stella said with nod at the banknote,  “I wonder if something’s wrong with me.”

Scully wanted to reassure Stella, but she wasn’t even sure of what.  So she nodded, dried her cheekbones again, for a moment unable to remember the last period of her life she had cried this much.  When she remembered the answer, she cried more.

“Please stop crying,” Stella said.  “You’re supposed to be taking care of me.”

Scully smiled, shuffled forward, closing the space between them without squeezing, by now aware of exactly where to press and where to protect.  She buried her face on Stella’s shoulder just long enough to recompose herself and then glanced at the marks on Stella’s face, so similar to the ones Ed Jerse had given her years ago.  She’d given Stella the play by play of it with her eyes on the road and a console between them, but by the end of the night, Stella would close that distance. And then some.

“Have your turn, then,” Scully teased with a nudge to the hip. “Cry.”

Stella blinked with the weight of five thousand pairs of eyelashes.

“Make me.”

Scully snuck her left hand into the dark roots of Stella’s hair, licked two fingers on her right hand.  Stella tugged her hem up with the nonchalance of a puddle jump as Scully kissed her.  Their mouths were hot, tingling with English Breakfast and caffeine.  Scully grinned as she found smooth-shaved swimmer’s thigh and simple seamless underwear, and then the wet part of her hand disappeared into the wet part of Stella.  She pinned a knee between Stella’s legs, tacking her to the sink like one of her bulletin board items.  Here is something you may want to attend.  Here is something worth remembering.  Stella’s neck tendons strained against her hand.

 “You wear this dress to work, Detective Gibson?”

 “Detective Superintendent,” Stella said in a slightly pitched voice, a tone like a meringhe, one that made her regular voice seem put-on, one that made Scully’s tastebuds dance, her hips grind.  Stella held onto the lapels of her robe like she was an airline pilot or a soldier, uniformed and disembarking.  And then she suddenly realized why Stella had chosen this particular bathrobe for her.

 “You took this. From that hotel in Chicago.”

 Stella half-smiled, pleased at her own rare display of nostalgia.

 “Had to purchase it, actually.”  She licked a small section of her top lip and Scully kissed where it left off.

 Below, Scully’s fingers slipped and pulled and Stella breathed deeply, winced from deep inside her ribcage.  Her hands seemed small and gentle as they clutched birdlike at the sagging sleeves of the robe.  What would she keep from this visit, what would she flash winkingly at Scully in another fifteen years?  Scully wanted to keep nothing so much as this, this skull breathing into the palm of her hand, this pair of knees going weak between hers and this smooth unclothed calf muscle rattling the cabinetry.  She pulled away to watch Stella’s face -- eyelids dancing like dervishes, honey-sweet beige lips parting like buttercups, the hills and valleys of her brow deepening.

 “Look at me,” Scully coaxed.  Then firmer, “Look at me.”

 Scully waited until she had Stella’s attention, waited till her breath was hitching and dragging, waited because fifteen years plus one more breath seemed like exactly the right amount of time.

 “I love you,” she whispered and Stella dropped her nose against Scully’s face, coming and crying in tandem. Her body sucked at Scully’s fingers, her face wet against Scully’s cheek, shivering and then still.  

 The silence simmered.  A clock ticked loudly.  The Bible verse loomed.  Outside, a plane soared by, yawning across the grey sky toward brighter places. Scully summoned some authority into her voice.

 “You’re not ready to go back to work.”

 Detective Superintendent Stella Gibson did not let go as she stepped out of her heels.

 *

She has been taking the stairs up to her apartment after work. If she were to take the elevator, she might meet a neighbor, and if she met a neighbor they’d ask how William was. She doesn’t like questions she can’t answer.

 It begins to smell like Stella just a few steps into the corridor. The scent changes halfway down the hallway to the fresh coat of adult-colored paint they applied over the weekend, and then to that of a smoldering pack of East London incense on one of the cheap plastic cake plates she keeps around. (Not the 26-pack of first birthday ones she purchased prematurely.  Those have mercifully vanished since Stella arrived, along with lots of other things. The smatter of baby powder she’d otherwise find on a dark blazer here or there.  The drawer full of clothes she didn’t give the Van de Kamps.  The stores of formula and diapers that used to live at the bottom of the linen closet.)

 She turns the key and finds the homey sizzle of shallow-panned garlic.  The warm breath of pasta water still hovers over the sink as Stella sets the table. Scully doesn’t know how Stella plans this so well, one foot in the door and hot food on the table.  One moment later, and Scully knows she would make it alone to her room, empty stomach, no shower, and fall asleep in her clothes. But instead -

 “Sit with me while I eat?”

 It’s the only question Stella ever asks.  She already knows how her day was, how she feels, and it won’t do either of them any good to have it declared aloud.  Scully manages a tired smile for her friend and sits, rests her weight, her day, her misery on her elbows.  Her seat is free of a place-setting, as it is every night, and she is grateful for the lack of expectation.  No one else understands her well enough to do - or omit - things like this, not her mother, maybe not even Mulder.

 Mulder.  Where the hell are you.  She barely has the energy to wonder.


Stella swirls spaghetti over her dish between a fork and spoon.  There’s a larger serving bowl at the center of the table, a decorative and deceptive thing that makes it look like they’re celebrating.

 “I heard from my idiotic sister today,” Stella says.  “She wants to race horses now.”

 “What do you mean, race them?”

 “Sponsor one.  She wants to know if I want to put any of my portion of the trust into it.”

 Scully postpones a blink, waiting for the punchline.

 “I told her I could imagine better ways to buy sixty seconds of pleasure.”

 Scully can’t quite bring herself to smile, but she does reach forward for a strand of spaghetti hanging over the side of the painted ceramic bowl. It goes down easier than she expects and she licks the sweet, tangy tomato off her lips.  

 “She’s older, right?” she asks.

 “Yes.  The pretty one.”

 Scully frowns as she takes another strand of spaghetti stranded on the side of the bowl.

 “Everyone’s sister is the pretty one,” she says and of course, Melissa comes to mind.  These days, there are a lot of spare sad thoughts, like wet umbrellas under restaurant chairs on a rainy day.

 “She was my mother’s favorite,” Stella says, leaving her father’s favorite unspoken.  Her attempts to be chatty and distracting make Scully well with gratitude. “However, now she’s bored and angry so I practice tolerance when she calls.  Even when she’s a cunt.”

 “That’s a strong word, isn’t it.”

 “No.”

 “What does she do that’s so bad?”

 “It’s just a lot of passive aggressive criticism, negativity disguised as helpfulness.”

 Scully picks at another strand of pasta and Stella pushes the serving bowl at her for her convenience.

 “I still can’t believe you can cook like this,” Scully says.

 “That’s exactly what my cunt of a sister would say.”

 Scully finally laughs briefly and then immediately wants to cry. It’s as though all her smiles still belong to William, as if they all remind her of him.  

 After dinner, Stella runs the water in the bathtub and sets out a towel, waits for Scully to pass by on the way to her bedroom.

 “Come here.”

 She closes the bathroom door behind them as though for privacy.

 “There’s no one else here,” Scully says.

 “Keeps the heat in.”

 Scully waits limply while Stella undresses her:  sexlessly unbuttons her shirt and pushes it back off her arms, unzips her skirt at the side, holds a hand out for balance. Scully steps into the flat, bubbleless water.  It has been years since Stella has looked closely at her naked and a few selfish, superficial thoughts cross her mind, immediately followed by guilt. How can she have vanity about her stretch marks when she’s abandoned the child who made them?

 She has a stray whim to pull Stella in with her, clothes and all, just for company.  She doesn’t want to be alone in there tonight.  Somehow, Stella knows this, and kneels at the side of the tub, reaches for the loofah, squirts soap onto it and begins to lather bit by bit - arms, chest, belly.  Scully sucks in her waist a moment at the tickle of it and blinks hard.

 “Mulder used to make fun of the pouf.”  

 She watches Stella hear this, hear his name, and she knows what she’s thinking, what everyone is thinking.

 “You think I know where he is,” Scully says.  “I don’t.”

 “You shouldn’t have to do this alone.”  

 “I’m not.”

 Stella is watching some vacant spot in the bathwater.

 “Dana, when we first met, the night you thought Mulder and I had slept together…”

 Scully waits.  She’s not worried, but has enough sense to wonder if she should be.

 “What about it?”

 Stella shakes her head.

 “I was taking a sad bath.”  She smiles gently, gulps.  “Like this. And  Mulder walked in.”

 Scully licks her teeth, mild surprise registering.  She can picture Mulder blushing and stammering.

 “That’s all.  It was very embarrassing for both of us.  He never told you?”

 Scully shakes her head no, tries to show some appreciation for Stella’s trying to make her laugh. She closes her eyes and lets her whole head sink like a boulder as Stella sends the soap down her legs.  Stella takes her hand, holds it atop the ledge as if to remind her that eventually, she must come back up to dry land.

 “Shall I leave you?” she asks.  Scully shakes her head no, feels the heavy, wet weight of her thoughts roll against the sloped ceramic back of the tub.   She half expects to leave a dent there.  

 “I don’t think you’re ready to be back at work,” Stella says.

 “I have to.”

 “No you don’t.”

 “I don’t want to look like I’m feeling sorry for myself.  It was my decision.”

 Stella nods.  There are tiny tear-shaped drops of water polka-dotting her blouse, rings of suds round her wrists.  It occurs to Scully that this is how she would have bathed Emily, how the Van de Kamps will bathe William.  The words feel like toothpicks pricking her tongue.

 “I had a daughter too.”

 She’s been trying this lately, being cruel to herself just to feel something, just to have a reason to keep her head above water.

 “I didn’t know that.”

 “I know.  I’ve never told you because I didn’t really feel like it was fair to call her mine. I only knew her for a couple of days. But she was my biological daughter.”

 “What happened to her?”

 “She’s dead.”

 And she looks at Stella, wanting to catch the glimpse of judgement - it can be very fleeting on Stella and Scully is adamant about getting her fair share of shame.  But Stella only licks her lips and swallows.

 “Have you ever had an abortion?” Scully asks.

 “Yes.”

 Scully waits and stares at Stella, her eye makeup so smudgy she can see black out her peripheral vision. She wants to hear that Stella knows, or she wants Stella to think she knows, so she can tell her she doesn’t.  She wants to tell her fuck you for getting rid of something I would have wanted so badly.  She wants to be angry.

 “It wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t anything like this,” Stella says.

 And then Scully just wants to go back in time and be there in the waiting room for her.  She wonders if anyone was.

 “I’m sorry,” is all she has to offer.  It’s precious little, but few people have even given her that much.

 “It’s all right,” Stella says with a little melody in her voice to prove it.

 “I went right back to work then too, after Emily.  And it seems only fair that I do it now.”

 Stella chooses this moment to pull the plug and the water begins to senselessly chase itself, clinging to Scully’s body momentarily before it’s sucked down into oblivion.

 “Do you think I sound foolish?  Wanting to treat my two absent children fairly.”

 “I think you probably weren’t ready to go back to work then, either. No sense making the same mistake twice.”

 “I make them over and over and over again.”

 Her body cries before her mouth does, her back convulsing off the floor of the bathtub.  She used to be able to tell what William wanted by the way he was crying.  She wonders if he would be able to do the same, what her voice would sound like on a monitor.

 Stella takes her arm and pulls her to her feet, wraps a towel around her and holds her, pressing her wet head down as she waits for the sobs turn to shudders, and then the shudders to grow further apart, kernels of sadness popping at slower and slower intervals.  She’s quiet by the time Stella leads her to the bedroom, pulls the covers back and guides her in.  Scully stares at the spot where William’s cradle used to be and remembers how difficult it was when it came time to move it into his own room, the separation anxiety she felt then, just that tiny distance.  What a fool.

 “Move over,” Stella says and climbs in behind her, sets her fully clothed body around Scully’s naked one, twisting her ankles around Scully’s like a candy wrapper as she she rests her head on Scully’s ear.  The room goes quiet as a womb.  Scully marvels for a moment at Stella’s patience and wonders how long it’ll last.

 “The dishes,” Scully says, unable to tell how loudly she’s speaking with her audience so close and her acoustics so distorted.  A hot drop of water falls from her ear canal onto the pillowcase and feels like a pool deep enough to drown in.  

 “I’ll do them when you fall asleep,” Stella says and moves her face to the back of Scully’s neck, parts her hair with her nose.

 “My hair,” Scully says, and wants to cry again.  “If I’m going to work tomorrow, I have to dry it.”

 There is a pause and she can hear the mechanism of Stella’s brain moving through the impetus to argue the larger point at stake.

 “You’ll be up early.  I’ll do it for you in the morning.”

 “Are you sure?”

 “Ssssh.”  

 There are no vowels to drag and no consonants to pinch and so it sounds country-less, sounds the same as when Scully said it to her son, or when her mother said it to her, how the Van de Kamps will say it.  Scully is warm now as she borrows heat and breath and even life, rebooting off the rhythm of Stella’s thumping, whirring body.  An inhale and then an exhale.  Her crying-headache melts away a bit.  She catches a glimpse of herself in the future, okay.  

 “Stella,” she whispers as she feels her body finally settle into the mattress, the weight she’d been putting on her elbows, or in Stella’s palm, or against the back of the bathtub, now anchoring her, promising her imminent numbness.  She has never felt so heavy, not even nine months pregnant.  “How am I ever going to repay you for this?”

 Stella’s nose is against her shoulder, her lips soft.

 “You’re not,” Stella says.

 *

 Thunder shook the stiff clouds by their shoulders and lightning cracked the proud chest of the old sky open.  Scully had so far only seen the English rain dither and retreat, and this sudden show of decisiveness impressed her.  Below the window, umbrellas flared like nostrils, people scurrying and drains opening.  Commit and the world conspires to assist, said somebody.  Goethe?  Now that was the kind of thing she might have expected Stella to tack to a bulletin board, some broad-backed German sturm and drang, even some British keep-calm-and-carry-on would have been more appropriate than a Bible quote.  Scully took her book and went back to the bed.

 Across the room, Stella suffered her mandatory day off with dignity, ironing clothes with her closet door propped open, racks of newspaper-toned blouses and skirts and pants neatly lined up.  She had a tank top on now, some pajama pants, a hoodie, of all things.  

 “Looks like a piano in there,” Scully said.

 Stella gave a restrained smile as the steamer cleared its throat and dropped a silk sleeve.  She changed one white item for another slightly-less-white item with childlike concentration, a taskmaster’s peace of mind.  Outside, May raindrops spangled the streets while inside, clean, wet heat spoke sense to silk collars.  Eventually, Scully’s eyelids begged off into a nap, and when she woke, the streets were quiet, the sky returned to its thick impenetrable flannel texture, and Stella was lying awake beside her with her hand on Scully’s stomach.

 “What’s the matter?” Scully slurred.  “Run out of things to press?”

 “Yes, give me what you’re wearing.”

 Scully laughed quietly and tried to blink the sleep away. It was hard to recognize the waking world when it looked and sounded like Stella.

 “Want to go for a walk?” Stella asked.

 She felt like an old couple on the walk, like they’d done every day after dinner together for years.  They passed a flower stand with a dripping awning and bought bluebells and hydrangeas.  Stella pointed out things in the neighborhood, the shops she liked, the house that had had a small fire last year, the solid granite side of a building she’d once let a second date press her into in the dark and lift her skirt.

 When they got home, Stella set the flowers down.

 “There should be a vase here.”

 Scully laughed as Stella clipped stems.  Not a single broom in the house but a whole pantry full of flower vases.  She filled one with water and felt a space inside her fill as well - this had felt so abstract before, so impossible to articulate to Mulder.  It wasn’t that she’d needed him to Do Something.  It was that she’d needed for them to do be able to do nothing at all together.

 They ate dinner in easy silence and Scully looked over Stella’s injured eyebrow with a sharpened squint, reached for her glasses.

 “When were those stitches put in?”

 “Oh right, I missed the appointment to get them out.  It was in Belfast but I couldn’t stay there any longer.”

 “The skin is starting to grow over them.”

 “Won’t they just dissolve?”

 She blinked and cocked her head cheekily.

 “Did they say they would dissolve?”

 “Well, I had my medical doctor coming to visit, didn’t I?”

 Scully smiled.

 “After dinner.”

 They set up the urgent care at the breakfast island - rubbing alcohol and clean towels, the sterilized hot pink tweezers and sharp nail scissors.  The patient perched on a barstool, hugging the doctor rather inappropriately between her thighs as she fingered the stem of her wine glass.  

 “Hold still.”

 “Bedside manner please.”

 Scully gave her a little glance down the bridge of her nose.

 “You’re good at this.  Taking care of people,” Stella said and Scully would have been annoyed at the implied surprise in her tone, except she knew that it was a surprise to Stella whenever someone was good at things like this.  She knew what Stella really meant was that she was better at accepting it than she’d expected to be.

 “Thank you,” Scully said.  

 “Are you worried about him?”  Stella asked and Scully re-sterilized the tweezers, shifted her weight. “It’s okay, you can still talk about him to me.”

 Stella’s eyes moved like water, following Scully’s wrist this way and that as she tended to the partially embedded stitch.

 “Not in a physical sense.  He wouldn’t hurt himself.  He’s too driven.”

 “Toward what?”

 Scully knew the question was rhetorical, or if it wasn’t, should be.  Stella knew as well as anyone that Mulder had never really known what he was looking for. That was part of his brilliance, his readiness to find whatever there was to be found.  But it was also his deathknell.

 “Break, please,” Stella said sweetly.

 There was barely anything to take a break from.  Stella was drawing it out on purpose.  Scully pulled her hands away and waited while Stella sipped her glass of wine.  When she was done, she turned her chin back up to Scully and placed her hands on Scully’s waist.

 “Distracting,” Scully whispered.

 “That’s all right, I think,” Stella said in her huskiest voice. “You’re not putting them in, you’re taking them out.”

 “Bossy patient.”

 “That surprise you?”

 “I’m on the last one.”

 “This morning you mentioned the line we crossed.”  She folded the sides of Scully’s t-shirt into ripples between her fingers. “I don’t want you to worry about me when it comes time to cross it back.”

 Scully pulled the final stitch through and dabbed Neosporin on the freshly mended skin. The eyebrow glistened like otter fur, swam up her forehead as Stella raised it.

 “Are you hearing me, Doctor Scully?”

 Scully rested her hands on Stella’s shoulders, searched her face. She missed Mulder, she did worry about him, but the idea of giving this up again -

 “What if I don’t want to cross it back?” Scully asked.

 “Let’s stay in the present.”

 Scully turned and began to clean up, ashamed of her own confusion and the havoc it might be wreaking.

 “Which present?”  she asked with a self-conscious snicker.  “The one where I take out your stitches and attempt to make a proper cup of tea or the one where we have sex on the living room floor?”

 Scully stumbled as Stella hooked four fingers under the hem of her shirt and tugged her back to the spot between her legs.  The stool pressed into her lower back as Stella held her round the waist, aimed her voice like an open vent at Scully’s ear.

 “The latter.”

 Stella lifted the back of the shirt, drew an apple-sized circle on her lower back.  After all this time, Scully still had trouble remembering there was something there. She had only ever seen it clearly, straight-on, up-close once - in a photograph she’d taken from her own case file. Otherwise, it took a lot of twisting or multiple mirrors and she had simply never cared that much what it looked like.  

 Stella’s hand circled it aimlessly as her chin drifted past Scully’s shoulder.  Scully could feel her attention settling off to the side and something about the mood, the meditative tone in Stella’s voice, made Scully reach out for the shiny, sharp nail scissors still there and cover them with her hand.  Stella kissed her sleeved shoulder.  There was a long pause, a river of Bordeaux breath tickling her neck.  

 “It’s not why I have them,” Stella said.  “But I did used to like them for that, once upon a time.”

 Scully said nothing, embarrassed at her own transparency.  She was glad she had her back to Stella.  She lifted her hand off the scissors.

 “I’m sorry, that was silly.”

 “No.  I like that you look out for me.  It’s sweet.” And Scully could hear the slow, drawling smile in her voice.  “You cover my scissors and hide the painkillers… behind the coffee grinder.”

 “Not very well, apparently.”

 Scully hesitated.  She took a deep breath and measured the question like the well-formed circle of cigarette smoke she would have made similar use of at fifteen or seventeen or twenty-three.

 “Do you get tempted still?  When something really horrible happens?”  Like this, she meant, like lately.

 For what felt like hours, Stella didn’t answer.  Her chin and lips seemed frozen to Scully’s shoulder, the edge of the stool wedged permanently between two vertebrae on her lower back.  She worried Stella didn’t really want to be holding her anymore but didn’t know how to let her go.  Of course, Stella probably knew how to let go of people better than anyone.

 “Will you go somewhere with me?” Stella asked.  

 “Anywhere,” she said, and then picturing all manner of international dens of iniquity, “within reason.”

  *

 The tattoo shop in Shoreditch smelled more like a department store than Scully thought it should - its diligently practiced irreverence dripping away over the wax-pool edge of an expensive amber-glassed candle.  The walls were tastefully decorated and serenaded at a reasonable volume by a female folk singer over the sound system. The proprietor was disappointingly unintimidating -- a naughty-smiled, meticulously professional twenty-four-year-old woman with a string of lovely lavender and blue planets up her arm and an innocent name (April).  Dainty jewels dotted her face in various big dipperish coordinates.  Scully wandered the perimeter like a health inspector, trying to find something wrong to make things seem right.  Not a single sheet of wholesale sailors’ sparrows and pinups for easy drunk customers, not so much as a crack in the paint job.

 “You’re lucky you caught me here this late.  I was just cleaning up,” April said.

 Stella was flipping through a portfolio while April slowly churned her hands, trying not to seem nervous.  The Stella effect.  Scully looked at her watch.

 “It’s only 8:30.”

 “They’re all like this now,” Stella murmured.  April looked on with indifferent miscomprehension, as though they’d been conversing in another language and she was waiting to see whether it concerned her.

 Scully felt partially responsible for whatever would or would not happen here.  Generally, she felt entitled to play Responsible One, but she wasn’t exactly the posterchild for well-planned tattoos.  She turned to face them and crossed her arms.  April leaned her flop of dark hair into Stella’s frame of view, watching with self-conscious pride as her work was examined.  On her arm, the planets moved, a meteor inched its way from her sleeveless band t-shirt to her wrist.  It made Scully feel irreversibly old to picture April discovering Fleetwood Mac for the first time, hearing them on a playlist or a movie soundtrack and digging up all their songs, a dollar ninety-nine at a time, pushing each one through little white earbuds.

 The plastic page-turning was peppered with all sorts of questions that Stella seemed uncharacteristically happy to answer. They were multitasking - flirting and making decisions - this could be done now, yes there was room in the schedule, yes she’d like it to be covered at work.  On the one hand, it seemed to Scully like cheating to get a tattoo in a place that closed at the same time as a bank.  Where was the risk, the stakes?  On the other hand, somewhere on Stella’s body, there was a slice of skin Scully was never going to see naked again.  

 “Stella?” Scully nudged like the spoilsport she was accustomed to being.  “Do you want to think about this a little longer?”

 “No,” Stella said and absently patted the column of Scully’s shin beside her.  April smiled at Stella and cocked her head coyly up at Scully.

 “Your girlfriend have any?”  

 “She’s not my girlfriend,” Stella said.  “But yes, you should look at it.”

 Stella’s face was still buried in the binder, making it difficult to glare at her.

 “Lemme see,” April said brightly.

 Scully turned at the waist and quickly lifted the back of her shirt so as to make as small a deal of it as possible.  She could only imagine the judgment she was going to get from this stylish little -  

 “Mm.  Very nineties,” the artist said as though there were nothing more delightful than the nineteen fucking nineties.  “I can do one of those, if you want, so you match.”

 A little knot in Scully’s chest (of what - concern? jealousy?) unwound into a laugh.  Stella smiled and licked her lips.  

 “That… won’t be necessary.”

 “Sisters?” April prodded.

 “We worked together once,” Stella said and Scully felt herself blink an extra time.  She should have been used to it.  She and Mulder had undersold one another in introductions for years.  My partner’s in there, my partner’s been shot.  Such a small, peremptory word to describe so much. Ironically, it only got worse once they finally were together.  Girlfriend seemed trivial and partner made them feel like they were still at the FBI. Sometimes, they’d joke, roommate.

 “What are you thinking?” April asked.

 “A rose,” Stella said simply.  “I’ll leave the style to you.  I like your work.”

 April beamed.

 “What ya have in mind for placement?”

 Stella lifted her arm up in the air and pointed at a spot on her black silk crepe shirt.

 “Show me how big.”

 Stella spread her fingers right… exactly… where her ribs were cracked.  Jesus Christ.

 “Just a couple of centimeters, okay,” April said and went to prepare her station.

 “Stella,” Scully said, now quite comfortable issuing warnings. “You can’t.”

 “Why not?”

 “Unimaginable pain, that’s why.”

 Stella gave her a clear-eyed, short-tempered look.

 “Wait until it heals a little.  Please,” Scully begged.

 “Why don’t you go get us both some coffee somewhere?”

 A few feet (or meters) away, April sound checked the foot pedal on her stylus.  Scully sighed out her nose.

 “Okay, ready.”

 They got up and went to where April was reclining a lounge type chair into the shape of a table.  Scully remembered the thing she sat on in Philadelphia as a scraped up stool that wobbled so badly the artist had to slip cardboard under a leg.

 “I’m going to have you take your shirt off and lie on your side with your arm folded up over your head, like this,” she said, demonstrating. Scully watched, trying to calm her nerves by focusing on Stella’s shiny, capable fingernails on her buttons.  And as Stella’s body met the leather surface, Scully felt a strange sixth sense swoosh through her, a vivid memory of what it felt like to finally be expecting something permanent to land in her life. If she’d known then how few things she would ever get to keep, she might have gotten more than one.

 April flicked a lamp and light fell in a hot, bright circle on Stella’s ribs.  

 “Oh my God,” April gasped.

 Scully looked at the floor, embarrassed for all their sake - for Stella’s pride, April’s shock, for her own failure to hit the brakes on this. None of these emotions concerned Stella. She slunk down as the artist had instructed, hip up to the ceiling, almost exactly as she’d slept on the couch.

 “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting… hm,”  April said, trailing off, her mouth making a noise like an engine struggling to turn over.  “Listen. I can’t do this.”

 “Yes, you can.”

 Stella’s translucent skin wove between pink and purple blotches and her breasts spilled from her day-off black bra against the leather table. Her eyes, when they met Scully’s, were calm and satisfied, twinkling night-sky blue as she tossed her moon-white hair up over her ear.  Scully gulped as she tried not to be taken by the beauty of it.

 “I’ve never had anyone ask me for something like this. And I’ve been asked for some crazy shit. I tatted an eyeball once.  I don’t…  I don’t know.”

 “I’m going to have someone else do it if you won’t.”

 A long pause and then April glanced at Scully, as if for permission. Scully saw no benefit in making the girl feel any worse than she did.  It wasn’t poor April’s fault Stella was psychotic.

 “She has very high pain tolerance,” Scully said.

 “Not that she knows first hand,” Stella said and then winked. “Just friends.”

 Winking.  Really, though.  April looked at Stella with a dropped jaw and wet lips, one eye nervously twitching as she rubbed her hands on her torn up skinny jeans and half glanced back at Scully. She shifted her focus back to the canvas at hand.

 “Put your hand exactly where you want it again,” she said.   Scully knew that she and the girl were thinking the same thing - just a little to the right or left and it wouldn’t have been so bad.  But Stella placed her hand right in the middle of it all.

 “Okay, I’m going to undo this,” April said with a cleansing breath, and reached back for the clasp of the bra, folded it forward carefully, so as not to expose too much, and then placed a sketched piece of parchment on Stella’s skin.  Her ribcage rose and fell under April’s hand, striped beneath the light.  “That all right?”

 “Yes, feels nice.”  

 “Compression.  Like I showed you last night,” Scully said with the pointless insouciance of a hostage. “Just so it’s clear, that is not the same as a needle burning through bruised flesh.”

 “Dana likes to play doctor,” Stella said, thoroughly amused with herself.  April was staring the spot and wiggling her fingers, as though mentally proceeding through the whole thing to a successful finish.  Surgeons did this before a procedure sometimes.  

 April reached for a drawer, hesitating only a little.

 “You mind?” she asked, and took out an already rolled joint. Now, this was a tattoo parlor.   “Don’t normally, but…”  

 She offered it to Stella, who took a drag from April’s fingers, eyes closed.

 “Mmmm.”

 April held it out to Scully.  She started to shake her head no, but to everyone’s surprise, her hand reached out to take it.  It tasted strong and peppery, nothing like what she remembered, almost too smooth. People knew too much about weed now for it to be any fun.  Not that she’d really had that much fun with it before.  She handed it back to April, shoulders finally slumping down from her ears, belly going soft.

 “Thank you.”

 “I’m going to place my hand here while I work, is that okay?” April asked, her hand hovering over Stella’s side just under her arm.  Stella nodded and April’s palm rested itself on the soft, intimate spot beneath the armpit.  The bra slipped a bit further forward toward the table.  Scully felt warmth spread from hip to hip like melted butter, her heartbeat speeding to a telling pace between her legs, her mouth watering.  She cocked her head, jerking the leash on her facial expression, embarrassed.  But Stella was staring back at her, angling her jaw like a jungle cat with dinner plans.  Scully heaved and dropped a tiny sigh.

 “You’re crazy,” she whispered, and for a moment felt like they were alone.  Stella licked her lips, shrugged the shoulder closer to her ear.  April threatened with a few more buzzes of the pedal and Stella looked down at it, lips parted, hungry for it.

 “Ready?”  April asked.

 Stella nodded and Scully realized she was holding her breath. Stella’s ribs hurt when she laughed, sneezed, hugged.  Even just now, when she had to touch the spot to show April, she was ginger about doing so.

 The pen began to buzz, at first high pitched, and then growling lower as it met Stella’s skin.  Stella closed her eyes, swallowed a grunt, held her breath a second.  The instrument went quiet as April hesitated. Scully wondered how many people jumped ship at this point.

 “No, no, just do it.”

 And the sound resumed, ink guzzling its way toward the tip of the needle and braiding itself into Stella’s flesh.  Stella’s closed eyes twitched.  After a while, the muscles of her abdomen began to tremble, fatigued from resistance, and Stella’s facial expression sharpened.  Scully stepped behind Stella’s head and and took her hand, watched her fingers turn purple in Stella’s grip.  She pulled a spare chair over to sit.  April paused and switched tools and Scully watched Stella try to catch her breath.

 “This is going to be a motherfucker,” April said and Scully sighed. Right, the color.  “But it’s almost done.”

 Stella keenly watched as April dabbed sweat and blood.  The buzzing returned and grew louder like a treadmill pumped from walk to run.

 “Fuck me,” Stella whispered.  The artist glanced up but this time was strong-stomached enough not to turn off the needle. “Don’t stop, don’t stop.”

 Scully bit her lip, put her free hand in Stella’s hair, found it damp, raked her fingers through the same few inches over and over without moving the heel of her hand.  

 “It feels good,” Stella assured them and Scully knew this was mostly bullshit but a little bit true, that there was a kind of purity to the pain, the way it made things like tumors and bruises disappear, the way it made you new.  And… at least, for her… yes… Stella’s eyelashes were fluttering, mouth going wide, a little croak escaping her throat.  Scully felt like she might slide off her chair, tried not to fidget as Stella moved her head slightly to make contact with Scully’s nose.  Her head smelled like gardenias and salt, shampoo and sweat, mortal.

 Finally, the buzzing stopped.  Each of them began to breathe normally again as they suffered the postcoital awkwardness of it all.

 “No bras the next couple days. It would be uncomfortable, not that you seem to much give a fuck.  But you also want it to heal nicely.”

 Scully tried not to smile as she watched Stella register a lingerie ban, surrendering the bra down her arm and covering her breasts with her forearm as she sat up and turned to the mirror to get a good look.  April looked on with wide knees, one bouncing, her black-polished nails picking at one another - a kid who’d just shown her mom her coloring book.  Stella’s expression was unreadable, as ever.

 “It’s beautiful,” Scully jumped in, unable to bear April’s anticipation any longer.  For a moment, she pictured herself living here full time, following Stella around just to reassure the admiring young women she held in suspense on a daily basis.

 Stella made some noises of sincere agreement and turned her back to both of them, folding her bra into her back pocket, holding out a hand for Scully to hand over her blouse.  When she put it on, there was the uncommon sight of fabric falling like water over the natural shape of Stella’s breasts, stopping to ripple only at the twisted-up points of her nipples.  The shirt was collarless, but Stella shook her hair like there was one anyway.  April was collecting a palmful of spotted towels.

 “Here,” April said and handed Stella the rest of the joint. “You might want this later.”

 “I don’t think we--” stammered Scully.

 “Thank you,” Stella interrupted.  She put it in her front pocket.  She left the cuffs of her blouse undone and the hem untucked.  As though, with no bra, there was no point polishing the look.  “What do I owe you?”

 The girl’s face twitched as she feigned nonchalance and shrugged.

 “Fifty?”

 “Fifty?”

 “It says your rate is one-fifty an hour,” Scully said with a glance at the time.  Her reflexes felt a little slow and blurry, but she could still tell time.  “This took what?  Almost three.”

 “Fifty’s all I’m going to take for it,” she said, appearing to think of a better, more conspiratorial argument.  “I’m off the clock.”

 “If you say so.  Thank you,” Stella said and April shifted her weight from one Doc Martened foot to the other. Her tongue played with the ring on her lower lip, toying with the possibility of  one final question.

 “Who was he?” she asked.  Stella looked down as she counted the cash.

 “No one important,”  Stella said and April nodded like she’d already known the answer.

  *

  Young people crowded the sidewalks outside every bar and restaurant in the neighborhood, talking loudly in harmonized accents, passing cigarettes and laughing in the face of their own futures.  The rain had turned the concrete the color of spinning pottery and their heels sounded wet and messy when they landed.  Scully hugged Stella’s arm a little tighter as they passed a drunk couple making out clumsily.

 “You didn’t have to tell her I wasn’t your girlfriend so many times.”

 “Hm?”

 “You heard me.”  Stella smiled.

 “I believe it was once,” Stella said.

 “I didn’t like it,” Scully admitted shyly, she hoped, playfully, watching her shoes.

 “Why not?”

 “I don’t know.”

 “I don’t use that word for people I only do things in private with.”

 “Is that the rule?” Scully teased weakly.

 Stella huffed and stiffened, feathers clearly ruffled by the topic at hand.  She turned and spoke, voice now on ice.

 “You’re going back to him, Scully.  You’re always going back to him.”

 “How do you know that I’d mind it in public?” Scully asked.  

 “And when you do go back to him, I think you should apologize, frankly.”

 “Stella.”

 “And then tell him to fuck you, for fuck’s sake.”  Her cheeks were turning pink, and Scully wondered if she’d ever seen Stella truly angry before, if every other time had only been aggravated, perturbed, mildly inconvenienced.  This was altogether different.  “This is an inane conversation.”

 Scully finally allowed the levity to leave her voice.

 “Admit it, it isn’t what I’d have trouble doing in public, it’s what you’d have trouble doing in private.”

 And that did it.  Stella grabbed her arm and stopped them both in their tracks, took her face in hand and kissed her like they were back on the Persian carpet.  Scully felt strands of cold hair, sticky as summer lemonade, brushing past the hollows of her cheeks as they coke-bottled inward, tangling between their noses and people wove their way around them like a parade of ants round a suddenly fallen branch.  Someone whistled.  

 They came up for breath, remaining close to study one another’s faces.  Maybe the answer to this situation was somewhere in the wet corners of their eyes, sitting like pollen on their eyelashes.

 “You feel all that blood rushing to your cheeks?” Stella whispered, distracted, but still intending to make a point.

 “Not all of it.”

 Stella smiled, dropped her eyes to Scully’s lips and back up.

 “Do you mind if I blush when you do it?”

 Stella thought a moment.

 “No, actually.  No, not a-t’all,” Stella said, vowels tearing from their syllables like meat from a bone. “Let’s go home.”

 Scully tried not to look away from the people who stared as they made their way forward through their audience.   It was a couple blocks before she spoke again.

 “Why the rose?”

 “The name of the last woman.  The one we got back.”

  *

  The monitors hum and the ventilation system cranks beneath the squeak of soft-soled shoes on clean linoleum, a familiar song Scully spent her twenties losing sleep to.  She cradles the morphine pump loosely in her left hand and slips her right one under the blanket to preserve the warmth where Mulder had squeezed it.  She is somewhat sorry there is no justifiable excuse for Mulder to be at her bedside rather than work.  They have never reported their couple status officially to the FBI.  She’s not even sure they’ve reported it officially to each other.  They’ve only just started, though it doesn’t quite feel like a beginning.  It is impossible to picture an end.

When she hears the high heels, she assumes someone’s gotten the wrong room, and when she turns her head and sees Stella approaching the bed, she thinks she might be hallucinating, might have accidentally hit the button under her thumb.  

“What are you doing here?”

Stella kisses her forehead and sits to her left.  The morphine gun rolls onto the crinkly hospital sheets as Stella takes her hand.

“Are you high?” Stella asks with a standard touch of naughtiness, eyes on the little black button.

“No.  I’ve barely used it.”  This statement is not without a bit of regret.  There’s a part of her that keeps hoping she’ll need it so this would make some sense.  A shot in the gut should hurt more.

“You look exhausted,” she tells Stella to take the attention off herself.

“I just got off a plane. Mulder called me.”

Scully feels her eyes go wet immediately.  They’ve been brimming for days – Felig’s morbidness, his loneliness, her own confusions and ultimately, fear.  She hopes if he really was able to “take” death for her, that it suits him as well as life does her.

Stella intertwines their fingers, careful not to disturb the IV, brings their joined hands up to her mouth. Scully can feel Stella’s lips trembling against their combined knuckles, her teeth setting playfully there as she pretends she’s going to bite Scully.  She’s hiding.

“I thought you were dead,” she croaks, nose between Scully’s second knuckle and one of her own. Scully knows Stella is not embellishing about this. Mulder has a way of starting a conversation at the wrong end. Scully-got-shot-long pause is how he would’ve put it, waited for Stella’s stunned what to share the fact that she was fine.  Stella swallows and her regular voice returns.  “I’m going to kill him when I see him.”

“I know that feeling.”

Scully weighs the next part, doesn’t want to have to explain it all right now.

“I don’t really need to be here.”  Stella doesn’t need to be told twice.  Her hair looks slightly green under fluorescent light and her shoulders go high and tight whenever she looks at the IV stand.

“Then let’s go.  I’m at the Royalton.  There’s a fireplace.”

“I don’t know… how to ask them to leave.  I got shot yesterday.”

“Don’t ask.  Tell.”

Scully licks her lips and chews a bit of chapped skin there. Stella reaches into her purse and hands her a luxe ginger-flavored lip balm to apply.  She looks more tired than Scully knew she could, blue eyes draining grey into the collar of her white silk shirt.  She seems to melt toward Scully’s bed, slowly lowering her head to the cot, drapes herself over Scully’s body.  The chair howls against the floor as she moves it closer.  Scully takes her right hand from under the blanket so that she can wrap both arms around Stella, clasp her hands between Stella’s shoulders. Her spine rises and falls beneath Scully’s forearms.

“I’ll tell them for you,” Stella says.  “In a minute.”

Scully knows this will make no difference.  The only people they’ll listen to are wives and husbands and parents and children, the official relationships of the world.

“A fireplace?  A real one?”

“Mm, they come up and light it for you.”

She doesn’t have official relationships.  But what she has might be even better.

 Chapter 15

Chapter 16 

#wtid #stella and scully #msr #stella and mulder #the fall fic #xfiles fic

[legendofgrump]

OC Breakdown: Your Guide to Which Fucked Up Dorks to Love and Which Ones to Hate

This is gonna be a looooong post but if you’re interested in my OCs then buckle up because I think you might like it! I’m just gonna give you guys some little blurbs about who’s who, since I’ve gotten a ton of new people that seem to be interested since the last time I explained it. Under a cut because sheer length~

Firefly: Origin from an old Grump AU that turned into an OC, hence why he looks so much like Dan. He’s a harbinger of death who hosts lost souls in the form of fireflies and tries to help them move on to the afterlife by helping them accomplish whatever unfinished business they have. He’s very helpful and unselfish, but doesn’t take great care of himself. Luckily, he’s immortal so he can get away with it more than others can. But that doesn’t excuse the fact that he! needs! sleep!

Marianne: A big, 6′4″ spider-creature with one eye and four arms. She’s very animal-like, like a big doggo that loves to be petted. She kiiiind of feeds off of humans usually, but she’s curbed that for other meats since she became a part of normal human society. Now the biggest danger to you is the possibility that she might eat your entire garden. She’s very strong and fast, but also was kicked out of her homeland because of some heavy manipulation by someone she considered a friend. Now she kind of has trust issues with both others and herself.

Melanie “Snail” Rose: Literally never call them Melanie. It’s their birthname but they would immediately tense up if you called them that. Mostly because they left the name behind because 1) Too Girly and 2) it’s the name they went by when they were in a shitty abusive relationship with their last boyfriend. But then they chopped all their hair off, changed their name, and moved far away so that they could get away from that guy, so they’re much happier now. Plus, I mean, they’re a Sick freelance artist now which is their dream. Also a memelord with a massive sex drive.

Andy the Android: Originally named “Flirtbot3000″ and created by some shut-in nerds that think of women as objects, they were designed to literally be like a human sex doll. But I mean, they’re a robot, so they’re not actually human. You get the idea. But somewhere along the line, that went haywire, Andy had a massive glitch and lapse of memory, fell in love with a backwater bumfuck farmboy named Daniyal and essentially turned into a happy housewife. They love cooking and clothes and just making things Pretty, but are also lowkey the Mom Friend. Like they get Baby Fever really easily and love love love children.

Beauregard “Bo” Gray: One half of the Partners In Crime, Bo came from an affluent household and became a rebellious college kid just looking for a thrill. He got super into alcohol and partying way before he really should have and got tied up with this small chick named Esky. He gets into robbery and gunmanship just for the thrill of it and also because he totally falls in love way too easily. A dumb alcoholic that just loves love, basically. He tries his best, but sometimes he’s too posh for his own good.

Esky Clarke: The other half of the Partners In Crime. She lived a rough life until she decided to take matters into her own hands. She lives off of whatever she steals and travels the world trying not to get caught by police. She’s a self-taught gunner and pretty ruthless because she believes it’s either fight for what you need, or get nothing. But she still knows how to have a good time and loves to fuck around with people by hustling them in gambling or something.

Venus Milo Cordette: Venus is an alien from outerspace that came to Earth for an adventure and ended up becoming an international pop star. She tries her best to keep the fact that she’s an alien under wraps by hiding her third eye under her bangs and pretending that her unnatural skin tone is extreme dedication and body paint. But she’s also very unknowledgeable about the world around her, so she often fucks up things that any human would know (i.e. where she’s from). She’s kinda goofy, but super sweet and lovable, and very much cares about the people that are nice to her. She’s super curious and loves to learn new things about the Earth, but sometimes she has trouble retaining it.

Bailey Ames: A nonbinary buttkicker. Bailey is here to kick ass if you fuck with anyone they care about. Or if you’re just a general dick. Not afraid to punch an asshole for catcalling them. Loves their two girlfriends to death and has been with them both since high school. They’re a hair stylist at the local salon, but they also absolutely adore painting, especially landscapes and abstract pieces. They’re the type of person that will say hi to you if you look lonely at the bus stop and to start conversations by asking for your pronouns.

Megan Blackwell: She looks like your typical valley girl, and sounds like one, too, but she’s too busy getting her PhD in Quantum Physics to give a shit what you think about it. She’s overworked and can only afford college because of the tons of scholarships and the work study she takes on, but she’s not the type to give up even if it seems impossible. She’d much sooner chug 8 energy drinks and stay up until 6am finishing that paper than admit defeat. She’s typically very cold to warm up to people, but she’s very loving once she does and a very affectionate person who likes to be touchy. Also one of Bailey’s girlfriends.

Nikki Osborne: Bailey and Megan’s girlfriend that completes the trifecta of Polybabes. She dropped out of high school to become a rockstar because she believed in her little garage band of her friends. (The band is called Death Kittens, by the way.) The fact that she feels like she’s let a lot of people down by dropping out only pushes her forward in trying even harder and making things succeed. She’s the bassist, and by day she works a shitty minimum wage job to make sure she’s not mooching off her girlfriends. She’s a generally chill and relaxed person unless she’s majorly stressed out, but she’ll usually lock herself away if that happens.

Leanna “Cookie” Lewis: A cute, sheepy, trans boy that lived with just his mom growing up. He learned everything he knows from her, which is great, because he loves his mom more than anything. His favorite pass time is baking, especially pastries, and he’s a real whiz in the kitchen, but he’s also pretty talented at playing the ukulele. He’s very shy and anxious and prefers to stay out of confrontation, which is why he usually flocks toward more confrontational extroverts to keep him safe (though he doesn’t do it on purpose). He works as a little barista at a coffee shop, which wouldn’t be so bad if his coworkers weren’t actual assholes.

Blythe Abilene: Blythe is the Goddess of Illusions and lovingly refers to herself as “Aphrodite, but with the body of Adonis” since she’s trans. She’s pretty confident in herself, mostly because she’s literally a God among mortals, and sometimes it gets a little out of hand. For the most part though, she’s just a professional prankster, who loves to torture mortals with what she calls “Fun Houses,” where she essentially turns their home into a cacophony of small inconveniences. Anything from “can’t open your underwear drawer” to “coffee pot full of butterflies” to “all furniture moved one inch to the left” is fair game, but nothing too threatening.

Cleona Arkan: She’s an avid inventor, aiming to invent AI technology that’s better than ever. But she doesn’t always go through....legal means. Which just makes her a little bit paranoid about getting caught because she knows she’ll be detained and, more important, her inventions taken from her and used for who-knows-what. She’s very talented with computers and robotics alike, even going so far as to invent Glitch who, though not a success, is still pretty successful at other things. She’ll also help patch up Andy from time to time, if they need a little tune-up.

Maxim: A demon meant to take advantage and feed off of mortal anxieties. He lives on the other side of your mirror and takes advantage of that. He’s the most irredeemable asshole to ever exist and he takes pride in that. He’s so narcissistic that you couldn’t possibly hurt his feelings with words or remarks about his personality because he thinks he’s amazing. Though he is susceptible to well placed punches. He’s not above using anything against you, whether it be slurs or just subtle jabs at whatever you’re most sensitive about. Just the worst.

Gigi Moore: Based on old 50′s Disney cartoon style. She’s meant to be from the past, where things were much Different than they are now. She’s a bit of an antithesis to Maxim, as she’s also susceptible to saying things that aren’t Acceptable, but she tries to learn from them when she’s corrected. She used to be a 50s housewife to her husband before she ended up where she is now, but comes to find out she’s actually a very repressed lesbian. At first she has a hard time coming to terms with it, but being around positive influences helps her to learn and better herself and actually accept herself for who she is.

The Glitch: Cleona’s invention. She’s got an old CRT monitor for a head and four arms, but, as exemplified by her name, she doesn’t exactly do what she’s supposed to. She was designed to be a cleaning robot, made perfectly for cleaning up anything and everything. Except....she’s not waterproof and, the first time Cleona tried to get her to do some dishes, she got water in her circuits and it made her flip out. She’s constantly having an identity crisis and just wants to be useful, but honestly she’s not sure how to do it since she can’t do what she was made for.

Rory of Rine: Rory was born in some kind of Legend of Zelda, High Fantasy bullshit land in a village full of normal people. Except that he’s a special person who was born with the unfortunate ability to see how someone will die the first time they touch him. For the longest time it plagued him, but eventually he fessed up and told his grandmother about it. The two of them tried to get him help, but it only served to make his village angry and fearful, gouging out his eyes and then chasing him out of the village. So for many years he lived on his own, raising cows peacefully and coming to terms with himself. And now he’s slowly learning to not repress things as he dates Daniyal (along with Andy, it’s a poly thing).

Ellie Ross: She’s an empath with a strong need for attention and affection. She only feels worth for herself if someone else is validating her, so she constantly craves other people’s love, which is how she falls into Maxim’s hold for the longest time. She does a lot of questionable things that aren’t necessarily good, but all she’s looking for is to feel good about herself. She’s also got the ability to briefly manipulate people’s emotions, which helps in making people like her, but it only holds for so long unless she actively holds them herself.

Diana “Wolf” Lowell: A trans boy werewolf with a tragic past. He’s on a path of vengeance to find the person who killed his beloved Fang. Maxim promises him the chance to get that person if Wolf helps him out some, so of course he agrees. He’s driven by anger and angst, but ultimately just wants closure and to feel Okay again. He’s overly aggressive and, well honestly, more of a lycan than a werewolf, since he can transform at will. But I call him a werewolf so.

Ant: Ant is but ten years old and fell into Maxim’s grasp because they didn’t have anything else and he was all they really knew. They weren’t raised in the best of conditions (and honestly they weren’t “raised” at all), so they’re constantly caked in dirt and grime and blood. Which, honestly, they’ve grown used to and now it’s just familiar to them. Their use for Maxim comes from their ability to communicate and summon ants--hence the name--the best part being that those ants can then form a larger, rideable ant, which Ant has named Leafcutter, very creatively. They’re a bit wild, but just generally an actual Child, where they like to have fun and feel loved and useful.

Lyar (of Quadrant 85439): The son of a diplomat that absolutely hates politics. More specifically, an alien boy that is meant to take over the job after his father passes it down to him. He’s been groomed all his life to take over the position and become the next voice for his people, but he absolutely hates it. Not to mention, he’d be horrible for the job considering he’s a compulsive liar with no desire to be kind to anyone who has nothing to offer him. He’s more interested in fashion and, essentially comes to Earth to get away from his family. He doesn’t have a mouth, so his main mode of communication is ASL, which he learned as part of his training to communicate with other planets. (He knows roughly 8,000 different languages, though not all of them Well.)

Arthur “Artie” Jackson: A simple boy with a simple dream to become a world famous hockey player. Except it took him the longest time to realize he was gay and now he’s Really Nervous About It. His best friend Jade, who used to be his girlfriend, is the only other person who really knows about it and he’d never dare to tell his team for fear of the repercussions. But he’s very dedicated to his sport and keeps dragging out his college years because he keeps getting offered scholarships if he stays “just one more year.” Also he drives a motorcycle which is super cool.

Adara of Derva: Adara is a faun who was raised in a simple village to a simple family. Except that a great evil was foretold for their village and their older sister, Jaya, would be the one to save it. Except Jaya was selfish and went off on an adventure before she could get the power necessary to do the saving, so Adara was saddled with her destiny instead. They were gifted magical fire powers from a local witch and trained to use them, but when the time came to defeat the beast, they couldn’t bring themselves to do it in time and their whole village was destroyed. They spent the rest of their life looking for a new place to settle down and trying to move past their own mistakes.

King Balthazar Leviarn III: He’s a young king, but a king nonetheless. His father died far too soon in a war for the kingdom and Balthazar took the throne, though his mother still assists him in governing. His mother is much more cold and dedicated to keeping things running smoothly and effectively, rather than doing what’s morally right, whereas Balthazar is a more caring and nurturing kind of guy. He likes to protect his people and wouldn’t hesitate to take the front lines in a war he believed in, just like his father had before him.

Dahlia Harrison: Dahlia is the lead guitarist in Nikki’s band Death Kittens. She’s the oldest of the four members, though only by a year and a half. While the other three are much more outward with their emotions, Dahlia is a more quiet and thoughtful type. That being said, if you make her mad, she has a cold fury that will literally ruin you from the inside out. The only person she’s overtly open and emotional with is her girlfriend Toshiko.

Toshiko Koizumi: Lead singer of Death Kittens and probably the least assuming one of the group. She’s very much into cutesy and sweet things more than typically punk things. And she definitely dresses as such, too. But the band happily accepts her and knows that she can lay down some sick bars about angsty emotions. She was born in Japan, but moved to America with her dad after her parents got divorced. She still has a great relationship with her mom, but they don’t get to see each other as often since she’s still in Japan. But she’s also a very extroverted and friendly girl that loves to chat to people about whatever they’re interested in, and she loves her girlfriend Dahlia to death.

Cynthia “Cynth” Woods: The very small, but very high energy drummer of Death Kittens. She’s the one that came up with the name and is constantly coming up with new ideas about the band in general. She’s probably the most actively dedicated (though none of the others are apathetic toward the band at all). She’s fiery and a bit prideful, but definitely deserves to be with how talented she is at her craft. She’s even perfected drumming with four drumsticks at once, as ridiculous as it sounds. Still, Cynth is a good and loyal friend that will stomp your organs in if you fuck with her or someone she cares about.

Lorna: Lorna is similar to Maxim in terms of origin. She also comes from the land behind your mirror, but she’s a personification of depression instead of anxiety. She’s much less aggressive, but also very compelling when it comes to convincing you that everything would be better if you just slept it all away (or worse). She’s extremely unmotivated to do things unless they adhere to some stupid impulse that may or may not be harmful to herself. But she’s a generally kind person who really just needs some love in her life. Unfortunately, the kind of love she doesn’t need is the massive crush Maxim has on her.

Ethan Parks: Ethan is one of Snail’s friends from art school. He was a graphic design major that lived for making things look clean and Super Cool. He was a little bit of a lazy ass when it came to college, waiting until the last minute on every project, but had that magical talent of making something amazing the night before every time. He’s a little bit goofy, but a good-hearted boy nonetheless, and loves to party and hang out with friends until late into the night.

Jack Hughes: Another one of Snail’s art friends. Jack was more interested in videography, cinematography, and performance art. He’s pretty shy and quiet off-camera, but once he’s got something to perform, he seems like a total extrovert. He’s not afraid to get the public involved in his pieces as well, even if it’s something really weird, but when he shows it off for critique or just because someone asked to see his work, he gets extremely shy and stutters a lot trying to explain it. He’ll definitely geek out about anything film related, especially when it comes to improv and camera work.

Kitty Dupree: Kitty is the resident studio major of the friend group. She loves painting and has always wanted to have her work in a gallery. She usually works with canvas and paint, but she’s definitely not shy about experimenting with different mediums. Her canvases tend to be HUGE and her materials can range from normal paint to literal blood, so all of her paintings are generally exciting to look at. Though she’s a big fan of abstract pieces, so don’t expect to find immediate meaning in them. She’s generally bubbly and affectionate, and lives life with the mindset of “friends until you’re a dick” right from the moment she meets you.

Jonah King: They were Snail’s roommate in college, and a totally great friend for them when they were going through a rough time. Jonah is a little softspoken, but otherwise outgoing and friendly! They’re an extremely talented sketch artist that fills sketchbook after sketchbook with gestures and people-watching studies. They’re almost always doodling, but also very attentive and good at listening. Jonah is just an all around great friend to have, honestly.

#my ocs #god this is so long #hopefully people like this #ive been working on it for like hours #god

[swiftiesupportgroup]

my anxiety has been really bad lately. No one knows about it and I've never been actually diagnosed, but I know I have it. The last 2 weeks I have been really struggling, especially with just starting uni this year. I've not been to one of my classes for the 3rd week in a row now because my anxiety has been so bad. Today I couldn't even leave my house. I know this is bad and avoiding it is only making it worse but I don't know how I can get through it. Do you have any tips for me? Thank you

Hi sweetie,

I’m sorry to be answering this only now. Unfortunately our members have been dealing with their own issues and handling their own work/school/life so most of us haven’t exactly been in a state of mind to give advice. I just reblogged some posts about coping skills for anxiety. I hope you’ve been able to find ways to cope with yours, but to answer your question, here are some tips for dealing with anxiety. 

First of all, I’m so sorry hear you’re having a hard time. Sadly, most of us have been through it and it’s never easy.

So now for the practical advice:

I know it’s way easier said than done to let go of things and focus on something else, something positive. But if you can manage, it might be good for you to try. 

*Though it’s important to know that if you’re at a point where absolutely anything is too much, this is not gonna work, I’ve been there too. In that case I’d suggest you see your doctor and ask for a referral for a therapist who can help you cope and manage your stress.

Something that has worked for me is creating distractions for myself. I’m really good at procrastinating, and I’ve learned that you can actually procrastinate your stress. Whenever I’d get overwhelmed and on the verge of a panic attack, I say to myself: ‘NO. STOP. Think about something else. NOW.’ Then I actively distract myself with music/ tv shows/books/cooking/organizing/tumblr/anything that occupies my mind fully. And in a matter of minutes I’m preoccupied with my new activity and actually not thinking about whatever is stressing me out. So I procrastinate my stress right until I have to do the thing that’s giving me anxiety. And this way I’m only fully stressed for a few minutes/hours in stead of actual weeks. So weeks of misery can turn into only hours, which is pretty good if you ask me.

Another thing to help you think about something else or feel a bit better is to spoil yourself. Don’t save that yummy treat for the moments you ‘deserve’ it, have it cheer yourself up. Use that fancy lotion or shampoo, get dressed for a glamorous night out (especially if you��re staying in), grab a hair brush and jump on your bed and sing your heart out to your favorite song, watch some videos of baby goats (that one works for me). They’re all small things, but when you find that little thing that always puts a smile on your face, do it.

If you can, squeeze in some more sleep. I know that can be very difficult but more sleep is always good, you’re less susceptible to be affected by hormone level changes through out the day if you had a good night’s sleep. It’s like, if you start off the day after a good night’s sleep, you have more back up energy to help you manage your triggers. Naps are also good, but not too late in the day because that will in turn disturb your sleep at night.

Nature can do wonders to manage stress. Exercise as well. Taking a walk, seeing beautiful nature stuff can be very relaxing, and again, whatever you like most. A walk on the beach, a walk in the woods, a hike, a run, a dance class, whatever you’re in the mood for.

And for all of these goes: Even if it doesn’t work, it’s more than worth the try to spoil yourself a little bit and treat yourself and show yourself some love in the form of self care.

If you find yourself doing these things without any results, or you maybe can’t even bring yourself to do any of these, I’d really suggest getting professional help. It’s not shameful to see a therapist, nor is it shameful to take meds for your illness.

Therapy and meds. From my own experience I can tell you that sometimes, when we live with mental illnesses or even high levels of anxiety for a while, we get to a point of no return. Brain wise. Your brain chemistry just doesn’t work the way it should when you’ve been subjected to prolonged periods of anxiety, stress, depression, ocd, ptsd and many more. Your brain chemistry changes and it cannot change back on it’s own. Not always of course, therapy can work wonders on it’s own, but sometimes at some point it really just is a matter of brain chemistry that needs help working like it should. I’ve been on meds for a while now and the difference it has made is unfathomable. Honestly I feel like a different person. I no longer get stuck in these negative thought spirals. Things that sent me into a blind panic sometimes no longer even phase me? It’s beyond anything I could have hoped for. And I could have gotten the meds sooner if I hadn’t been so scared of getting a diagnosis and actual treatment. It has been life changing and I’m in no way ‘cured’, I still have relapses and am nowhere near the energy levels of a healthy human being, but I also no longer feel like absolute crap all the time. My perspective has changed, it’s really unbelievable. And I would absolutely recommend asking your doctor about it to see if it would be something that you could benefit from.

So what I’m trying to say, there are things that can help, and the only way to find out is to try. And if you can’t, don’t be afraid to ask for help.

We all need help sometimes. And issues like these, well we’re not meant to deal with those on our own. Reach out to someone you trust and feel comfortable with, a friend, a parent a family member, a school counselor, and share your worries and your feelings and let them ease your mind. And if you need to, let them help you find the help you need to be able to manage your stress and live a happy life and be your best self.

So please know that you matter, you’re worth the effort, your joy is worth the effort. And there are so many people out there who want to help you, and actually can help you. There is no shame in reaching out to get better.

I love you, I know you can do this. And if you feel like you can’t, we’re always here if you want to talk and we’re always rooting for you.

Love,

Diana @coffee-midnights and everyone at Swiftie Support Group

#swiftie support group #anxiety #coping skills #755 #anon #answered

[journalofacreep-blog]

“I’m what you call a creep but don’t start to run away already”

I’ve been looking at his snapchat story and here I am being jealous like an idiot. I know there’s no reason for that and nothing can justify my childish behaviour, but I can’t keep it in. I choke my inner voice not to let others see the gasps that resonate in me. I love him and it’s not like it’s requited. We only met once, and the conditions were quite bad to be completely honest. Since then, I’ve been trying to go over it but people like me don’t have it all that easy. People like me. Creeps. Or what other people call creep. Those who are not your basic commoner and whose difference triggers hatred, because let’s face it, none of that is about fear. Rejection is about laziness and tightness of mind. I’ve never been a snapchat user and when I met him on that dating app, I just thought “Why not? Try it. Mimic people your age, nothing that bad can actually happen”. Sometimes, I should let my inner voice talk more and listen carefully to what it says. To be entirely fair, I knew what was gonna happen, but I just dodged reality like you dodge a lost ball. Badly. You pretend it didn’t touch you, but you can feel that your skin already started bruising the second you took the hit.

I love him and people like me mean it when they say it. When they realise it. It starts growing slowly in you and never really stops. Unless you get interested in someone else, as terrible as it sounds. Everything is so quick yet so strong, so intense. Nothing becomes everything and before you open your eyes to stare at the atrocious reality, you’re already lost in it. Feet stuck in the ground, marshes pulling you further in the absurdity of your feelings.

Maybe he didn’t help. Maybe he pushed me in that situation as well as he wanted to get something in return. But the only one that is now obsessed is me and only me. People like me, those creeping out about their own destructive feelings, you medically call them borderline, coming from borderline personality disorder. That’s not the only characteristic about it that makes social interaction a real pain in the neck, but it’s surely the one that is the most complex to control and causes so much pain on the way. Falling madly in love because of details, because of a gaze, because of a word. It’s so easy yet so difficult to not fall in the trap that your own mind creates. You’re the prisoner of something too big to carry on your back, so you just let yourself get swallowed and try not to smother in your uncertainty and fear.

And whatever you do, every time you know you will fall back into the same pattern, because the only way to get out of it is to jump in another one holding your breath, hoping for the best.

So yeah, I was talking about that guy I met online maybe 3 months ago. I normally don’t feel attracted to guys. To tall guys, pale and with such square jaws. But I suppose type changes with time, or it’s just maybe not a thing after all. If you want the honest truth, I just feel like I grew to like his appearance. Snapchat is that kind of social media: you send pictures, you receive pictures, you show pretty much all of the uninteresting things about yourself and wait for someone to comment on it. I always thought it was so narcissistic to be using it, and look at what I became, posting stuff as well to try and reach him when his ignorance turns too strong and painful.

I can’t remember when he started ignoring me. Maybe after the day we met, or should I say the night we met. Went to his house because mine is a fucking joke. The heater exploded, kind of, and water flooded everywhere. Except the day after, I had to go to work after uni and raging so badly, completely powerless, I posted something on my story. Of course, the knight on his magnificent white horse came to me with a solution and here was the plan: at 8 in the morning, I was supposed to join him for breakfast, take a shower and take him to uni as he more or less dropped out. I was supposedly his ‘’motivation’’ to go. At that time, we were still sending messages day and night. Before he got bored of me. Or I assume he did.

Upset as I was, I couldn’t sleep. A little detail could keep me awake for hours sometimes and this night, the anger about the whole leek thing and the excitement of meeting that boy prevented me from finding sleep. What if I didn’t wake up in the morning, and missed him? To be honest, the whole thing was more about meeting him than the actual shower I had to take. And at 4am, we were still talking. Still. Always talking late as he can’t sleep. He’s got his own issues and has nightmares often. From what he told me. I remember the few texts we exchanged at that point. He must have forgotten, his short-term memory is quite bad, or maybe that’s just what he likes me to think.

“Not sure I’m gonna be able to wake up at 8 tomorrow. You should just come now”

“You’re really tempting me”

“Come over”

And I just went. I didn’t fight. Didn’t think about what it meant. What it could mean for him. What it would mean for me.

I can remember meeting him really clearly. He just hugged me with the door of his flat still open. Cute. I thought he was extremely cute. I like cuddly people. He likes to be cuddled as well, he likes when you touch his hair, that’s what he told me a few times, comparing himself to a cat. I must admit, his hair was soft, nice to touch, nice to play with. Just a little bit longer than the average guy. He had to cut it later on because of his mom, apparently she likes it better short. I remember every ‘’Sorry’’ he said when he touched me, slightly brushed my skin or when he kept me close to him. His thin arms were so strong, I felt protected. For the first time in my life, I felt protected by someone else even though he was an absolute stranger. I just felt good, warm and incredibly relaxed. I was surely nervous, surely stiff but all I could think about was my heart pounding in my chest, ready to explode, and his hands shaking on me.

Soon, he tried kissing my neck. And oh god, it was good. He knew that it was my most sensitive area, the one way too sensible for someone I don’t know to be touching that quickly. I let him do a few more times, until my breath went wilder, and my voice twisted, getting lost in the room. I forgot about his flatmates. I forgot about everything and he will never know what kind of effect he had on me at that time because I can’t let myself tell him. The room is dark in my memory, but his window lets some light come in, which allows me to see briefly his face. He’s aroused. He’s turned on. I turn him on. The idea of it makes my heart flutter and my confidence rises a little bit. Now that I think about it, it could’ve been another girl and it would’ve been the same. I just feel like he wanted sex. Doesn’t matter with who, or how. He just wanted it as a physical need. And maybe I needed it as well. But I didn’t surrender. “Your moans are so cute”

I’m a virgin. I did some stuff with my ex-girlfriend but that’s not what you call “having sex”. I didn’t want to jump that big of a step on the first night meeting him. I just didn’t want to give away that kind of gift to someone who didn’t know, didn’t consider this as much as me, and surely didn’t want the same thing as me. I was right. But I need to confess that I wanted it. I regret. I regret not giving it to him and I hate myself not to have tried it. I wanted him. I wanted him to go further, to find me attractive and cute. To find some beauty in me, a “me” that I hate so much for so many reasons. I got scared, I acted reasonable as every other time in my life, I backed off. And maybe it was the right thing to do, maybe I would’ve regretted it even more if I had let myself get taken away that night. But maybe I wouldn’t have. Maybe things would not have turned that way and we would be closer, seeing each other more often, spending time together. Now that I re-read my whole big essay on “How to be an idiot and a creep and such a coward”, I’m ashamed to find that I’m still so fond of him after so many weeks. One month after meeting him, I got rejected without even saying anything.

“You’re a very good friend to me. It was clear to me that I didn’t want anything romantic with you from the day we met. That’s why I didn’t try to see you again. I’m too unstable.”

It hit me so hard. I thought there was hope. I thought he was busy and didn’t have time to meet up. I didn’t want to be a bother. I didn’t want to annoy anyone. Being my unlovable casual self, I fucked everything up. I talked about it with my two best friends, and they told me he was the one in the wrong. He should’ve said it sooner. But according to them, he was just continually testing the water to see If I could drown in it. Maybe I could come back to his bed, give what he wanted.

As retarded as it appears, I apologized that night.

“Sorry not to be able to give you the kind of fun you want”

 I felt like I was the one not compatible, the one doing the bad thing again. He said that I didn’t have to say sorry, but still today, I feel like the broken piece in the machinery. What if? What if I went back to him that night. But I didn’t. And since then, I can’t get him out of my head. Even more than before. I dated another guy for a week and about after that, tried to get over him, but horrifyingly, I was constantly thinking about him while seeing the other one. It was just awkward, and that uneasiness was way too much. We didn’t get that between him and me and the familiar feeling was lacking. I wanted him back. If I knew, I would’ve spent this night differently. I would’ve cuddled more, certainly kissed and talked less. Words are so insignificant when it comes to reality. Talk is so overrated.

I’m not cute. I’m not fit. I’m not particularly intelligent and I talk loudly and appear rude to most people. My anxiety around others leads me to do those things I don’t want to do. It’s just panic, then act and then regret. I feel that void in me and would like someone to fill it with whatever they want, except pain. I’ve got enough of pain. Someone told me to fill it myself but it’s never the same feeling. I felt complete that morning, when he buried his head against my tummy, his head on my lap with his hair tickling my skin, breathing in the perfume exuding from my jersey. I brushed his bangs and I can remember those two eyes. He flipped over and took me back with him on the mattress. This time, it was my head buried against his neck and I didn’t recognize my voice when I talked. Damn, I felt like an idiot. I was scared. I was full of hope. I just wanted him not to regret meeting me after seeing my nasty self in full daylight.

 “You’re not disappointed?”

“Of what?”

“Me. Disappointed in me. “

“No, why would I?”

“Most of the people are after they meet me”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure the whole city is..”

 His wit made me fall. His way of making me feel relieved, making me feel good about myself, better. It was just something about him that saved me at that time when I was starting to fall back into the darkness. Though it lost me again when everything happened after that. I will never forget it. That night during when I did the craziest thing of my whole existence. And I’m scared to write those last words as I reach the flat bottom of my thoughts about you. I’m scared because I will have to stop looking for you in the library when I go through the group study, even though it stresses me out so much to look at people in the eyes, because I will have to stop answering your messages at one point, stop sending you messages, stop posting stories hoping you will see them, hoping you will think about me even for one second. I’m scared to be alone again, and I’m scared to lose those laughs you create when I read your silly messages or open your stupid snaps about your daily life that doesn’t include me. Yeah, I longed to be part of your life and you being part of mine. I wanted, and always tried, to make you feel better when you felt shit. And I’m happy you’re going back to uni correctly. More or less, I don’t even know. I’m happy you don’t drink as much as before and you seem to be more serious about everything. I’m happy you’re happy but I’m broken again and I blame my disorder for getting attached so quickly, to be so intoxicated with you but I just dodge the problem once and again. I tried to escape so many times I’m bruised all over and it hurts like hell. I gulped my feeling and swallowed the pain during all that time, and I’m scared to press the ‘’block’’ button because it will only affect me I’m sure. Because you told me to do what’s best for me and what’s gonna make me happy, because you certainly don’t care about me being there or not, as I’m not even really there. But I’m scared and I’m sad, and I feel like crying in front of my computer, typing those words that you will never read. Cause if you did, you would certainly call me ‘’creep’’.

#borderline borderlinepersonalitydisorder disorders journalofacreep