#this unspoken rule of <sequels are always worse>?

[blueflyingturtleontheway]

You know, I think we should all take a step back and remember that a good, finished, singular piece of media can actually be. Just that. A finished piece of media.

A good book or movie doesn't need tons of sequels or a whole series or show based on it.

Honestly I think we lost something when everything had started to be made with thought about how much you can make out of something instead of how good you can make it. I mean, many pieces of classical cultural works are exactly this, oneshots, singular novels, one single movie that this director did well.

And I don't mean it as some kind of attack on fanfiction, because I love fanfiction, I write fanfiction myself and I have committed a few "fan continuations" of stories. But well, we should remember that sometimes, fanfiction is best left to be just fanfiction. And it's not like this is a completely made up compliant, I mean think about how many times a sequel or a spin off ruined something? Or have a series started to get worse and worse with every season? Or when a sequel/spin off/continuation completely didn't meet the hype and expectations? If a story leaves you wanting more then, perhaps, this is what it was meant to do, it was meant to make your brain work, get you imagination running. An open ending is still an ending! Even if it leaves you unsatisfied, sometimes this is what the author wanted.

Really, the whole point of fanfiction is that it's not made by the original creators, that it's something that fits you. So if what you want is to see the story go a specific way, see a specific scenario isn't it better to just write/read fanfiction than ask for an official continuation?

[theroomofreq]

can you give me muggle jily recs pleaaseeee <3 :D

HOW MANY HIGH-QUALITY MUGGLE JILY FICS ARE THERE?? TOO MANY TO COUNT. *cracks knuckles* BUT I am here for the challenge. Jily AUs are my JAM.

Again, shoutout to our amazing @jilyarchive friends who tag every wonderful muggle jily au they come across. here is the link that will take you to their tags page. You'll find links to specific tropes and AUs :')

I've searched through my own AO3 bookmarks and history tabs, and I present to you 28 jily muggle fics that I LOVE. I am THRILLED thinking about all the good things in store for those that read these wonderful stories. This list took me ages to make because I went through and reread most of these brilliant fics. Happy reading !! xx

properly improper by @lizardcookie

“Marry me,” Mr. Potter repeats, closing the distance between them by striding back up towards the sofa, only to stop and crouch to one knee right there at her feet, looking up at her. Burning. “Pick me,” he elaborates. “Pick me, choose me, love me instead.”

- this fic is the reason why I comment the way that I do (spoiler it's because it's amazing)

The Wedding Ring by @mppmaraudergirl

What is undeniably worse than attending your sister's wedding looking as desolate and forgotten as a wilted houseplant? Drunkenly ringing your ex-boyfriend and asking him to be your date.

- SOBS UNCONTROLLABLY AT THE PERFECTION

Oh my god, they were ROOMMATES by @magic-girl-in-a-muggle-world

Silly one-shot, Muggle AU with Fem!Jily as pining roommates and Marlene as their matchmaker.

- the fic that brought me back to jily and inspired my deep obsession of fem!jily

Swipe Right, Swing Left by @downn-in-flames

The unspoken rule of using dating apps in D.C. is that you always start with where you work.

James Potter, it seems, never picked up on that one.

- giddy just thinking about this gem

'Tis the Damn Season by @petalstofish

It doesn't feel like Christmas for Lily Evans, not after losing her parents to COVID before the Holiday season. She anticipates spending Christmas all alone until a boy from her past shows up and offers her a mutually benefiting deal that has her calling him 'babe' just for the weekend. 'Tis the damn season, after all.

- cries in respect for lyrical writing

Watch Me Unwind by @maraudersftw

Lily Evans hates her job, hates the bigoted customers she has to serve as a bartender at the richest club in the city. But the one person who makes bearing all of it worth it has someone else in his arms tonight. (Rated: M)

- obsessed with the way the plot jumps around the time line in this

oil be there for you by @abby10fanfic

Texting/Social Media AU: Lily and James haven't spoken for 2 years. But that's all about to change thanks to Peter and his involvement in an essential oil pyramid scheme. Featuring boss babes, toxin-free lifestyles, binding contracts, and a very oily journey.

- YOU WOULD NOT BELIEVE HOW FAB THIS IS

a matchmaking mission by @downn-in-flames

James Potter has a mission: get Sirius Black and Remus Lupin to finally admit that they both fancy the pants off each other by Valentine's Day.

His partner in crime? Lily Evans, Remus' flatmate, who he also happens to be slightly in love with

- DOUBLE the amount of pining idiots in love :")

about time by @jilyss

'sure, yeah, I can accompany you to that black tie event for your work tonight. wait. why are we on a red carpet?'

- this is my emotional comfort fic, your honor

whiskey business by @elanev91

Sirius Black has a (bad?) habit of picking up hobbies that take over his and James' flat -- this most recent one? Homemade vodka that James now has to try and peddle to everyone in the building.

- hysterical! must read!

Fashion Disaster by @maraudersftw

James Potter is roped into an awful dare by his best-mate, which involves him wearing atrocious pieces of clothing for all days until Christmas as dictated by Sirius. If this wasn't terrible enough, he now has to contend with his maddening crush on the beautiful saleswoman at the clothing store.

- classic hijinks that I live for

it wasn't a pity invite by @elanev91

Part of the December "Winter Tropes" Jily challenge. Prompt: my family invites you to join our holiday meal as an obvious setup and omG i’m so sorry

- awkward Christmas date that owns my heart

spice and honey by @clare-with-no-i

tagging along with her food reporter sister to profile James Potter, London's hottest young chef, is not how Lily Evans pictured her Monday going - especially if he's anything like Petunia’s described.

needless to say, she's in for a whirlwind at Chez Maraudeur.

- I'm one re-read away from printing this out and putting it on my bookshelf.

Waffle Wars by @elanev91

There's only one waffle maker in the dining hall and it literally always breaks. So, naturally, the only reasonable course of action is to meticulously map out when it's working and, ultimately, do a heist.

- the witty narration in this fic can not be matched

You Can Hear It In The Silence by @alrightginger

Lily is non-verbal and deaf in a world where the things your soulmate says about you end up written on your skin. She has known about her soulmate since she was seven, but knows they don't have a clue she exists and possibly never will.

- exquisite, cue me sobbing forever

out the window by @displayheartcode

A new family moves to Ottery St Catchpole.

- everything I could ever want in a fic, forever in my mind rent free

The Christmas Guest by @thegodmachine

An Evans Family Christmas: Petunia is bringing her fiancé and Lily is bringing her…Friend…

- petunia pov that gives me WINGS

Football, Calculus, and Cappuccinos by @moonawrites

At eighteen years old, James Potter has a lot going on. He's a rising star navigating the politics of professional football, the pitfalls of sudden fame, the fallout from choosing his dream over his father's company... and a serious crush on the red headed new barista at his favourite coffee shop.

- I'm still working my way through this fic, but trust me when I say its a GEM

if u like pina coladas by @zephyrcove

Lily is desperate for a date to Petunia's wedding, James has been pining, and their friends meddle ;)

- explain to me how characters can be so perfect via texting fics?

Shelf Awareness by @ghostofbambifanfiction

It's too far out of her way and she's wasting so much money, but Lily can't help but return to the bookstore every weekend, where her passion for good literature has, perhaps, been unexpectedly reignited by the messy-haired, pun-making, rather handsome bloke who works there.

- you absolutely must know that I binge read this and then immediately REREAD it

How to win a witch in 10 days by @adenei

“She’s going to find some unsuspecting wizard, get him to fall for her, and then do all the things that turn men away to get him to break things off! Won’t it be the best way to see what witches do that drives men crazy?” But what happens when the man in question is a blast from Lily Evans's past? A Jily Magical AU based on the romantic comedy "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days."

- fic based off of a rom com? YES PLZ :’)

The Fight Before Christmas by @ghostofbambifanfiction

The heartwarming Christmas tale of Lily Evans and James Potter - two plucky kids who hated one other, until the day they really, really didn't.

- complete sucker for this one

All This Time by @thejilyship

James and Lily grew up next door to one another. Their bedroom windows giving them glimpses into the others life, and also offering prime opportunities to argue with each other over every little thing. They never figured out how to be friends when they were kids, but now that they've graduated from college and are home for the summer, they have a second chance to get things right.

- one of my favvvv tropes

Let Me Love You by @thejilyship

With only a month until she's set to take the throne of Gryffindor, Lily is informed that she'll have to get married or choose to give up her throne. She never thought she'd have to even entertain the idea of an arranged marriage. Enter, James Potter.

- cries in princess diares AU

The Fabulous Baker Brothers by @frustratedpoetwrites

Lily walks a different route home from work and stumbles upon a cute little Bakery with an even cuter baker in the window.

- yes yes yes to embarrassed pining.

Marigold Mornings by @mppmaraudergirl

This is a fun game she thinks, as she removes her hand from his side and reaches up to run it down his chest.  He catches her hand in his own, takes a step forward so that her nose nearly brushes against his shirt. She can feel the heat radiating off of him—or maybe it’s from her. He licks his lips and her eyes are drawn to the motion.  She knows it is a bad idea, absolutely knows it.

- incredible storytelling featuring dynamic characters :') a favvv

Welcome to Pettyville by@women-inthe-sequel @alrightginger

When Lily Evans accidentally sends a text to the wrong number, she isn’t expecting to find the right person behind it. She can’t stop talking to Prongs. The only thing is, Prongs can’t stop talking about the girl in his class. What could go wrong, other than the number?

- LOVE SQUARE ANYONE

The Kiss a Stranger Project by @alrightginger

“What’s your name, then?” she asks, realizing they haven’t even properly introduced themselves yet. She nervously crosses her arms.

You shouldn’t kiss a guy without knowing his name first.

Right?

- THIS ONE WILL LIVE IN MY MIND FOREVER

[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.

[misswildfire]

Am I Smart Enough?

I wrote a sequel to Imagine if Mikey Ran Away. I plan on writing each of the brothers trying to help Mikey overcome his depression and low self esteem and self confidence after the battle with Krang. This is Leo’s part. 

It had been a week since they had brought Mikey home, and during that week, he had been put on strict rest by Dr. Donnie, wanting to make sure that his youngest mate healed and didn’t make his injuries worse again like he had when he had fled their lair the first time. During this past week, Leo had been trying to find more ways to help the orange clad turtle regain some of his lost confidence. He knew it would be a long road, but he wanted to help his brother every step of the way.

His first thought was extra one-on-one training in the dojo. The idea had been quickly dismissed. Not only was he still healing from injuries, but the idea was to increase his self-confidence, not tear it down. With his current fragile state of mind, Leo was concerned that any training, as well meaning as it was meant, would be seen as Mikey not being good enough. That his older brother, his leader, didn’t see him as being able to keep up with them. Perhaps he could revisit the idea in the future, he did think it had merit, and he also loves sparring with the orange clad turtle (he was quick and agile and most times it ended up leading to some very good times),but his Little One would need to heal, both physically and mentally first.

He finally settled on simply spending time with Mikey. It had become an unspoken rule that Mikey was to never be left alone. One of them were always with him keeping him occupied during the day, and he shared someone’s bed, usually Leo or Raphs as Donnie was generally caught up in his work. So he started joining Mikey in activities he knew the youngest enjoyed. Videos games, baking, and just relaxing with him, whether it was watching T.V. or reading while Mikey worked on his art or read a comic book. It seemed to be working, at least to some extent.

At first, he was tense, shooting Leo side eyes. Wondering when the other shoe would drop, if I’ll change my mind and tell him that he was right, he should leave, Leo scowled at his thoughts. He knew it wasn’t going to be an easy road to turn Mikey’s mind set around, that there was no magic wand solution, but it hurt him to see his mate like this, to know that in some way, he had unintentionally caused wounds so deep that the only solution that Mikey saw was to leave, thinking they were better off without him. What he doesn’t realize is that without him, we’d fall apart. His youngest brother was truly the one that kept them all together. He always knew emotionally what his brothers needed, when to push and when to back off and give them space. He forced them to spend time together, when the three eldest turtles natural inclination was to be on their own. Mikey was definitely more social than any of them put together. And we’re better for it.

As the week wore on, his youngest lover became more and more relax, allowing Leo glimpses of how he was before. Today though, seemed to be different. Leo found himself with his eyes more on the orange clad turtle who was sitting on the floor in front of the table they used in the common area, rather than the book in his hands, sensing the younger became more and more frustrated and agitated as the minutes ticked by. He watched as Mikey threw down the pencil he was using the shade the picture in front of him in frustration, one hand raising to wipe the tears that had started to fall.

“I’m such an idiot, it’s such a simple picture, why can’t I get the shading right?” he muttered to himself, staring at the picture angrily. Frowning, Leo put the book that was all but forgotten in his hands down and went to kneel beside Mikey, taking the younger’s hands in his.

‘Hey now, you’re not an idiot,” the leader said softly. He waited until Mikey looked up at him before continuing.

“But I am, this should be so easy, but I can’t do it. I’m not smart like you or Donnie.” Mikey’s lips trembled as he tried to hold back more tears he could feel. He hated crying in front of Leo, hated his leader seeing him so weak and pathetic.

“Michelangelo,” Leo’s said, his heart breaking a little bit more hearing the self-deprecating words coming from his Little One’s mouth. “There are many types of intelligence. I excel in tactics and Donnie excels...well Donnie’s just really good at a lot of the sciencey stuff,” he grinned, thinking about all the stuff that the purple clad turtle did that Leo would never be able to understand in a million years.  “Raph is really good at his body building stuff, he knows how to maximize his macros and workout regimes to push himself to his limit. Each of those are different types of intelligence. However, I can’t do what they do, so does that make me stupid?” He waited patiently for Mikey’s answer, only continuing when his brother shook his head no.

“Good, now you on the other hand. You’re really great at art. You understand how the light would hit something and know where to put the shadows, you understand colour theory, colours that compliment and contrast. The art that you do takes a lot of smarts. You’re also good with cooking. You know what flavours work well together and which ones don’t. That’s another kind of intelligence. There are many different types of intelligence Mikey. Just because the areas that you excel in differ, that doesn’t make you an idiot. You do plenty that myself, Raph or Don cannot do.” Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at the picture in question. There didn’t seem to be any wrong with it, in Leo’s opinion, it looked amazing. Mikey just didn’t have any faith in his skills right now.

“Still, the stuff you guys do is important. Your tactics keep us alive in battle, Raph’s work out keeps him strong so he can protect us, and Donnie’s sciency stuff makes our lives more comfortable and helps us in so many ways,” Mikey protested, frowning. Leo smiled sadly, gather Mikey into his arms and kissing his head softly.

“I wish you saw yourself the way I do. I love your art, I love that you can express yourself in a way that  I can’t. I love how you always know how to cheer everyone up, how you  know what you need.” Trailing kisses down his brothers head, he stopped by his ear, whispering the next part. “I love your tail, and how responsive you are in my bed.” He placed a kiss on his cheek, before kissing his lips softly. “Let me show you how much I love you.” He hovered, lips barely touching Mikey’s waiting for his answer. He didn’t want to push his youngest, they hadn’t been intimate before the battle with Krang, but he desperately wanted to show his orange banded lover how much he loved him.

“Yes,” Mikey pleaded, having started to melt with every kiss his lover had given him. He wanted this, wanted to feel Leo around him, wanted to feel loved. Grinning, Leo picked him up in his arms and walked towards his bed, carrying his smaller brother in his arms. He didn’t care if he had to spend every day for the rest of his life proving to Mikey that he loved him. He would gladly do it.

[kiruuuuu]

Kapkan/Glaz sequel in which the Spetsnaz go swimming and some... get wetter than others. (Rating E, explicit, ~4.2k words) - The sequel to this oneshot!

.

Glaz’ pencil travels over the thick paper, leaving behind graphite traces which form a whole not yet, but soon. His mind’s eye is closed as he draws exclusively with his physical ones, captures shadows as he sees them and dips and valleys the way they appear before him. Over the soothing practice, he forgets all about the oppressing heat reigning unchecked once more – a few weeks, they were graced with respite from this British record summer, but now it’s returned full force and with a vengeance. Still, it’s easy to leave it behind when he can focus on his favourite hobby. Even if his teammates make it mighty difficult to concentrate.

“Make sure to get me from my best side”, Tachanka rumbles, self-satisfied with the attention he’s receiving.

“Bird’s eye view?”, Fuze guesses from the pool, shit-eating grin immediately extinguished by getting dunked underwater by Kapkan.

“One more unqualified comment like that and I’ll demonstrate why my nickname during training was freight train.”

Their bickering has been going on all day, fuelled by frustration over the heatwave – not even the trip to the SAS-owned pool has managed to lift their spirits significantly. They’re more prickly than usual instead of just lethargic and Glaz knows exactly why. “In German, they’d call your best side your ‘chocolate side’. Marius told me when I sketched his Magpie”, he informs the other three, hoping to defuse the situation somewhat and maybe even switch topics.

“Any side of his is his chocolate side”, states Kapkan, deadpan, and finally allows Fuze to breathe again. “If you didn’t get it – I’m talking about your lovehandles.”

“Shut up or I’ll shove that pool noodle where the sun doesn’t shine.”

Glaz sighs inwardly. He’d been looking forward to lounging by the pool in peace, dip in and out to cool off and get some exercise without ending up panting like he’d just run a marathon, and maybe catch a few glimpses. Just a few. He asked about sketching and stormy eyes locked with his for a split second which felt like forever, and Glaz’ mind already provided ample inspiration, excuses for a specific pose, daydreams and a whole lot more unbidden imagery… but then those grey irises slid away again in disinterest. Whether feigned or not, Glaz couldn’t tell.

Tachanka was the one who volunteered eventually, and instead of relaxing around the people he knows best in this passionless country, Glaz is now stretched out on a chair by the side of the pool, studying the old man’s physique and listening to the other three bicker.

“You can try. I’ve seen you in the water once, and you swim the way you fight – like a tank.”

Kapkan probably thinks his derision comes across as good-natured mockery instead of biting venom. He’s lucky they all have thick skin or one of them would’ve retaliated much more harshly than they tend to do, and a pissed-off Spetsnaz is nothing to scoff at. He has these days when he sharpens his claws on them, like an animal: honing his fangs on his kin, and though he recoils upon a pained sound, he’s planning his next attack nonetheless. Glaz has noticed this since day one – Kapkan carries himself like a predator, watching, assessing, waiting.

He takes himself much too seriously, but a personal jab with no harm intended only would serve to rile him up further instead of prompting a relieved smile.

“I was carrying all my gear. I’d like to see you try to continue your water ballet with Glaz on your shoulders.”

“Hey, you don’t get to watch the show and complain about it!”, Fuze protests. He’s been vainly attempting to gain the upper hand for half an hour now and really should’ve known better than to ask Kapkan of all people to help him improve his hand to hand in water. They all know Kapkan is merciless and not above humiliating his opponent, as showcased by the fact that Kapkan’s hair isn’t even wet and Fuze must’ve swallowed a litre of chlorinated water by now.

“No one would pay money to watch you drown for an hour, don’t flatter yourself.”

“Don’t move so much”, Glaz mutters and instantly regrets drawing attention to himself, because even Fuze and Kapkan cease their wet struggling to regard him curiously.

Tachanka is the one who seems to say what everyone’s thinking: “You’re suspiciously quiet today, lad.”

That’s just my seething fury coupled with the frustration of being disappointed every day, no worries, Glaz thinks and unconsciously glances over at Kapkan, who returns his gaze calmly. “I’m concentrating. Besides, shouldn’t we go back? Our hide-and-seek excuse won’t buy us another hour.”

It’s become an inside joke at Rainbow at this point – an unspoken yet silently agreed upon rule states that once a month, each team is allowed the claim to wanting to improve their navigational skills and sense of perception by utilising the natural terrain of the English countryside. In short: they tell Six they’re basically playing hide and seek so they can go out and do whatever for a few hours. The GIGN have used it to bake a surprise cake for Harry (whose vegan lifestyle makes it difficult to buy cakes for him), the Americans snuck off to Skype with their families on Thanksgiving, and the Germans prepared a barbecue plus an improvised bouncy castle for the 15th of October, when Rainbow celebrates six birthdays all falling into the same week. And today, the Spetsnaz used it to splash around in the SAS-owned pool on base.

Time well spent.

“You’re right. Don’t forget to clean up or it’ll draw suspicion”, Tachanka reminds them and rises from his sunbed like a corpse from a stretcher, complete with groans of the dead and joints popping. “I’ll even help, that’s how refreshed I feel.”

“And the fighting was my idea”, Fuze chimes in between coughs, cheeks reddened and looking wholly miserable, “so I’ll do it.”

Next to him, Kapkan is unfazed by their tussle and surfaces from the pool not even out of breath, rivulets of water running down his torso and making his skin glisten in the indirect sun beams falling in from the skylights. He’s… distracting, and therefore Glaz reacts entirely too late to his teammate joining him and pointing at the sketchbook in his lap. “Can I see?”

Unfortunately, he’s dripping all over it or else Glaz might’ve considered his question, but he’s had one too many books with him out in the rain or the snow and knows how ugly the damage looks on the pages afterwards, so he nearly flings it off into the distance with how vehemently he yanks it aside, and merely hisses a curse in preparation of telling Kapkan off for being this careless.

It’s just -

The only thing that leaves Glaz’ lips is an English: “Fuck me.”

And, well. He overheard someone else use it, probably Twitch or IQ when they burnt their hands, and then he noticed others saying it and though it’s been dancing on his tongue for days, apparently now his brain decided it was time to finally birth it.

Kapkan looks like he slapped him.

“Watch the fucking language”, Tachanka admonishes him with a wide grin. “Someone might think you’re an actual adult, Glazkov.”

His cheeks are killing him, they’re hotter than the air outside and getting flustered now will certainly look suspicious. “Just be more careful. Okay?”, he mumbles into his beard, directed at a thunderstruck Kapkan whose expression is inscrutable.

“You two can go ahead, we got this”, Fuze informs them and this seems to tear the very wet and almost-naked man in front of Glaz out of his stupor.

“Oh, I – I can take over for you. I’ll clean. You go.”

And now Glaz really wishes he had slapped him. What a perfectly obvious excuse to not end up alone with him. Before he gets a chance to drop a cutting remark of his own, Tachanka voices what everyone’s thinking: “You shit in somebody’s cereal, or why don’t you want to go back to base? You need to be forced to tidy usually.”

Fishing for justifications, Kapkan lamely defends himself by claiming he still has something to make up to Fuze – which is likely, yet no reason for him to choose cleaning over lazing about some more – and Glaz has to fight the urge to strangle him. That is, until he realises two can play this game.

“I’ll stay, too”, he announces and suppresses a laugh at how quickly Kapkan’s head snaps in his direction. “I can let my pages dry out in the sun. We’ll see you in half an hour.”

“And this why you’ve always been my favourite. Show me your masterpiece in a bit, alright?” Tachanka slaps him on the back approvingly and then heads off in Fuze’s company, the two of them discussing actual strategies about fighting underwater instead of beating the Uzbek up unhelpfully.

A stony silence settles in, making Glaz’ stomach cramp. The other Russian towels himself dry while he puts the chairs away and gathers the supplies they’ll need – there’s not much to do, the pool is being used daily and as long as they mop up all the splashed water, they should be good. Everything is done wordlessly, fuelling the awkwardness causing Glaz to drop whatever he’s holding twice, and it keeps getting worse.

Why have you been avoiding me, he doesn’t say, though he really wants to. We can pretend nothing happened. We can go back.

He could. With difficulty, but he could. If only he knew what was up. But working up the courage is impossible, he’s failed for weeks already and with a friendship on the line, with possibly more -

Kapkan chuckles. The low sound manages to pierce the spiral Glaz is sending himself down and interrupts his thoughts. “They really do have fucking pool noodles here. What on earth do they do with these?”

The supply closet indeed provides a variety of colourful foam noodles, even a deflated alligator and a beach ball. It seems they aren’t the only ones to use this facility for purely recreational purposes. “All I’m picturing now is Seamus wearing floaties.”

His comment earns him an amused snort and the ice is finally broken. They share a grin and Glaz’ relief must show on his face. “I almost want to go back in and ride this crocodile.”

“Or go dive for some of these rings.” Suddenly, Glaz gets an idea when he spots a hoop, reminding him of a dolphin show he once saw. “Hey, you think I could jump through this one?”

“No way. You’re too fat.”

Hilarious. He rolls his eyes. “You wanna bet?”

“Easy. Take a running start and jump through without touching the edges, you win. Otherwise, I win. I’ll even hold it up for you.”

“What are the stakes?”

This is where he wanted to land and Kapkan gladly followed him, possibly knowing full well where this was headed. They eye each other up. “A favour”, Kapkan suggests and couldn’t have been more vague.

Even so. Glaz likes where this is going. “Sounds good. Let’s do it.” He rids himself of his shirt and places all valuable belongings safely out of reach, encouraging Kapkan to do the same, and then walks a good distance away from the pool where Kapkan is standing, holding up the hoop expectantly. And it’d be so easy to win the bet and be owed a favour – so many possibilities. He’d be hard pressed to choose and already, his imagination is providing idea after idea, one more tempting than the next…

Then a whole other prospect enters his mind. It’d be even easier to lose. And end up at Kapkan’s mercy.

He starts jogging, building up speed, gaze fixed on the hoop until Kapkan’s is as well, the other man waiting to see whether the object will wobble from impact, no matter how small, ready to pass judgement on whether he won or lost -

- and then Glaz collides with him and shoves him into the pool.

The splash is extremely satisfying, almost as good as Kapkan’s brief grimace of surprise, shock, and betrayal as he sails through the air, flailing. Glaz almost laughs, gets out a bird-like noise of entertainment before it devolves into a shriek as Kapkan shoots back out of the pool like a crocodile himself, having spotted his prey by the shore, and the next thing Glaz knows are hands around his calves – no, one hand, the other somehow manages to land on his ass but the result is the same, they yank him in together with his previous victim.

Compared to the suffocating humidity outside, the water is refreshingly cool and punches through his consciousness like a shot of caffeine injected directly into his bloodstream, yet what makes the experience all the more powerful are the strong arms enveloping him in a tight embrace. Too tight, he was half on an exhale when going under and wants to swim up but Kapkan doesn’t let him, cradles him close and makes no move to swim to the surface, so Glaz starts struggling. Panic sets in and when he reaches down to pinch Kapkan’s inner thigh as hard as he can, large air bubbles escape the other man’s mouth. At least it’s successful: they rise.

“Fuck”, he spits out when he can breathe can, coughs and coughs into Kapkan’s face because suddenly, he’s too close and did he just try to kiss Glaz while he’s still recovering from nearly drowning? “What are you -”

It was a mistake putting his hand anywhere between Kapkan’s legs. The iron grip around his wrist hurts, even underwater, and his hand is uncomfortably pressed against the other Russian’s swimming trunks. Glaz moves his fingers to not cramp up and oh, hello. At least this time Kapkan’s dick isn’t being shoved into his face. The next attempt is successful and cold lips move against his, hurried, forceful, and then Glaz’ back hits the side of the pool with Kapkan’s body caging him in.

He should’ve known it would be unceremonious like this, the byproduct of a struggle, a line crossed stumbling instead of deliberately stepping over it. “Ask me”, he gasps and gives in, obliges: his fingers wrap around the flesh swelling despite the coolness of the water and he deepens the kiss. But not for long. He won’t be the passive party in this, and he demonstrates it by biting down on a lower lip.

“Like that”, Kapkan purrs against his chest and begins moving his hips against Glaz’ hand, the motion slow and almost sensual. He’s in a world of his own, thinking he’s won a prize of, well, something, thinking he’ll finally get… what? An awkward handjob by someone he was too cowardly to ask outright?

“Ask me”, Glaz repeats with more emphasis and feels his own body react. And how could it not, with a body mirroring his own in strength and build, with Kapkan panting in his ear and forcing his fist to remain where it is so he can fuck it. His fury has evaporated, was probably fed by the underlying anxiousness of quietly getting rejected, but now that it’s quite obvious Kapkan wants the same thing he does, all that’s left is stubbornness. That, and the desire to make Kapkan admit it.

He’s a match, though. Just as pig-headed.

And so, when he still hasn’t said anything else after more aborted kisses, Glaz tightens his grip, tightens it until Kapkan goes very, very still. His eyes are gorgeous up close. Glaz wants to feel him inside so badly, he momentarily forgets what he was doing and revels in the fantasy until a tongue dragging over his mouth catapults him back into the present.

“Suck me”, Kapkan whispers amid the soft gurgling of the waves they’re producing

Jesus fucking Christ. Glaz twirls them around with an annoyed sigh and, while wrestling the other man out of his shorts, hisses: “Why’d it take so fucking long?” All that Kapkan offers is an uncertain look as if he had mild doubts about what he just demanded, but they seem to dissipate as soon as Glaz lifts him out of the water. “Lie back.”

Wordlessly, Kapkan obeys, sits down on the edge, lower legs still dangling in the water, and leans backwards, propping himself up on his elbows so he can watch. His cock is proudly jutting straight up into the air, wet and dark and delicious, and in one fell swoop, Glaz captures its head between his lips.

They don’t have much time. He’ll have to make this quick.

Under the taste of chlorine, there’s skin and Kapkan, and he savours the taste on his tongue as he swirls it around the tip generously. Having draped himself over his friend’s thighs, his weight holds Kapkan down which turns out to be necessary as he’s pushy. His hips twitch and tilt, try to thrust upwards further into Glaz’ mouth and as if that wasn’t bad enough, there’s a hand on his head pushing down.

Somehow, he manages to free himself and glare at his dishevelled friend, flushed and beautiful and flustered – and if it was any other situation, one where time wasn’t of the essence, he’d let Kapkan do whatever he wants. But not now. “I’ll bite”, he warns him seriously, “stop that shit. Behave.”

A curse is his response, but Kapkan obliges and withdraws his arm, and then throws his head back with another swear as Glaz swallows him whole. The flesh is piping hot and rock hard, just like Glaz’ own, and he sucks it down like it’s made of sugar, opens his throat, lets the tip hit the back of it. It pains him that he can’t relish in finally doing this, but hearing all these surprised grunts and sharp breaths has its own merit – not even the cool water can calm the vicious pulsing between Glaz’ legs and he idly tongues the ridge of Kapkan’s glans, wondering what it’d feel like inside him.

When he gets down to business, he can feel Kapkan’s muscles twitching and drinks in every hiss whenever he sucks hard. He’s not teasing anymore, instead bobbing his head in a relatively fast rhythm, using his tongue to exploit that sensitive spot on the underside and massaging the balls with one hand, squeezing out moan after moan. Kapkan is loud, much louder than he expected, and very appreciative. He seems to melt under Glaz’ ministrations and actually relaxes into the stimulation which is, well, lovely, but not goal-oriented. They need to be back in twenty, maybe fifteen minutes. And thanks to Glaz’ stunt earlier, they’ll need to clean up a second time.

He pulls off the cock in his mouth with a wet noise and once again addresses his friend: “Come on. I want to feel you pulsing in my throat.”

It’s more forthright than he’d normally be, but circumstances necessitate it. Not like Kapkan seems to mind, if the scandalised yet intrigued expression is anything to go by – he also tenses up noticeably as Glaz takes him back in to the hilt, stomach muscles fluttering and contracting when Glaz reaches up to gently rub over an erect nipple. “Filthy mouth”, Kapkan rumbles and lets out an echoing moan when his nipple is twisted between two fingers. He’s so hot. Glaz wishes he could blow him for hours, but alas. “Never would’ve guessed you’re that perverted. Go deeper. Yes.”

Glaz nearly chokes himself on Kapkan’s dick with no regrets and increases the tempo, sucks even harder and deprives himself of oxygen, and the pay-off is worth it. With another loud groan, Kapkan shudders, his entire body going taut, and his cock throbs in Glaz’ mouth, shooting out bitter liquid in spurts, in time with soft rolls of his hips. He finally made him come, finally blew him to completion and it was everything he hoped for. Watching Kapkan’s expression slip from need to utter bliss is as satisfying as he’d hoped, and he gladly swallows around the erection clogging his throat.

When he pulls free again, his friend is lying flat on the tiles, breathing hard and contemplating existence. He looks shattered, more spent than after a training session and Glaz would really like to hug him. Instead, he instinctively reaches down and grabs his neglected cock, harder than it’s been for weeks (since the day he made an implicit bet with Kapkan and went to bed early, dreaming up scenarios similar to this one). Right in front of him, a naked Kapkan is recovering from what looks like to have been a mind-blowing orgasm, and as Glaz takes him all in, marvels at his form, the softening dick gives a last feeble twitch.

Shit.

Okay, he’ll be quick.

He discards his own swimwear, just leaves it floating away, and lifts himself out of the water. Kapkan has barely time to react before Glaz is straddling him, trying not to cream himself from the skin contact alone, and as revenge for all the shoving previously, Glaz guides one of his friend’s hands between their naked bodies. “Do it”, he prompts quietly, desperation colouring his voice and Kapkan must’ve noticed or else he might not have complied so fast. Calloused fingers close around Glaz’ shaft and dear god, this will be an embarrassingly quick affair.

Kapkan wastes no time and jerks him fast from the get-go, almost brutal (probably how he himself likes it and the thought causes Glaz’ knees to go weak), and it’s not only water droplets hitting Kapkan’s flat belly now. The sudden intense stimulation has Glaz whimpering and fighting it, wanting more or maybe less, who’s to say – certainly not his short-circuited mind. He barely has the brain capacity left to suck Kapkan’s other middle finger into his mouth but he does notice his friend’s eyes darkening upon the realisation.

When the finger enters him, he buries his face in the crook of Kapkan’s neck and moans. He imagines it’s Kapkan himself, pictures them rolling around on a mattress with all the time in the world, harsh thrusts and nails raking over his back and Kapkan stares into his soul as he pumps load after load into him, and Glaz is moving his hips now, grinding down against Kapkan’s hand and he doesn’t care how fucking needy he must seem because he wants this. The hand on his cock is merciless, the speed unwavering and it’s flirting with being too much – there’s vague pain there but isn’t that normal, where Kapkan is concerned?

The digit inside buries itself even deeper and brushes over his sweet spot which he rewards with a whine, so Kapkan does it again and again, and with several weeks’ worth of anticipation, with the memory of a hard dick poking his cheek, with Kapkan’s taste still on his tongue, Glaz is shoved over the edge. He shivers violently, isn’t even sure what kind of noise escapes his lips as his climax shakes him to the core, traps him in ecstasy for half an eternity during which he’s hardly aware of anything around him – and when he realises he’s coming all over Kapkan’s chest while his friend is milking him expertly enough to prolong his orgasm, it’s another half. Kapkan lets him ride it out and brings him down gently, doesn’t overdo it and withdraws when Glaz puts a hand on his wrist.

Glaz’ relief is overwhelming and lasts throughout his afterglow: a minute or two during which he sits up, calms his racing heartbeat and inspects the mess he made on pale skin before him. They finally did it. And Kapkan doesn’t even look like he regrets it. He… looks like nothing, really, expression empty as he doesn’t even move to wipe the semen off him, and doubts slowly begin to overtake the pleasant exhaustion in Glaz’ bones.

“Can I kiss you?”, he asks meekly and feels silly, perched on top of another man who had his finger inside him mere minutes ago, and yet he’s not confident enough to just lean down and do it.

Kapkan examines him attentively. “Don’t make this weird.”

“You made it weird a long time ago.”

Visibly uncomfortable with the topic, Kapkan drags him down with enough force to make their teeth click, and though the angle is odd and their noses are in the way, the gesture counts. Glaz feels his muscles relax during the brief kiss and smiles as he comes back for air. When Kapkan smiles back, the fact that they still have to clean everything, including themselves, and that they’ll be really late with no excuse at all loses its threat.

They shower together, joking some more about the SAS operators’ pool habits, and then quickly sweep the floor once again. Stepping out into the blinding sunshine is like running into a wall, the heat is unbearable and tiring. Glaz almost wants to fall asleep standing up.

“Just so we’re clear, you lost that bet”, Kapkan tells him, blinking into the brightness instead of looking him in the eyes. “So you owe me a favour.”

Glaz’ lips curl into a grin. “Of course. You only need to ask.”

And while Kapkan doesn’t respond, there’s a certain glint in his eye which is full of promises and reassurance.

[oveliagirlhaditright]

I think another reason KHIII kind of ended the way it did--with the love story of Sora and Kairi we saw in I, that really took place there the most, finally taken that next step further with the paopu and all... but not only that: Sora and Kairi being separated again, though this time being somewhat better and worse than it was last time: better, because Kairi is more active now and has a better chance at finding Sora than her last attempt. But worse because Sora’s fading away now was because of his death, unlike when they were just torn worlds apart before--is because of book ends.

For those that don’t know, “book ends” essentially means that something you saw in the beginning of your story is there in the ending. And it’s some unspoken writing rule that you want to do this. IDK why, exactly. I think it just makes it feel better that way? That your whole story is connected, and that maybe you planned it all from the start? Or maybe it’s done to make sure that a feeling you got in the beginning, that first hooked you, is there at the end? Or to be certain that if some questions got answered by the first one, they’re hopefully answered by the last one, in a sort of Chekhov's gun kind of way?

But some examples of this that I can think of off the top of my head are

1. Twilight and Breaking Dawn.

And yes, I know: everyone hates Twilight and think it’s bad... but since most people--love it or hate it--know this fandom, it’s actually a good example for that reason, and I actually think it did this right. So bear with me for a second.

Breaking Dawn, in some ways, is perhaps moreso a sequel to Twilight than even the two books that came between them were, because it actually ends Edward and Bella’s love story and answers some of the questions we had about it. Like, I think most everyone by the end of Twilight--for obvious reasons--thought Bella would have to become a vampire eventually, but the question was when it would happen, how/why it would happen, what it would be like for her, etc. Breaking Dawn answers all of these questions. Also, the director of it has the song from their prom in the first movie play during their wedding scene, as even he says that this is the true sequel to that movie, in a lot of ways, and continuation/resolution of the prom conversation.

I guess this would be a good time to mention that book ends are also sort of parallels? But with some differences to show that things aren’t exactly the same and just how far the characters have come. They can also be opposites, like you’ll see at the end of my next example.

2. The TV show: Dark Angel: another one where even the writers say the ending of season one book ends the Pilot (using that exact terminology for it). The show starts with our protagonist, Max--who is a created human being, who was made to be a super soldier, but escaped her captors as a nine-year-old, alongside some others like her--sitting on the Space Needle, thinking about her past and the “siblings” she left behind and feeling like sometimes she thinks all this happened to someone else or that it was just a story she heard... but knowing that that isn’t the case, and just hoping that the siblings are out there somewhere and that they’re okay. And it ends with her love interest, Logan (who’s a normal human, who got involved in her life. There’s actually more to it than that, but I won’t get into it), in thinking that Max is dead... is sitting on the Space Needle she loved, even though he’s afraid of heights, and echoing her exact words from the Pilot... in believing that his story with Max maybe happened to someone else, or that it was a story he heard... but knowing that it wasn’t; and despite everything, wishing that she’s somehow out there and alright. Also, episode one began with an escape and season one ended with a capture.

3. Harry Potter - It started with Voldermort tried to kill Harry, but failed--and caused this crazy bond between them and created a “neither can live while the other survives” thing--and ends with him doing so again... and him still being unable to do it, and Voldermort essentially dying because of his own choices/actions again (if he hadn’t tried to kill Harry the first time, the Killing Curse wouldn’t have rebounded--through Lily’s love for Harry--and left him a husk. If he hadn’t tried it a second time, the Elder Wand wouldn’t have turned against him in trying to kill its true owner). Also, both times the love magic that Lily left on Harry was involved.

4. The Phantom of the Opera (the musical) has Christine go to the Phantom’s lair at the start of Act 1 and she goes there again at the end of the show... though things are much different that time. And there’s an unmasking in Act 1 and in Act 2. And both times, the removing of his mask leads to us seeing just how unhinged he really is.

5. Les Misérables (the musical)... just compare Javert’s “Stars” at the end of Act 1 with his Soliloquy at the end of Act 2, that takes place in the same area. And is a somewhat reprisal. Basically, in Act 1, Javert is convinced that Valjean is an evil man, and that he’s doing God’s work in trying to bring him to “justice”. But by Act 2, he finally sees Valjean’s goodness--and that he was wrong. Always had been wrong: that Valjean was just a man, no better or worse than any other. Though, really, he’s probably better than most, and better in a lot of ways than Javert himself--and Javert got so used to seeing the world in a certain way, he couldn’t handle it when it got upended on him... and so, he commits suicide.

6... While I still hate what Game of Thrones did to Dany’s character--and don’t buy it. And will complain about it until the day I die--they were at least trying to do a book ends thing here (even if I hate it), with how eventual mad queen Daenerys (ugh) coming to Winterfell played out exactly as it had when mad queen Cersei had come there years earlier... And I guess with how the series started with a mad Targaryen having to be killed and ended the same way (ugh). And, perhaps, with Jon having to deal with whether what he did to Daenerys was right his whole life, like Jaime had to with what the did to the Mad King (ugh ugh ugh). I should also probably mention that George R.R. Martin says he’s going to book end the novels in some way, too. And man, do I hope it’s not like how the show did it. But if nothing else, it just goes to show the importance of this and that it does seem to be an unspoken writing rule. XD

Yeah...

And there are probably a ton more I could think of.

[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.

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day One Hundred Nine: It Is Elegant ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: To Rule Them All ] [ AO3 Link ]

A knock sounds against the door, lifting Hinata’s eyes from the book she’s reading.

“My lady? It’s time to be fit for your gown.”

The words spoken beyond her room earn a soft sigh. Another ball, another gown. “Very well. You may come in.” She dog ears the page to mark her place, standing from her desk and watching as a team of seamstresses enter.

Over and over she’s had new gowns made over the past several months since her coronation. All in an effort to pretty her up for all of the parties her father throws in search of a proper suitor. His eldest daughter is of age, now. The sooner he can have her married, the better, in his opinion.

But as of yet, she’s not met any who’ve caught her eye...nor, apparently, she theirs. There have been no talks of marriage or even courtships.

...though that may have something to do with her knight.

The same day she took the title of lady after seventeen years a girl, so too was Hinata appointed a knight: one pledged to her and her alone. Her bodyguard, her sword and shield. The younger son of the main Uchiha line. While the elder may have had the birthright, Itachi’s persistent illnesses meant a frail body...so he instead took to developing his mind. He now sits on her council, instead.

And that left Sasuke as the first in line.

Clearly proud of his heritage, Sasuke had stepped up to the mantle with dignity. While most might have shied from being withheld from battlefields and glory, he’d known that being chosen to guard one of royal blood was all the glory he could ask for.

And the day they’d met, she’d asked him to promise her something.

To protect her from all threats...including those perhaps not quite so dire.

Hinata knows well enough she can’t avoid marriage forever. But to be thrown so quickly into what will likely be a match made more in politics than affection makes her feel so...hopeless. Her youth may not last forever, but a bit of time to enjoy it first is all she wants.

Hence her plead.

And his agreement.

As per their arrangement, he lingers with her every spare moment...including the many galas Hiashi has hosted since their meeting. Ever hawkish, he’s looked every suitor over with a keen eye, clearly conveying one thing: this is the woman he owes his utmost allegiance. Harm her in any way - including ways of the heart - and he will not hesitate to act.

Needless to say, it’s been rather effective thus far.

But, for now, she has yet another party to endure.

She’s carefully peeled out of the layers she’s already been dressed in today until left in her barest of clothes. Measurements are taken along every limb, around every curve, until there’s nothing left of her they aren’t privy to.

All the while, the details of the guest list are rattled off to her...as if any of it matters. Half a dozen eligible heirs are coming, each with high hopes of being matched with the princess. Hinata doesn’t even listen. It doesn’t strike her: the only thing she’ll care about is their manner, and she won’t know that until they meet.

And if it should go poorly...she’ll simply have Sasuke drive them off.

How quickly she’s come to rely on him. Though she tries not to overwork him, he’s nonetheless attentive. At first she assumed it merely out of duty: a thing he already took quite seriously. But there was a quick, unspoken attachment in their airs. Similar in some ways, different in others...and in all, thus far, aligning quite well. He swiftly grew used to her mannerisms, able to read most of her thoughts and ideas without a word. She, too, can glean a great amount from just the hold of his brow.

Though strangers mere months before, they’re nigh on inseparable now. Fitting to all edges without much effort.

In truth...it makes her wistful that a knight were of a rank suitable for a throne.

She, of course, can’t assume his feelings. Nor is she sure hers are so bold. But there’s something so...effortless in how they’ve come together. Hinata can only dream of finding a match with such chemistry.

True, knights have hard-won a princess’ hand before...but it is rare, and only after acts of great valor that prove his worth as both a knight, and a man. One worthy of ruling a kingdom he already swore to protect.

Either way...there’s little point in wondering. Her father would surely disapprove...and there’s no telling they’d be happy in such an arrangement, anyway.

For now...she will simply endure.

Measured and noted, Hinata is redressed and left to her own devices for the time being. Two weeks remain to have the gown finished for her to don at the gala. Until then...she can only dread it.

And like many dreaded things, it comes quickly.

It takes nearly an hour to dress and make her, corset laced tight and every wrinkle banished. Admittedly, it’s beautiful. Crafted of only the finest cloths, it varies from pale lilac to deep amethyst: an array of violet shades that bring out the shine of her dark hair in the light, and tinge to her eyes.

Once prepared, she’s given a moment to collect herself, instructed to report to the ballroom posthaste. Left alone, she takes in her image in the mirror.

...a knock then sounds.

“You may enter.”

A pause, and then the door clicks open. Donning his dress uniform, Sasuke peers in, a decorated rapier at his side...mostly just for show. “...Hinata?”

Relaxing a hair, she sighs. “...I’m coming. Just...taking a moment to b-brace myself.”

Stepping in and letting the door close behind him, he stands at relaxed attention. “Are you all right?”

“As right as I can be. Just dreading the night. Are all of the suitors here…?”

“They are. None stand out to me as of yet.”

She gives him a weary smile, tearing her gaze from her reflection. “Well...I suppose it could be worse.” A glance down to her gown, and then, “What do you think?”

Dark eyes, given permission, drop from her face to look her over. “...it is elegant.”

That earns a breath of a snort. “Please, you don’t need to be so...stiff.”

“It’s true. Your gowns are always...pretty.”

Her lips twitch. Clearly he’s not well-versed in fashion...not that she blames him in the slightest. “Thank you...as much as I dread these nights, I always love the dresses I’m made. I hope Father pays them well…”

“I’ll speak to Itachi. Surely he’ll change that if not.”

“I’m glad.”

They stand in a pained silence.

“...well, no avoiding it,” Hinata then sighs in defeat.

“No, there’s not.” Sasuke offers an arm, which she daintily takes.

“...if not for you, I’m not sure how I’d weather these shows of wealth and all these preening peacocks.”

Sasuke can’t help a huff of a laugh. “I’m sure you’d fare just fine. You don’t give yourself near enough credit.”

“You’re the only one of s-such an opinion, I assure you.” Sighing yet again, she dares to lean wearily against him for a moment. “...thank you...for all that you do. No matter what else might come to pass...I can face it, knowing you’ll face it beside me.”

He gives her a glance. “...you’re welcome. Shall we go…?”

“....we shall.”

     Goodness it's late and I've a long day ahead of me, so I'll be brief!      This is a sequel to day sixty-seven: where Sasuke was anointed princess Hinata's personal knight! They've done a little bonding since then, seems like :3c Surely a knight can marry a princess, can't they? Maybe he just needs to scare off all those suitors first...      Anyway! That's all for tonight - today was busy busy, and so shall tomorrow be! I'll see you then - and thank you for reading!