#was writing an email when the realization just washed over me and my coworker asked ''why did you stop typing all of a sudden''

[cream-and-five-sugars]

third day in a row where i wake up, go about my day, and suddenly stop dead in my tracks to remember. yeah. bumbleby is canon now. holy shit

[apriorisea]

Angst with yoongi or jungkook. Their girlfriend having a hard time but they didn't think it was smt serious so they weren't there for her and just focusing on work. She didn't say anything to them, just trying to deal with it alone but it's just keep getting worse. She lose some weight, always tired and not so cheerful like before. Eventually they realize it when she faint in their arms (i am sorry it's really long i hope you write smt like that, you are one of my fave writers 👍💜)

--Hi! As usual 😅I apologize that this took so long! Thank you so much for the idea and for your sweet compliments---I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it! I hope you enjoy 💕💜

“The Problem”You x Yoongi

“You really didn’t have to do this,” you say, smiling as you lean across the center console to kiss Yoongi’s cheek. Your smile grows bigger as you see the pleased expression cross his face and add: “But I’m really glad you did.”    He turns his head and kisses you firmly. “I love you,” he says softly. “I’ll take any chance I can to be with you.” He rests his hand on the back of your neck, playfully holding you in place. “In fact, why don’t you just blow off work today, come with me instead?”    You groan, leaning into his arm and brushing your lips against the inside of his wrist. “Don’t tempt me.”    He smiles. “I’m sorry I can’t pick you up tonight. Do you want me to send someone?”    “No.” You lean forward to ask for another kiss, smiling when he gives you what you want. “I’ll just see you at home tonight. Try not to stay too late, okay?” When he smiles an agreement, you give him a wink and climb out of the car. “Love you!”    You’re still smiling when you enter the building, and just before you settle in at your desk, you pull out your phone: This was a terrible idea…you better just come back and get me ;)    His answer comes just as you are opening your email: Perfect. Let’s just drive and drive and drive, yeah?     Two seconds later, he adds: I LOVE YOU.    Grinning, you don’t even read the title of the email before you open it.    The happy mood evaporates immediately. It’s 8:32am on a Monday morning, and your boss is already fuming. The project you and your team had put together had apparently not met his expectations and the deadline to turn in a new, better proposal was by the end of the day. Feeling your stomach twist into knots, you turn to scan the office for your coworkers—meeting the eyes of one of them, you exchange nervous looks. It’s going to be a long day. 

    “He’s just not going to be happy with any of this,” Coworker #2 says, tipping back in his seat irritably. “None of it.”    Another team member, Coworker #3, pushes a strand of hair back behind her ear. “That’s a cheerful outlook, thank you.”    “You know the mood he’s been in lately,” he says darkly. “This feels like a head hunt.”     Glancing at your watch, you struggle to catch your breath. It was 1:36pm and the three of you had been working for hours on a new project proposal. 25 minutes ago the boss had sent a warning email, his tone none the happier. “What do you mean a head hunt?”     He throws his arms in the air exasperatedly. “You know, like, looking to fire someone to get over his bad mood.”     Your other coworker slaps his arm. “Stop it!” she says, genuinely angry. “You don’t know anything about anything. He’s not going to fire anyone over this stupid project!”     The door clicks shut as the fourth and final member of your team walks in, holding a coffee cup. “He knows enough,” he says, sipping his drink. “Word on the street is that we need to downsize and almost anyone could be the target.”    Your anxiety increases at his presence and arrogant words. “He’s not going to fire a whole team over a minor-level project,” you say coolly.    He fixes you with a look. “You’re right. All he needs is one scapegoat.”    Taking a deep breath to stay calm, you give him a look. “Well then, let’s spend more time working and less time talking, huh?”    He eyes you but doesn’t respond, slinking slowly into his seat. Your attention is soon turned to other matters, but you never really lose the pit of nerves that his words had opened. It sits there, festering like an open wound, demanding your attention even when you refuse. By the end of the work day, you are exhausted, mentally and physically, and by the time you reach your apartment, you are an anxious mess: the inside of your lower lip is raw from the constant worried chewing and your head is pounding from the stress.     As you climb the stairs to your apartment, you think about the day: your team had managed to complete a rough draft for the new project proposal just in time, and, though he wasn’t thrilled, your boss had agreed to give you the rest of the week to complete it. You bite down on your lower lip again. It’s not terrible, but it’s also not great.    Reaching your front door, you’re suddenly frozen by the sound of your coworker’s words echoing in your mind: “All he needs is one scapegoat.” Your stomach twists and you force another deep breath before you can open the door.    Stepping out of your shoes, you drop your bag to the ground and survey the apartment: there’s a basket of laundry sitting in the corner of the living room, waiting to be done, and a few dishes still in the sink. Releasing a slow, even breath, you try to let the familiarity of home calm you down.     The team had worked straight through lunch, and you vaguely realized that part of the reason your hands were shaking was because you hadn’t eaten since your piece of toast this morning for breakfast. You open a cupboard door, but as soon as your eyes land on the coffee mugs, your heart races as you hear it again: One scapegoat. You trusted that particular coworker about as far as you could throw him, and the two of you had been at odds constantly lately. I wouldn’t put anything past him, you think, and your stomach lurches. You shut the cupboard and head for the sink.    Sick of hearing your own thoughts, you turn on the TV after you’d finished the dishes and settle in to fold some laundry, trying not to think about the gaping hole of worry eating its way through your stomach. I just have to do the best, you think. I have to be the best member of the team. Then I’m untouchable.    Halfway through the basket of laundry, you hear the door unlock. Yoongi comes in, looking slightly disheveled though his frown fades at the sight of you. “Hi sweetheart,” he says quietly, lining his shoes up next to yours carefully. “Here, I’ll finish that. I meant to do it last night.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head and joins you on the floor, reaching for the shirt in your hands.    His presence washes over you and you take a truly deep breath. “It’s okay,” you say, tipping your head over to rest on his shoulder. “How was your day?”    He sighs, and there’s so much in that simple sound that you forget all about your terrible day and turn to look at him.    “What’s going on?” you ask softly, reaching up to smooth a strand of his hair back.    “Long day. Taehyungie’s having a hard time lately, Jimin’s back is giving him problems…Namjoon has a bad case of writer’s block and we still need 4 more songs to even make a mini-album.” He folds the shirt and stacks it carefully on top of the others, then reaches for another. “We’re not sure if we can make the Australian tour happen.”    “Oh no,” you sympathize. “How come?”    “Venue availability, travel….basically everything.” He pauses in between shirts to rub his forehead tiredly.     You kiss his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know how important that tour is to you guys. I’m sure something will work out!”    The laundry now finished, he sighs again and sits back against the couch. Reaching out to pull you into his arms, he kisses your temple. “We’re going to figure it out,” he agrees. “But I’m going to be working a lot these next few days. Probably into the weekend,” he adds, waiting for your reaction.    You cuddle against him. “It’s okay, baby. Do what you need to do.”    “I love you,” he says softly, tipping your chin up so he can kiss you. “How was your day? Have you eaten already?”    The question knocks the wind from you. “Oh. It was fine. I…I already ate, yeah. Sorry.” You push out of his arms so he can’t feel the way your heart races at the lie. “Do you want me to make something?”    “Nope.” He gets to his feet. “We still have leftovers from last night. I’ll just have those. What did you have?”    You stack the folded laundry back in the basket and ignore the question. “I forgot about the leftovers. Hope they still taste good.”    “There’s a lot left,” he calls from the kitchen. “I’ll pack some up and you can take it for lunch tomorrow.”    You feel your stomach squirm. “Thanks.” You push the laundry basket back into the corner and cross your arms over your stomach, watching him as he moved around the kitchen, reheating his leftovers and packing yours for lunch tomorrow. Tomorrow. You think of your boss’ anger, the work left to do, your coworker’s sinister intent……Your hands go cold.    Yoongi brings his food into the living room, sitting on the couch and gesturing to the spot next to him. Some of the feeling returns to your fingers as you climb up next to him, curling up close and resting your head on his shoulder.     “Next week,” he says in-between bites. “We’re going to have date night every night for the whole week.”    You smile, grateful for the way his presence and words melt your icy worry. “That sounds amazing.”    “I mean it,” he insists around a mouth full of food. “Every night. We’ll go to that movie, get dinner at all of our favorite places, stay home and finish our show, go for a drive…anything we want to do. Anything you want to do.”    Turning your head to kiss his shoulder again, you say quietly, “I love you, Yoongi.”    He finishes eating quickly, hopping up to rinse his dish off and returning to you quickly. Through a yawn, he asks, “Are you ready for bed?”    With your mind so full of worry, you hadn’t been looking forward to a whole night of tossing and turning, but when he extends his hand to you, you realize everything would be okay. Putting your hand in his, you nod. “Yes.”    When you’re both settled in bed, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you back against his chest. Leaning down to kiss your neck, he rests his head against yours gently. “So I’m thinking one night we get burgers,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear. “Pizza for our Netflix night…”    “Mmm.” You close your eyes, letting his soothing voice lull you into a calm. “We definitely need to do sushi one night.”    “Agreed. For our big fancy date night, let’s go to that nice restaurant with the giant steaks!”    You can’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm. “Whatever you want to do. I just want to spend time with you.”    He hugs you close. “I love you, sweetheart. Sleep tight, okay?”    And with him there to keep you safe and push the worries away, you actually do.

The next morning, you hear him get up extra early, but you’re too exhausted to stir. Before he leaves, he kisses your forehead gently. “Have a good day, sweetheart,” he whispers, and then he’s gone.    Your alarm goes off at the usual time, but when you pull your phone to you, you see a screen full of texts. Feeling your stomach lurch, you scan through them: 11 of them are from your coworkers, already panicked about the project. 1 of them is from your bank, reminding you that your payment for student loans was due next week. You set your phone down, heart pounding, and try not to panic. You wish Yoongi were still home.    But he was already gone, so you roll out of bed, get ready as quickly as possible, and force yourself to answer a few texts as you head to the kitchen for breakfast. After a little bit of coordination, you and two of your coworkers have a plan for the day—the third one (the problematic one) hadn’t responded yet. Just as you open your fridge to hunt for some food, you get a private message from your closest coworker: Watch out for SJ, she wrote. I’ve heard he was talking about you the other day during lunch.    Your stomach flips. I knew it. You shut the fridge hard, ignoring the ache in your guts. Pulling on your coat, you grab your bag and take a small breath. You wouldn’t let him get you today.     As you leave the house, you pull out your phone and send Yoongi a text: Is it just me, or is this the most Monday-feeling Tuesday ever???    You’re about to tuck the phone back into your pocket when it buzzes. Eagerly awaiting your boyfriend’s message, you look at the screen expectantly—    And find another text from your coworkers. It brings you back to earth immediately. Your stomach is in knots all the way to the office.

    “Just as long as her name is on it,” your coworker says dramatically, his voice clearly too loud to be a whisper.     Steeling yourself, you look up from your computer. “My name is on what?”    “Section 5,” he says unabashedly.     “What’s wrong with section 5?”    He raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t it obvious?”    “Stop being such an ass,” Coworker #2 interrupts, rolling his eyes. “What’s the problem?”    The Problem sighs. “Section 5 is the epitome of what was wrong with the last proposal.”    “According to who?” Your hands are balled into fists in your lap, hidden away from sight.     “The boss, obviously.”    “Oh, he told you that? Personally?” You stand your ground. “Last I knew, he didn’t even remember your name.”    His cheeks flush. “It was obvious. So I just want to make sure that your name is on it, so he knows who to credit when this falls apart.”    “It’s not going to fall apart!” interjects Coworker #3, smoothing her frazzled hair back into a ponytail. “Don’t even put that into the universe!”    “You’re welcome to re-work it,” says Coworker #2.    “You clearly have the time,” you add coolly.     The Problem doesn’t answer, pretending to suddenly be preoccupied with something on his phone. The tenuous silence returns.    The four of you work until lunch time—until 5 minutes before official lunch time, actually, because if you had to spend even 5 more minutes in the same room as him, you were going to murder someone—and as you put your laptop to sleep, you realize how hungry you are.     “Here,” Coworker #2 drops a packet of pretzels on your desk. “You like these, right?”    You nod. “Thanks.”    He gives a faint smile, reaching his arms above his head in a huge stretch. “Don’t let him get to you,” he adds, jerking his head towards the door after The Problem. “He sees you as a threat because you are the most competent person in the whole department.”    You smile. “I’m trying. But this is just more motivation to get this project sorted—then I can go back to ignoring his existence.”    Coworker #2 laughs and reaches out to fist-bump you. “Amen,” he agrees, then grabs his empty-coffee mug off the table and leaves.     Feeling a little lighter now that the you have the room to yourself, you open the packet of pretzels as your stomach growls. You manage to eat 7 before your phone goes off.    Coworker #3: SJ’s going to eat lunch with the Exec Crew today. Such a suck-up.    You set the packet of pretzels down and reply: Is the boss going?     Coworker #3: Of course. He’s probably going to offer to pay and everything.     The weight settles over your shoulders again. You remember the disgust in his eyes, the thinly veiled threats about your job—”And now he has the perfect opportunity,” you whisper to yourself. “He really is going to do whatever he can to get me fired.”    As if the universe had heard you, your phone buzzes with another text: it’s an alert from your bank, reminding you about the bills coming up soon. I can’t lose my job, you think, feeling the panic rush through your entire body.     Ignoring the reminder, you open Yoongi’s text thread. Any chance you’ll be done with work early today?? It joins your last still-unopened message. You stare at your phone for a full minute, hoping to see his return text as it comes in. It doesn’t.    You think about the leftovers sitting in the fridge in the break room and your stomach flips. Pushing the half-empty packet of pretzels away from you, you reboot your laptop. “I have to work harder.”

    You sink into the last empty bus seat, closing your eyes against the pain thundering through your head. It’s 79 minutes past quitting time and you hadn’t even had a chance to look at your phone since lunchtime. You pry your eyes open and fish for your phone, taking a small breath before unlocking it.     Three messages from Coworker #3, four from Coworker #2, and one sarcastic one-liner from The Problem. The pounding in your head increases.     32. From the time your team resumed its work after lunch until you had all finally left the building, The Problem had made 32 pointed comments towards you.     “You don’t even have seniority, you know that, right?”    “We talked about the project at lunch. What a shame you weren’t there.”    “Last quarter’s numbers weren’t ideal, that’s what he told me. There’s a lot of dead weight in the company, especially in our department. Especially on our team.”    Rubbing the back of your neck tiredly, you leave the text thread without replying and open the next new message. It’s another bank reminder: the deadline on your payment was coming a lot sooner than you remembered.      How did it get to this point? You stare out the window blankly. I used to love my job. What did I ever do to get this target on my back?     You open your phone again, navigating to your text-thread with your boyfriend. He still hasn’t read either of your earlier messages. You must be busy today.     Still no answer. You turn back to look out the window, ignoring the pain in your head and stomach. After almost missing your stop, you trudge towards your apartment, your mind too full to pay attention to anything else.     They talked about things at lunch. They must have talked about ME at lunch. He’s going to get me fired. You bump into someone and don’t bother apologizing. He is actually actively working to get rid of me. Why?     Fumbling for your phone again, you send a private message to Coworker #3: What does SJ gain by getting me fired??    Her return message comes as you are unlocking your door. You force yourself to get inside and out of your shoes and coat before looking at it.     Coworker #3: You’re obviously the biggest threat in the department. You know he’s looking for a fast-track promotion. If he can get rid of you, that’s one less hurdle he’ll have to jump. You okay? He was such an asshole today.     Dropping your bag on the floor angrily, you move to the kitchen, hunting for the bottle of aspirin. Everyday* you correct. But he’s crazy.  If our project tanks, he’ll go down with it. You down three tablets without water.     Coworker #3: He thinks he can weasel his way out of it, obviously.    Coworker #3: But anyway, don’t worry about it. We’re going to be fine. You doing okay? Did you even get a chance to eat lunch today???    You pause at this, setting your phone on the counter to pull open the fridge. Leftovers, milk, fruit, vegetables, eggs, kimchi, yogurt…You feel a pain in your stomach and can’t decide if it’s hunger or something else. Your gaze un-focuses as you stare, and suddenly all you can see are bills and numbers. The pain in your stomach grows and you slam the fridge shut.     I can’t lose this job. I have too many bills to pay. If I get fired, I’m going to be so far behind on every single payment. I CAN’T lose this job.     The buzz from your phone causes an immediate anxious reaction to jolt through your whole body: your chest feels tight, your heart starts pounding, the pain in your head feels blinding, your stomach flips. Forcing a deep breath, you slowly reach for the device again.     The knot in your stomach immediately untangles as soon as you see the name on the message. Exhaling roughly, you open Yoongi’s message eagerly.    Yoongi Hi sweetheart. I’m sorry ~ so busy today. And I’m going to be home late tonight. :(     Your relief fades quickly.    YoongiAre you okay? How was your day?     Glancing at the time, you feel the knot retie with a vengeance. When your boyfriend said “late,” he meant late. “He won’t be back before midnight,” you whisper to yourself. The apartment gets a little smaller around you. Trying to push the darkness away, you ignore his questions: I love you. Be safe!     Locking the screen, you turn back to the fridge. Holding the device close to your chest, you stare at the door. Replaying the images of what the fridge held, you tried to convince yourself to eat one of them—but with each mental picture, the knot grew tighter and you felt like you were going to throw up.     Turning away from the fridge explosively, you wandered into the living room. You realized suddenly how much you’d been relying on Yoongi’s presence to help ease the current of tension that was flowing nonstop through your entire body. Now, faced with the prospect of hours without him, you had nothing to distract you but the fear.     You watch Netflix (the volume up loud in an attempt to drown out your own thoughts) and play mindless phone games until 11:15pm. Your entire body aches with exhaustion and stress, but you still spend five more minutes staring at the front door in vain, waiting for him to come back. Eventually, you get slowly to your feet and trudge down the hall to the bedroom. You spend extra time washing your face, delaying the inevitable, but when you finally crawl into bed you’re exactly as distraught as you had expected.     Not even the white noise machine can help you tonight. You toss and turn for hours, watching the clock on your nightstand tick past midnight.     Every time you close your eyes, you’re bombarded with visions of bills and loans and banks and evil coworkers and your angry boss. You see papers stamped with bright red lettering: TERMINATED. The Problem’s words echo constantly. You manage to fall into a light, troubled sleep, and find yourself stuck in the dream-version of the day’s lunch. At the exact moment that your Dream-Boss and Dream-The-Problem turn to you in unison and say “YOU’RE FIRED” you startle awake. Glancing at the clock, you realize it’s 2am and you’re still alone. Squeezing your eyes shut tight, you feel the hot tears build underneath your eyelids and fight down the urge to call him. You struggle for another 20 minutes before sleep finally takes you.      Five minutes after you pass out, he comes home. 

The next morning, you startle awake at the sound of your alarm. Scrambling to turn it off, you realize that you can’t move easily. The panic eventually gives way to relief: you’re tangled in Yoongi’s arms, wrapped tight in his hug. Carefully, you manage to reach out an arm to shut off the alarm, then shift gingerly so you’re facing him. He stirs a little, his embrace tightening reflexively, and you give-in: burying your face in his chest, you give yourself the 10 snooze minutes.     Now that you’re wrapped in his arms, all the things that had kept you awake seemed distant and tiny. For the first time in the last 24 hours, you feel the pain in your stomach fade.     But too soon, your snooze alarm goes off. It’s time. Taking one last deep breath in his circle of safety, you gently untangle yourself from his grasp, unable to keep the faint smile off your face at his sleep-mumbled complaint. What I’d give to be able to stay right here, all day. But…    I need this job. I’ve got to fight.     So instead, you gently stroke his hair until he falls back into his deep-slumber. Realizing how late he must have gotten home, you fight down a pang of disappointment: he’d be asleep for a few hours more. Just what he needed, definitely, but you would be long gone by then. Pulling yourself together, you manage to get ready quietly and quickly, mentally preparing yourself for the day ahead.     You plant a soft kiss on Yoongi’s forehead before you go, drawing a last bit of strength before heading out to face your dragons.  

    10:00am. You feel your phone buzz in your pocket but ignore it. You’re sitting sandwiched between Coworkers #2 and #3, The Problem on the far end. The boss hasn’t spoken for the last 5 minutes.     Finally, he sighs. “I’ve come to expect much more from this department,” he says, meeting your eyes seriously. “This new proposal…it’s better. But is it really what it ought to be?”    The Problem jumps in before you can even blink. “No, sir, I completely agree. It’s not up to standards. It—”    “I think it can be fixed,” your boss continues, speaking over the other man easily. He meets your eyes again. “But it is going to take a lot of work. For example, the proposed direction in Section 4 seems a bit messy.”    The Problem is nodding. “Team Leader was in charge of that section.”   Coworker #2 stiffens next to you. “No, she wasn’t,” he snaps. “I-I mean,” the flush creeps up his neck. “Sir, our team worked together on each section and each proposal. Of course.”    You don’t look over at The Problem. This is exactly what you had been expecting.    “Of course, of course,” The Problem simpers. “But, obviously, we follow the direction of our project manager, don’t we, sir?”    Your boss raises one eyebrow at you. “Well?”    “We all worked together on this proposal, sir,” you say calmly, though your insides are twisting together again. “And, obviously, no part would have gone through without full consent from the entire team. Right?” you direct the question to The Problem, but don’t bother looking at him.    He clears his throat. “We follow your inspiration, team leader.”    You hear Coworker #3 hiss under her breath next to you.     Your boss is studying The Problem carefully. Finally, he looks back at his tablet screen. “Sections 4, 7, and 10 all need some re-working. Can you have it done by tomorrow?”    The tiny bit of satisfaction you felt at realizing none of those sections had been your assigned responsibility bleeds away at the deadline. Tomorrow??  Your head aches. After a moment, you realize he’s waiting for you to respond. “Absolutely, sir,” you agree steadily. “We will work hard.”    “I expect nothing less,” he agrees. “Make sure it is as streamlined as possible. We want no further problems going forward.”    “Yes, sir,” the three of you parrot together; The Problem’s answer is more drawn-out and sickeningly sweet. You don’t look at him as the four of you leave your boss’ office. 

    7pm. 2 hours past quitting time and the four of you were still holed-up in the conference room together.     The Problem gets to his feet loudly, heading for the door.   “Where are you going?” demands Coworker #2; his hair is messy and out of place, his glasses slightly askew.    “Smoke-break,” he answers. “Can’t be in this room for one second longer.” He lets the door slam shut behind him.    Coworker #3 rolls her shoulders out. “Funny,” she says darkly. “If he was in this room for one second longer, I think I’d rip his stupid little head off.”    Coworker #2 turns to you. “I don’t know how you managed to keep your cool all day today, honestly. I wanted to punch him in the mouth 3 times in that meeting alone.”    You sigh and sit back in your chair.  The atmosphere in the room had changed as soon as The Problem had left. “I just want to finish this project,” you say honestly. I have to be the best possible, so there’s no room for judgment or complaint. “The sooner it ends, the sooner we can get away from him.”    “I know where he parks his car,” Coworker #3 offers helpfully. “It would be such a shame if his tires got slashed somehow…”    You share a small grin with her; a grin that fades as you realize how long it’d been since you smiled. The muscles in your face ached from the simple gesture.    “Here,” Coworker #2 plops another bag of mini pretzels in front of you. “Snack break! Better eat now before he comes back and turns all our stomachs…”    You scoff humorlessly. Staring at the bag of snacks, you feel your stomach twist. The last thing you wanted to do was eat anything right now, but then you calculate how long it had been since you’d eaten anything. Oh. That’s probably not healthy. Opening the bag, you pretend not to notice how much your hands are shaking. I need to eat a little, you convince yourself. Every part of you is tired and aching. How much longer can I go on like this?    Until this is over, your stubborn side kicks in. Until the danger is passed. Until you know your job is safe. Suck it up.    You manage to eat ¾ of the bag before The Problem returns and, just as your coworkers predicted, as soon as he’s back in the room you’re no longer hungry. Pushing the pretzels away angrily, the four of you return to silent, tense work for another 2 hours. 

You climb into bed at 10pm that night, too exhausted to be kept up by worries. By tomorrow it’ll be all over. You vaguely wonder if you should be more worried about how much the dark edges around your vision are growing. The last thing you feel before falling into a dreamless sleep is how much your stomach hurts.     You’re startled awake at 12:03am.     “Sorry, sweetheart,” you hear Yoongi’s voice permeate the darkness.     Seconds later, you feel his arms wrap around you. You roll over immediately, snuggling against his chest.     “I didn’t mean to wake you up,” he says hoarsely, pulling the blanket higher up over you. “I’m so sorry.”    You shake your head. “Are you okay?”     He sighs, a heavy and weary sound that goes straight to your heart.  “I’m fine.”    “Liar,” you accuse gently, hugging him a little tighter. “What’s going on?”    “Just busy. We’re working hard. Same as usual…”     You press a kiss to his collarbone. “I know. You need to get some rest.”     He crushes you closer. “I love you, sweetheart. I’m sorry I woke you up. You must be exhausted, too. Let’s get some rest, both of us, yeah?”    “Okay,” you breathe, already feeling your eyelids growing heavy again. “Goodnight, baby.”    He spreads a few soft kisses across your face. “Goodnight, my darling girl.”

The next morning, your alarms go off at the same time and you struggle awake together. You’re both moving too slow, so you’re almost late, but he still insists on driving you to work that day. On the way over, you don’t talk much, but he holds your hand over the center console like usual and that keeps you steady.    When he pulls up in front of your building, you lean over to give him a kiss. “Have a good day, Yoongi,” you say, but your attention is already on what awaits you inside.     “You too, sweetheart,” he says, but he doesn’t let go of your hand. Studying you, he frowns a little. “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem a little pale—”    You power-up a false smile. “Don’t worry. I love you!” You press another kiss to his cheek and escape under this pretense.     When you get out of the car, he reaches to roll your window down to call after you, but just then his phone buzzes so he abandons the idea and answers as he pulls away.    You don’t turn around to watch him go, but your heart still flips when you hear the car leave. Staring up at your office building, you feel a sudden rush of dizziness and have to shut your eyes for a moment until it passes.    The last day, you remind yourself. I need this job, I need this job, I need this job.    You walk into the office and see Coworkers #2 and #3 sitting at their desks already. #2 is on the phone, but he gives you a bright smile as you walk past.     “Hey! Are you—” Coworker #3′s voice falters as you move past her seat. “Whoa, are you okay?”    You hesitate only slightly. “What?”    She’s frowning. “You look really pale,” she says, lowering her voice slightly. “And have you lost weight?? You—”    “I’m fine.” You feel the tips of your ears burn: if The Problem heard talk like this, it would be yet another way he could take you down. “Just tired.”    “Are you sure? If—”    “Positive,” you cut her off again. “Thanks. Plus, today’s the day, right? After this, things will be better.” Your stomach aches at the reminder.  I can’t fail. “We better get to work!” You attempt cheerfulness and fail miserably.     Coworker #3 gives you a furtive look, but doesn’t bring it up again.     The Problem walks in exactly on time, sighing dramatically before flopping into his chair. Leaning back in his chair, he looks around the room, his gaze landing on you. “Well, here we are. I hope everyone is confident in their individual work…?” He lets it hang in the air.    Coworker #2 sets the phone down too hard, already irritated. “I’m sure we’re all confident in both our personal AND our group work. Right?” He stares at The Problem until the other man is forced to look away from you.     He pastes a sickening smile on his face. “Of course.”    “Then let’s get started,” you say, trying to keep your voice devoid of any emotion. “We’ve only got 8 hours left.”

    Hour 1: The four of you work in silence. The Problem gets up twice to refill his coffee, making much more noise than is necessary. You get another text from your bank.     Hour 2: A portion of Coworker #2′s work didn’t save correctly. The ensuing meltdown leaves you frazzled and The Problem gleeful.    Hour 3: The Problem sneaks away and is later found chatting in the staff room by Coworker #3. She doesn’t tell you everything he was saying, but the pit in your stomach knows well enough.    Hour 4: You make sure everyone triple saves their work as lunchtime nears. The Problem goes on another secret mission but returns deflated: the bosses are having a private lunch and he was not allowed to join. The secret satisfaction you feel at this fades as he critically looks over one portion of your work. You skip lunch to continue working.   Hour 5: Somehow, The Problem’s attitude has gotten even worse since lunch. He snarks and sneers and reluctantly helps Coworker #3 on their joint section. While they’re bickering, Coworker #2 sends you a file: it’s a list of incidents and complaints that he’s preparing to send to the boss and HR. You manage a tiny, real smile.    Hour 6: The Problem finally directly challenges you on a portion of the project that you’ve worked on. Backed by both of your other coworkers, the three of you manage to shout him down. He works half-heartedly on his assigned portion.    Hour 7: Your stomach hurts so much. Every time you take a small break from the work in front of you, it feels like it’s going to swallow you whole. You force yourself to drink some water, but it sloshes too uncomfortably in your empty stomach. Your head aches and you feel unbelievably tired. Almost there…   Hour 8: Fifteen minutes before the deadline, you save, double-save, triple-save, and back-up the project to 3 different locations.     “It’s finished,” Coworker #2 says, leaning back in his chair and rubbing at his eyes violently.    “I guess,” scoffs The Problem, getting to his feet. He locks eyes with you. “Hope you feel good about it, Team Leader.” Without waiting for a response, he turns on his heel and heads for the door. “See you guys in there. I’ve got something to do.”     Out of the corner of your eye, you see Coworker #2 add something to his list.    “Ignore him,” Coworker #3 encourages; she clearly is still very worried about you. “It’s going to be fine. I think we’ve done some good work here.”

     The walk from your shared office space to the boss’ office isn’t very far, but by the end of it, your legs feel like jelly, your heart is pounding, you’re short of breath, and your head is screaming. You sink into the nearest chair, trying to convince yourself that you were fine. Your stomach aches.    The meeting is short. The Problem tries 3 times to throw you under the bus, but at this point, you and your other two coworkers are prepared and unified. By the end, even your boss seems irritated with The Problem—at least, you think that’s what is happening. You can’t really be sure anymore, to be honest: your vision is going slightly blurry, the dark edges growing, and you feel incredibly light-headed.    45 minutes past usual quitting time, your boss gives you a solemn nod. “Well done,” he says seriously. “This project is much better and more what I was expecting. Thank you.”    The relief washes over you and you feel weak.     “Well done, Team Leader,” your boss adds, then gives Coworkers #2 and #3 a smile. “Now go home and get some rest.” It might be your current physical state, but you swear he gives The Problem a slightly disapproving look.     It must be real, because The Problem is the first to leave, disappearing without another look at any of you. Somewhat numb, you get to your feet with the other two, following them out of the office. As soon as the three of you are out of sight of the boss’ office, Coworker #2 gathers both of you into a giant hug.     “We did it!!!! Oh man!” He releases you with a huge exhale. “We should celebrate! Dinner? Drinks? Meat??”    Coworker #3 gives him a look, then tilts her head towards you meaningfully. “I think I’m just going to take our brilliant Team Leader home.”    He turns to look at you, and even in your fuzzy state you can see the look of concern that crosses his face. “Oh, right. Yeah. Let’s get some rest tonight. We can celebrate tomorrow!”    You manage a smile. “Sounds good. G-good job you guys.”    Coworker #3 loops her arm through yours securely. “It’s all because of you, oh fearless leader!” she quips. “Let’s go!”    Sitting in the passenger seat of her car, you try to relax; the last thing you wanted was for her to have to walk you up to your apartment door. So you fake a brighter smile, thank her for the ride, and hop out before she can offer to help. You turn to wave as she drives away, gritting your teeth against the way your head starts spinning, but wait until she’s gone before you move.     I did it. You think as you slowly climb the stairs. I made it. I’m not going to get fired. Things are going to be okay. Your stomach flips and you have to pause for a second: Don’t throw up, don’t throw up, don’t throw up.     You wait until the feeling passes.     I just need to get inside. Lie down for a while….maybe…maybe eat? The house will be cool and empty and calm.     Empty. You realize you hadn’t texted Yoongi all day. Now that things were over, you could finally relax around him, tell him the truth. You stumble on the last step, nearly face-planting but saving yourself at the last second.     Just need to…lie….down.     You punch in the door code, push it open, step inside—and are startled to see Yoongi sitting on the couch.     “Baby—” he gets to his feet, a smile on his face, but it disappears when he sees you.     The surprise is too much for your already-battered body. You try to step towards him and everything goes dark. 

    Fortunately for you, he was already moving towards you when you crumpled; he managed to catch you before you hit the floor, cradling you carefully against him in a state of controlled panic.     You wake up as the EMTs are loading you into the ambulance, and the only thing that stops you from freaking out is the sound of his voice.     “I don’t think she’s eaten for a while,” he’s saying as he climbs in next to you. “She’s overworked, overtired—Maybe dehydrated? I don’t—”    “It’s okay, sir,” one of the medics says. She gives him a small smile. “She’s going to be fine.”    “Yoongi…” you mumble, his name getting lost in the oxygen mask over your face, but at that moment he turns to look at you anyway.     Exhaling in relief, he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” he reassures you, brushing your hair away from your face. “I’m here.”    Something about the combination of your complete exhaustion, the motion of the ambulance, the oxygen mask, and the warmth of Yoongi’s presence lulls you into a light sleep.     There’s a transfer from the ambulance to the emergency room, from gurney to hospital bed. There’s several people in scrubs and masks that look you over. You vaguely feel the prick of the IV in your arm. You’re asked a lot of questions and you give a lot of answers you can’t remember, but eventually, you’re left alone.    Almost.    Taking your hand, Yoongi leans down to kiss your forehead again. “You’re going to be okay,” he says softly against your skin. “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry.”    You shake your head weakly. “You don’t have to apologize. I—”    “You’re extremely dehydrated,” he cuts over you, tightening his hold on your hand. “I don’t think you’ve slept well for days. And you…you said you hadn’t eaten for—since Monday?? Sweetheart, I….” he’s getting worked up.      You squeeze his hand. “It’s not your fault.”     Exhaling shakily, he meets your eyes. “Why?”     “Well—” you suddenly look at him. “Wait. Don’t you need to be at work right now? What about the tour problems? And Tae? And Jimin’s back. And—”    “Stop.” He finally pulls a chair close to the bed and sits. “I only need to be here right now. With you. This is where I should have been for the last few days, then maybe we wouldn’t be here right now.”    You close your eyes in embarrassment. “I’m sorry.”    Pressing the back of your knuckles to his lips, he shakes his head and murmurs. “Don’t say sorry. Let’s just talk. Tell me everything.”   So you do. You tell him all about the project, The Problem, your boss, your coworkers, the bank notifications, everything.     “And I just got so worked up over it,” you finish tiredly. “I didn’t want to talk about it. And then I knew you were busy, so I didn’t want to bother you….and things just got out of control.”    He nods slowly. “I should’ve paid better attention,” he says quietly. “We were both too wrapped up in our own things. Never again, I promise you.” He reaches up to brush your hair back again. “I will do better at my job of keeping you safe and healthy and happy, okay? I promise.”     You’re too tired to argue so you just nod.     Smiling, he reaches up to kiss you softly. “And in return,” he adds, stroking the side of your face, “You have to talk to me. About all the things, all right? Especially the ones that make you worried and want to stop eating. Can you do that?”     You nod again. “I think I can manage that.”     “Also, you have to promise to do whatever it takes to stay healthy, okay? I can’t live without you,” he smiles. “So it’s your responsibility to take care of the most precious thing on this earth. Understood?”      You roll your eyes but fondly. “I love you,” you say quietly.       He kisses the tip of your nose. “I love you more. Now, let’s get you some rest so we can go home and snuggle. Okay?”    You laugh lightly and agree.

    When you’re finally released from the hospital, Yoongi insists on pushing your hospital-mandated wheelchair out to the waiting car. He wraps an arm around your waist and basically carries you to the backseat, helping you in before shutting the door behind you both securely. He holds you close on the ride on home; you rest your head on his shoulder gratefully.     The babying continues when you arrive back at the apartment: he scoops you into his arms and carries you all the way up to your place, commenting in a displeased voice: “You’re too light, babygirl. You need to stay healthy.”    You give his neck a squeeze. “Whatever you say,” you agree, resting your head against his shoulder. At his light scoff-laugh, you smile. “I’m just trying to live up to my promises!”    “Sure, sure.”     As soon as you reach the apartment, he takes you straight to bed, settling you in your spot and tucking the blanket around you securely. Kissing your cheek, he says, “Now. What do you want to eat? Anything you want, baby.”    “Um….” you pretend to think hard. “Maybe…kimbap? BBQ? Pizza? Soup?” At his humored expression, you grin. “Everything sounds good!”    “Then everything,” he says, kissing your lips softly, “is what you shall have.”    While you both wait for the food to arrive, he never leaves your side. You cuddle against him, watching mindless TV and drinking from the water bottles he keeps pressing into your hands until he’s satisfied.     He insists on feeding you the first few bites of food until you finally rebel, accepting his kiss happily instead. The two of you eat in relative silence, and you realize just how hungry you are.    Tipping your head over onto his shoulder, you say softly, “I’m sorry I worried you.”    He turns slightly to kiss your temple again. “You’re safe, sweetheart. That’s all that matters.”    At that moment, your phone goes off. Your knee-jerk reaction is panic, but it immediately fades as you remember that everything is over and Yoongi is there next to you. Still, you take a small breath before reading the screen. The smile spreads across your face slowly.    Yoongi glances at you. “What is it?”    You turn the screen towards him:    Coworker #3: YOU GUYS. SJ just got transferred to another department!!!!!! He can never bug us again!!!!!!!!!    Yoongi grins with you. “That’s great news.” He kisses you again. “See? Everything is going to be fine.”    “You’re right.”     He clears the almost-empty food containers off the bed and when he climbs back in, you snuggle into his side automatically. He wraps his arms around you and presses a few soft kisses all over your face. “I love you so much,” he says in between kisses. “I’m so proud of you. You did it.”    “Yes,” you agree, feeling your eyes close all on their own. I did. 

[cagestark]

-Defender-

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six

Read here on AO3.

Warnings: homelessness, poor!peter. Adult!Peter. Mean!Avengers. Not Steve Rogers friendly. Also, in this AU I’ve taken it upon myself to change some aspects of Spider-Man (not too many, no worries). Enjoy. 

-

The first time he meets the spider-kid, it is after hours on the eighty-second floor of the main building of Stark Tower.

But the kid is on the wrong side of the glass.

“FRIDAY, run that by me again,” Tony says. He’s in his pajamas—a pair of hastily pulled on pants with not even boxers underneath, donned only when FRI sounded the alarm. The holographic video plays in front of him, but what it shows him makes no sense. It isn’t even possible. “What exactly am I seeing?”

“Fifteen minutes ago sensors on the first floor were triggered, suggesting a human presence. On closer examination, the intruder seems to be scaling the side of the building using grip enhancements that I can’t identify.”

“Okay, but is he doing what I think he’s doing?”

“Do you think he appears to be washing the windows, boss? Because all signs point to such.”

As they speak, the figure (barefoot—barefoot and more than eighty floors above Manhattan) dressed head-to-toe in black including a dark balaclava that obscures their features, pulls a squeegee from where it is secured to a multi-purpose belt around their waist. They wipe the glass clean in long, smooth strokes, flicking the water and soap off behind them. The way they move across the glass gives him goosebumps, makes him shiver with terror and awe.

He takes the elevator down from the Penthouse, passing the Avengers’ floor where the others are sleeping peacefully (God knows he doesn’t want to wake any of them up). There’s no indication that this person is a threat—and if they were a threat, this is hardly a dastardly plan.

The eighty-third floor is dark and quiet. It’s an accounting floor where they work to manage his assets and the company’s assets. He passes cubicles on his left and right, and though he visits this floor maybe once a month or less, he feels at home here. The entire building is home to him, and he knows it the way Steve and Bucky knew their tiny homes in Brooklyn, the way Clint knows the farm his wife maintains.

The south wall is entirely glass. Tony stands back in the shadows to watch as the dark figure crawls from east to west. They become preoccupied when they realize that their bare feet are leaving smudges on the glass, and their floundering is—well, it’s almost cute.

Tony approaches that glass cautiously, unwilling to startle person and send them plummeting to their death. When they pass by, squeegee pressed to the glass, the freeze with their face just inches from Tony’s. The balaclava has goggles on over it to obscure the person’s eyes, but Tony doesn’t need to see those eyes to know they are wide with alarm.

Grabbing a paper and pen from a nearby cubicle, he writes a quick message and presses it to the glass.

MEET ME ON THE ROOF.

They stare at the paper for so long that Tony begins to question their literacy. But then they attach the squeegee back to their belt and lift the bottom half of the balaclava. They reveal a cut, angular jaw and thin lips. Leaning in, they come so close to the glass that Tony thinks they’re going to kiss right where Tony’s mouth is—but instead they heave a silent breath, and in the fog of it, write with one bare finger: NO.

“Are you kidding me, right now?” Tony mutters. He uncaps the pen again, holding it in his teeth, and writes on the other side of the paper. TRESPASSING!

They breathe again, write: BUSY. Then they squeegee over the words and continue on like they aren’t dangling 1200 feet above Manhattan.

“Boss?” FRIDAY says. “I believe I’ve pegged the identity of our intruder. It wasn’t until he wrote on the glass that I was able to get a decent map of his fingerprints; all other readings keep coming back inconclusive. His name is Peter Parker. He was hired by Stark Industries in early August as a member of the maintenance department. Twenty years old, native of Queens, emergency contact is one May Parker, also of Queens—”

“Thank you for solving the mystery, Velma, any ideas on why he’s acting like an oversized microfiber cloth on my building’s glass at the devil’s hour?

“Jinkies, Shaggy, I’m an intelligent digital assistant, not a mind reader.”

“Shaggy? You’re grounded, baby. I’m a Fred guy all the way.”

“If anything, boss, you’re most similar to Daphne. But according to Mr. Parker’s recently opened emails, the maintenance department was mandated just yesterday to wash the windows on the main, north, and south towers. It appears Mr. Parker is getting a head—and unorthodox—start.”

“This maniac works for me?” Tony mutters. He follows along the window while the kid cleans, though he loses him when Parker crosses around the corner of the building and disappears onto the west side. “How the hell is he sticking to the window, FRI?”

“I can’t tell, boss. Diagnostics can’t find anything between his hands and the windows, but whenever he is sticking, the characteristics of his fingerprints change. It appears he grows scopulae.”

“Scopulae? As in, spider hair?” Tony stands at the window for several long minutes, lost in thought. At last, he heads back towards the elevator, shivering in the air conditioning. Instead of asking FRIDAY to take him to the floor Parker is currently cleaning (Floor 69, as of now), he tells her to take him back up to the penthouse. If the kid’s enhanced, then he’s safer on climbing the walls than anyone else Tony knows.

Not to mention, the windows are fucking spotless.

-

Peter is up to his eyes in the HVAC unit of zone 3 in the Stark Tower main building when his ears pick up the sound of the elevator door opening on the other side of the floor. With a building as tall as Stark Tower, heating and cooling takes division of the building into several zones with their own separate units. Zone three is for floors twenty-four through thirty-six—and twenty-four in particular, where the HVAC home base is, is a marketing floor. People here come and go without noticing him, walking briskly and talking on their phones. The elevators open and close all day long, but something about this particular incoming occupant has the office going silent.

The hairs raise all over Peter’s arms and legs. Danger? he wonders. But then he hears the murmuring of voices, a name said over and over in reverence: Mr. Stark. Tony Stark.

Tony Stark. The man who had caught Peter scaling the side of his supertall last night. Emblazoned in Peter’s memory is the image of the man coming out of the darkness on the other side of the glass, wearing nothing but some low-slung pajama pants. And who knew that Tony Stark, forty-plus years old still had the remnants of a six pack? Peter had been distracted for the rest of the night, even almost losing his grip around floor 21. Which wouldn’t have killed him (probably) but would have been very shocking to anyone walking down below on the street.

And now the man is on Peter’s floor? Well. It doesn’t take a genius to know what’s coming.

“Fuck,” Peter mutters. He immediately starts packing away his tools, tucking his hat down lower on his forehead to obscure his brow. His senses activate accidentally and suddenly a wrench is stuck to his hand and he shakes and shakes but for the life of him, it won’t come off—

“Well, hello.”

The wrench goes flying out of Peter’s hand, and Tony Stark barely manages to dodge it as it careens by him, hitting the wall and denting the plaster. They stare at each other, eyes wide, neither of them expecting such a thing to have happened and not being entirely sure how to proceed. The man is even more handsome in the light, eyes like the whiskey he drinks, hair immaculate and threaded with grays around the temples, lips full and curving into a smile. Fuck, Peter has had a crush on this guy since his Uncle Ben took him to a Stark Expo more than a decade ago. Seeing him in the flesh is almost too much to handle.

“Sorry,” Peter mutters, going to pick up the wrench.

“Don’t be. You’d be surprised how often I get that reaction.” He sticks out a hand, and Peter’s got no fucking clue what Tony wants him to do with it until the older man wiggles his fingers. For a business guy by day (and a suited superhero by night), Stark’s hands are calloused and strong. He looks Peter in the eye, gaze soft and unassuming, like he isn’t the most powerful man in the business world, like Peter isn’t some gum he’s tracked in on his shoe.

“I’m sorry for the wall, too,” Peter says. “I’ll fix that.”

“No, you won’t.”

Peter’s shoulders hunch. Of course, he won’t. Stark’s going to fire him. Peter will be back to shelter hopping and picking pockets until he finds another job. At least now he might have some references from coworkers who all seem to have taken to Peter, the youngest of their troop. The quiet woman Sam saves him a seat every lunch hour in the breakroom, and Carlito has started asking his wife to pack him two sandwiches so he can give one to Peter. Everyone has been so nice.

Peter should have known it wouldn’t last.

“You’ll be much too busy, I imagine,” Stark says. He takes the toolbox from Peter, like Peter is some dainty girl who can’t carry her own books to class, or something. Like a gentleman might. Peter is keenly aware of everyone’s gaze on them while the older man escorts him to the elevator. It must look ridiculous: Peter in his dirty work clothes, sneakers taped together, walking beside Tony Stark.

“Are you calling the cops on me?” Peter asks when the elevator door closes. He can tell that it’s moving upwards and not downwards, though—

“Why would I do that?” Stark asks. He’s wearing tinted glasses, and it’s a crime, because he’s so fucking pretty Peter would kill to see his face without them.

“Because of last night.”

Stark’s face smooths out. “I wasn’t sure if we were going to pretend like I didn’t know it was you—but I guess this makes it all a lot easier on my part. No, I’m not calling the cops on you.”

The elevator opens on the most lux penthouse Peter has ever seen: modern decore with glass tables and marble countertops and windows that show Manhattan below them like a toy city that Peter could step out and crush if he so felt like. The wood floors are polished and gleaming under Peter’s disgusting tennis shoes, and he’s never felt more out of place and more at home all at once.

“Thirsty? Hungry? I’ve got leftovers, if you don’t mind my germs. If you do mind my germs, I can order in for you. What do you like? Any food allergies?” Stark’s head pops up from where it had disappeared into the refrigerator. With narrowed eyes, he assesses Peter’s silence.

“Water would be—that’d be cool.”

“Sparkling? Distilled? Alkaline?”

“Uh—tap?”

“Excuse me, tap?” Stark shuts the door with a thud. “Now I am calling the cops. Seriously. You? Sit.”

Peter sits at the stool tucked beneath the island countertop. The marble cools his heated palms when he presses them against it. Despite his words, the man does not make any move to call anyone. He moves a Styrofoam dish to the microwave and heats up something that smells lovely, like marinara and basil. He cracks open a bottle of water and places it in front of Peter. It’s the crispest, most tasteless water he’s ever had. Probably harvested from mountainous glaciers or something.

At last Stark joins him on the other side of the island, sitting the dish of—yes, pasta—between them. He hands Peter a fork. “Dig in, kid,” he says. “I don’t have cooties.”

What the fuck, Peter thinks as he shares pasta with Tony Stark. Unbidden to his mind comes a scene from some Disney movie, when the two dogs share the piece of spaghetti and it makes them kiss. Just the idea of it has Peter staring resolutely at the wall of cabinets, chewing mechanically, hoping his face isn’t as red as it feels.

“Shall we talk shop while we eat?” Stark asks, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin.

Peter shrugs. He has no idea why he’s here. No idea what shop this man could possibly have to talk about with the likes of him.

“You’ve got mad skills,” he says at last. Stark lays his phone flat on the table and from it comes a holographic projection. Peter watches himself in 3-D scale the side of Stark Tower. Yeah, he looks pretty cool—except for the squeegee. That’s kind of dorky. “How are you doing that?”

“It’s—a long story,” Peter says, rubbing his thumb against the prongs of his fork. Society has made a lot of advancements regarding its treatment of enhanced humans, but there’s still a minority of people who are afraid in their ignorance. It was on the news last week when Peter was killing time in a McDonalds before he could arrive at work to Stark Tower: an enhanced teenager was murdered by some concerned townsfolk who believed she was destroying the crops with her weather-controlling capabilities.

He can feel Stark’s gaze on him. It makes him bristle, makes his shoulders hunch. Peter doesn’t do well with authority—that is, most authority seems to just use and abuse Peter. He’s suddenly keenly aware of how vulnerable he is right now: a twenty-year-old with no family, no friends to come looking for him, in the penthouse of the most powerful man in the world who has perfect blackmail material on him. Peter’s palms start to sweat, and he wipes them on his pants.

“Are you going to hurt me?” Peter asks, voice low and quiet. He can’t look. But he has to know—has to prepare himself.

Stark stands, abruptly. “No—Parker. Peter. Look at me.”

Peter does, his jaw clenched and eyes flat. He might be scared, but he’s no coward. Only, Stark doesn’t look anything like a man who is about to hurt him. His mouth is downturned in the softest expression of tragedy that Peter’s ever seen. “I’ve just realized,” Stark says. “This won’t do. I need Burger King.”

“Sorry, what?”

“Burger King. Don’t you know that I’m an eccentric billionaire, doomed to give in to my every whim? And my whims want a Whopper. Come on. Grab your metaphorical coat—or your literal coat. Should we stop by the maintenance floor?” Stark strolls to a closet and rifles through it, pulling out a long, dark, very expensive looking coat. Peter can almost feel it under his fingers, it must be so soft. “Kid? Are you hearing me?”

“I don’t have a coat.”

“Alright, take one of mine. Let’s go. My stomach waits for no one.”

When Peter tries to step onto the elevator behind Stark without grabbing a coat, the man insists on going back in and finding one for him. The billionaire puts him in a half dozen coats made of the soften Italian wools and genuine cashmeres, before settling on one that’s very similar to Mr. Stark’s, only with a collar that Peter can pulls up around his throat to keep the wind away. It smells clean, but faintly of cologne, like the man has worn it out recently and put it away without washing it. Thank God the coat is thick enough to hide the semi he sports.

They end up hiding in a booth in the back of a Burger King two blocks away, both of them with Whoppers and Large Fries and Cokes. Peter inhales his—an enhanced appetite, not to mention the general lack of food he suffers from on a typical day’s basis—but Tony keeps up, holding his own. He takes out his phone and sits it on the table again, tapping several buttons, and suddenly Peter’s head throbs a little, senses spiking.

“Is that bothering you? I’m using it to scramble anything we say from being overheard by anyone around us, but we can do it the old-fashioned way if we must—you know. Whispering.”

“It’s fine—that’s, that’s amazing.”

Stark blinks. “I—thanks. I made it.”

“I figured—how does it work? Can you tell me?”

And the man humors him. Actually humors him, explaining in laymen’s terms even though he might be surprised at the level of conversation Peter could keep up with. When Peter asks a question, the other man grins showing neat, white teeth that Peter would give anything to run his tongue along.

“You’ve been really nice,” Peter says when their food is gone and cups nothing but ice. It’s an understatement, because this is the nicest anyone has treated Peter in a long, long time, and the way Stark talks and looks at him isn’t condescending or pitying. It’s like he sees Peter as a human. “But why am I here? So, you know. About me. What are you going to do?”

“Nothing,” Stark says. “It’s not illegal to be enhanced. And while it is illegal to trespass, mostly it’s very unsafe to do it more than a quarter mile above the ground, so I do ask that anymore night time adventures aren’t spent scaling my building.”

“Okay,” Peter agrees. “I just wanted to make it easier for the other guys. They really look out for me. I didn’t want to make them have to work so hard, when I could do it so easily.”

“That’s very generous of you, Peter. May I call you Peter?”

Peter shrugs.

“I’ll take that as a yes—and you can call me Tony, okay kid? I’m not here to call the cops or to fire you. As a matter of fact, I want to offer you a job. Tentatively.”

“You want to promote me?” Peter asks, brow furrowing.

“It’s hardly a promotion. The hours are longer. The pay is—well, under the table. There’s danger too. Potentially mortal peril.

“Tell me, Peter, what do you know about the Avengers?”

[ughthatimagineblog]

When John Met. . .

john mulaney x reader

prompt: you’d loved him for years, before, during and after his fame, but what happens when you close your heart and he tries to win you over? oh, by the way, it’s in front of millions of people. requested: @lundqvistisgod warnings: cursing? kissing? word count:4232 a/n: jesus christ idk why it took me so long to shit this out. it was a beautiful prompt and the idea for the skit came to me from my fave fave fave rom com ever pls enjoy

       You knew you wanted to be a writer, but staring at screens all day with the accompanying hum of machinery is not what you had pictured when you would think of your dream job. It never occured to you that maybe writing isn’t as simple as just “writing”. It had, but of course you were blindsided by the glitz and glamour of the flashing lights you had in your mind when it came to success in your dream career. Writing for Saturday Night Live was a dream… Sometimes. A lot of the time it was constant meetings with producers, stuck up famous people, more writers and interns that didn't know what the hell was going on. But at the same time, neither did you.

       However, there was something off about this draft for next week’s show. It didn’t have a host written in. You looked over your computer to Pete who was also clicking away at his desk. You had come to be quite fond of him over the past couple of years. You were about the same age but you met him when you were also a clueless intern, prime in your senior year of university and he was only slightly more familiar to the studio than you were and just a little bit more outgoing which made him the perfect person to cling onto while you learned the ropes. It didn’t matter whatever you went through, he was there to help and it often saddened you to think of the day he moves on and expands his career without you. It was something you didn’t enjoy dwelling on and out of all the ups and downs you both had been through, you know you’d never trade them for the world.

    One of the biggest issues you’d had that Pete had helped you with was John. Yes, John Mulaney. You’d met him towards the end of your intern years as you were invited back as a full time employee and writer for the show and he changed your life. He gave Pete a run for his money and even caused a little fight between you both while all three of you were first writing for SNL. You had spent so much time with John it drove Pete wild and he didn’t understand it until he drove you to confess your feelings for him. You and Pete knew you hadn’t had much luck with guys or felt so strongly for someone since high school so it was kind of a big deal for you. Alas, it did not last long and you were given the chance to move on as John left the show to pursue his standup career which turned out to be fruitful.

      You remember seeing his shows start popping up on Netflix and then he’d have new ones every now and then, still performing in New York. You even went to see a few a couple years ago. But over time your frequent conversations became, well, less frequent. Every day turned into every week, every week into every month and every month into every year and then not at all. The world kept turning and he had forgotten. 

     By the time he’d returned to SNL to write you’d figured he’d become another washed up celebrity you both used to snicker at. You’d assumed the jabs in his shows were just quips to pander to audiences that were alien to celebrity life and not genuine like they would’ve been years ago. Now he was almost thirty two, much more skilled in his practice and you were closing in on twenty five and still at the same job you started at just with a higher pay raise and a little more creative freedom.

     It pained you sometimes to see him around, to be forced to interact with him. There have been several late nights with your pal Pete where you would just rant about John and how hellish it was having to work with him again. Of course, Pete would listen and offer sage where he could but overall you would do most of the talking. At one point, he asked if you’d even spoken to him to see if your assumptions were true. You admitted you hadn’t. At least not in any way that had been genuine. You worked with him so of course you had to speak with him but not for longer than moments at a time and not for any more than a few words. It was all you’d offer John. It broke you when he left, it broke you again when he changed, something still unconfirmed but you were sure of it, and you couldn’t allow yourself to be broken again. Your fingers flicked the edge of a packet of paper idly as you debated asking Pete for help on the somewhat empty screen plan in front of you. He looked busy, like he didn’t want to be bothered and had better things to do. Besides, you were starting to feel bad about how much you ranted to him. Of course you let him rant to you as well but it was nothing compared to what you needed to let off and you could tell how much it was wearing on him. Little did you know, though, that Pete wasn’t necessarily tired of your rants, he was more tired of being the middleman. John, since coming back to SNL had been coming to him for advice as well. He knew that Pete was your closest friend and wanted to know how to get close to you again so John would go to Pete. They’d exchange emails and text, even going out for a beer a couple times a week all without your knowledge. Well, Pete would have a beer, John would go for the water or tea. If Pete let you find out, he knew just how angry you’d be and how you’d never let him live it down and he’d go down as the traitor friend who let her long time unrequited love just walk back into their lives with no fight. But that’s exactly how it was. Pete and John became really good friends since he had come back and actually found more things in common than just ‘you’. During this formed friendship, Pete learned John actually felt for you. In more ways than he had ever led on.

      You sighed, finally caving in and opened your mouth to ask Pete why there were blanks in the forms when one of the interns walked into the office with a bouquet of flowers. Pete’s eyes quickly looked up from the monitor to the intern and back to you with a questioning look. Only a moment more and you stood. “Um, hi, can we help you?” You said, voice soft. “Yeah, these flowers are for a,” The intern paused to look at the note in her hands. “Y/N.” They looked back to you expectantly. “Oh, that’s me. Are you sure that’s correct?” You asked, doubt lacing your voice as you looked between Pete and the intern. They nodded, showing you the card. Sure enough your name was written in calligraphy and signed, ‘Secret Admirer’. You smiled, furrowing your brows a bit in confusion. “All right. Well, thank you.” You took the flowers from the temp’s arms and set them on your desk, staring at the card.

      “Well?” Pete’s voice jolted you from your train of thought. Looking up from the piece of paper between your fingers you saw his expecting expression. “It’s from a secret admirer.” You laughed, giving the card to Pete. He smiled, shuffling in his seat as he turned it over in his hands. “Someone in the office likes you.” He grinned and you rolled your eyes. “Yeah well, very funny Pete but valentines day isnt until next year.” You turned back to your desk, ready to work again, already forgetting about your earlier question. “It wasn’t me.” His tone was serious. Looking back up at him, his face matched his voice. “You mean this wasn’t a joke?” He shook his head and you returned to your work, noticing your coworker had sent you a couple emails regarding a different project and for the rest of the day, the blanks in the form and the anonymous love had been forgotten.

      For the next week, conversation with John had grown and you realized, maybe, he wasn’t as stuck up as you had previously believed. He was still kind, still funny, and still knew you better than most. But you were still wary, moving farther away when he would get close enough to, what seemed like, hear your heartbeat. Or sometimes he would say something that would edge between friendly and flirty and you’d change the subject, shutting it down before your face could heat up. But even as the interactions frequented, so did the flowers.

       Followed by chocolates, and gifts that were surprisingly personal to you, each coming with a new note that became more detailed over time and by Monday, table work day, it was obvious your admirer was on the writing team for this upcoming Saturday. You smiled as you unveiled the card tucked into the sleeve of the coffee cup before you, which by the way, was ordered to your specific liking. Amused, you turned to Pete, leaning on your desk, reading the note out loud. “I hope you enjoy this special cup of your favorite blend. I’m looking forward to seeing you later today- later today?” You paused, surprised. Pete’s eyebrows shot up as a mischievous grin spread across his face.

       “They must be in the table room for later.” Pete shrugged, leaning back in his chair, biting on the end of his pen with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Must be.” You giggled. “Nice sweatshirt by the way.” Pete said with a pointed look. You looked down and felt your face heat up with the realization. You had bought a shirt online with a reference to one of John’s show’s on it. Despite everything you had claimed, you still admired him and were proud. You were really just scared of getting hurt. “You know it’s nothing to be ashamed of but-“ He checked the time. “We have to get to the meeting.” You nodded grabbing your coffee and the notebook, heading out the door with Pete.

        You were halfway down the long hallway towards the table room when it finally dawned on you. “Oh yeah, Pete, there was a mistake in my forms. Who is the host? The spot was blank?” You asked as he reached for the handle and opened the door. You walked into the room, still waiting for a reply from your friend. You wouldn’t get one. Sitting at the table was two other writers you were not super familiar with and then John. John Mulaney sat at the head of the table. One of the writers turned to you and smiled. “Y/N, John’s going to be our host this week.” Shutdown. Your brain began to shut down. This meant youd work with him more. Every day for a lot longer than just a few seconds. You were so shocked you didn’t feel the hot coffee that was now on your hands as you had squeezed the cup too hard. 

      “Oh, shit.” You cursed, face heating up and the horrid chain of events unfolding before you. John’s face changed from smiling to concerned as he leapt up from his seat to help assist in the cleanup.

    You stood in the breakroom, water from the sink left running as you leaned against the sink while John was applying Neosporin onto your burn. “Does it hurt?” He asked softly, eyes focused solely on the injury before him. “No, not anymore.” You managed to get out. He was so close. Your cheeks felt hot and even though he towered over you, the proximity made him feel small. “I told you, it’s not that big of a deal-“ You were cut off by him shushing you. “Hey, I wanted to help so I’m helping.” You rolled your eyes as he finally made eye contact again. “You’re wasting time.” He scoffed. “Pete and Megan can handle it for a while.” You shook your head and it fell silent. “Nice sweatshirt.” He grinned. “Shut up.” He laughed and your heart clenched in your chest. You loved his laugh. “No animosity. It’s a good bit.” He turned to reach for the bandaid. “Yeah, a lot of people seem to think so.” You said, a hint of venom in your tone.” His eyes shot to yours. “Is there something wrong?” John’s voice has both concern and hurt in his voice.

       “No. Put the bandaid on.” John’s hand withdrew. “No, now I know something’s wrong.” You looked at him and sighed. “You’ve just been gone and you’re different.” You confessed. “I’m different?” You nodded, crossing your arms, flinching and then uncrossing them. He muttered a “Give it here.” before taking your hand again and dabbing it with a cool cloth more. “You left a long time ago and it was hard seeing you go. And then it- you got really really big and famous and soon enough you were just like them.” Your words felt small saying them aloud. His expression was incredulous. “Like them? Like who? Like the people we used to shit on? Y/N, I’m not ‘like them’. I haven’t changed. But every time I’ve tried to show you that since being back you’ve backed away. Pulled away. If anything you’ve changed.” Your head snapped up at him, a ping of hurt went through you.

      “I have not changed. I just don’t know when you’re going to leave again so I’d rather not lead my own feelings on and let you get close to me again just for you to run off again.” Your eyes closed after you finished confessing, only in the back of your mind registering what you had told him.

       “Your feelings for me?” He asked and your eyes opened. “Yes. And I’d rather not re-open that wound if you’re just going to run off again. But thank you, for trying.” You grabbed the band aid from his hands, which were shaking but you were too quick to notice, and left. You left him in that break room with no room for a response or time to register. You didn’t want or care to know his response.

     Saturday finally came and so did the end of working within more-than-close proximity with John. He had talked to you the same amount as the days before, not mentioning what you had told him, treating you just the same and eventually your heart sank at his indirect answer to how he felt in return. But the secret admirer never stopped sending gifts. Another cup of coffee, more flowers, your apartment was filled with them, and more food. By the time your last gift came in today, you marched down to the other writer for Saturday’s episode, Michael’s office to tell him to stop. You knew it was him, especially after Monday. At first it was sweet but at this point you didn’t like him that way and knew you had to tell him.

    You knocked on the threshold and leaned in the frame. Michael’s eyes popped up from his desktop and smiled when he saw you. This was going to be hard. “Hey, Mike, I just wanted to say thank you for all these little gifts but,” You walked further into the room to make sure you two were alone. “I don’t like you in that way. I’m sorry. I just have feelings for someone else and you’re a great guy, and I-“ 

      “Stop, stop, stop. I didn’t send you those gifts.” Michael said, a smile on his face. “What?” He chuckled. “Yeah, those gifts that intern’s been delivering? Those aren’t from me. Thanks for thinking it was me, but they weren’t.” He smiled with a closed mouth before returning to work.

     You left his office perplexed. Who could it have been? Maybe Pete had been doing it as a joke. You would wait until he got off of lunch to confront him and tell him how mean that was but for now there was work to do and a show to air.

      Night fell and Pete returned just as everyone was preparing for places and you nearly stabbed him with your own finger when he got back. “You asshole!” His arms flew up and the couple steps he took back from you were staggered. “What the fuck?” People shoved past as you pressed on. “You sent all that bullshit to me?” Pete’s face turned on a dime as he registered what you implied. “No! I did not!”

      “Do not lie to me, I talked to Michael, he didn’t send them.” You claimed, crossing your arms, brows furrowed so deep you felt like you hadn’t moved your face for ages. “Of course it wasn’t Michael. Michael is gay, Y/N. But that’s not even the top reason why it wouldn’t be him.” You shrugged, throwing your arms and feeling one of them flop to your thigh as your other hand came up to pinch the bridge of your nose. “Then who did?” You released the bridge and looked up with a questioning gaze. Pete only returned with an equally expectant stare.

     It registered and your turned towards the cast hallway in horror and surprise. “No.” Your voice sounded distant, even to your own ears. You stood there, frozen, people bumping into you in a hurry as they passed. What was really ten seconds felt like thirty minutes before Pete sighed. “Yes, it was him.”

       “And you didn’t tell me?”

“He wanted it to be a surprise! He told me this is what he was going to do and holy shit, finally. I was so sick and tired of you both secretly pining for each other like, what kinda bullshit is that?” Pete rambled for a few moments before finding your unresponsiveness a little tiring and walking off. Your feet moved you before your brain did after that. Back to your office, to put away a couple folders given to you by some bustling assistants, cameramen or more interns, then they carried you back while the anxiety built up. You came back to see John take his place, an assistant handed him a bottle of water and he took a drink, catching your eye. The director began to count. You smiled and he waved back and they hit five seconds. The audience was in place, you were next to camera man A, aka James to oversee how well the script ran and soon enough, John began hosting.

             His bit ended sooner than expected and he came straight up to you the moment the cameras were off of him. “Was that okay?” He asked, half jogging up to you, nearly chugging the water he was given. “Yeah, you did great.” You nodded, offering to hold the bottle for him but he shook his head in response. Your head was still reeling, not forgetting about the fact he was the one to send those gifts but not knowing how to ask about it. “I have to do a couple more skits before I can bring you on.” He admitted, signaling you to walk with him. “What?”

       “I talked to Lorne and Don. They agreed to let you do a skit with Aidy and I. It’s close to the end and I talked to Inga. She agreed to do your makeup and hair while I go on to do my other ones.” You failed to speak as he explained and all you could do was stutter. “I won’t even know what to say? This is not what we wrote.” You tried to weasel your way out of it. “It’s an improve. You’ll do fine. Kate comes in around the middle so if you start dying she can help.” He nodded with reassurance as you reached his dressing room and opened the door to meet Inga, Louie and Cara. “Oh god.”

     You waited in his room long after he left. His costume changers were also there to help, which you were booted for, but welcomed back in as he went on. They changed you into your costume which fit you surprisingly well. Well cut skinny jeans and a nice shirt. Inga did your makeup to compliment your face and eyes and your hair to complete everything. “I must be one of the normal ones in this one, huh?” You quipped and Inga just smiled which, admittedly, worried you. Just as you were about to dwell on it too much, the door opened and Stella, the girl you liked to call the cue girl, opened the door and waved you out. Your breath was shaky and steps were uneven as you made the trek to the stage. She informed you they had three minutes until the commercial break was over, the musical guest would introduce the skit and they would signal you to go on with John. You nodded adamantly, not bothering to tell her you knew how the show ran in fear of throwing up the moment you opened your mouth. Three minutes passed faster than they should have and right before you were about to ask about them rigging the clock, John came up, dragged you to side stage and whispered “Break a leg.” You smiled up at him and his eyes found yours with a soft look. It felt safe. The musical guest walked onto the main stage and introduced the skit. “New Years Eve” they had announced and before you could think of how odd it was, considering it was August, they started counting you down from behind the camera and it was also only then you realized the room was packed with extras all wearing party clothes. You recognize the scene immediately.       “When Harry Met Sally.” You muttered. The camera guy’s hands counted down from ten as Aidy rushed you into place. “When John Met Y/N.” She said and winked, walking away. “What?” You asked, panic and confusion now flooded you. The room was so crowded and she was gone before the man hit five. Four… Three… Two… One… Everyone in the room began counting down as the music kicked up and the twinkling of party decor littered the set. Your confusion was appreciated but genuine as John approached you. He had the nerve to drag you into this. Your confusion turned to anger and you no longer cared. “Dammit, John, what the hell is this?” You made a vague gesture around the room. It was improv technically, or at least, you could play it like it was. The look in his eyes told you he knew it wasn’t. “You drag me into your crap the moment you come back like nothing has changed? And you sent me all that other stuff like nothing has happened? Don’t you care about me? Because if you did, you’d know you can’t just walk back into my life like that. It doesn’t work that way.” Your heart gasped. You’d said it. “Well, I do care about you. I care about the way you bite your lip when you get real nervous,” He wasn’t.      “I care about how you can never make up your mind whether you want tea or coffee and how, despite claiming you hate me, you still wear my sweatshirt. And most of all I care about how, even after all this time, your laugh hasn’t changed a bit and even after I leave work and go home to my apartment at night, I can still hear it in my head. Away from home, that's what I missed most. And come to think of it, you are what I missed most and it killed me you never knew how much I loved you before I left.” He finished and it took a few moments for the blood to stop rushing in your ears long enough to realize the crowd had stopped counting and you could hear the tail end of the audience’s ‘awe’. “And all this?”       “Surprise.” He whispered sheepishly, coming close to your, his arms coming up to your biceps as you had crossed your arms earlier. “You’re an asshole, yknow that?” You smiled, as he leaned down to kiss you. “Believe me, I know.” Your lips brushed his and he smiled through the tender kiss before pulling away. The audience clapped as you both pulled from each other. You looked around. “Did you plan all this just to ask me out on a skit?” You realized cameras were still rolling. He nodded and turned to the camera. “That’s right folks, you just witnessed an elaborate plan to ask the love of my life out on a date instead of an actual skit. That’s something you just paid money for. Thank you all for watching… “ You turned away from him and the giggling audience to find Pete off stage. You smiled softly at him and mouthed ‘thank you’. He smiled and winked in return. “... And goodnight!” John finished and came back to kiss you more as the credits rolled and the music resumed. Maybe he wasn’t stuck up, but he was right about one thing. Famous people are weird.

[pullingthroughthefog]

Finally worked up the strength and the introspect to do this. I have been needing to put pen to paper for so long, and somehow I have continued to avoid it for more than 2 years. 2 years of silently suffering through what has been the biggest personal crisis in my life thus far. I am 34 years old. I was 32 when my husband made the decision to have an emotional affair. At that point, we had been married for 2 years only, and had a 1 year old daughter. Barely.  Our love story is a classic one. We knew each other for years, but both had different partners. And again. And again. Until one time we both found ourselves single and we instantly got together. It was crazy and passionate and fantastic. We were together for a year when we popped the question, and almost 2 years after that, we got married. 3 Months after our wedding, I became pregnant with our daughter. 

My pregnancy was a tough one. I didn’t particularly enjoy it, I had a lot of aches, I gained an enormous amount of weight, and I was supremely unhappy. Tie that to a shitty birthing experience, and being severely sleep-starved for the first couple of months after having her, we were definitely going through our first crisis as a married couple. I certainly was on a personal level. I was not able to cope with night wakeups and feeds after spending the entire day looking after my crying colicky baby. I was destroyed. My husband recognized this, and soon took over all the night duties relating to our baby, and then catching up on his sleep in the wee morning hours when I would get up with the little one. Then he would go to work. And rinse and repeat. This went on for months. I’m not sure how many. 4-6 months. 

I hated being on maternity leave. I took care of my baby’s needs and made sure she was well-fed, diapered and never needed for anything, but I was restless. I absolutely loathed being at home, never getting the opportunity to take a shower, to decompress, to be just by myself without having to constantly put another persons needs over my own. Being selfish and ego-centered for so many years beforehand doesn’t exactly leave you with the best foundation to suddenly become another person’s servant 24/7. My needs were non existent. Well that’s not true. My needs were many, but in the grand scheme of things, they didn’t matter.

In the weekends though, we thrived. Taking shifts to be with the little one, spending family time together, going out for walks, taking her with us to the café. Everything was working in the weekends, and it was a huge weight off my shoulders. It reminded me of what we could be, and who we were, aside from the people who incessantly kept track of whose turn it was to suffer with a baby related issue, and how unfair certain things were to each of us. Having a baby makes you a nitpicky monster, and keeping score was number one activity.

When we were nearing the end of my maternity leave which lasted for 9 months, my husband was supposed to take over for 8 weeks. He would start the baby in daycare, and get her used to being there little by little, while also taking time to get to know his daughter, outside of the two hours they got to spend together before her bedtime every day.

I was happy to be back at work. I thrived. I enjoyed being back in the swing of things, washing my hair, putting on makeup and having a sense of purpose. I know that having children for a lot of people is THE biggest sense of purpose, and I guess I can agree to that post the baby stage, but back then, I was just happy to be of service in real world-  where it mattered. I felt like my entire quality of life improved, and I felt my relationship with my husband take a turn for the better as well.

One day when I came home from work, my husband’s phone was on the sofa. He was in the next room changing the baby. A text ticked in from someone called Sara. It said “are you ready to trade in the older model for a new wife”. 

I was absolutely astonished. I showed my husband, and asked him what this was about. He instantly said it was a joke with a co-worker and it meant nothing. He promised that was the end of those conversations, he was going to be appropriate with his colleagues, and that he cherished and appreciated me and our life far too much to ever risk anything.

I made him call her, with me present but without mentioning I was there. He called. And said the reason he was calling was to tell her that, just in case there were any misunderstandings, he wanted her to know that there is nothing between them, they are just colleagues, and they will stay that way. She was hesitant and awkward. She knew i was listening in on it. She said “of course not, I understand”, and they ended the call. 

This was supposed to be the end of it. We decided to shelf it, and that he was going to make better judgements in the future. I decided that he was innocent, but this young girl might have gotten mixed signals, which was an issue, and his problem to correct, which he had done. He went on his knees and promised to never put me in a position to doubt his love and loyalty to our relationship again. 

A few days after, it was my husband’s birthday. I had ordered him a very expensive watch, even against my better judgment from the discovery a few days later. It was the type of expensive that you could buy a car for. 

 I wanted to thank him for being such a great support during my maternity leave, and I knew this watch was something he had dreamed of. He was very happy and I felt even more thrilled and privileged that I was able to buy it for him.

That evening, when the baby was asleep, and we were sitting on the balcony eating dinner, all hell broke loose. He put his phone down on the table, and a Snapchat from Sara rolled in. I was fuming. He continue to reiterate that it was nothing to worry about, just friendly conversations, which completely set me off. We had just agreed to NO private contact with any female coworkers in his off time, and here were were again. He deleted her from Snapchat immediately. Probably as a way to save face, without having to show me their conversation, but he presented it as a favor to me.

Instantly, she messaged him on facebook messenger asking why he had deleted her on snapchat. This raised more flags for me. Why did she notice so quickly that he had deleted her? Was it because she was spending enormous amounts of time writing him? You could delete me off of any social media, and I promise you that unless you are a very close friend, I wouldn’t notice. Years could go by, and I’d be none the wiser. I asked him to give me his phone. I was not backing down. I wanted to get to the bottom of this. He was hesitant and fought me on it, which only spurred me on more. Why was he denying it? Surely he had nothing to hide if she was just a co-worker. He had been diligent on deleting texts, so I went into his work email, and searched for her name.

My heart broke. He was anxiously sitting opposite from me while I had his phone, and looking for any reaction I might have. I tried to hide my facial reactions, while I took all the instant messaging records, and sent them to myself on email to read. I knew it was only a matter of time before he took his phone back out of sheer anxiety and fear. I was right. He took his phone back before I could finish reading and sending everything, in fact I think I only saw a fraction. 

Sara and my husband had been IM’ing each other intimately for weeks. While he was still at work, and after he went on parental leave as well. They were extremely flirty. She was asking him about his wife. He was telling her that we weren’t going to last. That we were only together for the baby. He was asking her to come sit by him in the office. She was asking him to accompany her to parties and concerts. She was confiding in him about personal matters. And he was throwing me under the bus, for this 21 year old intern at his job, where he was a manager and a person who should behave much better than this. 

I was absolutely heartbroken. I read everything through, and completely fell apart. My husband was sitting in the living room, just watching me cry and turn into a shell of a human being. I was weeping. Screaming, Absolutely gut wrenching pain and experiencing the feeling of being stabbed in my heart. He wasn’t going to talk until I calmed down, so he just sat there, listening to me sob and cry until I didn’t have a single tear left.  What completely broke me, was the realization that they day after his birthday, the very morning after we had “solved everything” and he has apologized to me, sincerely, on his knees, he had taken our daughter to daycare, and called her right after. I knew this, because in the messages, he was telling her that another coworker had overheard him talking to her on the car speaker system, and had asked him what that was about. 

I can’t explain how crushing it is to realize that your doting, loving husband is not only having an emotional affair, but he also had the audacity and the heart to promise me that it was NEVER going to happen again, only for it to have happened again, the very next day as soon as he stepped out of the house.

What followed is a long period of sorrow, feeling of loss, emptiness, feeling of despair, anger, complete humiliation and desire to end my marriage, but neither having the strength or the willingness to do so.

2 years after, we are still married. Our marriage has developed into something so broken and awful, that I’ve recently had to look  in the mirror and ask myself where I had gone wrong. Because make no mistake, my husband is the one who screwed up a loving home, but what followed and what has transpired in the 2 years after, is just as much my fault. This is the first time I have found the courage to face myself, and to accept that I also have a huge part to play in the destruction of my marriage in recent years. What was meant to be a period of rebuilding trust and love, has been nothing but a struggle and a mission impossible on both ends. And from where I am standing, this is a last ditch resort at salvaging our marriage and our relationship, or finally coming to accept what is irretrievably broken and finding the courage within me to walk away. 

I will recount the following time in later entries. 

[nat-roman0ff]

i. tuesday

a series of blurbs // a certain time and place

 i. tuesday

the one where they eat too much pizza, and swallow their feelings.

wc: 1,893

warnings: swearing, mentions of sex, bad writing, feasting.

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It’s quarter past seven when she finally gets to relax. It’s Tuesday, and Tuesdays at work always meant her boss screaming about something, pissy clients, and her snotty coworker making comments about whatever it goddamn was that she hated her for this week. The glimmer of Monday has worn off and it’s back to the same old, same old.

 Tuesdays weren’t always terrible, though. It’s warm and breezy today and the birds are chirping loud and high in the sky. There’s a distinct smell of summer in the air; it’s just on the cusp, as noted by the line of sweat collecting at her hairline as she tredges home. This Tuesday in particular, however, was exceptionally not terrible. Her sort of best friend, part time couch surfer (even though he had his own place), and sometimes lover, was home for a blip of time between his “rockstar” (even though he hated the word) lifestyle and normal life.

 Shawn’s an anomaly, she thinks. He’s a little bit of everything all mixed into one neurotic, passionate, sometimes self destructive mess of a boy. But whatever it is that he is to her, he’s a good one. That much she does know.

She’s practically limping by the time she reaches the front door of her apartment, cursing herself for deciding today was the day to break in new shoes. Her phone pings from her back pocket and it’s Shawn; be there in a few! He writes. She doesn’t bother to text back because if she doesn’t get these ever loving shoes off within the next five seconds, and a piece of pizza down her throat she might just burst.

 After changing from work clothes to something more comfortable, she settles on the couch with the box of pizza. She sighs a breath of relief when the first waft of pepperoni hits her nose, and grins sheepishly.

 “Honey, I’m home!” Shawn bursts through the door without so much as knocking.

 “Yo,” she deadpans, half a slice hanging out of her mouth.

 Shawn jumps over the back of the couch onto the empty cushion beside his girl, “how’s your Tuesday?”

 “Better, now that you’re here.”

 “Aw, shucks,” Shawn sighs, putting his head on her shoulder.

 She rolls her eyes, “I was talking to the pizza.”

 “In that case,” he plucks the remaining slice in her hand out and shoves it whole in his mouth, “delicious,” he mumbles through chews.

 “You’re an animal,” she mutters.

 “Only for you, baby,” he says, a string of mozzarella hanging on his chin.

 Her heart skips at the line. Baby; it quite literally means nothing in the context, but how she so fucking wished it meant more. She’s in love with him (of course). Believe it or not, the Shawn Mendes isn’t actually everyone’s cup of tea. Once you get past the great hair and sharp jawline and impossibly good smile he’s rather, well, weird. You can never really figure him out and she supposes that’s what brought the two of them together in the first place.

 When people ask how they met, neither of them can ever quite put their finger on it. She’d started seeing him at outings with friends of friends of friends. He was always there but never within reach. She knew who he was and what he did and it never really phased her, he was just always that dude she saw at the bar sometimes at whoever’s friend’s best friend’s boyfriend’s birthday party.

 It hadn’t been until a Halloween party about two years ago that left the two of them soberly stranded in a sea of plastered people in horribly unoriginal costumes. He was dressed as Julius Caesar (a giant homemade cardboard salad dressing bottle with a wreath crown on his head) and she was dressed as Cereal Killer. For all inquiring minds, yes it was just as dumb as it sounds.

 “Whatcha thinking about?” He interrupts, already finished with his second slice of pizza.

 “Nothing,” she says, shaking her head, “nothing except you better split this pizza with me evenly this time, Jackass.”

 Shawn scoffs, “I have been wasting away performing every night, I deserve at least two-thirds of this pizza.”

 He pays attention to the way she rolls her eyes at him. His chest warms; it’s such a simple, bratty, cynical act coming from her but somehow it’s theirs. He says something ridiculous and she just rolls those beautiful damn eyes and the outside world just ceases to exist for a tiny moment. Head over heels might be an understatement, and a cheesy one at that. He’s an entire goddamn mess for this girl.

 Shawn leans over and pecks a quick kiss on her cheek.

 “Ugh,” she groans, feigning disgust, “you got pizza grease on me.”

 He shrugs.

 “What was that for anyways?” She asks.

 Shawn shrugs again, “missed you, I guess. It’s been too long. Keep telling you that you need to come out on tour with me -”

 There’s a disconnect in his voice. He’s looking at her but not at her. His eyes scan every part of her face except her eyes. Shawn has issues feeling vulnerable. Which is rich coming from someone who performs in front of thousands of strangers nightly. But it’s different with her. He’s never been so terrified of a single person in his life, even after the time Eric Williams whooped his ass in the third grade.

 “Oh yes because I’m sure my boss would just love me taking off months at a time. And unpaid? What a dream! Let me send her my resignation email right now!” She quips sarcastically.

 The heat in Shawn’s chest cools a little as he settles back into reality. She’s here and you’re there and that’s the only way it’s ever going to be, he reminds himself.

 “But you hate your job!” He whines, “Just quit, we’ll find something for you to do on tour.”

 She groans, “and what am I supposed to do the rest of the time? Sit around and watch you get baked and play guitar?”

 “I can think of something,” Shawn raises an eyebrow and she knows what’s coming.

 In a swift move the pizza box is on the floor and he’s got her pinned underneath him, “Kiss me.”

 It’s barely a whisper and she knows how this ends every time. Every time they kiss or fool around or fuck or wake up in each other’s arms she hopes it’s different this time. That this time is the time he’ll feel that spark she feels every time he touches her skin.

 It’s a different feeling for him. It’s less of a spark and more of a flutter; a familiar nervousness in his belly that makes the unknown comforting, but the uncertainty of not knowing terrifying. Does that make sense? His head is such a chaotic string of everything and nothing at the same time with her and he doesn’t know what is up or down when he’s around her, all that he knows is he’s safe. The nerocies stay at bay just long enough to maybe believe she loves him back.

 “Now why would you go around wanting something like that?” She replies, cupping his cheek, running her thumb over the divet where a tiny scar etches into his skin.

 I want you, he thinks.

 “Horny, been a while,” he fumbles. It’s the same way out every time. Say something stupid but sarcastically enough that she knows you’re joking. It saves from having to admit to anything while simultaneously hinting that he wants to spend the whole night soaking her in.

 She rolls her eyes and Shawn’s chest starts to tingle, “you’re disgusting,” she grumbles, pushing on his chest, “and I have a pizza to finish.”

 “While I have total faith that you can finish that whole pizza yourself, do you remember what happened the last time you did that?” He tuts, sitting back up and letting her curl back into a ball on the other end of the couch.

 She shoves half the slice in her mouth, “you know, I was really thinking of adding additional assault to my insides by washing this down with a milkshake. You down?”

 He props his chin on his fist and tilts his head to the side, “I love when you talk bowel movements with me.”

 She boops the tip of his nose as the first drop of rain pangs against the living room window. There’s a rush of wind and then out of nowhere the sky just opens and it’s coming down in sheets onto the streets below them. The wind brings in a cool lick of humidity into the air. Shawn lets out a dramatic sigh and sprawls himself across her legs, resting his head in her lap.

 “Looks like I’m staying here tonight. I’ll probably need to borrow one of your shirts to sleep in,” he jokes, stroking her side, his fingertips grazing the hem of her tee shirt.

 “Just don’t stretch it out in the tits.”

 Shawn laughs, his face scrunched, “you’re ridiculous.”

 He mindlessly kisses her bare thigh, not realizing just how far her pajama shorts have ridden up.

 “I’m ridiculous? You own your own condo yet I can’t seem to ever get you out of my apartment. Do you ever actually sleep there?”

 “Sometimes,” he mumbles between kisses, “just prefer it here I suppose.”

 She stops chewing for a second, “it’s a 400 square foot walk up. You live in a luxury building. The roof has a damn pool for crying out loud.”

 “Don’t forget the fire pits and dog washing station,” he reminds, and she can feel his lips smirking against her skin.

 She flicks his ear, “maybe you should start spending more time in your own place.”

 Shawn pauses, “like...not together?”

 “Of course, together but...I don’t know. What do you like about here so much that you can’t get there?”

 You, he thinks.

 “I dunno,” he looks around desperate for anything to stick out. His heart races and he can feel that familiar anxious itch starting to burn his skin when he’s on the verge of saying too much.

 “This wall,” he points to the far wall across the room behind her bed, “I like the color of that wall.  Everything in my place is all white. Need some liveliness and color and whatnot.”

  She doesn’t buy it, “well Shawn, I’m really excited to introduce you to something called a Hardware Store. You can buy all the paint colors you want.”

 Shawn perks his head up, “will you help me do that?” He asks, tracing words he’ll never say out loud into her skin with the tips of his fingers.

 She swears she’s writes ‘I love you’ three times into her skin before she responds, “of course.”

 He nods and rests his head back onto her lap. Shawn’s eyes close when she threads her fingers through his hair. This is home, he thinks.

 She screams ‘I love you’ three times in her head so loudly it almost threatens to bubble out between her lips. It’s a loud thought, and she wonders if she shouts it loud enough through her head if maybe one day he’ll listen.

 She thinks someday, someday with a few hundred maybes thrown in she’ll be brave enough to say it out loud. But that day isn’t Tuesday.

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hiiii hi hello! this is my first time writing shawn, i have about 8 years worth of terrible one direction fanfiction behind me so i thought why not start something new!

please let me know what you think! i’ve started it as sort of a blurb series with more to come, you can check all the upcoming titles on my masterlist! (linked on the sidebar).

[winterisakillerwrites]

Imperfect Tense - Part One

Title: Imperfect Tense

One Shot: 1/3

Character: Tom Hiddleston/OFC

Genre: Angst

Rating: M

Summary: Secrets are powerful things. They shape who we are and how we interact with others and with the world. Tom assumed his secret was safe and his life would remain as it ever was. He was wrong.

Authors Notes/Warnings: This was written for @mrs-captain-evans writing challenge. My prompt was the line: “what did I do wrong?”. This was supposed to be a much shorter piece but alas it sort of ran away with me. Much like Brave Face this story deals with the concept of cheating. Apparently I wasn’t done with this idea just yet. Thanks, again, to @redfoxwritesstuff who not only encouraged this but was a fantastic support throughout its writing.

The silence of the room was overwhelming. Tom watched as she sat still as stone, eyes downcast on her hands resting open palmed in her lap. Even with her face carefully neutral and an unnatural coolness radiating from her, Tom couldn’t deny Molly was beautiful. She always had been to him and the years they’d spent together had not changed that fact for him. He fought to ignore the suitcases that sat littered around her; hoping if he ignored them then maybe they would go away even though he knew they would not.

She hadn’t uttered a word in what felt like an age, not since he had walked in the door he realized with a jolt, and, god, he wanted to scream if only just to break the suffocating silence around them. But he hadn’t. Screaming, he undoubtedly knew, would do no good. Not now. Instead, the question that has been plaguing him finally tumbled from his lips.

“What did I do wrong?”

Molly flinched at the sound of his voice and the action cut him deeply. They’d fought before and he’d seen her righteous fury and her cool disappointment. But this…This was something new and it sent waves of unease through him. She toyed idly with the ring on her finger. His ring. The soft light from the window played across the deep blue of its center stone; a sapphire, set in a thin silver band. It was simple, beautiful; much like she was. The fact that she hadn’t taken it off had to mean something, didn’t it?

After what felt like an age, she raised her head, locking her blue eyes with his own. Emotion swirled in them; far too much and far too quickly for him to pick apart. Uncertainty coursed through him, this was wrong, so very wrong. He didn’t know what to do, what to say, and for the first time since he’d walked into the room, Tom felt a real sliver of fear slither through him.

“Everything,” she whispered.

Her voice had the soft edge that he’d only ever heard when she was well and truly done. It froze his insides and he fought against the reality of what it would mean. For him. For her. For them. Molly had been his rock. The calm, quiet place of refuge and safety he had cherished above all others. She was his world and without warning, without any inkling of understanding on his part, it was seemingly all over. He couldn’t accept it. He wouldn’t. Not when he’d worked so hard to keep this one, bright, wonderful thing in his life. He needed her.

Molly swallowed thickly and it was then he noticed the thick envelope resting beside her. “This came for you.” She held out it out to him and his fingers shook as they closed around it.

A registered letter.

He looked first at it then at her in confusion. She held his gaze and didn’t utter a word. He flipped the envelope over, noting that it had been opened (which in itself hadn’t been surprising, he’d been waiting for a contract to be delivered and had asked her to keep watch for it), and pulled the letter from it. His heart plummeted into his stomach as the words, printed in stark black and white, sank in.

‘Mr. Hiddleston, the enclosed is to inform you… Ms. Heather James… Paternity claim…one year old child Francis Henry James…Please contact at your earliest convenience…’

The letter slipped from his numb fingers. Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. Bile rose in his throat and he fought against the urge to vomit. This isn’t happening. Please god, this can’t be happening. He gripped the edge of the arm chair beside him to keep his balance as the world tilted unnervingly beneath him.

Tom hadn’t heard that name in nearly two years, had done his utmost best to forget it. It had been a stupid, careless mistake born of too much drink and a mad notion that his world was spinning out of control. He had been away from home for nearly six months between filming and promoting and auditioning and the distance had started to take its toll. He missed his home. His bed. His family. And god, he missed Molly. Missed her more than he could hope to express. Things hadn’t been easy and the distance was draining for them both.  

It had been a grueling day and try as he might he couldn’t seem to reach her; calls, texts, emails, Skype calls, all went unanswered. He struggled not to worry about what it might mean; he trusted Molly, but he needed her and she wasn’t there. He wanted to be angry, felt the frustration and disappointment coursing through him, but pushed those thoughts away. Her own life was hectic enough; she worked long hours in her own right (as a nurse she was no stranger to shift work and impossibly long hours) and had more often than not scarified her time and her life to meld with his. She wasn’t required to be at his beck and call; he never would demand that of her. And he’d known he had absolutely no right to begrudge her of her own life. But still, he felt the lack of contact with her acutely.

Tom hadn’t said no when later Chris, accompanied by a handful others, had come by his room and threw out the idea of drinks and dancing. He’d practically jumped at the chance to get out of that room and out of his head. He needed to relax, to unwind. This would offer him that and he’d ceased it with both hands. He couldn’t stand being in that room a moment longer.

It hadn’t taken long for Tom to lose himself in the thrum and energy of the small club. The drinks seemed to flow freely and he’d taken them one after the other. It was heaven; the dancing, the noise, the feel of people moving about in time with the music. It seemed to drown out the loneliness and that was all he’d wanted.

Tom couldn’t remember exactly when he’d registered the hands roaming over his back and shoulders. One minute he was alone on the floor and the next she was pressed against him. Her loose hair tumbled over her shoulders and there was a fire in her eyes that seemed to grab at him, anchoring him where he stood. She was beautiful, even sweating and flushed. And the quiet part of his brain that wondered if she’d look the same spread beneath him, flushed for an entirely different reason, grew steadily louder with each passing moment.

And he wanted her, more than he’d wanted anything. That quiet part of his mind grew steadily louder as they danced; her hips pressing into his, lips on his neck, fingers tracing the lines of his back. He missed this, missed the physical contact, the slow and steady promise of another’s body. He’d always been an extremely physical person; needing to touch and be touched. The past few months had been empty. He’d been surrounded by people; coworkers, crew, journalists. He was hardly ever alone, but still he’d felt removed. Home was thousands of miles away as were the people he loved. He was living his dream, getting to do what he loved on a scale so far beyond what he had ever hoped for. But hadn’t counted on just how isolating it could be; how lonely.  

Before he could consciously decide to act on his thoughts, she pulled him off the crowded, suffocating heat of the dancefloor and into the dark and cool air of the small, dimly lit bathroom. Her hands were all over him, tangling in his hair, roaming down his back, pulling him tightly against her, and he lost all rationale thought; the need for her, for this overwhelming everything else. His head swam with the combination of lust and drink and need; hands roaming her body, lifting her onto the counter. Her fingers tugged at the belt and fastening of his jeans, pushing them down. Her nails dug into his shoulders, his fingers into the pale skin of her thighs. It was quick and brutal and over before he could process just what had happened.

She smiled at him as she hopped down off the counter, pulling up her panties and smoothing down her dress. She leaned in and kissed him again, murmuring “That was nice,” against his lips. She pulled back enough to grab her small bag from the back of the counter and pulled out a small piece of paper and a pen. Scribbling quickly, she smiled and tucked the paper into his hand. “My name’s Heather. Call me sometime, I’d love another round.” She winked, turned, and disappeared out the door.

His knees felt as though they’d turned to jelly and he stumbled, in a blind panic, towards the toilet. Gripping the white porcelain with all his might he retched and spat, his body jerking with the effort. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Another wave of nausea overwhelmed him. Molly. Oh Christ, Molly. He’d lost her. She would never forgive him this. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. What had he done? What the ever loving fuck had he done? Guilt and panic washed over him in waves. He fucked up. God, he’d well and truly fucked up.

Tom wasn’t completely sure just how he’d made it back to the hotel; the next thing he was consciously aware of was rushing through the lobby. The elevator took forever arrive, even longer to make it to his floor, and he was certain his knees would give out before he made it into his room. God, what had he done? He’d dropped the key card three times before steadying his hands enough to get it into the lock and then shove the door open. His heart felt as if it were pounding out of his chest as he pushed the door closed, falling back against its cool metal.

The shrill ringing of his phone cut through the silence of the room and he yanked it from his pocket, staring in panicked horror at the screen. Molly’s smiling face stared back at him; a photo he had taken months ago during a quick getaway they’d taken to the Lake District on one of his rare trips back home. It was a picture that he’d felt captured the warmth and quiet affection that he loved so fiercely about her.

Without conscious thought he hit the dismiss button and dropped the phone onto the carpeted floor. He felt the bile rising in his throat once again and he struggled to his feet and into the bathroom, not bothering to turn on the overhead light. He coughed and gagged into the bowl until nothing but bile was left. He took a deep breath and rested his head against the cool porcelain. Once he was sure his breathing was under control, he crawled back into the main living space.

His phone sat silent on the floor. It hadn’t rung again since Molly’s call and he’d been eternally grateful. How could he talk to her, tell her what he’d done, just how badly he’d fucked up? Tears welled in his swollen eyes and he rubbed them away furiously. His head was still swimming and the room around him continued to lurch at an alarming angle. Clutching his head, Tom curled up on the floor and shut his eyes against the returning waves of nausea.

The shrill ring of his phone jerked him once more into wakefulness what felt like moments later. His head was pounding and he had to fight to keep his stomach from emptying itself (though there was nothing left to empty by this point) onto the carpeted floor. He blindingly groped the floor in search of it. His fingers brushed against it, pulling it toward him in trepidation. It was Luke’s number he saw flashing across the screen and for a splint second relief flooded through him.

He hit answer and raised the phone to his ear, ignoring the growing sense of trepidation. “Hello?” His voice was shaking and he knew there was no way Luke would miss that.

“Tom?” Luke’s voice was immediately on edge. “Are you alright?”

A ruthless chuckle fell from Tom’s lips involuntarily and he fought to ignore the rip of pain that shot through his head as he did so. “No.” The words came out choked and broken. “Fuck…Luke…I don’t know what to do…I didn’t mean….I don’t know how it happened…I…”

“Whoa. Whoa. Slow down, Tom,” his publicist implored. “What’s happened? Did something happen when you went out tonight?”

Puzzlement clouded Tom’s mind. “How did you…?” Tom clutched the phone tighter in his shaking hand, fighting off yet another round of nausea as understanding dawned. Oh god, if Luke knew then surely Molly would…

“There were photographs posted online of you, Hemsworth, and a few others heading out of the hotel and then a handful of you all entering a club a few hours ago…Tom, what happened? The photos aren’t at all scandalous…” Luke’s voice trailed off, uncertainty and trepidation coloring his usually wry tone. “Tom what did you do?”

Tom let out a shuddering breath and rubbed his forehead with his free hand, trying desperately to figure out what to say. How to explain. “I…I was drunk…I don’t know how I…It just happened…” The words tumbled from his lips in a rapid tangle. He knew he was rambling and honestly wasn’t making much sense, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“Whoa, whoa. Slow down,” Luke urged, “I can barely understand a word you’ve said.” Tom did so, taking several shallow breaths. “Now try again, slowly this time.”

The words were clearer now, though no less panicked. “I drank more than I honestly meant to…And I don’t know how it happened, honestly I don’t but…”

“Tom, what did you do?” Luke’s tone made it abundantly clear he had a very good idea as to just what Tom had been alluding to but wanted him to actually say the words aloud in case he’d been mistaken.

“I had sex with someone,” Tom found himself whispering, guilt and shame flooding through him anew. “…At the club….I didn’t mean…”

“God fucking dammit, Tom,” Luke hissed, his frustration and disbelief plain. “Please, for the love of god, tell me you at least thought to use protection.”

A ball of ice formed instantly in Tom’s gut at Luke’s words. His vision began to tunnel around him, the room shifting violently in and out of focus. Images from the club’s tiny, dimly lit bathroom replayed in disjointed flashes and jarring stops and starts in his mind. The feel of her hands on him, the overwhelming scent of sex and alcohol, the warmth of her body as it yielded to his…God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

The phone slipped from his hand as he darted back into the bathroom, collapsing to his knees and retching into the opened bowl. He could hear Luke’s voice echoing from the other room, tinny over the phone’s small speaker, but the words themselves were lost to him. Tom was hot and cold by turns, panic overwhelming everything; his thoughts racing, his heart pounding wildly in his chest.

A few moments later the shrill ring of his phone echoed from the living space. Confusion cut through his panic. How could his phone be ringing if Luke was still on the line? On shaking limbs, Tom managed to push himself to his feet and out of the bathroom, bending to grab the phone from his haphazard place on the floor. Luke’s name flashed across the screen. Mechanically, Tom slid his finger across ‘answer’ and garbled something that sounded vaguely like a greeting.

“God dammit, Tom,” Luke’s voice erupted. Tom cringed at the sound but didn’t speak further, waiting for whatever else Luke would throw at him knowing he deserved it all and more. “Please tell me we lost signal, that you accidently hit a button…Something…Anything…But please, please tell me you weren’t that reckless. That so help me god, you haven’t done what I think you’ve done.”

A choked sob burst from Tom’s lips and he fought to calm himself enough to speak coherently. “I didn’t…We didn’t…Oh God, what have I done?”

The string of curses from Luke that followed would have normally impressed Tom. It took a great deal to rattle his publicist and Tom had taken great joy over the few years they’d been working together to see just how far he could push Luke before he’d crack and go off. But all Tom could focus on was just how monumentally stupid he’d been. How his life was suddenly and spectacularly crashing around his ears.

Molly. Oh God, Molly. How could he ever face her again? Knowing what he’d done, how he’d betrayed her, betrayed them? How could he possibly ever explain what he’d done? She would never forgive him this. Never. He knew that with a stark certainty. How could she?

“…Fucking hell, Tom! What the ever loving fuck were you fucking thinking? Do you have any idea how fucking dangerous this kind of stunt is? Well do you?!”

He could hear the frustration, incredulity, and concern in Luke’s voice and knew he should speak, should say something but he couldn’t find the words.

“God dammit, Tom! Are you even listening to me?”

“Fuck, Luke,” he finally breathed into the phone. “…I…What do I do?” Tom could feel himself shaking and it took a conscious effort to keep the phone from slipping from his grasp again. A thousand thoughts echoed around his mind, pinging off of one another until he couldn’t tell them apart.

This could ruin him. One stupid, reckless decision and his career, the life he’d been working so hard to build could be all over before it had even really begun. This had the potential to be utterly catastrophic. But all of that was nothing, nothing, to the very real possibility that Molly could and most likely would never be able to forgive him this. One stupid choice and he’d lost it all.

It took a frightening amount of effort for Tom to keep his concentration on level enough to focus on what Luke was saying to him. His publicist’s questions were thrown at him in a rapid fire pace, demanding as many details as Tom could remember; the woman’s name, exactly how they had met, who had approached who, whose idea the encounter was, did she recognize him. On and on the questions seemed to go. Tom stumbled and stuttered his way through them, fighting the ever present nauseated fear which ran rampant inside of him. It was a blessed, but brief, reprieve when Luke finally ended his interrogation, stating he would do what he could to minimize the damage; urging Tom to call if his one night stand made any sort of contact. Telling him that he would call again once he’d gotten appointments scheduled for testing. And all but demanding that Tom tell Molly sooner rather than later. “You need to talk to Molly and now,” Luke warned him knowingly. “She deserves to hear this from you, not from the papers.”

She deserves to hear it from you, not from the papers.

The words echoed in his mind, over and over again. He knew it was true and, as horrifying and painful as it would be to confess, she deserved to hear it from him. But Tom honestly wasn’t sure if he could bring himself to utter those words aloud to her; to break her heart and in turn everything they were in the process of becoming. He was the worst sort of coward; selfish and self-centered. Molly deserved so much better.

Sleep was elusive for the majority of that night and if he had slept at all, it was in small and fitful bursts. His mind racing through the late turned desperately early hours; going over and over again just what he had done and all that he could never take back, never fix. Tom blinked as sunlight poured in through the opened curtains of the balcony. He was physically drained, exhausted, but he dare not close his eyes, his mind supplying him with the image of Molly’s face as he told her what he’d done. The way it would crumble first in disbelief then in pain and anger; the way her eyes would darken to a stormy blue and the way she would speak his name like a curse, something completely unworthy and beneath her. And god, it hurt.  

He had picked up his phone so many times, fingers shaking as he dialed her number, and only to find himself utterly unable to complete the call. He knew he had to, knew that she deserved to know what he had done. And knew just was fervently that he needed to be the one to tell her. It wouldn’t change anything, wouldn’t fix it, but it would be better. And still he couldn’t quite bring himself to actually make the call. How could he possibly do this to her over the phone? Break her heart in such an impersonal manner? Wouldn’t it be far better to tell her to her face? God, he didn’t know.

It would be weeks yet until he was free enough to go home. They had talked, briefly, about her possibly flying out to him. She had the leave time saved and enough money set aside. The only issue being coverage for her at work. So the idea sat hanging, not quite abandoned but not formed enough to be a possibility. And the thought of him encouraging her to come to him now, only to ease his conscious…It was unthinkable.

Disgusted with himself, Tom threw his phone onto the bed beside him and scrubbed his face with his hands. He thanked god that this was one of his few days completely off, he doubted he could make himself focus for anything. And if his concentration were shot it would affect more than just him. As much as he loathed being left alone with his thoughts it was far better than risking disaster inattention could bring.

Luke had called him back shortly before noon, Tom had spent the morning torn between pacing the now confining room and staring blankly at his silent mobile phone warring with indecision, to inform him that he’d made inquiries about testing and timing of such things and that he had a tentative appointment in five days’ time with a discrete clinic. The idea of having to wait another five days made his stomach twist but Luke assured him that it was the earliest he could be squeezed in that would yield the most accurate results.

Molly hadn’t called again until later that evening. Tom had found himself staring at the screen, at her picture, and utterly unable to move; his indecision not fading until well after the call had clicked over to voicemail. He couldn’t keep doing this, it was driving him mad. He needed to tell her, needed to get this godforsaken axe of his own making to stop hanging over him.

With a determination that he did not completely believe, Tom picked up his phone and with a shaky breath quickly dialed her number, hitting send before he had a chance to second guess the wisdom of his choice. It rang once and then twice before there was an audible click and her warm voice filled his ear. “Tom. I’m so glad you called back.”

“Mols…” Guilt rose in his chest as he uttered her name. God, he didn’t think he could do this.

She let out a soft, heartfelt laugh. “I thought for sure I’d missed you again. How are you? God, did I get the timing right? Please tell me I didn’t wake you.”

“No,” he managed to choke out, dropping himself silently onto the edge of the bed. “No, you’re fine. I was in the other room…I just saw you called… It’s not quite eight yet here…Why are you awake? It’s got to be going on four in the morning? Is everything alright? Are you alright?” Panic overwhelmed him as the time difference clicked in his head…Oh god…She has to know…Why else would she call so late? Oh god…

“No!” She all but shouted, causing him to jump nearly out of his skin. “No. No. No. Tom, I’m fine. Completely fine.” She laughed again. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I didn’t think…I got called into work late and I’m currently on quick break. I just…I heard back from my supervisor, they’ve approved my leave for next month! I’ll actually be able to go to the premiere!” The pure joy in her voice was a knife to the heart.

You need to tell her. Tell her now before she buys that ticket. Tell her! “Really?” He heard himself reply instead, the unnatural cheeriness in his voice jarring him. “That is wonderful, darling.” If Molly noticed, she hadn’t called him out on it. Tell her!

Molly gushed her excitement for several more minutes before cursing and apologizing. “Shit, sorry, my break’s just about up. I’ll call you sometime later today…Or I guess tomorrow for you, and we’ll figure out details. Love you, Tom. So much.”

He stumbled out a reply, not honestly sure just what he had said, as his mobile beeped signaling the end of the call. The phone slipped from his fingers onto the mused bedspread. “Fuck,” he hissed aloud. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

Sleep remained elusive for the next several nights and the meager amount he managed to scrape together was barely enough to keep him upright. More often than not he’d heard the make-up team comment, usually in quiet whispers, about the ever growing circles under his eyes. He continued, to the best of his ability, to fulfill the obligations he’d promised; both in the newest project he was filming and in the promotional material required by Marvel for Thor prior to its premiere. He did his utmost best to be charming and as ‘on’ as could be helped, but knew he was more often than not falling woefully short.

He’d spoke to Molly a handful of times on the phone, frequently moving to end those calls after only a handful of minutes citing work or other obligations on his time. He hadn’t the nerve to actually bring himself to tell her his mistake during any of the calls; no matter how he tried to word just what he would say in his head, when the time would come he couldn’t make himself talk. He felt the worst sort of coward. Because I am.

Molly was plainly disheartened at his sudden distance; he could hear it in the tone of her voice, see it in her eyes during their one and only short-lived video call. But she did not pressure Tom to tell her just what was going on, though he knew she wanted to. Luke had taken on the helm of helping plan her trip to LA all the while shooting daggers at his client whenever they met.

“What are you playing at, Hiddleston?” Luke hissed as the elevator doors slid shut. Tom had spent the majority of his day flitting around between various hotel conference rooms, from interview to interview both with his Thor cast mates and on his own; he was tired and wanted nothing more than to just sleep.

Blinking in confusion, Tom turned towards his publicist. “What?”

The look Luke shot him would have burned a weaker man to his core and as it stood caused Tom’s stomach to twist itself into knots. “You know damn well what.” Luke raised his hand, jabbing an accusing finger into Tom’s chest. “You need to tell her. I’m imploring you as a friend. Tom, please, please, tell her. She has the right to know what happened and to make her own choices regarding it. If you love her, you have to say something.”

It was a fine line he was walking, and Luke knew it. He made it a rule to not meddle in his client’s personal affairs beyond what he was contractually obligated to handle. But this…This was personal. Tom had crossed that line from client into friend and Molly was someone he genuinely cared for. He couldn’t not push this.

Tom’s hands clenched at his sides as guilt flooded through him yet again. Luke was right, of fucking course he was right. But why couldn’t he understand just how difficult it was to find the words to tell the person you love desperately that you’d done the unthinkable? “I know, Luke. I fucking know! I just…I…I will tell her. I have to…I just need to figure out how. Just let me figure it out on my own. Please. Let me handle this.”

It was abundantly clear to Tom that his friend found his noncommittal answer wanting. Luke merely narrowed his eyes but did not speak. The remainder of the elevator ride was spent in a charged silence that neither man sought to break. With a curt nod, Luke left Tom at his room door and disappeared down the hallway.

Exhausted and frustrated, Tom threw himself onto the bed, letting out a halfhearted groan. His phone buzzed in his back pocket and it took several moments of jerking movement to wrench it free. Molly’s smile lit the screen and the ever present thrum of guilt tightened his chest. The offhand thought to either dismiss the call or let it ring to voicemail was tempting beyond belief. Sorely tempting but Tom knew it would only be a temporary respite and one that could so easily blow up in his face.

He took a deep breath before answering the call. “Molly.”

“You actually answered,” she whispered, her words matter of fact but tinged with a definite hint of sadness and surprise. Tom wanted nothing more than to kick himself, repeatedly.

He winced, rubbing his free hand over his forehead in a vain effort to stave off the headache he could feel brewing. “I know I’ve not been readily available lately, Mols. I’m sorry…It’s just been…”

There was an unnatural silence on the other end of the line and for a brief moment, Tom was sure she’d hung up on him. When Molly spoke again her voice was soft and full of worry. “Something is wrong, Tom. Please don’t insult my intelligence by saying otherwise. You’ve been different…Distant for almost a week now. This isn’t like you…Just please, talk to me.”

“Molly, I…” There it was, the perfect opportunity to tell her, to come clean, and the words stuck in his throat. “It’s just been ridiculously hectic. Between filming and all the promotion I’ve been required to do, I’ve been running myself ragged. I’m sorry I’ve not been more open…I just…I didn’t want to drag you into it, I know you’ve got enough on your plate.” The words felt hollow and wrong but he couldn’t seem to stop them. Liar! His mind hissed at him. Coward!

“Tom…”

“Please, Molly, don’t worry. I’m tired but fine. I’m glad you are coming soon. I’ve missed you.” He felt sick to his stomach. This was wrong; selfish and cowardly and simply wrong, but he’d done it all the same.

“Are you sure that it’s still a good idea? Me coming?” He could so easily hear the uncertainty in her voice and it cut. She’d been so excited about coming to see him, albeit nervous about the red carpet and all that it entailed. He couldn’t take that from her. “If things are as hectic as you say wouldn’t I be in the way?”

“No…No. Not at all. You wanted to come and I want you to come. Hopefully things will have calmed and we can enjoy the time together.” He’d meant it, as twisted as his gut felt. He had wanted her there, and desperately, needed to have her support at his side. But the guilt was near overwhelming. How could he have her right there beside him and live with the knowledge that he’d betrayed her? Betrayed them? He needed to tell her but he couldn’t do it now, not after what he’d just said.

Luke’s words echoed in his mind. ‘You have to tell her… She has the right to know what happened and to make her own choices regarding it. If you love her, you have to say something.’ And the guilt continued to rend his innards apart.

He couldn’t tell her now though…But after the premiere; perhaps after he’d find the courage to say he’d lied…That he had made a horrid mistake that he would give anything to take back. That he was so very terribly sorry. He would lose her…The fear of that fact felt like ice in his stomach. But maybe…Maybe she would find it in her to forgive. Even if he surely did not deserve it.

“Tom I don’t know…”

“Just think about it. Please…” Please let me give you this before I have to shatter everything.

“Okay.”

The next morning dawned grey and rainy, which he’d found oddly appropriate as he was scheduled for his round of testing in the early afternoon. He’d once again slept poorly, tossing and turning as both guilt and fear took their turns running through his mind. He’d been running himself ragged with work trying desperately not to think. Every little change in his physicality sent his mind reeling. Was this fatigue from stress and overwork or a sign of something more sinister? Every cough, every twinge. It was driving him mad. He’d been both relieved and terrified when the car Luke had hired for him arrived, its driver calling at just after noon.

As promised the clinic was discreet; tucked away in a quieter part of town, nothing that would attract any undue attention. The receptionist and PA he saw upon arrival were friendly and understanding. It was a simple matter to drawn the needed vials of blood and give the required urine sample. The rapid HIV screening, he was assured, would be ready in twenty minutes but the remaining tests would take anywhere from five to seven days, leaning most likely towards seven. He had been ushered into a secluded waiting area and offered tea or coffee while he waited.

He’d taken the offered cup of coffee but couldn’t bring himself to drink it, his stomach tying itself in elaborate knots. He didn’t dare let himself hope that the test would be negative for the irrational fear that in doing so he would bring about the opposite. Nor could he let himself ponder the horrifying possibility that it was not. He jumped at every sound and feared he would pull all of his hair out when the waiting room door finally opened and the same PA he’d seen earlier walked inside.

She smiled softly at him. He could hear the sound of her voice, see her lips moving but anything she’d said after, “Your rapid test came back negative” were lost on him. He wanted to laugh and cry, relief flooding through him.

“Mr. Hiddleston.”

Tom’s head shot up and he realized with a flood of embarrassment that she had been trying to get his attention for probably the last several minutes. “I’m sorry, what?”

She nodded in understanding and continued. “I was telling you that we’ll give you a call in around seven days with the rest of your results. I would advise you to refrain from any sexual activity until you’ve received your results and are cleared. I also want to caution you that you will need to be retested in three months’ time for HIV and again in a further six months to be sure you are in the clear. And if anything is found in your remaining bloodwork further testing may be warranted.”

He nodded slowly, his brief respite of relief vanishing. “Al-alright.”

She handed him a small packet of papers and escorted him to the side door where the hire car stood waiting. Tom climbed inside, his brain a constant mess of buzzing fear and uncertainty. He was barely aware of the ride back to his hotel and then of the walk through the lobby, the ride up the elevator and entering the room itself. Nausea rolled through him, he fought back the feeling, shutting his eyes tightly and fell onto the bed.

Next

[imaginexsa]

Pen Pals (Steve x Reader)

A/N: Hey guys!! I really liked writing this hahaha it’s not as fluffy as how I wanted it to turn out but I really kinda like the plot on this so yeahhhh...anywaysss to the anon, thank you for for all the compliments but you’re too kind😅 The person that stood you up isn’t worth it, love!! There’s someone out there that would be perfect for you, you’ll see☺️ In the meantime, enjoy!

Request: Hey, i just wanted to say i love your blog and i kind of envy your ability to write😅. You are so amazing and so kind to take all the requests that you do. You make so many people smile with your work. You have such an amazing soul. And are an inspiration. I was wondering if you'd be willing to take my request. Just something fluffy. I got stood up for a date, it totally sucks. So i was wondering if you would write something for me with either Bucky or Steve. Please? Its ok if not! Still Love u.

You fell to the ground with a loud thump as you groaned in pain, glaring at the man standing over you. “That hurts.”

“Maybe if you stop whining and start fighting, you may be able to pin me down,” Steve replied simply, crossing his arms over his chest.

You growled before striking your hand out and grabbing onto his ankle, pulling it towards you with full force as you caught him off-guard. He fell onto his back and you immediately straddled him and held his shoulders down. “Maybe if you stop talking you’d have been able to see me strike.”

He clenched his jaw as you stood up and moved back, not breaking eye contact with him as he sat up. You had never really liked the Captain, he was too rigid and always played by the rules which you can’t really stand. However, the feeling was mutual so no one gets hurt.

“You’re getting slow, old man, maybe you should take those classes Stark mentioned for people your age,” you said as Steve stood and walked to the bench with his things, ignoring you. You made a face behind his back and turned around. “Whatever, good training, if that’s what you called training.”

Steve watched as you left, glaring at you before shaking his head. Taking out his phone he saw that he had an email, smiling, he took a seat on the bench as he read it.

Ever since Tony taught him about the internet, he discovered a lot of things and he even met someone through this forum. He started talking to that person and realized that they had a lot in common and decided to exchange emails. It was like having a pen pal but without the letters and pens, or as Tony likes to call e-pen pals.

‘Sorry for the late reply, I just ended my workout. It was pretty fun, how’s your day so far?’ Steve typed as he stood up, hoping she’ll reply soon. This was one of the only things that he really enjoyed doing besides drawing, it felt like he finally found someone who understood him.

Feeling your phone vibrate, you took it out as you reached your room, grinning as you saw the notification. You threw your sweaty towel into the dirty laundry basket as you leaned against the doorframe of your toilet, thinking about what to reply.

You had just met this guy from a forum and he seemed really interesting and the both of you have been talking ever since. You were scared that you were actually developing a crush on someone you have never even met before.

‘It was pretty chill, but I’m starving. I could really go for a burger and of course some pie now :P’ You smiled as you sent it before putting your phone aside and grabbing some clean clothes before stepping into the bathroom.

~

“Hey, Cap,” you called out. “6”

Moving away slightly, you used your thumb to point at the group of knock out HYDRA soldiers that you tied up sitting on the ground behind you.

Steve gave you a look and an exasperated sigh. “It’s not a competition, Y/N.”

“I know it’s not but I’m just saying.” You shrugged, a small smile still tugging on your lips.

“10,” Steve said, and your smile dropped as stepped away, your eyes drifting to the sprawled out soldiers on the ground. “Duck.”

You looked at him. “Wha-”

You immediately ducked as he threw his shield towards you, the sound of it hitting something before it returned to Steve’s arm. Turning back, you saw a soldier on the ground, out cold. You whipped back to glare at him, who shrugged. “11.”

“Are you crazy? You could’ve killed me!” You exclaimed as you threw your hand up in the air.

“I thought you always said you had fast reflexes,” Steve said nonchalantly.

You started trudging forward. “Why you li-”

Tony held you back. “Now, now, let’s not get into any fights.”

You grinded your teeth before shaking Tony off and walking away. “Hmph!”

Steve raised a brow as he saw you stomp off, Tony sighing and gave him a look. “Really, Capsicle?”

He shrugged. “Simple teasing.”

~

After washing up, you flopped onto bed face down and let out a heavy sigh. Sticking your hand out, you reached for your phone on your nightstand. You unlocked your phone and went to email your dear friend.

‘Ugh, I had enough of this coworker of mine, he’s just so annoying,’ you typed and thought about it for a while before adding. ‘I wish I could meet someone like you.’

You put the phone on your stomach as you closed your eyes, waiting for his reply. Within 5 minutes, you felt your phone vibrate.

‘He’s annoying but do you hate him? Because you can’t really be coworkers with someone you hate right?’ He asked, you thought about it and what he said was pretty true.

‘I guess you’re right, I don’t hate him but it doesn’t mean I like him,’ you replied as you turned to lie on your belly, kicking your legs.

‘Haha I wouldn’t say it’s a requirement to like your coworker, I mean I have a coworker I don’t particularly like as well but I have to admit that she is good at what she does.’ You read that message and put your phone down for a while. Well, you guess Steve is good at what he does too. You looked at your phone again as you felt another vibration, feeling your heart skip a beat as you read it.

‘I wish I could meet someone like you too.’ 

You grabbed your pillow as you hugged it tight, rolling around your bed. God, you felt like you were a teenage girl again. Grinning like a mad woman, you replied. ‘Maybe we should meet up, that way we don’t need to meet someone like each other when we can actually meet each other..’

‘Sounds like a plan,,’ He replied. You couldn’t stop smiling as you stared at that message.

‘Shall we meet tomorrow at 7 at the new Italian restaurant downtown?’ You asked, knowing that he likes the simple spaghetti and meatballs.

Steve smiled as he walked down the hallway. ‘Sounds great! I’ll see you then.’

He paused as he heard some weird giggling coming from your room, he made a weirded out face as he shook his head and continued to his room. Good luck to whoever you end up with in the future.

~

You walked towards the restaurant, so much excitement bubbling inside that you felt like you could combust. You wondered how he looked like, because from just the emails, he seemed like the perfect guy.

As you neared the restaurant, you realized a familiar figure standing by the entrance. Steve stood there with fitted black slacks and a snug navy button up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbow.

You frowned and was about to shout at him for being there to ruin your date, when you realized a bouquet of flower in his hand. You froze as you realized that they were your favorite flowers. No. Way.

Steve took his phone out of his pocket and you watched him typed something before your phone vibrated. You continued staring at him as you took your phone out from your clutch, looking down at it.

‘Hey, I’m here already, are you reaching?’

You typed back. ‘I’m here.’

Steve smiled and looked around as he kept his phone, his eyes landing on you. His smile slowly dropped as he looked confused. “Y/N?”

You walked towards him. “Steve.”

“What are you doing here?” Steve asked, still confused.

You sighed as you showed him the emails. “Is this you?”

Steve’s eyes widened as he took your phone. “How did you get this?”

“I didn’t get this, I’m the recipient of your emails,” you explained.

Steve frowned. “You?”

You rolled your eyes and nodded before casting your eyes to the ground. “Well, this wasn’t what I expected.”

“Wasn’t what I expected too,” Steve said as he looked at the bouquet in his hand, scratching his head. He handed the bouquet to you. “I guess this is for you then.”

You looked at him surprised. He shrugged, “well, we did wanted to meet each other so let’s just get to know each other face to face, no more competition, no more fights. If it really doesn’t go back, we’ll go back to normal.”

Thinking about it for a while, you nodded with a small smile. “Seems perfect.”

~

“I can’t believe I ranted to you about, you,” you laughed as both of you walked down the street. Dinner went really well and you were actually having fun.

“At least I’m glad to know you don’t hate me,” Steve chuckled and you grinned at him.

You let out a breath and looked up at the night sky before stopping in your steps, Steve stopping as well to look at you questioningly. You gave him a crooked smile. “I’m sorry.”

Steve turned to face you properly as he walked closer to you. “For?”

You ran your fingers through your hair, looking away. “For everything I guess, you’re a pretty decent guy and I don’t think you deserve some of the things I say about you. I think you do your job really well and you’re really skilled too.”

You stood there awkwardly as you shuffled your feet, Steve still not saying anything. Sneaking a glance at him, you saw him smiling affectionately at you and you felt your face turning warm.

“Thank you, Y/N. I’m sorry too, for everything as well,” Steve said sheepishly. “Especially the time when I almost hit you with my shield.”

Chuckling, you punched him in the arm lightly. “Nah, don’t worry about. But can I tell you one more thing?”

“What is it?” Steve asked as he cocked his head.

You looked away nervously again as you ran you hand through your hair. “I want to be honest, so here goes, I actually kinda developed a little crush on you when we started emailing.”

Steve looked surprised before he laughed lightly as he pulled you into a hug. You stiffened before you slowly wrapped your arms around his waist as he rested his chin on your head.

“You have no idea how bad I wanted to do this when you asked to meet,” Steve said, making you blush as you tightened your hold around him and buried your face in his chest.

You both pulled apart after a while, Steve stepping back. He put his hand out as he smiled at you. “Come on, I know this amazing pie place that’ll just make you drool.”

Looking at his hand, you reached out for it before smiling back at him. “Sounds like a plan, Cap.”

Tags: @melconnor2007, @sammysgirl1997

[winterisakiller]

Imperfect Tense - Part One

Title: Imperfect Tense

One Shot: 1/3

Character: Tom Hiddleston/OFC

Genre: Angst

Rating: M

Summary: Secrets are powerful things. They shape who we are and how we interact with others and with the world. Tom assumed his secret was safe and his life would remain as it ever was. He was wrong.

Authors Notes/Warnings: This was written for @mrs-captain-evans writing challenge. My prompt was the line: “what did I do wrong?”. This was supposed to be a much shorter piece but alas it sort of ran away with me. Much like Brave Face this story deals with the concept of cheating. Apparently I wasn’t done with this idea just yet. Thanks, again, to @redfoxwritesstuff who not only encouraged this but was a fantastic support throughout its writing. 

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

The silence of the room was overwhelming. Tom watched as she sat still as stone, eyes downcast on her hands resting open palmed in her lap. Even with her face carefully neutral and an unnatural coolness radiating from her, Tom couldn’t deny Molly was beautiful. She always had been to him and the years they’d spent together had not changed that fact for him. He fought to ignore the suitcases that sat littered around her; hoping if he ignored them then maybe they would go away even though he knew they would not.

 She hadn’t uttered a word in what felt like an age, not since he had walked in the door he realized with a jolt, and, god, he wanted to scream if only just to break the suffocating silence around them. But he hadn’t. Screaming, he undoubtedly knew, would do no good. Not now. Instead, the question that has been plaguing him finally tumbled from his lips.

 “What did I do wrong?”

 Molly flinched at the sound of his voice and the action cut him deeply. They’d fought before and he’d seen her righteous fury and her cool disappointment. But this…This was something new and it sent waves of unease through him. She toyed idly with the ring on her finger. His ring. The soft light from the window played across the deep blue of its center stone; a sapphire, set in a thin silver band. It was simple, beautiful; much like she was. The fact that she hadn’t taken it off had to mean something, didn’t it?

 After what felt like an age, she raised her head, locking her blue eyes with his own. Emotion swirled in them; far too much and far too quickly for him to pick apart. Uncertainty coursed through him, this was wrong, so very wrong. He didn’t know what to do, what to say, and for the first time since he’d walked into the room, Tom felt a real sliver of fear slither through him.

 “Everything,” she whispered.

 Her voice had the soft edge that he’d only ever heard when she was well and truly done. It froze his insides and he fought against the reality of what it would mean. For him. For her. For them. Molly had been his rock. The calm, quiet place of refuge and safety he had cherished above all others. She was his world and without warning, without any inkling of understanding on his part, it was seemingly all over. He couldn’t accept it. He wouldn’t. Not when he’d worked so hard to keep this one, bright, wonderful thing in his life. He needed her.

 Molly swallowed thickly and it was then he noticed the thick envelope resting beside her. “This came for you.” She held out it out to him and his fingers shook as they closed around it.

 A registered letter.

 He looked first at it then at her in confusion. She held his gaze and didn’t utter a word. He flipped the envelope over, noting that it had been opened (which in itself hadn’t been surprising, he’d been waiting for a contract to be delivered and had asked her to keep watch for it), and pulled the letter from it. His heart plummeted into his stomach as the words, printed in stark black and white, sank in.

 ‘Mr. Hiddleston, the enclosed is to inform you… Ms. Heather James… Paternity claim…one year old child Francis Henry James…Please contact at your earliest convenience…’

 The letter slipped from his numb fingers. Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. Bile rose in his throat and he fought against the urge to vomit. This isn’t happening. Please god, this can’t be happening. He gripped the edge of the arm chair beside him to keep his balance as the world tilted unnervingly beneath him.

 Tom hadn’t heard that name in nearly two years, had done his utmost best to forget it. It had been a stupid, careless mistake born of too much drink and a mad notion that his world was spinning out of control. He had been away from home for nearly six months between filming and promoting and auditioning and the distance had started to take its toll. He missed his home. His bed. His family. And god, he missed Molly. Missed her more than he could hope to express. Things hadn’t been easy and the distance was draining for them both.  

 It had been a grueling day and try as he might he couldn’t seem to reach her; calls, texts, emails, Skype calls, all went unanswered. He struggled not to worry about what it might mean; he trusted Molly, but he needed her and she wasn’t there. He wanted to be angry, felt the frustration and disappointment coursing through him, but pushed those thoughts away. Her own life was hectic enough; she worked long hours in her own right (as a nurse she was no stranger to shift work and impossibly long hours) and had more often than not scarified her time and her life to meld with his. She wasn’t required to be at his beck and call; he never would demand that of her. And he’d known he had absolutely no right to begrudge her of her own life. But still, he felt the lack of contact with her acutely.

 Tom hadn’t said no when later Chris, accompanied by a handful others, had come by his room and threw out the idea of drinks and dancing. He’d practically jumped at the chance to get out of that room and out of his head. He needed to relax, to unwind. This would offer him that and he’d ceased it with both hands. He couldn’t stand being in that room a moment longer.

 It hadn’t taken long for Tom to lose himself in the thrum and energy of the small club. The drinks seemed to flow freely and he’d taken them one after the other. It was heaven; the dancing, the noise, the feel of people moving about in time with the music. It seemed to drown out the loneliness and that was all he’d wanted.

 Tom couldn’t remember exactly when he’d registered the hands roaming over his back and shoulders. One minute he was alone on the floor and the next she was pressed against him. Her loose hair tumbled over her shoulders and there was a fire in her eyes that seemed to grab at him, anchoring him where he stood. She was beautiful, even sweating and flushed. And the quiet part of his brain that wondered if she’d look the same spread beneath him, flushed for an entirely different reason, grew steadily louder with each passing moment.

 And he wanted her, more than he’d wanted anything. That quiet part of his mind grew steadily louder as they danced; her hips pressing into his, lips on his neck, fingers tracing the lines of his back. He missed this, missed the physical contact, the slow and steady promise of another’s body. He’d always been an extremely physical person; needing to touch and be touched. The past few months had been empty. He’d been surrounded by people; coworkers, crew, journalists. He was hardly ever alone, but still he’d felt removed. Home was thousands of miles away as were the people he loved. He was living his dream, getting to do what he loved on a scale so far beyond what he had ever hoped for. But hadn’t counted on just how isolating it could be; how lonely.  

 Before he could consciously decide to act on his thoughts, she pulled him off the crowded, suffocating heat of the dancefloor and into the dark and cool air of the small, dimly lit bathroom. Her hands were all over him, tangling in his hair, roaming down his back, pulling him tightly against her, and he lost all rationale thought; the need for her, for this overwhelming everything else. His head swam with the combination of lust and drink and need; hands roaming her body, lifting her onto the counter. Her fingers tugged at the belt and fastening of his jeans, pushing them down. Her nails dug into his shoulders, his fingers into the pale skin of her thighs. It was quick and brutal and over before he could process just what had happened.

 She smiled at him as she hopped down off the counter, pulling up her panties and smoothing down her dress. She leaned in and kissed him again, murmuring “That was nice,” against his lips. She pulled back enough to grab her small bag from the back of the counter and pulled out a small piece of paper and a pen. Scribbling quickly, she smiled and tucked the paper into his hand. “My name’s Heather. Call me sometime, I’d love another round.” She winked, turned, and disappeared out the door.

 His knees felt as though they’d turned to jelly and he stumbled, in a blind panic, towards the toilet. Gripping the white porcelain with all his might he retched and spat, his body jerking with the effort. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Another wave of nausea overwhelmed him. Molly. Oh Christ, Molly. He’d lost her. She would never forgive him this. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. What had he done? What the ever loving fuck had he done? Guilt and panic washed over him in waves. He fucked up. God, he’d well and truly fucked up.

 Tom wasn’t completely sure just how he’d made it back to the hotel; the next thing he was consciously aware of was rushing through the lobby. The elevator took forever arrive, even longer to make it to his floor, and he was certain his knees would give out before he made it into his room. God, what had he done? He’d dropped the key card three times before steadying his hands enough to get it into the lock and then shove the door open. His heart felt as if it were pounding out of his chest as he pushed the door closed, falling back against its cool metal.

 The shrill ringing of his phone cut through the silence of the room and he yanked it from his pocket, staring in panicked horror at the screen. Molly’s smiling face stared back at him; a photo he had taken months ago during a quick getaway they’d taken to the Lake District on one of his rare trips back home. It was a picture that he’d felt captured the warmth and quiet affection that he loved so fiercely about her.

 Without conscious thought he hit the dismiss button and dropped the phone onto the carpeted floor. He felt the bile rising in his throat once again and he struggled to his feet and into the bathroom, not bothering to turn on the overhead light. He coughed and gagged into the bowl until nothing but bile was left. He took a deep breath and rested his head against the cool porcelain. Once he was sure his breathing was under control, he crawled back into the main living space.

 His phone sat silent on the floor. It hadn’t rung again since Molly’s call and he’d been eternally grateful. How could he talk to her, tell her what he’d done, just how badly he’d fucked up? Tears welled in his swollen eyes and he rubbed them away furiously. His head was still swimming and the room around him continued to lurch at an alarming angle. Clutching his head, Tom curled up on the floor and shut his eyes against the returning waves of nausea.

 The shrill ring of his phone jerked him once more into wakefulness what felt like moments later. His head was pounding and he had to fight to keep his stomach from emptying itself (though there was nothing left to empty by this point) onto the carpeted floor. He blindingly groped the floor in search of it. His fingers brushed against it, pulling it toward him in trepidation. It was Luke’s number he saw flashing across the screen and for a splint second relief flooded through him.

 He hit answer and raised the phone to his ear, ignoring the growing sense of trepidation. “Hello?” His voice was shaking and he knew there was no way Luke would miss that.

 “Tom?” Luke’s voice was immediately on edge. “Are you alright?”

 A ruthless chuckle fell from Tom’s lips involuntarily and he fought to ignore the rip of pain that shot through his head as he did so. “No.” The words came out choked and broken. “Fuck...Luke...I don’t know what to do...I didn’t mean....I don’t know how it happened...I…”

 “Whoa. Whoa. Slow down, Tom,” his publicist implored. “What’s happened? Did something happen when you went out tonight?”

 Puzzlement clouded Tom’s mind. “How did you…?” Tom clutched the phone tighter in his shaking hand, fighting off yet another round of nausea as understanding dawned. Oh god, if Luke knew then surely Molly would…

 “There were photographs posted online of you, Hemsworth, and a few others heading out of the hotel and then a handful of you all entering a club a few hours ago...Tom, what happened? The photos aren’t at all scandalous...” Luke’s voice trailed off, uncertainty and trepidation coloring his usually wry tone. “Tom what did you do?”

 Tom let out a shuddering breath and rubbed his forehead with his free hand, trying desperately to figure out what to say. How to explain. “I...I was drunk...I don’t know how I...It just happened…” The words tumbled from his lips in a rapid tangle. He knew he was rambling and honestly wasn’t making much sense, but he couldn’t stop himself.

 “Whoa, whoa. Slow down,” Luke urged, “I can barely understand a word you’ve said.” Tom did so, taking several shallow breaths. “Now try again, slowly this time.”

 The words were clearer now, though no less panicked. “I drank more than I honestly meant to…And I don’t know how it happened, honestly I don’t but…”

 “Tom, what did you do?” Luke’s tone made it abundantly clear he had a very good idea as to just what Tom had been alluding to but wanted him to actually say the words aloud in case he’d been mistaken.

 “I had sex with someone,” Tom found himself whispering, guilt and shame flooding through him anew. “...At the club....I didn’t mean…”

 “God fucking dammit, Tom,” Luke hissed, his frustration and disbelief plain. “Please, for the love of god, tell me you at least thought to use protection.”

 A ball of ice formed instantly in Tom’s gut at Luke’s words. His vision began to tunnel around him, the room shifting violently in and out of focus. Images from the club’s tiny, dimly lit bathroom replayed in disjointed flashes and jarring stops and starts in his mind. The feel of her hands on him, the overwhelming scent of sex and alcohol, the warmth of her body as it yielded to his…God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

 The phone slipped from his hand as he darted back into the bathroom, collapsing to his knees and retching into the opened bowl. He could hear Luke’s voice echoing from the other room, tinny over the phone’s small speaker, but the words themselves were lost to him. Tom was hot and cold by turns, panic overwhelming everything; his thoughts racing, his heart pounding wildly in his chest.

 A few moments later the shrill ring of his phone echoed from the living space. Confusion cut through his panic. How could his phone be ringing if Luke was still on the line? On shaking limbs, Tom managed to push himself to his feet and out of the bathroom, bending to grab the phone from his haphazard place on the floor. Luke’s name flashed across the screen. Mechanically, Tom slid his finger across ‘answer’ and garbled something that sounded vaguely like a greeting.

 “God dammit, Tom,” Luke’s voice erupted. Tom cringed at the sound but didn’t speak further, waiting for whatever else Luke would throw at him knowing he deserved it all and more. “Please tell me we lost signal, that you accidently hit a button…Something…Anything…But please, please tell me you weren’t that reckless. That so help me god, you haven’t done what I think you’ve done.”

 A choked sob burst from Tom’s lips and he fought to calm himself enough to speak coherently. “I didn’t…We didn’t…Oh God, what have I done?”

 The string of curses from Luke that followed would have normally impressed Tom. It took a great deal to rattle his publicist and Tom had taken great joy over the few years they’d been working together to see just how far he could push Luke before he’d crack and go off. But all Tom could focus on was just how monumentally stupid he’d been. How his life was suddenly and spectacularly crashing around his ears.

 Molly. Oh God, Molly. How could he ever face her again? Knowing what he’d done, how he’d betrayed her, betrayed them? How could he possibly ever explain what he’d done? She would never forgive him this. Never. He knew that with a stark certainty. How could she?

 “…Fucking hell, Tom! What the ever loving fuck were you fucking thinking? Do you have any idea how fucking dangerous this kind of stunt is? Well do you?!”

 He could hear the frustration, incredulity, and concern in Luke’s voice and knew he should speak, should say something but he couldn’t find the words.

 “God dammit, Tom! Are you even listening to me?”

 “Fuck, Luke,” he finally breathed into the phone. “…I…What do I do?” Tom could feel himself shaking and it took a conscious effort to keep the phone from slipping from his grasp again. A thousand thoughts echoed around his mind, pinging off of one another until he couldn’t tell them apart.

 This could ruin him. One stupid, reckless decision and his career, the life he’d been working so hard to build could be all over before it had even really begun. This had the potential to be utterly catastrophic. But all of that was nothing, nothing, to the very real possibility that Molly could and most likely would never be able to forgive him this. One stupid choice and he’d lost it all.

 It took a frightening amount of effort for Tom to keep his concentration on level enough to focus on what Luke was saying to him. His publicist’s questions were thrown at him in a rapid fire pace, demanding as many details as Tom could remember; the woman’s name, exactly how they had met, who had approached who, whose idea the encounter was, did she recognize him. On and on the questions seemed to go. Tom stumbled and stuttered his way through them, fighting the ever present nauseated fear which ran rampant inside of him. It was a blessed, but brief, reprieve when Luke finally ended his interrogation, stating he would do what he could to minimize the damage; urging Tom to call if his one night stand made any sort of contact. Telling him that he would call again once he’d gotten appointments scheduled for testing. And all but demanding that Tom tell Molly sooner rather than later. “You need to talk to Molly and now,” Luke warned him knowingly. “She deserves to hear this from you, not from the papers.”

 She deserves to hear it from you, not from the papers.

 The words echoed in his mind, over and over again. He knew it was true and, as horrifying and painful as it would be to confess, she deserved to hear it from him. But Tom honestly wasn’t sure if he could bring himself to utter those words aloud to her; to break her heart and in turn everything they were in the process of becoming. He was the worst sort of coward; selfish and self-centered. Molly deserved so much better.

 Sleep was elusive for the majority of that night and if he had slept at all, it was in small and fitful bursts. His mind racing through the late turned desperately early hours; going over and over again just what he had done and all that he could never take back, never fix. Tom blinked as sunlight poured in through the opened curtains of the balcony. He was physically drained, exhausted, but he dare not close his eyes, his mind supplying him with the image of Molly’s face as he told her what he’d done. The way it would crumble first in disbelief then in pain and anger; the way her eyes would darken to a stormy blue and the way she would speak his name like a curse, something completely unworthy and beneath her. And god, it hurt.  

 He had picked up his phone so many times, fingers shaking as he dialed her number, and only to find himself utterly unable to complete the call. He knew he had to, knew that she deserved to know what he had done. And knew just was fervently that he needed to be the one to tell her. It wouldn’t change anything, wouldn’t fix it, but it would be better. And still he couldn’t quite bring himself to actually make the call. How could he possibly do this to her over the phone? Break her heart in such an impersonal manner? Wouldn’t it be far better to tell her to her face? God, he didn’t know.

 It would be weeks yet until he was free enough to go home. They had talked, briefly, about her possibly flying out to him. She had the leave time saved and enough money set aside. The only issue being coverage for her at work. So the idea sat hanging, not quite abandoned but not formed enough to be a possibility. And the thought of him encouraging her to come to him now, only to ease his conscious…It was unthinkable.

 Disgusted with himself, Tom threw his phone onto the bed beside him and scrubbed his face with his hands. He thanked god that this was one of his few days completely off, he doubted he could make himself focus for anything. And if his concentration were shot it would affect more than just him. As much as he loathed being left alone with his thoughts it was far better than risking disaster inattention could bring.

 Luke had called him back shortly before noon, Tom had spent the morning torn between pacing the now confining room and staring blankly at his silent mobile phone warring with indecision, to inform him that he’d made inquiries about testing and timing of such things and that he had a tentative appointment in five days’ time with a discrete clinic. The idea of having to wait another five days made his stomach twist but Luke assured him that it was the earliest he could be squeezed in that would yield the most accurate results.

 Molly hadn’t called again until later that evening. Tom had found himself staring at the screen, at her picture, and utterly unable to move; his indecision not fading until well after the call had clicked over to voicemail. He couldn’t keep doing this, it was driving him mad. He needed to tell her, needed to get this godforsaken axe of his own making to stop hanging over him.

 With a determination that he did not completely believe, Tom picked up his phone and with a shaky breath quickly dialed her number, hitting send before he had a chance to second guess the wisdom of his choice. It rang once and then twice before there was an audible click and her warm voice filled his ear. “Tom. I’m so glad you called back.”

 “Mols…” Guilt rose in his chest as he uttered her name. God, he didn’t think he could do this.

 She let out a soft, heartfelt laugh. “I thought for sure I’d missed you again. How are you? God, did I get the timing right? Please tell me I didn’t wake you.”

 “No,” he managed to choke out, dropping himself silently onto the edge of the bed. “No, you’re fine. I was in the other room…I just saw you called... It’s not quite eight yet here…Why are you awake? It’s got to be going on four in the morning? Is everything alright? Are you alright?” Panic overwhelmed him as the time difference clicked in his head…Oh god…She has to know…Why else would she call so late? Oh god…

“No!” She all but shouted, causing him to jump nearly out of his skin. “No. No. No. Tom, I’m fine. Completely fine.” She laughed again. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I didn’t think…I got called into work late and I’m currently on quick break. I just…I heard back from my supervisor, they’ve approved my leave for next month! I’ll actually be able to go to the premiere!” The pure joy in her voice was a knife to the heart.

 You need to tell her. Tell her now before she buys that ticket. Tell her! “Really?” He heard himself reply instead, the unnatural cheeriness in his voice jarring him. “That is wonderful, darling.” If Molly noticed, she hadn’t called him out on it. Tell her!

 Molly gushed her excitement for several more minutes before cursing and apologizing. “Shit, sorry, my break’s just about up. I’ll call you sometime later today…Or I guess tomorrow for you, and we’ll figure out details. Love you, Tom. So much.”

 He stumbled out a reply, not honestly sure just what he had said, as his mobile beeped signaling the end of the call. The phone slipped from his fingers onto the mused bedspread. “Fuck,” he hissed aloud. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

 Sleep remained elusive for the next several nights and the meager amount he managed to scrape together was barely enough to keep him upright. More often than not he’d heard the make-up team comment, usually in quiet whispers, about the ever growing circles under his eyes. He continued, to the best of his ability, to fulfill the obligations he’d promised; both in the newest project he was filming and in the promotional material required by Marvel for Thor prior to its premiere. He did his utmost best to be charming and as ‘on’ as could be helped, but knew he was more often than not falling woefully short.

 He’d spoke to Molly a handful of times on the phone, frequently moving to end those calls after only a handful of minutes citing work or other obligations on his time. He hadn’t the nerve to actually bring himself to tell her his mistake during any of the calls; no matter how he tried to word just what he would say in his head, when the time would come he couldn’t make himself talk. He felt the worst sort of coward. Because I am.

 Molly was plainly disheartened at his sudden distance; he could hear it in the tone of her voice, see it in her eyes during their one and only short-lived video call. But she did not pressure Tom to tell her just what was going on, though he knew she wanted to. Luke had taken on the helm of helping plan her trip to LA all the while shooting daggers at his client whenever they met.

 “What are you playing at, Hiddleston?” Luke hissed as the elevator doors slid shut. Tom had spent the majority of his day flitting around between various hotel conference rooms, from interview to interview both with his Thor cast mates and on his own; he was tired and wanted nothing more than to just sleep.

 Blinking in confusion, Tom turned towards his publicist. “What?”

 The look Luke shot him would have burned a weaker man to his core and as it stood caused Tom’s stomach to twist itself into knots. “You know damn well what.” Luke raised his hand, jabbing an accusing finger into Tom’s chest. “You need to tell her. I’m imploring you as a friend. Tom, please, please, tell her. She has the right to know what happened and to make her own choices regarding it. If you love her, you have to say something.”

 It was a fine line he was walking, and Luke knew it. He made it a rule to not meddle in his client’s personal affairs beyond what he was contractually obligated to handle. But this…This was personal. Tom had crossed that line from client into friend and Molly was someone he genuinely cared for. He couldn’t not push this.

 Tom’s hands clenched at his sides as guilt flooded through him yet again. Luke was right, of fucking course he was right. But why couldn’t he understand just how difficult it was to find the words to tell the person you love desperately that you’d done the unthinkable? “I know, Luke. I fucking know! I just…I…I will tell her. I have to…I just need to figure out how. Just let me figure it out on my own. Please. Let me handle this.”

 It was abundantly clear to Tom that his friend found his noncommittal answer wanting. Luke merely narrowed his eyes but did not speak. The remainder of the elevator ride was spent in a charged silence that neither man sought to break. With a curt nod, Luke left Tom at his room door and disappeared down the hallway.

 Exhausted and frustrated, Tom threw himself onto the bed, letting out a halfhearted groan. His phone buzzed in his back pocket and it took several moments of jerking movement to wrench it free. Molly’s smile lit the screen and the ever present thrum of guilt tightened his chest. The offhand thought to either dismiss the call or let it ring to voicemail was tempting beyond belief. Sorely tempting but Tom knew it would only be a temporary respite and one that could so easily blow up in his face.

 He took a deep breath before answering the call. “Molly.”

 “You actually answered,” she whispered, her words matter of fact but tinged with a definite hint of sadness and surprise. Tom wanted nothing more than to kick himself, repeatedly.

 He winced, rubbing his free hand over his forehead in a vain effort to stave off the headache he could feel brewing. “I know I’ve not been readily available lately, Mols. I’m sorry…It’s just been…”

 There was an unnatural silence on the other end of the line and for a brief moment, Tom was sure she’d hung up on him. When Molly spoke again her voice was soft and full of worry. “Something is wrong, Tom. Please don’t insult my intelligence by saying otherwise. You’ve been different…Distant for almost a week now. This isn’t like you…Just please, talk to me.”

 “Molly, I…” There it was, the perfect opportunity to tell her, to come clean, and the words stuck in his throat. “It’s just been ridiculously hectic. Between filming and all the promotion I’ve been required to do, I’ve been running myself ragged. I’m sorry I’ve not been more open…I just…I didn’t want to drag you into it, I know you’ve got enough on your plate.” The words felt hollow and wrong but he couldn’t seem to stop them. Liar! His mind hissed at him. Coward!

 “Tom…”

 “Please, Molly, don’t worry. I’m tired but fine. I’m glad you are coming soon. I’ve missed you.” He felt sick to his stomach. This was wrong; selfish and cowardly and simply wrong, but he’d done it all the same.

 “Are you sure that it’s still a good idea? Me coming?” He could so easily hear the uncertainty in her voice and it cut. She’d been so excited about coming to see him, albeit nervous about the red carpet and all that it entailed. He couldn’t take that from her. “If things are as hectic as you say wouldn’t I be in the way?”

 “No…No. Not at all. You wanted to come and I want you to come. Hopefully things will have calmed and we can enjoy the time together.” He’d meant it, as twisted as his gut felt. He had wanted her there, and desperately, needed to have her support at his side. But the guilt was near overwhelming. How could he have her right there beside him and live with the knowledge that he’d betrayed her? Betrayed them? He needed to tell her but he couldn’t do it now, not after what he’d just said.

 Luke’s words echoed in his mind. ‘You have to tell her… She has the right to know what happened and to make her own choices regarding it. If you love her, you have to say something.’ And the guilt continued to rend his innards apart.

 He couldn’t tell her now though…But after the premiere; perhaps after he’d find the courage to say he’d lied…That he had made a horrid mistake that he would give anything to take back. That he was so very terribly sorry. He would lose her…The fear of that fact felt like ice in his stomach. But maybe…Maybe she would find it in her to forgive. Even if he surely did not deserve it.

 “Tom I don’t know…”

 “Just think about it. Please…” Please let me give you this before I have to shatter everything.

 “Okay.”

 The next morning dawned grey and rainy, which he’d found oddly appropriate as he was scheduled for his round of testing in the early afternoon. He’d once again slept poorly, tossing and turning as both guilt and fear took their turns running through his mind. He’d been running himself ragged with work trying desperately not to think. Every little change in his physicality sent his mind reeling. Was this fatigue from stress and overwork or a sign of something more sinister? Every cough, every twinge. It was driving him mad. He’d been both relieved and terrified when the car Luke had hired for him arrived, its driver calling at just after noon.

 As promised the clinic was discreet; tucked away in a quieter part of town, nothing that would attract any undue attention. The receptionist and PA he saw upon arrival were friendly and understanding. It was a simple matter to drawn the needed vials of blood and give the required urine sample. The rapid HIV screening, he was assured, would be ready in twenty minutes but the remaining tests would take anywhere from five to seven days, leaning most likely towards seven. He had been ushered into a secluded waiting area and offered tea or coffee while he waited.

 He'd taken the offered cup of coffee but couldn’t bring himself to drink it, his stomach tying itself in elaborate knots. He didn’t dare let himself hope that the test would be negative for the irrational fear that in doing so he would bring about the opposite. Nor could he let himself ponder the horrifying possibility that it was not. He jumped at every sound and feared he would pull all of his hair out when the waiting room door finally opened and the same PA he’d seen earlier walked inside.

 She smiled softly at him. He could hear the sound of her voice, see her lips moving but anything she’d said after, “Your rapid test came back negative” were lost on him. He wanted to laugh and cry, relief flooding through him.

 “Mr. Hiddleston.”

 Tom’s head shot up and he realized with a flood of embarrassment that she had been trying to get his attention for probably the last several minutes. “I’m sorry, what?”

 She nodded in understanding and continued. “I was telling you that we’ll give you a call in around seven days with the rest of your results. I would advise you to refrain from any sexual activity until you’ve received your results and are cleared. I also want to caution you that you will need to be retested in three months’ time for HIV and again in a further six months to be sure you are in the clear. And if anything is found in your remaining bloodwork further testing may be warranted.”

 He nodded slowly, his brief respite of relief vanishing. “Al-alright.”

 She handed him a small packet of papers and escorted him to the side door where the hire car stood waiting. Tom climbed inside, his brain a constant mess of buzzing fear and uncertainty. He was barely aware of the ride back to his hotel and then of the walk through the lobby, the ride up the elevator and entering the room itself. Nausea rolled through him, he fought back the feeling, shutting his eyes tightly and fell onto the bed.

Next Part

[rorschach74]

Saturday Night Incest

           Asking random people about their masturbation habits is a very strange thing to attempt.  Depending on the person they either get defensive, offended, way to open about describing the best solo orgasm they ever had, turned on and expect you to help, etc.  The list is endless.  As are people’s proclivities.  

           Heading to the local dive bar in a mainly Hispanic neighborhood adds its own challenges to the endeavor.  A previous drunken adventure there had almost resulted in finding myself on the wrong side of a six verses one fight.  I say fight knowing full well the outcome. Nevertheless, I decided time enough had passed and they would have forgotten about it.  Walking in, the room had the smell of stale beer, cigarettes, and the faintest scent of sex.  Perfect. Problem was it was only 8:30pm and there were only three people there.  The bartender, a thirtyish Hispanic man who goes by Flash (never got an explanation as to why but that’s usually how nicknames go), a woman I had never seen before, pretty but aged too quickly by a devil may care approach to life, and myself.  I sat four stools away from the woman as they seemed to be having a private conversation alone in the bar.  Flash came over to me, got me my drink and went back to the woman.  I thought to myself, well we’re all alone.  If he’s gonna talk now’s “his” chance.  So I wait for a break in the conversation and ask him if I can ask him a few questions about a story I’m writing.  With confidence he’s all about it.  “Ask away”, he says.  As I pose the questions I see on his face a very distinct uncertainty and horror.  After I explain as much as I can get out he interrupts me, calls me a faggot, and tells me to get out of his bar.  

           Driving to the next attempt I am actually relieved that he didn’t give an answer.  I didn’t want to like that place anymore.  I didn’t want his story told.  He was small minded and only concerned himself with the five feet in front of his face.  The story I was looking for was complex, unique, and dangerous, like speakeasies in the 20’s.  And right then I knew my next destination.  

           9:45pm.  This bar was known for having a secret speakeasy in the backroom.  I had asked once how could it be secret if everyone knew about it.  The obvious irony was lost on the bartender.  While I didn’t know the password I figured it couldn’t be that hard to get the info I needed.

           The only things in common with the two bars were the red hint in decorum and lack of televisions.  (Both only had two)  By this time of night a small but healthy crowd had formed inside the “main” bar. I sat down, ordered my drink, and contemplated my approach.  I figured I should be more tactful and try to bring the subject up after a bit conversation. Near the end of the bar I saw two girls and a guy in a group.  Noticing the guy was pretty much out of the conversation, I acquired my target.  I quickly became friends with him as we became thick as thieves.  Sharing stories reserved for the closest of confidants.  I soon began my subtle attempts at talking about the subject.  He told me with relish that because the hottest girls were in those videos he watched them.  The idea of incest disgusted him but he also came for a healthy family. Parents together 32 years, 2 older sisters in committed healthy marriages.  No divorce, nothing was ever broken.  His proclivities were more natural.  The kind that enjoyed large black cocks in small white girls.  

           I moved on to my next target when target one (or was it number two) began to argue with his girlfriend about the merits of anal.  Besides I still needed to find my way to the back room.  

           10:45pm.  Two attempts. 2 failures.  My friend/co-worker texts me to meet her at another bar.  I ignore it, for the time being, so I can keep the “investigation” “balanced”.  Drunk logic.  All other attempts at this bar are unfruitful as it turns out there is a private  party in the speakeasy that night.  

           11:30pm  My car reminds me that it needs washed with the white lettering they place on the windows once you’ve been towed.

           11:39pm  My coworker, Steph, is clearly drunk.  We have a very platonic relationship.  (Mainly because she is only attracted to black men)  I sit down with her “friends” and begin small talk.  It becomes clear that none of them want to talk to me as they had already formed groups of conversation and I was an unwelcome addition, at least at first.  It was on my second drink at Boar’s Head when I saw Bethany.  She was wearing a work shirt and had her black hair in a ponytail. He laugh was a mix between a teen girl trying to get attention from a teacher and an avocado, creamy, savory, and just the right amount of salty.  She was friends with Steph and because of this sat down next to me and immediately asked me “Who the hell are you?”.

           12:30am  Bethany has found a new seat, another man’s lap.  Being a man of some pride I ignore my jealousy.  After having a few drinks, we all become more acquainted, thanks in part to Bethany forcibly inserting me into the group.  I look around and see a perfect sample, five women, four men.  I bluntly start asking people about the project (it’s just a story but what do these idiots know).  Surprisingly the reception to my inquiry went well.  The group was very open to discussing their self-pleasuring habits.  Finally some real data.  We talked about everything from how at first the step-family videos were a new and exciting take that no one had seen before.  Then it became the main way of breaking in new talent.  Then it became one of the only things that the tube sites frequently updated.  Never underestimate free.  It became a strange dilemma even Joseph Heller could be proud of.  I posed the question, why was it “hot” in the first place. The best response I got was from the man Bethany was sitting on.  The familiarity and inherent closeness you fell toward a step sibling is a balancing act and when you cross the line it’s “naughty”.  It makes being related and having a secret one in the same.  And who doesn’t like having a secret?

           Bethany’s lap mate leaves as he has to be at work early.

           Steph comes up to me and tells me that Bethany is interested.  I tell her that she, Bethany, can tell me this herself and I’ve been sitting here the whole time while she grinded on another guys dick.  Steph tells me to grow up and asks “do you want to get laid or not?”

           Outside, we’re standing by Steph’s car waiting for her “friend”.  Me and Bethany are entangled in a make-out session as intense as the situation permits. Steph is holding conversation about her “friend”, telling us he isn’t worth her time.  Yet we wait for him to show up.  Steph is having none of his shit.  Quote “Girl I’m not from around here.   I’m gonna take this city by storm.  I’m more smarter than any of these motherfuckers out here.”  I audibly laugh when I hear the last line.  Steph shoots me a look as Bethany grabs my face towards hers, smiling as our tongues entwine.  

           Bethany pulls me over to her car and I ask if she wants to go back to my place or hers.  She is indecisive so I suggest we gin into her car to think about it.  A few hours later I’m driving home.  

______________________

           When I was first moving out here I was low on funds and needed to find a cheap yet safe place to sleep and store my things. Thus I found Nate on Craigslist. He was an older man of his sixties and a former cop.  “If cops can’t be trusted then boy is our society fucked,” I remember thinking as I had decided to move in based on a handful of phone calls and emails.  He was a relatively nice man with all the stubbornness and subtle racism a former authority figure acquires in the later stages of their lives.  Daily outburst of racial slurs to no one or nothing in particular became the norm.(No ethnicity was safe)  One of the things he was stubborn about was the cleanliness of the condo.  He forced me to pay for a maid service, $45 every six weeks, I told him I didn’t want.  The rent was so cheap that I didn’t argue too much past the first time he brought it up.  The main reason I argued against it was the main stipulation he had was that I couldn’t be home when she was cleaning.  I didn’t like being told when I could or couldn’t be home but again when you’re paying half the rent you should be you go along with abnormal things.  I had forgotten that today was maid day.  

           7:16am  As I pulled up I remember to park on the right side of the street for street sweeping. I lock my doors and admire the writing on the rear window again, like a scab that hasn’t healed yet.  As I get to my door I hear what sounds like a smack and a moan.  I assume it’s just the television and walk in.  For a moment I see time slow down as I witness Nate and the maid begin to realize someone else is in the room.  The maid, a middle aged Hispanic woman, pretty and voluptuous, wearing nothing but a beige bra, is bent over the front of the couch moaning “Papi, por favor follame adain”.  Nate, in nearly flawless Spanish, responds, “¿Asi que la nina de papi es una puta?”.  Right as he finishes speaking they both look over in unison to see my drunken, stupefied face.  She screams and runs to my bathroom.  Nate, frail body but hard as a rock, is stuck between chasing her and covering himself.  I start laughing and turn to walk out.  He yells after me, “I told you not to be here”.  I shut the door as I hear Nate trying to console the “maid” in Spanish. I don’t stop laughing until I’m a few streets away.  I know I won’t have to pay for the maid service again.  As I’m driving I keep coming up with one liners that I could have said in the moment but a majority of them would have been derogatory to the “maid”.  So I resign myself to the idea that the situation was funny enough to stand on its own.

           7:45am  Three missed calls, “Nate Roommate”.  I wait for my breakfast and go over the nights events in my head.  What did I learn?  Anything useful?  The waitress sees me thinking and asks what’s on my mind.  Still a little drunk I tell her my objective of the night and how I don’t know what to take from it.  She looks down and apprehensive.  She says “hold on a sec.”  She brings me my food and sits down across from me.  She looks young, maybe twenty years old.  I ask if she’s going to get into trouble sitting down.  She tells me she took her thirty minute break.  She starts to tell me about her experience as I realize tears are forming in her eyes.  

           Two years ago her Dad had gotten remarried. Her new step-mom had a son a few years younger than her.  (She was nineteen at the time in college living at home, he was sixteen and in high school).  He seemed nice at first, helping with chores so she could study, helping her sneak out at night and she the same for him.  Then something slowly changed and he started acting differently toward her, almost sexual.  It creeped her out but after about six months nothing had happened except the feeling that he was always looking at her funny.  Then one day when their parents weren’t home he walked in on her showering, refused to leave and started touching himself.  She ran out of the shower and stayed in her room until their parents came home.  She told them everything and they grounded him.  Took his phone, computer, car, everything they could.  She was happy at first until she realized that all that meant was he was going to be stuck at home with nothing to do but be close to her. So she got inventive.  She started getting up super early to take showers, and when he figured that out she would sleep in super late and not shower.  She waited till he had to leave before she would come out of her room.  She became a sort of prisoner in her own home so as to avoid the strange smile he would give her.  One day coming back from class she walked past his room, the door being open, and saw him with a pair of her panties jacking off into them.  Appalled she gasped and he just smiled and asked if she liked what she saw.  Her parents allowed her to put a lock on her door, sent him to a shrink, and things went back to “normal”.  He even apologized to the whole family, as she refused to be alone in the same room as him.  

A few months later she had begun to letting her guard down. She would leave her door open if she was home.  She stopped completely avoiding him.  After one night of drinking she had brought her boyfriend over and they had sex.  He had stayed the night as her parents were on a weekend vacation and her step brother was supposed to be with his friends on a camping trip.  So in the morning when they were having breakfast and her step brother walked in with that same shit eating grin on his face, her stomach dropped.  Before he even said anything she knew what he had done. He had, over the past few months, been sneaking into her room, finding the best angles for filming.  Now he had a tape of her and her boyfriend that “He would show to Mom and Dad, if she didn’t do exactly what he said.”.  Her boyfriend, wasting no time or words walked up and beat the shit out of him.  She tried to stop him before he seriously hurt him but admittedly she didn’t try too hard.  She called the cops and her parents.  Now her step brother is in jail for attempted rape, blackmail, illegal wiretapping, and a few other charges.  Even though the cops to first answer the call were the first to congratulate her boyfriend for what he did, her step brother was still a minor and that makes what he did very serious in the eyes of the court.  

After a long silence, as tears are streaming down her face she, with a laugh, apologizes to me for ruining my breakfast.  I look at her and as sincerely as I can tell her she owes me no such apology.  Her thirty minutes are about up and as only a woman can she composes herself, wipes her eyes, smiles, stands up, and asks if I need any more OJ.  

As I said in the beginning, human proclivities are endless. And so are the reasons behind them. For some it’s fear, some it’ power and control, other’s get so wrapped up in the fantasy of their own making they lose touch with everyone else’s reality.  But more often than not people are unaware of the reasoning behind their feelings.  Neuroscience research is beginning to show that the subconscious mind is just as influential as the conscious mind in decision making.  And I believe that sexual urges are largely animalistic in nature, initial attraction at the very least.  Much like whenever you meet someone for the first time and your eyes meet and your pupils dilate involuntarily because you are attracted to the person you are meeting.  Whatever causes us to become aroused is some combination of love, hate, symmetry, juxtaposition, desire, hunger, emptiness, societal pressure, a need to be touched, and just a hint of salt.  We are, to some degree, victims of our own desires.  

[sending-the-message]

I Went Looking for an Adventure on the Dark Web by Sinister-Intentions

Hi, my name is Jacob. My life hadn’t gone the way I’d expected it or rather my future hadn’t been what I’d hoped. When I was in college my whole life revolved around school and work. If I wasn’t on the computer writing some program I was in class or tutoring. If I wasn’t doing any of those things I was helping out at the help desk of our school. Either way I had no life outside of class and work, mainly because I told myself that I would focus on the fun parts of life when I had a degree and decent paying job. Right now I needed to earn all of that.

When school finally ended I was in a panic to get a decent job because I knew not soon after uncle sam would come calling for me to pay back all the student loans I’d taken out. Suffice it to say that I wasn’t being very picky and really just applied for anything that paid a decent amount of money. I didn’t even care if it was related to my computer science major, just that it would pay the bills.

I finally found a job with a small web development company which seemed to be the big dream I was hoping for. It paid great, my coworkers were excellent, my hours were flexible, and work was fun enough. There was an itch in the back of my mind that I couldn’t quite scratch though. Was this it? Was this the life I had given up my early 20’s for? I got up in the morning and worked out. I’d get dressed and go to work. Then for 8 or more hours I would work on different code banks and polish up different websites, before sluffing off back to my new apartment to eat, sleep, and repeat.

I tried going out with friends, going to bars and parties, taking walks, all the things you are supposed to do with a normal life, but none of it brought any excitement to me. I started taking inordinate risks when I was driving, caring less about how people perceived me when I talked with them, and ignoring friends and family.

You have to understand some things about me to really know what I was going through. For the better part of my life I had been regarded as a pretty strange kid. I was interested in the more occult and obscure parts of life, didn’t really care much for rules, stealing from other, breaking into houses in my youth, and lying like second nature. As I entered my teenage years I realized quickly that I couldn’t get away with these things anymore if I wanted to get ahead and decided to change a lot about myself. In essence I learned to wear a mask and got so good at it that I seemingly forgot I’d been wearing it for all these years. I had even fooled myself.

With the boredom and mediocrity of life after college settling in my mask was starting to wear loose and the creature from my youth was peeking out from behind it. I started frantically looking for things to satiate my growing need for thrill and excitement and my numbness to social norms grew even more deafening.

Working in computer I had heard of and used Tor on many occasions, the browser used to access the deep web, but had never been interested in anything it provided. At most it masked your identity and sacrificed speed, but at worst it was where the dredge of society lurked and for all my social ineptitude I knew I wasn’t anything like those people.

On my way home from work one day I was driving down the freeway as normal, but suddenly a guy cut me off and dodged in front of me almost causing me to crash. I slammed on my brakes and turned my steering wheel as hard as I could causing me to run off the side of the road into a ditch. My brakes and wheels no doubt took some heavy damage, but in general my car was ok.

The whole experience made my heart beat like it was young again and instead of being mad I remember I was almost excited by the thrill of it all. That’s when it occurred to me that I may have a use for the deep web after all. Like I had said it was where you could find all the dregs of society and while I sure wasn’t one, perhaps I needed someone who was willing to stoop to that level.

When I got home I downloaded Tor, and started researching different anonymous forums where I might be able to score a little action. To the more experienced users of the dark web I likely came off as a newbie going around poking his head into places that he knows nothing about, but I didn’t care, all I really needed was for just one person to be interested in guiding me through the gates of this underworld.

I posted a little thread here and there on any open forum I could find. ‘Looking for an adventure and something that will get my heart pumping like I’m alive again’. I provided a recently set up email and waited to see if I would get any replied. Many of my threads were taken down by moderators and those that weren’t found unsolicited spam, obvious virus links, or disgusting images sent to the email I had provided.

After a few days of no success I learned of a few chat rooms that I believed might be more helpful with my search. These would be live conversations so I wouldn’t have to wait for replies and they would hopefully be more welcoming to someone who didn’t know a lot about this kind of thing. After posting my normal ‘looking for adventure’ most of the rooms booted me, either as a newbie or believing I was a cop, but in my very last one I received a pop up to talk with one of the chat member privately, which I was more than happy to do.

There I was at my desk, nothing lighting the room but my computer monitor. Sitting in the darkness I chatted back and forth with this guy about my life and how I wanted something more interesting, risky, and fun. He said he’d met many people who’d stumbled onto this chat looking for the same and that he always liked helping them out. We talk for days about the different adventures he’d taken his past acquaintances on, but how each of them always wanted to return to their normal dull lives after a bit which left him to continue his search for that one buddy who wouldn’t leave.

The whole this sounded incredibly sad and stalkerish, which believe it or not didn’t frighten me away but left me more interested. I’m not naïve or stupid. I was talking with someone I’d met on a random dark web chat room. At the most harmless it was some old fat guy sitting on the other end spinning me a web of lies, but at most it really was someone dangerous and I wanted to find out for myself. I wanted him to be dangerous….because therein lies the thrill, which was my vendetta from the beginning of this little adventure into the dark web.

I got up the courage to ask him if he’d ever want to actually meet and go on one of his little trips just to see what his reaction would be, and of course he was more than happy. I learned that that he was only about 7 hours from me so I suggested we meet the next week and that I didn’t want to know any of the details, just that I wanted to have a fun time for a few days.

The days passed by quickly and the night before I was planning on making the trip I packed up all the things I thought I might need. Clothes and travel stuff, but also a few self defense item, a flashlight, and several burner phones. Loading it all in my trunk I started to get a rush then and there of what I was about to do. I was meeting up with a complete stranger in the middle of the night, putting myself in danger, and had no idea what the morning hours were going to bring. As I drove down the dark highway road, my lights beaming in front of me, I felt as alive as ever. The dull drudgery of my job, the boring routine of my life, it all just slipped away. Night and the passing cars gave a kind of quite and peace to my racing mind.

When I got to the town of my new friends address I really started to feel the excitement wash over me. I had given him the number of one of my burner phones and he texted me ‘are you almost here’. I didn’t reply as I knew I was and pulling over would have just taken more time. I winded up a road near the edge of the town, but definitely removed from public and prying eyes until I seen a house a little way in the distance. Pulling into the driveway the reality of what I was doing started to hit me and more than excited I began to feel scared.

My car lights shown strong against a large metallic garage door and I seen a shadow move across the bay windows of what looked to be a living room. I received another text. ‘come on in, the doors unlocked’ it said. I took a deep gulp and opened my car door, the beeping startling me as I’d forgotten to turn off the engine. Pulling the keys out I put a few between my knuckles and stepped out the seat onto the dirt, shutting the door behind me.

My heart was racing and my breath getting more labored. Every instinct I had was telling me to turn around and I looked back at my car, but I just kept moving forward. I heard every footstep I took in the dark night air and I slowly reached out to turn the handle on the old door, cracked paint funning down it and a rusty handle. Inside the garage a large white light hung from a cord in the center over two pick up trucks muddle and rusted from head to toe.

The place was very cluttered and I had to step along a narrow path until I reached a screen door just above a few steps. I kind of whispered to myself ‘you can just turn around, just go back’, but my adventurous and apathetic nature took over and I took a few steps up and through the screen door as it squealed shut.

Inside the house looked fairly normal, and I started to say “hello” into the room. “is anyone there?” I didn’t hear anything. I said it a few more times and started to walk forward into the living room I’d mentioned before. “I’m downstairs, just fixing the water heater” I heard come from behind me. “There’s a wrench on the table, would you mind bringing it to me”.

I sure as hell wasn’t going to do that. I wanted adventure, but wasn’t going to willingly walk into god knows what kind of trap in a completely locked off room downstairs. All of those instincts that I should have been listening to from the get go came roaring back to my attention and I immediately turned around to get the hell out of there.

Running up to the door I turned the handle but it refused to open. I started panicking and turned it so hard that it broke off the door. Just then I started to hear creaking like someone coming up the stairs and my heart didn’t race, it just stopped and calmed down. I turned around and remember the wrench sitting on the kitchen table. I picked the heave thing up and prepared to fight my way out if I needed to. Those giant bay windows were another way out this house. Quick like lightening I ran passed the door to the stairs where the voice and creaking came from and slammed the door shut as I did. I hoped onto the couch and bashed the windows with the wrench climbing through the broken shards of glass.

Climbing into my car as if there wasn’t a tomorrow I shoved the keys in the ignition and screeched out of the driveway, laying my foot into the pedal as hard as I could. After hours of berating myself on the long trip home the sun was starting to come up and felt some twinge of relief come over me. I was so tired from the whole night of events and after slinking into my apartment and out of my clothes I crawled into bed wanting to forget any of this craziness had ever happened. I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.

A few hours later I woke up to a beeping on my computer, meaning I had a new message. I went over to the computer and seen that it was from my now former, never to actually meet, acquaintance. “why did you leave? We’d have had so much fun”. I didn’t reply, I just looked at the message and considered what my next move should be at this point. Another message came to the screen which left me shaken and cold. “your apartment looks so boring compared to what I had in store”. My webcam wasn’t on, so how on earth did he know what my apartment looked like? How the heck did he know where I even was? How did he ---.

That was the last thing Jacob told me before meeting a rather unfortunate accident. My basement really was much nicer than his apartment and I was so sad he couldn’t have stayed for long. All my friends always seem to leave me. I guess I’ll just need to find another. Tell me, have you ever thought of going on the dark web, I know somewhere you might like.

-Sinister Intentions

More...

[little-writings]

Hi! I love your writing so much! And lately I've been in love with the yandere personality, so if its not to much to ask, could you write a fic where Jumin is a yandere, and other men are constantly flirting with MC. (This is something that basically rivals who Jumin is, so please, you don't have to do this if you don't want too.) Thank you! 😄❤😃💖

Oooooo this sounds real neato!!!! If I think Jumin were to essentially be a serial killer he would be similar to that of Hannibal Lecter (Bryan Fuller’s version, however) 

And while, yes this does very much rival who Jumin is this will actually be a really awesome writing challenge to keep it still believable for his personality!! So I’m really excited to do this!!

Anyhow, I’d be more than happy to write this request for you! Thank you and have a marvelous day dear!!!! (๑ˊ͈ ॢꇴ ˋ͈)〜♡॰ॱ

———————————————————————————————————–

People had started to go missing.

Yet what bothered you the most was one particular thing.

You had known each and every one of them.

One had been a bartender at a restaurant, a sort of murky hint in his gaze as he looked to you.

“Hey…” He dipped his head as you sat down, tapping his fingers against the table as he leaned to you. “What can I get you?”

“Oh goodness,” You chuckled lightly. “can I just get something small? Don’t want anything too big.” 

“Aw come on, that’s just weak,” He joked. “Live a little!” 

“No, no I don’t think so!” You exclaimed, laughing meekly. “Maybe some other time.” 

“Hopefully when it’s my shift?”

You crinkled your nose for a moment, shrugging.

“Maybe!”

“Well-I certainly hope so,” He raised a curious brow, curls of muddy hair twirling about his hair. “So-what’s someone as cute as you doing here all alone?”

You felt a hand set itself on your shoulder, squeezing it lightly, a low, stern voice speaking out. 

“They’re not.” 

Jumin.

You smiled at the sight of him, a warmth blooming in your chest as he softened almost instinctively at the sight of you, pressing a kiss to your head. 

“I’m sorry I took so long to get here love,” He glanced up at the bartender. “I suppose I got here at the right time though, however.” 

“Shouldn’t have left such a pretty thing here all on their own.” The man murmured in response, giving you a small wink. “I was thinking I’d snatch them for myself.” 

He scribbled something down a napkin sliding it over to you.

A phone number.

His.

“Offer still stands if you’re interested.” 

You shook your head, preparing to dismiss him when Jumin intervened, his hand curling into a fist as he crumpled the note in his hold, shooting daggers at the man.

“They’re not.” 

The man was found dead by the end of the week.

Another had been an ex.

Constant texts flooding into your phone at an almost constant rate.

“I miss you.” 

“Just one more night.” 

“No one else has to know.” 

“Just one more chance.” 

And each time you’d deny him.

You told him you were with someone else.

That you were in love with someone else.

But it felt as if there was no end.

“I can’t believe this!” You exclaimed, walking beside Jumin, his arm wound around your waist. 

“What is it?” 

You sighed, sinking against him.

“It’s…it’s an ex of mine. He won’t leave me alone!” 

“What is he doing?” Jumin’s brow lowered, glancing at your phone screen, frowning. 

“He keeps trying to convince me to give him another chance…” You puffed out your cheeks indignantly, anger boiling just from spotting the messages. “I keep saying no but he won’t stop!” 

Jumin folded his lips, letting out a heavy breath, stopping to turn you to face him, pulling you close. 

“I’m sorry darling, I’ll see if there’s anything security can do to handle it.” 

You sighed, looking up as he tipped his forehead against your own, somehow feeling immensely comforted just by his presence. 

“Do you really think there’s anything they can do…?”

His words were love-laced, such certainty drenched in them that you couldn’t help but feel a wave of comfort wash over you.

But perhaps, there was something in his eyes you hadn’t noticed before.

“I’m positive.” 

And within a few days, your ex was found lifeless.

It continued like that. 

One after the other.

Gone.

And even now, you would be lying if you said it didn’t bother you.

So perhaps when your co-worker, someone you’d been partnered with for a project, told you he’d be staying home, you got a bit nervous.

Especially seeing as he was known for flirting around.

And he had done it with you.

You had told Jumin, exasperated and annoyed, only soothed as he pulled you into his lap and assured you it would be fine soon enough.

You had called him in your home, pacing about nervously despite Jumin’s encouraging assurances.

And relief overcame you as he answered.

“What’s up?” He snickered. “Missed me?” 

“Who couldn’t miss that charming personality?” You scoffed. “I was just…wanting to check up on you. I was really hoping we could go over the project one last time for the presentation tomorrow.” 

“Jeez, you really want to…?” He huffed, thinking for a moment. “Alright, you can send me an email and I’ll check it out but I’m really not feeling all that great right now.” 

“If it’s a fever or something I can bring some soup or something-I’ll wear a hazmat suit even-” 

“There’s no way you care about this project this much, sweetheart.”

“Don’t-don’t call me that.” 

“Listen, if you’re just looking for an excuse to see me don’t bother,” He proclaimed. “I’m not about to pass up an opportunity with someone like-” 

You heard a gasp, and a clatter as if the phone was dropped from his grip, crashing onto the floor.

And the call was dropped. 

Fear.

That was what filled every bit of you.

And in a moment’s notice, you were out the door. 

You had been to his home before, a simple home a few blocks down, yet you had never felt yourself so slow even as you attempted to rush down the side block.

Even when you finally made it you felt as if you had been glued to the ground, unable to move as you tried to pry your feet away, dragging yourself up to the stairwell to his house.

You came to the front door and tugged on the knob.

Locked.

You curved around the wall of the building coming to the back your eyes met with something that horrified you.

The back door, wide open.

You crept inside, your fingers hovered over your phone, prepared to dial emergency services at the slightest hint.

You snuck forward, keeping your body low to the ground, creeping closer to the living room.

Creeping closer to a sound.

It was similar to that of shuffling, however, muffled and calculated.

And as you saw who, it seemed to click.

Like a puzzle, you never truly wanted solved.

Not if it meant this.

You rose to your feet and met Jumin, your voice breaking and body weak, legs threatening to buckle.

“O-Oh my god…” 

Jumin turned to meet you, gaze as big as saucers in absolute terror.

His lips were parted as though he wanted to speak.

But nothing came out.

He was clad in a clear plastic suit, layered above his usual polyester.

Seemingly a shield of sorts.

You came closer and found hidden amongst the furniture was your coworker.

Dead.

His eyes bulged, a thick line engraved against his throat.

Strangled.

You fell onto your knees, horrified as you desperately attempted to search for any kind of pulse.

Only to be met with nothing.

Nothing but a cold, decaying husk.

“How…” You murmured. “How could you do this…?”

He held back, answering quietly, a peculiar bit of shame in his tone.

Though whether it was out of true guilt or that you now knew, was something you weren’t sure you wanted to know.

“…Garrote wire.” 

“And the…the suit?”

“Prevents DNA from being left at the crime scene.” 

“S-So you know…” You began, feeling a fire in your throat. “you know this is wrong…?”

“…They were hurting you.” He muttered. “They were attacking you. You weren’t safe MC-” 

“And I-I’m safe with you?” 

You heard the sorrow in his response.

“I would never hurt you, darling. Never in any life-this one of the next would I ever even consider such a thing.” He hummed, reaching out a hand. “You know that don’t you?” 

You took it.

“Then-then what’s this?” You asked, your palm limp in his own as his fingertips braided with yours. 

“This is protecting you,” He cooed, adoration clear in his gaze. “This is keeping you safe and happy. These people hurt you, and you are the last person in the world who deserves that.” 

“I couldn’t let them hurt you.” 

“I wouldn’t.” 

Ice.

As he spoke, he was colder than ice, his grip on you tightening if only for a second before warming, the familiar fondness painting his features.

“Please, don’t cry.”

You hadn’t even realized.

He raised his other hand to wipe them away, hovering over your cheek, unsure.

“You know I love you MC,” He remarked. “I love you more than any words can possibly describe.” 

“I know.” 

You pulled out your phone, prepared to dial law enforcement. 

“But if you really mean it, you’ll end this.” 

“MC-” 

You sank into his other hand, his shoulders dropping. 

“This isn’t right Jumin. And you know that.” 

“Dear, you know I can’t-”

“Yes, yes you can.” You looked up to him, trying to hide the quivering of your chin. “I promised to always stay by your side-and I will.” 

“But not like this.” You confessed. “I can’t.” 

He didn’t speak.

But he took the phone.

And he dialed the emergency line.

You melted against him, burying your head in the crook of his neck as he described the event, his heartbeat indescribable. 

Once he finished, he hung up, setting down the phone and winding his arms around you, holding you as if you might disappear before he could even blink.

You listened to the silence, wondering when the sound would erupt from the streets, and the lights of police cars would burst in through the windows.

But as you received silence, you broke it. 

And you broke it with the words you once said so often.

And as the sirens rang, they blurred

And so did the rest of the world.

For what only mattered to him were your four, familiar words.

“I love you too.” 

[just-got7-things]

The Note

Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Fluff with a tiny bit of angst

Summary: Yoongi has to leave early in the morning and instead of waking you up to say goodbye, he leaves you a note. 

Yoongi hates to leave so early in the morning. Not because of the ungodly hour of 4 am but the fact that he can’t tell you goodbye. Well he could but he knew you had a long day ahead of you and you could use all the sleep you could get. He knew you would be mad for him leaving without telling you but he can’t seem to make himself take you out of your peaceful slumber. He feels like an asshole already having to leave you yet again but if he woke you up, that feeling would just get worse. Instead he leaves a carefully placed note on the nightstand that you will see as soon as you open your eyes. Besides, you can call him when you wake up like you usually do when he’s away.

~~~~~

The screeching calls of the alarm clock rouse you from your little slice of heaven called sleep. You don’t dare open your eyes yet because you could feel the sun’s warmth on your skin and you didn’t feel like being blinded just yet. You flop your arm around the nightstand until you find the annoying machine and hit the off button. You wish you could sleep for another hour but you have two meetings this morning that you could not be late for. You turn over to find the other side of the bed cold. Your eyes pop before the memory of Yoongi telling you about the trip. Why did he not wake you up when he left though? He always did. Even with your grumpy curses he still said goodbye.

You pout and reluctantly get out of bed. Looking at the clock, you notice that you don’t have very much time to slack off and your usual morning call to Yoongi would have to wait until your break. You hop in the shower and start washing your body allowing the warm water to loosen up your muscles while you mentally prepare yourself for the day ahead. Quickly, you dry off and get dressed into the outfit you had chosen for the day. Good thing you usually pick out what you wear the night before because there is not a minute to spare as you rush to put on your makeup and style your hair. You run through the house grabbing your purse and jacket as you make your way out the door. Locking it behind you, a little wave of sadness washes over you because you didn’t get to say goodbye to Yoongi before he left. You shake your head to get rid of the thought and start making your way to work.

The meetings drag on as you listen to your peers mostly complain about the new merger that is about to take place. You usually would add some opinions of your own into the mix but today you just didn’t feel like adding onto the complaints. You were mostly there to listen to the financial reports anyway and see how things might look in the next quarter. With the meetings lasting longer than expected, you don’t have time for a break today. You could just imagine the emails that were piling up in your inbox and the stack of work being left on your desk. Even though you were extremely busy, every now and then the thought of Yoongi would pop into your head leaving you a bitter taste in your mouth. Not only were you sad about this morning, but with the routine that you had grown accustomed to being disturbed you were starting to get agitated as well. He not only affected your morning but he was affecting your work as well. You let a dry chuckle escape from your mouth as you thought about how much Yoongi had significance over your day. You usually laughed at the girls who made their man the center of their lives but now you realized you were starting to become one of them. Nope. This can’t happen. You gave yourself one minute to think but eventually put everything Yoongi related into a box and pushed him as far back into your brain as you could. You had work to do and thinking about him was getting nothing done. You took a deep breath before jumping into your long day. Alright. Time to get to work.

~~~~

This is strange. She should have already called by now. She must be having a really busy day. Yoongi sat at the airport waiting for the car to come pick him and the other members up. He wasn’t particularly worried that you haven’t called him because he understands busy days, he just really wants to know whether or not you saw his note. Surely she would have seen it. It was right in front of her face. She is a wild sleeper though…The thought of you sleeping made him smile. You weren’t the tamest when you slept and Yoongi always had to be prepared to get an arm in the face or an elbow in the back. He knew you couldn’t help it which is how he kept himself from completely kicking you out of bed but sometimes he had some rough nights. Yoongi stares at his phone debating whether or not he should text you to see how your day was going. He wanted to talk to you but he didn’t want to distract you during work. Before he could type out a message, the car pulls up in front of the group and the body guards swarm around them creating a barricade for them to hurry into the car before it was swamped with fans. He decides that it’s best to leave you be and let you get as much work done as possible.

~~~

As the day passes, you make pretty good progress through your work even though your mind keeps drifting to the asshole named Min Yoongi. You wanted to think of anything except him but your mind just wouldn’t let you. First, he didn’t say goodbye this morning and now he hasn’t even texted or called you to see how your day was going? They were selfish thoughts but you didn’t care anymore. You were his girlfriend and you wanted him to show a little affection every now and then. Just a simple text from him asking if you had eaten yet would suffice but noooo Mr. Tough Guy Min Yoongi didn’t do those kinds of things. You mentally stick your tongue out at the picture you had of him on your desk. At least the day was almost over and you could go home and finally relax. You began to shut down everything in your office and pack up for the day when one of your coworkers stops by and asks if you want to come get some drinks with them. You decline the offer and start heading home.

You unlock the door and walk into your apartment immediately feeling the stress of the day melt off your shoulders. The irritation is still there but eventually you’ll get over that. Eventually. The first thing you do is change into your pajamas so that you would be comfortable. Next, you head into the kitchen to start dinner. You end up making something simple since Yoongi wasn’t there. There he was again, popping into our mind not letting you fully be at ease. Not only were the events of the day making you irritated but being at home without Yoongi made you lonely as well. Still no text or call from him. You want to at least know how his day was going but you don’t want to distract him so you decide to just leave him be.

You eat dinner and retreat to the bedroom so you could work on some things for the morning. Yoongi never approved of either of you bringing work into the bedroom since you both seemed to be workaholics but he wasn’t there and you knew that you would be falling asleep soon. You sit down on the bed and turn to get your laptop from the shelf beside your bed when you notice a folded piece of paper on the floor. Squinting at the piece of paper in confusion you pick it up and see that it has Yoongi’s handwriting. This couldn’t be something he has been working on because he would never be as careless as to leave it on the floor so you could read it. You turn it over and see your name written in the black ink. You slowly open the note and begin reading.

 Y/N,

Another day I have to leave you. Another day I have to go without your beautiful smile. My love may not always be spoken but know that it is there. It is there in the wind that rustles the leaves and it is there in the rays that warm your skin. I hate to leave you again. When I leave, I feel like my whole world is without it’s sun. I did not wake you this time because I did not want to see the sadness that fills your eyes when the goodbye leaves your beautiful mouth. What I would give to see you every minute of every day for the rest of my life. The love I have for you is as endless as the stars in the sky. Please stay well my love and know that I am with you always as you are with me. Thank you for becoming my one and only. My treasure.

Yoongi

Before you realize it, tears begin to fall down your face and your hands cannot reach fast enough for your phone. You have to call him. You have to hear his voice. Even though you can’t see with the amount of tears in your eyes, you successfully dial his number and wait for him to answer. After a few rings, he finally picks up.

“Hey babe, how was your day?”

“Yoongi, you asshole!” You cry into the phone.

“What happened? What did I do?”

“You wrote me this damn note and now I’m crying because you’re the sweetest boyfriend anyone could have!”

“Awww baby, don’t cry. I meant for that note to make you happy.” You could hear him chuckle a little as he soothed you.

“Don’t baby me! How dare you write that note and then just leave! How am I going to kiss you when you’re all the way across the world?” You’ve stopped crying but the emotions are still there.

“I’ll be home in couple days. You can kiss me all you want when I get back.” You could hear the smile in his voice just by the way he talked. He must have been by himself because he never would say that in front of anyone.

“You better be prepared. I’m not in the mood for any games.”

You and Yoongi continue to talk on the phone talking about both of your days, how that annoying intern is always kissing up to the boss and getting in your way and how Jin keeps going at it with his dad jokes just to annoy him. After about an hour and a half, you hear Yoongi yawn which causes you to yawn in return.

“We should both get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a very long day for both of us.” Yoongi’s voice is starting to get groggy and you’re already almost asleep just listening to it.

“I know. Talk tomorrow?”

“Of course, baby girl.”

“Okay. Goodnight. Love you. Sweet dreams.” You don’t want to let him go but you know he is right. You both need sleep for the next day.

“Goodnight. Sweet dreams. I love you too.”

You hang up the phone and put it on the charger as you head into the bathroom to brush your teeth. After washing up, you climb back into bed and set your alarm. Before you’re able to get comfortable, you hear your phone go off on the nightstand. You turn it over and there is a text from Yoongi.

Come meet me in my dreams.

[growthofbetter]

How to Improve Your Self Esteem

Stay at home mom explains how she feels better inside and out, and taking 1 of these daily is the only thing I changed. In my own little world of trolls and playwriting, I didn’t notice the chunk. I genuinely liked me. But when I entered the “real world” of opinions, people, and comparison, I began to realize or rather feel that perhaps my body wasn’t good enough.

This thought was like a seed that was then planted in my brain. And every time I thought about it, I watered it. Soon enough, that seed sprouted and feelings of not being enough were just a part of who I was.

I was really good at disguising those thoughts, though. Most in my circle had no idea of how I really felt.

To be brutally honest, I didn’t even know how I really felt until an event that happened (years later) shined so much light on my deep-rooted feelings of not being enough that I could no longer not acknowledge my feelings. At this point, I fully acknowledged that I had some serious work to do.

The beginning of the event (you’ll see why I say beginning shortly) was with a boy. I was in my twenties. We were newly dating. We had just come back to his place after a nice dinner. We kissed. We decided to change and put on some comfy clothes to watch a movie.

While I was changing, a funny, unpleased look washed over his face, and he told me that he was surprised my stomach wasn’t really that flat. That I had somewhat of a “muffin top.”

I stood there, pulling my shirt over my head, stunned. I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything.

After the movie, I left, covered in shame. I felt confused, embarrassed, and alone. Despite all of that, I continued to still see him until he inevitably dumped me a few weeks later.

The real event was my reflection after this relationship ended, when I realized I felt so poorly about myself that I continued to stay with someone who made me feel deep shame. More importantly, I realized that he was just echoing and reflecting back my own feelings of not being good enough.

It was in this moment that I decided I was, in fact, enough, and that things were going to change.

Here’s what I did to begin to boost my self-worth and how you can begin to recognize your own worth too.

1. Pretend you are your own best friend.

Simply start to notice what you’re saying to yourself. You may be taken aback by how often you’re saying unkind things to yourself (I know I was), but know that it’s totally normal and part of the process. Allow yourself to observe the thoughts that come up and not judge yourself for having them.

When you notice that you’re in this unkind space, ask yourself, “If this were a friend coming to me with these thoughts, my thoughts, what would I say to them?”

This question would always wake me up and radically change my self-talk. I could see how mean I was being to myself. I wouldn’t speak to any other human being like I spoke to myself, let alone a friend. You may find this is the same for you.

If this is difficult for you, it may be because you don’t think you deserve this level of kindness. First of all, you do. Second of all, you can combat this by choosing to focus on one thing you appreciate about yourself that day. Perhaps you appreciate that you decided to go on a walk even though you didn’t want to, or you were kind to your coworker, even though she was being unkind.

Reflecting and recalling things you appreciate about yourself isn’t always easy, but the more you practice it, the easier it becomes. And it’s in this space you’ll begin to see you deserve to be spoken to kindly, just like you would speak to a friend.

2. Surround yourself with people who bring you up.

I was notorious for saying yes when I really wanted to say no. Again, it all boiled down to not valuing my wants, my needs, or myself. The first time I said no (with grace), I was petrified. I was worried the other person would hate me.

Funny thing is, they didn’t hate me. They began to respect me more. And the more and more I declined outings, events, dates, work, and time with people who brought me down, the more I made room for the things in my life that made me shine, feel happy, and feel whole.

By feeling this way, I began to really fall in love with myself and appreciate the power I had to make myself feel grounded. I began to feel enough.

And it was during this time that I joined a local yoga studio, signed up for meditation classes, and started regularly hiking. Through these activities, not only did I find self-worth, and myself, but I also began to grow a beautiful support network of likeminded individuals who would eventually become friends.

You can do this too. Find and/or make time for activities that bring you joy, and know that a simple hello and a smile can go a long way.

3. Ask close friends or family members what they appreciate about you.

Sometimes (or a lot of the time) a kind word from someone we love and trust can go a long way. Their perspective can also help shed some light on qualities about ourselves we previously dismissed.

And when you have these words in writing, you can pull then out and reread them whenever you feel down.

The email I sent, and that you can send too, went something like this: “As one of the key people in my soul circle, would you mind telling me what you appreciate about me? I’d be so appreciative!”

Try it. Save their words. And reread them when you need them.

4. Get curious about why you’re triggered.

We get emotionally triggered for all sorts of things—words, actions, decisions, comments, and the list could go on.

When I got serious about feeling my worth, instead of getting angry with others, situations, or myself when I became emotionally triggered, I got curious and began asking myself what still needed to be healed. By doing this, I was able to really heal my wounds and understand myself better, so the next decision, action, person, or words I chose would lend to better, more loving choices.

For example, comments about how much or how little I would eat triggered me because I thought someone was judging my body.

This observation made me realize I had more healing to do around accepting my body and being grateful for it. So I began to write what I appreciated about my body every day in a journal. Slowly, over time, I came to fully love my body—cellulite, “muffin top,” and all.

You can do this too. The first step is simply becoming aware of when you’re emotionally triggered, leaning into the “why” behind it all, and seeing what still needs to be healed.

5. Focus on kindness and helping others.

Choosing to switch my focus from “What’s wrong with me?” to “How can I give back?” was immensely powerful.

What made me see and feel my worth was helping others—giving a compliment, holding open a door, calling my grandma, starting a random conversation with the woman bagging my groceries, helping an elderly gentleman who had fallen get back up, extending an ear, a hug, and a tissue for a girlfriend after her long hard day.

By giving back, even in tiny ways, I saw how much of an impact I had. I saw I mattered. I saw I had the power to create happier moments for others and literally turn frowns upside down. And when you see that you’re capable of this, you can’t not see that you are worthy and deserving of love, including your own.

You can try this too with as much as a simple genuine compliment.

[faithandsurrender]

August 2, 2019

Today was a good day. No, I didn’t wake up between 7-8AM to go to the gym. I woke up around 9 and gave my dog another bath because the little guy has been scratching so much lately due to it being flea season. I’ve been trying to bathe him more to alleviate his itchiness and today I mixed a little bit of coconut oil with his shampoo in attempt to soothe his skin. After I took a shower and got ready for work.

A little bit before work, I checked my email and saw my former boss from the Christian bookstore had emailed me back. I had emailed him a little over a week ago, checking in on him because since the closing of our store, he and his family relocated from California to Florida. We found out about our store closing in mid-March, and in three-and-a-half short months, it was closed. Our team of ten wonderful people all had to look for new employment, and my boss and his family moved to Florida because it’s where his in-laws live. Before the closing of our store, he and I had a conversation about what we wanted to do next. He shared with me his desire to work for himself that way he could be his own boss and didn’t have to work under anybody. It’s been a month since their move to a new state and we hadn’t spoken in that time, but in his email he informed me that God has opened the door for him to own a couple of small businesses. This was such a praise report and an answer to prayer. As I was getting ready, I called one of my other former coworkers from the store and shared the good news with her. I also texted a few others that we worked with and we all shared the same thrill and excitement for our old boss. God is good, God is faithful.

I washed my hair for the first time since dying it on Tuesday. On day 1 of clean hair days I actually like to do my hair and make slightly more of an effort to look cute, so I did my hair and makeup. I finally bought myself new liquid eyeliner and I am a completely different woman with my winged eyeliner on, I didn’t even realize. For the last several months I have been sporting the no-eyeliner look (just because it takes at least a couple of minutes for me to be satisfied with my liner) and it sure feels good to be dolling myself up again.

I got to work and was off before I knew it. I was scheduled 11:30-3:30 again, just like yesterday, and again, just like yesterday, my boss asked me to leave early. It was actually about 2:50 when she told me I could count down and go home, and I think it’s because last week I went over in my hours so she’s trying to balance my hours out.

I picked up some beans, rice, and street tacos for me and my brother before making my way home. We ate together, I tidied up the house a bit, and I took a nap. I woke up when I heard my dad get home from work, and I made him up a quick dinner while he FaceTimed my mom who is currently in the Philippines. 

I spent the rest of my evening cleaning my room (finally) and it’s almost up to my standard of cleanliness. There are a few more things I need to put away, but for the first time in over a month, my chair is clear. I also plan on organizing under my bed and decluttering my closet more, but I definitely made headway today. This is the best I’d cleaned my room in quite some time and I must admit that it feels really nice in here right now. I also lit a candle and have my fairy lights on.

As I type away, I have How I Met Your Mother playing in the background. I’m gonna wash up, do today’s writing prompt, and head to bed.

[iamthebeth]

I’m writing this to have a record of my feelings. Our memories fade and are imperfect, but i don’t want to forget the events of the past couple weeks, even if they’re painful. 

I’ve noticed that I can be really bad at empathy, and maybe having a record of my emotions from the past week will help. Warning, it’s very long. (The equivalent of 6 single spaced pages.) Also, it involves people dying. 

March 28

I got a text while I was at work saying Hayley’s not doing well. We’re told to pray for a miracle. I feel choked up, but I keep a stiff upper lip and continue working. I tell my mom when I go home for a break between shifts. I’ve known that Hayley had health issues, but was never sure the specifics. We go on social media to find more. I go back to work with my phone on ‘do not disturb’ mode so that I can’t even feel the incoming texts. I show my mom the texts with details when I get home. She says she's sorry. With her words, a wave of emotions crash over me. I’m choked up but I don’t cry.

March 29

Momma texts us that Hayley isn’t suffering anymore. She passed away just a couple hours after we got the text the day before. I’m at work again, and maintain my stiff upper lip. After work I go visit my baby nephew. It cheers me up. I do not cry.

April 2

I pull up to Chick-fil-A and see Katie walking towards the restaurant with her kids, as well as the younger half of her siblings. I didn’t realize they would also be here, but I don’t mind. I go in and see that her in-laws are also here. Also a welcome surprise. As I set my stuff down, I hear Bob telling someone what a difficult year it’s been. I agree with him and Ellen asks if I am going to Hayley’s service on Saturday. I say, “Yeah, my old bible study was actually planning on going to a women’s conference at Amo’s church this weekend, so we’re all leaving early to drive to Hayley’s service together.” She’s glad to hear this. I go to the bathroom. When I come out she’s talking to someone else. I hope I get a chance to talk to her later. I want to ask how her health has been. 

April 4 6:41pm

We were standing around the kitchen island before our first circle group meeting when Corrina got an email. “EMTs are at the house right now, Bob is afraid that Ellen won’t make it.” They thought he was being dramatic but I had my doubts.

April 4 6:43pm

Momma sent a text to our group. “Pray for Ellen. She went down for a nap an hour ago and is not waking up. She’s had deadly high blood pressure for days and keeps going to the emergency room. Pray for her. Spread the word now. Pray right now.” This made us pay attention. We prayed. A thought crossed my mind, "What if she doesn't make it?" But i quickly dismissed it. I texted my family and sent my brother a message. (I knew he would be upset to not find out about this, no matter the outcome.) I finished eating my dinner, and we started our circle.

April 4 7:42pm

My mom texts me and my sister, asking if Brett was there. My sister texted no.

April 4 7:42pm

Our mom sent a forwarded message to us. My sister reads it to the group. I hadn’t even heard my phone buzz. Ellen had passed away. I sat there and stared at a spot on the wall. I could feel my eyes starting to water. Philip says we should pray. We bow our heads. I push Titus off the couch so he doesn’t bite me. Philip prays and I start to cry. Corrina calls Abby. She’s at their house. Corrina leaves to join her.

April 4 8:00pm

I text my old Bible study. I accidentally only texted a couple of them because we had two different groups going at the time.

April 4 8:05pm

 I text Cassie. I inform her of the text I received an hour ago and just now.

My sister asks if I told another one of our friends. I tell her who I’ve told and that I can't tell anyone else. My mind is mush. It took so much effort to send those texts. To spread the information I wanted everyone to know, but wanted to tell no-one. I was starting to numb, but still had tears in my eyes. My nose was clogged from a combination of my allergies and my tears.

At some point of us sitting there. Carissa asks if we want anything. She lists off some foods she has available or can quickly make. I decline but start to laugh a little. It reminds me of the example my roommates used of my bad comforting skills.

April 4 8:30pm

“We should get going. I still have to go to work in the morning.” We gather our things, grab a couple cookies for the road, and leave. I can feel a lump in my throat as I drive, I can feel the tears welling up, but I have to get home before I can cry. It’s only a couple miles. 

I get home and put my dirty dishes from dinner in the dishwasher. I see my mom go towards the front door. The tears are welling up again. I walk back toward the front door. My mom is holding my sister. She opens an arm to me and holds me too. I sob. My body shakes as she holds us and we cry together. Tears and snot run down my face. I blow a snot bubble as I try to breathe. 

I go upstairs and take a shower. My music stops at one point because my phone is ringing. I stick my head out and see that Cassie is FaceTiming me. I continue to shower. I sob. I’m cry so hard I start to cough. I cough so hard I worry I might throw up. The grief from this loss is overwhelming me in this shower. I remember the last time I lost someone unexpectedly. When I heard the news I wanted to go wash the bad news off. I realize that this time I get to wash the bad news off my body, but it doesn’t make me feel better. I step out of the shower, wrap a towel around my body, and call Cassie back.

April 4 8:47

Cassie answers the call. We talk as I get ready for bed. She sees me moving about the house from the bathroom to my bedroom to the bathroom to my parents room to the bathroom to the kitchen to the bathroom to my bedroom. I’m only able to keep one thought in my mind at a time, which means there’s a lot of backtracking for forgotten steps in my routine. We say goodbye and I try to go to sleep. It takes a while and I wake up a couple times. At one point I almost start crying again.

I had a dream that night. 

I was at an event. Bob and Ellen walked in together. I did a double take and just stared at Ellen. Then I looked at Momma with a look of disbelief. Was this whole thing just a horrible practical joke. She just looked back and said “I know”

I think it was after waking up from that when I almost cried. 

April 5 

I wake up exhausted. When I sit down to breakfast I open Facebook. The first thing I see is a post from her daughter. I immediately close Facebook with tears in my eyes. I vow not to go on Facebook for the rest of the day. I watch Netflix during breakfast instead. 

I go to work. Stiff upper lip. My coworker sees me sitting at a table and asks how I am. I shake my head. Tired? I shake my head again. She asks me what’s wrong. I don’t want to talk about it. She asks again. I tell her my friend took a nap yesterday and didn’t wake up. She hugs me. I cry. She tells me to sit, asks if I need water. I tell her that I have water with my things and I want to work. Another coworker sees me later and says I look tired. It’s true, so I don’t elaborate. It becomes my answer when people greet me.

I think of Ellen throughout the day. I have to be careful to not ruminate though, or I know I’ll start to cry. I feel like a zombie. My brain is mush. I don’t allow myself to have any emotions unless they’re positive, or I’m going to cry. Luckily it’s Fun Friday, so a large portion of the day is spent watching movies. I sit at an empty desk and watch Hotel Transylvania 3 while keeping an eye on my kid. It’s a good distraction. 

After work I go to the post office and worry they’ll be short with me. Just that small act would be enough to make me cry. Just imagining it is almost enough. 

I make into my subdivision and the tears begin to well up. I lie in bad and open Facebook. My feed is filled with posts about Ellen. There are literally no other posts on my feed. I read them all as I cry. I take off what remains of that morning’ s mascara.

I’m tired. I can’t stop thinking about her. I can't sleep when I’m thinking about her. I watch an episode of Brooklyn Nine Nine. When the episode ends I start it over to play while I take a nap. Having it play in the background gives me something to think about as I drift to sleep. I drift in and out of sleep, but the important thing is that some of the time I am sleeping, and for the entire half hour I am resting. 

I eat dinner with my parents. I invite my mom to come to the women's conference that night. She accepts and I realize that the time was remembering the time wrong. I don’t have time to put on makeup, only to pull a pair of pants out of the drier and grab a jacket. I pull up the information we need as my mom drives. Being late is stressful, but It’s calming not having to drive, knowing that it’s out of my hands. Really, I think I just don't have the energy to be anxious. A side effect of being a zombie. We arrive and it turns out we’re on time. The men serving all look so nice. The women attending all look fantastic. I walk stone faced with my mother and find seats for me and my friends. I go to the bathroom. I walk quickly, stone face. I return and my friends start to join us. 

Worship starts. I stand and start to sing, but I can’t. I try to mouth the words, but instead and just stand with tears rolling down my face. I cry for the entire first song. I cry for part of the second, but am able to start mouthing the words. By the end of the extended set, I am able to sing. The songs have a lot of emotions. And while my emotions don’t match that of the song, it’s lethargic to sing with all the emotions I am feeling. At the end of the night my friends and I talk about our plans for the next day, then part ways.

At home, I eat ice cream and use eye masks. My sister sent them to me in college for use after late night study sessions, but I never used them. Now seems like a good time. I go to bed. 

April 6

I wake up and feel fine. I quickly remember that Ellen is gone, but I feel fine. I have no explanation. I get ready for the day, put extra tissues in my purse, and leave. I go to the second day of the conference. My friends and I leave early to drive to Pleasanton. Sitting in a car together for over 2 hours makes it feel like we’re in high school again. We get to the funeral home at exactly one o’clock, but miss the driveway and have to go around the block. We end up being 7 minutes late. We exit the car laughing and talking about how much we have to pee. Amo points out that the doors to the funeral home are open and everyone can hears us. I point out that this is how Hayley knew us, why would we show up in any other way? During the service I get choked up, but I do not cry. After the service Momma tells us her view of the events from Thursday night. It hurts and I am sad but I am fine. At Hayley’s house we sit in the backyard reminiscing. Going into the house, the slideshow reminds me why we are here. There is a somber air.  

April 7

I sleep in later than usual because I’m going to the late service at Amo’s church. During worship my arm is out and my eyes are closed for part of it. My mother tells me that their service had a somber air. I am at peace and happy on my way to young adults that evening. I make sure not to come in with full energy like I did with the funeral the day before. Everyone else seems somewhere between ‘okay for now’ and ‘zombie’. Bill tells us about the seven stages of grief and what he thinks would and would not be helpful to the family. Will leads us through the ACTS prayer. I got choked up, but did not cry. We share memories of Ellen. As we sit around talking later, Zach realizes he didn’t say hi early and gets up and gives me a hug. It feels like it lasts 10 seconds and he says words of comfort. I realize how hard this is hitting everyone. Before I leave for the night, I give everyone there a hug. 

April 9

Tuesday is a long day. I am tired, but fine. 

Before dinner at Bible study, Darrin asks how everyone is. I want to say good, but I know I shouldn’t be good, so I stare at a spot on the floor and slightly nod my head. When he gets to me I just ask what part of the week he wants to know about. It’s accepted as a good enough answer. As we talk about prayer requests toward the end, most of us have at least one pertaining to Ellen and the aftermath. I talk about how I’ve been feeling good since Saturday, but I’m wary. I know grief comes in waves, but I thought I should have another wave or two by now. Lauren prays that I process Ellen’s death. I see this and note that it is an accurate summary of what I need. I need processing.

I go home and see the Chick-fil-A sauce from a week ago. It’s been one week since I saw Ellen. One week since I got that sauce. I start to get choked up. I give myself space to feel. I play “Supermarket Flowers”. The song always makes me cry. I cry, but not as much as I usually do to this song. I realize that I relate the song to my grandpa, but not Ellen. Over the next couple days I gave myself some space in the evening/night to feel sad and shed a tear or two. 

April 13

The service was today. When I walked in, Jen gave me a hug. She asked if I needed another one, and when she hugged me again I started to cry. I could feel as my body shook ever so slightly.  Mrs. Schrader says that she has been looking forward to today, but also dreading it. I completely understand the sentiment. We find our seats toward the back. It’s the perfect spot to the see all the people coming in. Some I know, some I don’t. I get to see a lot of old friends. I’m happy to see them, just not under these circumstances. I cried during the service. Multiple times. My body shook as I quietly cried. After the service I get to see more people. Talking to them helps lift the sadness.