#yet you've been '''''''looking for an apartment'''''''' for probably seven full months now and you show literally no sign of budging

[theladygazingatemptiness]

no shade but. @ [redacted]: why are you still here, exactly

[wendystales]

Memories -lrh (Chapter Two)

Memories (also on Wattpad)

Chapter One ※※※※※ Chapter Three

I open my eyes having my vision blur for a little. I blink a few times, getting a better look at the room I was in. Room? It was very bright, I look at the window and guess it must be around seven in the morning.

I glance around the room, seeing my mother lying on a two-seater sofa. I see my broken arm and the heart monitor wires attached to my chest.

“What the...?” I let the confusion in my voice die, for my dry throat. I see no cell phone near me to confirm the time or date, how long have I slept? I carefully seat down on the bed, so as not to hurt my arm, and call my mother, who doesn't hear me at first, making me raise my voice more, scratching my throat.

She gets up startled and, as soon as she sees me awake, comes quickly to my side. Her hands quickly grasp my face and she distributes several kisses across my cheeks.

“Thank God, you're awake! How are you? Do you need anything?” the bombardment of questions leaves me lost. “ I'll call the nurse.” she leaves the room before I can say anything.

God, I just wanted a glass of water and to understand what happened.

She returned with a nurse who came in smiling sympathetically. My mother held my hand, reassuring and comforting me.

“Hello, Miss McGonagall. I'm glad you're awake. How are you feeling?” she asks as she writes something down on her clipboard.

“Thirsty.” I announce, desperate for a glass of water.

“Oh, of course!” my mother takes a bottle of water from the small table next to the sofa and helps me to take a sip. Finally.

I turn my attention back to the nurse, now more relieved by the water.

“I am fine. A little sleepy and confused. And my arm is sore.”

“That's normal.” she continues writing down some things and fiddling with the equipment. I decide to end the mystery.

“I suffered a car accident, didn't I?” I ask, alternating my gaze between my mother and the nurse, who both look relieved.

“Yes, a drunk driver drove through the traffic light and crashed into your car. You only broke your arm and twisted your foot, besides some bruises.” the nurse explains, killing my curiosity.

Car accident. I remember being in the car, stopped at the light, but I don't remember the impact. Thank God I had survived and without many sequels.

“We thought that you might also have suffered a lost of memory, but that apparently wasn't the case.” my mother had a huge smile on her face.

“Still, we need to ask you some questions.” I turn my attention back to the nurse. “What is your full name?”

“Marnie Elizabeth McGonagall.” I answer immediately.

“Your birthday date?”

“October 17th, 1996.” I answer after thinking for a few seconds. Their smiles widen with each answer.

“How old are you then?”

“Twenty years old.” that's when the smile disappeared, but they didn't say anything.

“You slept for two days. What day is it today?” she asked attentively.

“Two days... I think today is day six.”

“What month and what year, dear?” This time, my mother asks the question.

“March 2017.” I arch my eyebrows, as if it were obvious. But from the look on their faces, I was wrong. I stare at my mother, seeing her with teary eyes.

“Mrs. Williams, please wait outside. I will pass the information to the doctor so that you can talk.”

I see my mother leave crying and get desperate. What is happening?

“Did I lose my memory?” I ask fearfully.

“We don't know yet. You just woke up, we need to take some time and see what happens. You will probably be going through some tests in a few minutes, so you need to be fasting still. After that I'll call a nurse to help you take a shower.”

She leaves and I find myself alone. Now more awake and aware, I notice near the window some vases of flowers, cards, and two happy-face balloons. I smile, feeling comforted by the affection.

A few minutes later, a nurse came in, taking me to the examination. It would be an MRI scan to see which areas of my brain were affected. I feel completely sick; what if I really had lost my memory? How many years have I lost?

However, before the examination, I would take a blood sample. So I went into a room and they sat me down in a very comfortable armchair. I hate blood test, just the sight of the needle makes me want to throw up. When this torturous part was over, they asked me if I preferred to go through the procedure sedated and I said no, I may not like to be in closed places, but to be pierced again is just too much.

I lay down on the gurney and they fixed me up with headphones so the noise wouldn't bother me, a blanket because it was so cold, and they put something like a mask over my head, only taller, like a cap, but hollowed out. At the same moment that the stretcher starts going into that hole, I close my eyes.

The procedure lasted about 30 minutes, and during this time I tried to stay calm and remember as many things as possible. Soon after, I was taken back to the room, finding my mother there with a nurse who would help me take a shower, it was what I wanted most.

I open my eyes and feel my body freeze when I see my image in the mirror. Not only because of the scratches, but also because my hair was short and lighter at the ends, I looked like a different person.

Another surprise, was when I saw a tattoo in the middle of my chest, taking the valley of my breasts and going all the way down to the bottom of them.

“Did you let me do this?” I ask my mother, while the nurse washes my hair.

“Marnie, you don't live with me anymore, you are an adult who pays your own bills and has your own life. You don't ask my permission for nothing else.” she laughs at my shocked face. I don't remember my job, or my apartment, I must have forgotten it for many years.

Her cell phone rings and she leaves the bathroom. The nurse continues to teach me how to take care of the cast. I take advantage of the moment alone and investigate my time in the hospital.

“Have many people come to visit me?” I ask as she begins to comb my hair.

“A lot!” she smiles sympathetically. “Yours friends came at all visiting hours and brought lots of balloons and teddy bears. The head nurse sent them home with half of them.” she recalls laughing. I didn't know I had so many friends besides Bethany.

“Did my boyfriend come?” I ask anxiously, after all, I was on my way to see him.

“It was hard to get him to leave. He spent the first 24 hours here, slept in the hallway and everything. You're a lucky girl.” she blinks at me. I feel my heart race. I just want to see him!

Again, I go back to the room and this time I stay. A breakfast arrived and I was starving.

“Porridge?” I ask disappointedly as I see the tray.

“You've been unconscious for two days, you can't want to eat a mountain of pancakes, you have to start slowly.” mom warns.

We’re both in the room, and it’s an awkward, tense silence. I could see a look of relief on my mother's face to see me awake, but deep inside, there was a glint of discomfort. I conclude that this is why she is avoiding looking at me. I finished my coffee against my will and straightened up, in order to get some answers.

“Have I really lost my memory?” I ask in a clear and direct manner. She looks at me with a mixture of indecision and weariness.

“I don't know, dear.” she moves closer to the bed, caressing my face. “You have a wrong date in your head, but the chance of it being temporary is huge, so stay calm and let's wait for the test results. Now, get some rest.” she gives me a kiss on the forehead before leaving the room.

I end up falling asleep after a few minutes of watching TV. I wake up to another nurse calling me, my results are out, and the doctor wanted to talk. She passes me to a wheelchair and takes me to the doctor's office. When the door opens, I see my mother with her eyes red, the doctor with a gentle smile and Luke Hemmings looking at me in affliction.

I don't hide my confusion. Luke Hemmings?! What a famous guy is doing here?!

“Is he the one who hit my car?” I ask readily, I wouldn't be surprised, these famous people drink and think the world is theirs.

Luke clenched his jaw and his gaze seemed lifeless, he was completely uncomfortable. I bet he didn't like the truth. I ignore his unnecessary presence and turn my attention back to the doctor.

“No, Miss McGonagall. I believe Mr. Hemmings is a very close friend.” I can see that the doctor is careful with his words.

Close?

When I look back at him, I see him hugging my mother on the side, who is struggling to hold back her tears.

“What?” I let out in a whisper, alternating my gaze between them and the doctor.

“Miss McGonagall, you suffered a car accident two days ago.” he begins.

“Yes, I suffered it.” I state.

“And as sequels, you broke an arm, twisted a foot, and, unfortunately, lost part of your memory.”

It was like a bomb falling on me. I had no protection or counterattack. The suspicion had evolved into truth, and now, I had nothing to do but feel angry and out of control of my own life.

“But I talked about it being a car accident, before anyone told me. I remember being in the car, I don't remember the impact, but I remember being in the car.” I try to find a way out.

“What were you going to do?” he asks curiously. I force my mind and remember.

“I was going to see my boyfriend.” before the doctor could say anything, a different hopeful voice steals my attention and I see Luke letting go of my mother, approaching both of us.

“ It's true!” He looks at the doctor. How does he know it's true? He doesn't even know me! “We were supposed to meet for lunch.”

What?! Where did this guy come from and how does he have the courage to say something like that? I look behind my mother for help, but she is focused on Luke and the doctor.

“We? I don't know you.” My voice comes out desperate, I was already losing patience with him.

“Marnie, what's your boyfriend's name?” Luke leans one hand on the table and one on my chair, and asks me in a desperate tone, as if his life depends on my answer.

I look deep into his blue eyes, annoyed that he is getting in the middle of my life. I fill my mouth and reply.

“Stephen Maynard! My boyfriend's name is Stephen Maynard.” I raise my eyebrows as if to say ‘happy?’

His jaw locked again, and his eyes watered. He bit his lower lip and left the room, slamming the door.

“What is his problem?” I'll ask my mother and the doctor.

“ I'll go see if he's all right.” mom leaves the room and I stay with the doctor, who doesn't seem to care much about everything that has happened.

“Miss McGonagall, you suffered a car accident two days ago and were unconscious during that time. I know it may be difficult to accept that you have lost some of your memory, but unfortunately that is what happened. Your brain deleted the last three years and maybe even an older part, we have no way of knowing yet. The point is that this amnesia can be momentary and perhaps today you will remember everything, or it can last longer.” he explains calmly.

“Could it last forever?” I ask fearfully.

It was strange to think that I don't remember three years of my life, no matter how hard I try, nothing comes to my mind. I became agonized and curious to know what I was forgetting. I didn't want to do any tests, I wanted to talk to my mom and dad, see Bethany, my best friend and gossip, I wanted to see Stephen, where is he when I need him? The nurse said he didn't leave my side.

The door opens and my mom walks in again, her eyes are still red, but she seems a little more calm. She sits down next to me and holds my hand.

“Yes, it can be permanent, so you shouldn't force anything. After discharge you will go back to your normal routine and maybe something will be a point to remember everything, or at least half of it. These amnesias are often just traumatic and take you back to other traumatic times, like they want to spare you from something.”

“These last three years have been a lot of change for you, dear, that makes total sense. You said you were going to see Stephen, remember for what?” she asks curiously.

“Our anniversary. I was going to drop off his present and celebrate. Where is he anyway? The nurse said he hasn't left my side. Even an annoying celebrity is here!”

“ I'll let you two talk for a while, I think we owe it to Miss McGonagall.” the doctor interrupts before my mother replies. “But, remember, miss, without forcing anything, you'll have plenty of time to find out everything. Excuse me.” he leaves the room, leaving us alone.

“Well?” I ask my mother, who looked totally uncomfortable.

“Honey, on that day that you remember, that last memory, you found Stephen with Bethany, how can I put it? In a not good situation. You broke up.”

I always knew that my parents didn't like Stephen, thought he was a bad influence, but to say that he cheated on me with my best friend bordered on the ridiculous.

“Mom…”

“I swear it's true, I know it hurts, and it really hurt to see you go through this. But honey, you overcame it, you overcame everything and you found a wonderful man who loves you, appreciates you, respects you and cares for you.”

“Such an amazing man who is not here.” I raise my free arm, supporting my argument, showing that only the two of us are in the room.

“My love, he is here, he has been here all the time, he only left last night because everyone insisted.” the look she gives me, wanting me to put all the pieces together makes my stomach turn.

“No!” I laugh, unbelieving what I was imagining, "Luke can't be my boyfriend.”

“Why not?” my mother's displeased tone surprises me, does she approve of him?

“I don't even know him. He's famous and I'm not. Where would we meet?” the pieces just don't fit together.

“Your life has changed a lot, dear, to the point that you meet him and his friends. To the point that you could afford this hospital.” really, my family couldn't afford a private room and all the tests that I would have to do. “Marnie, you have become a model.” I can imagine a bomb exploding in my head.

“That's a lot of information!”I cover my face, trying to take it all in.

“I'm sorry, honey, if I could only pass this whole situation to myself and let you off the hook.” she squeezes my thigh.

“I know, it's just so agonizing not remembering. I mean, did I yell at my 'boyfriend' and tell him I was with another guy? Another who in my mind is still my current one and who I still have feelings for?” I let out a desperate breath. I dry my tears, angry with myself and with the drunk who hit my car.

“Honey, it is only the first hours, calmly, we will tell you everything and you will get used to it, who knows, maybe remembering until everything is in place or close to it? It's not your fault, it's just a consequence! Everything will be fine, I promise you.” she hugs me and I allow myself to cry, her hand caressing my hair, giving me peace. “What matters is that you are alive.”

“What day is it today?” I ask after a few seconds.

“June 13th, 2020.” I feel the second bomb explode, it's very weird.

“Do you and dad like him?” I ask, curious.

“Very much, it was your best choice.” she smiles.

“And Dad, where is he?” her expression becomes distressed.

“Hm, he had to take a trip right on the day of the accident, but he is already trying to get back.”

Three years! That's what I had lost. Apparently my boyfriend, or rather ex-boyfriend, had cheated on me and I was with a world-famous and beloved guy, of whom I knew nothing but his name and that he was in a band, which had the underpants song.

I went back to the room and spent much of the afternoon trying to assimilate everything. I needed more information, to talk to more people. Deep down, I wanted to believe that this was a big theater, but I know that it is impossible. Unfortunately, I have lost my memory and my hands are tied trying to fit everything in and remember something.

The door opened and unlike what I had imagined, Luke came in holding a bouquet of gerberas and a box with a purple bow. He didn't expect me to be awake, and I didn't expect to be alone with him so soon.

“Sorry, I didn't know you were awake.” he says clumsily and a little lost, not knowing what to do with the box and the flowers.

“No problem, you can pretend I'm asleep, I don't want to disturb you.” he nods and I watch his movements.

I watch him exchange the yellow roses in the vase for the gerberas, my favorite flowers, and notice him collecting the cards and giving them in my direction.

“I believe you are very curious to read them.” he won't come close and I feel bad for that, he must hate me.

“Thank you.” I give my best smile, trying to smooth things over. Luke continues to hold the box, not knowing what to do.

“Hm, this... this little box, it's for you!” he extends the box, still away from the bed. ”Your old cell phone broke in the accident, and I bought this new one. Leah and I have already backed it up, it has all the information from the old one.”

“Leah?” I can' t help but question, as I open the little box and look at the brand new cell phone.

“Uh, yes, your best friend, the current one!” He is standing at the foot of the bed and avoids looking at me.

“I don't know the password.” I say as the screen lights up.

Luke approaches, still hesitant, and positions himself beside me. He unlocks the screen and starts to show me where everything is, pictures, videos, messages and contacts. I stop for a moment and pay attention to him, while he is still talking.

With his face very close, I smell his perfume and I like the smell. I notice his long, very light hair, a beard showing signs all over his chin and jaw. Luke is handsome, I'm not impressed that I had a crush on him, but why did he have a crush on me?

I notice that he notices me staring at him, and, before he turns around, I turn my gaze to the cell phone. I feel him analyzing me, maybe trying to find the girl he loved inside me.

I take courage and stare back at him, my heart racing and my stomach churning, but not from happiness or anxiety of wanting something to happen, but from wanting nothing to happen. Even though he was a handsome and caring guy, I couldn't feel something for Luke, at least not before I worked things out with Stephen.

“Sorry about earlier today.” I whisper, not amused by my behavior.

“No need to apologize. You're just going through a very big shock.” He reassures me.

“Still, I want you to know that I'm not like that.” Luke looks at me with a raised eyebrow. “But you already know, of course.” I cover my eyes, wanting to die. Luke lets out a laugh that makes me laugh along with him.

“I know it will be difficult, but I don't mind hearing you tell me all about you again.” I can't sustain the look, it intimidates me. “By the way…” he turns away and goes to a backpack on the sofa and pulls out a book. “I brought it so you would have something to read. You read it last year and said it was so good you wish you could forget to read it again.” as soon as Luke finishes speaking, I can't stand his choice of words and start laughing and he seems to notice, becoming embarrassed.

“That's fine, thank you very much.” I oblige and allow myself to lift my body, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

He turns more red and sits down on the couch, leaving me with my presents. I glance over the novel, reading the synopsis that catches my attention, ‘When It Happens’. I grab my cell phone and go into my social medias, startling myself by seeing my insta full of pictures in Italy, clothing campaigns and some pictures with him. I look up to Luke, who is wearing glasses and reading a book.

It’s strange not to be attracted to him, but to feel peace, as if everything is right. I’m sorry that I don't remember him, since he seemed like such an amazing guy and so kind to me. My mind comes up with a huge list of questions I want to ask him. How did we meet? How long have we been together? Do we fight a lot? But at the same time that I am insanely curious to talk to my boyfriend, his presence intimidates me; after all, he is a famous guy. Faced with this, I keep quiet.

I turn my attention to the thousands of cards on my lap, reading one by one. Many texts wishing me better, saying that if I woke up some would cut the hair, or change the color, among other promises. Leah, Calum, Ashton, Kyleen, Noah, Michael; so many names, but none that I feel familiar with. I need to see Stephen.

“Could you check with the nurse for something I can eat?” I ask timidly, not wanting to get in his way. However, Luke quickly gets up and provides my order.

I take advantage of the moment alone and dial the number I still remembered, after three rings Stephen's voice comes on and for the first time in hours, I feel in control of the situation.

“Hi, it's Marnie!” I feel my heart racing so fast I think about the possibility that I'm going to throw up.

“Wow, this is a call I never thought I would get again.” I don't answer because I feel bad, apparently the ending wasn't good at all. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“Hm.” I clear my throat. “I need to see you, to talk, actually. I don't know if you know, but I was in an accident recently.”

“Yes, I read about it.”

“So, the problem is that I lost part of my memory and, well, the last thing I remember is that I was on my way to your house, to celebrate our anniversary.”

“What anniversary?” his voice is curious and cautious.

“The one in 2017.” the line becomes dead silent and I don't wait for an answer. “Look, I am really lost and I need to talk to you and understand everything.”

“Are you sure your parents and your amazing boyfriend haven't already told you everything?” the mocking tone annoys me a little.

“Honestly? I didn't really believe what my mom told me. Would you mind coming to the hospital early tomorrow morning? I'll probably be discharged in the afternoon and well, I know some people won't be happy to see you here.”

“No problem, it would be an honor to tell you the truth. See you tomorrow, Lizzie.”

The affectionate nickname he always used for me makes my stomach turn. Stephen never liked my name and the fact that he didn't know how to make a nickname out of it, so he called me Lizzie.

I don't know if I did the right thing by calling Stephen, but I need answers and to understand everything that had happened between us, until I came into Luke's arms.

Luke...

Where did we bump into each other and intertwine? He is a famous guy, has great friends, could date any famous girl, a fan, someone who knows him well and wants him, why me? The thoughts drown me as I look at another picture of us on his profile.

“Sorry for the long delay, my mom called, she wanted to hear from you.” Luke's cheeks are flushed and the glasses that used to occupy his face are now hanging from the collar of his shirt. “The nurse will bring some soup in a moment.” I wrinkle my nose and mouth. I don’t like soup. “I know, but that's what the doctor ordered.”

It scares me how he knows me and how I know nothing about him, other than that he sings the underwear song and that he sang with One Direction.

[starrysebastians]

Of blood, sweat and mishaps

Summary : you’ve had a long journey in order to fight your way back home, and home sometimes holds surprises. Destroyer!Chris x reader, description of violence and sex. (i’ve never written smut before i have literally no idea what i’m doing don’t mind me) 

This was written for @baezen​’s the other guys writing challenge, with the prompt : i really wish you told me your mother was in town ; thank you for giving love to these other guys, I hope this will do!! 

It’s already dark outside when you leave the building, duffel bag hastily swung over your shoulders without you even registering its weight on your bruised body — you’ve been carrying this thing for over a month and you’ve become immune to it. Rather, your shoulders already constantly hurt and it doesn’t matter anymore because you just want to go home and spend an entire hour in a hot bath to wash away all the sweat and blood and dirt of the last few weeks.

"Hey!" You stop in your tracks, a tilt of your head being the only sign that you have actually heard and acknowledged the voice of your colleague rushing behind you, the precinct doors slamming behind the both of you. "Are you sure you don’t need a lift?"  

Sam catches up with you, a little out of breath, probably because he took the stairs and tried to beat you to the door. You smile, shaking your head. He’s looking you up and down and you know he wants to say you clearly are in no state to drive, or even to be standing upright. And driving you to your appartement isn’t a problem because it’s on his way to his own.

"It’s okay. I think I’m gonna crash at Chris’, it’s closer anyway." You shift from one foot to another, transferring the weight of your body and your weapons on the leg that hurts the least. Sam’s face morphs into understanding, a knowing smile stretching on his lips. You want to roll your eyes, but you can’t help but chuckle.

"Right." He nods, taking a step back, then lifts up his chin. "Take the week off, you deserve it."

"Wasn’t planning on asking for permission, but I’m glad to know my break was approved."

He snorts, probably because you both know it’s true that you never ask for permission and you’re one of those agents who are literally their own boss, to their partners and bosses’ despair. It usually works out, and you’re one of their best. You’re about to cross the street when Sam’s voice echoes again in the busy street, slightly muffled by the sound of cars, honks, suitcases rolling on the ground, hitting holes and bumps on the pavement, the same ones that make people trip on their own feet.

"He was worried about you." You’re not facing your literal partner in crime anymore, and you don’t turn around to show him your little smile, but he probably knows anyway.

Green lights turn to red and you breathe in before crossing the street, taking in the sky and the stars starting to appear and twinkle around a full moon, clouds almost perfectly still on this day — it was sunny, apparently, but you spent the first half of the day fighting your way home, the other half writing a report and delivering long-awaiting data and compromising documents to the Bureau. Then you had to spend another hour promising everyone you were alright and not injured to the point where you had to go to a hospital, and now you could finally go home.

And in that case home isn't necessarily your cosy apartment, the one you had just finished re-painting and decorating before you left for your mission, but as cheesy at it sounds, home might have become a person.

It takes you less than fifteen minutes to reach his apartment complex, but at least seven to cross the stairs when you realize the elevator still hasn't been fixed, painfully dragging your battered body up the wooden steps, a hand pressed to your ribs and stomach, and finally, another three minutes to dig out your spare key from that little pocket in your duffel bag, hand shaking as you miss the keyhole a few times before getting it right.

You don’t bother knocking or making your presence officially known because even though you've been gone for a month no one else has that key and he probably heard that your mission was over anyway. The slam of the door echoes behind you and you audibly groan, voicing your pain and exhaustion for the first time today.

"Honey I’m home," you call out sarcastically, letting your duffel bag hit the floor with a loud thump, slowly shrugging your leather jacket off — it falls from the coat hanger as you turn around but you don’t bother picking it up. Your body wouldn’t let you. "Remember when I said I was going on a small mission that would only take a few days? Well I was wrong."

Something drops on the kitchen table. A knife, a fork, a spoon — whatever, but something drops and clings and you hear him cough. A chair scrapping against the floor. You enter the bathroom. You smirk at your reflection in the mirror, splashing your face with water and watching droplets of blood trail down your cheeks and neck, hitting your already stained shirt.

"Turns out, it was the same group of freaking mad scientists we thought we dismantled last time. You know, that time Sam got shot?" You turn the faucet off.  "So I had to stay undercover the whole month." Hands all dried up, hair tied into a messy bun. A band-aid covering the cut on your forehead. Cream on your nose and bloody lip. "So. Yeah. That wasn’t planned."

You exit the bathroom, passing the entrance again, carefully avoiding tripping on your discarded combat boots lying on the wooden floor. They're full of mud and there is probably a lot of blood that you can't see. It’s usually very neat and clean here, all sorts of shoes lined up and in their place, a spotless wooden floor that contrasts with the white walls, and Chris would probably scold you if you didn't have a valid excuse right now.

You sigh, feet following the noise. "And my cover got blown yesterday. It was honestly one of the hardest missions I have ever been on." You shiver, pausing for a second as you close your eyes and try to shake flashbacks and images off your mind. You clear your throat, plastering a smile on your face even though Chris can't see you yet.

"Anyway — " There’s a small table right at the entrance of the living room, where you drop your gun and badge with a deafening bang.

There’s a small shit that’s being muttered over and over again but that you don’t really register, still not looking up. " — now that I killed them all I’m allowed to discuss secret details — remember their boss, Helmer? That was a nasty fight, ugh. I had to shoot him at point-blank range and I think I’ve still got pieces of his stupid brain in my hair." You shudder. "Ugh." You massage the back of your neck, rolling your head from left to right, cracking your bloody knuckles, while taking in the smell of his cooking with closed eyes.

You follow the smell, smiling softy as you enter the kitchen.

"Hey!" Chris rushes out of the room at the same time you step in, eyes wide as he takes in your form, his hands gently grabbing your forearms, caging you. Gently, tenderly, as his fingers run on your skin, but with a grip that feels urgent.

"Hey," you reply more softly, your voice still raspy. You blink, head titled to the side, grabbing onto him as well. Your hands find his toned stomach, relishing the warmth you have missed as you sigh contently. You refrain from resting your forehead on his chest, remembering the blood still splattered on your face and burning your skin, and the smell that has been invading your senses ever since you escaped literal hell.

So you gently cup his face with your hand, thumb brushing against his skin before stepping aside in order to enter the kitchen. Chris' arms reach out to you, in an attempt to keep you from entering the room, but you slip out of his embrace.

"Wait — "

"Oh — "

Your breath gets stuck in your threat, everything going still around you. You can’t even gasp or express your surprise, because every single bone and cell in your body has gone completely rigid. You stand here by the door, Chris' arms still outstretched in vain behind you, a new set of eyes staring back at you.

"You're… — " You gulp. No. “I didn't know you had company.” 

Not like this. It can't go like this. This gaze is unblinking, confused, curious, disgusted as it seems to scrutinize your outfit — ripped combat pants looking huge compared to your small feet and their dirty socks stained with mud and dust. Crumpled white shirt — more red than white. There's a wound on your stomach that won't stop bleeding. Arms painted red, blue and black with scratches and bumps and dirt smeared across your skin. Swollen lips parted and face sporting what probably looks like the stupidest facial expression ever.

Your hand find the back of your neck, angrily scratching your already chafed skin as you feel the discomfort settle into your chest, until you hear Chris clear his throat behind you, hand gently peeling your fingers off your skin, then sliding down to rest on the small of your back. You wince and it doesn't go unnoticed.

"Y/N," Chris sports a smile that looks very painful, mentally and physically. "Mom. Mom, Y/N. My colleague." A side glance. “And girlfriend.” 

There’s a small beat of silence where you think you’re going to pass out. She manages to look so composed despite her eyes literally screaming terror and horror and get this woman out of my son’s appartement ; and you, the FBI agent, look like a deer caught in headlights, a stuttering mess, shoulders dropped in despair. Maybe she would do a better job at being an undercover agent.

"I - shouldn’t shake your hand. Or, touch you...at all. I think you can guess why. See why. Clearly see why," your voice wavers. "But, um. It’s very nice to meet you. Ma’am. I should probably take a shower." You turn around, avoiding Chris' gaze, but only taking a few steps before stopping and turning back to him, resignation painted on your features.

You sigh, and try to whisper as you add : "I didn’t want to go to the hospital but I kinda need you to stitch me up right now." His blue eyes go to your stomach and his hand to his forehead, rubbing it tiredly.

"Yeah," he nods before twisting his body to face his mother, still quietly sitting at the dinner table. "Mom, I need to take care of her. We'll be here in half an hour, okay?"

You don't wait for her answer before heading straight to the bathroom, sitting on the toilet seat with your eyes closed and lips in a thin line. You hear his feet on the bathroom tiles, the sound of his dress shirt ruffling as he crouches down in front of you, palms spreading warmth on your aching thighs.

"Hey," he mutters again, soft eyes looking up through his lashes as you open your own. The beginning of a smile and a small greeting is quickly turned into a wince as his fingers gently lift the hem of your top, to fabric sticking to your skin. "Sorry."

You stay silent, sighing and hissing and biting your lower lip as your eyes stay glued to the ceiling. Chris works in silence, like he always does, and like you always do when the roles are reversed. What is there to talk about? You both know it hurts, you both know the other is sorry that they're hurting you, and it's part of the job. But the silence isn't really about your wounds right now, and you're too mortified to even glance at his face. His bottom lip is probably stuck between his teeth, eyebrows set into a focused frown, hands steady as yours still tremble from this encounter.

"All done." Hands gently pressing a bandage to your wound then sliding back to your thighs, a sigh escaping his lips.

You meet his gaze and there's this small pause where you gaze into someone's eyes and both of you are serious but you don't know if it's truly serious or if you should laugh. You raise your eyebrows, slowly, gradually, until a smirk makes its way on your fellow agent's lips.

"You do have bits of…red stuff…in your hair."

You chortle, throwing your head back, tension in the shoulders easing.

You put your hands on his shoulders as your legs spread to let him get closer to you, between your knees, and as you look down to him and his locks you feel a sense of comfort wash over you - it's been a month, and you’ve missed his hair and the smell of his shampoo.

"You could have warned me," you say. Fingers trail along his neck, beard tickling your palm and fingers. Traces of his last undercover mission are almost gone - shaven head and this sort of big goatee. It wasn’t your favorite look on him ; and now he’s gone back to this softer version of himself.

"Yeah, well, that’s kinda hard when you disappear undercover for a month, right?"

He does have a point. He holds your gaze for a moment, a slight crease between his brows, and you exhale softly, watching as he looks down to your bare stomach, bloody shirt discarded on the cold floor.

"I'm sorry. You know how it works."

"Yeah, I do."

A small pause, where you both get closer, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging, scratching.

"Maybe you can make it up to me."

"I have bits of brain in my hair." Chris' lips find the sensitive spot behind your ear, along your neck, your collarbones. Protests dying away and replaced by whimpers, already desperate for more. It has been a long month.

"Good thing we're in the bathroom, right?"

Hot breath on your skin, face nuzzling between your breasts, down your stomach, carefully avoiding your bandage as your back arches. It doesn't take long for you to find yourself pressed against a tile wall, legs wrapped around his bare body, limbs quivering - pleasure, the exhaustion of the day and the last month.

The sound of water hitting your bodies before crashing on the floor is enough to conceal your frantic heartbeats, strangled whimpers and mutters, feverish pleas. A fuck escapes your lips in the form of a low moan, Chris’ lips crashing into yours in an attempt to hold in the sound. A hungry kiss, sweet, loving, yearning.

"I've missed you - so - much." It comes out as three little gasps, matching each thrust into your body, each time your back hits the wall, each time you feel like you're finally complete. The pull in your chest, heart - it's so fierce. It almost hurts, how much you've missed him.

"Every day - " A muffled moan, fingers digging into the skin of his tense back. "I was just trying - to come back to you."

Skin prickling and tingling as droplets of water follow the curve of your tangled bodies, chills running down your spines, he buries his face into the crook of your neck as the last thrust takes all the strength that was left in your body. And as you're left quivering and panting and heaving, in this daze, there's this shared gaze that holds a thousand moments - everything it took to get here. Dodging, hitting, ducking, kicking, shooting, stabbing. Blood splattered on your face, the taste of iron in your mouth, the smell of death forever rooted in your senses. The lethal instinct that overtakes your whole body and mind when you have to fight your way home.

A throaty laugh resonates in the bathroom, traces of blood on the floor soon wiped clean, sewing kit back to the white closet right above that plant you insisted on buying specifically for his bathroom, ruined shirt thrown into a corner as if the laundry basket wasn't right next to him - you don't comment on that, relishing the feeling of a warm towel on your skin with your eyes closed and head thrown back. Different moans this time, as you get dressed painfully.

It takes a few minutes for someone to talk again, steam still fogging up the room, warmth embracing you. The mirrors are misty, and so is your mind. You roll your head from right to left, make your neck crack, stretch as far as your body lets you.

"Well," Chris drawls out lazily, visibly fighting a smirk. "I have to go back. I suppose you want to stay in my room and avoid further humiliation?"

You huff, dragging a hand across your face. "Scared I'm gonna start another extremely graphic depiction of my mission? I bet she wants to hear more about bits of scattered brain."

You wince as your hear yourself - it's gross.

"I really wish you had told me your mother was in town."

[sammyjadedavis]

Marrying Into The Lothbrok’s

Chapter one,

Daughter Of Harald Fine Hair

Ragnar's Point Of View

In my life I've seen many things death and life, felt pain and love and I've been given sons just like the Gods promised but I also have one daughter. All of my sons are in relationships but one, Bjorn. Ubbe has Margrethe and they've been married for about three years now, Hvitserk and Thora who have been married for two years, Sigurd who has been dating Thryi for about six or seven months now and my youngest son Ivar is dating Freydis and has been for almost four months but my eldest son has not been in a relationship since he was in high school and even then it was only for a few months. My daughter is engaged which scares me more then any of my sons marrying because Gyad is my only daughter, she's getting married to Toke. Toke is the one who is in a different gang to my family but his in the Danes gang instead of the Vikings.

For years we've been allies with the Danes but Harald has always kept his daughter out of the business till the start of this year, she's been coming to more and more of the events, since my son needs a wife I'm going to make it her. Torvi has been coming to the business meetings to, when her father is away it's not her brother who speaks for their father in his absence but her. She's got her own businesses and helps run all of her father's business even the gang related ones. She makes her own furniture, she owns a chain of restaurants, a chain of clothing shops, a chain of design stores, a few hotels, some resorts, three wineries and even a few wedding and party planning business, yet she's never been married or in a relationship that the press have followed.

"Mr Lothbrok, Mr Fine is here for you, do you want me to send him in?" My assistant asked me all I did was nod and she sent him in.

"Why am I here Ragnar?" Harald asked while walking around looking at all the books on my selves.

"As you know my son is yet to marry, and I know that your daughter is not married nor spoken for, so I wish to make a deal with you. I want our children to marry. My son Bjorn and your daughter Torvi." I said while looking at the picture that is always on my desk, one is my family with Lagertha the other my family with Aslaug, hopefully one day there will be a photo on this desk of my Grandchildren, if I am to have any.

"You want your son to marry my daughter. Why? Because you are Ragnar Lothbrok and there is always a reason behind everything you do." Harald was a smart man but I was smarter and I've had more experience in life then he has.

"I want grandchildren from all of my children not just a few, I've seen Bjorn watching Torvi at the last few events but it is not that which has court my attention with your daughter it is the fact that she's only twenty four and owns many businesses many which I do business with such as her wineries that I use as suppliers for my bars, night clubs, pubs, restaurants, resorts and even some of my hotels, she's only owned them businesses for a few months now and she's got more of a profit then even I did when I started in the world and she owns more then just a few wineries, I think that she will be good for my son and good for my other sons wives who are still not used to this world but she's basically a Princess of this world just like my own daughter is. It is not like she will be alone because Toke is also marrying into this family." I told Harald who was now seated in the chair across from me.

"We have a deal but my daughter is still going to be working but if your son stops her from doing so I will let her leave him as will you, if your okay with that then we have a deal." Harald told me while looking down at the photos on my desk some of my children and my wives other of my friends and the last is a picture of my whole family when I was a child.

"I can not say that I will let her run her business if she is ever pregnant but she will be able to run her companies and do what she pleases to unless it is being unfaithful to my son. I just we have a deal now and I guess we are now going to be family." I told Harald before shaking his outstretched hand and that was the start of the deal that would make my son have a wife, hopefully give me grandchildren and make my family have even more full. I know Lagertha may yell at me a bit from this deal but once she sees that it's Torvi she will not care, hopefully.

"Goodbye Ragnar I'll see you at the event tomorrow where my daughter will be sending the whole night with your son, then the next event or outing she will be wearing a ring."

"That she will, I'll see you tomorrow night Harald." I told Harald who then left not looking back.

"Ulf call my son, tell him I need to speak with him." Ulf nodded before calling my son, who soon came into my office taking the chair across from me that Harald had only left a few minutes before hand.

"Why am I here father?" Bjorn asked me knowing that that I would not ask him here without it being important because he was in the middle of a meeting.

"Your getting married." I saw Bjorn look a me with a face of pure shock.

"What do you mean I'm getting married?" He just looked up at me in the eyes as every word left his mouth.

"You will marry the daughter of Harald Fine Hair and you will be faithful to her, tomorrow night at the event you will be with her the whole night, you will leave with her. Make everyone believe that the two of you have been together for the passed two years but you've kept it private then you will start spending more time with her post photos if you have to, she is going to be apart of our family and you will make her feel welcome, she owns her own businesses and she will keep working when you two are married." I told my eldest son who just sat there looking at me with his mouth hanging open.

"I do not want to marry her." He told me only for me to shake my head no,

"You will marry her because it is what I wish for you to do, you are the only child of mine who is not in a relationship or married. Do not fight me on this Bjorn, you will not win, my son." Bjorn just nodded before leaving stopping at the door to look at me and I told him something that I've been feeling since Lagertha and mine's marriage ended.

"Happy isn't every, you are more common to be unhappiness then happiness so just live your life with Torvi." I told him then he left probably to go and try finish his work for the day then he'll probably go out with his brothers for the night, maybe Halfdan and Erik too.

Harald's Point Of View

"Torvi, you are getting married soon." I told her as I walked into her office at one of her wineries.

"Since when was I getting married?" My daughter asked while looking up from her paper work of some sorts, looking down at her lap top I saw Ragnar Lothbrok's name in her inboxes.

"Since I made a deal with Ragnar Lothbrok, you will marry his eldest son Bjorn Lothbrok. You can still own all your businesses and run them but you must marry him." My daughter just kept on working then she looked up at me and asked.

"Is there any way for me to get out of this or have you signed away my future."

"You are marrying Bjorn and there is no way out of it." She looked up at me and said,

"Then you are now only my father in blood and name nothing else and you will not give me away Halfdan will, hell I'd even let Ragnar Lothbrok give me away because at least he was not willing to sell me in away. So after today I'm only your daughter in name and because we share the same blood." She told me and I never thought such a thing would come out of her mouth but I guess I was wrong.

"You've been dating for the passed two years and tomorrow at the event you will be at his side all night you will arrive with him and leave with him. Goodbye my daughter I will see you tomorrow night." I told her before leaving her to finish her day of work and hoping that she will let me back into her life one day.

Originally posted on Wattpad @sam5943

[foursprout-blog]

"You Grow Up Wanting To Be Luke Skywalker, Then Realize You've Become A Stormtrooper For The Empire"

New Post has been published on http://foursprout.com/wealth/you-grow-up-wanting-to-be-luke-skywalker-then-realize-youve-become-a-stormtrooper-for-the-empire/

"You Grow Up Wanting To Be Luke Skywalker, Then Realize You've Become A Stormtrooper For The Empire"

Authored by US Army combat veteran Daniel Crimmins via Upriser.com,

You grew up wanting so bad to be Luke Skywalker, but you realize that you were basically a Stormtrooper, a faceless, nameless rifleman, carrying a spear for empire, and you start to accept the startlingly obvious truth that these are people like you.

Question: How do you Americans as a people walk around head held high, knowing that every few months your country is committing a 9/11 size atrocity to other people. Imagine if the 9/11 terror attacks were happening in America every few months. Again and again, innocent people dying all around you. Your brothers and sisters. For no reason.

Daniel Crimmins from U.S. Army 3rd Infantry Division answered:

Many of us are unable. Many of us watched 9/11, and accepted the government and media’s definition of the attack as a act of war rather than a criminal action. A smaller portion, drifting along passively thought a major war was coming, that people we knew were going to fight and die. Some of us maybe worried about our younger brother being drafted, despite being in college. Now, it seems stupid, but in the 72 hours after 9/11, some Americans, maybe suffering from depression, certainly with a mind shaped by comic books and action movies, ate up the “us vs. them” good vs. evil rhetoric spouted by the cowboy in chief. After all, he was the president, and no matter how bright you might think yourself, you can still be swayed by passion and emotion, led to terrible decisions.

Some of us, therefore, left our dorm rooms, and walked down Main Street to the recruiter’s office. Some of us were genuinely surprised the office wasn’t full to bursting of young men eager to avenge their fallen countrymen. Some of us were genuinely surprised when we had to push the recruiter to stop trying to sell desk jobs and just let us join the damn Infantry.

Image via Upriser.com

Some of us got enlisted, then, and went down to Georgia, head high to mask the anxiety and fear they might have helped. Perhaps some number of Americans in this situation discovered that maybe it hadn’t been the best idea, but would be goddamned if they were going to admit it, and let everyone back home smuggly remark on how right they were.

So they persevere. They learn to work as a unit, to look past personality issues, to see each other as Soldiers rather than as a race, or economic status, or any of the other things people hate about each other. They learn to kill.

Then some of these people, perhaps while sitting hungover in the platoon area in the Republic of Korea hear that we have invaded Iraq. They have “Big Scary Bombs”, and Saddam Hussein, the secular Arab dictator had somehow colluded with the devoutly religious Osama Bin Laden to attack the US. They hated our freedom, you see.

Then some of these young American men might transfer back to Georgia and be assigned to the 3rd Infantry Division, and end up in Iraq in January of 2005. And maybe these kids, still drunk on Fox News and fantasies of glory and renown being enough to win their ex-girlfriends back, are excited to go to Iraq. Sure, we hadn’t found any WMDs yet, and we had Hussein in custody, but they were still somehow a threat and had to be dragged kicking and screaming into Jeffersonian democracy. Inside every dirka is a good American, yearning to be free.

So you fight. You kill. Watch friends die. Its usually quick, almost never quiet, but for the rest of your life, when you remember sitting at the bar with them, they’re blown open. You picture the nights you spent downtown at Scruffy Murphy’s, but instead of the stupid hookah shell necklace, your boy’s jaw is blown off, and his left eye is ruined, and he’s screaming.

You fight, you kill, you watch friends die, and you notice a distinct lack of change. You kick in doors and tell terrified women to sit on the floor while you and your friends ransack their home, tearing the place apart, because they might be hiding weapons. There is no reason to believe this house in particular is enemy, same for the next one, and the one after that, or the seven before; they just happened to be there, and maybe they had weapons. Probably not, they almost never did. There were a few times when we had deliberate raids based on solid intel and we’d turn up some stuff, but generally we were just tossing houses because we could.

Then maybe your FISTer [field artillery forward observer] forgets to carry the remainder, and drops a mess of mortars on the village your supposed to protect. Maybe the big Iraqi running at you screaming was just mentally ill. Of course, you won’t know this until after you’ve put seven rounds through his rib cage, and his wailing, ancient mother is cradling his body, spitting at you.

Maybe when you get back to the FOB [Forward Operating Base], the Platoon Sergeant tells you you did the right thing; next time, it might be a suicide bomber. They tell you it was an honest mistake, it wasn’t your fault. They tell you to go get some chow, take a shower if the water works, and sleep it off. You did good work that day, apparently.

Chris Hondros’ well-known “One Night in Tal Afar” photograph (Getty Images) showing the aftermath of a checkpoint shooting – Samar Hassan, 5, screams after her parents were killed after their car unwittingly approached a US Army checkpoint at dusk in Tal Afar, Iraq.

During chow, the TV is on AFN, and they are rebroadcasting some Fox News show, and you’re hearing about drone strikes, and all the great things we’re doing, and you can’t help but see that poor dumb assholes face, looking past his mother as he bleeds to death. He’s in pain, obviously, but he has the most perfectly confused look on his face. He doesn’t comprehend what’s happening. Little more hot sauce on your eggs doesn’t really help.

Then you realize you haven’t seen anything to support the idea that these poor fuckers are a threat to your home. You look around and you see all he contractors making six figure salaries to fix your shit, train Iraqis, maintain the ridiculous SUVs the KBR dicks ride around in. You consider the fact that every 25mm shell costs about forty bucks, and your company has been handing those fuckers out like shrapnel flavored parade candies. You think about all the fuel you’re going through, all the ammo and missiles and grenades. You think about every time you lose a vehicle, the Army buys a new one. Maybe you start to see a lot of people making a lot of money on huge amounts of human suffering.

Then you go on leave, and realize that Ayn Rand has no idea what the fuck she’s talking about. You realize that Fox News and Limbaugh and John McCain don’t respect you or your buddies. They don’t give a fuck if you get a parade or a box when you get home, you’re nothing to them but a prop.

Then you get out, and you hate the news. You hate the apathy, and you hate the murder being carried out in your name. You grew up wanting so bad to be Luke Skywalker, but you realize that you were basically a Stormtrooper, a faceless, nameless rifleman, carrying a spear for empire, and you start to accept the startlingly obvious truth that these are people like you.

Maybe your heart breaks a little every time some asshole brags about a “successful” drone strike.

Your statement is correct enough; if all of America was one dude, that dude would not give a shit about the little brown people we’re burning and crushing and choking to death. We aren’t all like that, but it makes me incredibly, profoundly sad to see what my country actually is.

Some of us care, and I think there are more every day.