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barbasbodaciousbeard · 3 years

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IF You Love Someone, Let Them Go: Part 5

Summary: Since starting with SVU, Sonny hadn’t kept much terribly close to the chest. The squad knew about his family, growing up on Staten Island, the classes at Fordam. What was hidden was why he didn’t date. Sonny Carisi was also separated from his childhood sweetheart, a separation neither ever took to divorce. They had the same haunts. They’d grown up neighbors. Their paths crossed every few months, and divorce talks would turn into reminiscing would turn into a night spent together, sometimes sex sometimes just talking until the early morning. It always ended with one of them waking up alone however. How will that change when the squad finds out?

Pairings: Sonny Carisi x Original Character,

1 - 2 - 3 - 4

March 2015

“You’ll see me two times in three weeks,” Victoria smiled, wine in hand as she settled in the seat beside Sonny. It was Tommy and Bella’s engagement party, which Gianni was treating as a bridal shower. The whole engagement would only have been three months, and it seemed the two younger Carisis had cost her the months of parties and planning Gina and Teresa had given her. At least Sonny and Victoria had gotten married in a church a year after they eloped. Tommy and Bella would be getting married outdoors, while she was pregnant. Everyone pretended not to notice the slightest bit of a bump, easily confused for weight gain if you didn’t know, when Gianna was around before fussing over Bella the minute she left.

“I’m a lucky bastard.”

“I hope you told your squad.”

“We’re all going out the Saturday before. I’m doing it then.”

“Really pushed it off, huh?” she asked, and he didn’t like the hurt she was trying to hide.

“The cases got heavy during the holidays. And then we busted up a sex ring and I was undercover. That also felt like a weird time. I kinda realized there wasn’t going to be a good one.”

“Yeah. Tommy and Bella inviting them kinda twisted your arm, huh?”

“Yeah. But it’s good. The last step.”

“They all coming?”

“Olivia for sure. I think Rollins and Amaro are coming together, and then honestly? Barba will when he finds out there’s gossip. He’s kind of a dick, but an amazing attorney. I really wanna shadow him sometime, but I’m too green to ask, y’know?”

“Yeah. I’m sure it’ll be nice when the time comes. And I think it’ll make Bella and Tommy happy. If it weren’t for them, it coulda been bad.”

“I got brother brain instead of cop brain, so yeah. I still can’t believe she’s having a baby.”

“It’s wild. And I know you don’t like Tommy, but he’s got a good heart.”

“And got locked up.”

“Everyone has their own problems.”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Same deal as Gina’s wedding? No marriage problems talk. Just have fun and be sentimental.”

“Deal. Though if your squad asks, I’m not ignoring it.”

“Fair. But also tell the cute stories.”

“I’ll bring the photo albums.” He laughed, arm settled around her shoulders. When they’d moved out, she’d taken to collecting all the pictures of them and adding them to a photo album. She’d gotten copies of dozens of pictures from his mom, who had always kept them organized by year in boxes. When she left, Victoria took them, and he missed being able to thumb through the pages. There were multiple volumes at this point. The pages got harder to find. She didn’t scrapbook. Instead, she used the pages with four slots each, keeping them up as time went on. He wouldn’t be surprised if there were pictures from Gina’s wedding in the most recent. Maybe there were even pictures of them separate from each other to bridge the gap.

“Please don’t give Rollins and Barba that ammo. They’ll steal the really bad ones.”

“I like the ones from prom the best. Could we look any more 2004?”

“We looked damn good.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not super dated.”

“True. It’s okay. We got the pictures from Gina’s wedding. We don’t look like we’re separated in them.”

“True. You got the dimples on full display.”

“I seen the dresses Bella picked. I know you hate it. You won’t like this one so much.”

“I love it.” He raised a brow at the feigned enthusiasm. “Dom, that pink is gonna be so bad on a pale red head.”

“I like you in pink.”

“You like me in anything.”

“Because you look good in anything. Dark green’s my favorite though.”

“Mine too. Thank God for Gina. I’ll wear that dress again.”

“I’m sure I’ll have to go to some fundraising thing…”

“You asking me to be your date before you even know?”

“You’re always who I ask to be my date.”

“I better be. We’re married.”

“Gettin’ awful territorial, Mrs. Carisi.”

“You put your ring on your hand today.”

“And you put them both on the right finger.”

“It’s almost like we’re making progress.”

“I want to tell you. I’m ready. But not until after the wedding.”

“Why then?”

“In case you don’t look at me all happy anymore.”

“Literally nothing you could tell me could make me not want to work on it. Unless you cheated on me.”

“You’re the first, last, and only.”

“You are too.”

“We oughta stop being sappy. People are coming and we got put with people we don’t know.”

“Gross. It’s like ma is mad at me.”

“I’m just glad she knew better than to try and make us sit apart. I’m sittin’ with my wife.”

“You two aren’t even pretending to be awkward,” Bella teased, leaning to hug Victoria and then her brother. “This nonsense almost over?”

“Butt out,” Sonny warned, but he was still smiling. “Strictly married talk.”

“Two weeks and ya can’t use that excuse.”

“Then it’ll be strictly talks with my wife.”

“Stop, Dom,” Victoria laughed. “You look beautiful, Bella. How you feeling?”

“Kid’s making me tired as hell. I’m excited though. Tommy talks to her every night. It’s been hard, after what that bitch did. But he’s doing so good.”

“I can tell. I’m just glad you’re so happy.”

“I really am, T.”

“You look beautiful. I like this dress a lot.”

“Thanks. I like feeling all bridal.” Sonny was content to watch Bella and Victoria catch up. Over the last year, he’d come to realize every time they talked came around to when Victoria was taking him back. He probably hadn’t helped that any, constantly acting like he didn’t know why she’d gone. Thanksgiving had changed that. He stood up to his mom more, told her he was in therapy, and openly defended Victoria. The last part wasn’t new, but this time it was specific to her decision to leave. He’d told his family in no uncertain terms that, while he thought she should’ve told him earlier instead of letting the hurt fester, he had done something wrong and he was trying to fix that so they could start over. His mom and dad didn’t like that. Generationally, bottling up feelings was more acceptable to them. His sisters, on the other hand, hugged him tight and told him they were proud of him.

Their table filled up quickly as guests arrived, and Sonny was happy to help Victoria keep conversation moving until his parents spoke. That was the plan for tonight. Appetizers, speeches from the bride and groom’s parents, dinner, dessert, and finally dancing and cocktails. It was quickly apparent all the family’s required-but-barely-liked invites went to the table they’d put Victoria and Sonny at, a sure sign Gianna was over dealing with their drama. He was thankful his sister wouldn’t be having assigned seating at the reception for anyone, the bridal party included, though the thought of having Victoria joining his squad at a table made him nervous.

“I thought they’d never go dance,” she said softly against his ear, and Sonny smiled more from the closeness than the sentiment. Damn, it felt good to have her on his team. She wasn’t there day in and out, so these events felt more valuable to him now.

“Right? He’s from dad’s work. Known each other forever. I don’t know why the hell they invited him.” Her hair tickled his cheek as they gossiped, watching the people around the room and nursing their drinks. He decided they didn’t have a heavy case, so he’d tell the squad the next day, that way the giddiness of the evening would still be fresh. When they’d both finished their drinks, he took her hand, pulling her towards the floor.

“I was comfy,” she protested half heartedly before she realized he’d pulled her up for Sinatra. One hand on his shoulder and the other in his, she let him lead the few moves they’d learned in a ballroom class they’d taken. It had only been a couple years into their marriage, and they took it because it made them feel older and less like imposters. Now, all either could really remember was a boxstep, and their frame was terrible. That didn’t matter though. What did matter was Sonny resting his temple against hers to sing softly against her ear. When one swing tune melted into another, she was grateful Gianna had picked the music for this wedding event.

“Looks like we get to dance all slow again,” he teased, giving her a spin before holding her close.

“For someone getting mad when we get along, your ma worked real hard for us to get along.”

“She’s just mad it isn’t like when we were kids. If we fought in middle school, she’d give us a pizza, and we’d be over it.”

“Very true,” she grinned, looking up at him. He looked handsome, and after what came out to two years of seeing him deteriorate, she was grateful he was actually getting back to himself. She wasn’t sure if therapy, the job, or the slow progress they were making was the reason, but he was her Sonny again. He kept his hair cropped, face shaved, and smile present.

“You’re staring,” he teased before tightening his grip to dip her.

“You look good. Like not just handsome. Happy.”

“Thanks,” he smiled softly when he pulled her up again. “I’m learning to process stuff better.”

“That’s good.”

“It sounds messed up, but thank you for leaving. It made me go to therapy. I really wasn’t being good to you, Tor. And I’m sorry for that.”

“I forgive you, Dom. I wasn’t doing a good job talking to you about it. I’m sorry for not pressing until we hit the point of no return.”

“It’s okay,” he said, forehead resting on hers. “I think we’re gonna be okay.”

“Me too.”

“Can we get somebody to take pictures of us?”

“Bella got a photographer, and he has definitely taken several.”

“This camera shy Sonny or detective Sonny noticing?”

“It’s Sonny seeing Gina tell him to.”

“You ever feel like the kids are trying to get us back together?”

“All the time, doll. You know how often Gina or Teresa go after me? Then Bella meddles. But Mia? She’s 17 and bound and determined she’s going to be the one to talk sense into me. And she kind of is. She actually talked to me about therapy.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. She doesn’t know why but knows my brain shuts down when I try to open up. Heard me tellin Teresa. Said it’s toxic masculinity makin’ me feel like talking about feelings is girly and I gotta get over that if I wanna stay married and making you happy.”

“I ever tell you Mia’s my favorite?”

“She’s got a good head on her shoulders.”

“How long until we can run away and go to a bar?”

“Anybody else left yet?”

“Your cousin Lauren and some of Bella’s friends.”

“What bar you thinking? Because you look too pretty to not take to some classy wine bar.”

“That works for me.”

“Then let’s go tell Bella and Tommy bye.”

“What about Gianna?”

“It’s not her engagement.” Victoria almost felt like they were back in high school and cutting class as they said their goodbyes and got their coats. Why the hell his sister was getting married outdoors in winter was beyond Victoria, but she was grateful for the fact they’d probably end up rained out and inside for the ceremony. Sonny hailed a cab, waving when he saw his mother watching them from a window.

“She’s pissed, Dom.”

“Too bad. Taking you to a nice wine bar. Ordering a cheese board.”

“You’re making it sound like a date.”

“I been shit and ain’t taken you on one in two years. Can it be?”

“I’d like that.” She was nervous, but it had become apparent he was trying. From what he said, in a couple weeks he’d be willing to open up. He was also communicating with her as it was. Maybe treating the next two weeks as a trial run could be good. Ease into the heavy discussion. He’d mentioned being afraid how she’d react. Maybe if she was always there again, he’d realize she wasn’t leaving.

“C’mon, whatcha thinking Tor?”

“Just that I’m happy we’re making progress,” she fibbed, lacing their fingers. He looked to their hands and smiled, squeezing her fingers gently.

“Me too.” Soon enough they were settled at the bar, and Sonny, true to his word, had ordered a bottle of wine and a cheese board. She was turned to face him, legs carefully crossed. He had the leg towards the room on the footrest around the base of her stool. She was boxed in, but it felt reassuring when paired with his hand on her leg.

“So what’s this new squad like?” Sonny had never quite settled in anywhere since he’d become a detective, and he seemed smitten with his spot in Manhattan.

“So Barba is the ADA. Covered him. Liv is Lieutenant. Nobody ever really gave me a shot before. Apparently I can be abrasive.” He threw the hand not on her leg up in mock affront, and she laughed.

“You? Never.”

“I know,” he said, ignoring her sarcasm. “Rollins is cool. She’s been through a lot. She’s from Georgia though. I know you mostly grew up here, but you get that same Southern catty as her. Means it doesn’t get to me, because I know the secret. That she doesn't really mean it. Amaro is cool too. Had some problems too. Come to think of it, I don’t know why I’m acting like they won’t understand or accept our marriage. Fin’s been there longest, other than Lieu.”

“They treating you well?”

“They are. I think I’m finally not just a newbie. Barba gets mean. He’s not southern snarky though, so I think he means it.”

“I’ll fight him.”

“You’d win. He’s got a big mouth, but I don’t think he’d be scrappy.”

“I’m just real proud of you.”

“That means a lot to me, Tor.”

“You worked real hard. I watched that. And you’re going to be an amazing attorney.”

“I think I wanna try for the DA’s office if I pass the bar next year.”

“You’ll pass the bar.”

He rolled his eyes, pouring her another glass of wine as he topped off his own. When the night was over, he walked her to her door, kissing her goodnight and going to his own apartment. Sonny had decided that if it was going to be a date, he’d be a gentleman. Things were still delicate, and he had to leave early when she had a day off. He did text her the next morning to say he’d enjoyed their date, not wanting to have the wedding be the next time they talked. When he arrived at the precinct, he went to Olivia’s door, knocking.

“What’s going on, Carisi?”

“Since the squad’s coming to my sister’s weddin’ now, I felt like I gotta tell everybody I’m married and it’s really confusing.”

“Since you hadn’t mentioned it, I assumed you were getting a divorce.”

“You knew?”

“I did get sent your file when you started here. You know, I do read those.”

“I messed up bad, y’know? She’s a baker, right? And I’ve known her since I was five. Got married when we were eighteen. It was all good until I got to homicide.” Oliva gave him a sympathetic, knowing smile. “What I told you guys? How the women got to me? I was scared if I told her, I’d, like, tarnish her. Make her see all the bad stuff we see. It’s amazing talking to her, Lieu. She never stopped seeing the best in people. And I stopped acting like her husband because I thought just being close to me would transfer all of it. She left me, but we’re in a weird limbo. She’s in the wedding, and we act married when we see each other. This’ll only be the sixth time in a year and a half. But I don’t want her to meet everyone and they’re all like who the hell are you.”

“This job can make that part of life incredibly difficult, Carisi. I feel the same way sometimes about Noah. What if they take him? What if I’m so paranoid he grows up paranoid? Or god forbid he sees pictures? I try to refocus it. I think about how he can make light in those bad times. I don’t know much about her, but I’m guessing she does too?”

“She does.”

“Tell her, Carisi. If she knows something is wrong, she’ll be able to get through it.”

“I’m telling her after the wedding. My therapist said it might make it less stressful. I’ve been afraid she’ll change her mind when I tell her.”

“It’ll work out. It is a smart idea to make sure everyone knows. Barba’s coming with me, so I’ll make sure he knows and keep him in line.”

“Thanks Lieu. For this whole talk, but also giving me a shot.”

Tag List: @cycat4077 @fear-less-write-more

#sonny carisi #sonny carisi x reader #sonny carisi x oc #law and order special victims unit #law and order svu #writing

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shireness-says · 4 years

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Birthday fic recs: @welllpthisishappening

It was @welllpthisishappening‘s birthday yesterday! Laura is consistently one of my favorite authors, and a dear friend to boot. So, for her birthday, I’d like to recommend some of her deep-cut, hidden gem fics - favorites of mine I think everyone should be reading all the time. Go read them and check out her seriously impressive fic page. The organization is downright inspiring.

Thank you for your friendship and your fics and your willingness to listen to me have a conniption about not-your-hockey-team, darling - I hope the next year gives you all the joy that you deserve!

Start Spreading the News

Emma Swan is just looking for something that’s hers. She’s fairly certain she’s found it in New York, with a group of friends and a good job and picture frames on her apartment walls. But then the past she’s spent so long trying to ignore shows up where she least expects to find it – wearing pinstripes in right field at Yankee Stadium.

More Famous Than A Yankee Can

He knows it’s not a dream. He’s had this dream before. Finding her again and talking to her again and wearing pinstripes. They usually aren’t all the same dream. So this has to be real. But the last place Killian Jones ever expected to see Emma Swan was while he was wearing those pinstripes. With her standing on the bleachers in Yankee Stadium.

I’ve read these fics three times this year. Maybe four. I love it every time - there’s romantic type miracles and pining and fate and I can’t resist it. It’s everything you need to cheer yourself up in these weird stressful times. Every time I read one these, I immediately have to go tell Laura that it’s So Good because I just can’t resist. That good.

What Used to Be Limes

Killian Jones is ready for his rookie season in the NHL. He's got a hell of a shot. An almost acceptable amount of confidence. And a roommate he doesn't want to check. Plus, his best friend. Who he's hopelessly in love with.

A Rooting Interest

Emma's only doing Ruby a favor. And playing bartender is kind of funy — especially when the guy in front of her keeps smiling and looking up how to make drinks. She doesn't want to make a fool of herself. That seems inevitable, though. Once he leaves the tip. Two tickets to a hockey game. And the good-looking guy from the bar turns out to be the star of the New York Rangers.

Look, obviously Laura has proved she’s the master of hockey fics with her Blue Line stuff. But! These are a great pair of hockey fics not from that ‘verse. Disaster rookies! Emma who doesn’t know a thing about hockey! Flirting galore! If you haven’t read these already - you need to get on that right away. And then join me in my quest to remind Laura that if she ever has hockey feelings that don’t fit into Blue Line, she could totally add on to these ‘verses and no one would complain. Or at least I wouldn’t.

Feeling As Good As Love

Emma is excited about this weekend. It's always good — this thing they do, with the house and the ocean and the friendship that seems to stand the test of time. But now, there's an added bonus. Because this year she and Killian aren't just coming to the house on the beach with that friendship moniker hanging over them. They're coming as a couple. A real couple. That kisses. Regularly. And Emma's excited about that too. She just didn't expect her friends not to believe her.

I am, admittedly, biased, because I all but demanded that Laura write this. But that’s only because it’s so up her alley, as demonstrated by the masterpiece that ensued. The banter! The cliches list! Emma’s righteous (and warranted) anger! It’s everything the prompt demanded and more than I could have imagined. Perfect.

In Case of Emergency, Call...

Killian Jones does several things on Thanksgiving: breaks his ankle, meets a very loud redhead in the ER, tells his best friend he loves her. None of them were part of his plan. The plan only involved cookies.

This is a little bit of an odd one - because Emma’s not even there for half the fic. But her presence and her absence and her impact is just so palpable. That pining, man! I live for that pining. The best kind of friends-to-lovers, with plenty of Killian and Ariel banter and a little dose of fake married because why not. What else could you ask for?

Gone the Way of the Dinosaurs

Emma doesn't entirely understand the town of Storybrooke. It is, apparently, the kind of place with story time at the library and spring festivals on Friday night and unfairly attractive people with blue eyes who know all the words to the dinosaur song her kid is also inexplicably singing. She doesn't understand the town of Storybrooke yet, but maybe Emma is willing to do a little research.

I love librarian!Killian. I love tiny!Henry. Put them together? I’m a sucker for it. It reads so believably, both for Emma and for Storybrooke. And I think Laura might have been channeling her own shoe collection, which I find so charming. And you can learn about dinosaurs! And what names they have! Read it in the name of paleontology.

Wrap Around Your Dreams

Emma Swan is not a very good witch. She’s emotional and prone to immediate reactions and neither one of those things are currently helping her when the body count in Storybrooke is on the rise. And there’s far too much blood at each crime scene and far too much magic and Emma has no idea where to look next. So she does the almost human thing; she starts making a list. Of clues and ideas and the absolute desperate hope that the killer isn’t what she’s certain it absolutely has to be. The last thing she expects is for the notebook to start writing back.

This is a perfect Halloween-type fic. I love epistolary fics and pen pal fics, but I’ve never seen anything like this before or since. The idea of them reaching out across all kinds of magical barriers because fate just gets me, man. Plus, the suspense is absolutely palpable. And the ending! Perfect. Another of my regular rereads.

All Was Golden In The Sky

Magic is dying. Emma knows it. She can feel it, the emptiness rattling around in her, like it’s trying to make sure she disappears as well. What she doesn’t know is what to do about it, because, suddenly, there is a man in Storybrooke claiming she’s the Savior and a seeress certain a prophecy promises the same and the last thing she expects is for her minimal amount of lingering power to pull her away. To New York City. And another oddly familiar man with blue eyes and a smile that sinks under her skin and makes magic bloom in the air around her. Things are about to get interesting.

I was just enthralled the whole time this was posting. There were so many twists and turns, but everything still weaves together absolutely perfectly. Plus, canon has been adapted so well in this. I don’t even know how to start describing this fic - but trust me, you’ve got to read it.

Out Of The Frying Pan

Emma Swan is only doing this for one reason, well, make that two. To get her show's numbers back up and, maybe, impress her son. She doesn't like admitting to that second one though. Killian Jones is doing this for absolutely, positively, just one reason. To expand his restaurant. And maybe get Regina off his back. So that's kind of two reasons. Neither one of them is doing a year-long Food Network all-star competition because they're celebrity chefs and there's not really any other choice. Of course not. And neither one of them is enjoying it because they maybe, kind of, sort of enjoy each other. That would be insane.

Ok, this one may not be that overlooked as much as it’s my FAVORITE THING ON THE PLANET. This is a perfect fic. Every time she posts another sequel one-/two-shot, my heart sings. It’s so good. The way Laura paints this competition, and lets everything grow over the course of weeks and month, is perfect - plus, there’s all the romance and Captain Cobra feels you could ever want. If you haven’t read this yet - Get On It Today.

Check out her fics on Tumblr and Ao3, and make sure to give her and them lots of love!

#happy birthday babe friend #welllpthisishappening #cs fic recs

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astraeagreengrass · 4 years

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this is me trying [the woods 3/4]

You make a decision and Steve takes a chance

Word Count: 4.848

Warnings: angst, mentions of sickness, mentions of death and death-related themes, alcohol, curse words

A/N: This chapter is filled with Taylor Swift references - I would love to know which ones you guys find and what are your expectations for the final part of this story! Many thanks to the beautiful @xbuchananbarnes for your help with this one. The banner picture was found here. Dividers are from @writeyourmindaway. I hope you like it ♡

pulled the car off the road to the lookout could've followed my fears all the way down and maybe i don't quite know what to say but i'm here in your doorway i just wanted you to know that this is me trying

There is a place in Pennsylvania, a few miles past the old Swift Christmas Tree Farm, where a careful rider might notice a path off the side of the highway. If he chooses to follow this gravel road, he’ll find himself flanked by Eastern Hemlocks and Red Cedars, whose branches tangle together and the leaves whisper secrets like sisters do. “She’s here”, they’ll say. “She’s home”. At the end of this lane, the rider will encounter a house, and a gale will blow in the heart of the woods, announcing the good news to all of the forest: their child was home.

Steve turned off his motorcycle. When the rumble quieted, you heard some Blue Jays singing in the distance. Your lower back complained when you stretched, yet your boyfriend appeared completely unperturbed by the long ride.

“It’s beautiful,” he said, gaze circling the clearing, going from the house made of stone and wood to the trees surrounding it.

The door opened and an older woman skipped down the porch steps. You’d seen her a mere three weeks ago, yet your grandmother somehow looked older, more fragile. The disease was taking its toll on her body, causing her to be out of breath when she hugged you.

“You’re not supposed to run, grandma,” you chidded. She was shorter than you, shoulders slumped by age and illness, but you still hid your face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the gentle scent of home and family.

“Can you at least say hello before you start scolding me?” she replied, wrinkled hands grabbing each side of your face, as if to assess any damage. “Being in love suits you, darling. You look beautiful!”

You flustered, lips opening up in a perfect, embarrassed pout, but she was unfazed, shifting her attention to the other guest.

“You must be Steve!”, she beamed. “It’s wonderful to meet you.”

Your grandmother kissed both of Steve’s cheeks, leaving him stunned.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Y/L/N,” he cleared his throat, a soft pink blush crawling up his cheeks.

“Oh, no!” she dismissed him. “Please call me Meredith. Now, come inside. You must be tired from the journey.”

She waved you into the house, up the rickety wooden stairs and past the veranda whose railings you used to perch on to catch raindrops with your tongue.

“I’m so happy you could join us for Thanksgiving, Steve,” Meredith said as the three of you crossed the threshold. “Did you know it’s Y/N’s favorite holiday?”

“Grandma!” you reprimanded.

“What?” she raised her eyebrows, feigning innocence.

You raised your own, a silent warning for her not to at least wait until dinner to start with the embarrassing stories. Thankfully, he was oblivious to the quiet exchange.

The house reminded Steve of a cabin he stayed with his ma in upstate New York for a few months when he was eight, after a doctor suggested that the mountain air might be good for his lungs. He remembered the whistle of a train, it's red wagons gleaming brightly under the spring light, and the way it sped through fields and forests, almost to the beat of his racing heart. He remembered the smell of grass and the buzz of the cicadas singing in the late afternoon. He remembered going back to the city after his birthday and telling Bucky that the woods were magical.

The memories flowed through his bloodstream as he entered your home. The front door revealed a small living room that someone - that undoubtedly looked a lot like Tony Stark - might call cramped, but Steve thought it was cozy. Knit blankets were thrown over a cream-colored couch sitting opposite a built-in-the-wall fireplace. Across from the entrance, a large window overlooked a glittering pond and, behind the couch, there was a bookshelf overflowing with volumes, portraits and trinkets. A staircase, which he supposed was as rickety as the one outside, led to the second floor.

"You have a beautiful home, Mrs. Y/L/N," he complimented, in a voice that sounded somewhat distant to his ears, as though muffled by nostalgia.

"Meredith!" your grandmother corrected him, clearly pleased by the compliment. "And thank you! My husband and I moved here in the 1990's after he retired from the Military. We did some renovations back then, and I suppose it's time I do it again, but oh well..."

She trailed off, fast feet scurrying to the kitchen in a silent order for you to follow her, yet Steve turned to you:

"Your grandfather was in the Army?"

"Yep. My dad, too," you said, avoiding his gaze.

"You never told me that," he pointed out.

You sighed: "I know."

"Why?"

His hands went to his waist, in that defensive stance you knew all too well, and his jawline clenched in frustration.

Your phone buzzed in your back pocket, saving you from answering - at least for now.

"It's Fury," you showed him the screen. "I have to take this."

You turned, bolting outside before Steve could protest.

He exhaled, rubbing his eyes furiously. Hearing the soft tinkling of glasses coming from the kitchen, he trailed your grandmother's footsteps.

"Would you like some sweet tea, Steve?" she smiled.

He nodded, thanking her as he took the glass. Meredith groaned as she sat at the dinner table and Steve's heart squeezed in his chest. Theoretically, the woman was younger than he was, yet their bodies - and their lives - were many decades apart.

"She didn't tell you about them, did she?" Meredith asked, contemplating him with eyes just like yours.

Steve shook his head.

"Please, don't be mad at her. It's a hard subject for Y/N," the woman said. "Would you get that picture frame for me, please?"

With a bony finger, Meredith pointed at a double portrait sitting at the countertop: Both pictures showed young men in military garb, but one was noticeably older than the other, in black and white with sepia coloring the edges.

"John and Michael," she said, cradling the portrait as one would an infant. "John and I met in Japan. My father was a veteran from the Pacific, and in the late 50’s the Navy stationed him in Okinawa. So, long story short, I was this rebellious daughter of a high-ranking officer who wanted nothing to do with wars and the military and John was a good boy from Pensylvannia drafted to fight in Vietnam. Still, we fell in love, eloped and I moved to Philly while pregnant with Michael, but John only joined us in 1972.”

“Wow,” Steve smiled genuinely. “That’s incredible.”

“It is,” Meredith nodded. “And he was an incredible man. Earned all the medals he was honored with. He made it to Sergeant Major, you know? But when Michael made the decision to join S.H.I.E.L.D, John retired.”

"Y/N’s father was a S.H.I.E.L.D agent?" Steve gaped.

Meredith pursed her lips.

"My husband was a righteous man. He believed his institutions and he loved them. And Michael, like everyone that knew John, admired his father and his career. So, like any boy in his position, Michael enlisted. But he was different… I think he liked the thrill, the adrenaline rush that came with the danger.

"I'm not entirely sure how or when he joined S.H.I.E.L.D., but one evening he left Y/N on our doorstep, saying that it would be best for her if she stayed with us from then on," she continued. "He visited very little after that."

Despite the brisk autumn weather, Steve's glass of sweet tea was wet with perspiration, as if the tales he'd just heard were so alive in this house they could manifest themselves in the air, in an introduction to the absent characters.

"What happened then?" he asked, unsure if he wanted an answer.

“Well," Meredith sighed. "The official report said an IED hit his convoy in Iraq, but shortly before he left Michael said he was going to Northern Europe, so…”

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispered.

"I know," your grandmother said, and she meant it. If anyone could share her pain of losing too much to the military, it was Steve Rogers. "I know you do."

She slid her forearm across the table and squeezed his hand gently. There was so much kindness in her gaze that Steve nearly cried.

"It's not my place to meddle in your relationship," she said. "You're both adults. But please be careful with my granddaughter, Steve. She has a lot of love to give, she just doesn't know that."

Behind Meredith's frame, her bright yellow headscarf catching the light coming through the open window, Steve could see you pacing back and forth in the lawn with your phone in your ear. Tiny specks of dust glinted where the luminesce was brighter and in his mind they were the pieces of your puzzle, coming together for him like a gift from the extraordinary place you called home. He always thought you belonged at the Triskelion, sitting behind a computer or looking down at a tablet, cracking digital enigmas as fast as he could draw his next breath, but what a lovely mistake this was.

Maybe he was high on the sugar from the sweet tea, or maybe he just desperately wanted a piece of the love your grandmother told him about, but Steve thought about black holes - those wondrous forces of nature he learned about on TV a few weeks ago while cuddling you on the couch. Like a black hole, your gravity was so strong that nothing - not the grass, not the leaves, not a single fiber of Steve Roger's being - could escape your hold.

The woods were a small universe, and you were it's center.

The last of the boxes was emptied on Christmas Day.

It had snowed in the evening, leaving a light dust of white covering the grounds outside. If the temperature kept on lowering, the pond might freeze by January. When you opened the final cardboard package and found your old ice skates, you thought you should fix the rusted blades in case that happened. Or perhaps not. You were never the most skilled skater and there was no else here to drive you to the ER in case you broke your arm - it wouldn't be the first time.

For years, the house in the woods sat quiet - some during which the three-hour journey proved perfect for your grief to turn the car around and give up visiting and others when you were declared as dead as your ancestors. It was in urgent need of repairs, filled with the belongings you packed after your grandmother’s passing, but never found the courage to give away. But the heat was working. That would be enough for now.

"Are you sure you're going back there?" your cousin asked as you finished loading the car with your things. There wasn't much - your furniture was sold with the apartment and most of your clothes were moth-eaten and frayed from their long stint at a cramped storage unit.

"I've taken up your space for too long," you said. Olivia was your cousin from your mother's side, and like everyone from that part of your family, you shared little to none connection. You'd gone to her out of desperation, because you'd rather stay with your far-flung cousin after returning from the dead than with your not-so-ex-boyfriend who left you two - or was it seven? - years prior and you were extraordinarily glad she took you in. But like it always happened with your mother's family, it became too much, too soon. "Besides, it's time for me to move on."

Olivia hugged you before you drove away and it was stiff and awkward. You wouldn't miss her and you were sure she wouldn't either.

You programmed the GPS on your phone, but somewhere past Newark, you realized with a start that you were always one step ahead of it. It was like the way home was ingrained in your heart, despite the new buildings and the fresh pavement. It went beyond street lights and stop signs, following a map made of veins and arteries, rather than just paper and ink.

Rain started pouring heavily when you reached Reading and you nearly missed the gravel road off the side of the highway, but it was there, as unperturbed as the forest encircling it. As a child, you'd give them names and personalities, and dream up conversations they'd have with each other - Betty and Inez, the Hemlock twins; James, the Red Cedar; sweet Rebekah, the Sugar Maple. It felt stupid, but you wondered if they'd left too, like you did. If when the snap came, their soul was dusted from the bark, leaving nothing but trunk and root.

"No," you muttered to yourself. They'd stayed. They'd stayed and guarded the woods.

The first three days were daunting. You'd sleep until noon and spend the rest of the afternoon trying to book tickets to wherever in the world you thought would be the perfect place to start over, but something invisible always held you back from actually buying. On the fourth day, you emailed the lawyer, asking about the possibility of putting the house for sale. On the fifth day, while rearranging the boxes, you tripped and they fell, spilling hundreds of pictures on the timbered floor.

When you bent down to collect them, the first face you noticed was your father. He had a wide, carefree smile as he gently held you standing on a chair. You were looking down at a cake, where a big candle shaped like a "3" was lit up. You tiny hands were clapping, and your father looked at you with all the love in the world.

You never doubted his love as a child. You just didn't understand why he wouldn't visit often or why he couldn't have a job like the other kids' dads - a job that kept him close so he could tell you that he loved you, instead of whispering it in a forehead kiss every few months. As an adult, you still didn't doubt it - but you knew that he loved his job more. Still, seeing the affection so clear on his face was comforting.

An older, gray-haired, version of your father smiled in another picture - your grandfather. He was wearing a flannel shirt and a blue cap, and he held you on your shoulders. You remembered that it terrified you to swing in the air as he lifted you, but the moment he placed you on his back, you relaxed.

“Don’t ever let me fall, grandpa,” you’d beg, little hand clasped tightly around his.

"Never, sweet pea," he'd promise.

Behind the photograph, your grandmother had written: "John and Y/N. Summer, 1994".

She was notably absent from most of the pictures, you noticed. They must’ve been taken around the time she became interested in photography, and would spend hours experimenting with a Kodak she got at the flea market. You, on the other hand, was the perfect model - posing at the swing, by the pond, with your legs crossed in the big armchair, always smiling, always happy.

You didn’t remember this particular box from when you organized the house after her death. The photographs must’ve been stored away for nearly a decade, judging by the dust that covered them. There were albums, as well - Y/N’s first birthday, Y/N’s first school day, Y/N’s first trip to the beach - but the amount of pictures was so abundant that most were kept loose.

Dusk came and went, and, on the dawn of the sixth day, you made the decision to unpack the house.

You started with the kitchen - crystal glasses, the porcelain dish set your grandparents got as a marriage present and the beautiful Portuguese pottery. The living room came next with the books, portraits and an elaborate scheme to clean the hearth of the fireplace that you immediately regretted. You moved the furniture around the upper floor to the point you thought the ceiling might collapse, but eventually you managed to turn the mattress and push the queen bed to the window side of the master bedroom.

And when you found your old ice skates, tangled with an ancient string of Christmas light, you decided to hang them in the mantelpiece. Some of the tiny light bulbs were burnt or broken, bathing the room in a messy, uneven golden glow.

Like you, you thought. Damaged, but perhaps you could still shine again.

During the time you spent tidying up the house, you tried your best to ignore the nagging sensation that maybe this was a mistake. That wistfulness shouldn’t grow roots and boxes should stay closed, just like the dead stay dead. But you hadn’t. And when your fists crushed the last piece of cardboard, you wept. Not because you were haunted, but because you were wrong. You thought returning home would be haunting, that you would see your grandparents at every nook and corner, but you were mistaken. The creak of the wooden steps, the marks on the door frame for every inch you grew, the soft slope of the book bindings in the shelf - all of it brought back only the most generous memories of your childhood, and you basked in the newfound revelation that they were filled with a love so strong and abundant that it drowned even loud noise of absence.

You missed your grandparents, almost to the point of desperation, but there was a fondness in your grief now, because you were finally safe, in the home they built for you.

With the realization, came the decision. So in the space between Christmas and the New Years, you made three phone calls:

One for a therapist’s office in Reading, scheduling an appointment for the second week of January.

One for the bank in Switzerland where you'd wired all the money you made in your profitable years at S.H.I.E.L.D.

And one for a contractor, who, after much cajoling and the promise of advanced payment, agreed to start your renovations in early 2024.

Despite the state-of-the-art acoustics of Stark Tower, Tony’s buoyant countdown to the New Year was drowned out by the large crowd gathered outside, waiting for the Times Square’s ball drop.

The excited cheers rattled the bullet proof glass of the windows and the comforting press of Steve’s palm on your lower back tightened as the seconds closed in on midnight. Gentle finger - too gentle for a soldier - took your chin, angling your head towards his. Your hands wrapped around his shoulder, mindful of the crystal flute halfway filled with bubbly champagne.

“Happy New Year, sweetheart,” he whispered right before he kissed you. It was slow, just the calm press of his lips and easy flicks of his tongue, the sweet lingering taste of Asgardian mead. A hand cradled the back of your head and you sighed, pushing your body further into his.

And like a firework show, it burned too fast, too brightly - sparkling in the starless night before fading away in thunderous applause.

“For a man who saved the world, you look awfully glum.”

Steve let out a dry laugh.

“How should I look, then?” he asked before taking a swig of his beer. He was well into his fourth bottle, but it wasn’t like the alcohol had any effect on him.

“Less miserable, maybe?” Bucky shrugged, plopping down next to Steve on the couch. He raised his own beer bottle: “I can’t believe how fast the refrigerator worked!”

“You spent two years in Wakanda, Buck. Modern technology shouldn't surprise you as much."

“I spent two years in Wakanda in a hut," Bucky retorted. "Besides, for all the greatness of hovercrafts and magnetic shields, there's just something so fantastic about chilling a beer in half an hour..."

“I can’t wait for when you finally master the art of the microwave,” Steve snickered.

“They’re confusing, ok?” Bucky grumbled.

They settled in comfortable silence, watching a blonde popstar perform at the New Year's Eve concert in Times Square. She was halfway through a beautiful rendition of Robbie Williams’ Angels when Bucky spoke again.

"Did you call her?" he asked. "Your girl?"

Steve hadn't told Bucky about you, but he knew. He'd seen you at Natasha's memorial service and he noticed the way his best friend got home afterwards, as well as his sullen mood in the weeks that followed.

In their youth, Steve always mocked Bucky's easy infatuations. "You can't live out of love affairs, Buck," he'd say and Bucky would roll his eyes. He lived for the hot rush of blood flushing his skin in the dark, hot corners of a speakeasy as lips trickled his ear or fingernails scratched his scalp. He longed for the soft brush of fingers circling a wrist or the bump of noses before hungry mouths met. And in his juvenile ignorance, Bucky thought his life would be too short to just no have them all - so he had them.

When the war came, Bucky believed Steve had found his match with Peggy. They were complimentary in every way - both righteous, stubborn, never backing down from a fight. And what a fight it was - so grand, so terrible, so cold. There was no room for love or heartbreak those days, only combat. Steve and Peggy's courtship was a promise, meant for better times - but they never really came.

The friend Bucky encountered in 2016 was different - still tenacious and daring, but almost to the point of recklessness. Steve wasn't satisfied in snuffing out the fires, he ignited them now. Their experiences awakening in this new world were much different, but Bucky supposed they were the same kind of nearly maddening decipherment. Besides, he may have his doubts about himself, but not about Steve Rogers.

Bucky Barnes knew a broken heart when he saw one.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about her," Steve muttered.

"You don't have to apologize," Bucky said. "I am curious, though. Sam wouldn't tell me anything."

Steve chuckled.

"Of course not. Her name is Y/N,," he started. "We met when I went to work at S.H.I.E.L.D. She was an intelligence agent, so we were always working together and… She is so smart, funny, kind and beautiful, Buck. Everyone was walking on eggshells around me, meanwhile she was giving me shit for not knowing who Beyoncé was."

"Who's Beyoncé?" Bucky asked.

"The greatest performer in the world," Steve stated. "Anyway, we became friends and after a few months, I asked her if she wanted to go on a date."

"You did?" Bucky gasped.

"I was a mess," Steve groaned. "You would've given me so much shit about it. But she said yes! And then we had a second date, a third date, a fourth date… She was the one that found out about you."

"She did?"

Steve nodded, tearing the wet label of his beer.

"She uncovered Hydra's plot inside S.H.I.E.L.D. - Pierce, Project Insight, you. After the fallout, Fury managed to take most of the blame, if you can even call it that, but she still had to testify before Congress. They treated her like some kind of criminal. By then I was already back in New York, living in the Tower, working with the Avengers again. Tony was really impressed with her work so we offered her a job."

"And did she say yes?" Bucky asked.

"She wanted to go to school, learn something new. Find another trade, any trade that didn't involve secrets and conspiracies, but I begged her to accept the position. And not for the right reasons."

"What do you mean?"

"Y/N was - is - incredibly resourceful. And I wanted to find you, find Loki's scepter, punch bad guys, save the world. I wanted to be a superhero and I knew that with her I could. I felt secure in her abilities and secure in her affections. She was my safe zone, but I don’t think I was hers - or at least I don’t think I let her know that. We weren't perfect but we were fine, I think, until the Accords happened. She wasn’t a signatary, but she agreed with Tony and Natasha and that felt like the worst kind of betrayal. The night before Peggy’s funeral we had a massive fight. I called her a coward, said…” Steve hesitated.

“Said what?” Bucky coaxed.

Steve exhaled heavily. “I said that Peggy would’ve never done that to me.”

“Jesus, Stevie,” Bucky sighed, running a hand through his newly cut hair. “You’re an idiot.”

“I know,” Steve said, but acknowledging it after all was said and done was useless. “I left for London that night without saying goodbye. And then… Everything happened.”

“Did you contact her at all while you were away?” Bucky asked.

Steve didn’t reply, but the answer was clear in his quietude. "Sometimes silence is louder than sound," you used to say. He finished off his beer, dropping the empty bottles on the coffee table with a thud.

“When Vision was attacked in Edinburgh and we brought him to the Compound I actually thought I’d see her there, you know?” he confessed. “Like it was all a bad dream and I’d find her waiting for me like she always did. But the computers were turned off, the jacked she kept on the back of her chair was gone. It was like she was never there.”

He continued: “So I went to her apartment - our apartment - and I couldn’t even look her in the eye. I was the coward, not her, never her. I was the worst kind of bastard, showing up unannounced after vanishing for years, as if I had a right to any of her answers…”

His breath hitched and Steve rubbed his eyes furiously. Bucky put his own beer down and pat his friend on the back.

“You couldn’t have known what would happen next, Steve,” he said. “That is not a guilt you should carry.”

“I can’t erase the image of her sitting in that hospital bed, Buck,” Steve croaked. “She was so lost and scared. I keep thinking that, even if everything was the same - Thanos, the snap, those five fucking pathetic years - if I’d just been braver, we’d be together now. The worst part of everything is that I let her think she meant nothing to me.”

“Where is she now?”

“At her childhood home in Pennsylvania. After Nat's funeral, she told me she needed to figure out what to do with her life, but she'd let me know once she decided,” Steve said. “Somehow I don’t think her plans include me.”

Bucky sighed.

“So you’re just going to quit?”

Steve frowned. “Quit?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “After everything, is this how the two of you will end?"

Steve opened his mouth, then paused. Bucky thought he looked like a big blonde dumb fish flapping in the wooden Red Hook docs he used to work at.

"I don't… Know?," he muttered hesitatingly.

"Clearly," Bucky snorted. "Pal, the guy I used to be is long gone. Hell, I might be the worst person to give out advice, but if you ask me, it sounds pretty stupid to sit here sulking while the only girl who's ever loved you for who you are is out there making plans that may or may not include you."

Steve perked up.

"You think I should go after her?"

"I think you should try," Bucky said. "First you left her, and then she Snapped. Her mind must be a mess! She has every reason to be confused, sad and especially angry, but you need to let her know that she's not alone."

Steve understood then: why it took so long for you to share your secrets and open your heart. Why you hated when he left for missions and the smallest of his wounds made you cry. Why you'd sometimes cling to him in the middle of the night.

"Don't leave me alone, Stevie," you begged once after your screams startled him conscious and he had to shake you awake from your nightmare.

"Never, sweetheart," he promised. But he failed you.

He craned his head, gaze finding his motorcycle keys hanging next to the door. If the snow wasn't too heavy, he could be in Pennsylvania in less than three hours.

"Please be careful with my granddaughter, Steve."

"Maybe wait until morning?" Bucky suggested, noticing where Steve's eyes had landed. "I'm presuming girls still like their beauty sleep, so maybe show up at her door at a reasonable hour?"

Steve laughed then, a real laugh.

"How did I spend eighty years without you, Buck?"

Bucky smiled.

"Trust me, pal. I have no idea."

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers imagine #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #the woods #corneliabarnes #my writing

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shelby-love · 4 years

Text

KELLY SEVERIDE

“Love overcomes it all”

Requested: yes

Prompts: none

Warnings: angsty but with a cute happy ending

Authors note: this is from season 2 episode 1 events

“You’re lying to me.” You sob. Tears are spilling down your cheeks in angry waves.

Kelly Severide, your boyfriend, just told you things are over between you two because he is going to be a father to a baby that’s not yours.

It felt like your heart was crushed in your chest at the thought of him leaving you just because he’s going to be a father. If he loved you like he always said then he wouldn’t leave you.

“Y/N she’s pregnant with my kid,” Kelly kept his eyes steady, resting on your face.

You stayed rooted in your spot, you moved your hair softly away from your cheek that had become so much more prominent with color after the angry streak of tears. Your features buckled just slightly before you spoke. “We can work this out Kelly.”

He’s breaking this cycle of love you two have not because he’s going to have a kid but because he wants to be with the mother of his child. In a messed up way he thinks she deserves his love more than you just because she’s carrying his unborn child.

The situation with Shay and him was different than the current one with Renee and he knew it too.

“No we can’t! Can’t you see Y/N?! We’re done okay? I’m done!” He yells, his temper showing through his dark facial expression.

“So we’re just going to pretend like nothing ever happened between us huh??! You and I both go to sleep together every damn night and tell each other I love you! Does that mean nothing to you?” It took you months to tell him these three simple words and even now you never tell them without truly meaning them. “Do I mean nothing to you Kelly?”

He runs his hands through his hair harshly before connecting one of them to the vase on the counter. The expensive vase flies into the wall and breaks in dozen pieces.

You gape at the man standing in front of you. “I don’t even rezognize you.”

He looks like a bomb that’s seconds away from exploding. You don’t want to believe that you’re over. He can’t just throw us away.

“You’re supposed to be happy for me goddammit!” He rages. You want to press your hands to your ears to stop his words from entering any further. Each word is like a knife through the heart. It hurts.

“If I was your sister then yes! But I’m…was your girlfriend for fucks sake!” You don’t know if the tears are falling because you’re angry or because you’re sad and heartbroken. “I wanted to be the one who starts a family with you.”

He stands speechless in front of you. Still raging but speechless. A trace of deep love sours in his eyes but you look away. “Leave.”

When he doesn’t move you cry harder, “Just leave okay?! Leave! Get out of my life forever!”

Your whole mind and body wants him to stay and fight for what you have despite your words. But he doesn’t.

He rushes past you and goes to the bedroom door.

You don’t turn around to look at him but you feel him standing there for a few moments, burning holes in your back before leaving. The door closes and your guard breaks down. You crash to the floor and sob uncontrollably.

Kelly is gone.

***

You hold the pink transfer paper in your hands and knock on your chief’s office door.

“Come in,” You hear him say and you push the door open. Chief Boden sits in his usual spots, both eyes trained on you. “What can I do for you Y/LN?”

“I’d like to transfer to a different house.” You thought this through. You imagined this exact moment millions of times and not even in one have you decided to stay. It hurts to see Kelly let alone work with him, it hurts to see Renee stand outside the house after every shift waiting for him with her big pregnant belly.

Your Chief looks surprised, “You are our paramedic in charge I don’t think-”

“Shay is perfectly capable of being the paramedic in charge, I trained her myself. And I already spoke to Chout and he’s free to be the second paramedic until you’ve found a permanent paramedic on ambulance 61 Chief.” It took you a few calls to find a replacement and a few more to find out what houses need a new paramedic. “Firehouse 47 needs a new paramedic in charge and I was thinking about transferring there.”

Wallace Boden was sad that one of the best things Firehouse 51 had was leaving and he couldn’t muster an excuse that’s good enough to make her stay.

“Very well. I’ll start the process right now,” He stood up from his chair and extended his hand to you. “It was a honor to work by your side and I’ll be lying if I said I wasn’t sad about your decision.”

You blink the tears away and shake his hand, “Trust me chief. This is for the best.”

Chief Boden nodded and dismissed you. Once out of the door you exhaled and silently cried once more.

***

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” You take off your sunglasses and throw them on the table. Your best friend Shay, also Kelly’s best friend just managed to convince you to meet him.

She attacked you in your own car and made perfect sense. Renee’s baby might not be Kelly’s and you wanted him to know about that possibility. In fact it wasn’t even a possibility and you needed him to know.

“There he is get ready,” She slapped your shoulder and you straightened up. “Be as normal as you can babe.”

A man you didn’t even know you recognize sat down across from you and got straight into business mode. “Hey. These are the last of the bills we need to split up.”

Shay let out an ‘awh that’s sad’ at that but you couldn’t react less even if you wanted to.

“So how’s the hunt for new digs going?” He asked and took a sip of his drink. Now that Kelly was off and about Shay and you were both looking for a new place.

“Good… Well be we haven’t officially started yet,” She said casually. Haven’t started because she was too busy looking for new potential dads and you were too busy leaving the firehouse.

“Wait.. Guys we have to be out of there by the 15th!” He exclaimed.

“We know, we know. We’ll make it work,” You said. It shocked Kelly how much he missed your soft voice.

“Did you and Renee find a place yet?” Shay continued to speak like she was unbothered.

“Closing in one one. It’s got a perfect baby room right next to the master.” He spoke about it so excitedly you almost felt bad for bringing this up.

“Good. Can I ask you something?” His face fell down at your words and he started fidgeting with the bill paper next to him. He answered with a yes and so you continued. “Shay told me you said the baby’s coming on Thanksgiving yea?”

Not knowing where you’re going with it he decided not to ask anything and instead answer. “Yea.”

Your mind froze and you didn’t know how to continue your interrogation without crying, so Shay continued your train of thought for you. “It’s just that ummm… Renee left February 9th? So when was the last time you guys…”

“February 9th.” He confirmed knowing immediately what Shay was asking him.

“Exactly… So the due date should be the first week of November at the latest…”

There’s a pause in the air and the two of you wait to see if Kelly gets what you’re trying to tell him.

Once he does he says, “Shay look…look I know this sucks for you, you wanted to have a baby and now I have one without you… Y/N I’m sorry we couldn’t work out okay? I’m starting a family with Renee…”

Both you and Shay start arguing and saying that that’s not the case and definitely not what you’re trying to say or prove.

“I get it. But it’s not Renee’s fault or mine and for you two to imply that it’s… It’s not mine…”

You two stay silent, “I’ll tell… I’ll tell you what. I’ll handle these. See you back at the house.” He stands up and throws the money on the table before leaving you two alone.

“That baby is not his.” Shay says as she looks at his body that’s slowly leaving the frame. “And I’m not going to let her destroy my friendship and your relationship.”

***

You put the last of your stuff in one of the boxes. You managed to find an apartment that’s close to your new house, in fact, one of your colleagues lives in the same complex building. You have two more shifts at 51 and until the second shift is over your choice can still change.

You haven’t told anyone at 51 that you’re leaving except for Shay which means Kelly doesn’t know your plans. Him not knowing is going to make your final break up a lot more easier.

You kick one of the boxes in frustration. You chant the same thing over an over in your head, No more crying Y/N.

The creek of the door startles you and you look at the door. Kelly stands there, not moving a muscle. Kelly and you seemed to have a silent conversation as you stared into each others eyes. You finally look away, tears threatening to blurr your vision, when a hand encircled yours. It was soft and warm as if the owner of that hand sensed your sadness and desperation.

“Y/N,” You almost break down at the sound of his voice. “I’m so sorry.”

You once again stare back into the eyes you love so much, “You really mean that?”

The tears in his eyes confirmed everything you needed to know. The baby wasn’t his.

His lips turned up into a tiny sincere smile, as he held you tightly to his body. “Yes, I do.” He whispered, capturing your lips into a kiss that felt just right.

You pull away dazed and hungry for more. You don’t understand how you could ever try to say goodbye to those kisses.

“I love you Y/N. I love you so much,” He whispers. “I want to start a family with you. If you’ll have me back of course.”

“Kelly…” You don’t know where to start. Both of you have hurt each other but your love overcomes it all. You know this relationship is worth a second shot. “I love you too.”

The smile that breaks out on his face melts you completely. He brings his lips once more to yours into a passionate kiss that always led to something more.

Looks like firehouse 47 is going to have to wait until they get a new paramedic.

#kelly severide x reader #kelly severide fanfiction #kelly severide imagine #Kelly severide #chicago fire imagine #chicago #Chicago fire fanfiction

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sinsdaycorp · 4 years

Note

Would u be willing to list below some of the avalance fanfics?

Sorry that it’s taken me so long to answer this, I haven’t been on a laptop in a long time so I haven’t had a chance to really look at my inbox…

So, this has also given me a good reason to go through my bookmarks and reread some Avalance (:

Hope these recs are good!!

– –

Forever with No matter where you are (I’ll be there) - moonlitprincess

“She remembers the day Sara changed her name in Ava’s phone, remembers the way the late morning sunlight had streamed in through the windows and fallen on Sara’s bare back so that her skin was warm to the touch, remembered the way the sheets had bunched at Sara’s hips as she lay on her stomach, Ava’s phone in her hand and scrolling through contacts until she reached her own name.

“What are you doing?” Ava murmured, reaching out to trail her fingers lightly over Sara’s spine.

“Changing my name on your phone,” said Sara, locking the phone and tossing it back onto the pillow between them. “I’m now your little bird.”

Ava chuckled, leaning forward to press a kiss to Sara’s shoulder. “Why?”

“So if either of us ever get caught, you won’t get implicated as being associated with Sara Lance.””

an avalance ocean’s 8 au.

– –

Guns hidden under our petticoats - plinys.

Ava is certain that this is a joke, and if not, the worst possible assignment the Time Bureau has ever given out. The assignment of monitoring Sara Lance - future threat to all of time and history, and currently Starling City’s very own Black Canary - certainly isn’t what she had been hoping for when she’d been promoted, but Ava’s determined to stick to the non-interference rules and make the most of it. Though Sara has been known to throw a wrench into many people’s carefully made plans.

– –

A million miles away - plinys.

Sara upgrades her phone to the latest OS - meant to be innovative enough to seem nearly human - and finds herself falling for the voice that’s always in her ear.

(A Her. AU)

– –

Forever with your hands in my pockets - plinys.

“If only there was something I could do to help my grade,” Sara says, her voice sugary sweet, “I’d do just about anything?”

“Well, you could start by doing your homework.”

(Or: Sara’s five step plan to seduce her political statistics TA into giving her a good grade.)

– –

Summer slipped us underneath her tongue - plinys

“Wait, you didn’t think that I wore my Bureau suit around the house, did you?”

– –

Silence - plinys.

“We should play a game,” Sara insists.

“How about the silent game,” Ava suggests.

– –

BASICALLY ANYTHING BY PLINYS!!!

– –

Don’t you like you, cause I like you - CoffeeAndArrows, moonlitprincess

But before Ava can turn to run away from the door, it swings open to reveal Sara Lance standing in front of her. Her hair is bundled into a messy bun on the top of her head, two stray strands framing the sides of her face. She’s wearing a SCHS soccer hoodie and skin tight shorts that only come halfway down her thighs, revealing muscly, freckled legs that Ava has to work very hard not to look at. Her feet are adorned with grey fluffy socks which Ava is avoiding calling adorable in her head in fear of starting to associate Sara with any word remotely cutesy and affectionate.

Sara’s expression is genuinely surprised for several moments, eyes wide and startling blue. Her lack of makeup and the dim, golden light of the corridor highlight the freckles that are littered across her face.

Her eyelashes are really blonde, thinks Ava. How did I never know her eyelashes were blonde?

a high school au in which sara and ava have been each other’s arch nemesis since freshman year, but when ava’s parents react badly to her coming out, it’s sara’s doorstep that ava shows up on when she doesn’t know what to do.

– –

The day before you came - Phoebmonster

“So, the brief is …” She tapped her fingers on the wheel. “Make your Mom believe you’re really gay and give you some peace and quiet next year.”

Ava nodded, and Sara grinned.

“Right, I can do that.” She said, more to herself than anything.

aka the ‘i’ve hired you to pretend to be my partner to annoy my family at christmas but i think i’m really falling for you’ AU that Absolutely no one asked for.

– –

Cause I see sparks fly (whenever you smile) - mrsavalance.

“Excuse me, one of the flight attendants said that this seat was still free. Is that correct?” You are frozen in place when you find Sara Lance staring at you with those piercing blue eyes. You cannot help but stare at them. They seem to appear to be even bluer now that she is standing right in front of you, than they are on screen. You quickly avert your gaze to the empty seat next to you, which you had placed your bag upon as soon as you figured out that no one was going to sit there, and if she noticed you staring, she doesn’t comment on it at all, which you are immensely grateful for.

The Avalance celebrity au, nobody asked for.

– –

i just wanna spend the nights with you - moonlitprincess.

based on a tumblr ask: “i had been on a few casual dates with this girl and we went back to my place yesterday and we were gonna y’know…fuck for the first time. anyway she takes off her shirt and it turns out she has a six pack (an honest to god could grate cheese on it six pack) and i was so surprised/turned on that i couldn’t breathe and passed out, hit my head and she had to drive me to the er. i have 4 stitches. she’s probably never gonna call me again lmao”

college au where ava is only MILDLY crushing on campus heartthrob sara lance and can totally 100% be chill with a casual hookup … until she realises sara has abs. (ft. our favourite ladies being useless gay disasters & plenty of unexpected feelings)

– –

The One With the Bet - WardenRoot.

Ava loses a bet to Sara, the terms of which states that the loser has to do whatever the winner says

– –

Scars - WardenRoot.

Ava sees Sara’s scars for the first time

– –

What if I’n weak and I need you tonight - WardenRoot.

Ava finds Sara crying in her room after a not so successful mission and tries to comfort her.

– –

Will You Be My (Fake) Wife? - WardenRoot.

“So what you need from us is a date?”“A fake spouse, yes.”

When an object from the future gets displaced, Ava needs the help of the Legends to go undercover and retrieve it

– –

So, I guess I’m trying to say, anything by WardenRoot also?

– –

Sweet Girl - TML9115

Sara is turned into a five year old. The legends with the help of Gary convince Ava to watch her.

– –

More than a Clone - StoryChanger

Ava is attacked in her own apartment and barely escapes to the Waverider. Sara and her team work together to figure out why she was attacked and discover that someone close to Ava maybe a traitor.

– –

The Holiday Party - ffgirl21

In a last ditch effort to help Sara get over her recent breakup, Laurel drags Sara to her law firm’s Thanksgiving party where she runs into Ava Sharpe, a corporate lawyer at Laurel’s firm.

– –

Nailing The Canary - notthegoblin

Ava Sharpe is a spy tasked with capturing the elusive Canary. Can she keep focused on her mission when Sara Lance catches her eye?

– –

A Special Kind of Real Fake Love - karadanverz

In order to catch a time-traveler that’s trying to erase the Time Bureau from existence, Ava and Sara must go undercover at a couples retreat for a week so that they can catch him.

– –

Camp Waverider - Notabeautifullittlefool

The summer camp AU that I was literally the only one to ask for.

– –

all these roads lead back to you - Phoebmonster

She could feel it now, something that wasn’t there before, clear and mysterious like the pools of water in the caves, sat at the edge of her mind. If she just reached out -

(An artefact gives Sara and Ava the ability to read eachother’s minds. it goes about as well as you would expect.)

– –

So, I went through all my bookmarks and took out a lot of options from this list because they weren’t all complete.

I hope you enjoy these fics, because I surely did!

Also, if you have a twitter, there’s A LOT of SMAU’s on there that have me in stitches.

– –

https://twitter.com/jesmacalIans/status/1124792102557290498?s=20

– –

https://twitter.com/saviourxsara/status/1111513658209624065?s=20

– –

https://twitter.com/katlikescats_/status/1122598940162052097?s=20

– –

https://twitter.com/Iegendsofau/status/1038175307839225856?s=20

– –

https://twitter.com/plinys/status/1079173574781530114?s=20

– –

https://twitter.com/katlikescats_/status/1080932001941766144?s=20

– –

https://twitter.com/mrsavalance/status/1092893264473194498?s=20

– –

https://twitter.com/jesmacalIans/status/1080450697915781120?s=20

– –

https://twitter.com/jesmacalIans/status/1088810889632010240?s=20

– –

Hope you enjoy each and every one of these as much as I did.

#Avalance #Asks #Avalance Fics #Avalance AU's #Sara Lance #Ava Sharpe #Fanfiction #bettertobebisexualxoxo #Long Post #fic rec #Avalance Fanfiction Rec #Avalance Fic Rec

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aliciameade · 5 years

Text

Je Suis Désolée

Title: Je Suis Désolée Author: aliciameade Rating: *** E *** Pairing: Beca/Chloe Summary: I’ve had the following prompt in my inbox for two years. Whoever sent it: I hope it’s worth the wait?

“I have a prompt if you are willing '-Friends can help friends have orgasms, Beca'. Oneshot, twoshot, whatever you feel like. Basically 'friends with benefits' trope?”

Also on AO3

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Whoops!” Chloe stoops to pick up the pile of mail Beca knocked off the kitchen counter with her elbow when she’d leaned on it to dramatically drop her face to her hands. It’s the fifth (sixth?) thing she’s picked up for Beca this week under similar circumstances: a dropped phone (twice), the television remote, her eyeliner while they did their makeup side-by-side, and an entire basket of laundry which had tumbled down the stairs to the basement along with a string of Beca’s finest curse words. “What’s going on with you lately?”

“Nothing,” Beca huffs behind her hands.

Chloe’s eyes survey the room in the hope of getting more insight than that from one of the other girls hanging out waiting for the stack of pizzas they ordered to arrive.

“Her well is dry,” Stacie offers while she drinks from a cup Chloe knows contains more than only Diet Coke.

Chloe laughs in amused confusion. “What?”

Beca groans and drops her head onto crossed arms. “Stace.”

“There’s no meat in her taco.”

Chloe’s confusion evaporates and she twists to look at Beca again to see the tips of her ears already turning red. She knows Beca and Jesse broke up recently, though no one’s been able to ascertain exactly when as Beca is rarely forthcoming about personal things. One day she had a boyfriend, one day she, without any formal announcement, implied she no longer had a boyfriend, and nothing further was spoken about the matter.

“You mean she’s all clumsy because—”

Beca’s voice is muffled. “I’m just stressed out about Nationals.”

“Because she needs to get laid,” Stacie finishes, steamrolling right over Beca’s excuse and resulting in cautious giggles from Jessica and Ashley. “And she doesn’t believe in masturbation.”

“Stacie! Seriously?” Beca sits up and she’s sporting a full blush. Chloe finds it adorable. “I told you that in confidence! And that isn’t even what I said!”

“Oh, no!” Chloe empathizes; it’s been several months since she’s slept with anyone, partly due to focusing so much on the Bellas and mostly due to being in love with her co-captain. She’s also some combination of elated and intrigued that Beca has, apparently, not had sex in some length of time and that she has, apparently, disclosed her state of unfulfilled arousal to Stacie. Part of her feels sad that Beca hadn’t come to her with such a thing, but then again, if there was anyone in the house to go to for any kind of sexual advice, Stacie would be the best choice.

“Shut up.”

“You’re jittery because you’re horny?” Chloe’s not an idiot; she knows that’s exactly what Beca’s problem is, but it’s too tantalizing to let it go so quickly. Beca’s fun to rile up.

Beca’s palms connect with the counter and her back straightens, chin held high. “You know what? I’m a red-blooded woman with biological needs and I’m not going to let you guys harass me for it.”

“No one’s harassing you, Bec,” Chloe says even though she’s laughing.

“We just forget you’re human sometimes,” Ashley pipes up from across the room and the boldness earns a gasp from Jessica.

“You know how I get if I go more than a few days without it,” Stacie says with a shrug and another sip from her cup. “No judgment here.”

Beca pushes her barstool away from the counter with a deafening screech and leaves. “Screw you guys; text me when the pizza’s here.”

“I mean, you could, and you’d solve your problem right now.”

“Fuck you!” echoes back from the stairs.

Chloe turns to stare at Stacie who’s already looking at her with a knowing smile.

Because, again, if there’s one person in the house to go to for sex advice, it’s Stacie. Chloe’s confided in her the past three years. Specifically, about her suffocating attraction to Beca.

“I set that up perfectly for you. What are you waiting for?”

Chloe gives Jessica and Ashley a furtive glance but they’re the least gossip-prone girls of the house. “Right now?!” she whispers harshly anyway. It feels weird to speak about any potential anything between Beca and her in front of other people.

“Why not?” Stacie shrugs and looks past Chloe as if Beca’s right there, but Chloe knows she isn’t. She heard her stomp up the steps a few seconds ago. “Now she’s horny and mad. What could be better?”

“Shush,” Chloe says and ignores the look Stacie gives her when she takes a step backward. Backward in the direction of Beca. “I’m going to go apologize. I think we went too far.”

“Apologize with your tongue.”

Chloe thinks she might actually blush from Stacie’s comment, which is a feat, and turns to walk away before it sets in. “That’s usually how speaking works; thanks!”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chloe doesn’t go directly to Beca’s attic room. She doesn’t really have any expectations but if she knows one thing about herself, it’s that she tends to be impulsive and has been known to blow up even her best-laid plans.

And maybe if she blows up her plan to apologize to Beca for making her uncomfortable and offering to be an ear if she wants to talk about her break-up and somehow ends up…

She chastises herself even as she changes out of boring beige cotton briefs in favor of black lace. She has no expectations, none whatsoever. But if she does do something to surprise herself, she’d prefer to be in peak form to keep her confidence high. Something tells her that if she does do something and Beca actually agrees to it, Beca might not be the most relaxed, comfortable person in such a scenario and Chloe will have to compensate.

Beca’s door is predictably closed when she arrives, so she knocks.

“I said text me when the pizza’s here.” Beca’s voice grows louder as crosses the room to throw open the door with palpable irritation. “Oh.”

Chloe smiles. “Hi.”

“Here to mock me some more?” Beca sighs as she turns around and climbs the steps to return to her bed, though she doesn’t tell Chloe to leave.

“No,” Chloe says as she enters and closes the door. “I came to apologize.” Apologize with your tongue. She tries to push Stacie’s comment out of her mind.

Beca’s lying on her bed staring at the ceiling when Chloe reaches the landing. She doesn’t offer a further greeting so Chloe assumes her silence is indicative that she does need to apologize.

“I’m sorry,” she says when she gets to the side of Beca’s bed. When Beca glances at her and sighs (again), she accepts the unspoken invitation to sit. “What you’re dealing with is perfectly natural and I shouldn’t have let Stacie tease you about it. And I shouldn’t have joined in. Or laughed.”

Beca huffs and folds her hands over her stomach. Chloe can’t help but watch the way they interlock, can’t help her mind reminding her how soft Beca’s hands are, how often she’s felt them, though never in the places or ways she aches for. “What do you know, anyway?” Beca asks bitterly. “I always see you hooking up with people when we go out.”

Chloe wonders if it’s jealousy she hears lacing Beca’s tone but tries not to get hung up on it. “Bec,” she says with a gentle nudge to Beca’s side with her finger to make her squirm, “I don’t sleep with them.”

Beca’s eyes slide to the side to land on her but she doesn’t say anything.

“We just make out. It’s fun. I haven’t slept with anyone since Thanksgiving.” It had been a high school friend while she was home for the holiday and it had been more awkward than anything. She’s not sure why she feels the need to tell Beca she isn’t sleeping with the people she kisses in bars and at parties, but she does sense Beca’s tension beginning to ease.

They’re both quiet for a long moment until she sees Beca start to smile. “Dude, you haven’t gotten laid in six months?”

Chloe rolls her eyes. “Hush. It’s not for lack of prospects.”

“And I thought my three was bad. I need to get my shit together.”

Chloe laughs and makes note of the three months. It gives her a rough time frame of when Beca’s relationship may have ended.

“You know,” Chloe starts.

She intends to finish with, “if you want to talk about what happened with Jesse, I’m here for you.”

Instead, what comes out is, “we could help each other out.”

Good ol’ Chloe Marie Beale. Impulse and instinct in the driver’s seat instead of reason.

“What?” Beca asks and lifts her head.

She bites her lip for a second, trying and failing to get a read on the look Beca’s giving her. “You’re so wound up that you can’t get through the day without breaking something.”

Beca sits up until she’s supporting herself with her arms behind her. She doesn’t say anything, though.

“Let me help you.” She chooses to remove the proposition of mutual relief from the table. It feels like a much smaller mountain to scale.

“Help me…?” Beca squints at her as though she’s confused but Chloe can tell she knows exactly what Chloe means.

“With your jitters.” She smiles as she says it and hopes she doesn’t look as nervous as she feels.

“Dude,” Beca laughs. “What?”

“I meant—”

“I know what you meant.”

Chloe shuts up, but just for a second. “I want to. But only if you want me to. Obviously.”

Beca’s face is unreadable again, some combination of astonishment and amusement. “You’re literally saying you want to fuck me.”

Chloe imagines herself looking like a cartoon character, one whose eyes bug out several feet and neck stretches so long their heads hit the ceiling as they react. “That’s not—”

“That’s exactly what you said.”

“No, Beca,” she’s not sure why she’s saying ‘no.’ “I didn’t mean—why do you have to say it that way? It sounds so vulgar.”

“You’re sitting on my bed propositioning me for sex and I’m vulgar?” Beca’s definitely bewildered; her tone tells Chloe that. She’s also blushing.

“I didn’t mean to upset you. Let’s just pretend this never happened; I’ll go.” Chloe stands to leave but feels Beca’s hand graze her knee as she does so.

She freezes and glances back. Beca’s on her side now, and she’s looking at her own hand as if it betrayed her and withdraws it.

“Do you want me to go?” she asks quietly.

Beca shifts and Chloe’s not quite sure what her ultimate goal is until she’s moved far enough toward the wall in her small twin-sized bed to leave half the bed empty. “You can stay,” she answers, though doesn’t quite meet Chloe’s eyes. She gestures at her bed. “Maybe we can talk about it?”

“Okay,” Chloe says with a smile as she sinks into the space Beca’s made for her to settle onto her side, face to face with Beca only a few inches away. This close, she can see how nervous Beca is and that she’s doing a pretty good job at hiding it. Beca always likes to act like she’s cool as a cucumber in any situation, but Chloe knows better. “We can talk about it.”

“So,” Beca starts. She pauses, but Chloe waits for her. “You, uh…” she pauses once more and then finds her footing. “Do you make it a habit to proposition all your friends?”

Chloe giggles and shakes her head. “No. Of course not.”

“Of course not?”

There’s a further unspoken question there; Chloe hears it. “You’ve been kind of a walking catastrophe lately. Someone needs to intervene.”

Beca smiles and it’s genuine and warms Chloe’s heart like it always does. “So it’s an act of charity.”

Chloe squints. “More like self-preservation. Or homeowner’s insurance?”

“Fuck you,” Beca laughs.

Chloe’s quick. “Is that an offer? Because this was supposed to be about you.”

Beca’s cheeks flush again but she doesn’t try to hide it. “I’ve never slept with a friend before. And don’t say we sleep together all the time; you know that’s not what I mean.”

Chloe bites her tongue; they know each other so well by now. It’s one of the many, many things she’s come to love about her relationship with Beca. “I don’t really make it a habit, either, you know,” she says gently instead. “I don’t like knowing you’re—”

“Horny?”

“—in need of relief, is how I was going to finish that,” Chloe says with a laugh. “But yes.”

“Stacie’s horny, like, all the time.”

“You’re different.” Chloe maybe says those words too quickly to not raise some kind of suspicion that they hold more meaning than they seem to at face value.

If Beca interprets them that way, she doesn’t let on. She’s quiet for a moment and Chloe lets her study her; she can see Beca thinking about it, considering all possibilities whether good or bad. Beca’s always been the level-headed one of the group and now is no different.

“I don’t want anything to be weird,” Beca eventually says. “And don’t say, ‘It will only be weird if we let it be weird’ because that’s what everyone always says.”

“Have you been propositioned like this often?” Chloe winks.

“I meant, like, on TV and in books and stuff.”

Chloe smirks just to tease her and she notices Beca start to blush again despite no suggestive exchange of words. She wonders if Beca’s imagining it. What it would be like to kiss each other, to slowly undress, to let fingertips dance over skin and draw one another to the peak of pleasure.

Beca shifts infinitesimally closer and Chloe swears her heart stops beating.

“Can I say, ‘maybe’?”

“You can say whatever you want.”

Beca’s eyes drift to Chloe’s lips as she speaks and Chloe has to remind herself to breathe. “Okay. Maybe.”

Chloe’s glad she’s already lying down; her knees would have surely given out otherwise upon hearing Beca taking it under consideration. “It’s totally up to you. It was a no-pressure, no-strings-attached offer.”

Beca’s smile is so gentle it’s barely there. But it’s there. “I know.” Then she starts smiling for real. “I feel like we should throw back tequila shots first or something.”

The suggestion makes butterflies explode in Chloe’s stomach. Because it sounded like Beca was actually ready to go for it. “Amy has a bar cart—” Chloe moves to get up again to help herself to Fat Amy’s extensive liquor collection proudly on display in a corner in her half of the room but Beca’s touch stops her again.

They don’t leave when Chloe stops and she holds her breath, watching Beca watch her own fingers as they twitch where they rest on the inside of Chloe’s right wrist.

“Have you thought about this?” Beca’s voice is the tiniest bit lower than usual, or maybe it’s just her quiet tone, but it makes Chloe dizzy.

“I wouldn’t have offered without thinking about it first.”

Beca’s lips curve for a second. “Good to know, but—” she pauses to take a breath “—I meant have you thought about this...before.”

The question jumpstarts Chloe’s previously stalled heart. It’s an unexpected question that points down the path she’s wanted to take for a very long time and she knows her answer wields much power.

“Yes,” she answers.

“Oh.” Beca’s reply is little more than an exhale.

Chloe itches to ask Beca the same question or to be asked to expand on her answer, but Beca’s silent for a long moment until she wets her lips and Chloe’s heart stops again.

“Maybe we just kiss and see what it’s like?”

Chloe’s pretty sure all major bodily functions are beginning to fail her: first her heart, then her stomach, now her ears, because she cannot believe them. Maybe her nervous system, too, because her skin won’t stop tingling where Beca’s fingers rest on it. Her instinct still works, though, and she has to fight to keep from pointing out that they have kissed before, many times in fact.

However, those were kisses in the most basic definition. Their lips touched to show affection. But they were platonic, casual, sometimes just someone (usually Chloe) being playful. They weren’t laden with meaning or meant for physical pleasure. And she knows that’s exactly what kind of kiss Beca’s suggesting tonight.

“Yeah, we can try that.” Chloe’s voice is what fails her this time, breaking mid-word and quivering and despite her intent to keep herself together because Beca would surely be nervous, and here they are, Beca being the one to push the timeline forward while Chloe tries to calm down.

“You’re nervous,” Beca says with another soft smile. “It’s okay; I’m nervous, too.”

And that’s another part of what she loves about Beca so much: even in this strange situation she’s found herself in that Chloe knows is making Beca squirm inside, she’s able to default into the caretaker role that she’s always had once she had settled in with the Bellas. “Chloe’s nervous? I’ll reassure her.”

“It’s not like we’ve never kissed before,” Beca continues with a more comfortable smile, and of course: of course she’s pushing her own nerves aside in this odd and monumental moment between them to echo Chloe’s own thoughts. “No pressure, right?”

“Right,” Chloe says with a heavy exhale and a smile. She so wants to be confident and self-assured right now but Beca has always been able to rattle her and tonight is no different.

“I’m just going to…” Beca doesn’t finish her sentence. She contorts herself to reach back and turn off her bedside lamp. It’s not completely dark; the single light bulb in the walk-in closet is on and swirling colors emanate from Beca’s MacBook screensaver sitting on her desk at the foot of the bed.

The darkness seems to bolster Chloe’s faltering boldness and she levers herself onto an elbow to be ready for Beca to turn back and when she does they’re much closer. Beca starts at the unexpected proximity.

“Oh,” is all she says, though.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Chloe says after a steadying breath. She’s impressed that Beca can’t hear the frantic beating of all the butterfly wings in Chloe’s stomach. “If that’s okay.”

Beca’s eyelashes flutter so quickly Chloe’s not sure if she’s even blinking. When she nods, Chloe feels hers do the same and she thinks she understands.

Nerves.

Excitement.

She leans forward and Beca’s eyes fall closed when she’s close enough to catch the apple scent from Beca’s shampoo. It’s so familiar to Chloe, one that’s come to trigger feelings of comfort and contentment because those things are synonymous with being close to Beca.

She catches herself hesitating when Beca moves. It’s small, barely noticeable if not for Chloe’s state of hyperawareness. Just a twitch of her right hand where it lays on the bed in the narrow space between them such that it grazes Chloe’s shirt. Just a quiet, slow breath as though she’s preparing.

“Hurry up, then,” Beca finally mumbles and Chloe wonders how long she’s been hovering. Too long, it would seem, according to Beca.

She considers apologizing but decides to take Stacie’s advice.

She leans forward and kisses Beca.

It’s silent for a long moment. Lips touching, unmoving. Several seconds pass until Beca pulls back.

“That’s it?”

Her comment—criticism?—is unexpected and it startles Chloe. “I wasn’t sure how to—”

“I already said ‘yes,’ so don’t overthink because then I’ll overthink. Now, come on.” Beca’s fingers, the ones that have been resting between them, curl into Chloe’s shirt to give it a small tug and though it doesn’t actually pull Chloe at all, its intent does and, heart pounding, Chloe leans in again.

Beca meets her halfway.

Beca doesn’t let her be hesitant about it.

This kiss isn’t like the dozens of pecks they’ve shared. It feels like the kiss you excitedly wait for at the end of an awesome date because you know it’s coming and you can sense you’re both waiting for it.

There’s a thoughtful sound from Beca as their lips touch, then separate briefly only to reconnect again at a different angle, and Chloe wonders what she’s thinking about. If she’s thinking that it’s weird that they’re kissing. Or if, like Chloe, she’s thinking that it shouldn’t be this easy to start making out with your friend, especially when free from inebriation. Or if, like Chloe, she’s thinking that it’s a pretty damn great first “real” kiss.

She’s still considering the thoughts Beca could be having when a purposeful change of angle and the graze of a tongue floors Chloe.

In every hypothetical, dreamlike scenario she’s imagined, Beca is shy. Beca is reserved. Beca is nervous. Beca is quiet. Beca is awkward.

Every hypothetical, dreamlike scenario but one, that is. And it has long been Chloe’s favorite. The source of as much heartache as private, impassioned release, it centers around Beca knowing what she wants, being bold, being demanding and confident. Even if she wanted to, Chloe wouldn’t be able to tally how many peaks of pleasure the fantasy has brought her.

Now, potential realities make themselves known as Beca is the one to ask for a bigger, better kiss, as Beca is the first to escalate it from a gentle touch to a French kiss as Chloe’s lips part so her tongue can meet Beca’s.

It makes her shiver and, if it didn’t mean removing her hand from where it has come to rest on Beca’s waist, she’d pinch herself to make sure this was real. She sighs into it and tries to keep still. Her body itches to move closer, to touch more of Beca, but she roots herself in place to make sure this experience lasts as long as possible. She can feel Beca move, though. She feels her arm leave where it’s rested against her own side and lightly atop Chloe’s hand and she keeps her eyes closed to let Beca surprise her.

She fails to control the whimper that escapes when Beca’s hand finds her cheek and grazes over it until fingers—the soft fingers Chloe thinks about so much—slide through Chloe’s hair and Chloe’s wholly unsure what she expected but for some reason, that wasn’t it, and her body reacts on instinct.

She mirrors the action and marvels (not for the first time) at how smooth Beca’s hair is. She moves closer than she previously deemed safe and when her knee bumps Beca’s, breathtakingly, Beca’s shift to let Chloe’s fit between her own.

It’s real, now. Chloe can feel herself slipping into the moment driven by a desire that’s only growing the longer they trade kisses. The longer they take turns playing with the other’s tongue, seeing if they can coax a sound from the other.

It’s that thought flits through her, that Beca’s actively trying to pull reactions from Chloe, that breathes oxygen to the flame burning inside Chloe.

She moans when Beca’s teeth catch her bottom lip and she can hear Beca react to it in the way her breathing changes. She moves, hand drawing from Beca’s hair to run down her arm and side until it’s on her hip, pressing gently to suggest Beca turn onto her back.

“Not enough room,” Beca mumbles against Chloe’s lips and Chloe has to pull back with a laugh.

“I’ll move,” Chloe says as she does so, sliding backward until she’s the one on the edge of the narrow bed and watches in disbelief as Beca scoots forward and lies back.

She must take too long, even though only a second or two passes, because Beca pats the tops of her thighs like she’s calling a pet to her lap. “Well?”

She moves to straddle Beca’s hips and she sits back on her knees, still in awe that she’s in this position. Literally and figuratively. “Well?” Chloe echoes.

“Well, what?” Beca’s hands rest low on her stomach where they fidget, eyes unable to hold Chloe’s gaze for more than a second or two before they’re skipping around, Chloe thinks, to not be obvious about her desire to take in the way they look together right now. Beca’s not uncomfortable, Chloe notes, but she is nervous.

“You well’d me first,” Chloe sasses. Her own hands struggle to find a place to rest that doesn’t feel like it looks aggressive, passive, or defensive and they finally settle atop Beca’s, which immediately stop fidgeting. “But I’m well’ing you back.” She softens her tone and squeezes Beca’s hands. “You okay?”

She shrugs nonchalantly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Beca.”

Beca’s eyes fall again, maybe to their hands, maybe to some part of Chloe. “I’m cool.”

Chloe squeezes her hands again. “Hey. Look at me.”

Beca meets her eyes and Chloe can see how hard Beca has to work to not look away again.

“We don’t have to keep going,” she says earnestly.

Beca’s eyes do stop moving then and hold steady on Chloe’s. “Did I say I didn’t want to?”

Chloe has to swallow in order to get her voice to work. “No; I just want to make sure you’re comfortable.”

“Are you comfortable?” Beca asks in return.

She nods.

“I make a pretty good seat, huh?” Beca smiles as she says it. Even lifts her hips to give Chloe a bump and though it’s likely not the intended effect, it makes Chloe gasp. “Oh,” Beca says, hearing it. “You don’t want to stop, do you.” She says it like it’s a factual conclusion. And she’s not wrong.

“This isn’t about me,” Chloe says with a shake of her head and a small smile.

“You already told me you think about it.”

“I said I’ve thought about it,” she corrects, even though Beca’s already correct.

“Liar,” Beca says, seeing right through her. Like usual. And Beca is starting to smile, which, in this particular situation, feels dangerous. “How many times have you thought about it?”

Chloe is very much trapped even though Beca’s the one pinned by a person sitting astride her. “It’s not like I keep count.”

“Keep count?” Beca’s smile grows. “Present tense. So, this is like, a recent thing.” Chloe starts to reply but Beca keeps going. “If you don’t keep count, then how often?”

“Beca,” she says with a laugh, shy and aroused and excited and nervous all at once. She really didn’t expect her evening to unfold this way. Her lack of answer seems to satisfy Beca, though, because her friend’s smile turns unfairly attractive in its smugness.

“That is really fucking hot.” Beca slides her hands from beneath Chloe’s to place them on Chloe’s thighs and Chloe, thoroughly losing her senses again, rocks her hips forward at the contact. “Oh, wow,” Beca says as soon as it happens and Chloe can see the intrigue on Beca’s face from her higher vantage point. “So is that.” Beca’s own hips shift between Chloe’s thighs and while it could be as much out of general shifting for comfort, the fact that it could be driven by arousal—Beca’s arousal that Chloe has contributed to—makes Chloe bite her lip so she doesn’t say something wildly inappropriate.

“I’ve thought about it, too.”

It’s an unexpected and unprompted confession that makes Chloe’s heart want to leap out of her chest. “Oh?” she manages to ask though it sounds entirely too airy to come across as anything but turned on. It also isn’t helping that Beca’s hands are very, very slowly but steadily moving higher up Chloe’s thighs and it’s all Chloe can do to sit still and keep her hands to herself.

Beca shrugs one shoulder and her eyes remain focused on her own hands, seemingly transfixed as they reach Chloe’s hips and keep moving toward her waist where they stop. “I really don’t want to ruin anything.” She looks up and meets Chloe’s eyes.

“I think we’re bigger than that,” Chloe says as she lets her hands rest on Beca’s stomach. The contact moves the hem of Beca’s shirt and Chloe’s right thumb grazes bare skin. She doesn’t stop to think before she goes with it, letting her hand push the T-shirt up a few inches until her hand rests fully on the warm skin of Beca’s stomach. It turns concave beneath her palm and she hears Beca inhale. “Don’t you?”

Beca’s answer is delayed and Chloe watches with interest as Beca tries to school her face into something other than the surprise that came from Chloe’s direct contact. “It’s just sex, right?” Beca eventually says. Her hands are hot where they hold Chloe, like they could burn through her blouse and sear her skin.

It’s just sex, right? Chloe believes it’s a lot more than that. If it was with anyone else—literally, anyone else—it would be “just sex.” But it’s not. It’s Beca, and nothing is “just” anything when it comes to Beca for Chloe.

“Right,” Chloe says with a nod and lets her left hand join her right under the edge of Beca’s shirt. She wonders if they feel as hot to Beca as Beca’s do to her; she doesn’t think they could possibly be cold, but Beca shivers at the touch.

“Come down here.” Beca tugs at Chloe’s shirt again. It’s the second time she’s asked—demanded—Chloe to kiss her and Chloe bends at the waist to do exactly that.

Her hands have to abandon their comfortable, warm spot on Beca’s stomach with the change so she can support herself, but she doesn’t really mind. Not when Beca’s hands seem to be venturing into similar territory. Fingertips glide down Chloe’s sides and curve to catch the edge of her blouse where they graze along Chloe’s skin. Goosebumps rise in the wake of Beca’s touch and Chloe dares to kiss Beca a little harder to encourage her to keep going.

It works.

Beca’s hands skate under the hem of Chloe’s blouse and brush over her stomach and she can’t help it: she flexes her abs and she hears Beca react immediately with a huff against her lips.

“Show-off,” is mumbled next and Chloe’s about to laugh when Beca seems to want to make a point of some kind because she kisses Chloe so thoroughly, so aggressively, that Chloe’s left elbow actually gives out for a second.

Beca makes a noise that Chloe thinks is probably born of smugness that she can’t help but think is deserved. Beca’s kissing her like she’s trying to prove something or make a point and what either of those things could be, Chloe doesn’t know or care as long as Beca doesn’t stop.

Beca’s hands move higher, over Chloe’s ribs until she’s following them toward the center of Chloe’s chest where fingertips nick the band of Chloe’s bra.

Chloe tries to lock her mindset, to stay present, focused, even as her biceps burn and her tongue gets worked overtime because she knows what’s coming next and she’s wholly unprepared for a reality where Beca touches her breasts for any reasons beyond accident or retaliatory injury. Her hands hesitate for an ungodly length of time, though, tracing back and forth along the lower edge of Chloe’s bra as though unable to commit to crossing the line even as she literally sucks on the tip of Chloe’s tongue.

“Beca,” she says when she’s able to pull her tongue away from her to sit back again. She has to; her arms are tired and she can’t afford them to be, not if things are going to keep escalating. Beca’s hands naturally slide down with the change of angle until she’s holding Chloe’s waist again. “Do you want me to take off my shirt?”

She watches Beca swallow, eyes somewhat fixated on Chloe’s torso until they finally lift and Chloe almost whimpers from how dark they’ve become. “Yeah, okay,” Beca says and her voice is noticeably huskier, too, and she nearly whimpers again. “If you want to.”

Her top, a loose-fitting V-neck, is easily lifted and tossed aside and she doesn’t let herself get caught up in the fact that she’s straddling Beca in bed, topless, and reaches for Beca’s hands to start dragging them up her body again.

She stops when she’s drawn Beca’s hands back to where they’d stalled and she releases them to wait for Beca to decide to move farther. She distracts herself by putting on a little bit of a show for Beca, stretching until her back arches and her head drops back. She weaves her fingers through her own hair to scratch at her scalp and fluff it as she sits up again, back straight, and watches Beca watch her own hands slide up to cover Chloe’s breasts through her bra.

She flashes a smile at Beca when she looks up for reassurance and then Chloe closes her eyes and sighs as Beca’s fingers gently explore. It’s a torturous pace but Chloe has no complaints despite her body’s demands for quick relief. She can’t quite stop her hips from beginning to slip into a slow rolling rhythm, though, and she feels Beca’s shift beneath hers after a few seconds. She thinks it might have been an accident until they start following Chloe’s rhythm.

It’s a rash decision, she would think later, but feeling Beca moving like that beneath her is doing things to Chloe’s brain she never thought possible. She reaches behind herself and unhooks her bra to take it off and drop it to the floor because she needs Beca’s hands on her breasts like she needs air.

She can see the surprise on Beca’s face but it’s laced with excitement and she does everything but grab Beca’s hands again and place them where she wants them. She waits, impatiently, as Beca considers, and then moans quietly when she decides and drags short fingernails lightly along the sides of her bare breasts until they’re fully in Beca’s hands.

Chloe curses under her breath and she reaches for the hem of Beca’s shirt, intent on removing it, but Beca chooses that second to squeeze and Chloe has to stop and experience it. She needs to close her eyes and pay attention to how it feels for her hard nipples to press into Beca’s soft palms. For her fingers to draw invisible lines across her skin, over her nipples once, twice, and again until they pinch slightly and give a subtle tug and Chloe curses more loudly.

A deep breath helps ground her as she opens her eyes to glance down and take in what it looks like to have Beca’s hands on her this way. She takes it in for a moment before she pushes at Beca’s shirt again. “You, too?” she asks.

Beca looks up at her and there’s a definite blush to her cheeks that Chloe thinks might be permanent by this point. She can see the question pass through her mind and then she’s nodding. Her hands drop and reach for her shirt to pull it up and off herself and she whips it somewhere, a move that wholly steals Chloe’s breath.

She doesn’t stop there, though. Chloe watches, awestruck, as Beca arches her back enough to reach under herself and a second later, her bra is gone as well and just like that, they’re topless together.

“You’re so hot,” Chloe says as her hands move to touch Beca but stop short. “Can I—”

“Yes,” Beca says before she can even finish, eyes closing and head pressing into her pillow preemptively as Chloe’s hands settle over her breasts. Her lips part but no sound escapes and it’s somehow more erotic than if she had moaned.

There’s no subtlety in Chloe’s hips’ movement now; they’re rocking solidly and Beca’s moving beneath her just as purposely. She’s aching and as much as she knows she could drive herself to a release in this position, this entire event is supposed to be about Beca and her needs, not Chloe’s.

She lets her thumbs graze over the hard peaks of Beca’s breasts, something she previously experienced only in her fantasies and daydreams, and memorizes the way Beca’s breathing changes each time, especially when she slows down to draw lazy circles around them, and the way her neck strains and twists with her restless movements.

It draws Chloe in like a magnet and she leans down, having to relinquish Beca’s left breast to support herself again and she presses wet, open-mouthed kisses along Beca’s neck.

Beca arches beneath her again, this time an airy whimper escaping as she tilts her head in a request for more, which Chloe readily gives by sucking a mark into Beca’s skin and soothing it with her tongue.

Apologize with your tongue.

She almost laughs when she hears Stacie’s suggestion again; it had seemed ludicrous not even an hour ago and now Beca’s moaning in her ear while Chloe plays with her nipple.

She scoots backward, only an inch or two at first, when she can’t continue kissing down Beca’s neck. She kisses down now, over her left collar bone and across the expanse of warm skin below it until she’s moving back again, lips beginning to travel up the gentle swell of the top of Beca’s breast. She’s ready to pause and ask if it’s okay when fingers tangle into her hair, not to pull her away but to urge her closer.

Beca’s breathing heavily above her; she can hear it as much as she can feel it with how quickly her chest rises and falls beneath her lips until her lips find the peak. She kisses it gently and Beca stops breathing entirely for a long moment. She kisses it again and lets her tongue flick over it and Beca moans, loudly, to restart her breathing.

“Fuck,” Beca pants, body restless under Chloe. While her left hand clings to the back of Chloe’s head to keep her where she is, the right rakes along her back until it follows her ribs again to find Chloe’s left breast. Her grip isn’t gentle or tentative; Beca grabs Chloe roughly like she means it, like she’s desperate, and it makes Chloe close her lips over Beca’s nipple to suck on it. “Fuck,” Beca repeats, voice strained, and Chloe looks up to see her head thrown back. She’s tense and Chloe has the sudden realization that Beca’s close and she has to first process that before she can decide if she’s going to see it through right now or interrupt the crescendo because she hasn’t even gotten Beca’s pants off yet.

She lets go of Beca’s nipple and receives a groan of frustration in response and she immediately slides back until she’s kneeling between Beca’s ankles and her fingers curl into the waist of the sweatpants Beca’s wearing. She doesn’t pull, not without knowing Beca’s sure, and her confirmation comes by way of Beca lifting her hips to let her take them off.

Beca’s eyes are on her as she does it. And so are her own: she watches as her hands guide Beca’s pants down her legs until she’s bending her knees to help Chloe navigate them off her ankles. She watches as Beca immediately hooks her thumbs into her own underwear to slip them down her hips and out from under her to let Chloe remove them, as well, and she watches as Beca, nude and in bed, parts her legs so they again settle on either side of Chloe, feet flat and knees bent.

There’s not a specific intent behind that move, Chloe thinks. Just one of necessity because Chloe’s in the way of Beca being able to straighten her legs. But it’s a move nonetheless and though Beca turned off the lamp, it’s not dark and Chloe can see Beca. All of her. And she watches how quickly she’s still breathing, how she’s still yet every muscle seems to be restless.

Chloe’s hands follow the soft lines of Beca’s legs from her ankles, along her calves to her knees until they get to her thighs and slow their ascent.

“How do you want me to…?” she asks. She doesn’t want to have to ask; what she wants is to flip them both over and beg Beca to ride her face.

She hopes that desire isn’t too obvious when she glances at the darkness between Beca’s legs and her tongue wets her lips.

“I don’t care,” Beca quickly responds. Her eyes are fixated on Chloe like her life or death hinges on tracking every minuscule movement Chloe makes.

Chloe begins to ask if she’s sure but the desire she feels rolling off Beca and the way she’s looking at her answers her before she can speak. It makes her hands start moving again, centimeter by centimeter up Beca’s thighs until she feels heat. She can almost feel Beca but she hasn’t quite moved far enough before she stops, needing a moment of her own because she’s breathing so shallowly it’s making her light-headed.

“Please.” It’s scarcely a whisper but it gets Chloe’s attention. It’s all Beca says and it’s all Chloe needs to move her hand higher until it can go no farther. Until her thumb is nestled in the warm crease at Beca’s thigh. Not only is it warm, it’s wet and for the shortest of moments, her brain short-circuits.

“God, Beca,” she says as she stops thinking and starts feeling. She lifts her thumb and turns her wrist and with that small motion, she and Beca cross a heavy line. Her thumb finds Beca’s clit; it’s easy. It’s swollen. And it’s wet as her thumb glides over it.

Beca inhales so sharply she thinks she might have hurt her but then Beca’s hips are lifting and she’s moaning. “Wow, okay,” she says with a near laugh after the moan and Chloe looks up from her focus between Beca’s legs assuming Beca’s going to open her eyes and say something else, but she doesn’t. She parts her legs wider and lifts her hips again.

It makes Chloe want to melt into the bed and she thinks she just might do that soon. She slouches so her lips can touch Beca’s right knee, biting at it gently as she turns her hand to touch Beca more directly, pads of her fingers moving over her.

She wishes she’d had a chance to move up before this, to be able to kiss Beca while she touches her. She doesn’t want Beca to feel like she’s on display so Chloe makes it a point to keep her eyes off her face, but Beca doesn’t seem self-conscious. Especially when she swears and moves her left hand to toy with her own nipple.

Chloe’s mesmerized by it until she’s driven by it. Her lips travel down Beca’s thigh, moving back and lying down as she goes. She can hear Beca above her breathing harder. She watches her thighs part wider. Feels how warm she is as her shoulders press under the backs of Beca’s thighs. Tastes how wet she is as her tongue draws a smooth line up between Beca’s legs.

“Oh, my God,” Beca groans. Chloe commits it all to memory because she wants to remember how it sounded, how she tasted the first time Chloe put her tongue on Beca. “Oh, my God, you’re really doing that. Okay.” The words are rushed and almost a moan themselves.

“Mhmm,” Chloe hums as she does just that again, this time moving her tongue downward. It completes her tongue’s first journey before it repeats it, slowly up and down, slipping over and alongside Beca’s clit.

Beca’s hips jerk when she travels across it a certain way and she avoids that; it’s too intense for Beca and she wants her to love every second of this and not be overwhelmed. Chloe licks at her slowly, fingers gently parting Beca to reach more of her. She’s wet. Wetter. Chloe can literally taste and feel how turned on Beca is right now and she moans, starting to lose herself.

Beca moans a second later like an answer or an echo. Her hips roll, pushing off the mattress and against Chloe’s tongue. Again and again as Chloe pleasures her. Fucks her. Eats her.

Chloe’s so aroused she knows she could come if she thinks about it too hard. She doesn’t know if Beca will return the favor after this. She hopes she will. And if she will, Chloe is willing to wait to let her do that. She wants Beca to summon her up after she comes, cheeks and chin still wet, to unbutton the jeans Chloe hates that she’s wearing right now, and put her hand down them to push her fingers into Chloe and let her ride them.

She has a distinct desire for them to ride each other, she notes at the second such thought of the night.

“Fuck, don’t stop,” Beca whines as she rolls her hips more quickly.

Chloe knows she’s there; she doesn’t really need to do anything else other than hold her rhythm steady, which she does. She gives Beca her tongue and lets her grind against it.

She moans when Beca’s hand is in her hair again, grabbing and pulling enough to sting as her breaths become disjointed, as her thighs press against Chloe’s ears, as Beca’s moan joins hers, only louder and longer, as she comes.

Chloe can’t stop moaning with her. Her own body quivers in empathy though she doesn’t quite orgasm. She can’t believe it.

She can’t believe that really happened.

She finds and gives a quick suckle to Beca’s clit and Beca’s entire body jolts. She releases it immediately; Beca’s too sensitive but she couldn’t help herself. She kisses it instead and Beca’s thighs finally relax and fall open.

“Jesus, fuck,” Chloe hears. “Oh, my God.”

She smiles to herself and licks at Beca again before a soft pull on her hair asks her to stop. She shifts to Beca’s thigh instead, kissing it for a moment before shifting up to kiss her abdomen, low and just above her neatly trimmed hairline.

“That was fucking amazing.” Beca heaves a sigh as she says it and Chloe feels how soft and malleable she is now; moments ago, she was tense, rigid with the need for release and now she’s pliable and still.

Chloe looks up at the compliment, resting her chin on Beca. “Thank you.” She smiles.

“You look ridiculously hot down there.” Beca covers her face as soon as she says it and Chloe finds it adorable. Bashful even in this moment of intimacy.

Chloe laughs and moves to kiss Beca’s stomach again. “I’m going to sit up in a second if you want one last look.”

She expects Beca to shake her head and say, “I’m good, thanks,” but instead her hands drop and she looks right at Chloe who, as soon as that happens, makes it a point to move down to tease her tongue against Beca, just for good measure, because she knows Beca’s watching her.

Beca’s hands turn into fists and she presses them to her mouth with a hum. She clearly wants to say something and is fighting it.

“What?” Chloe asks, amused. She rests her cheek against Beca’s leg and lets her hands wander, tracing light patterns along the tops of Beca’s thighs.

“I want to ask you to do it again but I don’t know if that’s okay.”

Chloe raises her eyebrows at the direct and clear honesty. It’s surprising but welcome. “I can do it again.”

“No,” Beca says but then quickly shakes her head. “I mean, not yet. Just...come up here? I want to kiss you.”

Beca just said she wants to kiss Chloe. Said she wants Chloe to use her tongue to bring her to orgasm. Again. But not before Chloe kisses her. Again.

She moves up, less concerned about supporting her weight now that she can lie between Beca’s legs and rest against her. She kisses her and Beca moans softly. She wonders if it’s just from the kiss or because Beca can taste herself on Chloe’s mouth. Either is hot and Chloe’s still on fire and Beca’s moan fuels it. She kisses her more deeply and feels Beca’s arms rest against her back, feels hands push into her hair to keep it out of the way.

“Bec,” she breathes before kissing Beca again. “I really need to—to—just…” She tries to move off Beca; her intent is to leave the room, return to her own, glance in the general direction of her pussy, and come. “I only need a minute.” She somehow makes it off the bed and to her feet even though Beca’s arms try to hold onto her.

Beca sits up as soon as Chloe’s off the bed. “Where are you going?”

“I will absolutely go down on you again, but I’m going to go insane if I don’t get off first,” she says perhaps too directly in her heightened state of arousal. Beca doesn’t flinch.

“Then why are you leaving?”

She closes her eyes and takes a breath. Now’s not the time to be dense, Beca. “I need to go touch myself.”

“But I’m right here.”

Chloe’s about to say, “That’s why I need to leave,” when she realizes what Beca‘s implying. She gapes. “What?”

“I mean,” Beca says as she hypnotically turns onto her knees and moves to be in front of Chloe, “it’s the least I can do.” Her hands reach for the button on Chloe’s jeans and undo it without waiting for a response.

Chloe watches Beca unbutton her jeans, pull the zipper down, and push them over her hips to the ground. “Oh,” she says, dumbfounded, as Beca reaches for the black lace she so carefully chose in case she found herself in this very position.

“You...wow,” Beca says as Chloe steps out of the last pieces of clothing to push them aside with her foot. “Can I touch you?”

“Please, Beca,” Chloe says a little too desperately and need pushes her forward until she’s on her knees on Beca’s bed again and Beca’s moved all the way back to sit up against her headboard.

With Chloe naked astride her naked lap.

“Please,” Chloe repeats as she leans down to kiss her. She feels Beca’s hands on her back, on her waist, on her thighs until, with precious little warning, one of them presses between her legs.

She almost combusts but bites her lip to stop it. She wants to enjoy this even for a minute or two before it’s over. Beca’s touching her. Moving her fingers between Chloe’s legs, back and forth slowly and paying particular attention to where so much wetness has gathered before drawing it up higher so her fingers can easily slide against Chloe’s clit.

The position makes it easy for Chloe to rock herself with Beca’s touch so she does. She kisses her, plunders Beca’s mouth with her tongue as she quickly loses herself in riding Beca’s fingers just like she’d hoped to. Beca moans with her, almost in harmony which feels appropriate. The hand not working furiously between Chloe’s legs presses against Chloe’s lower back, pulling her in again and again.

There’s no hint that Beca’s about to do what she’s about to do, so Chloe forgets how to breathe when two fingers slip inside her with ease, deep until she’s rubbing against the palm of Beca’s hand.

“Holy shit, you feel amazing,” Beca says with a gasp. She doesn’t move right back to kissing Chloe; instead, she moves down to suck at her neck briefly before she drops her forehead to Chloe’s shoulder.

It’s too much for them to kiss during; Chloe can barely breathe as it is. She squeezes Beca’s shoulders, then moves to grip the back of her neck for closeness, her other hand grasping the headboard that’s starting to bang against the wall with Chloe’s thrusts.

“Beca,” she gasps. She says it more for herself than anyone; she’s moaned it in fantasy so many times, she needs to do it for real. To hear what she sounds like when it’s really Beca fucking her and not herself longing to know what it could be like. She’s wild, frantic, on the edge and deliberately holding off because it’s already euphoric. She’s almost scared that she won’t be able to withstand the intensity of the orgasm that she’s desperately trying to deny for the sake of more pleasure. “Beca, oh, my God, baby,” she moans again and cries out when Beca’s hand is actually forceful against her. She’s fucking Chloe—hard. Sweating from the exertion. Fucking her like she wants to be doing it, not like she has to. It makes Chloe’s hips rise, to hold herself up, to almost stop her frantic thrusting completely because Beca is fucking her so well it almost hurts. “Oh, shit, you’re gonna make me come,” she whines in Beca’s ear before moving so she can look down between them to watch Beca do just that.

“Fuck,” Beca mutters. “Fuck,” again. “Fuck. Come for me.”

Chloe’s world shatters.

Three words is all it takes.

She can hear Beca moaning with her. Swearing with her. Feels her arm wrap around Chloe’s waist to pull her down and keep her close as her hips buck wildly. Lips move across her chest with hot breaths until Beca’s head is tilting so her mouth can reach Chloe’s breast.

She’s gentle as first her lips, then her tongue touch Chloe’s nipple and Chloe is grateful. She clings to Beca as she starts to come back to herself. Beca’s touches don’t falter even as Chloe sighs to signal her return to full consciousness. They change, though, and Beca does lift her head to rest it against the headboard that Chloe’s still clinging to and looks up at her.

“That was...insanely hot,” Beca says with a deep sigh. She’s still inside Chloe and if she’s forgotten, Chloe doesn’t want her to remember and withdraw. It takes everything Chloe has to not squeeze her fingers lest she reminds her where she is. “Like, I’ve never had sex that hot before.”

Beca’s chatty after sex? Not something Chloe had considered, but she likes it. “No?” Chloe says, still hoping to keep Beca from realizing she hasn’t pulled out yet. “That’s unfortunate.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Beca smiles and angles her wrist so her thumb glides across Chloe’s still-swollen clit. It makes Chloe sag and whimper and Beca’s smile grows. “Seriously. So hot.”

Chloe has to hum for a few seconds because Beca doesn’t exactly stop playing with her, though she’s doing it so slowly it’s almost absentminded. The precision, however, tells Chloe she’s very aware of what she’s doing and how she’s doing it. “Maybe now you’ll stop breaking everything,” she manages after gathering herself.

Beca squints up at her. A mock glare. Then her look changes to something else. “I don’t know.” Something suspiciously innocent. “I still feel a little clumsy.”

When Chloe realizes how far her jaw dropped at Beca’s shamelessness she snaps it closed with a click and gets a knowing smirk as a result. “I already said I’ll do it again.”

“I mean, I kind of have, like, months to undo, right? And you have twice that.” Beca removes her fingers then and Chloe whimpers at the loss. She feels them a moment later resting warm and wet against her thigh.

Chloe has to process Beca’s sly comment. She has to take in her suggestion that they do this again, and not just tonight but for months to come.

It sounds a lot like Beca’s asking Chloe to be in a relationship, or, at the very least, to continue this arrangement of tending to one another’s sexual needs for the foreseeable future.

Unsure which of those it is and afraid to ask in case it’s a proposition to be ongoing friends with benefits, she just nods and leans in to kiss Beca again. Because that’s something she can do now, at least in this particular setting: she can kiss Beca, and trail her fingertips down her neck and over her breasts to her stomach where they have to stop because their position won’t let them go any farther.

A loud knock on Beca’s door interrupts them with a scare; if it wasn’t for Chloe not caring if people see her naked—present company excluded, as she cares very much about that—and sitting in Beca’s lap unhurried to retrieve clothing, she’s sure Beca would be diving for cover if the look of panic on her face is anything to go by.

But when the door doesn’t open, her panic turns to irritation. “Seriously?” Beca says, almost whining, and Chloe makes sure to appreciate her disappointment.

“Shh,” Chloe smiles before kissing her. “Don’t be mean. Whoever it is is your friend.”

Beca grunts in annoyance but turns her head so she can shout toward the door, “What!”

“Is Chloe finished apologizing yet?” It’s Stacie. “Pizza’s here.”

The look Beca shoots Chloe makes her want to wither and hide. “I can explain.”

Beca starts to speak, stops, then says, “You know what? I don’t even want to know. Tonight’s ending on a high note and I’m gonna take that. Thanks, Stace!”

Relief washes over Chloe; not that she thought Beca would be mad, not really, but she didn’t want her to be upset that Chloe confided in Stacie about something personal that could be considered conspiratorial if one wanted to look at it through that lens.

“So, do you want to go have pizza with the girls?” she asks, hitching her thumb toward Beca’s door. There’s a long pause, much too long for such a basic question, and Beca’s hands squeeze where they still sit on Chloe’s thighs. “Or do you want me to go down on you again?”

Beca’s eyes snap to hers as if she’s about to protest in offense but instead, she sighs and says, “I really didn’t want to have to ask.”

Chloe laughs; it’s far too effortless to be this way with Beca. It’s their first time together but she feels so at ease with her and can’t help but think Beca must feel the same to be this comfortable with each other. “You can ask me anytime you want.” She kisses Beca again, this time with more intent, more tongue, before she’s moving off Beca’s lap so they can both shift to let Beca lie down.

“Is now a good time? Do I need to ask you right now?” It’s banter, Chloe knows. It’s cute, this side of Beca. Cute and sexy as she takes no shame in making herself comfortable, even sliding one of her extra pillows beneath her hips to make it easier for Chloe. Chloe’s always found Beca unfairly hot when her confidence shows it she can sense it coming to the surface more the longer they’re cooped up in Beca’s room and stripped bare together.

Chloe settles between Beca’s legs, chin on her thigh as she looks up at her. “No, but you could say, ‘please.’” She winks and then laughs when Beca rolls her eyes. Even now, in this position, they’re still friends. It’s not weird. It’s not going to be weird. She’s sure of that now and she hopes Beca’s realizing that as well.

“Will you get me off, please?” Beca says and Chloe knows she’s joking with her choice of words even if she’s serious with the request.

“Well, when you put it that way…” Chloe smiles and moves to kiss between Beca’s thighs once again but Beca stops her with a hand to her head.

“Hey, this isn’t weird, right?”

Chloe laughs and pushes herself onto her elbows so it’s easier to see each other. “So creepy. I was literally just thinking that.”

“What, that it’s weird?” Beca says quickly and worry crosses her features.

“No,” Chloe smiles. “That it doesn’t feel weird at all. Do you think it does?”

Beca gives a shake of her head. “No. It feels...pretty fucking good.”

“Well, that’s kind of the point,” Chloe teases. “But maybe you didn’t realize it since you’ve never had sex this good before.”

“Don’t mock me,” Beca says as defiantly as she can given her prone and quite vulnerable position.

Chloe pouts her lips. “Aw, I’m sorry.” Then she smiles. “Wait, I take that back. I know a better way to apologize.”

Beca’s brow furrows in confusion for a second until Chloe’s leaning down to tease her tongue against Beca, still hot and wet, maybe even more so than before.

“Yeah, okay,” Beca exhales as her head drops back to her pillow and her fingers comb through Chloe’s hair. “I forgive you.”

The end

#bechloe #bechloe fic #fanfic #smuttttttttttt #ye been warned

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hadestownmodern · 4 years

Text

First Date (Orphydice)

You all asked for Orphydice, so here’s something I wrote astonishingly fast the other day bc I had so many soft feelings that needed to come out.

-Danielle

-------------

“Hey,” Eurydice slides onto the barstool with a smile, tossing her canvas backpack to the ground and propping an elbow on the counter. Orpheus turns at the sound of her voice, fumbles with the glass he’s cleaning. His eyes light at the sight of her, half her hair pinned back from her face, comfortable in a thrifted brown men’s pullover tucked into skinny jeans with a thick belt. He hadn’t seen her since last night, when she’d left the bar and gone to work a late-night shift at the diner. She’d gone home afterward; he’d only known that from a phone call he’d received while half-asleep, waiting up for her shift to be over.

“Call me when you get out,” He’d held her waist, kissed her at the door of the bar.

“This is my late shift, I don’t want to wake you up.”

“It’s your late shift, I know you can make it alone but just…let me know when you get home safe, okay?” Orpheus keeps his hands on her waist, settles his gaze on Eurydice with such sincerity that her instinct is to look away, attempt to cast his worry in some sort of other motive. But even that’s impossible, with Orpheus’s forehead on hers and the softness in his voice. “Are you sure you don’t want to come back tonight?”

“I’ll be alright-need to spend at least some time at my own place. Besides,” She teases, fixing the loop of his bandana around her own neck and gesturing to a favorite of his shirts she’s thrown on. “I should probably start wearing my own clothes at some point. Which means I have to go back.”

She stands on her toes and brushes her lips gently against his cheek, then his lips.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Call me when you get home.”

She had; they’d talked for two hours afterward, Eurydice relaying the night’s events as she kicked off her work shoes, shuffling through the strikingly unfamiliar territory of her apartment. She’d spent most nights since Thanksgiving with Orpheus. Eurydice isn’t sure when the choice became habit but laying in her own bed, she’d realized just how out of place she’d felt. They’d talked until Orpheus had fallen asleep, until Eurydice had thanked him and sat in the silence accompanied only by the frightening soundtrack of her less than comforting neighborhood.

When she sits herself on the barstool the next day, when Orpheus greets her with his all-encompassing smile, Eurydice is thankful to be back.

“Hey,” He nods to a regular a few seats down, pours another glass of water before returning to her. “Busy day?”

“Just one more class left today, then I’m free.”

Orpheus hums in appreciation, nodding before turning his back to reach for another clean glass. Eurydice watches him for a while, looking down at the sparkling clean and moving his towel around it. He stops only to sip from the water bottle he keeps on the counter, and even then he can barely meet her eyes. His face has been brushed with soft, rosy shades of pink, and he shifts a bit on his feet as he works. When he puts the glass down he clears his throat, clasping his hands together.

“Would you want to go on a date tonight?”

“A date?”

“I just-I was thinking that I haven’t even taken you on a date, and that’s not what you deserve, and as much as I love hanging out with you at home I just. I want to take you on a date; a real date.”

“A real date,” it’s teasing, endearing, the way Eurydice dangles her legs from the barstool, leans back and folds her arms over her chest. She pauses slightly too long in her response, she can tell by the way Orpheus begins to fidget in place again, open his mouth to form an explanation. “I think I can manage that.”

Eurydice swipes a swig from his water bottle, leaning over the bar to cup his cheek and kiss him quickly before gathering her things again. She puts on her coat, glances back at him with a wink before making her way out the door.

“I’ll be here at seven-you can pick me up at your front door!”

Seven comes painstakingly slow for Orpheus, the bar slower than normal even through the normal rush of the early dinner crowd. Hermes watches, amused, as the gangly boy maneuvers through crowds of people with clumsy feet and eyes on the clock. Hermes attempts to make him leave more than once, but he refuses.

“She’s not coming until seven-I can’t wait that long without something to do!”

So he buses tables, talks to the customers; most of whom ask about the new girl that hangs around with him, ‘the small one with the pretty eyes you’re always kissing.’ This helps pass the time, but not to quell the bubbling nerves that begin at his toes, float through his body until they manifest in his passing thoughts. Being with Eurydice is easy; her outwardly assertive demeanor is complimented by his gentle nature. She makes him laugh, her very pointed, sarcastic sense of humor and innate ability to take a generic story and make it into something wild. He’s consumed with the thought of her; her name is Eurydice-we met at Persephone’s Thanksgiving party. But the thoughts soon have him back in the realm of doubt.

They hadn’t been on an actual date before, although their time together could be seen as such; coffee and studying, movies and fries and sex, but none of which Orpheus could consider a proper date. He hadn’t forgotten, rather the thought hadn’t crossed his mind as having a sense of urgency. In his mind, it felt as though they’d been dating so much longer than they had already. But once the thought had entered it wouldn’t leave; things had been great, but he longed to do more.

At seven, Orpheus is past a state of panic. He’d put on a nice pair of khakis, thrown a bowtie on for good measure. When he could hear knocking on the other side, his breathing had all been forgotten; Eurydice grinned at him when he opened the door, shook her head as he stood staring at her.

She hadn’t thought much of herself before leaving her place; she’d found a casual black dress in her closet, printed with gold details that dated far before the current era but suited her well. She’d put in matching tassel earrings, done her makeup with a smokier eye. She’d been tempted to stay in the most casual route, keep her jeans and men’s sweater on and ask to just stay in. But Orpheus had been so excited, seemed so sure of his word, that diving into the territory of an actual date had been a choice she’d been excited to make.

However, it hadn’t made her any less anxious.

By the time she gets to the bar it’s still early-half an hour early, almost exactly. Eurydice considers just knocking on the door and asking Orpheus if he’s ready, but decides against it. He had said seven, and he’d been adamant on doing things “right” by his own frame of thinking. The only thing she’d refused was meeting at her apartment. She’d pushed-there was no need for Orpheus to come all the way to her side of town, not when she knew she wouldn’t return to that own personal level of hell until she absolutely needed to. There wasn’t shame in the way that she lived; no, Eurydice found herself damn prideful in the door that wouldn’t lock without something propped against it, the mattress on the floor and the hot water’s inability to flow to her bathroom sink. She’d rented the apartment fresh out of foster care, had said a joyous goodbye to the last set of people who’d pretended to take care of her and rejoiced at the opportunity to finally, finally speak fully for herself. The rundown neighborhood, the repairs needed, and the lack of actual furniture held all of her accomplishment thus far.

Still, it didn’t mean that Orpheus-panicked about her typical late shift-had to pick her up at a door that barely shut.

She lingers around the bar for a bit, waving at Hermes and finding a seat at the counter. He gives her water right away, nods at her with a warm smile and eyes that seem to communicate a host of things all at once without saying anything at all. It’s a stark contrast to the pat on the back from Persephone, who gasps lightly and holds her at arm’s length.

“Well, look at you, gorgeous!” She slides onto the stool next to her, Hermes delivering her a glass of red wine with a slower pace and a warning glance. “Relax, brother, my daughter’s in bed and my husband’s at home. I just came to see the kids off before their big date, maybe take some pictures.” She pulls her big camera out of her purse-the one she’d had at Thanksgiving as she’d arranged their gathering in family photos she’d insisted Eurydice be part of.

Eurydice reddens, rolls her eyes and shoves the camera back near Persephone’s bag.

“You know we’ve been seeing each other for two weeks now, right?”

“Yeah, seeing each other.” The older woman’s eyebrow turns up and she tilts her head, teasing. “You’ve been doing a whole lot of seeing each other, but this is your first date and I’m just here to help you remember it.”

“Yeah, okay, I believe that for about a second. That’s my cue to go.” Eurydice finishes her water and makes her way to the back of the bar, where a narrow wooden staircase leads to Orpheus’s door. She pauses for a moment, suddenly nervous as she brushes her fingers across her bangs and flattens the fabric of her dress. Then, she knocks.

The door is open faster than Eurydice can blink; Orpheus stands on the other side, mouth agape, hand still on the doorknob. It takes a while for Orpheus to collect himself, and then he’s a flurry of activity. He leaves her at the door, runs to the kitchen counter and comes back with a neatly wrapped arrangement of bright red carnations.

“They’re from a shop down the street from Amma’s-Mister Hermes let me leave so I could take the trip down there today.” He’s fully red-cheeked at this point, and Eurydice takes them from him thankfully before venturing into the apartment and rifling through the cabinets for a vase. He watches her intently-she knows her way around, finds a hefty mason jar with ease and fills it with water. Orpheus follows behind her, sprinkling sugar in the water after she’s done.

“It helps them stay alive longer,” he explains, shrugging. “Amma taught me that, too. You look beautiful, by the way.” The compliment comes out almost breathlessly; Orpheus leans on the counter, between Eurydice and the flowers, and fully takes her in. Eurydice warms at his smile, the way he takes her hand in his, holds it there for a while before kissing her cheek. It’s all very simple, very chaste. Before Orpheus, she’d been used to looks of hunger; of predatory eyes wondering which way is the fastest to get her undressed. He’s content with her hand in his and the bag of her things she’d left by the door. He shuts the lights off and locks the apartment door behind them, leading them down the stairs through the bar.

Persephone sits eagerly waiting for them, spying Orpheus first. He’s dressed himself in a lighter pair of khakis, still accessorized with brown leather suspenders and a big jacket. He wears a pair of nice brown oxfords, one he’d saved for and worn with pride to special occasions. Persephone notes these small details-the nicer shoes, the way he’d very clearly freshly shaven from when she’d seen him that morning. She watches her son hold Eurydice’s hand, lean down to tell her something and smile as her own face lights with amusement. As they pass the bar Persephone hops down from her stool, intercepting them.

“Okay, kids, now here’s the deal.” Orpheus’s pseudo-mother crosses her arms over her chest, putting on a look of false intimidation. “I would like my son home no later than midnight. You can kiss him at the door, on the cheek, and then you may go your separate ways.” She’s laughing to herself over the joke, even ruffling the hair on Orpheus’s head, until Eurydice counters,

“Oh, so it’s not red wine and ‘here, sit together and talk’ and a couple of hours this time?”

“Hey, if you want to give me credit then I’ll take it. You’re still standing, aren’t you?”

“Just one picture.” She implores. Eurydice hadn’t thought she’d been serious; it takes a moment to register the request, a moment of Persephone gently pushing them into better lighting and mumbling to herself as she fiddles with her camera. Eurydice obliges, wraps both her arms tight around Orpheus’s waist, rests her head on his chest and smiles. Persephone takes a few shots, adjusting her camera, and then waves them both off.

“We can’t see it?”

“Nope-you can wait!” She smirks before putting her camera away, ruffling Orpheus’s hair. “Home by midnight, you two.” She jokes. Eurydice raises her hands, shrugs her shoulders with a glimmer of mischief in her eyes.

“What, no parting gift this time?” As they turn to leave, Eurydice feels the foil packet hit the back of her head, turns and picks it up. “Don’t wait up!”

“Midnight, no later!” Persephone watches them go, Eurydice wrapping both her arms around Orpheus’s and staying close to his side. When they’re out the door she turns back to the bar, where Hermes is waiting with his arms crossed over his chest.

“That’s our son, Persephone.”

“So….another glass of wine

_____________

The restaurant is one unknown to both Orpheus and Eurydice, other than its proximity to the bar. They walk by it every day, looking at its slightly elevated atmosphere and heated walkway as nothing more than a societal disconnect from their deeply favored fries and milkshakes. He’d planned this, however, had read articles about first dates and fished for advice throughout the day that he stored away neatly, facts that popped up at random.

It all seemed rather silly, and yet it filled his head with bits of information that practically shouted at him as he attempted to navigate his own nerves. The restaurant had a greeter who opened the door with a smile, taking his first advance away from him. He blinks away the anxiety of it all and lets her walk in before him, the host bringing them to a small table next to a wide expanse of floor to ceiling windows. Orpheus sits across from her, a small arrangement of candles a source of warm, glowing light that pulls his breath away for a moment. It illuminates her, soft shadows dancing gently against her skin and the serenity of her lifted cheeks.

She tilts her head slightly when she listens to him, intent and purposeful and absolutely radiant. He trips over his words and asks questions, unsure of why the articles he’d read online had insinuated that conversation would be difficult. They hop from topic to topic, the path from one thing to another abundantly unclear to anyone else but themselves. He orders red wine and she follows suit; they clink glasses over the candles, laughing as little droplets spill over the side and onto the tablecloth.

“Nothing happened, everything’s fine,” Eurydice craftily rearranges the understated yet still too gaudy centerpiece until the splatters are hidden, shrugging and laughing and taking another sip of wine.

They order a host of appetizers, much to the chagrin of the waiter in black slacks and a white pressed button up, who rolls their eyes at the very young couple when she thinks they can’t see her. Eurydice rolls her eyes right back, shakes her head and holds Orpheus’s hand over the table. It’s especially triumphant when the waitress comes back, another waitress in tow, with plates of bite-sized foods they arrange in the space between them. They’ve chosen tiny flatbreads, spreads over bruschetta, stuffed mushrooms and an array of fancier foods neither had even heard of before.

It’s Orpheus’s idea, this game they play; they start at the plate closest to him, an unrecognizable salsa-like filling within a soft pastry shell. Counting to three, they try the food together (Eurydice doesn’t like this one; Orpheus has his whole shell before declaring it “good, but not my favorite.”). Eurydice comes up with a definitive ranking, a scale from one to ten that they follow religiously through each set of appetizers. They sip wine between each taste, laughing as both Orpheus and Eurydice struggle to eat just one bite of a particularly strange seafood dish.

“Ok, this one deserves no more than a one-a zero.”

“It wasn’t the best,”

“It’s awful, Orpheus. You can’t even get it down!” He isn’t able to argue at that one, going back to the flatbread pizza they’d declared a ten to get the taste of the horrid seafood cup from his mouth. He relents, however;

“I bet someone really loves this…uh…choice arrangement of seafood. And it’s all local!”

“Always the optimist,” Eurydice shakes her head, a soft smile reaching lips that have her reaching delicately over the table to kiss him. “I like that about you.”

He feels the heat of a blush rise to his cheeks, sitting in the compliment in an attempt at hiding the rush of his own disbelief. Eurydice still maintains her hold on his hand, gesturing to their last plate of food. They’re wedges of potato with yet again another assortment of chopped things-produce, they deduce-gathered on top. After one bite Eurydice’s tipping her head from side to side, holding the wedge of potato on her fork and watching Orpheus’s reaction. His is much of the same; not dissatisfaction, or disappointment, but a stark sort of contrast between a genuine reaction of love and indulgence. It’s Orpheus that speaks first, leaning in close and keeping his voice to a hushed sort of tone.

“I really like it, I think it’s so good, but…” He puts the forked potato wedge down, suddenly bright eyed and nearly mischievous in his boyish smile. “I like fries better.”

Eurydice sighs in relief, dramatizing the whole affair by putting her own fork down, squeezing his hand and nodding exuberantly.

“I thought I lost you there for a minute, what a relief.”

“Come home with me?” He asks, politely flagging down a waiter for their check. Eurydice nods, laughing to herself at the same words he’d uttered to her two weeks ago, when she’d said yes and surprised herself with staying. Two weeks had gone by quickly-much quicker than anything she’d expected. But with Orpheus, who helps her with her coat and wraps his arm around her waist, who helps her continue to attempt their definitive ranking of fancy appetizers while stopping to order copious amounts of fries from McDonalds, letting herself stay is a choice she’s more than thankful for.

They find their way into a typical night easily; Eurydice curled into Orpheus, a documentary on the television that they talk over with their own ideas. They share a bag of fries and two more glasses of wine, drowsy and unrelentingly happy. There’s a lull in it all when Orpheus turns to a sleepy Eurydice with one hand mindlessly grazing up and down her arm. He takes a breath, steadies his own mind and in a soft yet nerve-shaken voice, speaks quietly.

“’Rydice?”

“mm?”

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

What Orpheus didn’t expect was Eurydice’s laughter, like a melody, hitting his heart like a train. He feels himself pull away from her slowly, doesn’t look into her eyes until she realizes what’s happening. Then her hands are on his cheeks, turning his head to look at her biting her lip.

“Orpheus,” His name comes out through another soft giggle, her thumb brushing his cheek before she leans in, kissing him soft and staying there for a moment, against his lips, sighing. “It’s been two weeks and I’ve been here every day. I’ve never felt as happy with anyone-I’ve never had anyone treat me like this. I’m only laughing because honestly? You told me you loved me that first night and I’m still here. I don’t plan on going anywhere-okay?”

“Okay.” Orpheus feels a sense of relief, a wave of comfort wash over him as Eurydice tucks herself back into his arms, eliminates the space between them once more.

#hadestown #hadestownmodern #modern au #orphydice #young orphydice #orpheus #eurydice #danielle writes

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justkimberley · 4 years

Text

HSMTMTS Thoughts Episode 7

Episode 1 Episode 2 Episode 3 Episode 4 Episode 5 Episode 6

This one is also kinda long (~2200 words)

Nini and Ricky doing a fantastic job harmonizing in Start of Something New

the dance routine around them is absolutely crazy and all over the place

So it seems that Seb is just their resident piano player (side note, who ended up getting Kelsey??)

Big Red with the flashlight trying so hard to keep it on the disco ball

EJ interrupting because of the bell. Does anyone really love Thanksgiving that much??

Also I always forget that American Thanksgiving is like a month later than Canadian Thanksgiving and I was hella confused for a second.

Ricky is so surprised that Nini is complimenting him

Ashlyn as Robotics Team captain! (side note Big Red gives her an impressed look after he overhears that she’s the captain)

Also: debate team, baking club, high priestess of the Renaissance Faire

We love a multifaceted lady

Miss Jenn/Mr. Mazzarra trying to have a ‘my horse is bigger than your horse’ banter except neither of them have the horses they claim to have

“With whoever could possibly love you,” lol ok Miss Jenn went for the head

“Late night party” - party starts at 8 that’s adorable

“Small group or…” “PARTY AT ASHLYN’S HOUSE!”

It’s really interesting learning about Nini’s Lola (? I think that’s how it’s spelled, which is what I believe Filipino people call their grandmother’s), and her story

I’m just really proud of Ricky’s Dad. Like he was in such a bad place 2-3 episodes ago and now he’s taking care of himself and Ricky (even if it isn’t a grandiose Thanksgiving) he’s trying and I think he’s doing great

“We roll hard” I just really love this line

“I suppose if you’re lonely, you could always just… randomly text my drama teacher,” “Too soon… RIck,” “... yeah okay”

That was pretty funny. Also, it seems like Ricky’s okay with his dad dating?

Ricky’s mom waiting for him to call

I don’t know how I feel about this to be honest. I feel like maybe she should have tried to call him first and then if he didn’t answer or want to talk to her, that she should wait for him to make the next move then.

EJ’s truth arc is very funny to me

Big Red and Ashlyn

“I promise not to steal your phone if you promise not to throw a basketball at my face,” “No, the only thing I’d ever throw at your face is a brighter spotlight cause, I like the way you sing

Oof they’re so cute, we love little crushes

Also this might be an unpopular opinion but y’all need to calm down about the whole ‘Ashlyn and Big Red are GAY and they only THINK theyy like each other’ thing. #1 It was never confirmed for them to be gay. #2 You can still have wlw and mlm head-cannons for them! Bi, Pan, and other multiple gender attraction oriented people exist, even if you forget about us sometimes.

They are a cute little pairing of people who are always looking out and taking care of other people. It’s okay for them to do things for themselves.

Ricky debating calling his mom, it took a lot of courage and then Todd picks up.

Hangs up immediately, it almost looked like he was going to have a panic attack. That would be so hard, such an extreme shift

I guess the reason he was more okay with his Dad dating was that his Dad was open and honest with him about it. Calling your Mom only to find out that she has a boyfriend that a. She never told you about b. He knows about you and c. is trusted enough to be left alone with her phone while she showers? Is a lot, and probably means that she started dating him before the split was official.

Ricky going to call Nini and then deciding against it. Why doesn’t he feel like he can talk to Big Red about this kind of stuff? Why does he always go to Nini first?

Gina shows up, those are good looking cupcakes

She made him a hat!

She looks so hesitant before she gives it to him!

Gina’s like ‘look dude, I know something’s wrong, spill the beans’

Ignore it and push through - I understand where she’s coming from but you really shouldn’t ignore your problems, it usually just makes them worse

“Do what makes you happy,” “... Give me that hat,”

Adorable, also do what makes you happy is good advice so we’re a little all over the map here

“That’s too big,” “I’ll grow into it,” (adorable)

Miss Jenn and Mr. Mazzarra’s whole interaction is hilarious.

Don’t burn down my shop! - holy shit, foreshadowing buddies

Ashlyn is so cute! She’s so happy when people compliment her

“I highly recommend not telling someone you love them for the first time on instagram” - yup! That’s what I said in the first one of these I did.

Carlos - “The party may begin!” - I totally thought he said “The party made me gay,” the first time I watched it so uhh yeah

Big Red is lactose intolerant

Carlos’ board game is amazing

“High School Musical the Choosical,” - fantastic name

Everyone is so accepting

Ashlyn and Big Red choosing to be on the same team

“South Side Knights -” “It’s the West High Nights,” “the West High Knights”

Ej is like a compulsive truther now. And it’s kind of hilarious

His face when he says “She laughed!” is hilarious and kind of adorable

“I gotta go join the party, and admit some terrible things, you ladies, catch up!” - I wish we got to see what he was admitting to, I find this whole thing quite funny

I’m glad that Emily and Nini got some reconciliation, I know Nini felt guilty even though it wasn’t her fault

That is not a good cockney accent

Why did Ricky enter alone when him and Gina walked together?

And he left her to open the door on her own with all those cupcakes?

“Buddies,” “We,”

Ricky and Gina both laughing about YouTube, cuties

Look, feelings are feelings and you can’t help what you feel, but pushing someone away and insisting to remain only friends means that you shouldn’t be upset when he makes a new friend

Mr. Mazzara and Miss Jenn

The plug socket is in the frame, more foreshadowing

“He won’t.. Not… fall” this show loves it’s double negatives huh? I don’t not love you, he won’t not fall etc.

“Ok but the center of gravity is off,” YES to different kinds of intelligence being helpful in fields other than the main one people associate them with

Carlos thinking people are going to keep judging him and the theater people being as accepting as possible

EJ is a gleek

What I’ve Been Looking For to the rhythm of Get Your Head in the Game is hard! (Catch me on the piano later trying to figure it out lol)

It just turns into a terrible rap

EJ - “That was terrible,” Seb - “I’m so happy”

EJ vs. Ricky - “without laughing… or killing each other,”

This is a good parallel to the basketball scene, once again they get kind of aggressive, but this time they also joke around and no one gets hurt

Also I would love to see them become friends, I mean they both need to grow a little before that happens, but I have hopes

They missed the ‘neeee howww’ part of it, I really wanted to hear them do the high voices

EJ’s little “mehh” that sounds like a duck kills me everytime

Gina and Nini awkwarddd

“I do have high hopes for a junior year at East High” oof babey :(

“It must be nice sometimes though, right?” - nini does not understand

This actually gives us an insight as to why they don’t understand each other. Nini would love nothing more than to start a new life with no drama and Gina would love nothing more than to have a life that lasts longer than a couple months before being restarted.

Gina/Nini apology very exciting, hopefully they can actually become friends

“It’s all good,” from Nini seemed disingenuous, I don’t know if it’s because of the Wonderstudy thing or the Ricky thing.

The sleepover thing I was so worried that it would be a mean spirited thing but I’m so glad it wasn’t

Nini sits on Ricky’s lap when she goes back to the game room and I don’t know if it’s intentional or not but it’s kind of like she’s trying to lay her claim back on Ricky.

Gina looks so happy when a. Carlos calls her in and b. the happy dance about the sleepover! (why’d they have to ruin the happiness??)

Mr. Mazarra returning the favour

“It’s beautiful,” “Math often is,” dudde I feel you I fucking love math

“I cannot stress to you enough how uncomfortable that would make me feel,”

“You know what we should do?” “Break off eye contact sometime soon?”

I’m dying

“It’s about a robot!” this is… pretty adorable. She just wants to make a genuine connection with him

Also are they going to do a romance route with these two? Because I can see them setting it up but also imagine if they just become like… best friends? I feel like they’d be unstoppable.

Musical Choosical Handbook of Rulesicals

“I thought you had never actually played this with people-” “Honey not today of all days,”

Carlos and Seb are the only couple with no bad drama and I’m living for it (please let them just stay happy)

Oops! I knew that jersey question… also it’s definitely the answer Big Red would now because he’s only watched the movie with no words (at his allergists office)

“And do people usually talk like that?” “No they do not.” - gold

EJ the compulsive cheater and also compulsive truther makes a comeback (I seriously find this so funny I don’t know why)

“I love to pop and lock and jam and break,” oh GIna

She’s so happy about winning

Not realistic, you know that the second she called her mom at least someone would be like “pass the weed,” (you know because friends are awesome and also terrible)

“Can you take me off speaker”

Some people are like ‘oh no is she in trouble?’

I kind of hate that it looks like Nini looks sort of happy about Gina’s mom asking her to take her off speaker - I really don’t want Nini to turn into a catty person.

Ricky is concerned

Why did her mom tell her this right now? She should have waited until the next morning, like that wouldn’t have hurt anyone and it would have let them form stronger bonds. And Gina would have had her first sleepover and also they might form strong enough bonds to try and stay in contact with her

Ricky is worried for her, he’s like, ‘You made me feel better, so I’ll go make you feel better’

Nini’s looking upset that Ricky’s being emotionally aware for once? Like dude, he’s grown up a lot since BEFORE summer break? That’s like six months ago I think at this point?

Ricky just wants to help Gina feel better because she made him feel better

She doesn’t understand that they can stay friends even if she leaves and I just :(

“Please don’t do that” he’s so overwhelmed

“My mom moved out two weeks ago and she’s already got a new boyfriend, sound familiar?” Oooh low blow Ricky bud.

“Really don’t need advice from a .. buddy right now,”

Ok but then who does Ricky want advice from? I’m so confused. This boy needs to get a better support system and learn how to use it. Romantic relationships should not be your only outlet for your problems.

Red and Ashlyn

“I hope Gina’s gonna be okay,” - Big Red is so sweet!

They’re so cute

“Hey Big Red? Don’t forget your dip,” - oh she was so going to ask him out and then lost the nerve

Write something for yourself.

It’s a hard thing to do, dude. It’s also hard to let yourself feel so vulnerable, even if it’s only you that’s going to hear it

Gina packing, I feel so sad for her, she’s finally made some good friends and now she has to leave again. She kept the badge! :(

EJ losing followers and being cancelled, at least we know why now

It seems like a lot of EJ’s self worth comes from how others think of him. So losing followers is probably a pretty big hit. I wonder if he’ll keep going with his whole truth thing when it has these consequences or if he’ll just go back to what he was doing before. I hope that he has a positive arc but, will it go downhill from here? I hope not.

Ricky about to apologise to Nini (why did he erase it, he probably should have sent that) - side note: their conversation before was them asking each other if they were going to the party

It’s interesting that Nini had pictures of EJ and Ricky up still

Gina’s crying face is making me cry

“Hey mom, it’s me, I miss you so much,” tears

Nini hanging up pictures of her grandma and the musical. She’s really trying to move forward from boys huh?

Is nini going to apply to the theater school??

Electrical fire???????? WHy??

#hsmtmts #hsmtmts spoilers #episode 7 #kimberleysthoughts #mypost #kimberleyreacts #feel free to come yell into the void with me about this show #the void is always open #(the void is the name of my askbox lol)

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acollectionofcontemplations · 4 years

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Memories That You Call Home

They say “home is where the heart is”. My heart was born and raised at the Hampton's, and when my family lost everything and were forced to move out half way across the state, it didn't come with me. If home is where the heart is, then my home is the three-story house at the end of Arcadia drive.

With most of our belongings moved into the Brooklyn flat, Arcadia is quiet and empty. Mom tells us we’re only staying downtown temporarily until dad finds his bearings again, but I know better than to keep my hopes up. They’ve already listed the house for sale; it’s only a matter of time before someone else falls in love with the place and moves in. I wouldn't blame them if they did, it’s beautiful. I keep telling myself I just need time to adjust, but even the simplest details of living in that place - like not being able to hear the ice-cream truck drive by every Sunday afternoon - breaks my heart.

Looking out the window of the train, I zoom past landscapes at 80 miles per hour on my way back to Arcadia - the rising sun casting an orange glow on the forest and open space. I told myself before leaving today that if I could just see the house again, really take it all in; I’d be able to tuck it in my pocket and bring it back with me.

The driveway leading to the house is long. I wanted to savor every step I took walking up the hill, but the sound of gravel crunching beneath my feet ends all too soon as I happen upon the grand entrance to the Sinclair estate. My heart is roaring. The heavy mahogany door lets me in with much ease, a mutual understanding that this visit will be our little secret.

Echoes of my footsteps fill the empty space as I walk through the grand reception, trying to take in every delicate. I remember sitting in my favorite recliner in front of the faux fireplace in the separate glass dome overlooking the beach. The snow globe was a sanctuary, granting me privacy from the music and not-so-quiet murmurs coming from the parties my parents use to throw for every possible occasion. The smell of brewed coffee and champagne linger in the air. My lips quirk as I recall the time I burned the turkey last Thanksgiving evening, the fire alarm going off, drenching all of us in our dinner seats. Ditching the formalities, the whole family sat cross-legged and spent the holiday getting pizza stains on the monopoly board.

The paintings and pictures lean against the couch not yet packed up. I flick through the framed artwork one by one until I find a portrait of the whole family. Dad stands in the back, an immobile pillar of strength, his eyes gleaming with pride. Strands of silver peak through his mass of brown hair. His hand squeezes the shoulder of my eldest sibling Greyson, handsome as ever in his black suit and tie, looking into the camera with that infamous grin. “At least you don’t need money to be a pain in my ass, big bro.” I roll my eyes. Mom stands on dad’s other side, her blond curls full and silky, resting one hand on his chest - the diamond on her ring finger a technicolor prism. I stare at the doe-eyed girl sitting in front of father. I was once that girl, but she’s been left behind in this empty shell of a house. Two identical twins sit on either side of portrait me, their legs dangle in mid-air crossed at the ankle, not long enough to touch the floor yet. That was the Sinclairs; a perfect family with a perfect life living in their perfect house.

Moving into the library, I walk over to my undisturbed bookshelves proudly displaying the abundance of books I have collected over the years. There isn’t enough room in the flat back in Brooklyn to hold all my collection, so they stay here for now. As I brush my fingers gently over the spine of each book, I can’t help but smile at the memories of this room. The hours I spent arranging and rearranging books - in chromatic order, then alphabetical, then back to chromatic... It’s heartbreaking knowing they will be plucked off their shelves and stuffed into cardboard boxes sooner or later.

My bedroom is on the third floor facing the vast ocean just a few yards away. It’s the smallest and most intimate out of all the bedrooms in the house - just big enough to fit a bed, closet, bureau, and of course more book shelves. Now with everything moved out the walls feel distant - light patches on the plush carpet and nails sticking out from the beige wall the only indication I was ever here.

I open the French doors and step onto the balcony to get some fresh air. Clasping my hands together, I lean my arms on the railing and look down. The pool is now empty, but I remember how it use to glow at night like a turquoise gem. The deck chairs that were spread out evenly along the edge of the pool now lay stacked in a pile against the wall of the garage, providing shelter for spiders and dust bunnies. Lush green hedges line the garden separating the green lawn from the asphalt road that leads to the city. The fountain planted in the middle of the flower beds remains broken just as it has been for the past ten years ago. Rainwater collected in the tiers keep afloat the red and yellow leaves falling from the trees, each landing leaf causing a light ripple of water which drips off the edge.

The little ones, Jamie and Jezalia, always used to hide behind the trimmed bushes and spy to see if the birds and squirrels bathing in the fountain would do anything miraculous to prove that everything in those princess movies I watched with them were real. They were perfect little angels, always up to mischief and always getting away with it. Arcadia is going to miss the sight of their bouncing blond pigtails and simultaneous clicks of their shoes as they descended the stairs with as much grace seven-year-olds could possess.

Back in my room I sling my purse across my shoulder and climb out the window, making my way down the fire escape a foot at a time until I land on the wood that lines the perimeter of the house. I slip my feet one at a time out of my wedges and stumble the last few steps before my bare feet sinks into the liquid sand. I keep walking towards the shore until I’m met with the cold of the water, the cuts from my shoes on my heel sting as the waves lap against my ankle. The wind caresses my arms, blowing wisps of brown hair across my lips, wrapping me in the scent of the ocean. I stand there as time stops, squinting at the blinding sun, shoes dangling from one hand.

I breathe in.

An eternity passes.

I breathe out.

The waves crash and time hurls me forward.

I twist around and look at the magnificent house. A memory box full of good and bad recollections, a reminder of what we once were.

The whole way home, as I watched the buildings blur, I couldn’t help but feel like every mile farther away from Arcadia was one more mile I am separated from my heart - the heavy thumping of it this morning now no more than a faint pitter-patter.

Back in Brooklyn, I climb breathlessly to the 6th floor only to be greeted by a dimly lit hallway. Walking straight down to the end, I let out a defeated sigh as I face the door. My keys jingle as I stick it into the key hole. Turning the lock, I give the door two kicks and a hard tug before it finally gives way. Tears well in my eyes. I notice the smell of coffee and champagne at the entry and something flutters inside me as the twin’s laughter and dad’s grumble vertebrates throughout the entire flat. I pad barefoot down the corridor to the living room and rub my tears away at the sight of my family sitting on the carpet, the same grease stained monopoly board laid out in front of them.

Mom beckons with one hand, and with the other pats the empty space next to her. “Honey, we've missed you! We’ve only just started, and Jezalia insisted we save you the dog token since it’s your favourite. Come join us now that you’re finally home.”

Indeed. With my family sitting all together – Greyson sandwiched between mom and dad, Jamie on dad’s lap and Jezalia making her way onto mine – I am surprised to find it suddenly hard to believe home is anywhere, but here.

written in 2015. Revised.

#short story #home #amateur writing #literature #writing #hamptons #heart warming #story

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clericbyers · 5 years

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⭐️

I’m a few days late with this but better late than never right haha I’m going to use the argument scene from interlude: thanksgiving ‘85 for this because it’s one of my favorite sections. I’ll contextualize it since interlude: the progression gave everyone insight into Mike’s mentality going into this Thanksgiving visit. (I wrote this interlude already knowing what was up with Mike so going back and being able to explain the details is exciting)

if you have a specific story in mind, feel free to send “director’s commentary” and the story/lines you want some commentary on! otherwise, send a star ⭐ and I’ll pick a section myself!

“Will,” [Mike] started hesitantly, eyes falling to Will’s lips and no, no, no, he couldn’t do this again, not in broad daylight, not with El only a room away, not with both their parents wide awake chatting in the living room.

“Mike, don’t,” he pleaded, “you don’t know what you’re doing.”

Mike cocked his head to the side. “I don’t?”

And he really didn’t and probably wouldn’t ever know because Will would rather die than tell Mike that the kiss was more than some stupid game. “You can’t kiss someone and act like it doesn’t mean anything.”

Here, Mike and Will have almost kissed again and Will is mentally harboring the possibility that he’s spreading his gayness like a disease to Mike and confusing him. Meanwhile, this is something Mike absolutely wants and that’s touched on in interlude: the progression where at the end, Mike comes to the conclusion that he’s in love with Will. Will doesn’t know that though, so for him, Mike’s advances come from a place of fear within him that this all has far more serious consequences than he thinks Mike is realizing.

“Should I remind you that you’re the one who said we should forget about it?” Mike frowned. “I don’t want to forget about it.”

Kissing Will is something that’s been on Mike’s mind since the summer; he definitely does not want to forget it and he’s a little pained that Will wants to forget they’ve kissed.

“What does that mean, Mike? What do you want?”

The boy pursed his lips with thought and then deflated. “I don’t know.”

This question of what Mike wants is something that’s explored more in depth in interlude: thanksgiving ‘85, but essentially, Mike can’t say what it is he wants because he’s been telling himself mentally for the past year that what he wants doesn’t matter. He dated El because it’s what he felt he needed, he drew away from the Will and the Party because of that and hell, he’s taking track for his dad even though he hates every single practice because it’s what he thinks he needs to do. The struggle Mike has is between what he wants, what he needs, and what he thinks he needs. When faced with the question about what Mike wants, he really doesn’t know how to answer that and the real answer (wanting Will) still scares him so he merely sends Will an empty answer but it’s not empty for Mike. He can’t admit that want aloud and well, Will takes it the wrong way.

Great. Will was a rebound. That was somehow even worse. Will reached a hand up to Mike’s face and turned him so they were facing each other again. “You’re my friend, Mike, but friends don’t do this. Especially male friends. I don’t want to lose you as a friend.”

“You won’t, ever.”

“You don’t know that.”

Mike pulled back. “I do know that. I do know that I can’t imagine you as anything but my friend.”

This is again a bit of loaded wording from Mike but Will is already in a mental state where he’s assuming the worst from Mike’s words in order to back away from any possible romantic relations with Mike. Mike can’t imagine Will as anything but his friend because no matter what, Will is always his friend. That won’t change, even if they were to be together, Will is still his friend. Compare that to some other lines I drafted for Mike say:

I do know that I can only imagine you as my friend.

I do know that I can’t imagine you as anything but a friend.

I bolded the changes and I’ll talk about it a little I guess because I’m that type of nerd lol anyway. The first one puts the framing without contractions and using a more positive tone. The previous dialogues use “don’t” and “won’t” but then Mike comes with “I do,” and “I can only” which changes the flow of the message. It’s not about what Mike won’t do or doesn’t know, but what he can only do, which is imagine Will as his friend. That’s not quite the message he’s trying to say here, so that line wasn’t used. The second line makes it a bit more impersonal and states that he only sees Will as a friend, which is again, not the message he’s trying to say so the line was changed. On that note, being Mike’s friend entails something different. Mike doesn’t have friends outside of the Party, and even when he talks about adding more people to the Party over the summer in interlude: the progression, he states he needs permission from Will to hang out with new people. He’s very attached to the Party and their closeness; friendship is very deep for him, he introduced the rule “friends don’t lie” to El after all, and the only word to express the closeness he sees between himself and the Party is, well, being his friend. “My friend,” is different from “a friend” and that difference is ultimately the message Mike is trying to share.

Will is always going to be his friend no matter what happens between them. And again, Will takes it the wrong way.

Will tensed and looked away. “Get off me.”

“Will.”

“I’m not gonna be the person you turn to when you wanna suck face with someone because El’s mad at you!” Will scrambled his way out from under Mike and growled. “This is serious, Mike. You were panicked just thinking about it last night, puking and hyperventilating because yeah, it’s not natural to want to kiss a boy if you haven’t noticed! But now, now today you wanna—!” Will threw up his hands. “I’m not doing this.” I’m not going to let you play with my heart like this.

This is the beginning of Will starting to make excuses in order to protect himself. He doesn’t want to let his heart get played with again. Even though he and Mike made up over the summer and got closer, the awkwardness they had when meeting up again after a month has Will on edge about his interactions with Mike. He can tell Mike is different; something changed between them and it’s not a comfortable change at that. It’s an awkward between state of whether or not to tiptoe that line into being together and Mike’s responses to the two almost kisses has Will even more unsure and angry even that Mike is so (apparently) nonchalant about this. He throws out “not natural” because that’s been running through his head since the kiss but for Mike, that’s a word that sets off his defenses for him. In interlude: the progression, Mike is conflicted with the fact that what he feels for Will is right but believed to not be natural, hence his puking and hyperventilation when trying to act on his feelings. interlude: ‘85 is set just about a month and a half after the end of interlude: the progression, and knowing Mike is on the track team (a team where, in part 4, he stated he was attracted to one of his teammates) and facing his homophobic dad, well..he gets told a lot about the ‘unnatural nature of men liking men’ and that’s having a physical toll on him now instead of just mental.

Mike sat back with a tightened jaw. “It’s just kissing.”

Mike is defensive now; he’s offended by Will’s words and tries to back himself up by playing it off as innocent with “just kissing” even though we know this kiss meant a lot to him. He’s trying to protect himself too but Will thinks that Mike sees this as a game so Mike passing off kissing as innocent only makes Will more upset.

“Yeah, you were my first kiss, Michael! My first!” Will could feel his throat tightening with anger, eyes burning with resignation and defeat. “Maybe it doesn’t mean anything since you’ve been kissing El since you were 12 but it meant something to me!”

The whole “first kiss” thing honestly wasn’t originally in the plan; I didn’t plan for Mike and Will to kiss until summer ‘86 (and so originally, the boy Will talked about in part 1 was his first kiss) but I moved it up because I wanted to make the boy Will talked about kissing in part 1 his way of trying to get over Mike and well, this is the beginning of that attempt (and we see at the end of this interlude when Will is thinking about the boy he later kisses since he’s convinced himself Mike doesn’t like him). Will’s first kiss is with the love of his life and he can’t even be happy about it in this moment because he thinks Mike didn’t care about it at all. Also in this section, he can’t even admit out loud that he likes Mike (he doesn’t admit it until he comes out to Joyce in part 1) and this argument here also makes it harder for him to admit it.

“You kissed me!”

Mike is still being defensive and now trying to pass blame to Will, an echo of their argument in ST3 where he tried to pass fault to Will.

“Because you wanted it!” Will gasped, feeling the tears pooling in his eyes. “And I don’t even know why! You don’t even know why! Whatever happened last night was sick and twisted and you want to play with fire and continue getting burned but I don’t want that! I don’t want this!”

To be more accurate, Will didn’t want this the way it was happening. He wanted Mike like no one else, he gave Mike the chance to have him too, but not like this.

Will is now spewing some more of the rhetoric that’s been bouncing in his head since the kiss the night before, what with him calling their kiss sick and twisted and claiming that it’s the equivalent of being burned by fire. This was a line I included to think about sinners and Hell, how homosexuality was seen as a sin people would burn in Hell for eternity over. He’s saying Mike wants to be a sinner and burn in Hell but Will isn’t about that life. He doesn’t want to burn, he’s burned too much already. He’s been to hell and back already and he doesn’t want that with Mike. The next line clarifies Will’s internal dialogue even though Mike doesn’t know that. What Mike hears is that Will doesn’t want him, which is why in part 2 he says he thought Will liking him was a cosmic joke and why he couldn’t imagine Will liked him back. How could he after Will said he didn’t want this between them? Will though wants it, just not the way it’s folding out as he thinks Mike sees it all as a game and by the end, he just wants to protect Mike from the worst of it by agreeing that he should date El again.

Mike’s face was empty, void almost, and his eyes were trained on his hands as he sat down properly on the bed. It took a moment, a moment filled with Will’s heavy breathing and Mike’s shallow breaths, but he spoke up, quiet yet firm. “Will, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just—I think I want it.”

Mike is here taking in Will’s words, hence his emotionless face—an oddity from a boy who wears his heart on his sleeve and is typically very emotionally expressive—and him sitting properly as he shallowly breathes. He’s trying to connect everything, figure out what went wrong to lead to this situation. In the end, he apologizes in a way for his actions, says he didn’t mean to hurt Will (by acting on his feelings). Still, he’s vulnerable and pained by Will’s words so when he starts to explain himself more, he cuts himself off and says I think I want it. We know Mike wants it. There’s no “I think” to it but he’s scared and he’s shutting himself down.

“You don’t.” Will’s voice was rough and he sounded more like he was really trying to convince himself more than anything else. “You’re confused after we spent so much time together over the summer after Starcourt and you don’t know what to do to keep people at your side except kissing them apparently.” Will scoffed. “You’re not going to take that confusion out on me.”

Will is very much locked in on the idea that Mike is playing with him again. He has reason to be sensitive still after the way Mike was in the argument in ST3. He knows though that he’s trying to convince himself otherwise because he has to protect himself from getting hurt again. There might be the chance that Mike actually does want it but he can’t take it right now. Will turns to their summer where they spent time tied at the hip, far more touchy and clingy. They were so close even Lucas pointed it out in part 4. Mike didn’t even notice really how tight they are until the moment in the garage when he noted that they have a “reestablished friendship” with different boundaries where he’s straddling an unknown line with Will before he leans into Will’s touch on his face. This is something new between them and in interlude: ‘85, Will shoves that newness in his face and says Mike read it wrong. Says that Mike is confused and only knows how to keep people close by basically turning them into romantic interests. It’s a harsh statement that stings more than Will probably could have imagined. In interlude: the progression, Mike turned toward El to keep her at his side indeed, but also to avoid the confusion surrounding his feelings for Will. He wasn’t confused about El anymore but about Will, and he didn’t want to take out that confusion on Will at all, hence his need to be with El to the point of obsession almost. When he finally wasn’t confused and he accepted that he cared about Will in a different way than anyone else, he was so much happier and open throughout the rest of the summer. Will then saying that Mike pursuing him is “taking out that confusion” on him only angers Mike because he spent a year trying to keep Will as his friend and now Will is almost in a way saying that can’t happen as long as Mike wants him. It’s the opposite of Mike saying Will is always gonna be his friend no matter what happens between them.

Mike looked up with anger flaring in his expressive brown eyes. “You don’t know shit about what I’m thinking. You don’t know shit. And just because I can’t put words to…to whatever the hell is going on, that doesn’t mean I’m—I’m incapable of making a decision that I want, not projecting bullshit.” He climbed off the bed and snatched the comics they were reading from atop the blankets. Will could see the beginnings of tears in Mike’s eyes and he wanted to apologize but the words wouldn’t come.

Mike is definitely pissed here. Will knows nothing about what’s going on. He doesn’t know Mike is on track because his dad thinks he’s gay and he has to save face through engaging in sports that he hates. Something is happening to Mike and Karen mentions it to Will before Will goes after Mike earlier in this interlude, but Will doesn’t know what that is or how it’s tied to Mike’s struggles with his sexuality and feelings for Will. Will is completely blind to what exactly is happening and that’s Mike’s fault for not speaking up, but right now, he’s more angry about Will’s accusatory statements. He states that he can make decisions, that he knows what he wants (which he does), but just that he can’t voice it. In fact, the frustration he has about being unable to use his words (his forte) and Will’s accusations about where his true feelings lie brings him to tears. He spent so long trying to figure it out and now he knows and wants to act on it and…this is what he gets in return? Will at least recognizes that he was maybe a bit out of line.

“I know it’s wrong, I fucking know, okay? My dad won’t let me forget. And I thought if I was going crazy, too, then—,” The boy squeezed his eyes shut and when he opened them, the anger was gone but the darkness Will had seen when he first saw Mike the day before. “Whatever. See you at dinner.”

Someone mentioned the “I know it’s wrong, I fucking know, okay? My dad won’t let me forget” line and well, yeah; his dad won’t let him forget because of Mike being on track and his dad talking about it at dinner (as we get a glimpse of in interlude: the progression). Mike already believe his feelings aren’t ‘natural’, but Will said it was okay to care so he did. Now that his dad suspects something and believes Mike has fallen out of grace (again, religion and how falling out of grace means sinning which means being burned by the fires of Hell), Mike definitely believes this isn’t right. Even when the Byers leave at the end of interlude: the progression and Mike has his internal monologue where he comes to the conclusion that he’s in love with Will, Mike “felt better when he let himself care as much as he wanted, so why was it so wrong?” He understands that it’s ‘wrong’ but having Will say those words even though Will had told him it was okay to care is painful. The crazy line is there because well, it’s a byler staple haha also because Mike was very confused during the months leading up to Starcourt and that was kinda driving him a little nuts.

Mike opening his eyes and Will seeing the darkness he saw the day before is Mike returning to his less open persona, closing in on himself. The athletics department head knows Mike’s part in the Starcourt fire and he’s drifting away from the Party a bit thanks to being on track to keep the secrets (the secret about the Starcourt incident that he feels guilt about and the secret about his sexuality). Karen said that school is a stress on Mike, he’s dealing with a lot of things and when he tried to open up and pursue Will, he was shut down and in turn, closed himself off. The darkness here also ties back to the metaphorical darkness Mike feels with his nightmares and, well, a more physical one, too.

That’s pretty long but I just really like that scene haha thanks for the star ask!! I don’t know if anyone is gonna read this long ass analysis but it was fun and I’m totally glad i get to parse this scene out now that Mike’s POV is a bit more known thanks to interlude: the progression.

#lth asks #learning to heal #yams writes #yams asks meme #otp: palaric #anon

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wheresmynaya · 5 years

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Two Ghosts Ch.14 | Brittana

Happy Easter! Enjoy!

To be clear, Santana had every intention of speaking to Brittany. It was a pretty well thought out plan which she spent a good 12 hours concocting. She gave herself until Quinn left for New Haven to reach out to Brittany but she started to overthink and doubt herself then one thing led to another and Santana ended up missing her window. She could’ve easily sent Brittany a text or given her a call, but for some reason Santana made herself believe that it would look rude of her, like she was inviting Brittany out of guilt or pity. Of course, Santana was making it all up in her head but in that moment, she couldn’t be told otherwise.

So when Quinn left for New Haven late Tuesday evening, Santana decided that it was too late. Quinn was long gone on her road trip so she wasn’t there to pester Santana and make her feel like even more of a loser. So Santana just padded around the house, hoping that Brittany didn’t hate her for being such a dumbass. She hoped she wouldn’t be alone on Thanksgiving and that she’d have a lovely dinner wherever she ends up and that those people are grateful she’s there.

It’s early Wednesday morning when Maribel calls Santana downstairs for breakfast. They’re not usually breakfast people, but there’s a small bowl of mixed berries and a stack of pancakes waiting when Santana arrives. The smell of fresh coffee brewing fills the kitchen and suddenly Santana’s not so cranky about the early wake up call.

“Good morning, mija.” Maribel greets as a groggy Santana plops down on one of the barstools near the island countertop.

Santana notices Maribel is already dressed and she wonders how long she’s been up for.

“Morning, mami.” Santana replies and plucks up a raspberry from the bowl, “What’s all this for?”

Maribel shrugs as she sets down a plate in front of Santana next to the coffee mug and one for herself as well, “Do I need a reason to have breakfast with my daughter?”

Santana smirks as she takes the empty mug in front of her and walks to the coffeemaker, “I guess not.”

Maribel putters around the kitchen quietly making Santana watch curiously as she fills her cup. She can feel something looming over them as she takes the first sip of coffee, peering over Maribel from the rim of the cup.

“I want to go grocery shopping for tomorrow,” Maribel finally says and Santana instantly groans.

“I knew there was something..” Santana grumbles.

“What? You know it is going to be crazy in there, all the last minute shoppers. I’ll need you as back up.” Maribel reasons.

“Awh mami..grocery shopping is my least favorite thing to do. I barely did my own shopping in New York. Especially going on the day before a holiday, there’s going to be people everywhere. It’ll be like the Hunger Games. What are we even getting? I thought we were just ordering takeout and watch the parade?” Santana whines and for a second she’s transported back to her middle school days when Maribel wouldn’t let her play outside until her chores were finished.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Maribel says simply, “I want to have a real Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Is this what the breakfast is for, to bribe me?” Santana questions.

“Don’t be so dramatic, Santana.” Maribel chastises lightly, “It’s not so bad. You haven’t been home for Thanksgiving in so long and now you’re here so I’m going to cook.”

Santana softens because Maribel is such a mom and of course she decides on the day before Thanksgiving that she wants to cook just because she’s there.

“We need a turkey and cornbread and mashed potatoes and mac and cheese.” Maribel begins listing off, “All the staples!”

Santana would be lying if her stomach didn’t automatically start rumbling, but she doesn’t want Maribel to go through all the trouble just for her, “Mami, we don’t need to do all of that. Besides, It’s only going to be us. That’s going to be way too much food.”

Maribel shakes her head, “Nonsense, maybe the smell of all the cooking will bring your abuela over.”

Santana freezes, surprised that Maribel even mentioned her abuela. They don’t talk about her much since, actually they don’t speak about her ever, but Santana knows Maribel still checks up on her despite not agreeing with how she treated her daughter.

“You’re a great cook, but not that good.” Santana says softly and it makes Maribel frown.

“Well, I’m going to put our dining table to good use even if it’s just you and me.” Maribel says to her, determined.

Santana can sense the things Maribel leaves unsaid, like how lonely it must’ve gotten being alone in this empty house, especially during the holidays now that her father is out of the picture. How hard it must be knowing that the two most important women in her life aren’t speaking and there’s nothing she can do to fix it. Santana remembers the holidays when she was younger, when Brittany would kiss away the cold winter air from her cheeks and her mom and dad were still happy and together and her abuelo was still healthy and alive and her abuela loved her.

It was such a happy time and it crushes Santana knowing how different it all is.

Santana feels overcome with guilt because she stayed away for so long and she knows she must’ve added to Maribel’s sadness, so she relents, “Okay, mami, I’ll help you.”

“Good answer,” Maribel smirks then leans over to kiss the top of Santana’s head, “Thank you, now eat up.”

After breakfast, Santana heads up to her room to get dressed while her mom breaks out a pen and paper to start on the grocery list. She decides to dress for comfort since it’s way too early for her usual outfits. Her eyes fall to the faded red sleeve of Brittany’s sweater poking out from under her pillow and entertains the idea of possibly wearing it to the store because it’s comfy and maybe having a piece of Brittany will make her feel like less of an idiot for not having the courage to make that call. She decides against though, in fear of someone recognizing it or getting it dirty, and tucks the sleeve further under her pillow before turning to her closest.

Santana opts for a hoodie and a pair of ripped blue jeans before going to the bathroom to brush her teeth. After, she piles her hair atop her head in a messy bun and goes to pull on a pair of clean socks. She sits perched at the edge of her bed, curled over pulling the fabric over her cold feet when she spots the frame on her desk again. There’s a familiar pang of guilt and she moves to rest her hands on her knees as she bites her lip in thought.

“What is wrong with me?” Santana whispers aloud before pushing herself up and leaving those thoughts there. She grabs her phone and unlocks it, automatically going to the message app and hovering over Brittany’s name. The last time they texted was last week when it was Santana’s turn to pick up Starbucks before practice and she had to ask what Brittany wanted because it’s always something different.

She goes back to thinking of what to text like it’s rocket science just to ask Brittany over for dinner, but her fingers are frozen in place, hovering over the keyboard. She wonders what’s stopping her and why she’s letting it but she ends up getting frustrated with herself because she doesn’t know the answer. Quinn said friendship with Brittany was easy and for a second Santana believed her, but now she’s not so sure. If it was easy, why does she have such a hard time with all the simple things?

But then Santana thinks, maybe it’s hard now for a reason? Maybe this is how it’s supposed to be? She and Brittany are friends and everything’s civil again and maybe Santana is just meant to leave it at that. She thinks that if things were supposed to be different it would be that way, there would be some sort of sign or something, like fate laying a hand.

Santana locks her phone and slides it in her back pocket before heading downstairs to meet up with Maribel.

The list Maribel comes up with is pretty in depth and Santana starts to second guess her decision of coming out with her mom when she sees how packed the parking lot is. It’s like the entire town of Lima is here and Santana cringes at the thought. When they park, Maribel decides that they split the list and meet at check out so they can get through the shopping a lot faster. Santana doesn’t argue as Maribel rips the paper in half and hands Santana the top half. She reads over her part of the list, memorizing the items so she knows exactly which aisle she needs to go to while Maribel heads straight in wielding a cart like it’s her battering ram.

Santana follows in after her with her own cart in tow before heading in the opposite direction. There’s people everywhere and she can swear she passed by a couple arguing over the last can of gravy. It’s sheer madness and Santana makes a mental note that she’ll never grocery shop before a holiday ever again in her whole life. She has trouble moving around with a cart and ditches it at the end of an aisle before switching to a hand basket. Most of her list are just small things like seasonings and small goods so she zips through the crowded areas easily and soon she’s nearly finished with her list.

With the amount of people there, Santana would’ve been oddly surprised if she would’ve gone the entire trip without seeing anyone she knew but she spots a familiar blonde at the corner of her eye as she passes the juice aisle.

It’s Sam, accompanied by his little brother and sister, and he’s got a hand on each other their heads as he reads different labels of juice bottles. Santana would’ve gone unnoticed if it wasn’t for some old lady nearly running her down with a cart.

“Don’t just stop in the middle of the walk way.” The lady scolds harshly before brushing past Santana.

“Jesus,” Santana gasps as her basket knocks into the end cap, the rattling of bottles of Coke earning her a glance from Sam.

“Hey Santana,” Sam greets cheerfully, “It’s crazy in here, huh?”

Santana stares daggers into the back of the lady, “Yeah it is.” Then she smiles down at Sam’s siblings before looking up at Sam, “Last minute shopping?”

“Yeah, my parents are in here somewhere. I’m just trying to keep these two out of trouble.” He replies and pulls a bottle off the shelf and hands one to each of his siblings, “You hold this and you hold this.”

Santana chuckles as the boy frowns up at Sam. For a second, she wants to ask about Brittany and if she’ll be spending Thanksgiving with him and his family but she doesn’t think she wants to know the answer. She knows she was the one that suggested the idea to Brittany and she knows that they’re just friends and what not, but it still makes Santana feel weird just thinking about it all.

Instead, she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t want to know what her lack of courage has earned her. She has no one else to blame but herself.

“Well good luck,” Santana says through a smile, “Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Happy Thanksgiving, Santana.”

Santana heads off to grab the last few things before meeting up with her mom.

Once they’re home, Santana helps her mom unload the groceries from the car and they pile all the bags on the island counter. They’re both surprisingly tired and they make fast work of putting away all the things that need to be kept cold before collapsing on the couch for an impromptu nap.

It’s maybe just over an hour later when Santana’s phone vibrates beneath her side, waking her. She doesn’t know why her heart jumps in anticipation to see the name of who has been plaguing her mind all day, but she frowns when she glances down at the screen.

Quinn F. – Made it to New Haven! Traffic was insane.

Then a second text comes through.

Quinn F. – Have you asked Britt yet?

Santana groans and turns her phone over on the coffee table. That seems to be the answer for everything these days, just turn it over and ignore it.

The sound of splashing coming from the kitchen grabs Santana’s attention and she quickly makes her way over. She finds Maribel dunking the smallest frozen turkey Maribel could find into a buck of water she has placed in the sink. Water spills over the sides and splashes out onto the edges of the counter surrounding the sink.

“What are you doing?” Santana wonders.

“This turkey won’t thaw by tomorrow so I’m putting it in water,” Maribel replies and Santana scrunches her nose.

“Is it okay to do that?” Santana asks, “We won’t get salmonella or something?”

“Ay no, your abuela used to do this all the time.” Maribel says, “We’re still alive.”

Santana isn’t convinced but she backs off anyway, “Whatever you say then, mami.”

Maribel nods confidently and goes to wipe up the spilled water, “Are you sure you got everything on the list, mija? I can’t find the flour or the yeast packets anywhere. Could it be in the car?”

Santana freezes, she doesn’t remember those items on her list, “Are you sure they were on mine? I didn’t go down that aisle.”

“Yes, it was on the back..” Maribel replies and Santana’s jaw drops, “What? You looked on the back right?”

Santana brings her palm to her forehand and groans in frustration, “I didn’t think to.”

Maribel just chuckles, “No wonder you finished so quickly.”

“I’m sorry, mami.” Santana sighs apologetically, “I can go back?”

“No, no it’s okay.” Maribel shakes her head, “I’m about to start dinner. I’ll go in the morning.”

“Are you sure?” Santana begins to dig in her pockets for the crumpled list from earlier, “I’ve got the list somewhere.”

“It’s okay, I have to get a few things I forgot to add as well.” Maribel assures her, “But you can help unpack the rest of the groceries instead?”

Santana nods and sets to work.

Its when Santana’s getting ready for bed that Quinn sends through another text.

Quinn F. – I’m taking that as a no.

“Ugh, shut up.” Santana grumbles as she reads the text and goes to leave that one without a reply as well. She doesn’t need Quinn adding to her own annoyance with herself. She knows she has dug herself a hole and she doesn’t need Quinn going and adding her two cents like she always does. She’s lucky Santana isn’t meddling in her life, giving Quinn a taste of her own medicine.

Santana sets her phone to silent and leaves it face down on her nightstand before rolling onto her side. She closes her eyes and tries to think of happier thoughts, her hand delving under her pillow for the comforting feel of the sweater. She rubs the fabric between her fingers methodically, inhaling the faint smell of fire and Brittany’s perfume until she drifts off.

The next morning, Santana wakes in a similar way as the morning before. The smell of fresh coffee brewing and warm pancakes lure her into the kitchen and she plops down on her usual stool and plucks a raspberry from the bowl of berries. Maribel slides Santana a mug of coffee and Santana smiles in gratitude.

“I’m going to run to the store soon to pick up those last few things,” Maribel tells her, “Can you preheat the oven when I leave?”

“Sure mami,” Santana says, “Are you sure you don’t want me to go instead?”

“It’s okay,” Maribel replies, “I’m dressed already and the store closes at noon today so I need to be quick.”

Santana nods and soon after Maribel kisses her head, she’s out the door again.

Santana finishes her breakfast and cleans up the kitchen so Maribel will have all the space she needs when she starts cooking. She preheats the oven like Maribel asked her to and goes up to her bathroom to take a shower. It becomes one of those long showers where she spends extra time shampooing her hair, massaging her scalp, before letting the water run through it and moving to exfoliate. She rubs shaving cream all over her legs and runs the razor over them until her skin is silky smooth. She inhales the steam and it eases her tense muscles so when she exits the shower, she’s completely relaxed.

She stands in front of her closet with her hair bundled up atop her head and a fluffy towel wrapped around her torso. She remembers when she’d have to dress up when holiday dinners used to be over at her grandparents’ house and she decides to slip into one of her favorite cotton dresses because even if it’s just her and Maribel today, she wants it to feel like a special occasion. She slides nude colored stockings over her legs and slips her feet into her fuzzy purple booties she likes to wear around the house on colder days before heading to the bathroom to dry her hair.

When she finishes up, Santana goes for her phone and finally texts Quinn back.

Santana L. – Happy Thanksgiving, Q.

She opts to leave Quinn’s previous texts unanswered, but then she finds her thumb hovering over the main message bank where Brittany’s name is. She thinks about what Brittany could be doing again and she hopes she isn’t lonely even though Santana could’ve easily assured she wouldn’t be. She finally relents and taps Brittany’s name, the message screen opening and Santana finds herself hesitating again only this time it’s to find the words she wishes to say. How does she apologize for something Brittany didn’t even know was supposed to happen? How does she convey her fear of rejection in a single text?

She stops when she hears the sound of keys and the front door opening, followed by an angry sounding Maribel rattling off Santana’s full name.

“Come down here right now,” Maribel demands and for the first time in years Santana is a little worried as to what she’s done to warrant her whole name being called out.

Santana quickly comes down the stairs, nearly missing a step, to find Maribel waiting at the bottom with her hands on her hips.

“Yes mami?” Santana asks hesitantly.

“Do you know who I ran into at the store?” Maribel asks and Santana’s brows furrow.

Santana shakes her head, but as she does Maribel opens the front door a little wider and Santana just about collapses.

Brittany is there pulling a large paper bag out of the backseat of Maribel’s car. She adjusts it in her arms and Santana can only stare wide-eyed.

“Why didn’t you tell me she was going to be alone on Thanksgiving?” Maribel asks, this time her tone is softer.

Santana just shakes her head again, trying to tear her eyes away from Brittany, “I-I didn’t know.. I-I thought she was going to be with Sam’s family.”

“Well from what she told me, she’s not.” Maribel says and her hands drop to her sides, “I know things are complicated with you two, but I thought I raised you better than this. I can’t let this girl spend Thanksgiving alone. She’ll be having dinner with us now.”

Santana nods and the slight feeling of relief and regret washes over her, “Okay.”

“Okay.” Maribel repeats and nods to the blonde, “Go see if she needs help.”

Santana nods again and comes down the last few steps before heading out the door.

Brittany pulls away with a plastic bag dangling from her curled fingers as she bumps the car door closed with her hip. When she spins, she finds Santana standing there and offers her a nervous smile.

“Hey,” Brittany says a little timidly.

“Hi Britt,” Santana replies and nods to her hand, “Let me get that.”

Brittany mumbles out a thanks as Santana takes the bag then says a little louder, “I’m sorry. I should’ve texted you to warn you or something. Your mom saw me at the store and asked what I was doing and I wasn’t quick enough with a good answer and then she invited me over. It’s kind of hard saying no to her. I hope I’m not imposing.”

Santana chuckles because she knows first-hand how her mom can be, “Don’t be sorry. You aren’t imposing at all.”

“Are you sure? I feel like I crashed your dinner.” Brittany asks and pauses halfway up the path to the front door. She looks so unsure of herself as she adds, “I don’t have to stay. I can go if you’d like.”

“Don’t.” Santana says suddenly as her heart starts to race. She looks up into pretty blue eyes and the words fall freely, “Please stay.”

Brittany’s eyes flicker between Santana’s and Santana watches as Brittany slowly inhales. She doesn’t know why it suddenly feels like time has stopped but she eyes Brittany curiously; she looks like she’s mentally weighing out the pros and cons and Santana wonders why Brittany’s doing that when she’s the one that’s a nervous wreck.

But then Brittany nods and her cheeks bunch cutely into a smile. She bashfully says, “Okay, I’ll stay.”

#two ghosts #brittana #santana lopez #brittany s pierce #fics #fanfics #glee

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