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sansa-of-oldstones · 6 years

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In The Chaos - Ch. 9

I still refuse to abandon.

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2/ Chapter 3 / Chapter 4/ Chapter 5/ Chapter 6/ Chapter 7/ Chapter 8

Also on Ao3

She stomps through the ice and snow. She doesn’t even regret rejecting Jon’s offer of a ride. As if Sansa would want to be anywhere near him right now. She thought they had shared something special, but she was wrong. Sansa thought it was leading somewhere, but all it had done was hurt her.

She’s waiting at a crosswalk when a car beeps at her, and pulls over. It’s her car. Sam rolls down the window, and smiles at her. She stares blankly at him, her breath billowing in the cold air.

“Did Jon not tell you I was bringing your car?”

“No, no he didn’t.” She walks over to driver side door, and opens it. Sam is confused. “Well, you’ve brought me my car.”

“What did he do?” Sam sighs. “Why are you out walking in this?”

“You’ll have to ask your friend.” Sansa taps impatiently on the roof. “I would like to go home now.”

“Can you make a detour to Fort Black?” Sam pleads, holding up a tray of travel cups. “I’m not built for this weather, and I picked up coffee.”

“How have you made it this long in The Watch?” She takes one of the coffees, and he unbuckles himself to move to the passenger seat.

“I never wanted to enlist.” Sam shares. “I never wanted this. I want to be a psychiatrist, but my father said he wouldn’t pay. He told me to be a real doctor. My grades and exams didn’t exactly book any scholarships. So, here I am. In a couple years, they’ll pay for my education.”

“You showed him.” Sansa digs, and takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m angry and hungover.”

“It’s okay.” Sam tells her. “Do you need to talk about it?”

She shakes her head and drives.

“The problem is that I’m an enabler.” Sam tries after a few moments of silence. “I knew Jon wouldn’t be comfortable at the party, but Gilly heard it was his birthday, so I nagged him to go.”

“He seemed perfectly comfortable to me.”

“That was after a few drinks.” Sam shrugs. “Strong ones at that. I should have put a stop to it when I saw him pouring. I was going to, I know he’d want me to, but he actually looked happy.”

“If he wants to drink and smoke himself to death, that’s his choice.”

“He doesn’t want to.” Sam argues. “He’d stopped drinking. He was working on other ways to cope.”

“I have very little sympathy for Jon and his pity parties at the moment.”

“Jon has a lot of scars you can’t see.” Sam sighs. “I thought your uncle would have told you.”

“He wouldn’t even tell me where Jon was deployed to because it was classified.”

It still aggravates her to this very day.

“Well, I can’t give you many details, but they were ambushed, and Jon was taken captive.”

“He was?”

“For five months.” Sam fidgets, and hesitates. This is very uncomfortable for him, and Sansa focuses on the road. She wants to be angry with Jon, but Sam is making it difficult. The only person she is angrier with than Jon is her uncle. She doesn’t care if she isn’t able to drive back to Winterfell today. She will be having a conversation with her Uncle Benjen. “He was in the hospital for weeks after they found him. Then rehab. It was pretty awful. It brought up a lot of terrible things for him. He’s been in treatment with a therapist since his psych evaluation to return to service. I go with him, because he doesn’t want to go alone. It hasn’t been easy for him. It’s never been easy for him.”

“I know.” It still doesn’t give him the right to treat her like she’s disposable. “I told him not to join. I begged him not to.”

“He told you what happened to his mother?” Sam wonders. “His brother?”

“No.” Sansa is glad they’re stopped at a red light. She thought she knew Jon. She knows nothing. She leans back against the headrest, entirely overwhelmed. “I thought he was an only child.”

“I’ve done it now.” Sam groans. “He trusted me, and I went and blabbed to you.”

“I won’t say anything.” Sansa promises. “It’s not like I’ll be speaking to him anytime soon.”

“Don’t give up on him.”

“Why do you care?”

“He’s my friend.” Sam explains. “I care about him. I’ve also never seen him as happy as he was last night.”

“That was the alcohol.”

“It wasn’t.” Sam disagrees. “I am well aquatinted with drunk Jon, and he can be a happy drunk on occasion, but never that happy.”

“Well, he wasn’t happy this morning.” Sansa huffs. “I’m not going to feel guilty for needing to distance myself from him right now. I tried to help him. I tried to help him for years.”

“Did you, though?”

“I did!” Now, she’s angry with Sam. “I told him...”

“You told him.” Sam interrupts. “You told him what you believe would help. I beg your pardon, but that isn’t the same thing. I know it was a rough morning, but he’s doing alright. He knows what works for him.”

She had flat out asked him what she could do to help, many times.

“I don’t think he knows.” Sansa rolls her eyes. “I don’t think he’ll ever know.”

“He knows.” Sam tells her. “He’s perfectly capable of it. He struggles, and it wears on him, but he’s working on it every day. He doesn’t need someone acting like he isn’t.”

“Can we please talk about something else?”

“Of course.” Sam nods. “What are you studying at Queenscrown?”

“Social work.” Sansa answers. “We were lucky. I want to help people who aren’t so lucky.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“I know what you’re thinking.” Sansa scowls. “I want to help people, but you think I’m giving up on Jon. I’m not giving up on him, I just don’t want to be around him.”

“I was thinking a lot of people will be very fortunate to have you in their lives.”

“He wasn’t like this before.” Sansa laments. “I don’t understand how you could say he’s doing alright.”

“I go to therapy with Jon so he’ll go.” Sam reminds her. “I got him Ghost. That took ages. I had to get it approved by The Watch and the organization that trained Ghost. I had to prove Jon needs him. He loves that dog.”

“He’s a service dog.” Sansa had no idea, but it did explain a lot about Ghost’s behavior. When she saw the pictures Jon posted, she thought he was trained to work with Jon and his team. “He wasn’t trained by The Watch.”

“No.”

“You’re a good friend.” Sansa isn’t sure at the moment if Jon deserves a friend like Sam, but she is glad he’s there.

Sam shows his ID at the gate, and she drops him off before parking closer to where her uncle’s office is.

She hands her identification to the MP at the entryway, and places her purse on the conveyor belt to be scanned. People see the name on her visitor’s pass, and do not question her presence. She is Benjen Stark’s niece. She marches right past his secretary, who does attempt to stop her, and walks into his office.

He’s sitting at his desk, reading a file.

“Jon was captured?!” No pleasantries. She needed to get what she was feeling out.

“Good morning.” He closes the file. “Happy New Year.”

“I don’t care how classified it is, you’re going to tell me.”

“Sansa, I’m sorry.” He motions to one of the chairs in front of his desk. “You’re a civilian.”

“I hate that word.” She reluctantly sits. “I’m not leaving until you tell me.”

“You’ll be sitting there for a long time.”

“You promised.” Sansa pouts. “You promised me you would take care of him.”

“There’s only so much I can control.” Uncle Benjen sighs, and stands to close the door. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but if it will help you understand, I will. Jon’s team was collecting intel on an extremist group near Hardhome. They were ambushed. We’re still not sure how. Our best guess is someone who arranged travel for the team. Jon knew exactly what he was signing up for when decided to become a Ranger. He saved a lot of lives that day. He’s a hero.”

“I care about his life.” She could not care less about a medal on his dress uniform. It did not erase his suffering. “I care about him.”

“He was rescued.” He reminds her. “He’s okay.”

“He isn’t okay.” Sansa blinks away the tears. “You didn’t tell me. I trusted you.”

“Jon shouldn’t have told you either.”

“He didn’t.” Sansa scoffs. “I’m not telling you who did. That’s classified.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“He was missing for months, and I didn’t know.” She felt a sob shake her. “What if he had died? What would you have told me then?”

“You were getting ready to graduate.” Uncle Benjen defends himself. “I didn’t want to upset you.”

“Is that why he wasn’t at my graduation? You had no idea where he was, and the gods know what was happening to him?” She had been angry with him about that too. Uncle Benjen finds some tissues for her. “He’d told me he’d try to go. I was mad at him! He was probably being tortured, and I was mad at him! Because you didn’t tell me!”

“I couldn’t tell you.”

“You should have.”

She dabs her eyes with a tissue, and Uncle Benjen squeezes her shoulder. She wants to start this new year over.

I love Sam in this chapter. He brings up a very valid point. Something Sansa really needed to hear. It’s a hard lesson to learn, and please remember she is young. This was very difficult for her. Everything she thought she knew has been flipped upside-down. Also, she’s understandably heartbroken about what Jon went through. It’s exactly what she was terrified of happening. Benjen also brings up a valid point: Jon knew exactly what he was getting into when he enlisted. He would absolutely do it again. Also Ghost as a good ptsd doggo just made sense to me. He’s so quiet and tuned into Jon. He is such a comfort to Jon in canon, and I love this.

Jon POV next chapter. Thanks for feedback. It really means a lot to me! This will get fluffier soon, I promise. Happy endings are how I roll.

#jonsa #jonsa fic #my writing #mallory writes sometimes #linking the other chapters is becoming a hassel 😂#THIS CHAPTER BROKE MY GODDAM HEART #ENJOY #is okay they will be the happiest idiots in love soon #thank you everyone who has shown this love #it really means a lot to me

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punchdrunkdoc · 2 years

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Given To Fly

Chapter 6: The Girl In The Mask

Previous instalments:

Chapter 1: The Girl At The Bar & Chapter 2: The Girl In The Lab here

Chapter 3: The Girl On The Fire Escape here

Chapter 4: The Girl In His Bedroom here

Chapter 5: The Girl here

TASM! Peter Parker x Original female character

Summary: After the events of Spiderman: No Way Home, Peter 3 is determined to make some changes to his life. It starts with a new job, and a chance meeting with a beautiful stranger in a bar.

Notes: The lonely, somewhat tortured TASM!/Andrew Garfield version of Peter Parker in Spiderman: No Way Home broke my heart a bit. This is my attempt to give him his happy ending.

I can’t say too much, as there’s a mystery at the heart of this tale that I don’t want to spoil.

But I can say this will be a multi-part story with a slow burn, enemies-to-lovers romance with an OC character (the x reader format doesn’t work for this particular story - sorry!)

Also available on AO3

“So how are things going with the hottie at work? Has he asked you out yet?” Her sister’s voice was weak, but she could still hear the excitement. She winced at the question and wished she’d never mentioned Peter. But Mel thought she was just another 20-something living some big adventure in New York. She wanted to hear about all the plays she’d seen on broadway, what Central Park looked like at Christmas, and of course, she wanted all the gossip about the cute guy at work.

“Um, I’ve been super busy in the lab. I haven’t seen him around much this week.” She padded around her apartment, phone pressed to her ear, rubbing her forehead with her free hand as she lied to her sister.

Again.

Because she’d seen quite a bit of Peter that week.

The Monday after the Fourth of July debacle, he was waiting for her in her lab. His usual manic energy seemed tightly constrained, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against her workstation.

She eyed him as she walked closer, noting the faint bruising over his left cheek - had he got in a fight?

“Good morning, Jane. Nice to see you. How was your weekend?” His tone was harsh.

She shrugged out of her jacket and booted up her computer.

“So we’re back to the silent treatment, huh?” He bit out.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I need to answer some emails, Peter.” She gestured to the door.

He stared at her for a long moment. “We need to talk.”

“Later,” she replied, not meeting his eyes.

“Why do I get the feeling ‘later’ really means ‘never’?”

Getting no reply, he turned and stormed out.

She sighed. How was she going to do this? She didn’t have it in her heart to be mean to him, but she needed to push him away. For his sake, as well as hers. Because whenever he was near, she just wanted to stay close to him…forever.

He came to find her again the following day during lunch. “We need to talk.”

“So you’ve said,” she replied. “But I don’t see why.”

“Because I wanna know what happened on Saturday! One minute you’re smiling at me in that goddam dress, and the next you’re running away.”

“I just wasn’t feeling up to company.”

“Bullshit, Jane,” he snapped. “I know there’s something going on with you, just-“

“There’s nothing going on with me. I need to get back to work.”

He went to grab her arm, to stop her from leaving, but she dodged out of his way. A group of co-workers piling into the break room gave her the cover she needed to escape.

On Wednesday, he stared at her throughout the entire mid-morning departmental meeting, a hurt look in his eyes. To avoid his gaze, she focussed her attention on his hand, noticing the faint redness over the knuckles, as if he’d banged his fist against something. She became mesmerised by the movement of the pen he was twirling, around and around. He always had so much restless energy, constantly fidgeting, never sitting still for long. He must have been a nightmare as a small child, but an adorable one no doubt. How did May ever cope-

“Earth to Jane!”

She jerked her head up. Jimmy was staring at her. Everyone was starting at her, and she realised she’d zoned out.

“Do you have the data on the NTRK-mutated samples?”

“Um, not yet,” she replied, sinking into her chair. “I need another week.”

The meeting resumed and she dared a look at Peter. His eyes were narrowed as he watched her, as if trying to figure her out.

She left work early that day.

Thursday - today - he trapped her in the elevator. He must have been planning it, because he didn’t hesitate to hit the emergency stop button the moment the car started moving.

“Peter!” She tried to get past him to release the button, but he wouldn’t budge.

“No, Jane, I’m sorry, but we are going to stay in here until you talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about!”

“Yes, there is! You know there is! Otherwise you wouldn’t be avoiding me.”

“I’m not avoiding you, I’m just busy. I have to submit that manuscript, and get the-“

“Stop lying to me. Please.”

The broken plea stopped her. She looked up at him, seeing the defeated look in his eyes.

And the black eye.

She gasped. “What happened to your face?” Without conscious thought, one hand came up to gently caress the bruised area, her fingers gliding softly over his skin. Her other hand landed on his chest, the movement bringing them closer together.

He sighed and closed his eyes, tipping his forehead forward to rest against hers. His arms snaked around her waist and he just…held her.

They stayed that way for a long moment. His warmth and scent enveloped her and she wanted to burrow into him and stay safe forever.

Unfortunately, the serenity of the moment was shattered by the squawk of the intercom. “Folks, we’ll get you moving again soon, just hang in there.”

She sprung out of his arms, stepped behind him and released the emergency button. The elevator jolted into action.

“Jane,” he whispered from behind her.

She was saved from answering when the elevator arrived at her floor. She bolted out the doors, not daring to look at him.

“You’re always busy,” Mel whined, bringing her back to the present. “When are you coming home to visit? It’s been too long.”

“I know, Melly. Soon,” she promised.

“It better be soon,” Mel responded, something…off...in her voice.

“What do you mean?”

“Just…”

“Melissent, what is it?” she asked, fear suddenly clenching her gut.

“The doctors say I’m deteriorating faster than expected. The symptoms are piling up…so I just think it would be better if you came home sooner rather than later. While I still know who you are.” The last bit was said as a joke, but there was an undercurrent of truth to Mel’s fears.

Because that’s where this was heading. Mel, unable to remember anyone; unable to walk or talk or care for herself. Slowly dying, locked inside her own body.

No.

She was NOT gonna let that happen.

She needed to get the cure and save her sister.

She’d wasted enough time procrastinating and being distracted by brown-eyed boys.

She knew where the serum was located and how to get to it. Her plan to steal it was sound, Allard was out of the country for a few days, the guards were gone…the timing was right.

Tomorrow night, she would end this thing.

———

Peter checked the display on his phone. 7:46pm.

Jane still wasn’t home.

He crouched on the rooftop across from her apartment, his Spider-man mask clenched in his hand. He glared at her dark window, wondering where the hell she was.

What she was doing.

Was she ok?

Why was she avoiding him?

He’d tried everything to get her to talk to him this past week, to tell him what was going on with her. But she was back to being cold, distant Jane. The friend that he’d found on the rooftop was gone. The…possibly more-than-a-friend who’d turned up to May’s house last weekend felt like a figment of his imagination.

He was worried that he was going crazy. First Jen, then Jane. Did he keep reading more into these encounters than there really was? Was he so desperate for companionship that he was inventing connections where there were none? Were they nothing more than one-sided obsessions?

He cursed and shoved his mask back on.

Enough.

He needed a distraction. The same one he’d employed every night this week - patrolling the city and finding low life thugs and criminals to beat up.

So what if it wasn’t a healthy outlet?

It was the only one he had.

With one last look at her apartment building, he launched into the air.

———

She wiped at the blood dripping from her nose, and watched the stranger in the mirror do the same.

The green eyes were a little too green, standing out sharply against the pitch black of her new pixie cut. But she didn't want to waste energy taming them down. She needed to preserve her power. Healing herself was a passive process; it happened without conscious thought. Altering her appearance, on the other hand, took effort and concentration. And if often took a toll.

Hence the nosebleed.

She peered closer at the face in the mirror, noting how the subtle altering of the bone structure underlying her cheeks and chin had worked to create yet another version of her.

She narrowed her eyes in hatred of the new visage. Every time she changed her appearance, every time she took on a new identity, she felt like she was losing the core of who she was. She just wanted to be herself again. The girl from a few years ago. The one who had dreams and ambitions and friends.

And self-respect.

She sighed and closed her eyes. Took a deep breath, and tried to push down all the bitterness and resentment that was swarming inside her.

"This is for Mel," she whispered to herself. A mantra she deployed when she needed the strength to keep going.

"This is for Mel," she repeated more forcefully, opening her eyes to meet her new reflection.

Her new identity.

The Thief.

She silently pulled the bathroom door closed and re-entered the dimly lit lab, mentally checking off the steps in her plan.

Step 1: Pretend to leave the building

Check. Her exit should have been registered four hours ago when John, her absent-minded colleague, passed through security with Jane's access pass in his bag.

Step 2: Hide in the bathroom until everyone else left.

Check. The benefits of being the only female lab geek meant she had sole use of the ladies restroom and there was little risk in someone finding her.

Step 3: Get changed.

Check, she thought, in more ways than one, remembering the site of her new face and hair in the mirror. For her clothes, she'd removed the loose dress she'd been wearing earlier that day to reveal the skin tight black catsuit underneath. Her heavy boots had been replaced by thin-soled flats, and she had covered the top half of her face with a black leather mask. Even though she was unrecognisable as a GenTech employee, she didn’t want to burn this identity too quickly in case she ever needed it again.

Step 4: Access the hidden lab without being spotted by the surveillance cameras.

'Easy,' she thought, going over the the route in her head one last time.

She could do this.

She could totally do this.

Unfortunately, a certain friendly neighbourhood spider-man had other ideas.

———

Peter crouched down to rummage through the drawers of his office desk, cursing under his breath as he searched for his spare set of web canisters. He'd brought them to work on his first day on the off-chance he'd find an opportunity to play around with them in the R&D lab on the 4th floor. He'd had an idea to boost the capacity, but he didn't have access to the necessary hardware at home.

He'd never found the opportunity - the place being too heavily surveilled - and he'd all but forgotten about them, until he’d run out of webs tonight. Luckily he’d only been trying to lasso a joy riding car jacker and not swinging across the Brooklyn Bridge when his shooters suddenly went dry.

That…could have been bad.

He hadn’t misjudged his web levels for years.

And he’d never managed to run out of spares, but that’s what he discovered on his trip back to his apartment - his stash was all used up.

It was a major sign that he needed to stop thinking about Jane, and get his head properly back in the Spider-man game.

Shoving some 'Peter clothes' over his suit, he’d grabbed his access pass, then headed to work. It was Friday night, and he couldn't afford to be without his webs all weekend.

Shifting a pile of data printouts, he eventually located the small cartridges, hidden inside an old lunchbox. “Finally,” he grumbled to himself.

Just as he was about to stand up, he caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. Maintaining his hidden position behind his desk, he watched as a figure in black stalked passed the cubicles to the stairwell by the elevator bank. She - and it was definitely a she, that suit left little to the imagination - took one furtive look down the dark corridor to her left, then pushed open the door.

Well, what do we have here?

Maybe he wouldn’t have to look too far for his next criminal.

Peter ran to the elevators and pressed the down button, bouncing on the soles of his feet as he waited. Once on the ground floor, he fumbled with his access pass in his rush to get through the security gates and log 'Peter' out of the building. Outside he shed his clothes, inserted the canisters into his shooters and launched a web up the side of the glass facade.

It didn't take him long to spot the masked figure.

She was moving quickly through the near pitch-black office space of the 6th floor, dodging the desks and chairs in front of her with ease. Either she knew the place like the back of her hand, or she could see in the dark.

Both possibilities intrigued him.

Who was she?

And what did she want?

———

She wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.

She wasn't built for this type of subterfuge. Her heart was pounding with nerves, and she could feel a bead of sweat running down her spine.

'Just a little longer,' she chanted to herself as she made her way to Allard's office, adjusting the light receptors in her eyes even further to help her navigate the dark room.

Finally reaching his door she crouched in front of the lock and took a deep breath, making a conscious effort to suppress her adrenaline levels. Within seconds she could feel her heart slowing, and the subtle shake in her hands subsided. This allowed her to concentrate on the fiddly task of picking the complicated lock, a skill she'd been practicing with the help of YouTube.

She enhanced her hearing to better gauge the tumblers and when she head them fall into place she eased the handle open and slipped into the office. She made a beeline for the bookcase, which concealed the elevator down to the secret lab.

She took another deep breath.

It all came down to this.

Almost a year spent away from her sister.

So many lies, and so much deceit.

The double-life. No, the triple and quadruple-life!

A year spent in Allard's shadow - watching, searching, waiting for the right opportunity. Putting up with his smiles and his little touches, all the while seething inside knowing the monster he really was.

Doing anything and everything possible to locate X-4175.

And it was just behind this bookcase.

"You know, if you wanted to borrow a book, there are these things called libraries." Startled, she spun around to see a tall, lean figure dressed in blue and red leaning against the open doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. "Lot easier to get access to than this place. The penalties aren't as steep either," he continued.

Spider-man?

Spider-man was was here?

How?!

"Ah, so you're one of those strong and silent criminals," he nodded, pushing himself off the door jamb and entering the room. "No monologuing, no boasting, no feigning a misunderstanding. I dig it. Makes a nice change. Still gonna have to hand you over to those cops though." He gestured out the window and she could hear the sounds of sirens in the distance.

No! How could he be ruining this?!

Spider-man crush rescinded.

Spider-man crush completely rescinded!!

She frantically weighed her options as he edged around the room, keeping the large oak desk between them.

She couldn't fight him. Even if she knew how, he was stronger than she'd ever be. The most she could do with her abilities was increase her muscle and bone density, but that would only make her as powerful as the average man.

She wasn't even sure she could outrun him, not when he could shoot webs and crawl on walls.

She was outmatched.

Maybe she could reason with him? Try to convince him that the generous, avuncular and beloved Professor Allard, the guy the media claimed would cure cancer, was in reality a villainous murderer conducting illegal experiments.

Yeah, that wasn't likely to happen in the few minutes it would take for the police to arrive.

So, hiding it was.

She bolted through the door and ran into the office area. She just needed a brief head start.

"Hey!" he whined from behind her, "You didn't say ready, set, go!"

Her enhanced hearing detected the 'thwip' of a web releasing, giving her a nanosecond to dive out of its way.

She rolled back to her feet, not daring to look behind her to check how close he was. She didn't know how well he could see in the dark, and hoped the desks and chairs she was nimbly skirting around were slowing him down.

She skidded into the corridor and barrelled through the entryway to the stairs, flying down them to reach the next level. She forced open the door to floor 5, stepped behind it and plastered herself into the corner where the open door met the wall.

Then, she initiated what she liked to call 'stealth mode.'

She chilled her body temperature, darkened her skin and hair to match the blackness around her, locked her muscles in place and stopped her breathing. She became a statue, no signs of life at all.

She could only survive like this for a minute at the most, but it would have to be enough time.

It had to!

A second later, Spider-man swung through door. She closed her eyes. She heard his feet pound passed her and felt the whoosh of air as he sped down the corridor away from her, chasing a phantom.

She waited. And waited a little more, just in case. The knife-like headache from overusing her abilities was becoming unbearable, the lack of oxygen to her brain was threatening unconsciousness.

She dropped her camouflage, opened her eyes, and took a deep breath.

Spider-man stood right in front of her.

She jumped, and let out a very uncool squeak.

"That's a neat trick," he said, watching her closely, his head cocked to one side. "I have one too. I call it my Spidey-sense. Some like to refer to it as a 'tingle', but I think that lacks a bit of masculine flair."

She could hear the police cars pulling up to the building now.

It was over.

Nothing left to do but beg for help.

"Please-" she started, lifting her hands towards him in supplication. But he mistook that as a threat, and fired webs at both wrists, pinning her left arm to the wall and the right to the door she was wedged against. The force of the impact from the close range projectile felt immense, her right forearm colliding awkwardly against the metal emergency bar on the door.

She felt her skin tear...and a bone crack.

A pained cry escaped her lips and tears sprang to her eyes.

Spider-man swore and immediately jumped forward, tearing at the webbing holding her captive. As he bent over her damaged arm, the back of his mask slipped ever so slightly away from the rest of his suit, exposing a tiny strip of tanned skin at his neck.

She had only one offensive weapon in her arsenal, but it needed skin-on-skin contact to work. She'd never even thought to use it on him - every inch of his skin was usually covered. But that little gap in his armour was her salvation.

She quickly super-charged the particles covering the surface of her body, hooked one of her legs around his waist to hold him in place, and brought her lips down on that patch of vulnerable skin. The enormous static electricity charge she'd built up went through him like volts from a taser. He stiffened, tearing away from her as he fell to the floor, limp and unconscious.

She wrenched her hands free of the webbing, her arm already starting to heal, and ran away from the fallen hero.

She skidded around the corner and ducked into the supply closet on her left. She clambered up the shelving and opened the grate in the ceiling. She carefully climbed inside the vent, lay down along its length and re-secured the covering. Just as she did, she heard the shouts from the police as they discovered the collapsed form of Spider-man.

She dropped her head down to rest against the cool metal beneath her and choked back a sob.

She'd failed.

Her plan had been perfect.

Even her backup plans had been perfect!

She'd studied the blue prints for the building and determined all the exit points and hiding spots in case something went wrong. Built contingencies upon contingencies.

But she'd never actually thought she'd need them.

She thought she'd be able to do it.

She just never factored in Spider-man.

Fucking Spider-man.

CHAPTER 7

#spider-man #spiderman #spiderman now way home spoilers #spiderman no way home #spiderman fic #spiderman x oc #tasm #tasm!peter parker #tasm!Spider man #TASM! Peter x original character #Andrew Garfield Peter Parker #myfic

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class1akids · 3 years

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BNHA 301 - Thoughts

Well, we all thought that we’ll tune in to the next episode of the Keeping Up with the Todorokis telenovela - but boy, this is no soap opera anymore, it’s a goddam Greek Tragedy with hubris, jealousy and ambition, with mere humans playing god and paying the price in tears and madness and turning their firstborn into a cursed demon. (That fire demon halo / crown there is amazing)

This chapter turns on its had many assumptions we’ve been holding onto since the Sport Festival, and no, it is not retcon - it’s just non-linear story-telling from different perspectives.

So Enji and Rei met on some fancy Quirk Tinder, and while it does seem Rei’s family was really grooming her to marry well, she did have some choice in the matter. She realized it was a quirk marriage and went ahead with it nonetheless. (Greek chorus murmurs in disquiet.)

The flower is back again - and it seems it held something important meaning to Rei - maybe he hope that Enji sees her as something more than just her name and her quirk, but as an individual. The soft, elusive Rei all in white is a stark contrast to the woman in the present

who is dressed in all black like an angel of death and comes in with a dramatic “stomp” and “whoosh” of her dress to tell her husband that she’s fucking not okay, because their son is a mass murderer who almost killed their other son, plus the family’s dirty laundry has been aired on national television.

Things are actually the opposite of fine. (I love this Rei!!!! She won’t melt anymore...)

In the meantime, Touya is hanging out in the little villain-dacha in the forest, on a ratty couch, doing that hand-staring thing that seems to be genetic among the Todoroki-men. Also, he spends a whole lot of time thinking about his dear dad he claims to hate so much. They are weirdly co-dependent.

I recreated this panel with the honorifics, because it’s kind of telling how he talks of Fuyumi as if she was still a little girl, Natsuo gets -kun, which is weird for a brother, and Shouto is just Shouto. Yep. He does not like the little puppet masterpiece, if that was not clear until now.

Also I love this panel so much, with the tear of blood dramatically dripping onto the panel of his childhood home. What a fantastic image.

We are transported right back to the Ch. 291 timeline, where Touya first burns himself. In the meantime, he has a few extra white locks, and is extremely grumpy because he’s dad is not training with him (aka special father-son bonding time).

I just can’t with his little Endeavor-merch T-shirt and angry tmp-tmp.

and his little pout. OMG. How can anyone resist this kid?

So Enji actually has a reason, because they are going to what looks like Central hospital to see a quirk doctor (who looks totally like Ujiko), who tells them tough luck, but Touya has a body built for cold-resistance. So yeah, not a good match for a fire quirk. Also, “quirk experimentation is kind of taboo” howls the Greek chorus in the back “quit while you still can”.

Enji, the stubborn ass he is instead goes home and broods staring at Zeus All Might saving some ridiculously large number of towns, remembering how he told Touya that he can totally surpass All Might. That’ll be a tough discussion.

Looks like stubborn is not only Enji’s territory. Because Touya will totally outstubborn him, and he continues to burn himself to get Endeavor’s attention back.

Todoroki “Nom-Nom” Fuyumi (OMG!!! She’s adorable) is already the voice of reason in this family of crazy. Yes Touya, people who love you don’t wanna see you hurt.

Well, Enji will surely outsmart this 6-year-old, won’t he? Maybe offer to play lego or something? Go on a holiday and give him the idea to start a bug-collection?

Or....

let’s have more kids to crush Touya’s spirit until he forgets about heroes.... Sigh... What a terrible way to deal with this situation. And Rei goes along with a deep sense of foreboding.

OK, there is something good in this...because...

Natsuo is born - and the contrast between Fuyumi’s sincere excitement and joy, and Touya’s absolute crushed expression (also the Endeavor merch has undergone a more sinister re-design, from a friendly flame to a frightening fire mask). It’s kind of telling that Enji is missing completely from this scene. (Natsuo wasn’t lying about Enji never even looking him in the eye...)

And then some years of Enji turning into an obsessed workaholic and it looks like Rei gives it another try - maybe desperate to calm him down and Shouto is born - doing the All Might pose in his little hand-me-down onesie.

And it seems like there is one look and the whole family knows he’s the one. Enji’s manic grin, Rei is relieved because she thinks the worst is over (oh little naive one, there is always a price for miracles - whispers the Greek chorus) and Touya is just fucking dead inside.

He’s so broken or he should be. But he keeps training, so desperate for Enji’s friggin’ attention and faith in him. It’s in a way an utterly banal story of older child being sidelined, but with the added burden of the original expectations, Touya’s stubborn streak to succeed, his insane need for paternal validation - it just makes it the perfect storm.

So Touya keeps training, despite his parents’ best efforts to crush his spirit. He doesn’t give up and keeps burning himself.

And yes, Enji tries to tell him to go outside and play and see the whole world, but his words have no effect because everything in Enji’s own life says that there is nothing outside of hero stuff. This beautiful family with these amazing children wasn’t enough to cure his obsession.

And this panel here totally broke my heart - as Touya says he can’t understand:

(I’m sorry, but I changed the translation on this one, because I thought this line hit better like this). It’s so tragic that both Touya and Enji see how similar they are, that it’s a madness shared between them, destroying both of them. And they can’t help each other.

It’s heartbreaking.

Whew... let’s look at some adorable Todoroki-children as a breather says the Greek chorus.

Shouto is really just chilling there like his existence isn’t the cause of the crumbling of this entire family and eventually of hero society.

Hi there cutie...

Oh yeah, this is the moment that the demon-child is born ready to destroy the little puppet masterpiece usurper and he legit attacks baby Shouto in Rei’s arms. This kind of puts a whole new spin on the kids being separated from Shouto and the Rei attacks Shouto plotlines. (Also, it’s like the second time all the Todo-children are on the same panel).

Rei also explains now her lines about regret from the previous chapter and takes some of the blame about Touya’s mental state. (oh, no, Rei, what did you do?)

In any case, Touya seems mentally to be at a really vulnerable state. So let’s say if he was taken to a quirk-based medicine health clinic, and he were to run into a doctor that promised him unlimited power, what are the chances he’d go for it?

To be continued...

#bnha 301 #bnha meta #todoroki touya #todoroki enji #todoroki rei #bnha manga spoilers #class1a reads bnha #keeping up with the todorokis #todoroki siblings #todosiblings

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miss-smutty · 3 years

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The Destructive Secret - Chapter 2

A/N- I'm still so excited for this series! I love writing angst, so this is perfect for me. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to update. Please let me know your thoughts, I've left it on a cliff hanger but I promise in the next chapter you will find out who is who. 💛

Summary- You've got a secret to hide and it's going to cause complete and utter destruction.

Word count- 2742

Warnings- Mature themes, swearing, smut, angst, deceit, lies

Disclaimer: This is an entire work of fiction/AU and has no affiliation to real life what so ever! This is a fictional story about fictional characters who happen to share names and faces with some real people.

18+ Only!

Taglist-: @innerpaperexpertcloud @pandaxnienke @chickensarentcheap @mostly-marvel-musings

Posted- 16th May 2021

Part 1

Watching the steady rise and fall of your boyfriend's chest as he sleeps, the sound of his heavy breath filling the deathly silent room. Counting every time you see him inhale and exhale... Sixty... Sixty-one... Sixty-two. Trying, desperately to make yourself fall into the heaven of slumber, where your thoughts can't follow you like a stalker in the night.

No such luck - You were wide awake, rolling onto your back with a huff. Jealous of your boyfriend beside you, no worries or guilt to keep him awake at night. Of course it was your own fault, no one to blame here but yourself. You'd allowed this to go on, allowed it to consume you and eat away at you for almost a year. You could've avoided it all if you weren't so weak and selfish, giving in to your own personal needs and not thinking about anybody else. The amount of people that are going to pay the price make your stomach turn - there's no way of escaping it.

Bile rises in your throat, burning its way up your oesophagus like a fireball. You swallow it back down, the taste lingering in your mouth making you feel even more nauseous. Coming to terms with the fact sleep wasn't going to happen you swing your legs over the side of the bed slowly. Looking back to make sure you didn't wake him and seeing him still lost in the land of nod.

You tiptoe out of the room, bending down to fish your phone from the pocket of your discarded shirt as you went. Memories of your steamy love making replaying in your mind.

- Why are you not answering me?

- Please answer the phone, just go to the bathroom or something.

- Are you fucking? You're fucking him aren't you, I can't handle this.

- Please answer the goddam phone.

Ah fuck. The last message was sent thirty minutes ago, he's still awake, of course he is. He's just as much to blame as you, he's got just as much to lose as you and he feels just as much guilt as you - enough to keep him awake at night too. Well that and the thought of you fucking someone else but let's not think about that right now.

You turn the kitchen sink, tap on - trying to muffle the sound of your voice so your boyfriend can't hear while you press call.

"Fuck, finally" he answers on the second ring, the anger in his voice more than apparent.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't get away" you apologise, ignoring the pangs you feel just from hearing his voice.

"Yeah -" you hear him take a deep breathe before he continues " - You were fucking weren't you?" His voice was oozing with resentment, you hate that it's come to this.

"I mean you don't really want me to answer that, do you?" You whisper, looking down at your hands imagining the hurt on his face.

"Fuck... - " You were both silent for a painfully long time before he finally spoke up. " - I think you've already answered it." The hurt in his voice broke your heart. You wish you could take his pain away.

"I'm sorry, I really am. I fucking hate this but you know the situation." Your voice was becoming shaky, filled with tears.

"I know -" another deep sigh " - Will you come meet me now? Even if it's just for two minutes, I need to see you." The desperateness in his voice makes your stomach flip, you need to see him too but you know you shouldn't.

"I can't. Baby, you know I can't. What if he wakes up?"

"I don't fucking care, he's had you all night" He spat, the venomousness in his voice making you close your eyes and whince.

"Don't talk like that, please"

"I need to feel you Y/N please, I've been sat thinking about you in bed with him all night and I can't stand it. I just need to see you. I need to see that look in your eye, that thing that happens when we touch. I need it, it makes it all worth it. Please..." He pleads, the sincerity in his voice is pulling you apart. How can you say no to that?

"I'll come to yours but I can't stay long" The rush of adrenaline you feel when you give in, makes you feel light headed. It should be a rush, it should make you excited but it's the opposite.

"Thank you." The deep sigh in his voice is full of relief.

You check in to make sure he's still sleeping before you set off, thinking of the excuses you can use if he does wake up while your gone. He's still fast asleep, you know he can sleep through a tornado so you shouldn't have any problems but still, you take one last lingering look at him. The innocence on his face as he sleeps, unaware of the things going on around him that will tear his world apart if he found out. Fuck sake. You hang your head back, looking at the ceiling, doubting yourself.

You have to do it, you can't let him down as well, not after you heard the need in his voice, the way it cut deep like a knife to the heart.

****************

As soon as you knock on the door he's already pulling you into the house by your hand, his lips on yours instantly.

"I've missed you so much." He breathes against your neck, planting kisses sloppily on the skin. Wrapping his arms tightly around you, savouring every last moment before he knows you'll have to leave again.

"I've missed you too - " You sigh, fighting back the tears. " - I can't stay long"

"Please can we just pretend like you don't have to rush off for just a minute, can we just pretend you're all mine." His words sting, they hang heavy with a deep neediness. The way his hands cling to your body, kneeding your hips with the softness of his fingertips, makes your body tingle.

"I want you so bad" he says through gritted teeth, his eyes screwed shut while he rests his forehead to yours. You can feel how much he wants you by the buldge in his pants, pushing against your stomach as he holds himself tightly against you.

"I want you so fucking bad" The lust in his voice makes you feel weak, hard to resist. You've always been weak for him which is why you're in this predicament in the first place.

"I want you too - " Your breath quickening as he fumbles under your dress. " - But..."

"Please don't say but - " You're both panting with adrenaline now " - I'll be quick" he finishes, leaning back to unzip his jeans. Looking down to scramble with the zip as fast as he can. "Fuck"

You can't help but whine when he finally pulls his dick out, desperate to feel it inside of you. He wastes no time in picking you up with one arm and pressing your back against the wall, moving your panties to the side and easing his cock straight in.

The way his cock fills you up so perfectly, you're in ecstasy but it's doesn't last long. There's no pleasantries, no romance just a quick dirty fuck. A need for him to get his end away, to feel you wrapped around his cock. He's selfish with it, a couple of pumps and he's already coming. You wish you hadn't rushed him now, it's made you feel used and dirty.

"Fuck, I love you Y/N."He says breathlessly against your chest, feeling satisfied.

"I need to go." You say harshly, unable to hide the hurt and anger in your voice.

This has never happened before, you usually feel the love oozing from him, the deep connection you have. It's the reason it's been going on for so long, you know he loves you, you can feel it. When you're together it feels right - usually - it doesn't feel like a betrayal, you're in love. Now you feel a deep shame, this feels like betrayal, like a cheap whore in a dirty motel. You didn't feel his love, he used you for his own selfish satisfaction

"Wait - " he grabs you by your arm as you turn around, hiding your face from him. "What's wrong? Are you crying?" You're pulling against him, desperate to leave. "Fuck, Y/N. Look at me"

You turn around to look at him, tears silently falling down your cheeks involuntarily.

"You were selfish, you couldn't stand that i fucked him, you know, my boyfriend -" He whinced like you'd just slapped him in the face " - So you had to get your end away too, you... You. Used me" The tears fell silently from your eyes, a look of pain on etched onto your face. All the emotions consuming you all at once, not just this, but everything. Everything that's happened in the last couple of years finally being released all at once. You know you were taking your anger out on him, the only person you could take your anger out on and now you were feeling guilty again. You needed to get out of here, you needed to be alone, to not feel pulled apart between two people.

He rubs his hand down his face, closing his eyes tightly, realising how much he's fucked up.

"Y/N it's not like that at all, I'm so sorry. I can't believe that's how you feel - " he moves towards you, gently cupping your face " - Fuck - " he thinks for a minute " - I was selfish wasn't I, I knew you had to rush off and I... I needed to feel you"

"That doesn't mean all romance needs to go out the window" You say softly, looking down at your feet, anywhere but into his eyes.

"No. No it doesn't... Shit Y/N I'm sorry, that will never happen again"

"I have to go" You say, turning to leave.

"Please don't leave being angry with me, come here." You stop with your hand on the door handle, turning slowly to look at him, tears still falling.

He tenderly holds your face in his hands, looking into your eyes, searching your face.

"Shit Y/N I fucking love you, I'd never purposefully hurt you." He says bleakly.

Your eyes soften as you hear the sincerity in his voice and see the love in his eyes. He reaches down to kiss you, softly and tenderly, full of his love.

"I love you too but I can't carry on doing this for much longer, it's tearing me apart" You say with your eyes still closed.

"What are you saying?" He looks worried.

"We'll talk about it Friday." you say finally turning to leave.

"Wait a minute, you can't just say something like that and then leave." He catches you by your hand again, brushing his thumb softly over your palm.

"I have to go, I've been gone too long. I promise we'll talk about it Friday." You murmur, giving him a apologetic look.

"Fuck." He lets go of your hand, brushing his hand through his hair wearily and watches you leave helplessly.

You sit in your car for a while, thinking, you're in no state to go home. You'd have no way of explaining why you were in such a terrible mood. You could text and tell him you couldn't sleep and you've gone for a coffee before heading into work early to catch up on your deadlines. That could work and it would give you plenty of time to think before actually going into work but you'd have to sneak home first and get clothes and just hope you don't get caught.

All this sneaking about is exhausting and you were serious when you said you couldn't do it for much longer. You wanted a life even if it meant a life without either of them in it. You loved them both dearly and didn't want to lose either of them but being realistic - you can't keep this up.

There's going to be one hell of a shit storm when it all comes out, especially when the tabloids find out about it. Which there's no doubt that they will, they find out everything, another reason for it to be out in the open. Imagine if he found out that way, it would break him even more.

*****************

Later that night you stand in front of your front door, getting ready to put on the mask of happiness before you have to face your boyfriend. Faking a smile you walk into the kitchen - there's no smells of delicious food today but there is flowers, beautiful pink lily's. You sniff their amazing scent, ignoring the pangs of guilt once again.

"Hey, I'm home!" You shout, waiting to hear his voice.

"Hi babe, how was work?" He says coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist.

"Oh you know, the usual. What about you? Have you had a good day?" You ask turning around in his arms, leaning on the kitchen counter.

"I've been reading through this script, amazing... Do you like them?" He gestures his head towards the flowers, his face buried in the papers he's holding.

"Oh they're amazing baby, thank you -" You kiss him softly on the lips. " - What's the script about?"

"It's an action movie, sounds a lot different to anything I've done before. You should read it, I think you'll like it."

"That sounds awesome babe, you should take it" You say excitedly, you love the way his face lights up when he talks about acting. Planting kisses softly on your lips, chin and then down your neck.

"What we doing for dinner?" You murmur.

"Take-out? - " He says in-between kisses, unbuttoning your top buttons while he makes his way down to your chest " - Maybe dessert first?" He stops to cock his eyebrow at you questioningly.

"Mmm" you agree, your head still hanging back loosely. Taking the lead he finishes unbuttoning your shirt, caressing and kissing your breasts tenderly. You can't help thinking about this morning, about how differently you feel now than you did then.

He lifts you up on to the counter, pushing your skirt up and pulling your panties off. You still can't stop thinking about leaving him in the lurch like that, the way his face looked as you walked out of the door.

Unzipping his jeans brings back another memory, no time to think as he kisses you making you forget for just a minute. Holding on to your hips affectionately as he trys to ease himself in, you're not wet enough - too distracted. Fuck! You try to wipe away your thoughts and focus on the moment, concentrating on watching him instead of being inside your brain.

You gasp as he pushes his fingers inside of you, loosening you up, kissing your neck at the same time. Those long fingers can reach your spot perfectly, you feel sick when you think about how similar they are. Definitely not something you should be thinking about - it's wrong on all levels.

Curling his fingers around and stroking your spot, biting his lip as he looks at you. You notice him furrowing his brow, he knows something is different, you're struggling to hide it.

Finally easing himself into your opening, it feels amazing, tightening around his cock. You lean backwards on your hands watching him, so why can't you stop thinking about him.

He searches your face, he's concerned, you're not in the moment.

"Are you ok? Do you want me to stop?" He asks worried.

"No, god no" You really didn't want him to stop, you were just completely distracted, it still felt amazing you were just dwelling in your guilt.

You can see he's nearly ready, you knew you weren't in the right place to finish. You could enjoy it and still not finish right?

oh shit, you're going to have to fake it. For the first time in your whole life you're going to have to fake a orgasm with the love of your life, the guy you thought was your everything. That was until you met his Brother.

#chris hemsworth #chris hemsworth fanfic #chris hemsworth smut #chris hemsworth x reader #chris hemsworth x you #smut #angst

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delilah-mcmuffin · 3 years

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The Year I Thought I Wasted

Part 4: Multi-Chapter Fics

Fiscal...Whatever - David is the one who comes up with a really reasonable budget for the wedding.

Published: 2020-01-18 Completed: 2020-01-27 Words: 1,704 Chapters: 2/2 Rated: E

Surprised - What if Johnny never inadvertently outed Patrick at the start of Meet the Parents? How would things have gone down?

Published: 2020-01-05 Completed: 2020-03-07 Words: 11,624 Chapters: 4/4 Rated: T

Pieces of Me - Before the wedding, David finds something from his old life that he wants Patrick to have. They both have feelings about it. Set sometime between The Presidential Suite and Start Spreading the News (waves hand at the timey-wimey nature of the show).

Chapter 2 earns the ‘E’ rating.

Published: 2020-04-01 Completed: 2020-04-10 Words: 6,734 Chapters: 2/2 Rated: E

Keep On Falling - The 50 First Dates AU that you never knew you wanted. Patrick is new in town. He sees David one morning at the cafe and sparks fly. But there’s something about David that Patrick doesn’t know. Will it keep them apart? Or will love overcome all obstacles, even when it has to start from scratch every day?

Published: 2020-01-23 Updated: 2020-04-12 Words: 10,018 Chapters:4/? Rated: T

Grass Stains - David mows the lawn. And Patrick loses his fucking mind. That’s it. That’s the entire story.

Published: 2020-05-23 Completed: 2020-06-04 Words: 4,125 Chapters: 2/2 Rated: E

It’s Okay. It’s Just His Business Partner - Patrick startles. He hadn’t been that obvious had he? Is it weird to gaze longingly at your business partner over a small, intimate table in a small, intimate restaurant, with mood lighting and soft music playing in the background, in an atmosphere that David himself had called “cozy”?

Published: 2020-06-03 Completed: 2020-06-09 Words: 3,413 Chapters: 3/3 Rated: T

I Put a Spell On You - Stripper Patrick collaboration with didipickles, missgeevious, reginahalliwell, ships_to_sail, yourbuttervoicedbeau (kiwiana).

David can feel the crowd shift gears. Conversations halt and bodies still. Up until now the music has been a series of the usual strip club songs with a strong, thumping bass good for high energy dancing and thrusting. This song is different. Patrick is different. He has the entire club’s attention immediately.

Published: 2020-06-07 Updated: 2020-07-06 Words: 10,247 Chapters:2/? Rated: E

Slow Hand - So this one starts out at the end of Season 4 Episode 1 - Dead Guy in Room 4 and ends with their night at Stevie’s in Pregnancy Test. I know the start of their relationship has been done over and over, and done well. But I’d like to add my little voice to the mix.

Published: 2019-09-21 Completed: 2020-07-31 Words: 32,241 Chapters: 12/12 Rated: E

This Bed Wasn’t Built For Our Love - Ohmygod. A voice that sounds a lot like his husband’s echoes in Patrick’s brain. His parents heard them. Heard them having sex. Heard them having sex so rambunctious that they broke the goddam bed.

Published: 2020-09-07 Updated: 2020-09-07 Words: 3,644 Chapters: 2/? Rated: E

The Love Left Behind - Tragedy strikes the Roses. Patrick struggles to be there for David and his family, while giving them—and himself—the freedom to mourn in their own way. A story of grief, resilience, and the healing power of love.

Content Warning for Major Character Death.

Published: 2020-09-18 Completed: 2020-11-26 Words: 52,000 Chapters: 11/11 Rated: M

Don’t Whump With My Heart - Patrick’s plans for romantic hike/picnic go terribly, terribly wrong. Spoilers for 5.13: The Hike.

Published: 2019-10-02 Updated: 2020-12-17 Words: 21,173 Chapters: 13/? Rated: M

Ask Me No Questions, I’ll Tell You No Lies - Marcy overhears Patrick and David having a disagreement. She doesn’t want to get involved, but sometimes her son’s communication issues are too much for her to overlook.

Published: 2020-12-20 Completed: 2021-01-05 Words: 5,111 Chapters: 2/2 Rated: E

Follow this link to Part 3: Prompt Fest Works

Follow this link to Part 2: One-Shot Fics

Follow this link to Part 1: Jukebox Prompt Fics

#life of a fanfic writer #sc fanfic #multi-chapter fics #fanfiction #AO3 fanfic #ao3 #schitt's creek #schitts creek #year end list 2020 #I did more than I thought I did #david rose #patrick brewer #david x patrick

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peeterparkr · 4 years

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limits of desire⤳t.h.||12

chapter 12: something borrowed.

story summary: you met Tom a night he was trying to sleep with you, it didn’t work and you became best of friends. Wedding bells might be ringing for when you both realize what you really feel.

summary: the one with the phonecalls and Lizzie.

pairing: fuckboy!tom holland x best friend!reader

warnings: swearing, angsty, mentions of cheating, lizzie, miguel. alcohol

word count: 4.8k

previous chapter next chapter series masterlist wanna be tagged?

Hi, sorry this took so long. I took a break from social media because of the holidays, but it’s here! I hope you like it!

How do you react to the love of your life not wanting to be with you?

Tom had tried to give it an explanation. Logical, or not. He wasn’t exactly having the greatest time of his life. Quite the opposite, really. He’d spend most time in bed, he was annoyed by himself, he couldn’t stand himself. Sometimes he’d go out, and be reminded of her, on every street, every song, every person, every movie, every goddam radio station belonged to her thought.

And her voice echoed through the halls, and he’d look at the remaining pieces of her in his place, like the pictures hanging on his walls, or a lipstick she had forgotten, or the cinnamon rolls he had bought for breakfast. He didn’t sleep. He didn’t talk.

He avoided everything.

Because Tom knew this was y/n, being scared of him. This was y/n not wanting to give up life because it was him. Had it been anybody else whom she’d fallen in love with, like Haz, or Tuwaine or any of his brothers... she would’ve stayed. Because she believed in them. But not in Tom.

Not in Tom.

Because Tom knew it relied on the fact of his past. The fact that he never committed to something. The fact she’d have to deal with every other girl not wanting to talk to her because they’d slept with Tom. The fact that she had to look away whenever he was making out with her another woman.

The fact that he willingly had told her that they could kiss without it meaning anything, 6 months before. The fact that months ago, he had basically wanted to kiss her because she’d be leaving the very next day.

Because Tom knew y/n.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t angry.

Had he done anything wrong that night?

But he had felt he hadn’t. He had told her he loved her. Although, he had told her he loved her countless times before. Maybe he should’ve been less pragmatic.

He had called her, but she had only answered once.

And it hadn’t been her.

“Hey?” And Tom hadn’t like that voice.

“Hey—uh, who’s this?” Tom asked.

“Oh, sorry man, it’s Miguel, y/n is taking a shower,” the guy had cheerfully answered.

Tom rolled his eyes. “Oh. Er, okay, can you—can you tell her to call me back, please?”

“Sure! I’ll tell her! Hey—uh, she told me you might not make it to the wedding—“

Tom sighed. “She did?”

“Yeah, but it would mean a lot to us, you know? You’re her best friend.”

“Yeah, It’s cause—something came up, might be filming on those days,” he lied. “And she probably doesn’t want me there.”

“Oh, I assure you she does, every time you come up in conversations she gets a little bummed.”

Tom rubbed his face. “I’ll do everything I can.”

“Alright.”

“Please tell her to call me back.”

“Of course, bye!”

Had she lead him on? Probably....probably.

Tom was giving it yet another spin. He was sitting down at a pub as he wasn’t really listening to whatever his brothers and friends were saying. The music was muffled. Their voices. The lights.

Tom couldn’t listen to anything, or see anything. He just stared at the fourth—fifth beer he had chugged down.

He was desperate. He hadn’t slept these days. And he yet couldn’t process it. He had tried calling her, countless times and it wouldn’t even ring. Not Instagram. Not Twitter. She was not answering.

And Tom, he was angry. Very angry. Because it got him to think. And because the last time he’d talked to her... he hadn’t meant it.

Because Harrison had called her, and she had answered. He wasn’t sure why.

And he had stolen the phone from Haz.

“Y/N.”

“Who—“

“Why did you do it?” He had yelled.

“What—me?”

“Why did you leave? You can’t marry him!”

And she had stayed quiet.

“Y/N.”

“I don’t want to have this conversation.”

“Oh but you have to, y/n, can you stop fucking running away from this?” He snapped. “Should I contact Miguel and tell him you cheated?”

“Gosh—No!”

“Then why are you running?”

“I am the one running now, Tom? Really?” She laughed. “I can’t believe you.”

“Why are you doing this?” Tom asked. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because that’s how it works right? That’s just how it fucking works with you! One night and then you’d be gone! I want you out of my life Tom, and I gave us the chance! This was it. I gave you the perfect reason to get away from me,” and Tom knew she was crying.

“But—y/n I... I am... I love you, why—?”

“No, Tom, you don’t love me.” And then she stayed quiet. Tom did too. “You don’t love me, you are just scared that you’ll lose me, but you’ve already lost me anyway.”

Tom bit his lip. “Tell me you never felt anything.”

“If I did, it’s long gone,” she whispered. “I can’t keep getting hurt. I can’t let myself be another prize for you to win so you can throw it away.”

“I don’t want—“he sighed. “I want you here.”

“For what? So you can hang out with me after you got laid?” She cackled. “I can’t stay there.”

“You were never—“

“I was, we both know it, and why are we even having this conversation?” She sounded tired.

“Then why did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Kiss me.”

“It was just a kiss,” she said with poison. “It doesn’t mean anything.” She sighed. “I dunno, guess it was my free pass to finally get away from you.”

“Oh, so you don’t want me near you?”

She didn’t answer.

“Y/N.”

“I don’t, alright?” She yelled. “I’m in love with Miguel, and having you close means jeopardizing my relationship.”

“You’re not in love with him—you should be in love with me.”

Y/N laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding me, I have to be—not everyone loves you, Tom. That’s the thing with you! You only think about you and you think everything revolves around you! And you never stop to see what the other one feels!”

“And did you stop to think about how I felt when you left?” Tom pushed.

“You realized what you did, don’t you?” She questioned him. “You put yourself before any of this, knowing that although, I’m finally happy, you decided that you simply didn’t want me to marry him, because you knew I’d be gone,” she explained. “You don’t love me, Tom. You can’t possibly love anyone.”

Tom closed his eyes. “Is that really what you think of me?”

“That you’re a selfish, arrogant son of a bitch?” She asked. “Yeah.”

“Well, I’m glad I am out of your fucking life, then.”

And she had hung up.

Which led to an angry Tom. Because he hadn’t meant it. But anger had taken over him. And he knew he had fucked up. Because he really had. And now, he’d just hear about it, he knew he’d just hear about it from his friends, about how she married Mr. Perfect.

And he thought about calling Miguel and telling him about that night. But he knew he wanted her to be happy, and maybe Miguel would make her happy. Tom wouldn’t.

He knew he was to blame himself because he didn’t take the chance when he could’ve. And he hadn’t meant it. He wasn’t glad that she was out of his life.

Maybe they were meant for this. To always be apart.

And he had seen her stories on Instagram. She seemed happy with Miguel, while kissing his cheek. And Tom felt his stomach burning up. Because she had uploaded stories with him in the kitchen, laughing as they cooked. And he heard her laugh.

And it bothered him, because, well, she used to laugh like that with him. That smile had been reserved for him.

And now it belonged to someone else.

And it hurt. It hurt to think he’d lost his chance. He wanted to ask her for a favour, to please not use that laugh when’s he was around Miguel.

It was Christmas Eve. And he really wasn’t up for anything.

“Tom,” Harry pushed again. Tom didn’t look up. The beer on his hand was half-empty. No drink tasted as good as her lips.

“Thomas, c’mon,” And this time, Tom did look up because it wasn’t any of his friends. And he was surprised to see her.

He didn’t say anything. He just looked at her.

“Can we—can we talk?” She asked him.

Tom shrugged. “You won, didn’t you?”

Lizzie sighed as she sat across him.

“Finally, words,” Tuwaine exclaimed.

Tom glared at him.

“You look like shit,” Lizzie stated.

Sam glared at her.

“Why did you bring her?” Tom asked Haz.

Lizzie sighed as she rolled her eyes. “Because I also think y/n is doing something very stupid.”

Tom shrugged. “Maybe she isn’t.”

Lizzie scuffed. “Oh god, please.”

“She is doing the most stupidest fucking thing she’s ever done,” Harry said.

“I agree,” Lizzie said.

“No, no,” Tom sighed. “Because she will be happy.”

“Look, maybe I think you’re a big piece of shit, but I know she won’t be happy with Miguel.”

“And would she be happy with me? She made it clear, she doesn’t want to fucking see me again, I won’t make her happy.”

“Do you love her?” Lizzie asked.

“I do, I’ve been in love with her since we bloody met, and that’s why I’m letting her go, she hates me—“

“She doesn’t. But she doesn’t believe you love her, and look, I don’t—support you.”

“Clearly.”

“But I don’t support her marriage with Miguel either,” she continued. “And while I know I can’t do anything about it, because whatever her choice is, I will stand by her… But I know you can.”

“How?” Tom laughed with cynicism. “Maybe I can but I don’t want to.”

Sam glared at him. “Why not?”

Tom sighed. “I’m—she broke my heart, alright? How do you I think I feel?” Tom said. “Have you guys seen me in the last few days?”

Haz looked away.

“She broke me, I really don’t want to see her,” Tom explained. “I’ve given up, I can’t be in love with her, I don’t—and I don’t want you to bring in Lizzie to—this. It’s over, alright?”

“You’re giving up on her? Really? After you proved her you know her from head to toe?”

Tom looked away.

“C’mon that question? About the scars?” Lizzie asked. “Not even her mum could answer it.”

Tom shrugged. “Well, It’s a small scar.”

“She’d never told anyone but you, yes, it’s a stupid scar she had on her knee because of a stupid table, but you’re the only one to know it.”

“What—What does this have to do with anything? Yes, I know her, I love her but—she really hurt me,” Tom exhaled. “I—I felt like an idiot. After everything I’ve done for her! She only gave me hope for one night and then left, without a warning.”

Lizzie chuckled, to herself. “Feels awful, doesn’t it?”

Tom sighed. “It’s—“

“Different?” Lizzie crossed her arms. “Really? Why?”

“I’m in love-“

Lizzie sighed. “Look, Tom, I was—at some point in love with you, too. And it felt awful.”

Tom looked down at his beer.

“But you know what made it awful?” She continued. “That I knew that you would never fall in love with me, because deep down you were in love with my best friend and I knew that deep down, she was in love with you.”

Tom rolled his eyes. “That’s bullshit.”

“Look, I don’t know if she’ll be with you “ Lizzie continued. “Honestly, I can’t promise you that, but if you love her—and we both know her, we know that she shouldn’t be marrying him.”

“He is perfect,” Tom pushed. “She is happy, have you seen her stories?”

“He might be, and she might be happy, I look at her—sure, her smile is just as big but you know what else I noticed? She’s wearing your shirts.”

Tom looked away. She had been. That marvel t-shirt someone on set had given him, and that she had worn once and would often every time she stayed at his place. He must’ve taken it the day she left.

“That means nothing,” he said and he looked away.

Lizzie sighed. “She’s throwing away her life, her dreams.”

Tom shook his head. He knew he was being selfish, but he agreed. However, he knew exactly the reason as to why he agreed was merely his pride.

“Is she?”

Harry nodded. “She had a job offer that would get her to her dream.”

“Dreams change,” Tom stated. Like his, his dreams had changed. He would give up everything just for another taste of her lips. “And—this is stupid, alright.”

Lizzie shook her head. “You and I know her best, but I know her better. Y/N does these things, if you are scared of commitment she is worse—“

“I’m not scared-“

“Don’t get me started. Y/N fell in love with you because that’s what she does, she knew that falling in love with you meant no commitment, And with you? Free pass to never have to deal with this. She loved to run away from feelings, I’ve known her all my life. This is y/n not accepting that you love her, too.”

“That’s not—She knows I love her,” Tom said. “But she doesn’t want me to love her.”

Liz shrugged. “Maybe. But y/n always runs away from relationships.”

“Except with Miguel.”

Liz smirked. “Then why did she kiss you?”

Tom gulped down.

Liz chuckled. “You haven’t tried enough.”

Tom frowned.

“Tom is making a point,” Haz admitted.

“You’re on his side?” Lizzie frowned.

“C’mon, you saw him back at the dancing lesson, he’s tried,” Haz pointed out.

“But did you tell her—?” Lizzie pushed.

Harry nodded. “He did tell her not to get married.”

“Does she know you love her?”

Tom sighed. “She says I don’t love her, claims I am only doing this because I am scared of losing her.”

“Is that true?” Lizzie asked.

Harry scoffed, “technically.”

“It’s not,” Tom sighed. “Partly, it is. I am afraid to lose her, but because I love her —she’s like—poetry.”

Lizzie watched him. “You know she left because you let her leave right?”

Tom frowned. “No.”

Lizzie shrugged. “Please, think about all the guys she’s dated,” Liz explained. “Take that Harry guy, Harry Sanders, let’s start with him.”

Tom frowned.

“I’m not—I am too drunk to listen about all the guys she’s dated.”

“Oh, but she had to deal with all the women parading your life?” Lizzie frowned, crossing her arms.

Harry clucked his tongue.

“But what about that poor idiot?” Asked Tuwaine. “He was in love with her.”

“Still is. Bet poor guy is going through a worse time than Tom,” commented Haz.

“The moment she felt anything, she ran away, and broke up with them,” Liz pointed out.

Tom bit his lip. “Yeah—“ he had pointed that to y/n once.

“But, that’s not all,” Lizzie continued. “Let’s go with—Charlie, yes, Charlie.”

“She didn’t like him,” Tom quickly said.

“Alright, then how about that guy—Andrew.”

“She never liked him,” Tom said.

“Alright, what do those three have in common?” Asked Lizzie.

Tom shrugged. “Poor fools who fell in love with her, I should add myself to that list,” Tom said as he ordered another beer.

“No,” Liz shook her head. “Who pointed out to her that she didn’t like them the same way?”

Tuwaine bit his lip. “Tom.”

Lizzie nodded. “You’re the only one who can talk her out of this.”

Tom looked away. “I don’t want to.” He rubbed his face. His eyes were red and his movements were fizzed.

“If you love her, you know that he is not right for her, and you’ll finally do something so selfless only because you love her.”

Tom stood up and walked out of the pub. Lizzie followed after him.

Tom leaned against the wall. “I can’t,” he admitted. “She thinks I’m a selfish, arrogant son of a bitch. And maybe she’s right. I know I am stupid, I didn’t fight for it when I thought I could. Until I thought I’d lose her I finally accepted it,” Tom said. “She’s right. But I love her. She’s the love of my life and she wants me as far as I can be,” Tom sighed. “How do you think that makes me feel?”

“You haven’t fought enough, Tom. If you love her that fucking much then you would keep fighting for her,” Lizzie pushed. “Really? You fought for three days and gave up? She fought for years and gave up 6 months ago, the least you can do for her is to try and stop her wedding.”

Tom looked up. “That’s selfish.”

“Then be selfless,” Lizzie insisted. “At least, get some balls and go to the wedding.”

Tom looked up. “What for?”

“She told me about the kiss,” Lizzie said. “I guess it’s partly my fault.”

Tom let out a laugh. “Doesn’t surprise me.”

“I told her that she should at least do something before the wedding, I stupidly believed that would stop her, without knowing you did feel something for her I guess I thought—that she would be brought back to her senses and realize that marrying a stranger is stupid.” Lizzie sighed.

“And she didn’t, she just took it as a chance to get rid off me,” Tom said as he tried to balance himself. “But she—she loves him,” Tom continued. “I really do think she loves him. I won’t—I don’t want to stop her from being happy,” Tom said. “At this point—I would even—Go to her wedding if it meant still having contact with her.”

Lizzie watched him. “You should, then.”

Tom shook his head. “She doesn’t want me there.”

Lizzie watched him with pity. No one would’ve ever believed they didn’t like each other.

“Tell her,” said Lizzie before pulling out her phone. “But I need you to be calm, alright? You can borrow my phone.”

She handed over the phone and Tom stared at the contact i.d. It was a picture of y/n and Lizzie making a silly face, not so different from the one Tom had with her. And suddenly, he sobered up. He looked at Lizzie as she just walked back into the pub.

Tom closed his eyes and took a deep breath, he called her.

And he was shaking, it was ringing. And it seemed that it was the longest time before she answered. It gave Tom time to think about her, how charming she was. How her low voice always made everyone lean to her, charming and lovely. Or how her face always gave him a hidden promise with those bright eyes of her. How her voice always sounded like she had an exciting adventure to tell him.

“Hello—hello?” Y/N laughed, and her laugh echoed through the phone gracefully. “Give me a second, Liz, I’m—“y/n laughed again, and Tom felt it through his chest, like a dagger straight into his heart. “I’m helping out with Christmas dinner, they celebrate it on Christmas Eve here,” she explained. “Liz?” And there it was, that whisper that promised a lovely conversation.

“Hi,” he said. “It’s...It’s Tom.”

The line suddenly went dead silent and all Tom could hear were muffled voices and music.

“I—I need to take this, I’ll be right back,” he heard y/n say to someone else. Her voice had turned stiff.

Tom gulped as he walked around. He just heard her take a big breath.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m—I’m here.”

“I’m sorry,” he started.

She didn’t say anything right away. “No, I’m sorry too—“

“No, y/n, listen. I’m sorry, alright? I—said things I didn’t mean, alright? I need you to know you’re my best friend and I need us to be bigger than this. You’re right, I’m so afraid to lose you—“

“Tom-“

“I love you, y/n, and I can’t be that arrogant-“

“You’re not-“

“But I am, alright? I am just a selfish, arrogant son of a bitch. I can’t be that anymore, and though it hurts, if this is what makes you happy then I can’t stop you but at least let me be there, I’m—“

“Tom, it’s—“ she sighed. “I also said things I didn’t mean. I didn’t mean that.”

“I can’t lose you, y/n, not like this.”

“I’ve missed you,” she admitted. “I’m just—I am scared alright?”

“Let’s forget that happened, okay?” He asked her. “Or...if you wanna talk about it—“

“I—I don’t know. I was being stupid. I tend to sabotage myself and—somehow I think we got lost in the moment-“

“I fucked up. Big time. But please, it’s us against this, not me against you, not you against me. And I don’t want to be someone who you avoid talking about.” Tom couldn’t let her continue.

“It—it was my fault,” she said. “Let’s just—ignore that night. Okay? We are friends. We don’t feel anything for each other. I’m getting married.”

And it seemed like she was telling that to herself mostly.

“I—“

“I miss you,” she said again. They probably had run out of things to say that weren’t decent.

“I miss you, too,” his voice was shaking. “I—I understand if you don’t want to see me anymore, and—it takes everything in me, but I really do want to see you, one last time. A proper goodbye.”

She stayed quiet.

“I just need one thing,” she said. “Please… After this, we… We go separate ways.”

Tom sighed. “Yup, you’ll never hear from me again.”

“Well...You’re still coming, right? You’re still the maid of honor, aren’t you?”

—

Boxing Day.— 5 days until the wedding.

Y/N hadn’t been sleeping. There’s a fine line between a kiss and whatever they had done. Problem was y/n knew that she had cheated. But, she was cheating on someone rather than herself. She was fooling her heart. And all this time with Miguel had helped her to put her back to her senses.

She had stopped herself. She hadn’t slept with Tom, but, she had done something worse, she had connected with him. In a way that she knew she’d never been able to connect with Miguel. And it was wrong. Very wrong. Because she was marrying Miguel. And although... he was good, in every way, she knew deep down her heart belonged to Tom.

Yet it was... complicated. He had said the words: “I love you.” And he had kept calling and he had kept on saying he loved her. But this wasn’t Tom. Really. Tom couldn’t love anyone. Y/N was just the worst victim. The most complicated one. She thought about it, how he had finally understood how to get her into bed, saying he loved her. It had taken him four years to try and getr into her pants.

No, Tom couldn’t love her. Not in that way, anyway.

Or maybe he did. But y/n didn’t want to think about it. Y/N knew she was like Tom. She didn’t like relationships, she didn’t like having to deal with all of the crap that relationships deal with. She didn’t like big romantic gestures. No, that wasn’t her.

She didn’t like big movies or dancing proposals. She loved the small details. The ones that people don’t usually notice.

Like when she saw an old couple in a restaurant, the woman had gone to the restroom and her husband had ordered her drink for her, without her asking him to. Those details. The way they know their thoughts before they can even think them.

In a way, the way her and Tom knew each other. But y/n knew that loving Tom meant him getting bored of her. That sooner or later he’d miss his life and start having sport like meaningless sex. Tom loving her was something momentary.

But she would marry Miguel, someone who was willing to learn. A new book. Someone who could stay.

She could’ve stayed. Yet, she hadn’t. Because Tom had said those words: “This won’t matter tomorrow.”

And that’s when she’d been reminded of who Tom was. One night stand only. That’s who he was. No commitment, whatsoever. And maybe it would’ve worked, but she loved him too much, and she knew that sooner or later they’d be done, and then they’d be a couple of strangers who can barely have any small talk.

Marrying Miguel. She was watching him, talking to his family by the pool. They were staying at a nice hotel, where everyone loved Miguel. Because what could you possibly not love about him?

She couldn’t hurt him. At this point, she was marrying him because she did love him, enough to never want him to be hurt.

And his family. She couldn’t hurt his family. They had been perfect.

And she’d learned so much from them on those days. And the days had been bright, the sun was shining. Because whenever she was with Miguel, it seemed like everything was fine.

She was alright. She wasn’t on the edge, she didn’t need to hide any possible emotion.

But that didn’t stop her. Her leg was shaking as she looked at her phone. She had received a text from Haz about an hour ago, they had landed.

They were here, and any moment now they’d be arriving.

She had had many margaritas. Who was counting, anyway? And Miguel’s cousin(?) maybe it was someone else’s was telling her a story about their childhood. Or something of sorts.

She was just nodding and smiling, Miguel had taught her to do that. Smile and nod. Smile and nod. Smile and nod.

Lizzie, Hannah and Jess had arrived on Christmas day. Lizzie had seemed off, and hadn’t questioned y/n on the subject she was dying to be questioned on. She felt so guilty, she even thought about telling Miguel. But what would she tell him? That she had cheated on him? That she didn’t love him as much as she loved Tom?

She couldn’t.

“So, Miguel told me, is it true? That Tom Holland is your maid of honour?” Miguel’s cousin asked, whose name y/n had forgotten after being introduced to what seemed the thousand family members he had. Latinos have big families.

Suddenly that name brought y/n back to the conversation, anyone looking at her would’ve seen the sparkle in her eyes. It was sad and lovely, and the cousin, Mariana, yes, it was Mariana noticed it.

“Tom?” Y/N’s voice was subtle.

Mariana grinned. “Yes… Is he…?”

“Yes, he’s...my best friend,” she explained. “He’s supposed to be arriving soon…”

“But the maid of honour?” Asked Mariana with confusion. “Is he gay-?”

Miguel then approached her as he sat beside his fiancée, placing a soft kiss on her cheek. “Hola, hola,” he greeted. “How are you guys doing?”

Y/N smiled, just slightly.

“I was just asking her about Tom,” Mariana explained.

Miguel grinned. “Ah, that’s exactly what brought me here,” he chuckled. “The maid of honour.”

Y/N dropped her glass.

Miguel pulled her back. “Amor, are you okay?” He asked her, “did you get any broken glass?”

“What?” Y/N blinked. “No, I’m… I’m okay, I’m okay, they’re… they’re here, let’s go say hello! We should go say hello, right? Yes let’s go say hello,” she stood up and Miguel chuckled, taking her hand and leading her over.

Mariana reached out for them, “Ya se tomó varias margaritas, eh, aguas,” she warned. ((She had some margaritas, watch out))

Miguel laughed, as y/n just smiled and nodded. The moment they walked into the hotel reception, there was a lot going on, not only Tom, Haz, Tuwaine and the wtins had arrived, but more family. The reception was chaos and y/n couldn’t find him through the big and buzzing crowd. Miguel would stop and say hello to his family, introducing y/n, who really didn’t want to be there.

People hugging her, telling her how pretty she was, pinching her cheeks and wishing her a well and happy marriage.

And maybe it was the alcohol, the excitement or the shock, but the moment she finally saw Tom, y/n fell to the ground.

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lady-divine-writes · 4 years

Text

A Change in the Weather AU (inspired by Cacophonylights's A Change in the Weather) - Chapter 34

Notes: So, here's the second half of that chapter that I promised! In Cacophony's author's notes, she mentioned liking the book 'Good Omens'. And since it's one of my favorites, I put a nod to it in here. If you can find it, you'll win my respect :D There’s only one more chapter left, so if you could be so kind as to spread this around, I would really appreciate it <3

Read on AO3.Kurt trails behind Blaine up the long staircase that leads to the second story of his house - and his bedroom - at a safe distance, traveling a path he knows so well he could walk it with his eyes closed. Kurt used to race up these stairs, full of excitement, knowing Blaine was at the top waiting for him with hugs and kisses. Blaine’s touch always made Kurt feel at home here even when the rest of the Andersons were stand-offish and seemed irritated by his presence.

Kurt keeps his eyes trained one step ahead as he makes his way up the staircase. He can’t look at Blaine. He doesn’t feel like he knows him anymore, which is the strangest feeling of all.

Kurt had refused to go up the staircase first. He didn’t want Blaine looking at him.

He didn’t want Blaine admiring him, as conceited as that sounds.

Blaine doesn’t have permission. Kurt doesn’t belong with him anymore.

They get to the top step and turn right. Halfway down the hall is Blaine’s room. They reach it in twenty paces and Blaine opens the door.

“Come on in,” he says without turning around. He crosses the room, switches on a desk lamp. Soft, white light hits Blaine’s face and he looks tired. Worn down and tired, his curls a disheveled mess atop his head, like he’s been running his fingers through them incessantly, maybe even tugging at a few. He drops down on the edge of his bed, still freshly made from the morning he left. Kurt helped him make that bed, right before Blaine’s parents drove him to the airport and out of Kurt’s life for the summer.

Kurt wishes Blaine had had the dignity to stay in San Francisco till August. What the fuck did he think he was going to accomplish by coming home? Isn’t he risking his spot at his music camp by leaving? Did he request time off?

Or is there something else tangled up in this?

Is there a chance they kicked him out?

Kurt can dislike Blaine all he wants over his cheating, but he’s a talented musician. Too talented for any music program to kick him to the curb.

No. Blaine came home to see Kurt.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

“Do you want to sit down?” Blaine asks, having the nerve to pat the space right beside him.

Kurt doesn’t answer. He stands off to the side between Blaine and the door, arms crossed over his chest, not even removing his coat.

Sebastian’s coat, actually.

He’s making his intentions clear. He’s not about to stay for any longer than necessary.

He’s going to get his answers from Blaine, and then he’s going to go.

“Explain yourself,” Kurt says, snappier than he was going for, but his body is done keeping calm about this.

“Wh-what … what do you mean?” Blaine looks up at him, hazel eyes pleading, hands folded in his lap, back bowed as if this is all too much for him to bear.

“You know exactly what I mean!” Kurt originally thought he was going to be more patient than this, but the patience he had built up is wearing thin. He’d even worried that driving Blaine home, then following him up to his room, would soften his heart to him, bring old memories rushing back, make what Blaine did seem forgivable – a lesser offense. No, he wouldn’t kiss him or sleep with him, and not just because Blaine cheated – BLAINE CHEATED! But because Kurt has something in his life so much more wonderful now that he holds dear, and there’s no way in heaven or on earth that he would jeopardize it for the fairytale Disney prince that was Blaine Devon Anderson.

“I … I don’t want to hurt you,” Blaine says.

“Too late, because you’ve already done that!”

Blaine nods, eyes drifting to his folded hands. “If I … if I explain, if I tell you everything, would you consider taking me back?”

Kurt’s throat goes dry, a simmering rage rising in the form of red splotches on his cheeks. “You do realize I have a boyfriend now, right? I mean, I’m sure Cooper told you. He can’t seem to keep his mouth shut about things like that.”

Blaine’s eyes close, his brow pinching. Kurt should feel Blaine’s pain tug at him, every wrinkle furrowing his brow should pluck at his heartstrings and make his chest ache. He remembers a time when nothing hurt quite like watching Blaine cry. Not even his own world falling to pieces. But there is no tug. There is no ache. “You can’t … you can’t be serious. I thought you were just dating Sebastian to hurt me!”

“It’s not all about you, Blaine!” Kurt snaps. “I’m dating Sebastian because I like Sebastian. In fact, I love Sebastian and he loves me! So no, I have no intention of breaking up with him to go back to you, a boy who broke up with me for the summer and then slept with someone else after just NINE DAYS! And when you did, when I felt like my life was over, when I felt like I was going to die, do you know who was there for me!? Sebastian! So you’re going to sit there and explain to me what you did and why you did it because it’s the decent thing to do! No other reason!”

Blaine’s eyes open again, moisture clinging to his lashes, but he doesn’t say a word. Why did Kurt think this would work? That he might get some answers? And that it might be easy? This innocent schoolboy act of Blaine’s that Sebastian had said he found so hot really rubs the nerves raw after a while, Kurt has discovered. How did he not see it before?

Because he was in love. That’s the answer. So very much in love with Blaine that the feeling overwhelmed him. It felt like a dream come true when the two of them met on that staircase at Dalton, like the answer to prayers he’d never admit to praying.

“You know …” Kurt decides to start since Blaine is leaving him no other choice. He focuses in on something that happened at the beginning of all this that has bothered him since day one “… I always wondered, the day you left, when you drove away, you had this look in your eyes. I couldn’t explain it at the time, but it’s haunted me.” Kurt watches Blaine’s reaction to those words as they land, sink in. His back bows further, his head sinks deeper – a confirmation that the theories Kurt had been entertaining all summer were true. His eyes narrow with repressed anger. “You knew, didn’t you? Before you left, you knew you were going to hook-up with someone? This wasn’t a ‘let’s do a trial separation and see what happens’. You had a plan!”

“I didn’t!” Blaine says, meeting Kurt’s eyes. “There … there was a guy, I’ll admit it, but I didn’t break up with you to be with him! I swear!”

“But you were going there to meet someone, weren’t you? Someone you’d already met?”

“Kind of?” Blaine sighs. “Yes. I … I met him on the camp’s Facebook page. He was … cute. And flirty. I was interested in him. But that’s it. I wasn’t planning anything.”

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?” Kurt feels an uncomfortable heat building beneath his collar. “What we had was love, Blaine! Love! It’s supposed to mean everything! It’s not the kind of thing you dump because some other guy is cute and flirty and pick up again when it’s convenient! That’s not how it works!”

“I know!” Blaine says louder than he expected because he clears his voice and repeats in a softer one, “I know.”

“We talked about spending the rest of our lives together, and you threw that away for some guy on Facebook you thought looked ‘interesting’! And it only took you NINE DAYS!”

“I’m sorry, Kurt! I am so so sorry! I really am!”

“At the very least you could have told me the truth from the beginning instead of leading me to believe we were going to get back together when the summer was done!”

“But I wanted to get back together with you!” Blaine implores. “I didn’t want this break up to be permanent! That life we talked about, living together in New York and all our plans – I wanted that to happen! I still want it! More than anything!”

Kurt shakes his head, trying to rectify the idea that Blaine thought he would ever be okay with getting back together if he slept with someone else, especially under the circumstances in which they left, even if they had broken up. How did he honestly think Kurt would ever …?

Kurt stumbles back a step when it hits him. The answer is so simple, Kurt is surprised he didn’t figure it out sooner.

God! Why did he have to be so damned naïve all the good Goddammed time? He thought he was such a smart guy, so savvy.

But when it comes to Blaine, he’s a complete idiot.

“You had no intention of telling me about your little friend, did you?”

“Wh-what?” Blaine pretends not to understand, stalling to buy more time, but Kurt gets it. He doesn’t need Blaine to tell him to know it’s true.

“You were going to come back here, pretend everything was fine, pick up where you left off, and never tell me a thing, weren’t you!?”

“No, Kurt! I …”

“Were you going to get an STD test at least before you fucked me again?”

“Well … wh-what about you?” Blaine deflects, losing his patience.

“What about me? I didn’t cheat on you!”

“Oh really?” Blaine wipes tears from beneath red-rimmed eyes with his fingertips. “I saw the pictures on Facebook, Kurt! From what I hear, you were dating Sebastian pretty much from the moment I left!”

So it appears Cooper did tell him some things (even though he’d promised Julian he wouldn’t) but he didn’t tell him everything? Was he preparing Blaine for what he might see? Then why not tell him everything? What did it matter what he promised Julian, if Blaine was threatening to hitchhike across the country? Did he still want Kurt to have the chance to tell him?

Or did he explain, and Blaine chose not to listen?

Whichever one it was, that’s Cooper Anderson for ya - helping from the bottom of his heart in the worst way possible.

“For your information, we were fake dating!” Kurt explains.

“Fake dating!?” Blaine repeats with an incredulous laugh. “What the heck does that mean?”

“It means that he was paying me to pretend to be his boyfriend! To get his parents off his back about … stuff!” Kurt refuses to go into any more detail than that. Blaine is the last person who deserves to know. But a spark ignites in Blaine’s eyes at Kurt’s admission, as if he’s found an opening. As if he still has a chance. Kurt rushes to stomp that spark out before it turns into a full-fledged fire. “But that changed. It became real! And I’m happy now. Happy with him!”

“I know I was with someone! I know! I know I hurt you and I’m sorry! I didn’t mean for it to happen but it did! I had every intention of coming back to you, Kurt! Of moving to New York with you, of living happily ever after with you! But I didn’t ruin that, Kurt! You did! You did because what you did was way worse!”

Kurt stares at Blaine like he’s gone insane. “What!? What did I do that was way worse?”

“You fell in love! And with Sebastian Smythe!? You hate him, and if memory serves, he hates you, too!”

Kurt jerks back, the words Blaine hurled at him like hands against his chest shoving him. They carry with them so much past pain, so much humiliation, so many insults and schemes and conspiring, all against him. But they don’t make him back down because if Sebastian has proved anything to Kurt it’s that people can change.

Sebastian has changed.

Sadly, so has Blaine.

“This was your bright idea! You were the one who said that if we could survive the summer broken up and still wanted to be together, we’d get back together. If not, if we decided we’re better off apart, then we’d go our separate ways. Did that only apply to you and not me? You made up all these rules that only applied to you when there were two of us in that relationship! You wanted to be broken up, so we broke up! You wanted to sleep with someone, so you slept with him! Now you want to get back together, and I’m supposed to dump a boy I care very much about to go back to you, just because it’s what you want!?”

Kurt wants to go on and ask him, ‘Did you think of me at all when he kissed you? When you were fucking him or he was fucking you, did you almost say my name? Was my smell still on your clothes, or did you make sure to wash them twice before you packed them so it was gone completely?’ But none of that matters anymore.

Kurt is sorry it ever did.

“I knew this was going to happen,” Blaine mutters, shaking his head. “I knew that if he found out I was gone …”

Kurt catches that, and more cogs of this story start fitting into place and turning.

“What does that mean?” Kurt asks. “Did he … did Sebastian say something? Is that why you stopped talking to him on Facebook? Is that why you didn’t tell him that you were leaving for the summer? Because you thought he’d run to Lima and hit on me? And you didn’t trust me to say no?” Kurt’s hands fly to his face, covering his mouth, appalled at the words preparing to race off his tongue before he has a chance to say them. “Oh, but you can go off to San Francisco to meet up with some guy, even break up with me to do it, but I don’t get a chance at spending the summer with someone who maybe likes me!?”

Blaine doesn’t confirm nor deny, just stares off into space as if every word out of Kurt’s mouth is cruel and unfair, tearing him apart for no reason that he deserves.

And Kurt has had enough of this. He’s had enough of the self-pity. Enough of the emotional manipulation. Enough of the distrust.

He’s just plain had enough.

“Look, Blaine …” Kurt puts his hands over his face, breathes into his palms until his calm returns, then drops them to his sides “… we loved each other so much. But we’re so young, so immature, made so many bad choices …” He says that word we, we, we over and over even though he doesn’t entirely mean it. But deep down, there’s a part of Kurt that’s culpable. He let Blaine make that decision instead of taking ownership of his own feelings. He let Blaine command the conversation when he had so much more to say. Blaine controlled how they communicated, even with their mutual friends, but Kurt went along with it. The best he can do now is try to leave the hurt feelings in the past and let it go - not necessarily for Blaine. Not to make Blaine feel better. But so that Kurt can walk away with his head held high, into a future that he deserves … with someone he loves. “Let’s just … remember that and part as friends. Like you said. No mess. Just good friends.” Blaine drops his head and looks off to the side, turning his back on the conversation. It’s a signal to Kurt. Whatever he wanted to accomplish here, he’s done. "Maybe we weren’t meant to be together, but that’s not a horrible thing. It’s not going to … not going to kill us.”

Ironic, since that’s how Kurt felt for the first month Blaine was gone, but now he sees how ludicrous that was. He’s young. They’re both young. And this, too, shall pass.

Kurt waits for Blaine to speak - to agree, to argue, to try and win him back, to sing - but he says nothing. He stares at a far wall – a wall with pictures of Blaine and the Warblers and his family … and Kurt smiling back at him, putting Kurt’s words together. Or maybe shoving them away.

Kurt puts a hand to his aching forehead. Too much drama and too little sleep, bouncing around in his brain like sheep wearing stiletto heels. He doesn’t need this. What he does need - or correction, who he needs - is driving back to Westerville this very moment.

And Kurt wants to be with him right now, more than anything.

Why did he offer to drive Blaine home again? It’s getting harder to remember with every minute that rolls by.

Kurt looks at the boy in front of him - the boy he pined over; the boy he obsessed over; the boy he loved, for a while, more than he loved himself. But that’s over. He has someone else in his life that he needs to return to.

"Relationships are about trust,” Kurt says quietly. “And I don’t trust you anymore. Goodbye, Blaine.” He doesn’t reach a hand out to hold him, to hug him, to give him any comfort. That’s not what their 'relationship' is anymore. Even if they manage to become friends again in the future, even if Kurt finds some way to trust him, it probably won’t be about physical contact for a long, long time. That’s heartbreaking since Blaine has been the one he’s reached for when times were tough since the day they met.

Now, he has a new hand to hold, one just as sure and steady as Blaine’s used to be.

Kurt walks toward Blaine’s bedroom door when he hears his voice, shaking with fury, maybe some embarrassment, and thick with tears, talking to his back.

“Wh--what do you expect me to do now?”

Kurt stops a foot from the doorway, itching to leave. “I expect you to grow up. I expect you to learn from this. I expect you to accept that we’re over. And maybe, in time, we might go back to being friends again.”

“No.” Blaine sniffles through gritted teeth. “I … am never … going to forgive you for this, Kurt. Never.”

There’s a harsh sound in Blaine’s voice, one Kurt had only heard once before - when Blaine fought off Dave Karofsky in the halls of McKinley on the night they went to watch the New Directions perform.

When he fought Dave off to defend him.

Now that anger is directed at him, and it makes Kurt’s blood run cold. Not out of fear. In anger. In disbelief. It zaps any sympathy he might have had for Blaine straight from his body.

So much for not ending badly, Kurt thinks, remembering what Blaine said to him when he first told him about his asinine break-up plan.

“Good,” Kurt says, stepping out into the hallway, more than ready to go, the relief he gets from that one action telling him it’s the right one. “Now you know how I’ve felt most of this summer.”

***

Kurt half expects Blaine to follow him down the hallway to the stairs when he leaves his room, begging him to change his mind, but he’s relieved when he doesn’t. He doesn’t want another discussion like the one they just had. In fact, he never wants to have another discussion like that with anyone. He doesn’t need that kind of negativity in his life.

He prays that they can hop back into Sebastian’s Mustang and drive back to the beach as soon as possible. He needs the sea air and the warm sand on his skin scrubbing him clean again.

The house is eerily quiet as he make his way to the staircase, only the ticking of a grandfather clock on the opposite end making any noise. The Anderson house has never been particularly festive or warm before, but it’s never felt like this - like he’s the only person there.

Where are Blaine’s parents? he thinks as he hurries down the stairs. Do they even know that Blaine is home? Kurt gets an answer five steps from the front door. He speed walks across the foyer, nearly lunging for the doorknob, when a voice stops him.

“So does this mean you’re finally gone for good?”

That voice puts a chill in him, but more for the words that it says than its tone, which is sinister all its own. “Mr. Anderson?” Kurt turns to look at the man standing on the staircase behind him. “Wh-what does that mean?”

“It means that I was never happy with Blaine dating you,” Blaine’s father says, taking one step at a time down the staircase while he talks. “You’d have to be an idiot not to realize that.” He strikes Kurt in this moment like a superhero movie villain, expositing his master plan with the staircase as his prop. Kurt almost laughs out loud at that image, all the tension the night has heaped on him making this little performance of his surreal. How did he not notice that the Anderson family is full of drama queens? Tunnel vision, he supposes. “I mean, it took me a while to accept my son’s orientation and whatnot. His mother coddles him in that regard. I fought to fix it, but there was little I could do.”

Kurt bristles at the word fix. Regardless of the bullshit that went down between him and Blaine this summer, he feels sorry for him if that’s the way his father sees him. As broken. “I don’t understand. You’re not making any sense.”

“I send him to the most exclusive private school money can buy, and still, among hundreds of boys from renowned families, he ends up dating you – a mechanic’s son.” Kurt notices right away how Mr. Anderson says it, with a heaping dose of contempt - so different from the way Greg talks about his father’s profession. “The idea of you became more palatable when your father was elected to congress, but not by much.”

Kurt’s face scrunches as if he just ate something sour, then bit his tongue to boot. Kurt has been called a great many insulting names, and by people he’s respected more. But this one might take the cake. “Palatable?”

“You come from nothing,” Mr. Anderson spits, stopping at the halfway point. He leans a hip against the banister, planting himself there as if he doesn’t want to come any closer. “You have no money, no pedigree ...”

Pedigree? What am I? A horse? Kurt crosses his arms over his chest. Sebastian had told him, hadn’t he? Money, status, family tree - these things matter to the Andersons.

They don’t matter so much to the Smythes.

“And that’s important because …?”

Mr. Anderson clicks his tongue hard against the roof of his mouth. “The fact that you have to ask that question shows why it’s important! You don’t come from the same background as my Blaine, the same breeding! He’s too good for you! But the only person who couldn’t see it was him!”

“Is that so?” It’s a lame comeback, Kurt will admit, but at this point, he can’t hear himself think, his ears burning so hot they’re whistling like a tea kettle. Whether Mr. Anderson knows it or not, he’s hit on the only thing he could say that could hurt Kurt.

He isn’t good enough for Blaine.

Blaine is too good for him.

Because Kurt felt that way in the beginning, thought everybody felt that way every time they looked at him.

Kurt’s breath hitches.

Didn’t Sebastian say that exact same thing to him at The Lima Bean about a dozen lifetimes ago?

“That’s so,” Mr. Anderson repeats, mimicking Kurt’s delivery. “It cost a pretty penny to send Blaine to that camp in San Francisco. He got in on natural talent,” he says smugly, “but I was willing to donate tens of thousands if he didn’t to ensure him a spot and get him away from you. If he insists on being a homosexual, at least he can be more discerning about his options. So I found him a place with better options.”

“I think we’re done here,” Kurt says, turning on his heel and resuming his walk to the door. He has to get away from this man and this house. There are some very expensive statuettes and vases on pedestals by the door.

Kurt doesn’t want to accidentally start throwing any of them.

“I hear you’re going out with the youngest Smythe boy,” Mr. Anderson tosses at Kurt’s back.

Another chill races down Kurt’s spine. How in the fuck would Mr. Anderson know that? Except, considering what Sebastian has explained about the circles his family and the Andersons run in, it would probably be weirder if he didn’t know by now. At the gala, the news that Gregory and Charlotte Smythe’s youngest son was dating a congressman’s kid made quite the buzz. Though Kurt can’t help wondering if Cooper told him, threw Kurt and Sebastian under the bus to distract his father from any possible news of him and Julian. If that’s the case, Kurt will forgive him.

For Julian’s sake.

And just this once.

“Have you now?” Kurt asks, turning back to face him. He refuses to have the man talk to his back. If he’s going to insult him, his lifestyle, his boyfriend, he has to do it looking Kurt in the eyes.

This way Kurt remembers how much to hate the man.

Mr. Anderson tsks. “He’s just as vulgar and classless as his brother. The two of you belong together.”

“You know,” Kurt says with a superior chuckle, one that he knows is going to burrow underneath Blaine’s father’s skin and irritate the shit out of him, “that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“I just need to find a way to keep Cooper away from that Julian for good, and the Anderson family will be back on track.”

“You see, you just said the wrong thing to the wrong person,” Kurt says. “Because now I’m going to make it my life’s mission to ensure that Julian and Cooper live a long, happy life together, whether you approve of it or not. Good day, Mr. Anderson.” Kurt turns on his heel for the final time, muttering asshole under his breath, and strides confidently out the door.

***

To Sebastian (11:41 a.m.): Well that went down like a lead balloon.

To Kurt (11:42 a.m.): That bad, huh?

To Sebastian (11:43 a.m.): Yup. Just to let you know, I’m leaving Blaine’s house now.

To Kurt (11:44 a.m.): Really? That was quick.

To Sebastian (11:45 a.m.): As it turns out, he didn’t have anything more compelling to say than everything is my fault.

To Kurt (11:46 a.m.): At least he took responsibility for his actions.

To Sebastian (11:46 a.m.): …

To Sebastian (11:47 a.m.): No. Everything is MY fault. As in he’s blaming me for everything that went down.

To Kurt (11:48 a.m.): Oh really?

To Sebastian (11:49 a.m.): A-ha.

To Kurt (11:50 a.m.): And what, pray tell, was your heinous sin?

To Sebastian (11:51 a.m.): I fell in love with you.

To Kurt (11:51 a.m.): …

To Kurt (11:52 a.m.): I … don’t know how to respond to that.

To Kurt (11:52 a.m.): Should I say I’m sorry?

To Sebastian (11:53 a.m.): To who?

To Kurt (11:54 a.m.): To you.

To Sebastian (11:55 a.m.): Don’t you dare!

To Kurt (11:56 a.m.): Alright! Alright!

To Sebastian (11:57 a.m.): More happened, but it’s too much to text. I’ll tell you when I see you.

To Sebastian (11:58 a.m.): I’m going to swing by my dad’s for a bit before I go to your place. Okay?

To Kurt (11:59 a.m.): You could always borrow some of my clothes, you know.

To Sebastian (12:00 p.m.): I know. Mostly I want to say hey to my dad. Let him know I’m not dead. Tell him the good news.

To Kurt (12:01 p.m.): What good news?

To Sebastian (12:02 p.m.): That I’m going to NYADA in the fall ;)

To Kurt (12:03 p.m.): I love you, you know.

To Sebastian (12:04 p.m.): I know.

To Sebastian (12:05 p.m.): I love you, too.

***

Kurt pulls up to the curb in front of his house and turns off his SUV. He sits a moment, takes in the view of this modest, suburban house that they’ve only lived in a couple of years. It’s nothing special on its own, but it became a home when he, his dad, Carole and Finn moved into it. He should probably take more time to appreciate it while he has the chance.

After all, how much time does he have left here?

He grabs his bag and heads up the walk, unlocks the front door and creeps into the living room. “Dad?” he calls into the emptiness. “Dad, are you here?”

He should be there. His truck is parked outside. But not Carole’s car, which means they could still have gone out somewhere. He should have called ahead, but it was the last thing on his mind - one of those tasks he would start to do, then get distracted by a humongous metaphorical asteroid heading straight for him.

“Hey, kiddo! Is that you?” he hears coming from the kitchen.

“In the living room!” Kurt puts his bag down on the floor and suddenly his dad is there, all open arms ready to give him a proper hello.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Burt squeezes his son tight, pats him hard on the back. “Are you home for good?” he asks hopefully.

“No,” Kurt says, hating to disappoint him. “Just for the day. We’re planning on heading back.”

“Oh.” His father’s smile dips, but he recovers it and rolls on. “Well, okay then. Do you have a minute? Because I need to talk to you.”

“What a coincidence,” Kurt says, “because I need to talk to you, too.”

“Should we flip a coin to see who goes first?” Burt teases.

“No.” The smile Kurt gives his father’s joke trembles at the corners. Because he misses his dad. He misses him a great deal. “You go first.”

“Okay …” His father clears his throat. He shifts his weight on both feet and puts his hands on his hips, getting into what Kurt affectionately refers to as lecture mode, and Kurt knows immediately what his father is about to say “… when were you plannin’ on tellin’ me about that NYADA bill?”

“I …” Kurt should have a better response to that than one syllable and a choke, but it hasn’t been a morning conducive to answering questions “… probably … never?” Burt sighs heavily, rolls back and forth on his heels. “I didn’t want to add another thing to your pile of stress!” Kurt explains. “I was trying to figure it out myself!”

“Well you don’t have to worry about it now,” his father says stoically.

“Wh—what do you mean I don’t have to worry about it?” Oh God, Kurt thinks. I’m not going to NYADA. It doesn’t matter that Sebastian gave him the check. He ran out of time to get the money to them and now his acceptance is null and void! But they said I had till the 10th of September! the logic side of his brain argues. Did they change the rules out from under him? Can they do that? Or did they find someone better, someone more talented last minute and decide to give them his spot? Wait - they can’t do that either, can they!?

It doesn’t matter whether they can or can’t, it might already be done, which means he failed at the one thing he wanted more than anything in life.

His dream, the one he put his pride on the line for, is officially over.

“I mean I talked to the girl down in financial aid and I handled it,” his father clarifies.

Kurt's eyes open so wide he genuinely fears they'll pop out of his skull and roll across the floor. “Come again?”

“Now before I explain, I want you to know, I didn’t open any of your mail. That would have been an invasion of privacy, no matter how nervous that last one made me. I guess the financial aid department has been calling you for the past week, and when they couldn’t get a hold of you, they contacted me. They wanted to know if you were still getting the last of the money together, or if you wanted to forfeit your spot to someone on the waiting list. Since I knew you’d never do that, I went ahead and took care of it.”

“But … how?” Kurt asks, begging his dad for an answer, how it was so damned simple for him to clear up when Kurt has been suffering all summer long!

Well, not suffering.

“I need details, Dad!”

Burt grins, proud to have gotten a smidgen of the upper hand over his kid for once. “Kurt, I know we haven’t talked about it much, but becoming a congressman has raised my net worth considerably. Nine plus thousand dollars has been a struggle for us in the past, but it wasn’t as huge a stretch this time.”

“I … I guess I didn’t realize that.”

“Well, maybe you should have talked to me about it first before running around, half-cocked, trying to find nine thousand dollars.”

“There’s a lot of things I should have talked to you about,” Kurt admits, ashamed that he not only didn’t talk to his dad about this, but that he hasn’t been talking to his dad most of this summer.

Not the way they used to.

His father leans closer, raises his eyebrows like he’s about to impart some wisdom. Or a secret. “Like about you and that Smythe boy?”

Kurt doesn’t even have to ask.

That question, mostly rhetorical, tells him that his dad knows. How all these people figured them out is unbelievable! Kurt thought he and Sebastian were doing a good job acting like a couple. Too good a job. Were they really that transparent? “How long have you known?” Kurt asks, sucker punched by a rousing case of deja vu. Maybe his third case so far? He’s lost track.

“It’s more of an I suspected than an I knew. You’re an extremely compassionate person, Kurt. You have high moral standards, always have. You get that from your mom. And like I said before, I know you and Blaine both forgave Sebastian for the things he did but …” His dad pinches his lips together and shakes his head, like there’s a two and a two he’s having a difficult time getting to add up “… I couldn’t see you dating him. But you told me you were happy, and you didn’t give me any reason to doubt you. If you did this, you must have had your reasons.” Burt pauses, hedges on this point. “And now that I know about this school debt, I’m thinking that might have had something to do with it?”

Kurt bites his lips together, so close to tears he can taste them in his mouth, but that doesn’t stop the squeak that should have been a much better answer from escaping his throat. He’d thought it himself, that dating Sebastian for money made him an escort … or worse. But his dad putting the pieces together this way and then making an inference to them out loud makes Kurt want to dig himself a hole and bury himself in it. It’s a little too much - much too much for this day in particular.

Burt puts a hand on Kurt’s shoulder, gives him a comforting squeeze. “No one’s judging you, Kurt,” he says softly. “And I’m not gonna interfere in the particulars of your life. You’re going to do what you’re going to do. I just want you to take care of yourself. Look out for you. Because you …”

“I matter,” Kurt finishes. “I know. And I am. I promise. If it’s any consolation, that’s all over.”

“You guys broke up?” his dad asks, strangely upset. “But I thought you said …”

“No. No, we didn’t break up. Actually …” Kurt smiles. It’s completely subconscious, springing up on his face as if in response to a private joke, or a sentimental story “… we’re dating … for real.”

“Good.” Burt pulls his son in for a hug. “That’s good. He seems like a decent kid all things considered. Comes from real good stock. Has a good head on his shoulders.”

“How do you know that? You’ve only met him a handful of times!”

“He’s dating my son. He must be a flippin’ genius!”

Kurt laughs and Burt joins him, not stopping or letting go of one another until they’re both in tears.

“Thank you for calling the school,” Kurt says, “ and for paying that bill. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did, Kurt. Look, I know you’re an adult and everything now, being all of eighteen, but I’m still your dad. I’m gonna help you out when I can.”

“Are you disappointed in me?” Kurt asks, and yes, it might have been cowardly of him to wait and ask when his father was riding high on his good mood, but Kurt can’t take too many more emotional upheavals today.

“No, I’m not,” his father says. “Maybe a little hurt, but not disappointed. But I understand. Dealing with small, basic financial matters are scary enough. Balancing a checkbook, making a budget, socking away for emergencies, getting a car loan. They don’t teach you those things in school anymore and they’re terrifying. I can imagine how you felt getting this news. And then feeling like you had to tackle it alone?”

“That’s … not all I mean,” Kurt admits, even when, for the sake of his sanity, it probably would be better to stop while he’s ahead.

“Kurt, I love the fact that you value my opinion,” Burt says. “As a parent, I know there’ll come a day when you won’t need my advice anymore.”

“I’ll always need your advice, Dad,” Kurt says, holding onto his dad, holding on to this moment for as long as he can. Father-son talks tend to do this to him, fill him with a sense of melancholy, especially lately, which is probably why he’s been avoiding them. Because way too often, they feel like goodbye. “No matter how old I get.”

“Then let me give you a little now.” Burt holds his son at arm’s length so he can look into his eyes. “You have to make the decisions that are right for you. Nobody else. Whatever makes you happy. As long as you’re not hurting yourself and it’s legal, I’m behind you all the way. I want you stop worrying for once and enjoy your life.”

“You’re right,” Kurt agrees, but rolling his eyes at the legal remark. Are private escorts legal in Ohio? What’s the sentence if you’re found guilty of being one? He hates that this is now something he’s going to Google when he gets back to his SUV. “I’m going to go do that right now.”

***

“Jesus, Kurt!” Sebastian moans, rolling his hips up, rubbing what’s left of his spent erection along the crack of Kurt’s rear. “I love your ass!”

“Thank you,” Kurt says, pushing back against him. “I’m rather fond of it myself.”

“So … Blaine’s dad said that to you?” Sebastian wraps his arms around his boyfriend’s naked body and holds it against him. He buries his nose in Kurt’s hair, breathes him in deep. “And he still has a neck and two testicles?”

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Kurt melts into Sebastian’s embrace, into the sweaty skin pressed against his own. “I’d call that growth, wouldn’t you?”

“I knew Blaine’s parents were a mess, but I never would have thought …” Sebastian shakes his head against Kurt’s shoulder. “I’d say you dodged a bullet there, babe. I mean, can you imagine that man ten, twenty years from now …”

“I can imagine him flat as a crepe because after the first year with him as an in-law I would have run him over with my SUV. Repeatedly.”

“We still can,” Sebastian says with an excited wiggle, as if he’d started thinking about it in earnest. “I know a place where we can hide a body.”

“I’m sure you do,” Kurt says with a patronizing pat on his arm, taking Sebastian’s murderous fantasies in his stride. But the joke washes aside, and Kurt sighs. “Do you think there’s any hope for Julian and Cooper? You were with Cooper when they saw one another. Do you think …?”

“Yeah.” Sebastian doesn’t interrupt Kurt. Kurt can’t seem to finish his sentence. The past few days have taken such an emotional toll on him, his whole body aches, down to his bones. “I think they’re going to be okay. They have a lot of talking to do … which I’m sure they’ll get to after all the fucking they’re doing right now.”

Kurt tilts his head back an inch to see Sebastian’s face. “Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack, babe.”

Kurt’s left eyebrow arches as he continues to stare. “You know, I question the way you talk sometimes.”

“It’s a hazard of having a brother and sister almost a decade older than you.”

“That makes sense.” Kurt turns away, inching his way back against Sebastian’s body so that he can feel more of his skin around him. Sebastian seems to know this and hooks a leg over his. “Sebastian, I need you to promise me something.”

“I’ll do what I can,” he says, kissing Kurt’s cheek, his skin hot to the touch.

“I know everything that’s happened in the past two days has been … intense.”

Sebastian makes a small sound that’s part genuine laugh, part huff. “You can say that again.”

“And I know that if you decide to leave …” Kurt’s voice, which he tries to keep calm, rational, pragmatic, splinters a hair “… take a break from all of this … and me … you’ll come back, but you can’t leave. If I wake up and you’re not here …”

Sebastian shushes him gently, puts a hand to his head and draws him to his chest. Kurt turns into it, rolling towards him and resting his forehead against his shoulder. “I’m still here, Kurt. And I promise, I’m not going anywhere. I’m not running away from you. Not anymore.”

#acitw #acitw au #kurtbastian #sebkurt #sekurt #kurt hummel #sebastian smythe #spread the love!

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galadrieljones · 4 years

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writer’s review

tagged by @ma-sulevin and @a-shakespearean-in-paris. thank you! i’ve never done this one before.

I will tag @thevikingwoman @shallow-gravy @littleblue-eyedbirdchirps @roguelioness @pikapeppa and anyone who’d like to do this. Please tag me if you do!!

Rules: Post two snippets of your writing. The first should be one of the oldest examples of your work that you can find (the older the better!), and the other has to be an excerpt from something more recent. Compare the two side by side to see the difference between what your writing looks like now and how it did then.

Since I have way too much old writing from my life, I am just going to stick with my fanfiction. I chose to compare an excerpt from my older Solavellan work The Dead Season (2016) to my current The Last of Us fic As You Were (2020).

I put this under a cut, as it’s a little long!!

From The Dead Season - Chapter 8: The Emprise du Lion

For the first three nights, they’d had to camp in a quarry surrounded by the dead lit veins of red lyrium. The lyrium glowed through the fire, illuminating the snow, keeping everyone awake, bandaged and bruised, all four of them piled into the Inquisitor’s tent where nobody wanted to be alone. Death was too nearby, they decided. Things were better together. Exhausted, hardened, dirty, cold to the bone. Drinking warm ale brought in by Scout Harding’s people, gnawing pieces of rabbit Sene had hunted herself and then cooked on a spit. Iron Bull tried entertaining with mad stories from his stranger youth. He and Solas played whole games of chess through the power of memory alone, and Sera braided Sene’s hair, and asked her all kinds of questions about her childhood and her love for the elven man. She told her about Dagna, that the two had started a quiet affair, and she had such stories of Red Jenny and her foreign life as an elf of the city. Sene listened eagerly, all the time, finding Solas with her eyes, and he would give a small touch. Security in a place of death and blood in the snow.

Despite Sene’s dreams, whenever they slept in the Emprise du Lion, Solas held her with serious possession. He slept deeply when he drifted, without stirring, and his arms hardened around her as stone. A carefulness and new severity imbued them, each movement guessed and exchanged as mind-reading. Somehow, it felt new. Sera noticed one morning, as Solas helped Sene into her jacket: “You do that like it’s all you’ve ever done,” she said to him.

“Perhaps it is,” said Solas. “Perhaps each night I help Sene out of her jacket, and then each morning, I help her back in again. Would that shock you?”

“The two of you,” said Sera. “Like green on sky. Eggs on toast.”

“Interesting perspective,” he said.

From As You Were - Chapter 6: La Crosse (Pt. 1) / The Lapp Farm (Pt. 1)

Joel and Noah drove until they hit what looked to be the town. They parked at an O’Reilly’s Auto Parts, hauled their backpacks onto their backs, and loaded their guns. The signs continued, most of them nailed to other kinds of signs: COTHS, they read. C.O.T.H.S.

C O T H S.

La Crosse had never been a big city. Joel didn’t know a lot, but he could gather as much. It wasn’t big, but it was a college town, and that college was big enough to have a football team. It would have been home to a lot of people during the initial Outbreak, probably forty or fifty thousand, and it was probably a metro-hub for these little Driftless, farming towns, too, with a good hospital, warehouses, factories, and some semblance of a retail industry. It would have been a lot of meth, he thought. Maybe not so much in the city proper, but in the outskirts, in the tin cans and the trailer parks. As a city on the banks of the Mississippi, it would have pretty pockets but mostly, it was just franchises and mini-malls, like anything else.

But this was strange, thought Joel. The goddam of it was, it seemed empty. Really empty. Like, god no longer smiled upon this place, as if something evil had given up on this place, gone on its way. There was nothing. Nothing bad, nothing good. Just the trees, and the nature noises, the grasses, which had grown so tall, they engulfed the cars abandoned at the side of the road. There was a McDonalds sign, growing out of a massive, twisted heap of vines and bramble and it made Joel think of small things that still broke his heart from childhood. He pushed it down.

“This is fucking weird,” said Noah. The air smelled ripe in some places. Rotten. Like an overgrowth of mold in the washing machine. “What the fuck is that smell?”

“Something bad happened here,” said Joel.

“Hey, look,” said Noah. He was headed toward another one of the signs. It said: COTHS.

“Yep, another sign,” said Joel.

“No, look,” said Noah. He got closer. He had to snap a couple saplings to get to it. This sign was on the ground, leaning against a tree. He pushed back the tall grass, and the milkweed to reveal the rest.

Comparison: I settled on these excerpts because they are both descriptions of places and situations that are new to the characters involved. The biggest difference between my writing in 2016 and my writing now, as shown here, is that I have hugely simplified my prose and my approach to descriptive writing. Four years ago, I was still very flowery, and the dark, magical setting of Dragon Age only encouraged my dreamy, expansive sensibility. I used a lot of adjectives, figurative language, and fragments, and I tended to write big, sweeping descriptions of situations, rather than setting simple scenes. Tbh, I hadn’t really figured out scene-writing yet, at that point. It took me a while to realize how to make scenes do a lot of work in a short amount of time. Notice how I barely enter the scene in that first excerpt. It’s vague. It’s all happening at once. There is not really a specific scene being set in a specific setting at a specific time. I try to avoid that sort of thing now. While I don’t hate my old writing, and I think sometimes I do a nice job of hitting on the right atmosphere, my unwillingness to just enter the scene concretely is a little sophomoric and noncommittal here. Setting scenes is actually hard as hell. In doing this, I was avoiding the hard stuff without even realizing.

Now, I will say that while I am still improving, my writing has become much more concrete and to the point. I use figurative language, but I am much more judicious with my metaphors and similes. I prefer realism, it turns out. I want to describe true things, not ideas. Most of what I describe is there to build setting, whether it be through concrete description of place or a character’s actions in a place. Sometimes I will use my language to evoke a certain kind of atmosphere, but I try not to go overboard. I want my language to be practical, not tricky and overblown. I like strong, complete sentences (with the occasional fragment) and descriptions of specific actions and scenes in real time, rather than fragmented, dreamy language or a style that is overly stream-of-consciousness. I still use Free Indirect Style at times, and I will narrate thought, because I like going into my character’s heads, but I now practice much more stoicism. I do not let my readers know too much directly about what my characters are feeling. I find that this is much more true to what I want to evince with my writing. I now try to imply thought and emotion via what my characters do, what they don’t do, what they say, and what they see. Moving away from Solas, a very “talky” and intellectual character has helped me do this. While I love Solas, writing Joel and Arthur really improved me tenfold, as they tend to speak very little. They are not terribly ponderous in all they decide. They choose their words wisely and let their actions speak most of the time, helping me do the same.

In the past, my focus was almost always on language, ideas, and atmosphere. I wanted to evoke bigness at every turn. Drama, beauty, unfolding abstract ideas and feelings made of synesthesia, using my language to elevate simple feelings and ideas into something epic. But now, and maybe it’s just because I’m getting older or I have less time, idk, but I just want things to be what they are. I want to reveal feelings and themes, not evoke them through force. I want the scenes to speak for themselves. I let the reader do a little more work. I withhold much more. In fact, I rarely write interiority these days. Inner-monologue and emotions come sparingly. One sentence here and there. Never in rambling, abstract, unfurling paragraphs, which The Dead Season is full of. I am always reaching for economy now, and efficiency. It is better for me! Though I do play around still, from time to time, with my language. I will always be a little playful.

#on writing #my writing #the dead season #as you were #writer's review

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sarahwroteathing · 5 years

Text

Just One Kiss (11)

Word Count: 3907

Summary: Bucky shows up at your door with some very unwelcome news.

Warnings: Angst (I’ll fix it I promise), a bit of cursing

A/N: Brace yourselves, my dears. We’re going in. This was my last hurdle. The rest of the chapters (12, 13, 14, 15) are already finished and just need a bit of polish. Are you ready?

Special thanks to my angel @aubzylynn for being my focus group, test subject, and hype woman. What a gem.

Catch up here!

“Hey, um…. I just thought you might want to know. I’m not going to be around much for the next few months. I… I’m going to be visiting my cousins, so… But I promise, as soon as I get back, I’ll come see you,” Bucky said with a strange intensity.

Your brow furrowed a little in confusion, blissfully unaware of the conscription papers he had tucked under the mattress at home. Though you might not have known the reason, you did see those traces of anxiety and dread mixed up in his facial features: the slight creasing of his forehead, the downward twitch of one corner of his mouth, that haunted light shining just below the surface of his eyes, carefully concealed, but not quite seamless.

It had been an odd moment, but one that occurred months ago. So you couldn’t say why it lurked in all corners of your tired mind that particular morning. It had been an adjustment, going through your life without Bucky, without the chance of running into him around the next corner, without his warm and steady presence at your side as you walked home, but of course you wouldn’t complain about his absence. It was good that he was visiting his family. You couldn’t remember the last time he had done so. And you were sure he’d come see you when he returned to the city, rested and refreshed and brimming with new silly and likely exaggerated stories to make you laugh.

But it was a surprise when he turned up at your door prim and proper in his crisply pressed uniform. The joy of seeing Bucky was short lived, devoured whole by the sudden horror inspired by his attire. Clean lines, freshly-ironed pleats. Spotless, shining shoes. Flawlessly polished brass buttons. That hat, dignified, important, placed at a jaunty angle - the only trace of the individual through the pomp and circumstance.

Though his heart gave an accusatory throb as your happy expression crumpled into disbelief and sadness, Bucky didn’t let his cheerful smile drop for even a second under your teary eyes. You didn’t speak, couldn’t speak, just reached out to him with shaking hands, one grasping tight to his sturdy shoulder and the other inexplicable drawn to the US pin on his lapel. You traced the two letters over and over as if in a trance. U S. Two letters that usually meant togetherness, a partnership, a group of friends, a family, a couple. “You can meet us there.” “Don’t worry about us.” “I don’t care what they say about us.” But this was an entirely different incarnation, two little letters twisted into something that felt sharp and cruel, a signal of separation and danger and loss.

And then Bucky said your name, softly, gently, like he thought it might hurt. You jerked your fingers back from the pin as if they’d been burned, staring at them numbly, somehow expecting there to be a mark or a residue left behind. Bucky’s smile finally began to falter at your sharp inhale when he touched your hand, his grip light and careful as he drew your fingertips up to his lips. Still, even now, your heart surged in your chest at the delicate kiss he brushed over your imagined injury.

“I missed you, babydoll,” he whispered with the most genuine smile he could muster. “Can I come in for a minute?”

You nodded slowly, backing away from him as he stepped through the door. Hurt flashed through his eyes at the action, and you felt as though your heart was lodged in your throat, keeping you silent, restricting your breathing.

“What’s taking so long?” Betty’s voice rang out across the apartment, punctuated by the sound of her heels on the wood floor. “Got a salesman I need to punch in the -”

Her words cut off abruptly, and you turned to see her standing a few paces behind you. If you didn’t know better, you’d swear you saw her heart breaking before she took in a sharp breath and pulled you to her side.

“Something we can do for you, soldier?” she asked stiffly, and Bucky pursed his lips before forcing a smile.

“Hey there, Lady Liza,” he said kindly. “Mind giving us a moment of privacy?”

Betty gave a noncommittal hum, pulling you into a hug and turning you gently so that your back was to Bucky.

“How are we doing, bunny?” she whispered in your ear, and you hugged her tighter for it. She only called you bunny when she was feeling especially protective.

“Scared.”

“I know. I’ve got you,” she said gently. “What do you want to do?”

“I have to talk to him.” Your hands were starting to shake.

“You don’t have to do anything, do you hear me? He’s done his share of the decision making. What happens now is your choice. Just say the word and I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”

Betty watched Bucky carefully from over your shoulder. He may not be able to hear your conversation, but it didn’t take a genius to guess what was being said. His eyes were fixed on the toes of his shiny shoes, hands shoved deep in pockets, nibbling anxiously at his lip while he waited.

“I want to understand…” you said. “And I can’t do that without talking to him.”

“Okay. What do you want me to do?”

“I… Don’t stay in the room. It might make him too nervous… But don’t go far. Is that okay?”

“Of course it is. I’ll retire to my dressing room, smoking and sulking like Bette Davis. It will be very glamorous and dramatic.”

That was enough to draw a faint laugh from you, and Betty watched some of the tension ease from Bucky’s shoulders at the sound, a bit of hope returning to his eyes.

“Do you remember my cue for a dramatic entrance?”

“Open ��that goddam squeaky window,’” you answered, giving your best imitation of Betty’s voice and earning a snort for your trouble.

“That’s right. And my cue for a graceful exit from the apartment?”

“Turn on the radio.”

“And where can you reach me if you need me to come back?”

“At the diner gossiping with Steve,” you said dutifully, allowing the tiniest of smiles when Betty huffed in protest.

“It’s not gossip if I’m preparing him to handle the condition his best friend will be in when he gets home… I suppose he probably knows about this already though.”

“That would explain why he’s been dodging me for months.”

“Oh, and I intend to give him a piece of my mind about it, don’t you worry.”

“Don’t go looking for trouble, Betty. You know Steve will always deliver it,” you warned.

Betty gave a frustrated sigh, squeezing you tighter for a moment and wishing beyond anything that there was something she could do to make this all go away. She pulled back enough to look you in the eyes, leading you in a deep breath before redirecting her attention to Bucky.

“I’ll be in my room. You’re on thin ice, James Buchanan Barnes. I will not hesitate to kick your patriotically pleated ass all the way to Jersey, do you understand? You and I are having a talk later.”

Bucky seemed even more nervous now that he was getting what he wanted, nodding hastily in response to Betty’s question. “Never doubted that for a moment.”

Betty took another deep breath, giving your hand a tight squeeze before turning to disappear into her room. You kept your eyes on the floorboards, squeezing them closed in an attempt to steady yourself as Betty’s door clicked closed. For a moment, nobody moved, nobody breathed.

The quiet squeak of the floor adjusting to shifted weight.

A deep inhale.

“Do you want to sit?”

Bucky’s voice was so soft, concerned, as if he weren’t the one in imminent danger. Your breath tore out of you with a pained sound, and you surged forward, crashing forward against his chest with eyes still tightly shut, trusting him to catch you. His arms closed around you without hesitation, squeezing you so tight it nearly hurt, like he could hold your broken pieces together as you let your heart shatter.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he whispered on endless repeat, his lips pressed to your hair as you cried.

You lost time in the tide of your grief, coming back to yourself tucked safely against Bucky on the couch. He had moved on from apologies to babbling nonsense, half finished thoughts and barely coherent stories.

His voice broke off as soon as he felt you shift, the gently pressure of your hands all it took for him to release his grip and give you space.

“Do you need…?”

Though your eyes were downcast, Bucky’s hand entered your field of vision. A crisply folded handkerchief brushed the back of your fingers as he offered it. You took it with a quiet thanks, dabbing at your eyes and doing your best to regain your composure.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have acted like that. I have no right to.”

“Don’t you do that.”

His voice was quiet but firm. The hand that came to cradle the side of your face may have been gentle, but its touch was insistent, drawing your eyes up to his.

“You have every right to be upset.”

“I hurt you.” It wasn’t a question. There was a gloss to his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“Would’ve hurt worse if you hadn’t cared,” Bucky whispered with a rueful smile. “I was half hoping you’d slap me.”

“Betty still might,” you said. “I hope you don’t mind if I tell her not to. There’d be no sense in it.”

“I deserve it. Shouldn’t have kept it from you for so long.” There was a bitterness in his voice that troubled you, his hand dropping back into his lap.

“You weren’t obligated to tell me. It’s not as if we’re married or… or even promised to each other.”

“Aren’t we?” he asked softly. “That letter I gave you at Christmas. There wasn’t much to it I wrote myself, but I know what I did say. Then, now, and always. I meant that.” His head dropped, eyes fixed on his hands with a look like he’d never seen them before. “That was a promise I meant to keep.”

The bitterness had crept in again in those last few whispered words, and you felt a sinking in your chest. You knew what you needed to ask.

“Bucky... I have a question, and I need you to answer it honestly. It doesn’t matter how either of us feel about it. I need you to tell me the truth.”

“Okay.”

“Did you choose this?”

Bucky looked back up at you, face slightly scrunched like he was sick to his stomach.

“No,” he said in a helpless whisper. “Maybe if I was a better man I would have. Steve tries every goddamn week, but I can’t - ”

His voice broke and he dropped his head forward, hands clenching into tight fists. You bit your lip hard, blinking fast to keep ahold of yourself as you slipped your hands over his, easing them open with soft touches. A small smile crossed your face as he took over, playing gently with your fingers until he felt calm enough to speak again.

“I couldn’t do it. Plenty of people asked me to. Or told me to. But every time, I thought not a chance in hell. Who’s gonna bail out Steve when he’s in over his head? Or buy his medicine and make him take it even when he’s feeling too proud. Who’s gonna chase the bad ones away from Rebecca and make Ma celebrate her birthday even if it costs a bit extra? And how could I ever consider leaving you when…”

Bucky trailed off with a hopeless noise, and you drew him closer to you with a shaky breath, guiding his head to rest on your shoulder with a gentle hand on the back of his neck.

“Deep breath,” you instructed quietly, taking a moment to follow your own advice. “Now you listen to me, James Buchanan Barnes. You haven’t been surrounding yourself with damsels, you know. Steve Rogers will be just fine because the second he’s not, me and Betty and Louise and the formidable Winifred Barnes will be crashing through doors and windows to set it right. Do you doubt that for a second?”

Bucky lifted his head from your shoulder to give you an appraising look. “No.”

“Good. And Rebecca is a smart kind of gal. She’ll avoid bad situations when she can, and when she can’t, well… I’ll bring the pan still hot from the stove. Betty’s got a bat beneath her bed, and Steve will be there throwing fists and spitting venom like he always is. Think I’m lying?”

“No, ma’am,” he said, your fierce tone succeeding in drawing the smallest of smiles.

“And just like your mother is here for all of us, we’ll all be there for her. If you miss a birthday, we’ll have the house so crowded with admiration and support and gifts that there wouldn’t even be room for you if you showed up. You’d have to wait in line outside. Got it?”

“Loud and clear.”

“One more thing.”

You stood and pulled him up from the couch, drawing his arms around you. Bucky smiled a bit wider at your boldness before schooling his expression back into one of dutiful focus.

“You’ve got my undivided attention,” he promised.

“Does it seem like I have any intention of running off on you?” you asked quietly. “Tell me truly.”

“No, it doesn’t”

“You better remember that. Those months you were gone, do you know what I was doing? I was waiting. And when I’d start missing you, I’d write you a letter. Never mailed them because you never gave me an address, but I kept them just in case you wrote to me. So I’d be ready. And sometimes I’d even daydream about you, but that is none of your business.”

“Careful. Keep talking like that, and I may do something stupid.” He was holding you tighter now.

“You can if you want to. I’ve been ready since the day in the park.”

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and heaved a sigh, dropping his head onto your shoulder again.

“I know,” he said gently. “And I want to, believe me, I do. But I couldn’t then because I was keeping secrets from you, and I can’t now because… You deserve better than a kiss given because I’m scared I may not have another chance. And I deserve better than a kiss given because you’re trying to make me feel better.”

“I understand, and I won’t argue with you.”

“Thank you.”

“And I don’t think enlisting makes someone a better person.”

“What?” Bucky lifted his head, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“You said a better man would have enlisted. I don’t agree. Worrying about the people close to you, and preferring to stay here to take care of them? You can’t tell me that’s a selfish choice. And Steve isn’t a better man than you for trying so hard to enlist.”

“Please don’t tell him I was drafted. I think it would kill him to know that… That they took someone who didn’t want to go instead of taking him.”

“I think it’s already been proven that nothing can kill Steve Rogers,” you joked weakly. “But I imagine he’d certainly have some choice words for some very important people, and I’m not certain where the line between free speech and treason is these days.”

“I’d rather not find out,” Bucky said, a fond smile tugging at his lips.

“How… How much time do we have left?” you asked hesitantly, throat tightening at the dark cloud that seemed to pass through Bucky’s eyes.

“Tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow,” you repeated, taking a deep breath.

You gave a slow nod, pulling out of his arms and crossing to the window. There was barely time to register the plaintive squeak and shutter of the window sliding open before Betty burst out of her room with her baseball bat resting loosely on her shoulder.

“Am I gonna need to use this?” she asked mildly, patting the bat against her palm.

“Stand down, Betty. I’d like to keep him intact if you don’t mind. It’s his last night before he ships out.”

Betty crossed to you immediately, tugging you into her side with an arm around your shoulders.

“What grand plans have you made, Sergeant?”

“Depends. Do you two have to work tonight?”

“I can take care of that. Plenty of people owe me favors,” Betty scoffed.

“Well then, I guess we could see to that now. I told Steve to meet me at the diner. Thought we could get dinner and see the Stark Expo. Maybe dancing after. If that’s alright. I’m not expecting anything,” Bucky said nervously, still glancing between you and the baseball bat Betty was still holding.

“Betty, take it easy. We’re not mad at him.”

“We’re not?”

“No.”

She shrugged and tossed the bat onto her favorite chair. “Well. Give us a few moments to get even prettier, and we can run right along.”

Your movements were near mechanical as you changing into a better dress and freshened your makeup. Even the walk down to the diner, with Bucky on one arm and Betty on the other, felt disjointed. A pleasant walk on a clear evening with two of your favorite people should have been enjoyable. You tried your best, returning Bucky’s smiles and laughing at Betty’s jokes but it felt… hollow. A false shiny exterior. You weren’t happy. None of you were. But you certainly weren’t going to talk about it anymore.

Steve looked almost painfully apologetic when you reached the diner, but you reassured him with an understanding smile and a quick hand squeeze before he could get any words out. Even though he didn’t speak, settled next to Betty on the bench seat across from you without comment, you could see the concern that still lingered in his eyes and you tried harder to seem okay.

Though anxiety turned your stomach, you found yourself rather forced into eating when you noticed Bucky pointedly matching you bite for bite, responding to your nudges with innocent-eyed smiles.

Sometime in the midst of your last push to clean your plate, Betty shooed Steve out of the booth to set about her mission of covering your shifts for the evening. When she returned, Bucky fell silent for a moment, dropping a story mid-sentence to bite thoughtfully at his lip.

“Got any fortunes for me, Lady Liza?” Bucky asked suddenly, earning a scoff from you and an eye roll from Steve.

Betty hummed noncommittally and reached for Bucky’s hand. She made a spectacle of things, as expected, tilting his hand to catch the light, pinching his fingertips, and flicking his wrist.

“Beware the bad penny,” she said finally, adjusting her curls casually as if the past thirty seconds had never occurred.

“Beware seems a little strong for a penny,” Bucky laughed. “But alright. If you say so.”

“I didn’t say a penny. I said a bad penny. The penny that catches your eye in the middle of the road as you’re crossing while a distracted taxi driver turns the corner. That’s a bad penny. Leave it alone unless you only value your life at a cent. All that glitters is not gold. That kind of thing.”

“Don’t get shot to win a medal,” Steve supplied.

“Excuse me,” Bucky said, with a mildly offended expression. “If anybody was gonna get shot for a medal, it’d probably be you, Steve.”

“He wouldn’t get shot for a medal. He’d get shot for the principle of the thing,” you countered, patting Steve’s hand on the tabletop while he tried his best to hide a smile behind an annoyed expression.

“So I can get shot if it’s for the principle of the thing?”

“No,” you, Betty, and Steve answered in unison.

“And every war story had better end with ‘and then I ran away,’” Betty added.

Bucky slid out of the booth with a put upon sigh, “Can we continue this lecture on the way to the expo? If we’re too late we won’t be close enough to see anything.”

He offered you his hand and dragged you quickly across the smooth vinyl rather than waiting for you to scoot to the edge. You let out a small squeak of protest, pursing your lips at him while he pulled you upright.

“Impatient,” you muttered, but Bucky just shrugged with a good-natured smile, slipping an arm around you while Steve helped Betty out of her seat.

And you wanted to be excited about the expo, you really did. Bucky bounced around like the excitable ten year old you remembered, dragging you around by the hand and staring at everything with wide and glittering eyes. And his enthusiasm was almost strong enough to spark your own, but you couldn’t find it in you to look at anything but him. You soaked up every second of that smile, that voice, that warmth. But you didn’t have much time left, and it was slipping by fast. A whirlwind of colors and lights and crowds and loud voices. And then?

And then nothing. Then standing alone on your doorstep, still staring down the street where Bucky had disappeared around the corner. Then leaning back against the night-chilled bricks, crossing your arms to try and lock in the memory of a last embrace that had lingered longer than technically appropriate. No, not last. He had promised to meet for breakfast tomorrow. And you were determined to see him off at the docks, regardless of how much it would hurt. It wasn’t something you were willing to give up. You’d take every precious moment left to you.

The creak of the door drew you out of your thoughts and you saw Betty’s relieved smile before she took your hand to guide you inside.

“I was just going back out to look for you. Sorry I disappeared on you. Steve wandered off, and I thought it would be better if he didn’t go looking for trouble alone. Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, that’s alright. You don’t have to know. Here, sit down. I’ll make you some tea.”

You sank down into the couch cushions, pulling the quilt from the back to wrap around your shoulders. Betty’s quiet, distracted singing in the kitchen made you smile, and you let yourself be lulled into a sort of half sleep. You couldn’t quite tell how long it lasted until the shrill ring of the telephone jolted you out of your seat.

“Hello?”

“It’s Steve. I need a favor.”

“A favor?” you repeated, your brows rising in disbelief. Steve Rogers had never asked for a favor in his entire life. You were almost positive. “Is everything alright? What do you need?”

“I know it’s getting late but… can you come over?”

“What happened?”

“He’s trying to act like he’s fine, but… I don’t think he is. If you can manage it… I think he needs you here.”

Your heart was beating frantically in your chest, and you squeezed your eyes shut for a moment to draw a shaky breath.

“I’m on my way.”

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Oooooooh boy. What are we thinking? How are we feeling? I know it hurts a little, but I swear I’m gonna fix it.

Comments, questions, concerns? I want to hear them all! Comment, reply, or shoot me an ask

Chapter 12

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Tags: @aubzylynn @shifutheshihtzu @internalbullshit @lilasiannerd @anyakinamidala @kennadance14 @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @iwillbeinmynest @wiintershero @scotlandasshole @netflixa @hardcorehippos @singingprincessstudent @pato-el-cerdito @sophiealiice @blue1928 @creideamhgradochas @tinuviel015 @jacks-on-krack @a-book-pressed-rose @fvckjamesbarnes @irunintospace @bbparker @rivedale @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun @feelmyroarrrr @breezy1415 @rrwilson66 @palaiasaurus64 @au-lola @buckybarneshairpullingkink @xxashy999xx @ladyslytherclaw @sebstanwassup @agentsinstorybrooke @promarvelfangirl @thinkwritexpress-official @yaszx @specs15 @sarahp879 @marveliskindacool @sadanddeadsoul @greeneyedgirls4 @kindaace @thankyouforanonymity @coley0823 @assbutt-son-of-a-bitch @boyzines @kaliforniacoastalteens @marvelavengers8 @winenighthoe @justjadepayne @withahintofpestoaioli @vintagepigeon @redlipstickhoe @notimetoblog @gimmebuckysloveorelse @raven-ur-mum @part-time-patronus @mizzzpink @mischiefnevermanaged94 @allmyheart2 @jamesbarnesbestgirl @haleypearce @beautifulfound @nomadicpixel @steggy4ever @sebbystanlover-vk @darkblueeyedperson @merlinlover @americasmarauders @staypastoral @sarrahthesmartiee @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @angryteapot @macanooni @everythingbooknerd @libbymouse @australianhorrorstory @christopher-evxns @im-a-light-child

#bucky barnes x reader #40s!bucky #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes imagine

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untaemedqueen · 4 years

Note

S&B has me quacking, istg. Alpha!Tae is so goddam sexy and caring. Seeing him so broken and on edge last chapter broke my heart. Protect him, please. Also, it's not very common to see characters start a family, specially a big one, and I find theirs so endearing. I want to see more of the pups, discover their personalities and the relationships with their protectors. Good job, I love this series! 💙 PS: for the love of God, give poor Jin a pup! 😂

Sjdkcjrhs I'm SO happy you're enjoying it!!!! I'll work hard to keep writing chapters that you enjoy!!!! 💜💜💜💜

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shadowturtlesstuff · 4 years

Text

again but better thoughts while reading

@polandbananas20

so my spelling is terrible in this but you know i was more focused on the book than how to spell.

Chapter 1) good intro and good starting tone. The lady next to her sucks. Good small establishment of shane.

chapter2)shane characterisation is still consistent. I like her two new roommates (will be best friends) . My guess is the boy in the kitchen will be pilot. Family means but not intentional. Has no confidence. I was right about the boy

Chapter 3) intro of pilot properly. He's good. I love the inner monologue of shane. Trying to keep eye contact, the surprise of having a normal conversation. It sets her character well. Intro to her blog which i would love to actually read (i hope there's at least one entry we can read) pilot is a musician but not. Business major. What crap.

Chapter 4) i really feel like shane, she is just typical fangirl/ dork and i love it. Its weird being english and reading about the things that shock them like pasta in bags.i understand the watermelon.we do get to read ‘shanes writing’ but its her personal jornal not her blog.

Chapter 5) fun chapter. Intro to rome. Love the idea that shane is heavy handed and violent. Short, not alot happened other than small character establishment.

Chapter 6)intro to creative writing class which i want/need in my life.more beatles. Woman on plane works at starbucks, will she make more appearances?

Chapter 7) the drama???or at least wht will be the drama. Pilot has a gf, called amy (wish it was me) (wait no, bc i know that plot doesnt actually like amy anymore bc he obviously likes shane. So i take it back. I want to be shane, i mean i basically am like her but oh well.)

Chapter 8) parents. Overprotective, think they know best. Urgh. guarantee one of shanes new friends fight back to her parents to support her life choices, that do not include doctor.

Chapter 9)gets an internship at travel mag company. Thats it…..

Chapter 10)rome. Looses purse. Pilot to the anxiety riddled rescue by telling his own life story about his wallet to help calm her nerves.distracts her. Basially he would do anything for shane already.re count of rome trip from her jornal again which is a good touch to further the plot. This is making me want to read dan brown (ish) all of two books i own of him

Chapter 11) the postcards are a nice touch that i hope someone reads???? Travel buddies..just saying.chad..hmmm,im like shane,well see if he is good enough for babe. Her GODDAM stupdi mean cousins being mean on her facebook, and babe seeing (best friend moment) about pilot and the whole teasing about having a boyfriend.

Chapter 12) he didnt see (but i think he did but istn sayin anything) paris i shappening. Babe is bff confirmed and i want her as my friend

Chapter 13)angry birds addiction starts. Level three, weak, shoulder touching it romance confirmed.awwww pilot 100% waited to sleep so he could see shane safe in bed

Chapter 14) pilot with a french accent, enough said. The flirtinggggg. The plane woman is back??in paris with them????

Chapter 15)pilots choices of the back in time thing are both wit shane. Its so obvious and i love it. Pilot as a fake fangirl about the eiffel tower. More flirting,kind of. Oh god chad no.he did it. Goddammit.nooo he wull run babe and shanes friendship and maybe her and pilot. ‘Assbucket’ indeed. Her an pilot are fine and i really believe her and babe will be because when she nearly gets robbed babe giver her a sympathetic smile. Not much to go on but i have hope.

Chapter 16)okay so, fav chapter, she finally spills her guts that she has anxiety basically, that she is premed with strict parents and this is scary whilst pilots lies in bed with her to relax her bc he heard her crying. He only ecoureges her slightly before going back to his bed and sleeping. My heart, i swear, soon the roles reverse and pilot will say why he is in london and all that.

Chapter 17)babe and shane bffs confired. Chad is the worst confirmed. Of course it wasnt break up call. Of course she wants to vist. Of course pilot is to cowardly to break up and just accepts them going to paris together. Of freaking course.

Chapter 18) do not get over pilot, it wont work. Rugby guy nooooo!im team pilot how dare you kiss shane! Wow, city of glass mention. I want to make a list of every bookmentioned.

Chapter 19) pilot is not himself (obviouls) shane is worried. She is still lying to her parents an feeling bad about. Rugby guy is thankfully a no go. Pilot finds out about the kiss and guy and is clearly silently jealous.

Chapter 20)aww shane! Im sorry pilot sucks currently. And a stupid guys trip with flat four. No. and devil chairs.

Chapter 21)1)love the book talk. The loneliness is kicking in, pilot man up for gods sake

Chapter 22)this red-head plain weirdo is back and going through her list like some sort of mentore. Omg!!! No. amy is here, i dont hatte her but can she not. Also, her dad…. No! (this is the stand up moment i was on about, i hope)

Chapter 23) i do not like her dad. At all. Nooo shane...no. they found out. And acted like assholes.

Chapter 24) n1!ahhhh no! Amy has her notebook. The end is nigh.im going to cry i feel like shane.

Chapter 25) the family dinner-family outing. Niether of them manuped and shane is depressed

Chapter 26)back in america. Still hasn’t told pilot but you know it is a slow burn

Chapter 27) I, wait? Marry, some guy? Like no. I know it’s been what six years but no. I refuse.i don’t like this so called Melvin. It’s okay she doesn’t want to marry him. She goes to see pilot and finally mans up and tells him and asks if she made it and and pilot finally man’s up and tells her no she didn’t. They get stuck in an elevator

Chapter 28) the elevators doing something. Shane wants to re do London cuz she hates life

Chapter 1?) they are both back in London? Both having the same what ever is happening?

Chapter 2) omg. Plane lady took them back to staRt over and pilots mad about it (obv)

Chapter 3)so… they got mad but started over and I’m excited. 100%they won’t press the restart button. I’m calling it now. Cuz pilot knows he now has a chance to do the what if’s/

Chapter 4) they keep there distance but we all know it won’t last

Chapter 5) tipsy Shane? Shawarma

Chapter 6) babe thinksthere is something going on with them( again)

Chapter7)the story about fake pilot, and the kiss. Ahhhhhhg

Chapter 8)they found the button. Shane doesn’t want to go back. I do t want them to go back. They don’t go back thank god

Chapter 9) da Vinci code flirting somehow.. Shane tells him it won’t happen u less he breaks up with last Amy.

Chapter 10) he will break up with Amy and laris is gonna happen.

Chapter 11) so Shane is happy again, pilot broke up with amy. Shane tried to make peace with the devil chair.

Chapter 11) they are so adorable. Aswwwwewhwhehruysnwjw

Chapter 12) Uwuwnfhueia we get more Shane and pilot flirting,

Chapter 13) the opposite game is adorable. I like that they get to be themselves together without the awkwardness. The start of the move game. Thats my fav.

Chapter 14) they still have the angry birds obssesion but unlike me and supercard they know when to stop.the dance ‘move’ ahh i love. The line ‘but you do.’ just shows how much they know each other and how pilot would do anything to make her smile. And the lost move (not really a move but totally a move.) once again proves their love. Also we had that plot moment where he talks about why h chose to go to london. I adore shanes rant (?) about the things she loves. And then pilot doing the same thing. Shane vs chair is my life, like i battle chairs too.

Chapter 15) what is tfios? Ooohhh. Fault in our stars. (i googled it)i probably shouldve known by the whole always part. The dance move came back to bite pilot in the ass and now they are dancing together. Ew chad. Yes shane! That is what chad deserves.

Chapter 16) they get intimate and gigly and happy and aaaawwwhww

Chapter 17) im glad shane still rememebers to be friends with babe and not forget her in her lovestick state currently.

Chapter 18) her postcard….the questions that haunt her so much. Sort of accepting them herself too. She finally got to do wrecking ball, they miss internship , oh no…. Start if a downall??

Chapter 19) shane and pilot have fallen HARD

Chapter 20) the article is off the table. Amy is there. What the hell. No. omg pilot no, you moron. THEY BROKE UP!!! Which is fair, a break is needed. They both get back on track and then try and find a balance. Hopefully. Oh her laptop….shit...the feels when all your work is just gone. Tries to reset bc she is so depressed bc she thinks she failed again.

Chapter 21) she cant go back (thankfully) a bookstore is always a good haven to go to when your breaking down.

Chapter 22)the redemtion (?) time to try and fix everything and get back on track.the determination and the readiness to try and make everything better for herswelf, herself, and no one else is good. She makes friends with the people in her office and works harder than befire, try to get herself out of her comfort zone and experience things

Chapter 23) the confrontation with her parents. Oh god. I hope this goes well. Its going as well as it can go. Im happy shane is sticking up for her dream so she can be happy, uugh the whole dad speech of ‘i do everything for you, i know best because im older,’ i hate it. Ooohh she is making up with leo, talking ot him this time. Im happy. Leo is gay. Cool. i hate how he got broken up with becuase of his stupid family, it sucks. ‘There is no normal.’ perfect words.

Chapter 24) her thing is in the thing!!!( also good job me with words.) her article got published (there we go)this is where she learns she can be with pilot and be successful because tracy is with a famous author and they make it work with harder schedules. Trys to talk to her parents. This time she will make there relationship work.

Chapter 25)urgh ‘you live under my roof,on my dime…’ blah blah blah. We hate controlling parents that dont see that overprotecting and controlling their childs life does more damage than good. Babe suggest self discovery trip. Babe is a grat friends.

Chapter 26)the button thing will work…’im mad at pilot. Or am i mad at me.’ she cracked the code. She loathed herself because of her fear of failing, but because this time she worked on herself to make herself happy she no longer hates herself. Yet she still feels the same (ish) feeling that even though she worked harder and got further that she has no summer job when she gets back to the states, her parents still wont allow her choice of work.PILOTS BACK!!!!!!! She was about to press the button and he swooped in with his music.

Chapter 27) he still follows her blog and got help from babe. His speech, finished with lamppost. Where can i get a pilot?he uploaded their song. Working through the divorce thing again but it will be better because he has shane to talk to about it. Ahhh she got a job!!! Happy ending!!! My heart!!!eeeee…

epilogoue) she becomes a successful author. Her parents have accepted her and support her. Pilots a musician. He takes her to the weird plane lady and they gobe the locket back, then he makes the ultimate move. With pictures of where they fell in love he uses the beatles russain doll things to hide a ring and when she finds it she obviously says yes. And that its unfair cuz she cant top that move.

sooo...thats it.

i really enjoyed this book. i cannot wait for her next book. this post is longwinded i apologize but oh well? again i will link my website and review as soon as its done. so far in about five hours all i have is a paragraph so it may not be as soon as i want it to be

#again but better #polandbananasbooks #frenchwatermelonnineteen #shane #pilot #shane and pilot

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myfalsedevotion · 4 years

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Rare as Gold | All the Hues of Blue | Ch.1 Sneak Peek

Hiiii!!!!!!!!!!!! Don’t even know if people remember All the Hues, but, I felt like Calum’s and Ashton’s story wasn’t really complete during that fic, so I have been planning and drafting the next part of their story during the past year. This is a project I hold really close to my heart, and same as last time, feel happy to share.

I will start posting Friday, and those who read All the Hues probably remember I’m a very slow writer (probably because I over-stuff chapters with words...). Well. I have like 2.5 chapters finished out of 13 (I’ve been doing Nanowrimo and that’s all of what I’ve written, I’m going to die finishing this hahaha). It will take some time for me to complete the whole fic, but I’d love if any of you got back into the story with me.

Here’s a sneak peek of the first chapter, hope you enjoy if you read it!

***

“What are you making?” Ashton asked, hooking his chin over Calum’s shoulder.

“Nothing much.” Calum shrugged, turning his head around for a quick kiss before he turned his attention back to the stove, stirring the mix on the pot.

Ashton had just put on Calum’s dad’s old Frank Sinatra Christmas record, and the soft sounds of I’ll be home for Christmas reaching the kitchen were making Calum feel even more rueful over missing Christmas in this place. Next year he was going to convince Ashton of having Christmas dinner here. He didn’t care how or where they would have their families stay. He’d pay for a goddam hotel. Just to get Christmas in his home, with Ashton.

“Smells great.” Ashton noted, leaving a kiss on Calum’s neck that made him think Ashton was maybe thinking the same.

“If you give me two minutes, you’ll taste it.” Calum laughed, patting Ashton’s hands on his stomach, the older letting go and hopping into the counter as Calum busied himself turning the stove off and serving the mix into two mugs.

“What’s that?”

“Pumpkin spice latte.” Calum grinned as he left the pot on the sink, filling it with water.

“I didn’t take you for a pumpkin spice latte guy.” Ashton joked from behind him.

“You’ve ordered them before at Starbucks, I wanted to try making them for you.”

“If you continue making all this stuff at home for me the ones outside won’t ever match up.”

“Would that be so bad?” Calum inquired, shifting to look at Ashton, who was observing him from his perched up position with an amused smile pulling at his lips.

The older shook his head in answer before adding, “It’s just… you’re spoiling me rotten.”

“Oh, am I?” Calum wiggled his eyebrows, walking until he was standing in between Ashton’s legs, hands clutching his thighs, pressing himself close and smirking at Ashton. The older broke out laughing, but he was also blushing, so Calum checked that box of still being able to make him blush so easily even after a year. It was an awesome feeling.

“You know what I meant.” Ashton complained. His eyes were fixed on Calum’s, his breath coming a little harder than before. It just fuelled Calum even more.

“I can spoil you rotten, for real.” He casually dropped, wanting to see Ashton’s reaction.

It had been a couple of weeks since the last time they switched. Calum was a sucker for an order, and yeah, having Ashton calling the shots did it for him. But… he kind of missed this game too. Missed having Ashton panting underneath him as he kept his wrists pinned down, giving him everything, making him feel good.

Ashton was blushing a tenfold, but he also hadn’t said no to it. Calum leant forward slowly, giving Ashton every chance to break out laughing and refuse what Calum was proposing. When he didn’t, Calum nuzzled his nose before lightly brushing his lips with Ashton’s, taking in the way Ashton’s breath hitched and smirking at it. A year on and still it surprised Calum how much a sound like that could turn him on. He left a soft kiss on the corner of Ashton’s mouth and then stepped back, content when the older seemed to follow him for another kiss.

Spoiling Ashton rotten wasn’t just about sex, though, so with a smile he turned back to the fridge and searched it for the whipped cream. Those lattes wouldn’t drink themselves on their own.

“You want cream?” He asked innocently, turning back to Ashton.

The older was flushed to his ears, his hands clutching the edge of the counter as he nodded quickly, clearly not trusting himself to speak. Step one completed. The innuendo was just making everything better, and the black-haired boy had to fight hard not to start giggling right then and there. He could hear the turntable on the background, the white noise filling in the silence after it having played the record entirely.

“Cinnamon?” Calum asked next as he stepped around Ashton to get to their spices, reachingfor the nutmeg, ginger and cinnamon he already had used in the mix.

“Do you really have to ask?” Ashton choked.

Calum did giggle that time, leaning for a kiss that Ashton eagerly returned before he finished assembling the beverages.

“Here you go, baby.” Calum grinned, handing Ashton his favourite mug with almost too much whipped cream topping it and lots of cinnamon sprinkled over it.

“Thank you.” Ashton laughed, shaking his head before he tried taking a sip, very obviously burning his tongue as he scrunched up his face. “How can that still be scalding hot?” He complained.

Calum stared at him for a full minute before he burst into giggles, raising his hand to wipe away the cream moustache that had stayed on Ashton’s upper lip before answering.

“Shall we sit down on the couch for a bit? We can watch a film or something.” He suggested.

“A movie? I thought…?” Ashton trailed off, squinting at him.

“A movie for now.” Calum giggled, closing the distance between them and giving a playful bite to Ashton’s neck, where he knew the older was extra sensitive. “We’ll see what else later.” He winked at Ashton, leaving the kitchen with his mug, going towards the turntable and switching it off, closing the lid and going straight for his side of the couch.

#cashton fic #5sos fic #cashton #5sos #does anyone even read over at ao3 anymore tho #hahahaha #welcome to the ride those who do!#💙💙💙#all the hues of blue #rare as gold #excited for this 😍

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lizshine74 · 15 years

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Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison

I have affection for masterful use of repetition. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that I grew up in a musical and religious household, that I learned early on the power of a chorus to move you on a deeper level of consciousness. Even as I shed the religion of my childhood, I clung to music, trading in devotional tunes for the secular, The King James Bible for Leaves of Grass. I was thinking about this very thing the other day as I sat in Washington Square in San Francisco. I had just visited the Beat Museum and purchased a think paperback copy of Allen Ginsberg’s “Howl”. I was reading the poem again for the first time in years, noticing more than ever the influence of repetitious Whitman. And now I’m thinking of this moment again as I narrow down my list of topics to analyze regarding Toni Morrison’s Song of Solomon. Her use of repetition as a means to deliver her visual and thematic message is lyrical, worth examination. In an interview titled, “The Art of Fiction”, Morrison described her work in Song of Solomon as “painterly”. In the first chapter, we can certainly see how the repeated use of color engages us visually in the bizarre suicide that opens the novel and introduces the issue of race. Every page of the first ten pages contains numerous literal (as in “yellow house” (3) ) and figurative (as in “sunshine cake” (10) ) references to the colors red, yellow, and blue. The impact is that it indeed feels like a painting. In her description of the only two patients of the only black doctor in town every admitted to Mercy Hospital, “both white” (5), Morrison begins a repetition of color that will continue throughout the entire novel. The repeated labeling of black and white makes race an issue that the reader can’t ignore. In her narrative and in the songs included in her narrative, Morrison repeats the ideas and images that are at the heart of her narrative. “O Sugarman done fly away” (6), the rose-petal lady sings as Robert Smith leaps to his death wearing big blue wings. When Milkman experiences transformation in the end of the novel it’s the song of his ancestors that helps him, “Solomon done fly / Solomon done gone / Solomon cut across the sky / Solomon gone home”. Flight and wings are repeated throughout the novel in the songs and in the narrative. Even on a sentence level, Morrison uses parallel structure to “sing” her story, “The women’s hands were empty. No pocketbook, no change purse, no wallet, no keys, no small paper bag, no comb, no handkerchief. They carried nothing” (260). Black, white, gold, mercy, justice, deserve: in passage after passage, Morrison repeats words as a kind of chant below the narrative, deepening the overall impact of the story. Nowhere is this chanting more evident than in Milkman’s transformation from Macon Dead Jr. to a man overflowing with gratitude for life, as in this scene when he comes home to his lover, Sweet: “He couldn’t get back to Shalimar fast enough, and when he did get there, dusty and dirty from the run, he leaped into the car and drove to Sweet’s house. He almost broke her door down from the incredible high that had begun as soon as he slammed the Byrd woman’s door…’I want to swim!’ he shouted. ‘Come on, let’s go swimming. I’m dirty and I want waaaaaater!’ Sweet smiled and said she’d give him a bath. ‘Bath! You think I’d put myself in that tight little porcelain box? I need the sea! The whole goddam sea!’ Laughing, hollering, he ran over to her and picked her up at the knees and ran around the room with her over his shoulder. ‘The sea! I have to swim in the sea. Don’t give me no itty bitty teeny tiny tub, girl. In need the whole entire complete deep blue sea!’” (327).

Alliteration, internal rhyme, and the repetition of swim and sea make this passage like a sermon, moving you with sound and rhythm as much as meaning. Often I attempt such rhythmic communication in my writing. It’s not easily to pull off consistently. It doesn’t always get the reception you’d want, particularly in a culture of readers who’ve been taught that the repeated occurrence of words in what they write is redundant and who are saturated in punchy, straight-forward prose. Oh, but I love it when a writer lapses into a musical mix of words that elaborate on the moment, that sound good and repeat. Morrison’s Song of Solomon is both painterly and song-like and as we know, painting and song are powerful ways to deliver meaning, to move, if movement is what you’re after.

Buy my books here.

Interested in hiring me as a coach to get you boosted with your writing goals?Find free resources and information here.Some past posts to keep you making time: Adjust your pace accordingly.It’s about the routine and how you shake up the routineThere are things you will have to give upSee it to achieve itWashing the dishesWrite slowlyA celebration of the pauseMonday, a run through the driving rainZen accidentGet out of your comfort zone

Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison was originally published on Make Time.

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embracetheapocalypsewithme · 7 years

Text

Embracing the Apocalypse, Part 17: Well Fuck Me Gently with a Chainsaw

It’s a cold and snowy Canadian winter day up here, and I could use some angsty smut to get my mind off of it. Enjoy!

Summary: The scavenger team return from their mission and life returns to normal. Almost normal. Rebecca and Negan are still on the outs. Will they kiss and make up?

Word Count: 2,989

Content Warnings (or selling points?): Smut, Negan, Negan being Negan, language, boobs, and erectile dysfunction.

Part 1: The Tale of Thelma Facefuck

Part 2: What’s Up, Doc?

Part 3: A Successful Job Interview Begins with a Firm Handshake and Ends with a Salty Surprise

Part 4: A Crack in Everything

Part 5: Sorting Duty Sucks

Part 6: A Faint Whiff of Bullshit in the Air

Part 7: Turn and Face the Strange

Part 8: Poor Life Choices

Part 9: In Which Negan is a Total Jerk

Part 10: No Plan

Part 11: Negan Settles Rebecca’s Hash

Part 12: I know Where That Hand Has Been, Negan

Part 13: Gimme Danger

Part 14: The Loneliest Hours of the Morning

Part 15: Well, Fuck You Too, Kitty!

Part 16: That Escalated Quickly

Part 17: Well Fuck Me Gently with a Chainsaw

Part 18: Shards of Glass

Tag List Roll Call: @negans-network @lucifers-trash-stash @unicorn-blood-splatter @opheliadawnwalker3 @thedeadwalks @ali-pennell @negans-dirty-girl @grab-my-boner

Read on AO3 here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/8807527/chapters/21997385

Part 17: Well Fuck Me Gently with a Chainsaw

The group began their journey back to the Sanctuary the next morning after loading themselves up with the supplies they had scavenged from the building. Rebecca was content that she had proven herself to the others, and she could feel them gradually warming to her as the group together, joking and enjoying one another’s company.

As the day wore on, her thoughts returned to Negan and her feelings of pride were dampened by memories of their fight the night before. He travelled with Chris at the head of the group while she stayed at toward the back to chat with Phil and Ben, avoiding Negan as much as possible. The fearless leader had spent most of the day with a scowl etched into his features and remained unusually silent, only breaking the tranquility to bark clipped orders at the team in a tone that was more aggressive than she had ever heard him use before.

They stopped for the night in the same field that they had camped in on the way out, and Rebecca took the first guard shift again. Sitting atop the small hill, she found herself hoping that she would see his hulking form lumber from the group to sit with her again. Maybe she would apologize for getting frustrated with him. Maybe he would tell her that he didn’t mean the things he had said.

Rebecca spent the two hour shift alone in the dark.

Chris came to relieve her after two hours. As she descended the hill and made her way to her sleeping bag, her eyes were drawn to Negan’s body lying on the ground at the other end of the camp. For a moment she thought she could see his eyes reflect the light from the dying fire before he closed them, pretending to be asleep. But that might have been wishful thinking on her part.

She slept alone with her back to him. In the morning, they moved on.

***

Negan was in a shitty mood. He had been this way for the duration of the week following the scavenger team’s return to the Sanctuary after their mission to the nursing home. Rather than being able to shake it off as he normally would, the negative feelings had only deepened as the days passed. He tried his best of stay busy, occupying his time with meetings and other administrative bullshit, but there seemed to be too many hours in the day.

He spent his nights barely sleeping. Instead he lay awake in his bed, his thoughts unwillingly dragged back to Rebecca over and over. A part of him, the adult part he supposed, wanted to see her and to apologize. At the same time, the more stubborn and childish side of his personality wouldn’t give her that satisfaction. Besides, she was in the wrong too, so fuck her!

A few days following their return, he had nearly broken down and extended the proverbial olive branch to her after a meeting with Chris. The two men had met in his office to discuss tactics and future scavenging missions, during which time Chris had brought forward some of Rebecca’s suggestions.

“How’s she working out? She still doing ok?” Negan had asked as casually as possible.

“Well, that depends on what you mean,” Chris said and then lowered his voice, “She’s full of great ideas, but I feel like she’s starting to deteriorate physically for some reason. She says that she’s just tired, but honestly she looks like shit and a few of the guys have seen her outside in the middle of the night just walking around.”

“Fuck,” Negan’s face fell for a moment before he could regain his neutral expression, “That sounds serious. Think you should make her go see Krouse?”

“I had considered it, but thought that she might take the order better from you.”

“And why would you think that, Christopher?” Negan asked, his eyes narrowing.

“No real reason. You just seem to have some kind of rapport with her. At least that’s what it felt like during the mission. Maybe I’m wrong.”

“Maybe you are fucking wrong,” Negan said, his gaze still burning holes into Chris, “And maybe you should mind your own goddam business.”

“Sorry. I was trying to be diplomatic,” Chris replied, seemingly unfazed, “It’s just that there’s been talk about you and her. It’s just gossip, really. You know how things go around here. A woman gets promoted into a good position quickly and people start to make up rumours about you restarting –“ he cut his train of thought off abruptly.

“Continue,” Negan said, “Restarting what?”

“Playing favourites with certain women who might not normally have gotten so far on their own,” Chris never broke eye contact with Negan as he spoke, “I know that Rebecca is talented, and that she deserves to be where she is. But not everyone here is privy to that information. And so rumours get started. That’s all I’m saying. I thought you would want to know.”

“Well, thank you for bringing this ridiculous bullshit to my attention. You can go now,” he said coldly.

Chris stood wordlessly and left the room. Negan strode to the large window that overlooked the area outside of the fence. With his eyes scanning aimlessly across the surrounding countryside, he turned over the information he had gleaned from the conversation. Someone either knew or suspected that he and Rebecca had been closer than just employer and employee, and they were spreading that information around.

Julie and Ryan were the only two who knew about them for sure, and Rebecca seemed to believe that Ryan was trustworthy, though Negan had his misgivings. On the other hand, he had put his trust in Julie to keep her mouth shut about the things she had walked in on. Perhaps that trust had been misplaced.

Turning abruptly from the window, he muttered a stream of curse words that would have been very in place on a pirate ship before making his way across the room and to the door. This was getting ridiculous. He would find Rebecca and apologize, and then he would make her go see Krouse himself. There was clearly something going on with her, and she needed help.

His hand hovered over the door handle for a moment as his mind brought him back to the night they had spent together in the nursing home. He remembered how her tear-rimmed eyes gleamed in the moonlight as she pulled on her clothing before turning from him and muttering the words, “Bye then,” dismissively. She hadn’t even looked back before slamming the door on him, thus ending whatever it was they had. Maybe if she had looked back and shown any modicum of remorse, he would have said something. Instead she had cut him off as if he had meant nothing.

So, why should he be the first one to break? Rebecca was not his responsibility, and she clearly felt she could take care of herself. His hand lowered from the door handle, dropping to his side as he shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. He could feel a headache coming on from the stress of the past week. Rebecca was really getting to him, and he needed to put an end to it.

“Fucking fuckity fuck!” he hissed to himself before grabbing the handle and yanking the heavy door open. Still fuming, he marched decisively down the hall in the direction of the commissary. It was time to pay Julie a visit.

As Negan made his way toward his destination, he hummed tunelessly to himself with his gaze fixed ahead. Making no attempt to greet, or even look at anyone he passed, he nearly took out several people who managed to step aside at the last minute and avoid being bowled over by him. He was on the war path today and god help anyone who got between him and the goal of fucking his former wife into oblivion.

His pace slowed as he approached the room that housed the Sanctuary’s more frivolous items. Julie sat atop a stool just behind a wooden counter, with her elbows on the smooth surface and her chin perched between her hands. Her red hair shone in the light that had snaked its way from the windows to the spot where she sat. She looked bored as fuck until she noticed Negan approaching her. Then she just looked annoyed.

“What?” her voice was cold and emotionless as her blue eyes behind hooded eyelids that were weighed down with disinterest.

“Hey! Let’s go fuck!” was the opening line Negan chose to go with on this day.

“Piss off!” her features twisted with disgust, “Fucking dickbag…”

“I’m serious. Close up and come with me. You can take the rest of the day off and I’ll find someone to re-open once we’re done.”

Julie’s gaze narrowed, “What? Did the little lady with the big ass break your heart?”

“Rebecca? No. She was just some slut I was playing with. I thought it might be nice to switch it up from my usual type. You know I don’t have a fucking heart!”

“Uh-huh,” Julie’s voice had taken on a sarcastic edge, “And what exactly is your usual type?”

“Sexy ladies, like yourself,” he said as he leaned against the counter, bringing his face toward her, “So, how about it? Want the rest of the day off? And how about tomorrow too? Hell! Take the whole week.”

“Are you fucking serious this time?” her eyes lit up slightly at the mention of a week off.

“Yes! Of course!” Negan’s eyes landed on a young man strolling toward them, paying no attention to where he was going. Pointing directly at the very confused adolescent’s face he bellowed, “You! Get your pimply ass over here!”

The young man’s eyes widened as panic took over, “M-me?” he stammered.

“Yes, fucking you! I don’t see anyone else in the hallway, do you?” Negan’s voice dripped with contempt and impatience.

The young man tentatively walked toward tem, looking as though he feared that Negan would bite him if he got too close to the man, “Wh-what can I do for you, sir?”

“You can plunk your ass down on this stool for the rest of the day and keep track of the stock and the points of anyone who buys shit. Think you can handle that?”

“I’ve never been trained for this job, sir,” the young man replied.

“It’s not exactly a hard job, kid. You’ll be fine,” he motioned for Julie to follow him as she came out from behind the counter, throwing a glance over her shoulder at her replacement. Negan grabbed her arm and tugged her in the direction of his room before calling back at the boy as an afterthought before turning around a corner, “And don’t fucking steal anything!”

***

A teasing smile played upon Julie’s mouth as she entered Negan’s bedroom and spun around to face the room’s owner, who was following behind her. Negan’s stomach fluttered with something he had not felt for so long that he scarcely recognized the feeling at first.

(fuck! am i actually nervous to fuck julie?)

As soon as the thought entered his mind, he dismissed it as being utterly ridiculous. He had fucked Julie hundreds of times, and in every imaginable way that was humanly possible during her stint as one of his wives. It was true that they hadn’t been together for several years, but he couldn’t imagine that he would be nervous to rekindle their former relationship.

“This place is just like I remember it!” the redhead exclaimed, “I guess Sherry didn’t feel the need to redecorate,” her smile faltered as she noticed the peculiar expression on Negan’s face, “What the fuck is wrong now?”

“Nothing!” he replied almost too quickly, plunking himself down on the edge of the bed, “It’s just weird being here with you after so long. That…and you look fucking sexy as fuck today.”

He hoped that his compliment would sound convincing to Julie, because it set off every one of his personal bullshit detectors. After stripping off his jacket and throwing it into a nearby armchair, he walked to the bed and sat on the edge, his eyes roaming over the young woman’s body.

“Like what you see?” she asked, her eyes softening seductively. Julie took a few steps forward, until her slight frame was standing between Negan’s opened legs, her chest inches from his face, “You can touch if you want to.”

Negan took a deep breath and lifted his eyes to meet hers before placing a hand on either one of her breasts and squeezing them slightly, “Mmm. Those are even nice than I remember. Did your tits get bigger, Jules?”

The woman giggled with delight, “I don’t know! I don’t think so…” she brought her hands down to the hem of her shirt before lifting the thin garment over her head. Once this was accomplished, her hands disappeared behind her back to unclasp her bra. As the second item of clothing fell to the floor she asked, “What do you think?”

“I think they look fucking great!” he said, trying his best to sound sincere as he brought his mouth to meet her hardened nipple, taking it between his lips and swirling his tongue around it. Julie let out a slight sigh of contentment as she moved her hands to stroke his hair lightly before placing her knee against his crotch to feel his arousal.

“Hm. You’re not very excited yet. Maybe I should see if I can fix that,” she purred and pushed him back into the bed as she straddled him, pressing her body against before kissing his mouth deeply. Once her tongue broke through the barrier of his lips, Negan felt his stomach tighten again as a sour taste rose into the back of his throat. It was becoming apparent that this was not simple performance anxiety.

A memory nagged at the back of his mind; something distant and bitter was bubbling to the surface. He recalled the first time he had cheated on his wife, Lucille, with one of the secretaries at the middle school he had worked at. They had only been married for two years at that point. He remembered that same tightness in his stomach, and the same sour taste. He also remembered the remorse he had felt afterward as he drove home after inventing a plausible excuse to tell her.

(not like it stopped you, fucker! not that time, or the dozens of other times either)

He pushed the memories aside and kissed Julie back as passionately as he could before grabbing her around the waist and flipping her onto her back with a growl. Lowering himself on top of her, he began to tail kisses across her neck and collarbones before returning his attention to her breasts. Julie arched her back and let a dramatic moan break the silence of the room. She had always been a great actress, and today was no exception.

Lifting her head from the bed’s surface to look Negan in the eye, she began to undo her jeans and lower them from her hips, “I think it’s time for you to fuck my brains out, don’t you?”

Negan froze at the realization that he was in no way physically prepared for intercourse at that very moment. In fact, his cock hadn’t so much as twitched once during the course of their foreplay.

“What?” asked Julie, her face hardening, “What the fuck is with your face right now? You look horrified.”

Negan cleared his throat and attempted to think of an excuse, “I…I’m more into giving at the moment, really. Wouldn’t you like me to eat you out until you come all over me?” his voice lowered to what he hoped was a sexy growl.

“Fuck no! I want to you fuck me,” she sat up abruptly, nearly smoking him in the face with her head, “So get this thing ready and get it inside me-“ as she spoke she cupped his cock in her hand, squeezing it roughly. Her words cut off at the realization that he was still very un-aroused.

“Yeah, I’m not really ready for that yet,” Negan said sheepishly, avoiding her eyes.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Julie’s voice rose, “Are you seriously fucking limp-dicked at the thought of fucking me?” she pushed him off her and slid to the edge of the bed before tugging her jeans back over her hips and zipping them up, “Maybe if I was short and had a huge fucking ass and a bad dye job with roots for days you’d be into me. Isn’t that right?”

“It’s not you, Jules. You’re fucking gorgeous. I’m just really tired, and things have been stressful lately,” he explained, carefully omitting his fight with Rebecca during the mission, “I thought that hooking up with you would get my mind off of it.”

“Fuck you, Negan!” she screamed, pulling her top back on and striding to the door, “I am not some fucking distraction for you when you get dumped by ugly fucking sluts like What’s-Her-Face from the supply room.”

“Her name’s Rebecca and you can watch your fucking mouth when you talk about her!” he bellowed, surprising even himself with the sudden anger that Julie’s words evoked.

“Don’t fucking talk to me again, asshole!” she yelled as loudly as possible before exiting the room and slamming the door so hard that it rattled the paintings hanging on either side of it.

Negan sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, breathing heavily while he calmed down. Maybe Rebecca had gotten further into his head than he had thought. Closing his eyes, he muttered under his breath, “Well, fuck me gently with a chainsaw.”

#comicnegan>#twd fanfiction #negan fanfiction #negan #negan smut

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