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adorethedistance · 3 years

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Party Hard - Owen Joyner x Reader

JATP masterlist

Warnings: drinking, partying, intoxication, non sexual stripping, swearing probably,

Words: 6343 (which, if you know me, is a FUCK ton)

Summary: Going from tipsy to full on drunk is a terrible idea, but especially when you’ve got a secret to hide that could mean the difference between preserving and ruining your relationship with your best friend.

A/N: A couple items before we get started: I think I’m back on my bullshit? I mean I wrote this fic and it’s three times the length of my normal fics. Also I wrote this headassery as a literal self insert me(ace) x someone and so there are a couple flaws here and there that make this something I’m not 100% proud of. Owen picks the reader up a few times and I’m aware this kind of thing can really effect someone’s experience with this fic so I do apologize for the lack of inclusivity in regards to body type/ableism. I’m falling really behind on school work because I just can’t find the motivation which either means y’all will be seeing a lot more of me soon or absolutely nothing at all. Not sure which yet.

“You’ve got it so bad.” Charlie rests his left arm on his best friend’s shoulder, tipping back the half-full angry orchard bottle he’d been nursing for the better half of an hour. Owen’s stare is immediately broken and he crosses his arms defensively.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.” Turning to meet his friend’s smug stare, Owen shoots Charlie a glare of annoyance before returning his attention to the girl on the dance floor. Surrounded by a gaggle of her closest friends, Y/n is dancing and singing her heart out to Fergalicious with Chelsea, Leila, Savannah, and Carolynn. The bunch of them share in sporadic laughs as they exchange ridiculous dance moves just to add to the fleeting moment’s laughter. An assortment of screeches and squawks blend together as they all prepare to sing the rap section of the song. Observing the level of excitement the girls have over the verse, Owen can’t help but laugh at the spectacle.

“Why don’t you just ask her out already?” Charlie inquires between sips of his cold drink.

“What?”

“Y/n. Why have you not asked her out.”

“We’re just friends.”

“Yeah. Because you haven’t asked her out.” Owen rolls his eyes before turning 90 degrees to fully face the smug guitarist. He turns about-face to prove a point, but another symphony of squeals at the next song choice drags his attention back to his other best friend on the dance floor. “You’re so whipped.”

“Am not.”

“Are too! Look, if you don’t ask her out tonight, I will.”

“You’re not even into her,” Owen protests unceremoniously. Setting the molasses colored bottle on the counter next to Owen, Charlie steps back and copies his position of crossed arms and a relaxed stance.

“You’re right, I’m not. But you are, and if that’s what it takes to light the fire under your ass then I’ll do it.”

“She wouldn’t say yes.”

“Are you sure? I mean, the only way to know for sure is to ask.” And with that, Charlie is off, speeding toward Y/n at a pace that launches Owen into an impulsive chase. To prevent his friend from doing something stupid, Owen shoves him in the opposite direction from the group of girls on the dance floor. What he hadn’t anticipated was Charlie moving so far so fast. Owen has longer legs, he’s supposed to be the faster one, not Charlie. That’s why he hadn’t anticipated turning away from his musical friend to come face to face with a very flushed Y/n. Her lip-gloss coated lips are parted as she catches her breath from all the dancing. They look so soft and inviting that Owen can’t help but stare, and doesn’t realize the several looks of confusion among the girls around him.

“Everything okay, Owen?” Snapping out of his hyper focused stare, Owen blinks a few times, trying to generate a reason for coming over.

“You’ve been dancing for a while.”

“...Yeah?”

“Let me fix you a drink?” His statement comes out as more of a question but the breathless girl agrees nonetheless. Owen extends his hand to her which she gladly accepts but not without a quick word to her friends.

“I’ll be right back, I’m getting a drink.”

Her friends aren’t stupid, quite the opposite actually. And they see right through Owen’s facade of fixing her a drink because she’d been ‘dancing a while’. Please. As if they didn’t know a desperate attempt at flirting when they saw it.

The pounding music from the backyard begins to fade and muffle once the pair step into the Shada’s beautiful kitchen space. Owen leads her to the kitchen island where he has her take a seat on one of the barstools in front of the high countertop. Stepping around the fixture, Owen busies himself with whipping up a drink for Y/n at the makeshift bar on the island. He doesn’t even have to ask what it is she wants. Ice, pink whitney, club soda, and a splash of lime juice mixed together in a red solo cup Owen had considerately written her name on before going all mixologist-mode.

“Your usual.”

“Thank you, sir. You know, I’ve only had a handful of barbecue chips since I got here, and I’m already tipsy, so this actually might get me completely drunk.” Taking a sip, Y/n hums out of pleasure, “Why do you make my favorite drink better than I make my favorite drink?”

“So you have a reason to keep me around.” At the sound of Y/n’s laugh, Owen cracks a smile in time with his favorite sound in the world. The blonde haired man leans forward to rest his weight on his left forearm. He stares at her with adoration seeping from his gaze, before lifting his own cup to drink with her.

“What is that?” she asks, sitting up taller to try and see into Owen’s cup over the island.

“Jack Daniels.”

“I want some.”

“No,” Owen answers swiftly albeit softly. Y/n, however, is not feeling as conciliatory.

“No?”

“Have you ever tried whiskey before?”

“Well, no-”

“You’re drinking a fruit flavored cocktail that’s like 30% nonalcoholic. A sip of this would knock you off your little ass.” Y/n frowns at his words and employs a fake pout of anger to guilt her now laughing friend. Despite her smile, she whines,

“You suck.” Owen merely shrugs unapologetically before sipping and wincing at his drink of choice. “So… how did your date go- with Amy?” And there it is. The question that’s been at the forefront of Y/n’s mind for the last 24 hours.

Owen met this girl Amy at a more professional house party type of event and they hit it off right away. They spent the night invested in conversation, sharing in a cacophony of laughter. Y/n had no right to be upset, but she was. Amy was drop dead gorgeous in that Mini length red, velvet dress that hugged her curves in all the right places. Her figure was snatched to the gods, and she was about 5’3”; a seemingly irrelevant thing to notice, but Y/n knew that was the height Owen loved in a partner. At least, based on all his previous flings. And not to mention, her beautiful golden blonde hair that extended all the way down her toned back. Amy was perfect to all standards including that of any straight man with eyes and undoubtedly Owen’s. They spent the entire night together, Y/n long forgotten despite having been Owen’s plus one.

Y/n on the other hand didn’t exactly view herself as the drop-dead gorgeous supermodel type. Seeing how Owen took an interest in her at that event, it was no wonder Y/n was jealous. In fact, she had been so jealous that she allowed their flirting to ruin her entire evening.

She had been invited platonically as Owen’s guest, but Owen didn’t feel guilty about leaving her alone once he saw Charlie was by her side the whole night. Little did he know Charlie was only there for her because Owen wasn’t. It was pity company. Pity company that she was grateful to have as she cried into a few gin and tonics. Y/n avoided telling Charlie about her feelings for the adorable drummer, but with the way events transpired, he had figured out what it was that had upset her.

Charlie so badly wanted to give Owen the guilt trip of a lifetime. And he did once he and Owen were alone, heading home in Charlie’s orange hatchback car. He did so by telling Owen about how his best friend had spent the entire evening crying into gin and tonics. ‘Y/n doesn’t even like gin and tonic’ was all Owen could come up with.

When he inquired about why his best friend was crying, Charlie said he didn’t know, but it may have had something to do with the fact that the person who invited her spent the whole night ignoring her; he left it at that, leaving Owen to connect the dots, sort of. Owen had come to the realization that Y/n must have been crying over him, but why? Unable to comprehend a reason, he pushed the situation to the back of his mind. So far back that when Amy texted him that same night, he immediately responded and eventually set up a date for them to get dinner alone Friday evening.

The date was fine. Objectively there was nothing wrong with it. But every time Amy took a sip of the gin and tonic she had ordered, he couldn’t help being reminded of Y/n that night. It took Owen a solid thirty minutes to finally conclude that maybe Y/n was... jealous? Of what? Of Amy? Quickly reviewing a long list of qualities, identical to the one that Y/n had thoroughly checked through when she first saw the blonde, Owen realized she was indeed jealous of Amy. But why? What did Amy have that Y/n didn’t?

Oh.

His initial conclusion in the car with Charlie had to be right. Y/n was crying over him, and seemingly jealous of Amy, all because Amy had his attention. Why was that a problem?

Oh… no. No, Y/n does not have feelings for him. Y/n is... well, Y/n. His best friend, his partner in crime, his confidant, there’s no way she’s in love with him. There’s a different reason as to why she’d been crying into drinks she didn’t like. And that different reason is why her text replies have been short and cold when he had asked for date night conversation pointers. And that different reason is why her smile kept faltering on FaceTime when he was asking for fashion advice for his date.

Y/n is not in love with her best friend.

Owen had spent the past year pushing down his feelings for the girl that threatened to bubble over the top. If Y/n was truly into him, he would’ve acted on them. But she isn’t, so he didn’t. At least, that’s what Owen told himself…

“It was alright,” he offers lamely as a reply to her inquiry. Y/n simply nods and takes another swig of her drink to dull the ache in the center of her chest.

“Just alright?”

“Okay, it was better than alright. She was great.” There’s a hole burning in the center of her heart, and against her better judgment, she expands the deficit by asking for more information.

“What does that mean- that she was ‘great’?”

“You know…” Owen trails off in search of the right words, some words, any words, but nothing comes to him. To sell her nonchalant demeanor, the hopelessly devoted girl is staring down into her cup as if it’s the most interesting thing in the room. She didn’t expect Owen’s eyes to be boring into hers when she looked back up, so she quickly musters a polite smile. Maybe the average onlooker couldn’t tell it was fake, but Owen knows something is off. He just knows. Because he knows her.

“How did those conversation pointers pan out?” She’s deflecting, he thinks.

“One of them worked.” I’m just feeding into it, he thinks.

“Only one of them?” He’s holding back something, she thinks.

“Well, yeah. We didn’t really do much talking if you get what I mean.” I don’t think I can handle this, she thinks.

“I see…” The pair stands together in a silence so tense they felt like strangers. It’s awful. Y/n and Owen hate every second of it, but what could they do? In a moment blinded by upset, Y/n reaches across the island to grab the newly opened bottle of grey goose and pours what must’ve been no less than three shots of liquid into her cup. No club soda or lemonade this time, she chugs down the rest of her drink in a flash; Owen stares at her in disbelief and shock.

Y/n hates being drunk, she likes being the designated driver, she’s never had straight up liquor in her life, and she’s a lightweight, that’s for damn sure. Owen knows all of these things and is even more surprised to see her reaching for an almost empty bottle of gin.

“Hey. Maybe you should take it easy, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re a lightweight and you know it. Put the cup down.” When Y/n shakes her head no, something in Owen snaps and his desire to be gentle is long forgotten. “Y/n. Put the drink down.”

“Why do you care, Owen?” In taking time to respond, Owen sees the opportunity and goes for it, taking the cup from her loose grasp and splashing it down the drain of the vegetable sink. “What the fuck?!”

“I think you’ve had enough to drink. Come on.” It’s only a matter of time until Y/n becomes an incoherent human being that’s impossible to wrangle, so Owen is very aware he’s on the clock. Snagging two Arrowhead water bottles in one hand, he takes Y/n’s hand in the other and brings her into the Shada’s den. There are only a few other people in the room, one is a couple and the other a pair of pining idiots, to which Owen becomes slightly wary. Not that the dynamic would change much. He and Y/n are practically a couple according to everyone around them.

Chelsea and Charlie are sitting fairly close together for just friends, on the chocolate brown loveseat facing the couch that Owen has plopped his increasingly intoxicated friend onto; Leila is sitting in a single armchair that a very tipsy Taylor is hanging over the back of to hug her shoulders. Upon seeing Y/n’s pouting expression Chelsea seeks more information,

“You good, fam?”

“He threw it down the sink!” She’s fading faster than Owen had hoped.

“I did. I poured what would’ve been her fifth and sixth shots down the sink.”

“Jesus, Y/n, are you trying to kill yourself?”

“What are you, a cop?” Even tipsy she’s still sharp as a tack. If Owen wasn’t frustrated with her at the moment, he would’ve probably laughed. But he is, so he didn’t. Slipping back into caretaker mode, he hands her one of the water bottles he snagged from the cooler on the way out. In her typical stubborn and petulant fashion, Y/n weakly throws the unopened bottle onto the couch cushion next to her. All their friends laugh but Owen isn’t having it.

“Y/n.” And it only takes a firm call of her name for the slumped over lightweight to glare at him but oblige. She retrieves the bottle and sticks her arm out straight toward Owen’s still standing figure.

“I can’t open it.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this fucked up,” Leila comments.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you fucked up period,” Chelsea adds on. Charlie laughs lightly before resuming whatever conversation the four of them had going pre-Owen and Y/n’s entrance.

Satisfied with the small sips she’s taking of her water, Owen relaxes and takes a seat next to her on the couch. The temporary break in her temper tantrum allows Owen to save his breath; he opens his own water bottle, taking a few drinks which ended up being half the bottle. He’s given her a good bit of room on the couch but it isn’t good enough for Y/n. It takes her a few failed attempts to screw on the cap of her water but once it’s properly sealed, she moves closer to her best friend. The water has acted like some magical temperament cure as Y/n’s previously permanent pout has disappeared.

Owen knows he and Y/n are close enough to where cuddling wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. But the way she’s burrowed into his side, picking up his seemingly ‘heavy’ arm to place it around her own inebriated frame, laying her head high up on his chest, and unintentionally resting her hand on his lower abdomen, something feels off. Her hand isn’t dangerously low, but low enough that the side of her limp palm has met the waistband of his jeans. Owen can’t help but feel his skin tingle and burn under her touch. Why is he so affected by her touch all of a sudden?

Owen is pulled from his snowballing thoughts by the sound of Y/n’s muffled voice against his chest. He leans down as far as he can which places his head on top of hers gently.

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Hey, you don’t need to be sorry,” he whispers just loud enough for her to hear. A tiny drop of warmth on his shirt under her head triggers Owen’s memory: Y/n’s an emotional drunk. She doesn’t get drunk often but when she does, she goes all in and becomes somewhat manic as a result. That accounts for her previous anger. Now it’s sadness, so in about ten minutes, she’ll be easily excitable and bouncing off the walls.

Y/n had carpooled with Leila and Chelsea to the party, and though Owen was upset about her not picking him up like they’d briefly talked about at first, he’s suddenly thankful for the arrangement.

“Let’s get you home, yeah?”

“Unhhh.” The lack of a coherent response is enough for Owen, and after finishing the rest of his water, he sits up on the couch.

“Where’s your house key? Hm?” The prospect of losing her key is absolutely devastating to Y/n as she begins to weep. Her imminent distress in response to Owen’s question has all their friends laughing once more; Leila speaks up,

“Check the left chest pocket of her jacket.”

Owen nods, noting the directions, and gently rolls his friend over on her back. Deciding against using her strength, Y/n flops over onto her other side which still allows Owen access to her pocket. His long fingers dwarf the button fastener on her jacket that she often struggles to open, and sure enough her sky blue house key is in her pocket just as Leila said.

“Thanks,” he acknowledges Leila before taking Y/n’s cold hands in his own larger ones to help her stand. It’s a bit of a struggle to stand and as a result, the fading girl leans a bit of her weight into Owen’s side. “You gonna say bye to our friends?”

Y/n nods a goodbye to each person in the room, moving from left to right naming Leila, Taylor, Chelsea, and then Charlie. Upon saying bye to Charlie the small girl starts to cry again, harder this time, much to everyone’s confusion.

“What’s wrong?”

“Charlie looked a-at me like he didn’t l-like me.” The entire room bursts out laughing, Owen included this time, but she’s still crying. “It’s no-not funny.”

“I know. You’re right, it’s not funny.” Owen’s exaggerated sympathy goes undetected by the very emotional Y/n as she presses her face into his grey long sleeve shirt. She reaches up to hug her arms around Owen’s neck for stability as she adds more tears to the tiny spot from before. “Can you walk?” He asks genuinely as more of her weight leans into him. The only response Owen gets is a few soft sobs, and in reaction to her messy state, lets out a subtle eye roll. He shakes his head before bending down to place one arm under her knees and the other behind her shoulder blades, sweeping her off the ground before she can protest.

“Would you guys tell Jer thanks and that I had to take her home?” A symphony of affirmations and goodbyes usher him out of the house, and once outside Y/n’s crying diminuendos into short sniffles and the occasional sigh.

“Here, be careful,” Owen panics as his friend nearly bangs the front of her head against the roof of his car. Once he cautiously places all her limbs in the passenger side, Owen shuts the door and hurries over to the driver’s side as if Y/n could hurt herself in the next five seconds. He places the key in the ignition but before he even touches the gear shift, he turns and looks quizzically at his best friend. The sniffling and sighs coming from her puffy face have lulled her into an almost unconscious state; Owen puffs out a frustrated sigh as he reaches across the entire car to grab Y/n’s seatbelt for her.

Another thing about drunk Y/n is that her emotional state makes her more likely to give in to physical impulses. So after she registers Owen leaning across her lap for the seatbelt, she grabs his shoulder so he doesn’t move away. The action surprises Owen and he turns his face to look into her half-lidded eyes. He’s trying to make sense of the action but his trailing thoughts are interrupted when the girl in the passenger’s seat leans forward slightly to put her face against Owen’s neck.

“I like your smell.” Owen tries so hard not to laugh in fear of upsetting her again, but he can’t conceal the smile growing on his face. He then gently pulls away from her grasp in order to actually start driving,

“Okay. Thank you.”

The car ride is composed of mostly comfortable silence with the occasional inebriated comment or nonsensical sound from the girl in the passenger seat; Owen had been so captivated by Y/n’s uncharacteristically relaxed state, he’d been driving on autopilot and instead of turning left to get on the highway that runs south to where her apartment is, he’d gone north to go to his own place. No big deal, Owen didn’t plan on leaving her intoxicated and alone, and she’s stayed the night plenty of times before now. What’s one more night? It isn’t until he puts the car in park and helps her out of the vehicle that Y/n clocks her surroundings.

“I don’t live here.”

“You don’t, no, but I do,” Owen replies simply before he slides out of the car. Y/n stays in the car as if Owen told her not to move, and looks up at him confusedly when he opens her door. In her tipsy state, she is able to recognize what Owen is doing and smugly places her hand over the buckle of her seatbelt. With her tiny palm over the red button, she begins giggling maniacally.

“What are you doing?” Owen asks with a frustrated sigh although he can’t help the small smile overtaking his features at the sound of her growing laughter. He doesn’t get a response, just more giggling which lets him know he’s going to have to do things the hard way now that she’s in a lifted mood. “Kid, you have to get out of the car.”

“You can’t make me.”

Owen takes a step back from the open door to reevaluate. Y/n always tells him to work smarter, not harder. Another one of her many bouts of wisdom is that you can keep the attention of children and adults alike with a vastly dynamic change in volume. The question is will she notice Owen using this tactic on her in her drunken state?

“Hey, Y/n/n,” his speech drops to a low whisper. “I’m sad, can you hold my hand?” The change in volume works exactly as described; completely convinced by the sincerity of his whispering, Y/n gives him her right hand. “Can I have the other one?”

When she nods a small ‘yes’ and gives him both of her hands, Owen finds himself fighting the urge to laugh at how easy that was. He takes both of her cool hands in his larger left one to reach across her body and release her seatbelt with a swift CLICK.

Luckily Y/n didn’t tangle herself up in the seatbelt, but she had other ideas for causing trouble. Owen helped her out of the car but once she was standing on her own two feet, she began running away from him. With a slam of the car door and a string of breathy curses later, he chases after his best friend before she can hurt herself on literally anything in the parking garage. The sound of Y/n’s laughter carries through the vacant space, and despite all her best efforts, Owen quickly catches up to her. Her giddy intoxication allowed for the suspension of disbelief that she could outrun the much taller Owen Joyner, but she’s sorely mistaken when his strong arms wrap around her waist and lift her feet off the ground. Y/n’s bouts of laughter are contagious; Owen finds himself laughing alongside his best friend. Setting her feet back on the ground he asks,

“Are you going to run away again if I let go of you?”

“Yeah,” she chokes out through the tail end of her laughing fit. The candidness of her reply prompts Owen to throw his head back, shaking it as if in disagreement with the universe itself,

“I appreciate your honesty.” And with that, Y/n screeches in glee as her best friend maneuvers her body in his grip to lift her over his right shoulder.

“Owen!”

“You did this to yourself, kid.”

The silent elevator ride up to his flat is comfortable relative to the current position they’re in. Y/n’s no longer fighting being carried but instead entertains herself by tapping out an intricate beat on the surface of Owen’s back.

“Guess what song this is.”

The beat she’s playing is close to incoherent and Owen tries to stifle his full laugh in fear of making her cry again. He’s been successful so far, but now having Y/n over his shoulder, she can feel the movement of his abdomen that was unintelligible by sight alone.

“Your favorite song,” he guesses insincerely.

“No, my favorite song doesn’t sound like that. It was sicko mode.”

“That was not sicko mode.”

“Owen, how come you don’t wear a badge?”

“What?”

“Because you’re the song police?” Owen can’t help but snort out a laugh even though the comment was made at his expense. Still sharp as a tack.

Once the pair reach the front door of Owen’s ‘bachelorette pad’ as Y/n liked to call it, he sets her back on the ground albeit reluctantly as he recalls why he was carrying her in the first place. Thinking quickly on his feet, Owen forms a plan that’s more likely than not foolproof.

“Hey, Y/n/n?”

“Yeah?” Her voice is still right behind him thankfully.

“Can I have a hug?” After a few seconds of silence in the hall, Owen begins to doubt his plan until he feels the weight of his best friend leaning on his toned back. With her cheek pressed against the middle of his spine, Y/n brings her arms around his waist, clasping her hands tightly together. Her semi-public display of affection allows Owen some time to unlock his front door. Once he props the door open, Owen realizes that Y/n probably isn’t going to let go any time soon and opts to waddle through the threshold with her still attached to him. He’s able to turn around and lock them back in for the night which makes the girl begin to laugh.

“Was this your plan all along? To get me drunk so you could lock me in your apartment and hold me prisoner for the rest of my life?”

“And I would’ve gotten away with it, too...”

“If it weren’t for those meddling kids and their dog.”

True to his imagination that Y/n wasn’t letting go any time soon, Owen swivels her around his torso so that he could hold her to his side rather than support her with his back. He now has his right arm over both of her shoulders as she continues to hug her best friend. The way she leans her head onto his chest makes Owen’s heartbeat the tiniest bit faster. ‘She’s drunk, she doesn’t know what this does to you’ is the mantra blaring through Owen’s subconscious. Shaking any and all sort of romantic thoughts out of his head, he begins to lead her back to his bedroom.

Flicking the lights on proves to be a mistake once Y/n starts groaning miserably, and Owen decides the floor lamp is a better option than the overheads. Much to Owen’s surprise and relief, Y/n moves to sit on the edge of his bed on her own volition. She’s not upright for long as she collapses into the sheets of his unmade bed that contemplated neatening before leaving the house; hindsight is 20/20.

“Hmm. I like your smell,” Y/n parrots despite already bringing up the topic on the ride home.

“This is the same cologne I always use.”

“No. I like your natural smell.”

“What?”

“I was reading up about pheromones the other day. And there was this thing that said when couples like each others’ scent, it’s like a primal way of seeing if you’re immuno-compatible with someone so your offspring have the best chance for survival. It’s an evolutionary thing for the survival of our species. Ants have pheromones, too.”

Sometimes she has trouble remembering to feed herself, but leave it to Y/n to remember extensive information about pheromones whilst intoxicated. The concept is intriguing to Owen, so he proceeds to ask questions, ignoring the tug on his heart he felt after hearing her say the word ‘couples’.

“So, if I like your scent, we’re immuno-?”

“Compatible, yeah. But it’s mostly me because you can sniff out my period.”

“I can what?”

“I read that men can tell when a woman is at her most fertile because that’s when they like her smell the best. They did a study where a bunch of men were introduced to a few different scents, and without fail, the one they liked the most or would describe as ‘sexy’ or ‘attractive’ was the scent they took from the woman who was ovulating.”

Y/n continues talking about what she learned about pheromones as Owen picks up a bit of the mess around his room. She returns to the topic of ant pheromones as he digs through his surprisingly large closet for something for his friend to sleep in. His temporarily bubbly best friend also notes that he should ‘sniff her now because she’s ovulating and he would like that’ which makes him laugh into the drawers of his waist-height dresser. Returning to find her still slumped over on the bed, he pats her leg and beckons her to sit up. After Y/n’s upright again, Owen hands her his classic black ‘BEANS’ t-shirt and a pair of briefs that won’t properly fit her but will fit better than a pair of his actual pants.

“Can you put these on for me?”

“Yeah.” Owen’s conflicted with both wanting to respect Y/n’s privacy by leaving the room, and prioritizing her safety, and not leaving her unattended at any moment. He comes to a compromise which is staying by her side but turning a full 180 to face the wall of his bedroom. A couple of moments pass until Y/n begins whining frustratedly.

“Owen.”

“Huh?”

“I can’t ubns-” her words become incomprehensible as she begins to cry again and Owen turns around to find her struggling with the buttons on her shirt, her jacket long discarded on the bedroom floor. This shirt: her white, cap-sleeve crop top with a peter pan collar that she wore for anything mildly significant, this was her favorite. Owen remembers her fussing about how she ruined it only to find that she just forgot to steam it one day. So with a little heat and water, Owen had fixed the shirt like nothing ever happened, and he’d do it a million times over again if it meant he got to relive seeing the smile that graced her face for the first time again.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t do the buttons.” She runs the back of her right hand against her tired eyes to wipe away her tears and Owen internally curses himself for the way the small action makes his heart flutter.

“Do you need help?”

“Yeah.”

“Listen to me, you are okay,” he sinks to kneel in front of Y/n as she sits tiredly on the edge of the bed. Owen doesn’t miss the slight tremble of his hands as he reaches up to unbutton her shirt, but he prays that she will. Through tiny sniffles and teary eyes, she watches his hands effortlessly work down the length of her shirt, each button modestly dancing between his fingertips. Once the short top is fully unbuttoned, Owen returns to his normal standing height and Y/n attempts to shrug the fabric off her body. She struggles lightly and knowing her frustration is imminent, Owen reaches down to gingerly push the sleeves off her shoulders. The light graze of his rough, calloused skin against her own skin sends electric-like shocks through the both of them; yet neither of them believed the other felt it too.

Owen hastily withdraws his hands and, without warning, Y/n quickly removes the bralette she was wearing. Owen’s eyes widen slightly at her lack of inhibition. He does his best to be a gentleman and swiftly redirects his gaze to the white ceiling fan that has all of a sudden become the most intriguing object in the universe. His lower peripheral vision indicates that she’s finally slipped the black tee over her head, but she begins sniffling more fiercely as she struggles with taking off her jeans. Owen sighs and drops to his knees once more in spite of himself, and aids his best friend in slipping the material over the length of her calves and off the tips of her toes. Hoping to speed up the process, he grabs the briefs he had brought her and unfolds them in preparation for helping her into them. His efforts are all for naught as Y/n forgoes the need for any more clothing and slides under the covers of his unmade bed. Owen then turns to leave the bedroom, opting to set up on the couch for the night before Y/n’s small voice is cutting through the comfortable silence.

“Where are you going?” He sighs,

“I’ll be right back, okay? I’ll get you some water and Advil for when you wake up tomorrow.” Y/n then nods acceptingly and allows her eyes to flutter closed as he leaves the room. Despite how tired she feels, Y/n won’t quite yet let herself sleep--not ‘til Owen is beside her. When he returns he sets the ibuprofen bottle on the nightstand before uncapping the Kirkland brand water bottle he had in the fridge. He coaxes her into sitting up just one more time so she can drink some of the water before falling asleep. She sits and rubs her tired eyes as she drinks and Owen has to physically force himself to look away from the adorable sight. He just wants to take care of her forever but things have always been strictly platonic between them.

The risk of making their friendship weird or awkward was just too great.

“Goodnight kid, I’ll be right outside if you need me.” Owen leaves without awaiting a response and lets out an annoyed sigh before setting himself up on the couch in his living room. He was so focused on getting Y/n to bed safely that he forgot to grab clothes for himself. Not a big deal. He simply strips down to just his underwear and climbs underneath the thick Pottery Barn throw blanket Y/n had gifted him as a housewarming gift. That and a fire extinguisher because ‘you don’t notice its absence until you need it’ she claimed. The memory makes Owen smile and he allows his eyes to close after a long day.

A long day that was about to get longer. Owen finds himself sinking further and further into sleep until he hears the padding of footsteps that are now in his living room. He’s too tired to open his eyes, and it’s not like he doesn’t already know who it is. What does surprise him, however, is the feeling of the familiar weight squeezing between the couch and his turned back.

“What are you doing?” He half mumbles into the night.

“You’re warm.”

“That was not the question, Y/n/n.” After not receiving a reply, Owen turns as best as he can to look at his friend who’s nestling her way into his sleeping arrangement for the night. “Kid-”

“I just wanna be with you.”

“Alright,” Owen sighs out of irritation, exhaustion, and a sliver of adoration before sitting up on the couch, “Come on.”

He stands up, fully expecting to have to drag her back to the bedroom, but finds relief in seeing her struggle her way off the couch. Slipping her tired hand into his unexpecting, larger one, Y/n allows her friend to lead her into the bedroom for the second time that night.

Owen considerately lifts the covers for her to climb back into before getting into the other side of the bed.

“Owen.”

“Hm?”

“Guess what.”

“What?”

“I love you.”

“Love you, too, kid.”

“No,” Y/n speaks in a casual tone as if she’s not divulging into her biggest emotional trepidation to date. “I love you, Owen.”

Owen can’t help the way his heart seemingly stops. The way the butterflies in his stomach are going wild. The way he wants to smile like he’s the biggest lovestruck idiot on planet Earth.

She’s drunk. She doesn’t know what she’s saying. She won’t remember this tomorrow.

“I’m in love with you, Y/n.”

She won’t remember that tomorrow.

***

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sineala · 3 years

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A Few Thoughts About Hurt/Comfort

I have been asked this month to make a post about hurt/comfort in Avengers comics. And I love h/c -- I actually have a massive number of WIPs right now that are h/c -- so I am very happy to talk about it! Anyway, this is not really all that planned out and this mostly turned into an excursus on Tony Stark's pain. I'm sure you're all surprised.

Like pretty much everyone else, I'm sure, I have found that everything lately has been... pretty tough. And the coping mechanism that really got me through last year and this year was reading and writing a lot of h/c, on the theory that, however lousy a day I'm having, I can absolutely make sure that Tony Stark has a worse one. And then I can make sure he gets hugs. Wish fulfillment? Why, yes. (Once at Hallmark I was trying to find a "get well soon" card, forgot what it was called, and described it to my wife as "a hurt/comfort card.") I think Marvel Comics -- the Avengers side, in particular -- is an interesting canon for h/c for a lot of reasons. Though, honestly, if you asked me to recommend you, a hurt/comfort fan, a new fandom, I would probably just hand you some Starsky & Hutch DVDs. Go watch "The Fix" and get back to me later. If you like that, there's way more where that came from. But there's still lots to love in Marvel! Superhero comics are really a goldmine as far as the hurt side of h/c. Because superheroes, and you probably have noticed this, get hurt a lot. They get hurt repeatedly, in fantastical ways that are probably impossible in real life both physically and emotionally (at least, I don't think anyone's invented mind control yet), and even the heroes without superhuman healing powers tend to get physically hurt a whole lot worse than actual people can take. Currently in Iron Man comics, Tony has a broken back and is dealing with this by locking himself into the armor as a backboard and injecting himself with massive doses of painkillers. He's busy! He's got stuff to do! He doesn't have time to lie around and heal! So, basically, if you name a kind of pain that you would like to see happen to a character, it's probably happened to superheroes. Multiple times. The downside, though, is that comics do not really deliver that well when it comes to the comfort part of h/c. They could. It's not inherent to the medium that they don't. But because of the serial nature of comics and also the fact the primary audience is dudes who want to read about people in spandex punching each other, a lot of the time they don't really feel the need to provide closure and write about people dealing with any of the hurt. (Raise your hand if you're still annoyed with the end of Hickman's Avengers run.) But at the same time, I think that's a quality that makes Avengers ripe for h/c fanfic. Because, generally speaking, fandom likes to provide the things that canon doesn't, and fandom is more than happy to provide the comfort. If you enjoy canonical h/c in comics, I think you really can't go wrong with Iron Man. One of the big innovations of modern Marvel Comics was the concept that heroes would also suffer from relatable human problems, and in practice what this means is that a lot of heroes start with a fully-loaded angst-ridden backstory and origin story, ripe for h/c. So Tony starts out by incurring a heart injury that he fully expects is going to kill him, which he responds to by vowing he won't get close to anyone so they won't be sad when he dies, and throughout the early Silver Age is constantly on the brink of death as his heart nearly gives out on him practically every issue. And then even after his heart gets (mostly) better, there are various plots involving his armor being detrimental to his health and him choosing to fight on anyway. It's hard for me to think of another superhero hitting that particular variety of h/c in exactly the same way. Sure, superheroes risk their lives constantly, because this is how superhero comics work, but Tony is the only one I can think of who is this constantly this badly off, physically. Like, think of all the other heroes who have had a continual solo presence as fan favorites across Marvel history -- Captain America, Thor, Spider-Man, Wolverine, maybe even Deadpool. You know what those guys all have? Healing factors! For the most part, they are not running around continually on the verge of death, and while there are certainly memorable arcs involving several of them being severely injured and/or dead, you really have to work at it. It's not their constant state of affairs, whereas Tony is the kind of superhero who shows up to a fight already bleeding out under his armor. Yeah, I know Extremis gave him a healing factor. But he didn't have it very long, and also he did some extremely dangerous things while he did have it; I'm pretty sure I've never seen Wolverine saying that he'll just solve a problem by cutting off his own foot. So, anyway, yeah, there are a bunch of good arcs involving h/c for Tony. If you're looking for physical injury, he has a whole bunch of heart problems over the years, gets several new hearts, then ruins his brain, et cetera. That level of hurt is basically the background pain of Tony's life; every so often, his heart will get damaged or he'll have to live in the armor or the armor will be killing him, et cetera. If you're looking for more unusual trauma, I am, as always, going to rec Manhunt, a relatively obscure arc in late v3 (IM v3 #65-69) in which Tony has an extremely bad week. His tech is stolen and used to bomb a building. Then he gets shot in the chest. Then while he's at the hospital a nurse tries and fails to poison him, and she then tries to beat him to death. Then he checks himself out of the hospital and a helicopter shoots missiles at him. Then he becomes a fugitive from justice. And then, oh, yeah, he has to fight the Mandarin. It is... a lot. (Volume 3 of Iron Man is pretty good as far as h/c possibilities. You've got a lot of physical pain, Carol's drinking arc, the Sentient Armor, both DreamVision arcs, and Manhunt. Manhunt is finally supposed to be out in trade this month, by the way.) There are of course the drinking arcs, which probably count as their own type of hurt. But if you haven't read the second drinking arc (IM #160-200), please do. Marvel likes to up the stakes on events (Fear Itself, Secret Empire) by making Tony drink, and it does work, I think. I feel like I've spoken at length about Tony's drinking elsewhere so I don't really want to rehash it all here. And then there's the emotional pain. Angst and drama is something that happens to a whole bunch of characters, yes, especially in comics, but somehow Tony seems to end up with possibly more than his fair share of it. Fandom likes to make a lot of Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, so much so that you might think, if you didn't know canon, that this was just fandom running with a throwaway mention of Tony's terrible childhood and making it worse. But, no, canon really does go there with a reasonable amount of frequency. Howard's actual first appearance is in a flashback where he's ordering teenage Tony to break up with his girlfriend because she's the daughter of one of Howard's business rivals. And then we get into the verbal abuse, and the physical abuse, and the time Howard made Tony take his first drink, and the part where Howard was a demon in hell who Tony fought while he insulted him. And more! Currently, in canon, Howard is alive again and is in league with Mephisto for the express purpose of ruining Tony's life. Also when Tony was a baby, Howard tried to trade him to Dracula. I think you can make an argument that fandom is actually showing restraint when compared to canon. Tony also has a whole lot of Terrible Exes whose presence and/or former presence in Tony's life can be used for a lot of hurt. If you've read any amount of fanfic, you probably know that the exes who get the most play in fandom are Sunset Bain and Tiberius Stone -- not that Tony and Ty were ever canonically a couple, of course, but fandom is definitely enamored of this idea. Ty and Sunset both have relatively similar interactions with Tony in canon, in that they are both liars and emotional abusers, heavy on the gaslighting, with the purpose of becoming more successful than Tony. They both also attempt to murder Tony, although this is after he figures out they're evil, at least. (Yes, I know, this is not how either of them usually appear in AUs.) Tony also has a bunch of exes who also have just straight-up tried to murder or otherwise hurt him, sometimes while they are dating, and sometimes before Tony dates them: Whitney Frost, Indries Moomji, Kathy Dare, and Maya Hansen come to mind. There are probably more I'm not thinking of! But, yes, if you want to write about a guy in a series of terrible relationships, please consider Iron Man comics. If mind control is one of your favorite flavors of hurt, Tony's pretty good for that too. We all know about The Crossing. I suppose when I say "mind control" I mostly mean "armor control" because there are an awful lot of plots where someone else makes Tony's armor do whatever they want it to do and Tony is along for the ride -- Demon in a Bottle, Sentient Armor, and Execute Program are the first things that come to mind. There is also a fairly obscure What If that is What If Iron Man Lost The Armor Wars in which Justin Hammer apparently really wants Tony in a mind control collar to take off all his clothes and lounge around in his underwear. No, really. I think a lot of pain for Tony often revolves around his issues with control, generally -- his alcoholism comes into play here again. The entire aftermath of Civil War is also notable for its propensity to hurt Tony over and over and over. Is he stoically soldiering on through his grief after Steve dies? Hell, no! He cries, like, six separate times. He 100% blames himself for Steve's death. It's great. Everybody loves The Confession and the funeral in Fallen Son, but one of my personal favorites is Avengers/Invaders, in which Tony is confronted with a time-traveling Steve from WWII and in order not to screw up the timeline, he can't tell Steve he knows him. He is clearly not coping well. He shuts himself in a room with a giant wall of pictures of Steve! Also there's a part where he has to try to convince Steve he can trust him and he ends up having to tie Steve to a chair to talk to him, and Steve looks at him and asks, "Who did you kill to get where you are?" and I feel like that is probably one of the worst moments in Tony's life. No wonder he gave himself amnesia. So now we might want to ask, okay, but why is hurting Tony in fanfiction so much fun? I mean, I can tell you why I think it's fun. I can't speak for anyone else. One reason is that he is very emotional and very affected by everything he does. Sometimes you will see people complaining that the heroes of m/m fanfic cry too much and this is not realistic. This is not a problem if you're writing Tony! He can cry as much as you want and it's perfectly in character. I don't think it would be as fun to hurt him if he didn't express so much of his pain. But he does. He also feels guilty, and for me that's a very satisfying character element. If he were well-adjusted and didn't blame himself for so many things, it wouldn't be nearly as fun as watching him blame himself for everyone whose death he thinks he is responsible for, whether or not he is. And then he just keeps going, and it's, y'know, nice to watch him be resilient, too. So, I guess, I think hurting him is interesting because it's easy to hurt him, his weak points are pretty obvious, and he reacts a lot. Steve doesn't hurt quite as much as Tony does, in canon. It's certainly possible to hurt him -- I mean, they did actually kill him after Civil War, after all -- but I don't think the canonical patterns of hurting him are as numerous. Obviously deseruming Steve is a fairly popular go-to in terms of physical hurt; he's been deserumed at least three times that I know of. I think's easy to see the appeal there of taking a character who is fairly physically resilient and making him... much less so. Certainly Marvel seems to see the appeal. But other than that I don't think he has any other really common way to get physically injured. Unlike Tony, whose origin story is basically "oh no, I've acquired a disability," Steve's origin story is "I drank a serum that cured all my disabilities." Which, I mean, great wish fulfillment but there's not really as much there to poke at. Pretty much all of Steve's pain is emotional, but, unlike Tony, his pain isn't often specifically in response to someone directly, purposefully hurting him. Hickman's Avengers run is a big exception, yes. His pain seems to come up most often as a kind of situational angst. He feels like a man out of time. He feels out of touch with the modern era, with people his own age. He feels guilt because he feels responsible for Bucky's death. He feels like he can't trust the government and therefore he can't be Captain America. He worries that he doesn't know how to have a normal life. And, yes, these are deep and important worries but it's different than, like, Indries Moomji dumping Tony with the intent to make him sad enough to start drinking. Very few of Steve's villains want to personally ruin Steve's entire life the way Tony's villains do; mostly they just want to do things like bring back the Nazis. In terms of Steve's potential for h/c, I think Steve is harder to hurt than Tony is. Physically, he is definitely harder to hurt. You can deserum him, sure, but unless you want everything you write to be a deseruming fic you're probably not going to want to do that more than a couple of times. And if you want to hurt him physically while he has the serum, you have to hurt him hard. Usually past the point where a regular human would ever survive it. He's also harder to break, emotionally, than Tony is -- which means it's very satisfying when you can get him to break, but this is a guy who's only cried twice (that I remember) in canon. So if you want to get him to cry, you really, really have to wreck him, and he doesn't have as many obvious weak spots. He also doesn't generally sit around blaming himself for things that aren't his fault, and the whole "stewing in guilt" genre of plots for him basically came down to "he was sad that he thought Bucky's death was his fault," and that's really the biggest regret he seems to have, and also Bucky's not dead anymore. The Steve/Tony relationship itself, I would think, is also appealing to h/c fans because canon provides a lot of ways for them to hurt each other. Some people only ship pairings who would never, y'know, take turns beating each other half to death in major event comics. (And for a lot of Marvel Comics history, that was also Steve & Tony, so if you want them to be BFFs who have never fought, you can just set your fic earlier.) They have definitely hurt each other both physically and emotionally, so if you're looking for something easy and satisfying as a h/c fan, you can just read or write something where they... make up. What about Marvel characters other than Steve and Tony? Surely some of them are angsty, yes? Well, yes, but also it depends on the particular flavor of angst that you like. If you like the way Tony hurts, you may very well enjoy Doctor Strange comics, because they have a very similar attitude towards life -- they are both former alcoholics whose origin stories involve physical disabilities, who routinely make tactical decisions that negatively affect their continued existence and/or happiness a whole lot. It's very much an "I must suffer alone in the dark and no one will ever know what I am doing to save the world but it's the right thing to do" sort of vibe. Like, you can read comics where Strange is lying in hell with two broken legs, hallucinating that Clea has finally come to save him. Strange's biggest fear, akin to Tony's control issues, is basically that one day he's going to be an asshole again, so he's out there trying as hard as he can to do good. Also, if you like tentacles, he has all of them. I mean that. Carol also occasionally hits similar angst spots, and her drinking arc is great. A lot of people like Natasha, too; I have read zero Black Widow comics but I get the impression many people enjoy her brand of angst. The mutant metaphor is a little different in terms of overall vibe, but some people really like it as a source of angst -- the whole "protecting a world who hates and fears them" thing. It may not work for you, but if you like your hurt to include things like systemic oppression, go pick up some X-Men comics. Start with something like God Loves Man Kills. I feel like I liked this sort of thing a lot more as a teenager but that I kind of aged out of liking the mutants quite so much. It's also worth mentioning that not everything that hits the spot in one universe will be the same in the others, and I'm mentioning this because I feel like I have to say something about MCU Bucky. MCU fandom seems to get a lot of mileage out of Bucky's guilt about being the Winter Soldier, everything he was forced to do, et cetera. I have definitely read my share of those fics, and FATWS sure went right for that angst too. But as far as I can tell, he doesn't hit the same way at all in 616. And I like him a lot in 616; I'm always pleased when he shows up on a team. (He was so good in Strikeforce. Everyone was so good in Strikeforce.) But the thing is, 616 Bucky is, basically, phenomenally well-adjusted, given everything he's gone through, and I'm including the time he wrestled a bear in a gulag. He gets over having been the Winter Soldier, and now he's just, y'know, a guy with a cool arm who likes to bring guns to every fight to horrify his teammates, and he snarks at Clint. If you're looking for that angst, that is really not him these days. He's all better. So pretty much all that is canon. So what do we do in fandom for h/c? Well, as far as I can tell, a decent amount of it is canon-based or very canon-close -- there are a whole lot of stories exploring the angst of Civil War or Hickman's Avengers run. Tony's drinking comes up a fair amount, and if one of Tony's Evil Exes comes back to haunt him, it's pretty much only Tiberius Stone. I don't think I've read a lot of fic with Steve getting deserumed; it doesn't seem as popular in fandom as in canon. When Steve gets hurt, he tends to just get physically whumped pretty hard, and there's a fair amount of that for Tony too, but of course Steve can take more. There's also a thriving, uh, subgenre of pain involving Hydra Steve doing terrible things to Tony, presumably the terrible things he would have wanted to do to Tony in canon if Tony had had a flesh body. There's the usual kinds of h/c setups that appear in basically every fandom as well -- sickfic, whump, dub-con/non-con. You get the idea. But since fandom in general likes to take specific inspiration from canon, there's a lot of fic where the hurt tends to resemble things that happen more in canon. Like, I feel like comics fic probably has more tentacle fic and more mind control than canons that don't come pre-stocked with those. Probably everybody has a whole lot of "tied up by bad guys," though. And then, of course, fandom brings the comfort that canon does not. This is true in pretty much every fandom -- I mean, you aren't going to find a lot of actual canons where Character A saves Character B from mortal peril and then there's gay sex -- but, like I was saying, comics don't provide a lot of closure before it's onto the next thing. Usually with a different creative team, who has no interest in wrapping up anything from the last team. Steve and Tony talked about the incursions exactly once after Secret Wars and nobody mentioned the part where Steve spent several months trying to hunt Tony down and kill him. Tony is never going to remember the events of Civil War. Hydra Steve died ignominiously in a fire and no one has ever talked about him again. Honestly, if you're looking for a way to get some comfort in your fanfic, picking an event, any event, and just having the characters talk about it will be way more than any of them get in canon. I feel like honestly that can often be a pretty satisfying to read. And even though comics canon physically hurts characters pretty often and pretty badly, they also often skip right past the recovery. Maybe you'll get one page of a character in a hospital bed at the end of the story arc. Maybe you won't. Demon in a Bottle has one splash page of Tony going through alcohol withdrawal and then he's all better. I think Manhunt skips to Tony getting out of the hospital at the end. That's just not a story that they want to tell very often. The second drinking arc is notable in that it devotes almost as many issues to Tony's recovery as it does to getting him to rock-bottom. Similarly, Steve is done with his Nomad angst way way faster than you probably think he is (though The Captain does go in for a fair number of issues). So one of the things we often want to do in fandom is focus on all the bits that canon skips over, both in the "why did no one ever mention this story arc ever again" way and the "wow, so how long are they in the hospital after that" way. That's really all I can think of about h/c! I'm off to write some more of it!

#posts i actually wrote

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ramblingthoughtsofayoungadult · 5 years

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Reality Check-Euphoria Imagine

Requested: No Warnings: mentions of trauma and a scene of an attempted sexual assault

A/N: I’m back from a super long break! I am so sorry I have not been able to update this blog since I started grad school but I have a bit of a break to write a bit. I just finished Euphoria so after this imagine, I’ll get started on the requests.

I own nothing from Euphoria and do not claim to own anything

Gif is from:geek-ramblings

Everything in italics in the story is Rue’s narration

Y/N Y/L/N wanted to be a princess for as long as she could remember. It didn’t hurt that every Disney movie and other piece of media designed for little girls endorsed this dream. One of those movies was the 1997 Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Cinderella starring Whitney Houston, Brandi, Whoopi Goldberg, and Victor Garber. It was the first time Y/N saw a princess who looked like her and it solidified that her dreams were possible. She watched that movie every day for three years and knows the soundtrack by heart. When her older cousin, McKay, irritated her, she would belt “Impossible/It’s Possible” at the top of her lungs in retaliation. While McKay was pushed to his limits on the football field, Y/N would twirl around in her living room during the ballroom sequence, pretending as though she had a dashing partner who would whisk her away. Her parents didn’t mind this dream since it suggested that she was as “normal” as a little girl could be. Eventually, Y/N’s mother put her in dance classes so that she could learn how to be graceful and dance with real people. Y/N fell in love with dancing since it gave her a way to express herself without speaking. Y/N was one of the sweetest people ever, but she was so shy and nervous, and I didn’t get it. Once she got comfortable, she actually had some things to say and a decent sense of humor. What she rarely let anyone know was she still dreamed of finding her prince, even though East Highland was overrun with frogs. In middle school, Y/N focused on studying and dancing while everyone else was practice dating (ie talking for a few hours on Facebook Messenger and avoiding eye contact in the hallway save a few nervous glances). She was hopeful that she would meet her prince in high school since that’s how it worked in the movies and what her older cousins had her believe. Y/N learned quickly that high was not like the movies and did not entertain herself with frivolous things, something Maddy called her out on at lunch one day.

“I’m right so don’t even try to fight me about it,” Maddy affirmed from across the table.

The cafeteria was busy and smelled of semi-fresh food and bubblegum. Y/N, Maddy, Cassie, BB, and Kat sat at their usual table. Y/N paused mid-bite into her cucumber sandwich and closed her mouth as soon as she realized it was hanging open.

“What?”

“You don’t do anything outside of school and dance team unless we drag you out and that needs to change,” Maddy insisted.

“I do other things,” Y/N said hesitantly.

“Yeah, like what? And it can’t be anything that you would use for college!”

Y/N racked her brain for a few moments. “Well, I watch movies and I read----”

“Fun things!” Maddy interrupted.

“Like gettin’ d-ck,” BB added.

Y/N’s face warmed up and she looked away from BB. “B, why’d you have to say it like that?”

“Well, at the end of the day, all that romance sh-t you’re into is just a pretty form of foreplay.”

“No, it’s not, they’re displays of affection and they’re beautiful. I know you all think romance is dead but I can’t and I don’t want to settle for that.” Y/N nodded her head in the direction of a table of guys who were concocting potions by mixing up the lunch of day with milk.

Cassie grabbed Y/N’s hand. “No one would expect you of all people to settle, but you haven’t dated anyone and there are some good guys in this town if not in this school. We just want to see you happy.”

Y/N could tell that Cassie was being sincere by the look in her eyes, all her friends were, but they also knew why Y/N behaved a certain way. The summer before eighth grade, Y/N saw the texts on her mom’s phone between her and a man that was not Y/N’s dad. It sickened her to her core, and she had no idea how to process it. Suddenly, her parents’ nightly arguments coupled with her mother’s late returns from nights out with “a friend” made more sense. She did not tell either of them that she knew and kept quiet about it. If she did not acknowledge it, she thought it would go away. She threw herself into dancing and studying, which did not raise any eyebrows. One night, Y/N, Maddy, Cassie, Lexi, and I went to the movies to see a Twilight movie. When she stepped out to get a popcorn refill, she saw her mother standing on the other side of the theater, smiling and flirting with a man who had to be in his seventies. Y/N managed to keep it together until we got back to Cassie and Lexie’s, where she broke down and told us everything. We hugged her and tried to calm her down, but there was nothing we could say that would repair her heart. Y/N’s mom officially stopped cheating when Y/N was fifteen but by then, the damage was already done. Her parents wanted to work on their marriage but neglected their child’s emotional and mental wellbeing since Y/N was so good and pretending she was fine. Her grades were excellent, she was the youngest co-captain of East Highland High’s dance team, and she stayed out of trouble. But if you really look at her, you can see the heartbreak in her big, coffee-colored eyes. Despite this, Y/N was convinced that there was a great guy out there for her, but she was extremely reluctant to date. She prayed that college would be better than high school and she would find the courage to date then.

“I love and appreciate your guys’ concern so much, but I am not about to give up my,” Y/N paused and glanced around the cafeteria before whispering, “virginity just to fit in, no offense.”

“Come on, Y/N, you may look and act all pure but you have to be dying to know what good d-ck feels like,” Maddy whined.

She had been, Y/N was human and not a total saint after all.

“I can wait, really.”

“So, have you just not been interested in any guys? I know plenty who are interested in you,” Cassie added.

“What?” Y/N was baffled by the loaded statement.

“Come on, Y/N, you know you’re hot,” Kat said.

“Your legs go up to your neck, Sis,” BB blurted as she nibbled on a Twizzler.

“Your face is basically perfectly symmetrical, it disgusts me,” Maddy said, emphasizing her statement with hand gestures.

Y/N chuckled nervously under the attention. “Thanks, guys.”

“But, is there anyone that interests you?”

Y/N glanced down at the tops of her metallic rose gold sandals. “No, not really.”

That was a total f-cking lie. Since fourth grade, Y/N harbored a crush on Nate that was fueled by when he shoved Caleb Parker after Caleb shoved Y/N during a game of tag in gym class. When Nate helped her stand on her feet, he was basically her knight in shining armor. Nate fit Y/N’s type perfectly: tall, dark hair, dark eyes, killer smile, and kind. Y/N never said anything, but anyone could tell just by observing the way she looked at him and the fact that she could never string together a decent sentence around him. This did not stop her from daydreaming about him and watching him from afar. She thought that maybe she could impress him with her dancing, and he would be forced to make a move. Y/N paid close attention to what Nate liked and disliked about girls, leading to religious mani-pedis and waxing. I tried to talk her out of it freshman year, but I can’t blame her for ignoring a junkie’s advice. When Maddy and Nate started dating, Y/N tried to cut off her attraction to Nate because she loved Maddy like a sister. She stopped pining after him but wished that she had a tenth of the confidence Maddy had.

“That’s it, we’re going to a party on Friday and you are going to meet a guy,” Maddy demanded.

“What?”

“Relax, you don’t have to sleep with him…unless you want to.” BB wiggled her eyebrows and Maddy, Cassie, and Kat burst into giggles.

“I think I can start off with kissing.”

“Have you even kissed a guy?” BB shot back.

“Yes, I have.”

In second grade, Travis Williams was double-dared to kiss Y/N on the playground. She knew that he wasn’t her prince charming since he produced too much saliva, and he was dared to do it. It gave her a weird complex about how attractive she was since no one really approached her. Sure, there were guys at parties but they just wanted something warm to slide into, not a real relationship.

After practice, Y/N and Maddy sat across from each other with their legs spread out, pulling each other back and forth to stretch.

“You really went in with this number, my legs are still killing me,” Maddy moaned as Y/N tugged her hands.

“Well, Alia wants to do something super impressive for homecoming; it’s not my fault she was so inspired by Homecoming.” Y/N relaxed her back while Maddy gently pulled Y/N’s arms towards her.

She relished in the stretch as her muscles released. Alia had tasked her with working on the homecoming choreography a month ago and the only requirement was it had to be set to Beyoncé’s “Diva/Everybody Mad” mix. It was tricky choreography, complete with acrobatics and lifts, but it would be entertaining.

“Well, we better do Beyonce well because she deserves nothing but the best.” Maddy’s expression dropped.

“What’s wrong?” Y/N turned and saw Nate heading towards them. He was so gorgeous even though he was in a black t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. His hair looked perfect for finger-combing and Y/N could just see his muscles flexing with every step he took.

Y/N could never relax around Nate, even though she tried everything----slowing her breathing, counting backwards from twenty, and imagining him with food poisoning since no one looks good with that. But nothing worked, nothing ever worked, and she was forced to do whatever she could think of in the moment.

“Hey, Y/N,” Nate greeted.

“Hi,” Y/N breathed.

“Maddy,” he looked at her and Maddy rolled her eyes.

“What?”

“Are you done stretching? I’m giving you a ride and we can’t be late, remember?”

“Well, it doesn’t really matter since I always take too f-cking long to get ready.”

Nate sighed. “Maddy, I didn’t mean it…”

“I can go,” Y/N volunteered meekly, suddenly very aware that she was still sweaty from practice and needed to shower.

“No, Y/N, stay,” Maddy said, “stay so you can hear the bullsh-t he comes up with.”

They argued for about five minutes, all of which Y/N used to make herself as small as possible. She knew they had a dysfunctional relationship and that was the last thing Y/N wanted, she’d seen how they worked. If the couple weren’t arguing with each other, they would rant about the other person to a friend. Maddy did it all the time, but she was nowhere near as bad as Y/N’s dad. Her dad spoke explicitly about Y/N’s mother’s activities when things were really bad. It was always late at night and Y/N was not always sleeping over at someone’s house. Her father would rant for hours and force Y/N to sit there and listen. Whenever she tried to ask him to stop, he would say, “Tell your mother to stop, she did this. I didn’t do anything!”. Y/N cried a lot more than she would let anyone know. She wanted so badly to be whisked away from East Highland, preferably by a tall, handsome prince who would take care of all of her worries. She would be comfortable around him and feel loved. After Maddy and Nate’s argument, Y/N was able to slip away and go home.

Y/N stepped out of a relaxing shower when she heard the low rumbling that started before every argument. The walls of her room felt closer than usual and she could easily run her hands over the lavender and white checked wallpaper. Everything felt so far away and she felt much smaller than five-foot-nine. Y/N slowly curled into a ball on her bed and shook as the rumbling grew higher.

“Please stop,” she whispered.

It persisted.

“Please, please stop,” she repeated.

Y/N kept repeating herself for so long that she did not know how long it took before her parents burst into her room. Her mother wrapped her up in arms and rocked her while her dad tried to get her to talk.

“What’s the problem?” he asked.

“The fighting, it’s loud,” she whispered.

“Well, you can’t react like this every time we have an argument, Y/N. You’ll fall apart as an adult,” Mr. Y/L/N affirmed.

“Dinner is almost ready,” Mrs. Y/L/N said and kissed her forehead.

When they left the room, Y/N felt dejected and uninterested in food. Just as she was about to start lotioning, her phone dinged. It was Maddy.

Maddy: Football party’s on Friday. UR GOING.

It wasn’t a difficult decision for Y/N to make. Her parents gave her a generous curfew since Y/N wouldn’t go out every weekend. But her parents didn’t care how she felt so they shouldn’t care about what she did for once. And if they didn’t care, then why should she? It wasn’t like she going to engage in an orgy or something.

Y/N: You had me at football.

Scott Callahan’s giant house was filled with smoke and strobing lights on Friday night. People were dancing and drinking half-naked in his front lawn and inside was another kind of pandemonium. There was every kind of expensive alcohol one could imagine scattered throughout the house, marijuana, Percocet, molly, and cocaine. Travis Scott’s “Sicko Mode” was blasting through the surround-sound speakers and people were either dancing, grinding, or making out to it. Y/N arrived at the party with Jules and Rue. Hours prior, Y/N gave Jules free reign to do whatever she wanted with her makeup.

“Ugh, I have been waiting ever since we met for this moment. No, maybe even before then,” Jules said as she swiped silver glitter around Y/N’s eyes.

Cassie, Maddy, BB, and Kat already helped Y/N pick out an outfit a day before via Facetime: a shiny silver mini dress with platforms. Y/N had been nervous as Jules helped her do her makeup and put some waves in her shoulder-length dark hair. But the finished product made her look like a totally different person.

“Is that me?” Y/N had whispered as she stared at herself in the mirror.

Jules rest her chin on Y/N’s shoulder. “Yes, it is, the shinier version.”

“You look good, Y/N,” Rue complimented.

“Thanks, Rue. Are you sure you’re okay with me drinking tonight? I feel so weird and guilty.”

“Yes, it’s fine,” Rue had insisted. “I just got out of rehab and I don’t wanna go back.”

“And I don’t want you to, either,” Jules added.

Y/N agreed.

Y/N still felt weird about drinking around Rue once they arrived at the party, but Rue insisted that Y/N and Jules have fun. Several guys stared as Y/N walked past, but that could have been attributed to Jules’ neon green corset dress with matching hair or Rue’s tie-dye ensemble. When they reached the kitchen, they found Kat and BB doing tequila shots. Their eyes lit up at the trio.

“Finally, you’re here!” Kat hugged Rue, Jules, and Y/N.

“Did you miss us?” Jules teased.

“Little bit. You guys want a shot?”

“I’m DD-ing, or DR-ing since it’s a bike,” Rue said.

“Or DB-ing, for bicycling,” Y/N added.

BB poured Jules and Y/N shots and handed them over. They cheered before downing the alcohol. The tequila burned down Y/N’s throat and Y/N fought the urge to cough. She’d had alcohol before but she did not drink as often as her friends. Y/N immediately felt the liquid courage coursing through her as she slid her shot glass towards BB.

“Another one?” BB arched an eyebrow.

“Are you complaining?”

“Not at all, you look hot by the way.”

“Thanks.”

“I did her makeup,” Jules said.

Y/N laughed and continued drinking.

I watched as her third shot became her fifth, and then Jules made them both screwdrivers and she made them strong. I’d only seen Y/N drunk once and that was at freshman winter formal. Maddy convinced her that Gatorade and Everclear were a good mix. She was tripping over herself for most of the night, so there was no telling what she might do.

“Crap, I forgot to tell you, Maddy and Nate broke up again,” Kat said.

“Why?” Y/N asked.

“Stupid same old bullsh-t, probably,” Rue said.

“Where is Maddy, anyway?”

“Last I knew, she was outside with Cassie,” BB said.

Y/N finished her screwdriver. “Let’s go, then.”

Y/N was surprisingly agile as she weaved her way through the crowd and lead the way outside. Maddy and Cassie were easy to spot since they were standing by the lounge chairs and rolling their eyes at every guy who tried to talk to them.

“Maddy, Cassie!” Y/N announced.

They both looked up and smiled at her.

“Y/N, you look amazing,” Cassie said.

“Thanks, and you look great as per usual.”

“You’ve been drinking,” Cassie said.

Y/N nodded.

Cassie and Maddy greeted Rue, Jules, Kat, and BB.

“Hey, I’m sorry about Nate,” Y/N said.

“It’s fine, I don’t need him and I could get any guy here I want. Besides, it gives me the chance to focus more on getting you a guy,” Maddy said.

“Oh, Maddy, don’t worry about me.”

“No, that’s why we’re here. Now, let’s do some shots and scope!”

The shots were easy but finding a good guy was not. Y/N was officially drunk and giggled a lot whenever the guys Maddy or Cassie found spoke to her. Y/N would push the guys she didn’t like away, which was the majority of them.

“Alright, you rejected eight dudes, why?” Maddy asked over City Girls’ “Act Up”.

“Well, one had horrible halitsosissss and another kept talking about how he had never been with a black girl before.”

“Which one said the last thing?” Cassie asked.

Y/N shrugged and drank more beer. “Seriously, do not worry about me, guys, I’m fine, I just wanna have fun.”

“Yes, fun!” an equally inebriated Jules commented.

At that moment, Lizzo’s “Truth Hurts” started playing and Jules and Y/N screamed in unison.

“I love this song!” Y/N exclaimed.

“Me too!” Jules said.

“Let’s dance!” Y/N turned to the rest of the girls and extended her hand. “You have to join us, it’s Lizzo, it’s basically law.”

“Yeah, basically law,” Jules echoed.

The others couldn’t argue, and they all moved to the dancefloor, which was really the living room. Jules twirled Rue around even though Rue was reluctant, and BB started grinding on some basketball player. Meanwhile, Maddy, Cassie, and Y/N alternated between shouting the lyrics and moving their hips to the beat.

Dance truly set Y/N free, but the song also helped. There was something about Lizzo’s voice and choice of beat that made Y/N want to dance and never stop. She would move her arms and hands and feel more fluid than water. For once, she wasn’t calculating each step and making sure she was on beat, she was simply reacting to the music.

Towards the end of the song, Y/N muttered that she was going outside to Cassie and slipped away from the circle. Y/N found herself enjoying the fresh air and giggled to herself when she saw a couple going to second base by the pool.

“Y/N, I didn’t think you was into watchin’ people,” Fez teased.

He was sitting on a beach chair in a corner a few yards away from the back door. He was wearing a navy, yellow, and red Coogi sweater with jeans. He was fully reclined in his chair and smoking a joint.

“You don’t know a lot of things about me,” Y/N shot back as she walked towards him.

She plopped down on the seat across from him and tried to steady herself.

“You good, Y/N?”

“Yeah, just drank a lot more than usual.” Y/N eyed Fez’s joint. “You know, in all this time I’ve known you, you’ve never offered me drugs.”

“No disrespect, I just didn’t think you’d be into it, didn’t seem like the type.”

“Oh yeah? Then what do I seem like?” Y/N leaned towards Fez and arched her back a little.

Fez blew some smoke away from Y/N and tried not to stare at her. “You…you look like the type to stay away from this stuff and even me.”

Y/N laughed and shooed the thought away. “How could I stay away from you, Fez? You have the best snacks at the gas station. Plus, I like talking to you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, you have an interesting but simple way of looking at things.”

Fez looked as though he was thinking for a long moment as he smoked his joint. “I knew I liked you for a reason. You act all quiet and nervous usually but you got a lot to say and say it in a good way.” He extended the joint towards Y/N. “Be careful.”

Y/N focused as hard as she could to grab the joint with two fingers. She’d only smoked once with Rue and Rue was the one to drag her over to Fezco to get the weed. Y/N remembered coughing a lot, but she knew how to avoid that. She took two long drags before handing the joint back to Fez.

“Thanks, Fez. We should talk more later.”

“Sure, if you feelin’ up to it. I’m here all night.”

Y/N stumbled back into the house, her full intentions to find her friends. Then, she heard the beginning strains of Kanye West’s “Father Stretch My Hands Pt. 1” and she smiled to herself. She started spinning around in time to the music, twisting her arms up and down as she did. Her hips began to sway gently to the rhythm. She ran her hands through her hair and exhaled.

Y/N was lost again and wrapped up in the beat. She usually did not drop low outside of the comfort of her bedroom, but the alcohol mixed with the weed mixed with the great music made her think differently. She was free and everyone else around her was free. There was nothing to worry about and she could let go of her inhibitions. It didn’t matter that none of the guys at the party were her type nor really interested her, she was having too much fun. But little did Y/N know that someone had their eye on her since she started dancing to “Truth Hurts”.

Y/N felt someone push up against her from behind, followed by hands slink around her hips. Her eyes fluttered open and she covered the large hands with her own. “Sorry, I don’t----" She stopped when she made eye contact with Nate. “I’m high,” she muttered.

“I don’t know about that, but you’ve definitely been drinking.”

Y/N tried to ignore the way his gravelly voice made her stomach drop to her heels or how she felt like everything was throbbing. She shook her head and backed away from him. “I can’t…you just broke up with Maddy.”

“Y/N, please don’t.” Nate looked worried as he took cautious steps towards her.

Unbeknownst to Y/N, and everyone else, Nate had a fascination with her that bordered on obsession. He noticed her in fourth grade and how much she got excited about reading and history lessons. Even then, Nate thought Y/N was innocent and so quiet. He was curious about her but never really approached her until that day in gym. That day was a godsend so that he could show off how strong he was and get her to talk. All he got was a “Thanks” and “I’m okay”. Nate was disappointed, but he didn’t stop looking out for her. He made sure none of the football players went after her, which McKay appreciated but he thought Nate was doing it as a friend. No, Nate was doing it because he knew that football players were animals and Y/N was high above them. Maddy was too but Maddy was different .She was so much more confident and bold than Y/N was, and she was a virgin when Nate asked her out. But Maddy liked to fight with him and test him and Y/N wouldn’t do that----she was too sweet and would most likely want to resolve everything as quickly as possible. So, she was unofficially his and Y/N had no idea.

Y/N kept shaking her head as tears welled up in her eyes. “I can’t do this, Maddy’s like a sister to me.”

“Y/N, breathe, please.” Nate took another step and when Y/N didn’t move, he got close enough to grab her forearms and rub them soothingly. “You’re allowed to dance with me, all we did was dance.”

“That was not dancing, I’m a dancer, I would know.” Y/N tilted her head back to will the tears away.

“You look beautiful, seriously. Don’t cry.” He tried to touch her face, but Y/N backed away.

“Thank you, but I think we should stop talking.”

“You always look beautiful, especially when your hair is down, it frames your face nicely.” He brushed some hair off her shoulder.

“Nate, stop.” A tear rolled down her cheek.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?”

“I know you’re doing this to make Maddy jealous, it’s what you always do, it’s the same game!” Y/N cried, but it was masked by the music. “I’m…I’m not going to be your pawn in this weird game, Nate. I deserve better than that.”

Nate reached out and cupped the side of her face in one hand. “Oh, Y/N, you would never be a pawn and I’m not playing with you. Maddy’s not gonna care if you dance with me, she’s not even here.”

Y/N glanced around the room and didn’t see Maddy anywhere. She suddenly got a sinking feeling and looked back at Nate. “I’m just not comfortable with doing anything with you, she’s my friend.”

“And I would never want to ruin that and I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable; I just wanted a chance to dance with the prettiest girl at the party.”

Y/N snapped her eyes to him. “You think I’m the prettiest girl here?”

Nate nodded. “But if you don’t want to dance with me…”

“Fine, one dance.” Y/N held up her pointer finger for emphasis. “And we’re done.”

“Deal.”

“Good.”

The song changed to “One Dance” and Y/N was stiff for a moment. She never really did partner dancing and was lost. Nate sensed this, grabbed one of her hands, and spun her around. She laughed and swiveled her hips to the beat. Nate continued twirling her around and watched Y/N move to the music. When he spun her out again, Nate pulled her back in and held her close. Y/N did everything in her power to fight to gnawing desire to melt into his embrace. He felt so strong and protective. Y/N stared at the collar of his t-shirt to avoid eye contact and kept her hands on his chest.

“This isn’t fair,” she whispered.

“What isn’t fair?” “I’ve had a crush on you since elementary school and the time you decide you want me, it’s just after your break up with one of my best friends.” Y/N buried her head in her hands. “I’m such a bad friend, I should go.”

Nate held her there and stared her down. “Go and do what?”

“Um, find my friends.”

“And then what?”

“Dance?”

“Just like you’re dancing with me?”

“No, not this close and you know that.” Y/N stepped back. “We should stop.”

“But, you said you’ve liked me for a long time.”

“I did, but I want to be a good friend. I’m sorry, Nate.”

Y/N really didn’t want to, but she pulled away from Nate. She couldn’t believe she’d spent a whole song dancing so close with her friend’s ex. Maddy would kill her if she found out. Maybe if Y/N told her first, things would not be as bad.

“If we can’t dance, can we at least talk?”

Y/N hesitated but nodded slowly.

Nate grabbed her hand and led her upstairs. A few coked out people and couples pushed past them and Y/N felt more and more nervous. They found an empty bedroom and Nate closed the door behind them. The room was dark and Y/N found a light.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” she made herself comfortable on the bed.

Nate sat next to her and clasped his hands together. “Things with Maddy and me have always been f-ckin’ crazy and they will always be. She always wants to fight when there shouldn’t be a fight.”

“If you wanted to complain to someone about your ex, you could have found someone who wasn’t her friend.”

“Stop, what I’m saying is I don’t like it, it’s exhausting, and…and we bring out the worst in each other. But you, I don’t think you would do that to me.” He glanced down at Y/N’s hands. “You’re kind and you want the best for everyone.”

“I try.”

“You would never want to hurt anyone on purpose and you listen, you really listen, and I feel like I could tell you anything.”

Y/N nodded.

“The truth is, I’ve liked you since fourth grade too, but I never asked you out because you seemed disinterested.”

“How’d you get that?”

“Whenever I tried to talk to you, you wouldn’t talk and I thought that meant you didn’t like me. So, I started going out with Maddy because she was clear about that, but now, I think we could be something.”

“Just like that? But what about my friends? Maddy and I have the same friends and I don’t want to hurt Maddy.”

“You can make new friends and you’ll have me.” Nate leaned closer to Y/N. “C’mon, Y/N, you know you want this. You’re always thinking of other people, be selfish for once.”

In that strange bedroom, with the guy she had been crushing on for so long begging her to do something to him, Y/N was at an impasse. She loved Maddy like a sister and didn’t want to divide the group, but Nate was making so many good points. The only reason she did well in school was to please her parents and the only reason she would go out was to please her friends. She didn’t do anything to please herself and this was her chance.

Nate leaned closer to Y/N and looked up at her for confirmation. Y/N closed her eyes and relished in the feeling of Nate’s lips against hers. They were slightly chapped but he knew how to use them, applying pressure in the right places at the right times. His hands went to her waist and Y/N wrapped hers around his neck. He slid her into his lap and Y/N gasped.

“Did I scare you?” he whispered.

“A little,” Y/N murmured.

He rubbed her sides and kept kissing her, adding tongue. Y/N shyly tapped her tongue against his and he smirked into it. He rolled his hips underneath her and Y/N gasped at the shocking feeling, pulling away.

“Does it feel good?”

Y/N nodded.

“Say it.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, it feels good.”

Nate nipped at her neck and Y/N moaned out, grinding down on him. Nate’s hands tensed around her hips. “You’re so hot,” he whispered in her ear.

Y/N laughed.

“Seriously, I’ve thought about what this would be like, what we would be like.”

“And?”

“And, so far, it’s better than I thought.” He kissed down to her collarbone and palmed her chest. “I’ve thought about these.” “Really? But they’re so small.”

“No, they’re just right.” He bit the base of her neck and Y/N hissed. “I’ve also thought about your legs, how they distract me during practice when you guys are outside. They’re so soft but firm.”

Nate kissed her again and pinned her on the bed. Y/N gasped as she felt one of Nate’s hands trail up her dress. Her mind was jumbled up and she didn’t know what to think. Everything he did felt so good, he knew just where to kiss and nip. He looked at her with full-blown lust in his eyes. Maybe Y/N had finally found the prince she’d been waiting for, but he was always there.

Then, his hand went a little too high. She squirmed and shook her head.

“Nate, that’s a little too much.”

“What?”

“I said it’s a little too much,” she repeated louder.

“I thought you liked it, don’t you want this? Isn’t this what you’ve always thought about?” Nate tangled his hand in her underwear.

“Nate, stop, I don’t want to do this.”

“You weren’t acting that way earlier.”

“Nate, please, stop.”

“You don’t want me to stop.”

“Yes, I do, please!”

Y/N tried to push him away but Nate pinned her down. He rolled his hips into hers and Y/N turned away, tears falling down her cheeks.

“Do you feel how much I want you? I’d do just about anything to have you.”

“Nate, stop!”

“Shut up!” Nate growled.

One of his hands let go of her wrist and wrapped around her neck. He had a death grip on her neck and Y/N started gasping for air.

“Don’t pretend like you didn’t want this? Like you weren’t dancing on me, begging for it? You were jealous that Maddy got me whenever she wanted. You wanted me all for yourself just like I want you.”

Y/N wanted to scream at him, tell him he was wrong about everything, but was he? When Maddy talked about sex with him, Y/N would feel pangs of guilt and jealousy for wanting to trade places with her. Most of all, she wanted Nate to get off her. She wanted Nate to leave her alone forever. When she looked at him, the sweet fourth grade boy was gone and replaced by a full grown monster. Why was she getting monsters when she wanted princes? What did she do to deserve this?

Nate unzipped his jeans and tears kept flowing down Y/N’s face, ruining Jules’ masterpiece. He kept his eyes trained on her and Y/N was losing oxygen, she couldn’t think to move any of her muscles. Just as he was about to push in her, someone banged on the door.

“Occupied!” Nate yelled over his shoulder.

“Whatever.”

Nate turned back and looked down at Y/N, shaking and crying. He leaned down and whispered, “Don’t make a sound.” He released his grasp on her neck and pinned her wrists again. Y/N’s throat felt numb and she couldn’t do anything. She inhaled through her nose and before Nate could thrust, she took gathered all her strength to knee him. Nate groaned and rolled onto his side, releasing her wrists. Y/N scrambled to her feet, unlocked the door, and ran outside. People in the hallway looked at her bewildered. Y/N nearly fell down the stairs and ran into Rue.

“Y/N, what happened?” she asked.

Y/N gasped for a moment before burying her face in Rue’s shoulder and crying, full-on, heaving, shoulder-shaking crying. Rue held her close and ran her hands through her hair. “Nate,” was the only word she managed to get out.

Before Rue could only see Red, Fez approached them. “Hey, I’m about to head out if you wanted a ride. What’s up?”

“I think Nate tried to do something to Y/N,” Rue whispered. “Y/N, could you look at me?”

Y/N straightened up and Rue and Fezco saw the handprints around her neck. Both of their expressions hardened.

“Where’s Maddy, Cassie, and Jules?” Rue asked.

“Right here,” Maddy said as they approached. Her eyes widened at Y/N. “Y/N, what the f-ck happened?”

Y/N swallowed but winced at the feeling. “Nate tried to rape me,” she rasped out.

In an instant, Fez and Rue handed Y/N over to Cassie, Maddy, and Jules. Y/N collapsed in their arms and continued crying.

“Honey, it’s okay, you’re gonna be okay,” Cassie said.

“Breathe, Y/N, you need to breathe,” Jules muttered.

“I’m so sorry, Maddy, I’m so sorry,” Y/N said.

“No, don’t apologize,” Maddy insisted, stroking Y/N’s hair.

They cleared a couch for Y/N to rest and they continued trying to comfort her. A few seconds later, Nate came tumbling down the stairs, with Rue and Fezco on his heels. Rue was cursing at him while Fezco laid more punches on him. Nate’s face was already bruised and scratched up.

“It’s not my fault!” Nate spat out. “I told you, she came onto me, she’s been in love with me since fourth grade, she wanted this! Maddy, Y/N’s a bad friend, that’s not my fault.”

“Don’t even talk to me right now or I swear, Rue and Fezco will have to keep me from killing you,” Maddy hissed.

“I’m a bad friend,” Y/N whimpered.

“No, you’re not,” Maddy, Cassie, and Jules said.

“I liked him a lot, even when you dated, I liked him and then he…he came onto me, maybe I deserved it.”

“Y/N, no one deserves to get raped, no one, you did not ask for this,” Jules assured her.

Y/N turned to lay face up. “Why does everything hurt so much? I just wanted someone to like me since loving me is asking for too much.”

“No, it’s not,” Cassie hushed.

“And we love you,” Maddy said.

“I love you the most,” Jules said.

Y/N smiled slightly. “But you know what I mean.”

Y/N loved her friends and appreciated their love, but she wanted the fairytale. She’d convinced herself that maybe she would get some idea of that with Nate but she was so wrong. She wanted the dream and got a nightmare. It was a terrible f-cking way to learn how real life works, but it had to happen. Besides, we’re in high school and the love Y/N truly wanted was impossible to find in high school, especially East Highland. Y/N ended up pressing charges on Nate and that encouraged Maddy to open up about stuff he’d done to her during their relationship. Everything is different with Y/N now, I can see it in her eyes, they aren’t as bright as they used to be. Before the stuff with her mom, they would shimmer and after that, some glints remained. Now, it was like looking in a dark hole and I could guess what she was feeling since I’ve been in that place too----in fact, I’m still in it. I think the saddest part is she always had so much optimism and now it’s gone before she’s twenty and I don’t think she’ll get it back.

#euphoria imagine #angst imagine

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imaginexwwe · 6 years

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His Other Family 1|5 - ROMAN REIGNS

Another old unfinished writing I found on my other tumblr

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Married man Roman Reigns has been keeping a big secret from his family and my friends, the fact that he has another child by someone else and she's tired of being kept in the dark

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HE'S NOT MARRIED TO GALINA AND JOJO WILL NOT BE MENTIONED IN THIS BECAUSE I LOVE THEM TOO MUCH TO EVEN PRETEND THIS IS THEIR LIFE LOL SO YEAH HIS WIFE AND DAUGHTER WILL BE RANDOM NAMES

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He was mines first, I thought to myself with a scowl on my face as I re-watched the short Instagram video of Roman Reigns wishing his wife an early Valentine's day.

It's funny he can sit there, going on and on about her and how they met but when it comes to me, nothing

Not that I'm ever expecting a public show of affection like that from Roman.

Hell, I don't even expect to get a simple 'happy birthday', or a I' miss you' text from him.

No, he saves them for our son.

The son he barely sees because he's too busy playing the loving husband and father with his real family.

I swear, Jace is the only thing that keeps me from regretting that weekend I spent with him almost three years ago.

That weekend he brought back so many old feelings, I had successfully buried after we said our goodbyes to eachother right before I moved away after high school.

It only took him a few hours before I was wanting him again, ready to jump back to the place we were when we were seventeen.

But that was my mistake.

Thinking we could go back to the way we were when we were living completely different lives, him a married man with a daughter, and me engaged to a man I had shamelessly said yes to after only eight months.

My love for him blinded me so much that I became the woman I hate.

The one that helps a married man cheat on his wife, thinking that even though he's cheating, he said he wasn't happy, was on the brink of divorce, believes him only to become what's known as a side chick.

Or as I like to call it, the other woman.

But if you think about it, with every mistake I've made being with him, Roman did save me from that because if it was that easy for me to give myself to another man in only a few hours, how much could I really have loved him?

I think I just desperately wanted someone to love or someone who could distract me from the love I felt for Roman.

I just hate I fell for that classic line of Roman telling me he wasn't happy with his marriage anymore and was going to divorce his wife then him and I could pick up where we left off for real, and be happy again.

But it's been two years and still no divorce, and still no me and him, at least not in the way I was lead to believe that weekend.

All he's been doing was avoiding me and popping up at my house at the most unexpected times.

And Jace has been asking about his daddy, so I thought, why not take him to see his daddy?

No, I'm not going to do some crazy, ex girlfriend, mother of your child shit like show up at his doorstep demanding he come out and acknowledge his son or anything like that.

But I am going to use the fact that Monday Night Raw is being held in my city tonight as an opportunity for Jace to spend some time with him.

"Mommy's lil man, ready?" I asked, dropping my iPad to my side before getting up from the sofa and going over to him. "You look ready." I answered for him with a giggle, after noticing his Roman Reigns shirt.

"I tried to talk him into wearing another shirt, but you know how Jace is once he sets his mind to something." My best guy friend, Mikey said with a laugh, trying to mask over the bitterness in his words.

Mikey or Michael has never really been a big fan of me and Roman, especially not with everything that's happened over the last two years, always taking digs at him whenever he got the chance.

"He looks up to his daddy," I said with a smile as I pulled my son into me, my eyes focused on Mikey. "Nothing wrong with that, right?"

"It kinda is when his daddy's barely around." He replied, making me roll my eyes.

Ignoring Mikey's comment about Roman even though I knew that half of what he was saying and had always said was the truth, I turned my attention back to my two year old with a smile. "C'mon." I said taking his smaller hand in mines and leading him out the door.

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Towards the end of the show Roman's theme hit and no lie, a smile bigger the Jace's spread across my face.

Tonight would be the first time that I've ever actually seen him in the ring live.

One of the downsides of being the other woman.

Not being able to have the perks that his wife has like getting to sit ringside, watching him in some of the biggest matches in his career.

Being able to publicly cheer for him when so many others are booing.

Reaching out a hand to him, when he needs that little bit of motivation.

I haven't got to experience any of that, and probably still won't tonight, because I'm more than sure Roman's not going to be happy to see the two of us.

But seeing him in this moment was a good enough start for me.

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After what seemed like hours, Roman and my eyes finally locked, as he was getting up after being knocked out of the ring.

Surprise was in his, while mines was a mix of many emotions.

"Daddy." I heard Jace's small voice yell out, as he wiggled in my arms, wanting nothing more than to touch him.

Roman's eyes widened slightly as he glanced around, I'm guessing to see if people could have heard Jace's little outburst.

With two little arms outstretched to him, Roman turned his back to us, sliding back into the ring right before the referee reached the ten count.

That was fucked up Roman

"Daddy's going to see you after the show." I mumbled, my lips going in to give my son a quick peck on his head.

I just really wanted to end what Roman's actions could have started.

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"What the hell are you doing here?" Roman's deep voice roared through my ears, as he tried his best to keep his words low so that Jace and any possible passerby in the parking lot won't hear.

I shrugged, an unintentional smirk coming into play. "Our son missed you," I said, kneeling down and giving Jace a gentle push over to Roman. "So I thought why not bring him to his first live show to see his daddy."

"He shouldn't be here," Roman quickly replied before adding. "He's two years old, and shouldn't be around all this noise. Can't you think like a mom for once?"

Can't you think like his dad and not act like he doesn't exist for once?

"Oh, that's the reason you ignored him during your match?" I questioned back with an unamused laugh. "Why you couldn't give him a simple touch?"

"I didn't know if someone heard what he had called me, so I couldn't risk it, Y|N," He snapped back at me with a glare. "My wife and little girl was in the audience a few feet away from you," He spoke up again, before adding. "What if they had noticed something?"

A sarcastic gasp escaped my lips as I picked up Jace. "I thought that was Whitney and Jessica," I said laughing, taking my eyes off Roman, lowering them to the two year old in my arms. "You wanna go pay your big sister a visit, man?" I asked him, knowing he didn't hardly understand me.

"Y|N, go home."

"What if I'm not ready to go home, babe?" I asked, biting down on my lip as I reached out letting my finger trace an imaginary line down Roman's chest, stopping at his pants. "What if I just wanna stay out here with you and our son a little longer."

"I don't want you here." Roman said, his jaw clenched.

There it was

Words I've been waiting for him to say

Took him long enough

"You're finally saying how you feel," I replied, all hints of sarcasm now leaving my voice as his words started to pull at my heart strings. "Not that I needed you to," I added shifting Jace from one hip, to the other. "Your actions these couple of years told me everything."

"If they told you what you needed to know, why still come around?"

"For Jace," I shouted, my vision getting cloudy with tears. "I just want him to get the love Jessica gets."

Roman rolled his eyes, before replying. "You know I love my son, he shoul-"

"He shouldn't know anything, he's two," I said taking the words out of Roman's mouth. "All he's learning is that his dad isn't around and I get you have this glamorous life and career that keeps you away but you could still come around more than you do, when you have those days off because he misses you more than you realize."

I miss you, more than you realize

"You know why I can't right now, Y|N." Roman replied, sounding more frustrated than he was minutes ago.

"Yeah, because we're the family you're ashamed off."

I watched as Roman quickly shook his head. "I'm not ashamed of either one of you," He said almost sounding sincere. "I'm just in s complicated situation and you knew that before any of this happened."

"No I didn't know, Roman." I half yelled. "You said you weren't happy, that you were about to tell her you want a divorce and that me and you would be together."

"And I said I needed some time." He spoke, glancing down at the ground.

"Time as in months, not years."

Roman nodded, his eyes still locked on the ground. "I meant that, and I was ready to go through with the divorce but she got pregnant and I couldn't do it, then she lost the baby and I couldn't leave."

This time I nodded, a few tears falling now. "So you just planned on continuing your lies, telling me what I want to hear?" I brought my hand up to wipe at my fallen tears, hearing all of this for the first time. "Coming here was a mistake," I mumbled as he looked back up to me. "As much as i hate to say it, being with you that weekend and believing your lies were the biggest mistake though. You just wanted me for a few days while it was me who wanted you for a lifetime."

"I know you don't mean that," Roman called out as I walked away. "Just like you know that I do love you and I do want to be a real family with you and our son."

"You're just telling more lies, Roman."

I shouldn't have answered that call three years ago

He doesn't give me anything, not a happy Valentine's Day, not a Happy Mother's Day, nothing to prove to me that he cares about me, so why is it so hard for me not to care for him?

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possiblyimbiassed · 6 years

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Trying to explain the inexplicable

Sherlock wouldn't very likely admit that something is inexplicable, would he? His usual MO is to investigate and investigate further, until he has it all cleared, so admitting that something is 'inexplicable' would be much more like John than Sherlock any day of the week. This thought struck me after trying to make sense of John's blog post "The Inexplicable Matchbox", which he published during the hiatus before Sherlock's return in TEH.

There's a number of things with this post that make me curious.

First of all is the fact that the whole case is so top secret that John apparently isn't allowed to write anything about the solution to the case, just that "we solved it” and found out “who’d killed who and how and why".

If Sherlock had been able to comment at this point, I think he would probably have questioned why John decided to write it down in the first place, just like he did before, when John hinted something about Irene Adler (X). According to John, that “adds context. Gives people an idea about the real you”. Which Sherlock also questions. And still, in TSoT, he does mention this ‘frustrating’ case in his best man speech at John's wedding...

...which means that Sherlock - contrary to his usual opinion of this behaviour - did choose to share a glimpse of this case with the wedding guests in spite of it being, apparently, either ‘inexplicable’ or a top secret case of international importance (”We’re talking about Every Official Secrets Act”, according to John’s blog post). So here we have a clear teaser, in my opinion; a whole case that is merely hinted at, but it still appears in both the show and in John’s blog. But in neither of them are we actually told the solution.

So, parting from the conviction that nothing is inexplicable to Sherlock (which is confirmed by John’s blog telling us they did actually solve it), let's dissect this blog post, pice for piece! :) There's a number of objects and phenomena mentioned in this post that pop up frequently in the show, so let’s see what they might mean:

1. Matchboxes. In the picture from TSoT above, Sherlock looks like he’s being enlightened by the ‘inexplicable’ thing that’s in the matchbox. Might there be anything significant about matchboxes - like some sort of clue? There aren't actually many of them, except for the ones in the ‘inexplicable’ case, but they are at least mentioned in ASiB:

But since matchboxes are not so often used by smokers these days, we might as well also include lighters, right? Strange, by the way, that Sherlock would even ask for a matchbox before he asks for a lighter...

Either will do. So, on what occasions do we see Sherlock using a match or a lighter? Well, I’ve tried to collect the data, but since Sherlock apparently had quit smoking at the beginning of the show, we only ever see other characters using them before TSoT, which seems logical; he doesn’t need a lighter, since he has John Watson for a conductor of light. In ASiP there’s Jeff Hope’s pistol lighter. And later in ASiB, after Buckingham Palace, we see Sherlock smoke, but it’s Mycroft who lights his only cigarette. In THoB Henry Knight uses a lighter on his own cigarette, but Sherlock’s cigs are hidden behind the skull on the mantelpiece - ‘hidden’ on his own request apparently.

And in TEH Lestrade is holding a lighter to his cigarette the moment Sherlock returns from the dead, telling Lestrade that smoking will kill him. And that’s about it. And the lighters are all very ‘explicable’, as far as I can see. In HLV Sherlock is smoking again, though, in spite of being fresh home from hospital (no lighter in sight, though).

But then in TAB’s Victorian scenes and in TFP, there are indeed some matchboxes that seem to require explanations:

At 221B, when Lestrade comes to visit, Holmes lights his pipe with a match,

which transforms into Emilia Ricoletti’s pistol barrel:

Is this significant in any way? Might be, but I don’t see it just yet. Need more data.

Later, in the Carmichael house, Holmes strikes a match to light a lantern, and tells Watson to stay in the hall. And then comes an interesting scene (my bolding - thanks for the quotes, Ariane De Vere).

Watson is supposedly speaking to the ghost of Emilia Ricoletti:

WATSON: You’re human, I know that. You must be. (It’s dark in the corridor. He puts his revolver onto a table beside him, on which is a candle and a box of matches. He picks up the latter.) WATSON: Little use, us standing here in the dark. (He strikes a match and picks up the candle to light it.) WATSON: After all, this is the nineteenth century.

That last remark is a curious one, isn’t it? As if they should be ‘enlightened’, since it’s the 19th century. But this is all happening inside 21st century Sherlock’s head, so why does he imagine Watson referring to Victorian times as ‘modern’ here? And Watson, who is usually addicted to danger, is now vacillating between being terrified by the supposed ghost and speaking to it as if repeating his recent conversation with Holmes about human ‘impulses’. Adding to the importance of this scene, it was also one of the selected scenes for the TAB trailer, IIRC.

Enlightenment seems to be a sort of theme, because in TFP John says it outright (to Mycroft):

And then in TFP there’s a scene, voice-over by Mycroft, where little Euros is drawing family pictures, but on every one of them her brother Sherlock is dying a horrible death of some sort. (For some reason he also has red hair and is wearing the same yellow-and-blue-striped jumper).

Then she grabs a matchbox,

lights a match,

and then apparently sets the whole mansion of Musgrave Hall on fire. (We don’t actually see her doing this, though).

Now, that’s kind of an ‘inexplicable’ matchbox, isn’t it? Why did Euros do this? This reeks of Childhood Trauma to me. Since I actually doubt that Euros even exists (I think TFP is all happening in Sherlock’s mind, and Euros might represent a part of Sherlock himself) I do wonder what actually happened to Sherlock...

2. Isaac Persano. According to Sherlock in TSoT, he was a “French decathlete found completely out of his mind, surrounded by 1812 matchboxes, all empty except this one”. Apparently John (see blogpost above) couldn’t believe his eyes when Sherlock showed him the content of the matchbox. Persano had been missing for a year and a half, after the murder of his trainer. He was found in a hotel room in Brighton and couldn't speak. John diagnosed it as PTSD, but apparently Sherlock proved him wrong. The trainer had also been found in a hotel room, beaten to death with a heavy object.

Isn’t it a strange coincidence that first we have this missing person, Isaac Persano on the blog. And then we get Isaac Whitney in HLV, who is also ‘missing’ but later found in a drug den, together with Sherlock. Not to mention that his family name, Persano, sounds almost like Persona. As if someone would be impersonating someone else, right? Maybe someone who likes to use disguises?

3. Clowns. It’s mentioned twice in the blogpost that Sherlock had to dress up as a clown, so I assume it’s important. We never see Sherlock as a clown, though, but there’s two occasions in the show where someone else is dressed up as a clown. The first is the Waters gang in TSoT:

And the second is in TFP, in Mycroft’s house, where Sherlock apparently has hired a clown to scare his brother into telling him about Euros (which in itself seems extremely weird and illogical to me):

So none of these clowns are actually ‘real’ ones, who make people laugh, but rather acting to frighten people or using the outfit for disguise while comitting a crime. Hmm... Childhood trauma?

4. Helicopters. According to John, Mrs Hudson was thrown out of one (we have no idea how or why). Apart from this blogpost case (the helicopter sequence is not shown in Sherlock’s Best Man speech), there’s only one other occasion described by John: when he was “whisked away in a helicopter and taken to Buckingham Palace”. We also see this scene in the TV show. But there are plenty of other helicopters mentioned and/or shown in the TV show: Already in ASiP, Sherlock is talking of getting a police helicopter to track down the murderer. In TEH, Sherlock is chased by a helicopter in Serbia (we only ever hear the sound of it and see the grass move from its wind, though). Also in TEH, when Sherlock is telling John how he survived The Fall, he considered a helicopter rescue. In TSoT, Greg summons a police helicopter as backup when he thinks Sherlock is in danger at 221B. In HLV Sherlock and John are transported to Appledore in a helicopter. Then Mycroft also arrives in a helicopter (which looks suspiciously similar to Magnussen’s). The same helicopter is then shown in the manipulated footage at the top secret hearing in T6T. Then there’s the police helicopter in TLD, chasing Mrs Hudson’s red sports car.

Also in TLD, there’s a surveillance helicopter following Sherlock and Faith through the streets of London by night. And - last but not least - there are several helicopters heading for Sherrinford island in TFP. First there’s Jim’s ‘I want to break free’ helicopter. Then the one that transports Euros back to prison. And finally there’s the one that takes Sherlock out to Sherrinford to visit his sister, at least twice. If I haven’t miscalculated, that’s 14 helicopters in total. Quite a lot, isn’t it? Even more than one per episode...

5. Mrs Hudson being where she wouldn't likely bee. The idea of Mrs H being pushed out of a helicopter is very horrible indeed, but doesn’t actually make much sense to me. Is John really a reliable narrator here? Why would an old lady be pushed out of a helicopter? To harm Sherlock? Was it the CIA-guy’s revenge? Or did it have something to do with her past in the drug-dealing business? And if she was pushed out, how did she survive? Was the helicopter parked on the ground? Too many questions here (and too many helicopters as well, I’d say). But then again, we have this remarkable scene in TLD, where Hudders is speeding a red Aston Martin with Sherlock in the boot, being chased by the police.

So apparently we can now expect just about anything from her, on any location...

Another strange thing about Hudder’s car is the registration plate; why on earth would it have the scientific genus name of the Honey bee (Apis mellifera) on it? Hmm...

6. John doing something he never thought he'd ever do. Well, here I’m totally lost. Unless... Well, from HLV and onwards, I think John has actually been doing lots of things I never thought I’d ever see John Watson do. Like beating up a junkie for no specific reason. Or having a go at Sherlock while he might be dying from a re-opened gunshot in the chest. Or forgiving his wife while knowing that she almost murdered Sherlock. Or blaming Sherlock for her death, without even having seen what happened. Or - worst of all - assaulting Sherlock, kicking him on the ground, when he’s very obviously high on drugs. So yes - that prediction does make sense, thinking about it.

Comment section. Apart from the actual content of John’s blogpost, there’s also the comment section:

Sauron!? What’s this - an in-joke as a nod to the actor who plays The Hobbit? :) In a show that is also frequented by ‘dragon-slayers’... ;) Jokes aside, these two commenters - ‘Sauron1976′ and ‘Scarlet Glove’ - have been hating on John’s blog about Sherlock more or less since he ‘died’. ‘Scarlet Glove’, however, who is claiming that The Inexplicable Matchbox events never happened, makes me think that this name might be a clue - some sort of ‘red herring’, maybe telling us that HLV-S4 actually didn’t happen in the ‘real’ world?

So, in summary, I think there’s a lot of foreshadowing for the rest of the show in this blogpost about the Inexplicable Matchbox. At first sight, S4 was rather ‘inexplicable’ to me. But I feel sure that before the show is over (which it isn’t yet), most of the weirdness actually will be explained.

Tagging some people who might be interested: @sarahthecoat @raggedyblue @ebaeschnbliah @gosherlocked @tjlcisthenewsexy @monikakrasnorada @sagestreet @fellshish @tendergingergirl @sherlockshadow

#Matchboxes #enlightenment in Sherlock #John's Blog

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hkvoyage · 7 years

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Fic: Butterfly Wings - Chapter 28

Story summary A fashion blog started at University launched Blaine Anderson’s fortune and fame. As Vogue’s new editor-in-chief, he is struggling to find an original angle for an upcoming issue. Kurt Hummel has recently arrived in New York City after finishing high school, and is having no luck building a musical theater career, so he decides to explore another passion of his: fashion. He applies for an internship at Vogue, and Isabelle sees in him the perfect fresh face to liven up the magazine, and convinces him to try out as a model. Kurt meets Blaine, and in spite of their 10-year age difference, sparks fly. Can they overcome misunderstandings and sabotage to find their happily-ever-after? Klaine model AU. Rating for this chapter: General (overall story is mature) Word count for this chapter: 6,083 Can also be read on A03 / FF Masterpost is here. The fantastic artwork produced by Cassie at @cc-graphics can be here. Thank you to the amazing @lilyvandersteen for the beta work and support. ***** “I’ve learned that two people can look at the exact same thing and see something totally different.” - Unknown December “Thanks for getting the paperwork for the Monarch Foundation ready so quickly,” Blaine says sincerely, as he signs a huge stack of legal documents at his lawyer’s office. “My pleasure. I didn’t mind in the least, particularly since it’s for a good cause. Hope you have happy holidays this year.” Blaine leaves his lawyer’s office with a huge smile on his face and feels like skipping along the street. For years, he’s wanted to support the LGBT community in smaller towns - create a place where people of all ages could connect, hang out and seek advice. Provide temporary housing for those that are homeless or running away from a terrible situation. Sure, there are places like this in the larger towns and cities across the US, but this sort of option doesn’t exist in small Mid-Western towns. Last week, Blaine was told what his annual bonus would be, to be paid in early January. He had expected a large bonus– Vogue’s increased circulation and profits over the past year made sure of that – but he wasn’t expecting such a substantial discretionary amount. He knew instantly what to do with the money and contacted his lawyer to set up a non-profit foundation. Now his dream could finally become a reality.

The timing is perfect. Tomorrow he’s going home to Ohio for ten days over Christmas and the new year. He’s always planned for Westerville to be the first place to establish a Monarch House. He’ll look for a suitable property during his trip, and by the time the paperwork will be ready for the purchase, his bonus will be paid into his bank account. He can count on his mom and some Dalton teachers to help out until he can hire a director. Blaine runs through his mental checklist of what he needs to get done today. Thank god he bought everyone’s Christmas presents while he was in India. He pulls out his phone to call his mother to arrange for a real estate agent to show them properties. He needs to get a move on things before he gets on the plane for Ohio tomorrow. ***** Blaine walks briskly back to his car. At breakfast, his mother mentioned that the Lima Lenscrafters was the only store in the area that had the special Carolina Herrera SHE sunglasses that she desperately wants for Christmas. She had talked to the manager the previous day, who agreed to hold the pretty blue pair for 24 hours. Blaine is all too happy to take the not so subtle hint and buy them, even though it’s a long drive to get them. After all, she’s helping him to find the perfect place for Monarch House, although yesterday’s property hunting came to nothing. Blaine pulls the car out of the parking lot and turns onto West Elm Street, but is soon caught up in a traffic jam. The roads are as busy as expected two days before Christmas. He spots a sign with a coffee cup and ‘The Lima Bean’ written across the top, and decides to take a break from the heavy traffic. When he walks toward the coffee shop, Blaine wonders if he should order his usual medium drip or something fancy like a latte with peppermint or an eggnog spice. He abruptly stops when he looks into the coffee shop window and his heart begins to race. There, sitting at a table for two, are Kurt and Rachel Berry. Kurt looks even more stunning than Blaine remembers. Kurt’s hair is perfectly coiffed, showing off his rosy cheeks and his piercing blue eyes. His legs are crossed under the table and they look as if they go on forever. Kurt’s attention is focused on Rachel, who is talking excitedly, waving her arms through the air. God, how he misses Kurt. India would have been so much more fun if Kurt was there to experience it with him, but it’s the little things about Kurt that he misses the most. The random texts they had sent each other each day as a way of saying ‘I’m thinking about you’. Watching The Young and Restless together, with Kurt’s snarky comments, judging Cooper’s character and acting skills. Not really doing anything special, but hanging out and getting to know each other better. Most of all though, he misses Kurt’s hugs – a reminder of how Kurt made him feel special and taken care of. Kurt had never called him for that coffee he had suggested at the Whitney Art Party last month, but Blaine hadn’t thought that he would. Not with Sebastian around Kurt, making snide comments about Blaine and smearing his reputation. Here in Ohio, though, things might be different. Away from New York City and Sebastian, maybe they could find the time to really talk. Could they clear the air and salvage something from the past? But what is he going to say? He hadn’t expected to see Kurt in Lima and he doesn’t feel prepared for that discussion. Besides, what could they possibly say to each other with Rachel there as well? He’d have to come up with some sincere compliment about that godawful TV pilot of hers that aired last month. Blaine isn’t sure how long he’s been standing outside the Lima Bean gawping at Kurt, but he needs to choose what he’s going to do before Kurt notices him and the decision is out of his hands. Panic starts to rise in him. Blaine quickly heads back to his car and takes off for his parent’s place in Westerville. ***** “You look pale, Blaine. Weren’t you successful on your jaunt? The manager promised me…” “No, it has nothing to do with ‘the jaunt’ as you call it. It’s something else. I want to think about it on my own for a bit, if you don’t mind.” “I’m about to watch How the Grinch Stole Christmas. That was always my favorite Christmas movie growing up. Why don’t you join me and we can talk - or not talk - if you want?” Blaine lies down on the couch in the den as his mother sets up the DVD. She then joins him on the couch and places his head on her lap. When she starts playing with his hair as they watch the movie, it feels comforting and soothing– a reminder of how they used to watch movies together when he was a little boy. When every Who in Whoville is singing and the Grinch’s heart grows three sizes, Blaine sighs deeply and says, “I saw Kurt. He was at a coffee shop in Lima.” Pam continues to stroke Blaine’s hair and replies, “How did it go? Did you work things out?” “I didn’t talk to Kurt. He didn’t even know I was there. He was with a friend, and we would only have made polite small talk if I had interrupted them. It would have been so awkward, so I left.” “Now that you know he’s in Ohio for the holidays, why don’t you call him after Christmas and see if you can meet up?” “I don’t know. I don’t think Kurt is interested in me. I haven’t really spoken to him since the diva-off, and lord knows I’ve tried. When we bumped into each other last month – you know, when Cooper was with me at the Whitney Art Party – Kurt said he would call me to arrange to meet for a coffee, but he never did. I know that it’s not really a fixable problem. It hurts knowing that I love him but can’t have him. I wish things between us had turned out differently.” “Blaine, I know it hurts right now and it will take time for you to get over him, but honey, you’re doing all of the right sort of things. You’re so much more relaxed since you went to India in October. Setting up the first Monarch House will keep you busy and keep your mind off Kurt. At some stage, though, you’ll need to let your feelings towards Kurt go. Start dating new men. There are plenty of fish in the sea…. After all, the New Yorker Magazine just dubbed you ‘the ‘#1 Gay and Single Hot Dude in New York City’ for the second year in a row.” Pam does air quotes around that last sentence and pokes Blaine gently in the ribs. Blaine rolls his eyes at his mother. He’d rather not be the hot dude in the city, and certainly not single. Sure, there’s plenty of men who want to be with him, but not the man that he wants. He gets up from the couch and stretches, and is surprised to see his father just inside the den’s door. He wonders how much of the conversation with his mother he’s heard. Blaine’s body tenses as he thinks of the inevitable talk he has to have with his father about the video. His father gives him a curt smile as Blaine leaves for his bedroom. Blaine needs to gift-wrap those sunglasses before his mother hunts his bedroom for them. ***** “Sup, Sam? Are you and Mercedes in Kentucky with your family?” “Yeah, we got here last night. Merry Christmas. What did Santa bring you?” “The usual… A Christmas bow tie, some music scores I wanted, stuff like that. What about you? Were you naughty or nice this year?” “Definitely both. I had to be naughty to get something nice.” “That’s pretty cryptic. What do you mean? “Mercedes is pregnant!” “That’s fantastic news, Sam! When’s the due date?” “June 14th. Please, please, please don’t tell anyone. We wanna keep it under wraps until the birth. Mercedes will finish recording her album before she really starts to show. Then in August, she’ll start another tour. I’ll go on tour with her to take care of the baby.” “It sounds like you’ve got it all figured out. Your secret is safe with me. I have another idea of what you can do when you’re on the tour bus with Mercedes.” “What’s that?” “Keep creating that webcomic! You’re really onto something. Biffy is so adorable as the surfer who loves to bake cupcakes. Then, you have the leader of the pack, Jamie. I think you should make him gay, but in the closet, and struggling with it. It could really create some tension in the story.” “That sounds cool. I’ve set Jamie up with a father who was the World Surf Champion back in his day. Everyone has high expectations of Jamie, so yeah, maybe he turns out gay. Could you help me figure out this Jamie dude? I mean, I don’t know what it’s like being in the closet.” Blaine roars with laughter. “Me neither!” Sam whispers into the phone, “By the way, did you check out KrianFeels’ update yesterday?” “Yeah, I did. I loved how Brian and Kevin sang ‘Baby It’s Cold Outside’. Very clever to take such a traditional song and twist it for two love-struck gay teenage boys.” “I’m not talking about that part. I was thinking about later… You know, when Kevin throws Brian on the piano and fucks him. A piano is probably higher than his dick. So how could he possibly do it?” “Sam, sometimes I worry about you.” ***** “Blaine, can you step into my study?” Michael, Blaine’s father, asks. Blaine’s heart sinks with these words. He knows that he has to have ‘the talk’ with his father and no talk with his father in the study is good news. Since he’s been home, they have avoided speaking about the Klainegate video, but now the time has come. Blaine wishes that Cooper had been able to get time off from work to come home for Christmas, to divert the attention away from him. His mother squeezes his arm and smiles – it feels as if she’s secretly telling him to be brave. And then the strangest thing happened. His mother walks to his father and gives him the exact same gentle squeeze and smile. She then quickly disappears to the kitchen to do the washing-up after the Christmas meal. The study is just as Blaine remembers it. There’s a big imposing dark oak desk with a wall-length bookcase behind it, filled with hardback books about history, business, and biographies. A deep red oriental carpet fills the space in front of the desk, and there’s an antique wooden cabinet filled with whiskey bottles and crystal-cut tumblers. Blaine reminds himself that he is a 28-year-old man and isn’t under his father’s control any longer. His father pours whiskey into two glasses and indicates for him to sit down. Blaine decides to start the conversation, to get it over with. “I’m really sorry about the video, Father. I had absolutely no idea it was being filmed and would be put on the Internet for the whole world to see. I must have been an embarrassment to you.” Michael takes a sip of his whiskey and nods. “It was a difficult time afterwards. You should have heard the jokes made at the country club, particularly since we held that fundraising party the previous night. However, your mother and I have held our heads up high and continue to go to the club on the weekends. It’s been a real lesson on who your true friends are. In future, be more careful. I’m not saying you should go into the closet, but just make sure that there’s no-one else around. I… err… think that’s enough of that subject, don’t you?” Blaine firmly nods and thinks he’s got off lightly about the video. He’s relieved that his father considers the subject matter closed. His father is looking more relaxed now, so Blaine decides to ask about what has really been bothering him for months. “I have a question for you, Father. After the diva-off performance, you sent me a text saying that you loved it. What exactly did you mean by that?” Blaine’s father takes a sip of his whiskey. Blaine can tell that he’s thinking carefully about what he’s going to say. “Watching you perform at the diva-off... I realized that you have achieved more than most men in their lifetimes. There you were, on stage, showing the world exactly who you were. A man who runs a multimillion-dollar media empire. A man who’s passionate about raising money for charity. A man comfortable in his own skin. And yes, a gay man who is proud of who he is. The feather jacket was a little over the top, but you owned every moment on that stage. You were brimming with confidence and looked so happy. You deserved to win. So yes, I loved the diva-off performance. I was very proud of you.” Blaine is surprised at his father’s words. “I thought you didn’t like me being myself? Being gay?” His father takes another sip of his whiskey before answering. The air is thick with tension. “Blaine, when you were 13 years old, you sat your mother and myself down in the living room one day and told us that you were gay, in your most earnest and serious voice. Frankly, I was shocked. The Walnut Springs Middle School had sent us something about the sex education classes the previous month. I thought they had put the idea in your head.” “Father, it’s not like that. You don’t get to choose your sexuality. It’s something you’re born with.” “I can’t say I understand that entirely. When I was 13 years old in the late 60s, I never thought about my sexuality. It was assumed that boys would marry girls, have two kids, and live in the ‘burbs. I never doubted that for myself.” “Just because you didn’t doubt it, doesn’t mean that there weren’t others who were different… who were gay.” “I’m from a different generation than you. I didn’t know anybody who was gay at school. If there were f… gays, they were definitely in the closet. It was illegal back then. You could go to jail for doing things with someone of the same sex.” Blaine takes a sip of his drink, reminding himself of how things have progressed since his father was growing up. “Times have certainly moved on from then – and for the better. You were so angry at me at the time, but you hardly said a word.” “I wasn’t happy that you were gay, Blaine. However, I did know that nothing was going to change your mind… or who you are. At the time, I was thinking of AIDS and how difficult your life would be not fitting in. Frankly, I was thinking about not having a grandchild - my own flesh-and-blood grandchildren.” “But gay men can get married, have two kids and live in the ‘burbs. It’s what I want for myself! We can find a surrogate and have our own children using artificial insemination.” “Blaine, think back to fifteen years ago. Same sex marriage was only recently legalized in Ohio after that Supreme Court ruling. Surrogacy hadn’t even crossed my mind as an option. I thought that was something couples did when a woman had plumbing problems. I have learnt a lot since you came out to us. Your mother has helped with that. But at the time, I didn’t know anything and felt out of my depth. I felt uncomfortable talking about it.” “Is that why you got rid of me to Dalton when I got beaten up at the Sadie Hawkins dance?” “I didn’t get rid of you. I was trying to protect you! I didn’t think you would survive through graduation at a public high school. Look what they did to you during your freshman year! I couldn’t let that happen again. Dalton had that great anti-bullying policy and was accepting of students like yourself. And they were willing to take you after the start of the school year. There wasn’t really any choice, so I took out a second mortgage to make that happen.” “But why did I board? I could have been a day student. I felt as though you were abandoning me.” “We weren’t abandoning you, Blaine. You loved wearing those bow ties and brightly-colored clothes. It was obvious you were gay. I was worried about what would happen to you after school and on the weekends, hanging around the kids in the neighborhood. I knew you would be safe at Dalton, so that’s where you stayed. Besides, you were so happy there.” “Okay… but even when I was home during that first summer, you were trying to make me straight by working on that car.” “Honestly, Blaine, that was not my intention. I wanted to spend time with you so I could understand things… who you were. When I was growing up, I worked on a car with my father. I enjoyed it and I thought you would as well. Look, I’m not a perfect person or father. I was doing my best and it was the only thing I could think of.” Blaine mulls over what his father just told him. He could sort of understand his father’s intentions back in high school, but he would have to think that through carefully later. However, he couldn’t see why his father had been so insistent for him to study business at college. “Why didn’t you want me to study music in college? You and mom always encouraged us to play instruments and sing. Hell, you even got me that job at Six Flags over the summers.” “Blaine, when I was in college, I wanted to be a musician more than anything else in the world. I met your mother during my second year and I fell deeply in love. With her love of the piano, I thought we were going to conquer the world. But then she got pregnant with Cooper during our senior year. I had to find a way to support your mother and a baby. Your grandparents had told us in no uncertain terms that we had made our bed and now we had to lie in it. I knew we were going to be on our own after graduation with a baby coming. Starting a music career wasn’t an option, so I took as many business courses as I could in the last semesters. When we graduated, I started work at the insurance company. I was so grateful to be able to put food on the table and support your mother and Cooper. That was very important to me.” “But what does that have to do with me?” “I thought that as a gay man, you’d be alone all your life, needing to support yourself. You were so bright and got such good grades at Dalton. When you got accepted at Harvard, I was so relieved. I knew that sort of college education would keep you in good stead all your life. Music was always going to be important to you, but I thought it would be a hobby, like it is for your mother and me.” Blaine isn’t sure if he likes that his father thinks he’ll be alone all his life, but at least he’s being honest with Blaine. “So you’re okay with me being gay?” “I might not like it, but it’s who you are. I’ve learnt to accept it. Never think for one moment that I don’t love you… Because I do.” Blaine slowly gets out of his chair, walks over to his father, who is also standing, and gives him a hug. “I love you too. Wow, I’m going have to think about this and get my head around it. Good night, I’m heading off to bed.” ***** After a shower, Blaine changes into his pajamas and climbs into bed. His mind is still reeling from the talk earlier that night. His father made Blaine look at his childhood memories in an entirely different light. Did he really get everything wrong? Was his father’s version of his childhood what really happened? Blaine pulls out his scrapbooks and flicks through the pages. He laughs at the photo of himself wearing his first Nightbird outfit that his Aunt Laura created from an old Batman costume. He cringes when he sees himself in colorful plaid shirts and bow ties. He has certainly learnt a lot about fashion since those days. While Blaine doesn’t think you can judge someone’s sexuality by the clothes that they wear, he would have definitely been given a hard time by the boys in the neighborhood. As he flips through the scrapbook pages of his Dalton days, he thinks fondly back to the times with the Warblers. For all the important competitions and graduation - moments that really mattered to him - his father was there in the photos. He didn’t remember that his father had attended all those events, too busy goofing off with his friends. Blaine goes to his closet and pulls out the shoebox containing the photos of his father and him working on that stupid car. He’s never wanted to scrapbook them and be reminded of the project. For the first time in years, he pores over the photos. Sure, both he and his father are smiling for the camera, but their body language is telling a different story, of tense awkwardness. He’s never appreciated that his father was just as nervous as he was. Amy was right. The camera lens can show a different perspective of what’s straight in front of you. It’s neither the right one nor the wrong one, just a different view. So maybe the true version of what went on during his teens is not his or his father’s. What if it’s a blend of the two? ***** Blaine and his mom are sitting around the kitchen table, looking at houses for sale in the Westerville area on the computer. They have spent the past two days with a real estate agent looking at properties that have the potential to become the Monarch House. Blaine leans back in his chair and groans, “I never thought it would be this difficult to find a place.” “Don’t give up, sweetie. We’ll find the right place. It’s going to take time, though.” His father joins them at the table with three mugs of coffee he has made while listening to their conversation. “I was talking to Blake Pemberwell at the club last weekend. His father died last month and he plans to sell the place on the corner of East Walnut and Summit. It’s a huge three-story house with a large backyard. It’ll need fixing up because I doubt old man Pemberwell did anything to the place since his wife passed away fourteen years ago. It’s within walking distance of Westerville South High School. There’s also a bus stop close by to go downtown. Blake’s going to put it on the market in January.” “I know the exact house you’re talking about. It would be perfect!” Pam exclaims. “I was really hoping to have a house decision wrapped up this vacation, but I guess I can come back next month to check it out,” Blaine comments with a sigh. “How about I call Blake and see if we can give the place a once-over while you’re here? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.” Michael walks to the study to make the phone call. After five minutes, he returns with a smile on his face. “Blake doesn’t mind at all. He told me where the key is hidden on the front porch. So, what do you say, Blaine? Want to go check it out?” Blaine is stunned that his father’s offering to go house-hunting for his new charity project. He looks at his mother, who has a gentle smile on her face. “I’m going to start making that lasagna that you both like so much. Count me out.” After a ten-minute drive, Michael parks the car in the driveway of an old rambling house. The paintwork is peeling off, but it looks structurally sound. They explore the rooms on each floor, mindful of the dust and the clutter. When they return to the main living room, Michael starts to speak excitedly. “That top floor would be perfect for the dormitory. You can easily fit two sets of bunk beds into each room. The second floor could work for the staff offices and there could be individual counseling rooms. The basement is big enough that you could have both a pool table and a ping pong table set up. The kitchen would have to be completely ripped out, but then again, I’m sure that there all sorts of health regulations it’ll need to comply with. This living room would be perfect with a big-screen TV, a place for people to relax…” Blaine is stunned by his father’s rambling. “You’re really into this, aren’t you?” “Maybe we should have renovated a house when you were a teenager instead of working on a car.” “Ha! Maybe we should have, although I suspect I would have thought you were going to squirrel me away inside it.” “Like Rapunzel waiting for Prince Charming? I think that you’d have liked that idea.” Blaine roars with laughter. He honestly can’t remember ever joking around with his father, but it feels good. ***** “Blaine, can you come join me in the study?” Instead of feeling the usual dread at being summoned into the study, Blaine jumps up eagerly to go join his father. Blaine notices that his father’s chair is pulled around to the front of the desk. Once they are sitting next to each other, Michael start to speak. “I just got off the phone with Pemberwell. He hasn’t signed an agreement with a real estate agent yet. He’s always been a procrastinator, and this time, it works in our favor. He’s agreed to accept a bid lower than the asking price he was planning. After reminding him that this is for a good cause, that he doesn’t have to pay a commission and that he’ll get cash in a few weeks’ time, he agreed to knock off 20%. It’s under your budget, so you’ll have money for those renovations needed. Are you interested?” “Oh my god, this is happening… Yes! I want the house.” “I’ll let Blake know tomorrow. Leave it with me. I’ll get my lawyer to start the necessary paperwork. Your mother’s interviewing possible directors, so maybe I can find an architect to come up with a plan for the renovation?” “You would do that for me?” “I wouldn’t offer, if I didn’t want to help out. Help you out, that is, Blaine.” Blaine has a warm feeling inside. Maybe they should have renovated a house together when he was a teenager. There’s been something else on his mind and this is as good as any time to bring it up. “Can I ask you about something? When you mentioned Rapunzel waiting for Prince Charming…” “I know. You want to be Prince Charming… Or maybe Nightbird rescuing Prince Charming?” Blaine laughs at his father’s joke, thinking of himself in his Nightbird outfit saving Kurt, who’s wearing a tiara. “Very funny. No, I was thinking about what your reaction would be if I brought a guy home that I’m serious about and want to marry? I mean… It’s one thing to be proud of me - all aspects of me - but it’s another matter altogether meeting the love of my life. And yes, I do dream of getting married and having kids.” “I think I’m going to need a whiskey to get through this discussion. Will you join me?” “If you think you need one, then so do I.” “Is this about Kurt?” Michael asks as he pours an inch of whiskey into two glasses. “Maybe. I don’t know.” “Don’t play coy with me, Blaine. I’ve been honest with you this entire holiday. The least you can do is be honest with me.” “Okay… Yes. At least, I hope it will be Kurt.” “You probably won’t agree with me, but I know you very well. Your mother’s been showing me the photos of you and Kurt on the Internet this past year. One thing I know for certain is that you’re in love with Kurt. It’s written all over your face. I also might have heard that conversation with your mother a few days before Christmas – after you saw Kurt at a Lima coffee house. I know that this Kurt is someone special in your life.” “I want him to be.” “To answer your question, I’d be fine with it if you brought home somebody. Knowing that you were settled and happy with someone would mean a lot to me. I would look closely to make sure he’s the man you deserve… that he…err…loves you back. It might be a little awkward at first, because I’m not used to seeing two men together, but I’ll get used to it over time. I’ll really try for you. But Blaine, never ever put on a performance with someone in my house like I saw in that video.” Michael pauses when he sees Blaine blushing, then adds, “Far too many feathers for my liking.” Blaine almost chokes at the last remark. Does his father really have a sense of humor? Before he can say anything, his father continues to speak. “You and me – we’re more alike than you think. We Anderson men never do anything half-hearted. When we meet that someone special, we fall in love deeply and passionately. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing. The other day, I heard your mother encouraging you to date other men. My advice to you is… Don’t do it.” “What?! You want me to stay single all my life? You just said that you were okay with me bringing home a man!” “I don’t want you to bring home any man, Blaine. I want you to bring home Kurt. If you really love him, go after him, Blaine. Talk with him, beg him, do anything you have to do to win him over.” Michael looks in the distance and starts chuckling, getting louder with each passing second. “What’s so funny, Dad?” “There was a time when your mother and I had a rough patch at the beginning of our senior year. She wanted nothing more to do with me, but I wanted her so desperately. I actually serenaded her in the outdoor commons area to win her back.” Oh. My. God! Is that where I get it from?! “You’ve got to be kidding me. I can’t imagine it!” “Well, imagine this… One lunchtime, I borrowed my friend’s boom box and sang ‘Maybe I’m Amazed’ to your mother in front of her friends and most of the student body. I think I won her over when I jumped onto the ledge of the fountain and then slid on my knees towards her at the end of the song.” “So what happened after that?” “Cooper.” ***** Baby, I'm amazed at the way you love me all the time, And maybe I'm afraid of the way I love you. Maybe I'm amazed at the way you pulled me out of time, You hung me on the line. Maybe I'm amazed at the way I really need you. Blaine is in his bedroom, listening to the classic Paul McCartney song. The words that his father sang to his mother all those years ago resonate with him as well. He scrolls through his photos of him and Kurt on his phone – not the ones taken by the paparazzi, but those taken when they were at the Brooklyn Flea Market, Central Park, Governor Island, and at home. His father was right. It’s painfully obvious that he’s been in love with Kurt from the start. Although he’s looked at the photos thousands of times before, he sees something different now. He’s always thought that Kurt’s blushing and sweet smiles are endearing - part of his nature. But maybe they are only on Kurt’s face for Blaine. Kurt looks at him as if he’s the single best thing in the world. Kurt looks as if he’s in love. I’ve been an idiot! It’s been staring me in face all this time. I wasn’t brave enough to believe it. Baby, I'm a man, maybe I'm a lonely man Who's in the middle of something That he doesn't really understand. Tomorrow is January 1st, and a time for new beginnings. For once in his life, Blaine sees things very clearly and knows what he needs to do. ***** Blaine stomps the snow off his boots when he steps onto the front porch. He’s glad to see the pick-up truck in the driveway because it’s a sign that somebody’s home. After ringing the doorbell, the door slowly opens. “Blaine! I wasn’t expecting you. Come inside. It looks like there’s another storm brewing.” Blaine enters the Hummel house and takes off his boots and pea jacket. He looks around the main room and is disappointed when he doesn’t see anybody else. “Is Kurt here?” “Sorry, you just missed him. I dropped him off at the airport a couple of hours ago,” Burt replies. Blaine closes his eyes and sighs deeply. He’d thought that this was going to be the perfect day. He had it all planned. “I guess I’ll catch up with him next week when we’re both in New York.” “Kurt won’t be in New York next week. He’s moving to Paris.” Blaine feels as if the wind has been knocked out of him. “Paris!?” “Come have a seat, Blaine. I’ll tell you all about it.” Burt goes to the kitchen to grab two beers and joins Blaine in the living room. Burt explains how Kurt had felt working at Elle and why it had been necessary for him to break the contract. With no specific plans for the future, Kurt had decided to combine his modeling work with travel. “Kurt could have always come back to Vogue. I would have hired him in a heartbeat,” Blaine insists. “I don’t think he could, Blaine.” “Does this have to do with me? Did Kurt feel like he had to leave the country to get away from me? Is he that angry at me?” Blaine asks with a trembling voice. He can barely contain the tears that are welling up in his eyes. “It’s nothing like that. He’s not mad at you. It actually has nothing to do with you,” Burt replies. “Kurt is 19 years old and is trying to figure out what path to take in life. It seems as if it was only yesterday that Kurt had grand plans to attend NYADA and become a star on Broadway. You’ve shown him that there are other options available. Kurt needs to work out how his modeling career fits into the newer version of himself.” “But I like any version of Kurt. Why can’t I be there for Kurt while he’s going through this?” Blaine asks, placing his head in the palms of his hands. “I love him. I’d marry him tomorrow if he’d have me. And now I’ve lost him forever.” Burt sighs and looks at Blaine for a long moment. Finally, he says, “I know my son very well, and he looks at you as if you’re the most precious person in the world. Kurt is still young. If you’re meant to be together, you’ll find your way back to each other. Everything will work out the way it should be in the end.” “But how do you know?” Blaine retorts. “Because that’s life. You need to relax, Blaine, and not force it. Kurt won’t be in Paris forever. He’ll make his way to you when the time is right. Can that be enough for now?” Blaine nods slowly, because it will have to be enough for now. Burt gets up from his recliner and looks out the window. “Blaine, you’re staying here tonight. The storm has started and I’m not comfortable with you driving back to Westerville in this weather. How about you change into something of Kurt’s and we watch a Buckeyes game on TV? We’re in luck - they’re playing in Arizona today.” Blaine goes upstairs to Kurt’s room and changes into a pair of sweatpants and a McKinley hoodie. Kurt’s clothes feel strangely comforting to Blaine, as if Kurt is wrapped around him. He texts his mother that he’s spending the night in Lima before heading downstairs to join Burt once again in the living room. Blaine hopes that Burt is right and everything will work out in the end. It just has to. Author’s note Song used in the chapter - ‘Maybe I’m Amazed’ by Paul McCartney So, there you have it – my version of Blaine’s father. For more thoughts about Blaine’s father and other things in this chapter, head to the story’s master post on Tumblr (HKVoyage) and check out the author thoughts section. Next up: Kurt in Paris.

#my fic: Butterfly Wings #author: HKVoyage #hkvoyagewrites #klaine fanfiction #klaine fanfic

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